I watch the old hyena travel, moving faster than his pursuers, using the part of me that refuses me to fuel his strength beyond having sex. When he stops, he does two things, has sex with men, and creates. He builds a system to move water from a mountain river to the parched town in the dry valley, and the town prospers becoming a city, a center of trade. During the work I sense the other like me watching. The hyena is celebrated, and he has sex with all the males who worked for him. In time, he incorporates the part of me that refuses me into a staff, and all but the most obsessed of his pursuers forget about him; and those who keep hunting him stop when their lives come to an end. They keep getting old, while the hyena took the power the part of me that refuses me granted him and turned back the process, growing younger every day. Every village the travels through, every town, every city, receives his creativity and his virility. Anywhere he settles, men flock to learn and mate. His body is that of a young man now and he has the brazenness I see within the young. He flaunts what he is, forgoing clothing. When the authorities try to stop him, he turns the males into his allies and sex happens. The following he builds is based more on what he creates than the sex, men and women flock to him to learn, and he teaches them all, but only keeps the men during the night. His followers try to imitate his lack of dress, but don’t what the power to hold the authorities back, so they create a fabric so sheer as to been seen through and dress in robes made of them when traveling among the city. They praise him, encourage more to join. When they can no longer keep up with the hyena’s endless energy, they rejoin their society, adding their talents to improving it. Many times, I sense the other like me observe one of them as they leave, some he claims. In time the hyena leaves, taking a few of his flock with him. In the early days, it is because one of the few remaining pursuers finds him, and while the hyena is selfish with the power he has, he isn’t about the lives of his followers. He draws the pursuers away, loses them to exhaustion, settles in a different city. After his pursuers are no more, it happens when the authorities have enough of him, and realize he has no influence on women. He has been in this city the longest. The rulers do not mind his lack of clothing, or how he parades his erection. Sex happens everywhere in the city, and only rarely is he the one initiating it outside his home. The other like me also returns to this place more often. His interest is in the hyena now, rather than those around him. He is aware of me, as I am of him, but he does not acknowledge me. On this plane, we all agree not to interfere with one another. He watches the hyena create; I observe the sex. The hyena is rare in that he feeds us both while belonging to neither. But that will not last. I can see the other’s interest growing as he approaches the hyena. He takes his time. He gives me time to decide what I will do, but I decided long ago I would not claim him. There enough of mine I am always sated. When the other is ready to claim the hyena, the man is in the process of creation. A sculpture made of stone. He works and teaches at the same time, although I can sense many of his student are lusting after the hyena’s well-sculpted body, rather than his knowledge. The other is close when something changes. The hyena stops working and looks around. His students asks questions, but he ignores them. He reaches a hand out, and his staff, still containing the part of me that refuses me, jumps into it. The hyena’s eyes grow wide as he looks at the other like me, and sees him. I am as stunned as they are. None of them should see us unless we expend the energy to make it happen. There is fear in the hyena’s eyes, confusion on the other like me. The hyena holds the staff as if it can hold one of us at bay. The students are afraid now. The other like me speaks, but I do not hear. The words only make the hyena more afraid and he swings the staff at the other like me. The wooden tip crumbles as it passes through the other like me. The students flee in fear. The hyena backs against his sculpture, grasping the staff where the part of me that refuses me is attached to it. The other approaches again, I think he is trying to be gentle, but the hyena swings again, more of the wood crumbles. The other reaches for the hyena, any with a terror-filled scream the hyena stabs the other. The wood crumbles until the part of me that refuses me impacts the other and something happens. The shock wave hits me and I remember sinking my teeth into myself, before I became what I am. I remember the power flowing through me, the chance and the wrongness that led to the expulsion of that part of me that had destroyed what I had been, so I could become what I am. I now understand why it refuses me. I sense the surprise in the other as he is stabbed. There is no pain, only confusion as he ends and someone new is created. The new being is more hyena, more mortal still than like me. I remember that moment as well, trying to understand what has happened, how I have changed. The sound of the piece of me that no longer is a part of me is loud as it hits the floor. That surprises me and I understand it is less sound, and more energy, the remnant of what happened. The other startles and with a scream I cannot hear he is on his knees, trying to pick up the old piece of me, but it refuses him, as it does me. I sense the desperation from him. He still believes he is the hyena, that without it, he is powerless. I approach, to offer comfort, even if he cannot hear me. Even as new as he is, he is still bound by the old rules. He notices me, scrambles back radiating fear, and vanishes. He has gone back to the other place. I will join him there and explain what has happened to him. But first I need to deal with this. I crouch next to where my old fang rests. I bring myself into this plane enough to brush the pieces of wood away before trying to pick it up. Even this way, it refuses me. I get the sense it will refuse any who are like me. But it is too dangerous to allow the living to use it. It can change what we are, and if too much of that happens, how will we change the world around us? The people? I sense some of my own in the city. Hedonisms draws mine. And call to them. Not all answer the call, but enough. I grant one of that the ability to shatter it, and there was one, it is now six. I impart five with the knowledge of where to take them, the five places of my power in the world. The sixth I impart the knowledge of what to do and the power to do it. The creation of a new place of my power destroys the city as he rends the ground. Deep under the ground he shapes the cavern, the altar, the columns. He imbues all with the magic required to prevent all who would seek the piece of the piece of me from ever finding it. I sense those I sent to the other places do the same. When the energy is right, I send the order and they embed their piece of the piece of me deep into the altar. With the world safe from what I created, I release them from their task. I look around the world once more, feel mine mating, before stepping away from it to explain things to the newly made of us. * * * * * I take a step back as I appear before myself. No, not me. I’m Denton. Denton Brislow. He’s— even in my mind I can’t find a world for the enormity of what he is. I look at my hands and they are bright, way brighter than I’ve even been. His eyeless sockets peer into me as he places a hand on my shoulder, and a sense of being owned courses through me. My surprise that he placed it there, instead of over my cock, amuses him. I place my hand on his chest since unless I can fly, I’m not reaching those broad shoulder, and the ownership flows both ways. I’d forgotten. I am not his. We are each other’s. I have my duties to him, but he has some to me too. More to me than the others, because he picked me among all of them for him to stand behind. The sense from him changes, a question. Do I understand now? The question isn’t about one detail, but the entirety of them. I think I do, but I open my mouth to ask, why me? No words come, just a sense of the question, and he is amused. It isn’t mocking, it’s affectionate and for a moment I see him as Jeffrey, my father. I’m so very young and I asked him a question that seemed so important to a child, but would be silly to an adult, and my father answers it in seriousness, but with this undertone of amusement. My father is gone again, but I have a new memory of him to cherish. He looks at me with that same amusement as his answer comes. Why not you? Before I understand what he means, he pushes me back and there’s nothing under my foot as I try to keep from falling. * * * * * Flaying about, I sat up. “Stop hitting me!” someone said, Tom. The badger tried to grab my hands. “What happened?” I was on the grass, Tom’s car between me and the highway. “You tell me. One second you’re yelling at that god of yours, the next you’re unconscious. I pulled over and got you out.” “How long was I out?” “Five, ten minutes?” “That’s it?” “I can knock you out if you feel you should still be unconscious. At least that way I’ll know what’s happening to you.” “No need.” “I’m going to guess he answered your call and dumped all that answers into that little brain of yours. Looks like nothing important melted.” “Not all the answers, but enough I know what Damian’s after, and why we need to stop him.”