I couldn't help but think about five years ago.

The location was a barn outside of Livonia, Michigan that had been converted into a concert venue for the band Demon Wiatru among several other "much too good for this locale" acts. As much as I loved heavy metal, I wasn't much of a fan of crowds or the fact most of the people around me were drunk teenagers. Oh, and the fact the beer was twelve dollars. The fact I wasn't here with friends, but coworkers also meant I'd sunk back into the northwest corner of the barn to avoid socializing. I was quite capable of communicating with people, usually with snark, but I didn't much care for having to deal with multiple ones at once.

"So, are you having a good time?" Jon Snowan, I still thought his name was Jon Snowman back then, asked.

He was a good-looking Eurasian man with long black hair, a t-shirt that read DEATH TO PIXIES, and a pair of ripped blue jeans. He had a long black mullet, and I had to admit that even I understood the poor bastard was painfully uncool and trying to compensate for it. Unfortunately, he didn't make nearly as much money as our bosses who could at least pretend to be the guy not shoved into lockers at high school. Still, I had to be nice to the guy because he was a senior programmer, and I was the guy who handled the transmog system on Cyber Dragons 2088 that probably wouldn't even make it to the base game.

"Yes, absolutely," I lied. "Francine used to take us to these kinds of venues before she vanished."

"Who?" Jon asked, shrugging it off. "You know this barn is where the D&D killer carried out his spree?"

I stared at him. "The media just found a dice bag and some fantasy novels at his kill site. There's no such thing as a D&D killer."

"You know that, and I know that but it's still pretty cool," Jon said, having clearly a much different idea of cool than me.

"A guy kills his girlfriend and his best friend with an ax in a barn is not my definition of cool," I muttered. "What was that guy’s name? Valentino? Valorant?"

"Doesn't matter," Jon said. "Guy disappeared before anyone could find him. He's probably living out in the woods like Jason Voorhees these days. We're lucky he didn't go on a shooting spree at his workspace. Guy was actually one of our accountants."

"That part I hadn't heard," I said, turning to Jon. Epic DungeoneeringTM must have hushed that up. "Wait, did they have the concert here because of the murders?"

Some people took the occult elements of fantasy metal a bit too seriously. As a stunt, it was in poor taste.

"Absolutely!" Jon said, drinking his beer. "The barriers between worlds are lower here."

"Hey, Jon!" Becky Chang said, a five-foot nothing girl with straight black hair, glasses, and the kind of posture that made you think she'd developed a skill at avoiding people's attention. I didn't know the receptionist well but knew she'd been crushing on Jon hard.

"Hey," Jon said, not bothering to look at her. "Listen, Bart--"

"I go by Aaron," I replied.

"How about after this, we hit the afterparty?" Jon asked. "They're going to do a big Camp Crystal Lake sort of celebration at the creepy abandoned summer camp. There's going to be skinny dipping, good booze--"

"I brought a friend to meet you guys," Becky said. "Nightchilde."

I didn't know if Jon was hitting on me because my attention was diverted by Becky's statement. "What now?"

My attention turned to a woman in a hoodie sweatshirt covering her long star pattern kimono stage outfit and her long maroon colored hair. She had a Christina Ricci-set of large eyes that were so gray that they resembled the moon. Nightchilde was one of my favorite performers with a voice that could slip from rock like Lzzy Hale from Halestorm to symphonic metal like Elize Ryd from Amaranthe. If you didn't know either of those, note they're both awesome.

"We met backstage!" Becky said. "She's a friend of Francine's!"

Jon found himself momentarily star struck. He offered his hand. "Hi!"

Nightchilde was staring at me instead. "Your blood boils with the power of the divine but it is oppressed with the banality of unfulfilled potential and the drudgery of scribe work. Come with me into the night and we will make love in the light of Earth's moon. If you please me, perhaps I will let you worship me for far longer than just the eve."

I paused. "Okay."

Nightchilde took me by the hand and led me away.

"Seriously, how the hell does he do that?" Jon asked as we walked away. "This is like how those two booth babes asked him up to their hotel room at E3."

"They prefer to be called promotional models," Becky said. "Also, Aaron just has this thing about him. It's why Gary Gygax and Steve Jackson invited him to their private game with Vin Diesel, Margaret Weis, and Sandahl Bernhard."

"Wait, what?" Jon asked.

That was the last part worth remembering before things had gotten steamy. Nightchilde had been an aggressive controlling and verbally abusive girlfriend who had, nevertheless, made me weirdly turned on when it happened. It was like she had some sort of power to make me like the insults as well as control. Suspecting that she was the Nightbringer's human avatar, I wondered if there was perhaps a reason for that.

Or you're a sub, Perun said. No judgement.

I rolled my eyes and focused on my surroundings in the present. The Palace of La Tene was a lot emptier than I expected. We more or less had the run of the place as we followed to the throne room. It wasn’t completely empty, there were people cleaning and generally looking unhappy. Given most of these elves would have previously been living life in tree houses like the Ewoks, I couldn’t blame them.

The mood in my party was pretty despite the fact that we’d managed to survive our encounter with the Wind Demon. The revelation that Not-Ivan was, well, not Ivan, had caused Joan considerable distress. Stress that she didn’t need because she was already mourning a friend. I’d forgotten that while everyone else had hated Thistle, she’d been Joan’s friend and mentor. I’d also apparently upset people by pardoning him but not nearly as much as by my ‘kill and raise’ plan. That apparently didn’t go with their image of me as a lovable house cat ranger. Indeed, the fact I could hear them whispering about it didn’t help.

"You know maybe we shouldn't have pushed Aaron so hard on the Thistle thing," Bloodstorm muttered to Agata, probably thinking I couldn't hear him. "After all, I like Ania becoming more like Aaron but I'm not sure Aaron becoming more like Ania is a good thing."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Ania would have just killed him," Agata said, clearly having her own mixed feelings on the subject. “So would I.”

“I feel if you two agree on anything, it’s probably the right decision,” Bloodstorm said. “I thought Aaron saw something special in me when he agreed to let me on his team. Now we’re apparently letting any madman and bandit join.”

I grimaced, unhappy with Bloodstorm’s words. He was expressing the kind of words that the Dark Undermasters had expressed about Garland before they’d stabbed him to death. He’d let dwarves, elves, goblins, and even ratkin join his part of the order. Jealousy had played a role in his eventual assassination but so had the belief he was changing too much about how the Dark Undermasters functioned. On the other hand, it was an organization that was supposed to be about giving people second chances. One part Monster Hunters, another part French Foreign Legion. It bothered me that Bloodstorm was starting to doubt the faith I had in him because I was trying to give other people a chance to be all that they could be.

It's your right, in the Army, Perun sang a little jingle. Yo Joe!

I shook my head. Not now, Perun, or ever.

"It's okay, Aaron, really," Ania said, trying her best to reassure me but clearly not sure how to proceed.

"Is it?" I asked.

"I mean, no," Ania said. "That was insane.”

I interrupted. "Sorry.”

“Why did you kill him and revive him?” Ania asked. "Seriously, I need to know."

“Intimidation check bonus,” I replied. “I figured it would give a +4.”

More like +10, Perun said. So. props on that one even if you wasted a REVIVE slot. You might regret not having one of those soon.

The truth was that I was pretty sure that if I didn't kill Ivan or do something similarly drastic, then the rest of the group would have killed him regardless of my actions. It was a massive fake out but I didn't want to get into the habit of killing prisoners nor did I want people to think they could just plot against me. The moment you started making threats and not following through with them was the moment people believed they could get away with anything. I didn't want to enforce my leadership with violence but I wasn't sure that charm was going to cut it with so many people that weren't on the same 'save the world by being the best person possible' page as I was. It also bothered me that they weren't. Ania would support me no matter what but that was because she loved me and not because she believed I had the best plan possible.

“Uh huh,” Ania said, skeptically. "I know you want to believe in redemption, Aaron, but I'm not sure that's a thing."

"That's a depressing thought," I said.

"Redemption is real and you deserve all the happiness, Stepmother!" Rachel said, suddenly, hugging Ania from the side and stopping our movement to the throne room.

Ania stared as if she'd just been abducted by aliens. "What the f--"

"I sense your devotion to the cause of war and love both!" Rachel said. "You both burn with that feeling and I have never been prouder to be part of your family. I can't wait for you to get married and bless your wedding a hundred times over."

Ania started to struggle in the red witch's grip but failed miserably, becoming increasingly desperate and starting to look like a cat struggling against being snuggled. Apparently, Rachel had her mother's strength. "Please stop."

"I swear to defend you two and your love to the end!" Rachel said. "Because we are family and family sticks together!"

"That won't be necessary--" I started to say.

RACHEL MORNING HAS JOINED YOUR PARTY

"Oh goddammit," I muttered.

"Aaron, help!" Ania said, still locked in a death cuddle.

"Could you please let her go, Rachel?" I asked.

"Yeah, he might kill you otherwise," Joan said, the bitterness in her tone significant. Apparently. I'd let her down as a parental substitute.

I didn't blame her for feeling that way.

"Oh fine," Rachel said, letting Ania go.

Ania gasped for air.

I checked Rachel's stats, she had all 25 and was level 25. Was she a guest party member or were we in endgame? Jesus.

Gesundheit, Perun said.

It doesn't count as a prayer if I just think it, I said.

Sure it does, Perun said. In any case, Francine's 25th level so it makes sense for Rachel to be that high. Either way, Francine lacks the one thing necessary to be able to win against the Old Gods.

Which is? I asked.

The willingness to cheat, Perun said. All's fair in love and war. Which is why Zorya Dawnbringer was always my favorite daughter.

"Can we get back to moving?" Jorg asked, having stopped before the throne room doors. There were conspicuously no guards.

"Come on, Jorg," Jon said. "Rachel is just expressing her incestuous love for her father and stepmother."

"Stop that, Jon," I said, not in the mood. "She's a guest and doesn't deserve your shit."

"Yeah, I'd shapeshift before I slept with either of them," Rachel said. "That way it wouldn't be incestuous."

Everyone stared at her.

"That was a joke," Rachel said, blinking. "You know, because if I was an elf, I wouldn't be biologically related to Aaron. Because--"

“We need to focus on how we’re going to present this to the queens,” Francine said.

“Which this?” I asked.

Francine waved her hands around the group. "All of this. Two of the Old Gods being dead is something that changes the balance of power in the Southern Kingdoms."

"Yeah, that's the idea," I said, sarcastically.

"I didn't bother checking on Crossroad after I left the Tutorial Area but you've turned it into a hardened fortress," Francine said.

"Again, that's the idea," I replied. "My parents are hoping to rebuild the Dark Undermasters."

"Yeah, if we can get Papa Bartkowski to stop comparing Ania to Tawny Kitaen, then he can shape up a lot of these candidates into decent monster slayers," Jon said. "Did your dad like date her or something?"

"No, but my mother may have," I said.

Jon stared.

"I said may have," I said.

"Too late," Jon said. "The image is there. You might as well throw in Molly Ringwald and Elizabeth Shue."

"No," I said, annoyed.

"We also have to figure out what to say about Ivan-Cezary," Francine said, addressing the elephant or Not-Quite-the-Antichrist-But-Close in the room.

"How about nothing?" Not-Ivan said. "That seems like the safest thing to do."

"I have oaths to follow," Francine said. "Sworn to the Dragon Queen."

"Who is dead. Killed by the woman you're working for now. Besides, I don't recall who put you in charge," I said, less than impressed with Francine so far. She seemed like a nice person but nice didn't get you very far in this world.

Aaron, please don't try to go back to your black costume era, Perun said, chiding me. I love all my remaining champions and neither you nor Francine can pull off the Punisher as good as Alek.

"I am the highest level here," Francine said. "No offense, Aaron, but you haven't been here nearly as long as I have."

"No offense, Francine, but you've accomplished jack and shit while you're here," I said, a lot meaner than I expected.

"And jack left town," Jon said. "What happened to your raven? They're supposed to keep you on mission."

"He died," Francine said. "That doesn't matter now."

Actually, it kind of did since it was a reminder that her party tended to have incredibly high casualties. Not that I wasn't doing a lot to catch up these days.

"I've kept the Empire from conquering the country of Ledziania," Francine said, simply. "I've been bleeding their forces white and working to destabilize their position back home. The goal is to eventually result in the assassination of Constantine the Black and the installation of a Ledziania favorable ruler."

"No offense," I said, pausing. "Actually, some offense, I'm not sure turning Ledziania into Vietnam helps deal with the whole evil undead armies thing."

"I agree with Aaron," Joan said, sounding like she felt guilty about that. "The Empire's forces may not be the best people in the world but the thousands who have died here aren't just pawns for your political games. I mean, yes, they're slaving murdering assholes but...err, nevermind."

"I mean, I hate the Empire but yes, you could have just sent me to kill the Emperor," Ania said. "Veles would have stepped aside if Aaron challenged him to a rematch at Pwiffle."

"Also, it's more Afghanistan than Vietnam," Jon said.

"Not helping, guys," I replied. I wasn't used to arguing with people, but I really had it about to here with being pushed around. "Do you even have a plan for dealing with the Wind Demon? Or is just more politicking?”

“We can’t kill it if there’s a chance to save my brother,” Jorg said, showing a rare moment of sympathy.

“I have a plan—” Not-Ivan started to say.

“You shut up,” I said.

"This is the real world, Aaron," Francine said, narrowing her eyes. "Sort of. Armies win wars, not plucky bands of heroes. Your cousin understood that before he went rogue. Also, tell me what exactly you think you've accomplished amidst all your dick and incest jokes."

"Two dead gods are worth some dick and incest jokes," I said.

"Yeah, the incest jokes are my thing now," Rachel said.

Everyone looked at her.

Again.

"Oh, they're not funny when I do them, huh?" Rachel said.

Jorg knocked on the throne room doors. "Can we focus on what matters now? We've got to meet with royalty."

That was when there was the sound of gunfire from within.

Ah shit.