Normandy Mud & Cosmic Dust

Normandy Coast – June 13, 1944 ??????? | Dawn

The vortex spat them out into mud and rain. Gone was the sterile chill of the Athenaeum. Here, the air reeked of cordite and churned earth. Rain lashed down, washing blood, grime, and cosmic dust from their skin.

Juni gasped as cold reality slammed into her. Pain flared along her back where the Custodian's beams had struck – a bone deep chill warring with residual temporal burn. Hank groaned beside her, pushing up onto his elbows. The copper lines under his skin pulsed a steady gold threaded with blue, thrumming with unified power. His storm cloud eyes held Ghost Hank's weary wisdom layered over his own irreverent spark. He looked older, haunted, but impossibly alive.

Floating nearby, Yoggy glowed softly – no longer a blob, nor a swirling nebula, but a fist sized orb of gentle blue light, humming a hopeful melody that harmonized with distant artillery thumps. A sentient ember against the void.

"Welcome back," Hank rasped, his voice a blend of bravado and gravitas. His calloused hand found hers, warmth flooding away the nullity's chill. "Told you I'd get us home. Eventually. Though the decor hasn't improved."

The Reckoning

They found the Misfit Marauders huddled in a shell blasted farmhouse near Sainte Mère Église. Sarge bound Doc's arm where a bullet grazed it. Doc peered through Juni's cracked Chronitron lens at a parasite wriggling on a German bandage. Jenkins clutched his Iron Cross and a photo of Betty Grable, wide eyed at their return.

"Rigby! Flux!" Sarge barked, relief hidden under his gruffness. "Took your damn time sightseeing! Where'd you get the fancy light show?"

Hank swept a bow, wincing. "Merely redecorating the cosmos, Sarge. Standard Sergeant Fartquake procedure."

Jenkins scurried forward, staring at Yoggy. "You're shiny now! Did you see Hitler? Is he in next Tuesday?"

Doc finally glanced up, focusing on Hank's glowing lines. "Fascinating. Bio luminescent temporal resonance. And Flux – your signature is beautifully chaotic." His brow creased at her pallor. "Also exhibiting severe chroniton poisoning. Jenkins, fetch something… vaguely clean."

The Whisper

Later, Hank pulled Juni aside near a broken window overlooking rain soaked trenches.

"You held the line," he said quietly. "Against oblivion itself. For me. For… us." His fingers brushed the dead Chronitron at her chest. "Your will saved me."

She leaned into him, drawing strength from the unified thrum within his touch. "We saved each other," she whispered. "And them." She nodded at Sarge lecturing Jenkins, Doc muttering about parasites, Yoggy humming beside Jenkins. "That's worth fighting for. Messy. Loud. Alive."

Hank's gaze darkened, distant. "The Greater isn't gone," he said, Ghost Hank's knowledge heavy in his tone. "It's wounded. Furious. Its 'order' is a cancer. And we just ripped open its wound."

The Echo

A tremor shivered through the ground – not artillery, but something deeper. Yoggy's song hitched into a discordant warning.

Hank's eyes narrowed, storm clouds gathering. "It's not just angry, Juni. It's calling."

In her mind's eye, flickering with residual temporal sight and his resonance, she saw it: a vast fractal shadow coalescing in the multiversal deep, nullity tendrils reaching for bright, chaotic realities. And woven within it pulsed the cold signature of the Chronos Division – tools repurposed, pawns in a greater harvest.

The Greater wasn't just a controller. It was a harvester. Their wound had only made it hungrier.

The Mandate

Juni met his gaze. Fear burned there, but beneath it was violet fury – tempered by love, sharpened by loss.

"We stopped it here," she said, voice like steel. "We broke its prison. We have the Spark." Her hand rested on his glowing arm. "We have Yoggy's song. And now… we know its true face."

Hank nodded, haunted certainty settling into grim resolve. "The Custard Rebellion doesn't end here. It begins." His eyes lifted to the darkened sky. "The Greater wants silence? Then we bring the storm."

He offered his hand – not chivalry, but pact. A warrior to his equal. His partner in chaos.

Juni took it. The dead Chronitron felt cold against her chest, a relic of order in a universe reborn in wild possibility. Her future was here – in mud, in defiance, in the resonance of a reborn sniper and a sentient spark of hope.

The Final Line

Yoggy pulsed brighter, humming a complex, defiant chord that resonated with the distant thunder. Jenkins stared wide eyed, sensing truths beyond words. Sarge paused mid curse. Doc lowered his lens, silent at the energy dancing between Hank and Juni.

The war for Normandy raged on outside. But for Hank Rigby and Juniper Flux, a far vaster battlefield awaited. They had allies: a Spark Bearer, a song of light, misfit soldiers, and the echoes of rebellions past.

They had a name: The Custard Rebellion.

And they had a mission: Protect chaos. Challenge silence. Everywhere it festered.

Juni squeezed his hand, violet eyes fierce, tired, and alive.

"Let's go make some noise, Sergeant Fartquake. The multiverse is waiting."

Outside, rain fell, washing blood and cosmic dust into the eternal mud of Normandy.

The first battle was over.

The real war had just begun.