84. Friends and Acquaintances
Isaac winced as another one of Villard’s strikes came dangerously close to his opponent, a human by the looks of things. He forced his muscles to relax, but after trying for the last three matches, it was clear the tension was there to stay. Every time a blow came too close, during the actual match ending hits, even during a particularly aggressive yell, he’d find himself holding his breath and waiting for a flash of gold. It hadn’t happened yet (not after the first time), but that only made him all the more wary.
An elbow to the gut sent the demon flying to the other side of the ring and the human was announced the winner. Isaac’s eyes lingered on the woman’s tattoo, but it remained an inky black.
The crowd around him roared, and he wondered again how they could move on so easily. His attention was pulled away, however, when he noticed a particularly loud, shrill voice rise above the rest of the crowd from a few feet away.
“Ha! Take that you purple, no good, indolent, conniving—“
“Olzu?”
Isaac had stood up and shoved through the crowd before he was consciously aware of it. He would probably feel embarrassed about it later, but at the moment, he was too busy scanning the small imp-like demon, searching for any wounds or other signs of injury. Thankfully there were none. He sighed in relief, but his expression quickly morphed into a frown.
“I thought you were resting in the Inferno?”
Olzu spun around and puffed out his chest, and Isaac smiled at the familiar motion. “As if Lord Lucius’s most trusted assistant would allow himself to be bedridden for more than a few days!”
“You’re feeling better, then?”
The demon faltered slightly, only to clear his throat and quickly straighten again. “Absolutely marvelous, especially now that that purple—“ (he uttered a demonic word that sounded like seventeen different consonants mashed together) “—has finally gotten a taste of his own medicine!”
Isaac snorted and shook his head, finally taking a seat beside the demon. The people sitting nearby had cleared a space for them, probably in large part thanks to how loud they were being. That, and they might’ve recognized him as a Traveler. The thought made him tuck the tablet a little closer to himself.
“That’s good,” he said. He studied the demon, who started to fidget and shift his weight around. If he wasn’t sitting down, Olzu probably would’ve started hopping.
Isaac frowned. “You know,” he said carefully, “you can tell me if something’s bothering you.”
Olzu narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion, but whatever he saw, he must have been satisfied because he proceeded to mutter something under his breath. Isaac blinked.
“What?”
“LordLuciuswatchedallthematcheswhichmeanshesawmehumiliatemyselfand—“ The demon cut himself off, covering his face with his tiny clawed hands and making a sound of such pure mortification that it could induce secondhand embarrassment in anyone listening nearby.
Isaac bit down a laugh, slightly surprised at how easily it bubbled up. “To be fair,” he said, “I don’t think Lucius actually cares that much. He said he was proud of you.”
“I know he did and that’s the problem!” Olzu groaned and shook his head so quickly that it made Isaac dizzy to watch. “It’s fine. FINE. I’m just gonna watch Sharil win everything and not think about anything!”
It was a deeply relatable sentiment. It was also one that Isaac already knew he wouldn’t be able to achieve. Still, he felt the weight in his chest lighten a bit, seeing Olzu sitting there whole, unharmed, and unchanged. No lasting damage, no permanent injuries.
He still fell, a voice in his head reminded him. And you’re the one who helped him train for that flight competition.
“For the record,” Isaac found himself saying, voice a little louder than usual in an attempt to drown out the thoughts, “I’m glad you’re alright.”
The demon paused, wings twitching slightly as he frowned up at him. “You’re behaving oddly, Traveler,” he said, beady eyes narrowed to slits. “Even more oddly than usua—“
“To be fair, I think he has a good reason for that.”
Isaac jerked around and found himself facing a familiar, perfectly blank faced half undead man. Mortimer sat down without pausing. Against the raucous crowd, his slightly uncanny calmness stood out all the more.
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“You!” Olzu sputtered, jabbing an accusing finger at the man. “The ancient human from the tunnels!”
“Yes, I am still older than you,” Mortimer said plainly. He turned to face Isaac, ignoring the small demon’s new rant with impressive ease. “It’s been a while,” he greeted. He cocked his head to the side. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” Isaac said automatically. It sounded like a lie even to his own ears. Mortimer’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t look particularly disbelieving, but the sheer deadpan blankness on his face felt like enough of a reproach.
“…I think I’m still kind of in shock,” Isaac finally admitted, turning away so he was facing forward and no longer making eye contact. “I don’t think I’ve really processed everything yet.”
“That’s normal,” Mortimer said simply. “This is the first time you’ve seen a system violation, correct?”
Isaac felt Olzu’s curious eyes wander over and did his best to ignore the demon. “Yeah,” he said slowly. He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt dry. “It brought back some… bad memories. That’s all.”
Mortimer just hummed, not pressing further, which Isaac appreciated. They fell into a silence, one that Isaac didn’t mind or feel pressured to fill. Silences around the man rarely felt awkward, he’d found.
The temporary tranquility was soon broken as another wave of cheers made Isaac focus his attention on the matches again. More had occurred during their brief conversation than he’d realized, and when he glanced up at the screen, he saw that they were soon nearing the last round.
Two new opponents stepped up to the platform, and Isaac’s grip on the tablet tightened when he saw one of them was wielding a spear. The one wielding it, ironically enough, appeared to be a Woodlands fey. This fey had long hair that draped across the ground and yellow eyes that stood in stark contrast to her dark green skin. She walked forward confidently, moth-like wings fluttering behind her, weapon in hand.
The spear in question seemed to be made of some sort of heavy wood, and vines crept along its shaft and wrapped around its glinting blade in looping spirals and loose, swirled patterns, rough and uneven. Much like pencil sketches on a pile of loose paper, tucked away in a drawer coated in dust, monochrome and colorless. Nothing like the flashing red lights of that night, when the moonlight hit pooled liquid in a vibrant glow utterly alien to the rough pavement—
Isaac blinked, snapping back to reality when he felt a sharp stinging in his palm. Looking down, he pulled away his fingers from where they’d been digging into his skin, leaving little crescents that, thankfully, weren’t quite deep enough to start bleeding.
Cursing under his breath, he glanced over to where Olzu was. The small demon didn’t seem to have noticed, too enraptured in the match (when had it started? How much time had passed?), wings fluttering with excitement whenever someone did a particularly impressive or flashy move.
Isaac turned his attention the other way, only to find Mortimer staring directly at him. He whipped his head around so that he was once again facing the platform, face heating up with embarrassment.
Olzu let out a particularly loud yell as one of the opponents nearly stepped out of bounds. At this point the demon had given up on staying seated and was clambering forward, squeezing himself between a small gap in front of him to get a better look at the fight.
It was probably a good match, Isaac thought, based on how excited the people around them were. He still couldn’t bring himself to focus on it.
“I heard Igor told you about the rebellion before the Collapse,” Mortimer suddenly said. Isaac shifted to glance over at the man, more than a little taken aback. The half undead man’s face was as impossible to read as ever. He nodded slowly, not sure where this was going.
“Yeah, he mentioned it.” He paused, thinking back to the conversation. “You were pretty high ranked, weren’t you?”
Mortimer’s expression didn’t change. “I was close to the leader, that’s why,” he said simply. “He was the first living human I met, and the first person to call me a friend.”
Another burst of cheers, this time accompanied by a few boos, sounded around them. Isaac frowned, attempting to drown them out as Mortimer continued speaking, unbothered.
“After the Collapse, a large number of people became ill,” he said. “It’s speculated to be a result of the realm shifts. Some people’s bodies simply weren’t able to adapt.” Isaac remained silent, beginning to sense where this was going. “He was one of the first ones who became sick,” Mortimer said, voice betraying no emotion. “He was dead in a week.”
The man finally turned to face Isaac. His expression was just as blank as ever, but there was a faint, barely perceptible gleam in his eyes as he spoke. “I had nightmares about it for years,” he admitted. “I’d never been bothered by death before. It’s hard to be, after living in the Graveyard for so long. But it still affected me.”
Isaac stayed quiet, struggling to come up with an adequate response. The intention behind the story was clear, and he appreciated it, could hardly fathom that the man would go out of his way to tell it just to make him feel better. And yet, much like when Igor had shared his past, there was a gap between the experiences that only seemed to widen the more he compared them.
Around them, the stands erupted as a victor to the match was finally declared. Olzu practically jumped up in excitement, wings flapping weakly with the motion.
Mortimer spoke again, and though his voice wasn’t particularly loud, it easily cut above the crowd. “I’m not going to pretend to know or understand your exact circumstances.” He shifted subtly in his seat, a faint hint of what Isaac was now realizing was nervousness. “I just think you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. That’s all.”
Isaac turned to Mortimer, who was still facing him. Patient and unjudging as always. He shook his head, clearing away the doubts and unease. He didn’t need his gratitude weighed down by them.
“Thank you,” Isaac said. He smiled slightly to himself. “Feels like I’ve been saying that a lot today.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Mortimer pointed out.
Isaac’s eyes drifted back to the platform, which had been left cracked and half ruined from the previous fight. Large chunks of earth dotted the area and jutted out from the ground like sharp stones, and the texture of the earth itself was now coarse and loose. A slow wave of magic was gently gliding over the wrecked stage, leaving behind a perfectly smooth surface in its wake as the stands cheered on.
“No,” Isaac said. “I don’t think it is.”