The harsh light of an autumn sun pushing tiny folds in a white tablecloth into sharp contrast. Deep dark lines. Chiaroscuro. Thin leaves bouncing along cobbles of an early morning street scene. Robed students nursing hangovers, traders setting up their barrows, messenger boys brandishing sealed scrolls like relay batons, birds picking on the crumbs of last night's dinners.


And deeper. The susurrus of mothers rousing their children from sleep. Tiny minds, each like a burning flame, stepping forth from the realms in which this customer dwelled. Each light not entirely leaving his house. Connected by a tether. A stray dog wandering down the street, paused to look at the young man with unkempt dark hair. A look exchanged. An understanding reached? He tore a pastry in half, tossing it into the street to be caught in the mutt's jaws, snapped out of the air with uncanny accuracy. Another look and the dog continued on its journey. The boy nodded, then returned to gazing at the wrinkled tablecloth.


An elderly man stepped through the darkened doorway of the kaffekuća, brandishing a wooden tray like a shield. Approaching the young man's rickety table, he took a moment to smooth the tablecloth, then deposited a ceramic cup before him, containing a dark brown liquid, smelling or morning promise. He smiled and handed the old man a square coin with a hole in it. The man nodded, but said nothing. He withdrew once more into the darkness with a grim smile.


The young man's name was Mendean. That had not changed. But he was seeing the world through two sets of eyes. Wyllmochvar was familiar to them both, but different. Integration would take a while to complete. Two sets of memories becoming one. It was a complicated business. Familiarisation was the key. No sense remaining in the Nexus. He/they had to get out into the world, absorb and assimilate it. Starting with somewhere familiar. A town they both loved.


Mendean flexed his toes then paused and peeked beneath the tablecloth. Shoes. Those would take some getting used to. One Mendean had never worn them, while the other…


This was Wyllmochvar. Both Mendeans preferred the name. Both Mendeans had studied at the academy. Both Mendeans had spent some of the happiest days of their collective lives here, or in its equivalent. One of the versions of this town was a mess now. Torn asunder by multiple conflicts. But this one? This one was better. Cleaner. Safer.


Mendean(s) looked up and surveyed the street. More people were appearing. Some faces familiar. He sipped his black Kaffe, instinctively closing his eyes to savour its sharp, dark aroma.

Wyllmochvar…perhaps one of the safest cities to have been built, or to be more accurate, rebuilt in Parvpora. From the moment he crossed through its gates, there was no doubt in his mind that people would consider this city the closest thing to a paradise. Here, it didn't matter who you were, the city stood for equality and freedom, something that was far from the norm that was the rest of the realm. They all mingled so well together at the markets and other areas of social gathering. Roars of laughter, gossip and haggling was deafening and to think of this occurring day in and day out… All of it amused and disgusted him evenly. It felt like a dreamy promise of security, order and comfort for all.

But at the same time, he thought of it as nothing more than perhaps one of the biggest lies the realm had ever seen.

The voices all around nearly drowned out his mind which had an interesting guest today. It was something that was growing on him in recent times. Very recent times.


“Bring them all down. Bring them to their desolation.” The voice was raspy, yet carried a grim tone as if it was exhausted. “Now, now, we can't do that. You know that they are watching us”, he replied before glancing far out to the direction of one of the towers. “Steady friend. Those guards, they will know if we are up to something. And as much as I am willing to be martyr, the time isn't quite right and the work isn't completed.” Too much work had to be done, and he needed every second he could greedily get his hands on. Every drop of sand in the hourglass was vital and there was no getting back time wasted. Nor would it do any good for his demise to be premature. His guest, unfortunately, didn't seemed to understand the importance as it bombarded him with the same message over and over again. While he attempted to explain the situation, the people that were able to spare some moments of their time only saw a strange fellow that seemed to be arguing with himself. The distraction only lasted briefly before they continued on with their business, deeming Nemesis as just be a disillusioned drifter. Both the demeanor and the poorly conditioned cloak and boots only strengthened such beliefs, but it all worked for him. Let them believe that, let them believe that he wasn't a threat, it would serve to him well.

His own eyes searched about as he continued to have the seemingly one sided conversation, darting all over the place. Some of the people who's eyes met with his quickly shunned themselves away, feeling extremely uncomfortable by his presence. They would pretend to be observing some merchandise or would abruptly start meaningless conversations with the nearest person next to them. It wasn't unusual for such reactions to happen, here or elsewhere. Nemesis had expected nothing less, and truthfully while the mental disagreement continuing on, there was barely a person here that interested him. Perhaps one did for a few moment; a young looking lad sipping on a drink outside seemed familiar. Then again he didn't as well, perhaps it was just another mind trick and he was simply reading into it too far. Coming to a halt, amber eyes focused onto the lad for perhaps a second too long before he was bumped into from behind by one of the boy messengers.

Turning around, he held out a hand to assist the boy and upon contact, a sensation ran cold from his hand and then all over his body until it reached his mind. The feeling soon passed by the time he was back up onto his foot and merely carried on running towards his destination, though he hadn't gotten far before he started to forget what he was suppose to do. The messenger started to feel confused by the sudden memory loss and was soon starting to question other things, such as the parchment in his hands and even where he was in this maze of a city. Nemesis watched with a gleeful stare; while he couldn't fulfill the need to destroy the lives here, he could very well disrupt them as much as possible. Even if he had to pass on the delirious effects one person at a time. It would be entertaining if nothing else to watch them dance to a melody that they weren't even aware of. Walking on, he placed a hand onto one of the shopkeepers' shoulders and passed by, overhearing the person voice his troubles of remembering his own shop and some of his favorite customers as they questioned him. A few more were infected and though the effects wouldn't last for too long, it would certainly leave an impressible mark of them and those around, leaving uncertainty in them.

Just then a foreigner walked by. Mendean glanced up at him. He seemed distracted, perhaps even mad. He had seen a lot of people like this one lately. The rifts in time and space had taken their toll on the sanity of many. That, and the merging of histories. People from different worlds, equivalents of each other. What-ifs drawn together in a world that, that rarely tolerated their mutual existences. Was this one of those people?


A small smile. Mendean had already gone through the merging, although in his case, it had been voluntary. A means of survival. A service to the world.


Sipping again at the kaffe, tasting the sharpness of the local brew, savouring the aroma, he continued to watch the newcomer. He was not of this land. The body language was all wrong. Conflict in the eyes, madness, even? The young man touched the shopkeeper on the shoulder and did…something to him. Being a god, Mendean saw more than others did, but this was Parvpora. His power here was diminished. Still greater than that of most mortals, but his control of the world was reduced here. He set the cup of kaffe carefully back down on the white tablecloth and turned in his seat to face the young man, making it clear that he had noticed what he was doing.


“Da ne bi trebali biti uplitanja s ljudima u gradu gdje čarobnjaci vrhovnog vladanja.” Said Mendean in the language of the people of Wylmochvar. He did not know whether the stranger would understand a single syllable of what he was saying, but the tone in his voice would hopefully convey the warning. Locking eyes with the man, Mendean stood, the wooden legs of his chair scraping against cobblestones. He indicated another chair on the opposite side of his table with a gesture of his hand, inviting the stranger to sit down, while he gazed levelly at him. The gesture was an invitation, but the look in the god's eyes was a command. There was no fear in that gaze.

Jarring the minds of these citizens were much easier than he had imagined; given that this was a city that bred mages and casters of all sorts, that their defenses should have been powerful. Then again, their comfortable lives bred laziness and some sort of sense of invincibility in them that nothing wrong could ever occur here. Due to that, they seemed most vulnerable on their own home turf, at least for the moment. Nemesis had imagined that sooner or later that someone would eventually catch wind of his scheme and pursue him. He was all but prepared for the authorities to be on high alert once the epidemic spread further, but it wasn't until he started to feel uncomfortable that his amber eyes slithered about until they latched onto the young man he briefly noticed earlier, This time it was him that was being watched and it stirred up the question of whether or not he was on to his little game. Had he just got caught like a child that had stolen a loaf of bread from the marketplace?

Just who was this boy?

The answer kept eluding him as he was one that the man had never seen before in his life. No memory or vision could be recalled about the stranger, even from his enigmatic partner there was naught but silence. The words thrown towards his direction drew out his curiosity; he wasn't familiar by the language spoken here. Had he just performed a curse upon him? A threat? What was clear on the face of the madman was that he hadn't taken kindly to the how it was said. His gaze narrowed at him as if his eyes were daggers and watched his reaction as if this was a sort of mental chess game between them. No words were necessarily needed between them for actions spoken even higher volumes. As the boy stood up, he turned to face him and gave him his complete attention. The cries of the others losing their precious memories fell upon deaf ears. Nemesis hesitantly preceded to walk over and stood behind the chair rather than immediately sitting down. His fingers curled up against its rim, tapping leisurely at it for a few moments before pulling it out and fell into it. Such fun was to be had before all this, just who or what are you? His demented mind couldn't help but to ask that over and over again as he sat back. Whoever he was, it was clear that he didn't share the opinions of the rest of the sheep here. He seemed undisturbed by his presence or even what he had done. Such a curious little fellow, shrouded by a mystery that he couldn't solve at the moment. It irritated him greatly; the random twitching of his body at times were evidence of that. Control was something that he did not lose easily and yet so far it was unwinding more and more as this played out.

So far Nemesis had let the stranger lead this game, but now he wanted the control back. It was his move now and as he laid his hand onto the table, his magic was creeping over towards the young man. The question now was would he fall prey and have his mind jumbled as well, or was there some surprises lurking from him to be sprung?

The foreigner joined him at the table. Staring into the strange man's eyes it was clear he had not understood his words. How unfortunate, Mendean mused, for if he had understood the warning, he might not have been so willing to sit down. Then again, judging by the cocksure body language and the arrogance glimmering behind those maddened eyes, he probably would have relished the challenge. The challenge that he was accepting right now. The god smiled, then sat down. The air  slick with a heaviness that had not been there a moment before. Charged.

The sky was a deep orange-red colour, where moments before it had not been. People still walked back and forth as they had done before, but now their images dragged behind them like trailing ghosts or wisps of smoke. Pale colours blurred together in a symphony of movement. The hubbub of their voices melting together into a continuous droning sound, as though the air were filled with bees. Everything tilted in a slow liquid motion and Mendean moved as though underwater, lightly rubbing his chin.

Colours streamed from the man's hands opposite, curling slowly around the table and the figure of the young god. He ignored it and leaned forward, eyes fixed on the table and the game board that was now there. The world rocked as though they were at sea, yet there was no sensation of movement.

Esoteric game pieces on a board comprised of ornate circular patterns. On Nemesis' side of the board, a piece had been moved. A jewelled eye held aloft by a dessicated hand. Mendean nodded sagely understanding the initial probing manoeuvre. Dark eyes flicked up briefly as he seemed to be checking the features of his opponent, then he let his right hand hang over a number of game pieces ensconced in circles. As he did so, the circles pulsed in response to his presence. The world shifted again and there came the sound of some immense creaking mass of timber from all around. For a moment, the cafe walls rippled. Eyelids flickered open across the adobe, eagerly glancing from side to side, before settling upon the two men at the table. A pale blurring translucent figure approached, placing two fresh cups of kaffe. Mendean nodded, his face seeming to stretch as it though unable to follow the movements of his skull.

Light spilled across them for a moment. Sickly, orange light. And then it was gone. The drone became like a chant before collapsing back into chaos. Mendean pushed a piece towards the eye and hand. This piece was a door ajar, carved from ivory that flickered. He placed the door in a circle adjacent to the eye, then withdrew his hand. Everything tilted once again, as though the world moved in response to the god's movements.

“Vaš potez,” Said Mendean to the stranger. Around, them the world seemed to twist and warp like kelp writhing in the currents. The stranger had made the opening move in the game, that meant he was a part of this now. The god nodded at the kaffe beside Nemesis. A black protoplasmic liquid that appeared to be attempting to climb its way out of the cup with half-formed liquid tendrils.

Something shapeless and immense passed overhead, casting long shadows over the city. Ice crystals began to form wherever the shadow touched, including over the god, who ignored the change in climate. He sat immobile, poised with kaffe cup in hand, as though waiting for the right moment to drink. The ground undulated.

He stared gallantly into the boy that embodied complete mystery. Nothing of him was known to Nemesis- not his identity, the words he spoken earlier or his intentions. So far, he had joined the game at a great disadvantage, although the same could likely be said from the opposing side as well. Still, it did nothing to soothe his thoughts but at the same time, he felt a rush of excitement in this whirlwind of emotions as the stranger sat down. Within that moment, something was on the verge of happening. It was like that of a peaceful calmness around before a terrible storm whipped up the next. Perhaps that analogy was a little too true for the sky's tone changed and soon everything all around had as well. His eyes shot out to the rest of the world as it was undertaken by this phenomenon. What had happened? They eventually fell back to their target and then the game board that laid on the table. Just what had he just accepted? Nemesis knew not of what consequences he had unleashed upon himself, and even worse, he could feel the voice scratching at him as if it was trying to tear itself out from within him. "Oh hush now", he spoke towards the damning thing, but soon he realized that his inner voice was out for all to hear just as if the words slipped from his mouth.

"What is all this, boy?"

A scowling look was shot at his direction before once more looking to the board. Several pieces stood on either side and already had one of his been moved. Was this to reflect his acceptance into this affair? Again, he could feel the voice rumbling, wanting to give him its input but Nemesis ignored it. For him, there was more concern into what this all truly meant. He sat up as the opponent made his move in an extravagant manner and the world among them felt different. And wrong, so wrong. His body wasn't used to these outwardly changes, it felt as though he would would ripped apart from itself and his mind. It did however looked as to the stranger wasn't quite as affected by this, and the two were seemingly brought refreshments though he was hesitate to so much as to touch the cup placed for him. "What sort of madness is this? What…is this boy?" This series of events went beyond the capabilities of mere magic, there was no other possible reason, could there? Words were spoken towards him and as they had, the world shifted as though it had been commanded.

These pieces were bestowed some sort of power over the world, it was something that he hungered to have. Anticipation was building inside of him as he studied the markings of the circles over and over, trying to find what their meanings were. By that time, the contains of the cup sprout out and reached out for him and anything else that was nearby. His hand reached for the it only to be met with it taking a swipe at him before continuing to ascend and branch out. His attention would leave it and watch as the shadows blanketed the area and ice took hold of anything that was enveloped by it. While the boy seemed unfazed, Nemesis could feel the chilling straight down into his bones, his face growing colder by the second. His body started to received icicles, tiny at first, but growing the further this continued. Whatever it had been that was now unleashed onto the realm, this game of theirs would not be so easily taken from him. Leaning forwards, his movements were hindered by the growing ice as it consumed more of his form, from his feet and rising up to his waist but his hand laid upon the piece that resembled a gaping mouth. At first it seemed as though the collective voices became louder for them, but soon it was becoming more distinguished that this set was not from the people around them. Rather, they were all from Nemesis. They grew louder, some mumbling strange and nonsensical phrasings while others yelled them. Such talk was about death, justice, denial, and various other subjects. The ice was closing in on his chest as he pressed on and made the next move. A piece was moved forward right beside his last played one; it was etched with marking of a cloud. As he slid his hand off it, a thick fog expelled from beneath the board and all over the table before draping down onto the ground below. As it grew more dense, the remaining parts of him left intact could feel it licking at his flesh. One could swear that they could feel slimy and cold hands wherever the fog touched them. Nemesis had been reminded of similar sensations whenever his departed father would lay a hand upon him. Over and over, those hands reached and grasped at his shoulders, arms and even his neck and face in the very abusive situation he had to endure over all his life. The ice was taking more of him as time went, but a smile a little too wide came out and reaching over to a following piece, he was once again lashed out by the kaffe. From the looks of it, he could only think that it didn’t want him to play that part. Nemesis reached again, and this time waited for the kaffe to respond and once it made the motion to strike, he took hold of a spoon and dipped inside it; from there he turned it and watched as its liquid form became entangled with the instrument and with his free hand, he moved his next piece. The fog and those invisible hands collapsed and now the environment shifted. The voices faded away into nothing more than echoes and he felt the ice’s comfort starting to take hold of his arms, shoulders and collar. The imagery of dark water pooled around the area, constantly in swaying back and forth in motion, bringing an eerie calmness in the silence. But all was not calm, something was lurking in the water, evident from the bubble surging up from various directions around them.

The god narrowed his eyes at the foreign devil, contemplating at least ten different punishments he could inflict on the creature. How dare it speak to him like that? He had recently turned eighteen, which in Wyllmochvar was considered the age of majority. It was when a citizen who owned property and held the status of Magus, could take their seat in the council and make a difference. He had not deigned to take up this right, but that was because he wanted no part in mortal politics. The games he played were much more important. Boy. Mendean understood that word. He understood its pejorative meaning too.


It was a battle, real and true. As he reached out over the concentric circles, ice cracked and fell from his arms, littering the playing surface with small crystals that were quickly absorbed into its fabric. He reached left and the board seemed to expand and contort in response. Hills and troughs rising and falling in a chequered simulation of landscape. Things emerged from burrows, with tiny claws and stingers on tails, where they stood watch over the swirling patterned scape below. Studying the board, a number of permutations occurred to him. This was not a game for the faint-hearted.


Snaking clouds high above, dark smears against the sky. People blurred into elongated centipedal versions of themselves. Moments in time captured and extended into eternity. This was how everything would appear to someone removed from the constraints of time. And yet time still passed. Every second a dull thud against the chest cavity of reality. A liquid grin writhed across the god's face as he selected from possible variables, rotated through windows of possibility. The world breathed, then held that breath. The shadow passed by, allowing orange sunlight to filter through.


The map is not the territory, his father had told him when he was a boy. At that time, Mendean had not understood; but he did now. He saw through the fallacy of mortal perception. How a representation of a thing could actually become the thing in their minds. Some even believed the concept of an idealised supraverse, where the epitome of all things existed. But that was naïve arrogance in Mendean's mind. Who was to say what was the perfect version of a thing? Who had that right? Water surrounded them, but the deity paid it no heed. He did not fear the game, for it was a model. A map.


With a mercurial smile, Mendean plunged a dripping hand into one of the circles. The one where the door token stood and now sank into the board beneath his hand. More ripples, but these were in the smooth, dry surface of the board. For a moment it was elastic, resembling quicksand. The god grasped something, tugged and then pulled out a brilliant ball of flame. It popped and crackled in his grip like a tiny sun. With a sudden sloshing sound, he stood, waves spread out in bouncing concentric ripples that for an instant, mirrored the concentric circles on one part of the board.


As if in response to the solar metaphor, Mendean gingerly manipulated the ball of flame in both hands and placed it atop the highest mountain peak of the board. The guardian things shrunk back into their cave entrances, away from the light. Withdrawing his hand, flames still licked the surfaces of his palms. He sank them into the dark water and they hissed, throwing up small wisps of steam as he took a step back to regard the irregular board. Parts of it seemed ghostly, merging with the surrounding environment. Structural lines expanding into empty space. The air was filled with lazy dust motes.

"Ignorant, barbarian. Go home Learn true tongue." Mendean's accent was thick and the words fell clumsily from his mouth. But the scorn was evident in his tone. Scorn for the ugly composite language of Adeluna he had spoken and scorn for his opponent.