Time slows for you. Thought becomes a useless luxury, pushed aside by the singular objective running through your limited human brain.

Don’t get hit.

Kayne pulls the pins from two grenades with his teeth and tosses them underarm towards Morgaeous, the Meat Baron of Cryptatown.

Morgaeous twists in the air like a dog playing fetch, seizing one of the grenades in his jaws and swallowing it with a loud gulp.

The second grenade flies past the serpent and, and lands right in the middle of the snarling flock of upper-crust monster.

One of the guests, a shaggy-haired werewolf with a tattered tuxedo and monocle, leaps out of his seat and snatches the hissing grenade off the ground. “I got it!” You hear him howl, drawing back his arm to throw the grenade away. “I’ve got it!”

The grenade explodes in the werewolf’s hand. Dozens of monsters turn into shrieking, stumbling torches, white sticky phosphorus chewing holes in their flesh.

Some of this flame splatter over the skeleton playing the harpsichord. The skeleton, a doll animated by dark magic, continues to play background music, even as flames eat away at its tuxedo and snap the strings of its instrument one at a time.

“Urp!” Morgaeous says, the base of his throat swelling up like a frog. You scramble to your feet and get out of the way just as Morgaeous vomits sizzling phosphorus all over the floor.

“Bleh!” Morageous says, coughing up tendrils of white smoke and spitting out burning embers. “Disgusting…I can’t feel my tongue!”

“Striboga,” you whisper, infusing your jian with spellcraft. One more, you think as Morgaeous turn your way. You’re got time for one more spell. “Kumara.” You hurl your sword at Morgaeous, the blade spinning like a boomerang as it seeks the snake’s neck.

Morgaeous gargles and pukes up a longsword, a jewel-crusted blade that shimmers with a heat haze of magic. He grips his sword between his fangs and swings it into your flying jian.

The two magic swords clash, blue and red sparks spilling from the point of contact. A shrill howl like stereo feedback rips through the air, pummeling your ears and making your teeth chatter.

You clamp a hand over your left ear and use the other to make sharp, flickering gestures. Your sword curves back through the air, slashing once, twice, thrice.

Morgaeous blocks and deflects all three strikes, his own enchanted sword howling as it collides with yours.

You hurl your sword back in a fourth time. The serpent’s sword collides with your own...and shatters into a cloud of dark grey splinters.

“Mmph!” Morgaeous curses, twisting backwards and spitting the hilt of his broken sword your way.

“Duck!” You shout to Kayne, leaning left as the sword flies towards you.

Kayne instantly drops to the ground, wasting no time processing your words or questioning your warning.

The broken sword flies past your ear and tumbles over Kayne’s head. It bounces off the bars of a cage…which then immediately dissolves into a pile of red rust flakes.

Goosebumps rise on your skin, a chill left by the passing of that broken sword. You’ve dealt with all kinds of magical spells and trinkets in your time. Blessings, curses, enchantments, tinctures...

...but there’s something unique odd about Morageous’s magic, something that makes your stomach churn...

“Diesel!” Kayne shouts, leaping to his feet and drawing a dagger with a pistol trigger embedded in the hilt. “Press the advantage!”

You call your sword back into your hand and follow the Hunter into the fray.

A Baobhan Sith, a bloodthirsty faerie dressed like a 1920s flapper, tosses aside her mink shawl and leaps at Kayne, her ruby-red nails growing to long needle-points.

At the same time, Morgaeous rears up over Kayne and spits a mouthful of Spanish Doubloons towards him.

Mandrake Kayne seizes the Baobhan’s wrist, plants his feet, and twists his waist. He flows with the fae’s forward motion, tossing her over his shoulder...and into the path of the falling Spanish Doubloons.

The golden coins bounce off the Baobhan Sith’s back. No, you realize. They stick to her back and sink into her milk-pale flesh.

Kayne kicks the twitching Baobhan away, points his Ballistic Knife at Morgaeous, and squeezes the trigger. With a loud ‘hiss’, the blade flies off the knife hilt, trailing a fine silvery wire behind it as it sinks into the slimy serpent’s flank.

“Sheddings!” Morgaeous howls, gold coins dribbling from his mouth like froth. “That hurt, you little shit!”

“Good,” Kayne said. He ducks underneath a flailing, burning Mothman and yanks the hilt back like a fishing rod.

Morgaeous hisses as the knife blade twists within his flesh.

The Mothman hits the stage face-first, legs falling out from under him

Literally falling out from under him, that is. Blue blood sprays from the Mothman’s severed legs, sliced off at the knees by the high-tensile wire Morgaeous unspooled from within his Knife’s hilt.

You didn’t know they made wire that strong. You should ask Kayne about that––

“Whoah!” You shriek, leaping backwards as the Red Cap swings his pike through the air, missing your belly by inches. You stumble back a few steps and hurl your jian at the wicked goblin. “How the heck did you get that thing in here?” You exclaim.

The Red Cap spins his pike over his head, knocking your flying sword away. “HeeHeeHee! What can I say?” He says, grinning and exposing his oversized teeth. “I believe in the right to bear arms!”

Wait a sec.

You stare at the Red Cap’s titular hat, perched atop his shaggy scalp. It’s a baseball cap...with the letters MAGA written across it in white...

“...You monster,” you whisper through a throat gone dry.

“What?” The Red Cap chortles adjusting the brim of his hat. “I just think we need to Make Annwn Great Again!” He twirls his Pike around his back and thrusts it towards your belly “What’s wrong with that?”

You pull your porkpie hat off your head, and hold it in front of your belly. The Red Cap cackles hysterically as he stabs: the pike sinks into your hat…

...and keeps going, going, going, as inch after inch of the pike vanishes into the dark brim of your headwear..

“What is this?” The Red Cap splutters, yanking in futility at his half-swallowed pike. “A children’s birthday party––?”

Your jian swoops down and pierces the crown of the Red Cap’s head, nailing his MAGA hat to his skull.

“Gotta say,” you snarl as the Redcap collapses. “I like my hat better.”

The Redcap’s pike vanishes, shaft, and all, into the depths of your porkpie hat. You jam your hat back onto your head and tug the brim down.

(Deep within the dark, soggy depths of my prison, a plain steel-tipped pike clatters to the ground near me. I reach for it, straining my sinews...but the chains on my limbs, physical and otherwise, come up just short.

Bah. And here I was going to thank you for the gift you gave me,Diesel.)

You call your Jian back to your hand and turn towards Kayne.

You see Morgaeous leap forward like a compressed spring and headbutts Kayne in the chest. Kayne flies back, tracing a path through the air that’ll terminate in the pile of gold doubloons Morgaeous vomited out.

“Kayne!” You holler, flinging your jian. “Catch!”

Kayne twirls in midair and seizes the hilt of your sword

You flick your fingers up. Your jian rises up, yanking Kayne into the air with it.The tip of his combat boots brushes against one of the gold coins on the ground. Just one.

Grey blotches spread across the leather and metal. The leather and fabric of Kayne’s boot sloths off his toes like melted butter, congealing into a pile of soft wriggling grubs that spill across the floor.

“No way...” you whisper. You take a quick glance left at the corpse of the Baobhan Sith. Seconds ago, she was a shapely dame who was totally rocking the Vampire Flapper look.

Now the Faerie Noble is just a rotting mass of spongy flesh, infested inside and out with wriggling maggots.

Kayne drifts over your head like Mary Poppins, lets go of your flying Jian and lands on the stage next to you.

“Don’t panic,” you whisper hoarsely, “but there’s a non-zero chance we may both be doomed.”

Kanye surprises you at this point by chuckling. “Heh,” he says, drawing his enchanted trench knife and holding it in a reverse grip. “I’m actually surprised we’re still alive...but I’m guessing you’re talking about something else.”

“Well…” You say, before abandoning your sentence mid syllable.

How exactly can you explain what you’re feeling to Kayne?

The miasma of corrosion pouring off of every sword, cup and coin that Morgaeous has spat your way? The chill that sends shivers down your spine? That twists your stomach?

Morgaeous has names epithets: the Drake-Worm. Morgaeous, the Meat Baron. Morgaeous the Gold Eater.

You finally understand where the slimy snake got his last title. A hoarded of cursed treasure, tucked away inside his gut.

Your own gut is telling you something, Diesel–– if you or Kayne touch a single piece of that cursed treasure horde, you’ll die hideously, just like all those Nazis from the Indiana Jones movies…

...oh! Maybe that’ll work!

“Have you ever seen the Indiana Jones movies?” You ask Kayne.

“Indiana?” Kayne says, blinking. “Do you mean the state?”

You groan loudly. “Seriously?”

Across the ballroom, Morgaeous twists his neck backwards, bites down on the knife blade in his flesh and yanks it free. “Ow!” He hisses, spitting the dagger blade out along with a mouthful of blood. “First mah tongue, now mah lips!”

“Dammit, never mind,” you say. “Short version: don’t touch his treasure, or you’ll die.” You reach out and touch the gurney of the coma patient, miraculously untouched by all the flame and gore and cursed treasure. “Striboga Version_3,” you whisper, transferring the enchantment from your sword to the wheeled bed. “Go. Go seek Sara Gold.”

The gurney starts moving on it’s own, wheels squeaking loudly as it rolls across the stage door, swings past some rubble and vanishes into the room full of cages.

No more Wind Enchantment, you realize with a sinking feeling. No more flying sword.

You hope you’re not going to regret that. You have the right to hope, at least...

Morgaeous watches the coma patient go squeaking away, nictitating membranes flickering across his stone-cold eyes. “That was mine,” he rasps.

“Buy another one, then,” you say, pointing your jianat the snake. “You’re filthy rich, aren’t you?”

Morgaeous hisses softly. “Do you punks know how hard it is to be rich in this dung hole of a town?” He starts slithering towards you and Kayne, bobbing his head from side to side. “You can’t flaunt your wealth, you can’t use a damn credit card, all because those damn Bale Crows and their greedy little beaks…!”

Morgaeous raises his voice as he continues to speak. He’s been bottling up this rant for a good long while, you realize. Probably best to let him get it out of his system, you think: he gets to relieve his stress, and you get some time to come up with a plan...

Kayne hurls three throwing spikes at Morgaeous and charges, his enchanted trench knife leaving flame-trails through the air as he swings towards the snake’s throat.

Morgaeous whips his tail through the air, batting the spikes aside. He dislocates his lower jaw and convulses like a mother bird regurgitating food for her young.

A six-barreled Gatling Gun slides out of his throat, each barrel engraved with intricate filigree. The Gatling Barrels start spinning slowly within Morgaeous’s throat, rotating faster and faster and faster…

Kayne throws himself to the side just as Morgaeous opens fire. Bullets tear up the wooden auction stage punch a trail of holes in the walls as Morgaeous twists his head your way.

You raise your sword, hands clammy against its cool metal hilt.

You’re not a swordsman, you admit to yourself. You only know the basics...and not even in the ‘I practiced the same kick a thousand times’ sense. You most certainly don’t know how to block bullets by swinging your sword really fast…

...you let your magic do that for you.

Your sword jerks in your hands, pulling your arm along as it smacks a bullet aside...then another, and another. Blue and purple sparks fly off your Jian as cursed brass bullets sizzle against blessed bronze.

Your nostrils fill with the scent of acrid smoke. Your elbow nearly dislocates as the sword jerks your arm sharply upward...but you don’t dare to let go.

“Bluh!” Morgaeous hollers, his head swinging up and down like a fire horse dropped by a fire fighter. Large-grain bullets rip through the delicate glass chandeliers overhead. Broken glass and chandelier shards rain down on you in a monsoon.

You run, duck, dodge and parry the glass, luck (and your lucky shirt) keeping you from harm. But that moment of distraction costs you dearly.

“Bleh!” Morgaeous ceases fire and gulps the Gatling Gun back down his throat. “Right!” he croaks, voice sounding a bit hoarse. “Recoil! Note to self for next time…!”

Kayne leaps onto Morgaeous, wrapping two legs and one arm tightly around the giant snake’s throat.

“Gak!” Morgaeous croaks, crimson eyes bulging.

“No next time,” Kayne says, driving his enchanted knife towards Morgaeous’s throat.

Morgaeous swings his head backwards with desperate vigor, slamming Kayne into the ground. You hear a loud noise, like the cracking of bone. Kayne goes limp, dagger flying from his hand.

“Kayne!” you shout, raising your sword and charging…

“Easy now, son!” Morgaeous says, wrapping his tail around Kayne’s ribs and holding him up in front of his head. “Let’s not do anything you’llhave cause to regret!”

You slide to a halt, broken glass crunching beneath your shoes.

The ballroom grows quiet.Pillars of white smoke rise up from the burning patches of white phosphorus, steadily chewing up everything organic––the wooden floor, the cloth drapes, the mangled monster corpses.

“Better,” Morgaeous hisses. “Now drop that fearsome blade of yours, if you please.”

“And let you spit more cursed junk at me?” You reply. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Morageous narrows his eyes, and tightened his coils around Kayne. “Don’t get sassy with me, human,” he curses. “You’re already skating on thin ice as is.”

Kayne stirs in Morgaeous’s grasp. His hand inches towards the lining of his coat.

“Uh-uh-uh!” Morgaeous chides, squeezing Kayne tighter. “None of your shanking nonsense, Hunter! You’ve got a lot to answer for already!” He turns back to you. “Let’s start with some basics, sorcerer: who put you up to this? What are they offering you?”

You’re working for an old, battered single father with nothing but his life savings. That’s the honest truth…

...but you realize Morgaeous will never believe that. What can you say? What name would make him flinch? Dammit: you’re lousy at this negotiation stuff! If only that Sarah Dame had stuck around: she had a way with words….

Oh.

“I think you know who I’m working for,” you tell Morageous, tapping the side of your left eye.

Morgaeous goes very still. Considering how still reptiles like him can be, that’s saying something.

“Her,” he snarls. He stares at you with fresh interest. “You’re one of her Eyes?”

“No,” you say simply. (Not yet). “Think of us as more outside contractors.”

Morageous snorts. “She doesn’t use outside contractors,” he says.

“Is that so?” You say, stroking your chin thoughtfully “Huh: you really must have pissed her off!”

“You’re bluffing,” Morgaeous said, forked tongue fluttering in and out of his lips in a nervous tic. “You’re just throwing around names to drag your little life out.”

You clench your sword’s hilt tight.

“Besides,” Morgaeous blurts out. “I’ve done nothing to anger the Alder’s wrath! I couldn’t have! If she wanted a piece of the action, we could have made a deal! We could have pooled our resources, forged endorsement deals, hired more snatch squads…!”

As Morgaeous babbles on and on, Kayne lifts his head and looks right at you.

You stare deep into each other’s eyes.

He shakes his head ever so slightly and presses his lips together.

You understand him completely. You know what he wants you to do, because you understand what’s at stake for him.

“...if only she’d bothered to get in touch with my secretary, I would have gladly offered some concessions…” Morgaeous says…

You rear back and throw your sword at Morgaeous, using nothing but raw muscular force.

Your jian spins through the air. Morageous leans his head left, dodging the twirling arc of bronze with insolent ease.

Kayne snatches your sword out of the air and drives it through the side of Morageous’s skull.

You see no fear or anger beneath the twisted bandages on his face...only calm contentment.

Kayne might get bitten in half, stung with snake venom, turned to a puddle of goo by a stew of curses...but he won’t die a victim. He’ll go down fighting, like a monster hunter should.

Morgaeous yelps and throws Kayne aside: the monster hunter goes sliding across the ballroom floor, leather coat squeaking against the polished marble.

“Shit!” Morageous screams, whipping his head back and forth. “Shit!’ No matter how he gyrates, your swords stays lodged in his skull, protruding form his head like a metal horn.

It’s hilarious, really. So hilarious that you can’t help but snicker.

“What?!” Morgaeous snarls, head whipping towards you. “You think this is funny, you little punk?”

You take a deep breath–probably the last breath of your life. You smell garlic in the air, the sickly scent of thickening phosphorus smoke.

“Eh,” you say to Morgaeous with a careless shrug. “It is kind of funny.”

Morgaeous hinges his jaw open, disgorging a cannon nozzle from his throat.

This is good, you think, closing your eyes. You gave it your best shot. You saved some lives. You even wiped the slate clean. No one can blame you for throwing in the towel now…

...that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it, Diesel?

I’m not disputing your logic, Diesel. No, no, far from it. I like the way you think!

Yes, go ahead and die, Diesel! Give up and die! And once you give up the ghost, your Demon-Sealing Hat will acquire a much more interesting owner!

Your eyes snap open.

You start to dodge.

Morgaeous fires the cannon within his mouth.

A black cannonball tumbles through the air and rips through your face.

Next Chapter: Episode Thirteen: Flesh Wounds (Revised)