After an indeterminable pause the universe relaxed as if it had taken a slow trembling breath, with small jerky shudders the rift melted away and everything settled back into place with some faint visual aftershocks rippling the place it had been.
Did the universe just have a god damned orgasmic release?! Did Loki just fuck the universe? Holy shit he is real! A fucking god! I think. Maybe not, I could just be tripping balls. What was in that bear meat?! Did I just get spirit raped? Did I like it?! Am I gay for Loki?! Does this mean my wife will divorce me?! Oh my god! I need a doll! I need to show the authorities where he touched me!
My mind was throwing out nonsense in a nonstop series as a few of my neurons shorted out while pure pandemonium ripped through my thoughts. My mouth kept opening and closing to spew it forth, but my mouth wasn’t fast enough to catch onto a single thought. After what felt like a stretch few hundred years in my manic mind I finally I finally burst out a question.
“Di… Did you grab my ass?!” I shouted.
“Pardon me, but did I… what?” He asked me. His normal persona was firmly back in place, and with a disgusted sneer he added, “I would never sully myself with you.”
“You touched my soul! My innards! My no-no soul zone!” I babbled.
“Viktor. Calm yourself.” He said sternly. “You are being unseemly.”
“You!” I said and my wild eyes looked to his face. His strong Nordic features the same as they always had been since I had known him.
I stared at him as my scattered mind came back to together to focus. He had no sign of the being I had seen through the realm-rift. Only disapproval and mild confusion showed on his face. What in the ever-loving fuck was going on here? Why was he pretending everything was business as normal and I hadn’t just seen his godly girth.
“Renown.” I said after a pause, trying to bring back the conversation before the universe convulsed. “I want some.”
“Oh, do you? What is it you imagine? That you shall come to the attention of the gods and scoop in their renown by the pail full?” Loki laughed haughtily, the bells on his ruff making it quite a merry affair. “That is not how it works at all, but at the same time it is. As for inside my tower, it will be a very simple system. A god picks a Chosen, paying a moderate fee of renown to me…”
“How do you pass intangible renown?” I interrupted him with my hand jammed up into the air like an excited student. I may have been risking a godly smite for not keeping my mouth shut, but I had to know, I wanted some god juice. I could wildly imagine what fuckery I could get up to with a little bit of that. No shitty racists, no shitty ass guild leaders. I would be free to do as I wanted while climbing Loki’s tower.
“In terms you might understand the best…” He said without the ire I would have expected. “…imagine it as thus. In my tower of exceptionally fine things, and a few soiled mortals,” he interjected a small insult as was his way. “There is a small gathering of ladies and gentlemen from the highest echelon. Yours truly a shining beckon of example.”
“I am obviously fabulous, and need no further accolades from this gathering, but still, an associate of mine named... Let us just say, for the hypothetical…” He put a finger on his chin in thought for a moment, and suddenly came up with a name “…Thor! Yes, Thor owes me a debt. Instead of giving me a trinket or coin to pay his debt, he goes to the others in the gathering and tells them all a lovely tale about how I bested him in some game or competition.”
“Therefore, I would then have more renown, being the victor of the situation, and he less for being the one whom lost. An equivalent exchange of renown.” He nodded and continued with the prior topic.
“First they pay some praise and renown to me, as the creator and facilitator of such an ingenious form of entertainment, and then they can claim their champion by bestowing it with a fraction of their own renown.”
I opened my mouth to ask the next question, but Loki clicked his tongue at me before I could say anything.
“To claim a champion, we merely have to present it to society. Much like bringing a child to their first Ting, but much less substantial.”
“Thing, what thing?” I asked as he paused for a breath.
“Ting,” he pronounced it slightly different, “an assembly of freemen and lords.”
“That benefactor…” he continued, “…is passing a miniscule portion of their renown on to the Chosen with the simple act of showing them off. After that, it all depends on how the champion performs, if it does well and gains attention or does poorly and looses attention it will also gain and loose renown accordingly.” He smiled like a kind kindergarten teacher. “Do you understand?”
“So, basically…” I began cautiously. “It’s a fucking popularity contest.”
“Oh.” Loki looked at me a little bit taken back and a little bit thoughtful. He crossed his arms and rested a hand on his chin, looking off into the distance and really considering my statement. That very curious cane swirled in the air as he absently spun it around with his other hand.
“Your basic mind may frame it in that crude way, yes.” He smiled, looking at me as if I was his prize pupil before grinning ferally at me. “And I want to win this contest.”
“Presented to society… Does that mean champions get to go to a god party?!” The question burst from me in excitement. I bet they ate like…. Gods! I wanted some godly buffet!
“Oh, dear no.” Loki frowned, now looking at me like I was the class dunce. He let go of his the Trickster’s Lantern and it floated in the air like he had stuck it there. He had wanted me to feel his rod before, he purposely wanted me to feel its power, why?
He snapped his finger and materialized a playing card. He offered it to me and I took it. Central on it was a holographic image of me. The little projected avatar appeared inside a space within the card, as if the image was really looking through a small window. I could see my sides as I twisted and turned the card to peek into the muted grey void that took up the rest of the space within. Nothing seemed to lurk behind me.
My name was written across the top and a handful of symbols ran across the bottom of the card. Touching them changed the image to reveal my various stats and skills.
“You made me into a fucking trading card?” I grumbled.
“Yes!” Loki said proudly. “It was more difficult than you are thinking, trust me. Making a tiny little simulacrum to fit inside the card was such a chore!"
“Simul-fuck-um! I’m no card to be traded willy-nilly!” I bemoaned as I turned the card over and looked at the Icon on the back. Of course, it was an eight-legged horse rearing in front of a moon. The bottom held a hashtag: #teamloki.
“Actually,” he said, and snapped his fingers, the card dissolving in my hands. Damn. I was going to steal that. “That is exactly what you are to us. Pieces on the game board to be prized and disregarded as we see fit.”
I nearly cursed him out. But I was learning. I really needed to get out of here so I could tell my wife. She would never believe me. He took up the Trickster’s Lantern again.
“That cane…” I asked in way of self-distraction from my anger. “What’s in it?”
“Oh, yes this.” He brought the cane into both of his hands and inspected it closely. “This is just a trifle, an accessory that matches my fashion and increases general esthetics. However, it is also something more. The renown, as we are officially labeling it for my tower’s uses, will be made tangible to a small degree. So that the champions can trade, steal, or generally make use of their good work.”
He twisted the cane and it clicked as a hidden mechanisms released. He pressed on each end of the cane and separations appeared between the stripped colors. As he kept pushing the ribbons of metal bowed out and expanded. It opened like an umbrella, but from both ends to form a metal sphere of bars.
Within the sphere a waft of white smoke slid around inside. It moved with an intelligence as it grew and dissolved appendages with its amorphous body to, circle, climb, and slide over every inch within the sphere. It was trapped like a spider made of glittery toilet paper inside of a hamster ball filled with water. Wispily reaching out, breaking apart, coming together, and finding a way to pierce its cage.
It looked like it should be simple, just slipping between the wide-open bars, but some force trapped it within.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
I found myself right up against the sphere, absolutely fascinated by the toilet paper spider as it flitted around inside. After a moment, one tendril twitched at the air like a scenting animal before turning towards me. The thing stopped its exploration and drew up until only that tendril was left. Then it shot towards my face like a striking snake to slam into the side of the ball and dispersed in a puff as it seemed to suicide.
I expected the maneuver, I mean, who wouldn’t? But I still jumped back with a manly shout when it happened. As I shook out my fright, the thing recondensed and started undulating on the side of the sphere that was closest to me.
“What the fuck is this toilet paper spider, and why is it humping the side of the sphere trying to get at me?” I asked, the mystique of the situation broken.
“This is a bit of that renown within the Tower. Soon it will be available for a very select group of individuals. Those who, may not be the best of the best, but entertain a god just enough for them to be watched.”
“Don’t forget to hit that like and subscribe button.” I muttered.
“That is pretty close to the truth, yes.” He nodded and started to spin the sphere. He had ahold of the golden head of the cane, which seemed to make a passable handle for the renown lamp.
“Why is this in here and not on one of your champions.” I asked, and with wanting to skip some bullshit I added. “And don’t pretend that I am not your champion, and this is for some other guy named Ted who does so much better than me in every way, but you pick me anyway after some sort of grueling competition because I got heart, yay!”
He grinned his wolf grin at me again, and I swear his hair started to bunch up like wolf ears.
“His name is Raoul, and he is fabulous.” He said, putting some fabulous Latino accent into his own. It was odd, but I got the point.
“Let me guess. Raoul is really you as a shapeshifter, and you just wanted to make sure I was the right choice all along?” I crossed my arms, which wasn’t very noticeable under my big ass bear cloak. He actually frowned a little this time.
“No. That would be completely played out.” He said with the tone of a lying teenager caught sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. I’m just getting something to drink, dad!
“Right, so now that is out of the way. Give me the mist. I’m not a vaper, that trash is gross, but I’ll gobble this shit up!” I said, sounding like a drug seeker even to my ears. In a way I was. That feeling of it suffusing into me, even indirectly, was so empowering. I needed that sort of confidence. My attitude and self-value were starting to take a hit being surrounded by such negative assholes. I had to force my mind to click over and focus on the people around me that weren’t that way. In my absentmindedness I reached out to run my fingers along the lamp.
A flash of bright, blue-tinted light accompanied by a crack of noise like a gunshot exploded from the lamp.
[You have taken Electrical damage.]
My hand lit up with pain and I staggered away, nearly blown off my feet by the discharge. My spill of expletives were cut off mid-stream as my cloak tangled and I went down hard.
[You have taken Fall damage.]
I struggled to my feet as pain radiated up my arm and my tailbone throbbed. The heap of tangled bear fur had me bristling with rage by the time I was standing again. I couldn’t see my hand inside my tangled cloak, so I had to release the bear claw clasp and shrug it off. It was caught on something, which ended up being an immovable and frozen Pest. As I freed myself from it, the cloak settled over him like a furniture cover.
I looked at my hand. I was missing god damned fingers. Again. My three central fingers were blown clean off as if something had bitten them off. No blood sprayed or oozed out, as whatever had just hit me also burnt the wound closed.
“Mother fucker.” I hissed through grit teeth. I was tired. It has turned into a weird and long day. Especially now with all this exposition dump, who the hell does that in the middle of a dungeon run anyway?
I held onto my anger, held it tight and close while I fed the pain to it, like kindling and logs to fuel my little angry fire engine.
I pulled my eyes away from my—yet again—mangled hand and looked up to Loki. He was grinning so wide that it was a wonder his head didn’t fall off, he spun the Trickster’s Lantern in the air like a baton. He had returned it to cane form as I was sorting myself out. I growled at him.
[Your Berserker skill has unlocked a hidden talent.]
[Numb Indignation - Your anger gives you a thick skin which makes your pain tolerance higher.]
Well, well, well. It seemed that all my edge-lord whining and thoughts about fiery anger paid off. The pain lessened only slightly, but slightly was better than none. However, the slightly lessened pain didn’t take even a chip out of my anger.
I tried to make a fist but with the missing digits my remaining fingers came together like a pincer. I was a god damn crab monster. I guess I had a weak fleshy unshelled pincer for a hand now.
“No one will ever want to mate with me, not with a puny claw like this!” I shouted. “Why in the Schitt’s Creek didn’t you warn me?”
“Reasons,” he said with a bored expression.
“May I please have the vape smoke now?” I asked with forced politeness, the kind that was pushed out of clenched teeth behind a struggling smile.
“No,” he answered. This motherfucker suddenly clicked into verbose mode or something.
“Listen,” I said in a tone dangerously close to disrespectful. “I’m exhausted and in a slight amount of pain, so we should finish this up before you smite me for wasting your time by passing out in your esteemed presence.”
“Perhaps,” he said and after a time where we just stared at each other before he finally spoke again. “Contained within this lantern is the renown that you have accumulated. However, you may not possess it.”
“Why in the flaming flying fucks of hell not?” I snapped, any hint or play at reverence dissolving.
“You see, to convince some of the others to contribute, they saw it fit to leverage some concessions from me in my participation of the tower’s events.”
“And this means jack-off-all what to me?” I spat.
“That, of course means that my peon,”—Champion—“must be handicapped in some way.” He frowned looking at my mangled hand muttering something about bad optics and snapped his fingers. “Not that sort of handica... Handicapability.”
My pain vanished and exhaustion cleared as I was suddenly healthy and whole and feeling like I had just woken up from a power nap. My hand sported new scars across my restored fingers, a thick line where the cut had been and some crisscrossed lines on the base of my fingers. I made a fist hard enough to crack my knuckles, the scars were tight and slightly limited my flexibility. As I was looking at them, it entered my mind that the crisscross pattern didn’t exactly fit in with the clean cut that had been the wound. I puzzled over it for a moment until I made out a few sharp and slanted letters.
“Did you sign my hand?” I asked him, checking that the letters on my knuckles were the same as on the palm side. They were different, but a quick check confirmed it was the rune version of his name. He seemed to ignore the question, but I didn’t miss the smile in his eyes.
“The regulations of the competition are being drawn up by a committee of appointed representatives, and though the true fun has yet to begin they have thus saw fit to limit us. Regulation number one states that you shall receive no material rewards, assistance, or renown from any being beyond the walls of the tower. Their justification is, that if you come to fight one of their champions, I would allegedly bequeath upon you items or abilities to swing the scales of fair combat. You may retain all the positions, rumination, and abilities you already hold. For example, the anointing and blessings that you are capable of performing as a Priest of Loki.”
“Hold up, you didn’t give me jack shit!” I shouted, completely missing the subtext of his words. “I’m fucking dirt poor, wearing a soggy bear skin cloak and an ugly ass pirate coat! And what the hell will stop them from bequeathing,” I spat the word, “one of their champions with OP shit?”
“Firstly, Alpha Tester Viktor, I have given you a very many numbers of generous things as compensation for your contributions. Since you wish to act an ungrateful simpleton.” He said, his tone dangerous as he raised his fingers. I instantly stopped. Impending doom crushing me. I did it again. I missed the cues and was about to get porked. He snapped his fingers.
Nothing happened. I gave myself a once over, even going so far as to inspect myself. I didn’t see anything amiss amongst my skills or stats, the bearskin cloak still lay on the floor and all my other bits seemed in place.
“Ooookay?” I wondered aloud and looked to him.
“As for their influencing things, they are slightly limited in the fact that they may not physically enter the lower floors of the tower. Otherwise, they have no restrictions or penalties too their actions. They handicap us, not themselves. They feel that due to our shared history I should be limited in some manner. I mean, really? My history, as if they are any less culpable? The incidents that they alleged occurred three Ragnarok’s ago! Come now!”
“There are more than one armageddon? I thought that Ragnarok ended the world…Midgard…whatever. Back home.”
“No, my unscholarly little monkey. Ragnarok is a cycle. It happens repeatedly. Life swells to a certain limit and Ragnarok burns it down so new life can rises from the ashes reinvigorated.”
“Like, when?! There are nine billion people overpopulating the planet, not so much with the ashes?”
“Yes, we are due a surge event anytime now. The last Ragnarok was negligible, it was veiled as the Covid pandemic of the early 2020’s and its following mutation aftershocks over the following years.”
“What? Where, I don’t remember the history books telling of a giant wolf eating the world or someshit.”
“That would be Fenrir, the rascal,” Loki chuckled over his promiscuous child’s antics, “whom eats the sun. Sometimes the moon too. It depends on how hungry he is. He always needs to leave space for some All-Father for dessert. You would not see a suitable portion of that. It is veiled, as I said, from mortal eyes. Most of it happens,” Loki gestured to the sky, “up here. Down in mudguard, it was seen as a wave of sickness and slew crowds of people, and forever decimated the socialization and interpersonal skills of an entire generation.”
“Hey! I was that generation! We are fine!” I defended my peoples.
“You don’t count, you grew up rural, your parents were probably Covid deniers and twenty years behind the curve on what was considered modern. You are pretty much a millennial.” He said with a small shudder and sneer.
“The old stuff is nostalgic!”
“If you say so, shut-in.”
“Okay, boomer.” I snapped back. He laughed, an actual laugh with a wheezing knee slapping laugh.
“Ohh, that is truly marvelous. A boomer. Goodness me.”
“Well, what else am I supposed to call a millennia old god?” I demanded and let out a sigh. I felt better after the insta-nap, but I was still tense. I glanced around myself. “So… what did you take away?”
He gestured at the bear cloak.
“What…?” I looked at it and picked it up to shake it out. Everything looked in order now that it wasn’t tangled and caught anymore. It wasn’t caught…
I looked at my party interface. Pest was missing from it.
“What the fuck did you do?” I asked him, deadly quiet.
“Took away something I gave you.” He said.