Jacky awakes from a makeshift bed made of leaves and fauna. He rolls over and sits up, a quiet forest illuminated by sun-rise blankets, Jacky. He reaches for a worn and stitched-up duffle bag; inside the bag lays multiple pairs of clothes and bottles of water. He grabs a bottle and takes a swig.

Finally, he’s awake.

“You humans sleep too long. We have a lot of ground to cover today, hurry up and eat something so we can get going.”

Eh. I’m up and moving. I don’t understand the rush. Wherever we’re going will be there when we get there.

“I’m impatient, Jacky. Freed from the confines of the Warpath, our responsibilities are our own, and we finally have the start we need.”

I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happened. Besides, you haven’t told me much of anything since we left.

Jacky sifts through the duffle bag and pulls out a box stuffed with food bars.

“We are going to a place called Albion. Across the ocean.”

We need to find a boat. Great. I don’t know how to sail. How do you expect to cross an entire ocean?

“I do.”

How the hell are you going to sail any human boat.

We don’t need a boat. We will cross that bridge when we get there. For now, we’re still far from the coast. Other challenges await us.

Jacky closes up the duffle bag and waves his hand around. “Alright, let’s get moving then.” Jacky’s body morphs into the Sabered Prince.

The Prince breaks into a sprint, slipping by trees and leaping through branches; he easily crosses the forest. He often passes through old towns and cities worn by time, crumbling buildings, and the wildlife taking back control. In the distance behind them, the Warpath Bubble shifts around as one massive moving structure.

It’s crazy to think we were inside something like that. I had felt the slums were “the outside.” Yet here we are, actually outside. What did you call it again?

“A continent.”

What does that mean?

“An immense landmass. The Warpath rests on a continent known as North America. Our destination is a part of another continent.”

What is Albion like?

“When I was there last, the people were far different than they are today. Language, clothing, and society as a whole were different, vastly different. I’m sure the place’s name isn’t even Albion anymore, as with all things, change comes and goes.”

So what is waiting for us there?

“I’ll tell you later; we have company.”

The Prince slides to a stop on the street of a small town, intercepted by a significant Terror wielding a pike. The Terror squawks at the Prince and unravels a long stinger of a tail from its back. Sharp talons dig into the ground as it flaps its dragon-like wings aggressively at the horror.

Great, I was itching for a fight. These damn Terrors need to learn their place; the Earth does not belong to them.

More of them? We killed enough the day before yesterday. Is there no end to them?

“No. Terrors have existed here on this planet for ages. Albion was infested with them long ago and many places here on Earth.”

A loud thud causes the Prince to look behind him; another Terror prevents any escape route. The Prince prepares for a fight, snarling at the Terrors the Prince roars.

“Come and face me! I walk away from no challenge!”

The first Terror cackles and rushes the Prince, charging it thrusts repeatedly. The Prince uses his sharp footwork to evade the point of the pike. The other Terror slashes his back, rending his flesh.

“You filthy pests!” The Prince yells.

He grabs the spear from the first Terror and pulls him in close to his body. Snapping the pike with his bare hand, he spins and shoves the point of the pike into the skull of the second Terror; using his momentum, he comes full circle and slams the body of the second Terror into the first, sending them both toppling over onto the street below.

The Prince closes all four fists and walks to the Terrors. The one bleeds out; its tongue lies on the ground, and the other stands up and screeches at the Prince. The Sabered Prince takes his claws and reaps them across the Terror’s chest. He backfists the Terror and kicks it in the skinny chicken leg; breaking the Terror’s leg, the Terror collapses to the ground. The Prince stomps on its head, and brains and pieces of beak splash across the street.

That should do them in! Wait!

Long bladed arms accompany a skinny frame with hoofed feet; clacking against the road, it approaches the Prince. The Terror makes a high-pitched and screechy noise. Horns and animal bones adorn the Terror’s face as it’s head twitches side to side, sizing up the Prince. Another Terror blindsides the Prince, knocking him over; he shakes his head and rolls to the side as another attack punctures the street.

Slamming its long-bladed arms into nearby tiny houses, crushing them and sending material everywhere, it rushes the Prince swinging its blades ferociously. The Prince slips past a wide slash and forces his claws into the Terror’s chest; reaching in further, the Prince grips a mass of ribcage and yanks it from the Terror’s body. It falls to its knees, blood spurting all over the road. The Prince grabs the Terror’s neck and twists it around; the crack echoes throughout the small town’s alleys. The Terror keels over lifeless.

You’re not the only monster out here.

That wasn’t so bad.

“I’m injured.”

We’ve had worse before. We’ll be fine.

“Time to move before more show up.”