I looked into the dirty puddle of wastewater, where a wriggling aberration confronted me. Its skin, both too dark to see through and not entirely opaque, caused me to gag—something instinctive, perhaps, before a presence so alien. Its tentacles flailed wildly, as if moved by a separate brain that acted on its own. Its eyes, half-melted white orbs, bubbled up and down on its face.

  I struck it with all my might, and for a moment, the beast seemed to vanish, but then the water stopped rippling and the reflection returned. It didn't matter how much I attacked; it would always return, because it was me.

  I lifted my head to the warm sunlight coming through the catch basin, the steps of dozens of people idly chatting as they fared through the artisan gallery reminding me that I was a lower thing, an overgrown slime or a snail that had lost its shell, trapped in the gutter. I basked in that tiny ray that reached me, knowing I would never see more than that. This cursed body of mine would melt under the full sun, and even if I could emerge, I would just kill myself all the same. I closed my eyes, or rather, I let the ooze that conformed my body slowly cover them as I imagined the products that they were hawking.

  "(...) made from the strongest scales, sir. That's right, that very beast. No sword can pierce this armor, and even if they could, an enchantment by the Goddess herself would heal the wound right back."

  I half-guessed those words, far in the distance, as I drew on the stone walls with waste as my chalk—a light armor with a sun radiating health from the very center, an emblem of the life above. I imagined the scales red and vibrant, the product of some mythical creature, one to whom I couldn't compare. A basilisk, or a dragon, or perhaps something even more fantastical. I imagined two-headed winged lizards, throwing lasers from their eyes and summoning creatures with their shrieking voice.

  Another craftsman, overhearing the conversation, cued in. "Why bother with such a primitive thing as... an armor"—he spat that last part with disdain, and I imagined him making all sorts of funny faces—"when you can have an amulet instead?"

  "An amulet?" The man seemed amused. This was the first time I'd heard about amulets. It's always weapons or armors; on rare occasions, even appliances and decorative jewelry. As I understand it, the traders try to convince people to use their crafted products and fight the monsters outside the city, and if the equipment is good and the soldier is hardy, both gain notoriety and rewards from the elder council. Hence, they rarely asked for other compensation.

  "He must be convinced that the amulet is very powerful to send him without armor..." I mumbled to myself.

  "Yes, good sir. An amulet of disguise, and a very powerful one at that. Why bother with tower shields and plated armors when you can pass as one of the monsters? They, thinking you as one of them, will lower their guards, and that's when you stab them in the back!"

  "I like it. But will the monsters not notice when, for instance, I'm unable to fly or spew fire as they do?"

  "Haha, of course they would. That's why I told you, this amulet's disguise is not pure vanity, no, no. It mimics their whole being. You'd have no problem blending in."

  I flinched. Such lowly tactics. But the silence of the other craftsman made me think that the man was nodding, convinced by the stratagem.

  "Fine, I will wear your goods, fine craftsman."

  The morning and afternoon passed as I drew the different artifacts and their wielders: men of faraway lands, of strange (albeit still human) physiognomy, or old kingdoms that had clashed against this very nation. All set aside their differences to face the inhuman, the monsters, those like me. I kept drawing—a man of stretched features holding a sword of ice and fire, defended by a bulky woman in enchanted full plate armor. I had found a piece of half-rotten blueberries and painted her azure eyes peeking through the visor, contrasting with her sun-hardened black skin. The more I drew, the more furious my strokes became. I envied them. I envied their skin, protecting them against the environment; their eyes, that could see far into the horizon instead of barely a few dozen feet ahead; their hair, beautiful and glittery, flowing with the wind.

  A broken pair of eyeglasses or gathered bundles of drainage hair—it didn't matter what I collected or what I wore. I remained a monster, impaired, confined. If caught, the humans would just tear me to pieces and present them to their elder council, with a smile plastered on their faces as they'd rid the world of another befouled thing. They'd reward them with terrain, houses, titles, and glory. All things

  I would never have.

  The night had fallen, and the sloshing sound of rotting leftovers called me to dinner like a bell. I didn't think of the sludge I had to eat; I focused on the smells of the fresh food they were cooking that day.

  "A salty smell, crunchy noise, chewy. Is that oil that I hear boiling? Ah, must be fried chicken," I whispered as I slurped on the black and green, maggot-and-fly-infected thing. "Or perhaps they're squid rings. Oh, wouldn't that be nice? The taste of the ocean, blue, endless, like a second sky that had descended from above. What other word than celestial could be applied to the creatures that reside there?" I had never seen the ocean, but I heard it was mesmerizing, and that creatures of times before men lived there, beautiful and multicolored, swimming rainbows and floating clouds.

  Then, I heard a familiar voice laughing.

  "And then the stupid kobold chief thought I was his mother! Oh, I wished I could've captured his face as I plunged a knife into his chest."

  The amulet soldier.

  "Oh, dear. Please, don't be so violent—they must have feelings too."

  Yes! That's right! But wait, what was that you said? Dear? A man like that has a wife?

  "Pff, don't tell me you're one of those too, Margaret. Don't I know you used to bathe in monsters' blood before we had Talia."

  "Dad!"

  A young voice reached me through the pipes. I slowly lowered the piece of rot hanging in my tentacles. A daughter, too? A tiny voice whispered into my ear: "What's he done to deserve all those things?"

  "Those days are behind me, Wade. Can we please finish the meal without you gloating on your kills, please?"

  "Oh, but wait until I tell you this one." The man, Wade, talked with his mouth full of fresh, delicious food. "So, you know how hell hounds just let themselves starve when their pups die? Well, I used the amulet—remind me to thank the craftsman, what a genius—and hear this out: I posed as the pup of the pack's leader. The dumb beast believed me! I rolled on my belly, woofed a bit, and brought him some roadkill. Then, casting another illusion from the amulet, I pretended to have been attacked by a beast in the forest while the hound wasn't watching, that I was missing a chunk. I whined in pain, and the dumb creature tried to cover me with healing herbs and potions stolen from warriors, but of course, it didn't work because I wasn't really injured. Then, I played dead for the rest of the afternoon, and I heard from the guard chief that the scouts saw the hound jump off a cliff just before we came for dinner. Two chieftains, all in a good day's work!"

  "Goodness gracious, Wade. There's a little girl here, remember?"

  "Yeah, ew, Dad."

  "Oh, come on! It was a fun story! Besides, you know how many lives it would have taken to kill it in a confrontation? Or do you think the monster would've grown a heart because we're playing fair? Of course not. Your daddy is a hero, you hear me, Talia? A hero!"

  I couldn't hear anymore. I crawled to the farthest reach of the sewer and hugged myself, shocked by the man's cruelty. The humans suffered no hunger. They didn't have to struggle to keep their territory from being snatched. They didn't sleep with an eye open, afraid that the morning wouldn't come. When they fell sick, healers came to their aid, not even asking anything of them. They lived from what they loved to do; the council had made that happen. Warm water, clean streets—all for what? To beget this cruelty, this sadism?

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  I got up, determined. Wade didn't deserve the life he had. And with the amulet... perhaps I could make it mine.

  The humans believed in privacy, but as long as they had sewers, I would be able to hear them. I pinpointed Wade's location as he merrily bathed in his house, and I slipped through the waste pipe, emerging through the drainage.

  Wade's face, smiling at his own degeneracy, suddenly paled at the sight of me. For once, I thanked whatever God had made me this monstrous creature as I incarnated the ugliness inside of Wade, and he, paralyzed by his own guilt, suffocated by my hand. I dissolved his body inside mine, and soon, the only memory of a man named Wade was his clothes on the stand by the bathtub.

  There lay the amulet I heard so much about. The one blessed by the Goddess, simmered in holy oil and ground diamonds, bathed under the moonlight for a full fortnight, all the while priests chanted prayers and sonnets. I was expecting something more grand, golden, or at least gilded, but it was barely a plain medallion, nondescript, brown. Even the rope that held the medallion in place seemed old and worn.

  I shrugged, promptly equipping his amulet, as it sank inside my gelatinous body. With a mind gesture, my features began to morph—my slimy green-black skin became rosy and solid, my creepy white orbs became beautiful green eyes, and the tentacles on my back receded to give way to bountiful hair, their golden strands glimmering under the lamp's light. I smiled, observing my glossy white teeth in perfect arrangement in the mirror.

  I began a new life. Margaret read a book on the soft bed, waiting for me. I hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead, and she looked at me, estranged by my sudden expression of love. I smiled again.

  "Don't worry, Margaret. From here on, I'll value you to your true worth."

  She looked at me quizzically, but I ignored her doubts. The day after, I got my feet on the surface for the first time. No strong odors assaulted my nose; instead, the perfume of lavender reached me.

  From above, the glorious golden orb bathed me in its warmth. I looked at my fellow men, who greeted me amicably, and I waved back at them. Holding Talia with one hand and Margaret with the other, we strolled toward the market.

  "Are we not going to the swords and armor section?" she asked.

  "No, of course not. I'd like to get some stuff for you and Talia."

  "I don't know what you drank yesterday, but drink more of that, haha."

  "Ah, no drinks. Just a, how to put it, breathtaking realization."

  We conversed all the walk, and I realized I had so much to tell after so many years in silence. My family was captivated by my imaginative words, having grown tired of the bravado kill-talk of everyday. I apologized for being so insensitive last night, which elicited a playful frown. On the stalls, I moved past the automatic pots and magic freezing boxes, stopping by the painter. The man bowed and twirled his pointy mustache when I told him I wanted supplies for both me and my daughter, probably the first two customers he'd had in the day. He showed me the rare pigments—iridescent indigo and skyward azure—but I settled for strawberry red and simple ink black. I smelled the jars, perfumed rather than stinking, and smiled, thinking of all the things that I would paint.

  Looking toward the horizon, I determined landscapes would be my main motif.

  "What, you decided to stop going on monster-slaying adventures?" Margaret asked, intrigued.

  "Yes. I'd like to depict the beauty in life. The endless oceans, the chirping birds, the orange sunset, and of course, my beautiful wife."

  "Ha! Don't make me blush, you rascal."

  Talia herself was delighted by the paints and blabbered nonstop about all the things she would paint, her daddy at the very center. As Margaret browsed the fabric stalls, Talia pulled me aside, her small hand wrapped around two of my fingers.

  "Daddy," she whispered, "are you okay? You seem... different."

  My chest tightened. I thought I had been diligent, listening to her imagination, but perhaps I missed something? "Different how, little flower?"

  "Nicer." Her eyes, so innocent and trusting, searched my face. "Did something happen?"

  I knelt to her level, and thinking of what a waste of a man Wade had been said from the bottom of my heart, "I just... I realized how much I've missed. How much time I've wasted not being the father you deserved."

  She threw her arms around my neck. "I'm glad you won't be going monster-hunting again, Daddy. I missed you." I nodded to myself. I was doing good work.

  Stopping to dine, I finally saw the restaurant in all its glory. Decorated, luminous, friendly. I couldn't help myself and I ordered one of everything, the chef laughing as a single soldier met his weekly prepared meal quota.

  The food tasted better than I could've ever imagined, my human taste buds being so much more sensitive than my prior senses could've ever been, perhaps for my own good. Suddenly, I was tearing up.

  "What's the matter, dear?"

  "Oh, nothing, nothing. It's just, the food—it's so good."

  "Really? It tastes the same as usual to me."

  "Ah, maybe. Have you tried the steamed silverback? It's to die for."

  "Ah, let me see. Yum, it's really good!"

  We chitchatted for a while as I planned my future. It didn't make any sense to be in the outskirts anymore, with all those monsters roaming out there, so I told Margaret that we should move to the capital, see the museums and art galleries. She nodded and mentioned that there were a few magic schools we could sign our daughter in if we were residents in the capital. It was a good thing that our past, as heavy as it may be, had netted us enough goodwill that moving shouldn't be a problem.

  A few raindrops began to fall after night set. I looked up to the stormy clouds.

  "Ah. Must be time to head back," Margaret said. Talia rubbed her eyes, tired of the daylong walk.

  "Yes. Yes, it is."

  "You seem sad?"

  "Oh, it's nothing. It's just that... sometimes, I feel like I don't deserve all this."

  "Nonsense! There's no such thing as 'deserving.' Everyone deserves a family and love."

  "Everyone?"

  "Yes, dear. Everyone."

  I nodded, breathing in deeply. Then we headed back to the house. My steps were growing heavy, and the rain turned into a real downpour. A thunder echoed and Margaret grabbed her hat to avoid the wind from blowing it away. Our house lay barely twenty yards away, where five men patiently awaited by the doorstep.

  Margaret greeted them with familiarity, and I mimicked her. Maybe Wade's accomplices? But why were they here?

  We all entered the house and dried ourselves with towels. A short-haired man looked at me sideways before starting to speak.

  "So, Wade, I'll go straight to the topic at hand."

  "Please do," I said in a somber tone.

  "The wards of the city have been tripped."

  "Ah. Is that so?"

  "Yes, and you know what's the funniest thing?"

  I raised my eyebrows.

  "They tripped right here, in your house. You know what that means, right?"

  I froze, trying to figure out how to bluff my way out of this situation. Just had to deceive them one more night, and tomorrow, to the capital.

  "Huh, rats?"

  The man smirked deviously. "Funny. Unless it's demon rats, then no, Wade. It means a monster broke into your house yesterday at midnight. But you haven't seen any monsters, have you?"

  "Of course not. How would a monster even get this far into the city?" That's it, Wade, I thought to myself. Play with their hubris. The man frowned.

  "Well, we were wondering the same thing, you see. We had a seer peek through the entire time of the incident, six hours earlier and eight hours later. All protocol, as you know, right?"

  "Of course." I tried to refrain my body from sweating, but I couldn't. A cold droplet formed at the top of my forehead, slowly dripping down.

  "Of course. And no monsters. Not even a rat..." He sighed and appeared to give up on the interrogation. I breathed out in relief before his eyes returned to focus, glaring at me.

  "That's why I retraced to the craftsman you've been seeing. As you should know, powerful artifacts come with powerful setbacks, exploits that monsters can use. A summoning staff used as a teleport bridge into the city, a charming sword used to subjugate its owner, or..." His glare grew with hatred, all mask dropped. "An amulet of disguise, stolen by an ignorant monster that decided to infiltrate society, stealing the owner's life."

  I'd been had. I looked up, all tension releasing from my muscles. Margaret looked at me agape, Talia hiding behind her. There was no hiding now; only one question remained. I gripped the fabric on my pants as I asked:

  "What are you going to do with me?"

  The man laughed sadistically. "What do you think, you monster bastard? I'll kill you, just like you killed my brother."

  "Brother? Ah." I snorted. "I forgot humans had those. I suppose I was too concentrated on the things you do have that I forgot one."

  The man drew his sword. I got up too and pointed a finger accusingly.

  "And who are you to decide that I'm a monster, that I should live in the gutter feeding off your waste, and that you should be happy?" I looked at Margaret. "Don't we all deserve love? Family?"

  A sudden flash made me reel. The man held a scroll in his hand.

  "You know what this is? A dispel scroll, expensive, but well worth it to expose you for what you really are. Look at the mirror and tell me again that you're not a monster!"

  The figure reappeared before me—the rosy skin turned black and rotted off, exposing the gelatinous thing behind it. Like a leper, I tried to hold my hair in its place, but I couldn't grasp it, and it all fell to the floor. My eyes, my beautiful green eyes, rolled off their sockets, replaced by white orbs that sank as the bone that held them in place melted into goo. The surface of my skin, if it could even be called that, rippled and gave way to the tentacles.

  "Ah. Yes, there it is," I whispered as I confronted my true self, the one I tried to ignore and bury deep down into the sewers. My own guilt had come to confront me for my actions, as my wife and daughter reeled in abhorrence. No, not mine. Wade's. With a last thread of voice, I whispered:

  "Would you believe me if I said that I'm sorry?"

  But they didn't even hear me. A sword of ice and fire burnt through my skull, and whatever magic held me in place vanished, splashing the unholy liquid that conformed me onto the ground.

  "Die, you monster bastard," uttered the man holding the sword