“It always comes back to Lyssav: even in my last moments, I am writing about the one that will exist when I do not. I have been reading testimonies of people devoid of pain, on how their lives are rendered nightmarish by it. The sufferers of this congenital pain insensitivity often lose their eyes to foreign objects, bite off the tip of their tongues, or get severe burns and cuts on their hands without noticing. They arrive to a suffering so unique, so diametrically opposed to mine, that I cannot but marvel at it. It makes me wonder how many men, women, and children would have better lives if only we could trade a bit of our illnesses for a bit of someone else’s. A bit of osteoporosis for a bit of osteopetrosis, and suddenly we may have two less-sick people. Because what’s health, but an ideal average of all the little, contradictory afflictions of functional members of society?”

  —Musings of a Detractor, page 13

  The worm cleared the edge of the Mauling layer, reforming his humanoid shape once freed from the need to be a shapeless, adaptable blob to move. The light blinded him if only for a second, white and pristine, and soon the spirals, no, the helixes surfaced from the blur. They bent and wobbled, floating aimlessly, sometimes joined together, and sometimes separated such that it seemed that two particular springs would never meet again.

  One drifted by right above Dirofil’s head, and repositioning his eyes, he managed to make out the form of the shining dogs. Borzois, white and long-haired, each biting onto the tail of the next one. All dogs looked towards the same side, and they existed in triads. Three dogs looking in the same direction, their backs touching each other, introduced the fluffy tails of the next triad in their mouths, and bit into them, such that all borzois faced up-helix, and lived gazing at a single butt unless they were the few privileged ones at the head-end of the structure. With legs facing outwards and waving with grace as though their owners were swimming in the air, from afar the helixes looked like they had evenly-spaced pairs of frilled rings.

  “Even you honor my brother’s glory, sea,” Dirofil said, feeling another fraction of the world had begun to spin around The First Pictured.

  The Corship finally pushed though the last row of terriers and Kangals, the main window surfacing after the exploratory legs. Most of the crew had gone back to their refining duties or their chambers, tired of holding onto the floor of the bridge whilst the living vehicle bulldozed through the monotonous landscape. Seloma, The Captain and Lyssav remained there alone, and no word was pronounced when the light of the helixes bathed them like it did the brown mat of Dachshunds wiggling like earthworms over the mauling layer, a field that extended up to the horizon. Lyssav came out the hatch first, moving like lightning to stretch all of her appendages outsides, taking in the land where Chihuahuas grew in dachshund-dirt like carrots.

  “I swear this ocean is the result of mental illness. Dementia of some decayed, tired creators. Cute, in a twisted way.”

  Morbilliv followed, forehorn slanted upwards in a haughty display as he appraised the magical place revealed before them.

  “You have permission to eat each and every Chihuahua in sight, sister.”

  “Don’t grant me permissions I never needed. Besides,” She gestured with an upwards palm at the expanse before the trio, “This is quite pleasant to stare at. We have the weird RNA strands giving light, a bunch of lapdogs uncomfortably shoved between sausage ones. Far more welcoming than the darkness of the Bernese’s or the fragmented cloud of Collies underlying it.”

  “Sister, do you have an idea since how long ago we, the crew, are dealing with mutant Chihuahua infestations? There were times no tide passed without their blood drenching a corridor or room.” Morbilliv tilted Parvov’s head sideways, playing with the focus of his new eyes as he reconsidered his statement. “But this place is so calm. It only lacks a gentle breeze to be a worthy parody of one of those farms that populate our memories of the World before the World. Vegetation would be a welcome sight.”

  “I bet I could find a way to turn the chis to vegetables…” Lyssav muttered idly, waves coursing through her mouth, raising and lowering teeth in the usual distressing-to-look-at pattern.

  “Not that sort of vegetables,” The captain grunted, and then hopped off the Corship, his heavy feet sinking in the warm mass of snoring dachshunds. With two claws he pushed A curious leg of the ship away from his skull, caring not about the eye’s integrity: Babesi’s model was counted among the most resistant of them.

  After a short flight Lyssav dropped in front of him, a wreath of green metal adorning her head. “I meant literally. Plants were not much different from dogs, and if I can make alloys, I can make flesh with enough practice. Flesh of dogs, flesh of fruits.”

  “I don’t want to underestimate you, but not doing so means underestimating your capacity to overestimate yourself, Lyss.” He pushed past her and the began a leisurely stroll through the dachshund plains, side by side.

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  “You are too serious, Morbilliv. Look at this place!” She gestured with arms open like petals and her head turning on its own axis, like some demented owl. “It’s something I never dreamed about, not with my mind, and not with the mind of prey.”

  Morbilliv split his arms with a sudden movement, and from between his claws he extended four quintets of light threads. Lyssav stopped her crawl, and readied her twisted claws.

  “I detect no threats, warrior. That is, excepting your gesture.”

  “It’s not to fight, sister. Not all of us were born with wings.” Morbilliv’s ropes of soul grew longer and longer, and he lashed at the stagnant air once and twice as they extended. “And it’s my duty as the ship’s Captain to investigate the unknown.” He stared straight into the pitch black ring, safely ensconced around Lyssav’s tooth. “And possibly find the source of Dobermanns so we can emancipate from you if need be.”

  “I don’t mind helping the crew,” Lyssav said, a freaky smile streaked across her face. “All of you are of use to me in more ways than you can conceive.”

  Morbilliv’s higher arms described arches to the sides of the head he was in possession of. Launched forward and upwards, the tendrils managed to latch onto the waist of one of the dogs. Satisfied with the firm grasp achieved, Morbilliv reeled in, riding towards the Borzoi with vertiginous speed. This made him feel alive: a synonym of feeling wrong. The sight he enjoyed from his vantage point, as wondrous as it knew to be, had been stolen from Parvov. The material — the individuals — beneath his claws threatened to blind him, but even engulfed down by the light he could make out the Chihuahuas strewn across the Dachshund plain. And there was much sea still beyond the curtains of light, one he needed revealed to him. He hated the idea of abandoning the ship for a deep exploration, but in the worst case scenario —that being, him getting lost and Lyssav abandoning the crew— there were protocols in place. The Corship crew would still have Babesi and the Seventh Forged, two Originals, two high-energy cores to sustain the frantic rates of consumption the crew suffered in times of crisis.

  Pendulums of light, passing helixes to the sides of his head as he climbed deeper into the tangle of Borzois. The image of Lyssav lost in the shine, not even her outline breaking through the walls of glitter, as he dove deeper into the pure white world where gravity was the only thing giving him a trusty sense of direction amidst the chaos. In the heart of this blinding canvas only his psycholocation aided him traverse the spiraling terrain. Deeming the exploration fruitless, he let himself fall back down, not minding whenever a helix got in his way, battering him. It was still the fastest way down, and Parvov’s frame could take the punishment.

  He was supposed to land on a cushioned bed of dachshunds, and his lack of care made him notice the slab of black metal too late to avoid it. The impact bent several of his bones, hammered some of their surfaces flat, and rattled his whole being as his shaken core tried to make sense of what had happened.

  Lyssav laughed heartily, applauding her own resourcefulness. She barely drank the pain of Morbilliv in, just enough to get a taste. Oh, how she enjoyed pulling this silly prank. Before Empress-to-be, before Dirofil’s Rival, before a Devourer of Pain, she was a sister to the five originals that remained, and to the one whose soul had shattered in her absence.

  Morbilliv scrambled to Parvov’s feet, and didn’t bother setting the bent bones straight: he hobbled up to the close-eyed, laughing Lyssav, despite the abject fear she instilled in his core, despite the foul aura she exuded. And once he was in range, he channeled all of his will and a sizeable portion of his thoughtenergy into the swing. Parvov’s lower right hand surged forward in a potent uppercut, landing square on Lyssav’s lower face, impacting on the mass of her teeth, rattling them as the fingers gave in and the fist became a wreck of scrap metal. Even a tooth fragmented, it’s tip sent flying, describing circles with the sharp end, and landing lifeless but still pained onto a parcel of Dachshunds.

  Lyssav remained frozen, processing what had just happened for a second before she began to send each tooth back to their place, properly arranging the tangle of her jaw. Three cleft suns directed their rage at Morbilliv, who cradled Parvov’s broken hand with visible regret, but still held the murderous stare of his sister.

  “You have thought your last unless you explain yourself this very instant, Morbilliv. And hope your sorry excuse satisfies me.”

  And while a part of him screamed at his act of idiocy, it was another part of Morbilliv that took charge of his voicebox. “You damaged Parvov’s body. Intentionally.”

  Lyssav rose, towering over her defiant brother. Twenty-five long, twisted claws approached the impassible Captain of the Corship inchmeal. She shed her corrupted light all over Morbilliv, and it cascaded down Parvov’s battered body.

  Morbilliv closed his new eyes and dipped his head in acceptance of his impending fate. It was not the sea that would take him. Perhaps, he thought, the sea never ought to be his main concern. But a warrior stood proud by his principles, and Lyssav had insulted Parvov’s memory with her reckless prank. With a body that wasn’t his hurting all over, with the world engulfed by Lyssav’s noxious presence, he awaited a death that was taking too long to come.

  Lyssav’s inner turmoil held her back. Her ego had been insulted, her pain diminished when the tooth piece broke off. And yet the one in the wrong wasn’t the one before her. “You spent too much energy in a useless attack, and damaged Parvov’s hand in doing so. I deem that to be enough of a punishment,” she said, swallowing her anger, retreating and lowering her upper body. “Return to your ship, captain. Your body needs repairs.”

  Morbilliv gazed directly into the eyes of Lyssav. “I don’t want to mistake this for an act of mercy. Tell me, sister, are you holding yourself accountable?”

  “I strive to always do, Morbilliv. I may not understand the aversion to pain everyone else fosters, but to rule without accounting for it would be an atrocity. Eden crawls, and mine are the legs it uses to do so.” Lyssav turned around and began making her way back to the ship. Their little chat, as far as it concerned her, had concluded.

  Morbilliv wondered how many more times he would dodge death due to Parvov’s grace. In silence and with a pained limp he tailed his sister, idly contemplating her five-pronged stinger all the way back.