Minervica dropped the placid smile she had maintained with the mortal; it no longer served a purpose. She never understood why mortals concerned themselves more with the appearance of concepts like equality and politeness than the substance, but if even the most hollow form of kindness were a worthwhile weapon, then she would wield it all the same.
Despite spending years doing the divine equivalent of browsing entertainment on office time, the goddess had been thorough in her selection. Not everyone was willing to even consider becoming one, and many who were often chose what they know instead. Whether it was judgment, reincarnation to an old world, or simply staying in limbo, when one had the twin dragons of familiarity and finality within reach, few were willing to leave them both behind. Grand incentives were only as tempting as their alternatives were unappealing, especially when considering that a major undertaking was required to earn them.
All of that criteria, however, still only covers willingness to accept. Qualifications were another essential aspect to consider. If nearly anyone were qualified to be called a hero, then the many worlds of the multiverse would be utterly unrecognizable versions of themselves.
The divine advantages granted to a reborn hero were many. No matter how numerous and great the advantages of a hero were, however, the failure rate had to be considered.
By decree of The Interdimensional Accords of The Divine, every hero had to be granted certain boons to ensure success in their endeavors. A heaven-sent guide, a new, healthy body, Hero Aptitude, adaptation to their new home, magical enhancements, and a legendary weapon were only a scant few of the many requirements made strictly mandatory by the Accords.
Minervica’s task was a difficult one.
After all, how was even a Goddess meant to set up a hero for failure with such boons at their command?
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No matter how long Gregory groped around, his right arm could not find its twin. There was scarcely a stump past his left shoulder. It was severed a mere inch out past the left shoulder. The meager thread of flesh that loosely connected the stump to the rest of his arm in his final moments of consciousness had vanished, and it had taken the rest of the limb with it.
In life, Gregory Falci had been left-handed.
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“A promising start.”
That was what Minervica’s designated agent thought when their Lady’s “champion” endured a panic born from the shock of their circumstances. Per the Accords, he was obligated to explain the Hero’s circumstances, privileges, and surroundings “within days upon their arrival or once first faced with great stress.”
Great stress, it seemed, was not in short supply with this “Hero” of his.
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Gregory did not remember many details after the panic had set in, but he remembered when the angel had appeared. Or should he say, reappeared.
“Hello, Mr. Falci. We meet again, it seems,” Faucet welcomed in the kind of hollow warmth that only angels and politicians seemed capable of producing. “I gather you have questions?”
“Faucet,” Gregory spat.
The angel dawned a perplexed expression.
“That is your first question? I’m afraid the technology level in this world is not so great as to have plumbing, at least to the standards you are accustomed to.”
Gregory was suddenly thankful that his face was already flush from distress; he hadn’t meant to use the private nickname for the angel that he’d used in his own mind. Normally, this would be when Gregory would make an excuse and obfuscate his slip up before Faucet could catch on. Normal Gregory wasn’t present at the moment, however.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“No, I wasn’t asking for a sink. Faucet is going to be what I call you from now on. I can’t possibly remember that flowery babble you call a name,” Gregory lashed out with.
Faucet said nothing. Instead, the faux warmth from his face gradually, as if being expelled from him by his namesake.
Gregory’s chest tightened. He was typically an “insult someone in your head first and to their face never” kind of person. He found it to be less trouble for himself in the long run that way. With trouble already past knocking at his door and throwing itself into his lap, however, he’d let himself sink a little deeper. He braced himself for impact, emotionally; his hands flew to his chest to cross, only for another brutal, physical reminder of his crippled status to find him in shock once more.
“Fine, anything else you could use would be equally ignorant anyway, so ‘Faucet’ will suffice, I suppose,” he lamented. Gregory had expected something a little less mature. Was there something…
“More importantly,” Faucet continued, “I need you to focus. I have a divinely appointed task to complete and an interdimensional standard to uphold. However, I am restricted to guiding you for no more than a few hours per week by my pact with Lady Minervica, so we need…”
That didn’t add up. Faucet seemed a bit too restrained compared to his AA work; he hadn’t been the most professional or stringent with rules like privacy then. Why did he care about getting this done properly now?
Was it because that goddess is involved? No gods and goddesses, superiors of the angels, were mentioned all the time in Limbo. Gregory had even seen one once, flying through the skies at breakneck speed. The angelic bureaucrats and managers had been deferential to them but not in any worried capacity. Surely Faucet would have been more professional back then if he were worried about being a good little subordinate.
Could it be a rise in scale? Like a promotion for him to be here? No, that alone didn’t explain it either. The chain of command had been clearly established in Limbo and thoroughly explained to Gregory when he first entered. They gave the appearance of taking complaints and concerns seriously. Even if Gregory hadn’t had enough faith in their system to take them up on the service, it was clear Faucet had been toeing the line, not crossing it, for a reason.
Could it be…
“What if I refuse?” Gregory interrupted.
Faucet cycled through emotion quickly. First at lecturing to annoyance at the interruption. Then, he moved on to puzzlement at the question. Finally, his face moved on to a brief but true expression of horrified comprehension before returning to forced placidness.
“No interruptions, mortal. Welcome to the world of Corsica, you have been selected to undertake…” Faucet charged on with force.
Gregory knew he was onto something. This formal persona Faucet was affecting didn’t suit him at all. It didn’t match with the man who would make a ridiculous and insensitive pun at a dead man’s expense.
Gregory began to cover his ears, only to once again be reminded of his recently departed arm. After a grunt of frustration, he gingerly pressed his newly elven left ear against a nearby tree to compensate for his left arm while covering his right ear with his hand. Then, he simply waited patiently.
It wasn’t long before Faucet performed the winged equivalent of stomping over to him. Faucet hollered and yelled for a while. He seemed to deflate rather quickly, not that Gregory could make out the words; that was sort of the point, after all.
Eventually, Faucet must have resorted to pleading, because his tone shifted from what little Gregory could hear, and his hands clapped together to begin a prayer-like begging gesture.
After a couple minutes of savoring that sight, Gregory relented and released his ear from the tree’s embrace.
“-my pact with her if you want but… Oh thank the gods!” Faucet said.
“So, you really do need me to hear you out, don’t you?” Gregory pondered out loud.
Faucet pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes, if I break the Accords, I… I can’t break the Accords, and they need me to carry out a task. I need to guide you in this world now that I’ve agreed to it,” he explained. “Are you ready to listen?” he asked with a hint of hope.
“Depends on what you’re willing to offer me,” Gregory replied more coolly than he felt. He hadn’t actually expected this to work as well as it had. He figured that he’d just get to annoy Faucet since the angel was more serious than before, especially since Gregory didn’t need to worry about workshops or judgment now.
Now, though, Faucet seemed desperate and panicked. Gregory could relate to that. After all, he’d only just calmed down himself while listening to Faucet’s garbled pleading. As much as Gregory didn’t like the guy, that was no reason to make Faucet suffer or whatever the angelic being was worried about.
“What was that term you mentioned? Pact? What does it mean?” Gregory continued before Faucet could steer the conversation away from that interesting tidbit.
Faucet looked like he’d just swallowed lemon. “A pact is a binding agreement vouchsafed by the divine. They are… not something to take lightly.”
“Would you form one with me so you can complete this task of yours?” Gregory asked, trying to plow through Faucet’s resistance.
“No!” Faucet immediately and firmly refused.
Well, I suppose that would be asking too much. He’s already being cornered by one pact, after all. I wonder what it is that made this pact of his tempting enough to take if the consequences are bad enough to cause this reaction so easily.
Faucet seemed to interrupt Gregory’s silent musings as disapproval.
“Please understand. I simply can’t form a pact with a non-divine being without… significant risks on their part. It’s not that I can’t or won’t make one with you, it’s that I shouldn’t make one with you for your own sake.” Faucet elaborated.
“Then what were you saying when I uncovered my ears?” Gregory asked.
“I was explaining that, although I have certain loyalties to Lady Minervica and a pact to solidify them, I’m willing to constrain them a bit if you cooperate. Namely, I can explain why your arm is missing.” Faucet braced himself as he spoke that last line.
“Deal.”