Murder Cube dropped Francis off in the garden around noon. It rocketed off into the sky once he was clear of the blast zone, a glowing white trail of carcinogenic smoke billowing out behind it.

Francis watched it go, feeling like a child of divorced parents returning home after a weekend visit. He had a lot of questions for Murder Cube. Chief among them was what the hell to do about Jack.

Francis wasn't sure how he felt about his new champion. Jack had seemed cool, until he got all weird and turned into sand. But maybe things like that were normal where he came from. Francis doubted that, but it was a possibility. (After all, there were people who willingly ate vegemite.)

An alert popped up in Francis' vision shortly later.

Congratulations! You have gained a new follower.

Jack Dust the Life Cleric: Battle Medic (20) has chosen you as their new god.

They have claimed the vacant position of:

Fucker in Charge of Keeping You Fuckers Alive AKA Doc

He wasn't sure if that last part was Jack’s doing or System was translating things into Grunt. But it certainly painted a picture.

Willow walked out to greet him. “How was your trip?”

“Well, I made a new friend but I'm not sure what his deal is.” Francis explained about Jack and his strange behavior.

Willow didn't seem overly bothered. “Yeah, that's dust hounds for you. They're weird, but generally very reliable.”

“What the hell is a dust hound?” Francis asked.

The cave canem, more commonly known as “dust hounds” or simply “hounds”, are a nomadic race of canines. They have no homeland, instead preferring to wander the stars.

Some dedicate their entire lives to a single profession. Those that do prefer to seek “interesting and useful variation” over something as subjective as perfection.

Cave canem are rare. But, due to their nomadic nature and hardiness, they can be found on almost all planes of existence. Their arrival as champions is said to herald a period of great change or upheaval.

“Huh, neat.” Francis said, somewhat relieved that Jack’s party trick was considered normal for his species. Though he supposed the proper word was “heritage”. He was still wrapping his head around that one.

Willow looked at him funny. “I'm surprised they don't have any where you're from.”

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Francis stopped as he realized an important detail he had missed earlier. “Maybe we do.” The Marine said. “He talked like a brit and made jokes about how bad my German was.”

“What's a German?” Willow asked, puzzling over the strange word. System wasn't giving her much to go on with that translation.

“They are very serious people that like to make easy things complicated and occasionally try to take over the world. They drink a lot of beer and eat a lot of sausage.” Francis said. “They're pretty good at making weapons though.”

“So, like dwarves.” Willow said with a shrug. “Do you know when we should expect Jack to arrive?”

“No clue.” Francis admitted. “But I'm sure he's fine. Dude seems like he can handle himself.”

***

“Shit!” Jack shouted as he ran from the Chthonic Titan of Devastation. Hades had decided not to fuck around this time and sent his best champion to do the spawn killing.

Stompy was having so much fun! Each time he thought he had the funny dog man flattened, Jack dodged at the last second. But Stompy could see his new friend was getting tired.

Jack searched through his character sheet as he dodged the titan’s attacks. “Ahah!” He said triumphantly as a foot the size of a semi-truck came down on him.

***

Jack appeared in front of the palace with one HP, no MP, and ten points of Stress. But at least he was alive. That Cleric ability had come in clutch.

“Nailed it!” He called out, stumbling towards Francis and Willow. He looked like hell and felt worse. “Sorry, I didn't get a chance to stop for beers. A big fuck off angry lizard was waiting for me when I arrived.”

“Oh yeah, that's Stompy. Hades probably sent him, he's a prick like that.” Francis came over and laid Jack down on the grass. “What do you need?”

“Just, give me a minute to catch my breath.” Jack coughed and spit up a mouthful of blood. He looked at the red liquid with surprise. “Ah fuck, that's not good.”

“System, what healing magic do I have available?” Francis asked, kicking himself for not thinking to ask sooner.

Quick Heal: Mana Cost = 10MP per 1HP restored. Takes effect instantly.

Slow Heal: Mana Cost = 1MP per 1HP restored, heals at a rate of 1 HP per minute. Does not stack.

Francis shoved a thousand MP into Jack with Quick Heal and followed up with another thousand from Slow Heal. “That should help, I think.”

“Yeah, it does.” Jack lay there in the grass, happy to be alive as light pulsed through him once per minute. He looked over at Francis. “I thought you didn't have a healer.”

“I just…” Francis frowned, it was too early for him to be comfortable talking to Jack about his issues. “I haven't had to do that before. I'm still figuring a few things out.”

“Thank heaven there's a manual, eh?” Jack began to sit up, wincing painfully as each fracture and bruise made themselves known. He looked over at Willow and waved. “Hi! I'm Jack.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jack. I'm Willow Wisp, the High Priestess.” She gestured towards a pair of golden skeletons walking towards them. They were carrying trays of fruit and pitchers of juice. “You could probably use some refreshments.”

Jack looked at the golden skeletons. His fur stood up and his nostrils flared as they approached.

“I'll bet you don't have those where you come from.” Francis joked.

“Actually, we do.” Jack said, “I was just surprised to see them here.” The dust hound got up to his feet and grabbed a glass of juice. He drained it in big thirsty gulps and poured another.

“Where are you from, anyway?” Francis had no idea how the champion system worked. But it was obvious Jack wasn't from his world.

“We’re nomads. I'm not from anywhere.” Jack dodged the question and responded with one of his own. “You said you were from Texas. Which one?”

“The one on Earth. The best one!” Francis laughed at the absurdity of the question. “You should visit sometime. We have barbecue and tacos that will knock your socks off.”

“Sounds nice.” Jack looked down at his black boxer briefs. “You got some clothes I can wear? It's a bit breezy.”

“Oh, shit.” Francis realized he was still rocking his pink shorts. “Yeah, come inside and we'll get you sorted.”

“Lovely.” Jack said. “Then after that, maybe you can tell me why people are trying to kill us.”