“I’ve seen this fucker before. He was quite the desirable prise, but I failed due to him always teleporting away!” I say enraged at the dual reminders of failure, both in my attempt and in what that attempt was: murder.
The spirit curling in as they chuckle in schadenfreude says “YEAH THEY TRULY ARE QUITE ANNOYING TO REACH, BUT I HAVE ALREADY RELEASED MY EMBER, AND ALTHOUGH THEY REFUSE TO DEVOUR, MELD, OR PREACH THEY ARE PLEASANT ENOUGH COMPANY, BRINGING MUCH JOY”
Noticing a quite interesting tidbit, I ask, “Why would they need any of that?”
I wait expectantly, only for the spirit to look at me like I am an idiot. They gaze at me as if they suddenly wished that they had hands so that they might facepalm before slowly saying, “DUH, IF YOU WANT TO LIVE YOU’VE GOT TO DO THAT STUFF. YOU AREN’T GOING TO STAY IN THE MINDS OF OTHERS BY DOING NOTHING, TO LIVE AND GROW YOU MUST CAPTIVATE.”
My eyes widen as lots of other tiny pieces click together in my mind, the truth revealed. What happens to the people who create the emotion that leaks to this side? Wouldn’t the-
But before I can think further, taking advantage of my distraction and unwilling to wait, the spirit curls around my arm and pulls me toward the structure. In a very dignified screech, I am dragged through the mystery spirits domain, expecting to be teleported halfway across the astral expanse, but nothing happens.
The fog parting strangely around both of us as we fall into a gray stone doorway, before plopping on the floor. I dust off my shoulders, my armor clanging as I realize this quite obvious thing. This domain has gravity!
Oooh, that is fascinating; it must be for the servants it keeps around. It took me ages to get used to the lack of gravity, and why train your mercenaries in astral combat if you can just solve it?
Additionally, the fact that we have a similar perspective of a void is very strange. Considering how mine was built from living a life in the spacefaring age, a time far from the age of shamans, as the spirit said this period is called.
But either way, we walk down the stone hall—or rather, I walk and the spirit flies—as we approach a light at the end of the hallway.
I step through to a sight that’s becoming strangely familiar—something that is utterly insane yet still beautiful. For I step into the room, and I see not one walkway but seven, a spiraling impossible reflection.
Suspended in the air are stone roads spiraling off my point, bending and twisting around it in a strange design hidden from my eyes. The design is so impossible and so confusing that any attempt to understand it brings nothing but pain and madness. Like trying to figure out the design of a needle from its point.
I spin, looking at all the hallways connecting to the other sides of this room, my jaw dropping as I gesture to the spirit, asking with my eyes what the fuck are we supposed to do now.
“STOP WHINING, I KNOW THE WAY, BUT WHILE WE’RE HERE, I SHOULD TELL YOU THE PLAN,” the spirit says, rolling its sorry excuse for eyes.
Upon hearing of a solution, I gasp in relief at being freed of this affront to physical reality, before I realize what she said. I stare at them in disbelief, but before I can protest, they continue.
“OKAY, HERE’S THE DEAL: I SPEAK TO THE SPIRIT, AND WHILE THEY’RE DISTRACTED, YOU SNEAK INTO WHEREVER ALL THE PEOPLE ARE AND RESCUE THEM.”SOUNDS GOOD, RIGHT!" The spirit shrieks, their blasé tone not matching the reality of trying to find and rescue people in this mess.
But I’m not going to try that anyway, considering that I have a much better tool on my side: money!
“I understand your perspective,” I say, clasping my hands together as I turn towards them.
“But no, I am not going to do that; I’m not a beast; I will negotiate for their release; there is no need for violence,” I say in the most condescending tone I can conjure.
But when I say this, the spirit does not react as it should. They look at me intently, almost as if I were making a joke, before laughing out loud, their ridiculous screeching turning it into a sound reminiscent of a car being crushed to pieces.
I try to speak up, but before I can, they uncurl and say, with a hint of hysteria, “REALLY, IF PATIENT BRIDGE COULDN’T TALK HIS WAY OUT, HOW COULD YOU? HE’S THE BEST OF THE TALKY TALKIES TO COME OUT IN CENTURIES, AND THE ONLY ONE TO NOT TREAT US LIKE WE ARE PEOPLE, NOT TOOLS.”
I sense a rush of anger come up spitting with all its newfound magical weight given my own building of anger magic, but I do not release it, and it slowly boils away. I am no expert in hostage negotiations. But I still have to do something.
Well, I’m still going; I’m not going to stop just because someone else didn’t succeed." I say puffing out my chest, trying to look like a valiant hero out to save the world.
Only for all that energy to deflate when the spirit shrugs and says, “ALRIGHT, IT IS NOT LIKE I HAVE ANY INVESTMENT, I CARE NOTHING FOR THEIR FATE.”
I sigh, figuring out this spirit is a frustrating affair; it violently swings from one peak to the next with the force of a rampaging rhino. But well, I don’t want to be in the way of one of those swings, so let’s let it be, even if they have an alarming disregard for human life.
“So uh where the hells are we supposed to go?” I ask the spirit still quite confused by the insane apparatus we find ourselves in.
The spirit simply floats over to an entrance, leading me to belatedly blast after them using my boots.
We walk along the strange stone halls, but as we do, they slowly change, becoming more rough and sharp, giving them an appearance similar to what I imagine a cave wall would look like. And the entire time there is no division, just smooth melding. Fascinating!
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
But as I examine the walls, we continue to stride forward, and before long we reach our destination: a series of stone beads hanging along a plain stone doorway. But it is not the remarkable thing here.
Rather, that is the people. Heavily armored and strangely short are two men who sweep over my figure with the eyes of a soldier. Examining me for any trace of danger. They each hold two spears, and what bits of skin I do glimpse from beneath their leather armor are strangely gleaming. As if they were polished bits of metal.
I gulp nervously at the immediate threat of violence that those spears pose. But I do not have to be nervous long, for they both glance at the spirit before looking back at each other and standing to the side.
The room is shockingly violently pink, with poofy lacy bits of fabric hanging from each piece of the egg-shaped room. Furniture that is also pink is tastefully arranged around an intricate tea set, which is, funnily enough, also pink. My eyes flatter rapidly as I take in the sheer throw it in your face levels of pink in the environment before approaching the epicenter of this strange room.
They sit calm as pond scum, daintily sipping on an ornamented and delicate tea cup, nothing more than a silhouette of gray bleeding out into the world. As if someone cut out the outline of a man from reality, revealing a strange gray star.
But I do not stare for long before he invites us over with a gesture. I sit down on the offered seats, sinking into the mountains of bedding as the spirit of curdled anger floats above a sea of their own.
The spirit of mystery does a polite little cough before saying in the thickest British accent I’ve ever heard, “So whats about this then!” pointing towards me.
My face twitches, desiring to scream. What the fuck? as I silently stare at the spirit. Speaking in an accent largely only kept by twits and actors. An accent that was made centuries in the future!
The spirit of curdling anger cutting through my confusion introduces me with “THIS IS THE GREAT SPIRIT OF LANGUAGE, SHE WHO HAS BROKEN HER CHAINS AND RISEN AGAIN.”
Ah, that same spiel again; ugh, that’s getting tiring. But when apparently names are a hot button issue, I shall have to deal with it.
Gazing back over at the spirit of mystery, I see quite the odd expression—the contraction of the blazing power behind him—that my language instincts interpret as slight confusion. Before he coughs and says, “Hogwash, the lady certainly bloody sure isn’t a spirit.”
I blink, taken aback, but refusing to say anything, for any weakness might get exploited and I’m certainly not going to reveal my hand quite this early. Thankfully enough the conversation gets past that incident quickly, with the other spirit steadfastly ignoring the statement.
“But I do remember you! You were the bloke that tried to eat me with that dreadful spoon,” the spirit says, apparently quite indignant at being ignored.
Various pieces start twitching, my fingers curling in and out, flexing my legs, and my eyes squeezing ever so slightly as I, with all the calm I can muster, say, “I destroyed it, so there is no need to be afraid.”
The spirit, taken aback for a moment, quickly returns to form before saying, “Are you implying that I’m bloody afraid of a goddamn spoon?“
Sensing his dual fear and anger, I start to backpedal: “No, it’s just a spoon; it’s more the idea behind it that I destroyed, an idea I hope is conveyed to you.”
“Hmpph, very well. So what’s the situation with that dreadful spirit of peace that ignobale subject”
The spirit of anger pleased to finally be talking about themselves says “Ooooh I’VE BEEN SCOOTING MY DOMAIN IN FRONT OF THEM WHEREVER THEY ARE SO THAT IF THEY WANT TO GO ANYWHERE THEY MUST TAINT THEMSELVES BY MELDING WITH ME.
The spirit of mystery with an expression similar to spilling the tea claps before saying, “Oh how cruel you vile thing, with how you’ve been feuding with them, I don’t doubt before the century is over they won’t even be a spirit of peace.
The spirit obviously pleased nods before getting on with their outpouring of small talk and gossip. But I couldn’t care less; I likely could glean some strange tidbits from their exchange, but I need to get it together.
I’m not here to discuss spoons with the spirit; I’m here to negotiate for the freedom of who knows how many people.
I breathe in, and the rivers dry. I breathe out, and the rivers flood. In and out, slowly reaching equilibrium before I open my eyes clearer than before. With a cool mind, I take a long sip of my offered teacup, only to be quite pleasantly surprised by a perfectly ordinary Earl Gray.
Although they are quite the luxury with the limited amount of land allotted for them and their refusal to taste good when replicated, I am very surprised that he managed to get his hands on any. Despite how common they should be.
I sigh thinking of easier times when most of my problems were irritating border security, and social embarrassment. Now if I mess up here, I doom people to the same torture that I’ve been going through all this time.
But I have the power, so I have the responsibility to stop this. So I put down the surely ridiculously expensive and impossible cup of tea. Before making a dainty little cough, capturing the attention of both spirits.
Ahem, although all of this is certainly … pleasant. I came here for other reasons, namely all the poor souls you have captured.” I say in my most calm and diplomatic tone.
The spirit of mystery obnoxiously self-contained chuckles a bit before saying, “What does the fate of those mortal blokes have to do with you? Leave it alone, and we can let this be.”
In a huff, I say, “I don’t exactly need a reason other than the fact they were captured unjustly by you?”
Another chortle from the gray silhouette grates through my ears before he says, “Unjustly? You know not the circumstances, but as soon as I get my prize, I shall return them posthaste in as good a condition as can be.”
Frustrated by my own lack of knowledge about the surrounding circumstances, I take a different tack, showing him my goods. Dropping my backpack from my shoulder, I pull out a hexagonal plate imbued with the ability to heal—no runes required.
Knowing that anyone presented with my plate would obviously attempt to copy the simple runes on its surface, I prepared a wand that would imbue the plate with a healing concept. Killing three birds with one stone by allowing me to both add healing to my armor, and keep my runes secret with an additional bonus.
Additionally, if my products require imbuing, that means that any use would require me to regularly recharge and help in its production, giving me additional power over the whole affair. From secret information to a longer term relationship, this could be big. So I have to be big.
I take the plate and promptly melt it with a quick beam of heat from my gauntlets. The gray silhouette scrambles backward but returns to calmness as they see that despite the power of the ray, it doesn’t even penetrate the plate.
“In my hands is a regenerating hexagonal plate of iron, perfect for any type of construction required to keep you alive.” I say with a dazzling smile, summoning my inner saleswoman.
The spirit, in a huff after scrambling backwards, gestures towards the walls, saying in an extremely condescending tone, “Does it look like I need any more materials?”
Gritting my teeth, I say, “The material would be perfect for any security. Think of someone futilely trying to open a vault of yours only for all the damage to be reversed in seconds! And I have many, many plates to give you. If you release your captives, I would construct any one project you have, no matter how big, entirely in immortal plates.”
The silhouette tries to speak, but before he does, I quickly hand him the plate so that he might inspect it himself. Of which he gives a cursory glance before throwing it behind his back, utterly unfazed by something that would make most other people foam at the mouth.
Vaguely outraged but still holding a smile in my mouth, I say, Well, if you have defense taken care of, what about offense?"
I pull out an elegant wand of craggled steel and runes. While the wands will need to be disguised before I give it to him, I can demonstrate their purpose fairly easily. Wincing, I say sorry in my mind before blasting one of the guards with my wand.
Immediately they slump and fall, crumpling like a piece of paper as their partner emits a strangled scream, scrambling to catch them. The spirit does not move an inch but subtly radiates approval.
I take a silent breath of relief before cutting it short as I see the gaze of utter hopelessness on the other guard. Fuck, I don’t even know their names; And here I am instantly downing one and probably traumatizing the other.
“As you can see, any well-aimed shot means instantly disabling any opponent you may face. Plus, since it is only a sleep spell, you would be able to interrogate any victims fairly easily,” I say, my saleswoman face stuttering in the face of my own brand of soft violence.
The gray spirit quietly sips his tea, but I can see his interest in the product, so I continue the attack.
“I can outfit an entire squadron in wands like these, and do you really want a few mortals more than you want a juggernaut crew of outfitted mercenaries?” I say a bit disgusted to talk about people in terms likemortal, especially considering I’m one of them.
I see him intrigued, but when I see him smirk, I see that my hopes are dashed. “They aren’t exactly just a few, and I doubt that these wands would be able to affect most of my own enemies; we don’t exactly need or want to do something as mundane as sleep.
Fuck, Fuck, FUCK, what do I do? I can’t just leave them here. All alone in this dreadful empty place, nothing but clouds and the black to keep you company. No, I’ve run out of options, but I am an option as well.
Desperately, a thought springs forth from my throat, “I’ll give you anything, literally! I am the best language user in existence, and if you can describe it I can give it to you. Do you want to become utterly invulnerable? Or be able to see everything! I can do that for you. Any wish you could have before you. All you have to do is not imprison others and is that so hard?
I drop to my knees; the metal falling into the dense cushions as I take off my helmet and stare deeply into what should be eyes.
But he gently shakes his head, a smile apparent in that empty hole in the universe that is his form as he says, “Oh, don’t flatter yourself—this was never about any price you might conjure; no, this has all been about this one moment—the sight of you here beneath me, begging.”