The Mando came on fast.

  Six of them, moving in formation across the rolling hills of the borderlands. Their purple robes billowed behind them, revealing segmented armor beneath—something that looked like metal but moved like cloth, catching the light in ways that hurt to watch. Each carried a weapon: curved blades that shimmered with inner fire, orbs of crackling energy, staffs topped with crystals that pulsed in rhythm with their steps.

  Emre counted. Assessed. Calculated.

  Six opponents. Three of them armed for melee combat, two for ranged, one—the leader, in the center—carrying something that looked like a focusing device. A mage, probably. Or whatever passed for magic-wielders in this world.

  He had no weapon. No training. No combat experience beyond a few self-defense classes he'd taken with Sulley two years ago, mostly as an excuse to spend more time with her.

  But he had the figurine. He had Aya's gift. And he had something else—a new understanding of the code that ran beneath everything.

  "They'll be in range in two minutes," Kaelen said. His voice was calm, but his hands were trembling slightly. "I can take two, maybe three, if I catch them off guard. The rest—"

  "I'll handle."

  Kaelen stared at him. "You'll handle? You've been in this world for—what, a week? You don't know how to fight. You don't know how to use power. You don't—"

  "I know." Emre's eyes were fixed on the approaching Mando. "But I'm learning."

  He closed his eyes.

  The background process rose to meet him—that sense of structure, of code, of the fundamental architecture of reality. But now it was different. Before, it had been passive, a window he could look through but not touch. Now, after Aya's gift, after the vision, after the figurine's transformation, he could feel handles. Points of interaction. Places where the code could be modified.

  He reached out with his mind—not physically, but conceptually, an extension of will that felt like stretching a muscle he'd never known he had.

  And he touched the code of the ground beneath the Mando's feet.

  Terrain: Grassland. Composition: Organic soil over sedimentary rock. Stability: 0.92. Friction coefficient: 0.35.

  The data flowed into him like water into a cup. He understood it instantly, completely, as if he'd always known it.

  Modify, he thought. Stability: 0.1. Friction coefficient: 0.01.

  The ground beneath the Mando's leading edge turned to ice.

  Not visible ice—the grass still looked like grass, the soil still looked like soil. But the properties had changed. When the first Mando stepped onto it, his feet shot out from under him and he crashed to the ground with a cry of surprise.

  The others faltered, confusion rippling through their formation.

  Emre opened his eyes.

  "It worked," he breathed.

  Kaelen was staring at him with an expression that mixed awe and terror. "What did you do?"

  "I changed the ground. Made it slippery. Just for them. Just for now." He was already reaching out again, feeling for other handles, other points of interaction. "I can do more. I think. But I need to be careful—I don't know the limits yet."

  "You're a reality shaper." Kaelen's voice was hushed. "I've heard of them, but I've never—they're legends. Myths. Beings who can rewrite the fundamental rules of existence."

  "I'm a programmer who got hit by a goddess. Same thing, apparently."

  The Mando were recovering, their leader shouting orders. The two with ranged weapons—orbs and crystal staff—began powering up, light gathering around their foci.

  Emre found the handles for the air.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Atmosphere: Breathable. Composition: Nitrogen, oxygen, trace elements. Density: 1.2 kg/m3. Light transmission: 98%.

  He modified.

  Light transmission: 0%.

  Darkness fell—absolute, complete, impenetrable. Not the darkness of night, which still held some ambient light, but the darkness of a room with no windows, no cracks, no sources of illumination whatsoever.

  The Mando screamed. Shots went wild, orbs of energy flying in random directions. Emre heard one of them hit something solid, heard a cry of pain, heard the leader shouting for calm, for formation, for light.

  "Can you make light?" Kaelen whispered. "Because we can't see either."

  "Working on it."

  Emre reached again, this time for something more subtle. He didn't need to see the Mando—he could feel their presence through the code, warm spots of consciousness in the cool matrix of reality. He found the handle for their sense of direction, their internal compass, their ability to know which way was which.

  Orientation perception: Enabled. Default: Absolute.

  He modified.

  Orientation perception: Disabled.

  More screams. The Mando were stumbling now, completely disoriented, unable to tell up from down, left from right. Two of them collided and fell. Another ran in a circle, convinced she was moving in a straight line.

  "Now," Emre said. "While they're confused. Can you take them?"

  Kaelen's grin was visible even in the darkness—a flash of white, sharp and dangerous. "Oh, I can take them."

  He moved.

  Emre couldn't see what happened next—the darkness was still absolute—but he could hear it. The thud of impacts. The crack of bone. The wet sound of something that might have been a blade finding flesh. And through it all, Kaelen's voice, low and calm, murmuring what might have been prayers or might have been curses.

  Maya pressed close to Emre. He could feel her shaking.

  "Is he—" she started.

  "Yes."

  "Is this what we're becoming?"

  Emre thought about it. Thought about the man he'd been a week ago, sitting in his Berlin apartment, debugging code and planning a future with the woman he loved. Thought about the man he was now, standing in darkness on an alien world, using god-touched powers to help someone kill.

  "I don't know," he said honestly. "But I know I'll do whatever it takes to find Sulley. Whatever it takes."

  The sounds of combat faded. Footsteps approached—Kaelen's footsteps, measured and unhurried.

  "Done," he said. "Six Mando hunters, permanently retired." A pause. "You can bring back the light now."

  Emre released the modification. Light returned—gradually, gently, as if the sun were rising after a long night.

  The scene before them was brutal. Six bodies lay scattered across the grass, their purple robes stained dark. Kaelen stood among them, blood on his hands, blood on his blade, blood on his face. He looked tired. He looked satisfied. He looked like someone who had done this many times before.

  "We need to move," he said. "More will come. They always come." He looked at Emre with new respect. "That trick with the darkness—can you do it again?"

  "I think so. But I need to understand the limits. Each modification takes something out of me—energy, focus, I'm not sure what. I used two just now and I'm already feeling tired."

  "Then we conserve your power for when we really need it. No more tricks unless it's life or death." Kaelen wiped his blade on one of the bodies and sheathed it. "Come on. Yollet's refuge is still days away, and the Mando will be hunting us with everything they have."

  They walked.

  Behind them, the bodies lay in the grass, already beginning to fade—absorbed by the borderlands, returned to the code from which all things were made.

  Emre didn't look back.

  ---

  They traveled through the remainder of the day and into the night—a real night, this time, with the violet sky darkening to deep purple and stars emerging in patterns that made no astronomical sense. Constellations wheeled overhead that had never been seen from Earth, and twice Emre saw something move against the stars, something vast and slow, something that made the figurine pulse with warning.

  Kaelen led them through terrain that grew increasingly hostile. The gentle hills gave way to sharp ridges of volcanic rock. The grass disappeared, replaced by scrubby vegetation that seemed to actively avoid being touched. The air grew thinner, colder, harder to breathe.

  "Where is this refuge?" Maya asked, gasping for breath. "How much further?"

  "Close. A few more hours." Kaelen didn't slow. "Yollet chose this place for a reason. It's hard to reach, hard to find, hard to survive. Only the desperate come here. Only the determined stay."

  "Then we qualify," Emre said. "On both counts."

  They pressed on.

  Near midnight—or whatever passed for midnight in a world with no moon—they reached a canyon. It stretched before them, impossibly deep, its walls sheer and black. A bridge spanned it: a single rope-and-plank construction that swayed in the wind and looked centuries old.

  "That's the only way across," Kaelen said. "The canyon is bottomless. Or close enough. If you fall, you fall forever."

  Maya stared at the bridge with visible terror. "You're joking."

  "I never joke about falling forever."

  Emre studied the bridge. It was a system, like everything else. Ropes, planks, anchor points. He could feel its structural integrity through the code—marginal but sufficient. For now.

  "We cross one at a time," he said. "Maya, you go first. I'll be right behind you."

  "Why me first?"

  "Because if you wait and watch, you'll talk yourself out of it. Better to just go."

  Maya looked at him with an expression that mixed gratitude and resentment. Then, before she could change her mind, she stepped onto the bridge.

  It swayed wildly. She grabbed the ropes, steadied herself, and began to move—slowly, carefully, one plank at a time. The wind whipped at her hair, at her clothes, at the fragile structure beneath her feet.

  Halfway across, she stopped.

  "What is it?" Emre called.

  "There's—" Her voice was barely audible over the wind. "There's something in the canyon. Something looking at me."

  Emre's heart clenched. He reached for the code, trying to sense what she sensed. And there—below, deep below, in the impossible depths—something stirred. Something vast and ancient and hungry.

  The God Butchers. Or something like them. Something that had made this canyon its home.

  "Maya, don't look down. Keep moving. Don't stop."

  She moved. The thing in the depths moved with her, tracking her progress, waiting.

  Emre stepped onto the bridge.

  The moment his foot touched the first plank, the thing below reacted. He felt it—a surge of interest, of recognition. It knew him. It knew the figurine. It knew the echo of Aya that clung to him like perfume.

  Debugger, a voice whispered from the depths. You bring the Echo's light. You bring the Echo's hope. You bring the Echo's doom.

  "Keep moving!" he shouted to Maya. "Don't listen to it!"

  But Maya had stopped again. Her body was rigid, her eyes fixed on something below.

  "Maya!" Kaelen's voice from the far side. He had already crossed—when? Emre hadn't seen him move. "Maya, look at me! Don't look at it, look at me!"

  Slowly, painfully, Maya tore her gaze from the depths and focused on Kaelen. Her face was white, her eyes wide with terror.

  "It spoke to me," she whispered. "It knew my name. It knew my father. It knew—" She choked. "It knew what happened to my mother."

  Emre reached her, grabbed her arm, pulled her forward. "Don't listen. It lies. They all lie. Keep moving."

  They stumbled across the remaining planks together, Maya leaning on Emre, Emre half-carrying her. The thing in the depths followed, its attention a weight on their backs, its whispers a constant murmur just below hearing.

  And then they were across.

  The moment Maya's feet touched solid ground, the whispers stopped. The weight lifted. The canyon was just a canyon again—deep, dark, empty.

  Maya collapsed, sobbing. Kaelen knelt beside her, murmuring something low and soothing. Emre stood at the canyon's edge, looking down into darkness.

  Another time, he thought. Another battle. But not today.

  The figurine pulsed once, softly, in agreement.

  They turned away from the canyon and continued into the mountains, toward a refuge that held their only hope, toward a sorceress who might save them or destroy them, toward whatever waited in the darkness ahead.