“Man this line is almost as long as my d-”

“Jenny please, I want to keep what little respect we have.” Khalil interrupted another crass comment from Jenny. Fellow adventurers who knew where Jenny was going snickered in the background; travelling merchants looked on with well hidden disgust.

“But it's soooo loooooooongggggg. The girth of this line is incomprehensible.”

“I'm fairly certain girth doesn't work like that Jenny.” Khalil responded, voice —as usual— resigned.

“And it's so hot! How come Darryn gets to go squat in the shade while we wait in line? Why is there even a line to get into Fort Colon? Who wants to go to our toilet bowl of a city?” Contrary to how Jenny worded it, Fort Colon was known for its cleanliness. This did nothing to sway the adventurers from the occasional bathroom joke.

“Would you rather have him squatting in the middle of the line? Our image is already being soiled, I don't want it to go up in flames,” Khalil half jokingly commented. Truth was he was fairly certain Darryn got mild heatstroke on the final leg of the journey. He was concerned, but he also had a reputation to keep.

“In all seriousness something is up,” Jenny brought her voice down to a whisper so that only Khalil could hear. He did notice that a rather chatty girl a few parties back abruptly stopped talking. They were probably eavesdropping, but as the conversation was not particularly important he said nothing of it. “The last time a city regulated who entered, was immediately after the Era of Realism started.”

“You think something big is happening?” Khalil whispered back. “In all honesty, I feel like it is either a census or some Guild event.” The two continued throwing theories back and forth to each other as they moved forward in the line. Jenny consistently assumed worst case scenarios, while Khalil tried to think of more reasonable explanations. As they discussed, Khalil tried to discreetly find the talkative girl from earlier. He noticed she was in a party of two, her partner looking emotionally dead. There was nothing that stood out to him from his casual glance.

“Alright, you two are good to come in,” a guild member waved them through the gate immediately after they got to the front.

“Thanks Jim!” Jenny waved at the familiar Guilder before walking past him.

“Sorry Enrique, you know how she is,” Khalil responded to the exact same man, giving him a consoling pat on the shoulder. Enrique’s appearance at the gate filled Khalil with a sense of foreboding. The reason being that the Guild did not operate cities; Adventures who were hired on a long term basis did. If the Guild was the military of the Reformed, keepers —adventurers hired by a city— were the police force. Like the military of Earth, the Guild could not be easily deployed on their own soil. Unless in case of emergency.

“Wait. Jenny, we forgot Darryn.”

Outside of the city of Fort Colon, a few days to the north by foot, lay the Misfortune. A vast sprawling forest named after a flock of ravens. An omen to those who witness it, and a death sentence to those who enter it. All Reforms in the area had avoided it for centuries. There was no event that caused the general populace’s terror, for as long as many could remember that was just how it was.

At the center of this sprawling forest lay the ruins of a town. This ancient site lay untouched, a treasure trove for historians. Had these very same historians witnessed the scene which played out on this day, they would have been appalled at the sight.

Barreling its way through the town, validating the s in ruins, was a massive tumbleweed. Buildings that had maintained their vigil for countless years finally succumbed to its might. The wanton destruction continued, until the sphere came to a sudden halt. Unseen by an outside viewer, branches separated underneath the tumbleweed. The aperture deposited an object which strongly resembled a rag, before the tumbleweed rolled to the side.

Like a flightless bird pushed out of the nest by its mother, Yuclaus lay sprawled on the ground. If he had the capabilities, he would have been lying in a puddle of vomit. I wonder if his Soul Spore could use that puddle to bloom? An important question if ever I've heard one.

After the destruction of precious archaeological artifacts, Cause needed a breather. He lay with his eyes shut, the world spinning despite his closed eyelids. Focusing on his recovery, he noticed neither Gourami’s departure and subsequent arrival, nor the ancient branch filled with power by his side. After collecting his wits, Yuclaus sat up, finding his bag in front of him. How convenient, what were the odds I would have rolled directly in front of my bag? Gourami seemingly bounced in response. Yuclaus must've imagined it.

After all that adventure, Cause was mentally drained. I believe I have earned myself three-hundred milligrams of caffeine. Reaching into his bag, Yuclaus stopped. He looked up at the massive collection of branches, then back in his bag. For the first time he saw his possessions as something else than useless baggage. A treasure trove. Had Isencia not said that he could upgrade his Soul Spore with anything?

The dried twigs in front of him looked like the promise of redemption. Yuclaus had just the thing to upgrade his tumbleweed into a tumblefire. Hey, originally I was going to say tumble-fire-ball-of-death, you should be thankful. He reached into his bag, expecting the lighter to be in its depths. After a bit of searching, Yuclaus came out empty handed. He thought back to the last time he had seen the lighter.

He was hurrying to light a bundle of paper as a makeshift torch. I lit it, snuffed it… then what? I would have put it in my bag right? Normally I would have put it in my pocket. Do I have pockets? Patting his roughspun trousers, Yuclaus discovered he did in fact have two pant legs. The lighter was oddly enough, in his left pocket. It made sense since he was left-handed, but he never consciously remembered puting the lighter away. Dream logic.

Yuclaus took out the lighter, and threw it at the tumbleweed. Expectedly, the BICC hit the twigs, and fell to the ground in front of it. Just to make sure, Cause had Gourami roll over the lighter a few times. No extreme heat filled his seal, letting him know of his success. Instead Yuclaus had to dig the lighter out of the mild depression it was in.

It seemed Cause had to be basic. He charged his tattoo, passing the lighter to his right hand. The light did not stop after filling the mark, rather it started filling up the lighter as well. Once the BICC had taken on an emerald hue, it dissolved into particles of light, flowing into Gourami. Cause half expected the lighter to appear in his mindscape. It would explain how the large purple gem had gotten there.

Yuclaus tensed himself, expecting a burst of fire to immediately erupt from the tumbleweed. After a nerve wracking few seconds, he relaxed.

“I thought for sure you were going to-” Gourami burst into a fireball. The conflagration was so intense, Yuclaus was knocked a few feet away. Had he been in a third-person-mmo dream, he would have noticed his hair being singed off before rapidly repairing. He also would have noticed the transparency that had been slowly creeping over his body each time he had gotten injured.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking at the massive bonfire that was Gourami. A slightly insane cackle filled the charred street.

“YESSSS! HAHAHA I WILL SLAUGHTER ALL MY ENEMIES IN THE BURNING HELL THAT IS GOURAMI,” Yuclaus declared to the world, laughter separating his words. As he lifted himself to his feet, he brushed a gem with his hand. Thinking it had fallen out during his fall, he absorbed the memory, too distracted by Gourami to focus on what he had remembered. Had he focused on it, he would have seen himself speaking to a transparent gentleman with glowing yellow eyes.

Instead Yuclaus’ attention was taken by a sensation of loss. Not one of emotional loss, but as if he was slowly being drained. He searched for the origin of the loss, and found it was in his seal. The feeling intensified. Cause felt as if he was about to run out of whatever he was losing. He started to panic. Maybe this was a timer? Did he have a timed quest he was failing?

As the last drops left him, Gourami went out. Almost as if his flame was snuffed by a lack of oxygen, the burning bramble became naught but a regular tumbleweed. Other than small piles of ash around the tumbleweed, there was no other evidence of the minor explosion. It seemed the sensation was telling Yuclaus that whatever fuel charged the fire was running out. Perhaps Gourami uses lighter fluid? That would ruin my plans of rolling around lighting everything on fire.

Just as quickly as Gourami’s fire went out, so too did Yuclaus’ enthusiasm. That was of course, before he decided to rid himself of his earthly possessions. If the lighter had such a significant effect, what properties would his other items grant his Soul Spore?

There were two things Yuclaus was unsatisfied with in regards to his Spore: how slowly it unfurled in water, and how the roots were useless when not submerged. He had tested the range of the roots at the lake, and found he could build enough speed to fire them like torpedoes. But like torpedoes, they were not made to stay above the surface for long.

He would ask Isencia for help on the roots later, it was the unfurling Yuclaus had an idea for. To quote his genius friend “caffeine will kick start any project”. Granted, Cause doubted what projects his friend could possibly have meant, but he was of weak mind. Counting all his cans, Yuclaus had a whopping one-thousand, two-hundred, and thirty-four milligrams of caffeine. The two he had gotten from the store only had one-hundred and sixty-seven milligrams each.

Five waves of light went into Gourami, infusing it with artificial beverages. Had, at any point, someone tried a twig, they would have tasted cotton candy. Yuclaus definitely did not try that. After the absorption had completed, Cause attempted to find a water source nearby. A well lay nearby, but Gourami was far too large to fit through the narrow tube. He would test it later. For now, he had more possessions to sacrif-give to his Soul Spore.

The next few moments consisted of the destruction of a cell phone, a mouse, and a laptop charger immediately followed by a laptop. Yuclaus almost sacrificed his beloved Pilot G7 black, fine, retractable, gel ink pen —with a .5mm diameter tip. He held himself back. Not only was he emotionally attached to the pen, he considered it a trump card. Only when times got truly bleak would he sacrifice it. Also, if he lost the pen he would be unable to use his notepad. Granted the notepad was nowhere to be seen. It must've fallen out in all the craziness over the past week.

Earthly wealth absorbed —excluding flask, bag, pen and lost notebook— Yuclaus started hauling up buckets of water from the well. Yuclaus decided not to question the vine-rope and oddly intact pulley. As he lifted the buckets of water, he would dump them at his feet, before releasing the bucket to the bottom once again. Yuclaus tirelessly worked in the small court the well occupied. Hours passed as the side street was terraformed. The street became flooded, unseen vines keeping the water contained.

When Cause deemed the city was further destroyed to his liking, he summoned his Spore. After some user-error which resulted in the creation of more ruins, Gourami touched the water. Even halfway down the flooded street Yuclaus felt the pressure from Gourami unfurling. The tumbleweed returned to life at a visible rate. In five seconds, the tumbleweed had returned to a mangrove. Large roots pushed far into the earth, pushing deeper than they had before.

Yuclaus was elated. His guess had paid off, and not only had his Spore become significantly more viable, but his seal was recharging. It seemed Gourami somehow used water to fuel its fire. At the rate the charge was going it would be an hour before it was fully refilled. Once it was, Cause was ready to rain death on his enemies. He had a sneaking suspicion there were more earthen monkeys in the forest.