”It’s turning out pretty good, isn’t it?”
From a hill amid the sea of grass, the ’Javelinist’ watched the hundreds of vehicles that came and went from the once-deserted Developing Area, delivering thousands of sacks of concrete to the hundreds of workers busy laying the foundation of the Miraval Cultural Hub. ”It’ll take a while, surely, but in a couple of weeks, the workers’ needs will provide Class F students with a proper road and a bus service directly to our dormitory, and we won’t have to endure those 30-minute walks every single morning anymore—exactly as I planned!” He couldn’t have been prouder of himself, especially since the final project also included the installation of a pipeline that could be easily diverted to supply their dormitory with the light and heating needed for the incoming Imperfect Winter. ”Also, I’m sure they’ll be willing to trade some of the leftover construction materials to give our hovel a much-needed makeover.” Jacques had big plans—renovate the façade, fence off the backyard, and fix that horrendous bathroom. ”But now, there’s a more important matter, one that only I can fix—THE MOLD!”
He entered the ruined building with a kick to the rotting wooden door, only to be greeted by his mortal enemies, who, during his absence, had expanded the Mold Kingdom’s dominion, spreading from the ceiling to both walls—each patch of mold was lined by a glowing green halo, resembling millions of tiny eyes now fixed on the ’Javelinist.’
Despite all, still no smell…
Jacques couldn’t fully explain the many reasons behind his unease, but he had to agree with the Naturians that while our eyes may deceive us, our noses never lie when it comes to the uncanny valley—all those emerald eyes followed him as he ascended the stairs.
Once on the second floor, the young man was spared from the horrific sight as ivy had infiltrated the building through the many holes in the walls, wallpapering the entire corridor from ceiling to floor. However, this natural shield against the mold came at a cost—the ivy had hidden the many holes in the floor beneath a lush carpet of leaves, where a single misstep could result in an unpleasant dive to the floor below.
To solve this problem, Jacques, Casimir, and Derserk came up with a creative solution—painting a safe trail over the leaves, and the ’Gravedigger’ had volunteered to do the job. Trusting his friend, the ’Javelinist’ carefully followed the red path, walking with arms outstretched like an acrobat balancing on a tightrope. ”Ok, almost don—ACK!” Midway through the corridor, he felt a soft spot under his right foot, the rotten wood cracking under his weight. Nevertheless, despite his pitiful [PER = 010] and [DEX = 010], Jacques’s reflexes kicked in just in time, twisting his body away and landing hard on his butt—narrowly avoiding getting stuck in the hole.
”Holy shit, Jellyserk—YOU HAD ONE FUCKING JOB!” The ’Javelinist’ screamed, cursing the endless negligence of his friend. The cyanide cookies Derserk had served him that morning. The propane tanks that Derserk stacked right outside his door. The Tyrannosaurus Rex Derserk had resurrected only to lose control of it immediately after. ”I love you, bro, but it’s the twelfth time in less than five days you’ve nearly gotten me killed. You need to fix your damn carelessness!” While swearing on all fours, Jacques’s eyes widened as a scorpion the size of a rabbit crawled up from the shadows of the hole he had just formed. ”That’s rare!” It sported three long tails and thirty-six tiny red eyes circling a larger, central one that seemed to peek directly at Jacques’s hollow soul. ”What are you doing here, you little cutie?” He leaned in, trying to touch the creature with a finger, only to yank it back instantly as one of its three glowing-violet stingers lashed at a terrifying speed.
Despite not being as legendary as the Bluegale, the scorpion had found its way into nearly every adventure novel set in Lawfullia. However, its original name was far too difficult for most Chaotians to pronounce, so authors got creative, choosing as a translation the title of the most famous story about the beast at the time—The Hakka’s Curse. While Lawfullians revered the arachnid as a symbol rich in religious and philosophical meaning, the Holy Rolandish Empire took a far more utilitarian view, far more interested in its three hooked tails, which carried the deadliest venom ever discovered—The Hakka’s Liquid Death. A toxin so potent that even most Essentias couldn’t withstand it—under no circumstances could a Class F survive its sting.
”Strange…I thought they were the exclusive property of the Hakka Family, whose poison is a vital asset guarded without regard for expense.” Jacques shrugged as he pulled a cookie jar from his [Inventory], luring the scorpion in before quickly sealing the lid. ”It might come in handy later on,” he declared, eyeing the creature futilely lash its stingers against the glass walls of its prison.
After the little incident, Jacques encountered no further obstacles on his journey home. However, with each step, more and more black spots appeared on the walls—a spreading infection—and by the time he reached what used to be his door, it was no longer wood, but a solid black mass. ”Why just my door?!” He angrily complained because Casimir’s had only a couple of small mold patches, and Derserk’s was completely untouched. Frustrated, he violently kicked the door only to watch it disintegrate on impact, turning into a cloud of black dust that retreated inward, vanishing into the depths of the new capital of the Mold Kingdom.
Once inside, a grotesque sight shattered what little patience the ’Javelinist’ had left after a long day hawking overpriced goods to spoiled nobles. The walls, ceiling, floor, closet, bed, every surface in the room was now covered in tiny black dots, uniform in size, as if the entire space was affected by a virulent case of chickenpox. “Mamma mia!” Jacques’ brain short-circuited, unable to figure out where to even begin removing the sesame seeds from his bread. “Well, if you don’t start, you’ll never finish…i guess…” After taking a deep breath, he stepped inside and stopped at the center. Here, he looked up and noticed that the mold spots were arranged in a circular pattern. Perpendicular to him, the mold formed a small circle on the ceiling, enclosed by a larger one, which was then enclosed by an even larger one, a series of concentric rings expanding outward until the midpoint of the room. Then, the circles began to shrink again, and beneath Jacques’s feet was a spot as small as the one above him—he was standing inside a sphere of mold.
”Join us! Join us! Join us!” A hollow echo resounded through the room from an unknown direction, sending a chill down Jacques’s spine. ”You are not the first, and you won’t be the last. In the end, everyone is doomed to become part of me—JOIN US!” The upper half of the mold circle began to move clockwise, while the bottom half spun counterclockwise, staining the room with black stripes.
”Who am I? Your new best friend, and we’re going to enjoy our time together—forever.” The mold rings began to shift, spinning faster and faster until each one fractured into three thinner lines—one remained fixed horizontally, while the other two twisted diagonally in opposite directions, and steadily, a grid formed across the surface of the mold sphere. ”I live in your walls, feed off your dreams, and know everything about you—Mr. Di Mario.” The lines of each grid square began to distort—curving, bending, merging—until they formed successions of equal geometric figures across every section between the mold rings. Each figure lasted only an instant before dissolving, replaced by more intricate objects, creating something that remembered an Aramashy tapestry, or mandala of the Thetacracy. However, there was a huge difference in the piece of art now trapping the ’Javelinist.’ It wasn’t made to be marveled at, but to break its admirer with fear—until his terrified expression became the true masterpiece.
”Resisting is useless. Join us! Join us! Join us!” Then, each mold speck detached from the sphere and spiraled inward, converging on a single black mass over the wall that reshaped itself into the silhouette of a human figure. ”La-la-la—Who’s a dead man walking?—La-la-la.” The shape took on the form of a body half the size of Jacques, long and tousled hair with dozens of wild strands, and three half-moon-shaped voids in the middle of the Mold’s face to simulate a pair of eyes and a mouth—the whole thing resembled the shadow of a little girl smiling mischievously at him. ”Who? Who? Who?” The silhouette began to dance, leaping and pirouetting across the surface like a ballerina. ”YOU! YOU! YOU!” Her voice was unnatural, a haunting mix of a Hydro static and the pristine tone of an altar boy.
”Wait a minute.” The ’Javelinist’ raised his palms, frowning at the Eldritch Abomination. ”Are you telling me you’ve been living on my PRIVATE PROPERTY for FREE?! While I break MY BACK every single day to pay the RENT?!” With a swift motion, Jacques pulled off his Basilisk-Leather Overcoat, revealing four holsters strapped to his torso. From two of them, he drew a pair of Tigresses, each equipped on the top with a glass cylinder filled with glowing golden liquid. ”You’re dead—fucking SQUATTER!”
”A Waterbow? You want to kill me with a children’s toy? Hihihi! You’re so fun—” Her mockery was cut short as Jacques pulled the trigger, ejecting the golden liquid at the speed of sound and striking the mold’s hair. ”What…impossible…” Upon contact, the mold, the wall’s bricks, and even her smugness began to melt.
”Yesterday, I took a walk on Ranch Island to see if I could rent a griffin for free, but sadly, they’re all genetically archived in a Databank. Still, I wasn’t about to return empty-handed, so I crawled for hours through a sewer filled with things far more disgusting than you just to reach the stables’ underground.” He raised his weapons again, beaming at her. ”I walked away with thirty-seven thousand Marini worth of Griffin Urine—so enjoy it, you jobless parasite!” Jacques rolled to the side, firing both Waterbows as he fell.
The silhouette twisted and shrank to evade the shots, retaliating by ripping pieces of herself from the wall and throwing mold bolts at the ’Javelinist,’ who dodged what he could and shot the rest mid-air, emptying both pistols. Without wasting a second, he holstered the empty weapons and drew his second pair just in time to meet the next mold barrage. However, after only a few waves, that pair ran dry as well.
”Hihihi! Out of ammo already?” The Eldritch Abomination jeered, her giggle buzzing like a corrupted lullaby as Jacques calmly holstered the second pair of Waterbows. ”I’m still willing to forgive you.” She sneered. ”Become my toy, and I won’t make you my food. All you have to do is bend the kne—” Before she could finish, Jacques whipped out the first pair again—now overflowing with golden liquid—silencing the Mold with a golden shower.
”These four holsters are directly connected to the demijohn inside my [Inventory].” His smirk widened. ”Hence, these babies never run out of urine—[StealthJavelin]!” An ethereal javelin, made entirely of compressed fog, materialized in his hand before striking the ground and swallowing the entire room in a mist.
”Where are you?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” The Mold shrieked, her voice adulterated with the terror of the unknown. She could no longer see the walls, the floor, or Jacques—it was as if reality itself had vanished around her.
”And now, Miss Squatter…” Jacques’s voice came from nowhere and everywhere. ”…time to die!”
*BANG!*
***
“Derserk, do you smell that strange odor too?” The ’Scarecrow’ asked, and the ’Gravedigger’ nodded, confirming he wasn’t just imagining things.
Their shift at the Blue Bird Experience had ended less than an hour ago, just as an exhausted Mr. Frizt and Safiye returned to announce a week-long closure of the café due to the panic generated by the Emperor’s speech. However, instead of enjoying their paid holiday, the two young men rushed up the stairs, finding yellow smoke seeping out from Jacques’s room. Without hesitation, they rushed inside to check on their teammate.
“Jacques…you’re…alive,” Derserk bitterly muttered, seeing him standing in the middle of the room.
“I did it, bros! NO MORE MOLD!” Jacques proclaimed proudly, and he wasn’t lying—there wasn’t a single spot of mold left in the room. Unfortunately, the furniture, walls, ceiling, and floor were gone too, all completely dissolved by acid. “I DID IT! I DID IT! I D—ACK!” Jacques jumped in celebration, but the few remaining rotten wooden planks couldn’t hold his weight, and with a crack, followed by a crash, he fell straight into the bathroom on the floor below.
His teammates rushed down to find him sprawled in the remains of the shower. “Jacques, are you okay?” Casimir asked, helping him to rise.
“Don’t worry,” Jacques wheezed. “Every war requires sacrifice, and if burning my homeland to the ground is what it takes to erase that self-complacent smile off my enemy’s face, then it’s a price I’m willing to pay. And if that’s not enough, well…the entire world too.” The ’Scarecrow’ and the ’Gravedigger’ exchanged an awkward glance.
“Yeah…everything you say,” Derserk muttered. “But first, we need to find you somewhere to sleep.” However, the ’Javelinist’ didn’t answer, his attention caught by something far more interesting—the broken shower. Beneath its shattered tiles lay---
a trapdoor.
