“How many?" I asked.

  “Far too many on highway 69. Seven in Ferguson valley," she replied. Her tail shifted behind her, a subtle movement that betrayed emotion her face refused to show. "Four that tried to breach the tunnel to town were obvious cases—distorted bodies, strange abilities, clearly not right. The others..." She exhaled slowly. "The others looked almost normal. But my senses could not be fooled."

  "And you're certain they were threats?"

  Her feathered crest rose slightly, a display of indignation. "One of them turned people and anything living into glass," she said. "Another secreted a substance that caused plants to grow eyes and scream. So yes, I'm certain.”

  Her feathers came up, shimmering as she let out a growl.

  “The four were a group that left a long trail of bodies behind them according to the ranger radio reports. They came to kill everyone in town. Their unnatural abilities didn’t save them from a gunshot to the head. They were strong, but slower than me.”

  I shuddered slightly.

  "The others were solitary travelers," Krysanthea continued, her claws tapping a rhythmic pattern against the worn Formica table. "Loners. Hunters. They tried to come through the mountain passes."

  Her amber eyes grew a bit distant, "I tracked them, studied their movements. Set traps. They never even made it to the valley proper."

  Another chill ran through me as I processed her words. There was no boasting in her tone, no pride—just the matter-of-fact delivery of someone describing routine tasks.

  "You hunted them," I said.

  "Yes." No hesitation, no apology. "Two died trying to cross the eastern ridge. The traps I set worked well." Her scaled hand closed into a fist, then relaxed deliberately. "The third... that one was different. More intelligent. More cautious. Almost made it through."

  "What happened?"

  "I happened." Her feathers rose slightly, then settled. "That's why I believed your dimensional gate story, by the way. There's simply no conventional way into Ferguson now. Every path is watched, every trail monitored. The hydroelectric station powers the town and I’ve got infrared and mundane cameras and wildlife sensors pointed everywhere, volunteers watching the passes 24/7.”

  "How do you know they were threats?" I asked. "The ones who looked normal?"

  "I know corruption when I sense it," she replied, her voice hardening. "Had lots of practice at such. The wrongness has a... signature. A scent that doesn't belong in this world." She leaned forward, staring at me. "That's why you puzzle me, Alec. You don't carry that scent. You should, given what you are, but you don't."

  "Meaning maybe 'Systenfall wrongness' isn't a binary state," I suggested. "Maybe there's a spectrum…”

  “Maybe,” she clicked. “You’re the first System-changed person that’s not an insane murderer.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I’m a raptor and trained ranger, Alec. I can smell not just Systemfall wrongness but… blood, rot, death. If a human or a prad kills someone, I can absolutely tell. You didn’t kill anyone. If you had, I would have taken you out already. Those seven smelled of wrongness, blood, death and decay a mile away.”

  I noticed a pair of fluffy ears wiggling our way, barely visible through the slightly grimy round door window. Nessy was listening in.

  "So Ferguson is safe?"

  "Safe-ish," she sighed. "There's still occasional flying bullshit trying to snack on people. Had to put down a dragon woven from moldy fabric and book pages a few days ago that decided to make a nest in one of the taller birches."

  "How are people handling it?" I asked. "Living under constant threat, isolated from the outside world?"

  Krysanthea's gaze drifted to the window, to the scattered pieces of my grandfather's life lying in organized chaos outside. "Better than you might expect. Humans are remarkably adaptable. Pradavarians even more so." Her scaled fingers drummed once on the table. "We've always lived with the knowledge that we exist at nature's mercy with the occasional avalanches that bury snowboarders and hikers, or forest fires. This is just... a new kind of nature to understand and to prepare for."

  A moment stretched between us—not quite a connection, but perhaps the beginning of understanding.

  "You should know," she said suddenly, her voice dropping lower, "that I can't guarantee your safety indefinitely. If your condition changes, if you begin showing signs of corruption or causing harm… I will have to kill you, Alec.”

  "I understand."

  "Do you?" Her feathers rose slightly. "Because the dog out there clearly doesn't. She looks at you like you're her salvation, not a potential threat that could unravel everything I am trying to preserve."

  I considered Nessy, her unwavering loyalty, her absolute certainty in me despite everything. "She sees what she needs to see."

  "And what do you see when you look at yourself, Alec?" Krysanthea asked. "A victim? A miracle? A monster?"

  The question caught me off-guard, forcing me to confront something I'd been avoiding since my rebirth in that filthy bathtub. What was I? Not quite human, not quite dead, existing in some undefinable space between categories.

  "I don't know," I answered honestly. "I do know that I don’t want to kill people. I definitely don’t consider myself hungry for power or irrational.”

  “Come here,” she ordered. “Sit across from me and give me your hand.”

  I did. She grabbed my hand once again, thumb on my pulse.

  “Have you killed anyone?”

  “I killed a conceptoid monster,” I said. “It was shaped human-ish, but was made from wrongness and silver worms.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes. This is only my 3rd day after waking up in a new, insane world after being reborn from a bathtub soup.”

  “Will you obey Ferguson law, protect the town if asked to do so?”

  “Yes.”

  She relaxed visibly.

  "Why do you want to stay in Ferguson?" she asked.

  I considered my answer, watching motes dance in the shaft of light between us. "I don't have anywhere else to go," I admitted. "My world got fucked by Sytemfall. The little town of pradavarians that Nessy dragged me into is… strange, alien and complicated, but… This place—" I gestured around at my grandfather's preserved possessions, "—at least feels familiar. Exactly like my childhood home in every single derail."

  “Prove it,” Kristi said.

  I considered her words.

  “See that kitchen shelf?” I pointed. “When I was sixteen I was hella bored, so I unscrewed it and sketched out and carved an elk on the back of it.”

  Kristi let go of me, stood up and opened the shelf. The carving of the elk was there.

  “There you go,” I smiled. “See? It's strange how many parallels there are.”

  “Hum,” she said, staring at it then at me.

  Then she sat back down. “What do you think of Nessy?”

  "She found me, protected me and got me here. She’s loyal, if slightly overbearing at times.”

  "Loyalty can be dangerous when misplaced," the raptor-girl said, her voice carrying a warning. "Especially blind loyalty."

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  "Is that what you think she has?"

  "I think," Krysanthea replied, "that she loves the idea of Alec more than the reality. She's built Alec into something beyond human—her perfect packmate, her purpose, her… unhealthy obsession. And now that he’s gone, she’s focused this obsession on you.”

  I saw the ears behind the door flatten slightly.

  “And you?” I asked.

  “I’m pragmatic,” she said. “My Alec is most likely dead, either from the cartel or from Systemfall bullshit. If you’re just like him for the most part, then you’re going to have to do.”

  “To do… what?” I asked.

  “To assist me in securing the town,” she answered a bit too quickly. “I’m deputizing you to help me kill Systemfall abominations.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “You can’t die,” she pointed out.

  “I can get hurt to the point where I won’t be able to move,” I said. “If I don’t eat sandwiches from the glass tree. Sandwiches that are out by the way.”

  “Figure out how to grow more,” she said. “Then you’ll make a perfect tank.”

  “Why do you need a tank?” I asked.

  “You know the Birchwood cave system, yes?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “I used to explore it when I was young.”

  “Things are coming out of it.”

  “Things?”

  “Wrong things. Slimes. They come out of the tourist tunnel like clockwork at 11:11 AM. More every week. I used explosives to bury the tunnel, but they managed to dissolve the rocks away and are back to being a thorn in my side. Their bodies can melt rubble and people at about the same rate.

  I winced.

  “Verrrry slowly. Layer by layer. A normal person or pred would not be able to recover once their skin or scales melt off or once their fingers are dissolved away. You on the other hand…” She waved a hand in the air.

  “So,” I said. “You want me to kill slimes?”

  “Help me clear Birchwood of its Systemfall infestation and then the town will absolutely be on your side,” she nodded.

  [Quest: [Of Monster Slayer Krysanthea Liss Strand] : Clear the Birchwood Dungeon of its acidic slime infestation. Help Slayer Krysanthea protect Ferguson and earn the town's trust.]

  My eyes grew wide as I read the text.

  “What?” I heard Nessy bark from behind the door. She must have received the quest notice too.

  "What just happened?" Krysanthea demanded, her amber eyes narrowing. "Your pupils dilated and moved left and right as if you’re reading something… and you both seem to be reacting to something I can’t sense or see."

  "I... received a quest," I said, the words sounding absurd even as they left my mouth.

  "A quest," she repeated flatly. "Like in a video game?"

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  Her hand shot out to grab my pulse. “Explain.”

  I told her of the nameless city, of the Archmage of Mini-Mart who gave us a quest to grow a magic tree, of the mall filled with crazy bullshit of bulbees summoned by positive vibes and of conceptual friendship between me and Nessy and of the Echo-ghosts in the Celestorm. Then I explained what the new quest stated.

  “So,” Krysanthea chewed on her bottom lip. "A man... in a tinfoil hat... with eye drawings... gave you instructions that the System turned into a quest," she repeated slowly, each word measured as if testing their sanity. "And now I've accidentally done the same. The System... just gave you an objective? Based on our conversation? And it tagged me as a ‘Monster Slayer’?"

  "Yes."

  "And the dog saw it too?" Her gaze flicked to the door where Nessy's ear silhouette was still visible.

  "Yes!" Nessy called from outside, abandoning all pretense of not eavesdropping. "I got the same message! We’re an adventurer pack! Second Quest, wooo! Kinda annoyed that the lime scaly chicken butt gave it, but whatever.”

  “Slayer give me strength,” Krysanthea released my wrist, leaning back against the worn vinyl of the Airstream's booth. Her expression shifted through several emotions settling on weary and disturbed.

  "This changes things," she said, almost to herself. "If the System is directly interfacing with you, giving you... directives..." She tapped her claws rhythmically against the table once again. "Can you reject these quests?"

  "I don't know," I admitted.

  “And the city you went to university at… now has no name,” she said. “Huh? Shit!” Her yellow-orange eyes went wide for a second. “How did I not notice something like that vanishing from my head? Nazareth, how the fuck do I defend the valley from something that can just eat a particular memory out of everyone’s heads everywhere?”

  I shrugged.

  Nessy burst into the door, clearly unable to stay outside any longer. “Quest high-five!”

  I slapped her offered pink-pad hand.

  “Yeah, emerald-birb, in yo face,” she stuck a tongue out at Kristi sliding onto the seat next to me and wrapping herself around me. “We Quest together. Try n’ beat that.”

  Kristi’s eye twitched.

  “Ha, jelly of my Quest-packmate?” Nessy laughed. “Thought you would be. That’s right. Stew in your feathers. I win! I finally beat you at something after all these years! Suuuucka!”

  Watching Krysanthea struggle to maintain her composure was like witnessing a carefully constructed dam beginning to crack. Her scaled, dark claw-tipped fingers opened and closed rhythmically. The glare she directed at Nessy carried the full weight of reptilian indignation, amber eyes narrowing before catching my gaze and attempting to reset to neutral professionalism.

  It didn't work. Her feathers betrayed her, fluttering with waves of agitation despite her obvious efforts to appear unaffected by her loss.

  "I'm glad you find this amusing, dog," she finally said, her voice carrying the carefully measured tone of someone counting to ten or maybe even twenty five internally. "While you celebrate your… quest partnership, I'll focus on the actual task of keeping this town safe from abominations that melt flesh from bone."

  Nessy's triumphant grin didn't fade. If anything, it widened, her canines flashing. Her arm remained firmly wrapped around my shoulders, a physical declaration of territory that wasn't subtle in the slightest.

  "Sounds like that's exactly what our quest is about," she replied cheerfully. "So I guess we'll be working together after all, Scaley. Try not to be too disappointed when we beat that dungeon and our bond deepens beyond what you’ve ever achieved."

  I gave Nessy a look that implied ‘please stop antagonizing the local authority figure’.

  ‘Don’t care, let me have this victory! She’s beaten, she’s finally beaten! Look at her, she’s going to explode and cry! Ha ha ha.’ She replied without words, blue eyes striking mine.

  Krysanthea's tail swished once against the floor, the noise sharp in the confined space. "Your 'packmate' simply happens to possess a useful ability..."

  "Uh-huh," Nessy hummed skeptically, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Keep telling yourself that."

  I cleared my throat. "So, these slimes. How many are we talking about? And what weapons are effective against them?"

  The redirection worked, drawing Krysanthea back to her element. Her posture straightened, professional purpose replacing petty irritation.

  "The colony grows each day," she explained, her clawed hand sketching invisible patterns on the table as she spoke. "They're acidic—standard firearms are relatively ineffective since bullets passing through them don't disrupt their structural integrity substantially."

  "So what works?" I asked.

  “Trapping them in a garbage can and throwing them into lake water from above. Once they absorb enough water, they become weak enough to cut through.”

  “Doesn’t sound very effective,” I said.

  “It’s not,” the raptor sighed. “I’m running out of garbage cans on the account that they’re getting better at eating through metal. Their gradual adaptation rate is concerning. What worked yesterday might fail tomorrow."

  "Kinda like the nippers," Nessy mused. "Calvin said they were evolving too."

  I nodded, recalling the strange metallic creatures that had swarmed us in the parking lot. "The System seems to favor adaptive enemies."

  "The System," Krysanthea repeated with a look of a frustrated badger. "An entity capable of rewriting reality, altering memories, creating life forms that defy natural law... and apparently, it wants you to run errands for it."

  “If I weren't living it, I'd consider the entire scenario a fever dream, yep,” I agreed.

  "The tow truck should arrive soon," Krysanthea said, abruptly standing up and once again drawing my eyes to her shiny, scaled abs. “I’ll go wait outside for the driver.”

  She departed, vanishing behind the door.

  “Aww yuss,” Nessy licked me.

  I sighed.

  "No sigh-ery! Did you see her face?" she whispered conspiratorially, her muzzle close to my ear. "So salty she could season a steak!"

  "You really shouldn't antagonize her," I said. "She could still decide we're too dangerous to keep around."

  "Nah," Nessy dismissed the concern with casual confidence. "She needs you now. Needs us. The quest sealed it." Her blue eyes sparkled with an almost childlike delight. "We're in adventuring business, Alec! With magic sandwiches and system powers! How cool is that?"

  “Very cool,” I deadpanned.

  “Nu. Stop being a cat-loaf, Aleeeeec,” she whined.

  “I’m going to be a loaf,” I said. “Because you’re not thinking ahead.”

  “‘Bout what?”

  “From what I’m observing, Krysanthea is incredibly competitive,” I said.

  “She is,” Nessy agreed.

  “And you basically just annoyed the shit out of her,” I said.

  “Eh, what’s she gonna do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “You tell me. I don’t know her that well. What’d she do before?”

  “...”

  “Go on.”

  “She… stole my Alec. She saw something awesome that I had and took it from me just because she wanted to beat me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  "You think she'll try to take you from me too? She can't... I won't let her!”

  "I don't think it's about 'letting' her do anything," I said. "This isn't a competition."

  But even as I said it, I knew that wasn't entirely true. The tension between Nessy and Krysanthea was palpable, electric—two apex predators circling the same territory. And somehow, I had become the territory or perhaps… prey.

  Suddenly I wasn’t as jealous of the local Alec.

  Did he leave Ferguson to get away from… two prad girls obsessively fighting over him?

  Nessy's tail had stopped its triumphant wagging, now hanging limp behind her. "I'm sorry," she said, ears drooping further. "I just... when I saw her face, when I finally had something she didn't... I couldn't help myself. You… like me more, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Yay!” She wrapped me in a fuzzy, warm embrace. “Then there’s nothing at all to worry about! Nope. Nothing at all!”

  Somehow her words only managed to intensify my concerns.

  Beware of Kittens!

  Romantically Apocalyptic discord