The Land of Broken Roads

“Break ranks and cut them down!” shouted the Duke, his voice carrying through the eerie silence despite being muffled by his helmet. The band of armored men split up like a disturbed ant’s nest and slaughtered with reckless ferocity. The goblins gave no resistance, not even cries of pain as they were hacked apart.

The ripple in the air widened and grew denser, taking on a white fog-like quality. Socks stepped back, his body lowered and fearful, hackles raising. With so many goblins, Dirt found he could differentiate them from the minds of the men across the way, and Socks’ mind glowed like the sun. Their minds were silent, as if asleep, even though they were standing and looked alert. The mind in the ripple in the air was the same as before, simply watching, incomplete or damaged in a way that caused a deep sense of wrongness. Its thoughtless gaze was fixed on Dirt and Socks just as the goblins’ were, but neither of them could see anything in it that might be controlling the army.

“Should we hit it?” asked Dirt.

-I don’t want to get close enough to until we know what it is.-

Dirt stepped closer to Socks and stood just inside his front leg, since there was nowhere safer for him to stand. The Duke’s men were killing goblins as fast as they could swing their weapons but there were so many still remaining, it was hard to tell if they had made much difference yet.

The Duke caught Socks’ gaze and reconsidered, calling out, “Don’t split up too far! Be ready to resume formation! Be ready, men!” It seemed he, Socks, and Dirt all had the same thought at the same time. There was a trick here, and splitting everyone up might be part of it.

Overhead, the pale, translucent blur grew increasingly solid until it became a line, solidifying until it cast a shadow on the bloody mud below. It moved forward in the air until it hovered right above them, perhaps only twice the height of the wall. Dirt could have jumped up and hit it if he wanted, easy. Too close. Socks kept flinching as he debated running away.

The line lengthened until it was twice as long as the pup, at which point it stopped moving at all. Its thoughts remained static, just observing, but there were such obvious gaps that Dirt was sure it was thinking somewhere, just like the tentacle monster had. It simply wasn’t using its mind to do its thinking.

A crack appeared in the blurry white that ran from end to end and widened like an opening eye. It was an opening eye, appearing in midair like something peering in from the void beyond all things. Its colors were inverted, with black where the white part should have been and a blood-red iris that moved only slowly as it regarded them below.

Socks and Dirt stood in open horror. That eye looked bigger than even Father’s, if it belonged on a creature proportionate to it in size. Surely it couldn’t.

A single tear of watery, black fluid pooled on the lens, the lowest point, and dripped down. Socks jumped away, pulling Dirt with him.

A high-pitched screech erupted from the ground where the liquid splashed, sounding almost—but not quite—like screaming voices. Shimmering threads of blackness in the shape of flames swirled over the spot, causing neither heat nor light, but instead radiating a sickly feeling of wrongness that made Dirt squirm deep in his soul.

The eye turned to find them again, and once it did, it moved in their direction, gliding silently.

Dirt pulled his knife from its sheath and tossed it out in front of Socks’ face. The pup grabbed it with his mind and threw it faster than vision could follow. It made a faint thumping sound as it pierced the eye right in the lens, and clear, watery liquid gushed from the hole it made.

But instead of splashing, the liquid clumped together and heaped up into a pile. The liquid poured out faster as the puncture tore further open until the eye hung empty in the air, sagging like an empty sack.

Dirt and Socks looked at each other, wondering if that was it. The incomplete mind of the watcher was gone now, but Dirt wasn’t exactly sure when that had happened, distracted as he was. Glancing over at the goblins, they remained as they had been—perfectly still, minds blank.

The Duke’s men had stopped cold to stare aghast at the black, deflated eye above the battlefield and the heap of clear muck below it. They shrank toward each other, backing up until they were almost in formation again.

“Now what?” thought Dirt.

-I don’t know. The other things are still coming from the hills. They will be here soon. I can see them with ghost sight.-

“Can you see the eye thing with ghost sight?”

-Yes, but not very well.- Socks sent an image of the eye above in stark black and white, but the details were strangely obscured, like something incompletely painted.

“Well, I guess we should kill goblins until those other things get here,” said Dirt, trying to push away the nagging sense of dread.

Socks crept over to the pile of liquid and sniffed it from a half a body-length away. He looked up into the deflated eye, and Dirt stepped out from under him to look up into it as well. The opening was only about as wide as his shoulders, and Dirt had expected it to be all dark inside but it wasn’t. There was faint light in there, multicolored as if from several sources, and something moved inside it.

The knife dropped from the hole and landed on the goo with a loud splat and slowly sank into it.

Socks startled, hopping off his front paws a little in surprise.

“What?” asked Dirt, sneaking back under him.

-I can’t grab the knife. I can’t reach into that stuff with my mind.-

“What? Really?”

-Don’t touch it. And don’t stick the Home-staff in there either. It isn’t normal.-

“Has that ever happened before?”

-Never.-

An arm thrust out of the hole in the deflated eye, as long as Dirt’s whole body, white and gray like the clouds. Socks leaped back, bringing Dirt with him.

A head followed, hairless and featureless, then the other arm and shoulders. The whole thing slid out like it was being birthed, falling into the pile of liquid. Once its fall was halted, it righted itself and slid out, rising to its feet.

Dirt thought it was a particularly tall human at first until he noticed it had no face. It turned its featureless white head to look at them, then stepped forward. Shaped mostly like a human male, the more Dirt saw of it, the more disturbingly wrong it was, from its three-toed feet and hands to the smooth flesh where its sex should have been. A long tail, thick as its thigh, slapped the pile of thick fluid and then whipped it off.

The goo evaporated, disappearing with surprising speed. Dirt whimpered when he recognized it—the same stuff he’d been coated in when he woke up. It had to be. He hadn’t thought about that stuff one single time until now, but he’d never forgotten it. He struggled to figure out precisely what it meant.

The creature stepped toward them, its steps slow but not unsure. It had a presence, so undeniable that Dirt thought he could feel it thickening the air. It reminded him of being near Socks’ parents, even if it felt nothing like theirs. Their presence was the very essence of predation, ferocious and unstoppable. This, on the other hand, was like being in front of the motion that pulled the moon across the sky.

“Hello?” Dirt squeaked out somehow. It didn’t reply, or really do much of anything except take another step. Socks matched it with a step back, hackles raised and a warning growl forming in his huge throat.

Its mind glowed with hardly any color at all, as if with light his mind’s eye couldn’t completely make out, but Dirt could see its thoughts, such as they were. They were not thoughts that had any reasoning behind them. Instead, it reminded him of the trees, of their senses and processes his mind couldn’t understand. This mind wasn’t completely inhuman, however, and some of it made sense—a heartbeat, muscles moving in regular motion, nerves carrying sensations. If it had any vision, Dirt couldn’t find it. It was like a mind inside out. All the unconscious things where its thinking should happen and its thinking hidden elsewhere.

It did not appear half-dead like the other monstrosities, but neither could Dirt confidently say it was alive. To him, it felt like something that was neither alive, dead, nor in between the two. It was a third thing.

Socks sent a mental image of violence and death, blood and claws and destruction as only a wolf in a frenzy could cause. He practically screamed it and the armored men quavered, all the way across the battlefield.

The white-cloud-colored creature paused at the threat, inclining its featureless head slightly. Dirt watched its mind for any reaction, but there was no thought there. Tightening of muscles, nerves delivering sensations in a way that robbed them of all meaning. Not earth beneath its feet or air moving against its hairless skin, but mere pressure.

It turned and bent down to pick up a dead goblin with one hand, hefting it by the head while its guts dangled all the way to the ground. It seemed to regard it for a moment, then grabbed another one by curling its long, thick tail around the torso, and carried them both.

Walking over to the ranks of silent goblins, the monstrosity picked up a living one with its free hand. Its cloud-white body contorted, losing definition in its form as it pressed all three little bodies together, living and dead. Dirt felt an expenditure of mana, but accompanying it was a totally new sensation, one that twisted a tiny part of himself he couldn’t name at first. But the trees had told him the shape of his being and he quickly decided this was the final part, the Law, which they had also called Divinity. The monstrosity was reshaping the world on a deeper level than magic, right in front of their eyes.

Socks and Dirt attacked at the same time. Socks leaped to land on it with his front claws, but somehow Dirt got there first and struck it in the knee with the staff. Instead of cracking the bone like he’d expected, the flesh simply gave way, folding in on itself. The creature’s tail whipped down and struck Dirt across the chest and arms, throwing him backward.

He lay stunned. The mana should have protected him, but inside him, everything was chaotic and fuzzy. He flexed his arms and sore as they were, they didn’t seem broken. Nor his collarbone. The mana must have helped, but now it was all disrupted and wouldn’t obey him.

Dirt missed whatever Socks had done right after, but the pup quickly stood over him, snarling protectively. Dirt sat up and watched the white monstrosity rising from the ground, reforming twisted and bent limbs as it did. Socks must have crushed it, to no lasting effect.

The monstrosity resumed its work, forming the living and dead goblins together into something new. Dirt’s tiny sense of Law stung. Unclarity crept in at the edges of his thoughts and he struggled to understand it. Perhaps the Dream was leaking over, or perhaps it was the Void seeping in while the creature did its work.

The goblin bodies fused together into a solid, lumpy mass, all sickly green with bits poking out like ears and noses and yellow-clawed fingers. From there the monstrosity pulled and twisted, shaping it like Dirt did with wood. First one leg, then another, but bent like a wolf’s, not a goblins. It took only a moment before the thing was done and dropped its creation, a green humanoid with long, misshapen legs. Its head was three times the size of normal and when it stood and opened it mouth to scream, its mouth was so wide the entire head tilted back, revealing thick rows of sharp, yellow fangs.

The creation rushed in to attack, moving forward with startling speed. Not faster than Socks could react, though, and the pup took the creation’s entire head in his jaws, dug his front paws into its chest, and ripped it apart.

Dirt flushed all the mana he had in him, pushing it outside himself to go nowhere at all. For a brief moment he was keenly aware of his desperate vulnerability, like a soldier whose armor had all just fallen off, but fortunately when he inhaled to draw more in, the mana was clean and pure again.

-It’s time to kill this thing,- said Socks. He reached out mentally for Dirt, who responded in kind, and their minds slid together into one. They split up, readying themselves, and darted forward from different angles.

A line appeared on the creature’s face where the eyes should be, which opened into a toothless mouth with no tongue. Just an opening. A moment before Dirt and Socks landed their pincer attack, a burst of pressure erupted from the monstrosity’s open mouth that stunned their two bodies so thoroughly the mind meld fell apart.

Then it turned and slapped Socks across the face with his tail, right along the scar from the tentacle beast that’d torn him open. The pup stumbled and fell, knocked nearly unconscious. Dirt used the opportunity to smash the staff into its hips, hoping to crush the bones so thoroughly it would never get back up. The strike connected and with punishing strength, but Dirt could feel through the staff that nothing had broken. He’d only changed its shape again, temporarily.

He ducked under the tail swipe he knew was coming, then rolled away from its attempt to grab him with one hand. It strode toward him quickly as Dirt turned and ran, forcing his mind to think instead of succumbing to panic. Crushing it wouldn’t work.

Spotting his dagger, he sprinted toward it with mana-infused steps. The clear goo had completely dissipated, leaving not even a stain on the ground where it had been. The blade sat there calmly, waiting for him. He grabbed it with one hand, staff in the other, and turned.

Socks was trying to get up but was having a hard time of it, stumbling and dizzy. His eyes were wild and desperate, unable to quite focus.

Dirt mentally shouted, “I’m still fine! Don’t panic!” But Socks didn’t react, and Dirt wasn’t sure he’d heard it.

“Charge through, men! Run with all haste!” shouted the Duke, sword raised. At his command, the armored men began running between the goblins instead of killing them.

Dirt struggled with that, wondering if he should tell them to keep away. Better to just kill it before they got here. He sprinted forward, low to the ground, then jumped high at the last second, right over a kick aimed at his face. He struck with the dagger, slicing the only flesh that came within his reach—the shoulder.

The blade slipped right through so effortlessly that Dirt wasn’t sure he’d actually connected until he turned and saw the gash. Bright red blood poured from the wound and ran down its arm in stark contrast to the unearthly white of its skin. The wound tightened and the blood ceased then evaporated completely, leaving the skin bare again.

In its mind, the monstrosity registered pain, but it was the sharpness of nerves sparking in response and muscles failing. Those sensations decreased as it healed itself.

Dirt sprinted forward again, blade ready, and this time the creature was hesitant to let him get close. But the boy was faster and it couldn’t back away fast enough. The second slash caught it deeply along the thigh. Dirt hopped over its tail and stabbed upward into its kidneys, twice, then darted away from its grasp.

As before, the creature bled bright red from its wounds, blood that evaporated as quickly as the wounds closed. Well, there could only be so much blood in there. Dirt would have to just let it all out.

Socks had his feet now and hung his head, trying to breathe out the effects of being whacked. He stepped forward, desperate to get back in the fight, but Dirt said, “Not yet! Don’t get back in until you’re ready! I’m fine!”

The armored men were making good progress across the field, which was starting to feel awfully small now that it was turning into a time limit.

Dirt grit his teeth and stepped toward the wary creature, who was now giving him its full attention, and planned his next attack. It came for him first, flying forward through the air arms-first to grab him. It hadn’t used its feet and Dirt wasn’t ready.

He slashed one hand right through the middle of the wrist and halfway up the forearm, but its other arm shot down for his leg as he was stepping back and he couldn’t react in time. Its three thick fingers closed around his calf and flung him up into the air, leaving him helpless. It spun and swatted him with its tail.

Dirt blocked with both arms but the tail drove them into his chest hard enough to knock the air out of him. Despite surging mana to protect himself, he felt a bone crack and the force flung him spinning end over end until he crashed into a goblin. Their heads collided and Dirt saw a flash of white and found himself laying on the ground.

When Dirt could see again, the creature stood over him and was reaching down for his head. Dirt had a vision of himself being fused with a goblin and panicked, rolling away limply.

A goblin crashed into the creature, knocking it off its feet. The pup picked up another one with his mind, lifted it high in the air, and slammed it down onto the monstrosity before it could get up. Bones cracked, but Dirt couldn’t tell whose. He wasn’t sure the monstrosity had any.

The pain from cracking his head kept Dirt from concentrating well enough to gather mana efficiently, but he stumbled to his feet anyway. It hurt to think, so he used his mouth to say, “You have to cut it. Get some goblin swords.”

Socks tried fire first, though. He surrounded it with sparks which glowed yellow and orange against its skin before erupting into flame, creating a pillar that roared high above the battlefield and was so hot Dirt nearly had to turn away.

When the flames vanished, the creature’s scorch-blackened skin sloughed away to reveal muscle, some red and some gray. Dirt realized the outer layers had been cooked. It seemed unfazed, though, and jumped toward Socks, arm drawn for a punch. It was only two-thirds his height, but that was enough to reach the dangerous parts. Socks dodged and ducked away from each of its strikes, his reactions faster than it could move. It followed a punch with a tail swipe and this time, it didn’t even get close.

Dirt leaned on the staff to try and let the pain subside. His headache decreased, but his broken arm got worse the more he thought about it. It was only cracked, not split in two like Home had done to him, but it still made it hard to close his fingers around the knife.

The Home-staff quivered. Dirt looked at it and said, “Are you okay, Home? Is everything all right?” He suspected the tree was worried about him, not harmed in some way, but he had no way of knowing that. To his surprise, the staff’s shape changed in his hands, refitting itself to cover first his forearm, then his arm and shoulder. She was protecting him.

Dirt hoped she wasn’t about to encase him in solid wood where nothing could touch him. He was smart enough not to resist, though, and held his arms out and spread his legs a bit to let her do whatever it was she had in mind.

The wood closed over his torso, then down his hips and legs all the way to his feet. He leaned to the side to lift one foot slightly and the wood closed under it, granting him a shoe. It closed around his head, leaving holes to see and breath through but covering his face otherwise. When it reached his other forearm, it tightened to hold his broken bone in place, which relieved the pain somewhat.

He could still move, just as well as before. He looked down. Armor. Home had turned the staff into something like armor, with plates of solid wood perfectly fitted around his frame. The joints were flexible material instead of cleverly-interlinked bits, but he suspected they’d be nearly as durable. The armor felt fused to him, holding every inch of skin tightly even while it hindered him in no way.

Dirt laughed, which made his head sting, but he couldn’t help it. It was simply too delightful to do anything else. Boy-sized wooden armor! Time to find out how tough it was. He gripped the dagger and charged.