Lemsk and Trav burst into applause when she finally stumbled out of the kitchen. They pounded the table and started chanting nonsense. She slid into the booth next to Trav, the less intimidating of the two. The Number gave her a confused look, as if to ask “why do you think you’re worthy of sitting next to one of your betters?” But honestly, she didn’t give a shit. She was useful enough that she didn’t fear anything more severe from Trav than a harsh noogie.

  “Grand, her eyes are red, don’t tell me she partook before us?” He leaned to her side, eyes bugging out even more than usual. He was almost twice as wide as he was tall, like he had been squashed by a hydraulic press. Maybe he had been, Devon knew someone who had been stretched out an extra foot by a malfunctioning food processor. It could happen!

  “It’s perfectly alright Trav, she was just crying. Being a wretch with no future will elicit that response” Lemsk said. Lemsk was tall with red hair and a face that seemed so common that if she were to die, someone else with her looks would surely show up the next day. She had hands that had never fully grown into fingers, instead they were fleshy animal mitts that she was very sensitive about.

  Without a word Devon slid the bag into Lemsk’s waiting paws. The girl started rubbing her eyes with the stuff immediately.

  “You should probably take it easy.”

  “You should probably die!” Lemsk hissed. Her eyes reflected battles of endless carnage. The stuff worked fast.

  She asked about payment, hoping they’d keep their end of the deal. They just laughed, told her in a sing-song cadence that she could just keep what was left over.

  ”That wasn’t the deal.” She said, raising her voice. One could only take so much crawlshit until the smell became intolerable.

  Her vision went red suddenly, a color so bright it burned her retina and left an after image that would linger for hours. It was the drug, no, the vision. Were they one and the same? Her head hurt.

  ”She did partake. I told you!!” Trav pounced up onto the table and came up to Devon’s chest, breathing heavily. “Lets… lets rip her fucking eyeballs out!” He turned back to Lemsk, his face frozen in a grotesque open mouth grin.

  She motioned with two nubs for him to get off the table.

  Devon sighed, “Okay so… I did partake, just to test it. This stuff is really- it’s different. I think you should be careful is all.”

  ”It’s mid.” Lemsk said. The endless battles of war in her eyes already shadows.

  ”What?”

  ”I said it’s mid. The high hits a minute in, everything after is the comedown. Ain’t that right Trav?”

  Trav called out in agreement from under the table, he was eating some sort of animal, too insignificant to be given a name. She had never seen it before, but then, on second thought, it was as common to her as a floatrat.

  Something was happening.

  She slammed her hands down, the tawdry leather of the booth was melting, tendrils with holes that squirmed like amoebas. Trav jumped up from beneath the table and sunk into the miasma. He didn’t seem to care that it was up to his shoulders, he didn’t seem to see it. A mouth formed out of a ragged gash of exposed foam.

  “Can you hear me? Can you see me?” The mouth paused, and bit it’s lip. It was bizarre to her for a hallucination to show such hesitancy. “Can you hear me? Can you see me?”

  “You’re gonna give us more, right?” Lemsk’s head slammed into view, her red ponytail whipped violently. Devon had the sudden urge to pull it and her smug face down and cut her through the neck.

  Instead, she just stuttered and mumbled. The mouth was gone, everything was more or less normal again. The B.O.V mounted on the wall was playing “The First To Die” and a ragged man wearing a chalkboard sign was trying to get people to sing along.

  “I… yeah, yeah. I can give you more.” She put her head down, the feeling seemed to have passed. Whatever this was, it wasn't dreamdust.

  “What in Grands name are you doing here! Don’t you know he’s coming this way.” It was the same Number from before, the one who had spoken of Adam with almost reverence.

  A cold hand gripped her shoulder. The black mesh of the mask stared straight into her. She could barely make out the eyes. “Devon. Devon. That's you isn’t it?”

  ”Yup, that's me.” She said, straining to hide her annoyance. Tremble, they bumped into each other every few seasons. They had been neighbors until they were not. She hadn’t kept up, but everytime they crossed paths Tremble seemed deeper into a sort of personal psychosis that had yet to reach its nadir.

  Tremble hugged her suddenly. ”I am so glad to have found you, Devon! For the meek are the ones who shall have their spines crushed and their smiles torn from their face. And you Devon, are meek, meeker, meekest!”

  She wanted to disagree, but she was having a hard time even following what was currently happening. Did she just agree to get more dream dust for Trav and Lemsk, all without getting any orbits in return?

  Tremble took her silence as agreement. “You are a reserve member, correct? All Reserved as well as Numbers have been ordered to make an appearance at an emergency meeting.”

  She was reserved. You had to be just to get a job here, she had always avoided trying to become a Number, that was a surefire way to die quickly rather than slowly.

  “Of course she is,” Lemsk answered for her, shaking her by the neck, “she’d love to go, wouldn’t you?”

  “What’s the occasion?” Devon asked, still out of it.

  “The man named Adam! I met him, when I was out guarding the SliverBridge with Lemure 16. listen, I shall tell you all about it!”

  She couldn’t say no. They got up from the table immediately, Tremble leading the way and regaling them with her very short experience with the man named Adam and the awful thing that had happened to Lemure 16.

  .

  .

  .

  When Lemure 16 was just a child, he went with his third father to put up a sign. His third was never an anxious man, but when he got the poster out he acted strangely, glancing behind his back and asking 16 to keep watch.

  16 didn’t know why the man who had one-thirds raised him was so paranoid. The sign depicted Morgan Lemure, a man that Lemure 16 at the time had no strong opinion of, and above was a word that he did not know. He looked for someone to ask, for his third father was no help, and shushed him when he grew concerned.

  A member of Lemure’s Legacy was nearby. They always seemed to be. This one was a shockingly tall woman lacking a left arm. Her mask was unique, a grinning Dearth Wyrm that covered half of her face, her other half showed angular white hair and a pale blue face.

  He must have said something like, “excuse me, but that man, who is one of my three fathers, is quite nervous, which is an unnatural emotion, considering all he’s doing is putting up a sign.”

  She didn’t acknowledge him but walked towards his guardian. They had a short conversation 16 didn’t hear. Then out came her Remark. From the phantom limb, a golden arm twice as big as her organic one. A single cut in space, he split into two, it was fucking beautiful.

  The blood made the poster illegible, and 16 never learned what was on it or what it meant. From that moment on he no longer cared, it didn’t matter what caused duels, as long as they were beautiful.

  After earning entry by killing his other two fathers (for triple husbandry, as he learned, was a barbaric and primitive notion), he moved quickly up the ranks of Lemure’s Legacy. A willingness to backstab others was a prized trait.

  One could consider him a lieutenant at his peak of rank 16. Someone confident, dependable, and on track to transcend the Numbers entirely, becoming a Constant for certain.

  But even lieutenants get stuck with the shit jobs.

  The floatrat circled the flickering lamp post. At first it had been a fun distraction, now it was a nuisance. They had been stationed at the SliverBridge for two days, free to do what they pleased with any travelers who tried to cross. Not that they were likely to encounter any, they hadn't yet. 16’s lowers preferred watching the lazy circles of the creature far more than they did the bridge. Obscured by collages of rock and mountain peaks, the light filtered down as small cracks of radiance that drifted down below, floating on the rapids like clouds.

  He nudged Lemure 12, the only one doing her job. "Get rid of it."

  A sensible short sword that rippled like water birthed itself from nothing and screamed into her grasp.

  He grimaced, annoyed at the showboating. "No need for that, come on now." He tossed her a piece of floor tile and motioned at the beast.

  Her throw was eager but off-target, whizzing right past the lamp and only succeeding in getting the other's attention. They joined in, but all missed the target. Their pieces of tiles landed in the rapids below.

  Lemure 3 put an end to it. He hit the flame of the lamppost straight on, unfortunately. The only light left from the cracks far above.

  "Oh, good going, 3," 12 said. Despite the poor lighting that masked their smart vein identifiers, he easily recognized 3 from his small stature and awkward gait. The man was anxiety personified.

  3 conveyed bewilderment. He looked around in a confused daze. "What? But I did it, didn't I?"

  "You got rid of the floatrat, yes," Lemure 16 said. “But you took out the light!" He preferred the erratic flickering of the lampost to this bland darkness. "Now I can't read any of your veins. It’s hard to tell who’s who.” They all wore the same uniform, you had to hit rank 20 to get a custom one.

  "Our Superior is right," 8 said in an awkward falsetto. "Let's make it clear now, I'm Lemure 12."

  ”Hey, wait a minute, no, you’re not!” 12 said, protective of her relatively meager ranking. “16! Make her stop! 16!”

  "I can recognize 12 by voice, 8, as I can yours. Come off it," 16 knew exactly how the next few minutes would go. The four of them would argue about who was who until their throats got sore. He was not looking forward to it.

  He took out his spyglass, since he could barely see the opening from here. And, who knows, maybe finally something would happen.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The bridge they were on continued in strange twists and turns until it came to a sudden stop at a flat eggshell colored surface jutting unnaturally from a mountain wall. Right next to a door shaped indent was a tiny crack. A sliver. This was where strangers were born. Not literally, atleast, potentially not literally. But those who came through were like children. Mostly naked, confused, and covered in a foul smelling goo.

  One of 16’s lovers had come through in this fashion, he had told him about it one night after sex. All he remembered was being dwarfed by objects high above him, and feeling scared.

  16 was born in the city, like a normal human person.

  It wasn't just humans who appeared there. There were aberrations, runner ups, and creatures that had no name but were still separate in taxonomy: terrible things, all of them. Fit only to die.

  There were many cracks around here, but this was the only one with a habit of creating strangers.

  And just as he perched on this thought, considering what about this crack made it special, a stranger popped out.

  It was challenging to discern gender from such a distance. So tall they had to stoop to leave the crack, with black hair shaved off on one side that hung limp from the other. It looked like it had been washed in water and had dried all wrong.

  They were unarmed, wearing a black shawl above their waist and white wraps that covered their lower third. Remarkably skinny. Remarkably pale, too. Lips and extremities a light shade of gray.

  No one else noticed them; they were still arguing over who was who. With a cough, 16 called them to order.

  They got into a diamond shaped formation behind him, and kept the argument going until the stranger was in shouting range.

  "State your reason for passage!" Lemure 16 yelled. He summoned his Remark; Grimerrect, it always worked in asserting his authority. It was a hefty metal rod with a face at the end he didn’t recognize. He swore that every time he summoned it the face was different, but no one else cared enough to notice.

  The stranger glanced at it with confusion, like he had never seen a Remark. His stride across the SliverBridge slowed to a crawl.

  “There’s no need for that. Please.” The stranger said. His voice was deeper than 16 expected.

  ”I will be the judge of that.” 16 said, trying to make his authority clear.

  ”Judge, jury, and execution.” 12 brayed. It was unhelpful and unnecessary, he shot her a look beneath his mask.

  "Okay, well… Can I ask you your name?” The man, for he was a man, said.

  His earnest smile disgusted 16. Show some damned self respect.

  "Names? Why bother? We won't be seeing you again." 16 replied, for it was the truth.

  "Names are sacred," 3 added. There was some personal obsession he had with nom de plumes that 16 and the others tolerated at best.

  “Oh, well, is there anything I can address you as?”

  “Lemure 16.”

  The Stranger blinked rapidly. “I don’t think I understand. Are you the 16th of your family?”

  ”My family was a mistake I have since corrected. My rank is my name. Everything important about me is right there. I am not part of a family, I am part of a legacy. Lemure is who I aspire to be, 16 is my rank, the highest being 50, to even become ranked is an honor. The ones behind me are my lowers, they are not as strong as I.”

  The stranger held up his hands and continued forward, moving sideways to avoid the waters below. The erosion over time had withered away portions of the floor to small splinters, which made guard duty all the easier; with luck the stranger would fall in. The stranger was far quicker than expected, and pushed past 16.

  16 jumped onto a half-collapsed wall to the stranger's left and intercepted him at a point as narrow as the man's stride. "Now that isn't very considerate."

  "What is there to consider? I am leaving, please let me through.”

  "You know you'll need permission for that," Lemure 12 said in a sing-song voice, wagging her Remark.

  "Just a simple question, then you're free to go." 16 looked back at his men. Who to pick, who to pick. “Petrov! Ask the man for Grand’s sake."

  The lowest Number shuffled forward, his head hanging down to 16’s side. "You know I haven't done this before, and don’t use my name like that" Petrov whispered, scratching nervously at the pulsing three on his neck.

  "You pledge daily in private. It should be no issue to ask another." He patted Petrov softly and then pushed him forward.

  After taking a moment, 3 began; "When you are in the territory of GutWorth, do you promise to uphold a pledge to Morgan Lemure, champion of the Deluge, slayer of the fifth to last DearthWyrm, BloodDeal, and one of Twenty Seven recognized emissaries of Death herself. Will you lay down your life in a duel if Morgan or one of his Legacy, or his Constants, commands it?"

  An adequate job. The pauses were awkward and unconvincing, but it could be forgiven considering the situation.

  The stranger looked off to the side as if lost in thought. "I do not agree. This sounds predatory and easy to manipulate.”

  "Why not? It's common sense, I don’t know where you’re from but this is normal here. It is Lemure's domain; all we ask is a verbal acknowledgment." 16 leaned in, his breath heavy. “We'll kill you where you stand if you don't say yes."

  The stranger looked away, as if there was anything in this blasted heap worth looking at.

  16 cleared his throat. The man had yet to be convinced, but surely this would do the trick. "I shall read to you from the scriptures." Words appeared in his eyes that only he could see; thanks to his smart veins, all he had to do was think of Lemure and a unique passage would appear. It was as new to him as it would be for the stranger. Infinite words of infinite wisdom provided by the floaters in his vitreous.

  His thought was 'origin’, and this is what appeared;

  “In the time of the Great Deluge, when the Remark was merely a suggestion and not the means to our end, Morgan Lemure took it upon himself to exercise that power. And exercise he did. Once a small nation of people had fallen to his Remark, the war for legitimacy came calling. Now known as the Great Deluge, contemporarily it was known as the Announcement. For what better name for a struggle that made clear the current order? Lemure knew that to define himself through violence, one must sacrifice the security of certainty. But unlike others, Lemure did more than sacrifice. He-"

  The reading was interrupted by the untrimmed stranger reaching for 16’s Remark. Letting out a yelp, 16 stumbled backward, flailing in a wild fury till he hit what remained of a wall.

  He moved his hand, so pale, so cold, down slowly to 16’s breast pocket.

  Below, the water picked up speed. The tile 16 stood on was suddenly less stable.

  “Get off of me!”

  The stranger fell on his back, well-practiced, catching himself with his arms and landing on all fours. Cocking his legs, he jumped up from this position and held his empty hands up to each side. They all noticed the absence of a Remark. As if that mattered.

  "I will only repeat what my lesser here has said," 16 yelled. The words were pointed and harsh for 3's benefit. "Renounce any assumption that you have rights while in Lemure's domain. You are no better than a vassal within our borders and have no authority unless given it."

  The stranger, paying no mind to the Remarks, shrugged. "I can't do that. I made a promise that I cannot break. Please let me pass.”

  "Who gives a shit? Lemure is judge, jury, and executioner, and in his absence we carry out his will!”

  Despite Lemure 16’s commanding tone, the man did not budge.

  Alright.

  "I implore you to either die or go back the way you came. I know I said before we would kill you on the spot, but I am being lenient, you can leave if you wish. You are already marked by Her hands, do you think this is a good time to tempt Her?" Lemure 16 was referring to Death Herself, who we all know is a woman, and a very fine one at that.

  The silence that followed was refreshing. But it couldn’t last. The stranger's manner sobered up, and with clear eyes, he stated, “I am marked, so utterly marked. She left marks all over."

  He took something out from his cloak, a small piece of glass. What 16 initially pegged for rust was hundreds of cuts and scars that marred its gray surface. The man kept the weapon close to his chest. Was this his Remark? He seemed to be displaying it, treating it like a prized heirloom or an urn.

  "We can have a duel at any time now, stranger." 16 hit the back of his own head once, and the words on his eyes flickered before fading from view. “Just say the word.”

  The stranger sighed and rolled his ponderous shoulders. "What you represent is vile and cruel to me. If the only way I can adequately express that is through killing you, so be it."

  Covering his face with splayed fingers, he held out his weapon and pointed it at 16. He was wielding it like a Remark, but it had none of the telltale signs.

  Every Remark had a Trick, 16’s sensed hostility and displayed it through hue. Perhaps this stranger’s trick was to disguise his Remark as a simple shard of glass? No matter. He would get this done quick. Just like the last time.

  Once, when 16 was a lower number and had been sent ahead first to the SliverBridge, he saw a man come out of the crack who looked exactly like him, except naked of any uniform. The thing was identical to him down to the warts. He had 16’s short limbs, large stomach, and beady eyes. To see the flaws in his features laid out so plainly... he killed the man quickly before anyone else saw him, and dumped his body into the water.

  He gave that creature the luxury of a quick and painless death. The Stranger would not be so lucky.

  He was Lemure 16, and he brandished his Remark joyfully in the newer style; his pride expressed in jerky angles and complex footwork. "To show my gratitude for Lemure's name, I shall kill you through skewering. From stomach to groin, just as he did the DearthWyrm!" The others laughed at this. "I won’t even take your cloak as a trophy. You won't be worth the memory.” That last comment was a lie; the cloak was a fine work of craftsmanship, and he would be a fool to leave it on the corpse.

  The stranger approached, and on reflex, 16 glanced at his Remark for that tell-tale change. There was none. The eyes stayed a sickly gray. Unprecedented. Grand unprecedented.

  "I don't understand."

  "Nothing to understand. We're dueling." The man threw off his shawl to reveal rudimentary but durable combat armor complete with wrist wraps, all in a deep purple. And then he lunged.

  He didn't attack; he simply harassed, making fake out motions and shoulder shoves to put 16 on the defensive. He could do no more than weakly guard to deny the stranger an opening. His subordinates watched, disturbed. No one had the chance to commence the duel officially, all the pomp and circumstances had drowned in the river.

  The stranger said nothing as he thrust his Remark (was it even a Remark?) forward repeatedly. Always a threat worth dodging, but never close enough to parry. Fuck this!

  With a pained yelp, Lemure 16 thrust his Remark directly at the stranger-

  -who dodged the clumsy attack with ease, and caught 16 under the armpit, steadying him in a manner gentle but controlling. It saved the Lemure man the indignity of falling, but at the expense of the shame he felt at the strangers firm grip. The moment of failure hung in the air as the stranger smiled. The color of 16’s Remark shifted rapidly to a burning red. His stomach sunk in on itself. The face’s expression twisted into a smile.

  The Stranger's Remark, dull and unassuming, went straight for 16's open throat.

  It was done.

  Neck was severed, the head fell off.

  A blade as battered as his couldn't have cut through a float-rats thin carapace, yet it cut through bone without difficulty. The stranger's weapon was a Remark, an exceptionally clever one, at that. Whatever the trick, a complex one. It could both deceive and dismember. 16 died with that thought on loop. A mystery he would never solve.

  . . .

  The others watched as the head of their leader rolled lazily off the side of the bridge. None of them liked Lemure 16 (known only to himself as Jerome Fodder, a name he hated and guarded closely) so they were fine with him dying.

  It was when the Stranger pointed the knife at them that they reacted.

  Lemure 13, who only seconds before was ranked 12, bolted past the stranger and hid. No one questioned this, or even noticed, they were too busy building up the courage to attack.

  "You Wyrm fucker, you’re so- GRRK!"

  8 was killed first. The stranger used his opponent's swiftness to push her back into the range of 3, the low Number moving slowly but swinging wildly. The swings sliced 8 into ribbons. While 3 was comprehending his accidental murder, 5 was stabbed once in the heart and fell to the ground dead.

  Turning to 3, the stranger's eyes lacked the malice that had only just animated him. He seemed very tired, barely able to stand. It was as if the sudden violence he had committed was nothing more than a fluke. The stranger motioned in the other direction, back through the sliver. 3 took off his mask and ran in the direction the stranger came. His tiny body fit the crack perfectly.

  . . .

  A tap on the shoulder, and Lemure 13 was face to face with the man who had killed four of her compatriots. He was covered in blood. She had thought that he wouldn’t have doubled back, but no, he wanted no survivors, her death was imminent.

  ”Please, I regret ever participating in such a weak man’s legacy. You have proven yourself superior and holy in all the ways he isn’t. Spare me and I will become your ambassador, I will speak your name with nothing but praise. I will name myself after you, I will strip everything that makes me his and let you clothe my bare flesh in anything you desire, I-“

  "Hey," he said, holding out empty hands. "Stop, please. You don’t have to do anything like that. I’m going to leave now. I have nothing against you."

  "Sure... okay," 13 said, slightly miffed.

  A pause. The man turned away from her to look back at carnage she had yet to see. When he turned again, he turned back slowly.

  ”My name is Adam Kadmon. Yours?”

  She hesitated before saying, “Tremble Neverworthy.”

  "Alright Tremble, perhaps you could help me dump the bodies?"

  Patreon is up to chapter 9! You can get access to seven more chapters if you like what I’m doing!