“What the fuck! What the fuck!” I whisper with a trembling voice, shaking all over. I roll away from the pedestal, smashing my back on the rocky cavern floor.

“Ouch!”

Dammit! I double dare you to touch me. Fucking statues, you can never trust them.

“Everyone is hearing that, right?” the old man asks, a bit frightened, standing in a defensive position, chaotically aiming his gun around.

“Yes, yes!” I answer him while dragging my ass along the cave floor.

“My followers! I thought you were all hanged and abandoned meee. So I was wrong! Ha, ha, ha, ha..” says the extremely cheerful voice echoing through the cave, emanating from the statue.

Despite the tone of the voice being cheerful and warm, I can barely stand up and pull myself together.

“Hmmm? What is it? An offering! Beautiful!” The cheerful, warm voice echoes from the statue, and my hammer disappears into thin air.

“No. No. No. What the fuck! No!” I yell, staring at the statue.

“Boy, what have you done?” the old man shakes his head.

“What’s wrong, my little friend?” the statue asks.

“My weapon! Give it back!” I yell at it.

“You made an offering, didn't youuu?”

“No! I was just goofing around!” I reply.

“What the hell even are you?!”

“Meee? You don’t know? So you are not my follower then?”

“I guess not,” I answer cautiously.

“A godling, Pyrios. Welcome to one of my shrines! Ha, ha, ha, ha..”

“Mm, okay,” I reply.

“So, not a follower, you say? Hmmm, I need more followers.”

“What the fuck is this? Some desperate Instagram ‘influencer’ reincarnated as a god?” I turn to the party, frowning.

Mike and Astrid chuckle.

Is he intentionally talking, laughing, and acting childish? How should I even talk to it? I wonder while gazing at the statue, finally calming down, as I no longer feel threatened.

“That’s all great! Now, can I have my hammer back?”

“Do you want to become one?” the voice asks.

Astrid, Harald, and Mike keep muttering with each other in the background.

“Become what? A follower?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeees! You can have a blessing then!” Pyrios answers, with a high-pitched intonation at the end of each word.

“Well, I’d rather like my hammer back,” I answer.

“With my blessing, you can smith fine weapons yourself,” a resonant voice answers me.

“I’m not a blacksmith, and even if I was, I don’t have a forge, I don’t have an anvil, and mostly, I don’t even have a hammer! Because someone took it from me!” I argue.

“Hmmmm. Free my followers, and you can have your offering back!” he cheerfully offers.

“And where are your followers then?” I ask.

“An evil wizard apprentice enslaved them, then hanged them in a forest of his,” he continues, with a suddenly sad tone.

Evil? If this thing classifies something as evil, that apparently is evil, he must be pretty sane. I speculate.

“Hanged? Do you think it was…” I look back at the couple.

Astrid is nodding, and Mike is assuring me with his healthy eye.

“How do you imagine freeing them could be done if they are dead?” I ask carefully.

“Free their bodies or free their spirits! Either act, and your hammer is back! And maybe even a blessing for the smiths. Ha, ha, ha, ha…”

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

“What if I tell you they are free?” I ask cautiously again.

“My followers?” he asks, cheerfully.

“Both the spirits and the bodies, and one extra.” I answer confidently.

“Who’s the one?” he asks, with an eager tone.

“The wizard.” I don’t even wait for more questions. Opening my inventory, I take out two halves of the rope and throw them on the ground.

“Hmmmm. Give Pyrios some time,” he answers, and suddenly we feel no presence of the voice in the cave.

“What do you think?” I turn back to them and ask in a lowered voice.

“I think it’s going well so far,” Harald notes, while nodding.

Astrid agrees.

“Ask about that blessing,” Mike adds.

Astrid pulls on his jacket again.

We sit and wait quietly.

----------------------------------------

I sigh after waiting for a few minutes. “Do you think this was a mistake? What if he bailed?”

“What sort of god is this, that is so uninformed and limited?” I ask openly.

“He said he's a godling,” notes Astrid.

“I don’t even know what that mea—” I turn around quickly, facing the statue again.

“My brothers confirmed! You are telling the truth.”

“You have brothers?” I wonder.

“Yeeees. Godlings we are, from the realm of spirits.”

“How many brothers do you have?” I ask.

“Sixteen! Ha, ha, ha…”

I look back at the three curious figures in the back. Harald gesticulates by shrugging his shoulders.

----------------------------------------

"You were telling the truth and indeed exceeded all expectations!

I will reward you with a great enchantment, or even a blessing, if you waaant?” He keeps offering me his smithing blessing, with an even more cheerful voice. I think if I had to listen to him all the time, I’d get very angry at his voice and intonation that gets annoying after a while. Well, if "a while" was one second long.

“Thank you. Enchantment and my hammer is enough,” I refuse his blessing once again.

“What kind of enchantment?” I ask.

“I can make your weapon bigger or smaller, lighter or heavier, or even more sturdy or deadlier. Choose whatever! Ha, ha, ha, ha…”

I can’t believe my ears. Am I facing another freedom of choice? The luck was on my side, and I acquired the option to tailor my own skill. I bet there were gazillion better skills to come up with that would pair with my strength, but I was short on time and in a stressful situation.

I shouldn’t rush this; I need to think it through carefully.

“Can I have more time to decide?” I ask the statue of godling.

“You’re the one getting older! Ha, ha, ha, ha…”

“And what do you have for us?” Mike asks.

“Did you fulfill my requests? I think not,” the godling answers.

“Harald, help me with this, please,” I turn to the old wise man and ask for advice.

“Bigger or smaller? For what reason is that good?” I ask.

“Nothing comes to my mind. Bigger might be heavier, but clumsy to manipulate with. Small and light, sounds counterproductive.” He notes, while looking at the ceiling touching his chin.

“Sturdy? A hammer? Besides the handle, there is nothing more to do. How more indestructible could a massive metal cube be?” he adds, his eyes wandering in the distance.

“I can’t imagine a hammer being deadlier. Adding spikes?” he speculates.

“You better be getting something tailored for yourself,” he suggests.

I exhale and sigh. Closing my eyes while sitting on the rock, I think of all the possibilities.

I look at my right hand, close the fist, and check the bruises and stretch marks on my forearms.

“Maybe my hammer could adjust to my power?” I gaze into the distance, evaluating.

----------------------------------------

“Yes. That might be it!” I get up after a while and turn back to the statue.

“Make my weapon so that it adapts to my strength in terms of weight, and maybe make it a little bit bigger?” I ask.

“Hmmm? Interesting choice. Your weapon will always feel the same for youu, no matter how strong you are.”

*Ding*

"Err.. That wasn't the.." I point my finger up, but stop right after after the hammer appears in the cloud of golden dust on top of the anvil, standing on the hammerhead, facing the handle upwards.

“Wow,” Astrid whispers.

Overall, it seems a bit larger than before and super clean and shiny.

I tediously climb the pedestal where the statue is and touch the hammer handle.

Without using my power-shifting ability Focus, I pick it up with ease. The hammerhead makes a satisfying sound like it was very heavy as I lift it from the stone-carved anvil with ease.

I raise it to my head level in an instant and wobble it around.

I let it drop and raise it again, spinning it in my hand and picking it up with my left one.

I swing it in the air a few times, then hold it with just my fingers, facing down, avoiding gripping it tight with my palm, fingers only. Harald is curious and relocates closer to me.

Astrid and Mike are standing a bit farther back, chatting. Mike stays there, leaning against the cavern wall, gazing at the statue, clearly thinking.

I loosen one of my fingers from the grip.

Nothing changes for me.

I try another finger. Nothing again.

Another one lifted and I swing it in front of me.

Harald leans forward and squints.

The hammer seems to get lighter the more I should struggle to hold it. There’s no way I should be able to swing it around using just two fingers. Yet I don’t feel any difference; to me, the hammer feels the same weight.

So the less power I give it, the less it weighs? And the more, then...

I grip it tightly in my palm, flex my bicep, and suddenly open my palm.

*A loud thud echoes through the cavern*

“Sooo? How do you like it, my new follower?”

“It’s great! But I didn’t agree to being a follower—blessing for smithing has no use for me.”

“Really? Too bad, I guess.” He answers with a sad tone.

“Thank you, godling!” I bow slightly, expressing my gratitude.

“The thanks should be mine. Don’t forget to help my brothers when you come across them.

You keep chatting with my brother's pet cat and ignoring his requests! Shame! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…”

Ah, fuck.