It’s imperative for someone to step up to the plate and fuck the gods. Not the anthropomorphic goddesses, no, everyone lines up to do those scantily clad, plump divinities. No, the gods, not only the ones that look like men and women, but in general. Including the monstrosities from the Queer Dimension, with their mind twisting morphologies, with their sharp teeth and slimy tentacles and bulging eyes made of teeth and tentacles. There are enough vile demiurges out there for no man brave enough to die a virgin, but there are not enough men in all known dimensions to fuck all the deities. Some gods will go unfucked, and that’s the sad reality we need to face, gentleme—
What do you mean the narration is still ongo… Oh.
Well, you are welcome.
Ejem.
Samari stared at the semispherical contraptions attached to the palms of her hands. At the blue, spiraled patents on the white metal, coalescing at the hole in the center. The whistles looked comically large on her minute hands. She wanted to sound them, but it was an impossible task, like satiating a Labrador, for anyone but cultivators and arcagnostics.
“Visualize your vital energy, dear. Visualize the channels of your spirit, how they spread as roofs through your body” the mother told her, sitting in a reclinable chair in the mid of the family garden, facing her daughter but giving her enough space to practice. She gestured at a few brown mushrooms that grew at the foot of their old willow. “Like the hyphae of fungi.”
Samari closed her eyes. No, not gently like you imagine. It was a hard closing of the eyes, a veritable lid workout. She conjured the image of the dreamcatcher of her soul, visualizing the anastomosed channels running through her cells, like the veins of a leaf. The image took a third dimension eventually, and she discovered she could rotate it in her mind, next to the photorealistic apple she liked to rotate so much in her mind that the apple’s core had melted down, developing a pomegnetic field, putting Mars to shame.
She visualized the rivulets of energy flowing, and smiled. It was so calm inside her head, so… boring.
She added a horse to the rotating images. There, better.
After a few moments, the spinning of the equine accelerated, guitar riffs seeped in through the cracks on Samari´s conscious mind, and the animal started condensing pieces of high tech armor upon his back, head and legs, and a missile launcher replaced his tail.
And it was a proper horse, as evidenced when he unsheathed a sharp chrome-plated blade that could be brandished by any badass pointy haired Japanese teen.
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“I really need to stop checking out mom’s zoology books,” the girl thought out loud.
The mother ignored her little-her comments and asked, “And? could you see the weave of your spirit, dear?”
“The horse had grenades for balls,” she answered.
“Samari, dear, I am going to need to call a psychologist one of these days. Two, actually: one for you, one for mommy.”
“Was the asyndeton necessary?” Samari bleated, tapping one of the whistles absentmindedly.
The mother joined her hands in front of her mouth, and an ominous thought crossed her head, making her let out a slight moan of horror. “Dear, you are six years old. Be honest with mommy: are you another reincarnated nerd that died in a traffic accident?”
The offense in Samari’s face was so tangible a bar of butter could have used it as a shield against a knife. “Aunara Findona Stradeajo, how dare you! I just like raiding your library! Reincarnated nerds don’t read! They wouldn’t know a literary device if it spanked their backside!”
The mother embraced the daughter, feeling tension and worry leaving her body. “Don’t scare me like that, then. And don’t full name me, young lady!” she let her daughter go and recovered her stern teacher persona. “So, having your spirit revealed to you is but the first tiny step. Now you need to learn to manipulate it.”
The brat put on a smug smile. “Like you manipulated dad into no-fault-divorcing you instead of doing the right thing and admitting you had been seeing the neighbor?”
Aunara’s face went red and her eyebrows formed an obtuse angle “Samari! How dare you say that about your own mother! I suffered for sixteen whole hours to give birth to your big useless head!”
“And you also made me wait to get my whistles.”
The mother huffed and then giggled a little. It was about that. Of course it had to be about that. “You are incorrigible, dear.”
“And so are you, my esteemed cheating whore.”
Aunara raised her hand to slap her insolent daughter, but before bringing it down, she was assailed by doubt. Did she have a right to slap her, when she had always insisted to her daughter to be honest with her?
No, she didn’t. She lowered her hand, even if her having slapping Samari would have been funnier for you, because life is unfair and so I am. It’s funnier for me if she isn’t slapped.
“You shouldn’t badmouth people who can harm you, dear.”
“I only badmouth you because you have an emotional and instinctual investment on my relatively unharmed survival. And yes, before you say it: you raised a monster. Then o0ne of the whistles began sounding, a high pitched, annoying sound. “Aha! I got it.”
“I haven’t even explained to you how to… you read it from my library, didn’t you, you little peeking gnome?” Aunara had to shout to make herself heard as she poked the girl’s cheek with a finger, and Samari’s bit her tongue with a goofy smile.
“Guilty as charged, mom!” Samari raised the whistle and shook it, it didn’t stop sounding. “How do I turn it off?”
With the calmest voice one can speak over a loud whistling with, the mother answered her pupil’s question. “You simply stop channeling vital energy into it, dear.”
Samari’s face froze in an open mouthed smile. She had no idea how to stop the flow of energy once started. “My spirit is going to bleed out or I am gonna go deaf due to this whistle. Awesome!”