The Playful Fight

It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve Day, and the Smith household had settled into a cozy calm. The boys were sprawled on the couch, their stomachs full from dinner, the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting a warm glow across the room.

Tyler and Caleb were watching one of their favorite cartoons, but as usual, their attention quickly shifted from the screen to each other. Caleb, clutching his new stuffed reindeer, was giggling non-stop as Tyler teased him about the character on TV.

“Look at that guy,” Tyler said, pointing at the screen. “He’s totally you, Caleb—short and always tripping over his own feet.”

Caleb gasped in mock offense, clutching the stuffed reindeer tighter. “Am not! You’re the clumsy one!”

“Oh really?” Tyler shot back, grinning. “At least I don’t name all my stuffed animals the same thing. What’s this one called? Reiny? Like the last three?”

Caleb smirked, puffing up his chest. “It’s Rudy! And he’s the best reindeer ever!”

Tyler chuckled. “Rudy, huh? Well, Rudy better learn to fly because he’s going down!” Without warning, he grabbed a pillow and lightly bopped Caleb on the head.

Caleb let out a shriek of laughter. “Hey! That’s not fair!” he cried, launching himself at Tyler with his stuffed reindeer as a weapon. The two tumbled onto the couch cushions, Tyler laughing as Caleb flailed dramatically, trying to “defend” Rudy.

“You can’t defeat the big brother!” Tyler declared, raising his arms like a victorious wrestler.

Caleb narrowed his eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Oh yeah? Take this!” He pounced, using his small size to wiggle out of Tyler’s grasp and swing a pillow with surprising accuracy.

The pillow hit Tyler square in the chest. He gasped in exaggerated defeat, falling backward onto the couch. “You got me!” he groaned, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Tell Mom… I fought bravely.”

Caleb, standing triumphantly on the couch, held Rudy high above his head. “I win! Rudy wins!” he shouted, his victory short-lived as Tyler suddenly grabbed his ankle and pulled him down into the cushions.

“Never turn your back on the champ!” Tyler said, wrestling Caleb into a tickle attack. Caleb squealed with laughter, squirming to escape.

“Stop, stop! I surrender!” Caleb cried between giggles, tears of laughter streaming down his face.

Tyler finally relented, flopping onto his back beside Caleb. Both of them were breathless, their faces red from the playful scuffle.

“You’re so easy to beat,” Tyler teased, poking Caleb in the side.

Caleb stuck out his tongue. “Only because you’re bigger. Just wait—I’m gonna be stronger than you one day.”

Tyler smirked, ruffling Caleb’s messy hair. “Maybe. But until then, you’re stuck being the little brother.”

Caleb smiled, hugging Rudy to his chest. “That’s okay. You’re a pretty cool big brother.”

Tyler grinned. “And you’re not so bad yourself, squirt.”

The two settled back onto the couch, the cartoon still playing in the background. Caleb leaned against Tyler, his head resting on his brother’s shoulder, as their playful fight faded into quiet companionship.

In moments like these, it didn’t matter who won or lost. They both knew they were each other’s favorite teammate, and that was the only victory that truly mattered.

A LATE-NIGHT CHAT

As the cartoon ended and the house grew quieter, Caleb yawned, snuggling closer to Tyler. The playful fight had tired him out, but he wasn’t quite ready for bed yet. Tyler noticed Caleb’s eyelids drooping and nudged him gently.

“Hey, you’re gonna fall asleep right here on the couch,” Tyler said, smirking.

Caleb shook his head stubbornly. “No, I’m not. I’m just… resting.”

Tyler chuckled. “Sure, sure. Come on, let’s head upstairs.”

Caleb groaned but let Tyler help him off the couch. They trudged up the stairs together, Caleb’s small hand resting on Tyler’s arm for support. Once they were in their shared room, Caleb flopped onto his bed dramatically, hugging Rudy tightly.

“You really wore yourself out, didn’t you?” Tyler teased, pulling his own blanket over his legs.

“Did not,” Caleb mumbled, his face half-buried in his stuffed reindeer.

The room fell quiet for a few moments, the only sounds the soft rustling of blankets and the distant creak of the house settling. Tyler thought Caleb had drifted off until he heard his little brother’s voice, small and thoughtful.

“Ty?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Santa ever gets lonely?”

Tyler blinked, caught off guard by the question. He turned to look at Caleb, who was staring at the ceiling, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

“I don’t think so,” Tyler said after a moment. “He’s got all those elves and reindeer. Plus, he’s probably so busy delivering presents that he doesn’t have time to feel lonely.”

Caleb nodded slowly, but his frown didn’t fade. “But what if… what if someone doesn’t have anyone to spend Christmas with? Like, what if Santa visits a house, and it’s just one person all alone?”

Tyler felt a pang in his chest. Caleb’s heart was always so big, always thinking about others. He sat up, leaning forward to catch his brother’s eye. “You know what I think?” he said. “I think that’s why Christmas is so special. It’s not just about Santa or presents—it’s about showing people they’re not alone. That’s why we give gifts and spend time with our family, to make sure everyone feels loved.”

Caleb turned his head, his eyes wide and thoughtful. “So, we’re like Santa, too? ‘Cause we make people happy?”

“Exactly,” Tyler said with a smile. “And you’re really good at that, Caleb. You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know.”

Caleb smiled shyly, burying his face in Rudy. “You think so?”

Tyler nodded. “I know so. And one day, you’re gonna make the world an even better place. But for now, you can start by getting some sleep.”

Caleb giggled, rolling onto his side. “Okay, Ty. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, buddy,” Tyler said, switching off the lamp on his nightstand.

Christmas Morning Magic

The next morning, Caleb woke up with a start, the excitement of Christmas snapping him wide awake. He bolted out of bed, shaking Tyler’s shoulder furiously.

“Ty! Wake up! It’s Christmas!” Caleb exclaimed, his voice bursting with joy.

Tyler groaned, pulling his blanket over his head. “Five more minutes.”

“No way! Santa came! You have to come see!” Caleb tugged at Tyler’s arm until he reluctantly rolled out of bed, yawning and stretching.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Tyler said, smirking at Caleb’s impatience.

The brothers raced downstairs, Caleb practically flying ahead. The living room was a picture-perfect Christmas scene: stockings overflowing with small gifts, the tree glittering with lights, and a pile of presents waiting to be unwrapped.

Caleb gasped, his face lighting up as he spotted the gift he had been dreaming about for weeks—a shiny new sled with a bright red bow on top. “Ty! Look!” he shouted, running to it.

Tyler grinned, watching his little brother’s excitement. “Guess Santa really delivered, huh?”

As the family gathered around the tree, unwrapping presents and sharing laughter, Tyler couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. Christmas wasn’t just about the gifts—it was about moments like this, filled with love, joy, and the bond he and Caleb shared.

Later that day, as they sped down the snowy hill on Caleb’s new sled, their laughter echoed through the crisp winter air. Tyler knew this was a memory they would both carry with them forever—a reminder of the magic they created together, one Christmas at a time.

A total of thirty head cooks had assembled in the castle’s kitchen. Each of them was highly recommended, with years of experience in preparing feasts for wealthy merchants and nobles alike. Several had arrived from the capital itself all for the opportunity to spearhead the feast for the most talked about wedding in years.

Normally, Rosewind wasn’t a place that anyone other than an overeager apprentice would set foot in. The duke’s personal cook had been just such a person, choosing to try his luck at a minor noble family in the middle of nowhere rather than wait for decades until he was aged up the culinary totem pole in a much larger city. It was purely due to, at the time, Earl Rosewind’s oratory mastery that he had decided to stay.

The new crop was far different. For the most part, they had learned of the event like everyone else. The only reason the occasion registered in their busy schedule was because of the string of cataclysmic events that had taken place in that region of the kingdom. Above all, however, it was the gossip regarding Duke Rosewind’s future wife. If the rumors were to be believed, she was merely a low-level mage and a baron’s steward. The fact that an established nobleman had not only agreed to the wedding, but wanted to make it the largest wedding the kingdom had seen, had quickly grabbed their interest. A spark of hope buried by decades of cynicism had rekindled, proving that it was possible for someone of the lower classes to achieve, through luck, chance, and good timing, what all of them secretly coveted.

“Good day to you all,” Spok said, walking among the ranks with the dignity of a noble and the no-shit attitude of a strict mother. “I am Spok d’Esprit.” She glanced at the cooks as she passed by, paying special attention to the cleanliness of their attire. “As you probably know, the guest list for the wedding included over a thousand people of greater and lesser importance. What you don’t know is that the city itself has a population of at least twenty thousand more.”

Whispers filled the room, their frequency directly proportional to the distance from the spirit guide.

“Please,” she said in a pleasant but stern tone. “The city has the usual amount of tavern cooks that have been doing a good job at keeping them fed. However, as you’ll agree, this is a special occasion and as such some of you would be called on to assist with cooking for the less illustrious of my guests. Let me just stress—” she adjusted her glasses, “—that while not as monetarily celebrated as the guests in the castle, they are just as welcome and deserving of a memorable occasion as everyone else.”

Silence quickly filled the room. While none of the cooks wished to be the ones serving the common masses, they wholeheartedly agreed with the principle of the idea.

“To determine what role you’ll be assigned, and if you’ll be taken on as cooks at all, I’m here to personally conduct a brief test of your skills.”

Bowls of fresh food appeared on the tables in the kitchen. Many of the cooks observed the magic with interest, even fascination. A few were even started at the suddenness of it all, almost leaping away from the food in question.

“These are your materials,” Spok said. “Use them to make what you think would represent the best snack you’re capable of by mid-morning.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” one of the cooks—a rather muscular man for his profession with short gray hair—raised his hand. “What do we do about cooking space? Even if we take turns, there won’t be enough time to roast, boil, or cook this into a proper dish.”

All eyes fell on the spirit guide, who calmly made her way up to the cook. The silence was so complete that each of her steps echoed in the kitchen as she walked.

“Your name?” she asked.

“William,” the man replied. “William Stoat.”

“Good observation, Master Stoat. With guests starting to arrive at the end of the week, time is a luxury none of us could afford. For this task you’ll use only the presented food. I assure you everyone has been given exactly the same ingredients. The point is for me to evaluate your skills as head cooks, nothing more. If everything is satisfactory by mid-morning, we'll start tackling the menu for the upcoming weeks. Everyone else will be given the option of remaining as guests or to be flown back to the places you were invited from. Any further questions?”

A slender man in his mid-twenties, raised his hand.

“Your name?” Spok turned his direction.

“E-e-elton Dhier,” the man stuttered. “A-a-assuming we stay, w-w-where will we cook? Th-th-this place is too small for even a q-q-quarter of us.”

“Good point,” Spok nodded. “This is the workplace of the Duke’s head cook, which it will remain. A series of suitable kitchens are in the process of being built. I expect them to be ready by noon. Once they are, all of you and your assisting cooking staff will move to them, where you will spend most of your time during the event.”

“In the process of being built?”

“Yes.” Spok readjusted her glasses. “As I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip, my employer, Baron d’Argent, is a rather wealthy and eccentric mage. He has taken upon himself to ensure that everything is provided for the wedding, and that includes all the necessary buildings, equipment, and raw resources. He’ll also be handing out your payment once the wedding is over.”

The mention of magic seemed to calm down people. In the mind of people, if something weird happened it had to be evil, yet if something weird happened that was associated with a mage, it was only expected.

“I believe you’ve received an answer to all your questions,” the spirit guide said, in a manner suggesting that she wouldn’t be taking any further questions. “Please do your best, and don’t be alarmed by moving buildings. It’s rather likely the city will go through a few changes before the end of the week.”

Taking a quick glance at the people’s faces, the spirit guide left the kitchen with the same dignity and strictness she had arrived with. Behind her, the cooks hastily started examining the material they had been provided. Many of them found the idea of cooking without fire borderline degrading, but everyone had to admit that it was a novel and relatively objective method of determining their skills. And, if there was one thing that cooks were known for, other than constantly complaining, it was to never allow themselves to show worse results than their competitors.

Walking through the castle corridors, Spok made her way to the throne room. With the dungeon occupied with reorganizing the city and procuring Switches his monster cores, she could take the time to spend a short while with Lady Avisian, while her husband and Duke Rosewind were busy exchanging subtle insults in the trophy room. After that, there were food purchases and city-wide floral arrangements to deal with. The airship transporting the tailors, unfortunately, had encountered some harsh weather and wasn’t expected to arrive before the evening, creating an opening in the spirit guide’s schedule which she intended to use for tackling the guest arrangement and establishing a timetable for the event.

“Sir,” she said through her pendant as she went up the staircase. “I’ll require a row of kitchens near the castle, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten!” Theo lied. “What do you think I’m doing right now?”

An entire row of buildings was quickly moved away from the castle, then filled up by one massive chain of connected kitchens. A few discrete mana generators were also added underneath—a way to ensure that the building had adequate air ventilation, keeping as much of the smells inside from getting to the street. It wasn’t so much that Theo worried that the buildings would stink up the homes of the local nobles—that would be rather amusing—but that they would attract a large part of the city’s griffins.

“I had no doubts, sir,” Spok replied. “And just as a reminder, you are still expected to pass by the castle at some point. The duke would very much like to introduce you to the duke.”

“When I find the time!” Theo snapped. He had no idea when the roles had suddenly reversed, but he had the distinct feeling that his spirit guide had started bossing him around.

The dungeon had never been a parent, nor did he have any particular interest in being one. Even so, in his mind he could compare what he was going through now to raising a daughter at an extraordinarily fast pace. Only a year ago, he would be the one shouting orders and requests with little concern, as the spirit guide did all in her power to assist as much as possible. As time went by—months in his case—he had given her more and more responsibilities, until she had effectively become independent. Now he was overseeing her wedding, effectively giving her away. It was a strange, bittersweet sensation he couldn’t exactly explain.

Only a few weeks, he told himself. The faster this was over with, the sooner things could get back to normal. Once Spok was officially married, Theo planned to spend the rest of his existence holding it against her and make sure he did absolutely nothing but sleep and occasionally build a new structure or two.

While the city of Rosewind was being reshuffled in various, often inventive ways, the mages surrounding the dungeon’s avatar were doing the same with the books and other objects in Gregord’s tower.

As the avatar had correctly surmised, each clock was linked to a particular time: the hours in a day, the days in the month, and so on. Initially, that had left the vast majority of other clocks unaccounted for… until Siaho, of all people, had discovered a rather surprising connection.

“Set it to half-past eleven,” Ellis said as she walked along a marble section of the floor depicting a moon.

As the ice wizard did as she asked, the image of the moon shifted.

“Stop!” the cat shouted. “It’s fully set now.”

Siaho pulled his hand away. The flying squirrel on his head leaped into the air, gliding a full circle ten fifteen feet above the ground, before landing back on his shoulder.

“Not fully,” the boy said, then moved the minute hand of the clock a minute back. The moon on the floor acquired a faint glow. “Now it’s set.”

“Interesting,” the avatar said, sitting comfortably on the sofa along with the old man. The baron still wasn’t able to drink, but held a half-full glass out of solidarity. “We’re not trying to find a single time, but the correct time of several elements in the room.”

“Ho, ho, ho.” The old man took another swig from the latest bottle he had grabbed. “The room itself is nothing but one element of the whole.”

“The room is but one element,” the avatar repeated. “That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember it.”

“You know, I had my doubts when I first saw you. But you’ve turned out alright.”

“Thanks.” Theo wasn’t sure whether to consider that a compliment. Being praised by an “old wise drunk” brought a certain sense of achievement, but at the same time, he suspected that the geezer would be the first to sacrifice him without a moment’s hesitation if there came the need. “And the kids?”

“Bleh!” The old mage waved his free hand. “Arrogant, self-centered, overachieving know-it-alls. Trust me, I know. I used to be one of them, once. Still, as long as they do the work, I’m prepared to tolerate them.”

You must be fun at parties, the dungeon thought.

“Think they need a hand?” As fun as it was watching them brute force the solution to the first-floor riddle, the avatar had places to be. More precisely, he didn’t trust Switches’ contraptions to remain functional for more than a few hours.

“Ho, ho, ho, feeling restless?”

“I just prefer not to waste time. The sooner we reach the ninth floor, the sooner we get to leave this place.”

“You think we’ll reach the ninth floor?”

The mage broke out in laughter that continued for more than a quarter of a minute. The only reason he didn’t attract any attention was because everyone else was so focused on the riddle that they had mentally blocked out everything not associated with it.

“I forget that you’re a kid as well,” the old man said after a while. “Just wiser than most.” He brushed the tears from the corners of his eyes. “Since the creation of the tower, no one has been able to reach the ninth floor. In fact, no one has gone beyond the fifth.”

“How can you be certain? Whatever happens in the tower remains in the tower.”

“That’s not exactly true.”

Upon hearing that, the avatar placed his glass on the floor and leaned closer to the mage.

“The practical knowledge is permitted to leave. That’s the entire point of the trial. Why would mage towers keep on sending their brightest to this trial if they didn’t get anything in return?” the man shook his head. “Everything the tower gives is allowed to leave. All the spells you learn, the enchantment patterns, even bits of wisdom left by Gregord himself, remain in the person’s mind after the trial is over. The great towers have used this knowledge to maintain their power and status. The new ones desperately try to achieve it. I don’t know what you were told when the Feline Tower hired you, but this isn’t just a simple trial of skills, this is an actual mage confrontation. Towers rise and fall depending on the results. Right now, you’re looking at the shiny surface of it all. Arrogance, squabbles, insults. Make no mistake, every single person here is willing to kill to move ahead. As mages, we’re just civilized about it.”

That escalated quickly, Theo thought. He had to admit that it did seem weird that the competition was so amicable. Even the death of the feline tower’s former representative was brushed off as an accident. There was every chance that he was killed, possibly backstabbed, by another tower’s representative. For all anyone knew, the action could have been deliberate.

The tower forbade violence between participants, but anyone with an ounce of ingenuity could circumvent those restrictions. At the very least, there was nothing that said that they had to save a dying person.

“So, how about it?” The old man grinned at the avatar. “Still want to lend a hand, Theo?”

The avatar hesitated.

“You never know. Those you help today might be the ones that betray you on the upper floors. As the saying goes, the only ones that can betray you are those closest to you.”

In the dungeon’s mind, the entire atmosphere changed. The old man was absolutely right. When dealing with magic power, the stakes were immeasurably high. Everyone was competing to obtain power that gold couldn’t buy. It was natural that they did whatever it took to earn it.

The baron looked at the old mage. His mouth opened to say something, but before the first sound could emerge, a sudden chill filled the air. Heavy snow emerged out of nowhere, covering everything in a flash blizzard.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Elaine Windchild said. The blizzard instantly stopped, yet the gathered snow remained as it was. “I think I—”

A heavy downpour followed, melting the snow, as well as soaking everything else. Mages instinctively cast protection spells, creating bubbles of shelter around them. Theo’s avatar didn’t.

“Still think I should leave them to find the answer on their own?” he glared at the old mage beside him.

“Hmm.” The other mused from within the comfortable safety of a wind bubble. “I see your point.”

Without another word, the avatar stood up and joined the rest of the mages. By then, the sleet and rain had ended, restoring the room to what it originally was. The only element of it that remained soaking wet was the avatar.

“Ha, ha, ha!” Laster pointed at the baron. “You’re still wet behind the ears!” he uttered the most cringeworthy joke one could come up with. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a bit of rain?”

The rest of the mages shared the sentiment, for they looked away, as if ashamed to be associated with such a person through magic. Only Ellis intervened, quickly casting a drying spell, to reduce the shame of being Theo’s familiar.

“You could have cast a protection spell,” she whispered, her words full of disapproval.

“I’m done playing,” the avatar said in a dry voice. Being utterly humiliated and with no actual idea of how to proceed, Theo did the first thing that came to mind, which was going to the wall with the portraits.

Ignoring Laster’s insults and several other sarcastic comments, he just stood there, looking blankly forward. Right now, his only goal was to get everyone else to ignore him and return to what they were doing so he could think. Unfortunately, the plan backfired. He could feel the subtle sensation of claws moving up his back at a fast pace as Ellis made her way to his head.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“The portraits,” Theo lied. “You said they represented important people in Gregord’s life.”

“Sort of. Some of them are important in their own right. I know it’s probably inappropriate to say this in the great archmage’s tower, but there were a lot of other important wizards, some a lot more vital in the development of magic than he was.”

“Who’s this one?” The avatar pointed at the portrait of a rather frumpy woman in purple clothes.

“The Great Enchantress Kalina,” the cat said. “Referred to as the Mother of Magic. Many credit her for synthesizing the principles of enchantment, although some modern scholars argue that the real discovery was made by one of her apprentices and only refined by—”

“When was she born?”

“Hmm.” Ellis moved about, making herself more comfortable on the avatar’s head. “Seven oh five?” The cat hesitated for a moment. “Seven or six. Been a while since I held that exam.”

“Seven oh six,” the avatar repeated. From his previous life, he had learned that the best way to appear informed was to repeat something in a confident manner, creating the impression that he was onto something. “And that?” he pointed at a portrait of an old frowning man dressed in sinister black clothes.

“The Wizard Spargen,” Elis quickly said. “He's a controversial character. There’s no denying that he created the basic principle of magic conversion, but there’s talk that he also dabbled in necromancy in his free time. Born on the first of the third month, seven forty-one.”

“That’s rather precise.”

“He came from a noble family, so his date of birth was well documented.”

“So, it’s only the year of birth that’s known for all of these?”

“Well, yes. There are a few cases in which the exact year is unknown, but usually there’s a consensus on what to use in historical records, so that—” The cat abruptly stopped. “You don’t mean to say that…” she paused again. “No, it can’t be. Can it?”

Ellis looked at all the portraits in turn. Even before she had said anything more, Theo knew that she had found a pattern; and given the topic of the conversation and the trial at hand, he could only come to one conclusion.

“The portraits are linked to the clocks,” he said with confidence.

“Of course! Why didn’t I see that earlier?” Ellis leaped off the avatar’s head, landing softly on the floor. “The date of birth is always three figures, which correspond to the time on a clock. The hour hand shows the century and the minutes are for the precise year in question.”

The cat rushed towards one of the clocks. Instead of focusing on the time it showed, though, she examined the device itself.

“You were right!” she shouted. “The clock is covered by the butterfly of Kalina!”

Ellis’ voice was loud enough to attract the attention of half the people present. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity, the avatar cast multiple swiftnesses onto himself and went up to the time dial. His plan was to discreetly brute force the dial and watch for changes on the portrait. Of course, it would be stupid not to start with the year of the enchantress’ birth.

Setting the time to six past seven yielded no result. Moving the minute hand a minute back, though, caused the woman in the portrait to smile.

“Seven oh five,” the avatar said. “Seems you were right the first time.”

A wave of envy filled the room as numerous mages glanced at the avatar, officially acknowledging him as competition. Moments later, they were rushing from clock to clock, searching for anything that would connect them to the portraits on the walls.

One by one, the figures illustrated brightened up, smiling in approval. With each correct date, the number of unassociated clocks decreased. Statues, astral charts, and even the position of the level rings moved into their correct position until finally a new flight of stairs emerged, connecting the third level of the room to the floor above.

Anywhere else, one would have expected cheers and congratulations, acknowledging that teamwork that had brought to the solution. These, however, were mages. As such, they glared at one another, rushing towards the exit like a pack of shoppers before a sale.

“Happy that you lent a hand?” the old mage asked, standing a step away from the avatar. “Don’t worry, speed doesn’t always bring an advantage. In the future it might, though.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about the trials.” The avatar looked at him. “Are you telling me it’s all luck, Auggy?”

“There’s as much luck as was in your involvement.” The man grinned. He looked up. Someone had blocked the exit with an aether wall, forcing two other mages to cast their own spells to break it. “I honestly enjoyed our talks. Sadly, I feel they’ll come to an end once we go to the second floor.”

“So, that’s it? No more booze or words of wisdom?”

“Ho, ho, ho. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed your booze, but there comes a time when self interest and mutual interest collide. Once that happens, self interest always has the upper hand.”

Waiting for everyone else to make their way out of the floor, the old mage then cast a flight spell and made his way to the upper section of the tower as well.

“What are you waiting for?!” Ellis shouted, leaping onto the avatar’s head again. “Hurry up there!”

“No need to rush,” Theo grumbled. “It’s not like they’ll start before we get there.” Or so one could hope. “Rather, tell me if you noticed any books about dungeons on this floor.”

“Dungeons? Why would we be interested in dungeons?”

“Humor me.”

“Well… actually, there are a few books that Gregord wrote on the subject. Mind you, he was just an apprentice back then, and most of his conclusions were dead wrong.”

“Show me.”

As the cat flicked her tail, half a dozen books floated down to the avatar. All of them were thin, bound in cheap green leather. The title written on their covers was highly pretentious: A Deconstructive Analysis of the Dungeon’s Paradigm volumes one to six. Under normal circumstances, Theo wouldn’t have touched them with a ten-foot pole. Having experienced Gregord’s dry style, even now he had his doubts.

“Are you seriously going to read those?” the cat asked.

“Why not?” the avatar placed them in his dimensional ring. “Everyone needs a hobby.” He cast a flight spell on himself, then floated up to see what was on the second floor.

The moment he passed through the ceiling, the avatar was greeted by a massive stone hall. There wasn’t a single amenity or piece of furniture. Crude slabs of gray stone covered the floor, walls, and ceiling, only occasionally covered by oil lanterns and large colored mosaics.

Four archways led out of the initial chambers, arranged according to the four cardinal directions.

A maze, Theo thought. As a dungeon, he excelled in mazes, yet it was the mosaics that sent shivers down his metaphorical spine. Mosaics were usually linked to riddles, and if past experience was to go by, that was an area that Theo was terrible at.

< Beginning | | Book 2 | | Book 3 | | Previously |

The Smith household was a flurry of holiday cheer on that crisp Saturday morning before Christmas. Snow blanketed the ground outside, and the scent of pine and cinnamon filled the air inside. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner of the living room, its branches adorned with twinkling lights and mismatched ornaments, many of which had been made by Tyler and Caleb over the years.

Tyler was the first to wake up, as always. At fourteen, he wasn’t exactly a morning person, but the excitement of Christmas week was enough to pull him out of bed early. He stretched, yawning as he glanced over at Caleb’s bed.

The six-year-old was still snuggled under a heap of blankets, his mop of curly hair peeking out from the top. Tyler grinned. Caleb had been talking about Christmas nonstop for weeks, making lists for Santa and counting down the days with a paper chain they’d made together.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Tyler whispered, gently nudging Caleb’s shoulder.

Caleb stirred, blinking groggily. “Is it Christmas yet?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Not yet,” Tyler said with a laugh. “But we can still have some fun today. Come on, let’s go make some hot chocolate.”

At the mention of hot chocolate, Caleb perked up, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. “With marshmallows?”

“Always,” Tyler said, ruffling Caleb’s hair.

The two brothers padded downstairs in their pajamas, the floorboards creaking softly beneath their feet. In the kitchen, they worked together to make their favorite holiday treat. Tyler heated the milk on the stove while Caleb carefully counted out marshmallows, piling them high in their mugs.

Once the hot chocolate was ready, they carried their steaming cups to the living room and plopped onto the couch. Tyler grabbed the remote and turned on a Christmas movie, the familiar opening notes of Home Alone filling the room.

As they sipped their drinks and watched Caleb's favorite cartoons, Caleb leaned against Tyler’s side, his small body warm and snug.

“Ty,” Caleb said suddenly, his voice thoughtful.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you think Santa gets tired delivering all those presents?”

Tyler chuckled. “Probably,”

Caleb nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Do you think he’ll like the cookies we made?”

“Definitely. We made the best cookies on the block,” Tyler said confidently.

The morning passed in a blur of cozy moments. After the movie, they bundled up in their winter coats and headed outside to play in the snow. Tyler helped Caleb build a snowman, his little brother insisting on giving it a carrot nose and a lopsided scarf. They had a snowball fight that ended with both of them collapsing into the snow, laughing until their cheeks ached.

Back inside, their mom had set out the ingredients for gingerbread houses. Caleb’s house leaned precariously to one side, covered in an explosion of candy and frosting, while Tyler’s was more structured but just as colorful.

“That’s… creative,” Tyler teased, eyeing Caleb’s masterpiece.

“It’s a gingerbread castle,” Caleb declared proudly.

As the sun began to set, the brothers settled back onto the couch with their parents, the fireplace crackling softly in the background. They watched as the Christmas lights outside cast a warm glow on the snow-covered yard.

“Only two more sleeps until Christmas,” Caleb said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Tyler smiled, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Yeah, and it’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”

Caleb looked up at him, his face full of trust and excitement. “Because we’re together?”

“Exactly,” Tyler said softly. “Because we’re together.”

The warmth of the moment filled the room, blending with the soft hum of holiday music and the promise of a magical Christmas to come.

A Christmas Eve Promise

The days leading up to Christmas flew by in a whirlwind of festive excitement. Caleb could hardly contain himself as Christmas Eve finally arrived. The Smith household was alive with activity—presents were carefully arranged under the tree, stockings hung over the fireplace, and the smell of sugar cookies baking in the oven filled the air.

Tyler and Caleb were inseparable that day, as they always were. They spent the morning helping their mom in the kitchen, Caleb sneaking a taste of cookie dough while Tyler pretended not to notice. In the afternoon, they played board games by the fire, Caleb giggling uncontrollably when Tyler lost a round of Candy Land.

As evening settled in, the family gathered for their favorite Christmas tradition—reading The Night Before Christmas. Caleb nestled under Tyler’s arm as their dad’s voice brought the story to life, his words soft and rhythmic.

When the story ended, Caleb looked up at Tyler with wide eyes. “Ty, do you think Santa’s already on his way?”

Tyler grinned. “He might be. But you know, he won’t come if we’re still awake.”

Caleb gasped. “We have to go to bed! Right now!” He scrambled off the couch, grabbing Tyler’s hand and dragging him upstairs.

The Night Sky

Later that night, as the rest of the house settled into a peaceful quiet, Caleb whispered from his bed. “Ty?”

Tyler rolled over, his eyes heavy with sleep. “What’s up, buddy?”

“Can we look for Santa?” Caleb asked, his voice a mix of excitement and wonder.

Tyler smiled. “Alright, but just for a little bit.”

The two brothers tiptoed to the window, their breath fogging the glass as they stared out into the snowy night. The sky was a blanket of stars, twinkling brightly, and Caleb’s eyes scanned the horizon eagerly.

“Do you see him?” Caleb whispered.

Tyler shook his head but pointed to a particularly bright star. “See that one? Maybe it’s Rudolph’s nose lighting the way.”

Caleb’s face lit up. “It has to be! He’s coming, Ty!”

They stayed at the window for a while, the quiet magic of the night wrapping around them. Finally, Caleb’s eyelids began to droop, and Tyler guided him back to bed.

“Ty?” Caleb murmured sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re my brother.”

Tyler felt a warmth in his chest, a feeling he’d grown familiar with ever since Caleb was born. “I’m glad you’re my brother too, Caleb. Now go to sleep, or Santa might skip our house.”

Caleb giggled softly and closed his eyes, drifting off with a smile on his face.

Christmas Morning

The next morning, Caleb woke up to the sound of bells—at least, that’s what he thought it was. He bolted out of bed and shook Tyler awake. “Ty! It’s Christmas! Santa came!”

Tyler groaned playfully, rubbing his eyes as Caleb tugged him out of bed. They raced downstairs to find the living room transformed. The tree sparkled with lights, and the presents beneath it seemed even more numerous than the night before.

Their parents were already there, sipping coffee and smiling at the boys’ excitement. “Merry Christmas!” their mom said, her voice full of warmth.

Caleb tore into his gifts with unrestrained glee, while Tyler opened his with a bit more care. One box caught his eye—a small package addressed to both of them. He handed it to Caleb, and they opened it together.

Inside was a handmade wooden ornament, carved with the words Brothers Forever. Tyler’s breath caught, and Caleb’s face lit up.

“It’s us!” Caleb exclaimed, holding it up to the light.

Their mom smiled softly. “We thought it was the perfect way to celebrate how much you two mean to each other.”

Tyler placed a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, smiling. “It’s perfect.”

As the day went on, filled with laughter, games, and far too much food, the ornament found its place on the tree, right in the center where it could catch the light.

That night, as Caleb fell asleep clutching his favorite new toy, Tyler sat by the tree, the glow of the lights reflecting in his eyes. He thought about how much Caleb had grown, how their bond had only deepened with time. No matter what the future held, Tyler knew one thing for certain—Caleb would always have him, just as he’d promised all those years ago.

And in the quiet stillness of the night, Tyler whispered to himself, “Brothers forever.”

[Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art]

Kraid’s lab was torn apart at the seams, with chairs, walls, computers, everything, all ripping into fragments in an instant. The students within flinched and dove for cover, but none of the flying debris so much as bumped into them. Every student was unharmed as the lab was torn to shreds and reshaped itself into a new form: a stage. Stadium seats manifested into existence right below the butts of confused students, arranging them all into an audience around a stage highlighted by three hovering spotlights: one aimed at Vell, one aimed at Kraid, and one aimed at an empty patch of stage.

“Vell Harlan!”

The voice of a Goddess split the sky, and a crack of lightning dove down after it. The bolt of divine fury struck the empty spotlight and coalesced into a new shape in the center of the circle of light. Quenay stood, mismatched as ever, uneven eyes locked on Vell with manic energy. She looked much the same as she ever had, black and white and different from every angle, but something almost imperceptible had changed. Her form was surging with energy, like water pressed against the barrier of a dam, about to break free. The Last Goddess walked forward with unsteady, energetic steps, towards Vell.

“You’re further than anyone else, kid,” Quenay said. She bared uneven teeth in a hungry smile. “But there’s no credit for partial answers.”

She closed the gap and stood face to face with Vell, staring down at him with the mismatched eyes of God.

“What kind of God am I?”

“Easy.”

Vell took out a chisel and a rune slate and started carving. Joan was on the front lines, and she noticed something curious: he didn’t start from the central line. He started with an outer left line and started working his way inward.

“Life is technically a correct answer, probably why it was so easy for you to fake it for so long,” Vell said casually, as he continued to carve. “You’re what all life is, technically, among other things.”

Vell continued to scratch lines on the rune from the outside in. It was backwards, foolish, utterly wrong in every way -just like a time loop full of aliens and pizza heists and weaponized octopi. Vell scratched one final central line -from the bottom to the top. He held up a ten-lined rune that was the exact opposite of everything it should have been, a rune that never should’ve worked. A rune that started to glow all on its own.

“Chaos.”

Quenay looked at Vell. Kraid looked at Vell. Everyone in the crowd looked at Vell. The entire world waited for one breathless moment to see if he was right.

Vell never blinked.

“Yes!”

Quenay’s mismatched form exploded outwards like a barrage of fireworks. No longer black and white, she was suddenly red and orange and blue and fuchsia and citrine and chartreuse and lacewing and every color humanity had a word for and millions they did not. She threw her hands wide and expanded until she towered over the stadium and her vibrant hair scattered across the horizon like the northern lights, her delighted shout echoing across the ocean.

“The meaning of life is that there is no meaning,” Quenay laughed. “I was fucking with you the whole time!”

Various expressions of shock and disbelief spread throughout the crowd. Vell just smiled and enjoyed the lightshow. Quenay’s enthusiasm and her form were muted, and she shrank back down to the size of a human, though her newly vibrant and colorful form remained. She jumped for joy across the stage and grabbed Vell in a bear hug, hefting him off the ground and spinning him through the air.

“I have been waiting for so long for someone to figure this out,” Quenay said as she spun. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

She suddenly dropped Vell, and her demeanor changed in a flash. Quenay stood in front of Vell and loomed over him, though not with malice. She grabbed him by the hand that still held the Chaos rune, and clasped it tight between her own chromatic hands.

“And as the winner of my game, you are entitled to a prize,” Quenay said. “You, Vell Harlan, are the First Priest of Chaos. My rune is capable of anything, but only by my command -and now, yours.”

Vell could feel a searing warmth flow through Quenay’s hands into his, and for a second the veins of his hands felt like they were filled with magma, but they did not burn. The heat passed through him and into the rune clenched in his fist.

“You’ll have to put a little more work into it than I do, naturally,” Quenay said. “But you’re a smart guy, you’ll figure it out.”

She stepped back and released her grip on Vell’s hands. He held up his palm, and the carved rune started to float above it. Vell thought that was pretty neat.

“The power of chaos is yours to control, and yours to share.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

At the sound of the outraged cry, Quenay’s head rotated one hundred and eighty degrees with a loud snap, prompting some horrified gasps from the crowd. The divine gaze turned towards the occupant of the other spotlight: Alistair Kraid. Quenay’s colorful face flicked into a very different smile, replacing all its previous warmth and joy with sheer malice.

“Bad idea.”

Without moving, Quenay suddenly appeared by Kraid’s side, and her colorful form briefly flickered to be only shades of red.

“I was so excited I almost forgot about you,” Quenay said. “Loser.”

“You think I care about who you think wins or loses,” Kraid scoffed. “You’re an idiot. You think Vell Harlan is the master of chaos? I understand chaos better-”

“Than the average boulder, but that’s about it,” Quenay said. She grabbed Kraid by the cheek and turned him towards her. “You see, a lot of people think ‘life is chaos’, sure, but nobody ever really gets it right!”

Kraid swatted at the Goddess with his skeletal arm, and his blackened bones turned to dust the second they brushed against Quenay’s glowing skin. She didn’t so much as flinch.

“Just a bunch of misanthropes and edgy teenagers, mostly,” Quenay said. “And worst of all: you. The kind of guy who thinks just because destruction and death are unpleasant means they’re chaotic. I’m afraid not, mister ‘smartest man on earth’.”

Quenay shifted position again, appearing by Kraid’s other side to lean on his still-intact organic shoulder.

“You think just because you destroy and burn and kill you’re ‘chaotic’,” Quenay said. “But the thing is, none of that is special, unique, or even unexpected. Gravity can destroy. Chemical reactions burn. Time kills. No matter how many hoops you jump through or fancy tricks you try to pull, Kraid, you’re just another expression of entropy in a universe already full to bursting with it.”

Quenay shifted again, and appeared behind Kraid. She grabbed the back of his head and lifted him off the ground, letting him dangle helplessly in the air.

“Building, sharing, and preserving is how you defy the cruel order of the universe,” Quenay said. “Kindness is chaos.”

She raised her hand even higher, holding Kraid aloft for everyone to see, displaying him like a prize fish caught on a hook.

“Now it’s time for my second favorite part of the gig,” Quenay said. “Karmic punishment.”

Kraid tried to strike back, and a gout of green-black fire danced off Quenay’s chromatic form, rejected from the spectrum of her divinity.

“You wanted to live forever, to stand above and beyond everyone else,” Quenay said. “So I think I’m going to let you see things from the other side, Alistair Kraid. I am going to give you immortality.”

Kraid attempts at retaliation ended as his forehead started to sting, and he felt pain for the first time in years. The crest of his brow burned white-hot as ten blazing lines formed a rune on his forehead.

“But I am going to take your ability to form new memories,” Quenay said. “You are going to wander this world forever, lost and alone, scared and stupid, watching the world leave you behind.”

The burning rune on Kraid’s forehead was almost complete, missing only its final line. Quenay dragged him through the air and forced Kraid to face Vell Harlan.

“And the last thing you will ever remember will be the face of the man who beat you!”

The last burning line of the rune cut its way across Kraid’s forehead, and Quenay pulled him back to whisper in his ear.

“Nothing personal.”

As the final line burned into place, and the rune completed, Kraid let out a scream of defiant rage -and then vanished. Quenay lowered her hand and wiped her palm clean.

“Ugh, dude’s hair is greasy,” Quenay said. “Being evil doesn’t stop you from using shampoo, Alice.”

“What’d you do to him?” Vell said. “I thought you were making him immortal?”

“I did,” Quenay said. “I just teleported him really far away. He doesn’t need long-term memory to strangle you.”

“Oh, yeah, makes sense.”

“When—well, if—he ever digs himself out from under that sand dune in the Gobi Desert, he’ll never be able to track you down,” Quenay said. “You’re good.”

For a second, Vell contemplated the fact that Kraid was going to suffer an eternity of torment thousands of times worse than death could ever be. Then he remembered Kraid absolutely deserved it and moved on.

“Thank you for that,” Vell said. He held up the floating rune in his hand. “And for this.”

“Anything for you, First Priest,” Quenay said, making a tiny, joking bow as she spoke.

“Could I ask you a question, Quenay?”

“Shoot.”

“How much of all that stuff you told me was a lie?”

“Almost nothing, if you can believe it,” Quenay said. She’d spent quite a bit of time talking to Vell last year, and kept the deception to a minimum. “It’s a lot easier to get away with a lie if you cage it in truth. Other than the whole ‘God of Life’ thing, I think everything I told you was true. I can’t go in bathrooms, I don’t like Jared Leto, and I really am pretty bad at video games.”

A very small group of students in the audience took that news a lot better than most. Vell took the news in stride too. Quenay had been smiling for a while now, but the corners of her mouth had taken on a coy new curl at Vell’s question. Maybe she’d been trying to hide her big lie among the little truths -or maybe she just didn’t want to lie. Vell doubted he’d ever get a straight answer, but he had his suspicions.

“Anything else, my Priest?”

“No, that about covers it,” Vell said.

“Really? No more questions?”

“Well, not from me,” Vell said. “I think they might have something.”

Vell pointed at the edge of the stage, where Joan and Helena were trying to get a wheelchair up a set of stairs.

“Oh my me,” Quenay said. She summoned the two up to the stage with another burst of divine movement. “I am so sorry about that, I got so excited I forgot to make the stage handicap accessible, that is all my fault but I’ll fix it right away, please don’t sue me.”

The staircases leading to the stage were instantly joined by a set of very accommodating ramps. Helena did a quick double take between the ramps and the Goddess.

“Is that an option?”

“A very convoluted one, but yes,” Quenay said. “The Lawyer God is a real piece of work, though.”

“I’ll take a chance to ask for a favor, instead,” Helena said. Quenay stepped back and regarded her silently. “I’ve been hoping for a miracle all my life, and you’re the only source of miracles I know.”

Helena shook her head and swallowed her pride once again.

“Can you help me? Please?”

“Oh, very bold,” Quenay said. She drifted in a tight circle around Helena. “You see, I’ve been keeping an eye on things, and I couldn’t help but notice that up until about three hours ago, you were trying to kill my boy.”

She blinked to Vell’s side and gave him an affectionate pat on the head, then blinked in front of Helena to glare down at her.

“After everything you’ve done, do you think three hours of being slightly helpful entitles you to anything?” Quenay said. “Do you really think you deserve my help?”

Helena sat in her wheelchair, with the eyes of the entire island on her, and the multicolored eyes of a Goddess also bearing down from on high.

“No.”

She reached up and grabbed Joan’s hand for support.

“But it’s help,” Helena said. “You don’t have to deserve it. You just have to need it.”

“Oh, she’s been paying attention,” Quenay said. She kicked off the ground and hovered a few inches above Helena. “Very well! For the sisters who are a little bad and a little good, I have a prize that’s a little bad and a little good. You want a miracle, make it yourself.”

She spread her hands out to Joan and Helena. Mismatched eyes flashed with myriad colors even faster than usual.

“You can do it. You can find the cure you’re looking for, and you can do it right. No hurting, no lying, no stealing, nothing bad,” Quenay said. “Maybe slightly annoying some people you have to repeatedly ask for help or call in the middle of the night, but nothing worse than that.”

Quenay tucked her hands behind her back and floated a little closer to Helena, with a devious smile on her face.

“But...you have exactly two years, fifty-eight days, thirteen hours, and seventeen minutes to pull it off,” Quenay said. “You don’t make it happen, you have no one to blame but yourselves. Good luck!”

Quenay took off in a spiral of light and hovered about a dozen feet above the stage.

“Let’s see...A prize, a punishment, and something a little in-between,” Quenay said. “Seems like my work here is done!”

A hand in the crowd shot up. In spite of herself, Quenay looked down at it.

“Hi, yes, what is it?”

“Uh, yes, hi, I’m Iman?”

“Hi Iman, nice to meet you,” Quenay said. “Do you have a question or were you hoping for another miracle, because I’m all out of freebies. There’s rules to this whole divine handout thing, there has to be a game attached, you know, winner slash loser, prize and punishment, that whole shebang, and I’m already stretching it a bit with Helena’s thing.”

“I did have a question, actually,” Iman said. “So this whole thing was some kind of big trick? We don’t get the meaning of life, or power over life and death, or anything.”

“No. That kind of meaning doesn’t exist,” Quenay said. “Nor does that power. The most power anyone can have over their life is how they choose to live it. There is no goal to meet, no purpose to fulfill, no standard you have to live up to. There’s just you, and how you choose to live. And all of you chose to live well. There won’t always be a Goddess to save you. You have to choose to save each other, and you did. You chose the hard road of selflessness when the easy path of greed was laid out before you, and you did it together.”

Quenay floated a little closer to the audience and smiled down at them lovingly.

“The world is cold and merciless, but you can choose to be kind and gentle,” Quenay said. “I hope you remember that whenever life is hard.”

Iman’s hand shot up again.

“Yes, Iman, what is it?”

“That’s very nice and all, but my mom has leukemia,” Iman said. “I was kind of banking on the power of life and death stuff.”

A few members of the crowd murmured in agreement and offered up various examples of similar circumstances. Quenay cringed with shame and started to float downwards.

“Oh geez,” Quenay said. She blinked behind Vell and leaned on his shoulder. “Vell, they like you, help me out here.”

“Yeah, sure, on it,” Vell said. Apparently bailing out a Goddess was part of his duties as First Priest of Chaos. He stepped up and waved to the crowd. “Hi, uh, everyone, I’m Vell Harlan.”

“We know!”

“Right! Anyway,” Vell continued. “Uh, I have this now, the Chaos Rune, hypothetically capable of anything. As you all might have seen earlier, it’s self-charging, draws energy from ambient chaos, that’s very nice. Going to be great for mana consumption, you know, lower energy costs, keep that carbon footprint down, very good for the environment.”

A few people in the audience nodded approvingly.

“Also, this means we can now create rune sequences by controlling chaos rather than building up from order,” Vell Harlan continued. “That probably doesn’t mean a lot to most of you outside rune tech fields, but trust me, it is going to be huge. I can’t promise a specific solution to, uh, anything, but there’s going to be a lot of new developments that help a lot of new people.”

Even Iman nodded in understanding this time. It was certainly no power over life and death, but it would do a lot of good for a lot of people.

“And if you’d like to be at the forefront of those discoveries,” Harley shouted, from her seat in the audience. “Harlan Industries will be accepting applications soon!”

“Harley,” Lee snapped. “Is now really the time for advertising?”

“What? Kraid ate like ninety percent of the tech industry and he just got buried under Mongolia,” Harley said. “There’s a trillion-dollar gap that needs to be filled, we might as well be the ones to fill it.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Lee said. “Oh dear.”

Overhead, heedless to an impending economic crisis, Quenay soared back into the air and hovered over the crowd.

“Okay, everybody good? Everyone satisfied?”

No one raised any further questions or protests. Quenay spiraled in the air happily and trailed a sparkling chromatic light behind her.

“Well then, before I go,” Quenay said. “There is one more thing I need.”

She blinked back to the stage and swirled around Vell, bearing him up on a beam of multicolored light. He hovered above the stage, above the crowd, highlighted by every spotlight and the swirling colors of Quenay.

“I need you to give it up for the man who beat the unbeatable and solved the unsolvable,” Quenay boomed. “Let’s hear it for Vell Harlan!”

With one last wink at Vell, Quenay raced upwards into the sky, trailing fireworks behind her. Vell fell down from his spot in the air, but he never hit the ground. His friends and the crowd had rushed the stage to catch him, and he fell into their waiting arms, landing entrapped in hugs from Harley and Lee and a kiss from Skye, caught in the middle of a prison of cheers and congratulations.

Vell was the center of attention, and he didn’t mind at all.

Not at first, at least. After his shaking his two-hundredth hand, the novelty of success was starting to wear off. The ceaseless curiosity wasn’t much better. Everybody wanted to know how the Chaos Rune worked, which Vell only mostly understood himself. Having to repeat himself so many times at least led him to develop a concise explanation fairly quickly.

“It’s kind of like carving something down instead of building something up,” Vell said. “Like, with other runes you’re starting from nothing and creating, the way you’d build a house, but this is more like sculpting a statue. You start with something that could be anything and pare it down until it’s what you want.”

“Don’t you only have the one rune on your back?”

“Yeah, well, Quenay’s a Goddess, so she could just make it do whatever she wants,” Vell said. “Us mortals have to put more work into it, like she said.”

“Fascinating,” Amy said. “It’s a good thing we’re graduating, Harlan, I think you just rewrote the whole textbook on runes.”

“Lucky you,” Isabel said. She still had a year of study to go.

“It’ll make more sense when someone better at teaching is explaining it,” Vell said. “I’m not exactly up to-”

Vell stopped himself mid-sentence as Dean Lichman cut through the crowd.

“Please, god, don’t offer me a teaching job,” Vell groaned.

“Not exactly my intention, Vell,” Dean Lichman said. “Though we would be happy to have you, I respect that teaching is not your intended career. I was actually hoping to borrow center stage from you for a moment.”

“By all means, go ahead,” Vell said. It’d be nice to have a break. Dean Lichman nodded gratefully, then stepped up and held up the microphone that fed into the school’s PA system.

“Hello everyone! I’ll happily get you back to your celebrations in a moment, but I just wanted to announce that we have re-established contact with the Council of Einstein’s. A recovery operation is underway, and they have re-appointed me as the school’s Dean!”

People cheered and applauded, though not quite as many as Dean Lichman might’ve hoped.

“I am happy to let you all know that the school will be resuming normal operations tomorrow!”

Another cheer came to an abrupt and worrying end.

“Wait,” someone shouted back. “Does that mean we have tests again?”

“I suppose,” Dean Lichman said. “Yes.”

“I haven’t studied!”

A screaming, panicked crowd nearly trampled each other on their way back to textbooks and study guides.

“Please, no, calm down, calm down,” Dean Lichman said. “We’ll be mindful of the circumstances and offer very lenient scheduling and extension policies.”

The Dean’s desperate attempts to keep order managed to keep anyone from getting trampled to death, but the stands were emptied in seconds, and Quenay’s stadium fell silent.

“Well, that did not have the intended effect,” Dean Lichman said.

“Probably for the best,” Vell said. He stretched out a sore hand and yawned. “Man, once the crowd is gone there’s just nothing left in the tank, is there?”

“The concert crash strikes,” Roxy said. She gave Vell a firm pat on the back. “Rest well, my brother. You have rocked hard enough for a hundred lifetimes.”

She saluted once, turned around, and then turned right back around.

“Oh, and by the way, First Priest of Chaos is a kickass album name, do you mind if I…?”

“Go for it,” Vell said. “But also, I’ve been taking guitar lessons lately, maybe I could…?”

Roxy pointed at Vell, and Vell pointed right back at Roxy.

“Sounds like a plan, little brother,” Roxy said. “We’ll hash out the details later. You need to get some shuteye.”

“Yeah. I think I need to get back to my dorm,” Vell said.

“Speaking of dorms, where the hell am I sleeping?” Leanne said. “We were a little busy world-saving to sort out logistics.”

“This is not a concern of mine,” Sarah said, before wandering off into the night. Himiko and Kanya watched her wander away, but did not follow. Joan put a hand on her chin.

“It’s technically Skye’s dorm, but I guess I have some-”

Harley hip-checked Lee so hard she bumped into Joan. Both of them started to blush.

“Nevermind, occupied,” Joan mumbled.

“I’ve got a couch,” Vell said. “I think the chair could work too for someone not picky, I think there’s some cots in storage-”

“Hey, First Priest of Chaos,” Kim said. She grabbed Vell’s head and gave it a little shake. “It’s three in the morning and you’ve already saved the world and invented a new field of science. Call it quits for the day, and go get some sleep. We’ll figure this one out without you.”

“I...okay,” Vell said. His friends gave him a last few congratulations, that then turned into a chorus of “Now go the fuck to sleep”. Vell took their advice and wandered off to his dorm, hand in hand with Skye. He got to his dorm, took off his shirt, and looked down at the circular scar around his waist, felt the rune still engraved in his back. He thought back to the first time he’d seen those marks, to the frightened twelve-year old he’d been.

Vell wished he could go back and tell that little kid how everything would turn out -tell him everything would be alright. Then he realized there was no possible way he could sensibly explain anything that had happened in the past four years to anyone, not even himself. Vell settled for lying down next to Skye, and falling into a peaceful, satisfied sleep. For the first time since he’d been that little kid, so many years ago, Vell Harlan slept without the weight of the world on his back.

[Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art][Next Chapter]

“Quenay.”

Alistair Kraid sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his divine trap. He had his skeletal hand laid flat on the floor, with tendrils of green-black fire extending from every fingertip to flow across the floor and ensnare the godly mechanism. One last bit of reinforcement before the curtain call.

“If you can hear me, and I think you can,” Kraid said. “Just know that this isn’t personal.”

The sickly flames of black magic surged, and lances of the unholy fire lashed across the room like solar flares.

“Well, technically it’s deeply personal,” Kraid said. “But not in the way most people mean that. You’ve never done anything to wrong me, of course, at least not that I know of. I’ve never met you, or been offended by you. You just exist.”

The waves of black fire washed over Kraid himself, and he did not flinch.

“And I just can’t tolerate that,” Kraid said. “Again, not in a personal way, it’s more like a mountain climber, right? I see a challenge and I can’t help myself, I have to conquer you just to say that I did it.”

Kraid’s entire life had been devoted to meeting challenges. Testing the limits of the law, of love, of life itself. People called him evil (and that was objectively true), but Kraid only ever saw himself as a scientist, always seeking to explore the newest, most challenging horizon.

For a time, that distant horizon had been Vell’s mysterious rune. Then the time loops. Now it was Quenay, and the secrets of the Last Goddess. One by one, Kraid would find out every secret. Every mystery would be solved, every barrier would fall, and every enemy would be defeated. He’d face every challenge and win. Like he always did.

***

Something made a very loud booming noise. Vell looked up from his papers.

“What was that?”

“Sorry, that was dad,” Skye shouted back.

“Normal experiment, just forgot to turn off the bit that makes noise for purely dramatic purposes,” Doc Ragnarok said. “All better now.”

Vell shook his head. The perils of working with a retired supervillain. He shifted his focus to an email from Adele and the arts students, with a list of historic symbols relating to life and divinity. Vell found a place for it in his rapidly-expanding web of information and let someone else do the rest. He was getting so much information so fast he’d had to divert Hawke and some other students just to parsing it out and sending it to everyone who might need it, as Vell himself could no longer possibly keep track.

The flow of information lulled slightly, so Vell got a drink of water and focused on what he was best at. He stretched out his carving hand and got to work on another variation of the ten-lined rune. The rune on the base of his spine trembled with energy now, almost like it was surging with power as the moment of truth approached. Vell wished it would do a little more than surge. He needed whatever help he could get. That rune had been on his back for more than a decade and he still couldn’t figure it out.

In an entirely predictable outcome, the most recent experiment was just as much a failure as the last few hundred. Vell tossed the useless rune into his extradimensional storage bag with the rest. He’d had to sweep up the failure pile, both for the sake of storage space and because it was getting so big it was starting to be demoralizing.

A little hydrokinetic magic had provided Vell with a perpetually-cold ice pack to rest his wrist on for some quick relief. He was starting to consider redirecting some medical students to find a cure for carpal tunnel, because he was going to need it.

“Hey boss,” Amy said. Vell had opted to leave his office door open, so she didn’t need to do her usual barging in. “If you’re not too busy suffering the crushing burden of destiny, we got an experiment we could use advice on.”

“I can suffer and help at the same time,” Vell said. “That’s multitasking.”

“Hell yeah, that’s why you’re in charge,” Amy said. “Come on.”

Amy led the way to one of the clusters of rune tech students across the room. Joan was personally overseeing the group, with Helena close at hand.

“Vell. We’ve been going through the divine information Helena brought over, and we think we’re on to something,” Joan said.

“The ol’ Burton Method might have some legs on it yet,” Amy said. “We compared the god-data to some historical methods of runecarving, and we think we’ve got a model that might work.”

Reg handed over an intricate diagram with instructions on how to carve a ten-lined rune, and notes on why they believed their method was right. Vell studied the instructions carefully, looking for any inconsistencies.

“Do you think it’s right?”

In spite of all the color and motion in the room, Vell still felt hyper-aware of the slightest twitches of purple wings. There were butterflies perched all over every window in the room, staring inward, staring at him. Watching on behalf of the Butterfly Guy, on the lookout for that moment: the question only Vell could answer. He wondered if this was that question.

“Only one way to find out,” Vell said. Vell had started to keep a chisel and a slate on him at all times, so he didn’t need any supplies to get started. He took a seat, followed the directions, and carved out a rune line by line. The other students watched and held their breath. Luckily for the breath-holders, Vell could carve pretty fast, so they weren’t breathless for long.

“Okay. Charge that up, and...we’ll see.”

Joan took the rune and sent a spark of magical energy into it. For a moment, the rune flickered with energy, and everyone’s heart skipped a beat. Then the flickering faded, leaving behind nothing but dead stone and disappointment.

“Put it under the scanner, maybe I made a mistake,” Vell said. Amy took it and held it under a surface scanner used to detect imperfections in runes.

“Looks like it meets our spec,” Amy said. “Must’ve been our mistake.”

“Wait, maybe it’s my fault,” Joan said. “Something like this would need a lot of power, right? Lee, maybe you should try charging it.”

“If the magic source were insufficient it would’ve just had a typical non-charge, not the flicker fade,” Vell said. “You did fine. It’s just not the right carve.”

“Sorry, Vell,” one of the students mumbled.

“It’s fine. You did good, we just need to keep at it,” Vell said.

He grabbed some papers off a nearby table. They had printed out some guides on rune structure for their uninitiated helpers, and Vell snatched one of the sheets displaying the perfectly straight top-to-bottom line at the center of every rune, the one that represented “Order”.

“We’ve always got this,” Vell said. “We always know step one, so we’re never starting from scratch.”

He clenched that piece of paper tight in his hands and headed back to his office. Lee and Harley, who had been observing from the backline, followed him in. After a quick nod from Joan, Helena also started rolling that way. Vell sank into his chair and put his head in his hands, and didn’t realize he’d been followed until a few seconds had passed.

“Vell,” Lee said. “It’s nearly three in the morning. Do you need a break?”

“I’m not sure now is the time for a break,” Helena said.

“Rest is an investment in future productivity, and is therefore productive,” Lee said.

“I- I know,” Helena said. “But do you remember what I told you about Kraid’s timeline? He’s going to be activating that god trap any minute.”

Helena nodded towards a nearby clock. They were nearing the exact second when Kraid’s preparation window would be ending. Helena doubted that her departure would affect Kraid’s timeline in any way, so she could only assume they’d be seeing his grand plan any second.

After considering what she was about to say, Harley stood up and closed the door behind her, to muffle their conversation a little more.

“Well, are we worried about Kraid?” Harley said. “According to the Butterfly Guy-”

“Butterfly Guy?” Helena said.

“Long story, we’ll get you up to speed on the good guy lore later,” Harley said. “According to him, Vell’s the only person who can answer this whole big question thingy anyway. Doesn’t that mean Kraid can’t possibly win?”

“Even if we assume that to be the case, there are a lot of possible consequences to Kraid ‘losing’,” Helena said. “If the god trap is an utter failure, there’d still be nothing stopping him from blowing up this entire island to cover up his mistakes.”

“Ah,” Lee said. “Perhaps a slight time crunch, then.”

“What do you think, Vell?” Joan asked. “How close do you think we are to figuring this out?”

Vell looked down at the single line on a sheet of paper, and shook his head.

“I have no idea.”

He set the paper down and slouched back in his chair.

“We’re going nowhere,” Vell admitted. “Running in circles, always coming back to nothing.”

“Vell?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Vell snapped. “None of it makes any sense!”

He slammed his fist down on the desk hard enough to make it shake. A stack of papers slid off, exposing a multicolored ceramic elephant that had gotten buried in stacks of data. Vell snatched a fistful of reports and shook them at his friends.

“It’s like a spiderweb without a center, all this information is correct, it’s all connected, but none of it connects in the right way,” Vell ranted. “No matter what we find out there’s just a gap in the middle of everything!”

He tossed aside the documents and grabbed another fistful of useful useless information. He had a desk full of once-in-a-lifetime brilliance, a collection of information that would’ve made the Library of Alexandria weep with envy, and it was all useless.

“There’s supposed to be some answer here, something that makes it all make sense, but there’s nothing,” Vell said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

He tossed more papers aside and leaned on his desk. In the middle of all the data, his eyes locked on to the inexplicable multicolored elephant.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled. “Why doesn’t it make sense?”

“Maybe we should try a new approach,” Helena suggested. “We could-”

Harley gave her a very gentle whack in the shoulder.

“Helena, shut up.”

“I know I probably don’t deserve to be here, but I think I can contribute-”

“No, not like that, just shut up,” Harley whispered. “Vell’s forehead is wrinkling.”

Helena looked at Vell. He was staring at the messy elephant with a single wrinkle on his forehead.

“Is that significant?”

“It might be the most significant event in history,” Lee said.

Outside, Adele silently examined a butterfly, scouring the gentle flapping of its marked wings for any clues. She got a very big clue when the flapping stopped. Across the campus, every butterfly stopped as one, frozen, motionless, compound eyes fixed on the rune tech labs, and on Vell Harlan.

Vell continued to stare at the ceramic elephant. In all his musings, Vell had never been able to come up with a reason why Professor Nguyen had owned such a thing, much less kept in a place of importance on her desk. There was no reason for it. But Nguyen had kept it anyway.

Vell’s brow furrowed, and his forehead developed a second wrinkle.

Vell looked up at Helena and Joan, at two people who had betrayed him, hurt him, and even killed him, but still chosen to trust him in the end. He had chosen to trust them too. He hadn’t really had a reason. But he’d done it anyway. Third wrinkle.

He looked towards Harley and Lee, his most trusted companions over years caught in the time loops. The time loops had never made any sense, they had no rhyme or reason, and they were purely destructive. In a rational world, the daily doomsdays would have been a source of nothing but confusion and pain. Yet he’d managed to get his two best friends, a lifetime’s worth of joy, from the loops.

Harley started to smile with delight when the famous fourth wrinkle appeared on Vell’s forehead. All of his friends waited with bated breath, watching, not daring to interfere -except for one friend(?). Helena was, as ever, slightly less patient than everyone around her.

“Vell,” she said. “Why doesn’t it make sense?”

Vell looked up at her, and locked eyes with Helena. He spent a few seconds staring at eyes filled with pain, confusion, conflict, regret -and hope. The lines on his forehead moved a little further. Harley gasped as a previously unseen fifth wrinkle appeared on Vell’s forehead.

Below the five-wrinkled forehead, intense eyes turned to stared down at a single line, the foundation of everything Vell had ever studied, the central truth around which his entire field of wisdom rotated. The structured, monochrome perfection of the Order line stood in perfect contrast to the misshapen, multicolored elephant.

The world was silent. The butterflies watched. The forehead wrinkles vanished. Vell looked down at that universal line, the foundation of everything he knew to be true -and he turned it upside down.

“Because it doesn’t have to.”

The butterflies took wing. Thousands took to the skies at once, filling the air with a cyclone flurry of iridescent purple. Students across campus watched in awe as the mass of butterflies took off in one great swarm and then scattered. The night sky sparkled with impossible purple wings that faded into nothing as each one departed to parts unknown.

“I got it.”

Vell Harlan barreled past his friends and slammed through the door.

“I got it!”

All the work in the room ground to a halt in an instant, and every eye turned to Vell Harlan.

“I go-”

The sky outside went from sparkling purple to sickly green. The island below their feet shook harder than any earthquake, and the air filled with the shrill sounds of a resonant scream. Joan raced to the window and looked in the direction of Kraid’s lab. A pillar of green-black fire shot into the sky, and drew down streaks of white light from the stars themselves, with the flaring of light matching the rise and fall of the shrill shrieking sounds. Joan covered her mouth in shock as she realized what she was hearing -the agonized screams of a Goddess being torn from the heavens.

“We’re too late,” Joan gasped.

“Nope, that’s fine,” Vell said. His chipper attitude had not been affected in any way by the deicide being perpetrated before his eyes. “All good.”

The island resonated with the desperate pleas of Quenay, the Last Goddess. Students managed to tear their eyes away from the horror long enough to stare quizzically at Vell.

“I acknowledge that this looks bad, but trust me,” Vell said. He held up his hands as another lance of green fire punctuated an earth-shaking scream. “Totally fine.”

He pointed to the door.

“I probably should head over there, though, you guys can come if you want,” Vell said. He headed out the door, and the other students shrugged and followed.

There were students all across the quad, some of them covering their ears to try and mute the pained screams, some of them on their knees, some of them weeping at the prospect of their utter failure. All of their lamentations ground to a halt when they saw Vell Harlan walking across campus with a spring in his step, followed by a horde of confused students. Curiosity got the better of even the most melancholy students, and they followed him as well, spreading the word to all those scattered around campus that Vell was either about to save the world, or had gone completely insane. Either way, it would be interesting to watch.

At the heart of misery, as he often was, Alistair Kraid smiled with complete and utter satisfaction. He could see his own reflection in the crystal walls of the divine cage, and saw the all-too-familiar smile of a man who knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had won. The cage swirled with mystic energy -the trapped essence of a Goddess. A corporeal form could barely be seen in the midst of the divine glow, thrashing against the glass in a desperate bid for freedom.

“Don’t bother,” Kraid said. “I always win, Quenay.”

Inside the divine prison, Kraid could barely make out two hands pressed against the glass -and a pair of mismatched eyes glaring at him with utter disdain. He glared right back, at least until he heard the doors slam open.

“Oh, there’s that audience I wanted,” Kraid said. “So I didn’t lose anything after a-”

Clap.

Clap.

“Who-”

Clap.

“Who the fuck is sarcastically slow-clapping me?”

Clap.

Kraid turned his eyes down to the crowd that was rapidly filling the lab. As expected, he saw Vell Harlan at the head of it, slowly putting his hands together in mock applause.

“Harlan. You-”

Clap.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to congratulate you on a job well done.”

Vell stepped up on stage, right alongside Kraid, and examined the elaborate crystal walls of the divine prison the way a parent might examine a toddler’s crayon scribbles.

“Really spot on work, I do have to give you credit,” Vell said. “This thing is absolutely perfect. Flawless design, exactly what you need to capture and contain a Goddess of Life.”

Kraid glared at Vell and waited for the hook.

“There is just one slightly minor teeny tiny ever-so-insignificant problem, though.”

Vell leaned on the crystal wall, hand pressed against the diamond barrier, and turned to Kraid with a smile on his face. It took Kraid a moment to recognize that smile, as it was an utterly foreign expression on Vell Harlan’s face: the all-too-familiar smile of a man who knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had won.

“Quenay,” Vell said. “Is not the God of Life.”

“Wh-”

The crystal tank made a thumping nose. From within, a hand pressed against the diamond wall, as Quenay gave Vell a deific high five.

The divine prison exploded. So did everything else.

Big Brother Dreams

For years, Tyler dreamed of being a big brother. “I want a baby sibling,” he’d plead to his parents, his hopeful grin as wide as the sun. Despite their gentle explanations that a baby wasn’t something they could promise, Tyler’s excitement never wavered.

Two years after his fifth birthday, his mom finally sat him down, her face glowing with joy. “Tyler,” she said softly, “you’re going to be a big brother.”

Tyler’s heart nearly burst with happiness. “Really?” he whispered, his wide eyes sparkling with disbelief. When his mom nodded, he let out a cheer loud enough to wake the neighbors.

From that day forward, Tyler’s world revolved around preparing for the baby. He spent hours drawing pictures of their soon-to-be family, making plans to teach the baby everything he knew. He promised to help his parents, vowing to be the best big brother ever.

Every step Tyler took was a miracle to his family. Born prematurely, he had faced challenges from the start. Doctors had once warned that Tyler might struggle with physical activities or coordination, but he proved them wrong time and again. His resilience and determination inspired everyone who knew him, and now he was ready to pour that same energy into being a big brother.

As the baby’s due date approached, the house buzzed with activity. Tyler’s parents were busy assembling cribs, folding tiny clothes, and double-checking hospital bags. Tyler, meanwhile, practiced holding a doll his mom had given him, carefully rocking it in his arms. “I’m ready,” he declared.

When the big day arrived, Tyler stayed with the neighbor, clutching a crayon drawing of their family—himself, his parents, and the baby—while he waited for news. Hours later, his parents returned home with a tiny, swaddled bundle.

“Tyler,” his mom said, kneeling beside him with tears in her eyes, “meet your baby brother, Caleb.”

Tyler’s eyes widened as he stared at Caleb, wrapped snugly in a soft blue blanket. His little face was rosy and delicate, his hands no bigger than Tyler’s thumb. Tyler reached out tentatively, his hands trembling with awe.

“Hi, Caleb,” he whispered as his parents carefully placed the baby in his arms. He cradled Caleb with all the care his little body could muster. Caleb stirred, letting out a soft yawn, and Tyler beamed. “I’m your big brother. I’m going to teach you everything I know.”

From that day forward, Tyler was Caleb’s constant companion. He sat close by during every feeding, offered to fetch diapers during every change, and sang silly made-up songs during every nap.

“Mom, can I hold him?” became Tyler’s favorite question. His mom often laughed, her heart swelling with pride at Tyler’s enthusiasm.

One afternoon, as Tyler gently rocked Caleb’s cradle, his mom rested a hand on his shoulder. “Tyler,” she said, her voice full of affection, “you’re going to be an amazing big brother.”

Tyler nodded solemnly. “I want Caleb to always know I’m here for him,” he said, his young face glowing with determination.

As the weeks turned into months, Caleb began responding to Tyler’s endless attention. His biggest smiles were reserved for his brother, and his giggles echoed joyfully whenever Tyler made goofy faces.

“I think he likes my singing!” Tyler announced proudly one day after Caleb erupted into laughter at his latest silly tune.

By the time Caleb started sitting up on his own, Tyler had become his fiercest protector. At the playground, Tyler stayed close, ready to catch Caleb if he wobbled. When Caleb cried, Tyler was often the first to comfort him, offering his own favorite toys without hesitation.

One afternoon, their mom paused in the doorway of their shared bedroom, drawn by the sound of Tyler’s gentle voice. She found him crouched next to Caleb, who was sitting on a blanket surrounded by colorful blocks.

“You know, Caleb,” Tyler said earnestly, “when I was born, the doctors said I wouldn’t be able to do a lot of things. But I proved them wrong. And you know what? You can do anything too. I’ll help you.”

Their mom’s heart swelled as she watched the quiet exchange. Tyler’s words were simple but full of love, a promise between brothers that would last a lifetime.

Growing Together

As Caleb grew older, he became a bundle of energy and curiosity, always wanting to do what Tyler was doing. Tyler, now a seasoned big brother, took every opportunity to teach Caleb about the world. Whether it was reading books, building towers out of blocks, or exploring the backyard, they were inseparable.

One summer afternoon, the two brothers found themselves on a "jungle expedition" in their backyard. Tyler led the way, holding a makeshift map he had drawn, while Caleb toddled behind him, clutching a plastic magnifying glass.

“Keep up, Caleb!” Tyler called over his shoulder.

“I’m coming, Ty!” Caleb puffed, his little legs struggling to keep pace.

Tyler stopped and crouched down to Caleb’s level, pointing to a patch of wildflowers. “See that? It’s a rare jungle flower,” he said with the authority of an expert.

Caleb’s eyes widened as he peered through his magnifying glass. “Wow,” he whispered, as if he truly believed they were deep in the Amazon.

Moments like these became the foundation of their relationship—Tyler, the fearless leader, and Caleb, his eager sidekick.

Challenges and Triumphs

As Caleb entered preschool, he began to face challenges of his own. He was shy around other kids and hesitant to speak up in class. One day, he came home with tears in his eyes, clutching his backpack tightly.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Tyler asked, kneeling beside him.

“I tried to talk to some kids, but they didn’t hear me,” Caleb mumbled, his voice quivering.

Tyler pulled him into a hug. “Hey, it’s okay. It takes time. Want to practice with me?”

Caleb nodded, and the two spent the afternoon role-playing different scenarios. Tyler pretended to be a classmate, encouraging Caleb to speak louder and look him in the eye. Slowly, Caleb’s confidence began to grow, bolstered by Tyler’s patience and encouragement.

The next week, when Caleb came home from school, he ran straight to Tyler. “Guess what, Ty? I made a friend!”

Tyler’s face lit up. “That’s awesome, Caleb! I told you you could do it.”

A Team Forever

Years passed, and the brothers faced new adventures and challenges together. When Tyler started middle school, he worried about leaving Caleb behind at elementary school.

“Will you still play with me when you get home?” Caleb asked one evening, his big brown eyes filled with concern.

“Of course,” Tyler replied without hesitation. “We’re a team, remember?”

And Tyler kept his promise. No matter how busy his school days became, he always made time for Caleb. Whether it was helping him with homework, playing soccer in the yard, or just sitting together watching their favorite movies, Tyler made sure Caleb never felt left out.

Lessons in Resilience

One day, during a family dinner, their mom shared a memory. “Do you remember when Tyler was little and the doctors said he might not be able to do certain things?”

Caleb’s fork paused mid-air. “What things?”

Tyler smiled. “Oh, they thought I might have trouble running or writing or even climbing stairs. But I worked hard, and now look at me!” He flexed his arm dramatically, making Caleb laugh.

Caleb’s face grew serious. “But how did you do it?”

“I never gave up,” Tyler said simply. “And I had people who believed in me—like Mom and Dad. And now, I have you, too.”

Caleb beamed. “You’re my hero, Ty.”

The Unbreakable Bond

As Tyler and Caleb continued to grow, their bond only strengthened. Caleb became braver and more confident, thanks to Tyler’s unwavering support, and Tyler found joy and purpose in being Caleb’s role model.

On Caleb’s seventh birthday, he made a special announcement during his party. “Everyone says you make wishes when you blow out the candles, but I don’t need to. My wish already came true because I have the best big brother in the world.”

Tyler felt his eyes sting with emotion as Caleb hugged him tightly. “And I have the best little brother,” he replied.

Looking Ahead

Though life brought changes—new schools, new friends, and new challenges—one thing remained constant: Tyler and Caleb’s bond. They were each other’s greatest cheerleaders, strongest allies, and best friends.

And no matter where life took them, they carried the promise Tyler had made long ago: “I’ll help you. Always.”

“I think I found it!” Elain Windchild shouted in an excited voice, floating three feet from the floor.

The girl that spent close to an hour using wind magic on everything in sight, to the annoyance of several other participants. It seemed that her approach had finally born fruit.

Like vultures, all other mages rushed to the spot, eager to see what they had missed. Even the old man on the couch stirred, raising his head to look in her direction.

“It’s in the painting,” Elain said. “When I cast a gentle breeze on the canvas…”

The hair of the person in the portrait moved. More importantly, so did part of his oversized cloak, revealing a rather large and unmistakable keyhole.

“Canvas enchantment,” Celenia noted. “Clever. It’s not the way up, though.”

“It could be.” Elain’s expression soured. “All we have to do is find the key.”

“Seriously, Elain?” The blonde crossed her arms, looking at the other with obvious superiority. “That’s a luck keyhole. I’m sure there are several of them scattered throughout the room. Your discovery, while cute, is a complete waste of time.”

“Ellis,” Theo’s avatar whispered a short distance away as a new magic argument started brewing. “What’s going on?”

“Archmage Gregord had a tendency of leaving second chances,” the cat replied with a yawn. “It was hinted in his will that there were two ways of every challenge the tower had to offer, from being selected to climbing the floors. Many great thinkers speculated that was meant to say that there were special keyholes within each floor that allowed the owners of his key artifacts to move on without any use of magic. That’s why they’re colloquially referred to as luck keyholes.” Ellis licked her paw. “Personally, I thought it was a joke. Looks like you got lucky again.”

“Yes, very lucky…”

Or Theo would have been, if he hadn’t consumed the artifact in order to acquire its ability. That did pose an interesting question, though. Since he had obtained the spell within the item, it was theoretically possible for him to open it without the use of the key. Yet, seeing how obsessive and paranoid mages could be, there was every chance that the item had some security feature he had failed to replicate. Thus, his great advantage had been rendered useless.

One time, the dungeon thought. I’d like the universe to give me a break.

Having no intention of listening to pointless academic arguments, the avatar moved away. With problems brewing here and in Rosewind, he desperately needed a distraction to occupy his mind with and pretend everything was fine. Therefore, he resorted to a hobby that most middle-aged people acquired back in his previous life: timepieces.

With several dozen clocks in the room, all synced to show the same time, the avatar focused on the one furthest away. It was a version of those grandfather clocks that would occupy the home of a well off minor noble. Come to think of it, time devices remained a rather exotic element in the world. Even Switches, who’d created all sorts of mechanical contraptions, tended to avoid them. Upon opening the clock, Theo quickly saw why.

In a world where precision was defined by the movement of daylight, only mages and alchemists would require a detailed division of time. In both cases, the time measurer had to be perfect, which no amount of common gears could guarantee. Sealed hourglasses were a common practical solution for the non-magically inclined. With a set of them, any experiment could be followed to completion.

When it came to mages, grains of sand simply wouldn’t cut it. Every spring and gear of the clock Theo was looking at, had a series of enchantments on it, guaranteeing everything from indestructibility to perfect temperature tolerance. The mechanism of this simple clock before him could probably show time with absolute precision for the rest of eternity and would only require a constant flow of energy and an occasional enchantment check-up. Come to think of it, the dungeon could create a few of those without issue. With luck, it might impress some of the annoying guests that would arrive and make them shut up for a few minutes during the day.

Eager to test out the device, he pushed the hands of the clock, advancing time by a few hours. Suddenly, the light in the room dimmed.

Coincidence or not, the avatar quickly pulled back his hand and closed the clock’s case.

“What happened?” someone asked across the room. “Is there a time limit?”

“Of course there’s a time limit!” Laster’s annoying voice could be heard. “This is a trial. If there wasn’t a time limit, former participants would spend months here and there wouldn't have been any such cases.”

“Shows what you know,” Ellis joined in the argument. “Gregord was a master of memory magic. For all we know, this could be a Memoria’s tomb type space with time being frozen. Not to mention he also dabbled in chrono magic.”

“You stupid cat!” the skinny mage snapped. “Even if what you’re saying is true—and it isn’t—what’s the point of a trial if there’s no time limit? Why would anyone choose to leave voluntarily? We’ll all just stay here on the first floor and do nothing for all eternity.”

Making sure that no one was looking at him, the dungeon’s avatar discreetly pushed back the clock’s hand to where he remembered them being. The light in the room brightened again.

Interesting, Theo mused, with a newfound sense of achievement.

No longer concerned with the consequences, he moved the hands again. Light in the room steadily decreased until it vanished altogether, then rose back up again.

So, that’s why the clocks are here. “Everyone,” the avatar said in a firm voice. “I think I found something.”

Waiting just long enough for everyone to look his way, Theo repeated his demonstration. As could be expected, no snarky remarks followed.

“The clocks are only half the riddle,” he said. “It’s all one giant number combination. As long as we set up the correct time associated with the individual clock, we’ll open a path to the second floor.”

A lot of what he said was pure speculation based on one single observable instance, yet the dungeon’s gut told him he was on the right track. Plus, as every good manager knew, the quickest path to success was to have other people find the solution for him, especially since he was utterly clueless when it came to dates and events in the world of magic.

“A time combination,” the ebony elf knight said. “Gregord used it frequently in his memory spells. Maybe Ellis was onto something when she suggested that we were in a memory prison. There must be an important event that holds the key to our progression.”

“But what event?” Elaine Windchild wondered. “His life was full of extraordinary finds. Maybe his birthday?”

“The day he was admitted to a mage tower,” Massa Nyl joined in. “The parallels are obvious. All of us were literally admitted to Gregord's trial in his tower. It can’t be anything else.”

Several people nodded in agreement.

“Hold on!” the annoying skinny mage shouted. “If it’s a single date, why are there so many clocks? Even if we need three clocks to illustrate the year and add two for the month, one for the day, and another for the precise hour and minute, that makes a total of seven. What do we do with all the rest?” He crossed his arms in glee.

Everyone could tell that his argument was out of pure spite. Laster seemed like the type of person who’d prefer that everyone failed if it meant that Theo wouldn’t succeed. Even so, he did have a point. All eyes turned towards the baron, awaiting his response.

“Clearly, it’s only one element of the puzzle,” he said, and just to reinforce the point, moved the clock hands again as a minor form of distraction. “We see this has an effect on the room. As I said, the clocks are only half the answer. Tell me, my undernourished friend, other than the clocks, what else can be found in abundance here?”

All the floating eyeballs on the upper levels looked around.

“Books,” Siaho of the Ice Tower said. “Lots of books.”

“Indeed.” The avatar nodded.

Taking advantage of the silence, he went to the side of the clock.

“This clock, for example, has a rather elaborate pattern on the side. The sun and moon are especially notable. As we all saw, messing about with it changes the time of day. I’m sure that in one of the books, there’s an answer as to what the correct time of day we must have, as I’m confident that there are books linked to each of the clocks here. The archmage was a scholar, after all.”

No one said a word. For a moment, it almost seemed that everyone had banded together to call out Theo on his bullshit. Then suddenly, the mages rushed into various sections of the room. Books filled the air, snatched by spells, as everyone set on the task with such fervor that the dungeon had never seen in this life or the past.

“Not bad, youngster,” the old mage said, standing a step from the avatar. Theo hadn’t even noticed the man approach. “Never make it too easy for them, that’s what I always say. Ho, ho, ho,” he chuckled to himself.

“You knew the answer.” The avatar looked at the geezer. “Didn’t you?”

“Well, I might have had some idea,” the mage winked. “Just don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin their fun. Fancy another drink while the kids are at it?”

Theo considered the offer. Two things were made abundantly clear. First, the old man definitely knew more about the trial than he was putting on. If there was someone the dungeon would have to keep an eye on in the future, that was this guy. Second—the mage was openly asking him for alcohol.

“Sure,” the avatar said. “We could use a break.” He made his way towards the sofa.

“Ho, ho, ho.” The old man followed. “That’s precisely what I’ve been saying my entire adult life.”

At the same time, the most definitely unwanted guests were approaching the outer walls of Rosewind. Their arrival had been announced by a set of trumpets, a quickly assembled honor guard at the city gates, as well as a series of hasty reconstructions within the city itself.

In any other settlement, the local inhabitants would have long run off screaming into the wilderness at the sight of moving buildings or stretchable streets. In Rosewind, only the very recent arrivals took notice. After all, the city protector was an eccentric mage, so it was all good and a part of everyday life.

“Moving the alchemist next to the airship storage area isn’t the best idea, sir,” Spok said in critical fashion.

“I’ll fix that later,” Theo grumbled. “For now, the main road is all that matters.”

Normally, he wouldn’t bother with such a performance. However, as it had been individually pointed out to him by his spirit guide and by Duke Rosewind, the Avisian family was extremely influential in the country, not to mention that they had larger appetites in the area. The latter wouldn’t have been terribly bad if it didn’t involve establishing a major trade route through the area and transforming Rosewind into a third-rate goods depot.

Rows of buildings moved about, like the sides of a giant Rubic’s cube, as the dungeon put the final touches. Now, finally, the main street had successfully transformed from a serpentine series of roads to a straight, wide stretch connecting the outer city gate, the old gate, and the duke’s castle in one straight line. The process had caused multiple clusters of houses further away to be stacked in an unwelcoming fashion in an action eerily similar to sweeping dirt under a rug. Yet, that was a problem for later.

“How are things getting along, Switches?” Theo asked, as he used his recent discovery in the mage tower to create a few massive clocks on arches and buildings along the main road.

“Almost there,” the gnome replied with the same certainty he had done the last half a dozen times when asked. “Your mouth is the greatest issue, but I’ll fix it! Ten minutes at the most! Possibly twenty.”

“Twenty minutes will be too late!” The town shook.

“Sir, we talked about that,” Spok reminded gingerly. “Try to keep your temper during the event. No more than a tremor every few days.”

Ideally, it would have been preferable for there to be no tremors whatsoever until the last of the guests had left. Being a realistic spirit guide, she knew not to ask for the impossible, just to reduce the unavoidable.

“I would be calm if I didn’t have all these annoyances to deal with.” A few days ago, it was all promises of joy, mirth, and celebration. At present, Theo felt that he had been tricked into overseeing a costly wedding in addition to being roped into a magic quest he had no desire to be a part of. “Clearly I can’t go greet them in that state,” he referred to the mechanical construct of the baron that currently occupied two and a half rooms of his main building.

The few minor repairs the gnome had assured him wouldn’t take long had involved the dismantling of what was already done and disassembling it in hundreds of pieces all over the floor. Assembling all that, even through mass telekinesis, would give IKEA experts from Theo’s previous life a hard time, and that was provided that everything was fixed, which it wasn’t.

“You can always send Cmyk,” the gnome suggested.

“Cmyk?!” It took the dungeon a tremendous amount of effort not to tremble in anger. “I’m trying to create a good impression, not give that duke a pretext for leveling the city. Cmyk. That minion is a walking catastrophe.”

“The gnome has a point, sir. Cmyk is rather liked and a local celebrity. Besides, not seeing any representative on your part might be viewed as an insult.”

“You’ll be there!” the dungeon snapped.

“I am Duke Rosewind’s future bride, sir. I have to be there.” Spok adjusted her glasses. “On that note, I need to go join Cecil. Applicants for the cooking staff have arrived and I need to evaluate them.”

“Cooking what? I thought you had to welcome the guests.”

“I’ll do my evaluations after I welcome them, sir. Unless you are willing to oversee the staff hiring process as well, in addition to everything else?”

The threat shook the dungeon to its core. The thought of having to deal with hundreds more people was as appealing as a flock of griffins living in his main building. Theo already had guests and guildmasters to deal with, provided Switches actually got his construct working anytime soon.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Go ahead and take Cmyk. Don’t blame me for the consequences.”

Beyond the city walls, Duke Avisian’s carriage approached. The moment it reached the main gate, it was obvious that every bad thing that the dungeon had heard about them had been understated. Such was the disgust of the guests that even the carriage driver scoffed at the guards standing to attention at their arrival. Even Captain Ribbons, who had made sure that all of his men were flawlessly dressed for the occasion, was looked upon as a beggar. The worst part of it—the Avisians didn’t even seem all that rich. In the eyes of a common villager they no doubt appeared opulent, but neither their clothes, nor the carriage, came anywhere close to the amounts that the dungeon had spent on raw materials—and lately staff for the wedding.

As the front carriage stopped, a servant quickly rushed to open the door, making a clear sign for the assembled guards not to think of soiling the handle with their greasy fingers.

“My lord,” the man said, his head bowed down.

“So, this is it, is it?” A blob of a man emerged from the carriage. “What a pile of manure.”

It wasn’t that the man was overly fat, or even terribly ugly. It was his silhouette that made him amorphous in the eyes of everyone that looked. A tremendous effort had been spent on clothes and jewelry to reduce this natural shortcoming of his, to marginal success at best. The face of the man could be described as being somewhere between round and angular, with brownish, crescent hair, and a body that managed to simultaneously combine skinny and pudgy elements. The eyes and nose were small, unlike the massive mouth that even facial hair failed to hide.

Each step the man made seemed to make his entire body jiggle, as if he were made of soft lard.

“Where’s that idiot, Rosewind?” the noble asked, fully aware of the power difference between the two. Technically, both of them were dukes, but as everyone knew, there were dukes and dukes.

“He’s on his way to welcome you, my lord.” Ribbons stood to attention. If this were anyone else insulting his ruler, the captain of the guard would have already thrown him behind bars. Yet even he had enough self-preservation instincts to know that would be a fatal mistake.

“I’m sure he is,” Avisian snorted in a semi laugh. “Come along, my dear,” he reached out to the carriage.

A slender figure of a woman emerged. The contrast couldn’t be greater. The duke’s wife was beautiful by nature, with defined features and long, flowing black hair. Standing next to him, she seemed nothing less than divine, wearing an elegant green and black dress and a surprisingly modest amount of jewelry.

“I honestly wonder why I decided to come here,” the duke snorted.

“It’s your obligation towards the crown, dear,” the woman reminded.

“Yes, I suppose,” Avisian replied reluctantly and offered his elbow.

Approximately at the same time, a mechanical carriage arrived, coming straight from Duke Rosewind’s castle. Although smaller, it was arguably more elegant, very sophisticated, and technically belonged to Theo. Since the dungeon had seen no use for it, he had let Spok and Switches do whatever they wanted, which, as it turned out, meant giving it to the local duke.

“Avisian,” Duke Rosewind said with a polite smile as he descended from his carriage. “Such a pleasure to welcome you to my humble city. When I didn’t hear from you, I feared that you might miss the occasion.”

“Rosewind,” the other nodded reluctantly. “My expectations were low when I received your invitation, but I must admit that you managed to surpass my concerns by far.”

“Always a pleasure to surprise. Hello, Lady Avisian.” He went up to her and bowed down to her hand, falling short of kissing it. “Charmed as always.”

“Why thank you,” the woman smiled. “I don’t see your future wife, though,” she pointed out.

“D’Esprit is waiting for you at the castle, as is customary, of course. I just thought I’d come here personally and make sure that everything is to your liking.”

Duke Avisian’s eyes narrowed; or in any event, it appeared they did.

“It’s just like you to try to save a bad hand.” The guest demonstratively looked about. “Is that a timepiece?” he glanced at the direction of a newly created arch further down the main road.

“Why yes, I believe it is,” Duke Rosewind said in agreement.

“A bit too artisanal, don’t you think?”

“Rosewind started as an artisan town. It’s part of tradition to be reminded of one’s beginnings.”

“I suppose so,” the other sighed. “We all bear our burdens. It’s not like we can choose our ancestry, could we?”

Observing the conversation, Theo felt the irrational urge to cause the road beneath Avisian’s feet to give in. The man was beyond insufferable. The dungeon was prepared to deal with the scandal and political repercussions. The only thing he didn’t want to risk was killing the first guest at a wedding. As the local superstition went, doing so would bring seven years of bad luck, and Theo knew from experience that the universe wasn’t merciful.

“Would you like a ride to my castle?” Rosewind diplomatically offered. “After I’ve arranged for accommodations for your entourage, of course.”

“In that thing?” Duke Avisian narrowed his eyes further. “My servants will be joining me, of course. I don’t suppose you have an appropriate stable for my horses and carriage? It happens to be a gift from His Majesty.”

“Ah, I see. Then again, you’ve always surrounded yourself with things of beauty,” Rosewind issued possibly the most subtle verbal jab possible. “I’m sure they’ll be more than fine in the newly constructed stables.”

The last part of the comment was an equally subtle reminder for Theo to construct the building. The dungeon strongly doubted that Rosewind was addressing him right now, at least not directly. He was equally certain that the man would, without fail, do so at the earliest opportunity. The best way to deal with the matter was to preemptively construct the building, which Theo did, not too far away from the castle. Some could argue that it was a bit too close to the new airship platform that had emerged less than an hour ago, but that, too, was a problem for another day.

“Captain Ribbons, would you please escort our dear guest’s men to their lodgings for the occasion?” The duke glanced at his captain. “Meanwhile, I’ll accompany Duke Avisian and his wife personally to the castle.”

The soldier stood to attention, then took a few of his guards, leading the large contingent of foreign soldiers to the selected tavern in the adventurers’ sector. Meanwhile, the nobles proceeded to take the mechanical carriage to the castle, followed a short distance away by Duke Aviasian’s carriages.

“Are you sure this thing is safe?” Duke Avisian looked at the metal carriage dismissively. “It looks as trustworthy as you are.”

“It was made by the town’s greatest gnome craftsman,” Rosewind was quick to reply. “The very same that built our airships.”

“Hmm, yes. You’ve been having a lot of trouble with those lately. I must say it was a pity to hear that your town was nearly destroyed by a goblin invasion not too long ago.” The guest looked Rosewind straight in the face. “A pity that they failed to wipe this place off the face of the map completely.”

“We are all but pawns in the game of the deities. The fate of things is often beyond our control.”

“Not if you mess up. I’ve never liked you, Rosewind. I despite you and your insignificant family that have wormed itself to a position it doesn’t at all deserve. You’ve been very lucky until now, but that won’t last forever.” Duke Avisian took a handkerchief from his sleeve and delicately brushed the spit off his lips. “The only reason I came to your disgustingly low-class wedding is to keep a close eye on you. When you trip, and I’m sure you will, I’ll take great pleasure in getting you struck from your noble title, after which I’ll raze this settlement to the ground!”

There was a long moment of silence.

“So, I take it you’d like your chambers to be on the third floor?” Rosewind asked.

“Yes, that would be suitable.” The other nodded. “West section. I hate waking up to the sunrise early in the morning.”

“Quite understandable. I think I have a splendid spot near one of the towers. You’re free to choose, of course, since you’re the first one here.”

“Yes, the tower sounds nice.” Duke Avisian looked out of the window. “Don’t worry about perfume. I’ve brought my own. I just hate the smell of horses.”

“Don’t we all?”

The carriage continued all the way to the castle’s main entrance. That, too, had recently been changed to appear a lot more majestic than it was. Technically, Theo didn’t have ownership of the castle itself. With a bit of quick thinking, though, he had extended the parts of the city in such a way as to create a new bridge and façade covering the original one. At some point in the future, he’d have to discuss these matters with Spok.

A host of twenty metal constructs stood to attention in their highly polished, finely crafted sets of armor. To the untrained eye, they seemed like elite guards. To the dungeon—they were a lot of smoke and mirrors that he prayed didn’t collapse before the guests had fully entered the castle.

“My palace guard,” Duke Rosewind introduced them as he descended from the carriage. “Selected personally by Baron d’Argent, the protector of the city, and a very good friend of mine.”

“Oh, the meddling mage,” Duke Avisian said dismissively. “Why isn’t he here, anyway?”

“The baron is dealing with a magical emergency, although I’m assured that he’ll be joining us shortly. Of course, his champion Sir Myk, the hero of the city, is here to welcome you in his place.”

Taking one look at the muscular minion, the guest straightened up, then hurriedly went up to him. For ten full seconds, he carefully examined everything from Cmyk’s clothes to his overly extravagant weapon and set of armor.

Deep inside, Theo felt like sinking into the ground with shame. The only issue was that if he did, the situation would be far worse. Of all the things his minion could have taken, why did it have to be the greatest junk on display?

“I see you have at least someone passable in your small fiefdom,” Avisian harrumphed with the closest thing to a compliment he had said the entire day. “Completely wasted on you, I’m sure.” He took a step back to collect his wife, then proceeded into the castle.

“He actually saved the city twice so far,” Rosewind added, starting one of his long and vastly inaccurate tales.

“Success!” Switches shouted from within Theo’s main building. “I got the mouth to move! Now I just need to re-assemble the rest and your new you will be up and running.”

“Don’t bother… Apparently, Cmyk has it all under control…” a subtle draft swept through the city. “I’ll get back to rearranging buildings,” he grumbled. “Let me know when the construct’s usable.”

In several sections of the city, clusters of buildings began shuffling about.

< Beginning | | Book 2 | | Book 3 | | Previously | | Next >

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Blurb: After Piri the nine-tailed fox follows an order from Heaven to destroy a dynasty, she finds herself on trial in Heaven for that very act.  Executed by the gods for the “crime,” she is cast into the cycle of reincarnation, starting at the very bottom – as a worm.  While she slowly accumulates positive karma and earns reincarnation as higher life forms, she also has to navigate inflexible clerks, bureaucratic corruption, and the whims of the gods themselves.  Will Piri ever reincarnate as a fox again?  And once she does, will she be content to stay one?

Advance chapters and side content available to Patreon backers!

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Chapter 176: Acting in Piri’s Stead

The Dragon King of the Western Sea didn’t have authorization from Heaven for this typhoon.

As soon as his long neck stiffened, Flicker knew they had him. Still, the dragon tried to play it off with a toss of his mane and a “Harrumph!”that blew the fronds off several palm trees, including the one that Bobo and Stripey were perched in. Flicker could hear the snake’s “Eeeeeee!” faintly over the wind.

“What right have you to demand my authorization?” blustered the Dragon King of the Western Sea.

Den caught Flicker’s eye and nodded encouragement. Flicker spread his feet and clasped his hands behind his back, pretending he was a star god. I come from Heaven, he chanted to himself. He’s an Earth-bound dragon. I come from Heaven. He lifted his chin and tried to curl his lip contemptuously, the way his Assistant Director might.

“I am Flicker, star sprite and second-class clerk in the Heavenly bureaucracy,” he pronounced. It wasn’t his actual job title that mattered here, but his position as the representative of the apparatus of Heaven. “Dragon King of the Western Sea, I require proof of your authorization to foment this typhoon. Law W.652 states that no Dragon of any Rank shall cause any Form of Precipitation, including but not limited to Rain, Snow, Sleet, or Hail, to fall upon the Earth unless it be on the Roll of Authorized Annual Precipitation proposed by the Meeting of the Dragon Host and sealed by the Director of Weather. Furthermore, no Dragon of any Rank shall cause any Form of Precipitation to fall upon the Earth in any Amount or for any Duration of Time that is not expressly specified on the Roll of Authorized Annual Precipitation. Violation of this Law is punishable by Decapitation.”

Floridiana was regarding him with her mouth half-open, but it was star-child’s play to rattle off long sentences when you didn’t need to breathe.

“Did the Director of Weather send you to retrieve my authorization?” demanded the dragon who obviously did not have it and hence was begging for decapitation.

Still channeling his Assistant Director, Flicker attempted a haughty laugh. It came out more like a fake cough. “Your Majesty, the Director of Weather is far too busy to bother with such insignificant matters as inspecting paperwork. If you have the authorization form, as I am sure that such an ancient and loyal dragon king as yourself must, it will be trivial for me to verify the seal and be on my way.”

“If, however, you do not…,” added Den, trailing off ominously.

The Dragon King of the Western Sea was too old and canny to show his discomfit. He flicked his tail dismissively. “I am sure it is in my office in my palace.”

Flicker arranged his face into the expression that he was sure he wore every time Piri ran amok in his office. “Law W.652 Addendum B further states that a Dragon King discharging his Duties according to the Roll of Authorized Annual Precipitation must carry his Authorization Document on his Person at all Times so that it may be presented to any Heavenly Authority who may wish to examine it.”

“That’s to prevent us from abusing our power and summoning storms on a whim,” Den translated helpfully. “After all, it would be terrible if we stole rainwater from another dragon king to benefit our own farmers. Heaven forbid we cause an unauthorized drought!”

Clearly no one had dared confront the Dragon King of the Western Sea in a very long time, because he actually looked flummoxed. At last, the reality of the situation percolated into his head, and the winds dropped and the storm clouds smoothed out. “Ah, of course,” he said. “It simply slipped my mind. I am sure it will be trivial to find it in my office. I won’t trouble a representative of Heaven to make the long journey down to my humble palace. I shall have one of my clerks deliver it to you.”

“I would appreciate that, Your Majesty.”

Flicker stepped back and watched as the two dragons bade each other a formal farewell, and the Dragon King of the Western Sea sank into the water. The clouds thinned to wisps against the bright blue sky, and the sun beat down once more.

When the last of the entourage had vanished, Floridiana asked, “Do you think he actually has it?”

Den snorted. “Nah. He’d have whipped it out on the spot if he did.”

A slow smile spread across Floridiana’s face. It wasn’t a very nice smile. “I think we just made ourselves an ally, then.”

“Flicker! That was amazing!” cried a voice. Flicker turned to see Bobo slithering towards him as fast as she could, with Stripey gliding alongside her. “How did you remember all that?!”

Suddenly realizing that they’d all been watching him act like an arrogant jerk, Flicker ducked his shoulders. “Oh, well, it was nothing. Clerk, remember? We had to memorize all the laws word for word to pass the exams.”

“All the laws?” asked Floridiana. “Not just the ones for your own bureau?”

“No, we’re not assigned to a bureau until after we pass the exams. So we need to know all of them.”

“But how do you ssstill remember all of them?” Bobo pressed. “If it were me, I’d forget them as sssoon as I finisssh the tessst!”

No one had ever praised his memory before. “Weeeell, star sprite, you know? We have good memories. Plus I review them from time to time. In my free time.”

“In your free time? Why???” asked everyone in unison.

“Because it’s relaxing!”

As he spoke, though, he realized that it had been a while since he brought out the scrolls from the chest under his bed. Lately, he’d been spending every spare moment he could with Star. It was a good thing he did have a good memory, or he might have forgotten the weather laws. As it was, he’d probably missed a word here or there in his recital, but fortunately, the Dragon King of the Western Sea hadn’t noticed.

Tonight Flicker didn’t have any plans with Star. Yes. Tonight would be a good time to dig out his scrolls and review them. And since his dormmates would prefer to sleep, out of consideration for their rest, he’d bring the scrolls to the garden nearest her bedroom window, and if she happened to glance out of it and see him and come down to join him….

Anyway, said Stripey*, didn’t you come down here to warn us about something? That wasn’t this typhoon, I mean?*

In all the chaos, Flicker had forgotten the original reason that he’d snuck down from Heaven. “Oh, right! I came to warn you that one of the goddesses bears a grudge against Koh Lodia.”

He was not expecting a lot of unsurprised faces.

“Yep yep!” chirped Bobo. “Rosssie told us already. Well, ssshe told Lodia. Actually, it was Floridiana who figured out who ssshe meant.”

Stripey summarized, We already know it was the Star of Reflected Brightness.

“Shh!” snapped Floridiana. “Don’t saythe name!”

Flicker felt as if he were back in the typhoon, being lashed by the winds. “You think the Star of Reflected Brightness is trying to assassinate Lodia? But why?”

“‘Caussse ssshe hates Rosssie! Who Rosssie usssed to be, I mean. Ssso now ssshe’s messsing up Rosssie’s plans the way Rosssie messsed up her life.”

“I – that’s not – No! She would never!” Flicker spluttered.

“She seemed convinced it was her,” Floridiana said.

“No! Absolutely not! It’s not her! She would never do anything like that. She’s kind and decent and honorable. If you’d ever met her, you’d know how ridiculous you all sound right now.”

For some reason, they were gawking at him as if he were the one who sounded ridiculous.

Den asked, in the tone of someone who was trying to keep open a mind that was already locked and sealed shut, “If it’s not her, then who could it be?”

Flicker opened his mouth to shout the answer, then snapped it shut. He beckoned them to huddle around him and used his lips to shape the name.

The Goddess of Life? repeated Stripey, ignoring Floridiana’s “Shh!” The one who gave Piri the right to keep her mind when she reincarnates?

Suspicious, secretive, selfish Piri had told them that much? Frankly, it surprised Flicker, but it did make his job easier. Keeping it simple, he explained that the Goddess of Life was now the Director of Human Lives, so she believed that she was the one who deserved the humans’ offerings. To correct this error, she had decided to punish the Matriarch of the misguided temple.

“Oh! Ssso this is all becaussse ssshe wants more offerings?” asked Bobo when he finished. “But that’s ssso easssy! All we have to do is add an image of her when we build our new Temple, and then people will have a place to make offerings to her!”

When she put it that way, it all sounded so tawdry.

But it’s the Temple to the Kitchen God, pointed out Stripey. We can’t just put another goddess on the altar.

“We haven’t painted the sssign yet. Does it have to be the Temple to the Kitchen God? Can’t we jussst rename it?”

“We already wrote the official text. It doesn’t say anything about the Goddess of Life,” objected Floridiana.

“Can’t we add a sssection?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Den, earning a glare from the person who would have to write that section. “Well, it would be a lot easier than setting up a separate temple to every god or goddess who wants one. And I can guarantee that they’re all going want one.”

“So much work,” moaned Floridiana. “So much writing.”

It’s not like you’re teaching, Stripey told her drily. You have time.

“You’re all missing the most important part!” Flicker broke in. “Gods don’t like to share! How are you going to convince the Kitchen God that he should start sharing his offerings with every god or goddess who tries to murder his Matriarch?!”

Silence. They obviously had not considered that point.

“Maybe we ssshould ssstart another temple? To the Goddess of Life?”

Floridiana turned on Bobo. “Do you have any idea how much time and resources it took just to get this one off the ground?!”

Anthea, Stripey said all of a sudden. The Kitchen God is her patron god. Maybe she can talk him around.

“But what’s in it for him?” Floridiana pressed. “Why would he agree to split his offerings?”

Another silence. This time it was a glum one.

“Rosssie will know!” cried Bobo. “We just have to find Rosssie and asssk her!”

We don’t know where she is.

Reincarnation. Work. The long line of souls in his waiting room. Flicker felt the beginnings of a headache. He had to get back to his office before he was caught outside it during work hours.

A scaly tail tip nudged him. “Flicker, where’s Rosssie now?”

He debated citing privacy regulations, then gave up before he even started. “She’s a rat. In North Serica. Stop! There’s no point in going to find her now! The Assistant Director revoked her right to keep her mind when she reincarnates, so she wouldn’t recognize any of you.”

Their horror echoed Piri’s. “And you went along with it?” demanded Floridiana.

Flicker flung up his hands. “I’m a star sprite clerk! What do you expect me to do?!”

“It’s okay,” said Bobo determinedly. “We jussst need to find her and protect her. If ssshe lives a hundred years, ssshe’ll awaken, right?”

“But she won’t have all her memories,” Den said grimly. “She’d be a new person, in a sense.”

“Oh. Hmmm. Hmmm. There mussst be sssomething we can do! Flicker? Pleassse? Ssshe’s your friend too, isssn’t ssshe?”

Was she? Flicker had never thought about it. To his surprise, he realized that somewhere along the way, she’d turned from a troublesome soul he had to reincarnate to someone he enjoyed seeing, even when she made him tear out his hair.

It was why he’d come down to warn her friends about the Goddess of Life, wasn’t it? Because it was what she would have wanted him to do.

Well, if the Dragon King of the Western Sea ever mentioned this intervention to anyone, Flicker was already in a lot of trouble. What was a little more?

“Fine, fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

///

A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Ed, Fuzzycakes, Ike, Kimani, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, yoghogfog, and Anonymous!

Chapter one:  A Miracle Named Tyler

In the small, dimly lit hospital room, the world seemed to hold its breath as a man and a woman prepared to meet their long-awaited baby boy. The December night outside was cold, the snowflakes swirling softly under the glow of streetlights, but inside, warmth filled the room. For nine months, they had imagined this moment—a moment filled with joyful tears, first cries, and whispered promises for a bright future.

Their baby, Tyler, had been perfect throughout the pregnancy. His heartbeat was strong and steady, his movements a constant reassurance to his parents that he was healthy, ready, and eager to meet them.

But on the night of his due date, everything changed.

The delivery room, once filled with the quiet hum of anticipation, descended into chaos. The warm, hopeful atmosphere shattered as monitors blared and voices turned sharp with urgency. The umbilical cord had wrapped itself tightly around Tyler’s neck, cutting off his circulation.

His mother’s cries rang out—not from physical pain, but from a deeper, more primal fear. Her husband held her hand, his knuckles white, as doctors and nurses surrounded them, their voices urgent and commands rapid. The air thickened with panic, the seconds dragging into eternity.

When Tyler was finally born, the room fell silent. Too silent.

He wasn’t breathing.

In a blur of motion, the medical team rushed to his side, their movements precise but desperate. His tiny body, impossibly fragile, was whisked away before his parents could even hold him. The swinging doors of the NICU closed behind him, leaving his mother and father alone in the stillness of the delivery room, their joy crushed beneath the unbearable weight of fear.

The man gripped his wife’s trembling hand as tears streamed silently down their faces. The dream of their first moments with Tyler—his first cry, his first breath—had been stolen, replaced by the cold, unrelenting uncertainty of what lay ahead.

For hours, they whispered prayers into the void, clinging to hope as the snow continued to fall outside. They prayed for a sign—any sign—that their baby boy would fight his way back to them.

Eventually, the door opened, and a doctor stepped in. His expression was somber, his tone careful and measured. He spoke slowly, each word heavy with the weight of reality.

“Tyler is alive,” he began, his voice soft yet firm. “But the situation is serious. The lack of oxygen during delivery has caused significant damage. If he survives, he may never walk, never talk, never interact with the world in the ways we typically expect. His condition is severe, and there is a possibility he could remain in a vegetative state.”

The words hit like stones, each one sinking deep into their hearts. The woman’s sobs filled the room as her husband pulled her close, his own tears falling silently onto her shoulder.

But Tyler wasn’t done fighting.

Days turned into weeks, and against all odds, the tiny baby began to stabilize. Machines hummed around him, wires connected him to life, but his parents saw something in his small, fragile form that the doctors didn’t—a spark of stubborn determination.

“He’s strong,” his mother whispered one night, sitting by his incubator. “He’s going to prove them wrong. I know it.”

Her husband nodded, his hand resting on the glass as he watched his son’s chest rise and fall with quiet defiance. “He’s a fighter,” he agreed, his voice filled with quiet resolve.

After a month in the NICU, Tyler was finally strong enough to go home. He was fragile, his future uncertain, but to his parents, he was nothing short of a miracle.

As they carried him out of the hospital on that cold January morning, bundled tightly against the winter chill, they knew one thing for certain: Tyler had already beaten the odds. And no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—as a family.

Chapter Two: Big Brother Dreams

For years, Tyler dreamed of being a big brother. “I want a baby sibling,” he’d plead to his parents, his hopeful grin as wide as the sun. Despite their gentle explanations that a baby wasn’t something they could promise, Tyler’s excitement never wavered.

Two years after his fifth birthday, his mom finally sat him down, her face glowing with joy. “Tyler,” she said softly, “you’re going to be a big brother.”

Tyler’s heart nearly burst with happiness. “Really?” he whispered, his wide eyes sparkling with disbelief. When his mom nodded, he let out a cheer loud enough to wake the neighbors.

From that day forward, Tyler’s world revolved around preparing for the baby. He spent hours drawing pictures of their soon-to-be family, making plans to teach the baby everything he knew. He promised to help his parents, vowing to be the best big brother ever.

Every step Tyler took was a miracle to his family. Born prematurely, he had faced challenges from the start. Doctors had once warned that Tyler might struggle with physical activities or coordination, but he proved them wrong time and again. His resilience and determination inspired everyone who knew him, and now he was ready to pour that same energy into being a big brother.

As the baby’s due date approached, the house buzzed with activity. Tyler’s parents were busy assembling cribs, folding tiny clothes, and double-checking hospital bags. Tyler, meanwhile, practiced holding a doll his mom had given him, carefully rocking it in his arms. “I’m ready,” he declared.

When the big day arrived, Tyler stayed with the neighbor, clutching a crayon drawing of their family—himself, his parents, and the baby—while he waited for news. Hours later, his parents returned home with a tiny, swaddled bundle.

“Tyler,” his mom said, kneeling beside him with tears in her eyes, “meet your baby brother, Caleb.”

Tyler’s eyes widened as he stared at Caleb, wrapped snugly in a soft blue blanket. His little face was rosy and delicate, his hands no bigger than Tyler’s thumb. Tyler reached out tentatively, his hands trembling with awe.

“Hi, Caleb,” he whispered as his parents carefully placed the baby in his arms. He cradled Caleb with all the care his little body could muster. Caleb stirred, letting out a soft yawn, and Tyler beamed. “I’m your big brother. I’m going to teach you everything I know.”

From that day forward, Tyler was Caleb’s constant companion. He sat close by during every feeding, offered to fetch diapers during every change, and sang silly made-up songs during every nap.

“Mom, can I hold him?” became Tyler’s favorite question. His mom often laughed, her heart swelling with pride at Tyler’s enthusiasm.

One afternoon, as Tyler gently rocked Caleb’s cradle, his mom rested a hand on his shoulder. “Tyler,” she said, her voice full of affection, “you’re going to be an amazing big brother.”

Tyler nodded solemnly. “I want Caleb to always know I’m here for him,” he said, his young face glowing with determination.

As the weeks turned into months, Caleb began responding to Tyler’s endless attention. His biggest smiles were reserved for his brother, and his giggles echoed joyfully whenever Tyler made goofy faces.

“I think he likes my singing!” Tyler announced proudly one day after Caleb erupted into laughter at his latest silly tune.

By the time Caleb started sitting up on his own, Tyler had become his fiercest protector. At the playground, Tyler stayed close, ready to catch Caleb if he wobbled. When Caleb cried, Tyler was often the first to comfort him, offering his own favorite toys without hesitation.

One afternoon, their mom paused in the doorway of their shared bedroom, drawn by the sound of Tyler’s gentle voice. She found him crouched next to Caleb, who was sitting on a blanket surrounded by colorful blocks.

“You know, Caleb,” Tyler said earnestly, “when I was born, the doctors said I wouldn’t be able to do a lot of things. But I proved them wrong. And you know what? You can do anything too. I’ll help you.”

Their mom’s heart swelled as she watched the quiet exchange. Tyler’s words were simple but full of love, a promise between brothers that would last a lifetime.

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GLOSSARY This links to a post on the free section of my Patreon.
Note: "Book 1" is chapters 1-59, "Book 2" is chapters 60-133, "Book 3", is 134-193, "Book 4" is CH 194-261, "Book 5" is 261-(Ongoing)

"Do you mind if Lady Kazue listens in?" Satsuki asked Deidre. If she was going to gossip about Mordi, it seemed meet that his wives get to learn his 'secrets' too. Not that Mordecai would try to hide most of it, but he'd almost certainly not think of bringing up certain things. Some of what Satsuki was going to talk about might be considered a bit much to tell someone else's current lover, but however sweet and seemingly innocent Kazue might be, the girl was certainly a kitsune. Satsuki didn't think Kazue would be very shocked or scandalized. While kitsune could certainly be as possessive or focused as other people, they tended to not experience the same form of jealousy.

When Deidre nodded her ascent, Satsuki asked Payne, "Could you please let Lady Kazue know? Thank you."

She could feel it when Kazue shifted her attention this way. It was a relatively simple matter; a dungeon's focus always included an act of will. The dungeon isn't just seeing what is in its focus's area, it is looking at the area. Being able to feel when you are being looked at is a talent most people who lived dangerous lives eventually developed.

Satsuki closed her eyes as she brought back old memories. Time faded most things for there was only space for so many memories. Well, for most creatures at least. But for memories precious enough, those with sufficient power could etch them more indelibly than flesh was normally capable of.

Of course, that could become a deadly trap for an immortal who clung on too tightly. If one accumulated too many memories, one would reach the limits of flesh. Even in her obsession, Satsuki knew to keep her memories trimmed. Some days wanted to be remembered in detail, but most wanted to be combined into vague memories of a type of day.

This was a day Satsuki had etched in detail. Well, the evening at least.

"We met at a party," Satsuki said to Deidre and Payne. "The party itself was nothing special, a little coming-of-age celebration for a noble family from a kingdom that no longer exists. Mm," she paused to take a sip of her drink before continuing, "I think this particular one was gone well before Mordecai had his war. The area used to be quite volatile compared to what is here now."

Deidre sighed and said, "I'm afraid I mostly know what I have read recently, here. I have not experienced what it is like."

"Something we will have to change," Satsuki replied. "Anyway, as kitsune were not very common in this area at the time, I was in a human guise and mingling as I sought to amuse myself. When I was first introduced to Mordecai in passing, he didn't stand out particularly, but later that evening there was much dancing to be had." She smiled in reminiscence.

"Most of that is a blur of faces long forgotten now, but against my expectations, this was where Mordecai made an impression. It was just the normal exchange of partners during the changing of the song. But then his eyes met mine and he gave me the most knowing smirk."

Satsuki's grin showed fangs as the memory brought back a mix of emotions. "His eyes flashed ever so briefly from tawny to molten gold and it felt like the light might sear me."

She ran a finger around the rim of her cup as she stared down into it. "He knew I was a kitsune of course, that was what his smirk was about. I, on the other hand, did not know what he was. Which was part of what made him alluring right then, the mystery."

"You sound like you were annoyed though," Deidre said.

"Oh, I was," Satsuki agreed, "but I was also intrigued. There are many different types of annoyed dear, and all those types can mix with other emotions. Wonderful, awful, messy things, that's what emotions are." She selected a honey-glazed treat from her plate before she continued.

"He was a perfect dancer, at least, with dances that have set patterns and variances." That little display that Moriko had prompted during the feast had shown Satsuki that some things had certainly not changed. Mordecai did not feel comfortable with free-form dances.

"Which is not to say he didn't know how to cheat. When it came time to change partners again, he gave me that parting twirl, only I found myself in his arms again. Mordecai never did tell me exactly how he managed that, though I suspect it was something as simple as having great timing with a flash-step ability of some sort. There are many varieties, though Mordi's favorite has always been the shadow step."

"That's because he follows Ozuran, right?" asked Payne.

"That's part of it, but it also can have more reach than other maneuvers and can let you move past things like walls and he likes that feature. Most far-step abilities require an unobstructed line, but take less effort and have smaller chances of something unexpected happening. Anyway, there is little privacy during that sort of dance, so all we really did was exchange a few flirtations, such as me commenting on how wicked he was being by keeping me all to himself."

Satsuki smiled again, this evening was one of her fondest memories after all. "By the time the dancing was done, I was determined to bed him at least once. I knew that having that sort of molten gold color in his eyes suggested a connection to dragons, but what sort of connection was not answered and I was curious. Sleeping with someone is often the best way to satiate certain types of curiosity and I've never been one to bother with a prolonged chase. Usually."

Her voice was a touch huskier when she said, "He proved to be an adept lover, though his technique was only a small part of it. Despite me being the initiator, he was able to take control, which can be quite lovely with someone who knows how to do it right. Which he did."

She cleared her throat and took another sip of her drink. "We could both tell that the other was experienced enough to not need many words and most importantly, he knew when to pause just long enough to let me catch my breath. A moment open to protest if I wanted to, though I certainly had no desire to do so."

Deidre shook her head with a look of bemusement. "It sounds so much like a game when you describe it like that. So, playful." The pain in her voice was clear and caused the pixie on her shoulder to hug Deidre as best as she could.

"My dear," Satsuki said softly, "the best sex is always a game where both people win. You can both compete and cooperate in this game. Oh, you might 'lose' a particular challenge, especially during more intense play, but it means your partner was able to invoke more pleasure or desire than you can resist in that moment. So you also win."

"That is very foreign to me," Deidre said.

"That is something that will hopefully change," Satsuki replied, "but one thing at a time. Now, Mordecai did not fully explain his nature right then and there, he teased me with hints instead. We only had a few days together before our paths in life diverged, but we ran into each other several times over the next couple of years. Then he told me to meet him at a different coming-of-age ceremony scheduled in just over a year's time."

Which was a long time to ask someone to arrange their life around if they were inclined to travel at all, but Satsuki had been entertained enough to promise that she would also be there, barring anything urgent. "I admit that when I arrived, I was a bit tense with anticipation. Mordecai had hinted at a surprise of some sort. But I saw no sign of him amongst the guests and was feeling disappointed along with a small amount of anger. Then I felt a light touch on my back."

Satsuki laughed briefly and said, "I was shocked and startled by the touch. After all, I had been doing my best to pay attention to everyone and yet someone had sneaked up on me like that. When I spun around, I found this tiny, slender little waif who looked to be no older than the girl whose birthday it was. She appeared nervous, but there was also something familiar about the small smile she gave me."

"It was Mordecai, I assume?" Deidre asked.

"Yes," Satsuki said with a nod, "though it took me a moment more to realize it. The golden eyes helped a lot, otherwise the pale purple hair wouldn't have meant as much. It was when I felt out her aura in detail that I was certain."

She shook her head in remembered disbelief. "It brought the clues together for me and made me realize Mordecai was a dungeon. This wasn't the previous avatar being shape changed, this girl was a brand new avatar, and a kitsune at that. That was a delightful surprise, but it wasn't the only one."

Payne eagerly asked, "What else? Did she have magic presents for you or something?"

"Presents?" Satsuki replied, "Not in the way you mean. More, she was my present." The memory stirred some of her more predatory emotions and pleasant memories. "Mordecai had taken control during our first time together. He'd even used a trick to force me to return to kitsune form that first night."

Fighting that sort of thing and losing could hurt and leave one dazed. But Mordecai knew that Satsuki wasn't going to fight; even so, he'd paused at the right moment for her to realize what he was about to do and protest if she wanted.

"She was her gift to me. At first, I thought she simply meant that she was encouraging me to take charge and make a game of it for a short while, but she meant more. When Mordecai had designed this avatar, her knowledge and memory had been filtered heavily. An avatar can't carry all the memories of a dungeon anyway, but she had been left with less than usual and had been brought to the party via previously arranged transportation. She was fresh, new, semi-naive, inexperienced, and mine to use, teach, and train as I wished."

Deidre looked shocked. "That seems a bit extreme of a gift, even given the games you described."

"I felt much the same," Satsuki said, "but I still couldn't resist taking advantage of the gift, and her. If she'd truly been the vulnerable girl she appeared to be, I'd have only been a mentor, but the offer was being given by the more complete version of herself."

Not that everything was quite what it seemed. "Of course, what I didn't realize yet was that Mordecai was using me in return. This avatar was crafted so she could experience something new to Mordecai by being so eagerly enthralled by an older woman. When I figured it out, I was somewhat upset at Mordecai for using me that way but at the same time felt honored that he'd trust me to do that without going too far with the game."

"Her avatar would have been weak in magic or martial skills too," Deidre mused, "so even more vulnerable."

"Exactly," Satsuki replied. "Now, to my knowledge, she was the only avatar Mordecai ever made like this. She's usually had a specific goal in mind for an avatar; this time her goal was to experience a life where someone else held sway over her."

Not that the experience had lasted a full lifetime. Even as sculpted for submission and vulnerability as she had been, the avatar had still been a variant of Mordecai's personality. "So I had a version of Mordecai to myself for over a decade. The first time we'd really been together instead of enjoying a dalliance. But I'd never been good at staying with only one person and no version of Mordecai had been good with an open relationship. So it ended with our first fight over my attention wandering."

It had hurt, but at the same time, Satsuki hadn't been willing to be limited to one person and had been angry at Mordecai's words. "We met again, with Mordecai as a male avatar once more. There was no attempt at a long-term relationship in that period, but we did try several more times over the few centuries we knew each other before the village was attacked." She'd only had six tails when they met and he'd been very inspiring to push herself further.

"I am a bit surprised he ended up with two wives, even if it was decided by the circumstances. At my insistence, we did try out many combinations and I even convinced him to go to a couple of orgies with me. After the second one, he refused to even try again. Mordecai can be selfish in some ways, but not here, which was the problem."

Deidre tilted her head curiously and asked, "How do you mean?"

Satsuki smiled. "He wants to make sure everyone is enjoying themselves. The more people involved, the harder that is, so the less focused he became and the less he enjoyed himself."

From there, Satsuki shared more of their adventures, romances, and breakups, as well as talking about some of their mutual acquaintances.

Gil she couldn't stand and only tolerated his presence for Mordecai's sake. Satsuki felt he was a buffoon and an oaf. It wasn't even that she couldn't see his good qualities; if it came down to it she knew she could trust Gil to be loyal, brave, honest, and even kind. But everything else about him irritated her far too much for Satsuki to want to be around him.

Li she adored, though she admitted she couldn't help but treat him as a bit of a toy. The eternal child was very sweet, but also easy to wind up with a story of adventure or tales of unfound treasure. Creating stories of such treasures sometimes even made them real, but Satsuki had heeded Mordecai's advice and never tried to benefit from such tricks.

She also admitted that Li's presence always made her cautious. He had a knack for showing up when Satsuki's emotions were running hot in a bad way around Mordecai and she wouldn't be surprised if the timing of Mordecai's freedom hadn't been in part to interrupt her plan to rescue him. Not that Li would know he had done that, but his luck and unconscious instincts did tend to cause such events.

Hours had now passed, with plenty of time for food and alcohol to warm and relax along with Satsuki's tale-telling. "Deidre," she said, "if you don't mind, I would like to take a look at what Mordecai did to you. I have the start of an idea that might be good for everyone."

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PART ELEVEN SEVENTEEN

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Tuesday

 As much as Lucas wanted to smear the cream all over his aching body, he focused on his upper arms, his back above the shoulder blades (as best as he could – his muscle mass didn’t really permit an easy reach in that regard), and his upper legs. Those were the most brutal, and their aches bordered on pain. Although he knew better than most that hard workouts involved microtears in the muscle that would then regrow tougher and stronger, Lucas was sure his microtears ran the length and breadth of his whole body. He also made a mental note to swing past another drugstore on the way home and buy a whole truckload of this stuff if it worked.

And then he would enjoy getting Boyd to rub it in.

He caught himself sighing like a freaking ingenue at that image and chuckled to himself, sliding his arms through the sleeves of his silk shirt and buttoning it. He tucked it into his pants and pulled on his jacket, giving himself the once over in the men’s room mirror.

He hadn’t realised how long he’d taken in the bathroom until he came out and entered the room across the hall where the task force was assembled and saw Pepper already at the front. Their eyes met momentarily, and then she refocused on the desk in front of her. If that had been all, Lucas could have ignored it, but everything else about her was wrong as well. Her colouring. The way she trembled. Her breathing. All of it was off, and it was a recent development. Like real recent.

“Cromwell, do you mind if I have a word with you in the hallway?” he asked, noticing everyone was watching them closely. Because, of course, they’d picked up on it too.

“We have a lot to get through, Dobson,” Pepper said, still not looking at him.

Tension crawled up his spine and settled at the base of his skull, but he kept his face unreadable as he crossed the room to where Pepper sat at the front table, facing everyone. He bent at the hips, putting one hand on the desk beside hers and the other on the back of her chair, partially trapping her. “What did he say to you?” he asked icily, his voice dripping with accusation.

“Let it go, Dobson.”

Lucas took in everything about her: her edginess, the way she licked her lips since she was breathing through her mouth instead of her nose, the pallor of her usually golden skin, and the big one: her avoidance of him.

Knowing what he knew, a rookie on his first day could’ve connected the dots. His next exhale had more in common with a bull as he straightened up and did an about-face, heading for the door.

“Lucas!” Pepper called after him, but he refused to listen.

Everyone else wisely stayed out of his way. The guard on the stairs even opened the door for him so he didn’t have to slow down.

His brain churned through exactly what he was going to say to Daniel. Everything from railing at him to threatening to go to the divine himself. Lucas loved being a cop and didn’t want to get fired, but his partner was terrified when she hadn’t been just ten minutes ago. As his grandfather often said, that dog ain’t gonna hunt.

But then, as he reached the half-way turn on the flight of stairs, a hand firmly grabbed his bicep and was strong enough to pull him to a halt, causing him to wince even as he turned to stare at his partner's frightened gaze. “Don’t,” she insisted in warning.

“Bullshit,” Lucas shot back, glancing over her shoulder to see several detectives loitering by the door without actually coming into the stairwell. He dropped his voice to a hissed whisper. “Tell me what he said or did to you to rattle you so badly.”

Pepper glanced up at the detectives above them. “Would you mind giving us a little privacy, please?”

She didn’t speak again until the thump of the closing door echoed in the stairwell. “He told me to consider switching partners to distance myself from you.”

Lucas hadn’t been expecting that. “Why?!” he asked, horrified by the thought.

“He said if I wanted to limit my exposure to the divine, I should pick another partner as everyone seems to be wanting a piece of your household.”

While that couldn’t technically be argued with, Lucas knew there was more. No way had that sentence alone rattled his partner like this. He placed his hand over hers, still holding his bicep. “What else?”

“Lucas…”

“No. You’re scared, and you don’t scare easily. What did he do?”

“He’s in a mood. I should’ve read the room and come back la—”

“What did he do?!” Lucas snarled, no longer even trying to keep his voice down.

“H-he turned into a monster right in front of me because I told him I could handle it. Then he proceeded to stay as the monster to prove to me no one else saw it or would come to my aid. That I would be seen as the crazy one.” She thumped herself in the chest as she said that, a small spike of anger returning to her. “He could’ve eaten me, and no one would know.”

Lucas wanted to murder their boss. “Pepper, you know that shit’s not allowed to fly, right?”

“What?”

Lucas walked from one side of the landing to the other. All four steps of it. “He can’t do anything to you that’s illegal, and eating you definitely fits into that category. All the veil will do is change how they do it into something believable. If he stabs you with a claw, the world will see he ran you through with a sword. His ability to turn into a monster doesn’t give him a licence to kill you or even hurt you. Just remember that.”

“So, all I have to do is close my eye, and legally, he can’t touch me.”

With all of the others, that belief was laughable, but Daniel was the epitome of mortal law. He made it his mission to uphold it, and it wouldn’t surprise Lucas if his innate wasn’t somehow tied directly to it (although thinking in terms of lines and power connections, it was his aunt, Lady Col’s older sister who was all about justice and the law, so maybe not.)

“And he answers to others. He might be our boss, but he’s a loooong long way from the top of the food chain where they’re concerned. My household has a lot of ties with heavier hitters than him.”

“That’s what he was warning me about. The heavy hitters are even scarier than him, and if I stay your partner, I’ll probably be dealing with them up close and personal.”

Lucas couldn’t technically deny that, either. As more and more of the family learned of Sam and Robbie, they would make their presence known.

“He’s given me until tonight to decide if I want to stay your partner or not.”

Lucas swallowed, not liking the sudden turn in the conversation. Squinting in preparation of her answer, he asked, “Which way are you leaning?”

Pepper straightened up with a little more colour returning to her face. “You’ve made more sense in last two minutes than he did the whole time he was threatening me. If you think I’m losing that voice of reason, you’re crazy!”

Just like that, Lucas’ temper ignited once more. What Daniel did was tantamount to putting a magnifying glass on an ant and watching it burn. “Are you good with leading the morning debrief today?” he asked, forcing himself to smile. “I need to talk to Daniel…” Because he sure as hell wasn’t Lucas’ boss in that moment.

Pepper latched onto his arm once more. “No. Lucas, God, no. Please, let it go. I don’t want anything to happen to you…”

Lucas took her hand and pulled it gently from his arm. “Nothing will, I promise. I meant what I said about friends in high places. He’s in for a world of crap if he hurts me over this, I promise you.”

Pepper pinched her lips and shook her head unhappily. “If you don’t walk back into that task force in fifteen minutes, I’m going to call every person I know that’s connected to you and raise hell. And I got a lot of phone numbers on Saturday, including all your roommates.”

Lucas would’ve been surprised if she hadn’t. He could almost picture how it went down. ‘Hi, I’m Pepper Cromwell. Lucas’ work partner. Who are you to him, and what’s your number in case I ever need to reach out to you?’ Llyr wouldn’t have given her the time of day until Miss W did. And everyone else would’ve fallen over themselves to give her their contact information in case anything happened to him on the job. He'd have to remember to return the favour if he ever met Pepper’s friends and family.

“I’ll be right back. I promise. This won’t take long.”

Semi-satisfied with that answer, Pepper let him go and went back upstairs.

The flurry of movement on the other side of the door as detectives scrambled to find legitimate excuses for trying to overhear their conversation through the closed door would have been almost comical had Lucas been in the mood. They tried everything from randomly starting up a conversation with each other to suddenly whipping out their phones to answer mystery calls about the case. Rochester was the most original, pretending to be reading something on one of the boards through the open doorway that led back into the task force room.

Lucas met Pengini and Roxon’s eyes and lifted his chin dismissively at the pair. Being many years Lucas’ senior, Pengini arched his eyebrow in amusement but still nudged his younger partner ahead of him. The door closed behind Pepper as she wrangled them back into the room, leaving Lucas alone on the stairwell.

Unlike those who’d been pretending to take calls, he pulled out his phone and threw his shoulder against the stairwell wall. “Hey, what’s up?” Boyd asked, almost the second the call went through.

“Is Larry with you, by any chance?”

The playfulness was immediately gone. “Yeah, why?”

“Would you mind putting him on the phone for me, love? I need a word.”

“Okay.” He heard the muffled sound of the phone changing hands.

“What’s up?” Larry asked.

“Any chance you can leave the apartment and come and back me up for a couple of minutes?” Now that he’d calmed down a fraction, he knew better than to face off with Daniel alone. He might have said Daniel couldn’t legally kill him, but people disappeared all the time and being eaten whole didn’t leave a lot of evidence, especially when he planned on doing plenty of shouting.

“Why?”

Lucas gave him the brass tacks of what had happened, and after a brief conversation that ended with him answering Larry when he was asked for his exact location, the true gryps warrior said, “Don’t move,” and handed the phone back to Boyd.

“I only got some of that,” Boyd said, his worry evident. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain tonight, love. It might even be funny by then. Right now, I just need to borrow Larry to put out some fires here at 1PP.”

“Or start some,” Angus said from several stairs above him.

Lucas whirled on his heel and looked up at the true gryps war commander. “I gotta go, babe,” he said with a smile and hung up, waiting for Angus to join him on the landing. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon, man?”

Angus made a dismissive snort as he descended the stairs. “Besides being a war commander, I was Daniel’s guardian as a child. He’ll listen to me more than Lar’ee.”

Lucas liked the sound of that even better. “I take it Larry forwarded everything I said to you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, this is more your wheelhouse than mine. I want to have my say and not die, so how do we proceed? Do you walk in with me, or—”

“You lead the way. I’ll tag along invisibly. If Daniel behaves himself, he won’t even know I’m here.”

Such a simple, yet elegant plan; extreme backup but only if necessary. If not, the inspector need never know that Lucas was worried enough to call in divine reinforcements. “I really appreciate this, Angus.”

“I know.”

  * * *

 ((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!! 

The room was rather spacious, round, and roughly divided into three levels. The bottom level contained most of the furniture—tables, chairs, wardrobes, chests of drawers, and a rather comfortable sofa area in one section. Apart from the clocks, there also were some intricate mechanical devices made of wood and metal. Theo had no idea what they were, although he found them aesthetically pleasing. Since the rules allowed it, he could well take a few of those for additional decorations in his main body. Two final points of interest were the portraits and paintings along one of the walls. Judging by the brass name plaques, all of them had been prominent mages at some point or other, although the dungeon couldn’t tell whether they predated Gregord or not.

The second level represented a ring along the wall. Ten feet above the ground, it was accessible through a curved staircase that came out of the wall itself. The vast majority of it was occupied by shelves of books, neatly arranged in endless rows, with the occasional marble bust or crystal ball.

Leading further up, a staircase went to the third and final level. Identical in structure to the ring below, it took the role of a storage area where Gregord had stacked things that didn’t fit anywhere else. From the bottom level, Theo could see a few large paintings, several piles of old books stacked one on the other, and a small assortment of wooden chests. What he didn’t see was a flight of stairs leading up.

“Ellis.” The avatar turned to the white cat. “Do any of those look familiar?” he pointed to the row of mage portraits.

“Classical mages,” the feline replied with a single glance.

No sooner had she said so, than Laster rushed to one of the portraits and took it off the wall.

Standing silently, Theo stared at him with interest. Personally, he strongly doubted that the answer to the riddle had anything to do with paintings. Being somewhat familiar with game theory, the dungeon could safely assume that the answer to the riddle somehow involved clocks. Everything else was either a tool or a distraction.

Meanwhile, Jaster eagerly cast a multitude of spells on the front and back of the painting, as well as every inch of the frame.

“Any idea what he’s doing?” the baron asked.

“Mage Valencia the third,” Laster said, the smug air of superiority on his face palpable even with his back turned. “Gregord’s early rival. Anyone with a proper magic education would see that of all the portraits, this is the only one that Archmage Gregord hated.”

“That’s just speculation from the Hourglass Council,” Ellis countered, flicking her tail. “That was only during their apprentice days. There was no hostility between the two when they became mages.”

“Ha!” The skinny mage turned around to face the cat. “And I suppose you’ll say it’s a coincidence that Gregord joined the hero guild mere months after Valencia returned to his tower.”

“Only because he was called to assist in the fight against the Abomination Agonia!” Ellis snapped.

“A likely excuse. And why did he reject all previous requests?” Laster doubled down.

A shouting match ensued, which was utterly ignored by all other mages present. The other candidates were clearly too busy with their own theories, and were scouring the room for clues. Several floating eyeballs had ascended to the upper levels, carefully analyzing everything and anything from up close. The only exception seemed to be the old man, who had taken advantage of the large sofa to lie down.

“Just like someone from the cat tower,” the skinny mage kept on going. “You’re so shallow that a desert has more water!”

As far as insults went, this was rather creative. Its owner, though, was loud, obnoxious, and rubbed Theo the wrong way.

“So, they were rivals?” he asked, interrupting Ellis’ turn.

“They were more than rivals.” Laster turned in the baron’s direction. “It’s closer to consider them bitter enemies.”

“Right, right.” The avatar waved his hand dismissively. “Bitter enemies. Thus, your conclusion is that out of all the people in the portraits, Gregord would hide the answer to the first-floor riddle within the portrait of his rival.” The baron cleared his throat. “Excuse me, of his bitter enemy.”

The silence coming from the skinny mage was deafening. For five full seconds, he remained still as a statue as his mind tried to deal with the mental ambush it had been subjected to.

“Err…” he managed to say after a while. “They weren’t that bitter enemies?” The mage looked at Ellis, who let out a snort of superiority, then turned around and demonstratively walked away in pure cat fashion.

As much momentary satisfaction as that brought, it still didn’t solve Theo’s immediate issue. Given that he remained the most clueless as far as magic was concerned, he cast a few dozen wandering eyes in an attempt to appear he was doing something, then joined the old man on the sofa.

Sensing his presence, the geezer cracked an eye open.

“You’re not joining the rest of the kids in the search?” the mage asked.

“I’m searching just my way,” Theo replied. “Besides, you’re not doing anything, either.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” the man laughed. “At my age, one must conserve his energy. Eagerness and recklessness are for the young. Let them have a go. If nothing comes out of it, then I’ll step in.”

“Interesting point of view.” Theo mused. “Do you know something the others don’t?”

“I’m sure I know lots of things that others don’t.” The mage took the effort to sit up. “As for the trial. Maybe.” He smiled in the cunning way only an old man could.

In his previous life, Theo would have yelled his head off, or at least grumbled internally. What the old mage was really doing was having others do all the work and him sharing the credit. As a dungeon, though, one couldn’t deny the practicality of it. After all, this was just the first floor trial—too early for alliances, though required if anyone wanted to go further.

The avatar leaned forward, then placed his hand on the floor. His dungeon skill appeared to be still in effect, which he used to create an extremely small structure to emerge. The structure was barely two feet in all directions, without a roof, and filled with expensive looking alcohol bottles.

“Ho, ho, ho,” the old man laughed. “You seem to be equipped with some dangerously useful magic. I don’t think I know that one.”

“Professional secret,” Theo replied, taking out a bottle of strong spirits and tossing it to the man. Bribes and spirits were always a good way to loosen lips.

“Wise.” The old man used a spell to catch the bottle mid-flight. “If I knew a spell like that, I’d keep it secret, too.” He removed the cork and took a swig.

The dungeon watched the man proceed to drink more from the bottle than his actual body mass, then slam it on the floor with a satisfied expression. Yet, despite the amount of alcohol, there were no signs that he was getting drunk, as if spirits had no effect on him at all.

Curious, the avatar cast an arcane identify on the man.

PERPETUITY SHARD

(Unique Cursed Enchantment)

Grants superior mana manipulation to the owner.

Created by Archmage Gregord, the spell causes all the mana within a living entity to condense into a solid shard. The shard replaces a person’s standard mana creation and circulation, allowing them to transform mana out of nutrients the body consumes. As a result, the magical strength and the lifespan of a person are vastly increased at the expense of taste and smell.

“Being curious is a valued quality for mages and adventurers,” the old man said in a much different tone. “Just be careful not to create the wrong impression.” A warning glance was darted towards the baron. “Take it from an old man.”

The threat was so unexpected that all Theo could do was nod with his avatar.

“What was your name again, youngster?”

“Theo,” the avatar said, skipping his full introduction.

“Well, Theo, what do you think of the trials so far?”

“All of them?” The dungeon wondered. “The first was pretty basic. The second was useless. I think we could have shared a lot more information there.”

“Oh?”

“The whole point was to sit down, which usually happens after people introduce themselves.”

“Ho, ho, ho. An interesting take. I like it. And the floor trial?”

“It’s an escape room wrapped in a riddle.”

“An escape room?” The old mage blinked. “I’m not familiar with that.”

“Err, it just means a room from which we must escape. There’s a solution hidden somewhere in the room. We must find the pieces to form a key and get out of here to the room above.”

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you. You say the most peculiar things, and they’re more correct than you know.” The man went to the “room” Theo had created and took another bottle of alcohol. “Looking at you, you’ve probably found a solution?”

“Not to brag, but I can get us to the second floor without solving the riddle.” It was already proven that room creation worked, so he could use it to create a mini-tower that pierced the ceiling.

“There’s no need to rush. Do it the proper way. You never know what might get you kicked out.” The mage uncorked the bottle and took another gulp. “Or killed,” he added. “Besides, things shift quickly in the tower. It’s all fun and games one floor and all-out war the next.”

“You know quite a lot of the tower,” Theo ignored the threat. With everything that had happened so far, he had gone beyond the point of worrying what someone could do to his avatar or even whether he might uncover his secret.

“Ho, ho, ho. I just read a lot.”

“I bet. And what did you say your name was?”

The man’s smile widened.

“I guess it’s fair that I tell. You gave me some drink and entertainment, after all. Velinor. Auggy Velinor.”

The name didn’t mean much, but before Theo could ask any more questions, the old mage had lied back on the sofa with his back turned. There wouldn’t be any more questions for a while, which was just as good since thousands of miles away, back in Rosewind, another crisis was brewing.

When Spok had told the dungeon that she’d take care of everything, it was optimistic to think that to be the case. Sadly, even a spirit guide of such caliber had to deal with matters beyond her control. As much as Theo had delegated, there were certain abilities that only he was able to do, namely any vast changes in the town itself. Since his arrival in Rosewind, the dungeon had dealt with repair and reconstruction: removing drawings on the walls, fixing cracks, and occasionally sealing off doors and windows when needed. He had some vague memory of houses being reconstructed by his spirit guide in the period of his brief two-month nap, but even that was minor compared to what was currently in store.

Deep within the basement of the gnome workshop, surrounded by giant blackboards and tables with miniature models of the city’s districts, Spok and Switches had been discussing the desired outlook of the city for the wedding event. Voices had progressively been raised higher and higher to the point that both had demanded Theo’s involvement.

“I’m telling you, it’ll be a lot more functional!” the gnome insisted, waving an extendable metal pointer. “With a second landing platform on at the castle, guests could come and go to the event directly. We’ll keep the existing one for goods, and common passengers, of course.”

“Do you remember how long it took for the griffins to get used to airships to begin with?” Spok countered, her arms crossed. “Definitely more than a week. What do you think that the guests’ reaction would be after getting shat on by a flock of griffins in protest? And if there’s one thing I won’t allow, it’s having my ceremony spoiled by shit from above.”

The gnome considered her words for a few moments. The unfortunate incident had been rather noticeable for several weeks after the launch of the first Rosewind airship. While the craft had been designed to fend off most attacks—a remnant of the gnome’s Mandrake days—the griffin population had retaliated by covering the airships and landing platforms with excrement. Thus, the profession of platform cleaner was born—a new job that adventurer candidates could take advantage of. Subsequent food bribes had limited the effect of the damages throughout the rest of the city.

“We can place it on the other side of the river?” Switches suggested. “We just can’t handle the influx of guests with the current number of airships. Already there’ve been queues between flights. Just today, three airships had to wait for hours before they could unload. It’ll be worse when the guests start arriving. Ten flights have been booked already, and that’s just the people the duke told me to include.”

“Hold on!” Theo stepped in. “Ten flights are booked? We only have five airships.”

“Well, technically you’re correct,” Switches replied. “Three more are being constructed, though.” The gnome’s ears perked up. “The first will be ready by tomorrow! Guaranteed!”

“And you’ve already filled up ten?” the dungeon pressed on. “How does that happen?”

“Well, the guests don’t exactly know there are only five. It’s difficult being the only engineer, even with Cmyk’s help. I’ll need to build more constructs, but for that I’ll need more mana and monster cores.” There was a prolonged pause, after which he turned towards the nearest wall. “Of course, you can always share a few more fragments of your core,” he added with a toothy smile.

“No!”

“Oh, come on, boss! You won’t even feel it! We’ll be able to build airships twice as fast! Scratch that, we’ll be able to build anything twice as fast. I can even throw in a few dozen mechanical carriages, some clockwork servants, and—”

“No means no!” Theo said adamantly. He didn’t like the concept to begin with, let alone the consequences. “Can’t you just hire workers?”

“Have unqualified substandard artisans work on my masterpieces? Ha!” Switches stomped his foot in defiance.

“You had goblins for workers when you tried to conquer the world!” the dungeon countered.

“And they were useless! Why do you think I took the effort to kidnap people for mining? Because goblins couldn’t even get that right. All the actual work was done by my constructs, or the demon armors, as you referred to them. No demon cores—no assistance. No assistance—seven airships by the start of the wedding and large queues.”

There had been several occasions in Theo’s previous life when he’d imagined what it would be like if he were the one in charge. In his mind, he had the solutions to increasing productivity, effectively dealing with resources, recruiting talent, and all the minutiae that went into running an organization. All that he needed, he kept telling himself, was to be given a chance. Ironically, after he’d been made a creature that could be said to literally embody a living corporation of sorts, he had done everything in his power to ignore, postpone, and delegate his responsibilities.

“Will any monster cores work?” he asked, as the gears in his mind reluctantly turned.

“Well, the core determines the efficiency and complexity of the construct.” Switches rushed to the nearest blackboard. Activating the magic elevating device around his belt, he floated up into the air and erased a section with his sleeve. “Goblin cores could power a root-and-vine removal tinker for a few years,” he jotted a small circle and a surprisingly good sketch of a chest-like entity with four metallic legs. “Perfect for keeping tunnels in good condition, though you’re doing that already. Maybe I could adapt one of my basic worker constructs to use it for a week, but even that’s doubtful.”

The gnome then made a circle three times as large.

“Orc and troll cores could be good for mechanical horses, possibly carriages.” He continued drawing. “Trolls are better, naturally, but even orcs could last a few years. With some effort, they could make a worker function for a month.”

“What about skeleton cores?” the dungeon asked.

“For the most part, useless,” the gnome sighed. “They’re pretty much like goblin cores, but a lot more brittle. Most will break in a day or two. My advice—don’t use them unless you’re selling the constructs to someone. I’ve seen cheap skeleton cores clog an entire tunnel network. Took me ages to clear them, and even then, I got no thanks from my previous boss.”

An interesting distinction, which Theo never had to worry about. When consumed, a core was a core. Skeletons and goblins provided the same amount or core points, which at this point were insignificant.

“Royal slimes?” he asked.

“Slimes could work.” The gnome floated lower, while continuing to draw. “They are a bit finicky, but it should maintain a worker for months, maybe half a year.”

“That would have been nice to know before the cleanup,” Spok said in a disapproving voice.

She was right. The dungeon had accumulated a massive number of slimes he had shot up to the surface, depleting the majority of his slime pits. He could construct more, of course, but even then, it was going to take at least days for slimes to start emerging. Also, Theo wasn’t enamored with the idea of having slimes wandering around his tunnels again.

“Hold on!” A question popped into his mind. “What did you use to power the airships?” All the shelves in the gnome’s laboratory moved about. “Did you extract more of my core while I was asleep?!”

“Of course not!” Switches waved both his hands. “It was too well guarded, so I had to make do with the trinkets I found. On that note, I could use the mana gem. It might take a while to develop the technology, but—”

“I’ll be using that, thank you very much!” The dungeon reacted on instinct.

For an instant, Theo’s desire to increase his rank surpassed any rational thought. On that note, maybe it was a good idea to send a letter to the Feline Tower regarding an advance on his promised payment.

“Then we’re back to monster cores,” Switched sighed. “By which I mean the lack of. If I had some of my goblin armies, maybe I could patch things until the wedding is over, but with the hordes of adventurers roaming about… Not that I have anything against them,” he quickly added. “Wonderful people, every last one of them. They keep the platforms clean, come to me frequently for advanced weapon requests. A few hundred even asked whether they could become my assistants.”

“That’s it!” The entire structure shook.

“Hire them as apprentices?” The gnome’s expression shifted into pondering mode. “I guess it could work,” he scratched his left ear. “In the long run. Humans could learn the basics… but it’ll take me months to train them…”

“Not that!” the dungeon snapped. “The adventurer guilds. We have scores of them, and they have quests.”

Both Switches and Spok stared at the nearby wall.

“I’m a member of the Lionmane guild, right?” Theo asked.

“Actually, sir, you are the duke’s official advisor on adventurer matters,” Spok corrected. “At least, the baron is.”

“Even better! I can start collecting a monster core tax,” he said.

“A what, sir?”

“Adventurers don’t use cores for anything, right?”

“Well, they can bring them to me to craft weapon upgrades and—” Switches began, but was quickly interrupted.

“So, the guilds must have loads of them. I’ll just have a talk with the guild masters and have them bring them here.”

“Sir.” The spirit guide adjusted her glasses. “While your idea has merits, only the duke could issue and collect taxes. The suggestion should be discussed in the inner council, and you know fully well how long that could take.”

“It’s for the duke’s own wedding. I’m sure he’ll rush it along.”

“That might be the case, sir, but there are other interests involved. Coming with an exact amount will be complex and time consuming to say the least. Time periods and delays must be discussed, also the basis on which the amount is determined. Not to mention that a system must be devised to account for core type and rarity that is compatible with our needs.”

When the spirit guide stopped, a heavy silence filled the room.

“Spok, you’ve been hanging around Duke Rosewind far too long,” the dungeon spoke at last.

“Well…” The normal person wouldn’t have noticed a thing, but for anyone with the ability to perceive mana, they’d see an ethereal buildup on Spok’s cheeks. “I have picked up a few things, sir. The point is that it wouldn’t be as straightforward as you thought.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we? If we can’t get it through taxation, there are other ways. All we—”

Both of Spok’s eyebrows rose in concern. Without warning, the spirit guide vanished, leaving the gnome alone in his workshop.

“Well, I like your plan, boss,” Switches said in support. “A few hundred cores will be a great start. If we manage to scrounge a thousand even better. I’ll build a few construct-building constructs, then instruct the rest to join the airship construction force. I still say we need more platforms, though. Maybe you can get the griffins to be more cooperative?”

Theo never had a high opinion of the damned cats on wings, even if his avatar had animal handling skills. No doubt something could be done on the matter, provided he invested a bit more in food to bribe them with. Just as he was about to voice an opinion, Spok appeared in the room again.

“It’s a disaster,” she said, her left eyebrow trembling slightly.

“Another one?” Theo asked.

“Don’t look at me!” Switches said defensively. “Nothing has exploded in days.” He paused. “Nothing other than the fireworks display has exploded in days,” he quickly clarified.

“Duke Avisian and his entourage are on their way here,” the spirit guide said.

“Who?”

“Duke Avisian is a rather important figure in the empire and one of the leading forces who opposed Rosewind being given the title of duke.”

“Charming.” A chill of discontent swept through the dungeon. “I thought guests weren’t supposed to arrive until the end of the week?”

“They weren’t, but Duke Avisian has decided to show up early. Frankly, sir, this is more than a shock. The man detests Cecil. The only reason he was sent an invitation was because not doing so would have been viewed as a deliberate insult on our part.”

Things kept getting better and better. Theo, of course, knew perfectly well why the duke had shown up. It had nothing to do with Spok’s wedding or the duke’s promotion. What the noble really wanted was to take every opportunity to humiliate his host, possibly causing a rather large scandal in the process.

Using both of his observatories, Theo focused on all roads leading to the city. It took less than a second for him to spot the mentioned threat. A large extravagant carry pulled by six brown thoroughbred horses was slowly making its way along the main road. Two more carriages of lesser stature were behind, along with several dozen men on horseback. Everyone was dressed in finely polished armor and bright, expensive clothes.

In total, there were at least thirty horses and at least as many people. Compared to the usual influx of people to Rosewind, these were a drop in the bucket. However, unlike the usual arrivals, anything but the best treatment would be deliberately viewed as an insult and a pretext to cause issues—something that Theo, Spok, and Duke Rosewind no doubt wanted to avoid.

“Switches, drop everything you’re doing and get my construct-double functioning as fast as you can,” the dungeon ordered. “And make sure it looks human!”

“Sure thing, boss!” The gnome gave what could be liberally interpreted as a salute, then flew towards the exit. Halfway there, his belt abruptly popped, causing him to crash onto the floor. “I’m fine!” Switches said while rolling forward. “All part of the plan!” he jumped up, then ran out.

Internally, Theo sighed. The long period of sleepless days had just begun.

< Beginning | | Book 2 | | Book 3 | | Previously | | Next >

[Previous] - [First]

She actually has to think about it. But eventually she lets Cox cut her loose, and she hands over an embroidered pouch with three shimmery, nacreous lumps inside. One is smooth and marble sized, just like the one the Physician put inside me. One is huge and craterous, and one is in the perfectly preserved shape of a tiny fish skeleton, only smooth and gentle pink.

I remember these. Seventy years encased in a pearl alongside three others. They are insensate. Duds. Throw them in brandy, see if they wake.

I have another idea. "Doctor?"

The bespectacled man pops up. "Yes?"

"What would happen to these pearls if put inside a dead brain?"

"Nothing! Well, nothing in the long term. If it was freshly dead they might begin to nestle inside the remaining life essence, before it left the corpse entirely."

So this might work. Perhaps my own brain hasn't been fully brined yet. Or perhaps this is just the result of having an angel at your shoulder. An alcoholic angel is still an angel, after all. 

"Can you make a hole in one of those corpses skulls?" I ask.

"Certainly! Allow me to just prepare my tools–"

There is a squelch from across the deck. Cox withdraws her knife from the brain of one of the guards she killed earlier. "Like this?" she asks.

"Incredible!" The Physician looks at her in admiration.

"That won't…damage it too much?" I kneel by the corpse, the pearls sweaty in my hand.

"It's dead!" the Physician says. "And honestly, it's mostly just a blind sort of stab in the dark at the best of times." I stare at him. He shrugs. "I told you there was a high chance of death."

"You also said I didn't need that part of my brain."

"And clearly, you didn't! Anyway, pass me those." Carefully, he pushes the pearls into the dead sailor's skull, inserting his index finger up to the knuckle, showing no sign of distress. He pulls it out after the final insertion, covered in blood and fluid, and wipes his hands on his black wool suit.

It makes my stomach turn. Warm ink bubbles out of my skull as the angel bleeds nausea. It wasn't even a full part of me, on that day my skull was opened, but it feels the memory as though it is its own. We were both altered. And neither of our circumstances afforded us any real choice.

"The angel–the big one, holding the ship–it was called to us when I entered the water. It found the existence of what I am unbearable, but I don't think it can feel me in the same way up here. If we throw this in–" I touch the corpse with my foot, "It might take it instead and leave."

"Goodness. It truly was called to your mere existence? What did–"

"I've agreed to help your science project after I survive being dragged to the celestial abyss."

"Yes, quite."

Cox, the Physician and myself drag the body up to the bowsprit. The closer I get the more I buckle inwards, my mind clouded with pressure, my angel spraying ink incoherently. I get the sense that the big angel is waiting, but only because time is nothing to it, and there is no need for it to move at any particular point. At any random moment it could crush the ship to sift me from the pieces.

Clarissa is watching us from the mast, glaring at me with a surprising amount of passion, as though I had just robbed her, not untied her and tried to save her life. I catch Cox looking back over her shoulder wistfully.

"Is she actually attractive or is this just some kind of mental health issue for you?" I hiss as we heave the body onto the bowsprit. I've always been scrawny, and my dockworker muscles have been eroded over the last six months of homelessness and experimental brain surgery. Cox is the only one of us with any functional strength, and she's too distracted to be much help.

"It's more the idea that she would have me imprisoned forever if she could," Cox says, mistily. "Something about that really works for me. But, yeah. She's also banging. Why, you never had a lover you kind of fundamentally despised and vice versa?"

I don't think I've had anything else. "You should be more discrete," I say primly, because I'm annoyed at her, and I don't want to think about my past.

Cox rests a sympathetic hand on my arm. "Oh, buddy. From the state your life is in, I can tell you are a master of discretion."

I purposely avoid her eyes, which is how I see him. A man–a guard Cox missed–is creeping up to us, half hidden by the bulwark. My stomach drops. I know him. It's only the briefest flash of black hair, and hawkish nose, but–I know him*.* I would recognise him anywhere.

The dockmaster. The man who ruined my life. Maybe it's just because Cox made me think of him, but I'm certain, suddenly, that he's here. The person I have come closest to loving, and being loved by.

He often talked of getting a job on a fancy ship. Going to sea. Leaving me. It made me angry beyond reason back then–not at the thought of being abandoned, but of being superceded. I'd missed my own chance to escape this life. I couldn't stand for him to get one, too. 

We spent over five years together in a furtive, jealous dance. Sleeping together at night, working together by day. Almost a couple, as far as these things go. We stayed in the same sharehouse with a hundred other men, but we had our private places. 

I did love him. And I hated him. He was always so much better than me. The others might suspect he held illicit desires within, but they never acknowledged it. Whereas I…there was so much more wrong with me than simple perversion. I never managed to hide it all.

The night before I broke everything he had said as much. That he was done with it. Me. Going to a further dock, closer to the grand ships. Better pay, better prospects. He said he couldn't be the person I made him. I understood. He wasn't done with men, just men like me. I tossed all my brandy in the harbour that night. I thought it might change something, but it didn't. It never does. 

The next day I didn't get my drink in before work. I was fiending and shaking and wanting to cry, and he gave me an order without looking at me. Me, older than him, cresting forty, yet beneath him. Always his lesser. Everyone's lesser. My life was over and it had never begun. I waited, and he wouldn't even move his head. So I screamed at him. Just screamed. I couldn't stop. 

It wasn't until he walked away, still without looking at me, that I threw something. A wrench, I think. It barely hit him, but he turned back, violence on his face. Or maybe just shame. After we were pulled apart and I was fired I crawled my bruised way to a drink and never saw him again.

The guard finally emerges from behind the bulwark, and for a second I'm back in the darkness behind the kitchen, or the outhouse, his arms my whole world. But then my brain clears, and I see a stranger. This man has brown eyes, not black. Lighter skin. Is shorter, and a decade younger, and has no idea who I am. I have just enough time to feel a startling sadness before Cox lunges and shoves him overboard.

"What–"

"You're welcome."

My eyes are wet. Of course he isn't here. He will never be here again. Neither will my old life, or my whole brain. I burnt that bridge–not with that wrench, with brandy and bitterness. And that is my fault, not his. 

The guard flounders in the water, but the crushing presence of the angel seems uninterested in him. In fact its attention seems fixed on me.

I take a breath. "Ok." I nod at Cox at the Physician. "Now."

We take the pearl-stuffed corpse by the shoulders and heave.

Several things happen at once. The air clenches around me and I drop to my knees, the ocean dragging me down, making the angel in my head scream as I cry out, my skull creaking. The corpse catches on the bowsprit, and as it does its head bulges, rippling and tearing as though something inside it is trying to break free. At the same time Clarissa leaps forward and pushes me off the bow.

I fall, furled, clutching my bottle in an act of unconscious protection; beneath me is the glassy blackness, unnaturally still, preternaturally dark, I can see only that water, and feel only the rush of warm salt air and the event horizon of an angel as I drop into its waiting mouth.

And then my head and neck explode in pain as I jerk to a halt. My eyes pop blackness, ink leaking from my nose, eyes, mouth–even my ears. Someone screams as bodies rush past me. I blink my eyes clear in time to see Clarissa's momentum–and Cox's fist–carry her off the bow, knocking loose the corpse whose face is exploding outward in a pink clash of bone and pearl. Something piscine and glistening gapes up at me for an instant before it, and Clarissa, hit the perfect black mirror pane of angelic ocean below.

They disappear as though winked out of existence. The clear water collapses, the air splits around me. A massive gust of wind releases around the ship, carrying all the stink of Porthold. Directly below me, the perfectly glassy water is turning back into healthy, un-celestial waves. Fathoms down I see a tentacle the size of Porthold. And then nothing. The pressure disappears, the warping in the air ceases, the waves return, and the boat rocks and bobs violently in the wake of release.

I am swinging by my head from the bowsprit, my tentacles wrapped around it in panic, their voice just a high pitched squeal inside my head. My neck aches like I've broken it, but I can still feel all my limbs.

Hands grip my shoulders, and the Physician and Cox drag me back on deck. It takes some prompting for the tentacles to let go. I spit ink. Cox pats me on the shoulder–quite hard.

"Nice one buddy. Now I'm going to go finish stealing the ship. Suit man, you come help me."

"Just a moment." The Physician puts a hand to my neck, then checks my shoulders. He peers into my eyes. "I believe you are well. Your cerebral guest is quite skilled!"

"We have each others best interests at heart."

"And isn't that something?" He beams at me.

"Doctor?" I wince as I try to shift myself into a comfier position, and slip back. "That evolution you spoke of?"

He sobers. "Yes?"

"It's going to happen, isn't it?" The full angel swims somewhere below us. An unfathomable power to crush into one dying brain. My angel is but an infant. On its way from here to there there is no pathway that involves me surviving. Not as I am.

"I believe so, Mr Waite. I can't see it otherwise. I am…sorry for my part in this. I truly wanted you to live, but I always knew it would be like this, at best."

There's a lump in my throat that I feel all the way inside my brain. "Go help Cox before she kills a seagull and eats it, or whatever women with our sexual misdirection do if they're left alone."

"Typically not that. Cox is an unusual specimen. Quite insane, clearly. Yet competent. Hmmm." He rubs his chin, watching her as she stands at the rudder. "You know, I wonder if she wouldn't mind me asking her some questions. For the psychology of it."

"Yes. She, alone, is unusual. It is only one freak setting sail from Porthold this evening, not three."

"Mmm. Perceptive, Mr Waite. You do speak with some startling awareness. It makes one wonder what might happen if we did manage to get you away from that bottle you cling to." He wanders off, and I lie back, propped against the railing looking up at the stars–which are starting to move above us, as Cox coaxes wind into the sails.

It has been a while since I had a proper drink. An hour? Two? Not enough to start to withdraw, but enough to sober up a measure, which is usually too much, for me.

I pat for my brandy with one hand. For a moment I just turn up empty pocket, and my heart surges in panic. But then I feel it. Heavy and hard and certain. My angel croons, my body relaxes. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. The young creature in my skull huddles, aching and exhausted, hibernating until the next wash of warmth and love that is brandy floods my brain. It can wait a little longer.

Lying here, I feel strangely thirstless. Too much adrenaline, too much momentum. But I know moments like this; they carry as much real light as stars. Dustmotes in the blackness. I will feel the need again. And no version of the person I am or should have been will be able to stay my hand. Then, this bottle will be my angel. I told the Physician in our first meeting that no angels lay in my cups. But, fuck. I've met two of them, and one was an invisible storm and the other a drooling child. If angels are real, the one in this bottle has destroyed me more successfully than either of them. 

I'm not going to become the man the Physician thinks he sees peeking out, because I already am him. He is a drunk, and I will never be free of him. But even if I wash back up in Porthold my guts full of rum and my body mutated, at least I'm facing the right direction at last. All of me. Perverted and sloshing with brandy. A friend at my back, an angel on my shoulder. Away from the docks, and out to sea. 

THE END.

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The Physician's eyes widen as he looks from the bottle to the hole in my head. "That is–I mean–I mean I suppose I should have expected this. An embryo nurtured within a system dependent on a substance would indeed become dependent itself I just…the ramifications…"

"Yes, tell me more about the ramifications." 

"Well, aside from the problem of what a drunk angel will look like, there is the small fact that if you ever quit drinking your bodies will reject each other and you will die."

"That doesn't change very much for me, doctor."

"Hmm. Well." He bites his nail nervously. "I would like to examine you, if I may–witness these tentacles for myself–perhaps we could even investigate what a controlled withdrawal does to you, under scientific circumstances I'm certain I could reintroduce alcohol to your system before it became too dangerous. You would be compensated of course. And–"  

I stop listening.

What will I look like, as the guest in my brain transforms me further? Perhaps I should be devastated. Perhaps only the tentacles themselves are preventing me from feeling the horror I ought. But perhaps I don't care because I was already a hybrid creature. 

It's not just me and this alien rattling around in my nervous system; it's me, my tentacles, and our liquid host. I've been a half person with brandy for limbs since I was fifteen. I've never had the luxury of bodily integrity. What's one more waterlogged pathway to swim down? At least down this one, I have an angel on my side.

"You can do what you like to me," I cut across the Physician. "But you can't hurt my angel, and you can't ask me to stop drinking. Not for anything." I hold out a hand. I am almost steady.

The Physician stops with his mouth open. He looks at my hand. His eyes are wide and blinking quickly as he considers his options. Even with my conditions, I am a willing case study. More than I think he truly expected. And in turn, I am gainfully employed once again. It isn't right. It isn't enough. It isn't a bunk in a university with another man at my back, my hands and mind firm and un-eroded by drink. But it is what I have to choose from. Less and more than I deserve.

The Physician takes my rough, still slightly trembly hand in his own cold, slippery grip. "Well. Well. Welcome to the realm of science, Mr Waite! You will be a beacon…a great boon to the stores of knowledge on human transmutation! Now, we just need to get off this ship. I rather fear my erstwhile benefactor will struggle to leave us alone…yes, in fact that may be an issue. She is…unpleasant. And wealthy."

Then, the ship creaks all around us like it's being contracted by a colossal hand, and the deck jolts under my feet, sending me and the Physician skidding into the wall. 

Cox skids into the room and slams into me. I sneeze as my tentacles bloom in panic. I put a hand to my head; little, squishy fingertips blossom from the hole above my ear, like thick strands of hair. They are ready, responding to my body tensing. They seem attuned to a part of me that isn't fully conscious. The part that flares in rage, or burns with need. Which is concerning, given they are the nascent tendrils of a chimaeric monster, but there's not much to be done about it now. 

Cox has a gash across her mouth, bleeding freely down her neck. "There's an attractive lady up there who is very mean, and got extremely furious when I was stealing the ship. I did it–mostly–but then an actual angel appeared. I feel we are still too close to shore for an angel to appear." Her eyes are bulging. "It's holding the ship right now, by the way. With its mind."

The Physician, whose glasses had fallen off in the fray, slides them carefully back up his nose. "You have stolen the ship?" he asks, focusing on the wrong thing entirely. "What for?"

"For, you know, fun and profit and all that. There's an angel."

"I'm just assessing whether I have one dangerous scenario to escape, or two."

"What? Oh, no, it's Ok, you're Jack's thing. I'm not going to mess with you." She looks at me.

"The Physician is with me," I confirm. "We have an arrangement."

"I should clarify, I can't pay you if I am not in access of my surgery and, you know, on land."

"We'll work something out." I need him to stay with me. Not for his sake. I just need someone who knows something about what is happening to me, and what will continue to happen. And at the very least I will need a doctor.

Cox claps her hands. "Excellent, great, I can't process anything right now. Look Jack, we need to go back out the way we came. Leave that hot lady upstairs to get eaten–I tied her to the railings to, you know, facilitate that. Are your brain buddies ready to swim very fast?"

"I have a very strong breast-stroke," the Physician pipes up.

"Don't we all," Cox says smugly and cryptically.

But when I contemplate swimming away from this ship, so fancy and so capable of sailing as far away from Porthold as anyone could ever go, I balk. Not just because I know it won't work. As soon as I touch water that unfathomable clicking creature will have me. But also because I would rather be destroyed by an avenging angel than set foot in that city ever again.

I want to leave. I want to be more than these docks. I want to catch Cox's ship and her psychotic, deviant friendship, and sail somewhere better. I understand her now. She's like me. A pervert, and a piece of social waste. It does strange things to your mind, having sodomite at the core of your identity. I fell into substance, as I would likely have anyway, she…well, I'm still not sure. But she's definitely weird. I also like her. I've had many lovers, but very few friends. 

I turn to Cox. "No. I'm not swimming anywhere. You want to steal this ship, and I will help you."

After a moment of blankness, her face breaks into a bloody smile of pure, terrifying glee.

Putting my head underwater was what called this creature up to the surface to begin with. Something about a pearl, maybe one of its eggs, interacting with a human brain was unbearable to it. But the pearl in my head wasn't the only one, was it? The owner of this ship had other samples. She mentioned them in her letter.

"Take me up on deck," I tell Cox. "Show me this angel. I think I have an idea."

*

On deck all is calm, and still. Too still. No wind, no beating of waves. The boat is motionless, the only sound the creak of wood under strain. The crew have all jumped overboard and swum back to shore. All except for the few huddled corpses and pools of blood Cox has left behind. More disturbing is the 'attractive lady' Cox mentioned. She is alive and mostly unharmed, but also tied, screaming, to the bow.

There is no sign of the angel, only this intense, crushing stillness, as though the creature's very proximity has frozen us in place. All the hair on my body is standing on end. The angel in my skull is screaming. I feel it as a scraping, endless flinch down my entire nervous system. The tendrils bunch and writhe inside my brain, like hands wringing in terror.

"What was your goal, there, exactly?" I ask Cox with effort, gesturing to the woman. Clarissa, the Physician said.

"Human sacrifice!"

"Forget I asked." I step out across the open deck. It's physically hard, like the air around my is trying to crush me in place. I want to lie down screaming and burrow as far away as possible. 

As I approach the bow my angel contorts with fear. I feel a rolling nausea, and then my brain vomits ink. It sprays out the side of my head, splattering my face and side with warm, thick black liquid. Clarissa stops screaming and looks at me in horror.

I ignore her. Below us is a black, glassy expanse of perfect stillness. I can see nothing. No tentacles, no beak, only pure, flat water that sinks and sinks down all around us like a void to the bottom of the world. There is a slight warping to the air in the corners of my vision and a pressure on my skull like I'm deep underwater. My head screams.

What are they afraid of? Isn't this a sort of parent to them?

No.

The thought is faint, and for a moment I think I've just answered my own question, but then it comes again:

NO!

The thought reverberates through my brain like a soundless shout accompanied by an overwhelming desire to drink. I have the brandy in my pocket, but I'm not in physical need, and even I know when to keep things relatively level.

PLEASE! Take me away. Make me safe.

What is it going to do? I think at the thing. It came after us when I entered the water, so it must be called by us somehow.

It does not like us. You. It doesn't not want this…merging. I was going to be like it. But now I am stunted. I am deformed. De…pendent. It cannot stand it. It pains it. It will take us down, to another place, and pull us apart. Re-work our bodies It will kill us, but we cannot die. And we will never have…brandy.

I am chilled by the fear in its rambling. It is too human to be what it is. Too childlike to need alcohol in this fundamental way. "What are you?" I whisper, eyes shut against the pressure. "The Physician believes you are an angel."

I… 

There is sense of awful vagueness, from the creature. Confusion, yearning, and ignorance. An inheritance greater than the scope of the sea, trapped with the confines of a broken skull.

I am thirsty.

Below my wobbly feet the water sucks, and bulges. The ship creaks in its invisible vice and something trembles deep, deep down. I get the sense that this angel is holding the ship up here, and still their being extends out of sight. Their real body dwells in the abyss where the world ends and something else begins.

Could the thing in my mind truly be one such as that? Corralled and stunted, yes, but still…Surely nothing could make this otherworldly presence so limited?

Don't let it take us, the angel in my mind whispers. Don't let us go into the deep.

It is very young, I realise. Young, and terrified, and full of longing. Longing for brandy. While I, strangely, feel almost sober. 

"You," I say to Clarissa, who is trying to bite herself loose. "You have more of those pearls, don't you?"

She pauses, her mouth slightly open, bits of twine stuck in her teeth. "You are fascinating. In such a situation, you care only for riches! Philo and his obsession with the lower classes. He does not understand how incredibly limited your minds are." She sinks her teeth back into her bonds with righteous vigour.

"If you give them to me, I can make the bad angel go away." I take a step towards her. She flinches back. Disgust, not fear, on her face. Does Cox really find her attractive?

I turn inwards, to the cringing monster in my brain. I know you're scared, I think at it directly. But I am going to help you. I didn't mean to make you this way, but we're here now, and yes, the brandy's here, too, and we're all going to be Ok. 

We are? Please, can we drink?

Soon. First, I need you to grab that woman by the face and just sort of squeeze her a bit.

It takes a little more coaxing, but finally, with surprising force, the slender tentacles shoot out of my head in a froth of anxious ink. It knocks me to my knees, and Clarissa shrieks, then mumbles as the tentacles wrap around her face, lifting her.

"Ok." I dig my nails into the deck, clenching my jaw against the pressure in my skull. My angel trembles, like a sniffly child holding a jar over a cockroach. "Either you let us generously untie you and banish the avenging angel, or I get drunk with my tentacles while the angel eats you and then us."

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"That's her." Cox and I crouch in the dark, behind a discrete pile of refuse, looking out over the moonlit bay. She lowers a spyglass made out of her curled fists. 

A small, ornate vessel sits quietly along the quay. Filigreed portholes spill yellow light over the black water. 

"So beautiful," Cox breathes. She seems to be in a sort of swoon. Her eyes are soft, almost dewy. "Look at that. Is that gold? Gold paint? And green stripes. Green bits. Would you call that celadon?"

"What's your deal, Cox? Why're you…what's up with you?" The tonic I stole from the Physician's surgery has bolstered me. There's a glow to it that worms into my brain and guts and is quite distinct from alcohol. I think it might be laudanum.

Cox focuses her sights on one of the open portholes, ignoring me. A woman's underskirt hangs out of it, flapping in the cool sea breeze. "That's what we're after Jack."

I eye it. "I hope it brings you everything you want from life. Just so long as I can find my Physician as well."

The author of that letter may have been his friend, once, but they were going in very different directions with their experiment. He's on that ship, I'm certain of it.

Cox sets down her hands, brushes them like she put away a real telescope. "I've got something to tell you, Jack."

I fix her in a narrow stare.

"I'm an admirer of your condition."

"Which one?"

She smiles. Her teeth are cracked. "I saw something in your head, back when you were moaning and fitting in your cell back there. I thought I'd imagined it, but then…I saw it again. I believe in angels, Jack. And I think you have one."

I touch the side of my head. I have splashed myself clean of ink and blood, and the edges of the wound seem to be healing. Hot and sensitive to the touch, like the underside of a scab.

The hole remains permanently open. The size of a coin, I can just bring myself to insert the tip of one finger before flinching away. I don't want to feel my brain. And I shouldn't want to feel the anemone touch of the thing cloistered inside. Except part of me does.

I can sense them inside, if I let myself. They are clenched, and afraid, and…needy. They long for something with a taught, primal ache. An ache I find unbearably familiar.

"There is nothing angelic about what's happening to me."  I thumb the cap from the Physician's tonic, which is almost empty, and fill the rest of it up with a bottle of brandy Cox found me.

Cox puts out a hand and holds it over mine, over the bottle. Her eyes are dark, and honest. "I saw something special in you, Jack. And I'm a believer."

I look at her for several seconds, and suddenly I want to believe, too. Alcohol and laudanum chokes my corroded veins; every part of me is poisoned and debased; I am a hermit crab's shell, a hole for someone else's pearl, yet… Did this odd woman really see something of value in me? The touch of a real angel? A soul burning brighter than brandy? She's no-one. Just a strange ugly sociopath with as many perversions as I. But…

"What did you see?" My voice catches a little.

"Tentacles, Jack. Fucking tentacles. And they are so cool."

I open my mouth, but I can think of nothing to say. Then, there's a faint thunk from the ship, and one of the lights goes dim. 

Cox claps me on the shoulder. "Alright Jack. Let's go." She slips into the dark water and all but disappears. Just a low, dark flicker cutting swiftly towards the ship.

I take a breath, dangling bare feet over the side of the dock. A drop below, the water sucks up at me. Magnetic and cold. I feel swooping vertigo and my skin prickles. Blood rushes in my ears. The thing inside me doesn't want to meet that salt.

Fumbling, I tie my bottle of laudanum and brandy tightly into my waistband. There's a drop left in the other bottle, the brandy from Cox, and I finish it before tossing the it on the rubbish pile. As fire fills my throat and the base of my brain, I slip off and drop down into the black, cold salt.

As I descend below the waterline everything in my head–fire, fever, fear–is doused, silently, like a swiftly pinched flame. For a full moment, I can feel all the contents of my mind, and they are still and calm. I am here, my brain is here, the hatched pearl and the creature within, and somehow all is well. In this moment, I feel no fear, and no disgust. I sense nothing alien about the curled, cautious creature in my head. In fact, I feel a kinship. Some need, some sense of satiety that is shared between us, as tangled together as two liquors in the same glass.

I'm no sailor, I'm no dreamer. I've never believed in anything. But maybe Cox is right. Maybe this is an angel. 

And then a click ricochets from miles beneath, vibrating through the soles of my feet dangling in the depths. It jerks through me, a click from a beak the size of a ship, thunderclapping across the entire ocean. My mind blares alive, the alien cluster screams and all my nerves light on fire.

Something bigger than Porthold has noticed me. And it is rising.

I kick, grasping fistfuls of water that feel like so much thick air. I'm down deeper than I should be, just sinking and sinking. I grew up on the docks, so close to the ocean I was twelve before I even walked on ground that wasn't nailed over it. Still can't barely swim more than two metres.

Cox's plan was to swim to the porthole, then climb up together. She had a notion I'd be of some help somehow. But I'm disorientated and I can't see any lights above me. My lungs are starting to seize. The water on my legs is growing colder and colder as I just sink, and I can feel that thing, that colossal clicking thing approaching.

Just as ice seizes over my chest and I can't tell if I'm still drowning or just in the dark, the bundle of nerves and tendrils inside my skull twitches. It extends, cautious and graceful, and my body twitches in response. Slender fingers slither out of my skull, slippery over my face and neck. They feather into the water, which is cold on their tips. Cold, but good. They relax, loosening and firming in their native environment. Reaching and pulling, further and further, I–they–touch the slimy side of the ship, and begin pulling us–me–in.

My head breaches the surface and I gasp warm night air in a sluice of ocean water as the tendrils snicker back inside my skull. Cox grabs my chin, holding me up. "You said you could swim!" She's treading water furiously, her eyes wide in the dim light from the portholes above us.

I'm bobbing there, and it takes me a minute to realise not all of the tendrils retracted back inside me. A few are still clinging to the side of the ship, holding me in place. Still others swirl and flex in the water, swimming, buoying me. They are all but invisible in this light, but Cox's eyes travel. "You are blessed."

"Did you hear that click?" My teeth are chattering and I swallow salt, clenching my jaw to keep it still.

Cox frowns. "What click?"

"I don't fucking know, but it's big. I need to get to the Physician."

"We'll get you there. Now hold still."

She puts one hand on the top of my head, one on the side of the boat, then somehow gets a foot on my shoulder and before I can protest she's launched herself up, seizing a hawsehole and scuttling, until she's caught the lip of the porthole and shunted herself inside.

She appears a minute later, breathless, handing down a rope of underskirts tied together. The knotted end flops against my shoulder and trails in the water, helpfully. "See? See why I wanted this porthole?" She sounds smug.

*

Once I'm hauled aboard Cox simply disappears, apparently determined to somehow steal this whole ship. Leaving me dripping, shivering in the dark cabin, ready to meet my maker.

My whole scalp tingles. I've lost my hat, so I fumble about in the rope of underclothes until I come up with a shawl. I drape it over my head so I feel like a cloaked assassin. Then I step out, and steal down the hallway.

I find the Physician in the hold, where there is a small, demure brig. Really just a spare cabin that locks from the outside. There's a key on a nearby peg. He sits on a little chair, drinking a cup of of tea. He has a bandage around his neck with a prim spot of blood seeping through. 

He drops his teacup. "Waite!" his chipper voice is hoarse, and he has a swollen, blackened strip of a bruise across his cheek and nose. "You're alive!" Touching the table for support he rises, pushing his spectacles up his nose and peering at me as though to see under my scarf.

With stiff fingers I unlock his cabin door. My scarf falls away as I step inside. My skin twitches and itches in the air, but it doesn't hurt. And it doesn't feel hot, or pressured any longer. It is healing.

The Physician's eyes go wide and he steps in closer. "My goodness. My goodness–it has not acted at all as I thought. Yet you seem…well? I so hoped you would come back, but you never did…and then. Well." He gestures to his cell. "I was kidnapped! By my former partner, if you can believe it."

I loose the bottle in my waistband. I unscrew the top, but I do not drink. "There are things we need to discuss." I sound quite calm. I do not feel it.

"Yes, anything! Please, sit!" The Physician pulls out a seat at his little tea table and all but shoves everything else from it.

I do not sit. I hold the open bottle to my chest like a talisman. "There have been…symptoms. The wound festered. For months, yet I lived. Ink explodes from my head when I cannot find liquor." 

I think of the tentacles. The way I could almost feel everything they touched. The way I could almost reach out to them as though they were a new, multiflorous limb. "When I entered the water just now, something…felt me. I think it is coming for me. For…the thing in my head." I grip the bottle, twisting its cap on and off. And then, desperately, "What is this, doctor? What have you done to me?"

His breath catches. Then he is the one to sit. Hands clamped carefully between his knees, he looks up at me as he speaks, eyes full of wonder. "75 years ago a nacrified colossal squid embryo was harvested from the brain of an infant sperm whale. It had developed with the cetacean. Perhaps it had been there in utero–or even before, wherever before is. It was perfect.

"The theory of angel eggs has never been much more than the refrain of drunken sailors. But if it were to be tested, this was the specimen to do it with. An embryo from another place…a pearl…perhaps an egg. Transformed…but dormant. It passed through the stale hands of collectors until purchased–among other, less promising specimens, by Clarissa. My benefactor turned creditor. There was only ever the tiniest fraction of a chance that it would actually hatch–or that if it did, it and you would live. But here you are." His face shines. "Standing tall."

"There are tentacles, doctor!" My calm is disintegrating. I feel rage. I feel terror. I feel…thirst. My tentacled brain echoes the emotion–and the need. "They appear, they cling, I…feel their pain. Their desire."

"You are a chimaera, Mr Waite. A hybrid creature. Judging by the relatively unchanged outsides of you I can only imagine the process is in its infancy, but if you are experiencing…tentacles, then your nervous system and the creature's must have already successfully merged. It responds to your lack of alcohol with ink because it feels threatened–much as your body does when under the stress of withdrawal!"

"Relatively unchanged. Relatively unchanged. I have tentacles in my brain, doctor! What will happen to me next?" 

The Physician waves a hand as if swatting an unnecessary fly. "Who's to say? Perhaps the infant angel will be able to preserve your body entirely! Or perhaps you, too, will…evolve as it grows. Your fates are meshed, whatever happens." 

He takes off his glasses and cleans them furiously with his shirtsleeve. "Oh Mr Waite, I wish you had come to me for check-ups, it would have been so interesting to witness…and much safer for you, of course." 

I run my thumb over the mouth of the bottle. The spirits burn familiarly on my tattered skin. The angel shivers with need. It craves the glow of alcohol as much as I do, and the stress of the night is making it worse. But I don't drink just yet.

He puts his glasses back on. "In truth, I had expected that if the egg did hatch, you would simply be consumed. Oh, don't look at me like that, you were going to die without my help–and the advert did say death was a possibility. In fact, I specifically told you that bodily transformation was a likelihood. So I'm not at fault here. But I wonder what the catalyst for compatibility was? What was the common ground between your system and the creature's that allowed you to sympathise?"

My hand, holding the bottle of brandy to my chest, is trembling. And in my brain, the angel trembles too. I feel extremely sober. "I think I know."

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Farsus pulled tight on the makeshift bandage until Corey gasped with pain. He gingerly grabbed his wrist and examined the pressure the bandage was putting on his arm.

“Isn’t that a little tight?”

“You leak a single drop of blood and we might all die,” Kamak said. “Worry about your circulation after we make sure your heart stays beating.”

Corey stopped picking at the bandage. Kamak had a point.

“Tooley, give Corey your jacket,” Kamak said. “Need something long-sleeved to cover the bandage, keep anyone from asking questions.”

“And us swapping clothes won’t raise any questions?”

“The whole universe knows you two are fucking, Tools, it’ll raise less questions than a damn bite wound.”

“Fine,” Tooley spat. She stripped off her jacket and tossed it at Corey. “Sorry about the sweat.”

If there was any scent of sweat, Corey didn’t notice. The whole place smelled a little too much like blood for anything else to be clear.

“Okay, eyes up, last check. Everyone clean and clear? No blood on anyone’s clothes?” Kamak asked. “Farsus, you check my back, I’ll check yours. Tooley, Corey, get each other. Everyone check their heels, too, blood or bones caught in the treads of your shoes can come loose in different terrain.”

After a quick check, Farsus wiped a little bit of blood out of his boots.

“Great. All clear,” Kamak said. “Now, when we get out there, I want everyone casual. We take this slow and direct. Keep it calm. If anyone asks the cops booted us out for being offworlders, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now, deep breaths, and let’s go. Steady and calm.”

Kamak was first out the door, but he let Tooley lead the way. Seeing a Sturit “in charge” would ease the concerns of any potential spectators, and there were a lot of potential spectators.

The commotion had apparently not been enough to draw more police attention, but it had drawn plenty of nosy neighbor attention. Kamak could see their progress being spied on from multiple windows as rich assholes with nothing better to do tried to pry into their neighbors business. He wasn’t too worried about getting caught just yet—none of those cunts would ever actually be bold enough to try and do something like go inside the house—but it was still nervewracking to be watched. The pompous looking lady with the weird dog-alien had returned to her lawn, and Corey doubted it had anything to do with taking care of the animal. He avoided eye contact with her as they strolled past.

In spite of the nosy neighbors, they made it past the wrought metal gate of the haughty community. Kamak was relieved to be outside of the sterile neighborhood. Not only did he hate gated communities on principle, the sterile, lifeless communities lacked street traffic. Having a crowd to blend into always helped when trying to avoid attention -though it didn’t work quite so well when they didn’t blend in. Kamak, Corey, and Farsus were probably the only people on the planet without blue skin. As they hit the city’s main drag, they were just getting gawked at all over again, sometimes even sneered at. One old man even took the time to spit on Kamak’s boots. He might’ve responded to that, in different circumstances, but now was not the time to be starting fights.

“You there, offworlders.”

Tooley tensed, and Corey grabbed her by the arm to keep her steady. The rest of them had been in gunfights, and knew how to keep their cool a little better. The cop approaching them was doing so at a slow pace, and hadn’t drawn his gun. Getting nervous right now would only make things worse.

“Weren’t you all supposed to be with Commander Aberas?”

“We were,” Tooley said.

“And why aren’t you with him now?” The Sturit cop said. “Aren’t you investigating a killer, or something?”

Apparently this cop had been briefed on the situation. That complicated things slightly.

“Nothing to investigate. Killer’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Overestimated himself, I guess,” Tooley said. “The killer got into the house. Patriarch shot him dead. Aberas is just cleaning up the mess.”

“Hmph. Typical. Killer runs circles around entire ‘civilizations’ out there, and dies as soon as he meets a true-blooded Sturit.”

“We’re just glad its over,” Kamak said.

“Quiet, you,” the cop said. Kamak got quiet.

“We don’t have any more reason to be here, so we’re leaving,” Tooley said. “Do you want to ask more questions, or do you want to get us offworld?”

The cop looked over Tooley’s three non-Sturit compatriots, snorted at them with disgust, and nodded them towards the spaceport. They all waited until they were a few steps away before breathing a sigh of relief.

“Good job,” Kamak said. He was loathe to compliment Tooley, but a little positive reinforcement would help her keep her cool, and keep them all alive by extension.

“I learned how to tell these fuckers what they want to hear a long time ago,” Tooley mumbled. She wasn’t even particularly good at lying, they were just easy to fool. The average Sturit would swallow any bullshit as long as you stroked their ego even a little bit. She kept that simple truth in mind as someone else approached. Not a cop this time, at least, but he was a teenage boy, which might have been worse. The teenage fascists could be worse than the adult ones, sometimes.

“Hey, are you Tooley Keeber Obertas?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Cool! Can I take a picture with you?”

Tooley nearly went crosseyed in confusion.

“Uh, what? Why?”

“I’m studying to be a pilot, like you,” the teen said. “I want to be good enough to pull off the Tooley Maneuver someday!”

“Oh. Don’t, uh, don’t ever try to do that unless you have to,” Tooley cautioned. “It’s as much luck as it is skill. Even I don’t really want to do it again.”

“For sure, I can’t even keep a stable orbit in a simulator yet,” the boy said. “But someday I could do it, right?”

“Just try and keep it at ‘could’,” Tooley said.

“Tooley, maybe cut the chatter,” Kamak said. “We’re in a hurry.”

“Right. Sorry kid,” Tooley said. “Maybe we can take a picture some other time.”

“Okay. Nice meeting you!”

The teenage boy waved as he walked away, and Tooley returned the gesture. Kamak gave her a gentle shove back towards the ship, and they started walking.

They made it back to the ship in one piece, without any further incident. Every Sturit on the surface was glad to see them leave. Tooley punched in their takeoff routine, acting on instinct more than anything, and they hovered above the city briefly as they took to the skies.

Tooley had done the math, calculated the size of her hometown versus the military-grade armaments on the Wanderer. She couldn’t level the whole city, obviously, but it would be easy to take out a few tactical targets on her way up, permanently erase some unpleasant memories and be off among the stars before anyone could retaliate.

But somewhere down there was a teenager who just wanted to be a pilot.

The Wild Card Wanderer took off, and vanished into the darkness of the space between stars.

The moment there was a knock on Baron d’Argent’s door, the entire city fell still. All inhabitants—locals and visitors—could swear they felt a feeling of unease and anxiety coming from everywhere around.

Within the baron’s mansion, the spirit guide went to the entrance and opened to the expected visitor. None other than the city’s duke stood outside, dressed in the finest of clothes of red, blue, and orange, depicting his new status.

“Cecil,” the spirit guide said.

“Spok,” the man nodded. “He’s in, I hope?”

“Of course,” Spok moved to the side, allowing the duke to enter. “To be precise, he’s here in a manner of speaking. You see, he was called to deal with an urgent magical matter. Naturally, he’ll be joining you by magical means,” she stuck to the version that had been agreed upon.

Technically, everything she said was the truth. Theo’s main body was present. There was no reason for him not to be able to hold a conversation with the duke or anyone else for the matter. All that was needed was a bit of smoke and mirrors.

“That sounds just like him,” the duke said with a smile. “One would think that only he could solve the world’s problems.” He stepped in and took off his decorative overgarment.

“Indeed.” Spok adjusted her glasses. “Let me get that for you,” she took the man’s coat. “I better leave you to your conversation. He’s waiting for you in the living room. Just… try to have an open mind when seeing him.”

“Have I ever not?” Duke Rosewind took Spok’s hand and gently kissed it. “There’s no need to worry. Everything will be fine. It’s just a simple conversation between friends.”

The promise didn’t reassure Spok in the least. For one thing, she suspected that the duke hadn’t come just to have a casual conversation. When he wanted one of those, he’d send Captain Ribbons to get the people he wanted to chat with. For another, it was Theo with whom he was having the conversation with. If there was a way to turn anything into a catastrophe, the dungeon would find it and in record time.

Closing the door, the woman made her way up the staircase.

“Please, do come in,” Theo said, shifting his voice so that it seemed to originate from the living room.

Duke Rosewind wasn’t used to have anyone other than the king and a few high-positioned dukes invite him anywhere. Rosewind was his small piece of fiefdom and within it, he ruled supreme with a velvet glove and a mountain of compliments. In this case, though, etiquette and common courtesy demanded that he follow suit.

Pretending to admire the finer aspects of the paintings and other visible decorations, he made his way to the living room. The room was rather small, but comfortably elegant. Everything from the furniture to the burning fireplace to the selection of bottles on the table had been selected with the utmost care. In fact, the only thing that put the entire scene off was a half-finished mechanical construct that sat in one of the large chairs. Without a doubt, someone had made an effort to recreate Baron d’Argent’s features, though had taken a few shortcuts in the process.

“Baron?” the duke asked, just to be certain.

“You’ll have to excuse my appearance,” the construct said, its mouth moving in the fashion that no human mouth should. “Switches was a bit overconfident when he said he could have a replacement ready for your meeting.” The construct made a welcoming gesture for his guest to take a seat. “I’d have gone with a wandering eye, myself.”

“Oh, no matter. It’s the gesture that counts.” The nobleman took his seat. “Although, would it be at all possible for you to speak without moving your… mouth?”

“Ah.” Theo replied, keeping the construct perfectly still. “I see your point. Anyway, welcome to my home, earl. It’s always a pleasure.”

“Duke,” Rosewind corrected. “I got a new title during your brief hiatus from the world. I suspect you know why I’m here?”

On the second floor, Theo felt Spok kick a nearby wall. Mistaking the man’s title at the start of the conversation didn’t bode well.

“I have my suspicions. Congratulations, by the way. I never expected it possible, to be honest, but we live in interesting times.”

“My dear friend, you must think poorly of your steward.” The duke reached for one of the bottles on the table, choosing a rather expensive looking green brandy. “The real miracle is that she remained unmarried until now.” He poured himself a glass. “Half the local nobility are openly envious; the other half are just good at hiding it. Would you like some?” The man offered.

Both of them knew that Theo was in no condition to drink, yet good matters demanded that the offer be made.

“No, thank you,” Theo replied.

In all honesty, he failed to see the man’s fascination with Spok, or anyone else’s for that matter. She was definitely not unbeautiful, and her efficiency with day-to-day chores was second to none, yet never in his wildest dreams could the dungeon describe her as warm or charming. Then again, as the saying went, to each their own.

“You see, tradition usually dictates that a suiter asks for a woman’s hand from her father.” The duke corked the bottle, then took his glass. “When Spok persistently avoided giving me any details regarding her family, I tried to find out on my own. Are you aware of what I discovered?”

The dungeon remained still and silent for five full seconds.

“Nothing.” Duke Rosewind took a sip. “Not a single thing, which is incredibly difficult given the talents she displays. The world is full of noble families, past and present, but such skills must be developed for decades. Someone somewhere would have noticed, there would have been gossip, rumors, envious rivals. In her case, there’s nothing.”

The only reason that Theo didn’t swallow was that he feared it would further raise the duke’s suspicions if furniture started floating about.

“In fact, I wasn’t able to find anything about you or Sir Myk, either,” the duke continued. “Three very exceptional individuals who have done more than their share of impressive feats, yet have remained hidden from history. Could you imagine that?”

“You flatter me, Duke.” The construct’s face twisted in the guiltiest smile a living or non-living entity could make. “I’m sure there must be dozens of reasons for that.”

“Mhm.” The duke raised his left hand, while taking another sip of alcohol. “I thought the exact same thing, so I went to have a chat with my good friend the Lionmane’s guildmaster. Any guesses what he told me?”

Theo shook the construct’s head.

“He told me that you were an adulterated, hundred percent hero in hiding. What do you have to say about that?”

At that precise moment, there was nothing that Theo could think of saying. There were hundreds of ways for the conversation to have continued, yet this wasn’t one of them. All this time, he had considered Rosewind a buffoon whose only skill was to convince others to do all the work for him. That remained true, but the man was also terrifyingly sharp when it came to noticing details. Up till now, he’d not said a word regarding dozens of inconsistencies that surrounded Theo, but he’d never ignored them. It was pure luck that a single piece of paper—the result of the dungeon avatar enlisting in the Lionmane adventurer guild— had brought him to the wrong conclusion.

“Good work?” Theo responded with the first thing that came to mind.

“A heroic mage appearing out of the blue in a small town, far from any area of interest,” the man continued. “Bringing with him an overqualified sword master and a steward that could run a kingdom without batting an eye.” The noble leaned forward. “I know exactly what you’re doing,” he said in a hushed tone. “It hasn’t escaped me that you brought a rather exceptional gnome in your employ or that at least one goddess has graced you with her presence.” Duke Rosewind then leaned back. “However, that’s not the matter I came to discuss.”

“It’s not?” Theo almost felt relief.

“No.” The duke placed his half empty glass on the table. “I promised Spok a grand wedding, and I intend to keep my word. Since I don’t want to stir her past, or yours, I’ll be asking for her hand from you.”

That’s all? “Of course, you can have it,” the dungeon rushed to say.

“Splendid. I knew you’d agree. We both have Spok’s best interests at heart, after all.” The man paused for a few seconds. “I’d also like your assistance to transform the scene of our wedding.”

“Naturally. Anything I could do to help.” Spots of water were noticed in buildings throughout the city, as the dungeon broke out in a cold sweat. “I’ll have Switches transform the castle if he has to.”

“I knew I could rely on you, my good friend. It’s not just the castle, though. It’s the entire city.”

“The… the city?” The dungeon was so shocked that his voice came out from the walls themselves.

“If you go big, you might as well go all the way.” The duke smiled. “I intend to transform Rosewind into our wedding scene. The whole town will be one big spectacle to be displayed to the world. Hundreds of families have accepted my invitations, if only out of fear not to be left behind. I must admit, I might have gotten slightly overboard.”

No doubt he had gotten the idea from the zombie letter invasion of a few months ago. To make things worse, he seemed rather proud of it.

“You want the entire city to be transformed within a month?!” Theo could barely keep it together.

“Ah. Well…”

The moment of silence made the dungeon even more concerned.

“Actually, the first guests will be arriving in a week. Possibly five days.”

“Five days?! The announcement was only made a few hours ago!”

“Quite, quite.” The duke nodded. “I had a good feeling regarding your response, so I sent out invitations a few weeks ago.”

A strong draft passed through the room, randomly knocking a bottle off the table. There was no scientific or logical reason to assume that dungeons could consume spilled alcohol, but right now, Theo seriously needed a drink.

“Don’t worry. If you had delayed a lot longer, I’d have sent an explanation that the letters were an aftereffect of the abomination’s curse,” the duke explained. “A few neighboring regions had also received one or two, so there’d be no reason for them to doubt it.”

“Five days…”

“Indeed, not much time, is it?” The nobleman finished his drink, then stood up. “I’m sure you have a lot to take care of, so I won’t be taking any more of your time.” He made his way towards the entrance. “Do keep me informed how things are going. Oh, and I know that you’re dealing with important matters, but it would mean a lot if you manage to attend the actual ceremony in person.”

When the door closed shut, the dungeon was still speechless.

“Spok,” he began after a while. “Did you know about this?”

“Not exactly, sir,” the spirit guide replied from the second floor. “I had been made aware that the ceremony would take place in two weeks. However, Cecil omitted to mention everything else. Although, it’s just like him to invite over a thousand people to the occasion.”

And force me to transform the city—again—for it! The dungeon grumbled internally.

“Not to worry, sir. I’m certain that Cecil doesn’t want you to have everything done in five days.”

So, Cecil is it?

“Knowing him, he probably wants to impress some of his guests. They only need to see progress.”

“Oh, is that all?” This sounded painfully like most of the managerial meetings Theo had been present in his previous life.

“You don’t need to worry about a thing, sir.” Spok went to the nearest wall and gently patted it. “I’ll take care of everything. You just try to complete your magic quest as quickly as possible. Oh, and please take care of Maximilian. With Cmyk and Switches busy, the responsibility will have to fall on you.”

Without another word, the spirit guide disappeared from the main building, re-emerging in the airship yard.

“Five days,” Theo repeated. It wasn’t just the deadline being ridiculous. After five weeks, even more annoying, obnoxious, nitpicky people would pour in; people who were used to getting their way and whom Theo would have to entertain in some fashion.

While all this pool of chaos was brewing around the dungeon’s main body, its avatar was dealing with a whole other mess elsewhere in the world.

After a rather long pause, the first cooperative competitor walked through the white door, entering the first floor waiting room.

Seated in the largest and most comfortable seat, Baron d’Argent glanced at the new arrival. Much to his dismay, it turned out to be the tall, arrogant woman from outside. Her clothes made it clear she belonged to an ancient tower; her meticulous long blond hair and discreet jewelry suggested that her family was at the very least wealthy, and her raised chin and half-closed eyes made it clear that she viewed the baron as being several hundred levels beneath her.

“Took you a while,” Theo decided to hit her where it hurt.

The woman humphed and turned her head. Seconds passed, then minutes, with neither addressing the other.

“You should take a seat,” the avatar suggested. “If the next one takes as long as you did, you’ll be standing for a while.”

On his lap, Ellis let out a stifled chuckle.

The blonde glared at him, then at the seats. There were a total of nineteen, arranged in order of importance. This presented somewhat of a dilemma. If she were to sit as far from the man as possible, she’d have to settle for a common stool. In contrast, all the large and comfortable seats were right next to the baron.

After ten seconds of hesitation, the woman made her way to a seat three away from Theo and sat down.

“Baron Theodor d’Argent,” the avatar decided to introduce himself. “And my exceptional familiar Ellis.”

The white cat in his lap snarled.

“Ellis?” the blonde gasped, focusing her attention on the cat. “The Feline Tower’s Ellis?”

“Yes?” The cat looked back. “Who’s asking?”

“Celenia of the Restored Sky Tower,” the woman replied.

“You two know each other?” the avatar couldn’t help but ask.

“We’ve exchanged notes,” Celenia admitted. “She’s considered one of the greatest apprentice authorities when it comes to Archmage Gregord. I always pictured you differently, though.”

“There’s correspondence between towers?” Theo was surprised. The way mages despised each other, he’d have thought the practice was forbidden.

“Of course there is.” The blond gave him a sharp glare. “It’s for the sake of research. Hold on a minute. How come both of you are here? There can only be one candidate per tower!”

“Felines aren’t allowed,” Ellis said. “It’s stated that all participants need to be human. Thus, I’m his ‘familiar’,” she added with discontent.

“Hmm.” Celenia tapped her top lip with her index finger. “Clever loophole. You’re probably the only one who could take advantage of it. I wonder why you didn’t try it last time.”

“I’ve no idea. Grandfather probably thought we didn’t need to. This time it’s different.”

“Your grandfather must really want you to do well this time.”

The white door opened again, bringing the conversation to an end.

“Oh?” the small old man from outside said with a smile. “I’d have thought that there’d be a lot more people here. Guess the young generation still has a lot to learn.”

“You can say that again,” the avatar smiled. “Baron Theodor d’Argent.”

“Oh? Ho ho ho.” The old man laughed, slowly moving towards one of the large seats. “You’re a polite one. And rather crafty. I saw what you did out there. Made a lot of people give up on the challenge before it began.”

Taking his seat without further introductions, the old man closed his eyes and almost instantly started snoring. Almost immediately, the door opened again. This time the candidate was more knight than mage, wearing a rather impressive armor beneath his long cloak. Looking at the people gathered, he removed his full iron helmet, revealing a dark ebony face and a pointy set of ears.

“Greetings,” he said in formal fashion. “I’m Novice Mage Stachon of the Elven Tower and acknowledge your skills.”

Celenia looked away, clearly already acquainted with the man. Ellis also chose not to respond.

“Hi.” The avatar waved. “Baron Theodor d’Argent. I didn’t know elves participated in such things.”

“Gregord’s will allows all humanoid spell casters to participate as long as they fulfill the requirements,” the elf recited. It wasn’t an answer to Theo’s question, but by the looks of things, the only one that would be provided.

At that point, the floodgates seemed to open. Candidates came one after the other, sometimes seconds apart. Massa Nyl of the Third Moon Tower was next—A short but bulky young man with bronze skin who could almost be mistaken for a dwarf. Following him was Elaine Windchild—a frail and lanky girl with ginger braids of the Flora Tower. Then came Varata Every of the Sword Crown Tower, Hollo Yearver of Tower Valein, and Klarissa—an unaffiliated keyholder who was very open that she was only there for personal gain. Finally, the ninth person to arrive happened to be the first that Theo had come across upon setting on the challenge.

“You’re here?!” the skinny mage in red and yellow shouted upon seeing the avatar. “You must have been born under a lucky star! There’s no way scum such as you would make it here by skill! Goes to show that even the greatest mages in the world are helpless before lady luck. Mark my words, though—” he shook a finger “—your luck will run out and when it does—”

“Oh, shut up Laster,” Celenia interrupted. “Things are bad enough without your constant yapping.”

“But he…” the skinny mage shook in anger. “He doesn’t deserve to be here!”

“Maybe so, but he’s here, so that’s that,” the blonde replied. “Plus, he’s got Ellis as his familiar.”

“That’s allowed?” Laster arched both his brows in surprise.

“Every mage can participate with his skills, spells, items, and familiars,” the woman continued. “The fact that the tower has accepted him clearly shows that it’s acceptable.”

An unspoken mage discussion took place with everyone glancing at largely everyone else. Even the old man cracked an eye open to take a look at a few people. It was safe to assume that the competition had already begun. Theo was at a clear disadvantage, since he didn’t know anything about the other participants or their towers. Thankfully, he had Ellis to help with that.

Amid the silence, the white door opened once more. The mage who entered was by far the youngest of the group—a boy in his early teens, dressed all in blue with a blue flying squirrel on his head. An emblem of an icicle within a white circle was visibly embroidered several times on his cloak.

“Siaho,” the boy said, seeing that all glances had focused on him. “Of the Ice Tower.”

Barely had he introduced himself when the white door vanished behind him.

“Welcome, participants,” the voice of the tower boomed. “You are the only ones who were considered worthy of all the candidates. While you stand at the threshold of your challenge, your skills have been recognized by the Great Gregord himself. Even if you end your journey here, you’ll be able to bear the title with pride.”

“Tower participant?” the avatar asked in jest.

Several people hushed him.

“But we’re only ten,” the girl with the ginger braids said. “Don’t we have to be... more?”

“For the trials to be presented, no less than nine participants must have entered,” the tower explained. “You are more, so the challenge can begin.”

Circles of magic appeared beneath every participant without warning. Before anyone could react, the spells had wrapped around them, then quickly shrank, becoming a brand on a part of their bodies. Instinctively, several mages quickly cast counterspells of their own, yet to no avail. The magical brands continued to glitter with the same intensity.

“A memory spell has been placed upon you,” the tower said. “It has already merged with all your memories since hearing my voice. Should you leave the tower, those memories and any you form from here on will be pulled out and kept here.”

This had to be the fabled memory extracting spell everyone spoke of. Theo had to admit that the ancient archmage was rather crafty when it came to spell security. This way he could guarantee that no pieces of knowledge, including the memory spell itself, would leave the tower. The dungeon was curious whether the memory magic he had acquired from Memoria’s tomb would be able to remove the brand, but chose not to experiment at such an early stage.

“How do we progress through the challenges?” Stachon, the ebony elf, asked.

“I am divided into nine floors,” the tower said. “Each floor contains knowledge, tools, traps, and riddles. Solving all riddles will open a passage to the floor above. You are free to work together or alone to solve the riddles and proceed to the floors above.”

Another glancing contest ensued.

“You are free to take anything you wish from one floor to the next,” the tower continued. “You are allowed to help each other solve riddles. You are not allowed to fight with each other while you’re here. Anyone who does will be punished and immediately cast out.”

That simplified things to some extent. At least the mages would have to be crafty in the way they eliminated the competition. Personally, Theo was most cautious of the old man. They usually were the cunning sort that made use of their age and apparent frailness to get ahead any chance they got. Also, for someone so old to have made it here, he must have been at least as good as all the remaining participants.

“One final rule. Along the many riddles, there are such that will allow you to ask me for advice. This is the only way through which you are able to talk to me until you have reached the ninth floor. Everything else you must discover on your own, based on your skills, knowledge, and luck.”

Everyone waited for a few seconds in case the tower had anything more to add. When it didn’t, they looked around.

The avatar was the only one who didn't. He had spent so much time alone in the room after arriving that he knew everything to the smallest detail. It wasn’t difficult considering there was hardly anything there: twelve chairs of various shapes and sizes arranged in a circle. Apart from a few magical torches, there was nothing on the walls or ceiling, no table or other furniture, not even a carpet on the floor.

“Aren’t you going to search?” Laster grumbled at the baron.

“Why?” the avatar crossed his arms. “There’s nothing here. And don’t bother casting identify spells on the chairs. I already tried that.”

“Then try something else! We’re not doing all the work for you!”

“The old man’s not doing anything, either!”

“He’s old! Besides, he comes from a very respectable tower, unlike you!”

“They that talk a lot can’t see that which is in front of them.” The old man stretched in his seat. “He might be unaffiliated, but at least he knows the importance of patience.”

“What do you mean by that?” Celenia asked.

“Ten people, twelve empty seats. Sometimes all one must do is sit a while and listen to have the future open up.”

The blonde looked at the chairs.

“You’re saying that the solution to the riddle is for all of us to sit down?” she asked.

“Makes sense.” Elis climbed up onto the baron’s shoulder. “This is a waiting room. Maybe all we need to do is wait?”

“Sounds like something Gregord would come up with,” Elaine giggled, as she leaped onto the nearest seat. “That’s why the tower couldn’t let all the participants here. With only a few, they could compete for chairs to sit while those standing were cast out. With over a hundred, it would have been too random and obvious.”

One by one, the remaining mages sat down. It was as good a plan as any. Besides, there wasn’t anything to lose.

The moment the last person’s rump touched the seat, the walls surrounding them disappeared, revealing a far larger circular room full of furniture, bookshelves, and all sorts of paintings and decorations. Above all, though, the room was full of clocks of various shapes and sizes.

The challenge of the first room was now before them.

< Beginning | | Book 2 | | Book 3 | | Previously | | Next >

Althea followed, fighting through underbrush and low hanging branches. Ahead of her, Foxey slipped through the underbrush with ease, while Althea wrestled with thorns that snagged on her armor and long, braided brown hair like wandering hands. She’s certainly not one of the stealthier ones, he thought. 

He turned his head to look back at her, watching her struggles.  He choked back a laugh.  “It’s not much further now.  What are you looking for in this old ruin, anyways?  I take it this isn’t just a sightseeing trip to trample my lovely forest with your big hooves.”  Treasure, enchanted trinkets, battles with fearsome opponents – that’s all these adventurers ever want.

“I have my reasons.  It’s of no concern to you” she said guardedly. 

Foxey scoffed.  “It is my concern if you cause some kind of chaos or unleash some ancient magical nonsense or start getting more two-legs coming out here messing up my forest.”

She stopped, her hands clenched at her sides, glaring down at the fox. The weight of the journey pressed on her shoulders, but she wasn’t about to let this infuriating creature see her doubt.  “I have no desire to do any such thing...  I’m just looking for some information I need and then you can have ‘your’ damn forest to yourself.  I’m headed back to civilization as fast as I can to get out of this wretched green hell of yours.”

Interesting, he thought.  He knew that everything of value had been long cleaned out of the keep.  Sometimes bands of adventurers came out seeking a dungeon – what’d they call it down there, a lich? – that used to be below the keep.  Solo adventurers were usually looking for loot, but all that was left was cursed.  These wizard people that used to be here must have been unpleasant, but so many people want their old junk.  This is the third adventurer since Fall!  What information could be worth coming all the way out here without treasure or fame?  Maybe I do need to move…

“Well?”

Foxey snapped out of his wandering thoughts as he realized she was still staring at him.  Keep it together, it’s almost game time.  “I apologize, my fair equine lady!  Let’s get you that information so you can escape this ‘green hell’ I call home.”

The fox continued forward, slipping through a dense blackberry hedge in their path.  Althea fought through it, using her sword as a machete to hack through.  Once on the other side, she found herself on a clear trail with the keep just a hundred yards away.

“@#$%!” she cursed out of exasperation.  “Are you telling me there was a trail here the whole time?” Her voice was low, dangerously so.

“Always has been.  I was wondering why you were so far from it.” he chuckled softly, then thought better of it.  “I figured you were enjoying the sights and sounds of nature.”  Dreadfully lost, Foxey thought.  There’s no way she’s a professional adventurer.  At least their guild sends them with maps at least – I’ve found enough to know.

Althea sighed and shook her head.  “Let’s just get this over with.”  She trotted down the trail past Foxey to the ruined open gate of the keep.  Foxey silently watched as she went by, her chainmail and tack jingling on her relatively new looking armor, tail swishing at flies trying to get under her barding.  She looked proud, but not arrogant.  Not malicious like the usual lot that came through.

Who is this? he thought.  Not a professional adventurer, not a looter, yet well equipped.  She’s even put up with my schtick.  She’s young, but not particularly naïve.  She probably would just leave when she finds whatever she’s looking for.  That’s not my choice though…

Foxey sprinted down the trail to catch up with her.  “Wait up!  I want to help you with your quest.”

“Why? To get me out of your fluff faster?”

“I’ve been wandering around this old dump for years.  I’m sure I’ve seen whatever is you’re looking for.”  Foxey thought for a moment, “And you seem like an alright kind of person to help out.”

Althea’s face relaxed, looking at the fox with her soft brown eyes.  “Thank you.  And… I’m sorry for calling you’re home a ‘green hell’.”  Then smirking, she continued “It’s probably all a fuzzball like you knows.”

“You’re right – I’ve never left the forest,” he said wistfully, looking away from her.   

“Never?”

In a somber tone he remarked, “Born and raised right here.”  Althea thought he seemed lost in memories, then he perked himself up.  “Why would I ever leave?  This forest is great!  The world outside surely can’t compare.”

Althea wasn’t so convinced.  Guardedly, she says “Sounds like you at least have a family to keep you company.”

That got a response from the fox, looking back up at her with slitted eyes.  “No, not anymore,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Althea decided to leave that alone.  There’s nothing out here but trees.  I’d be bored to madness out here alone.  How long has he been out here? 

The two strode onward, up to the gate of the keep.  The keep had seen far better centuries.  In its prime, the structure wasn’t particularly grand, but solid, serving whatever purpose it had in the past.  The broken ramparts loomed like teeth with a questionable dental history.  The crumbling walls and twisted vines, looking like varicose veins, opened into a ruined, rotted old gate.  The air was thick with the smell of dampness and mold.

“Looks like this saw fireballs in the past,” she said, looking up as they went under the archway.  “You can still see the scorches where it’s been protected from the weather.”

She knows what wizard fireball scorches look like, but doesn’t see the tracks on the ground?  the fox wondered.  Those footprints are from today. They’re nearby.

Walking into the courtyard, her horseshoes scraped on the ancient flagstones making an unpleasant noise, putting the fox’s ears back.  “Are those always so loud?  Is there an off switch for those clompers, or do we just embrace the fact that everything in a mile radius knows you’re here?”

Thinking about this, Althea dug into her pack, pulling out what looked like rubber hooves.  She set them on the stone of the courtyard, then stepped each hoof into one.  Lifting one hoof again, she stomped it down in an exaggerated clop.  With the rubber overshoes, there was barely any noise at all.  “Is that better for those sensitive ears, fuzz-face?  We wouldn’t want the rats to hear me stomp-stomping around” she said, rolling her eyes.

Foxey was impressed.  She came prepared at least; he mused.  Physically, if not quite mentally.  Putting his ears back again, he said with an exaggerated grimace “That is a lot better, Rockslide.  If you’ll excuse me for a moment, though, I have something to attend to.  That carp isn’t sitting too well if you know what I mean.  I’ll catch back up – the library is on the left, through that second archway.  If you want information, that’s where it would be.”

He scurried off, up treacherous old stairs leading to the ramparts.  “Serves you right for gobbling that carp down, fish breath!” she yelled as he ran off.

Looking around, Althea took in the sight.  Old, worn flagstones wound paths through the courtyard.  Remnants of an old stone fountain stood in the center, with collapsed benches around.  The paths surrounding the fountain wound in curious loops, tracing what looked like a sigil.  Marcus would know what this meant, she sighed.  She wished her mentor could be with her.  So far, the only company she’s had on this journey is hassle from tax collectors, unwanted inept flirting in taverns, and now a rude, colicky critter.  Thinking of Marcus helped to focus her on her quest.  He said there should be valuable information here.  The old order that built this place were meticulous with record keeping.  Seeing the archway the fox described, she carefully walked on the flagstones across the courtyard, avoiding the tall grass.  There are probably snakes in the grass, knowing how this has gone so far.

Foxey watched from the ramparts as she stepped her hooves high around the grass between the flagstones, right hand on her sword hilt.  Fine muscles she has, he thought absentmindedly.  Too bad that armor covers so much.  I wonder what’s under there… He shook his head, remembering what he was up there to do.  Once he was sure she wasn’t looking towards him, he carefully gripped an old beam with his paws, muscles struggling to raise it into the designated position like so many times before.  He silently padded down back into the courtyard, then made more noise as he crossed the square as she approached the doorway. 

“Back from your carp cramps already?”

“Um, yeah, feeling a lot better now” speaking uneasily, rubbing his ear and neck with his right paw.  “Perhaps you’re right about taking the time to cook.”

Althea stooped down under the arch, peering into the dark doorway.  The door had undoubtedly been smashed long ago.  “Short humans, never building things tall enough,” she muttered, carefully walking inside the corridor.  As she stepped through, she banged her head on a beam as she straightened back up.  Unpublishable curses followed.

“Having problems up there, tall stuff?” he laughed, flicking his tail.

Rubbing her head gingerly, she snapped at the fox “You call it bumping my head. I call it a perspective problem you’ll never have.”

Looking down the corridor, Althea could see several doorways on each side before it all faded to darkness.  Rummaging through yet another pack on her side, she found a candle in a holder.  At least being a centaur gives you lots of cargo capacity.  Using a sulfur match she lit the candle, providing some flickering illumination in the gloom.

Foxey was already further down the corridor, past where Althea could see, even with the candle.  He turned to look at her with his now glowing eyes.  “From my perspective, there’s plenty of light.  You can’t see in a little dark?”  Shaking her head wordlessly, she followed him, wary of whatever dangers – or ceiling beams – may lie in her path. 

Faded exhibits still hung in places on the wall, along with mostly empty nooks inset in the stone.  Some of the displays seemed to warn of workplace safety – one read ‘PRAY THEE CAST FIRE WITHIN THE DESIGNATED ZONES!  Lest thy flame mar the tapestries or roast thy fellows.’  Another read ‘If thy potion goeth awry, let the logbook tell thee why!‘  Intact doors blocked off mysteries she didn’t want to explore.  Being taken in and raised by wizards taught her a solid appreciation to not muck about with the refuse they left behind.  Losing your eyebrows for a month from an explosion makes an impact on a teenage girl.

Around the corner, the corridor widened to a set of double doors, one barely hanging from ancient hinges.  Foxey turned, standing up on his hind legs again, and pointed his – thumb!? – at the entranceway.  “There’s a bunch of dusty old boring dry books in there.  Be careful with that candle, thunder hooves – we don’t want to burn the place down.”

“Hold up,” said Althea, bending down to take a closer look at the fox in the dim candlelight.  “You have thumbs?”

Foxey wiggled his right paw, showing off far greater flexibility and dexterity than a paw had any right to have.  It was like a little furry hand that looked like a normal fox paw when not being flexed.  “*sigh* I’m just that amazing.” 

“Great,” she muttered.  “Here I am trying to find this book and do my quest while being distracted by a cursed fox.  Going great, Althea.”  Ducking her head, she entered the library, peering at the dusty shelves in the dim light.  Old, filthy windows let in light from far above, supplemented by an ominous soft glow coming from some of the books, pulsing like heartbeats.  One of the books, chained to a pedestal, gave a slight rattle as she carefully stepped by, placing each hoof with care watching for signs of traps.  Althea felt like the glowing books were watching her.  The air in the library was thick with the scent of mildew and faint traces of burning oil as if the ghosts of old lanterns still lingered. Shadows flickered oddly in the dim light, playing tricks on her eyes.

Cursed fox, he thought to himself sadly as he followed, back on four legs.  He rubbed his back in that old spot that always knotted up when he stood on his hind legs.  Dad told me stories of the old days when our kitsune ancestors were feared and adored. All that history, and here I am - just a ‘cursed’ fox alone in a forest no one cares about.  The only reason anyone ever comes here is this blasted keep.  Why am I trying to show off for this girl?  She’s just another adventurer looking for fame or fortune.  She’s probably about to get herself cursed in here messing with some magic tome.  She’ll be frozen into a statue, transformed into a bug, or locked in some parallel dimension like that dwarf last year.  He was so lost in thought that he walked straight into her hind left leg.

“So much for that dark vision, fuzz brain.” 

He looked up at her, her body towering above him as she looked back and down at him, stepping her hoof forward, away from him.  Her tail swished slowly in annoyance, one ear swiveled backward, the other staying forward—an unsubtle hint that Foxey had crossed a line.  “Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?  Do they not teach that in the woods?”

Foxey’s ears drooped, folding against his head as he glanced away, tail tucked between his legs. “I was lost in thought.  I didn’t mean to upset you,” he mumbled. 

Shaking her head, she looked back at the shelves.  Foxey noticed that they were deep into the library, past all the tantalizing magic tomes.  The air was permeated with the smell of mildew and old paper.  A sign hung overhead; its surface worn smooth over time. The words 'Scholarly Treatises and Research Periodicals' glimmered faintly, written in the precise, meticulous strokes of a long-dead scribe.

Foxey blinked in surprise as Althea reached for a thick journal, its leather binding cracked but intact, with pages brimming with diagrams and tightly packed text. “What are you doing?” he asked, watching as she blew a cloud of dust off the cover.

“Looking for answers,” she said simply, flipping through the annotated pages with a practiced hand, squinting at the text.  “Not everything worth finding glows or hums, you know.”

Frowning, she put the book down.  Reaching back into her pack, she pulls out a set of spectacles with a clip in the middle. I hate wearing these things.  Such a fierce centaur warrior with nearsightedness?  Placing them on her nose, she gives another sharp look at Foxey.  “Not a word”, she hissed.

Foxey stood silent, taking a step back, tail twitching.  Ignoring the obvious (albeit cursed) loot?  What kind of adventurer is this?  I’ve seen dozens of treasure-seekers scour this place, their eyes gleaming at glowing orbs and cursed trinkets. None of them had ever given these dusty tomes a second glance. What kind of adventurer wastes time with boring old books? He continued to watch, laying down in a comfortable position, as she combed the shelves.  Althea muttered to herself, frustrated, as she went from book to book, not finding what she was looking for.  He noticed that she seemed to be ignoring the lower shelves.  With her impressive height, centaur physiology seemed to be a challenge when reaching the bottom shelves. 

“Need a shorter perspective? I could save you the trouble of crushing those shelves under those hooves.” said the fox.

Annoyed, she started to respond curtly, then paused to reconsider, glaring down at him, spectacles slipping slightly. “Can you even read, fuzzy?”

“How rude!  Of course, I can read.  What do you think I am, some ignorant animal?”

“Yes,” she replied.

Foxey’s ears flattened, his pride clearly wounded. “For your information, I’ve read more books than most two-legs have hairs on their heads.” He sat up straighter, tail flicking, chest puffed up. “I’m practically a scholar."

“Then put that scholarly nose to use and find me some useful research,” she said, exasperated.

“Research about what?  Stereotypes and discrimination against the small?”

“About centaurs.”

Puzzled, the fox tilted his head.  “You are a centaur.  Don’t centaurs know about centaurs?”

“Not about my kind of centaur.”

“Your kind of centaur?  The rude kind?  I’m sure your parents could explain that” said the fox, looking at her amusedly.

Even more annoyed now, Althea takes a deep breath, then starts again, staring at the aggravating fuzzball. “You’re assuming I ever had parents.  Either help or get out of my way.”

With that cryptic answer, Foxey decided to not push any further.  Never had parents.  How can someone not ever have had parents?  She didn’t say they were gone – but that they didn’t exist.  No parents and centaurs don’t know what ‘kind’ she is. Foxey’s tail twitched uncomfortably. There’s more to this centaur than she was letting on.  Or that she even knows.  Foxey started down the shelves, looking for any books that seemed promising.  As he found books that seemed promising, he would work them out of the shelf with his paws onto the floor so he could flip through the pages.  The big tomes were difficult for him to move around, but he was determined to not get jokes from the centaur.

As they searched, Althea exclaimed “Aha!  Found it!”  She held up a decayed old volume for Foxey to see - ‘The Convergence of Forms: Preliminary Studies in the Synthesis of Living and Other Essences’.  Her fingers traced the faded title. The air felt heavier, her chest tightening with both hope and dread. What if this book had answers she wasn’t ready for?  Or if it was just another dead end?  Hoppe and fear of disappointment battled in her chest.

Althea’s heart pounded as she stared at the title. This was it—a step closer to understanding my origin.  Taking the book to a nearby table, she opens it, looking to find some details to help her on the way.  The fox left the book he was going through – ‘The Bestiary of Enigmatic Entities – and hopped up on the table to see what she was looking at.  As Althea went through the book, she found densely packed pages, filled with diagrams and handwritten notes in a meticulous script. The illustrations were strange—twisting, almost grotesque depictions of creatures that seemed to straddle the line between human and animal.

The book ended abruptly with the line: ‘Conclusive experiments moved to ***REDACTED*** under the directive of the Research Committee.  All further research is classified to be stored at ***REDACTED***.   This volume contains only preliminary findings.’  The redacted letters had a faint glow, showing there was more than just some ink involved.

“Son of a @#$%!” she cried.  Why did these damn old wizards have to be so secretive?  Why is it trying to find where I come from so difficult?  What were those old bastards doing?  Calming down, she says aloud “This will get me closer.  I’ll have to get help from Marcus about this.”  Marcus had always been the one to guide me, to help me make sense of the world. If anyone could unravel these mysteries, it was him.  She wraps the old book in some cloth and carefully puts it in her pack.  The sun outside the dirt-stained windows is getting low in the sky.  I don’t want to be around this keep when night falls.  Who knows what might come out of the shadows?  Putting away her glasses and grabbing her candle, she looks at Foxey perched on the table.  “You’ll be rid of me now.  You can have your glorious forest to yourself and scarf down as many fish as you want in peace.” 

As Althea excitedly trotted off down the aisle towards the exit, Foxey watched with growing panic.  She’s harmless.  She isn’t like all the others.  He wanted to turn away, to pretend she was just another adventurer passing through. But the look in her eyes when she found that book—she wasn’t here for glory. And that was what scared him most.  But how can I stop this?  Foxey scurried after her, ignoring the twinge in his back.  “Wait up!  I’ll escort you out.  I’ve got to make sure you don’t bumble around and get lost again.”

Giving him some side-eye, Althea said “Sure… little fuzzball’s going to keep me safe.  Fine. Tag along if you want, fuzzball. Just don’t slow me down.”  She was going too quickly in the dark corridor, overconfident.  Foxey struggled to keep up.

“You sure you’re in such a rush to leave?  There might be more useful information here.”

“Marcus told me that this was the best I could hope to find here.  Everything else that’s left of value by now would be booby-trapped or cursed.  I’ve got to get this to him to find out the next clue.  He can figure out what’s under that redacted line!” 

She’s excited, too eager.  So young and hopeful he thinks mournfully.  She sure puts a lot of stock in this Marcus guy.  Wherever he is, he can’t help her now.  Approaching the sunlit doorway to the courtyard, the smell hit him first—acrid, pungent, unmistakable. Foxey’s fur bristled as he glanced ahead, ears twitching, hearing the faint sound she was not paying attention to.  His paws were itching with the need to act.  Centaurs must have just as bad a sense of smell as the two-legs.  His stomach is churning, but not from the low-quality fish.  She wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t here for greed or fame. Foxey shook his head. No, he couldn’t let this happen—not again.  I can’t let this happen!

As she trotted along, she turned towards the fox.  “So, let me get this straight.  Are you sticking with the story that you’re a fox named Foxey?  Foxey the Fox?  You’d have to have the most unimaginative parents in the history, of, well – “

As Althea ducked down to get through the arch to the courtyard, he knew it was now or never.

“Althea - watch out!”

< Previous Chapter | Beginning >

“Quite the bowler,” said Jay from somewhere to Jo’s right.

“With a coiled spring for an arm,” Jo winced, looking at his rouge emblazoned palm. “Would have taken my head off, the - Hang on - where is he?”

“Half-way home I suspect,” said Jay, sitting back on his chair. “Went through the doorway like a gazelle.”

“Not like this he can’t,” said Jo through clenched teeth and clenched, then unclenched, palm.

“Afraid so, Jones,” said a new voice. Or rather, a familiar one that should be in the reception. “What did you do to him? Ten degrees paler at the least when he passed by.”

“I haven’t done a thing,” said Jo. “If anyone set him off it was Pirate-Stand-in Number Three.”

“What did I do?” said Jay, adjusting his bandanna tails.

“Sounds warmer than steam from a boiling pan didn’t help.”

“It was a kettle.”

“Same trigger.”

“I take it a potential job has just gone out the door,” said the Voice, complete with a screen like a rayed sun.

“Oh, we’ve got one alright, Recept,” said Jay, adjusting one of his satin waist sashes. “Although Jo thinks the Insure won’t be too happy about the goods.”

“Sounds like you wanted this job all along,” said Jo, shoving sand from his sleeves.

“And how many times have I said not to call me Recept, James,” the Sun disk said as the face of the violet-haired lady from downstairs crystallised into it.

“But you don’t want me to call you Suze,” said Jay, raising his hands. “Remembering what you did to Jo the last time still makes me shudder.”

“That was you again,” said Jo, dusting off the front panel to his trousers. “Patchwork knows how many times you hit the pendulum and I get the backlash.”

“It’s Suzé, James. Suzé. It’s like if I were to call you Altan.”

“You said you wouldn’t call me that…” Jay whispered.

“Not quite as chipper when the sil-heels are on the other foot,” Jo stifled a yawn.

“You also agreed not to call me that,” Jay continued.

“I haven’t called you that name. Although I can’t understand why - Altan sound’s wonderful.”

“Like Glandon...”

The pendant returned to the sand, coupled with an azure glint in Jo’s upswept-lashed eyes.

“Oh no,” the solar face said, coming between the pair. “We’re not having another punch-kick-up. It’s codenames for you two and Suzé for me. Write them down on a piece of paper if it’s better for you, James.”

“If I apologise can I give it a miss?” said Jay, sitting on the lounger. “It’s like I’m back in school with Mr Jungle.”

Jo and Sun-disk-Suzé both looked at him.

“Didn’t your teachers have unusual names?” Jay continued. “It’s how I learned about natural features.”

“Like Miss Prairie and Lady Spa-Town,” said Jo.

“…How did you know about…them?”

“He doesn’t,” said Sun-disk-Suzé, glancing at a staring Jo. “But if you do say sorry, do you really mean it.”

“And would you agree to a forfeit,” Jo added, retrieving the pendant. “Plus, accept that your comment set Mr Martens off.”

“I apologise for both utterances,” said Jay, getting back up and flowing into a bow. “And I might have gone a little towards the Equator with the heat remark.”

“Accepted,” said Sun-disk-Suzé, floating over to where Jo was holding the pendant. “Hmm, you were right to want to delay acceptance, Jo. The Insure might get queasy at this.”

“See, she thinks it’s hot too,” said Jay.

“Delcorf does have something about it,” Sun-disk-Suzé continued. “More like a name than a motto. I can make an enquiry about whether they would cover it.”

“Something I was prepared to do,” said Jo, putting the pendant in a pocket. “Before he nearly took my head off and bolted for Ullista Road,” he added whilst picking up the crystal. “A return of goods is in order.”

“I’m out if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Jay, leaning back on the lounger and tapping to a new phase of melody. “Some of us are in need of a light repose.”

“Wasn’t going to get in the way of you and your music,” said Jo, placing the crystal in a pocket after the notes of ‘transfer complete’. “Is there enough time for me to make a drop-off, Suzé?”

“If Montarion hasn’t organised any more surprises, Mr Mergensa was meant to be the last.”

“What, the Goosander,” said Jay sitting up. “I thought we’d finished his predicament.”

“Was the last,” Sun-disk-Suzé continued. “Cancelled only moments ago; something to do with a sit-down and clear-the-air appointment with Mr Mallard.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” said Jo. “He nearly took a shovel to him the last time.”

“That was Misses’ Pintail and Shoveler, and the item involved was a baseball bat.”

“How can I forget,” said Jay. “It was me between Miss Pintail and the bat.”

“Who both sound like more of your teachers, Jay,” said Jo.

“In any case, the window is wide, sunny and open if you wish to make a return,” said Sun-disk-Suzé. “Plus I can ask the Insure about the pendant.”

“Up to you, Suzé,” said Jo, walking toward the doorway. “But it’s going back to Martens-truly, where he can keep the heat to himself.”

“Hang on,” said Jay, “what kind of surnames did your teachers have at school?”

< Previous Chapter | Beginning >

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In a lonely laboratory, Kraid’s machine clicked together with the same quiet malevolence as ever. Kraid watched in silence as the diamond wall of the containment tank was etched with one of the millions of runes needed to contain a Goddess of Life.

“Almost showtime,” Kraid said. “I’m a little disappointed. I expected some kind of last-ditch attempt to stop me, but all Vell did was try to make nice.”

Helena said nothing. Kraid kept talking anyway.

“Helena, be a dear and go run the termination test, would you?’

“Termination test?’

“Yes,” Kraid said. “You remember all those little tanks we put the gods in?”

“Distinctly,” Helena said. She could still hear the divine screams echoing in her ears. Kraid’s experiments on divinity had not been pleasant.

“Right, well, go down in the basement and hit the big red button that murders them all,” Kraid said. Helena’s eyes twitched, and not for any of the usual reasons.

“All of them?”

“Yes, all of them,” Kraid said. “I had to reshuffle my schedule to murder Lee’s parents, never got around to doing that myself.”

Kraid spoke about murdering parents and committing deicide with some casual boredom most people reserved for dentist appointments.

“Once I’m done with Quenay, I’ll need to make sure I can obliterate her right,” Kraid said. “Plus, you know, clean up dead weight.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do it? A little touch of murder to keep you awake?”

It was now just a bit past midnight, but Kraid showed no signs of slowing down.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I really need to keep an eye on these runes,” Kraid said. “Fucking tiny little things, the smallest mistake can restart us completely. I don’t know how Harlan does it.”

Kraid furrowed his brow as he gazed at the nigh-microscopic runes being carved into the surface of the diamond wall. He couldn’t imagine doing this all by hand. Usually when he made mistakes he blew up all the evidence and pretended it never happened.

“Sure. So, did you want that done now, or-”

“You can take as long as you want to hobble your way there,” Kraid said. Helena’s jaw tensed at the callous mention of her disability, but said nothing. “But you should get started. Only a few hours to go.”

“Right. I’ll get right on it.”

Helena started walking away, if only for the excuse to leave. She was no stranger to feeling ill, but she felt unusually sick to her stomach tonight. Her steps felt heavy, weighted down in a way that no adjustment to her brace could fix, and none of her usual medications could chase off the nausea. She chalked it up to a new development in the ongoing nightmare that was her health and thought nothing of it. All the more reason to work with Kraid and get a cure as soon as possible.

For some reason, the moment Helena thought that, she started to feel worse.

The lingering unease dogged her every step, all the way into the basement below the faculty building. Kraid’s playground for divine experimentation added a new layer of unease, but one she was entirely familiar with. The glowing tanks still twitched with the energies of captive divinity within. Anansi, Coyote, Loki, and all the other Tricksters were still kept within their tanks, cowering in fear of another experiment. In this case, the last experiment.

Helena stood in front of a big red button. She knew for a fact Kraid had made it big and red on purpose. Just one little piece of flair on the final step. On killing a whole host of gods.

Helena stared at the button for a while. It occurred to her now that she’d never actually killed anyone before. Been an accessory to murder, certainly, with the Board of Directors and the Burrows. Even a dubious murder with the bomb at the start of the school year, but Samson and Vell had come back, so it didn’t really count. This big red button, on the other hand, was definitely murder. One hundred percent logically, ethically, unarguably murder. If she pressed the big button, all the gods would die. No caveats, no time loops to erase the consequences. Just Helena and a bunch of dead bodies.

Helena looked down, and stared at the big red button.

***

As the clock rolled on towards two in the morning, Vell sat in his office, with Skye leaning on his shoulder sleepily, and Harley and Lee across the desk, and watched the time tick by. He’d been getting more and more nervous as the clock had approach midnight, but it had ticked right on past without any problems -and with no time loops. The entire day had passed with no apocalyptic incidents or any resulting time recursion. Kraid canceling classes had canceled the loops as well, apparently. Vell put the fears about that in the back of his mind and focused on the immediate problem of Quenay’s game.

“Arcane analysis on spectrums of magic closely associated with the living is still underway,” Lee said. “But I have-”

Lee’s hair briefly stood on end as if she was about to be struck by lightning, and then flattened again.

“Lee?”

“To get ahead of your question, I have no idea what that was,” Lee said. “Probably nothing good.”

“Somebody just got fuckardly with magic, I assume,” Harley said. “Considering all the shit going on, it’s no surprise.”

“We should probably at least check in and make sure it’s safe.”

The ground rumbled hard enough to shake Skye off Vell’s shoulder.

“Alright, not safe, let’s settle for ‘not as dangerous as it could be’,” Lee said. Normally these kind of earth-shaking incidents wouldn’t phase her, at least not on this campus, but there were no classes today. Without the classes, there could be no loops.

“I got it,” Vell said. “Need to stretch my legs a bit anyway.”

His legs got a good stretch as he walked out into the quad and faced the direction of the rumble. Years of looping had honed a fine sense for rumble-location, and he looked right in the direction of the faculty building. Or where it had been, anyway. Even in the darkness of the night, he could tell there was a hole where it had once stood.

“Oh no.”

Vell didn’t bother to check in before he went sprinting that direction. He only stopped when he reached the edge of the crater and peered down. The destruction was only partial, apparently -rather than being evaporated entirely, as buildings on this campus tended to do, the faculty building had merely collapsed. The rubble of it was strewn about the crater, as it had sunk into its own basement and broken to pieces. Just below the rim of the crater, on a piece of rubble that had only barely avoided collapsing into the depths, was Helena, red in the face and hyperventilating.

“Helena!”

Vell hopped down, carefully grabbed Helena, and dragged her out of harm’s way, just in case the crater collapsed any further. Only when she was safe did Vell ask any questions.

“What the hell happened?”

After taking a few breaths to regain her composure, Helena actually answered.

“There were experiments,” Helena gasped. “Under- there. Gods, Kraid was trying to learn about gods.”

“How’d the building collapse?”

“I was supposed to do an experiment,” Helena said. “I was supposed to- it doesn’t matter. One of the gods got out. Loki broke something, sabotaged the machine somehow. When I tried to start the experiment...that.”

Helena pointed down the hole. It was a pretty self-evident situation. Vell examined the chasm, then glanced at Helena for a second. His eyes narrowed, and his forehead wrinkled, and then unwrinkled, before Vell said anything.

“Jesus. Was anyone else in there?”

“I don’t think so,” Helena said. Thanks to Kraid’s usurpation and Vell recruiting the entire faculty, the actual administrative building itself was entirely empty.

“We’ve got to have something on this campus that can scan for life,” Vell said. He got his phone out to call Lee, and then thought better of it. He turned around, and saw that Lee was already making her way to the scene, followed by other current and former loopers. The old instincts still ran strong, apparently.

“Lee, can you cast a spell to see if anyone else is—or was—in there?”

“I suppose,” Lee said. She glanced at the crater, then at Helena. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t-”

“Lee, people,” Vell said. Lee broke off her accusing glare at Helena and focused on the pit. A quick spell danced across her fingertips and washed over the collapsed faculty building.

“Oh dear.”

“What? Is someone down there?”

“Not someone,” Lee said. “Something.”

The first bubble of ethereal tar slipped through the cracks as she spoke. The fluid that started to seep forth was thick and viscous, so dark in color that it stood out as pitch black even in the nighttime sky, and a pearlescent sheen glimmered across its surface. The rising tar soon formed tendrils that grasped up, intertwined, and coalesced into new shapes.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Well, the experiments on the gods were messy,” Helena mumbled. “There might be...byproducts.”

The rising tide of malevolence continued to grow. Lee took a cautious step back.

“Tampering with the divine rarely ends well,” Lee said. “But we should have the means to contain it until we can sort out this mess.”

She turned around to face Joan.

“Be a dear and get me some bezoars, would you, they should be past the arcane biology lab, third cabinet on the left.”

“Got it.”

After nodding affirmatively, Joan leaned in for a kiss, and got one. Helena shook her head and looked away. It was sickening.

Almost as sickening as the sound of snapping bone and tearing flesh right after it. Helena slowly, nervously, turned her head back towards Lee. There was a spike of black sticking right through one of her lungs, and out her chest. She looked down at the impaling tendril and shrugged her shoulders as much as she could.

“Not to worry, dear,” Lee said to Joan. “It’s...”

Lee drifted off mid-sentence and looked at the horrified faces of her fellow loopers.

“Wait. This isn’t supposed to-”

Then the spike drew back, and pulled Lee with it, burying her in the inky darkness.

“Lee!”

All hell broke loose in a matter of seconds. One tendril rose up and lashed at Hawke, and he only barely avoided death. Leanne grabbed at the tendril and tried to pull. When her hands pulled away, all the flesh had melted off her palms. She got to feel the sting of that for exactly half a second before another arcing tendril took off her head. In panic, Alex threw up a shimmering barrier of green energy. Another blade of black tore right through it, and her, in one swipe.

“Move, now!”

Helena felt the familiar hands of Joan on her shoulders, pushing her away. Vell was hot on their heels, throwing rune after rune at the maelstrom of corrupted divinity, all of which accomplished absolutely nothing. He kept running.

“Vell,” Joan said, through a mix of tears, fury, and confusion. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Vell admitted. “We’ll figure something out! Just keep- move!”

The act of consuming and destroying everything around it seemed to make the living void grew, and it swept towards them in a tidal wave of furious darkness. Helena felt that hungering emptiness nip at her heels, and then she got pushed forward. She fell, and looked backwards as she hit the ground just in time to see violet eyes vanishing into the abyss.

“Joan?”

There was nothing left to answer the pleading question. Just Helena, an infinite abyss, and Vell Harlan, quickly throwing himself between the two.

The hungering dark washed over Vell, and something like smoke rose from the clash of the two. Vell hit the ground and threw his arm up, and the void washed over him and around him, pushing against him with all its might, but still somehow unable to devour him. Helena scanned him in confusion, and saw a burning light from his lower back.

“Vell. The rune-”

“Yeah, listen, this hurts, like, a lot,” Vell said, through gritted teeth. Whatever protection Quenay’s rune afforded him was only partial, and presumably temporary. “Going to need to be quick here. What happened in there?”

“I- I…”

Helena felt the void draw a little closer in, and she curled up into a ball to try and keep it at bay a moment longer.

“I lied,” Helena sobbed. “I lied. I k-k-k-”

“Can we skip the pity party,” Vell snapped. He could feel parts of his spine melting. “I know you lied! I know you killed the gods! What’d you do specifically? We need a way to fix it!”

An amorphous blob of corrupt godhood was devouring all of existence, held at bay entirely by a magical tramp stamp on Vell Harlan’s back. Yet somehow, the most unbelievable part of the situation was that Vell was still trying to fix it.

“Vell. We can’t. We- we don’t get a second try,” Helena said.

“I don’t care,” Vell said. “We’ve got this try. Please talk while I’ve still got most of my legs to use.”

“Vell! Everything is gone! Everyone is dead! What’s the point?

Vell winced with pain as another part of his skeleton gave out, but managed to reopen his eyes and look down at Helena

“I don’t know,” Vell admitted. “But I’m trying anyway. Because-”

Whatever was keeping annihilation at bay gave out, and Vell and Helena were reduced to nothingness, utterly erased, consumed entirely by the void.

They were dead.

And then they weren’t.

***

Vell yelped with pain and snapped to attention so hard that Skye got launched off his shoulder and out of her chair. He looked around in a panic as Skye rubbed a sore head.

“Ow! What the fuck, Vell?”

“Skye?”

“Yeah, been here the whole time, bud,” Skye said.

“Vell,” Lee said. Vell examined the look of concern on her face, and her entirely un-punctured ribcage. “Is something the matter?”

“I...uh...Is this a visual metaphor?”

Skye got off the floor and back into her chair, and let out a confused grunt in his direction.

“Are you you? Or are you a psychopomp trying to ease me into the next life?” Vell asked. “I haven’t- I mean, I have done this before, but I don’t remember it.”

“Vell, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be dead,” Vell said. “I’m just trying to make sure I’m not.”

“Sweet. Next time settle for ‘are you an angel’?” Skye said. She sat up and gave Vell a kiss on the cheek. “Brevity is the soul of flirting.”

Skye got up and rubbed a sore head again.

“God, really got my noggin on the floor there,” Skye said. “I need a fucking ice pack or something.”

She wandered off to relieve a sore head, muttering another curse under her breath as she went. Vell watched her go, and his eyes narrowed. They probably didn’t have sore heads and swearing in the good place, and he was reasonably confident he wouldn’t end up in the bad place, so Vell reasoned he must still be on Earth. Somehow.

“You just nod off a little there, Vell?” Harley asked. “You can take a power nap if you want, no one will judge you.”

“I wasn’t- you wouldn’t remember anyway,” Vell said. He got up and walked to the door, and called out for his fellow loopers. Kim was the first through the door.

“Kim, what the hell just happened?”

“Something happened?” Kim said. “Did you figure out the rune?”

“What? No! The thing with the loop,” Vell said. “And the goo. Helena did some experiment in the faculty building basement and made evil god goo that killed everyone.”

“Vell, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Samson said. Vell examined their faces and saw no hint of recognition.

“So you don’t remember anything,” Vell said. In most other ways it was an entirely typical loop -the clock had even reset to just after midnight, as it did on other loops. But for some reason, Vell was the only one who remembered it.

“There’s nothing to remember, Vell,” Alex said. “Kraid canceled all classes, and loops only occur on class days. That’s one of the only rules we know this place has.”

“Under the circumstances, I’d say it might have been a divine premonition,” Lee said. “Maybe the gods were trying to give you a warning of what might happen if their demise is not prevented.”

“No, I’ve had divine portents before, they always get the details wrong,” Vell said. “You were wearing the exact same socks and everything! That was a loop!”

“Before we get too deep into this, even if it was a loop, there’s no point trying to make sense of it,” Hawke said. “We don’t even understand the regular loops, much less bullshit Vell-exclusive evil god goo loops.”

“Yeah. Whatever the fuck just happened, I think we need to roll with it for now,” Samson said. “We can figure it out after we’ve saved the world from Kraid and his bullshit.”

“That said,” Kim continued. “We should do something about Helena. Just in case.”

“Agreed on both counts,” Alex said. “Prioritize stopping the thing that risks harming us over examining the thing which has apparently helped us.”

“Let us handle her,” Samson said. “Vell, you stay here and keep things running. And maybe get a drink. You’re twitching.”

Vell took a seat. He definitely felt twitchy. He’d seen his closest friends, maybe even the entire universe, get obliterated. He’d been obliterated. It should’ve all been permanent. But it wasn’t.

As the rest of the loopers wandered off, Lee and Harley stayed behind to keep Vell company, and he took comfort in their presence. Alive, intact, and safe. Not at all obliterated by evil goo.

“You know,” Lee said. “Something does occur to me. The loops depend on ‘class’, but to have a class, all you really need is a teacher and a student, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harley agreed. She pointed at Vell. “And you’re still technically a teacher, aren’t you? Sort of? Maybe you taught somebody a lesson.”

Vell narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment.

“That seems like a bit of a stretch,” Vell said.

“Well we’ve got to make sense of these things somehow,” Lee said. Harley scoffed at her.

“Why start now?”

A knock on the office door provided a good endpoint to what was surely an open-ended conversation. As Hawke had said, they barely understood regular time loops, much less strange, limited ones that stretched all the rules. Vell beckoned their new guests in – or rather, guests. Two young students Vell didn’t recognize hauled in stacks of paperwork and research documentation, adding them to the ever-growing pile.

“Delivery,” one of the two students said.

“Right, yeah, saving the world,” Vell said. “Thanks.”

“Just happy to help,” the other student said. Then he winked in an unmistakably conspiratorial way, which Vell found kind of weird, but chose to ignore.

Vell looked down at his desk, and back at the incomprehensible tangle of the potential meaning of life. He dug into the new papers brought by the two students, and found they were all fairly old, dating back to the late 1940’s, just after the school’s founding. Despite their age, the papers were in perfect condition. He chalked it up to good recordkeeping and got back to work. Or tried to, anyway.

No matter how hard he tried to focus, something Lee and Harley had said earlier came back to mind. He was technically a teacher. And somebody had learned a lesson.

A slight smile crept its way across Vell’s face.

***

Helena stared down at a big red button.

She knew what had gone wrong. It was a simple matter of order. She could call Kraid and tell him to kill the gods one by one instead of all at once -prevent the system overloading, prevent their divine essences from mixing into that evil goo thing. It’d be easy. It would keep the project moving. It would keep her in Kraid’s good graces. Keep her on track to her best chance at a cure. It probably wouldn’t even hurt Joan this time.

Or Vell.

The thought zipped through her mind as fast as a mosquito buzzing past her hear, and just as annoyingly. She could forgive herself for thinking of Joan. She would’ve even let herself off the hook for thinking of Samson, if only barely. But not for Vell. Not for the man who’d ruined Joan, ruined everything -and been willing to fight an impossible battle in a doomed world for her sake.

Helena’s lip twitched. She still didn’t understand what had happened, or why the hell she was still alive. There wasn’t supposed to be a second loop. Death should have been forever. In spite of that, Vell had thrown himself between absolute destruction and her. Even knowing everything she’d done. Knowing she’d been lying about the situation the entire time. Vell had kept fighting with all his friends dead and everything he cared about destroyed. He did it all because-

Because something.

The incomplete thought absolutely infuriated Helena. She would have to interrogate Vell later about what he’d been about to say. Something in that ‘because’ had kept Vell going when the end of everything was at his back, and the only thing ahead of him was a villain who’d made his life miserable at every turn. He kept going in the worst possible circumstances because-

Because there was always a chance.

In the worst darkness, in the face of losing everything, there was always a chance. A chance for things to be better. A chance to be better. A chance to make things right.

Helena finally understood what made Vell tick. She also understood that it was complete bullshit. Sometimes there wasn’t a chance. Sometimes things were broken too badly, sometimes things ended, sometimes a sister got eaten by an evil god goo. Helena bit her tongue and choked back bile rising in her throat.

For a few minutes back on that odd first loop, Helena had believed Joan was dead. Gone, forever. No more chances. No chance for an apology, no chance to for a reunion, no chance at having a sister again.

Helena wanted a long, healthy life. But she also wanted a sister. There were two clear paths before her. Kraid promised her one, but not the other. Vell promised no guarantee of either -but a chance at both. Just a chance. Helena weighed her options. She also weighed a nearby chair.

Loki jumped to attention as something bounced off the walls of his cage.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Helena insisted. She hadn’t thrown the chair hard enough to break the cell. “Just a second.”

She fiddled with the controls and opened the cage the old fashioned way. Less dramatic, but much easier.

“Come on, get the fuck out of there,” Helena shouted. “Go!”

Loki peered through the open glass.

“Aren’t you the evil girl?”

“Not anymore,” Helena said. Not if she could help it. “You want to stand around and stare or make a run for it? Because you don’t have long until Kraid shows up, and he’s definitely still the evil guy.”

Loki decided to take his chances -just like Helena. The brace on her arm whirred as she stumbled through the room and opened the cage containing Anansi, then Coyote, then Zeus, until all the caged gods had been freed. Then it was time to deal with her own cages.

The brace got used one last time to rip a drawer open and pull out a few folders. Hard copies of all their data on divinity. As soon as she had the files in hand, Helena grabbed the latches of her brace and tore it off, then tossed her phone aside. They both had trackers in them. If she started running for the lab now, Kraid might realize what she was up to, but if they were both motionless, Kraid might assume she’d had a heart attack or some other medical emergency. It’d buy her a few precious seconds, at least.

The brace fell to the floor behind her as Helena took a stumbling step forward without it. Her malformed leg was wracked with pain as it was forced to bear the brunt of her weight unaided for the first time in years. She leaned against the wall with one hand, used the other to press Kraid’s ill-gotten documents to her chest, and kept moving. She had never walked more than a few feet without assistance in her life. She had no reason to believe she could make it anywhere without help. But there was a chance.

The first few steps shocked her so badly Helena almost turned right back around to get the brace, to go back to Kraid. She wasn’t entirely sure what kept her moving forward. She also wasn’t entirely sure why she’d started in the first place. She didn’t really have a plan, or even a concrete goal. Get the documents to Vell, and then what? Hope everything worked out? Helena repeated it in her head a few times, to help distract herself from the pain. Hope everything works out. The first time she thought it, it was almost sarcastic. A few repetitions later, it was sincere.

Hope everything works out. Hope they forgive her. Hope she could have a sister again. Step by painful step, Helena started to realize hope was better reinforcement than the brace had ever been. Spiritually, at least. It still really fucking hurt to walk. She added a wheelchair to her list of things to hope for. No reason she couldn’t have hope and proper mobility aids at the same time.

By the time Helena even made it down the hallway her skin was flushed red and she was sweating profusely. Her legs had moved beyond pain and into numbness. She couldn’t feel anything below her knees. Stairs offered some reprieve for her body, but not her pride. She had to sit and pull herself up each step like a scared toddler. Even that caused shooting pain in her hips, but it was enough of a rest for her legs that she could stumble down the last hallway, towards the exit.

Helena Marsh pushed open the door with a trembling hand, and faced the sunlight and the open quad. There were no walls to lean on, no handrails to hold. The rune tech labs were on the far side of the island. Helena took a deep breath, and focused on the simple basics of walking.

Right. Left.

Right. Left.

Right. Ground.

The dull thud of the impact barely hurt. Her whole body was in pain already, falling down didn’t really add anything to it. The wound to her pride was by far the worst. She couldn’t even make it three steps. All that work, and Kraid was going to catch up to her lying in the dirt, having not even made it three steps. She could hear the footsteps approaching now. Deep, resounding, heavy with malice.

Or rather, heavy with metal.

“Well, look what I found,” Kim said.

Helena rolled her eyes. This was almost worse than Kraid.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Samson said, as he bent down to examine Helena.

“Would you shut up and-”

Helena bit back her indignation, and took a breath.

“Would you help me up? Please?”

Samson carefully grabbed Helena and propped her up on his shoulder. Alex took the other arm, and together they helped keep Helena balanced and upright as she walked forward.

“You know, if you need any advice on being less of a bitch,” Alex said. “I happen to have some firsthand experience.”

“You are all remarkably confident that I’m-”

“Helena,” Samson said. “Come on.”

Helena rolled her eyes again.

“I better not find out you were betting on this outcome,” Helena said.

“Nope. No bets,” Hawke said.

“Couldn’t find anyone to bet against Vell,” Kim said with a chuckle. Helena felt a moment of indignation, but pulled away from that aggressive instinct. She focused less on the teasing and more on the fact that through it all, Samson and Alex still had her on their shoulders, still bearing her weight without hesitation, without complaint, and without question.

They had every reason to suspect that this was another trap, some last minute Trojan horse to sabotage Vell. Maybe they did suspect it. But they carried on and helped her anyway. Because there was a chance.

***

“Complex runes dealing with mental traits tend to use a right to left carve, right?”

“I do not know enough about complex runes dealing with mental traits to know that,” Isabel said. She had briefly stepped in as Vell’s rune idea sounding board while Joan fetched some materials from another lab. She was not doing a great job of it.

“Look it up while I give it a try, then,” Vell said. “There’s enough variations I’ll need to make a few attempts anyway.”

Vell tried to carve a ten-lined rune again, following the latest leads from Cane and the neurologists, while Isabel perused to research materials. Vell had made it to yet another failed rune when his door slammed open.

“Hey Vell,” Harley said breathlessly. “We got another info delivery.”

“Okay, put it over there with the rest,” Vell said, gesturing to a pile that was about ten feet wide and rapidly approaching the ceiling.

“You’re going to want to take this one personally.”

Vell didn’t bother questioning it. He stepped outside, put his hands on his hips, and stared towards the door.

“Just take it easy,” Samson said.

“I am barely capable of moving,” Helena said. “The onus is entirely on you.”

“You are being very rude to the man carrying you,” Samson said, as he hauled Helena towards a waiting wheelchair.

“We both know you wouldn’t drop me.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Samson said. He gingerly sat Helena down in the wheelchair, and helped her adjust it to her own comfort. She looked up from the controls just in time to see Vell looking down at her.

“Hey, Helena.”

“Harlan,” Helena said. She looked down at her lap, where the research papers were still stacked, and then back up. “Vell.”

He held out a hand. Helena lifted the papers towards Vell.

“That’s everything Kraid learned about the nature of gods,” Helena said. “The information is sparse, and hard to interpret, but it should...help.”

Vell took the stack of papers and gave them a quick scan. There wasn’t much, but what was present was more topical to the nature of life and gods than anything else Vell had seen so far.

“Thank you, Helena.”

“You’re welcome,” Helena said.

“Alright then,” Vell began. He put a hand on the documents and then pointed at the door. “I need to deal with this. And you need to deal with that.”

“Deal with-”

Helena struggled to turn her new wheelchair towards the door. The sound of a stack of papers hitting the floor provided an early clue. When Helena finally turned, she saw Joan standing in the door, documents scattered at her feet, with a smile on her face and rivers of tears already flowing down her cheeks.

“Oh no.”

Joan stepped on and over the papers as she sprinted to her sister, and fell to her knees by the side of the wheelchair. She stopped just long enough to look at Helena and let out a sobbing laugh before grabbing her, in the firm yet gentle embrace of someone holding something fragile, and pulling her in for a hug. Helena endured a few seconds of tears pouring into her shoulder before beginning to protest.

“Joan, please don’t drag this out,” Helena mumbled. “You know I can’t cry.”

“I know, that’s why I’m crying enough for both of us,” Joan sobbed. “Stupid.”

Whatever part of Helena’s body was supposed to be crying stung. She had arms, at least, and she used those to return Joan’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Helena mumbled, so quietly only Joan could hear. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I let you down.”

“It’s okay,” Joan said. “It’s okay.”

Deep down, Helena wondered if she deserved that forgiveness. She didn’t think she did. But she had to take the chance at getting it anyway.

***

An abandoned brace laid on the floor of a barren lab, amid shattered glass and debris. A skeletal arm reached down to grab it.

“Marsh, Marsh, Marsh,” Kraid said, as he pulled the brace up to examine it. “Is there something in the blood? Are you two descended from an ancient line of indecisive bastards?”

Kraid clenched his fist. The metal brace started to burn white hot and melt into a puddle that rapidly burned through the floor. He shrugged, and walked away from the molten metal.

“Fine then. Almost showtime anyway.”

With a snap of his fingers and a flare of green-black fire, Kraid was back in his lab. The laboratory began to shift, and the walls slid away, revealing the central chamber to what would’ve been the student work area, if there were any students left to work in it. Kraid’s divine prison stood like a crystalline monolith in full view of the rows of empty seats. He looked it over from top to bottom and saw no flaws in his design, no errors in its construction.

Everyone had abandoned Kraid, true. But he’d never needed them in the first place.

All that effort, and the only thing they’d deprived him of was an audience.

PART ELEVEN SIXTEEN

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Tuesday

“Wallace! What time did you end up calling it a night last night?”

Hayden Wallace, the oldest homicide detective in the precinct, paused mid-step partway across the bullpen and closed his eyes. He quickly counted to five before opening them and turning to face his squad commander, a woman closer to half his age. “Midnight, ma’am,” he said, going for a genuine smile that had won over so many women in the past.

The thirty-four-year-old female with a short brown bobcut strode across the bullpen to stare him in the eye. “I didn’t ask when you clocked out and snuck back to your desk, detective. I asked what time you walked out that damn door and went home.” She pointed at the double doors that separated Homicide from the rest of the precinct.

“I can’t remember,” he answered honestly.

“Perhaps this will jog your memory. Cooper just told me on his way out that he was surprised to see you back here, given you were still in the building four hours ago.”

Wallace rubbed the top of his balding head, mentally eviscerating a certain night shift sergeant who, in his mind, should’ve been drowned at birth. “That doesn’t seem right,” he said, pretending to frown. “Marrisa was still up when I got home.”

If anything, his squad commander’s scowl darkened. “How that woman puts up with your blatant lying is beyond me, Wallace! I mean it. You are out the door on time today, or I’ll put you on front desk duty until the day you die. Which at your age is probably tomorrow.”

“Love you too, ma’am.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

The woman was the same height as him and full of the same piss and vinegar that had served him for nearly forty years on the force. She stepped into his space until they were nose to nose, with her brown eyes staring at him unblinkingly. Hayden ordered himself not to flinch. Not even a little. “One minute past five, and you’re done. Try me, Wallace,” she drilled two fingers into his collarbone, then did an about-face and walked away from him.

Hayden held his position until she cleared the bullpen, then breathed out heavily.

“You brought that on yourself, old man,” Lyle Carson, his partner of twelve years, snorted. “I told you to go home when I did…”

“Oh, bag it,” Hayden faux-growled, smirking in appreciation of the coffee Carson held out to him while sipping on a second one. “Black and two sugars, right?”

Carson scowled. “One of these days I’m going to bring you a chai tea…”

“No one drinks that frou-frou crap but you.”

“Your lack of refined palette and my useless threats aside ... did you actually make any headway after I left?”

Wallace sat at his desk and reached forward for the on/off switch that would kick his computer to life. “Some,” he said. When Carson raised a dubious eyebrow as he sat opposite him, Hayden hmphed and added, “Maybe not as much as I was hoping, but I did make a few new connections and submitted a warrant request for Eddie Perkins.”

“You typed up a warrant request?” Carson repeated, his eyes widening comically.

Hayden growled and flipped him off. “Yes, I can fill out a fuckin’ online form when I have to, you asshole.”

Carson chuckled but shook his head, clearly not believing him.

Just because Hayden had broken more than one computer throwing it across the room when the damn thing hadn’t done what he wanted (he considered it a win when he hadn’t drawn his gun and shot it first), and his partner had banned him from doing anything but read emails and case files and add his notes to Carson’s reports, was entirely NOT the point.

Especially when last night, Hayden had realised the more he relaxed into the process, the more things fell together until they made sense. Maybe that was why he’d had such a hard time with computers before. He'd always fought them for supremacy instead of relaxing and letting them do their thing.

It had certainly paid off this morning.

While the computer turned on, he leaned forward to be closer to his partner at the desk facing him and whispered, “Keep an eye out for me,” then sat back in his seat. He opened his bottom drawer for a medicated ointment tube and pulled a medical sock out of his jacket pocket.

“You fucking idiot! You came all the way into work without a sock on?!” Carson snarled at him.

“Sssshh,” Hayden hissed, pulling his pants higher than his right knee to reveal a prosthetic limb from the knee down. He unbuckled the annoying thing that allowed him to continue working the last twenty-seven years and sighed in relief as the metal had rubbed parts of his nub raw. He laid a dollop of cream on the reddest part, then smeared it all over the nub, rubbing it in. “Oh, that’s better,” he sighed, then pulled the sock over the nub and slid it back into the prosthetic with only minor pain, buckling it all into place.

Carson was still frowning at him, but by then, the computer had started up, so Hayden used his clean hand to open their case files and emails while the other lifted his other pants leg enough to expose part of his lower leg. Years of habit had his fingers wiping off the excess cream on his hairy shin and calf before righting his pants on both legs.

“Gross,” his partner complained, just like he always did whenever Hayden prepped his nub in front of him. “And you’re lucky that thing didn’t swell up like a football, or you really would be stuck behind a desk for a week, and then where would I be?”

“I slept in,” he explained. As he ran his eye down the subject bar of his emails for anything uber important, he skipped over one labelled ‘Angela Benson’ and paused.

“Bullsh—what’s wrong?” Carson asked, watching him while skimming through his own emails.

“I’ve got an email here tagging Angela Benson.”

“Aw, fuck! Don’t tell me her scumbag husband is trying for another wrongful conviction hearing. We nailed his ass to the wall, fair and square.”

Instead of answering, Hayden opened the email.

And started to read…

…and watch…

…and read.

Twice, his partner tried to get his input on something, and by the second time, Hayden grabbed whatever was handy and pitched it at the man to get him to shut up, all without taking his eyes off the screen.

That got Carson up and around his side of the table, leaning heavily over his shoulder. “What the hell are you…” his words drifted off as he watched the same iffy footage that was clearly old, of a young, muscular woman in her mid-twenties straddling someone and smothering them with a pillow. She had strength on whoever she was holding down, and the hands that struggled to free the face and the feet that thrashed and kicked to buck the woman off were of a much older person.

“That can’t be real …” Carson said, reaching for Hayden’s mouse.

Hayden slapped his hand out of the way, determined to see this through to the end. After the victim stopped struggling, the woman held on for another minute or so and then climbed off him. She then spent time straightening his sheets and pillows to hide the struggle and cleaned them both up.

Then, despite having no audio, she tilted her head back and screamed long and loud, and people came running. The family were obviously wealthy. Apart from the furnishings in the room, the man who appeared in high-quality silk pyjamas ran to the bed, and after checking the man’s face, he collapsed to his knees beside the bed, pressing his head to the dead man’s palm. The level of distraught was genuine, and Hayden really felt for the guy. But it wasn’t until the woman rushed to the newcomer’s side and wrapped herself around him that his face turned towards the camera, and Hayden recognised him, even as servants swept into the room in a flurry of activity.

He paused the video feed and set it back a few frames to where the distraught man was facing the camera.

“Is that…?” Carson asked, moving closer to the screen.

“Tucker Portsmith, the king shit of Portsmith Electronics? Yeah,” Hayden said, swallowing heavily. “This is old. He can’t be more than twenty-five in that footage. And he was in the news over the weekend. Apparently, his secretary was a secret stockholder…”

“They call them shareholders now, and I heard she was his executive assistant.”

“Same thing.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Wallace! One of these days you’re going to accept the sixties are gone and move into this century.”

“According to the Battleaxe, I’m gonna be dead tomorrow.”

“Try in thirty seconds if she catches you calling her that again.”

“Whatever.”

“Where the hell did this come from?”

“I don’t know – but according to the death certificate I just read, this was written off as hypoxia from a lifetime of heavy smoking.”

“They didn’t even do an autopsy on the old man?”

Hayden shook his head. “They didn’t need to. From what I read, he was a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker who refused to use a CPAP machine at night when his doctors ordered him to. They were all waiting for the hypoxia to kill him, and as soon as they thought it had, the attending physician signed off on it and probably went home.”

“Well, someone was damn impatient.” Carson straightened and pointed at the computer. “You need to get a tech up here and trace where this email came from. Someone could be yanking our chain…”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I thought so in the beginning, but the paperwork looks legit, and it all correlates.”

“Shoot me that email,” Carson ordered, leaving Hayden and returning to his desk. “We’ll work with it from my computer while you get the techs in to find out where it came from.”

“How the hell does this shit even happen?” Hayden asked, doing as his partner asked.

“Rich people with deep pockets doing rich things,” Carson answered, though Hayden had meant it more as a rhetorical thing.

Hayden didn’t care if the Portsmiths were wealthy. Money didn’t buy him. He was close to retirement and had more than enough of his own, thanks to a rich company thinking they could get away with taking shortcuts in passenger van safety. His family had all been at the airport to pick him up from a case he’d been helping with over in Chicago. In one car drive home, he went from the happiest man in the world to the only survivor in his family who also happened to be hospitalised with his right leg amputated at the knee.

The company had tried to blame driver error on his father, who had been a city bus driver for well over forty years. It had taken twelve years for Hayden to finally clear his father’s name and get the payout that should’ve been his from the very beginning. Not that the money would bring his family back, but it was what the companies understood, and he wanted them to hurt the way he had. Bad.

So, to say he hated big corporations trying to hide things was an understatement, and if they thought there was a statute on murder, they were about to have another thing coming. Carson was right. He would have to let the techs confirm the date stamps on the files and bring the squad commander in to hear her thoughts on moving forward.

What he wouldn’t be doing was letting it fall through the cracks. Not on his watch.

If anything, it was a shame the supposed murder happened over twenty years ago, or he could organise an exhumation to look for pillowcase fibres in the lungs. But there was plenty in the email to work with: like a slam dunk conviction level of paperwork.

He went back to the emails.

Portsmith Senior deserved justice, and while it might be late, the victim would receive it if it were the last thing Hayden did.

* * *

From half an ocean away, in a high-rise apartment owned by his cousin, a Mystallian with more blood ties to the Hellion Highborn cackled and rubbed his hands together gleefully.

[Next Chapter] 

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

“I can’t believe they won’t let my avatar go!” the dungeon complained.

With Spok out at the duke’s castle working to make her grand announcement and Switches being conveniently busy at the city’s airshipyard, Cmyk was the only one left listening—something the minion only did begrudgingly.

Having the doors slam and furniture float about had become a common occurrence. Rarely had Theo been as furious as he was right now at the bureaucratic absurdity of circumstances. The Feline Tower had provided him with all the materials that might aid him in completing his task. Also, Spok had found an extremely useful spell that would allow him to obtain all the knowledge without individually reading every book. And yet, the cat council refused to let his avatar return to his main body to obtain that skill.

For the first time in his creation, his exaggerated reputation had come to bite him in the metaphorical ass. All the cats that mattered considered him a cunning, powerful entity, who was using the explanation as an excuse to flee the tower and never be seen again. The more Theo insisted that he only wanted to obtain his skill, only made the arch council more adamant in their stance. Even when he had tried to explain that they could reveal his secret should he not return, or even sick the hero guild on him, they had provided him with charts and formulas depicting where he could run off to with the current amount of magical energy he possessed.

As a result, the avatar had spent what was left of the day, and the night that followed, attempting to go through the books manually. At present, he was halfway through the second one and not an ounce smarter.

“Do I look like a scam artist to you?” Theo asked Cmyk in his main body. “Do you see me dropping everything I’ve achieved here, just to teleport to a hole in the ground who-knows-where?”

If the minion had the ability to talk, he definitely wouldn’t have. This was the epitome of a trick question if there ever was one. For one thing, the dungeon had already done that when threatened once before. Furthermore, given that a moment wouldn’t pass without Theo complaining about noise, adventurers, or something else, one had to wonder if this last quest didn’t end up being the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Treating me as a common criminal.” Several doors within the building slammed. “I ought to leave just to show them!”

“You’re doing no such thing, I hope, sir,” Spok said through her core pendant. Since the dungeon had agreed to her request, the spirit guide had once again returned to her normal duties. “Not with the announcement to be made in the next few minutes.”

“Of course not!” Theo grumbled. But I ought to, he added mentally.

Meanwhile, his avatar kept reading the same sentence over and over as he had been for the last ten minutes. The dungeon’s rickety train of thought was further wrecked by the sudden appearance of a fluff cloud a few feet away.

“How’s progress?” the archmage asked, using the cloud as a pillow. “Ready to take on the legendary tower?”

Ellis snorted while the two mage apprentices subtly leaned as far away from the dungeon’s avatar as they could. The girl and the large apprentice had been taking turns encouraging the baron in the hopes that would increase his reading speed. Considering the result, their efforts ranged between useless and counterproductive.

“Yes.” The baron closed the book he was reading. “Just refreshing my memory.”

“There’s no way he’d survive,” Ellis said unapologetically.

The avatar gave the small white cat an angry glare, but that only seemed to encourage her further.

“He doesn’t even know the sequence of Gregord’s favorite colors, let alone—”

“I see,” the old cat interrupted. “You raise a good point. It would be difficult to remember all the information after a single cram session.” The cloud circled the table, stopping just above the spot Ellis was curled up at. “It would be reckless to pin all our hopes on a single person, no matter how exceptional he is.” He paused for a few coughs. “You’ll join him.”

“What?” Ellis jumped to her feet as if the table beneath her had abruptly heated up.

“It’s only natural, since you’ve been constantly referring to yourself as the tower’s utmost Gregord expert.” The sarcastic note of disapproval was unmistakable.

“Grandpa! That was just talk! You know that I—”

“Tut, tut, tut.” The old white cat flicked his tail.

“Archmage,” Ellis quickly corrected herself. “Yva knows a lot more.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Unlike you, she’s a human. She could never pass as the baron’s familiar.”

With such an intonation, it wouldn’t have been out of place if the archmage broke out in a bout of maniacal laughter. However, he did the next best thing, which was to rush everyone to get prepared for the event.

Being dressed appropriately in the colors and symbols of the Feline Tower was, apparently, just as important as the event itself. Back in his main body, Theo would have taken less than a minute to magic on the appropriate attire. As usual, the arch council spent most of the time arguing about everything from color combinations to the location and order of the magical symbols.

Theo was honestly relieved once the portal to the mage tower finally emerged.

“Best of luck, valued benefactor,” Ilgrym said ahead of a large procession that accompanied him. “Remember, etiquette above everything else.”

“Of course. Of course,” the avatar muttered. “Won’t any of you be joining us to the site?”

“The rules prohibit any mages other than challengers from being in the vicinity of the tower while it appears,” the black cap explained. “Thanks to your unique circumstances, you’re more than welcome to contact us should you require any assistance.”

“I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

“It probably isn’t, but there’s nothing wrong in trying.” Ilgrym’s whiskers twitched. “At least that way we’ll know for sure one way or the other.”

“Thanks…” Even after his death, Theo failed to escape the life of a corporate drone he’d been subjected to in the past.

“And you better be at your best behavior, Apprentice,” the black cat glanced at Ellis, who was seated on the avatar’s shoulder. “You’re not only representing the Feline Tower, but your family and the Archmage as well!”

“Yes, sir,” the white cat replied with the enthusiasm of an under-slept student before an exam.

Out of habit, Theo cast an identify spell on the portal.

SPACE PORTAL Level 7

Radius: 5 feet

A condensed aether portal, created by a proprietary high-level spell, that allows instant transport between two points, following the principles of the dimension carry items. Since the magic is self-contained, it cannot be negated.

The space portal must constantly be powered by an energy source in the immediate vicinity.

The level was impressively high, despite the small size of the shimmering circle. It was the last part of the description that caught Theo’s attention. The lack of visible energy source made it clear that it wasn’t the cats that had created the portal, but an external entity.

Once the avatar stepped through, he saw exactly how right he was. A tower hundreds of feet tall stood nearby, its very walls made entirely of magic.

The moment he set eyes on it, the dungeon’s nature kicked in, estimating the amount of energy and core points he could obtain should he consume it. Several attempts were made to identify the tower, but regardless of the persistence, there was no result. Clearly, Gregord wasn’t a legendary archmage only in name.

“Step aside,” Ellis whispered into the avatar’s ear. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

It was only at this stage that Theo noticed the less important elements of the scene, namely the people. There were several dozen of them, dressed in mage robes of various colors. Each had the symbol marking the tower they belonged to, none of which meant a thing to the dungeon. One thing that Theo was more than familiar with was the disdain in their eyes.

Doing his best to keep a low profile, the avatar walked away from the portal. Unfortunately, everyone’s glances followed him as he did so.

“Never thought I’d see your kind here,” a skinny man in orange and red attire said. The emblem embroidered on his short cloak depicted a crown surrounded by three circles. It was a safe bet that his tower had a very high opinion of himself.

Theo ignored him.

“Hey!” The other stepped up. “You think you can ignore me?” He smirked. “Everyone here knows exactly what you are, so don’t try to pretend.”

A sudden chill swept through the dungeon, lowering the temperature of Rosewind by one degree.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” the avatar said.

With so many mages in one spot, it was inevitable that at least some of them would figure out he was a dungeon. The threat hadn’t seemed significant since the cats had assured him that all memories made within the tower remained there. Yet, they had omitted to tell him that the trial began outside of it.

“Don’t you?” The crown crest mage stood up on his toes in an attempt to diminish the height difference between them.

Mentally, the dungeon swallowed.

“You’re unaffiliated!” The mage grinned with such glee that one would think he’d revealed a truly shameful secret.

Several people from those gathered let out a few judgmental laughs, while others pretended to ignore the whole thing.

“Everyone knows about the so-called Feline Tower. They haven’t had a human mage there since the last one died at this trial.”

“Oh…” Theo said in relief. “Guess you caught me. Really sucks to be me.”

“Huh?”

It was uncertain whether it was the phrasing or the avatar’s tone that put the crown mage off, but he took a step back. His face abruptly turned red, as two veins pulsed on the side of his temples.

“You think you’re a big shot, eh?” The mage stomped away, fists clenched. “I bet you won’t get to pass the first floor!”

“Ignore him,” Ellis whispered. “The old towers have always hated us.”

“Because you’re cats?”

“That too, but because we’re new.” The cat flicked her tail. “Old towers always hate new ones. They call it mage dilution—more certificates, less quality.”

“How can you tell which is which?” He examined the people gathered.

All the robes seemed equally expensive, falling squarely in the upper-mid range. No one had particularly flashy jewelry, weapons, or anything else that distinguished them from the rest. Two had familiars: a chameleon snake and a blue flying squirrel.

“See the group closest to the tower?” Ellis asked. “Those are the old towers. They usually stick together. That way, they can comment on everyone else.”

It was notable that the representatives of the common towers were standing as far away as possible from one another. The avatar moved casually towards a member of the cannonball-and-grapes crested tower, only to have the person move away before he even approached.

On Theo’s shoulder, Ellis scoffed.

“Good luck with that,” she said. “All of them are hoping to get invited to the group. Keeping away from others like them boosts their chances.”

More candidates kept on arriving through the portal. When they got beyond one hundred, Theo mentally commented that there were too many towers. If it wasn’t for the hatred between them, the mages could have taken the world ages ago.

At one point, the portal suddenly vanished, indicating the arrival of all candidates. Moments after it occurred, the whispers ended. All turned in the direction of the tower expectantly. The glow surrounding it changed color, turning from purple to light cyan.

“Welcome, candidates for knowledge,” a deep voice boomed from the structure. “All of you have come to follow in the footsteps of the Great Gregord and for that, you are to be praised.”

Smirks appeared on a few faces.

“In accordance with his will, representatives of all mage towers containing his spells or keys have been transported to the outside of his challenge, but only the worthy will be allowed to set foot inside.”

“You didn’t mention this,” the avatar whispered to Ellis.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one with doubts. Several groups of mages were openly discussing the new development, just as surprised as he was.

“What’s the reason for this?” a tall blond woman in the old tower group asked. “The tests have always started within the tower.”

“What happens in the tower remains in the tower,” the voice boomed in reply. “When the Great Gregord constructed the tower, he only intended for eighteen hopefuls to partake in his trials: six by skill and six by luck. Up to today, your numbers were reasonable enough to allow the candidates to be filtered on the first floor. That is no longer the case.”

“See?!” someone shouted. “It’s all because of these new towers! They increased the mage pool to a breaking point!”

“It’s only fair that candidates are determined by chronological order,” a small old mage said. Looking at him, one could say that he was well over a century old, leaning against his staff for support. “That would be fair.”

“Sure, grandpa!” A young mage shouted at him, waving his fist. “How about we go with potential?”

“Actually, he’s right,” the blonde woman agreed. “Chronological order of the towers that the candidates are from. Towers that have existed for millennia should have preference over those that have been around for a decade or two.”

“You’re only saying that because you bought your tower!” A large man crossed his arms.

“Agreed upon magical merger is considered perfectly legal,” the blonde narrowed her eyes. “And accepted by the magical society at large.”

The bickering continued, with claims and counterclaims piling on. Spells flashed on and off, though more for show than actual threats. No one could come to an agreement, until the tower let out a flash of light, covering everyone with silence.

“Only the twelve strongest mages will be allowed to pass,” the tower continued, utterly ignoring everything said so far. “Thus, you’ll have to undergo the Great Gregord’s three-door-trial.” The door leading to the tower turned emerald green. “A check of strength, a check of speed, and a check of knowledge. Each of you will be given one chance and one chance alone, so give it your all.”

“What happens if less than eighteen people make it through the doors?” Theo’s avatar asked.

Everyone looked at him as if he were wearing shorts at a black-tie event.

“Once the three-door has appeared, only the worthy would be allowed,” the tower replied. “If all are proved wanting, only the lucky three last ones will be granted entry. Who will be first?”

An interesting loophole, or it seemed so. Theo could see through the deception. Already mages were considering how to game the system by being last, but that was nothing more than an illusion. If someone was so weak as to fail the easiest trial, there was no way they’d progress much further.

A confident man of the old tower group stepped up to the door.

“So, I just need to hit the door with my greatest spell?” he asked, cracking his fingers.

“The spell is not of importance, just the amount of effort,” the tower replied.

Without warning, a massive bolt of lightning shot out from his fingers, striking the door’s surface. The light was so bright that even Theo had to shield his eyes.

“Magni-Lightning.” Ellis leaped onto the baron’s head, intrigued by the display. “Eighth level. Was one of Gregord’s favorites during his early years. Most people need three years of dedicated study to learn and at least—”

The door turned red. “Rejected.”

“What?!” the mage shouted. “What do you mean rejected?! Didn’t you see the spell I used? Only a prodigy is able to cast a spell of such complexity!”

In response, a space portal formed on the ground beneath the man’s feet, causing him to drop out. If nothing else, mages were definitely strict with their rules and requirements.

“Next,” the tower boomed as the door went back to being green.

None of the mages dared step forward. It wasn’t just that a mage from an ancient tower had been rejected, but a prodigy that had cast a spell that most of the present couldn’t dream to match. Seemingly, he had done everything correct: the spell was powerful, complex, and was created by Archmage Gregord. And still, that had been deemed insufficient.

Might as well go ahead, the dungeon thought. Normally, he’d view this as a means to get out of his deal with the Feline Tower, but unfortunately, his brief chat with the cat archmage had made it clear that anything less than a valiant attempt would be viewed poorly.

Surrounded by utter silence, the avatar approached the door.

“Spok,” the dungeon said through the core pendant. “Any thoughts on what might be considered a strong spell?”

On the surface, the correct solution was to use the open spell he had acquired through the consumption of Gregord’s key. A door was a door, after all. As it had been demonstrated, though, the obvious choices weren’t always correct.

“In what sense, sir?” the spirit guide asked. The slight change in intonation suggested that she didn’t appreciate being disturbed at present.

“Just strong,” Theo replied.

“That’s too vague to give an adequate answer, sir. It could be anything from destructive power to complexity. You’d have to provide additional details.”

Clearly it wasn’t complexity. Ellis had attested to that. Destructive power didn’t seem to be the answer, either. Lightning magic was among the more destructive… unless the show off hadn’t intentionally preserved his mana. After all, the tower had told them to give their all.

“Thank you, Spok,” the dungeon said as the avatar brought his hand to the green surface. Using a common fireball was tempting, but it ran the risk of ruining the baron’s clothes, so he chose to cast an ice spell instead.

Normally, he’d dedicate a hundred energy to the spell, but given that a lot of big shots were present, he chose to up the ante up to a thousand.

A freezing ray emerged from his hand, striking the door. There was nothing flashy about it. Most of the mages probably didn’t manage to get a glimpse. The thing no one could ignore was the door opening.

“Accepted,” the tower boomed. “As the first to dedicate over a hundred mana to a spell, you will be presented with one hint at a time of your choosing. Now, enter.”

So, it was mana, Theo thought as he casually made his way into the tower. The moment he crossed the threshold, the door slammed behind him.

“That wasn’t very smart.” Ellis said, moving down from the baron’s head back to his left shoulder. “You overdid it.”

“There’s a lot more mana from where that came from.”

“That’s not the point. Showing off early makes you a target.” The cat flicked her tail.

“Well, what’s done is done.” Theo’s thoughts were focused elsewhere. While his avatar proceeded to the second part of the entrance trial, the whole of Rosewind was witness to the greatest announcement of the last few decades: the planned union between Duke Rosewind and Baron d’Argent’s steward—Spok d’Esprit.

Other than being ridiculously loud, the event was a topic of gossip and conversation. Opinions varied, but for the most part, the general populace approved. If anything, it was the duke that they saw as being the lucky one.

Suddenly, the sky thundered with massive explosions. Three small airships burst into green flames, causing the local griffin population to fill the air with loud screeches. For a moment, it almost seemed as if the city was on the verge of another massive disaster, when the flames changed shape, spelling out the words “Congratulations, Spork!”

Spork? the dungeon couldn’t help but wonder. “Switches!” he shouted in that section of his main body that constituted the mechanic lab at the airshipyard. “Was that your idea?”

“Oops.” The gnome frowned. “I knew I added one too many r-devices. Don’t worry! I’ll get it right the second time!”

“No!” Theo sealed off all entrances. “No second time! Once was enough.”

“Are you sure?” the gnome asked in disappointment. “It’s really much better at night. The darkness brings out the letters’ true beauty.”

“There will be no more exploding explosions! And before you even think about doing anything of the sort, you pass it through me! Understand?”

“Alright…” the gnome looked at the floor, like a child who’d be denied dessert. “I’ll get back to working on the mechanic servants…”

Considering that fairly innocuous, Theo restored the shipyard’s entrances.

Meanwhile, his avatar was standing in front of the blue door.

“What’s wrong?” Ellis asked.

“Just a few things on my mind,” the avatar replied. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

“To open the door, you must turn the handle,” the tower explained. “Touching the handle will trigger a series of attack spells that will test your reaction speed. If you’re fast enough to avoid their effects and pass through the door, you will continue to the final stage.”

That had to be the speed portion of the spell. It seemed straightforward. Theo didn’t see what the big fuss was. Since he was already in the tower, there was no need to hide his identity further. Everything would, supposedly, be forgotten. Although, to be on the safe side, maybe he should keep up the pretense for as long as possible.

“I know this one,” Ellis said from his shoulder. “Gregord loved speed games, so he devised many speed related traps. The trick is to make use of one hand casting. Just open the door with one hand and concentrate on the other to counter all resulting trap spells.”

The well thought out solution was utterly ignored by Theo. With his attention split between two places, he nodded to everything said, then cast a swiftness ultra spell. For an instant, time froze, allowing him to swiftly press down the handle without consequences, open the door, and step through.

Before the cat knew it, they were on the other side of the second trial. Behind them, the sound of spells triggering—far too late—could be heard. Whoever of the mages outside that was unfortunate enough to pass through the green door was going to have a rather unpleasant surprise. Then again, maybe that was for the better.

“Did you say something?” the avatar asked Ellis, as he made his way forward to a glowing white door.

“Show off.” The cat hissed, curling up on his shoulder. If Baron d’Argent was human, he would have felt four sets of claws sinking into his skin. In the grand scheme of things that didn’t even cause a wound worthy of a point of energy.

“To open the door of wisdom, you must simply place your hand on its surface and name the most important quality of a mage, according to the Great Gregord,” the tower said.

Finally, here it was—the first stumbling block Theo faced. If this were his previous life, he’d have tried to brute force the answer. With a few dozen swiftness spells, he could set off on a naming spree that had a good chance of eventually finding the word needed. Unfortunately, he was given just one answer.

“Ellis?” he said, after waiting patiently for several seconds. “Any ideas?”

“Oh, so now you’re asking for advice?” The white feline reacted in passive aggressive fashion.

Being who she was, she didn’t like being ignored, and any other time that would be understandable. Right now, the dungeon didn’t have either the time nor the patience for such games. Also, he had developed a method of dealing with such people thanks to his previous adventures.

“Then I’ll just guess,” he reached towards the door.

“No!” the feline leaped off his shoulder in panic. “Don’t you dare!”

“I take it you changed your mind?” The avatar looked down at her.

Ellis paused. The situation was humiliating. As any star pupil, she had always been rather easy going when things were in control. That quickly ended the moment she was reduced to a common assistant. Being designated a “technical familiar” was bad enough. Being actually treated as such was worse. Sadly, for the sake of the tower and her grandfather, she had to swallow her pride and do what needed to be done.

“Luck,” she said. “Gregord always considered luck to be the most important quality one could have. Strength, speed, intelligence helps a person to achieve the impossible, but only luck allows them to have a second try once they fail.”

“Luck?” That sounded naïve at best and stupid at worst. “Are you sure?”

“Gregord was a unique mage.”

“Apparently… But isn’t it just… a bit obvious?”

The cat didn’t answer.

“Alright.” The avatar placed his hand against the white door. “Luck,” he said.

The door dissolved before him, transforming into a space portal. There was no comment from the tower, no announcement that he had successfully passed the three-door trial, not even a word of encouragement. Curious and suspicious by nature, Theo cast an arcane identify spell.

EXPULSION PORTAL level 5

Radius: 5 feet

Well done, candidate! Most would have fallen for the trick and just continued. The answer you gave might have been right or wrong, but only the wise double check to make sure.

With this, you are officially welcome to the first floor of Gregord’s Tower.

Ellis seemed to find the portal’s presence more than enough, taking a step forward. Hardly had she done so when the portal dispersed, shifting back to a door. Only this time, it was open.

“Good job,” the avatar said. A lesser person might have rubbed her face in the mistake just for the sake of it. The dungeon, on the other hand, was a lot more mature, and also knew that he still required her assistance for the actual challenges. “I’ll count on you for the wisdom stuff.”

As both of them walked into the chamber of the tower, this was supposed to be the first joyous occasion of the day—a much needed drop of mirth in what was going to be two weeks of intenseness. Unfortunately, before happiness even got a chance to manifest, Spok appeared in the dungeon’s main building.

“Sir, we have a serious problem,” she said in a hurried voice.

All the furniture in Baron d’Argent’s mansion shook.

“What happened?” Theo asked. This was the first time he’d seen Spok concerned to such a degree.

“He’s coming here,” she said. “The duke is coming here, and he wants to have a word with you!”

< Beginning | | Book 2 | | Book 3 | | Previously | | Next >

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Corey’s correct appraisal of his girlfriend’s capacity for matricide ended up saving her life. He was ready to swing before any of Aberas’ goons were ready to shoot. A chair slammed into the face of the nearest guard and knocked him off his feet. With Tooley in front and Corey coming from the side, the guards found their attention briefly divided, so Corey made the most of his half-second of opportunity.

Before the first guard had even hit the ground, Corey dropped the chair and went for a diving tackle. There were seven guards, so he had to disrupt as many as possible as soon as possible, before any of them could get a shot off. He slammed a shoulder into one of the guards and swung a fist at the other. It was a weak blow, but it didn’t have to hurt, just divide his attention, make him less likely to aim and pull the trigger.

The element of surprise worked to Corey’s advantage, but his greatest asset was the element of misogyny. The Sturit guard naturally assumed the man was the greatest threat and turned all their attention to him. They were technically correct in that the biggest threat in the room was a man, but they chose the wrong man.

While the guards were focusing on their new target, Farsus ran up from behind, grabbed one by the jaw, and broke their neck with a single clean twist. He had to put in a little more effort than usual to do it. Apparently the Sturit had strong necks to go with their strong jaws. He kept that in mind as the next guard tried to attack him.

While the bulk of the guards were occupied with Corey and Farsus, Kamak went right for the head of the snake. Aberas was the only one with the sense to try and step away from the melee, either to aim his gun properly or call for backup. Kamak could not allow him to do either. The Sturit guards had plasma weaponry. Not quite as loud as ballistics, but still potentially dangerous. A single shot, even if it missed, would burn right through the walls of the house and potentially alert the whole neighborhood. They had an entire damn city to cross to reach the spaceport and take off, there was no way they’d survive the walk if any backup was called.

Kamak went for the gun first. A quick grab and twist that often disarmed amateurs didn’t work on Aberas -apparently he had some actual training. Kamak went for the backup plan: get as close as possible and pummel the head and chest at short range. It didn’t deal a lot of damage, but it kept Aberas from maneuvering his rifle into position. Thankfully none of the guards had sidearms that would’ve been easier to operate in a close range brawl.

The barrage of quick, disruptive punches had the intended effect, and Aberas dropped his useless rifle to focus on good old fashioned fisticuffs. He went for the groin first. Typical, but ineffective. While the Sturit had banned Kamak and company from bringing weapons, they had said nothing about body armor. Kamak had learned the valuable lesson of armoring such weak points long ago. With his first shot wasted, Aberas was soon on the back foot in the brawl.

The playing field got leveled a little when Kamak heard Corey scream. He had to check on his crewmate, just to be sure the kid hadn’t gotten himself killed, but thankfully he was only wounded. One of the guards he was brawling with had dug his teeth into Corey’s forearm. The bite was from the sides, avoiding any major tendons or arteries, at least. He wasn’t going to be crippled or bleed to death -yet. Kamak focused on finishing the fight in front of him.

Logistically, Kamak knew he had to kill Aberas. The only real question was how. He wasn’t sure he could get Aberas on the ground and keep him there long enough to grab the rifle and execute him. He wasn’t strong enough to snap necks the way Farsus did -and even Farsus was struggling to do that now that his opponents were on guard. His best bet was to take a page out of Tooley’s book: blunt force trauma to the head. That was tough to do with just fists. Fortunately the Obertas family had a lot of expensive furniture. Kamak didn’t know why rich people had an obsession with polished rock surfaces, but it might come in handy now.

Kamak took a quick step back, away from Aberas’ fists. The guard followed him step for step, throwing wild punches as he went. Kamak deliberately let him land a few hits, let him get cocky, bait him into making a mistake. As his retreat continued, Kamak eventually backed into a small side table displaying an ornamented vase with bright red flowers native to Turitha. Perfect.

Aberas threw one more punch -his last. Kamak slipped to the side, and grabbed the thrown fist by the wrist. He got low, swept his leg into Aberas’ ankle, knocked him off balance. His other hand reached up and grabbed the Sturit by his ear. He pulled the arm and pushed the head as his leg continued to sweep, knocking Aberas off his feet, and carefully guided his head directly into the corner of the table. The edge wasn’t sharp, but it was pointed enough to focus the pressure and make it that much easier to crack the skull open and keep going until it hit brain. Aberas’ eyes bulged, and one came loose from its socket, as his crushed skull pushed gray matter and viscera into a lot of places they didn’t belong. Kamak left Aberas to leak blood and brains over the end table. At least the flowers still looked nice.

In his brief moment of respite, Kamak looked to Tooley. He’d been fully expecting her to sit near her mom’s corpse and be useless the entire fight, but apparently Corey’s scream had awakened something in her. Something deeply unpleasant. All Sturit had powerful bites, and Tooley was putting hers to use.

One of the guards was missing most of his throat. Another had a fist-sized chunk of his bicep missing. Tooley currently had her jaws locked on the neck of a third, and was gnawing on his spine like a rabid dog. Farsus was strangling one of the guards he’d been fighting with, while Corey used his one good arm to bash in the skull of another. Kamak appraised the carnage, and looked at the corpse of the Dowager. He picked up the bust of Dobran, which now had a crack running through its forehead, and put it to use again. The guard who’d had a bite of his bicep taken out got put out of his misery with a single blow.

Years ago, Kamak had felt uncomfortable with this sort of thing. The cleanup -the executions. Whatever part of him had cared was dead now. Kind of like all the people whose skulls he was bashing in. Kamak grabbed the guard Tooley was chewing on, and noticed it’d been the one harassing her earlier. He felt a little less bad about cracking him across the skull hard enough that his eyeball turned to jelly.

“Enough!”

Kamak grabbed Tooley by the scruff of her neck and dragged her off the corpse. Farsus had taken the last guard by the throat and crushed his trachea. The violence was over, but Kamak wasn’t quite done fighting.

“You fucking impulsive piece of shit,” Kamak spat. “Look what you did!”

He shook Tooley and forced her to look around at the carnage. She wiped blood from her lips and tore herself out of his grip.

“They were all-”

“I know they fucking deserved it, you ass, but you still shouldn’t have done it,” Kamak shouted. “We had a lead! We had the best fucking chance we’d ever get, and you blew it up! The damn blood was still wet, we could’ve picked up a trail, we could’ve gotten DNA from the port, pulled a thumbprint from the door, something! Now we have nothing, because you couldn’t handle your mommy being mean to you!”

Kamak gestured to the Dowager’s corpse, which was still leaking blood out its ears and onto the carpet.

“If we even get out of this alive we’re going to be fucked worse than when we started,” Kamak continued. “You think the Council is going to be happy with our little mass homicide incident?”

He grabbed Aberas by the collar and dragged his limp corpse up like a puppet.

“You think anyone’s going to be happy about this?” Kamak asked, as he shook the limp body. “And, worst of all, now we have to deal with that!”

He dropped the corpse and pointed up. Thela was still at the top of the stairs, looking down in horror. She’d fell to her knees, clutching the railing of the stairway and whimpering like a sick puppy. Tooley’s stomach turned. Watching both of her parents die had reduced Thela to a quivering wreck, not even able to run or ask for help.

“You started this,” Kamak said. He picked up the cracked bust and dropped it in Tooley’s hands. “Finish it.”

Tooley looked down at the cracked, bloodied face of her father, and dropped the bust.

“Oh for fucks sake.”

Kamak bent down to grab the bust again, but Farsus stopped him.

“If I may interject,” Farsus said. “We do know where to find rope and gags.”

“Oh, right, let’s just put the permanently traumatized girl right back in the serial killer trap,” Kamak said. “That’s definitely better.”

Kamak waved his hand dismissively and turned his back on the whimpering girl.

“You handle it. Corey, come with me, we need to get that bite bandaged tight if we want to walk out of here safely,” Kamak said. “Tooley, go wipe the blood off your mouth, you sick freak.”

The taste of blood was thick in the air, but especially in Tooley’s mouth. She had little scraps of blue skin caught in her teeth. Corey watched her back as she stumbled off to clean herself, and as Thela was dragged away, still too paralyzed with despair to even scream.

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Humans are Weird – Sparklers

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-sparklers

The textureless walls of the starbase thrummed with a pleasantly asymmetric mechanical rumble today and Tck’stk felt the relief easing into his paws with every step he took along the spider walk. The human engineers back in Sol had been immensely proud of what they proclaimed to be a zero waste engine embedded in a highly absorbent frame. In their wild and seemingly gene deep need for efficiency they had eliminated very conducted sound from the latest generation of vessels. That the dead silence of the compartments in the ship drove every species save the Undulates to near madness in a short time had somehow been an unforeseen consequence to a species that thrived on constant stimulation.

Tck’stk espied the Chief of Sound Design staring out one of the great observation ports that lined the ship. Skc’chch was holding a steaming mug of some herbal tea and taking the occasional sip. Tck’stk felt a well of gratitude towards the smooth old engineer who had solved the issue of the sound-dead base so quickly and skittered over happily to his side.

“Greetings Chief Skc’chch!” Tck’stk called out. “I wanted to compliment you on the sound profile today. It sounds just like a ship should sound! Not a bit too natural-”

Tck’stk cut off his gratitude suddenly as the view of the blurry starlight field was suddenly disrupted by an explosion of color. A core of red erupted into rings of orange, yellow, green, and finally violet before dispersing, only to be followed by a thousand white explosions so close to the viewing window that Tck’stk would have sworn that he heard the impact of the debris against the view port. A shower of searing green lights then shot past, burning in short, intense coils before extinguishing just as another lit.

Chief Skc’chch angled his body so that his main cones of focal vision fell on Tck’stk. The engineer’s mandibles were politely set to invite the younger Trisk to continue his thought.

“The sounds,” Tck’stk stated, trying to keep his attention on what he had been saying, “they are nice today. I like that that artificial machine sounds don’t just repeat…”

He completely rotated his body away from Chief Skc’chch and braced his legs against the spider walk as a dim indigo streaks appeared and very visibly impacted the view port leaving ashy smears momentarily across the view-field. The smears were gone in moments and Tck’stk was left staring in confusion at the next display of light and color.

“The nano-droids clear the ash up fast!” came the warm breathy voice of a mammal just behind him.

Tck’stk smoothed down his hairs as he bristled in irritiation. There was no reason to assume that the human had seen him conversing with Chief Skc’chch and he was hardly holding up his end of a polite public conversation, and what the human had offered was relevant information.

“So thank you,” Tck’stk finished with a rather helpless gesture of a gripping paw.

He waited the traditional six clicks for the response and Chief Skc’chch slowly bobbed his head with an amused set to his mandibles.

“You are more than welcome Friend Tck’stk,” the old one said. “I am pleased to bring my specialty to the aid of a crew in such dire need.”

Flaming orange spirals danced outside the viewport.

“While there is still much to be done the human crew have proved themselves more than willing to adapt to our needs as well as fulfill their own,” Chief Skc’chch finished, bringing the mug of tea up to his mandibles for a sip.

Tck’stk let far more than the six polite clicks pass as white rockets shot off, far out of his range of vision into the blurry distance of the star field.

“May I ask,” he began hesitantly, “do you know….forgive my frayed thoughts and words but what is going on out there?”

Chief Skc’chch’s smooth old mandibles twitched up in amusement as he too let more than the six clicks of thought pass.

“The humans,” he said slowly and clearly, “are being efficient.”

Tck’stk let his mind worry over that with irritation as he pondered the chief’s meaning in the thinking time. That meant the humans were trying to achieve at least one incidental goal along with one primary or intended goal. Normally he would assume that the chaotic explosions outside the view port would have been and entirely unintended consequence of whatever the goal was, however the tight patters were far too ordered. Which suggested that they might be the incidental goal. Fast on this however followed another thought and this one, despite being quite in line with his knowledge of human behavior was staggering enough to warrant discussion.

“Are the explosions their primary goal or some redundancy?” he asked, edging away from the view port.

Chief Skc’chch gave a rippling chitter of amusement at that.

“I believe that their primary goal in this case was the disposal of post digestion food waste,” Chief Skc’chch stated.

“Don’t the mammals usually recycle that via bacterial digestion and plant growth?” Tck’stk asked after a long confused moment.

Chief Skc’chch waved a paw in confirmation through the steam of his tea.

“They do that,” he said, “That is why the gardens are so lush on this base. However the base processes so many unvetted mammals on a daily basis that they have an abundance of biological waste, most of which can’t be trusted in the gardens without cost prohibitive contaminate testing.”

“So they space it towards the nearest planet with an atmosphere?” Tck’stk asked, but then saw the flaw in that. “That would not connect with these-”

He cut off as a billowing orange cloud erupted across the view port.

“-these.” he finished, wishing he plentiful hairs didn’t bristle quite so obviously.

“No,” Skc’chch agreed. “That would not provide this, what I am assured is quite a pleasing display to humans.”

“A display of exploding, burning waste matter?” Tck’stk demanded, forgetting the proper pause in his shock.

Fortunately the old engineer didn’t seem to notice.

“Once it is thoroughly dedicated, and the pure water reclaimed the matter burns quite efficiently for the most part,” Skc’chch pointed out, “and my human colleagues insist that humans like any form of pretty lights for environment enrichment. This also gives them a chance to dispose of the toxic oxidizing waste from the fuel byproducts.”

Tck’stk stared dumbly out the view port as something that had once been food lit with brilliant purple flame in the vacuum of space.

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Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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Alzan walked confidently down the cobblestone streets as he chewed the banana bread that was baked to near perfection. He passed by small shops and little houses all squished together. The city streets were bustling with humanoid interactions. As he passed by, strolling along with no real haste, he could see all manner of humanoids; Elves standing tall with their long pointed ears not dissimilar to his, Dwarves with their short stature and long braided beards, Orcs with their lower jaw tusks and skin colors ranging from shades of gray to green, and Humans that were the most diverse looking of them all.

There was a loud crash accompanied by the rapid stomping of hooves from a pony, and the loud cursing and arguing from a couple halflings. Alzan stopped to bear witness to a wagon full of wooden boxes and burlap sacks stopped in the middle of the road. The wagon's front right wheel had splintered and the two halflings were frantically scrambling to correct the situation. The female halfling rushed towards the pony to calm its nerves and the male halfling came around the back of the wagon with a spare wheel in hand. Alzan rushed over to the couple grabbing a hold of their wagon and with a flex of his muscles lifted the side of the wagon so that the broken wheel was in the air. The halfling stared in awe at the hobgoblin standing roughly 3 feet taller than him lifting a portion of his wagon and all the contents on it.

“Could you hurry and change the wheel? This isn't light.” grunted Alzan through gritted teeth. The halfling shook himself from his stupor and with quick precision removed the broken wheel and placed the new one on the wagon. No sooner did the halfling secure the wheel, Alzan dropped the wagon to the ground. He stumbled back taking large breaths and sat on the edge of the street stretching his shoulders and arms. “Thank you for your help. My name is Perry and this is my wife Hilda.” declared Perry with his short arm outstretched. Alzan looked up while still in a seated position and was almost face to face with the couple. He said his name with a smile and carefully shook Perry's hand. With his other hand Perry reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a couple silver pieces, placing them in Alzan's hand.

“Not necessary.” stated Alzan. “Nonsense, we owe you a debt and halflings always…” retorted Perry before being cut off by Alzan. “Pay their debts in a timely manner. Yes, I work for one who probably regrets owing a debt to me.” Alzan chuckled as he spoke and pocketed the silver. He knew it was pointless to argue with a halfling trying to repay a debt, so elected to just keep the silver. Alzan rose to his feet, petted the pony and gave Perry and Hilda a small, almost salute-like, wave goodbye.

Alzan didn't get more than twenty feet from where the wagon had broken down before his path was blocked by three imposing individuals. The one in the front was a tan human man with slicked back black hair, beady eyes, and a grimace on his face. Behind him were two hulking figures: one a large, muscular, pale human man with scars across his face and arms, and the other an equally large and muscular orc man covered in tribal tattoos and a chipped tusk. Their presence put Alzan into a fight or flight mode which his body instinctively chose the former. “In the alley.” the shorter man gestured in a commanding tone.

Alzan's brow dropped as a scowl ran across his face. He squatted lower into a fighting stance as he began to realize he had left his sword in his room at home and he would be unarmed if a fight broke out. Without breaking eye contact and concentration he shifted his body carefully into a defensive fighting stance better suited to unarmed combat. “So you can fight as well as hoist heavy stuff, huh? Well so can they…” the shorter man with the beady eyes said as he gestured to his bodyguards. “... do us all a favor and get in the alley. You have my word they won't rip you limb from limb.”

“What’s your word worth?” Alzan replied donning a murderous expression. “A lot more than two measly silver pieces, I can tell you that much.” replied the man with the beady eyes pointing towards Alzan's pocket. The two stoic, muscle bound, bodyguards let out a small chuckle before continuing to stare daggers at Alzan. “What happens if I refuse?” Alzan replied in a low rumbly tone. “If you refuse? Well, we can do one of two things. Number one: Lub and Grohl here can beat you to a pulpy mess and drag you into that alley. The other thing we can do is follow you back to your work and have our conversation there. Maybe we even rough up that halfling boss of yours, too. What's it going to be Alzan? Cause I'm leaning towards option two.” the beady eyed man replied with a snarky tone. A brief moment of silence and stillness fell over the tense situation before Alzan dropped his stance and stood tall, never breaking eye contact with the beady eyed man. He then turned and sauntered into the alleyway being followed shortly after by the three strangers.

“Hey look!” A boy no older than fifteen pointed at one of the hundreds of wandering eyes that floated throughout the city.

Even to someone accustomed to magic, the aethereal eyeball only went to confirm that Rosewind was the best city ever. It seemed that every day there was something new to discover. From royal griffins and airships, to a divine citadel, hundreds of adventurer guilds, and even the massive slimes hiding in wells and water tunnels. There was no better way for anyone to start an adventuring career.

Noticing the boy, the eyeball shifted direction, moving in closer.

“Hey there,” it said. “Have you seen a woman with glasses?”

“Huh?” the boy blinked, not expecting to be addressed.

“A tall woman in elegant blue clothes wearing glasses,” the eyeball elaborated. “Have you seen her?”

Dumbfounded, the boy shook his head.

“How long have you been here?”

“A few days…” the boy managed to say.

“I mean on that spot!” the eyeball snapped, annoyed. “How long have you been sitting on that spot?”

“A few hours?” The boy suggested, unsure what answer the magic manifestation wanted to hear.

“Stupid tourists,” the eyeball flew off to search through a different part of the city.

It was annoying how difficult Spok could be to find if she set her mind to it. Theo had been searching for the last hour and still without result. The dungeon had tried talking to her directly; he had made signs form on most of the buildings in the city; he had even resorted to spying magic and yet his spirit guide remained elusive.

Everything pointed to her being in Duke Rosewind’s castle. As one of the few structures not belonging to the dungeon, it was impossible to say what was going on inside. To confound matters even more, neither Cmyk, nor any of his useless apprentices were reachable either.

Just great! Baron D’Argent’s mansion shook.

He desperately needed some assistance. Up till now, his avatar was having a bizarre and utterly fruitless conversation in the Feline Tower. The cats were obviously trying to impress him, but their efforts had missed the mark by a mile. Watching them eat “various flavored” living mice had been unexpected, though not nearly enough compared to what had followed.

With the archmage snoozing off again, Ilgrym had taken it upon himself to “touch upon” a few of the basic rules regarding the expected challenge. As any self-respecting academic, he would go on a tangent every few sentences, discussing ancient mage history, relations between past and present towers—including notable mages—and magic principles that had more gobbledygook in them than Switches’ research notes.

Theo had initially tried to follow the cat’s train of thought but had quickly given up, resorting to the familiar practice of blankly nodding.

As more of the wandering eyes popped or failed to find Spok in the respective area of the city, the dungeon focused all of his attention on the duke’s castle. He knew from personal experience that the noble had a number of anti-spy enchantments mounted within the structure’s walls—even more since the zombie letter event. Even brute force was unlikely to succeed. Thus, Theo was forced to concentrate on the weakest link—the human factor.

Dozens of floating eyeballs clustered around the entrances and windows of the castle, continuously staring inside. All that was left now was someone from the castle to notice and feel uncomfortable enough about it to tell the duke about it.

“And that’s the brief of it,” the black cat finished his long exposition. “Hardly a challenge for you, valued benefactor.”

“Well done, Ilgrym,” Esmeralda said, gnawing on a purple mouse. “If he were going to a magic congregation. No one cares about that crap! The important thing is to enter the tower!”

“It’s good for the tower to show a modicum of decorum.” The black cat’s whiskers twitched. “Just because we’re animals, we mustn’t act like such!”

A hissing contest emerged with both mages aggressively meowing insults at each other. The occurrence must have been rather common, for the majority of other cats didn’t seem in the least bothered. Even Gillian continued snacking with as little as a glance.

“You can leave the table if you want,” a soft female voice whispered into the avatar’s ear.

Turning to his left, the baron saw Sandrian had bent down next to him. In the dungeon’s mind the voice didn’t match at all with the man, but he was the last person to judge.

“It’s not that you’ll learn much here. We’ve gathered all available resources in the learning chambers below.”

At this point, the avatar noticed that the words weren’t coming from the man, but the kitten on his shoulder. The small creature seemed to look at him in mild amusement, its cyan blue eyes glowing with magic.

Switching from listening to a bunch of cats to listening to another cat didn’t fill Theo with enthusiasm. Then again, he didn’t see it going any worse than at present, so he discreetly stood up with a quiet excuse and left the hall.

As the door closed behind him, drowning out the angry mews, the avatar felt an ounce of relief.

“Sorry about them,” the cat said. “They’re always like that. Even worse, behind closed doors.”

“She only gets to say that because she’s the archmage’s granddaughter,” Sandrian said with a slight smile. His voice was just as deep as the dungeon pictured it to be. “But she’s not wrong. They’re almost unrecognizable when they’re trying to impress someone.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” the avatar muttered.

“We’re really, really thankful to you, sir,” the other girl joined in. Theo remained uncertain whether she was Yva or Ellis. “Thanks to your sponsorship, we got a second study wing.”

The white cat on Sandrian’s shoulder flicked her tail a few times. For some reason, she didn’t seem particularly happy with the comment.

Walking down a windy stone staircase, the group descended half a dozen floors before entering a wide-open space. The similarities with a modern office area were uncanny. The vast room was divided into subsections by waist-high stone dividers. The majority were full of scrolls and tomes, with a few reserved for beds—cat and human alike—and a glassed off area that suspiciously resembled a meeting room.

“Watch your feet,” the human girl was quick to say. “Everyone leaves things lying about.”

The avatar looked down. The floor was an unmitigated disaster, covered in equal measure with scrolls, balls of yarn, and unspecified devices of various nature. No wonder that in this world, mages were considered the natural enemy or order.

“Why isn’t anything flying about?” he asked.

“It’s forbidden for apprentices,” the girl explained.

“Something to look forward to, I guess.”

To Theo’s surprise, the area seemed a lot emptier than he expected. All in all, there were barely a dozen cats and a few more humans, all of which were working on something, surrounded by scrolls. Magic symbols were being drawn on a blackboard so large that it would make Switches envious.

“Finals?” the baron turned to his escort.

“Hmm?” All three looked at him, confused.

“I mean, I expected there to be a lot more apprentices,” Theo quickly added.

“This is the star pupil section,” the white cat explained. “Only the best of the best live here. The rest are on the floors below. Closer to the kitchen.”

Sandrian chuckled at the comment.

“It’s not that bad,” the girl said, apologetically. “At least it’s far from the research wing.”

No one noticed as the avatar was led to a relatively clean area of the chamber. Looking at their dedication was almost heartwarming, or it would have been if the dungeon gave a damn. Right now, there were only two things on his mind: how to get in touch with Spok and to get this whole magic challenge over with.

With an elegant motion of his hand, Sandrian summoned a small table, and just enough chairs for everyone to sit. The cat on his shoulder didn’t seem particularly impressed, for she leaped straight onto the marble surface.

The human girl soon followed with a series of spells, each of which brought a large book to the table as well.

“So, let’s get started,” the white cat said.

“Please.” The avatar offered himself a smile. Finally, someone who had a proper attitude.

“What are you familiar with?” She looked up at the baron.

“There’s a tower that appears every ten years,” he said, then paused.

Ideally, this was the point at which any of the apprentice mages were supposed to jump in. Instead, silence reigned, only broken by the continuous sound of summoned books.

“And I was volunteered to participate on the part of the Feline Tower,” the avatar added.

Several more seconds passed in silence.

“And something about tower relations and etiquette and such…” he waved his hand. “Oh, and only humans are allowed to enter.”

Even the summoning of books stopped. The apprentices stared at him, as if they’d seen a spectacularly bad train wreck. The despair on their faces was apparent to the point that Theo himself felt like an imposter that had been found out.

“That’s it?” The cat broke the silence.

“I didn’t exactly come here on my own accord,” the dungeon went on the defensive. “Up till today, I didn’t even know about the tower.”

“But you know about Archmage Gregord, at least?” the human girl said in hope. “Right?”

“Just that he was a powerful mage and part time hero,” Theo didn’t even bother to pretend.

“But you’re supposed to be a famous adventurer with a vast knowledge of the world,” the girl went on. “You’ve faced countless dangers and defeated monsters more powerful than entire kingdoms.”

Apparently, the arch council hadn’t shared their findings regarding Theo’s true nature. That was somewhat good, although it didn’t do much to temper the expectations they had. Technically, everything the girl had said was true. He had faced creatures that, at one point or another, could have destroyed kingdoms. Left unchecked, there was a good chance that they would have taken over the entire world. Yet, he had to admit that his victories were a combination of luck, fast thinking, and good support… mostly luck. He wasn’t some deranged swashbuckling adventurer that set out to face all these challenges, no matter what his skills claimed. All he ever wanted was to be left alone.

“There was barely any magic involved,” the avatar said. “One was a maniacal gnome affected by demonic power and the other was an abomination. Oh, and there were a bunch of necromancers as well, but they didn’t do much.”

The precursors of tears formed in the girl’s eyes, as if she’d had the image of an idol destroyed.

“But…”

“What about Gregord’s key?” the cat interrupted. “How’d you get that?”

“Oh. It was given to me as a gift for saving some town from brigands.”

“Just like that?”

“Yep, just like that.”

The tower quest hadn’t even started and already Theo's feelings on the matter went from bad to worse. As Esmeralda has correctly said, the arch council viewed him as a human who had obtained one of Gregord’s keys, nothing more.

“It’s a series of trials, right?” Theo took the initiative.

“Well, yes…”

“And by completing them, I move from floor to floor?”

“Right.”

“Then what is there to it? All I need is to complete the trials and make it out in one piece.”

It was difficult to imagine that there could be anything quieter than silence, but somehow, he had managed to achieve it. The apprentices remained in a near petrified state, uncertain how to react. Having limited interaction with the real world, they weren’t accustomed to the unpredictable. The dungeon, in contrast, had experienced so much randomness since his rebirth that he thrived on it.

“Listen, Yva,” he turned to the white cat. “You’re Yva, right?”

“I’m Ellis.” The cat flicked its tail in annoyance.

“Ellis, it’s not like either of us has any alternative. Even if I know nothing, the archmage will still send me. And the less I know, the greater the chance that I mess up and make the tower look pathetic, just like ten years ago.”

The tone was a bit forceful, but there was no arguing with the facts. Even if Ellis was barely a kitten back then, she still remembered the shame that the previous challenger’s death had brought. Mages had been grumbling for years, taking it out on their apprentices both in lectures and everyday duties. Even her grandfather had taken it hard, isolating himself in his room for seven full months.

“He’s right,” Sandrian said. “He’ll be sent tomorrow. We all know it. Best thing we could do is help him learn as much as possible.

“By tomorrow?” the cat tilted her head. “I’d say that’s impossible, but who knows? He did save the world twice…” Ellis leapt on her feet, then took a few steps to the nearest stack of books. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. The tower is believed to be composed of nine floors. Each floor contains at least one trial that must be completed before the person could proceed to the next.”

“Clear so far.” The avatar nodded.

“It’s strongly suggested that the trials might require several people to be completed.”

“Interesting.” The baron stroked his chin. “Sounds like one of those cooperatively competitive trials.”

“Competitively cooperative,” Yva corrected. “Competition is the main focus, yet the tasks require cooperation so that the group continues forward. It’s one of the interpersonal behaviors that Archmage Gregord researched during his time as a hero.”

All eyes focused on the girl.

“But of course, you know that,” she looked down, visibly ashamed by the awkwardness she had created.

“Is there a participant limit?” the avatar asked.

“Every tower is allowed to send one participant. Additionally, any mage in the possession of a Gregord key can join in for free.”

“It’s been the practice of the powerful towers to go key searching when the challenge gets near,” Sandrian added.

Of course they would, Theo thought. That was a clear way to game the system. Why send a single person when you could send an entire team?

“All who fail the trial are spat out with no memory of what happened inside,” Ellis continued. “Sometimes they do so with items from inside.”

Theo leaned forward, listening intently.

“And that’s it with the basics,” the cat said in anticlimactic fashion.

“Wait. That’s all?” the avatar asked. “I got all that upstairs!”

“Those are the basics,” Ellis replied and started licking her paw.

“Well, what’s all this, then?” The avatar pointed at the stacks of books.

“Every spell, theory, diary note and recorded instance of Archmage Gregor that the tower’s managed to get its paws on.” The cat looked back at him with her glowing blue eyes. “What did you think it was? As I just told you, all memories about the tower stay in the tower. All information we have is based on what was written in the mage’s will, plus the things that the mage community has reached a consensus on. For example, if a tower sends several participants, only one of them is allowed to cross the first floor’s threshold. It’s also accepted that the keyholders are an exception to that rule.”

Finally, Theo got a glimpse of the actual picture. Back in his previous life, it was said that to know a person, one had to examine his entire life. It was no different here. Everything created, written or experienced by Gregord provided a clue regarding his way of thinking, likes, dislikes, attitude on life and magic, and so on. Seeing how much there was, the Feline Tower must have spent decades collecting the information. Given that it was considered a “new” tower, other mage organizations probably had amassed a lot more. It was physically impossible for Theo to read through all that, let alone remember it!

“Just out of curiosity,” he said, opening the nearest tome. “How much of this have you read?”

“All of it,” Yva said with pride. “Except the restricted tomes. Only full mages are allowed access to such material.”

“Unless you’re the archmage’s granddaughter,” Sandrian said and scratched the cat behind the left ear.

“I just glimpsed at a few, okay?” Ellis protested, but didn’t move away.

“How much of this is part of the restricted tomes?”

The apprentices looked at each other, suggesting that likely none of it was.

Just great, Theo grumbled to himself. They had snatched him here to do the impossible and even then didn’t bother to provide him with the appropriate tools. Sadly, beggars didn’t get to be choosers. As the saying went: if life gives you common tomes, you’ve no choice but to read what you got.

A few minutes in, the dungeon had lost all desire to even try. The tome he’d taken brought boring to a new level. Specifically, the first twenty pages were nothing more than Gregord’s philosophical musing on the tonal frequency of spells. There were no practical applications, no groundbreaking theories, just a long list of metaphors comparing magic to bat calls, moonlight, raindrop ripples, and even less obvious phenomena.

Thankfully, while suffering through the reading material, back in Rosewind, the floating eyeballs had finally caught Spok’s attention. It had only taken one glance from a castle’s window for her to go to the nearest part of the wall belonging to Theo and place her hand on it.

“I assume you have a good explanation for this, sir?” Spok appeared in the dungeon’s main building.

“Yes!” Theo replied on the spot. “I—”

At this point, hesitation caught up to him. Given the events of an hour ago, he had a pretty good idea that she was displeased with his attitude towards her. Appropriate or not, the notion of getting married clearly meant a great deal to the spirit guide. If Theo were to ignore the topic yet again and bombard her with questions regarding his current predicament, things might get complicated. Gone was the time when he could just bark questions and expect answers. Instead, he had to approach the situation with a bit more tact.

“I’ve considered your request,” the dungeon corrected itself. “And I agree.”

Spok’s glasses slid halfway down her nose.

“You… agree, sir?” Although delighted, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Theo had capitulated unusually fast, almost suspiciously so.

“I can’t deny that you have done a splendid job, taking care of the little things,” he said in what was supposed to be a compliment. “You deserve some joy of your own, and a moderately long break.”

“I… I really don’t know what to say, sir. Thank you.” Spok pushed up her glasses. “This really means a lot.”

“Of course. Also, I have some good news and some bad news.”

“Bad news, sir?” The moment of calm and joy quickly vanished, along with the change in the spirit guide’s tone. “What bad news?”

“Let’s start with the good news. Since this is a one-of-a-kind occasion, I’ll be sparing no expense and effort to make your wedding the greatest the town has known!” pieces of furniture lifted into the air, forming what could be described as a clunky smile. “I’ll order Switches to build a few airships to announce the event as well as… well, anything else you’d like him to make.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll also have Cmyk spin enough gold to buy and hire all the best people for the occasion.”

While the promise only served to increase Spok’s suspicions, she was practical enough to view the situation as what it was. It was obvious that the dungeon was going to ask for a favor, but as long as he offered all that, there was no reason to refuse.

“There’s no risk that the city will be destroyed, is there, sir?” She narrowed her eyes.

“What? Of course not! How can you even ask?!” All the pieces of furniture floated back down, as the dungeon pretended to feel insulted.

“In that case, you wouldn’t mind to set the wedding date for two weeks from now? Just in case, sir.”

“It’s perfectly fine.”

“Very well. So, what’s the bad news?”

“Well, it so happens that I’ve been summoned to the Feline Tower,” Theo began. “They were kind enough to offer me two fully charged mana gemstones for a minor favor on my part.”

If Spok had an actual stomach, it would be hurting her right now. That’s how things usually started. The dungeon would ask an innocent question, which would be followed by another, and another, at which point it would turn out that he had rushed straight into a catastrophe he knew nothing about. Using the words “summoned” and “Feline Tower” was already a bad sign. Mages and dungeons weren’t known to be enemies, but they didn’t get along particularly well, either. Both species considered themselves superior and had the occasional bad apple that wanted to take over the world and enslave everyone in sight. The two sides almost instinctively kept far from each other, only occasionally resorting to the occasional business transaction.

“By you, I assume you mean Baron d’Argent?” Spok asked.

“Naturally.” Theo found no need to admit that the cat council knew of his true nature. “Apparently, there’s this tower of some ancient wizard that appears every ten years, and I’m to go inside and complete a series of trials.”

“Trials?” Spok trembled. “In a mage tower?”

“Don’t worry!” he assured her. “It’s a special mage tower! Everything inside is erased from memory, so even if someone uncovers my avatar, they won’t be able to do anything about it because they’ll forget.”

A heroic dungeon avatar in a mage tower… Spok would have considered the sentence the start of a passably good joke if it didn’t describe Theo’s nature to the letter. It took unnatural skill to string together this many impossibilities in a single event. It was a miracle in itself that the deities hadn’t intervened. Although, with Paris establishing her greatest cathedral thanks to Theo, it wouldn’t be surprising for him to get a pass. Then again, it was thanks to the dungeon’s unusual nature that Spok had received so much autonomy, her own avatar, and now her very own grand wedding.

“How may I assist you, sir?”

“For starters, do you know any spells that might speed up reading?”

“You want a spell that would make you read faster?” Spok resisted openly sighing. “That might be difficult, sir. Dungeons don’t normally read. Shouldn’t your swiftness spell be enough for that?”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of me acquiring the information within the books without having to read them.”

“Must the source of this knowledge remain intact?”

Within the Feline Tower, the dungeon’s avatar turned to Allis.

“Are these the only copies?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. Why?” the white cat replied.

“I might have a way of consuming all the knowledge within, but I’ll have to destroy them.”

Across the table, Yva turned three shades paler at the suggestion.

“Sure.” Ellis didn’t seem to particularly care. “Go ahead if that helps.”

“No,” Theo told Spock back in his main body.

“In that case, there’s this…”

KNOWLEDGE CONSUMPTION

Spend 10 energy, devour a book, scroll, or scholar in order to obtain all the information within. All information and knowledge will be converted into a memory, regardless of its accuracy and validity.

“Thank you, Spok!” The baron’s mansion beamed with joy. “You’re a lifesaver! Go ahead and tell the duke the good news and start planning your wedding. I’ll get this done and have my avatar back in a few days!”

Meanwhile, the universe that Theo had plagued with the many exceptions he constantly created abruptly flipped by a hundred and eighty degrees.

The very same evening, a glaring flaw in Theo’s plan became apparent.

< Beginning | | Book 2 | | Book 3 | | Previously | | Next >

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***

Despite Gunarra’s assurances, it still took more than a day to reach the former capital of  Batavii. Our approach was suspiciously peaceful, with not even an undead animal to pester us. Gunarra took it as a good sign, but Hasda looked as uneasy as I felt.

Although we could have pushed through the night to make our destination, Hasda called a halt. He wanted to arrive fresh, shortly after dawn, to put his best foot forward. His enemies were Sleepless, but he was not. 

We spent a cold, fireless night waiting out the morn. 

The sunrise brought no warmth, the chill chasing us onwards as we approached the edge of the forest. Hasda had finished the last of the lumpy berries before we set off, streaking residue on his leathers where he absently wiped his hands. The djinn fire had flared briefly when we started, drawing Gunarra’s eyes, but quickly faded. 

As we neared our destination, the jackal pressed ahead, and I with her. Hasda fell behind, but not enough for us to lose him. Gunarra seemed to strain against any delay, barely scenting as she charged ahead. I stayed on her heels, wary of any potential tricks.

It wasn’t long before the trees thinned as we neared the place where Balphar’s Hall lay. Piles of rotten corpses filled the clearing ahead, dozens of flies buzzing around the cadavers. It seemed the insects had no fear of the necromancer, their flocks forming a false haze above the scattered huts. More corpses, these more complete, patrolled in pairs or squads around the perimeter. 

Gunarra crept on her stomach to the forest’s edge. “The Stitcher will be in the main hall, if that other conflict hasn’t drawn him out yet.”

“Let’s hope he’s home.” I stared at the distant hall, but saw no sign of the Stitcher. “Can your jackals get in without being seen?”

Gunarra shook her head. “Not without—”

The ground collapsed behind us, swallowing Hasda.

“No!” I rushed over, but I was far too slow. And the pit looked deep. I’d probably need my astral form just to reach him, if he survived the fall.

Undead moans chased the putrid stench that hit me as I reached the edge of the sinkhole. I coughed, swiping at the rancid air that assaulted my nose. “Hasda!”

Purple fire flickered faintly from the bottom. Bones crunched, metal rang, and Hasda’s shouts mingled with the enraged howls that chased his frantic movements. The walls of the pit bent in a way that blocked my view of the bottom.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Sounds of conflict were good. It meant Hasda wasn’t dead yet. And Saran was providing both illumination and support. But I could barely breath from the stench rising from this shithole, which meant Hasda would be suffocating in it. And, from the sounds of it, the whole pit was filled with the Sleepless. Not good odds for Hasda holding his own, let alone surviving. 

If I pulled him out, the Trial was forfeit.

But if I didn’t, there might not be a Hasda to pull out. 

And there was no way Kydon would be able to assess the situation, if I couldn’t even sense how many undead were down there. 

Loud purring erupted behind me. I whirled, Sword in hand before I’d thought to summon it. “You.”

Paws crossed, Gunarra gave me the most pleased grin. “What wonderful fortune has befallen us.”

My hands flexed on the hilt. “You have one breath to explain why I shouldn’t run you through right now.”

“On what grounds?” Head tilted, she gave me a quizzical look. “I have kept my word. I promised to get him as far as the forest’s edge, in exchange for my questions answered. And the most pressing of all is the quality of this unleashed tuzshu.” She yawned. “If he can’t handle himself in this, with an aura greater than mine, what point is there throwing him at some lesser god, just to watch him die? Better to test his mettle now.”

She yelped as I pounced, lifting her by the throat and slamming her to earth. 

“You stupid conniving bitch.” I pressed my Sword against her neck. “You work for the Stitcher, don’t you?”

She bared her fangs, writhing beneath my grip. “So strong, and yet you never noticed the lead tied to my collar.”

I frowned. “So you’re, what, betraying him by helping us?”

Her ears went flat as she growled. “I attend to the interests of none but my mistress. He has twisted her collar and leashed what he should not. I cannot bite the hand that binds me with as tight a rope as he holds.” She sighed. “Weak as he may be, compared to a great god such as you, he is still greater than I. And he would not free a possible rival, like my mistress, while he could not assure himself of his position of power. The land is too unstable, and his grip is far too tenuous for his liking.”

My head spun. “Then why lead Hasda into an ambush?”

“This is the best test of his character.” Her eyes burned with fervor. “Troublesome enough was convincing the Stitcher to spare so many from his fight against the other force. When the tuzshu has prevailed, the necromancer will know his toys are broken, and he will be scared. He depends on your hero succumbing to this trap, such has he committed to this gambit.”

“That ‘other force’ is my wife.” Shaking my head, I flung her away. So the Stitcher had tethered her, and made her dance on his leash. And the captivity had driven her mad. 

The howls of the zombies had lessened, and Hasda still bellowed war cries. That the sounds of his opposition were diminishing was a good sign, but there were still a lot of them. 

Gathering her legs under her, the jackal limped towards me. “The final question has yet to be answered.”

I tracked her approach with the tip of my Sword. “And what is that?”

A hungry grin split her lips. Eyes glowing, she lurched as she missed a step, then settled herself near the edge of the pit.

And then the air shimmered around her.

It wasn’t quite the rending of a Veil, but a sharp relief that edged the Sukalla and galvanized her fur. Heat—from neither the morning chill nor the subtle warmth of the djinn fire in the pit—radiated from some hidden furnace in her chest. Curled in delight, her trio of tails magnified what sunlight there was to an almost blinding degree.

Worst of all were her legs.

Although she showed no sign of the Stitcher’s binding, she wore a history of chains through her flesh. Not on, for whoever had set those hooks in her forelegs had pierced the gaps between her bones and forged them shut. Dozens of broken chains dangled from these fleshhooks, three, four, six bloodstained links long at most. Their metallic clanking was almost as unsettling as the way her muscles shifted from the shifting hooks as much as her own movement. 

She snarled, snapping at a thin, wispy, white thread that snaked from the edge of the pitfall and traced a lazy arc to my chest. Her eyes blazed as she limped a hop towards me. “You!”

I gave her a hard smile. “Surprised it took you so long.”

Disgust drenched her face. “Besides the stupidity of binding an agent of mortality to a being divine? I have seen strays running the streets who were better cared for than this tuzshu.”

I frowned, edging closer. From the sounds in the pit, the Sleepless were slowly succumbing to whom they’d meant to be their prey, but enough remained to keep Hasda under. I lifted my Sword as Gunarra bared her teeth. “I do what is best for my son, not some long-dead order of god killers.”

“Your son? But he is thoroughly mortal.” Lips curled, she shook her head. “Not even the basest nirarin would abuse their tuzshu so, untried and malnourished as this one has been. And for a long time now, as well. It is a wonder that the bond has not burned out and consumed them both.”

“Letting the djinn do as he pleases would consume my boy,” I growled. “I will rip that spirit off him with my bare hands before I let it erode even a sliver of what makes him who he is.”

She yipped a derisive laugh. “Dissolve the bond? Set the noose yourself and string him by your own hands if you want his death a surer thing.”

I must’ve let my aura slip a little, because she paled almost as fast as she hid her three tails between her legs. 

“Mayhaps you can do as you say,” she whimpered, backing away. “But I have said my peace. His blood be upon your hands.”

And then she turned and fled. 

Vanishing my Sword, I forced myself to breathe slowly through my nose. It took a moment for me to realize the sounds from the pit had stopped. With Gunarra gone, the tether between my boy and me had faded. The forest was eerily quiet. Not even the sound of labored breathing, muffled though it would have been, clawed its way from the dark maw.

I waited, but Hasda didn’t climb out.

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GLOSSARY This links to a post on the free section of my Patreon.
Note: "Book 1" is chapters 1-59, "Book 2" is chapters 60-133, "Book 3", is 134-193, "Book 4" is CH 194-261, "Book 5" is 261-(Ongoing)

While Satsuki followed her guide toward Deidre's suite, she took some time to contemplate her complicated feelings about Mordecai.

Satsuki knew she was, by any reasonable standard, 'obsessed', and she knew that it wasn't healthy. She was also well aware that this particular issue did not fall under any simple, physical aspects of her brain.

There were advantages to traveling between worlds, especially when self-improvement is an eternal goal. Satsuki knew herself very well after visiting places with advanced analytical mental care and taking some time to work with a therapist.

Mind, she was pretty certain that most experienced priests could do the job just as well for most people, but she was also certain that a freshly trained therapist would usually be better than a freshly trained priest for this sort of care. For especially difficult cases, a therapist combined with other mental health experts was going to be better than a priest, given equal levels of experience.

It might be easier to deal with her emotions regarding Mordecai if she could point out some key thing that was the focus of her attraction and obsession. But no, nothing like that seemed to exist. For every aspect of him she could identify, she knew a man or woman who was better.

Mordecai wasn't a dedicated hedonist, he could never be the best possible lover from a technique point of view; though she was painfully curious what new tricks he might have in his current avatar.

There were both men and women who had been more of a challenge to seduce than Mordecai at his most stubborn and business-focused. Well, no one could be more stubborn than him about not cheating, but there were plenty of people who were his equal there.

Which was to say she'd never seduced him when he was in a relationship, excepting the couple of times where she had seduced them both of course. But that wasn't cheating if everyone was involved and on board.

He was a fine technical artist and skilled dancer, but he was not great with more free-form artistic expression. Supposedly. As far as she was concerned, that was a mental block given how creative he could be when it came to designing creatures and dungeon environments. Still, Satsuki had been as much of a 'muse' to great artists as any Faerie Queen had ever been, and Mordecai certainly did not rate as one of this world's greatest artists, let alone among the worlds she had traveled during his sleep.

Warrior, mage, priest; Satsuki had lain with dozens of each who were better than Mordecai had ever been at any one of them or similar skill sets, though the trajectory of his current avatar might change that eventually.

Nor was he the only one that she'd ever fallen in love with. The biggest difference was that she kept coming back to him; with others she had either seen them to their mortal end or had eventually broken up with them and not come back.

The first few times Mordecai had broken up with Satsuki, she had thought it would be the end of it. Her biggest flaw had been an inability to never stray. As open-minded as Mordecai might be about specific arrangements, an 'open' relationship with him had never been in the cards.

That particular flaw she'd gotten better about, and it helped that she'd been able to convince him (or occasionally her, depending on the avatar) to enjoy a third's company for a night or week. In Satsuki's longer-term relationships since Mordecai had been sealed, she'd managed to be faithful in most of those without even that extra aid.

Still, there had been other things to fight about, other buttons to push, ways to press him too hard to do something that she wanted. Satsuki found it very hard to not push him like that; whether he gave in or pushed back even harder she got an extreme thrill out of it.

Thankfully, he could be willfully oblivious. Satsuki was pretty certain that Mordecai had not realized the full reality of her reaction when he'd shoved her back. She felt a little guilty about that as it felt like it was close to making him cheat without him even being aware of it.

The biggest question in her mind now was how she was going to deal with this permanent change in their relationship. For over two thousand years Satsuki had kept a spark of anticipation alive and had been so eager to see him again. Why, she'd even been considering having a second child with him.

Oh, now there was one of the few things Satsuki had serious a complaint about, even if she kept this gripe to herself. Mordecai was the father to her only child, but Mordecai had been significantly less picky about whom he had children with.

Especially when he was male, given how she'd never seen one of his female avatars pregnant. Oh, she was certain he'd done it at least once; if Mordecai had one hedonistic weakness it was in the pursuit of new life experiences. But that particular aspect of him was a bitter taste. Just thinking about it made her angry.

Unfortunately, being angry at Mordecai was one of the things that made her want to pin him to the ground and ravish him until she didn't feel angry anymore. Or get him angry enough to do the same thing to her. So she shelved those thoughts.

Satsuki also felt a little cheated. She'd been becoming better in the way that might make things work out better between them, and here he was already bound to a pair. For all that he'd had long-term relationships before, Mordecai had never formally and officially married anyone. But here he'd effectively sold himself in an oath that Satsuki knew he would consider binding, especially given their connections. Divorce wasn't really an option when your souls could feel each other.

It was good that everything had worked out, and for his sake, she was genuinely happy that they were happy together. If Mordecai had been bound in an unhappy marriage, well, Satsuki wasn't sure what she'd have done. It was probably best to not explore those thoughts either.

But being happy for his sake didn't mean she couldn't be jealous too. Satsuki wanted to become part of that relationship. Mostly because of Mordecai of course, but Kazue and Moriko were also both interesting on their own.

Self-reflection also meant that Satsuki was aware that she was being sneaky and manipulative and probably just delaying the process of coming to terms with everything. She had slipped the thought of her joining them for at least a little while into each of their minds and was quite willing to see if it came to fruition eventually. It wouldn't be what she originally had in mind, and that soul-bond of theirs made everything trickier.

Mordecai may have hacked into well-established forms of bonds, but the resonance between them had shifted and adapted to match the use it was being put to.

There was no way for Satsuki to accurately duplicate it, at least, not from the outside. Oh, she could make a working duplicate, probably. It just wouldn't be compatible with theirs.

This meant that Mordecai, Moriko, and Kazue would have to be able to do all the work themselves. If they wanted to. Which they were neither capable of nor interested in right now.

It was almost certainly foolishness on Satsuki's part, it wasn't going to help her issues.

Well, she certainly didn't want to fall into the role of the clingy former lover. So it was time for her to wrap up all of her thoughts and feelings on the subject and tuck them away. Satsuki made a promise to herself to not dwell on any of that for the duration of her stay. She might need to recall some details during conversation, but she was going to keep the memories at a distance.

The bunkin guiding Satsuki had guided her through a rather large feast hall, and Satsuki couldn't keep from glancing up. Their core was up there, they were not yet strong enough to hide its presence from her, and that knowledge was another temptation to keep tucked away with everything else.

Her guide took her down a corridor hidden by a hanging tapestry. It was rather a nice touch, keeping the private areas a little more private by the simplicity of hanging a tapestry in front of the hallway. The dungeon certainly didn't need the tapestries for their insulation properties, but they were still pretty and had a nice secondary use here.

When the bunkin knocked on a door, a blond woman wearing a white robe opened the door and glanced between them.

"Hello Deidre," the bunkin said, "this is Satsuki, another guest of Azeria. Satsuki, this is Deidre."

Satsuki inclined her head in greeting with a small bow. "A pleasure to meet you, Deidre. I understand that you are expecting me?"

Deidre returned the gesture before replying, "Yes, somewhat. I was informed that there was someone whom I might be interested in getting to know, but not any details. So I do not know what this is about. But I suppose you should come inside so that we can talk about it." She turned to Satsuki's guide and said, "Thank you for bringing her here."

"My pleasure. Did the food and drink arrive already? Excellent. Someone will be available if you need anything else."

Satsuki followed Deidre into her room, or rather, her suite. It was not a terribly large space, but there was a small kitchen set up and a couple of doors leading to what Satsuki presumed was a bedroom and a bathroom.

There was also a faint smell of smoke and char.

Her glance toward the kitchen and slight wrinkling of her nose had been noticed.

"I have been attempting to learn how to cook, to try to understand people better," Deidre said. "I'm afraid it's not something I've had to do before, so I am not very good at it yet, but it seems important to a lot of people."

"Don't worry about it!" a high-pitched voice piped up, "I can't cook either!"

The dubious encouragement came from a pixie that swooped into view to land on Deidre's shoulder. Satsuki was amused by the creature's fashion sense; those clothes did not belong to this world and were clearly the result of Li's influence upon the dungeon's small fey creatures.

"You must be Payne," Satsuki said, "it's a pleasure to meet you as well. As for the cooking, I can help with that later if you wish. For now, I do believe my purpose is to be a wicked little gossip."

"A, gossip?" Deidre asked.

"Oh yes. You see, I am one of his former lovers and the mother of his daughter Norumi, the kitsune founder of Kuiccihan and Azeria." Satsuki rather enjoyed the looks of surprise on the pair. "Now, why don't we settle in with some food and drink, and I can tell you Mordecai's dirty secrets."

"I don't understand," Deidre replied even as she moved to where the food and drink were laid out on a counter. "Why would Mordecai want you to tell me his secrets?"

"It's simple, though many people don't understand it. To know a person, to truly trust them, you need to know their flaws. I am going to help give you a more rounded perspective on Mordecai. Though it's not my only purpose here." As she spoke, Satsuki followed Deidre to the refreshments, where Deidre served a plate for her before making one for herself.

"What is your other purpose?"

Satsuki smiled gently at Deidre. "Well, I have some experiences that are rather the opposite of some that you've had. Within your limits, I am available for you to talk about any unpleasant experiences you've had. Or if you prefer, I can simply tell you about some of my amorous adventures, to give you a different perspective."

Deidre took a short, sharp breath. "I see," she said as she took a seat. "This is supposed to help me?" Deidre did not look at Satsuki when she asked that. Payne landed on Deidre's shoulder and stroked her hair soothingly.

"Yes, it is dear," Satsuki replied. "You have suffered in a particularly awful way, and for a prolonged time. Even if you intellectually know better, there will be an association built up between the way things are supposed to happen and what has happened to you. I am, hopefully, to be your antidote."

Satsuki settled into her seat before continuing, "But, that requires trust and bonding first, so let me begin by earning that trust and telling you a bit about my dear Mordecai.

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PART ELEVEN FIFTEEN

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Tuesday

 Pepper returned from the drug store with a brown paper bag that, to Lucas’ mind, was far too small for something he would need a metric ton of to cover every part of his aching body.

“Here you go, partner,” she said, opening the passenger door and tossing the bag into his lap.

“What’s the downside to this stuff?” he asked, retrieving the ointment jar and opening it just enough to take a whiff of the citrus fragrance within.

“Ummm…don’t eat it, and don’t use it if you’re a kid or breastfeeding,” she answered. She slid into the seat and smirked at him. “Actually, I can think of at least one of those that’d fit you.” As he shot her his most disgusted look, she cackled and added, “And don’t put it on open cuts either. It doesn’t do any damage, but it stings like a bitch.”

“Anything else while you’re trying to poison me?” he asked, tightening the lid and pushing it back into the packet.

“Yeah, now that you mention it. Rub a little bit of it into the underside of your wrist now. There’s a really, really low chance of an allergic reaction, but it’ll show up by the time we get to work if you are. I’d hate you to coat yourself in the stuff and turn into The Toxic Avenger.”

“Who?” Lucas asked, feigning ignorance of the pop culture classic since she’d been the one to swipe first about their age difference.

She shoved him in the arm. “Oh, screw you. You are not that young.”

Lucas couldn’t keep his naive expression going any longer and chuckled as he removed the jar again and rubbed a small amount of the ointment on the pulse-point of his wrist. Nothing happened on contact, which he took as a step in the right direction. “You’re going to have to tell the boss that you’re shielded,” he said, using the small bottle of sanitiser in the bag to clean his hands once he was done. He was not rubbing medical cream into the leather of his steering wheel. Not for anybody. “He went ballistic when he found out I was, and no one had told him.”

“Do you think he’ll separate us?”

Lucas gave it a moment’s thought before shaking his head. “I can’t see it. If anything, it’ll be easier for him to have the two of us teamed together. I mean, we’re both in the know, so there’s no time wasted pretending we’re ignorant of the bigger picture when it encroaches on our job.”

Pepper squinted at him. “You sound like you’ve had some experience in that matter.”

Lucas polished one tooth as he started the car and pulled into traffic. “Remember how I said Robbie got four rings because his line got lost? That meant for the longest time, he was unringed, and although he didn’t know it at the time, he was putting out a ‘nothing to see here’ aura where his best friend Angelo was concerned. I was almost arrested for my supposed involvement in the sex slave ring that he got himself mixed up in because what other excuse could there be for my ignorance, but I was in on it?” He shook his head and shivered, loathing the memory of that night in his bedroom, waking up to the boss and his partner cuffing him. If Llyr hadn’t been in the apartment putting Daniel on notice, that night would’ve gone down a horribly different way.

“Wow. You know, I thought it was weird that you were brought in in the middle of the night for a general consult, but we were told not to ask. And when the boss says, ‘drop it’ …”

“It’s nuclear waste, never to be touched again,” Lucas agreed.

“So they really thought you were part of the slave ring?”

Lucas nodded, glancing sideways at her. “It wasn’t until the boss turned up at the apartment and Llyr answered the door that he realised I might be innocent. But before that, yeah. If Quail had come alone, or if Llyr hadn’t been there to put him on notice that divinity was in play, I’d be rotting in prison right now for something I had no control over. That’s the arena you’ve just stepped up into, Pepper. As cool as a lot of it is, I hope you’re ready to accept we are very small fish compared to them.”

Pepper stared hard at the dash. “And in the space of a day, the boss went from wanting you arrested to promoting you into his department. You have to admit, that’s a hell of an about-face.”

Lucas shrugged and refused to comment.

Half an hour later, they entered 1PP, with them both waving at the temporary desk sergeant as they went through the ‘police’ gate that didn’t require them to go through the metal detector.

“Where do you think Sergeant Sunshine is?” Lucas whispered as they worked their way through the clerical pool towards the elevators.

Pepper smirked at him. “Now that I know there is a God, hopefully, he’s cashing in what’s left of his long service before retiring from the force for good.”

“Amen to that,” someone else who joined them in the elevator agreed. It wasn’t a voice Lucas recognised, and neither of them bothered to look at who it was. About the only semi-good thing anyone could say about Sergeant Noah Brigersen was that he was an equal opportunist pain in the ass to everyone who didn’t outrank him, so Pepper’s sentiment was well shared.

Pepper got out a floor below the task force, where the MCS was located, but before the doors closed, Lucas caught them. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked.

Pepper knew she should’ve heeded his concern, but she shook her head instead. “No, I’ve got this. You take care of the task force.”

Lucas nodded and removed his hand, allowing the doors to close. She took a moment to gather herself, then headed into the MCS, nodding and waving at the various detectives and support staff in the bullpen and shaking her head when a couple of them looked like they wanted to talk to her. “I gotta see the boss first,” she said apologetically.

“Good luck with that,” King warned. “Feral doesn’t even come close this morning.”

Pepper stared at the closed door (that was rarely ever closed) and sighed miserably. “Well, this is going to be a barrel of laughs, then,” she muttered to herself, making her way to the inspector’s office. She heard him shouting on the other side, despite the soundproofing that supposedly dampened his bellow and halted with her hand raised to knock.

She glanced over her shoulder at everyone who had stopped to watch what came next, then drew a breath and brought her knuckles down…

…only to have the door swing open sharply and Inspector Daniel Nascerdios surging into her space, smacking into her. “What the hell, Cromwell?” he snapped, as she stepped back (not the other way around) though it didn’t really come across as a question. “What are you doing down here?”

“I need to talk to you, sir. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s urgent.”

Daniel’s lips pinched together, then he lifted his chin to glare over her shoulder at everyone behind her, who suddenly found a thousand things that needed doing in that very instant. “Come in,” he said, stepping back into his office and holding the door open for her. He closed it behind her and took a single step towards his desk. “If this is you quitting, I wouldn’t advise it right now.”

“No, it’s definitely not that, sir.”

He folded his arms. “Then what is it, Cromwell?” His lips kicked up ever so slightly. “It must be important for you to risk life and limb coming in here right now.”

Breathe, Pepper. You can do this. “It is, sir. Last night, Lady Columbine accepted my roommate into the Nascerdios family.” As she suspected, he knew precisely who Sararah was and was probably on a first-name basis with Lady Columbine, too. “And Sararah chose me to be her Plus One. Lucas thought you should know.”

Daniel stared at her, then took one and a half steps backwards to rest his backside against his desk without needing to look for it. “So … if I was to say it’s a Nascerdios thing right now to you?”

“I would say ‘bully for you’ and go about my day with all my memories of you and your family intact.” She gave him a slight scowl and added, “Sir.” Since it hadn’t been very nice of him to try and whammy her, just to test the waters.

The inspector ground his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course she did,” he muttered darkly, then dropped his hand. “Are you still okay with being Dobson’s partner?”

Pepper frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be, sir?”

“Because the divine are drawn to him. For whatever reason, every time I turn around, more and more family members are clustering around Dobson and his household. If you want obscurity, this is not the partnership for you.”

“But I won’t need obscurity anymore, will I, sir? I’m a Plus One.”

“It’s more a matter of what you think you can handle mentally. With that status, there’s no hiding what you’ll see any more.”

“I think I can handle it, sir.”

Instead of speaking, Daniel surged forward off the desk, his neck lengthening to that of a serpent, rows of sharp, reptilian teeth dropping from his elongated jaw, which then opened four times wider than it should. The hiss that flew from the back of his throat was unlike anything she had ever heard before, and his hands that reached for her grew fiery claws five inches long.

Pepper screamed and dropped to the floor, her right hand going for her gun while the other semi-covered her face from the horrific nightmare standing right in front of her.

The door banged open behind her, and Ashton King came flying in, his weapon drawn with Tanisha Powell, half a step behind her partner. Pepper had no idea what they were seeing, but it clearly wasn’t what she was looking at, as they holstered their guns while the boss remained monstrous. “It’s alright,” Daniel’s disjointed jaw said. “Nothing happened.”

“Jesus, Cromwell, what the hell?!” King demanded, coming over to where Pepper was still on her ass, still staring up at Daniel in terror. He held out his hand for her, and she took it, allowing him to pull her back onto her feet. “I thought someone was being murdered in here.”

I’m not sure I wasn’t about to be, Pepper thought, though she wisely kept it to herself. Her colleagues saw nothing wrong. The boss was obviously not human … yet they acted like they didn’t see it! Because they didn’t! Holy hell! Was this what Lucas was trying to warn me about?!

“That will be all,” the boss said, waving one taloned hand to shoo the detectives out of his office. Once the door shut behind them, he turned to face her and returned to his complete human form. “Think about what I said, Cromwell. I’ll give you until the end of business today to tell me what you decide.”

Unable to say anything else, Pepper nodded numbly and stumbled out the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck! The monster under the bed is real, and I fucking work for him!

[Next Chapter]

* * *

 ((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!! 

“Spok!” The dungeon quickly began. “I’m in a tough situation…”

“Sir, after assisting you through numerous crises and overseen chores that are generally your responsibility, I’m sure that you would at least be supportive in my decision,” the spirit guide replied. “It’s not a titanic request, and it won’t be like I’ll drop my duties towards you after the ceremony. Thank you in advance, sir.”

“Spok, that’s not it!” The dungeon quickly added, but it was already too late. Spok had cast a silence spell on her core pendant, blocking him out.

Damn it! The dungeon grumbled. He could have used her help right now. Then again, in order to succeed, one had to be adaptable and, from what Theo knew from his personal life, confidence and a good first impression trumped everything else.

“Why have you brought me here?” Theo’s avatar asked, holding his head high, chest puffed up in confidence. “I don’t remember consenting to spatial displacement.”

He looked around, searching for someone to focus his wrath on.

“Err, down here, benefactor,” the deep voice said.

The avatar looked down. It didn’t help that the voice appeared to be coming from every corner of the room.

“The seat left of the center,” the voice clarified.

Instinctively, Theo focused his attention onto the central throne. Within the massive seat, laying upon a fluffy silk cushion, was a white cat, peacefully snoozing.

Oh, you too, the dungeon thought.

He, too, was cursed with a pet rabbit in his main body, although one had to admit the creature was too fat to be a pain. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it would be sleeping or eating in a random corner of the building. In the remaining one percent of the time, it was forcefully made to exercises by Spok who insisted that it wasn’t healthy for a pet to be that large.

Cracking a smile, the baron shifted his gaze to the left as instructed only to see a second cat. This one was pitch black, sitting up straight with its tail curled around its legs.

“That’s better,” the black cat said, still in its deep voice.

Huh? The avatar’s eyes moved from seat to seat, just to confirm what his conscious mind feared. To his dread, the vast majority of seats were filled with more cats. Two of them were snoozing, one played with the tip of his tail, and all the rest had their eyes fixed on him, with the same expression as Rosewind’s tax collector had whenever he passed by.

Out of morbid curiosity, the avatar cast an arcane identify spell on the cat.

ILGRYM SERTERA

(Feline Grand Mage)

A former familiar obtained sentience and magic prowess due to frequent spell exposure.

Two hundred and seventeen years old, the feline was one of the pet minions of Dark Wizard Ulryk Everstone. The creature was the target of frequent experimental spells, aimed at granting his owner knowledge and power.

After Everstone’s death at the hands of the hero Vallio Tideht, Ilgrym fled the wizard’s lair and continued studying magic on his own.

“You must be joking!” The avatar slapped his head. “The Feline Mage Tower? You’re a tower of cats?!”

“Umm, yes,” the black cat said, keeping its eyes locked on the baron.

“I got my mage permit from a cat tower…”

“Let me assure you, valued benefactor, that it’s perfectly legal. Our accounting department has checked and triple checked. We are a fully recognized and functioning tower, approved by the World Mage Society and three active monarchs.” The cat’s whiskers twitched. “While we might be somewhat new, your documents are no different than those handed out from more “established” towers and, if I might add, we put in a lot more effort communicating with our external members and benefactors than ninety-three percent of magic institutions.”

“Cat tower…” the baron repeated. If experience had taught him anything, it was that there were no good surprises.

“In any event,” the black cat cleared his voice. “You’re probably eager to learn the details of our request.”

The entire dungeon froze. All the fears he’d come up with were swiftly thrown away, quickly replaced by new ones.

“Request?” he asked, hoping that he hadn’t heard correctly.

Several cats looked at each other. Several more just yawned.

“We sent you a letter a few months ago,” the black cat continued. “Didn’t you read it? We’re certain that it arrived where it was supposed to.”

The avatar knew better than to offer any hint of acknowledgement. Instead, he just stood there, looking blankly forward.

“We still haven’t found anything definite on the matter of—” a plump orange cat began from a seat at the very end of the row.

“Assistant mage Gillian,” the black cat interrupted in a sharp tone. “This is hardly the time to bother our benefactor with such trivialities. We have brought him here for a far more vital matter.”

“Yes, sir.” The orange cat looked down. “My apologies.”

Clearly, bureaucracy thrived even among cats. Or maybe it was merely linked with magic? In his previous life, Theo had been present in enough meetings of this type to have a pretty good idea of what was going on. His involvement was always minor, restricted to carrying printed report copies of questionable significance and little else. It was always the important people in the company that did all the talking, either to investors or to other important people. Judging by the cats’ behavior, he fell in the former category.

“You’re in need of additional gold?” he asked.

“Your generosity is always welcome,” the black cat flicked its tail. “But in this case, the matter isn’t of financial nature.”

“Oh, for stars’ sake, Ilgrym!” A beige cat with black paws hissed. “Stop wasting time and just spit it out! This isn’t one of your boring lectures!”

Blue sparks flowed down the black cat’s fur as it looked in the direction of the one who had interrupted him. Not that the beige was bothered. If anything, she was itching to get this whole thing over with.

“We’ve brought you here to complete a noble quest,” she said.

“Excuse me?” The avatar’s entire body twitched.

“What my esteemed colleague wanted to say was that the Feline Tower would be very appreciative if you’d help us in the upcoming Tower confrontation,” the cat called Ilgrym went on. “From what we’ve observed you seem to have a knack for completing challenging noble quests, so…”

The feline kept talking, but Theo was no longer listening. The dungeon recalled hearing about a noble quest regarding mage towers not too long ago. In fact, he distinctly remembered choosing the only alternative—a cursed quest that had almost unleashed the destructive power of an abomination, rather than deal with mage towers fighting each other.

Cmyk had to be responsible for this. Either him, or Switches. Both of them were up to no good. It was just like them to open a letter that wasn’t their business and toss it somewhere. There was a faint possibility it could be Spok. She had been a bit absentminded lately. Between her many tasks and the whole wedding obsession—a side effect of the abomination’s corruption, no doubt—she could have opened the letter and forgotten to tell Theo about it. That had put the dungeon in an extremely uncomfortable and rather awkward situation. Regardless, he knew exactly what he was supposed to do.

“No,” the baron said.

Silence rang in the room, as all cats, except the white one, stared at him, wide-eyed.

“No, valued benefactor?” Ilgyrm asked.

“No,” the avatar repeated. “I’ve no intention of getting involved with any tower matters. No, I won’t be taking part in any Mage Tower conflicts. And above all, no, I won’t be setting off on any annoying quests to do gods’ know what! I don’t care if the world ends. It’s high time it started to look after itself!”

The silence deepened. Theo had never known for cats to be at a lack of words. Of all creatures, they were masters of getting what they wanted no matter the circumstances. In this case, though, they had lost.

Puzzled by his reaction, the cats started meowing at each other in a fervent discussion. Thanks to his Concopia of Sounds and Letters ability, Theo was able to follow the panic, as the felines went in circles, quoting rules and analyzing options with the confused certainty of academics who’d never been refused before.

With every second, the meowing grew louder and louder until, at one point, the cat in the central seat opened an eye. A creature after Theo’s own heart, it had attempted to ignore the cacophony as long as possible by flicking its tail. When that failed, it yawned, stretched, clawed the cushion with its claws, then cast a mass silence spell.

It took the other cats close to ten seconds of voiceless meowing and tail flapping to catch on. Once they did, all of them turned in the direction of the white cat.

“So, you’re him, eh?” the white cat asked in a voice that made the average old man seem like a teenager.

Theo was quiet, and cast another arcane identify spell on the creature, though this time nothing happened. In typical dungeon fashion, he kept on repeating the spell over and over.

“A stubborn one, eh?” the cat seemed to smirk. “That’s good. Maybe this hairbrain scheme has a chance of working after all.”

Taking the hint, the dungeon made another few dozen attempts before stopping.

“I’m Baron d’Argent,” he said proudly through his avatar. “Protector of Rosewind, member—”

“You’re a dungeon,” the cat interrupted, then proceeded to lick its paw. “A dungeon with a heroic avatar.”

Cold sweat covered Theo causing a large number of people within Rosewind to get alarmed at the sight of moisture forming in parts of their home. A few quickly sprang into action, heading to the roof in search of holes, no matter that it hadn’t rained in days.

“I assure you, I’m Baron d’Argent,” the avatar repeated. “A noble of Rosewind.”

The white feline looked at him, then started coughing.

“We are not interested in your personal circumstances, valued benefactor,” Ilgrym said. Apparently, the silent spell had only a limited effect. “You’ll get no judgment here. As you can see, the majority of the Feline tower are cats.”

“We change appearance when we go out,” the fat orange cat jumped in. “Very much like yourself, in a way. Just in a more temporary fashion.”

“Thank you, Gillian.” The black cat added a subtle hiss to his words. “To expand upon the archmage’s point, your unique qualities are the precise reason we summoned you here.”

“I told you I’m not going on any more quests!” The avatar crossed his arms. “Noble or otherwise.”

“I’m certain that we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement,” the black cat waved its tail. “Normally, we would have rewarded your service with a fully charged mana gem. However, given the unusual circumstances and the urgency at hand, the arch council has agreed to double the reward.”

The dungeon’s greed kicked in. The unexpected offer shattered his reluctance like a chunk of ice through a flimsy window. Two fully charged mana gems were undoubtedly quite the prize. Statistically, so far every adventure, including the fight against Lord Mandrake, had earned him half a mana gem each. The first the dungeon had received from the Feline Tower as a gift and another he’d found among Duke Rosewind’s treasure trinkets. If he were to get two more—fully charged at that—he could effectively double his rank.

The temptation was truly too great for anyone to refuse, and still the dungeon could hear the warning whisper in the back of his mind, warning that he’d likely regret it.

“Two mana gems,” he repeated, as if measuring the offer. “Does that make the task twice harder than usual?”

This was supposed to be the moment at which all felines started meowing in adamant denial. Much to his misfortune, the vast majority looked away, pretending to lick their fur. Even Ilgrym averted his gaze.

“It’s twice harder?” The avatar asked, to no response. “More than twice?”

The licking continued.

“A lot more than twice?”

“The last time we took part in the trial, we were the first to be eliminated.” The orange cat couldn’t help himself. “It was a bit of a disaster, really…”

The response was such that Theo couldn’t even muster the energy for an “oh?”

“By eliminated, I assume you mean you were disqualified?” he asked.

At this point, even the orange cat started licking his paw.

“I see… Well, thank you for your generous offer, but my position remains unchanged,” the avatar said as firmly as he could muster. “Good luck finding some other—”

The words suddenly ceased. It wasn’t like the avatar had stopped talking, but nothing he said made even a single sound. Looking back at the cats, he could tell that the one in the central seat wasn’t particularly pleased with his answer.

“Much better.” The cat yawned again, then let out one more cough. “I haven’t been a mage for three hundred years to have such an opportunity slip through my claws. I’ll make it simple for you.” He looked the avatar straight in the eye. “If you choose not to fulfill this request, we’ll revoke your magic permit and reclaim any and all assistance we have provided you. That includes asking the hero guild to extract our mana gem from your core and return it to us at their earliest convenience. Do I make myself clear?”

Everyone that had dealt with any sort of corporate business was familiar with the carrot and stick approach. Having it used by a magical feline added a surprisingly ominous edge.

“Two mana gems,” the avatar repeated with a subtle sigh.

“Along with some personal advice on how to live longer.”

And now I’m being threatened by a cat, Theo thought. After saving the world from a demonically corrupted gnome and an abomination, he never expected that he’d end up being blackmailed by cats. The universe really didn’t like him.

“Let’s get on with it,” he grumbled.

“Of course, valued benefactor,” the black cat tried to smoothing things out yet again. “We can continue the conversation during afternoon snacks.”

A silver bell materialized in the air and rang twice. As it did, the long segment of floor in front of the seats rolled up, like a rug changing reality behind it. Bit by bit a massive table emerged like in a pop-up book, complete with large round dishes. Each dish was the size of a buckler and had a distinctly unique napkin on top. The intricacy of the designs resembled family coats of arms.

It was rather telling that all the dishes were on the cats’ side of the table. The point was moot since neither the dungeon, not the avatar, could consume food, but that still ticked Theo off a bit.

“Feel free to create a seat for yourself,” the beige cat said, as she leaped off her seat cushion and onto the plate. “The food will only take a moment.”

ESMERALDA TENGRAM

(Feline Grand Mage)

A former familiar obtained sentience and magic prowess due to frequent spell exposure.

Vastly experienced, Esmeralda was the childhood pet cat of the prominent Mage Instructor Bravia Linolette. Experiencing magic from an early age, she would frequently encourage and even help her owner with magic studies, inadvertently gaining familiar status through the decades.

After the passing of Mage Linolette, Esmeralda continued teaching mage apprentices for several years before leaving her owner’s tower in pursuit of solo academic achievements.

If Spok were available, she might have shed the light on familiars. Despite being viewed as a mage, Theo’s knowledge of the topic was surprisingly shallow. As far as he was concerned, familiars were overpowered magical pets. Following that logic, even Maximilian, his fat rabbit, could fit the bill. Seeing how a clutter of cats had formed their own magic tower, he had to revise his preconceptions on the matter.

More cats left their seats, some leaping, others walking in dignified fashion.

“Oh, these aren’t plates for eating,” Gillian explained, seeing the avatar’s confusion. “Sorry, we don’t have many human guests, so…” he offered what could best be described as an uncomfortable smile. “These are our dining seats.”

“He knows that, Gillian,” the black cat didn’t miss an opportunity to ostracize him.

In an attempt to follow some sort of etiquette, the avatar used his dungeon skills to transform the floor behind him into a chair and sat down as well. For several seconds, everyone just sat in silence, waiting for something to happen.

“So, all of you are former familiars?” Theo spoke first, choosing to break the silence.

“The arch council, mostly,” Esmeralda replied. “And nearly all the founders.”

“Nearly?”

“We needed a human associate to deal with the paperwork,” the black cat explained.

“Oh?” The dungeon glimpsed a glimmer of hope. “So why not have him do your quest?”

“We did. Five years ago.” Ilgrym paused for several seconds. “He did not make it.”

“Worst disaster in decades,” the white cat grumbled.

“Ah.” The avatar smiled politely and leaned back.

The metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel had just been proven to be an approaching supernova. For nearly ten seconds, he looked impatiently around the room, hoping the food would arrive. There seemed to be no indication anything of the sort would happen.

“So, is that the reason you called me? Because I’m a dungeon avatar?”

“That is merely one of the reasons, valued benefactor. One has to be a member of the tower to be eligible. Also, we’ve been following your exploits and could tell that you have both the skills and mental capacity to—”

“You’ve consumed a key of the Archmage Gregord,” Esmeralda interrupted. “And also, you’re human. That’s it.”

The black cat wagged his tail, annoyed at the interruption, but didn’t refute her.

Consumed a key? Theo thought back.

He did remember doing that back during his brigand noble quest. The key was supposedly a rare magic item given to him as a reward. It held the ability to open all locks—or, at the very least, a very large proportion of them—but other than that, couldn’t be viewed as particularly valuable. The dungeon had found it somewhat suspicious at the time that a fellow adventurer guild would try to get rid of it so easily. Now, he seemed to get an idea why.

“The open-all key?” he asked. “That’s why I was chosen?”

“Dear benefactor,” Ilgrym began in a subtly different tone. “You did read the letters we sent you, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Theo replied with the certainty of someone who had been caught skimming an important report minutes before the meeting. “But there were a lot of things going on. I had to deal with the abomination, keeping the town whole…” he waved a hand defensively. “You know how it is.”

“Let me summarize it for you, then,” the white cat intervened. “Every ten years, Archmage Gregord’s tower appears in the world. Most know him for his heroic exploits, but the legendary Gregord was above all else a mage. Many of the founding principles of magic were discovered by him, changing the discipline to a proper academic field of study.”

Several cats meowed in agreement.

“At the moment of his passing, a spell was triggered, announcing his final will to all mages at the time. I’ll save you the dramatics and the technical details, but in it, he promised he’d share all his knowledge with any mage skilled enough to ascend his tower. To be considered a viable candidate, one must have learned one of Gregord’s high spells or have one of his key artifacts.” The cat went into a coughing spree lasting several seconds. “He was a unique mage,” he continued, clearing his throat. “He believed that skill and luck were of equal importance, so anyone with those would be allowed admission to his trial. You were lucky to find one of his keys.”

Lucky me, Theo grumbled internally. “And this happens every ten years, I take it?”

“Yes. Every decade, all prominent towers send their best and brightest to ascend the tower. Depending on how well they do, their status increases, plus they get to keep anything and everything they have obtained during their attempt.”

That didn’t sound too bad. If it wasn’t the fact that the previous candidate had died, the dungeon would even welcome this as a distraction from the wedding. Details remained non-existent, but based on everything described, it had to be a sort of magical escape room with prizes.

“What’s the current record?” The avatar leaned forward, both elbows on the table.

“What happens in the tower remains in the tower,” the white cat said. “But it’s claimed that two towers have reached the fourth floor.”

Halfway there. That didn’t sound promising at all.

“So, people could leave at any point?”

“Naturally, valued benefactor,” the black cat said, a bit too eagerly for Theo’s liking. “People leave all the time. They just forgo all the knowledge they’ve gained inside. That includes any details relating to the tower itself. You can say that their entire life within the tower has been erased.”

That stood to reason. The legendary archmage was adept in memory magic and even created Memoria’s tomb—a spell capable of imprisoning an abomination within a memory prison. It would be no issue for him to erase someone’s memory. An interesting question was whether the spell would affect the dungeon in the same way. Technically, it wasn’t him going in there, but his avatar. Would the spell have any effect at all or would it create some sort of desynchronization between him and his avatar, creating two streams of consciousness?

A door at the far end of the room opened with a slam, causing Baron d’Argent and seven-eighths of the city of Rosewind to jump up into the air. Fortunately for the city, the tons of earth covering the dungeon made the buildings merely tremble.

“My greatest apologies, grand mages,” a young woman rushed into the room. “The kitchen containment spell broke down, and we had to chase the food,” she said in apologetic fashion.

The woman had the air of any mage apprentice who’d messed up. Stains and tears were scattered all over her blue robe, indicating that the “chase” was more a combat situation. Her straight brown hair was barely held in a ponytail, with large clusters rebelliously flowing straight down, though not by choice.

She was soon followed by a half a dozen covered platters that floated in the air, as well as a large young man. The man wore the same type of robes as did the woman, indicating he, too, was an apprentice mage, but the similarities ended there. A full head taller, with broad shoulders, and a dark complexion, he had the frame and stance of an army captain rather than an academic.

“Another prank, no doubt,” Esmeralda said with the scorn a teacher reserved for misbehaving students. “When I get down there, I’ll toad all of them for the rest of the week!”

“Ahem,” the black cat said in a stoic attempt to cover up the apparent mess. “Valued benefactor, let me introduce our star students.”

“They’re human?” Theo couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“The tower accepts any manner of students.” Ilgrym didn’t flinch. “Humans are a substantial minority. We even have a wolf, although if she doesn’t pick up her grades, there might be questions regarding her academic career.”

The platters floated onto the table, positioning themselves at equal distances from each other. Once uncovered, mice of various colors poured out, running chaotically in all directions. Instinctively, the avatar pulled back, capturing half a dozen of them with aether shield spells. All the cats stared at him.

“You’re really going to eat all of those?” one of them asked.

The avatar looked at the cat, then at the mice he had captured. There was no telling which of the many etiquette faux pas he had broken, but it was obvious he had created a bad impression.

“Sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile, popping all six aether spheres, allowing the rodents to return to the chaos below. “I’m not used to lively food.”

Diplomatic silence continued for several seconds more.

“Well,” the black cat continued after a while. “These are apprentice mages Yva, Sandrian, and Ellis.”

Hearing three distinct names, the avatar looked in the direction of the entrance. The door had closed, yet there didn’t seem to be any other apprentice there. Confused, he turned to the two apprentices when he saw it—a small white kitten curled up on the man’s shoulder.

“They’ll assist you in preparing for the challenge to come,” Ilgrym went on. “After we’re done snacking, naturally.”

The multi-colored mice kept on running all over the table, only to be snatched by the seated cats. It was notable that at no point did any of them fall or leap off the wooden surface. Apparently, this was a feline’s idea of dinner, which they did with unique elegance as they gnawed into their snacks of choice.

“I can’t wait…” the avatar leaned back.

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