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Monster Maker

Fighting Orcish Stereotypes

Though we may consider ourselves enlightened in the present Age, there are still several stereotypes that plague our civilization. Biologists might consider this an evolutionary defense mechanism pointing at how certain species are attracted to the pheromones of their own kind and repelled by others. There are arguments over how there are evolutionary traits carried over during our primitive days that associate certain colors or patters with danger or poison. We only need to look at the feeling we get that is commonly association with trypophobia.

Orcs are no exception.

The skin color of Orcs which range from pale yellow, green and even to shades of red. In many societies, even amongst some Orcs, yellow and green are associated with disease. The presence of tusks and ancient Orcs’ use of animal pelts created legends and fairy tales of being descended from pigs or boars. Their significantly larger bodies with a tendency towards musculature have also painted a portrait of a brutish, uncivilized and barbaric society that raids, steals and has no culture of their own.

Nothing could be father from the truth.

Historically, Orcs were, in fact, the first species on the CMP to abolish the concept of slavery and was built entirely on a meritocracy instead of either a democracy or monarchy. The concepts of animal husbandry, agriculture and irrigation came from Orcish kingdoms in China and were carried over across the globe thanks to various explorers. Shamanistic rituals and spells came directly from Orcish culture and created its own branch of magic.

In more recent times, it was the Orcish inventor Lauren Blakemoore that bred and patented the first microorganism that could successfully eat and completely eliminate harmful gamma radiation. It was Captain Mathias Kirrian who had successfully circumnavigated the Ethereal Ocean in the Firmament. Also an Orc. An Orc by the name of Heria Sundermane discovered multiple uses for lavastone.

This had led to a resurgence in the movement called ‘Celebrate Orc Culture’. Barring the unfortunate acronym choice, COC has nonetheless taken the Planes by storm as Orcs all over celebrate and spotlight their species’ contributions to civilization as a whole while simultaneously dispelling all the harmful stereotypes.

The movement has seen push back recently due to some unfortunately incidents involving counter-movements and isolated cases of criminal activity. An unbecoming trend rose up in recent years called ‘Waarghing’ where Orcs would suddenly shout out ‘Waaaaargh’ at the top of their lungs and ‘raid’ an establishment or home and make off with any loot that they can all while recording the act for Infosphere clout. Similarly, cults and organizations such as the Green Hand Movement spread misinformation and promote ancient stereotypes because it fits their narrative.

All of these muddy the waters and have cast a negative light upon the COC movement especially when such acts throw around the COC name as a means to protect themselves. More than one organization or individual has used COC’s name as a segue to justify their criminal actions or as a platform to promote their own discordant ideals.

It is unfortunate, then, that despite the strong case and evidence that COC have to prove that Orcish stereotypes are harmful caricatures of a civilized, intelligent and often revolutionary species, the actions of these completely unassociated forces simply overwhelm them. COC constantly fights on multiple fronts to maintain that the actions of these few bad apples who use the presence of tusks to excuse barbaric behavior are not representative of Orcs as a whole.

It is the fundamental truth about the world that no success story goes unnoticed. Someone will always want to monopolize on the fortunes of others and whether that is to stand atop the success of Orcs as a whole or push them down, someone, somewhere always profits from anyone’s rise or fall.

Chapter 7 - Inlaw of Green

A lot can happen in a week.

As Tyson strode down the hallways of Sanctuary City’s Central Criminal Court House - known as the S4CH or colloquially called ‘the Sack’ - he considered just how much had changed in a mere seven days. The highs of discovering that Tyson had tangible proof of his reversion back to his leonine frame were quickly dampened by the terrifying call that the SCPD was now opening an investigation against him for illegal soul manipulation. Still being on the Great Mystery, he was technically in another country and it would take time for him to be extradited back to the CMP. The influence of the White Orchid offered some protection but Tyson could not hide forever.

His conscience would not let him. Everything he had built was in Sanctuary City and after he had gotten over the initial shock and horror of the accusation, he had agreed to face the accusations head on. Naturally, Teddy, Devon and Banchomyon had opposed this but he firmly told them that he needed to face up to his actions. Knight’s call to him had been a courtesy. It had given him a week to prepare himself mentally and legally for what was to come.

He strode down the polished, marble floors flanked by towering pillars. Every single court case that had ever passed through these walls were etched into the alabaster obelisks. Whether the case was dismissed or resolved, if a judge agreed to see the case, its case number, summary and - eventually - verdict was painstakingly chiseled into one of the many pillars.

It was one of the things that made Sanctuary City unique. Since it was relatively ‘young’ compared to other nations, it had capacity to physically record its cases. The towering, ten-story tall ceiling which these columns kissed offered a lot of room as well. The very same ceiling was dominated by a stained glass dome that depicted the traditional image of justice - the blind folded woman holding scales and a sword. However, this image was haloed by fourteen stars - each representing one of the Planes and the fourteenth being Sanctuary City itself. Representing that justice was not only blind but treated everyone, including those from other Planes, equally.

Whether or not that was actually put into practice was debatable.

He approached a pair of large, obsidian double doors. Arcane runes were drawn all over the surface. Anti-magic. Likely the entire court room would be lined with similar runes and devices to prevent any sort of manipulation. Though this was only the initial trial, he was already being treated as a criminal. Unsurprising given the gravity of the accusation set against him.

Straightening his back he glanced to his left. Banchomyon stood there dressed in a brilliant, red suit, a black tie and white shirt. Typical demonic attire. Then to his right. Bert and Torpak were there. Both well-dressed and probably more well-groomed than they had ever been in their short lives. After a week of education - more in Bert’s case - they both understood the weight of what he was doing.

Taking a deep breath, Tyson pushed open the courtroom doors and immediately felt the oppressive absence of any sort of magic. The best he could liken the experience to was having a phantom limb. He knew it should be there but it just wasn’t. For species that were highly dependent on magic, entering an anti-magic field would almost feel like drowning.

Even now, knowing full well that he was on the cusp of a life-changing event, he still looked to Torpak. The Zaurok had been sure to fill up on magic before coming to the CMP so that he could sit in the dampening field for as long as possible. The towering, scaly man that Tyson had gotten quite intimate with the past few days stood proudly in his suit and was unperturbed by the field around him. His reptilian eyes were scanning the gathered crowd and when he spotted Knight Keening, his lips peeled back in a scowl.

Bert gently rested a hand on Torpak’s forearm to calm him.

Tyson turned to follow the fiery gaze.

Knight sat in one of the benches far from the actual court. The judge, a stoic Ironborne looking to be made of platinum, was only doing preliminary hearings. Many defendants sat on the left side of the court while Knight, the SCPD and the prosecutors were on the right. The jury box sat empty at the moment. Ahead of Knight, perched beyond the short barrier and currently presenting her accusations on another case was the District Attorney.

Virileth Underwood.

While far from having a perfect record, the Dark Elf had obtained a bone-chilling reputation of personally getting involved in many cases. Even those that were mundane. She apparently liked to do this to stay on top of criminal activity and keep her skills sharp.

Tyson led his small group to some empty seats. Knight caught his gaze. He threw a small smile at Knight but the detective immediately turned away, a frown on his muzzle. Being on opposite sides of the courtroom despite similar views made things difficult.

It had been a rather ferocious argument between the Elder detective and the rest of Tyson’s allies. Teddy had been the most vocal; almost attacking Knight for doing his job. Yes, Knight could always refuse to offer any evidence he had gathered to the DA but that was just not the kind of person Knight Keening was. Justice had to be served… even if that meant that, in the eyes of the law, Tyson was considered guilty.

And in this particular case… he was guilty.

He was guilty of changing the souls of several individuals without their consent. This could not be considered an accident like it had been with Bert. What he did had been done with intent and full awareness of the consequences. Regardless of whether or not he had done it to put Torpak - the previous Torpak - out of his misery and the results was a true reincarnation, the point still stood. He had killed someone.

That was a very serious crime.

A paw fell on his hand, gripping it tightly.

“Have faith,” Banchomyon said gently. “Your brother is working hard to find the evidence we need. You just need to survive.”

Far easier said than done.

The bang of a gavel made him jump and he looked up at the steely judge.

“Next case,” bellowed the Ironborne.

The bailiff shouted out their number and Tyson stood. He tugged at the formal black suit he wore and padded up to the small table on the court.

“Next case is Sanctuary City versus Tyson Prowler,” announced the bailiff. “Judge Carter Steelwheel presiding.”

The judge’s mechanical eyes scanned the epitaph and screens in front of him.

“This is a very serious accusation, Doctor Prowler,” rumbled the Ironborne. “Illegal soul manipulation is one of the few universally condemned acts in all the Planes.” Those very same eyes scanned Tyson. “Where is your counsel?”

Tyson opened his lips to say something when -

BANG!

The obsidian doors burst open. A shrill, feminine and flamingly flamboyant voice cut through the courtroom.

“I’m heeeeeeeere, darling!”

Tyson grimaced, placing his head in his hands. Why he had ever agreed to let Devon make that entrance was beyond even his understanding. However, he knew that if ever there was anyone that could ‘buy him time’, it would be Devon Thaumeister.

The Cheshire was dressed in a vibrantly pink suit and practically pranced his way down the aisle and positioned himself beside Tyson. The Ironborne judge was not impressed and just stared at the Cheshire through half-lidded eyes.

“Mr. Thaumeister,” rumbled the judge. “When I saw your name on the docket, I had hoped you would not turn my court into a circus. I see now that was wishful thinking.”

Devon gave the judge a limp-wristed wave and a knowing wink. “Oh, you know me, Carty, darling. I’m all about the showmanship!” He gave the judge an exaggerated bow. “Now, have we gotten to the part where we make our pleas yet?”

“Not yet,” sighed the judge, clearly tired of Devon’s antics from the five seconds he had been exposed. “We have some formalities to go through, after all. _”_ He looked towards Virileth Underwood who did not appear at all bothered by Devon’s actions. “Ms. Underwood, kindly present the charges._ ”_

Devon had enough time to give Tyson a wink before Virileth Underwood began speaking.

“We the people,” began the gray skinned District Attorney, “accused Tyson Prowler of five counts of illegal soul manipulation, one count of aggravated assault and five counts of first degree murder.”

Though he had been informed of the charges in the papers he had been served, hearing those charges still stung. Devon had assured him that the murder charges would likely be dismissed or he would be found innocent. It was a common tactic to push the extreme so that the jury would at least feel better about themselves if they found him guilty on the other charges. Tyson had also asked why there was only one count of aggravated assault. There were five Orcs that had been turned to Zauroks.

From the documents they had been given, it was reasonable to assume that Tyson’s actions against four of Zauroks, including Torpak, could be construed as self-defense. However, when Teddy and Knight had shouted for Tyson to stop and the Monster Maker still attacked the final Zaurok, that was assault. Again, that would all be proved moot if he was found innocent of illegal soul manipulation.

It was all about controlling the narrative for the jury.

A narrative that painted Tyson as taking extreme measures to defend himself leading to the death of five individuals.

“Very well,” continued the judge. “How does the defense plead?”

With a flourish of his wrist, Devon announced, “We plead not guilty, your honor.”

The judge didn’t even have to look at his screens as he lifted his gavel. “Understood. Bail is set at five-hundred thousand omnis. Trial date will be set two days from now.” He slammed down the gavel and announced for the next case to be presented.

Tyson turned to leave with Devon right beside him.

They were barely out of the door before a group of SCPD officers were already perched to take him into custody. Knight, thankfully, was immediately there to hold them back.

“Easy,” announced the Elder. “I’ll take him to processing. I’m sure he’s already got bail arranged.”

“Of course we do, darling,” Devon said, batting his eyelids. “Honestly, it was far less than I had anticipated.” He flicked a finger at his hair. “Must be because of my charm.”

The detective gave Devon a thin smile. “I know Judge Steelwheel seems harsh but he likes a nice laugh. After what is probably a parade of similar cases, he was probably happy that you provided some color to his courtroom.”

“Part of my charm.” Devon’s features turned serious. “Still, two days is not a lot of time. Carty is efficient. Benefits of having a system of law that’s celebrated freedom in interpretation of the law and punishes contempt, incompetence and obvious stalling tactics harsher than any other in the world.”

Though Devon officially practiced law in the Great Mystery, he had earned his initial law degree in Sanctuary City and was introduced to the world of defense and prosecution within the crater’s limits. In fact, it was the rather loose set of rules that gave him the experience and knowledge to pass the various exams he needed to practice law in other jurisdictions. Just a year after earning his degree and passing the exam in Sanctuary City, he had also passed the first of many in the Great Mystery in the Band of Conjuration. At the moment, if Tyson remembered correctly, he had earned six of the seven licenses to practice law in the Plane of Magic.

One could argue that once he achieved the last, he would be ready to be almost anyone’s lawyer anywhere across the Planes. With Sanctuary City’s unique rules being a hub for all the Planes and the varied laws of the Great Mystery, Devon was a dangerous figure in the realm of the judicial system.

That, of course, didn’t change the facts. No matter how good a defense lawyer, if the client was guilty, then the fight would be an uphill battle.

And Tyson knew he was guilty.

“I still don’t understand why we’re going through this,” Bert admitted, following Tyson and Knight as they strode through the halls of the courthouse. “You know he’s not guilty. You were there. You know what happened.”

Knight grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck absently. Clearly, he was regretful about this turn of events. Tyson had worked with Teddy long enough to understand the intricacies of Planar law and the gray area that law enforcement often found themselves in. With everything that Delvers do considered not permissible in court, detectives and officers like Knight would often find that they could not persecute or even arrest people because they would ‘not have evidence’. Even if a Delver outright said that they were hired by a notorious criminal, that was not something that could be used in court. What had been intended as a means to dissuade people from using Delvers also became a weapon for the criminal underworld to circumvent the law.

In this case, he also understand where he stood.

“The case against me was performing illegal soul manipulation,” Tyson answered grimly. “Defined as performing damage or alterations to an individual’s soul without their express permission or awareness. It’s one of the heaviest crimes anyone could be accused of. One of the Four Cardinal Sins.” He hung his head low, his renewed leonine tail dragging behind him a little. “And in the eyes of the law, I am -”

Devon quickly cut him off, making a slicing motion through the air. “As your counsel, I advise you not to finish that sentence.” The Cheshire gave Knight a side-long glance. “Technically, we are still in the discovery phase of this case so anything we say, even now, can and will be used against us.”

Knight frowned a little but nodded in agreement. “For what it’s worth, Tyson, I gave my testimony to the DA. I told them everything I knew.”

“Then that should be enough!” Bert exclaimed. “And if not that, why don’t we get Teddy to testify as well? What about Harrow?”

The Elder detective shook his head sadly. “Anything Teddy says can’t and won’t be used. He’s a Delver. Delvers are exempt from the law. As for Harrow…” His dark eyes narrowed. “The guy has skipped the city. Holed up in his headquarters down in California.”

Tyson lifted his head curiously. “He fled?”

“Can you blame him? There was an attack on his person. His clinic was destroyed. People died.”

Devon folded his arms as they strode into the processing office for bail. A long line snaked its way through the room but they were being processed surprisingly quickly. They barely got behind a Rakshasa couple before another group came in behind them seeking to pay their bail. Not even a half-second later, they were already stepping forward as the VANIIs at the counters ahead supervised by some officers called up the next client.

“Harrow is technically a foreign national,” Devon sighed. “I’m sure there was some political undertones that went on behind the scenes that allowed him to leave the City without providing proper testimony.”

“He gave his testimony,” Knight provided. “But that was in the case of GHM attacking his clinic. We can use it in the case against Tyson but I don’t know how much it will help.”

“We can use it to prove that what Tyson did was for the purposes of self-defense.” Devon scratched his chin. “But one could also argue that the force employed in the process of self-defense was excessive. I can just imagine your pallid-skinned DA would refocus the jury on the case at hand and not the circumstances that led to it.” He shut his eyes for a moment and tapped the side of his head. “This is certainly a challenge.”

Tyson gently tapped Devon’s side. “Hey Dev, you don’t have to do this, you know. I appreciate it but you don’t have to stake your career on me.”

Devon opened his eyes and gave the Monster Maker an uncharacteristic soft smile. “Don’t be silly, darling,” said the Cheshire in a gentle, affectionate tone. “Of course I do. Beyond the fact that a guilty verdict would tarnish the Order’s reputation, you are my brother. You’ve been in me as much as I have been in you. That goes beyond just mere sex.”

Very conscious that they were in public, Tyson elbowed his fraternity brother’s side. “Thanks, Devon. I do appreciate it. No one else I would turn to to defend me.”

“Anytime, darling. Anytime.”

It was soon their turn to head up to the counter and stepped up to a magically projected screen. Devon entered their case number and the VANII announced the bail. Half a million omnis was a steep price. Within Tyson’s means thanks to his ongoing work as a Shaper but with the support of Banchomyon and the Order, the blow was cushioned. They paid the amount and they were cleared.

“I’m grateful the judge did not order any sort of house arrest,” Banchomyon rumbled as they left the chamber and entered the main hall of the courthouse. “But two days is not a lot of time to gather any evidence against GHM’s case.”

“Teddy is already working that angle,” Tyson responded, his eyes narrowing. “I still think it’s a little suspicious that this case only appeared the day after he raided Primal Foundations. Could be a coincidence but if there’s something animacology has taught me, it’s that there are no coincidences.”

A short cough made him turn to his left. The sharp features of District Attorney Virileth Underwood made him instantaneously freeze. Bert was immediately on edge and Torpak bared his fangs. Knight had to step forward and physically put himself in their periphery to keep them from attacking the prosecutor.

“I advise against making such speculations out in public, Doctor Prowler,” she said sharply. Then her features softened slightly; just a slight relaxing in the corners of her eyes and a shimmer of empathy in her irises. “For what it’s worth, I do not believe you are guilty.”

“Then why pursue this?” snapped Bert. “Why put him through all this?”

“Because I must,” she answered grimly. “The law, evidence and case against Doctor Prowler currently has merit. We cannot ignore it even if the… inscription is on the wall.”

Tyson’s eyebrows shot up and the implication and he turned towards Knight who merely shrugged.

“Rest assured,” continued the DA. “Detective Knight was quite thorough with his explanation. He is one of the city’s best detectives and I have come to trust his intuition. I wholly believe you about the circumstances that led to the events at the clinic.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I also find it quite convenient that one of our key witnesses, Casey Harrow, is currently protected behind diplomatic barriers due to his position as a foreign national.”

Devon grimaced. “I was afraid of that. He’s not a diplomat so he doesn’t have diplomatic immunity but he’s already outside of the city and in another country. We can’t just demand he come here to testify. Since the case isn’t against him, we can’t even entreat the Commonwealth to get him here.”

“Indeed,” she responded. “The fact that he is redirecting us to his lawyers and the embassy also speaks volumes especially when he would effectively be defending you…” Her eyes went to Tyson. “… the person who saved his life and there should be no chance that any of this would implicate him in any way. It is within his right, of course, but just because the law says something is wrong or right, it does not change the intent behind it.”

Banchomyon tilted his head slightly. “An interesting view for a district attorney to take.”

She offered the demon a faint smile. “In my long career, I have learned that the the law is not an ironclad book of rules and should be approached as an ever-changing, ever-evolving monster that must be tamed. The world changes with every moment and the law must change along with it.” Her gaze fell upon Tyson again. “As you might imagine, we have no evidence whatsoever about the particulars of the souls that were lost during the confrontation at Casey Harrow’s clinic. All we have is evidence that these individuals, who were members of the Green Hand Movement but whom Uraprik has claimed were renegades to his ‘peaceful’ cult, are no longer with us due to their souls and bodies being completely rewritten.”

“Does my testimony hold any weight?” Torpak asked, holding up a hand. “I am Torpak.”

“In the eyes of the law, you are an entirely different person who so happen to hold the same name as one of the victims,” answered Virileth, her gaze never leaving Tyson. “With that in mind, I suggest you remember that you are being accused of illegal soul manipulation. Bringing up any other matter with no solid proof or even the connection to GHM will only seem like you are justifying the means to an end.” She then nodded towards them and turned on her heel. “Good luck and see you in two days.”

Tyson deflated as she left with every step. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

Strangely, Devon was grinning.

“On the contrary,” snickered the Cheshire. “I believe she just gave us the keys to winning this case.”

?

Knight was unsure what to make of the exchange with the district attorney and was unsure how he felt about Devon’s confidence. The foul looks he got from the formerly Inscribed, however, was enough to tell him that he was far from welcome in the present company. As much as he wanted to catch Tyson in private and speak with him, it did not feel appropriate. Being a witness himself, the longer he was spotted in the company of the defendant, the more his words and actions could be twisted towards a guilty verdict.

He excused himself from the company of the semi-famous Typhon the Monster Maker and company, feeling like he had cut off his own arm in the process. It did not seem right to be in their company anyway while Devon was talking legal strategy. If asked to reveal what he knew, he was obligated to tell the truth. Perjury would be disastrous for his career and he had little Salem to look after.

As he turned to leave, however, a large, furry paw seized his shoulder, preventing him from making his escape.

“Before you leave, detective,” rumbled Banchomyon. The feline demon narrowed his gaze upon the lupine Elder. “I want you to know that I bear no grudge towards you for what has transpired.”

That was a soothing sentiment but only very slightly. “I appreciate that, doctor,” he answered curtly. “But -”

The demon lifted a finger at him. “I know what you are going to say.” Banchomyon locked gazes with him. “We all have our responsibilities. Our roles. I understand that you have a little one to take care of.”

Knight nodded slowly, unsure where the demon was going with this statement.

“Integrity is very important in maintaining one’s soul and overall health,” continued the demon. “It is when we are torn between the merciless manipulations of those around us and our own personal principles that fractures in our souls start to appear.” Banchomyon’s paw tightened around his shoulder. “So please, do not fret over this turn of events. We all know there is very little you or the good district attorney can do in this regard. The accusations are quite specific.”

Lifting his eyebrows, he gave Banchomyon a look that prompted the demon to continue.

“My son is accused of illegal soul manipulation,” said the infernal feline. “Not murder. Not really. Not destruction of property. Not unnecessary force. Not even an infringement of religious rights. Illegal soul manipulation.” He turned slightly, his eyes falling upon his son, surrounded by friends. “If whomever is truly pulling the strings wanted to do irreparable harm to Tyson, they would have run through the full gamut of charges. But they chose one specific crime. This tells me that this act has a secondary purpose.”

“And what would that be?” Knight asked.

The demon locked gazes back with him. “A warning.” Knight immediately tensed as Banchomyon lowered his voice to a whisper. “Like I said, detective, you have your role and responsibilities. You have your little one to care for and protect. Whomever is truly pulling Uraprik’s strings has launched this volley upon us to deter us from pursuing the truth. Warning us that they are fully capable of destroying our livelihoods and hurting the ones we love.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Because you must ask yourself, why go after Tyson?” Banchomyon tilted his head towards his step-son. “Yes, he was there and he saved Torpak and the others from the curse that had been inflicted upon them. But in reality, who is closer to unraveling their plot?” The demon took the hand settled on Knight’s shoulder and leveled a finger directly at the lupine detective’s chest. “Assume the minimum level of knowledge from the puppet master. You were also at that meeting with Casey Harrow. They cannot attack Teddy as he is a Delver. You were the only one that could be directly identified in the conflict. After all, you were at Primal Foundations as well, were you not?”

Knight’s eyes widened in realization. It did not take a genius to put two and two together that this court case came in the wake of the attack upon Primal Foundations. It was logical that the mastermind of the Inscription plot had targeted Tyson because, ultimately, Tyson was the linchpin of the investigation and the key to undoing the Inscriptions. However, what he failed to consider was that perhaps the mastermind did not know everything. It had been several days since the events at Harrow’s clinic. Why not press charges sooner when all the evidence was there.

Yes, it would take a while to build a case but waiting so long when it was clear that Tyson could very well be the antithesis to the Inscriptions was foolish. It gave Tyson more time to develop a more sustainable ‘cure’.

But what if that was not the case?

What if what had happened to Torpak and Burt was expected?

What if their wiped memories, rewritten personalities and cleansed souls was not an accident but intentional?

And the catalyst for this sudden legal battle was purely the attack on Primal Foundations… and the target was meant to be him; the detective pursuing the investigation. Cogs began churning in his mind and a new idea and picture began forming in his mind.

“Thank you for your insight, Lord Banchomyon,” he said grimly, a new fire entering his eyes. “You’ve given me a lot of think about.”

The feline demon gave him a little smile before lowering his paw. “Sometimes all we need is a new perspective. As someone who peers into the souls of others, I am quite accustomed to seeing the world from another’s eyes and trying to understand their view.”

Knight turned, bid the great demon thanks once more and immediately headed out of the courthouse. Inspiration had struck him and, with this new perspective, he began re-evaluating the clues that he had gathered so far. The world became a blur while he headed back to his car which was parked in an underground lot beneath the courthouse. He was lifting off and soaring into the sky within minutes.

“Call Captain Ioel,” he demanded of his vehicle’s console.

A few rings later and his commanding officer answered.

“Ioel,” came the stern and no-nonsense grunt.

“Captain, it’s me.”

“Detective Keening. How did the initial hearing go?”

“As expected,” he answered shortly. “The trial is set for a few days from now. We’re in the discovery phase. I fully expect to be called up as a witness.”

“DA Virileth would be negligent of her duty if she did not.”

Roles and responsibilities. Banchomyon’s words echoed in Knight’s head. Virileth had her suspicions but the evidence and the law demanded that she pursue the leads she was given. Sanctuary City would be in an uproar if it ever got out that she did not pursue a case of illegal soul manipulation. Though in the grand scheme of the city’s politics and news cycle, this would barely be considered a blip, all it would take was one news outlet or reporter to catch a whiff of it and suddenly they would all be under a microscope. Their lives and those they cared about would be at risk if they did not do their jobs.

“Right,” he grunted in response. “Listen, Captain, I’m going to be tied up in this case. I’ll need to put my duties on hold for the moment while I work with the DA.”

There was a pause on the other side followed by a little tapping. “You have juggled a court case and other investigations simultaneously before. Why the sudden shift?”

There was no point lying to an Angel but at the same time, Knight did not necessarily have to tell the truth either. “I’m tangled in this case a lot, Captain. I’m not only the investigating detective but also a witness. To prevent any sort of tampering of my testimony as a witness, I think it best I stay away from the precinct and my duties at least until after the trial is resolved.”

Ioel did not hesitate in his response. “A fair assessment. You are in a very public role, after all, and other detectives could easily color your judgment with their own especially in a case with such grave implications.” Another series of tapping. “Consider yourself on administrative leave until after the case is concluded.”

Something told him that Captain Ioel had already prepared all the forms needed to put Knight’s employment on hold the moment the call was opened.

“Thanks, Captain. I’ll let you know how the case goes.”

Ioel wished him a firm but genuine ‘good luck’ before hanging up. That was his queue to make another call. His phone dialed and after three rings, he got a distinctly oriental chime followed by some music from some Japanese pop idol band. A cheery voice followed, clearly artificial and pre-recorded.

“Hello and thank you for calling the Golden Koi Restaurant on the Torii River Road. If you would like to hear our menu, please say ‘menu’ or press 1. If you would like to book a reservation, please say ‘book’ or press 2. For any other options, please press 0 or stay on the line.”

“Dungeon,” he said clearly and crisply.

The music abruptly ended and a moment later, a weathered, slightly gruff and gravelly voice like someone that had smoked cigarettes all their life answered. Feminine but heavy with experience.

“Yes?”

“Kunoichi,” Knight greeted. “My name is Detective Knight Keening of the Sanctuary City Police Department. I have need to get in contact with one of your Delver teams. Pulse is their name.”

“Yes,” repeated Kunoichi with the same cadence as her greeting. “I know about you, Detective Keening. You have been instrumental in my little teddy bear’s efforts latest Delve. As I understand, there has been an… escalation.”

That was putting it lightly.

“Whoever is pulling the strings here has decided to go after Teddy’s brother,” Knight said fiercely. “They are using the law against him. Now this is just pure conjecture but we know that the Green Hand Movement is heavily involved and the fact that Pulse just executed a Delve against Primal Foundations which we know is related to GHM just seems too convenient.”

“Indeed. It seems quite unfair that Uraprik would target young Theodore’s brother just to retaliate at him for the Delve.”

Knight gripped the steering wheel tightly. “That’s the thing. He would have had no idea that Teddy was involved.” He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. On the other end of the line, he heard a sharp intake of breath. “Think about it. Apart from securing an escape route, Teddy did not appear on any recording devices. I am sure you’d agree that he is a professional and wouldn’t have been so sloppy as to have been caught. His Prescience would have detected something too, right?”

A small pause.

“_Pulse _is far from the best Delvers that I have had the pleasure to manage but I agree. From what I recall from the brief, apart from the bombastic way they made their escape, they should not have left any trace of their identities.”

Knight veered away from traffic, entering open air and headed south. “Which leads me to the conclusion that the case against Tyson isn’t a form of retaliation against Teddy or Pulse. It’s a warning. Against me.”

Another short pause.

“I will not assume any form of arrogance, Detective Keening. So kindly enlighten me on why you believe that potentially ruining Tyson Prowler’s career and reputation is a form of deterrent towards you.”

“Think about it,” Knight said, almost growling in frustration. How had he missed this obvious clue? “When Harrow’s clinic was attacked, apart from the civilians caught in the crossfire, there were only three people meeting with Harrow that day. The Prowler brothers and me. Then when Primal Foundations was attacked, I was the one acting as a distraction. You could naturally assume that we are all working together but neither Tyson nor Teddy could be logically tied to the Delve. Only I could be. A detective. Someone who would pursue a lead and get to the truth. Not a Shaper.”

“I see where your line of thinking is leading. Continue.”

The Elder continued piling on the evidence. The masterminds of this plot would have no way of tracking down Teddy and as a Delver, retaliating against him would be pointless. Only Tyson and Knight could be tied to the event even if it was just a marginal and thin connection. However, since Knight was at the scene, the coincidences would be too great to ignore. Any logical or even highly emotional person would make that conclusion. Being in this profession for a while and having observed much shorter-lived individuals of the CMP for centuries, he had a decent grasp of how people thought.

“Uraprik or whomever is really pulling the strings could make the assumption that Tyson is more than just a victim and could be involved but that’s a big leap considering he’s a civilian. His presence and actions at the clinic could be seen as a loose end but if you think about the effect of this court case, the message is clear.”

“Cease your investigation or those that are even tangentially involved will be hurt,” surmised the Flea. “What better way to get this message across as well than to tie your own hands to the prosecution? Perhaps they were even hoping that the guilt over condemning someone who could be uninvolved in the entire debacle to a ruined life would act as a further deterrent.”

Knight’s lips peeled back, revealing his fangs as he let out a low growl. The tendrils on his face twitched in agitation. “Yeah. Too bad it had exactly the opposite effect.”

“I see. Consider me intrigued. What do you need from me?”

“I need you to get a message to Pulse. We’re going to pay Uraprik a visit.”

?

Makhel Urag, the foreman of Primal Foundations, wandered the warehouse of the construction yard alone. Other members of the staff had already left for the day but it was his job to finish up the inspections and the remaining paperwork before closing up the yard. A lonely job with terrible hours that paid decently well, Makhel had fallen into the lull and rhythm of the role like he had been born and bred to do it from his very first breath.

The burly red-skinned Orc’s powerful build was contained by a simple, white temperature-resistant shirt that covered the majority of his body, acting both as a shirt and lower undergarment. Though it had short sleeves, the magically-infused fabric shimmered and shone revealing the light, silvery circuits that were arrayed all over its frame and coincidentally accentuated the massive Orc’s, muscular frame. These arrays actively converted the constant heat radiating from the molten metal vats that he currently wandered between into a nice, cool temperature. It was much like having a personal air conditioner pressed right up against his skin, making sure that his flesh was at a comfortable heat. His large, thick, hairy forearms were left bare which was just how he liked it. It gave him more flexibility especially because he wore a protective blue, denim-like overalls over his shirt. Like his shirt, the denim was specially designed to offer some mild protection against all the hazards that came from working construction. A small repulsion field emitted from the fabric meaning that if any stray nail, wayward spell or even heavy object came crashing down upon him, some of the damage would be mitigated. Not everything but enough to maybe keep him alive.

Each footfall echoed in the empty factory, his large, yellow, steel-toed boots falling heavily on the warm concrete beneath. A vibrant high-visibility vest hung over his shoulders while a yellow hardhat sat atop his head, hiding his short, reddish-brown hair.

It was the vest that made him such an easy target.

As the crimson-skinned, hairy Orc stepped onto the crossroads between four of the vats, he caught movement from the corner of his red eyes. He looked up just in time to see the large, towering Lava Elemental stride out from behind the vat and block his way ahead.

“Jordan?” he asked, squinting in the soft, red glow around him. “Is that you? What are you doing here this late? Why aren’t you wearing your damn gear?”

The Elemental rolled his large shoulders. “Ain’t no Jordan here, cubie.”

Makhel froze. His eyes darted towards his epitaph only to see the gelatinous pad shimmer and malfunction. Words, displays and letters across the magical prism jumped all over the place or fizzled out.

“Don’t bother calling for help,” came another voice from his right. Glancing over, he saw the beautiful visage of a Siren gently hovering through the air. “This whole place is on lock down.”

“Who are you?” he demanded. To his left, another figure emerged. A Goblin flashing two wicked-looking daggers in his hands. “What do you want?”

“Uraprik.”

The voice came from behind him and as he turned around, he saw that the voice came from a human. Tall, blond, muscular and with a long, red coat hanging over his shoulders.

These were Delvers.

Makhel lifted his hands up in surrender. “Look, I don’t know anything about Uraprik, okay? I just work here.”

A familiar voice followed. One whose owner he had met not too long ago.

“There are far too many coincidences recently for that to be true.” From the same side that the human had emerged from, Detective Knight Keening emerged. The blue-furred lupine Elder came out, a massive-looking handgun in one of his paws but not yet raised towards Makhel. “We know that the Green Hand Movement is involved with Primal Foundations. We know that Uraprik was the one that raised the case against Tyson Prowler and is threatening his reputation and career with baseless accusations.”

“I don’t know anything about any of that!” pleaded Makhel. “Look, GHM might be helping to finance this place but I’ve never gotten involved in any of that! I just -”

“Work here?” finished Teddy. “You’re more than that, Makhel Urag. We’ve had Primal Foundation’s data for almost a week now. We know you’re more than just this place’s foreman. You’re it’s owner. You call yourself it’s foreman but the company is under your name.”

“So?” demanded the crimson Orc. “Are you telling me that an Orc can’t build a company from the ground up and not be accused of being associated with a terrorist group?”

“No. What I’m saying is that you’re exactly like Casey Harrow.”

Makhel visibly bristled. “What…?” he growled, baring his teeth, the crimson glow of the nearby lights and vats glowing off his tusks.

“You said that Casey Harrow isn’t a doctor,” continued the Delver. “And you’re downright gold about that. He didn’t make the procedure that made his fortune. Hex, it’s not even a lifesaving operation. It just makes tusks look bigger or repairs broken tusks.” Teddy placed a hand on his hip and struck a casual, dismissive pose. “But he calls himself a ‘doctor’ just to get all the pops.”

Then Teddy pointed an accusing finger at Makhel. “You do the same. You own all this shit but call yourself the ‘foreman’ just to hide the truth. That you made this company just like Harrow made his. Only difference is that you try to make yourself look humble but he is lying to prop himself up. Way I see it, you’re exactly the same.”

The Orcish foreman’s crimson eyes glinted in fury and he lowered his hands. “I. Am. Not. Like. Harrow!” The veins across his large, muscled forearms bulged. “I am nothing like him! He doesn’t know shit about what he does or what he’s even promoting!” The foreman hiked a thumb against his chest. The circuits across his temp-controlled shirt visibly shimmered at the point of contact. “I do! I work with my boys! I stand by them! I hit the nails! I make the templates! I haul the mats! All Harrow does is smile and wave for the fucking vids!”

A deep chuckle came from Cole and Makhel glanced over his shoulder briefly at the Lava Elemental. “Seems like you touched a nerve there,” rumbled the Lava Elemental. “What’s wrong, Urag? You jealous that Harrow gets all the publicity and can build franchises all over the West Coast while you’re stuck in this little yard in a backwater town?”

The Orc didn’t say anything but was clearly fuming.

The Elder detective spoke next. “You are Primal Foundation’s founder and the owner of this yard. You also just admitted that the Green Hand Movement funds this entire operation.” The blue-furred lupine took up position right next to Teddy, the two of them casting an intimidating image. “If, by some miracle, you have no connection to Uraprik, that would suggest you are either willfully ignorant or lying.”

“So which is it, cubie?” scowled Cole. “Are you stupid or are you a liar?”

Makhel glanced from side to side, regarding his options. Every path was blocked by the Delvers and the Detective. Escape was impossible. His hand tightened around his epitaph, holding it tightly while he shook. But this was not the shaking of someone who was fearful or cornered. It was the quaking of a man with barely contained fury.

The crimson Orc regarded his epitaph. The scrambled runes and letters on its surface offered a brief reflection of his scowling features. With a huff, he tossed it to the ground and squared his shoulders. Turning to face Knight and Teddy, he said, “Do you what infuriates me the most about Casey Harrow?”

Teddy briefly exchanged glances with Knight. “What?”

The foreman lifted a hand. Veins from his very fingertips and all the way down his hand began to emit a bright, reddish glow like every blood vessel was suddenly filled with neon. “He is a businessman,” he spat. “The very epitome of what it means to be a CEO. He founded his little company but was he the one that came up with that technique? Is he the one that actually does the procedure?”

A brilliant red flame erupted on his palm. All the Delvers immediately reached for their weapons. In front of him, the Elder and human drew guns, both of them with handguns of varying calibers. The goblin flashed his daggers while the magic hissed through the air around the Siren. The Lava Elemental was probably doing something similar but Makhel hadn’t turned around to see.

“No!” barked the Orc. “All he’s done is capitalize on someone else’s research and effort! Sure he’s marketed it and made it readily available to the general public but what about the poor guy that made the damn thing!? What about him!?”

Teddy quirked an eyebrow. “Him? How do you know the inventor of the technique was a male?” Even as he asked the question, he already knew the answer.

Makhel scowled at him. “Now who is being stupid?”

“So you are the inventor of the technique that made Harrow’s fortune,” Knight surmised. “What happened? Did he get you kicked out of the company? Were you pissed that he didn’t credit you or give you any of that money and now you’re doing everything you can to sabotage him?”

“And what?” Teddy pressed. “You joined the Green Hand Movement looking to point them at Harrow? You made them into terrorists? Don’t tell me that Uraprik is just your pawn.”

Makhel threw his head back as he lifted his other hand and conjured another tongue of flame.

“Careful,” warned Nya. “That magic is… different. No incantation. No material components. No runes or even any sort of somatic command. He just conjured it.”

Teddy’s brow furrowed and his heart suddenly seized up in realization.

“You’re so fucking dense,” rumbled Makhel Urag, looking down upon Teddy. “I am Uraprik! I founded the Green Hand Movement!”

Whatever Teddy was thinking was derailed at that announcement.

“Is this a sort of ‘Spartacus’ moment?” Ruben asked. “Is everyone in GHM going to announce that they’re ‘Uraprik’ just to keep the real one from getting cuffed?”

The red orc claiming to be the leader of GHM let out a dark chuckle as the flames in his hands grew more and more intense. “I can’t believe that I’m cornered by the likes of you idiots.” Suddenly, the flames shot upwards, curling through the air and reshaping themselves into two, wicked, curved swords with jagged edges.

“You won’t get anything else from me!” He grinned darkly, his tusks flashing in the fiery light of his flickering flames. “So here’s where we stand.” The Orc began to crouch, taking up a low stance that was clearly an attack position. “Delvers wouldn’t take the time to talk to their target if this was an assassination attempt. No. You need something from me. My guess?” His grin grew wider. “You don’t have everything you need from the zettas you stole. So you need it directly from me.”

“Keep him talking, Teddy,” Nya continued. “I’m almost done scanning him.”

Teddy snorted as he stared down the barrel of his Falcon PDP at Makhel Urag AKA Uraprik. “Fuck no.”

“This data…” mused Miri who was interfacing with them remotely. “… it’s… familiar.”

That was enough to cause ‘Uraprik’ to hesitate for a moment.

“You’re the one that set us down this path,” warned the Delver. “This is a Delve. Anything we do here isn’t worth shit. You already dragged Tyson Prowler to court. That data? Won’t save him. We came here to find out where Uraprik was to kill him. Since we know you’re involved, we figured you’d lead us to him. Never thought you were him.”

Makhel scowled. “Kill me? What will that achieve?”

“We were hired to put a stop to the GHM threat to Casey Harrow’s life,” answered Teddy, switching off the safety of his gun. “With everything that’s happened, Harrow has fled and refuses to testify in Prowler’s hearing. But if the threat of GHM was eliminated, then he would have no reason to fear.”

The Orc scoffed. “You really think that slimy asshole would actually put his neck on the line for that someone else?”

“Probably not,” Teddy scoffed. “But he would at least owe us for the Delve. Enough to give us a leg up against that Dark Elf for a DA.”

“Shit!” Miri cried suddenly. “Teddy! I know why that magic is so familiar and why it doesn’t need anything to trigger!”

Nya suddenly jerked through the air, weaving her arms while tracing lines of water in arcane patterns. “He has an Inscription!”

Every inch of Teddy’s taut and firm body was instantly on edge while memories of Albert’s Inscription taking hold of him and the rest of Pulse sent shockwaves throughout his body. Worse yet were the images of those men and women who had attempted to stop Torpak and his group writhing in agony as an unknown venom coursed through their veins. Inscriptions were unpredictable and he had no idea what Uraprik’s could possibly do.

The red-skinned Orc thrust his head forward, letting out a ferocious roar. A jet of blistering red flames shot out of from his throat, launching forward at Knight and Teddy. The two men jumped away in opposite directions, Teddy launching himself at the ground while covering his head while Knight ducked behind one of the vats of molten metal. The Eldar detective immediately threw aside his coat and stripped off any other clothing, leaving him only in his jockstrap.

Ruben darted at Uraprik, his daggers flashing while Nya slung a few spells to douse the raging flames. The goblin barely got within a few yard of the GHM leader before he was forced to back off, gritting his teeth tightly and letting out soft hiss. Clouds of white foam sprung from Nya’s spells but, like Ruben, they barely got within a few feet of him before they dissolved and burned up into bursts of flame.

Cole got closer and even managed to rise up behind Uraprik and bring his huge arms crashing around the Orc. The Lava Elemental’s thick forearms closed around Uraprik’s arms, holding him down in a massive bear hug. Flames burst from Cole’s clothes. Even the naturally flame resistant garments were burning in Uraprik’s presence.

“This guy is hexin’ hot!” Cole cried mentally. “I’m barely holding on! He’s that fucking hot!”

That was saying something. As a Lava Elemental, Cole had a natural resistance to fire and he emitted his own passive heat. For someone - anyone - to cause him to recoil because of flames was a feat unto itself.

“We need to find out what his Inscription is,” exclaimed Miri. “I’m scanning his files as fast as I can!”

Nya flung spell after spell, trying whatever she could to cool down both Uraprik and Cole. Water sprang from her hands but within seconds of launching from her fingertips, it evaporated into steam. Ice melted and evaporated seconds later. They already saw that the flame dousing foam common amongst firefighters would just fizzle away.

“What kind of heat is he putting out?” Teddy muttered to himself, rising to his feet. The moment he did so, he felt the heat rise rapidly. His eyes darted to the vats of molten metal that surrounded them. He could see the paint on its outer surface start to peel from the heat.

“Shit!” he spat. “We need to find a way to cool him down!”

Uraprik let out a chortle, flames bursting from between his lips even as he remained restrained by Cole. “Go ahead and try! You’ll never stop me from burning up!”

“Cole!” came a shout from above.

It was Knight. Somehow, the Elder had managed to get up to the metal walkways above them, the kind used by managers and employees to oversee the vats from above. The blue-furred lupine had his tentacles stretching out behind him, dipping into each of the four vats around them. Fiery red veins coursed through those tendrils.

“Let him go!” shouted Knight.

Cole glanced up and there was a spark of realization in his crimson eyes. The burly Lava Elemental nodded and released Uraprik. Just for good measure, he slammed a foot against the back of the Orc’s knees, forcing the red-skinned cult leader onto his knees. Then Cole was scrambling back.

Knight thrust his paws forward and two holes appeared on his palms like twin mouths springing open. Those fiery veins coursed up his tendrils, down his shoulders and then through his arms. Molten metal came shooting out of his palms and falling down upon Uraprik.

The red Orc saw the falling, liquid steel and immediately held up an arm over his head protectively. He was consumed within minutes, a cocoon of bright orange metal oozing over him. Nya immediately threw blasts of cold air and water onto the rapidly growing mass of bubbling steel. An ordinary person would not have immediately combusted under the molten mass. But as Nya rapidly cooled the outer edges of the lava-like, bright-orange ooze, Teddy noted how the central mass remained extremely bright and liquid.

Suddenly, Teddy had a moment of deja vu.

A crimson-skinned Orc with black hair.

Fire clawing towards a full moon.

“Miri,” he began quietly. “What is the phase of the moon right now?”

The Ironborne who was watching the entire scene from a block away knew better than to ask any further questions. “It’s a full moon.”

“Fuck…” he cursed softly.

This was the Orc his prescience had warned him about.

A large hand suddenly burst up from the seething, glowing, liquid metal. Uraprik’s meaty form pulled himself out from the tomb of metal. As he rose, Teddy was once again brought back to that brief vision of this titanic Orc wreathed in raging flames. Uraprik’s clothes were completely gone, burned away by the oppressive heat exuding from his body. Violently red veins pulsed against his already crimson skin. He stood barefoot upon the mound of rapidly cooled metal, his impressive form appearing so much more intimidating as he towered over them all.

“Hex,” cursed Cole. “Did he get bigger?”

From the catwalks above, Knight leveled his titanic handgun at the Orc. “Stand down, Makhel Urag! You are under arrest!”

The Orc, whose blazing eyes remained locked on Teddy, didn’t move. “It’s useless, Elder. My Inscription is ‘With a Burning Passion’.” He slammed a fist against his chest, pounding the thick plate of pectoral muscles. “Anything around me will burn and melt so long as I remain unwavering in my conviction!” The heat around him erupted in a wave that physically pushed Teddy back. “And I am unwavering in my hatred for Casey Harrow!”

“Miri!” Teddy cried, taking several steps back. He fired off a few shots from his handgun, angling the bullets to the left and right away from Uraprik. Sparks and high-pitched twangs echoed in the factory as the bullets ricocheted off the floor and steel. Each one would have struck Uraprik and even made the Orc flinch or try to block the projectiles even as they came hurtling towards him. None of them hit. Just like the others, within a few yards of the crimson Orc, the abrasive heat melted the bullets in mid-flight.

“I need an analysis!” barked the Delver. “What is this guy doing!?”

“I am trying!” exclaimed their Operator. “Nothing he is doing makes sense! There are no incantations. No components. Nothing! The level of heat he exudes to melt bullets in mid flight should vaporise the air around him and make it impossible to breathe! It’s like he has some sort of electro-magnetic repulsion shield around him made entirely out of heat!”

“A Fire Shield?” Nya suggested, being forced to back off. Being a predominantly aquatic being, the Siren was most affected by the heat. Her strength was visibly draining as she dropped closer and closer to the ground. Droplets of sweat rolled off her angular features and evaporated mere inches from her face.

“No! Not even that. It’s just… impossible!”

Knight’s calm tone came through their psionic link. “Don’t focus on what should be and focus on what is.”

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout!?” barked Cole. As a Lava Elemental, he was the most resistant to the flames but even he was being pushed back. “This ain’t no time to be philosophisin’!”

Miri cut him off with a sharp, shrill, buzzing nose. “No! He’s right!”

Teddy had to agree. Casting his gaze around, the oppressive heat was everywhere but it didn’t effect everything in the same way. The edges of the vats that were much closer to Uraprik didn’t melt like the bullet and they didn’t even glow. The heat which was enough keep the metal that would have been his tomb remained liquid within a few feet of him but everything else seemed only mildly inconvenienced.

There was something else to the Inscription.

“His heat… His Inscription,” continued Miri. “He said that as long as he remains unwavering in his conviction, he will burn everything around him. Maybe… Maybe…”

Uraprik let out another thunderous roar, briefly throwing his head back. Then he thrust his jaw forward at Teddy, a jet of flames launching from his lips like a dragon’s fiery breath. Teddy narrowed his gaze briefly. He fired another bullet to the left while simultaneously diving to the right. There was a series of metallic twangs as the bullet bounced off surfaces and made its way around the nearest vat, zoomed past Ruben and came flying at the leader of the Green Hand Movement from the side.

Like before, the bullet melted just a few feet from Uraprik. But for Teddy, that had not been his goal. He rushed around the vat he was hiding behind and fired a few more shots at odd angles. Each one rebounded off the walls and equipment, guided by his prescience but each of them always angling towards Uraprik. He emptied all his rounds at the useless endeavor and then grabbed the empty magazine before tossing it in the direction of the flames that were still gushing at where he had been. His feet were still moving, however, and he moved to a position just behind Ruben.

The heat here was significantly less than where he had been.

“I think I get it,” he mused. “The intensity of his flames and the fire he expels are bound directly to his attention.”

“Explain,” Knight responded grimly.

Miri stepped in with a clearer analysis. “Anything and everything he wants to burn with every ounce of his being will be affected by his flames. But if he has even a shred of doubt or his attention is split, the fire won’t be as effective! He has to be passionate about his goal for his flames to be at its maximum! That’s what his Inscription means by ‘With a Burning Passion’!”

“Do you know this or are ya guessin’?” rumbled Cole.

Teddy gently tapped Ruben’s shoulder. “Let’s put it to the test.” The goblin got his meaning and quickly ducked away. Once his friend and fellow Delver was out of the way, Teddy raised his head and voice. “Hey Uraprik!”

The red Orc’s eyes darted towards him and he began to turn, bringing that torrent of unending flames with him.

“Fun fact,” Teddy exclaimed, once again ducking behind the nearby vat. “We were hired by Harrow to end the Green Hand Movement!”

The flames that cascaded from Uraprik intensified. Teddy could feel his skin start to prickle even though he was nowhere near the fire directly.

“But here’s the thing,” Teddy continued. “I know Harrow is dirty. He somehow pointed us to where you had left Albert Tien. Claimed that it came from his own internal security services. That already smelled hexing fishy to me.”

And just like that, the flames began to ebb.

“You want to know the kicker?” he said. “The bastard fled Sanctuary City. Just when you brought the case against Tyson Prowler, the asshole fled the City and is claiming diplomatic immunity so he can’t be brought in for questioning!”

Uraprik huffed as the flames from his jaws died out. “Then you know what a backstabbing asshole he is! He probably sent you after me to silence me because I know the truth! I made the technique that he’s profiteering off! I can bring down his empire!”

That was true and, on the surface, it made sense why Harrow and Uraprik would be at odds with one another. A simple and clear-cut case of an opportunistic businessman taking advantage of an unknown blue-collar worker that just so happened to have a brilliant and then that worker seeking the compensation due to him through violent means. But that was just on the surface.

There was something more to this.

“He’s in my crosshairs,” Teddy shouted back, slamming another magazine into his Falcon. Without looking, he angled the gun to his right, aiming at a particular strut holding up one of the vats. “But you’re in front me right now. Why did you go after Tyson Prowler with that bogus lawsuit? Why even send your goons with Inscriptions to attack Harrow directly? If you had just presented evidence that Harrow stole your technique, you’d ruin him! Even a public accusation would be enough.”

He narrowed his gaze at an imaginary foe. His mind was racing. Everything he had learned thus far and all his experiences with being a Delver came up to the surface. In this world, nothing is ever as it seems. A picture was forming in his mind but at the same time, there was still several loose ends that didn’t quite tie everything together.

Like these Inscriptions.

“He doesn’t have any evidence.”

Miri’s words was the beam of illuminating light that cut through the murk of this mystery.

“You don’t got any evidence, do ya?” accused Cole.

Even from where he stood, back to Uraprik, Teddy could sense the Orc’s hesitation.

“That’s why you got your cult buddies to start accusing him for something as bullshit as messin’ with Orcish culture!” continued Cole.

“Was the Green Hand Movement just some convenient patsy to you?” accused Nya from another angle. The heat was dying down around them as doubt after doubt was jabbed into Uraprik’s plans, his conviction wavering. This gave the Siren the strength to once again lift off the ground and rapidly cool their surroundings with a fine, bluish mist emanating from her hands. “You had no way of accusing Harrow without sounding like a maniac so you found GHM and used them to ruin him?”

Teddy peered around the corner. His eyes widened briefly. Uraprik was not reacting the way he expected. The Orc should have either looked coldly upon them or frustrated. But the leader of the Green Hand Movement was… in pain and… aroused?

Naked, Uraprik was partially doubled over, gripping the sides of his head while his eyes were wide and seemingly focused on his large, throbbing member. There was confusion in between his tightly clenched teeth. Each breath was ragged and heavy.

Teddy had only seen this once before.

When Torpak and the other GHM goons had transformed. Only difference was that, at the time, his brother was merged with them.

“Wait,” Knight exclaimed, coming to the same conclusion. “He’s… He’s transforming!”

Before anyone else could repeat the statement, there was a flash of green and steel. Ruben, who had snuck around in the shadows, came darting forward as fast as lightning. His twin daggers flashed through the air, slicing through Uraprik’s calves. The fact that the goblin didn’t immediately burst into flames could only mean that whatever defensive barrier Uraprik had had been lowered.

The Orc howled in agony and crumpled to his knees. Strangely, fiery red blood like fluorescent orange liquid erupted from his wounds.

That was definitely not normal.

Uraprik then threw his head back, flinging his arms to his sides and letting out a bellowing cry straight upwards.

“FUCK HARROW!”

A burst of blistering heat erupted from Uraprik, the air shimmering around him. Two blades of flame erupted from his temples, piercing his skin and visible blackening the crimson flesh around where they emerged. These protrusions curled upwards into what could only be seen as two bright red horns made of living fire. The red light in his irises spread all over his eyes, consuming pupils and sclera until they were just two beams of scintillating, red light.

The roar from his throat dropped an octave. His features jutted forward, nostrils flaring broadly as a broad, square muzzle emerged. The black coloration of the skin around the base of his horns spread all over this new muzzle while oddly seemingly tinge his hair with a coppery color. Bright, red veins seeped out of his eyes crawling down his new bovine features before seeping down his shoulders. The already large muscles there ballooned out wildly, consuming his neck in one, enormous mound.

“FUCK HARROW!” Uraprik repeated.

“If he completes the transformation, he’ll be completely gone!” Knight shouted. “He will forget any information he has and his soul will be wiped!”

“Hex!” Teddy spat and erupted out from behind his hiding spot and charged at the transforming Orc. “Uraprik!” he roared. “Hold on!”

“FUCK HARROW!” came the deafening reply. Uraprik’s already impressive cock surged into the air, thickening and lengthening to the size of Teddy’s arm. Hot globules of precum shot out of the member. The fact that the clear fluids weren’t immediately evaporating warned of his imminent transformation.

The crimson body of the Orc quickly faded beneath thick, jet-black skin that was fed by glowing, red veins. It was akin to Cole’s organic obsidian body but more… fleshy. For Cole, his skin was like stone but moved like flesh but the transforming Orc’s skin looked like it was just naturally jet-black. This was supplemented by tufts of fiery red fur that sprouted all over his chest and spread down to form a mighty treasure trail along rigid abdominals and joined with the wild, crimson bush that erupted from his crotch.

“FUCKHARROW!” roared Uraprik. “FUCKHARROW! FUCKHARROW!”

Teddy reached the changing Orc, seizing one of his shoulders. The flesh was hot to the touch but no more than someone who was suffering from a fever. Uraprik let out another ‘FUCKHARROW’ and lashed out at Teddy. The changing Orc rose up to a monstrous eight feet height, bigger than any Orc and seized Teddy by the collar of his jacket.

“FUCKHARROW!” roared Uraprik right into Teddy’s face. It was there that Teddy could just barely make out the small tusks jutting out from the lower jaw of the vaguely bovine beast.

WHAM!

A mighty, obsidian fist came flying out from the side, colliding with Uraprik’s face. The large hands holding up Teddy immediately let go of the Delver. Cole followed up his mean sucker punch by ducking low and crash tackling the huge bull-Orc around the waist. Both men wen crashing down in a tumble down the small mountain of cooled, molten steel. Cole had more combat experience and was not distracted by a raging hard-on so he ended up on top.

“FUCKHARROW!” bellowed Uraprik.

“Yeah, yeah!” roared Cole, straddling the bull’s waist. He brought his fist crashing down onto Uraprik’s face. “We all fucking hate Harrow!”

WHAM! WHAM!

Uraprik could only hold up his arms over his head, desperately trying to block Cole’s barrage of blows. With every strike, the leader of the Green Hand Movement’s hips bucked before -

WHAM!

Boooosh!

A torrent of cum blasted out of his erect cock and all over Cole’s back.

The Lava Elemental was not to be distracted and sent punch after punch down onto Uraprik’s face.

“Cole!” Nya exclaimed. “Stop!”

Teddy lowered his gun, sighing in resignation and rushed over to his friend and fellow Delver. He grabbed Cole’s fist, holding it back from beating the helpless bull-orc.

“No!” came the desperate plea from Uraprik.

The beast’s features were bruised, angry red welt appearing against his black skin and that same fluorescent blood seeping out of his lips. The red glow in his eyes had faded, leaving only those same shimmering irises.

“No hurt…” pleaded Urapik. “Sorry… I… I sorry…”

Cole lowered his fist. “Fuck…”

Knight lowered himself from above with Ruben and Nya crowding around the former beast now transformed into…

“He’s become a Minotlite,” Miri surmised. “We need to get him hot again. Or you can keep hugging him, Cole.”

“Why?” sneered the Lava Elemental.

“Minotlites are a subterranean species that lives beneath the CMP’s crust. In the Mantle. Their species name is a portmanteau of ‘Minotaur’ and ‘Mantle’. Their bodies will literally harden into statues and become immobile if we don’t keep them hot.”

Cole rolled his eyes. “Fuck me…” He reached down, wresting his hand from Teddy and pressed it against the Minotlite’s chest. Uraprik let out a soft moan of appreciation as a gentle, fiery glow emerged from the place of contact.

“Ooooh…” moaned Uraprik. “That good…”

“Don’t make this weird, bud,” rumbled Cole. He gave Teddy a side-long glance. “So what now?”

Teddy folded his arms. “Now? We get him to drop the case.”

_ _

?

Tyson paced impatiently in his own kitchen. His modest home never had so many people over before. Devon and his father were staples but with Burt and Torpak’s gang around, he was feeling quite stifled and a little claustrophobic. There was plenty of room to move and a few of his guests were currently watching the holovid or picking off some of the food that his father had prepared. But it just unnerves him that most, if not all, of these people were here fretting over him in some way shape or form.

So he tried to distract himself with something else.

Devon sat at the kitchen counter, a bright drink that was giving off little sparkles in one hand while he absently ran his pinky claw around the rip of the tall, flute-like glass. “You know it says a lot about your character that even facing the heinous punishments that comes with a guilty verdict, you’re worried about someone else, darling.”

Tyson stopped his pacing and turned back towards his friend. “What else am I supposed to do? My own twin brother just went out to confront the leader of the very same cult that is accusing me of illegal soul manipulation. The same leader that purportedly infected over half of the very same people in this room with some sort of magical curse that wiped away their very souls! What if Teddy gets an Inscription!?”

“Maybe I’ll finally get to taste his dick,” answered the Cheshire enigmatically. “Nothing like the threat of impending doom to get a man to let his guard down.”

“Dev!” Tyson cried incredulously.

His friend and frat brother just shrugged dramatically while taking a delicate sip from his cocktail, waggling his eyebrows tauntingly. They had all gone through their rounds of panic and planning. It was only after a hearty dinner that each of them had come to terms with the harsh reality that they could not do anything at the moment. Devon was going to review the evidence against Tyson and build a case base on the hints Virileth Underwood had handed them. He was confident he could build a case to get Tyson free.

But they could not do anything until the court date.

The fact that Teddy had decided to do his own thing and go after Uraprik at Knight’s insistence made swallowing that particular pill even more difficult.

When the knock came to the front door, Tyson practically bolted across his house. He didn’t even check to see who it was. So when he flung open the door and immediately saw the huge, towering Minotlite, he backed away in shock.

“Hello,” greeted the very naked bovine elemental creature.

The towering beast was suddenly pushed forward by someone from behind. It was Teddy, a little singed and looking sweaty but otherwise mostly unharmed.

“Get in there, you big bo,” grunted his brother. Cole and Knight were right behind Teddy and, together, the two larger men helped the enormous, fiery bovine into the house.

“Do you have any sort of hot food ready or something to keep this guy warm?” asked Cole. “Apparently we have to keep him hot or else he’ll freeze or something.”

“Hot or under a lot of pressure,” Knight added. Minotlites will literally expand and grow even bigger if we don’t regulate him properly.”

Struggling with what had just walked through his door, Tyson immediately reverted to his clinician mode. “I’ve got a heated blanket in the guest bedroom. Order a gravity harness. Minotlites use them in areas that aren’t under as much pressure as they are used to keep their bodies together and maintain their internal temperature. You can use my account.”

He was surprised when Miri, Teddy’s Ironborne fellow Delver stepped up to his door.

“I had told them to get one,” she said in her normal, mechanical twang. “But your brother wasn’t so keen to preserve the life of someone who inflicted so much trouble upon you.”

It took him half a second to piece things together and he brought his gaze back upon his brother.

“Is that…?”

“Uraprik,” Teddy sighed. “Yeah. I’ll explain inside.”

Alongside Nya and Ruben, Teddy and Tyson headed back to the now much more crowded common area of his house. Nya immediately went to the floor-to-ceiling windows and activated their reflective mode, frosting the glass to make everything outside appear hazy while everyone looking into the house would only see their reflection. She was weaving a few protective spells as well which immediately got Tyson on edge.

Miri had brought a whole rig with her, a mobile workstation that she set up on Tyson’s dining table and immediately activated. No doubt she was barring communications. The holovid fizzled out much to the disappointment of Torpak’s crew. Torpak himself had taking up position next to Burt, standing protectively beside Tyson. Banchomyon eyed the Minotlites suspiciously but prepared a sizzling drink that looked like liquefied fire.

Uraprik took the drink with a grunt and when he guzzled it, the veins all over his body began to glow a little more brightly.

“Good!” he exclaimed. “Much like!”

The speech patterns brought back memories of Burt’s first awakening.

“Is he…?” Tyson began.

“Yeah,” sighed Knight. “He had an Inscription too. But somehow, even without you there, he triggered the transformation.” The Eldar shook his head sorrowfully. “For all intents and purposes, Uraprik has been cyc’d.”

“That’s good, right?”Burt asked, stepping forward. “The guy that’s accusing Tyson is basically dead. The case can be dropped.”

Devon smacked his lips dramatically. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, my little crumpet.” He took another little sip from his drink before setting it down. “Even though the person who brought the case to the attention of the law is technically no longer with us, the case is now in the hands of the district attorney. Yes, they will have lost a key witness, but if they have sufficient evidence, they can still pursue the case against Tyson. It would be negligent of them to just drop it because Uraprik is dead.”

The Minotlites gave Devon a puzzled look. “Me dead?”

There was a devilish look in Devon’s eyes; the look of a Fae who found someone stupid enough that could be taken advantage of. “We will have to test that. What say you and I find out just how lively a hot piece of beef like you can be?”

Uraprik beamed brightly. If he had a tail, it would have been doing loops widely. “Okay!”

Devon looked almost shocked at Uraprik’s eagerness but Teddy interrupted any further flirtations.

“We’re not here to discuss you two boning,” said the experienced Delver. “We’re here to discuss what we found.”

Tyson stood quietly as his brother went over the encounter at Primal Foundations and the hours leading up to it. Knight had approached Pulse through their flea, Kunoichi, on his theory that the attack on Tyson was not a means to target the Shaper. It was a warning to the detective and the rest of the SCPD to back off because the mastermind had his hooks everywhere. The SCPD and the law were mere puppets to them and if they did not drop their investigation, people were going to get hurt and there was nothing they could do about it. Worse yet, they would force the SCPD to be the executioners of their twisted will.

It was a valid theory and one Tyson had partially entertained. His focus had been on the secrets of the Inscription and the mastermind’s desire to silence him for what he knew about them. But what if the Inscriptions were just a tool? A means to an end. Ultimately, what was the underlying problem that was trying to be solved?

“This has always been about Harrow and the Green Hand Movement,” Teddy surmised.

“Fuck Harrow,” rumbled Uraprik in a matter-of-factly tone.

Tyson’s eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t bother,” Nya said. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t think any part of the original Uraprik remains in this one. Those two words were just something he picked up because he vaguely remembers saying it as he was emerging from his transformation.”

That deflated any hope of recovering those lost souls.

“But before he was fully consumed,” she Siren continued. “Uraprik did tell us something interesting.”

The revelation that Uraprik - then Makhel Urag - had been the one that invented the technique that Harrow now profiteered off was only partially surprising. It had been a looming question. Harrow was clearly not a medical researcher; he was a businessman. There was no chance that he had been in a lab developing the magic and spell required for his procedure. It was entirely possible that he got funding to get a group of actual scholar to develop the spell and he was just the face of the company but given his history of failed start ups, that did not fit the narrative.

So it made more sense that he found someone who had created the procedure, promised to elevate it through his expert marketing strategies and muscled Uraprik out.

“The timelines don’t quite line up,” Banchomyon stated. “The Green Hand Movement was around for longer than Harrow’s success. And Uraprik was the leader of it for its entire lifespan. Are you saying that Uraprik developed the procedure while leading GHM and Harrow stole it? Was Harrow a member of GHM?”

“That’s what we thought initially as well,” responded Miri. “Until I realized something.” She beckoned everyone to where she was seated in front of her rig. The small briefcase that she had been carrying had opened up into a full holographic display with six screens that stretched out in front of her. “Uraprik’s data was heavily encrypted. It would have taken me weeks to get through it without the proper key.”

“That’s a lot of security for a foreman,” Devon quipped. “I haven’t seen a construction worker with so much on lock down since -”

“Not getting into that,” Teddy interrupted. “Miri, continue.”

“Thank you,” answered the Ironborne. “While he was transforming, Uraprik kept saying ‘Fuck Harrow’. On a whim, I decided to use variations of that statement as a key on the encrypted data. And wouldn’t you know it? It worked.”

Tyson quirked an eyebrow. “Really? He must have really hated Casey Harrow.”

“It was the basis of his Inscription,” Teddy said, locking gazes with his Orcified twin brother. “‘With a Burning Passion’, he said. Based on what we could tell, as long as he remained one-hundred-percent devoted to something, he would emit flames that would melt anything in the path of him getting to it.” Teddy’s eyes drifted away. “The only way we could get through that defense was to make him doubt himself.”

Banchomyon let out a loud grunt. “Doubt is not a weed planted by others,” quoted the demon. “It is a seed planted by one’s own hand.”

That suggested that Uraprik was already doubting himself.

But what was he doubting?

“When I unlocked the encrypted data, this is what I found,” Miri announced, putting up her findings on her screen. “Video journals.”

On screen were what appeared to be a human. A rather plain-looking human with copper skin, brown eyes behind large, round glasses and a thin build. The man looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Dressed in a lab coat and cleanly shaved. No one that Tyson knew.

“Who is that?” he asked.

“Watch,” Teddy said.

Miri played the first of the logs.

“Hi,” said the man in a clear, crisp voice, “my name is Tejathal Athul. I am the original inventor of the Orc Tusk Reconstruction Procedure. The OTRP or Retusking Prodecure. If you’re listening to this, then I’m probably dead.” His eyes drifted downward. “Or… probably worse. Lapsed.” The man let out a bitter chuckle. “Though, if everything goes according to plan, no one will even know that I ever existed and think this is a hoax because… Well…” He sighed. “That’s just how we planned things.”

Taking a deep breath, Tejathal Athul gave a summary of himself. Human from birth, he was raised by his Indian-American parents in the Commonwealth. Seattle was his home before he moved down the California to pursue his education pursuing dentistry and magical sciences. While his parents were quite conservative and didn’t like the idea of him moving, the opportunities were just far too great to ignore and they were ultimately proud of him for his achievements. Particularly because he wasn’t moving on his own.

“I had a friend come with me,” Tejathal continued. “His name was Makhel Urag. An Orc.”

The Delvers looked visibly uncomfortable and Tyson could understand why. Makhel Urag was the name of Uraprik… or supposed to be. Then Tejathal raised a small digital photograph to the camera.

“This is him.”

On screen was the image of a much younger Tejathal with a green skinned Orc. The Orc was slightly taller than Tejathal but had a similar build. Skinny with blond hair, blue eyes and a bright smile… that was broken by one shattered tusk.

“When we were young, Makhel had his tusk broken. He was teased about it for most of his life. I defended him and we became fast friends. We’ve stuck together since then. I don’t know if you know this, but tusks are a big social aspect of being an Orc. Think of them as totemic of an Orc’s ability to take care of themselves and their identity. Even something as simple as getting your tusk pierced or getting it tattooed is controversial because it is basically like undergoing an irreversible procedure. If your tusk is broken though, it’s declaring to the rest of the world that you can’t take care of yourself. At least amongst Orcs.”

Tyson instinctively reached up to the tusks he now bore. As alien as they still were, Tejathal’s words seemed to add an extra weight to them. A reminder that he was just inhabiting this body temporarily and only barely scratched the surface of its capabilities or place in the world. It made him appreciate his Orcish form a little more.

“I kept promising Makhel that I would find some way to repair his tusk,” Tejathal said miserably. “But I never did. The week we were meant to fly out to California, a bunch of Orc purists attacked Makhel and severely injured him. They forcibly ripped out the remnants of his tusk and left him to bleed. I don’t know how much you know about Orcish anatomy but a tusk is basically fused to the lower jaw of an Orc. It’s not like a human skull where we have rivets for our teeth to slip into our skulls. The tusk is part of the skull. Tearing it out forcibly… it’s like breaking your jaw.”

Tyson grimaced and couldn’t help but place a hand over his jaw.

“He was left bleeding and though the doctors did everything they could for him, he died,” Tejathal said. The man removed his glasses, wiped away a tear and then placed his glasses back on. There was a fiery determination in his gaze. “From that day on, I became dedicated to fulfilling my promise. So I refocused myself from mathematics and electronic engineering to dentistry and Orcish anthropological studies.” A little chuckle left the scientists lips. “I remember how everyone else in my class were Orcs and they would always give me these weird looks like I had an greenskin fetish or something.”

Tejathal shrugged. “But I persisted. And after years, I finally developed the OTRP. But there was a problem…”

“You’re still human,” Devon stated. His tone was flat. Devoid of his usual playfulness and mirth.

“I was a human trying to advertise an technique that I claimed would revolutionize Orcish society to Orcs.” Tejathal shook his head. “My works were published and reviewed but no one would ever take a human pandering something specifically or Orcs seriously. Worst case, I was accused of human supremacy. A human trying to tell Orcs how to make themselves better.”

Devon took another sip from his drink, this one bigger than any prior. “Stereotypes are often difficult to break. Especially where there are those that would reinforce them.”

Tyson felt like pointing out that Devon was one of those very same people who was only pushing the stereotype of Cheshires but decided to hold his tongue.

“Then came Casey Harrow.”

Everyone watching immediately took a deep breath.

“Fuck Harrow,” rumbled Uraprik.

“He came to me with an offer,” continued Tejathal. “If we started advertising the OTRP under his name, people were more likely to look upon it favorably. We could get it off the ground.” A weak, exhausted smile touched the young researcher’s features. “I agreed. And wouldn’t you know it? It worked.” He ran a hand down his weary features. “No matter how much we try to claim that we are evolved and cultured, there are still these prejudices that have their claws deep in our souls.”

Ruben huffed loudly. The goblin perched himself on the end of Tyson’s kitchen counter. “Could be justified. People are scared. Scared means we get to survive.”

The recording continued. “Harrow’s cosmetic dental practice really blew up in California. Within a few months, we were opening clinics all up and down the state. Within a year, we were spreading all over the Commonwealth.” Tejathal chuckled softly. “I’m exaggerating. We’re not some big corporation but it’s more than I could have ever expected.” Then his features darkened. “But there was still one obstacle to really get the OTRP off the ground.”

“Sanctuary City,” Tyson uttered in unison with Tejathal.

“Being the CMP’s only location that has a gateway to all Planes within its limits, we knew that if we could make it in Sanctuary City, we could make it anywhere. The problem, of course, was getting established here.”

A tired old mantra. Sanctuary City’s hostile environment against anyone that was not born or made within its limits crushed many dreams. Being the fastest key to the rest of the Planes for the CMP, Sanctuary City could make or break an entrepreneur’s dreams with frightening ease. Multiple eyes were on the City at all times from all across the Planes. It was what made Tyson’s case so weighty. Depending on the outcome, his future and name could be marred across every Plane. No one would ever want to hire him as a Shaper.

Sometimes, it was better to avoid Sanctuary City all together and make your way through the Planes slowly instead of risking the ruthless, cut-throat approach of the often lawless City.

Tejathal held up two fingers. “We had two possibilities to establish our practice in the OTRP. Get someone famous or established to vouch and sponsor us or try to muscle our way in. We knew no one in Sanctuary City. So that left us with one option. Renting a space and putting up advertisements would be easy enough but getting people to trust us? That’s another matter. But Harrow had a plan for that as well.”

The young man lowered his hands, wringing them together anxiously. “All we needed was an antagonist.”

Tyson tilted his head curiously. “An antagonist…?”

Plan, at least according to Tejathal, was both simple and complicated. Controversy would be the key. By creating a group that could attack the OTRP, they would bring attention to it. No one would be interested in a revolutionary technique that was untested in Sanctuary City. But if that procedure was mired in some form of controversy, especially one that seemed to come from an unhinged source, then it would be brought into the forefront of people’s minds.

“So we created the Green Hand Movement.”

Tyson’s jaw dropped. Burt’s eyebrows rose. Torpak was furious.

“Under the alias of my dear friend,” continued Tejathal, “I created a the Green Hand Movement. A pro-Orc establishment. Almost cult-like, really.” There was a bitterness to his smile. “I will admit. It felt good bringing together like-minded Orcs who believed all the things that killed Makhel. I would send letters and voice recordings about how Orcs were meant to be pure and even spun this completely bogus theory that Orcs originally came from the Savage Lands. It felt good watching them all believe it even if it was completely and utterly ridiculous. Even better when the rest of the world looked upon them with mockery and condescension.”

Tyson grimaced, rubbing the side of his neck. The hairs there were prickling annoyingly. More than once, he had fantasized about what he would ever do if his biological parents came to him with a soul-borne disease begging for help. Holding their lives in his hands despite the fact that they had all but sacrificed him was a sweet ambrosia that he knew he could only ever taste in his fantasies. It still felt good to think about it.

In that way, he could sympathize with Tejathal.

The man had lost a dear friend to the very same fanaticism that he now led. While he stirred their hearts and encouraged them to believe ridiculous claims, he was quietly mocking them from the background. It was every bullied nerd’s revenge fantasy come true. The weak, tormented geek that grew up to be a multi-billionaire that now hired his former bullies as janitors.

“The stage is set,” Tejathal said at length. “But that’s was just the first part of the plan. It would take time to establish the practice in Sanctuary City. So I waited. I kept sending the GHM against this corporation, that movement or injecting them into another hot button topic.” Again, another bitter laugh. “Those years studying Orcish society paid off. But when the time came for the next step, I knew I had to start making these recordings because…”

The man dropped his gaze and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“All I ever wanted was to make sure no one ever suffered like Makhel did. I don’t know if what I’m doing is right. But I know who I am now, Tejathal Athul, may not come out of this intact.” A scared smile touched the man’s features and he lowered his glasses. “See, my soul is going to be Inscribed.”

Banchomyon and Tyson both took a sharp intake of breath.

“I don’t know the exact science of it or how it works,” Tejathal said. “But from what Harrow told me, I can’t stick to the shadows forever. I need to start making an appearance and revealing myself to be a human will cause the whole plan to collapse. The OTRP will be tainted by our manipulations even though that is what we needed to do!” He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’m going to undergo the Inscription process soon… And after that happens, I’m going to start turning into an Orc. Not just outwardly. Down to my very soul. I will gradually transform into the fanatical leader of the Green Hand Movement, this fictitious but charismatic being that I despise.”

A bitter edge touched Tejathal’s lips. “I decided to call this being ‘Uraprik’. As in ‘You’re a Prick’. Because this man, this Orc, is exactly the kind of person that led to Makhel’s death.”

Tyson glanced at the Uraprik in the room with him. The giant Minotlite looked confused… and hurt.

“You might be wondering why I’d go to such lengths,” Tejathal said. “Why not just hire another Orc or something like that. Why change myself entirely for the purpose of getting the OTRP off the ground? Why make this confession?”

The man straightened and slipped on his glasses once more. “It’s because I recognize that Harrow is on the exact opposite side of the spectrum as Uraprik. Where Uraprik is this pro-Orc fanatic willing to go to any lengths to destroy anything that doesn’t align with his vision, Harrow is the opportunistic, greedy Orc that has sacrificed his pride and even his integrity as an Orc just to make money.” He lifted his gaze, locking gazes with the audience. Almost like he was looking directly into Tyson’s soul. “Neither of them can exist.”

Cole grumbled. “Dark…”

The recording ended and Miri began tapping a few keys. “There’s more,” she said. “Watch.”

A moment later, Tejathal appeared on screen again. He was looking… healthier. Less tired. Even a little more fit.

“The procedure went well,” admitted the researcher. “I have my Inscription. ‘With a Burning Passion’. Harrow told me that there is no telling what Inscription I will get since it is tied to my soul but I suspect that is a lie.” Tejathal held up a hand and a tongue of flame appeared over his open palm. “As long as I have a goal, I can use my Inscription to generate an intense flame that will burn anything between me and that gaol. Again, I suspect he lied to me about being unable to direct what my Inscription would be because it seems quite convenient that this would be my Inscription.”

He doused the flame and regarded the audience directly. “Of course, it could also just be my soul telling me what I have to become. Or who I’ve always been. Hard to tell.”

Tejathal folded his hands together, staring at the gathered intently. “Something he told me about Inscriptions as well is that it is as much a curse as it is a blessing. The Inscription is going to turn me into an Orc. Again, another reason why I suspect he was lying to me about his level of control over an Inscription. He spun some story that he could feel Makhel’s spirit lingering over me and that I was ‘always born to be an Orc’. That the Inscription will just bring out the ‘true me’. But I didn’t believe him. Not for a moment.”

Tyson grit his teeth and let out a little snarl. There went any hopes of learning more about these insidious Inscriptions.

“But I am all too aware of what this could do to me,” continued the researcher. “I am rapidly going to be turning into someone else. That is an extreme burden on my soul. Harrow mentioned that the Inscription will somehow negate any form of soul-borne disease like animanecrosis and I don’t doubt that. But what it’ll actually do to me? What I’ll become?”

Again Tejathal let out a bitter laugh. “It’s why I began making these recordings. When I eventually do die, I have a feeling people are going to be surprised that Tejathal Athul actually existed. I’m probably going to Lapse before long. These recordings will be invisible to everyone. They might even be deleted if I’m not careful. But the moment I shuffle off this mortal coil, they will appear.”

Banchomyon let out a hum of approval. “Brilliant… He was aware that as he began turning into Uraprik, his soul was effectively being rewritten while its connections to others is being severed. We’ve seen this in Burt and Torpak’s crew.” He gestured with a large paw at the named Inscribed. “That would mean that any evidence he may have of what happened will be ignored or outright forgotten because of the Lapsing. However, when the last fragments of him faded like, say, he was completely taken over by Uraprik…”

“Then these recordings would suddenly become visible,” Tyson concluded, eying Miri. “Even with the password you found, you probably wouldn’t have been able to find these recordings until now.”

A grim air fell upon those gathered in Tyson’s common area. The length of planning and foresight this Tejathal Athul had was uncanny. Dedication was also to be commended. The man had gone into this knowing it was effectively a death sentence.

“On the positive note,” Tejathal began, offering a little grin. “My tusks are coming in.”

The recording ended and Miri set up the next one.

This time, the man standing before them was brawnier. Mostly human but appearing to be a half-breed of Orc and human. His skin was a darker shade of brown, almost rust-colored. Tusks were far more visible and his body was that of a bodybuilder’s.

“The changes have progressed faster than I ever anticipated,” rumbled Tejathal, his voice about half an octave deeper. “It seems that apart from time, resistance to the ‘template’ that the Inscription has forced upon me only accelerates the transformation.”

Tyson leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued.

“It’s only a theory. Not something I could exactly go to Harrow for.” He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. There was a soft crackling noise like charred wood breaking away in a campfire. Tejathal appeared uncomfortable for a moment but he shook it off. “In my daily life, I have this… compulsion_. An almost instinctive desire to act in a particular way. It is what told me how to use my Inscription. It_’s not a voice in my head or something. Rather… just instinct. Like I had lived an entirely second life up to this point and it is natural to act in a particular way.”

Again, he seemed uncomfortable and there was a light flush on his cheeks. A ragged sigh escaped his lips.

“Is… Is he aroused?” asked Devon.

“Dev!” Tyson protested. “Read the room.”

“I am,” answered the Cheshire, his expression grim. “And trust me, Tyson my darling, I am almost completely sure our dear mastermind is horny.”

“I cannot continue these thoughts or these recordings at length,” admitted Tejathal. “I cannot even think about them because that would be against my new persona’s identity. If I so much as even consider it, I am hit by this overwhelming sense of… arousal.”

Devon threw Tyson a knowing look which the Monster Maker chose to ignore.

“At first, I thought it was just a good way to relieve some stress,” admitted the half-Orc. “But then I realized that it was only progressing my transformation faster. I had read that excessive masturbation or sex could cause psychological distress and deterioration. The desensitization of the brain to pleasure chemicals while rendering it entirely dependent on them as well. Not as extreme as the neurological decay that comes with overuse of recreational drugs but something similar.”

A few of those in the room turned to Tyson for confirmation. The Shaper crossed his arms and let out a little grunt of acknowledgment.

“Not entirely true,” he said. “Yes, excessive sexual release could cause desensitization as the brain develops a tolerance to the pleasure hormones that the brain releases as part of healthy sexual activity but it is often not just because of excessive masturbation.” Lifting a finger, he continued. “Often times, the masturbation is just a symptom of a bigger problem. He is probably thinking about porn addiction. As the brain developed higher and higher tolerances towards the chemicals it naturally releases as part of the act of sex, it builds that tolerance causing people to start seeking more niche and often taboo sources of stimulation. It can cause a breakdown in concentration, relationships and even higher processing. But the studies on this is still ongoing especially as we have so many different species to consider. An example would be the Elder who -”

Tejathal continued as Tyson was mid-lecture.

“I think it’s just some sinister mechanism as part of the Inscription. You’re rewarded for purposefully ejecting that part of you that the Inscription is consuming.”

Tyson deflated as his spiel was interrupted but could not be too mad. He brought his attention back to the confession.

“I realized the correlation too late,” admitted Tejathal. “Within a few weeks, I am already… well… This.” He gestured at himself, at the taut clothes that barely fit around his Orcish frame. “Even Harrow seemed surprised by how quickly I changed but he was happy that he could start proceeding with the plan. He’s already got the permits to build his clinic in Sanctuary City. In a few months, I’m going to bring the Green Hand Movement against him. Then, we are going to have an unhinged antagonist that will cast Harrow as the innocent businessman who is just trying to make an honest living and is being victimized by some fanatics.” Tejathal grimaced again as there was that crackling noise again. “It’s the perfect platform for him to advertise his procedure.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temple with one hand. “Shit. No. It’s my procedure. I developed it.” The half-Orc suddenly spasmed as the loud crackling grew louder. There was suddenly a burst of fabric and it was possible to see just the tip of his cock poking out from under the table. Tejathal’s blush grew brighter as he hurriedly hid his erection with his hand. “See? Any deviation from the ‘script’ that the Inscription set causes this raging erection. You become forced into just giving yourself into your instinctual thoughts or be ‘punished’ with an erection that, if you indulge in, lose a little bit more of yourself.”

“Insidious…” Nya whispered.

“On the positive note,” Tejathal offered a little smile again. “You’re going to keep living on, Makhel. We created an identity. Made a little construction company. Primal Foundations. I’m it’s foreman and owner. Makhel Urag.”

Another finished recording and after a few seconds, Miri brought up the next one.

“Fuck Harrow,” rumbled Tejathal. Now, he was a full Orc. He appeared as the Makhel Urag that Teddy and encountered just hours ago. “I think he’s just jealous that Primal Foundations is actually stable and flourishing. He kept pressing me to up my attacks on his clinic and out in public. We’ve been organizing protests. What more could the asshole want?”

He rolled his fiery red eyes. “I know I owe him for giving me my Inscription and getting me started but…” For a moment, he frowned. “No… No that’s not right. Is it…?” He grit his teeth together. “Fuck… Inscription has been messing with me again.” He grunted and didn’t even pause as he reached down his pants and began stroking his impressive dick right in front of the camera. “Won’t be long now before I lose myself completely to Makhel Urag… to Uraprik. Can barely remember why I’m even making these recordings.”

The Orc’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Well, fuck Harrow. He wants me to up my attacks? Fine. Let’s see how he likes his own Inscriptions used against him.”

The recording ended as Tejathal Athul - now Makhel Urag - was still stroking his dick. Even Devon could not make a lewd comment at that point.

“Last one,” Miri announced.

The recording started. There was Uraprik, naked, drenched in sweat and with evidence of cum all over his broad, chiseled chest. He was standing and his dick was still erect despite evidence that he had just orgasmed.

“Dunno who will watch these,” grunted the Orc. “But fuck Harrow! I made the OTRP! Not him! He paid me off with a company to shut up and I -” He suddenly arched his back, throwing his hands back and letting out a bellowing roar. “Uuuuuuuurgh!”

Uraprik unleashed a shower of cum and the recording ended.

“There you have it,” Teddy announced, striding forward and turning towards them. “A confession. Evidence.”

“How will that help?” Tyson asked, shaking his head miserably. “The case against me isn’t about the circumstances that led up to what I did. Pointing the blame at Harrow isn’t going to absolve me of going into someone’s soul and messing with it.”

“But it does give doubt to the fact that you caused the destruction of their soul,” Teddy responded. “Think about it. You weren’t there when Uraprik transformed into… this, Uraprik.” He gestured towards the Minotlites with them. “So who is to say that you were the one that caused the change? This is proof that the Inscription was going to turn them into someone else anyway!”

“I would say.” He pressed a hand against his chest. “Teddy, I can’t just lie on the stand.”

His twin brother gave him an incredulous look. “Yes you can. Virileth won’t have proof to dispute it.”

Devon’s soft feet barely made a sound as he landed on the wooden floorboards. “And neither do we.” The gestured at Miri and her rig. “This was all obtained as part of a Delve, I assume. We cannot use it in court.”

Tyson flinched and grimaced.

Then, Devon’s face split into the mischievous smile typical of Cheshires.

“But it has just given me the key to winning this case.”

On Creating New Spells

Magic, by its very definition, is a reflection of the imagination of all conscious and sentient people on the Planes. At its very core, magic is manifested through belief. When the first pyromancers first believed that they could manipulate flames by weaving their hands in a particular fashion and shouting a particular phrase, the basis for this was embedded in the Great Mystery. However, it was only when this became an accepted means of manipulating fire globally did it actually manifest into reality.

So why, then, you may ask, why does not everyone’s beliefs simply become reality?

The simple reason is that to make a spell or ritual come true, one must meet two key criteria; lack of doubt and a large number of people believing in the same methodology.

It has been scientifically quantified that a minimum of one billion people is needed to believe in a specific methodology for a spell of be written in the Great Mystery and thus viable as a spell. Note that they do not necessarily have to practice the magic nor do the people who believe this spell need to be alive. Believing or knowing of a certain magic even in death is eternally embedded as part of their soul and reflected through time.

The hardest part of making any spell a reality is the first and most important component - complete and utter belief in the spell without a shadow of a doubt.

Even a single fragment of doubt is enough to shake the foundations of a nascent spell and invalidate its viability as an actual spell. In modern times, the Libraris Arcanum in the Great Mystery meticulously keeps track of all the spells being created and manifested across the Planes. Reports from the Arcane Scholars suggest that hundreds of thousands of spells are dreamed up every day across the Planes but, at most, one out of them all truly cements itself as a possible spell to be pursued. Interestingly, it has been statistically proved that most of these new spells are generated thanks to the imagination of children. However, the dreams of children can be snuffed out quickly by reality so many of these new spells are quickly written off as footnotes in the Planes’ magical history.

Often times, however, if a spell is tied with existing logic, it is more likely to persist through its nascent staged and become a true spell. This is why most spells these days require either some form of material component, somatic gestures, verbal incantations, runic inscriptions or meditative state to become a reality. By tying the conditions to manifest a spell in something bound in reality, it becomes easier to manifest the spell.

Scholars believe this is a self-imposed limitation most mortal beings impose upon themselves because we are inherently an input-output organism. We consume energy to keep our bodies going and therefore we must sacrifice something of equal or greater value to make something happen. By simulating this in our spells, we can perform great and wondrous things.

This ultimately ties to how new spells are created.

By creating a ritual that has certain prerequisites to execute, then our spells and techniques are more likely to be a success.

Of course this is not the only way to create new spells especially with information so freely available. Revolutionary techniques are often created through the hybridization of existing techniques or derivative spells can easily piggyback off existing, established spells with different effects. But the creation of a truly unique spell requires the above mentioned basis of at least a billion people across all time believing the spell’s requirements and effect without a shadow of a doubt.

There are, of course, those who advocate for the possibility that the most primal forms of magic somehow do not need this requirement. They often question how primitive inhabitants of the Planes knew how to use magic or even evolved to use their own inherent forms of magic. Spiritualists even suggest that each individual soul somehow has its own unique form of magic but we have yet to tap into that with modern animacology techniques.

But the fact remains that if you want to create a new spell, the requirements are very clear.

Anything that defies this is an exception and not the rule.