His suit is impeccable, the physique under it attractive. His head is a skull.

“Isn’t this a paradox?”

“I don’t do changing back,” Circe says.

Power is restored with a smoky haze of ozone.

It turns. It sees him.

The marine points at the mysterious rift. “2D-Bs!”

Can the Yanoth hear our thoughts in our hijacked bodies?

“You believe monsters or gods will save you?”

“We look like Ghostbusters,” he says.