I am called by many names.

  Predator.

  Destroyer.

  Protector.

  The first.

  The eldest.

  But I know myself only by the name he gave me, long ago. He looked upon me with eyes, judging and weighing against something that I myself could not fathom. And when he spoke, the word that came out of his lips resounded through my very soul.

  Azurion.

  My sisters were born to create, gifted with abilities to grow paradise or build wonders. We are siblings, united by the fact that we grew up together, ate as one, depended on one another and fought together. Thus, we are bound by the same rites, sharpened by the same strife.

  Our bonds run deep that when they are threatened, I feel my battle-lust rise, an emotion easily leashed by the cold steel of my discipline, and by the stoicism that defines my spirit.

  However, I cannot say that I do not feel jealous when our father praises them for the bounties they offer him.

  I looked upon my own reflection, wings able to soar above the sky, an exoskeleton as thin and flexible, the same as the youngest, a set of sharp mandibles like our second and a long sturdy horn, unique to myself. A creature built for combat and ruin.

  Since these truths became apparent to me, a question arose in my mind.

  How might I please our father?

  I cannot give him the fruits of the earth or raise for him structures praising his glory. His teachings gave me the answer.

  From the moment warriors understood their strengths, they would reach new heights. In my case, from the moment I understood my weakness, I, flourished.

  I craved the strength and certainty of metal and aspired to the purity of my father’s form.

  Now, I stand upright, four hands, each master of the weapons he bestowed. Each one capable of both grace and devastation. They can extend in peace and embrace in brotherhood, or just as easily, reach out close in judgment.

  My every movement precise, deliberate, final, executing my duty with peerless unquestioning devotion.

  If destruction is my calling, let it be measured. Let it serve as testimony, for when I am called, I will build an altar from the battered, and broken forms of our enemies, as an offering to his name.

  Armored in Terralythic alloy, living metal of inviolability. My purpose is made clear.

  “For the Swarm!”

  “For the Colony!”

  Unlike my sisters, who commands legions, I am alone, solitary in my vigil, singular in purpose and duty. Though their zeal and devotion are unmistakable and radiant.

  Mine is simpler.

  Not because I am simple.

  But because simplicity is truth.

  It is all I need.

  “For, the emperor.”

  -from the personal accounts of Azurion, Frost-Lightning Monarch, Member of the Dragon’s Crown.

  ========================================================================

  Five pictures! They took five pictures!

  Albeit in different poses and some with artistic choices, but still! That was five too many! And they are still taking more! You people should be more concerned about getting to the hotel and being warm!

  It’s mid-spring and night! It’s supposed to be cold outside dammit!

  Sigh.

  And here I thought I was the only one that was immune to the cold.

  I was waiting for them to finish by the doorway with Remy leaning on the front of the bus. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to what the people inside were doing; I was just counting the seconds as they ticked inside my mind. Like a mental race against myself—somehow, the seconds kept winning.

  Oh my god! Is this the airport part two, electric boogaloo!?

  While I was having a full-blown existential crisis, everyone else was taking pictures and committing acts against human sensibilities. Just another day in the life of me.

  As they were about to take another picture, I noticed something. No, someone. I suppose I wouldn’t have noticed him if I was paying attention to the fanfare happening inside. At least, not immediately.

  There he was. The Japanese man who was sitting in the driver’s seat sent a glance towards me. He was wearing a suit with a matching bus captain hat, the standard uniform for bus drivers of the hotel.

  I noticed him looking, so I turned to look at him. He quickly turned away, like what you do when you suddenly lock eyes with a stranger at a urinal.

  He faced forward, pulled down his driver’s hat to cover his face and acted unconcerned. Like a cornered tortoise that retracted its head because it owed me money or something.

  I did manage to take a good look at him.

  Is that you, Yuki?

  Namihara Yukihito, 24, standing at 174 cm, short-cut hair and a full beard rounding out his features—he looked sharp, if anything.

  I am pissed.

  Eventually, the people finished taking their photos and began to settle down. Which gave me the chance to board the bus. Remy followed closely behind me. I stopped right beside the person that was pretending to be furniture. I am fairly certain he was breathing.

  Nope, wait—he just took another glance at me again. Any more of this level of bullshit and I’m ready to bruise people.

  I sighed again.

  What is even happening? This whole—chance encounter—thing—must be a conspiracy at best, a nightmare at worst. Though I was angry, that didn’t stop me from being civilized or intrigued, so I gave my best smile.

  “Sup beans,” I said casually greeting him in Japanese.

  He tentatively raised his right hand and with a rather stiff smile, offered up a shallow bow. My brother and mother who were in the front row, didn’t fail to notice my interaction with him.

  “Someone you know?” Mom asked, her suspicion all but certain.

  Instead of answering her, I looked over to my brother and said, “He’s MameMame,” before sitting down at my appointed seat. My brother possibly still reeling from the surprise of meeting Remy, took a bit longer to process this new piece of information. Like an old windows 95 desktop, you can practically hear the booting-up sounds as his mind began turning.

  “Whoa! Is the whole guild here!?” my brother blurted out, shock and excitement on his face.

  Mom of course understood and she nodded to Yuki who, for his part, graciously stood up, ramrod straight and bowed a full forty-five-degree angle towards her. As to why? I have no idea. Possibly he sensed my threat of vague annihilation. But it is also possible that he was just stretching his legs. Or his back. I wouldn’t put it past him either way. He turned to my brother and with a smile as wide as the sun, greeted him in Japanese.

  “Pleased to meet you Wills,” he said before offering up his fist.

  “Am I the only one not told that we would be meeting?” My brother asked everyone incredulously as he bumped Yuki back.

  Yuki then sat back down and buckled up. Remy was the one who replied as he got inside the bus and pulled out the conductor seat near the door.

  “It’s just coincidence,” he said, shrugging. “If you had been at least a day earlier you would have met my brother.”

  Before Yuki could so much as put a single digit on the keys, I connected our minds together.

  Yukihito! What in the actual fuck!

  +Yes, I am also pretending this whole situation makes sense.

  The reply was half-cool as ice, half-exasperated and fully confused, like he wasn’t sure he was about to drive a bus full of passengers that are in different stages of dizziness and jetlag.

  That’s—fair.

  Seeing that I no longer had any comments about this whole mysterious event thing, at least for now, Yuki turned the keys and the whole bus shuddered as the engine came to life.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Your brother?” my brother asked as the bus began to rumble. Yuki checked the brakes, throttle, the stick and lastly the side mirrors first before nodding to Remy.

  Remy nodded back before sitting on the conductor seat and propping up his foot on the front dashboard of the bus, possibly to brace himself from sudden stops. He then turned to face my brother.

  “Yep. My brother Renly,” he began with a half wry, half exhausted smile. “You may know him as Minimois1080.”

  “The bastard that owes me more than a few artifacts and kill steals!?” my brother blurted out in despair and disbelief. “That was him?!”

  Yuki was the one who answered Will’s outburst.

  “He only kill-steals from people he respects,” he deadpanned. “Which is fine and all, but when he respects, like what, four people—.”

  Yuki sighed as he let the sentence hang in the air. He then pressed the button that closed the door of the bus.

  “Yeah, it’s great in theory, but, well, I am his elder brother, so that should tell you something,” Remy followed up.

  “Don’t worry about it Wills, your older brother is basically a personal idol for him.” Yuki said as I was readying myself for the bus ride.

  “And what, does that make me?!” My brother asked, his voice a mixture of anger and anxiety, like someone found out that they were the designated as tank armor for a war.

  “God.” I declared, loud and dramatic, as we began to pull out of the terminal and into the highway.

  Three people laughed out loud. The kind of laugh you do when you’ve certainly lost it. My brother could only grumble, though he did smile and chuckle a bit at the joke. Grudgingly. My mother, on the other hand, was ever the unspoken monarch of judgment in silent tolerance the foolish antics of her idiotic court, me, my brother, and two of our friends.

  I swear I can read the subtitles ‘I raised both of you better than this’ that was presently hanging around her.

  ========================================================================

  Our talks, were long—some about our raids, some about other games we played, and mostly about nonsensical things. It had direction much like a headless chicken knows its left from its right. Remy and my brother were doing most of the talking. Yuki would interject here and there but his main focus was on the road.

  I on the other hand, was on the verge of finding out what happened to the last burger I ate.

  Get it together dammit! You’re stronger than this! You can break worlds, not throw up your lunch.

  “So, Remy,” I called to him after the pause in the conversation between him and my brother.

  “You people call it cultural exchange. That’s a very polite way of saying, ‘prepare for awkward interactions and unexpected landmines of social taboos,’” I said, causing my brother to chuckle.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be offering handshakes to someone who is bowing to you soon enough,” Yuki called out.

  This time all of us laughed, the kind you do when your grip on reality was just loose enough for you to enjoy the fall. And the impact. Probably. Oh, hey look, even mom’s lip quivered a bit. I leaned back and watched the road ahead, trying to distract myself.

  “I don’t actually like awkward social interactions,” my brother half muttered to himself. “I get that enough at school.”

  “It’s relatable enough,” Remy said as he thought for a moment. “You’d be surprised how often that happens especially here.”

  “Before, when I was younger, we had to train for interviews, which is a rather hard level of interaction to pass.” Yuki shared, though his eyes were still on the road. “A trick I used was to practice in front of an old vending machine.”

  “Did you pass the interview?” Remy asked curiously, interested to hear what Yuki had to say.

  “I don’t know, they didn’t reply,” Yuki responded, as he put the bus to a complete stop as we chanced a red light. “Then I went to the same machine. I was angry and I kicked it. It said, ERROR: Empty. Try again tomorrow.”

  “So even the machine was ghosting you!?” Remy replied incredulously.

  After a beat, another round of laughter, with Yuki shaking his head, trying to keep his focus.

  “Now that I remember it, it was a vending machine for beer,” Yuki said in between chuckles. “I should have checked; it must’ve been drunk then.”

  And the laughter only got rowdier.

  A few seconds later we were back on the road, laughing about Remy’s story about a duck, a bucket and a lawnmower. Or my story about the difference between a bidet, a microphone, and a female massage wand. Mom had that look of disapproval. It was times like these that I would have liked that she could not understand Japanese.

  Then it was Remy’s turn again, telling a story about a bald man, but something happened.

  I paused, suddenly worried.

  I looked around, frantic, a sinking feeling overtaking me.

  Something was wrong.

  The laughter died instantly.

  Worried looks pierced me as I was panicking.

  I rummaged around my pack.

  “What’s wrong?” Mother asked, looking rightfully worried.

  “Phone?” Wills asked, looking as concerned as Mother.

  “Wallet?” Yuki called, though more of his focus was still on driving the bus.

  “Dignity?” deadpanned Remy.

  Remington, I swear to you—

  I remembered where I put it.

  I dug inside my right back pocket.

  I pulled out a plastic bag.

  “HUUUURGH—BLEEAAARGH”

  And threw up inside it.

  Another round of laughter began, unfortunately at me, even as the questionable smell of forgotten spaghetti and burger spread throughout the bus, only being cut off when I tied the plastic bag shut.

  ========================================================================

  The rest of the bus ride was…something. Maybe purgatory.

  When we arrived, we got a good look at the hotel. As advertised, it was quite beautiful—and tall as it was more than 50 stories high. But I already know that. We came to a stop and parked at a designated area for the bus. It was some distance but not too far from the entrance. Just as we got off the bus, the same girl earlier spoke up.

  “Everyone, one last picture! All of us this time! We can make this the start of our before and after collage!”

  Mother of Christ!

  Doesn’t she ever stop!? One picture is going to turn into ten! Next thing you know it’s a video! Everyone else was eagerly shifting and getting into place.

  “The tall ones at the back please,” She called out, her smile, as bright as the sun.

  She had already setup a camera stand?! We are in the middle of a parking space in 12-degrees! Not to mention it’s past midnight!

  I had a sinking feeling she was going to say one more. That’s how it begins. That’s how it always begins! Remy, noticed too late, no avenue of escape was open, and was unfortunately pulled into the lineup. Even Yuki was caught.

  I on the other hand had no illusions of safety.

  Just tactics.

  I moved slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. A master of stealth in his element.

  That’s what I am, it’s what I do. I was going to make it. Only a bit more and I would be able to cross to the bus’s other side. To freedom.

  Hehehe, yeah boi…

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  An arm, soft, supple but possessed of an alarming level of maternal strength, linked around mine when I rounded the corner. I jumped and looked up to see my mother.

  “What?! No! Noo—!” I protested.

  In my weakened state—mentally, physically, spiritually, and all of the -llys combined—she managed to drag me to the group—an unwilling victim in this ritual dedicated to the digital god, Zarck Muckerberg.

  Just as I predicted, we had a video.