Author notes: Hey Kids, I'm back with the milk… Except milks really expensive right now (thanks Obama) so instead I bought 500 cigarettes and a handle of rubbing alcohol.

Bon apatite

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Hyena Werks, A proud Orario Company.

DanmachiXDnD Nonhuman semi SI

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Chapter Eight:

Delusions and Grandeur.

(Pride Flavored Prejudice)

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“Nifty toy.”

I looked up from my fiddling with the fanged hammers on what I had been calling ‘The Boom Stick’ in my head to see Loki and Finn making their way towards us across the courtyard.

While Finn was observing the remains of the dummy with an expressionless face, the Goddess herself was laser focused on the shotgun in my paws. “I’ve heard of those ‘firelocks’ making waves down in Kaios, but I was led to believe they were gimmicky, mostly useless things, which…” Her eyes briefly flicked over to the ruined stone wall in the distance. “Your version certainly isn’t.”

Wut.

WHUT.

THEY’VE HAD GUNS THIS WHOLE TIME!?

But- I went through that whole spiritual journey thing! For days I had been wracked with indecision and guilt over whether or not I should go all Ash Williams on their primitive asses!

AND THEY ALREADY HAD THEM THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME!

Before I could snap my shotgun over my knee in incandescent rage, someone from the crowd spoke up.

“You recognize that thing, Lady Loki?”

Loki hummed with a nod as she drew yet closer to me, rubbing her chin in thought. “They’re supposed to be all the rage these days among the sultans of Kaios. Pretty much all of the Desert kingdoms of any note have a regiment or two that use ‘em. Though, I’m pretty sure their ones aren’t powerful enough to turn a breastplate into iron filings… Nor do they glow red with evil lookin’ runes.” She finished with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow.

I puffed out a snort through my nose in frustration at my own stupidity as I hefted the hand-held artillery piece up to rest on my shoulder. If I had just bothered to ask someone if they had guns, I could have skipped my own self flagellating pity party and started working on something actually impressive.

Instead, I let my own indecision and guilt hamstring me into building, what is in essence, just a sawed-off punt gun.

Whatever, if anything else, it will make a half-decent sidearm when I finally transition onto getting some real firepower.

Like an even bigger, magazine-fed shotgun.

Witha’ huge bayonet-

No-

A belt-fed one with an underslung chainsaw.

Shaking away the increasingly impractical, yet incredibly cool ideas for weapons and refocusing back to Loki’s implied question. I simply returned her raised eyebrow with one of my own. “I did tell you I was an artificer, right? Making enchanted weapons is kinda’ my whole thing.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Finn’s head snap around to stare at me, but it was Loki’s suddenly hawkish gaze that kept my undivided attention.

“When you say enchanted…” Loki’s captain trailed off, his brows furrowing in focus as he tried to read the fell language scrawled across the gun.

But before he could continue, his Goddess cut him off with an unsubtle elbow to the ribs. “-And just what is your firelock enchanted to do, Max?” She asked with a sickly sweet grin and an air of faux innocence, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

I looked back and forth between her and her stone-faced captain, trying to find the trap in their words, because make no mistake, there absolutely was a proverbial pitfall here. Something I’ve learned after days of dealing with their word games, was that they had weaponized my ignorance of this world.

“Oh, ya’ know, standard stuff. Decreased projectile friction so that air resistance isn’t as much of a factor. As well as a bit of code on the end to help speed along chemical reactions. Like I said, standard stuff.” I finished with a feigned casual shrug, yet still closely watching their faces for any tells.

I must have failed a perception check or something, because other than a small twitch of Loki’s lips, both of them were unreadable. Instead of inquiring further, the Goddess in question simply held out her hands and made grabby motions towards the gun. “Lemme’ take a gander, Max.”

Deciding there was no harm in letting her hold the gun as there was no ammo in it, I passed her the shotgun grip first.

The second I let go of my end, her eyes bugged out and her arms trembled trying to hold it up. The Goddess struggled with it, red in the face, for a few moments before Finn eventually swooped in and took it from her.

“What the hell!” She finally gasped out after recovering from her surprise workout session. “That thing weighs a ton, Max!”

Finn weighed in appreciably in one hand, not looking at all bothered by the weight, before passing it back to me with a nod. Accepting it back with grace, I turned back to Loki. “A ton? It’s like- forty-five, fifty pounds at most. Maybe you just need to work out more.” I finished with a teasing lilt, cradling the shotgun across my chest.

Damn, I really need to make a holster or something for this thing; It kinda was a bit awkward to hold.

Loki gave me a gimlet eye for a moment before shrugging while a good natured smirk tugged at her lips. “Ya, ya, I get enough guff from my own familia about my health, I don’t need to hear it from you too, mister hyena-man.”

She then leaned forward a bit, her eye’s cracking open just enough for me to her almost luminescent red pupils shining in manic excitement. “But never mind that, let’s see how your toy does against some real armor. Gareth!”

The dwarf in question only grunted in affirmation, before making his way down the range, grabbing a spare dummy from the wall as he went. After setting up the target, he unbuckled and pulled off his own, off-white colored cuirass and draped it over the strawman with an affectionate pat.

When he was safely back over on our side of the range, I gave him a questioning look. “You sure? I don’t want to wreck your gear…”

I felt some creeping unease when he threw his head back and started laughing uproariously. “Don’t worry a bit, Max. If you manage to scratch the paint I’ll be mightily impressed.”

With a shrug I pulled out two more shells and crammed them into the chamber. Alright, don’t come crying to me when I turn your expensive armor into swiss cheese, then.

Posting up, I took a second to shake out my still slightly sore wrists before taking aim.

Feeling a bit braver this time around, I cocked both hammers, let a savage grin grow over my muzzle, and squeezed both triggers with an almost manic zeal.

In a repeat performance, the gun thundered out its righteous fury, bathing the courtyard in smoke and lead. When the smoke and acrid stench of rotten eggs finally cleared, I could see that the straw sticking out from under the breast plate was simply no more, reduced to ash and dust.

But the armor itself?

Almost in a trance, I felt myself pad forward, headless of the rest of Loki’s familia.

Dangingling listlessly from a single strap, the armor swung in a slight breeze. From where I stood, I could see the result of several buckshot that had struck the piece. The lead shot had pancaked itself all across the surface of the metal, sticking fast through sheer friction.

Absently, I stuck a claw under one of the rounds and worked it off, revealing the unblemished paintwork underneath.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Working with increasing fever, I pried all of the lead from the armor to reveal that it was…

…Completely, and utterly unharmed.

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Finn watched absentmindedly as Loki fiddled around with a small chunk of warped and pitted steel while they waited for the rest of her command to shuffle in.

There was a tiny frown tugging at her lips and her brows were pulled together in apprehension as she stared off into space. The pallum knew that his Goddess would never allow the rest of her familia to see the uncertainty and inner turmoil that was currently written across her face; And the second that door opened, the only thing his fellow executives would see the unflappable and irreverent Goddess they all knew and loved.

But for the moment, when it was just the two of them…

“Valis for your thoughts?”

Almost as if she was coming out of a trance, the Goddess startled before shooting her captain a look. “What? Oh, nothing… It’s just- I think I finally figured out our resident ‘gnoll’, but I need to hear from Gareth first before I’m sure… He still hole’d up in his room?”

“Last I checked? Yes.” Finn said with a sigh. After that weapon of his failed to so much as scratch Gareth’s armor earlier today, Max had locked himself in his room and refused to come out. Only leaving for short stints to go down to the cafeteria for dinner or to get more books from the library.

“Anakitty said she heard him banging around, but other than that we have no idea what he's doing in there.”

“‘Banging around’? What, is he throwing a temper tantrum?” She asked with a small smile upon her lips, a bit of her usual self shining through her dreary countenance.

“No, she said it was ‘rhythmic and steady’. So I would guess that he’s making something.” Finn answered with a smile of his own, glad to see his Goddess was still happy enough to joke around despite the stress of the last few days.

Loki opened her mouth, probably to make a rude comment about what other activities could result in a rhythmic banging sound; But whatever she was about to say was lost in the commotion of Finn’s door being carelessly thrown open by Bete sauntering in, along with the rest of Loki’s command filing in on the gray-haired werewolf’s heels.

When everyone was settled into their usual spots around the room, Loki started the meeting off without preamble. “Gareth, report. I want to hear everything.”

With a gruff “Yes Ma’am”, the dwarf gave his full account on what happened ever since he was told to be their guest’s chaperone for the day. From Max conscripting one of their level ones, Morel Taji, into being his personal peon for the day; Along with a detailed list of everything the gnoll asked the young recruit to buy for him, and how much money the gnoll gave the boy to cover the cost.

To then describe how, at roughly eight in the morning, Max commandeered a bench in one of the auxiliary gardens, and didn’t leave until about three in the afternoon.

It wasn’t until Gareth was detailing the exact steps the artificer took when building his weapon did Loki interrupt him.

“His own blood?”

“Aye, watched him slice his palm open and all- started spreadin’ the stuff like jam on toast. Down right creepy to watch.” The dwarf finished with an exaggerated shudder.

For her part, the Goddess didn’t respond. Only putting a hand to her chin while her eyebrows scrunched up in thought. For more than a minute they sat in total silence before Tione hesitantly broke the lull in conversation.

“My lady?..”

“I think-” Loki suddenly started, unintentionally interrupting her executive as she stood from her seat and began pacing in front of Finn’s desk. “-I finally know what Max is. A non-humanoid being, one chock full of magical power, an expert at creating enchanted objects… And uses parts from his own body to do so…”

Trailing off, the Goddess continued to pace while her children watched on nervously; Unused to seeing her so out of sorts.

“Max… May not be a mortal afterall- or at least- not as we think of them.” Stopping mid stride, Loki turned to face her command. “I think that Max might actually be closer to a Spirit...”

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Saying I “Underestimated them” would be a gross, unbelievable understatement of the last few days.

This whole time I’ve been treating these people like they're some podunk, ass-backwards, pats-on-the-head stupid- drooling primitives who would be blown away by the mere concept of a steam engine or a printing press.

Who the fuck am I to think that I could upend this entire world with naught but the work of an afternoon? Good to know I guess, that the second I gained a tiny spec of real power- Scratch that, the second I gained a modicum of potential- unrealized power, I immediately developed a fucking God-complex and started deluding myself into thinking that I was weighing the fates of nations in my paws.

With a growling sigh I crumpled up another page filled with designs for a scroll-fed, spell slinging machine gun from my notebook and tossed it over my shoulder; Where it fell to the ground to join the other crossed out and abandoned ideas for increasingly ridiculous and/or impractical weapons littering the room.

I was so very, very wrong.

No, not wrong- I have been willfully refusing to accept the reality of my situation. I haven't been dropped into just any old fantasy world, no. I was now stuck in a shonen fantasy world, where swordsmen single handedly decimated entire armies on the regular, and the power of friendship is usually the solution to all problems.

With a derisive snort, I started sketching out a rough design for a mythril rod firing rail-gun; That outta’ punch a nice clean hole through Gareth's fancy armor.

As I fleshed out an idea for monster stone powered capacitors, my mind drifted back to my behavior these past few days. I had been treating this whole thing as if I was interacting with uncontacted island tribals, who’s lives would be irreparably ruined by some of the knowledge kicking around in the combined head of a middling artificer and a twenty-first century office jockey.

What a fucking joke.

These people have been fighting a war for over a millenia against an eldritch, unknowable enemy whose size and strength is quite literally incomprehensible. What is a piddly little slug thrower in the face of an endless horde of monsters capable of running roughshod over any modern military?

Nothing. A quirky gimmick at best.

A mild curiosity that would quickly be forgotten about in favor of the tried and true method of throwing falna graced adventures at the problem. The natives here don’t use guns not because they’re too stupid to conceive of an idea that my people thought of over half a millennium ago; They just don’t use them because guns are infinitely less efficient against monsters then when using a falna enhanced sword or bow is far simpler, and far more effective.

When I inevitably reached the part that had sunken all my other previous plans, I once again tore out the page with a snarl. See, for all of the innumerable ideas for weapons that are swimming in Max and I's head, they all suffer from the exact same fatal flaw.

I just didn’t have enough time.

Not enough time to draw up the scrolls needed for the machine gun; Not enough time to find a power source capable of feeding something as power hungry as a rail gun; Not enough time to put together enough Bag's of Holdings for the portal grenades I had planned on pitching to my DM as a funny homebrew. Not enough time to put together a Steel Defender; Not even enough time to forge out some adamantine flechette rounds for the Boom Stick.

With a groan I let my wizardly quill to fade into aether and buried my face into my paws.

The Denatus is only a few days away… And I don’t have a fuckin’ thing to show for it.

While I think I know Loki enough at this point to confidently say that she wouldn’t use force to put a falna on my back, there are plenty of others who absolutely would be more than willing to stick their ‘divine essence’ where it’s not welcome. If for no other reason than to get their grubby paws on someone who can make Bags of Holding, because God knows that those are one of the only useful things I’ve shown to be able to make.

And that's another thing…

Giving up on workshopping ideas as a lost cause for tonight, I flipped my notebook shut and pushed myself away from the desk with a growl.

Padding my way over to the one window in my room, I took in the scene. Overlooking one of Loki’s many well manicured gardens, the view from my room was quite honestly, breathtaking. In the dead of night, the once colorful courtyard was now dyed in the baby blues and light grays reflected by the river of stars that hung overhead.

A sight that was all but extinct back home, save for only the most remote of regions; The never ending cosmos stretched across the sky unimpeded. Thanks to the practically non-existent light pollution here, the Milky Way (if it even was my own galaxy) was visible to me in a way that I hadn't seen in a long, long time.

Probably not since I was out camping as a kid with my family…

Max, on the other hand, was well acquainted with the virgin night sky. Especially after spending countless hours sleeping under the stars as he and his party traveled across Exandria on one wacky adventure or another.

Oh, damnit- now I've gone and made myself sad, thinking of them again.

Actually… Now that I think of it, our friends are probably the one thing Max and I have in common. We were, in essence, friends with the same people, afterall.

Or at least, we were fundamentally friends with the same people.

Physically shaking away the discordant memories between Max's friends- the puppets, and my friends- the puppeteers, I carefully reviewed my subconscious hitches between me and Max that have been happening with increasing frequency.

It has become abundantly clear that whatever saw fit to stick me and Max together, had not done so cleanly. There is a gap- a definite divide between the two of us. I- Don’t even know if what I've been experiencing these past few days has been just some sort of- echo- a lingering ego… Or if Max is actually still here, in me, somewhere.

Regardless, there was a jagged, torn line separating man from gnoll somewhere in my mind- in my soul.

And somewhere deep in my atrophied, yet Max's well honed instincts I- We knew that letting some Deity fitz around all willy nilly with our soul by branding us with a falna, as damaged as it is, would be a horrifically terrible idea.

Turning away from the window, I started making way dejectedly towards my bed, deciding to get some shut-eye and push all of current Max's problems firmly onto future Max's lap when I froze.

Waitahminute.

"...Portal grenades?!"

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