Discord pulled into the parking lot of Brier Faust’s Bierhaus, which Derrek recognized as the place he had gone to with Jeffrey over the weekend, and the two entered to a warm greeting from the jolly-looking man at the entrance. The interior was dimly lit, and there were few patrons, but everyone there must have been familiar with the staff based on how casually they interacted with each other. The walls had license plates from every country in the EU, as well as a good amount from States, and over the bar, on the rear wall, hung a long wooden sculpture of a briar patch.
“Guten tag! Deutsch oder Englisch?”
“Either’s fine. We’re fluent in both,” Discord said, leading Derrek to a booth along the wall, turning down the menus the man offered.
“What did he ask?” Derrek asked as they took their seats.
“He was asking if we wanted a German- or English-speaking barmaid, but I know exactly what we’re getting: four metric gallons of their microbrew.”
Derrek looked worried. “I don’t think I could physically drink that much.”
“Trust me, bud, your metabolism is working a whole hell of a lot harder now. You might get a buzz, but I doubt it’ll be enough to get you loopy.”
Again, Derrek had no reason to believe him, but something told him that Discord was being truthful. A barmaid came to their table wearing a blue frilled dress and holding a notepad and a pen. With a thick accent, she said, “What can I get for you gentlemen?”
“Two pitchers of the house special and a bowl of assorted nuts, if you would be so kind,” Discord said, winking at her.
“Coming right up,” she said after writing it down on her notepad. She went behind the bar and started filling pitchers.
“This place has the fourth best microbrew I’ve ever had and the eighth-best beer overall,” Discord said, trying to break the silence between him and Derrek, who just raised his eyebrows and nodded.
The barmaid came back after an uncomfortable moment with a tray. She placed the two comically oversized pitchers, two large mugs, and a big bowl of nuts on the table, then went to another table without saying a word. Discord filled the mugs, giving one to Derrek and taking large gulps of his own.
After taking his first sip, Derrek was struck with a mixture of sweetness and spices, with undertones of hazelnut and the faintest traces of apple.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding! This is great!”
Discord had emptied his mug, which he slammed down on the table. He took a breath and said, “Told you. If there’s one thing I know, it’s booze.” He refilled his mug and went back to drinking, barely making a dent in the pitcher.
Derrek took a few more sips and Discord finished another two mugs, and after his third, he put a plain expression on his face. He was clearly in thought for several seconds before he spoke.
“All right. Where do you wanna start?”
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and this place closes in, like, six hours.”
“That sounds like a lot of time to me. Is there really that much to explain?”
Discord looked at him with a sideways glance for a few seconds. “Your hair turned white before you ate a reaper. There’s a lot to cover.”
Derrek looked up at the small tuft of his hair he could see. “Fair enough.”
“We could start with why your hair and eye are weird now, what Boyd was, why he was trying to kill me … the possibilities are endless.”
“I guess let’s start with what Boyd was. That feels like a good place to start.”
“Good choice, starting basic. So, you know how people die, right? Whenever that happens, they go to whatever afterlife best reflects their life choices, along with their beliefs and values. For instance, an alcoholic with no strong religious beliefs would fall under the jurisdiction of Dionysus, the Greek god of getting schwasted, so when they die, they go to the Greek underworld.”
“OK, the afterlife is real. Kind of a mind-blower, but what does that have to do with Boyd?”
“I was just about to get to that. Some people die without going to any afterlife, usually in sudden freak accidents. A lot of these deaths are the result of the reapers. They exist beyond our plane of existence, as do all forms of the afterlife, but those they kill go to none of them. There are only a few of them, fifty-eight now that Boyd’s out of the picture, and they basically eat the souls of those they kill as a form of payment. They’re all given lists of who needs to die. Nobody writes them. They just pop into existence. Real weird shit if you ask me, but they follow their rules. Except Boyd. Boyd was kind of power-hungry and wanted the position of Grim, the reaper head honcho, and the only way he could do that was by collecting souls. Their rules state that they can only kill who’s on their list, but big, bad Boyd wanted a bigger fish. He wanted my soul.
“I don’t like bragging, but I’m kind of a big deal, and the reapers know that. They’re allowed to make deals with those on their list if they’re unable to die in an accident, like if they’re not human or they’re immortal or some such tomfoolery. Oh, people can be immortal too, but that’s not the point at hand.
“So, thirty years back, Boyd comes to me and demands that I make a deal with him or he’ll take my soul. Now, unbeknownst to him, I know damn well I’m not on any of their lists, but I love messing with people, especially when they’re dimension-traveling bringers of death and destruction. It’s fun. You should try it.”
He poured another mug and drank half of it in a single gulp, then continued, “So I went along with it, and we settled on flipping a coin. If I get it, I get another year of life. Then we flip again. If he gets it, he gets to try to collect my soul. I didn’t tell him, but my coin’s kind of weighted.”
He pulled out the coin he flipped during the fight and spun it on the table. “This thing may look like an ordinary old-ass coin, but it’s actually the physical reincarnation of an ancient being.”
Derrek stared at him, confused, as the coin continued to spin with no signs of stopping or even slowing down. He was struggling to comprehend what he had been told so far, and that last sentence had been a bit much, even considering the circumstances.
Discord noticed the wheels spinning in Derrek’s mind. “Don’t worry. It’ll make sense by the end of the night. All you really need to know about it for now is that it heavily influences probability around the user, making it effectively a working good-luck charm, which is how I won the coin toss thirty years in a row. How it works exactly is way too complex to get into. Just know I’ve got luck on my side as long as the coin decides it so.”
“Wait … what do you mean by decides? How can a coin decide anything?”
“Like I said, it used to be a living thing, and it still has thoughts, feelings, a sense of humor—the works. Hell, it’ll even decide to stop working entirely if it thinks it’ll be funny. I don’t blame it, though; it usually is pretty damn funny. Like this one time, I was playing cards with some mobsters and bet my left pinky finger, and I totally lost. I swear, the looks on those guys’ faces after I chopped it off and bet the rest of my hand for the next pot! Priceless.”
He started laughing and finished his mug, which he refilled, giving Derrek a chance to see that Discord was still in possession of all his fingers, but he still got the impression that the story was true.
“Anyway, a couple of hours ago, we met in Chernobyl for our usual flip, except this time, he actually decided to check the coin out once all was said and done. Reapers are hypersensitive to things like this, but Boyd was more on the dull side if you catch my drift,” he said, winking. “So he gets all mad and stuff, and just to see where it goes, I start running. After, like, five minutes, we ended up in that clearing, where he punched you so hard it dislocated your spine.”
Derrek was in the middle of a sip and immediately spat it out. “My spine did what?”
Discord laughed. “Don’t worry. You’re fine now. You got super lucky. You see, when a reaper touches any human in any way, one of two things happen: they die instantly or their hair goes white and their eyes—or eye, in your case—turn green, and they get super powerful. That’s called having the ‘reaper’s touch.’ The way it works and the reason reapers have to be so careful not to kill those not on their lists is It speeds up your physiology without actually aging you, kind of putting you in a state of yourself later on in life, in most cases ending with instant death but super rarely ending with, well, you. If fate decides it so, it’ll just give you a hell of a boost in spiritual energy.”
Discord sighed and fished around in the bowl of nuts. “I know, I have to explain spiritual energy now.” He pulled a cashew out of the bowl and ate it. “So, there are three types of energy that living beings can harness: physical, mental, and spiritual. Physical energy is essentially your overall physical capabilities, how hard you can hit or how much you can lift, and it’s the only one you can hone with physical training. Mental energy measures your ability to perform what you might know as magic, from telekinesis to pyromancy. It all falls under this category. Spiritual energy, however, is the most fluid of the group, able to be directly converted into physical or mental energy at the user’s discretion. For the most part, it acts kind of like a pool. You can take as much as you need from it, but it will shut off if you overexert yourself and use too much and will gradually refill itself based on several factors.
“All these are pretty versatile things and can be used in as many ways as you can think,” he said, reaching into his coat and producing a small knife. He laid his left hand flat on the table. “For example, if I were to stab myself in the hand, I could channel my physical energy to harden my skin or use mental energy to exert an outward force equal to that of the attack to completely negate it. Or …”
He plunged the knife into his hand, pinning it to the table without so much as blinking.
“Holy shit!” Derrek said as Discord casually sipped his mug, his giant pitcher nearly half-empty. Several patrons and staff glanced at them briefly before turning back to their respective tables. He was doing his best to hold down his lunch while Discord continued to not acknowledge the knife in his hand.
He pulled the knife out and tucked it back into his coat, holding his hand up, palm facing Derrek, showing off the wound. He could see light shining through the hole, slowly oozing blood. Suddenly, the blood stopped, then started flowing in reverse. After all the blood returned to his hand, the flesh began to heal, rapidly closing up without leaving behind as much as a scar.
Derrek watched, mouth agape, as Discord nonchalantly dug around the bowl of nuts. He grabbed his mug and chugged the remaining half of his beer, refilling and emptying the mug and refilling it again.
“Yeah, it’s a lot to take in,” Discord continued, “but it’s all about figuring out how to work the energy. You’re taking it pretty well. Last guy I showed all this puked on the spot!”
He pulled his hand out from the bowl, holding another cashew, which he offered to Derrek. He accepted and ate it, noting that it was perfectly salted. “I appreciate it. This … this is a lot.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Discord took a big gulp of his drink, then put on a serious face and said, “What do you remember from killing Boyd?”
Derrek thought hard. The whole situation was a blur for him, but he did his best to piece it together. He took a sip from his mug then said, “I remember breaking his legs, then standing over him. It’s kind of fuzzy after that, but I think I remember … orange? The color, everywhere, and the taste of … peace? What? That doesn’t make sense.”
“No, you’ve got it right. That orange was you consuming Boyd, and I’ve heard reapers taste like the peace of death, with a hint of oregano.”
“I think I remember that. Is that something everyone with the reapers’ touch can do?”
Discord took a deep breath. “No, it isn’t. That ability belongs to something known only as the Devourer, this crazy, ancient thing. There have been countless incarnations, stretching as far back as life has existed. Buckle up. This part is a doozy:
“Long ago, before time and space, there existed nothing—no atoms, no matter, and no mass. Within the nothing, there existed an endless number of beings known as the primordials, each one giant beyond belief and wise beyond years. They knew all and filled their time with experimentation, creating matter from nothing, using their nearly endless wells of spiritual energy to create worlds and minerals and elements, everything they could conceive of, but never life. There was so much empty space, they all lived in solitude, minding their own business, and that worked for countless eons.
“Then, one day, a being showed up. None of them had created it. Nor did they know its origins. They only knew it was consuming them one by one, growing stronger with each one it devoured. They eventually found that the being was leaving their creations alone, completely ignoring physical matter and eating the near-pure energy that was the primordials. Using that information, countless primordials opted to transform themselves into pure forms of metals and gemstones, becoming primordial relics, and like my coin here, they all have unique abilities. Some of them banded together and became larger relics. In this case, the original silver relic was a statue that the Spanish conquistadors found in modern-day Brazil, which they melted down into an indeterminate amount of these,” he said, gesturing to the still-spinning coin.
“However, some of them tried to fight back, and although they were unable to do it themselves, they believed they could create something that could. A bunch of them got together and created something they never had before: reason. They found that fighting for a particular reason could produce an unfathomable amount of spiritual energy, so they created a being and gave it all the reason they could. This thing had every single reason to fight that could exist, from greed to family, rage to joy, and everything in between, and with it all together, it produced an actual shitload of spiritual energy. They called it the Warrior. They weren’t the most creative namers.
“With all the Warrior’s reasons, though, one overarching reason shone above the rest: killing the Devourer. They met and fought, ending with them both doing what they did best, the Warrior warring and the Devourer devouring. The Warrior got eaten, and the primordials mourned as their last hope faded, until something amazing happened.
“Turns out, eating Warriors makes for some crazy indigestion, and immediately after consuming it, the Devourer started to hurt like crazy. You see, for whatever reason, the Devourer can’t consume reason, so it was left with an ever-increasing amount of spiritual energy within it that it was completely incompatible with. That ended up making it collapse in on itself, creating a single point of infinite density and infinite mass. Sound familiar?”
Derrek thought for a second, despite the information overload he was experiencing. “The big bang?”
Discord snapped his fingers. “That’s it. The plane of the primordials has real messed-up time, so when the universe was created, it split off, multiverse style, into countless branches, our particular branch being known as the Crossroads,” he said, looking into the distance and conspicuously winking. “Whatever primordials were left behind either perished in the explosion or embraced it, coming into the physical world, going completely insane and losing most of their power in the process. The relics survived, floating around in the newly created space until they found a place to land, a good amount of them ending up on earth.
“Now, the Devourer didn’t perish; it just completely lost its corporeal form and was unable to devour. When life sprouted up, however, it was able to take a host. It couldn’t make its host do anything. Nor could it communicate with them. It only allowed them the power to consume without informing them of it, aside from a few vague dreams. For the first few million incarnations, it was fish, dinosaurs, the works—all too instinct oriented to ever discover the power they had. Whenever the host dies, the Devourer kind of just floats around in the ether for about fifty years, until it finds a new host. And it takes a host at birth, gravitating toward those with bright destinies with no actual ability to read into them.
“The Warrior survived as well, but not in one piece. It broke off into as many different parts as there are reasons for fighting, now known as warrior spirits, taking root in whatever beings embodied their reason the most, the first known of which being a determined fish that wanted to walk. Whenever a being is host to a warrior spirit, they have limited access to the spiritual energy they generate through their reason, making them crazy effective on the battlefield and fierce competition.
“However, whenever a host is on the brink of death, if they keep fighting despite being in the process of dying, they might combine with the warrior spirit, becoming one with it and giving them full access to the entirety of their capabilities. At that point, they’re known as a fused warrior spirit, usually shortened to just warrior spirit, and yes, I know that’s confusing, but that’s what they’re called.
“When it comes to warrior spirits, they have one thing in common: their shared desire to kill the Devourer. All warrior spirits have a kind of internal GPS leading them toward the current incarnation of the Devourer, and whenever they meet, they have a crazy-strong urge to murder the absolute shit out of them. Now, let me ask you: what did you glean from that multiple-page monologue I just spoke at you?”
Derrek was overwhelmed. He hadn’t put much thought into the origins of the universe, but never thought a battle between ancient beings to be it. He stared down at the coin, which was still spinning as fast as ever, trying to compose his thoughts and piece together whatever he could. He started talking it out. “So, I guess I’m … the Devourer? And you’re a warrior spirit? I ate Boyd, and you were going to kill me?”
Discord raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “Spot on! Oh, and I didn’t mention, but whenever a devourer consumes something supernatural, like a reaper, they gain some of their abilities. So, you’ve got some reaper powers now, probably something along the lines of being able to summon a scythe or something like that. Now, I wanna test something. Can you tell what my reason is? Take note of how I fought earlier.”
Derrek still felt overwhelmed, but he decided to comply, thinking about the way he effortlessly swung his sword, doing more to show off than to effectively fight. He remembered the smile that was seemingly plastered on his face. “Entertainment?”
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Discord clapped his hands and pointed at him. “Hot damn! You’re a perceptive one! I would have also accepted bloodlust or the liberation of Wales,” he said, merging Derrek’s confused look. “Whenever a fused warrior spirit kills another fused warrior spirit, they gain their reason, and those are the biggest ones I’ve gotten over the years.”
Derrek was still trying to wrap his head around it all. As he rubbed his temples, he said, “I’ve got a lot of questions.”
“Have at it. I’ll answer whatever questions you ask to the best of my abilities.”
He took another sip from his mug, using it as an excuse to find the first question to ask, until it hit him. “What’s up with your coat? How can you store multiple swords in there?”
“I’m glad you asked,” he said, showing off his coat’s interior. “There are things called pocket dimensions, and most of them are effectively worthless, usually just being pants with one pocket that’s extra deep. It happens with no real explanation or reason—just the randomness of life. This one, however, is the shit. It’s got an effectively endless amount of space so I can store whatever I need, and I can pull out whatever I need just by knowing what I need when I reach in. I’ve got swords and guns galore, a whole lot of money, a motorcycle, and enough nonperishable food to feed both sides of a war for months stored away in this bad boy. Plus, whenever it gets damaged, it heals itself. It’s pretty awesome.”
“OK, that one’s been bugging me. You mentioned that there were supernatural things. How far does that go?”
“About as far as you might think. Werewolves, vampires, demons, gods, angels, wendigos—pretty much everything from every mythology is based at least partly in fact. Except for the Norse. The reality was a whole lot different than the stories and fables. The draugurs are real though.”
Reality was finally starting to set in with Derrek. He chugged the rest of his mug and ate a few peanuts. He took a deep breath. “All right. OK. All right. All right, all right. OK.” He refilled his mug and drank half of it.
“Take your time. It’s a lot of crazy stuff.”
Derrek suddenly had a realization. He looked back up at Discord and asked, “Are you going to kill me?”
All expression drained from Discord’s face. It was the first time Derrek noticed his eyes. They were dark brown, almost black, and he saw a mixture of anger and longing in them.
Suddenly, his eyes seemed to brighten to a lighter shade of brown, then, with a half-smile, he said, “I was going to, but nah.”
A wave of relief washed over Derrek, along with a wave of confusion. “Why not?” he asked, uncertain if he even wanted the answer.
“Because you’re the first devourer I’ve ever found that I was able to sit down and have a beer with. Every damn time it’s just senseless blood and violence, and yeah, taking them out was for the greater good, but it pisses me off when I’m a slave to fate.”
Derrek smiled, now confident that his life wasn’t in danger. He lifted his mug and said, “I’ll drink to that.”
Discord raised his mug to meet Derrek’s, and said, “Prost,” and they both drank. The men had nearly finished their respective pitchers, but to Derrek’s surprise, he didn’t feel a drop of it. He figured it had something to do with everything he had just learned.
Discord polished off his beer. “All right, I’ve answered your questions. Now I get to ask some. Sound fair to you?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“First off, what were you doing out in the woods alone? I can tell you’re with Frostbyte due to the uniform you were wearing earlier, so I’m guessing you’re on a survey mission, but those usually have fully stacked teams, so why were you out there solo?”
“Oh, my team took two cars, and we’re ahead of schedule, so everyone took off early, and they needed someone to stay behind.”
“So you got the shit end of the stick? That sucks, man.”
“Not really, I volunteered for it.”
“Oh really? Why’s that?”
“Well, it’s my first time out in the field, I just want to make a good impression. Besides, I wasn’t able to help set up last week since I had to get certified to carry my gun. It just seemed fair.”
Discord laughed. “Nothing’s fair in this world, Havok, but your heart’s in the right place. I like that. Hey, you had some weird dreams over the last month or so, right? Three of them?”
“Yeah, actually, except it was four.”
“Huh, it’s usually three. It’s like a subliminal introduction to being a devourer, showing you the enemy, you know, the warrior spirits. Do you remember any of them?”
Derrek thought for a few seconds. “The first one I can remember was in some burning hellscape with a giant creature standing over it all. Then a guy drenched in blood sliced him in the neck, and then I woke up.”
“Yep, that was Humbaba. Have you ever read the epic of Gilgamesh? Dude took credit when I cut his head off. Doesn’t bother me, though. Never been one for being center stage in history.”
Derrek thought about that for a moment. He had read the book in his youth when Shale had him schooled and remembered it was written well before 2000 BCE. He asked, “Gilgamesh? Exactly how old are you?”
“Very, but don’t worry about that right now. Tell me about the rest of your dreams.”
“Right, sorry. There was another one—I think it was in a warehouse. Something was eating what looked like a person in the shadows.”
“And a guy crashed in from the ceiling, made an Old Yeller joke, and set the building on fire?”
“Yeah, I’m guessing that was you?”
“You guessed it. I’m just glad someone got to hear that joke. Man, that fire was huge. It was awesome. The devourer then was a wendigo, he never consumed anything big, but he physically ate a whole bunch of people. What else you got?”
“Well, a few nights ago, I had a dream that I think took place in Greece … Argos?”
“Oh damn, you saw that one? I swear, that fight with the immortals was fun, even though I lost an arm.”
“So that was you. But how’d you get your arm back?”
“Now that’s an interesting story,” Discord said as he poured another mugful. “So, around 1500 something, Ponce De Leon and his crew went to the Bahamas looking for the fountain of youth, and I thought it’d be fun, so I tagged along. I went by Kahli Ironfist back then, since my left arm was an iron prosthetic from the elbow down. We searched and searched, eventually coming to a small island off the main Bahamas.
“After we landed, I stepped away to relieve myself and went a bit further in than I needed to. After doing my business, I heard running water and followed it. There I found this pond full of the most refreshing water I’ve ever had, and I didn’t stop drinking until the whole pond was empty!
“Apparently, I took a lot longer than I should have, and Leon came in after me with the bulk of his men. I thought he was worried, so imagine my surprise when they all start pointing their rifles at me! Turns out, the Spanish king had a hefty price on my head, and they didn’t even intend to find the fountain of youth. They just wanted something to entice me into tagging along. They lined up, I said something along the lines of, ‘What a Spain in my ass,’ and they fired. Most of my chest was blown out, the whole left half of my head got removed, and they even blasted off my iron arm.
“So there I was, lying on the ground, bleeding like crazy, thinking, Damn, I always thought I’d die drowning in the ocean, when all of a sudden, the pain starts to go away. My wounds start healing—even the arm and my thousand-year-old scars. But I didn’t think about that. I was focused on slaughtering those traitorous Spaniards. Without a second thought, I rushed at them, grabbing one of their muskets, making a Spanish shish kebab!
“By the time his men were over and dealt with, Leon was in shock, baffled that his ambush didn’t work. I made sure it was clear that he’d end up like them if he tried that shit again and made him lead the rest of his crew back to the mainland, letting me get away scot-free. All in all, it was a pretty fun trip. I do wish I grabbed my old arm, though. It was a part of me for nearly two millennia. Hell, I still only use one hand attacks when I fight.”
“With that giant sword? That thing has to be made for two hands.”
“Indeed it was, but I decide what I do with my hands. If I can use one hand, I will, even with guns. I usually stick with handguns, but I got a couple of shotguns, a sniper rifle, a few submachine guns—you name it, I probably got it floating around in my coat,” he said, pouring the rest of his pitcher into his mug. He took a sip, then snapped his fingers and said, “Right! Almost forgot, you had a fourth dream.”
“Oh yeah, my bad. That one’s a bit fuzzy. All I really remember from it is a plain-looking office and a necklace shaped like a cow skull. I think there was something to do with tissue paper too, but I’m not sure. Does that ring any bells?”
Discord had fallen silent, eyes wide, barely even breathing. He picked up his mug, slowly drinking the entirety of it in one sip, carefully setting it down before looking Derrek in the eye. He slowly reached into his shirt, pulling out a necklace he was wearing, holding the pendant tightly in his palm.
“That one shouldn’t have showed up,” he said, letting go of the pendent, revealing a wooden longhorn skull.
Derrek’s eyes grew wide before he remembered he had just described three dreams that were pieces of Discord’s past and that a fourth wasn’t all that surprising at that point.
“I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about that particular memory?” Derrek asked.
“It isn’t the memory that’s the problem. It’s who was in that memory.”
“Well, who was it?”
“The closest thing to God—with a capital G.”
“With the day I’ve had, that isn’t exactly the craziest thing you’ve said.”
“No, you don’t get it. The fact that you were in his office means he saw you. The fact that he saw you means both of us are in some hot fucking water.”
Derrek realized the gravity of the situation, as he had barely seen this man without a smile, even when he was ready to put a bullet in him. He didn’t have the same look in his eye now.
“I still don’t understand. What’s so bad about this?”
“What’s so bad about this is that he specifically recruited me to hunt down and kill any devourer that pops up. You ever heard about what happens when you disobey God? It sure as hell didn’t work out well in Exodus!” he yelled, slamming his fists on the table, alerting several patrons and the bartender, who all quickly went back to what they were doing, paying them no mind.
Derrek looked around, surprised they got away with that. When he saw the coast was clear, he asked, “What does that even mean?”
“Jesus Herman Christ, what don’t you get about this?”
“Mostly the part about you freaking out.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you just say you hated being a slave to fate?”
Discord sat, absolutely dumbfounded. His expression shifted rapidly—anger, despair, confusion, and constipation all shifting across his face. After nearly a full minute of that, he cracked a smile and started laughing once more.
“Son of a bitch, I knew you were something special! First, you’ve got the reaper’s touch, then you’re a devourer. Now here you are, hoisting me by my own damn petard! Barmaid! Another round! And one for everyone! We’re celebrating friends, new and old!” he exclaimed, met immediately with uproarious applause.
Even though he had just met this man, Derrek was glad to have this side of him back. Every friend he had made since meeting Shale was a coworker or work-related, it was refreshing for him to meet someone completely out of his wheelhouse.
The barmaid came back to their table with two more pitchers. Discord put an oversized twisty straw into one and began quickly drinking it. The mood had been renewed, and Derrek thought it would be a good time to pry.
“Hey, do you mind if I ask what that was all about? I get it if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said, refilling his mug.
“It’s no problem at all. I kinda flipped my lid back there. That’s on me, not you. This whole thing is new, not only for me but for literally all of existence. Do you have any idea how rarely a warrior spirit gets to even talk to a Devourer, let alone have a shitload of beer with them? It’s totally crazy!”
Derrek was happy to see he had a new outlook on the situation. He was doing his best not to show it, but he had been flung headfirst into an entire world that had been right under his nose his entire life, and having Discord there was a big help for him.
He couldn’t help feeling that he wasn’t reacting correctly to the situation, however, and thought Discord may have some insight.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Have at it, ask away.”
“So, in the past couple of hours, I killed and ate a reaper, learned that pretty much every crazy piece of folklore is true, and discovered that what is basically God personally wants me dead.”
“That about sums it up.”
“My question, then, is why am I not freaking out? I feel like my mind should be imploding right about now, but I’m just so … calm.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a reaper’s touch thing. Keeps you cool as a cucumber pretty much all the time. Keeps you alert, keeps you focused, prevents panicking—the works—something about settling down with age. And considering how hard he hit you, you’re probably gonna be as stoic as a monk.”
“So … does that mean I’ve lost my emotions?”
“Far from it. You just won’t show as profoundly as you used to. Makes you look like a real badass.”
“Huh. That might actually be helpful.”
“Especially since you’ve got a future in business.”
Derrek was surprised to hear this, and he raised his eyebrows. He leaned in close and in a hushed tone, he said, “How do you know about that?”
“C’mon man, I’ve got a brain. You said it’s your first time in the field, and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what goes on in Frostbyte, so I gotta think you work at corporate. The rest just kinda falls in with your new hairdo.”
“Oh … right.”
“But it sounds like I’m missing something way more specific,” he said, looking at Derrek with suspicion.
Derrek wasn’t sure if he should tell Discord about his relationship with Shale, as historically, it tended to complicate things, and considering how much he seemed to know, it may be unwise to confess.
“Um … well … you see—”
Discord cut him off, “You can either tell me or I can figure it out. Either way works for me. Like a puzzle. Actually, don’t tell me. Wait until it comes out naturally with some stronger narrative significance. Get some drama set up,” he said, laughing and drinking his pitcher with his straw.
Derrek smiled, glad he let it go. He took another sip from his mug and looked at the rest of the pub, surprised to find how much it had filled since they took the booth. Everyone was having a good time, drinking from the pitchers Discord ordered for them, aside from a group of five that had just walked in, and were walking toward them. They were standing next to their table when the one in the middle slammed his hands down, almost knocking over Derrek’s mug.
“You must be tourists or confused, because this is our booth,” he said, leering over the two. He had short blond hair and a patchy, wispy beard. He was shorter than the rest of his friends, but clearly spoke for the group. Derrek instantly recognized him as the one who gave him and Jeffrey trouble the weekend before.
“And you must be mistaken, my friend,” Discord said, “because it looks like we’re the ones sitting here.”
Derrek gave Discord a look, trying to say not to instigate anything before realizing he could handle himself.
The thug frowned and snapped his fingers, and the rest of his group got close to the table, crowding around them. Discord smirked and continued sipping his straw as the men tried to look intimidating, to no avail. The head thug narrowed his gaze on Derrek, recognizing him.
“Well, look who it is! I almost didn’t recognize you with that stupid hair.”
“You should leave before things get bad,” Derrek said, trying to match Discord’s energy, casually sipping his mug.
This angered the thugs. The leader leaned in close, “How about you make me, freak?”
Discord looked at Derrek, then nodded. He took his pitcher and downed what was left, then took it by the handle and smashed it over the lead thug’s head, knocking him to the ground as the other men stood in shock. In an instant, Discord was out of the booth, standing in front of the remaining four men. He cracked his knuckles and stretched as the men pulled out weapons—two with knives, one with a small metal rod, and one with a pair of knuckle-dusters.
“Fellas, there are two ways this can go,” Discord said. “Either you all walk away, or my friend and I are gonna make you look real dumb in front of everyone.”
The men were clearly individually debating whether they should fight before they all remembered they were armed. They got their assorted weaponry at the ready, and Discord smirked.
“That’s what I thought,” he said as the man with the chunk of metal came at him. He swung the rod aiming for Discord’s ribs, which he effortlessly caught and pulled out of his hands, giving the man a swift punch to the gut, throwing him on the floor. He quickly examined it and found it to be very sturdy, made of rebar. He grabbed it by both ends, twisted it into a pretzel and tossed it on the ground in front of the rest of the men.
They took a step back before thinking it must have been some kind of trick, and the man with the knife and the one with brass knuckles charged at him. He stepped out of the way of the knife, grabbed him by the arm and bent it backward at the elbow, catching the knife and causing the man to scream out in pain. The one with knuckle-dusters tried to punch him in the face, which he leaned into, taking the hit on his forehead and knocking the thug off-balance, hitting him upside the head with the butt end of the knife.
He threw the knife at the feet of the last man standing, sticking it into the stone floor, cutting into his left shoe, sticking between his toes and narrowly avoiding cutting him. The rest of the men were starting to get up, aside from the one whose arm bent backward. Their fists were raised, and they were not ready to give up. The leader was standing again and pulled out a knife of his own, and the one who was pinned to the ground took his shoe off, freeing himself.
Derrek decided to join in even though he was sure Discord could handle it. He stood back-to-back with him as the men surrounded them, and he put his fists up. The one with brass knuckles ran at him, reeling back excessively for a punch aimed at his nose. He ducked out of the way at the last second, grabbed the man by the wrist and twisted, completely flipping the man onto a nearby empty table, causing it to collapse under him.
Discord laughed as he had the other two goons under his arms in headlocks. He jumped and fell forward, smashing their heads into the floor and giving himself a badly broken nose. He stood up and looked at the leader, setting his nose back in place so it would heal faster. He looked back and forth from him and Derrek, furious as to how things played out.
“You … you freaks! I’ll kill you!” he said, throwing the knife at Derrek. Without thinking, he caught it by the handle just before the blade went into his eye. Discord nodded in approval, clearly impressed, and Derrek tossed the knife aside.
When the two looked back at the man, however, he was now holding a pistol, which he was pointing at Discord, his hands shaking violently.
“Get the fuck out of my town!” he yelled, causing several patrons to leave at the sight of his gun, some seemingly calling the police.
“Put the gun down before you get yourself hurt,” Derrek said with confidence, which caused Discord to smile even wider.
“Listen to him, kid. A booth isn’t worth your life,” Discord said, unfazed.
“Fuck you!” he yelled, pointing the gun at Discord’s head.
In a split second, the gun was out of his hand and into Discord’s, which he used to pistol-whip the man, slamming him to the floor with a loud thud, blood splattering onto the floor. He tucked the gun into his coat and pulled out a stack of bills, which he tossed onto their table. He took his pitcher, which was half full, chugged what was left, and took a handful from the bowl of nuts and shoved it into his coat.
He then grabbed Derrek by the shoulder. “We should probably go. Cops are gonna be here soon, and I’m low on favors with the German government.”
Derrek nodded and led him back to the car, narrowly avoiding the fist of the jolly man at the front as he tried to block their path. Discord took the wheel and peeled out, leaving skid marks in his path. He drove at full speed, deftly weaving through traffic and avoiding any crashes, not even putting a scratch on the paint job.
“I’d take us to one of my safe houses, but the closest one I’ve got is in France. Where are you staying?”
“The Schadenfreude Hotel. Do you know where that is?”
Discord looked over at him in surprise. “Do I know where that is? Of course I do! It’ll be nice to visit. I haven’t seen Mila in years!”
“Mila? As in Mila Müller? You know her?”
Discord looked at him with a cocky grin. “I know everybody.”
He turned on the radio, flipping through the channels until he found one playing what sounded like German covers of popular songs from the ’90s, and sang along the whole way to the hotel.