“Well, how’s ‘bout that.” I laughed, shakin’ my head. Me and Miss Sasha had just finished listenin’ to the story from the little imp I’d lended a hand a while back. Now, he’d ended up doin’ a heck of a lot more to repay that kindness than I ever would have guessed. Goes to show that Grandma Pam was right, what goes around comes around.

It’d taken a fair bit o’ time to coax the little fella out and get him talkin’, but I’d managed it. Felt a bit nostalgic, somewhere in between dealin’ with a skittish horse and a shy toddler. It was easy enough to pick up that the imp wasn’t all that old, and he didn’t seem to know a whole lot. But he was right sharp, and had picked up on things in a way that had me thinkin’ he’d be a force o’ nature if he had the time and space to grow.

“I can’t even…This is just ridiculous.” Miss Sasha sighed. “Somehow, you’ve managed to get an imp on your side, Rick. Congratulations, you’ve befriended a Native. On accident, apparently.”

I chuckled at that. Miss Sasha seemed a fair bit less upset with me than I woulda thought. Maybe she was comin’ ‘round to my way of doin’ things.

“Well, bud, I’m hopin’ that you’ll be stickin’ around. That sound alright to you?” I gave the little fella a once-over. Imps were just about what I’d expected when Miss Sasha told me they were real. Most of ‘em came up to my waist, with leathery red skin and a few different styles of horns. They had clawed hands and feet, with skinny limbs and butt-ugly faces.

The little guy in front of me was… Not like that. He was even shorter, barely over my knee. His skin was black as pitch, and his horns were stubby little things comin’ out of his temples. His limbs were wrong somehow, twisted in a weird way that just looked off. When we’d first seen him, Miss Sasha told me he was a runt. Apparently, imps are born in batches, growin’ right out of the ground of Hell in pits. Sometimes, they just didn’t come out right. It was a mutation or somethin’ like that.

No that it really mattered to me none. The little trooper had done right by me, I figured I owed him a fair bit. Even with Miss Sasha’s plan for how to deal with the hammer throwin’ feller, I was sure I was in for a pain-in-the-rear fight. My arm still wasn’t healed up, not even close, and he had that hammer. But the little guy had gotten him so bled out and tired he hardly even reacted to me poppin’ out of the Dungeon. It was honestly like takin’ candy from a baby.

“There is one bit that’s got me mighty concerned.” I stopped chucklin’, throwin’ Miss Sasha a look. She nodded.

“The rock. Or rather, a Divine-Linked Scrying Stone. They’re commonly referred to as Talkstones. A bit of common spellwork across Hell’s Great Game, used for short-range communication.” She slithered over toward the magic rock in question, gettin’ a closer look. “I was aware of them, though I was under the impression that they didn’t work on the First Floor. The Divine Energy here is too chaotic compared to later floors. It interferes with the signal. Though, this one seems to be of extremely low quality, and damaged at that. I wonder…”

She kept lookin’ at the rock real close-like. So much so that I gave it a second look of my own. It was a greyish-brown rock, like just about a billion others I’d seen. The only things ‘bout it that seemed at all special were the bits of slightly shiny lines on it faintly glowin’, and the sparks that popped off it from time to time. Overall, I put it firmly in the ‘magic nonsense’ category.

“Ha!” Miss Sasha laughed suddenly, her eye a hair's-breadth from one of the shiny lines that looked just like the others to me. “That’s mildly ironic. This Talkstone, and assumedly the others it is linked to are all indeed very cheaply made and barely maintained. It seems whoever created them was an amateur, and miswrote several sections of the Scripting. Its signal is so wildly miscalibrated that it must intermittently slip through the interference. Consequently, it’s also constantly overloading, causing the sparks we’re seeing. I can’t imagine a Talkstone this poor would last very long. Maybe a matter of years.”

I didn’t get the particulars, but the gist slipped through. As well as the last bit. “Workin’ for a few years don’t seem that short.”

Miss Sasha nodded. “That’s because you lack perspective. Proper Talkstones last nearly indefinitely. The shortest lifespan for one I’ve ever heard of was in the centuries. This is….Frankly, it’s garbage. But working garbage, I suppose. Hmm,” She gazed off into the distance with a thinkin’ look on her snout. “I wonder if the accident was a result of an attempt to work around the First Floor interference, or if this Sinner and his compatriots received defective gear that just so happened to work in their circumstances.”

“Huh, yeah,” I hadn’t thought of that. “It’d be a mighty big coincidence, wouldn't it.”

“Well, that’s not something I’d think we’d be finding out anytime soon. But whoever made this was either a genius or a lucky amateur. The end result is that it works.” She frowned at the magic rock.

“I’m thinkin’ we oughtta do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

Miss Sasha glanced my way before sighin’. “I figured you would say that. It’s not something you’d be willing to ignore, I supposed.”

I nodded sharp-like. If there were others like this hammer-wielding fella runnin’ around terrorizin’ other people, I wasn’t ‘bout to let that ride. Not on my watch, no sir.

Miss Sasha seemed more resigned than anythin’ after gettin’ a look at my face. Good. She was catchin’ on. “Well, there’s still a few things we need to resolve. Namely, your injury, the…Kidnapper, and the imp.”

I nodded along, figurin’ we’d start in reverse order. After all, I already knew how I was gonna deal with my arm, and I had an idea how to deal with the Sinner still strugglin’ against the Effluvia Oil Vines he was wrapped up in. The only one I wasn’t fully sure of was our imp buddy.

Lookin’ at the Sinner had me glancin’ at the arm of my Ichor suit. It was covered in a nasty grey slurry all around the mitt. I was still impressed that Miss Sasha had figured out that the Oil Vines didn’t stick to each other and had the thought that the ashes of ‘em might be the same way. Sure enough, coverin’ the mitt with a mix of water, tree sap, and ash had stopped the OIl Vines from stickin’.

But I put that out of my mind as I turned back to look at the imp again. He still seemed a bit out of it, bless his heart.

{}

The Imp was again feeling weird things. The Nice Man was back, and sure enough, he’d handled the Bad Man with ease. That was expected. The Imp had seen the Nice Man do many things he’d thought amazing. One more wasn’t much to talk about.

What the Imp hadn’t expected was for the Nice Man to not only see through the shadows to find the Imp, but also to be so… Nice. Which was silly-stupid. The Nice Man was the Nice Man after all. But asking the Imp to travel-stick with him, instead of skulk-hiding. It was almost like the Nice Man wanted the Imp to be around. Which just didn’t make sense. No one wanted a runt. The Imp knew that he was born wrong. He’d seen what he looked like, how different he was from other imps. Anyone could see that he was just not the same. And he was so small.

“Well, partner, what are you thinkin’? Want to hitch a ride along with me and Miss Sasha? I could use a brave little trooper like you watchin’ my back. It’s a wild world out there, and the First Floor don’t seem mighty kind to people runnin’ ‘round on their lonesome.”

The Imp jerked out of his thoughts when the Nice Man actually repeated the offer. It wasn’t a joke, or a lie-trap. The Imp could see it in the Nice Man’s eyes. They were calm, and warm. It was that more than anything that had the Imp answer.

“Are youses sure you want me? I’m…” The Imp wasn’t even sure how to finish.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Yup. I said what I meant and I meant what I said. Don’t go doubtin’ my word now.” The Nice Man smiled.

Once again, the Imp had a choice between his old scared-small feelings and something new. After what happened the last time, the answer was obvious-easy. “I am wanting to follow yous ifin you’ll let me…” The Imp thought about it. Calling the Nice Man ‘Nice Man’ wasn’t the right choice. So what was the proper-right name? Something for how nice-warm and welcoming he was. And how the Nice Man never seemed worried, like he always had the answers.

The Imp thought hard about it searching-thinking back through all his memories of every story and whispered words he’d overheard. Finally, it came to him. Something that felt right, even if the Imp couldn’t remember where exactly he’d heard it. “...Pops! I’d be liking that very much.”

The snake chuckled from around Pops’s neck, while Pops just smiled. “The name’s Rick, and this here is Miss Sasha. And what’s your name, little fella?”

The Imp knew the answer to that question, “Don’t got one, Pops. You’s calls me what you wanting to, that’ll be fine with me’s.”

“Hmm,” Pops rubbed his chin. “Well, I’m not the best namer…” The Snake called Miss Sasha looked worried for some reason. “...But I’m thinkin’ that since you’re such a little feller we’ll just call you Tiny. How’s that sound?”

The Imp breathed in. He remembered his batchmates and other imps taunting him, calling him a lot of mean-rude things, tiny being one. The scared part of him shied away from it, hating-fearing those memories. The new, angry-happy feelings were different. In them, the Imp felt it was funny-right to… Reclaim. Reclaim those names from the scared-bad memories. To be something more. Better. While still being ‘Tiny’.

Tiny nodded his head, warm-soft feelings sitting in his chest, right next the the angry-mad feelings he hadn’t let go. “I’d like thats, Pops.”

Pops grinned. “Alrighty, Tiny. Now, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to rip my throat out.”

{}

It took some doin’ to convince Tiny to off me. But it had to be done. His claws were just ‘bout the best thing we had to get the job done, and Miss Sasha had explained a while back that Natives got stronger from feedin’ off the sufferin’ of Sinners. They got somethin’ from just bein’ near someone in pain, but it went double for anythin’ they inflicted themselves. That meant Tiny would get a lot out of endin’ me. And it needed to happen either way.

After all, my arm wasn’t likely to get better on its own.

I had to shake my head at that. What a world to be in, where dyin’ was a better way to heal up than anythin’ else. In the end, it’d taken the poor guy a while to get the job done. Tiny’s claws were sharp, but so small they didn’t get very deep. He got there in the end though.

It was only a moment later I popped back up in front of the Dungeon, hat and all, completely whole. The only thing I left behind was the splint and the arm of my Ichor suit. The clothes I’d entered Hell in would disappear along with my body, and come back from death with me.

I was down another Revive, and that’s it. Wild.

And that left one more thing that needed takin’ care of. I was lookin’ down at the kidnapper once again after assurin’ Tiny that we were square. The little guy was worried ‘bout me, bless his heart. He didn’t seem to get the idea that I had a couple thousand lives on tap at the moment. That first Dungeon Delve had been generous on the Sparks, and my Revive account was flush.

“What do you want to do with him?” Miss Sasha asked. “We could let Tiny kill him, but considering everything Tiny overheard, and with him having a Talkstone… I’m almost certain he’d have a Bind Point. And it’d likely be back at these people’s base. He’d have lost a life, but he’d be back, with friends. I don’t exactly think that scenario has good outcomes. I know you’re quite the fighter Rick, but a few dozen Sinners…”

I nodded, havin’ been thinkin’ along the same lines. “Yup, don’t much like our odds there. I’d be… yeah. But I think you’re missin’ the opportunity we’ve got here. We have a solution ready for us, don’t we?”

“What are you talking about?” Miss Sasha looked puzzled.

I shot a glance back at the Dungeon. Or rather, above it. “You were tellin’ me that that stuff would snuff me out like a match in the rain. I’m thinkin’ it’d do just the same to our friend here.”

“I…Rick, are you sure? We could just leave him here. I know its not the best answer but snuffing out a soul… I don’t know.” She looked conflicted. Bless, she had a soft heart.

I didn’t. Not for this one at least. He’d attacked me, from behind, without even so much as a how-do-you-do. And accordin’ to Tiny, he was part of a group doin’ much the same to other Sinners. He’d had more than enough chances to act like a civilized person instead of the mud I scraped off my boots. Clingin’ to others and stinkin’ up the place. Naw, I didn’t have a merciful bone in my body at the moment.

Plus I wasn’t ‘bout to leave him here, ‘specially not with what I was plannin’ on doin’ next. We were a fair bit too close to my homefront. There was only one problem here. “Well, I’m thinkin’ we’ll be needin’ him to be pointin’ us toward his pals, won’t we. Otherwise we’d be wanderin’ around blindly. And I’m not mighty keen on that.”

Not when there were people in need of help, at least. Maybe another time, wanderin’ the First Floor for the fun of it sounded rather soothin’ if I was bein’ honest. But not now.

“Actually, not really. Can you open up that toilet tank for me?” Miss Sasha flicked her tail at a porcelain throne that was mostly upright.

“Sure thing.” I flipped it off, revelin’ for a moment in bein’ able to use my arm again.

Miss Sasha opened wide, dumpin’ a stream of water into the tank ‘til it was half full. “Ok, now just drop the Talkstone in it.”

I plopped it in right quick, interested to see where this was goin’. To my surprise, the magic rock didn’t sink. It floated and started spinnin’ slowly. Finally, a more pointed bit ended up glowin’ and it stopped movin’.

“There you go. I was hoping this feature would still work, figures it would. That lit up bit is pointing in the direction of the closest connected Talkstone. The various Floors of Hell’’s Great Game can be quite maze-like sometimes, so rudimentary navigation like this is considered the basics of the basics for groups working together. If this wasn’t working, I’d question their sanity even more than I already do.” Miss Sasha huffed.

“Well, roll me and mud and call me a prize pig, ain’t that convenient. Looks like we won’t be needin’ this feller after all.” I smiled. I think it must have looked somewhat threatenin’, because he started squrmin’ somethin’ fierce. Strong enough to start tearin’ up his own skin. Fat lot of good it did him, the Effluvia Oil Vines just stuck to him again.

It didn’t take any convincin’ at all to get Tiny to stay behind. He was mighty afraid of the darkness in the hole down to the chained god for some reason. Though, I guess bein’ afraid of magical darkness was a fairly reasonable thing.

Anyhow, dragging the kidnapper down the tunnel ended up being more of a pain in the rear than I’d expected, though I really should have seen that comin’. After all, he was wrapped up in sticky vines. I was constantly havin’ to get him unstuck from the toilet-ground as we went, so by the time we’d gotten down to where the stream of Ichor started, I was huffin’ and puffin’ up a storm. I really needed to start exercisin’ properly again. It’d been a while and I’d let myself go a bit.

“Whew. We made it, finally. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to handle this, if how my back is feelin’ is anythin’ to go by.” I wheezed, puttin’ my hands on my hips and leanin’ back.

“I’d agree that we probably could have done this in an easier way, but you got him down here in the end.” Miss Sasha glanced at the itty-bitty stream of pearly white godsblood runnin’ across the toilets underfoot.

“Yup.” I was just about done with the whole thing, That was, until Miss Sasha followed up with a fair point.

“You know, we’re better off dumping him a bit deeper, where the stream is thicker. After all, we want to guarantee he gets a lethal dose, one heavy enough to shatter his soul. And while a single drop could do that, there are technically mitigating factors. Plus, if he managed to miss getting this tiny stream on his actual body, but it did get on the Oil Vine, it could destroy the vine while leaving him freed.”

“Yup, Yup, good point.” I tried very hard to ignore the throbbin’ in my lower back as I listened to her reasonable concerns that meant I’d have to keep haulin’ this heavy sack of potatoes even farther.

By the time we got to the point where the steam was thick enough to guarantee the kidnapper would get partly submerged and definitely dead. Obliterated, whatever. I was tired and sweaty. I heaved him one last time, tossin’ him fully into the Ichor.

“Rick, Careful!” Miss Sasha shouted.

“Oops.” I started to apologize just as he splashed down, kickin’ up free droplets of Ichor. One of which, as if it were a heat-seekin’ missile, landed right on my tongue. Like a livin’ thing, it up and slithered down my throat before I could even react.

“Oh, that ain’t good.” My stomach started to heat up.