"Observe carefully, especially the around the face and on the psychic levels. The spirit is strong, but normal enough for a Shadow.

 "Now, Saul, tell me your impressions of the facial region."

"Master. The material substance is obviously unfinished, which is itself unusual. But more than that, the raw Shadow-stuff is only a covering over some much stranger inclusion. Perhaps it was something that the thing grabbed when it couldn't finish? As soon as my probe passed the Shadow layer, it began to behave as if I had lost focus, and even while it held the impressions it gave were almost nonsensical."

"Good. You did not mention the fact that the Shadow of the face, like shadowsoul, is active and will intermix with other matter given the chance. Also, the 'inclusion' corresponds fairly well with the elemental 'chaos' found in the former realm of the Mad God, Aballam. But still, very good, Saul. Lane, please report your psychic impression. Although you're only slightly better than a layman, I need to work on your skills in this area anyway. Don't worry, I'll fill in anything you miss, so Saul and Iscariot aren't slighted."

"Yes, of course sir. Wouldn't want my fellow apprentices to suffer. On the psychic levels, this Shadow is unfinished, like the face. However, unlike the physical region, there is no clear boundary where a psychic being should end. Thus, where a normal form wraps back in upon itself, this one trails off in a strange mess of 'loose strands,' a psychic darkness like physical one of the face. I would theorize that this allows any similar pattern to be added with great ease. Near the boundary, there are the markings of one who has been trained in the magic of darkness. Also, the entity is divided, like a minor split personality. The subordinate personality has more than half the psychic power, but also the vast majority of the 'incomplete' area."

A sigh. "Imprecise and incomplete as usual, my young Lane. Still, I suppose you covered everything that matters for now. Iscariot, my senior apprentice, please enlighten us all about how these conditions are different from a normal 'incomplete' Shadow, and any theories you have about why this could have occurred."

"Under normal conditions, a Shadow without sufficient reserves of power to mimic a form will assume the guise completely, but the new clone will be lacking in strength and stamina, will be less energetic and may be ignorant of some facts he might otherwise have copied. Since this is not the case, I can only theorize that either the chaotic 'inclusion' or an external force interrupted the process. As you know, the transformation of a morphic Shadow is dependant on several basic principals, most notably the Law of Contamination, which tells us that there is a link between any two things which interact. Time is also an essential factor, and some of the incomplete patterns near the 'edge' of the subordinate personality may relate to that force."

"Very good. Review tonight the principals of binding Shadows. It may have practical application as well as working to further your understanding of this abnormality. Also review my records of Shadow 22,728. Lane, since you displayed such a puissant, substantial, overawing understanding of the psychic phenomena, you are to extract the knowledge of how this thing overcame the wards on my book, and the memory of what the Shade Lord's shade said to this figment. If it is not in the log when I awaken, you know what your punishment will be, do you not? Good. Dismissed."

Memory returns. Cairo. The Shade Lord's words. Maien. The Mind Submerge.

I recover awareness. Maien must have brought me here.

I have been hearing voices. Maien's plain rasp, thrumming with power, and three others. I can feel cold crystal, sheathing each limb, locking me cruciform. I smell the neutrality of the air, and taste only the dampness of my mouth.

I cannot see. I have had most of my face covered, and my sight has not been impaired. I have stood in a dead-black tomb, and I could see and even read.

I cannot see.

The crystal shell muffles my screams.

Beyond my crystal blindfold, I can hear Lane's footsteps.

The mask of my tailored crystal prison-shell is removed, and I can see. There is a cluttered room, and in front of the room, a face.

I can see. And it is good.

The hair is dark tight curls, and the eyes are pits of night. The full lips move, and the sound follows an instant later, like a bad recording.

"Processing captured Shadows is allowed to us, you see. It's one of the duties in Maien's apprentice-contract." The voice called Iscariot. On the table behind him I can see an array of crystals like a model city full of fanciful towers. Darkness crackles like lightning inside each crystal. Beside the table stands another tailored prison.

"Just a slip, a splash on my hand, and I'll be free." The face is arranged in the expression of a stable-hand, explaining to the Sultan's prize stallion that horse-theft is the only way he can feed his starving children. Inside the other prison I can barely distinguish exposed ribs and a half-grin behind rotting lips. The eyes and fingers move constantly.

"Maien will never let me go otherwise. Until I receive twelve drops of Shadow-soul, the contract binds me to serve him and obey him." The face twists to the right, to allow the all-black eyes to view the door. A small dish of clear crystal enters my view.

"But it was my eyes. I was blind, Maien gave me a drop for each eye. Two drops, before the contract. So Maien will never release me. I'll just take the Shadow from your face. It won't... It shouldn't kill you." The eyes close. I feel the spell as it

I feel what is to know you have been flayed, in the instant before the air

For the second time in this room, I scream.

The-desolate-plain-stretches-for-miles It-is-the-same-in-every-direction Beyond-miles-of-barren-empty-ground-cliffs-loom There-is-no-sign-life-has-ever-been-here-save-a single highway The cell phone rings and when I answer the voice tells me something is wrong Was I following someone While thinking I drink from the glass of water and replace it on the end table while sinking into the armchair behind me.

There is no clue to follow here So I stand and walk across the fresh-turned earth enjoying the feeling of loam between bare toes Beyond the farmland there is a city on the horizon The soft fields make for poor footing The road calls to tell me it is a much better option Once my boots are slapping against pavement I resume my course toward the castle floating in the sky.

My tantalizing destination grows no closer as the travel wears me down Perhaps I could just lay down on the road and No Instead I spread my ebony wings and spiral upward over the swamp looking for a safe perch but the only perch is Yggdrasil on the horizon promising much to the one who can expend the effort to reach it The effort to soar over the clouds over the road that reaches across the cloudtops but there shouldn't couldn't be a road there And the road is the only place to rest the only thing to trust the only thing.

That has been there the whole time no matter how strange that is And something tugs at my mind something about the paint on the road Now I plummet for I have arms not wings and I feel how much of my resources I have spent traveling The fall won't be enough to stop me but after I land on the road as I will I should just lie down to recover lie down and rest in the.

Lane.

My fist leaves a network of fractures, and now the highway breaks apart, leaving me on the edge of a hole In the hole is the stone face of a surprised man Chaos comes between us.

"Saul, did I do something to make Maien hate me, or does he do this to all new apprentices? I've been here two years now and he's still at my throat. I don't think I'm making enough mistakes to infuriate him like this."

"Lane, Lane, allow me to guess: Before Maien recruited you, you only had teachers who were assessed or rewarded for how well you did, right? I thought so. Think about this: When you surpassed any of those other teachers, you became a success. If you surpass Maien, you'll become competition."

"Oh. But, he likes you..."

"No. I don't think Maien can be said to 'like' or 'care about' anything, really. He sees me as being potentially long-term useful. Both he and I know how I rate. I'll serve him and be proud of it. Out on my own, I'd last just long enough to come to the attention of something really nasty. But I've been here... well, significantly more than a century. After just two years, you could probably hold you own against me for long enough that anyone who wants to help you could get there. In fifty years?"

The landscape before me watches and scuttles and flows while very carefully not moving and I know Lane is looking for me but I have some time yet. Something gem-like glittering dashes from the infinite void between a rock and the shadow of a rock. It loses itself in the new shape of another stone just before the rock and its shadow bridge the gap and annihilate each other.

In the distance, something terrible raises its head, disturbed by the flash of creation completing itself.

The sky is broken in a legion of small ways.

I brush the shroud from my face like an annoying spiderweb. Chaos touches me.

It is good.

Two steps away, Iscariot turns towards me, the crystal saucer splashing black liquid on his hands as my scream pulls his eyes open.

Free of the shroud, my face begins to play. The rooms twist around me, all dimensions visible, time as exposed as the others. I watch from a twisting viewpoint a I am locked into the shell. I watch the construction of the crystals, an experimental attempt to collect the energy of shadows lost.

This part of me that I conceal is not flesh. I twist in the alien environment, feeling the pain caused by existence. This part of me is not matter, nor energy, nor precisely spirit. It moves according to laws and whims older than physics. Suffering flows into me because this piece of chaos should have been covered over, concealed, by the creation of reality, but I rejoice because at last I can perform the purpose given by my mother-creator: At last I can teach the world the path and the truth of the Wyld.

Iscariot cannot learn the lesson safely. Perhaps nothing sane and mortal can. I watch in advance as his face mirrors his crumbling mind. I watch him stumble back into the table. I watch as the dark Power rises as a storm from the shattered crystals, tearing Iscariot to pieces as it seeks a purpose, an anchor. I stumble forward.

A glance backwards shows the flesh I copied from my progenitor still trapped in crystal. The writhing of chaos hold no revelation for me. An idle sweep of my arm pulls the storm of rampant Power to me and I raise the shard of black-stained crystal to my lips and breath darkness eternal.

Restored to myself, I will have plenty of time to think about my revealed nature before Iscariot's remains are discovered.

My shroud is repaired, but not perfectly. An ember of pain burns in my eye, and through it I catch glimpses of the worlds of the future and of the spirit.

The crystal fragment drops to the ground two steps in front of me.

I stand atop a small gray mesa, awaiting the voice from behind me. My mantle billows and swirls around me. There is no wind.

"You know, Maien taught me that it's impossible to assault someone through a pattern-construct. The most you should have been able to do is flee here."

Replacing my face, I turn. I have been aware of Lane behind me for some minutes now. "Then I'm pleased to have furthered your education. Where are we?"

"You don't know? This the realm of delusion and nightmare, the kingdom of mixed metaphors, our excuse for a psychic plane here on the border of the Chaosgrounds."

"What would have happened if I yielded?"

A smirk touches Lane's face. He wraps a Shadow mantle no bigger than a shawl about his right hand, forming a claw out of nightmare. "The same thing that will happen once I give you a lesson in psychic combat - I'll have access to your mind."

I cock my head slightly to the right. "Of course." By the time the words have left my mouth, I am rolling backwards into the mist, the thin beam of Lane's attack cutting the air above me.

Instants later I leap from behind the stone and launch a spray of knives at where Lane was - at where Lane no longer is. A flicker of motion in the ember of my eye alerts me, and I look up over my shoulder in time to see Lane stop in mid-air and drop, leaving a bloody trail down my arm in his wake.

I follow, and I am faster. When Lane starts to brace for his landing, I strike. The corner of my cloak envelops his ankle, and the apprentice's shoulders take the brunt of his impact, stunning him long enough that my landing is cushioned perfectly. I raise my arm, as the storm thunders around us, I wind up for a strike that will truly put Lane's psyche in a plane, but...

Pain. I am forced to admit that I knew far less about suffering than I thought. Now I know that there is always a soft spot left; there is always a new, unguarded channel for pain to assault.

This is a tearing, shredding pain - something is gnawing away a piece of me. And my distraction has cost me opportunity.

Lane starts rolling, black claw filling my vision. To continue the roll is the only option, but my right arm is needed to resist Lane and so we tip over a third time. This defense is a losing strategy - Lane needs far less of a break to claim victory. A gamble is called for.

I slam my free hand on the ground beside us, spending the momentum which might have carried me out from beneath my foe. But it is well-spent. The spray of shrapnel bloodies Lane's temple, and an open handed blow results in the distance and time I need to find the source of my distress.

The rhythmic thunder of the waves on the beach soothes me.

Beyond Lane, a wizened thing holds one of my knives. A half dozen things like onto the first stand watching.

I leap, and Lane, calculating my arc, prepares for my attack as the Thing chitters. At the top of my flight I spread my Mantle, and plunge across the tundra in a perfect diagonal, my right foot aimed at the Thing's head.

The Thing grins, splitting what passes for its head far too wide, preparing to swallow my foot just as it was eating my knife.

I was almost expecting that. In the last second, I withdraw my right foot and send my left crashing into the side of the Thing's head.

It leaves involuntarily. My knife remains. The others scatter, one ducking behind the mesa, the others vanishing amidst the rush-hour traffic.

I can only find four knives. Unexpected pain is too great a risk. Dodging Lane's shadowspark, I cut the last blade off, accept the brief sharp pain as I reclaim the four thought-patterns I recovered.

Both of the apprentice's hands are pale skin.

I reverse my motion, sliding past Lane, spinning around his strike, my senses searching for any hint of the form of the new assault I know is coming. My opponent spins as well, one leg raised high, so I push it higher and send him to the ground.

But before I can pull my arm back to a guard stance, the black serpent dives from the sky and throws a loop of itself about my wrist. It is posing, fangs bared, savoring my knowledge of my peril.

"The World!"

I am here, but I am the only me. I called me to save myself, but the snake I was to stop is wrapped about my own arm. While I am confused, the diamond-shaped black head strikes, but its fangs glance off my armor. I have never before been without the other me. This requires thought. If I-who-is-called can exist and act alone, what does it mean? Does I-who-must-be-obeyed really exist? Do I? The other, the foe laughs to himself, and says that if I want to create an independent avatar, I must build it the proper way. I knock away the confused snake and return to my rest. This requires thought, and thus, I must learn to think.

I remember what Lane said, and I decide what the 'proper way' must be as both aspects of Lane prepare to resume hostilities. The storm wind picks up sand from the desert, so I move into the lee of the mesa. I am not quite certain what happened, but I cannot call upon The World. The rest I'll need to think about later.

Mantle flaring like dragon's wings, I rise again, and the serpent rises with me. I pull in my right wing slightly, and Lane's shadowspark misses to my left. The black length of corded muscle swims easily through the air around me.

And I drop, leaving my shadow behind.

Lane steps aside and slithers in, allowing my impact to crater the pavement as I struggle for enough height to turn into a dive. A train approaches from over the horizon, slowing only enough to make the turn around the gray stone mesa. My forearm is in place to stop his jab as my tail smashes into his scaly flank, my stinger sliding off his hide but the impact sending him tumbling.

We quick strikes, neither of us committing fully to our assaults, until I have gained enough altitude that I turn and dive, roaring a challenge, my dagger-teeth glinting in the light of the thousand million gyrating stars. His hiss of reply is far louder than it should be. The train is bearing down on us and we spring apart, losing sight of each other behind boxcars.

I smash Lane with my foreleg, claws ripping off scales, and I bank upwards for another pass. My cell phone is ringing, and I cannot see the bipedal Lane, so I chin the button on my handsfree and take the call. It tells me not to get on the train. I would never get off again.

We circle and writhe and strike in the sky, but I am alone on the ground. The train is past, yet Lane is gone. I form a new knife in my hand, hold it low and close to my hip. I step over the first rail, and begin splashing toward the other bank of the new river I am standing in.

There are two empty boot-shapes in the water to my left.

Hands close around my head, and Lane is flowing into me.

A thousand loose bits of identity flow over me when my parents were killed Maien came to me and I struggle to hold on to myself Dio's hand smashing me aside then I arise remade I cling to what I am my hand in Shane's stomach his blood flowing into me what I've learned I've begun to suspect that Maien himself killed my parents I swing the weapon in my hand Maien did kill my father the Lord of Shadows it is not a knife Maien opens my vein and pours two drops of shadowsoul directly into my blood I hold a black rod and the weight of it smashes me apart... it smashes Lane away from me, but the unexpected impact jars the rod out of my hand. It lands in the water.

Our battle continues in the skies as we stand looking at each other. We stand calf deep in water which is not wet, and I try to hold my head together as Lane clutches his shattered ribs.

"Nice technique." I shake my hair out of my face, briefly missing my headband.

"Thanks. All it requires is for you to be yourself, and your opponent loses track of the fact you're fighting. Still, you made me pay for it."

"Lets get this over with. You can't beat me with those ribs."

I begin to advance, then sidestep another shadowspark. "Don't count me out yet."

We grin at each other as a small sound of breaking rock tells me the spark struck something behind me.

The small sound does not fade, nor echo. Instead it begins to grow and multiply.

As I turn, the mesa where I waited splits apart like a giant bear trap. Stone teeth encompass pitch darkness. In pitch darkness, a hundred eyes open. Around a hundred eyes, a myriad of glowing limbs stretch into the sky.

Lane's cobra returns seconds ahead of my wyvern-self. With one mind, we crouch in the water and become very quiet.

I can barely hear Lane's incredulous whisper. "You stood on that?"

When the terror is gone, I stand and scan the area for other threats. Lane demonstrates no more desire to speak than I do. We move to solid ground. Wordlessly, we raise our guard.

My phone rings again. The water.

There are another pair of invisible feet in the shallows. A third bubble-space joins them, a hand.

Now beginning to fade into view, a small hand lifts the black rod I dropped.

The figure before us is a small tanned girl, dark of hair and eye, garbed in a dirty, shapeless dress. The image of a Cairo street-waif is only shattered by the elegant jewelry on her left hand. Made of gold and rubies, it is an affair of rings, chains, and a bracelet.

She walks up onto dry ground, stopping a few feet away from me to curtsy. Her big, deep brown eyes stare up at me adoringly. "Mr. Shadow, may I use this?" Her cheerful, piping voice leave me no space for a reply. "Thanks!" In a stunningly swift motion, the girl raises the heavy iron rod and brings it down with crushing force.

On her own left hand.

The deformed gold slips to the ground.

The girl begins to fade once more, but in some way she is clearly leaving. Her voice shows no sign of the bleeding ruin at the end of her arm. "She kicked me out of my head and sent me to spy on you. Bye!"

She is gone, as is my weapon. But this time, I feel no pain of loss, only a sense of... connection.

Something bold dashes across my field of view, and the remains of the jewelry is gone.

"Ok. Enough." I turn back to face Lane, my angry glare finding his wide eyes. "I've had it. One strike. Winner take all." My mantle gathers on my right shoulder, stretches up and descends to envelop my hand. "We are going to end this NOW."

"Right." Lane finds his composure, and his shadow moves from where it was bracing his ribs, making a detailed gauntlet with a spike at the elbow. "Let's go."

I lunge forward to seize the advantage of momentum... and Lain, palm spread wide, rides my arm backwards. The spike shoots forward, passing through his palm, and I feel it pierce my skin...

Numbness spreads.

I awake, sobbing, feeling someone fingers rove through my mind like a careless robber. I cannot see, I cannot move, cannot resist, cannot even hide from the shame.

"Where's Maien?" Lane's voice.

"I think he went outside. What happened to Iscariot?"

"Tried to slip out of Maien's contract. Slipped into the experiment instead. The memories there are kinda blurry."

"Oh. What do you think Maien will do with him?"

"Either keep him and milk him like a cow, or kill him as a threat. Maien was wrong, you know. There was no temporal slip-up in Dio's jump to Makai. He learned all that he knows in less than a month of study."

"Oblivion be merciful! When Maien hears that, this guy won't live another minute!"

A single tear runs down my face, and I can see. I can see the apprentices turning, eyes drawn to the moving light. I can see the tear dropping, landing on my crystal prison. I can see the crystal twist and shatter, dropping both apprentices to the floor, barely moving.

I stretch my arms back and flex.

My captor is waiting outside.