Just when I thought the limit for absurdity had been already reached, Hell cooked up a new dish, and force fed me the results. As far as mental breaks went, this one was reasonably mild. Sure - everything was now cel-shaded, and I spoke like a child from a Sunday morning cartoon, but at least it wasn’t causing any physical discomfort. Other than my grinding teeth.

[We should call the Quest off, Eric.]

“I’m fine and dandy, Wight.” I gave him a twirl to show that I was still in one piece. One whole Eric Redd.

[You have a lump on your head that is bleeding.]

“So tell me more about the great Pig King!” I waved my revolver in the air, since that is where Wight was. It actually looked pretty nice in this visual style. Simple but functional. Slightly more like a peashooter than I was used to.

[…We need to see the King to acquire some concessions…]

“Sounds boring, and the piggies can be mean.” I pouted and scratched the side of my cartoon head at the end of the barrel. Getting pigmen to agree to anything was a struggle unless it involved eating me alive. I was starting to get a better grip on the ‘Quests’ that the Org was sending me on, though.

Let’s see if Eric Redd can survive this next terrible situation.

[You aren’t replying to my telepathy.]

“Huh, sorry. I can’t hear it, Wight.” Great. Not only had my brain knocked reality into a cel-drawn looneyville, but my sensible mind couldn’t connect with the unaffected demon.

[I had hoped our reunion would-]

“Let’s get started!” I leaped up into the air to punch at the sky. Or whatever classed as sky here, which was just rock-glowing amber. Before my patron could disagree, I stumbled down from the rocks that had injured me and scooted off towards the large throng of pigmen constructions.

There was a gate - an interesting development for pigmen. Well, their hovels often had doors, but their villages usually were more open to the elements. Squinting my eyes, it looked like the rough wall of ramshackle parts surrounded the whole area.

“A pigman city, cor!” I bit my lip with excitement and a small amount of trepidation. Why they thought I could just walk in and parlay with the supposed King was beyond me.

Firstly, there was a guard.

“Hi, piggie!” I waved as I approached.

“Stop, human - I am the guard.” Remarkably eloquent and polite for a pigman. He stood a few feet taller than me and had a round metal helmet that looked like a colander. A spear was held in his hand and looked like it wanted to shake my hand. Or my intestines.

“Pigman guard, I would like to speak to the King!”

“No.”

With a pout, I huffed. This was not going to plan already - failed at the first task! There should really be two guards; a single one seemed like asking for trouble.

[I don’t think you are hearing his actual words either, Eric.]

That was a given, yet I had to work with what I had. “Can I convince you, please?”

“No!” The pigman had run out of patience and lowered the spear to point towards me - which I found considerably rude.

Pop! A little cloud of dust escaped from the end of the revolver, leaving a scratched mark of black on the pigman's forehead. His eyes turned into large crosses, and then he dropped to the floor with a thump.

“He needed a nap.” I grimaced, knowing how that may actually look in the more sane world. Amazing how convincing my gun could be.

[Probably not a good idea to go in all guns blazing, as much as I hate to chastise you, Eric.]

I gave him an exaggerated, sad face. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined our reunion, either. My patron had to babysit the cartoon episode of Eric Redd murdering five hundred pigmen. We may not go in all guns blazing, but we more than likely would be going out that way.

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[Do you not have any medication on you?]

“I’ve had pancakes.” Man, what I wouldn’t give for more pancakes. Even thinking about the word, I could almost taste them. Wish I had Pearl to talk to, although now was probably the worst time.

The demon didn’t respond to me at first as I stared at the large doors - or was I smaller? Things felt off by a foot or so. Nobody had come to investigate the shot guard, so I should be all good to just stroll myself into the belly of the beast - hopefully only figuratively.

[Perhaps if I Form it will help.]

I watched in silence as the black energy pooled out from the revolver and started to build up from the guard beside me. It was a lot less nuanced in this forced filter over my vision, but dark black feathers rose up to a bird's head, his two crimson eyes sitting atop an obsidian beak.

“Wowzers! Have you always been taller than me?” His form had feathered arms rather than wings, and he stood on two legs like a large puppet.

[I think you have some slight visual distortion, making you believe you are shorter.]

It was nice how pleasant he remained with me, despite me clearly sliding off the deep end. We had come a long way - and now he was apparently a bird person. It did leave some questions, like what this meant for combat, like if I were able to shoot my special abilities, or if he could do anything new in this form.

[Think louder, Eric. You can still use our abilities. There is more to learn, but we will wait till you are more… normal.]

“Righto. Sounds fun, Wight!” Just to tempt him, I made the show of dropping the revolver - to which it spun in the air and back into my grip. That was enough to convince me.

He quietly watched me as I walked over to the door. Reasonably well constructed by pigman standards, even if it didn’t look a little 2D with my current visual complication. My small left hand reached up to pull at the handle. Locked - or barred.

“Perhaps they are expecting us - ooh, maybe a surprise party?” I rubbed at my chin, somewhat concerned I wasn’t able to feel my beard. Maybe if I hit my head again, I’d go back to normal? Or worse. I eyed up my patron. “Can you fly?”

[I cannot.]

Shame. There were so many questions I had for him, but they’d have to wait until the Org wasn’t snooping in on us. And when I could speak normally without sounding like a happy child. Allow me to be noir; I seethed beneath my gleaming smile.

There was only one thing for it. After spending some time in the presence of doors, I had become quite the expert on getting them open when they weren’t keen on that idea. Exercising caution, I walked to the side by one of the edges. It would be better to fire the shot as flat to the door as possible to reduce any collateral. Maybe normal shots would be better, but honestly, I just wanted to make sure Wight could still power my abilities from a few feet away.

Ah! It had been too long, and I reveled in the texture of the power that vibrated from my weapon and down my arm. The red beam coursed through the textured door like the streak of a highlighter pen. Wood crumbled and burned from the impact as the line exited the wall a little further down and petered out into the empty desert of Hell.

[See, I told you.]

I stuck my tongue out at him, this time coming from the real me rather than the child I had become. I leaned my weight into the door and was rewarded with the sound of splintering planks, as the beam that had barred the entrance was now too weak to resist me. Such was the life of doors.

As they gradually swung open, I stepped into the slick streets of the pigman… kingdom? It was odd calling it that, only paling against the strange smells that immediately assaulted my nostrils. “Ew, gross,” I emoted, despite how often I had to endure their filth.

Wight stepped in behind me as we got a good look at our surroundings. The filthy street carried on all the way up to what was probably a town center - similar to how they organized their smaller villages. Beyond this widely open space was a monumental building by pigman standards. A veritable mansion made of ruined wood and scraps of whatever they either couldn’t eat or had thrown up. Pigman corpses decorated pikes along the ground floor.

Between us and the prime location for the whereabouts of the supposed King, various hovels and housing lined this wide street. Equally poorly constructed, some of them had been ambitious enough to attempt a second floor - those still standing were the lucky few that beat out the odds of collapse. From shadowed windows, the red glare of pigman eyes stared out, looking at the interloper broaching their walls.

From alleyways along the main road, more pigmen stepped out with crossed arms or blunt instruments, like a gang acting threatening as I had stepped on their turf. All apt metaphors, and probably more likely to work if they weren’t cartoon caricatures of their usual selves.

[Let’s try not to turn this into another bloodbath.]

“No promises.” I winked at the bird-like demon. I was down to be best buds with all the lil piggies if it meant not turning up back at home broken, bloodied, and covered in feces. Although, perhaps I had just manifested destiny right there.

I raised my empty hand to the nearest pigman. “Heyaa! Can I see the King, please? This is me asking nicely.” The crack of my childish facade with the thinly veiled threat amused me. It was true - I was asking nicely, and it was only this way because the Org was watching.

It wouldn’t be a good idea to draw my dagger or to use my own ability if I could help it. There was only so much good grace I could hold together for the mysterious group trying to build me into the most efficient demon-killing Hunter they had. At least, that’s what I currently told myself.

“King doesn’t take visitors,” the nearest pigman grunted, some manner of slime slithering down his mouth and onto his bare chest.

“Why not?” I crossed my arms and began to tap my foot.

The pigman scratched the side of his head. Apparently, he had not thought this far ahead in the dialogue, and it took all I had not to imagine a question mark bobbing beside his head. Eventually, he pulled the ace card from his sleeve - a shrug.

“Are you going to stop me if I go to see the King?”

“Yes,” he snorted.

My right eye twitched as I leveled my gun towards him. “Aw, shucks.”