The speed at which the puzzle pieces slotted together was often glacial, but that was due to the substantial weight behind them. Bloodstains of demons killed, or the abilities granted by powerful entities, neither seemed to budge my mood much these days. The betrayal of the Org and my fellow Hunter ground away at what temper I could hold back. Kill all betrayers.

I held up my phone and dotted across the letters to send to Pearl.

Org called all three of us in. Maybe promotion x

Give them hell x

The response came back rather quickly, but if she was in the mortal plane, then that checked out. I smiled at the little play on words. And at the returned cross.

“Are you supposed to be steaming, Eric?” Rodney furrowed his brow now that we had gathered back in the basement.

“Probably not.” I felt fine, but there were bound to be residual effects from the abilities I had just used. Mostly, I had been thankful that I didn’t explode my arm or liquidate my organs - and that I didn’t have a hole through my head. A little steam seemed boring in comparison.

[We will have to discuss it later. I will return to the Org too.]

Like he had the choice if I were going there, but I nodded anyway - watching him slowly dissolve into mist. I turned to Rodney with a glum smile as we entered the basement.

“Didn’t get my music in the fight.”

“There’s - I don’t… there are a lot of things I could say about your fight, Eric. I don’t think lack of music would be any one of those things.” He kneeled down to configure the portal for our trip to the Org.

Hells knew what they wanted with the both of us. Maybe they had just been watching? Gunther might have even told them a little fib about who was the aggressor. Whatever it was going to be, I felt cold and tired about it. No patience and no respect for the Org. They were necessary, but unwanted.

“Yeah,” I eventually relented. “It was pretty cool, huh?”

“Like…” he stood as the blue light of the runes lit up. “You were proficient before, but sloppy. This time you were more efficient, despite the level difference.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a bucket everyone keeps throwing their chickens into.” I paused and wrinkled up my face. “That’s not a real metaphor. My brain might be a little mixed up.”

He tried to read my face, a book burned and sodden. “You going to be alright?”

“I am.” I had no choice but to be. I was skating a razor's edge with the Org, and I doubt they’d allow me to skip the immediately important meeting just because I was having an off day. “But… we need to find out why I have divine powers soon.”

It was my turn to read his face, but his novel was a little more easy reading. Even had some pictures to jostle the imagination. “I guess what I saw was… I had some feeling you did, but thought it’d be rude to…”

“No big deal.” I gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Let’s get ruined by the Org before we start worrying about what I’ve got going on, huh? They might kill us both, and then it won’t be a problem anymore.”

“That’s not reassuring, Eric.”

I gave him a wink as I stepped into the portal.

~Eric Redd. Cleared.

The darkened room felt oppressive immediately. With a sigh, I stepped to the side so that the Blank didn’t stumble into me as he came through. A flash of blue, and then he stepped in beside me, blinking to get his eyes used to the change of light.

~Rodney Blackburn. Cleared.

~Please proceed.

We both bowed to the room, despite the resentment bubbling within me. It wasn’t the teleportation room’s fault that things were shit - I shouldn't let my anger dictate the respect I showed to those who weren’t responsible. Part of me wondered if that was the Rat God’s influence or if I was finally emotionally maturing.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Part of me preferred to accept that it was the eldritch god.

I took the lead and stepped out of the chamber, the usual receptionist giving us a brief nod as we stood by her desk for direction.

“Mr Redd, Mr Blackburn.” She tilted her head as if the instructions on her screen weren’t immediately clear, which set me on edge. “You’re both in room Two today.”

“Thank you.” Rodney bowed, and I followed suit with a brief smile.

She didn’t return it, which usually wasn’t so concerning - but added to the gradually increasing pile of mouths screaming to kill everyone and escape. I wished I could blame that on the Rat God too.

I stopped by the door. Instead of a name tag, below the number, a Do Not Disturb sign was placed. “Ominous,” I said in a murmured tone, turning to grimace towards the Blank. Rodney looked pale and sweaty already. He hadn’t needed to come here that often - certainly not to be dressed down by Partridge.

My knuckles rapped on the door, and I was unsurprised to hear the muffled voice of said man calling us in. With one last breath of free air, I pushed forward.

Partridge was standing, arms folded, and a bee-chewing scowl on his face. The main desk beside him was occupied by none other than the Director herself. Or at least the one I had met before; there were meant to be at least a handful. Across from them were three chairs with no small desks. Perhaps easier to cut us to shreds without the additional furniture.

“Sit,” Partridge commanded, holding back his tongue - perhaps the Director wasn’t a fan of his blue language - or he was waiting for a full audience.

We did so, bowing to them both as we entered, and Rodney softly closed the door behind us. I commended him for not bolting, but then again also cursed him for blocking my ability to do so. Crossing the room under their glares was almost as bad as some of my experiences in Hell. Almost.

I sat in the middle chair, and Rodney sat to my left. After a brief few seconds of silent anticipation, the door opened once more, and Wight walked in, looking somewhat awkward but not as intimidated as us two. He plodded across the room and sat on the chair to my right. It was oddly comforting, if not a little confusing.

The Director steepled her fingers and sighed. Her bright amber eyes slowly glared between each of us before she began.

“We do not allow patrons to sit in on meetings usually… but these are interesting times, so we have made the allowance.”

Wight opened his beak slightly as if to speak, but promptly closed it.

A silence followed as she read through something on her desk, occasionally turning a page. I’d seen this trick before, and my mood mellowed. If they were still trying to run an intimidation show, then I hadn’t even considered looking at the price of admission. Catch me at home having an evening in with my gal and-

“As always,” Patridge spoke up first, “you little assholes have a whole list of shitstains we need to air out.”

Like dirty laundry. Well crafted, that one.

The Director took over, working her jaw. “We recently had a patron return to us damaged. The Hunter in question has not responded to our meeting request, but a little birdie tells us that it was you who put him there.”

[I am the little birdie.]

Wight nudged me to make sure I was clued in on the picture.

Partridge leaned on the desk and titled his head. “That’s not what we brought you idiots in for originally, but that seems a little higher on the priority list than the other bullshit you’ve been sticking your tongue in.”

“So please,” the Director smiled humorlessly, a slight wince in her eye at the curse words. “Do tell us what happened.”

“It was less than an hour ago, I suppose.” I turned to Rodney, who eagerly nodded, slight panic still in his eyes. “We were breaking through one of those skull-head temples-“

“The Arcranium?” The Director questioned, gesturing for me to continue as I nodded.

“We broke the blue skull liquid, and then Watcher appeared - and Gunther…” I trailed off, suddenly realizing that I did not want to divulge the powers that had allowed me to avoid the sniper shot blowing my brains out.

“Gunther, what, Eric? Did he suck your tongue out through your ass? Speak up.” Patridge growled and stood as if threatening to come and get in my face. The soft and understanding side of him was off on sick leave; perhaps he had to make a show of being a hard-ass in front of the Director.

“He went to use his ability to kill me, but Wight interrupted it, and we shot Watcher.”

They both narrowed their eyes, disbelief over most of the points I had tried to lay out in front of them. The Director clucked her tongue. “Why would he be trying to kill you?”

I felt tired now. Perhaps a little preparation would have done our nerves a little better. I couldn’t just tell them that Pearl had gotten us some information… especially after one of us should be dead because of these assholes. Briefly, an anger flared up within me.

“We had information, squeezed a little piggie that squealed. Tied his actions in with that demon from the factory - Joxx'un.”

They exchanged glances. It wasn’t the most believable tale, and a heavy accusation to tie a Hunter in with some Mid demons. They had to know that there was some truth to it, as they made a subtle gesture to move on.

“We will investigate." Partridge shrugged. "If you’re talking shit, Eric, I’m going to stick each of you up each other’s-“

“That’s fine, thank you, Partridge.” The Director sighed. “We will also skip past the report that there are crocodile demons bearing your name fighting pigmen - one of our low-level Hunters was almost caught in the crossfire, but I believe in the short term, this can be to our advantage.”

That wasn’t much of a thank you or a well done. It was just a relief from admonishment. It took a lot of willpower for me not to roll my eyes - the true victory.

“The real reason we called you in,” she turned her gaze to Rodney, “is that we feel it is time Mr Blackburn received a patron.”