Tremble fell and clutched the stranger's ankle like a prized possession. She could have licked his boot, but it seemed too soon and too obvious. She stuck to basic groveling, just the fact that she was on her knees would hopefully be enough to sate his ego.

  ”I pledge my loyalty to you, for your Remark has proven sharper than those I’ve foolishly followed. You are a conqueror of nations. Your words will shape my soul and your convictions shall be the blood that flows through my veins.” She cupped her hands to her mask and removed it, revealing the sunken features and dark eye circles of a face used to wearing masks.

  Adam coughed once, rubbed his legs, and refused to make eye contact. The conqueror of nations turned to either side as if he had lost something. ”Thanks for the help.” He gestured to the rapids, where the bodies had been dumped.

  Bizarrely, he did not seem moved by her generous pledge. And while her pledge was as insincere as a street urchin with both hands in their pocket, he had no way of knowing.

  “I should be thanking you.” She said, breathing heavily. “Removing all traces of my comrade's failure was a pleasure, and I’m sure a relief to their widows.” She uttered a strong selection of curses under her breath as she stood up, unfurling like a flower and putting on her best fake smile. “We’ll tell their loved ones they fought valiantly. Anyway shall we continue?”

  Adam said nothing, brushing past her like she didn’t exist. At least he was heading in the right direction. She scurried after him.

  Far away was the lip of what she called the Drum, a massive wall of an unknown substance that covered hundreds of miles. It was home to several towns and thousands upon thousands of people. GutWorth laid hidden within its walls. Admittedly a backwater even among the towns of the Drum.

  The fog here was so thick that only the sewer entrance was visible. It made the barred opening seem like it was floating in midair.

  “So what exactly is the story with the uniforms?” Kadmon gestured at her clothes, the exact replica of Lemure’s uniform of The Great Deluge, in all its sturdy greens and yellows, complete with the helm that resembled the laughing face of BloodDeal. Five eyes close together, to allow more room for the cavernous open mouth grimace that 13 stared out from, with black cloth underneath that hid her face. “You’re part of a group… that you’re betraying, because I killed your friends?”

  “Lemure’s Legacy is the name! The unquestioned truth within GutWorth. And don’t you forget it!” she chirped.

  “For someone who expects me to destroy them, you’re oddly attached.”

  Fuck, was he onto her? She hoped the gaping maw of her helm hid the sweat on her face, though the giant bulging eyes of the mask certainly didn’t evoke sincerity.

  “N-n-no! No! I despise them with my entire being. I’ve been reformed since your philosophy cut its foul but objectively correct blade into my ignorantly ignorant heart!” She got down on one knee, really selling it (hopefully). “You are the truth. You are the light. I merely respect the intentions of Lemure’s Legacy, even if it has gone awry. Following orders… such and such. I must have some unresolved fanaticism! No fear, I will address it posthaste. Please do not butcher me for the offense. Please.”

  Strangely, he wasn’t moved.

  “I’m not trying to make you… feel or think anything.” Adam said, frowning. “I’m looking for transport.” He gave her a look that made her nervous. “I don’t want to be worshiped; I just want company.”

  Fuck. Was she blowing it? Of course she was! She always blew it. Never good enough, always weak. It was only through ruthless effort and training that she had gotten strong enough to override her innate failure.

  Curse this strange man for being so unusual, and curse her for being unable to adapt like a good Lemure should!!!

  Hating silence, she whistled a tune. It was important to her, a song for children. She knew all of the song's wild turns and ecstatic rhythms by heart.

  He turned his head back to her, his hair hanging limp but bobbing up and down with the song. “That's a beautiful song. What do you call it?”

  “It’s a traditional song sung whenever a greater Opinion sweeps a town and gets rid of the old stagnant one.”

  With a sudden crack, he turned his head back, and his pace quickened. “That’s what you think of me then? Something greater?”

  ”Of course!” She lied profusely. “With the strength and quick thinking you showed in killing my beloved compatriots, how could I not be utmostly swayed?”

  ”Oh, I’m not that great…” She thought he said, but there was no possible reason someone as strong as him would say something as weak. Perhaps he was asking about the gate!

  “You’re curious about the gate?” She said, perfectly helpful, even pointing to it, the only landmark for miles. No hidden malice in her voice, no sir!

  “Is that the safest route?” He asked, for the first time he sounded annoyed.

  ”Yes, the safest route,” She said. Sweet and sincere, with nothing to hide!

  She was lying through her teeth.

  “Watch this!” she screamed words that meant nothing to her, “Protocol 17C”

  From the lip of the gate a massive metallic ladder fell down into the darkness rapidly. It took a full twenty seconds before it hit bottom and came to a halt.

  “Just hop on that and you’ll find yourself in GutWorth, I shall run ahead now, to inform them all of your thousand year reign.”

  “I’m not staying. And I have no interest in reigning over anyone. You’re going ahead to warn of me, aren’t you?”

  Her blood ran cold, she stopped mid stride, unsure of what to say.

  “… wow! Adam, you are a tactical genius, an artist of war, a scholar of sinew. Of course I was going to warn them, I’m honorable enough to admit it. My highers are paranoid and uncouth people, they would kill me if I reported to them without admitting that, yes, I let you live, and no, I do not know the consequences, and truly I fear them, but perhaps you have another idea we could-“

  “It’s fine.” He balanced his Remark on his palm. “Tell them what I did, lie and tell them I killed them all in one strike, that you saw me tear open the Visionary and shove a man inside. Anything, as long as you make it clear that I wish to leave, and I request only transport.”

  “Transport?” She said, having difficulty wrapping her head around this.

  “Yes, in the traditional sense of the word. The right people will know what it means. I hope.”

  “Oh! I understand now, you think our town is beneath your notice. A harsh appraisal but correct in every possible way!”

  He paused in thought. “Okay, sure. I'm trying to leave without any further casualties.”

  “Of course, of course!” She hopped away, keeping her eyes locked on him. “I will go ahead.” Hop. Hop hop. She motioned for him to get on the ladder. “And let them all know you’re coming.” Another hop. “And that you’re peaceful.” Another hop. “Oh so very very peaceful.”

  And then she ran. She didn’t look back, didn’t respond when he called out her name, when it sounded like he may have followed suit. She ran and ran until she came to the hole in the Drum that was the real entrance, crawled inside, and prayed to Grand that 35 or whoever was doing tryouts would kill the poor fool as soon as he wandered in.

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  “You call that a punch? Pathetic! That couldn’t kill a crawl-cow,” With a massive kick, Lemure 35 sent her opponent flying into a corner of shrapnel and pain. He landed against a section of sheet metal with a sickening crack. His skin raked by nails as he slid down, groaning hard.

  “What was his mistake, class?”

  No one answered.

  “That's correct, he didn’t play dirty. Remember, when your opponent asks for a stipulation for a duel, you do not owe it to them to comply.”

  Two of her assistants pulled the poor boy off of the ground as the small crowd cheered.

  Lemure 35 was a muscular, towering woman with wild orange hair that spilled out of her helm like a frozen waterfall. Unlike the lower Lemures, her armor was unique and something she took pride in. Her custom-made helmet of eyes and teeth, had the face of a woman on its forehead, like a mole. It was modeled after her mother. A form of penance. Below that and two rows of teeth was 35’s bulging face and harsh red eyes, bursting out from an opening in the helmet's metallic throat.

  The only other opening in her deep crimson armor was an ab window that showed off her profoundly chiseled six-pack that looked cut enough to grate a man's head down to a stub. She spent 90% of her wages on protein. It was worth it.

  She stood in a chamber of the aqueduct that had been fenced off with rusty steel and hard wrought iron. It looked and felt more like some avant-garde art installation than a combat arena. The sort of thing she would have made when there was still a demand for that sort of expression. But that was a different time, and her creative needs were now kept sated through combat.

  She surveyed her work. Injured bodies were splayed out like paint splatter. Those who had yet to fight clung to the circular walls like spiders, peering down in terror at their instructor.

  The one who had bled, hanging limply on her two assistants shoulders, had yet to be roused. His sparring partner was in the corner of the arena, rocking solely back and forth and muttering to himself. Common trash. They weren’t ready and probably never would be. She scanned the untested, daring each and every one of them with her piercing stare. “Come on now… don’t tell me you’re all crawlcows too.”

  “My gran ran a crawlcow farm,” piped up a wiry one, who hopped down from his perch on the wall. “They were tough to kill, and my gran was a tough woman.” He got more animated, his energy misdirected. “We had to use this special hammer to kill one and everything.” It was an invitation to spar, but the poor kid didn’t seem to realize.

  With a smirk, 35 seized the opportunity. “Is that so? Would you like to demonstrate?”

  Those on the floor fled to the wall, finding their footing between bumps of metal and makeshift platforms. Those on the walls climbed up higher and shared excited glances.

  He looked around with a comically dumb expression. “D-d-d-demonstrate what?”

  “D-d-d-don’t speak.” She said. The cruelty was the point. He would be an object lesson in failure.

  She looked to the walls.

  “You all know about Tricks right?”

  Everyone nodded, even her target. “Well, you’re about to see a special demonstration of my own Trick. They get stronger with use, and good Tricks deserve to be shown off.”

  Her guards hid giggles. They had seen her “special demonstrations” before. It always killed.

  “You mentioned a hammer on your farm. Something like this?” from a off-color section of empty space, a massive Remark in the shape of a crawl-cow hammer appeared.

  Lumpy, diseased, and covered with excrement and substances somehow worse, it radiated a palpable and pungent power. “I ran a crawlcow farm myself. Actually, no! There's no reason to mince words, it was a slaughterhouse, and I call this baby Butchersboon.”

  She brought the Remark down on the wiry one's head without warning. The impact was sudden and merciless. He closed his eyes, terrified.

  Only, moments later, he opened them.

  Laughing, he patted himself up and down in amazement. “Oh… you… you got me. For a second there I thought you were gonna kill me. That’s your Trick right?”

  “You could say that.” She let him have this moment, the punchline was funnier when you had to wait for it. He didn’t know, but her Trick was already working its magic. His pointer finger on his left hand was twitching, he had yet to notice this.

  He approached a group of trainees but they laughed and climbed higher. They saw the way his fingers shook. His smile faded. He turned around to try the opposite wall. They did the same.

  He turned to her, his arms starting to shake. “What- what gives? they’re all acting like I’m dead”

  She tilted her head and hocked a loogie. “Yeah… cause you already are.”

  And then suddenly, the man exploded. His guts, vertebrae, and secret bone covered the room. His blood and other assorted fluids mixed in mid-air and splattered the walls and onlookers in the color of indigo and violet.

  There was applause. Hooting, and even hollering.

  Some of the recruits couldn’t handle it. They left in a mad rush. 35’s men were too overcome with laughter to stop them. The ones who remained cheered and banged on metal till their hands were bloody. She curtsied and did a bow, her cheeks flushed with pride.

  “The point is, crawlcows are easy to kill.” Good riddance. She only needed to kill one to send a message. “Now, who would like to spar next?”

  A shadow grew from the edges of the room. A greasy haired man with cuts all over his body wandered in. He had on strange garb, something of a combat uniform, but old. Very old. She had never seen him before, which was strange, GutWorth wasn’t exactly a big town. And someone like him would be hard to miss.

  “And who might you be? A late entry, here for the tryouts?”

  He shook his head and muttered some rubbish about only passing through.

  “Oh, are you intimidated by a bit of bloodshed? Don’t be! I can be gentle, I’ll teach you how to use that Remark of yours to kill as messisly or as cleanly as you desire. Let me demonstrate.”

  Before she could strike, the man’s face went slack and his Remark moved with a mind of its own straight for her. She panicked and dodged, while the man fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The Remark rocketed around the room with a strange joy, before it found 35’s head and tore through.

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  Seen from above, The Drum was like a brain scan. Many distinct lines tucked away and folded upon itself. It was not one massive wall, but a maze with many layers.

  From one of these layers, the walls here white and flaked, there was a scream, a sound like a bomb going off, and then silence.

  Adam Kadmon walked out, limping slightly from a new wound.

  He was covered in blood that was pink, red, and purple. He hadn’t been before.

  The floor underneath him was see through, and below was miles upon miles of the shifting waters and jagged peaks. Structures and crumbled roads sticking out like limbs in bad soup. And literally nothing else. It was mind boggling. It was disheartening.

  He turned his attention to what he could feel. In the opposite wall of this massive structure, a bit away from the door he had used, was a worm like metallic object protruding from a crack. Fascinated, he walked to it. It was the end of a telescope, embedded in the massive metal wall. He put his eye to the glass and looked.

  On the other side of the wall was a self contained porridge of a city, tiny citizens scrambling around tilted buildings poised to fall like dominoes. The architecture was dominated by hues of harsh grays and cold blues, done in a style foreign to Adam. Perhaps it was to the architects as well, for there was no throughline to these buildings outside of their color. In total there were miles of streets and buildings. No space had been wasted, though most of it seemed abandoned.

  Near the edge of the city was a massive tower that dominated the skyline, the top, with a massive hole that resembled a bite, rivaled the size of the city's wall. Behind the city was ocean that made up the bulk of the background, drying off into a thin passage of blue that led to another city that even from this distance seemed far more pleasant than its sister.

  From this view, Adam felt like he was in a giant hollow drum. Like a toybox of some celestial child. Eons wide and ages long like the world itself, self contained and never changing. A world that was much nicer, a world that was heavier in the ways that helped, and softer in the ways that hurt. How nice that would be if it were true.

  A world where nothing that happened in the Drum truly mattered. They were all things made for play. Their blood was cotton and their flesh was cardboard. Fighting forever and ever in fights that didn’t matter until their stuffing had consumed the Drum and the cover was closed on them for the very last time.

  Capacity believed that, at least at the end she did. She had spoken those words specifically the Drum analogy. She had used it for many things. Though he didn’t know if it was a wish, like it was for him, or what she truly believed the world to be. Many things about her were unclear near the end. She would whisper thoughts like that after one of their many slaughters, telling him these things like they were bedtime stories.

  Maybe when he saw her again she could explain.

  He looked up from the telescope, and saw not the vast cityscape but a wall flecked with rust. With a sigh he sat down, shut his eyes, let his body go limp, and waited to be picked up and used once again.

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