The wind rushes by in a torrent, the roar of it almost mocking our sluggish pace as we desperately endeavor to push beyond our limits. By we, I mostly mean Nanu, for she is burning through her mana to squeeze out every last bit of speed she can to get me to Chooka in time. Tamadora, begrudgingly hauling Alterez on her back, long since had fallen behind, not that we slowed down even for a moment for her to keep pace.

  I notice all of this almost as if in a dream, for my [Parallel Minds] are not sufficient for true consciousness and agency. They work together, like a puppeteer manipulating the strings of a marionette, to keep my body seated on Nanu as she brings us closer to our destination. For my true mind is elsewhere, cast afar to possess my Imperial Whelp, my clandestine insurance that I left with Chooka for her safety.

  Some enemy or another had caught me by surprise. My forces were stretched thin, and in the hustle of last-minute adjustments and accounting of our forces to defend our world, I glossed over the detail that she had left the safety of World’s End to head my way. Not that I kept up on all the details of her work, but I did not see a reason for the trip. With all that now considered, I trusted Nanu to remain vigilant that the attack on Chooka was merely a means to lure me out.

  Once my consciousness became rooted within the body of my Imperial Whelp, I took in the sights of a horrible scene. Some 21, er, 35 kobolds were all that stood between a horde of [Cultists] and Chooka. I did not recognize their attire, but that merciless frenzy that forsook all caution and that hungering lust in their eyes were all too familiar.

  Rage filled my being at how this had come to pass and at who had failed to spot such a large force this far into the middle of nowhere. Surely, they had inside help, and heads would roll before the sun set. But, more pressingly, I felt unrestrained fury at how they threatened the one I love most. All of them would perish, this was a foregone conclusion. The only question that remained was if I could kill them all before they overran Chooka.

  Without pause, without mercy, I began to rain an unmitigated tempest of magic down upon them. With extreme prejudice, I maimed limbs and ruptured organs as I used everything at my disposal to slow them down and kill them. Their suffering was beyond my care, and if anything, I relished their torment, lamenting only that most of them would perish before they tasted the full might of my wrath.

  With Ice, I cover the ground in slippery terrain. With Shadow, long arms rise up from the frost to grab ahold of those wretched fiends and leech their vitality. Nature grows walls of thorns to obstruct their path and puncture the unwary, while Earth similarly erects walls of stone to hem them in. Yet, despite the obstacles, they push forward, their own Skills chipping away at mine and forcing holes through my defenses. Unperturbed, I unleash toxic gasses with Poison that sloughs flesh off bones and lays ruin to lungs. Lightning chains through their ranks, each one caught in its arc are electrocuted for several agonizing seconds, their lifeless bodies merely trampled underneath as more and more press the attack.

  My kobolds, ever faithful, do what they can. They bring sacrifices to Montezuma, and his efforts empower everyone. Chooka, not one to sit back and wait for the end, stands in her rickshaw in a wide and lowered stance, her gatling gun wrecking their shields and even pulverizing a few who dare to take too many hits to their bodies. Despite doing our best, we are overrun. Though my Imperial Whelp, controlled by me, continues to fight and is largely ignored, I simply do not have the throughput to stop them.

  In horror, I watch as Chooka is ripped from the rickshaw, her body pinned to the ground as the gibbering masses, so aroused in their frenzy, tear off her clothes with reckless abandon. They jockey and fight over her, each lusting for her flesh. Hands paw at her, mouths bite into her and tear away bits of her body, and knives plunge down to reap a crimson harvest. My kobolds fought to the last, with Montezuma facing the same plight as Chooka, so I do not fault them for failing to withstand the impossible odds.

  In desperation, I use Spatial magic to rearrange the road beneath them, entombing them both within their sarcophagus of obsidicrete. Mangled bodies bear witness to their prize being pulled away from them, and in an unholy fervor, they struggle to exhume the targets of their unfinished lust so that they may continue to ravage.

  At that moment, my Imperial Whelp flies up into the air. I direct its mouth downward, and finish my combo that I had started with [School’s Out]. Nanu is less than a minute away, and with her, my real body as well, but a minute would be too long to wait, for the [Cultists] were chipping away at my road. With a great breath, I unleash my fury, pouring down an unending stream of fire.

  The fire hungers. It licks at exposed flesh, causing fat to melt and blood to boil within seconds. The scent of burnt hair and cooking meat fills the air, the roar of the flames suffocating the screams of pain that pay only a pittance of the debt of torment accrued by its victims. Bones crack and bodies wither into ash in the great conflagration that leaves no survivors. Hundreds perish, yet my only concern for restraint is that I may inadvertently cook those two I am trying to save. With reluctance, I only cease unleashing the firestorm upon them as Nanu comes in for her landing.

  With fury of her own, she unleashes a great breath attack, and the sandstorm that spawns from it moves forward to scour the remnants of the [Cultists] that continue to run headless into my flames. Passing control of its body back to my Imperial Whelp, I leap off Nanu’s back, landing hard, but unconcerned, for my regeneration is more than sufficient to attend to any fractures that such a bold maneuver would inflict upon me.

  With haste and care, I smother the flames around me, cooling the air and the earth so that Chooka will not suffocate or burn from the aftermath of the firestorm. I exhume her as quickly and gently as I can, and the sight I see chills me to the bone. Dozens of wounds cover her body, each showcasing where a knife has plunged into her or where teeth had ripped flesh out of her. She was missing fingers, toes, both nipples, and one eye. A horn had been fractured; it remained attached to her head only by the smallest of margins. She struggled to breathe, her lungs having been punctured and her mouth coughing up blood that only stood to choke her if left unattended. Her left arm had been broken in two places, and the rest of her had been similarly brutalized.

  Part of me was stunned, living in a waking nightmare as my worst fears had been made reality. Skull stood guard in the Shadow Path, for hungry apparitions saw an easy mark in one bound for the hereafter. This had been a ritual for the [Cultists], and it had rendered conventional healing difficult, much less my many potions that I still futilely injected into her. They offered only a pittance of their full potency, serving only to delay the inevitable and prolong her suffering. But I could not, would not, let her go without a fight.

  With no other recourse, I attempted my only surefire method to save her, by offering her my blood and the power that entailed. However, I knew such an act would bind her to me, and the foundation of our relationship rested in her independence and freedom. I had wanted her to be my companion, and I knew that she would have to be nearly dead for this technique to work on her, but by the gods… I never wanted it to be like this. I thought she would just grow old one day, and on her deathbed, I would offer her a chance to be with me forever.

  But, Fate and Destiny had conspired to concoct some foul comedy, one to showcase hubris in my wishing for an easy out. And as if to twist the knife, they highlight the crux of the problem. My blood isn’t working. The love of my life is dying and there is nothing I can do about it. I poured out more of it, knowing full well that it was never about the volume of blood, only the intent behind its contribution, but all reason be damned, I would exhaust any avenue to save her.

  As panic welled up within me, I felt a hand upon my back. Then two joined that one. I thought that Nanu, Tamadora, and Alterez must be trying to comfort me. Only dimly aware of my surroundings as I am so engrossed in my struggles to save Chooka, I notice that Tamadora and Alterez are flying over the dunes, presumably to chase down the final [Cultists]. Nanu is keeping watch over me, her chest heaving from the exertion of her flight and the conflict that ensued upon its culmination. She had taken human form again, and she stood in front of me where I could see her, her eyes ever vigilant. And in her eyes I saw surprise, confusion, and finally, a mixture of fear and subservience. Whoever these hands belonged to, they had snuck up on the both of us without issue.

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  Chooka’s desperate eyes turn to them, and I too turn my head to see who is with me. I do not recognize them, and yet, I feel as if I had known them for an eternity. One was dressed as a mail courier, his slacks, jacket, and hat a dark blue, complete with a brown satchel over one shoulder and across his chest that hung at his side. Somehow, I knew him to be All-Weather Transporter, the demigod of Mail and Couriers.

  Likewise, I knew another to be Old Man Moneybags, the demigod of Currency and Economics. A dandy in spats with a top hat and monocle, despite having an elderly appearance, he still radiated vigor and vitality, and dare I say, little patience for other people’s bullshit. He appeared to be somewhere between miffed and peeved, for he had a pocket watch in his other hand and kept glancing at it and back to me.

  The final person was dressed in a three-piece suit, the likes of which you see in worlds with more advanced technology than this one. Some sort of folded paper literature was in his breast pocket, and he appeared to be delighted to see me, present circumstances notwithstanding. He radiated the same energy and indeed divinity as the other two. That could only make him Many Words Paperman, the demigod of Pamphlets and Instructional Media.

  “Well, get to it boy!” demanded Old Man Moneybags. “Focus on her, not us.”

  Cantankerous in demeanor, but supportive in spirit, his words inspired me to again attempt to save Chooka. I focused my will and intent into my blood, letting a drop of it fall into her mouth. This time, I felt the change, a tug that pulled my soul closer to hers, lashing them together and binding their futures down one path. I hoped she would forgive me for doing so. I could only trust in our love and how it can conquer all things.

  Her eyes glowed with the white and golden light of communion, for some god of hers had taken notice of her plight. Her bones snapped into place as flesh mended. It was not instant, but she was healing rapidly. With no indication that it would falter, I placed my trust in the divine as fatigue caught up to me. Though I swayed and staggered, three hands helped keep me steady and pulled me to my feet.

  “No time to explain,” stated Many Words Paperman without introduction or pause. “We are each bound to depart this universe here directly, so we must be brief.”

  Okay. I’ll bite. I’m not quite in a stupor from the drain that my previous efforts had caused, but it is a close thing as I find it difficult to focus on them.

  “We each have a package for you, the contents of which will be useful to you someday.” They each handed me a box, and I stuffed them in my dimensional storage. “This is the part where you give each of us a box. We are, or will be, friends. And friends help each other out. The boxes you give us need not have anything in them yet, you can decide their contents later. I know this is all very confusing for you and events are not happening in what you may think to be chronological order, but we are repaying a favor to you now and earning a favor each in return.”

  Sounds reasonable, not that my mind can really concentrate on the bigger implications of their words. It is a lot to chew on, and it seems like I won’t have the time to parse their words in detail. Considering they helped me save the woman I love, I see no harm in owing them a favor and giving them each a box I have in my storage. I carry around all manner of odds and ends, and empty, ornate boxes come in handy when you need to give out gifts. They each promptly take their boxes and magically store them away as well.

  “Right then, never call me a day late and a coin short,” exclaimed Old Man Moneybags as he closed his pocket watch and tucked it away. “I will see all of you later.” Without a further word, he turned and proceeded to walk away.

  “I would love to catch up with you, but you don’t know me yet,” offered All-Weather Transporter in an apologetic tone. “We simply must be going now, for another universe beckons. I would have loved to have stayed and witnessed the opening battle first-hand, but alas, such is not to be. Take care now,” he finished as he too turned and walked away.

  “I know this is confusing for you, but it will all make sense someday. Just focus on taking care of your people and keeping your word, and it will all work out. Until we meet again.”

  The last of the demigods departed, leaving me more confused than when I first felt their hands placed upon me. They walked into the distance and down my road, each in turn disappearing one after another. Then I heard the voice of the egg-dragon-person in my mind. I would come to find that people of other races heard different voices corresponding to their respective races, but I figured I would tell you now before such a fact becomes lost.

  [Attention: The following demigods have departed this universe. Old Man Moneybags, All-Weather Transporter, Many Words Paperman, Deep Sea Angler, Lone Mountain Man, Drifter of Eons, Heckin’ Good Boy, Sportsball Guy, Point and Shootie Gal, Ol’ King Charcoal, and Reedy Swamp Monster.

  Remaining demigods: 0.

  Demigod aliases will be enforced for 5 years. Demigod domains will be respected for 1,000 years.]

  This message was promptly followed by another.

  [Attention: The following demigod has entered this universe: Sanagba Imuru, He-Who-Saw-The-Abyss.

  Current demigods: 1.

  Demigod alias not enforced for Sanagba Imuru, He-Who-Saw-The-Abyss.

  Domains: People-watching, Observation.

  Special: Sanagba Imuru, He-Who-Saw-The-Abyss, is here to judge the deeds and accomplishments of a certain individual and to act as a final judge in that person’s mortal life. This is a special assignment above and beyond his normal duties. No other demigods may enter this universe while Sanagba Imuru, He-Who-Saw-The-Abyss, remains in this universe.]

  Well, that’s probably a lot to take in, but I am feeling way too out of it to parse all of those undoubtably mind-blowing revelations. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was suffering the effects of divinity-poisoning. And a dose from three different demigods was enough that even an Emperor would be less than lucid.

  Anyway, I stumbled around until I fell onto my butt. Nanu came up behind me, sitting down and leaning me against her as she held me tight. Her body was trembling, but whether that be from exhaustion, at meeting three different demigods, or realizing that all the demigods just bailed on us in our hour of need, I knew not. I hadn’t even heard of most of those demigods before, so they were probably stationed on different planets within this universe. And the new one doesn’t sound all that friendly, but I would probably not have to deal with him, so I paid him no mind.

  I’m gonna blame it on the divinity-poisoning. Oh course he was here for me. I’m the main character of this story and I would, in a relative sense, soon become a demigod. I didn’t know then, but Sanagba Imuru, He-Who-Saw-The-Abyss, would be the one to decide if I would pass muster to become a demigod myself. He isn’t special; any demigod can get assigned that task. I’ve done it myself a time or two, and it always happens when the world is going through ‘interesting times’.

  I’m supposed to be at World’s Hope right now. The portal, the invaders, the fighting, all that stuff should ring a bell. Instead, I’m high as a kite and seeing weird shit. I’m living through forgotten memories, of scenes from past lives, as they manifest around me, mixing and matching characters and settings as near as I can tell, otherwise I lived through some wild lives. The manner of dress, the levels of technology, the attitudes of the characters, all of them are discordant in nature as they struggle to show me a narrative that seemingly has no point to it. Even the burned bodies and some new kobolds are involved. Either that, or more kobolds hustled over from somewhere and started to spruce the place up.

  I feel like there was something else important going on… Oh yeah, Chooka! Let her cook. I’m positive she will come out of it alright, and with a Dual-Blessing to boot. That makes me happy, unlike how my skin is cracking and light is pouring out of me, which not only hurts but also sounds an alarm that I just can’t parse. That’s definitely a bad thing, both the cracking skin and why I can’t understand why I should be alarmed. However, my regeneration seems to have it covered, so I feel like that is at least a net neutral situation.

  While myself at that time went on a little trip, I would like to take this moment to advise any of you that are into recreational drugs to not contract divinity-poisoning. It often leads to death and it is one of the few ways that a soul can be damaged or destroyed. Likewise, avoid worshiping any gods for a day or two afterwards or you will come down with a case of smiting. It’s a good thing I didn’t worship any gods then, otherwise the coming days may have become unmanageable if smitings were added to my list of troubles that I had to conquer. With that said, some interesting things were going down for the other people around me.