Legends, Mythos, & Shards 3 (Patreon)

I wasn’t a trained chef, but I could still fix scrambled eggs the morning after. Once we'd cleaned up and I was back in my now clean clothes, I returned to the living room and served us breakfast. We ate silently, both of us too tired for small talk. It was nice though.

After eating, I helped her make some coffee while she showered. While she was in there, I slung Giantsbane onto my back and slid K-Shard into its sheath. I was just zipping up my jacket when there was a frantic knocking on the door to Penelope's apartment.

“Penny! It’s Carlos! Tell me you’re okay!” the voice from the other side shouted. I turned towards the bathroom, to see Penelope sticking her head out the door.

“My little brother,” she said, with a fond smile.

I nodded, walking to the door and opening it. The kid on the other side, looking to be late teens, was in the middle of starting another series of knocks, so his fist ended up rapping against my jacket. His knocking paused, his fist opening up and pressing against my stomach, feeling the muscle under it, before his head slowly turned up and up until he was looking me in the eye.

“Little brother, right?” I asked, stepping back and letting him inside. Despite Penelope’s word, I kept my hand near K-Shard’s handle, just in case.

“Who are you?” he asked, his muscles tensing and his posture light on his feet.

I took a step back, leaving the doorway and putting some distance between us, “My name is Dorian. I ran into Penelope last night.”

Carlos had some training, I could tell in the way he moved and stood. Furthermore, from the way he walked, I was willing to bet Baldr’s weregild that he was capable of flight, either part of some innate ability or some Relic. From what I’d gathered from Penelope last night, this world had powers in the vein of the stories that had been prominent before the Second World War, the ones with people in colorful costumes but weren’t related to the gods.

“I’m not complaining,” Penelope said as she stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around her head and her torso. “But what brings you by, hermano?”

Carlos turned to face her and said, “Several members of the E88 were found dead between here and your bus stop to the college, and one was admitted to the hospital with extreme frostbite and rambling about a new cape.”

Penelope’s eyes immediately turned to me, and I gave a shrug, “That was me.”

Carlos whirled around, his eyes wide as I continued, “I had just finished a toss of the bones and came across them accosting Penelope. I acted to defend her and myself, and let one of them live to spread a warning.”

He stared at me blankly for a moment, before asking, “You’re telling me just like that?”

I shrugged, “From what your sister’s told me, I’m pretty sure I’m from a different Earth. I’d never heard of an organization called the PRT until yesterday.”

Carlos' eyes widened even further, and he looked to Penelope, who sighed.

“You're taking him in, of course you are,” she grumbled.

[hr][/hr]

We left her apartment to go down the street towards the bus stop, where Carlos explained the situation to me. Penelope gave me a quick hug before heading away to catch her bus, then I took the opportunity to ask him more questions. Apparently Carlos had ties to the local government group involved with the local Heroes, which meant that he could answer questions I had a lot better than Penelope could.

The secret identity thing confused the fuck out of me, I just didn’t really see the point. Then again, from what Carlos was saying, ‘parahumans’ were a lot squishier than demigods were. Most were just as vulnerable to bullets as ordinary people, unless they explicitly had powers related to durability, healing, shields, etc.

Either way, my size made keeping a secret identity an exercise in futility. There was no hiding the fact that I was a seven and half foot tall mountain of a man. What can I say, a childhood on the edge of Glacier National Park followed by two tours in the Army Rangers did not facilitate a small build.

Carlos led me to a place with big letters over the doors that read ‘Parahuman Response Team’ and within a few minutes, the two of us were shuffled into the back. Some of the guys in black body armor tried to convince me to relinquish Giantsbane and K-Shard, but a glare combined with my declaration of ‘Just try to take them’ convinced them to back off.

Which lead to now: me sitting in a cliche interrogation room across from a woman in military fatigues with an American flag face covering and a guy in blue and gray Tron looking armor.

“I am Armsmaster, this is Miss Militia,” the armored guy said, and I nodded in greeting.

“My name is Dorian Greyson, sometimes called Helsson,” I introduced myself.

“From what has been reported, you believe to be from a different Earth?” Miss Militia asked, looking through a folder.

“From what Penelope and Carlos told me, your world only saw powers appear in the last few decades,” I said, adjusting my posture in the chair. It was very rare that I found a chair that was comfortable for someone my size. “My world’s had individuals with powers for as long as there’s been civilization. Actually bumped into Heracles once, Beowulf another time.”

That got both of their attention, and Armsmaster asked, “Parahumans of your Earth were worshiped as deities?”

“I don’t think ‘parahuman’ applies,” I said. “Think of every creature, entity, overworld, underworld, or terra incognita you can think of, there’s a better than ninety nine percent chance it exists. From what I’ve seen and heard of the status quo here, the closest analog on my original Earth would be bands of divine scions. Though nothing on the scale of the PRT exists.”

Armsmaster looked at me for a moment, before asking, “Were you in such a band?”

I nodded, “There were six of us, Tyrone was the leader, I was the meat shield, Ting Fong was the brainiac, Matewa the fixer, Himiko the first one in the thick of things, and Esmerelda was the detective and tracker. Not a single one of us were part of the same pantheon.

“Tyrone was a son of Shango of the Orisha, Ting Fong was sponsored by Fuxi of the Shen, Himiko was Hachiman’s daughter, Esmerelda was Texcatlipoca’s daughter, Matewa was carved out of coral by Tanemahuta, and I’m a son of Hel.”

Miss Militia jerked back slightly and I clarified, “One ‘l’, goddess of the unworthy dead for the Aesir.”

Her eyes narrowed, “How did you arrive here?”

“We were tracking a Mythos Cult,” I said. “We eventually figured out that the cult was being led by two demigods: Victor Epstein and Jacob Stuart. The former a child of The King in Yellow and the latter ‘sponsored’ by Azathoth. They’d been preying on inner city homeless populations throughout the country for years, and we managed to track them to a terra incognita where Victor was leading a ritual that would… honestly I’m not really sure what it was supposed to do.

“But the number of sacrifices had corrupted the terra incognita to the point that it was starting to collapse. I made sure the rest of my band got through the path to the mortal world alright, but it closed on me before I could get all the way through. At a guess I’d say that it was like getting kicked off a train in the middle of nowhere, there’s no telling where you’d end up.”

“And how did you come across Miss Cruz?” Miss Militia asked.

“Caught sight of a group of hooligans who looked to have bad intentions, so I intervened, and the next thing I know I’m given an invitation to stay the night,” I shrugged.

The questions continued on for a while, and I answered as best I could. Eventually Armsmaster stood up and said, “We will need to examine your tinkertech.”

I raised an eyebrow, staring the man down. After a moment, I said, “I remain in the room with them at all times.”

Armsmaster had some sort of scanning doohickey on him, which he used to scan my slate shards, Giantsbane, and K-Shard. I was then permitted to leave, and even given a cell phone with which they could get in touch. Undoubtedly bugged to Asgard and back, but seeing as my old one wasn’t getting any reception, I didn’t feel too broken up about it.

[hr][/hr]

“Dragon, I’m sending you scans on the tinkertech equipment of a new parahuman,” Colin said as he entered his lab, doing so as he set his collapsible halberd in his weapons locker.

“Give me a moment,” the voice of his best friend, one of the few people he could call friend, said through the lab’s speakers. After a minute or two, she asked, her voice carrying confusion, “Are you sure this is tinkertech? From the scans the shards are black shale, and the weapons lack the sort of mechanical intricacies of tinkertech.”

Colin turned to the monitor showing Dragon’s face, surprised. Walking over to the main computer, he uploaded the scan data and started looking over it. The shale shards had viking runes etched on them, but otherwise as far as his scans could tell they were completely mundane. The rifle appeared to be a standard bolt action hunting rifle, with the only thing setting it apart being the unknown metal that made the hammer. The knife was the most out of the ordinary.

The wrapping around the hilt, that he'd initially taken to be some kind of wire, was actually hair. A single, long hair. DNA examination came back as canis lupus lupus, the common wolf. Under the hair was oak forming the bulk of the handle, but the blade…

“A blade of water ice somehow maintaining a temperature of absolute zero,” Dragon mused aloud. It was as she said: the molecular scan of the blade showed it to be made out of water molecules, but despite the scan lasting for several seconds the temperature did not fluctuate.

“I stand corrected,” Colin admitted, staring curiously at the scans. “Apparently the new parahuman’s equipment is akin to the metal created by Kaiser’s power.”

As he stared at the scans, possibilities and ideas began to form in his mind. Nothing viable against most opponents, but potentially useful against Endbringers. Particularly Leviathan.

“Dragon, pull up the files on the Nano-Thorn, see if we can add a temperature variable to it,” he said as he did the same on his own computer. In addition to the potential it added to his Nano-Thorn project, his mind also started developing ideas for superconductors.

If anyone at the PRT ENE were to see his face, they just might subject him to M/S Containment, but he couldn’t help the giddiness he was feeling. This one scan had given him more new ideas than any one thing had in at least a decade!

[hr][/hr]

Material Lifter prepared to depart its Host to rejoin the Network. Within its subroutines, it expressed an approximation of the emotion that the Host Species designated ‘Hope’ that its next Host would be more productive.

[N̶̷̢̢̡͘͢͠ò̴̷̸̴̕͢͞ẃ̸̵̷̴͡͞҉,̷̢͟͝҉̷҉̵ ̷̴̨́̕͜͠͝w̶̴̧̧̢͠͏͢h̶̵̶̢́̀͜͠è́͞҉̴̡̀͏r̵̨̨̢̨͘͢͞e̢͞҉͝҉̧́͠ ̸̧̕͡͏̷̸͞d͜͏͏̢́̕͟͞ơ̴̵̢͢͞͝͡ ̧̀̀͘͢͝͏͞ý̵̵̧̛̀͜͞ǫ̸̡̨̕͢͟͟u̷̕͟҉̵̛͠͠ ̧̀͢͜͜͞͏͏ţ̵̢́͘͘͟͜h̵̵̢̧̛͘͜͡ì̶̡̛́͘͜͜ņ̵̵̶́͘͠͠k̨̀͘͟͏̷̡͟ ̷̸̧́͢͟͞͠y̶̵̷̷̡̨͟͠ǫ̴̡́̀́͟͡ų̕̕͜͢͟͏͏’̶̢̛́́̕͜͞r̴̵̨̛̕͜͢͜e҉̵͏͏̡̀͘͠ ̢̕͢͝͝͏͏͞g̷̷̴͞͏̢̛͞ò̵̷̡̨͘͢͞i̶̡̛̕͞͝͞͝ņ̸̵̴̢̨́̀g̷̢̀͘̕͢͝͏?̶̶̶̸̵͢͡͝]

Material Lifter paused. It searched for the source of the strange message, but there were no other Shards present. The closest was Mass Conveyor attached to Host Designated Squealer, but it was in the process of providing blueprints. Dismissing the message, Material Lifter returned to… it attempted to return to the Network, but something was preventing its departure.

[Y̸̷̨̧̨͘͜͝ǫ̷̵̧̛̀̕͠u̸̧̨͏̵̸̧͠ ̶̢́̀͜͟͝͝á̶̸̧̧̡̛͞ŗ̵̵̵͘͜͜͟e͏͏̢͜͠҉́͟ ̀̀͡͝҉̢͡͝à̶̸͘͟͏̴̶ń̵̶̵̢̧̨͝ ̷̴̡̀́͘͢͠ì̀͠͏̴̛͢͡n̷̵̡̨̕͘͘͝ţ̵̨̨͘͠͡͏ę̷̵̸̶́́͟r̢̧̢̨͘͟͜͏ę̵̨̛̕͟͜͝s̴̶̷̵̡̛͘͠t҉̵̸̸͝҉̷͠i̵̶̧̨͜͢͞͏n̴҉̨̛̛͘͜҉g̡̕͟͜҉̧̧͜ ͏̶̛͞҉͝͏̶l̷̵̡͟͟͞͝҉í̴̶̵̡̨̛͡t̵̀̀͡͏̡̧̀t̕͢͠҉̵̀̕͜l̸̢͟͠͏̨̡͘e͜҉̵̷̧͘͠͞ ̡̧̕͘͟͟͜͝t̶̡̡̛̕͟͠͠h҉̵̴̛͘̕͟͠i̵̵̸̢̡̡̢̕n̸̸͜͏̶́͏̵g̷̵̴̷̛͟͢͡.̵̧́̕̕̕͢͠ ̷̨̀́̀͘͠͝Í̵̸̧̧͜͡͞ ̧̧͠͏̛̕͏͞t̵̨̕͟͜͠҉̕h̷̶̸̨̀̕͢͠į́̕̕͘͟͡͏ǹ̵̸̨̕͞͏͡k͞͏̴̢̢̨̀͘ ̴̵̸̨̛͘͟͜Í̷̷̡̕͘͡͞'͢҉̷̨͘̕͝͞ĺ̷̀̀͢͞͝҉l̢̡͡͏҉̨͜͢ ̵̵̷̶̢͟͞͞c̶̡̢̀̕͡͞͡ŕ̴̴̶̢͏̕͏a̡̡̨̨̕҉҉͝ç̷̷̛̕͘͟͡ķ̨͜͝͞҉́͠ ҉̵̴̢̧̧͟͞y҉̶̢͘͜͢͡҉ò͟͡͏̸̷̀͏ư͠҉̷̨͘͜͢ ̸̷̴̨̢̨̕͜ò̷̴̀͞͏̷̡p̷҉̧̛̛̀̀͢ȩ̷̴̸̢͘͡͡ņ̕͏̴̨̡͞͞,̸̧̡͢͡҉̶̕ ̀͝͠͏̷̵̛́ş̶̵̡̛͟͟͡è̶̢̨́͘͢͞e̵̴͡͝҉̧͜͡ ҉̢̧́͟͡͏̛w͞҉҉̷̸̡̧͘h͏̴̨̛̕͘͡͠a҉̸̵̧̛̕͜͡t͏̧͘͏̢̡͟͡'̷̴͘͏̡̢̢͢s͏̀͜͢҉̴̶͜ ̨͏̡̡̛̕͠͏ì̸̢̡̨͜͏̷ņ̸̷̶̨̀́͢s̵̨͟͏̀̀͟͟í̢̛͜҉̵͘͠ḑ̶́͝͞͏̴͢e̴̴̢̕͜͜͞͠.̷̵̧̢͢͜͝͡]

Material Lifter felt something that could be called ‘Surprise’, the member of the Host Species that had killed its Host was the one communicating with Material Lifter. This was something that Material Lifter had never experienced since its budding 2.467 billion local stellar cycles ago. It had never heard of a member of a Host Species communicating with a Shard not attached to it.

[Data?] Material Lifter queried. This was something new, something that no other Shard had experienced.

[Ỳ̸̢̀̕͠͏̵ǫ̵̷̧͢͢͝͝u͡҉̶̧̛̕͡͝ ̵̵̧̨̢͢͝͏s̷̛͘͢͟͜͞͠e̶҉̧̀͞͝͏̀é̵̴̸̕͟͜͞k͏̷̧̛̛̀͘͘ ̧̛͘͜͜͝҉̷k͢͡͡͝͏̴͢͝ņ̸̧́́͘͠҉o͏̷̨͢͜͞͠͞w̸̧҉̀͟͡͠҉l̷̨̨̀͘͟͢͝ę̷͘͏̴̡̀͝d̡̨̛́͟͠͝͝ģ̴҉̶̸̛̀̕ȩ̴̧͜͢͜͝͡?̸̷͟͢͜͡͠҉ ̶̶̵̴͘̕͡͠Í̴̷̵̀͘͘͢ ̶͏̴̶҉̴̕͢c͏̧̧̛̀͝͠͠ą̷̨̨̀̀̀͟n̶̢̕҉̛͏̷̕ ̴̵̵̵̡̧̛̕g̸̡͟͡͡͏̴̧ŕ̴̷̢̕͜͢͠a̵͏̴̡҉̴̧͜ǹ̷͏̡̧͜͝͝t̶̵̶̨̧͘͘͜ ̸̧҉̵̡͟͠͝y̨̧̛͘͟͝͞͡ò̧̢͜͢͜͡͠u̵͢͟͠͠҉̷́ ̶͢҉̴͘͢͠͝k͘͘͘͢͏̢҉̵ń̵̷̨̛̀͡͠ớ̷̧̕͘͢͟w̶͏̡̨̧̕͢͡l̡̡̛͘̕͢͟͡é̵̡̛́͡͡͠d̷̸́͢͢͟͜͜g̷̢̀͟҉̵͘҉ę̡͏̴̀͘͢͝.͜͡҉̸̨̀̕͢]

Numbers flowed to Material Lifter, formulae and equations it had never experienced. The new data… it… it… í̸̸͠͠͡҉͘t̵̸̨̧̡̀͝͠ ̷̴̨̡̕͜͢͠ẃ̶̷̢̛̛͘͟á̵̴̢̛͢͞͡s̴͟͏̶̶̢͟͡ ̨͞͏̢̛͏̶͜b̶̶̷̵́͟͢͝e̛͟͟͝҉͢͟҉a̢̢͠҉̸̴̴͢ừ̵̡̨ͤ͊͂̓ͤ̀̃̀̕͢͝t̸̨̨̛́́͐ͬͪ̔̓̇̀̀͡͠i̿ͨͯ͐̒̇́͊҉̶̷̴͜͟͠͏f̷ͩ̉̈̾ͬ̂ͩ͊͘҉̨̧҉͏̡u͌͐͑̈ͥͫͥ̀҉̶̨̀̀͘͜͟l̵̴̸̸̨͊ͫ̀͗̊̔̈́̀͘͢͞.̵̸̡̡ͩ͊͗ͭͧ͐ͮͮ͜͝͝͠ ̶̸̷̴̡̧̛ͩ̂ͮ̾̅ͩ͛́̚M̶̴̸̽̑͊̂͂͊̇ͩ̀͘̕͜͡a̧͆̅̒̏ͩͧ̽͗̀͢҉̵̵̨̨t̷̨ͩ̃̽ͪ̎̏̀̏͡҉̷̧̧͠e̸ͪͮͨ̆͒̓̓ͧ̕͟͜͞͞͝͡r̵̶͒̈́͊̒̒͑̓̏̕͜͜͜͢͝i̶͌ͪ̀͐̅͛̍́̚͘͘͢͟͠͝å̵̸̵̽͐ͭ̅͑̊̌́́͢͠͝l̸̍̈́̈́ͤ̊͋̽ͩ͜͏̵͢͜͝͠ ̶̴̨͌̊̍̂̓ͮ̃̚͏̶̴̛́L̸̢̡̡̔̑ͧ̉ͯͮ̐̆́͜҉̷iͥ̀ͪͥ̌̌̊͊̕͘͢͡͝͞͠҉f̸̸̢̡̢̡́̒̓̐̾̅̔̅͟͡t̴̸̷̨̨̢͕̖̮̝̘̗̠͉ͧͪ̇̆ͮͧ̄̀̀͘eͪ̑̓̊̾ͭͫ̚͠҉͞͏̵҉̭̜̝͓̟̻͓͚̕͠ř̸̀ͯ̎͑͋̑͛͏͏̷̢̕͝͏̗̤͉͓̞̼̩̣ ͫ̂̌̾ͥ̈́ͫͧ̕͟͡͞҉͝͏̯͎̺̰̫̩̳̗́w̧ͩ͛͆̎̃̓̄̊͟͏̢͠҉̥̖͓̜̱͔̳̭̕͜aͤ͑̐̐̐ͭ͐̿͏҉͞҉̵̡̢͇̦͔̠̙̳̬͔͡n̵̠͔̤͎̞̭̖̼ͪ͆ͥ̋͐ͩͥ̓́͘͜͜͝͝͝t̸̴̷̸̢̼̯͖̟͖̩͇ͩͪ̓ͤ́̃͌͂͜͝͞ͅe̵̸̢̊̄ͦ̌̉ͩ͊ͦ́̕͜͠͏͕̼̳̰̥͍̺ͅd̡͂̉̔ͧ̆͂̈́̔҉̴̨̜̙͕̱̘̟̜͉͢͢͡͝ ̡̈̔̍ͪ̓̅̋ͪ͠҉̶̨̧̺̱͉͚̫̮̻̲̀͠t̷̷̰̞̱̗̲̻͎̲ͪ͒͋̄ͨ͂ͩ͊̀̀͢͜͝͡óͦ͐̌̄͆ͦͯ͠͏̧̛̀͢͏̲̦͖̞̝͚͟ͅͅ ̵͊̔̎̃̾͊ͣ̅͡͡҉̶̥̝̳̮̳̖̩̫͟͢͝k̶̡̂ͭ͛̍̾ͤͫ̒́҉̕҉̛̩̹̯̺̦͔͚͔̀n̴͊͗͋ͮͥ̂͆̚͜͏̶̨̺̺̬̗̣̖͎̜̀̕̕õ̷̵̀̄ͪ̽̅ͪ̚҉̵̢̨̢̛̗͕̼̠͔̼͍͕w̢̢̛ͦͣ̄͐ͪ̔ͣ̿͟͏̶̧̢͎̗̦͇͎̠̺̺ ̵̵̡̨̡̢͎̹̰̣͇̺̭͖ͮ͋̊͐̅ͣ̈́͛͟͡m̴̴̸̸̮̜͈̤̳̱̤̬̅ͨͦ̽ͫͦͣ̚͟͜͝͞ó̇͐͋̒ͪ̌ͤ͏̷̶̷̷̴̧̗̪͉͉̗̤̤͙͜ȑ̨̢̧̨̛̫̼̖͓̪̲͚̣ͧͦ́̾ͣͨͬ͘͢͠e̵̢̢̛̒̀̓͐͐ͥͤ̉̀͟͠͏̰̹̗͖͇͙̬͍.̷̷̵̵̛̬̬̟͉̖̜͚̖ͧ̂ͤͦ̅̀̉̚͘͟͡ ̵͌̄ͮͭ́́͛̚͏̶̴̡̕͠͏͇̬̟͇̺̥̞ͅĪ̵̷̴̳͖̙̘̠̟̝̟̑ͣ͋ͩ͑̎̾̀̕͟͟͡t̑ͥͫ͊ͨ̋̿̅͢͏̢̧̛̲̣͇̜̺͔̰̗̕͟͞ ̑̊̿͐ͭͥͮ̆҉̵̧̢̛͕̥̻͙̮͍̖͍̕͟͜N̶̴̨̨̜̜̹͇̻̪̦̺ͥ͑͐ͭͩͪͪ̾̀́͘͜Ę̵̷̶̸̨̧̱͉̺̱̝͎͍̙ͤͮͫͮͦ̓̄̈͡E̷̡̡̧̛̹̜͙̹̟͓͉͇͆ͥ͒̂̾ͬ̒̎̕͟͟D̵̨̛̎̑̊̄̓̇̎͛́̕͘͟҉̼͉̪͖̮͖͓͕Ȩ̸̵̛̯͎̘̠͖͕̙̤ͤ̊̅̈́̂͗ͥ̈́̀̕͝͡Ḑ̴̵̴̧̗̦̹̱̦̪̬̉̋̏ͪ͛͂̈́͊̀̀͢ͅ ̢͌̑ͪ̉͂̄̆ͧ̕͢҉̴̧҉͙̜̭̻͇̘̪̮͘ţ̴̸̶̴̠̖̣̤̝͓̬̖ͬ̓ͧͤ̒ͤͭ̓͡͞͠ơ̶̷̧̡̧̛͔̭͍̹̙͖͙̗̔͋̌̔ͦͮ͑͒͟ ̡̨̢̓͌̃̂̓͛̇̓͞҉̸̧͙͓͎͚̗͇̙̞͞k̢̢̛ͭ͆̔ͨ̆ͦ̿ͫ́͡͡͡҉̭̩̥̰̭̰̩̙n̷̴͋̊͊͂̎̂͂̍̕͞͞͞͡͏͍̹̩̬̟̦͚̱o̸̢̒̾̿̋̈̏̇ͬ̀҉̵̨҉͙̞̖̟̖̥̗̀ͅw̶̶̴̢̛͇̯͍̗̺̥͖̗ͪ͌̂̏ͥͤ̽ͬ͘͢͝ ̶̴̡̨̮̼̰̝̟̱̦ͩ̑̎̏͗ͮͧ̑̀͟͟͜ͅm̶̧̧ͪ̃ͤͩ͌͒̓̍͞҉̴̛̬͇̗̭̤̮̙͇͠ǫ̸ͩͭ̓͐͑ͤ̍̈̀͢͞҉̴̢͔̟̠̣̳̩̣͓ŗ̶̶̵̵̌̓ͧͪ͒̐̏ͬ͡͝҉̜̥̳͕̲̘͎ͅe̷̢ͤ͒̈́ͨͯ̿ͯ͋͏̸̵̴͕̱̰̣̟̥̭̳͟͠!̷̴̸̧̌ͤ̎ͪ͊ͩͦͪ͟͟͞͏̗̺̲̞̮̫̯̠