Norwe turned away and skipped across the table, each hop changing its material with a ripple of force. From cheese, to fur, to blood, to milk, the table finally settled upon an opaque glass before the Maker reached its end. Once there, Norwe faced Herah, revealing their newly healed and clean face before falling butt-first into their seat and sending splashes of lava everywhere.
Silence reigned over the table for a while, the artist digesting her realizations and fighting internally to either reject them or accept and take the hit to her pride. And even as her mind grappled with all of this, Herah still noticed the scents of the other three present.
Fear and anger reigned within Alex, a little satisfaction settling beneath both undoubtedly at the artist’s expense. Max reeked of so much worry, it was actually impressive, some general fear also along for the ride. And Owen smelled mostly of confusion and fear as well, a small bit of worry not to be missed in his scent.
The liar would break this silence as well.
“So,” Max gave a small glance to Herah, the artist not caring to look back. “What exactly does Recompense entail?”
Norwe clapped twice, and all the mouths on the walls stopped breathing their fire causing the room to plunge into darkness, each person illuminated only by their lava seats.
“Nothing much.” the Maker said, before hundreds upon hundreds of pinky-sized translucent figures (some Cendreuxnoid, many not) appeared over the table. In a single blink, Herah counted the amount and found three thousand two hundred figures. The artist also noticed how four of these figures matched Alex, herself, Owen, and Max. There was even a vaguely familiar figure who looked like they could’ve been a Cendreux.
Why would there be two of us in this?
Before her mind could fixate too hard on the maybe-Cendreux, hundreds upon hundreds of translucent orange spheres began popping up beneath the figures. Each the size of a marble, Herah noticed how every sphere held within itself structures. Semi-transparent white towers filled with equally transparent black floors; both so numerous within each sphere attempting to count these inner structures felt dizzying. The number of spheres could be counted without issue though, the artist finding one thousand six hundred in another blink.
Half as many as the figures.
Norwe continued speaking once the last sphere appeared.
“You and many others shall entertain me throughout a series of acts, each with a simple task for you to complete across a selection of universes.”
Herah blinked and frowned, disconcerted at the idea of universe hopping.
That’s more Dad and Jeffery’s speed. All my hopes and dreams lay within my reality.
By the smell of everyone else, this feeling was mutual, though Max and Owen also held whiffs of excitement.
“You mentioned others,” the binder began, his words shy. His maker and all of their oddness probably intimidated Owen. “Who else is involved with this?”
“Better question,” the artist added, unwilling to let herself stew silently in her fear and shame too long, “Why are we involved in this?”
Norwe placed one of their thumbs and middle fingers together and rubbed them, causing the projections of Herah and the three others to enlarge to the size of the originals. A shift in Owen and Max’s scent followed as they realized that they were among the figures.
“Well, as most of you know, each of you is Gifted.”
The small gasp and slight greasiness of surprise joined the binder’s smell.
Oh yeah, you weren’t here when the rest of us figured it out.
“How do you know that?” Owen asked, his eyes darting between everyone else, wide-eyed and brimming with amazement.
Probably alone in being Gifted where you’re from. A stray image of her past and the fifteen other Gifted the artist once knew formed in her mind before being shoved away. Lucky.
Norwe chuckled, their short laugh sounding sharp and rolling, like hundreds of bodies being sliced through in a staggered order.
“Well besides being your Maker, you do realize your Gifts had to come from somewhere, right?”
Another surprise struck Herah, and at this point, the artist could only let out a bitter and choked laugh.
It’s just exhausting.
Herah turned to Norwe and bit her lip. Bit down so hard in fact, blood soon seeped up and the taste of iron graced her tongue. Those flashes of her past came once more, but Jeffery’s will held them back and kept the artist from reliving the memories.
Thanks.
Anger reformed inside of Herah, her flame heating back up as her eyes glowed and green fire leaked from her nose and mouth. Her lips drew back and her teeth clenched as a snarl slipped through her fangs.
“You’re why I…. why we went through what we did?”
Norwe simply tilted their head, closed their eyes and said,
“Yup.”
“Why?” The single word dragged itself from the artist’s mouth, so much restrained rage weighing it down as even more fire licked out from her ears.
Norwe clearly didn’t care, their relaxed tone shifting not a centimeter.
“All my universes are to participate in Recompense at one point or another, so I had to choose someone, and why you or everyone else specifically,” the Maker gestured weakly towards Herah. “Well, you all caught my eye.”
The artist stalled, sensing something dismissive in Norwe’s answer. Not aimed at Herah though, instead it felt as if her Maker didn’t care for their own words.
Why? Is this an act or something?
Norwe shrugged.
“Who knows?”
The artist’s anger and her flame’s heat dropped slightly; Herah overcome by her Maker’s perplexing nature.
It’s hard to stay pissed when you keep making me ask more questions.
Norwe’s smile twitched, but the Maker did nothing else to respond to the thought.
“How many of us are there?” Owen asked, giving the artist the perfect distraction to focus back on.
“‘Thre—”
“Three thousand two hundred.” Alex answered, causing both himself and Herah to look at each other.
The artist frowned at the soothsayer while Alex raised a brow in return as if saying: What? You’re not the only one who can count quick.
“That’s a lot of universes.” Max added, the liar getting an oh really? look from her brother in response.
“Only half that number for this Recompense,” Norwe pointed to the group of figures above the spheres, the four enlarged models shrinking down. “I took two Gifted from each.”
“Two?” Herah questioned before her eyes snapped back to the other Cendreux. This time, the artist interrogated their form for anything familiar.
There’s only one other Gifted I know of who you could possibly be, but that wouldn’t make se—
Herah’s thoughts slammed to a halt as her keen eyes noticed a small, flaky spot on the Cendreux’s face.
A small detail really, something to be dismissed as a weird cut or scrape. But for the artist, it meant one specific thing, well person.
Blanccend? You’re still alive? Herah felt tears start to form, recognizing more and more of the Cendreux’s projection. The mischievous glint to his eyes, his tail wrapped partially around his left shoulder with its forked tip resting atop his head, and curly hair sitting atop his skull like a puffy hat. By La Flamme’s grace, what a blessing!
The artist felt her lip start to quiver, the urge to weep like an explosion that shouldn’t be contained. Only Jeffery’s will engulfing Herah and physically venting her emotions kept the artist from doing so. But even that didn’t stop the tears from pouring down her face in twin deluges.
Herah didn’t care that everyone noticed, Alex’s scent gaining the spicy whiffs of annoyance while Max’s and Owens both turned further worried. Aware enough to still move, the artist looked to the liar and shook her head when Max started to open her mouth. The liar gave Herah a long stare, the artist locking gazes.
Though neither could communicate telepathically with the other (at least Herah assumed so), the artist knew that Max’s stare asked a question:
Are you okay?
And a nod of Herah’s head was all the answers the liar needed before nodding back and turning her eyes onto Norwe.
The Maker, while possessing no scent, gave the artist a brief look that spoke of self-satisfaction and amusement before giving Max their attention.
“How many of these acts are we to perform?” The liar asked.
Norwe shrugged, the translucent spheres and figures fading in a blur.
“Don’t know yet, as many as I feel like.”
“That doesn’t sound that bad.” Owen said, his scent gaining the sickening sweetness of hope, like a sugar cookie.
Norwe’s nostrils flared, smoke shooting from them as their grin widened again.
“Feel free to think that.”
Herah noticed Max’s scent shifting ever so slightly. Worry still made itself the most well-known but now that worry had a greasiness to it reminiscent of the smell of confusion.
Wariness, the artist identified, as the liar frowned at Norwe.
“And what? We entertain you then go home?”
Norwe tilted their head sideways, one brow going up while their grin thinned into a mocking frown.
“If that’s your wish, sure, but that’d be a waste.”
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Herah, her emotions finally weak enough to return her speech, huffed out a small burst of orange flames that engulfed her head and vaporized the tears. No longer appearing a crying mess and steam rising from her face, the artist rapped her knuckle against the glass table.
“Wish?”
Norwe looked at Herah, their frown turning back into a grin as the Maker lifted a single digit.
“Those who entertain me most during Recompense are allowed a single wish. Said wish can be almost anything you want.”
“Almost anything?” Owen asked, a sudden alertness to his words.
Norwe raised both arms and began spinning their hands in a sorta well-here’s-the-specifics sort of manner.
“Omnipotence is out for I’m not even the strongest Maker not to mention the Abyss Walkers or certain Mortals, omniscience is also a no since some asshole human made Time relapse, and anything that would make me a liar, I refuse to do.”
Another moment of silence came as everyone fully took in what the Maker said. For the artist, that meant squinting while trying to parse half of what Norwe’s words meant.
Makers, Abyss Walkers, Time relapsing? Herah thought not just to herself, but towards Jeffery. What is Norwe talking about?
The pencil didn’t respond.
Odd, the artist turned her eyes onto Jeffery before frowning. Where’s that response you always have lined up? Dad says you get that from me. And since you know so much more than I do, somehow, you’re never without an answer. Until now.
The pencil’s general in-activeness since everyone sat down also stood out as odd to Herah. Jeffery just hung in the air, floating above and slightly in-front of the artist with seemingly no care for anything going on around them. Like none of the current going-ons was important. Herah couldn’t even read Jeffery’s scent to suss out their emotions or intentions since the pencil’s lack of a biological makeup left his smell stagnant.
Sometimes I curse how I made you.
This got the artist a response in the form of a vision of herself flipping someone unimportant off.
You respond to that!? Herah thought before growling at Jeffery.
“Anything that would make you a liar?”
Max’s question brought the artist’s focus back onto her Maker, Norwe shrugging once more in response.
“I find the best realities are the ones where I give myself some limits.”
With that said, no one in the group spoke in response. Instead, if their shifting scents were to be believed, all of their gears were turning as the realization of what the prize was settled over them.
Except for Alex, the soothsayer (definitely already knowing this) didn’t seem to care about any sort of wish.
But Herah did. The artist didn’t even question if her Maker might’ve been lying. Like earlier when Herah knew Norwe to be her Maker, now the artist knew that succeeding in Recompense meant getting that wish.
And a wish from you, even with the limitations you lined out, could turn the Cendreux back to the Old Ways. To make us all give La Flamme the praise and love our mistress deserves. Herah could picture it all in her head: celebrations across the galaxies proclaiming La Flamme’s greatness, everyone realizing the folly of their new ways and begging for undeserved but promised forgiveness, no one feeling alone or abandoned ever again. But—
“The catch?” the artist asked, her brows knit into a frown.
“Why must there be a catch, my dear artist?” Norwe taunted, leaning upon their elbows as they stared back at Herah.
“Because—”
“It’s more fun for you if there’s a catch.”
The artist snapped her jaw shut, blinking before turning her sights on Max who wore a grim frown. Herah hadn’t thought of that at all, but it made so much sense the artist kicked herself mentally for not having it in mind.
“Correct, my perfect liar.” Norwe gave Max a small applause, each clap like a match strike. “But none of you have to worry, as your repayment for your existence is your participation in Recompense. All Gifted who survive but lose will be moved to their new homes without issue.”
“We might die?” Owen asked, his scent taking a sharp plunge into fear.
“New homes?” Herah questioned, an idea starting to form in her head of the potential cost.
You seem the type to demand something proportional. I don’t think there’s much that’s proportional with a wish from a god.
An unspoken tension now choked the air.
“Well, my dear artist,” the Maker showed their teeth, with a bloodied smile. “While you repay me by participating, the rest of your universe isn’t covered automatically. If you win, their debt is paid.”
Where that blood come from? the artist thought, feeling a weight form in the pit of her gut. A weight that brought with it dread so heavy, Herah felt the need to tip over.
The room’s tension somehow grew thicker, everyone but Alex and Norwe now sweating just the slightest amount.
“If we lose?” the artist asked, each word forced out as her body screamed, no begged to not speak.
Norwe looked to Alex.
“Soothsayer, you’ve been very quiet, why not tell my dear artist what I’ll do?”
Everyone turned their eyes onto the soothsayer. Annoyance and fear mingled with his scent as all the attention fell into his lap. Alex frowned, glanced at Norwe, then ran his eyes over all the other Gifted present. When his sight came to Herah, the artist glared before the soothsayer closed his eyes and shook his head.
“He erases them.”
…
…
…
“What!?” Herah, Owen, and Max shouted together before the artist turned her eyes onto her Maker who flourished their hands.
“Tada!”
“Va te faire foutre!” Herah shouted, furiously launching herself out of Jeffery’s flame-like will, across the table, and straight into Norwe.
The Maker’s chair exploded in a shower of lava as the pair flew through it and slid across the blue sand floor until Norwe’s head bumped into the wall.
A shower of blue rose up for a split moment in the pair’s wake.
BOOM!
Then the sonic boom from the artist’s attack pulsed through the room, tearing more sand into the air and knocking everyone else through their seats.
The Maker’s giggle’s and a blue haze filled the air as indigo flames flared from all over Herah’s body.
“You would kill uncountable amounts of people for an individual’s failing!?” the artist shouted into her Maker’s face.
“Yes.” Norwe responded, eyes shut in pleasure.
“Monster!”
The Maker raised a finger in his artist’s face.
“I’m a Maker actually.”
“Huaah!”
Herah reared back her fist, fire condensing around it as the artist prepared to slam it down into Norwe’s face. But right before Herah could strike, tight fingers caught her wrist and the prying eyes of Alex’s light-like will pierced through her entirety causing her flames and her rage to disperse in shock.
“You won’t win this fight.” Alex said, his words cold as the soothsayer now stood over the artist and his Maker.
“Doesn’t matter,” Herah grunted out, struggling to pull her hand from Alex’s grasp while trying not to buckle under his will, her anger still present though weakened “Norwe has to understand!”
His grip only tightened in response.
The artist snapped her head around to glare up at the soothsayer, his glowing white eyes returning his own glare as his light shined upon himself, Herah, and Norwe.
“And he does,” Alex’s eyes glanced at Norwe, his demeanor faltering for a moment. “He just doesn’t care.”
The artist forced herself to her feet, and a mental call for Jeffery summoned the pencil over her head while their will wrapped Herah up in its fiery and sketchy glory. With the boost in strength, the artist tore her hand from the soothsayer’s grasp and snarled.
“What about you!? You don’t care what this Bâtard sans Écailles is doing?”
“Oooh,” Norwe feigned a hurt tone, “You kiss your mother with that mouth, my dear artist?”
“I don’t speak French.” Alex responded scowling, “And of course I care, I just don’t pick losing fights.”
Looking down on the soothsayer, Herah leaned down till their foreheads touched. The artist felt both rage and disgust storming inside.
“We only lose if we give up.”
Alex neither blinked nor faltered beneath Herah.
“There’s no victory in death or erasure.” The soothsayer pointed at Norwe, still laying on the floor. “Two things our Maker can dish out easily.”
The pair glared back at one another for a few silent seconds. Then, the artist let out a grunt and huffed green flames.
“I can’t stand you.”
“Feelings mutual, ashbrain.”
A growl rumbled up from Herah’s throat.
“What did you just call me?”
“Ashbrain,” Alex placed a finger to his temple “Cause clearly only ash is in that thick skull of yours.”
Another growl tore from the artist’s throat as Herah raised her fist again. But, once more, the artist was interrupted.
“Now, now, now.” Norwe appeared right between Herah and Alex, space that wasn’t there before suddenly present as they held a hand to both Gifteds’ chests. “Save your fighting for later. You’ve learned everything I brought you here for.”
A black mass appeared behind every Gifted in the room, causing the artist’s eyes to widen and one of her hands to reach out towards Jeffery.
“Wait—”
The black mass pulled Herah in and winked out of existence.
NORWE
Trillions upon trillions of thoughts ran through Norwe’s mind as their soothsayer, artist, binder and liar disappeared, leaving them alone with Jeffery and their guest.
I should make all bagels sentient. Projectionist’s plot is coming along nicely. I see the Sneeborgs are enjoying the dancing planets. I should get Orange a bag of oranges. I wonder which of them is your Candidate, sister?
On the last thought, the Maker smiled at Jeffery. Not with the lips of a Cendreux like the artist saw, or those of a human like the liar and soothsayer saw, or those of a gnome like the binder saw. But with four freshly born stars that melded together and formed a crescent. Norwe stood before Jeffery in their preferred form: with flesh made from a reality, six arms, and meteorites revolving around their legs.
“Old friend, what has you still here with me? I think your creator might need you very soon, she—”
Norwe paused as Jeffery’s tip appeared at their neck pressing into it very lightly.
“Ah, apologies old friend. I mean no insult to you.”
Jeffery pressed their tip harder, the threat amusing to the Maker.
“Okay, I meant some insult to my dear artist.”
Jeffery floated back from Norwe and began spinning around as their will pulsed in waves of sketchy flames that passed through the room and into the void between universes beyond it.
Must be searching for the artist. I think I’ll make one universe back into cheese. I should give Sandbox tickles. I see Foo is having fun. Should probably tell Jeffery to get the artist’s bag.
“Old friend!”
Jeffery paused in their pulses and spinning, eraser pointed at Norwe.
“You lost the artist’s bag in one of Sandbox’s toes, old friend. Might want to get it before you go after.”
Jeffery turned so that their tip aimed to Norwe’s right.
“And before you go, I do have a statement to share and a question to ask.”
Jeffery hung in the air, rotating in place.
“When the artist tackled me earlier, without your aid, it wasn’t because I partook in the idea of Contact. That was all the artist.”
Jeffery, ever mute, gave no response to the Maker, but Norwe didn’t expect one. Jeffery enjoyed being the silent type.
“When do you plan to tell the artist about herself? About what her existence has become? About how your unbreakable nature truly works?”
Jeffery slightly aimed themselves towards Norwe, their will condensing and concentrating around their tip in a bead no larger than a water drop. Such focus and precision would undoubtedly harm the Maker.
Though that meant little in the larger scheme of things.
They’ll attack me if I say the right thing. I need to bother Pestilence soon. I should pop a baby. Will I die by the end of all of this? I hope the priest and star like the surprise I made for them, killing a tree is the perfect last trial.
Norwe raised all six of their hands in a placating motion.
“I bring it up because I predict that of the Gifted in her group, it’s her name I’ll say first. And if I’m right, then her team’s next act will demand the truth of her nature is understood. Otherwise, the artist will die.”
The stars that were Norwe’s smile glowed brighter.
“Then again, the artist might not even make it that far. While the priest and star do offer a great level of danger, the team might just be its own biggest threat. Interesting, isn’t it?”
Jeffery angled their tip away from the Maker then pierced time and space, leaving cracks and the void leaking into the room.
Now, only two occupied the subspace.
Boo, I said the wrong thing. What if I broke Math again? I’m gonna go juggle some babies after this. The letters B, G, and E make the ee sound but beg uses the eh sound. I should bother War.
Norwe strolled up to the empty lava seat that once held the artist and leaned against the table in front of it.
“What do you think of that batch of Gifted, sister?”
In the seat appeared a thin, human-looking girl with grey skin who appeared no older than sixteen. She sat dressed in a white gown, its flounces spilling all about her crossed legs as lava flowed beneath them. A vanilla sun hat obscured her face, which she adjusted before lifting her head and showing her brown, bloodied curls to her sibling. Eyes as red as rubies glared up at Norwe; the girl’s gaze unimpressed. Something large sat on her back, but it ended up submerged inside of her seat.
This was War.
“You’re going to get the same response, my older kin.” Her voice matched her current form well, a slight brashness to it that spoke of low tolerance for Norwe’s games. “I care no more for them than I do any other. If you wish to figure out my candidates from that lot, you’ll have to try harder.”
So, I was right! Amongst them, at least one you think might be able to replace you. But which one? I hate that you won’t tell me dear sister. I should give you my guesses at least.
Norwe chuckled, their laughs like keys jingling.
“My bets on the fuck up.”
War looked up at her sibling and rolled her eyes.
“You idiot, all of them are fuck ups.”