A Breakthrough

Condor grunts as they heft the Jackhammer upright. It’s no longer a standalone artifact; two long sections of sturdy tubing tether it to the engine of a weathered yet intimidating chainsaw. Said engine has been removed from its housing and sits in a diagram a considerable distance away from Condor, next to the rest of the disassembled chainsaw and a single now-empty bottle labeled ‘zoom juice.’ The engine is chugging away, belching fumes, roar muffled by the noise canceling portion of the diagram in which it sits. Occasionally, the tubes running between it and the Jackhammer twitch slightly. The strange black oil that drips from the Jackhammer’s body leaves dark streaks on Condor’s long skirt. Justin winces.

“Condor, that stuff doesn’t wash out easy.”

“The wh- oh. Oops.” They try to look sufficiently ashamed, for Justin’s benefit, then change the subject. “You, uh, ready with the Guardians in case something goes wrong? I think we’ve accounted for everything, but you never know.”

Justin glances over at Eric. He’s kneeling on the concrete, using a protractor to double-check angles between lines. He stands up, muttering something about his knees. He looks down at the lion statues and sticky notes placed in a circle, closes Ars Satanas with a decisive finality, and nods.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Justin cracks an excited grin. “Go for it!”

Condor centers the Jackhammer’s tip on an embellished mercury symbol in the middle of a large diagram. It’s one of two painstakingly constructed spell circles in the less-furnished half of the factory, each one eight meters across, spaced a similar distance apart from each other. The circles’ runes and wards are different, but the thickest structural lines in both diagrams are identical: an inner circle two meters across, linked to the outer circle by long radiating lines. Rusting machinery has been hauled out of the way to make room.

Excitement and a touch of nervousness dance in Condor’s eyes as they glance at Justin, who gives them an inkstained thumbs up. They squeeze the lever on the Jackhammer’s handle.

Immediately, a bone-shaking vibration rattles every one of Condor’s senses. It’s all they can do to hold the thing steady as it chips away at the factory’s concrete floor. After a few seconds, it’s too much. The Jackhammer jumps out of Condor’s vibration-numbed hands, and the Diesel Shaman has to leap out of the way as it falls.

But it’s enough. One by one, cracks appear in the ground, tracing the inner and outer circles of the diagram and the long radiating lines that connect them. The sections between the cracks grate against each other as they slide into the ground around Condor, who hastily hauls the Jackhammer back into the center circle before it can fall down what is rapidly becoming a rough-hewn spiral staircase leading into the ground. Further cracks appear on the stairs themselves, and the outer two-thirds of each one crumble into a continuous ramp. Wide enough for a wheelchair or motorcycle, but not a car.

When the grating stops and the dust clears, the two Practitioners and Eric peer down the staircase. The walls are mossy stone, etched with symbols neither of them recognize. For a brief moment, they can tell that the stairs begin going back up as they pass under their starting point: paradoxical architecture that should intersect with the visible stairs but instead twists out of view. Then a cool mist drifts up to obscure everything past the first dozen steps. Subtle drifting lights illuminate the mist from below.

Condor removes their earplugs and lets out a breath. “Whew. Looks like the spirit world, all right. That’s… wow. Holy shit.”

Eric looks down into the mist, holding a glass bottle. He frowns, looking at the bottle with consternation. “This won’t do,” he mutters to himself.

“Oh, magnificent.” Justin says, peering into the mist. “Looks like the wards are holding just fine, too. No comment on whether the Jackhammer was worth Longpalm’s price… but then again, now we know that the deal was more complicated than a simple trade.”

“Yeahhhh. Let’s just say that this is a quality gift from a quality person who knows me super well! But uh, maybe that person should do the next one.” Condor grins sheepishly. “I don’t think I’m quite cut out to wrangle a jackhammer.”

“Haha, sure,” Justin says. He lifts the Jackhammer and carries it over to the other circle, careful that the pneumatic tubes dragging behind it don’t interfere with his sticky notes. He centers its tip over the embellished sulfur symbol at the circle’s center.

Justin manages to hold onto the Jackhammer as it roars into action, kicking up dust and small bits of concrete. He waits for the cracks to spread, then sets the machine down gently as a second set of spiral stairs slide into the ground around him.

Condor’s vision swims, and they feel momentarily nauseous before coughing up a quantity of clear fluid that smells of rotten eggs. Eric does the same, making retching sounds suspiciously close to a cat having a hairball despite being in human form. 

Justin looks concerned, to say the least. But Condor gives him a thumbs up as they try in vain to spit out the vile aftertaste.

“It’s okay! Side effects seem to have already passed, and they fall within-bleh,” they spit again, “- fall within our expected margin of error!”

Despite all their precautions, there are apparently still some consequences of opening doorways to multiple Realms at once. Nowhere near the worst-case scenario, though. Perhaps because, thanks to the Jackhammer, these are not so much temporary “doors” as permanent “holes.”

As the echoes of scraping stone fade, the Practitioners can hear heavy rain on the other side. A pool begins to slowly form at the bottom of the stairs, where the steps begin to curve back up into the Ruins.

“Damn,” Condor mutters, wiping the sulfurous fluid from their lips with the back of their sleeve. “I wasn’t aiming for the rainy part.”

Eric walks down the steps and scoops some of the water into the bottle, humming to himself.

Justin shrugs. “Longpalm did say the Jackhammer worked best where the barrier between Realms was already thin, and as I understand it, this part of the Ruins is the closest to us, so…”

“I know, I know, just… hm.” Condor fixes the growing puddle with a pensive stare as Eric returns, capping the bottle. “Guess we’ll have to block the rain on the other end, or get a sump pump… actually, it might be nice to have a source of Ruins-water… we’d have to-”

“Um. Condor?”

Something in Justin’s voice cuts through Condor’s thoughts immediately, and their head snaps up.

“Yeah?”

Justin is squinting at the floor between the two circles, hand already reaching for his book of seals. A thin crack has spread across the concrete, connecting the two circles. The ground shifts slightly as the crack widens by a centimeter.

“Shit shit shit shit!” Condor says, scrabbling in their bag. They produce a roll of duct tape and use tongs and scissors to tear off a long piece, taping over the center of the crack. They do it again and again, covering the whole length, heart in their throat as Justin and Eric follow up with sticky notes.

“What is that?” Justin hisses.

“I don’t know!” Condor says, “It’s just – that’s not supposed to happen!”

With a sickening crunch, something gives way. The tape, sticky notes, and concrete beneath them all fall inwards, into the crack. The chasm is now just wide enough to stick one’s hand into, and dull clanking sounds can be heard from within. Smoke begins leaking out of it in places. In Condor’s sight, the smoke is much heavier, oily and choking. The iridescent gasoline sheen of spirits on the concrete floor are agitated, shying away from the crack.

“Fuck, Justin, I think that’s the fucking Abyss, fuck!”

Condor looks up to find Justin kneeling and scribbling furiously on a piece of paper with his fountain pen Implement. Gold ink, embellishing a prior design in red. He throws the paper to the ground, pulls out a small pocketknife, and yells something Condor can’t understand. One quick cut, the first drop of blood hits the floor and paper, and a weathered stone column appears next to the crack. Sturdy chains are anchored to the ground on either side, rather than hanging loose as usual. A circle of grass surrounds the column, just touching both of the new stairwells, encompassing the crack entirely.

The smoke thins and stops. There’s another rumble, but the crack widens no further. 

The Practitioners stare at each other, at the ground, barely daring to breathe.

After a good dozen seconds of nothing happening, Condor lets out a heavy breath and Justin steps backward a bit: delicately, as though the ground might crumble beneath his feet. Eric stays where he is, seated on the floor. He looks drained.

“So, um.” Condor pauses, takes another few deep breaths. They feel faint. “Do we… what happens now?”

Justin shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. We ask Christine, maybe? She’s going to find out eventually…”

“Yeah, that’s, um, that’s a good first step. And for now we just – are you fine leaving your Guardians here until we figure something out?”

Justin nods slowly, glancing at Eric, who, after a moment, gives him a thumbs up before turning into a cat and walking over to the couch in the corner.

“I think so. It looks like they’ve got it contained for now. Not a permanent solution, of course… maybe I’ll reinforce the wards, just in case.”

He busies himself with more sticky notes.

“Thanks. I guess, um, I guess I’ll text Christine.”

Condor opens their phone and begins drafting a message: typing, erasing, typing again:

Hey Christine how do you close a hole to the Abyss

You around? You might want to see this

Don’t panic, but we have a semi-urgent situation with which your help would be greatly appreciated as soon as y

Their heart skips a beat as a text arrives from a different number. They close their eyes for a few seconds, forcing the panic down before they speak as calmly as they can. Their voice still shakes a bit.

“Oh dear. I was afraid of this. We’re going to have company, Justin.”

Justin looks up. “Company?”

“Yeah, the um, the Mortons are sending someone. They’re a local Scourge family, they spend a lot of time trying to keep the Abyss out of the Meadowlands, because, um…” Condor hesitates, wincing, “…the barrier between the Meadowlands and the Abyss is pretty thin, thanks to all the waste that gets dumped here. Really should have thought about that before doing this.”

Justin looks like he’s about to say something, but instead whirls around at a sound behind him. A figure is standing just outside the factory’s entry: a middle-aged man with patchy stubble and long greasy hair. He wears bloodstained scrubs, and even from this distance, his perfectly white and even teeth stand out in eerie contrast to his otherwise disheveled appearance.

Condor waves halfheartedly at the figure.

“C- come in, Dentist.”

The bogeyman walks across the factory floor; his form flickers and jumps closer to the Practitioners every few steps. After several seconds, he’s close enough that Condor can smell spearmint and blood and the very specific odor of ground enamel that one smells when one’s teeth are being drilled. Their gums ache reflexively.

The Dentist leers with those perfect incisors. “You fucked up, Diesel Shaman.”

Condor’s lips tighten. “I know. How can I help fix it?”

“That’s not how this works.” The Dentist begins casually tossing one of his tools as he speaks: something hooked and sharp at both ends. “You don’t fix an entrance to the Abyss. You contain it, at best, and at cost. And the family could contain this, but step one of that procedure is kicking you out of this place. Quite possibly banishing you from the Meadowlands entirely. And we’re tempted, believe me. Tanya’s pissed. But she’s been gracious enough to give you three days to handle it yourself. If we’re satisfied with how well you’ve contained your mess, you can stay.”

Condor struggles to get their breathing under control so they can answer. Justin looks like he wants to jump in, but Condor shakes their head slightly.

“But how?” they ask after a few seconds, “How do I salvage this? You – they – the Mortons are Scourges, they’d know better than I would. Isn’t it in their best interests to help me to handle this as well as possible, so things don’t get screwed up further?”

“Perhaps,” the Dentist replies. “And between you and me, I’ve heard that the easiest way to handle something like this with any satisfactory permanence is to claim a Demesne around it. That’s probably what we’ll do after you get the boot.” He somehow smiles even wider. “If you get the boot, I mean. But yes, you see, Barry’s old enough to claim a Demesne. And he wants to settle close to home.”

“But I’m-”

I’m not ready.

Condor swallows the words.

“Thank you, Dentist,” they say. “Tell Tanya that I… appreciate her lenience.”

The Dentist laughs, a high-pitched sound that makes Condor’s teeth feel like they just bit into something too cold. “I will! I look forward to seeing how this plays out.”

And then he’s gone. Condor walks over to Justin and wordlessly hugs him, shaking.

“What am I going to do?” they ask quietly. But as soon as they ask the question, they already know the only answer they’ll accept.

Justin hugs Condor back a little harder. He’s been trying out a new cologne, and it’s the kind of thing Condor wouldn’t approve of on anyone else, but because it’s Justin, Condor leans in and enjoys the smell and the touch and uses the emotions that bubble up inside them as an anchor, rooting them in the reality that they’re still here and everything is, however temporarily, okay.

“We could always leave,” Justin suggests, softly. “A Demesne is a big commitment, and I don’t want you to be forced into it before you’re ready. And, well, if anything happened to you during the ritual, I- I don’t want that.”

Condor shakes their head into Justin’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to just… leave. This place means a lot to me.”

“More than I can imagine,” Justin says, “I’m sure. But think about it, Condor. We’re young. We can afford to explore, find new places, choose our own destiny. I don’t want you permanently tied to a home with a hole to the Abyss in it.”

Condor steps back and looks at Justin, taking a second to collect their thoughts. Justin’s words sound so reasonable. It’s almost frustrating. In some ways, Condor realizes, it’s a reversal of the conversation they had when Justin was considering taking Eric as a familiar. Condor glances over at the cat on the couch.

“I… think it would be a betrayal that I could never entirely recover from, if I abandoned this place without fighting for it first. I’ve spent the last decade of my life getting to know the Meadowlands, and I’ve staked a lot of my identity on being the kind of person who cares for it when everyone else has abandoned it. I don’t know much about the guy who will get this place if I leave, but I doubt he’ll take care of the surroundings like I have. So if I just… roll over and let him take it, it’s like… I dunno, I feel like the spirits would never trust me again. I might never trust me again.”

Condor sighs sharply. They don’t feel like they’re getting their point across, and disagreeing with Justin makes them queasy. When did this become an argument?

“I just -” they continue, “I love this place, and I love you, and I don’t want those things to be at odds. I don’t know.”

Justin’s face is momentarily pained, then inscrutable. He looks away, then at the crack in the ground, then at Condor again. His expression softens a bit.

“Yeah, this isn’t an ideal situation. It’s stressful for me, to say the least, and I bet it’s even more stressful for you. I just – honestly, I can’t stop thinking about how the odds are stacked against this ritual succeeding. You’re going to have local challengers, plus ones from the Ruins and Spirit and now maybe the Abyss as well, and you don’t even do fighting, really. And from what I know of the Demesnes ritual, I won’t be able to fight alongside you without undermining your Claim to the space.”

“I know.” Condor’s voice is small, eyes on the ground. But then they look up, stand a little straighter. “But I guess… okay, I think what I’m saying is – I realize that it’s a long shot. I accept that I may be forced to abandon this place. But I have to try, Justin. I have to make an effort, even if it doesn’t succeed. Because not doing that will also have permanent effects. Does… does that make sense?”

Justin still looks worried, slightly pained even, but he nods. “I think so. I can’t honestly say I agree with your priorities, but above that, I support you.”

He takes a breath. “And… I don’t think I can fight alongside you, but I can set the stage in your favor. Give you tools, weapons, defenses. And I suspect you’ll have similar support from many others, should you ask for it. Maybe that will help even the scales.”

Condor nods at that. “Thank you. I had um, genuinely forgotten that I was allowed to ask for outside help with this. Can’t push it too far without undermining my claim, of course, but I feel… marginally more hopeful. Good reminder.”

Condor goes over to their laptop and begins typing as Justin looks over their shoulder. 

Beneath them, the ground rumbles uneasily.