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"It's a nice place," he says, casually. He's about to murder three innocents in cold blood, but he doesn't show a single sign of hesitation, or regret, or even sadism. He's just doing this to get it done. "It's pretty durable, too. Sadly, it's also gotta go." You can't help but think of how pissed off Mom's dad is gonna be, given this home was a wedding gift. This intruder closes his eyes, and stretches out his palm. Air begins to concentrate above it, forming a spherical mirage. Not caused by heat directly, but the warping of the air and its constant writhing. The rest of the winds die down, drawn into this mass of turbulence. You know immediately that if that hits you, it'll shred the skin from your body and muscles from your bones. Heck, it might just vaporize your bones while it's at it- a tornado in the palm of his hand.

At least you can see clearly now. There are three bullet holes in his shirt. He's shorter and smaller than you, but given the kind of person he is, you doubt that's his only or even true form. His hair is black and his eyes are yellow. All the way yellow, not catlike lenses. Supernaturals really like having fancy eyes, huh. At least Meryl's are pretty: Jewels of shining seawater, if you're being poetic. This just makes him look like the monster he is. He holds the sphere still and seems to ponder what he should do.

On your side of the hundred yards between you, conflicting instincts pull you in different directions: Charge forward to attack. Stay where you are to shield your wife and child from the impact. Start begging and see if he'll only kill you. The only one that isn't considered for even a moment is flight. You won't move a step back from your current position. Maybe he would let you live if you left them both behind, but the life left wouldn't be worth finding a high bridge.

You filter through your memories for something, anything you could use to try and find a way out, some kind of secret technique, some kind of lost power. Most of your recollection is on the moments of happiness you've had until now. Still, maybe there's an escape plan somewhere in the past. At the very least, your final moments will be filled with nostalgia. What is there? What can you look at that you haven't already remembered? You can't bear to think of your child's birth now, not when that life is so close to being torn away from you. Think, damn it!

The first thing you remember is...
>Your last day in your hometown, leaving it all behind.
...But more recent events include:
>Meeting Meryl's relatives and maid of honor near Boston.
>Bridging the gap with Grandma, and why your family turned their back on 'Yggdrasil'.
>Moving into this location, turning this gifted house into your home.
>The wedding reception, the last few hours before the honeymoon.
>First day as newlywed coworkers for the mysterious March Industries.
>There's got to be something I've forgotten! [Write-In]

>>5599266
>>Bridging the gap with Grandma, and why your family turned their back on 'Yggdrasil'.
>>Moving into this location, turning this gifted house into your home.

>>5599266
>The wedding reception, the last few hours before the honeymoon.

>>5599266
sounds good combo of exposition and comfy >>5599278
although honestly all of them look interesting

>>5599526
(and of course if we have some sort of unlockable, it's likely going to be in either grandma or grandpa... I guess our previous interactions with our waifu can also yield clues...)

>>5599266
>Bridging the gap with Grandma, and why your family turned their back on 'Yggdrasil'.
>The wedding reception, the last few hours before the honeymoon.

>>5599278
>>5599382
>>5599526
>>5599904
Grandma first. You close your eyes.

A small living room, heavily air-conditioned, dry and cool. Grandma sits there, patiently. Maybe just due to her age, or because she's seated, but she seems small and somewhat frail physically. Her eyes, on the other hand, are ice-cold. Refined. Her room matches the high society decorum. It's simple but opulent, with velvet and some lace, and hand-carved tables. Yeah... this is Dad's mother. Just like him, she's gets right to the point.

"Why come to me now?" she asks. "I don't have any gifts for you, or inheritances. When I die, there might be a couple thousand dollars left over: It'll go to your father." Is that what she thinks you're here for? No. You wanted to invite her to your wedding.

"So I'm only hearing about this now: You didn't properly plan it. I'm not going." Why is she being so frigid about this? It's a plain invitation from family, there's no malice to be digested here. Why is she so suspicious of you? "Your father has done very well for himself, despite my ex-husband's wanton abuse of his family's hard work. I'm not interested in watching another generation dissipate his effort." It's incredible how much fury she's managed to pack into so few words. You're saying this because I look like Gramps, right? "Be fair, you're acting like him too. Though that's not fair either. He once spent thirty thousand dollars on a whore." She raises a finger. "One woman, once. And this was back when a dollar meant something." Okay, now this forty-year-old grudge against the ex is starting to make sense.

But you have an idea. If you can just get her to keep talking, maybe you can learn what you need to about Yggdrasil and let her vent at the same time. What exactly did Yggdrasil do? "You mean besides spending your father's inheritance? Hide in the Scoville speakeasy, run away to different nations at random for months at a time, and then report back with a need for more money. He finally dumped those morons in the dust, but that was far too late." She catches her breath, having worked herself up into a hurry. She closes her mouth, places her fingertips on her forehead, and a sigh drains slowly from her nose.

"I'm sorry, Alex. I'm laying all of this at your feet. It was just so hard seeing him ruin his life and the life of my son because he funded a slapdash crusade to 'protect humanity'." Instinctively, you step forward to comfort her. "He cared about your father... I think Hyllus was the one and only person he was ever truly concerned with besides himself." She swallows, and asks you, "He confided in your father. Your father confided in me. I assume you know some but not all of it. What do you want to know?"

>Why did Granddad leave?
>Dad knew about all this?
>Did they ever tell you their specific goals?
>Do they have access to any... strange abilities?
>Will you change your mind and come to the wedding?
>[Write-In]

>>5600087
>Did they ever tell you their specific goals?
>Do they have access to any... strange abilities?
>Is there any way I can get you to come to the wedding?
This is probably too much to ask, but man I'm curious.

>>5600087
>>Did they ever tell you their specific goals?
>How did they hope to actually face the supernatural?
>>Is there any way I can get you to come to the wedding?
agreeing with >>5600509
so many things to ask, but the poor lady seems understandably bitter. Give her a hug.

>>5600695
>Give her a hug.
Seconding this.

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>>5600509
>>5600695
>>5600704
Did they ever tell you their specific goals? This fraternity's actual intent seems suspiciously vague. "'Kill anything that isn't human and eliminate cults', though they worked with magicians, except when they killed them." She shakes her head. "So pulling rabbits out of hats is fine but cutting women in half will summon Cthulhu." She takes your hand when you offer it, and tries to look you head-on, but her eyes are squinted. "They were all about 'being as covert as possible', while loading themselves down with shotguns and high explosives to kill whatever burbled up from their demented imaginations. I don't know how many people must have gotten bribed to cover all that up." Grandma's gaze drops to the floor, and she rubs your hand for soothing support. "There must have been five agencies asking me questions about what Montgomery was doing, but they never charged him and he kept his position. Maybe they were never able to find legal evidence, maybe they thought nobody would believe any of it. I certainly didn't get involved, and I tried to keep your father out."

Do they have access to any... strange abilities? "Hokey pulp fiction stuff." She takes your right hand with her left in order to display her right fist, a small thing compared to you. "There was a silver ring Monte insisted would protect me from monsters. It went back with him with my wedding band. Your grandfather insisted he had a friend who was bulletproof. Another one was able to identify aliens at a look- they have some sort of supernatural tell." According to her, most of their fraternity weren't magicians because magic requires unnatural mindset or qualities to perform and was sparsely allowed. "They were already insane enough, they didn't need any help."

"He stacked tome upon dusty tome of 'hypergeometry' that were either bunk or unreadable and rituals he tried to sell your father on. I ended up burning most of those and selling the rest to museums." Was he angry? Grandma scoffs. "Of course he was angry. But he said 'it might be dangerous'. If it was dangerous, it needed to be destroyed. If it was worthless, I wasn't keeping it around."

When you try and hug her, she withdraws slightly deeper into her seat, and her shoulders sink when she sees your reaction. "There I go again. You're just so tall I can't help it. You look like you're going to fall on top of me." Struggling to stand, she uses you as a counterbalance to come to her feet and places her head on your chest in a side-hug. It seems like she should be the younger one, based on height- you could hold your arm straight out and clear her head.

Is there any way I can get you to come to the wedding? She unclenches her jaw before answering. "Just give me a little extra time to prepare, if you don't mind?" She sits down again, and lays her arms on the armrest. "I don't move or adjust as quickly as I used to."

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Grandma seems like she's wearing out, so you limit your pressure on her. One of the things she says stands out, though. "He called me in the middle of the night begging to have me back, offering me everything he could think of." Dad's mother massages her forehead. "I think one of his buddies was arrested for espionage and executed before they revoked the death penalty here. Another one died resisting arrest. I had to sit in on some of the legal proceedings. It was soon after you were born... Monte had already been disowned by that point. Someone must have cut him a deal." Her hand drifts in the air. "Something to do with a Project SOMERSAULT."

---

Your next jogged idea is the unpacking. Meryl is lying down on the couch, finishing a quick nap besides several unpacked boxes, almost all clothing. It's an accomplishment how much space clothing can actually take up if not properly kept track of. Meanwhile, your wife is taking advantage of the oversized couch, one that's meant for four or five seats, where you can stretch from one end to the other without bending yourself in half to sleep. She yawns, throws her legs over the side, and sits up. "Gah, that was a hell of a drive. At least here's not that far from the facility." Two college dorms worth of boxes have finally been shuffled out of the car. It's early in the afternoon, you can afford to break after several hours of driving. Mind trading spots? She instead scoots over so you can rest your head on her lap. "Comfy, right?" Comfy. But maybe you need to move between now and when I wake up. "Nah. With all that's been going on, relaxing is nice. Besides, at worst I'll get impatient and pinch your nose." Man, she can really hold a grudge.

The what if of re-enforcing the house's defenses isn't lost on you now. But it wasn't something that was considered a high priority, especially after you got your new jobs. Practically speaking, the bunker was considered impenetrable- it was designed for withstanding a nuclear war. Major rebuilding would be too expensive and too impractical, and invite more attention to an obscure location. Besides, Gramps was always up to date with the locks and windows, despite the place being in the middle of nowhere. But you didn't rest on your laurels entirely, you were able to make one major change as you placed dishes in cabinets and unpacked laundry.

>You made sure there wasn't anything else Grandpa had forgotten about in the cabin.
>You set up a new perimeter, for any wild animals or unexpected guests.
>You restored the family 'gun range' out in the woods.
>You restocked the generator and prepared uninterrupted emergency power.
>Seeing no need to do anything special, you focused on Meryl, especially when she became pregnant.
>[Write-In]
Third time's the charm.

>>5603118
>You made sure there wasn't anything else Grandpa had forgotten about in the cabin.
I'm hoping this is something that will help us the most in this situation.
The last option sounds like it'll either be the most or least revealing.

>>5603118
Hmmm… I suppose Grandpa?

The Power of Love from option 5 is something we will always be leaning on.

>You made sure there wasn't anything else Grandpa had forgotten about in the cabin.

>>5603118
>You made sure there wasn't anything else Grandpa had forgotten about in the cabin.

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>>5603758
>>5604032
>>5604486
So it turns out Meryl's tye-dye carpet came in clutch with regards to that. When you pulled away the rug in the master bedroom, there was a false floor for it. Turns out the old man had some gold and silver bullion stored in the floor, in a different place to his quick-access gun locker. You're hoping for some silver bullets, but no luck. Oh, there's this sick axehead, though. You don't even need to polish it, this thing is incredible. It's incredibly heavy despite its size and very, very sharp, even after all these years. Where did he get it?

Grandpa is hesitant to answer that. "I, uh... I don't actually remember. I'd say it ran in the family, but I don't remember who gave it to me." He asks his wife and gets an angry response. "Okay, so it definitely wasn't your Grandma. I did put the gold there. Maybe I got it with the gold and silver purchase. Yeah, that's right. It was in the pawn shop when I bought the gold and I thought it was cool. You can keep all that as inheritance." That causes more angry response. "Look, I was investing in my family! Gold keeps value in an emergency, but not in the damn apocalypse!" Another pause. "I said I thought it was cool! Besides, it's silver or something! It won't just rust away."

You were able to put the blade at the end of a proper axe handle and test it. It's a little difficult to handle properly, even for you, but when it strikes wood it cuts with ease. More impressively, it doesn't seem to need sharpening. It's not shave-yourself-sharp, but it is definitely useful. And very cool, you agree with Mom's dad. Despite its weight, it's better suited for a hand hatchet than a maul, on account of its relative smallness. The blade is long enough, it just sticks in too much when you split stumps. Pruning branches turns into a breeze. No need to bring out heavy clippers with this thing.

Meryl did like you becoming more of a maintenance man, even coming up with her own 'honey do' list. In turn, she became a bit more housewife-like, but she made it a principle to help you with heavy lifting until it was clear she was pregnant, in which case she went to low-danger tasks. She insists that the outdoor work was good for you, and you had to admit, you started feeling more like your football days. It caused your appetite to rise, though, which kind of was a boon because you got more of Meryl's cooking. You were never weak, but that axe handle became lighter. In fact, you might be stronger now than ever.

---
Snapping out of your reminiscence for a little bit, you remember that axe head at your feet, attached to a sturdy handle you fit to it. Throwing it at this distance would be stupid, but at point blank, you might be able to get a good shot in at this monster. A small part of you thinks about cutting the sphere of air, but you visualize the thing turning the axehead back at you and burying itself in your chest. Damn, there has to be something, somewhere! The reception, maybe!
---
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(2/2)

It's kind of cramped in here, but it's also comfortable. Dad's mom is sitting across from a man she views with disdain. Not because he's Canadian First Nations, but because he's wearing sunglasses at night, inside in dim light, along with the most hideous snakeskin suit you've ever seen. His shirt is 'salmon', and he looks like he robbed a Gila monster. Vera Kátl, Meryl's maid of honor, gives you a remote apology via extremely pained smile. The man with no taste is her father, and he's a full-time philanderer. Unfortunately, his current line of thought is trying to convince your grandmother that 'Monte' was totally justified in his extravagance. It's not working. Another man interrupts and the older Kátl panics. Hey, you think you've seen that Hispanic guy before... wearing a priest's collar? He must have been a group package with Father Lyme.

Mr. and Mrs. Cier are outside, as the latter stayed inside just long enough for the ritual before fleeing. Meryl is happy her mother was able to suppress the claustrophobia long enough to see her married, and comes in from the outside a little tipsy. She lilts a little bit as she approaches, having had about a bottle of the champagne. "It's my wedding, I'm not pregnant, I'll drink all I want!" The pregnancy had come after the wedding. Almost immediately after, really. That was a long month.

Your father is sitting outside on one of the balconies, smoking with an oversized man and Dr. Sheridan, presumably husband and wife. He doesn't draw on the cigar often. Your father had been the most generous when it came to gifts, but didn't want to take you away from your moment of youth with 'the expectations of an old man'. Mom is chatting with her parents.

Pete McCoy is keeping you sober with small chat, along with his wife and their adorable kid. Vera and your brother Daryl seems to be getting along well enough, though the gaggle of girls, including Alice, read into it more than you do. There's a Japanese woman in the corner who seethes, watching from afar. Who is she? It doesn't really matter, as Meryl splays her hand over your chest with a very desirous expression. "Hey, I know we've got a few hours, but I just wanted to give you a reminder." She presses something small and pink and silken into your hand, and it's hard to think from that point onward. Still, before you make good on your oaths to Meryl, you need to clear up some details. Discretely pocketing the gift, you think. This is the last night of your youth- dancing with Meryl is the obvious next step. Before that...

>Your father and Dr. Sheridan are both good contacts to have for questions on the future.
>You're going to step out and thank Meryl's parents for attending.
>Time to play dogpile the douchebag- chip into the conversation involving Dad's mom.
>Pete has been patiently sitting here the whole time, thank him for his help in the change. Maybe that'll call up a hometown secret?
>[Write-In]

>>5604836
>>[Write-In]
>That Japanese woman. Maybe she's important?

>>5604836
Hmm... if this were not a life or death situation I'd probably make a tour of all the relatives and friends to appreciate their turning up...

I guess either checking in with Pete or this red herring lady >>5606063
although I feel like I'm forgetting something important... of course I get that feeling rather often

>>5604836
>Pete has been patiently sitting here the whole time, thank him for his help in the change. Maybe that'll call up a hometown secret?

>>5604836
>Pete has been patiently sitting here the whole time, thank him for his help in the change. Maybe that'll call up a hometown secret?

>>5606063
>>5606093
>Odd Japanese woman
>>5606119
>>5606281
>High school football mentor
I'll update in the morning, leaning towards Pete based on the fact that (0zNpywLf) is leaning either way.

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>>5606063
>>5606093
>>5606119
>>5606281
Pete's been a regular source of support, so you want to give him the thanks due his influence before things get complicated.

"No problem!" he declares cheerfully, as he softly pokes his giggling baby in the cheek. Aw. "It was nice to take some time up on the East Coast anyway." He sighs. "Still, I wish we could go to that speakeasy one last time. That's a real gem of a spot."

That's where Yggdrasil met, and while it was converted into a tourist trap in recent years, you got a brush-up on the real history the last time you were there. Since you could both drink, you went with McCoy after the wives got tired of the baseball game. The two of you were reliving old times in an old lounge originally suited for the 1910s but turned into a cozy kitchen with a nostalgic Roaring Twenties bent.

The manager, happy to entertain any Woodsman, spoke with sad reminiscence about Yggdrasil. "Those bastards made me a lot of money- no offense." In 1989, when your father was seventeen, the brains of the bunch was a man named Forrest. You think that's a terribly unimposing name until you ask more. Multiple-tour veteran. Deep-sea diver. Demolitions expert. Dangerous, intelligent, and absolutely ruthless. Good combination for a monster hunter, bad combination for an enemy. When you ask about SOMERSAULT, the bartender admits he's dry on it. "All I know is it was a list of names and hospitals." Not a good look.

"He served in Vietnam, right?" Pete scoffed, putting down the finished wing he has in his hand. "Like the regular Forrest Gump. He must be a billion years old." Which means he's definitely going to fight dirty. Pete is looking at this like it's a head-to-head matchup. You could tear this Forrest guy in half, possibly literally. But it's never that simple. If you're on his list, he's going to resort to the the nastiest force multiplier he can afford.

---
It occurs to you the force multiplier is right in front of you, preparing to launch the world's deadliest air cannon. That superhuman monster doesn't meet the description for Forrest- not blond, no chin scars- but he broke a long gun with his bare hands and launched you from standing with a palm strike. You're not sure how you survived that blow, but you're not complaining. Maybe this adrenaline is what's getting you caught in this death spiral of memories in memories. Focus.
---

Wedding reception. "We're really grateful you invited us," Mrs. McCoy chips in, and Pete confirms it.

"Yep! Top stuff! Besides the obvious of the company, the venue here's pretty cozy." His gift to the two of you is a set of silverware. That's still in its package. He wanted to buy you two a grill, but it was considered too difficult to ship. The cabin got a refurnished outdoor pit, which helped facilitate the cooking and conversation, especially among the men. Seeing your father and the guy who taught you how to block properly talking as equals is a weird feeling.

(1/2)

(2/2)

You see him, his wife, and their child, and it makes you turn to face Meryl. Not a perfect parallel, not yet, but what in life ever is? She catches the drift, fingers crawling up your arm to your shoulder.

But before she drags you off to the dance floor, she whispers, "I think we need to be good hosts~" and glides between tables. The fluid movement reminds you of her swimming skill until she stops behind the brooding Japanese woman. "This is Miss Aki, your brother's pen pal." Wait, isn't his pen pal... a man?

Apparently not. Very elegant, very under control, very refined and precise. In a lot of ways, she's the opposite of Meryl. Her blouse, for instance, is dry-cleaned to perfection, and she has a chilly, direct gaze that contrasts with Meryl's all-over-the-place warmth. She's also, um... Tiny? Mom would not approve. Daryl would, or you think he would, if he weren't so professional. "I invited her! She's on international work and your brother's going to Japan some time after she's done here. She's pretty good with drinking, right?"

Your wife's drinking partner doesn't seem disoriented at all. "That is correct. I am very impressed by American whiskey." Her English is fluent but extremely formal, either on reflex or out of courtesy.
"Yup! You know there's a growing East Asian whiskey market?" I did not. "Some of it's pretty damn good!"

Re-engaging her devilish seductive tendencies, Meryl whispers in your ear, "But let's save taste testing for another day, hun." Waving goodbye to Aki, Meryl Woodsman née Cier leads you onto the dance floor. After space opens up, though, you begin leading her. A blush sweeps onto her face as she realizes she's no longer in complete control, but she's not opposed. In fact, your strength holding her as indistinguishable but upbeat music plays in the background only makes her cling tighter.

Meeting Aki didn't do you any favors but one: Knowing your brother was out of danger when the attack happened. And no matter how long you try to hold on to the moment of the dance at your wedding, you can't keep it.
Hold on loosely, as they say.

---
The roar of an unstoppable blast of wind careens towards you. You try to dodge, but that's no good. It disintegrates you faster than you can feel the pain.
---

You wake up in the dark, in a cold sweat. Meryl is lying next to you, and she's pregnant, heavily so. The expectation is that the child will be born any day, and she's going to be off of work. Thankfully, it's Saturday, and five minutes short of six-o'clock, instead of two in the morning on a weekday. But when you throw your legs over the side of the bed, you decide that premonition was too real to ignore. You can't risk being wrong, not about this.

>Call Dad.
>Call Dr. Sheridan.
>Go back to sleep to see if you can get more out of it.
>Get something to eat.
>Wake up Meryl... She seems comfy though.
>[Write-In]

Alright, looks like we weren't able to get the answers we needed.
Maybe we should've unironically focused on the power of love and family.

>>5607714
>[Write-In]
>Stay up and try to think about this more. Wait for Meryl to wake up, then tell her about the vision.

>>5607714
Support >>5607741

>>5607714
>Call Dad

>>5607714
>>5607741
+1

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>>5607741
>>5608705
>>5610105
>>5610127
You remember the first few moments of the dream conflict better. You had shot him several times, hitting him about three-quarters of the time. You were at point blank range, but you were also unsteady and taken off guard. On his end, he had just charged into the gunfire before taking your weapon from you. Shattering it, he had struck you so hard you hit the cabin wall on your way down. But his skin had knitted together, almost instantly. He's some kind of shapechanger, like a wendigo or a werewolf.

That guy that attacked you... He didn't seem like any kind of traditional, old-fashioned wizard. He was impassionate, sure, but he also had a grim tone to his every act, an attitude of violence. While you've never personally been on the receiving end, your now-Californian old friend Chase has a similar aura about him when he gets moody. In high school, he got moody a lot, and people saw him as an aspiring serial killer for it. That was all built on personal angst from a teenager, though: This hostile intent was the deliberate, patient stalk of a predatory animal. He wasn't trying to ward people off, he was there specifically to kill you. Why would he even come after you, anyway? What do you have that a warlock wants?

Your first thought is Meryl, but that doesn't seem to be right. She's been around for a while, and there's been plenty of time for any stalker to make a move. But what has changed, then? The only thing that comes to mind is the fact that you've gotten that connection that Meryl recognized back at Virginia Beach. That wizardly ancestor-god-thing she spoke to. Any kind of monster, upon finding out that one of those had taken a personal interest in your relationship... Well, they'd want to kill you. After all, if you got to see the dying god Dagon, who exactly was she talking to? And this man had waited, conveniently enough, until after your child was born, instead of exploiting Meryl's pregnancy as a period of weakness. But if they're trying to kill you, why would they-

The baby. It burns every nerve in your body to think of someone attempting to kidnap your child for whatever hideous ritual they have in mind. Now when you see that interloper's face, you don't feel fear, but infernal fury. He dies. You frantically search for your hatchet to make sure you have it on hand and consider calling your father. But halfway through your contacts list, you decide to wait for Meryl to wake up so you can talk. Your hand rests beside her. You can't help but keep your eyes on her, afraid that if you look away she'll disappear. It takes some time for that fear to slink off, fleeing the rising sun.

When Meryl does finally wake up, she's lethargic, far more than usual. "Can we wait on this a second?" she groans when you ask if you can talk. "Sorry, I really need to..." She enters the bathroom, and you ask no more.

(1/2)

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Strange cravings typical for pregnancy haven't been much of an issue for Meryl, though she has been eating some fish completely whole, the eyes and such as well. She avoids dangerous fishbones, but it's a bit alarming to see her chowing down on marine scales, shells, guts, and eyes. Strawberry ice cream is more common to acquire, and one of the only other things she makes demands for. She's had a balanced diet for some time, though she's been adding more land meat to her diet because the concentration of mercury is a concern for pescatarian diets. It's a little expensive to feed her some kinds of seafood, but even with that concern the two incomes have been giving you some financial breathing room.

After she showers and returns, she lies down on the bed and listens. One of her eyes stays lodged open as the other tries to relax. You try to focus on the things she doesn't already know, but review why those incidents would be important to fighting this beast. She seems a bit confused. "Most magicians can't heal, so he's definitely... some kind of monster. But even ghouls can't patch up that quickly." Hearing about the wind gun causes her to struggle to sit up before eventually deciding to stay down due to the weight of your child. "Elemental mastery? Well, the Albion family head can control water as proof of rulership, but that's it as far as I know. They don't usually get the chance to flex it, either, since magic is suppressed by technology." Meryl tilts slightly, grumbling and shifting her weight for comfort, "That means he's a wind elemental. Those are rare, and always trouble."

What about Forrest? Meryl grimaces and shrugs, as if she didn't take him seriously. "My dad styled on him decades ago. People love the myth of the old soldier, like you can keep running around and fighting and swimming and shooting and starving yourself and you'll still be able to do it after decades. You can't. If he's involved at all, it's from the sidelines. I'll bet he's burnt every bridge and tapped out every resource he has." You're not so sure. Someone as fanatical at that would totally be interested in one last job, one last kill to add to his list of crimes. It doesn't matter if you can kill him by slapping him too hard- if he can hurt your wife or child, you're not letting your guard down.

Meryl sees that her statement isn't reassuring you, so she becomes more focused in her support. "What do you want to do?"

>Take some paid time off. The baby will arrive any day now, so relaxing is best.
>Take some paid time off. You got the message, and now you have extra time to prepare.
>Call your father. He's dealt with this kind of madness before, hasn't he?
>Call your father. It's high time he came clean about everything.
>Call Dr. Sheridan. If anyone knows who this freak is, it'd be her.
>Forget about it until you've had something to eat. You're overthinking this.
>[Write-In]

>>5610328
>Call your father. It's high time he came clean about everything.

>>5610328
>Have something to eat first before you do anything and try to think of ways that could help in that scenario.
>Call your father. It's high time he came clean about everything.
>Take some paid time off. The baby will arrive any day now, so relaxing is best. But make sure to keep your guard up and look for any leads or things that could help prevent a tragedy.
Not against calling dad too, but I'd like to at least talk with a full stomach. But at the same time obsessing over it might be bad for the baby, and we still need to care for Meryl.

>>5610328
>Call your father. He's dealt with this kind of madness before, hasn't he?

>>5610337
>>5610362
>>5610991
You draw in a deep breath and calm yourself. You need to eat, and maybe after that's settled your stomach you'll call your dad. Besides, the baby's health is your main focus for the time being. Still, you need to call Dad. Sausage patties heat up on cast-iron, and an ordinary pan is set up for scrambled eggs. After accidentally grabbing the wrong pan one morning and spending way too much time that evening clearing the remaining eggs off (well, as much as you could), you learned your lesson. Bagels, too. It's nice having the full morning just to cook and relax with Meryl. She's the better 'chef' of the two of you, but her energy has been a bit all over the place for obvious reasons. She mixes one of the sausages into the scramble with all of the other ingredients and leans on you when you sit down at the table.

"It's going to be okay," she whispers, putting her full weight on your. "I trust you." Somehow, that's enough. For a second, you almost don't call Dad. But you need to keep earning her trust, time and time again, by being responsible. And that means holding your father to account for what he's done, or rather, what he didn't do. Maybe he thought it was right to leave all of that mystery and madness in the dark, but the dark has come to you. You can no longer pretend nothing is wrong alongside your wife, waiting for your child to come into the world. On Meryl's insistence, there were no prenatal scans or tests, so you don't even know what the sex of your child is. All signs, however, point to the baby being healthy.

You said you wanted a boy to be named Carthach? She beams. "It means 'loving'," she says, after swallowing her latest bite of food. Then she winces. "Ow. We might need to go back to the drawing board on that one." The laughter eventually fades as you resign yourself to calling your father. At least your blood sugar is boosted and you've gotten to calm down a bit.

One of many calls you've made over the last few months. Dad picks up immediately. "Hello?" he asks. He remains silent until you're finished explaining the whole dream. His silence bugs you. It's as if he's sitting at a desk, a treasure chest serving as his footrest. You know it's there. He knows it's there. But he refuses to speak about it, and you just have to act like it's not there. Or you do, until you finally break out of one explanation and ask him straight-out. What did you not tell me? He verbally dodges. "What are you talking about?" You remind him of how he confided in Grandma and Grandpa confided in him. "Son, my father was insane. I learned sleight of hand as a party trick." Yeah? Like double-dealing for Mom? Like lying to protect you?

That moment is when he realizes that this isn't something he can deflect his way out of. You listen carefully, and hear him open a door, close it, and sit down. "Fine," he says.

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The coldness is there, the man your sister Alice is terrified of. "You want everything?" he asks bitterly. "You asked for it." He swallows and continues speaking. "My paternal grandfather, Dietrich, was a spy for the USA during World War Two, the ideal fit for the job based on our phenotype. In fact, his own father was specifically selected for intelligence, athleticism, and handsomeness. You have to understand, nobody knew what was going to happen. To them, it was just a way of improving their family line. That and his being a spy would have been enough to bury." He pauses for a moment to breathe, but he continues, more salty and hostile than when he started.

"He served as a double agent within one of the Nazi cults formed by the mania of the period." Because they assumed he was on their side and part of their magical society, he was able to dig into their private lives to help the war effort. "Most were pressured and didn't want to participate. A few were just delusional. At least one was a 'sane' true believer. Whatever Gramps learned, he discarded when he came home. The Marshall Plan gave him his soul back." Dad's voice wavers: Finally, the cracks begin to show. "S-So much destruction in what should have been the world's greatest century made people doubt everything. The fabric of human reason frayed: Magic and madness filled the void. The more people saw, the more it spread." He's on the verge of tears, literally begging. "I pushed it to the periphery, so it wouldn't creep into your life like it crept into mine! Alex, please, for the love of God, for my love for you, just stop asking questions! Knowledge is death!"

A pause. Dad, I can't. You have to know, or you, your wife, and your child are going to die.

Dad doesn't say anything for about thirty seconds. You call out to make sure he's still on the line. When he responds, he seems to have regained his composure. "I really am going to lose you, aren't I?" he asks. "My baby boy. Any other way... Not like this." At long last, he answers the hanging question about the wind elemental, and without your prompting. "He's the big bad wolf, that's all I know. It's such a damn awful cliché, but there it is. When you hear about a big bad wolf in Grimm fairy tales, it's him." So why's he after us? "He's an enemy of humanity, the wolf at the door: He doesn't need a reason!" Dad's lost his temper again. "I'd tell you to come home, but I don't know how it would help!"

What can you possibly say in response to something like that?
>"Dad, I am home." You're not going anywhere. You'll rely on what you've built with Meryl to weather this storm.
>"Knowledge is power, Dad." You're a 'natural sorcerer': you'll lean into that.
>"Please take care of Meryl." If fate has decreed your death, the buck stops with you.
>Try and distract him. "Any suggestions for the baby's name?"
>"We'll head in as soon as the baby is born." Not while Meryl is pregnant.
>[Write-In]

>>5614492
>"Dad, I am home." You're not going anywhere. You'll rely on what you've built with Meryl to weather this storm.
>"Knowledge is power, Dad." You're a 'natural sorcerer': you'll lean into that.
Hiding is not an option against the big bad wolf. Even a brick house won't be enough against the wind he blows.

>>5614492
>"Dad, I am home." You're not going anywhere. You'll rely on what you've built with Meryl to weather this storm.
>"Knowledge is power, Dad." You're a 'natural sorcerer': you'll lean into that.
Screw fate.

>>5614492
Thirding asserting this is our home - after all, homes tend to have value beyond mundane in the supernatural, do they not?
As well as knowledge. We can’t let our family be hurt.

>>5614492
>>"Dad, I am home." You're not going anywhere. You'll rely on what you've built with Meryl to weather this storm.
>>"Knowledge is power, Dad." You're a 'natural sorcerer': you'll lean into that.
Backing these choices. If he's the big bad wolf, let us find something to make him huff and puff in vain.

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>>5614497
>>5614584
>>5615190
>>5616305
Home is sacred in magic, right? It provides security, serves as a psychic reservoir for the residents, where they can rest and heal from all injuries. Your mind's eye recalls the time you've spent here, both when younger and now. The whistle of the wind, the sunrise and sunset. Bonfires in the summer, fireplaces in the winter. Snow and rain, fireflies and mist. The sun in the sky and moonless nights of absolute darkness. Even then, you were able to step through the dark on instinct, coming to the cabin safely, without stumbling in the shadow. All the way back to Meryl, every single time. More than the football field, more than the halls of academic study or even your parents' house, this forest is your sanctuary.

Dad, I am home. "Alex, you know what I mean. It's more secure here than it is there." You're not so sure: Yggdrasil used Scoville as their home base, after all, whereas this spot has a literal nuclear bunker to hide out in for months if need be. Something tells you Dad just wants to have you within arm's reach while you're in danger. It's the natural protective instinct, but right now it's a little choking and counterproductive. "...In any case, I don't want you to go searching for Grandpa's old tomes. It's not going to help- take it from someone who knows."

It's not like Dad to tell you not to read... Knowledge is power. "NO!" he bellows, slamming his fist on the arm of his chair. His next statement is a stuttering choke. "I-I'm s-sorry, I-" His voice full of shame, he hangs up for a moment. You call him back on reflex, on the off chance that something bad happened. It takes him four rings to pick up, but when he does, he's back to his immaculate calm. "I apologize, Alex. I don't have the right to tell you how to live your life." Aw, that's where Daryl gets it from. "T-This is no laughing matter," Dad says. "The unnatural is, well, unnatural. It doesn't play by your rules- your intelligence won't help you here."

Maybe your father believes that. But Meryl's father doesn't. Feardorcha is the most powerful magician you know, which is a small reference pool, but anyway. If Dr. Cier really is a magician, and you really are a sorcerer, it's for the best you talk to him. After all, he's a successful doctor, so he functions (passably) within human society. Maybe another time, because Meryl didn't want him around the kid. At this rate, she might not get the choice. You have to make sure the baby is safe before things get worse, and if that means you learn magic from your possibly insane and definitely sociopathic father-in-law, so be it.

You turn away from the phone as Meryl gives you the single most panicked expression she's ever shown you. There have been a lot in recent memory, but this is the big one. "Alex, I think my water just broke."
Clenching your teeth, you brace yourself for twelve-plus hours of pain.

(1/2)

(2/2)

It is thirty-six hours and several urgent calls later before you and your wife are simultaneously in a psychological state capable of properly appreciating your new child.

As you reviewed your textbooks from your training and prepared to serve as midwife for your wife (Plan #1), one of the contractions hit. This caused Meryl to immediately change her mind and start screaming for "a real doctor". When you offered to drive to the nearest hospital (Plan #2) she nearly throttled you. Dr. Sheridan showed up after a non-insignificant amount of begging and stayed overnight (Plan #3). Of course, Meryl changed her mind AGAIN, going feral in the presence of the scientist's monitoring equipment. You don't think anyone has ever used the phrase "I'll cut you" that many times before. Even though you were prepared for a mess instead of the magic movie childbirth, the reality of it gave you a real beating. It was extremely embarrassing and extremely dirty. You received shallow scars and at least one deep claw-mark on behalf of your wife deciding she didn't want your help at crucial junctures.

After all was said and done, everyone involved needed a shower to clean the body and mind. The baby wouldn't stop crying, which the doctor said was a sign she was healthy and breathing properly. Easy for her to say. Meryl also isn't willing to let your new daughter with anyone else other than you, so after she fell asleep, you held on to your freshly grown living raisin, fading in and out of consciousness until Meryl woke up again. At that point, you had gone to sleep feeling like you were about to die, drowning in darkness.

When you wake up, you drowsily stumble into the next room over, and there's your daughter and wife. Meryl's beaming, radiant at being a mother. "She's not very pretty right now, but she'll grow into it." We'd better hope so. .Meryl laughs before putting on a bittersweet expression. "She would have been enough. Just her. I would have gone back to my mother and left you be." She smiled and cradles your child, who's quietly resting. "I'm so happy that didn't happen."

It occurs to you she had a name ready for a son, but not a daughter. "All yours," Meryl says, and then sighs. "Then again, I've put you through a lot. What's your mother's name?" she asks.
Looking at your fragile daughter, a tightness in your chest communicates Dad's fear in a way words can't. You would do anything, anything, to keep her safe.

>Name your daughter [Write-In] (Default is Carrie)
AND
>You need to learn from whatever methods Feardorcha, Meryl's father, used to study magic.
>You need to strengthen your mystic bond to the land. You don't know how to do that, but you'll find out.
>You need to leverage Dr. Sheridan's side of Yggdrasil and see if you can get some reprieve or secret tech.
>You need to hunt down those books great-grandpa had, sparing no expense.
>[Write-In]

>>5620238
>Marin
I don't remember if this is the name of someone we know, but it has that same feeling that the name Meryl does.
>You need to strengthen your mystic bond to the land. You don't know how to do that, but you'll find out.

>>5620238
>Marilyn
I'm gonna go with this, for similar reasoning as the anon above. It feels similar to Meryl and I personally like it more than Marin
>You need to learn from whatever methods Feardorcha, Meryl's father, used to study magic.
I think our father in law is our best bet right now. And he has experience in dealing with hunters.

>>5620238
>the most important choice in this quest
Carrie is nice.
I'd maybe also submit Lucy for consideration.
I'm not sure about Marin even though its a nice name because of its marine connotations. I mean we don't have problem with her ancestry but especially her mother would want her to move forward rather than look back. Marilyn seems fine though.

>power overwhelming
hmm... I think I'm going to go with
>>You need to strengthen your mystic bond to the land. You don't know how to do that, but you'll find out.
because I'm viewing it as falling back on what we should have strongest affinity with. Going with Feardorcha would mean catching up with something we're not familiar with, whereas connection we may be unconsciously nursing already should be playing to our strengths.

>>5620238
>>5620302
I'll change my vote for the name
>Marilyn
Since it does sound nicer, and for the same reasons about wanting to move forward rather than look back (but still having the same feeling as the name Meryl does).

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>>5620302
>>5620634
>>5621097
>>5621297
Well, you need to keep looking forward. Keeping up momentum is important in everything. Marilyn.

Meryl balks a bit, embarrassed that the name's so similar to hers. "That's kind of like Meryl Junior, isn't it?" And what's wrong with that? Her face flushes completely as she fumbles for something tangible. It's more likely that she doesn't hold herself in as high of a regard as you hold her. "I dunno, it just... Hm. Fine, I did offer. Me and my big mouth." Despite this harsh wording, Meryl's tone is high-pitched and joyful, happy to hear your rationale. She kisses the baby on the forehead to express a bit of her affection, but Marilyn immediately begins crying. "Oh, come on! You just ate and everything! I'm not that unmotherly." She tries to sing something, but the attempt dies in her throat before more than a note or two can exit. Still, even the attempt calms your child, and Meryl considers it a success.

Now that things have for the most part evened out, you decide that the link to the land is probably going to be your big help here. You know where the fight's going to take place- here. You just have to hope you can change only the outcome of the dream, not when he shows up. Working with Meryl's father is likely going to be more trouble than it's worth, especially with Marilyn being as young as she is, but maybe if it comes to that, you can lean on him.

Walking to the lake near your home after a long day of work, you remember what you know. Meryl got much stronger and faster in her 'own element', being seawater. Your own body prepares a natural defense when you're challenged by supernatural threats. Combining the effects would probably be for the best. You step into the water and look up. The sky is cloudy, but it's not going to rain. You dip below the water and just relax, your back brushing against a stray submerged grass root as you lie down. When that happens, your consciousness expands. At first, it's quite slow- you can only sense a few feet out, but slowly you can 'see' the whole patch of grass this root is connected to, in detail, as if you were watching a rendering of the scene. Part of a nearby tree gives you information about its root patterns. It's bizarre, but kind of cool.

Reality returns to you when your nose goes underwater, but the effect can be replicated. The greenery in the region gives you a real-time map of the area, and while it takes weeks to learn to read the property, you can detect movement out to about a mile so long as it's something the plant life could 'sense'. The detail is hazy- you can only detect someone on the move, not who they are in detail, like some kind of cheap radar. This is exciting, in a boring way. Plus, it's a natural form of security. You notice something else- if you're wearing normal shoes, it doesn't work, but if you're wearing boots it does. Odd. Maybe it's the leather?

(1/2)

(2/2)

Despite not asking for him, your infamous father-in-law shows up on his own, detected by your little green friends as a car from afar. His blue sedan is as ordinary as it is pristine- he's a very neat man, and only carries the kinds of papers or books he might need regularly as a professor. In the back are wrapped boxes, with those little premade bows stuck on. He comes bearing gifts and wearing a smile, so obviously he's got something nefarious in mind. Meryl is currently working out to try and get herself back in better shape after the birth, now that she trusts the baby won't die if she looks away.

When he holds out a gift, you don't take it. So... What's the catch? "That's kind of rude," he pouts, putting it back in his car's backseat. "Did you think you could mock me just because you married my beloved daughter?"

When Meryl opens the door. When she sees her father, she reacts similarly to the last time you crossed your ex. Her muscles tense up and lips part as if baring teeth. "Oh no. No, no no. You are not putting a single finger on Marilyn. None of your insane magic or whatever. Turn around."

"I just want to-"

Meryl is not hearing it, holding up a palm to silence him before pointing away. "Go." For once, Feardorcha seems genuinely hurt, as if he literally can't understand why he's being refused. He does seem to care about his daughter and grandchild, but in a strange way that doesn't seem quite normal. Your attempt to try and work out why is read by Meryl and she puts a knife to it immediately. "He's an actual psychopath- I'm just an object to him, he thinks he owns me." Apparently without the need to fall back on her father as a support network, she feels like she can give her true feelings.

Dr. Cier scoffs, averting his gaze and treating her accusation like a joke. "Okay, one, it's called antisocial personality disorder, and I've never been diagnosed with it." He also puts on what looks to be a genuine frown. "And two, even if that was true, that doesn't mean I don't want to look out for you." On the one hand, he did come with presents, and came all the way from Boston. On the other hand, he also came unnannounced and unprompted, and he was at least neglectful to your wife growing up. On the third mutant hand, he's also a powerful sorcerer and pissing him off will likely shorten your lifespan one way or another.

>"You're not coming inside- let's go somewhere else." You'll speak to him, but only insofar as he respects your boundaries.
>"Since you don't seem to listen to her, listen to me- Get out." Evict him from your property permanently.
>Plead with Meryl to try and close the gap with her father. This entire affair has been rebuilding broken bridges for you.
>You believe him. He doesn't seem really evil, just really shallow. He doesn't know what he's doing is wrong.
>[Write-In]

>>5628124
Hmm, well, although I don't think we should rely on him and his methods too much, it needs to be said that whether by human decency or whatever mechanisms the supernatural abides by, he is still family and we owe him at least that much hospitality.
>Plead with Meryl to give the dad a chance, but at the same time be sure to always stand in for our beloved wife and darling daughter and ensure he doesn't overstep his bounds with whatever it is he may be planning.

>>5628124
>>5628136
Support. Seems like a nice middle ground

>>5628124
>"You're not coming inside- let's go somewhere else." You'll speak to him, but only insofar as he respects your boundaries.

(We're having personal difficulties, excuse the delay, should have a prompt one in the morning. I'll get you a bonus scene for the trouble.)

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>>5628136
>>5628168
>>5628191

You try and get Meryl to at least let him have basic hospitality. Besides the simple fact of him being her father, it's bad form to turn him out entirely, especially given how he came with gifts. She grits her teeth, sucks in a breath, and as her face turns red with frustration, you're not sure if she's going to agree. However, her chest eventually depresses, and she sighs with a long and mournful expression. "Fine. If you insist."

"Yay!" the 'good doctor' raises his fists to his cheeks with a wink.

"Not you," Meryl says, deflating her father's hasty enthusiasm, but he cheers up again by presenting the present he showed before.

"Cookware. Clothing. Some of it's from our home community in Boston." Meryl takes one of the boxes, brings it inside, and then goes back outside to block her father from entering out of her line of sight. "Heh, am I that crafty to you? If I really wanted to sneak in I'd be inside." He pushes his luck a bit, with a puppy-eyed request to Meryl. Evidently in the presence of his daughter he becomes almost childlike. "I've brought home-warming gifts, could you at least give me the classic bread and salt?" Isn't that a Greek thing? "Depends on who you ask."

As you ponder it and wonder if there's a variant magicians do, Meryl goes back inside, returning at a mild simmer with a bag of wheat bread and a salt shaker. Birds flock nearby, expecting to be fed, but she shoves a single slice into Feardorcha's hand and then roughly shakes the salt over it three times so there's at least some coverage. You and her father both look at the bread in surprise before she shoves a second slice on top of the first, giving him a bonafide sodium sandwich. The magician bites down and beams. "I'll take it!"

Meryl whispers, "You'd better." Her eyes are widening in concern, but they haven't returned to the Dagonian solid sea-green they once were. Maybe the 'becoming human' idea really did work. If so, it's a very small shame, because you liked her as she was, even if she didn't. She's fine this way too, obviously, but it just seems as though losing that means losing part of her. Her eyes turn to you, and you share a small moment of meeting gazes. Her father tries to tiptoe inside, but you put a hand on his shoulder before he does.

"Fine," he pouts. Placing a hand on his chest and bowing, he formally asks, "May I enter?" as if he were a vampire.

Eventually, he comes in, leaving the sandwich on the dining room table when he does. Marilyn is a hard sell for Meryl to let her father hold, and she clings to the month-and-a-half child while seating. As he scoots closer to pat his granddaughter's head, Meryl scoots away.

"Oh, give me a break. I won't cast any spells. You could probably use a few, though." That makes you take Meryl's side more strongly here.

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Still, he plays a good grandfather, including bringing a small treasure trove of clothing and toys for the new darling, some of which are a bit tacky and a good portion of which are homemade. There's even a Wally the Green Monster toy in there, which Meryl cringes at but your daughter adores. Marilyn's contented burbling and gnawing on the doll is a good contrast to the colic she's mostly stopped. She doesn't really like to be poked by Feardorcha, turning away whenever he tries to get a smile out of her or tickle her, but there's no surprise there- he's a stranger to her. Meryl doesn't trust her father to hold Marilyn, but the infant at least looks at her grandfather, and that seems to be good enough for him.

He takes his unfinished salt sandwich with him, placing it on the roof of his car as he opens the trunk to bring his suitcase out. One of the opportunistic birds from before swoops in to nab a chunk of it. With little more than an annoyed expression and two pointed fingers, Dr. Cier flash-fries the crow in front of you. Flames burst from its feathers and a momentary squawk resounds as the corpse rolls off the side of the car, sending up a billow of acrid pitch smoke following the fowl's tumble. Dr. Cier contentedly retakes and chews the bread, unconcerned as the ground beside him smolders and sizzles. "What? Bird had it coming."

---

After that stunt, it was decided your father-in-law would not be staying overnight.

The next good spot to talk is a gas station near the road off which breaks the way home. He fills up on gas as you stare back up at the road leading home. Meryl is comforting Marilyn, or maybe just comforting herself. You're not super happy leaving her alone, but she insisted you make sure her father left normally.

All of the doctor's chipper has escaped him- he has a silken, ephemeral pace to his movement, everything calculated and deliberate to keep himself just out of sight. This is what you expect a sorcerer to be. When you track him, icy eyes stare into yours and you think maybe there's more malice than ignorance in him after all. "I expected that." No kidding. He looks down, and then adds, "That bird really was a piece of shit, though. It would steal other birds' food." You're not sure if he's serious: He answers without you asking. "I am. I had a very good teacher." He makes an OK symbol with his left hand. "The best."

Soon, when the pump stops, he prepares to head back to Boston. If there's anything you want to talk to him about, now would be the time, while you can.

>You suspect he knows: "How much time do I have to prepare?"
>Every magician has a type of magic, right? "What's my specialization?"
>He's too powerful to be ignored as an asset- you want him to help you out against that elemental.
>Meryl wouldn't accept learning magic from him, but you will.
>Ask him if he knows whether he bought any of the books Grandma got rid of, so you could borrow them.
>[Write-In]

>>5634856
>You suspect he knows: "How much time do I have to prepare?"
>Every magician has a type of magic, right? "What's my specialization?"

>>5634856
>ask him what he knows about threats that may be facing us
>ask if he can tell us anything about ourselves

>>5634856
>>5635154
I'll support this. We need all the information he has.

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>>5634921
>>5635154
>>5635161

Feardrocha's a slippery customer- not the most straightforward kind. Still, you need all the help you can get. Who are we dealing with and what can I do about it? He puts a closed fist over his mouth and looks away. "I can't help you with the werewolf- I cut a deal to give you breeding space." You mean- "No. Basically, I can't kill him, so as long as he fights you alone, I can't lend you assistance during the fight or give you any other combat support. In exchange, he only tries to kill you- the person he actually wants dead. If Meryl tries to stop him, she's fair game too." He gives you a look to make it clear that he will make sure that doesn't happen. Normally, your face would heat up and you would get angry he went behind your back about something so important, but you suppose you should have expected it. Dr. Cier cares about his daughter, and granddaughter. It doesn't seem like he cares about you except as you relate to them. He confirms that with a sinister giggle. "I told him, 'I know I can get Meryl another husband, but she really likes this one'." The ease with which he says it unsettles you.

The magician reaches into his car to give you his final gift, a small book. "I made no such deal with Yggdrasil in general, nor did I tell him I wouldn't tell you who you are, or who he is." It's tattered- just touching the thing feels like you're about to brush the whole page into dust. Faded runic script covers the thin pages, a hard, geometric form of writing. "Bad news- he's an elemental, like a genie or a sylph. He can shapeshift and master wind. Regular violence won't do." Explains the guns being useless. "Good news, you have a major advantage- you're in the same category as Achilles and Siegfried." A crippling vulnerable point? "Being invincible everywhere else. Your form of sorcery is closer to what you would call a paladin." 'Defender of the faith.' "Nope, palace officer- see 'palatine'. Defender of the state." Traditionally, heroes like that, like Heracles, were especially capable of killing monsters in ways magicians didn't seem to be able to. Since this thing's deal is being a threat to civilization, you're on even ground. You hope. Peering at the pages, you get a vague notion that this makes sense, but the more you look at it, the more your head hurts.

"Hypergeometry. It's a bitch. That ritual will let you bathe in that lake of yours and rise as Achilles might. You'll have to be nude, of course, but I doubt Meryl will mind." It's a wall of incomprehensible text, but there are symbols that seem to suggest water, heat, and the flow of blood. It's almost addicting to turn the pages, your eyes feeding on what you can not quite make out on the pages. "I wish I could say you could select what body part you got to make vulnerable, but that's not how magic works. Be happy it works at all." He keeps speaking, but this book is entrancing.

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(2/2)

It really is. You see dough becoming bread, skin becoming steel. Seeing the body as just something that needs to be properly treated in order to bend swords. It's not just possible, it's true- and it's only treated as untrue because people don't understand the right way to do it. Colors and lights fly about in your mind, and it's only a few seconds after the book is taken from you that you realize Dr. Cier has it. He gives it back after a moment of shaming you, the cover closed. "You're 'a hero', so all of your strengths revolve around taking the things anyone can do and doing them better than anyone else possibly can. You won't be summoning demons or twisting space, but you should be able to cut down trees with a blow or sprint for hours."

Thanks. What about Yggdrasil? Your father-in-law gives you a salutory wave as he steps into his car. "Don't worry about them. I've been meaning to put their old director in the ground for years-decades, really. If he steps out of line again it won't matter if they bring their whole organization down on my head." Taking the car into reverse, he begins rolling up his window. "I'll gut those bastards good, give you a box of silver rings."

He drives off without explaining anything more, headed back to Boston. And as soon as he does you realize that you're going to have to walk back to the cabin on foot. Taking out your phone, you text Meryl to give her an ETA.

--

When you finally get back, she's there to great you with your baby girl. Marilyn's so cute, yes she is! You look at her adorable little face. She's happy, so happy, and you're happy you can be here for her. Her tiny little fingers wrap around your pinky and she coos. Yes, Marilyn. Dad is here.

Meryl is looking at you and she seems somewhat distraught, so you pause your admiration for a second. Something wrong? She smiles, a genuine and full smile. "Hardly. This is all I ever wanted in a life." Once that's said, she sets her face like flint. "Your dream. I refuse to accept that it is 'the future', but I'll do anything you need to do to get rid of that thing, if he really is real. Even if that means working so we have a source of income while you take care of the baby and train or what have you." She looks at Marilyn, smiles, kisses her daughter on the cheek, and then says, "He had better hurry up, too, I want to show you how to surf."

>That's not a bad idea. You don't want to get caught off guard, after all.
>Meryl's capable- she can prepare a defense just as well as you.
>You're going to keep going to work, and see if you can find an advantage there. They have a gym.
>You mostly want an excuse to spend more time with your daughter.
AND
>Perform the ritual to gain invulnerability in all places but one.
>Burn the ritual, it's clearly dangerous.
>Attempt to adapt it to protect your daughter instead of you.
>[Write-In]

>>5639539
I think it’d be better for Meryl to stay with Marilyn, it’s not like we can drag someone to watch over her, and if we commit to some training, we’d be neglecting the child. Let’s keep working and in free time…

(AND)

Meditate and pray for guidance. Try to examine the ritual with help of conscience, see if there’s something compromising in it. If we end up at peace with how it works, we can use it to help us with our Paladin job…

>>5639539
>You're going to keep going to work, and see if you can find an advantage there. They have a gym.
Can't train and take care of Marilyn at the same time. Let's see how much of a neglectful employee we can be by training in company time.

As for the ritual, examine it to see if we can find any drawback that dad in law didn't inform us about, though I'm inclined to trust him on this. If it looks fine
>Perform the ritual to gain invulnerability in all places but one.
If we had a decade or two to prepare, I'd be voting to perform it on Marilyn, but being an invulnerable baby won't help her have a long and happy life if we lose.

Paladin, huh. Gotta learn how to Smite Evil with that Axe of Sharpness +1.

>>5639539
>Meryl's capable- she can prepare a defense just as well as you.
>Tell Meryl about the ritual and that her father made it so that she wouldn't die when the incident happens, gain her input on it and decide what to do together.
I'd rather not trust the guy that so easily said that our life is replaceable. He likely doesn't care about what happens to us, or if there's any permanent damage done to our mind.

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>>5639593
>>5639734
>>5639923

Working is for the best at the moment. Your organization has a tenuous connection to the supernatural and you can use lunch break to work out. Maybe a little beyond lunch break- checking slides and checking boxes gets pretty damn boring after a while, so you end up taking every break you can get to pump iron. You're up to six plates by now, which puts you at least on par with your former football self. You might have to ask for more depending on how far this 'paladin' idea gets in reality.

After two weeks of regular training you find a hundred-pound plate where the forty-fives normally are. Well, that saves you some space, but why the change? This piques your curiosity and you notice something about the tiny gym with mirrored walls. That's done to allow people to check their form, but there's something unusual about these mirrors. Closer inspection lets that instinct of yours get a small hint of what's going on. This isn't your environment, so you can't make out much, but you can tell that someone's watching. When you approach one portion of the wall, you hear scattered movement from the other side. You can't see what's behind it, but you can only assume it was a one-sided mirror.

After that, you don't need to approach Dr. Sheridan- she approaches you. "You've got a hell of a bench press, kid," she says. So she was watching? Is that what she does? Your employer laughs. "Hah, no- I have better things to do than play voyeur. Besides, part of what we do is biological research- we use it for experiments on fitness performance." She picks up on the tome, which you've been studying in your other free time, and holds out her hand as if she needs it turned over. You're hesitant to do so, so she sighs. "I'm not going to tear it up, hotshot." The doctor reads it unamused, and after a bit of scrutiny she hands it back. "Stygian armor. You must be pretty desperate." How so? What's the hidden catch? "It's a guaranteed death sentence. Not now, but eventually. Sooner or later, fate will convene to wound you in your one vulnerable spot, and the injury will be fatal. You're not dying in any bed outside a hospital."

That makes sense, in a twisted way. Feardorcha wouldn't see any negatives to it- he would protect Meryl and Marilyn at the low low price of one son-in-law, buyer to collect. Good thing I haven't used it, then. That causes her to tilt her head, and then rub her fingers together in a cash-providing gesture. "I'll buy it- I know lots of guys who would trade a peaceful life for a glorious death." She chews on her thumb, as if waiting on a cigarette. "Had to talk hubby out of it, if I'm being honest. Meryl and you remind me of my husband and I. You're me in that comparison, to be clear." Uh, thanks? Still, you don't take the offer as it stands. Even a 'mundane' special ops squad wouldn't mean much against an immortal. Maybe a monster hunter would do the trick?

(1/2)

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(2/2)

Meryl is very keen on your new training regimen: it gives her both more to admire and a chance to practice her cooking. In the meanwhile, she's been doing minor repairs and updates, like re-enforcing doors and trying to link up to your mystic warning system. She can connect to it while you're present, boosting your range, but the effect fades whenever you go. She's become sleeker too, perhaps to reciprocate your efforts. Marilyn doesn't really care, but she doesn't have the processing power to do so anyway, focusing more on trying to play with whatever she can hold. Your child has a greenish-blue shade to her eyes, closer to Meryl's than your own, but light hair like yours. She has her latest fixation, a soft toy, carefully pried away by Meryl after she begins chewing on it. Your wife is listening to your statement about the tome and not happy about it, but shakes her head in resignation instead of anger. "That's Dad for you." Obviously, she's not interested in a sacrifice of that kind. "No way I'm letting you do that. You've given more than your share of..." Her voice trails off, and she narrows her eyes. She looks at the tome, and then at you again. Wait.

She reaches out for the ritual and you instinctively block her hand. "She needs her father, Alex. Besides, your family has better prospects than mine by a hand and a half." That doesn't mean we have to put you in the hot seat. Your daughter lets go of her current toy, disturbed by the tension, and the immediate reaction by the two of you is to pay attention to her instead, trying to find something to distract her. Maybe Marilyn picks up on the fear, because she doesn't seem to like the motion, and begins crying instead. Eventually, she stops, but by that time you and Meryl both feel ashamed of yourselves.

After Marilyn is fast asleep, the two of you stand outside on the porch without words. Looking at each other, at the ground, anything but addressing the problem. Finally, Meryl speaks up. "Everyone does the things they don't want other people to do to them." She turns around and buries her face in your chest. Her strength suddenly becomes more than it is normally, as she begins hugging you tightly, clinging to you and pressing herself close. "I just don't want to be left alone again." When you put your hands on her sides, she realizes she's forcing the point, and pulls back tearfully, trying to compose herself. "I trust you to do the right thing. If you think it can buy us the time we need. It might even be safer than a normal life," she tries to joke, but it falls flat.

>You don't need to use the ritual to be sure you're all going to survive this.
>You'll see if you can trade the tome for a monster hunter.
>You can't risk losing that fight. You'll use the ritual.
>Throw the ritual in the fire pit.
>Give it to Meryl.
>[Write-In]

>>5641388
Hmmm... well, that's this then. For all we know our adversary may be able to exploit the weakness by himself. Kinda tempted to let the book burn, but it seems more conceited than righteous after it was given to us by the in-law in what probably passes for good will for him.
>You don't need to use the ritual to be sure you're all going to survive this
time to draw on Hope and Love and Family.
However, we are still needing to figure out more about our predisposition and how to actually draw on it...

>>5641388
>[Write-In]
>You'll see if you can trade the tome for something more useful.
I don't want to trust a monster hunter, or use a ritual that'll ensure we're gonna leave our family early. But it feels a waste to just throw it in storage. We have an axe of sharpness, maybe we can get something else that will help? Gear, knowledge, some other ritual with fewer side effects, it doesn't hurt to ask for offers.

>>5641388
>Throw the ritual in the fire pit.
It's for the safety of everyone at this point. Letting it be is just begging for the ritual to be used by someone else, whether it's our grandchildren or an enemy.
>You don't need to use the ritual to be sure you're all going to survive this.

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>>5641484
>>5641611
>>5641729

You can trust Meryl. She's your wife. She's stood by you all this time, and has appreciated the sacrifices you've made to keep your newfound family together and safe. She does her best to uphold her side of all the work that's been put into things, and she endured childbirth with a reasonable amount of calm. You can trust your family. They've accepted things as they are and helped you set yourself up for success in ways that it would normally be impossible for you to guarantee. Without their help you'd be up a river without a paddle.

You can't trust this ritual, but you can't completely convince yourself into getting rid of it, either. You ponder the tiny tome. You can feel your skin crawl just holding it. It can be used as a bargaining chip, but even then... You can't trust Dr. Sheridan to use it on the right person. After all, your father-in-law gave it to you as a ploy. Maybe he had the right intentions in mind or anticipated you would do anything to protect your family, but even then you hesitate. What if one of those hunters finds it? What if Marilyn ends up finding it? Meryl regathers her focus and snatches the book from your hands, turning and pacing in the direction of the lake and fire pit. Wait. She can't, you won't let her! But as you grab onto one arm, trying to keep her from leaving you, from heading to the lake, you see her toss the book aside. Your grip looses as your vision follows the path of the flying tome and the paper falls into the fire.

A mixture of frustration at losing an asset and relief at retaining Meryl is put on the backburner as the book alights and flares with sparks that are difficult to describe. It's like the Northern Lights met lightning for psychedelics. Instinctively, you shield Meryl, and a pillar of blue flame rises into the sky. As it does, it drains all the ambient light from the surroundings, drawing it into itself. Your sense of this territory is sapped away with it, leaving you aware of yourself, Meryl, and this flickering blue force, which runs through the color spectrum until it reaches a very deep red, almost infrared. Three flaming eyes stare from a darkness heavy enough to crush you. It's the bottom of the ocean all over again, but instead of a dying progenitor god, you're face to face with something you can only describe as a demon. For the first time in a long time, you're scared for yourself instead of merely for others.

But despite that, your first coherent thought is for your family, and your body floods with power of its own, the same way it did when Meryl brought you into the sea to show you her true nature in full. Previously forced to your knees, you stand. A NOBLE GESTURE- HOW ENTERTAINING! Despite the amiable tone from an otherwise wicked-sounding fiend, you don't let down your guard. Meryl's got her claws back, and they're digging into your forearms, trying to bring herself to standing.

(1/3)

A crawling pressure runs over your body, scanning you. Wherever it touches, your resistance grows stronger. THE EXALTED FORM. A GIFT FROM LIFE ITSELF, PROTECTION OF ONE'S KIN. BOUNDLESS STRENGTH FOR ONE'S BLOOD. You feel burning in your shoulder and three flames searing your skin. KNOW MY EYES ARE ON YOU AND UNDERSTAND. The pain is unbearable, but you realize- your strength only surges in response to the unnatural. This... thing is giving you a 'gift' by letting you focus on the unnatural burn to call on that strength at any time.

YOU ARE AS THE OLD MEN, IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE GODS. SEE THROUGH THEIR EYES. Your strong hand moves on its own, fingers opening and closing. Though you grip your right hand with your left, it performs a series of hand gestures of its own initiative. What for? To see the truth? Part of your mind wanders as to whether or not Meryl will receive anything, but regret it as soon as you ask. REJOICE, YOUNG WOMAN. YOUR DESIRE AND THAT OF YOUR ANCESTORS HAS BEEN FULFILLED. She gasps, and shudders as if she were being accused of a terrible crime, but you comfort her. HE STALKS BETWEEN THE TREES IN SILENCE. YOU SWIM BENEATH THE WAVES IN STRENGTH. IN THIS YOU ARE JOINED AND RENEWED. That causes her a moment of relief before the pressure is suddenly relieved, telling you something urgent is going to happen. The red light fades into the dark and the dark rushes out from the fire pit to take its proper place in the world, behind the light, knocking the two of you down into a heap. Meryl disentangles herself from it first, and you snap to attention, understanding why. Marilyn!

Your daughter is fine, sleeping soundly even. No signs of fear or disorientation, only waking up lazily when you pick her up. Your senses spread out to make sure nothing has happened to her and she hasn't suffered any unnatural taint. To your relief, nothing is wrong. Meryl slumps over, drained from the day, and then sighs as you place Marilyn back in her crib. She drifts off to sleep as easily as she woke up. "I'm about done with this magic shit. At least whatever that was decided it liked us." Standing up, her eyes lock onto yours and she gets an odd expression. You're not sure what it is until she steps forward. "Alex. I know we just got done with this baby, but right now I really want another." Near death experience? "Near death experience."

You lift her up into a bridal carry, and instead of protesting she smiles. "Okay, but you know I can carry you, right?" This feels better. She happily bobs her head. "It does, doesn't it?"

(2/3)

(3/3)

The answer you were looking for has arrived, if in a roundabout way. You're a kind of 'hero' that relies on the many myths about how things used to be better in the good old days- the age of gods, if you will, where one man could choke a lion to death with his bare hands or fire an arrow that struck the sun. Moreover, you seem to have a natural connection to greenery, the same way Meryl can swim through the ocean with supernatural ease. It's not much, but it's something. And at least Meryl is enthusiastic tonight. Maybe a bit too enthusiastic, if you're being honest. Standing up to a demon took a lot out of you. Boy, but does she make it all worth it. With more than just her body, but you can't deny the primal appeal.

You're almost late the next day into work, and have to pick up food in the cafeteria. Dr. Sheridan is not happy to have missed out on a trade offer, but she shrugs. "Your decision, even if it was a bad one." You're not so sure, but right now you're not sure about much anyway. You hear from your brother that he'll be packing for Japan soon, to meet Miss Aki in her homeland. You rib him with advice on how to flirt and he hangs up midway through a joke. But you remember that he won't be present when the attack happens, and that's soon. The clock is ticking closer to go time, though at the moment you have a head start. That oddly-shaped burn on your shoulder doesn't show up in photographs, but at any time you can close your eyes and feel it, like an ember under your skin. Walking through the forest is easier, faster, almost like driving a car, able to stride long distances in a single step without losing your orientation.

You look up at the sky and wonder what will happen when all's said and done. Will this be the end of it? Part of you hopes it's not, and the rest hopes that wolf never comes to knock on your door.

---
Ending the thread's story for the time being, I'll craft a bonus scene involving Meryl ASAP, but didn't want to risk it falling off the board.

>>5644453
What a fascinating development. I suppose what’s better fit to put down a rabid wolf than a huntsman?
Thanks for the thread OP!