“Mac,” Sarah whispers, slack-jawed as—dare I say it—a deer in headlights. “What’s going on?”

I take another step back, snarling under my breath as I plot my next move. If arrows and Astras cannot kill that thing, should I rush them and tear their throat out?

“Ah,” Theo says to Sarah through Macintosh Crate’s lips. “Sarah. I need to tell you something.” Their golden eyes glance at me briefly. A small smile crosses their lips. “This demon’s greatest weakness.”

“What?” Sarah blurts out. She scans her surroundings with fresh scrutiny.

No. Whatever the...thing inside Macintosh wants Sarah to do, I will not stand by and let it happen!

I snarl and cast my bow aside. I call upon the power of the Maya, the illusion that shapes reality…

…and I grow.

My form swells and ripples, bone and sinew and skin expanding in layers. I rise until my shoulders brush against the broken roof of the theater. My elbows slam into the walls, leaving cracks in the plaster.

My hand blots out the light of the stars above as I bring it down to squish Theo and Sarah.

Lances of pain sink into the flesh of my palm. My hand stops an inch above the rabble-rousing Deer-woman and her theater clerk friend.

A dozen blessed daggers sink into my hand like splinters, pushing back against me like rockets.

"Not a chance, buddy," Diesel snarls, his voice echoing towards me from wherever he’s hidden himself in the theater.

Fausta stands beneath my hand as well, holding me back with her trembling marble-pale arms and her broad, charred wings.

“Go!” she shouts to Sarah and Mac, punctuating her words with a click of her owl beak.

“I will crush you,” I snarl, laying my right hand over my left and pressing down. “Like a swollen maggot!”

Sarah and Theo grasp hands and half-run, half-pull each other out of the shadow of my hand. The moment they get clear, Fausta heaves, shoves me to the side, and darts away with her flapping wings.

My hand slams down onto the ground, crushing, wood, stone and metal chairs. The force of the impact drives the blessed daggers deep into my skin.

I scream in pain. And why should I not scream? My howls are proof of my existence, of fury conquering torment.

“This demon’s weakness,” Theo shouts to Sarah as they run, “is also his greatest strength!”

I pluck my bow from the ground, pull an arrow from my flesh, and try to shoot a divine arrow of flame at the two. But when I try setting the arrow to bowstring, the daggers twist in my palm. The arrow falls from my spasming fingers.

“He is a...creature of Maya,” Theo says, their serene voice and calm gold eyes at odds with Macintosh’s loud gasps of exertion. “He is dreamstuff. What he wants to be...”

I melt and dissolve, arms legs and chests splitting and melting and fusing into one long coil.

I hiss with a forked tongue displaying the brilliant heraldry of my cobra hood.

I sweep my serpent tail through the air with a speed of a whip, swatting Fausta out of the air and driving her into the wall.

“...he becomes.”Theo concludes.

I swoop down toward Fausta, cobra jaws hinging to snap shut around the demon and fill her with venom.

Fausta picks herself off the ground and flees from me, frantically flapping her wings to pick up speed.

I turn, reach, bite down....

I taste dust between my jaws as Fausta dissolves into sparkles of pretty light.

Fah! An illusion!

I turn and glare at Sarah Mankiller, who pulls down her eyelid and sticks out her tongue at me. Macintosh—or rather, Theo— stands behind her, a blank expression on their face.

“How’d you like that!” she shouts with a smirk. “Don’t underestimate the small folk, you pig!”

I spit venomous acid from my fangs in a thin, swift stream. The corrosion splashes over Sarah and Mac, who both dissolve into flecks of light and smoke.

I hiss in distaste and turn in a circle. Everyone. Everyone has vanished from sight, cloaked by that deer harlot’s petty spells!

I sniff at the air. Where are they? Where?

There.

I swing my tail through the air and connect with something hard and feathered. Fausta flickers back into existence, pinned to the wall by the tip of my tail.

She squawks in pain, spittle flying from her owl beak. She raises her warped iron pistol and fire lances of Hellfire at me.

Across the room, Fortuna materializes from nothing and hurls a wobbling hellfire sphere at my back. They burn holes in my cobra hood.

Somewhere, hidden in the theater, Diesel swipes his hands through the air and slashes at my tail with his flying blades.

Felix Lynn appears out of thin air and cuts at my tail with a wild swing from his junk-formed sword, fueling himself with a hoarse war cry.

I shriek, tormented by my many scalding wounds.

I let go of my snake shape and dissolve into light. I transform into a snarling octopus with a scaly hide.

I open my beak and roar.

The theater trembles before my wrath. Everything falls silent.

An irritatingly familiar voice breaks that silence:

“A giant octopus wearing a tiny hat...” Diesel muses in a weary tone. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

I lash out with barb-coated tentacles, grabbing chunks of rubble and hurling them around the theater.

I swat Felix away and send him flying. I smash Fausta against the ground One of my projectiles shatters against an empty patch in the air. Daggers fall from the air and clatter across the floor, bent and twisted by the impact.

“Arggh!” Diesel screams.

I swing one of tentacles toward the sound of that screams. I tear crumbled chairs from their mounts. I leave craters in the carpet and stone of the theater. As I indulge my lovely fury, I strain my ear holes and listen.

Between the sounds of crunching rubble, the rattling of an overturned film projector, and my keening shrieks, I hear two voices frantically whispering.

“This won’t stall him forever. You must do it now, before he counters your trick.”

“It’s working so far. If we can keep up the momentum, wear him down...”

“We can’t outlast him. We can wound a dozen of his forms, and he’ll just shift into a new one. We must lock his shape in place. You must lock his shape...”

“That’s not how Deer magic work...”

I hear amusement in Theo’s voice: “Is that what you know, or what you’ve been taught to believe?”

A lull of silence, and then:

“You’re asking me to alter how I use my spells on the fly...and do something I’ve never practiced...”

“I will help you do it. I will lend you my power so you can...”

There they are.

I squeeze my glands and vomit forth a tide of black ink. The ink flows everywhere, washing over carpets and chairs, over chunks of drywall and fallen pillars.

It washes over my enemies, bathing them in black and tearing away their invisibility.

I see them all. The blubbering Antichrist. The machine-infected father. Diesel, fallen to one knee, daggers littering the ground around him.

I also see the annoying little deer-woman...and the theater clerk possessed by an ancient God.

“No!” Sarah shouts, eyes widening. Macintosh—no, Theo—steps in front of Sarah, spreading their arms protectively.

“This is no different from your dream of a peaceful anarchy,”they tell Sarah. “To make it a reality, first you must...”

I wrap a tentacle around Theo, hoist them into the air, and squeeze.

“Mac!” Sarah shouts, dark eyes wide with fright. She raises her left hand toward me, acrid smoke gushing from the vaporizer in her right. I feel the pressure of her magic expanding from her in a sphere, washing over me and rewriting the nature of my form.

I laugh with my octopus beak and push back with my will.

Sparks of static pop around Sarah’s fingers; she draws her hand back with a hiss.

“He’s too strong!” she cries. “Dammit, Mac, we need to try something else!”

Theo stops struggling against my coiling tentacle. They lock gazes with Sarah, their golden eyes calm and serene. “First,” they whisper, “you must believe—”

I tighten my grip, cutting off Theo’s words and driving the last breath of air from Macintosh Crate’s lungs. They start to convulse and thrash, spittle flying from their lips as they try and fail to breathe.

If I kill the whelp named Mac, will the deity inside their body leave and find another vessel? Or will it die along with its host?

I imagine it: an ancient soul, a deity older than fur and flowers, that’s lived through flood and frost, flame and falling stars, perishing at my hands. Millions of years of history, wiped out in an instant.

The thought warms my heart with joy…

…and then a splintered wooden plank bounces off my bulbous octopus head.

“Let them go!” Sarah shouts, her arm stretched out in a throwing motion. She stands as tall as she can, trying to project authority. Her limp hair and ink-sodden clothes undermine her attempt to intimidate.

I open my beak and chuckle. “Let them go...” I said. “Let them go? A tiny little worm, a brief flicker of light in the cosmos, is telling me to let her friend go?”

I slither toward the Deer-woman, turning my wobbling head so I can look at her with one of my massive eyes.

“Oh, this is rich,” I chortle. “You believe your wishes should matter to me? A lord of the universe?” I slither even closer, her eyes and mine mere inches away. “You’re vermin. An insect. A germ! Submitting to my will would be the closest your life ever gets to having meaning!”

Sarah tosses her head like a wild mustang and drives one of her antlers into my wide octopus eyes.

My iris ruptures and pops like a balloon; blood and clear fluid pours from my ruined eye like a cavity. There is pain, pain that lances into my mind and thoughts.

And for just one moment, I am blind on one side. I try to seize Sarah with one of my tentacles, but grasp only empty air and dusk.

“Look at you.” Sarah snarls, her left eye burning with an neon-green light. “All that cosmic power...and you’re just a dime-a-dozen fascist pig.”

Her power surges forth. Washes over me. Twists and warps my form like clay. My tentacles dissolve; Macintosh Crate falls free from my grasp.

I return to my first shape: a tall, proud demon with tusks, dressed in a nice pinstripe suit.

I briefly rejoice: my eye is back! I can see clearly again!

Then am I blinded once more by blasts of hellfire that explode across the bridge of my snout, and flying daggers that tear across my brow and cast blood into my eyes.

I fall backwards, slumping against the theater’s bullet-riddled silver screen. I wipe the cinders and blood from my eyes and see Fausta and her daughter Fortuna floating over me.

The demoness flaps her wings in slow, leisurely beasts, hugging her daughter to her chest with one arm. Smoke pours from the long barrel of Fausta’s twisted iron pistol and trickles form the tips of Fortuna’s tiny fingers.

Mother and daughter both share the same cold look in their eyes, a glimmer of cold anger…and contempt.

Below that pair, my accused little guardian rises slowly to his feet, swaying like a drunkard as enchanted daggers flock over his head.

“You look surprised, Mr. K,” Diesel says, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hadn’t. “Did you think I was running on fumes?”

...

Did he just make a pun based on his name?

Fortuna hurls another ball of hellfire at me. Fausta shoots her gun from the hip. Both blasts nail me right between the brow.

As I raise my hands to shield my brow, Felix rushes forward and swings his sword of junk metal and nanotech. “Give”—he opens my belly like a fish, parting the fat and stomach lining beneath—“me my son!”

He rams a chrome arm into my belly. He grasps. He pulls Grobach the Ogre out of my gullet, drawing the changeling child out in a twisted parody of birth.

Grobach lands on top of Felix, pinning his foster father to the ground. Ichor and sizzling stomach acid splatter over the antique theater, ruining what little furnishings were left untouched by our battle.

“I’ve got you....” Felix wheezes, trying to wriggle out from beneath the Ogre’s bulk. “I’ve got you, kid...”

Daggers swoop through the air, splitting and circling around each other like flocks of birds. Dieselnoi Worawoot leaps over Felix and Grobach, hopping from dagger to dagger like a child crossing stepping stones in a river.

With one last jump, he closes the gap between us and slams his open hand against my heart.

Magic gushes from Diesel like wine from a bottle, an enchantment that wriggles its way inside of me.

This is...

No!

Diesel falls out of the air and lands face first on Grobach’s fluid-stained back.

“Oof!” Felix groans as the wind is knocked out of him.

Diesel looks up, raises a finger, and points at me.

Ice-cold fangs sink into my arms and legs, a bitter frost that spreads along my muscles and nerves.

Diesel’s...Diesel’s guru. The machine magician...

I watch, horrified, as my arm rises up without my input.

He cast a spell on Diesel...

My arm snakes beneath the brim of the porkpie hat on my head, vanishing into the infinite depths of my prison.

...a spell that allowed Diesel to move his body around...

My other arm rises, tugged up by invisible strings.

...like a puppet.

“Do you think you have won?” I scream, struggling desperately against the flesh that has betrayed me. I feel my spine, ribs, and femurs twist beneath my skin, as Diesel orders my body to climb back into the hat. “This is just a single battle! A minor triumph! One day all the shackles you’ve placed on me will rust away. And on that day of freedom when I drag you all down to my hell, I shall laugh!”

Only my shoulders and head remain, poking out of the stretched brim of the Demon-Sealing Hat.

Lynn walks over to Sarah and helps her to her feet. Fausta and Fortuna stares up at me as I vanish, holding each other’s hands with a white-knuckled grip.

“Do you hear me?” I ask as my head is sucked back into the hat brim. “I will laugh! Ha! Ha—”

Dieselnoi extends his middle finger.

Against my will, my jaw snaps shut hard enough to chip one of my tusks.

And then I am falling...falling deep into the darkness, back into the bars of my accursed, shapeless prison.

The sounds of battle fall away, leaving only the soft sound of wind blowing through the hole in the theater wall and stirring the charred velvet curtains.

Theo picks themselves up from the ground and brushes their shirt clean. They looks around at the ruined theater, the wreckage of their livelihood, and nod calmly.

“This too shall pass,” they say, and close their eyes.

When they open them again, Theo’s golden pupils have been replaced by the bright blue orbs of Macintosh Crate.

“Ow,” they whimper, sinking to their knees and hugging themselves around the ribs. “Ow-ow-ow…”

Sarah rushes over to Mac’s sides and wraps an arm around their shoulders. “I got you,” she says. She hesitates. “I’ve got both of you,” she adds.

Mac flinches under Sarah’s touch, then relaxes. They look over her shoulders at the shattered mess his main theater has become.

“Doing the right thing sucks,” they whisper.

“It does sometimes,” Sarah agrees.

“I’m done helping people in danger,” Mac says, a touch of bitterness in their voice.

Sarah’s smile is sad and proud. “Somehow I doubt that,” she says.

The Demon-Sealing Hat floats down from on high like a windswept leaf.

You snatch it out the air, and slide it back onto your head.

“Case closed,” you say, grinning slyly at your associates.

Silence.

"Ow," you go on to say, falling to your knees. "Ow, ow, ow." As the endorphin rush fades, your impressive collection of bruises, sprains, cuts, and stab wounds make themselves known with renewed fervor.

"Mr. Worawoot!" Lynn says, looking up from his unconscious Ogre-child. "Are you okay?"

"Not worse than Mac...I think," you tell him from between clenched teeth. "Right," you say to yourself. "No more zombie enchantment to hold me up." You feel a wet patch on your back, something that’s making your shirt cling to your skin. "Sarah," you say. "Is my back bleeding?"

Sarah walks over and takes a look. "A little?" She says. "I don’t think you’re going to bleed out..." She glances towards Mandrake Kayne, who’s currently lying prone on his side. "The hunter looks a lot worse off," she observes.

"Good," you say, indulging in vindictiveness for a brief moment.

Sarah leans in close, her antlers brushing against the side of your hat.

"The Alder’s not going to like it when she hears that Kayne’s alive," she whispers into your ear. "She’s going to take matters into her own hands unless you figure something out."

"I’ve got it handled," you whisper back.

Sarah pats your shoulder once, then grips your arm and helps you to your feet.

"So," you say to Mr. Lynn. "Now that the case is closed, how about setting a time to talk payment plans?"

You hear a loud groan. Grobach, the changeling Ogre, stirs in Felix’s lap.

Felix goes still as a post. “Hold that thought, Mr. Worawoot,” he says, voice calm, composed—even a little grim. “The case isn’t closed just yet.”

Next Chapter: Episode Twenty-Nine: Fathered Sins (Revised)