A sigh issued from the long-earred man. "I ought to have expected as much. Little of this project has gone as was intended." He paused, those beringged hands now hidden from view within his voluminous sleeves as he brought them together. "Tell me, Volodymyr-Ra," he said in sharp tones, "what did The Lightvine explain to you when it offered you the fruit of eternal life?"

Still quite confused, I answered as truthfully as I knew, given how much trying to remember hurt. "Not much. Just that eternal life was the prize for the nine best answers to its' questions about evil." So those tentacles had been a plant of some sort? A sentient plant whose fruit did something absurdly miraculous; I had been dying... had died? from that car crushing me, and now I was alive without any physical pains whatsoever. The room and the name led me to wonder if I was, like the cartoon character I was reminded of, undead.Looking down, though, I saw neither mummy wrappings nor rotted cloak. Instead I saw a considerably more muscular chest than I had any right to, framed by black fur on either side. An open-front fur vest, also sleeveless, and I caught a glimpse of what looked like bound fur boots on my feet. Was this 'Volodymyr-Ra' a barbarian, than?

A groaned sigh. "It would seem that we wrought most poorly. The Lightvine suffers beyond any conventional healing; a mind in grievious disarray from the journey. It raves in incoherence, and I find myself contemplating whether it could be possible that the spiritual environment of your world is actually so toxic with sin that some of the seedlings did not even survive long enough for their immortality to become established."

"Sin," I echoed from where I stood, still in the sarcophagus that I thought was an alcove. "You called me an evildoer. What crimes am I accused of having committed?"

He had the decency to look perplexed, briefly. "I beg your pardon? The Lightvine was sent to pick out a selection of devotees of evil who had recently died in whatever strange world it found beyond the boundaries of the enlightened multiverse, and bring nine of them back. Of course you are an evildoer, Volodymyr-Ra. There is no other possible way that you could be here."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

My brow furrowed in thought, trying to puzzle through what sort of logic he might be employing. Answering questions about evil did not mean that you were evil. Any number of theologians, humanitarians, philosophers, constables, atheists, psychologists and even cultural anthropologists would have the ability to argue at length about the nature of evil. The eight deadly sins were more of a directly religious concept, but still something widely studied and discussed. The third side of The Lightvine's questioning had been darkness, and given the emphasis that light seemed have here... the implications were not ones that I wished to dwell upon.

"What is it that you need evil people for? Also, do you have a name I can call you by?" I asked, realizing that it would be unlikely that protestations that I was not an evil man would go well. It occurred to me to wonder why we seemed to be conversing in the English of America, rather than my native Russian, if this was indeed a far-off world. Another question for a later time.

"Call me Master Panjandrum, Volodymyr-Ra," the long-earred one across the pool from me stated archly. "Evil exists so that it may be slain by the good. All of our native evils are long-since perished beyond any call back from the grave, a sad lack of foresight, and the Heavens have grown angry that we have not been performing this duty. Thus, The Lightvine, the latest attempt towards bringing in fresh evildoers from afar. Ones who have been rendered reuseable, reviving whenever needed, so that we shall never again find ourselves without." His smile at me might, under more normal circumstances, have been interpreted as a kindly one. But not after what he had just said.

All sane thought fled my skull, and I could not swear that my blood did not flee my skin as well, so aghast was I. Saved from death so that I could die, die again, and then die some more? "How can you possibly call that 'good?'" My voice cracked, and had my bowels held anything I am sure that whatever I wore on my legs would have been drenched in brown.

Any reply he may have made was lost to me, as my legs gave out. I might have the physique of a barbarian hero now, but that did naught to keep me from crumpling to the floor unconscious.