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CHAPTER 6: RAFIKI SAID “THE PAST CAN HURT. BUT THE WAY I SEE IT, YOU CAN EITHER RUN FROM IT, OR LEARN FROM IT.” MY ADVICE? DON’T TAKE LIFE LESSONS FROM A CRAZY OLD BABOON.
[ SIMON RENOLDS ]
Simon Renolds Jr. stepped out of the chopper, looking sharp in his rich, deep burgundy J.Crew suit with grey lines running throughout, a white Uniqlo shirt, a tight black Topman tie, glossy black Hugo Boss Oxfords, Dior sunglasses, a black Vector watch, and his newly acquired leather Ralph Lauren cross-body bag. A fluffy white kitten head peeked out of the bag, somehow clashing with Simon’s arrogant rich young master style – but that was okay.
He was an arrogant rich young master with a sensitive side.
Girls dig the sensitive side.
He readjusted his stylish blond hair, which the breeze of the rotor blades had ruffled, and gave a cursory check to his impeccable appearance before crossing the landing pad. Sebastian trailed after him silently like a second shadow.
The director of the Renolds Institute for Extraordinary Medical Cases was waiting for Simon a short distance away, rubbing his hands nervously, along with a small delegation of high-ranking executives and medical personnel.
Simon folded his sunglasses into his breast pocket and gave the group a polite smile, pointedly ignoring the confused looks directed at the glaring kitten. “At ease, gentlepeople. This is a personal visit, not an inspection. Although…” Small pause for dramatic effect. His gaze went to the bearded man standing in front of the group. “Although. Since I’m already here, Director Harris, we might as well review the trimester.”
Simon spread his arms helplessly and looked at the rest of the delegation. “If any of you have any concerns they’d like to bring to my attention, pass them onto Director Harris and I’ll make sure to assess them. Any concerns, I insist. Alright?” He made sure to meet the eyes of everyone present. “Good. You’re dismissed. My apologies for pulling you away from your duties. Any complaints should be directed to Mr Harris, whom I warned I didn’t need a welcoming committee.” He finished on a joking tone that didn’t quite reflect on his face. This brought some chuckles to the assembly, although the director himself looked somewhat anxious in the face of Simon’s tight-lipped smile and cold blue eyes.
Simon then turned to a short balding man with thick round glasses. “Dr Harold, may I have a word, please?” He gestured toward the state-of-the-art facility and started walking; the doctor fell into step. As soon as they were out of earshot of the rest, Simon’s tone lost his cold, business-like edge. “How are you, Sergei?”
“As fine as any man far from home may be, young master. But here I can conduct my research in peace and make a real difference,” the doctor answered with the tiniest accent. He sighed. “I only wish my Lyudmila were here with me.”
“Oh? Didn’t I mail you? Your wife will arrive at the Boston Logan airport in…” Simon glanced at his smartwatch. “Four minutes thirty-two seconds ago, in fact. Her permanent card resident under the name Ludmila Harold would have been handed to her upon landing by one of my men, who will then drive her to your home.” He looked up to see the older man gaping at him.
“But— what— how? But the government…”
“There’s little in this world money can’t facilitate, Sergei. And I am, as I recall you saying, a ‘snotty rich brat’. Money is the one thing I have too much of.” He waved off the doctor’s attempted apology. “Really, it’s a low price to keep someone of your calibre.” And he meant it, too. Serge Harold, formerly Sergei Vasiliev, was probably the world’s current topmost neuroscientist. For Renolds Incorporated, and for Simon more personally, his talent was priceless. A few millions to speed up paperwork, smooth down ruffled political feathers and hire mercenaries for worst-case scenarios were a drop in the bucket of the profit the good doctor would reap them, as far as Simon was concerned.
Of course, his father wouldn’t see things the same way, which was why Simon had taken the money out of his own pocket. A drop in a slightly smaller bucket, then. A drop in a mug, maybe.
Well, he could survive on discount caviar for a few months.
And in a few months, it wouldn’t matter anymore.
In a few months, Simon Renolds Sr. wouldn’t be the head of Renolds Incorporate anymore. In fact, if Simon Jr. had his ways, his father wouldn’t own even a taco stand by the time Simon was done with the man.
Repressing an evil laugh, Simon kept his expression pleasant and caressed his Persian kitten’s head as he conversed with Dr Harold on the way to the neuroscience unit.
“With this, I hope we can— aouch!”
The kitten had bitten him.
* * *
< MAIN POV >
“Oh, he-hello… Been a while… Master Grisal. How have you… been?” I grimace, trying and failing a smile. Inside my head, a chibi-me is screaming in terror in front of a big screen replay of my last meeting with the old man.
Suffice to say we didn’t part on nice terms – on any terms, in fact. I was too busy running to stop and draft a contract.
“…Indeed.” The small curve of the old man’s thin lips doesn’t reach his eyes.
My own attempt at a smile cramps even more.
This old bastard hasn’t changed one bit.
No, not one.
Even his appearance has stayed the same – that of an old 17th-century French musketeer someone hung in the sun for too long. Skin tanned by the outdoors, dishevelled white hair, a thick goatee that elongates his already long face even further, and a full, lustrous moustache underneath his crooked nose. Back ramrod straight and piercing grey eyes, his entire demeanour is prideful, which clashes somewhat with his plain and patched clothes.
“A very long while…” His gaze bores through me like the laser beams I know he can shoot from his eyes.
I’ve seen him do it!
I burrow deeper into Thena’s embrace, shrinking away from Grisal’s killer gaze.
“I’m sorry, sir, but who are you?” And finally, the semi-orc feels like interjecting. Wariness filters in her voice. She’s smart like that.
“Mmh?” Grisal looks up dully as if only now noticing the seven-foot tall green woman in full plate armour standing right in front of him. He meets Thena’s signature glare with an annoyed pinch of his wrinkled lips and disdainfully blows an unruly lock of white hair off his face.
I never saw him move. Thena too was too slow to avoid his strike. The attack hit her square between the eyes. Her head snaps back, and the imposing Shield Bearer is forced several steps back. Somehow, she held onto me – which I’m thankful for.
Thena abruptly leans to the left, almost evading another blurry stab – but not quite. A dark singed mark is left on her hard skin. Something in me snarls at the sight, but before the feeling can fully manifest, the semi-orc summons her shield, trapping me between two slabs of metal, the shield and her breastplate, and my train of thoughts quickly derails.
Such a shame we can’t feel a thing through her armour.
Don’t we have more pressing issues?
…no?
Ehhh. Maybe not.
Peeking around the shield, I see a cold-eyed Grisal pull back his weapon – a mop.
It’s a mop!
And he’s holding it one-handed by the… erm… moppy end? What do you call the bottom of a mop? The head? That doesn’t seem right. The foot? The wet part? In any case that doesn’t look like a practical handhold whatsoever. I glance at where the mop was lying abandoned a mere blink earlier. Now the spot is only occupied by a lonely bucket.
That old monster hasn’t gotten one bit slower.
And not one bit more reasonable either!
The misused cleaning implement blurs again. With a yelp, I duck back behind the shield, hugging Thena’s fortified chest for all I’m worth. Blows rain upon my metal shelter. Thena manages to deflect most of them, but every hit takes a toll on her. She winces and curses. I can see beads of sweats rolling down her forehead, all the way down to her strong jawline. I want to reach and wipe them off, but I’m afraid it’ll distract her.
Also, there’s that weird impulse to lick them off – but let’s not think about it.
No, no. On the contrary. Let’s!
*BAM*
A strike rattles my skull. Against my shoulder, Thena’s Gorgon Shield shivers in tandem with its wielder – as if in pain. From what I know of Grisal’s abilities, it might very well be the case. Cursed gear and pseudo-holy items don’t work well together.
Unfortunately, what I know of my old mentor’s abilities also tells me he’s taking it easy on us right now. Patronisingly easy. I fear the moment he turns serious. A mop wouldn’t be enough to scrap us off the floor then.
And as if on cue…
“Not bad, not bad at all,” Grisal mutters. “But still— insufficient!” With his shout, the next hit echoes sharply. Thena’s shield is ripped out of her grasp and sent flying halfway through the room. It scraps across the paved floor until a large rocking chair stops its course.
Suddenly exposed, I yelp. Thena moves to distance herself, but another attack sweeps her feet from under her. She topples to the ground and my nose cracks against her breastplate.
“Outfff!!”
That hurts!
As soon as we hit the ground, Thena immediately tries to jump back on her feet. But a wooden rod materialises an inch away from her nose, its tip gleaming with a worrisome fiery orange glow – like a miniature sun on a stick. Thena freezes, chest heaving with way more exhaustion than she should from such a short fight.
I don’t feel too good myself. Black dots swim in my vision, and nausea is twisting my guts. Could be the shock, but I blame the stick of condensed sunlight held a few inches above my sun-sensitive dhampiric head.
By contrast, the wrinkled old janitor isn’t even slightly winded. He looks down at us, still holding the mop in one hand. Outrageously, the wooden rod isn’t even cracked from the brutal exchange.
How high-levelled is his [Mop Mastery]?
More importantly, why don’t I have that skill?!
No, no. I’m pretty sure that’s not a real skill.
Grisal’s eyes shift to Toto, who got thrown off Thena’s shoulder when we fell. He rolled away and is now lying butt up against the side of a bookshelf. As for Appleseed, she’s failing at hiding underneath a nearby table. Grisal’s gaze pauses briefly on her, causing the cowardly goat to bleat in distress. With a sigh, he shakes his head and removes the threatening mop from Thena’s face, the glow fading.
The weight on my soul instantly lifts, and I can breathe easier. I address a quick prayer of thanks to Sun for killing me— and thus blessing me with innate sunblock. Maybe I won’t be able to work on my tan anymore, but no matter how you look at it, “charcoal” tan is too much tan.
Grisal turns his chilling grey eyes to me, and I stiffen. He sighs with patent irritation. “You’ve always had a knack for getting into weird situations, stupid disciple. But I’ll reckon you outdid yourself this time!”
I manage a smile. “Err… Thank you?”
“It wasn’t a compliment!” He shuts me down mercilessly. My smile falters. I look away, scratching my head awkwardly.
Movement under me catches my attention. I suddenly realise I’m still sitting on Thena’s stomach. “Oh, sorry!” I quickly crawl off her – not without some reluctance – jump to my feet and reach down to help her up. But she ignores my offered hand and stands on her own, her glare never leaving the old man. I look down at my hand. With a sigh, I shake my head and let my arm drop.
I turn around. Thena is still glaring at Grisal and not paying attention to me.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
No, I’m not jealous. Nope. Not one tiny bit.
Maybe we could set the old fart’s ass on fire again?
Or boil him with lobster.
Fill his pants with rusted nails.
Coat him in snurgle bait.
Drown him in a pit of molten mercury.
Tell the elves’ Council of Elders he stole their weed.
Teleport him naked in a village of Watermelon-worshipping succubi.
...
…
Maybe not that.
Yes. That seems a little harsh.
…
…
*shivers*
*shivers*
“You attacked me!” Thena spits words at the old man but doesn’t make a move to attack.
Smart move – or, I guess, smart… not… move.
Anyway.
Master Grisal scoffs, visibly unimpressed at my Thena’s anger. “If I’d seriously attacked you, half, you’d be meeting your gods.” My ears perk up at the derogatory term, and my lips peel back, releasing an angry hiss. The geezer only cast me a disdainful side glance.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Ooooooooooooh! How much I would love to shove a blood crystal through his noggin. But I suspect it would only mildly annoy the old monster.
I need to work on my haki.
Thena’s lips purse as if she’d bitten into a particularly bitter lemon. I watch her, worried about what she might do. I know she hates when her weakness gets pointed out in any way.
Thankfully, she merely grinds her teeth together, click her tongue, and stomps away to pick up her shield, shoulders squared and tensed with fury. I discreetly sigh in relief.
The old fart stands next to me, also watching Thena. “Girl got potential, skill and guts— much more than you do, stupid disciple.”
Couldn’t resist a cheap dig, could you?
“A shame she’s one of the dark races.” The disgust in his voice makes my skin crawl on multiple levels – down to the hypodermis.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut, old thing. Nobody cares about the racist yapping of a senile dog.” My voice comes out flat, and my eyes glare at him unblinkingly.
A sneer lifts his moustache, and he scoffs. “If only you showed a fraction of this passion for your training, we might have done something with you.” When I don’t turn away, his eyes narrow. “What is this? A few months adventuring on your own, and you think you’re all that, boy?”
The word is like a bucket of cold water on my head. “Shhhhhhh!” I hiss, a finger on my lips. I look frantically in Thena’s direction. Thankfully, the woman is busy fighting off the rocking chair that stole her shield.
I glare coldly at the old man. “How did you even know it was me?”
“How many souls blessed by Sun do you think walk this world in this era? How you managed to retain your blessing even after becoming this… travesty is beyond me.” The latest part was muttered mostly to himself. “Of all the things to turn into… Mother Sun have pity.”
“She already killed me once… And I was cursed, by the way. I didn’t take this form on purpose.” Let us be clear. I feel I’m being judged a bit unfairly here.
For once.
Hey!
Grisal’s eyes roll. “Of course you were. You always were a magnet for trouble. If not for your innate abilities towards magic, do you think I would have even bothered training you? It’s a damn miracle you didn’t burn the library to the ground.”
“Always nice to know you’re appreciated. Also, the building is fireproof.”
“I don’t want to hear complaints from the idiot who got turned into the very ancestral enemy of his own Holy Order.”
“I told you I didn’t do it on pur— what?” I blink. “What are you talking about?”
Well, when you think about it. Knights of the Sun on the one hand… vampires on the other…
Oooh. In hindsight...
As I come to this obvious realisation, Grisal casts me a sharp glance. He looks about to say something but then deflates with a sigh and rubs his eyebrows. “Did you listen to nothing I taught you?”
“Well… I—”
“RAAAAAAAH!!! Give. That. BACK!! YOU… STUPID… PIECE… OF… FURNITURE!!!” A loud shout and the subsequent crack save me from answering that trick question.
We both turn around to see a fairly pissed semi-orc striding back in our direction, shield in hand, and leaving behind the scattered debris of a rocking chair. I briefly worry the Library won’t be too happy about that, but the splinters are already crawling back to reassemble themselves.
Looks like a swarm of wooden mutant caterpillars.
Eh, I guess it’ll be fine…
In a nearby painting, a hawk-lady with half-moon glasses shoots Thena a glare and puts a clawed finger on her beak in a shushing gesture.
So breaking furniture gets a pass, but being loud is a no-no?
Well, this is a Library.
Reaching us, Thena throws a suspicious glare our way. “What were you talking about?” She also throws a bunch of gems at the cursed shield. The gorgon face greedily devours them. Grisal observes the process with an expression that is half disgust, half morbid interest.
“Eden’s cursed tools,” the old man grunts. My ears perk up at the familiar name. He shakes his head. “Only you, stupid disciple. Only you...” I’m about to question him when he turns at Thena. “I will answer your question, greenskin. Maybe you can get through to this fool.”
Okay, that’s enough badmouthing my Thena!
I clench my fist and unleash my full power!!
TAKE THAT, you fart!
Grisal stops my punch single-handedly without even looking.
…
I might feel humiliated if I wasn’t already supremely frustrated.
Ignoring me, the mean fossil casually continues. “I was reminding this sorry cretin about the Holy Order of the Sacred Sun, which… she belonged to, and how it was founded millennia ago for the express purpose,” his cold, steely glare falls back on me, “of combating the dark creatures surging from the Dark Kingdom Eden. Chiefly amongst them, the bloodsucking abominations of Markus Sangbleu. Vampires!”
“Owowowow!” His hand, still holding my fist, tightens painfully around my digits.
*ting*
What now?! I’m busy!
Quest UPDATE: The Plot
Background
It all began with the gathering of the Great Sages. They were seven, four men and three women, who swore loyalty to the Angel Queen, ruler of Eden, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Within these sages dwelled a power never before wielded by humanity, or any mortal race, for each was a peerless genius amongst their peers, and together their combined might could frighten even the gods.
Under the kind guidance of the Angel Queen and the protection of the Seven Sages, the kingdom of Eden prospered, bringing peace and wealth to both high- and low-born.
But with the brightness of good fortune came the darkness of envy. The neighbouring kings could not quell their desire for the treasures of Eden.
And that greed would doom them all.
They attacked Eden. One by one, the lands of the Pandore Continent fell prey to the fires of war. In this sea of angry flames, few were those who sided with the Angel Queen’s land. Overwhelmed by the numbers, even the might of the Great Sages could do nothing but slowly lose ground. At the sight of her beloved kingdom burning, despair dug its blackened claws into the Queen’s pure heart.
She cursed the gods, cursed Fate, and above all, she cursed the greed of men. To save what little was left, she abandoned herself to the darkness. The one once called the Purest Maiden became a demon of the battlefield, the Black Raven Queen. The Seven Sages, in their loyalty, followed their beloved ruler into madness, unleashing onto the world countless horrors to battle their innumerable foes.
Faced with atrocities defying imagination, the kings, at last, recognised their folly.
But alas it was too late. The world had fallen to madness. To survive, they could only attempt to mimic the Edenians and create monsters more terrible even.
The war became a nightmare, and Pandore burned.
Eventually, after decades of bloodshed, the fighting came to an end. Eden emerged victorious. But there was no rejoicing – only tears. The ones now called the Black Raven Queen and her Seven Dark Lords wept for all that had been lost, as not even the death of all their enemies had saved their cherished home. The army remained, but Eden, the Kingdom of Wonders, had been ravaged beyond recognition – as had most of the known world. It was a wonder whether the continent would ever fully recover.
Crushed by sorrow, the Queen vanished. With nothing but bitterness left to unite them, the Seven Lord also each went their separate way.
One, master of alchemy, secluded himself to continue his research.
One, strongest warrior amongst all, could not bear to abandon his Queen and roamed the world in search of her.
Another one went with him. Weaver of curses but cursed with sickness, she knew she had little time left to live and only hoped for one last meeting with her most important person.
One returned to the wilderness with her beasts, whose company she preferred to any other.
One simply disappeared, dispersing into the shadows.
Two, who together reigned supreme on blood, souls and death, had fallen in love amongst the horror. However, one died from her wounds on the morrow of the last battle, in the throes of childbirth.
Left alone with their infant son, and originally a foreigner to Eden, her husband chose to return to what remained of his birth country and raise the child.
Thus came the end of an era. And some things, which should not have been forgotten, were lost. History became legend. Legend became a myth. And for seven and a half thousand years, the continent gradually reconstructed itself anew from its ashes. Today, little to no memory remains of what fire had burned the land down in the first place.
Until, one day, someone disturbed relics best left to rest.
…
*dun* *dun* *DUUUUN* (LOL!)
PS: That’s where you come in and try to stop everything from going to sh*t. Be a good Apostle of Me, protect the balance and all that. Good luck!
Sincerely, Bob Chaos, God of Chaos, Potatoes and Other Miscellaneous Things.
Objectives Stop the bad guys before they destroy the world, by any means necessary – and I do mean any. (I tried to keep it simple for you. No, no, don’t thank me. –Bob)
Stage 1: Join the fun! [Checked] ✓
The Seven Dark Lords may have left this world, but their legacies remain. (GN: Honestly, that’s kind of the issue.) Locate at least one of their power and seize it for yourself! Careful, others might have their sights on it. Hint: power might be closer than you think
Secret clue: Power isn’t far indeed! By completing Kansas Elder’s seemingly inconsequential request, you have obtained the trust of this mysterious individual and been granted access to the forgotten valley of Nowhere. There lives a mysterious enchantress who may (or may not) hold the mysterious secret to this mysteriously mysterious power you mysteriously seek. Very mysterious, this is.
Stage 2: No strings attached…? [In Progress]
You have finally obtained the antique power of the First Progenitor of the Vampire Race, one of the Seven Dark Lords, Markus Sangbleu, the BloodSoul. Congratulation! However, it would seem the last holder of the power isn’t willing to let go of it quite yet.
The tortured soul of Princess Victoria Sangbleu has been trapped for two millennia into a failed curse of her own doing that was her undoing. Passing from host to host, carrying her baggage of grief and insanity, she clings to the realm of the living. As the current host, you have access to Victoria’s power (amongst other things…*wink-wink*) but you aren’t the true holder of that mighty power just yet. In the current state of things, should Victoria’s soul be destroyed or leave you, that power would become lost to you.
PS: You don’t want that, so better get working on breaking that curse~
UPDATE: You’ve run into an old acquaintance who appears to possess precious information on the Great War. Who knows? Maybe he can be persuaded to share that information with you and help you progress in your noble quest! He doesn’t seem too fond of Eden, though. Good luck! (Now, that’s going to be hilarious to watch. Love, Bob.)
Stage 3: [Locked] 🔒
Hint unlocked: gather as much information on the Great War as possible.
Success Condition(s): - Break Princess Victoria’s curse
- Uncover the truth behind the Great War Failure Condition(s): - Lose the ancient power of the BloodSoul Reward(s): - Full control over the BloodSoul powers
I wave the window away even as I’m twisting my body to try and pry my hand out of the old monster’s grasp.
Was there a need to hit me with the whole thing for just a few lines of updates?! This interface is bugged!
Shouldn’t there be something about that in the settings?
Maybe? Why don’t you remind me to check that when nobody is trying to break my wrist!!
Such a whiner.
Oh, shut up.
Grisal is still talking to Thena, uncaring for my pain. He’s always been like that. So selfish. And he wonders why I ran away? My semi-orc is looking at me with a troubled expression, muscles tensed, but hesitant to intervene. I want to call out to her and ask for assistance in bashing the old man’s skull in – but I wouldn’t ask her to commit suicide.
So I keep my mouth shut.
Or rather, I keep owowowing.
“…owowowowowow…”
That’s not even a verb.
It is now.
“…owowowowowowowowow…”
Are you trying to offend native Americans?
I’m in PAIN!!!
Alright! Alright… Don’t get all upset. Geesh.
“…so I was berating this stupid disciple for not only betraying the trust of Mother Sun but also joining the ranks of the very bloody abominations our order was created to defeat!” The hand holding me suddenly pulled forwards. Caught off guard, I can’t resist – I couldn’t anyway. I’m physically weak as sin. I trip, and Grisal’s second hand firmly latches onto my forehead. I feel the familiar power of sunlight built up in his palm. Brutally, it burrows straight into my skull.
“GAH!!!” This familiar power I once wielded with ease is now searing my insides, causing unbelievable pain. It feels as if someone was dipping my head in lava while piercing every pore of my skin with white-hot needles.
“Ugh! Aah!! It hurts! It hurts! Stop that! Stop that right, now!! Sushi in a Russian nutcracker! Something’s wrong with the pain parameters of this game! Arrrgh! Stop! Stop that!” I thrash and try to rip Grisal’s fingers of my head, but it’s all pointless. That old fogey is stupidly strong!
We’re also stupidly weak.
That doesn’t help! Yes!
And why is this old man always so violent?!
I don’t like violent old men! I like violent women!
Why can’t you be a violent onee-san type mentor?!
Fucking crazy bastard.
THIS IS WHY I DIDN’T WANT TO COME HERE!!
[ Light Damage –38HP ]
“Woh-owowowow!! Stop! I’ll die! I’m really going to die!!”
I only have 80HP to spare, for Sun’s sake!
I’m about to do something stupid in last resort— when respite comes from an unexpected place.
“BEGONE!!! MINE!!” An angry spirit barks from the depth of my curse. Grisal’s glowing hand jerks away as if stung. I fall to the ground, holding my head and rolling on the floor, crying out random, original and ill-appropriate curses. The meaning doesn’t matter as much as the delivery.
Thena still hasn’t made a move. I don’t blame her for it. She probably wants to but hesitates considering she doesn’t stand a chance. I get it. It’s the intention that counts.
It still hurts, though.
My head, I mean.
My feelings too, a little bit.
But mostly my head.
“…owowowow…”
The old man blows air through his nose. His moustache trembles like an angry furry beast stuck above his chaffed upper lip. “Oh, stop that glaring, Half. If I wanted to hurt this idiot badly, I’d have already done it, and there’s nothing you could do to stop me. I merely wanted the lesson to sink in.” He shakes his head. “For some unfathomable reason, Mother Sun still favours this… incorrigible dolt. No matter my personal feelings, I wouldn’t kill this disrespectful, calamitous, irrecoverable, useless, irresponsible, stupid brat.” He glances down at me, his irritation clear for all to see.
Although, I am too busy crouching and hugging my head to pay much attention to him. Instead, I conjure a mirror from my inventory.
My eyes widen at the sight of my burnt face. I wail. “OH, MY BOB!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
*tutu*
You, yes you, have reached Bob, Great and Amazing God of Chaos and, occasionally, of Potatoes. And fries. I love fries. We are currently unable to attend your prayer certainly not because we’re listening to music. Our normal hours of operations aren’t fixed, but it certainly isn’t now, so stop calling. I SPEAK VISION FROM MY OWN MIND!! Bu-bu-bubu! Bu-bu-bubu! Ptsss. Ptsss. Ptsss. We are closed now. So we’re not open. Please leave us a message after the *ting*. We will return your call when the office reopens. Maybe. Perhaps. Eventually. Who knows? We first need to build an office.
*ting*
Oh, for fuck’s sake! That useless stalker!
I mentally kick the window away.
Far more importantly than a crazy god, Grisal’s burning palm left a huge singed handprint into my forehead! A red angry palm on my beautiful, smooth, immaculate forehead! I don’t want to be marked with a perpetual facepalm!
It’d save us some time, though.
Seriously?
Well, no. I’m pissed too.
“What have you done, you ancient overpowered baboon!” I jump up and pummel Grisal with my fists – again, quite uselessly, I’m sad to admit. To my great shame, he swats my fists away like flies and pushes me back with a single finger on my aching forehead.
[https://i.imgur.com/N7qmGa6.gif]
His steel grey eyes are burning figurative holes in me. “Don’t push it, vampire brat. I might change my mind about not burning you to ashes still.”
“Dhampir! I’m a dhampir brat! Please be accurate with your condescension!”
Thena’s wide eyes find me. They are shouting, “Stop antagonising the OP old man!”
I ignore her.
Grisal also ignores my protest, more focused on something else. His expression is dangerous, almost hungry. “Turning into an abomination is not everything you did, did you, stupid disciple? I don’t believe I’ve sensed that dark power ever since the day my own master passed the memories of the Order’s Legacy onto me.” Once again, his palm starts glowing orange and extends slowly in my direction. His eyes are fixed, unblinking, and an ancient inner fire pulses inside the dark wells of his enlarged pupils. “Having the original power of Sangbleu delivered right to me on a platter…” His voice is low, but a whisper, but brimming with contained emotion. “It would be a shame to let this opportunity go.”
SCARY!!!!!
Retreat! Retreat!
Fighting off a surge of dizziness, I hide behind Thena – putting the semi-orc’s bulk between me and the frightening old man. Appleseed joins me, deciding that this spot was safer than underneath some flimsy table. Toto saunters back to us as well. He plops his little fluffy behind down next to Thena. His beady red eyes glare silently at the old knight.
Grisal pauses and contemplates our little formation.
The face-off continues for many more frantic beats of my scared little heart, until eventually Grisal sighs, and his intensity recedes. He steps back and sniggers without humour. “Hah! Luckily for you, I’ve sheathed my sword a long time ago.”
And picked up the mop?
I want to ask, but I watch my tongue for once. Things seemed to have calmed down somewhat, and I’d rather not reignite the issue.
Grisal’s eyes meet mine. “And speaking of sword…”
Sword?
…
Uh-oh.
Not good.
Retreat! Retreat! Withdraw! Backpaddle! Reverse engine! Abandon ship!
Pussy out?
Anything! Whatever! We need to get out of here!
I jump back out of sight, shrinking behind Thena’s back – only to nearly shriek in terror when I turn around and find cool grey eyes inches away from my face.
Oh shit.
I never heard him move. But that’s not surprising coming from a man who can turn into light itself.
With a beat of lateness, Thena notices the old man has disappeared from her sight. She curses and spins around. But too late. Grisal already caught me by the front of my dress and hoisted me off my feet. I squint at the tip of his glowing mop teasing my nose. Nausea comes back. The whole library is swaying around me.
Honestly, I’m pretty sure I’d be dead if it were not for that [Too Close to the Sun] title.
“Where is the Sacred Sunsword, stupid disciple?”
Ah, yes, I feared this was the case…
Back to square one then.
And everything had been going so well.
No. No it had not.
* * * * *