They piled into two booths on the train, the dim, lonely lamps affording little light. Joseph, Luevo, and Archenround in one booth, Nole and G-Wiz in the other. There was food, at least – plates of bread, with salt and pepper shakers and a couple of napkins for each table. Yet the train felt threadbare, the hamstrung green carpet running along the floor beckoning its once great history as the Ushet Drahim, what Luevo translated as 'Traveling Dragon.'

“An old luxury train,” he explained, “Most of what made it special's gone, though – cannibalized for other trains in the yard, or for the airships.”

“A husk,” Joseph said.

The prince nodded, “I've only ridden old Drahim a few times. Costs a bit to get on, if I'm being honest. By train standards, anyway.”

“Is that why we're outta money?” G-Wiz accused from across the aisle.

Luevo shrugged, “We had the dough. Why ride low, when we can ride in style?”

One of the lamps hanging from the ceiling snapped and crashed to the floor, jolting everyone awake.

“Style!” Luevo said.

There were few others that Joseph saw onboard – which he was thankful for. A couple of businessmen were in the car after theirs. Joseph had seen them on the landing platform, and the two groups gave each other the stink eye. Whatever they were doing, it was supposed to be secretive.

“Different stories, different worlds, ro la la,” Joseph heard Rolala whisper, “Interesting, ro lay lee.”

“Oh boy, corporate espionage, my favorite,” Joseph drawled.

The Ushet Drahim lurched forward, the night outside Joseph's window smearing, what little light coming from Chandhala stretching into lines as the train took off, the rhythmic, heartbeat-like pump of her wheels grinding beneath them and making for a steady chorus. Silently, Joseph hoped the train would go faster. Faster than Mordenaro. He hoped the Grim Walker really liked his walking.

***

Night turned to day. They slept – keeping watch, as they always did, for signs of trouble. Archenround first – as was becoming tradition. Luevo volunteered for the second shift. Nole had raised an eyebrow at that.

“Ye want to keep watch?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” Luevo said.

“Are... ye sure?”

“Yes,” Luevo said, “Now please, get sleep, you big oaf. Your beloved prince will keep watch through the night, protect us from the Grim-”

“Whatever,” Nole simmered down, closing his eyes. The troll was out in a few moments.

“Strange, ro la la.”

“Shut up,” Luevo growled, “It's the only way I'll get some peace and quiet here.”

Yet he felt Rolala stir, heard the creature's quiet chittering chuckle.

“Shut up,” Luevo said, “It's nothing like that.”

The metahuman took the third shift as dawn began breaking over the rushing horizon. Luevo found sleep difficult, shifting in and out of his own nightmarish dreams. Whenever he awoke, he would look at the metahuman. The boy stared out the window the entire way, watching the savannah go to desert then back into sun-yellowed grassland. It occurred to Luevo that he had never gotten the metahuman's name.

No, he had forgotten it. The image of Shetavalk flashed in his mind, and the prince realized that, just like everyone else in the guild, he was fighting to protect Rolala.

“You,” he said to the metahuman, “What is your name?”

The metahuman's eyes slid over to look at him, a sour look marring his face.

“Seriously?”

“Okay,” Luevo said, “To be fair, I was not... in... the right, ah, headspace. I am...”

Something caught in his throat as he tried to say 'I'm sorry.'

Perhaps he wasn't ready for that.

He felt Rolala roll their eyes.

But the metahuman just shook his head, “It's Joseph, man. Not 'Jordan,' not 'Jose.' Joseph.”

“Joseph,” Luevo echoed.

“Joseph.”

Luevo nodded, rolling the name around in his mind, making sure to memorize it this time.

“T-thank you,” he said, “For saving. Me. My life. All of that.”

Joseph gave a small smile at that, “Whatever, it's fine, man. We're cool.”

“Cool,” Luevo said, “An... Earth term?”

“You don't have that?” Joseph asked, “Not even on Prime?”

The prince shook his head.

The metahuman shook his head sheepishly, a goofy, tired grin on his face.

“God,” he said, “This place is weird.”

***

It was near the end of Joseph's shift when Archenround stirred. She twisted up, rubbing her eyes, before looking at him and pointing at the window. Joseph nodded.

“I should probably learn sign language when I'm done with this, huh?” he asked.

The serpent nodded, giving a rare smirk. Joseph slid the window up and pushed his head through, squinting as wind rushed around him and his ears were filled with their chorus. Yet another reminder of Shetavalk. Pushing down those feelings, he let his soul cover his face again, peering into the distance, letting the eagle's enhanced vision substitute his own.

And he saw him.

“Shit,” he muttered, “Shit shit shit.”

“What is it?” Luevo asked, stirring from his seat.

“The bastard's running.”

The rest of the group was already up, Archenround unlooping her blades, G-Wiz checking out her Zumbelaphone, Nole cracking his knuckles.

“Alright, showtime,” the troll said, “Archenround and I are the first line of defense. Joe, how's that bird of yers?”

Joseph searched inside of himself, willing the soul into further existence. Parts of it morphed out of his back, a mass of lightning and claws, before inking back down. Only its rope-like arms remained, ending in wicked claws.

“Ready, no matter what,” he said.

Nole considered him for a moment, then nodded.

“Right,” he said, “Yer with the prince. G-Wiz, you lay down a trap. Tunnel-style, like on Krenstone.”

“On a train?” G-Wiz asked.

“Aye, best shot we have of taking out the bastard,” Nole grunted, “Alright, people, let's go.”

***

Archenround slithered out of the window and to the top of the steam engine. Wind whistled around her as she curled herself down, squinting to see the black dot in the distance. She hoped Shetavalk could see her, somehow, through the wind.

Even if they weren't on Nesona.

Mordenaro was getting closer, sprinting with the grace of an Olympian, his duster billowing around him. He was on the track.

Getting closer.

She could hear Nole below as he prepared himself. Out of all of them, he was the one most suited for facing Grim Walker. Able to regenerate. Shrug off anything Mordenaro could throw at him. She almost wished it were him up here.

But no. She had her own role to play. Her entire body tensed as she saw Mordenaro catch further up to the train. He scrunched himself down to one leg and pushed off, rocketing high into the air, a dot eclipsing the sun, before dropping like a stone.

He caked her in his shadow. She jumped back, feeling the entire train shake – almost de-rail – as he landed. For a moment, the two stared at one another, a world of silence between them. The Guild of One considered her, his face blank, his jewel-green eyes devoid of emotion. Archenround had heard of his look before. He was single-minded in his quest. More automation than man. Whatever had been Mordenaro had long ago been melded into… this.

One way or another, he would get to the prince. As was his job. All else was noise. She didn't need to be here – she could jump off the train. He would ignore her.

No. She readied her blades. Mordenaro nodded in acknowledgment of her challenge, a small smile crawling onto his face.

And the two began to dance.

***

Nole could hear them above, the harsh boots of Mordenaro thundering against the roof like a steel drum, the strange, whistling scream of Archenround's blades whizzing through the air. G-Wiz and the others were already on the next train. A measured defense. The troll wondered if it would be enough. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this was it.

“Enough o' that,” he told himself, “Go time.”

He slapped the sides of his head to psych himself up, his ears ringing as he sniffed. Archenround smelled strongly of brimstone – though he was comfortable with that at this point. Mordenaro stank of nothing – only the dust from his longcoat gave any evidence that he existed. Nole wasn't sure how he liked that. He coiled himself down, ready to pounce...

And leaped upwards, fist punching through the roof, grasping, finding purchase and wrapping around the Grim Walker's ankles. He twisted himself up, laying his stomach flat against the ceiling as he felt Mordenaro try to pull free.

Enough time for Archenround to get a few shots in. He could hear the wailing of her blades as she cut at the Guild of One. He wasn't sure if she was finding purchase, but Mordenaro seemed to get the better of her, forcing her back. A fist shot down into the roof, his great hand closing around Nole's stomach. It pulled.

Strength vs. strength – something Nole was prepared to lose as he felt his grip strain as Mordenaro tried to pull him up through the roof. He heard something in him scream as his arms began to dislocate, then break entirely as Mordenaro wrenched him upwards. The roof popped upwards, the metal warping before breaking as Mordenaro pulled Nole out and up like a mangy dog, the troll flailing and cursing.

***

Archenround was on Mordenaro in an instant, ducking as Mordenaro threw Nole at her, blunting her advance as she re-adjusted herself. She heard Nole snarl and curse as he scrabbled along the side of the train car, apparently finding purchase and holding on. Mordenaro took a boxer's stance, a smooth cut, just beneath his enchanted duster, the only evidence of Archenround's scoring a hit. The wound beneath did not bleed. It was simply a gaping hole, a void that seemed almost out of place on Mordenaro's form.

The thought unsettled Archenround. But she would not be denied.

She surged forward, Sign-Blades pointed forward like fangs as she bore down. Mordenaro battered the first blade aside, though Archenround twisted the second at an angle, a feint that went beneath the Grim Walker's guard.

He parried that anyway, hand closing over the edge of the blade, stopping it in its tracks.

Her heart fell as she let it to, the Grim Walker wrenching it out of her hand in an attempt to throw her off the train. The blade sailed away, landing somewhere in the grass and growing far, far away.

She still had one sword.

And Nole was with her.

The troll launched himself upwards, clawing at Mordenaro as Archenround's blade swung in a heavy arc, a two-pronged attack. Mordenaro spun, parrying Archenround's blade with a closed fist, leg kicking out to slam into Nole's face, moving with the troll's momentum. Nole skid across the top of the train, slipping off the back.

Archenround pulled back, slithering, both hands clamped onto her remaining sword. Mordenaro took another few steps forward, the two of them staring at one another.

Then the Grim Walker knelt down, and jumped once more.

Archenround's heart skipped a beat as she prepared for him to land – perhaps on her, perhaps elsewhere – then it sank into her stomach as she watched him land several cars ahead of her, the entirety of the Drahim shaking with his fall. He had landed on the exact car the rest of the group was in-

***

A massive hand wrenched through the top of the roof. Joseph's head shot as Mordenaro looked down at the train for a split moment. The Grim Walker jumped down, the entirety of the car rattling as he landed, before rising to his full height and towering over Joseph. Joseph stood his ground, though he could hear Luevo sobbing behind him.

Joseph glared at Mordenaro, “Let's get this over with.”

He was not at full strength – not yet. The plan didn't involve him as much as Archenround or Nole. G-Wiz was in the other car, preparing her little trap.

“Run,” Joseph said.

He pointed at Mordenaro, willing as much of his soul into his fingertip. The prince turned around and began to run as Mordenaro took a few strides forward.

The lightning bolt flashed, thundering directly into Mordenaro's chest, pushing him back towards the back of the train car. It was weaker than most of Joseph's regular fare – at half strength, he noted, a gassed muscle trying its hardest to work at full capacity. Mordenaro was already recovering, resuming his advance as Nole dropped down between them.

“Run!” the troll shouted. Joseph complied – following Luevo to the next car, stepping out into the open air and stepping over the cables that connected the two cars together, opening the door. Luevo and G-Wiz were waiting for him at the end of the next car. G-Wiz's handiwork was written all over the place – small glowing letters she had scribbled into every wall, every door, every seat and every lamp.

They all read boom.

“Come on!” G-Wiz yelled, “Come on!”

Joseph made it to the end of the traincar. He heard movement behind him – turning around to see Nole and Archenround making their way down to the end, Mordenaro not far behind.

“Do it!” Nole snarled, “G, now!”

G-Wiz thumbed the Zumbelaphone, electric notes rippling the air as she pressed the keys in a specific pattern.

“1812 Overture?” Joseph said.

Mordenaro was halfway towards them when the words flashed once more, caking him – and the entire train car – in fire. Nole slammed the door to their car shut as the explosion thundered out, a cacophonous scream that deafened Joseph's ears, the entire train rocking back and forth, threatening to de-rail, Luevo crying out at the sheer force as the explosion burst through the doorway, a gout of flame spewing out like a Dragon's breath, Archenround throwing herself between the flames and Luevo as they licked around her, sliding off of her like spent napalm.

The entire train behind them was blown away. Joseph was surprised parts of it still stood – the roof and walls were gone. G-Wiz hadn't touched the floor at all, though it was a smoldering waste of ash and burned furniture.

And Mordenaro still stood in the center, duster billowing in the now open air, smoke curling off of his form. He took a few uneasy steps – the blow having staggered him. He was clutching something close to his chest as he limped forward. His eyes had taken a hardened edge, a subtle realization that this Amber Foundation had the ability to hurt him. His mouth was a thin line as he strode forward.

And Joseph knew nothing would stop him.

“Alright,” Nole's voice was soft, “Archenround 'n' me in the front. Joe and G in the back. Princey behind all of us.”

They complied, retreating back as Mordenaro stepped over the connecting cable and into their car. At this point, whatever in his hand was crushed as his fist tightened. Nole lowered himself down, Archenround bared her sword. The two of them rushed forward as Joseph leaped back, willing his soul to life, the circuit powering up. G-Wiz was beside him, fingers playing at the Zumbelaphone. Energy was spinning out of the top of the keytar as the two of them prepared to support the others.

Archenround was first, blade sailing to the side as G-Wiz fired a bolt of plasma at Mordenaro. The Grim Walker brought his hand up to grab the blade, twisting to the side to let the plasma rocket by him before smashing the blade's flat into Archenround's face. Nole snarled as he approached Mordenaro, who flung whatever he was holding at the troll's face.

And Nole began to scream. Joseph's eyes widened as he saw Nole's face begin bubbling and steaming as he clutched it, salt mixed with bits of broken glass melting into his skin as he collapsed to the ground in a writhing mess.

Snapping his head back at Mordenaro, Joseph launched another lightning bolt at the Grim Walker, who ran and punched forward, the electricity swirling and glancing off his closed fist as he bared down on Joseph. G-Wiz was on him in a moment, her own roar echoing Nole's as she played a light tune, a surge of light hammering into the Guild of One's chest, pushing him back as Archenround swung her sword like a baseball bat into his back.

It cut deep, severing through the already weakened enchantments on the duster, and biting down into skin. Mordenaro took in a deep breath as he stumbled back forward, ducking to the side as G-Wiz unleashed another gout of light, weaving past another bolt from Joseph as he charged like a boar at the pair.

Joseph jumped to the side, G-Wiz stumbled down, avoiding a jab that would have torn her head free, her face a strange mix of concentration and unbridled panic as she keyed her instrument. Mordenaro brought up a single foot and kicked forward directly into G-Wiz's chest, slamming her into the wall. She let out a soft gasp and collapsed. Archenround let out a silent battlecry and swung at Mordenaro again. Joseph watched as the two waltzed across the train, blade against fist, from one section of the car down to the other, then back again. Luevo pushed himself further and further to the door to the next car as they did so.

And then Mordenaro got beneath her guard, battering her blade aside. His fist came down like a meteor.

It connected with her skull.

Archenround crumpled.

Joseph let out a scream, realizing that he was…

Alone.

He took a few more steps back, soul's arms surging over his shoulders and raising up in a boxer's stance. Joseph mirrored them, glaring at the Guild of One, his insides turning to jelly as he heard Luevo whimper behind him.

Behind Mordenaro, Joseph could see Nole getting up. His face was a mess – flesh and muscle melted, revealing a harrowing, bone-white skull beneath. One of his eyes was gone. The other was glaring at Mordenaro, the pupil flickering with concentration. That one good eye slid over to look past Mordenaro and at Joseph. An understanding passed between the two of them.

This wasn't the place to die.

Nole pounced, Joseph's electric arms shot forward. Mordenaro, expecting an attack, braced himself, was unprepared for the troll to slam into his backside, claws shooting down into the wound Archenround had opened, his skull opening wide, sharp, now-exposed teeth boring down into his shoulder. Joseph's arms wrapped around G-Wiz and Archenround, dragging them forward.

“Grab G!” he shouted at Luevo. The prince complied, picking her as the two of them opened the door to the next car. It was empty – the only remaining passenger had already been evacuated to the front of the train. Joseph counted to himself – only a couple cars before they made it to the engine proper. They were running out of room. Archenround was still out, a nasty welt not unlike the one Shetavalk had sported swelling on the side of her head. Joseph, already on the verge of breaking down, chose not to dwell on that.

Nole had managed to place himself between the rest of the party and Mordenaro. They had broken off again, nursing their wounds. The troll’s head was still a mess of bone and melted flesh, though his other wounds seemed to be healing fine. Mordenaro was walking, though Joseph noted his gait was stilted now – something was giving him pause. Perhaps Archenround's blow had dug just deep enough, or he was getting overwhelmed by Nole's assaults.

Whatever the reason, he was still advancing on Nole, ready for a fresh round. Joseph's heart pounded as he watched the two meet once more, claw parrying fist, Mordenaro overpowering the troll and connecting a clean hit into the side of Nole's head, the troll's skull splintering and cracking. A sacrifice Nole was willing to make, as he scythed a hand upwards, raking up Mordenaro's face, nails wreaking the Guild of One's left eye.

For the first time, Mordenaro let out a gasp of pain, retreating back as he clutched his face. Nole did so as well, swaying for a moment before settling back into place. The troll glanced back at Joseph. Almost all of the flesh on his face was gone now, his spider-webbed skull reminding Joseph strongly of those old cow-skull paintings his dad had hung up in the living room.

Nole uncurled a fist and pointed at him. Then pointed further down.

At the connectors between the two train cars.

And Joseph knew what to do. He heard Luevo shout at him as he dropped Archenround and rushed forward, electric claw arcing up and then falling down, swiping at the connectors, which gave way at the blow.

Leaving Nole alone with the Guild of One. Mordenaro realized what they were doing, was about to jump at them, but Nole tackled him, pulling strength from somewhere – enough to pull the Grim Walker to the ground. Joseph winced as he saw, in the fading distance between the two, Mordenaro rocket a fist through Nole's stomach, emerging out of his back. But that scene became smaller and smaller as the Drahim sped onwards, leaving its other half behind. He heard G-Wiz screaming after him, Luevo breaking down into a fit of hysterical sobs, the other passengers shouting in shock.

And the wind, whipping around them.

***

“I just wanted a nice job after the war,” the conductor was saying to the soldier, “Nothing major. A steady job running a train – I ran trains all the time when I was younger. And hey, when they offered me the position of running the Drahim, why, that's a dream come true!”

The conductor had a way of gesticulating wildly, his arms an orchestra in of themselves as he gestured this way and that.

“The Drahim was my hero growing up! The King's Train! The Traveling Dragon! Sir, look at what they did to my baby!”

They were at Lake Imdrahal now, the Drahim having made an emergency stop at its first destination. At first, the conductor had called on the military to immediately arrest them as terrorists. Then, after Joseph had explained they were part of a guild, the situation had turned from an immediate arrest into a series of interviews and procedures. The soldier who was doing the interviewing already seemed versed in the multiverse, having been stationed in Imdrahal to guard the Traveling Point that led to Murknoir. A small base was located by the lake, with personnel doing military exercises in the distance. Someone from a guild – a massive man with the head of a goat – was watching the interview from a distance.

“Alright,” the soldier said to the conductor, “You've had your fun, mate. Now let's hear it from the kid.”

The thought of 'kid' rankled Joseph. But he ignored it. Archenround was being loaded on a stretcher as the soldier made his way to Joseph, flipping his notebook to a new page. The serpent had not awoken since their battle with Mordenaro. G-Wiz was looking over Luevo, making sure he wasn't injured. Leaving Nole behind had left her despondent, and Joseph wasn't relishing explaining what had happened to her.

“Right, then,” the soldier said, “What's your name, mate?”

“Joseph.”

The soldier scribbled a few words into his notebook, taking out a cigarette and absently sticking it into his mouth.

“And you're guild?”

“Yeah. We're from the Amber Foundation.”

“Amber Foundation,” the soldier echoed, “Guild business, then?”

“Indeed.”

“And that whole situation, on the train?” the soldier sighed, “Guild business?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who were you fighting on the train?”

“Mordenaro, sir.”

“The Guild of One?”

“The very same.”

The soldier let out another heavy sigh, one based more on annoyance than fear. He took out a canteen and took a swig, pulling a face as he did so. Evidently he was drinking something stronger than water.

“Well,” the man said, “Considering the statements that have been brought up by the conductor and that other passenger, as well as the fact that you are on guild business, this matter will have to be brought up to the government. Guild leadership, as well.”

“Right,” Joseph said.

“You'll need to write up an official statement, as well as make a court appearance. If my higher-ups desire it, they will have you pay for the damages incurred during this... guild business.”

“Right, sir,” Joseph said. He turned his head towards the horizon from where they had come, “Err, hate to ask this, but are we free to... to go?”

“Go where?”

“Murknoir. Guild business, we're kind of on the run.”

“From the aforementioned Mordenaro.”

“Y-yes. I don't think your bosses would really like another fight on their plane. Would they?”

The soldier visibly tensed, “Good God, you're free to go. Just leave this plane, mate. You've given me quite a bit of paperwork already.”

“Nothing else you need?” Joseph asked.

“Well, there's the matter of your guildmate,” the soldier nodded at Archenround, who was being treated by a couple paramedics, “From the looks of it, her injuries are too grievous to treat here. We'll probably take her to a hospital.”

“Alright,” Joseph said.

“Excuse me, sir,” Luevo interrupted, “If Mordenaro does end up arriving here – and he will, mind you, what do you intend to do?”

The soldier shrugged, “Sorry mate, this is guild business. I'm not losing any of my boys to a business transaction.”

He was so casual about this. Removed from it. Just another day on the job for him. Joseph's fists clenched, and he could feel emotion well up within Luevo.

“Bit more than a business transaction,” Joseph muttered.

“What was that?” the soldier asked.

“Nothing,” Joseph growled.

“Right, well,” the soldier closed his notebook, “As we know where your base of operations are located, expect a letter soon about court dates. You're free to go. And please, sir, do.”

***

They were three now – Archenround was being loaded onto a platform now, one that was connected by chain up to a medical airship. Yet even with the airship's drone, Lake Imdrahal was quiet – almost painfully so. The surface of the water was shimmering, dancing in the reflection of the sun high above. A few fishing boats lazed about, though aside from them and the military outpost there was no one else here. An ivory-white crane was prowling the reeds near the shore, banded black legs rising and falling in and out of the water.

Luevo's stomach turned. It was too calm. Too peaceful. Too unfair. This lake couldn't exist in the same world as the battle on the train. Yet it was, sharing a space in Luevo's mind with Nole, his face bubbling and seizing, his one eye alight with desperation and adrenaline. The same world as Archenround crumpling to the ground like a mannequin. Rolala shivered at those thoughts.

“T-There's the Traveling Point,” G-Wiz said. Her voice was raw. Luevo turned to see her eyes were red from crying.

It took a lot to not cry himself. He wasn't sure how Joseph was being so stoic about all this. The metahuman had answered the soldier with an annoyed confidence. Perhaps that was just his way of coping – a quiet sort of panic, as opposed to Luevo's own dramatics.

The Traveling Point itself was a simple ring of wood. Runes were inlaid into the top of it, curling down the sides, solid and straight in a way that looked almost alien to the natural curves of the ring. A paradox, one that Luevo supposed was what had allowed the Traveling Point to exist so long and not blink out of existence. Contradictions tended to be the most powerful of batteries. The world was quiet as they walked, the breeze a light song that made the prince's heart ache for a better time.

“Hey, Joe,” G-Wiz said.

Joseph, who had taken point, turned back to her.

“You didn't...” she was struggling to form the sentence, “You didn't leave him, did you?”

The metahuman winced.

“He...”

“He told you too,” G-Wiz said, “Typical Nole. The old bastard.”

She walked past them, “M-Murknoir's just ahead. We're losing time. It's only-” she caught herself, “It's only a matter of time before he catches up.”

Joseph nodded, “So it's just us, now.”

“Best we make it count,” she said.

They stared at each other for a moment, some silent war passing between them. Luevo stepped back.

“I didn't want to leave him,” Joseph said.

“I know. Not your choice t-to make,” G-Wiz said, “His own way to go. I just hope he's still...”

“He is. He has to be,” Joseph said.

G-Wiz was quiet at that. An understanding, silent and quiet as the lake it passed, settled as the responsibility fell on their backs. Joseph turned toward Luevo.

“Right. If Mordenaro shows up, run,” he said.

“No need to tell me twice,” Luevo said, “Now come on, Murknoir awaits.”

***

Passing through the portal to Murknoir was odd – none of the rainbow lights of creation that Joseph was used to when planeshifting. Oh, they started out colorful – harsh explosions of color and sound that filled his vision and reminded him of the Dragon. Those colors inked away and became drab and gray as they landed in Murknoir. The entire land was gray – mist permeated the air, making it difficult to see past a few feet in front of him. A bad place to be if Mordenaro caught up to them.

“Let's get out of here ASAP,” Joseph stated.

“Agreed,” Luevo murmured.

The journey itself did not take long – Murknoir was a small place. Occasionally Joseph would see ghosts on the horizon, half-shades and half-formed, single eyes staring at him like silent stars. Observing, and no more. Yet they still bore down on Joseph as he walked.

He was tired. His body was working more on muscle memory than mind. Every step was like climbing a mountain. Every time his foot hit the ground, it sank down – to his knees, at some points. Advancing was exhausting. Excruciating. But going back wasn't an option.

So he pressed onward.

They were out of Murknoir soon enough. A day's worth of travel. Silence between the three of them. No words exchanged. No words to exchange. What was said – their snipings, their arguments, their hatred of the others (though perhaps that was changing) had simmered down.

The fact of the matter was that they were being chased by the Devil. And they needed each other if they were going to get Luevo to the end of all this.

The Traveling Point back to Nesona wasn't set up with an arcane aplomb like Kelstonda's. It was a simple ripple in space. Silently, they stepped through.

Gray to color, silence to sound. And they landed back on the prince's plane. Far from everything, now – he couldn't even see the jungle on the horizon.

All that was around them was death.

Luevo stumbled forward, spreading out his arms.

“Welcome to the Deadlands, folks,” he said, and then immediately began coughing.

“Ro la lum, that was dumb,” Rolala chittered. They were louder now, their voice rippling across the prince's skin.

“Shut up,” the prince gasped.

“Where are we going?” Joseph asked.

“Yes,” Luevo wheezed, “Just down a couple roads. Towards the ritual site. Shouldn't take long.”

Joseph surveyed the landscape. All around them, the world was brown and rotted. He had expected the Deadlands to be like a desert – hot and overbearing. But it was cold – bone cold, the dry chill that reminded him of Nai Nai's hospital room the day before her passing. Mountains rose and fell, jagged and sharp, overbearing in their size, dead monoliths that scraped the graying sky.

Joseph's soul surged over him – it felt comfortable. No, more than that. He needed it now. Just breathing in the air was hard, as though the very wind were trying to kill him. The eagle was a protection – an armor, of a sort.

Or he felt it was, at least. He wasn't truly sure. But they needed his eyes, didn't they? To scan the horizon for danger. God forbid – danger aside from Mordenaro.

And in the distance, he saw something.

***

“Guys,” Joseph said, “I see a camp.”

Luevo turned to look at the metahuman. His big, dumb eagle was covering his face, twin-sun eyes staring out towards the horizon. The prince turned his head, straining his eyes.

“A camp,” he said, “I-I think I know who they are.”

“Who?” G-Wiz asked.

“Refugees,” Rolala rumbled, “Here to see the new land, to till its soils, to make it grow, ro la la.”

They had spotted them – the glow of Joseph's bird, a shining landmark on the otherwise dead landscape. God, how Luevo hated this place. He could feel Rolala shudder within him – the Deadlands was not a hospitable place, and the cold winnowed its way into Luevo's core, settled into Rolala, began freezing him.

“R-refugees means warmth,” Luevo said, “Fire. We need fire.”

Joseph cast him a curious glance. Luevo shook his head.

“Rolala- the creature. We need to keep him alive, otherwise this was all for nothing.”

“You sure they're safe?” G-Wiz asked. She took out her Zumbelaphone, a couple notes cutting through the stale air.

“I am the prince of Ionica,” Luevo said, “More importantly, I am Kimao. I nurture the thing-”

“Creature,” Rolala corrected.

“Creature that will give this place life. They harm me, they harm their best chance of surviving this place,” Luevo turned back to the refugee camp. A few scouts had peeled away from the meager tents and were making their way over. Luevo slid down the hill they were on to meet them.

The scouts were wielding spears, but aside from that they didn't look like much. The clothing they wore wrapped around their bodies, the only skin exposed to the Deadlands being their faces. One was bearded and old, one eye having milked over. The other was young – she held her spear at the ready, her hands only slightly shaking at the sight of the guild.

“Not every day we see outlanders,” the older man said.

“Especially not guildfolk,” the younger woman spat, “State your business, we've had enough of interlopers today.”

“Relax, citizens,” Luevo said, “We come in peace. I am Kimao.”

As if on cue, Rolala twisted out above his shoulders, chittering and twisting. The old man's spear fell to the ground.

“The Kimao!” he gasped. Luevo noticed tears brimming in his eyes. Luevo had expected this, and began the usual puffing of his chest.

But the old man's eyes slid up to Rolala. The creature swayed like a cobra in the air, before the winds of the Deadlands chilled them, and Rolala seized back into his body.

When they did so, Luevo felt his entire body grow cold. Colder than he had ever felt. He grasped his chest and winced, falling to his knees.

“Kimao!” the older man said.

“W-we're fine,” the prince wheezed, “B-but the sooner we get to the ritual site, t-the better.”

“Of course,” the scout said. He turned to his comrade, “Ruti, let Manzima know who is here. Tell her to prepare food.”

“Father,” Ruti said, “You know the shortages-”

“He is Kimao! When he is finished, there will be no lack of food! Not here! Now go!”

The old man walked forward and helped Luevo up, supporting him as they began to walk to the camp.

***

They were the Denrama, Joseph learned. One of four tribes that lived in the Deadlands, far away from the other landscapes that had been created by Kimao of the past. Manzima was their leader, an elderly woman who was the most emaciated being that Joseph had ever seen – and Joseph had grown up with a skeleton of a grandmother.

Then again, all of the Denrama were malnourished. They were skin and bones, desperation having carved them into lean survivors of the land. Most of them were wrapped in the same form-fitting robes and rags that Ruti and her father, Renma, wore. All of them had a hollow look in their eyes that Joseph was finding all too familiar. They did not flinch as Luevo related their journey here to Manzima. She simply nodded as they spoke, bowls of bone broth presented to them. A meager meal, but a feast, Joseph supposed, in their eyes. Their herd of goats was small and just as skeletal as their owners.

“So, Grim Walker is making his way here,” Manzima's voice was harsh and whistling. Luevo nodded.

“We'll try our best to keep him occupied,” Joseph said.

“And let us stand by?” Manzima prodded.

Joseph was quiet at that. The rest of the camp shifted as the elder stood up. She had a cane, he noticed, two dirty white femurs that had been put together by a brown cloth. It wobbled as she made her way past the open bonfire, staring out towards the horizon.

“You must understand,” she said, “This is the Deadlands. We're all survivors here. You're telling me that our one good chance at making this place a paradise is in danger, and you expect us to just sit here and watch?”

“We've already lost three of our own to this,” Joseph replied.

“And we'll lose everyone if the Kimao fails,” Manzima said. She turned to him, looked him over. It felt very much like Nai Nai's glares, the way she studied him, breathed him in, seemed to know his soul just by staring long enough. An odd sense of shame crept along his spine.

“Rolala's the key to all this,” Luevo said. He hesitated for a moment, then put a hand on Joseph's shoulder, “We'll need all the help we can get.”

“People are going to die,” Joseph said.

“They will anyway,” G-Wiz noted.

Joseph grimaced at the blunt reasoning. But he had to admit, the two of them were right.

“Okay,” he said, “How many of you can fight?”

***

Luevo was never that good at war meetings. He remembered when, as a young boy, he would be permitted by his father to visit the war room when Ionica had been at war with Monecule. He had hated it – the boring talk of troop movements, of the hiring of guilds to act as special forces on the front, of his father's face growing more ashen and worried with each passing week. That last part had a bit more of a punch to it – boredom mixed with fear, which was never a good combination.

So he wasn't enjoying the fact that he felt both right now. Joseph, G-Wiz, Manzima, and a few other members of the Denrama were talking around the bonfire about plans against Mordenaro. The prince tried to stay engaged, to put in his two cents about the situation, but he was starting to realize he was completely out of his depth. The metahuman was, too, as he stopped speaking and started listening. The Denrama knew this region of the Deadlands – most of them were young, and had walked it for most of their lives, outcasts and refugees from Monecule after Ionica's takeover. They didn't seem to be angry at Luevo for it – though, perhaps because he was Kimao, they didn't want to risk harming him until after Rolala was out of his system.

Luevo wasn't thrilled about what would happen after this whole journey was over. Yet there was no going back now.

“We should begin moving out,” Manzima said, “We can talk as we walk.”

“No rest for the weary,” Joseph sighed. He rose to his feet, “Can you at least get a wagon or something for Luevo?”

“I'm fine,” the prince said, “I have two feet, don't I?”

“You're also holding the thing that Mordenaro's after. The more rest you get, the better,” Joseph countered, “You're no use to us half-dead and tired.”

“I assure you,” Luevo snapped, “I'm fine.”

“You won't be. Not when Mordenaro comes knocking.”

Luevo looked at Joseph for a while, aware of the strange reversal that had occurred between the two of them – Luevo wanting to push forward, Joseph wanting him to rest, as opposed to the other way around. Then, the prince relented.

“Alright,” he said, “For Rolala's sake, then.”

The wagon was a meager thing – meant to be pulled by goats much healthier than the ones here. As the Denrama drove the herd on, Joseph took a glance at the wagon's yoke. His soul surged out of his body – by now, strong enough to take on a more humanoid form, its great arms wrapping around the yoke and pulling forward. The Denrama took down their tents quickly, hoisting them on their bony backs and using their spears as walking sticks, as one moving as a mass across the landscape. Luevo tried to ignore their emaciated forms, the way they stared at Luevo in a desperate sort of reverence. He knew he wasn't worthy of those glances – and he didn't want to hide his unworthiness with bluster. Not anymore. Besides, the glances were less because of his being Kimao and more because of the being of life roiling within him.

The Denrama, after a certain point, began wrapping their faces with ragged masks. They passed a few over to Luevo, Joseph, and G-Wiz, who put them on, reminding Luevo of plague masks he had been forced to wear as a child during a bad plague. He remembered seeing a dark look in the servant’s eyes as he wore them, and they were forced to go unmasked.He noticed them here, too. All around them. Everyone had been wearing them, even people back in Chandhala. How had he been so isolated from them?

“How many days to the ritual site?” he heard Joseph ask one of the Denrama.

The hunter's voice came out as a rasp, “Two days, no more than that.”

“And how come it's so far from here?”

“So there is enough space to create the new land,” the hunter replied.

So the metahuman had taken charge of their meager little crew. Perhaps Nole had talked to him – the two had been sniping at each other during that night in the hotel, Luevo could hear their harsh whispers. Or perhaps Joseph had more of a backbone then he let on.

“W-we're at a disadvantage,” G-Wiz said to Joseph as they went, “We'll need to rest after a while. Mordenaro won't.”

Joseph was quiet at that, then said, “We'll cross that bridge when it comes. We'll keep watch, have guards posted that can run with Luevo to the ritual site once Mordenaro catches up with us.”

“You seem remarkably calm about all of this,” Luevo said on the wagon.

The metahuman glanced over at him, then turned back.

“No choice now,” he said, “Can’t run, can I? Something tells me they don't take credits out here.”

Silence. Then Luevo let out a spluttering laugh. He could tell Joseph was smiling through the mask.

“Besides, I promised Nole I'd see this through,” Joseph said, his voice becoming dour and dark, “Well, not to his face. But I might as well have said it.”

“Indeed,” Luevo agreed. They were rising over a dune now, the soul's arms straining to put the yoke in a comfortable position.

The prince crossed his arms, glancing this way and that. Finally, he let out a guilty sigh.

“...Thank you,” he murmured.

He saw both of the guild look his way again. G-Wiz's expression darkened.

“Nole's p-probably... he's probably dead because of you,” she muttered, “You'd better be thankful.”

“I am,” Luevo said, “And I promise you, I'll get to the end of this. For Rolala's sake.”

The creature chittered beneath his skin.

They continued walking in silence.

***

The next day was a quiet affair. The entire encampment kept turning around, at any moment expecting the Grim Walker on the horizon. Yet nothing came. They made good time, at least – Joseph could no longer feel his bones or the ache in his muscles. He was realizing he couldn't feel anything, really. The sapping energies of the Deadlands, he supposed. More and more he wasn't liking this place. At certain points he could see his soul flickering, no doubt weakened by the atmosphere. Yet he felt nothing.

It would be a painless death, at least. If it came down to it.

He hated that such a thought was so normalized in his mind now.

Night came quickly here, the sun dripping down the sky and past the horizon, scarring the sky red for a few minutes before disappearing altogether, as though afraid of setting for too long. They were left in darkness. The only light came from the torches of the Denrama and Joseph's eagle. Manzima called for them to halt and begin setting up camp.

“You sure?” Joseph asked.

“Here in the Deadlands, the body can't properly tell you how tired it is,” she replied, “Rest is important. You know this, for you've been carrying the Kimao on the wagon this entire time.”

Joseph turned back to Luevo. The Kimao was asleep, chest rising and falling. He looked almost angelic, the wear and tear of the journey leaving his face. Still just a kid in a lot of ways.

“Alright,” he said. He lowered the wagon down, soul sapping back into his body, “I'll take first watch.”

“N-no,” G-Wiz said, “You rest, Joe. Joseph. You've been doing a lot.”

“Doesn't feel like enough,” Joseph muttered.

G-Wiz looked at him for a moment.

“You feel guilty.”

“Hell yeah I do,” Joseph said, “I let Nole... I abandoned him.”

“Y-you did,” G-Wiz said, a hard edge to her voice, “But we both know, that's what he would've wanted.”

She grimaced, letting the truth of it sink in. She was blaming herself, he knew. Blaming her own weaknesses.

Joseph sighed, “I'm sorry, G-Wiz.”

“I-it's okay,” G-Wiz said, “I'm sorry, too. For calling you Noodle. You ain't one. A-and for bein' a bitch. And for replacing your shampoo with honey-”

“That was you?”

“Yeah. Me and Nole.”

Joseph glared at her for a few moments. Then he huffed out a chuckle, which dissolved into a fit of exhausted giggles. G-Wiz gave a sad smile as she watched him laugh for a few minutes. Joseph wiped a tear from his eye.

“Alright,” Joseph said, “That wasn't that funny, but it was still good.”

“You need rest, Joseph,” G-Wiz said, “Go on, get some sleep. Or I'll do it again.”

“Alright, alright,” Joseph said. He stretched and began making his way to the head tent, where Manzima had set aside a place for the guildmembers and prince, “And G-Wiz?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me Joe, if you want.”

“Alright, Joe.”

He gave her a smile before heading into the tent.

***

Luevo awoke by the campfire. He had been set inside a sleeping bag made of animal furs, the inside lined with the stomach of some beast. He suppressed a retch. For a moment, he thought that he and Rolala were alone. Then, as he rose up and warmed his hands by the fire, he noticed the old bat sitting across from him.

No, she wasn't an old bat. She was Manzima, and she was helping Rolala.

“You awake,” she said.

“Bad dreams, I guess.”

“Of times past?”

The prince winced, “If by 'times past' you mean the last few days or so.”

Manzima nodded. Luevo shuffled around awkwardly, unsure of what to say. He had never been good at this.

“You are unsure,” Manzima stated.

Luevo looked her way, “It's that obvious, isn't it?”

“You carry yourself as though you are at a crossroads, yet halfway down one of the paths,” Manzima said.

“Well, if I'm an open book, you might as well read me,” Luevo said, “What do you see, soothsayer?”

“I am no soothsayer. No oracle, Kimao. I simply see how you handle yourself. And you are a changed man.”

“That's the whole thing about the Kimao,” Luevo said, “We start off as being... not the best kind of people, from what Rolala tells me.”

“Rolala?” Manzima asked.

“The creature.”

“You gave it a name?”

“Helped them to grow,” Luevo said, “But they said that each Kimao starts off as someone able to grow, and by the end of their journey they become... I don't know. Good? Better?”

“Different,” Manzima reasoned.

“I don't like it,” Luevo said. He laid back down, hand reaching up and grasping the stars – even they looked dead out here, muted and dark, “I don't like who I've become. But I don't like who I was, either.”

“Halfway down the road,” Manzima said.

“Yes. I don't feel like I've become good, or better. I just feel... sad.”

“Change is difficult,” Manzima said, “But the most important thing is that it need not end when the journey does. It's just the beginning of a new one.”

Luevo winced, “Great. Another journey. Just what I needed.”

“I have heard of you, Prince Luevo. Your father drove us out, long ago. I have heard tales of your arrogance. Of your shallowness.”

“All of them are true,” Luevo said, “I'm a right bastard, aren't I?”

“Not anymore,” Manzima said, “You're out here. You've seen the Deadlands. And you haven't turned back.”

“No choice in the matter, I've got a big fucking guildfolk out to kill me.”

“If he were not there, and you saw the Deadlands, would you still continue on?”

And Luevo found he couldn't answer her question. He was silent for a long time. Manzima waited, cane poking at the fire, sparks flying with her prodding.

“I wouldn't-” Luevo stammered, “I wouldn't be here if it weren't for them. For the guild. For Joseph. G-Wiz. Nole and Archenround. Shetavalk...”

He suppressed a sob, “You don't know what it's like, being me. I'm rich. The Crown Prince of Ionica. Yet I feel like such a fraud. I'm not worthy of it. I didn't earn it. I'm not like you, or the guild. I don't understand why they all had to die for me. I'm no- it would no great loss if I died. My brother would make a far better king. And everyone I know is better than me. E-everyone.”

Tears were streaming down his face now, “And I know they aren't protecting me for me. They're protecting me because of Rolala. The whole reason I'm here now is for them.”

“For Rolala,” Manzima said.

“Yes. Because if I die, they die. Everyone here dies. The Deadlands aren't- I had no idea it was so bad out here, why Father would even think of forcing you out-”

He took a deep breath.

“And Rolala is kind to me. I'm not doing this anymore to just go home. Rolala is my friend now. I would die for them.”

He felt Rolala tighten their grip on his heart, a swelling of embarrassed gratitude flooding through from them.

“So I don't-” he sighed, “I don't care how I feel anymore. Or who I am. I just need to get Rolala to the end of this, so I can make the Deadlands live.”

His face was set and hard as he looked at Manzima. She did not return his gaze, continuing to poke at the fire. But he didn't care. It mattered more that he said it out loud.

One of the Denrama made her way over to the elder.

“Manzima, he's out there.”

The old crone looked up, “Ah, it was only a matter of time. All good climaxes happen during the dawn.”

Indeed, the sun was now cresting over the western horizon. Luevo rose up.

“Awaken the metahuman,” Manzima said, “We'll need his eyes.”

“Already awake,” Joseph said. He was walking out of the tent. He didn't look very rested – dark rings underlined his eyes, “Let's get this over with.”

The soul surged over his head once more like a helmet. G-Wiz and the Denrama gathered around him as he looked out towards the horizon.

“Still walking,” the metahuman noted, “But he's going to get here sooner or later. Doesn't look too beat up. He's-” he went quiet, unsure for a few moments, before murmuring, “He's carrying a bloody sack.”

G-Wiz made a sound like she'd been sucker-punched. Joseph made a sad glance at her. The Denrama were already getting ready to move.

“There's a small mountain valley we can use as an ambush site,” Renma stated, “Like we planned.”

“Right,” Joseph took another few moments to look at the approaching form. Luevo could see the Grim Walker now. A blot in the distance, getting closer and closer, seeming to speed up with every step he took, “Let's go.”