Chapter Nineteen: Uh, this probably won’t kill you.

The night passed, and predawn came—my time of day. I awoke before the sun again. And left the room for the pub down below.

Thankfully, the barkeep from last night and the anonymous dwarf I’d slept with were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, the dude was off bragging to his friends instead of confessing to his priest. I sat at the bar and ordered breakfast, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who might recognize me.

This morning, the barkeep was a dwarven woman, built with solid, curvy perfection that seemed standard for dwarven women. Her dark brown hair, large breasts, and cheery demeanor immediately made me feel sleazy for where my wandering eyes went. She smiled as she asked what I wanted, and three minutes later, I had a cup of coffee and a bowl of porridge sprinkled with diced medley of sweetened nuts.

“Thanks,” I muttered, sliding two coppers across the bar.

“Yer welcome, sweetie,” she said, her voice warm enough to make me feel a little human again.

But it didn’t last. My body ached; my mind felt heavy. It wasn’t real pain, just phantom echoes. I’d killed again. I wanted to feel something. Maybe feel a little shame, guilt, shock. Instead, all I felt was… nothing. Well, nothing except the lingering, ridiculous memory of that poor dwarf’s cock, which had briefly filled the void in more ways than one. Okay, maybe “poor” was the wrong word. If anything, the guy was lucky to get a little of this. At least one of us had fun last night. Still, it was dirty, shameful sex. Which, ah fuck, it was starting to feel okay with.

“Um...hi.” the guy next to me said, his voice smooth and soft, laced with a curious, almost musical cadence—like a New Yorker with a flair for theater.

I pried my eyes away from my porridge to see an old-looking elf sitting beside me. He had unnaturally blue eyes that seemed to ripple like water and wore an outfit that could only be described as aggressively vibrant: a bright yellow shirt paired with a green leather vest and rainbow-striped pants.

“Hi,” I said cautiously, eyeing him as he radiated the serene confidence you only see in toddlers and sociopaths.

“Don’t freak out,” he said, leaning ever-so-slightly closer, his voice dipping like he was sharing a secret.

“Is there something I should be freaking out about?” I asked, summoning Sick Stick into my hand just in case.

“Oh, plenty,” he replied with a broad, almost mischievous smile, his hands making vague gestures in the air. “But—but—it wouldn’t, uh, it wouldn’t do you any good, would it?”

Without waiting for an answer, I swung my blade toward his throat. Before I could blink, a WHOMP echoed through the room, and everything froze. My arm, my breath, the barmaid mid-pour—everything. Even the ale hung suspended in midair like it had second thoughts.

“Ah, yes, a little, uh, trick of the trade,” he said with an air of casual brilliance, his fingers fluttering as if he were conducting the frozen chaos. “Only, uh, a handful of us can do it.”

“A handful of what?” I asked, startled to find I could still speak.

“Gods,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile that somehow managed to be both charming and deeply unnerving.

“Shit,” I muttered, my hand going limp as Sick Stick clattered onto the bar.

“I like you,” he said, tilting his head like he was evaluating a fascinating piece of art.

“Thanks?” I managed, not entirely sure if this was real or if I’d accidentally poisoned myself at breakfast.

“I know you’re, uh, new here,” he continued, casually reaching into thin air and plucking out a cup that definitely wasn’t there a second ago. He took a sip like he’d just been handed the finest wine. “And, uh, you’re not… how do I put this? Entirely aware of us.” He wiggled his fingers vaguely.

“There’s Amania,” I said, trying to sound knowledgeable. “And Granvl. And Xaldes. Oh yeah, that night goddess Eric told me about it.”

“Four,” he said approvingly, nodding. “Very good, very good. I know the priestess of Amania gave you her pitch, yes? But, ah, it didn’t quite… stick, did it?”

“What makes you think that?” I asked, trying to hide my discomfort.

“Well, uh, gods aren’t, uh, exactly visible where you come from, are they? I mean, they’re around, but they’re, uh, quiet, behind-the-scenes kind of deities. You—you’re a skeptic—a doubter. A ‘show me the proof’ kind of girl,” he said, his hands framing invisible quotation marks.

“You know where I’m from?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “And there are gods there?”

“Hard to, ah, see what you don’t want to on your old world,” he said, waving a hand as if it didn’t matter. “Earth. Quiet magic. A playground for skeptics. And now, here you are, plucked from that mundane little bubble into a world where, ah, everything you didn’t believe in is, uh, very right up there.”

I stared at his eyes—they were mesmerizing. At first, they seemed ordinary, just blue. But the longer I looked, the more they seemed to shift and ripple like the surface of a restless ocean. “Which god are you?”

“The Unnamed God,” he said dramatically, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Not helpful,” I deadpanned.

“I do have a name,” he said, looking almost offended. “But mortals, ah, they’ve chosen to forget it. Think—think, uh, that if they don’t know it, I won’t, uh… you know… come for them.”

“Would you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said with a mischievous grin. “But! Uh, I’d come for them anyway. My name—it, uh, doesn’t really change the inevitability of, uh… well… me.”

“You’re the god of time?” I guessed.

“Oh, no, no, I wish!” He laughed, delighted at the idea. “That would be so cool, but no. Gukara—lovely, lovely goddess, big on punctuality—she handles time. We, uh, work well together. She granted me the, uh, time-stopping trick so I can keep things, you know, on schedule. If I fall behind, well…” He spread his hands theatrically. “All hells break loose.”

“So… what’s your actual job?” I asked.

He wrinkled his nose, giving me a look suggesting I’d insulted his fashion sense. “I’m the God of Death.”

“Ah, shit,” I said reflexively.

“Ah, yes, yes, the classic reaction,” he said, chuckling. “But, no, no, I don’t, uh, kill people. That would be um, scandalous, yes! No, no, no, you see, my job is, ah, how do I put this… facilitating the, uh, transition from one existence to the next. You know, uh, helping souls… move along.”

I nodded slowly, not sure if I should be relieved or more terrified.

“You,” he continued, locking his unnervingly calm gaze on me, “have killed before. Not for pleasure. Not for gain. Out of necessity. You didn’t enjoy it. I mean, you know you didn’t. But you, yeah, you carried the weight of it so no one else had to. And that,” he said, pointing at me with a delighted grin, “that is the uh…well…there you go.”

He looked at me, his eyebrows raised expectantly. I had no idea how to respond. I played back what he said in my head.

“I didn’t have a choice.” I paused; how often do you get to talk to a god? “I’m kind of having a hard time with how easy it was.”

“Ah, see, see, you did have a choice,” he said, gesturing with his hands like he was sculpting the idea midair. “Part of it—yes, yes—was self-preservation, which, uh, very natural, very mortal. But the other part, ah, was this… this sense of responsibility, you know? A moral compass, a kind of… uh… guiding force. You were raised to, uh, respect and preserve life—admirable, really, really admirable.”

“And yet, when the moment came, you, uh, you did what had to be done. And, uh, if you had to? You’d do it again. That’s… that’s the thing, you see.” He leaned in, his fingers fluttering like the words were too delicate. “That’s what I like about you.”

“And killing is kind of your thing?”

“Ah, no, no, you’ve got me all wrong,” he said, his hands waving dismissively as if shooing away the very idea. “I’m not into, uh, killing. No need—no need at all—you mortals have that, uh, covered quite efficiently, might I add. No, no, what I do is… hmm… more of a, uh, liberation service, yes! I, uh, help spirits transition from their mortal coils when, you know, the time is right.”

“Think of it as, uh, hmm, a cosmic courtesy,” he continued, his tone almost cheerful. “The bad ones? Oh, I, uh, I send them packing—off they go, good riddance. And the good ones? Well, I ensure they get a, uh, peaceful, dignified exit. It’s not about, uh, death, really—it’s about… the journey onward.” He grinned, clearly pleased with his explanation.

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“Like universal euthanasia?” I asked, half-joking.

“By the gods, girl, where do you come up with this shit?” he said, throwing his hands up, exasperated yet amused. “No, no, no, we don’t live in a world where, uh, death is the end. On Nya, it’s a verifiable fact. On your old rock it’s the same, but, uh, I don’t really, uh, know much about the system they have in place there. Death is just a transition, you see, and me?” He gestured to himself dramatically. “The God of Death? I’m just, uh, a working Joe, doing what needs to be done.”

“Delivering souls to the afterlife,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactamundo!” he declared, pointing a finger at me like I’d just guessed the million-dollar answer on a game show. “But, for me? Oh, it’s not about, uh, quantity. No, no, no—it’s about quality. Always quality.” His grin widened, self-satisfied and a little too delighted with himself.

“Okay. What’s that mean?”

“Ah, well, let’s just, uh, pretend here, shall we? Pretend that I, uh, get paid the same—yes, yes—the same either way,” he said, swirling an imaginary drink with an exaggerated flourish, as though it contained the very secrets of the cosmos. “One soul, a million souls—mmm—it’s all, you know, it’s all just numbers to me. But, ah, a world full of, uh, war, pestilence, famine—oh, yes—that?” He widened his eyes and gave a little shudder. “That just makes my job a, uh, real nightmare. Truly.”

“So, you’re just trying to make things easier for yourself?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Aren’t we all?” he said with a wry smile, his hands making an expansive gesture, as if the weight of existence were a shared cosmic joke. “But, but, it’s not just about me, no. You see, I’ve got, ah, something of a soft spot for you mortals. Really, I do. I hate—hate—seeing people suffer. You think I want a whole planet full of, uh, misery and fear and, oh, oh, pain?” He shuddered dramatically. “That’s just… ugh… depressing.”

He leaned forward, his eyes locking with mine, brimming with sincerity. “No, no, no. Death—death should be a release, you see? Not some, uh, desperate escape. It’s supposed to come after a life well-lived, free of regret, free of lingering unhappiness. It’s the next step, not the end.” He spread his hands, palms up, like he’d just laid out the universe’s simplest truth, waiting for me to catch up.

He paused, leaning forward, his gaze sharp and uncomfortably knowing. “Ah, you see, I, uh, I can, mm, how do I put this? I can see right inside you, yes, yes—like, uh, peeling back the layers of an onion, or, or opening a particularly juicy novel.” He gestured vaguely, fingers fluttering in the air. “I know exactly what you were thinking—oh yes—every single time you, uh, shoved that little dagger of yours, mm-hmm, right into someone else.”

“Oh yeah? And what was that?”

“Ah, yes, yes—that you had to be the one to do it,” he said, a sly, knowing grin creeping across his face. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table as though conducting an invisible orchestra. “Not, no, not because you wanted to—oh, heavens no—but because, oh, you couldn’t, couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else shouldering that, ah, oh, that burden.” He paused, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing like he’d just uncovered a rare species of butterfly. “And, let’s be honest here, because you knew, oh yes, you knew, that inaction—uh-huh, oh boy—would lead to, ah, even more, even greater suffering.”

He leaned back, his hands spreading wide as if he were presenting a masterpiece. “That’s the shit, mm, right there.” He grunted, a small, satisfied sound punctuating the moment.

I glared. “So, the fact that it’s tearing me apart inside makes you happy?”

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Ah, yes, yes—I did, uh, tell you, didn’t I? That I can, mm, look right inside you. Specifically—oh yes—when you’re, uh, ending another’s life.” He tilted his head slightly, his hand making vague circular gestures in the air. “You don’t need to, uh, lie to me, no, no. I’m the God of Death—this is, uh, right in my, uh, wheelhouse, you see. The moment a life ends—poof—I know it, mm-hmm. You, uh, get that, right?”

“Yes,” I said with a nod. “Makes sense.”

“Good, good!” He clapped his hands together softly, leaning in as if we were sharing a secret. “So, be a good mortal—ah, yes—and tell me the truth. To you, it’s like, uh, tying your shoes, brushing your teeth—hmm?—a little chore, something you, uh, don’t put too much thought into. But, but,” he added, holding up a finger for emphasis, “I do appreciate the fact that you don’t, uh, enjoy it. Oh, heavens no, a world full of people who, uh, love killing—mmm, chaos! Absolute chaos! That, ah, makes my job... overly complicated, let’s just say. But a, uh, well-intentioned half-elf who can, uh, handle things? Oh, that’s, uh, great. Fantastic.”

“Killing is wrong,” I said, my voice flat.

“Yes and no,” he replied, smiling with a slow, deliberate bob of his head. “You used to think that, oh yes, but—but we both know that your, uh, human brain has been, mm, let’s say, rewired a bit, hasn’t it? What you’re feeling now, hmm, it’s just a, uh, memory, an echo, of how you used to feel about it. Complicated for you—yes, yes, I see that—but for me?” He grinned, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Oh, it’s, uh, just great. Really.”

“You want me to feel okay, but not too good?”

“Eh,” he said with a casual shrug, his hands gesturing like he was weighing invisible options. “I want my champion to, uh, appreciate my perspective, yes, yes, and, uh, understand why—why I chose her.”

“Um, okay.” I frowned, the last part flipping my stomach like a bad carnival ride. “Champion?”

“Yes, yes, you see, we gods—uh, we can, you know, pick a champion if we, uh, feel so inclined.” He waved a hand vaguely, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Champion of Death?”

“Yeah, why not,” he replied, his tone as casual as if I’d just suggested a quick game of pickleball. “I choose you, Regan Moon—or, uh, Regan Summer, whatever, you know, name you’re going by these days—to be my champion.”

“What if I decline?”

“Can’t.” he said. “Who’s the god here?”

“I’m not sure that’s such a great idea,” I said, skepticism thick in my voice.

“Ah, yes, I see your point,” he replied, nodding with exaggerated patience, his hands fluttering like he was defusing a delicate situation. “But here’s the thing. I haven’t had a champion for, oh, let’s call it a thousand years—give or take a century. And honestly? I’m not asking you to, uh, reinvent the wheel here. Just keep doing what you’re already doing.”

“Then why even pick a champion?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Because,” he said, leaning in like he was about to reveal the universe’s biggest secret, “sometimes I need a little, uh, how do you mortals put it? Ah, yes—‘boots on the ground.’ And those knuckleheads worshipping me at the temple? Love them, really, really do—bless their fervent little hearts—but they’re not exactly… uh… field material, you know?” He tilted his head, giving me a knowing look. “I need someone with, uh, an outsider’s perspective. Someone like you.”

I just looked at him and his weird, beautiful eyes. The Unnamed God of Death. He had a dorky grin on his face and managed to find a bowl of dried crunchy vegetables from somewhere and was munching down on them as he looked me in the eyes.

“Tell you what,” he said, munching on another bite of his mysteriously crunchy snack, crumbs dusting his annoyingly perfect grin. “As my champion, you, uh, may decline any quest I, uh, give you. No penalty. None. Zero. Zip. Nada.” He wagged a finger, his tone as if he’d just revealed a particularly generous loophole.

I squinted at him. “Then what’s the point of picking me?”

“Ah!” He raised a finger, the kind of triumphant gesture that says, Excellent question, glad you asked! “Do you have any idea—any idea at all—how traumatizing violent death is to a soul?”

“I can’t imagine,” I said flatly, already bracing for something terrible.

“No, you can’t,” he said, pointing at me with the half-eaten snack for emphasis. “Because you only died the one time—and, oops, didn’t even realize it. Lucky you! But let me tell you, oh, it can scramble everything up. Just scatter a soul to the winds, cast it into all the wrong places.” He waved his hand dramatically, like shooing off imaginary sparks. “And then I’m left chasing it down—me! The God of Death, running after some fragmented soul like it’s a loose balloon at a carnival. Assuming, of course, I even find it, and it hasn’t been scooped up by, uh, one of the circles of Hell.”

My stomach turned. “Wait, what?”

He just smiled, crunching another bite. “Yup.”

My eyes went wide. What the fuck did he just say? My stomach started lurching. I died and didn’t realize it?

“What the fuck do you mean I DIED?”

“Oops,” he said, his bit of food vanishing mid-chew as he gestured vaguely. “Ah, yes, well, about that. You, uh, you totally died when you were pulled over here. Mm, sorry, but, uh, it happens to pretty much everyone. The rift—it, uh, it shreds you, yes, yes, shreds, down to your, uh, component molecules. And then—then—it’s all reassembled in a, uh, magical vortex-y, swirly kind of, uh... thing? Yes. And, uh, voilà! Your soul, it just—just plops right back into the, uh, newly reformed you. Fascinating, really. Not, uh, not my area of expertise, but, uh, wow, is it something.”

I just stared at him, trying to process. He crunched away on whatever snack he’d conjured, completely unbothered by the existential bomb he’d just dropped on me.

I died. Then came back. In a body that was just like my old body. Then that body had to change, and now here I was—little half-elf me.

“Mother fucker,” I muttered.

“We’re, uh, we’re kind of starting to go off the rails here,” he said, finishing his bite with a flourish and theatrically dusting off his hands, crumbs scattering like an afterthought. “So, let me, uh, cut to the chase, hmm? I’m gonna make you my champion. That’ll take, oh, I don’t know, just a couple of seconds—snap—and then I’ll, uh, bestow upon you some divine gifts—oh yes, a whole bunch of them—and bam! Done. Easy peasy. Simple as that.”

“And you want me to, what? Do stuff for you?” I asked, already bracing for the catch.

“I already said you don’t have to,” he replied, his voice dripping with patience, like a kindergarten teacher explaining the alphabet for the third time. “I’m bestowing gifts. Gifts. You know, as in, no strings attached. I don’t ask much of my followers—hells, most of them don’t even know my name! Use them, don’t use them. Whatever you want. The only perk—or, uh, maybe drawback—is that you’ll be able to talk to me directly. I won’t always respond right away—busy guy, you understand—but, uh, I’ll get back to you. Promise.”

“Champion of Death,” I sighed, the words tasting like a punchline I wasn’t in on. If it weren’t for the whole time-stopping, everyone-frozen-in-place thing, I’d have sworn this was some twisted prank. “Is there a downside?”

“There’s a downside to, uh, well, everything,” he said, throwing in a nonchalant shrug, his tone light and breezy. “Other gods, you see, they, uh, tend to notice when there’s a shiny new champion, uh, strutting around town. But!” He raised a finger, his grin widening, clearly reveling in the moment. “Luckily for you, I, uh, get along with most of them. Most.” His grin turned sly, as if he found the whole thing far more amusing than he probably should.

“I don’t know…” I trailed off, unsure of how to even begin responding to this insanity.

“Here,” he said, cutting me off as he stood up. Before I could protest, he cupped my face in his hands. His touch sent sparks skittering across my skin—not painful, just electric, alive.

“Uh, this probably won’t kill you,” he said, his voice so calm it made my stomach flip. “But if it does—uh, not to worry! I’m, uh, right here.” He smiled, dazzling and infuriating, and then leaned in to kiss my forehead.

The world exploded in a blinding flash of white light, so bright it burned away everything—sight, sound, thought. My body pitched backward off the stool, arms useless, unable to break the fall. I tumbled endlessly, weightless, helpless, disoriented.

YOU’VE JUST BEEN KISSED BY A GOD.

XP+20,000