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bled. Who was he? What was a hero?
    He cast a jaundiced eye downward, critically regarding his heroic pose. The amulet, the spear—not bad as quest items went—but he balked at the clown’s disturbing, knitted grin.
    Then again, was the sweater any more ridiculous than the garment he’d cast off? That spandex uniform which would have made a decent pair of pajamas?
    Recently, his mother had been trapped inside an ever-shrinking bubble that isolated her from her friends, one by one, until she was alone in a miniature universe just big enough for her.
    This sort of thing was always happening. It didn’t seem to be the product of a coherent cosmos.
    But what did? Certainly not the universe his alternate persona inhabited, in which vast conspiracies of “geeks” congregated in “newsgroups” on an enormous “world wide web” to call for his death. 
    Their vehemence was demoralizing on the one hand, but inspiring on the other. In order for his mother to become the center of the universe, she’d needed to eliminate all rivals until she was the only one left. Without even trying, Wil was already the center of many universes—petty ones, yes, but universes just the same. His detractors paid their hatred like adherents at an altar.
    Perhaps it was their dark incantations which had summoned all this into being. One final confrontation: Wil against evil. Evil against Wil.
    How the unicorn pegasus kitten was involved, Wil couldn’t venture to guess. Perhaps it was they only way an internet incantation could summon an avatar of goodness—part mythology, part LOLcat.
    •••
    The Scalzi knew when he woke that this would be his last day on this hellish terrain. The strange volcanic world rumbled and shook with renewed vigor, building toward whatever explosive end it had planned.
    The final battle was upon them.
    Still, the Scalzi sought to force the confrontation on his terms. He skulked between basalt outcroppings until he reached the volcano’s base, and then hiked up its slippery face, hoping to mitigate his opponent’s aerial advantage.
    As he scrambled upward, the Scalzi froze, hearing the kitten’s approaching call. The creature swooped—a foot away—claws scraping rock.
    The Scalzi swung his axe, scratching the animal’s foreleg. 
    First blood.
    The Scalzi leapt back, heart pounding. He brandished his bloodied axe. “Have at—if you can!”
    The rider growled.
    “Why are you fighting me?” the Scalzi pressed. His curiosity was limited, but he understood his physical vulnerability; if he talked long enough, the kitten might tire itself out.
    “Focus on more important matters,” parried the rider, “such as your imminent death.”
    “Are you confusing me with a different bald man?” Scalzi riposted. “I’m not the one who killed your father. Listen! I live in Ohio! Do you think they’d let me into the Royal Shakespeare Company?”
    “Mangy fleabag! You’re not worthy to compare your pate to his! Be silent, cur.”
    “Make it so,” taunted the Scalzi, tugging the waist of his breastplate.
    The kitten swiped. The Scalzi rolled away. Flashing claws clutched at nothing.
    “You shouldn’t let yourself get so angry,” said the Scalzi. “What do you know about fighting? You’re just some stupid kid.”
    The rider roared. The kitten took up his cry.
    The Scalzi knew he was on to something. “Just some stupid kid,” he repeated. “Is that why you’re after me? To get revenge on the science fiction writers who made you?”
    “No more, Scalzi!” shouted the writer. “Raise your axe and fight!”
    This time, the kitten’s blow landed. The Scalzi staggered. Blood flowed from his punctured shoulder.
    Wil was right. The time for talk was over.
    •••
    Claws raked metal; metal struck rock; teeth scraped armor. At last, the Scalzi delivered a deep blow to the kitten’s flank, forcing Wil to send the creature away to recover.
    Now on foot, the two wove around each other, dart and feint evenly