“Hey, Pyro, I was wondering something.”
“Ask away.”
“It’s your voice, and your vocabulary too. What’s the deal with that? Was it the spell doing that?”
“Right on the money. No spell, no obligate goofball. Thas’ not gon’ stop me from usin’ it if I’m feelin’ it” he said in his old manner, "but the way I am now, that's the real me."
I sighed and admired the smoldering countryside, dotted by the expensive mansions of the wealthy, oppressor caste of demons. “Well it was Grunnus who did it, so I bet it was just to fuck with me.”
“Of course. He’s ‘funny’ that way.” He flicked his mane. “While we’re on the topic, you know the disguising as a normal horse deal? That’s gone too.”
“That’s crap. We’re supposed to be inconspicuous right now.”
There was another lull for a few minutes. “I’ve been thinking… about why I came back to you.”
“Oh? Because I’m nice, or something?”
“Nah, that’s not why I came back; more like a small contributing factor. No, it’s the worry. I can’t say I’ve ever seen you so deadly serious, and it’s about your own safety, too.”
I frowned. “Well, I am concerned. After all that I’ve researched, all I’ve read, it’s pointed me to a major rule in this world: Fate doesn’t want us GCs to die. Some shit always happens. A little odd nudge here, a sudden bout of incompetence there, or it all goes completely sideways at the last possible moment, all in the service of the GC living to fight another day. It’s a consistent thing, happens again and again with barely any logical explanation, and usually at the expense of the natives, who aren’t so generously covered.
“But it’s not set in stone. You’re dumb, you die. Maybe not the first dozen fuck ups, but it’ll getcha eventually. The problem… is that there’s an exception.”
“I suppose that’s when the chosen fight each other?”
“Yeah. Believe me, fate will try to stop us from dying, but two chosen can keep that dice roll repeating over and over again until someone’s luck runs out. Like a pair of drunks trading headbutts until someone gets a brain hemorrhage. And thank my unlucky stars, because the single thing we’re confident in right now is that it’s GCs that broke into my house. A team of 7, no less.”
He bobbed his head as he trotted. “That’s why I’m worried. Hecate was filling me in before you called her. She told me you were summoned to the search for that Auseta, and you ended up having to run around without me. It made me think real hard, and led me to a conclusion. You need me ready to go at a moment’s notice, no matter where, or when.
“Now I know I’ve said I hate it—and I do—but I think I should be in a catch orb in your pocket whenever you’re not in need of a mount.”
I was shocked into a brief silence. “Damn, wow, really? That’s not very freebird of you.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not comfy, but right now, you’re the priority. Once this trouble passes we can have a long talk about changing things. I want to be loud! I want to be proud! I want to be the baddest motherfucking horse around, who carries the coldest sonofabitch at blazing speed; wherever the critters need roasting. And when we get there, I want to blaze half the things my damn self!” he boasted with a sassy trot.
I patted him on the shoulder, causing him to look back at me. “There’s only 1 thing I can say to that.”
(Simultaneously:) “Hell yeah, brother.”
……
We got home to a very cranky, half-slept Matti at the gate, with a few thousand not-very human (read: windy) footprints pacing a veritable trench into the driveway.
“Where the fuck were you?” she barked incredulously. “And what gaudy slop are you wearing?”
The wind could be heard huffing exasperatedly in the background.
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“Yeah, ‘I’ll be back soon, don’t worry’,” she paraphrased aggrievedly. “You gods-damned nut! It’s my job to worry! You’re not supposed to go anywhere without a full security detail.”
I waggled the lamp in front of her. “My security detail was at 98% power, thank you very much. I’ll tell you the rest later. For now, I think I’m finally ready to sleep.”
“You–”
“Hush a moment, Matti,” Pyroshir interjected. “What’s important is that we’re safely back now. There’s nothing good to come from a flared temper, so let’s head in and sleep before we say anything our rested selves might regret.”
Her brain visibly crashed, requiring a reboot. “What… happened to–”
“La-ter.”
……
Laying low: Day 4, morning, Drivellum-Lawson estate, breakfast nook.
“So he’s… free now?”
“yup.”
“And he’s staying in your service… of his own volition?”
“Pretty much.”
Matti rubbed her temple. “Why?”
“Because he couldn’t find it in himself to leave when things were getting interesting. Also, he said he wants to burn stuff with me later.”
She took a swig of her bloody mary. “No, the other… ugh, Chivos, make this make sense.”
We both looked at him, wearing his gossamer brand silk bathrobe. He paused combing his hair. “Matters of morality are not legally required to make sense. For my opinion on the matter, I believe you have surmised it already.”
I imitated his laser-cut diction. “While freeing your steed was an admirable pursuit, the timing chosen was poor, and the execution highly alarming to important security staff.”
“Hmm, yes,” he conceded with a yawn. We then clinked our coffees together and took large gulps.
Chivos set his cup down with a more serious expression. “I have heard back from the assorted agencies. Your attendance at Meridian Valley is greenlit. However there have been… a few magic items that you are required to wear.”
“Define ‘a few’.”
He stared into his drink. “... 3 crates.”
I didn’t say anything aloud, as my eyes were perfectly conveying ‘are you serious?’ to him in vivid detail.
“Crates?” Matti Balked. “You go over 20 and you risk… melting! Randomly!”
“Yes, we have a small team of energetic interaction specialists coming with the crates. Hubs, wrap up your business and be packed by tomorrow. It will take a while.”
……
“I have finished laundering your clothes, and I have taken the liberty of separating all damaged articles. I can have them mended by your return, and the same for your furniture.”
“Thank you, Droth, I appreciate it, but I want it all locked up proper this time. No maintenance.”
“But of course. I will see to it personally.”
I shifted the relevant bags across the sorting table and pointed to the next bunch. “These are all equipment. I don’t need you to do anything to these, just stow them securely.”
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“Happily. What of this bunch tied with ribbon?”
Matti paused her usage of the reading nook.. “Those are mine. Please store, but do not open them.”
“Yup. And this one specifically is important documents. Please have Chivos take it to the vault and set it up for remote access.”
Mr. Slakendroth opened his mouth, then paused. “I do believe someone is at the door.”
He marched over and peeked out. “Ms. Hecate, is something amiss?”
They murmured a minute, then he shut the door and returned carrying an oblong parcel. “It seems a package has arrived for you.” He inspected the scribbles on the exterior. “The return address is coordinates in the Dreuhningst Mountains, and there are marks of inspection from the League of Conspicuous Evil, our local customs… and Hecate too.”
“It wouldn’t happen to be 722.02 by 156.25, would it?”
He looked again. “Indeed it is! A friend of yours?”
I shrugged. “Well, someone in the know, at least, and acceptably trustworthy too. Let’s see what she sent.”
The 3 of us crowded around the table as I donned the curse-proof magic gloves, for paranoia’s sake. I looked over the package, finding no further information on the exterior before tearing into the paper wrappings. Underneath was a carefully-prepared silk package, which I elected to bypass with vorpal goodness. Anticipation abounded as I ripped away the layers to reveal…
A sword. Thin, of middling length, and narrow, with a shifting purple gemstone on the pommel.
Matti was briefly nonplussed, but then she gasped. “Is that the Gossamer Needle?”
“Mmmyup. A Gossamer Needle,” I muttered. The note tied around the hilt caught my attention. I liberated and unfolded it.
To my dearest contractor:
I, Lechia Uvembril Arachnis, offer the loaning of this blade to Dennis Lawson at the price of 2 free location clearing services. To draw the blade is to accept the offer, but you may carry it until this incident is resolved. May it bring a long, agonizing death to all who cross you in this trying time.
Until our next meeting.
Lechia.
I blinked, handed the note to Matti and grasped the implement of destruction. “There goes all that weapon loadout tuning, right out the window.”
Matti wilted upon reading the note. “Aww, I can’t hold it,” she pouted.
……
Laying low, day 5, 45 minutes late for lunch, Drivellum-Lawson Estate, Laboratory blast-suppression chamber.
A dark priest, wrapped in deep purple-and-blue robes, held one last ring in a pair of tongs.
“And now, the Band of the Whisper’s Will. Size 2.”
He extended it shakily towards my left pinkie, filling the room with a sharp tension. Tatanchael stopped combing my singed hair to cover my ash-stained face, shielding me further with her right wing. A sharp snap of electricity filled everyone’s ears… and my arm. I jerked briefly at the pain, but the ring went on and stayed on. The angelic embrace ended and Tatanchael resumed trying to clean the singings off my face.
“Can we recess for food, please?” I asked, dark green smog spilling from my mouth.
Rather than answer my question, a small, multi-faction peanut gallery instead jumped on my symptom. “Forestral fog, oral, heavy,” a scholastic demon called out. “Still within tolerances.”
“Uhh.”
The dark mage answered for the distracted nincompoops. “Absolutely not. Until final equilibrium is achieved, you must not leave this sigil. Your life may depend on it.”
“Man, I’d be fine with a stale granola bar at this point. What’s next on the agenda?”
Dark and moody placed the next box on his little table. “The rest of the rings.”
I stared him down, deadpan, and held up my hands, and the eight-fuckin’-teen rings (argued down to only 1 per thumb). “Where? Wheeerrrreee will you put them?” I asked, animatedly swinging my arms, jingling at 90 decibels.
“These are the toe rings, Mr Lawson.”
I wanted to punch him, but I bottled it up and relaxed my posture. “At this point I doubt there’s anything that can harm me besides this wasp nest of crap I’m wearing.”
He did not respond, instead resuming his duty of carefully dressing me.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Tatanchael cooed honestly. “Always a victim of everyone else’s stupidity.”
She somehow managed to be completely sincere, and sharply sarcastic at once, something a few angels were remarkably skilled at. I didn’t feel the need to add onto it, and fate handed me a better blip of comedy than I ever could have thought up myself. For as the first toe-ring slid onto my foot, I felt an odd sensation of aching and vertigo. Rather abruptly, my pants were a bit short, and I was sporting a bare midriff.
“Increased height, 5 inches,” the scholar demon called out.
A high-city librarian in the back then held up a sheet of paper with a grid on it, and a line through said grid.
“BINGO!”
…Two hours later…
“Waddya mean I can’t take them off?” I yelped indignantly. “How am I supposed to sleep?”
The demon scholar looked up from his ever-thickening sheaf of notes. “Mr Lawson, please, it is only 3 days. Allowances for rest and hygiene have been made.”
“Can sleep doesn’t mean want to sleep!” I squawked. “It’s a miracle I’m still in one piece! I don’t want to hit the sack and evaporate mid snore!”
“I must concur with Mr Lawson,” Tatanchael threw in. “The risks seem quite outsized compared to the benefits. Now that the combination is proven stable, and adequately tested, why not strip it off in favor of a faster re-equipping tomorrow?”
“Because it is not adequately tested, you featherbrained buffoon. Not only that, but the energetics of the myriad relics are attuning to a stable harmonic setpoint. To separate them now would only inflame their magicka! Not that I expect an angel to know that.”
The angel snarled. “Pleasantries are only extended to you as a courtesy, hellspawn. One more arrogant word out of that foul mouth and I will invert your healing setpoint.”
He cocked his head in confusion as her threat blossomed like a deathly flower. “Every soft, comfortable sensation will turn to unbearable pain as your body willfully rots itself from the inside out, blissfully unaware that is not repairing wounds, but manufacturing them. Only the excruciating sting of harmful magic would hold it at bay, for a while.”
Whilst the grim soliloquy played out, delving into how she would pay his insurance to keep putting him back together so he could start the cycle all over (what a gem, amirite?) I tested out one of the earrings forced on me. With it, I composed a psychic message that sent right to someone who had the gravitas to shut those idiots the hell up. With a flash of flame, Hecate appeared from her lamp, wearing an unamused frown.
She slapped the demon across his cheek and pointed menacingly. “Antagonism has no place in a joint mission of this import.”
Right as Tatanchael started to grin, she caught a seraphic hammerfist atop her head. “And you! Bait is for fish, and yet here you are, dangling from the devil’s hook.” A rebuttal was swiftly squashed with a hand over the mouth. “Save it for your weekly counseling.”
……
Some time later, in the secure room after scarfing down a reheated meal.
“Hecate?”
Her face appeared as a small flame from the lamp. “Yes?”
“Are… angels just psychotic or something? No offense, but y’all’re 3 for 3 in recent times.”
“I take no offense, though I must disagree. Even setting aside my status as not a true angel, I am simply designed to enjoy immolation and destruction by my hand, in a manner that scales with the quantity, challenge, and necessity of it. That is simply a feature that enables me to carry out the purging of a fractured world without pause.”
I sighed. “Okay, fine. I don’t feel like arguing semantics, or your mental state. What about Nidael?”
“Moreso a tragedy. I have witnessed it again and again, the true angels marching off from the heavens hoping to do good, but they are so susceptible to those around them. You surely know that the castle in which she worked was a den of justified atrocities. It is the banal festering of moral intentions that slowly guides one to a self-justified path of infliction and suffering. I, for one, am glad you outed her, for it finally gave her superiors cause to recall her.”
“Ugh. Next you’ll tell me that Tatanchael is just a flawed little good girl or whatever.”
“No, she has diagnosed psychotic tendencies.”
“What?”
“Worry not. They manifest as hostility towards those who are not under her charge, so you are safe. It is well within the tolerances to remain an effective guardian angel.”
I shook my head with a smarmy expression. “Women.”
“That is not a funny joke. Say it again, and I will burn you, understand?
“Yes, ma’am.”
I rolled off the chair and onto the adjacent bed. With a deep exhale, I came to an epiphany. I once thought the demons were one-note scheming villains, who would double-cross, blackmail, and cheat their way to the top of the ladder, or towards the end goal of stealing your soul. They still were all of that, of course, but that was barely a third of what made them… them. When I looked past that loud minority of their hearts and souls, I saw that they were just people, even if a bit spicier.
Then my assumptions of the angels were falling into the same track. I assumed they were all sunshine and rainbows of perfectionism and exceptionalism. As with the demons, it was turning out to be both true and not their whole self. That wasn’t the epiphany, though.
The epiphany was that I had figured out the Hells and the demons in great depth and detail, and I somehow did not immediately take that knowledge and invert it slightly to apply to the literal opposite zone of the Heavens. I could have figured them out 20 years ago. Instead, I ignored them because they were boring and annoying.
And that right there was the epiphany: That I’m still kinda dumb sometimes... oftentimes.
……
Laying low, Day 6, morning, Drivellum-Lawson estate, portal room.
Mr. Droth read off the address book on its lectern. “Change portal alignment! Co-ordinates, 2, 5, 8, D, E, S, 16, A.”
Runes were placed into the configurable floor sigil with a sound effect that would make your average SG1 fan squint with suspicion.
“The portal is open. Confirming safety.”
Whilst our dear butler ran down his sacred checklist, I eyed Chivos, who was rather uncharacteristically dressed in khaki, with rolled sleeves and shorts, and a pith-like helmet. He also carried a ballistaff, a weapon analogous to an airbow, bearing the same implications of rich laziness and gadget-obsession.
“I can’t say I’ve seen you in your safari getup before.”
“I have neglected to invite you on such excursions in the past, owing to our busy schedules, and the work-adjacent nature exotic game hunts would have for you.” He adjusted his collar. “Today, however, said hobby will provide a sufficient explanation for my presence.”
“Hmm, yeah, that sounds about right. Some of the GCs at Meridian should get a kick out of the getup.”
“The portal is now ready, gentlemen!” Mr. Droth called out.
“Oh, good! Let’s roll,” I began, putting my best foot forward.
Matti appeared from my peripheral vision. “Not so fast. We go first, you follow after. Stick to the plan.”
I gave her a pouty frown, then jingle-jangled my over-equipped butt back to where I started. They proceeded on through the portal without me, and I awaited the signal to proceed. And waited. And waited. It felt like:
……
But it was actually about 2:45. I finally got the call to head through, so I stuck out my arms and jogged forward with them flapping ungracefully.
“HEY GUYS, WAIT UUUUUP!”