Artyom had wasted too much time checking up on Lensa’s history and quickly made his way to the teleportation crystal in Cape Horn. With a free day to do as he pleased, he decided to begin planning contingencies against the Great Hero’s ignoble harem, who he was sure were doing the very same against him.

Satisfied with the idea for Lensa’s battle psychology he was able to garner by talking to the priests who raised her, Artyom teleported over to the next town on his list, Triventra. The azure light of the teleportation crystal’s magic moved him in a blink of an eye to a richly built town. Tall houses made of a variety of expensive looking materials, like pristine hardwood and smooth clay bricks surrounded wrought iron fences, were lined up in neat rows. Perfectly cut verdant lawns and wide, level roads covered the spaces between houses. Further ahead was a sprawling, gated complex featuring a collection of large halls and apartment buildings that could be none other than the supposed Magical University he’d heard of.

He made his way to the compound, taking in the scenery. Despite the sheer display of upper-middle class wealth, the town itself felt quite boring, with little to no creativity expressed in the architectural styles or choice of paint on the houses. Artyom had read that the town was only really known for said educational facility, one that Xerica was a student of before joining the Hero.

“Hello sir, could you please state your business?” asked the girl standing guard at the gate with a look of utter indifference. She looked quite young compared to the other guards he’d met, but still old enough to carry an air of independence about her. Most likely, she was a student who probably felt she had something better to do.

“Hi, uh, I’m here to ask about a particular student. A Xerica?” asked Artyom.

The girl rolled her eyes at the name, as she sagged in disconcertedness. “Oh, her. Yeah, a lot of people come here to learn about her, being one of the Great Hero’s companions and all. Sorry, I can’t let you in unless you’re here for actual school business, like donating a bunch of money or something.”

“Or if I were also a member of the Great Hero’s party?” asked Artyom, slightly impatient at the sudden difference in treatment he was receiving.

“Sure, but you don’t look like any of those other ladies. I mean compared to those powerhouses, I really don’t see what you would bring to the table-” she paused for a second while straightening herself out. “Do you feel that? Something’s going on with the air, and my magic!”

Artyom wordlessly considered her concerned expression. He couldn’t really explain why, but something about messing with the people who wouldn’t let him into places brought him all sorts of joy. Still, he felt somewhat bad for this particular guard, who didn’t even look like she wanted to be here.

“Yeah, it’s a Null Magic spell,” replied Artyom, while disengaging his spellwork with a snap of his fingers. Immediately, the residual magical energy began rushing back into the guard, bringing her a wave of relief like a swimmer taking their first breath after emerging from a long dive. “Sorry, it’s the only obvious spell I know that works on others without harming them.”

“No, that was awesome! That’s gotta be like a professor-level spell or something!” she stammered, excitedly. “Go ahead, I’m sure the people inside would love to talk to you!”

“Uh sure, thanks,” said Artyom, making his way past the girl. “But I’ve got a question; it doesn't sound like you’re particularly a fan of Xerica.”

“Huh? Yeah, I get asked a lot about her from her fans, and it got me thinking about her. After trying to remember what she was like, I really couldn’t put my finger on anything about her as a person, you know?”

Artyom nodded in understanding, urging her to continue.

“I remember that she was like a perfect student and everything, president of a bunch of clubs, and super awesome like that. But then I don’t remember really interacting with her much, and I started to feel that she’s super overrated. Like she’s a local celebrity, sure, but she wasn’t my friend or anything. It’s weird to explain.”

“No, that’s fine. Thanks for your answer,” replied Artyom. She was right in that it was hard to understand what she was trying to explain, but he got the general gist. A lot of people aren’t fans of blind celebrity worship. At least, that’s what he thought it was about.

Artyom decided to disregard the enigma and entered into the university proper. The inside buildings were decorated grandly, with magically lit hardwood walls and rich red-carpeted floors. Similar questions about Xerica within the stereotypical magic school led to less interesting answers than from outside. The students and professors talked about Xerica as the guard outside had remembered her; an intelligent leader and magical prodigy. But a few of the students in particular mentioned a particularly bossy side to the lady in question. One of them had been president of the magical dueling club before she joined, and was only able to regain his position after Xerica left with the Great Hero. Sure, he could’ve simply been frustrated at the loss of prestige, but it was one of the few opinions that was based on personal experience. From what Artyom could gather about her, Xerica’s talent went to her head.

Before leaving, he decided to search for her academic history, to see what kinds of other classes she took and better identify her specific magical talents. The records room wasn’t difficult to find, and even easier to break into. Fortunately, the records were organized by first name instead of last, as Artyom realized he didn’t even know any of his other party members’ last names. He’d at least be able to find out one of them now. Flittering his fingers across the manilla folders, he made his way across a series of names. Xander, Xavier, Xigua, Ximena…

Artyom paused as he looked back at the names. He hadn’t missed any, he double and triple checked, but there was no sign of any labelled Xerica. Maybe the school had misplaced her records, or she took them with her when she left? Artyom left the room disappointed, but still satisfied with what he’d learned. He could convince a member of the school’s administration to search for them, but he was running on a tight schedule. The sun was already past its apex, marking the beginning of the afternoon. Despite his refined palette demanding he stop for a proper meal, after witnessing the utter slop they served at the university’s cafeteria, he decided to try his luck with one of TOAL’s survival bars instead. Even in other Worlds, some things didn’t change.

While munching on the nutritional bar of compressed sawdust, Artyom’s mind went back to the first time he fought such a sorcerer.

“Well, it looks like we’re pinned here,” whispered Captain Mara to the three other soldiers of her squad. “And it’s by a spell sucker, no less. I hope you’re happy, recruit.”

Artyom, sitting amongst the survivors of his squad, looked down at the cave floor in contemplation. It was only by his insistence that the squad entered the obvious trap to rescue one of their members. Sure, they all agreed to the idea without any complaint, but now that it had all gone South, it was on his head. He didn’t get angry, however. As the newest recruit and a spellcaster, he was the verbal punching bag of the squad. Still, there had been plenty of times when they’d risked their lives for his, and vice versa. He didn’t take it personally.

“It’s been a pleasure serving with you all. Even you, Artyom.” She’d used his actual name. He knew the situation was dire. Dire enough to be worth one last hail mary.

“Agreed, it’s been a pleasure Commander,” said Artyom as he got up and walked out of his cover like a death row prisoner towards their execution.

“What the hell are you doing, recruit?!” snapped Commander Mara. “If this is some kind of honor suicide, I’ll kill you before that spell slinging bitch does!”

“I’m going to act as a distraction. Once you find an opening, finish her off.”

The others were speechless at the act of sheer heroism and stupidity before them, but did nothing to stop him. Artyom made his way out of cover and far away from the others before shouting at the spellcaster floating above the cave floor.

“Hey, asshole! Over here!” he screamed, cupping both of his hands around his mouth.

The spellcaster, a woman dressed in rich orange-red robes, immediately turned towards Artyom, staring a wicked glare directly into his soul. “Insolent child, I shall have your head!” she shouted back, as she threw an orb of searing flames at him.

Artyom dodged out of the way with assistance from Strength of the Olympian, jumping behind a stalagmite for cover. Upon coming out at a different point of the cave, he shouted at her again. “Was that really your best shot? My grandmother throws around fire better than that when she burns her cooking!”

The woman responded with another blistering fireball, this time narrowly clipping him. He didn’t let up despite the pain in his shoulder however, and continued to appear behind various rock formations spewing insults. Eventually, the spellcaster grew incandescent with rage and flew over to Artyom to finish him off herself. What she didn’t notice were the two soldiers positioned behind the stalagmites to either side of him. As soon as she was in range, her hands glowing white-hot and ready to strangle the life out of Artyom, two of his compatriots jumped out from behind their cover and sliced off both arms at the elbows as they were ready to make contact with his neck. The shock and pain forced the spellcaster off her trajectory and she crashed into the ground. A quick and final strike by Commander Mara ended her for good.

“Well, I have to admit Recruit, you’re pretty impressive,” said Captain Mara. “Risking your life like that for us isn’t something the other spell suckers back home would do. It looks like you are one of us, after all!”

The other soldiers approached Artyom and slapped his shoulder with their armored gauntlets, expressions of joy and sorrow at their losses and survival showing through their helmets. It was the first time Artyom ever felt this close to a group, and it was a feeling he knew he would always cherish.

The survival bar now half eaten and safely stored away, Artyom made his way to the town’s teleportation crystal to head to his third destination; Balesdale. What would such a mysterious sounding municipality hold? Once the blue light of the teleportation effect faded, Artyom was able to see for himself.

What surrounded him was a large village made up of wooden buildings and farmland for miles beyond. Most of those farms grew grass and wheat, which were being dried in parallel to be bound into bales of hay. Artyom figured that’s where the town’s name came from. He made his way into the near-deserted village, looking for any sign of life, let alone someone who knew Daisy. His biggest question right now wasn’t about anything important, but rather why such a simple farming town of all places had a teleport crystal? Usually, it was only large cities and tourist attractions that were made part of the network. After walking for a few minutes, he finally found people to ask.

“He’s down! Russ wins!” shouted a man from up ahead. Many townsfolk were gathered under a slanted roof over an open space surrounded with hay bales. They cheered on a pair of men who were apparently in a boxing match, one of which was now on the ground. The two were quickly vacated from the makeshift arena and a pair of women took their place, a quick shout from the referee starting off their own match. As their punches flew, Artyom found a less distracted audience member to unload his questions onto.

“Huh, the teleport crystal? Everyone buys our hay, it’s the best in the Kingdom! Of course we’re going to have a crystal!” exclaimed the recipient of Artyom’s curiosity. He was dressed in a simple flannel plaid shirt and straw hat. In other words, your stereotypical farmer.

“Huh, Daisy?” he continued after Artyom’s next question. “Yeah, she’s from here! Best fighter in town! Or at least, until she left. Now Russ is the best around. He’s fought her so many times, he’d be able to tell you more than me.”

Artyom thanked him and made his way to Russ, who was recuperating on a short bale with a large canteen of water. There wasn’t much for him to recover from, judging by how utterly dominant he was during his own match.

“So you fought Daisy? What was she like in the ring?” asked Artyom, not bothering to introduce himself. He figured it wouldn’t do much to sway these rustic folk to his side.

“Aye. The strongest fighter I’ve ever been up against,” replied Russ, an air of reverence about him. “I swear, I’ve never been able to beat her, it was like she wasn’t even human!”

Artyom nodded. “What was her fighting style like?”

“Style? She was nothing but a wild animal! She’d rush in with everything she had, arms flailing, and grind your strength down before delivering the knockout punch. You’d think something like that would be easy to take on, but you’d be wrong. I could show you in the ring, if you’re interested.”

“You know what? Sure.” Now this was how you introduced yourself around here.

The resulting fight was one-sided. As the referee started the match, Russ charged at Artyom, throwing wild haymakers left and right. Artyom kept his distance, juking between the rabid punches until he could get a clean swing at Russ. One punch to the stomach later, assisted by Strength of the Olympian to close the level gap, Russ slowed down significantly enough for Artyom to shove him to the ground. The audience was cheering at the sudden usurping of their champion, and Artyom planned to give them a real show. He ran to the corner of the small arena and began climbing several stacked hay bales until he was at the top, then jumped down towards Russ, elbow extended. He landed with a thud, knocking the air out of Russ’ lungs and clinching him the fight. The crowd went wild.

After taking a few minutes to recover, the two previous combatants were jovially discussing their match.

“I’ve never seen a move like that before! I’m going to have to try it myself next time!” exclaimed Russ, rubbing at his stomach with a painful smile. “It reminds me of the time Daisy did something similar, but unlike your move, it left a pretty nasty scar! Here, let me show you!” He lifted up his shirt to show Artyom his left flank.

“Uh, show me what?” asked Artyom. The patch of skin Russ was pointing to was pristine, without even a single blemish marring the space around it.

“Huh, that’s weird. I could’ve sworn there was a scar here,” replied Russ, grabbing his head as if to massage a light headache. “Maybe it’s healed or something?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” lied Artyom. He didn’t actually believe that was what happened. A supposedly wicked scar wouldn’t just disappear, especially leaving the spot so immaculate. It was strange, but there really wasn’t much other info about it to follow up on. Besides, he got what he came here for.

After exchanging their goodbyes, Artyom made his way back to the teleportation crystal, and headed to his final destination; Willowsburg. This time, the azure light dropped him off in what could only be described as a stereotypical suburb. White picket fences sectioned off painted wooden or brick houses with even more immaculate grass lawns, the occasional tree or rose bush sprouting from the otherwise plain yards. While it was missing the more modern-day details such as asphalt roads, they were substituted with the best-available replacements, such as more bricks arranged in a zig-zag pattern.

Artyom was able to quickly flag down someone and ask them about the last of Tommy’s four sirens, Ecole.

“Yeah, I know her parents, such nice people,” replied an older lady. “She was always the sweetest child, and they must be so proud of her now! Anyway, their house is down the street, number 495, you can’t miss it.”

Artyom thanked her and made his way towards the house in question. Along the way, he thought back to what he’d learned about Daisy and her fighting style. He’d fought someone like that before, and he let his mind carry him back to that moment.

“What in the seven hells is that?!” shouted Colonel Mara, as she jumped to the side in a desperate dodge. A hulking behemoth of muscle and sinew charged past her, narrowly clipping her shoulder and sending her spinning the rest of the way to the ground.

Her squad stood in a soulless wasteland. Nothing but gray dirt and dusty hills surrounded them for miles in all directions. After a year of loyal service, they’d been deployed to the front lines to fight for the glory of their kingdom. Instead of glory, however, they’d found this abomination.

“You know all of those body modification potions that nobles love to drink?” asked Artyom. “This is just their final form. A mod to add too much muscle packed into a single body.”

“Of course you’d know about those, spell sucker,” replied Colonel Mara, balancing playful banter with the severity of their situation. “So will it tire out?”

“Not by the looks of things,” said Artyom, wracking his brain for some kind of exploitable weakness. “But I’ve got an idea.”

“Alright, shoot. Will it slow this thing down long enough to let the archers kill it?”

“Yup. You know about Newton’s first law of motion?”

“Who? Is that another one of your spell sucker friends?” asked Mara, narrowly avoiding another charge.

“Wha- no! Nevermind about him. An object in motion stays in motion until another force acts upon it. Like his feet kicking against the ground, which creates that force.”

“So we make it so he can’t kick? We can’t exactly cut off his legs like this! Unless we remove the ground…” an epiphany struck her, and she understood Artyom’s plan.

He nodded to her as he applied D-U Dermal Armor and Strength of the Tsunami to himself. He bent his knees and crouched his back like a linebacker ready to receive the charging behemoth. Colonel Mara taunted the alchemical abomination with a few choice words about his mother and what physical attributes she must have had to give birth to such a horrific figure, sending it into a blind rage. It kicked at the ground once more, sending dirt flying into the air as it screamed towards its target. Colonel Mara jumped out of the way one last time, as it continued down its path towards Artyom, who received it with a bear hug, a trail of dirt forming beneath his feet as he was pushed back several yards at the impact. Before the monster could break free, Artyom leaned back until he was on his back, and kicked at the creature with all of his might, sending it flying into the sky.

At the apex of its ascent, the dozens of archers who made up Colonel Mara’s platoon all fired arrows at it, turning it into a pincushion. The monster wailed, injured but not yet defeated. It wasn’t done yet, and neither was Artyom. With a powerful leap, he matched its height and grabbed it with his steely arms. While Artyom was right-side up, the monster’s head was facing directly downwards. They began to plummet.

“Boom Shakalaka!” Artyom shouted as the monster’s grotesque head made contact with the hard ground, shattering its alchemically untouched skull and kicking up a massive cloud of dead soil.

When the dust finally settled, everyone looked at the grisly sight in silence. Colonel Mara was the first to break it.

“Really? ‘Boom Shakalaka?’ What kind of battle cry is that?!” she asked indignantly. Immediately, every single soldier burst into fits of laughter, more out of a sense of relief than at Artyom’s expense. “Still, you did well today, Recruit. I’m proud of you.”

Artyom smiled at the praise, but was annoyed at still being called “Recruit.” Something told him that nickname would stick around for much longer.

He snapped out of his memories as soon as he arrived at the house in question, number 495. After a mild rapping at the entirely mundane wooden door, he was greeted by a young couple with smiles on their faces, a man and woman who looked to be surprised yet welcoming of the unexpected visit.

“Hello there, how can we help you?” asked the woman with benign curiosity.

“Hi I’m Artyom, I was told you were Ecole’s parents?”

“Yes, we are,” replied the man. “Are you one of her fans?”

“Actually, I’m one of her travelling companions. I joined the hero’s party earlier this week and I was hoping I could talk to you about her.”

“In that case, come on in! We were just preparing some tea!” exclaimed the woman, as she led Artyom into their house and motioned him to take a seat in a comfortable looking couch. Ecole’s mother took a seat while her father brought out a kettle full of tea and three ceramic cups.

“So how is our Ecole doing?” asked the husband, taking a seat next to his wife and putting his arms around her shoulder.

“She’s doing well!” expressed Artyom, pouring himself some tea and taking a sip after subjecting it to a variety of toxicity screening spells. “She seemed pretty aloof at first, but really showed how caring she was in the last dungeon we went through. And her throwing skills are something else entirely!” he said, with false enthusiasm.

“That sounds like Ecole, alright!” laughed the mother, as she nonchalantly took a sip from her own cup. “Always calm and collected, but deep down she knows what she’s doing and has a heart of gold.”

As swell as having such a talk with a homely couple was, Artyom was there for answers, and he quickly changed the subject to focus on her combative capabilities. “So, are those trophies all Ecole’s?” he asked, pointing towards a shelf lined to the brim with various gold and blue colored cups, medals, and statuettes.

“That’s right!” exclaimed the father, suffering the burden of pride with a smile drawn across his face. “She’s always come in first place at all of the archery and throwing competitions she’s been in!”

Artyom nodded, satisfied with the knowledge that her skills lay primarily in throwing rather than poison. He would’ve loved to ask about her knowledge of toxins in particular, but discussing their daughter’s disposition towards brutal murder was probably the quickest way to get tossed out of the couple’s house. He decided to change the subject again, this time out of pure curiosity.

“So what about you two? How long have you been together?” asked Artyom.

“Oh, that’s the first time someone’s asked about us instead of Ecole!” laughed the mother. “Well, we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary just this week!”

“Oh, congratulations!” replied Artyom, somewhat truly happy for the couple.

“Yup, we’ve been sweethearts since we were kids ourselves,” added the father. “And we married each other as soon as we could when we were 16!”

Artyom laughed along with the other two at the utterly saccharine dialogue. He didn’t really mind sharing in the happiness of others, at least when there wasn’t any urgent danger. He took another slow sip of his tea when a very disturbing thought wormed its way into his mind. He stopped midway and set the cup down.

“Uh, just a quick question, but how old is Ecole? She hasn’t had the chance to tell me herself,” asked Artyom, trying hard not to show the growing fear on his face.

“Hm? Oh, she’s 21,” replied the wife, her attention drawn to her drink instead of the suddenly shifting mood of the conversation.

“Uh, sorry to ask, but are you sure?” asked Artyom, his voice sounding more tense.

“What do you mean?” asked the husband with innocent confusion.

“I mean, if she’s 21 and you’re both 26, you must’ve had her when you were 5, and well…” Artyom let his sentence trail on.

Immediately, the couple put their free hands to their heads as if to massage a sudden sharp headache. Their eyes were closed, but Artyom could see their eyelids squeezed in the vice grip of pain. He waited patiently for them to come out of it, juggling the newfound knowledge in his head. Soon enough, they’d calmed down and made painful eye contact with Artyom.

“Sorry, it seems that we’re both under the weather,” said the man.

“I don’t think we’ll make good hosts like this,” added the woman.

“That’s fine, and I understand,” replied Artyom. “Thank you for your hospitality, and I hope you feel better soon.”

Artyom quickly left the house and made a beeline for the teleport crystal, making sure he wasn’t followed before heading back to Sandy Cove, his mind a haze. The sun was beginning to set and many of the beachgoers were gathered away from the shore near picnic tables, partaking in their own little barbecue dinners, blissfully unaware of horrors they weren’t privy to. Artyom made his way to the beach cave where he’d tied up Rugul earlier that day and found a seat on a dry sandstone boulder. The sound of the waves helped focus his befuddled mind.

As he pondered everything he’d learned that day, the pieces fell into place and he came upon a terrible epiphany. Little things began adding up; the unorthodox behavior of everyone near the ladies like the clergy members taking in Lensa, the lack of documentation with Xerica’s enrollment or Daisy’s inflicted scars, and finally the utter paradox of Ecole’s apparent birth. They were small and insignificant, the tiniest bits of information that could easily be excused as a bit of negligence or a practical joke. But the truth they spelled out together was painfully evident. It wasn’t even the first time he’d come to the realization, but now it somehow applied to people. They didn’t exist.

Sure, they were physically present and everyone was capable of comprehending them and their actions. But it was as if they suddenly popped into existence one day and their entire histories and personal relationships were retroactively applied to reality, albeit quite poorly. Everyone had memories of the ladies, but the physical records of their existences were mostly missing. That was the only line of reasoning Artyom could think of that explained why everyone they supposedly grew up with could talk so sincerely about them without there being any actual trace of their existences beyond just those memories. It also explained all of the headaches everyone he talked to had. Any time he brought up some sort of paradox, they’d get a headache and dismiss it. It could’ve been their actual memories surfacing and being fought off by whatever mental influence they’re under.

Though he had to admit, it was an absolutely insane theory, but with the presence of the “heretical” forgotten book that only they were also able to see, it fit right in with this World. Occam’s razor be damned, with all of the insane things he’d confirmed to be going on, nothing could be assumed to be “simple” anymore.

Artyom took a deep breath and remembered the last time the entire world was turned topsy turvy like this. Where everything went to hell and he had to drag himself back into the mess for the sake of those he cared about.

Rain hammered down onto the ground in thick sheets as thunder roiled above from dark storm clouds. Artyom took one steady step after the other, his feet sinking into the mud as he made his way towards the walls that not long ago were the ones protecting him. His eyes were dead, and so were any feelings of love for the kingdom who summoned and took him in.

“All archers, fire!” shouted General Mara. A volley of arrows and stones came flying at Artyom, who only equipped with a piece of sheet metal tied to his arm, knocked each and every single one of them out of the way.

“Sonic Waverider,” he cast, beholding the hail of arrows to his own perception of time, shaping the downpour into a serene snowfall. Within his accelerated world, Artyom carefully pushed each arrow and rock aimed at him out of the way, as if gently moving curtains aside to reveal the light.

“Ballistae, fire!” she shouted next. Several large artillery pieces on the walls fired in unison, all aimed at their traitor. In response to the overwhelming firepower headed his way, Aryom smiled.

With a running leap, he landed on the closest of the monstrous arrows mid-flight, and used it as a platform to jump again, this time high enough to reach the top of the walls. Immediately upon touching down on the wet stone bricks, he was onset by several armed soldiers, many of whom he recognized serving with in the past. An unapologetic fist in their stomachs, buckling their armor at the point of impact into deep craters, was all that was needed to take them out of the fight.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky as Artyom came face to face with the last of the resistance.

“So that’s it then, Recruit?” asked General Mara, gripping her enchanted sword with a look of utter disgust. “The chosen hero is going to turn traitor just like that? And you’re even the one who made me believe in the prophecy.”

“The prophecy is bunk, it always was,” replied Artyom, entirely uncaring.

“So what if it is?!” she shouted back. “We took you in, cared for you, fed you, made you strong!”

“I was kidnapped and forced into a war against my will!” he all but screamed, letting his previously silent rage finally boil over.

“Do you think I wanted to join this war either? This is for our survival! For our country! Is this worth betraying your kingdom over?!”

Artyom took a deep breath, steadying himself. Now would not be the time to let his anger get the better of him, not when it was still undecided whose blood was yet to be spilled. “I already have a country. I was taken from there against my will, and now I’m here to make sure it never happens to anyone else.”

“If that’s how it has to be, Recruit, then so be it. If you don’t mind, I’m going to continue fighting for my kingdom,” said General Mara, her voice dying down with the rain. “It was honestly a pleasure serving with you, Artyom. I’m just sorry it has to end like this.”

“Me too,” he replied.

Artyom snapped out of the memory with a shiver. The sun had set, and the lone sound of the waves at high tide was all he had to soothe him. All of that had been so long ago, and he’d come out of it a changed man. Still hopeful about the good in others though, like with Mara. Maybe in another life they could’ve continued to be friends. But at the end of the day, even she realized that what was most important was doing your duty, and Artyom still had his. He flipped open his phone and began dialing. It was time to give Gus a call and make sure nobody from Earth got taken advantage of here anymore.