– CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE –

  GIANT ZOMBIE GOLEM

  With the intensity of the training for LEVEL THREE of the KING MatNat Games, Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam barely had time to enjoy everything there was inside the SAMKHYA CELL. During the day, in the morning and afternoon, they had to be in CROWN EDEN for the regular classes of the school year. At night, they returned to Bylly’s care, tethered to simulated drills inside the Seractcube. There was also the theoretical portion, in which opera and classical music were studied with the same seriousness as a final exam. Bylly was not going easy on them in the slightest, making them memorize every page of the book KYBALION.

  “Fluffy, the 7 Laws of the Universe are the foundation of every KING MatNat LEVEL THREE Game,” Bylly would repeat, almost like a mantra, as she ran the training through a strict system of rewards and punishments, depending on whether they answered correctly or incorrectly on the tests she herself administered.

  Not even Poppandacorn escaped Bylly’s training. She would disable Poppandacorn’s internet access in the settings of the panda’s unicorn horn, so there would be no risk of cheating during the exercises. The rewards for correct answers from Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam consisted of thirty free minutes inside a simulated paradise island within the Seractcube. Poppandacorn, on the other hand, when he got the lesson right without searching the internet or his own database, earned the right to spend thirty minutes with Toto.

  Whenever they got something wrong, Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam were punished with a physical trial inside the Seractcube, forced to face a simulated war-zone circuit where the enemy soldiers were BAAL’s own legions. Poppandacorn, in turn, was punished whenever he disrupted Bylly’s lessons and explanations with his “Mommy’s,” always accompanied by fireworks that scattered everyone’s concentration. In those cases, Bylly would make Poppandacorn stay alone inside a dark Seractcube with only Antichrist, which, for the little robot panda, was the worst kind of torture.

  “Mommy, Poppa is detecting behavioral levels of a dictator in Patron Bylly,” Poppandacorn would always say after the training sessions in which he was put in time-out.

  “Don’t say that, Poppa. Bylly is only doing her job as a Patron. She’s right to push us this hard, because, after all, we’re three freshmen and a robot going up against THE-IMPERIUM’s second-best player.”

  To her own surprise, Americ-Ana discovered she had a knack for driving. She did remarkably well on the Solomon Coliseum track projected inside the Seractcube. Her skills as a driver did not shine only in races, but also in the traffic simulations commanded by Bylly. In some of them, Americ-Ana had to drive through streets as chaotic as India’s busiest roads during rush hour, known as some of the most confusing traffic in the world.

  Astyam, in turn, did not stand out as much in the physical training inside the Seractcube. In compensation, he was the first to memorize all 7 Laws of the Universe. He had an almost unsettling ease when it came to learning everything about classical music. He could recognize the work of great composers from a single first note.

  Wwwyye, on the other hand, preferred the hands-on training inside the Seractcube. She was excellent at carving up soldiers from BAAL’s infernal legions. For her, though, things were even more complicated when it came to study and training time, because she still had to serve the sentence of cleaning the statues in the Statue Garden along Route Magnolia for having raised her middle finger during LEVEL ONE in front of all THE-IMPERIUM. She was not allowed to use any kind of technology, nor count on help from the Moss Human to carry out the punishment. And worst of all, for Wwwyye, she had to share that sentence with Nioh Nemmesis.

  “I simply don’t have the patience to tolerate that little guy anymore. He doesn’t do his part, he just wanders around the statues. That boy is crazy. More than once I caught him talking to the statues. I’m having to do practically all the work by myself. I’m almost losing my mind because of him,” Wwwyye would say, as she drove her sword into the chest of a soldier from BAAL’s infernal legion in a training session inside the Seractcube.

  Americ-Ana was surprised when she realized it had already been a full two months since she arrived in THE-IMPERIUM, studying at Equal One Zero Academy.

  “It feels like time moves faster because of our routine of studying and training,” Astyam said, on the morning of October 31.

  “Time goes by insanely fast when I’m beheading soldiers from BAAL’s infernal legion. But when I’m cleaning statues with Nemmesis, it feels like an eternity in the Umbral.” Wwwyye said, rolling her eyes.

  “I like training and studying, but I’m tired. I’m glad we won’t have class this afternoon, and that Bylly gave us the night off.” Americ-Ana remarked.

  “Thank God, because it would be a crime to make us train on Halloween night.” Wwwyye added.

  They were all ready to head toward CROWN EDEN when Poppandacorn appeared in costume, a projected pumpkin head in place of his normal one. Seeing him, Wwwyye suddenly remembered:

  “Damn it. I completely forgot to fix my costume for tonight.”

  “It was hard to choose mine, but in the end Poppa helped me. I’m going as Daenerys Targaryen.” Americ-Ana said.

  “Daenerys Targaryen? Interesting. I know, that gives me an idea. I think I’ll go as a dragon, but not just any dragon, I’ll go as a sexy dragon. And you, Astyam, do you already know what costume you’re wearing?” Wwwyye asked, already at the exit gate of the SAMKHYA CELL.

  “I’m going as a ghost. A sheet with two holes for the eyes. Simple and practical,” Astyam replied.

  “No, you’re not. You’re going dressed as a dragon too. And don’t bother arguing with me, boy,” Wwwyye declared, over Astyam’s protests.

  “NO! NO! NO! Mommy, Wwwyye is ruining Mommy and Poppa’s costume. There can only be one Daenerys Targaryen and one cute dragon, which is Poppa, and nobody else,” Poppandacorn shouted, stomping and throwing a fit as he planted himself in front of them all, blocking everyone’s way.

  “Wrong, Poppandacorn. It’s decided. Americ-Ana will be Daenerys Targaryen, I’ll be a sexy dragon, and you and Astyam can be two other dragons. That way you’ll be Drogon, I’ll be Rhaegal, and Astyam will be Viserion. End of story. No more complaining, or I’ll tell Bylly to leave you locked up longer in the Seractcube, alone with Antichrist,” Wwwyye imposed again, threatening Poppandacorn.

  Poppandacorn crossed his arms, scowled, pouted, but gave in to Wwwyye’s will. For him, it was infinitely better to wear a costume against his wishes than to spend even a single minute alone with Antichrist.

  As soon as they arrived in CROWN EDEN, Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, Astyam with Antichrist in his arms, and Poppandacorn were met with corridors crowded with posters and notices for a night called “Magnolia Memorial Day.”

  “What is this? Some important event I should know about?” Americ-Ana asked, reading one of the posters with care.

  “It’s a very important day in THE-IMPERIUM, especially here, at the Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid, and at the pyramid next door, the Principissa Tarantula Pyramid,” Wwwyye replied. “There are outdoor games, fireworks, balloons, sweets that never run out, everyone comes in costume, there are rides, cinema, food, and lots, lots of fun.”

  “So it’s like a fair or an amusement park?” Americ-Ana asked.

  “Well... for you, from the common world, it’s like a mix of Halloween and an amusement park, and also a day when we remember someone’s death,” Wwwyye tried to explain.

  “Yes, but the most important thing is to remember the day Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain passed away,” Astyam explained.

  “Passed away? She was murdered by Rabbi Worse Devil,” Wwwyye said.

  “Wait... so this Anneliese Magnolia is Director Popess Rock’s sister?” Americ-Ana asked.

  “Exactly. Her.” Astyam explained. “Rabbi Worse Devil killed Anneliese Magnolia and fled with the seal of ASTAROTH on October 31, 1944. Since then, every year in THE-IMPERIUM, on October 31, alongside Halloween, ‘Magnolia Memorial Day’ is celebrated.”

  “Wait a second. Does all of this have to do with Route Magnolia?” Americ-Ana asked, connecting the dots.

  “It does, girl. Route Magnolia was created in honor of Anneliese Magnolia.” Wwwyye replied.

  “Route Magnolia includes the ‘Garden of All Flowers’, the ‘Statue Garden’, and the lake.” Astyam added.

  “And ‘Magnolia Memorial Day’ is celebrated at the lake. We’re going there tonight. Everyone will be there.” Wwwyye explained.

  “So let me see if I got this right... Route Magnolia is the place we walk through every day to go to and come back from CROWN EDEN? That place with a huge flower garden, then all those statues, and the lake with a bridge?” Americ-Ana asked, remembering the first time she’d passed through Route Magnolia, riding on the back of the motorcycle with Nome-Rocky.

  “That’s right. From the stream onward, when you see the Windmill, you’ll already be on Route Cell, where our SAMKHYA CELL is, and the CELL of all the other academics,” Wwwyye explained.

  Then they all headed to the classroom.

  As soon as they arrived, Wwwyye saw something that drove her completely over the edge.

  Wwwyye’s armchair had been thoroughly vandalized, the upholstery torn apart and tagged with orange spray paint, where, in huge letters, it read:

  “The Helllwk are murderers.”

  The academics who had already entered the classroom were standing around what was left of the armchair. Amid whispers, raised cameras, photos and videos being recorded for social media, there was Nioh Nemmesis, in the same spot where he stood every day, for months now, ever since he had refused to sit on the floor.

  In Nioh’s hands and all over his clothes, the orange spray paint was stamped. From the scene, what had happened was obvious. While trying to vandalize Wwwyye’s armchair, Nioh had also tried to set it on fire. In a careless moment in the middle of his fit of rage, he forgot the spray paint was flammable. The can exploded, splattering paint all over Nioh Nemmesis, who now looked more like a walking traffic cone. There was paint on the ruined armchair, on the floor around it, and even on the ceiling.

  “What the fuck is this?” Wwwyye approached slowly, teeth clenched, fist tight.

  Even beneath the thick white makeup she wore to complete her “anime girl” look, it was possible to see that Wwwyye’s face was now completely red. She took the top hat off her head and looked around, searching for answers. The moment her eyes landed on Nioh Nemmesis, she walked straight toward him.

  “Why?” was the only thing Wwwyye managed to say, through the rising rage spreading through every part of her body.

  Nioh Nemmesis coughed, took a sip of his syrup, and then spoke:

  “Your family is a bunch of murderers. Every Helllwk should be in KING NedLud. Every year, on Halloween, the Helllwk companies hand out zombies to be killed. KILLED.”

  Nioh shouted the word “KILLED” about three times in a row.

  “They deserve to live too. They deserve respect. They’re not toys for the pastime of people like you, a spoiled rich girl with nothing better to do.”

  Americ-Ana moved closer to Astyam and whispered:

  “What does Nioh mean by that?”

  “Every year, during Halloween, the Helllwk hand out zombies for free. Well... they’re not zombies like in the common world... more or less. In truth, they’re Moss Human grown in laboratories, with genetic and behavioral alterations designed to make them act like zombies. These Moss Human, besides having the cadaverous look of zombies, also feel a powerful appetite for human brains. They chase people like the zombies in the movies from the common world.”

  Americ-Ana was horrified, the shock written plainly across her face. Noticing it, Astyam hurried to correct himself:

  “But don’t worry, it’s tradition here in THE-IMPERIUM every Halloween. After the tributes of Magnolia Memorial Day, people go out to play and have fun. There’s a game where they release these zombies and give weapons to everyone. So anyone can kill a zombie, no problem. They almost never attack anyone, because they’re killed first. Zombies are slow, and the Moss Human are modified in the lab to be slow too. So there’s time to run and shoot one if any of them decides it wants to eat your brain. It’s pretty fun. I’ve never taken part, but I watched from far away a single time.”

  Americ-Ana didn’t know whether she felt terror at learning that, in THE-IMPERIUM, real zombies were manufactured in laboratories for people’s entertainment, or whether she felt pity for those so called zombies, who were, in fact, Moss Human created with that single purpose of existence: to pursue people, to hunger for their brains, and to be killed.

  Nioh Nemmesis continued to cry out that the Helllwks were dangerous assassins.

  Wwwyye took several slow, calculated steps toward him. Perceiving her approach, Nioh puffed out his chest, attempting to assert himself. However, neither he nor anyone else in that room was expecting what Wwwyye did next.

  Wwwyye gathered Nioh into her arms as if he were an infant. Then she turned him over, lowered his trousers, exposing his butt, braced the boy’s body, and began to deliver a spanking, as if she were a mother thrashing a child.

  A fit of laughter erupted through the room. The cameras, which were already at the ready, now focused upon the scene of the beating Wwwyye Helllwk was administering to Nioh Nemmesis. In a matter of seconds, the images began to spread across the social networks of THE-IMPERIUM, generating an avalanche of memes with Wwwyye as a stressed mother and Nioh as a child being beaten, in the midst of a tantrum, with screams and weeping.

  The spanks Wwwyye rained upon Nioh’s butt were so forceful they could be heard from the corridor. Nioh began to struggle, crying and screaming, trying to break free, but Wwwyye, overcome by rage, was much stronger than he in that moment.

  Until, suddenly, the scene was interrupted by the voice of an elderly man.

  "What is happening here?" Professor Fiat-Lux entered the room, appalled by the scene he had witnessed.

  Nioh seized the distraction offered by the professor and managed to wrench himself free from Wwwyye. The boy leapt to the floor with his trousers still lowered, attempting to flee, clutching at his clothes and weeping aloud. As he neared the door, Nioh took a tumble, dropping his bottle of syrup; the glass shattered, and, through sobs and shrieks, he hiked up his pants haphazardly and vanished down the corridor.

  Astyam stepped out of the room to see where Nioh would go and observed that he had departed CROWN EDEN, heading toward the parking lot.

  Once Professor Fiat-Lux finally succeeded in quelling the turmoil, Americ-Ana drew near to Wwwyye.

  "But what was that? Are you alright?"

  "I am not alright. This boy has been exhausting my patience for far too long. You cannot fathom the stress he inflicts upon me every day during our penance cleaning the statues. He accused me, and my family, of being criminals. Furthermore, he destroyed my armchair. Where am I to sit now for the remainder of the year?" Wwwyye vented.

  "You are right, in part. He cannot destroy your property simply because he disagrees with what your family does. It was not even you who did it, but your family. Besides, everyone in THE-IMPERIUM knows and even takes a liking to it." Astyam approached, with caution.

  "How can I be right 'in part'? I'm right in every part." Wwwyye snapped back.

  "I think what Astyam meant is that you hit Nioh. Forgive me for saying this, but whoever resorts to aggression always ends up losing the moral high ground," Americ-Ana dared to say.

  "Whatever. I don't care." Wwwyye shrugged.

  After all that confusion, classes carried on as usual. Nioh, however, didn't return to the classroom for the rest of the morning.

  During a break between one class and the next, Astyam dared to ask:

  "Do you think I should go after Nioh?"

  "For what? To comfort that cheeky little boy?" Wwwyye replied, harshly.

  "I think Astyam just wants to know if he's okay," Americ-Ana tried to smooth things over.

  "Of course he's okay. I didn't even hit him that hard. I know where he is. He spends the whole day lying under the Statue of Sisyphus while I do all the heavy lifting." Wwwyye answered.

  "Statue of Sisyphus?" Americ-Ana asked.

  "Yes. That giant statue in the Statue Garden, with a man holding an even bigger rock," Astyam explained.

  Night arrived, and Americ-Ana was dressed as Daenerys Targaryen at Magnolia Memorial Day. Poppandacorn, even in a Drogon dragon costume, somehow seemed even cuter than before. Wwwyye, meanwhile, in her “sexy” take on the Rhaegal dragon, drew attention wherever she went, in high heels, provocative stockings, and a flared mini skirt. Astyam, for his part, dressed as the Viserion dragon, still carried his “nerd” air, wearing his prescription glasses and spraying nasal spray into his nostrils every five minutes.

  Since arriving at the Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid, Americ-Ana had never once stopped to truly get to know Route Magnolia in calm. Every time she passed through, it was always a rush between classes and training, training and classes, not to mention the first time, riding on the back of a motorcycle driven by a demon. On that particular night, Americ-Ana could finally contemplate the beauty of the place. As usual, the night sky was packed with stars, and a refreshing breeze, which, even though everything was artificial, still carried the impact of feeling in tune with nature.

  Route Magnolia’s lake displayed on its waters the reflections of countless shimmering lights, in countless colors, cast by the special event prepared for that night.

  Americ-Ana was surprised by the immense number of amusement-park rides spread out there, facing the lake. They were THE-IMPERIUM versions of ordinary attractions from the outside world: a magnetic roller coaster slithered over the water, with invisible tracks that only lit up when the cars passed, leaving trails of light behind them. A carousel spun nearby, with mythical creatures made of solid light that unraveled into glittering particles the moment no one was riding them anymore. Farther ahead, a Ferris wheel rose almost to the limit of the artificial dome over Route Magnolia, and its glass cabins changed their inner scenery with every rotation. There was even a haunted house, a route guided by motion sensors, complete with a tour featuring real werewolves and vampires adapted into the Moss Human version that existed only in THE-IMPERIUM.

  Americ-Ana was also stunned by the sheer amount of sweets and food being handed out for free to everyone at the event: automated counters prepared hot dogs in a matter of seconds, warming the buns to the exact temperature. Popcorn burst inside transparent containers suspended in midair, forming little clouds that drifted down whenever someone approached. Cotton candy appeared spinning out of nothingness, shaped by small metallic emitters hidden along the sides of the machines. Soft drinks were served in smart cups that adjusted the level of fizz to the user’s taste, milkshakes arrived in colorful layers that glowed under the lake lights, pizzas slid out of translucent ovens embedded in the ground, and an absurd quantity of every kind of chocolate imaginable lined up in refrigerated boxes with minimalist design.

  Another detail that surprised Americ-Ana was that everyone present was in costume, although some costumes and makeup were so realistic that she couldn’t tell whether she was looking at a person or a monster created by Novaxtraai.

  A Moss Human monster, in the killer mummy version, approached and offered a pumpkin shaped basket for candies and treats to be placed in. Poppandacorn politely refused because, according to him, the food policy of the Poopghene franchise established that he, and any other robot from the franchise, are required to distribute the brand’s sweets for free to everyone on the night of October 31. So Poppandacorn was carrying a tiny little basket and, every now and then, he would run toward a child, cheerful and smiling, swishing his dragon tail, to hand out Poopghene candies.

  "What a beautiful statue. It looks like an angel, but without wings," Americ-Ana remarked, moving closer to the largest statue in the entire Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid.

  "That’s a faithful copy of Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain. I saw some photos of her while she was still alive in THE-IMPERIUM’s database. She really was beautiful," Astyam informed.

  As Americ-Ana lifted her head higher and higher to contemplate the statue, the sound of a harp rose and filled the air. She looked toward it. At the feet of Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain’s statue there was an improvised stage. At the center, a real angel played the harp, fingers plucking the strings with solemn precision.

  As the curtains opened fully, Headmistress Popess Rock appeared onstage. Behind her, the angel Reiyel remained with his great wings spread, as if guarding the entire space.

  Popess Rock stepped up to the microphone. The angel playing the harp, sensing her presence, began to play more softly. Everyone nearby, upon seeing Popess Rock on the stage, moved closer, forming a large audience at the feet of the statue.

  Popess Rock drew a deep breath. For an instant, she closed her eyes, as though listening to something no one else could hear. Then she opened them and spoke:

  "Fac Foedus, children of the Most High."

  Her voice cut through the space.

  "Children of the Supreme God, the one and true. Children of the good God."

  A murmur ran through the crowd. Some repeated it under their breath, others only bowed their heads. Americ-Ana felt her skin prickle, unable to explain why.

  "Today we gather in this sacred place, at the feet of the living memory of Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain, not only to remember death," Popess Rock continued. "We are here to remember life. The life of my sister. The only sister the Most High ever gave me in this world."

  She turned her face slightly toward the statue, as if speaking to someone who was still there.

  "Anneliese had a smile that lit up entire corridors," Popess Rock said. "She had a heart that never knew how to refuse help. She had dreams, she had plans, she had a whole future ahead of her. But on October thirty-first, nineteen forty-four, on this very day, in this very world, those promises were torn away."

  The harp lingered beneath it all, a soft lament.

  "Children of the Most High, Magnolia Memorial Day is not just an event on our calendar." Her voice grew heavier, lower. "Magnolia Memorial Day is an altar. It is the day we stop everything to say, before the sky and before one another, that no life given over to love is forgotten. That no tear shed in faithfulness to the good God falls to the ground in vain."

  Some people in the crowd wiped their eyes. Others pressed a hand to their chest. Americ-Ana felt the weight of the date settle onto her shoulders, even though she had never known Anneliese.

  Popess Rock tightened her grip on the microphone.

  "Today we honor the memory of my youngest sister," she declared. "But we also honor the memory of all the children of the Most High who were cut down by evil in this world. Their names may never have been carved into stone, but they are written before the Supreme God."

  She paused briefly. The silence, thick with held breath, felt like part of the speech.

  "Magnolia Memorial Day is our reminder," she continued. "That the sky does not forget. That God does not forget. That love does not end at the hour of death."

  The angel’s fingers on the harp grew even more delicate, as if underlining each sentence.

  Then Popess Rock lifted her chin slightly.

  "But as we celebrate life, we cannot pretend evil does not exist."

  She fell silent for a few seconds. The harp softened further, until it became nothing more than a thread of sound in the background. It was as if the very air held its breath along with the crowd.

  "There is evil in this world, children of the Most High," Popess Rock declared. "Not the romantic evil, beautiful in poetry. Not the abstract evil, distant, the kind we put into stories so we can sleep better. I am speaking of real evil. Evil that chooses. Evil that calculates. Evil that looks at the light and decides to put it out."

  Her eyes cast a brief glance toward Anneliese’s statue, then returned to the audience.

  "This evil has a name." Her voice came out sharper. "Rabbi Worse Devil."

  The name crossed the space like a stone thrown into a calm lake. A murmur swelled, muffled, heavy. Some clenched their fists, others lowered their heads, as if hearing a blasphemy.

  "Rabbi Worse Devil, the man who stained his hands with the blood of Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain," Popess Rock continued. "The man who murdered a servant of the Most High out of greed, out of spiritual covetousness, out of hunger for power. He did not merely take my sister’s life. He laid a hand on what is holy, he defied the heavens."

  She leaned her body slightly to the side, as if she could feel the weight of someone behind her.

  "And as if that were not enough, children of the Most High, he fled, taking with him the seal of ASTAROTH." Her eyes flashed with indignation. "The seal of the demon for which the angel Reiyel, who stands here behind me, was responsible. He did not meddle only with my house. He meddled with the protocols of heaven itself. He put filthy hands on what belongs to God, on what belongs to the spiritual order of this universe."

  The angel Reiyel remained motionless, yet his presence seemed to fill the entire space behind her.

  "That is why this name, Rabbi Worse Devil, is not merely a name on an archival page," Popess Rock said. "It is the living reminder that evil exists, acts, organizes itself. That there are men willing to sell their own souls, and the souls of others, for the pleasure of control, for the vanity of command, for the illusion of being gods unto themselves."

  She drew a deep breath. Her voice softened a little, without losing its firmness.

  "Children of the Most High, I am not speaking to you only as a citizen of THE-IMPERIUM," she declared. "I am speaking as an older sister who watched her only sister be torn from this world. I am speaking as a woman who has carried this pain for eighty years. Time did not touch my body, but each day has marked my soul."

  Americ-Ana felt her stomach turn. Suddenly, eighty years ceased to be a strange curiosity and became a concrete weight.

  "And as if that were not enough, in recent times, my husband has also gone." Popess Rock’s voice fell lower. "The husband who walked at my side, in silence and faithfulness, beneath the gaze of the Supreme God. The father of my only son."

  A collective sigh moved through the crowd like a wave. The grief that had belonged only to Popess Rock spread outward, taking shape in every face present.

  "It has not been easy," she confessed, simply, without a mask. "My home has become a place of empty chairs. The table, a place of absences. The bed, a space of memory. I know what it is to wake up and no longer find the voice of the one who walked beside me. I know what it is to look into my son’s face and see, at the same time, tomorrow and the lack."

  She closed her eyes for a moment, as if she needed to draw breath from somewhere else. Two tears fell, slow, one down each side of her face. Again, she did not wipe them away.

  "That is why, children of the Most High, Magnolia Memorial Day is for me as well," Popess Rock continued. "It is not only about Anneliese. It is not only about names carved into stone. It is about all those we have lost. It is about each one of you who has buried someone you loved. It is about every empty place that aches inside us."

  The harp, now, seemed to pray along.

  "And before an evil as real as that of Rabbi Worse Devil, before losses as deep as the ones we have been living through, we have two choices." Her voice steadied again. "Either we let hatred consume us, or we turn pain into an altar. Either we return to heaven, in the form of faith, what evil tried to tear from us."

  Popess Rock drew a deep breath and lifted her gaze, as if aiming beyond THE-IMPERIUM’s dome.

  "I chose to turn pain into an altar," she declared. "And tonight, I do not want this altar to remain only in my mouth. I want it to be an act. Something our eyes can see, something the sky cannot ignore."

  She made a discreet gesture with her hand. A few assistants began to move at the edges of the stage, bringing something that was not yet fully visible to the crowd.

  "Children of the Most High, tonight we will raise lights," Popess Rock announced. "Lights in memory of my sister, of my husband, and of all the children of God whom evil tried to silence. Lights that rise, while the name of the Most High remains over us."

  The assistants set two large white paper lanterns near the center of the stage, still unlit.

  Popess Rock turned forward again. Her face was firm, despite the tears drying.

  "And to begin this act of faith, I cannot be alone," she said. "I need my son by my side."

  She held the microphone with both hands, as though holding something sacred.

  "Nome-Rocky, my son, come here."

  The name echoed through the space. The crowd held its breath.

  Nome-Rocky climbed the stage steps in silence, one by one, until he reached Popess Rock’s side.

  She rested a hand on his shoulder for an instant, saying nothing into the microphone. Then she turned back to the audience.

  "Children of the Most High," Popess Rock declared. "Tonight, two lives rise before the sky in the form of light. One, the life of my sister, Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain. The other, the life of my husband, Nome-Rocky’s father."

  The assistants drew closer, carrying the two celestial lanterns, large white paper balloons, light, rounded, with a small wire frame at the base. At the center of each frame, a pellet of solid fuel was fixed in place, still unlit.

  Popess Rock received a slender torch, its flame controlled, from one of the assistants. She lifted it for a moment, as if presenting that fire to the sky, and then looked at her son.

  "My son," she said, now without amplification, but still audible. "Light your father’s flame."

  She handed the torch to Nome-Rocky. He held it with both hands and leaned over the first lantern. Carefully, he brought the flame close to the pellet fixed to the metal frame. The pellet caught slowly, forming a small, steady flame. Little by little, the air inside the balloon began to warm. The paper swelled, trembling faintly, as if the lantern were breathing for the first time.

  Then Popess Rock took the torch back and turned to the second lantern.

  "And this flame," she said, stepping closer, "I light in memory of my sister."

  She touched the flame to the second fuel pellet. Again the fire caught, small and intense. The second lantern began to fill as well, the paper taking shape as the warm air rose toward the top.

  The harp resumed, its notes even softer. The stage seemed to breathe along with the two newly born lights.

  Popess Rock walked to the microphone one last time before stepping down.

  "Children of the Most High," her voice echoed. "These two lanterns stand for Nome-Rocky’s father and my sister Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain. But when they rise, all those you carry in your heart tonight will rise with them. Every step we take now will be a prayer. Make way."

  She let the microphone go on its stand without turning it off, then turned back to the lanterns. She handed one to Nome-Rocky, carefully, adjusting his hands on the frame. She took the other for herself, holding the balloon by its base while the paper still trembled faintly, upheld by the warm air.

  Reiyel moved a little closer, positioning himself behind them. His wings opened fully, creating a white and golden frame around the small scene, mother, son, two lit lanterns, and an angel in silence.

  Popess Rock took the first step out from the center of the stage. Nome-Rocky followed, his father’s lantern in his hands. Reiyel came right behind, wings spread.

  Seeing the movement, the people before the stage instinctively began to step back. The crowd opened, forming a human corridor that stretched from the stage steps to the edge of Route Magnolia’s lake. Some were crying. Others raised their hands. Others only watched, faces wet with tears and light.

  Americ-Ana felt her heart pound harder. She watched Popess Rock descend the steps, the lantern swaying softly, the flame trembling, yet not going out. She saw Nome-Rocky at her side, holding his father’s lantern, and she saw the angel Reiyel behind them, wings open, walking like a shadow made of light.

  Poppandacorn, beside Americ-Ana, held his dragon costume with his little paws, silent. Even Wwwyye and Astyam kept their eyes fixed on the procession.

  The sound of footsteps was muffled, yet it blended with the audience’s restrained crying. Wherever they passed, some people murmured, "Amen," others whispered, "Most High," and others simply let their tears fall in silence.

  Popess Rock did not stop once. She came down, crossed the corridor of people, and walked to the lake’s edge, always holding the lantern as if it were something sacred. Nome-Rocky kept pace at her side. Reiyel, close behind, seemed to follow not only the path, but the intention of every step.

  At the water’s edge, a small boat was waiting for them. It was simple, but sturdy, prepared for that moment. A Moss Human extended a hand to Popess Rock. She accepted the help and stepped in carefully, shielding the lantern so the paper wouldn’t tear and the flame wouldn’t go out. Then Nome-Rocky climbed in, holding his own. The boat rocked lightly, then steadied. Reiyel remained on the shore, wings still spread, like a guardian stationed there between land and lake.

  The crowd pressed close to the edge without crossing the invisible line of that corridor of reverence. The harp kept playing, now with an even greater echo, reflected off the water’s dark surface.

  One of the Moss Humans pushed the boat, and it began to glide forward. The lanterns in Popess Rock’s and Nome-Rocky’s hands trembled with the motion, but the warm air inside them held their shape, insisting.

  Americ-Ana followed with her eyes as the boat drifted away from the shore, carrying with it that family’s mourning and all of THE-IMPERIUM’s attention toward a sacred seal, the seal of ASTAROTH, the stolen seal. Route Magnolia’s lake opened into reflections, mixing the lanterns’ glow, the outline of Anneliese’s statue, and the distant silhouette of the boat.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  When the boat reached roughly the center, the world seemed to shrink until it was only that point: mother, son, two lights, and the silent mirror of the water.

  The harp, back on the shore, now played as if each note were a thread tying the lake to the sky.

  Popess Rock gave a small nod. She and Nome-Rocky began to lift the lanterns at the same time. The flames at the base kept burning, warming the air within. The swollen paper pulled upward, insistent.

  For a few seconds, the lanterns clung to their hands. Then they began to tug harder, as if they wanted to break free. Popess Rock drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and slowly opened her fingers.

  Nome-Rocky did the same.

  The two celestial lanterns released, floating a few centimeters above their hands. They rose slowly, swaying in the light wind that cut across the lake. At first, they seemed uncertain, as if testing their own courage. Then they gained height and began to truly ascend, like two white prayers crossing the night.

  On the surface of the water, the reflection doubled the flames. They looked like four. Then eight. The lake magnified the gesture, multiplying what the boat offered.

  On the shore, the silence broke. Someone cried out loud. Another voice whispered, "Amen." A Moss Human brought a hand to their face. Academics who had never known Anneliese, nor Popess Rock’s husband, now behaved as if they had lost someone from their own family.

  The lanterns rose, small, steady.

  Then, as if that act had been the agreed-upon signal, dozens of assistants began moving through the crowd, handing out paper lanterns to everyone present. They were just like Popess Rock’s, only a little smaller, each with its own fuel pellet fixed at the base.

  Across the whole stretch of Route Magnolia, the scene began to repeat itself. Trembling hands received lanterns. Careful fingers lit the fuel pellets with candles, small torches, lighters. The flames steadied. The air warmed. The paper balloons slowly inflated.

  Americ-Ana felt someone place something into her hands. When she looked down, she saw her lantern. White paper, thin, light. The wire frame at the base. The pellet still unlit.

  Poppandacorn lifted his face to look.

  "Mommy," he murmured. "It looks like a little piece of sky waiting to be plugged into an outlet."

  Americ-Ana laughed, her eyes already damp.

  "Then let’s plug it in," she replied.

  An assistant lit the flame and brought it to the pellet. Americ-Ana watched closely. The fire caught, steady, starting small and then settling. The warm air made the balloon swell, the paper puffing until it turned round, trembling in the air, asking to rise.

  Beside her, Wwwyye also held a lantern, staring at the paper as if she were facing something she could not afford to ruin. Astyam, with his own, adjusted the position of his hands carefully, as though it were a delicate experiment. Poppandacorn received an adapted little lantern, smaller, with a reinforced frame so his mechanical paws could hold it.

  When the flames had steadied in dozens, in hundreds of lanterns, someone gave the signal, a kind of count that hadn’t been agreed aloud, yet everyone understood.

  "Three…" someone whispered.

  "Two…"

  "One…"

  And, as if the very air had opened its hands, the sky began to fill with lights.

  Lanterns rose from every point along Route Magnolia. Some faster, others slower. Some swaying, uncertain, others climbing straight toward the heights. In a matter of seconds, the space above filled with white and golden points ascending without a sound, tracing invisible paths all the way to the top of the pyramid.

  Americ-Ana lifted her head. She watched her own lantern slip away from her fingers and felt a part of herself rise along with that lit scrap of paper.

  Beside her, Poppandacorn managed to release his little lantern after a small effort to pry open his tiny paws. It floated up slightly crooked, but it rose. He followed it with his eyes, smiling faintly, as if he were watching a toy and a miracle at the same time.

  Wwwyye simply let go of her lantern and stared upward, silent, her mouth slightly open. Astyam discreetly wiped a tear with the back of his hand as his lantern joined the others.

  Within moments, the artificial sky of the Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid gained a new constellation. It had not been programmed by engineers, nor drawn by drones. It was made of grief, of remembrance, of faith. Each point of light carried a name, a face, a story someone refused to forget.

  Suddenly, Popess Rock had returned to the stage. She walked up to the microphone. Stopped. Looked at the audience. Looked at the lake. Looked at the sky full of lanterns still rising.

  Then she opened her arms, as if she wanted to embrace everyone at once.

  "Children of the Most High," she declared. "Before this lake, before this statue, before this sky of lights, I declare this year’s Magnolia Memorial Day officially opened. May the memory of Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain, may the memory of my husband, and may the memory of all those who sleep in the Lord remain alive among us. May the memory of God’s gift, the seal of ASTAROTH stolen from the hands of the chosen people, from the hands of THE-IMPERIUM, endure forever until evil dies. May the good God keep us from the evil of Rabbi Worse Devil and from every evil that rises against the will of the Most High."

  She paused briefly. Drew in a deep breath. A small smile, weary and true, appeared at the corner of her lips.

  "And now…" Popess Rock continued, her voice a little lighter. "Let the Halloween celebrations begin."

  The instant the word "Halloween" left her mouth, something happened at the feet of Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain’s statue.

  A ring of light flared to life around the base, as if a crown of fire had been activated there. Then a sequence of fireworks launched, firing from the statue’s very feet. They rose in straight lines, ripping through the air, until they exploded high above, in the middle of a sky already crowded with lanterns.

  Bursts of different colors blossomed between the white and golden points of the balloons, painting the pyramid’s dome in red, purple, blue, green, gold. Mourning and celebration blended into the same frame. Each explosion lit, for a second, the faces of Americ-Ana, Poppandacorn, Wwwyye, Astyam, Moss Humans, patrons, academics, angels, and all the other citizens of THE-IMPERIUM.

  It was as if the bunker itself had finally decided to draw a deep breath after holding it for so long.

  Americ-Ana watched that collision of fireworks and lanterns with the strange feeling of being in the right place at the right time, even without yet knowing what it would mean for her future. She only knew she would never forget the sky of that night, a sky where memory, pain, faith, and festivity shared the same space beneath the unmoving, eternal gaze of Anneliese Magnolia Whittierain.

  Still under the rain of fireworks, the crowd began to disperse. The party music surged back to the foreground, and people returned to the rides, the lines for treats, the laughter and the screams.

  Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, Astyam, and Poppandacorn kept walking among the attractions when Wwwyye froze mid path, like a radar that had picked up a forbidden signal. A Moss Human was handing out flyers with the calm of someone who knew exactly what he was offering.

  "Look at that. The zombie hunt is finally open," Wwwyye said, and took off running before anyone could even answer.

  She took three flyers from the Moss Human and came back almost skipping, handing one to Astyam, one to Americ-Ana, and one to Poppandacorn, as if she were handing out golden tickets.

  Astyam skimmed the paper and read aloud, trying to sound calm.

  "This year, besides the usual zombies, there will be the final challenge with a Giant Zombie Golem."

  "A Giant Zombie Golem?" Wwwyye repeated, now reading her own flyer with raised eyebrows. "I didn’t know about that. But now I’m curious. What do you think? Should we join?"

  Astyam held the paper carefully, as if the flyer could bite.

  "Well... I’ve never played, but I’ve been wanting to see what it’s like. It sounds fun." He said, with shyness trying to pass for courage.

  Americ-Ana looked from one to the other. Wwwyye’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Astyam’s contained excitement had that kind of sincerity that dismantled any excuse.

  "I’m with you. If you go, I’m in," Americ-Ana replied, already seeing herself caught in a choice that, deep down, she also wanted to make.

  Poppandacorn didn’t even wait for the rest.

  "If Mommy goes, Poppa goes too," he exclaimed, clinging to Americ-Ana’s leg as if the decision were a sacred contract.

  Americ-Ana went back to the flyer and read more carefully. This year’s "Zombie Hunt" would take place in the "Statue Garden," on the right side, in the direction from CROWN EDEN to Route Cell. Just seeing the name of the place made something tighten inside her, as if the paper had gone colder between her fingers.

  Near the lake, a Moss Human was directing participants. Wwwyye went straight to him, asked for information, and within a few minutes the four of them were being guided toward the hunt area, mixed in with other people who laughed a little too loudly, as if trying to convince themselves it was only a game.

  When they arrived, there was another Moss Human in a booth handling registrations and outfitting participants. He didn’t raise his voice, but authority came through in the way each word sounded like a protocol.

  "Fac Foedus. Please put on the bulletproof vests. Pick up your weapons at the next booth."

  Americ-Ana froze for half a second.

  Bulletproof vests.

  The idea didn’t match “party” in her head, and her shock was so obvious that Wwwyye noticed at once.

  "Don’t worry," Wwwyye said, practical, almost impatient with fear. "The guns and the bullets are real, but when you put on the bulletproof vest, it has a special Novaxtraai technology that protects your entire body, from your feet to the strands of your hair. That way, if someone shoots you by accident, you won’t be hit."

  Americ-Ana put on the vest and pulled the straps tight, checking them one by one until everything felt properly secured and buckled. The material hugged her body like a second skin, and still she couldn’t stop thinking that “bulletproof vest” shouldn’t belong in the vocabulary of a party night.

  At the next booth, another Moss Human handed out weapons. They were compact automatic carbines, military standard, with a matte black body and reinforced polymer components, built to take drops, rain, and impacts without complaint. The short barrel gave an impression of immediate brutality, and the retractable stock made everything even more functional and cold. On top, a discreet holographic sight glowed with a minimal reticle, and on the side there was a small embedded display that logged shots and hits, as if the weapon itself were a silent judge of the massacre. When Americ-Ana locked the magazine in place, the metallic click snapped shut, merciless, and the weight of the object in her hands made it clear that this was no party toy.

  "This year’s prizes range from candy to gold bars," the Moss Human said, handing out the weapons with the same calm as someone handing out flyers.

  Wwwyye practically bounced.

  "What’s the prize for whoever makes it to the end and kills the Giant Zombie Golem?" she asked, her eyes shining as if the game had already started inside her head.

  "The final prize for the death of the Giant Zombie Golem is a Bugatti. The model is the winner’s choice," the Moss Human replied, without changing his tone.

  Astyam lifted the weapon as if weighing the heft of a promise.

  "Nice. I was actually wanting another one to park in the garage next to my Ferrari," he said, excited, with the kind of casualness only someone very rich could pull off.

  "Not if I win, boy," Wwwyye shot back, sharp with open challenge.

  Americ-Ana pressed her palm to the vest on her chest, as if she needed to make sure it was truly there. She wasn’t interested in prizes, much less in winning. In that moment, what she felt was something else, an almost unexpected gratitude rising inside her and leaving her calmer.

  Gratitude because Bylly had made her, Wwwyye, and Astyam practice target shooting inside the Seractcube. If that was going to be necessary during the LEVEL THREE challenges, then at least she wouldn’t be completely blind and shaking with a gun in her hands.

  Not long after, registration closed. The participants gathered at the entrance to the Statue Garden, lined up in small groups, some laughing a little too loudly, others silent, their gazes hard. The lake fell behind them, and the path ahead seemed to swallow the party’s light.

  A Moss Human stepped to the front of everyone. He read a few basic rules, pointed out directions, reinforced prohibitions. Americ-Ana heard the sound of the words, but couldn’t truly absorb them. Anxiety throbbed, as if her body had already decided to run before the signal.

  Then the Moss Human raised a gun and fired into the air.

  The gunshot split the night.

  And in that same instant, everyone surged forward.

  Americ-Ana ran with them, feeling the vest tight against her body, the weapon heavy in her hands, and the Statue Garden rising ahead, stone shapes emerging at the sides like motionless sentries. They pushed deeper between the statues, as if entering a labyrinth that did not want to be crossed.

  The air inside was different. Colder, damper, carrying the smell of wet earth and ancient stone, as if the garden were a place that had never agreed to be the backdrop for a game.

  Americ-Ana slowed without realizing it. The sound of her own footsteps felt too loud. The fabric of the vest brushed her skin with every movement, reminding her that something rigid and serious was wrapped around her. The carbine weighed like a bad promise, and she kept her finger off the trigger, the way Bylly had repeated, repeated, repeated inside the Seractcube.

  Up close, the statues were worse than they looked from a distance. Some had faces that were too perfect, eyes without pupils, mouths half-open as if they were about to whisper. Others were gigantic, arms raised in gestures that could have been blessing or condemnation. The path between them narrowed, and the shadows kept reshaping the forms, as if the garden itself were moving.

  Wwwyye shot ahead, too excited to be afraid. Astyam tried to keep up, but he didn’t have the same lightness. Poppandacorn ran pressed to Americ-Ana’s leg, his dragon tail swishing back and forth, as if this were a parade and not a hunt.

  "Mommy, Poppa will protect you," he said, puffing out his chest in the most dramatic way a robot panda dressed as a dragon could possibly manage. "Poppa is Mommy’s official bodyguard on Halloween."

  Americ-Ana didn’t answer. She only looked around, trying to fit reality into some safe category inside her own mind. Party. Game. Performance. Theater. Anything that wasn’t what her body was feeling: an animal warning, ancient, screaming that this place was not meant for her to be in.

  Then came the gunshots.

  First, a distant crack, dry, echoing among the stones. Then another, closer, followed by a rapid sequence, like someone losing control of their own breathing. The sound ricocheted from side to side, and for a second Americ-Ana couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The Statue Garden threw the noise back as if it wanted to swallow direction itself.

  Someone screamed somewhere. A short, sharp scream that could have been laughter, could have been surprise, could have been fear. And right after, nervous laughter rose in answer, as if people needed to prove to themselves it was still just a game.

  Americ-Ana felt her throat go dry.

  She forced her eyes forward, trying to catch movement between the statues. Nothing. Only shadows. Only motionless shapes. Only the distant lake, already out of sight, and the sound of the party, which now felt like a world that belonged to someone else.

  The weapon’s side display glowed with a zero, waiting. That bothered her more than it should have. It wasn’t just a gun. It was a counter. A judge. A thing that turned something living into points.

  Poppandacorn stepped in front of her, spreading his little arms.

  "If any zombie shows up, Mommy, Poppa will bite the zombie first," he declared, with the absurd confidence of someone who didn’t have real teeth. "Poppa will do it like this, nom."

  Americ-Ana almost laughed, but the laugh didn’t come. The sound of something dragging, very faint, very far away, brushed her ear, and she froze.

  It wasn’t gunfire. It wasn’t people running.

  It was a low, uneven noise, like a nail scraping stone. Like a bare, wet foot being pulled across the ground. A dragging that stopped and started again, as if whoever was coming had trouble deciding their own direction.

  Americ-Ana stopped. Poppandacorn stopped too. Astyam and Wwwyye were already a few meters ahead, but Americ-Ana couldn’t follow them.

  She turned her face slowly, searching for the source of the sound.

  The darkness between two statues seemed thicker than it should have been, as if the shadow were fabric. And the dragging grew a little louder.

  Americ-Ana tightened her grip on the gun. The cold metal touched her palm, and its weight settled into her body like a simple truth.

  Something was there.

  And it was coming.

  The dragging grew louder, closer, as if the ground were being scraped by something heavy and impatient. Americ-Ana held the weapon with both hands. The sight trembled just a little, but it trembled.

  Poppandacorn positioned himself in front of her, chest puffed out, little arms spread wide, his dragon tail aimed into the dark as if it were a spear.

  "Mommy, stay behind Poppa," he whispered, with the theatrical courage of someone who had no idea what he was about to see. "Poppa is anti-zombie. Poppa is... a repellent."

  The shadow between the two statues moved.

  First, a hand appeared.

  Not a real human hand, and not a convincing costume either. It was a dead hand, swollen and darkened, its skin split into cracked plates, like dry clay that had started to rot. The nails were broken, dirt packed beneath them, and the fingers trembled, as if the body no longer remembered how to obey.

  Then came the shoulder, the head, and then the rest of the body dragged itself out of the corridor of shadow.

  Americ-Ana felt her stomach turn.

  The zombie didn’t walk. It hauled itself. One of its knees looked broken, bent the wrong way, and the foot scraped along the ground, leaving a wet, dark trail. Its chest was torn open somewhere beneath the shredded clothes, and the smell hit Americ-Ana like a slap. It was like meat forgotten in the heat, mixed with mold and sewage, a stench that clung to her throat and made her eyes water.

  It lifted its face.

  Half of a lip was simply gone. Yellow teeth showed all the time, and the gums looked inflamed, wet, far too alive for something that should have been dead. One eye was clouded, unfocused. The other seemed to look straight at her.

  Poppandacorn took a step forward. Small, but decided.

  "You are violating Mommy’s personal space zone," he said, in a tone far too serious for a robot panda dressed as a dragon. "Please return to your grave, Mr. Zombie."

  The zombie let out a low sound, like a gagged moan. Its head tilted slightly, as if it had heard something but not understood. Then, suddenly, it lunged.

  It was fast. Far too fast for a body like that.

  The rotten hand grabbed Poppandacorn by the head.

  Americ-Ana saw the nails driving in between plush and metal shell, saw Poppandacorn’s body lifted off the ground as if he weighed nothing. His little legs started kicking in the air, his little arms flailing, frantic.

  "Mommy!" Poppandacorn shouted, his voice going high with shock. "Mommy, the zombie is holding Poppa by the head. That is bad manners."

  The zombie raised Poppandacorn higher, like a trophy. And then it opened its mouth.

  The breath came first, hot and rotten, like the exhale of a tomb. The mouth lowered onto Poppandacorn’s head.

  Its teeth struck metal with a dry crack.

  The sound was horrific. A grind of enamel against steel, like someone sawing at an old pot with their own teeth. The zombie chewed again, stubbornly, as if trying to get through it until it found brain.

  Poppandacorn twisted in the air, his dragon tail spinning, his huge eyes wide.

  "Mommy, he’s trying to eat Poppa’s brain!" he screamed. "But Poppa doesn’t have a brain. Poppa has a processor. That’s worse!"

  The zombie chewed one more time. A string of dark saliva slid from the corner of its mouth and dripped onto Poppandacorn’s body. The zombie made an irritated sound, as if it couldn’t understand why there was no blood, no flesh, no human scream.

  Americ-Ana took a step back on instinct, just to avoid the smell up close. Her heart hammered so hard it felt like it was pounding against the vest.

  She lifted the carbine. The holographic sight snapped into the scene as if it were an automatic reflex from training. Her finger found the trigger.

  And still, for a second, she didn’t shoot.

  Because seeing a zombie chewing on Poppandacorn’s head, dangling him in the air, thrashing like a living toy, was a kind of terror that made no sense. It was grotesque, it was absurd, it was far too real.

  "Let him go," Americ-Ana said, her voice low, trembling, but loaded with threat.

  The zombie kept chewing, as if it hadn’t heard.

  Americ-Ana sucked in a hard breath, steadied her body, and the whole world narrowed to the sight and to what needed to stop.

  The crack of the zombie’s teeth on metal seemed to echo between the statues like a warning. Americ-Ana tightened her grip on the carbine. The stench had already invaded her throat, warm and wet, a rot that seemed to cling inside, as if the air itself had gone bad.

  She lined the sight up on the zombie’s face.

  And that was when the Statue Garden decided to show it wasn’t only about one monster.

  An impact came from the side, fast, violent.

  Americ-Ana barely had time to turn her face. Something heavy slammed into her and knocked her to the ground. Cold stone against her back, the weapon slipping, the vest trapping the air in her chest like a hand.

  The second zombie was on top of her.

  Its weight was wrong, soft in some places and hard in others, like a body that no longer knew what was muscle and what was just meat going bad. Its face dropped too close. Far too close.

  The skin was in decay, parts swollen, others sunken. A piece of the jaw looked loose. The mouth opened in a breathless moan, and the stink hit Americ-Ana like a hot blow of sewage and rust. Thick saliva slid down the zombie’s chin and splattered onto her vest, leaving a viscous stain.

  Americ-Ana tried to shove it off, but the zombie pressed down harder. Its hands clamped the vest with force, fingers stiff, broken nails scraping the material like claws. The face kept lowering, the jaw trembling, trying to find her neck, trying to find flesh.

  Americ-Ana turned her face to the side, feeling the rotten breath brush her cheek.

  In the corner of her vision, she saw the carbine on the ground, only a few centimeters away. So close and so far.

  The zombie opened its mouth again, teeth clicking now, and Americ-Ana felt the tip of a tooth touch her chin, like a promise.

  Panic came. Brief. Precise.

  Then her body reacted.

  Americ-Ana yanked her knee up hard and drove a kick straight into the zombie’s groin.

  The impact made the monster let out a gagged sound, a low moan, and its weight slid to the side. Americ-Ana seized the second it lost balance. She rolled on the ground, stretched out her arm, and grabbed the weapon as if she were grabbing a rope to keep from falling into an abyss.

  She pulled the carbine to her chest, swung the barrel upward, and before the zombie could recover, she fired.

  The muzzle flash lit the rotting face for an instant, like a camera flash in a nightmare. The sound cracked through the garden and ricocheted between the statues. The shot hit the head.

  The zombie dropped with a heavy thud, like a sack of meat.

  The sight was still shaking, but Americ-Ana kept the weapon trained, breathing in short bursts. The carbine’s side display gave a discreet beep and the number climbed, as if the weapon were celebrating a hit Americ-Ana hadn’t wanted to make.

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard. She got up fast, the vest squeezing her chest. The smell was still there, clinging to her, as if it had entered through her nose and decided to live inside.

  She turned back toward where the first zombie was.

  Poppandacorn was still in the air, grabbed by the head, flailing his little arms and legs.

  The zombie kept trying to chew through the metal shell, teeth grinding, irritated, like a machine trying to crack a safe with its mouth.

  Americ-Ana raised the gun.

  Her voice came out low and feral, like an oath:

  "Let go of my Poppandacorn."

  The zombie didn’t let go.

  Americ-Ana fired.

  The shots were dry and controlled, recoil hammering her shoulder, the muzzle flash carving a line through the dark. The sound detonated between the statues, and for a second the Statue Garden seemed to wake as a whole.

  The zombie jolted. Its jaw still tried to bite one more time, out of stubbornness. Then its arm loosened.

  Poppandacorn dropped.

  Americ-Ana surged forward and caught the little robot panda in midair before he hit the ground. His body was trembling, his huge eyes widened too far to fit that cute face.

  "Mommy…" Poppandacorn said, breathless, as if a robot could truly be out of breath. "Poppa was attacked in the head. Poppa thinks Poppa needs a helmet. And a lawyer."

  Americ-Ana pressed him against her body for a second, as if she needed to confirm he was whole, even with his dragon costume completely crumpled.

  The weapon’s display beeped again, logging another hit, and Americ-Ana hated the sound. The climbing number felt like a cruel joke.

  She lifted her face and stared down the path between the statues.

  Silence returned for an instant. A strange silence, full of echo, full of distance.

  And it was in that instant that she realized the distant gunfire had changed. It was no longer that excited, game-like rhythm of shots. Now there were short, frantic bursts, tangled with screams that didn’t sound like laughter.

  Americ-Ana felt the shiver rise again.

  She adjusted Poppandacorn in her arm, gripped the carbine firmly with the other hand, and kept moving forward, trying to understand what she was walking into, and why it had stopped feeling like a game from the very first step.

  Americ-Ana took two more steps between the statues, trying to read the garden the way you read a trap. The silence felt cocked, tensioned by something that still hadn’t shown itself. The carbine sat solid in her hand. Poppandacorn, tucked into her arm, trembled more than he should have, and his dragon costume hung crooked, as if even the fabric had been humiliated.

  The gunfire in the distance continued, but now it came in short, disorganized bursts. It no longer had the rhythm of people playing. It had the rhythm of people trying to stay alive.

  Americ-Ana heard a scream closer by. A scream that didn’t turn into laughter afterward. The sound died halfway, swallowed by the statues.

  She turned her head, searching for where it had come from.

  That was when someone ran past her.

  A participant. The vest thudding against his body, eyes wide, face too pale under the garden’s uneven light. He didn’t even look at Americ-Ana. He just ran, as if direction mattered more than any person.

  Right after, another one ran past. And then another.

  The garden, suddenly, was in a hurry.

  Americ-Ana stood still for half a second, trying to understand. The footsteps were coming from the opposite direction of the game’s natural route. This wasn’t people pushing forward to hunt. It was people falling back to escape.

  Poppandacorn lifted his head, his eyes shining.

  "Mommy," he whispered, terrified. "Poppa thinks the fun is over."

  A third player sprinted past, nearly crashing into her. Americ-Ana stepped aside so she wouldn’t be knocked down. The player looked back as he ran, as if expecting to see something burst out at any moment between the statues.

  And then another came, running and shouting, not even thinking about saving his voice.

  "The Zombie Golem got loose, he’s coming!"

  The sentence went through Americ-Ana like an electric shock.

  For an instant, she no longer saw the statues. She saw only the word "Golem" taking shape in her mind, heavy, disproportionate, impossible. A monster too big to fit inside a game.

  The garden answered with sound. A deep, distant sound, like stone being dragged across the ground. It wasn’t the uneven scraping of ordinary zombies. It was a slow, continuous vibration, as if something enormous were moving without hurry, because it knew it didn’t need to run.

  More screams erupted. People running, shoving, stumbling. Chaos began to take the Statue Garden like a wave.

  Americ-Ana pressed Poppandacorn tight against her body.

  "Let’s go," she said, more to herself than to him.

  Poppandacorn nodded far too fast.

  "Poppa agrees," he said, frantic. "Poppa agrees with running away."

  Americ-Ana turned and started running back toward the starting line, pulling Poppandacorn with her, keeping the carbine steady without pointing it at anyone. The vest felt heavier now. Not from its actual weight, but from its meaning. The game had changed its tone, and she could feel it in her body.

  The statues slid past on either side like motionless shadows. Some seemed to watch. Others seemed to accuse. The narrow path became a corridor of people running. A participant fell ahead, and another jumped over him without looking back. Someone was crying as they ran. Someone was shouting someone’s name.

  The deep sound came again, closer, like an echo of living stone. The vibration traveled up through the soles of Americ-Ana’s feet and into her legs, as if the ground itself were warning her it wasn’t safe.

  "Mommy," Poppandacorn said, clinging to her. "Poppa does not want to be chewed again."

  "Neither do I," Americ-Ana answered, breathless.

  She ran harder. Air burned down her throat. The rot-stench seemed to have clung to her since the first zombie, and now it mixed with sweat and the fear of the other participants.

  When she finally spotted the starting area, Americ-Ana felt a brief relief, almost ridiculous, as if the starting line were a kind of protection. There were Moss Humans trying to organize things, people screaming, brighter lights, and the distant sound of the party, as if a normal world existed right next to them, pretending nothing was happening.

  Americ-Ana sprinted through the last stretch, nearly tripping over her own feet.

  And then she saw them.

  Astyam and Wwwyye were there, gasping, their eyes darting from side to side, searching through the participants who were pouring back in panic. When they spotted Americ-Ana, both moved toward her at once.

  "We were looking for you," Astyam said, his voice breaking from lack of air and from anxiety. "We lost you in there."

  Wwwyye drew a sharp breath, her eyes still sharp, but with a panic she didn’t want to admit.

  "Are you okay?" she asked, fast, as if the answer had to be immediate for the world to keep turning.

  Americ-Ana could only nod, still breathless, pressing Poppandacorn against her body as if he were physical proof that she’d made it out whole.

  "I am," she said. "But something is very wrong in there."

  The deep sound, far away, vibrated through the ground again, like a reminder.

  And for a second, even the crowd at the starting area seemed to understand they had changed from hunters into prey.

  Suddenly, one of the Moss Humans came running in, skidded to a stop in front of another, and blurted out:

  "We need to evacuate this area and activate the security drones. No one knows how, but the Giant Zombie Golem managed to snap the chains. Right now, it’s headed to the other side of the Statue Garden, toward the Statue of Sisyphus."

  The warning landed like an alarm. The Moss Human was already speaking to the others, issuing quick orders, while the security and containment drones were being activated. Within moments, the area began to empty. People ran, footsteps tangled together, and the air felt heavier, as if the garden itself were holding its breath.

  "Wait! Did you hear what that Moss Human said?" Americ-Ana cut in, stopping Astyam and Wwwyye, who were already moving away. "The Giant Zombie Golem went toward the Statue of Sisyphus."

  "So what? Let’s get out of here." Wwwyye grabbed Americ-Ana by the arm without looking back.

  Americ-Ana stopped in the middle of the path and yanked her arm free, firm. "No. I’m not leaving. You said Nioh usually stays right under the Statue of Sisyphus. That’s where the Giant Zombie Golem went."

  Wwwyye turned as if she’d already decided, ready to run again. "So what? Let the Moss Humans and the drones do their job."

  "No." The word came out short, but heavy. "I’m not leaving until I’m sure Nioh is okay."

  "For God’s sake." Wwwyye made an irritated gesture, as if she could shove the whole subject away. "Nioh isn’t your responsibility, and he isn’t mine."

  "I’m sorry, Wwwyye, but Nioh wouldn’t have bolted from the classroom if you hadn’t attacked him." Americ-Ana didn’t raise her voice, but she didn’t back down either. "Whoever resorts to aggression always loses the moral high ground. Besides, Nioh helped me when we were in Mulafossur. I feel obligated to return the favor, even if it’s only to make sure he isn’t there. And if he is, I need to know he’s okay."

  "Are you seriously going to hit me with that moral speech right now?" Wwwyye rolled her eyes, impatient. She was already about to turn away again. "Come on, Astyam. Let’s get out of here."

  Astyam didn’t follow. Instead, he took a step and stood beside Americ-Ana.

  "I’m sorry, Wwwyye, but if it were me, I’d want someone to come after me and check if I’m okay."

  "Give me a break!" Wwwyye rolled her eyes again, as if this were some conspiracy against her sanity. Then she let out a breath, defeated. "Fine. Fine. We’ll go to the Statue of Sisyphus. But if that mouthy little brat pulls anything else on me, I swear I’ll feed him to the Giant Zombie Golem myself."

  And so Americ-Ana, Poppandacorn, Astyam, and Wwwyye crossed to the other side of the Statue Garden, heading toward the Statue of Sisyphus. The path felt longer than before, as if the entire garden were testing their courage with every step.

  Wwwyye went in front, leading the way, since she had known the pyramid longer. They moved between the statues when, suddenly, a group of people came running. They were players too, but they had found out about the Giant Zombie Golem’s escape too late.

  Panic came in waves. They barreled through everything, some crashing into statues, slipping, getting hurt, stumbling over their own gear. In the middle of the turmoil, Americ-Ana’s group broke apart, swallowed by the rush.

  A boy came sprinting with his bulletproof vest hanging from his pants. The firearm dragged along the ground, strapped to his belt, clacking and scraping like dead weight. He slammed into Americ-Ana hard and knocked her down.

  Her mind went dark for a few minutes.

  When she came back to herself, Americ-Ana was sprawled on the ground. Everything was still dark, as if night had dropped inside her eyes. Slowly, she opened her lids. Her vision came blurred, unfocused, and only then, little by little, began to return.

  A pain throbbed at the back of her head. She raised a hand to it and felt the skin wet. Blood.

  Only then did she understand. In the fall, the boy had shoved her into a marble statue, a lady holding a spear. And when she went down, Americ-Ana had hit her head on the spear’s tip.

  "What the…" she murmured, staring at her stained hand. "Poppa? Where are you? Where are you? Wwwyye? Astyam? Anyone?"

  She shouted, but no one answered.

  She turned her face to one side. A sea of statues. Turned to the other. More statues, piled like a stone labyrinth. No voices, no footsteps, no sign. Only silence, and her own warm blood sliding slowly down.

  Americ-Ana stood up carefully and took a few steps between the sculptures, trying to find any reference point, any sound that would betray the way out. Nothing. And it was there, in that exact instant, that the feeling closed around her.

  She was alone. Lost.

  Then a sound almost nonexistent cut through the air, like a whisper mixed with the wind.

  Americ-Ana stopped. Held her breath and looked around, searching for a clue, a direction, anything that wasn’t stone.

  "Hello! Is anyone there? Poppa? Wwwyye? Astyam? I’m lost."

  "Here…" a voice whispered, as if the wind itself had a tongue.

  Americ-Ana spun around.

  In front of her stood a hooded statue. Its face didn’t show, hidden by the cloak that covered the entire body. In its hands, the figure held an oval mirror, angled toward anyone who looked in the statue’s direction.

  "Here… closer," the voice whispered again.

  And then Americ-Ana realized. The whisper was coming from inside the mirror.

  She moved closer, slowly, her neck throbbing and her throat dry.

  "Hello! Is anyone there?" she asked, already feeling a little stupid for speaking to a carved piece of stone.

  "Here… I’m here," the voice replied, low and insistent, as if calling from the other side.

  Americ-Ana wasn’t an idiot. Maybe she was going crazy, maybe the blood at the back of her head was warping the world, but she wasn’t an idiot. There was, yes, a voice coming from inside the mirror the statue was holding.

  She moved even closer.

  She looked carefully and, even with the perfect shape of a mirror, it was still stone. A cold, opaque surface, incapable of reflecting anything. It shouldn’t reflect.

  But then it happened.

  The mirror, all at once, began to show her reflection.

  Americ-Ana saw herself there, in the stone "mirror." She saw herself with the blond wig from her Daenerys Targaryen costume, her face pale, her eyes wide, and a line of blood that refused to let her forget that all of this was far too real.

  And then the reflection spoke.

  "I’m on Step Thirteen. Careful! Rabbi Worse Devil is in THE-IMPERIUM."

  Americ-Ana’s body went cold from the inside. The chill climbed like electricity and lodged at the back of her neck, mixed with the throbbing pain.

  "Wait, what? What do you mean?" Her brain tried to arrange the words, but everything moved in slow motion. Was it her own reflection speaking? Was someone using it as a channel? Or was it herself… splitting in two?

  She leaned in a little more, almost pressing her face to the mirror.

  "Helena? Helena Blavatsky?" The question came out like a reflex, a desperate attempt to name the impossible.

  Americ-Ana stared at the image, waiting for any answer, any sign.

  That was when she jolted with a leap, letting out a scream that tore through the garden’s silence.

  "Help!!!"

  Something had brushed between her legs. A quick touch, unexpected, alive. Instinct struck immediately. She tensed to run, her heart hammering as if it wanted to escape first.

  Then a sharp, metallic voice cut through the panic.

  "Mommy, it’s Poppa!"

  Americ-Ana took a few seconds to recognize Poppandacorn. The fright was still stuck in her throat, and she had to look again to believe it.

  The mirror, which only a second earlier had been reflecting and speaking, had returned to being nothing but stone.

  "Mommy, Poppa is sorry. Someone pushed Poppa and kicked Poppa and Poppa went rolling like a soccer ball. When Poppa got up, you were gone, Mommy. But then Poppa retraced the path using Poppa’s sensors and Poppa found Mommy again. Poppa missed Mommy a lot."

  Poppandacorn pressed himself against her, hugging her tight in the way only he could, as if his small body were a shield against anything that lived inside that labyrinth of statues.

  Americ-Ana stood there for a moment, breathing again, trying to decide what was more frightening: what she had seen in the mirror, or the fact that now the mirror was quiet, as if it had never said anything at all.

  "Thank you, Poppa. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Do you happen to know where Wwwyye and Astyam are?" Americ-Ana asked, scanning the surroundings, as if the statues could point to an answer.

  Poppandacorn recalibrated his sensors. A small metallic click came from his body, followed by a discreet glow in his eyes.

  "Poppa’s sensors detected movement coming from that way, Mommy." He pointed his little finger toward a distant sound, almost buried in the silence.

  Americ-Ana nodded, and the two of them started walking in the indicated direction. The pain at the back of her head still pulsed, but she forced herself to keep her pace steady, focused. Between one statue and the next, the garden seemed to change shape, as if the marble were alive and enjoyed confusing her.

  In the distance, she finally saw it.

  The great Statue of Sisyphus, raised like a sentence.

  "Look, Poppa. We’re almost there. Maybe we’ll find Nioh there. Maybe Astyam and Wwwyye are there too."

  Poppandacorn was about to answer, but his eyes changed. The glow intensified for an instant, like a warning.

  This time, his sensors didn’t detect only vibration. They detected weight. Mass. Something that didn’t need to run to be fast, because its very presence was impact.

  "Mommy, something is getting closer," he warned.

  Poppandacorn stepped in front of her and stretched out his little hands, projecting a force field from his fifty-centimeter height. It looked ridiculous from the outside, a teddy bear trying to become a wall, but Americ-Ana knew Poppandacorn didn’t joke when he spoke like that.

  A wind came from behind, sudden, cutting. The blond wig hair from her Daenerys Targaryen costume fluttered as if it were trying to escape her scalp.

  Then a shadow fell over everything.

  A shadow so vast it swallowed the ground, the statues, the air, and for a second Americ-Ana felt too small to exist.

  Poppandacorn didn’t think. He jumped.

  He threw himself against Americ-Ana’s back and drove her down, with enough force to make her fold toward the ground. In a blink, he fitted himself over her, shielding her like a shell, hard and determined, as if he were telling the world, "Not here."

  Curled beneath him, feeling Poppandacorn’s weight on her, Americ-Ana lifted her eyes.

  A colossal figure passed over her, moving toward the Statue of Sisyphus. It looked like a mixture of moldy clay and exposed bone, a thing built out of rot and brute force. Every step was a threat. Every movement made the air tremble.

  Americ-Ana recognized it.

  It was the Giant Zombie Golem.

  Given its immense size, when the creature passed through, it didn’t even notice Americ-Ana and Poppandacorn. From its point of view, they were insignificant, the size of ants lost in the garden.

  The Giant Zombie Golem kept moving forward, straight toward the Statue of Sisyphus.

  Americ-Ana got up, her whole body tight, ready to follow, ready to run, ready to scream, ready for anything.

  That was when a sound tore through the garden.

  A scream so loud and desperate it felt like a trumpet blasting inside her chest.

  Right after, came the explosion.

  The shock rippled through the entire garden like a wave. The gust threw up leaves, twisted branches, made the air vibrate and the statues seem to shudder in place, as if the marble itself had felt fear.

  "Nioh! We need to get to Nioh, Poppa! Now! Let’s go!" Americ-Ana said, already breaking into a run.

  "Mommy, wait! It’s dangerous. Slow down, Mommy!" Poppandacorn warned, running after her in stumbling jolts, his small body fighting to match her urgency.

  With every step, the Statue of Sisyphus grew on the horizon like an omen.

  Then the smell arrived before the scene did.

  An unbearable stench of rotting meat mixed with manure filled the air. Americ-Ana’s eyes watered, her throat tightened, her stomach lurched. Even so, she didn’t slow down. She only breathed as little as possible, as if the air itself had turned to poison.

  She kept running until she reached the Statue of Sisyphus.

  And there, the world changed its tone.

  What lay in front of her didn’t compare to anything she had ever seen in her life.

  Across a vast stretch, nearly half a kilometer, there was a layer smeared over the surrounding statues. It looked like a grotesque mixture of raw, rotting flesh, manure, and a whitish milky liquid, clinging to the marble, sliding down the forms, staining everything like blasphemy.

  Americ-Ana moved forward slowly, feeling the stench turn almost solid, as if it could shove against her chest from the inside. The mixture was thicker near the base of the Statue of Sisyphus, concentrated as if that were the epicenter of the slaughter.

  She looked to the side.

  She saw the Giant Zombie Golem’s head, severed from the rest of its body, lying among the wreckage. The body, from what it looked like, had exploded.

  "What happened here?" Americ-Ana asked, not realizing she’d spoken out loud. The question sounded small in that landscape.

  Poppandacorn arrived right behind her, still stumbling.

  "Mommy, wait. Let Poppa go first." He moved in front of her, projecting a shield as he walked, as if the very air could attack.

  They took a few more steps until they were close to the base of the Statue of Sisyphus.

  Poppandacorn stopped short.

  His eyes flared with intensity, and his little arms lifted in a rigid, almost military gesture.

  "Mommy, Poppa’s sensors detected movement. Back up, Mommy. Back up, Mommy!" Poppandacorn ordered, insistent, never taking his focus away.

  That was when Americ-Ana heard it.

  A low, rough sound. Someone coughing.

  She knew that cough.

  "Nioh! Nioh! Where are you? It’s me, Americ-Ana."

  Americ-Ana moved closer despite the warning, with Poppandacorn still in front, holding the shield up like a tiny metal angel.

  And then, right in front of them, a chunk of that mass of rotten flesh, manure, and whitish milky liquid moved.

  It didn’t drip. It didn’t sag. It moved.

  Americ-Ana jumped back, her heart slamming against her ribs like a trapped animal.

  Poppandacorn activated his sensors in RED ALERT, DANGER.

  "I’m here, it’s me, Nioh."

  The voice came muffled, and then Nioh emerged from beneath a slab of rotten flesh, as if crawling out of a viscous nightmare. He dragged himself free with difficulty, breathing shallow, his eyes widened too far for someone who was still fully present.

  "Nioh, are you okay? What happened?" Americ-Ana moved toward him on instinct, already reaching out to help.

  "What the fuck is that?" someone said, their voice loaded with disgust.

  Wwwyye appeared between the statues with her hands covering her nose, eyes half-squinted, as if the stench had turned into harsh light.

  A few seconds later came a sneeze followed by a choke. Astyam was coming from another direction, spraying nasal spray and trying to breathe as if that were possible.

  They came closer.

  "What are you doing here?" Nioh asked. The words came out slow, and he looked half in shock, as if he still wasn’t sure he was alive.

  "We came after you," Astyam answered, straight, trying to keep calm. "When we found out the Giant Zombie Golem was coming this way, Americ-Ana wanted to come and see if you were okay. So we came with her."

  Nioh blinked a few times, as if he were putting the world back together piece by piece.

  "But how did you know I was here?" he asked, and finally managed to get to his feet. He was filthy, covered in rotting flesh, manure, and that whitish milky liquid that looked like it could cling even to the soul.

  "Wwwyye said she knew where you’d be. She showed us the way," Americ-Ana said, not taking her eyes off him, measuring whether he was about to fall again.

  "Seriously? You actually did that, Wwwyye?" Nioh asked, incredulous and still half disoriented.

  "Maybe. Whatever." Wwwyye shrugged, as if the entire universe were an inconvenient detail. "Can we leave now? This place stinks."

  Nioh took a deep breath, or tried to, and his expression softened in a strange way, almost embarrassed.

  "Thank you so much, Wwwyye. And I think maybe I owe you an apology." He took a careful step closer. "I shouldn’t have taken the anger from my frustration out on you, I mean, on your armchair. I promise I’ll buy you a new armchair."

  He held out his hand, a sincere gesture of peace.

  Wwwyye looked at his hand, then at the deplorable state of his body, and her face fought a small war in the space of two seconds.

  "Thanks, kid. I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have hit you." She sighed, giving in, but with a condition. "But before I shake your hand, you’d better take a shower."

  That was when Poppandacorn, out of nowhere, jumped in like a walking commercial.

  "Poppa has the best cleaning products for a nice, fragrant bath. Poopghene products eliminate one hundred percent of bacteria."

  Nioh laughed in a wild, uncontrolled way, laughing with his throat open, as if that line had yanked him back from the abyss. The laugh turned into a violent coughing fit, and he had to fold over for a moment, trying to get air back in the middle of that infernal smell.

  "Nioh." Astyam stepped closer, worried, his voice lower and steady. "Tell us what happened here. Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

  "I’m fine. I don’t know what happened." Nioh took a deep breath, still trying to settle back into his own body. "I was here, right under the Statue of Sisyphus, lying down. Then I heard the footsteps of that giant getting closer. And then, out of nowhere, it exploded. A few minutes later, I heard someone calling my name, and when I looked… Americ-Ana was here, with Poppandacorn."

  Wwwyye pressed her hand harder over her nose, but her brow tightened, thoughtful.

  "That’s really strange."

  "At least you’re okay, Nioh. That’s what matters." Americ-Ana said, and for a moment her voice carried a real relief, as if a knot had loosened in her chest.

  But the peace didn’t last long.

  Something tugged at her attention, like a reflex, like a summons.

  Americ-Ana started walking through the chunks of rotten flesh, stepping around smears of manure and that whitish milky liquid that clung to the marble, until she stopped in front of the severed head of the Giant Zombie Golem.

  She leaned in, studying it.

  "Poppa, come here, please. I saw something shining inside this Golem’s mouth. Light it up for me, please." She pointed into the dark opening, as if she were peering into a cave.

  Poppandacorn came closer and projected light. The beam swept across the Golem’s mouth and, suddenly, a golden glint became visible, hidden among grotesque teeth and residue.

  "But what is that?" Americ-Ana said, more to herself than to the others.

  She crouched carefully, ignoring the smell that seemed to cling to the roof of her mouth. She reached her arm into the Golem’s mouth, slowly, feeling around until her fingers found something rigid and cold amid the warm filth.

  Her fingers closed.

  Americ-Ana pulled the object out and stared at it for a moment, her expression enigmatic, as if she were trying to decide whether it was evidence, a warning, or a trap.

  Then she raised her hand so the others could see.

  "Look at what was inside the Giant Zombie Golem’s mouth. A gold ring with the insignia of a dolphin."