Webb's a dead guy with no memory of his life, and that's how he likes it. He'd sworn he'd protect After, the city of the dead, from monsters, but the monsters have all been killed off. Now he has only one thing left to do: go through the Gate and fi...
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I splatted and splashed my way past the doorless threshold, shambling my way inside the old weapons forge that was home. I had to duck to avoid getting sliced to pieces by the swinging red swords, knives, axes, and other blades suspended from the ceiling—all Orville's skilled handiwork. They clinked against each other, singing like wind chimes before a sudden eruption of red flames and sparks from the far corner of the room made me shriek. I shielded my face from the heat and peeked over my arm. A huge, burly beast of a man looked up from his equally beastly furnace. Red light like the fires of Hell framed his hairy, wrinkly face. He wore no face or body protection. That wasn't Orville's style. He did, however, keep the tiny girl clinging to his legs protected from the fiery lux with his own body.
The old man narrowed his eyes at me as I waved, dripping black blood all over the floor. "That better not be all yer blood this time, Webster," he drawled in his thick, syrupy Southern accent.
Webster wasn't my actual full name as Webb was actually short for...fuck if I knew anymore. The rest of my name left with all my memories. Didn't care to know, anyway.
I offered Orville an exaggerated shrug, splattering globules of goo across every surface. "Eh. Column A, column B."
Orville lifted the freshly-coated weapon from the furnace. The scythe's now-red blade gleamed in the luxlight, like a curved fang stained with blood. Pride made the man's beady eyes glisten as he admired his craft. Then those eyes found mine. "Good huntin'?"
"Fought a shadow. Saved a kid. Got cussed out by the populace. You know, the usual," I mumbled. I let out a breath at the memory of slaughtering the shadow whose blood still covered me. Didn't need to breathe, really. Just a nervous habit. "Oh!" I unsheathed my sword and slapped it on the countertop between us. "I broke this."
Orville's face reddened at the state of my sword. He lifted the sword and stared at the cracks across the blade. "How the hell didju do this?"
"I'm not sure. I killed the shadow, and that just kinda...happened."
The man's expression went solemn. Over the crackle of the forge, he whispered, "The shadow. Was it...?"
My gaze flicked to the pair of sickles mounted on the wall over his head and lingered there. Those were the only weapons in the shop not for sale.
Orville found his answer in my silence.
The big ghost shook his head at me, muttering an irritable, "Never seen this happen before," before getting right to work re-coating the lux.
The toddler detached herself from Orville's side. She pointed a pudgy finger at my feet and hissed, "Ikkii!"
Beneath my boot, a crayon drawing now lay smudged and slime-covered. Peering between all the swinging blades, more crude renderings of people, shadows, and animals covered the floors and walls. Those were Aluki's handiwork. I sidestepped away from her ruined art with a squelch, taking care not to stain any more illustrations. "Oh shit," I said. "Sorry, Aluki!"
