Max and Ross faced each other inside the tree hollow. Max sat upon a living room log with his legs crossed and posture attentive, as if to summon his best impression of a kung fu master. Ross sat on the floor a few feet away, staring back at Max with a slight head tilt. His gaze listed off to the side, prompting Max to follow in confusion. Ross lifted his meaty paw and started grooming his forearm. Max glanced around the room as if he had missed a cue. He returned a miffed gaze to the feline and cleared his throat.
Ross snapped to attention. “Right, sorry.”
Max rolled his eyes.
“Okay, so, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to kill the lights in your coconut with a jolt of ... well, let’s just call it energy.”
Max raised an eyebrow.
“You’re going to pass out, then I’m going to revive you with ... more energy.”
Max raised the other eyebrow.
“I have positioned myself in all other universes in direct accord with your current location. Depending on where you shift, I may need some extra time to revive you properly. If you awake by yourself, don’t just talk to any random beast thinking it’s me. I’d hate to go to all this bloody trouble, only to have you swallowed by your own stupidity.”
“What do you mean where I shift? Won’t I be here?”
“Ideally, yes.”
“That sounds far from ideal.”
“Given the nature of your presence on Yankar, you will likely remain here in the tree. But, the entire planet is your current domain. In another universe, you may be leading a tribe of frog-faced cannibals on another continent.”
Max puckered with concern.
“But don’t worry, I’m on it. Just keep your cool until I find you. Don’t do anything, don’t talk to anyone, and if you find yourself in a precarious situation, just fake it until you make it ... or until you die a painful death.”
Max frowned and twitched an eyelid.
“You ready?”
Max closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. After a bout of terrifying contemplation, his eyelids opened, his gaze hardened, and he responded with a resolute nod.
Ross grinned as he reared onto his hind legs and pressed his paws together, striking a kung fu pose of his own. The image charmed Max as a sight to behold, as if plucked from the pages of an anthropomorphic comic. The saber-toothed cat stood with broad shoulders, orange stripes, and brushes of white fur akin to an aging mobster. The soft light reflected off his two large fangs, giving him a fearsome presence. Ross mimicked a feisty crane, indulged in a quick wax-on-wax-off, then punched Max in the face.
* * *
Lord Essien and her posse strolled to a stop in front of two masked guards in ivory robes. The towering steel doors behind them, previously unadorned, now featured a large silhouette of a man playing a tuba, painted white as a stark contrast to the ebon surroundings. The guards crossed a pair of spears in front of the entrance, drawing an eye roll from Lord Essien. Jai crossed his arms and glared at the Moreon men (a safe assumption despite the masks and robes).
“Lord Essien here to speak with Trevor,” Jai said.
“Greetings, kind traveler. State your purpose.”
Jai shifted his lips, glanced at Essien, then returned to the guards. “I just did.”
The guards, utterly unprepared for such a brazen breach of protocol, stammered a bit before huddling in front of the doors for an emergency meeting. Whispers elevated as their gazes darted back and forth between the visitors and each other. Their hurried hands and frantic gestures told Lord Essien everything she needed to know. Noobs, and bad ones at that. With a final grunt and nod, the guards resumed their positions. They crossed spears again, albeit in a clumsy and uneven manner. Jai tilted his head, as if trying to find the funny in a bad improv sketch.
“Very well. You may proceed.”
An awkward silence gripped the group.
Essien rolled her eyes, then cleared her throat.
“Oh, right,” a guard said. He spun to an adjacent wall, tapped a code into a control panel, got it wrong twice, took his time on the third, then resumed a threatening stance that lost any and all threat.
The doors slid open with a steady whine, revealing the glow of a large white (previously black) room. Lord Essien squinted and recoiled, as if emerging from a mineshaft into daylight. The group proceeded inside, each eyeing a guard with a mixture of pity and contempt. Essien glanced around the circular enclosure, the base of Varokin operations for the last hundred years. Soaring walls housed various consoles and hologram touch screens. A group of Dimathien men in ivory robes manned each station. They ignored the visitors, content to tap and swipe as commanded. In the center, an angular throne sat upon an elevated platform. Its occupant, a white humanoid male in a white robe, arose to address the group. (Like, really white. The kind of white that makes an albino look like a Brazilian bikini model.)
“Greetings, Lord Essien,” Trevor said with the voice of an effeminate hipster. He added a meager bow.
“Greetings, Fuckface Von Shit Stealer.” Essien added a mocking curtsey.
The entire room flinched and turned cringing faces to the visitors.
Trevor shivered. “No need for foul language. You are a guest here.”
“A guest in my own fucking home?”
The operators tightened their cringes.
“Language,” Trevor said with the uptick of an irritated parent. “This is our home now. As I recall, your defeat at Hollow Hold was absolute.”
“I wouldn’t be standing here if that were the case.”
“Yes, about that ...” Trevor folded his hands like a pious bishop. He lifted his lumpy noggin and studied Lord Essien through a pair of lopsided red eyes. “Why do you request a conclave with the Moreons?”
“My armada was destroyed. I need a new one.”
“And how is that of my concern?”
“You have one. I want it.”
Trevor chortled like a creepy weirdo who never learned to laugh like a normal person. “And why would I relinquish control of a fleet that managed to conquer Jarovy?”
“First off, you didn’t conquer anything. You just moved in while I was away, like a filthy squatter tribe. Second, we both want the same thing.”
Trevor lifted his brow, or whatever mound of face flesh constituted a brow. “Which is?”
“Control of the Terramesh, the most powerful criminal syndicate in the universe. The Varokins held it for a hundred years before you stole it like some power-hungry babysitter. How long do you think it will take the Dread Jacks to mount a full invasion? They fear the Varokins, not you. I know how to run it, how to manipulate it, how to squeeze it for power and resources. You need me. And as much as it pains me to admit, I need your fleet to hold it.”
Trevor stroked a chin-like knob at the base of his skull, trying to convey villainous contemplation, but resembled a cartoon caricature. A tattoo of holy shit she’s right across his forehead would have been more subtle. “Hmm, an alluring proposition, madam. I shall consider this partnership under one condition.”
Essien folded her arms.
“You must convert to Moreonism.”
Essien snorted and smirked.
“I’m dead serious.”
“Oh, I know you are, which is why I find it funny.”
Essien started to wander around the front of the room. She shed her cloak and let it fall to the ground, unveiling a tempered leather suit with riveted pauldrons connected by link and chain. The other four Varokins lowered their hoods, revealing their silver eyes, sunken cheeks, and dark purple skin. Jai stood his ground with a hardened expression and hands locked behind his back. Essien traded glances with the dozen robed minions staring back at her through glassy red eyes. She stopped in front of the central platform and glared up at Trevor.
“Why aren’t any of you armed?” she said.
“Moreons prefer a nonviolent approach.”
“Yet you built an armada.”
“An effective intimidation tactic.”
“A weapon unused is a useless weapon.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes. “Rest assured, Varokin. Self-defense is not discordant with the Moreon faith.”
“And yet, none of you are carrying weapons.”
“Did you not ... where is this going?”
Essien grinned. “Zwaq, open base cove three.”
“Yes, Master,” a metallic voice said.
A floor panel behind Lord Essien slid open, prompting a rack of plasma weapons to rise from a hidden compartment. Jai and the four Varokins plucked rifles from the rack. They spread out around the room, causing the minions to squirm and trade worried glances. Lord Essien turned and plucked a plasma pistol from the rack.
“Zwaq, reset and lockdown command.”
“Yes, Master.”
The rack disappeared into the floor. The entrance doors bolted shut, sealing the guards outside. The muted thumps of frantic fists elevated a sense of dread. Every station froze and reset with the Varokin emblem, a serpent-like creature slithering through the eye socket of a teardrop skull.
Trevor’s vacant expression morphed into the jolly aha of realization. “Oooh, everything is voice-controlled.”
Essien rolled her eyes.
“Zwaq,” Trevor said. “Get me a water with lemon.”
Silence responded.
“It only responds to me, you dolt.”
Trevor sighed and glared at Essien. “I would appreciate some latitude, missy. This is our first usurpation and we are still learning.”
Lord Essien huffed and shook her head as she sauntered over to the nearest minion with a plasma pistol in hand. She armed the weapon, causing the minion to pucker his face. Without breaking stride, Essien grabbed an arm and yanked him to his feet, drawing a yelp of fright. She spun to his back, locked his wrist, and jammed the gun barrel under his knobby chin. The minion whimpered as Lord Essien turned her gaze to Trevor and smiled.
“So, dazzle me with your Moreon pitch.”
Trevor shifted his lips, then took a deep breath. “Okay, so, Moreonism is—”
BLAM! The blast from Essien’s pistol echoed around the chamber. Trevor and his minions flinched and cowered for cover. Jai and the Varokins stood their ground, unmoved by the blast. A spatter of oily green blood covered the console, the floor around it, and Lord Essien herself. She released the headless body, allowing it to smack the floor. Blood oozed from the neck hole, forming a large puddle. Essien strolled over to the adjacent console and grabbed the next minion. A stiff yank brought him to his feet. Essien jammed the barrel into his back and returned her gaze to Trevor.
“Go on,” she said, smiling through a bloodied face.
Trevor regained some of his floundering composure and took another deep breath. “As I was saying, Moreonism is a faith that—”
“Is this one wearing a magic t-shirt?”
Trevor stammered. “Um, yes, all adherents are required to don the holy garm—”
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Rapid shots burst through the minion’s chest, painting the floor with flesh and blood. Trevor and the minions flinched and cowered again. Essien released her grip, allowing the twitching victim to smack the ground in front of her.
“Didn’t work,” Essien said.
A shaking Trevor returned to his feet. “Well, it’s more of a spiritual armor than—”
BLAM! Essien killed the next minion with a single shot to the chest while maintaining eye contact with Trevor.
Trevor lifted a finger and opened his mouth.
BLAM! The next minion took a shot to the face, spraying his station with brain goo.
Trevor tried again, but stammered like a malfunctioning Jeff Goldblum.
Lord Essien sauntered around the chamber with pistol outstretched. “There!” BLAM! “Are!” BLAM! “No!” BLAM! “Gods!” BLAM! “Stop!” BLAM! “Being!” BLAM! “Stupid!” BLAM! Leaving the final minion alive, Essien loomed over him as green blood dripped from her face. She nodded to Jai and the Varokins, who aimed their rifles at Trevor upon the platform.
Trevor took a step back. “Wha—what are you doing?”
“Testing your faith.” Essien dropped the pistol into the minion’s lap. “Kill yourself.”
A puzzled gaze responded. “Um ... what?”
“Eat the barrel of that pistol and pull the trigger. Or, we kill your dear leader.”
“No!” Trevor said. “Suicide is a grave sin, Borren.”
Borren shrugged and grabbed the pistol. “Well, yeah, but only if it’s the one true death, right?”
Trevor nodded. “In theory, sure, but it’s still a dice roll.”
Essien scrunched her brow.
Jai and the Varokins traded confused glances.
Borren sighed with the same mental weight of choosing between candy bars. “Meh, I like my chances. And besides, I wouldn’t want to dirty your duds. We have already racked up a nasty tailoring bill in here, am I right?”
Trevor laughed. “Very true, brother. Okay then, I trust your judgment.”
Borren opened his mouth, pressed the barrel to the roof, smiled, and pulled the trigger. The blast exploded his head, raining blood and brains all over Essien and the console. His headless body sank into the chair with arms dangling off to the sides.
Lord Essien scooped the smoking pistol from his blood-soaked lap and turned a bewildered gaze to Trevor. “What the hell just happened?”
“Oh, Borren was doing me a solid. Good tailors on the Terramesh are hard to find. I just got these robes last week, so he was being courteous.”
A hunk of brain resting on Essien’s shoulder started to wiggle. It rolled off her leather suit and fell to the floor with a wet splat. Drops of blood leapt from her body and formed a small puddle. It broke away and slithered towards the first victim like a liquid Terminator. Bits of brain rolled, flopped, and wriggled towards their owner. Each piece crawled into the lifeless body and assumed its natural position. With a final slurp of green ooze, the reassembled body began to stir. Soon after, the remaining blood and guts around the room started to crawl toward their owners.
Lord Essien gnashed her teeth and stomped over to Jai. He managed to gulp before she buried a fist into his cheek. The impact launched him off his feet and thumped his back to the floor. Essien loomed over him, writhing and panting. “Dimathiens can regenerate?! Did you forget to mention that tiny yet wholly important detail?!”
“I, um—”
Essien jammed her pistol into his eye socket. “I know your sack-of-shit species can’t regenerate. Give me a reason. Give me one, sweet, delectable, goddamn reason.”
Jai trembled and clenched his mouth shut.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Trevor said with open palms. “There is no need for violence here.” He stepped over to the platform ledge and took a seat, bringing him to eye level. “We can die just like anyone else, but it takes us several tries. We are all born with a death allowance, a number of times we can bite the big one before we actually do. No one knows their tab. Sometimes it’s ten, sometimes a hundred, a thousand. Hell, there was one of us that managed to die 26 thousand times before he actually did. It was marvelous. They even made it into a pay-per-view event.”
Essien unplugged her pistol from Jai’s peeper, tightened her posture, and wandered over to Trevor. Her furious gaze softened to one of utter stupefaction. She spread her arms into the universal this makes no goddamn sense pose. “Then why are you religious?”
Trevor started to respond, but caught himself.
“Your species has negated the entire reason why mortals bullshit themselves into thinking there is life after death. If you can take a blast to the face and shake it off like a stubbed toe, then what’s the point?”
Trevor paused for thought. “Well, um, if we live good Moreon lives, then we get to rule our own spirit planets after we die. That’s kinda cool.”
“You rule your own planet now. Hell, you rule a planet that governs an entangled mesh of other planets.”
Trevor paused for thought again. He started to respond, but stopped. He started to respond again, but stopped. His brain locked itself into a vicious loop of this is neat, but wait a minute.
“Lord Ess—” Jai said from the floor, only to stare down the barrel of Essien’s pistol again. He flinched and sniveled. “If I may, the regen powers of the Dimathiens make them formidable allies. Re-imagine the Hollow Hold assault, only this time with an army of invincibles. We may finally have the means in which to defeat Nifan.”
Essien narrowed her eyes. “We?”
Jai groaned and flopped on the floor. “Goddamnit.”
“Blasphemy!” Trevor said with a knee-jerk reaction.
“Gosh darn it all to heck!” a minion said.
Everyone turned to the second victim, now poking his fingers through the holes in his robe.
“My sincere apologies for the coarse language, but look at this. I need a new hallowed v-neck and new robes. Ugh, this is going to cost me a fortune.” The minion stomped over to Lord Essien and poked her chest. “Now listen here, you trigger-happy tart. You owe me a set of shiny new robes and you best pay—”
BLAM! Essien shot him in the face.