The Kaijin Elder wore the skull of a gator over his head, the pelts of wild dogs across his back, and his body was painted the color of blood as he stood over the fire. Wild shadows danced from him as he paced around, looking at the villagers that had gathered around him. He took a handful of something and threw it onto the flame, causing it to rise massively in a momentary flash. When that flash cleared, he was standing just behind the flames, looking downward.

“The beast…. It prowls the wastes slowly.” he crouched and slid a hand over the flame. “It moves with a purpose, a terrible one.” He made a fist and launched himself upward bringing himself to full height. “It has the power to bend steel, to run fast as a river flows, and freeze men and women with a glance.” He began stalking around the flame. “His skin glows with sacred fire, and to so much as be close to him while that fire burns can leave you cursed to die, your heart melted into slop.” He stopped suddenly and whirled around. “He is, Donovan. The Loup-garou. The beast of the wastes.”

A child in the crowd began crying.

The Elder nodded. “It is right to be afraid, but he is an easy thing to avoid.” The Elder moved calmly back to his place behind the fire and sat down. “He punishes only those who break the divine rules set by the old chief Bastien. We do not enslave. We do not attack the deadmen, the people from which he was born, and we seek Justice when it is called for… If we can do these things…The beast will leave us, for we will not be prey to him.”

…

Kublai sat on a throne, watching his daughter duel three men at once. It was a regular occurrence, and Kublai knew that it was important that he watched her, both for her pride, and for appearances, but he ached today, and the throne did little to alleviate it. He had thought of staying in his bedchamber, of taking just a single day to himself to rest, but then he thought of his grandfather. He remembered seeing him at the same age Kublai was now. He could not recall a single time he took a day to himself. A single day he had not kept his hands and mind busy. His mother had been much the same when she’d acted as regent before he’d taken over. That had been a surprise to many, that his mother would choose to be a regent rather than rule herself, but she had, and sometimes Kublai cursed her for it, though he never brought it up when he visited her and his father.

“Did you see, Khan?”

He looked from his throne to see that his daughter had dispatched not three, but five men in a fight. Her golden eyes were alight with pride, and her skin sleek with sweat.

“I did, my princess, you continue to do me proud.” He hadn’t ever seen his grandfather lie either, so that was a skill he’d learned from his own parents instead. The greatest of Khans could afford not to have that in his arsenal, but Kublai found it too useful to go without.

She nodded, and took a breath as if literally absorbing the praise from air itself. Then she looked pensive. “Father, am I the greatest warrior you’ve seen?”

“You are greater than any of the soldiers of the Horde. Among them you have no equal, you’ve proven that many times.”

She fixed him with a stare that reminded him far more of his mother Atlan than he’d have liked. “That wasn’t what I asked father.”

He sighed. This was something he could not lie about. “No, my light, you are not.”

She looked downward. “Grandmother? Grandfather?”

Kublai shook his head. “You are their equal in skill, and their greater in strength in fact.”

“Then who?” she asked, incredulous.

“Donovan.”

She blinked, she had clearly not even considered him. Not because she thought him weak, but because she had trouble thinking of him as real.

“Was he truly that strong?”

Kublai sat and considered the question for a moment. “He is beyond strength.”

“Did you ever meet him?

“I have, yes. When I was young I led more than a hundred Knights of the Horde deep into the black woods seeking to end the threat of the Ursans once and for all. I was young, proud, and foolish. We were attacked by more than a dozen of the creatures at once, and they tore through us like paper. One of them reared up to strike me, and for a moment I saw my death, then it was suddenly dead. Cut in half. It’s death was followed by rest being torn to shreds in quick succession. In the middle of their corpses stood a man. Tall, taller even than grandfather. He wore a long black coat, in his hands were a massive sword and a shotgun, and on his head was a wide brimmed hat. He walked up to me, and for a moment I thought I would vomit from fear, but he stopped just a yard in front of me and said one thing I’ll never forget.”

“What?” she asked, leaning close as she listened to the story.

“You seemed smarter as a child.” Kublai said, letting out a loud laugh as he did so.

His daughter shook her head. “Ah, so you’re joking. Of course no one could fight that many Ursan.”

He shook his head, his smile dropping and his tone becoming serious. “I am not joking daughter. Any tale you hear of Donovan, take to heart. No matter how outlandish. Myself, your grandparents, the Great Khan himself, we would not be here had his strength not been with us during the war. Had he not destroyed the Remnant’s last bastion of defense. One day he may choose to meet you, and you will need to show him the respect he deserves.”

She nodded slowly, bearing the weight with a grace that made Kublai proud as she did all responsibilities given to her. Then she smiled. “Do you think if I ever do meet him, he’d be willing to spar?”

Kublai laughed. “From what I remember and what I have been told. I don’t think that would be something he’d refuse.”

…

It was late night when she realized that the children were still awake, whispering to one another in the dark. Rather than wake their parents, she went to their room and opened the door, hearing the blankets just begin to settle as the children had brought them up over their heads to hide that they were awake.

“Oh, I guess you’re both fast asleep then. And just like usual you sleep with your blankets completely covering your heads and neither of you snoring like the radbeasts you are.”

There was no response.

She sighed. “I’m happy to leave you here in the dark…or you can both tell me what it is you’re whispering.”

She stood there for a few moments, and just before she closed the door, Jake flung the blanket off his head.

“Auntie M, is the Glowing Man real?”

She moved and sat at the end of the bed. “Who, dear?” she asked.

Sara flung the blanket of her head. “I told you he isn’t real Jake. You should just shut up and go to bed.”

M sighed. “We’re already up Sara, let Jake talk”

“The Glowing man. Dominic told me about him. He’s a monster that shines in the dark, with long teeth, and sharp claws. He says that the glowing man killed his grandpa during the war, and that he hunts humans, and that he killed like a thousand people during the war, and that-”

“He’s made up Jake. Nothing could do that.” Interrupted Sara.

Auntie M. nodded, understanding. “Well, actually I’m afraid that Jake is right, Sara.”

“What?!”

“Though I don’t remember Donovan having claws, and he only hunts people that wronged him or those he cares about… or slavers… or outlaws in general… I also wouldn’t be surprised if the thousand people he killed is an underestimation.”

“...what?” said Sara.

“I TOLD you, dumbass.”

“Fuck you Jake.”

“Kids…” said Auntie M.

“So he IS real?” asked Sara.

“Yes. He’s a friend of mine, in fact. Though I haven’t seen him since he exploded.”

“Exploded?” asked Sara incredulously.

“Yes.” M rubbed the edge of her eyepatch wistfully. “It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen…” She paused for a few moments. “That’s when the sight in my eye started to go. I never heard from Donovan again, though I’ve heard of him, and I routinely get large print and Braille books from him, not to mention that no town I’ve ever lived in has had so much as a whiff of raiders or radbeasts. Probably his way of saying he’s sorry for my eyes. Wish he’d stay still long enough to tell him it’s okay, and I forgive him.”

“Donovan? We were talking about the Glowing Man,” said Jake.

“Donovan’s his name dear.” She stood up. “The point is you don’t have to worry about him. So go to sleep, and don’t wake up your parents.”

“Fine Auntie,” he said.

“Goodnight Auntie M,” said Sara.

With that, she blew them a kiss and walked out the door.

“I think Aunt Mercy may have a screw loose,” said Jake.

“Go to sleep,” responded Sara, and they did.

…

The Warlord was drenched in nervous sweat as he sat alone in his throne room in the House of Light. He could hear the storm raging outside, but had ceased his illumination of the port anyway, hoping that somehow that would keep him safe. That somehow it would render his tower on the edge of the world invisible.

There was a pounding on the door that made him jump. Then it swung open.

Appearing in the doorway were three men, drenched from the rain, wearing thick coats decorated with the fishing nets and buoys his people wore to mark special honors. They looked terrified, but approached the throne anyway. The one in the lead taking off his hat before he approached.

“My Lord of Light. The army… it’s retreated sir.”

The warlord gripped the arms of his driftwood throne tightly, his knuckles white. “Has the outer wall fallen?”

“Not yet sir, though all but one of the guns have been destroyed.”

He forced himself to loosen his grip. “The enemy?”

“Just…just one man sir.”

The Warlord brought a trembling hand to his face. His land, his men, his legacy. All were going to be lost to one man. He’d heard the rumors as the Glowing Man had made his way to the coast. Slavers, raiders, rapists, murders, all of them dying suddenly and violently as the Glowing Man walked the land. The Lord of Light had thought himself safe. He wasn’t chaff like those common men. He was a lord, he’d inherited the safety of the port, and the secrets of the House of Light from his father, as he had from his father before him. Then the news had come that his enemy to the south, of Ar Mory, had been killed. His men scattered, his slaves freed. That was when he had started to be afraid. An enemy he’d been unable to conquer, defeated by a single man. He thought he’d been smart. He’d begun fortifying, placing geiger counters to track the Glowing Man’s movements, to have his slave shipments avoid them, but it hadn’t mattered, and now because of the storm, he couldn’t even take a boat to retreat out to sea.

He stood. “Go, seal my door and stand guard.”

“Sir”

“GO!” he screamed, the fear causing his voice to crack slightly as he raised his voice.

The men exchanged glances, and left the room. He heard them seal the door, then he heard their footsteps move quickly away.

He sat back down. Gripping his chair again. There was a thunder strike that made him jump, but he managed to settle himself back down. He thought he heard another, but there was no lightning to accompany it. Then he heard the same sound again. Then the sounds of gunfire. Then screaming. Finally, there was just silence, and rain.

He was trembling when he began to hear heavy footsteps approaching. Then he heard a hand on the door, which swung open.

Rain blew into the room, and in the doorway, lit by flashes of lightning, was a tall figure in black. His skin glowed bright green. In his right hand was a longsword, and his left was empty, but steam rose from it where the raindrops hit.

The Warlord was frozen for a moment, but when the figure in the doorway began walking toward him, he managed to speak. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, spare me.”

The figure walked toward him, letting his left hand lightly skim the wall as he walked, leaving a trail of green fire wherever he touched.

“I’ll do anything… give you anything.”

The figure reached him, and stared into his eyes. He felt frozen. He realized he was frozen.

The Glowing Man brought his left hand toward the Warlord’s face. He could feel the heat emanating from it. It was the last thing he felt.

…

Nico brought the coffee to her lips, watching as her brother approached where she had set up the table and chairs. She poured hot coffee from a thermos into a mug and slid it to sit at the other end of the table. Her brother slowly stopped glowing, releasing whatever energy made him do so, and he sat across from her. He was exactly the same as he had been fifty years ago. He was a bit larger, his eyes never seemed focused, but he hadn’t aged a day. Nico herself had aged. She was still strong, and spry, but every year she lost a bit more of the pep in her step.

“How are you?” He asked. It was the first thing he’d said since sitting down, and it sounded strained. Not as if he didn’t want to be there, but as if he hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time. Nico wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t said a word to anyone in the year between his last visit and the current one.

“I’m okay Donovan. Working to help train Elysium’s Undertakers.”

Donovan grunted.

“I didn’t pick the name Donovan. I told you, the Honored Dead chose it more than forty years ago.”

Donovan sighed and took a sip from his coffee. “How are things in Elysium?”

“Good. Better than ever now that the first ever child has been born to Deadmen.”

Nico watched his reaction as she spoke, his expression didn’t change.

“The boy was named Deux.”

Donovan’s eyes twitched.

“He has a handprint on the side of his face that glows.”

Donovan looked away.

“You visited him?”

“I had to see. Make sure he was real. Make sure he was safe. Make sure… the war.” He trailed off.

“If the war hadn’t happened, and they’d completed the vaccine, there would’ve been no fertile deadmen who could’ve benefited from the work Julian did. The war saved Pott’s Donovan.”

He nodded, but said nothing.

“And the handprint?”

Donovan looked her in the eyes again, his eyes still unfocused. “A gift. To help him stay safe.”

Nico waited for him to continue, but he didn’t elaborate.

“So you snuck in and saw the child without his family noticing? Did you ever consider just asking to see him? You could’ve even pretended to be a regular citizen, random people ask the family to see him all the time.”

He shook his head. “Can’t take the time. Work to do.”

“Donovan. You haven’t stopped walking since the battle at Fort Matthews. It took me three years to find you after that, and another year to convince you to at least stay still once a year to see me.”

“The wastes need justice. Need order. Need fear.” He began to glow again slightly.

Nico felt her stomach knot. This is what it always came down to. Something had shifted in Donovan during that last battle. After losing his home, after Deux died. That along with a kind of power no one in the wastes could match, had made him less and more than every other living thing on the continent.

“Donovan. Take a breath.”

He did, and as he let it out the glowing stopped.

“What will you do when they’re all dead? When the slavers are gone, when Deadmen are accepted and safe? When you’ve walked every inch of walkable land?”

“I… I don’t know,” he said. “I thought something would have managed to kill me by now.”

“Peace is coming Donovan. Slaves are freed at the mention of your name. Deadmen are nearly free to roam the wastes without fear, or at least without any more fear than the average waster. Elysium thrives, built on top of the ruins of Pott’s. Mama weakened the Presidency to the point that it’s more of a title than anything, and most citizens actually understand how to get the most out of the R.A.S. Eventually, you’ll need to stop walking for more than a day. You’ll need to see the good parts of the wastes that you helped to create instead of the dark corners at the edges.”

He started breathing more quickly, and Nico could tell that the idea was painful to him.

Nico reached out and took his hand. “Donovan. At least take a week. Come see Elysium openly. Meet the people I share my time with.” She could see him start to consider what she was saying. “You and Deux are Heroes to the children there. The idea of you makes them feel safer and freer than we ever did as kids.”

Donovan stood. “Not yet. I can’t.”

Nico sighed. She got closer every time, but it looked like it would take more time. Maybe more than she had left. She stood, and wrapped Donovan in a hug, squeezing tight enough to kill an Ursan.

He returned the hug, and when she released him, he turned away and started walking across the wastes, his skin starting to glow brighter the further away he went.

…

I stood at a stone marker, holding a mug of coffee in my hand, and staring into the distance. Nico was dead. That’s why she wasn’t there to meet me. That’s why there was a stone marker exactly where we’d always met before. Below the marker was a sealed container that hissed open when I placed my hand on it. Inside the container was a mail bag, a pack of instant coffee, three Gavain books, and a radio. There was no note, as the objects were meant to tell me everything I needed to know.

I took a sip of the coffee. Above the stone marker were hundreds of flowers. That made me smile. Nico had never had the same issues socially that I had, but she was still limited in that way. I was glad that she’d meant something to so many people. I knelt down and placed my hand on the stone. It was cool to the touch, and I felt myself shuddering as sobs welled in my throat.

After an hour, I poured the coffee that remained in the mug onto the grave. I picked up the mailbag, and the other objects, placing them carefully into my pack. I had traveled for a long time. Existed at the fringes of the civilizations that were taking shape across what used to be America. I’d killed kings, generals, self proclaimed gods, and thousands of monsters. I’d seen things beyond imagining, strange craft lighting the sky, serpents the size of trains slithering through deserts, bridges floating in the air, and more. What I hadn’t seen, was normal people, wasters. I’d been fighting and killing for decades. I’d become a boogeyman, a god, a concept, and I’d enjoyed it. I’d enjoyed not needing to think beyond the next target. But there were fewer and fewer targets left. Things were changing, becoming better, and a god, a monster, didn’t have a place in that world. At least not a constant one.

I slid my hand across the canvas mail bag Nico had given me. A postman though… that was a job that was always needed. That was Nico’s message. Her last will and testament. I pulled the strap over my shoulder, and started heading toward Elysium. I needed to find a new route.

END