Most of my recent life had been spent with other entities prodding around in whatever remained in my burned-out skull. Demons, my own voice, and unknown entities. Soon enough, I'd set up a table and start charging hosting fees. Would make a killing.

I awoke in a panicked sweat, hot and disorientated. The early morning light was muddy in my blurred eyes. Immediately, I turned to the other side of the bed. Empty. For the first time in weeks, I had woken alone.

[Good morning, Eric.]

Alright, not quite alone. I rubbed at my eyes and realized part of my confusion was not having my glasses on. Normally, I barely registered their existence due to their permanent place on my face. As I retrieved them from the bedside table, I noticed that my patron was sitting on the chair at the desk by the window. His crimson eyes reflected from the mirror amongst the shadows.

“I don’t… remember going to sleep.”

[You passed out. I was worried, but physically you seemed normal.]

Hopefully, he meant my breathing and heart rate, and not that I didn’t explode or mutate in some manner.

I slid from the bed to enjoy the cooler air and stood on the carpet that was no longer soaked in imaginary blood. One of my favorite ways to start the day. As I walked over to Wight, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Congested maybe? Still slightly reeling from the surprise sleep, but divines knew I needed it. I tongued the inside of my mouth at the taste of that phrase.

Wight seemed to be… drawing? I leaned over his feathered shoulder to have a look.

[Art has always interested me… it is more difficult than it looks.]

Not one to really judge, I was reluctant to agree with his admission. Several pages from a book he had dug out from somewhere had harsh lines of black marker scrawled in long intersecting lines. It didn’t really look like anything.

“I think the most important part of art is that you are expressing yourself.” I gave him a pat on the shoulder. It felt cold and less tangible than a feathered being should do. According to the little information my tiny brain held.

[That… makes me more contented with my attempts.]

He looked up at me with his beaked face, and I smiled with barely held-back insanity. Perhaps I would like to join the inaudible voice inside me that constantly screamed, as things just kept getting weirder. Every damned day.

“I should get dressed and tidy the place up before Rodney comes over.” Removing myself from the situation, I turned to the wardrobe to retrieve fresh clothes. Although I could have done with a shower, there was the slight fear of having another blood-soaked vision. Most household accidents happened in the bathroom, after all.

I frowned and went to retrieve my phone, noticing that I had a new message.

Rest well, will see you soon x

She had returned the cross. Something within me did a little nervous lurch. It was nice to know she was still okay - although, given her ability to teleport to the house, I wondered why she hadn’t at least popped in. Not really something worth worrying about in the grand scheme of things. If I could handle a Titan, Pigman King, and eldritch horrors, then a day or two away from Pearl should be liveable.

No more than that, though.

“So, I guess our trip to the Hells is canceled then?” I looked back as I buttoned up a gray dress shirt.

[How do you feel?]

Head tilted to the side, I stared into the back of the wardrobe. Now that the morning grogginess had faded… I felt as normal as that word could apply to my life. No voices that I could hear inside my head, no pain or discomfort, and mentally I was reasonably stable.

“I could do with a coffee; then I’d be ready for anything.”

[We will see how the Rodney feels, then.]

I nodded and yawned. Caution should dictate that I should rest. Part of my fate willed me to continually leap into a broken state as soon as I was whole again. Training my existence to strengthen like a muscle. Without thinking about it, I attached the holster to my hip and snugly fit the revolver into it. Almost as comforting and reality-sharpening as my glasses.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Wight followed me downstairs, and I walked through into the kitchen - ensuring nothing was out of place around the house as we went. Despite my location being known by several demons, I was surprised to be left alone for… my feet stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, and I turned back to my patron.

“How did Cherub find out where I live?”

From what I knew, there were certain limitations to teleportation or location-seeking abilities. Pearl could come and go because she had known this place before meeting me and, at some point, became bound to me enough that she could appear near me. Aside from that…

[Hmm…]

Wight actually paused and looked up at the ceiling, cupping his beak with a small clawed hand. This new form would still need some getting used to, despite the treasures the Hells had labored my mind with - this was unusual.

[I have an idea. The bat that you discarded.]

My mind shot back to the prison fight. After retrieving my gun from the devils, I had discarded the wooden weapon. If it hadn’t burned away under the oppressive heat… then it could have been used to track knowledge of my location.

“Seth’a.” I narrowed my eyes as Wight slowly nodded at me.

Exhaling, I turned back into the kitchen to put the kettle on and start washing up last night’s dishes. “Guess we have a play-date then, if Rodney is up for it.”

[Her warning did save us from having to slaughter all those pigmen yesterday.]

If there was any disappointment in his tone, he didn’t make much effort to disguise it. Surely, if we hadn’t stumbled into that tunnel, then the most likely scenario was shooting our way out of the pigmen town. You know, instead of just returning to the Org not covered in blood and guts.

Time flew by as we waited for the Blank, the prompt knock at the door waking us from our glazed-over thoughts.

“Hey Eric.” He smiled. “Glad to see you’re doing okay.”

I let him in and closed the door. He was looking rather okay himself, despite the looming funeral tomorrow. I almost felt guilty about what I was about to labor him with, but he deserved not to be treated with kid gloves - and I’d allow him to tap out at any point. Most importantly, it smelled like he had brought food.

“Are we expecting- woah, hey… uh, Wight?”

[Hello, the Rodney.]

He had stopped in the doorway to the dining room, surprised to see the large bird person sitting at the table. The last time Rodney had seen my patron, he had been no bigger than a crow.

“Wight has had a bit of a glow-up. Pearl is currently, uh, on a business trip?” I wasn’t quite sure what I was trying to cover up rather than speak plainly. Perhaps nerves about what was about to come.

“Guess she’ll miss out on these pastries then.” He smiled and took a chair opposite Wight, still a bit unsure about the new look of the demon.

With a smile, I went to make some coffee. “Uh, would you like a coffee, Wight?”

[Yes please, Eric. I appreciate you being more considerate lately.]

It hadn’t occurred previously how rude I had been, or if I had just taken his presence for granted. An odd tool that gave convenience to my slaughtering rampage, with the occasional bad language. He was different than Pearl, but in a way the same. Shame on me for not seeing him as more of an equal prior to his bipedal ascension.

“So, what’s the damage? How bad are things?” Rodney pulled a grimace as I brought through the mugs of steaming life.

Wight stared blankly and waited for me to sit before he began.

[Eric has been having problems in the bedroom.]

Rodney choked on the pastry he had taken a bite of. “Wha-?” he coughed further, his face reddening.

“More specifically,” I glared at my patron, “I’ve had some hallucinations that aren’t corruption related - we think. Blood running from the bedroom walls and the like.”

“Oh.” He wiped tears from his eyes and sighed as his lungs became unhindered by flaky baked goods and embarrassment.

[Yesterday was a busy day.]

I recalled the Titan, everything that happened at the Org, the pigmen King, and finally, the horrors found in the odd chest.

“Shitting hells, Eric.” Rodney sunk in his chair and scrunched his eyes up.

“Yeah. So we were wondering if you had any knowledge of reality-defying gods, or maybe just big rats?” I held my mug to my mouth to hide my grimace.

The Blank clucked his tongue. “I think… uh… you’ve probably stumbled on something much higher than my pay grade. The Org didn’t pull you up on it?”

“They didn’t see, and I didn’t tell them.”

[Sometimes the Organization doesn’t have our best interests in mind, the Rodney.]

I could tell that this fact bit into him. Although he hadn’t had the easiest month, he hadn’t been put through the meat grinder as much as Wight and I had. We were still dancing to their tune; we just didn’t want them to know all our moves yet.

“Other than going insane from a different angle, nothing much has changed. I would have thought a boon would have been more readily apparent.” Preferably something beneficial to my current life goals, too - although, at the time, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. It could be something to further the plans of the weird rodent-god.

Rodney sighed again and rubbed his temples. “I’ll see what I can find out. Just survive long enough for some answers?”

[About that. We were considering having a warm-up in the Hells today, if you were up to it, the Rodney.]

“Knew it was a good idea to bring my gear with me.” He shook his head and gestured at his bag. “You’re always getting into trouble. The least I can do is watch.”

I grinned, but before I could reply, a flash of pink from the kitchen drew our attention. Pearl strode through the doorway in her full leather battle armor. Slight surprise on her face to see a full house.

“Oh, you’re-“ She stopped and stared at me, her hand moving to her sword pommel. “What have you done with Eric?”

I stood, knocking back the chair, and withdrew my revolver to point at her.

“Eric Redd is dead.” I grinned as my finger tightened on the trigger.