It came from a flash in the sky on the first rain Corv's Folly had seen in a year. A bolt of lightning struck deep within the mountains, finding a crater of earth centuries old. As if that was its mission to set events in motion. To knock and loosen the bolt of a door meant to be closed. A heartbeat under the stone pulsed a rumble through the mountain range. The mile wide crater began to crack at the center, shattering the earth into a rippling wave of rubble.

"HYeck, HyecK, hYEck!" Guttural noises from below rhythmically hacked quakes in the air itself.

Within the breaching darkness, an eye opened, soulless and green. The first thing it saw was a dreary storming sky. A pupil formed to see it clearly and spread across the entire iris in an endless cycle of rings.

"cOME to mEee..." The voice commanded. “mY FLESH!”

Overhead a perched Stead Vulture looked below in suspicion but felt the call from the voice beckoning him into the abyss.

"HYECK, HYECK, HYECK, YAHAHAKA!"

. . .

Morning came for Corv's Folly, but all remained silent in the dry valley of brush below the mountains. The sparse trees had already dried from the rain by sunrise, but no rodents emerged from their hollowed knots. Not even a bird chirped. Every cloud dissipated and left an empty blue sky looming overhead.

The clacking of steel boots traveled the air, stomping the withered bramble in their way. The wearer matched the boots with white steel armor, accented with bronze plating on his legs, chest and shoulders. Sheathed to the hip was a longsword with an ornate handle wrapped in leather and stitched by golden thread. His cyan eyes peered in every direction as he walked along the coarse soil. Whistling wind brushed the blonde waves in his hair like a puffed exhale of breath. Not a true gust, but a tree to the man's left suddenly shook. The dry rustling rang the young man into a readied stance, hand on his sword.

I will not waver, he thought with resolve.

His glare immediately deflated beyond a stout cactus patch, further than the sound's source. Strolling towards the quiet rocks was a man in a moss green fiddler cap and an old messenger bag. He halted his foot, turning attention to the Paladin 15 yards away. The young man's honey brown hair was so unkempt that the hat couldn't contain it all. He wore baggy green overalls that matched his hat, but also a clean white shirt buttoned up to the neck. He was rather slim, like a wiry doll. Had to be in his 20s, but the rings around his eyes contrasted. As for the eyes themselves, they were bothered and naturally the color yellow. Another breeze went by between the two, and the Paladin sheathed his sword to fire a question.

"Why'd you do that?" The yellowed eyed man called out before the knight could speak, casually pointing above. "You don't see that thing?"

Confused, the swordsman quickly followed the comment behind him and immediately felt the pummeling of a dense frame against his body. The force sent the man into a nearby tree, shattering its structure against a hundred pounds of steel. The creature cackled carnivorous cooing between jagged teeth, growing from an engorged hooked beak. Its black wings extended against the sun, and the knight gasped at the perversely morphed vulture. The beast hobbled mid-air like a marionet, rotating its spindly human-like hands with engorged bulbous fingertips in the place of talons. Opening and closing in anticipation, single-minded in grabbing anything to rip apart.

Despite the extra weight of metal, the Paladin nimbly rolled from the wooden debris as the creature dove. Its hands printed inches in the dirt and reduced what was left of the tree into dust. The bones in the monster's neck cracked in turning, its dead green eyes were consumed by radiant light emerging from the knight's unsheathing.

I will not waver…

An angelic golden line fissured the air with lethal accuracy, and one demonic wing alone took flight. The creature screamed as green ichor flooded the amputation, turning the body upside down in a grotesque attempt to fly. The hanging eyes locked with the warrior, mid swing. His face was determined and without a shred of fear.

I will not waver from my destiny!

An uproar of light drowned the strike and silenced the twisted bird's speech. There, it laid in two pieces with the third in freefall. The wing spiraled by its warped bone but landed in the hands of the man with the messenger bag, nonplussed and focused on his new findings.

"Huh," he murmured while examining the feathers and exposed bone. "Sturdy black plumage..."

"Hey," the Paladin tried getting his attention. "Don't touch that!"

"The wing is almost the same skeleton, but off. Would it still work?"

The yellow eyed stranger ignored the knight as if he had just found the bird lying there! The Paladin was dumbfounded, especially when he realized there wasn't a weapon on this man. Even before the prior night, Corv's Folly was known for its harsh conditions and dangerous wildlife. A four-foot Coython was capable of taking down a 350-pound Torriboar. Though none seemed around at the time, no others could have known this in a single night.

"Could be a chimera," The stranger continued to drone. His speech pattern was stilted and lacked autonomy. He walked past the knight and crouched to hold the slain creature's hand foot. "Though the human element could have weakened the feathers."

"Hey!" The man asserted. "I don't know who you are, but this place isn't safe! That monster came from something far more dangerous than-"

"Shut up," broke the stranger's speech. Irritation cracking through his stoneface. Reaching into his pocket, the man revealed a pair of thin metal tweezers. "Sorry, but I'm working."

Before the tweezers could come down on the wing, every feather reduced to black crystalline dust, sent to the sky. Once more, the Paladin prepared his weapon while the stranger with the tweezers remained crouched, gazing up at the dust retreating into the mountains ahead.

"Right," he sighed. "Because 'shortcuts aren't easy either.'"

"What is this?" The Paladin asked with gritted teeth. He looked back at the man to find him 6 yards away, still headed towards the mountain pass.

"It's leaving for now," said the man, dusting off his overalls. "So hopefully that means some peace for now. Later."

"Stop!" In seconds, the knight sprang forward ahead of the feather collector, blocking the way. "Didn't you hear me? Didn't you see any of what just happened? I don't know why you're here, but you need to go home now!"

The stranger shook his head, working to resist a burgeoning headache. However, the Paladin spoke with sincerity, and that helped a little.

"I appreciate your concern," he halfheartedly assured. "Especially after I told you to shut up. That was rude. However, I'm on a time sensitive job, and what I'm searching for is up those mountains. I can't afford to be late."

"What kind of job?" Asked the Paladin. "Who are you?"

"Georgie Galmot," answered the man, just to move the conversation along. "A potion vendor from Lazlo. Like I said already, I am on a time sensitive commission that requires Stead Vulture feathers."

This only added to the Paladin's list of questions. Stead vultures were known to be the most reactive and ruthless of Corv's wildlife. They lived in flocks based on a hieratic scale of the strongest called a “monarchy.” They worked in packs to dispatch other animals, and a single one could carry up to 200 pounds with talons capable of piercing trees. Anybody daring enough to pursue these birds would require a team of at least five armed men.

“Lazlo?” the knight pondered. “The Mystmere Kingdom? That’s days north of here. Yet you came alone with no weapon? Do you know anything about this place?”

“I did a fair bit of research,” Georgie answered, constantly looking past the Paladin at the path he would have passed at this point. “I'm also not much of a fighter and managing mercenaries is an expensive hassle.”

“Hassle?” The Paladin exclaimed. “Look there is a lot happening that I have no time to explain, so please hear me. There is a demon in those mountains, and you are going to die if you go up there!”

“I'm already dead if I don't,” uttered Georgie with a stoic leer of purpose. “And it sounds like that demon situation is pretty dire. Should you be wasting so much time trying to save me?”

The Paladin took pause as the weight of the situation increased upon his shoulders. How could this man be foolish and conniving? The knight had come prepared, but not for moral dilemmas.

“Glad that's settled,” Georgie chirped, strolling past the speechless warrior. “Good luck with the demon; you seem skilled. I'll stay out of your way.”

The Paladin slowly turned his head at the wanderer with a death wish on his way to the range's passage. He remembered the last promise he made before leaving home.

I will not waver from my destiny! I swear, no one else will die for Corvolos!

Georgie walked on to the first hill of the pass, letting out a sigh of relief. He was back on the clock and ready to feather hunt. Then the rattling of boots grew from behind.

“Wait up,” the Paladin called.

“I'd rather not.”

“Too bad,” he marched beside Georgie. “I'd rather not have anyone die today, even from heatstroke. Until one of us reaches our destination, we'll travel together.”

Georgie's blood began to boil under an unwanted burner within his stomach. He felt a deep and immature urge to pull anything from his bag to hurl on the chance it would create distance from the tin man with a bleeding heart. However, that would have been a waste of elixir. He did not vocalize his protest and continued the trek with the hope that a monarchy was just over the first hill.

. . .

The two hours that followed on the trail were silent. Occasionally the two would stop to consult on routes and Georgie finding interesting foliage. The higher they traveled, the deeper they sank into rising walls of earth around them. The Paladin would glance at Georgie from time to time, watching for any movement in his remote face. It was obvious the young man had no interest involving himself with knightly affairs, but not even a question of what, how, or even why?

Even under shade, the heat built inside the Paladin's armor, but the potion vendor seemed unaffected. Two clashing layers and he went on as if it were 70 degrees. The Paladin needed to wear his heavy metal, but Georgie chose to come to the desert dressed like he was off to an orchard. The ill-dressed oddball checked his water sack and realized it was empty, yet he only raised an eyebrow.

“Here,” the Paladin riffled through his bag to pull out his own. “It’s enchanted, so the water doesn’t run out.”

“No need,” Georgie disregarded as he approached a nearby cactus. From his satchel he pulled a spiked spigot and plunged the sharp end into the prickly surface.

“That’s not safe!” Shouted the knight. “The water in those cactuses can make you hallucinate.”

“I’m aware,” the vendor agreed while turning the spigot’s knob, causing the water inside to drip faster into the sack. “It sends the brain into a psychedelic state of euphoria and paralyzes the consumer. Interestingly, a fair number of creatures in these lands have developed an extra lining in their stomachs to filter the water.”

Once full, Georgie placed the sack next to his bag and opened a side pocket with a small bottle of capsules inside. One popped into the water pouch, and he began to shake it. After a minute, Georgie removed the cap and took a swig, much to the Paladin’s objection.

“What are those?” he asked as Georgie finished his drink.

“Purifier tablets I made,” wiping his lips. “They work fast and break unwanted chemicals down into a safe diluted state. It's just plain water now with an aftertaste.”

“You could have just had some of mine.”

“Your mouth has been on that,” Georgie put it bluntly. “I don't like swapping germs, and I don't know where you've been.”

Before the Paladin could get offended, a familiar wailing of vulture screams echoed at the two from ahead. Light vibrations grazed their feet to warn them of nearby devastation. The Paladin began rushing towards the sound while Georgie sat on a rock.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“Sounds good,” the vendor complied as he rummaged through his satchel.

Barreling out of the shade, the swordsman’s drawn blade reflected against the high noon sun. It shined a spotlight on a cliffside road, billowing dust clouds and dented sandstone. Before him were two beasts in a battle to the death. A bulky red Torriboar with one eye and a tusk snapped at the base of its jaw. The missing tusk was held in the opposable grip of a demonic Stead Vulture, flapping above the cliff’s edge. It squeezed the tusk into splinters of bone, whipping them back at the behemoth swine, piece by piece. The Paladin's soul erupted into a well of killing intent, charging his longsword into a radiant bolt that could consume the sun.

“Monster!” He roared. “Face me instead you skin walking fowl!”

“AhHh…” the vulture buzzed with a rasp in its long throat. “Is it you child? Are you the ‘hero’ of Sall?”

The sudden speech of the corrupted buzzard halted the Paladin. His skin crawled at the mention of his home. He knew that this beast was not the true demon known as Corvolos, but a puppet constructed by his hellish dark magic. Wherever the true monster lied, he safely observed the hero with great anticipation.

Suddenly, the vulture flapped its wings, sending a booming gust of wind and feathers in the direction of the Paladin. His body moved on instinct, clashing with the thin projectiles, shielding himself with the flat end of his long sword. The wounded Torriboar reacted poorly to the flurry of light and steel, the wind pounding against his thick hide. Provoked, the mighty pig raised to his hind legs in a wind up and smashed the front hooves into the gravel. The ground removed, and with the wind, the Paladin finally was put off balance. He let out a gasp as two dense feathers made contact with the crease in his shoulder armor, the very force sent him into an uneven spin towards the cliff. The knight's toe grazed the edge as he desperately regained his footing, but what he didn't see was the vulture itself and the stolen Torriboar tusk his way. The breastplate cracks at the center with the tip of the boar bone scratching the Paladin’s actual chest, but it wasn't over.

“Poor child,” the monster chattered mockingly. It perched its hideous fingers on the tusk embedded in the armor. “What did the prophecy foretell? That you would defeat me, or that we would battle?”

The hands applied weight, pulling the Paladin closer to the edge into a 60-foot drop back to the base of the mountain. Reacting on instinct he swung, giving just the right momentum to finish tipping the young hero over.

No! He begged to himself. Not yet!

The knight had come prepared, but not for dying too soon.

Damn you, he cursed to himself, welling up at his failure. Years of training, prayer, nightmares and doubt played before his eyes. What few moments of peace could he latch onto? The young man's eyes closed on the heckling monstrosity, not even able to enjoy the sky. Did he ever get to enjoy it before?

A clap echoed the jagged hills, and a rare sensation went through the Paladin's hand. He had felt it on the days he could break from training and get a roast melt sandwich in town. The inn owner knew of the boy's lifelong mission and offered him lunch with a high five as payment.

The sensation changed to a bone breaking tightness that awoke the paladin to bothered yellow eyes on the face of a nettled potion brewer. Georgie stood completely horizontal and still on the cliff's face, ignoring gravity.

“Georgie?” He questioned.

“Sp-” he struggled to speak, holding hundreds of pounds of human and steel. “Spider… Stride!”

The Paladin dangled from his grasp, and as the realization of his rescue settled, so did the redness and sweat in Georgie's face.

“D- do you…” the anger built in his voice. “Have any idea… how much silk I needed to make this adhesive!”

The Paladin's senses returned, looking back up at the vulture, floating over, intrigued at the two. His pupils dilated as adrenaline began pumping through his veins. The paladin's legs swung from front to back towards the mountain wall.

“Once I'm able to plant my feet,” he yelled to Georgie, sheathing his sword and removing the tusk from his chest. “Pull me!”

“Fine!” Tightening what little muscles he had, Georgie readied his ears for the sound of a boot clack.

“Another human?” Corvolos questioned. “WHAT A NUISANCE!”

The plan commenced, and the Paladin built his momentum, making two vertical steps upward while Georgie pulled everything in him to launch the knight! He forced his body up the wall and stabbed the cliff with the bone. Georgie darted back up with ease, thanks to his sticky boots. He sprung above the righting warrior and locked eyes with the winged vessel.

“I just need feathers!” Georgie hollered with immense straining. “You're the nuisance!”

Corvolos had been called many things in the distant past but was taken aback by the skinny human. The demon extended its wings to swoop upon the mid-air morsel. Before he could though, the Paladin summoned a glorious beacon of holy energy, letting loose a relentless volley of light waves.

“Radiant Dice!”

As Georgie's boots hit the ground, so did the disintegrating feathers of the possessed bird. Slash after slash the Paladin gave no chance for Corvolos’s puppet to escape. Breaking down into a mess of a hundred long ranged fissures disconnecting every joint in its body. The head landed at the feet of the brewer, holding a deteriorating feather in disappointment.

“I can't even use these,” he grimaced looking down at the twisted bird face. Georgie knew there was another being behind those eyes peering at him. Frustration got the better of him and dejectedly kicked the head over. “Thanks for wasting my time.”

“Georgie,” the Paladin approached. “Are you okay?”

“Just had to let off steam,” he watched as the head vanished in the fall, joining the black sand returning to the sky.

“Thank you,” the Paladin mustered. “I made a reckless mistake, and you came. So, thank you.”

Georgie watched the knight's shoulders bend, the hero's face clamming up embarrassed. Georgie could feel the tension in his words, and it was completely uncomfortable for him. Being casual could have felt demeaning, but sounding happy would have been disingenuous. The vendor had come prepared, but not for another person's humility.

“Six pounds,” he said.

“What?”

“It took me six pounds of spider silk to make the adhesive.”

The Paladin looked at Georgie like he was trying to peer into his mind to understand something. He believed it would have been easier to understand the mind of a wall. Just as the interaction stiffened, the wounded Torriboar reminded the two he was there and squealed sheer aggression. The beast's front hooves scraped the dirt with intent to charge. His rage, blind and nondiscriminatory.

“Huh,” said Georgie, tightening the strap of his messenger bag. “Here I thought this guy would be grateful for the help. I really hate this place.”

“Let's rest after this,” hero once more entered his stance, guarding his unlikely ally. “I'm hungry anyway.”

. . .

The campfire crackled under a setting sky while the Paladin carefully cut the Torriboar's loin into slices. Georgie patiently walked a circle around the camp, dripping spoonfuls of liquid on the dirt. He occasionally looked up at the Paladin as he prepared cooking the beast. He unwrapped a pan from his bag, along with a standing stove. One by one he pulled an assortment of spice shakers, and a metal clasped wooden box. The knight looked content, proud even of the collection. Georgie had nearly started a second lap around the circle. He returned to the fire, scratching a mosquito off his ear watching the hero work.

"That should shield our scent for the next few hours," he said, sitting on his bedroll. "As well as whatever you're making. Is that a frost box?"

"I never come here without it," said the Paladin as he opened the box revealing a stick of butter and a fine cut of brie cheese. He tossed a quarter of the butter in the pan, making a sizzling bed for the meat. "Do you like rosemary? I'm debating what to use."

"I'm fine," Georgie gently denied the offer. From his bag, he pulled a red apple for dinner. "Though, I didn't expect you to have so many powders and fixings."

The vendor was disarmed, looking back at the Paladin completely transfixed on the apple. As if he viewed the thing like a long lost relative. Georgie had seen this face towards inanimate objects before, he had done it himself many times.

"Wait," the Paladin asked with twitching fingers. "Your apple gives me an idea. If you humor me, you won't regret it."

He quickly selected five shakers from the bundle and seasoned two thick slices of boar. The sizzles burst and popped as the fat touched the pan.

"Salt and pepper for taste," the Paladin explained. "Then brown sugar and honey flakes for sweetness that'll make the garlic powder buttery. Pork goes amazing with apples, so that and the cheese I have would tie the whole thing together!"

Georgie paused skeptically but saw intensity in the knight's eyes. Not of aggression, but inspiration. His soul burned in sync with the fire itself, wafting an admittedly flavorful scent in the man's face. Georgie could smell the passion for the Paladin's experiment, and the results became interesting to him as well. Curiosity had won, and Georgie tossed the apple at the Paladin.

"Knock yourself out."

As the meat cooked on one side for three to four minutes, the focused hero used his time well. He chopped the apple thin and removed The centers with precision to make them rings. He flipped the boar and turned attention to a round loaf of bread still in his bag. He cut four slices and spread the brie evenly on the top halves.

"It'd be nice if we had some greens," said the Paladin as he laid the readied pork on the bread. "Something hardy and subtle."

"Something like," Georgie's eyebrow raised, reaching slowly into his satchel. "Arugula?"

"Exactly," he smiled at the understanding while placing the apple rings. "The nuttiness would be perfect."

With that, Georgie decided to indulge the man further, and offered up his own frost box. One slightly bigger and labeled, Property of Georgie Galmot of Potion's & Parcels. Inside the box, the Paladin's jaw nearly tasted the dirt at the sight of a ridiculously abundant amount of arugula.

"There's so much!" He exclaimed at the absurdity. "W-why?"

"To make healing potions," the brewer shrugged. "Calcium, potassium, magnesium, enzymes for digestion. I need other stuff to bolster the benefits, but it's a good base and plentiful in Lazlo."

"I had no idea arugula was in healing potions," the Paladin dressed the sandwich with the leaves.

"Not always," Georgie corrected while taking his sandwich. "You can use other ingredients if they offer the same properties. Spinach and cherries could work if you add enough stalwart salt. That's why healing potions are so common."

Their teeth simultaneously bit into the bread, and Georgie entered a state of shock. He thought hard for the last time he had something so enriched, juicy and flavorful. He was lost in a maelstrom of long lasting sweetness and lingering spice.

"Woah," he gasped a little. "That's actually really good."

"I know," the Paladin chewed his sandwich with a tearful pride. "The brie is so creamy, it's fusing to all the spices. It's like fate made sure you would have these ingredients, just for this meal!"

The two enjoyed their sandwiches as the night sky settled. The stars made themselves known, and the Paladin took notice. He stared up at those distant lights, wondering if anything had changed in all the years he devoted to looking ahead. It was a fine night to make something new. Georgie watched the culinary swordsman eating with his own thoughts, and usually that would be the best-case scenario when dealing with unwanted company. However, that sandwich peaked Georgie's interest more than expected.

"You're surprisingly talented," He admitted. "Do you part-time as a chef or something?"

"A chef?" The Paladin said surprised through his eating. "Really? Nah, just a hobby. My training regimen was always so tight, I didn't have much free time. With cooking, I could have fun while staying on schedule."

He said that like he picked the hobby up a month ago, but the perfect ratio of arugula said otherwise. No, this level of skill had to have been molded over time; with well spent years to refine.

"That demon," he inquired. "You two are in a prophecy, right?"

The Paladin's jaw halted. Reality set back in and he nodded. He wiped a thumb across the corners of his mouth while his eyes settled back to dutiful.

"Yes," he answered, staring down at his unnamed creation. "For three hundred years, my people were awaiting the day, a child would be born with the power to defeat Corvolos the day he resurfaced. Back in the 9th Age, the Holy Swordsman, Rada was unable to defeat him, but he could-"

"Seal him," Georgie finished the Paladin's sentence. "And you were born with an affinity for radiant magic just around the corner of the seal's expiration date."

"Well, there's more to how Rada created the seal and-"

"Stop," The vendor repeatedly flicked his wrist while taking a bite of boar. "That's not relevant (and boring). How long have you been training to fight this guy?"

"I guess," he pondered for a moment. "Since I was 5 years old?"

"And how old are you?"

"26."

"21 years," Georgie rubbed the back of his neck. "That's so unfortunate."

Since before the Paladin could master two syllable words, the people of his village, Sall, would fill the boy's ears with them. They'd say things like, "it's the Chosen One," and "we're rooting for you, hero!" To most, this would infect someone with a big head, but the young man was humble. He would watch the citizens of Sall living their lives at ease, despite the ill omen his birth signified. They feared nothing, free to stitch fabric, tan leather, and cook; all because the Paladin was there. He was proud to see those people so free. "Unfortunate" was not a word he would ever consider.

"How?" Asked the Paladin, his patience being tested once again. "How is protecting my home and people 'unfortunate?' It's not like I have much of a choice."

"Protecting people is fine," Georgie cleared his throat mid swallow. "That's just a lot of your own time to sacrifice."

The hero's blonde eyebrows furrowed, and nostrils flared. He was beginning to have regrets making his vow to travel with this passive aggressive cynic. Georgie may have saved him, but his brazenness was boarding on a jerk at that point.

"I'm proud to have made that sacrifice," He asserted. "What about you? What kind of potion is potentially worth your life?"

"Oh yeah," Georgie remembered never mentioning any details of his commission. "It's a hair tonic."

Aside from the crackling campfire, the night went silent at the end of those words. Even the wind ceased into a stunned silence in solidarity of the Paladin's disbelief in what he had just heard. Surely, he misheard.

"Wh- what?" His asked with his bottom lip quivering. "But you said you'd be dead if you didn't get the feathers..."

"Well yeah," Georgie replied without hesitation. "My rent is due in 2 weeks, and this commission is worth 40 Gold! The client is rich and has a reunion coming up, so he's desperate. It's a win-win scenario."

The hero of destiny was left completely appalled. Even a lesser demon with simple claws and teeth would be enough to make a man run. Corvolos was nothing close to simple. An arrogant man would have been humbled by now to the danger. A fool would have already died, but Georgie was something different, and the Paladin finally figured out what he was.

"You're insane," he rose in a snap, looking down at Georgie's nonplussed face, nearly finishing his sandwich while the Paladin couldn't even eat. "All of this for some snake oil remedy and money? You are absolutely insane!"

"Snake oil?"

Georgie stood to meet the Paladin's eyes. Where one looked dumbfounded and mad, the potion brewer was just angry. His boots firmly planted into the dirt with a fist clenched for punctuation. The tension thickened the air around them, enough to even warm the cold blood of the dead Torriboar. The audacity of this knight to say something so insulting to the man who saved his life. Georgie didn't even ask for his company, and he called him crazy?

"If I made snake oil," he squinted into the Paladin's soul. "I wouldn't be here. This is my job, my business, and I'm not gonna let some roadblocks get in the way of doing it."

"A roadblock?" The knight questioned with a gasp. "This is life and death!"

"For you," Georgie sneered. "But not all of us are adventurers with a higher calling. The rest of us have bills to pay, mouths to feed. I know at least ten different ingredients that could do the job, but that's not what I want."

"But why?"

Georgie rolled his eyes as well as his sleeping mat. Aggressively, he slung the messenger bag over his shoulder. The Paladin watched stunned as Georgie delivered the final chomp of defiance onto the last corner of his meal before leaving.

"The same reason you have all those spices," He finally answered, looking back with a cold disdain. "The same reason you wanted my apple."

The Paladin looked down at his sandwich. The night had felt peaceful just a moment ago, like Corvolos didn't exist. Behind the chosen one's mind, this had always been the case. Whenever he was able to try something new on his lunch breaks, the young man would vigorously study the taste and spend his evenings attempting to replicate it for dinner. Even when his body was broken down by weight training and battles with beasts of the land. He needed that brief time where flavor profiles outweighed the duty born on his shoulders. Could he have made something that good himself? Could he have possibly made something better?

"Georgie," he called under his shaking. A weakness and anger built inside the Paladin that he had never felt before. Looking on at the young vendor preparing to walk away without fear into the dark unknown with only vials at his side. Was it frustration? Jealousy? Why? Even so, he couldn't let that allow him to be at risk. "Please... don't go out there alone."

Georgie stopped in place, Keeping his back at the pleading warrior. Maintaining sight on the night ahead.

"I still have some Manticore urine," he said stolidly. "I'll make camp somewhere else. I can't waste any more time."

That stuff around camp is Manticore urine? The Paladin thought.

"And neither should you." Georgie continued walking off, leaving the Paladin alone with his thoughts.

When would Corvolos would strike next? Could he find and kill him before Georgie could get hurt? Would just another beast of the folly take him anyway? Would it be right to let him die if it meant Sall was secure? Did Georgie really mean what he said? The Paladin grabbed the remaining half of his sandwich, taking a bite to silence the noise and wondered if there would be time in the morning to make candied bacon.

. . .

Get the Hells out of here...

Why are you doing this?

You always work hard,

Georgie...

I'M SORRY!

Don't leave now!

And don't look back.

You know he's not well!

Georgie!

SO STUPID!

I wanted...

Can you see?

To be like you.

Georgie?

Yellow eyes flickered open to the green tinted shade within Georgie's hat, rested on his face. The skin of his hands warmed as the desert chill of night vanished to the rising sun. With a groggy sigh, the young man arose from his mat. The ring of Manticore waste was laid on a sizable plain within the mountains that had very little coverage, but Cacti to refill and scattered airberry bushes Georgie could use to make a caffeinated tea.

He readjusted the cap over his unkempt mop and got to work on his morning concoction. With clean cactus water preparing to boil, Georgie lazily staggered around the circle. He had planted four 12-inch nails before bed in different edges of the ring, holding down rope that stretched 15-feet outside camp. Before the Paladin had cooked the night before, Georgie had made sure to collect pieces of the Torriboar for bait. Stead Vultures may have been known as formidable hunters, but they were also opportunistic. If two beasts of Corv's Folly fought to the death, a nearby monarchy would not hesitate to swarm for two meals. So, Georgie had taken the measure of marinating his pieces of pork in doze powder.

He pulled the first rope, and the meat was covered in numerous Gray Back Ants, moving sluggish and dazed. He pulled the second rope obscured by bushes, and a sleeping Executioner Scorpion the size of a cat was dragged along. The meat on the third and fourth ropes came back mangled. One was torn by teeth, and the other had been picked apart.

With a cup of tea, Georgie investigated for the unconscious animals. Obviously, a Stead Vulture didn't leave teeth marks, but the effects of doze powder could last less time depending on the creature's size. He strolled in the fourth rope's direction, blowing on his drink as two twitching Dagger Toothed Salamanders entered sight. He dripped repellent in a horseshoe shape to direct then lizards away from the camp when they woke up. Finally, the fourth rope led to talon scraped earth and a single black feather planted.

"Well," Georgie raised his foot to step before slowly retracting. "You must think I'm stupid."

With that, the feather disintegrated, and the ground cracked. Rising from the earth was a corrupted vulture with a beak chipped into a hideous smile. Its warped wings pawed at the earth Like it was splashing water at Georgie's feet. A snicker of entertainment reverberated the tunnel the demon came from.

"Impressive human..." The vulture hummed in Corvolos's voice. "I was expecting you to be blinded by greed."

"Almost," shrugged Georgie. "But from what I read, a real Stead Vulture would have broken the rope and left with the meat. And one feather left perfectly behind? Don't insult me."

"HYAK!" The monster cackled. "Indeed, I underestimated you, human! You may prove useful to me after all!"

However, this fell on deaf ears as the young brewer was on his way back to camp. The bird vessel snarled at the disregard. This frail primate had called him a nuisance and now he walks away, drinking tea? Corvolos straightened his neck like a spear, aiming at Georgie's back. Propelled by agitated wings, the vulture was launched.

"PETULANT BOY!" Screamed the demon. "I'LL PICK YOU APART!"

With one blow of his tea, Georgie sidestepped left of the barreling bird with a twirl. Corvolos curved the vulture's wing to turn but collided with the campfire and knocked over the tea kettle and stove. The corpse's tail feathers were set ablaze, spastically rolling sparks onto a cactus. The zombified fowl's head settled rattling at the sight of the spilled kettle, pouring tea and a two-inch fang.

"A tooth?"

"Feline Reflex," Georgie briefly explained, sipping his tea. "That kettle and stove cost me 73 Silver. Why are you bothering me?"

"IMPUDENT WRETCH!" Cawed the demon. "You dare misdirect me with simple parlor magic!"

"I don't do magic," the potion brewer said with a cold stare of contempt. "Airberries are a natural source of caffeine and vitamin c..."

Corvolos wailed as the vulture's neck elongated at the young man's heart. Georgie's pupils dilated wide like an alert cat. He knew there would be a risk of running into dangerous wildlife with his trap. Georgie made sure to research Corv's Folly heavily before coming there. He knew that finding that plain of berry bushes gave the brewer an advantage avoiding danger. Before the beak could touch his overalls, Georgie had pounced over the mutant vulture head. Aiming for proper ground to run, his wrist turned splashing tea on the back of the demon's long neck

"Thanks to stalwart salt and binder root," he continued his dry explanation, landing again on the vulture's left. "The caffeinated berries and feline DNA can properly meld and enhance their traits."

Georgie made a dash for his messenger bag. The demon puppet extended a wing and fired multiple feathers to puncture the unarmed cretin a dozen over. Georgie bobbed and weaved past the projectile plumage. He could not risk any dives or jumps to his bag or else he would become a flying target.

"Parlor magic," he thought. Every dodge, another step closer to the strap. Despite the rapid movement, his yellow cat eyes stayed on target. "Snake Oil." Nobody respects good craftsmanship.

A feather came straight towards his temple and had to duck. A black bolt of pain flew across the fabric and skin of Georgie's right calf, sending him lower to the ground. As he fell, another feather shot into the shoulder, and the volley had abruptly ended. Georgie's ears were alerted to the oncoming rumble from behind. Corvolos, was retracting the vulture's head, bending backwards for a decisive snap down onto the human's back. The bird's crooked smile cracked and contorted, protruding serrated teeth from the rim of the beak. The Paladin was his only threat, so Corvolos could never allow a magicless animal from an inferior species speak to him so nonchalantly!

"COME TO ME," His jagged maw opened wide. "MY FLESH!"

This prideful act gave Georgie the time he needed to force whatever muscle inside in his left leg to tighten. He launched himself with a desperate leap, grabbing the satchel as his body is knocked a yard away by the sheer force of the vulture's cheekbone colliding with him. Thanks to his tea, Georgie was able to land on his feet and planted himself standing with his good arm in the bag.

"I don't do magic," he defiantly stated to the exposed vulture neck. From his bag, Georgie pulled a round glass bottle of a swirling glittery liquid of white and blue. "It's alchemy."

The sun reflected off the tea on the monster's neck, and Georgie remembered one of the greatest pieces of advice he had ever received.

Remember, a little girl's raspy voice came to mind. Always throw where the target is going, not where it is.

His aim was true, and he hurled the spherical glass nearly the exact spot Georgie needed it to go. With a shatter, the potion touched the tea covering the bird's skin, and crystals of ice started consuming the demon's throat.

"GYAK," Corvolos hissed. A frost potion?

"You're already making my job harder," Georgie rose from the ground, his right leg shaking under his weight. In his hand was a rock, and his eyes were fed up. "You've probably already taken care of the Stead Vultures here."

Corvolos Forced the stunned head to cackle. The sound was uninterrupted by the ice, as it was a soul of pure evil speaking through the crumbling beak.

"I just ate one this morning. You see, when I consu-"

There was a shatter, and a rock passed through the frosted neck. The head fell gracelessly into the dirt while the vulture's body slowly began disintegrating. Georgie approached the head as it kept chuckling at Georgie's annoyance.

"I don't care," he growled, his hat shielded any light in his disturbed gaze. "It's morning, and I'm already tired. You people just won't leave me alone and you keep making things harder than they're supposed to be."

"Then run while you can," Corvolos threatened with only a head to use. "I have consumed nearly every monarchy of Stead Vulture this side of the mountain! Soon, I will be able to spread my vessels in higher quantities to pick off the rest."

"Come on," Georgie gritted. "It's stupid to think you'll get to do that. You're a part of a prophecy bird brain. You're destined to fail, so just wait to die and leave everyone else out of it!"

"HYAK!" Bellowed the head. "The Chosen One didn't tell you! That maggot Rada did not possess fate magic strong enough to write my demise. Only my return and a battle that will follow."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

For some reason, hearing this made Georgie think of the Paladin's sandwich. The dedication to campfire food, the look of bliss across the hero's face eating it. Was that because it could be the last?

With cooking, he remembered the Paladin's words. I could have fun while staying on schedule.

"Georgie," Corvolos went on. "That's your name? Run while you can Georgie, because you will be my next meal after I eat that meager excuse of a-"

With a heavy drop of a boot, the vulture head disperses into dust before rising to the sky, like all the others. As the feather lodged in Georgie's shoulder began fading, he placed an empty glass bottle over the dust before it could rise. Quickly sliding a cork into place, he held black crystals pointing in the same direction as the rest above.

Protecting people is fine, he recounted. That's just a lot of your own time to sacrifice.

It's like fate made sure you would have these ingredients, just for this meal!

A tumbleweed passed the young man while his mind became muddled with complications and conflicting interests. Georgie had never been a fan of adventurers. He understood their necessity and needed their patronage, but when it came to them as people; he never had the patience for their vitriol, self-importance and terrible haggling. He wasn't much of a people person anyway, but adventurers were people he just couldn't talk to beyond his counter. Outside his shop was a world constantly insisting itself upon ordinary people with quests, monsters, prophecies, and chaotic magic. The Paladin though, he had more to talk about. That bliss on his face eating that sandwich, was a passion he had to believe could only be a hobby. A caged songbird, raised to be content singing through the bars.

"Ugh!" Georgie drank a healing potion and let out an exasperated grunt. He was allowing himself to get so sidetracked and hated it. The black dust in the bottle pressed on the glass harder to follow the trail, and Georgie echoed through the mountain range.

"FINE!"

. . .

Elsewhere the Paladin's morning was eventful and unkind. His hopes for candied bacon were dashed by a dive-bombing vessel he had narrowly avoided before dispatching. The grace period between fights was shortened by Corvolos's ongoing consumption, leaving him with numbers to spare. Over the next few hours, the culinary knight faced a salvo of attacks set upon him since dawn.

Viciously he charged up a rocky slope polluted by vulture dust and radiantly damaged earth. Although each buzzard had been conquered up to that point, Corvolos made sure each left an impact. Under his increasingly battered armor, the Paladin's skin was coated in sweat and bruises. His right pauldron had been stripped four battles prior, exposing a deltoid stamped by the crushing twist of a forefinger to the shoulder. One cuisse had nearly been broken through to the femur, and his breastplate was beyond recognizable. Painted in dirt and riddled by puncturing projectile plumage. All this, and the warrior raged on.

"RIGHTEOUS CHOP," he roared through a bisected bird, not even slowing momentum up the slanted route. His boots, scraped from continuous dismounts onto rolling rubble. Yet he could not slow down, not with two more vultures on the way. "Send as many drones as you'd like, coward! That'll trail me right to you!"

"Exactly, boy," One of the drones chirped, bolting through wind resistance.

"An army," the second vulture took over the reply as its opposable feet hurled stones into the lone hero's armor. "An army to whittle you down to a weary pound of tissue."

"Our battle is written," the first bird uttered before reaching the paladin at a lethal velocity. "THE MINUTIA IS RELATIVE, AND I INTEND TO TAKE ADVENTAGE OF THAT!"

A jagged stone cracked the corner of the man's eye, and he staggered at the flash in his perception. His body moved on instinct allowing himself to fall with the stagger a few steps backwards. The demon buzzard was too trained on its course and the Paladin barely avoided contact.

I will not waver, he told himself in the split second the bird was still darting by. His hands were ready for an idea the hero didn't even know. From my destiny.

In that very same instant, the vulture's neck and tail were seized by the Paladin's own violent grasp. Three stones were fired into his back, and once again followed the stagger. His knee bent and hips turned while forcing the avian javelin into a new direction. His cyan iris was surrounded by the blood of his damaged sclera. The Paladin needed to factor his right and what he assumed his left would be seeing. With a toss made mighty by sheer adrenalin, the vulture was sent barreling into the other. The Earth beneath the Paladin's feet erupted into a pulse of radiant magic that sent the hero several yards forward in tow.

My people... The battered man thought back to all the people of Sall far behind him. He remembered the first time eating steamed vegetable buns. The adolescent Paladin sat on a bench at the market, watching the citizens run errands and tend to their shops. Living their day to day lives. That peace, that freedom could not be taken away. You don't deserve their time!

"SACRED BATONNET!" In four light swings, both vultures cleanly lost for segments in burning radiance. Their warped torsos cut like carrot sticks before bursting into dark particle clouds.

The dust settled and the Paladin could breathe once again. The pain in his eye would not slow him down, but it certainly hurt to no end. His back was rubbing against the dents in his armor, and only now did he realize one of his gauntlets had flown off in the toss. His bare hand lit up with radiant magic as the Paladin touched his eye to seal the wound. Not ten steps later Corvolos's cackle echoed down from the summit. There was no time to waste, no time to rest. He picked up the pace, preparing his sword for the bird's next move. His heart had not reset from pounding before and beat faster.

"That's it boy," The drone's wings opened. "Keep fighting. Your desperation and tenacity are the first entertainment I've had in centuries."

Before the vessel could make its move, a peculiar glass bottle floated up from the cliff edge of the summit. The bottle hovered, like it was being pulled from the bottom as inside black crystalline dusk eagerly pushed itself trying to get free.

"Fragments of my constructs?" Corvolos questioned.

That was when the Paladin saw a mostly green gangling shape blurred by his repairing vision, going up the cliff face. It was Georgie, gracelessly running vertically thanks to Spider Stride. Frantically he drank from his water sack while digging into his satchel. When his sight fully regained and the Paladin could tell who it was, his legs jolted fast up the slope. He could see the construct clearer, and its eyes were on the bottle. The knight realized Georgie had a plan and needed a distraction!

Dammit, Georgie cursed himself. How did I let that thing go? Being conscientious sucks!

The creature's head perched over the edge and went face to face with that impudent stick bug of a human, cheeks packed with water. A shock of malice rushed through the strings of magic connecting the vulture puppet to Corvolos. A surge of green demonic energy traveled up the vulture's neck.

"Refuse to heed my warning?" He snarled in preparation for a hellish chomp. "AM I A JOKE TO YOU, HUMAN?"

However, Georgie had already started spitting water from his mouth. The creature's face and beak sprayed by the saliva of a lower being. Through the vessel, even Corvolos was disgusted. Of course, the chosen one could combat his drones, but an underprepared primate with a limited bag of tricks should have already been flayed after one encounter. He wasn't a primate, but a dirty contemptuous roach. The prophecy had become an afterthought to the demon, put on hold just for the satisfaction of breaking the sickly-looking wretch who dared call him a nuisance.

"ENOUGH OF- "

Georgie shut him up with familiar cold bottle of elixir thrown against the vulture's top beak, expanding frost over its head. With half its face stunned, Georgie just had to worry about the bottom jaw fixed on his throat and ducked. The bottom beak closed on instinct, sending inch wide cracks up the frozen edges of its mouth. Corvolos could still see, and even if this vessel was destroyed, he could still crush the roach!

"DIE ALREADY!" He screamed, winding up for a shattering headbutt. "GEORGIE!"

A sword came down, splitting the rickety bird spine in two. The Paladin had made it up in time. The drone burst into nothing. Horizontally crouched, Georgie shielded his eyes as the ice loosened off the dust and fell in shards. The cold cascaded through the fabric of his clothing, wincing at the frigid glasses against his pale membrane. Once again, reminding the bystander just how south this job went. He threw his head over the edge to see the mad vendor walking the mountain face with a stone face of his own.

"Georgie!" The Paladin panickedly called. "Are you okay?"

"8 Gold and 5 Silver," he panted in response.

"What?"

"8 Gold," Georgie took his last step up, and rotated forward and back to proper physics. "And 5 Silver. I only had two frost potions, and they're expensive to make."

"What are you doing here?" The Paladin moved right past finance talk.

"Believe me, I'm mad about it myself," Georgie said, looking above at the flying bottle escaping by the push of the bird's retreating remains. Unfortunate, but possibly hilarious, if were to hit Corvolos upon returning. He retrieved two health potion bottles and drank one. The chosen one had finally taken notice of the shoulder tear and dried blood on the man's white button up. The various new scrapes and cuts from the falling ice sealed quickly, and Georgie handed the Paladin the other.

"You were attacked," the hero stated the obvious.

"I ran into one of these earlier today," the brewer motioned at his marks. "Apparently Corvolos already consumed every monarchy this side of the mountain."

The Paladin paused before the bottle touched his lips. He had known something of that level had to be the case if Corvolos could summon so many constructs in succession. In the 9th Age when Corvolos first manifested into the material plane. His body began frail and featureless with only a single eye and serrated teeth. He needed to consume the flesh of a material being to copy their properties and use the victim as a vessel to find more of its kind. In the original battle against The Holy Swordsman Rada, Corvolos attacked the countryside with an army of zombified giants. Now he aspired for an army of the greatest predators in Corv's Folly. The Paladin drank his potion fast, breathing deep while waiting to feel his body stitch itself back together. He should have been furious and objecting to Georgie being there, but by that point, he knew that'd go nowhere.

"But why did you come here?"

"He said more about your prophecy," Georgie continued. "The details of your fates. It sounded vague and open ended."

The potion was working, but the hero was unable to relax his muscles. The breeze brushed past the two, and the Paladin turned his head to the long summit ahead of them. He could see the retreating sand a few miles ahead before descending down a decline of earth. Deep in his repaired bones the knight knew that path would lead him to the crater. To the real Corvolos.

"Why do you care?" he tightened his fist, looking back at the walking enigma. "You've been treating all of this like an inconvenience, so why are you here?"

Never being the type to maintain eye contact long, Georgie averted his gaze to the hero's broken armor. His wounds had been healed, but the blood remained stained on the metal. Georgie was smart enough to create a fire resistance gel out of charcoal and yucca sap, but words had always been his enemy. Especially when they needed to be the right ones.

"Because your sandwich was good," he said, hoping that was a good enough start. "I thought this prophecy was open and shut. Like, you were destined to beat the demon and save the world. I didn't realize that could be your last meal, and I guess I'm just sorry that you never had the security of a definitive answer."

The Paladin squeezed the pommel of his blade and remembered the first day he held it. The whole village came to the temple he was raised in on the chosen one's tenth birthday. When he lifted the handle, the blade illuminated with his power. The boy stood firm, but the weight of the weapon had laid onto the fear building within his heart. However the citizens applauded, and the new paladin decided to smile.

"I won't fail," he said with resolve. "I can't. No matter what, I won't let anybody else die for Corvolos. You were wrong last night Georgie; adventurers are not the only ones with higher callings. Tanners, builders, cooks, those people are living out their higher callings. You are too."

The words from Georgie's imageless dream passed his thoughts, and the familiar words wailing from a child came to the forefront.

I wanted to be like you.

His dream may have been featureless, but he knew the face to that shameful boy, broken by words and pain forever etched into his dry soul.

"Money or not, this is my job to do."

"But what after?" Georgie asked the ground with an invested monotone. "You may have been born for this, but if it wasn't you, where would you be right now?"

The Paladin kept looking at the path as the two had this moment on top of the world and only a few feet from the sky. Not many could say they had done that, get to where they were standing. The view wrapped around an incalculable number of miles across the treacherous desert waste, but it was beautiful from that high up. Yet what the Paladin had to think about was Corvolos. He always had to. The hero took the moment to taste the air in his deep breath, and shook at how clean it was. At that moment, the Paladin answered Georgie with silence, once again sitting on that bench in the marketplace, people watching and eating something new. Shopping for ingredients to try making that dish himself. Could he make something just as good? Could he make something better? Did anybody ever try his food before? No.

"Georgie," the Paladin choked, turning back at his awkward companion with a look of uncertainty. "You really thought I could be a chef?"

"Why are you using past tense?" Georgie finally met his gaze again. "Just because you annoyed me doesn't mean apples weren’t a good idea. If that's what you want, then you can't waste any more of your time here."

What was this pain in the knight's throat? A burning lump he struggled swallowing. No words could escape his stunned mouth. When he blinked, his eyeball was coated with salt water he forced not to let down his cheek. The Paladin gulped, sending the lump to the pit of his stomach and set his insides ablaze. He burned with the same fire one would use to cook a heavenly meal.

"And besides," The brewer with the light messenger bag strolled up next to the Paladin, hands in his pockets. "If you die then I don't get my hair tonic, and Corvolos will most likely kill me. So, you could probably use my last healing potion."

The chosen one nodded, oddly assured by that. As they traversed the dry mountain top, The sky began to sink into a shade of dull blue on the verge of gray. Clouds materialized overhead from nothing. Corvolos was setting the stage for the final performance.

"How many potions do you have left anyway?"

"Three," said Georgie. "I didn’t plan for this, but I might have a plan."

. . .

Before noon had even come, the sky hung low with a heavy fog of inactive storm clouds. The summit's pathway was wide, but the Paladin and alchemist remained within each other's reach while carefully walking through the thick sunless fog. Its thickness not only by obscuring vision, but in density. An inky coagulation attached to the very air passing by, almost clinging to the two like burrs on pant legs. The Paladin skulked with one hand on the handle of his sword and carefully focused on his senses fighting the darkness. Georgie hiked along at the same pace but unnerved and muttering to himself at a nearly inaudible tone. The knight beside him occasionally glanced at the man, trying to decipher his muted ramblings in curiosity, watching Georgie's lemon tinted eyes scanning the gloom.

"Two," he murmured. "Another two. One, three, two, six, three flickers."

"Do you see something?" The Paladin chimed.

Without a response, Georgie retrieved an empty bottle and swayed an arm through the air before corking it.

"Look," he belatedly answered, holding a bottle of black fog, swirling in the glass. "Wait and watch closely."

The Paladin leaned in and squinted into the obscured maelstrom. Unsure of why but sure of a reason as Georgie was willing to let him be this close. While waiting for a result, the Paladin glanced at his companion's composed observation without a blink to interrupt. However, his attention became fixed on Georgie's eyes. His pupils constricted as if they were looking directly at the sun, and his irises curiously lit with a faint gloss that no light could possibly cause in these conditions.

"It shouldn't take you this long," Georgie bluntly informed. "Why are you looking at me?"

"Uh," the Paladin stuttered. "I... was waiting for you to say something. Why- I mean, what is it?"

"Not fog," he answered, looking away from the hero's obvious misdirected focus. "It's impossible to bottle a cloud. All you would get is moisture. Bottled fog would require water and isopropyl alcohol."

"But it's obviously magic," replied the Paladin. "These clouds formed in under an hour."

"The same rules would apply with weather magic," Georgie looked around, still with constricted pupils contrasted by his lackadaisical science lesson. "It's the same dust from those corpse puppets, broken down to the size of particles; and every once in a while, I've noticed random green flickers in the haze."

The emerald flashes had been veiled, interwoven between the murky vaper wisps watching the two. At any point these eyes could form an onslaught of birds out of the very air they were being subjected to.

"If we are breathing in these hellish particles," they knight heaved in alarm. "Couldn't Corvolos choke us right now?"

"We're probably fine for now," Georgie commented on the hero's justified paranoia. "Your natural radiant magic probably fries his conjuration fragments once in your respiratory system."

"What about you?" The Paladin questioned, still showing suspicion at his lit corneas scanning their billowing black surroundings.

"Nothing," the vendor shrugged. "He's probably hoping to kill me himself. Petty."

"Then I suggest we discuss ideas on your plan."

"Not when he's omniscient like this," Georgie took a step closer to the Paladin, taking his wrist by the man's surprise as a new potion plopped in his hand. It almost looked like plain water, unassuming and crystal clear. Downright refreshing if it weren't for a mysterious orange clot floating just under the neck.

"Drink this when he's at his most petty."

"Petty?" The Paladin tried to understand. Carefully, he sniffed the cork for any semblance of scent and detected hints of freshwater fish. "What is this?"

A green willow-wisp entered the hero's periphery. Then another followed, and then another. Now so frequent that its malevolent source was throwing stealth out for invasive surveillance over the next word said. The Paladin, no longer concerned with the state of Georgie's own eyes, saw the emotion hidden behind them. Though cold, awkward and blank as he had been, the Paladin felt something beneath. A twitch expressing something clearly foreign to the vendor, collecting dust in the back of his heart.

"Okay, Georgie," he nodded, storing away the odorous elixir. "Let's get this over with then."

Walls of black crystal atoms pulsed liked the belly of a heaving animal. The scattered eyes swelled in size revolving around Georgie and the Paladin in loathing. The particles swirled in a dizzying speed, creating a mesmerizing spectacle of intricate patterns of razor beaks and gnarled bulbous fingers threatening to claw. Blood-curdling screams surrounded the two in echoes ringing across the valley outside the swarming tornado.

"OVER WITH?" Corvolos shrieked over the wails of misery. "EVEN NOW YOU TREAT MY RESSURECTION AS A CHORE 'CHOSEN ONE?' EVEN YOU DARE INSULT THE MAGNITUDE OF MY POWER!"

The maelstrom of shards raised to the troposphere, expanding across the summit and shading the mountain range from the all-encompassing blue sky. The Paladin could see the summit path clearly now, and the decline was right before them. There perched on upon the edge of his destroyed crater was the true Corvolos. His titanic body had adopted the stead vulture's physique. Coated in jet black feathers as long as pike spears and the width of war fans. His neck was twisted into leathery coiled folds buried under his collar, waiting to spring forward. His wings stretched to the sky, commanding his shards with skeletal phalanges protruding from the bend. Despite these features, Corvolos kept his face. A flat white volto mask sharpened at the chin under a wide serrated smile cut all the way up to his sickeningly hypnotic emerald eyes. He peered at the Paladin as black rings pulsated across his lenses.

"TAKE THEIR LIMBS AND BRING ME THE STILL BEATING TORSOS!" Corvolos ordered the shade above. His head snapped back at the pests dwarfed by his size. "Let us, 'get this over with,' humans. Let my new age begin."

Georgie looked up at the patterns in the clouds materializing hordes of wings and talons. A deformed legion of stead vultures nearly four dozen strong dive bombing from the heavens on the soul mission to send them straight to the ninth floor of the hells.

"Dammit," the vendor huffed while pulling his second to last potion from his satchel. A single-pointed bottle holding a thick ichor of revolting browns and greens mixing like oil and water. "The plan hasn't changed. You fight the bird; I'll hold off the flock."

"No," the Paladin gasped. "Whatever that potion is, it won't be enough. I'm not leaving you!"

Ignoring the hero's plea, Georgie gulped the potion quickly and started to gag. His hands and knees fell into the dirt as mucous shot from his nostrils and mouth. The vendor's aloofness broke down into a sniveling mass of bile and abdominal pain with only a few seconds before being mulched by oncoming drones.

"Georgie!" The Paladin screamed, reaching for his crumbling ally. "What did you do? Say something! Please!"

By the time he could get the young man on his feet, it was already too late, and six vultures collided with them. The sandstone exploded into a puff twenty feet high and rubble soring even higher. Corvolos let out boisterous cackling in glee and pure satisfaction at the sight of his foes sprayed across the mountain. However, before he could calm his laughter, the six birds erupted into fragments.

"What?" He hissed. "No, no, no, NO!"

The powder settled to the sight of the Paladin stunned in mid swing. His lips quivered watching the bird remains disintegrate while the following drones froze at the scene as well. All eyes were set on Georgie's outstretched arm by the clumsy swing of his backhand; coated in mineralized red tiles.

"Are those scales?" Asked the baffled knight. "What kind of potion was that?"

"My own recipe," Georgie answered, back to his quiet demeanor. "One of those personal projects you do, just to see if you can. Something I'll never make for anyone else."

Another three vultures continued the volley of attacks, only to meet an empty space of dirt as Georgie dodged before a second could pass. They weren't even able to comprehend their target was now overhead, swiping the three in one untrained slap. The birds shattered against each other's bodies, breaking apart in a mangled ball of minuscule grains of conjuration magic.

"It's called, Superior Infusion: Chimera."

Before any business trip outside the city of Lazlo, Georgie Galmot would always prepare himself appropriately. Where adventurers loved the knowledge obtained via the journey, the young professional was a pragmatist who double-checked the fastest routes and safest berries to eat. Georgie would intensely read up on locations, fauna, weather, and sometimes systems of governments. He was once scammed into believing a gnome village used brass chips as currency and lost nearly everything in a fake exchange. The poor mark walked home for two days and got an ivy rash on both ankles. Never again would he make that mistake.

On every corner of the world and in the many patches between, danger and unpredictable nonsense was never a chance, but a certainty. This meant Georgie needed the best and exact inventory of elixirs to survive each trip with relative ease. Corv's Folly resided in a desert, so he needed his purifier tablets for local water. Stead vultures lived in the mountains, and the spider stride adhesive gave better odds of traversing. The other wildlife was just as fierce, so doze powder and manticore urine were a must. His bottles of instant frost were in case there was a need to escape, and creating a foreign terrain was perfect for impeding movement. However, Georgie knew that any of these practical choices could be uprooted by forces outside his control. The aforementioned unpredictable nonsense.

In cases like these, when the shop keep was out of options, he needed to bring one of his contingency concoctions. Potions brewed with a potency beyond that of his A graded products. Trade secret recipes, never to be shared with the public. For the trip to Corv's Folly, Georgie chose to bring along an infusion crafted to turn a lanky noncombatant like himself into a force of nature capable of rivaling monsters.

The Paladin was left completely awestruck at the impossible display in the sky. One by one, vulture corpses exploded against the sheer might of Georgie's scrambling boots. Clumsily, he ricocheted across the tainted portion of the atmosphere off their backs, sending uncontainable shock waves through their systems. One bird attempted a frontal assault while another came from behind. A trivial pincer formation was no match against Georgie's amplified sensory receptors, granting him fifty-foot awareness at three hundred and sixty degrees. Half-heartedly, the human raised his red scaled arms simultaneously backhanding the two out of sight. The day before, Georgie could barely hold the Paladin and ran with the dexterity of a newborn doe. Here, he was ripping apart an army like they were a horde of piñatas.

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Shrieked Corvolos. His focus was now set upon the flying roach.

With the propulsion of his celestial aura, the Paladin came down from the summit, sailing over the crater in a forward slash. Corvolos reacted panicked but quickly, and the sword clashed against the fingers on the demon's wings. Fingers only a few inches shorter than the chosen one's entire body. Finally, the two threads of fate had intertwined to sew their battle into the fabric of history.

"You seem flustered," said the Paladin, smirking at the colossal face. "Trust me, I didn't think things would go this way either."

It was unbelievable, utterly inconceivable. In the 9th Age, Corvolos was serenaded daily by the screams and terror of mortals. His name rang over the hills of his threat to mankind. The Holy Sword Rada gave everything he had to rewrite fate itself to keep the demon at bay. But now, in the 12th age, the fodder mocked him, and the heir to his nemesis's power chose banter as their first true exchange? It was madness. Complete and vile madness! His wings came down and the earth began to tremble before the Paladin was sent into the bowl of broken sandstone by the hammer current of air pulled along Corvolos's flapping. The fiend hovered above the chosen one as he landed on his feet. His coiled vulture neck released, launching a downward zigzag to send gigantic, jagged jaws onto the blonde upstart.

Georgie, the Paladin reflected inside as the full force of Corvolos's head was dealt to the flat of his steel. I think we were both right about some things.

Golden holy energy rose through his palms, igniting the blade into a divine saber. The demon felt the knight's resistance strengthening, a pressure on his teeth sent to their roots. The distant memory of Rada's first successful attack resurfaced. That sense of a threat he had not yet experienced. It came from the same weapon imbued with that same magic.

Everyday people do have higher callings, the hero thought back on these two days, watching that tired looking passerby's hard work displayed throughout the journey. The inside of his armor shined from the burning of his soul, and he took steps forward. And sometimes, they can't afford to lose their chance to get better at what they love. I don't think most of those people would go as far as you, but that's what makes you strong without a sword.

The Paladin pushed Corvolos back while his being became enveloped in the true power of his predecessor. With all his might the blade turned narrow between two fangs, slicing into gum before pulling back for a follow up strike to his 8-foot-tall cheek.

I want to be that kind of man too! The Paladin's spirit roared; the sword swung despite the exhaling gust made by Corvolos's reaction. He couldn't be moved an inch as his golden radiance anchored the true strike. I want to be a chef who will always reach greater heights and make a menu everyone can enjoy!

"RIGHTEOUS CHOP!"

As the blade touched flesh, the cracks in the armor expanded, unable to contain his energy anymore and expelled off his body. Corvolos retreated his face back to the collar, dragging a trench across the rubble to snatch a boulder. As he completely returned to the air, his talons gripped the huge chunk of sandstone and flung it back. Like warmed butter, the Paladin cut the debris cleanly in two as he walked between the halves. Out the other side, a volley of feathers longer than javelins followed.

"Congratulations Chosen One," Corvolos mocked as his titanic wings swiped, elevating higher while releasing his dense rain of keratin. The Paladin pivoted and parried the feathers as they fell without end. Faster they came when the demon witnessed one grazing his enemy's side, now protected only by a simple tunic. Closer and closer to a direct strike. "Despite my efforts wearing you down, you still found the strength to injure me once. TAKE THAT PRIDE WITH YOU TO THE GRAVE! HYAK HYAKAKA- "

At the moment, the wound on Corvolo's cheek intensified at the sudden crushing pressure of a boot kicking him across the face. His eyes snapped over and saw that boot was connected to the dull looking roach, Georgie.

"Hey," he said stolidly, but with a hint of playfulness to pester. Still in midair and coated in scales, Georgie motioned behind to a stagnant black mist. "You ran out of birds."

Corvolos gasped in disbelief as the fragments wafted back to the demon's clouds. His viscous blood like molten tar as the corners of Georgie's lip began moving into a smile, revealing teeth mutated with the fangs of a lion. A small yet loud statement of impishness cracking through the vendor's professionalism. Corvolos could feel the demeaning satisfaction assaulting his periphery, playing the word "nuisance" in the human's voice. It needed to be silenced.

"Pest," the demon grunted in exasperation, swinging a talon up to skewer the human. Georgie kicked off the tip of the nail, sending tremors through Corvolos's nerves. "WHY? WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE!"

The humanoid chimera gripped the brim of his fiddler cap and tucked it away in his satchel. His body hunched into an amateur front flip over the fiend. Between messing brown bangs, the skin of Georgie's forehead twisted open as solid goat horns jut out curving. He finished his flip by putting all of his weight into a headbutt directly onto Corvolos's hairline. Rolling down his back, Georgie halted the slide mid-way at the spine and delivered an unrelenting flurry of thunderous slaps.

A year ago, while asking for directions in a tavern, Georgie had a hostile interaction with a drunk man who insisted he called him something obscene. With no fighting experience and an aversion to unnecessary conflict, Georgie blanked and slapped the man before his fist could ball up. The scene left every patron stunned and confused by a grown man slapping another grown man. This gave Georgie the opportunity to run. From that day on, the open palm became his signature strategy when it came to fisticuffs. Not strong, but demoralizing. However, with the strength of a legendary monster, it could be both.

After unleashing a five fingered salvo of sixty smacks in half a minute, Georgie made a hasty retreat. Punctuating on the moderately painful twinges on his back with a brone cracking amount of force propelling away. The demon was knocked back and quickly flipped his mass in the flying vendor's direction. He let out an annoyed hiss and fired a new volley of feathers. Georgie took advantage and avoided the first, adjusting his trajectory and landed on the second like a platform to run off. The third was grabbed by the quill and waved as a fan to disperse the next feathers incoming.

"Wait," Georgie pondered at his new finding while falling around a cone of oversized lethal plumage. His eyes literally lit up the same as when investigating the dark fog. "This isn't from conjuration magic. It's just a big sturdy feather."

The vendor landed at the edge of the crater, turning the attention of Corvolos to him and his back to the Paladin. Though a hellbent monstrosity stared murderous intent at him, Georgie couldn't help but become lost in the texture of the barbs. So strong, so thick, so full of texture. There wasn't even a hint of demonic magic running through the rachis. It was everything he had read of real Stead Vulture feathers, but now reinforced and larger than a longsword! Such promise filled the man with so much eagerness that Georgie nearly wept at the chance these feathers were worth all the walking and vitriol he had to endure.

"I underestimated you, demon," he smiled in a way disconnected from humanity. Looking at Corvolos like a big angry bag of gold labeled, Rent and Travel Expenses. "You may prove useful to me after all."

"You bastard..." The demon's eye twitched at those words, and his mind snapped in two. "YOU DEFIANT SICKNESS, COMPLACENTLY FESTERING IN MY BEING LIKE A TUMOR! BY THE END OF THIS DAY, YOU WILL BEG FOR THE MERCY OF MY TEETH! I WILL SEAL MY WOUNDS WITH ROLLS OF YOUR SKIN! YOU WILL CRY, STAINING THAT IMPUDENT MOUTH WITH YOUR OWN BLOOD! I AM THE ARCH FIEND OF ASSIMILATION, CORVOlO- "

"Shut up," Georgie interrupted once again. He rummaged through his pocket and retrieved a pair of tweezers. "I'm sorry, but I'm working."

The Paladin looked on at his destined combatant snapping at the air in whirlwinds as Georgie Galmot bounced and sailed on the currents. Gliding around Corvolos's tantrum and plucking feathers from his blind spots.

"Incredible," he chuckled watching. "He can get under anyone's skin."

Pulling out the potion given to him, the hero gazed at the orange clot. The cork popped and the Paladin swallowed it down with faith. The texture was not unlike a gelatinous egg yolk fermented in lake algae. The taste was that of shellfish for some reason. It felt as though the Paladin was choking on a wet makeup sponge. Whatever this did, it needed to be worth the offensive experience. When the bottle was empty, the knight started perspiring through his clothes concerningly fast. Already soaked, he wiped a layer of sweat off his cheek, and the Paladin realized he could not see his own hand. Examining himself from skin to sword, there was nothing there.

"An invisibility potion that can affect even clothing?" He said walking towards the aerial skirmish. "Amazing."

Georgie spun down one of Corvelos's wings with one feather in each hand and two more held by the satchel's tightened strap. Emulating diamond cutting diamond, he used his mythical muscles and thwacked the carpal edge of the wing. The fingers on the bend extend in a shocked nerve, open for a follow-up strike from the second feather's edge. It slid across two of the digits, and Corvolos felt the pain, but it was mild. Georgie may have been strong now, but his strength was only able to deal moderate damage. If the fiend could calm his nerves for a moment, maybe he could time himself right and silence the wretch. Unfortunately for Corvolos, that thought was dashed as the fingers Georgie swiped began burning at the joints. He watched as a searing line grew over his claws and ruptured into limp amputations falling to the earth.

"GRYAAA!" Screamed the demon in an uncontrollable lashing of agony and confusion. "HOW? This pain... celestial in magic? WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"Another potion," Georgie raised his voice while staying on track. He bit down on one of the feathers and used the free hand to run up the back. The trail shined in a radiant slash. "Just getting warmed up and all that."

Over and over the vendor played the part of a horse fly biting the belly of this spawn from another plane, but now he bit harder than ever possible. Georgie slid down Corvolos's bucking thigh, followed by his golden cut slitting plumage and skin. Though the demon's body spasmed and flew in rapid movements, the mutated man held on for dear life thanks to his heightened awareness, sticky boots, and lion nails. It was extra difficult considering he was only doing it with one hand by the time the light attacks began. Although he had the stamina of a chimera, there was a limit. He ran with his free arm outstretched behind him, opening his fingers.

Come on hero, Georgie winced, irked but still steadfast reaching the underbelly. Take the hint!

As his perspective turned inverted running underneath the demon, Georgie whipped his head backward without missing a step. Feeling him run across his stomach, Corvolos let loose a minefield of feathers firing as his talon scraped the yard's darkness. Desperately Georgie split his attention from the danger in front of him, to the unseen paladin who had been following Georgie by the grip of his messenger bag.

"Grab on!" He shouted to the knight, spinning away from an oncoming projectile. His eyes glowed looking directly into the Paladin's.

He can see me. The chosen one gasped inside. Of course he'd know I'm here, but he can actually see me?

"I have ten minutes left," Georgie said while back handing a feather, the two making that last yard to the other side of Corvolos's hip. "Jump him!"

The Paladin's put aside his surprise and nodded back in understanding. He took Georgie's hand, and the potion vendor planted his feet, skidding across the chaotic underbelly. With his red scaled biceps, he swung the invisible warrior in a perfect curve up the demon's side and far above his head. At the same time a talon found Georgie and struck. The nail point collided against the skin just below the vendor's armpit. Georgie choked on his expelled breath and was sent falling headfirst back to the earth. Corvolos extended his neck at a perfect right angle following the human in free fall.

The Paladin looked down at his exposed target, he saw his ally on the verge of consumption. His body surged with the same radiant magic as before, sending a powerful light down at the back of Corvolos's head. The demon skin began to vibrate with the instinct of mortal danger. Behind him, an angelic meteorite appeared out of nothing and descended from the sky on target to his neck. The radiant energy traveled up the blade and formed a giant cocoon of golden light. The mass of magic shaped and molded into a cleaver twice the Paladin's size.

"ALMIGHTY," a voice roared down to Corvolos from the heavens. The Paladin fell through the air at such a velocity the magic from his constructed cutlery left shimmering atoms behind. "CLEAVE!"

The cleaver came down just as Corvolos retracted his neck so fast that the elasticity of his skin smoked. The hard light blade was still able to land, but could only maim the demon, perfectly skinning his right jaw. Georgie regained his senses and increased the durability of his scales at the feet before going directly through a layer of sandstone. The chopped segment of the fiendish face crashed into the crater and flattened the rubble beneath. The agony coursing through Corvolos's face sent a traumatic ring into the depths of his being. He remembered the look on Rada's face when he cut him a similar way down the back all those centuries ago. The original hero was battered and bloody with a mangled hand, but he still found the strength to cut so deep into a giant. The odds were against him, yet he still smiled. It actually made the demon uneasy. The exposure, that gap exposing weakness. This wasn't supposed to happen again.

Corvolos opened his wings and used his remaining fingers to command the overhead shadow down. Two black spires of unstable conjuration dust shot down directly at Georgie and the fireball of holy energy unaffected by the Paladin's invisibility. Simultaneously they were blasted by the overpowering assault of endless jet streams. Pressured back to solid ground, the Paladin was struck from the back. His body crashed against the edge of the crater, pinned with only three fingers free. His aura was resisting, but the sheer numbers were replacing everything he burned away. Meanwhile, Georgie's imprint was building in size as the force of his black spire pressed him further into the sandstone. In exasperation, his hands swiped mounds of jettisoned fragments. Through his panting and waves, he saw the paladin embedded into the dirt.

"He's as big as an airship!" He screamed at the restrained hero. His arms leaving dozens of afterimages via panicked flailing. "HOW COULD YOU MISS?"

"You..." Corvolos snarled at his true foe. "You would lower yourself to partake in this scum's drafts? Pathetic. HOW DARE YOU USE TRICKS TO CONQUER OUR FATE!"

He created an earthquake landing in a deciding drop onto his former prison. His rickety smile finally returned to his now mutilated face. The exposed cheek poured green ichor into the stone bowl as he reveled in the two's state. Finally, the humans were in their rightful place at the archfiend's mercy. His leaking face peered over Georgie while slapping sand dunes for dear life.

"I will admit this to you, Georgie," Corvolos hummed, breathing down on the occupied vendor. "Your mind is quick. Even with complete ignorance, you adapt. And if my opponent decided to use you, then it would only be fair if I were allowed the same."

6 minutes left... Georgie thought as Corvolos's maniacal, mangled maw sadistically closed in on him. Plan B, bold theory!

"At last, my peace," the demon uttered with a decisive calmness. Enjoying every second of this pale creature's struggle. He couldn't contain the pure murderous bliss he had longed for since hearing Georgie first speak. "COME TO ME, MY FLESH!"

The spire froze its expansion for its master's assimilation. Georgie staggered a few feet with a hand in his bag, arm increasing in scales. The guillotine came down, and Georgie reached forward to receive it. From his hand he released a last-ditch effort. If it worked, then he was a genius. If it didn't, hopefully his equipment and research could be donated to dedicated and morally incorruptible scholars. Though most likely they'd end up in an auction around his neighborhood.

"GEORGIE!" The Paladin yelled under a hill's worth of dark fragments. His blood coursed dangerously through the veins at the pace of his heart.

The teeth were slowed breaking through the extra layers of scaled skin, but his entire forearm was punctured straight to the bone before all the strength in his remaining left hand worked to hold down the bottom jaw. Georgie's voice reached a height people would never believe possible for him. His composed corpse-like demeanor was given life when faced with certain death. His whales ran dry before he could let out the obscenities he wished to.

"That's what I was waiting for!" Corvolos celebrated the first true cry of agony in centuries. It was everything he could have hoped for. "Thank you, Georgie. Now that we are here, I appreciate our time. You reminded me of what I hate, and love about you humans."

"Corv- ack!" gagged Georgie at the shock of his complete muscular tearing. The knuckles in his left hand were chalk white under the strain holding the bottom row of teeth in place. In the back of his mind, he marked the fourth to last minute before reverting to his average and more breakable bones. "I need... can..."

"Hmmm?" Corvolos mused. "And still, you have the strength to speak."

"Can... you eat... rocks?"

At those words, time froze. Corvolos's scalp crawled as an alarming sensation seeped through every nerve. His eyes began dangling over Georgie as he pulled off his impaled arm. Why weren't his jaws closing? No, they were. Corvolos could feel his jaws moving, he could feel and see them closing down on both arms, yet Georgie was falling into the dirt with both still attached.

"Can you eat rocks?" Georgie grunted, kicking dirt at the demon while scrambling to stand. He chuckled through jerking brought on by a mixture of shock and adrenaline. "That is what I asked myself when I saw you. I thought, 'he becomes what he eats?' and 'does it have to be flesh?' If you could eat rocks, you could eat the whole mountain; be an unstoppable titan."

Corvolos stared back motionless as his eyes split into two stories. Georgie laid limbless and screaming, but there he sat on a nearby rock, drinking his last healing potion. He could taste his flesh, but it wasn't in his mouth. He knew he was moving, but how fast? He experienced his victory, yet still the human spoke! The conjuration dust piled on the Paladin began to lull, slowing down and lightened in weight until the black mounds reached stagnation.

"Wha... have..." Corvolos managed to mutter at the pace of a turtle. Inside the demon raged. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME YOU PROFOUNDLY PERNICIOUS PARASITE?

"That made me start thinking," Georgie swigged his potion, gaining some level of comfort from the anodyne effects. "If your assimilation only works on living beings with tissue, then you can't take the properties of something like say, a plant."

The Paladin crawled out from the darkness through a tunnel of searing radiance building inside. He watched the obstinate brewer go on another tangent as the hole in his arm briskly swelled and sealed.

"Hey hero," Georgie casually turned attention to the chosen one, returning to his feet. "You know how some animals here have a way to filtrate cactus water? Do stead vultures have those?"

"No," the Paladin realized as he trudged over, sword dragging behind. "They break into groups that travel to distant watering holes while the others guard the young."

"Correct," Georgie raised his index finger, now with a normal nail and significantly less scales. "And so, if Corvolos took the stead vulture's biological traits, then he may be susceptible to the local fauna."

"You threw a cactus in his mouth?" The Paladin exclaimed.

"A big cactus piece stuffed with a bag of doze powder," Georgie walked to meet the knight, but knelt down to procure another big feather. "I found one over where I was dealing with the constructs. Just in case, which turned out to be the case."

"Die... " Corvolos dragged from his paralyzed mouth, creeping like a yawn. The two humans looked at the fiend's wing starting to sway in an attempt to crush them. It could have killed them if they were dumb enough to wait another five minutes. The water's euphoria tried to bring comfort, but Corvolos's constitution from the hells resisted total immersion. It was a dream without truly falling asleep, with the waking world in plain view. He knew what was happening and fought tooth and talon to work that hallucinogen from his system.

"Just be quick," Georgie said bluntly while continuing to walk past the Paladin. "He'll probably come out of this soon."

Alarmed, the hero nodded before rushing to meet the immobilized Corvolos. Without a single word he raised both hands interlocked with palms aimed at the inside of the gaping fiendish gullet.

This isn't, Corvolos panicked within his locked body. THIS ISN'T HOW I DIE! I WAS FINALLY FREE YOU REPULSIVE MAGGOTS! I AM THE ARCHFIEND OF ASSIMILATION, THE DEMON WHO ERASED THE GIANTS OF THIS VERY LAND! NOT SOME PEON TO DISPATCH WITH SIMPLE TRICKS! LIVE UP TO YOUR PREDECESSOR AND FIGHT ME LIKE A TRUE WARRIOR!

"This... isn't how... I die..." With all that, he could only manage the first 5 words. The Paladin's palms beamed a condensed sphere, sunlight clashing with the blotted domain.

"Maybe it shouldn't be after waiting so long," the knight admitted, the collection of energy shattered all space against the gravitational force of a human's dream. "But the minutia is relative, right? Goodbye, Corvolos."

STOP! The demon broke as the light overtook both stories his mind was witnessing. DAMN YOU, STOP!

"CELESTIAL DEEP FRY!"

Georgie only made it a few yards before needing to cover his ears at the explosion behind. He decided not to look, on the chance it could give him a headache. However, he couldn't help raising a grin, knowing it meant the end to his delayed schedule.

The mountain side was demolished, boulders reduced to molten gold residue. The surface, permanently scraped from the earth and replaced with the scent of smoked poultry. In its wake was a sizzling titanic bird, hollowed from the inside and overly crispy. The haze cleared, revealing the Paladin on his knees, staring off into the crumbling face of his lifelong obligation.

"Well," shouted Georgie, snapping the Paladin back. "I guess that's that."

With hands clenched, and eyes strained in his welling. The Paladin kept his word and saved Sall. Their lives remained theirs, free from the threat of Corvolos and free to continue living out the best of their lives. On that day, the door to that freedom opened, waiting for the chosen one to join. It was okay to let go.

"Yeah," he sniffled with a smile back, allowing tears to roll off his cheeks. "That's that."

. . .

"Almost finished," Georgie said as finely chopped Corvolos feather barbs stewed in a small pot with coconut oil, a biotin tablet, four round cuts of binder root, and half a cup of kombucha.

"Really?" The Paladin peered over the brewer's shoulder as he worked. "And you're sure these things don't carry any demonic magic?"

"Yes," Georgie motioned his head away from the invasion of space. "Now for coagulatio. We'll see what three teaspoons of stalwart salt does."

As the concoction began to bubble with the earthly implementation, the Paladin watched the process intently. The steam rose as the water turned the color of stone-ground mustard but smelled of black tea and methane. He glanced over at Georgie to discern if these were a good sign, and his face relaxed. Almost tranquil if it wasn't for a sudden twitch in his eye, which reminded the Paladin of something.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Why?" Georgie maintained concentration on his stirring.

"I'm just curious about something," the Paladin answered quickly. "It's about earlier, when I was invisible. You looked back at me."

"It was obvious you were the one leaving those cuts." Georgie answered quicker.

"But," the hero pressed with reason. "You were looking right at me, and your eyes glowed. It also happened in the-"

"They're not mine," his words cut off the Paladin, giving his full attention. "My eyes used to be green. I don't like it, but I'm stuck with them; and sometimes they're convenient."

He lifted the pot, steam waving with the mountain winds. Georgie maintained his steady hand despite the reluctant explanation.

"Give it a few minutes to cool, and we'll see."

"Are you going to take it yourself?" Asked the Paladin.

Georgie nodded, "I brought scissors."

Noble, thought culinary knight, feeling kindred now watching his ally perform in his craft the way he did. However, Georgie humored his creation, and it was only fair to return the favor.

"I'd actually like to volunteer."

The brewer fanned the brew with his sore hand, looking at the Paladin with a cocked head and raised eyebrow. He was wondering why the guy was still even here, but he wasn't necessarily unwanted or bothersome at this point.

"I mean, I guess," he responded iffy. "Why?"

"Truth be told," the Paladin ran fingers through his own locks. "I've kind of always wanted longer hair. I keep it a little wavy, but mostly short for combat. Now I don't have to worry about that."

"You'll probably need a hairnet."

"Or maybe a bandana," the aspiring chef laughed, defending himself. "That wouldn't look bad!"

The pot cooled and was ready for testing. The liquid congealed into a fibrous pulpy gel, gently scooped with a clean spoon. Slowly Georgie trickled the warm tonic over the Paladin's scalp, gently smoothing it in between his follicles with the bottom of the spoon. The knight could feel the slightly warm sap seep down his blonde strands to their roots. They began to tingle, subtly massaging the crown. He could feel the gears, turning under his skin as his bangs began peeking from the top of his eyeline. Immediately Georgie pulled a pocket-sized retractable ruler from his overalls and measured the process. Soon the Paladin's hair what's halfway down his neck before ending its miraculous growth.

"Nearly 6 inches," Georgie said clinically. His eyes glowed once again, walking around his subject's head. "And the only magic I'm seeing is yours, so that's positive."

"How do I look?" The Paladin asked, only half serious.

"The same, but with longer hair."

"Figures you'd say that," the hero chuckled. He rose from the dirt, looking at Georgie with a smile he never knew he would make at this man the day before. It was a look of accomplishment. He extended a hand of mutual respect. "Congratulations on your new hair tonic, Georgie!"

The vendor was exhausted, still aching from the overuse of his body in the last few hours. The bags that always laid under his eyes were heavier and shallower. He was on fumes by this point, conducting his brewing and measurements out of habit. With the Paladin's words, it finally occurred to Georgie that his tonic was a success. There were many other ways he could have made this potion, but none of them were what he wanted. They had all been used before. Of course he hated this trip, but now he couldn't regret it. Every potential regret taking this commission had become null. He smiled back and shook his hand, showing satisfaction under a painfully tired face.

"Thanks," he sighed. "And congratulations on pursuing cooking, um... oh wait."

"What is it?"

And without a shred of shame, Georgie asked, "What's your name?"

Behind the two, the crisp corpse of Corvolos whistled wind from its hollowed mass. It filled in for the dumbstruck hero as his open mouth only produced silence. In a way he was embarrassed too for never actually introducing himself. He is still technically a stranger to Georgie!

"Oh," he said, resuming his smile in an attempt to salvage the moment. "Funny it never came up. It's Dan. Dan Fron."

"Huh," Georgie surprisingly took that in for a second. "I thought it'd be longer. I could possibly remember that."

"I hope so," Dan replied with rolled eyes, moving his newly unkempt bangs. "Here, let me help you clean up."

Soon after Georgie's supplies were packed up, and it was time to put this job to an end. All that was left was a simple day-long walk down a treacherous mountain and another four days traveling home. With any luck he could get a cheap ticket for a horsebus between one or two towns. That could give him a chance to only lose a quarter of his sale.

"Well," he slung his satchel over his shoulder. "I got a timeline to meet. Are you ready?"

Leaning up against a boulder, Dan was lost looking at the view. The sky looked so endless and perfect. He took a deep breath of clean air with only trickles of demon charcoal and shook his head contently.

"I think I'll stay here a little longer," he said, shrugging to Georgie. "You go on. Maybe I'll find you on the way down."

"Sure," he didn't question. "But hopefully I'll be halfway down by tonight with my adhesive. Just need to not trip. Later."

As he turned to walk away, Dan shouted to the vendor, "Hey, catch!"

Georgie quickly turned and received a greasy wrapped cloth to his face. As it fell, he readied his hands and caught the wet wrap.

"It's candied bacon," the cook explained. "I never got to eat any this morning. You'll need a snack for the trip."

"Heh," Georgie exhaled as a show of gratitude. He turned around once again and continued on. "Good luck Dan."

"Georgie!" The aspiring chef of destiny called down, holding up the departure. "If we ever meet again, I'll make you another meal! Free of charge."

Not wanting to stop and thinking this conversation had already ended twice by then, Georgie kept going, waving farewell by the back of his scuffed-up knuckles.

Should have started with half off. He thought. He's got a ways to go.

Dan watched fondly as the alchemist from Lazlo disappeared over the summit's horizon. His new mane danced in the breeze, celebrating the end of the longest chapter in the young man's life. Would they ever meet again? Dan hoped. Georgie Galmot may have been strange, frustrating, and certainly dressed odd, but there was something kind beneath it all. In Dan's hand was a piece of bacon he kept for himself. With a hardy bite, he savored its smokiness and sweet, after taste. Between those hopeful chews, Dan Fron: Paladin of the Culinary Arts, had decided on the first two items in his menu for all.

Georgie unwrapped his gift and tasted the snack for himself. His stomach was warm, and the strain on his person felt more at ease.

He has a ways to go, but he'll be alright.