Introducing...

...Cyrus' one and only rival for the title of protagonist, Janus Ardashir. Only very very loosely based on the character of Janus that I had not really bothered to come up with for that abortive RPG-type thing.

Janus' bow moved elegantly and measuredly over the violin's strings, providing a gorgeous, exuberant soundtrack to the sharply contrasting buildings of Caragean that towered, sooty and rickety, over the narrow cobbled streets. Few people, save the odd patrolling Lanciar, scampering street urchin, or homeward-bound vendor, passed to make his busking worthwhile. Nonetheless, he was determined to squeeze every penny out of it he could.
He knew, if he didn't find somewhere to stay, that he'd die of some sickness soon.
However, at this stage of the evening, with the moon peeking over the pocked roofs and every self-respecting citizen gone to bed, Janus reasoned that, at this time, it'd be a good time to start looking for a dry spot to curl up for the night. He packed up his violin, his only really valuable possession, and looked around for a suitable alleyway. His eyes alighted on a small shop specialising in Farhighter foods and perked up – the heat off its ovens should keep him warm for the night.
It was a long way for a rich merchant's idle third son to fall.
But, Janus reflected bitterly, as he walked past the yellow square of light that was the Farhighter restaurant's door, he had the rich merchant's oldest son to thank for that.
As Janus headed for the alleyway, wrapped up in his vengeful thoughts, another pair of eyes fastened onto him. Gregory's avaricious, bloodshot eyes eyed the rich violin case and the jangling purse of small change the busker brought with him and, unconsciously, his huge ham-fists clenched and unclenched greedily. A further evaluation of the busker himself was more comforting still: beneath the carefully frayed red robe, the busker was merely a small, nondescript-looking man of average Lain height, complexion, and build. In fact, if he wanted to, he could probably blend into the crowds of Caragean effortlessly if he wanted to.
There were, however, no crowds at this time of night, and no-one to hear the unfortunate little man scream.
Janus pushed his way into the Farhighter restaurant, where an enormously fat, incredibly bored-looking Farhighter woman leaned on a crummy bar, wattle-draped face rested on the bubble of lard that had probably begun life as a hand. Even looking her would have put Janus off of his food, back when he had the money to afford such luxuries.
“Vot you vont?” she asked him in heavily accented Kamarean. Janus cast a glance at the stereotypically misspelt menu tacked onto the roof above the bar, then at the array of foodstuffs assembled beneath the dirty glass comprising the bar. Both looked equally unappetising.
“Err... Two Akarean sausages and a plate of chips, please.” That said, Janus sat down at one of the few tables the restaurant offered and looked around, depressedly, at the restaurant. Its most salient feature was its yellowness: yellow walls, yellow-tiled floor, yellow grime on the windows. Even the supposedly-reflective steel of the tables and chairs showed the yellow of the surrounding room, as if they had spent so long in the restaurant's overwhelming yellowness that they had absorbed it into them.
“Enjoy meal.” The fat woman set a plate of food in front of him, pocketed the change he put on the table, and wandered off. Idly, Janus wondered how the plate had managed to escape her gravity well. The Akarean sausage was dreadful – but then, that was the meaning of Akarean sausage. It came being an uncultured and impoverished people – it was comprised whatever you could get your hands on (not necessarily meat, either) rolled into a rough cylinder, then stuck on a hot thing until it didn't fall apart when you picked it up. Its one virtue was its invariable cheapness.
Janus sincerely hoped the green was the inventive addition of a cabbage leaf.
Two probably meatless conglomerates and a plate of greasy cardboard later, Janus was fortified against the night. He pushed the door into the alley open and stepped out into the chilling Caragean night, dreading the comfortless night spent on the cobbles.
“How are you.” a gravelly voice growled into his ear.
Something hit the side of his head and as he fell, he vaguely registered the sound of the restaurant door slamming shut, cutting off all possibility of help – not as if the fat Farhighter woman would have been much help. Where's a Lanciar when you need one? he thought groggily.
Gregory and his two henchmen chuckled moronically to themselves as they observed the prostrate musician, sprawled helplessly on the ground. Gregory had always thought that to “jump out of your skin” was a figure of speech, but Janus had jumped so high it had nearly looked like there were two of him. There was, however, most definitely one of him, and that scrambling away from the muggers at top speed.
“Stop!” Gregory growled, pointing a meaty finger at a spot on the ground. Obediently, Janus froze, babbling almost incoherently.
“Please... take anything you want. Just leave my violin alone...”
“Money. Throw it there.” A pathetically empty wallet sailed out of the dark and settled with a jangle on the stones. “And the violin.”
“No – not the violin!”
“Give me the violin!” Gregory started towards the prostrate musician, and tripped into hell.
The thug's face impacted hot, scorched, crumbling earth, leaving a face-shaped imprint in it. What the hell? He rolled over – and made a little whimpering sound as he saw the red, striated sky laced with bands of brooding cloud and lashed by bolts of lightning, which stretched endlessly until finally it hit the edge of the vast black plain he was lying on. The air itself burned, a sulphurous concoction that seared Gregory's throat on the way down. There was nothing in sight save the carbonised acres of earth and the unsettled sky.
Janus stepped out of the air.
“Wha – how – eh - ”
“Do shut up. I neither want nor need your feeble-minded thoughts.” Janus dismissed his assailant's babblings almost nonchalantly, examining the strange place. “I have to say, not even I'm quite sure where we are. I don't think I've been here before. As for how, you failed to notice the magical trap I set around the sack of gold and you... haha... can-tripped into a whole new world.” The mage's gaze turned back to his terrified opponent, prostrate in the dirt.
“Nonetheless! I'm sure you'll do well here... though there's nothing to build a house with, and no food, and no-one to talk to – not even the flesh-rending, blood-drinking, murderous demon-type people you usually find in these type of places. You should starve to death in about a month.”
“Eh... but I don't deserve this! I have a wife...”
“That you beat mercilessly every time you go home. She will be glad now you're gone. Anyway, I didn't deserve to have my money and violin pilfered by you and your cronies, but that never stopped you, did it. Give you something to think about, at least, when while you're rotting away up here. Now! I really must be going, though comparative to here, literally no time has passed back in Elleria. Enjoy your stay!”
Janus winked cheerily, flashed a huge grin, and left Gregory to a fate worse than death.

* * *

He flashed back into the real world, and time resumed uninterrupted.
“Boss?”
“What'd you do to him, you rat?” Janus decided to toy with these buffoons a little more.
“Nothing – honest! I didn't do anything!”
“He's right, Uji. He's just an idiot.” The other man diverted his attention for just a second, which was all Janus needed. Instantly, he initiated the formula required to take possession of another's mind. Rows of magical symbols scrolled in front of his eyes, arcane glyphs scribing themselves into existence at the edges of his consciousness and rushing across his field of vision to vanish, well-heeded, at the other edge of his vision.
You summoned me.
“Kba'j'righrt'ashka'ghur'yurt'bana'madarius? Is that you?” Janus said inside his own head.
I told you... just call me Kba. The spirit's projected thoughts conveyed a faint sense of irritation and Janus smiled delightedly. He liked nothing better than winding his personal genie up - save making some thug pay for his idiocy. What may I do for you?
“Find me that man's mind.”
Consider it done.
No sooner than Uji had registered his companion's words than the man suddenly... thrashed, was the best word for it. Almost as if he had been kicked in the back, he bent backwards, arched into an unnatural, almost-crab shape with a strangled grunt.
“You alright?”
“No, he's not.” Janus told him from the shadows. “Better off than you though.”
The man spasmed forwards, a murderous light radiating from his eyes.
Janus sat on the cobbles, complaining to himself about how wretchedly uncomfortable they were, as he watched the possessed man hack his friend apart and then take his own life. When he was done with that, he curled up against the Farhighter restaurant's oven wall and dreamed peacefully.

Cereal Killer

I hate cereal.
I really do.
However, I being me, my deep-rooted hatred of cereal comes not from the fact that it tastes like cardboard no matter how much chocolate, sugar or milk you put on it, nor from the fact that it's actually those twirly things that come out of a pencil sharpener when you sharpen your pencil. No, cereal is a sign of today's world. Mass-produced, quickly-prepared, tasteless, no-one in their right minds would touch a bowl of cardboard cereal unless they had a boring modern job in a boring modern office to go to, and all they had to look forward to was a boring modern life. Cereal could not exist in a remotely interesting life. It is the dreary spawn of a dreary life, and it warps the space-time continuum around it, transforming the land around it into Plath's "province of the stuck record", ensuring the times are tidy. History's beaten the hazard, and now we can all have boring cereal for breakfast. Whoop de bleedin doo.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm a hypocrite, and if I were dropped somewhere I would deem interesting, I might, within five minutes, be ardently wishing to be sitting here whining. I certainly cannot tell for sure. I do know one thing though. Whatever the deeper meanings of it all, I bloody hate cereal.