Jordan’s wide, pleading eyes brimmed with tears as he begged the Spider-God with every last ounce of his being, as though pouting for a visitor’s pass.

“Oh, stop it already! I can’t stand that look. I told you, I’ll show you why you gotta die and then I’m sure—especially when you see how much of a pain you are—that you’ll come around.”

The Spirit tugged at the silken leash as Jordan scurried behind him, much like a puppy his eyes were imitating out on a walk.

Could he have stopped giving the Spirit begging eyes?

Yes.

Would he?

Fuck no!

“Ugh, you are just so much to deal with...” The Spider-God complained, trying in vain to avoid Jordan’s pitiful gaze.

Because for all Jordan knew, this was literally what saved his life. He only hoped it would remain saved after whatever tour his capturer had decided to take him on was done.

The Spirit had seemed convinced that Jordan would ‘come around’ if he saw how much work he was causing the Fateweaver, so he had taken Jordan into the City after dressing him up in the very trench coat and hat he’d worn during the abduction. A fancy new ‘scarf’ conveniently covering Jordan’s mouth completed his ‘disguise,’ as apparently leashes weren’t suspicious.

And after a short jump through a teleportation gate (with less explosions this time) Jordan found himself in the hallowed lair of FIMI, home to the Loom of Fate. Which, looming, was something the whole thing did quite well.

Like a tree made of stone, pillars of wondrously carved white rock wrapped around itself spiraling hundreds of stories into the air before splaying out to fill the sky with branches. The structure’s base was wider than a city block, but it's multilayer design stacked platform on platform, open to the air around it, like a skyscraper built without walls. Instead, the stone encircling it carried paths interspersed with stairs and elevator tubes.

Nearby, the Institution sprawled out with a series of additional buildings, each domed and rounded, like eggs nestled around the roots of the building. It didn’t take Jordan long to realize that the roads in the area were laid out like a hexagon. A web way encasing the entire district.

And it took bloody ages to arrive at the entrance! Half the pathways they took seemed to double back, and all of them sloped upwards. Jordan’s new calves were killing him by the time they arrived at the gargantuan plateau holding the main structure.

Contrary to many of the buildings elsewhere in the city, this grandiose monolith lacked glitz and glamour. It was all cold, corporate ‘beauty,’ showing wealth through elaborate architecture and simple, yet pure foundational materials. It even had a giant statue with a globe outside it, Jordan noted.

Pausing at the entrance, the Spirit said “Huh, that’s odd.”

Jordan muffled something through his gag in reply.

“Eh, it’s nothing. I just noticed all the Guards are gone, that’s all. It probably means the shift change is runnin’ behind, but that’ll make things easier for us—though I guess it means you didn’t even need that disguise. Hah!” The Spirit chuckled as he led Jordan inside. After a moment he stopped and removed Jordan’s scarf and gag, patting him on the back good naturedly.

Jordan took the gesture, along with the comment about ‘no guards,’ to mean ‘no help’ if he started screaming, so he continued following reluctantly.

The Spider-God waved amiably to coworkers as they made their way, stopping to chat with several on occasion. Jordan felt ridiculous standing there beside him, practically half the Spirit’s height while still draped in the ‘disguise.’ Like a toddler dressed up and dragged along for bring-your-kid-to-work day, though all the Spirits ignored Jordan. His puppy dog eyes just seemed to scare them off. Eventually, they entered one of the tubes and shot up the side of the building.

Watching closely, Jordan quickly realized that there were additional spaces hidden between. For every ‘floor’ they passed, several platforms flashed by. He verified his guess by comparing their motion to that of the outer edifice, but had to stop abruptly. He didn’t have his corset after the ring ate it, and was getting motion sick from the unnatural blurring.

“Hey there, you okay kiddo? Don’t get sick on me, okay? Oh—well unless you think you might die from it, then please do! Hehe.” His kidnapper supplied a few more ‘comforting’ pats.

“Are you sure we can’t—”

“Hey, no! Not this again. I told you, once you understand how much work I have, you’ll be begging me for death. Then we’ll both win, got it? Oh stop with the eyes!”

It took a lot of willpower for Jordan not to say ‘pwease.’ He hoped bad habits from the old man weren’t rubbing off on him.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, before arbitrarily they stopped and got off. A few minutes later, they were back on the elevator as the Spirit complained bitterly about overshooting. Two more false starts and they arrived on the floor needed.

This Spirit’s more addlebrained than Catella, Jordan observed. He winced walking onto the floor. Even though it was smooth stone, he was still padding along barefoot and his new feet were aching from overuse.

The platform itself was covered in a series of small buildings, all domes as well, scattered about in a giant web pattern. Nothing about that surprised Jordan at this point, and after ten minutes of walking, getting lost, and stopping for the criminal ‘mastermind’ to chat jovially again, they arrived at a nondescript dome.

It was one of many the Spirit had stopped at in fact, but this one was apparently the one they needed. When the Spider-God pushed a hand to the glyph next to the door, it glowed and allowed entrance, unlike the others he’d tried. Jordan had seriously wondered if the Spirit had just been trying to piss him off for no good reason.

Inside, the dome was predictably bigger. It had plush carpets, huge pillowy seats scattered about, and walls covered in various pictures of the Spirit—though the far end was bare with an odd, glossy texture. The office also sported a kitchenette in the corner with fantastical appliances that were, of course, covered in glowing sigils and made of wildly inappropriate materials. He was pretty sure the pot was made of some odd wood given its gnarled, bark-like texture.

“Welcome to my home away from home! Or well, really it’s just a home office, but hey, you know how it goes, right? Long hours and all that. Wait. You don’t know—that’s why I brought you here! Sheesh I almost forgot why you were following me around...”

Jordan stared incredulously at the Spider-God and the leash still tying them together. He lifted the thread and motioned with it pointedly. “And this is…?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry that’s just force of habit, hehe. Let me just—” The Spider-God removed the ‘force of habit’ from Jordan’s neck, confusing the hell out of Jordan in the process.

Was this Spirit actually kidnapping him with intent to murder? Or was he just that incompetent?

“So, ah, what did you want to show me here?” Jordan asked, desperately hoping this was not going to turn into a certain kind of adult dungeon. He was ten now for crying out loud! Not that he would have accepted it as a forty-year-old man either.

“Hang on, hang on. Take a seat, wouldya? Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got Moonstone Buzzers, Cranberry Calm-Brews, oh, and a Paranoid Beauty if you feel really adventurous!”

Jordan plopped down onto a fluffy, overly embroidered pillow the size of a damn bull, and let out a grateful sigh of relief for his feet. After processing the Spirit’s words, however, he stared back blankly and asked, “Are you being serious right now?”

The Spirit blinked four times over back at him. “Well duh, babe. Come on, I’m not trying to be mean or anything. Seriously, you want something? How about a Red Horn Sunset?”

“No.” Jordan was tempted, assuming any of it was alcoholic, but the thought of collapsing in a place like this was more than enough to fortify his temperance.

The Spirit shrugged three times over and pulled out a drink that looked distressingly like a heated lava lamp, and came over to sit down across from Jordan. Holding a glass in half his hands, he filled each in turn, occasionally splashing a bit of liquid as globules plopped down, jiggling.

Drinking from each, one after the next, the Spirit sighed melodramatically as he snuggled into his pillow. A hypnotically glowing pattern formed on his cheeks as he chewed on a questionable-looking blob. Once he swallowed, he blinked slowly while a lopsided grin filled his visage.

“Ahhhhh… that’s better. Anyway, so what I need you to understand, see, is that I have to kill you, you know?”

“But I thought you were going to explain things? Surely once I—”

“Nononono… noooo. Shhh. I mean literally that’s been my job for a while now kiddo—to set up your death. And it's so damn hard with all those powerful people in your life!”

“...seriously? Your job is to kill me and it's hard so thought you’d just ask me to die on my own to save you work?”

This is why he kidnapped me? What the fuck!? Jordan’s eyebrow began its customary twitch of annoyance.

“Yes, exactly!” The Spirit made an animated gesture that sloshed some of his drinks. “Oh Devas-damnit…” He brushed at his formal wear while refilling his emptied glasses. Six arms had some perks, it seemed.

“Hang on a minute—why? Why do you need to kill me?” Jordan demanded.

The Spider-God looked at him blankly, slowly blinking as he processed Jordan’s words. Jordan could practically hear the modem dial-up noise from the effort it was taking the Spirit.

“Oh, right!” The Spirit finally responded. “Yeah, so an Anomaly extended your lifespan and its caused a disruption. Now you’re in danger of becoming an Anomaly. Standard procedure is to nip those in the bud when they're young.”

“An anoma-what now?”

“Anomalies! Or, wait I guess you Mortals might have different terms for them. Heroes maybe? I don’t know. Point is, Anomalies are real troublemakers when it comes to Fate, and so we can’t be havin’ that.” He shook his head sadly.

“And I’m… in danger of becoming one?”

Crap… is this story-line bullshit? Some way to kick off one of the HMIA campaigns? Actually… should I really assume this world will have a campaign? Fuck I wish I knew literally anything! Jordan grasped his head in frustration.

“Hey now, don’t worry.” The Spirit said, misinterpreting Jordan’s gesture. “Anomalies are awful but together we’ll make sure you don’t become one, okay?”

“Er… wait, is there a way to stop it then? M-maybe we can come to an arrangement?”

The Spider-God paused, before exploding with laughter. “S-stop it!? Oh by the Devas, kid you’re funny! Here, let me show you somethin’.”

The Spirit escaped his seat ungracefully, wobbling as he walked back into the kitchenette. He muttered before shrugging, and chugged the contents of his glasses. A moment later, followed by a small hiccup, he eyed the container held in a spare hand (the Red Horn Sunset he’d been drinking) and then guzzled what remained. Belching loudly, he set down his burdens on a counter and walked towards the dome’s entrance.

Next to it was a door that Jordan had assumed went to a bedroom or a side room, but it turned out to be a closet. The Spirit muttered as he reached in before pulling out a large toolbox.

“Alright, alright, lemme just grab this so we can… urf, actually hold on a second. Oh Heavens.” The Spirit paused, two hands on his knees, two hands wrapped around his guts, and one hand holding his head. After teetering precariously, he smacked a glowing cheek and stood upright with a shake of his limbs, the toolbox rattling noisily. Jordan had had more than enough similar instances in his life to realize what was happening.

The Spirit was getting completely fucking hammered. Did… Jordan just have that effect on people or was drinking seriously a way to power things?

“Ophm, so here, put… put this on. Mkay?” Staggering forward, the Spirit slurred his words as he handed Jordan a pair of elaborate looking goggles he’d fished out from the box. Despite himself, Jordan did as told.

He figured it was that or have a drunk Spider-God strap it to his head with webs.

“Good… good, okay babe so activating this thing is a little, um, tricky, so you gotta like… whoa, did you just turn it on?”

Moving his finger away from the obvious switch on the side, Jordan said, “Er… y-yeah.”

Looking up, Jordan could see just fine. He almost wished he couldn’t as the Spirit leaned down and ogled him face-to-face. Jordan winced from the foul, intoxicated breath and turned away to spare what was left of his nostrils. It was then that he realized the formerly blank, glossy wall was now a fully lit white screen, like it had been a giant monitor he couldn’t see the whole time. He sighed, of fucking course it was.

“Can you see into the Loom, kiddo?”

Jordan nodded, and the Spirit smiled before standing up clapping merily.

“Great! I had nooooo idea if the maintenance kit was gonna work or not, you know? I don’t think it's even been serviced for, like, 700 years?” He shrugged a couple times over as he set the toolbox down, nudging it away with a foot. He sighed dramatically when it tipped over, a few random parts and some real power-glove looking things spilling out. The Spirit ignored them and walked over to the screen.

“Anyway,” he said, “come ‘mere.”

Jordan stood up and approached the screen. With a jump that caused the Spider-God to guffaw, he gawked as a terminal began to rise from the floor along the wall. Once it reached its peak and settled, the Spirit logged in after several attempts with a ‘guest’ account, and the formless glow of the screen began to take shape.

It started with hundreds of threads, all woven together like a tapestry, and where they intersected a pattern formed emanating a light all its own. However, it didn’t take on a coherent image. In truth, it looked more like a cross section of a damn yarn ball to Jordan. The translucent dull nature of most of the strands made it hard to focus on details, but several did stand out with bright colors or vibrations.

Inquisitively, Jordan checked the lens of his goggles and found a focal adjustment, much like any camera would have. Playing with them, the image on the screen warped and twisted like a hologram showing various layers, new threads coming into focus or coloring as his perspective shifted.

“Alright, so on the lens you’ll find… oh you founded-ed it. Hehe, you’re ah, really good at this ain’t ya? Must have inherited that from your Daemon ancestors, hah!” The Spider-God slapped Jordan on the back.

“S-sure. So is this me then?” Jordan waved at the mesh on the screen.

“Yup, this is you! Or it’s your Fate at least. Can you see how clustered it is?”

“Um… sure? I, ah, don’t actually have a point of reference you know.”

“Huh? Oh, right! Hold on babe, jus’ one second.” The Spirit paused with a finger held up. After a tense moment of Jordan waiting, his host belched again. Jordan covered his nose as the Spider-God laughed.

Playing with the options on the terminal’s control screen, the Spirit shifted the focus of the primary monitor towards another target.

“Okay, now that’s a yarn ball.” Jordan nasally proclaimed.

While Jordan’s ‘fate’ as it were, had been an overcrowded mess of tangled strands, it had still been fundamentally two dimensional. The new image on the screen, however, was a sphere of tightly packed lines, surrounded by broken threads just hanging in the air around it, like satellite debris orbiting a planet.

“Who’s this, anyway?” Jordan asked. He didn’t remember any names from the game, but if this was some vaunted ‘anomaly,’ it could be useful information.

“This was Westhell Demetria. She was a Rank [A] Anomaly that really upset folk with all those threads she pulled. You see, we can’t actually do anything to Anomalies since they kinda disconnect from the Loom, but it doesn't stop them from grabbing lines all willy-nilly, you know? So the higher ups were pretty happy to see her die. But then… you inherited some of her threads, you little Fate-thief!”

The image on the screen changed again, back to Jordan’s suddenly sensible looking fate-pattern.

“Look here. See this thing! This thing here!? See this giant red thread?” The Spirit obnoxiously pointed out the aforementioned string six times over, though Jordan had to re-focus his lens to see it.

“Yes I see it, alright! Er… is it supposed to be pulsing like that though?”

“Hah! If you realized who it tied you to, you’d probably not be so surprised... Anyway, that came from Demetria, and because you got it now, you’re in danger of Anomaly status. Oh, and jus’ so you knowz, this stuff happens when too many threads get tangled up. And that red line is definitely going to draw more. Not that you’d be more than a Rank [D] Anomaly anyway, but the higher ups aren’t taking chances and put out the order to have you unwoven.”

Jordan was far from pleased from the obnoxious nature of his kidnapper, but he nodded along so as not to antagonize the being. Jordan at least understood what the Spirit’s complaint was even if Jordan had objections. But something odd caught his eye as he examined the pattern.

“Wait, what are all those… er, wispy white threads? They don’t even look like they belong.”

While plenty of other threads had been dull or unassuming, these ones had a quality to them that completely stood out. Rather than colorless and opaque, they were translucent and ephemeral. They didn’t even look properly anchored to the pattern onscreen.

“What ones? Oh! Y-yeah, ah, don’t… don’t mind those.”

The Spirit reached through the screen and quickly plucked the threads away.

“Um, why are you removing them…?”

“Oh… eh, screw it. I suppose it don’t hurt for you to know the ‘inner workings’ as it is, since you’re gonna be a doll and off yourself for me, right? So all those lines were just temporary threads I wove to get you here, something I could do since it didn’t mess with any other Mortal’s pattern, being in the City and all that. Didn’t you notice all the coincidences around you lately?”

“Seriously? Wait… are you the reason I put on this stupid ring? And…”

“Ended up where you did? Yup! That was me. Well, mostly me, you can’t blame me entirely for Title-Compulsions, but I’m real glad to put on the ring like a good ward. For some reason you had a strong chance of grabbing that dang hammer. Anyway, I just made you more likely to go with it. And, you know, timed the burst and all that to meet up with you. Hehe, I did a pretty good job there!”

“Er… sure.” Jordan supposed he was glad he hadn’t just exploded instead. He opened his mouth to ask about that, but shut it so damn fast he almost bit his overly-longue tongue off.

I was seriously close to asking why he didn’t just arrange for me to die. I’m not giving this idiot ideas!

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Anyways,” the Spirit continued, “so to know why it's such a pain for me, look at this thread here.”

The Spider-God pointed out an innocuous looking thread that hung nearby, unattached. It was quiet and colorless like most strings on the Loom.

“This here is an assassination attempt on your life. Watch closely!” The Spirit cheerfully picked it up and deftly wove it into Jordan’s fate, anchoring it tight. It resonated briefly with the red thread as Jordan gaped at it.

“What the hell? An assassination? Fucking seriously!?”

“Yup, I’ve been working on that one all week. It's a bit of a rush job, but there's a Roceans rebel I was able to pluck up. But that's the thing. Right now I’m pulling double shifts, negotiating with other Fateweavers for available resources, submitting Destiny-expenditure reports, stress testing your Fate to ensure additions don’t cause a collapse, and generally looking out for any and all opportunities to coordinate your death. These orders are driving me crazy! No one ever cares how hard it is to plot these things out...”

Jordan stared incredulously at the Spirit.

“Oho, judging by that look you’re starting to get it, aren’t ya? Until you die, I’m working nearly non-stop to prevent you from disrupting the Loom, you little wannabe-Anomaly. And since I’m not gonna stop until you die, why don’t we make a deal? I’ll help it be quick and painless, and you make my life easier. Win-win!”

“Painless?” Jordan exclaimed. How the fuck is that win-win.

“Yeah! Any preferences on how you go? Or are you just shy? I can, like, grab a tarp and give you some space if that would help?”

“S-sure…” Jordan said, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t really paying attention as his mind raced, trying desperately to think of a way out of this mess. The Spider-God was easily swayed, so that could work towards his advantage. He also was drunk off his ass—or is it abdomen?—though his words had begun to slur less. Was the Spirit recovering already? What kind of a time limit would that imply? Not to mention that even if he got away, what stopped the homicidal Spider-God from just continuing to try and kill him? His mind raced to find a path towards salvation.

“Awesome! Give me a few minutes, or something, and I’ll be back with some protective coverings. I hear Mortals leak and all that…” The Spirit logged off and then muttered as he slowly walked out of the room, staggering most of the way. Jordan heard a faint, jolly whistling disappear into the distance as the door shut.

Did… did he just walk out the door? Just like that? Jordan stood there alone in the Fateweaver’s domain.

“What the fucking fuck...” His mind raced briefly once more, before he settled on what seemed the only obvious choice.

----------------------------------------

Access Denied

“Oh come the fuck on! He logged in with a Goddamn guest account, why can’t I?”

Jordan desperately pressed at the screen, but over and over again it refused him. It was like the damn thing wouldn’t even acknowledge he was pressing it!

Frustrated and feeling desperate, Jordan looked around the room. He could try to just make a break for it, but he had no idea if any of the Spirits outside would try to stop him. Also, this damn Spirit could literally just ‘weave’ shit into his fate, meaning escape was futile as the Spider-God could just re-appear anywhere. Can I… maybe smash the terminal and hotwire it?

Jordan thought that over for a moment, but quickly realized he had no idea how to hotwire anything. Spirit computers, most of all.

Hissing in frustration as a leg bounced with nervous energy, his eyes fell upon the pair of gloves still lying on the floor.

Hadn’t the Spirit literally reached through the monitor at some point?

Experimenting, Jordan pressed against the wall and his hand arrested at the edge.

Maybe it needs a skill to access it, but items can do it too? Like how the goggles let me see it, maybe those gloves can help me touch it?

Jordan rushed over to them, and placed them on without further hesitation. After a pause, the gloves glowed and shrank to fit his hands. Running back to the terminal, he gave a quick poke at the wall and gasped when his finger went in with the same sensation as passing through water.

“Jackpot!” He cried out.

Turning back to the terminal, he tried to log back in.

[Maintenance] Personnel Detected.

Welcome!

Please log in to continue.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The control screen slowly blinked at Jordan until he pressed it and a keyboard popped up with familiar-looking characters. He was surprised to see his translation skill working so damn fast he didn’t even notice weird symbols for once.

He was then immediately deflated when his attempt to login as a guest failed.

Account ‘Guest’ is invalid for [Maintenance] Personnel.

Please log in to continue.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Shit, shit, shit! Um… crap, what would a hacker do?

Jordan, without any good ideas, tried typing ‘administrator’ and was surprised as all hell to see it worked. However, the prompt changed, asking for a password. Jordan rested a hand on the terminal, chewing his lip trying to think of what kind of asinine security codes Gods would use when a dollop of his black sweet dropped down onto the screen.

Jordan grimaced and wiped at it before the screen changed again.

Daemonic Essence signature detected.

No Account found for unregistered Daemon.

Account creation successful.

Welcome, new [Administrator]!

Would you like to personalize your name?

Alert!

You have 201,765,984,049 notifications.

Alert!

12 active Anomalies have been detected.

Please report to Grand Administrator [REDACTED] for instructions.

Alert!

Grand Administrator account has been inactive for 4,261,104 days.

Please verify their status.

Alert!

Protocol ‘Hell Take You All’ has been completed.

No current Grand Administrator detected. Reselecting.

Emergency access has been authorized to new [Administrator].

Priority Alert!

No current heir to the Divine Mandate detected.

Please nominate a successor.

The terminal popped up with a multitude of alerts, but Jordan ignored them as he focused on the screen above. He had two options bouncing in his brain.

Lets see, I can either try to remove threads so I’m not in danger of being an Anomaly, or I can try to make myself one. He’d said, what, just adding threads did that? That sounds like the dumbest plan ever, so first option it is!

Jordan reached through the screen and grabbed the malevolently glowing red thread the Spider-God couldn’t shut up about and pulled.

“Owowowow—fuck! Wait, what? Nononononononononono!” He immediately regretted doing so.

The thread refused to dislodge itself. Instead Jordan’s pull wrenched more of the red thread towards his pattern and the excess glomed onto it, sticking tight. Worse still, his panicked tugging had disrupted countless threads in the distance and around his skeen. Several joined the red thread, and his pattern shook ominously until he pulled the new additions off in panic. With a sigh of relief, they came free and his fate stabilized.

But he also knew now why they couldn’t remove the ominous thread. When he’d pulled at it, it had felt like someone grabbed his heart and yanked it.

Because… he had.

“Fucking hell, I should have realized it was the stupid fucking heart!”

Does that mean the only option is this anomaly crap? Fuck me, this is so stupid…. So Goddamn stupid!

“You know what, if that’s the way you’re all fucking going to play it, then fuck you all!”

In a fit of rage, Jordan grabbed every string he could find, shifting his perspective multiple times to do so, and began to jam them in. If this was the only way he got to walk away from this crap, then he was going to bring the whole damn system down with him!

A golden thread that sparkled in the light, gazing down at him with interest.

A blue thread that wept begging for freedom even as it giggled coily.

That red thread that pulsed with hatred, disrupting countless other fates in its movement.

And many others, some with color but most unworthy of attention, were unceremoniously tangled into the skeen. Even as the pattern began to shudder, he didn’t stop. He pulled, yanked, tore, and set about disrupting everything he could get his damn power-gloved hands on.

With a sudden pulse that caused Jordan to spasm, the pattern hit critical mass and collapsed in on itself. All the thread pulled tight from the implosion, snapping their connections as his Fate became the newest dislodged yarn ball.

“Fuck you Spirits! How do you like me now then, huh!?” Jordan gloated before the sound of whistling caught his ear. The Spider-God was returning.

Shit, shit, shit! Jordan immediately tried to log out, only for a message to fill the screen.

Priority Alert!

No current heir to the Divine Mandate detected.

Please nominate a successor

He tried again and again, but the terminal refused to let him log out. He considered leaving it, but you never left yourself logged into a public system, that was just common sense!

He hoped that if he dealt with the nonsense quickly he could get out, so he pressed against the notice and a list of names appeared.

“Shit, who the fuck am I supposed to pick from this mess?” He didn’t recognize any of the names on the list of thousands. “Ugh, can’t you just select someone for me?” He muttered.

Voice Command Acknowledged.

Would you like to randomize the selection process?

“Wait, you take voice commands? Mother fucker! Oh, whatever… pick whoever the fuck you want and just let me log out already!”

Voice Command Acknowledged.

New Protocol ‘Pick whoever the fuck you want’ has been initialized.

The selection process of the Divine Mandate shall begin.

With a grateful sigh, Jordan was able to finally log out. He turned around and scooped up the toolbox, sprinting to the maintenance door. Stashing the gloves and goggles, he slammed the door and went to rush out the front, only to pause and turn back.

He opened the maintenance door and locked it. You didn’t leave valuables unprotected!

Rushing out the front door, he shut it as he stared at his kidnapper standing a few yards away. A slew of his coworkers were gathered nearby, gawking at him for some reason, as the Spider-God threw up two arms and called out.

“Hey! I got the tarp—you ready to get started?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh...” Shit, I don’t have a damn lie prepared! What if he sees what I did? “Y-you know what, I’m feeling… sick. A-again.”

“What? No, that’s terrible! Wait, unless you might die. Do you think it’s serious?”

“Yup! Exactly that!” Jordan pointed animatedly at the Spirit. “S-so, I can’t kill myself right now because…”

“No, no, it’s okay. I understand. You want to die with family and friends, right?”

“...yes. T-that’s it.”

“No problem babe! Here, let me walk you out, okay? Also, I do really appreciate you getting sick enough to die on me. That’s real sweet of you.”

Against all possible odds, Jordan’s lie worked and the Spirit escorted him out of the building.

How are they this stupid!? Jordan had to work hard to contain his sense of triumph, instead coughing pitifully every once in a while as the Spirit patted at his back in sympathy.

Once they were out of the building, Jordan looked around at the district in front of him.

“So… ah, do you know where I can find a train? A-and my family.”

“No worries, toots! I’ve got you covered, one second.”

The Spider-God threw the tarp away and began to pull out silk spools from his pockets. Weaving the thread in the air, he created a carpet that plopped down. He kicked at it, muttering, and the carpet sprung to life, floating.

“Here ya go! I happened to have one stored away for a rainy day, so I’ll tie it to your peeps and you’ll be there before you know it. Die well, Mortal!”

The Spirit waved amiably three times over as Jordan sat on the carpet and flew away into the distance.

“Phew… I can’t believe that actually worked.” Rikraq said.

----------------------------------------

The City blurred beneath the carpet as Jordan held on. Emotionally at least—he wasn’t sure if his nails would ruin the ride and wasn’t risking it. Instead he sat criss-cross style like a monk, reveling in the ease of the Brat’s body to do such a thing. Were girl’s just more flexible or something?

Looking around, he tried to guess at the purpose of many of the locations he passed, or even to anticipate where his Sofu might be. But it didn’t take him long to realize that something was wrong.

There was smoke billowing from multiple locations around the Cityscape. From his vantage point, Jordan could see masses of bodies fighting in some portions, or looting shops. The whole place looked like it was in the midst of a full scale riot, and the air held a tension to it that Jordan had never felt before. An electric air that made him antsy.

Before long, his carpet swooped down towards a fresh looking plume of smoke coming from a plaza. It looked like it had been a beautiful mosaic, likely built just to give flying commuters something other than buildings to stare at as they went. But it was broken up now, craters and corpses scattered around.

And in the center of it was an ‘innocent’ looking Rahm and Kioko. Jordan didn’t see the cat-girl’s familiar, but there was a massive gem-encrusted beast standing protectively next to her.

As he swooped in, he saw that opposite of Rahm was an incredibly pissed off woman.

“Rahmiel. Instigating City-wide turf-wars this time? How quaint. You haven’t truly gone mad, have you?” The women called out to Jordan’s Sofu.

Meanwhile, Jordan sailed over the scene as several Gods turned to look up at him, one of which was a familiar Tigress. His slow, awkward pace was commented on by a scattering of incredulous voices, before his carpet finally came to park itself next to his Grandfather.

“Ah... hi guys.” Jordan said weakly as he climbed off his ride. It shuddered and fell to the ground, lifeless at the end of its task. Damn, I wanted to keep that, he lamented.

Kioko had an empty gaze to her eyes that spoke of long commutes, but Rahm just smiled as he turned back towards the woman who’d spoken earlier.

“See—what did I tell you, Princess? I was just out minding my own business while I was looking for my Granddaughter. Nothing untoward! Also, the fires were there, eh, before I got here.”

The woman didn’t look appeased in the least. Her towering figure easily matched Rahm's own as a pair of wings stretched out behind her. Her skin was as dark as Rahm’s and she too had four arms, two crossed over her chest as the others gripped at the air with incredulous frustration. She gritted her teeth shaking her head, splaying out her long hair as her luminescent eyes bore fury upon them.

They were Orichalcum gold in color, just like her hair, wings, and robes. It seemed to be a theme for the person.

“You really expect me to believe this? You never go anywhere without causing problems, but you have systematically been unleashing unwarranted and unprovoked destruction upon the denizens of the Celestial City. This is more than some asinine bar crawl—I have a dozen reports of open warfare breaking out and I know you’re behind it!”

“Whaaaat? No, those were just… misunderstandings, you know? I was just out looking for a lost kid. Come on, would I ever lie to you sweety?”

“Don’t you dare give me this kind of insolence.” Her wings rustled warningly.

Jordan leaned over to Kioko and whispered, “Okay, who’s that and why is she mad?”

Kioko grimaced. “Well… that would be Cassiel, or ah, the Diamond Hand Princess of Sky’s End as she’s known up here. She’s… the Master’s estranged wife, fellow Immortal, and head of the PIEA.”

Jordan stared disbelievingly at Kioko. She was joking, right?

“Sweetheart, calm d—”

“Silence, Slayer! I will not give you the satisfaction of listening to the falsehoods you hope to spew forth. While it is understood that you cause disruptions, trolloping around as a Companion to that Tyrant has not given you free reign to act as you please. Do you really think you’re above the Pax?”

Rahm’s smile began to wane.

“Exactly.” Cassiel sneered. “Furthermore, I—” She paused as she stared suddenly at Jordan, her nose wrinkling.

“By the Devas, is that a Demonkin? Here? You… you weren’t lying about bringing that filth of a family with you? That shouldn’t have been possible!”

“Of course I wasn’t lying, see? Now come on, I’ll pay the reparations and we can all be on our way. I’m sure everyone would like that, right?”

Many nearby Gods encircling the area, mostly Guards with a distinctly militaristic vibe, nodded in agreement. Almost all of them appeared worried, though some looked eager for action.

Like Xegreash, whose eyes were glowing twin red stars. She seemed to have taken Rahm’s earlier ‘intimidation’ personally.

“Absolutely not.” Cassiel declared. “Now I know that you’re up to something more than your usual antics and I will understand it before you disappear again.”

Rahm gave a sly grin but remained quiet. Cassiel’s eyes darted back and forth, as though in thought. Brightening from an idea, she examined Jordan briefly again, before turning towards the Tigress.

“Xegreash, you said they came in through your territory, yes? Can you tell me what the Cultivation level of that filth was upon entry?”

“Hmm, yes Princess. She was a Rank [F] in all Core Attributes, save the Special.”

“Oooh, an unassuming NPC who hasn’t even begun her journey. And now?”

The Caretaker looked quizzically at the intimidating woman, before turning to squint at Jordan. She gasped moments later.

“S-she’s a Core Rank [E], ma’am.”

“Well, well, well. Isn’t that… interesting. Rahmiel, care to explain?”

Rahm’s smile disappeared completely.

“Please don’t leave me waiting, sweetie.” Her beautiful voice dripped venomously. “How did you manage this?”

“Eh, you know… Skills and stuff.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Cassiel laughed, a wondrous sound that made Jordan shiver. “Is that the best lie you could come up with? You’re losing your touch, dear. Tell me, I was curious as I do keep track of your activities. Why did you have an Arrow of Light delivered to you yesterday? The Bureau of Daytime Affairs charges quite alot for such services, even for you.”

“I…” Rahm couldn’t defend himself.

“Girl.” The woman snapped her fingers at Jordan without looking at him. “Lift up your dress.”

“W-what? N-no!”

The woman turned to glare at Jordan, making him shrink as plumes of golden Essence wisped out from her eyes.

“Obey.” Her words were quiet, but Jordan’s body was seized with a tremendous force that overruled every ounce of his being. He immediately lifted up his dress, turning beat red. His only solace in the moment was his unexpected gratitude that he’d had unmentionables.

Beyond that he wanted nothing but death at this moment.

“Enough, put it down.”

Jordan gladly obeyed, trembling as Kioko grabbed him and held him close. He felt close to collapsing in tears.

“Rahmiel, explain that fresh-looking scar above her navel.”

“...” The old man said nothing.

“I thought so. That’s proof you used a Relic-Class Cultivation item on a Mortal. Poorly, at that, if I’m to judge it. Still, per the limitations on Mortal Progression as dictated by the Deva’s themselves in the Pax you swore to, I am happy to find you gui—”

“Are you sure you want to do this.” Rahm interrupted.

“What? Why in the Heaven’s wouldn’t I be? You violated the terms of your retirement! Besides… you know how long I’ve waited for a chance to throw your carcass into Asurias. I still don’t understand why the Empress allowed you to remain free, Fallen. Even grand deeds can only justify so much sin. So be a dear and scream on the way down, would you?”

She smiled with her cold, cruel threat, and Jordan realized just how terribly gold could shine.

“Don’t worry, we’ll throw that wretch of a ‘granddaughter’ in with you. Wouldn’t want you to get lonely without that precious family of yours, would we?”

She laughed brilliantly into the plaza, but stopped when someone joined her.

Rahm... was laughing. “You know, if you’d just threatened me, or maybe caught me a week ago, I might have let it slide. But I’m afraid I can’t let you damn her to hell with me.”

The woman’s eyes bulged incredulously. “What in the Heavens could possibly give you the impression that you have a choice in these matters?”

Rahm mulled it over, hemming and hawing in his way, before shrugging twice over. “I guess it’s simple, really. If I’m going down, and I don’t have to worry about protecting my family, then I don’t have much reason to hold back. Now… do I?”

Rahm smiled with that awful shit-eating grin that spread too far across his face. It looked even more monstrous than the woman’s had.

And it made her hesitate. Jordan could practically see the calculations running across her features as she counted again and again the support near her, weighing strategies. Her conclusion didn’t seem to bring her joy as she exhaled in frustration. “So that’s why you drew them all away. This is just typical for you, isn’t it? Fine then. Let’s make a deal, Monster, and be done with this once and for all.”

Rahm raised an eyebrow as the women pointed back towards Jordan.

“I will allow your beloved hellspawn to leave, along with that mutilated Beastkin of yours. In exchange, you give yourself up gracefully for the punishment you’ve had coming.”

“What? No!” Jordan cried out, and Kioko held him closer trying to shush him.

No, he can’t just disappear like this! That isn’t right!

Rahm looked thoughtful, before saying, “Would you give me just a moment, Princess?” His tone was serious and respectful in a way it hadn’t been before. While the woman scowled, crossing her arms as she did, she nodded in assent.

The old man turned, and knelt next to Jordan, who was struggling to see his Sofu through the tears already beginning to form.

“I’m sorry Aury. I, ah, I knew what the price was going to be coming in. There’s… always a price. Remember that, okay?”

Jordan broke free of Kioko and embraced his Sofu. “Please don’t go.”

There was so much Jordan wanted to say, but he couldn’t begin to find the words. Instead, he clung to the old man for as long as he could before Rahm pulled back. Holding Jordan by the shoulders, he reached up and removed his sunglasses, tossing them to the side.

His eyes were an abyss of blackness with Orichalcum pupils gleaming through. But the golden color overlapped itself, as though there were twin pupils in each eye making circles like the Venn-Diagram of the Foci from the Cultivation Mandala. They seemed to reach into Jordan’s very soul as a few tears came from the old man as well.

“Never forget what you learned up here, okay?”

Jordan could only sniffle in reply as Rahm handed him back to Kioko.

This isn’t right! This isn’t… fair. Jordan’s mind spun endlessly, trying to his last synapse to deny the circumstances before him. The old man was insufferable at times, but he was Jordan’s Sofu. He cared about him.

How could he lose him when he’d only just gotten to know him?

With a long, tired sigh, Rahm stood back up and faced his wife. She smiled in triumph, and said, “I will now hear from you your Oath of Surrender, Rahmiel.”

He nodded, spiky hair bobbing once more before he mororsoley responded. “I suppose it’s finally time then, isn’t it? Very well… I, Rahmiel the Forsaken Godslayer, do hereby swear upon my name and my kin, that I will not be Surrendering today, under any circumstances.”

Jordan blinked. Wait, what did he just say?

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