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Magnum Opus

Chapter 7: Stormleaf: A Bear's Dawn

Blurb

Cliff Bolt and Verik Stormleaf.

Two men from different worlds.

One is an English Major that made the fateful mistake of applying for an apprenticeship under a world-famous author renowned from his erotic novels.

Another is a victim of that very same author’s machinations, a character in a Story designed to be tempered by war, struck by tragedy and driven by vengeance.

Plunged into a conflict orchestrated by the Holder of the magical writing implement known as the Magnum Opus, these two must fight against Desmond Eli Oaks’ Unwritten and the corrupted people of Grimvalle that have become the Revised. Their relationship is tested and tempered while the light of Cliff’s weapon, the Archetype, pierces through the infernal Ink infused with Oaks’ lecherous desires. Their only hope of ending the darkness is finding the Piece of Oblivion. If they can find it, they can free this fictional world from Oaks’ meddling and bring Cliff one step closer to breaking free of his imprisonment within the Opus.

To find the Piece, they must identify and find the part of Oaks that was used to create the world in the first place. That fragment of every author that motivated them to commit pen to paper; that idea that sparked the imagination and inspired the creation of the entire world.

What could the enigmatic D. E. Oaks have placed into this Story about loss, vengeance, purpose and love?

And what would happen to the world when its core is removed?

In Between the Pages

Straight out of a dream.

Brienus watched as strangely enchanting filaments drifted through the air of the beautiful landscape like spiderwebs caught in the wind. Against the clear, blue sky, they were almost invisible until they bent in just the right way that they caught the light. His yellow eyes drifted away from the breathtaking snow-capped peaks and even to the lake where hundreds of bears like him had gathered, apparently finding fascination in silvery waters. Instead, his eyes went to the source of the fibers drifting through the air.

A lone man sitting on a wooden bench, a book in one hand and what appeared to be a device similar to what Cliff had been wielding but much smaller in the other. He was writing on the book.

He approached the individual, taking note how Foulk was down by the shores already alongside Ansell and his gang. It seemed they had all made it to this… afterlife.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, offering his most charming of smiles. “Might I bother you for a moment to ask some questions?”

“Of course,” responded the stranger. “But you’ll excuse me if I do not stop my work while we talk. Time is nonlinear in comparison to the rest of reality in this plane but it is still relative to those inside it. I’d rather not miss my timing especially when everyone down there is getting so worked up.”

“I see…” Brienus began. Eying the book, he said, “Are you… Are you the Holder?”

The man laughed softly. “Oof. I don’t know if I should be insulted or flattered.” He took a moment to look up from his book and regard the former guardsman through the strange silver glasses he wore. “Tell me, Brienus of Grimvalle, do I honestly look or even give off the same aura as the Holder that turned you into a hypersexual beast and drove you to follow a simple compulsion.”

Thinking of that three-word command made Brienus shudder, the skin beneath his flesh prickling with disgust. “I suppose not. So… who are you?”

“I am no one. But if you need to call me something, call me ‘Realism’.”

“Alright, Realism…” mumbled Brienus skeptically, approaching him. “What’s going to happen? To me? To us? To… to…” He found it hard to utter the name. “… Cliff…”

“Why don’t you begin by telling me why you’re so worried?”

The guardsman sighed and sat down on the bench. Strange as it was, it seemed that the length of the bench had extended. While he could have sworn he sat right beside Realism, the gap between them was far enough that he couldn’t reach out and touch him.

Brushing that thought aside, he confessed. “When the Holder touched me with his Unwritten, when he turned me, I… I felt him. Saw his Plot. I… I knew what he wanted to do to the world. What he wanted to do to Cliff but… I just couldn’t stop him! I couldn’t stop myself from… from doing all those things!” He grit his fangs together, his palms shaking as his fingers were bent into hooks. “I don’t care if I’m cursed into this form forever. I just want to know what will happen to…”

“Cliff,” Realism concluded. “Well, I don’t know who you think I am, Brienus, but I’m not some God of the Afterlife or Deity of Fate that can determine what will happen. While I have the ability to see countless possibilities, the only people who can cement what will actually happen are those in the Story.”

“So there’s nothing we can do to help him? Oaks is -”

Realism held up a hand, silencing him. “I am aware of Oaks’ plan and I never said there was nothing we could do. There is plenty we can do. It’s just a matter of waiting for the right moment.” The man turned towards the book he was holding and resumed his writing. “And, of course, making sure we’re all prepared.”

“Are you… Are you guiding Cliff in some way?”

Again, the strange entity chuckled. “Oh no. I only provided him with initial guidance. Gave him the Archetype which, by the way, chose him. I just handed it to him. No, I can’t do much from here except for catch all the things that slip through the Ink.”

“That… slip through…?”

Realism glanced at him briefly, offered a smile and then pointed that writing implement at Brienus’ chest. “Your soul. Your heart. Your consciousness. The Ink is just another form of matter; a primordial building block for all matter of things. Some worlds are based on carbon. Your world was based on Ink. But no matter how much you break down someone to their most basic elements, you are never going to be able to reduce the mortal spirit into anything more than the very core of their identity.”

Brienus’ paw went to his pectoral. “So… you saved us?”

“Not entirely. Your body made from the Ink was destroyed and reabsorbed into the Magnum Opus. But your soul, I managed to catch and bring here. I can’t send you back there, however. At least… not quite yet.”

The ursine guardsman’s ears perked up and he straightened. “You mean…?”

Realism held up his hand again. “Now hold on. Like I said, it comes down to timing. I need to finish what I’m writing first. Then we’ll see. Oaks doesn’t know about this place. Doesn’t know about me. So we need to play it very carefully. If we give away too much, he might just do something worse to Cliff than trap him in endless Ink until our young friend begs to be freed.”

“So… what can we do?”

The stranger went back to writing. “Well… we need to bend the rules a little. Like I said, I was able to save your soul, a soul created from the Magnum Opus out of a Story that was created from Oaks’ own imagination and inspiration. Whether intentionally or not, he birthed you all from that initial spark. That still connects you to him. Even here.”

Brienus’ paws closed around his pectoral. He felt disgusted to have some part of that capricious and lecherous god inside of him but he also felt that Realism was leading to something.

“We’re going to use that connection, aren’t we?”

Realism smiled gently. “Yes. Yes we are. But in order to do so…” His hidden eyes drifted back to Brienus. “… you’re going to have to give it up.”

“We’ll really die?” he whispered.

For a second, the stranger looked surprised. “What? No! Did I make it sound like you were going to die?” He laughed heartily. “No, no, no. Apologies. You won’t die. You are more than that initial spark that gave birth to your existence.” He let out another little chuckle before his expression turned dire. “What I’m saying, unfortunately, is that to breach back into that poorly-constructed world, you’re going to have to sacrifice that piece of you that still connects you to it. Once it’s gone, you’ll never be able to go back there.”

He lifted a finger then went back to writing. “But, if we time it right, it’ll make for one hell of a show.”

Brienus rose to his feet and gave Realism a firm nod.

“Then do it.”

Grimvalle

Grimvalle never felt so quiet.

Even when the sun at set, Cliff could still heard the crackling of firewood, the flicker of the torches and the gentle rustle of the wind on the village’s thatch rooftops. Now, everything was still, hushed. Particles of Ink oozed from every surface, drawn to the gaping hole above their heads. Pieces of the scenery began to degrade and devolve into the Ink.

The Story was falling apart.

Cliff reached down and grabbed the dagger the Brienus had left behind. It was beautiful but still practical. Within moments of holding it, however, the edge began to darken and liquefy, rippling like it was made out of gelatin that was quickly melting in the summer heat. The color of the steel faded into a purple-black ooze that began to peel away from the rest of the blade in little droplets and sail to the sky.

Pain shot up his side and the glanced down to his flank which still sported the wound Ansell had inflicted upon him. On some level, he was pleased that he was still bleeding red blood and not Ink. On the other, the injury hurt like hell.

Heal.

The soft, green light washed over him and the pain began fading. Though the blood and tear in his tunic did not vanish, the wound did. His health bar crept back up the maximum. Turning towards Verik, he cast the same spell and the woodsman nodded towards him in thanks.

“What will happen to this world once we’re done?” asked Verik.

“My plan has always been to exorcise the Piece of Oblivion,” surmised Cliff. “Then, I can claim this Story. I’ll gain control of the Ink. I’ll remake it. Rewrite it. Make it better.”

Verik gave him a little smile. “Do you know what you’ll make?”

Good question.

“Honestly? I don’t.” Cliff turned towards the fort. “But how about we worry about that when we get to it? We still need to find my dad, Percy and Grim. Find the Piece as well.”

“You know that in all likelihood…”

Cliff gave him a somber nod. “Yeah. I know.” His eyes drifted back to the lumberjack. “What about you? You know that Grim is likely…?”

“Yes. I know.”

Verik led the way to the fort, marching with purpose up the gentle slope leading to the fort’s gates which were wide open. There were no guards. No soldiers. All of them had been ripped to shreds by their latest combination attack. The path, for the most part, was clear for them. The only obstacles were the pools of Ink. Here, the degradation was at its worst. Entire patches of ground had been eaten away by the ooze and they had to work their way around it.

Cliff jabbed some of the Ink with the Archetype, converting it into his own Ink and refilling his reserves. Verik did the same and they spent a few minutes ensuring that they were fully prepared. There were a few ability points to spend and seeing as he was about to jump into more combat, Cliff acquired both Ice and Lightning spells. He wasn’t sure these last few encounters should be the time to be experimenting with his new abilities but he figured he had better have them than not.

“Hey Verik,” he began as they approached the fort’s doors. “I don’t know what’s waiting for us beyond that door but… I think you should know something.”

“Better now than never,” grunted the lumberjack. “What is it?”

“It’s about Grim.”

That caught Verik’s attention and he turned back towards Cliff. “What about him?”

This really isn’t my secret to tell but if I know Oaks and where this story is going, chances are the Baron that’s waiting for us beyond that door won’t be friendly.

… or would be too friendly.

“He loves you.”

Verik’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “What?”

Even with the world disintegrating around them, Cliff felt that it was only him and Verik for the moment. Surely Oaks could respect a moment of genuine emotion and truth.

“He told me,” Cliff continued. “After that revolution you both fought in. He felt so close to you and fell in love with you. But he never had the courage to say so. Especially when you met Ceria and had Fealea. Out of respect to you and your family, he kept his mouth shut. But he never stopped loving you.”

For the longest time, Verik was silent. Then his gaze drifted towards the large doors leading into the fort, his eyes distant and off into the past. Several times, the lumberjack wearing a kilt opened and closed his mouth like he was on the verge of saying something or whispering a secret message to the ghost of Arthur Grim.

After a long moment, he shut his eyes and let out one, short huff.

“I would have said ‘yes’.”

“Huh?” Cliff asked.

“If he had asked,” Verik clarified, finally opening his own eyes and peering at the doors once more. There was a sad smile on his lips. “I would have said ‘yes’ had I known how he felt.”

A little sigh left Cliff’s lips. “Isn’t that just typical?”

Now the romance part of the Story became clearer. A love triangle was supposed to be in their future - one between him, Verik and Arthur Grim. One way or another they would have found comfort with one another in the tragedies that wracked their lives and united them under a single cause. Perhaps it would have been a case of exploring one love interest in one book and then the other in the second before concluding it in the last.

Doesn’t matter now, does it?

“Thank you for telling me,” Verik sighed. “Now, finish this.”

“Let’s write the final chapter of this Story,” Cliff agreed.

Together, the pressed their hands against the doors of the fort and pushed it open. They were immediately greeted by the central dining hall. Ink oozed up in geysers all along the walls. The purple-black plasma consumed entire sections of the ground and ate away at the structure of the fort. Somehow, through the murk, a vague path was made of stone, wood and furniture that stretched upwards to the second floor of the fort. No doors remained in their path so they had a clear view of the audience chamber on the top floor.

Cliff’s throat closed up at the sight of the large, black-haired bear resting at the foot of the throne, a giant cock in his muzzle while a smaller, slimmer bear with similar colored hair was suckling on his nipples and frotting their cocks together. Seated on the throne was an enormous Revised, a spear in one hand and wearing a thick, iron chain necklace around his neck.

“Percy… Reeve…” he breathed.

“Grim…” grunted Verik.

The three Revised didn’t move but eyed them both as they approached, crossing the length of the dining hall carefully and then making their way up the makeshift staircase floating in the Ink up to their level. The Audience chamber stayed mostly intact though Cliff could see where the Ink was starting to seep in around the walls and corners of the structure.

“You finally made it,” rumbled Arthur, rising from his throne. His cock popped out of Reeve’s muzzle and the man that had once been Cliff’s father wiped his lips before standing up himself.

“You were always headstrong, Cliff,” sighed the ursine blacksmith. “And I knew there was always something special about you. But the fact that you came from another world? That you have been defying our Creator?” Reeve shook his head, frowning deeply. “Oh son… How could you have fallen so far?”

“Go easy on him, father,” chirped Percy, also getting up and flanking Arthur’s other side. His glowing yellow eyes regarded Cliff pleadingly. “Come on, brother. You know this won’t end well. You can’t kill us. If you do, this whole world collapses. And we’re your family! You may have only known us for a few days but we treated you well, didn’t you? We love you!”

Verik swung his axe at the three. “Look around you! The world is already collapsing! This is the doing of your so-called ‘Creator’! How could you back a monster that would take away everything you know and turn you into his depraved servants just to punish those that are trying to preserve your dignity!”

Something about those words triggered a thought in Cliff’s mind.

…Dignity…

Arthur threw his head back before muscling his way past the two Gales. “Don’t be stupid, Verik. The only reason any of this happened is because he turned you - the Protagonist of this story - away from he Plot!” He pointed his spear at Cliff. “If both of you had just played your part, didn’t skip the story beats, didn’t try to escape, none of this would have happened!”

“And what did he promise you?” spat Verik. “That he’ll fix the world if you defeat us? That he’ll make everything the way it was if we bent down, sucked your dick and offered our asses to you? You really think someone who would go to the lengths of twisting your minds, corrupting your thoughts and turning you into… into…”

“Abominations…” Cliff whispered, quickly coming to a realization.

“Yes, abominations,” agreed Verik. “Do you think that kind of god would just make everything better just because you defeat us?”

Percy chuckled but there was no humor in it. His eyes were still pleading, still sorrowful despite his cock being erect and dripping. “No. That’s long past. We’re going to be plunged into the Ink. Be reused. But at the very least, we can go together.” He held out both his paws in a mockery of a hug. “Please. Join us, brother. Let’s go to the Ink together. I don’t want to meet the end of this world without you.”

Reeve wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder while still keeping his gaze upon Cliff. “We are family, Cliff. Even if it was brief, even if some part of it was false, we are family.”

“Think of your family,” Cliff mumbled, his eyes slowly widened. “… somebody think of the children…”

Verik gave him a startled look. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for this?”

“No,” he said firmly, a realization striking him. “Holy shit… Holy shit!” His cry startled everyone around him. He locked gazes with Verik and then turned to Arthur, searching their faces, looking back at what he knew. His gaze fell upon a confused Reeve and Percy… before he spun around and looked back down the path he had come, at the ghosts of those that had been Revised…

… and the distant bear that started all this.

The mother bear that was protecting her children.

“Holy shit!” he cried in excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I got it! I understand what the Piece of Oblivion is!”

Everyone in the audience chamber threw him a shocked expression.

“What?” Verik demanded. “How?”

“It just hit me now!” Cliff exclaimed excitedly. “What you were all talking about! Trying to convince someone who won’t listen to change their ways that threatens your very way of life by corrupting you and those you love!” He clapped one hand against the blade of the Archetype before pointing it at Arthur.

“This is a revenge story against Karens!”

…

If there were crickets still in the world, they would be singing.

“What?” Baron Grim asked. “Do you mean… Krakens?”

“No! Karens!” Cliff began pacing back and forth, pulling his thoughts together. “In my world, entitled women who make a lot of noise to try to get what they want are called ‘Karens’. They’ve been made fun of for years now because they’re generally considered a blight on society. They’re typified by their battlecry” - switching to his most Karen-esque voice - “‘I want to speak to your manager’.”

I count myself lucky I’ve never met one in real life but the stories I’ve heard…

“That’s dumb,” commented Percy.

Cliff stopped his pacing to grin at his brother. “I know right?” When he noticed Percy’s confused look, he waved away his comments and resumed his analysis. “This entire Story has been about Oaks getting back at the entitled women who use their children as an excuse against his work. In my world, Desmond Eli Oaks is an erotica writer. He’s well-published, world famous and makes millions. Billions even, maybe. But it wasn’t always this way…”

He had to make concessions. Especially when he was just starting. When people started taking notice of it, so many didn’t like what he was writing about…

Nodding as he dove through Oaks’ history, Cliff tapped the tip of the Archetype against the floor. “Early in his career and even now, there are women that rise up against Oaks’ stories and decries how they are inappropriate for children - their children - because of their latent homosexual and explicit nature.” He snapped a finger. “Hell, he even created non-sexual versions of his stories for the underage crowd and these Karens still try to get him banned because of it. Claiming that they’re just gateways to his more adult work and that he’s leading them down the path of…” His eyes drifted in realization towards the three bears. “… corruption.”

His jaw dropped in realization. “He’s changing them. Corrupting them. Making them cum to his stories. Holy shit! It goes deeper!” Now he was actively jumping in excitement. He hadn’t felt this way since he had submitted essays back in college over books that he genuinely enjoyed reading.

The Unwritten and the Revised… they’re a reflection of what the society that was against him…

“How does this all tie in to the Story?” demanded Reeve. “You’re not making sense, son.”

Cliff forced himself to slow down, raising a finger. “Let’s start with the Protagonist.” With that same finger, he pointed at the red-haired lumberjack next to him. “It’s Verik. We all know that. The person that the story revolves around. The person that Oaks likely most relates to. He is attacked by a mother bear protecting her cubs.”

“A Karen…” Verik muttered, nodding slowly. “A woman who was protecting her children. But… why would this be a bad thing?”

“Because Karens just want to cause a mess and want to be angry for not other reason than to start a fight,” Cliff continued. “In my world, there’s a thing called the ‘Helen Lovejoy Defense.’ It’s more of a logical fallacy than anything else but basically it’s an appeal to pity. Karens use it to justify their outrageous demands.” He gestured off to his right. “Say a Karen wants to suddenly become Baron. She’ll throw an argument that she’ll be a better Baron because you” - he pointed the Archetype at Grim - “don’t do enough for the kids. Then she’ll just keep screaming ‘Won’t somebody think of the children’ and use that over and over again to get people to think that what she’s doing is for the good of society’s most vulnerable individuals, the kids.”

Arthur Grim scowled, baring his fangs. “Enough of this! You’re wasting time! You need to choose, Verik! Join us in the embrace of the Ink or die with this rambling madman and be lost forever!”

Cliff caught that sudden tonal shift. He was hitting the nail on the head.

I’m hurting him… because I’m peeling away the layers that are hiding the Piece of Oblivion.

“I’m hitting a nerve, aren’t I?” he challenged. “So let me press further. It goes deeper than just the bear and her cubs representing Karens and their children. It’s more than Oaks’ resentment towards the people who use their children as a weapon and just attack him for doing what he loves and getting paid well for it.” He pointed the Archetype back down the path he came, off into the distance at the Grimwalker Forest. “Because the bear didn’t attack Verik on her own. She was driven to it.”

“The Barbearians…” Verik gasped in realization.

“Exactly!” roared the Baron, rolling his eyes. “So if the bear fits your narrative of Oblivion hating some angry, bored bitches in your world, where does the Barbearians fit?”

Where do they fit in? What do the Barbearians represent…? An angry mob? No… not really. A group of Karens…? Not really…

They represent…

“A society,” Cliff answered calmly. When Grim just threw him a confused look, he explained. “All of this had an overarching story. A story about how Oaks felt about people trying to stop him from being himself because he was good at it and was made famous. The Karens are just the tip of the spear. There’s still the shaft of the spear and that is the society that promotes and enables these Karens to exist.”

He made a sweeping gesture with the Archetype. “That’s what the Barbearians represent. A large collective of individuals that drove the Karens to attack Oaks’ way of life because they were threatened by change and their understanding of normalcy and decency was being challenged. Millions of faceless individuals who didn’t necessarily raise a finger to defend Oaks but pushed the Karens in their own way to attack him.”

Cliff began pacing again. “Could be anything. Random people on the streets showing disgust at Oaks’ latest book. TV personalities giving their ‘completely unbiased reviews’. ‘Experts’ or ‘trusted sources’ that spew propaganda to sway people into their way of thinking for the sake of popularity and wealth. Anything and anyone that the Karen themselves can shift the blame towards if they were ever proved wrong. Because it is never the Karens’ fault. She was just doing it to protect her children, after all, and the big bad man in positions of authority were the ones that told her to do it.”

Arthur winced, appearing like he was genuinely in pain. He staggered back, clutching his broad, chiseled stomach and hunching over slightly.

“Arthur!” Verik cried in concern.

“What… What are you doing…?” hissed the Baron, staring daggers at Cliff. “What are you doing to… to me!?”

“Revealing the truth of this world,” Cliff said fiercely, staring straight back. “Because the story goes beyond just the Barbearians. Everyone that Oaks mutated into Revised plays a role.”

Verik turned to him in surprise. “Everyone?”

Yeah… everyone. Like…

“The Charcoal Brothers,” he confirmed. “Nycolas and Gyrard. Masters of fire and barring us from getting to Grimvalle. They represent the Karens’ most outward supporters. People who inflame the Karens and provide them with the fuel to pursue their crusade.”

They would rally around a leader, put her up on a pedestal and add fuel to the fire.

She would get an inflated ego and use all that support to just keep attacking, justifying that her actions and mission were right.

Grim suddenly dropped his spear and threw his head back, clutching his head in both paws. He let out a terrifying scream. Both Reeve and Percy went to help but the moment they touched his flesh, they pulled back, letting out cries of surprise. Sticky, black ink clung to their fingers, dripping from Arthur’s body. Verik made to help but Cliff lifted the Archetype and barred his path.

“Duggin and his ‘family’,” Cliff continued. “They represent families who probably didn’t agree with every the Karens said or did but gently pleaded for Oaks to change his ways. Sympathetic individuals that pretended to understand but still pressured him to be someone that he wasn’t.” He glanced towards Verik. “Remember how they kept telling us to ‘join them’? To be ‘part of their family’?”

People who would’ve tried to just softly convince Oaks to stop what he was doing and just ‘rejoin society’.

The woodsman tore his gaze from the agonizing Baron to lock his gaze with Cliff. His eyes were distant for a moment as he recalled their encounter with Duggin… the nodded slowly.

“I remember…”

Another scream came from Grim and he fell to his paws and knees. The Ink all over his body spread, oozing over his fur and dripping onto the floor. He was completely consumed by it.

“Stop it,” he demanded, his voice distorting with the echoes of a dozen other voices. “You’re hurting me!”

Suddenly, Verik’s hand gripped Cliff’s shoulder. For a moment, he feared the lumberjack would demand he cease his analysis but instead, Verik said, in a very firm voice, “Don’t stop.”

Nodding grimly, Cliff turned back to the melting Baron Arthur Grim.

“Then there were the watchmen. Brienus and Foulk. They didn’t want us to enter the city. Hell, they even wanted us to turn around and leave them alone. They kept saying that we were the ones causing a disturbance.”

“They did say that… they did do that,” scowled Verik. “What do they represent?”

“Oaks’ hatred for the authorities, if I had to guess. People who refused to be directly involved and were just ‘keeping the peace’ but wouldn’t take sides. People who were supposed to protect their citizens, to do what’s right for them, but would never protect Oaks even as he was harassed and attacked.”

Police who refused to do anything against Oaks’ attackers. Maybe because they were afraid or genuinely unable to do anything because of the rule of law.

If Oaks tried to retaliate, he’d be the one in chains.

Grim’s form suddenly surged outward, growing to the double the size. Percy and Reeve tried to get away but the growing mass of dark Ink had pooled around their feet, catching them in it sticky, tar-like embrace and pulling them closer and closer to Grim’s bubbling form.

“Brother! Please stop!” cried Percy.

“Save us, son!” pleaded Reeve.

But Cliff continued.

“Ansell and his gang,” he said firmly. “Trolls. Agents of chaos. They don’t believe in the cause either way but they jump into the mix to cause as much chaos as possible just for the thrill of it. Opportunists, they lash out, get people on their side with their inflammatory comments and rally support behind the Karen against Oaks.”

I see that even to this day… People trying to dig into Oaks’ works and drawing random conclusions that they hope will inflame someone and get them to start a war…

Grim’s form doubled in size again. Percy and Reeve wailed and were drawn into the growing mass, their bodies melting into the emerging Ink creature that the Baron had become. As their bodies disappeared, two lumps appeared on either side of the Baron’s head. These mounds quickly grew muzzles, eyes and the familiar features of an ursine head. The monster before them now looked like a huge, muscular beast with three heads jutting out of a single neck; one head facing forward and the other two facing left and right respectively.

“Shut up!” shouted one, its voice distorted and twisted. “I know my rights! I am exercising my freedom of speech!”

“This is disgusting! Immoral! Smut! You should be ashamed!”

“Think of the children!”

Verik backed away, his axe already at the ready.

“Then…” Cliff began, his voice heavy. “There’s Reeve and Percy.”

“What do they represent in this grand story?” asked the lumberjack.

Could be so many things. Maybe Oaks’ own relationship with his father? No…

What they represent is…

“The father and child of the Karen,” he concluded. At these words the manifestation of Oaks spark reeled, screaming in agony. “The core of her support system. The man that fathered her child and the child that she is supposedly defending. Oaks resents them too. How far that hatred goes, I can’t say, if they can’t stop her, then they are his enemy.”

The monster snarled with all three of its heads. The creatures’ eyes were just solid yellow. No pupils or irises. Its monstrous form grew to cover the entire back half of the audience chamber but its lower half sank into the Ink beneath it, leaving only a masculine upper torso rising from the ground. At its base, the Ink bubbled and roiled. Vague silhouettes pushed out of the darkness of the Ink, reaching out with claws and snapping jaws. It made Cliff’s stomach churn when he realized that they were the facsimile of bear cubs with gaping holes for eyes and mouths, roiling over one another in an ever-changing maelstrom of similar forms.

“You are a stain on this society!” barked the entity. “You need to be censored and all of your work burned so that it will never corrupt these pure, innocent minds ever again!”

One last push…

He exchanged glances with Verik and the two shared a firm nod. At the top of his HUD, his collaboration bar was at full and was shining brightly. Three words burned brightly across the bar.

“And lastly, there’s Arthur Grim,” he concluded. “Representing politicians and figures of governmental authority. People who may not necessarily agree with the the Karens of the world but entertain them because it either suits their political agenda or they feel that their hands are tied because of their ‘duty’ to society.”

The monstrous amalgamation roared, slamming its Ink-based fists into the ground and shaking the entire chamber. The voice that came from its throat sounded dignified, old and clearer than the others. It was still a mix of male and female but it was crisper than the others.

“Desmond Eli Oaks, for your pandering of immoral works of fiction, you are hereby banned…”

Then the creature’s distorted voice returned.

“… from life!”

Ding!

New Objective: Defeat the Ursus Irritam Vindictam

Cliff lifted his sword towards the enormous beast. “Verik… you ready?”

The lumberjack didn’t hesitate and clutched his axe in both hands. “Yes. I’m with you, Cliff.”

Oaks' Mansion

The morning felt particularly good that fateful morning.

Refreshed and feeling renewed, Desmond Eli Oaks stretched underneath the tangled sheets of his bed. Stifling a yawn, he tilted his head a little towards the window of his magnificent mansion. A familiar excitement was bubbling up inside of him; the exhilaration of anticipation. It was a sensation he felt whenever he had sent out a book for publishing knowing full well that it would be getting rave reviews or when he knew that there would be a completed story waiting for him once he went back down to his study.

Of course, this was a slightly different scenario. One that wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. A few of his prior ‘victims’ had escaped a Story or two. None of them had ever done so as quickly or as spectacularly as Cliff Bolt but over the years, Oaks had refined his techniques. Breaking someone like Cliff was a welcome breath of fresh air in an otherwise monotonous cycle of preparation, entrapment and exploitation.

In many ways, he was grateful that Cliff Bolt had defied him. For the first time in a while, he felt alive; like he had an adversary.

“Pity it all had to end,” he sighed, rising from his bed. “But we don’t have to jump to the ending straight away.” He smacked his dry lips. “Let’s savor the build-up.”

Oaks took his time going through his morning routine.

Some breakfast followed by viewing the morning news. Something about an election in some other country. Discontent around the world. A celebrity was pregnant again. The latest drivel from a streaming service was generating buzz, both good and bad. A political scandal a few states over. A disaster on the other side of the world. Gossip.

The same thing every day.

As he ate, there was a report about some lady called the ‘Oklahoma Karen’ who was suing a middle-school football team because they wouldn’t let her son - who was diagnosed with Chicken Pox - play in the playoffs. She was complaining about how her son would be graduating to High School, it would be his last football game as a middle schooler and that the school was robbing him of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity because he had a disease that everyone got at one point in her life. Never mind the fact that student and staff could contract the disease very easily. This was her precious baby boy. He needed his moment of glory during his formative years.

Oaks found it hard to swallow his cereal as he watched the woman constantly complaining on screen while a group of supporters were behind her, holding up signs that said ‘Let Kevin Play’.

“Of course his name is ‘Kevin’,” he growled. “Bitch. You’re compromising everyone’s health just to stroke your own goddamn ego. This isn’t even about your son, is it? You’re just trying to get your fifteen minutes of fame!” He slammed a fist into the table. “You’re advocating to spread a goddamn disease! The kid is in middle school! He’ll have plenty of opportunity to be a star! Now you’ve just ruined his life by making him the son of the ‘Oklahoma Karen’!”

He scowled at the thought of the other entitled women that he had encountered in his life. Especially during his early years as a writer. These women would attack him for publishing hardcore pornography. They likely weren’t opposed to the idea. Most of them likely got off on what he had published. But what they hated was that he was rich and famous and they were stuck in the lower-middle class taking care of brats that might not even be theirs.

Recalling his first encounter with such a woman, he couldn’t help but feel his blood boil. This had been over two decades ago just when he was starting. Before then, he had been publishing more traditional novels. His first work, the Story that his mentor had ‘retired’ to had been his first major stepping stone into the realm of professional publishing. There were a few other books and even some series that he released that were met with rave reviews. He was lauded as the ‘next J. K. Rowling’ or a ‘younger George R. R. Martin’. Some movie producers had even been in talks with him to produce a series of movies.

But when he pivoted from selling work that pandered to the wider audience and actually started producing stories that were truer to who he was… the criticisms started. Apologists for his work claimed that he was just ‘trying something new’. Long-time fans tried to plead for him to ‘return to form’. Politicians used him as a scapegoat for ‘rampant crime’ and ‘moral degradation’. Religious leaders even condemned him, throwing curses and predictions of his fate in the afterlife.

Then, of course, there were the Karens.

Particularly that first one. The woman who claimed that he was ‘corrupting’ her son. ‘Changing him into a gay man’. She even went into graphic detail of what the guy had orgasmed to. There was no accountability on her part for being the one that bought the book or working with her son on his true feelings or desires. All the blame went to Oaks because he wanted to write what he wanted to write for the first time in his life.

Admittedly, he hadn’t handled that encounter very well - becoming heated and argumentative. These days, he had become far more composed and knew how to deal with them if they ever came up again. Which they did every now and then. There would always be a few that would decry his work whenever he came up with a new novel. But they had become a quiet voice in the corner that was only shouting amongst themselves. None of them bothered him anymore.

Until now.

Oaks wondered why that first encounter reared its ugly head again but he shrugged it off and switched off the TV. Once he cleaned the dishes, he headed upstairs to take a nice, long shower, washing off the grime of the night and letting the hot waters sooth his muscles. The bile and vitriol he had grown against the Karens of the world washed away. A healthy application of beard oil later and he was fully dressed and ready to see play the role of the merciful God to the insolent Cliff Bolt.

He practically glided down the stairs, an excited child eager to open his presents on Christmas Day. Entering his study left him feeling giddy. Just to extend the moment of anticipation, even if it is just for a few moments, he closed his eyes as he sat down on his chair, savoring the moment before victory was confirmed.

Then he opened his eyes… and read the contents of the tablet in front of him.

… and his heart fell into a churning void of fear that sprang up from his stomach.

“What the fuck!?”

Grimvalle

Ursus Irritam Vindictam. The manifestation of D. E. Oaks’ hatred for the entitled women who weaponized their children against him and the society that either directly or indirectly supported them. A monster that formed the core of the Story.

All around them, the Ink was rapidly consuming the audience chamber. Cliff glanced over his shoulder. A roiling wall of purple and black goo had started creeping in across the horizon. The stars were gone and even the distant flames that consumed the Grimwalker Forest had been consumed. Time was not their side.

The Ursus let out a tremendous roar and lifted its arms into the air, clasping its paws together before slamming it straight into the ground in front of it, several yards away from Cliff or Verik. The blow was still strong enough that it shook the entire audience chamber and sent a wave of corrupt Ink barreling towards the two heroes.

Cliff grit his teeth and consciously triggered his collaboration attack. He heard a familiar chime indicating that the ability had been triggered. The Archetype was glowing alongside Verik’s axe, shining with a brilliant, warm light. From that light, wisps sprang forth and just a foot away from Cliff, they erupted into iridescent explosions. A semi-transparent bear-man charged out from the surge of light, charging at the wave of Ink.

“Now, Barbearians! Charge!”

The Archetype surged forward of its own will and Cliff barely held on as the weapon forced him to point its fountain-point-shaped tip at the oncoming wave. A storm of wisps shot from the point, each one transforming into a ghostly Barbearian that threw itself against Ursus’ attack. Two hundred Barbearians formed an impenetrable wall in front of him, using their own titanic bodies to block the flood.

“What…?” breathed Verik, giving him a querying look. “How…?”

Still holding onto the Archetype, it was all Cliff could do to give a helpless shrug in return. “Don’t ask me!”

Then, one of the bigger Barbearians turned to the two; a titanic beast bearing scars across his arms and chest and sporting a bright blond Mohawk.

“We’ve done our part,” Skurrald announced, his voice sounding distant but still rang clearly in their ears. “The rest is up to you!”

The wave of Ink was stalled by the wall of Barbearians but as quickly as they came, they faded. The force holding up the Archetype released him and Cliff was left watching as Skurrald, his yellow eyes clear, gave him one last nod before he started to fade. Beyond him, Cliff saw the Ursus starting to recover from its attack.

Attack! Now!

His body immediately moved of its own accord and he rushed past Skurrald. Their gazes met as the Barbearian’s body dissipated and he gave the titanic man a nod. The Barbearian Bandit King grinned.

Verik was right beside him as they charged at the activated Piece of Oblivion. Two beams of light burst from the Archetype and struck the ground right beside them. From these lights, two familiar, fire-wielding bears appeared. Nycolas pressed his paw against Cliff’s back and Gyrard did the same to Verik. Cliff was stunned that he could feel their touch; it was warm, soft and comforting.

“You can do it!” shouted Gyrard.

“Take our fire and go!” cried Nycolas.

Both bears transformed into burning auras that enveloped the two heroes. Suddenly, every step Cliff took propelled him further and faster. Twin, fiery meteors raced across the ground, shooting towards the manifestation where they immediately raced up its lowered arms; Cliff took the right and Verik rushed up the left. From the creature’s shoulders, they were met face-to-face with the side-facing heads of the Ursus. Those ursine features opened their muzzles. Black ink spewed from between their lips like a fire hose at full power.

“How dare you!? This is smut! Pure smut!”

“Think of the children!”

Cliff and Verik launched into the air at the same time, avoiding the blast. More lights burst from the Archetype, this time shooting in front of them. One of the Reynoldus twins appeared in front of each of them, hovering in the air, holding out a paw to them.

“Let us help!” shouted Willis.

“Go!” cried Nils.

Both men grasped the offered paws and were immediately launched further up and towards one another forming an arc towards the third Reynoldus son, Johannes. This bear held out both his paws to them which they willingly took. Johannes, still hovering in their air by some unknown power, spun them both around to build momentum before hurling them straight upwards.

Above them Diggin and Marvin Reynoldus stood, both of them clasping their paws together as the duo arrived. A brilliant green light spilling out from between their fingers.

“Take it,” insisted Duggin, pulling open his paws. On Marvin’s palm sat what looked like a large seed the size of a basketball.

“Our home rests with you,” echoed Marvin.

Verik nodded and grasped the seed just as gravity began to take hold once more. The woodsman turned towards the Ursus beneath them. The creature had turned its head up towards them, maw open. Dark Ink bubbled up from its throat. A geyser of dark goo shot up at them.

Two more bears sprang from the Archetype, placing themselves in front of Verik and Cliff as they descended; Brienus and Foulk. Both bears flung their weapons - Foulk with his twin halberds and Brienus with his sole dagger - at the rushing geyser, splitting the beam of goo and causing the it to spray in all directions except at the two heroes. They were protecting the two as they descended with the precious seed in their grasp.

“Go for it, babe!” roared Brienus.

“End this!” agreed Foulk. “For all of us!”

The two bears crashed into the Ursus’ face. The blow of their weapons stunned the manifestation, causing it to rear back and let out an unholy roar. With its muzzle wide open, Cliff and Verik flung the glowing seed right down the creature’s throat. Brienus then seized Cliff’s arm and flung him off to the right. Foulk did the same to Verik, flinging them away from the manifestation. The two bears smiled before they faded from the Story.

A strange, sickening, bubbling sound roiled up the manifestation’s body. As Cliff landed on the stone floor of the audience chamber, he looked up at the noise. It looked like something was churning beneath the Ursus’ constantly roiling, gooey skin. Then, without warning, a large tree root glowing with an ethereal green light erupted from where the lower half of its body was pinned to the ground, shooting through the roiling bear cub simulacrum and digging into the ground. Another and another root surged out of the bear’s torso, pinning it in place. The manifestation was forced to throw its entire body back, its head staring straight up at the ceiling. A tree trunk surged out from its open maw and branches out of its two side muzzles. These split off into an entire network of branches until a full tree made of glowing, green light sprang up from within the Ursus. Leaves of red, yellow, orange and gold rained down from the branches.

Whoa…

“Stop gawking, asshole!”

The cry brought his attention back down to the base of the tree where Ansell, of all people, stood, beckoning him over.

“Let’s bring this bastard down!”

Cliff’s legs moved of their own accord. He charged, keeping his body low. Beside him, Mikhael and Francus appeared, clashing their claws. Verik was racing towards him from the other side of the room flanked by Hicket and Walken. The moment they reached Ansell at the very center of their charge, they pivoted towards the paralyzed and unmoving manifestation.

Power surged through Cliff, his breath caught in his throat.

All seven men transformed into blades of light, dancing in a dizzying pattern through the Piece and the tree that grew out of it’s gut. Cliff slashed, ran and slashed again. A muffled groan ripped from the manifestation. It tipped forward, the weight of the tree and its own pulling it down towards the ground.

BOOM!

Its crash sent a shower of autumn leaves through the air.

Is it over…?

Then Ansell grabbed Cliff’s hand, flung him around in a circle and then boldly threw him into the air. Cliff didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening before Mikhael caught his arm the next moment and threw him towards Francus then from Francus to Hicket and lastly from Hicket to Walken. The large bear gave him one last nod before throwing him towards the last bear…

… towards Baron Arthur Grim.

The ruler of Grimvalle, in his full ursine form caught him in midair where they hovered.

Cliff didn’t get a chance to ask what had happened before he heard the clang of metal on steel. His eyes drifted back to the ground, towards Verik. The woodsman was holding out his axe in front of him. Beside the lumberjack were two other bears, two blacksmiths; Reeve and Percy. As they slammed two blacksmith hammers over and over against Verik’s axe, the weapon glowed and grew bigger and bigger until it was about the size of the titanic woodsman.

“Cliff!” roared Verik, pulling the axe back over his shoulder.

With one, full-body movement, Verik threw the axe towards him.

Both Grim and Cliff held out their hands and caught the weapon.

“Thank you,” rumbled Grim, his power infusing the axe. A gentle smile was on his ursine features, yellow eyes shining. “You are still adorable and continue to bring a light to my days.”

Cliff could feel the weapon growing warmer, emitting a brighter glow and radiating with an immense determination.

“End this, brother!” roared Percy.

“We’re proud of you!” cried Reeve.

As all three bears vanished, Cliff couldn’t help the tear that ran down his cheek.

Thank you… all of you.

He hefted the axe over his head, aiming directly at the manifestation of Oaks’ twisted desire beneath him.

This is for all of you!

A roar left his lips and he shouted the words that had appeared in front of his collaboration meter.

‘Shut up, Karen!’

The Synposis

D. E. Oaks was thrown back away from the black pages of what would have been the first book in his new series. The force was so immense that he was slammed against his throne and even the chair was dragged across the scrawling of the Synopsis a few yards. He had shielded his eyes in time from the blast but he could still feel it searing his skin and flesh.

Ignoring the pain, he jumped off the throne and charged towards the tome.

The brilliance from the golden tome was brief but it was enough. Through the gloom of the Ink and the remaining shining Cliff’s latest attack, he read.

The instant the weapon hit the manifestation, the united souls of those that had been linked to Cliff - those he had slain with the Archetype - pooled all their remaining strength into the blow. The ground of the audience chamber shook. Cracks appeared across the corrupted earth, blistering green light spewing from the cracks from somewhere below. The glowing tree was split right down the middle and with it, the manifestation. Autumn leaves were flung into the air and spun around the actors of this final act before exploding out in all directions.

A final flurry before the epilogue.

The enormous axe dissipated into a shower of glimmering emerald particles. Ursus Irritam Vindictam collapsed, dead. It’s body bubbled and roiled, losing all coherence and melting into raw Ink. The tree that had grown out of it remained for a few moments longer before it too started to vanish; its form peeling off into crystal fragments that fluttered through the air before gradually become more and more transparent until it vanished completely.

Cliff slumped to the ground amidst the flurry of particles. Verik came rushing up to him, holding him in a might bear hug…

… and then the Ink consumed them.

Oaks was forced to pull back as what little of the golden book was consumed by the rest of the Ink. His heart was racing and his mouth was dry. Stinging rang up his arms and hands from where he had shielded himself from the burst of energy from the book. Looking at his hands, there were no visible harm but he could tell there was a… change.

He had read Cliff’s analysis of his work… and there was no denying that when he had first drafted Silent is the Fallen Tree, there was some part of him that envisioned all those entitled women who attacked him. It had felt so cathartic to put all of that to paper. The Plot of Verik being the better man and forgiving the bear for being a simple animal and then going after the causes for the bear’s attack was meant to be reflective of his own evolution in dealing with the Karens of the world.

Meet those entitled bitches with serenity, grace, forgiveness and be the better man. Understand that they were a product of their upbringing and the society that enabled them. Go for the society instead, change them, eliminate the cause and cure the disease instead of treating the symptom.

The story was never meant to be therapeutic for him. It was more like an veiled autobiography of what he had done to overcome his trials. But instead… it brought up the same issue to the surface again. He thought himself to be better, to have found the way to defeat the Karens that went after him.

The Story, ultimately, ended exactly how he hoped it would. Cliff and Verik killed Reeve, Percy and Baron Arthur Grim. They destroyed the last pillars of the Story and now they were plunged into the Ink. Trapped forever until he decided to come to save them. He would let them stew, let them think on their mistakes and swim in the void of the Ink for a while until they begged him to come to the rescue.

But… the fact that they didn’t just kill the last remaining pillars of the Story but… linked it directly to him… Cliff found the part that Oaks had used to sketch out the Story’s foundation… It suddenly felt like someone had ripped open an old wound that had long healed.

“What have you done to me, Cliff Bolt?” he sneered softly.

The Synopsis scratched around him.

“I know,” he hissed, lifting his gaze at the tome in front of him. All the pages were now black with Ink. Now Cliff was trapped in the nothingness of the Ink. Perhaps with Verik. The Saga of the Fallen Tree was gone. That Story along with the piece of Oaks’ own experiences that he had put into the Story were now given to the Ink. He didn’t need to think about it anymore. It would never be brought up again.

Oaks sighed and made to sit down. His throne dragged itself across the floor and positioned itself just where he was going to sit. “You fell right into my trap. Even with that last bit of defiance at the end, this Story still ended according to my plans. My Plot.”

With a wave of his hand, he summoned the crystal quill. Right next to the lectern containing the blackened, Ink-covered book, another pedestal sprang up from the ground. Upon it, was another book the size of Oaks’ torso but this one was completely blank. It would be his next Story. One that he wouldn’t have to worry about entrapping Cliff Bolt because the insolent little ‘hero’ would know that any form of defiance would be punished by the Holder of the Magnum Opus.

“What should I do with you?” Oaks chuckled darkly. “Perhaps I should cast you into the role of a straight man that will eventually be married? Go against your natural instincts? Or maybe I will craft a world where your entire role is to make mistake after mistake with every hot guy you meet, watching them be happy while you are blamed for the misery they make? Or maybe I will just make you a consistent villain, constantly being resurrected and reincarnated over and over again while I write heroes who will constantly triumph over you and when their era ends, you will eventually come back but a new hero will defeat you in new, creative ways?”

Oaks threw his head back, laughing at his own ‘genius’. The throne slid a little to the right, positioning him in front of the new, empty book. “Yes, I think that’s what I’ll do. You think you know me, Cliff Bolt? Well you’ve just scratched the surface! I -”

His tirade was interrupted with a burst of brilliant light that erupted from the black book next to him.

“What…? What now!?”

The Ink

The world was gone.

The minute the last vestiges of the Piece of Oblivion was destroyed, the audience chamber shook. All the Ink that had, up until that point, just been creeping around the edges of the room surged up. It rushed to swallow everything. Grimvalle was consumed in a matter of seconds. The fort fell shortly afterwards.

Cliff barely had enough time to hold Verik before the Ink consumed them, wrapping around their bodies and compressing them like they were being surrounded by thick, wet Jell-O. He found it hard to breathe - there was no air - but somehow he survived. Verik’s racing heart was a constant thrumming in his ears and a source of comfort.

A few moments later, the oppressive presence of the Ink eased up. Cliff opened his eyes and pulled away from Verik. Though there was a distinct lack of light, he could still see his ally like he was standing in broad daylight. Their surroundings consisted entirely out of roiling and bubbling Ink. Somewhere in this void, they seemed to be stuck in a bubble with nothing else but each other.

“What now?” Verik asked, his voice strangely echoing.

“I…” Cliff began, trailing off. Then he just shook his head.

The Story had collapsed. There was no longer a Narrative. Whether or not they followed the Plot according to what Oaks intended didn’t matter.

There was nothing around them anymore.

As an experiment, Cliff jabbed the Archetype into the Ink beneath him. Nothing happened.

I expected as much. When I was using it against the Revised, I got Ink back. But here… I can’t.

Looks like I can only really purify Ink infected by the Unwritten and Oaks.

Raw Ink like this…? Can’t.

“That creature,” Verik said at length. “Was it… a part of Oblivion? Of Oaks?”

“A distant part, maybe,” agreed Cliff. “When he dragged me into your world, Oaks was unfazed when Karens attacked him for what he wrote. He would always throw a line about being free to express himself as much as they are allowed to express their displeasure.” He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Honestly, I’m kind of insulted that he spent so little effort in building the world that was meant to entrap me that he used such an old and distant part of himself as the foundation of the Story.”

Verik gave him a tight, sad smile. “Seems quite significant to me.”

“Thanks.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Realism said that if I could find the Piece of Oblivion and exorcise it, I could take control of the Story. Use it to make myself a way out of here and take over the Magnum Opus piece by piece…” He looked up at the nothingness of the Ink above him. “But… I think because Oaks tied his piece with the fundamental structure of the Story, it collapsed around us when I destroyed it. Now… we’re here.”

Then, a third voice cut through their conversation.

“Let’s not forget that Oaks cobbled the Story together in a flimsy way and liberally used the Unwritten, further destabilizing the Narrative.”

Cliff jumped in surprise and turned to his right.

Realism walked calmly through the Ink, approaching the two. “He also changed the Plot multiple times which didn’t help keep the whole place stable. Honestly, if he had just put in a little more effort, perhaps the Saga of the Fallen Tree would have at least had some semblance of cohesion.” The mysterious entity with the silver wrap-around sunglasses absently kicked the Ink beneath his feet, clucking his tongue in disappointment. “It was held together in such a haphazard way that it completely collapsed when a few characters were taken out.”

“They weren’t just ‘a few characters’,” Verik snarled. “And who are you anyway?”

“He’s Realism,” Cliff responded. “He’s the one that gave me the Archetype and taught me how to fight off Oaks.” Looking towards the stranger, he said, “And really, Verik is right. Those people may have been characters in Oaks’ Story but they were real to me.”

Realism smiled at him genuinely. “I’m honestly glad you think that, Cliff.” He then produced a small book from behind him. It had a brown, leather-bound cover and was decorated by emerald filigree. On its cover was the emblem of Grimvalle - three trees and the spear across the base. “Would make giving you this really awkward otherwise.”

“What is it…?” Cliff asked, taking the book.

“It’s a new world,” answered Realism, his smile widening to a grin. “I took the base of what Oaks had put together, fixed up a few things and made a place for everyone.”

“Fixed up a few things?” Verik asked warily. “Like what?”

“Like putting a few moons in the sky,” Realism said bluntly. “Adding the rest of the world in. History. A cosmology. An entire universe. I basically completed it.”

The lumberjack scowled at him and snatched the book from Cliff. “So you expect us to just jump from one Story into another? What makes you better than Oaks?”

Realism chuckled and held up his hands. “Oh no. Please don’t misunderstand. That’s not a Story. It’s a guide. I’m not doing any time-travel or sudden bouts of amnesia shenanigans either. Everything is canon. When this world is brought to reality, everything that happened in the Story will have happened.”

So Verik’s family will still have died… Grimvalle will have…

Cliff’s eyes widened and he took the book back from Verik. He embedded the Archetype into the floor point first before flipping it open. The first thing he noticed was that it did not read like a book at all. It was not a fictional narrative. More like… a user guide. Informative and open ended. Everything was also in the past. It left the future open. It was like one of those role playing manuals he played with his college roommates here and there.

“You’re… You’re saying that we can start our own Story from where we left off,” Cliff exclaimed in excitement. “This… This is what you meant, isn’t it? I destroyed the Piece of Oblivion that was holding the Story together and now I can claim it as my own! I can make it whatever I want!”

He caught the cautious look that Verik was shooting him and he immediately choked on his words.

“You could,” allowed Realism. “Really, all this book needs is Ink to make it reality. Once you fill it with the Ink that once made up Oaks’ original Story, I can take it and put it into the cosmos. It cannot be touched by Oaks or the Magnum Opus. If, however, you decide to live in the world, you’d have full control over it. You can do whatever you want within it. You’d be God there.”

Cliff regarded the book in his hands, eyes wide. So much power. So much responsibility. Then again, if he could become god, nothing he did would ever be considered a mistake. He could literally rewrite history if he wanted.

Not to mention this could be his way out…

“What about Oaks?” he asked.

“I know what you’re thinking,” responded Realism. “Could you use your newfound power to develop your own Story into an Anti-Oaks scenario? Maybe invade his world with your power. It’s possible. It’ll be your world. Stop him from trapping anyone else and destroying the Magnum Opus if you wanted.”

Cliff’s eyes lingered on the book…

I can leave my world. Become a god.

No more dead-end job at the library. No more being mocked for ‘not having a real job’. No more English Major that’s not even good enough for a teaching job.

No more fawning over a man who turned out to be evil.

Then he shook his head and handed it back to Verik.

“I read books. I don’t write them. It took me weeks to come up with that short story that won me the apprenticeship to become Oaks’ apprentice and we all know where that led.” Turning to Verik, he said, “You should have it Verik. Bring back your wife and daughter. Rule the world as you see fit.”

“But what about you?” demanded the lumberjack. “We should do it together.”

Shaking his head, Cliff said, “No. I need to stop Oaks. He’s just going to create more characters, treat them like dirt and drag more innocent people into the Magnum Opus and make them run through the maze of his Plots so he can profit off them. I need to stop him.” He grabbed the Archetype and pulled it from the ground. “I’m the only one that can.”

Verik winced and held the book out at arm’s length. “I’m a simple man. I can’t become a god.”

In that moment, Cliff admired Verik all the more.

I’ll be sad to let him go…

Realism shrugged. “No one said anyone had to be. I just said it was an option.” Both men gave the stranger a puzzled look. “The way I’ve structured the book is purely instructional. Everyone there will have free will. There is no Plot. No Narrative. It isn’t a Story. It’s a reality. They’re the blueprints for an entire universe. We just need the building materials and the people to populate it.”

Cliff regarded the book then locked gazes with Verik. If his collaboration bar was in his vision, he would be sure it would be shining at its maximum.

“If we do this,” he began. “What will happen to me? Will it help me beat Oaks?”

There, Realism flashed him a grin. “You’ve already done a lot of damage to him. He’s not down. Far from it. But you’ve loosened his grip over the Magnum Opus. Keep doing this and you’ll claim the Magnum Opus for yourself and make your way to freedom.”

That sealed it.

“I’ve still got a job to do,” Cliff said to Verik. “And you’ve got a life to live.”

The lumberjack regarded the book in his hands and closed his eyes, a little tear running down his cheeks. “Will be hard to go at it without you. Especially after everything that just happened.” His grip around the book tightened. “But if there is anything I have learned from you, Cliff, it’s to keep fighting even in my darkest days. I can’t let vengeance or the heat of the moment drive me forever. I need to keep moving.”

Cliff rushed up to Verik, holding the man tightly against him. “I’ll miss you.”

“Think of me when you kick Oaks’ teeth in. I owe that man at least that much.”

He smiled at that and took a few steps back.

Realism instructed Verik to hold open the book to any page and the lumberjack did exactly that. Cliff lifted the Archetype towards the book, holding it in both hands and leveling the point of the blade directly between the pages. A rush of power filled him. Ink rushed and roiled around him. Dazzling light erupted from his feet, forming a dazzling circle of light that pushed back the raw, dark Ink away from him. The ooze that the light touched was immediately transformed into the purified, white Ink that seeped into the Archetype.

Guess I was wrong about using Pure Ink…

I just needed something to direct it towards!

That power doubled through Cliff’s veins. He could feel the raw, creative potential of the Ink. If he wanted to, he could use it to craft his own world. Ignore Realism’s blueprints. Just use it to forge his own Story, a world of his own making. Yes, it would be contained within the Magnum Opus any maybe Oaks might exploit it but it would be his Story.

No.

That’s not what I want.

He grit his teeth and thrust the sword forward, pushing the power and the purified Ink out of the tip of the blade and straight into the book. A beam of shimmering light erupted from the point, slamming into the book and letting out a short pulse of light. White Ink that looked like liquid pearls swam out of the Archetype and into the pages of the book. Verik no longer had to hold the tome and stepped away, letting the book hover in the air as Cliff poured all the Ink around him into it.

I just want Verik and all the people I met to be happy… To be free!

A pillar of light erupted from the tome, shooting straight up and forming a dazzling column. Alabaster frames emerged from the brilliance, statues and sculptures that took Cliff’s breath away. Two large, muscular bears stood at attention on the left and right, guarding a flight of steps towards the pillar of light. The steps themselves were made from the quietly slumbering figures of bear cubs and a woman and her daughter. Above the bears, forming an arch were a myriad of other characters. A barbarian king and his horde. Two brothers burning coal. Farmers and their unconventional family. Two guardsmen protecting a town. A gang of five men. A father and his son. Then a baron. Green vines crawled up the statues, giving the white sculptures more color and life.

The last of the Ink poured into the gateway. Only pitch darkness remained around them. No more roiling Ink. Just the blackness of the nothingness and this shining monument that promised an escape into a new world.

“Wow…” breathed Cliff.

Suddenly, a big paw slapped against his back, making him stumbled forward. Huge, muscled bears wearing no clothing walked past him, cheering and laughing as they passed into the portal and entered the new world. They were not transparent ghosts. They were solid. Real.

Skurrald passed him, ruffling his hair a little as he strode towards the gateway. “If I ever see you again, I’ll do as I promised!” bellowed the Barbearian. “You’ll join the ranks of my men yet!”

Then the Barbearian Bandit King raced into the gateway with his men.

What the…?

He turned and his eyes widened, tears welling in his eyes. Realism stood next to the rough door made of twigs that was scratched by a bear’s paw and splattered with blood. The door was wide open and from it, the people of Grimvalle emerged, making their way to the portal. They thanked Cliff or Verik before continuing onto their journey to their new world.

Two of the bears covered in soot caught his attention.

The Charcoal Brothers.

They approached him and clasped a shoulder each.

“Thank you, Cliff,” rumbled Nycolas. “I’m sorry for what we did. We… we weren’t ourselves.”

“Wish you could join us,” echoed Gyrard. “So we can thank you properly but we know you’ve got something bigger waiting for you.”

Then they passed him and moved towards the portal, holding paws.

A moment later, Duggin and his new family emerged from the door. The Reynoldus sons each gave him a hug - the twins catching him between them - before Duggin and Marvin approached him.

“Thank you, really,” Marvin said gently. “Because of you, we realized something we never thought possible.”

Duggin nodded, one paw on Cliff’s shoulder and the other wrapped tightly around Marvin’s waist. “You changed our lives for the better, Cliff. Never forget that.”

Then they were heading to the portal.

Foulk emerged from the door next, giving Cliff a nod in appreciation. There was a glint in the former old man’s eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at the other bear that emerged from the door.

“Go easy on him,” rumbled Foulk. “And don’t think about what could have been.”

As Brienus approached, an increasing sense of awkwardness crept into the air. Cliff could only offer a grin like he had been caught cheating on a test and the teacher was demanding to tell them what he had had been thinking. Foulk patted his back, leaving him alone with the man who was meant to be his first love interest in Oaks’ Story.

Brienus took a deep breath and then pulled out a familiar looking dagger.

He handed it to Cliff.

“Keep it,” said the guardsman with a gentle but sad smile on his muzzle. “As a reminder that even if the universe, the gods and fate itself tells us that we should be going one way, we will always be able to go another.”

Then with those words, he passed Cliff, patting his shoulder as a final farewell.

Cliff wanted to say something and he even turned around to follow Brienus but his voice got caught in his throat. All other words were interrupted when five paws slapped his back.

“You’re still an asshole,” Ansell laughed. “But you saved us. You killed us and I still blame you for everything going to shit.”

“But,” Francus said, pushing the gang leader towards the portal. “We’re still grateful for everything you did. So thank you.”

“Thank you,” Mikhael echoed giving him a nod.

“Yeah!” barked Hicket. “Thank you!”

Huge, muscular arms picked him up and spun him around once. Walken gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” rumbled the bear, his voice so deep that it reverberated through Cliff.

Then the five were gone.

I guess that just leaves…

Cliff looked through the crowd and spotted the big, brown bear with a belly, thick black hair and a glorious, black beard.

Reeve Gale.

He ran up to the blacksmith, his voice choking out a hasty apology. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Maybe I should’ve told you everything when I first became conscious or… I don’t…”

Reeve’s large paws gently grasped the back of his head and pulled him against that large, warm belly. Those paws gently stroked his hair as the bear gently hushed to silence.

“The game was rigged against us,” sighed the blacksmith. “No matter what happened, we would have been torn from one another. But I want you to always remember, no matter how brief, fictional or contrived it was, you were my son. You chose to be my son for a few days. That will always stay fact even if the Story gets rewritten.”

With those words, Reeve held his ‘son’ for one more moment before heading towards the gate.

Cliff’s eyes drifted to to his right. There was only one bear remaining.

Baron Arthur Grim stood in front of Verik, the two holding each other’s hands and facing one another.

“I… I’m sorry,” Grim sighed. “I should’ve said something sooner.”

“Yes,” chastised Verik playfully. “You should have.” With a shake of his head, he nodded towards the portal. “But we’ll have time to talk about it afterwards. I’ll see you on the other side.”

The ursine Baron nodded and took a few steps away from Verik, letting their grip on each other’s hands linger for as long as possible before they were eventually forced apart. He passed Cliff, nodding in thanks before heading towards the portal. The Baron’s steps grew quicker with each second until he was breaking into an outright run to the gateway. Cliff thought he saw a genuine, bright grin on the Baron’s features before he vanished into the light.

Then it was just him and Verik.

The woodsman came to stand beside him, looking at the shining monument.

“So this is how our Story ends,” he sighed softly. “The end of the tale where Verik Stormleaf’s fate was intertwined with one Cliff Gale.” He looked to his side at Cliff. “It has been the most insane, unpredictable and heartbreaking experience of my life.” His features suddenly grew serious. “Never come to my home ever again. But also…”

Verik then threw his arms around Cliff, holding him tightly.

“… I will miss you.”

Cliff wrapped his arms around the Protagonist and closed his eyes, squeezing out a few tears. “I’ll miss you too, big guy. I swear, you are the single sexist guy with a kilt that I’ve ever had the honor of meeting.”

Verik broke the hug and held him at arm’s length.

“I’ll tell you what I told Grim when I rejected the Duke’s offer for land and title and insisted that Grim take it.” His smile grew broader with pride and sadness. “I’m a simple man but you are meant for bigger and greater things. Don’t let me stop you from being what the people need. But you will always have my arm and my axe.”

Then, Verik gave him one last nod before turning towards the portal. The lumberjack took a deep breath and walked towards his new world. He stopped on the threshold, eyes momentarily on the steps that represented the bear and her cubs that had killed his wife and daughter as well as the family that he had lost.

Then, without looking back, he stepped into the light and vanished.

The immense monument of white stone emitted a brilliant glow, momentarily blinding Cliff enough that he had to shield his eyes. When the light faded, that book remained. Realism approached the book, plucking it from the air. He headed back to Cliff, showing him the cover.

Cliff regarded the tome for a long moment. He reflected on everything that he had experienced in that Story. To him, it had been less than a week. Barely four days. But it felt like a lifetime had passed. Like he had died and shred the guise of Cliff Gale and became Cliff Bolt again.

“I can’t be like him, can I?” he said aloud. Realism didn’t say a word prompting Cliff to continue. “Like Oaks, I mean. I can’t hold onto a grudge against people who wronged me for so long like he expected Verik to do.” He lifted his eyes towards Realism’s hidden gaze. “I can’t begrudge Oaks for what he did to me when I get out of here.”

Realism tilted his head slightly and twisted his lips like he was mulling a thought. “Therein lies the ultimate crux of this tale. The dance between author and reader. What the author intends is seldom exactly what the reader perceives and absorbs. Unless the author goes into excruciating detail about absolutely everything in their story, everything will always be up for interpretation. Similarly, unless you as a reader actually experienced exactly the same thing as the author in their shoes and lived their lives up to that point, you will never interpret the Story the same way as the author wrote it.”

The mysterious man held up a finger. “Make no mistake, Oaks never intended to teach you about his grudge against a particular subculture that was very vocal about his work. In fact, the connections you made about the Karens and how they are reflected in the other characters in Verik’s story did not exist until you made that connection.”

Cliff balked in surprise. “What? But…” He frowned deeply. “… But when I exposed it all at the fort… that thing… it… it reacted.”

“It reacted because you made it react.” Realism smiled gently. “A story only has power when it is read. It takes our imagination to fuel it and bring it to reality. Unobserved and untold, the tale is forgotten.” He waggled that finger in the air. “But, again, we are the readers are the ones that give the Story shape.” Then he pointed that finger at Cliff. “Moreover, as you had taken over part of the Story, your interpretation of the author’s intentions made that connection a reality. Remember, that’s why Oaks needed you in the Story in the first place.”

“So… I only won because I made shit up?” Cliff mumbled, deflated.

“You made shit up that works,” corrected Realism. “It fit into the Narrative, the established lore and the whole Plot. If you had just thrown something completely out there, it would’ve created another Plot Hole. You worked with what you were given and made the Story even better than Oaks’ initial intention. Through that connection, you drew out the Piece of Oblivion.”

Looking at the book in Realism’s hands, he said, “What was his intention?”

“Simply put, a not-so-subtle message of letting go of revenge fantasies and accepting the hand you’re dealt. It was meant to tell you to just roll over and live in the land Oaks made for you through Verik’s tale.”

Cliff scowled. “Almost makes me want to go after Oaks with that in mind.”

“What the author intends is not important. It is what you take away from the Story.” The entity leaned forward a little, a smile on his face. “So tell me, what did you take away from Verik’s story? Ignoring Oaks’ intentions. What did you learn?”

Looking down at his feet, at the Archetype in his hand, he took a deep breath… and let it out slowly. “Let yourself be angry. Let yourself grieve. Let your emotions run wild a bit after someone has wronged you. But don’t let it define you. Don’t let it drive you for the rest of your life.”

Realism straightened. “I’m sure Verik would agree.” The stranger gave him a little smile. “And you said you’re no writer.” Then he tapped the cover of the book. “But you know…” He raised the book in his hand. “… there’s one last thing missing.”

“What?”

Realism’s smile grew broader. “A title.”

For a second, Cliff blinked a few times then he regarded the tome. It took him a minute or two to go through everything they had gone through. All the heartbreak. The adventure. The revelations. The emotion. The Story. Then, he thought about all the possibilities that remained for Verik and the people of Grimvalle. A whole new world for them that was no longer confined by Oaks’ power and the limitations of the Magnum Opus.

“Stormleaf,” he announced. “A Bear’s Dawn.”

The Synposis

Oaks was stunned.

The Ink on what had been his work melted away against a brilliant, piercing light. In the place of the large torso-sized tome was a much smaller, more traditionally-sized, leather-bound book with emerald filigree to make it look like curling tree branches. The emblem of Grimvalle was drawn on the front cover. The title on the book read ‘Stormleaf: A Bear’s Dawn’.

A myriad of emotions flashed through his mind.

Rage. Jealousy. Disgust. Curiosity.

He reached out for the book but before his fingers could even come close to it, the book burst into a shower of shimmering, golden particles like it was just made out of glitter that was blown into the wind.

“What… What did he do?” he snarled.

Had Cliff somehow… used the raw Ink that he was trapped in to make his own world? A Story of his own that was now out of reach of even the Magnum Opus? Did he somehow defy all expectations and use the very power that Oaks, himself, wielded and make his own universe?

Was that even possible?

Oaks turned away from the now-empty lectern and allowed it to fade into nothingness, sinking into the scrawls and scribblings of the Synopsis. “Doesn’t matter. He’s gone now. I can work on my next piece and find the next soul that will write it for me.”

The Synopsis scratched and squirmed, correcting him.

His eyes widened when he glanced off into the distance.

Cliff was still alive.

The boy wielding that mysterious weapon, the Archetype, was back at the Appendix.

“What!?” he roared, leaping to his feet. “This is impossible! How is this…?”

More scratching noises.

“Fine!” he snapped. Then, running a hand down his beard to smoothen it, he repeated in a much calmer voice, “Fine. You’re right.” He forced himself to calm down and sat back down on his throne. “I was arrogant. Careless. I didn’t invest nearly as much time into the Story I crafted for him than I should have.”

The author scoffed. “Honestly, when I read his little essay, it smacked of fan-fiction and a naive mind poisoned by Hollywood and clearly stuck in a small town hoping for better things. Still a child hoping that he will be thrust into another world if he were ever to be run over by a truck or approached by a mysterious stranger to be told that he’s special. It’s one of the reasons I picked him.”

Oaks flicked his finger, summoning the crystal quill which he brought towards the new golden book. “In some way, I made your dream come true, Cliff Bolt. But all dreams have the potential to turn into nightmares. So allow me to educate you on how it really works here.”

He grinned darkly to himself.

“I know you a little better now. I don’t know everything. Not yet. But I will make you tell me everything. Then, once I have all I need to know, I’ll craft a Story around you that you will never want to leave. For now, though…”

Tapping the tip of the quill against his bottom lip, Oaks’ grin grew bigger. “Why don’t we start over in something a little… closer to reality?”

He began to write, crafting a Story with the express purpose of learning more about Cliff Bolt, his newest adversary. Though he was loathed to admit it, he was excited for the first time in a while about writing. This insolent and mysterious would-be-writer had ignited a spark in Desmond Eli Oaks that he had felt so rarely in the years.

For now, at least, he had a clear purpose in front of him; the complete and utter defeat of Cliff Bolt. D. E. Oaks is, if anything, a methodical man that knew how to craft a long, overarching Plot. So now that he had a decent idea of what he was up against, he would not just be throwing blunt instruments at Cliff hoping something would hit him and take him down.

No.

This time, he would be approaching this step by well-planned step.

The Appendix

Cliff found his shoes sinking back into the ankle-deep, reflective waters of the Appendix. Once again, he was surrounded by the red and gray stone monuments of this lonely place. It felt like so long ago that he had first woken up here, unarmed, scared and confused about what had happened. But now, he held the Archetype in one hand and the dagger that Brienus had given him in the other.

Strange that the dagger had come with him. It had melted into the Ink when last he saw it. That thought was interrupted when the blade burst into a flurry of light and sank into his blade.

Ding!

A new notification.

Font Obtained: Pine Wood

Cliff arched an eyebrow, regarding the sword and twisting it around a few times. It looked the same as before. What did it mean that he obtained a new ‘Font’?

Movement caught his attention and he immediately entered his MOM Stance.

Poetry and Prose drifted in from above.

“You see? You see? He lives!’ exclaimed Poetry. “Despite the odds, he escaped!

He is the Story that gives!

Better, the Story he reshaped!”

Cliff glanced over his shoulder at the monument that had once been the portal into Verik’s world. A smile touched his lips when he noted how it now represented the same portal that had been conjured when he freed the residents of the Story. Cracks suddenly appeared cross the surface of the spire. Right before his eyes, the monolith crumbled. No light was contained within its expanse, leaving it empty. Intricate sculptures and the visages of Verik’s Story broke and turned to dust, collapsing into a pile of rubble.

Just as well.

Verik isn’t the Protagonist anymore.

Everyone in that world is free to be their own hero.

His eyes drifted to the other smooth stone towers around him.

Only wish I could’ve saved the people trapped within these other forgotten Stories too.

Prose suddenly appeared in font of him, almost nose-to-nose with him.

“What did you do?” demanded the spirit. “How did you not only manage to escape the Story but reshape it from within?”

Cliff inclined his head. “You make it sound like others have done what I did.”

Prose straightened, looking down at him indignantly “Certainly. Over our long stewardship of the Appendix and guiding souls to their Stories, we’ve seen all kinds of people. Some have taken hold of the Story. They find the Protagonist, influence them and change the course of the Narrative. It has happened before.”

“You would not be the first to escape a Story,” Poetry chimed in. “Others have found ways to return here.

But you are the first to change the tale and break free.

That you could do both is most queer.”

“Queer is right,” huffed Cliff. “But I get it. People have escaped before. Others have changed the Story but I guess they stayed in there because it was more to their liking.”

And maybe because the Unwritten got to them.

“As for how I did both…” Cliff glanced at the Archetype and dismissed the weapon. He flashed Prose a grin and offered a helpless shrug. “… guess I just know Oaks pretty well. I found the Protagonist. I figured out what the Story was about and I worked around it.”

“Interesting,” mused the dark spirit, flying back to hover beside its brother. “I doubt the same techniques apply next time. Your captor is not some static rule-set or entity. It is a human that is driven by emotion and can be influenced by outside factors outside of your own. The Holder might just spite you just to watch you squirm.”

“The Magnum Opus is not a threat,” agreed Poetry. “It is but a tool for mankind.

Every Story within is of man’s thought beget.

Nebulous desires could leave fickle Holder blind.”

The bright spirit suddenly turned. A new beam of light shot into the sky not too far away.

“Ah, your next Story aways anon.

Haste lest the Unwritten arrive.

Follow and break into a run.

Remember you are lucky to be alive.”

Cliff chuckled and let out a grim nod. “Yeah. I feel that. I’m still the underdog here.” Then his eyes drifted to the sky, at the thick mist that revealing no sun or sky. “Just you watch, Oaks. I’m coming for you.”

Grimvalle

The smell of ash was still in the air. Unsurprisingly really since the fires that had consumed the Grimwalker Forest had gone unopposed for a while. Somehow, the little cabin in a small clearing remained mostly untouched. A clear, sky graced the meadow while bands of golden light danced across ash-covered grass, gently kissing the single grave behind the cabin.

A tall man with long, wild, flaming red hair tied into a single braid stood over the grave, having just set down a few fresh flowers in memory of the two interned beneath the ground. The towering man, built of the forest with arms, chest and legs to prove it, stood in a simple white tunic and a red and blue kilt. Over his shoulder, strapped to his back by leather bands was a single woodcutter’s axe.

Verik Stormleaf absently ran his hand through his hair before trailing his fingers down his jawline and through his rough beard.

“You know I’ve never been for words, Ceria,” he admitted softly. “I wish I had spoken to you a little more openly. Both of you.” He shut his head and turned his head to the sky. “I know I keep saying it, but I’m sure you would have liked Cliff. Maybe, wherever you are, you’ll meet him. Maybe.”

His deep, brown eyes drifted back to the grave.

“I still love you both.”

With those words, he turned and headed towards where he had hitched his horse. Verik rode the mare away from his former home, leading her through the well-worn path out of the Grimwalker Forest that was just now starting to recover from the devastating fire that had consumed it. A few minutes later, he emerged from the trees and to the stone bridge that crossed the small river that would lead him directly into the territory of Grimvalle.

Two huts remained on either side of the road. Ruined furnaces sat beside them. Both huts now sat abandoned. Verik spent a moment reminiscing before he whipped the reigns and got his mare to shoot down the road.

His mount was the fastest in the barony so it only took about an hour before he arrived at the Duggin-Reynoldus Farms. The wide stretch of land was manned and owned by the Clements Duggin and Marvin Reynoldus as well as their three sons. In fact, as he rode down, he noticed the family of five, large, muscular male bears just finishing packing their produce into the cart pulled by two horses.

“Verik!” shouted Duggin, waving a large white paw in his direction. The polar bear’s sleeves got caught on his immense biceps and looked like they were on the verge of tearing. “Care to accompany us to town?”

Verik smiled as he reigned his mount in. “Sorry but I am in a rush. Apparently Grim has a visitor from the capital.”

Marvin rolled his bright, yellow eyes. Much like his husband and most of his sons, he was dressed in tunics that were too tight for his immense, muscled form and trousers that barely reached past their knees. None of them wore any sort of footwear. Claws would just tear through them. “So the King finally found out about us and decided to send a scout, eh? I’m surprised he didn’t send an army. The rumors were nasty.”

“Don’t worry, father!” exclaimed Johannes, dressed fully in his armor as one of the Baron’s soldiers. “If the King does send an army to invade, we know how to deal with them!”

Willis let out a bellowing laugh and hooked an arm over his youngest brother’s shoulder. “You mean wave your dick in their face, fuck them until they cum and turn them into bears, right little brother? Isn’t that what they teach you at the fort!?”

Nils, Willis’ twin in every way, playfully punched his youngest brother’s stomach. “Come on, Nils. You’ve still got to show us all the ‘moves’ Skurrald and his company taught you!”

Smiling and politely taking his leave, Verik urged his horse forward down the road. A few minutes would not make a difference if he was just meeting with another citizen of Grimvalle but this was apparently an official from the King’s court. A squire of some sort. Men from the capital were rarely patient and had an inflated sense of importance even though, traditionally, a squire or even a knight would be at a much lower rank than a Baron.

Just another thirty minutes later, he was approaching the town gates. Enormous, stone walls surrounded the township of Grimvalle with a full moat used to keep away intruders. The drawbridge was down and a lone guard stood watch. Johannes would be the other guard but for now, Foulk had allowed his partner to escort his family back to the city. Harvest season was tough on everyone even if they had the bodies of gods and stamina of demons.

“You’re running late,” warned Foulk, flashing him a toothy smile. “The king’s envoy arrived two hours ago.”

“I know!” Verik laughed, charging past the guardsman. “Johannes is just behind me!”

Foulk waved him away and turned his bright, yellow gaze back to the road.

Verik reigned in his horse to a walk as he moved through the busy streets of Grimvalle. Towering, stone buildings had been built alongside the cobblestone roads. With the addition of another two hundred men, the town had evolved to a full-blown city. Housing had to match. Not to mention every structure had to accommodate for the increased power of being a bear. Fucking on the second floor on wooden floorboards would only lead to disaster and bruised dicks. It had taken months to expand the city limits and get everything constructed but with their increased strength, stamina and Grim’s leadership, the residents had made the change in record time.

He entered the central market area. There, he caught Hicket and Walken - now an inseparable couple - standing guard in front of the tavern that Francus had opened and that Ansell managed. The two muscled bears waved at him, asking if he wanted to stop by for a drink. He graciously declined, repeating that he was already late.

Across the street, Nycolas and Gyrard were plying their wares of logs, charcoal and whittled statues. He caught sight of Mikhael in the shop behind them making those carvings. The brothers had moved closer to Grimvalle. With their little city being the only one in the entire world possessing the magic to turn other men into bears, having two people out so far from the city limits was dangerous.

As he headed up the hill, the soldiers at the door let him through the large, iron gates - gates made by the combined efforts of Reeve and Brienus. What had once been a fort had been built and improved into a full-on castle.

Castle Grimvalle.

The old fort now made the ‘first line of defense’ against invasion while the castle proper sat behind it, towering over the rest of the town and overlooking the surrounding countryside. In the courtyard beyond the gates, he dismounted and led the mare to the nearby stables.

The clinking of metal brought his gaze over to the much larger forge. Reeve hammered away at the sword he was working away at and behind him was Brienus. The two had become such a close couple. Maybe it was a distant connection between Reeve being Cliff’s father and Brienus supposedly being Cliff’s first love. Or maybe they just found each other but the two men provided all the arms, armor and tools that the town needed. They had been instrumental in rebuilding Grimvalle into what it was now.

Smiling to himself, Verik passed through the fort, greeting the ursine soldiers and some of the human recruits who had heard tale of the bear’s immeasurable strength and had trekked here. Families had sought out Arthur’s protection and the Baron had made it clear that he would welcome anyone in his borders as long as they remained loyal to him and the Kingdom of Marvellian. It was this very clear politically charged announcement that had kept the King from intervening…

… until now.

Verik headed up to Arthur’s private study in the castle proper. Skurrald, the former Barbearian Bandit King now stood guard in front of the door, basically being the Baron’s shadow. As Arthur’s personal bodyguard and arguably one of the biggest bears in the entire township, it made sense to appoint him to such a trusted position. It also meant that those that he had converted during the saga of the Magnum Opus remained loyal.

He nodded towards Skurrald. “How is it in there?” he asked.

“As dry and painful as rough sex with a stick,” growled the towering, scarred bear. To show his loyalty and thanks to the Baron for taking him in, Skurrald and shaved down the blond mane of his to a short-cropped Mohawk. The armor he wore could barely contain him so he really only wore a cuirass that covered his pectorals but left his abdominal muscles exposed and trousers that barely contained his enormous cock.

“If you’re going in there,” rumbled the barbarian-turned-bodyguard, “keep your ass puckered and tight because someone in there is going to get fucked.”

A dire warning indeed. Verik nodded, knocked a few times on the door and then pushed the door open. Arthur Grim sat in an immense, wooden chair behind an equally immense table. In front of him was a skinny middle-aged man dressed in finery, clearly dwarfed by the huge bear but still holding his nose up high like he was superior to the Baron. Arthur had dressed in his best for this meeting; a regal cape over his broad shoulders, a bright, green tunic with gold woven into the sleeves and collar and trousers that puffed up at the thighs. Honestly, Verik thought he looked like a jester and he knew Arthur agreed. The Baron preferred to go around with just his cape and a loin cloth.

“Verik,” greeted Arthur, his features visibly brightening. “So good that you can join us.”

The man in front of Arthur let out an exasperated sight. “At last! Another human I can talk to. Now we can begin.”

“Human or not,” Verik began, walking around the table and standing beside Arthur. “What you want to say to me you can say to Arthur. He is the Baron, after all. I’m just his husband.”

The man’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I see.” The man spoke with a nasal tone that instantly irritated Verik. “Well, let me remind you that your union is not officially recognized by the King. Weddings of any of his nobles must be officially signed into the capital records and overseen by the King himself. I don’t seem to recall either of you coming to the capital to utter your vows in the presence of His Majesty.”

“You’re right,” Arthur answered calmly. “So perhaps we should just go with the plan of seceding from the Kingdom.”

The envoy went rigid. “Ridiculous! Such a treasonous act would certainly lead to your doom!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Verik mused, smirking beneath his beard. “I have it on good authority that the northern barbarians only stopped their assault from the north because they heard that one of their own ‘Circle of Kings’ found refuge here. Imagine what they would do if they heard that your King attacked this city with their men in it.”

The man’s expression twitched in agitation and it looked like it took him a lot of effort to keep the irritation from his voice. “Let us not go into hypotheticals. I come to you to better understand the situation. To understand this curse that has befallen your town.”

“It isn’t a curse,” Grim correctly quickly. “What rumors you have heard are exaggerated and false.”

“Then do enlighten me.”

Verik exchanged glances with Grim before turning back to the envoy.

“A terrible entity attacked Grimvalle,” he explained. “A being known as Oblivion. It sought to destroy us and the entire world because that was just its nature. A kind soul, one of our own, stood up to Oblivion and sacrificed himself to defeat the entity. We…” His voice failed him and he choked back a sob.

“… We couldn’t save him,” finished Arthur. “But as he passed from this world, he used his last breath to spread his strength to us. In case Oblivion were ever to return, he gave us his bear-like strength.” To prove his point, Arthur flexed a bicep, the mound of muscle tearing through the fabric of his tunic. Verik had to fight back a grin as the envoy’s eyes boggled. “We are a bastion of warriors standing against Oblivion’s return. Only men can be blessed with this power and they must be willing. Despite the rumors, we cannot force this upon others.”

Arthur omitted the fact that with all they had learned in the Opus, their warriors had found ways to make people want to be a bear. Pheromones were still a very powerful way to influence the mind and with so many in the town now, new ways to utilize their natural musk, precum and seed were being developed.

“I see,” the envoy said grimly. “And the presence of the barbarians that you welcomed into your fold? The rumors that it was they who attacked Stormy Crossing and the presence of the very men who were stationed there amongst your ranks?”

“They joined of their own accord,” answered Verik. “Oblivion’s influence attacked what had been the Barbarian Bandit King’s forces and drove them to Stormy Crossing. Upon seeing the desperation of the men approaching them and the greater evil, Knight Elias Vaughan welcomed the barbarians into his ranks and fought off Oblivion as much as he could before being forced to retreat here.”

There was a spark of something sinister in the envoy’s eyes like he had realized he had just caught Verik in a lie. “Excuse poor my understanding of geography but why would this ‘Oblivion’ of yours give chase to a bunch of failed defenders when there are far more strategic targets between here and Stormy Crossing. The merchant town of Callistandrae would have been far more appealing, for instance.”

Verik had to smile to himself. Realism had added so much to their world that it was like exploring an entirely different place even though everything felt so familiar. A veil had been lifted from all of their eyes; an invisible barrier that kept them contained within the confines of the Story that kept them from questioning things like why there was no moon in the sky even if there were tides, why there were no other women or children or what rested beyond the few towns that they knew about.

“You’re making the mistake of thinking of Oblivion as an intelligent or strategic entity,” rumbled Arthur, tapping a claw onto the table. “It is not a creature of logic. It is a force of nature. Just as you cannot direct a storm or tell the ocean how deep it will go, Oblivion is not bound to our reasoning.” A little smile touched Arthur’s lips. “One of the reasons why we won.”

The envoy visibly deflated, displeased that his supposed trap hadn’t borne fruit. “I see. I suppose apart from your word, there is no evidence to back your claims.”

“There is also no evidence to refute them either,” countered Arthur. “Apart from the fact that we are large, masculine, virile bears that can turn anyone who wants to join our ranks into more of ourselves.” That irritated the envoy even further. “So between the possibility that we are lying or us telling the truth, which one has more weight?”

The man’s irritation was mounting as seen by the twitch of his pencil-thin eyebrow. “You make a point. However, the King cannot simply tolerate having a… deviant city within its borders that does not even answer to the Duke of his lands or the King himself.”

“Then make him a Duke,” demanded Verik. “Or claim Grimvalle as an independent state. We’ll answer to no one but neither will be raise arms against anyone.”

Grim held up a paw, indicating silence. “We stand vigil against Oblivion,” said the Baron evenly. “But we will also lend our aid if called. You will not find any stronger warrior in the kingdom. However, our numbers are still few in comparison to the Kingdom’s forces.” He retrieved a scroll from beneath his desk and handed it to the envoy. “So I have a proposal.”

The envoy quirked an eyebrow and took it. As he unfurled it and read the contents, his eyes went wide and his lips twisted upwards in disgust.

“You must be joking!” exclaimed the envoy, slamming the parchment back onto the desk. “The King would never agree to such terms!”

“The alternative is war,” answered Grim with a shrug. “And you already know the Circle of Kings would come to our aid should we call.” A little smile touched his lips. “In fact, as I recall there are quite a number of them at the north right now demanding passage here to join us. I do wonder if the Kingdom can afford to fight on two fronts at once.”

“Three,” Verik reminded, raising three fingers. “Skurrald was kind enough to inform us that it was the Kingdom of Uveldad that orchestrated the Circle of Kings and planned to use them to weaken Marvellian. Didn’t the King just openly accuse them of this treachery and now they are on the verge of war?”

The envoy’s face was turning beet-red. “Yes. Such underhanded tactics could not be forgiven and His Majesty has known for a long time that Uveldad has coveted our rich lands for a while.”

Verik glanced over to Arthur with a semi-serious smirk. “I wonder if Uveldad would be more open to granting us independence?”

“No! Wait!” the envoy exclaimed suddenly, rising out of his chair and holding out his hand. Realizing he had broken composure, the man coughed and picked up the scroll. “I will bring your proposal to the King. I assure you he will not commit to sending one hundred men to your city to join your ranks a year or complete independence either but it gives us grounds for negotiation.”

“I look forward to his response,” responded Arthur, nodding curtly. “You must be tired from your travels. Why not stay and enjoy Grimvalle’s hospitality a while? Human or bear, we treat everyone equally here. The Hidden Basement offers some of our best wine and ale.”

The envoy huffed softly. “I cannot stay too long but it is getting late. My men and I will partake in your hospitality but will depart in the morning.” He bowed towards Arthur. “Thank you for your time, Baron Grim.”

Then he turned and left. Skurrald met their gaze and made a gesture suggesting sucking dick but Arthur shook his head and his bodyguard rolled his eyes before shutting the door.

“We’re going to have to make that trip to the capital, aren’t we?” Verik asked, leaning his weight against Arthur’s chair.

“It’s inevitable,” sighed the bear. “But at the very least, we know that the town won’t be attacked.” A wicked grin crossed his lips. “Or if they do, they won’t stay human for much longer.”

“Little bit of Oaks creeping in there, I see,” teased Verik.

The Bear Baron as he had come to be known amongst the nobles in Marvellion gave his lover a smirk. “We were all touched by Oblivion. Well, not you. But as Realism mentioned, he wrote his signature in our souls and while the compulsion directed us to commit deplorable acts, we still performed those acts willingly.” The Baron let out a short laugh. “It’s really quite curious. From birth, we are taught to resist pain and fight against its causes. We are trained to see sources of pleasure as good and rewarding. Rarely do we have the opportunity to learn that those who tempt us with pleasure could have evil intentions let alone put such lessons to practice.”

Verik closed his eyes for a moment. Both Cliff and Oaks had carved their names into all of their souls. There would be no forgetting what happened in the Magnum Opus. Some nights, he would lay in bed wondering if the world that they lived in was just another, more elaborate story created by Oaks and Cliff had just been a tool to give them more life. Then he would roll over, see Arthur’s fluffy, slumbering features beside him and realize he didn’t care.

This was the adventure he was happy to have.

“The world will learn that soon enough if they cross us,” he concluded. “But let’s keep that secret to ourselves for a little while longer. There are still a lot of unknowns, after all.”

Arthur Grim chuckled softly. “True enough.” He finally turned to face Verik. “One unknown is if you will ever join us on this side and become a bear?”

Verik smirked back at him. “I was actually thinking we could use that as evidence when we meet the King in his court. Perhaps let us shock the capital with scandal by fucking me right there in front of His Royal Majesty and transforming me in front of his court?” He leaned down, reaching past Arthur and gripping the bear’s thick cock. It thickened and grew hard in his grip. “Wouldn’t that be a scandal to rock the nation?”

“You’re… You’re serious…?” stammered Arthur.

Verik grinned from ear to ear. “I can just imagine some entitled baronesses or duchesses screaming ‘Think of the children’ now.”

Both men laughed but it was cut short when the door sprang open again. Verik immediately straightened, releasing Grim’s cock from his grip.

It was the envoy again.

“Pardon me, Baron,” said the man, frowning a little. “But the hero that sacrificed himself to grant you this power. May I know his name? For the sake of official records.”

“Yes,” Arthur responded, coughing softly. “Of course.”

The two men exchanged side-long glances briefly, smiles touching their lips.

“His name was Percival. Percival Gale.”

Naught

Alone in the darkness of the void. Cliff had left through the door and was now back in the Appendix. Verik and the rest of the people of Grimvalle had departed to their new world. Oaks couldn’t see him here. Even from the Synopsis, the Holder’s vision was not omniscient. A good thing too because it had been difficult hiding his activities from Oaks and the Magnum Opus.

Tipping his hand too soon would be disastrous. Unlike Oaks, his vision was omniscient even it meant that such sight didn’t guarantee an outcome. It had been very close back there. He had finished the book and Skurrald had bravely plunged into the silvery lake's waters, enabling him to sacrifice the piece of himself that was still tied to Oaks and the Magnum Opus. It was only through that act that he could ensure that when the new reality was created, no one would have ties to the Holder or the cursed book.

Of course, he could never have done it without Cliff.

“Well done,” he sighed to himself. “Not bad for your first outing.”

With a wave of his hand, the endless darkness of this empty place was immediately replaced by endless white. Nothing but an infinite blank canvas from horizon to horizon.

“Now,” he sighed, turning back around. “The only question that remains is what we’re going to do with you.”

Percival Gale stood there, the only other one standing in the bright void. Still a bear, still naked and still wearing that little choker that had a silver amulet with a slab of amber in it. He gave a sheepish grin and waved a paw at him.

“Uhm… Hello…”

R3 the Writer of Reality turned to face the lone ursine that had not passed through the gate and entered the new world. He stepped over, crossing his arms.

“Care you enlighten our audience why you didn’t follow your father and the rest of the bears into the new world?”

Percy glanced around, peering into the emptiness around him. “Audience? Is someone watching us right now? I don’t see anyone.”

“Trust me, they’re there.” He gestured towards Percy. “So…?”

The young bear grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I… When I was touched by Oaks, I knew what my role was. What is should have been. I understood what I represented even if he didn’t understand it himself.”

The ursine dropped his gaze. “Cliff was right. I was the kid that Karen was supposed to be protecting. But I was also meant to be Cliff’s brother. The guy that would always bring him back to Grimvalle. The cheery guy that he could confide in no matter what. I…” His shoulder sagged a little. “When he left for the capital and went on his adventure, I was meant to be forgotten. Then, when Oaks changed the story to burn Grimvalle to the ground, I was meant to die to make the loss even more devastating.”

Percy looked up at R3 with pleading eyes. “Thing is, I was never anything more than someone to supplement Cliff’s character growth. Without him… I… I don’t know who I am.”

R3 shrugged absently. “Others were able to find a purpose and meaning in their lives outside of Cliff and Verik’s story. Ansell, for instance, was only ever meant to be a minor nuisance and yet he made his own mission. Brienus too. You know that he got together with your father, right?”

A bright smile touched Percy’s smile. “Really? That’s nice. I can see them together.” Then he frowned a little. “Also… when? I just saw them a few moments ago.”

The No One waved a hand dismissively around him. “We are in my realm. Naught. We stand outside Time and Space. Outside the Magnum Opus. A moment here is every moment everywhere else.” The Writer of Reality gave the lost bear a little smile. “Take solace in the fact that thanks to the events that have passed, your father and Brienus find love and devotion in one another in every possibility.”

Percy nodded in gratitude, a bright smile on his face heralding back to the innocent times when he was just ‘Cliff Gale’s Brother’. Then that smile faded into a little grimace. “But they’re different. I guess everyone is different because I’m standing here and I know I’ve only seen Cliff moments ago but I already miss him.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “I couldn’t even say ‘goodbye’ to him. Is that strange?”

The Writer of Reality tilted his head slightly. “Not at all. Fact or fiction, dream or reality, what happened has happened. You cannot stop the changes in your soul. That’s why it persists no matter what. The connections we forge, regardless of space, time or reality, will always remain connected. Nothing is stronger than the mortal soul.”

A little more energy crept into Percy’s smile. “So… what now? Can… Can I go back and help Cliff?”

R3 shook his head sadly. “No, unfortunately. I warned you. When you helped him with his attack against the Ursus Irritam Vindictam, you were using the last part of your soul that Oaks had claim to, your connection to the Magnum Opus and the world it resides within. Right now, you are untethered to any reality.” He casually flipped a hand to the side. “Now, I could write you back into that world. I’ve been known to break the rules every now and then. But I won’t.”

“Why not?” Percy demanded.

He stared at Percy hard. “Because it would endanger Cliff.” That made the black-haired bear reel back a little. “For this to work, Oaks needs to believe that he is the supreme power in the Magnum Opus. The moment he realizes that there are far greater powers out there, he’ll start cooking up world-ending scenarios. Imagine if instead of that Ink-based creation that you saw, he went all JRPG and summoned a manifestation of god to try and bring Cliff down.”

The bear blinked at him a few times. “I… I don’t quite understand but I think I see what you’re saying.” He held up his paws. “But there has to be something I can do?”

R3 smiled again and held out his hand towards the young man. “There is. How about I offer you a job?”

“What kind of job?” asked the bear cautiously.

“Oh, it’s a pretty awesome. Amazing health benefits. On-the-job training. Trust me, none of your prior experiences will prepare you for it but they’ll still come in handy.” He made slicing gestures throughout the air. “The hours are great. You basically work whenever you want to. You’ll meet lots of amazing people. Relocation and travel is fully paid for. The pay is amazing. Basically whatever you want you get - within reason, of course. And career progression is basically guaranteed so long as you put in the effort.”

Percy’s paw inched towards the Writer’s but didn’t quite grasp it yet. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I think you’ve earned it. Of all the people in that Story, you were the only one I thought deserved your own story.”

“Me? Not the Baron? Not Verik? Not even Brienus?”

R3 shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

The Writer of Reality beamed. “Because you asked.”

Percy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I did?”

“Trust me, you did. Now, what do you say? Do you want the job?”

The bear took a deep breath and shrugged. “Well… I guess if I asked…” He grasped R3’s hand and shook it tightly. “So, what’s the job?”

“My Advocate.”