Waves crashed around Lawrence. The air stank of salt air and fish. The spiders watched from the webs. Every exit off the platform was blocked, but they did not attack. Lawrence took the whole hour to chant. As he did, he saw a line of torches make their way across a silk bridge. From this distance, it looked like a group of fireflies.
Part of him wanted to call to them, but he knew if he stopped the spiders would attack. Even if they didn’t, this was a dark ritual. Even the demons would hesitate if they knew his goal. Thus, Lawrence continued.
His phone rang. It was Lily: Where are you?
I’m at the bottom of the spider dungeon, Lawrence texted back. Sorry I yelled at you.
You should be.
Lawrence rolled his eyes. He turned his phone face-down. It buzzed a minute later. He let it vibrate a second time before answering.
What are you doing down there? Where are Captain Ferguson and Parasol Parade?
Lawrence left it on ‘read.’ He concentrated on the dark chant. It wasn’t complicated. Many words repeated. It was just tedious. It took a full hour to work. Lawrence updated his journal while he worked. Multitasking made the chant more difficult. He still did it without making a mistake. Lawrence prided himself on his mastery of chanting.
The chant ended. The rings of stone in the summoning circle descended like steps in an amphitheater. The central stone in the bottom descended into a whirling vortex of purple energy and wind. Lawrence felt his Sanity drain as the wind roared. All around, the spiders retreated.
The crashing waves grew louder. Instead of emanating from nowhere, this time, they came from the purple storm. A claw emerged from the storm. A second claw followed. They reminded Lawrence of crab or lobster claws. Slow, one horrible step at a time, a nightmare crawled out of the pit.
‘Giant spider’ was the first thing Lawrence thought. The head was a shapeless white sac covered with an odd number of red eyes. The bulbous body had the consistency and texture of a cocoon, swollen with either captured prey or eggs, covered all around with human, alien, and animal eyes. Legs and arms covered the thing like so many hairs. At the end of each limb lay any kind of appendage: claw, hand, foot, wing, feeler.
Aside from the disgusting face, the entire organism from top to bottom was a deep, rich shade of red with blue undertones. Alizarin. A notification appeared in Lawrence’s vision. He minimized it on reflex, but it refused to be ignored. A description splashed across his view.
Few of the Great Old Ones manage to stay active in our modern age. Most slumber in forgotten places, or were Exiled to the Outside. Some are depleted of their powers. Others bide their time. Alizarin Arachnologist is one such creature. A mighty, ageless, impossible, repulsive creature. In ages past, he roamed the dark tunnels of the world offering deals to his victims. If they refused, he killed them. If they accepted, he’d plant an embryo inside them. Sooner or later it would hatch, killing the host, and joining the ever-growing throng of Alizarin’s progeny. In the modern age, he is a Color Job exiled to the Outside, he invaded the dreams of cultists. He convinced a group of followers seeking power to summon him. Their summoning failed, and Alizarin merged with the dungeon. A creature of the sea as much as the land, his presence manifests as the sound of crashing waves. The creature standing before you is a projection through which he may speak. The real thing is all around you. All who come to his dungeon are either food, or surrogates.
Lawrence rose from the dais he sat on outside the summoning circle. He bowed low at the waist.
“You fight well, half-demon. You destroyed my high priestess.”
Lawrence heard the voice in his head. The creature’s projection had no discernable mouth. Just a giant, gross body with a tiny, forward-facing head.
“What is your wish?” the creature asked. “Tell me of what you desire. If it is within my power to grant, I will do so, and then lead you out of my dungeon.”
“I have a proposal,” Lawrence said. “What I want is simple. I am a half-blood beast demon. I want to become a spider demon, or more specifically, I want the ability to spin and weave spidersilk. But I don’t want to give up being a beast. I want both.”
“I will add Spider Physiology to your list of General Skills. Your body will change. How it does may be decided by you, as with most mutations.” The creature’s voice was a smooth, silky contralto. Because of course it was. “But now you must allow me to lead you out of the dungeon.”
“Before I do, I have a proposal.”
“Oh?”
“From what I understand, you’re trapped here, right? You’ve merged with this tiny little dungeon in the middle of nowhere. When instead, you could be roaming bigger dungeons spreading your brood all over the world.”
“I know this.” The waves went silent. “You are powerful. What are you suggesting?”
“There is a world-spanning dungeon to the north. It connects to everywhere.” Lawrence waved his hand in the direction. “Basically, I’m offering to re-do the summoning spell, only this time it’ll be the real deal. I can summon the real you. And then I can cast an elaborate banishing ritual. You’ll get teleported to that dungeon. I’ll send you straight to the train station. It connects to all the Rings of Hell. From there, you can go anywhere.”
“And why should I not impregnate you regardless?”
“Because if you do, I’ll set fire to the webs. I’ll burn the whole city down. ‘Course, I’ll die too,” Lawrence added. “But I’ve accepted it. What I really want is Access to the Program. Without it, I’m living on borrowed time. Prolly gonna die soon anyway.”
“I could grant you Access,” the monster offered. “If only you forsook your beast breed. A full demon has Access to everything.”
“A kind offer, sir. But not what I want. I just want the mutation chain, not the whole breed. To be more explicit, I only want the first link in the chain, Silk Spinning, not the whole thing. I’m not going to encounter any other spiders I can steal the chain from. Nor am I going to be able to rank it up. Access is coming, but I don’t know when.”
“I see. You are aware the Aurelio Archivist created the Program, yes?”
“I am.”
“Have you tried asking him?”
“I’m a Starling, sir.” Lawrence grimaced. “Child of the Carmine King. Starlings haven’t, uh, ‘earned’ Access yet.”
“Ohhh. You are one of Carmine’s.” The spider looked him up and down. “Yes. I see it now. Yes. Your father is a just and honorable one. Your word is good. I am updating your Status now. You will notice at the turn of the next moon. Begin the spells now.”
Skill added: Spider Physiology. Description: Despite its name, this mutation is rarely associated with beasts. It is used by those who dwell in the mountain peaks and valleys of Tempest, where the ability to climb is valuable. Spider Physiology 1:
Spider’s Shape. The demon grows multiple secondary limbs, enough to bring its limb total up to eight. These limbs are too weak to perform many actions. The demon now has a +10 racial bonus to the Climb Skill and it can climb sheer surfaces. (+2 AGI, +2 PER, +2 SKL per lvl).
Drawback:
All armor and clothing must be specially adapted to the demon’s shape.
Lawrence returned to a sitting position. He wouldn’t get Silk Spinning until he ranked up the Skill to 2. He didn’t know if any demons existed—actually, that wasn’t true. Thousands of spiders sat overhead. Tens of thousands. But Lawrence couldn’t steal the Skill because one could not steal physiology. His best bet was to level up normally and rank up the Skill when his Half-Demon Job hit level 5. He sighed. He had part of what he wanted.
“Begin the chant, mortal,” the creature ordered.
Lawrence began chanting. It took another full hour for the summoning spell to work. During which, Lawrence felt the skin on his spine start itching.
ELD +1
Plus one eldritch corruption for summoning an Outsider. If Infernal Corruption caused damnation, what did Eldritch Corruption do? Contextually, it probably resulted in being thrown Outside. The thought made Lawrence shudder. His phone vibrated.
Everyone’s danger sense is screaming. Are you all right? Lily texted.
Lawrence left it on ‘seen.’
Why aren’t you talking to me?
You owe me an apology, Lawrence messaged.
For treating you like a child? I am not apologizing. You *are* a child.
Lawrence left it on ‘seen.’ His phone vibrated a few minutes later. He let it buzz a second time before looking at the screen.
You killed hundreds of demons and mortal servants. I take my eyes off you for one minute. Next thing I know, you’re getting charmed and tricked into getting eaten by a Gross lord."
What do you know about horror classes? Lawrence texted.
They’re rewards for evil behavior. Or abominable. You get them in different ways. You do something horrible, or something bad happens to you and you break. Essentially, when someone considers themselves a monster, they become one.
There was a long pause.
You became one, didn’t you?
Lawrence put his phone away. It vibrated, but he ignored it. He closed his eyes. His status played over the insides of his eyelids. He saw red text. Savage Class. Eater Class. Ghoul Aspect. Fear Aura. Cannibalism Empowerment. As a child—a son—of the Carmine King, his Starling status was cannibal-themed. Horror Hunger. Monstrous Maw. Status stealing.
The cannibal and starling stuff had kept him alive thus far. He doubted he’d have gotten far without it. Hell was not a place for mortals. Scratch that. It was not a place for unleveled mortals.
“Goodbye, mortal,” the pale creature said. It disappeared. One by one, the stone rings rose until they become flush with the outer floor. The center capstone reappeared.
Lawrence finished his chant. The creature dematerialized. It was just a projection. The real thing had become part of the dungeon as a radiant spirit. It reminded Lawrence of a dungeon-wide demonic possession. He took a deep breath. The waves stopped crashing.
The sudden silence was oppressive. Above and around him, the spiders left. Like an army of bugs, they retreated into cracks in the walls. Lawrence took another deep breath. He began the second summoning.
He trembled with anticipation. Alizarin Arachnologist was a hairball tumbleweed coughed up by the universe’s most diseased cat. Carmine King had antlers, though his actual form had been obscured. He was still Outside. What would this guy have?
Lawrence looked at his phone.
I’m not judging you for becoming a Savage, if it’s your class. We all do what we must to survive. I don’t know what you did, but everyone’s danger sense is screaming. I’m getting messages from contacts outside Hell in the mortal world. Mortal priests are waking up screaming. Lawrence, where is Captain Ferguson? I just messaged her; she said you’re not with her.
Lawrence, a new number texted him. This is Captain Ferg. Where are you? Are you still alive? There’s an abyss down there. I can’t see anything.
Lawrence added her information to his address book. He messaged, Captain, I’m all right. The wave-sound-thing was an eldritch god possessing the dungeon. It’s gone now. I banished it.
WHERE? She demanded.
I told it I sent it to the Inferno Line. My aim was off by a few hundred miles, but the thing still bought it. It’s wandering around Emptiness rn, lol. There’s the wall separating it from the rest of Hell and the storm between rings. It can’t escape.
Spiders can climb, Lawrence.
Yeah, so?
This world isn’t disconnected from the others. If you climb the wall around the Storm, you’ll come to the Hadean Kingdoms. Keep going and you’ll end up in the real world. People do it all the time. This world’s “worlds” are more like separate continents.
Oh. Lawrence digested this. He looked up at the underside of Tempest. Oh crap.
Yeah. . . I’ll tell Thug Swarm. If we don’t fix this, it’ll be a stage 1 apocalypse. The mortal world will invade Hell to kill that thing. If it escapes, the Hadean Kingdoms will be overrun in days. We must kill it.
Don’t be melodramatic, captain. It’s a giant spider. Spiders go squish.
Where are you, private?
Summoning circle. Bottommost level. Middle of the valley.
Stay there. We’re on our way.
Lawrence had no intention of leaving. He had every intention of meeting them with a big smile. After so long, he was about to achieve his dream.
The circles did not telescope into the void this time. They remained in place. The alien monster appeared on them. It took the form of a mass of a humanoid wearing a flowing golden leather robe. From the beneath the robe came a mess of writhing black tentacles. Under the hood was a green wooden mask with eye-lights. A hooked shepherd’s crook stood upright next to it, as if animated. On its other side levitated a thick book. The Aurelio Archivist.
Lawrence bowed.
“Who are you, and why have you summoned me?” the alien asked.
“My name is Doctor Lawrence.”
The god remained silent.
“I am a half-half-demon and a half-starling. A child of the Carmine King. I wanted to know why Starlings aren’t allowed to have Access.”
“That is all?” the god’s voice registered disbelief. “You must prove you are worthy of my Program. You must complete the Trials of Leveling.”
“But why though?”
“It is the rule.” The god looked around the platform. “Human, release me.”
“I want,” Lawrence checked himself. “I would like Access first.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
Lawrence’s mind stalled.
“Let me go,” the god ordered.
“I’ve thought a lot about this moment,” Lawrence said after a second. “I had this whole conversation planned out.”
“I do not care.” The god’s voice emanated from behind its mask. Under its robe and on the platform, the tentacles writhed.
“Okay. Um. I can bargain, barter, or beg.”
“Do you know how many species are trying to complete the Trials?”
“. . .No.” Lawrence shuffled his feet.
“More than twenty. An additional ten are nearing sentience; they will soon learn the Trials of Leveling exist. If I give your species Access, I will have to allow you to cut the line. I cannot do such a thing when so many are waiting.”
“But I’m here. I summoned you. I’m the one standing here asking about it.”
“But there is a line,” Aurelio waved a tentacle. “You must complete the Trials. Your species has made some small progress. With work, you can complete the rest.” He looked away. He said with satisfaction, “I know you can do it.”
The delivery left no room for argument. Lawrence felt crestfallen.
“Do you know what’s below us?” Lawrence asked.
“The Storm,” Aurelio said.
“Do you know what happens if I jump or fall in?” Lawrence looked sideways toward the edge. Wind buffeted the platform, making his poncho billow.
“You will fall for eternity. It is a literal bottomless abyss. The great dark maw the Obsidian Elegiast.”
“Thought so.” Lawrence looked around the platform. His lantern sat on the floor. Aurelio watched him, expectant. Lawrence studied the great silk chains supporting the platform. “The thing is, I’m down at the bottom of a high-level dungeon. I’m in Hell. I have no Access, therefore no superpowers. Over my head an army of spider demons are closing in. This is my last chance to survive.”
“It is unfortunate,” Aurelio said in a tone indicating indifference. “It is also a product of circumstances. I have done all I can. Now, I really need to leave.”
Lawrence looked at the summoning circle. He had multiple layers of wards active. The god could not leave unless he permitted it, neither did the god try.
“Once my lamp oil runs out, I’m dead,” Lawrence said.
“You will continue as a soul in this place.”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to wait to die.” Lawrence picked up his lantern. His gut screamed at him this was a Bad Decision. Mom would sigh and close her eyes. Dad would say nothing while giving a disapproving scowl. Sister would protest and judge.
“I could set the chains on fire and plunge us both into the abyss.”
The god blinked. “Well alright. If you want to take that path, go ahead. Would you like me to start the fire for you?” It raised a tentacle. A flame danced above the tip.
“No. I got it.” Lawrence said brightly. He took his lantern over to one of the chains. He lifted the glass casting off. He poured a little of the remaining oil on the silk. He held the lit flame near the chain. The silk caught fire in an instant. Yellow-and-red flames raced around the link anchored in the floor. Lawrence felt the entire platform groan.
“I don’t believe it. You did it.”
“Yup.” Lawrence turned around. The mask’s expression changed. Before, it was just a mask. Now, deep lines appeared on its surface. Every one was etched with fury. If Lawrence had any wisdom, he’d have never summoned the monster in the first place. Or, just let it leave.
The flames snuffed.
“Huh?” Lawrence glanced down. A section of silk was charred black, but no trace of fire remained. No oil. Lawrence tested the temperature. The silk was ice-cold.
“Deactivate,” the god intoned. One by one, the wards vanished. “Do not presume to hold me with my own creation, mortal. Do not presume to punish me for your own race’s failing.”
“I am Cursing you with Elder Knowledge. Over the next three days, you will suffer permanent blindness.”
Lawrence’s mouth fell open. “Wait—”
“Furthermore,” the alien god continued. “You will never become a [Mage]. Since that is your dream Job, I am barring you from it. You will never be able to access any of its Rank Ups. You will never cast magic. You will never use spells. If you make any original spells, you won’t be able to use them. The entire Magic subroutine is henceforth inaccessible.
“And before you think about summoning another of my kin, know this.” The yellow creature leaned forward. Its eyes burned with hate. “None of them will free you from this curse. If any of them attempt to do so, they risk banning themselves from the Program and killing you. You will never be a mage.
“And since the Horror subroutine has kept you alive thus far, I am banning you from it as well.” An illusion appeared in the air. It was a skeleton covered in blood with sunken, haunted eyes, a bloodstained cape, and an enormous feathery headdress. The skeleton carried an obsidian knife. The yellow god gestured to hologram. “You will never gain another Horror Class. You will never gain skills by cannibalizing them. I am giving you a complete, total, Program Reset. You start from zero, if your species has Access. But since you’re a Starling, you don’t. To get Access, your species must complete the Trials.”
Lawrence stared. His mouth hung. This wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t the plan.
“Finally, I am instituting a Program Patch for those with existing Access. It is about time I do one, but you will not benefit. No mage. No magic. No horror. No eyesight. No Access. No refunds. Goodbye.” The god disappeared in a explosion of glitter.
Skills removed: Natural Levitation, Survivor’s Instinct. Aspect removed: Ghoul. Drawback removed: The Shakes.
Lawrence dusted himself off. Tears welled in his eyes. No mage? This wasn’t what he wanted. “Status,” he whispered. Nothing happened. He curled up on the floor. It was too much. He needed to sleep.
His eyes snapped open. Except he couldn’t sleep. He was at the bottom of a dungeon in the worst place in the world. Acquaintances looked for him, but demons prowled. Lawrence sat up.
“Okay,” he told no one. “I need to think.”
He had ample opportunity for it. Without Natural Levitation, well, Lawrence wouldn’t be able to ‘fly.’ He didn’t mind losing the skill. He’d never used it. Never had the training. True, he didn’t want to use it when it felt like he didn’t earn it. . .
. . .All his cannibalized Skills were stolen.
Lawrence would not be unhappy with a Reset. His COR would be reset. He could go home. Hell was no longer a prison. Granted he wouldn’t be able to practice his Faustian rituals, but that was an acceptable trade. He’d rather go back to his father’s colony. Feel the sun on his skin and the wind in his face. The smell of wildflowers in a meadow. Having adventures in Mordor was fun, but who wanted to live there when the Shire called?
The real problem was twofold. Lawrence required Access. Two, Lawrence required a method to return home. The ritual to ride a Hellgout involved building essentially a submarine and flying it through the Lethe clouds on the wings of a firestorm. Lawrence had no time to build one, or materials, or resources to buy materials. It would be better to summon Carmine and ask his advice.
Thus, Lawrence began chanting. While he worked, he remarked how lucky he’d thought he was to be at Nimue’s Tower. What person wouldn’t sign up to be on Nemo’s submarine, or receive a letter to Hogwarts? Who wouldn’t go running off with the Doctor in his blue box? To maintain the chant, he suppressed a chuckle.
How naïve he’d been. Barely a week until his sixteenth birthday, and he’d left. Entered limbo. Stopped aging. Overhead, the line of torches passed through the valley. Captain Ferg got a little closer this time. Lawrence hoped she wouldn’t take too long.
The circles descended into the void. A skeletal hand emerged. It was bloodstained. It descended on the lowest ring like a claw. The stone ring shuddered. Lawrence felt his will shudder with it. He willed the ring to bob on the surface of the purple-black void like a cork. Slowly, an arm emerged.
An undead skeleton pulled itself up from the Outside. Lawrence brought the rings up out of the Storm. He made them flush with the floor. He let the creature remain where it was. He activated the maximum-strength Warding ritual to hold it in place while they bartered.
It was Yellow’s illusion. Dried blood covered the skeleton. His bones had bite marks. He wore sandals, a cotton loincloth, and a cotton cape. All were red. He had sunken eyes rimmed with black. No eyelids. He wore a necklace of fingers. His feathered headdress stood nearly three feet tall. Obsidian knives were wound between the feathers. He carried a sacrificial obsidian dagger on his hip.
“It’s good to see you, my son.” The skeleton said. “I am the Carmine King.”
Lawrence suppressed a fart. He bowed from his sitting position.
“What took you so long?” Carmine asked.
“I’ve been busy.” Lawrence's eyelid twitched.
“I see.” Carmine looked around the platform. A few spiders had approached while Lawrence chanted. They stayed away only because he kept a lit torch nearby. Upon seeing the Carmine King, they fled. “Of all my children, you are the first to complete your purpose.”
“My purpose?” Lawrence frowned.
“Yes.” Carmine looked at him. “You were a living weapon. You all were created to bring me back into the world. You succeeded where so many failed. Now I have returned. This world will Appease my Wrath, or suffer. As they did for thousands of years.”
The bones of Carmine’s jaw pulled like rubber. Being a skeleton, he already ‘grinned.’ Now, the smile stretched obscenely from ear to ear.
“Your mother reneged on our deal. I offered her immortality in my kingdom, a life free from pain. I gave her more powerful magic than any. In return, she bore me a son. A child of magic, who could bring me home.” Carmine seated himself on the platform. “Magic existed before the program. It used to be powered by souls. It was said to have been invented by angels. Then plagiarized and defiled by demons.
“You have succeeded where none have.” Carmine waved his hand at Lawrence. “You used a cheap mockery of miracles to return me to the world. This should not have been possible. Truly, your Prowess with rituals is legendary to behold.”
Wow. Lot to unpack there. Lawrence committed as much as he could to memory.
“So. . . you can get me Access?” Lawrence asked, hopeful.
“I cannot.” Carmine shook his head. “It is based on your species. Starlings have not completed the Trials. There are others who can. A rainbow of colors. My brethren. If you summon them, perhaps. Before we do, let us speak of your rewards.”
“Okay.”
“What do you want?”
Lawrence’s mind stalled.
“Aurelio Archivist has blinded you, hasn’t he?” A valley appeared on Carmine’s forehead as his bony brow creased. “I grant you the boon Night Sight. In the darkness of the Outside, there is no light. We require having no eyes to see. As long as you are in darkness, whether total or partial, you will not need eyes to see.”
“My lord is gracious.” Lawrence kept his tone neutral. He bowed his head.
“In ordinary times, I would have you remove your sandals before speaking to me. For I am the greatest and highest authority. Monuments have been carved in my likeness. Will be carved once more. Will be shaped by the bones of my sacrifices.
“But these are extraordinary times. Aurelio has created an update to his Program. I will spur it along for you. Once your Reset has completed, your Beast heritage will manifest. You will have the stats and skills of your kind, and it will level.”
“That’s part of what I wanted.” Lawrence smiled.
“Furthermore, I gift all my Chosen a soul-bound item specific to their personality. For you, have two suggestions. A canteen of plenty, to fill with fresh water once a day, or my personal dagger.” Carmine drew the obsidian knife from his belt. It was black and glossy. Jagged chips formed its edge. The handle was wood. No adornments.
“A tool for the Sacrificial Rite. I understand Aurelio made it so you will never cannibalize another Skill. This dagger will allow it. If it is done in conjunction with the rite, you can steal anything. Years of their life, youth, beauty, good health. . . It will add ten points to one of your attributes, whichever was the sacrifice’s highest.”
“My lord is most generous.” Lawrence thought for a moment. “I’ll take the canteen. And a list of the other Color Jobs I can summon. I also need a way to return home. With the reset comes a reset of my Infernal Corruption. I want to go home and see mom again.”
“She can come to you,” Carmine offered.
“No.” Lawrence shook his head, firm. “I want to go to her. I don’t want to stay here. I want to feel the real sun on my face. And I want to bring my friends with me.”
“You have other friends?” Carmine looked at the ceiling. A line of torches battled a group of spiders. “I see. Demons cannot normally leave Hell. I will create a ritual allowing them to become human. Or Gnoll, in that hyena-creature’s case.”
A notecard appeared in Carmine’s hand. He flicked it across the room. Mid-air, it vanished, and reappeared in Lawrence’s lap. Next to it sat a plain green canteen on a sturdy strap. It was full. Lawrence uncapped it. He sipped the water. It was fresh, cold, and most important—clean. He drank the whole thing in one go.
“I am also offering you an additional gift,” Carmine returned his gaze to Lawrence. “This is separate from your rewards. When you summon the others, they will offer you the same. We all have priests, whom we call Chosen. We also have Brides and Grooms, who are like high priests.”
“You’re saying you want me to marry you?” Lawrence’s jaw dropped.
“It is only an offer.” Carmine waved his hand. “The others will offer the same. You would become a great man. Your name would be feared across the world. You would gain a unique Job.”
“Tempting but no thank you,” Lawrence said, firm.
-
The circles descended into the void. A Siamese twin climbed up. You know those people born joined at the hip, or the head? Ecru-and-Fulvous was one such creature.
“We are the Ecru-and-Fulvous,” the chimera-from-someone’s-nightmare said.
“I am the Ecru Engineer,” said the left half. ‘Left’ from Lawrence’s perspective. It had a vague, humanoid shape. It was a grayish yellow or cream color. It had one leg, one arm, an oval head with no features. Electrical surges ran up and down its ‘skin.’ It carried no weapon, but an amorphous mass of black goo coated one arm. This goo slithered over the creature like a living sleeve tattoo.
“I am the Fulvous Farmer,” said a textbook scarecrow. It had a sackcloth head with a garish smile, illuminated from within by an orange-red light, like some horrible executioner. It had scaly feet with sharp talons. Its arm ended in claws. It wore an old leather duster dyed orange-red, and a moldy cowboy hat. Its chosen item was a short, one-handed scythe rusted brown with dried blood.
Both creatures had been clumsily stitched together along their midsections. Lawrence saw the actual thread. It alternated color and form. One moment it appeared as red ribbon, the next as black thread, the next it was white silk, the next it was a moonbeam, then the darkest ocean abyss. Lawrence tore his eyes away.
“We thank you for helping us,” Ecru-and-Fulvous said together. Ecru’s voice sounded like a voice synthesizer. Fulvous sound scratchy, rasping, as if his throat was sandpaper and it hurt to talk. Lawrence had the distinct impression he stared at something ancient, malevolent beyond belief.
Demons liked to ape mortals. Demons needed to torture souls to survive. Demons came from magical, alchemical, biological, and thaumaturgical spawning pits. Demons, for all their bluster, were posers. Fulvous might be the real thing, as near to a fallen angel as might exist.
Lawrence remembered to breathe. And unclench his butt. It was the first rule of survival. Unclench your butt.
“We offer a boon in thanks: a pocket of space for your needs. A home. A fortress. A retreat,” said Ecru.
“We also extend an offer of marriage,” excoriated Fulvous. “Marry me. You will become a screaming soul.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“A what?” Lawrence said.
“A screaming soul,” Fulvous grated. “You will go to a place of eternal torment and darkness. Your spirit will suffocate in a grave, in darkness and fire, alone, eaten by worms for all eternity. As all deserve.”
Raising his eyebrows, Lawrence shook his head. He looked at Ecru.
“I offer a collar of machined steel.” Ecru brandished a steel band with no visible seams. The black goo on his arm extended a pseudopod. The limb reshaped itself into a rough humanoid. “With a coat of laminate, all your needs will be supplied by me. Food, water, air. Sight, sound, smell. Obey, slave. And be fulfilled.
Ecru exhaled a plume of pink smoke. It drifted up. Lawrence still smelled it. His mind reeled as if drunk. One emotion overrode all others: pure, unbridled lust.
“Submit to me,” Ecru’s voice became hypnotic. “Be fulfilled.”
Lawrence shook his head. “No.” He slapped himself. The daze did not lift. “I. . . don’t accept. Give me the pocket universe and be on your way.”
“It is done,” Ecru-and-Fulvous said together. The haze lifted.
Perk acquired: Pocket Treehouse.
“Next,” Lawrence said. Then, he remembered he needed to spend an hour chanting. He sighed.
The next creature appeared to be a sick old scientist in a white lab coat. It stood taller than a building. It carried a beaker and a stethoscope. Blackish stains covered its coat and hands. Despite having gray hair and an unhealthy pallor, the creature smiled.
“I am the Tourmaline Toxicologist, sonny.” The god of diseases and sickness offered his beaker for Lawrence to sample. “I’m sorry to say I don’t offer marriage. My cultists are my children. They are my test subjects. I call them Lab Rats. I test my creations on them. For a Boon, all I can offer is immunity to my gifts, but you already have a Perk for it.”
“You inflict your followers with diseases?” Lawrence raised his eyebrow. “What? Common colds?”
“Boils. Sores. Gonorrhea. Cancer. Tree fever. Malaria. My children are sick, but they have healing factors. They are resistant to pain and sicknesses, because they are always sick. Many call me Papa. I love them so. I love all children and all things.”
“I have a System Reset. It appears to be happening a little at a time. Do you know how long it’ll take?”
“I do not.” Tourmaline shook his head. The stains on his coat stank like black mold. “I create diseases. I do not heal them. But to your unasked question? Yes. When your Vigor reduces, you will lose your Perk. You will lose your Power perk too. But not your Taboo. Losing Taboo is a stricter process. Redemption is a rare and special thing, after all. Not everyone deserves it.”
“Then I guess I’ll take disease immunity, please.”
“As you wish.” Tourmaline swirled the liquid in his beaker. It changed colors like a rainbow in a blender. He poured a handful into his palm and sprinkled it over Lawrence’s head. “In the old days, this was called a baptiza. To show devotion to a god at the exclusion of all others, one submerged oneself in a body of water. Sort a symbolical rebirth. As we lack sufficient water, a sprinkling of bacteria will do. Go in peace, sonny.”
Lawrence dismissed the barrier. Tourmaline levitated up toward the underside of the valley. As he did, he grew to hundreds of feet tall. He passed a silk bridge with a line of torches and spider demons on it. The battle unfolding came to a screeching halt.
“Hello children,” Tourmaline gave the adults a toothy grin. “Would you like some free candy? It’s on the house.”
Perk acquired. Tourmaline Toxicologist’s Curse. Because you have spurned my gifts, I lay on you a curse none shall lift. You are henceforth immune to all diseases and sicknesses. Power -100. Skill -100. Vigor -100. Unnatural Vitality I removed. Unnatural Vitality II removed. Monstrous Maw II removed. Armored Carapace removed.
It was supposed to feel like a slap in the face. Lawrence felt relief. He savored the feeling while he chanted the next summoning. Above him, Tourmaline granted several demons his blessing. Agonized screams filled the valley as the demons began mutating. But the Parade won the battle.
The next creature was a colossal space squid with crustacean parts. It hovered over the circle. Its tentacles spread from wall to wall. Its mantle stretched almost to the mountain’s underside.
“I am the Cerulean Caroler,” the squid said. It had a ring of teeth lining a beaked mouth. Inside the beak was another, smaller beak, which formed a tongue. “My marriage is simple. Of the Colors, I am one who will grant the Access you so desire. Simply become a merman, and you will have everything you wish. The ability to survive underwater, a beautiful singing voice, great renown throughout the Sunkenlands. Among all my brides, you would be my First and only husband.”
“Well, being a merman is definitely cool,” Lawrence admitted. “What duties come with being your husband?”
“I slumber in the watery Core of this world. When I wake, I will tear it asunder on my journey to the stars, where I will swim eternal in the seas of chaos. It is the duty of my wives to sing me to sleep. Their collective lullabies for a melody I cannot deafen.”
“Oh.” Lawrence looked sideways at Carmine, who vigorously shook his head. “Where, uh, where are these brides?”
“Right in front of you,” Cerulean said. It presented a tentacle for Lawrence’s inspection. He saw a face imprinted on the flesh. The eyes were wide. The mouth hung open. The face could have belonged to any sentient, but the most universal thing was the expression of abject horror.
Lawrence shut his mouth. He leaned as close as he dared. The curtain of tentacles cast by the monster dulled outside sound. He thought he heard a quiet sound emanating from the face. It was one-note and high-pitched. Close examination revealed many faces side by side. They covered the tentacle’s carapace. Lawrence raised his head. How many thousands? How many millions had the merpeople sacrificed to keep the monster asleep?
Lawrence knew then the best thing was to kill it. He knew the next instant his chances of doing so were not any better than a mosquito had of killing a grown man.
“What’s your Boon?”
“I understand you made a deal with Alizarin for silk production. I offer the ability to breathe underwater, to spin sea silk, and the spice recipes to make cloth of gold. But to make cloth of gold, you must take the Sea Oath.”
“The what?”
A notification appeared. Lawrence examined it.
“Ooo, yes. I want the sea silk thing. Not merform or marriage.”
“As you wish.” The Cerulean Caroler touched Lawrence’s forehead with the tip of one tentacle. Bioluminescent bulbs appeared along the creature’s limb. Lawrence felt an electric current pass through him.
Power -100. Legendary Power removed. Vigor -100. Legendary Vigor removed. Curse: Ghoulification removed. Condition: Horror Hunger removed. Drawback: Body of the Ghoul removed. Aspect: Ghoul Physiology removed. Savage Cursed Eater -1 level, lvl. 2.
The alien squid god disappeared. Lawrence supposed the sacrifices would ramp up. He’d have to deal with it at some point. Him and his father. Well, it was someone else’s problem, now.
“I call upon the Gunmetal General.” A living statue of gray metal appeared. He wore a dark uniform reminiscent of a Nazi officer. Lawrence asked, “What is your boon, sir?”
“I have no offer of marriage, son,” the general said. “I have Lieutenants. To become one I require distinguished military service, of which you have none. The only boon I offer is a Skill called From The Jaws of Defeat. The more unlikely the victory, the more likely it is to happen. Must be realistic. You can’t charge an entire army by yourself at level one and expect to win. The skill operates on military planning. Much planning, much organization, the right people in the right places.”
“There’s a different Skill I want,” Lawrence said. “Blood is Growth. I know what it does.”
“To want such a Skill, you must know your path.” The general lifted his hammer to his shoulder.
“It isn’t hard.” Lawrence looked away. “Aurelio barred me from the Mage Job. Given the Demon Rank Up I want and the mutations I need, there’s really only one path forward. Two mutations synergize with each other so well they’re almost copies. Three, if I include one I wasn’t planning on taking.”
“Are you certain?”
“No,” Lawrence admitted. “But I can’t think of a better one. All the others are Strategist: battlefield control or mage skills. Both require at least 75 in their respective Jobs. I can’t be a mage. I’m not in command. I’m not likely to be in command of anything after this. I am not a leader.”
“No one is born a leader,” the general said. “It is a job we do when called. Training will help, but the advice I can give is to just do it.”
“Much obliged,” Lawrence said. He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Blood Is Growth, please?”
“As you wish.” The general extended his hammer.
Lawrence said the Skill add itself to his to General Skill List. It sat at level one. It was not max level. Wonderful, something else to grind.
The next Color Job was a crow-like figure in black clothes. He wore a top hat and monocle, carried a cane, and wore a realistic plague doctor mask.
“I am the Obsidian Elegiast. I sing elegies to the dead. I have no offer of marriage, boy. Only the boon of a Summon Familiar ritual. My preferred familiar is an owl, but you may choose any you like. Goodbye.”
He left in a flash. Lawrence expected as much. Obsidian and the two military Jobs were down at the bottom of the list. The big six in the rainbow had long lists of information, dutifully compiled by Carmine, then tediously copied into Lawrence’s journal. The Cream Colonel gave him the Leadership Skill. Indigo Explorer gave him the Internal Compass Skill.
He consulted his journal. He had already made a deal with the Alizarin Arachnologist. Cross him off the list. Three remained. The zoologist, the hedonist, and—. Lawrence closed his journal. He’d written the name down for posterity’s sake. He’d also written what the Program told him, which necessitated he keep his mind off it. Saying the name aloud was enough to summon the worst of them all. He had a feeling the Russet Rapist would be the one to give him Access. Lawrence did not want to pay the cost.
The next Color Job Lawrence summoned took the appearance of short, multi-breasted female elf made of wood. She wore a tunic of blue-green grass interwoven with flowers.
“I am the Zomp Zoologist,” she said. She had a nice smile, a human-like face with strong cheekbones, and dark eyes. Humanoid Ent was the first thing Lawrence thought. “Dear child, I thank you and curse you. You have no idea what you’re doing, and your world will curse your name.”
“Huh?” Lawrence blinked.
“You don’t understand, do you?” the wood elf approached the edge of the circle. She stood no taller than a human female. She took a seat opposite him with her legs folded under herself. “Do you know why we were Exiled?”
“I assumed. . .” Lawrence trailed. He didn’t know. He thought back to the clues. “You’re gods of evil, right? Evil gods?”
“Yes.” The zoologist nodded. “Gods are worshipped in the hope they will shower mortals with blessings. Usually rain, or calm seas. We are not. Were not.”
“You’re not worshipped with sacrifices?” Lawrence asked, quizzical. He consulted his journals. “I thought Carmine required blood sacrifices for worship. Cutting people’s hearts out with a rock-knife on an altar.”
“He does. And Ecru requires people accept his slave collars. Fulvous takes a tithe of those slaves and feeds them to his plants. The Caroler absorbs the greatest Sirens of the sea into his shell.” The zoologist paused while Lawrence took notes. When he finished she continued, “My Appeasement is more involved. Druids worship me through ritual nudity. They shapeshift into animals and eat sacrifices alive. The truest form of worship, for me, is permanent shapeshifting into a beast.”
Lawrence looked anywhere but the woman. His mind raced. His brain stood on the cusp of a great revelation. “What happens if no one gets their appeasements?” he asked.
“Wrath,” she said, deadpan. “Mine is Wild Riot. Swarms of locusts devour crops. Animals rebel against their masters. Mosquitoes and flesh-flies infest villages. Wild animals become aggressive toward sentients.”
“. . .What is Carmine’s?”
“Sunless Sky. The sun does not rise unless mortals practice human sacrifice and ritualistic cannibalism. He is a god of the underworld. The knives in his headdress symbolize flesh flaying.” The zoologist’s expression remained serene.
Lawrence’s heart pounded. He looked sideways. The bloodstained skeleton stood well outside the summoning circle. He was Inside the world. He was free. Hell was connected to the mortal world. He could and most likely would leave. Given how few people remembered him or his cult, what were the odds anyone would make an Appeasement? Over the whole world, the sun would not rise.
“Ecru-and-Fulvous have Bluescreen and Blight. Computers and crops all die.”
“I’ve started the apocalypse.”
“Yes, you have. The Morningstar will extinguish over the next day. A similar event will happen in the mortal world. Eternal night.” The zoologist stopped talking while Lawrence processed. Eventually, she spoke. “Holy Jobs everywhere know your name as a World Threat. Summoning just one us constitutes one. Only the greatest cultists and madmen in the world are desperate enough to make contact. You summoned several."
“I started the apocalypse,” Lawrence whispered. “I think I’m going to vomit.”
“Before you do, hear my offer. My boon is great beauty and natural muscles. Beautiful people have an easier time in the world, and everyone values strength. To acquire Access, you must become a species which already has it. Marriage to me would allow it, because I would ask you to shapeshift.”
Lawrence opened his mouth, then closed it.
“You’re saying I’d had to permanently become an animal.”
“A wolf, perhaps, befitting your mother.” The zoologist nodded. She smiled. “Given your heritage, you will fulfill the requirement by level forty. I simply offer to make the change immediately. I won’t force you into servitude until you die, after which your soul belongs to me. Until then, I promise many blessings.”
“Like what?” Lawrence tried to focus. He imagined the colony’s crops turning to dust. The sun not rising. The panic setting in as people tried to make sense of what was happening. Worse, the reality wouldn’t change. Unless the Appeasements happened, the Wrath would continue.
“You would have a loving mate—not me, one of your kind—a warm bed, safety, security. True happiness. I would take you to bed, naturally, then give you my blessings.”
“And I’d be an animal.”
“You would be a beast, yes. You will become one when your Beast Job reaches level 40. ‘Four Legged Thing,’ I believe is the mutation name. You will lose the use of your hands as your arms turn to legs. You know this.” She paused. She frowned. “Knowing this, why are you so concerned with Access? Many things are denied you without thumbs.”
“There’s a rank up I want. If I get all the animal parts, I can do it whenever I want. Then I won’t need daily iliaster but I get to keep all my Mutation Skills. I can use high-power binding rituals to steal whatever I want. Then my leveled mutations can be Noble or Corporate, instead of body mods.”
“You want to be a llama? Like your beloved pet?”
“Huh?” Lawrence met her eyes. Bewildered, he shook his head. “No. I need tiger paws, fish scales, deer antlers, a lion’s mane, a snake’s body, et cetera. I want to be a dragon. An Asian Lung.”
“Oh.” The zoologist said. She thought for a second. Her smile turned down. “You are right. You need all of those skills. Perhaps more. I am sorry. I cannot grant that rank up as you are. It must be earned.”
“Thought so,” Lawrence mused. “Species change. What I really need is to just subtract Starling from my biology. If I could get rid of that, I’d be happy as a lark.”
“That is the domain of the Archivist.”
“I pissed him off.”
“My sympathies. My offer remains. I will grant you great beauty and natural muscles.” She rose. “If, in the future, you change your mind, I will be waiting.”
“Why, though?” Lawrence closed his journal. “Why me?”
“No other Faustian has achieved ten thousand Taboo. In a thousand years, the last person to commune with a Color Job was your mother, a Grand Witch. Before her, it was a cultist seven centuries years ago. He died before he finished his first Deal.
“You are special. Many will try to kill you. Some will seek to control you. Some see your service as a jewel in their possession.”
Which one are you? Lawrence wondered but did not say out loud.
“I will wait to leave until you are finished. As a matter of fact, why don’t I go and fetch your friends? I am certain they will have something strong to say.”
That sounded ominous. The Zomp Zoologist pirouetted, letting Lawrence see under her skirt. He swallowed. She strung a bow and draped a quiver of arrows over her shoulder. She sprinted up one of the great silk chains supporting the platform, light as a bunny, then she was gone.
Lawrence chanted. The next alien god to appear was a cross between Barney the Purple Dinosaur and Baphomet from Wikipedia. It had Barney’s purple fur with the titular 1856 Sabbatic Goat demon’s body. The Heliotrope Hedonist.
“Hello.”
“Name. Wrath. Appeasement. Boon. Marriage.” Lawrence shook the stones with his will. Tongues of purple-black void energy waved from cracks in the circles. “Answer. Please.”
“I am the Heliotrope Hedonist. My Wrath is species cannot have children or reach orgasm. I am Appeased by ritual prostitution, female sexual slavery—but not men—and I require temple prostitution daily. My boon for you is a chalice you may use as a focus for rituals or miracles. It will make any liquid poured in safe to drink, and it can manifest enough SOL once a day to perform a single ritual. Any ritual. And my Marriage vow is—”
The Hedonist’s appearance shifted. His torso and face turned human, though he had a carpet of virility and a beard to match. He held out a golden cup, a jewel-encrusted chalice, as if he wanted Lawrence to take it.
“Are familiar with the myth of Ganymede?”
Lawrence did not answer.
“I would give you Ageless Immortality. You already have great power. Your body will become fit and beautiful as the Jade Queen’s boon takes effect. You would be my trusted cupbearer. I would take you to all the parties.” The Hedonist waved an arm. The howling storm vanished. An elaborate illusion appeared.
Lawrence smelled wet earth after a rainstorm. Green grass covered the ground, thick enough to sink his feet in barefoot. Trees with real leaves dotted the space. Each tree had a magical lantern. There were no bugs here.
People sprawled or reclined around tables as beautiful nymphs placed food in their mouths. Cupbearers refilled drinks. Lawrence saw himself alternating between two pictures. In the first, he reclined on a cushion pressed against the Hedonist. A beautiful, naked nymph—who looked a lot like Lily—fed him grapes. The real Lawrence could taste the juice on his tongue. It was sweeter than anything else he’d eaten.
The second image showed a more muscular version of Lawrence. He wore a white tunic and gold jewelry, but no shoes. No other clothes, he was certain. The illusory him stood behind the Hedonist’s chair as the god conversed with other gods. Once in a while, he refilled the Hedonist’s cup. As Lawrence watched, one of the others, a demigod, choked on his wine and died.
“Cupbearers are the most trusted of a lord’s servants,” the Hedonist explained. “You must be alert for those who would poison my drink. The ritual you are using today brings us Inside, but, it also makes us mortal. You would have an important position. You would live in my Throne World. And yes, as an immortal, you would have Access. Access to Jobs available only to those who have mastered three full Jobs, and become immortal themselves.”
Lawrence said nothing. He gazed at the illusion of himself reclining on a cushion while Lily fed him grapes. She was beautiful. She knew it.
Immortality. The goal of all mortals. All Lawrence had to do was reach out and take it. Yet, he hesitated. He knew the Greek myths.
“I’m not going to accept your offer,” Lawrence said.
“I’m disappointed.” The god looked broken-hearted. “Well, the chalice is yours regardless. Use it with—”
“I’m not refusing your offer, either,” Lawrence interrupted. “I’m just saying. . . wait a little bit. There’s one more person I need to talk to. Maybe two. I dunno. Depends on if they get here.” He glanced up. He saw nothing.
“I don’t understand,” the Hedonist said. He shuffled his feet.
Lawrence backed away. He held up a hand. “The main thing is, I need Access. I’m not picky about how I get it, but that’s the goal.”
“Then pick me. The Jade Queen is no friend of yours. She will turn you into a dog and cage you until you break.”
“I figured,” Lawrence said, turning away. “She kinda reminds me of Circe. Anyway, the thing is, I need to pick the best Deal. There’s her, you, and one other dude. I’ve got a feeling I know what it is, but I need to be sure.”
“Doctor,” Carmine warned. He still stood back from the circle. He stayed quiet throughout negotiations, but now he spoke. “I know what you’re going to do. It isn’t worth it. Trust me.”
“All options must be explored,” Lawrence stated. “I summon the Russet Rapist.”
The effect was immediate. The alien appeared outside the summoning circle, which meant it wasn’t bound by wards. It was an androgynous reddish-brown humanoid. He or she wore a black suit. With his background in knitting, Lawrence knew a little more about clothes than the average person. This alien’s suit was the million-dollar kind. The alien stank of money.
“Are you my summoner?” the alien asked.
“Russet Rapist,” Lawrence said. He bowed his head.
“I am indeed.” Russet bowed his head too. “You are the one summoning us. I am pleased to meet you. I expect you wish to know my boon and offer?”
“Think I’ve got the gist of it,” Lawrence said. “You show up. You offer me a deal. You, uh, force yourself on me, and then I become your priest. If I choose not to, then you kill me.”
“Yes.” Russet’s face shifted. His or her jawline receded. Their eyebrows slimmed. Their figure turned waspish, with a narrow waist and wide hips. Their chest expanded. “I will be the most blunt. I am a variation on the Hedonist, his estranged sibling from whom all others have severed contact. My name was erased from history. Hedonist is the depraved one everyone knows and tolerates. I am the depraved one people hide in closets and pretend doesn’t exist.”
“I wonder why.” Lawrence slipped his hand under his poncho. He wrapped his fingers around his gun.
“My wants are simple, boy. I desire for as many people as possible to be denied entrance into Heaven. My wrath is death. Infernal and Eldritch Damnation. Submit to my Total Depravity, and yes, you will become one of my priests. Refuse, and your soul will be buried in smothering darkness forever. Immortal worms will eat your flesh. You will be alone. You will see nothing.”
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter,” Lawrence mumbled. “What does submission involve?”
“Rape. Violent rape.” Russet smiled. “Assuming you survive, you become a vampire lord. Undead physiology overwrites your starling and human species, giving you the Access you so desperately desire.”
“I don’t wanna be a vampire.” Lawrence shook his head. His shoulders sagged.
“Then cure yourself with these.” Russet held out her hand. She held a cluster of small packets. “Purgeblood salts. Sprinkle one packet in a bath. Mix well. Bathe in it. The salt will leech the vampirism from your body, leaving you mortal. Your demon half will remain, but your starling will be gone. You will be a regular cambion. Half human. Half demon. As you desire.”
Lawrence swallowed.
“And your Appeasements?”
“Pedophilia, pederasty,” Russet said, still smiling. “Rape. Incest. Bestiality. Cannibalism. Moral corruption and taboo.”
“Everything on that list is one of the others’ Appeasements.”
“They are all aspects of myself. I am the most depraved. The absolute worst of them all. Thus, a night with me is your best option. You get your Access, and your freedom. I will not own your soul nor place a mark on you. Once you submit to me, and survive, our contract is complete.”
“And the Boon?”
“Aura of domination.”
“Sounds like it would be perfect for someone like Lady Josephine.” Lawrence shook his head after a moment. “No. Not good enough. Reverse empathy is better. Make other people feel the same emotions I do.”
“If that is what you wish. . .”
“No. Give me—please give me a list of your available powers. Or, whatever it is you’re willing to offer.”
Russet flicked his hand. Lawrence scrolled through the list.
“It’s all psychic powers. It runs the gamut of magic, but it’s all Psychic Damage.”
“It is called Psionics,” Russet said. “Practitioners are called Psions. You are not banned from the Psion Job, are you?”
“No,” Lawrence said. “I’m not.” He walked away. He moved to an empty space on the circle. All the boons were powerful. Dissatisfied, Lawrence opened his phone. He opened Safari and went on the Superpower Wiki. He spent several hours browsing the Internet.
“Are you finished?” Russet asked, patient.
“I guess so.” Lawrence closed his phone. He sighed. “I’m gonna be honest. There isn’t anything of yours I want. I mean, I kin’a want the vampirism-thing and the salts to cure myself. But I don’t know.”
“It is the only deal in which you get to remain free,” Russet said. Her fingers landed on Lawrence’s shoulder. “A few hours, then you’re free to live your life.”
“I guess.”
“Total Depravity. ‘Vampirism,’ as you said. Not the sanitized sparkly Twilight kind. The horrible, night stalker, sexual predator kind. Before you ask, yes, there are list of powers. Here.” She flicked her finger at Lawrence.
He opened the notification.
“Wow. Incubus Kiss. Powerful charms and compulsions. Animation spells. Malefic Arts. I can’t access half of these.”
“Undead do not need eyes to see. The Malefic Arts predate the Program. They are simply another word for your rituals. As for Complete Immortality, you cannot age. If decapitated or atomized, you reform after a short period. Several of the so-called ‘spells’ are empowered incubus mutations.”
“I can work around Aurelio’s curse.” Lawrence thought of the implications.
“Work around it? No, ignore it.”
Lawrence did the math in his head. He looked from one god to the next. Carmine. Heliotrope. Russet. He didn’t need long to think. He raised his hand. He extended it toward Russet.
“OOF.” Captain Ferg slammed into the ground between them. “The Featherfall enchantment needs to be reworked. Ow. Oh hi, Doc.”
“Captain.” Lawrence lowered his hand. “You’re late.”
“We got lost. This nasty-looking fellow with a white coat dumped pee all over us. Then this wooden tree lady soaked it all up in exchange for letting her take us down a level. Thought she was going to take us to a lower level of the dungeon, you know? We all wound up losing a level in each of our Jobs. Bit annoying, that. Made getting here harder. I lost one of my favorite Skills and had to get it back.”
“My sympathies.”
Ferg stood. She cracked her back. The other members of Parasol Parade slammed into the ground. Lawrence heard a chorus of moans as the adventurers picked themselves up. He suppressed a chuckle. Above them, the damned soul who cast the spell floated down on a real Featherfall. He lightly landed.
“Who is this?” Ferg asked.
“I don’t know if you remember when we talked about Color Jobs.”
“A bit. I had a lot to think about at the time. Who is this?”
“The Russet Rapist.”
The name landed between them like a lead weight on the floor. Ferg blinked. Larissa blinked. Most of the demons traded looks. Ferg looked between Lawrence and Russet. She noted the summoning circle.
“Lawrence,” Ferg said, quiet. “What are you doing?”
“Short version? I’m summoning evil Outsider gods and bartering for superpowers. In exchange they get freedom to enter this world.”
Ferg stared. The demons stared.
“I’m doing it because he told me one of them could give me Access to the Program.” Lawrence pointed at the blood-soaked skeleton with a necklace of fingers. “My bio-dad. The Carmine King. God of cannibalism and murder. Thus far, I’ve summoned twelve. Four have offered Access. Cerulean, Heliotrope, Zomp, and Russet. All four deals involve horrible things.”
“Horrible things, huh?”
“I need to change my species to get it. Cerulean offers merform, but eventually I’d merge with his shell and become a soul screaming in purgatory forever. Zomp wants people to shapeshift into animals and become her hunting hounds. Heliotrope wants a boyfriend he can have sex with. And Russet wants to rape somebody.”
“Being a boyfriend doesn’t sound so bad,” Ferg said.
Lawrence leveled a flat stare.
“Hey, lady," he said. "You’re American, right?”
“Yeah. Arizona. Got a tattoo of the landscape on my right bicep. Because of my mutations, it’s enchanted.” She held up her arm and flexed. “Why?”
“Did I ever mention I’m fifteen? Age of consent in America is eighteen. Anything under it is sex with a minor.” Lawrence paused while Ferg processed. “Heliotrope Hedonist wants a pederastic relationship. You know what ‘pederastic’ means? Sexual activity between a man and a boy or a youth. It’s gay pedophilia.”
In the movie version of Pinocchio, released in 1940, after learning his father has been swallowed by a vicious whale, the titular boy jumps into the Mediterranean Sea to find him. He spends a minute or so walking along the sea floor. He asks every single fish he encounters if they know where the whale, known as Monstro, may be found. And they all have the same response: they run.
Captain Ferg did not—quite—run. Neither did Larissa, or Kat, or Hyene, or Josephine, or—to Lawrence’s surprise—the damned mage he’d flayed. All Lawrence saw were their faces. They realized the full intent behind Heliotrope’s dark desire. They realized Russet was a worse version. If Heliotrope was the orgy in a meadow under the moon, then Russet was the forbidden thing happening in a dark room in the forest. Captain Ferg placed a hand on her weapon.
“What are you gonna do?” Lawrence raised his voice. “They’re gods. They’re immortal. They’re personifications of concepts.”
“You can’t be serious,” Ferg said. “No.”
“Kid,” Larissa started.
“Shut up,” Lawrence snapped. “Let me show you something, lady.” He took Ferg by the shoulder and roughly spun her around. He jabbed a finger at Carmine. Upon seeing him, Ferg stiffened.
“That’s my bio-dad. The Carmine King. God of cannibalism and murder. Being his child makes me a starling. Just as you being a child of homo sapiens makes you a human. Now, you and I know there aren’t any special powers for being human. If anything, we get a minor experience boost to compensate. But other species don’t. Other species have superpowers starting from birth.
“Gnolls, Drakes, lizard-people, almost all demons, and more have claws. Heck, most of them have big teeth. Big, sharp teeth for tearing meat. Cogmen can interface with machines. Elves had enhanced magic talent. The list is almost endless. Everyone except humans has unique abilities. You want to know what a starling has?” Lawrence shouted.
“It’s themed around their parent. You know what I got when I found out he was my father? Monstrous Maw and Horror Hunger. I literally hunger for the flesh of my own kind. I can eat regular food and iliaster and whatnot, but I have an extra Resource labeled Hunger. It’s constantly draining.
“As it drains, so do my stats. If my hunger drops to Hungry, my resources don’t regenerate. If it drops to Starving, my health drains to twenty percent of my total. If I still don’t eat, eventually, Horror Hunger will consume my body. Do you understand what I’m saying?! If I deny my hunger for human flesh long enough, I turn into HIM.”
“How long have you known?” the blue lady asked.
“Since I survived getting eaten by Lord Gulosus.” Lawrence took a deep breath. “I will say this. Being his son allowed me to survive getting swallowed alive. For eating my own kind, I got the Savage Class and Rending Teeth. The skill unlocks went from there. Eating my own kind replenishes my resources. Demons. Humans. It doesn’t matter. Yanno, if I was a full demon, someone like Doofy, an unrepentant monster, then yeah. I could do it. But I’m not. Just thinking about it makes me queasy.
“I am a child of the Carmine King,” Lawrence intoned. “All demons are weapons. All half-demons are even bigger weapons. I was created for the sole purpose of tearing holes in reality so he could come through and eat the world. This is my destiny. This is the end result. As of today, I have fulfilled it.”
“Ahead of schedule,” Carmine said. “I didn’t expect you to come through until long after ascending to a high enough level. You are almost a full century ahead of expectations. Remarkable.”
No one said a word.
“Is it any shock why I’ve been obsessed with it?” Lawrence mumbled into the heavy silence. “I don’t want anything of his. I don’t want to be his son. My real father is a human named Scott. I want to go home.”
Lawrence turned away so he didn’t have to see their faces. He sat on a silk chain. He stared into the Maelstrom’s bottomless abyss. He contemplated jumping.
A warm body sat next to him. A long tail curled around his waist. Lawrence wanted nothing more than for someone to hold him. But it was not possible. He could not show weakness in front of the monsters.
“Hey kid,” Ferg’s voice was soft. “Why didn’t you, I dunno, use a spell? You’re a mage, right?”
“Not anymore.” Lawrence face crumpled. He closed his eyes. “I pissed off the Program’s creator. I’m now barred from the Mage Job. I’ll go blind in a few days from his Curse. Elder Knowledge. ‘Seen too much,’ I guess. He gave me a total reset. I’m bleeding Skills. In less than a day, I’ll lose access to everything I’ve got.”
“You can still access the Program?”
“Only if the Starlings manage it in my lifetime, which isn’t likely. Forget what Carmine said. The entire species fights itself. It is doomed.”
“But you’re only half starling, right? Your dad. Your mom was a half-beast, meaning one half demon one half human, right? So, one-quarter starling?”
“Yeah.” Lawrence hung his head. He sighed. Falling forever wouldn’t be so bad. He had earplugs. He could drown out the howling winds. Then it was just. . . falling. Like skydiving.
“Can you summon the. . . what did you call him? The architect.”
“His name is Aurelio Archivist, captain.” Lawrence scrubbed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I summoned the defiler. Either I become his priest, and then a vampire lord, or he kills me. He didn’t appear on the summoning platform when I summoned him. He appeared behind me on the ground. Ergo, he’s not bound by warding spells. I can’t defend against him. Neither can you.”
“You let me worry about the Rapist,” Ferg said. Her tone had an edge. “Just summon the Archivist. First. Take care of this for me, please. I can’t do it.”
“Fine,” Lawrence exhaled. He opened his eyes. Kat sat next to him. Hyene stood nearby. The demons formed a wall around Lawrence. He did not see Russet anywhere. Lawrence stood, careful not to fall. He pushed through the demons to reach the summoning circle. He saw Russet speaking with Carmine and Heliotrope. He put all three out of his mind.
He was running low on SOL units. Constant casting of high-strength rituals had drained him. To be honest, Lawrence hadn’t expected to come out of this alive. He’d expected to burn the webs and murder-suicide Aurelio. Everything after delayed the inevitable. The revenge-summoning.
“I summon the Aurelio Archivist,” Lawrence said. He held up Heliotrope’s chalice. Despite his disgust for the god, the chalice was a good item. It could generate an infinite amount of SOL units to power one ritual a day. With it, Lawrence could use the Change Species ritual whenever he wanted. Some rituals gave a higher chance of success the more SOL spent. The chalice would guarantee success.
Great success.
The yellow god descended from the ceiling. It wore leathery robes the color of dark urine. Lawrence eyeballed the thing’s ‘mask.’ It wasn’t a mask, but the creature’s face. Aurelio did not look pleased.
“I thought I said you would never be able to summon me again,” the god began.
“Lawrence,” Ferg interrupted. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Sure.” Lawrence stood. He stretched. “Just make sure you don’t cross the gold lines. The wards are up right now. Anyone crosses those lines, the whole thing falls apart and he kills us.”
“I will kill you regardless after this,” Aurelio said. “Insolent bug.”
Lawrence walked away.
“Hello! Excuse me? Hello?” Ferg waved. Aurelio shifted his attention to her. Below the robes, the amorphous mass of black tentacles writhed. Ferg beamed. “Hi. I’m Captain Kourtnie Ferguson of Parasol Parade. Formerly US Army.”
“I care nothing for the activities of fleas,” Aurelio rumbled. “Go back to whatever cave you crawled from, mortal.”
“Hi. I just wanted to confirm why you’re not allowing the starlings to use the system?”
“They have not proved themselves. Release me.”
“Right. They haven’t proved themselves.” Ferg nodded. She saw a flicker of movement. Turning her head, she saw Lawrence leaning against a decorative pillar with his arms crossed. He stared at Russet, looking miserable. The god of Total Depravity abandoned the god of murder to approach. Ferg’s demons interposed themselves between the kid and the god, who stopped.
She reminded herself what Zomp said. The summoning ritual allowed the gods to return, but it made them mortal. Thus, vulnerable. They could be killed. Still, their levels were miles above her own. Even as a group, Ferg doubted they would survive a fight with even one Color Job.
“Woman?” the Archivist prompted. “Release me.”
“So, here’s my problem.” Ferg spread her hands. “You let half-demons and half-humans have Access. But not half-starlings. Why?”
“They must prove themselves.”
“You never required any of the other hybrids to prove themselves,” Ferg pointed out.
“The starlings are a special case. I cannot allow one species to skip the Trials.”
"What if--" Ferg attempted.
“SILENCE.”
The command echoed around the valley like a thunderclap. Ferg staggered. The demons staggered. Lawrence covered his ears. The other gods ignored it.
“Woman,” Aurelio declaimed. “Allow me to save you the trouble of wasting your breath. Nothing you say will convince me to give him or his mongrel species Access. I do not care of your reasons. I do not want to hear your arguments. You. Are. Bugs. Now, release me.”
“I am not a bug,” Ferg stated.
“You are. To. Me,” the alien rumbled. “I command you. Release me.”
A wave of psychic compulsion slammed into her mind. Ferg’s spine stiffened. She lowered her chin. She was a soldier and an officer in Uncle Sam's Army. She had survived countless trials in Hell. Through a combination of grit and ruthlessness, she had climbed to a position of leadership in a company of demons. She would not be crushed by this. . . this thing. She called without looking, “Lawrence?”
“Yessir?” came the reply.
“Fuck this guy. Send him Outside.”
“Gladly.” Lawrence began chanting.
“Kill him,” the Aurelio Archivist frothed.
Everyone staggered. Jaws clenched. Eyes burned with rage. Ferg turned her back on the god. She drew her shotgun.
"Cactus," she intoned. A seven-foot-tall, anthropomorphic cactus appeared in front of her. Wicked spines covered its surface. She leveled her shotgun at the Russet Rapist. Parasol Parade were already in position. The rest of the demons, Josephine, and even the Zomp Zoologist took up flanking positions.
The world froze. Time came to a standstill, but everyone’s minds kept thinking. For a brief moment the sound of crashing waves filled the valley. Then AC/DC’s Thunderstruck began playing. Pictures appeared in the air. Mugshots, one of each adventurer. They ranged in level from twenty to sixty. A mugshot of the Zomp Zoologist appeared, level 150. There was a huge red-and-gold VS. in the middle. On the opposing side was a single mugshot. The Russet Rapist. Level 180. The song ended. Time unfroze.
“Take him down,” Ferg screamed.
Following this, a sound like all the howling hounds of hell erupted from the women’s mouths. The Russet Rapist fought. The women fought harder.
In the ensuing chaos, Lawrence was immediately glad the women had adopted him instead of seeing him as a threat to be eliminated. Carmine teleported away in a minor explosion of bloody feathers to parts unknown. Heliotrope did the same, though he laid a Divine Mark on Lawrence before leaving. For all her fury, the Zoologist had enough wisdom to stay clear of the mortals. She too laid a mark on Lawrence, though for different reasons. She stayed until the end, tossing out heals as needed.
In the end, the women literally ripped the Rapist limb from limb. Golden ichor spilled across the ground like liquid gold. The god began healing at once. His golden blood flew between the disparate body parts, connected, and the body began reforming.
They piled up the parts and set them on fire. Then they threw whatever remained into the storm. Hopefully the god would stay dead. And if not dead, then hopefully forever immaterial as a billion angry particles. Lawrence doubted it, but he hoped the Rapist was gone forever. Swallowed by the Obsidian Elegiast’s darkest abyss.
Everyone got levels. The zoologist turned invisible. She watched Lawrence for a little while. She wished she could have made him into a pet. He had power and talent. Nothing would stand in the way of his goal. He was a classic juggernaut. Motivated and pointed in the right direction, he could accomplish anything. He would be a useful tool to whomever controlled him. She sighed with envy. One day. Then she teleported.
The Archivist stood alone on the circles. One by one, they descended beneath him to the void. He seethed. He swore revenge. He promised murder. His tentacles touched the purple energy rising out of the pit like searching feelers.
“Wait,” he screamed. “Stop. I’ll do it. I’ll give you Access. You and all the starlings. You’ll have it. Please, just let me stay Inside.”
“In their darkest hour,” Lawrence said from behind Ferg. “People show you who they really are.”
“Give him Access,” Ferg ordered. “Do it now.”
“Let me live, first,” the Archivist begged.
“No. Give it to him,” she bellowed.
The Archivist’s eyeholes lit with yellow light. Lawrence shuddered.
“Status,” he mumbled. Tears came to his eyes. “I’ve got it,” he whispered.
“And his species,” Ferg said.
“It is already done,” Aurelio wailed. The void’s tendrils wrapped around his tentacles. “Let me stay.”
“And his Curse,” Ferg ordered. “Remove his blindness. Make him a mage.”
“I cannot,” the god wept. It sank to its knees. Tears of light ran down its mask. “He will never have the Mage Job. He will never have any of its rank ups or consolidations. He will never cast spells or make enchantments. He will never have the Horror Class subroutine. He will never gain anything by eating sentients or non-sentients. His two human eyes will never see. Please, let me live.”
Lawrence closed his status. He stared down at the being who had caused him so much trouble. He waited for Ferg’s command.
The god sank to its waist.
“Mortals. Please. I beg you. I—I—I gift you the secrets of immortality. I gift you the rituals to escape Hell. The secrets of changing your species through transmogrification.”
“Lawrence,” Ferg asked. “Do you have it?”
“I got it.” Lawrence scrolled his rituals menu. “Ageless Immortality. Potions, spells, rituals. Resurrective Immortality. Complete Immortality. Deification serums. Species transmogrification. Hellgout creation and riding. Inter-world teleportation. I’ve got it all. And it doesn’t count as magic because it isn’t powered by mana. It’s powered by my soul.”
“And you have Heliotrope’s chalice.”
“Yes, sir.”
The god sank to his chest.
“Good,” Ferg said. She raised her voice. “Is there anything else you haven’t given us?
“The secrets of spell creation. Of miracles. Of the truth of the world. Of how to transcend immortality and become gods.”
“Spell creation would be kine’a nice,” Lawrence said. He shrugged. “Oh well.”
“You’re not at all upset?” Ferg asked. “Getting the job meant so much to you.”
“It did. And I still am. I need time to think. I need to process things. It prolly won’t hit me until I’m back home safe and sound. Want to come?”
“Can we take everyone else?”
“Mortals,” Aurelio pleaded. He was down to his neck. His hood fell back. His mask-face floated in the air above a stump. No neck. Just a bit of flesh wrapped around a protruding spine. “Please.”
“It’ll take a little time to turn them human.” Lawrence looked from face to face. “You’ll lose some of your mutations, but you won’t need iliaster to survive. You’ll also gain job slots. Your corruption gets reset. You’ll have mortal needs, like food 'n water. And pooping.”
“Can you do it?” Larissa asked.
Below them, the Aurelio Archivist sank into the Outside. The circles ascended until the floor was flush once more. The symbols stopped glowing. Lawrence did not need to look at his Status to see.
Horror Class removed. Stats reset. Aspects removed. Infernal Corruption: Monstrous Maw removed. Eldritch Corruption: Removed. Eldritch Organs removed. Job/Class Skills removed: Disarming Looks, Rending Teeth, Armored Carapace, Natural Weapon Master: Bite, Trap Detection, Mutation Selection (Blasphemous). General Skills removed Remaining Skills removed. Drawbacks removed. Congratulations, you have been granted Access to the Program. You are now Level 0. You are a Level 1 Cambion (Beast, Spider) and Level 1 Starling (Carmine King). You have 2 available Job slots: Main and Side. You have qualified for new Jobs. Would you like to make your selections?
“Now that I have Access?” Lawrence smiled. He felt the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I can do anything. What are your orders?”