(This is the story text from the corresponding Radio Cataclysm podcast episode. If you prefer audio, you can subscribe here. Read and listen early on Patreon.)

“Tephra!” Sheryl shouted across the yard. All the soldiers and recruits were saddled on their robot mounts, lined up two by two. The Colonel's cyborg destrier, Ouroboros, trotted in restless circles around the company. He snorted when he saw Sheryl approach. “Corporal Bunting, we need suppressant. There's a fire in the house. Bring all you have.”

“Sorry, ma'am,” said Bunting. “We used most of our suppressant in the battle of the Hinterlands. The Colonel told us to leave the rest. 'Dead weight,' he called it.”

“Of course he did,” Sheryl muttered.

“I have a small amount,” said Private Murkle. “About ten liters. It's intended for ceremonial use, but it's the same substance.”

“That won't be enough,” said Sheryl. She pulled her mask on and fastened it. “John, can you put out a fire? Not a regular fire; magic, streaming out of a broken staff. There's one in the fireplace and one in the stove. And a third, as well. Getting hotter with every second.”

John shook his head. “I've seen this kind of thing happen before, when I was with the Pyroclasts. I could contain it for a while. But I'd have to flood the house. Not just the basement. The whole house, submerged in a ball of water. And even that wouldn't last. I felt it when that thing sparked up. It's pouring straight out of the Raw. I can't stop it on my own. I'd need a focusing stone the size of a bowling ball, and two other mages to form a Round. I could sacrifice my own staff, use it to negate the one that's on fire. I'd do it in a heartbeat, but...”

“But?”

John glanced around pointedly. “Does this look like a good spot for a crater?”

“How long will they keep burning?”

“Could be weeks, could be years. But most likely, they'll just fizzle out in a few months.”

“Months?” said Zeck.

John nodded. “Unless... They'll keep getting hotter for the next few hours until they level off. But there's a chance they don't level off. In that case, well, the problem will resolve itself by the end of the day. Best thing to do is get them out of the house and into a five-mile radius nobody cares about.”

Sheryl looked at the Tephra in their enchanted armor, As-Best-As masks on their faces, not a scrap of skin exposed. Their suits were designed to submerge in lava if need be. “Bunting, you and Murkle come with me.”

* * *

The stove was glowing red now. Flames shot out around the seams of the door and the burners. Dan grabbed the pitcher that sat next to the sink. It was only half full. He tossed the water at the flaming stick in the Colonel's hand. It vaporized before it even touched the staff, filling the room with steam. The fire didn't waver. The Colonel chuckled. “A pint of water for a magical fire?” he said. “It would take a great deal more than that. Perhaps if we tried the well?”

“No!” Megan cried, but it was too late. The Colonel cocked his arm back and threw the fragment of staff through the kitchen window. The glass didn't even break; it melted as the missile passed through it. The Colonel's suit was built to react faster than a human could, to strike with more precision, hit harder, throw farther. It had no trouble hitting a stationary target. The flaming log arced over the garden and fell straight into the well. It sent up a shower of sparks when it hit the inner wall. Seconds later, a column of steam gushed into the sky.

Megan grabbed a box of baking soda from a cabinet. It was full, unopened. She kicked at the handle of the stove's door until it swung open. Her boot sole stuck for a moment to the metal, and the smell of melted rubber filled the air. The heat washed over them like a wave. She chucked the entire box into the stove. The cardboard burned away instantly, spreading its contents over the burning log. For a moment, it seemed to work. A cloud of carbon dioxide swelled from the heated powder. The flames retreated. Seconds later, they returned, brighter than ever. The cloud of CO2 vanished up the stovepipe, propelled by the rising heat.

“Powdered sodium bicarbonate,” said the Colonel. “Not a bad idea. But it would take a mountain of it.”

“You've made your point,” said Megan. “I- I understand. We shouldn't have a broken staff. It's dangerous, I see that now. We'll get rid of it. We'll have it destroyed. Or you- you could take it, if you like. All three parts. They're yours.”

“I don't want it, it barely works,” said the Colonel.

“Please shut it off,” said Dan. “Please, the metal is warping.” A crack appeared in the plaster around the stovepipe. The ceiling paper was darkening and peeling away.

“That can't be good for the house,” said the Colonel.

Megan grabbed Meg by the shoulders and locked eyes with her. “Take your brother,” she said. “Go to the shelter. Lock the door behind you.”

Meg wanted to argue, but she knew that the look on her mother's face meant there was no argument to be had. She took Chuck's good hand, said, “Come on,” and they ran to the basement.

“Grab that one,” came Sheryl's voice from the living room. “Take it outside.” She led Corporal Bunting into the kitchen. “Corporal, get the one in the stove. Take it outside, away from the house.”

“Belay that order,” said the Colonel. Bunting stopped. “You as well, Murkle,” he called in to the private. “Get back on your horses, men. This is not our problem to solve.” He turned to Megan. “What would you do if this happened when nobody was around to help? Do you know how quickly a house can burn? Especially when the fire is coming straight from the Raw dimension. That stuff really blazes, as your father surely knew.”

“Why are you doing this?” said Megan.

“What have I done?” said the Colonel. “It's your staff. It's your responsibility. I've merely performed the inevitable.”

Sheryl cringed. “Performed the inevitable.” It was a phrase she'd heard countless times from the Colonel.

“What do you want from us?” said Dan.

In the living room, something cracked. It was enough to send a tremor through the house. “The chimney's going,” said Murkle. “And the ceiling.” Smoke began to pour through the doorway.

“Oh, my god,” said Dan. He ran to the living room.

“I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish,” the Colonel called after him.

“Don't just stand there!” Dan shouted at Private Murkle.

Murkle looked in at Corporal Bunting. Bunting shrugged. “Colonel's orders,” he said. “With me, Private.” He led Murkle back outside.

“I have an idea,” said Meg. She stood at the top of the basement stairs. Chuck was behind her, clinging to the hem of her shirt.

“I told you to go,” said Megan.

“They blocked it off,” said Meg. “The whole root cellar. Stuck webbing over the door, like they knew we'd try to get to the shelter.”

“They what?” said Sheryl. “I didn't order that.”

“I did,” said the Colonel. “You can't just run from your problems.”

“It's fine,” said Meg Jr. “I know how to shut off the fire, but I need something of my grandfather's.” She grabbed a ruby out of the loot sack and tossed it back into the Colonel's chest. “I'll even buy it back.”

“This should be interesting.” The Colonel nodded at Chad. “Let her take what she wants.” Chad held his potato sack out for Meg Jr. She rummaged for a moment until she found what she was looking for: a ball of crystal the size of a plum. A thin line ran around its equator. Reddish smoke with a viscous, oily quality swirled inside the ball as it moved.

“Meg,” said Megan.

“I know what I'm doing,” said Meg.

“That doesn't look like a negation sphere,” said the Colonel.

“No,” said Meg Jr. “Grampa used all those in the Retort, just trying to hold things together.” She twisted the sphere's halves in opposite directions until a click was heard, then raised the ball above her head as if to throw it down.

“If that's a thaumatic grenade, you'll do far more damage to yourselves than to me.” The Colonel chuckled. “Granted, I don't know about all of the homemade bric-a-brac in there, but-”

“You don't know shit,” said Junior. She threw the orb at the kitchen floor. The crystal shattered into a thousand pieces. The red smoke coagulated into a dense cloud no bigger than a cherry. It glowed brightly for less than a second, almost as bright as the fire itself, then went dark. The television remained silent, but the radio in the living room came to life. It blared a shrill string of Morse code for several seconds before falling silent again, the energy from the sphere dissipated.

It was Sheryl's turn to look panicked, though she let it show for only a moment. “It's a distress beacon,” she said. “Transmitting on a narrow band, but they'll be sure to pick it up.”

“Oh, you wretched bumpkins,” said the Colonel. He closed the loot chest and hoisted it. “Bring Fawth,” he barked at Sheryl.

“You can't just go,” said Megan. “Stop this madness first!”

“I can't,” said the Colonel. “Nor would I if I could. You've made your own bed. Your house will be a total loss, I'm afraid. Let this stand as a lesson to you; magic is not to be trifled with, and weapons are not toys.” He marched outside. Chad cinched the sack of arcane objects and followed.

Burts was conscious, but not moving much, still recovering from the shock he'd received. Sheryl picked him up in a fireman's carry. She turned to Megan before she left. “Grab what you can and go,” she said. “Quickly. The fire's going to get worse, but the things that are coming are worse still.” She turned her back on the family and took Burts outside.

* * *

The Colonel stowed the loot crate in the nearest empty packhorse. Chad tossed his potato sack in after it before climbing into his rouncey and shutting the hatch. “Ouroboros! To me!” the Colonel shouted. The coal-black cyborg destrier trotted over and presented his side for the Colonel to mount.

Sheryl ran to the mount Bob had prepared for Burts. “Help me get him strapped on,” she said. “I can get him up there, but we don't have time to waste.” Bob hopped down and secured Burts to one side of the horse while Sheryl got the other. “At least he won't fall, but it would be better if he were in fighting shape.”

“What happened to him?” said Bob.

“What do you think? Here.” She found a glucose one-shot in her utility belt and jabbed it into Burts's arm. “Let's hope he perks up soon. We might need him to fight.”

“Soldier of the Empire!” Megan strode toward the Colonel. Dan ushered the children away from the company and around back to the goat shed, giving the house a wide berth. A sharp crack and a crash came from inside. Black smoke was pouring out of the chimney and the front door now. The living room windows lit up like a jack-o-lantern. Megan tossed the sack of gold and gems to the ground. The top was open, and a few baubles rolled out. They glittered in the firelight. “These are worthless here,” she said. “There's no place within a hundred miles, five hundred miles, where we can sell these items. I demand recompense.”

“You may petition the Iron Court,” said the Colonel. “Perhaps they'll send you a check.” He put his foot in a stirrup and mounted Ouroboros in a single motion.

“My grievance is with you, and I demand a trial by Lectrice,” said Megan.

The Colonel paused, seemingly taken aback by the word. “Your request is denied. But as compensation, I will offer you this bit of advice: Computer and robotics makers will buy gold and gemstones. You have two goats. Take them to the nearest backwater town and trade them for a horse and cart. Ride to civilization, or something resembling it, sell the loot, and your family will be set for life. If, of course, I manage to save the world from the creatures you've just summoned. And people call me a monster.”

“I demand a horse,” Megan said. “You've plenty to spare.”

“We have none to spare, but even if we had, I couldn't give you one. These are for military use only.” The Colonel glanced around at the sky as he talked, almost as if he were afraid. “You'll never be satisfied, no matter what I give you. If I give you a horse, you'll want another. If I give you another, you'll want a gun. If I give you a gun, you'll want-”

“A house? My house, my family's home, everything we had in this world, gone in an instant?”

“You still have your lives,” the Colonel said darkly. “I haven't time for this. Chad, blank one of the empty horses. Quickly, now.”

Chad trotted his rouncey up to one of the horses in the rearguard. He moved his horse close to the other, as if to make them kiss. A moment later, the packhorse's head drooped. The light in its eyes flashed.

“This is the final thing,” said the Colonel. “After this, you get nothing more from us. I hope you appreciate how generous I'm being.”

“I won't forget this,” said Megan.

“How much longer, Chad?” said the Colonel, his ocelli watching the shroud.

“No more than thirty seconds,” said Chad from inside his rouncey.

“There,” said Burts, his voice a whisper. He tried to point, but his hand was strapped to his horse. “Up there, coming fast.”

Bob followed his gaze. “You have better eyes than me, Fawth,” he said.

“Just a speck,” said Burts.

“I don't see anything,” said Bob. “What are you- I see it. I think I do.” His eyepieces had zoom functionality, and he narrowed in on the speck. It was a drop of blue in the mallow shroud, small as a poppy seed.

“There,” said Bob, pointing. “It's coming this way.”

“What are you on about?” said the Colonel.

“In the sky. Something moving. Sending you bearing data now.”

The Colonel looked where the data pointed him. “That's no airship,” he said.

It looked like a tiny hole in the sky, no bigger than a drop of water. It moved at an alarming pace. A shaft of light, refracted through the atmosphere, shone down like a spotlight through the hole.

“It's a Sunrise Window,” said Bob.

“What's a Sunrise Window doing in this part of the world?” said Zeck.

“Probably just on its way somewhere else,” said Bunting. “A lot of them operate on a timeshare basis. One farm gets it for two or three days, then it flies off to another one for a few days, then they switch again. Or some rich bastards will hire one for a week at their beach house so they can get a real tan instead of sitting under a Vita-Lamp.”

“Chad, are you quite finished with that horse?” There was a tinge of anxiety in the Colonel's voice.

“Just one more thing,” said Chad. A start-up chime sounded from the pack horse's speaker. It raised its head and neighed. “Ready,” he said.

The blue dot was directly overhead now. It widened rapidly, shoving aside the purple shroud and the column of smoke like oil in water. Steven stared at the open expanse, his mouth agape. Perhaps from the sudden light, his eyes began to water. The sky above was clear and blue, but it was raining. An Arterian airship flew in circles around the perimeter of the window, trailing a short tail of magenta light. Something was falling from its cargo bay. It looked like dirty hail, but it hit the ground with a wet smack.

“Oh, no,” said Bob.

“It's raining meat,” said Zeck.

“Not again,” said Bunting.

The airship flew in a wide circle, raining gobbets of meat as it went. All around them, in a ring the size of a coliseum, hundreds of fleshy blobs smacked the ground, flattening when they hit. The blobs were reddish pink, with tiny purple lines throughout. Blood vessels, or something like it. Within seconds of impact, they'd not only regained their wad-like shape, they'd begun to morph together and grow, absorbing stones and sticks and other detritus. None fell among the soldiers and horses, instead forming a dense perimeter around them with the burning house at the center. Within seconds, the meat wads had formed vaguely human shapes, with thick tentacles in place of limbs, and no faces but open mouths, some with stones and shards of asphalt where teeth should be.

“They're penning us in,” said Zeck. “Why don't they just attack? They could devour us in minutes.”

“Great pep talk, corsair,” said Steven.

“No fire. Remember,” said Bunting. In the Hinterlands, the meat monsters had devoured or killed most of their company. They'd tried flamespitters and incendiary rounds at first, but the creatures seemed to be fireproof. They just swallowed the flames and spat them back. Blades were likewise ineffective, as any severed bits continued to grow and devour on their own. Bludgeoning the creatures was exactly like clubbing a wad of chewing gum. Only John, using aquamancy, had been able to defeat them by draining all of the moisture from their bodies, turning them to powder. Only then had they burned.

“Tell me something useful, Chad,” the Colonel said. “Haven't you been studying these gobbet creatures? How do we defeat them?”

“I've only been able to study the dust from the creatures we fought in the Hinterlands. The ones that Mr. Derman exsanguinated.”

“Exsanguinated?” said Zeck. “He dessicated them.”

“Regardless of terminology,” said Chad, “it made them somewhat difficult to examine. If I had a live sample, I'm sure I could devise a way of destroying the creatures. Draining them of all moisture certainly worked, but we'll not always have a mage nearby.”

“Well, we have one now. Derman,” said the Colonel, turning his spider-faced helm to look at John. “Could you perform that trick again? Suck the water out of the advancing horde?”

John Derman shook his head. “I'm out of salt. We've got jerky and salt pork, but that ain't gonna be enough. It takes a lot of salt and a lot of concentration to do something like that. I could drain maybe one of them, if it's small.”

“Prepare to do so, just in case,” said the Colonel.

“It would be a lot easier if I had my staff.”

“No time,” said the Colonel. “You'll have to make do with what you have. I've acquired more salt, but it's buried in a potato sack in a packhorse. No time to dig it out, or your staff. What about summoning a flood? Easier, Yes?”

“Relatively speaking,” said John. “I could probably manage that, but we'd get caught in it just the same as them.”

“Prepare for either, on my order.” The Colonel turned back to Chad. “Have you nothing else of use?”

“I have been developing an organic destabilizer,” said Chad. “It's unreliable and very dangerous, but it should prove effective against the gobbets. Unfortunately, it takes a long time to synthesize with the limited laboratory I have. I've only been able to produce a small quantity thus far. Fifty milliliters. We would need a thousand times that to defeat a horde like the one in the Hinterlands.”

“Give me all you have,” said the Colonel.

The hatch on the back of Chad's rouncey opened up. He popped his head out and tossed a capsule-shaped object to the Colonel. “Ouroboros!” said the Colonel. “Load up!” He leaned forward with the capsule and fed it to the destrier, who swallowed it whole.

“Stay vigilant!” said Sheryl. “Don't let them touch you.”

“Megan!” Dan shouted. He was struggling to lead a goat that didn't want to be led. Meg Jr. led the other goat, which was much calmer despite having Chuck on its back. Megan led the rebooted robot horse over to them. “What the hell's happening?” said Dan.

“Exactly what your daughter hoped would happen when she sounded the alarm,” said the Colonel. “The monsters have come for us. I hope you're satisfied. They'll devour you, same as us.”

“Sorry, but we won't be staying for breakfast,” said Meg Jr. She twisted the top of her penny whistle until it clicked. She played a short, plaintive tune. Pale blue light seeped out of the whistle's end, leaving trails in the air wherever it moved. Meg Jr. ran around her family in a circle once, twice, three times for good measure, drawing a ring around her mom and dad, Chuckles, the goats, the robotic horse, and herself. Without a parting word, she played the plaintive tune again. With a flash and a crack, the family vanished, leaving a concave scar in the ground where they'd stood.

“They teleported!” said Zeck. “I can't believe she had a warp whistle.”

“Forget about them,” said the Colonel. “We need to break away from this horde.”

The creatures shambled closer, tightening the circle and pressing the company closer to the burning house. One of them slouched toward the Colonel, the other gobbets quickly filling in the gap it left in the ring. “That's close enough,” said the Colonel. He drew his sword, though they all knew it was an empty threat. “What do you want, Plumwine?” he said. “Do you hear me? Can you listen through these monstrosities, or are they no more than amoeba made in your image?”

The humanish blob stood only a few yards from the party. It pursed its mouth hole and made a hissing sound. Its body grew as it swallowed air, swelling into a taut ball of meat nearly double its original size. Its mouth shrank and shifted, forming something approximating lips and a tongue with its putty-like flesh. It expelled a stream of air, vibrating the makeshift mouthparts to produce a sound like a squealing balloon. It loosened its lips and tried again, sounding this time like a wet rubber tuba.

“It's taunting us,” said Captain Corrigan. “Are we to just sit here and take this?”

“Hold your position,” said the Colonel. “It's trying to speak. I think.”

The creature swallowed another bellyful of air and tried again. “Buuurts,” it belched.

“It said, 'burps,'” said Bob.

“It said, “Burts,' of course,” said Burts.

“Buurts Fawth,” said the creature. “Give him to us. Waaalk away.”

“I'll go,” said Burts. “If you leave these people alone and let them walk away unharmed, I'll go with you.”

“Like hell you will,” said the Colonel. He sent a signal from his helm to the horse under Burts. The straps that held the super-soldier released his limbs. At the same time, the back of the horse opened up like a doctor's bag. Robotic arms enveloped Burts and pulled him into the courser's belly. The horse snapped shut, sealing him in. It was a feature meant for apprehending horse thieves, but it worked on anybody. “You're getting greedy, Plumwine. You already have Meat Rom, and now you want his little friend? Is your little coup not going as expected?”

A hissing surrounded the company. The other meat monsters were inflating now. “You aaare suurrrounded,” they belched in unison. “Let him go, ooor be devoooured.”

“No,” said the Colonel. He trotted Ouroboros straight up to the creature that had approached him. The destrier reared up on his hind legs, revealing a belly covered in nozzles where nipples might have been on a normal horse. One of the nozzles pointed straight at the creature and sprayed it with all fifty milliliters of organic destabilizer.

The sound of air escaping through a thousand tiny holes burning their way through the voluminous flesh of the meat monster was accompanied by a chorus of anguish, all of the inflated creatures deflating at once with a noise that was all too similar to a cry of pain.

Ouroboros, back on all fours, burst into a gallop. He headed straight for the line of meat soldiers, aiming for the one he'd wounded. The other horses, still synchronized, formed up and followed. “Now!” cried the Colonel. Bob aimed his blunderbuss straight ahead. He had six rounds of two-pound shot, and he didn't hold any back. He gave two shots to the three creatures directly in their path. Two of them simply fell backward, stretching and squirming to regain their positions. Even the wounded one seemed to be recovering quickly. The third was squatting on a patch of loose gravel and couldn't find purchase when the bullets hit. It flew through the air and smacked against a tree.

A hole had opened in the circle. The Colonel made it through first. Bob slowed his mount to the back of the formation. He switched his blunderbuss to the spray setting and opened fire on the closest creatures. It didn't have much effect, but the company only needed a few seconds. The meat gobbets were still absorbing the impact of his other shots, and literally absorbing the shots themselves. By the time the closest gobbets had managed to close the line, the riders were already through. Bob rode through last, after the Sparassa. The creature on the right stretched a tentacular strand of flesh after him, flinging it like a whip. It slapped onto the barrel of his blunderbuss and wrapped around the shaft. Bob didn't hesitate to let go. Under his mask, he allowed himself to smile. He'd lost his gun, but they were in the clear.