Turtle shifted his body with a groan. He moved slowly, like an old person or someone who had just been beaten up. There were no wounds on him, but the pattern shifted slightly. Alan noticed cracked mana stones of all sizes and shapes littering the place. Had Turtle performed a ritual or something?

“Not good,” Turtle said. “Glad… to see you.”

Alan gestured for the man to settle down and made a chair of shadows, earning himself a look of what he chose to believe was admiration.

“Want one?” Alan asked. “They won’t last for long once I’m gone but as long as I’m here we might as well get comfy.”

Turtle hesitated, then nodded. A moment later the shadows coalesced below him and slowly grew until he was sitting on a lavish couch-like shadow monstrosity. Alan noted the speed with which he had managed to achieve this feat. [Shadow Creation] was working better than ever, and he probably had Amir and his slight improvement in seeing through the Flow of things to thank for that.

“So, I take it you’re enjoying yourself?” Alan tried again.

“Not… quite.”

Well, this is a fun conversation.

Alan remained silent, holding a small smile toward Turtle.

The man hesitated then seemed to relent. “My Lord has… tough training for me. This is… [Turtle Pattern]. It will make me even harder to kill. More defense. It hurts.”

“No pain, no gain, as the youth used to say. I never understood it to be honest,” Alan chuckled. “I had plenty of pain and no gain at all, but at least those days are far behind me. So, your lord, huh? Is he a decent god?”

Turtle seemed thoughtful and took his time. He started to shrug, then stopped and paused.

“He is… fine. Bastard though.”

Alan smiled. No divine lightning nor punishments were coming down on the man before him, which was a good sign as far as patrons and gods went. Then again, weren’t patrons below gods?

“Do you have any combat abilities yet, or are you still fine with taking a beating?” Alan asked.

Turtle slowly scratched his head, then nodded.

“One skill. [Punch of the Eternal Turtle].”

“Oh? Sounds cool.” Now that sounds like a godly skill. I wonder how strong it is.

Turtle nodded and then remained silent. Alan did too. The awkwardness was there now that they were not busy hunting or hiding from the godspawn. They didn’t even know each other very well, so there was not much to discuss.

“I want… a favor,” Turtle said.

“You? Want a favor from me?” Alan’s eyes shot up and he leaned forward. This was interesting. He couldn’t really remember the last time someone had asked him for a favor like that. Had it even happened?

“I want you… to help this place,” Turtle said. “It is important… for my class.”

This is it? He wants the same thing Rosalyn wants from me. How is he tied to the Sanctuary though?

“Important how?”

Turtle grimaced. “Sanctuary falls. I die.”

“Wow.”

Nod.

Silence.

Alan thought about it long and hard. He had already agreed to help, plus he had bought a new home already, so it was a done deal. However, a class tied to the Sanctuary? How weird was that and what did it have to do with becoming immortal?

He thought about asking but decided it would be rude to pry so much.

“I bought a house,” Alan said and pointed toward the tower. “It’s not ready yet, but it might help the rituals or other skills requiring a lot of mana. You can drop by if you want. Might get you a room better than this roof.”

Turtle nodded.

The silence descended again and Alan thought it was time to go. This much conversing seemed the norm for someone like Turtle, and yet Alan had still managed to learn some things. Perhaps he would get to see the man’s godly skill during the defense?

He jumped from the roof, using [Shadow Creation] to slow his descent. Then he walked like normal people did. It would be a few days until Mr. Muge had any results, or the tower was ready to sustain his ritual, so some sightseeing could be a good way to pass the time. Hopefully, it would work as he envisioned it to. Mana crystals and stones were of the highest purity and concentration but couldn’t be recharged once they got used. At least not the ones he had seen.

The tower was an investment for what was to come after [Ritual: Infused Flesh] was complete. He wasn’t looking forward to the pain but power came at a price.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Should I look into helping set up the defenses or can Rosey deal with it alone? Ah, I’m no good with people.

A thin figure stood before him, in yet another too-weird of a dress. She stuck out like a weed painted black would stick on a field of white lilies.

“Tired of following?” Alan asked. He had sensed her before coming to Turtle but hadn’t said a thing.

Mayra nodded.

“I spoke with my patron,” the girl said making a few passersby look at her and change their direction. She still had a reputation and so did Alan. “I’ll be forgiven, as long as I’m useful to you. I’ll still undergo punishment.”

Alan didn’t let his face react. His thoughts churned wildly and some part of him wanted to believe that he was important. That he was a threat. Perhaps it was due to his uniqueness given to him by outside influences, or because Mayra’s patron knew something else. Perhaps it was the meddling bastard Bone Lord. He kind of wanted the latter to be true.

So… I’ll have a spy that can’t betray me right next to me? The patron can probably see through her eyes though. That connection is a double-edged sword. I might be weak now, but one day I won’t be. Ah, decisions, decisions.

“You can be useful to me right now!” Alan said clapping his hands, not letting a single clue of what was going through his mind slip out. “First, see that big tower? Go there and we’ll make you a room. You’re living with me now.”

The girl gaped, then allowed a small, almost unnatural smile to grace her face. “Really? Can I paint it black?”

“Sure. We’ll figure out the painting as we go. I think I can do that with a thought or something. It’s a System building so it’s quite nice. Second, how strong would you say your scrolls can be during a war?”

“Now? Very,” Mayra said while glimpsing toward the tower. “I’ve improved a lot. I’ve copied a lot of skills I don’t have too, and I’ve been gifted one or two.”

Curious.

“Can I see one of the scrolls? Walk with me.”

She handed one without any complaints. It was nothing but scribbles and gibberish to him, but it somewhat reminded him of his Tome. The spirit item was already ready to use again. He planned to use the Tower to supercharge it with mana as well, just in case. It took a lot to go to his Domain and back after all, and he wanted to build some decent reserves.

If Mayra can do this, then perhaps she can copy [Hateful Mist Cut]. It might be too soon to trust her with it, although she made an Oath. No, her patron is not bound by it. We have to work on that.

“What skill is this?”

“Flame Wall.”

“Neat. How about you speak with Rosalyn and offer to help? There’ll be some people coming who want to get themselves killed.”

“I know of them! They’re strong and scary. Too arrogant. Will you allow me to kill some?” The girl seemed almost hopeful and for the first time, Alan caught a glimpse different from the gloomy and skinny girl who loved dark makeup and weird fashion.

“I’m not your master, Mayra. You can do whatever you want. Though it might be good if you kill some, but only if they deserve it.” Alan said.

This feels wrong, somehow. Fuck it. She’s an adult, she can make her own decisions.

Alan left Mayra behind after telling her to wait in the tower once she was done speaking with Rosalyn.

Then, he exited the Sanctuary, moving past the walls and the barriers, and reaching the sword Rosalyn had shown him from the top of the wall earlier.

It was rusting before his very eyes and a large part of it was already gone.

What a curious timer. This… feels similar to how my will slowly break things apart. A city, huh? I’m interested.

Alan didn’t touch the skill, since he didn’t know what it was, but observing it was just fine. Feeling some of the mana in the blade didn’t do much, since he had no knowledge basis to go from. By the current rate of rusting, there were at least a few days left, maybe more.

He spent a few hours next to the sword before giving up and returning. A part of him wanted to go out and explore. See this mountain of flesh everyone was freaking out about, and maybe try to find the city.

However, there were more pressing things to do. All these talks of killing, gods, and patrons had gotten him thinking of his friends. He had to check up on Emerson, but Alan didn’t feel up to the task yet. He also wanted to share a drink with Walter eventually. The older man was cool and wise, and Alan found him quite refreshing to be around.

Only one was more pressing than those though. One that Alan had neglected for a while.

His tower was where he left it, of course, with a bunch of furniture just left outside and Turtle and Mayra glaring at one another from a distance.

Wops. They can’t enter without me. I wonder if I can permit them to only access certain areas. I should be able to.

The menu appeared with a thought. It was quite a simple thing to do and Alan decided that the second floor was wide enough for both. The first would be his place for meetings and torturing people who thought he cared about politics and talks.

It took some time to settle everyone in, but it was smooth and without complaint.

Alan himself took the tallest part of the tower for himself. He didn’t envision spending a lot of time there, apart from when he needed to perform a ritual or recharge the Tome, but it was still a good thing to have a place to relax. And considering no one in the Sanctuary was even remotely capable of scratching it, it was such a place.

I haven’t checked Xil in a while…

The demon cube appeared in a flurry of shadows, and Alan remarked with wonder that it had changed somewhat. It seemed larger, with tiny fissures instead of edges. They were made of glowing light that felt quite… dangerous. More foreign than the void itself.

“Xil?” Alan tried.

There was silence.

Damn, is he still not alright? I’m starting to worry.

“You piece of firehound shit. You idiot. Mongrel. Rotten human scum. How dare you? HOW DARE YOU?”

Alan started and dropped the cube as a slew of slurs invaded his mind, louder than ever. Even the whispers which were a whole separate thing were cowed into silence.

“Xil? You’re fine?”

“Fine? After you splashed me with a bunch of dragon shit sprinkled with void pepper and the life force of a god-fearing worshipper and a lizard boy? Oh, I saw it all. I felt it. I lived it.”

Was he mad?

“I’m more than fine! I’m amazing!” the demon yelled. Then laughed like a madman.

“Then why are you insulting me you stupid fuck?”

“It’s my way of showing that I won’t just bite your face off when I get out. I’ll stab you first and scratch out your eyes because I like you.”

Alan smiled. This was one burden off his shoulders. The demon was an odd thing, but he was a friend. Just as he was about to return the favor and get into a good fight with Xil, something changed.

The cube let out a dark green and purple vapor that quickly grew and formed a palm-sized figure. It stood on the cube, smirking, arms spread to the side. Its horns were twisted and large. Lush dark hair trailed around them and toward the waist of the creature. Blue skin marbled with green symbols, and dark-red eyes completed the look. Xil’s face was one of pure arrogance and self-satisfaction.

He was bare-chested, wearing a single loincloth and a pair of heavy metal greaves which stood out as they were completely out of place. Their bulk almost swallowed the bottom of the demon.

“Behold mortal, for I have manifested!” the palm-sized Xil declared.

For the first time since the apocalypse and maybe further back, Alan doubled over from laughter.