“Ah, Kitty! I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Did he tell on me?” I ask as soon as I step inside the room. I’m lucky my heart is strong, otherwise, the sight of Benevil sitting at his desk, gently stroking the drake in his lap might have made me laugh out loud. Aside from every single other detail, he’s the spitting image of a Bond villain. Most noticeably, the look on his face is wrong. He seems too nice to be anything like that. On the other hand… I take a seat on the opposite side of the desk. “Cruelty, that is. That guy. He must have, because otherwise you wouldn’t have prepared all of this for me.”

And by ‘this’, I obviously mean the sheets of paper, inkwell and quill, and the small plate of diamond-shaped cookies. Where did he even get these? The writing stuff I get, but the cookies…

“Please, do have a taste! I made them myself, you know.” Using all the knowledge of social interactions gathered over the years, I form my face into a perfect mask of suspicion to show how I feel about this. But he—like the cruel mastermind he is—simply smiles and waves at the cookies. Foiled again! Guess I have no choice but to obey. Let’s see here, this one looks pretty good… Crunch, munch, munch, munch…

My eyes widen. Hey, that’s actually good! This is insane. How the heck… I stuff down another one, ignoring the way he chuckles warmly at my display.

“To answer your question, yes, He told me you were coming. That’s why He sent me to this city, after all.”

I look up from my ravishing. I swallow down the crumbs in my mouth. “...Excuse me?”

“As an apostle, one of my main duties includes following the God of Cruelty’s every whim and desire,” he explains. “Being so very cruel, He typically sends me a numbered list of tasks every now and then, including deadlines. Such tasks include going to various villages, helping the sick and poor, and ensuring that people remember my visit positively. Though, aside from that, He also enjoys mumbling into my ear, telling me little details here and there—mostly to do with you.” He laughs and twirls one of the drake’s feathers around his thumb. “Isn’t He horrible? Oh, what an inspiration to us all!”

Straightening out, I wipe a few crumbs off my face. “That doesn’t sound very cruel.”

“But it is,” Benevil says. “Because when I die in the coming months, I’ll do so without being able to fulfill His last requests, and He’ll be bereaved of a fantastically effective apostle. We both suffer, not in spite of our kindness, but because of it.” He coughs into his hand. “Nevertheless, since He has asked me to explain this to you, I will tell you the circumstances surrounding my presence here. A few months back, He requested that I appear here to help cull the plague taking hold, and to greet you warmly once you arrive. From what He told me, He feels that you haven’t been given a detailed enough explanation of what it means to be an apostle, and He was of the opinion that my presence and the example could give you greater worry and horror regarding the task ahead of you.”

“I’m sorry, hang on,” I hold up a hand. “What do you mean you’ll die in the coming months? Did he tell you that?”

“Did He…?” Benevil blinks at me before laughing again, the little drake in his lap briefly lifting its head to yawn before falling asleep again. “Oh, no, that isn’t it! It’s an excellent question, though. See, in return for my unquestioning obedience, He has granted me a portion of His power. Specifically, he gave me a hundred years, the usage of which can grant miracles!”

“Miracles? Like, parting the sea, or…?”

“Nothing so big, no. With a year of my life, I can keep a patient alive and in their current state for a month longer; with a month, I can allow them to feel no more pain for a week; with a week, I can let someone fall asleep and die painlessly; and with a day, I can turn their body into a little crystal to be kept by their family as a memento. These are only examples, of course—I have plenty of other miracles to grant, though little lifetime left to use it. At the moment, I have a year and a half left to live. Had I had more than five years, I could have used a miracle that lets me fully heal a patient.” The smile on his face twists into a sharp grin. “This miracle, compared to your ability, is a tearless loss.”

I suddenly feel very small where I sit in the uncomfortable chair. “...What do you mean you can use a week to kill someone painlessly?”

He tilts his head. “Yes, euthanasia. A miracle I was very fond of in conjunction with the crystallization. Many of my encounters in this wandering life I’ve led have had such an outcome. I meet the family, they cry to me, I greet the patient, I diagnose them, I ask our benefactor if He has any opinions, and if the patient has less than a week to live, I ask the family if they would like to make it painless. If they and the patient agree to it, I let the patient die painlessly, and then transform the body into a gem for them to keep. Of course, if they are poor, they could sell it for a pretty sum—or watch their lives atrophy as their grief keeps them in starvation. Delightful, no?”

“Is there any limit to that skill? Like, you have to touch them, or it has to be within ten meters, or you can only use it once per day, or…?”

“It costs a week of my life,” Benevil repeats. “But other than that?” His eyes wrinkle up. “None.”

Ah. Alright. Gotcha. I squirm a little where I sit.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Oh, but there’s no need to fear!” he says lightly. “Killing you would rob the world of too much suffering. Yes, keeping you alive will be far more cruel.”

I grip the chair I’m sitting in. I’m sweating. Why am I sweating? He’s just some cooky doctor. He’s not even evil or anything. He’s just… just putting on an act! Breathe, damn it! Breathe. The air around me feels stuffy. “You can’t know that,” I choke out.

“I suppose I can’t,” he answers. “But I can make a fairly good guess based on what I’ve heard of your past. And from what He’s told me, you’re a hoot!”

“I’m not… I’ve been getting…” I clench my jaws. It doesn’t matter. What I’ve done doesn’t matter. The only important thing is where I’m heading. I scrutinize him with a look. “If you’ve got a year and a half to live, why are you so certain you’ll die within the coming months?”

“Oh, it’s a simple calculation, really. I’ve been His apostle for around twelve years now, and with the way I’ve been using up my lifetime, it’s only a matter of months left.” Petting his drake on the head, he smiles warmly. “Of course, your presence might certainly shorten that time. Who knows?”

“You don’t think I might try to off you early so our ‘benefactor’ will pick me up as his new toy?”

He looks up at me, a hint of amusement tugging at his smile. “Why, no. I never even considered it.”

I sit up straighter. “Well—why not?”

“Your cruelty is much too thoughtless,” he says. No hesitation. “Not to mention inconsistent.” He sighs lightly. “Of course, using random citizens to test out the little heart miracle was a clever choice. Spreading fear about a serial killer in already turbulent times, stalking your best friend to heighten his paranoia and stress, leaving rotting bodies here and there to further the plague—all respectable orientations for increasing suffering in the world. However…” For the first time since I’ve met this guy, the smile falls off his face, all hints of amusement smoothed out and erased. “Why kill the saved victim? Very dull. Of course, there’s some delight in an unseen killer roaming about, but the transplantee would have been able to spread even greater fear had they been left alive. Simply uninspired.”

I can’t tell if I should be miserable that he’s scolding me, or happy that he isn’t praising everything I’ve done so far. In the end, I settle for being mildly insulted that he’s judging me without offering so much as a criticism sandwich to make up for it.

“However, more importantly,” he says, his voice moving back into savage amusement, “I have good reason to believe that you wouldn’t be interested in this position.”

I puff up to say something in return, maybe ridicule his way of spreading suffering, maybe call his drake ugly, only to realize that… I slump back down. Shrugging, I answer, “Yeah, not really my style.”

Somehow, I’m not sure how, his smile turns more genuine. Warmer. “Yes, I thought as much. You don’t seem like the type to appreciate these kinds of subordinations. It makes me wonder why you chose to join two apostleship trials to begin with.”

I open my mouth to answer but close it just as quickly. Why did I agree to this…? “I guess… it was for the power. I was afraid of dying, so being promised strength felt like a pretty good way to avoid that kind of fate.”

He leans his head into his hand and smirks. “You chose a fitting pair of gods to follow, then.”

“Heh, yeah…” I chuckle at the cruel irony of it all. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

Still smiling, he takes a cookie from the plate, biting into it with earnest joy. After a second, he swallows and speaks again, saying, “Just to clarify, I am at your disposal.”

The smile on my face freezes in place. “Um, what?”

“Our benefactor sent me here to greet you—and to assist you. Of course, He has no doubt that I am especially suitable for the task of spreading suffering wherever I go. However, He takes an unusual delight in the cruelty you conjure. Thus, He has asked me to heed your requests. Personally, I’d rather not do anything in your stead that would create more suffering should you commit it yourself, such as hurting those who care for you, but generally speaking…” His upper lip curls up to show his teeth. “Order me as you please, brother.”

Ah. Uh. Um. I blink at him. Then, I stand up, head towards the door, and leave almost on sheer instinct before pausing, freezing, and then spinning back around. He looks at me with neither surprise nor disappointment. I try to draw myself up but fail spectacularly. “Um—no. No, I’m not… Nope. I can’t do that. Absolutely not.”

“It’s not an offer,” he says, smoothly. “And it isn’t limited by time. I’ll be available anytime, anyday.”

“I’m still not…” I huff. Yeah, no, he isn’t changing his mind. And storming out won’t do anything. Not to mention that I still have my work to do. So, as I groan loudly, I stomp back to the desk, plopping down in my seat again. “Yeah, sure, alright, fine. In that case, I order you to not take orders from me.”

“I’ve been told that I can choose to heed or ignore your orders as I please, and I therefore elect to ignore your order.”

I throw my hands in the air. God of cruelty, hear my plea! Turn this goblin into a flea! But, the world is not so kind. I turn to him with a scowl. “Earlier, I doubted that you were actually the lapdog of that damned divine pest. But now? I’ve changed my mind. I think you might actually be worse.”

“Thank you,” he says, with genuine joy in his voice. Humming to himself, he picks his drake off his lap to put it atop the desk, where it instantly droops into a loaf shape. It seems incapable of anything but gentle rest. Snoozing little featherball. “Although I’m not surprised to hear you reject my offer, I had expected you to consider it, if only for the sake of your friend.” I glare at him. He nods with understanding. “Yes, of course, you are quite right. He wouldn’t like you ordering around someone like me. He’s a bit of a hypocrite, in that sense.”

I lean in across the desk, folding my hands. “What do you mean?” I try to keep the venom out of my voice, but it isn’t working too well. “What are you trying to say about Moleman?”

“When I first arrived,” Benevil says, leaning back, “he tried to order me to not use my miracles. Can you believe it? He valued my life above the miracles I could present. Of course, I was able to convince him that my little abilities were cheap enough to make the trade worthwhile. However, he still won’t let me use my euthanasia miracle. Though, I have a feeling that within the coming weeks, we may be able to change his mind.”

A thought strikes me. I growl at him. “Have you been…?”

“Oh, no, of course not! Using this miracle without his knowledge…” He shrugs casually. “I’m not so kind as to rob him of this responsibility.”

I feel myself lean back a bit. In the middle of the desk, the drake wakes up briefly to yawn, stretch, and saunter up to me, rubbing its head against my chin. I try to keep my face solemn. Its jaw chatters with happiness. Damn it. With no other option, I let my hand stroke its back, feeling it lean into my palm.

“Pan,” Benevil says. “Her name is Pan.”

“Dumb name,” I say.

“Thank you.”

Damn it. Another type I can’t win against. Either way, I abruptly remember that I actually came here for a reason. I grab a stack of papers and the quill, pulling up the message I sent to Moleman. I shoot a glance at him. “Did that peeping tom also tell you what I’m here for?”

“Of course.”

“Right. In that case, you know the deal.” I hunch down and get to work. It’s surprisingly enjoyable once I get into it, though Pan is fairly intrusive, always wanting to be petted and such. Being such a kind and non-cruel person, I humor her.

I continue writing names and statuses for quite a while, all the way until I’m snapped out of it by a certain scent.

The scent of something’s death.