Chapter 29 - Invoice

Fin-Fan Corporate Headquarters

The Lame Past Nyx Again

I had the weirdest dream during my post-surprise party nap.

Something about a Hellforge and a portal of living flame and a bleeding-hearted moose pining over this elf lady who refuses to acknowledge her own feelings? Probably just my subconscious trying to tackle the trust and communication issues in my own relationship, weaving in my memories and experiences over the last few days.

Just like I was imagining this weird vibration. It was this grinding hum that rippled through my chest and down my arms. It felt pretty good honestly. I’d never had a massage before, but I imagine it would feel just like this—

“Gods damn it! Is there no way to cut through this?” someone hissed.

“I told you. Nothing works. Trust me, I have tried many times.”

Okay, that last one was definitely Fang.

“What are you talking about—?” I began, my eyes snapping open.

Only to see Fang and his mother standing over me. It seemed I was lying on a table in the now very empty tavern/cafeteria. Manslaughter was holding something that resembled those chain daggers Fang’s sisters had been using. Except this one was bigger. Much bigger. More like a chain sword? In fact, there were lots of other power tools strewn along the ground and tables around me, the blades mangled and broken.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why were they broken?

Although, the reason for that was pretty obvious.

I mean, Manslaughter was still trying to cut open my chest, sparks flying as her chain sword ground against the spines of my onesie. Ahh, I guess that would explain the shrieking, metallic grinding noise. And for some reason, my hood was on. Also, my cute paw gloves.

But she and Fang both froze when they saw me move, the chain sword still whirring.

“Uh, what’s going on? What are you doing?” I asked.

Neither of them answered.

Wait, I knew what this was…

“I mean, if you wanted to get my clothes off, all you had to do was ask.”

That one was directed at Fang’s mom. The eyebrow wiggle was just a bonus. Hopefully, it translated through the hood of my onesie. Fang told me it was a pivotal part of the savran mating rituals.

Which, on second thought, didn’t make any sense. You know, since they didn’t have eyebrows? But what did I expect taking dating advice from a hopeless virgin?

That earned me a glare from Fang.

Woops. My bad. That must have been out loud.

He let out an exasperated snort and disappeared – reappearing in a puff beside another table, the much smaller bag of nimbus gems leaning against his chair.

Meanwhile, Manslaughter let out an irritated hiss, steam pouring from her lips. “It is still alive? How?” Manslaughter muttered as she glared at me, still holding that huge sword. Steam beaded on her ebony scales and sizzled on the streaks of molten energy, the moisture clinging to every line and curve of her deadly, lean body.

Why couldn’t I have dreamed of this?

I mean, this was hot. Like really hot.

Seriously, it was very warm in here. Probably all the steam.

“I ask myself that question every day,” Fang hissed as he plucked a gem free, crushed it, and began preparing a fresh line. “Every. Single. Day.”

Wow. I wasn’t loving any of that.

“But I punched him with my claws. They are meant to shred the metal fins,” his mother muttered, eyeing the bulky weapons resting on a nearby table. “He is just sapien. Even if I cannot cut this strange armor, the blow should have liquified his brain.”

Fang just snorted the line, coughing and hiss-laughing.

It was impossible to understand what he was trying to say.

Luckily, Lili was there to help.

“I think he’s saying, too late.”

See? This is why I didn’t feel bad about his impromptu naming ceremony.

“It’s probably the hood,” I offered helpfully, pointing at my face.

I bet it also looked cool from the outside. I mean, I couldn’t be sure since I didn’t have a mirror or anything, but I had a feeling. PK had looked pretty sharp, after all. Unfortunately, the eyes made everything look super green. Also, it got kind of hot. That’s why I usually kept it off. Whew, that was much better—

“He just ripped it off his face!” Manslaughter muttered in horror and fascination, now standing several paces away, well out of arm’s reach as she inspected my ravaged skin.

If she liked that, she was going to love it when I took off the whole onesie.

This was also why I didn’t put the hood on very often. Ripping the metal off my cheeks and neck was pretty easy… it was the eyelids that always got me. Also, the scalp. You know, because of the hair. I just had to take a deep breath and then pull really hard. Luckily, Lili’s [Shadow Aura] patched me up fast. I just borrowed some nimbus from Manslaughter’s power tool, the blade grinding to a stop as she stared at it in puzzlement. Luckily, that distracted her long enough that she didn’t notice my eyelids grow back.

“Anyway, you seem upset,” I observed, blinking away the blood as I eyed Fang’s mom. “Do you need another hug?” I offered, reaching forward.

Only for that chain sword to roar back to life and make a sweeping arc at my head.

My onesie reacted immediately, the hood vibrating rapidly and sliding back up into position, fusing together with my skin. The blade sent off a fresh shower of sparks and jerked my head to the side. Although, the spines cushioned most of the blow.

“See?” I offered, pulling off the hood again. “Totally the onesie.”

Manslaughter was just looking back and forth between me and Fang now. She looked shocked. Like she’d never seen a battle onesie before. Weird.

I was also starting to think that maybe… maybe she didn’t like hugs.

Which was even weirder. They were amazing. Maybe she’d just never had one?

“Or maybe you should get consent first,” Lili offered dryly. “You have a pattern of inappropriate behavior and boundary issues.”

Uh, like what? Name one thing.

“Buying me off a suspicious demon in a death wagon? Oh, or that time you tied up Fang and hung him suspended from the ceiling for weeks? Or months? Honestly, that’s still not clear even when I review your memories. Or what about when you paralyzed poor Pietr? Or when you remodeled your in-laws’ kitchen without asking—”

Okay, fine! I get it.

Sometimes I just get excited. I can’t help it—

“But you can. And you definitely should,” Lili insisted.

Uh, I don’t think she’s right about—

Huh, why are you all nodding? Do you agree with her?

Wow, more nodding. A lot of nodding.

Fine. I’ll get consent or whatever next time. Happy?

“What is he doing now? Who is he talking to?” Manslaughter hissed at Fang. He just shrugged and snorted up a line of powder in one long inhale. “Is he crazy?”

“Uh, I don’t like that word—” I began.

Fang sort of undercut my message, though.

“Yes,” he hissed simply.

His mother shook her head. “I admit I thought you were lying when you told me his spirit was unique. However, I have never seen armor like this before. Still, his onesie and crazy talk will not be enough to distract me. Look at what he did to our food hall!”

“Oh, you like the remodel?” I asked with a smile.

“No! I do not. I hate it. I hate it very much.”

Okay, my smile faded a bit. Which left me with mixed feelings.

Like I was unhappy that she didn’t like the remodel. But smiling also still sort of hurt? Especially when the skin was freshly regrown like this. It was a little sensitive at first. Frowning just felt more comfortable, you know?

“Ahh. What’s wrong with it?” I began. “Did you see the kitchen—”

“I did! You destroyed every appliance and replaced our tools with a giant furnace made out of this—this strange smooth stone. It is too large. It takes up the entire wall and the smoke is suffocating, even for us.”

“That’s why I made the hole in the roof,” I explained.

She just glared back. “Do you not mean the whole roof?”

Fang just chuckled. “That was a good one.”

He was right. His mom really was witty when she got angry. She was the complete package – funny, furious, and smoking hot.

“I think you might have a problem,” Lili muttered.

Or she was just jealous.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“What!? No! Of course, not—”

Ahh, and now she was sputtering in frustration…

“Anyway,” I continued, “now you can get an awesome sear on your demon monkey burgers. Steamed food is disgusting. Also, bland. Also, very boring.”

“And what are we supposed to burn?” Manslaughter shot back. “Why do you think we use these tools powered by our steam spirits, hmm?” Her claws raked at a ruined chain dagger, sending it flying. It struck a nearby wall and quivered in place.

Ahh, huh. You know what? I hadn’t thought to ask that question.

I guess there really was a first time for everything.

“There is no wood here!” Manslaughter shouted when I just stared back at her blankly. “No timber! Only that bamboo. Only the wasteland.”

My brow furrowed. Wait, what?

But she could burn the bamboo, right? There was lots of that—

“And don’t get me started on the bar,” she continued, pointing a clawed finger at the offending furniture. “You drained every bottle and keg we had – even the ones in storage. You ruined the bar and what are those things plastered on the wall, those massive tubes?”

Okay, fine. She hated the kitchen. You couldn’t win ‘em, all… even if, technically, I won a lot. Like pretty much all the time. But she was going to love this.

“That’s your new sound system,” I explained with a more manageable grin.

“Our new what?” she snapped back.

“Your, uh… your new sound system,” I tried again, feeling less confident.

She was just staring, her mouth moving but only a low growl emerging.

“Here? I’ll show you how it works.” I hopped up from the table and jumped the bar very gracefully, only breaking a few mugs and a couple empty bottles. “See? I made a little keyboard and the keys are attached to these strings wrapped around the bamboo. So, you just have to play some notes like this—

WAIL. SHRIEK. WAIL.

“Pietr is better at it than me,” I offered with a shrug. “But you get the idea—”

I cut off as I turned and saw a familiar expression on Fang’s mom’s face. Her son gave me that look all the time. Which left me feeling confused. Mostly because she was way hotter. I’ll admit. I got a tingle.

“You used the bamboo to make that?” she demanded, her voice eerily calm.

Which was weird. She was radiating a lot of killing intent.

Why was I so turned on by this?

Maybe… maybe I really was crazy.

Oh, shit. She was still glaring.

“Yeah, of course,” I chirped. “What else would I use? It worked great with the kegs too. I even made this little spigot system.”

“Oh, dear gods,” she murmured in horror, racing around the bar in blast of steam. Then she saw what was left of the kegs, the wooden barrels eaten away by the bamboo and a miniature forest already growing behind the bar – not quite reaching waist height.

Then there was just a lot of screaming as Fang’s mom blasted the bar and the sound system along the wall with a tight spray of steam, pressure washing the vegetation with superheated water. It even started to strip the poo-crete off the walls. Or, well, chip it anyway. That shit was basically impervious once it hardened.

“What’s her problem?” I whispered to Fang.

He just sighed, rubbing at his temple. “I told you. I told you this so many times, but you didn’t listen – you never listen! That bamboo is—”

“Fucking terrible!” his mom interjected, emerging from the steam, her eyes glowing orange and those magma-like ridges in her scales flashing.

“That bamboo is the bane of our existence. That forest to the south grew that large in a mere 12 cycles. 12 cycles. Now we can barely keep it contained and we have to send crews out weekly to burn it back. That’s why we’re in this situation.”

“Uh, what situation?” I asked gingerly.

She growled. “Apati is dying. The bamboo completely destroyed our ability to ship inventory from the villages to the south by land, forcing us to brave Cocytus. That wouldn’t be a problem – not normally – but recently something has stirred up the monsters that live within its waters. Not a single ship has survived the journey north in weeks.

Huh. Do you think she was talking about those sea serpents? You know, when she mentioned the monsters in the river? Also, I told you so! It would have been way too dangerous to just swim upriver while draining all that sweet, sweet nimbus.

More fun, of course, but also super dangerous.

“Our orders are already stacking up – all these Fin-Fans,” Fang’s mom continued in disgust. “Yet we have already used the pallets in storage. And no silverfin is coming north. And now you just destroyed our cafeteria and infected it with this… this scourge.”

Oh, c’mon. Was it really that bad? It felt like she was overreacting—

Oh, shit. That might have been out loud.

I could tell because her orange eyes squashed into thin lines.

Okay, now I could definitely see the resemblance with Fang. And I was getting another tingle. No wonder every other male in their tribe was dead. Like super dead.

His mom was a real steam show.

“I appreciate the flattery, but it will not save you,” she hissed.

Ahh, I guess that one was out loud. Woops again.

“You did it on purpose that time,” Lili muttered.

Maybe I did – maybe I didn’t. Although, Manslaughter didn’t sound nearly as upset that time. And I could have sworn she blushed a little… or it could have just been the veins of magma pulsing. Hard to tell. I’d probably have to run a few more experiments.

Lili sighed. “I can’t believe you’re using your condition to hit on Fang’s mom.”

Neither could Fang. He was just glaring at me suspiciously.

“Do you understand now how much damage you caused?” Manslaughter continued, weariness entering her voice. “How much this will cost? A small fortune just in repairs – not to mention the bamboo remediation – since it’s in the walls now. But the blood nectar? That’s irreplaceable. Especially, with morale so low and the ports locked down by fucking sea serpents…” she trailed off, glaring at me.

“What? Why are you doing that with your hand?” she snapped.

I was, uh, raising it. “I just have a question,” I said.

“Then ask it,” she hissed.

“By blood nectar, do you mean friendship juice?”

She looked at Fang. He grudgingly nodded.

“Yes, sure. Friendship juice. Which is made from an extremely rare blood fruit that’s only cultivated in areas with a dense concentration of nimbus – which makes the Outer Reaches infertile ground. Not that we could even get seeds out here—”

“Like these,” I offered, a couple appearing in my palm courtesy of a discreet rathole. PK let me keep a ton of his fruit.

Also, Fang wouldn’t let me throw away the seeds when I spit them out.

I’m serious. He made me keep them all. We had lots.

Manslaughter just blinked. Blinked again. Looked at Fang—

But he wasn’t paying attention to his mother. Our eyes locked and we no longer needed words to communicate. Not when there was money to be made – a bargain to be haggled. We had something better. I called it bromunication.

It went something like this:

Nyx: Maybe… uh, maybe we’re actually carrying a lot of valuable loot.

Fang: Of course we are. Why do you think I was so focused on collecting it all?

Nyx: Wow. That was some incredible foresight.

Fang: No, no, you embarrass me. It was all because you built such an impressive Death Wagon – one that could fit all of my precious treasures. The humble hunter admits when he’s wrong. I am not too proud to admit that you are a truly talented bromantic partner and I couldn’t have done any of this without you. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you to your mother-in-law properly. I was just ashamed – grappling with my own crippling inferiority complex. Also, the fact that I will almost certainly die a scaly virgin.

Nyx: It’s okay. I know. But it’s not just the blood heart fruit. I also get the impression that Manslaughter doesn’t know that the poo-crete stops the bamboo from growing. I mean, I built our whole wagon out of it and it worked great. Oh, and then there’s the highway we built, which might solve their transportation problem—

Fang let out a pained his, cradling his face in his claws. Meanwhile, his mother was staring at me again, her eyes like twin suns.

Wait. I didn’t say all of that out loud again, did I?

“You did. You definitely did,” Lili grumbled.

Ahh, well. I guess that would save us some time.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” I muttered at Fang, crossing my arms. Again, not defensive. “We would have had to tell her all of that stuff anyway. At least I didn’t reveal how to milk the monkeys or that the secret to keeping them paralyzed is your—

My bromate’s eyes went wide even as his mother’s sharklike grin widened.

Then, well, Fang fucked up. It wasn’t me this time!

“Nyx, stop!” he snapped.

This time all three of us froze.

Wow. He used my real name. He broke his own rule!

I mean, I’d been good. Sort of. Used a fake name with all my new friends, had kept the babies hidden from sober eyes with a proprietary blend of herbs and spices and a few thousand experimental cocktails. Also, their cute cloaks. His mom had even bought the idea that I had some kind of strange new spirit? Maybe a metal spirit?

Although, that felt flimsy as kraell shit. I mean, how had I healed so fast then? You know, from ripping off the hood of my onesie?

I guess what I’m trying to say is that Fang lived up to his namesake. He was a huge buzzkill. And right when we were about to sell the invaluable precious treasure stored in my wagon to pay off our bar tab. You know, all that stuff I’d kept because I just knew it would be important in the future – and definitely not because he’d complained until I caved.

“Wait… what is your name?” Manslaughter asked, turning to look at me.

“Uh, Nicolas Squattingham Murderson the Fourth,” I answered.

Her eyes narrowed. “And if I said Nyx was a crazy—”

“Rationally challenged,” I corrected automatically.

Ahh, shit. I could tell I messed up. It was the way her eyes flashed triumphantly.

“Fang?” his mother growled, turning.

It was no problem. Sure, Fang had broken one of his own rules. And publicly humiliated me in front of my family and my mother-in-law. And emotionally and physically abused me for the entirety of my childhood. But this time, he’d have my back, right? This was a perfect opportunity to stand up to his mother – especially now that there was money to be made? I mean, he loved money!

Yeah, when his scaly back was against the wall, he’d be forced to tell her to the truth; to admit who I was – what I was – to him, right? Right?

Nope. Wrong. So very, very wrong.

Fang sat there, not blinking or moving.

Then his body slowly began to break apart into streamers of steam…

That cold-hearted bastard just ran away!

His mother stared a moment longer at the empty seat. Then she just deflated, her head sinking into her hands as she rubbed at her temples with sharp claws.

Ahh, that was just like Fang. He did that all the time!

“What? What is it now?” she snapped at me, glaring between her claws.

Right. She was asking because I had my hand up again. “Uh, is there something wrong with me being Nyx?” I asked tentatively.

I’d always suspected there was.

“No. No more talking. No more questions,” she hissed. “Just follow me, mouth shut, hands in your onesie’s pockets. Understand?”

I opened my mouth to ask which pockets, but she interjected quickly. “Just nod if you understand. Do not speak.”

I did. Very rapidly.

“Good.”

She spun and stabbed a claw at a few of Fang’s sisters guarding the door. “You three, move this—this Death Wagon to one of the warehouses. Be discreet.”

“Uh, have you seen that thing. It’s huge. How are we supposed to—” Susssie began.

“Just do it,” Manslaughter snapped, her eyes flashing.

The sisters looked at each other and then fled. Quickly.

Which left me alone with Fang’s mom in the food hall. She spared one last glare at me and curled a claw for me to follow. Then she heaved away from the table, kicked her way through the trash covering the floor of the cafeteria, slammed a set of double doors off their hinges, and stalked into the depths of the Fin-Fan Factory.

Which. Was. Awesome!

I had so many questions, but I couldn’t ask any of them.

Like what were all those machines standing in nice neat rows? The ones manned by savrans wearing thick leather smocks? And why were they shooting their steam into those machines? Oh, was that how they were powered? Is this where that loud rhythmic clanging sound had been coming from? The one I could hear from the city walls?

But what were they making?

I peered close, sniffing. That scent was familiar.

Oppressive. Fishy. It reminded me of my childhood.

Then I saw it. Silverfin. They were canning silver fin.

Obviously. I mean, the logo was slapped all over the building, wasn’t it?

Each of those machines were pressing the fish into little cans. The ones in the next room were cutting up and processing the dried fish. The ones beyond that? Mixing it with oil, water, and salt. And beyond that?

Well, we also shipped the scales north, didn’t we? So, they were melting them down and smelting those cool power tools. Also, the cans. But first the scales had to be shredded with those claws that Manslaughter had been using. Then the ribbons of metal were dumped into a big pot. A bunch of the savrans stood in a circle and injected their steam into some sort of huge furnace beneath it until the metal glowed red hot.

Which I guess explained where all the metal came from.

Not from trees that grew metal leaves – which would have been cool.

Me. It came from me. Or, at least, some of it. Okay, probably a lot of it.

And then came new questions – less exciting ones. Like just where the hell were we? What was this place? Had Elder Gracen ever mentioned this? Had the elders? I didn’t think so. But maybe they were just keeping it from the Hollow? Or… or maybe the Elders didn’t know? But Elder Gracen routinely traveled north, right? Wouldn’t he know?

As I pondered those mysteries, we walked up a few flights of stares, rounded a final turn, and came to the door to an office. One with an incriminating placard.

One that said, “Tom Gracen – CEO of Fin-Fan, Inc.”

Huh. There was this uncomfortable, painful knot forming in my stomach—

However, without ceremony, without waiting for my questions, without asking for my consent, Fang’s super hot mom just pulled open that door, revealing a sprawling, posh office – one with floor to ceiling windows that showcased the factory floor far below. An ornate metal desk had been placed in the center. And behind it?

A person. Sapien. Graying hair. Pristine robes. That familiar judgmental scowl.

“Sorry to bother you Mr. Gracen.”

Then I was faced with one final question – one I wasn’t allowed to ask.

I mean, she was calling this man Mr. Gracen. Tom, if the placard was to be believed. And he was presumably the CEO of a company I hadn’t known existed. But more importantly, Mr. Gracen was supposed to be dead. So dead. Like super, super dead. I mean, I’d seen it happen myself. Had witnessed his last words.

“Stubborn shithead,” he’d said.

Or, at least, I thought I had.

Now I was wondering if I was finally going crazy.

Because that… that was that Elder-Fucking-Gracen sitting behind the desk.