Tye confronted the challenge with a clear and sober mind. Only one sip of the delicious spirit inside the flask he allowed himself, iron in his determination that it should remain his sole taste. Tiptoeing along the route he had burnt into his memory, he tilted the flask just so that a steady stream went down the slanted pathway with him. Soon, he reached level ground, and stopped, and weighed the flask. It was empty.

“No need,“ Rocky reckoned.

He was right. Long before the flask had kissed his lips, Tye had felt his nerves tingling, his awareness increase. For twenty, thirty steps after the death of a match, he now moved without harm, his memory near photographic, his sight attuned to the darkness. He was an instrument of plan E, a perfect plan, whose set-up had so far consumed five more matches, half of his firewood, and now, at last, the entirety of his liquor. Still, as he sat down on the rock at the crossing point, he knew the hardest part was yet to come.

No doubts had beset him when the tunnel popped up at the slanted pathway’s end. It was parallel to the first one, but narrower, and more heavily obstructed by rubble. Sure, he could move on hoping the beast would find the passage not worthy the reward. But what if it didn’t? A man could only live in fear for so long, a voice told him, a rational one. May the beast get its reward, he was through with running.

“It will soon enough,“ Rocky said.

Tye had not lost the sense to wonder about the fact that his foot had begun talking. Had his head taken too much damage? Was he imagining things? The answers, he had concluded after some deep thinking, were no and no. Rather, his awareness was evolving to what the older priests called Arama, a state of universal recognition of all things metaphysical. When his mother had still made him attend their sermons, he’d listened only reluctantly, but it rang in his ears so clearly now as he waited. ’A whole made up of parts entwined,’

“Each part itself by gods designed,“ Rocky said.

He was opening the channels to the outer spiritual centers of his body. It would be stranger if they didn’t have personalities of their own, and voices too. Rocky’s sonorous words for one filled the leg above with a soothing bass. Scout’s silence toward him had been disconcerting at first, but he’d gotten used to conversing with him through Rocky. One foot was enough to deal with for now, anyway.

“Talk to me, boss,“ Rocky said.

“You need me to talk?“ Tye returned. “Ain’t we goin’ through the ether?“

“Indeed. But then the beast won’t hear you speak.“

And it would take its time, making him wait longer. Rocky was right. He mostly had been since he had started advising Tye. And his company, after two-to-five days alone down here, was more than welcome. “Works for me. Whatcha wanna talk about?“

“We need to eat,“ Rocky stated.

“Toast to that, brother. You let me know when you spot boxes or doors of any kind. Never know what’s inside!“

“I will.“ Now there was nothing to talk about. “There’s always something,“ Rocky said.

“Like what?“

Time passed as both their spiritual centers were busy searching for common topics. Pedicures? No, that would be cruel considering Rocky’s poor physical state. So far, he hadn’t complained once about the bruises, cuts, and the broken fourth toe. Maybe socks, though. Or running. “I hate running,“ Rocky said.

“You do?“ This baffled Tye. “I love runnin’! Always assumed my body musta loved it, too…“

“There is no body. Only parts.“

“Sure, whatever you say. Does Scout hate it, too?“

“… Scout has no opinion on the matter.“

“Why do you hate it? Does it hurt?“

It sounded strange to hear his own foot sigh. “Us feet have evolved over centuries to support the human structure you call ’body’. Nature has shaped us to run on a variety of soils, in different climates… But these shoes you shackle us in are an abomination. The soles are too thick! Make you run heel-first, what a torture… We weren’t designed that way! Can’t you feel how it reshapes your spine, making it crooked? Hell, perhaps you could have escaped the law if you had bothered once to check how the pillars of your existence were doing!“

“Hey now. I ain’t sayin’ you’re wrong.“ Tye had listened to Rocky lament and raise his voice; it truly seemed to be more than a nuisance to him. But this wasn’t the time for a fight. The beast could be upon them any moment. “Tell ya the truth, I thought you’d be longin’ for some shoe right now.“

Rocky left a grave pause. “Pain or not, this day is the most glorious of my life for I am free.“

How do you respond to that? He wouldn’t, not right away, Tye decided. The lessons of higher awareness sure were strange, but he would be an eager student. He even started a new list:

1. Try thin soles.

Who knew what other revelations his ascension might bring about? His memory flaked out on the spiritual levels past Arama, but never mind; in time, they would find him. Still unsure how to move on from where the conversation had ended, he listened to the utter silence from up the pathway where the cart stood. Could be a while.

“Could indeed,“ Rocky said.

Tye pondered deeply. “Wanna go for a run sometime? Barefoot?“

“You think that’ll alleviate a lifetime of shackles?“ The anger hadn’t faded completely from his voice.

Tye raised his hands cluelessly, and let them slap down onto his thighs. “Think it’d be fun, maybe,“ Tye said.

Rocky didn’t respond right away. “… Maybe it would,“ he admitted. Perhaps it was not just about him helping Tye; perhaps, the channel had opened so that each of them could benefit from the other’s input. Free each other of their shackles, be those beasts or tunnels or fancy Gralinn running shoes. Rocky sighed once more. “Sorry, boss. That was out of line.“

“Don’t sweat it, Rockster,“ Tye said.

“Hunger sure is getting to me. Ever thought about the possibility that there are no boxes of food down the tunnel?“

This again. “I don’t bother all that much about sceneries that mean certain death.“

“There’s certain… then there’s certain.“

A curious thing happened down from Tye’s left knee: he felt Rocky jerk on the cement, only shortly, towards his shackled brother. There was something eerie about the way he did it, something vile. Like he was trying to be covert.

“What’s that you’re sayin’?“ Tye asked.

“I’m not saying anything,“ Rocky said. “Just thinking.“

“Careful, now,“ Rocky said.

Tye’s eyes shot open and blinked, fending off sleep yet another time. He had lost count of how many times his new foe had already invaded his mind, kept at bay only by the ever-watchful Rocky. No cry, no nothing had come from up the pathway so far. If it had, he realized, he would have been unprepared. Where were the matches? His mind started racing, sending his hands to scan the rock beside him, the ground, but for naught. The jacket pockets. One after one he checked them, finding each empty.

Was that a click?

“No,“ Rocky said. “Check on Scout.“

Tye did, and gasped in relief. There the matchbox was, lying atop the shoe, closed and all. His fingers reached inside and counted; four, still. Meaning four stabs at defeating the beast. No matter what strains would be put upon him, what thoughts may lead his mind astray into spirals of sleepiness, he’d resist. Tye shook his face, slapped his cheeks, and howled.

“What’s that about?“ Rocky asked.

“Dunno, getting the old engine up an’ runnin’? Sorry ’bout dozing off there, by the way. You were sayin’ somethin’, I believe.“

“Nothing of importance,“ the foot said. Another jerk occurred; their number he’d lost count of, as well. It had become a matter of ignorance on both their parts, with neither addressing it ever happening. But it did, he was sure. What’s Rocky saying? “I must say, your spirit is commendable.“

“Beg ya pardon?“

“Not many would have kept going this far. You have a natural understanding of survival. You feel what is needed to keep the flame burning, so to speak.“

“Why, thank you for speakin’ so.“

“I mean it. You can feel it now, can’t you? The exhilaration, the joy of being alive.“

“Abso-fuckin’ lutely.“ Tye whistled through his teeth. “Like not in a long time.“

“It is the fire of sacrifice burning strong. Nothing means anything without it. No one who hasn’t paid the price can ever taste what you have tasted, and you won’t be able to explain to them what it took. What it gave.“

The conversation was beginning to drift onto a road well-traveled by now, and Tye suspected he didn’t care to find out what laid further down. Therefore, he let it die, listening only to the quiet. Rumbling afar announced the collapse of yet another tunnel. That wouldn’t be his end, he knew. Rocky jerked on the ground with a soft scratch. Though he still didn’t mind the company, something told Tye to be grateful he hadn’t come to talk to his hands.

“Hands you ought to look out for, trust me,“ Rocky said.

Had the beast succumbed to its wounds? It wasn’t a far out idea; easily, its last charge after him in the first tunnel could have been the final one, a surge of rage in the throes of death that he simply proved too fast and clever for. But it wasn’t a fit ending to his tribulations. To his sacrifices. His foot jerked.

“Say, do you know about the Gwai?“ Rocky asked.

A stupid question. “Who don’t.“

“Do you know about Gwai medicine?“

“There ain’t such a thing!“

“Of course. They tended to their wounded religiously. Had the best doctors in Tahor, some say, men who’d seen everything war could do to a man. Long as the damage wasn’t too bad, their hands were they best you could be in.“

“And if it was?“

“The doctors would see to it that your physical belongings were distributed to those who could survive through them. You see, food was hard to come by on the battlefield, and that was were they lived.“

Tye bit his tongue to not ask whether those belongings included the warrior’s body.

“There is no body.“ Rocky jerked. “Only parts.“

Sleep was a distant memory, a battle fought and won. Tye couldn’t close his eyes if he wanted to. As soon as he did, an uncontrollable jerk would befall his left foot, and images too unthinkable to stem from his own mind would come rushing up the inside of his eyelids. This was his trial. As time crept on without any tell for him to measure it, he waited for either the beast or death, neither of whom he had an ounce of fear left for. If only one would show up already.

Never having sat in one place in the darkness for so long, he learned what true disorientation felt like. Besides the rock and the concrete directly under his buttocks and feet, all certainty of his surroundings vanished over time, leaving him to imagine himself in a best-of of his life’s locations. He had already visited the courtroom of his sentencing, the top of Jaemeni Vohl Church, the banks of the Foen, the jungle outside the prison’s sleeping facilities, all, of course, in perfect dark. His senses would adjust to the new surroundings with great alertness even though in reality, nothing was there. It was distraction he sought, but it was distraction he needed.

His mind then wandered further when he traveled to Aishi’s office. He could all but smell the leather, smoke, and ink hanging in the air, hear the spinning of the rusted ceiling fans, the typing. He even thought to make out a phlegmy cough grumbling at the edge of his hearing. It brought on a great sadness. Tye might well never return there even if salvation was yet to be attained. The same was true for his mother’s, which he refrained from visiting out of fear that he might not stomach it. Prison had kept his attention on where he was, as had the chase by the beast. Now, for the first time, his thoughts turned to where he couldn’t be. Tye wept silently as the office faded from his mind and made way for empty darkness.

“Sacrifice,“ Rocky said. “It’s everywhere.“

“…“

“We will talk sooner or later. What’s the harm?“ The foot’s voice had changed. It sounded sweet. Confident. “C’mon, boss. Give the beast something to hear.“

“…“

“Then let me at least tell you a story. A bold tale, one of three men, two of which had to make a gut-wrenching decision in the mountains of Halyuk, one that would forever—“

“Was that a click?“ Tye asked.

“No,“ Rocky said. “You know it wasn’t.“

As usual, he was right. No click, no scraping, nothing had come down the pathway for ages. Sitting in emptiness still, tears cooling on his cheeks, Tye began to wonder whether the upper tunnel and the beast even existed anymore. His whole life he’d spent in the city, except for his recent stint in prison. But even there, he had rarely taken a piss without the wardens taking note. Now he was alone, not counting his foot. What told him the world was still there when he was not? He couldn’t know if Aishi continued to smoke his lungs out without him present. Mother would perhaps never bake another batch of rice rolls unless he returned.

If so, he also realized, Plan E could prove a fatal mistake. The beast wouldn’t come after him as it had before; he’d likely had built up too much distance. He imagined it sitting out there in the blackness, nonexistent, waiting. He wondered whether nonexistent things could wait.

“They sure can,“ Rocky said.

He’d starve to death before his final battle. He wouldn’t prove his worthiness of the gifts the gods, the dark, whoever was in charge had granted him. It couldn’t be. With aches coming from his stiffened legs, he stood up, shivering, holding his jacket tight. If the beast had to be made real again just so he could kill it, so be it.

“Whoa there,“ his foot said, “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Sit down. Panic is the enemy of every good plan, even a perfect one. We have to wait.“

Tye spat blindly. “I’m tired of waitin’. I won’t wait another moment of my godsforsaken life.“ He made his first step into the slanted pathway using Scout. Rocky began to groan as Tye put his weight on him and began to shuffle forward.

“This is a bad idea, boss“ Rocky said. The confidence had faded from his voice.

“I think it’s fuckin’ fantastic! One for, one against—let’s ask Scout what he thinks, huh?“

“Scout won’t have an opinion on that.“

“Well, I’d like to hear from him for once,“ Tye murmured.

“… Then why don’t you take off his shackles?“

Tye stopped.“He can talk?“ he bellowed, taking a knee to fiddle with the clasps on Scout’s shoe. One by one he opened them until the tongue hung free. How had it not occurred to him?

“Don’t know, to be honest,“ Rocky said. “You try speaking all wrapped up in those breathless garbs.“

“You alright there, buddy?“ Tye asked hesitantly as he lifted his right foot out of the shoe. Its naked heel, the ball, and then the toes touched down on the cool concrete sending a tingling up his leg. No response sounded, but Tye was sure he heard an exhale so soft and ripe with relief it must have been days in the making. “Scout?“ he asked once more.

The foot’s shrill voice pushed him back like a kick in the chest. “EAT ME!!! IT’S WHAT THEY WANT! IT’S WHAT I WANT! I AM A MISERABLE PIECE OF SHIT, WORTHY ONLY OF GIVING YOU SUSTENANCE!!! EAT MEEE!!! “

Tye fell over and hit his head. Scream after pleading scream shot at him until he found the shoe and wrestled it over Scout. Some things needed shackling. “Bellows of hell!“ he screamed himself. “What in the fuck is wrong with you people?!“

“I tried to guide you, but you wouldn’t listen,“ Rocky said.

“Why would I? You want me to eat my own body? Are you nuts?“

“There is no body. Only—“ Tye flung Rocky against the wall with a smack, the impact making both of them whimper.

“… Yes there is, because I say so!“

“How dare you,“ Rocky said.

“I dare however I dare dare. And I dare my body stays like it is!“

“Then your body will starve and you will perish!“ Rocky screamed.

“I’d rather I’d perish than become a one-footed freak like you!“

Both silenced in an instant as the echo died out. Tye used his elevated hearing to pin down the source by its acoustic remains bouncing off the walls. Not quite dripping; nor was it scraping. The noise was gone too soon to answer his question with certainty. Was that a click?

“Yes, it was,“ Rocky said.

Tye’s hands were the first to react. They searched every compartment of his, not only the jacket’s, compartments he was quite sure he had never even considered using. The matchbox was nowhere to be found. Gods. The truth stood before him with a second click bouncing off the walls. He’d left it at the rock on the crossing. Now Rocky and Scout started doing their jobs, moving recklessly back down the incline, the former taking the brunt of the damage. Click, click, click, it came from behind. He cursed himself for not adhering to plan E.

“I told you so,“ Rocky said.

“Shut up and let me think,“ Tye returned.

The beast chose that moment to announce itself with a haunting cry. Tye shot forward. His feet reunited with the ground sooner than anticipated; he’d arrived. With a glorious crackle of his shoulder, Tye’s body—he waited for a correction, but in vain—reunited with the rock on the crossing. He stood up holding the matchbox in his shaking hands.

Every god whose name he knew, every spirit, even the Gralinn Allfather Vohl received spiritual mail from Tye in that moment, calling for forgiveness for ever considering himself capable of joining their kind in Arama. He held out match and box near the ground where the first one had died, and waited. Waited longer. Longer. His confidence suddenly nowhere to be found, he wondered if he was doomed to wait forever.

“Now,“ Rocky said.

Before the match left the striking surface, a spark had already found the puddle of spirit. Tye dropped the match, shot to his feet stepping away from the knee-high fire, and watched as it grew an arm that ran further and further up the pathway filling it with light. A burning desire overcame him, one in accordance with Plan E, and he howled. The beast’s attention had to be averted from the fuse in case it had grown even more intelligent in their time apart. Further up the light went. Feeling hot with excitement, Tye howled even louder, surrounded by the echoes of his own voice on the flickering concrete.

He wasn’t alone. Tye noticed Rocky was howling with him, over him, even, his voice ecstatic. Together, they cheered for the fire as it rose up the ramp of boxed that led to the cart. He had chosen to leave the full load of product, estimating the load to be about thirty to forty handfuls. Enough to kill the beast, and likely collapse the pathway—rationally, the blast down its exits was to be evaded. His voice had become hoarse and exhausted. His skin felt torrid. Tye stopped howling and listened.

He quickly realized that Rocky, who hadn’t lowered his voice one bit, wasn’t howling with him. He wasn’t howling at all. Tye looked down in shock to discover that the socks covering his foot as well as his pant leg were ablaze. Rocky had been screaming. And now, Tye screamed with him.

After a few good screams, he stumbled, tactically, to assume a horizontal position that would slow the fire climbing up his leg. As he shimmied his way out of his pants, the beast started crying, louder than ever before. It kept crying as he patted the socks until only smoke and ash remained. Suddenly, crackling sounds and flashing lights came down the pathway, sounds he knew too well from Jaemeni’s streets. Fireworks meant that the product had caught on. No time. Dodge.

Tye dove off the crossing and onto his temple. The crackling grew more plentiful, a cacophony of fireworks worthy of Year’s End. He crawled into the cover of a broken wall segment scraping his knees. The crackling continued, but muffled, as he covered his ears, closed his eyes, huddled against the wall, and held his breath.

And held it.

Held it.

The blast sounded opposite to what he expected. No bang, but the annihilation of all other noise. A shock going through the ground throwing him up for the fraction of a blink to then return via gravity. A wall of dust and pulverized concrete blowing onto the crossing and around the corner, biting into the naked skin of his legs. Yet the most gruesome pain came from his lungs. Forbidden from tasting the contaminated air, they burned, more painfully so than Rocky ever had. Crunching sounds came from the walls digesting the impact of the explosion. Finally, he deemed it safe to breathe again, letting the sweet air of victory inflate his chest with a wheeze. It was then that the rumbling started.

The first wave was deep and dull, registering with him as just another distant tunnel collapsing. But suddenly, a second wall of dust blew out the pathway. The way back, he knew, was lost. He bade his lungs to remain closed once more, and wisely so.

The second wave brought more dust, and cracking, and a groan so filled with pain it sounded almost human. Tye curled up even tighter on the cold ground as it began to shake. He patted the ashes of his socks, hoping Rocky would say something, anything, to comfort him. But the foot remained silent.

Wave three arrived with a high-pitched crash, the sound of unbendable beams bending, concrete cracking open, folding under the mountain’s pressure. A concrete pillar toppled over and shattered with a bang next to him. Rocks pelted his skin from everywhere at once, punching his ribcage, making him spew out the little air he had left. Darkness crept in on him as every part of his body screamed as one. Breathe!

And he did. And spat. Dust covered his tongue like he had licked the floor. Still surrounded by noises of cement death and metal surrender, Tye gathered the rest of his strength and raised himself up. Staggering, he forced his legs to straighten and stand upright with his head above the worst of the settling dust. The air was bad, but bearable. The ground became steady again. He opened his eyes.

Only a tiny line of liquor was still gleaming, and not for long. Where the pathway had begun, its roof had caved in. More rubble obstructed the wide second tunnel, some still falling as he stood. But then, one by one, the crunching, cracking, pitter-patter of pebbles, they stopped. He watched the tiny flame on the floor die in silence.

“… You alright there, Rocky?“ Tye asked. No response. Had his foot died? No, he could still feel it. In fact, the feeling coming from down there was growing more intense than he appreciated. He subdued the urge to scratch the singed, ash-smeared skin as best as he could and stumbled forward looking for the rock. He found it still on what had once been the crossing.

There, Tye sat down again, in pitch dark, victorious but doomed all over, and utterly alone. So be it. He could use the silence. A new plan was in order, one to find the best compromise between sleeping and the search for food and water. His hearing had already located a soft dripping down one way of the tunnel; a stream that broke through a crack in the roof perhaps that he could catch with the mouth of his flask. Matches were a thing of the past, but he had not given up hope that a lamp was to be found in the nooks of his new home. They had to be down here somewhere.

A groan rose from his foot. More than he liked to admit, Tye felt relieved. Differences in opinion aside, he’d never pulled off his feat against the beast had it not been for his trusty pal. Rocky groaned again, now longer, deeper. But something wasn’t right about his voice. Had it always resonated off the walls like that?

The fourth wave took away the ground.