《A Gamer's Guide To Beating The Tutorial》 1: Floor 0, It Escapes, Irretrievable Time By this point, it¡¯s really only a matter of days until I either starve to death or get killed in some desperate attempt to avoid the aforementioned. Personally, though, I¡¯m leaning towards just starving to death. Worse ways to croak and all that. More than that, I¡¯ve got to admit that I¡¯m kind of surprised that I lasted this long. Sure, I failed my homelessness-speedrun any%, but what can you do? Maybe I¡¯ll at least place somewhat high in the 17-year-old category, assuming such a thing exists. Then again, if you want to go even more in-depth, maybe there¡¯s even a category for men, and then the lightweight category. Yes, all things considered, maybe I¡¯ll at least snag first place in the loser-ex-pro gamer-estranged-son-with-criminal-record category. Then again, there probably aren¡¯t too many of those running around on these streets. ¡­Are there? Ahh, who knows. I just feel cold. When did I last feel my toes? They don¡¯t wiggle anymore. If I tried to stand up, maybe they¡¯d even snap off like icicles. There must be someone interested in watching that, right? A kid or two I could swindle some money off? Yeah. Somewhere, maybe. But as is, I can¡¯t even really think straight. It¡¯s cold. Snowflakes have started settling on my ragged clothes. They¡¯re the ones I was arrested in, so they still have a little bit of his blood on them. Damned hack. I hope he got to the hospital too late for them to properly reconfigure his arm. If he¡¯s out of the game, that would mean I¡¯m technically still the World Champion. ¡­Assuming some other perky young colt hasn¡¯t popped up in these past six months to take back the title. The thought makes the snow settling atop my body feel even heavier. I can¡¯t feel my arms anymore but in some half-dying thirst for answers, I shuffle over a little and shove my bare hand in my pocket. I can¡¯t really feel anything in there, but I can hear a few coins clinging together. It¡¯s not much. My stomach makes an all-too familiar sound, but it¡¯s not like that¡¯s new. And, in these times¡­ Even if I bought myself an entire cake with these coins, I still wouldn¡¯t live to see the next week. I¡¯m pretty sure of that, at least. So, really, what¡¯s the point? I¡¯m fine with dying. I¡¯ve been dying for six months now. What does it matter if that darkness comes in a month or an hour? It still comes, like an undodgeable homing missile. Either way I¡¯m screwed, so why not do something with it? Actually standing up is a different matter. My knees make weird crunching noises, but they don¡¯t feel like anything. My hands are stiff and cold, like unwashed carrots. I bet they¡¯d snap off just as easily, too. Standing up takes all the effort left in me, and it leaves me panting and heaving, choking out puffs of white smoke. Finally standing after so long, I can feel my legs tremble. My back is as hunched as ever. Right. So far, so good. At my feet lies a backpack containing what little things I still have. A towel. A can opener. A few magnets. Stuff like that. Looking at it, I feel a bit of disgust slither its way through me. After staring at it for a full five seconds, I decide to leave it behind. I won¡¯t need it. On my way out of the snow caked alleyway I pause at a drainage pipe and shove my hand into the mouth of it, pulling out a small bag of tiny cloudy but transparent crystals. I¡¯m lucky I was smart enough to never start on this stuff, but it¡¯s still a good bribe for the people who weren¡¯t as clever. They never say no. Limping my way out of the alley fully, I spy up and down the street. Lots of people walking by. Smiling. Chattering. Dressed nice and snug. Fashionably, not that I¡¯ve ever been able to discern that sort of stuff. All I can see is that the fabric is good. For a minute or so, I scan the people walking by, ensuring that I don¡¯t recognize anyone. To stay on the safe side, I bundle my scarf closer to my face, covering most of it. The snow lining the creases doesn¡¯t melt when it meets my cheeks. The cold of the snow doesn¡¯t hurt anymore. Content with my preparations, I sneak out. I know this city better than I ever did before all this. It¡¯s big, but it makes sense in its places. That¡¯s how I know where the nearest internet cafe is. The sky is dark and starless, only lighted by the snow drifting down. It¡¯s the kind of night where all you want is to lie down and snuggle into your blanket and pass out of all of this without having to think too much about anything. But the world has never been that merciful. Passing by the obnoxiously happy pedestrians, I make my way to the Point and Click, a cafe that may not have the cheapest rates but does have something much more valuable. I stop just outside the front door, stiff hand hovering over the cold metal handle. My eyes glue themselves to a sign out front. To make up for my lack of glasses, I squint as best as I can to make out the words. How cheeky. That¡¯s today? Makes sense, though I didn¡¯t think about it much. Nonetheless, the brothers who own the place both live in the apartment just above, so without much hesitation I press the doorbell by the side of the door, the sound of the chime echoing through the store and all the way up to the apartment above. Light flickers on in the apartment before travelling down into the cafe. I quickly take a step back, just in time to watch the door slide open. ¡°Yes? How may I----¡ª¡± his eyes fall down on me and any curiosity and well-meaning dies out. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s one of you. Listen, can¡¯t you read the sign? Nu este deschis¡ªnot open. How hard is that to understand? And P-S, no, I¡¯m not giving you a free hand out, so you might as well pick up your little poor-boy satchel and¡ª¡± I present the coins. He gives an exaggerated sigh and rolls his eyes. ¡°Buddy, we¡¯re closed. It¡¯s not that difficult of a concept to¡ª¡± I shuffle around in my inventory. I present the little baggie of crystal meth. His eyes shine up. ¡°Well¡­¡± He licks his lips. ¡°I can always make an exception for a friend, can¡¯t I?¡± Proper item chosen. +5 intimacy gained with Co-Owner of Internet Cafe. Friendship with Co-Owner of Internet Cafe has increased from Mutual Resentment to Codependency Through Recreational Mineral-Collecting. +20 EXP. 3825 EXP needed until next level up. Access to Internet Cafe Point and Click gained. After he¡¯s done his due by glancing around to check if anyone saw our successful interaction, he shows me his open palm and I deposit the little baggie in it. As soon as he has the item in hand, he shoves it into his pocket and opens the door fully. ¡°Step right on in.¡± Right as I¡¯m about to do just that, he jams his foot in my way. ¡°And, just so we¡¯re clear, you aren¡¯t here for a week-long sleep-over or a full-course New Year¡¯s Eve dinner. You play your games, I have my fun, and then you¡¯re out, get it? I really don¡¯t want to have you tracking dirt and lice and rat-eggs and whatever it is your sort carries in here, you get me?¡± A curt nod is all he needs, so that¡¯s all I give. The warmth inside the cafe hurts. It¡¯s stinging something awful and bringing a fair bit more attention to the fact that the insides of my ragged shoes and my ragged clothes and my ragged scarf aren¡¯t wet from molten snow alone. Every step hurts more than the last but I didn¡¯t come here to live. Once the co-owner takes his leave to go enjoy himself, I sit down by one of the many open computers. I log on. This is the one I always use, so it already has Tendrils of Magic and Madness downloaded. Five years ago, it was the most popular MMORPG on the market. Every single lobby and every single server were always filled to the brim. Every item the game had to offer was on the market within only weeks of the game¡¯s launch. And still, it kept itself fresh. The in-game economy, miraculously, didn¡¯t collapse for several years, and even when it did, it did so gracefully enough that I could keep up even when most people couldn¡¯t. But that was no surprise. I was, after all, the greatest TMM player in the world. Not just in the North Europe lobbies, not just in the Europe server, but in the entire world. Entire groups of other players could face me, and I wouldn¡¯t even blink. It wasn¡¯t a matter of levels¡ªthat¡¯s not how TMM was designed. Skill was everything, and I had all of it. Secret Easter eggs, hidden bonus levels, ultra-rare items¡­ I knew things the wiki hadn¡¯t even touched on yet. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. I was, in every sense, unrivalled. Whenever there was a tournament, I would join basically only as a spectator. The other players would all form parties and do combat in various ways, and then the final winner would face me. I didn¡¯t need to prove myself. Everyone already knew. That¡¯s how it was, and that¡¯s how it should have stayed. If LetsFraternizeTogether had only known his place, it wouldn¡¯t have come to this. None of it would have happened. Really, it¡¯s all his fault for putting his nose where it didn¡¯t belong and getting so damn invested in a stupid video game. But enough about him. Games like these cycle through WCs like toilet paper, so I¡¯m sure he¡¯s been dethroned long since. And now, the game has finally loaded. The music is the same as ever, but the game load screen is some sort of holiday variant I don¡¯t recognize. I don¡¯t like it. But it¡¯s whatever, you know? It¡¯s not important. The game opens and I type in my username and password, ThatGentleNight2, make sure not to press save password, and press enter. Another loading screen. Okay. Or you can use the exploit where you clip through the Minos until it goes into the floor and is never seen again, and the game forgets you¡¯re supposed to be taking insanity damage from it. Up to you. The screen cycles a few times. Server: Europe. Lobby: North Europe 1. Enter. It takes a while for the potato of a computer to render the lobby, something that took my old computer ¡®Zeus¡¯ a mere millisecond. And there, standing in the middle of the screen, just as beautiful as the day I lost him, is my beautiful character. Massive black wings that could only be gained through the paid gacha during a Halloween event. Tentacle effects that shoot out every three seconds that I got for reaching the highest Job category of Old One Oracle. And then the Robes of Endless Fabric, Quasar Staff Manimous, Tendril Crown of Black Silver¡­ Back in the days, just one of these items could bring about a huge bidding war within the entire Europe server. Obviously, though, what I¡¯m wearing right now is only for show. I do have more powerful equipment, but it doesn¡¯t look as cool, so I only wear it for the real battles. The last time that happened, though, was when¡ª When¡­ Well, it isn¡¯t important. What¡¯s important is that I missed this character. Long ebony black hair, icy blue eyes like limpid tears¡­ the whole package. If I looked like this in real life, I wouldn¡¯t have any problems. The girls would be all over me, and the guys would all be jealous, and¡ª I stare at the screen. Nerfed? Blink, blink. I can feel my rotting teeth bite into my flaking lower lip. Slowly, I place my fingers to the keyboard. I lean back in my seat. There. Roasted. Okay. Alright. You know what? That¡¯s it. Six months ago, I would have let him go like a Cerberus ignoring the barking of a chihuahua. But that¡¯s changed. I¡¯ve needed to cut loose a little. By now, my fingers have thawed, meaning that I am beyond ready. I lean back. If he was clever, he¡¯d just surrender right now and avoid going gentle into that dark night¡­ But, obviously, you can¡¯t expect that sort of wisdom from some no-name standard username peanut who can¡¯t even recognize the former ruler of this game. Everyone needs to learn a lesson sometimes. As they say, all kids need a good whooping to understand their place in the world. I place my fingers against the keyboard and grab the mouse. The movements are coming to me easily now. This guy doesn¡¯t even have any flashy effects or mounts or wings. He¡¯s an obvious pushover, but still too stupid to do the simple courtesy of checking my level before accepting the challenge. A grin rises to my lips for the first time in several months. It hurts. But it feels good. A circle arena has formed around my avatar and FreshBiscuitsOhoy, separating us from the common rabble. A counter begins counting down from three on the screen and I ready myself. The second it hits that fateful zero, my brain shifts into gear completely and my character bursts to life with the press of only a few buttons, flinging himself across the screen and twisting and bringing down his gorgeous summoned black onyx sword on the opposing avatar which is¡ª ¡­No longer there? I blink at the screen. That¡¯s not right. Where in the world did he go? My brows furrow which hurts but I don¡¯t have time to care as my character flings himself into another burst of movement, flying around the borders of the duel circle like a swallow, here and there. But he just isn¡¯t around anymore. Did he turn invisible? Can they do that now? What the hell is going on?! My teeth grit themselves. What a coward. What a complete and utter coward. I pause in my frantic running just enough to type in the chat, And just as I click send, something smashes into the side of my character and hurls him across the map where he crashes into the invisible barrier around the duel circle. I only just have time to gawk at how my health instantly slips down into the red before my fingers move on their own and narrowly toss my character out of the way of another horribly quick strike. It¡¯s so fast I can barely see it. Is that a hammer he¡¯s wielding? A war hammer?! This is a game about magic and sorcery! Why in the world would you even use a blunt weapon when you can just as easily summon weapons to¡ª He used a skill. I don¡¯t know which. It looked like his character tossed a small pig plushie at my character and somehow that was enough to stun me and then he caved my character¡¯s head in with his hammer and that was it. The screen turns dark and monochrome and a single word overlays the whole screen, printed in horrible oversaturated red: DEAD. In my head, I can picture the screen on his end. A big green letterbox shouts WIN! and a spray of confetti erupts across the screen and all of the surrounding gawkers would use the Cheer and the Jubilee emotes and spam the chat with astonishment and adoration and nobody could ever face you no matter how many they were because just one of you would always be enough to face them all, no matter what, no matter when. But that¡¯s not what¡¯s on my screen. Just a big, red, DEAD. That¡¯s all. The chat is being spammed alright, but it¡¯s all just the same thing. I stare at the chat. After a few minutes it goes silent. Since FreshBiscuitsOhoy got muted I can¡¯t even challenge him to a rematch. If I look out the window, it¡¯s completely dark now. It feels almost like the world is holding its breath. The time is three minutes to midnight. What kind of loser would spend this time at New Years Eve an online game, fighting randoes? I grind my molars. Once I respawn, I quickly check the rankings. I must just have been unfortunate and ran into some sort of underground legend, or some secret master. Maybe he was even an NPC hidden boss or something. ¡­No, that last one¡¯s a bit too unlikely. But he could secretly be a super high levelled player. I mean, how else would he just¡ªjust do that to me? I¡¯m the number one player! If anyone¡¯s doing the curb stomping, it¡¯s me! That¡¯s how it works, and that¡¯s how it is, and¡ª And¡­ ¡­And he isn¡¯t even in the top hundred. Not for the world. Not for Europe. Not even for North Europe. He isn¡¯t even in the top hundred for the server. Neither am I. My ranking is very clear. It¡¯s right there, written in bold, purple text. Twelve-thousand four-hundred ninety-fourth. And what of my rival, nemesis, and enemy? Maybe I was a fool to have hope, to think he¡¯d follow my footsteps and sink into the despair I feel, but¡­ He¡¯s number eighty-four. internationally. It¡¯s not much. He used to be number one. But now he¡¯s eighty-fourth. At least, unlike a certain someone, he¡¯s actually on there. He¡¯s doing well. I feel the buzz in my ears intensify, my vision blurring and blotting, my breathing becoming even more raspy, my joints aching and creaking, my flesh scraping together, and the fever more pronounced than ever. It hurts. Everything hurts. My face feels hot with everything that can make a face hot, but it won¡¯t seep out through tears. Had I always been this pathetic? Is this something new or was I always destined to be this sort or worthless, pathetic loser? My head is on fire. I want to die. Maybe I¡¯m already dead. Maybe I died six months ago. Maybe this is hell. That¡¯d be better. At least hell is perpetual. I¡¯d rather be burnt than tormented like this. Outside, far away, I can hear a thousand thousand people chant in unison. Ten. Nine. Eight. I wonder if my parents and sister are out there among them. Do they miss me? If it were me, I¡¯d be happy I was gone. Seven. Six. Five. I mean, really. There¡¯s nothing to miss in the least. No skill, no trait, no dream of any value whatsoever. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they hate me. Four. Three. Nothing to miss is almost an overstatement. What is there to miss in a void of a person like me? Certainly not my charming personality, or my looks, or my smarts, because God knows I do not have any of those. I am¡ªby all means¡ªnothing. Two. Nothing at all. One. And nothingness isn¡¯t something you miss. Zero! As the world outside the internet cafe windows lights up with cheers for a better year and fireworks and music, the inside of the cafe suddenly lights up as well. But not by any fireworks, no, rather, by a floating, shining text box straight out of a video game. ¡­What? Oh, I see, so this is the light at the end of the tunnel you see when you die. Makes sense. ¡ªNo, hang on a sec, what the heck do you mean by tutorial?! Are you telling me my entire life was just the lobby period you spend before you even start the tutorial proper? Is this the menu screen?! Okay, okay, let¡¯s just relax for a moment. This isn¡¯t real. Actually, it¡¯s not too bad. I¡¯m dying, so I¡¯m obviously hallucinating. Great, I really felt like dying right now. Wonderful. Glad someone up there¡¯s listening for once. Which button do I press to die? ¡­Well, if it means dying, then sure. Why the heck not. Take me there, ferryman. A second passes. ¡­Oh, do I, uh, have to press it manually? Talk about outdated models for spiritual death, sheesh. Unbefitting of a dead man, I casually press the Yes button, and in that very second, a third screen pops up. <[Easy]> <[Normal]> <[Hard]> <[Hell]> Well, now you¡¯re just asking the obvious. Clearly, a pro gamer must prove himself even in the afterlife. What do you expect me to do if I choose ¡®easy,¡¯ go to hell, and LetsFraternizeTogether chose the Hell Difficulty and is doing much better than me? I¡¯d try to off myself and go to whatever afterlife lies beyond the afterlife! Superhell would be my one and only fate. Can¡¯t have that, can I? The answer is so simple I almost feel like chuckling. Instead, I just casually press the [Hell] button. Afterlife, here I co¡ª 2: Floor 1, In The Lobby ¡­me? Where¡ªwhere am I¡­? Everything is so bright, and my head hur¡ª ¡ªNo. No, it doesn¡¯t. My hand only barely has time to touch my temple before I realize that my head doesn¡¯t hurt. It¡¯s been months since my head has last felt this¡­ clear. The eternal chill in my limbs is gone. The rattle in my lungs is silent. My knees don¡¯t feel crunchy. What in the world¡ª And then I realize that my eyes are also okay. My eyes. To reiterate, my vision has been piss-poor ever since I was six. I couldn¡¯t wear lenses because my glasses had to be so thick. And now you¡¯re telling me my vision is just¡­? Listen, I can actually see the things around me with near perfect quality! And sure, it isn¡¯t much to look at, but there are things here! I can see those white pillars in perfect clarity. The floor isn¡¯t blurry in the least. And, uh¡­ No, wait, hang on, is that it? Is that seriously it? No, that can¡¯t be. There has to be something else around here apart from this infinite white void and the infinite white floor and the infinite white marble columns that seem to reach up thousands of feet into the distant, white sky. ¡­If this is hell, then it sure doesn¡¯t look like it. I¡¯d say it looks more like heaven, but this never-ending silence is kind of ruining the image. It feels eerie, somehow. Maybe it¡¯s limbo instead? Rightfully confused and disoriented, I look around for a bit. My body truly is completely healed. My mind feels clear. Clearer than it has in ages; maybe forever. It¡¯s seriously tripping me out, but just as I¡¯m about to accept that there¡¯s nothing more than these pillars, I can hear something like a door open behind me, and when I whirl around to face it, what I find is an open door and exactly no walls. It¡¯s just a door. It doesn¡¯t even lead anywhere. It¡¯s a door, and on the other side are six tables. But it¡¯s kind of like a gate without a fence because I can walk around it just fine. And there we have them. Six tables. But it¡¯s not the tables I¡¯m looking at. No, what¡¯s on the tables is much more interesting, and it makes me want to chuckle evilly. Starter weapons. An axe, a bow, a staff, a hammer, a spear, and a sword and shield. Oh, it¡¯s beautiful. I¡¯ve changed my mind. Hell isn¡¯t so bad. This is starting to look like my life before this was the tutorial, and now I¡¯m in the real game. Or something. Heh. Okay, alright, let¡¯s wind down a little. This is probably the most important decision of my life, above choosing starter Pok¨¦mon and above choosing scholarships. First up¡­ I think I¡¯ll just discount the axe and hammer. I¡¯m scrawny, okay? I¡¯m short, and small, and that¡¯s just what I am, so there¡¯s no point trying to use a weapon I¡¯m not suited for. Sure, once I get stronger, I¡¯ll be able to fling them around as I please and fulfil the small-character-with-big-weapon trope, but for now, I¡¯ll need to be able to actually kill things properly. Regarding the rest¡­ I¡¯m not doing a spear. Sure, I read somewhere that spears are good for untrained combat, but I¡¯m not going to be untrained forever, and besides, it¡¯s pretty inflexible in terms of range. I¡¯m also removing the bow for that same reason. I¡¯d obviously love to have some distance between myself and my possible enemies, but I need to also be able to fight in close-range if the need arises. That leaves me with the staff and the sword and shield. ¡­I need to take a closer look at this. I creep up to the staff and put my head level to it. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. <[A Termite-Eaten Staff] Magic: 4 Probably more effective at bludgeoning people than magic. Used item> ¡­Alright. So, in other words, it¡¯s a magic staff. Despite what the description says, if I hit someone with a termite-eaten piece of wood, it¡¯s not going to bludgeon them, it¡¯s just going to burst into splinters and soft dust. Maybe if I¡¯m lucky they¡¯ll get a splinter stuck in a weak spot and somehow die from it? Yeah, no. How about the sword and shield then? It¡¯s two weapons for the price of one, after all. Besides, that sword looks really cool! <[An Ornamental Sword] Attack: 4 A foolish knight brought the ceremonial sword to battle and died. It has a blunt edge. Used item> Oh, well, uh, that¡¯s¡ª <[A Termite-Eaten Shield] Defense: 4 Makes for a good smokescreen. Beware the splinters! Used item> Are there termites in this entire starter weapon selection area?! Aren¡¯t we supposed to be in some sort of afterlife? Are you trying to tell me that ghost termites ate these weapons!? But at least the sword, although blunt, doesn¡¯t seem to be on the edge of complete disintegration at any second, so I guess that¡¯s really my best choice. Unsure if it can be called anything close to best, but¡­ ¡­I really don¡¯t have any choice, do I? Fine. Blunt sword and splinter-bomb it is. I press the ''Yes'' button. And then the world below my feet disappears and I stumble and fall but someone catches my fall and for a second or so I just hang in their arms, staring down at the pristine white floor. ¡°Whoa there!¡± that very someone says, just inches above my head. ¡°Was about to take quite the tumble there, weren¡¯t you?¡± ¡­English? With maybe a bit more force than intended, I push myself away from whoever caught me. He lets me go and even gives me a relaxed pat on the arm as he does. And then we stand face to face. He doesn¡¯t look like a Southerner. No, by all means, he looks completely normal. For a few uncomfortable seconds, we just stare at each other. ¡°...Why are you talking in English?¡± I ask in a low, almost growling voice. He blinks at me. ¡°You¡¯re Swedish too?¡± Oh, now he speaks the right language. Smiling, he scratches the back of his head. Meek. What a meek guy. That¡¯s the word. Much like almost every other non-teenager in the world, he¡¯s over a full head taller than me, and about as ordinary as you get. Average height, standard blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a pair of ordinary dress pants and a stained shirt. Going by the smell, it seems he¡¯s had a bit of a wild night before coming here. He¡¯s also wearing a New Year¡¯s Eve party hat hanging from his neck, so it¡¯s pretty clear where he came from. But it¡¯s not the hat I care about. Rather, it¡¯s his hair. ¡°Pffftt¡ª!¡± It¡¯s a crew cut. It¡¯s stupidly short, and it looks horrible on him. Everything else is so ordinary, except for that hairstyle. Did he lose a bet or something? He furrows his brows at me. ¡°Is there something wrong?¡± I boldly point my finger at his head. ¡°Your haircut looks stupid.¡± ¡°My hair¡­?¡± He gently touches his hand to his head, his eyes widening as he does. But then he looks at me. ¡°It would seem, in our appearing here, we both happened into the same predicament.¡± ¡°Huh? What do you¡ª,¡± My heart stops. My hand flies up to touch my head. My hair isn¡¯t long anymore. Or greasy. Or knotted. It¡¯s short, and washed, and would probably best be described as a crew cut. Ah. Ahhh. I see. So, this is where the hell part comes in. Yes. I see. I see¡­ Gently, I lie down on the floor and bundle myself up in the so-called fetal position. My head feels breezy. So, this is the thing that breaks me, then. After so many years of growing out the ultimate luscious hair¡­ Gone. Taken from me at such a young age. This truly is hell. By the way, now that I¡¯m lying straight on the floor, I can say that it isn¡¯t cold, nor is it warm. It¡¯s some atrocious, unfeelable middle ground. The whole place is exactly at room temperature, and not a degree above or below. It feels weird. I don¡¯t like it. The seemingly endless white is starting to hurt my eyes, too, but as soon as it begins to really sting it suddenly goes away. What. A shadow falls on me and I glance up at my fellow sufferer. ¡°Hey, man, just relax, alright? It¡¯s not the end of the world.¡± Oh, but it is. He¡¯s a fool not to think so. ¡°If he wants to lie on the floor, let ¡®em!¡± someone shouts in English from across the room. I raise my head just enough off the floor to see the face of this cruel man. He¡¯s as young as me, and by the looks of it, Finnish. Despite that, his English is really good, and the accent is hardly noticeable. His hair is dyed blonde and cut in a crew cut, just as much a victim as me and this old guy. ¡°That makes two, and all that.¡± Oh, and he¡¯s also holding a huge axe. Well, he¡¯s trying to, because for all his arrogance, the axe is still too heavy to properly lift. I smirk at him. His face twists in anger. ¡°What, you wanna go, punk? Huh!?¡± ¡°Hey, come on, relax a bit! He¡¯s just upset at¡­ Well, whatever it is, it¡¯s his emotions, so be a bit nice, okay?¡± ¡°Psh. Be nice. Yeah, sure.¡± He spits on the floor. Then, he lifts his axe and tries to wave it around. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you can read, geezer, but unless we start practicing soon, we won¡¯t be ready for when the floor opens! Do I need to remind you that you can¡¯t even lift your pussy-ass spear properly?¡± The average-age man above me frowns a bit. Still, he¡¯s right. Lying here won¡¯t do me any good now, and what I really need right now is to prepare myself for the¡­ The floor opening? TO CONTINUE READING BOOK 1, BUY IT IN E-BOOK, AUDIOBOOK OR PHYSICAL FORM! LINK: https://a.co/d/2LUVfHE 77: Floor 8, The Muddy Sluice My feet touch the pristine, cold, WHITE floor of the lobby. ¡­Yeah, thanks. Appreciated. The second I¡¯m back in the lobby, I collapse to the floor. I place my head in my hands. I don¡¯t know what to do. I don¡¯t know what to say. Is there anything to say or do? Oh, yeah, there¡¯s one thing I can say. These gods are all kind of douches. Alright, okay, uh, um¡­ Onto the next floor, I guess? I don¡¯t know. I feel kind of nauseous, even though any injury I got on floor seven has technically been recovered by now. It just doesn¡¯t feel like it. It still aches. But it¡¯s not like I can stop now, right? I need to keep going. That¡¯s it. That¡¯s my only choice. <22:30:21 Day 150> At least I was able to clear the floor right on time. As long as I clear a floor within twenty-four hours of the next attempt beginning, I won¡¯t have to go back to the lobby to redo the whole thing. And, sure, it¡¯s not like I lose much of anything by having to redo it, it¡¯s just annoying and tedious. Besides, the longer I stay in the lobby, the more willing I become to engage in the senseless act of auto-asphyxiation. All and all, it¡¯s best for me to try to keep going. I briefly consider sending Moleman a message, but I¡¯m sure he¡¯s still busy, so I¡¯ll just leave it be. The lobby waiting period goes just the same as it always does. Paint the room, mutilate myself, and after considering how one could best kill themselves in a room where everything automatically regenerates within seconds, the floor finally opens. My hand shoots out like an arrow to press the ¡®yes¡¯ button and I almost cry with happiness when the floor shifts beneath my feet and the endless RED and WHITE is replaced by a foggy darkness. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. This place is¡­? It¡¯s dark, but I can still see well enough to make out my own position. I¡¯m standing at the shore of what I think is a river of mud. I can¡¯t see the other side of the river, neither can I see from whence it comes nor where it goes, and the entire area behind me is so foggy it looks like it came straight out of ¡®Silent Hill.¡¯ It looks pretty spooky, but there¡¯s no real wind and it¡¯s completely silent otherwise, so at least I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be accosted by any spooky ghosts. The only real area of interest is that right next to the shore, just beside me, is a single flickering street lamp. It looks fire-lit and old, but I can be sure. I look back at the river. This has to be the thing I¡¯m supposed to do, right? It should be¡­ <[Clear Condition] Pass over the river of mud and reach the shore.> Yeah, as I thought. Still, this river is¡­ I mean, it isn¡¯t going by very quickly or anything, but it¡¯s still made up entirely of mud. Thick, slimy mud. Hunching down, I stick my hand into it, and even though it moves slowly, the mud is so dense and strong that I almost get pulled along with it just by my hand alone. And then I feel something bite my hand. I pull my hand out of the river to find a little sharp-toothed, eyeless fish trying to bite my finger off. And, miraculously, after a second or so, it actually succeeds, letting it drop back into the flowing mud together with my finger. Hm. Interesting. So, in other words, not only is it muddy, but it¡¯s also infested with weird piranhas? I guess that makes sense. Standing up again, I look out at the river. It sure is broad. The fog lies so heavy over it that I can¡¯t even make out what there is just a few meters ahead. Oh, apart from that shadow, of course. ¡­Shadow? I squint at the fog. Yeah, I wasn¡¯t hallucinating. That is absolutely a shadow. Pretty big one, too, moving slowly and smoothly towards me. If the shape hadn¡¯t been so weird, I would have assumed it was some muddy sea monster. But as the shadow passes closer, the silhouette becomes clearer and clearer, soon coming close enough for me to make out what it is. It¡¯s a guy, standing in a little boat. I don¡¯t know how he¡¯s doing it, but he¡¯s paddling along, standing upright like a gondolier, without the stream of the muddy river seeming to have even the slightest impact. It¡¯s a strange sight, but I¡¯ve seen weirder things in this tutorial. As I watch on, he lets his boat touch the shore, and even though most of the boat remains in the muddy river, it isn¡¯t moving even slightly. It¡¯s like it¡¯s nothing but a shadow. While I look at his boat, the man stretches out his hand and I look up, first at his open palm, and then at his face. Or, rather, where a face would be if he¡¯d had one. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d have one if he didn¡¯t look like a fuzzy shadow. ¡­No level, huh? Is that supposed to suggest that he isn¡¯t meant to be killed? ¡°A piece of metal,¡± the Ferryman says, ¡°for safe travels across the river.¡± I open my mouth and close it again. Deftly, I open up my inventory. Let¡¯s see here¡­ Leopard hide, wolf hide, boar hide, squirrel hide, bird hide, shade hide, gombie hide, bat hide, deer hide, elk hide, bear hide¡­ Nope, no metal. What a bummer! I hope he accepts alternative forms of currency. ¡°How about if you take me across, I won¡¯t kill you and wear your skin like a pair of overalls?¡± The Ferryman looks down at me. I can¡¯t really tell his expression since he¡¯s in lack of a face, but for some reason, I think he might be a little shocked. After almost a full minute of silence, he finally speaks again. ¡°No money, no travels.¡± Ah, is that so. Shame. I shake my head. ¡°No travels,¡± I say. ¡°No life.¡± I leap at him before he has time to set back out into the river. I¡¯m able to get a pretty good grip on him, hooking my legs around his midsection, but apparently, I underestimated him, because after only a short quarrel, he finally pushes me off enough to smack me across the head with his oar, sending me hurling ass-over-teakettle into the muddy river below. Everything is cold and slimy and gross and¡ªoh, there goes my hide again. Great. Within just seconds of entering the mud, I can already feel numerous mudswimmers biting into every bit of my exposed flesh. To keep them from annoyingly blinding me, I begin to wheel my arms in an attempt to breach the surface. After a few seconds of paddling through heavy mud, I finally get my head to escape the mud, where I take a deep breath and pull off a mudswimmer stuck to my ear, ripping off half my ear in the process. For a second or so, I just look around, trying to catch a glimpse of the ferryman. No luck. He¡¯s gone, and I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll have too much luck trying to find him again. He didn¡¯t have a level, so I don¡¯t think I need to defeat him or anything, but it still feels empty. What a guy, huh? What kind of person would smack someone over the head with an oar, just like that, completely unprompted? Total lunatic. Anyhow, now that I¡¯m in the mud, it¡¯s not like I have any other choice but to start swimming. Swimming in mud feels weird. Since it¡¯s thicker than water, it¡¯s thicker than me, so I don¡¯t sink as easily and rather bob at about chest level. But, at the same time, it¡¯s also so thick that taking a single stroke through it leaves my arms tired and trembling. And that¡¯s not even mentioning the current. I¡¯m lucky I only have to get to the other shore, or this would have been a practically impossible task. It¡¯s very close to it, but not quite there. I begin to doggy-paddle my way towards¡­ towards¡­ Huh. Which way was the shore again? It¡¯s the same mud whichever way I look, and I can¡¯t see any shore, be it the one I came from or not. It¡¯s just the same mud and the same fog on both sides. No way. Did I¡­? Did I already get lost? 78: F8, Boss Stage, [Swamp] And lost I was. I¡¯ll spare you the details, but since I faithfully checked the time for the entire duration, I can speak with absolute certainty when I say that I doggy-paddled around in that river of mud for no less than thirteen days straight. Sometimes I would actually reach a shore, but every time, it would be the wrong one, and I¡¯d get no message about the boss stage. I got so desperate that at one point when I got to the shore, I paced up and down, trying to ensure that it was really the one I started out at. But it had the same lantern, so it must have been the one. The river never took me anywhere, and when I reached the wrong shore, I would always be back at the lantern. My only theory is that as I swam, the river was actively turning around, constantly, always. In my exhausted, blood drained state, I imagined that the river actually ran perpetually in a circle around a little island¡ªthat island being the place I entered the floor at. But that couldn¡¯t be the case, because once I got up to the wrong shore¡ªagain and again and again and again and again¡ªno matter how far I walked along the shore, never did I circle around to find the lantern. Only by going into the river of mud and emerging back up again did I encounter the lantern. After this, I stopped going up on the shore anytime I found it, and just focused on my new favorite pastime: eating live fish. Fish is good for you. If you eat lots of fish, you¡¯ll be able to swim as well as one. That¡¯s what my mother always told me, and that¡¯s what I¡¯m sticking to. Maybe swimming for almost two weeks straight and doing nothing but eating fish wasn¡¯t too good for my brain, because once I ran out of fish, I was genuinely bummed out about it to the point that when I saw the lantern and the shore again, I decided just to go right on ahead. Nothing left to lose, and all that. I went past the lantern and beyond the shore, into the fog, and after about half a day of walking¡­ <[Clear Condition] Pass through the swamp to reach the lighthouse.> I stare at the message in front of me. I lift my head upwards. Far ahead, I spy the only light shining through the thick mist¡ªfar away, yet close enough where I can tell that it¡¯s got to be a lighthouse of some sort. ¡­Seriously? That was it? That was all I needed to do? Did I seriously swim around in mud for like two weeks just¡­ because? Seriously? ¡­If I ever find you, if I ever were to meet you face-to-face, I would make sure that when we part ways, you won¡¯t have a face anymore. And if I find out that you gods don¡¯t have faces as we mere mortals do, then I will learn divine magic strong enough to give you a face, and then rip that off. Does that sound good to you? How¡¯s Sunday at three? That work with you, Cruel? No answer. Should¡¯ve guessed. Cowards, the lot of them¡­! Now, what¡¯s this about a swamp? But before I can inspect the area around me more closely, a message pops up. ¡­The only one I can imagine who¡¯d send this would be¡­ I quickly type in a response. bad bt now im kk so is fine but wdy mean wit sympossum> Another symposium so soon? The last one was only¡­ Uhh¡­ <22:37:57 Day 164> Seventy-five days ago! Or ninety days, if you calculate from when it will start. Hm. If I remember correctly, the last one was exactly ninety days after the tutorial opened. That¡¯s an interesting coincidence. Will I have to meet a bunch of people every three months? No idea. I almost hope not. The last time was kind of stressful. I certainly hope there won¡¯t be any insurrections this time¡­ Anyhow, back to the swamp. I squint at the area in front of me. It¡¯s still so foggy I can barely see my own nose, but I think what I¡¯m looking at is something of a woody area. There are trees, that¡¯s for sure, but they¡¯re squat and twisted. The area between the trees is basically just BLACK. And if I look back up, there¡¯s the lighthouse. Pretty far away, but not far enough for me to hesitate. I move towards it. After only a few steps, I feel my bare feet plunge into cold, slippery mud. Oh, God, more of this? Alright, fine, it¡¯s not like I¡¯ve got any choice. I move forward. It really is a swamp. The completely BLACK mud I move through is filled with what I hope is vines and the roots of whatever plants exist here. It¡¯s really disgusting, having your foot brush up against what feels like a head full of hair, but there isn¡¯t much else I can do but grit my teeth and continue. The mud and sludge stand pretty high, but it never gets higher than my navel, so I¡¯m able to trudge forward without having to commit myself to the tedious task of swimming through it. And things go somewhat fine until I accidentally bump into what I assume is a log or something, but when I look down at it, I find a pair of yellow eyes looking back up at me. Cr¡ªcrocodile?! Oh, phew, it¡¯s just a clone of me. Before it can do anything, I shove it underneath the muddy surface, holding it down as it kicks and flails and scratches up my arms. After a few minutes it stops moving. I hold it down for an extra minute or so until I get a message. So, if I am to understand this right¡­ there are shades on this floor? I look down at the wide-eyed shade floating face-up in the mud. ¡ªBut they only look like me, so it¡¯s fine. Honestly, unlike the other shades, I don¡¯t even know if these shades are sapient at all. They don¡¯t say anything other than hissing and stuff, and if you so much as look at them, they attack like a racoon on crack. A crackoon, if you will. Maybe there¡¯s something wrong with their programming? Who knows. I continue. There are quite a few shades, more and more as I get closer to the lighthouse. Thankfully, they only attack if I physically touch them, so all I need to do is to place myself in the perfect position to disembowel and break their neck at the same time while also tearing out their throat. That usually lets me take of them pretty easily. Once the lighthouse comes nearer, it isn¡¯t even all that much trouble to take care of them. Almost casually, I snake my hands around a nearby shade standing and staring at a tree. With only the simplest movements, I kill him. <[Level Up]> Not bad, all things considered. With this level, I might actually be able to give Moleman a run for his money, heheh! But the lighthouse is very close now, so there¡¯s no need to linger anymore. I¡¯ve already been wandering through this swamp for over two weeks in order to kill all of the shades, so it¡¯s about time to get moving. I can¡¯t smell any more warm blood, and the only sound in this swamp is from my own movement. The time is now. As I move closer to the lighthouse, the muddy swamp retreats, and with each step, the level of mud falls slightly, slipping below my hips, down to my knees, down to my ankles and even further. Soon, I¡¯m standing completely freed of mud, and the lighthouse is right above me. I take a quick peek at the time. <23:37:57 Day 179> Perfect. I step close enough to touch it. ¡­The door? What doo¡ª Oh, this one? The one to the lighthouse? Huh. That sounds kind of suspicious, but it¡¯s not like I can just refuse, so¡­ Knock knock knock. No answer. I do a knock to the tune of ¡®shave and a haircut.¡¯ No response either. That¡¯s pretty wa¡ª The door flies open but by that point I¡¯m already gone, right back in the lobby, with a series of messages floating in front of my vision. <4 Gods have shown a positive response to you. You have obtained 4 000 points.> <36 Gods have shown a negative response to you. 36 000 points have been deducted.> 79: Floor 9, Another Server Symposium They just keep on coming, huh? At least my gods are staying loyal, for once. One of these days, I¡¯m going to have a hundred gods on my case about doing this or that or even about not doing this or that. Unreasonable, the lot of them. ¡­Are my shade innards really that worthless? You know, if that ferryman hadn¡¯t had God-buffs and been levelless, I would totally have been able to sell his boat for a pretty penny. Not that you¡¯d ever let me do anything to get better, of course. Okay, so, um, what you¡¯re trying to say is, uh¡­ When I beat the next floor, I¡¯ll be in six-figure debt? Is that it? ¡­I can¡¯t even muster a fitting amount of annoyance at the situation. If I was still on Earth, this is the moment when I would fake my death and pick up a new identity in Cuba. This simply isn¡¯t sustainable, and I¡¯m not just talking about me! Think of all the poor, innocent little challengers who accidentally angered a few gods because they liked to drink their coffee BLACK, or with cream, or actually preferred tea. And just like that, they¡¯d be a million points in debt and there would be nothing they could do. Why not have sympathy for them, huh? No one¡¯s going to rebuke my perfectly sound argument, eh? Yeah, keep your silence, cowards, I know I¡¯m ri¡ª ¡­Okay now that¡¯s just some bullshit. No way that¡¯s true. There¡¯s just no way¡ª H¡ªhang on, I¡¯m not done here! This guy can¡¯t just go around saying whatever he wants whenever he¡ª The floor shifts beneath me and I stumble forward and bash my head into a table. O¡ªow. ¡°H¡ªhiiik?!¡± someone squeals. I pull myself up from the floor. Alright, yeah, it¡¯s the same old Hell lobby room. In that case, the only voice that that could be, would have to be¡­ Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°K¡ªKitty? Is that you?¡± Virgil asks, her eyes trembling. Huh. I shouldn¡¯t look all that different from the last time I was here. Weird. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s me. Who else would it be?¡± She looks away. ¡°Yeah, I guess, but it¡¯s just that¡­¡± She gestures at the whole of me. ¡°It isn¡¯t very, um, obvious?¡± What isn¡¯t very obvious? Just to follow her line of sight, I look down at myself. I¡¯m covered from top to toe in a thick layer of muddy goo. Oh. Ah. Um. ¡°This is, uh¡­¡± I shake my head, making a few pieces of mud fly everywhere. Virgil steps back. ¡°It¡¯s not important.¡± I take a step towards her, trying to make my voice as sympathetic as I can. ¡°Listen, I saw how it went with the, uh, lobbies, and I just wanted to, um, say that, well, ah, it¡¯s¡­¡± I gulp. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, okay? You did your best, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do great next time around, so just¡ª¡± A hand reaches out in front of me. It isn¡¯t Virgil¡¯s. I look up and meet the eyes of some normal looking dude. ¡°Hi,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m Almos.¡± He smiles. I don¡¯t take his hand. Not answering him, I look over at Virgil. She gives a small smile. ¡°I did it,¡± she says quietly. ¡°I got one of them to stay.¡± I look back at this¡­ ¡®Almos¡¯ character. He waggles his hand at me. After a moment¡¯s consideration, I take it, splattering his hand with mud and probably more blood than you¡¯d expect. One shake up, one shake down. He¡¯s got a firm grip. But mine is firmer, thanks to the wonderful doping effects of leveling up. I clench his hand until I feel his bones creak, and only after he gives the smallest, tiniest, ¡°Ow,¡± do I let him go. ¡°I¡¯m Kitty,¡± I say to him with maybe a little more assertiveness than the name would normally command. Almos looks down at his muddied hand and after visibly winching, he shakes it off before wiping the last bits off on his short pants. ¡°Virgil told me you like to be referred to by your username, so¡­ If you want, you can call me Magus.¡± I¡¯m not sure if my frown is visible through the thick layer of mud on my face. ¡°I¡¯m not calling you that.¡± His smile turns a little strained. ¡°...I understand that, haha. It is a pretty¡­ flashy username, I suppose.¡± As I cross my arms, his eyes gain a strange gleam. ¡°Though, I¡¯m surprised to hear you speak Hungarian so fluently.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not speaking Hungarian.¡± ¡°...Is that so?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± After my firm words, a bout of silence follows. I don¡¯t want to have to randomly exposition to this strange man, but now the silence is quickly turning awkward, and Virgil looks very curious about him being able to understand me and me being able to understand him, so even though I don¡¯t want to, I heave a sigh and explain the effects of the all-tongue skill. Almos¡¯ eyes gleam in that strange way again. I don¡¯t like that look. ¡°A language skill¡­ Interesting. And only you have this?¡± ¡°No idea. I¡¯m pretty sure the gods gave it to me as a punishment, but who knows?¡± ¡°The gods¡­!¡± Being standoffish with this man is strikingly ineffective. I don¡¯t know why he decided to stay in the lobby, or how Virgil convinced him, or why he picked the Hell Difficulty at all, but right now, I really couldn¡¯t care less. I don¡¯t like him. He¡¯s got an ambitious glint in his eye that I feel like I recognize from somewhere. ¡°Hey, K¡ªKitty, how come you¡¯ve been able to get so far in the tutorial? What¡¯s your secret?¡± Almos asks. He hesitated saying my name. I get it, but¡­ ¡°Luck.¡± That¡¯s all I have to say. The word makes his expression falter a little, but that doesn¡¯t make me change my answer. After a second or so, he¡¯s able to gather his wits again. ¡°Then, what would you say¡ª¡± I put up my hand at him. ¡°I don¡¯t have time to talk ¡®cause I¡¯m gonna go have a rematch with Moleman and I¡¯m gonna totally bust his butt and you¡¯re kind of in the way with your dumbo questions so I¡¯m actually going to leave now and you can¡¯t stop me ¡®cause as you¡¯re familiar with you¡¯re just level zero and I¡¯m leagues above that so yeah I¡¯ll be going now bye.¡± And then, before he has time to reaffix his jaw in place, I leave the room, despite Virgil calling out to me. Sniff sniff sniff sniff. Moleman¡­! Getting down on all fours, I initiate my fastest running possible by using haste in every single part of my body while also using dagger nails to be able to run on walls for when the hallways are too crowded. For some reason, a lot of people scream when they see me bolting at them at Mach speeds. Even the well-armored beef heads make sounds like startled schoolgirls. Weird. Maybe I¡¯m being followed by some spooky ghost? Who knows. After running for maybe a minute or two tops, I finally get to the right place. At the end of the hallway, there¡¯s an open door that seems to enter into a massive hall filled with countless tables and even more people. I leap at the open doorway and splatter into an invisible wall. Slowly, I slide down from the wall before collapsing just beneath it. What in the heck is this¡ªoh, it¡¯s the Easy Lobby. I should have noticed the sign. How dare he be in a place where I can¡¯t readily attack him? So inconsiderate. Once I get my hands on him, he¡¯ll wish he really lived up to his namesake so he could go bury himself in a hole, hahah! Not that I¡¯ll actually kill him or anything. No, I just need to have a wonderful little rematch to prove to him that I am the superior gamer. That¡¯s all. Hehe. I stare into the Easy Lobby. I notice someone staring back at me. I have no idea who she is, but as she looks at where I sit crouched on the floor, she suddenly turns deathly pale¡ªalmost more so than me¡ªand hurries off. Weird. Lots of weird stuff is happening at this symposium, and we aren¡¯t even ten minutes into it. Since I¡¯ve got nothing else to do, I start pacing back and forth in front of the doorway. He¡¯s got to come out of there someday, right? I think I can see people looking at me from within, but one harsh glare is enough to make them look away, so I¡¯m not worried. After a minute or so, I see that pale girl from before, except she¡¯s walking together with some well-armored girl who looks strangely authoritative. Not to me, though. Rules are for chumps, and rulers only have power over those that let them. The two of them are heading over here. Interesting. I keep watch on them from my peripheral vision all the way until they reach the doorway. ¡°You do know that harassment is a punishable offense under the Lawbook of the PRR?¡± 154: Floor 16, Vote I¡¯m not in the lobby. The status box lied to me. I¡¯m¡­ I don¡¯t know where. To be completely honest, I know where I am, but I don¡¯t want to say it. If I admit that I¡¯m in the play area of my old kindergarten, I¡¯ll have to admit that I can even remember what that place looked like. Now I¡¯ve gone and said it though, so, yeah. That¡¯s where I am. My gaze slowly moves over the place. Soft, rounded plastic furniture. Soft play-mat beneath my feet. Soft toys. Soft everything. Everything is soft and there¡¯s nothing sharp to stab my own throat with. Nothing to bash my head against that might scrub away everything that lingers inside my brain like the stench of rotten meat inside a refrigerator. As soft and padded as a pillow room. Ah, well, I still have my claws, and most of my bones, so at least there¡¯s that. Shaping my hand into a straight dagger, I press the needle-sharp tips of my claws against my throat. Bottom¡¯s up, and adios! Here we go¡ª My hand stalls. Vote? Oh, yeah, now that I think about it, wasn¡¯t there some sort of vote mentioned in the floor clear message? Yeah, I wasn¡¯t too focused on it. I was more so focused on the fact that¡ªthat¡­ My jaw clenches. Vote. As if I care about that. You know what you can do about your vote? You can stick it right up your divine¡ª Hey, not a bad answering rate! You want to know the one itsy bitsy teeny weeny problem? I punt a tiny plush dog across the room. I DON¡¯T CARE! Oh, but I guess since I¡¯m one of your little all-terms-and-conditions-apply box-ticker guinea pig, that means I¡¯m obviously totally cool with anything and everything you do. Of course. I love this system. Hey, quick question, did you deliberately put me in a padded room so I couldn¡¯t go beddy bye-bye on myself? Did you know this was going to happen? Hey, answer me, damn it! Did I do the right thing or not?! Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. <...> <...> <50 to 50 in favor of removing Hell Challenger Lo Fennrick from the Tutorial.> ¡­Hang on just a second. Remove me from the¡ª? The god of love? As in the god of Earth? Why should he have any part in this? This doesn¡¯t make any sense. None of this makes any sense. What is even¡ª I¡¯m just¡­ what? No, seriously. If they hadn¡¯t shouted straight to my face that this was about whether or not I should ¡®stay in the tutorial¡¯, I would have assumed that this vote was about whether I did the right thing or not. To which the obvious answer is¡­ Is¡­ An image of a determined face and a sword pointed at me flashes through my head. I bury my face in my hands. I don¡¯t know. I wish I knew. I don¡¯t know anything. Did I ever know? ¡­It is clear to me that I was in the wrong. About Simel. About our time together. About what he thought of me, and about what he wanted. I was wrong. It¡¯s that simple. I never acted maliciously, but that doesn¡¯t mean I didn¡¯t hurt him. And I did hurt him. Badly. Ever since the start, that¡¯s all I¡¯ve been doing. I didn¡¯t think I was hurting him, but that doesn¡¯t make it any better. He didn¡¯t want me to kill the emperor. He didn¡¯t want me to kill anyone, as a matter of fact. My only goal was to do what was right for him. In that sense, by doing the exact opposite of what he wanted¡­ I did the wrong thing. <50 to 51 in favor of removing Hell Challenger Lo Fennrick from the Tutorial.> I stare at the screen. It doesn¡¯t go away, even after I stare at it for what feels like several hours. They¡¯re keeping me in the tutorial. What would have happened if I¡¯d been kicked out? Would I have been sent back home to Earth? Or would I have been stuck in Purgatory? Or, better yet, would I have simply dropped dead on the spot? There¡¯s no answer. I¡¯m a fool to expect one. I can¡¯t even figure out if this was a good thing or not based on which god voted for what. The gods that like me and the gods that hate me all voted separately. Did the god of love vote to keep me in here so that I wouldn¡¯t come back to wreak havoc on Earth and beat every high-score there was using my superior gamer skills? Or was it out of some sickly-sweet bout of genuine compassion? I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know anything. How stupid can I be? Can¡¯t I learn a single damn thing? I suck. I wish someone would shrink me and string me to a squirrel feeder so I could get what¡¯s coming to me. I¡¯m sure the god of cruelty would love that. Come on people, let¡¯s make it happen! Ahh, no answer. Of course, of course. Reaching out, I grab a little plastic toddler-stool and prepare to bash it against my skull, only for it to vanish from my hand, alongside the rest of the room. Leaving nothing but an endless WHITE expanse. Ah. Ah. Ah. Bad. Bad. A single splotch of color lights up my vision. sake of both worlds.> 155: F16, The Harsh Cataract That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong, buster. I can¡¯t fight for your divine hineys if I¡¯m dead! Aaaaaand there it is. Right. Okay, yeah. I was starting to wonder if they¡¯d forgotten about my crippling life debt. It doesn¡¯t matter anymore, though. See, I have found a very simple solution to this whole mess. Standing up, I stalk over to one of the nearby pillars. I grab it firmly, and then I do a somewhat professional impression of a woodpecker, minus the beak. BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH BASH. I remove my skull from the pillar. My head heals. I look down. The pillar is RED. My body is RED. My torn skirt is RED. I tear off what remains from that floor. Lying down, I crawl up into a little ball, with my face inches from the bloodied pillar. All I see is RED and the pink from my inside. I can¡¯t die in the lobby. I can¡¯t die in here. I need to go to the floor to die. Then, I can be executed. Killed. Die. Like Simel wanted. He may not be my friend, but I¡¯ll be his, if it¡¯s the last thing I am. That¡¯s it. I just need to fulfill his plan. That¡¯s all. Something hot and heavy wells up to my eyes and I feel my shoulders tremble. I¡¯m horrible. I¡¯m the worst. I can¡¯t do anything right. I¡¯m just a horrible person through and through. And every time I try to fight that, all I do is prove their words right, over and over again. Everything that¡¯s happened to me is my own fault. And I need to own up to it. Sure, Simel will never get to watch me killed, to know for sure that I¡¯m really gone, but¡­ That¡¯s okay. Eventually, he¡¯ll know. Eventually, he¡¯ll understand that I really did do the right thing in the end. Eventually¡­ Through the blurred world, I read the words. I press the pop-up with a certain numbness, almost hoping for it to be one of those hate messages so I can tell them the good news. I stare at the message. Rubbing my eyes, I read it over once more. It¡¯s still the same. I feel something hot rise to my cheeks again and I sit up fully, still facing the pillar. I start typing up a message. Moleman, am I ur friend?> After a few seconds, a message dings in. The world blurs before my eyes and I let my face fall to the floor. My breaths are ragged and stagger up my throat only barely. I put my head in my hands and wait until my lungs are capable of breathing properly again. Through the gaps in my fingers, I stare up at the message and write a reply, mustering all the strength I have left to keep my finger from trembling too much to use. Ok thx i apreciate it cuz u mattr a lot 2 me thx bro ur 2 importnt 2 lose> I wipe the tears from my face. thx u2 bro> I close the messages. And for the next twenty-four hours or so, I don¡¯t do anything. I don¡¯t train. I don¡¯t paint. I don¡¯t meditate. I don¡¯t think. I do nothing. I press the ¡®yes¡¯ button. I enter the floor. <...> I beat the floor. <4 Gods have shown a positive response to you. You have obtained 4 000 points.> <43 Gods have shown a negative response to you. 43 000 points have been deducted.> I return to the lobby. 230: Floor 26, The Sparkling Flames The very second I reappear in the lobby, I unceremoniously drop to my knees, though I don¡¯t quite have the strength to do anything more drastic. What¡­ what is¡­ what did I¡­ how did¡­ why¡­? My hands touch the brand on my chest. The twinge of pain comforts me. My gaze falls to the floor. WHITE. Smooth, obsidian-like WHITE. I need¡­ I need to paint the lobby. The inviting monotony of the task brings a smile to my face, and I slit a line across my palm, as I always do. Thick, half-coagulated blood seeps out. With my paint secured, I press my hand against the floor, sweeping it to the left and right, covering the little area beneath me with dark RED. On my hands and knees, I paint. Back and forth. It¡¯s difficult. I don¡¯t bleed much anymore. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. Back, and forth, and¡­ My vision goes dim. Little droplets hit the half-painted floor beneath me, watering down the paint. Wh¡ªwhat is¡­? I wipe at my face, smearing myself with blood and¡­ Tears? I¡¯m¡­ crying. Why? What is there to cry about? I smile. It doesn¡¯t work. It keeps falling into a bitter frown. But I don¡¯t want to frown. He got better. Isn¡¯t that wonderful? Goss got better! With the way he¡¯s been acting around Fr. Moonlight, it¡¯s only obvious that this was what he wanted. Or, at the very least, what he needed. Becoming a four-winged dragon wouldn¡¯t have solved anything. Not really. It would just have made him worse¡ªmore disconnected from those he loves, less sympathetic to the pain of those around him, quicker to cruelty¡­ I grit my teeth. Below me, atop the small bloodied part of the floor, my hands ball into fists. Dark blood oozes from between my clenched fingers. He¡¯s better. He got better. He did everything he did, he hurt everyone he did, he was as bad as he was, and¡­ And he got better. Despite it all. No¡­ because of it all? I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t get it. I feel like such an idiot. I¡¯m happy for him! I¡¯m glad that he turned out better! Everything went well! And yet¡­ And yet¡­! The world turns blurry again. I wipe at my face, but I keep crying. That¡¯s dumb. That¡¯s so dumb. How pathetic can I get, envying my own brother? It¡¯s so stupid. He got better. Why haven¡¯t I? Haven¡¯t I done everything I could? Did I go wrong somewhere? Is there some sin in there, some crime I can¡¯t even remember, that makes me unforgivable, while he isn¡¯t? Which sin is the unforgivable one? Or is it all of them? Am I simply worse than him? Why can¡¯t I just be happy for him? Always making it about myself. Am I pathetic or what? And Goss had the gall to thank me for what I did for him? If I hadn¡¯t shown up, he¡¯d never have had to kill Ymir to begin with! I haven¡¯t¡ª I choke on a sob. ¡ªI haven¡¯t done anything to be thanked for! All I do¡ªall I¡¯ve ever done¡ªis be a burden on people! Even now, because of my damn cowardice, I can¡¯t even bring myself to tell Moleman I¡¯m alive and well! What the hell am I afraid of? It certainly isn¡¯t him! My breath quivering, I try to resume painting. Monotony comforts me. The rhythm calms my aching chest. If I¡¯m doing this, I don¡¯t have to think. But I still end up thinking. There¡¯s so little RED now. Barely enough to cover up the all-consuming WHITE. I¡¯m scared. I¡¯m scared of¡­ of what might be. Not what is. Right now, Moleman is my friend. Even though I¡¯m me, he¡¯s still my friend. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. But you can only hurt someone so much. At some point, they¡¯ll have to draw the line. It¡¯s starting to feel inevitable. It¡¯ll happen sometime. I can feel it. He hates me, and he doesn¡¯t even know it yet. Goss had a clean slate. Tabula rasa. He didn¡¯t have anyone from his before-life to hang around. No lingering ghosts in the attic. Just him and the endless WHITE future. Breathing heavily, I continue streaking blood across the floor, RED staining my knees and feet. A bit more. Just a bit more. I wonder if Ymir knew. Maybe that¡¯s why he went along with our ridiculous plan, to begin with. Maybe, deep inside, he hoped that if he let Goss kill him, then Goss would become a four-winged dragon, and everything Ymir believed about himself would be proven. For people like him, being unforgivable is the same thing as being forgiven. But now, he¡¯s dead. It doesn¡¯t feel real. Not in that he¡¯s dead, but rather in that he doesn¡¯t feel as though he ever lived. He was just a dragon. Another piece of flesh that happened to be in motion most of the time. Animate, then inanimate. Little difference. With this, he¡¯s dead, and nothing he did, said or was matters anymore. He could have been the most virtuous creature on the planet and it wouldn¡¯t have changed anything. He¡¯d still be dead. So, it doesn¡¯t matter. I pause at the base of a pillar. Still on my knees, I look up, finding a poster of a kitten staring down at me with big, sparkling eyes. ¡®Hang in there!¡¯ ¡­I need to find some way to get out of this place. Permanently. If my bleeding immunity gets higher, I might not be able to completely paint this place within twenty-four hours. The poster does remind me of the skills I got for clearing the floor, though. Skills that I can¡¯t even bring myself to gloat about. <[Sacrament of Passage (Lv.MAX)] By the request of the Goddess of Dragons, Hell Challenger Lo Fennrick is granted passage atop and across all holy land without the need to heed requirements or penalties. [SOVEREIGN SKILL]> <[Dragon Heart Lite (Lv.MAX)] Just like a dragon, your heart glows!> ¡­Yeah. If you¡¯re wondering, I checked the latter one by opening up my chest, and, as advertised, it glows. Faintly, but still. Even if I could level it up, I don¡¯t think¡­ Actually, no, if it could level up, that¡¯s what I would be doing right now. But it can¡¯t, so I¡¯m not. The first one, though¡­ ¡®As a one-time courtesy to show my gratitude,¡¯ she had said. I was a bit distracted by Goss transforming into a literal one-winged angel to really care, but now that I¡¯m looking at it¡­ It¡¯s actually a sovereign skill. A proper one. Though, with the limited area of usage, I¡¯ll assume that it¡¯s in the same class as [Innocent Adoration]. I turn to look at my now-healed feet. ¡­I can¡¯t believe that worked. I was only fifty-fifty on it not killing me. Then again, had it failed, I wouldn¡¯t have had to mind anything going on anymore, so it was a win-win for me. I just¡­ When I saw Goss hurting Fr. Moonlight, covered in RED and viscera, biting at his own wings¡­ I don¡¯t know. Something came over me. I acted before thinking. If I¡¯d let him bite off both wings, then maybe¡­ I shake my head. It doesn¡¯t matter. He got better, I¡¯m here, and¡­ And that¡¯s it. Nothing else really matters. For some reason, that makes me smile. I wonder why? The hours pass. I press the ¡®yes¡¯ button and enter the floor. <[Clear Condition] Reach the lair across the dancing coals.> Not really thinking about much of anything, I beat it. <...> <[Level Up] 231: Floor 27, The Damnation I return to the lobby. As I start making my habitat livable, I let my eyes scan the details of the new skill I received. <[Dance (Lv.1)] Dance!> ¡­What is this? How am I supposed to increase it? Dance¡­ As in, dance while I¡¯m defeating things? I know there are classes that combine bard and rogue to make a dancer-fighter kind of deal, but I don¡¯t know how that would work with my current build. I frown to myself. No, seriously, how am I supposed to increase this thing? What does it even do? I refuse to believe that it makes me dance better. Likewise, I reject the notion that it would therefore be increased by dancing. So, since I can¡¯t figure out how to use it, I slot it into the mental category of ¡®useless skills.¡¯ With that over and done with, I close down the status screen and continue my work. Within a brief period of time, the next floor opens. I press ¡®yes.¡¯ I enter the floor. <[Clear Condition] Clear the castle of the infestation. 19 330 remaining.> ¡®Infestation of what?¡¯ you may ask. Well, as I have found: rats. Big rats. Small rats. Some rats the size of fingernails, others like hogs. For the sake of my extermination, all doors and windows leading out have been barred, leaving the castle dark and silent. Or, well, it would have been silent if it hadn¡¯t been for the rats. Gnawing, scratching, scurrying, squeaking¡ªeverything. In the walls, in the floors, in the ceiling¡­ Choked by their own multitude. The castle itself is an interesting sight. The storage still holds food, and there is still wood to be used in the many fireplaces. Beds are made, though the rats have chewed their nests out of the covers and mattresses. Clothes, cutlery, personal belongings and everything else remains. By the looks of it, until only recently, someone had been living here. Probably a lot of people, if you count the servants. The clothes are fancy and all, but I can¡¯t find any crowns or similar jewelry to denote a rank near royalty. Once I reach that point in my investigation, I realize something. It doesn¡¯t matter. Whoever lived here before is unimportant. Why they left is unimportant. Where they are now is unimportant. All that matters is how to best kill all these damn rats. Stolen story; please report. For this, I decide to spend the first day simply observing everything happening. I was able to end floor twenty-six by the end of the thirty-first attempt, so I¡¯ve got a full month to do this. This means that I have plenty of time to formulate a plan. The castle is more residential in outlay than that of typical castles. More specifically, unlike the castle in Acheron, this one can actually be navigated without getting lost. It has four floors and a large basement connected into three large rooms. The rats are concentrated in the basement and the attic. Honestly, though, no matter where you look in the fifty or so rooms, you¡¯re bound to find rats. And not just a few. The first day, I investigated how many rats are where, how they live, what they¡¯re up to¡­ That stuff. More importantly, I keep track of if the number of rats I have to defeat changes during the day. They do. When I entered the floor, there were 19 330 rats. By the end of the first day, that had increased to 19 592 rats. It isn¡¯t an impressive rate or anything, but it does tell me that they propagate faster than they cannibalize. A passive extermination wouldn¡¯t do. I considered burning down the castle, but the walls are made of solid brick and stone, and there isn¡¯t actually that much in terms of flammability. So, that leaves me with poison and disease as my most promising weapons. Luckily for me, there was rat poison in the pantry. Unluckily for me, it had all been eaten by rats. So, to test to what degree my own flesh and blood is poisonous, I began leaving out my body parts here and there. With an abundance of rats, it was easy to recover. Through this, I found that although my poison isn¡¯t especially lethal, it does make the affected rats lethargic enough to catch. Quite nice. It isn¡¯t a failure, but it is suboptimal. So, I test out the possibility of spreading a disease. <[Touch of Reversed Disease Protection (Lv.7)]> The results are¡­ mixed. Over the course of around two weeks, the disease spread from rat to rat, not really killing them. However, as it did, it mutated to the point where it went full-circle and infected me in turn. This.. might not be too bad of a grinding opportunity. With little else to do, I take up residence in the basement, snuggling into the mounds of living and dead rats, letting them eat my poisonous flesh as I eat their diseased bodies. Tit for tat, as they say. <17 221 remaining.> <14 978 remaining.> <10 003 remaining.> <8 591 remaining.> Time goes well. Every now and then I check the time. It¡¯s nice, though. Down here, surrounded by thousands of rats, always having my body bitten and chewed by thousands of mouths, in constant pain, I don¡¯t have to think so much. The only downside is that the sound of the rats gnawing inside my ears, their teeth scraping alongside the inside of my skull, is a bit distracting. It¡¯s easily solved by simply avoiding recovering my ears, though. All is simple. All is quiet. And¡­ I remove one of the rats covering my eye. What in tarnation? ¡­Oh, it¡¯s just you guys. Sighing, swallowing a rat that was apparently in my mouth, I put the rat back over my eye. Wake me up when you come with something of actual importance, thankyouverymuch. I glance at the message from beneath the rat¡¯s tummy. Favor, how? Ah. I see. Grabbing the rat off my eye, I stick it in my mouth and slurp it down whole. Well, all right. Sure. Where¡¯s the pest in question? There¡¯s a marked pause before I get any answer. Alright. Will do. After a moment, I feel the distinct presence fade away, leaving me alone with the remaining rats. Weird. I sit up. My chest is open, so the only source of illumination is my own heart. Luckily, it¡¯s too dim to shine with my chest closed, otherwise it might have caused difficulties in terms of stealth. Since the gods require my presence somewhere, stat, I begin actively killing the remaining rats. It takes around two days, and by the end, going by the number of rat corpses I can still smell, I¡¯ve eaten around ten thousand rats. I have the body of a god. To finalize my victory, I slurp down the last rat. <0 remaining.> Just before the floor closes and sends me back to the lobby, I receive my reward in the form of a big, plump rat. I eat it unhesitatingly. 232: Floor 28, The Imprisoning Circle I appear in the lobby. WHITE. Gotcha. Time to get back to¡ª <[Thank you for your cooperation.]> ¡­Not even going to give me time to do my toddler-style impromptu painting? Right. Not that I really care, of course. With nothing better to do, I press the ¡®yes¡¯ button, unsurprised to find myself instantly whisked away to a dark, ominously lit cave. Always with the caves. Whoever designed the tutorial must be a real cave enthusiast. Now, what are we dealing with he¡ª He meets my eyes. I meet his eyes. I fight the urge to wave at him. He doesn¡¯t wave at me, so I guess it¡¯s fine. <[Clear Condition] Defeat the captured Herald of the God of Kings.> ¡­I had a feeling that that¡¯s what I¡¯m looking at, but this clarifies things, yeah. In the middle of the room, sitting within a fairly large circle of what appears to be sand, or maybe salt, is a guy. Just a guy. A goblin, sure, but a guy nonetheless. He¡¯s wearing clothes, sitting on the floor, cross-legged, and appears to be quite the burly sort. The only thing that gives away the fact that he¡¯s a herald at all are his eyes, which are a vibrant, artificial purple. Oh, and the status message above his head, of course. ¡­Right. His status is completely glitched out. It looks like someone tried to mash together ¡®Harad son of something¡¯ with the ¡®herald of the god of kings¡¯ thing, resulting in this abomination. It¡¯s so bad I¡¯m almost impressed. Harad looks me up and down. ¡°...Are you the best they could get?¡± I approach him. Once I¡¯m close enough to look down at him properly, I cross my arms. ¡°Are you the pest I was sent here to exterminate?¡± ¡°I am,¡± he says, not biting. ¡°Though, by the look of you, I¡¯m starting to doubt those lightning-choked gods have all their drakes tethered.¡± ¡°I agree with the latter part,¡± I mention. Something feels off. A lot of things feel off, but one feels off more than others. ¡°You¡¯re a lot less haughty than the last herald I killed.¡± He waves it off. Scarred fingers and hands. Warrior or blacksmith of some sort? ¡°I haven¡¯t fully turned yet.¡± I sit down in front of him, my silence encouraging him to talk more. In response, he sighs dramatically. ¡°Look, ratboy, what do you want from me? Yesterday, I woke up with purple eyes. Big deal. I go to the priest, he tells me to go to the cathedral in the city. I grab my drake, kiss the wife goodbye, tell my kids not to pester her too much or touch my tools, and off I go. I ride all night, reach the place, walk inside the cathedral, and you know what happens?¡± ¡°No idea,¡± I comment. ¡°A damn god shows up! There I was, hanging out, poking at the gazillion books, and all of a sudden there¡¯s a boy tuggin¡¯ at my apron, going ¡®sir, sir!¡¯ So I ask the kid, I say, ¡®What do you want? I¡¯m busy, so buzz off.¡¯ And the kid¡ªinquisitive little pest¡ªasks me if I had any weird dreams lately. Who asks that? I didn¡¯t even know him! I tell him that, and then he gets all pissed off, telling me that that was no way to speak to the god of knowledge. I tell him that he¡¯s got no right to talk to me like that, either.¡± Waving his hands in the air, Harad makes no secret of his displeasure. He¡¯s got an oddly engaging way of talking. ¡°Well, you should¡¯ve seen his face. Damn kid looked ready to burst! I would¡¯ve laughed in his face if he hadn¡¯t dragged me into some kind of alternative dimension or whatnot. Terrifying. That¡¯s no way to treat someone.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°No respect whatsoever,¡± I agree. ¡°Preach, preach,¡± Harad says, nodding deeply. ¡°I was right about to ask him to put me back when he pulled a book straight outta my skull. My skull!¡± To empathize his point, he points a big finger at his forehead. ¡°And while I¡¯m still trying to figure out what¡¯s happening, he starts flipping through it, gets to the latest part, looks me in the eye and goes, ¡®I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve got terminal purple eye ¡®cause you drunkenly agreed to join the bad god we don¡¯t like.¡¯¡± Harad barks a laugh. I chuckle with him, but I feel the need to mention, ¡°He did not say that.¡± ¡°No, no, he didn¡¯t,¡± Harad admits. ¡°But he might as well have! Stupid kid. A bunch of other divine wingers showed up and told me what a sad thing it was and how I¡¯d need to be done away with. According to them, if I stayed with my family, I¡¯d suddenly transform into some sort of pseudo-dragon, except even worse. Obviously, we couldn¡¯t have that. So they sent me here, told me not to freak out, and that someone would show up to do away with me.¡± I make a face at him. ¡°Is that seriously all they told you?¡± ¡°Yup. Sit in a circle, wait for a while, and die.¡± ¡°Damn. That sucks.¡± ¡°Live at their whims, die at their whims.¡± He shrugs. His apathetic eyes turn to me. ¡°Well? What¡¯re you waiting for? I¡¯m not going to kill myself.¡± He¡¯s got a point. Standing up, I brush off my knees before heading inside the circle, my claws raised and ready. As soon as I step into range, something firm and sharp shoots out, stabbing me through my chest. I look down to find a semi-translucent spear of purple entering right below my heart and exiting through my back. I cough up a bit of blood. As I stare at it, another spear shoots out, penetrating my stomach cleanly. I step out of the circle. Then, I turn to Harad, wiping the blood from my lips. ¡°What the heck, man?¡± ¡°I swear to you, ratboy, I have no idea what that was.¡± This he says while his hand is still extended, said purple spears clearly visible as they slip back inside his open palm. ¡°You literally have¡ª¡± But when I point at them, they¡¯re gone. Harad looks down at his hand. It¡¯s normal. He looks up at me, perking his brow. Ah. I see how it is. ¡°I¡¯m going to try again,¡± I say slowly enough so that even the gods watching can understand, ¡°and you¡¯re going to maybe not stab me to death with your freaky hand spears.¡± ¡°Got it,¡± Harad says. But he obviously didn¡¯t get it, because the second I stepped inside the circle, his spears attacked me again. I step out to recover. Then, I step in again. His spears attack me. After the seventh time, I decide to just power through, ignoring the spears as they stab my chest and stomach and legs and arms and neck and chin and skull. One I¡¯m close enough to him, I shear my claws through his neck and watch in straight-faced agony as his flesh easily knits itself back together again. ¡°Dude.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t help it!¡± Groaning, I retreat. This is going to be a long one. So, to summarize, my strategy would be to enter the circle, take his attacks, and then either step back out if they were a bit too grievous, or advance and try to kill him if they weren¡¯t. Killing him didn¡¯t really work. He didn¡¯t bleed, he didn¡¯t need any of his organs¡ªeven his heart¡ªhis head, when decapitated, would keep talking, and even when I set him on fire, he was fine after a while. I started considering the possibility of trying to redo the thing I did with the kid. That is, the favor I did for the goddess of children. Hug him. Tightly. And it might even have worked if it hadn¡¯t been for the fact that he was like a porcupine in terms of approachability. Hugging him would most likely have resulted in my body having more holes than a block of Swiss cheese. So, I left the prospect of doing that behind. Instead, I returned to how I defeated the first one. ¡°Eat me?¡± ¡°Eat you.¡± ¡°Piece by piece?¡± ¡°Like finger food,¡± I say. ¡°Or a charcuterie board.¡± He stares at me. I stare at him. ¡°It¡¯s cool with you, right?¡± His nose wrinkles up. ¡°What¡¯s the point in asking me? Kill me in whatever way works.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± I reply, shrugging. The next time I attacked, I took a big bite out of his hand before retreating. Mmm. Grape jelly¡­ ¡°Wow,¡± Harad says, looking at his distinct lack of thumb. ¡°It really isn¡¯t healing.¡± ¡°Yep,¡± I say, wiping my lips. ¡°¡®Cause I ate it.¡± With his blessing, I keep it up. Eating him entirely took around eight days in total, though I also spent four days before this realization. It could probably have taken less time if I hadn¡¯t let him sleep during the nights, but I didn¡¯t feel like attacking a snoring fella. Same deal as attacking hibernating bears, I guess. During the time I spent not attacking him, ergo when I was recovering from his attacks, we¡¯d talk. Nothing too philosophical, just simple stuff. Apparently, he was a tanner! Well, combined tanner, cobbler, leatherworker and hobby smith. I showed him my stuff, he gave me some feedback, and I understood that to implement it, I¡¯d need to get hold of an actual tanning rack, alongside other tools. Harad was kind of chill in that he agreed to let me have his stuff, assuming I also told his family his last wishes. His wishes were kind of dumb though, so I only put to mind that he didn¡¯t want a funeral, and that he¡¯d like his second son to inherit the business since his oldest was a rotten egg and a frolicker. I asked him if he wanted his skin turned into anything, but he reminded me that I¡¯d need to eat that as well, so I relented. I saved his head for last so we could keep talking for a day or two. Towards the end, his spears didn¡¯t even really attack me, but I still retreated to rest because¡­ I needed it, I suppose. I might have left him to live for a while longer if he hadn¡¯t started getting really goopy. The text above his head was also shifting to becoming more ¡®the herald¡¯ and less ¡®Harad¡¯, so that was also part of it. In the end, I said goodbye, and spent a few minutes eating his purple-ish brain from his skull like the flesh of a watermelon. Of course, I still ate the bone and everything, so in the end, there was nothing of him left. He was gone. In a sense, though, I guess he¡¯ll always be with me. <[Thank you.]> ¡­No way. A nice floor clear reward for once? I can¡¯t believe my¡ª 233: Floor 29, The Diseased City ¡ªEyes! Oh, I¡¯m back here again. Figures. Rubbing my hands, I turn to my inventory. Now, what has my dear friend gifted me from beyond the grave? Let¡¯s see here¡­ A few knives, some scrapers, a hammer, a leather strop¡­ Yep, that¡¯s the good stuff. I wonder how I might be able to tan leather without a proper tanning rack¡­? Eh, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll figure something out. ¡­Huh. Looks like I was so distracted by the prospect of new toys that I didn¡¯t even notice the madness-inducing WHITEness of the lobby. Interesting. Either I painstakingly paint the lobby using my crummy blood for the coming twenty hours, or I test out my new tools. Hmmm¡­ After a bit of consideration, I have decided to paint a little corner of the lobby, and then test out the tanning tools in there. Win-win! It¡¯s very nice. Fr. Moonlight had fancier tools, but these are well-used and clearly loved. I like both. Absorbed in my fun game, I barely even notice the time passing until the floor opens. I hesitate a bit. Maybe, if I¡¯m playing with my tools, then the month passing won¡¯t feel so bad¡­? ¡­Alright, alright, I get it; no need to be like that. Sheesh. I press the ¡®yes¡¯ button, still sitting cross-legged on the floor. A decision I come to regret as the world around me shifts, and all of a sudden I¡¯m sitting cross-legged in the middle of a crowded street, not even a second passing before someone bumps into me and stumbles to fall onto the cobblestone road. Acting on instincts faster than even shame, I draw my legs to my chest, entering the fetal position. The person who just tripped over me looks around, confused. Unfortunately, since I¡¯m still sitting in the road, someone else soon walks right into me, kissing the dirt just like the last one. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I fly to my feet. A myriad of eyes turn to me, widening as they take in not just my height, but also the fact that I¡¯m a human. Yep, great, wonderful, glad you people can be normal about what I look like, thank you very much. Turning my face around and about, I eventually spot an alleyway that¡¯s moderately darker than this hellhole of a street. I practically leap for it, making a few old ladies scream in horror and overall ruining the otherwise quite gentle mood. I slip-n-slide inside the alley, gluing myself to the wall and letting my stealth skills hide me from public view completely. After only half a minute or so, I finally stop hyperventilating. Phew¡­ What the heck is even¡ª <[Clear Condition] End the sickness plaguing the city of Oran. 2 613 infected.> Ah. So, that¡¯s the deal. If nothing else, that certainly explains the smell. Going purely by scent, this city seems to hold, at the very least, around fifty thousand inhabitants. It¡¯s positively crowded. More than that, though, I can smell the disease. It¡¯s bustling. Stinking. Almost¡ª Sniff sniff. I turn to look down the alley. There¡¯s a young, obviously drunk guy relieving himself. In broad daylight, too. ¡­Well, that¡¯s pretty convenient. I was thinking about where to get a disguise, so this is actually very helpful. Striding up behind him, I slit his throat before he has time to stop humming. The alley is pretty secluded, so I don¡¯t take him anywhere else. The dismantled limbs, organs and similar go into my inventory, and the skin goes onto myself. It isn¡¯t quite snug, but I don¡¯t have time to experiment with tanning and such quite yet, so for now it¡¯ll have to be good enough. I peek out of the alley again. Right, so, how do I do this best? Fire is a pretty standard one, but if people survive, it gets complicated. So, instead¡­ Poisoning water supplies, and such? Not a bad idea. Another way to do it would be to spread another plague, and have them tag-team everyone. I¡¯d like to kill as many as possible personally though since it helps increase my skills.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡­However, I¡¯ll hold off on that for a moment. There¡¯s no timer on this floor, and even if the plague starts slowing down, I can always get it going again with a new one. In other words, there¡¯s no reason to hurry this. No, if anything, I have good reason to take it slow. With the past floors, for lack of goblins, I was unable to test out a certain skill. <[To Make A Martyr(Lv.MAX)] The God of Cruelty, who watches over those that show cruelty above mercy, has granted some of His powers to His potential plaything.> <[SOVEREIGN SKILL]> However, now, with a whole city full of fresh hearts¡­ I can test it out to my heart¡¯s content! Wonderful. I¡¯m starting to consider the possibility that cruelty sent me here specifically to play around with it. Of course, there¡¯s no way to tell if he¡¯s the one who chose this task for me. They don¡¯t talk much anymore. I¡¯m not sure if that¡¯s good or bad, but it gives me less to be distracted by, which is always a plus. Before I jump right into exploration, I need to get a better sense of where I am. To begin, I¡¯ll need to know whose skin I¡¯m wearing. If I¡¯m lucky, he¡¯s a bachelor of some sort, which would mean that I have a private residence waiting for me, somewhere. Honestly, considering the time of day, I can¡¯t imagine anyone but a bachelor to be in the position I found him. So, following the scent on his clothes and letting GVS take over, I head towards where his smell is the most concentrated¡ªergo, where he spends the majority of his days and nights. After around half an hour of walking, I find a university. It¡¯s designed more like a church, but it is absolutely a university. The students are either walking from building to building, listless and zombie-like, or sitting outside in the nice early-autumn sun, equally dead-eyed. Hm. I head for the place where he spends the second most time. It¡¯s a dorm. The building is a squat, pathetic little thing that smells like sewage, alcohol and featureless food. I hesitate on the doorstep. Is it even unlocked? I can smell people in there, but how will they react to my arrival? ¡­Even if they react poorly, I can always just do away with them. The thought allows me to regain bravery, and I open the door, heading inside. It smells even more like food once in here. But not any specific food. Trying to dissect the smells is futile, and even though it¡¯s honestly a repulsive stench, I find myself moving through it, down a corridor to the right, walking through various rooms until I reach a staircase. Up, to the left, into another hallway¡­ I find the room that smells the most like whoever I¡¯m in. I open the door, enter, close it behind me, and turn around just in time to spot a guy sitting at the tiny room¡¯s desk, his back to me. He¡¯s facing the window, neck formed into an U-shape to let him peruse the contents of his book better. I freeze where I stand. His large ear twitches, and he turns around. ¡°Dude, I told you before, I need to be alone to cram this thing. I know you can read a whole tome in like an hour, but I¡¯m a standard mortal! So, unless you want me to tell Ilwa that you¡¯re hanging out with other kits, I suggest you move your drunk ass out that door and close it behind you, nice¡ª¡± I stride across the room, grab him by the neck and pull him off the chair before slamming him onto the floor, planting myself atop his chest. ¡°Hey,¡± I say. ¡°Who am I?¡± He gasps for air, his eyes massive and darting to and fro as his brain attempts to catch up with what just happened. I pull a little on the hide stretched onto my right hand, letting my needle-sharp claws stab through the fingertips. I streak one of my claws across his face, the razor-sharp tip slitting a long RED line across his green skin. The pain makes his eyes finally focus on me properly. ¡°Who am I?¡± I repeat. His chest starts spasming into rhythms suitable for math rock and his mouth opens to try to make coherent words come out. ¡°Y¡ªyou, what are¡ª¡± ¡°Who am I?¡± ¡°You¡ªyou aren¡¯t Lepp,¡± he whimpers. ¡°You aren¡¯t¡ªplease, what have you¡ª¡± Lepp. That¡¯s a dumb name. ¡°Where is this place?¡± ¡°Oh¡ªoh, Gods, please, please don¡¯t hurt me,¡± he says. ¡°God of Knowledge, please, if You¡¯re listening, don¡¯t let me die here, I swear I¡¯ll pass all my exams, so, please, just¡ª¡± I stab my claw through his cheek. ¡°Where is this place?¡± He winces in pain, tears streaking down his face and snot going down his nose. ¡°O¡ªO¡ªOran, the,¡± he draws in a deep, snivelling breath, ¡°the Apostle Johe dormitory, of¡ªof the university of Oran¡­¡± He takes another breath, his gaze starting to wander again as he mutters ¡®Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods,¡¯ under his breath. ¡°Does anyone know you¡¯re here?¡± His eyes snap back to me. He blinks. ¡°Th¡ªthat¡¯s¡­¡± Great big tears go down his eyes. ¡°Please. Please. I don¡¯t know what you are, I don¡¯t know what you did to Lepp, but I¡ªI won¡¯t tell anyone. Not a soul. I¡ªI swear it by the God of Truth. I mean, I¡ª¡± He tries to smile, but fails miserably. ¡°I¡¯m just a student! Who in their right mind would believe me?¡± I¡¯m reminded of something. I stand up. He remains on the floor, breathing quickly. His eyes ask more than his mouth did. ¡°Stay here,¡± I tell him. Since he seems like the sneaky sort, I also add, ¡°If you try to leave, I¡¯ll know.¡± And then, just to rub it in, ¡°If you try to leave, I won¡¯t make it quick.¡± I give him a look. He nods quickly, unblinking. Great! With that done, I exit the room, take a quick sniff, and ascertain that the closest goblin is in the next room over. Excellent. I enter the room. She turns to me, and stares, clearly expecting her presence to be enough for me to realize that this isn¡¯t my room, and that I should probably leave. I do neither of these things. Instead, I cross the room, grab her by the neck, and pull her out of the room and back into my own dorm room. Thankfully, the guy is still there, lying on the floor, with the sole difference being that he has now soiled himself. Gross. I toss her down next to him. She yelps in pain, clutching at the back of her head and next. ¡°Lapp, what in the world are you¡ª¡± Stepping on her chest, I push her down onto the floor, feeling a few ribs snap under my foot. Her abdomen twitches and I can tell an annoying sound is coming, so I crouch down and put a hand over her mouth. ¡°Scream, and you die first.¡± Her wide eyes tremble with terror. ¡°Understood?¡± She jerks a nod. I pull my hand off her face. She doesn¡¯t scream, but she does draw in a labored breath and say, ¡°Wh¡ªwho are you¡­?¡± Since her question is unimportant, I decide to ignore it. Let¡¯s see¡­ The skill allows me to heal people by using the fresh heart of a goblin, human, or dragon. So, to begin, for the sake of simplicity, I gag her with a bit of scrap leather and then proceed to break both of her arms and legs. The guy seems pretty surprised by the turn of events, despite him asking me not to do something similar only a minute ago, going so far as to leap to his feet with the clear intent of doing something stupid. Not that he has time to. ¡°Wh¡ªwh¡ªwhat are you¡ª¡± In accordance with my unsaid promise to kill him quickly, I stab my hand through his chest to pull out his still-beating heart. It doesn¡¯t get any fresher than this. He staggers a little before finding support on the chair he was sitting in mere minutes earlier. It isn¡¯t enough to hold him, though, and he clatters to the floor, bringing the chair down with him. The girl beneath me stares at him in horror. I hold his fresh heart. I look down at her. Um, so, now, with this¡­ What am I even supposed to do¡­? I wave it a little in front of her. Alakazam, alakazim, heal this girl¡¯s limb! Silence. ¡­Nothing. I press the heart against her. Here, get better. Heal, damn you! But she doesn¡¯t heal. Not even when I feed her the heart do her limbs un-break themselves. I sigh loudly. Alright, it¡¯s not like I expected it to work on the first try, but this is still disappointing. Oh, well. There¡¯s always the next time, I guess. I do away with her. The dorm room worked as headquarters for a few days, but then I got annoyed at having to live so close to other people, so I took residence in a normal house. The family I stayed with was very hospitable once they no longer breathed. During the coming week or two, I spent the majority of my days and nights skulking about, exploring the city, finding shortcuts and holes in the walls, designating the best places to test out my skills, and¡ªof course¡ªtesting out the make-a-martyr skill. It all went pretty well. At least, until I got caught. 234: Floor 30, The Diseased People ¡°Oh, yes, very dreadful,¡± the respectable Judgess of Feynix commented, waving her fan in front of her face. Compared to other hostesses Emil had had the displeasure of entertaining, she at least didn¡¯t pretend to actually enjoy her human company, keeping herself and her conversation far away from them. Both she and her aristocratic friends sat bundled together on the other end of the fancy dining table, their expensive suppers barely touched despite the famine. She smiled at her conversation partners with lazily hidden delight. ¡°What is this, the twentieth one this week? Oh, I wish they¡¯d catch that horrible lunatic!¡± ¡°If you ask me, your honor, I¡¯d say that if you are foolhardy enough to remain outside after the curfew, then you deserve to have your heart ripped out.¡± The grin on the judge¡¯s face easily gave away the thrill he found in the tales of the heart-ripper. Emil stifled a sigh. On the other end of the table, he found his party members having a similar discussion, mindlessly indulging themselves in fantasies of what they¡¯d do if they caught the elusive serial killer. If nothing else, it certainly brought their minds off of the still very real plague. Yes, unlike the so-called drake pox, a single serial killer was a lot more manageable in terms of capture and containment. ¡°Lunatic, your honor?¡± another one of the rich, high-born aristocrats around the table said. ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard the latest word? It¡¯s not a single person at all¡ªit¡¯s a group of assassins, hired by the humans to take out the sick as a means of hampering the spread!¡± Emil tried to give the Judge of Provet a meaningful look. They may have been separated by a quarter of the dining table, but did the judge think humans were deaf? ¡­No, much like the rest, he simply assumed Emil was incapable of understanding them. Another sigh dropped from Emil¡¯s lips. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Mole?¡± someone on his right asked. Emil turned to Ursula, attempting to form his lips into a smile as he did. She smiled back at him, warily. ¡°You look¡­ glum.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s¡­ I¡¯m just¡­¡± Looking down at the all-too-expensive food on his plate, Emil tried to mentally ascertain how much this must have cost; how many mouths could have been fed with the amount of crowns that had gone into this seven-course meal. He grimaced at it and turned back to Ursula, distracting himself from one bad thought with another. ¡°Last week, thirty-six people died. Thirty-six.¡± ¡°That¡¯s great!¡± Ursula chirped. ¡°Before that, we had¡­¡± ¡°Forty-five,¡± Emil said. ¡°And the week prior, we had fifty-nine.¡± ¡°See? I told you it¡¯d work!¡± Smiling warmly, she patted him on the back. ¡°Can you imagine how many have been saved thanks to your penicillin?¡± ¡°I was just following OrthodoxPox¡¯s recipe,¡± Emil muttered. ¡°Until we can produce it in greater quantities, it¡¯ll be limited in usage.¡± ¡°Well, sure, but¡­¡± She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s alright. A few more months and we¡¯ll be out of this place. Compared to when we got here, things are a lot better already. These idiot judges might have fought us at every turn, but we got them to open new wards, use alcohol to keep themselves clean, wash their hands¡­ And you got to name the disease!¡± ¡°We,¡± Emil corrected. ¡°We got to name it. Finding out that it was contracted from drakes was just a matter of following the infection backwards, but, that¡¯s¡­¡± Ursula watched him sadly. ¡°Is this¡­¡± She fought off a look of contempt, replacing it with a sympathetic frown. ¡°He still hasn¡¯t answered?¡± ¡°...Yeah.¡± For a few seconds, Emil kept his mouth shut. They¡¯d already discussed this. She¡¯d already comforted him, and he¡¯d already agreed that there was nothing he could do. What was the point in having it again? Still silent, Emil met her gaze¡ªher worried, compassionate gaze. He found himself smiling, if only a little. ¡°It¡¯s okay, though. I know he¡¯s alive, and that¡¯s what matters most.¡± ¡°Still a dick move,¡± Ursula said by reflex, catching herself right as the words left her lips. ¡°I¡ªI mean¡­ It¡¯s not something you do to friends. Very¡­ mean. Unkind. Yeah¡ªall that stuff.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Moleman chuckled. She wasn¡¯t too good at this, was she? Still, her attempt mattered more than her actual ability. ¡°Thanks, Sully.¡± She quirked a smile, albeit an awkward one. ¡°No problem, Mole.¡± Her gaze wandered, lips pouting out. ¡°I just want you to know¡­ I know you won¡¯t, so if he ever shows his face in front of me¡­¡± She glanced back at him and held up her closed fist. ¡°I¡¯m punching him, alright?¡± ¡°Why are you asking for my permission to punch him?¡± Emil asked. ¡°Well, you¡¯re his friend, so¡­¡± She shook her head abruptly. ¡°B¡ªbut even if you disagree, I¡¯m still punching him! Or, at the very least, giving his bony hide a pinch!¡± Her sly eye turned to him again. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ okay with you, right?¡± Although the absurdity of her request made him chuckle, it still didn¡¯t relieve the weight on his chest. And the second Rat distracted her with some silly joke, he found himself sighing again. Across the table, a pair of spectacled eyes glinted at him. ¡°You are quite loud creatures, are you not?¡± Despite everything, the polite, dead-eyed smile Emil had taught himself over the course of his stay in Purgatory was able to impose itself on his lips, twisting his face into a grimace that the aristocracy usually found at least somewhat pleasing. ¡°Forgive me, your honor. The culture we come from is very open, emotionally speaking.¡± On the other side of the table, the mayor of Oran chose to deign him with a sympathetic nod. Reading the look on the mayor¡¯s face with exhausted unemotionality, Emil recognized an unspoken request for praise. ¡°The unflappable coolness with which goblins of your status act is certainly impressive to our kind. In light of that, I wish to once again thank you deeply for the dinner.¡± The mayor let his lips peel back into a toothed grin. ¡°I am not the one you ought to thank, Moleman. This is the honorable Judgess of Feynix¡¯ banquet, after all.¡± Behind the rose-rimmed glasses, his eyes sharpened. ¡°However, there is no need to thank her for a dinner yet to conclude.¡± ¡°...Of course. You are most correct. Pardon me, your honor.¡± The mayor leaned back. ¡°Think nothing of it. I am always happy to teach humans such as yourself the manners expected of a judge. Though, with that said, I did have something to ask you about.¡± Emil felt something heavy drop into the pit of his stomach. ¡°Pray tell, what would that be?¡± ¡°Have you contacted that king in Acheron in regards to the unsealing of the gates yet?¡± the mayor asked, his fingers steepled atop the table. ¡°...No, your honor, I have not.¡± Gathering his wits and strength, Emil continued, saying, ¡°As I explained the last time I had the honor of your visit, opening the gates when there are still dozens dying every week would be unwise. Furthermore, with the regulations on the use of drakes, trade and travel would be difficult even with the gates open. Until the weekly death toll has reached an acceptable level, I insist that the gates remain closed.¡± All traces of good humor fell off the mayor¡¯s face. ¡°I see. That¡¯s a shame. With the gates open, we could import suitable resources, such as cloth, grain, liquor, stones¡­¡± The mayor¡¯s speech quickly devolved into a rambling list of things he¡¯d like to bring inside the city, without paying any heed to the fact that they¡¯d be paying the merchants with plague. ¡°...In short, I believe that opening the gates would allow the city to breathe anew, to gain fresh eyes on the situation, and¡­¡± ¡°Forgive me, your honor, but my answer remains the same.¡± The mayor¡¯s nose crumpled into a show of disgust. ¡°...I see. Very well. Have it your way, human.¡± The mayor soon resumed conversation with the judgess on his right, letting Emil deflate with a sigh. He hated this. He hated the fine dining room, he hated the fancy dragonheart chandeliers and the extravagant furniture and the plush chair beneath him and the sparkling silverware and the silken dresses and the squawking, squealing laughter of the aristocrats held in here. The only people he didn¡¯t dislike were his own party and the servants¡ªthe poor, unfortunate servants cursed to play along with every whim of the judges or face impoverishment. Although it was his lot in life currently, Emil hated sucking up to the judges. Smiling at ridiculous, selfish requests, laughing at jokes that insulted him and those he cared about, listening to people who had absolutely nothing of value to add¡­ It was infuriati¡ª Emil froze where he sat. He drew a choked breath. There it was. He could feel it. Someone; watching. <[You are being watched.]> Mentally dismissing the notice from his sovereign skill, Emil turned to Ursula, hiding his hands under the table so she wouldn¡¯t notice that his knuckles had turned white. ¡°I¡¯m going home,¡± he told her. It took a second for her to realize that not only was he talking to her, but he had actually said that. Her head snapped to face him. ¡°You¡¯re what?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going home.¡± Next to Ursula, Rat cocked his head out, bringing his face into view. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re going home? What? Why? We haven¡¯t even had dessert yet!¡± ¡°I know,¡± Emil said. ¡°I just¡­ I have to go.¡± Ursula¡¯s brows knitted themselves together. ¡°Is it¡­?¡± He nodded to her with determination. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Even then¡­¡± She shook her head. Turning to him, she mustered a smile, uncertain though it may be. ¡°Just¡­ don¡¯t be hasty, okay? You may be the strongest guy around, but if someone snuck up behind you to club you like a seal puppy¡­¡± She smashed her fist into her open palm. ¡°Blam! You¡¯re gonaroo.¡± Smiling lightly, Emil stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± he said. ¡°If it helps, I¡¯ll even¡­¡± Removing the heavenly orb, Emil affixed it into his invalid right arm. ¡°See? Nothing can hurt me now. Almost, at least.¡± ¡°Sure, but¡­¡± She frowned up at him. ¡°Take care of yourself, yeah?¡± ¡°Alright. I will.¡± 235: F30, Reunion On the way out, the barker helpfully announced that Emil was leaving early, almost causing a stir until Ursula explained that he had a stomachache and had to go home to lie down and weep for a few hours. She didn¡¯t use those exact words, but in the ten or so seconds Emil lingered before leaving, that was what came across. With his exit socially accepted, Emil entered into the chilly autumn evening. He drew a coat from his inventory, wrapping it around him with slight difficulty as he glanced up to see the stars. From where he came, being able to see the stars in the middle of the city was next to impossible. Smog and light pollution kept them hidden away from view, like gems too precious to be stained by the human gaze. But here, now¡­ Emil took a deep breath of the night air. Unfortunately, the smells of the city were not quite as pleasant. The stench of rotten fish, excrement and sewage made for a particularly lethal perfume, one that Emil still hadn¡¯t gotten used to even after living in the city of Oran for two months. It wasn¡¯t all that bad, though. He¡¯d lived worse, and being able to stay at the mayor¡¯s own mansion was more than¡ª <[You are being watched.]> The message from [Knowing Friend (Lv.MAX)] reminded Emil that he didn¡¯t leave early merely to watch the stars. Trying to keep his breathing and gait even, Emil set out. The mansion the Judgess of Feynix resided in was the centerpiece of a small park stretched across the middle of the Feynix borough, where trees and bushes bowed themselves tentatively. Although Emil could hardly fault the skill of her gardener, the public nature of her garden and the tightness of the foliage was far from comforting at this time of night. The evening was late enough for the park to be well-lit by the cloudless sky, and yet, the shadows of the trees and statues stretched far, easily deep enough to hide anything and anyone. Pulling the coat tighter across his shoulders, Emil hurried down a slim walkway paved with stones, a luxury many roads in the city were not afforded. He could feel the gaze, following him. Close by? Far away? He couldn¡¯t tell. All he knew was that he was being watched. Although the autumn was far from young, the trees still clung to their leaves, yellow though they may be. With so many leaves up and above, it would be no difficulty to hide up there in the crowns. Or perhaps in the mantle of that statue. Or maybe in the bosom of the expertly shaped bush, designed to look like a dragon being beheaded. When they had arrived for the dinner party, Rat and Plus had made a big show of pretending to be dragon-slayers; Rat laughing about how he¡¯d one day kill even a four-winged dragon, with Plus mercilessly bringing him back down to earth by simply noting how knives and arrows weren¡¯t exactly known for stabbing deep. Rat had attacked him over that one. Emil found himself chuckling at the memory. <[You are being watched.]> The chuckle soon died. Sticking his hand in his pocket, he left the impressive bush behind. Yes, he was there for a reason. It had been two weeks now. Two weeks of being watched. Not always. Not constantly. But often enough to warrant emotions beyond suspicion. Two weeks. The killings began two weeks ago. Was it a coincidence? He hoped so. Or maybe he didn¡¯t. If it wasn¡¯t a coincidence, then whoever the killer was was too bold for his own good. Going after those sick with the drake pox was one thing. Even standard goblins was one thing. But going after Emil? That was in the same category as a louse trying to take down an elephant. Nevertheless, in spite of all that, Emil couldn¡¯t help but feel weary as he took a turn and exited into the streets. There was exactly nobody about. This was only to be expected¡ªthe curfew was in full swing as of over an hour past. Emil was the strange one for breaking it. However, the curfew was intended for those who may be made a victim of the heart-ripper. Not Emil. If nothing else, Emil knew very well that his person laid completely outside the heart-ripper¡¯s pool of potential victims. He was not a goblin, he was not in the company of anyone, and he was not sick with drake pox. However, even then, as he walked down the deserted roads, stepping around the bloated and abandoned corpses of winged drakes, he couldn¡¯t help but feel nervous. His hard-soled dress shoes clicked and clacked against the cobblestone road. In the windows, the shutters were all drawn, darkness abounding. Even the street lamps had been doused. The city was darker than the sky above. Only his own steps could be heard, though he knew that he was far from alone. Eyes. A gaze like that of a predator. What did they want? If they wanted him alone, then here he was! And if that wasn¡¯t enough¡­ What was? Irrationally, Emil began to feel annoyed. Here he was, presenting his shy watcher with the perfect opportunity to strike, and he was doing nothing. If it hadn¡¯t been for the sensation of eyes following him, only pausing as he turned down an alley to follow him again soon after, Emil would have presumed his follower to be nothing more than a curious cat of some sort, or maybe a squirrel. Some little creature with neither the spine nor guts to do more than watch. As Emil found himself walking down a particularly extended alley that curved into a dead-end, he saw his chance. With a coolness that only barely hid the fatal beating of his heart, Emil moved through the alley, one foot in front of the other, click, clack, click, clack, his footsteps echoing off the tight walls. After a few moments of entering it, he felt the gaze once more on his back, watching him as a predator surveys the unusual movements of a prey animal. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt some sense of confusion in the eyes that tracked him. Luckily for Emil, the visage of his defenseless back was enough to stave off any hesitations. After less than ten seconds, the watcher followed him. It took every inch of willpower Emil still held not to peer over his back. He knew they were behind him. They had to be. And yet, much like Orpheus, he knew that should he turn to look back, his follower would disappear. The game would be up. He couldn¡¯t have that.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Pausing only briefly to draw in a deep breath, Emil headed into the dead-end. There, he walked down until he reached the final wall boxing him in. Turning back around, he focused his senses. In absence of his own footsteps, now, he could hear nothing. The wind¡¯s eternal whining dragged itself through the street. Shutters rattled and doors creaked. He could hear his own breath, moving through his chest and into the night breeze. If he listened for it, he could even hear his own heart, beating rhythmically within his ribcage. Steady. Not fast. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. Among those sounds, the footsteps of his watcher could not be heard. It was as though he was followed by a shadow instead of a man. Or maybe it was a hallucination. Had the stress of the plague gotten to him this badly? To leap at shadows, to see eyes in bushes? The night was large and cold, but where Emil stood, it felt tight¡ªas constraining as a straight jacket. Perhaps this was all a mistake. Perhaps¡ª He felt the presence turn the corner. Ahead of him, in the dark. Present. He felt the eyes on him. He saw nothing. It was dark, but not dark enough to obscure everything. There was simply nothing. Nothing, save for the eyes. The gaze. Disembodied, eyeless, but there. Seeing. Questioning. In a split second, Emil weighed his options. The staff was more versatile but the need for full incantations made it slower. In that case¡­ He raised his hand, his five rings already equipped for the occasion. All five fingers were splayed, ready. ¡°Whoever you are, show yourself!¡± Emil barked at the darkness. Ahead of him, the gaze wavered. Indignation reared itself in Emil¡¯s chest. ¡°Show yourself, you coward!¡± Moving his hand about, he tried in vain to affix his eye and ire on the invisible follower. Still, nothing. Realizing that his watcher might not speak English, Emil switched to the language of goblins. ¡°Reveal yourself! If it is a fight you wish to initiate, then meet me fairly. If it is instead my life you want, then I will not give it over easily!¡± Something in the gaze shifted. Had he struck a nerve? ¡°Well? Show yourse¡ª¡± There was something there. Where there had previously been an absence, now there was the distinct presence of something. Even under the light of the moons and stars, it still appeared like an incomplete shape, jutted and bony and not-quite-there. As Emil¡¯s eyes settled onto it, he still felt as though it wasn¡¯t entirely in focus. It was there, he could see it, he could even have touched it if he stepped close enough, and yet, no matter how much he told himself this, there was something about it that turned his eyes away. He had to struggle to keep his gaze from wandering. Then, as he watched it, the shape unfurled. Bony limbs constrained by corpse-pale skin pulled too-tight bloomed from the shape like the crooked petals of a deformed lily. It rose. Even when it no longer sat squat, it still appeared to meld featurelessly with the shadows, limbs elongated only slightly beyond what they should be. Not enough to come across as cartoonish, but enough to grant Emil the singular understanding that whatever it is he was looking at was not quite real. Soon, it stood fully upright before him, awkward arms dangling from a hunched torso, spine protruding across the back of its bony ribcage, skin drawn tight around knotted joints like the hide across a funeral drum. It felt like looking at a dream. Everything else was real aside from the creature before him. Its head hung deeply, a low-slung neck keeping the face level with its chest. A mop of greasy, tangled hair sprawled across its face, appearing much like a bundle of dead rats hung by the tails. Within that dark set of hair, a yellow eye peeked out, as bright as that of a cat. And it looked at Emil, and then it looked away shyly, and¡­ Emil¡¯s hand fell to his side. He blinked. ¡°...Kitty?¡± Across the alley, the creature was no longer a creature¡ªit was just Kitty. Face dark with shame, Kitty averted his gaze even more, looking down the alley he came from as though he was genuinely considering running away. ¡°...Yeah,¡± came his raspy, uncertain voice. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s me.¡± In the span of about three seconds, Emil let out the breath he¡¯d been holding, burst into a long-overdue grin, and flew across the alley. Only a moment later, Kitty was in his arms. Among the many people Emil knew, Kitty was the least likely to initiate a hug. However, considering the way the slim man froze up, stiffened, and then melted into his arms, Emil knew that he was more than happy to reciprocate them. Emil squeezed Kitty tightly. He was okay. He was alright. A trembling breath escaped his chest. After a moment, Kitty put his arms around Emil, too. And for a minute or so, they simply held each other. Emil couldn¡¯t tell if he or Kitty needed it more. However¡­ had Kitty always been so cold? Of course, he had never been warm to the touch, not when he mainly dressed in loincloths, but now¡­ He felt almost as cold as a corpse. But it had to end sometime. Steeling his heart, Emil dislodged himself. Kitty was looking up at him with big, moist eyes. It hurt, but if he didn¡¯t set boundaries, they¡¯d both suffer for it down the line. Emil grabbed Kitty by the shoulders, squeezed hard, and said, ¡°Why?¡± Kitty blinked up at him. ¡°Why¡­?¡± Emil clenched his jaw. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me you were okay?¡± ¡°¡ªWell, I¡­¡± ¡°I was worried sick!¡± Emil shouted. ¡°It¡¯s been two months since you sent that message! Two months! I¡¯d love to tell you exactly how many messages I sent, asking, begging you to tell me that you were okay, or at the very least not dead, but I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve lost count.¡± He felt disappointed and angry in equal measure, and he let both of them show on his face in a single frown. ¡°Did you read any of them? A single one? Or did you assume that just because you weren¡¯t dead, that I¡¯d be happy and fine and dandy?¡± Emil desperately held back tears. ¡°Are you that unwilling to accept that someone could worry about more than just your life?¡± Kitty¡¯s large eyes stared at him, his mouth slightly open. But he wasn¡¯t looking away. Somehow, the eyes seemed deeper-set than they were the last time they met. A bitter wrinkle clung between his pronounced brows, as permanent as it was telling. ¡°I¡ªI¡­¡± Kitty closed his mouth, swallowing dryly. He took a deep breath, and Emil felt the tremble in his shoulders leave. When Kitty lifted his eyes to him again, they were clear. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I was¡­ I was cowardly, and inconsiderate, and¡­¡± His pupils flitted down to the ground. ¡°And if you don¡¯t want to forgive me, I understand completely.¡± Emil froze where he stood. He blinked once, and then twice, before realizing the gravity of what he just heard. Saying nothing, he drew Kitty back into his arms. ¡°I forgive you. You¡¯re forgiven. You¡­¡± A lump in his throat proved difficult to swallow. ¡°If you come to me, and you say you¡¯re sorry, there¡¯s nothing you can do to me that I won¡¯t forgive.¡± ¡°No,¡± Kitty said, but it was a weak defense. ¡°No, that isn¡¯t¡­ But what I did, to my friends, and¡­¡± There was a strangled pause. ¡°I don¡¯t feel bad about it. What I did. It was just¡­ I did it because I wanted to. Isn¡¯t¡ªisn¡¯t that¡­?¡± Something clawed at Emil¡¯s insides and he grimaced. ¡°It isn¡¯t my place to judge you. It also isn¡¯t my place to forgive you for what you did to them, and what you did to others. But¡­ But even when there¡¯s no one who can forgive you anymore¡­ You should still forgive yourself.¡± ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to?¡± Slowly, stiffly, Emil distanced himself again, holding Kitty by the shoulders and affixing him with his gaze. ¡°It is only when you stop seeking forgiveness that you become truly unforgivable.¡± The air between them grew heavy. The stars peered down, anxious. Emil chanced a smile, lighting the alley if only a little. ¡°All that means, though, is that right now, as long as you stay yourself¡­ You can always be forgiven.¡± Somehow, Kitty didn¡¯t seem too relieved by the revelation. ¡°I¡­ see¡­¡± Unsure what else to say, Emil patted him on the back. ¡°Say, how about we take the rest of this chat somewhere nice and warm where we can actually see each other¡¯s faces?¡± Since Kitty made a face of sheer confusion, Emil quickly continued. ¡°I was heading home, so you might as well come along. I¡¯ve got good food if that¡¯s what you want?¡± ¡°Food would be¡ª¡± Drooling at the mere word, Kitty quickly wiped at his chin, only to turn to look down the alley they came from. ¡°But I already have¡­¡± At Emil¡¯s inquisitive gaze, Kitty soon shook his head, the internal turmoil ending by the promise of good food overpowering any hesitation. ¡°Yeah. Okay. Let¡¯s go.¡± 236: F30, Ill Let it Slide They went. However, with a situation as odd as theirs, Emil had no choice but to dig further. ¡°So, just to clarify¡­ You¡¯ve been watching me for two weeks?¡± ¡°I was trying to work up the courage,¡± Kitty admitted. Emil chuckled at his friend¡¯s absurdity, and also at his own paranoia. ¡°I guess we both were, then.¡± Silence fell again. It wasn¡¯t quite awkward, but it couldn¡¯t be fully comfortable when they still had so much to say to each other. ¡°What else have you been up to?¡± he asked, if only to fill the silence. ¡°I could tell you weren¡¯t watching me all the time. Did you stay with someone?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± Kitty said. Even as Emil looked directly at him, he still felt as though he wasn¡¯t really looking at anyone. Thankfully, the road ahead of them presented him with a good alternative. Emil motioned for Kitty to continue. ¡°I¡¯ve been spending most of my time training a skill, staying in no-longer-inhabited houses, checking out the place¡­ Normal stuff.¡± ¡°A skill?¡± Kitty lit up, turning to Emil with excitement. ¡°Yeah! I wanted to tell you about it since I got it following the whole ordeal with the Evil Claw Pirates, but I forgot because of all the, you know¡­¡± The thought was almost enough to fully smother Kitty¡¯s newfound energy, but an encouraging nod from Emil was able to rejuvenate it. ¡°It¡¯s another sovereign skill! From the god of cruelty, this time!¡± ¡°Another one?¡± Emil chuckled in disbelief. ¡°How many do you have by now?¡± Brought off track, it took a second or so before Kitty regained his train of thought. Bringing up his hands, he began counting his fingers, mumbling the names of skills new and old as he did, ending it by looking back up and saying, ¡°Seven, I think?¡± Shaking his head, Kitty quickly returned to the matter of the latest skill. ¡°This one is the strangest, though. See, it¡¯s both kind of useless to me and also potentially the most broken of them.¡± Emil stepped out of an alley before Kitty, pausing to let Kitty catch up with him before heading down a larger street. ¡°How do you mean?¡± ¡°Well, see, it lets me heal anyone fully. And I mean fully,¡± Kitty enunciated. Then, clearing his throat, he threw himself into an explanation, using a tone of voice Emil seldom heard from him. ¡°The way it works is that¡­ Well, first, you grab yourself a goblin, preferably a sick one, and then you grab another one. They can both be sick, but if they¡¯re too sick it becomes hard to get the heart without making things difficult.¡± Emil felt himself make a face. ¡®The¡­ heart?¡¯ ¡°So, then, what you do is that you incapacitate them both, because even if they¡¯re moments from death, they¡¯ll still get completely healed. Or, that is, the one you choose to heal gets healed¡ªthe other one gets dead. That¡¯s the first step, by the way¡ªpicking the unfortunate survivor. From what I¡¯ve seen, almost everyone has some kind of infection or disability or deformity, so even if someone¡¯s in peak health, it still works, technically. Don¡¯t ask me how, I¡¯m not clear on that. But, okay, so, once you have your victim chosen, you take the other goblin, and stab¡ª¡± his left hand shot out to punctuate the word, ¡°grab the heart,¡± his fingers clenched around an invisible organ, ¡°pull it out,¡± he drew his hand to his chest, ¡°cut off the veins and such,¡± snip-snip went his right hand, ¡°and then, still holding the heart, you open up the other guys chest,¡± he slit his claws through the air, ¡°pull out the old heart and toss it,¡± he mockingly pretended to throw something over his shoulder, ¡°and now, you have a five-second window to stick in the new heart.¡± Gesturing boldly, Kitty pretended to stick the invisible heart in his left hand into the hypothetical chest beneath him. ¡°And if you did everything right, this guy,¡± Kitty nudged at the open air wherein his transplant took place, ¡°survives!¡± A wide, toothy grin split across Kitty¡¯s face. ¡°See? Cool, right?¡± Dread churned in the pit of Emil¡¯s stomach. He felt his abdomen spasm and the stench of bile rose to the back of his throat. Recalling the advice Plus gave him, Emil hurriedly pulled a small bottle of water from his inventory, quickly downing it. Now, if he puked, it wouldn¡¯t be so acidic¡ªat least, that¡¯s what Plus said. He gulped down the final traces in his mouth. In front of him, mere inches away, Kitty frowned at him with concern. ¡°Are you okay, Moleman? Did you eat something bad at that fancy dining party? It did look pretty gross¡­¡± ¡°Are you the heart-ripper?¡± Kitty blinked at him. ¡°The what?¡± ¡°This¡ªthis skill¡­ Have you been using it on people? Now? In this city, in these past two weeks?¡± The way Kitty looked at him made Emil feel as though he was the stupid one here. ¡°Well, yeah, of course. The skill description was really vague. It didn¡¯t even mention that you had to hold the heart to be used in your left hand, and that the person you took it from could, at most, be dead as of five seconds past, and that the same rule was true for the person to be healed. Pretty critical stuff, but does the god of cruelty mention it? No! Ugh, some of these gods are really¡ª¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Emil grabbed Kitty¡¯s shoulders. He felt himself trembling, only barely being able to look his friend in the eye, a million questions running through his mind and none of them finding the relief of being asked. He tried to take a deep breath, only to find it staggering and shallow. So close, yet so far away, Kitty¡¯s face scrunched up in even deeper concern. ¡°Moleman, are you sure you¡¯re okay? You look very pale. Have you been eating well?¡± Something hard and heavy melted inside Emil¡¯s chest. A calm realization passed over his mind. Kitty was his friend. Kitty had been following him for two weeks now. He knew that Emil was working hard to cure the drake pox. He had seen the many patients Emil had watched slip out of life. He saw Emil¡¯s pain, and this¡­ This must have been his attempt at helping. The logic slotted into place, and Emil found himself reluctantly smiling. ¡°Th¡ªthis is a very kind offer, but I¡­ I can¡¯t let you use this skill on the patients. It¡¯s a miracle cure, I know, but using someone¡¯s life to save another is a horrible cruelty.¡± Kitty blinked at him. ¡°What¡ª¡± But then, his eyes quickly widened, and he turned away, his face dark with shame. ¡°...Okay. I won¡¯t. I just¡­¡± He turned back to him, eyes hopeful. ¡°Not even if both parties agree to it?¡± Emil clenched his jaw. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. I need to think about it. Until then, though¡­¡± He gritted his teeth. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell anyone about this. And¡ªand don¡¯t use it any more. Can you do that for me, Kitty?¡± Kitty nodded at him. ¡°Yeah, of course.¡± He tried a smile. ¡°I know how it works now, so there¡¯s no reason for me to practice it further anyway.¡± Trying not to think too hard about it, Emil said, ¡°Thank you. That¡¯s good.¡± He released his hold on Kitty¡¯s shoulders, and they continued walking. They would be home soon, anyway. As Emil glanced at his companion¡ªor, more specifically, at the prominent brand on his chest¡ªhe recalled the fact that Kitty was, at the moment, wanted by both Acheron and affiliated kingdoms, alongside the Server Alliance itself. He cringed at the thought. ¡°Hey, uh, Kitty?¡± Kitty turned to look at him. ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be at the mayor¡¯s estate soon, and if the porter sees you, he¡¯s sure to recognize the brand. Would you mind wearing something? Aside from the hide, that is.¡± ¡°Oh, yeah, sure.¡± A look of enlightenment struck Kitty¡¯s face and he shoved his hand into open air with a grin, pulling a massive fur coat out of his inventory. Without waiting for Emil to understand what he was looking at, Kitty draped it across his shoulders, buttoning it to hide his chest and the better part of his legs, too. The now well-dressed man grinned at him. ¡°Well? What do you think?¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­ Is that leopard?¡± He didn¡¯t actually need to ask. It was obviously a leopard, though with the way it had been crafted, he could only really tell it by the print. It was the kind of coat Emil could imagine seeing on a fancy old lady bringing her A-game to the Saturday book club. It if hadn¡¯t been for the fact that the arms, collar, lapel and hem were perfectly sized for Kitty¡¯s unusual shape, he would have assumed that his dear friend had robbed some noble woman and rendered her naked. ¡°Wow.¡± ¡°Here, touch it!¡± Kitty said, holding up his sleeve. Emil let his fingers touch the hairs. It was as soft as that of a living beast. ¡°And I made it a~ll myself! Not the hide, though. I can¡¯t grow hair like this, but¡­ But I¡¯m the one who tanned it and cut it and sewed it! Sure, I was following Father Moonlight¡¯s design, but I adjusted it myself.¡± Emil whistled. ¡°Very impressive.¡± He smiled at Kitty. ¡°Shall we see if the porter accepts it or not?¡± As it turned out, the porter did indeed accept Emil¡¯s strange new friend. Of course, even if he hadn¡¯t, Kitty would have been able to get in somehow. They headed for the west wing, where Emil and his party had all been granted separate, equally fancy rooms. Compared to the way some of his party members had decorated their quarters, Emil¡¯s remained almost the exact same as it had been when he was granted it, with the sole addition being a vase sat atop his desk; or, more specifically, the bouquet of flowers held in it¡ªthe flowers being a gift from one of his patients. Aside from that, the room was only remarkable in the obnoxious gaudiness of the furniture and ornaments. Everything from the desk to the bookcases to the bed itself had been carved from a type of wood so expensive Emil couldn¡¯t even recall the name. Kitty took it in with open-mouthed awe as he hung his fur on the coat rack. ¡°Whoa, now that¡¯s fancy.¡± He stepped over to the bed, running his hands along the shimmering overcover. ¡°Is that silk? Or, I guess, fantasy-silk-equivalent?¡± ¡°Spidersilk,¡± Emil explained tiredly. ¡°From some man-sized spider they specifically trained to produce large quantities of silk. It¡¯s disgusting.¡± ¡°It¡¯s scaly,¡± Kitty breathed. Emil perked a brow. ¡°It¡¯s what?¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡ªnever mind, not important.¡± Shaking his head, Kitty made no pretence of patience, leaping right on top of the terrifyingly plush covers to sit with his legs crossed. ¡°So,¡± he said, a twinkle in his eye. ¡°How¡¯s about some of that grub you promised?¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯ll get it,¡± Emil said, pulling up the shop. Desserts, meat, fruits, nuts¡­ ¡°What are you feeling?¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­ How about¡­¡± Kitty lit up into a grin. ¡°¡ªPrincess cake?¡± Emil gave him a look. ¡°Princess cake? On top of my bed?¡± ¡°Alright, alright, something else, I guess. In that case¡­¡± Humming, he stroked his chin, only for his nostrils to abruptly flare as he began sniffing, almost like a dog, turning towards the street-facing window. ¡°Ah, your friends are here.¡± ¡°They are?¡± ¡°Yeah. Ursula, Rat, and¡­ whatever the other two were called.¡± ¡°You mean Plus and Jazz?¡± Kitty frowned. ¡°Weird names, but yeah. They¡¯ll be here in¡­ Maybe five minutes or so.¡± He leaned down, resting his chin in his hand. ¡°Will you want to talk to them?¡± Emil hesitated. ¡°I¡­ suppose I will.¡± There was a lot to talk to them about, primarily the elephant sitting on top of his bed. On the other hand¡­ ¡°Will you be okay?¡± ¡°Me?¡± Scoffing, Kitty waved his hand in the air. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine!¡± The smile that found itself on Kitty¡¯s lips felt strangely mature. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. You go talk to them, and I¡¯ll be here when you get back.¡± He chuckled. ¡°And no funny business from either of us. Capiche?¡± ¡°...Capiche,¡± Emil replied. Before leaving, though, he bought a few bananas, a small pouch of assorted nuts and half a dried drake leg for his friend. Although he suddenly couldn¡¯t imagine Kitty going back on his words, Emil still wanted to leave him with something to do. Once he¡¯d warned Kitty not to make too much of a mess atop his bed, Emil went to the door, opened it, and stood in the doorframe for a second, looking back at Kitty. Kitty smiled at him. Smiling back, Emil closed the door behind him, exiting into the dark, quiet hallway. ¡­When did Kitty get so mature? 237: F30, The Councils Decision His party was surprised to find him still wearing his formal attire, but he had more important things to talk about. So, without giving them time to retire into something more comfortable, he brought them to the drawing room the mayor had set aside for them to use as a conference room. It was far from large, made even more cramped by the stacks and heaps of papers, books and supplies littering just about every single surface. Its size was forgiven by its disposition, being a corner room that overlooked the quaint avenue outside the gates of the estate, which granted it both natural lighting and a cozy atmosphere. At this time of day, however, it was fairly dark, forcing Emil to use a spell to illuminate the room. ¡°What¡¯s this about, Mole? You look shaken,¡± Plus said, hanging his heavy coat onto the rack in the room. Frowning at his tight outfit, he began peeling off the jacket, and the petticoat as well, only stopping once the only thing his chest bore was the simple blue dress shirt and the holster containing maybe one sword too many. Even with every piece of clothing being tailor-made, the goblins kept doubting that he really was that big, leaving him with clothes one size too small. Still, with the complexion and temperament of a beluga whale, he was not one to complain. Plus smiled gently. ¡°Did something happen?¡± Rat lit up in savage glee. ¡°Did you meet the heart-ripper?!¡± His grin dispersed any sense of gravitas Emil had been able to gather. ¡°Oh, I bet you did! I¡¯ve heard he stalks at night and comes out of the sewer. Was he scary? Did he look like a rodent in goblin form?!¡± Jazz smacked him over the head. ¡°Obviously not,¡± she said. ¡°If he met the heart-ripper, he¡¯d have him in cuffs down at the precinct by now.¡± She glanced over at Emil and thumbed her lower lip. ¡°Ah, unless he met him, and killed him in a brawl. It¡¯d be violently out-of-character, but that¡¯d explain why he looks like a reanimated goth chick.¡± Moving out from behind her, Ursula frowned, arms behind her back as she fought to loosen her corset. Now that Emil thought about it, he still hadn¡¯t loosened his own. That might have explained his breathlessness. With her chest no longer compressed into a tube, Ursula breathed openly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say he looks that bad.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± Emil muttered weakly. ¡°Besides, if he did meet the heart-ripper, and he didn¡¯t kill or arrest him¡­¡± She chuckled. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t imagine any other option, save for maybe inviting him home and bringing him to his bedroom for some charcuterie and chill.¡± The absurdity of her statement made the rest of the gathered members laugh. Emil did not join them. Moving over to the table, he took his position at the head, placing both of his hands on the back of his chair. ¡°Once you¡¯ve made yourselves a bit more comfortable, I¡¯d love it if you would join me.¡± Their good humor died painlessly. Sharing a few looks, they hung their coats, joined him around the table, and took a seat at the same time that he did. Now, they were all joined around the table, Emil¡¯s four companions looking at him, waiting for him to explain what all of this was about. However, the first thing he said wasn¡¯t for them. Loudly, exclaiming to the room as a whole, he stated, ¡°I know you¡¯re in here, so show yourself and stop being a nasty little snoop!¡± His words echoed through the room, bouncing from wall to wall, unanswered. Emil turned a stern eye about the room, looking at the floor, the walls, all the nooks and crannies¡­ ¡°If you don¡¯t show yourself, my opinion of you will be greatly lessened!¡± There was no reply. Nobody moved, not even his party members, who were currently looking at each other as though telepathically discussing whether to chart him off to bedlam before or after hearing him out. With Emil¡¯s gaze as harsh as his words, nobody dared say a thing. After almost a full minute of silence, he let out a long sigh, slumped back into his chair and finally looked at his companions. ¡°Looks like he isn¡¯t in here. Sorry, I just had to make sure.¡± ¡°Who isn¡¯t in here?¡± Plus asked, his heavy brow falling across his small, rounded eyes. ¡°Is there someone we should know about?¡± Leaning on top of the table, Emil sucked in a breath between gritted teeth. He scratched his neck. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s a bit of a long story, but I met Kitty.¡± ¡°Kitty?¡± Ursula asked, her voice growing dangerously sharp. ¡°Prissy Kitty Princess?¡± Rat grinned across the table. ¡°Haha, no way!¡± His grin slanted into a sharp smirk. ¡°Mole, if you tell me that you found him ripping hearts out of goblins, I swear I¡¯ll eat your boots.¡±Stolen novel; please report. ¡°N¡ªno! I didn¡¯t!¡± Jazz fiddled with a piece of her curly hair. ¡°But?¡± The others all looked at her as though she¡¯d put the pin on the meaning of life, death and the universe. They turned on Emil as one. Emil let his gaze fall to his steepled fingers. ¡°...But, he¡­¡± He bit his lip. He looked up at them again, the smile he wore being desperate, at best. ¡°He¡¯s been doing it in order to save people. To help us. See, he has this skill, and he can use it to¡­¡± ¡°No way,¡± Ursula breathed. ¡°No fucking way that he was¡ª¡± Rat barked a laugh, slamming his hand onto the table. ¡°Oh¡ªoh my God, that¡¯s hilarious! You¡¯re serious? He said he did it for you, and you believed him? Please tell me that you didn¡¯t fall for it, Mole. Come on!¡± His grin turned mocking, and rightfully so. ¡°That¡¯s what they all say!¡± Emil drew in a breath. ¡°He has a skill that can fully heal people if he uses the heart of someone else. He just had to learn how to use it, and then¡­¡± ¡°Two-hundred and thirty-eight,¡± Plus said, his deep voice smoothly suffocating the jovial atmosphere. Even Rat stopped laughing. Atop the table, Plus¡¯ hands were drawn into tight fists, his dark skin pulled taut over his calloused knuckles. ¡°So far, that¡¯s how many have been made victims of him.¡± His eyes darkened. ¡°Could you tell their families what you¡¯ve told us? Or are their lives less worth than the hypothetical lives that might be saved down the line?¡± Emil tried to meet his gaze evenly, but the tremble in his hands gave him away. He clenched them. ¡°He isn¡¯t a bad person,¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯s just¡­¡± Beside him, Jazz spoke calmly, saying, ¡°Twenty of the victims were children.¡± ¡°Twenty-nine,¡± Plus corrected. ¡°Of which seven were so badly mutilated their families could only recognize them by their clothes.¡± Emil buried his face in his hands. A hand touched his back, and he looked up to find Ursula smiling tentatively at him. ¡°Listen, Mole¡­ You don¡¯t have to defend him. We both know what the proper course of action here is.¡± Something in his chest tightened. ¡°No. No. I refuse to let him be turned in. There¡¯s still good he can do. I refuse to let him use the heart skill, but¡­¡± Rat scoffed. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t ¡®accidentally¡¯ let him go last time, then he wouldn¡¯t have¡ª¡± Ursula motioned for him to be silent. He obliged, unwillingly. A ragged breath escaped Emil¡¯s throat. There was some measure of determination shining in his eyes, a glint of the same resolve he¡¯d used to defend his friend last. ¡°He¡¯s selectively been attacking people who were infected with drake pox. Not just anybody who¡¯s sick, or whoever showed symptoms. He¡¯s specifically been going after those affected by the plague, with some of them being so early in the infection that the characteristic goosebumps were only found during obduction.¡± Around the table, four pairs of owlish eyes turned on him, each more confused than the last. Emil almost wanted to laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? He can tell who¡¯s sick and who isn¡¯t, even if they don¡¯t know it themselves yet.¡± Plus was the first one to put two and two together. ¡°Oh.¡± In close second, Jazz¡¯ eyes widened as it clicked. ¡°Ah.¡± The two runner-ups both looked as though they were trying to spot an acorn in a snowstorm. Emil smiled at them. ¡°Can you imagine how many could be saved if we used this properly?¡± He chuckled wryly. ¡°Sure, it¡¯ll never bring back those who have already died, but¡­ Wouldn¡¯t it be cruel to those he could save if we killed him now?¡± Plus made a difficult expression. ¡°Of course. However, how can we know that¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m against it,¡± Ursula said sharply. Emil turned to where she sat on his right, leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s say we get him to help. Assuming that he doesn¡¯t go off in the middle of the night to make a feast of an orphanage, what then? The plague is slowing down. Soon, it¡¯ll be cured¡ªmaybe thanks in large part to him¡ªand once that¡¯s done¡­ He¡¯s off again. Have you asked him how many he¡¯s killed since you last talked? Aside from the two-hundred-something innocent civilians here, that is?¡± A wrinkle of disgust cracked above her nose. ¡°You¡¯re more naive than I thought if you think he won¡¯t be right back to his old ways after this.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Emil said. ¡°He¡¯s here now, and right now, he can help us. He can help us a lot.¡± Despite the frown on his face, Plus couldn¡¯t help but agree, albeit reluctantly. ¡°Although I agree with you, Sully¡­ He has a point. Being able to treat the infection before it spreads could save hundreds, if not thousands from an agonizing death.¡± ¡°And that makes it okay?¡± Ursula asked. ¡°Is that how we¡¯re weighing lives, now?¡± She puffed herself up and pulled at an imaginary lapel, pretending to be a lawyer, saying, ¡°Oh, yes, your honor, my client did indeed kill all those children, but he cured anthrax, so it¡¯s all okie-dokie!¡± Slumping out of character, she turned to Plus with a glare. ¡°Like that?¡± Emil frowned at her straw-manning. ¡°No, obviously not.¡± He gestured in the air. ¡°They don¡¯t cancel each other out. However, if we refuse someone the opportunity to save lives because of their past¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m for it,¡± Jazz said. The arguing parties turned to her as one. She shrugged. ¡°We have all the information and nuance we need. There¡¯s no real need to prolong a vote.¡± She yawned, a motion that spread infectiously to both Rat and Ursula, who echoed the motion. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s really late. Both Mole and I have six-o-clock rounds tomorrow.¡± Hesitantly, Emil pulled himself up, trying to assert some manner of confidence befitting the team leader. ¡°I agree with Jazz. Does everyone else feel ready to make a vote?¡± A few scattered nods from the gathered members met him. ¡°Alright. In that case, let¡¯s do a show of hands. How many agree to let Kitty help?¡± Emil, Plus and Jazz all raised their hands. Emil nodded at them, smiling at both Plus and Jazz. ¡°In that case, we have our answer.¡± He made to stand. ¡°Again, sorry to call you out here after such an evening, it became rather urgent with¡ª¡± ¡°Hang on,¡± Ursula said, stalling Emil¡¯s attempt to leave. ¡°I have a few demands.¡± Reluctantly taking his seat once more, Emil turned to Ursula. ¡°As long as they are realistic, I¡¯m all ears.¡± ¡°Good. In that case¡­¡± 238: F30, Then it Hits You ¡°...You must be within fifty meters of myself or one of my party members at all times; you may only touch goblins with explicit consent or permission from me or one of my party members; you have to wear clothes that cover your chest and groin area at all times; you must follow the Server Alliance rules; and you have to follow the commands issued by myself, my party members or affiliated authorities.¡± Emil took a deep breath, releasing it as an even deeper sigh. ¡°If you want to disagree with any of those, I¡¯m honestly open to it. I was able to refuse a few of the stranger ones, like not being allowed to use your skills without permission or not being allowed within twenty meters of children, but the rest¡­¡± Kitty shrugged. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s fine.¡± Emil looked up at Kitty from where he sat at his desk. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ fine?¡± Shaking his head, Kitty leaned back atop the bed, stretching out his legs as he did. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s alright.¡± In the time it took for Emil to pick his jaw off the floor, Kitty continued, saying, ¡°Well, I mean¡­ Having to wear clothes is kind of inconvenient, but it¡¯s to hide this, right?¡± He pointed at his brand. ¡°Most humans look the same to goblins, but a brand like this is sure to turn heads. It makes sense.¡± ¡°And the others¡­?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mind,¡± Kitty said and popped a garnut into his mouth. ¡°Just don¡¯t command me to sing and dance the tarantella and we¡¯ll be fine.¡± ¡°...Right. I doubt it¡¯ll have to come to that,¡± Emil said, looking down at the book in his hand. Another one of the medical textbooks he¡¯d been allowed to borrow. The knowledge was outdated, but the guidelines of how to use healing magic alongside more standard techniques was useful. He looked back up at Kitty. ¡°I know I said this before, but, just to reiterate¡­ If you don¡¯t follow this, they will contact the Server Alliance, the authorities, and anyone else who might be interested in the whereabouts of a dead-on-sight criminal outlaw.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Kitty replied. The look on Emil¡¯s face made him chuckle. ¡°Really, it¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t mind it. If anything, I¡¯m excited! I get to hang out with you all day, and help you out with all manner of things while still getting further along in clearing the floor.¡± Triumphant, he held up one of the assorted nuts. ¡°And I get free grub! What more could I possibly ask for?¡± ¡°Freedom?¡± Emil suggested. ¡°Overrated,¡± Kitty said dismissively. ¡°Look at us, Moleman. We¡¯re the lapdogs of gods, kings and aristocrats. The both of us are right here in this room because someone else waved their hand and sent us here to do away with the plague. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a lot of goodwill and nice thoughts behind it, but¡­¡± He cracked a nut between his teeth. ¡°We sure aren¡¯t free.¡± ¡°That¡¯s one way of looking at it, I guess.¡± Rolling over, Kitty flopped down to let his head dangle over the edge of the bed, his upside-down head facing Emil. ¡°Isn¡¯t it nice, though? Whatever happens, there¡¯s always someone else to blame¡ªsomeone to pin it all on. I met some dragons, and they said the same thing. Sure, they pretended to be bitter about it, but deep down they really enjoyed not looking the truth in the eye. Cowardly as they were, they refused to face the final and most horrible truth of freedom¡ªthat no matter how controlled and restricted we are¡­¡± Kitty¡¯s blank, empty smile, when upside down, appeared all too similar to a frown. ¡°We are always completely and utterly free.¡± They stared at each other for a few seconds. Emil leaned back in his chair. ¡°Been thinking about that one for a while?¡± ¡°I have.¡± Rolling back upright, Kitty grinned wide, showing off his sharp teeth. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you never think about free will?¡± ¡°I¡¯d love to consider the full ramifications of guilt, control and choice, but I¡¯m way too busy trying to keep a city from collapsing on itself.¡± ¡°Fair enough. Though, if you ever want to philosophize, I would be happy to¡ª¡± There was a knock at the door. They shared a look. Without saying anything, Emil put his book back on his desk, stood up and answered the door. ¡°Oh, hey Sully. A bit late for visits, isn¡¯t it?¡± If the two of them hadn¡¯t known each other for close to three years now, Emil might have felt some kind of embarrassment at meeting her in nothing but his pajamas and nightcap. Ursula gave him a small smile in greeting before craning her neck to look over his shoulder, her eyes falling on Kitty where he laid splayed out on Emil¡¯s bed, perusing a book on wormkeeping. Leaning back out, she met Emil¡¯s gaze again. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m here to give Kitty something.¡± ¡°To give him¡­?¡± Memory hit Emil like a sledgehammer to the skull. ¡°No, wait, hang on¡ª¡± Kitty tore past him in an instant, his face open and bright with glee as he replaced Emil in front of Ursula. ¡°A gift? For me?! Oh, boy! What is it? Is it a¡ª¡± Her closed fist smashed into his face, sending the feather-light man flying across the room to dramatically crash into one of Emil¡¯s many bookcases, the bookcase thankfully avoiding toppling, though still dumping a few books on top of Kitty¡¯s head. Standing on the side of the violence, it took a moment for Emil to properly pull himself together, and then another to figure out what the best course of action was. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Running to Kitty¡¯s side, he checked if he was alright, at the same time as he turned to Ursula. ¡°Sully! That¡¯s no way to treat a¡ª¡± ¡°He¡¯s not my friend,¡± she said, blowing on her fist. ¡°He isn¡¯t my comrade either, or my associate, or my coworker, or even my acquaintance. He¡¯s my eyesore.¡± ¡°Still, that¡¯s no reason to¡ª¡± Kitty pulled himself up. ¡°What was that for?¡± he asked. But there was nothing accusatory in his voice. It was simply inquisitive. ¡°Mainly for making Mole worry for weeks on end, but also because you¡¯re a prick and deserve it.¡± Leaning herself on the doorframe, her eyes sharpened into a scowl. ¡°The rest of your sins can¡¯t be repaid with something as small as a punch.¡± ¡°That makes sense,¡± Kitty commented, dusting himself off. Emil winced at the distinct sound of fractured bones scraping together. ¡°Hey, Kitty, let me¡ª¡± Before he could even suggest the utilization of his healing spells, Kitty bit off three of his own fingers, barely chewing them before swallowing, the digits gone in a flash. And then, the scraping sound was gone. But the fingers¡­ For one, the open wounds were barely bleeding. Rather than blood spurting as it usually does, the deep-red liquid seeped out, thick and slimy like motor oil. Absently, clearly without thinking about it in the least, Kitty licked at the wounds, swallowing down the foul blood. Then, when he let his hand fall again, the raw wounds had been sealed. ¡°Was there anything else you wanted, party-member-number-two?¡± Kitty asked casually. ¡°I don¡¯t mind if you want to beat me some more; I¡¯ve got plenty of resistances to be trained. My fracture protection goes up the most if you completely grind my bones to dust while still in my body, so I think if you pummel me with a sledgehammer for a few days I¡¯d probably get it to immunity. Hm. I wonder if fracture immunity would cause my bones to always be broken¡­?¡± Color drained from Ursula¡¯s face. She turned to Emil. Since Emil was in a similar state, albeit more jaded, he could do nothing but shake his head at her. She tried to draw herself up. ¡°If you do something like that to him again, I¡¯ll raise your resistances so far you¡¯ll wish you could still die.¡± ¡°Sounds perfect!¡± Kitty said with a smile and a thumbs-up. The merriment quickly left his face as he realized his error. ¡°Ah, uh, not that I¡¯ll do something like that again. Really, if I had a repeat of that, I might just try to do something similar to myself. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without this guy.¡± Drawn between the urge to feel worried and the relief inherent to realizing that Kitty was still just as honest as always, Emil eventually decided to feel somewhat honored to be thought of in such a way by his dear friend. Ursula, on the other hand, drew back again, the stinging feeling of being defeated once more souring her disposition. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯d do without him, either. Maybe, if I¡¯m lucky enough to experience a night terror tonight, I¡¯ll be able to get a sample.¡± Saying nothing more, Ursula left, slamming the door behind her. The room fell awfully silent. The two friends shared a look. ¡°Was she always this harsh?¡± ¡®Were you always this fine with being insulted?¡¯ Emil felt the need to ask, though a more concerned worry for his comrade took over. After a moment of consideration, he said, ¡°I have to go talk to her. I¡¯ll be back in a moment, and since it¡¯s quite late, you can very well get ready for going to bed. There¡¯s a pink pajamas set in the cupboard, third drawer from the bottom. I¡¯ll be right back!¡± With Kitty doing a mock salute in reply, Emil felt confident as he hurried out of the room and rushed down the corridor, catching Ursula right as she was heading back into her own room. He regained his breath for a moment before speaking. ¡°Ursula, I¡¯m sorry, could we talk for a second?¡± ¡°About what?¡± She frowned as he opened his mouth to answer, speaking in his stead to say, ¡°Your serial-killing auto-cannibal ¡®friend?¡¯¡± She shot him a sneer, though he knew well enough that it wasn¡¯t really for him. ¡°Someday, that man¡¯s going to hurt you. Badly. And I¡¯m not sure I want to be around when it happens.¡± He put his arm around her, and despite the tension in her shoulders, she still found the strength to relax. She drew a hissing breath. ¡°Fuck. Fuck. Am I the insane one here? He¡¯s eaten children, Mole. Children! What kind of lunatic¡ª¡± Her jaw snapped shut. ¡°And¡ªand you know what¡¯s worse?¡± A laugh broke its way out of her throat, only for her to smother it with her hand, a terrified look on her face. When she pulled her hand away, it was trembling. ¡°He¡¯s funny. That thing with pummeling him with a sledgehammer? I almost laughed. Oh, God, I really did. And it¡¯s both worse and funnier that he was fully serious! That he just¡­¡± Allowing herself to lean into him, she wiped at her face. ¡°Damn it. I hate him, and I hate being near him, because¡­ Somehow, it feels like if I hang around him too much, I¡¯ll end up¡ªGod help me¡ªliking him.¡± Her eyes glimmered fearfully in the dim light. ¡°And that scares me worse than everything he¡¯s done.¡± He held her for a second. Not knowing what to say, he kept his silence. She took a few breaths. ¡°But¡­ you¡¯re right. He can help us. Hell, I know you hate that skill you described, but if it can let people give their hearts to save others, I can think of two or three people who¡¯d volunteer at the drop of a dime.¡± ¡°Linne, you mean?¡± Emil said. She chuckled. ¡°Yeah, Linne, of course. I never was one for euthanasia, but he¡¯s starting to convince me. And, I mean¡­ Imagine if, through your death, you could not only save someone else, but even bring them back to their physical peak. Like an organ transplant, but better. I get it.¡± Her eyes lingered on him for a moment. ¡°But, at the same time¡­ Once you open that door, there¡¯s no real coming back.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Emil said. ¡°Once you start, you can¡¯t stop.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll see, I guess,¡± she said, sighing. Then, abruptly, she shook her head and clambered out of his embrace. ¡°Right! You¡¯re right.¡± She smiled at him, the shadows of whatever had gripped her before fading from her eyes. ¡°Thanks, Mole. Honestly, I don¡¯t know where I¡¯d be without you, either.¡± ¡°Well, if you¡¯re both going to be like that, then I don¡¯t know where I¡¯d be without you all, either,¡± Emil replied, patting her on the cheek playfully. ¡°Though, knowing the world, I¡¯m sure I¡¯d be alright. And so would you. And Kitty, too.¡± He grinned back at her. ¡°For now, though, we all need a bit of sleep, isn¡¯t that right?¡± She giggled at him, slapping his hand away. ¡°We do, all too much. I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have to get up as early as you and Jazz, but¡­ Yeah. Sleep tight, Emil. And¡­¡± Hesitating, she turned to look down the hallway they¡¯d come from, only to find it empty. She looked back at him, a sheepish smile on her face. ¡°Tell Kitty I¡¯m sorry about punching him.¡± Smiling warmly, Emil said, ¡°Will do.¡± They bade each other good night, headed to their own chambers, and tucked in. When Emil entered his own room, he found Kitty passed out on the floor, wearing a nightcap on his head and two on his hands, for some reason. During the course of a minute or so, Emil simply surveyed his room. Strangely enough, before this moment, he had yet to consider where Kitty would be sleeping. It would be awfully inconsiderate to let him sleep on the floor, carpeted though it may be. Likewise, it would be cruel of him to force the mayor¡¯s servants to haul a bed or a mattress to his room at this time of day. Moving Kitty to someone else''s room¡ªor, God forbid, Emil himself staying in another room¡ªwould be a level of abandonment Kitty could scarcely handle. In that case, he supposed, among all the options, regardless of the questionable nature of it¡­ Reaching out his hand, Emil pointed at Kitty, using his airball spell to lift his friend into the air and depositing him into the bed, making sure to put him under and not atop the covers. Blowing out the candles, he joined his friend with little reluctance. Sleep came to him like an old friend, and he welcomed it warmly. 239: F30, Morning Routine <[Awaken.]> An alarm in the form of his skill woke him up, the word ping-ponging through his skull with neither remorse nor mercy. The fact that his room was as dark as night didn¡¯t help either, though a quick casting of the enlightenment spell easily banished the blackness, bringing light strong enough to make Emil¡¯s eyes burn with pain. Well, no use in delaying the inevitable. Groaning, he began trying to push himself off of the bed, only to have his efforts thwarted by a mysterious weight. Confused more than anything else, Emil cracked his eyes wide and turned to look at his chest. Kitty was sprawled across his chest, his covers thrown clear off. The sight froze Emil in place. Trembling, he tried to poke Kitty¡¯s face. ¡°Hey, uh, Kitty, would you please¡­?¡± Muttering something about how he should never have let some young boy become a dragon-slayer, Kitty flipped himself over, flopping right back onto Emil¡¯s chest like a particularly heavy cat. The air was instantly pressed from his lungs. Emil gasped for breath, and realized within an instant that, firstly, he did not want to die in bed, And secondly, if he didn¡¯t get up soon, he was going to be late for his morning route. He drew in a strained breath to shout for Kitty to wake up, and was just about to grab his shoulder when¡­ ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to¡­ Please¡­¡± Kitty whimpered, his face crunching up. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me¡­ I don¡¯t want to be alone¡­¡± Something tightened in Emil¡¯s chest. Reaching out, he gingerly touched Kitty¡¯s exposed back. Much like his namesake, Kitty leapt three feet into the air and did a somersault across the room, briefly becoming a non-entity before landing on all fours atop Emil¡¯s desk, his face twisted into a strangely predatory grimace of fear and intimidation. His cat-like eyes darted about the room. Emil might have been more impressed if he hadn¡¯t been busy clutching at his chest, which Kitty had used as a stepping-stool for his flight. And unlike Kitty, Emil was far from shy in displaying his pain. Gritting his teeth, Emil sat up straight, drawing in a hissing breath. Nothing broken, as far as he could tell. At the very least, he was wide awake¡ªand so was Kitty, by the looks of it. Emil sighed. ¡°You awake now, Kitty?¡± For a brief moment, Kitty looked at him as though the concept of speaking eluded him, and whatever confused questions he held could be understood telepathically as long as he thought them hard enough. This strange supposition soon passed, and Kitty straightened out a little. ¡°Um, I wasn¡¯t¡­ Did I¡­ Did you¡­?¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Emil slid out of bed, winced at the ice-cold floors, slipped his feet into his slippers, and turned again to Kitty as he stood up. ¡°Sully apologizes for punching you.¡± Seeing Kitty¡¯s brows furrow, Emil soon added, ¡°Ursula¡ªthe one who punched you last night.¡± ¡°The one who¡­?¡± Briefly distracted by the realization that he was still standing on top of Emil¡¯s desk, Kitty stepped down before continuing. ¡°Why? What¡¯s there to apologize for?¡± Heading over to the cupboards, Emil began to get changed. ¡°You¡¯ll have to ask her yourself, I¡¯m afraid. If I remember today¡¯s schedule correctly, we¡¯ll be sharing dinner with my party, which will probably be a good time to do so.¡± ¡°Okay, but, um¡­¡± Kitty¡¯s eyes slid over to the no-longer-made bed. ¡°Did you¡­?¡± Emil paused, hands hovering between the blue and orange waistcoat. ¡°Well, I¡­ I couldn¡¯t let you sleep on the floor.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Dogs sleep on the floor. You¡¯re a human. So, you sleep in a bed. That¡¯s not optional.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t need to sleep. I can just stay awake, maybe watch for intruders, keep an eye on the door¡­¡± ¡°...Like a guard dog?¡± ¡°Yeah!¡± Kitty¡¯s expression abruptly soured. ¡°Except, without the dog part. Just a straight-up guard, keeping you safe, making sure no one comes and steals you away¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Emil said, tightening his corset. ¡°Last night, you seemed pretty¡ªumpff¡ªquick to fall asleep. I¡¯m not sure how effective of a guard you can be if all you do is curl up and nap.¡± As Kitty stepped up behind him, holding out his hands, Emil let go of the threads, allowing Kitty to tighten them. ¡°Well, sure,¡± Kitty said as he wound the laces tighter, ¡°but I¡¯ll have you know¡ªif I smell the scent of a stranger, I can leap at ¡®em in less than a second! Because, see, I¡¯m not actually asleep. I don¡¯t sleep anymore. You can¡¯t grind your skills in your sleep, so I just meditate¡ªreally hard. It comes across as sleeping to the untrained eye, but really, I¡¯m ready for anything.¡± A thought struck Emil, and as Kitty handed him the tightened laces to be tied, he teased, saying, ¡°I don¡¯t know¡ªlast night, I¡¯m pretty certain I could hear you grinding your teeth in your sleep.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t sleeping!¡± Kitty chided. ¡°But if I was¡­ Well, there may not be a tooth resistance skill, but if there was, I¡¯d have it at the immunity level by now!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it,¡± Emil said with light humor. Putting on the rest of his outfit, he turned to Kitty, dressed to the teeth. He looked his friend up and down. ¡°Will you be joining me on my morning route in pajamas, or could I interest you in some proper clothes?¡± Kitty¡¯s jaw dropped open. He looked down at himself, and then up at Emil¡¯s closet, and then finally at Emil himself. He tried to play it cool but obviously failed. ¡°W¡ªwell, um¡­ If it isn¡¯t too much trouble, then¡­¡± Emil chuckled and stepped away from the closet, giving Kitty space. ¡°Pick whatever you want.¡± And that he did. Unfortunately, Kitty¡¯s sense of fashion was a bit skewed, leaving him to try on wildly mismatched outfits, each one a step more bizarre and outlandish than the last. Finally, once reminded that their time was limited and he¡¯d have to wear those clothes all day, Kitty settled on a simple pair of pants, an ordinary shirt, and a nifty double-breasted vest. No socks, and no shoes. Much like the last time Emil had seen Kitty in proper clothes, he made a point to compliment his friend on it. Once Kitty stopped being bashful about it, they headed out, with only a few minutes to spare. 240: F30, Hello, Doctor Benevil That went a lot better than I expected. Reminder to self: Moleman has eyes on his neck and can sense people looking at him. Magic? A skill? Sheer ability? No clue. But he can do it, even when I¡¯m in the fetal position, which suggests that it¡¯s more than mere instinct. Even crazier, he can sense me through closed and locked doors! All I wanted was to hear what he had to talk to his party about, but I guess I should have understood that it was a private affair. As for everything else¡­ Yeah. I¡¯m starting to enjoy myself! Right now, we¡¯re heading to the university hospital. I know the route since I followed him there a few times, but it¡¯s nice to walk on the actual road for once. In view of everyone. No disguise, no crawling and crouching, no shortcuts through people¡¯s houses¡­ It¡¯s exhilarating. And Moleman is here! He¡¯s walking next to me, the both of us in full view, and he doesn¡¯t seem even slightly ashamed of my company! I¡¯m so happy. I really thought he wouldn¡¯t be okay with me this time. I mean, with what I did¡­ He could¡¯ve punched me and it would¡¯ve been fine by me. Heck, he could have thrown me out the window and still be fully justified. Apparently, his party is cool with it, too. Weird rules, but since they can be followed by just hanging out with Moleman, there¡¯s no issue. So, now we¡¯re walking in here, in a stretch of relative silence. It hasn¡¯t been more than six hours since we did this exact same song-and-dance, so it¡¯s a bit surreal. I¡¯d like to comment on it to Moleman, but he seems to have enough to think about as is. Not that I mind a bit of silence. Peace and quiet can be nice, if it¡¯s with a good friend. However, the fact that we aren¡¯t technically alone sours it a bit. Every now and then, I¡¯ll glance up and see a pair of eyes peering down at me from between the shutters of a darkened house. I¡¯m fine with them looking at me like that, but Moleman? Let¡¯s just say it¡¯s taking a fair bit of effort not to crawl up the side of their walls and, you know¡­ Yeah. Moleman wouldn¡¯t like it. Our silence persists all the way until we reach the university hospital. The hospital is apparently made up of four buildings, each situated around an open courtyard. Without pausing to let be absorb the fact that one of the buildings looks way more like a gothic church than a hospital, Moleman strides into the less ornamental, more modern building opposite to it. Once inside, he makes me wash my hands, clads himself in a white robe, and off we go. Of course, it¡¯s not like a normal hospital¡ªthe walls aren¡¯t WHITE, the floors aren¡¯t WHITE, and the lighting is calm and easy. It¡¯s kind of cozy, though I imagine the people in here might not feel that. Yeah, on that note¡­ It smells really bad here. I¡¯ve been sneaking around the place for two weeks now, but it¡¯s really different once you¡¯re in here. The lack of modern cleaning methods leaves the place smelling at least slightly like death at all times, though occasionally the alcohol overpowers it. More than all of that, it smells like infection. In the air, in the halls, in the walls¡­ The smell makes me frown. ¡°Everything alright, Kitty?¡± Moleman asks. I meet his gaze. It¡¯s subtle, but since we entered the hospital, he¡¯s walking straighter, and there¡¯s a weary look in his eye. If I asked him, I¡¯m sure he¡¯d deny it, but I really don¡¯t think he likes being in here. Regardless, I smile at him. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m good.¡± ¡°Good¡ªthat¡¯s good,¡± he says, a hint of worry to his voice. His eyes quickly hop to look down the hallway we¡¯re in. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for not saying this before, but we¡¯re heading to meet with Doctor Benevil, who¡¯ll hopefully give us a list of which patients Jazz decided to visit. That is, assuming he is actually in his office. Where he¡¯s supposed to be right now¡­¡± That last part seems to be more of a general complaint than anything. ¡°Doctor Benevil?¡± I perk a brow at him. ¡°Is that seriously his name?¡± Moleman pauses for a moment, lips pursed. ¡°I think so. It could be a pseudonym, but I wouldn¡¯t know.¡± I stop in place. ¡°Wait, for real?¡± He looks back at me, makes a difficult face, and waves for me to join him again. I jog up next to him. He sighs. ¡°Alright, so, the deal is¡­¡± After only walking for a few steps, suddenly, he¡¯s the one who stops. ¡°Actually, I guess you¡¯ll understand it once you see him yourself. It¡¯s difficult to explain, so all I can say is that he really isn¡¯t as he seems.¡± That¡¯s one way to heighten the expectations, I guess. He turns to a closed door on his left, a small nameplate on it reading ¡®Dr. Banevil, A. of Cr.¡¯ Whatever that means. Drawing himself even straighter, Moleman knocks twice on the door. I look between him and the closed door, absently sniffing. We wait for a minute or so. ¡°Um, Moleman?¡± I say. He glances at me. ¡°Not to kill the mood, but there¡¯s no one in there.¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°The chair¡¯s still a little warm, so I¡¯d guess whoever was in there left less than a minute ago.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°...You can smell that through the door?¡± I stare at him. He stares back at me. Eventually, after almost ten seconds, he breaks into a chuckle. ¡°I hope you never stop surprising me, Kitty.¡± Reaching for the door handle, he pushes it down, somehow surprised when the door actually opens. And, as I knew beforehand, it¡¯s empty. The office is a fairly pleasant room as far as offices go, filled with potted plants and books and other various knick-knacks. The most interesting thing on display would be the caged drake in the corner, sleeping restfully on a little perch. It¡¯s been a while since I saw a living drake, especially one as colorful as this. Moleman glances briefly at the empty office before sighing and turning his back on it, closing the door halfway before his eyes fall on me. He blinks at me. I imitate the expression. I sense a metaphorical lightbulb above his head being abruptly lit. ¡°Hey, Kitty?¡± I tilt my head at him. He nods towards the office. ¡°If you smelled his office a little, do you think you could find him?¡± ¡°You mean, like a bloodhound?¡± He only gets the words out of his throat with great difficulty, ¡°I just¡­ Yeah, but¡­ If you don¡¯t want to, there¡¯s really no reason, I was only¡­¡± I stick my head into the office and take a deep whiff. Flowery. Soap. Sanitizing alcohol. Something sweet¡ªcandy? But also something else, some notes I can¡¯t really place¡­ I move back into the hallway. Sniff sniff sniff. I point down the way we came from. ¡°There.¡± He looks at me in mild awe. ¡°You are really good at that stuff.¡± ¡°Heh, well, with my skills, I could probably find anyone, if I was really looking for them,¡± I say, wiping my nose. ¡°Now, shall we find this Benadryl guy?¡± ¡°Benevil,¡± Moleman corrects. ¡°Doctor Benevil. And, yes. Lead the way, Kitty.¡± I lead the way. It really wasn¡¯t a long walk, and before long, we¡¯re in front of a door leading into a small ward to the side. This place is like a maze, and without Moleman to guide me, I would probably have led us into a closet or something. Anyway, after a while, we find the guy. ¡°And what happened then, Doctor?¡± The doctor swept a gaze across the bed-bound children around him. ¡°Well! I¡¯m glad you asked, my dear. See, the God of Curiosity¡ªHe couldn¡¯t let His darling little planet live in darkness, now could He? Without some light, we wouldn¡¯t be able to dance the summer waltz, and the sundials wouldn¡¯t work, and the whole world would freeze over. So, to let us live in warmth and love, He¡ª¡± The floor creaks beneath us and he turns to us. Cooky. His mane is a tangled mess sprouting out in all directions, almost completely WHITE in color and very reminiscent of a bird¡¯s nest. It¡¯s only barely contained within his WHITE coat, though my eyes remain stuck on his face in large part because it seems as though his bright fog-gray eyes can see nothing but me. Recognition flashes across his face and his smile widens to show a pair of distinct buck teeth. Before either of us can do anything else, he turns back to the kids. ¡°He granted us¡­¡± With a dramatic flourish, he pulls a small red bead from his inner pocket. ¡°The sun!¡± While the children stare with big, excited eyes, he fishes around inside his coat, retrieving a small pouch, into which he places the bead. ¡°Of course, He gave us many more stars than that¡ªthe south star, the big blot, the five drakes¡­¡± As he speaks, he moves about the room, depositing a single little candy into each child¡¯s outstretched hand, making sure not to miss a single one. ¡°Yes, in His eternal love, He granted us not just light during the day, but at night, too! And all was well, until the very first dragon came to be¡­!¡± While the kids were still smiling and wowed, he gave us a quick glance, turning back to them only to wrap things up. ¡°However, that story, alongside the tale of the very first God¡ªthe God of Harvest¡ªwill have to come tonight. You can wait that long, can¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Awww, do you have to go already?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t stop there! Please, can¡¯t you tell just a little bit more?¡± ¡°Pretty please?¡± The doctor chuckles warmly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry darlings, but I have a feeling our good friend Moleman has something he¡¯d like to talk to me about. Now, you be good, and don¡¯t tell Nursula I gave you those candies, okay?¡± The children all agree, and he turns to us, striding up with confidence very much befitting his title. Yes, although I really should be looking at his face, my eyes are stuck on the status message hovering above his head. He grabs my hand and I only have time to look down at him before he shakes it vigorously, smiling broadly. ¡°It¡¯s good to finally meet you! Oh, I have heard so much about you, my brother! Come¡ªcome, let¡¯s talk in my office.¡± ¡°I¡ªyou are¡ª¡± While I¡¯m still reeling, I catch Moleman¡¯s gaze. He looks tentative, but not fully reluctant, so even though I¡¯m confused, I let him herd us all the way back to his office. Well there, he sits us down in front of his desk, only remaining standing in order to remove his pet drake from its cage, the sleepy creature yawning before slipping around his neck to nestle in his mane. With that, he sits down in front of us, a smile wrinkling the edges of his eyes. ¡°Oh, I have been so excited to meet you. Now, is it true what He said about this martyr-making skill?¡± I slowly turn to look at Moleman. He¡¯s befuddled to the max. Right. I turn back to this¡­ doctor person¡­ and steeple my fingers atop the desk as a show of confidence. ¡°Who told you about what? Who¡¯s been talking about me?¡± He blinks at me. ¡°Why, our benefactor, of course.¡± ¡°We have a benefactor?¡± He laughs with mirth. ¡°Oh, my, forgive me, it seems I¡¯ve failed to introduce myself! As Moleman must have told you, I am Doctor Benevil, Apostle of the God of Cruelty.¡± ¡°No you¡¯re not,¡± I blurt out. Both Moleman and Benevil stare at me. ¡°Be¡ªbecause¡­ You¡¯re not. The god of cruelty is¡­ He¡¯s cruel and evil, and you¡¯re clearly¡­¡± His smile twitches. ¡°Oh, but I am.¡± He draws himself up, the dawning sun hiding his face in shadow, the grin he wears twisting into a crooked grimace. ¡°You see, although I may save lives, in truth, I¡ª¡± ¡°Doctor, I was wondering if you could tell me today¡¯s schedule?¡± Moleman asks, completely cutting him off. For a second I expect the doctor to send him to Hades with a look, but there¡¯s nothing of the sort. He softens back down, his smile shifting only slightly to return to his calm happiness. ¡°Of course! Let¡¯s see here¡­¡± He removes a list from one of his drawers. ¡°Yes, Jazz chose path B today, which leaves you with path A. Since you both came in so early, I expect you to finish half of the route before lunch-time, and then the rest afterwards, and¡­¡± He pauses, looking up at Moleman with a sympathetic glint in his eye. ¡°Would you be alright with coming in later tonight? Jod Linne is acting up again, and a few of his roommates have raised concern that he might not have much longer. If nothing else, I¡¯d like you to be present in case something were to happen. Of course, if you aren¡¯t available, I can always¡­¡± ¡°No, no, I¡¯ll be there,¡± Moleman hastily answers. ¡°I¡¯d love to help.¡± His smile turns wry. ¡°We humans don¡¯t need much sleep, after all.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, so I¡¯ve heard,¡± he says, shooting me a meaningful smirk. I pull at my collar. Eugh, maybe the vest was a bit much¡­ ¡°Yes, to be able to go without sleep is indeed a power to which I attribute much of my happiness.¡± Without saying anything else, he abruptly stands up. ¡°Now, I shan¡¯t keep you from your duties any longer. Will you be bringing Kitty along, or shall he grace this hospital for a bit longer?¡± ¡°He¡¯ll be coming with me,¡± Moleman says. ¡°We still haven¡¯t fully decided how best to use his abilities, so for now, I¡¯ll keep him nearby.¡± ¡°I see, I see. Well, you two take care of yourselves,¡± the doctor says. His eyes slide to look at me. I feel a patch of goosebumps bloom across my back. ¡°I hope to see you soon, my brother. We have much to talk about.¡± 241: F30, Hourglass ¡°Is he really¡­?¡± ¡°He is,¡± Moleman answers as he stands over one of his patients, healing the opened rash spread across her back. ¡°But he¡¯s¡­ Well, he was kind of¡­ But he doesn¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°I told you, he isn¡¯t what you think,¡± Moleman says as he wraps the wound again, smiling at the patient thanking him. With that, we move onto the next. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what to make of him when I first met him, either. I guess I still don¡¯t know. But he¡¯s wonderful with the patients, and even though he¡¯s technically a vagabond, he¡¯s been able to carve out a decent position of authority here. Even more miraculous than his actual miracles, the mayor and judges actually seem to respect him. That¡¯s what keeps me up at night.¡± As we move up to the next patient and Moleman begins checking for open wounds to be healed, I feel a need to explain myself. ¡°Well, sure, but¡­ Look, the god of cruelty¡¯s been on my ass for years now. I know him. As I told you¡ªhe¡¯s the one who gave me the clear requirement to kill the pirates, not to mention handing me the heart skill to begin with. He¡¯s not a good guy. So this doctor, this apostle¡­ He has to be some kind of ruse. Some sort of demon-in-hiding, eating the patients at night and¡­ Whatever else you can do!¡± ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t do that,¡± Moleman says with eerie certainty. ¡°He¡¯s exactly what it says on the tin.¡± ¡°But he¡¯s an apostle.¡± ¡°And what, exactly, is an apostle?¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s someone who¡­ Who gets power from a specific god, and acts in their will?¡± Pointing his finger at a half-open laceration, he casts a healing spell, bringing the bleeding under control. ¡°Yeah, essentially. And he, much like the rest of the scholars of cruelty, are of the Schopenhauerian belief that since living causes more suffering in the world than dying, the best way to make the world a more cruel place is to save as many people as possible.¡± ¡°That¡¯s stupid,¡± I say. ¡°So, what? They¡¯re all doctors or something?¡± ¡°Yep.¡± He bandages another wound. When he straightens out to face me, he looks immeasurably tired. ¡°They¡¯re all a bunch of doctors, forbidden from learning or using healing magic, working tirelessly to make the world worse by saving people.¡± ¡°Okay, yeah, that¡¯s really dumb,¡± I say. ¡°They can¡¯t actually think they¡¯re being cruel by making people happy.¡± Moleman shrugs in a way that tells me that he agrees with me too much to try to defend the doctor¡¯s position. ¡°I don¡¯t get it, but if it gets him to do good and help people, there¡¯s no real reason to try to change his mind.¡± As we exit the slightly crowded room, he gives me a long look. ¡°To reiterate, he¡¯s an apostle. The fact that he¡¯s on our side and helping us is good enough.¡± I want to disagree with him or something, but at the same time, I don¡¯t actually know what being an apostle means. He didn¡¯t seem especially divine. Sure, there was a smell about him, and the way he acted¡­ But it¡¯s not like he had a halo or anything. Eccentric, sure, but I¡¯d never presume him to be a divine lapdog. In the end, I drop the subject, mainly because Moleman doesn¡¯t seem too interested in it. So, I focus more on our little task. ¡°Oh, hello, doctor,¡± one of the many patients greets, her feeble face wrinkling up in a smile. Her voice makes a slight squeaking noise with each breath she takes. As always, Moleman greets her in turn, quickly checking her state and then asking her if she¡¯s gotten better or worse. ¡°My head feels much clearer now, thank you. But tell me¡ªwho¡¯s your friend?¡± And, as all the other times, he introduces me, calling me his assistant¡ªa title I¡¯ve yet to grow tired of hearing. ¡°Assistant? How charming!¡± And then he heals her, and she sighs because the pain¡¯s gone, thanking us as we move towards the next one. ¡°...And what did you think about Grennhild?¡± ¡°I¡¯d say she has a week or so left,¡± I say. He makes a pained face. Oh, God, I wish he wouldn¡¯t look at me like that. ¡°Well, if you keep healing her like that, she might last up to a month.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°And you¡¯re sure? You¡¯re absolutely certain?¡± ¡°Uh, well¡­ Kind of, at least. I mean, the infection¡¯s spread from the skin into the lymph nodes, and going by the size of her abdomen, I¡¯d say her intestines have started swelling, which means¡ª¡± ¡°I¡ªI get it. I understand. Just¡­¡± Eyes on the floor, I can barely see his face. ¡°I thought she might have had a bit longer in her.¡± I reach out towards his back. The sight of my claws almost touching his shoulder is overlaid by a thousand images of the same hand, the same claw, touching the same place¡ªslipping inside skin and muscle and bone and¡­ I draw my hand back. Deep breaths, deep breaths... ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I choke out. ¡°We can help her. We can save her, if we just¡­¡± He holds up a hand, urging me to silence. I obey. ¡°Please¡ª¡± He swallows dryly. ¡°Please don¡¯t talk about that.¡± Another room presents itself. ¡°We still have many more to visit. Let¡¯s discuss that later, okay?¡± ¡°¡­Okay,¡± I say. We continue on. At his request, I begin jotting down notes on how far gone people are. Of course, just because someone¡¯s far gone doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯ll die. It¡¯s just that in the numerous people I¡¯ve observed so far, by the time their lymph nodes and intestines start to fester with putrid pus and swarming bacteria, there¡¯s nothing to be done anymore. After noting down a few too many times that some people are beyond saving, I¡¯m starting to feel really bad for Moleman. He seems to like these people, and they seem to like him, so seeing them die is not very good for his mood. He¡¯s putting up a strong front, but I can tell he doesn¡¯t enjoy this in the least. So, even though I¡¯m far from a doctor, I start writing down exactly what the issue is, what might be possible to salvage them. I can only hope that Moleman will take it a bit better. I guess, if I can say anything, it¡¯s that most people are alright. Within time, maybe only a month or so, most people will either be cured or too dead to complain. And when that happens, I¡¯ll disappear, and Moleman will sigh with relief because the plague is over and I¡¯m gone, and¡­ ¡°Good morning, Linne. How are you feeling today¡ª¡± ¡°Today,¡± I echo, thoughtlessly. ¡°Today, he¡¯ll¡ª¡± The way Moleman looks at me snaps me out of it. What was I¡­? Below him, in a bed soaked with sweat and pus and blood, with his covers half tossed off, lies a goblin who¡¯s going to die today. His neck is so swollen by infection that his breaths rasp through only barely, his slick, sweat-covered chest covered with the characteristic swollen hair follicles, making it look as though he¡¯s got goosebumps across his whole body. A few of the bumps have developed into marble-sized nodules. Some patches are covered with cracked skin upon skin, healed and scarred and then opened to be healed and scarred again, currently made into rashes and open wounds. Going by scent, I can assume that the bandaged, pus-sweating right hand is where the never-healing wound is festering. I wonder when someone last changed those bandages? I think I can smell corpseworms in there¡­ ¡°Today?¡± Moleman asks as he draws the blanket back over the guy. ¡°What do you mean, Fennrick?¡± His gaze bounces down to the listless, dead-eyed goblin in the bed, desperate eyes returning to me. ¡°I agree¡ªtoday is a wonderful day. I¡¯m looking forward to experiencing it with¡ª¡± ¡°He¡¯s deaf,¡± I say, firstly. ¡°The infection¡¯s reached his ears. He can¡¯t hear anything.¡± ¡°That¡¯s no reason to¡ª¡± ¡°I give him twenty-four hours, maybe one or two more if his bandages get changed.¡± I do another once-over. Let¡¯s see here¡­ Sniff sniff¡­ I turn back to where Moleman stands, motionless. ¡°It¡¯s amazing that he¡¯s still alive. If it hadn¡¯t been for the magic at play, I¡¯d wager he would¡¯ve been dead over a week ago. I mean, seriously. Heh, I can¡¯t even tell how old he¡¯s supposed to be with all the welts and blisters covering his¡ª¡± ¡°Stop!¡± Moleman shouts. The air between us seems to freeze over. I turn to him stiffly; silently. He takes a shaky breath, supporting himself on the edge of the bed. Somehow, looking down at the living corpse between us, he¡¯s able to muster a smile. ¡°Let¡¯s¡­ Let¡¯s not take this in front of a patient.¡± ¡°...Okay,¡± I say. ¡°I was only¡­¡± The look on his face makes me swallow my words. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Yeah. I went too far.¡± Head still lowered, he doesn¡¯t look up at me. Damn. I messed up. I always do this, somehow. Why can¡¯t I just¡­? Damn it. I tap my foot, trying to figure out whether Moleman¡¯s silence is him trying to gather himself or some unsaid cue for me to, to¡­ I gulp. ¡°Do you want me to wait outside?¡± His head falls a bit further. ¡°I¡¯ll be out in a minute or so.¡± I take a step towards the door. ¡°Right, okay. I¡¯ll see you soon?¡± ¡°Yeah. Thank you, Kitty.¡± Exit stage left. I close the door behind me and put my back to it. Phew¡­ That was¡­ Is he overreacting, or am I underreacting?... It¡¯s just some soon-to-be dead guy. What¡¯s the point in keeping him alive longer than he¡¯s got? I don¡¯t get it. It doesn¡¯t make any sense. Even if I try to think about it from Moleman¡¯s perspective, I still can¡¯t follow it. He¡¯s clearly in pain. Pain is bad. So, let him die. ¡­But it isn¡¯t that simple. At least not to Moleman. I need to respect that, otherwise he might¡­ I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s just that, sometimes, he looks at me in a way I really don¡¯t like; the same way Simel used to look at me, the same way Vann looked at me, the same way he looked at me, way before all of this. The same way everyone looks at me. I take a step away from the door, melding a little with the shadows. Inside the room, I can hear Moleman speaking softly. I guess, in truth, what I¡¯m scared of is that since everyone else sees me this way, then Moleman is the exception; which means that, one day, he might realize that he¡¯s the one in the wrong, and he¡¯ll start looking at me like that, and he¡¯ll see me for what I really am, what I¡¯ve always been, what I¡¯ll always be: a monste¡ª The door creaks open and Moleman exits, his heavy eyes falling on me. He isn¡¯t looking at me like that. He¡¯s¡­ smiling. The door slides close behind him. ¡°Hey, Kitty. Sorry about shouting in there, I was¡­¡± ¡°No, no, don¡¯t worry about it,¡± I say. ¡°Being here is stressful for you, I get it. And seeing people in so much pain¡­ It gets to you, doesn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he says. ¡°It does.¡± He smiles warmly at me, because I¡¯m his friend, and he¡¯s my friend. ¡°Thank you for understanding. You¡¯re a good friend.¡± Somehow, it feels like he only said that last part for my sake. He pats my shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s keep going, alright? Once we¡¯re finished at the hospital, we¡¯ve got a few home-visits, but after that¡­ How about some breakfast?¡± Only now do I remember that the time is almost nine and we haven¡¯t had breakfast again. I agree without hesitation, and off we go. 242: F30, House Visits It took less than an hour to finish checking up on the patients, and at the end, my desire for breakfast was starting to overpower my diligence to a noticeable degree. So, as we head towards the stables, Moleman promises to get me something tasty for the ride. For my own part, I¡¯m mostly surprised that we¡¯ll be using drakes to get around at all. Since the drake quarantine, the only people allowed to ride drakes in public have been¡ª ¡­Officials and medical personnel. Yeah, okay, that makes sense. Still, I¡¯ve never actually ridden a drake, so I¡¯m not sure what to expect. We enter the stable, the smell of manure and straw hitting me with a vengeance. Compared to the hospital, though, it¡¯s an upgrade. There are about fifteen drakes in total, with the majority being of the sprinter variety, the rest being either pulleys or hump-backs. Moleman seems to know what he¡¯s after, so I follow him, trying not to gawk at the massive animals too much. Now that I¡¯m able to compare them to the real deal, I can tell that drakes don¡¯t have the same glint in their eye as dragons. Sure, they¡¯re also feathered reptilians, but they look dimwitted, and their faces aren¡¯t as alive. Honestly, the more I look at them, the more they¡¯re starting to creep me out. Is this the uncanny valley effect? I don¡¯t have time to ponder it further as the stablemaster meets Moleman, a warm smile crinkling his yellow face. ¡°Well met, doctor! If you¡¯re lookin¡¯ for your human friend, I¡¯m afraid she went out just an hour ago on Fleety.¡± As he¡¯s talking, his eyes fall on me. ¡°And who¡¯s this?¡± Moleman steps aside, letting us see each other properly. He¡¯s tall for a goblin, and appears to be about middle-aged, his mane cut short. The hand he holds out to me is calloused and scarred by what seems to be since-healed drake pox. I shake it. ¡°Kitty,¡± I say. ¡°Moleman¡¯s assistant.¡± ¡°An assistant, eh?¡± he says. ¡°Not bad! The name¡¯s Lent, stablemaster and only drakekeep at the time. Everybody else got sick or quit once it came out the drakes were the issue. Blasted worm-tails. If you ever have time over and don¡¯t fear manual labor, how¡¯s about working with me?¡± Lent spots the look on Moleman¡¯s face. ¡°Ah, master¡¯s running you ragged, is he? Was worth a shot, heh!¡± He barks a laugh, which ends as abruptly as it began. ¡°Well, with the two of you, I assume you¡¯ll need something heavier than a sprinter¡­ How¡¯s about a humpback? Very smooth ride. I¡¯ve got a girl who¡¯s been cooped up here for weeks now without anyone to ride her¡ªstarting to go bald, she is.¡± Understanding flashes across Moleman¡¯s face and he tries to hide his obvious reluctance. ¡°Ah, I¡¯m sorry, but the last time I tried to ride Charm, she took a bite out of me that needed three days to heal¡­¡± ¡°Nonsense! She¡¯s a wonderful girl. Come along, I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll be no trouble to you.¡± We follow him. En route, I¡¯m able to grab Moleman¡¯s attention with a small wave, upon which I ask, quite seriously, ¡°If she chomps on me this time, maybe she won¡¯t want to bite you?¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather she didn¡¯t take a bite out of anyone,¡± Moleman mutters as we follow Lent. ¡°And that includes you.¡± I purse my lips in thought. ¡°Oh, yeah, it would be bad if I gave her a stomach ulcer. Wouldn¡¯t want to put our own drake out of commission, right?¡± For a while, Moleman doesn¡¯t answer. I¡¯m just about to try a different joke when he says, ¡°These new abilities are getting out of hand. Soon, you¡¯ll start voodooing people into losing their hair and getting a midlife crisis at the ripe old age of twenty.¡± I nod in a sagely fashion. ¡°Survival takes its toll. We all have to do what we can to keep death at bay one day longer.¡± Moleman mirrors my nod, and we can talk no longer as we arrive to meet our new mode of transportation. Charm, as per her name, is a rather charming creature to look at, her pink-and-purple plume tastefully accentuated by yellow dots here and there, most of them concentrated on her broad chest. Generally speaking, she¡¯s a fairly large beast, her long neck matched by an equally long tail; both girthy enough to suggest a diet of nothing but protein powder, chicken breast and rice, none of which exist in this world. Much like the pullers, she stands on all fours, though she¡¯s markedly slimmer than they are. The most noticeable aspect of her physiology has to be the hump across her back, as squat and elongated as a body pillow. Lent moves to pat her by instinct, but a single glare from the drake allows him to remember her reputation, and he pulls his hand back, letting it fall to his side casually. ¡°As you can see, she¡¯s a feisty girl, but she¡¯ll get to where you need to go, no problem.¡± Moleman isn¡¯t having it. ¡°Do you count ¡®grievous mutilation¡¯ within your definition of ¡®problem¡¯?¡± Lent chuckles nervously. ¡°Ah, well, that is¡­¡± Hm. I wonder¡­ I step closer to Charm. The drake¡¯s eyes lock onto me. I stare back at her, evenly. I know telepathy isn¡¯t counted among my skills, but if I think hard enough about killing her¡­ Her eyes widen in fear and she tries to back away, the only thing keeping her in place being the reigns around her neck and body. Moleman and Lent have both fallen silent, looking at Charm as though she¡¯d gone stark raving mad, which she might have. I think back on the numerous drakes I¡¯ve killed, alongside the ones I¡¯ve eaten, all the tasty flesh and the chewy skin and crunchy feathers between my teeth... Mmm. Good stuff. Keeping this in mind, I step closer to her. She tries to draw back from me, but she¡¯s tied down. Her anxious eyes dart between me and everywhere else, trying to find some way to escape and finding none. I reach out my hand towards her head. My proximity petrifies her, and once my palm falls atop the bridge of her nose, she¡¯s no longer moving at all. I pet her. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Smiling, I turn to Lent. ¡°Like a lamb.¡± I don¡¯t remember if sheep exist in this world, but going by the look on his face, he isn¡¯t about to correct me. Turning to Moleman, I show off a grin. ¡°Well? Shall we take her?¡± It takes a moment or so for him to wipe the dumbfounded look off his face, at which point he hesitantly answers, ¡°I¡­ suppose we will?¡± The questioning part of his line was directed at Lent, who shrugs in return. With Lent¡¯s confused blessing, Charm is saddled up, brought out into the noon sun, and then mounted by both Moleman and myself. I can¡¯t ride for shit, so even though I¡¯m the one who used mind magic to tame her, Moleman is the one who¡¯s handed the reins to her. She tries to give him a stinker of a glare, but I¡¯m sitting right behind him, so I catch her eye over his shoulder. Magic murder mind powers go! I¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyouI¡¯mgoingtokillyou¡ª She turns away from us, like a good, obedient vehicle. I can feel her back trembling beneath us, but a nice pat on the side gets her well and stiff. Moleman mutters something to me about how he doesn¡¯t know if he can condone my way of handling animals, but I kindly inform him that, hey¡ªwhatever works, works. Right? And with that, we head out. Since Charm is wearing a prominent patch of a phoenix killing a dragon, it¡¯s clear that we¡¯re medical personnel, so nobody will stop us for riding a drake. With noon upon us, the streets are no longer empty. And, you¡¯d never guess this, but people are looking at us. They don¡¯t seem too surprised by Moleman, but me? Yeah, they¡¯re giving me looks. I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s fear or confusion or surprise, or even if it¡¯s because of my appearance or the simple fact that Moleman suddenly has an assistant. Either way, since a promise is a promise, he gave me a few fruits to eat as we went. Charm¡¯s back is surprisingly soft, and it doesn¡¯t feel uncomfortable in the least. By the time we reach the first house on our list, I still have a few fruits left, which I stick into my inventory as Moleman tethers Charm outside the house. Going by smell alone, I can tell this place is infected. Much like all the other houses, it stands squashed between numerous others, forming a line of thatch-roof buildings that would rent for ten thousand dollaroos a month in a real city back on Earth. And that¡¯s for the upper floor, alone! I follow at Moleman¡¯s back as we approach the door. He knocks on it with his staff, which is objectively cool. While waiting for the people inside to answer, Moleman uses a clean spell on both his own and my hands. I don¡¯t like the smell it leaves, but since we don¡¯t want Charm to get cross-infected by the pox, it¡¯s necessary. After half a minute or so, just as Moleman¡¯s about to knock again, the door finally opens a smidge, a small face peeking out through the crack. As soon as their eyes fall on Moleman and myself, they open the door fully, and there stands a small girl, wearing patchwork clothes and dirty, wooden shoes. Her little face is torn between relief, joy and grief as she looks up at Moleman. ¡°Doctor!¡± she cries. ¡°Doctor, please¡ªplease, come in, my dad, he¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°Is he alright?¡± Moleman asks as he ducks inside the low doorway. He shoots a quick meaningful look at me as I follow behind him. I sniff the air, but can¡¯t smell any putrefaction, so I shake my head. Moleman turns back to the child. ¡°Ida, where¡¯s your dad now? Is he still in his room?¡± ¡°No, he¡ª¡± She chokes back a sob. ¡°He went out to chop some wood, because it¡¯s been so cold, but he couldn¡¯t, he¡­¡± The feelings finally overwhelm her, and heavy tears start falling from her eyes. Moleman pats her on the head and looks to me again, silently urging me to find the guy. ¡°No problemo,¡± I mutter, sniffing only a little to catch the right scent. I begin weaving through the rooms of the house, towards the back, with Moleman following behind me. I¡¯m not exactly running, so I quickly mention, ¡°He doesn¡¯t smell too bad, maybe a concussion, but he isn¡¯t dead.¡± We find him, as expected, in the small yard behind the house, splayed out beside a stump, axe still in his hand. Moleman hurries up next to him, going down on one knee to check his pulse. And, yep, as expected¡ªhe¡¯s alive. The blood around his head is probably only from a minor cut, and the blood on his chest seems to be from the festering wound, nothing new. Without waiting, Moleman lifts the staff, reciting some incantations and whatnot to heal the worst of it. Once he¡¯s no longer actively bleeding, he turns back to me, saying, ¡°Kitty, will you please help me carry him? We need to get him back in¡ª¡± I hunch down, grab him by the legs and back, and lift him into a princess carry. It takes a second or so for Moleman to get out of his shock. ¡°That¡­ works.¡± Guided by Moleman, I carry the guy into the house, trying not to be bothered by the pus and blood soaking into my nice clothes. The little girl follows us as we go upstairs, asking if her dad will be alright, which Moleman obviously says he will be. Me? I¡¯m not so sure. A little fall isn¡¯t much, but being knocked out for minutes isn¡¯t good. My nose isn¡¯t quite fine-tuned enough to tell how long he¡¯s been out, but I doubt it happened right as we arrived. But even if it hadn¡¯t been for that, he¡¯s still not exactly in prime shape. Moleman pulls me up the stairs and into a room I presume to be the master bedroom. And, boy, is this bed in bad shape. I thought the hospital beds were bad, but this guy is basically sleeping in a pest nest. From what I can tell, the mattress is really just a piece of fabric tossed over a bunch of straw. With the straw being basted in a bunch of fleshy juices and whatever else this guy has been sweating out, I¡¯m not surprised it''s as alive as it is. Moleman doesn¡¯t seem to notice though, so I just lie him down, making sure his head finds good rest on the one pillow we¡¯ve got at hand. As soon as he¡¯s no longer in my arms, the little girl runs up to him, uncomfortably close to me, and asks us¡ªnot just Moleman, the both of us, ¡°Will he be okay? He¡¯s all I have left¡ªplease, don¡¯t let him die.¡± She¡¯s looking at me. Why is she looking at me like that? Why does she¡ªoh, right, the innocent adoration skill. Ugh. I should really back off, this is Moleman¡¯s territory, so¡­ She takes my hand. Ah. Oh, no. I can¡¯t move. I turn to Moleman, pleading for assistance. Shoot. He looks delighted. If he¡¯d been five percent less kindhearted I would assume he¡¯s holding back a mocking laughter, but he just looks happy. Damn it. I don¡¯t know who to be angry at, so I guess I¡¯ll just seethe at myself. ¡°Yeah, he¡¯ll be okay,¡± Moleman says again, because apparently, she needs to hear it more than once. ¡°And¡­ we¡¯ll send someone to take care of the firewood. Do you have anyone to make food?¡± ¡°Our, um, neighbor sometimes comes with a bit¡­ But I don¡¯t have anything to give in return, so I feel horrible¡­¡± the little girl admits, clinging closer to my arm. I don¡¯t understand. My arm is a bony, cold thing. Why would anyone touch it willingly? ¡°I see,¡± Moleman says. His voice is the same as before, but I can tell he pities the poor thing, which makes sense, I guess. ¡°I¡¯ll tell whoever we send to bring some blueroots for you. If nothing else, you should be able to trade it with your neighbor.¡± She wipes at her face. ¡°Th¡ªthank you, thank you, doctor, you¡¯re too¡­¡± She sniffles. ¡°You¡¯re too kind. You¡¯ll be back tomorrow, won¡¯t you?¡± He pats her on the cheek. ¡°Yeah, we will. Don¡¯t you worry.¡± She smiles, hugs me even tighter, and gives me an equally big grin, even though I didn¡¯t do anything. Moleman clearly wanted to hang around until the father woke up, but since we had a lot of people to visit, we had to cut it short. Before we left, though, Moleman made sure to tell her to explain to her father that he was in no state to cut wood, and that if he didn¡¯t want to get worse, he¡¯d better stay in bed. The little girl hugged us goodbye, we left the house, Moleman used a cleaning spell to sanitize our clothes, and off we went to the next house. 243: F30, Hello? Anyone Home? All and all, we probably went to around three dozen houses, with some of the infected being in a far worse state than others. Some were getting out of it, fully able to walk and talk and in no need for any healing whatsoever, while others were mere days away from their assured demise. For them, if their family agreed to it, Moleman would call for an ambulance by sending a message to his party group chat, from which either Rat or Plus would send an ambulance, typically also coming along with it. Plus was especially quick, and I got to watch him carry a fully-grown goblin out of the house two times. Watching such a massive man squeeze himself into the tiny goblin houses was a comedic delight, and it took every fiber of my self-restraint to not burst out laughing. And now, the time is about half past one, and we¡¯re finally taking a well-earned break in the form of lunch. For today¡¯s lunch, we¡¯re enjoying sandwiches bought from the point shop, as always. I asked him why we don¡¯t buy stuff from the city¡¯s many bakeries and shops, to which he gave me a number of reasons. For one, we have to curb the famine at any cost, and then there¡¯s also the matter of affordability, and, finally¡­ The food they sell isn¡¯t tasty. It took a bit of prodding to get him to admit this part, but it¡¯s the truth. The food in the point store is often of the earth-variety, fitting our palettes much better¡ªnot to mention always being fresh and ripe. So, we eat. This is a nice park to eat in. I think I¡¯ve done a fair bit of experimenting in here. Generally, foliage is very good for hiding things in, and there¡¯s less of a chance of people stumbling on you. Also, the bench we¡¯re currently sharing is comfy. Always a plus. I take another bite. ¡°And what then?¡± I ask between chews. ¡°We obviously couldn¡¯t stay in that city anymore. I mean, he tried to arrest us simply for being human. Diplomacy was off the table, so I fought for us to leave, but Plus wanted to see if he could change their minds, and¡­ Well, he couldn¡¯t, but he tried. We¡¯re lucky we got away with our lives intact,¡± Moleman says, ending his little story by chomping on his own sandwich. ¡°Still, a very interesting situation.¡± ¡°Yeah, sure sounds like it,¡± I say, swallowing. ¡°Sorry about that, by the way.¡± ¡°About what?¡± ¡°I mean, if I hadn¡¯t¡­¡± He waves his hand. ¡°It¡¯s alright. Just look at us¡ªwe¡¯re a race of strangely colored, massive aliens who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, unable to talk the language, with plenty of us being inherently gobliophobic simply because these guys look like, well¡­ Goblins. There was going to be tension. What you did was just a preliminary blow.¡± ¡°I guess,¡± I say, but I don¡¯t really feel it. I look down at what little I have left of my sandwich. ¡°So, where are we going after this?¡± Moleman hums a little before gulping down his last bite. ¡°Let¡¯s see, we last visited the Mettrin household, so the next one should be the Collis-Han household, which is fairly close by.¡± I stuff the last bit of my sandwich into my mouth-hole. Between massive chews, I point over to a nearby dilapidated house, and ask, ¡°That one, right?¡± Mouth frozen mid-bite, Moleman¡¯s confused eyes follow my finger over to the house. His mouth slowly closes and he turns to me, brows furrowed. ¡°Why would you think that?¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s, you know¡­¡± I take a sniff, frowning a little at the putrid smell. ¡°It¡¯s rancid. Of the five people in there, two are dead, and the rest are sick. From what I can tell, two of the sick ones don''t have long left either¡­¡± I wipe at my nose. Well, anyway. ¡°If it isn¡¯t where we¡¯re going, that¡¯s fine. I was only guessing.¡± I chuckle and smile playfully at him. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll get the next one right?¡± Ah, wait, that was the wrong dialogue option. When did I last see him this pale? Oh, and now his hand is trembling. For the record, if he drops that sandwich, I¡¯m eating it. Except he doesn¡¯t drop it¡ªit disappears into his inventory in a flash, with him flying to his feet just as quickly. He takes one look at Charm where she stands tethered and calm, then turns towards the house I pointed out and starts sprinting. I blink at his fading back. Wait, is he seriously¡­? I leap to my feet and scramble after him. ¡°Hey, Moleman, wait up!¡± By the time I catch up with him, he¡¯s already pacing back and forth outside the door, staff clutched in a tight grip, only pausing to try to glimpse inside the dark windows. His eyes fall on me as I approach, but before he says anything, he turns to the door again, raps his staff on the door aggressively, and shouts into the doorframe, ¡°Please open! I¡¯m a doctor¡ªlet me help!¡± He turns to me again, face twisted in inquisitive worry. How do I best say this¡­? ¡°They aren¡¯t moving. Two of the three live ones are lying down, and the last one is¡­ sitting, I think? So, they aren¡¯t answering. I guess they don¡¯t want to¡ª¡± Moleman takes a few steps back, and I only have time to think that maybe he¡¯ll leave them to their fermentation when he braces his shoulder and rams into the door, trying and failing to break it down. He hisses in pain. We¡¯re not exactly in the main street or anything, but I¡¯m still starting to worry that the sound might be drawing attention. ¡°Come on, Moleman, they aren¡¯t¡ª¡± He takes a few steps back and tries again, to equal lack of success. I sigh. Alright, fine. I put my hand on his shoulder. ¡°Hang on.¡± He looks at me with real desperation. ¡°Stand back¡ªwatch a master do his work.¡± Ignoring the nagging feeling that there¡¯s really no reason to do this, I squat down in front of the door, leveling my eyes with the keyhole. I stick my claws inside. Let¡¯s see here, with a little this, and a little that¡­ Poke poke poke¡­ Click! I stand up, take a step back, and do a funny little curtsy, showing him the door. With an indecipherable look on his face, he strides past me, throws open the door, and then instantly stumbles back at the release of a putrid cloud of stench. Yeesh, that¡¯s bad. It¡¯s to the point where I can¡¯t even tell how for long whoever¡¯s released this has been dead. Nevertheless, once he¡¯s recovered himself, Moleman enters, holding his elbow over his lower face. I enter behind him. He gives me a look. ¡°Dead bodies are on the second floor,¡± I say. ¡°The live ones are¡­ in the same room, I think. It¡¯s hard to tell with the rotting stench thing.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Not listening any further, he heads towards the stairs. I follow him at a reasonable pace. This place is really badly off, though. Even ignoring the smell, it¡¯s almost completely destitute. The smell upstairs is only matched by the stench wafting out of the kitchen¡ªor, I guess, what¡¯s left of it. Small place, kind of cozy. Hand-carved wooden toys, charcoal pictures on the walls, a table set for five, and dust covering everything. I follow Moleman up the stairs. The rancid smell gets worse. Down the hall, through a door¡ªthat¡¯s where they are. Moleman creeps closer towards it, hand clutching his staff tight enough to turn his knuckles WHITE. I follow after him. He puts his hand on the doorknob, turns it, and pulls the door open. A swarm of corpseflies burst out in a cloud, their BLACK wings beating as they surround Moleman and then pass him, flying past me, spreading through the hall, closely followed by the unmistakable scent of rotting flesh and festering bacteria, thick enough to make my eyes water. Ahead of me, Moleman stands in the doorway, his back turned to me, frozen in place. Staff in hand, he tries to grip the doorframe, only for his trembling hand to slide down the rough wood, staff tumbling out of his hand as he collapses to his knees, his body beginning to heave and convulse as though he¡¯s about to puke or something. I pace up behind him, poking my head into the room. Ah, yeah, that¡¯s bad. Let¡¯s see¡­ The two corpses on the bed seem to be the parents, but it¡¯s difficult to tell since they¡¯ve kind of melded together. I can mainly tell them apart since one¡ªthe father, I think¡ªis so far into his decomposition that he¡¯s turned almost completely BLACK, his limbs dried up while his head and chest have partially dissolved, corpseworms and various bacteria making a feast of his face to the point where it¡¯s hard to tell if he¡¯s even got a jaw anymore. The chest is open, but the internal organs are all one big mass of melted, necrotic tissue, interspersed with little patches of eggs and mold. At his side, arms slung around and across him, is a bloated corpse, equally faceless, though as a result of the welts and weeping wounds, this time. Considering the size, it ought to be the mother, not that I can tell by the actual shape of the body or anything. Her abdomen is swollen enough to look pregnant, but the faint gnawing and scraping coming from within tells me that the case is completely different. However, the thing that I think made Moleman lose his lunch just now is probably the three survivors. Three kids, one being a toddler going by the size, with the other two being maybe seven and ten each, though it¡¯s difficult to tell. The two smaller lie in an equally small bed, bundled together in much the same way as their parents. The tiny one is so swollen with chafed-up nodules and built-up infection that it looks like a little balloon animal, the clothes it wears clinging so tightly around its limbs that they¡¯ve turned a deep, dead purple. The one holding onto it as though it was the only thing that matters anymore looks moderately better, though the football-sized abdomen is making a strong case for its remaining lifetime being brief. Unlike the toddler, this one is actually able to look at us; tired, dead eyes watching us as though we¡¯re spectors of oncoming death. Worryingly enough, it seems as though that thought makes it smile. Hm. The last one is a bit larger, and not as infected as the others, so I can tell that it¡¯s a girl. She sits on the floor, her exposed knees covered with cracked and blooded skin, one hand raised to lie on the bedridden child¡¯s shoulder. She sees us in less of a fever-formed haze, so among them, I guess she has the highest chance of survival, assuming we treat her quickly. The other two¡­ Not quite. I turn back to Moleman. ¡°Hey, Moleman, we should probably call an¡ª¡± Ah, he¡¯s on all fours. Is it just me, or did the puddle of puke he made earlier expand a little? And is he¡­? Oh, yeah, now that I¡¯m listening closer to it, I can hear him mumbling a prayer of some sort. Hrm. That¡¯s worrying. He¡¯s the one with the magic and the access to ambulances, so if he wants these kids saved, then he¡¯s the one who¡­ Not that I care, of course. Now that I¡¯m thinking about it, maybe that apostle of cruelty isn¡¯t so off the mark. I mean, if these three kids die now, he won¡¯t have to watch them ferment while alive for the next hours, days, weeks, or even months. There¡¯d be a lot less suffering in the world if they just died right now. At least two of them have mostly lost the will to live, so I can¡¯t really¡­ There¡¯s a rasping breath. The girl on the floor turns one dark eye to me. And all of a sudden, by the effect of divine intervention, she can see me. And through that, she trusts me. Her little face scrunches up, body moving for the first time in hours, maybe days, skin cracking at the movement, fresh blood with the scent of disease rolling down her face and hands as she says, in a hoarse, whispering little voice, ¡°Please, please, help us.¡± Her throat is sore, words only barely able to escape her diseased chest. ¡°Please, mister angel¡ªsave them.¡± ¡­Ugh. I sigh, turn to Moleman, and accept the fact that I¡¯m never getting out of this gig. Walking up to where he¡¯s kneeling, I squat down next to him, putting a hand on his back. He jerks at the touch, but can¡¯t bring himself to move any more. Unsure of what else to do, I grab his shoulders and lift him a little off the ground, bringing his face to my level. Wow, he does not look good. If I couldn¡¯t smell the warmth on him, I might have thought we had three corpses in here, heh. Ah, shoot, making jokes isn¡¯t helping, uh¡­ I shake him a little. ¡°Hey, man, pull yourself together, this is no time to¡­¡± No, that isn¡¯t working either. Hrm. I hug him. When I stop hugging him, he¡¯s still as listless and wide-eyed as before. Weird, that usually works¡­ Words didn¡¯t help, physical affection didn¡¯t help¡­ I frown at him. ¡°Sorry about this,¡± I say and slap him across the face. He blinks at me. Oh, hey, someone¡¯s home! Well, maybe. I lean in closer. ¡°Hey, Moleman, sorry to say, but I kind of need you to pull yourself together if you want to save these poor innocent kids. I could save them, but I don¡¯t think you¡¯d like it, so unless you want me to do something bad, you might want to snap out of it. You hear me?¡± His jaw works itself as if he¡¯s trying to say something, which is good enough for me. I drag him to his feet and support him all the way over to the kids. ¡°Here, see?¡± I say, pointing at them. ¡°Do you want to help them or not?¡± ¡°Ah¡­ ahh¡­¡± he moans powerlessly, but being able to make any noise is good enough for me. The staff is on the floor, so I pick it up and press it into his hand. I point it towards, let¡¯s see¡­ the toddler, maybe? Woo-woo-woo¡­ Magic, go! Ah, it¡¯s not working. ¡°Moleman, could you¡ª¡± ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!¡± he abruptly screams, flying out of my arms and casting the staff aside like it¡¯s a poisonous snake, and suddenly he¡¯s running towards the door, only to trip on the doorframe and go tumbling. What is he even doing anymore? Picking the staff back off the floor, I jog up to him. Now he¡¯s lying all curled up on the floor, knees pressed to his chest, and sobbing softly. ¡­No, wait, scratch that¡ªhe¡¯s giggling. Which is a bit more worrying, honestly. I crouch down next to him. ¡°Moleman, um¡­¡± What am I even trying to say here? This is insane. He¡¯s acting like a lunatic. ¡°Do you want to¡­ go? We don¡¯t have to save the kids, that¡¯s totally optional here, man. It¡¯s cool. We can go get another sandwich, check if Charm¡¯s been stolen or not¡­ It¡¯s alright.¡± He freezes and goes silent. Then, he wipes his face, pulls himself to his feet and smiles at me, holding out his hand. Confused but obedient, I place the staff in his hand. He looks down at it, his left eye twitching. ¡°No, wait, I¡¯ve changed my mind,¡± he pushes the staff back into my hands. ¡°I¡¯ll call for an ambulance, could you go reassure the¡ªthe¡ªthe¡­¡± He makes a gravelly, hoarse noise, like the last air escaping a dead man¡¯s lungs. ¡°The patients.¡± ¡°Um¡­ Yeah, alright, sure,¡± I say, stepping back towards the room. I pause before entering, frowning at him. ¡°Are you¡­ okay? You aren¡¯t, like¡ª¡± ¡°NOW!¡± he shrieks, his voice cracking. ¡°Now, please, oh, God, now, please, don¡¯t do this to me, please, Fennrick, Kitty, Lo, just¡ªnow. Now.¡± I jolt back. ¡°Ah, uh, yeah, um¡­ Of course. S¡ªsorry,¡± I say, cowering back and into the room. There are the kids. Good. I go down on one knee in front of them. For once, I¡¯m happy that I¡¯ve got the innocent adoration skill. Without that, I don¡¯t think this girl would be looking at me like this. I muster a smile at her. ¡°Hey, kid, um¡­ What¡¯s your name?¡± For a few seconds, she just looks at me like I¡¯m the patron saint of saving dying kids. She draws a labored breath. ¡°M¡ªMitt,¡± she says. ¡°Is¡­ is mom¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say, putting a hand on her shoulder.¡° She isn¡¯t with us anymore. But my friend¡­ he¡¯s a doctor¡­ He¡¯s calling for an ambulance now. They¡¯ll be here soon. So, just take it easy. If you want, you can fall asleep now. You¡¯re tired, aren¡¯t you? But it¡¯s okay now. You can lie down¡ªyour brothers will be fine.¡± And she trusts me. So, she smiles, her eyes flutter closed, and I catch her in my arms. 244: F30, Working Through It By the time the ambulance arrives, Moleman has snapped out of it¡ªmostly, I think. He healed Mitt, helped get the kids into the ambulance, and then¡­ Well, I thought that since we found them and the kids were clearly in shock, Moleman might want to come with them to the hospital. But he looked at me like I was crazy, told me that we still had like a dozen houses left to visit, and¡­ Sure, that¡¯s true, but¡­ No buts. We continued. Moleman seemed like himself. Too much so. The rest of the houses went okay. We found a dead body in one, but Moleman didn¡¯t react as badly. Maybe it was the putrefaction, not the actual being-a-dead-body thing? Unsure. I want to ask him, but I don¡¯t think this is the right time, and, honestly¡­ I don¡¯t think there will ever be a right time. We returned to the hospital at around noon, at which point Moleman, without taking a single break, went straight to do another round through the hospital, healing patients again. I want to admire his fighting spirit, but I¡¯m starting to question if it¡¯s actually a strength to begin with. Mitt and her brother had apparently been lucky enough to get their own room, which we visited. The toddler didn¡¯t make the ride there. Moleman didn¡¯t seem to mind. He smiled at them and made jokes and healed them and then we left the room. ¡°Midnight,¡± I mumble. Moleman keeps walking, smiling lightly. I clench my hands into fists. A little louder, I say, again, ¡°Midnight. He¡¯ll be gone by¡ª¡± ¡°I know!¡± His fiery eyes turn to me. ¡°I know. I get it. You don¡¯t need to tell me every time. Or do you want me to¡ªto¡­¡± His smile grows tighter, thinner; downright strained. ¡°Just write it down and hand it to Benevil later. I don¡¯t want to¡­ I don¡¯t need to know. Can¡¯t you do that much, Kitty?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say. ¡°I was only¡­¡± I don¡¯t know what I was only anymore, so I hold my tongue. ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°Sometimes, you can be so¡­¡± He draws a sharp breath. ¡°No, nothing. Nothing. Let¡¯s keep going. We still have people to heal.¡± ¡°Yeah. Okay.¡± We continue. Noon rolls into evening and for the first time in hours, Moleman pauses¡ªthough only to skim through a personal message asking when he¡¯ll be home for dinner. He writes something quick and then sends it off. I glance at the time. <18:20:11 Day 1 007> Yeah, it¡¯s dinner time alright. Well, if it¡¯s time to go home, then I guess it¡¯s about time to wash up and change out of this apron. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Moleman asks. I pause, the loop of my apron halfway over my head. ¡°I¡¯m, uh¡­ Getting ready to go home for dinner?¡± He gives me a strange look. ¡°That¡­ that is what we¡¯re doing, isn¡¯t it?¡± His face twitches down into a frown, and all of a sudden he looks so confused that I can¡¯t help but feel a twinge of shame. But then he catches himself and looks down at his own feet, brow furrowing at himself, not at me, as though his own actions have left him speechless. He shakes his head, lifting his head to face me again. He looks strangely mournful. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I was¡­ I told them I can¡¯t make it, there¡¯s so much work, and if something happens, we really need one of us to be here, and I¡¯m the leader, so¡­¡± He wrings his hands. ¡°If you want, I can tell them that you¡¯ll come on your own.¡± A smile wiggles its way onto his face, but his eyes still look weary. ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡ªthey¡¯re nice. I know they¡¯ve been a bit withdrawn today, but if you get to know them a bit, then¡­¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°No¡ªno,¡± I say. Shoot. I do not like this. I mean, look at him! He¡¯s barely staying on his feet, and his face is almost worse off than the patients. Oh, and I saw him sneakily using healing spells on himself, just to keep moving. He needs to get some rest¡ªsome proper food and good company. He needs¡­ He needs someone to talk to about what happened today¡ªsomeone who isn¡¯t me. ¡°Moleman, I really think you should¡ª¡± He stares at me. In the evening darkness, with the cramped room lit by only the glowing disk of magical light he summoned, I can only barely see his eyes¡ªhis strained, desperate smile. ¡°What is it, Kitty?¡± I shrink back a little. ¡°No, it¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s nothing.¡± I try to smile, but I can¡¯t match it to whatever it is he¡¯s wearing, so I have no idea if that¡¯s the expression I¡¯m actually making. My hand is trembling, so I grip it hard, my claws sinking a little into my skin. ¡°I¡¯ll stay here. You can tell them I won¡¯t be coming either.¡± There¡¯s a chuckle, and I realize after a moment that it¡¯s mine. ¡°I mean, what would I even say to them? ¡®Ah, yeah, sorry, your friend couldn¡¯t make it, so you¡¯ll have to make do with¡ª¡± He hugs me. Tightly. Even with only one arm, he holds me tight enough to almost choke the air out of me. ¡°Thank you,¡± I hear him whisper. He draws out again, wiping his face with his shoulder. His voice is heavy and quivering as he says, ¡°Thank you. It means¡­ It means a lot.¡± He pats my shoulder affectionately. ¡°I¡¯m glad to know you.¡± And still, somehow, for some reason, it feels like I chose the wrong dialogue option. So, as expected, we worked through the evening. We did take a dinner break, spent in the small scrub we call the break room. It consisted of sandwiches, fruit, and a muffin each. Somehow, despite being so quaint and calming, it didn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was off. We continued working into the night, also healing the patients Jazz took care of earlier in the day. They were happy to see him, unless they were asleep, in which case the gentle magic let them sleep just a smidge easier. Towards nine in the evening, we meet the last patient for me to tally. They, much like most of the people in the building, have pretty good chances of surviving; and with their symptoms mild and the infection abating, Moleman allows me the pleasure of telling them that if they keep this up, they¡¯ll be fully recovered in a week or so. And same as the other times I¡¯ve done this, the patient beams up, and Moleman smiles, the shadows banished from his face for the coming¡­ five minutes or so. Then, we¡¯ll meet the next patient and his disposition will fall again. As it has done all the other times. We leave the patient, and I write the time until recovery into the draft in my messages. Moleman sent me the full patient list earlier in a message, which I¡¯ve been annotating for the past day. Looks good! I turn to Moleman where we walk in the hallway. ¡°So, what do I do now? Do I just send it to you, or¡­?¡± He twitches. ¡°Yeah, send it to me and I¡¯ll forward it to my party.¡± And there it is¡ªthat shadow¡¯s over his face again. Didn¡¯t even take a minute. Damn it. Completely subconsciously, he begins to quicken his pace a bit. ¡°We should really inform Benevil somehow¡­ I didn¡¯t even tell him we¡¯re doing this¡­ If only I¡¯d seen him sometime during the day, but he seems to have been busy with other patients, so¡­¡± I sniff the air. ¡°He¡¯s in his office right now. Maybe we could¡­¡± No, wrong option¡ªhis lip¡¯s trembling. I backtrack mentally. ¡°But you still have patients, and¡­ And I¡¯ve done my work, technically speaking,¡± after all, there¡¯s nothing else he lets me do, ¡°so, if you want¡­¡± I frown a bit. I have no idea if this is okay according to those rules Moleman told me. ¡°I could go there myself, tell him in person¡­ Or, I guess, write it down in person.¡± Moleman nods absently. ¡°That would be good, yeah. Even if something happens, I can just send you a message, so there¡¯s no issue there,¡± he mutters thoughtfully. He slows to a stop in the middle of the hallway, turning around to face me. ¡°You¡¯ll be okay, right?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I say, even though it feels like he¡¯s fussing a bit too much. It¡¯s not like he¡¯ll kill me or anything. At least, I think so¡­ I shoot him an uncertain look. ¡°Will you?¡± The question takes him aback. ¡°Absolutely,¡± he says, and he almost seems as though he wants to ask why I think he wouldn¡¯t be, but in the end, he keeps his silence. ¡°And, I, uh¡­ Benevil¡¯s office is down the hall, to the right, and¡­¡± I catch his gaze. He chuckles weakly. ¡°And¡ªyou knew that already. Of course. Sorry, I¡¯m¡­¡± He steps backwards, away. ¡°Good luck, Kitty. Try not to¡­ I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m just¡­¡± I lean in and pat him on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll be back shortly, don¡¯t you worry.¡± He smiles meekly. ¡°Yeah. Alright.¡± I leave him. It takes a moment for him to turn his back on me to leave as well. Soon, the light of his magic fades into the hallway, and I¡¯m left in shadow. Sighing lightly, I head towards Benevil¡¯s office. Now, the silence feels suffocating. Even though Moleman and I didn¡¯t talk all the time, the silence still didn¡¯t come across as true silence. Not like this. I¡¯m alone. As I walk, my bare feet make no sound against the wooden floor. My skin doesn¡¯t smell like anything. When I glance into a passing window¡ªat my faint, dark reflection¡ªeven though I¡¯m looking right at me, I can barely see myself. My body is nothing but a murky outline, the features of my face shadowy and twisted¡ªsave for my eyes. But even they don¡¯t feel quite there. It¡¯s like I¡¯m not entirely real. But Moleman can see me. He looks straight at me, into my eyes, without a shadow of fear. Now, though¡­ It¡¯s less that the silence and darkness surround me, and more so that I¡¯m melding back into it. I¡¯m nothing. I continue walking. Down the end of a hallway, I find Benevil¡¯s office. I lift my hand to rap at it, only for a voice to come from the other side, saying, ¡°Come on in, Kitty!¡± I enter. 245: F30, An Apostles Guide to Being Cruel ¡°Ah, Kitty! I¡¯ve been waiting for you.¡± ¡°Did he tell on me?¡± I ask as soon as I step inside the room. I¡¯m lucky my heart is strong, otherwise, the sight of Benevil sitting at his desk, gently stroking the drake in his lap might have made me laugh out loud. Aside from every single other detail, he¡¯s the spitting image of a Bond villain. Most noticeably, the look on his face is wrong. He seems too nice to be anything like that. On the other hand¡­ I take a seat on the opposite side of the desk. ¡°Cruelty, that is. That guy. He must have, because otherwise you wouldn¡¯t have prepared all of this for me.¡± And by ¡®this¡¯, I obviously mean the sheets of paper, inkwell and quill, and the small plate of diamond-shaped cookies. Where did he even get these? The writing stuff I get, but the cookies¡­ ¡°Please, do have a taste! I made them myself, you know.¡± Using all the knowledge of social interactions gathered over the years, I form my face into a perfect mask of suspicion to show how I feel about this. But he¡ªlike the cruel mastermind he is¡ªsimply smiles and waves at the cookies. Foiled again! Guess I have no choice but to obey. Let¡¯s see here, this one looks pretty good¡­ Crunch, munch, munch, munch¡­ My eyes widen. Hey, that¡¯s actually good! This is insane. How the heck¡­ I stuff down another one, ignoring the way he chuckles warmly at my display. ¡°To answer your question, yes, He told me you were coming. That¡¯s why He sent me to this city, after all.¡± I look up from my ravishing. I swallow down the crumbs in my mouth. ¡°...Excuse me?¡± ¡°As an apostle, one of my main duties includes following the God of Cruelty¡¯s every whim and desire,¡± he explains. ¡°Being so very cruel, He typically sends me a numbered list of tasks every now and then, including deadlines. Such tasks include going to various villages, helping the sick and poor, and ensuring that people remember my visit positively. Though, aside from that, He also enjoys mumbling into my ear, telling me little details here and there¡ªmostly to do with you.¡± He laughs and twirls one of the drake¡¯s feathers around his thumb. ¡°Isn¡¯t He horrible? Oh, what an inspiration to us all!¡± Straightening out, I wipe a few crumbs off my face. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound very cruel.¡± ¡°But it is,¡± Benevil says. ¡°Because when I die in the coming months, I¡¯ll do so without being able to fulfill His last requests, and He¡¯ll be bereaved of a fantastically effective apostle. We both suffer, not in spite of our kindness, but because of it.¡± He coughs into his hand. ¡°Nevertheless, since He has asked me to explain this to you, I will tell you the circumstances surrounding my presence here. A few months back, He requested that I appear here to help cull the plague taking hold, and to greet you warmly once you arrive. From what He told me, He feels that you haven¡¯t been given a detailed enough explanation of what it means to be an apostle, and He was of the opinion that my presence and the example could give you greater worry and horror regarding the task ahead of you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, hang on,¡± I hold up a hand. ¡°What do you mean you¡¯ll die in the coming months? Did he tell you that?¡± ¡°Did He¡­?¡± Benevil blinks at me before laughing again, the little drake in his lap briefly lifting its head to yawn before falling asleep again. ¡°Oh, no, that isn¡¯t it! It¡¯s an excellent question, though. See, in return for my unquestioning obedience, He has granted me a portion of His power. Specifically, he gave me a hundred years, the usage of which can grant miracles!¡± ¡°Miracles? Like, parting the sea, or¡­?¡± ¡°Nothing so big, no. With a year of my life, I can keep a patient alive and in their current state for a month longer; with a month, I can allow them to feel no more pain for a week; with a week, I can let someone fall asleep and die painlessly; and with a day, I can turn their body into a little crystal to be kept by their family as a memento. These are only examples, of course¡ªI have plenty of other miracles to grant, though little lifetime left to use it. At the moment, I have a year and a half left to live. Had I had more than five years, I could have used a miracle that lets me fully heal a patient.¡± The smile on his face twists into a sharp grin. ¡°This miracle, compared to your ability, is a tearless loss.¡± I suddenly feel very small where I sit in the uncomfortable chair. ¡°...What do you mean you can use a week to kill someone painlessly?¡± He tilts his head. ¡°Yes, euthanasia. A miracle I was very fond of in conjunction with the crystallization. Many of my encounters in this wandering life I¡¯ve led have had such an outcome. I meet the family, they cry to me, I greet the patient, I diagnose them, I ask our benefactor if He has any opinions, and if the patient has less than a week to live, I ask the family if they would like to make it painless. If they and the patient agree to it, I let the patient die painlessly, and then transform the body into a gem for them to keep. Of course, if they are poor, they could sell it for a pretty sum¡ªor watch their lives atrophy as their grief keeps them in starvation. Delightful, no?¡± ¡°Is there any limit to that skill? Like, you have to touch them, or it has to be within ten meters, or you can only use it once per day, or¡­?¡± ¡°It costs a week of my life,¡± Benevil repeats. ¡°But other than that?¡± His eyes wrinkle up. ¡°None.¡± Ah. Alright. Gotcha. I squirm a little where I sit. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Oh, but there¡¯s no need to fear!¡± he says lightly. ¡°Killing you would rob the world of too much suffering. Yes, keeping you alive will be far more cruel.¡± I grip the chair I¡¯m sitting in. I¡¯m sweating. Why am I sweating? He¡¯s just some cooky doctor. He¡¯s not even evil or anything. He¡¯s just¡­ just putting on an act! Breathe, damn it! Breathe. The air around me feels stuffy. ¡°You can¡¯t know that,¡± I choke out. ¡°I suppose I can¡¯t,¡± he answers. ¡°But I can make a fairly good guess based on what I¡¯ve heard of your past. And from what He¡¯s told me, you¡¯re a hoot!¡± ¡°I¡¯m not¡­ I¡¯ve been getting¡­¡± I clench my jaws. It doesn¡¯t matter. What I¡¯ve done doesn¡¯t matter. The only important thing is where I¡¯m heading. I scrutinize him with a look. ¡°If you¡¯ve got a year and a half to live, why are you so certain you¡¯ll die within the coming months?¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s a simple calculation, really. I¡¯ve been His apostle for around twelve years now, and with the way I¡¯ve been using up my lifetime, it¡¯s only a matter of months left.¡± Petting his drake on the head, he smiles warmly. ¡°Of course, your presence might certainly shorten that time. Who knows?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t think I might try to off you early so our ¡®benefactor¡¯ will pick me up as his new toy?¡± He looks up at me, a hint of amusement tugging at his smile. ¡°Why, no. I never even considered it.¡± I sit up straighter. ¡°Well¡ªwhy not?¡± ¡°Your cruelty is much too thoughtless,¡± he says. No hesitation. ¡°Not to mention inconsistent.¡± He sighs lightly. ¡°Of course, using random citizens to test out the little heart miracle was a clever choice. Spreading fear about a serial killer in already turbulent times, stalking your best friend to heighten his paranoia and stress, leaving rotting bodies here and there to further the plague¡ªall respectable orientations for increasing suffering in the world. However¡­¡± For the first time since I¡¯ve met this guy, the smile falls off his face, all hints of amusement smoothed out and erased. ¡°Why kill the saved victim? Very dull. Of course, there¡¯s some delight in an unseen killer roaming about, but the transplantee would have been able to spread even greater fear had they been left alive. Simply uninspired.¡± I can¡¯t tell if I should be miserable that he¡¯s scolding me, or happy that he isn¡¯t praising everything I¡¯ve done so far. In the end, I settle for being mildly insulted that he¡¯s judging me without offering so much as a criticism sandwich to make up for it. ¡°However, more importantly,¡± he says, his voice moving back into savage amusement, ¡°I have good reason to believe that you wouldn¡¯t be interested in this position.¡± I puff up to say something in return, maybe ridicule his way of spreading suffering, maybe call his drake ugly, only to realize that¡­ I slump back down. Shrugging, I answer, ¡°Yeah, not really my style.¡± Somehow, I¡¯m not sure how, his smile turns more genuine. Warmer. ¡°Yes, I thought as much. You don¡¯t seem like the type to appreciate these kinds of subordinations. It makes me wonder why you chose to join two apostleship trials to begin with.¡± I open my mouth to answer but close it just as quickly. Why did I agree to this¡­? ¡°I guess¡­ it was for the power. I was afraid of dying, so being promised strength felt like a pretty good way to avoid that kind of fate.¡± He leans his head into his hand and smirks. ¡°You chose a fitting pair of gods to follow, then.¡± ¡°Heh, yeah¡­¡± I chuckle at the cruel irony of it all. ¡°I suppose I did, didn¡¯t I?¡± Still smiling, he takes a cookie from the plate, biting into it with earnest joy. After a second, he swallows and speaks again, saying, ¡°Just to clarify, I am at your disposal.¡± The smile on my face freezes in place. ¡°Um, what?¡± ¡°Our benefactor sent me here to greet you¡ªand to assist you. Of course, He has no doubt that I am especially suitable for the task of spreading suffering wherever I go. However, He takes an unusual delight in the cruelty you conjure. Thus, He has asked me to heed your requests. Personally, I¡¯d rather not do anything in your stead that would create more suffering should you commit it yourself, such as hurting those who care for you, but generally speaking¡­¡± His upper lip curls up to show his teeth. ¡°Order me as you please, brother.¡± Ah. Uh. Um. I blink at him. Then, I stand up, head towards the door, and leave almost on sheer instinct before pausing, freezing, and then spinning back around. He looks at me with neither surprise nor disappointment. I try to draw myself up but fail spectacularly. ¡°Um¡ªno. No, I¡¯m not¡­ Nope. I can¡¯t do that. Absolutely not.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not an offer,¡± he says, smoothly. ¡°And it isn¡¯t limited by time. I¡¯ll be available anytime, anyday.¡± ¡°I¡¯m still not¡­¡± I huff. Yeah, no, he isn¡¯t changing his mind. And storming out won¡¯t do anything. Not to mention that I still have my work to do. So, as I groan loudly, I stomp back to the desk, plopping down in my seat again. ¡°Yeah, sure, alright, fine. In that case, I order you to not take orders from me.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been told that I can choose to heed or ignore your orders as I please, and I therefore elect to ignore your order.¡± I throw my hands in the air. God of cruelty, hear my plea! Turn this goblin into a flea! But, the world is not so kind. I turn to him with a scowl. ¡°Earlier, I doubted that you were actually the lapdog of that damned divine pest. But now? I¡¯ve changed my mind. I think you might actually be worse.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± he says, with genuine joy in his voice. Humming to himself, he picks his drake off his lap to put it atop the desk, where it instantly droops into a loaf shape. It seems incapable of anything but gentle rest. Snoozing little featherball. ¡°Although I¡¯m not surprised to hear you reject my offer, I had expected you to consider it, if only for the sake of your friend.¡± I glare at him. He nods with understanding. ¡°Yes, of course, you are quite right. He wouldn¡¯t like you ordering around someone like me. He¡¯s a bit of a hypocrite, in that sense.¡± I lean in across the desk, folding my hands. ¡°What do you mean?¡± I try to keep the venom out of my voice, but it isn¡¯t working too well. ¡°What are you trying to say about Moleman?¡± ¡°When I first arrived,¡± Benevil says, leaning back, ¡°he tried to order me to not use my miracles. Can you believe it? He valued my life above the miracles I could present. Of course, I was able to convince him that my little abilities were cheap enough to make the trade worthwhile. However, he still won¡¯t let me use my euthanasia miracle. Though, I have a feeling that within the coming weeks, we may be able to change his mind.¡± A thought strikes me. I growl at him. ¡°Have you been¡­?¡± ¡°Oh, no, of course not! Using this miracle without his knowledge¡­¡± He shrugs casually. ¡°I¡¯m not so kind as to rob him of this responsibility.¡± I feel myself lean back a bit. In the middle of the desk, the drake wakes up briefly to yawn, stretch, and saunter up to me, rubbing its head against my chin. I try to keep my face solemn. Its jaw chatters with happiness. Damn it. With no other option, I let my hand stroke its back, feeling it lean into my palm. ¡°Pan,¡± Benevil says. ¡°Her name is Pan.¡± ¡°Dumb name,¡± I say. ¡°Thank you.¡± Damn it. Another type I can¡¯t win against. Either way, I abruptly remember that I actually came here for a reason. I grab a stack of papers and the quill, pulling up the message I sent to Moleman. I shoot a glance at him. ¡°Did that peeping tom also tell you what I¡¯m here for?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Right. In that case, you know the deal.¡± I hunch down and get to work. It¡¯s surprisingly enjoyable once I get into it, though Pan is fairly intrusive, always wanting to be petted and such. Being such a kind and non-cruel person, I humor her. I continue writing names and statuses for quite a while, all the way until I¡¯m snapped out of it by a certain scent. The scent of something¡¯s death. 246: F30, Goodnight, Linne And just like that, Kitty left. His back faded into the darkness, away and out of sight, leaving Emil alone in the light. Alone, and empty. With Kitty no longer at his side, the darkness that surrounded him appeared all the more deep and impenetrable, the light he¡¯d summoned weaker than ever. A trembling little breath found its way down his chest, and somehow, he was able to remind himself that people were relying on him. They needed his help, and every second he spent standing dazed and alone in the hallway was a second he could have spent at their side, healing them and caring for them. And so, with newfound strength, he uprooted his feet from the spot, the hallway soon bringing him to his next patient. It was a simple formula. All he had to do was smile, cast a healing spell or two, chat for a few moments, and then move on. It was easier when they were asleep¡ªthen, all he had to do was heal them and move on. If only there was a spell to heal infected tissue¡­ If only his penicillin was more effective¡­ If only he could have pushed through more effective methods of prevention, then¡­ He shook his head. It was alright. According to Kitty, in the past two weeks, the total number of infected had sunk from two-and-a-half thousand to one-and-three-quarters thousand. That was good! But not good enough. There was still so much left to do, so many more people to help, so much more¡­ He waved the window away. He didn¡¯t have time for that, so without pausing, he used a healing spell on himself, feeling his body jerk at the unwanted energy, tense muscles flexing to relax, his brain filling with static. And when it was over, he breathed a bit more, and now he could keep going, just a bit more. Down the hall, the next door loomed ahead. Just a bit more. His hand rose to push it away, only to pause halfway up. It might be Kitty. Maybe something had happened? Uncertain, he opened it. A pang of guilt shot through his chest. It wasn¡¯t enough to worry Kitty, now he was making his party worry, too. With only a moment of hesitation, he began writing a response. He grit his teeth. He hated being so curt with his friends, but he was busy with work, and their worry only made him less able. So even though it hurt, he sent the message away, breathing a sigh of relief as he turned his attention back to work¡ªback to the door in front of him. It was only when he opened it and stepped inside that he remembered to whom it belonged. There, alone in the cramped little room, laid Linne. His small silhouette appeared for a moment like a knotted-up octopus, limbs tangled together one over the other, some drawn as tight as cords and others puffed up like swollen sausages ready to burst. Had it not been for the fact that the core of the bundled-up form heaved and moved with uncertain, gasping breaths, Emil would have presumed him to already be dead. The smell certainly gave off such an impression, the poor man¡¯s festering wounds spreading a stench throughout the room much like that of a rotting carcass. Steeling himself, Emil crossed the room. Linne had been admitted as of a week back, when they found him collapsed against the doorstep of the hospital. He had barely been lucid even then, the persistent wound on his hand wound with worn scraps of fabric. The smell when they¡¯d removed the makeshift bandage had yet to be upped by any scent Emil had experienced. With no background to go off of and no personal belongings aside from a diary written in sheer gibberish, they could only assume that he was homeless. Benevil had commented on his state and suggested letting him pass on painlessly, but Moleman had rejected him. He could be saved. He had clearly come to them with nowhere else to go¡ªhad he wanted a quick and easy death, he would have gone to the barricaded entrance instead. To turn him away was against every single principle Emil held. And yet, now, here¡­ ¡®Today¡¯, he heard Kitty¡¯s voice echo through his head. Gritting his teeth, Emil wandered over to the water basin in the room. There, he grabbed a small hand towel, dipped it in the water, used a spell to warm it slightly, and returned to Linne. The goblin¡¯s face twisted in pain, a sheen of sweat and grime spread across his forehead. Casting a cleaning spell on the towel, he wiped down Linne¡¯s face gingerly, removing the dirt and perspiration. Then, he cleaned his arms and legs, making sure to wipe between the folds of his swollen skin, removing pus from the opened bulbs, refraining from the urge to recoil at how stiff his bulbous stomach was; at the feverish heat of his skin; at the smell of the open wounds. There wasn¡¯t a single part that wasn¡¯t bleeding in some way, or otherwise decaying from the outside in. He washed his feet, his body, and then resolved himself to the most difficult task. Holding his breath to avoid the worst of the smell, he removed the tight bandages wrapped around Linne¡¯s infected arm. Worms. Wriggling. White larvae, white eggs, clashing against the glistening black flesh, necrotic and dead and hot and cold, tiny teeth gnawing at flesh with hungry fervor, beady eyes seeing everything and nothing, the whole hand so swollen he couldn¡¯t tell the palms from the fingers, bone exposed in areas where there should be nothing but flesh and liquified tissue where there should be skin. A swath of what might have been skin loosened alongside the bandage, the flabby thing dripping with pus and white inflammation, and all of a sudden Emil wasn¡¯t in the room anymore, he was someplace much darker, much more putrid, the smell of death in life and decay invading his nostrils and his eyes and his mind, little bodies staring at him, begging him for salvation, corpseflies in the air, bodies clasped in desperate final embrace, and Kitty¡ªKitty¡­ ¡®Hey, man, pull yourself together.¡¯ The words drew breath from his chest and he blinked, tears in his eyes and the smell of putrefaction suddenly in his throat, clawing itself down into his lungs, burning, anxious for him to join. The heavy bandage flew from his hand across the room and he stumbled, gripping onto the bed frame, disgust and horror fighting in his skull like a pair of rabid dogs. He tried to breathe, in and out, but each breath was accompanied by the horrible stench of death, of what would soon die, what was already dead, and¡­ Emil fell to his knees. He felt feverish. Everything was trembling and the world was a blurry dark mess in front of him. At least, on his knees, he couldn¡¯t see Linne. His head found rest in his arms. Above him, Linne was still alive. His chest still rose with strained breathing, his heart beat yet. But not for much longer. Emil knew that. He¡¯d known it for a week now. Every single moment Linne lived was another little miracle. But those miracles were spent. Emil knew that. Of course he knew that. He wasn¡¯t blind, nor was he deaf. Was it so wrong to hope that Linne could get better? That he might be able to beat the odds, to recover, to show the world who he truly was? They didn¡¯t even know his name! Linne was simply the only words he¡¯d been able to say when he arrived. They couldn¡¯t even tell if it was a name, or the name of someone he knew, or downright words in a language they simply didn¡¯t know. Whoever he was, tonight, he would die. A healing spell or two might have been able to delay it by a few hours, maybe enough to see dawn, but¡­ What was the point? His muscles felt exhausted and spent, and yet, he worked himself to stand, his legs wavering beneath him, ready to give out at any moment. There was only one chair in the room, standing modestly in a corner. It was with great difficulty that Emil staggered over to it before lifting it over to place it next to Linne¡¯s bed. He took a seat, his back hunched and his head slung low to face the floor. It felt as though he had a five-tonne weight pressed against his chest. Wiping his hand across his face, he found himself chuckling bitterly. ¡°Why did I even do that?¡± he muttered hoarsely. ¡°You¡¯re deaf. You wouldn¡¯t have been able to hear the chair even if I scraped it the whole way.¡± On the bed, eyes pinched close and mouth open in a dead-man¡¯s gasp, Linne¡¯s chest rattled as he tried to breathe. ¡°What do you want?¡± Emil asked. ¡°Do you want to live? Or do you want to die?¡± He grit his teeth. ¡°Does it even matter? You¡¯re in pain. If you¡¯d been an animal, you would¡¯ve been put down a week ago. Because suffering is worse than death, right? That¡¯s what Benevil says. But he¡¯s wrong. Living is a delight. Who doesn¡¯t love to live? Living is¡­¡± Something hot and burning bubbled up and suddenly Emil couldn¡¯t see anymore, his vision blurred. ¡°It¡¯s good. It¡¯s great, really. I¡ªI love¡­¡± He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, but it wouldn¡¯t go away. ¡°Damn it. What the hell am I doing? I¡¯m not¡­¡± Throat thick with tears, Emil reached out, putting one hand on Linne¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I can¡¯t save you. You¡¯re already dead! Don¡¯t you get it? What I¡¯m doing, trying to keep you alive¡­ It¡¯s selfish. It¡¯s horrible pride, and your suffering is the toll I¡¯m trying to pay.¡± He laughed. ¡°Because, see, the truly horrible thing isn¡¯t my pride in keeping you alive¡ªit¡¯s the fact that I could save you. All I need is to say the word, and you¡¯ll be saved at no cost to myself. I won¡¯t even have to get my hands dirty. I just say the word, and you¡¯re brought back, in prime condition, better than ever.¡± In the dim room, not even Emil could tell whether the sound he made was supposed to be a laugh or a wail. ¡°Isn¡¯t it cruel? No, it¡¯s worse than cruel¡ªit¡¯s kind. If I didn¡¯t have this option, then your death would merely be tragic. Another victim in this plague, another casualty to be tallied tomorrow. But now?¡± Emil felt his manic grin twitch painfully. ¡°Now, it¡¯s almost funny.¡± He stood up. The world swam around him and the floor swung nauseatingly beneath his feet. The only thing keeping him upright was his grip on the edge of Linne¡¯s bed. He could feel the harsh sting of bile rising at the back of his throat. Mutely, he let himself fall forward, his upper body now mere inches from Linne. Within the darkness, he could see the little glints of his tears falling onto the dying goblin¡¯s face, streaking down, mingling with new sweat. His face twisted with grief, everything stiff and painful. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he choked out. ¡°I never should have let you go this long. I¡¯m so sorry. I really wanted you to get better. I thought, if only I cared enough, if only I helped you, if only I loved you enough, then¡­¡± He stifled a sob. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t work like that, does it? When you¡¯re as sick as you are, you only get worse. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t realize it earlier. I could have saved us so much suffering, but now¡­¡± He gripped his hand into a fist, drew in a deep, shivering breath, and looked down at Linne. Saying nothing, he leaned down closer, put his arm around the poor thing, and hugged him tightly. Linne hissed with pain, uttered a gurgling, whimpering sort of noise, and then slumped again. ¡°It¡¯s okay. You don¡¯t have to forgive me. Just sleep, and when you dream, dream of warm summer days, and soft grass, and the smiles of those you love. I¡¯ll be with you in time. But until then¡­ Goodnight. I love you.¡± 247: F30, Again The smell of rotting flesh was replaced with that of charred tissue. The sick goblin in his embrace spasmed once, twice, his chest compressing and decompressing to finally expel the mechanical rasping of lungs no longer alive. And as Emil heard his heart beating its final, limping melody, he began counting the seconds. One, two, three, four¡­ He held him tighter. ¡­Five. Now, he was truly beyond saving. Now, there was nothing left to do. Now, Emil was free. Gently, he laid Linne back on the bed. His mouth was wide open, like he¡¯d been caught mid-gasp, or as though he was snoring. Sometimes, when Emil¡¯s dad was taking a midday nap on the weekends, Emil would come fetch him for fika, and he¡¯d look like that. Mouth open, not moving. And Emil, even though he¡¯d been so young, would wonder for a second or two whether or not his dad was dead. But then his dad would utter a deep, creaky snore, and everything would be alright. Linne wasn¡¯t snoring. His chest wasn¡¯t moving. As Emil held his hand, he felt the feverish heat leave it. That was it, then. He was dead. Emil had killed him. ¡­Why didn¡¯t he feel horrible? Why did his chest feel so light, when a man¡¯s death should lie on his conscience? Emil felt his blood run cold. What did that¡­? A pair of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall and the door burst open, Kitty flying inside like a loosened panther with Benevil following closely behind. ¡°Moleman? Moleman!¡± Kitty cried, crossing the floor in a mad scramble until he was right next to Emil. His eyes bounced erratically between Emil and his victim. ¡°Oh. Oh.¡± His face twisted in pity. ¡°Moleman, I am so sorry, are you¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Emil said, standing up straight. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time coming. He¡ªhe was¡­ You saw him earlier today.¡± Unwilling to look at Kitty¡¯s worried face, Emil turned to Benevil, flinching at the way the strange doctor¡¯s face mirrored Kitty¡¯s. Voice thick with tears he refused to shed, Moleman asked, ¡°Benevil, since Linne has¡­ had no known relatives, will you please crystallize his body? The church will no doubt give him the honor of a proper funeral mass despite his lack of financial compensation.¡± Benevil appeared hesitant. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s no issue. I¡¯m only wondering¡ª¡± ¡°We¡¯ll take it later, I have patients.¡± Spinning on his heel, Emil left the two of them and headed for the door. He exited the room, entered the hallway, and made it about five steps before Kitty got his wits together enough to scurry after him. Emil didn¡¯t look at him. One foot in front of the other. The next room was down the hall. Close by. If he just kept his eye on the door, then he wouldn¡¯t have to¡ª His legs buckled under him, the floor suddenly approaching at a dizzying rate, weightlessness taking hold of him only for his descent to be slowed to a stop by a pair of bony arms. Breath returned to his chest as Kitty raised him to his feet. ¡°I¡¯m okay, I¡¯m alright,¡± he muttered, almost without thinking, desperate to return to his work. ¡°I¡¯m really not¡ª¡± Kitty threw his arms around him. It took a second for Emil to realize what he was doing, at which point he looked down at Kitty with a frown. ¡°Kitty, what are you doing?¡± Hesitatingly, Kitty met his gaze. ¡°Because, you seemed like you¡­ I just thought that¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Emil said forcefully, wrangling his way out of Kitty¡¯s uncertain grip. ¡°This isn¡¯t the time to¡ª¡± At his words, Kitty recoiled as though burnt, his eyes shining with worry and fear. Something sharp and thick pierced Emil¡¯s chest and he felt his knees go weak again. ¡®What the hell am I doing?¡¯ he thought to himself. A great thick knot of guilt knitted itself in his chest. It wasn¡¯t enough to make Kitty worry, now he had to hurt him, too? Ignoring the look on his friend¡¯s face, Emil slapped his own cheek. The stinging pain cleared his mind. Now, he could think straight. He forced himself to smile, even though it stung a little. ¡°Thank you, Kitty. It means a lot. It¡¯s just that right now, we¡¯re busy with so much else. We really don¡¯t¡ª¡± Deaf to his very logical explanations, Kitty crossed the distance between them in one step and hugged him again, even tighter than before. Emil chuckled nervously. ¡°Kitty, really, this is¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up,¡± Kitty growled, ¡°and let me comfort you for once.¡± Emil opened his mouth, a thousand thoughts running through his mind, only to close it again. He didn¡¯t need comforting. What was there to comfort him for? A patient dying? He¡¯d seen that a hundred times before. He may not have had the unhappy task of counting casualties, but he knew the numbers. He¡¯d seen half of them himself. People dying in all manner of ways, from all states of life. That was his daily life now. He could handle it. He¡¯d handled it so far. So, there was no need to¡­ As Emil looked down at him, Kitty pulled a little handkerchief from his inventory¡ªthat familiar blue one¡ªand pressed it to Emil¡¯s cheek. It came back wettened. Emil felt his brows knit together. Then, Kitty wiped the other cheek, saying nothing. The handkerchief quickly flashed back into his inventory, and Kitty resumed hugging him. Emil blinked. Something warm rolled down his cheek, wetting it again. He blinked again, and the world was suddenly clear. Another blink, and his knees crumpled beneath him once more¡ªbut he didn¡¯t fall. Kitty held him up. He held him tightly¡ªso tightly that even if Emil passed out fully, he still wouldn¡¯t fall. And still, Emil felt the need to grip Kitty in turn, clinging on to him, his only arm slung over the smaller man¡¯s back, like a sinner clinging to the robes of their priest. He expected Kitty to fall. He almost wanted him to fall, because then they would both be on the floor. But he didn¡¯t. Kitty stood strong, supporting Emil even as he broke down into incomprehensible blubbering. Emil couldn¡¯t tell how much time he spent cradled in Kitty¡¯s arms. Seconds, minutes, hours¡­ Time blended together into a slurry of tears, snot and words that weren¡¯t words. When he came out of it, his chest felt heavier than before, and yet, paradoxically, also lighter than it had been in months. He was no longer hiccuping with every breath, the front of his shirt had been thoroughly soaked, and all that remained on his face was a slight smile. He left Kitty¡¯s arms, and Kitty let him. ¡°Thank you,¡± Emil said. Kitty beamed back at him, a proud grin lighting his face. ¡°There¡ªnow we¡¯re even.¡± Emil chuckled. ¡°So, from now on, you won¡¯t need me to comfort you?¡± The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Kitty¡¯s expression fell in an instant. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t say that!¡± ¡°I know, I know,¡± Emil said, his smile widening. He patted Kitty on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve got your back, and you¡¯ve got mine. That¡¯s what it means to be friends.¡± Kitty sighed in relief before giving a small chuckle. ¡°Yeah, and I wouldn¡¯t want it any other way.¡± His smile turned averse. ¡°So, since we¡¯re friends¡­ It wouldn¡¯t be too much to ask for you to listen to a piece of advice from me, right? Only to listen to it. You don¡¯t even need to follow it, just¡­¡± Emil chuckled warmly at the frantic gestures his friend was making. ¡°What are you trying to say, Kitty?¡± His arms fell slightly, stilling mid-air. ¡°Well, uh, erm¡­ Maybe¡­ Maybe it would be good to go home? Not in the abandoning-your-patients way, more in the sleeping-is-the-cornerstone-of-your-health kind of way. Almost all of the patients we met today will be fine. Save maybe one, they¡¯ll all survive the night, and even if they chortle too hard and break a rib, Benevil can take care of them. It¡¯s not that you¡¯re not needed, it¡¯s just that¡­¡± His near-manic speech came to a sudden stop and he looked at Emil like he was trying to beg forgiveness for something he hadn¡¯t even done yet. ¡°I really think you should get some sleep. This¡­ this just isn¡¯t good for you. Sorry.¡± Emil¡¯s smile grew broader, and he found himself once again thanking himself, deep in his heart, for not letting his friend be executed. ¡°Yeah. You¡¯re right.¡± His words made Kitty¡¯s tense posture relax almost instantly, his shoulders falling almost a full decimeter. ¡°I¡¯ve been pushing myself too hard. I must be turning deaf or something, considering the way I¡¯ve been ignoring¡ª¡± A word struck him. More specifically, a small combination of words his friend had uttered off-handedly. Brows furrowing, Emil turned to his friend again. ¡°...What do you mean ¡®almost all¡¯?¡± Shrugging dismissively, Kitty admitted, ¡°Well, yeah, there¡¯s still that kid from the house today, I¡¯m betting he¡¯s got two or three hours at most, but it¡¯s not like there¡¯s anything you can do to save him, anyhow.¡± His eyes narrowed pensively. ¡°...Why are you looking at me like that?¡± The truth was that Emil wasn¡¯t looking at Kitty like that, he was looking at everything like that. Because, all of a sudden, he wasn¡¯t in the hospital¡ªhe was in a dark room filled with dusty corpseflies and the stench of old fridges and fermented herring, six tiny eyes staring at him, begging him to be their savior when he couldn¡¯t even save the ones he loved, and then the weight in his limbs, falling down, his clothes lined with lead, perplexingly immobile, selfishly turning away from them, from everything, from everyone, and¡­ And Kitty. Holding him. ¡°Moleman? Are you alright?¡± A rattling breath tore through Emil¡¯s chest and throat, painful, almost gasping. ¡°Where is he? Where is he? The child¡ªthe boy?¡± ¡®Right over there,¡¯ his heart whispered, pointing to a bed. Emil stood over him. He was so small. All goblins were small, but the children were the worst. Like toddlers. Tiny. Once, Emil had seen a goblin be birthed. It was the size of a puppy. He hadn¡¯t dared to hold it. If someone had asked him to hold the small, bloated little child wheezing beneath him, he would have had the same response¡ªunless it was for the purpose of letting it die in someone¡¯s arms. ¡®We could save him,¡¯ a shadow at his side said, speaking as kindly as a mother. ¡®He doesn¡¯t need to die.¡¯ ¡®But at what cost?¡¯ another shadow piped in. ¡®A life for a life? No wonder the God of Cruelty gave him that skill. It¡¯s inhuman. Even if someone else agreed to give their heart and their life to let him live, there¡¯s no telling that this is what the kid wants. Maybe he wants nothing better than to sleep in peacefully.¡¯ A raspy voice added its own opinion, saying, ¡®We¡¯ve seen how they die. Gasping and flailing. Linne was put down humanely. Do the same for him. One little spell and he won¡¯t have to worry about anything anymore.¡¯ ¡®Or have Kitty do it,¡¯ a final voice suggested helpfully. ¡®Killing isn¡¯t anything to him, not even children. We know that. He might even like it. Remember the list? We helped write it. There were a lot of kids on there. What he did with them¡­¡¯ A pathetic chuckle rang like pealing bells through the room. ¡®If we want to spare that apostle a day of his life, you could always ask Kitty to¡ª¡¯ ¡°NO!¡± Emil shouted, the shadows banished with a cold gust of wind, and the room seemingly made emptied save for his breathing, and¡­ A meter or so away, hunched back slightly, stood Kitty, looking at him as though he¡¯d struck him across the face. Had there not been a distinct lack of stinging pain in Emil¡¯s hand, he might have assumed he¡¯d done just that. Instead, he came to realize that he¡¯d likely done something almost worse. ¡°That is, I mean¡­¡± Kitty chuckled nervously, trying to regain his upright posture. ¡°No, no, I get it, I wasn¡¯t¡­ I¡¯m sorry. It was just an idea. I understand. It¡¯s just that¡­ I¡¯m sorry. I won¡¯t mention it again. I don¡¯t even know where we¡¯d get a donor from, it was really¡­ Sorry. I spoke hastily.¡± Watching Kitty¡¯s nervous, uptight expression, Emil could only find one thought in his head¡ª¡¯Kitty has said something?¡¯ But they¡¯d been in the hallway just now. They should still be there. But when his trembling hand fumbled to find support, all he found was the frame of a bed much too large for its inhabitant. It was with great effort that Emil kept himself from collapsing. When did they get to this room? Why were they there? He hated it. He didn¡¯t want to be there. He wanted to help¡ªhe really did¡ªbut what could he do? Killing, saving¡­ He didn¡¯t want to make such decisions. That shouldn¡¯t be in his hands. Healing people was so much simpler. If they died later, he could always soothe his weak little heart by telling himself that he did everything he could. But that wasn¡¯t the case anymore. Now, if he wanted to keep his conscience intact, he would have to look every single terminal patient in the eye and know deep down that he could save them¡ªif only he hadn¡¯t been such a coward. ¡°A donor?¡± a tiny voice piped up, speaking rough Aetongue with a striking imperial accent. Reeling, Emil turned towards it, finding the only other bed in the cramped little room occupied by a small girl; the sister of the boy. She couldn¡¯t have been older than twelve, but malnutrition had clearly robbed her of the suitable height and form necessary for a child her age. Her complexion and pallor reminded Emil of his friend, though he knew he could never tell either of them. Where she sat, bandages drawn across her bumpy arms and legs, she appeared so much younger than she really was. ¡°What do you mean, a donor?¡± Kitty whirled towards her, his eyes widening with horror. ¡°N¡ªno! Sorry, we were discussing a different patient, this isn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Emil said, the familiar Aetongue word, so similar to Spanish, easily leaving his lips. ¡°We were discussing finding a donor for your brother.¡± ¡°A donor of what?¡± she asked cleverly. Then, she drew herself up, the wavering boldness of a child trying so hard not to cry finding its way into her voice as she stated, ¡°If I have it, I¡¯ll give it, so long as it¡¯ll save Pinn!¡± Now, Kitty¡¯s eyes were bouncing between them as though he was trying to catch a particularly bewildering tennis game. Finally, his gaze fell on Emil, carrying confusion and uncertainty equal to what Emil was feeling. Trying to ignore the way his friend was looking at him, Emil strode across the floor to pat her on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but what we need, you can¡¯t give us.¡± Her heart broke as plain as day. ¡°I have no money,¡± she said, her voice a whisper to not scream. ¡°I¡ªI have¡­¡± She let the covers fall off her upper body. ¡°I have my body. This is all I have. So, please¡­¡± He drew up the covers again, covering her properly. ¡°Because it¡¯s all you have, I can¡¯t let you give it away.¡± He could see in her eyes that she thought he was very cruel to do so¡ªand a part of him agreed. But another part spoke louder, even going through his mouth, saying, ¡°In a few weeks, you¡¯ll be all better. You¡¯ve got your whole life ahead of you. That¡¯s why I can¡¯t let you make this sacrifice.¡± Not waiting to hear her cries of anguish, Emil turned to his friend. ¡°Kitty, how many patients in the hospital have less than a week to live, assuming I don¡¯t heal them?¡± Still in a daze from what was happening around him, Kitty could only barely answer. ¡°I¡¯d say six.¡± ¡°Six, right.¡± Emil wasn¡¯t trembling. He wasn¡¯t choked up with thoughts and his chest felt as light as it had after letting Linne go. He smiled, and was loath to find it genuine. ¡°Will you please visit them and ask if they would be willing to act as donor? And if they agree¡­ Please bring them here.¡± For a moment or two, Kitty simply stood there, watching him owlishly. Then their years of friendship finally caught up with him, and he smiled, secure in the knowledge that his friend knew best, and said, ¡°Yeah, okay. I¡¯ll be right back!¡± Then, he scrambled out of the door, leaving Emil alone with the sister. The room suddenly felt very quiet, and very cold. 248: F30, A Kind Donation Emil took a seat on the little girl¡¯s bed. He tried to take her dainty little hand in his, but she drew it away. His smile didn¡¯t even budge. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Mitt,¡± she said. ¡°I told the angel so before. But you were busy screaming.¡± ¡®Ouch,¡¯ Emil thought. ¡°Mitt,¡± he repeated. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the way I acted today. Seeing you in such a state made me act unprofessionally.¡± Arms crossed, pouting, she turned away from him. ¡°I want to make it up to you. I really do. But I can¡¯t let you throw your life away. Dying for your brother is a noble end, but do you really think he would like that? To wake up from death, only to find his sister dead? His one and only connection to the world?¡± Even though her face was turned away from him, he could see her tremble. ¡°And to make it worse, to learn that she died to save him, when there were other alternatives?¡± Her shoulders twitch. ¡°I¡­ I just don¡¯t want Pinn to die like mommy and daddy and Vie.¡± ¡°Of course you don¡¯t. I don¡¯t want him to die either. To be completely honest, even if we find a donor, I can¡¯t promise that it¡¯ll work. This is new for all of us. But, what I do know¡­¡± He reached out, and she let him hold her hand. ¡°Is that when he wakes up, he¡¯ll want his sister by his side. Will you do that? Will you live for his sake?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she answered. Now her face turned to him, eyes filled with glistening tears. ¡°Yes, I will.¡± Emil smiled. ¡°Good.¡± He sat at her side for a few minutes longer. They talked about various things¡ªabout who she was, how their house had ended up in that state, about her brother¡­ It was a simple conversation, and by the end, Emil found himself making small jokes with her, bringing her to smile and laugh, despite the weight hanging over the room. After less than half an hour, there was a knock at the door. Emil called for them to enter, and Kitty carefully ambled his way inside, a bloated, bandaged goblin in his arms. Emil recognized him as Horm Tanner, who had reacted with a sigh of relief when Kitty diagnosed him with less than a week left to live. At the moment, he had a vaguely victorious look on his exhausted face, almost triumphant at the idea of getting to die days earlier than nature intended. Without waiting for the room¡¯s atmosphere to catch up with his bright mood, Horm turned a content eye to Pinn. ¡°That¡¯s the one, eh? You sure he¡¯ll last until you¡¯ve wrangled my heart out of me, hoeksok?¡± ¡°Pretty sure,¡± Kitty answered absently, turning to look at Emil. He seemed to be on the verge of a shrug, but doing so while holding a terminally ill patient wasn¡¯t the best idea, so he restrained it to a slight frown. Had Kitty brought just about anyone else, Emil would have wanted to interview them for a minimum of ten minutes to ensure that they were doing this out of their own volition. Now, instead, he simply patted Mitt on the hand, stood up, walked over to them and shook the donor¡¯s hand. ¡°Thank you for agreeing to this, Horm. It is beyond noble of you to¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯ve heard enough from this hoeksok of an assistant¡ªjust get it over with already, you hear?¡± Emil swallowed any other words he was about to speak. ¡°I see. Yes¡­ Sorry. Thank you. I¡¯m¡­¡± Horm gave him a stern cock of the brow. ¡°Right. Got it.¡± During the course of a split-second, Emil surveyed the room, realized that everyone was looking at him for leadership, and equally quickly came to decide what ought to be done. With solemn steps, he approached Mitt¡¯s bed, where he knelt down to her level. ¡°Mitt, can you walk? I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll want to be in the room when your brother gets better.¡± ¡°But¡ªbut I¡­¡± She almost seemed as though she wanted to fight more, but in the end, trusting his words, she slipped out of bed. She stumbled slightly, but Emil was able to keep her upright. He led her towards the hallway. Though, before he left, he turned back briefly, his eyes meeting Horm¡¯s impatient gaze. ¡°Sir¡ªwould you like your body crystallized after death?¡± ¡°Like what that doctor does to some of the deaddies?¡± Horm said. Emil nodded sideways. Horm hummed for a second, rubbing his chin. ¡°Yeah, alright. If the kid wants something to bounce back with after this, I guess he can have the rest of me, heh.¡± ¡°Good¡ªthank you. And¡­¡± Emil almost choked. ¡°Goodnight, Horm.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Horm said, waving Emil away. ¡°I¡¯ll be looking down at you soon enough, just you wait.¡± Before Emil closed the door, he caught Fennrick¡¯s gaze. ¡°Before you do anything¡­ I¡¯ll go get Benevil. I don¡¯t want Mitt to enter a room with a corpse in it, and¡­ and I don¡¯t think Pinn should wake up to that, either.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Fennrick said. ¡°I agree.¡± Emil left to do just that, bringing Mitt with him for the ease of things. It took less than a few minutes to find the apostle, who was overjoyed at the prospect of getting to see the fabled martyr-making skill in action. ¡°However,¡± he said, ¡°are you sure you¡¯re okay with it, Moleman? This is little removed from euthanasia, with the added benefit of¡ª¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°I know what it is,¡± Emil shot back. ¡°I¡¯ve made my choice. It¡¯s a one-time thing, so¡­ Let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?¡± But they both knew this wasn¡¯t the type of procedure that could be done only once. It was bound to spread. But now, here, Benevil let Emil remain in his self-made delusion. They returned to the room. Benevil and Emil both made to enter, only for Kitty to give Emil a strange look. ¡°Why are you¡­?¡± Emil, having prepared himself for this question, drew himself up to his full height. ¡°It¡¯s my duty as his doctor. If I am to send him to the grave, then it¡¯s my responsibility to be at his side when it happens. To not watch the consequences of my decision would be¡ª¡± Kitty pointed to Mitt, standing just outside the door. ¡°I think you should stay with her.¡± He smiled softly. ¡°She needs you more than he does right now.¡± ¡°But¡ªbut I¡­¡± Emil stammered, and realized with some measure of irony that he was in the exact same position Mitt had been in only a few minutes earlier. Scoffing at his own hubris, he backed out of the door. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right.¡± He mirrored his friend¡¯s smile. ¡°Good luck in there, okay?¡± ¡°Good luck out there,¡± Kitty returned, breaking into a grin. ¡°I¡¯ll be just fine. This won¡¯t take long.¡± Emil nodded gratefully. He didn¡¯t have to say anything else, but if only because he felt the need to say it, he added, ¡°And¡­ and remember that this was my decision. Not yours. Whatever you do now¡­ It isn¡¯t your fault.¡± The expression Kitty gave him in turn was a confused mixture of amusement and apprehension. ¡°Sure, man. I¡¯ll see you soon.¡± ¡°Right, right. Bye, Kitty,¡± Emil finally said, closing the door. And now, everything felt empty again. The hallway wasn¡¯t exactly dark thanks to his magical disc of light, but the sudden lack of voices, the removal of presences¡­ It made his skin crawl. It made him¡ª A little hand grabbed the edge of his robe. He looked down to find Mitt looking up at him, her face the picture of worry. He drew her closer and smiled. ¡°He¡¯ll be okay. My friend is the best at this kind of stuff. You¡¯d do better worrying about a dragon attacking.¡± She giggled. And as he held her close, the time passed, and soon enough, it was all over. They could hear voices coming from inside, sometimes. Mumbled, male voices, talking quietly. First three, then two. The realization that he¡¯d heard someone¡¯s last words without even being able to tell what they were made Emil¡¯s blood run cold. A few more minutes, and among the two voices, there was a new one¡ªa small, anxious little voice. The second they heard this voice, Emil and Mitt exchanged a look before cautiously opening the door. The room looked the same as before, except that now, there was a small red gem in Benevil¡¯s hand, and the little pained hump in the other bed had been replaced by an energetic little boy, more confused than anything, asking about his parents and siblings. Seeing him, Mitt ran across the room, leapt into his bed and hugged him so tightly he might have broken something. ¡°Mitt? Mitt, what¡¯s going on? Where am I? Where¡¯s mom? And Vie? What¡¯s with the bandages? Why¡­¡± But she couldn¡¯t answer him, because she was far too busy screaming in despair and delight, her throat producing sobs that might have been laughter and laughter that might have been sobs, nuzzling her tear and mucus-covered face into his chest and neck. Seeing her in such a state was apparently more startling than any of his other questions, as he turned to the three adults in the room with a look on his face that simply begged for answers. Unfortunately, the only expressions that met him were mild smiles, like that of a mother holding her newborn after a long and arduous birth. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Mitt wailed weakly into his hospital gown. ¡°They¡¯re¡ªoh, Gods, I¡¯m so happy you¡¯re alive, Pinn, oh, oh Gods¡­¡± And as could happen when held by someone crying in soul-wrangling despair, Pinn eventually found himself crying as well, hugging his sister as tightly as she was hugging him, not because he knew why she was crying, but simply because her despair touched him more than words could. Only once the two of them had calmed down a little could the situation be explained properly. Pinn¡¯s reaction was mainly one of shock. Though, with the floodgates already opened, he didn¡¯t find it too hard to cry¡ªhis sister now being the one to comfort him. Horm¡¯s gem was given to him, once he understood the sacrifice that had been made for his sake. Benevil was quick to explain the usage of it. ¡°If you turn it in to this jeweler I know, you¡¯ll be able to earn around five-hundred¡ª¡± ¡°No!¡± Pinn had bellowed. ¡°No. No, this is¡­¡± He clutched the gem close to his chest. ¡°He left this for me. I¡­ I will cherish it for the rest of my life. He gave his life for me, for someone he didn¡¯t even know. To sell it would be¡­¡± ¡°But how will you survive?¡± Benevil asked kindly¡ªor maybe cruelly. ¡°The house is dilapidated. Even if we didn¡¯t charge you two for the beds you¡¯ve occupied, and the healing you¡¯ve received, you still have nothing. How will you pay for the hospital bills, alongside everything else?¡± ¡°I have my body,¡± Mitt said, bravely. ¡°I can do like mommy did, and then we can live somewhere, and¡­¡± ¡°You think that¡¯s enough?¡± Benevil asked, and now Emil had no illusions of this being anything but cruel. Emil turned on him. ¡°Benevil, please¡ª¡± ¡°It¡­ it has to,¡± Mitt said, her voice hoarse and broken from all the crying. ¡°If it isn¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°Which it won¡¯t be,¡± Benevil said, finishing her sentence, his eyes gleaming callously, ¡°then I guess you¡¯ll just have to work it back.¡± Emil, who had been five inches from strangling the goblin, suddenly fell back, a confused frown marring his face. Grinning, Benevil approached the two orphans. ¡°Oh, yes. Here¡¯s what you can expect: three square meals a day. Soft beds, nice clothes, and plenty of time for rest and relaxation.¡± The sister and brother duo stared at him in sheer perplexion. ¡°Yes, indeed! As the apostle of cruelty, I shall take you in. I will fatten you up with kindness, until you become so good and sweet that the patients of this hospital will dread their demise, as it will separate them from your lovely smiles!¡± Mitt turned to Emil with a quizzical look. Emil shrugged. More interested in figuring out what Benevil was saying, Emil focused his attention on him until he caught his eye. ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is¡­ You¡¯ll give them room, feed them, keep them clothed, in exchange for letting them work under you?¡± ¡°Yes. Nothing too strenuous, of course¡ªsimple duties, like changing bandages and checking up on the patients. Not to mention daily offerings in the form of prayers and rites to the God of Cruelty, of course.¡± In the bed, Mitt held her brother closer. ¡°Would you really do that for us, doctor? Let us stay, for nothing¡­?¡± ¡°Of course!¡± Benevil cheered. ¡°I¡¯ll make your lives a delight, and when I eventually die¡­ Oh, my benefactor will be much pleased, I assure you.¡± The siblings were confused, but with only a brief glance shared, they agreed. As the evening had grown rather late, Emil and Kitty left the newly formed trio with a few goodbyes, entering into the night with strangely contradicting feelings. And, soon enough, they returned home. 249: F30, Midnight Cake, Midnight Talk They found Ursula asleep in the hallway, folded across a chair with her sword in hand. Unwilling to wake her up, Emil convinced Kitty to carry her along as they went up to their rooms, leaving her in her own room, atop her bed. The final touch on Emil¡¯s end was to write a little note, thanking her for sitting up and ensuring her that they returned no earlier than one in the morning. And then, they went to bed. As per Emil¡¯s request, a mattress had now been introduced to his room, laid square across the floor at the foot of his own bed, fully made with covers and everything. Now that he was looking at it, it looked less like a bed for sleeping on and more like a dog bed. Perfectly placed for Kitty to keep watch on both the lone window beside the desk and the door. Wonderful. They changed in relative silence, Emil slipping back into his pajamas and nightcap while Kitty fought to get out of his clothes. During the minute Kitty spent actually dressing himself in his pink pajamas, Emil sat at the edge of his bed, thinking. Afterwards, if you¡¯d asked him, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to put words to a single thought he¡¯d had. But while he sat there, his feet absently playing with his slippers, he felt like his head was filled with far too much. Cottonwad sheep bumping against each other, marbles in orbit. Kitty, once changed, stood awkwardly in the room, his eyes moving from Emil¡¯s bed to his own prepared doggy-bed. Cleverly, Emil made no show of which he¡¯d prefer for him to tuck into. With palpable reluctance, Kitty stepped over to his shiny new mattress. There, he paced around in a circle and made a show of laying down and curling up like a dog, eliciting a chuckle from his tired friend. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s just sleep normally,¡± Emil said, dragging his legs onto his bed, though still sitting up to see his friend. ¡°Yeah, yeah, fine,¡± Kitty responded, tossing off the covers to properly lie down. He seemed briefly annoyed by his pillow, though he was able to avoid discomfort by throwing it away and resting his head on the plain mattress. As another little joke, he crossed his arms and opened his mouth wide, fake-snoring loudly. ¡°Hooooonk, mimimi¡­ Hooooooooonk, mimimi¡­¡± The sight of his friend¡¯s wide-open mouth made Emil chuckle nervously. ¡°Dude, come on,¡± he said. Thankfully, Kitty relented, turning over to lie on his side, facing Emil half-grinning. Emil nodded at him gratefully over the foot of his bed. ¡°I¡¯m turning out the light. Is that okay?¡± ¡°Sure, sure,¡± Kitty said. ¡°You need the rest. Go sleep.¡± Waving his hand, Emil undid the light spell, the little disc of light fading into the aether. Darkness, unbanished, now took hold of the room once more. The only light to be seen was the pale gray stream flooding in from the window, the various moons outside peeking in, their visit freckled by stars. Gently, Emil laid himself down, trying to get comfortable in the way-too-soft bed. The pillow was also too soft, and the covers likewise. Like lying on top of mangled geese. He shifted uncomfortably. He had to sleep. He was exhausted. Wasn¡¯t that funny? No matter how high he got his exhaustion resistance, he never stopped feeling exhausted. It was just that he wouldn¡¯t die from it¡ªat least, that¡¯s how the God of Knowledge had explained it. ¡°Goodnight Moleman,¡± Kitty said from beyond the foot of his bed. ¡°Goodnight, Kitty,¡± Emil responded. ¡°Thank you for today.¡± He wanted to say more, but something had lodged itself sideways in his throat. ¡°No problem. I¡¯m just happy to get to help you for once,¡± Kitty sighed happily. Emil smiled, but it felt performative. ¡°Yeah.¡± A warm, comfortable silence fell over the room. Time to sleep. Bedtime. It was time to shake off the thoughts and worries of the day, draw a clean slate, and get prepared for the joys and hardships that would come morning. Emil closed his eyes. A pair of pleading eyes met him. His eyes flared open again and he took a few trembling, subdued breaths. His eyes slowly trailed towards the foot of his bed. He couldn¡¯t hear anything. It was like he wasn¡¯t even there. Sometimes, his friend really could meld with the shadows. Or¡­ No, it was more that the shadows seemed to meld with him. Like that impressive fur coat he wore. He cloaks himself that easily with the darkness¡ªlike he skinned it himself. The thought was absurd enough to bring a smile to Emil¡¯s face, though it wilted just as quickly. He took another breath. Everything was alright. He had Kitty, didn¡¯t he? He let his eyes flutter closed again. The gaze. It was there. Watching him. Pleading. Begging. Desperate as the dead. Emil squeezed his eyes hard, clenching them to the point where the darkness in his vision was replaced by blinking, dotting stars and light-filled nebulas crashing together. But the second he loosened up again, the eyes returned. Please help me. Please. Please. Jaw clenched hard enough to hear ringing, Emil opened his eyes again, defeated. The dark room was hardly better. It smelled clean. Few pests. Nothing to fear, no one to beg him for anything¡ªsave for maybe a princess cake. Emil blinked at the dark ceiling. ¡®Princess cake?¡¯ A memory struck him, and in a mere instant, his body relaxed. Smiling slightly, he asked the darkness, ¡°Hey, Kitty? Are you awake?¡± A whisper met him after a second. ¡°Dude, it¡¯s been like five seconds¡­¡± He could hear the smile in Kitty¡¯s voice. ¡°I¡¯m fast asleep. You¡¯ll have to shake me awake.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a shame,¡± Emil sighed theatrically, turning over where he lay. ¡°I was planning on doing good on that promise I made to get you a cake for your nineteenth birthday. Since we missed your twentieth birthday too, I was thinking of letting you pick out another gift, but maybe you¡¯d rather save that for the morning. Celebrating your twentieth birthday should be a bit more than just eating cake in the middle of the night, so if you don¡¯t want to, then¡ª¡± A pair of glimmering eyes had teleported to the foot of his bed. Funny¡ªin the darkness, when he looked straight at him, Emil could only see his bright yellow eyes. Like a cat. ¡°Cake,¡± the shadow breathed. ¡°I really want¡ª¡± But then it stumbled back a little, into the light of the moons outside where it became Kitty, and he swiped at his mouth. ¡°No, wait, it¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s way too late for cake. You have to rest! That¡¯s what we decided, so¡­¡± Emil sat up in bed. ¡°So, no cake?¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Deaf, Kitty continued. ¡°Besides, when I celebrated with the pirates, we celebrated my twentieth plenty, so two cakes might be a bit¡­¡± ¡°Only one, then?¡± Kitty¡¯s hands clenched and unclenched. Briefly, Emil considered whether or not he¡¯d ever seen Kitty so conflicted about something. ¡°But you¡­ You need¡­ And I¡­ But¡­¡± ¡°Princess cake,¡± Emil enunciated. Kitty didn¡¯t bite. ¡®Time to bring out the big guns,¡¯ Emil thought and patted the covers next to him. ¡°We can eat it on the bed?¡± Kitty teleported again, now sitting on top of the bed, legs crossed, drool running down the side of his mouth. ¡°Really?¡± he asked. ¡°On top of the bed? You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°I am,¡± Emil replied and pulled up the shop window. ¡°Now, what color do you want?¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± His eyes slid down to Emil¡¯s blue pajamas, and then to his own pink ones. ¡°Is there a blue-and-pink one?¡± ¡°Any reason in particular?¡± Emil teased as he found the desired cake. ¡°Not really. I just¡­ Whoa.¡± ¡®Whoa indeed,¡¯ Emil thought, smiling down at the cake now in his hand. It was massive. Not a lot of people knew about it, but if you fiddled with the shop options, you could increase the size of certain items bought, at a small price increase. This was how the largest princess cake ever seen by human eyes had been spawned¡ªweighing in at what Emil estimated to be at least two kilos, he sat it down gingerly¡ªright atop his covers. Hygiene? What was that¡ªa car brand? ¡°Well?¡± Emil said, looking up at Kitty. ¡°Go on, birthday pig.¡± ¡°How did you¡ªwhat is¡­¡± Primal instinct took over. His hand whipped out with speed that would impress a competitive slapper, gouging out a piece and bringing it to his face in a fraction of a millisecond. ¡°Whoa!¡± Emil was beyond relieved to find that though his friend had changed in many ways, his reaction to cake was the same. Silently, in a certain sort of exhausted stupor, Emil began replicating his friend¡¯s movements, tearing into the cake with his bare hands. It was a fulfilling experience. As they began eating, barely more than a few mouthfuls into it, Kitty handed Emil the marzipan rose. He wanted to refuse it, but Kitty refused his refusal by expertly retelling the rules of birthdays: what the birthday pig wants, the birthday pig gets. And that includes the satisfaction of watching their friend eat the rose. Emil, defeated, obliged. Without Kitty¡¯s infinite stomach, Emil doubted that he could have consumed the thing, even with his whole party in attendance. Now, though, it went well. By the end of it, the bed was covered in sticky cream and vanilla sauce, the both of them resting their backs against the head of the bed, side-by-side, equally comatose. ¡°How do they do it¡­?¡± Kitty mumbled thickly. ¡°It¡¯s just points. Points into food. What is even points¡­?¡± ¡°Points are divinity,¡± Emil answered, unwillingly groaning at his pained stomach while he was at it. ¡°The God of Knowledge told me so¡­ We just can¡¯t absorb it properly, so we can instead use it to trade with the gods¡­ Because they can turn divinity into anything¡­ Meaning that divinity is kind of like raw energy¡­ Can¡¯t be destroyed, only remade¡­¡± ¡°That makes no fucking sense,¡± Kitty muttered. ¡°Nothing makes sense.¡± ¡°Untrue,¡± Emil said, smiling at Kitty as he turned his head to look at him. ¡°I think this makes a lot of sense.¡± Kitty smiled back at him, turning back to stare straight ahead. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°I guess it does.¡± They fell back into a comfortable silence. Neither of them spoke. But, after a while, unprompted, Emil got the feeling that his friend had something to say, though he couldn¡¯t find the words for it. Patient, Emil said nothing. And after a few minutes, hesitant, Kitty said, ¡°Moleman, about Linne¡­¡± ¡°Yeah. I did.¡± Kitty fell silent again. ¡°He smelled like¡­ He didn¡¯t die normally, but¡­¡± ¡°I killed him.¡± Silence. Thick, suffocating silence. Kitty¡¯s voice was so small. ¡°...Why?¡± Saying ¡®you know why¡¯ would have come off as almost accusatory, so Emil restrained himself. Hand folded atop his midsection, he instead said, ¡°He was in pain. He would¡¯ve died anyway. There were so many reasons, I just¡­¡± ¡°No, not that,¡± Kitty said. Suddenly, in the darkness, Emil could see his friend¡¯s eyes again¡ªshining dully. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you let me do it?¡± Emil¡¯s mouth opened before slowly closing. Around him, the darkness closed in, inch by inch. ¡°Because,¡± his mouth said of its own accord, ¡°I had to. It was my duty. I can¡¯t be so cowardly as to call for a man¡¯s death, only to chicken out of being the one to behead him. What kind of¡ªcan you imagine the lack of principles you¡¯d need to do that? To¡ªto decide someone¡¯s life and death, only to put the dirty deed in someone else¡¯s hands? I can¡¯t be that. I wouldn¡¯t be able to stand with my back straight.¡± Beside him, Kitty had fallen silent again. Without asking for any hurry, Emil let him think. ¡°Next time,¡± came Kitty¡¯s tiny voice, ¡°let me do it.¡± Emil sat up straighter, turning towards his friend. ¡°I just told you¡ª¡± But Kitty¡¯s eyes were pleading. Begging. It made Emil¡¯s heart stop beating entirely. ¡°Please.¡± A million rebuttals reared in Emil¡¯s chest, only to die, stillborn, at the earnest look on his friend¡¯s face. ¡°The way you¡¯ve been today¡­ I can¡¯t bear to see it again. You heal people. You help people. I can¡¯t do that. Not the way you do it. But what I can do¡­ What you can¡¯t do¡­ Let me do it.¡± Unable to read the expression on Kitty¡¯s face, Emil turned away. But Kitty kept speaking. ¡°You¡¯ll blame yourself anyways. So¡­ don¡¯t see it as you ordering someone to take out the trash. See it more like¡­ like using a hammer to hit a nail.¡± Emil¡¯s face snapped back to Kitty. ¡°You want me to see you as a tool?¡± ¡°If it¡¯ll let you use me in a way that helps people, then¡­ yeah.¡± Kitty smiled sheepishly. ¡°Not always, of course. I¡¯m your friend, not your employee. But, sometimes, you need to view the people you love objectively. Look at who I am, what I can do, judge it¡­¡± His smile persisted through the terrible words he spoke. ¡°In the end, I trust that you will be able to decide how to best use my abilities. Better than I could, at least. I mean¡­ You¡¯ve seen what I do without proper guidance. What I¡¯m asking is just what we¡¯ve been doing so far, but in a more practical sense.¡± ¡°What you¡¯re asking is for me to treat you like a dog,¡± Emil said, appalled. ¡°To see you as some kind of item to be twisted and formed into a good little tool. You can¡¯t possibly want that.¡± ¡°All I want,¡± Kitty said, his face as earnest as the sky, ¡°is to help you. If I can¡¯t do that¡­¡± He chuckled, his upper lip twisting in strange desperation. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do.¡± Stunned to silence, Emil had to turn away from his friend. The weight in his stomach suddenly felt all the more palpable, as though someone had left a lump of lead inside it. He felt disgusted. How had this happened? When? Of course, he had always tried to guide Kitty towards a more moral, less bloody path, but for it to turn out like this¡­ Hoarsely, Emil asked, ¡°What would you do if I died?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°What if I defeated the tutorial before you did?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I guess I¡¯d try to beat it and join you.¡± ¡°And what if¡­¡± The thick lump in his stomach lurched up into his throat, heavy and choking, downright nauseating. Eyes wide and trembling, he locked eyes with his friend. ¡°What if I didn¡¯t want you to?¡± Kitty smiled lightly. ¡°If that¡¯s what you want, then I won¡¯t beat it.¡± Never before has Emil felt so infuriated by sincerity. He wanted to throw off the covers, to scream at his friend that he needed to have his own life, that you couldn¡¯t possibly call a life done at someone else¡¯s whims anything but slavery, that what he was asking of him was inhuman and horrible and immoral, but¡­ But he didn¡¯t do that. He sunk down a little further, moved his face to look back at the foot of his bed, and sighed. Finally, after close to a full minute of silence, Emil said, ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Okay?¡± ¡°Next time, I¡¯ll let you do it.¡± Emil watched with detached caution as Kitty reared up slightly in joy. ¡°But,¡± he said, cutting Kitty¡¯s excitement short, ¡°I can¡¯t treat you like a tool. I¡¯ll try to figure out how to best use your abilities, but it¡¯s up to you to use them. If you don¡¯t want to, then that¡¯s your choice. I¡¯m not your master, and I¡¯m not your party leader. I¡¯m your friend, and I don¡¯t want to be anything else. If I tell you to do something that you don¡¯t want to do, I expect you to refuse.¡± ¡°Right, of course,¡± Kitty said, but it was clear in his voice that he¡¯d already found his triumph. ¡°Just to clarify, this is only for this floor, okay? Lives are on the line. After this is over, you¡¯ll go on with your life, and I¡¯ll go on with mine. We¡¯ll still be friends, but you don¡¯t take orders from me. Understood?¡± The mention of the floor¡¯s finite nature drew all hints of joy from Kitty¡¯s face. In the darkness, he was suddenly nothing but eyes again. A pair of bright-yellow cat¡¯s eyes that trailed down, down, to look at steepled hands. ¡°Yes, yes¡­ Of course. I understand. I just¡­¡± He sighed in the darkness, much in the same way a tired dog huffs. ¡°I hope this floor will last a bit longer. Hanging out with you¡­ It¡¯s the most fun I¡¯ve had in a long time.¡± He chuckled, and now Emil could see him again. His eyes were strangely moist, but his smile had returned. ¡°I wish we could hang out like this forever.¡± ¡°Maybe we can,¡± Emil said, mellowly humoring his friend. ¡°Maybe when we¡¯ve both beaten the tutorial, and we¡¯re back on Earth, we could play another round. Have dinner at my place. My mother¡¯s a great cook, as I¡¯ve told you. And my brother¡­ Heh, I think you¡¯ll like him. He¡¯s really cool. He taught me to play the banjo when I was smaller, but I never got any good at it. Not like him. But you¡¯ve got the fingers for that sorta stuff. If you ask nicely¡­¡± Emil chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯d love to teach you.¡± Kitty leaned back further where he lay. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡± But even with the wistfulness in his voice, there was something missing¡ªsome human emotion that had been there only a minute earlier. It would take six months until Emil learned exactly what had shifted in his friend. But by that point, it was already too late. 250: F30, Da Capo Unlike what Emil had told himself that night, he would go on to treat Kitty much like he did his own party members. Of course, he would always use ¡®please¡¯ and ¡®thank you¡¯ whenever he asked his friend to do something, but it might as well have been a straight order. Kitty took it as such. To him, Emil¡¯s word was law, not that either of them dared to bring it up. During the days, Kitty followed Emil like a shadow, sticking close to him and generally avoiding anything that didn¡¯t include him, much akin to an introvert at a party who only knew one person there. Emil¡¯s efforts to include Kitty into his party¡¯s communal activities were moot. Putting aside the fact that Kitty had little interest in them, his party members viewed Kitty with some degree of rational distaste, bordering on a midway-point between disgust, anger and horror. Ursula was the worst. She frequently refused to so much as stay in the same room as him¡ªnot that his other party members were any less reluctant. But at least they pretended to tolerate him. The worst part was that Kitty wasn¡¯t even doing badly. He was downright amicable, and still they wouldn¡¯t even give him a chance. Maybe Emil had been naive to seek a status quo where he, his party and Kitty could all hang out as mutual friends. He couldn¡¯t know. But, since Kitty was far more volatile when left alone as compared to his party, Emil let his friend stick around him for the majority of the time. In hindsight, Emil could recall few moments where his diminutive friend hadn¡¯t been at his side. At night, while at the hospital, when doing the daily rounds¡­ No, there was one time he would rather be alone than stand the company. In the month before everything had gotten worse, they had been invited to one of the city¡¯s five judges for supper. Kitty had arrived, been scorned by several dozen aristocratic gazes, and instantly made the fully logical choice that he would rather be exactly anywhere else. Unfortunately, since Emil¡¯s presence was of political weight, that night, Kitty had to spend the evening alone at the mayor¡¯s manor. From what Emil could infer from a particularly snoopy servant, he had spent the evening in their shared room, on their shared bed, eating snacks and reading his books. Emil had been appalled at the amount of relief that came over him hearing this. But, other than that, things went well. October dragged its feet all the way into early November, leaving the skies gray and dull, the mood stuck in perpetual almost-winter. At night, Emil innocently hoped, even prayed, that the plague could end before winter began in full, so that greater famine could be avoided. He would not be so lucky. In early November, before the traces of October had fully blown away with the crisp brown leaves, they began to find rats here and there. Not a lot. Sometimes, you could see them stagger out of their little hidey-holes, paws, ears and nose all black, and then they¡¯d keel over. But they weren¡¯t dead. Emil figured that out the bad way when he¡¯d tried to push one from the hospital¡¯s doorstep only to have it squeal huffily, drag itself to its trembling little feet and waddle a few steps over, laying itself back down like a dog disturbed. But there weren¡¯t that many at first. Then, more came. After only a week of November¡¯s gray skies, the rats appeared en-masse, their panting little bodies piled up against the sides of houses and marketplace shops, half-hidden by the yellowed leaves piled in the same manner. Once, while doing their daily rounds, Emil spotted a child leap into a big pile of crunchy leaves, only for it to go crunch and squelsh as a flurry of rats attempted to scutter out, some of them dragging themselves by the front legs. The poor kid, screaming the second he saw the tails, was covered in what looked like black mucus. When Emil tried to clean him off, he realized by the smell that whatever the rats had left on the kid, it was most likely necrotic in nature. It was by a miracle that Emil had been able to keep working that day. But they only came up in droves for a week or so. Then, they stopped. It was abrupt enough to make Emil wary rather than relieved. Still, Lent considered it enough cause to celebrate. Emil couldn¡¯t fault him. The stablemaster had been sweeping comatose rats out of the stables for over a week, and if his bi-daily rants were anything to go by, a few of the drakes had even eaten some of the rats. He had every reason to be happy the rats were gone, but Emil was far less eager. Only a few days later, his apprehension would be justified by the arrival of a comatose patient, with his limbs all black and his throat and neck on the verge of turning black as well. He didn¡¯t last a day. But it didn¡¯t have to mean anything. Kitty, ever the steel-stomach, had asked to dissect the corpse, for whatever reason. Since this was likely nothing but a one-off case, Emil refused it. The patient had come in with his family in tow, and they deserved a complete body to bury. To soothe himself, Emil recalled that he¡¯d read about how the legs of diabetics can turn black and require amputation. But wasn¡¯t that only the legs? Then again, he hadn¡¯t read anything more in-depth on the subject, so he could very well misremember it. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. That was certainly easier than facing the truth. A truth that would come to stare him in the face within days. Only the next day, another such patient would arrive. They weren¡¯t comatose, and their neck and tongue lacked the blackening of the first one, but they were completely paralyzed from the neck down and had to be carried into the general ward. Although the normal patients were outside Emil¡¯s jurisdiction, a few words with the right people gave him permission to keep an eye on them. He was lucky to do so, because only a few hours later, another patient would arrive. And then another. On that day alone, a total of six patients would arrive, all with one or more blackened limbs, one being comatose already. At this moment, joined by Ursula, Jazz and¡ªof course¡ªKitty, Emil stood over that final comatose patient, frowning slightly. Normally, he would never have shown such a despondent expression to a patient. However, with said patient unable to register it, he kept it, largely encouraged by the similar expressions on the other people in the room. The only one whose expression was more severe than his own was Ursula, who didn¡¯t appear to have slept in the past year or two. Frowning a twinge deeper, Emil caught her eyes. ¡°And you¡¯re certain it isn¡¯t just a mutation, or a variant of some sort?¡± ¡°No,¡± Ursula said, her voice as grave as her countenance. ¡°Whatever this is, it¡¯s new. It also doesn¡¯t look like anything from Earth, and it isn¡¯t in the lexicons here, either. It¡¯s something completely new.¡± New, and recent. A scalding thought burnt Emil¡¯s mind. ¡°You don¡¯t think that we¡­?¡± She gave him a look before shaking her head. ¡°I doubt it. If this was from us, it would have shown up earlier. More importantly, one of us would¡¯ve been sick.¡± With great reluctance, she turned to Kitty, only barely able to keep the contempt out of her voice. ¡°You. You can smell this stuff. Whatever¡¯s eating this guy¡­ has it been on any of us?¡± Kitty blinked at her slowly, turned to look behind him, and stared at her for a second longer before realizing that she was talking to him. ¡°Oh! Um¡­¡± He wiped his nose. ¡°Nah, nothing like that. I haven¡¯t really¡­ I mean, this is new, but none of us have been sick yet. Nope.¡± He sniffled slightly, nose wrinkling at the admittedly pungent smell. ¡°But this is also the first I¡¯ve smelled of it, aside from the rats, so¡­¡± Something in Emil¡¯s chest dropped. ¡°The rats?¡± He didn¡¯t even try to keep the mounting panic out of his voice. ¡°Are you saying that¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, of course,¡± Kitty said. ¡°I mean, It¡¯s kind of obvious, right? The whole city¡¯s teeming with the stuff.¡± ¡°Rat plague,¡± Ursula breathed. When Emil turned to her, he found her hands tied into tight fists, her knuckles white. Between them, the patient took a rattling breath. ¡°Bubonic? No, the symptoms are wrong¡­ But is it the rats, or is there a smaller carrier? And if it is the rats, then¡­¡± ¡°But we can¡¯t be sure that it¡¯ll become a plague yet, can we?¡± Jazz asked hopefully. ¡°The rats aren¡¯t around anymore. If they died, then the plague should have died along with them.¡± ¡°Does it look dead to you, Jazz?¡± Ursula said, jerking her head at the patient. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to look at this optimistically,¡± Jazz said, drawing back slightly. ¡°We don¡¯t know if this is a trend or a fad. If the plague is spread by the rats, then the rats can¡¯t spread it anymore.¡± ¡°But if the rats aren¡¯t the main vector,¡± Ursula continued for her, ¡°then whatever is the vector will now be moving on to bigger, better hosts. Such as¡­¡± She perked an eyebrow. Jazz¡¯s defeated expression did nothing to sate Ursula¡¯s unhappiness. ¡°However, vector or no, that doesn¡¯t rule out the possibility that the corpses themselves are vectors. If the plague spreads through the handling of dead bodies, then¡­¡± She looked down at the patient between them. Three anxious gazes followed along. Emil caught Kitty¡¯s gaze. His chest felt so tight. ¡°Can you smell how many there are?¡± In his hurry, he couldn¡¯t even bother to specify if he was asking for rats or people. ¡°Can¡ªcan you smell them?¡± Slowly, Kitty¡¯s face settled into a frown. ¡°...No. The whole city¡¯s covered in it, so I can¡¯t make out individuals, and even then¡­¡± The pain of being unable to fulfil Emil¡¯s wants soon became too much, and Kitty attempted to turn it around. ¡°B¡ªbut if you show me enough patients, I might be able to start recognizing it!¡± Emil nodded feebly. ¡°Yeah. Thanks.¡± He turned to Ursula and Jazz. In a mere instant, only by seeing the look on his face, they both drew themselves up, ready to hear what their party leader was about to say. ¡°We can¡¯t be sure what this is, or even if it will become a pandemic. Even if it¡ª¡± ¡°Epidemic,¡± Ursula corrected. ¡°...Thank you, epidemic. Even if it has cross-infected goblins, we still can¡¯t be sure to what degree it retains the same qualities as with the rats. It might have the same effects, or it could have entirely new symptoms. It might spread just as fast, or this could be all we ever see of it. Either way, I¡¯ll need you two to keep treating it as best as you can, and if we keep seeing this volume in the coming days, then¡­¡± The fatigue of close to four months of fighting a plague hit him like a fist to the stomach. He drew in a shallow breath. ¡°Then, we might have to accept that there¡¯s another plague on our hands.¡± Both Ursula and Jazz made appropriate shows of horror. Kitty tried, but since he hadn¡¯t seen what the other three had, he couldn¡¯t quite muster it. ¡°In the meantime,¡± Emil continued, his fatigue deepening into exhaustion, ¡°I¡¯ll go talk to the mayor. I doubt he¡¯ll be interested in our theories and fears, but he needs to know.¡± Ursula smiled slyly. ¡°That way, when everything goes to the shits, you can tell him how you told him so?¡± Emil chuckled tiredly. ¡°Yeah. Something like that, I guess.¡± He began heading for the door, Kitty moving to his side, only pausing once he reached the door. He turned around and gave Ursula a weak smile. ¡°And, uh, make sure to keep me updated if any further patients arrive, alright? Keep them separate from the other patients, and¡­¡± The look on her face quieted him. He gave a meek laugh. ¡°Heh, yeah, sorry¡­ You know how to handle this way better than I could. Old habits die hard, huh?¡± She returned his smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Try not to upset the mayor too much, yeah? He may be an ass, but he¡¯s also the one deciding what we eat tonight.¡± Emil shivered at the thought. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. I¡¯ll try to keep it in mind.¡± She nodded, Jazz said goodbye to him, and off they were. By now, Emil couldn¡¯t even muster a twinge of sadness at how nobody ever said goodbye to Kitty. 251: F30, Matters of Politics Well out on the street, Emil opted to walk to the city council. It was only a brief walk, after all, and a few minutes out in the fresh air would do him good. He was surprised to see the streets fairly well occupied despite the unwelcoming weather, with people out and about, chatting and shopping and doing their dismal duties while wearing smiles rather than the typical, mildly apprehensive faces of despair. Smiling. Despite everything, they were smiling. As though awoken from some hastily dug grave, Emil felt a smile reanimate his lips, much alike those worn by the people around him. If they could find some small note of joy in this dreary time of year, in circumstances as pessimistic as these, then why couldn¡¯t he? Life was fairly good, after all. According to Kitty, the numbers of infected had gone down drastically in the past few weeks. They were looking at a path out of this horrific epidemic, unmarred by the horrors of what had come before. At least, so he hoped. When he arrived at the city council, Kitty opened the door for him, and Emil was able to once more pretend that he hadn¡¯t forgotten that the man had been at his side this entire time. He really could be like a shadow at times. Not that it was unpleasant. Oftentimes, Emil felt quite happy to remember that he always had the younger man at his side, ever present and always happy to discuss current events or lighten the mood. Sometimes¡ªEmil could tell by the way they jumped once they noticed him¡ªeven his own party members forgot he was there at all. He had a strange such quality. Despite how unique he was, he could always blend in, looking as though he belonged wherever he was. Perfectly inconspicuous. Of course, that didn¡¯t stop Emil from giving him a thankful nod whenever he did things for him, such as opening the door. Acting on a minor impulse, Emil made sure to watch as Kitty let the door fall close behind him. Not that he didn¡¯t think Kitty wouldn¡¯t come along. It was more along the lines that he wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d notice had Kitty decided to stay outside. Thankfully, though, he had no reason to fret, and Kitty was soon behind him, wearing a mildly inquisitive look on his face. Emil shrugged, smiled, and went on his way. A receptionist briefly glanced up, made note of their visit, and returned to their business as Emil and his friend made their way up the stairs to the mayor¡¯s office. At the end of a posh hallway, Emil graced a hefty wooden door with a few knocks, to which he soon received a welcoming reply¡ª¡±Come on in!¡± Emil obeyed, only pausing to let Kitty open the door for him before slipping inside, his trusty friend close at his back. ¡°Thank you for accepting us on such short notice, mayor. I am aware that you¡¯re a busy goblin.¡± The mayor glanced up from his work, his nose briefly furling at the presence of humans in his office. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you. If this is about your accommodations¡ª¡± ¡°No, no, not at all,¡± Emil said, expertly placating the mayor¡¯s fears. The mayor, in turn, clearly relaxed, one ear twitching. ¡°No? Good.¡± A slightly smile passed his lips. ¡°In that case, I look forward to hear any good news you might bring. Go on, take a seat.¡± Emil¡¯s polite smile turned strained. ¡°Thank you.¡± Luckily enough, Kitty¡¯s natural inconspicuousness seemed to have worked even on the mayor, who made no note of his presence. Usually, he¡¯d want the ¡®hoeksak¡¯ out of the room while they talked, but now, he made no such demands. Sighing slightly, Emil took a seat on the other side of the desk, his back straight as he watched the mayor¡¯s forehead dip down to let him continue writing some official document or other. Emil cleared his throat. ¡°Er-herm, so, mayor, about the topic of my visit¡­¡± ¡°Yes, isn¡¯t it lovely?¡± Emil¡¯s mouth froze mid-opening. He slowly closed it. ¡°...What is, sir?¡± The mayor waved his drakefeather quill at the window¡ªat the street just below, with the people walking by, happy, laughing. ¡°Look at them. When was the last time you saw them smile like this? Now, they have every right to. With the gates opening, they will finally be able to meet their old friends again. They¡¯ll be able to fill their bellies with food, and¡ª¡± ¡°Open the gates?¡± Emil parrotted. ¡°What do you mean, open the gates?¡± ¡°It¡¯s been a long time coming,¡± the mayor continued absently. ¡°With the plague finally drawing to a close, as you¡¯ve told me, it¡¯s just about time we let the people in on the good news. Last you told me, there were less than two thousand infected, isn¡¯t that right?¡± Emil could feel his jaw working and he turned to look at Kitty, who took a brief glance at some invisible window before shaking his head. Emil swallowed dryly. ¡°Mayor, forgive me, but¡­¡± ¡°What is it, Moleman?¡± Saying so, the mayor adjusted his rose-rimmed glasses, allowing his eyes to once more fall behind the light-red spectacles. ¡°You have not come here to loosen a dragon in mass, have you?¡± Something chilled the air and Emil briefly turned his attention from the mayor, finding Kitty leaned right over his shoulder, his squinted eyes affixed to the mayor. He held up a hand, and with only a small, unhappy look, Kitty drew back a little. With that possible disaster averted, Emil returned his attention to the more imminent problem. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say this, but I absolutely cannot recommend you to open the gates at this time. We just came from the hospital, and we have good reason to believe that another plague, possibly even worse than the drake pox, may be spreading at this very¡ª¡± Deliberately, even gracefully, the mayor put down his quill, laying it to the side. As Emil fell silent mid-sentence, the mayor steepled his hands, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Soon, his eyes opened, and he raised his face to watch Emil with something that almost resembled betrayal. ¡°I had thought better of you, Moleman.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡± Emil caught himself. The room had turned cold. Speaking hastily now could cost him more than merely his food and lodgings. ¡°A thousand apologies, but I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not following, sir.¡± Sighing, the mayor stood up, his stride measured as he paced around the circumference of the desk to eventually stand right at Emil¡¯s side. When had Kitty moved away from him? Emil couldn¡¯t tell, but the sudden lack of his trusted presence made the mayor¡¯s intrusion all the more frightening. It took every ounce of Emil¡¯s will to not shrink away where he sat. The mayor¡¯s hand fell on his shoulder. Emil twitched. An almost fatherly, pitying expression crossed the older goblin¡¯s face. ¡°To come to me with this, now¡­ Do you know what this would mean for me? For this city?¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Giving Emil no time to reply, the mayor soon continued. ¡°I announced the opening of the gates this morning personally, at high mass, before the God of Will. What do you think will become of me should I now announce this to have been untrue? How do you think these famished people will react, hearing that this ungoblic state of things must continue, simply because there might be another plague? They are in famine, you know. Few have enough to eat on the daily. Going even another week without eating could lead to the deaths of more than have died by the plague alone. Would you really do that to them?¡± His mouth felt dry. Wringing his hands did nothing to restrain the tremble mounting in them. ¡°Sir, since not doing so may cause untold deaths, I believe¡ª¡± ¡°Be quiet, hoeksak,¡± the mayor hissed. Emil¡¯s jaw snapped shut. The brief look of flat, black anger was soon replaced by the same fabricated, paternal mask he wore before, mild smile and all. ¡°No, we cannot do that. Never give nothing but bad news. If you tell them the skies will be gray, make sure to mention there will be no rain. If the castle is sieged, tell them how many survived. Not the casualties. Never the casualties.¡± There was a fatal quirk to his smile. ¡°Unless you want them to arm themselves, of course. Should your aim to be the foster of hatred¡­¡± Something dark flitted through his eyes. ¡°Mention nothing but the casualties.¡± As Emil tried in vain to sort the thoughts rushing through his frenzied mind, the mayor patted his cheek. ¡°There must be good news. You don¡¯t mind being my good news, do you?¡± ¡°Your¡­ good news, sir?¡± ¡°Yes. However, if only to ensure that we are on the same page¡­¡± The mayor slowly moved back to his side of the desk, where he took his seat and folded his hands again, all the while smiling. ¡°Would you mind giving me a small refresher on this ¡®shop¡¯ and ¡®point¡¯ system you have access to?¡± At first, as Emil began to hesitatingly explain how the shop system worked, he had no idea what the mayor was trying to get at. That would come soon after. ¡°I see. It is as I expected, then. And, pray tell, how many such points do you have?¡± ¡°Close to seven hundred thousand,¡± Emil said truthfully. ¡°Enough to buy almost three million redroots.¡± ¡°Which,¡± the mayor concluded, ¡°could feed the entire city for up to a month.¡± Realization crept up on Emil with slick, cold fingers. ¡°But I can¡¯t possibly¡ª¡± ¡°And your party members? How many points do they have?¡± Emil held his tongue. In the corner of his eye, the party screen hung, annoyingly blatant. Three and a half million points all and all. Not a bad amount, and a figure they had painstakingly worked at for close to three years now. However, not entirely. A few months back, when they first entered the city, they had done so with over five million points in tow. However, over the course of the past few months, those points had been siphoned away to feed the ever weakening population. The only thing restraining them from spending all of it was Ursula, who kept them in check by reminding them that these points were a strict necessity for their continuing efforts to beat the tutorial. Guilt and shame reared in Emil¡¯s chest, but he pushed it down. ¡°Sir, as per my earlier explanation, we are in no place to use all of these points, as it would¡ª¡± ¡°Three-quarters,¡± the mayor said. ¡°Use three-quarters of what points you have and the city gates will remain closed.¡± Sitting in that chair, in that room, Emil felt some small, critical aspect of himself drain away. Maybe it was his naivete. Or his pride. Either way, that very moment, he knew he had been duped. The mayor had known ever since he stepped inside the office that it would come to this. Emil felt his hands curl into fists atop his lap. He¡¯d come in here hoping to talk, like two reasonable people might, and instead, he was met with a bargain. A trade offer. Tit for tat. Except that here, neither of them won or lost. Not really. The lives at play weren¡¯t their own. All he had to lose were arbitrary, meaningless points, and all the mayor wanted to gain was reputation. So, why did he hesitate? Why not agree to it? If the mayor had only asked behind closed doors, Emil would doubtlessly have agreed. Ursula might not have approved, but in the end, wasn¡¯t he their party leader? They had entrusted him with their points, and now they were his to use. Was there any reason to not use them for the sake of the people? And still, he couldn¡¯t find it in himself to agree. Why? Simply because the mayor had approached him not with a plea, but with a demand? Was that enough to compel Emil to withhold his help? Because if that was truly the case, then he was more prideful than he had previously thought. Drawing a strained breath, Emil returned his eyes to the mayor. ¡°...Two thirds,¡± he hissed between clenched teeth. ¡°Two thirds, and no more.¡± The mayor smiled. ¡°Done.¡± His gloved hand reached across the desk. After a moment¡¯s reluctance, Emil took it. It was limp like a dead fish and the smooth, spidersilk glove left his hand feeling slippery. ¡°I always knew you humans could be reasoned with.¡± As Emil exited the mayor¡¯s office, he felt the gaze of his friend linger at his back. ¡°What?¡± Emil asked, shocked by how accusatory his own words felt. Behind him, Kitty stood, awkward and lanky in the cramped hallway. ¡°Do you think I should have done something else? I wasn¡¯t exactly in a space to negotiate. With all that, I was¡­ I didn¡¯t have any choice, you know. Politics¡­ It¡¯s complicated. If I¡¯d agreed to give three quarters, he would¡¯ve taken me for some kind of¡­ I don¡¯t know. So I had to bargain. Even if I normally wouldn¡¯t mind giving points. But I had to. Is that what you wanted to hear?¡± A mournful expression flickered across Kitty¡¯s face. Carefully, the hunched man crept closer, as though he was afraid Emil might bite. A ridiculous notion, but not one Emil was in the mood to rectify. Soon, Kitty stood right next to him, his face set in an expression of uncertain befuddlement. ¡°Why do you put up with him?¡± Emil drew back. ¡°Why do I¡­?¡± He shook his head. ¡°I have to. Isn¡¯t that obvious?¡± Mirroring him, Kitty shook his head as well. ¡°No, not really. I mean¡­ Okay, I don¡¯t know politics or anything, but¡­ You send messages to the king every week. The king. If you just asked him to put you in charge, then I can¡¯t see how the mayor would be able to disagree. It¡¯s the king. Disagreeing would be the same as asking for an execution.¡± Something dark and apathetic lurched in Kitty¡¯s eyes. ¡°And on that note, maybe he¡ª¡± Emil held up his hand, quieting his friend. He glanced at the mayor¡¯s closed door, just down the hall. ¡°Please don¡¯t suggest things like that. You¡¯re right. You don¡¯t understand politics.¡± Luckily enough, Kitty didn¡¯t seem to take the statement badly. Emil drew a strained breath. ¡°This is not the kind of situation that can be fixed by brute-forcing everything. If I took power, how would the people react? The mayor¡¯s well-liked. I¡¯m a human. King¡¯s orders or no, should I try to encroach on his authority¡­ There would be chaos.¡± But his words fell on deaf ears. It was plain as day that Kitty simply didn¡¯t understand what was so wrong about forcefully taking power. ¡°I can¡¯t see how it matters,¡± Kitty muttered as they began descending the stairs. ¡°All that matters is that they live, not whether they like their leader or whatever.¡± ¡°But it does matter,¡± Emil mumbled in reply. ¡°It always matters.¡± However, deep inside, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder¡ªdid it really? 252: F30, Who Are You? Sometimes, Moleman really does confuse me. Nothing against him, of course, it¡¯s just that this whole ordeal with the mayor, and with how the hospital works, and then all that about points and whatnot¡­ It¡¯s enough to make me more than happy I don¡¯t have to deal with any of it. No, my role has become a fairly straightforward one, and not much dissimilar to what I did the weeks before Moleman confronted me in the alley. I shadow him. At a close distance, sure, but the essence remains the same. I shadow him as we leave the city hall, I shadow him as we return to the hospital, I shadow him as he conveys with the greatest care how he agreed to use up a bunch of their points, I defend him against the threat of Ursula as she exudes killing intent enough to stun a drake, and then I shadow him the rest of the day, too. Everything worked out in the end. I really can¡¯t tell why Moleman seems so nervous about everything. On the way home, late enough for those who didn¡¯t catch the news about the curfew being raised to hide away, Moleman grumbles about politics and interpersonal relationships and how if only the mayor had listened to him from the start, this wouldn¡¯t have happened. While we¡¯re walking, I spot a rat sauntering by, bloated and limping. And for just a moment, it pauses, half-lidded eyes glued on the both of us. On me. Slowly, like a baby taking its first steps toward its parent, it staggers toward me. I take a glance at Moleman. He¡¯s still talking about politics. Good. I turn back to the rat. Silently, I let my intent rear in my chest, accompanied by a glare that sends drakes flying in the distance. GoawaygoawaygoawayI¡¯llkillyouI¡¯llkillyouI¡¯llkillyouI¡¯llkillyoudiediediediediediedie. The rat twitches back, a trail of foamy saliva falling from its slightly open mouth. My glare persists for a moment longer, eliciting a shiver to fly across the bloated little thing. Without so much as a squeak, it turns tail and scampers back into the shadow of an alley. Right. Good. With that done and over with, I return to my delightful stroll with Moleman. The evening continues and concludes much like it did yesterday, though Moleman seems a tad bit more disturbed by various events today than he was yesterday. But I¡¯m sure that¡¯ll change eventually. He isn¡¯t the type to mope, after all. Before we go to bed, Moleman does some light reading, and I follow suit. Occasionally he¡¯ll encounter a word he doesn¡¯t know, but with my translation skill, it¡¯s easy to help. Once it¡¯s properly night, we both go to sleep, I attend to my nightly friendship duties, the night passes peacefully, and all is well. The following day is a bit weirder, but that¡¯s only because we have the whole matter to attend to. Specifically, we had to actually attend the whole handing-out-food thing, which despite the fact that it was supposed to be a charity event felt more awkward than anything. For one, us humans? We were only there for show. Yeah, really. We didn¡¯t get to hand out any food, the mayor didn¡¯t mention us in his speech, and if I didn¡¯t know better, I would¡¯ve assumed we were a show of force. Kind of like the UN, I guess. And you want to know the worst part? We didn¡¯t even get any credit! Or, I guess, Moleman and his party didn¡¯t get any credit. It was really weird. To be honest, I was this close to pulling a one-man coup d''etat, and I probably would¡¯ve if Moleman hadn¡¯t read my thoughts and explained in a gentle tone that if the goblins knew the food came from filthy humans, they would probably have refused it. So, instead. the credit went to the mayor and his quick thinking, alongside Simel. Safe to say, I was quite a bit more okay with it all following his explanation. Aside from a few hitches, the rationing went well. Also, apparently, the new plague has been dubbed ¡®Dragon Plague¡¯, which sounds objectively awesome. However¡ªand this is only my personal opinion¡ªit would¡¯ve been much more suitable to call it ¡®rat plague.¡¯ Just saying. Because it¡¯s spread by¡­ because of all the¡­ you know. Yeah.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Anyhow. The charity event went well. No issues, nobody died, and a lot of people actually accepted their rations quite gratefully. I¡¯d downright call it a heartwarming sight if I hadn¡¯t been so busy pretending that I couldn¡¯t smell each and every single person who¡¯s been infected. Thankfully, Moleman wasn¡¯t too tenacious about the whole thing. ¡°You really can¡¯t smell it?¡± ¡°No,¡± I lie gracefully. He makes a difficult expression. Ouch. ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­ I can smell that some people are sweaty, and I can smell some diseased people, but not the plague in particular, so it¡¯s¡­ If it hadn¡¯t been for all the rats and general stench lying about, then¡­¡± ¡°No, no, don¡¯t worry about it. I understand. Don¡¯t try to rush it.¡± But I can tell he¡¯s disappointed, which only makes this hurt all the more. I wince back a little and try to put a pleasant expression on my face. ¡°But¡ªbut I can smell the drake pox! So if you want to, since we¡¯ve already got everyone gathered, then¡­¡± ¡°And kill what little good humor the mayor was able to muster from the crowd?¡± My suggestion is shot down almost instantly by a simple shake of the head. But he also smiles, so it isn¡¯t too bad. ¡°No, this is¡­ let them have this one.¡± I relent, something I seem to do often nowadays. The rest of the food-handing-out party goes well, and by the end, most of the food-filled carts have been emptied. Not all of them, though. A mystery whose answer is revealed very quickly when we, instead of driving the carts straight back to the hospital, take a quick stop at a grandiose church. Or maybe it¡¯s a cathedral? I can never tell these things. Since Moleman steps off the cart, so do I. A ship never abandons his captain. We¡¯re met at the frankly oversized front entrance by a goblin dressed so modestly I wouldn¡¯t have assumed him to be anyone of importance if Moleman hadn¡¯t given him a curt bow. Wary not to repeat a certain incident, I follow suit, bowing even if I don¡¯t know to whom I¡¯m doing it. The goblin, in turn, gives us a small bow, which I really hadn¡¯t expected. He looks kind. Same crow¡¯s feet at the eyes that Father had. Once the both of them have stopped surveying the floor between them, they straighten out to smile politely at each other. ¡°The Apostle Cathedral of Harvest can¡¯t thank you enough for this donation, Mole.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it, Father Blueroot. I¡¯m only happy to know it will come to good use for the poor and sick.¡± ¡°You are too modest, my friend,¡± Fr. Blueroot¡ªweird name¡ªanswers easily. I¡¯m kind of surprised they aren¡¯t patting each other on the back. Not that it¡¯s my place to comment on their mode of communication. Let¡¯s see, what else can I think about¡­ Well, Fr. Blueroot isn¡¯t exactly dressed like a combatant, and he¡¯s alone, not to mention that his hands¡ªalthough firmly scarred and calloused¡ªdon¡¯t appear to be made from any kind of violence. So, no reason to consider the possible ways I might kill him if he were to attack Moleman. Though, of course, if he were to try, then I¡¯d¡ª ¡°And you are?¡± I¡¯d probably try to¡ª ¡°Kitty?¡± Moleman¡¯s curious voice makes itself heard, and only now do I realize it¡¯s for me. I turn to regard him. ¡°Yes, Moleman?¡± He nods towards Fr. Blueroot. I blink and turn in the direction of the priest. Oh, shoot, that was for me? Ah, uh¡­ I give another tiny bow. ¡°I¡¯m Moleman¡¯s companion and guard. And also assistant.¡± The priest looks vaguely amused, though I can¡¯t understand why until he directs his peculiar little smile to Moleman. ¡°The strong, unkillable human such as you has gained a guardian and protector?¡± Moleman smiles sheepishly, and I feel bad about not just calling myself his assistant. ¡°Well, you never know when a maniac with a knife could show up. Not even we are immune to a stab to the back.¡± ¡°Of course, there¡¯s no doubt about that.¡± The priest turns back to me again. ¡°But aside from that, young human, who are you?¡± My placid expression, well-trained to look harmless, turns strained. ¡°As Moleman said, I¡¯m Kitty.¡± His curious expression doesn¡¯t shift. ¡°PrissyKittyPrincess,¡± I elaborate. But he¡¯s still looking at me like that. Expecting me to say more. To say what? ¡°I¡¯m a human, like Moleman. I¡¯m not in his party, but we¡¯re friends, so¡­¡± ¡°But who are you?¡± I shift a little where I stand. Moleman looks a little uncomfortable. I try not to look too incredulous. ¡°What do you mean?¡± He shrugs mildly. ¡°What¡¯s your favorite food? Your happiest childhood memory? What do you think about music, and dancing?¡± His smile widens in innocent interest. ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t¡­¡± I gulp dryly. My gaze hops to Moleman, but finds no comfort in his unhappy face. I look back at the priest. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. It isn¡¯t important, so¡­¡± Finally, roused by a pause in the conversation, Moleman replaces the priest¡¯s face, his worried smile pacifying us both. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Father, but we unfortunately don¡¯t have time to chit-chat. We¡¯re on a rather tight schedule today, so we¡¯ll have to talk later. Is that alright?¡± Fr. Blueroot steps back a little, his smile falling back into neutrality. ¡°Oh, of course. Pardon my inquisitiveness. With the lives your kind have led, I¡¯m sure you understand my curiosity.¡± ¡°If you appeared where we come from, you would certainly have been met with the same type of interest,¡± Moleman comments, which thankfully elicits a chuckle from the priest. With well-learned movements, Moleman steps away from the priest, saying, ¡°Thank you for the conversation, I hope you¡¯ll send my regards to Mother Sweetbell.¡± ¡°I certainly will. Tell the mayor to increase our budget, and tell Benevil that he¡¯s still welcome at the ward if he¡¯d like to help.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure if the mayor would be too receptive to that at the moment,¡± Moleman mumbles. And he almost fully turns around too before his face falls into a patch of shadow. He glances back at the priest. ¡°Oh, and, before I forget¡­ We might need to decide on another meeting in regards to expanding the ward into¡­¡± ¡°Into the cathedral?¡± Fr. Blueroot finishes for him. I would have expected him to frown at such a proposition, but instead he just smiles. As usual. ¡°I¡¯ll send Jalle with my available times.¡± Moleman meets his smile tiredly. ¡°Thank you, Father.¡± A smile and a nod, and finally, we take our leave fully. 253: F30, Another Day ¡°Has anyone told you that you could¡¯ve been a drakekeep, doctor? Even Charm¡¯s like wax in your hands!¡± Lent comments as he accepts the reins from Moleman, smiling broadly. His eyes briefly move to my own hands, before returning to Moleman¡¯s. He hums. ¡°Those are hands, yes?¡± ¡°Oh, yes,¡± Moleman says, his voice a little high, like it usually is when he¡¯s lost in his own thoughts. ¡°Hands. That¡¯s what we have.¡± Lent pauses, one hand on Charm¡¯s side. A frown deepens the wrinkles around his face. ¡°Everything alright there, doctor?¡± ¡°Yes, yes. Why wouldn¡¯t I be? That is, why wouldn¡¯t it be?¡± Lent¡¯s eyes narrow in suspicion. ¡°You seem a bit haggard, that¡¯s all. Mayor¡¯s got you working like a dog, is he?¡± ¡°No, not at all,¡± Moleman says, but the smile on his face contradicts him. Tut, tut, Moleman. Aren¡¯t you the one who told me not to lie? Ah, but he also told me some lying is necessary on account of society. ¡°I¡¯m just a little tired, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°So rest then,¡± Lent suggests helpfully. Moleman¡¯s mechanical smile turns strained. But he¡¯s not allowed to assault people, so instead, he just says, ¡°Thanks, I¡¯ll try my best.¡± And as for me, I¡¯d probably be a fair bit more invested in all of this if it weren¡¯t for the scent I¡¯m picking up on Lent. A scent I really don¡¯t have to make any comment on. In a couple of weeks or so, it won¡¯t matter. So, there¡¯s really no reason to mention it. None whatsoever. In the corner of my eye, Lent hunches over and coughs into his hand, eventually hacking up a near-solid blob of yellowish mucus. Like the man of class he is, he wipes it directly on his overalls, a display disgusting enough to make Moleman lose his smile briefly. ¡°You don¡¯t seem too alright yourself, Lent,¡± Moleman comments humorously. ¡°Huh? Oh, no, this is¡­ Heh, well, figured you¡¯d pick up on it, doctor. But it¡¯s really nothing bad. I had a cough like this when I was younger, went away when I got married, so it¡¯s just a returning thing. Nothing for a man like yourself to worry about.¡± And in the same way he¡¯s looked at me so many times, the same way he looks at patients and the same way he looks at friends, he smiles lightly at Lent, and says, with care warming his voice and shining through his eyes, ¡°Sure, but make sure to come in if you feel any worse, okay? Ask for Sully and I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s dragon plague,¡± I say. Moleman¡¯s jaws snap together with an audible clack. Lent, for his own part, stares at me blankly before being able to squeeze out a chuckle. ¡°Now, now, mister assistant, I may not have been at the speech or anything, but I know what the latest plague is called. I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t make jokes like that.¡± But Moleman knows better. He turns to me, brows pinched in dismay, and for one, he looks his age. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Is that a frown I see tugging at the corner of his lip? ¡°What are you trying to say, Kitty?¡± I direct my steady gaze at Lent. ¡°You have dragon plague.¡± Next, to Moleman. ¡°He should probably be laid in for observation.¡± Moleman looks as though he¡¯s about to correct me, but I quickly explain my piece. In a grand effort to keep the real reason under wraps, I tell a half-truth: he smells a whole lot like the rats do. Just a feeling. Nothing more, nothing less. Lent rejects it, of course, but Moleman knows better than to doubt me on olfactory matters. However, with Lent as our only stablemaster and Moleman too kind to forcefully put him in, Lent narrowly avoids being administered. Good for him. I supported him a little by saying I could smell that he wasn¡¯t infective yet, so until I drop that, he¡¯s safe. And unlike what I expected, he actually remains that way for a fair while. Over a week passes without him getting noticeably worse, aside from his cough turning slimier and his overall gait being marked by a slight limp. He didn¡¯t seem to mind it, so unless he¡¯d gotten that all-too-noticeable fever, I¡¯d say there¡¯s a pretty fair chance he would rather have passed out right in the stables than go to the hospital. But by the time he got that bad, he wasn¡¯t in any place to fight back as Moleman and I dragged him into the new dragon plague ward. He got a bed, room, boarding, and two full meals every day, all for free! Part of his insurance, I¡¯m told. And with him so close to hand, we¡¯re able to observe him even closer. I don¡¯t care all that much about how the disease progresses, but Moleman is more than anxious to know the steps, so I follow along by principle. Aside from the first stage, which is basically a cold without the fever, it¡¯s a pretty debilitating thing. It didn¡¯t take long before he could barely even walk on his own. The muscles in his neck and back also deteriorated until he could hardly keep his own head up. Breathing became difficult, and speaking took every inch of his willpower. Passing into December, Moleman started spending more and more time observing Lent. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Part of his justification was to teach me how to better smell each part of the disease¡¯s development, but I know better. If he¡¯d left Lent alone for too long, he would¡¯ve felt guilty. As it was, he was already blaming himself for not having him forcefully administered from the start. Neither I nor Lent could convince him of the futility of such thoughts. His wife and children didn¡¯t blame Moleman either, but he still lowered his head to them anytime they visited. Lent himself mainly seemed anxious to get back to working, which I can¡¯t fault him for. The drakes were currently being handled by Plus and Rat. They¡¯re doing a fairly good job from what I¡¯ve heard, not that it¡¯s put Lent¡¯s mind at ease or anything. But it¡¯s better than nothing. By this point, thankfully, he can¡¯t really raise objections anymore. ¡°And how is he?¡± Both Moleman and I turn to Benevil as he saunters closer to Lent¡¯s bed, closely followed by Mitt and Pinn. The two kids, now more than used to how this goes, scramble to Lent¡¯s side to check his pulse and temperature. Moleman smiles at them before returning his attention to Benevil. ¡°I can¡¯t say he¡¯s better, unfortunately.¡± ¡°Same as yesterday, then?¡± ¡°No, with the ways things are developing¡­¡± He turns to look at me, and I respond to his unspoken command by catching Benevil¡¯s gaze. ¡°It¡¯s doubtful he¡¯ll improve¡ªever,¡± I say in Moleman¡¯s stead. Lent himself is fast asleep as he often is nowadays, so it¡¯s fine. Benevil¡¯s gentle expression doesn¡¯t change even a smidge. ¡°I see. And how long would you say he has?¡± ¡°Well, patients who came in in the state he is now lasted maybe¡­ A week or so? It¡¯s difficult to know. His fingers have started to turn black and he¡¯s almost completely paralyzed, so he¡¯s clearly starting to enter the final stage. But whether this last part will last a few days or a week is difficult to tell.¡± ¡°But you feel certain that he¡­?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I answer easily. If it was my choice, it might even be good to empty the bed to make space for someone who might have a chance of recovery. ¡°By this point, only a heart could save him.¡± ¡°Do we have any current donors?¡± In the corner of my vision, I notice Moleman making a face. I try my best to ignore it. ¡°Unfortunately, no. Most people with dragon plague refuse to donate until they feel certain they¡¯re terminal¡ª¡± which is a bit dumb since we¡¯ve yet to have a single person recover from this thing, ¡±¡ªat which point they are often unable to consent due to paralysis, coma, etcetera. Which is why I, again, think that we should just¡ª¡± But now, I can no longer pretend not to see the look on Moleman¡¯s face. A look that tells me without words not to bring up my coma-equals-consent plan again. Which is¡­ fine. Benevil knows what I was suggesting, not that he can refuse Moleman either. ¡°It is important to the continued functioning of the hospital that Lent should recover. However, we cannot go against our principles to make it happen.¡± I kind of want to argue, if only because principles shouldn¡¯t stand before human lives. On the other hand¡­ I don¡¯t really care. So, I shrug, and that¡¯s that. We discuss Lent a little bit further, specifically in regards to possibly amputating his fingers and toes to keep the spread contained. But if he were to recover against all reason and logic, being fingerless would make it impossible for him to work again, not to mention possible complications. So, rejected. Then we talk about other patients, other things happening, other important events¡­ ¡°Has he replied yet?¡± Benevil asks while he gives routine care to one of the comatose patients. Moleman, helping him, frowns slightly. ¡°Yeah. He did.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°He¡­ accepted.¡± ¡°He did? That¡¯s great! So, should anything happen to the mayor, you¡¯ll be working in his stead?¡± Considering how important this has been to Moleman, it¡¯s a little surprising to find him frowning so deeply. ¡°Yeah. But it¡¯s not like we want something to happen to him, and even if it did and I took over, there¡¯s no guarantee that people will listen to me just because the king¡¯s on my side. The mayor was far from supportive, and the people really like him, so one word from him and nothing I say will matter anyway.¡± ¡°I think you might be a little pessimistic. You¡¯ll do great! Assuming something happens to him, that is. And even if they don¡¯t like you¡­ what does that matter if you end the plague and keep casualties to a minimum?¡± Benevil pats Moleman on the back. ¡°You¡¯ll do great.¡± Moleman musters a smile. I think that¡¯s the first one I¡¯ve seen all day. ¡°Thanks.¡± To that, Benevil simply smiles. I think he might have tossed a look my way, but I¡¯m in no position to return it. Personally, I would love to sneak a diseased rat into the mayor¡¯s bedpan and watch Moleman gain the power to fully ensure the plague doesn¡¯t spread too much further. But¡­ no. Not yet. It¡¯s too early, so it¡¯ll have to wait. Only a few thousand are sick with dragon plague, and most haven¡¯t even started showing symptoms yet. Besides, for now, the mayor is actually being kind of okay. He did refuse to do a full-scale quarantine again, and he¡¯s being purposefully lax with the rationing, and he occasionally refuses to hear Moleman at all, but other than that, he¡¯s fine. ¡°Oh, and before I forget,¡± Benevil continues, ¡°I hear your birthday¡¯s coming up. The sixth, isn¡¯t that right?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s¡­¡± Pausing, Moleman furrows his brows in thought, most likely trying to remember what day in the goblin calendar today is, and to what day in the human calendar it corresponds to. Being such a clever fella, he soon finds his answer. ¡°Yes¡ªyes, the sixth.¡± ¡°Tomorrow, then?¡± ¡°It is.¡± Expertly reading Benevil¡¯s unsaid question, Moleman quickly continues. ¡°Celebrations will be tomorrow at six, at the mayor¡¯s estate. You are most welcome¡ªas are Mitt and Pinn. There will be other children, and plenty of toys to play with.¡± ¡°Oh, wonderful! I was afraid you might have tried to avoid hosting any sort of party, on account of the circumstances in the city and everything.¡± A defeated look briefly passes Moleman¡¯s face. ¡°I intended to, but in the end, my pleas went unheard. All I can do now is try to keep the food consumption to a minimum.¡± A meaningful look is sent my way, which I accept with bravery. I haven¡¯t eaten actual food since the rationing began, so there¡¯s really no need to tell me again, but his thought process is good. ¡°Your presence would doubtlessly be a delight, and I would love for you to come.¡± ¡°Charmer. Well, how could I possibly refuse? Am I right that you are also prone to gift-giving as part of the birthday festivities? Because if so, I will bring you something quite delightful, indeed.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it, and I¡¯ll look forward to seeing you there.¡± They chat for a bit more, and then we do the final few patients for the day and start heading home. It¡¯s gotten a bit difficult to get anywhere what with it being late December, especially because of all the snow. It¡¯s stacked in piles here and there, the daily snow-shovellers hardly being able to keep up with demand as it seems to snow every other day. You¡¯d think that most Swedes would be used to this ungodly amount of snow, but that¡¯s only northern Swedes. The two of us are strictly southern Swedes. Snow is a rarity down in Sk?ne, with the frozen days more so marked by a grayish, dirty slush than any actual snow. So, the snow is nice! Since we got it, I¡¯ve made snowangels, snowmen, snowlanterns, snowforts¡­ Everything. Each time I do it I¡¯ve done it in a park, and each time I¡¯d get surrounded by kids who wanted to join in. Moleman seemed apprehensive about it at first, but by now, he¡¯s gotten used to it. We even had a snowball fight once where Moleman got roped in, though he totally cheated by using his crystal ball to make the snowballs unable to hit him. I plowed him in the face for that one. But there will be no such playing today. Tomorrow is Moleman¡¯s birthday! Specifically, it¡¯s in seven hours. I have much to do. So, once we get home, I waste no time barricading myself in our shared room and refusing Moleman entry. He¡¯s got food to eat, and what I¡¯m about to make is entirely confidential! Alright. I¡¯ve got the leather, I¡¯ve got the handprint I stole from him in his sleep, I¡¯ve got all my tools and things¡­ It¡¯s time. 254: F30, What Did You Expect? By the time I finish making Moleman¡¯s birthday gift, it¡¯s five minutes to his birthday and he has knocked on the door several times asking to be let inside. But perfection is hard-won, and I can say with certainty that I am now a victor. Of all the leathers I¡¯ve tanned, this is the best. Of all the items I¡¯ve crafted, this is the best. In short, this single leather glove, crafted using dragonhide I can¡¯t even recall snatching, which I¡¯ve tanned and softened myself, is perfect. I¡¯ve made a few gloves under Fr. Moonlight¡¯s care, but this is the best one I¡¯ve made so far. The leather is soft like fresh skin, the dragontooth button for the back has been intricately carved to look like a curled-up dragon, and the color itself is a nice light blue. He¡¯s gonna love it. I¡¯m sure of it. And using a bit of fancy fabric from a dress that was in my inventory, I¡¯ve successfully made a little bag for it, too. Of course, it would probably have looked best in a box of some sort, but carpentry has never been my forte. Not that I used to be much for sewing, either. Hm¡­ Well, if I could learn sewing, why not woodworking? ¡­Not right now, though. At the moment, I need to let Moleman back into our room, which I do with a cheeky smile. He doesn¡¯t look too happy to see me. As a matter of fact, he looks really tired. ¡°Happy birthday!¡± I tell him, to lighten the mood somewhat. He doesn¡¯t smile. ¡°Thanks.¡± Craning his neck a little, he takes a look in the room. However, I cleaned up after myself, so there are no clues to infer the nature of my gift from. ¡°Right, good,¡± I hear him mumble under his breath. He turns back to me, and¡­ Okay, yeah, he¡¯s in a bad mood. I can tell instantly. ¡°I appreciate making a gift and all, but couldn¡¯t you have done this earlier? I¡¯ve explained before that sleep is important to me, and you know how early we have to get up tomorrow. This really isn¡¯t¡­¡± He sighs and moves past me into the room. ¡°We have a lot of people depending on us.¡± ¡°Oh. Y¡ªyeah, of course.¡± My shoulders fall slightly. ¡°Sorry. I tend to procrastinate sometimes, but¡­¡± That¡¯s no excuse. ¡°I should have thought ahead. You¡¯re right.¡± His expression softens. ¡°Thank you.¡± Which is good to hear and all, but there¡¯s still something bothering him. Even more so, he¡¯s still in a bad mood. If he goes to bed like this, he¡¯ll wake up in a bad mood, and then he¡¯ll have to spend his entire birthday in a bad mood! I absolutely can¡¯t let that happen. While Moleman turns his back on me to unbutton his vest, I pull the birthday gift out of my inventory. A small blue pouch with a pink bow. I¡¯m not sure where I learned how to make such pretty bows, but it really pulls together the overall design. With the present in hand, I stride up to Moleman¡¯s back, holding it out. ¡°Happy birthday, Moleman!¡± ¡°You already¡ª¡± but once he¡¯s turned around, he sees what¡¯s in my hand. ¡°What is¡­?¡± He blinks at it, his sleep-deprived mind soon making the connection. ¡°Oh! It¡¯s¡­ Are you giving it now? But it isn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°It is,¡± I say slyly. He doesn¡¯t seem entirely content with my answer. ¡°Well, sure, but¡­ Wouldn¡¯t you rather give this at the party?¡± ¡°It¡¯s my gift, and I¡¯ll give it whenever and however I please,¡± I say, grabbing his one hand and shoving the soft package into it. While he¡¯s reeling from the full-frontal assault, I smile teasingly. ¡°So? Aren¡¯t you going to open it?¡± His expression shifts in a matter of moments, moving from clear reluctance all the way to modest resignation. He knows there¡¯s no refusing this gift. Especially since I¡¯ve spent the past few hours working on it. Rejecting my gift is no longer socially acceptable, and so he gives a weak chuckle, moves over to the bed and takes a seat. I follow along, sitting right next to him as his tired hand moves to undo the bow and open the little satchel. He pulls out the little glove. He stares at it for a moment. Then, he lays it down on his lap before searching the satchel again. ¡°Ah, no, no,¡± I say, ¡°that¡¯s it. There¡¯s only one.¡± ¡°There¡¯s only one?¡± ¡°Yup. ¡®Cause you only have one arm!¡± ¡°I only have one usable one, but I still have the other arm, so it¡¯s not like a full pair of gloves would¡¯ve been superfluous or anything.¡± Hm. Uh. Uhhh¡­ Oh. Oh, wait, yeah, he¡¯s right. ¡°Hmmmm¡­¡± I hum aloud. ¡°Well, it¡¯s fine. Put it on, put it on!¡± He doesn¡¯t seem too excited about it, but he still lays the glove flat on his thigh before carefully slipping his one hand inside, pushing his hand against his leg to fully thread it on. Then he notices the button on the back, which is pretty much necessary for ensuring the glove fits properly. He turns to me. ¡°I am physically incapable of buttoning this. You do know that, right?¡± My mind goes blank. Ah. Uh¡­ I reach out, grab his hand, and carefully do the button. Fits like a glove! Damn, what a relief. Smiling, I lean out again. ¡°What are friends for?¡± He slowly pulls his hand back, looking at the front and back of the glove, at the button. But rather than happy, he looks confused. Downright suspicious. ¡°It fits really well.¡± ¡°Of course it does. I¡ª¡± ¡°And the material¡­¡± ¡°Dragonskin. Not sure where¡ª¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°The quality and make of this thing is really staggering.¡± I wipe at my nose to hide my bashful smile. ¡°Thank you. It took¡ª¡± ¡°Where did you get this?¡± His face suddenly turns to me. There¡¯s something new and dark in his eye. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have afforded this. Did you hurt someone? I¡¯m sure we can put it right, or at least pay their family. Who¡ª¡± ¡°I made it,¡± I say. It¡¯s a little hard to retain the smile on my face. ¡°I measured your hand while you were sleeping, and then I made that glove. For you.¡± I smile at the way his body relaxes. ¡°Nobody got hurt.¡± A chuckle leaves my lips. ¡°I mean, would I really do that? Hurt someone, all for a glove? No matter how fancy the glove, I wouldn¡¯t do something like that.¡± His gaze falls to his lap. To the glove adorning his hand. He flexes it once, twice, and then buries his head in his hand. ¡°Shit. Shit,¡± he hisses as his hand clenches into a fist. ¡°What the hell is wrong with me¡­?¡± Leaning back out again, he stares down at his open palm. At the light blue glove. ¡°Over a glove. A dumb little¡­¡± He shakes his head. ¡°No. No, that¡¯s not¡­¡± He looks at me. I don¡¯t like it, but the first thought that pops into my head is that for once, maybe for the first time, he looks pathetic. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant. This glove, it isn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°I know,¡± I say easily. I pat him on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I understand what you meant.¡± ¡°Thank you, I¡­¡± His lips twist into a frown, but then, just as quickly, quirk up into a smile that doesn¡¯t look right on him. He chuckles bitterly and something manic and wild usurps his face. ¡°You certainly think more of me than I do of you! What a great friend I am, huh?¡± I keep my smile on my face. Nice and even. Just like he¡¯s done for me, so many times. ¡°Yeah, you are.¡± He gives a little hiccup, and his face falls again to look at his lap. At the glove. I follow his gaze to it. It really is a nice glove. ¡°Why can¡¯t I just¡­¡± I can¡¯t quite catch the rest of what he says as he devolves into grumblings about everything he¡¯s done wrong, but it seems to be about how he¡¯s the worst person on Earth and has no right to try to teach me anything when he¡¯s so flawed himself. If I wanted to be annoyed, I could mention that we aren¡¯t technically on Earth, so he can¡¯t be the worst person there. However, I¡¯m more interested in being merely irritating at this moment. So, ignoring his dumb muttering, I grab his gloved hand, hold it up to him, and ask in the most innocent tone I can muster, ¡°So, what do you think?¡± His REDdened, frantically moving eyes bounce between his gloved hand and my sweetly smiling face. He takes two, three breaths. More confused than anything, he says, ¡°It¡¯s¡­ lovely?¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°I¡­ I really like the color. And it fits perfectly. It¡¯s¡­ you said it was dragonskin, which is¡­¡± He gulps weakly. ¡°I read that dragonskin¡­ one of the reasons it¡¯s so expensive, aside from the obvious, is because it¡¯s one of few materials you can cast magic wearing. So, it¡¯s¡­ I won¡¯t have to take it off to do magic. I can wear it, always.¡± He turns his hand over to look at the back, at the intricately carved button. A brief look of worry passes over his face. ¡°Did you¡­?¡± ¡°I carved it myself,¡± I say, nodding. ¡°It¡¯s lovely,¡± he says. ¡°The glove is¡­ it¡¯s wonderful. Thank you.¡± He almost looks as though he¡¯s about to cry again. ¡°I¡¯ll cherish it.¡± I break into a grin¡ªa fully honest one. ¡°You¡¯d better! That thing took me, like, seven hours to make! Not counting the whole finding-material ordeal. But, yeah.¡± I pat him on the back again. ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± And for almost a full minute, he doesn¡¯t respond. He just sits there, staring at the glove, gently flexing his fingers. In the end, I grow tired of the silence, so I say something that¡¯s been on my mind for a little while now. ¡°I don¡¯t think you should invite the mayor to your birthday party,¡± I say. ¡°Or any of the other aristocrats.¡± He looks at me like I suggested to host the party on Venus. But this piece has to be said, and if he won¡¯t, then I will. ¡°I mean, you hate them, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say¡ª¡± ¡°Okay, maybe not hate, but if you had the choice, you¡¯d rather hang out with alligators.¡± To that, he says nothing. ¡°So, like¡­ why make a big deal out of this? I know this is meant to serve as a combined your-birthday-and-Christmas party since you¡¯re apparently born on the same day as our Lord Jesus Christ, but that¡¯s no reason to have people you don¡¯t like in attendance. You already know that they¡¯ll spend the whole evening either complaining that you chose to serve human food or that you only served goblin food. They¡¯ll try to lobby you, push you into politics, belittle your human friends for their language¡­ It¡¯ll be dreadful. So, skip ¡®em. Seriously.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t just¡ª¡± ¡°You can,¡± I say, ¡°and you really should. The plague going on is one thing, but having to grovel before a bunch of nobles? No wonder you¡¯re feeling like this.¡± Thankfully, he doesn¡¯t question what I mean by that last part. He falls silent for a few seconds. I¡¯m tempted to speak, but I can tell that he needs the silence to think. After a few moments, he turns to me again. ¡°You know what? You¡¯re right. The mayor won¡¯t like me canceling the day before, but¡­¡± ¡°To hell with him!¡± He chuckles. ¡°To heck with him. Yeah. To heck with the lot of them!¡± I laugh, and he does too. We look at each other, smiling. ¡°Thanks, Kitty,¡± he says. ¡°What would I do without you?¡± I hum. ¡°Solve world hunger?¡± ¡°I doubt that,¡± he says. But we¡¯re both smiling again, and now the night is good. But even when things have turned for the better, we do still need to sleep. Or, at least, Moleman does. So I help him remove the glove, make a silly joke about how I can get him the other glove for Christmas, and then we head to bed. A good end to a fairly good day. Soon, Moleman is asleep, and once I¡¯m certain that he¡¯s in a deep enough sleep, I head out. One time, he caught me while I was heading out, but that time I had actually been headed to the library for some reading, so I¡¯d been able to stave off suspicion. Now is a bit different. Clad in my BLACK panther hide, I effortlessly slip out of the mayor¡¯s estate, fully unseen and unknown. Since the curfew has been lifted, I pause on the way to dress in a goblin disguise. But I need to be careful. People are still a bit antsy, not that they have any reason to fear me in particular anymore. It only takes about twenty minutes to reach the little shack I¡¯ve designated for this task, the road which I took giving me ample time to pick up a few diseased rats to bring along. Lucky me, I even found a diseased corpse in an alley! Of course, I had to dissect it or it wouldn¡¯t fit into my inventory, but still a good find. Once I arrive, my little friends are more than happy to receive, squeaking and screeching with joy. If it hadn¡¯t been for my excellent night vision, I¡¯m sure the sight of a few thousand rats all piled atop each other in the far end of the shack, squirming and wriggling and scurrying over each other in an attempt to get at the tributes I¡¯m throwing at them would¡¯ve been a strange sight indeed. Even with night vision, they still look more like gray balloons tied together with worms than anything with a spine and whiskers. Based on my most recent calculations, there should be approximately four thousand rats in here. At the moment, terrified by my consciously exuded killing intent, they¡¯re all squished up in one corner. This is done for a reason. See, with them all removed from the floor, it exposes the sicklier rats¡ªthe ones partially or fully paralyzed¡ªthat is, in the second or third stage. Those who are too sick to move are useless, so I eat them and produce a few new, fresh rats. But the ones that are only semi-paralyzed go into my inventory. Yes¡ªthat¡¯s a discovery I¡¯ve made recently. Unlike normal living beings, these rats¡ªsince they were made by my flesh and skill¡ªare counted as part of ¡®me¡¯, which means that I can put them whole and alive into my inventory. Neat, huh? Anyways, I tear apart a few of the overly diseased rats and feed them to the rest of the horde. Then I use half of the corpse to create more rats and the other half to feed the ones that are already here. When I leave the shack, I do so with a few dozen in my inventory. Over the course of the coming few hours, I move through the city, depositing them in waterways, homes, food pantries, kennels, orphanages¡­ Any place that might need a touch of plague. It¡¯s highly effective. <9 788 infected.> Nice! I¡¯ve been shooting for around 10k infected, which would be twenty per cent of the whole, but I¡¯m starting to think closer to 20k, or even 25k might be a better bet. I mean, it shouldn¡¯t be long until Moleman figures out some kind of vaccine or whatever, at which point it won¡¯t matter how many are infected. ¡­I only hope it won¡¯t be too soon. Really, if I got to choose¡­ A few more weeks. That¡¯s all I ask for. No matter the price. 255: F30, Moleman 4 Mayor ¡°Shame about that poor stablemaster. And on your birthday, too. You must have felt dreadful all evening, Mole.¡± ¡°Not at all. It happened late at night, mayor, so there was no way for me to¡­¡± Again, like usual, Moleman doesn¡¯t seem too keen on lying. At least, not with a straight face. After all, if the party had been like the mayor wanted¡ªa posh affair with aristocrats galore and plenty of fantasy-champagne-equivalent¡ªthen there¡¯s no chance in heck that Moleman would have stayed up until four in the morning getting off his rockers on the homemade moonshine Rat¡¯s been brewing. Ah, good times¡­ I can hear Moleman grinding his teeth together. ¡°Yes. It was a shame.¡± Leaning back in his comfortable chair, the mayor lets his eyes slide across the study, almost completely missing me. But he did get a look at me, a sight foul enough to make him frown in what I think might be disgust. Rude. To distract himself, he leans in again, returning his attention to the papers Moleman deposited on his desk earlier. ¡°Unfortunately, I can¡¯t grant this.¡± As usual, nothing on Moleman¡¯s face indicates a fraction of the anger he must be feeling. He¡¯s gotten really good at this sort of political poker face. ¡°Mayor, please reconsider. We¡¯ve been searching for a stablemaster to take over his post for over a week now, and at this point¡­¡± ¡°Your only solution is to mercifully bring the drakes out of the city. Lest they¡­¡± he glances down at the paper to fully read it word-for-word, ¡°¡®be slain by those who yet fear the drake pox.¡¯ Your writing, much like your diction, could use some work, I pray you know that.¡± Moleman¡¯s ears turn red. I consider the pros and cons of making Moleman a mayor today. Hmmm¡­ ¡°Of course, mayor. You¡¯re right.¡± Beneath the table, I can only barely catch how Moleman¡¯s gloved hand tightens into a fist. ¡°However, I truly can¡¯t see any alternative. My assistant¡ªKitty¡ªis extremely proficient at sniffing out the drake pox, and he has affirmed that none of the drakes currently kept at the city hospital are infected. I¡¯ve already made contact with the human outpost in Arboga, who attest that they will be able to receive the drakes. The trip shouldn¡¯t take more than five days there and back. While there, the delegates we send could even pick up some rations.¡± ¡°You are much too optimistic, Mole. With the threat of dragon plague, only humans such as yourself could be sent. We can¡¯t afford to part with any of your members.¡± ¡°But my assistant can¡ª¡± ¡°I will not permit it.¡± Moleman¡¯s jaw snaps shut. The mayor leans back again, throwing down the papers. ¡°Learn to take a no, Mole.¡± Silently, Moleman looks down at the papers, his back hunched. ¡°First, you refused to permit further quarantine. Then you refused my suggestion for turning the cathedral into a second ward. Few of the prominent Judges accept my visit anymore. And now this. Forgive me for assuming, mayor, but it would seem that you have taken a personal dislike to my methods.¡± ¡°Not your methods,¡± the mayor contradicts. ¡°To you.¡± ¡°To me?¡± Moleman says. ¡°Why?¡± The mayor looks at him for a moment, and then at me, before barking a laugh. ¡°Do I even need to say it?¡± ¡°No. I suppose not,¡± Moleman bites out. The mayor, all things considered, takes it well. That is to say, he laughs again. Somehow, he doesn¡¯t seem to care at all that should some unfortunate accident befall him, Moleman¡¯s the one in charge. Simel said so. On the other hand, I¡¯ve got a feeling that if the accident is too mild, then the mayor might consider himself fit enough to rule, and his sway over the city would probably beat Moleman and his widely disliked king¡¯s order by far. That¡¯d be a bummer.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I shoot a quick look at the current number of infectees. <14 002 infected.> And today is¡­ <18:20:11 Day 1 092> A lovely January day. Wow, it sure is hard to believe it¡¯s been almost three months since I came to the city, huh? Yeah, it¡¯s about time we start wrapping things up. It¡¯s about time Moleman became mayor. Unfortunately, since we happen to live in the same house as the soon-to-be ex-mayor, I can¡¯t pretend not to smell a rat for long. So, only five days after our last chat, the mayor is hospitalized to the sound of clamoring and complaining. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s a thing with his types, but they can¡¯t seem to be okay with what they get. ¡°I demand your finest room! How can you possibly expect a man of my rank to share a ward with these common, vulgar goblins?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but with the increase in hospitalizations, there are no private rooms available,¡± Ursula says with a politeness that I honestly didn¡¯t expect her to be capable of. ¡°This is the best we can offer.¡± The ex-mayor, in turn, turns the other cheek and snorts at Moleman, who¡¯s on the opposite side of his bed. ¡°First you usurp my position, and now you degrade me? To think that I had ever expected more of your ilk.¡± He frowns at Moleman before buckling over to the side and coughing up a marble-sized lump of mucus. The effort makes him moan in pain, but he turns to Moleman with no lessened anger. ¡°And you¡­ you¡­! Less than a day in power, and you are already plotting to let this stay last a lifetime!¡± I know I give him credit for this all the time, but Moleman really is patient. Probably one of the most patient guys around. I mean, if he was yapping at me like this, I¡¯d already have made a donor out of him. But Moleman? No, he just smiles, the same way you do when you talk to a child or a really old person. ¡°Your honor, I ask that you don¡¯t blame your estate¡¯s lack of finances on me. Trying to make the city pay to have one of the rooms in your mansion refurbished into a private ward is simply not the kind of economic strain we can manage at this time. The treasury is lacking as it is.¡± Wow. I can¡¯t believe Moleman didn¡¯t even mention how absolutely corrupt it was for the ex-mayor to so much as attempt something like that. A rare bit of regard for this world¡¯s customs? Or maybe it¡¯s ordinary respect. One never knows. The ex-mayor, on the other hand, is less than appreciative of Moleman¡¯s kind wording. ¡°Such a ward would have been for the benefit of the city, as it would allow me to¡ª¡± And here, again, his present illness makes itself known as he runs right into another coughing fit. Moleman smiles gently. ¡°Please don¡¯t overexert yourself, your honor. Allow yourself to rest, and leave the city to me. I¡¯ll make sure you receive care fully proportionate to your needs.¡± ¡°Dogspit!¡± the ex-mayor barks, but it¡¯s weak. ¡°When¡­ haaah¡­¡± he draws in a deep, hoarse breath. ¡°When will you have a heart ready for me?¡± Moleman¡¯s amiable facade crumbles into a frown I¡¯d almost describe as hostile. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°A heart. A donation. I need¡­¡± He coughs into his hand, frowning at the slick mucus staining his spidersilk glove. ¡°I need to be healed. That one,¡± he points at me, ¡°that¡¯s the one that does it, isn¡¯t it? Don¡¯t take me for an ignorant. Well? There are plenty of breathing corpses in this hospital. Let them have some use before the Gods reclaim their bodies.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, your honor,¡± Moleman says deliberately, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid that I cannot permit that. You refused to sign up as a donor, and therefore, you are not eligible to receive any donation. Furthermore, at the time, the slots for donation are quite full.¡± The ex-mayor¡¯s eyes flare open. Since I know what¡¯s coming, I allow myself to zone out and focus on other things while he barks needlessly. But, wow. It really is true that this is the best room we have to offer. This one only has around a dozen goblins in it, and all of them have beds to lie on. Not to mention the view overlooking the cathedral down south. Best of all, though, the people here aren¡¯t extremely sick, so you can smell things other than the dragon plague wafting about. Absently, I watch Ursula moving through the room, checking up on the patients. She¡¯s good. Apparently, before coming here, she was actually studying to become a nurse, hence why she¡¯s basically in charge of this whole operation. I have no idea why she¡¯s the sword-wielding fighter of the party, but then again, being a university student probably has such effects. Very cool. Apart from Moleman, she¡¯s the only one in the room who has a smell other than the ratty plague smell. It¡¯s nice. Mellow. Easy on the¡­ ¡ªHm? Hm. Hmmm¡­ Sniff. Sniff sniff sniff. No, that¡­ that can¡¯t be right. Dislodging from Moleman¡¯s side, I softly pad up behind Ursula, sniffing all the while. Sniff sniff sniff. This isn¡¯t¡­ Soon I¡¯m standing right behind her. On my tiptoes, I¡¯m able to fully press my nose into the back of her head. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. I don¡¯t¡­ I gulp. This is¡ª Suddenly she turns around, her face mere inches from mine, and without any warning, she lets out a scream like a cartoon woman spotting a mouse and proceeds to jump at least three feet into the air, away from me, before toppling onto the floor. But I¡¯m not really paying attention to that. I¡¯m still sniffing. The scent lingers in the air. ¡°Sully? Kitty!¡± Moleman says from far away, jogging up to us. He brings Ursula to her feet and then he turns to me. ¡°Kitty, is everything alright? What¡¯s wrong?¡± The fact that he¡¯s asking me that type of question means that he can tell. Maybe my face is paler than usual, maybe my eyes tremble. Maybe all of me is trembling. I¡¯m not sure. All I know is that when I look at Moleman, I feel a deep, cold knot tying itself in the pit of my stomach. ¡°Ursula¡¯s sick,¡± I choke out. Just over Moleman¡¯s shoulder, I see her, her eyes wide and terrified. The scent of rats lingers over her shoulders. ¡°She¡¯s got the dragon plague.¡± 256: F30, This is the Worst She ended up in the hospital that very day, fully quarantined. There was no end to the ex-mayor¡¯s complaints once he heard that she fully had her own room, not that he was in any place to do anything about it. After all, unlike him, there was a fairly good chance that her illness could infect not only goblins¡ªbut also humans. Humans such as Moleman. Oh, and also his party, I guess. But not me. Lucky, huh? ¡°This is the worst,¡± she says, which is awfully rude considering that I just brought her food. She¡¯s not even looking at it. Is the window and the courtyard really that interesting? ¡°Moleman said you should be in bed as much as possible,¡± I say as I put down the tray on her desk. Because, yes, we have afforded her a desk. She¡¯s got a desk, writing supplies, bookshelves and any book she might ever want, not to mention that she can buy whatever she wants from the shop. She¡¯s really very fortunate, though she doesn¡¯t seem to appreciate it. ¡°Also, about what you¡¯re wearing¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not wearing a hospital gown!¡± she says, whipping her head around. Her face is all RED, though I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s from fever or anger. ¡°I¡¯m not sick. I feel fine, so there¡¯s no reason I should be isolated like this. You¡¯re the reason I¡¯m in here to begin with. So, why?¡± ¡°Why what?¡± She storms up to me. ¡°Why did you lie to put me in here?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t lie.¡± ¡°Oh, you didn¡¯t. Because you¡¯re such a terrible liar? Or would you never lie to Mole? No. I think you got me in here for a reason. Isolate me from everyone else. Me first, and then Plus and Jazz and Rat. Push us away and Mole will be all yours. Isn¡¯t that it, Kitty?¡± Alright, she¡¯s lost me. What the heck is she jabbering about? ¡°Um, no. That¡¯s dumb.¡± She takes a step back. ¡°Right. Whatever you say. But don¡¯t think I¡¯m not keeping an eye on you.¡± ¡°And I on you.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°As in,¡± I say, trying to rethread the steps in my brain to figure out what I was saying, ¡°I¡¯ll be keeping an eye on you too, because, well, I¡¯m the only one who can visit you and stuff. If your condition worsens, I¡¯ll know. And, um, you won¡¯t like hearing this, but moving around a bunch actually makes it worse. So, I really think you should take off the gear, maybe put your sword in your inventory, and lie down for a while. It¡¯d do you good.¡± She snorts. ¡°Because you care so much. Gotcha.¡± ¡­Okay, I¡¯m done. I don¡¯t want to hang out with Miss Deppy Downer any longer. I mean, we fixed up this whole room for her, and this is the thanks we get? Wow. I wonder how Moleman can stand having her in his party. I turn towards the door. ¡°I¡¯ll be going now. If you need anything, just send Moleman a message. Um, you can¡¯t send me any, cuz they get lost in all the hate mail and I¡¯ll miss opening it. If you want, you can also message me by flapping fiend or smoke signals, whichever has better service.¡± Someone chuckles. When I turn back to the room, she¡¯s looking out of the window again, back turned to me. Hmm. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°So, um. Bye,¡± I say, and I only barely get the door to the homemade sluice open before a voice perks up behind me. ¡°Wait,¡± she says. I turn to look at her. She glances down at the floor. ¡°There¡¯s a book on my nightstand¡­ My nightstand in my room at the mayor¡¯s estate. I was in the middle of reading it, and I forgot to bring it along. Could you get it for me?¡± ¡°Uh,¡± I say, ¡°sure.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± With my quest updated, I slip out of the room and into the accompanying waiting room. This whole place actually used to be the office and waiting room of the chief of surgery here, but he¡¯s unfortunately been dispatched, so here we are. This naturally creates a sluice between her room and the hall outside. This is very useful for me since it gives me a room to de-cootify myself in. It¡¯s especially nice because there aren¡¯t any windows, and I¡¯ve given specific orders that no one is to be allowed in here. Hence, I can do what needs to be done to fully remove any trace of the dragon plague. First, I remove the leopard loincloth I was wearing and eat it. I normally wear clothes, but for this, I need something disposable. So, loincloth it is. Next, I use a personal favorite of mine. [Peel]. With my skin removed, I no longer have to worry about pathogens being on me, and I can get rid of the evidence by eating it, which also allows me to recover my skin. As you might imagine, yes, this does leave the floor of this waiting room covered in sticky dark blood, but it¡¯s fine. Nobody else is going to enter, because unless the human variant of the dragon plague is somehow milder, there¡¯s no chance that Ursula is leaving that room alive. It¡¯s a bit of a shame, but I think this might be it. I¡¯m not sure how the human variant develops, but if it¡¯s anything like the goblin one, I¡¯d wager she has maybe a month or so left. But I¡¯m certain of one thing. The plague can¡¯t go on any longer. I refuse to let Moleman be infected with this. I¡¯d rather die. Once my skin is healed and I''m assured I¡¯m not covered in cooties, I pull some actual clothes out of my inventory and leave the room. ¡°How is she?¡± Moleman asks. ¡°She says she¡¯s fine,¡± I say in a way that makes it obvious I don¡¯t agree. ¡°Ah, I see¡­¡± Moleman says. ¡°Well, if she can talk normally, things aren¡¯t too bad.¡± ¡°Something like that.¡± We continue walking. I retell the last of how it went, and I almost fall into my old habit of following him everywhere when I realize my fault. He looks at me oddly. ¡°What¡¯s with the frown?¡± ¡°The what?¡± I touch a finger to my face. My lips are crooked down into a deep frown. Huh. ¡°Well, it¡¯s¡­ I have to go get a thing for her from the mayor¡¯s estate, so that¡¯ll take one hour, and then it¡¯ll only be like an hour left until lunchtime, so I¡¯ll have to leave soon.¡± Which means I won¡¯t be able to hang out with Moleman. This is the worst. He smiles sympathetically. ¡°I¡¯d love to accompany you there, but the mayor is being a bit demanding. And I also have to meet with one of the judges regarding funding for the rebuilding of the cathedral, so¡­¡± All of which is obviously more important than me fetching a book and getting her her next meal. Couldn¡¯t she just learn to not eat like I did? Honestly, I don¡¯t understand why they haven¡¯t taken the no-eat pill yet. It saves money, it saves time, and all it costs is constant hunger pangs for the rest of your life! Easy trade. But, yeah. This sucks. I give Moleman a nervous look. ¡°But you¡¯ll be okay, right? I mean, these aristocrats value looks above everything, so going without a bodyguard might be¡­¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that,¡± Moleman says, smiling. ¡°Plus will be coming along as a bodyguard.¡± I feel something hollow ache in the pit of my stomach. ¡°Oh. Yeah, okay. That¡¯s¡­ good.¡± He pats me on the arm. ¡°If your schedule allows it, maybe you can switch out with him this afternoon?¡± For some reason, I heavily doubt it. ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡± Unfortunately, as I expected, this did not happen. I went to her room and awed at the dull decor in her room, grabbed the book, and questioned whether or not the plush rabbit on her bed was made of real fur or not. In the end, I decided to bring it back to her to ask. Besides, the craftsmanship was really good. I was assured it was a real rabbit until I touched it. Anyhow, I brought it alongside her lunch, and as Moleman had suggested before, I decided to try to sit in the room while she ate. She did not like it. Actually, she basically threw me out before I could even take a seat. Not very hospitable, but whatever. Oh, but she did keep the stuffed rabbit. So, until her next meal, I was stuck wandering around, doing my ordinary job of noting down how soon people would die. See, that was the thing with the dragon plague. Everyone died. So far, nobody had survived it. Not even one. Drake pox was nicer that way. This guy would get better in a few days, this one had a week left and they could go home, etcetera, etcetera. Not at all like the dragon plague. I guess, out of everything, the worst part is that I can¡¯t hang out with Moleman. I don¡¯t have the time. Like, what was the point of all this if I can¡¯t even be with him? Everything is stupid. Once evening rolls around, after I¡¯ve fed that cranky sickling her dinner, I spend a few hours going around the city eating rats. I ate all the rats in my shack, too. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that this will be far from enough. The city reeks with the stench of illness. Alleyways are littered with people who might as well be corpses already. And the houses are no better. It was bad enough with the drake pox, but now the rot is almost everywhere. It¡¯s honestly really annoying. The city was hardly a rose garden before this, but I¡¯m starting to think I honestly prefer the smell of slimy fish to that of rotting intestines. But it doesn¡¯t matter. All that matters right now is that I figure out some way of curbing the plague, while also ensuring that Ursula is the last human victim. Not to mention returning to my post as Moleman¡¯s assistant. And while I¡¯m at it, I might as well achieve world peace. Yep, that sounds like a realistic schedule for Tuesday. I¡¯d better get to it. 257: F30, Mortal Myriam Maybe it was a good thing that her unfortunate illness had been discovered so soon. It certainly gave her plenty of time to goof off before it developed too much to allow for even that. And still, to Myriam, it was far from a good thing. Because of this, she now had to spend her days isolated, with her only visitor being the person she hated most, bar maybe Adolf Hitler, Mussolini and James Cordon. Yes, the person who had discovered her affliction was also the one who had to visit her four times a day, bringing food and diagnosis. Not that she needed that last part. She could tell she was sick very well on her own, thank you very much. She certainly did not need a gangly skeleton of a man to come in and sniff her in order to know that her fever was worsening and that the hoarseness of her throat wasn¡¯t about to go away. If she could have made the choice herself, she would have suggested that someone simply leave the food in the waiting room, and then she could go get it herself. Or, better yet, she could buy her own food from the point shop rather than having to cram down the slop that the hospital called ¡®food.¡¯ But Kitty, speaking words her friend Mole had left him, actually explained their reasoning rather well¡ªthe slop was cheaper than the point shop. By far. He¡¯d calculated it himself, so he knew this for a fact. Still, there was no reason for Kitty to be bringing her fika every day at three. Sure, it was nice to get a cup of tea and a few cookies, but it was wholly unnecessary. She tried to tell him this, of course, but every time he entered the room she felt such a chill that she demanded he leave, lest she tested his supposed immortality herself. It was clear he was no sooner to enjoying her company, as he was quick to heed her demands. All for the better, she supposed. Regardless, the days passed, and even though she made an effort to keep contact with her worried party members by sending them messages as often as the urge hit, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of loneliness creep up on her. A loneliness that only a single creature could relieve. Her eyes fell on the clock. <11:59:53 Day 1 097> Only a few seconds more, and¡­ <12:00:00 Day 1 099> There was a knock at the door. ¡°Come in,¡± she said. Something itched in her throat and she rubbed at it, trying to keep herself from coughing. The door easily creaked open, and like always, like it has almost always been, she could barely see him. The room behind him was black as night and smelled suspiciously like copper and rot. He practically melded with the darkness, his small form hunched over a tray held in his eerily elongated hands and fingers. His face was the hardest to get a look at, but with some effort, she was able to focus her gaze where it should be. A pair of dark eyes met her, surrounded by eye whites so yellow they almost appeared cat-like, the whole thing set in a pair of dark holes. He stepped inside, closing the door with his foot. Well in the light, he was somehow even less of an entity. He moved stiffly, almost like an animatronic, the oddly formed leopard skin creased around his body without form or grace. It almost looked as though he was nothing but bones under there, with the leopard skin unable to find any real grip, left to either constrain tightly around bony knots, or drape coldly over sheer flesh. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! If he¡¯d been taller, even just a little bit, he would have been terrifying. Now, he was merely pathetic. Silently, where she sat upright in bed, Myriam recalled what Mole had told her about him. That when he¡¯d met him first, they had both been seventeen. Only teenagers. They had even been the same age when they joined the tutorial. It was amazing that he had survived this long. She¡¯d seen many teenagers and kids who had joined, foolhardy and ready to make their mark on the world. Few had made it past the first five floors. For that reason, simply because she knew what he¡¯d gone through, she wanted to pity him. She knew she should. Mole certainly did. And still¡­ she couldn¡¯t find it in her. He had chosen this difficulty himself. He had chosen to join the tutorial himself. At no point did he have to do the things he¡¯d done. And still, he had. Simply for that, she could never forgive him. But that didn¡¯t mean she could never engage with him. As he approached her, all gangly and awkward, she said nothing. He put the tray on her lap, and then he stood there. She didn¡¯t say anything. Normally, this was where she demanded he leave. But now, she said no such thing. She turned her attention to the food. Some type of sticky gruel-like stew with bits of an indecipherable nature, alongside a roasted bluefruit and a bit of stale bread that would be sure to make her crack a tooth. She took a spoonful of the stew and brought it to her lips. Eugh. Foul. Close by, Kitty continued watching her. She turned an eye to him. ¡°Well?¡± she said. ¡°Are you going to sit down?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± He looked down, and lo and behold, there was a chair next to him. Mole had called him many things, but a genius he was not. Still, he could follow simple instructions, so he took a seat, the goblin-sized chair looking only marginally less minuscule than when Plus trusted one enough to occupy it. The memory of the 150-kilo man crushing a tiny wooden chair beneath his girth was enough to bring a smile to her lips¡ªone lost just as quickly by the foul taste of the food. To distract herself from the food, she spoke to her unwanted attendant, saying, ¡°So, how are things on the outside?¡± ¡°Good, I guess.¡± ¡°Bzzt, wrong answer. Tell me what¡¯s actually going on. Like, is Mole seriously trying to be the mayor? Because, if he is, that¡¯s dumb.¡± Her throat itched again, but she wasn¡¯t quick enough to choke it with some water, so she was forced to cough, her body giving a painful spasm as she did. She downed some water to make it go away. ¡°Ughh¡­¡± ¡°You okay?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t care. Don¡¯t pretend you do, it¡¯s not going to buy any favors from me. Just tell me what¡¯s going on.¡± ¡°Um, okay¡­¡± He said, looking towards the window as though he¡¯d rather jump out of it than talk. ¡°Moleman got enough people to fund remaking the cathedral into a ward, so we¡¯re moving forward with that. He also made a few stricter rules for the city, like some selective quarantines, and he¡¯s also re-establishing the curfew. I think I also heard him talking about getting new task forces to try to round up all the rats in the city.¡± ¡°Why¡¯d you do it?¡± ¡°Why did I¡ª¡± His brows fell over his eyes, creasing a wrinkle across his forehead. ¡°Do what?¡± ¡°The heart-ripping thing. I know you didn¡¯t do it for Mole¡¯s sake¡ªwe both know he¡¯d never approve of something like that.¡± Myriam sat up straighter, angling her body to face him. ¡°So, why did you do it?¡± She could see the thoughts moving through his brain. Bustling and fighting like plague-rats. Maybe he was afraid that she¡¯d tell Mole whatever he told her. Maybe he was considering murdering her, simply for asking that question. But in the end, in the timeframe of only a single second, any such inhibitions drained away, alongside whatever trace hints of emotions his face had previously carried. ¡°I just wanted to. I had to test out the skill, so I did.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Myriam said. She wasn¡¯t surprised. She wasn¡¯t even sad or angry. She knew that this was the case, and so, she accepted it mildly. And still, deep inside herself, a wretched bit of disgust slowly rose up, maybe urged by whatever it is she just ate. ¡°Could you leave now?¡± ¡°Huh? Oh, okay.¡± And like the proper puppy he was, he rose to leave. ¡°Wait,¡± she said, remembering something. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t need to bring me fika,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m French. We don¡¯t have a pathological need for afternoon tea like you do, so spend that time somewhere you¡¯re needed. Like, at Mole¡¯s side.¡± His face lit up. He was so easy to read. ¡°However, I have one request.¡± She paused. ¡°Whatever he does, whoever he talks to¡­ report it to me.¡± Kitty frowned deeply. ¡°Why?¡± And now it was time for her to be as honest as he¡¯s been to her. ¡°I¡¯m worried about him,¡± she admitted. ¡°He tends to get a bit carried away with his projects, and I¡¯m afraid this might cause him to burn out.¡± She chuckled. ¡°You know as well as I do that he¡¯d rather bite off his own hand than ask for help with these types of things.¡± Kitty¡¯s expression mildened. ¡°Yeah, I guess so.¡± ¡°In that case, we have a deal. In return, should you ever feel that he¡¯s going too far¡­¡± She hesitated. Could she really trust Kitty with this? A serial-killing cannibal? Her eyes moved up and down his form, finally falling on his earnest, confused face. ¡®If nothing else,¡¯ she supposed, ¡®he¡¯ll do anything for Mole¡¯s sake.¡¯ She shook her head, and finally said, ¡°You can use my name. Tell him, ¡®Sully wouldn¡¯t approve of that,¡¯ or ¡®Sully doesn¡¯t like it when you round up and slaughter orphans,¡¯ or something like that. I trust you¡¯ll know when this is necessary.¡± He blinked at her. Somehow, and she didn¡¯t quite understand how, his expression came across as deeply innocent. ¡°Um, yeah? Okay.¡± Even stranger, despite sooner trusting a dragon, she felt like he fully comprehended the severity of the situation. Feeling a headache coming on, she leaned back in her bed. ¡°Don¡¯t let him become someone he isn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Arms crossed, she watched him as he moved across the floor as silently as a lizard on ice, gliding into the room outside. Leaving her alone once more. Alone in her silent room. Alone to consider whether she was right to trust him. He was, after all, only a kid. 258: F30, Youre Playing it Wrong Whenever she had the strength to, be it daytime or nighttime, Myriam would sit by the window. It was hardly a large window, with the pane only barely sizeable enough to let in enough light to not require daytime illumination. Not to mention that since it sat facing the courtyard, and this was only the fourth floor of seven, it meant that she only really had direct sunlight during midday, when the sun was at its peak. But that¡¯s not why she sat there. And it certainly wasn¡¯t why she had it open, despite the late-winter chill outside. She glanced at the time. <15:04:26 Day 1 101> They were late. Not by much, but¡­ ¡°Sully!¡± Her face snapped down to the courtyard below. Mole, Plus, Rat and Jazz smiled up at her. She met their smiles equally, waving at them. Wasting no time for theatrics, Rat went down on one knee, shouting, ¡°Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!¡± Grinning, she undid her tight bun, letting her shoulder-length hair fall down. She would have loved to shout something funny back at him, maybe about how he might need to be a bit taller to climb, but the last time she¡¯d met their shouts in turn, she¡¯d been left voiceless for an entire day. Kitty¡ªthe eternal sadist¡ªhad used the opportunity to scold her harshly. Today, though, the responsibility of humor laid fully on Rat. Luckily, he had been a star student in clown school. He tried to grab for invisible hair, made a show of trying to pull himself up, and then promptly fell on his ass. His party chuckled politely, Myriam laughed, and quickly remembered why she wasn¡¯t supposed to do that as the strain and the frigid air caused her to have another coughing fit. When she got out of it, the look of concern on their faces sent a pang of guilt through her. She waved to try to show that she was fine. They didn¡¯t seem to believe her. Thankfully, they were nice enough not to haunt her on the matter. In the time it took her to recover, Rat had apparently returned to his feet. Striking a dramatic pose, he shouted once more, saying, ¡°Rapunzel! Your hair¡ªit¡¯s too short! I¡¯ll be back in the morrow, so you better use some formula or something!¡± Jazz elbowed him in the side and he cleared his throat. ¡°Oh, and also get better!¡± She sent down a thumbs up. In the meantime, Mole handed something to Plus, who easily tossed it up to her. She caught it, finding it to be a napkin tied around something round and soft. She unfolded it to find a sweetbun with fruitberry filling¡ªher favorite. She smiled and waved down at them, they smiled and waved back up, and then they left to the sound of well-wishing and promises of returning soon. It was only when they had all left, and all she could see was their backs, that she realized Kitty had been there, too. She just hadn¡¯t noticed him. The wind suddenly felt a lot colder than it had a minute ago. She closed the window. A few hours later, Kitty arrived at the courtyard. She was watching for him from her window, but it was still hard to notice him once he showed up. It was eerie. If you looked right at him, he appeared more like a creature than a man; but from a distance, he didn¡¯t look like anything. At least he wasn¡¯t crawling everywhere anymore. A few minutes after he entered the hospital, there was a knock at her door. ¡°Come in,¡± she said. He entered the same way he always had, with the same look on his face, and the same questionable goop brought along on a tray. ¡°Put it on my desk.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Obedient as always. Sometimes, she wondered if there was anything he¡¯d refuse to do. Maybe if she asked, then he¡¯d refuse more, but if Mole asked¡­ She watched him as he put the tray down and mutely retreated a few steps. Yeah. If Mole asked, he¡¯d do anything.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Standing up, she moved over to the desk. ¡°So,¡± she said, grabbing her spoon. ¡°How did it go?¡± ¡°So far, so good, I guess,¡± Kitty answered, intelligent as always. She nodded for him to continue. ¡°The judges aren¡¯t very happy with him, but he hasn¡¯t done anything bad enough for them to demand a retrial or anything, so they¡¯re stuck with him. A few of them are trying to make him, like, be more lax about things, but ever since he caught the guards at the eastern gate letting through carts of grain and stuff for the Fenix house, he¡¯s gotten even stricter. He¡¯s actually considering making Plus an honorary captain of the guards, just so he can have someone trustworthy at the gates.¡± ¡°Plus? A guard?¡± In light of her previous mistake, Myriam quelled a laugh. ¡°That¡¯s certainly an¡­ interesting idea.¡± Bitterly, she remembered how neither of them had sent anything about this to her. Not even a peep. She shook it off. ¡°What about Jazz and Rat? How are they holding up?¡± ¡°Same as usual,¡± Kitty said. ¡°Rat has his hands full with stablekeeper duties, and Jazz is still working at the hospital, though with the renovation of the cathedral, she¡¯s been really busy trying to pull things together.¡± Myriam frowned at herself. If only she hadn¡¯t gotten sick¡­ If she¡¯d been more careful, then¡­ ¡°So far, though, things are going well, I guess,¡± he said, finally. An invisible smile tugged at his cheek. ¡°Besides, I¡¯ve got a feeling the dragon plague won¡¯t be going on for much longer.¡± Spoon halfway raised to her lips, Myriam paused. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± ¡°Ah, uh¡­¡± He turned away. ¡°Nothing.¡± So far, her and Mole¡¯s efforts in formulating a vaccine for the dragon plague had been fruitless at best, not that Mole had much time left over to work on it with her now that his duties as a mayor swallowed all his time. Deep inside, Myriam let her heart harden, trying her best to keep in mind that Kitty was not to be trusted. ¡°Right,¡± she said, turning back to her food. ¡°Anything else?¡± He thumbed his lip for a moment. ¡°Not really. Work on the leather hazmat suits is still going slow. Getting the actual skin is pretty easy, and I¡¯ve got most of it tanned, but the difficult part lies in creating the actual air-filtering mask part. So far, nobody on the forums has been able to make a perfect air mask, and the replacements are imperfect.¡± ¡°So, for the near future, you¡¯re the only visitor I¡¯ll ever have.¡± ¡°Something like that, yeah.¡± Thankfully, with Kitty, there was no need for her to hide the contempt on her face. Unfortunately, she still wasn¡¯t allowed to punch him, even though she was certain that would solve all of her issues forever. Boredom clawed at her insides. She had nothing more to say, he had nothing more to report, but this was her last visit for the day. There had to be something. ¡°Tell me,¡± she said, trying to keep the interest out of her voice, ¡°why did you start playing video games?¡± He tilted his head at her. Puppy. ¡°It was fun?¡± He gave her a curious look. Keeping her silence, she forced him to talk. ¡°Well, I guess¡­ It started when I was in the first grade, and we had computer class. I finished quickly, so then I went out onto the internet and played flash games. Then I got a laptop at home, and my mum let me play video games¡­ Only the math kind, of course. So I did that.¡± ¡°And then you moved onto heavier stuff?¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Finally, Kitty sat down, placing himself at the edge of her bed. ¡°Xbox 360. I loved it. Skyrim, GTA four¡­ I really liked the Fable games, but I only played the second and third.¡± ¡°Fable two¡­ I think I played that one. Isn¡¯t that the one where you could look like a demon or angel depending on your actions in the game?¡± ¡°Yeah, exactly! I thought the demon version looked awesome, so I made my character sleep for days at a time until I got awesome horns and stuff. It was hilarious.¡± ¡°Seriously? That¡¯s dumb. You¡¯re meant to develop as a result of your choices¡ªjust randomly becoming a demon is idiotic.¡± ¡°Well, yeah, but¡­¡± His ears turned red. ¡°It¡¯s just that, in-game¡­ I didn¡¯t like doing the mean stuff. So if I went through the game normally, I¡¯d end up all gross and angelic.¡± She paused. ¡°You didn¡¯t like doing the evil storyline?¡± ¡°Yeah. Because then, you know¡­ The characters¡­ They¡¯d get mad at you, right? Be all sad and whatever?¡± She stared at him for a long moment. ¡°What?¡± ¡°No, no, I¡¯m just¡­ a bit surprised, that¡¯s all.¡± Frowning, he crossed his spindly arms. ¡°Well, in GTA, I was a real menace! Honestly, I never even played the story mode. Ramming cool cars through light posts and people was enough for me.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never played it,¡± Myriam said. ¡°I can¡¯t see how that would be any fun.¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t¡ª¡± He made a face of pure confusion. ¡°How can you even say that? It¡¯s the best! You can run people over, and steal their money, and shoot people with a bazooka¡­ How isn¡¯t that the best game ever?¡± ¡°You know what I liked doing in Fable two?¡± she said. Not waiting for him to ask, she continued, ¡°I liked getting married, and then cheating on them.¡± ¡°That¡¯s horrible.¡± ¡°That¡¯s horrible? Mister I-like-killing-hookers?¡± ¡°Killing NPCs is one thing¡ªpretending you love them and then undoing all that is something completely different.¡± ¡°Oh, really? Tell me. How is hurting an NPCs artificial feelings worse than just straight-up murdering them?¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­ It¡ªit just is, okay?¡± ¡°Right. It just is. I¡¯m surprised Mole never mentioned how wise and insightful you are, Kitty.¡± He wiped at his nose. ¡°I don¡¯t think Moleman¡¯s the type to brag about other people.¡± She leaned back a little. ¡°Yeah, I suppose not.¡± There was a small pause. She let her eyes fall on the window, on the sky, painted purple by twilight. ¡°Was it in the second or third game that there was that level with the inky darkness, and going blind or whatever?¡± ¡°I think that was the second one¡­¡± ¡°Yeah. That part was really cool.¡± ¡°Cool? I thought it was spooky!¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I mean, all those monsters, and then your friend going blind¡­¡± ¡°As I said. Cool.¡± ¡°Spooky.¡± ¡°Cool.¡± 259: F30, Sew it Up, Now Midday, late January, a day like any other. Or, it would¡¯ve been. ¡°You want to learn what?¡± ¡°But you¡¯re busy, so you really don¡¯t have to, like, unless you want to? But you really don¡¯t have to.¡± He shuffled slightly closer to the door. ¡°I thought that¡­ The last time I showed you my stitching, you said it looked bad, and you seem pretty good at it, so I thought you might¡­ But you should be resting.¡± ¡°To clarify, I said your stitching looked like ass, because it does. Have you never seen a straight line?¡± He made a face. ¡°Are we talking literally in the philosophical sense, or literally in the realistic sense?¡± ¡°I¡¯m talking rhetorically,¡± she said. ¡°Did your parents ever get you investigated for autism?¡± ¡°My school wanted to do one but my parents refused.¡± ¡°Right. Figures.¡± After a short pause, she gave him a once-over. As usual, he was wearing a tattered, poorly-sewn leather outfit. He used to come in in just loincloths, but she¡¯d been able to convince him not to within only a day. ¡°I get why you¡¯d want to learn to sew properly,¡± she said. ¡°But why stuffed animals?¡± And even more suspicious, why did he specify that it should be a rat? ¡°Well, they¡­ It just seems more difficult, is all. Smaller parts to be done, more complicated layout.¡± ¡°Got it. And you assumed I¡¯d be good at sewing, why?¡± ¡°You sewed that bunny, didn¡¯t you?¡± She glanced down at Mr Appat. She supposed she had at one point told him that she¡¯d sewn him. ¡°Besides,¡± Kitty continued, ¡°I¡¯ve seen your work on the patients. Very neat. Especially with how difficult living flesh is to work on.¡± Ruefully, she had to admit that he came to the right person. However¡­ She looked down at her hands, folded neatly atop her lap. They felt cold, and when she clenched them, they didn¡¯t entirely feel like hers. Like she was wearing thick gloves. She looked back up at Kitty, at where he stood so close by, neither hopeful nor despairing. Whatever she said, he¡¯d be fine with it. She looked down at her hands again, feeling a sigh crawl up her throat. ¡°Fine,¡± she said, finally. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you how to sew plushies.¡± His face lit up into a wide-faced smile. ¡°However¡ª¡± she said, feeling a twinge of guilt at the way his expression fell, ¡°only on the condition that you don¡¯t use them for evil, somehow.¡± ¡°How would I even do that?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Like, making stuffed bears using the skin of some kids¡¯ parent, and then giving it to him.¡± ¡°That would be really messed up.¡± She restrained herself from pulling a sword on him. ¡°Yes,¡± she said deliberately. ¡°It would be messed up. So don¡¯t do that type of stuff.¡± ¡°Alright. I won¡¯t.¡± ¡°Good. So, do you have¡­?¡± In a flash, he¡¯d pulled everything necessary from his inventory, including scissors, needles, thread, cloth, paper, and pens. He smiled slyly. ¡°I do.¡± She restrained herself from laughing at his drug-dealer-like antics. ¡°Good. In that case, to start, we¡¯ll make a sketch of what we¡¯re kind of trying to make¡­¡± Unfortunately, much in the same way he was obnoxiously obedient, she found that he was excellent at following instructions, as long as she was overwhelmingly obvious about the details. Draw this, cut it like this, pull the thread like this, sew it like this¡­ He was beyond attentive. Even worse, whenever he made a mistake, whether it be big or small, he never showed any inclination towards giving up. He simply undid the thread, cut where necessary, and redid it as she told him. It was upsetting how good of a student he was. Fleet as he was, it only took two days before the first of his many soft, fluffy monstrosities was completed. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°It looks horrible,¡± Kitty said. ¡°Sure, but it¡¯s good for a first try,¡± Myriam replied. ¡°The next time will be much better, I¡¯m sure.¡± For a long while, Kitty stared at the little rat plushie, about the size of a real-life rat. Its lop-sided button eyes stared back at him. One of them was on the verge of falling off, making it look somewhat lazy-eyed. Kitty angled his face until his eyes were at level with it. ¡°I think I¡¯ll name it Sven.¡± ¡°Good name,¡± she answered. ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll want a friend?¡± Kitty glanced over at her. For a full five seconds, she considered whether to explain what she was trying to say. However, through the power of his pea-sized brain, Kitty was able to decode her intention. He smiled at her. ¡°Yeah. I think he will.¡± And so, Sven went into Kitty¡¯s inventory, and the work on the next yet-to-be-named rat began. She asked, and according to Kitty, he would only name it once it was complete, otherwise he¡¯d feel bad if he failed to finish it. ¡°I mean, can you imagine? ¡®Oh, yeah, Gunde was never completed. He¡¯s named, he¡¯s alive, but he¡¯s not completed.¡¯ That¡¯d be horrifying. Stuck for eternity as a half-formed patchwork of threads and cloth and needles.¡± The implication here was clearly that the naming of the plushie granted them life. She decided not to question it. After a week of working on plushies together, her fingers became too stiff to help. Around this time, she also became too weak to walk much on her own. She never asked him to, but every day when he came with breakfast, Kitty would carry her over to the window, where he¡¯d also moved her desk. She wasn¡¯t sure where he¡¯d gotten it, but at some point, he¡¯d also found a human-sized, very soft armchair that wasn¡¯t a strain on her body to sit in. In the evening, after she¡¯d eaten her dinner, he carried her back to bed. When she messaged Mole about it, he said that he hadn¡¯t asked Kitty to do any of it. He just did it. She decided not to question him about it. It was now February. It had been a little over two weeks since she¡¯d been laid in. Kitty was in her room, putting the tray of food on her desk and dusting off the armchair. He moved over to her side. He was just about to lean down and carry her off when she stopped him, hand raised. ¡°No¡­ no,¡± she said, drawing in a wheezing little breath as she did. ¡°Not today. I need¡­ to lie for a bit.¡± Standing up straight again, he looked her over, cocking his head a little. For a moment, he appeared so much like an animal¡ªa feral, untrained one. ¡°Can I at least prop you up so you can sit a little?¡± ¡°Yeah. Thanks.¡± Nodding, he lifted her upper body off the bed, pushing a few pillows behind her back until she was sitting at least somewhat. He frowned at her where she sat, breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded. ¡°You probably shouldn¡¯t do any work today.¡± ¡°What?¡± she said. ¡°No, I¡­ Please. I think I might be onto something. Mole¡¯s last report, they¡ª¡± Something horrible and thick and slimy lodged itself in the back of her throat, like a cold, dead slug, and she hunched over, coughing and hacking in a vain attempt at dislodging it. But as it left her airways, it promptly suckered itself in her upper throat. Her chest hurt with every spasm. Could she breathe? Was she able to breathe? Panic overtook her as she pulled in a tawny breath¡ªyes, she could breathe. She wasn¡¯t dying. This wouldn¡¯t be the end of her. And still, and still¡­ Suddenly, a glass of water was held out to her. She took it and downed it in a single breath, the slimy piece of mucus going down with it. Once it was all gone, she tried to take a deep breath, but all she got was another wheezing inhale, barely enough to keep herself from going woozy. Futility, she massaged her throat. Her fingers hardly felt like her own anymore. The tips had gone white. Her toes were starting to blacken. She pushed all of it out of her mind. ¡°¡ªThe reports. They¡­ According to¡ªhhrrggh¡ªMole, this sickness¡­ The dragon plague¡­ It¡¯s not a virus. It¡¯s not a bacteria. He can¡¯t even¡­¡± Talking suddenly became very difficult, and she swallowed down another stiff lob of slime. ¡°We assumed it must be a virus, because the penicillin was ineffective. But now¡­ If it isn¡¯t a virus, or a bacteria, and it¡¯s not a fungus or parasite, then¡­¡± How can we fight it? She forced herself to look at him, if only to bring her thoughts away from what she was talking about. All she found on his face was a striking look of apathy. The despair clawing at her was suddenly replaced with confusion. Didn¡¯t he understand what she was saying? She¡¯d never taken him for a genius, but she knew he wasn¡¯t an idiot. He should know the difference between pathogens. But if not¡­ ¡°Does it matter?¡± She blinked at him. Her eyes felt dry. ¡°What?¡± He threw a shrug off his shoulders. ¡°Nobody¡¯s survived so far. The easy solution here is to just quarantine all the sick people, and then kill half to save the other half. Or let them die off on their own.¡± His face was the very image of calmness. He didn¡¯t seem to find a single logical fault in what he said¡ªand neither did she. But morally? She felt a sense of disgust creep over her. Kitty, unknowing, easily continued, saying, ¡°See, I told Moleman this idea a while back, but he totally refused it. I knew he would, of course, but it¡¯s a silly thing to do. Sniffing them out is easy. Leave it to me. The issue would be in dealing with the bodies afterwards. Right now, there¡¯s like fifteen thousand people infected. Half of those would be seven and a half thousand. That¡¯s a lot of bodies. But I¡¯ve got a solution for that too! It¡¯s¡­¡± Finally, he noticed the look on her face. Without fanfare, his enthusiasm mellowed out into resignation. ¡°Of course, I can¡¯t tell you. It¡¯s a secret. It would be great for everyone involved, but I don¡¯t think Moleman would like it. He can be a bit stiff on these kinds of matters.¡± Turning his back on her, he moved over to the desk, grabbing the tray with her breakfast again. ¡°Not that it matters much. It¡¯ll all work out in the end, I¡¯m sure.¡± He placed the tray on her lap. A sudden sense of vertigo took over her, and the sight of his bony, clawed hands¡ªhis eerily elongated fingers, subtly stained red, covered in albino scars only barely whiter than his corpse-pale skin¡­ It made her feel sick. ¡°Please leave,¡± she croaked out. ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°Please¡­ please leave.¡± Her trembling eyes moved up to look at him. At his innocently confused face. ¡°I need to be alone.¡± He took a step back. And now he looked so pathetic, so pitiable, that the disgust churning in the pit of her stomach made her feel more guilty than nauseous. ¡°Oh. Okay,¡± he said, in his little teenaged voice. Gaze falling to his feet, he shuffled towards the door. ¡°Right, got it. I¡¯ll be back for lunch, yeah? I¡¯ve heard there¡¯ll be hare in the gruel today!¡± She couldn¡¯t bring herself to answer him. Deep down, she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she¡¯d ask him to stay. Maybe out of pity, maybe out of loneliness. But she couldn¡¯t allow herself. Soon, he stood in the doorway, facing the room that smelled like rot and copper. Pausing, he glanced back at her, eyes shining oddly. ¡°Oh, yeah, before I forget, um¡­ Remember how you signed up as a donor?¡± Hope reared pathetically in her chest. She looked up at him. Was this it? Her chance to be useful, before she had to suffer as badly as she¡¯d seen so many do before? A strange smile rose to his face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but Moleman used his monthly question to the god of knowledge to find out whether hearts could cross-donate, and apparently a goblin¡¯s heart can¡¯t be used to save you. A human heart would work, though. But I doubt you¡¯d want anyone else to go and die for you, right?¡± Now, she was certain. His smile was the most appalling thing she had ever seen. ¡°Leave.¡± He did. As soon as the door had closed behind him, she leaned over the side of the bed and puked up a thin bit of yellowish bile, watery stomach acids and more mucus than she¡¯d coughed up in the last hour alone. For the first time, Myriam was happy that she couldn¡¯t walk on her own. That meant Kitty would have to clean it up. The thought brought a smile to her crusty lips. 260: F30, Excuses, Excuses ¡°...So, you¡¯ve been taken off the donor list, but Moleman still feels confident that he can figure out some kind of vaccine to cure all of this. Of course, I¡¯m still fairly sceptical about all of this, but he seems to like working on it just for its own sake, so I can¡¯t be too negative. Oh, but he¡¯s doing very well as mayor! Someone did try to attack him yesterday when he was holding a speech, shouting something about a human plague or whatnot, but it¡¯s not like they got even close. Besides, the whole event gave me a really good excuse to show off my body-guarding abilities! I was quite effective. Hehe.¡± Carefully, more carefully than she would ever have expected a person such as him, Kitty placed her back on her bed for the night. Taking a seat next to her, he smiled to himself. ¡°I¡¯ve heard deterrence isn¡¯t actually any effective, but I¡¯ve got a feeling not too many goblins will be interested in attacking Moleman any time soon.¡± She let out a wheezing breath, her chest screaming from the exertion. Sweat covered every inch of her body, leaving the hospital gown she wore almost slick. If this was a fever, then the Sahara was a tundra. With no little effort, she rolled her eyes over to look at Kitty. Her one source of hellish entertainment. So far, she hadn¡¯t said anything all day. Speaking hurt. But she couldn¡¯t take it anymore. ¡°Why¡­¡± Her voice came out like the scratchy backdrop to an old record. ¡°Why did you become¡­ like this¡­?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked, cruelly forcing her to speak again. ¡°Your¡­ parents. What were they like¡­?¡± Pain blossomed up from beneath her ribs and she stifled a cough, knowing it would only hurt more. ¡°My parents, huh¡­¡± Crossing his arms, he hummed for a second, his eyes finding the window and the dark evening outside. ¡°My mom was a Swedish teacher at a nearby middle school, and my dad worked at a nuclear powerplant until it was closed down. After that he worked at some big company in Malm?, but I never figured out what he did there.¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t poor?¡± she croaked out. ¡°What? No, not at all. Well, I mean¡­ It¡¯s not like we were rich or anything, but we had a house. Everyone had their own room, and we had a TV and everything. Maybe not the newest model, but we had what we needed.¡± ¡°Were they cruel¡­ to you?¡± That gave him pause. The waning light from the window suddenly seemed very interesting to him, as he squinted into the gradually darkening room. For once, she couldn¡¯t read the look on his face. ¡°No,¡± he said, after a long pause. ¡°I don¡¯t think they were. They did what they could. Sure, things got a bit weird there at the end, and they weren¡¯t exactly present all the time, but¡­¡± He finally turned his eyes to her. They were clear and bright. ¡°They did their best. What I did, what happened to me¡­ That¡¯s my own fault. I¡¯m lucky to have had parents who loved me, even if it was hard at times.¡± An uneasy sort of confusion settled to the bottom of Myriam¡¯s chest. She drew in a shallow, uncertain breath before speaking again. ¡°Then¡­ why¡­?¡± ¡°Why, what?¡± She turned her eyes to him. To where he sat, his bony chest exposed to show the brand he wore with neither pride nor shame. ¡°Why did you do all of this¡­?¡± His lips fell into a frown. ¡°Okay, now I¡¯m confused. Are you trying to ask, why, if my parents were nice and all that, did I do¡­ everything?¡± The frown slit deeper across his face. ¡°You mean, the bad stuff? Why did I do that?¡± He looked away from her, his gaze moving steadily around the room, letting his internal thoughts bump together like sheep in a too-small enclosure. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I ask myself the same thing, sometimes. But I never really figured it out. I guess¡­¡± He turned back to her, a quizzical look on his face. ¡°I guess I just wanted to?¡± ¡°You¡­ wanted to¡­?¡± ¡°Maybe. I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s like¡­ You know when you¡¯re playing a game, and even though there¡¯s no tutorial or signs pointing you a specific way, you still know where to go? The game¡¯s design is simply done in such a way where you¡¯re led down a specific path? It felt kind of like that. Not to say that it¡¯s not my fault or anything¡ªit was absolutely my own choice to do the things I did. Honestly, I didn¡¯t even really try to do it any other way. There was probably some solution that didn¡¯t involve death and murder and everything like that, but it just¡­ I didn¡¯t try it. And I¡¯m not sure why. ¡°But isn¡¯t that just the way things work? Most people don¡¯t pause mid-bite and think to themselves, ¡®Hang on, why am I eating a ham sandwich with no mayo on it?¡¯ Why? Because it¡¯d be insane! Sure, we think over some decisions, like whether to watch this or that at the movies, but for the most part, we¡¯re simply automatons, slave to our own whims. Heh. Pretty philosophical, right?¡± ¡°Is that¡­ your¡­ excuse¡­?¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. His face morphed into an expression of neutral apathy. ¡°No. I don¡¯t have any excuse, because there¡¯s no need for one. What¡¯s your excuse for not eating mayo, or for wanting to watch ¡®The Thing¡¯ instead of ¡¯Die Hard¡¯? Is it that you think mayo¡¯s unhealthy, or that ¡®The Thing¡¯ has a better soundtrack than ¡®Die Hard¡¯? Because if so, then it¡¯s a poor excuse.¡± His eyes were like that of an animal. Calm. At peace. At horrible, bloody peace. ¡°The simple fact is that you don¡¯t eat mayo because you don¡¯t like it, and you want to watch ¡®The Thing¡¯ because you like it. It¡¯s that simple. Reason is a slave to impulse. Not the other way around.¡± And now, he smiled. A dog-toothed smile, so, so proud of his clever philosophy. If it hadn¡¯t been for the bout of nausea overcoming her, she might have liked to ask where he got that funny little bit of dogma from. Was it Nietzsche, or maybe Hume? Whatever it was, she swore she¡¯d burn their books once she beat the tutorial and got back to Earth. She wanted to scream. If she could have moved, she would very much have liked to leap from her bed, screech like a harpy about how his justification was horsecrap, and plant her knuckles in his face. She was certain it¡¯d make a delightful crunching noise. Unfortunately, she couldn¡¯t do any of these things. Her hands had curled up a few days ago and would no longer make anything more than a half-formed fist. She had a feeling that within days, he would be feeding her as though she were a child. Maybe if she asked politely, while she still had her voice, he might kill her before that happened. She knew he wouldn¡¯t mind it one bit. She could see it on his face. There was no life he valued anymore, save for maybe Mole. Somehow, she knew with startling certainty that he wouldn¡¯t mind dying. While she had still been studying, she had summer worked at a mental institution, where she¡¯d seen plenty of people laid in for suicidal ideation. There was a certain look on their faces. Not all of them were necessarily actively trying to kill themselves, but with many, she could tell that if a truck had been barrelling towards them, they wouldn¡¯t have stepped out of the way. It was all visible on their faces, etched on into a kind of half-limbed shuffle, and an apathetic look in their eye. Not despairing. She seldom saw them cry. But there was something missing. Whatever it is that apathy replaces in a person, that¡¯s what had been lost in them. The same thing whose absence was so marked on Kitty¡¯s face. Not that she pitied him. She didn¡¯t know if she could pity him at all anymore. What was there to pity? If he died, he got what was coming for him. He would certainly be okay with it. No, at this moment, the only person she could bear to pity was Mole. He had a monster at his side, and he didn¡¯t even know it. Kitty gave her a tired smile. ¡°Ah, now you¡¯re looking at me like that again.¡± ¡°Like¡­ what¡­?¡± He leaned in closer. ¡°You used to look at me like that a lot. From the very first time we met, at that symposium. Remember? I was all covered in mud, and you wouldn¡¯t let me talk to Moleman. Heh. It was pretty funny, in hindsight.¡± His smile quirked, and all of a sudden it wasn¡¯t a smile anymore. She wasn¡¯t sure what it was. ¡°Not that it felt funny at the time. But back then, you looked at me like that. You always have. Until the past few weeks. I was so happy to see it! Not a lot of people look at me nicely anymore. That is, like I¡¯m a proper normal human. Of course, thanks to my skill, most people don¡¯t look at me at all. It¡¯s good. I prefer that they don¡¯t look at me, rather than looking at me like that. That is, the way you¡¯re looking at me right now.¡± It wasn¡¯t a smile. It was some horrible grimace. Something animalistic, that wasn¡¯t supposed to be expressed with the flesh of a human face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to ask this, since you¡¯re so close to losing your voice, but¡­ What did I say? What did I do, to make you look at me like that? That is, like I¡¯m a monster?¡± She couldn¡¯t move. Even without the paralyzation keeping her arms bound down, she would¡¯ve been unable to move. Before, she¡¯d wondered if she might be able to write a message using only her tongue, since her hands couldn¡¯t do it. Now, the question became more relevant than ever. The expression on his face shifted again. A pleading element came to it, like a dog asking for a bone. ¡°Please. I just want to know what I can do to avoid this kind of thing in the future.¡± Eyes like that of a cat. Cruel moonbeams, shining down. ¡°You see, there¡¯s someone I¡¯d rather die than see that look in.¡± He inched closer. His face, mere inches from hers. Myriam had never had sleep paralysis. Now she knew how it felt. ¡°Have I told you that you have less than a week to live? Ah, but your voice will probably be gone before then. Your tongue hasn¡¯t turned black yet, but I can smell it.¡± Something about the way he said black gave her goosebumps. ¡°Pl¡ªplease¡­¡± ¡°Oh, on that note,¡± he said, lifting the blanket off her legs. Both of her feet were entirely black. She couldn¡¯t feel them at all. Somehow, she knew that if she could, then that¡¯s all she would be able to feel. She didn¡¯t like looking at them. At the dried, almost mummified skin. Her pale white toenails. All of it a cruel reminder that even if she somehow survived, she¡¯d do so without them. ¡°Moleman is considering amputation. We¡¯ve done a few tests on goblins, and amputation has so far led to an extension of life of up to ten days! Marvelous, really. But they do still die, so I don¡¯t really see the point in it. What do you think, Ursula? Would you like to try amputation?¡± Unable to speak, she shook her head, the movement filling her neck with static pain. He smiled¡ªit was a people-smile this time. That only made it worse. ¡°Good! That¡¯s what I was thinking, too. Dying in a week or dying in two weeks¡­ You¡¯ll still die, right? So, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± A thought struck him, and he suddenly leaned out again, finally giving her space to breathe her wheezing little breaths again. ¡°Oh, I just remembered! I have good news for you! I was hoping I could give the news as a reward for telling me why you¡¯re suddenly looking at me like that, but you seem to have lost your voice, so I guess that¡¯ll have to wait, unlike the good news.¡± His smile widened, and now he looked so much like a real, normal human that whatever it is he¡¯d been mere moments before seemed like a hallucination, or a bad dream. ¡°We¡¯ve almost finished the hazmat suits! Moleman wanted it to be a surprise, but I think it¡¯s good if you know in advance. I¡¯m not much for surprises myself, so¡­ Yeah. Oh, but they aren¡¯t totally finished. They¡¯ll probably be done sometime next week, so I¡¯ll try to get them finished before you die, yeah?¡± At this¡ªand for that she really wanted to curse herself¡ªshe almost thanked him. It was such a natural response that it took every inch of her waning willpower not to smile gratefully and nod. The absence of gratitude was apparently noted by him, as his smile lost a bit of cheer, and he glanced away. ¡°That¡¯s about it for tonight, I guess.¡± Meekly, he stood up and headed for the door. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the morning, and I hope you¡¯re looking forward to the visit!¡± 261: F30, Her Stolen Heart Surprisingly, in line with his promise, Kitty succeeded in finishing the hazmat suits before she died. Though, by that time, she wished she¡¯d been dead. ¡°You¡¯re excited, right? I sure am!¡± Kitty said as he gently brought another spoonful of some unknown food to her slacked-open lips. By routine instinct, not even looking, he used the spoon to remove some of the stuff that had dribbled down her chin, putting it in her mouth, where it slid down into her gullet. She didn¡¯t consciously swallow it. By this point, she was pretty sure her body wasn¡¯t hers anymore. It just did things. She was nothing more than an unwitting passenger; one that would very much like to get off at the next stop, if possible. Smiling, Kitty put another spoonful in her mouth, sighing wistfully. ¡°We¡¯ve spent like a month on these suits. A month! It¡¯s warranted, obviously, but still. From what I¡¯ve heard, Jazz and Benevil are planning on using the suits afterwards to be able to work unhindered. I don¡¯t really see the point, but whatever. Oh, and if you¡¯re wondering, the solution to fixing the air filtration was to use wind magic. Stupid, right? It was that simple!¡± Once upon a time, Myriam had, in her solitude, been so anxious to have a visitor that she would have accepted anyone, even if it was Kitty. Any noise was good noise. Now, things were different. She wanted him to shut up. Unfortunately, she couldn¡¯t move her arms, or her neck, or her tongue, or anything else. The last part of her body that she could moderately control were her eyes. She could look here, and there, and close them. That was it. Even then, she knew she was losing control of this, too. By this point, they were half-lidded at all times. Every time she closed them, she was afraid she wouldn¡¯t be able to open them again. Unfortunately, the same couldn¡¯t be said for her hearing. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s dumb. Anyways, they¡¯re scheduled to be here for dinner, though they won¡¯t be able to share it with you. They¡¯re very nervous, so you¡¯d better be on your best behavior!¡± He chuckled to himself. She wished she had the ability to spit so she could do it in his mouth. Grabbing the bread, he carefully tore off one of the soft bits, none of the crust, dipped it in something soft and warm, and fed it to her. Then, he gave her a little water to take it down. ¡°Oh, by the way,¡± he said, wiping water off her chin, ¡°have I told you you¡¯re going to die tonight?¡± She stared at him. No part of her body could give a response. She hoped her eyes would speak for her, but even if he saw what she was trying to say, he didn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°I¡¯ve been keeping track of the infectees, and one in three die the way you¡¯ll die tonight¡ªby choking on mucus. The rest die once they go into the coma.¡± A sly, fox-like smile came to his lips. ¡°Except, I¡¯m not going to let you die like that. I have a plan.¡± As he kept feeding her, he laid out his clever little plan. ¡°You see, and I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t say this before, but Moleman is sick. He¡¯s got the dragon plague. And, if you¡¯re wondering¡ªno, nobody else does. Jazz, Plus and Rat are all fine. If you¡¯re worried about Moleman¡­ Don¡¯t be! This plan will save him. And it¡¯ll give you something to give back to the party with! Because you are grateful to him, right? I would be, if I were you. So, anyhow¡­¡± He grinned broadly. ¡°How would you feel about being a donor again?¡± She stared at him in mute horror. At what he was suggesting. At what it would do. The price it would cost¡ªboth for her and for Mole. Even more so, horror at the kind of person that could suggest something so terrible, all the while smiling. He chuckled again, scratching at his cheek. ¡°I know, I know. Sure, it¡¯s not exactly nice to ask this of you, considering that you¡¯ve already been removed from the donor list, but¡­ It¡¯s a favor for Moleman. You get it, right?¡± His face, so full of excitement, gave her nothing but a hollow sense of loss yet to be. ¡°Right. So, in short, even though Moleman will definitely ask when you¡¯ll die, I¡¯ll lie and say you¡¯ll die in a week, and then I¡¯ll come back tonight to make everything work. I¡¯ve already talked to Benevil, and he¡¯s agreed to transform your body into one of those gem-things once you¡¯re dead. That way, Moleman will be able to save a bit on the funeral, heh!¡± He looked at her for a moment, blank-faced. ¡°Yeah, not my best joke, you¡¯re right. Sorry. Anyways, I thought I¡¯d tell you ahead of time so you wouldn¡¯t be surprised by anything. This way, you can also say goodbye properly. Nice, huh?¡± Even if she could have, Myriam didn¡¯t think she would have given an answer to that one. Despite everything, Kitty was anything but dishonest, and much as he had said, her friends came to visit that evening. ¡°Surprise!¡± ¡°Hi Sully!¡± ¡°Wow, so this is how you have it? Fancy!¡± ¡°We brought cookies!¡± ¡°Ah, sorry, she can¡¯t have anything that¡¯s dry,¡± Kitty said, deflecting the gift. Someone she thought was Rat took a step back. ¡°Oh, uh, sorry, I didn¡¯t¡­¡± And it was at this time that her friends fully saw her. The last time she sat by the window must have been almost a week ago. After her hands became useless, she¡¯d communicated with them through Kitty, sometimes by telling him small messages, sometimes by dictating longer ones for him to send as messages. But that was many days ago. It dawned on her, as she laid there, watching her strangely dressed friends, that she couldn¡¯t remember the last words she said to them, properly face-to-face.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. At the moment, she would very much have loved to be able to speak, so she could laugh at the way they were dressed. Each of them was clad in a full-body, fairly loose suit of leather in various colors, with the head portions marked by a pair of goggle-like glasses and a strange breathing apparatus. They looked like a bunch of odd monsters who had invaded her room. Through the semi-foggy lenses, she could only barely catch sight of their eyes. She¡¯d already seen their faces for the last time, and she couldn¡¯t remember when. The previously barren room was suddenly made cramped by their visit. They all stood huddled over by where they came in. None of them seemed too eager to come in fully. Kitty, spotting their shyness, waved for them to come closer. Hesitantly, after sharing glances, they stepped closer to her. Soon, they all stood huddled around her bed, looking down at her through foggy goggles. ¡°Hey, Sully,¡± one of them¡ªPlus, she thought¡ªsaid as he took hold of her hand. On the other side, another one¡ªJazz, by the stature, said ¡°Hey,¡± and took her other hand. She couldn¡¯t feel anything more than a dull sense of pressure. No heat. Not even the feeling of leather. It was only by sight that she could tell that Jazz was trembling. And now that she looked at it, so was Plus. Just barely. Rat placed his hand on her leg, and Mole, very close, held onto her shoulder. ¡°How are you doing, Sully?¡± Mole asked, his voice as gentle as it always was when talking to children and the sick. ¡°You¡¯re holding up, right? Obviously, our fighter¡¯s going to get through this¡ªjust another battle to be won. This can¡¯t be any harder than defeating that minotaur, can it?¡± She wanted to chuckle. She wanted to smile. She wanted to call him an idiot, and point out the fact that she would die tonight. Mole looked down at her for a long while. She wondered if he was smiling beyond that leather mask. Or maybe he was making a silly face to cheer her up. That¡¯d be nice. She rolled her eyes to look at Jazz. She blinked, slowly. Her eyelids felt so heavy. All she wanted to do was sleep. But not now. Not yet. When she opened her eyes again¡ªa fight far more difficult than defeating that minotaur¡ªshe found that Jazz had turned away, and was quietly sobbing into her suit. Mole had put his hand on her shoulder. Myriam wanted to do that, too. Or maybe stand up and give her a hug, and say, ¡®Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not dead yet.¡¯ ¡°Fuck, fuck,¡± she heard Rat hiss. He hunched over her, trembling as well. ¡°Why didn¡¯t we¡ªwe should have visited earlier. Holy shit. Look at her. This is¡ªwhy the hell did we accept this quest? I mean, seriously. How are we qualified for¡ªfor saving a city from the plague? Are we really stupid enough that we just¡­ We just assumed we¡¯d be fine!?¡± ¡°Rat, calm down!¡± Mole ordered. Defiant by design, Rat puffed up, ready to continue his spiel in a far more personal direction. Mole took the wind right out of his sails simply by pointing at Myriam and saying, ¡°She can hear us. Do you really think she¡¯d want her last memories of us to be us fighting like a pack of dogs?¡± Rat deflated. ¡°No. No, that¡¯s not¡­ I don¡¯t want these to be her last memories, period!¡± ¡°Neither do I, but¡­¡± His eyes trailed over to Kitty, who, in all his cruel apathy, merely shook his head. Myriam could hear Mole grinding his teeth. ¡°This is how it is. There¡¯s nothing we can do now, apart from making her final days as good as we can.¡± Trembling silently, Rat stood down. ¡°...Fine. But I¡¯m not doing this because I think she¡¯ll die. Sully¡¯s strong. A little cold won¡¯t put her down.¡± In a morbid sense, she supposed, he wasn¡¯t wrong. Since they all had work to do, they could only spend an hour with her. She tried to appreciate it. And still, the horror of the whole situation was too much to fully enjoy it. In the end, they left, waving happily and promising to return in the morning. But when the door closed behind them, and she could no longer see them, she could hear their true thoughts. She wasn¡¯t sure if it was Jazz who broke down first, but the sob sounded awfully like her. A few minutes later, they were all gone, including Kitty. After that, she fell asleep. She really hadn¡¯t planned to, but with the day being so exhausting, it had just happened. When she woke up, there was a breeze in the air that she could only feel on her eyes, gently caressing her in the darkness of the room. She let her half-lidded gaze move about the room. Even though she knew he was there, it still took a moment for her to see him properly where he sat squat in the window, clawed hands keeping him in place, glowing yellow eyes peering back at her. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re awake. That¡¯s okay.¡± He stepped down from the window and into the room. In the darkness, she couldn¡¯t quite understand what it was he was wearing. He followed her gaze down. ¡°This old thing? Heh, don¡¯t worry about it. Think of it as¡­ as my scrubs. I was about to say that it¡¯s kind of like a butcher-apron, but you wouldn¡¯t like that, right?¡± He stood right next to her, now. She still couldn¡¯t really see his face. It was all dark, dipped in the ink of the night¡ªsave for those eyes. With every breath she took, there was a little squeak, like a dog-toy had been lodged in her throat. He took a deep breath through his nose. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re far gone. But you¡¯re ready for what¡¯s about to happen, aren¡¯t you?¡± His face loomed overhead. Eyes like midnight suns. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t be able to give you any anesthetic. When I save Moleman, I¡¯ll be using one of my abilities to make him briefly paralyzed¡ªthat way he won¡¯t know what¡¯s happened. However, if I do that to you, you might die. But it¡¯ll be fine. You barely feel anything, anyways. Here, let me show you¡­¡± First, he took off her blanket, and then he slit open her hospital gown, and then, while she strained her eyes to look, he put the claw of his index finger against her bare chest and pushed down. It slid effortlessly between a gap in her ribs. She didn¡¯t feel it. It was nothing but a dull sensation of pressure. Thick, dark blood seeped out. ¡°Ah, don¡¯t worry, this won¡¯t kill you. I¡¯ve done this enough to know where the heart and the lungs are. This is nothing but a harmless showcase.¡± Although she couldn¡¯t see him smile, she could hear it in his voice. Strangely enough, she didn¡¯t feel afraid. In the same way that she no longer had any control over her body, her body no longer controlled her. It wasn¡¯t hers. This was but a dream within a dream. Maybe, if she was lucky, this might finally wake her up. ¡°Good. Looks like you¡¯re okay with this. In that case, I¡¯ll begin right away. First, I¡¯ll slice once vertically, right down and across following the sternum, and then another one up here, right across your chest. Ah, don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t do anything nasty. I¡¯m not really into anything like that, so no need to worry. Anyways, now that we have the skin cut, I¡¯ll lift the flaps, separating the skin from the flesh as I do. These, I¡¯ll then secure it with,¡± reaching up to his face, he plucked something out¡ªall she could hear was a dull crack, ¡°one of my teeth, which I affix like so. And then I repeat the process with the three other flaps. ¡°Now, the sternum is exposed, so I¡¯ll just¡­ See, this is why I¡¯m happy to have such sharp claws and teeth. By simply biting my nail into a saw-like shape, I can easily saw through and remove the sternum. See? Here¡¯s your sternum! Yeah, it¡¯s not much to look at, but¡­ Well, whatever. Now, all I have to do is cut through a bit more tissue, taking care not to cut the heart, and¡­ Here it is. Can you feel this? I¡¯m poking your heart. With my knuckle, that is. If I poked it with my fingertip, I¡¯d claw right through it! That¡¯d be a waste. So, now, with the heart exposed, I simply have to isolate it a little, and¡­ Can you feel this? I¡¯m holding your heart. It¡¯s not beating very quickly. I¡¯m not sure if you can see it, but can you feel it? ¡°I¡¯ll just assume you can. So, with the heart in hand¡ªspecifically, my left hand, otherwise it won¡¯t work¡ªI pull it up just a little to expose the veins. Or arteries. I honestly don¡¯t know the difference. With the whatcha-ma-call-its exposed, all I have left to do is snip-snip-snip, and we¡¯re done! See? Easy peasy!¡± He held up her heart. It beat slowly, coughing up little droplets of blood. She didn¡¯t feel it. Not when it was there. But now that it was gone, she felt its absence. A coldness in her chest. A coldness that spread like mercury through her veins. A lump of ice melting inside her chest. And him there, triumphant, smiling. ¡°Thanks for the heart, Ursula! I¡¯d say see you around, but that won¡¯t really work, will it? Then again, I guess you¡¯ll always be in Moleman, in a sense. Isn¡¯t that nice? Hm? Oh, your eyelids are falling. Are you going away now? Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Go sleep, Ursula. You¡¯ve been really tired. And you¡¯ve worked really hard, too. You deserve to sleep in for a while. Hope you have a good rest. Goodnight!¡± As Myriam¡¯s eyes closed for the last time, she hoped that whatever dream lay ahead of her wouldn¡¯t be as bad as this one. And, even more so, that there wouldn¡¯t be any cats in this one. 262: F30, Waking Up When Emil woke up, there was a tingle in his right hand¡¯s fingers. The room was cold and his chest ached in three different ways. Groggily, he lifted his head from his pillow and peered out into the darkness. The window was open. That explained the cold. A shadow sat at his desk, reading something in the inky darkness. Kitty turned to him, and Emil felt a relieved smile rise to his face. That explained the window. ¡°What time is it¡­?¡± Emil asked, his voice scraggly and hoarse. Kitty blinked at him before turning to look at an empty space in the air¡ªonce more forgetting that they had a clock on the wall¡ªbefore turning back to him. ¡°It¡¯s, uhhh¡­ Ten past three. You¡¯ve got two hours and fifty minutes left to sleep,¡± Kitty said, ¡°and I suggest you make use of them.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± Emil cleared his dry throat, ¡°going to sleep?¡± From the other side of the room, in the sheer darkness, Emil couldn¡¯t read the expression on his friend¡¯s face. ¡°Nah,¡± Kitty said simply. ¡°I¡¯m really invested in this book. Besides, if I¡¯m asleep, who¡¯ll protect you from the monsters under the bed?¡± Emil chuckled. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right. Well, goodnight then, Kitty.¡± ¡°Goodnight, Moleman.¡± Smiling, Emil went to sleep, forgetting all about Kitty¡¯s nightly adventures and the odd tingle in his right hand. An hour or so later, he woke up briefly by Kitty crawling into bed. Not thinking anything of it, Emil went right back to sleep. He had a big day tomorrow, and he certainly couldn¡¯t afford to waste his precious sleep worrying about things. An urgent knocking at the door woke him up again, prematurely just as before, and he sat up to find Kitty sitting once more at their desk, this time sewing one of his small plush rats. Since Kitty was dressed and Emil was decidedly not, a quick exchange of glances was enough to urge Kitty to his feet and over to the door, where he answered the knocking politely by opening the door. ¡°Rat?¡± Kitty said. ¡°Everything okay?¡± Arching his neck, Emil finally saw Rat where he stood in the doorway, fully dressed for work, but his face all red and his breathing quick and strained. He looked like he¡¯d ran a full marathon. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told Emil that the clock was half to six, meaning that Rat should have started his shift half an hour ago. What was he doing here? For a moment, Rat simply stood there, panting in the doorway. Then his eyes fell on Emil, and fully ignoring Kitty, he pushed his way into the room, striding up to Emil where he sat on the bed and grabbing both his shoulders. ¡°Mole¡ªoh, God, Mole, it¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Emil asked warily. His eyes widened in dawning horror. ¡°Is it¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s Sully,¡± Rat said, his voice breaking. ¡°Please. We have to go. Wake up the others, it¡¯s¡­¡± Emil flew to his feet. He almost stumbled, but Kitty was soon at his side, and with his help, Emil got dressed in a matter of seconds. The three of them exited the room, hurriedly going about and gathering the rest of their members before rushing to the hospital. As they entered the courtyard, Emil¡¯s gaze instinctually moved to her window, but it was closed, and the curtains were drawn. His breathing felt so weak. When they moved to enter the hospital, to rush up to her room, throwing all caution to the wind, they instead found Benevil blocking the way. The small, wily goblin had a look on his face typically saved for grieving families. Emil wanted to slap it off him. Plus approached him with large steps. ¡°Benevil, please, you have to¡ª¡± ¡°Come along,¡± he said, his voice low and kind. ¡°Please.¡± He should have known it when Rat rushed into his room. He should have known it the entire way there. But until he heard those words, he still wouldn¡¯t believe it. Something deep in his chest refused it. After all, it couldn¡¯t be true, could it? Ursula was strong. He knew that. He¡¯d known her for three years now. She¡¯d saved his life more times than he could count. This wasn¡¯t how she was supposed to die. Not that she was supposed to die at all. She wasn¡¯t the kind of woman who died. Benevil led them behind the hospital, towards the chapel. They weren¡¯t running now. Emil¡¯s heart-rate was slowing to a crawl. He wasn¡¯t breathing anymore. Nobody said anything. He tried to recall how things had been when his uncle had died, so many years back. But it hadn¡¯t been anything like this. Pancreatic cancer made slow work of him. They had been allowed to say goodbye to him properly. This wasn¡¯t like that at all. The chapel was a small building off to the side, made of bricks and tile. A sign for the Goddess of Tomorrow hung above the entrance, and as they went inside, Emil noted that there was a sign for the God of Yesterday above the doorway on the inside. He hadn¡¯t noticed that before. There was only one room in the chapel. This was a service typically only afforded to the rich and powerful. Emil wondered which category they fit into. ¡°My condolences,¡± Benevil was saying. He looked tired, like he¡¯d been up all night. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry for your loss.¡± ¡°Where is she?¡± Jazz said, her voice half-broken by sobs yet to be. ¡°Where is¡ª¡± The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. There she was. Barely the size of a thumbnail, clouded by a dusty white color, with uneven form and clarity, sitting all neat and tidy on a black spidersilk pillow atop a pedestal. The small room, now crowded, was lit only by candles, the scent of wax and incense moving slowly, condensed through the room, like ghosts. The walls were hidden by gingerly placed tapestries, each showing the creation story of one god or another. Everyone huddled around her. Rat fell to his knees before the pedestal, where he reached out to cradle her in his hands. ¡°What¡ªwhat is¡­¡± Still holding her, he turned to Benevil with a look of smoldering malice. ¡°Why did you do this to her!?¡± ¡°So you could hold her,¡± he said, as calmly and easily as an icicle. The words struck Rat right in the chest, piercing his heart. His fingers loosened, his eyes moved erratically between Benevil and the rest of the people gathered, and then, once he saw the horror he felt mirrored on their faces, his hands clenched around her tiny form, and he clutched her close to his chest. ¡°Sully¡­ No, no, this isn¡¯t¡­ Oh, God, oh, God, please¡­¡± Plus knelt down and brought Rat into his arms. Jazz fell to her knees, covering her mouth with her hand. And Emil¡­ He was just standing there. Fists clenched tight, staring intently at his friends, all of them on the floor. He understood everything they felt. He felt none of it. ¡°How did it happen?¡± he asked Benevil, his voice even. Kitty almost looked as though he wanted to answer, but in the end, it was Benevil who spoke, his face set in his typical pitying-priest expression. ¡°It was early this morning. I was doing my rounds when I heard a screech, and¡­ I tried to save her. I really did. But it was too late.¡± ¡°What happened to her?¡± Emil asked again. Benevil continued, his voice falling slightly. ¡°She choked. You know how it happens. She¡­ I couldn¡¯t let you see the way she was. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Mutely, Emil turned to Kitty, who somehow turned even paler than before, looking just about ready to jump out of his own skin. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t know, I promise! These things¡­ You know I have trouble predicting this kind of¡­ turnout. All I can know is when they ought to die, but with some¡­¡± ¡°I know,¡± Emil heard himself say. ¡°You¡¯re right. I can¡¯t expect omniscience from you.¡± Hearing him say that, Kitty turned into an even more pitiable sight. Turning away from him, Emil returned his attention to his friends, all of them still on the floor. Saying nothing, he knelt down in front of Rat and Plus. Plus opened his arms to let him in, but that¡¯s not what he was there for. He held out his left hand. ¡°Can I see her?¡± Rat, unable to speak between his sobbing and hiccuping, deposited her in his open palm. He stood up and looked at her. She was very small. But even though he was looking right at her, at what was left of her, at everything she¡¯s ever been and everything she¡¯ll ever be, he didn¡¯t really feel anything. His face was neutral, close to apathetic. All he saw was a stone; nothing more, nothing less. Not even a jeweler would give her a second look. He handed her back to Rat, who accepted her gingerly. Then, he turned away from them. ¡°I have to go to work.¡± ¡°Wh¡­ what¡­?¡± Jazz said. It¡¯s only with great effort that she was able to stagger to her feet. ¡°Wait, Mole, please, you can¡¯t just¡­¡± ¡°Sully is dead, Mole!¡± Rat shouted. ¡°You can¡¯t walk away from this!¡± Plus, now standing, put his hand on Emil¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve had a great shock. It¡¯s normal to want to run away, but doing so won¡¯t help. It¡¯ll only hurt more later down the road.¡± His smile was calm, measured. Earnest. ¡°We can talk outside. But no working today. Do you really think Sully would want you to go to work today? You need today to grieve. We all do.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Emil said. His chest felt hollow. Like a great big funeral drum. ¡°I want to stay. I really do. But I have duties that I can¡¯t just throw aside with a single hour¡¯s warning.¡± He shrugged off Plus¡¯ hand. ¡°Sully wouldn¡¯t want us to throw everything aside simply because of her. We have lives depending on us. People who¡¯ll die if we choose to take the day off. Do those lives mean nothing to you?¡± Plus took a step back. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant. Please, don¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Emil said, stepping out of the door, ¡°but I¡¯m late for an appointment. Please, take the day off if you want to. Don¡¯t let me stop you.¡± He gave Kitty a look and a sideways nod, and obedient as always, Kitty took his place at his side. ¡°I won¡¯t be home for dinner, so don¡¯t wait for me.¡± He didn¡¯t wait to hear more of their objections. Letting Kitty put his coat around him, the two of them exited into the cold February morning and headed toward the city hall. They arrived right on time to accept the former captain of the guards, whose visit was primarily of a complaining nature. Nevertheless, Emil exchanged platitudes with him, and when he sent him off with empty promises of change and care, he turned his attention to his work. A few weeks back, when they were both getting used to things, Emil used to chat with Kitty between meetings; a past-time he no longer had time to indulge in. Kitty didn¡¯t seem to mind. As always, he stood over his shoulder, neither prying nor curious. A given presence. Silently, not turning to look at him, Emil spoke. ¡°Kitty?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± Looking over his shoulder, Emil met Kitty¡¯s gaze. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m a bad person?¡± ¡°Why would you be?¡± Emil turned away. Even not looking at him, Emil could feel Kitty¡¯s eyes on him. ¡°I don¡¯t know. With Sully, and then¡­ The way I talked to Plus. I essentially called him a murderer if he chose to take a day off. But¡­¡± ¡°You were right, though,¡± Kitty said. ¡°They¡¯ll have plenty of time to grieve and feel bad tonight once they¡¯ve finished work. But until then, they have people depending on them. They were too blinded by their feelings to realize it, but you set them straight.¡± ¡°Is that a good thing?¡± ¡°Of course it is. A leader is supposed to show by example, and to be objective in matters like this. Isn¡¯t that what you did?¡± ¡°I guess so,¡± Emil said. ¡°It¡¯s only¡­ With Sully¡­ I didn¡¯t even cry. Yesterday, when I saw her¡­ I felt horrible. You didn¡¯t notice because it¡¯s been gradual for you, but for us¡­ The last time we saw her, she looked fine. She couldn¡¯t shout or anything, sure, but she was still there. But this time¡­ There was almost nothing behind the eyes. Did you see that? She had just withered away. It¡¯s like, one minute everything was fine, and then the next, she was gone. It doesn¡¯t feel real. Seeing her in her bed didn¡¯t feel real. Seeing her as a gem¡­ felt even less real. In my heart¡­ It¡¯s like she simply stopped existing. And I¡¯m not sure how to deal with that. I want to cry. I know that¡¯s the right thing to do. But I can¡¯t, because I don¡¯t feel sad.¡± He looked back up at Kitty. He could feel his lip trembling. Was he smiling? Is that what he was doing? ¡°She¡¯s dead, and I don¡¯t feel sad. Doesn¡¯t that make me a bad person?¡± ¡°No,¡± Kitty said. ¡°Why not?¡± He shrugged lightly. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll feel sad, one day. But right now, it won¡¯t feel real. It never might. Even when it does, you won¡¯t necessarily cry. Not all people express grief in the same way. Expecting yourself to react the same way as your friends do¡­¡± Kitty frowned to himself, clearly searching for words. ¡°It¡¯s not good. You¡¯ll react in your own way, eventually.¡± Emil could feel his smile trembling pathetically. ¡°If you were really a bad person,¡± Kitty said, ¡°you wouldn¡¯t feel bad about it. You¡¯d think that being bad was good, and that¡¯s that.¡± ¡°That¡¯s circular reasoning,¡± Emil muttered. ¡°So? It¡¯s true. Take it from me¡ªyou¡¯re not a bad person.¡± Kitty smiled cheekily. ¡°Trust me, I¡¯d know.¡± Chuckling, Emil turned away from his friend. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°I guess so.¡± In mutual appreciation, they stared at the door. After almost a full minute, letting his voice move back into his mayoral working-voice, he said, ¡°Assistant Kitty, would you please send in the next visitor?¡± Kitty did a mock-salute. ¡°Sir, yes, sir.¡± And the day continued like normal. 263: F30, Will and Testament A week passed. Emil still hadn¡¯t cried. ¡°Yes, the first of March works with me,¡± Emil said, taking a sip of his clarea of water. The spiced honey used for this pot was borrowed from the mayor¡¯s pantry, though it wasn¡¯t the best he¡¯d had. Still, it was high enough in quality to make the fact that Rat hadn¡¯t touched it a bit of a shame. The slim man was currently sitting opposite Emil¡¯s mayoral desk, tapping his foot and glancing between the cup and Kitty, who¡¯s still holding the tray he served it from. ¡°You¡¯re sure you¡¯ll come? As I said, it¡¯s her funeral, so if you don¡¯t show up, Sully will curse you for sure.¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll come,¡± Emil repeated, with added enunciation this time. ¡°Her wake was¡­¡± Bitter shame bubbled up in his chest and he put his cup back down. ¡°I was in shock. And I¡¯ve apologized. Going to work¡­ it was a coping mechanism. We both know that.¡± ¡°Heh, yeah,¡± Rat said, his anxious gaze hopping between Emil and his cup of clarea. ¡°Of course. Everything¡¯s fine. Whatever. But, seriously¡­ Putting everything about the funeral on us is not¡­¡± The look on Emil¡¯s face made Rat twitch. ¡°Sorry. I know, being a mayor is, and you¡¯ve apologized, but it¡¯s just¡­¡± Reaching out, Emil put his hand atop Rat¡¯s. He was trembling. Emil mustered a smile. ¡°Hey,¡± he said. ¡°Relax. Sure, I¡¯m working a lot, but¡­ So are you. So are all of us.¡± ¡°Yeah. Yeah, I¡­ I know.¡± Emil pulled back his hand, balling it into a fist as he did. As he did, his eyes fell on the day¡¯s schedule, lying half-buried beneath a mound of other similar papers. But he could tell that Kitty wrote this one, because the handwriting was atrocious. Lunch with Judgess Juni Farette. Fika with Father Toolheart. Dinner with Trade Union Leader Pon son of Gith. When was the last time he¡¯d had dinner with the rest of his party? When had they last met, all of them, and done something that wasn¡¯t work-related? Even as of before Ursula fell sick¡­ He couldn¡¯t really recall. Maybe for his birthday. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this,¡± Emil said, resolutely. ¡°No matter what.¡± He smiled at Rat. ¡°Sully wouldn¡¯t have wanted us to fail before even entering Paradise.¡± And now, finally, Rat smiled back at him. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s right.¡± He took a light sip of his clarea. Emil let him drink, taking a sip of his own cup in the meantime. ¡°There¡¯ll be a wake afterwards,¡± Rat said. ¡°A proper one. Not like¡­ Not like that one. You told us that we could plan it however we wanted, so we set up a table for five at the Giggling Fiend at eight, after the funeral.¡± ¡°For five? But¡ª¡± Realization hit Emil and he smiled. Funnily enough, Kitty didn¡¯t seem to have noticed. Then again, he had a tendency for getting so into his role that he didn¡¯t listen to a word being spoken in the room. Emil smiled warmly at Rat and bowed his head. ¡°Thank you. It means a lot.¡± Rat smiled back at him, slightly bashful. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. At least not when compared to your idea of turning her gem into pendants for us all to carry.¡± Modest to a fault, Emil turned away. It was only obvious, after all. The very concept of being able to carry her with them, all the way back home, was too obvious not to go through with. He¡¯d met with one of the city¡¯s finest jewelers, and in exchange for a small favor, the pendants were finished. It was all so simple. For once, Emil felt on top of it. Sure, people were still dying, and everything with Ursula still hung over him, but¡­ He felt confident that they¡¯d get through it. Not everyone cried about these kinds of things, after all. His dad hadn¡¯t cried at his uncle¡¯s funeral. Everyone reacts in their own ways, and everyone mourns in their own ways. Emil barely thought about what had happened, himself. He had practically moved on already. But his friends still needed time. And this funeral would give them just that. So, he wasn¡¯t really attending for his own sake, but rather for theirs. In the week remaining until her funeral, Emil prepared himself by visiting a tailor, where he received a custom-made, well-polished suit perfectly fitted for the occasion. With some verbal guidance from Plus, he set up the matter of flowers for the funeral with a florist, who initially recommended black flowers. It took close to an hour for Emil to explain that where they came from, funeral flowers should be white, something the florist found beyond perplexing. With only a few days left, he picked up the pendants¡­ what remained of her. The gem had been carved into four equal pieces, fitted to be placed inside a dawn silver locket. The gem was hardly weak enough to fully justify the security, but Emil had a feeling that the effort would be well appreciated by his friends. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. And still, even while holding her, it still didn¡¯t feel real. It was just a gem. Nothing more, nothing less. Until the funeral, he kept the pendants in his inventory. And then came the fated day. ¡°It¡¯s what she wrote in her will, so we really have no choice, but¡­¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t she warm up to him in the last few weeks?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I would expect so, but¡­¡± Jazz turned to look at Kitty. ¡°Can you recall if she made any addendums to her will and testament? Like, for example, if she mumbled that she changed her mind and would actually be okay with you attending her funeral?¡± ¡°No, not really,¡± Kitty said with a shrug. ¡°Besides, I don¡¯t really mind. I wasn¡¯t all that close to her, so I didn¡¯t have any desire to attend the funeral to begin with. As long as her will doesn¡¯t state that I¡¯m not allowed to be within ten metres of the church, I¡¯ll be happy to stay out here and keep an eye on the exits. You never know who might want to spoil the party.¡± Emil turned to Jazz, whose eyes moved to look at an undetermined spot in front of her eyes. Emil did the same thing, pulling up the note he kept containing Sully¡¯s will and testament. As per their agreement, everyone had sent one of these to everyone else, who had then saved it to their notes for safekeeping, since their profile and messages would be deleted upon death. In a sense, Emil supposed, they would already be unable to fulfill at least one or two of her requests, so letting Kitty attend wouldn¡¯t actually change much. Nevertheless, her will had been extremely adamant on this point, so the fact that Kitty was okay with it was a bit of a lifesaver. Emil glanced up to look at him. Much like Emil, Kitty was well-dressed in all black, save for a white jabot, which was only marginally paler than the man¡¯s face. Oddly enough, the look suited him well. Emil turned to look at Jazz. She was dressed in her full combat gear, complete with her leather pelerine and staff. So far, Emil had been unable to muster the courage to ask why she wasn¡¯t properly dressed. Either way, shaking off the thoughts, Emil returned his attention to the matter at hand. ¡°The will only states that you aren¡¯t allowed to attend it. There¡¯s nothing about vicinity to the church or anything.¡± ¡°Great! In that case, I¡¯ll keep a look out, and you guys will do your business. Sounds great to me.¡± ¡°Yeah, I guess so,¡± Emil said. He let his eyes move to look at the church. It was rather small and constructed almost entirely from wood, a detail he was sure had something to do with it being the church of the God of Will. The small size of the church made it perfectly fit for their small gathering¡ªand the proximity to the Giggling Fiend certainly didn¡¯t hurt. With little else to do, Emil took a peek at the clock. <14:56:04 Day 1 155> Since there were still a few more minutes until they were supposed to meet, Emil continued talking with Jazz. A little later, both Rat and Plus showed up together¡ªthe both of them clad in their combat gear. And all of a sudden, Emil felt very alone. Plus smiled warmly at him as they approached. ¡°Hey, glad you could make it! Seems like¡­¡± His eyes fell on Emil¡¯s outfit. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s¡­ Didn¡¯t you see the message?¡± Emil was very close to biting his own tongue off. ¡°What message?¡± ¡°A week back we decided to wear our combat gear, as a show of solidarity. I sent you a message, but¡­¡± Freezing cold shame crackled through Emil¡¯s veins. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯ve been so busy, I must have missed it, I¡¯m so sorry, I can go get changed if that¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°No, no, don¡¯t worry about it.¡± Plus¡¯ smile widened slightly. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not like your combat gear is all too dissimilar to this, right?¡± Despite not feeling an ounce of humor, Emil met Plus¡¯ laugh evenly. ¡°No, I guess not.¡± As he tried to calm his wildly beating heart, his attention fell, purely by coincidence, on Rat. And Rat, in stark opposition to his usual rowdy self, merely smiled up to him, his eyes shining with gratefulness. Emil smiled back at him, glad to be there. 264: F30, Funeral Without wasting any more time, they headed inside, met with Fr. Blueroot who had graciously accepted to hold the funeral, and took a seat, all four next to each other on the bench closest to the altar. And after that¡­ Emil wasn¡¯t too sure. He felt dazed and lost. His clothes were stuffy and sweaty and way too tight on him. It had only been a week since he got them. Had he put on weight? Was he getting fat? Nowadays, he ate fancy stuff for almost every single meal. He had to. Otherwise, the people he met with would think him to be stingy, or lacking in manners. He had to show that he wasn¡¯t all that. Which meant that he had to gorge himself. Yes, and while he ate his fill, he forced poor Kitty to go hungry. Wasn¡¯t he horrible? Truly, a horrible, terrible man, and a hypocrite, too. He was essentially a dictator at this point. Ruling the city with an iron fist. And he dared preach about rationing and quarantine? Who did he think he was? He was nothing but a kid. It had been three years, sure, but it¡¯s not like he was actually any older. Three years had passed. He was 21, but only in mind¡ªif even that. He was a kid. That¡¯s all he ever was. And he was supposed to be the leader here? He? He hadn¡¯t even finished high school yet! Pathetic. Utterly, utterly patheti¡ª ¡°Now, her dear friend Jazz would like to speak a few words.¡± Jazz moved up to stand behind the pulpit. Sometimes, her eyes would move down to read from an invisible message. She stuttered a little. By the end, she was crying, and Emil hadn¡¯t heard a word she¡¯d said. She stepped down again, sat next to Emil, and leaned into him. He put his hand on her shoulder. She was crying. He wasn¡¯t. He was horrible. A horrible mayor, a horrible party leader, and a horrible friend. As if rehearsed, Plus soon went up to hold another speech. Emil didn¡¯t have anything prepared. For a split second, burning dread exploded through his body at the thought that maybe, just maybe, they had asked him to do a speech as well, and he¡¯d forgotten. Or it was in the message they sent¡ªthe one he hadn¡¯t seen. His teeth gnashed together. What should he do if they called on him? Improvise it? Force himself to stutter through an awkward, impromptu speech? What would he even say? What had Jazz said? What was Plus saying? ¡°...But back then, I didn¡¯t know how much you would come to mean for me. For us. You had been the right person at the right time, and from then on, the thought of beating the tutorial without you never so much as crossed my mind. You were¡­ are irreplaceable.¡± He chuckled. A single, dramatic, almost choreographed tear rolled down his cheek. ¡°But you wouldn¡¯t want us to give up here, would you?¡± He was saying everything Emil could possibly want to say. And Rat hadn¡¯t even held his speech yet. Considering that the man had done a course in English rhetoric, there wasn¡¯t a single doubt in Emil¡¯s mind that anything that was left to say, Rat would say. Anything Emil could say would either be derivative of their speeches, or completely inspired off of them. There was nothing he could do. This was it. They would call him up, he¡¯d make a fool of himself at Sully¡¯s funeral, and they would finally realize that he was a fraud¡ªthat he always had been, and then they would cast him out of the party, and he¡¯d be alone, all alone, save for maybe¡ª A clawed hand fell on his right shoulder. His eyes flashed over to find Kitty right next to him, crouched and almost invisible. Emil¡¯s mouth flailed open, closed, and then he glanced over at the altar. Plus was still speaking. He looked back down at Kitty. ¡°Kitty?¡± he whispered. ¡°What the heck are you¡ª¡± ¡°The mayor is dead,¡± Kitty whispered back. ¡°Only a quarter ago. Mitt and Pinn ran all the way here to tell you.¡± Emil¡¯s brows furrowed across his face. ¡°What?¡± Kitty glanced down the aisle, back to where he came from. ¡°The former captain of the guards is here, too. We can have a press conference set up within the hour.¡± The stress, the anxiety, the sheer nerve-frying dread of his previous brush with horror melted out of his system, replaced by utter confusion. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± He soon found his confusion mirrored on Kitty¡¯s face. ¡°Well, I mean¡­ If you don¡¯t announce it quickly, then¡­ The nobility and the people will all think that you¡¯re an over-emotional person who values your personal circumstances over your work and the city as a whole. There¡¯d be riots. Nobody can announce it in your stead without being lynched.¡± He drew back a little. ¡°You aren¡¯t thinking of¡­?¡± Emil, in turn, leaned away from him. A million billion thoughts were all crashing through his head like the staggering waves of a stormy ocean. What the hell was Kitty thinking, bursting into a funeral like this? And to announce the death of someone as vile as the mayor? Did he seriously think Emil cared that the mayor had died? Even more so, how could he possibly think that Emil would ever leave Sully¡¯s funeral to go hold a speech of all things, especially when he¡¯d made such a big deal about not going to work because of the funeral?This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. And what would his political allies think if they heard that he was so lacking in morals and sound thinking that he would go back on a promise, simply to rush to work? The storm in his mind surged, and with barely withheld contempt, Emil turned back to the speech. ¡°Please leave. You¡¯re disturbing a sacred moment.¡± Kitty looked at him, eyes as big as saucers. His head was in a right whirl as well, Emil had no doubt about that. But, thankfully, Kitty was well-trained, so instead of making a big deal about Emil¡¯s lack of official scruples or whatever, he simply nodded, said ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll inform them about your decision,¡± and then he disappeared. It was as though he¡¯d never been there to begin with. Looking back at his party members and friends, Emil was glad to notice that none of them had taken any notice of the exchange. Even better, at the end of the day, nobody asked him to come up to speak. Everything went well. ¡°He¡¯s late,¡± Rat noted. ¡°Does he know the directions so he can get here?¡± Jazz asked. ¡°I¡¯ve sent him a message,¡± Emil said. ¡°He hasn¡¯t replied yet, but in the last one he said he¡¯d be finished around this time, so he should be here within the coming half an hour.¡± ¡°If he knows how to get here,¡± Plus said, ¡°we might as well take our seats. What drinks will he want?¡± Emil thought for a moment. Blood of a newborn? No, too far. Alcohol? Not unless he wanted to carry him home on his shoulder. Fruit juice? No, that always left him jittery. In that case¡­ ¡°Water. Plain old water.¡± ¡°Sounds good. Let¡¯s get to it, then.¡± The Giggling Fiend was a pub, but a fairly nice one, so you could still get food worth the money without needing alcohol to hide the foul taste. The beer was optional, but in Sully¡¯s honor, they were happy to share a few pints. While they waited for Kitty to arrive, Emil cordially handed out the pendants, shared a few nice memories of Sully, tried to wring out a tear or two, and eventually decided to simply hope that it¡¯d come of its own eventually. All the while, he kept one eye on the pub¡¯s regulars. Most of them knew their little party by now, so they didn¡¯t make any deal out of their presence. Unfortunately, not everyone was so polite. A few of the less usual patrons had a nasty habit of staring, almost as if they didn¡¯t expect humans to be so normal. ¡°Here are your drinks,¡± the staff, thankfully, was very much used to their presence. This was one of few places in the city that didn¡¯t make a deal out of their skin color. Instead, they simply served them, smiled, and put the other patrons at ease. Because, obviously, the fact that Emil was literally the mayor didn¡¯t serve as enough proof that humans weren¡¯t child-eating monsters. ¡­At least, not all of them. After about an hour of waiting, with Kitty no closer to joining them, they decided to go on ahead. It¡¯s what he would have wanted. Over an hour later, Kitty limped into the pub, shaking lightly and gnawing at his hand to heal what seemed to be a broken leg. He almost looked like he¡¯d been jumped, but the lack of blood around his face and claws told Emil that this wasn¡¯t the case. No, as he had done a few times before, Kitty had simply strained himself too hard and ignored the pain to the point where it left him like this. ¡°Kitty! There you are,¡± Emil greeted, knowing that Kitty would only dismiss him if he tried to mention the whole broken-leg thing. ¡°We got started without you, but if you wait a moment, we can get a waiter to bring you some water and a menu.¡± ¡°Ah, uh, hah,¡± panting lightly, Kitty took a seat in the empty spot at the table. His frilly collar was all lop-sided, and he¡¯d completely buttoned up his vest. ¡°No, that¡¯s okay, I¡¯m not really¡­¡± He gritted his teeth. ¡°But thanks. Um¡­¡± Looking across the table, Kitty met the eyes of Plus, Jazz and Rat. ¡°Thanks for letting me join, by the way. Very cool.¡± ¡°It was nothing,¡± Plus said humbly. ¡°Couldn¡¯t let Mole go without his guardian, could we?¡± Kitty¡¯s smile widened until it almost looked real. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re right. Most correct. Glad we¡¯re on the same page, Plus.¡± Going back to ignoring the others, Kitty returned his gaze to Emil. ¡°I¡¯ve told the seventeen major houses about the mayor¡¯s passing. They give their condolences and wish you the greatest of luck in these trying times.¡± Work. Always work. Emil slowly placed his pint back on the table. ¡°What did they actually think about it?¡± Now, Jazz and Rat were also following along. ¡°They were upset.¡± No hesitation. ¡°After I left a few of them, they instantly started bad-mouthing you about what a terrible mayor you were, and that humans couldn¡¯t be trusted not to bring emotions into things and all that sort of stuff. I¡¯ve got a feeling a few of them might be upset enough to consider replacing you forcefully.¡± ¡°That certainly sounds worrying,¡± Emil said, the alcohol bringing a chuckle to his lips. ¡°What do you think we should do?¡± ¡°We should probably¡ª¡± ¡°Can we talk about something else?¡± Jazz said. ¡°This is supposed to be about Sully. Not work. Please, Mole. Can¡¯t you save this for later?¡± Emil shrunk a little in his chair. ¡°Well, of course, but¡­¡± ¡°I made a list,¡± Kitty said, ¡°and if you¡¯ll let me, I think I can handle all of this tonight, so there won¡¯t be any problems tomorrow when you hold your speech. On that note, we should probably write and rehearse it. As usual, as long as you dictate it and I write it, the actual words should come across as intended, and not be seen as¡ª¡± Emil held up a hand. Kitty instantly fell silent. ¡°Jazz is right,¡± he said, defeated. ¡°Thank you, Kitty, but¡­ We¡¯ll take it tomorrow.¡± ¡°But the speech is at eleven. Will you really be able to rehearse it in time?¡± ¡°It¡¯ll have to be enough,¡± Emil said. ¡°So, please drop the subject. Also¡­¡± He drilled his eyes into Kitty. ¡°Burn that list.¡± ¡°Burn it?¡± ¡°Yeah. Holding onto suspicion will only divide us. So, burn it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a note, like¡­ in my system. I wouldn¡¯t write something like that physically. I¡¯m not¡ª¡± ¡°So delete it!¡± Emil shouted. The table fell mute. Everyone stared at him. He sunk down a little. ¡°Just¡ªget rid of it. Let¡¯s not talk about it anymore. Okay?¡± For a moment, Kitty didn¡¯t reply. Then, in a small, hurt voice, he said, ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Good. Thank you. Now, what would you like to eat?¡± 265: F30, Speech ¡°You have your notes? And your staff? And your¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, I have it,¡± Emil said, bravely pushing through his hangover by casting a detox spell on himself over and over again. The effect was diminished, but it was better than nothing. How could he have forgotten to detox last night? He felt like such an idiot, and the handwritten notes pressed into his hand didn¡¯t help. They¡¯d written the speech half an hour ago. He¡¯d woken up an hour ago. They had not rehearsed, and considering that they were already ten minutes late, doing so now was out of the question. There wasn¡¯t a single doubt in Emil¡¯s mind that this was it. This was the moment they would start throwing rotten tomatoes and swollen rats at him. The execution-cum-speech stage had been prepared at the central plaza. Thanks to Kitty¡¯s quick thinking last night, the floral shops had already been told what was happening, and the guards had likewise been brought in. The news had spread like wildfire in the course of a single night. When Emil entered the flower-covered plaza, supported by Kitty and surrounded by guards, Plus at his front and Rat guarding his rear, all of a sudden, he felt very certain that his fly was unzipped. But when he looked down, he instead realized that it was unbuttoned. He buttoned it. In so doing, he came to notice that his shirt was on backwards. It didn¡¯t matter. He couldn¡¯t allow it to matter. They basically carried him onto stage and deposited him behind the pulpit. The crowd in front of him covered the entire plaza, a sea of bobbing heads and peeking eyes, crowded to the point where they even webbed out into the nearby streets. There was no way to know how far it went, or how many were here, listening, judging his every word and action, not to mention how he looked. Because, let¡¯s face it¡ªhe looked like shit. He could only hope that the goblins, not knowing how a human was supposed to look like, might be a bit more forgiving. It was a futile hope, and he knew it. ¡°Good luck,¡± someone said¡ªKitty, he thought¡ªand then they patted him on the back, and all of a sudden, he stood alone. His hazy eyes traveled across the sea of gazes. Some were muttering. Murmuring. About what? About him? About what a terrible mayor he¡¯d been? About how he looked? About how he looked like he¡¯d tried to find joy in the bottom of a barrel yesterday? About how he felt even worse? He looked down at his hand. The pathetic little notes pinched between trembling fingers. He turned his hand over and recalled the names of the spells written in his rings. Zap. Clean. Light. Heal. Amplify. Right. Amplify, that was his thumb. Silently letting magic flow from his heart to his thumb, carried with the blood, he let the spell make itself known, focusing the effects on his throat; his voice. Suddenly, his breathing was so loud. His heavy, labored, boozy breathing. Could they hear it? Could they hear his panting? The frantic beating of his heart? His terror? Ten thousand eyes met him. They knew. They all knew. ¡°I am very sorry to announce,¡± he said, in perfect Aetongue, not stuttering, absolutely not stuttering, he couldn¡¯t allow himself to stutter, ¡°that¡ªthat the mayor, he¡­¡± Sweat. Sweaty. His fingers were so sweaty. Emil¡¯s eyes prodded at the notes. They had written them recently. Maybe the ink hadn¡¯t fully dried yet. Maybe his sweat would eat through the paper, and make the ink bleed through, and then all of a sudden he couldn¡¯t see the notes, and they would know that he was a fraud, always had been, and¡­ Emil gulped. The sound echoed across the plaza. ¡°¡ªDied. The mayor¡ªHis Honor Jeret An De Hettekoff has passed. Last night. Due to¡­ complications¡­ Following¡­ Dragon plague.¡± The words on the note swam and his feet swayed and his eyes couldn¡¯t find the word that was supposed to follow so he looked up, up and away from the notes, to find ten thousand shocked gazes staring at him. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry¡ª¡± Shouting. Loud, agonizing shouting. People were talking now. Their eyes mercifully left him but instead they turned to each other, sharing their disgust, their anger, their horror¡ªIf you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. At him? At Emil? For his slovenly dress and behavior? At him, because he hadn¡¯t told them last night what had happened? At him? At him? At him? Mumbling grumbling muttering stuttering¡ªat him. ¡°Due to his passing, my term will continue indefinitely, however, I¡­ I¡­¡± A word he didn¡¯t know. Right there on the page. Written in the latin alphabet for ease of reading. But that only made it worse. ¡®Eurreut op?¡¯ What did that mean? How was it supposed to be pronounced? What if he got it wrong and it suddenly meant something completely different¡ªsomething crass and horrible? ¡°I have decided to¡­ auret opp¡­ which will¡­ so that¡­¡± He glanced up again. They were silent. Not a single peep. Ten thousand eyes, turned to him again. Judging. Ah. He messed up. He turned to the next note. And without even trying to understand what he was saying, he simply spoke. The less he thought, the better. Words flew from his lips, machine gun fire, more and more and more and more, and then he paused, because a word had gotten stuck in his throat. ¡°Ursula,¡± he said. But he said it with Aetongue pronunciation. Why? Why did he do that? Backtracking, he said the word again¡ª¡±Ursula. My¡­ my fellow hoeksok and friend. Another victim of this horrific plague. But in her death, she has left me with a gift. A gift that will allow me to feed many of you for the months that come. ¡°His Honor¡¯s death is the last drop we shall permit spilled. This horrific plague must end, no matter what. That is why¡ª¡± He glanced up. Ten thousand eyes. This had to be done. ¡°We will be implementing a total selective quarantine, beginning a week from now, on the evening. Those of you who are healthy have nothing to fear, and neither do the sick. In a week, on the 17th of Forests, from dawn ¡®til dusk, my subordinates will move across the city, marking the doorposts of all houses wherein one or more members are sick. These houses will then be subject to total quarantine. No members of the household, be they sick or healthy, may be allowed to leave. However, proviants¡ª¡± Someone threw something. Emil didn¡¯t know what it was, but it went whizzing by his face and all of a sudden Kitty flew from his place, flashed out into the crowd, and disappeared. The crowd was moving like a sea, and even though Kitty could no longer be seen, Emil felt reasonably sure that the man was moving through it like a loosened torpedo. The rest of the guards, a little slow to react, could only move after him when Kitty had already disappeared. Unlike with Kitty, the crowd parted for them, allowing them to approach a little knot of people that had now formed. When they arrived, the remaining people disappeared, revealing Kitty sat atop a young goblin, too busy tying his hands with cords of leather to notice the guard¡¯s arrival. Kitty stepped to the side, the guards moved to arrest the young goblin, and only then did Emil¡¯s brain kick into gear. ¡°No, wait¡ªpardon, release that boy!¡± The guards turned to him. Kitty turned to him. Ten thousand eyes turned to him. His clothes felt very stuffy. ¡°I¡¯m alright. Please¡ªhe didn¡¯t cause any harm.¡± The boy couldn¡¯t have been more than twelve. Considering the tattered clothes and the haggard expression, Emil knew from a glance that if the boy ended up in jail¡ªor even worse¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t soon recover. The guards shared a few looks. They seemed hesitant¡ªa trait Kitty did not share. Within five seconds of hearing Emil¡¯s new order, the boy had been relieved of his restraints, and with his protection done by Kitty, the guards were not soon to attempt a rearrest. The boy, saying nothing, slunk back into the crowd. Emil cleared his throat. ¡°As I was saying, rations will be given freely to those in quarantine, the payment done through the Ursula¡ªUrsula fund. You will not be left to die. Your needs will be taken care of. When a cure is created, you will be given it. Please put your faith in the abilities of me and my fellow hoeksak.¡± The crowd began to murmur, though Kitty and the guards¡¯ procession through them quieted a fair few. Nevertheless, despite Emil¡¯s grand words, a number of gazes remained skeptical. The victims of former broken promises. Emil could only hope that he wouldn¡¯t give them more reason to distrust politicians. ¡°I believe that we can survive this. When I first arrived here, almost a year ago, His Honor told me the story of your recent triumph against the Retinians¡ªhow you stood fast in the face of overwhelming forces. I was impressed, and I knew that if you could live to tell such a tale, a measly plague will surely stand no chance. So, stay strong! When this is all over I will go my way. Until then, I swear upon my honor, I shall do my best to serve you.¡± He bowed his head. And for a moment, total silence reigned. The same silence that tended to fall the moment following an execution. With his head bowed, Emil couldn¡¯t see them. He could barely hear them. Fear and anxiety clawed within his chest. Nervously, sweat beading his pinched brow, he rose again, and looked out to see ten thousand incredulous faces glaring at him, their eyes a sea of black dark hatred, knotted fists, trembling hands, legs that don¡¯t know whether to run at him or away from him, and the guards at his side¡ªeven Kitty, poor, untamed Kitty¡ªrooted in place, unsure whether or not to step forward, should the crowd need to be blocked, or to step back, because even three dozen guards won¡¯t be enough. And Emil, the eye of the storm, knowing that whatever he does will either result in the greatest massacre to ever grace the walls of this city, or calm everything back down. He looked at the crowd. He looked at the guards. He looked at Kitty. He looked at his notes. Finally, he looked back out at the city. And, smiling, he said, ¡°Thank you.¡± Then, he stepped off the stage, the guards followed him, Kitty and Plus and Rat took their place at his side, and off they were. 266: F30, Guests? At This Hour? During the rest of the day, Emil went from manor to manor, speaking with the judges and judgesses, begging a thousand million pardons for not being able to tell the news last night. Each time, he was met with condolences and surface-level forgiveness that poorly hid their real opinion of him. At the very least, none of them attacked him on sight, and he could justify to himself that Kitty¡¯s plan on how to handle them was preemptive at best. This would work out fine. There was no need to make enemies preemptively. The day soon ended, and the next began, alongside Emil¡¯s regular work. Everything went back to normal. He worked as mayor, Jazz worked at the hospital, Plus worked alongside the guards as security detail, Rat continued helping out at the hospital, and Kitty was as indispensable as ever. Things were going well, and for five wonderfully dreadful days, Emil felt certain that everything would turn out just fine. ¡°Another riot,¡± Kitty said, reading off a report sent by the former captain of the guards. ¡°Fifth one in the last three days. Says here they looted a bakery and killed a guard, but when they tried to storm the city exit, they were stopped and a few died. Are you sure we don¡¯t want to hold a conference or something denouncing these types of behaviors? It¡¯s starting to get a bit out of control.¡± ¡°Denounce it how?¡± Emil asked rhetorically, and Kitty did almost answer, until Emil continued himself, saying, ¡°By executing the rioters? Right, because making more martyrs will be great for my public image. They¡¯ve already begun chanting the names of the ones killed by guards. If I take action, it¡¯ll only serve to confirm their beliefs.¡± ¡°Maybe so,¡± Kitty said, leaning against the windowsill. ¡°On the other hand, it could also improve the opinion of the judges. Shows that you¡¯re quick to action; decisive and all that.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t care about what they think of me,¡± Emil muttered childishly. ¡°I just wish they would stop trying to lobby against me.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t please ¡®em all,¡± Kitty said. His eyes fell down to look at something invisible. ¡°Ah, by the way, the clock¡¯s five¡ªit¡¯s about time to head home. You promised Plus you¡¯d join them all for dinner tonight.¡± Emil looked up from his work. ¡°But I haven¡¯t finished with the report, and I told the Judgess of Feynix I might visit for dinner, and¡ª¡± ¡°And you told Plus you wouldn¡¯t bring work home.¡± Kitty gave a cheeky smile. ¡°Your work will still be here in the morning, you know.¡± With mounting panic, Emil glanced up and down, between Kitty and his work. His face turned to stare at the papers. ¡°But¡­ but¡­¡± A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to find Kitty, smiling at him. All tension melted out of him, and Emil mustered a smile in return. ¡°Yeah, alright. Let¡¯s go.¡± Heading out, Kitty threaded a coat over his shoulders, but once they exited into the early March evening, they found the air just a tad too warm for it. Emil returned it to his inventory, and off they were. Halfway home, Kitty abruptly stopped. He made a strange face. ¡°Kitty?¡± Emil asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Kitty spied down the street they were heading. ¡°Let¡¯s take a different route. There¡¯s a bunch of people gathered down this way, and they¡¯re armed.¡± Emil froze in place. ¡°Another riot? Already?¡± ¡°Apparently,¡± Kitty said. ¡°Come on, we¡¯ll go around it. The guards will take care of them if they do something.¡± But even as he said that, Emil could tell that something was off. The suspicion on Kitty¡¯s face remained during the rest of their walk, including when they arrived home to the late mayor¡¯s estate. His family had graciously allowed them to remain, in exchange for the food being made using their points. This was a bit of a win-win, since it meant Emil and his party could eat food more similar to Earth food, and the late mayor¡¯s family could afford to eat properly. Everyone was happy. Tonight would certainly be a pleasant evening. To Emil¡¯s happy surprise, the evening would indeed be most pleasant. They had dinner, discussed their most recent work, and with some coaxing, Emil was even able to convince Kitty to eat, if only a little. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¡°She¡¯s really talented¡ªif only Benevil weren¡¯t so certain he¡¯d die soon, I¡¯m sure he could raise Mitt to be an excellent doctor. I¡¯ve been teaching her a bit on my own, and she¡¯s a wonderful student! Not to mention that the patients love her,¡± Jazz said, smiling widely. ¡°And how¡¯s Pinn doing?¡± Emil asked in between spoonfuls of stew. ¡°Is he still having trouble adjusting?¡± ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t say so,¡± Jazz said thoughtfully. ¡°Mitt¡¯s been taking well care of him, but¡­¡± Her expression fell slightly. ¡°He is still only a child. I¡¯m not sure if he should be working at all.¡± Plus nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯d agree, but I¡¯m sure Benevil knows what he¡¯s talking about. When he dies, they¡¯ll both need to know how to take care of themselves.¡± Jazz made a face. ¡°I¡¯d prefer not to think about that. He¡¯s still got a while left, right? we should be able to cure the plague before he, you know¡­ Yeah.¡± ¡°I hope so,¡± Emil said. ¡°But you never know.¡± Slightly lost in thought, he turned to look over at the other side of the room, which was primarily adorned by a large, ornate furnace, which currently contained a large, beautiful open fire. Rat and Kitty were both sitting in front of it, entertaining the late mayor¡¯s children, all of their shadows made long by the fire¡¯s light. There were six children, ranging in age from twelve to three. The oldest had already left home a while back, moving all the way to the capital of Acheron. And as for his wife¡­ She was sitting in an armchair off to the side, simply reading and enjoying the view. All things considered, it was rather late. Emil was the only one still eating, trying his best to savor each bite. ¡°We¡¯ve got to keep up hope,¡± Emil muttered. ¡°Not much else to have,¡± Plus said wistfully. ¡°If nothing else, we can always¡­¡± Emil didn¡¯t hear that last part, because he was suddenly looking at Kitty. He was standing up, lit across the back by the fireplace, his bright yellow eyes fastened to the far window down the hall. He looked almost exactly like an attentive cat¡ªa strange expression to see on him. ¡°Kitty?¡± Emil asked, probably interrupting Plus. ¡°Is everything alright?¡± Kitty tilted his head slightly, uncertainty making his face far more human-looking. ¡°I think so. It¡¯s just, there were a lot of¡ª¡± CRASH! Everyone turned towards the hall. Emil felt himself frown. ¡°What was tha¡ª¡± Kitty flew past him and down the hall, gone in a flash, and now Emil could hear shouting. Dozens¡ªhundreds?¡ªof people shouting. People. Aetongue¡­ goblins. Citizens. Civilians. And Kitty was¡ª Emil stood up so fast his chair fell over. ¡°Kitty, wait! Wait, please, Kitty, don¡¯t hurt them!¡± He threw himself down the hall, only barely registering how his party was shouting things after him. He could hear more crashing. Windows? Vases? Plates? All across the mansion. What was happening? Were they being attacked? By who? Why? Frantically, Emil pulled his staff from his inventory, only to return it once he turned a corner. It was people. Normal people. Civilians. Goblins in tattered clothes with sunken cheeks and burning eyes, with swords in their hands¡ªwhere had they gotten them?¡ªand then Kitty, among them, above them, inside and through them, his claws moving like whips, bisecting and dissecting, splattering blood onto finely painted walls, a crystal chandelier hung above now drenched in red and black. Kitty¡¯s flashing eyes moved from one to the next like an animal¡ªtarget after target, and each one fell sooner than the next. ¡°KITTY!!¡± Emil screamed. ¡°Stop! Please, please don¡¯t hurt them! They don¡¯t know what they¡¯re doing, please just¡ª¡± There was a crash behind him as a window was forced open, and then a heavy pair of footsteps, and then, before he could even turn around, something cold had entered his back. He could see it exiting through his chest; through his spidersilk shirt. ¡®Wh¡­ what¡­?¡¯ Emil thought. The status message hung in his vision. ¡°I got one! I got one!¡± someone behind him shouted, and as Emil fell to his knees, the sword was pulled from his chest. Hot and warm blood spread across his chest, like he¡¯d spilled cocoa. He was looking down at it. He couldn¡¯t see Kitty. ¡°I got one of those rettif hoekso¡ª¡± He couldn¡¯t see Kitty flash across the room, the presence behind him suddenly falling with a heavy thud to the plush carpet, nothing at all like that. But then he stumbled a little, and all of a sudden, Kitty was there, holding him, his face twitching and moving and forming itself into a million expressions, some of false joy, others of despair so immensely deep that he couldn¡¯t see the bottom. But he was there. His bright yellow eyes moved up, and down, and across. ¡°Moleman,¡± he breathed. ¡°Hey. Hey, Moleman, you¡¯re¡ªyou¡ª¡± Someone approached from behind and stabbed Kitty straight through the chest. He didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°You¡¯ll be okay. You¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯re¡ªmy heart¡­ I can give you my¡­¡± The person behind him was slashing at his back now. Kitty didn¡¯t look at him. He reached down to his chest, and was about to saw it open. Emil reached out and took his hand. Kitty¡¯s eyes moved erratically from his hand to Emil¡¯s face. ¡°M¡ªMoleman?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t¡­¡± Emil said, ¡°Don¡¯t hurt them. Please. Th¡ªthey don¡¯t¡­¡± He drew a shallow breath. He felt a spasm in his chest. ¡°Wait, don¡¯t talk,¡± Kitty said, grabbing hold of Emil and pulling him to his feet. ¡°I¡¯ll get you somewhere safe, and then¡­¡± Sometime tried to attack them. Kitty, annoyed, touched them, and the person crumbled to the floor. Turning back to Emil, Kitty mustered a smile. ¡°Come on. You¡¯ll be fine. Can you use that healing spell on yourself? You¡¯ll be okay. I¡¯ll save you. Don¡¯t worry.¡± Emil felt cold. His legs didn¡¯t want to move anymore. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ hurt¡­ them¡­¡± he mumbled. But as his eyes fluttered closed, the last thing he saw was Kitty, killing another one. He could be so horrible sometimes. 267: F30, Raid Act 1 It was fair to say that everything was going to shit. It had been for a while, but this was definitely the shit-cherry on top of the shit-cake. ¡°Where is he going? What the fuck is happening?¡± Jarne said, far from surprised to notice that literally no one was paying attention to him. Well, alright, that wasn¡¯t exactly the case. The mayor¡¯s six kids were all looking up at him, no doubt wondering what he just said. Trying to recall how to translate ¡®fuck¡¯ into goblinese, Jarne barely even noticed Plus making a dash for the hallway. ¡°Hey, hey, whoa!¡± He ran in front of him, blocking his exit with his body. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± Plus scowled down at him. ¡°Out of my way¡ªwe have to follow him!¡± ¡°No we don¡¯t!¡± Jarne shot back. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve gone deaf, but by the sounds of things, we are absolutely under siege or something. This is exactly what it sounded like back in Fursten when the duke sent his entire army to attack us. But at least then Mole wasn¡¯t stupid enough to go running off in the middle of things!¡± The expression on Plus¡¯ face twisted in bitter memory, no doubt recalling their flight from over a year past. ¡°What do you suggest we do, then? Leave him to die?¡± ¡°No! No, we have to¡­ we need to¡­¡± Jarne pulled an absolute blank. How was he supposed to know what to do? Last time, same as all other times, Mole had been the one in charge. Because¡ªduh. But now Mole had gone running off. Completely unlike last time, when he¡­ When he¡¯d tried to¡­ Jarne gulped thickly. ¡°We need to stick together. And¡­¡± he turned around. The mayor¡¯s wife and her children were huddled together now, still by the fireplace. ¡°And we have to get them out of here.¡± Jazz¡¯ terrified face approached them. ¡°B¡ªbut what about Mole?¡± ¡°Screw him!¡± Jarne spat, which was apparently the wrong choice of words and tone, because now both Plus and Jazz were looking at him with an expression usually saved for the resident child-eater. Jarne held up his hands, capitulating. ¡°That is, I mean¡­¡± ¡°He ran off himself,¡± Plus said, clearly pained. ¡°We can¡¯t pick up his slack. Not here. Not like this.¡± ¡°Exactly. We need to watch our own backs. And those of the people depending on us.¡± Plus looked over his shoulder, noticing the kids. He nodded resolutely. ¡°Yeah. We have to¡ª¡± ¡°Duck!!¡± Jarne screamed, pushing all five hundred pounds of Plus to the floor just as a sword swooped by, right where Plus¡¯ neck had been mere moments ago. Jumping off Plus¡¯ chest, Jarne tackled the attacker to the ground, out into the darkness of the hallway. He pulled his knife from his inventory, raising it, ready to dispatch the attacker, only to hesitate at the critical moment. It was a kid. Just a kid. Clad in tatters, eyes wide, terrified. ¡°What in the¡ª¡± The kid scrambled out from beneath him, and only now did Jarne remember that the kid was armed. The sword¡­ it looked like the same kind that the city guards carried. How the heck had a child gotten hold of it? What was even¡ª The windows of the hallway crashed open and more goblins¡ªall peasants, most of them armed¡ªclambered inside. Jarne¡¯s eyes darted up and down the hallway. More were arriving from down to the right, the opposite of where Mole had headed. But he didn¡¯t have time to consider that now. With an agile jump backwards, he pulled the doors to the dining hall shut just in time to hear pounding and slashing as the mob of attackers tried to open it. ¡°Help me, Plus!¡± Jarne barked, an order Plus thankfully followed, pressing his girth against the door. Plus turned to Jazz. ¡°Bolt the other doors!¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. She nodded, regaining enough determination to overcome her fear. Pulling a small wand from her inventory, she magicked the doors shut, using some spell or another to pile the chairs and a bunch of books against them. Within moments of her doing so, the pounding that was previously focused on the door Jarne and Plus were holding shut began to spread from one door to the next, until all three exits sounded like a jazz drum competition, angry audience shouts included. Panting, Jazz turned to the last unbarred door. She pointed her wand to the large dining table, flipping it over, porcelain and glass and metal crashing to the floor, only to then be ground into a fine dust as the dining table began to drag itself atop them, creaking loudly. ¡°Move¡­ away¡­ from¡­ the¡­ door¡­!¡± Jarne almost did just that. Almost. But in the end, he stood still. Something was wrong. Something¡­ was out there. Silently, he pressed his ear against the hardwood door. He¡¯d heard something. A change out there¡ªsome switch in the formula. A voice, a shouting, screaming voice alongside their accompanying banging, suddenly snuffed out. Gone. And the howl of the other attackers¡­ The pitch changed. It was no longer shouts of anger and indignation, but rather screams of horror. Sheer terror. Grown men screaming like children. Jarne felt his blood run cold. They stopped banging at the door. He heard footsteps; rushing. Running. A frantic scramble to escape. But it was no use. One after another, the screams went silent. Frantic footsteps turned into a single, final thump as their bodies fell. After only a few minutes, each one feeling as though they were a mere second, it was quiet out there. No one was banging at the exits. No one was shouting. There was no one out there. Or, no, that wasn¡¯t quite right. Someone was out there. Or maybe something. Silently, Jarne turned to Plus. In a whisper, he said, ¡°Do you have time to get armored?¡± Plus pulled his two-handed longsword from his inventory. ¡°No.¡± Jarne glanced down at Jazz, still standing in the middle of the room. ¡°If something happens,¡± he said, ¡°bar the door and escape through the kitchen.¡± She nodded back at them, raising her wand; ready. Jarne and Plus shared a look. On three. One, two¡­three! They pushed open the door as one. Or, at least, they tried. There was something out there, lying in the way, blocking the doors. They pushed harder. Scrape, scrape, scrape. The door was soon open enough to see what was blocking it. Bodies. Mauled, bloodied corpses, all piled in a tangle of limbs and organs. Some of them were very young. Children, almost. Not all of them were armed. One body could hardly be told apart from another. The gore and viscera was joined together. Repressing everything such a sight would ordinarily make him feel, Jarne dragged his attention away from the floor and up to their enemy, its bony, knotted form silhouetted by the broken window behind it. It was eating something. Crunch, crunch, munch, munch. It turned to them, glowing yellow eyes like that of a cat, brighter than the moons outside. Then it spoke¡ªin perfect, fluent Flemish, ¡°Oh, hey, there you are.¡± Jarne¡¯s teeth stopped chattering. ¡°...Kitty?¡± The silhouette faded and Kitty stepped into the light. His shirt and vest had been shredded to pieces, his pants meeting a similar fate, indecency avoided by the groin portion miraculously being mostly intact. Not that his body was in a better state. Deep gashes had been slashed across his body, one of his legs was twisted the wrong way, he was missing half of his ear and most of his nose, and it looked as though he¡¯d shoved both arms and legs into a meat grinder. But as he ate what Jarne now recognized as a head, the flesh was slowly knitting itself together, threads of muscle overlapping, weaving itself into fibers that could be used to repeat the massacre around them. Kitty swallowed down a mouthful of flesh. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s me, don¡¯t worry, ummm¡­¡± Jarne gritted his teeth. Ignoring the bodies and the wet, squishy sensation under his feet, he stomped out of the dining room, all the way up to Kitty. ¡°Where is Mole?¡± Kitty blinked at them. ¡°Oh! Oh, yeah, he¡¯s¡­¡± The thin little man scampered away, over to a corner of the hall where a body had been leaned against the wall. He took it into his arms, and gingerly, lovingly, he carried it over to where Jarne stood, Plus having joined him. They watched Kitty in mute horror as he held up what was left of Mole. ¡°He got stabbed, but not through the heart, so he should be okay¡­ But then a few goblins slashed at him, but I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be okay. Jazz is a good healer, right? She can heal him, can¡¯t she?¡± Jarne looked down at Mole, and then at Plus. They shared a singular look that exchanged two words, and only two words. ¡®He¡¯s dead.¡¯ Deep inside Jarne, a little roulette wheel spun, containing five slots. What should he feel? Denial? Anger? Bargaining? Depression? Acceptance? Jarne dropped in the ball. Clacka-clacka-clacka-clacka¡­ Chck. ¡­Anger it is! ¡°YOU MOTHERFUCKING¡ª¡± Jarne snatched a hold of the scraps left of Kitty¡¯s collar. ¡°HOW COULD YOU LET HIM DIE YOU FUCKING¡ª¡± ¡°Wait!¡± someone shouted, and before Jarne could express himself by pummeling Kitty into a fine mush, Jazz had appeared by them, panting gently. Jarne glared at her. ¡°Please¡ªplease, wait, Rat. I think¡­¡± Her hand fell on Mole¡¯s forehead, and then she pressed two fingers against his neck. No one said anything. They stared in shared hope and despair, holding their collective breaths. Her lips twisted into a trembling smile. ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯s still alive.¡± Unsaid words spread like an infectious disease between them as they all shared a single thought. ¡®He can still be saved.¡¯ Jarne let go of Kitty¡¯s collar. Kitty, face lit with triumphant desperation, inched closer to her. ¡°So you can save him, right? I was thinking of using my own heart, but if you can save him, that¡¯ll be great. Then we can keep hanging out.¡± Her expression fell. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t¡ª¡± Fresh footsteps echoed down the hall. Everyone turned to look down at it. Jarne clicked his tongue. ¡°We¡¯ll discuss it later. Let¡¯s get back inside!¡± A resolute nod was shared, and they went back inside the dining hall, barring the door after them. 268: F30, Raid Act 2 ¡°I¡¯m sorry. He¡¯s really far gone. I think¡­ unless someone were to donate, then¡­¡± Jazz bit her lip. ¡°But he¡¯d never agree to that! If he found out that you died to save him, he¡¯d never forgive you!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mind that,¡± Kitty said. ¡°He¡¯d never forgive himself, either,¡± Plus noted. Kitty drew back slightly, giving a rare expression of shame. ¡°I¡­ I value his life more than I do that.¡± ¡°As any great friend should,¡± Jarne said sarcastically. Kitty smiled. ¡°Thank you, Rat.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t¡ª¡± He huffed. ¡°Whatever.¡± He scowled at the now-fully-healed Kitty. A thought struck him. ¡°Tell me something. If your healing is so good, why can¡¯t you just, you know¡­ Donate your heart, but still survive? I mean, there¡¯s no way your heart-removal-protection isn¡¯t at level ten.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no such tolerance,¡± Kitty said, ¡°and even if there was, it wouldn¡¯t cap out at protection; it¡¯d continue to immunity.¡± Jarne glared at him, hoping that with sufficient mental exertion, he might be able to make Kitty¡¯s head explode. ¡°Aside from that, though¡­ I¡¯m sorry, but I can only donate my heart once. I was going to experiment with it back when I first entered this floor, but then Cruelty sent me a message telling me that if I did that I¡¯d die, so I haven¡¯t used it. But if Moleman needs it, I¡¯ll happily go ahead with it.¡± Jazz, her hands pressed to Mole¡¯s chest in an effort to heal him, shook her head. ¡°No, I really don¡¯t¡­ Didn¡¯t Dr. Benevil have some ability that could heal people no matter their injury?¡± Plus rubbed his chin. ¡°I think he said so, yes. But will Mole survive until then?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure. However, if we go with Kitty¡¯s plan¡­¡± She frowned. ¡°Nevermind not forgiving himself, I doubt he¡¯d forgive us.¡± Janus leaned back a bit. ¡°So, what do we do? Escape through the kitchen, like planned, and then run all the way to the hospital? All the while protecting Mrs. Mayor and her six kids, hoping Mole doesn¡¯t croak on the way there?¡± Plus and Jazz shared a look. Plus nodded. ¡°That sounds like a good plan.¡± Growling, Jarne glared at Kitty again. In truth, the idea of getting rid of that blight while also saving Mole sounded like a much better plan to him. But what did he know? ¡°Sure, fine, okay. Let¡¯s get going then¡ªI doubt our attackers will wait for us.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Plus said, standing up. ¡°As for how we¡¯ll do this¡­ Rat, you¡¯ll lead us at the front, I¡¯ll protect our back, Kitty will carry Mole, and Jazz will walk behind him, healing Mole. We¡¯ll keep the mayor¡¯s wife and her children in the middle.¡± ¡°Sounds good,¡± Jazz said. ¡°About as good as we can do with this ensemble,¡± Jarne sighed. Kitty blinked at them. ¡°Um¡­¡± They turned to him. He hunched together shyly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I just¡­ Wouldn¡¯t it be best if I went ahead, killed everyone, and then you came after? It¡¯s not like I mind carrying Moleman, it¡¯s just that, well¡­ Wouldn¡¯t that be more effective?¡± Jarne frowned and upon sharing a look with Plus, he found a similar expression on his face. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°That would indeed be effective,¡± Plus said, ¡°however, we don¡¯t want to kill everyone.¡± Kitty, as if to prove the fact that he was pure evil, tilted his head in confusion. ¡°Why not?¡± "Because," Jarne said, ¡°these attackers are civilians. In other words, these are the guys Mole is working his butt off to save. Mindlessly massacring innocents is bad. Also, since they aren¡¯t trained or whatever, we don¡¯t need to kill to dispatch them.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯re saying¡­¡± Kitty said slowly, like a child learning his first words. ¡°...It would be bad for Moleman¡¯s reputation?¡± Jarne wondered if Mole would mind him snapping Kitty¡¯s neck, as long as he survived it. ¡°Yes,¡± he hissed, facepalming. ¡°It would look bad. That¡¯s exactly it. Wow, you¡¯re so smart and moral. I can totally understand why Mole keeps forgiving and excusing you.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Kitty said, ¡°that means a lot to hear.¡± Strangulation, then. Strangulation wouldn¡¯t kill him, surely. A little wringing of the neck never killed anyone¡­ There was a thudding at the door. Someone outside shouted something in goblinese. Something about locks and keys? The gathered members exchanged a single look and stood up. Kitty attached Mole to his back using a strangely elastic rope, Plus waved over the kids and the mayor¡¯s wife, and Jazz moved away the barricade from one of the exits, only waiting for Kitty to give the sign before opening it. Jarne, as per the agreement, went first. A nerve-wracking task to be sure, but not one he was unfamiliar with. It was only that he was so used to Mole being at his side that the sudden absence felt all the more lonely. They snuck carefully through a corridor. Most of the windows had been shattered. Jarne took one look at them, glanced back at the children holding hands to stick together, and decided not to risk it. He knew the manor¡¯s outlay by heart. The mayor was¡­ used to be a fan of warm food, so the kitchen was unusually enough part of the main house, going so far as to be quite close to the dining room. As per usual, Rat snuck ahead of a bend, perked his ears for any noise, and then waved over the rest of the group. The manor felt eerily quiet. Where had they all gone? It had been swarming with attackers only minutes ago. Either way, if this let them get away easier, it was for the better. The front of the manor had a number of exits, however, the back had only three. Two were located at the very edges of the west and east wing. The third was a large exit that spanned between the kitchen and the outside, connected through a combined cellar and pantry. It was a very effective outlay, since it meant food could go straight from the arriving carriage to the pantry. It was also the least conspicuous of the three back exits. Since the attackers had come from the front, this exit would be their best chance at escaping unnoticed. Jarne turned a corner. There was something there. Three bodies, one slumped against the wall. He crept closer, crouching to keep hidden. Servants. They hadn¡¯t even spared the servants. Animals, the lot of them. After a moment of hesitation, making sure no one was coming, Jarne pulled the bodies into a nearby room and closed the door. Then he went around the corner again and waved for his companions to follow. They didn¡¯t mention the bloodstains. Best of all, the kids didn¡¯t seem to notice it at all. Allowing himself a sigh of relief, Jarne continued on. The kitchen wasn¡¯t far away now. He could hear some sounds now. Walking, talking¡­ But not running. Not stamping. Maybe they were searching through the manor, leaving the back for last? Or maybe they had moved onto the upper floors. That made sense. They¡¯d scoured the whole of the first floor, so now they had moved to the second and third, hoping to clear it out fully. Logical. Still, that was no reason to lower his guard. Steeling his heart, Jarne moved on. Only one more hallway, and then the kitchen should be visible. Jarne waved the group through. As he passed, Kitty tried to say something, but Jarne shushed him. Even the slightest noise could tip them off. Even someone like Kitty should know that. They saw the kitchen. Holding up a hand to the rest, Jarne went on ahead, slipping inside the doorhandleless double-doors. It still smelled like food. The fires in the ovens had almost gone out, and black smoke was belching from inside the metal pots and pans. But when Jarne looked inside, he found only scraps left. It almost looked as though someone had scraped out the leftovers with a spoon, but the more realistic answer was that in times like these, the cooks had opted to serve every single speck of food available, even if they had to scrape it out. Speaking of the cooks, they were all laid on the floor, two of them having been decapitated and the third simply stabbed through the heart. Jarne tried to move them away, but there was nowhere dignified to put them. Grumbling, he placed them in a line, matching the heads to the bodies and threading kitchen towels over their faces. That was all he could do. Exiting again, he waved the rest into the kitchen. Now, it should be smooth sailing. There was no one in the kitchen, so it was unlikely that there would be anyone in the pantry, either. Still, safety was of highest priority. Again, stupidly, Kitty tried to say something. Jarne had to shush him twice before he finally agreed to shut up. Gesturing to Plus and Jazz, Jarne headed down into the cellar and pantry. The wooden stairs creaked slightly. It was cold and damp, smelling like earth and myriads of food. But there was another smell mixed in, too. Like copper. And for some reason, it smelled foodier than usual, and then the sound¡­ Almost as though there were a hundred rats in the cellar, gnawing and chewing and¡­ Jarne froze in the opening of the cellar. His right foot had only barely touched down onto the ground when he saw them, and they saw him. There must have been at least fifty goblins down there, stuffing food into their pockets and into sacks and into their mouths, into anywhere they could keep it. Bottles of liquor, bags of root vegetables, bundles of fruit and berries, dried meats and sausages and salted fish, bottles of lard and butter and cream and jam and sugar and flour and honey. Starved, bloodied hands grasping for food with such starved fervor they barely even noticed Jarne. Barely. And that ¡®barely¡¯ was the difference between life and death. 269: F30, Raid Act 3 ¡°Hoeksak!¡± one shouted through a mouthful of raw grains and jam. ¡°Derecho!¡± another shouted. ¡°Kill it! Kill it!¡± a third barked. Without spending even a fraction of a second to hesitate, Jarne rushed back up the stairs, cursing his own stupidity. ¡®Of course they were going for the pantry,¡¯ he thought bitterly, ¡®why else would they be here?¡¯ The kitchen soon reared in his vision and he leapt up, three stairs at a time, screaming, ¡°Run, we¡¯ll have to find another exit!¡± Plus started moving for the doors, all ready to herd the children and their mother out, but¡­ Kitty took one look over his shoulder, at Mole. He frowned lightly. And as Jarne tried to push him away and out of the kitchen door, he instead found Mole deposited in his arms. ¡°Hold him,¡± Kitty said calmly. ¡°We¡¯ll be going through the pantry.¡± ¡°What?¡± Jarne said. ¡°What the hell are you¡ª¡± ¡°Kitty, no!¡± Plus said. ¡°I won¡¯t let you! We need to get going, this is no time to¡ª¡± But Kitty, of course, paid no heed to the orders of anyone whose name wasn¡¯t ¡®Moleman.¡¯ With an expression of singular apathy, he headed towards the stairs. As he did, Jarne thought he saw something shift in him. Some little twitch to his lips, that changed everything he was¡ªeverything he had been mere moments ago¡ªinto something far more animal¡ªsomething feral. Plus must have seen it too, because he hurriedly went after him, sword brandished, crying at him to stop and turn around. Jarne¡¯s hands were trembling. He turned to Jazz. Her eyes were darting between the doorway into the cellar, the exit out of the kitchen, and Mole. Jarne grit his teeth. Despite what he might like to think, Jarne was neither a large man, nor was he especially strong¡ªcertainly not enough to carry Mole for any period of time. Neither could Jazz. Maybe if they worked together, sure, but then they wouldn¡¯t be able to protect themselves or the mayor¡¯s wife and her kids. Hissing a few choice curse words under his breath, he leaned down and placed Mole on the floor, making sure not to bump his head. He affixed Jazz with a gaze. ¡°Keep tending to him. I¡¯ll keep an eye on the kitchen hallway. Scream if anyone comes up from the cellar. Whatever happens down there¡­ We can¡¯t stop it anymore.¡± She hesitated for a moment. Then, blinking tears out of her eyes, she wiped her face, and nodded resolutely. ¡°Got it.¡± Nodding back at her, he left for the kitchen exit, only pausing to assure their escorts that everything would turn out alright. The wife, holding the youngest in her arms, thanked him so gratefully she started using words he couldn¡¯t understand. Pretending this wasn¡¯t the case, he smiled and went out to keep an eye on their flank, trying not to think about the screams coming from the basement. Kitty wouldn¡¯t die. Lord only knew if he even could at this point. Taking care of a few dozen goblins, armed though they may be, wouldn¡¯t be an issue for him. The trouble was Plus. He still didn¡¯t have his armor on. Sure, he was unusually tough, and he had plenty of skills and resistances, but that didn¡¯t mean he could shrug off a stab to the chest or anything. If he got hurt down there¡­ If Mole and he both died¡­ Jarne felt his hands tighten into fists. He refused to die in this stupid fucking city. Not to some plague, not to some dumb goblins, and especially not to that asshole Kitty. That¡¯d be too ironic. No, he wouldn¡¯t let this be the end. He absolutely couldn¡¯t let it. If he did, that made him even suckier of a teammate than Mole. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. He couldn¡¯t let it happen. He absolutely couldn¡¯t¡ª There was a scream. Throwing every thought and worry aside, Jarne launched himself back into the kitchen, knives at the ready, only to freeze in place once he figured out what he was looking at. It wasn¡¯t a goblin with a sword. It wasn¡¯t some kind of monster. It wasn¡¯t anything like that. It was Kitty, covered in blood and cuts and shredded flesh hanging off his bare bones¡ªand Plus, only barely supported on his shoulder, his clothes drenched in blood. His white shirt was red. His blue pants were a deep, blackish purple. His red vest was darker. For a split second, Jarne had a horrible thought. He thought, that despite everything, the state Plus was in now was merely psychological. He¡¯d watched Kitty slaughter a bunch of people, and now he was in a state of shock, and maybe he¡¯d slipped on the floor, too. That was why he was covered in blood. That was why he looked so dazed. That was all. A little sniffing salt and a slap to the face and he¡¯d be okay. It was just a shock. He was okay. He was alright. Plus stumbled forward, Jarne¡¯s body reacted of its own, and when he was barely able to catch Plus¡¯ falling weight with Jazz¡¯ help, he realized that the blood was warm, and it was still coming. He was bleeding. Plus was bleeding, and his eyes were almost closed, and¡­ He was dying. He knew that. Like a lightbulb went off, Jarne realized Plus was dying. His heavy breaths, his weak, slowly beating heart¡­ That was why Jazz screamed. She¡¯d known it at a glance. ¡°Fuck,¡± Jarne heard himself say. ¡°Fuck. Fuck.¡± He turned to Kitty. He was also covered in blood. He should be dying. But he wasn¡¯t. Wasn¡¯t that cruel? How dare he be okay? How dare he look at them as though they¡¯re the weird ones for reacting like this? Jarne tried to calm down his breathing. Not here. Not now. ¡°Is¡ªis the coast¡­?¡± ¡°It¡¯s clear,¡± Kitty said, completely apathetic to the sacrifice Plus must have made. ¡°But we should move fast. A bunch of them are only knocked out and-or crippled because someone didn¡¯t want to keep them down for good.¡± Jarne gulped down the million billion insults and righteous curses he wanted to speak. Instead, he said, ¡°Yeah. Yeah, we have to¡­ We¡¯ll carry Plus. Can you take¡­?¡± Kitty gave them an odd look. ¡°But he¡¯s dying. I was thinking, since Plus is clearly going to die, we could fix this whole situation by using him as a donor for Moleman, and then¡ª¡± ¡°Hospital!¡± Jarne screamed. ¡°Hospital, NOW!¡± Kitty stared at him blankly. Then, he shrugged. ¡°Well, alright.¡± Thankfully for everyone, he then went on to lift and carry Mole, just as usual. Jarne turned to Jazz. ¡°Let¡¯s shift him a little. I¡¯ll take the left shoulder, and you¡­¡± ¡°Yeah, the right one¡­ On one, two¡­¡± They shifted him. In spite of this, Jarne still came to regret that he didn¡¯t push harder for the man to go on a diet. If only Mole had been there, then¡­ Jazz¡¯ floaty stuff skill only worked on inanimate things, but Mole¡¯s wind ball spell¡­ Jarne shook his head. There was no time for that. Grunting, they began to step forward, one step, two¡­ The cellar stairs gaped beneath them. Jarne was already panting. ¡°We can do this. Just a few steps. We can¡­ do¡­¡± ¡°Wait,¡± a familiar voice said. Jarne paused. Slowly, he turned to his right. Plus dragged a heavy breath into his lungs. Something rattled in there. He winced. ¡°I can¡­¡± He stepped out of Jazz and Jarne¡¯s arms. ¡°Hah, hah¡­ I can walk¡­ Myself. Please, Rat¡­¡± He turned to Jarne. ¡°Could you, haah, keep showing the way¡­?¡± Indignation reared in Jarne¡¯s chest. ¡°You¡ªyou shouldn¡¯t be moving at all! Please, we can carry you, the hospital isn¡¯t¡­¡± But Plus had already turned away, deaf to his requests. ¡°Jazz,¡± he breathed, almost mumbling the word. ¡°Please¡­ keep healing Mole.¡± He smiled bravely. A gash on the side of his face gurgled out a bit of blood. Jazz¡¯ hands trembled. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know if¡­¡± He took a step forward. His massive fist grabbed a hold of the staircase railing, and he almost stumbled, only for Jarne to hold him up again, pressing his small body underneath Plus¡¯ massive shoulder. Plus blinked down at him. Jarne smiled up at him. ¡°Come on, you¡¯re not that big. I bet I can lift half of you all the way there!¡± For a moment, Plus merely stared at him in silent confusion. Then, his thick lips broke out into a smile, and he chuckled. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°Show the way, mouse.¡± ¡°Hey, that¡¯s not my name and you know it!¡± Plus simply laughed again, coughing up a bit of blood as he did. Jarne pretended not to notice it as he supported him down the stairs. Halfway down, the bodies began showing up. Jarne turned to Jazz and Kitty, hissing, ¡°Please tell the kids to keep their eyes shut.¡± The sight down there was grisly, but not as bad as the one above. Not everyone was dead, but the ones that were had been made into something less. Mushy organs melded with the dirty floor, the ground fertilized with blood and viscera. A few ruptured stomachs showed that some of the goblins hadn¡¯t even chewed the food they¡¯d eaten. How starved did you have to be to swallow a carrot whole? But the living ones were hardly better. Some simply looked asleep, but others made Jarne question what Kitty had done to them. There was one with half his face drooping, like he¡¯d had a stroke. Another was still spasming around, not to mention one that had puked and was trying to gather it up. But none of them so much as turned to look at the party walking by. Jarne tried not to think about it too much. The stairs leading outside were lit by the moons outside, beyond visible. Jarne hesitated. ¡°I took care of the ones above too,¡± Kitty said from behind him. ¡°No worries there.¡± Strangling the urge to thank him, Jarne helped Plus up the stairs and out into the cold night air. There weren¡¯t as many out there. Listening carefully, Jarne guided everyone out of the exit gates and out onto the streets. Before they left for the hospital, he checked the gatekeeper¡¯s booth, only to find it empty, and the gate wide open. No trace of any body or forced entry. On that note, where were the other guards? Since the first attempt on Mole¡¯s life, they¡¯d made a habit of keeping guards stationed around the house at all times. Acting on intuition, Jarne decided to avoid the guards on the way to the hospital. They arrived a little more than two hours following the beginning of the raid, and were welcomed by a pair of stretchers and a more-than-ready Benevil. Jarne almost wanted to feel suspicious, but he had a feeling Benevil didn¡¯t have anything to do with it. He simply knew these kinds of things. 270: F30, Raid Epilogue They entered, and within minutes, they had Mole on one bed, and Plus in the next. ¡°Well?¡± Jazz asked. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you had an ability to save anyone?¡± ¡°I do,¡± Benevil said. ¡°However¡ª¡± ¡°So use it then!¡± Jarne snapped. ¡°They could be breathing their last breath while you¡¯re talking about details and shit! Just do it!¡± Benevil gave him a disappointed look that took the wind clean out of Jarne¡¯s sails. ¡°I do, however¡­ Doing so will cost me my life. It¡¯s the same as my dear brother¡¯s skill, though it only works with me as donor. If I were to use this ability, I could save one of your friends. Unfortunately, doing so might not be in your best interest¡ªassuming you still care about the continued survival of this city.¡± ¡°I¡¯m starting to wonder about that,¡± Jarne grumbled. Either Benevil didn¡¯t hear him, or he pretended not to. ¡°Either way, your choice is still the same. Either you choose to save one, or you save both at the cost of myself and Kitty.¡± Jarne felt a smile coming on. ¡°Well, that¡¯s an easy choice!¡± Jazz glowered at him. He snorted at her. ¡°What? Get rid of the apostle of cruelty and a literal mass murderer? It¡¯s literally two birds with one stone! Not making this choice would be dumber than letting baby Hitler live.¡± ¡°Do you think Mole would like that?¡± ¡°Who gives a shit? What matters is¡ª¡± ¡°All that matters,¡± Kitty said smoothly, ¡°is that Moleman survives. It¡¯s a shame if I have to die to do that, ¡®cause then I can¡¯t hang out with him anymore, but I¡¯ve got a feeling he likes Plus better than me anyways. It¡¯s a win-win, basically.¡± Benevil, his expression and feelings as elusive as always, simply smiled. ¡°Whatever choice you make, brother, I shall subordinate myself to it.¡± Kitty made a disgusted face. ¡°Um, no thank you. I¡¯d rather not¡ª¡± There was a rasping breath. Everyone turned to look at Plus where he laid, bleeding and dying. He was smiling. ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± he said, wheezing slightly, ¡°that I could die surrounded by friends.¡± Jarne puffed up. ¡°You¡¯re not going to die! We¡¯re not going to let you, so you won¡¯t. Besides, Kitty kind of deserves to die, doesn¡¯t he? If he hadn¡¯t ran out on us, Mole wouldn¡¯t have followed, and none of this would have happened!¡± It took a few seconds for Plus to breathe enough to speak again. Hoarsely, he said, ¡°He also¡­ haah¡­ saved us. Without him¡­ we¡¯d be dead.¡± Leaning on the bedframe, Jarne gripped the wooden frame so hard his knuckles turned white. ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. Hypothetical what-ifs¡­ It¡¯s all bullshit. All that matters is that you live, and Mole too, and then we¡¯ll get out of here, and¡­¡± ¡°And leave everyone else to die?¡± Jazz asked. There was a deep power in her voice. ¡°Is that your grand plan?¡± ¡°Yeah, it is,¡± Jarne sneered. ¡°Because, let¡¯s face it¡­ We¡¯re fucked. A bunch of people literally raided our house! How the hell are we coming back from this? Will you be able to sleep well after this? I won¡¯t. If we let it, this city will be the death of us. Is that really what Mole would have wanted? To die for the sake of a bunch of ungrateful goblins? Because I sure don¡¯t!¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Gratefulness or race has nothing to do with it! What matters is that we¡¯re trying to save lives, to make the world a better place¡ª¡± ¡°Because a king told us to do it to prove that humans are moral creatures. And you¡¯re saying race has nothing to do with it? Hah! Race has everything to do with it! If we¡¯d been goblins, then¡ª¡± A hand grabbed his. It was sticky, and warm. Jarne looked down to find Plus¡¯ large hand encapsulating his, holding it tightly. He was crying. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Plus said. ¡°We¡¯ll meet again, eventually.¡± Everything turned blurry. Face hot with anger, Jarne tried to wipe at his face, but it wouldn¡¯t go away. ¡°Fuck. Fuck. No, no, I don¡¯t want you to¡­ You can¡¯t! You¡­¡± He sunk to his knees. ¡°How are we going to beat the tutorial without you¡­?¡± Plus chuckled weakly. ¡°You¡¯ll figure it out. You always do. You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re clever, Rat. You¡¯ll make it, even if you¡¯re on your own. But¡­ you don¡¯t want that.¡± ¡°Please¡­¡± Jarne heaved. He couldn¡¯t control his own lungs anymore. How fucking pathetic could he be? He wasn¡¯t the one on the chopping block! ¡°Please, don¡¯t leave me. Don¡¯t go.¡± A hand reached out and ruffled his hair, big and strong. It felt like when he was a kid, and his dad ruffled his hair. He sniffled. ¡°It won¡¯t be so bad. I¡¯ll still be around, inside Mole. Always there. Dying for one''s friends¡­ That¡¯s the greatest sacrifice a man can make. Let me make it, Rat. Let me do the right thing.¡± Jarne hiccuped, wiped his face, and stood up. Leaning down and over Plus, he gave him a big hug. ¡°Okay. Okay, I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll let you.¡± He smiled down at him. ¡°Mole might not like it. Might never forgive you. But¡­¡± ¡°He can kiss my fat ass,¡± Plus said. Jarne chuckled. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll tell that to him.¡± ¡°Do so. Now¡­¡± His expression turned grim. ¡°I have a feeling Doctor Benevil and Kitty, M.D. might not be too keen on you being in here while it¡­ While I¡­¡± Jarne straightened back out. ¡°Yeah, I understand. Jazz? Do you¡ª¡± She leaned down and kissed Plus on the forehead, before hugging him tightly. ¡°We¡¯ll meet aga¡ª¡± She choked on the word. ¡°Again. Sometime.¡± Her lips battled, almost frowning only to be formed into the proper expression¡ªa smile. ¡°When we do, I want¡­ I want to get to know you better.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like that¡­ too¡­¡± Plus breathed. Shoulders trembling, her face fell to the floor, chest heaving weakly. ¡°G¡ªg¡ªgoodbye, P¡ªPlus¡­¡± Each syllable undercut by a heaving, shivering breath. Jarne put a hand on Plus¡¯ shoulder. ¡°Goodbye. Thank you for these years.¡± Plus squeezed his hand. ¡°Thank you too, Rat¡­ Goodbye.¡± Only moving on conscious orders, Jarne went over to Jazz, took her shoulders, and led her out of the room. But before he closed the door behind him, he turned to Kitty, and mustering every inch of willpower in his body, he asked, ¡°Please¡­ don¡¯t make him suffer.¡± Kitty nodded. ¡°Yeah, okay.¡± Smiling, Jarne and Jazz waved to Plus, and then they closed the door, knowing very well it would be the last time they saw him alive. Well out in the corridor, Jarne slid to the floor, and Jazz slid into his arms, where she promptly began to wail. It was impressive she¡¯d kept it in so long. He held her tighter, a whimper leaving his lips. He supposed, in a sense, his own restraint was a little impressive, too. Sitting there, Jazz in his arms, Jarne tried to figure out what they¡¯d say to Mole when he woke up. What could they say? Plus had wanted it. But they also knew how opposed Mole was to the whole notion. He might never forgive them. He might ask to be put down. He might kill himse¡ª Jarne shook his head. No, he would feel too guilty about Plus¡¯ sacrifice to do something like that. If anything, he might try to live on purely by guilt. As healthy as that would be¡­ ¡°Do you think¡­¡± Jazz said, sniffing to clear her nose, ¡°that Doctor Benevil will crystallize him? You know, so we won¡¯t have to see¡­?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised. If he did it without asking for Sully, then¡­ Yeah. I can see him doing that.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t sound very upset.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel very upset,¡± he said, touching a hand to the pendant around his neck. ¡°I mean¡­ it sucked at the time, not getting to see her die, not getting to say goodbye, but¡­ This time is different. This time, we know what¡¯s happening.¡± ¡°Mole won¡¯t,¡± she whispered. ¡°Mole won¡¯t get to say goodbye.¡± Jarne was quiet for a while. ¡°Yeah. I guess not. But¡­ That¡¯s just how it is, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe¡­¡± Now, she fell silent. And for a while, they simply sat there, in silence, trying not to listen to the sounds of sawing coming from the room beside them. ¡°Were you serious in there?¡± ¡°About what?¡± ¡°Leaving the city. Running away. Giving up on the mission.¡± A long moment spanned between them. ¡°Yeah, I was.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± she said. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not going to criticize me for being a selfish coward or whatever?¡± ¡°No,¡± she said, rising from his arms to sit next to him instead. She sighed slightly. ¡°Mole will do that once he wakes up.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Jarne replied, not bothering to argue. ¡°But I don¡¯t have to listen to him.¡± ¡°Yeah, you do. He¡¯s our party leader.¡± ¡°Well, what if I¡ª¡± The door opened. Kitty looked around for a moment before finding them on the floor. He blinked at their odd expressions. ¡°Um¡­ It¡¯s done,¡± he said. ¡°You can come back in now.¡± Sharing a look, Jarne and Jazz stood up and followed Kitty inside. 271: F30, Lets Keep Going ¡°Hey guys!¡± Mole said, smiling brightly, a transparent crystal clutched tightly in his hand. ¡°Thanks for saving me! Kitty told me everything. Apparently, it was a really close one. But you made the right choice! I¡¯m sure Plus would be proud.¡± Every single hair on Jarne¡¯s body stood straight up. A greeting died on his tongue. A million excuses faced the same grisly fate. ¡°Mole?¡± he said, but it felt like greeting a doppelganger. ¡°Mole, is that¡­ are you¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯m great!¡± Mole said chipperly. For some reason, Jarne couldn¡¯t really see his eyes. Or maybe he didn¡¯t want to look into them. He didn¡¯t want to see what was there¡­ what wasn¡¯t there. ¡°In fact¡­¡± Mole continued, his intonation strange and stilted, ¡°I feel wonderful! Never been better. Oh! Remember how I told you my arm was messed up because Kitty¡ªthe silly goofball he is¡ªwrenched it off? Well¡­¡± He lifted his arm. His right arm. The elbow wouldn¡¯t bend fully, and the hands were stuck in a mannequin-like half-claw, but it was moving. ¡°It¡¯s back! It healed! Heh, mostly, at least. Isn¡¯t that great?¡± The room swam and bobbed around him. Like standing on a ship within a dream. His stomach flipped upside down and he felt like puking. Who was he looking at? Who was this man? It couldn¡¯t be Mole. Sure, Mole had been acting a little strange lately, and he¡¯d devoted himself a worrying amount into his work, but this¡­ This was¡­ Something different. Something worse. Jazz stepped closer to Mole. Only now did Jarne remember that she was in the room, too. She had her hands clutched to her chest, but he could still see the tremble in her shoulders. ¡°Hey, Jazz! Kitty told me you healed me all the way here. Thank you. Really, thank you. I know how painful divinity deprivation can feel, so the fact that you pushed through it for me¡­ Thank you. Really. You¡¯ve truly saved this city. And Plus, too, and Rat, and Kitty, and even Benevil. If you hadn¡¯t, who can tell the kind of chaos this city would fall into? Worst-case scenario, the gates would be breached, and this horrible plague would spread into the world outside! If not contained here, the whole world could end. But you¡¯ve stopped that. In saving me, you have saved the world! And I am so glad, so humbled, to be in the same party as you. You truly have¡ª¡± ¡°Mole?¡± Jazz said. She was standing right next to him now, slightly leaned over the side of the bed. ¡°Yes, Jazz?¡± She smiled, adjusted it, shook her head, wiped a frown off her face, replaced it with another uncertain smile, and allowed herself to cry a little. ¡°Could I have him? Please?¡± She held out her hand. It trembled badly. ¡°Have who? What are you¡­¡± His eyes fell down to the crystal in his hand. ¡°Oh. Oh, yes, I¡ªI see. Heh, that¡¯s¡­ Of course. Here you are, Jazz.¡± As he held out the crystal, depositing it in her hand, Jarne noticed that his hand was trembling just as badly as hers was. Her fingers closed around the little gem, and she pulled it to her chest. Holding it, she cried. Or maybe she wept. She didn¡¯t break down, she didn¡¯t become incomprehensible or inconsolable. She simply held him, cried, and let the tremble leave her body. Jarne approached her. Once close enough, he put his arms around her, and let himself cry. That was as much as he could do. They didn¡¯t remain that way for long¡ªa minute at most. But when they separated, and Jarne now held Plus, he turned to find his eyes locking onto Mole¡¯s. He saw his eyes. They were dark torrents. Inky pools of empty nothings, set in a face as faceless as a mask. Despite never being one for reading others, Jarne found himself straining to comprehend the expression on Mole¡¯s face. It wasn¡¯t happy. It wasn¡¯t sad. It wasn¡¯t angry. It wasn¡¯t anything. In his mind, he could only describe it by what it wasn¡¯t. But the actual expression¡­ The thing in his eyes, marked by its own absence¡­ That lack of being¡­ ¡®Apathy,¡¯ Jarne thought. ¡®That¡¯s it. Apathy.¡¯ ¡°Why¡ª¡± Jazz paused to swallow her fears. ¡°Why are you looking at us like that?¡± ¡°Like what?¡± Mole said. But there was some odd inflection in his voice, one that Jarne couldn¡¯t quite place. ¡°Oh, is¡­¡± He smiled sheepishly. ¡°Sorry. I guess it¡¯s just¡­ We have a lot to talk about regarding the future, so spending this time crying and hugging¡­ Not that there¡¯s anything wrong with that¡­ It just felt a bit needless, is all.¡± ¡°No, I agree,¡± Kitty said. ¡°There¡¯s a lot to discuss. Like, if we want to keep living in the manor, or if we should relocate¡­ How we want to handle the people who did this¡­ Whether or not the incident bears investigation¡­ Who to handle it¡­ All that stuff. Wasting time with emotional outbursts isn¡¯t helping.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Jarne realized with a pang of soul-crushing hatred that the odd inflection in Mole¡¯s voice almost perfectly matched Kitty¡¯s annoying-ass tone of speech. Following closely, a determined thought lodged itself square into his brain. ¡®I need to get Mole away from Kitty, no matter what.¡¯ ¡°Hey, Mole?¡± he said. ¡°I know what we should do.¡± ¡°Really? That¡¯s great! Please, do tell.¡± Jarne took a step closer to him, held up his hands like a great salesman, and said, ¡°Let¡¯s get the fuck outta here.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s¡­?¡± Mole¡¯s smile twitched. ¡°You want us to¡­?¡± He barked a sudden, jarring laugh that ended just as quickly, dropping down into a blank, apathetic mask; completely null. ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Jarne said, continuing to poke the alligator. ¡°I seriously think we should get out of here. I know you said all that about people escaping and whatever, but¡­ If you¡¯re that worried about the outside world falling sick¡­¡± He hated the words he was about to speak. They were horrible. But, with Mole in this state, they might be just the right ones to get through to him. ¡°You could have Kitty¡­ fix it. Bar all the gates. Send him in. Have him, you know¡­ Fifty-fifty¡­ Listen. Kitty, how many in the city are sick right now?¡± Kitty glanced down at an invisible status message. ¡°Twenty-one thousand, three hundred and seventy-seven.¡± ¡°And how many people are there in the city right now?¡± Despite making a face, Kitty lifted his head and sniffed for a few seconds, deep breaths¡­ ¡°Around forty-five thousand.¡± Perfect. Jarne turned to Mole, already triumphant. ¡°Hear that? Half are infected! Sure, we don¡¯t know if it¡¯s drake pox or dragon plague, but¡­ Does it matter? Really. Just put Kitty to it, and half the city can be saved, the plague eradicated for good. If you¡¯re worried about the reputation of humans¡­¡± He chuckled bitterly. ¡°It¡¯s already fucked. Not to mention that Kitty will be doing this on his own. And Kitty¡¯s reputation is physically incapable of stooping any lower. If we do things right, by the time anyone realizes what¡¯s happened, we¡¯ll be far gone! This is the most effective way of dealing with this situation.¡± He leaned in closer for the final strike, whispering, ¡°We both know if you asked him, Kitty would gladly do it.¡± Their faces close together as they were, there was no distance to buffer Jarne¡¯s vision from the perplexing, incomprehensible reality that unfolded as Mole began to cry. More confused than anything, Jarne stumbled back and away. But Mole was still crying. Unhappily enough, Jarne realized that he couldn¡¯t really remember when he last saw Mole fell a tear. Like someone who could actually worry about the emotions of others, Kitty crept up to Mole, putting a hand on his shoulder and showing off an expression so pathetically pitying that even Jarne felt like he¡¯d done something wrong. ¡°Moleman? Moleman, are you okay?¡± ¡°Y¡ªy¡ªyeah, I¡¯m just¡­ it¡¯s¡­¡± He drew a few huffing, hoarse breaths, and looked up at Jarne. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d hear you say something so cruel, Rat. The people who survive that¡­ Can you imagine a way for them to continue living? To greet the next day? It¡¯s too horrible! Especially when Sully and I were so close to a vaccine! To simply throw away the work she spent her final days painstakingly crafting, all because you¡¯d rather save twenty thousand with certainty, instead of letting hope lead us to saving everyone. I had thought higher of you. I really did.¡± He shook his head mournfully. ¡°And to put all of that on Kitty¡­ Treating him like a simple tool to kill or save people¡­ It¡¯s downright inhuman. Why would you say something like that, Rat?¡± A tremble returned to Jarne¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t¡­ I wasn¡¯t¡­¡± He tried to gulp down the lump in his throat, but it only choked him harder. His eyes frantically searched for support, finding Jazz¡¯ face at his side. She stared at him with blank disgust. ¡°Wh¡ªwhat I meant to say is¡­¡± He swallowed again and squeezed his eyes shut. ¡®Ah. Fuck it.¡¯ The tension left his shoulders, and when he opened his eyes again, a sigh fell from his lips. ¡°We could use this as a¡­ you know¡­ last-stand sort of deal. That is, if everyone falls sick, then¡­ We can do this. As a final measure. That¡¯s what I was trying to say. Sorry, I¡­ I worded it badly.¡± Mole wiped his eyes. They weren¡¯t even slightly red. His smile shone like a thousand suns. ¡°Thank you, Rat. It¡¯s a good idea, though I hope we¡¯ll never have to implement it. This situation may be tough, and we¡¯ve lost a lot of good people already, but¡­¡± His smile morphed. It was human now. And his eyes sparkled with clarity. He was back. ¡°I¡¯m glad that I have you by my side to help. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without you guys.¡± ¡®At this point,¡¯ Jarne thought, ¡®neither do I.¡¯ Jarne and Jazz shared a look. ¡°N¡ªno problem,¡± Jarne said, internally cursing himself for stuttering. ¡°What are friends for?¡± Jazz said, very cleverly. That sated him. ¡°Thank you. It means a lot. Now, we really should discuss the future¡­¡± And that they did. They spent the whole remainder of the night, talking about what to do in the future. Jarne attempted and failed to excuse himself to go to sleep six times in total. Kitty was chosen as secretary, and Benevil left to go work and such. Jarne spent a good majority of the night seething over how neither Kitty nor Benevil needed sleep. Lucky bastards. Either way, unfortunately, he had a vote in the impromptu meeting, and so, he had to use it. ¡®Where should we live from now on?¡¯ Answer: the city council; at least until Mole fixed the rioting situation. ¡®Should the incident be investigated? And if so, by who?¡¯ Answer: who else? Jarne. Because obviously the college dropout was best fit to search for leads and shit. Wonderful. Lord only knew which of the three voters voted against this decision¡­ ¡®What should be done with the rioters?¡¯ Answer: Mole would handle it. Non-negotiable. He put veto on it, and for maybe the first time, Jarne didn¡¯t feel safe putting his trust in him. And then a number of other questions. They discussed how to handle the situation with Plus. That is, regarding funeral arrangements. Mole brushed it off, saying he couldn¡¯t know how much work he¡¯d have in the coming days. They¡¯d have to put it off. But they could leave him with Mole. He¡¯d take care of him. This once, Jarne could agree to trust him. Although they didn¡¯t have too much else to discuss, they still ended up talking through the night. Mole didn¡¯t seem too keen on going to sleep. Maybe he was afraid of what he¡¯d see if he closed his eyes. Jarne couldn¡¯t know. The next day arrived, and by the end of the next day, Jarne learned exactly why he hadn¡¯t felt too safe in entrusting Mole with the decision regarding the rioters. 272: F30, Changes ¡°Execution? Mole, you can¡¯t seriously¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s the only logical decision, Rat,¡± Mole said, not even looking up from his work. Not even standing up to face Jarne. After a few seconds, since Jarne wasn¡¯t replying, Mole signed and turned to look up at him. His eyes were deeply-set. He looked about as tired as Jarne felt. Or would have felt, if he hadn¡¯t spent half the day knocked out. ¡°Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?¡± ¡°No¡ªno, there isn¡¯t, but we aren¡¯t done here!¡± Jarne slammed his hands onto the desk. ¡°I will not allow you to send a dozen people to the gallows! It¡¯s not¡ªyou and I both know it¡¯s not moral! It¡¯s not something you would¡ª¡± ¡°I know,¡± Mole said, ¡°that in the past, I have spoken against capital punishment. But times change. We have to change, too. The way this world works¡­¡± He sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not like back home. This place operates on different social rules.¡± He smiled sympathetically, like a manager trying to relate to their subordinate. ¡°Even though I don¡¯t like it, we have to follow the new rules, too. We have to fit the world around us. When in Rome¡­¡± ¡°Revolt against the Romans!¡± Jarne cried. ¡°Throw out their outdated ways, teach them better ways of executing justice, tell them all about the faults in punitive justice! We¡¯re civilized, so act like it!¡± For an agonizingly long moment, Mole merely looked at him. Then, he said, very slowly, ¡°Are you implying that the goblins¡¯ culture is beneath ours?¡± Jarne ground his teeth. ¡°I¡¯m saying,¡± he growled, ¡°that this isn¡¯t like you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like me to change? I¡¯m sorry, but that¡¯s a pretty shallow viewpoint.¡± ¡°You can change, yes, of course, but your morals, at the very least¡­¡± ¡°My morals are the same,¡± Mole said, strangely indignant. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re the one who¡¯s changed? Not that there¡¯s anything wrong with that.¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t! I¡¯m not¡­¡± He threw his hands up. ¡°This isn¡¯t going anywhere. I¡¯m leaving. If I can¡¯t change your mind about all of this¡­¡± He turned away and went for the door, pausing before he could exit fully. He turned to look at Mole. ¡°At the very least, I hope you have them properly judged, and executed in a painless manner. Then I won¡¯t speak so badly at the European Court of Justice hearing.¡± Mole chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll do it well. I¡¯ll even implement the donation system and let the convicts choose whether or not to have their hearts donated after their death! That¡¯s nice, right?¡± Something cold and slimy lurched in Jarne¡¯s stomach as a sudden bout of nausea overcame him. ¡°I¡ªI have to go.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see you around. Good luck with the investigation! Remember, if you need his help, Kitty will gladly assist you anytime. Oh, and don¡¯t forget that the preparation for the selective quarantine is tomorrow. I won¡¯t attend because of the whole assassinating thing, so it¡¯ll just be you and Kitty¡ªand most of the guards, of course.¡± ¡°Oh. Yeah. Th¡ªthanks. Say hi to him from me.¡± ¡°Why not do it yourself?¡± There, like a shadow, just over Mole¡¯s shoulder, stood Kitty. He hadn¡¯t even noticed him. Not his cat-yellow eyes, not his apathetic expression, not his corpse-like complexion. None of it. Dread welled up into his chest and without saying another word, Jarne left the office, slamming the door behind him. The cold hallway stretched before him. He couldn¡¯t stop here. Kitty would know. He always knew. If he stayed there for too long, Kitty would mention it, and he¡¯d have to talk to Mole again. So even though he felt like he was standing knee-deep in ocean-floor sea sludge, below thousands of feet of freezing sea water, he strode forward, one foot at a time, trying not to let himself drown. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Once he had exited the house, he found a bench to collapse onto. Fuck. Fuck. Well, they were fucked. Or maybe he was fucked. ¡­No, that wasn¡¯t right. They were all in this shit together. ¡ªNot including Kitty. He could choke on a plague rat for all he cared. But he, Mole, and Jazz were all completely fucked. At least, he and Jazz. Right now, Mole was¡­ He¡­ Jarne put his face into his hands. Maybe his best option was to cut their losses and leave Mole behind. He was too far gone. It had happened way too damn fast. Kitty just showed up, and then everything got worse, and Sully died, and Plus, and Mole became like this, and¡­ His breath hitched. Hang on. That was it, wasn¡¯t it? Everything had been going fine, all of the plague stuff was getting better, and then that fucking asshole showed up, and the whole world was suddenly on fire. That couldn¡¯t be a coincidence. But he couldn¡¯t say how it all fit together, either. All he could imagine was that Plus, he¡­ When that all happened¡­ Who¡¯s to say that it was the raiders who hurt him? If he hadn¡¯t gotten hurt, Kitty would have had to die for Mole. That was for sure. So, to avoid that, all he had to do was make sure someone else got hurt badly enough. And out of the available meat, who was chivalrous enough to run into danger simply to keep Kitty from massacring innocents? ¡­No, to Kitty, it probably didn¡¯t matter who did it. Just that someone else got hurt. All things considered, everything turned out perfectly for him. He got to spend all day with his master, and there was one less party member to distract Mole from his obedient pet. It was insidious. Downright genius. A cat-eyed, stupid-looking face passed through Jarne¡¯s mind. ¡­Was Kitty really capable of that? Morally, yes, but he was stupid enough to do the rushing-away thing with Mole, so a genius he was not. And he wasn¡¯t exactly evil, either. Not like a human is, anyway. He was more¡­ animal. That made him far more dangerous. Grumbling, Jarne stood up again. Couldn¡¯t spend all day muttering. He had work to do, after all. Fruitless, unhappy work that gave him nothing save for a growling stomach and a sense that if anyone should have died to save Mole, it should have been him. He was, after all, the least useful member. Even Kitty did more work than him. Surely, no one would notice if he went missing. ¡­No one except Jazz. Leaving her alone with Mole at this time¡­ No, not even Jarne was that cowardly. Still, the day passed uneventfully, Jarne tried to ignore Mole¡¯s giddy discussion of how seven of the eleven people to be executed had agreed to donate, and then he went to sleep. The next morning, going simply by the look on his face, Jarne knew for a fact that Mole had once more trained his insomnia resistance. And Jazz too, apparently. Was he the only normal one around anymore? ¡°Today¡¯s the day!¡± Mole said cheerfully as he threw open the curtains to his office, forcing Jarne to wake up from his less-than-mediocre sleep. He still wasn¡¯t used to sleeping in this place, but for lack of alternatives, this was all he could do. Mole smiled down at him. ¡°Come on, sleepyhead! Aren¡¯t you excited? According to a test I conducted earlier, checking the entire city should only take seven hours if you do it right. I¡¯ve helpfully sectioned the city into seven equal parts, each of which will be fully quarantined while you work on it¡ªmeaning that everyone who lives there has to be at home.¡± Jarne groggily emerged from his sleeping sack. ¡°And if they aren¡¯t¡­?¡± Mole paused a second before chuckling. ¡°Well, let¡¯s just hope everyone decides to follow my instructions this time, yeah?¡± He pulled a map from his inventory. ¡°Here it is. You¡¯ll have one hour in each section, and I¡¯ve marked them in that order¡­ So, first one is this section, and then¡­ You understand what I mean. As for how you¡¯ll mark the sick houses, I¡¯ve had a few workers make a couple barrels of bluefruit dye, which you can mark the doorposts with. Here¡¯s a graph of how to mark them depending on the amount of sick people. For ease of things, you¡¯ll also be closely followed by a parade of carts containing rations to be given to each house¡­ But your only job is to mark the doorposts. So, to summarize, Kitty spots ¡®em, you mark ¡®em.¡± Smiling, Mole held out the rolled-up map to him. ¡°Got it?¡± Now, Jarne knew exactly what Mole had spent the entire night doing. Nevertheless, he took the map from Mole¡¯s hand. ¡°Yeah. Got it.¡± As he rose from his rest and got dressed, he couldn¡¯t help but overhear Mole and Kitty as they talked. ¡°And you know what you¡¯ll be doing?¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah. I got it.¡± ¡°You remember what they smelled like?¡± ¡°Eugh. Not difficult. I wonder why they always have to smell so rancid¡­¡± ¡°If I had enough time and resources, I¡¯d love to set up a public bath house¡­ But that¡¯s beside the point. Now, as I said before¡­ Don¡¯t take action. Just note them, send it to me, and I¡¯ll tell you whether to go ahead with things or not.¡± ¡°Right. Got it.¡± ¡°Great!¡± He turned to Jarne. ¡°Rat, are you ready?¡± Jarne buttoned up the collar of his shirt, making sure not to button all the way up. ¡°Yep, ready.¡± Mole beamed. ¡°Great! Well, no time like the present¡ªthe first time slot begins in twenty minutes, so get out there and quarantine some houses!¡± Jarne took one look at Kitty. Was he imagining things, or could he hear a fly buzzing around in Kitty¡¯s empty little skull? Either way, he was certain today was going to be a long day. 273: F30, Shutting Things Up They went down a street. The shutters of all the houses were drawn, the stern gazes of their guard companions keeping people from doing much of anything. ¡°Five inhabitants, two infected,¡± Kitty said, pointing to a house. Dipping his brush in blue dye, Jarne smeared two vertical lines atop the doorpost. They moved onto the next house. ¡°Three inhabitants, three infected.¡± Jarne dipped the brush and painted one large stripe horizontally across the post. They continued. Kitty stopped. ¡°This one¡­¡± He glanced back at Jarne. ¡°It¡¯s, um¡­ Empty. Nobody in there.¡± Jarne shugged. ¡°Let¡¯s move on, then. No use in sticking around. We¡¯re on a really tight time limit, you know.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Kitty said. As they moved onto the next house, the guards behind them pulled one of five massive carts closer, two guards lobbying down one of the many sacks of rations, leaving it on the doorstep of the receiver before knocking. Of course, they didn¡¯t stay until the resident opened the door. They didn¡¯t want to die, after all. Still¡­ ¡°So far, there¡¯s only been three healthy houses,¡± Jarne said, mostly to himself. ¡°How are these people supposed to totally quarantine if nobody¡¯s allowed to leave their house? This doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure Moleman knows what he¡¯s doing,¡± Kitty said in his innocent, boyish way. Always so certain. ¡°Also, that¡¯s four healthy houses. Everyone in this one is a-okay.¡± Saying so, Kitty pointed a thumb at a nearby house, triumphant. Jarne honestly didn¡¯t care. ¡°Whatever.¡± They continued. ¡°Seven inhabitants, two infected.¡± ¡°Three inhabitants, one infected.¡± ¡°Four inhabitants, four infected.¡± ¡°Two goblins, one infected.¡± ¡°Seven goblins, six infected.¡± ¡°Five gobs, three blue.¡± ¡°Eleven gobs, ten blue.¡± On and on and on and on. Paint, paint, paint, paint, pain, pain, pain. And they were only halfway done with the first block! They still had over six hours left to work, and Jarne was already considering drowning himself in his paint bucket. The only interesting thing that happened was when they encountered a suspicious-looking person out and about, who obviously got tackled by the guards and promptly dragged off to prison or the gallows or whatever. That, and another time when Kitty paused at a certain house. ¡°You know, Kitty¡­¡± Jarne said. ¡°You¡¯ve been sniffing for like a minute straight. We need to go.¡± ¡°One of the raiders is in here,¡± Kitty said. ¡°You know, from the¡­ When Plus died?¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°Yeah. Moleman told me to note the houses, but that was only for the nobles¡­ Hmmm, this is a conundrum¡­¡± Jarne stared at him. Then, deadpan, he turned to look at the several dozen guards following them. He recalled the name of one of them. ¡°Hello, Brenn? There be a crime-maker in there. Please jail.¡± Alright, so his goblinese could stand some improvement. But it got the job done. Brenn, after consulting his coworkers about what Jarne meant, brought a few of them inside the house, and then emerged with the criminal in tow. Easy. Jarne turned back to Kitty. Kitty was staring at him, his eyes brimming with awe and his mouth slacked open. ¡°Are¡­ are you¡­ A God¡­?¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Jarne said, ¡°and that¡¯s blasphemy.¡± A word Kitty clearly didn¡¯t know. ¡°Ugh, whatever. Let¡¯s just continue, okay?¡± ¡°Y¡ªyessir, Rat, sir!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t call me that. Please.¡± Luckily for his future neck-having, Kitty didn¡¯t call Jarne anything like that for the entire rest of the day. As per his prediction, very few of the houses were fully healthy. He kept a tally, simply to keep himself entertained, and all and all, only 16,3% of all houses in the entire city were entirely healthy. 20,1% were completely sick, and 12,8% were¡­ ¡®empty.¡¯ Shamefully enough, it took Jarne almost half the day to realize what Kitty meant when he said a house was empty. It wasn¡¯t that nobody lived in it, as Jarne¡¯s first assumption had been, but rather that, well¡­ Nobody lived inside it. Had Jarne been a twinge more pessimistic, he might have assumed that Kitty was trying to cover up the fact that some houses were dead. At the point when he reached this semi-logical conclusion, Jarne¡¯s processes were stopped by a single thought¡ª¡¯Why the hell would he do that?¡¯ With no answer to such a simple question, Jarne decided to throw aside the entire idea. Of all the houses they were to check, they had to save the manors for last. This was so that the nobles and blue-bloods wouldn¡¯t have to cancel any of their plans to comply with the scheduled check. Because, obviously, the convenience of a bunch of hoarders was worth the added three hours workload. As if the guards hadn¡¯t had to cart around the rations for seven hours already, not including lunch and rest breaks. It was eight in the evening when they arrived at the first manor. ¡°How many?¡± Jarne asked, stepping up to the door post. He sighed inwardly. ¡°It¡¯s not like we¡¯re counting the servants, but these assholes still keep their entire damn extended family in one place. It¡¯s like they want to catch the plague¡­¡± He felt a knot of sticks fall on his shoulder, bony and cold. When he turned to brush them off, he instead found Kitty¡¯s hand on his shoulder. If he hadn¡¯t been held in place, he was pretty sure he would have leapt a foot in the air. Kitty frowned at him. ¡°Moleman gave me special instructions for the judges. For one, we can¡¯t mark the doorposts. Looks bad for them. Secondly, we have to actually talk to them to tell them what¡¯s going on, how many are sick, and even who and how far gone they are. And, finally, if any are sick, he¡¯s told me to tell them they¡¯ll have priority on any donations.¡± ¡°Wow,¡± Jarne said. ¡°I never knew Mole could kiss ass like that.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Kitty smiled. ¡°It¡¯s a good way of getting access to their homes. That means we can investigate properly, right?¡± ¡°Investigate? You mean¡ª¡± ¡°You distract them,¡± Kitty said, ¡°and I¡¯ll sneak around. Sounds good?¡± In a matter of mere seconds, Jarne¡¯s entire mental image of Kitty was completely torn down and rebuilt, the cornerstone of the new foundation being one simple little thought: ¡®Whoa. Kitty has a brain?¡¯ ¡°Everything okay?¡± Kitty asked. ¡°You¡¯ve been blanking out for like, almost ten seconds. We kind of need to¡ª¡± ¡°Huh? Yeah, yeah, of course. Yes. Absolutely. I¡¯ll distract them, and you get the stuff. Perfect.¡± He paused. A nagging question chiseled its way into his head. ¡°I just¡­ Why suspect the nobles? It was just a raid. A riot that went out of hand. Just today, we¡¯ve had at least three dozen raiders arrested. None of them had any connection to the nobles.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the guards,¡± Kitty said, stepping closer to the manor gates, his back turned to Jarne. ¡°They were gone, and we still can¡¯t find them. Most likely, in return for their silence and weaponry, they and their families were smuggled out of the city. They aren¡¯t dead. Not to mention the fact that the riot itself¡­ It showed up out of nowhere, two days before the quarantine, in the middle of the night. Someone had to be organizing it. Someone with enough power and influence to pull together a full crowd, bribe guards, hand out swords, and who had more to lose than just their lives if the quarantine went through.¡± Now, Kitty turned around, his back lit by the manor¡¯s lights. ¡°Hence, the nobles.¡± He smiled. ¡°We just have to find out which houses, and then we can bring them to justice.¡± A chill crossed Jarne¡¯s back. He hadn¡¯t considered any of that. Gulping, he straightened out. With a peculiar smile, Kitty headed towards the manor, and Jarne, despite his unease, followed. Of the seventeen major noble houses of the city, all of them had something criminal hidden. Smuggling, bribery, assassination, larceny, tax fraud, extortion¡­ They were completely corrupt, something that stopped being funny by the fifth house. They were also sick as dogs. All seventeen had at least one infected individual, with fifteen having at least three, and nine of them being fully infected from head to thrall. All of them were enraged to hear the news. They demanded private visits, donations, and letters of condolence from Mole. Jarne, unhappily, could promise them nothing. But he still had to stall for time, so he spent the majority of his visit rambling about possible future ways that they may or may not receive assistance that may or may not be amazing and could within some possible scenarios lead to the complete curing of everyone and their aunt, and that vase looked lovely, where had they gotten it? And then Kitty would return, poke his arm, and Jarne would excuse himself, and off they went. ¡°How about these guys?¡± ¡°Mainly smuggling, but they also blackmailed the last mayor.¡± ¡°Same as everyone else, then.¡± ¡°Pretty much.¡± ¡°And what about¡­?¡± ¡°No, they were unrelated to the raid. They didn¡¯t have any letters exchanged with the house of Dagrun, aside from one four years ago where they went no-contact over a bad marriage, so they probably don¡¯t have anything to do with things.¡± ¡°Eleven houses, and only one of them has any involvement¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find at least one or two more.¡± Kitty patted him on the back. ¡°We¡¯ll get justice for Plus. Don¡¯t you worry.¡± ¡°Yeah. Alright,¡± Jarne said, but he didn¡¯t really feel it. Plus wouldn¡¯t have wanted this kind of justice. Whoever did this to him had either been killed or left unconscious in the cellar to be arrested in the morning. They had already been brought to justice. What was the use in trying to catch everyone who so much as stepped foot on the premises? All Jarne could hope for was that Mole, in his search for justice, wouldn¡¯t accidentally find revenge instead. 274: F30, Dizzy in the City ¡°...In summary, only one of the houses¡ªhouse Dagrun¡ªhad direct contact to key aggressors in the riot. However, two other houses had close contact with them during this time. Going by the scent profiles on page eleven, we have good reason to believe that house Fysh and house Feynix sent funds to them, portions of which were later confiscated during the arrests of key aggressors, the full list being on page twelve and thirteen.¡± Mole eyed through the lists Jarne had mentioned, his expression tight and tentative, though still smiling. After a few seconds, he put down the report and looked up at them. ¡°I see. And you¡¯re absolutely certain that this is the case?¡± Jarne glanced at Kitty, who quickly answered, saying, ¡°Yes, this is absolutely the case. And, furthermore, if you look at page¡­¡± ¡°Sixteen,¡± Jarne said, ¡°assuming this is about the¡­?¡± ¡°The guards, yeah,¡± Kitty said. ¡°Right, so, page sixteen, there¡¯s a list of guards we believe were bribed to either ignore the ruckus, or skip their shift, or, you know¡­ yeah.¡± He was sweating bullets. Absently, Jarne remembered that Kitty was actually only, like, twenty years old. Basically a kid. Had he even finished high school? That explained why he wasn¡¯t used to giving reports. Not that Mole seemed to mind. Nodding, he thumbed over to that page, and once again, Jarne couldn¡¯t help but feel uneasy at the sight of him actually using his right arm. Only to prop up the papers, sure, but it still looked wrong. Reaching the designated page, Mole read through it quickly, only to stop at a certain name. ¡°This¡­ isn¡¯t this¡­?¡± Both Jarne and Kitty knew exactly which name it was. ¡°Yes,¡± Jarne said, ¡°we have good reason to believe the captain of the guards was in on it. As for motive¡­¡± Jarne hesitated to say it. Would Mole take it the wrong way? Would he blame himself for all of this? Shaking his head, he swallowed down such fears. ¡°All evidence points to the motive being his ire towards losing his position as captain of the guards.¡± He let his gaze fall to the floor. Maybe then, he wouldn¡¯t have to watch Mole break down. ¡°Right,¡± Mole said. ¡°That makes sense.¡± Jarne slowly lifted his head. ¡°It¡ªit does?¡± ¡°Yeah, it does. It tracks with the other motives, as well.¡± He turned back to the page listing the related noble houses and their members, a bemused smile marring his face. ¡°House Dagrun¡­ Judge Wrytt of Dagrun Lerrent used to be a close friend of the late mayor. Both professionally and personally. And house Fysh¡­ Yes, I brushed them off many times. They are a very small house, you know. They only gained noble status recently. I hear the late mayor had a hand in helping the judge Tyr Fysh receive his apprenticeship with house Dagrun. And as for the judgess Feynix¡­¡± He chuckled. ¡°Well, she never liked me much. I¡¯ve always left her parties early.¡± He smiled up at Jarne and Kitty. ¡°It makes sense. I can see why they would hate me enough to do this.¡± ¡°No¡ªno, that isn¡¯t¡­¡± Jarne clenched his jaw. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault the mayor died.¡± ¡°I could have saved him, and I didn¡¯t,¡± Mole said. ¡°I could have announced his death earlier, and I didn¡¯t.¡± His smile turned bitter. ¡°To the late mayor¡¯s closest friends, those kinds of lackings matter¡ªa lot.¡± With nothing more to say, Jarne stepped back. However, he couldn¡¯t fall silent just yet. There was one more thing to say. One more question he had to know the answer to. ¡°So, um¡­¡± He said, eyes on his feet. Slowly, he lifted his gaze back to Mole. The look on his friend¡¯s face¡ªthe eyes that didn¡¯t quite feel like his¡ªalmost burned a hole through his conviction. Nevertheless, steeling his heart, he resolved himself to ask. ¡°What will you do with them?¡± Mole cocked his head. ¡°What do you mean?¡± The room felt so cold. ¡°Obviously, I¡¯ll have the heads of the families executed.¡± The desk that spanned between him and his friend was so large. An unapproachable abyss. Endless, all-swallowing. ¡°Alongside the former captain of the guards and the other key organizers.¡± With the window behind him, the cruel light of day casting his face in darkness, Mole looked so much like a mountain. A cold, barren, jagged mountain, with a face of stone. Cracked horizontally. A cruel smile. ¡°As for the rest¡­ The prisons are full, so it¡¯ll probably be house arrest. Though, considering that they all have a few sick people in them, I suppose we might as well execute them. They¡¯ll die eventually, but if we have them executed, there¡¯s a chance they could agree to donate.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°That sounds lovely,¡± came a voice from Jarne¡¯s side¡ªKitty, that eternal sycophant. ¡°I think that would be a great idea. It¡¯ll ensure no one tries to do something like this again, so we can all go back to the mayor¡¯s mansion!¡± Mole chuckled warmly, back in the light, though his face remained strangely stiff. Stuck in amicable hollow pleasantness. ¡°That would be fun, but I¡¯m afraid that with the estate in the state it is, what with how you left things, we won¡¯t be able to return there. But, at the very least, we should be able to stay somewhere nicer than my office. Right, Rat?¡± Breathe in, breathe out. Not huffy. Proper, controlled breaths. He had to breathe. If he didn¡¯t breathe, he died. In, out. In, out. In, out¡­ ¡°Rat?¡± Jarne twitched. He turned to Mole. ¡°Y¡ªyeah?¡± Mole¡¯s smile widened on one end. Worried amusement. ¡°Is everything alright, Rat? You look a bit pale.¡± ¡°Please stop smiling,¡± Jarne said. ¡°Could you please stop smiling?¡± ¡°What?¡± The smile widened on both ends. Furrowed brow. Spread out like an infectious rash. Confusion. Concern. Care. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Just for a second,¡± Jarne said, though he didn¡¯t even know what he was asking for. ¡°Stop smiling. Please.¡± But he wouldn¡¯t. Maybe he couldn¡¯t. Even as the smile fell slightly, just slightly, it remained. Persistent as a wart. ¡°Rat, I can¡¯t understand what you¡¯re asking for. Could you¡ª¡± Spinning on his heel, Jarne stormed out of the door, out into the hallway, down the stairs, and then he kept running, all the way down the boulevard. The streets were empty. It was the middle of the day, but no one was around. No one was allowed to be out and about. Down the road, a cart of rations creaked by, pulled by a diseased drake and tended by exhausted guards. Jarne stood rooted to the ground, staring at the cart¡ªat the rations. How many points had been used to buy all of that? How many points would be needed to feed the city until the plague passed? That is, until all of the infected houses had died, and the healthy ones were the only survivors? How many points would Mole need? Would Sully''s points be enough? Would Plus¡¯ points be enough? Would his points be enough? Turning his back on the cart, Jarne ran the other way. Houses upon houses upon houses. Shutters open to show diseased faces and dying eyes. The streets were thick with the smell of rotting flesh. Doorposts marked for death. He passed by a door and felt his feet stop wheeling beneath him. His breath tore through his throat, hot like fire. Slowly, his own mental machinations beyond his grasp, he turned to look at it. A large cross was painted on the door. He¡¯d painted it, only two days ago. This¡­ this was one of the dead houses. And, unlike most, he¡¯d checked inside this one. Five dead. Two parents, three kids. Another tragic sight. But¡­ Hadn¡¯t it smelled worse the last time he¡¯d passed by it? And wasn¡¯t the door slightly ajar? ¡®Looters,¡¯ he thought. ¡®Scavengers trying to get by, stealing from the dead. Lowest of the low.¡¯ But something nagged at him. Somewhere deep inside, he could tell that something was off. The windows weren¡¯t broken. The shutters were drawn. Stiffly, he moved up to the door and pulled it open. As he did, a little metal rod fell out of the door. Part of the lock. Picking it up, he found that half of it was sliced off as perfectly as though it had been cut with a laser. Not with a saw, not with a wire. Something slick and cold settled in the pit of his stomach. Putting the rod in his pocket, he opened the door fully. The familiar pungent smell of rotten cadavers and excrement wasn¡¯t there. There was a twinge, a note, but the full body was gone. As though someone had aired out the house. But that might just have been due to the door being open. The bodies weren¡¯t in the dining room, anyways. However¡­ The chairs were. And the food in the pantry was still there. Cups, plates, cutlery, ornaments, shutters, curtains, pots and pans¡­ Everything was still there. Nothing had been stolen to use as firewood or to sell. The thing that slithered and squirmed in his stomach shifted. There was a sound, and after a brief moment of panic, he realized that it was only the chattering of his own teeth. He clenched his jaw to make it go away. The thing in his stomach whispered, saying, ¡®Why break in to steal nothing? What else is there to take? What else, other than¡­¡¯ He pushed it down. Steeling himself, he moved out of the kitchen. It¡¯s not like looters went for the kitchenware and furniture first. Maybe they only broke in to scout it out. That was possible. Valuables were usually kept in the bedroom, or maybe the living room. Both of these rooms were connected, beginning with the living room. Where the bodies were. Jarne froze in his step. Images of bloated, blackened, intertwined bodies, parents and children, passed through his mind unbidden, lingering in the deepest corners. As before, as always, he allowed himself to fully process the memory. He¡¯d seen this before. He would see it again. This would change nothing. He¡¯d be okay, he¡¯d be alright, and he¡¯d come out of this the same as before. Taking a deep breath, Jarne forced his feet to leave the floor, and went into the living room, where he instantly froze in place. His entire body started trembling violently. They were gone. The bodies had vanished. 275: F30, Heat Haze In a terrified, panicking haze, Jarne searched the entire house, from top to bottom. He found hidden silverware, wedding jewelry, clothes, fabrics, things worth stealing, things worth eating, things worth burning, all in their proper places, untouched, unbothered. But no bodies. Only the black, dried puddles of molten viscera remained, in the very center of the living room, right where the bodies had been. Where they weren¡¯t anymore. He left the house. His face flashed left to right, his wide eyes searching desperately for that familiar blue cross¡ªfinding it just down the street. He darted for it. The lock had been sliced off, as though by a laser. The door stood ajar. Nothing was touched. All valuables remained, pristine, spotless. But the bodies were gone. He could find the spots they had been in¡ªvaguely humanoid silhouettes blobbed onto the floor like asymmetrical Rorschach tests¡ªbut the bodies themselves were gone. He stumbled out of the house, his head as heavy as a bowling ball, the world around him appearing more unreal than ever. No longer in control of his own body, his legs pulled him down the street, staggering from house to house, checking each of the dead houses, finding nothing but a rehash of the houses that came before. Missing bodies and sliced open locks. At some point¡ªhe couldn¡¯t tell how long he¡¯d been stumbling around¡ªhe found himself at the hospital. With no conscious decision to do so, he entered. Each room he passed by was filled with goblins. Some were lying in improvised, uncomfortable-looking cots, others on the floor, and a few were fortunate enough to have beds. In the first room, Jarne counted four dead, of the two dozen or so inhabitants. Nobody was talking. They were just breathing, with great difficulty. Most had one or more limbs amputated. Jarne left and continued down the hallway. Nurses and doctors clad in leather hazmat suits passed by every now and again. Not many left, now. He looked down at his own outfit. Nothing protective. Maybe he should have¡­ ¡°Rat?¡± a familiar voice said, but when Jarne turned to look at them, he couldn¡¯t tell who it was due to the hazmat suit. But the voice clued him in. ¡°Rat, you can¡¯t be here without a hazmat suit, you really need to¡ª¡± ¡°Jazz?¡± he said, his voice hoarse. Talking hurt. ¡°Can we talk for a moment?¡± From behind the hazmat suit¡¯s goggles, he couldn¡¯t see her expression. But he could hear her click her tongue. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, this is really not a good time. We¡¯ve got our hands full, and Kitty will be here in a few minutes to do the daily donation round, so I really can¡¯t¡ª¡± He took one step forward, then another, and collapsed into her arms. ¡°Rat? Rat! Wait, please, are you¡­¡± His eyes fluttered shut. Everything went dark. Finally, he could rest. Though not for long. ¡°...No, it¡¯s not dragon plague. Not drake pox, either. I think he was just tired. Dunno why though,¡± an annoying, grating voice said. ¡°Oh, oh, thank God, I don¡¯t know if¡­ I¡¯m not sure we could handle losing another, I¡¯m so¡­ Thank you, Kitty, you came at the right time.¡± ¡°Yeah, no problem. Now, can we please go do the donation rounds? Moleman has a lot of work to do today, and the trial for the raiders is this afternoon, so¡­¡± Jarne painstakingly blinked his eyes open, trying but failing to suppress a groan. ¡°Ugh¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re awake! Oh, thank God, you¡¯re okay, that was¡­ Rat, you really scared me!¡± He stared up at her. He was on a bed. What a luxury. He hadn¡¯t slept in one of those for¡­ Close to five days now. ¡°This is no time to be smiling! What did you¡­¡± Jazz¡¯ eyes widened in recollection. ¡°Oh! Sorry, I¡¯m¡­¡± she turned to Kitty. ¡°Sorry, could you do the donation round on your own? I¡¯ve sent you a list of the patients, so if you could please¡­¡± The confused, mildly dubious look on Kitty¡¯s face urged her to explain herself. Her smile turned thin. ¡°Rat wanted to talk to me. In private. So, if you would please¡­?¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Kitty said. ¡°Oh, like that. Got it. I¡¯ll be¡­¡± He shot a suspicious look at Jarne. ¡°I do hope this isn¡¯t about Moleman. If you talk mean about him, I won¡¯t be happy, you know?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She looked meaningfully at him. He, mercifully enough for Jarne¡¯s eyes and ears, backed off. ¡°Got it. I¡¯ll go. Sorry. But, um¡­ don¡¯t wait too long, okay? Okay.¡± Jazz watched him leave, and once he had closed the door behind him, she gave a sigh of relief. ¡°What a guy. I don¡¯t get what Mole sees in him.¡± ¡®Utility,¡¯ Jarne thought. But he¡¯d never say it. ¡°No clue,¡± he said instead, trying to sit up. ¡°Wait, wait,¡± she said, and before he could fathom what she was asking him to wait for, she¡¯d shoved a glass of water in his hand. ¡°Here. Drink. I can¡¯t be sure, but I think you might have gotten a heat stroke.¡± ¡°Heat stroke? In March?¡± ¡°You¡¯re Belgian,¡± she said. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡± ¡°Just because it rains ninety per cent of the year doesn¡¯t mean it isn¡¯t hot,¡± Jarne shot back, weakly. ¡°Not that you can say anything.¡± He smirked, thinking of a perfect comeback. ¡°Isn¡¯t Estonia supposed to be an honorary Scandinavian country?¡± She pursed her lips. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not sure about that one.¡± Still, the suggestion was able to rouse a chuckle from her. ¡°Maybe. I don¡¯t know. But¡­ That¡¯s not what you came to discuss, right?¡± Sitting up straighter, he took a sip of water. That hit the spot. He gulped down a few more mouthfuls before speaking, wiping his mouth as he did. ¡°Yeah. Yeah, that isn¡¯t¡­¡± He frowned. There was so much he wanted to say. So many thoughts, crawling around like ants in his mind. ¡°Something feels weird.¡± She smiled without any real mirth. ¡°Mind being more specific?¡± ¡°With Kitty. And¡­¡± He paused, feeling his determination waver. But in the corner of his vision, he could see her eyes, clear and earnest. He could trust her. ¡°And¡­ with Mole.¡± Her expression fell, but there was no surprise on her face. If nothing else, she almost appeared resigned. ¡°Yeah, I¡­ I get what you¡¯re saying.¡± ¡°That is¡­ Kitty¡¯s the same wackjob as always, but now Mole is somehow just as weird. He seriously intends on executing a bunch of people, and he seems to think that it¡¯s all a-okay because some of them have agreed to donate. Meaning that, minus one, plus one¡­ It evens out. And I know, I¡¯ve never cared too much about the death penalty¡ªI think it¡¯s necessary sometimes¡ªbut Mole¡­ You remember how stressed he was during the tutorial tournament, right? I¡¯m pretty sure he didn¡¯t sleep for like, two of those nights, all because he was sitting up, writing notes for the trial. Kitty¡¯s trial.¡± ¡°Maybe he didn¡¯t actually mind the death penalty,¡± Jazz suggested, purely rhetorically, ¡°but he simply didn¡¯t want to see his friend killed?¡± ¡°No. That isn¡¯t it. I get what you¡¯re saying, but if we assumed that, then we would also have to assume that Mole would be the kind of person who¡¯d lie to the courts to get what he wanted. That he¡¯d make an exception for someone like Kitty simply because¡­ some reason. I don¡¯t know. Maybe because having someone who could kill entire cities and remain totally devoted to you is useful for the future? Who knows. But¡­¡± ¡°But,¡± Jazz continued for him, ¡°if we assumed all that, then we would be assuming Mole wasn¡¯t the person we thought him to be. We¡¯d be assuming him to be some ruthless liar, someone who¡¯d bring utilitarian thinking to its logical extremes. A manipulative monster.¡± ¡°Which he isn¡¯t,¡± Jarne said. ¡°We both know that.¡± He felt a smile rise to his lips. ¡°Heh, remember when we first met Mole? We¡¯d partied up, and were pulling ahead of everyone else, and then all of a sudden he just showed up on the floor, panting and asking us if we were part of the DC?¡± She chuckled. ¡°Yeah, and we hadn¡¯t been keeping track of any of the boring forum stuff, so I thought he was talking about the American capital thing, and you thought he meant, like, DC comics, so you said you were more of a Marvel guy.¡± ¡°Yeah. And then¡­¡± His smile mellowed out a little. ¡°That night, he broke down. You remember that? I hadn¡¯t expected it. Sure, he looked young, but I didn¡¯t think he was still a teenager.¡± ¡°I remember him talking about his brother, and all that. It was really surprising. Talk about being dealt a bad lot in life. I really¡­¡± She took a trembling breath. ¡°I had really hoped, when we first met him, that he¡¯d be able to beat the tutorial. Maybe he could even be the first.¡± ¡°I felt the same. But, now¡­¡± He turned away from her. ¡°Something is happening. I don¡¯t know what. Kitty is doing something, I¡¯m sure of it, and I think he might have had a hand in what happened to Plus. But I don¡¯t know. I really don¡¯t know.¡± She fell silent. For a long time, she simply sat there, her eyes downcast. ¡°I¡­ I think¡­¡± She gritted her teeth, turned toward the door, looked out the window, and then back to Jarne. There was something frightening in her eyes, something suspicious and scared and very, very sad. ¡°I think Mole might be behind the dragon plague.¡± Jarne stiffened. Suppressing his anger at such an accusation, suppressing everything he wanted to shout at her, he turned to her, slowly, carefully, sitting up straighter as he did. ¡°Why do you say that?¡± She hunched down and stuck the nail of her thumb between her teeth, gnawing before she could say anything else. Her eyes turned back towards the door, as though she was afraid someone might be listening. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you for sure. I¡¯m not even certain it¡¯s Mole, but¡­¡± ¡°Out with it!¡± Her back went up, and now she was sitting ramrod straight, her forehead slick with sweat and her freckled nose twitching. ¡°Sully. Before¡ªbefore she died, she sent me a few messages. She sent it to everyone, of course. Nothing bad. Nothing i¡ªincriminating, but¡­ She mentioned something weird. Because, see¡­ Despite being sick¡­ Despite dying from it¡­¡± Jazz gulped. ¡°She never received a single resistance from it. Not even a level up. Not for virus, not for bacteria, not for parasite¡­¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean¡ª¡± Exasperated, Jarne shook his head. ¡°That doesn¡¯t have to mean anything! She had high resistances. We both know that. I¡¯m sure if you fell sick you¡¯d receive a ton of level ups.¡± She bit her lip. ¡°No. No, I don¡¯t think I would.¡± ¡°...And why is that?¡± Her eyes burned with clarity. Horrible, dark clarity. ¡°My divinity protection is too high.¡± ¡°Your¡­?¡± ¡°That was the one thing,¡± Jazz continued, ¡°that rose. Only by two levels, but her divinity resistance did rise.¡± Jarne shook his head again. ¡°What the hell are you¡­?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not a disease,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s a spell.¡± 276: F30, Ridiculous Theorizing ¡°No. No, that doesn¡¯t¡­ How the fuck does that make any sense? You can¡¯t seriously think that simply because her divinity resistance rose, that means that this literal plague was caused by magic. And even if it was, who¡¯s to say Mole did it? There are plenty of magic people in the city! Hell, we even have an apostle, just sitting around! If your argument is that only someone with exceptional magical abilities could have done it, then the literal apostle should be your first bet¡ªnot our own fucking party leader!¡± ¡°He was my first suspicion,¡± Jazz said deliberately. ¡°My second one was Kitty. Those two were the only ones I could imagine cruel enough to do something like this.¡± ¡°Right, of course, that makes sense. The apostle of cruelty obviously couldn¡¯t have done it because he was too busy with his whole being-kind-is-cruel schtick. And Kitty? No way! Kitty is super nice, and he¡¯d never do something as evil as kill an entire city!¡± He scratched his chin for dramatic effect. ¡°Oh, wait, he already has! But that was a while back, so it¡¯s all fine, we¡¯ll forgive him. No issues there!¡± She was frowning now, and her ears had gone red from shame, as they should. ¡°Now you¡¯re just being mean, Jarne.¡± The harsh words he was about to say died on his lips, stillborn. He sunk down a little. Crossing his arms, he said, softly, ¡°Well, how do you expect me to react? You¡¯re accusing our friend of doing something¡­ something evil.¡± ¡°Yeah. I know. But¡­ At least let me finish talking.¡± He grumbled. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll let you say your piece. But if this is fully baseless, then¡­¡± ¡°Yeah, of course.¡± She smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t be long.¡± He huffed and leaned back a little further. Giving her a look, he said, ¡°Well? Out with it, then.¡± ¡°Right,¡± she said, drawing herself up. She cleared her throat. ¡°I don¡¯t think it was on purpose.¡± He almost interrupted her again, but a single look stopped him. ¡°When we first arrived, we considered solving it using magic. Of course, this idea was scrapped pretty early on, but¡­ There¡¯s nothing to say Mole didn¡¯t continue working on it. Using magic¡ªand with the help of the God of Knowledge¡ªMole could have deconstructed the drake pox down to its smallest working parts. Then, he could have created a version of it that operates in the same way as drake pox, but without the capacity of killing, with greater virality, and a time-dependent kill switch. It would¡¯ve killed itself, and anyone who contracted it would have become resistant towards drake pox. Like a self-spreading vaccine.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Wait,¡± Jarne said. ¡°Wasn¡¯t the drake pox a bacterium?¡± She nodded. ¡°Exactly. So, if you used magic to create something like this, instead of getting a self-spreading vaccine, you would instead be left with an entirely new type of disease, neither bacteria nor virus. Only someone with great magical abilities but without the knowledge to differentiate between bacteria and viruses by appearance and behavior would be able to make something like this. I would know. Benevil, despite everything, is too knowledgeable to attempt something like that. So, only Mole could have created it. Therefore¡­¡± ¡°Hang on, one second.¡± Jarne felt himself frown. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s say you could make this kind of thing. Do you really think Mole would be stupid enough to actually try to spread it?¡± ¡°Not normally,¡± Jazz said. ¡°Not unless he was placed under significant stress. Such as¡­¡± ¡°...A known killer of cities, children and anything else with green skin and long ears showing up unannounced to ¡®save the city.¡¯¡± Jarne cursed under his breath. ¡°Fuck. But¡ªbut even then, he must have known that the magical disease would do stuff like this, or he should have consulted you or Sully, or¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s never been done before,¡± she said. ¡°So, no one would know if it would work or not. Not even Sully or myself would be able to say for sure. The only way to know would be to try it out. And with the automatic kill switch, I¡¯m sure he thought it would either work, or do exactly nothing. But, instead, we got this.¡± For what felt like a very long moment, Jarne stared right at her. At her face, at her eyes¡­ She didn¡¯t look away. He did. And without being able to say anything, he collapsed back into bed. She turned away. ¡°It¡¯s only a theory. I can¡¯t be sure. I really hope it isn¡¯t true.¡± ¡°It would certainly explain why he¡¯s so adamant about trying to save the city¡­¡± Jarne mumbled. ¡°But I still¡­ I don¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°I know. Me neither.¡± He looked up at her. Her warm smile met him. For a few seconds, he simply looked at her, his memory of who she used to be overlapping with who she was now. He pursed his lips. ¡°Let¡¯s run away.¡± ¡°...What?¡± ¡°Mole has dug his grave. Let him lie in it. He¡¯ll probably even drag Kitty down with him if we¡¯re lucky. But you and me¡­ We can leave. This ship is going down, but I¡¯m not the captain, and neither are you. When we started out, it was just you and me. We can do that again. Rat and Jazz¡ªwhat do you say? We can call our new party¡­ Let¡¯s see¡­ how about ¡®Rodent Blues¡¯? Or is that too on-the-nose? Maybe something like ¡®Syncopated Squeaks,¡¯ or ¡®Tailthump,¡¯ or even ¡®Whiskersnare.¡¯ We can make it. We can beat the tutorial.¡± He smiled up at her. ¡°What do you say, Lenna?¡± She smiled, chuckled, wiped her eyes, and squeezed his hand. ¡°Maybe,¡± she said. ¡°Give me some time. I need to think about things.¡± He squeezed her hand back. ¡°Take all the time you need.¡± Lying back down, he let his eyes scrutinize the ceiling. ¡°We¡¯re not going to die here. We¡¯ll make it out, no matter what.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m sure we will. Together.¡± 277: F30, Blues It didn¡¯t even take a week. ¡°I can¡¯t recommend visiting her. She¡¯s completely delirious. Kitty tried to visit her, but she screamed and shouted at him, even throwing things. Horrible! It¡¯s nothing new, unfortunately. Plenty of other patients have the plague reach the brain, start to hallucinate, become delusional¡­ Some even lose their memories. Almost like a form of dementia.¡± He smiled sympathetically. A gash across his face. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to visit her, but I believe doing so will alter your perception of her. You don¡¯t want your last memories to be of her in such a state, do you?¡± ¡°Wh¡ªwhen¡­¡± Jarne clenched and unclenched his hands. Sweaty palms. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and into his eye. He blinked it away. Mole¡¯s awful smile was still there. It wouldn¡¯t go away. Jarne cleared his throat. ¡°When did this happen? When the fuck¡ª¡± ¡°Sometimes it can be very sudden,¡± the smile said, ¡°and it can come from anywhere. Maybe she wasn¡¯t sanitizing properly? Horrible, horrible. I¡¯m very sorry to have to be the one to tell you this.¡± The smile tilted. ¡°If you do choose to visit, make sure to wear your hazmat suit properly.¡± And the smile chuckled, because it had made such a funny little joke. He almost stormed out on the spot. But instead, he turned back around, pointed one big, fat finger at Mole, said ¡°Fuck you,¡± and then he left. That felt a lot better. Though the triumph, short lived as it was, quickly found itself replaced by bottomless, thoughtless, mindless despair. He reached the hospital before realizing that his feet had led him there. ¡°Where is¡ª¡± Benevil, cruel in his kindness, led him to her, giving his condolences all the way. But she wasn¡¯t dead yet. She was still alive. She wasn¡¯t dead, so he didn¡¯t want to hear any stupid fucking condolences. He just wanted to meet her again. To see her, so they could run away together. He¡¯d packed his things. Everything was ready. Nobody would be able to stop them. They¡¯d escape in the night, atop a sprint drake for two, and then ride off into the bright, beautiful tomorrow. That¡¯s what she¡¯d said. That¡¯s what¡ª ¡°Here she is,¡± he said. ¡°Remember, the hazmat suit only lasts for fifteen minutes, after that, you¡¯ll have to¡ª¡± He rushed past him, threw the door shut in his face, and pressed his back against it. The room was a mess. It was Sully¡¯s old room. They hadn¡¯t used it since she died. But that was over a month ago. Since then, it had stood untouched. Her books in her bookshelf, her desk and all the things on it, her bed, her curtains, her chairs. Everything had been trashed. The bed was turned over. The chairs had been thrown into a pile alongside the writing supplies. The bookshelf had been smashed and all the books had been torn up, page by page. Only the desk stood upright, though it had been moved to the far corner of the room. That¡¯s where she was. Sitting beneath it with her knees pressed to her chest, mumbling things and clutching her wand tight, clad in a torn hospital gown, her shoulder-length, curly red hair all in a tangle, parts of it pointing here and others there. Her eyes were set in deep dark holes and it didn¡¯t look as though she¡¯d slept in days. They met his, and he met them. ¡°J¡ªJazz? Jazz, are you¡ª¡± The wand flashed out and some kind of magic arched across the room, and it was only by the hair of his chin that he was able to leap out of the way, the spot he¡¯d just been in now sporting a patch of blackened char. He looked back at Jazz to find her already pointing it at him again, mumbling new things¡ªnew spells. Instinct screamed at him and he leapt away again, avoiding another unknown bit of magic, his mind working at a million miles an hour to bring him across the room to finally reach Jazz. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly. ¡°Jazz, please, it¡¯s¡ª¡± She howled in pain and he instantly let her go, only for her foot to come flying, kicking him square in the chin. He stumbled back. Bringing a hand to his chin, he found his touch padded by the leather hazmat suit. He looked at his gloved hand, and then at her. ¡®Ah, fuck it.¡¯ He tore off the suit. Then, while she was still staring at him as though he¡¯d skinned himself, he rushed up to her again, took her in his arms, and said, ¡°It¡¯s okay, Lenna, you¡¯re okay. You¡¯re alright. It¡¯s me. You remember me, right? Everything¡¯s okay. You can relax now. It¡¯s just me. It¡¯s¡­ only me.¡± She stopped struggling. Slowly, breathing erratically, her eyes moved to look at him. ¡°Haah¡­ haah¡­ it¡¯s¡­¡± Her lips twitched upward into a smile. ¡°Jarne. It¡¯s¡­ you.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. He leaned back out again. ¡°Yeah, it is. And you¡¯re¡­¡± ¡°I know who I am. I know¡­¡± Her eyes moved across the room, looking at them as though she¡¯d only now woken up. A twinge of pain passed through her gaze. She turned back to him, and beamed a smile. ¡°Sorry. Looks like I won¡¯t be able to run away with you, after all.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t¡ª¡± He bit his tongue. ¡°Don¡¯t say that. There¡¯s still a chance.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± she sighed. ¡°If you also get sick, we might get put in the same ward. And then we can ride off into the eternal sunset together. Wouldn¡¯t that be nice?¡± ¡°No,¡± Jarne said. ¡°Not really.¡± ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right,¡± she replied. ¡°If we both got sick, then Kitty wouldn¡¯t be able to use our hearts to heal Mole within time.¡± He squinted at her. When she turned to look at him, her tangled mess of hair bobbed slightly. Her eyes were wrong. Dim. Strange. Almost foggy. Sighing, he turned away from her, pushing away everything he wanted to feel. He could cry later. But not now. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, weakly. ¡°That¡¯d be real bad. It¡¯s better if¡­ If we space out our falling sick. So he can use us properly.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather he didn¡¯t do it at all,¡± she said. Now that he listened for it, there was a strange, almost metallic hollowness in her voice. Like she was talking through a tin can phone. ¡°Honestly, I think what he did with poor Sully was very mean. I don¡¯t think she agreed to it. Do you think Mole knew that Kitty did it?¡± ¡°Why would he?¡± Jarne said with a defeated shrug. ¡°He¡¯s always been a bit of an airhead. I doubt he¡¯d notice that.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true. But he should have noticed how his arm healed just a little. I did. I noticed it. But I didn¡¯t know what to make of it. Not until Plus. Oh, that was so sad. You remember that, right? But Plus was okay with it. And Mole was so happy it happened. He can almost move his arm now!¡± She hummed robotically, for what Jarne counted to be exactly four seconds. ¡°I wonder how well he¡¯ll be able to move it once I¡¯m used up. I doubt Kitty told him he was sick. He probably did this himself. It must be because of our discussion. He heard it. I don¡¯t know how. Invisibility? Stealth? He can be so sneaky. Remember when we held a meeting to discuss him? Mole knew he might have been listening. We didn¡¯t notice though. Nothing at all. We never do. Maybe if we got rid of Kitty back then, none of this would have happened. We¡¯d be okay. Is it hubris? Kindness? Cruelty?¡± She looked at him for an answer. Was there any point in hiding his pain from her? He couldn¡¯t control himself from making a face, not that she reacted. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said, his voice thick. ¡°I really don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Neither do I. That¡¯s right.¡± She thumbed her lower lip. One, two, three, four times. ¡°By the way,¡± she said, ¡°I think we were wrong. It wasn¡¯t Mole who did this. Which is good, because it means he¡¯s not that bad after all. Or maybe it¡¯s bad, because it means he got this bad simply from the pressure around him. Egg cracking. Crack crack crack¡­ Or maybe egg boiled, popping? Pop pop pop¡­ But anyhow. It¡¯s Kitty. It always was. How¡­ I don¡¯t know. But he has strange abilities. I¡¯m sure he could spread a disease somehow. Why? I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know. Do you know, Jarne?¡± ¡°No.¡± He couldn¡¯t bear to look at her. ¡°Exactly. No idea. But that¡¯s beside the point. He did this to me. Sometime. Not sure when. Many days ago. Or yesterday. Or tomorrow. Or never. What was I talking about? Oh, sorry, yes. Kitty. He¡¯s using us as living receptacles for donation. Like a vampire surrounding himself with humans. Or¡ªor maybe closer to a thrall, keeping humans at the ready for his vampire master. With the vampire in this case being Mole. This explains why Mole hasn¡¯t gone belly-up yet. He can¡¯t. Kitty won¡¯t let him. Mole could jump off a roof and Kitty would be ready at the bottom to put him back together again. When will Mole notice? Perplexing! I won¡¯t be there for it. Maybe you won¡¯t, either.¡± She smiled brightly. He flinched back from it. He didn¡¯t even need to wipe his face. She hadn¡¯t noticed his tears. ¡°I think you should run away. Far, far away, to where Kitty can¡¯t catch you. Isn¡¯t that silly? The rat outsmarting the cat, slipping away. I would be so happy to hear it. Can you do it before he uses my heart? I¡¯d love to know you got away.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you,¡± he choked out. He was trying to look at her, but the world was too blurry. Saying nothing, she took his hand, and brought it to her face. ¡°Here I am,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s okay. You can touch me. It doesn¡¯t spread like that.¡± Her smile widened, like the final moments of the sun, falling over the horizon. ¡°You¡¯re okay. You¡¯ll be fine. The world moves on, and you have to do that, too.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t¡ªI can¡¯t go without you,¡± he said, tattered breaths scraping down his heaving throat. ¡°Please. You promised. You said¡­¡± She reached out and caressed his cheek. ¡°Go. Don¡¯t let the cat gobble you up. Okay, Jarne?¡± He couldn¡¯t speak. His shoulders fell, he grasped her hand, held it tightly, nodded, and then he couldn¡¯t bear any more. He stood up, gathered up the hazmat suit, went to the door, said goodbye, and left. After a few minutes, he could breathe properly again. Another minute, and he wasn¡¯t crying. He thanked Benevil, returned the hazmat suit, and left the hospital. His feet carried him back to the city council, back to Mole¡¯s office. He had to wait to be let inside. ¡°...You visited her, didn¡¯t you?¡± He nodded. ¡°Well, don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you. When I visited her, I only barely got into the room before she had a meltdown. Did you get to talk to her a little, at least?¡± He nodded. ¡°That¡¯s good. I can only hope she didn¡¯t say things that were all too incomprehensible. Kitty told me she was trying to accuse him of all manner of strange things¡­ She didn¡¯t do anything like that, did she?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Good. That¡¯s good. It¡¯s¡­¡± The smile wavered. It flickered down. For a moment, Jarne could see Mole¡¯s eyes. They were in so much pain. The chair creaked as Mole stood up. His shoes clicked as he walked across the floor. His shadow cast Jarne in darkness. And then¡­ A single arm was put around his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Mole said. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I couldn¡¯t have been there.¡± He couldn¡¯t hear any smile in his voice. ¡°But I want you to know¡­ I¡¯m so proud of you for visiting her. It¡¯s a wonderful thing. It¡ªit really is. And I hope you know that I¡¯ll always be here if you need to talk. I¡¯ll always be your friend. Always.¡± Jarne slowly lifted his trembling, lead-heavy arms. A moment¡¯s hesitation passed painlessly, and he put them around Mole. ¡°Fuck. Fuck,¡± he hissed. ¡°I fucking hate this. This sucks. This absolutely fucking sucks. Why the fuck¡ªGod. Fuck. Shit. She¡¯s¡­ I can¡¯t even¡­ Nothing she said made any sense. It was all babbling. I don¡¯t¡ª¡± He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t think she¡¯s in there anymore. That wasn¡¯t her. I don¡¯t know who the fuck that was, but it wasn¡¯t Jazz. I don¡¯t¡­¡± Mole hugged him tighter. ¡°Shhh¡­ it¡¯s alright. Whatever she said¡­ she¡¯s not in her right mind, so put it out of yours. Try to remember the good times. This isn¡¯t her.¡± ¡°Damn it. Damn it all¡­!¡± He sniffled and all of a sudden he had the singular feeling that he was being watched. He looked up from the nook in Mole¡¯s shoulder. And only then did he notice that Kitty was there. Standing by the window. A silhouette. A shadow. A nothing of a nothing. Staring, seeing, watching. Nothing but eyes. And Jarne hadn¡¯t even seen him. 278: F30, A Wildflower Waltz She died only five days later. After the first visit, Jarne hadn¡¯t been able to muster the strength to see her again. For some reason, he always felt assured that she¡¯d live a while longer. Dragon plague was a slow and cruel disease. Depending on the way it was treated, a person could live with it for upwards of two months following their initial infection. But not her. She was sick in a flash, and gone just as quickly. He hadn¡¯t even gotten to say goodbye. Not properly. Not in any meaningful way. One day she was there, and the next, she was gone. ¡°Here,¡± the smile said. ¡°I want you to have her. You two were always close.¡± Jarne accepted her. She was smaller than Sully had been. Smaller than Plus. He didn¡¯t know what else to do, so he kept her in his pocket. There wouldn¡¯t be any funeral. There hadn¡¯t been one for Plus. They¡¯d tried, but Mole was always too busy. And now, Jarne didn¡¯t even want to ask. He kept her in his pocket, and that was enough for him. Sometimes, he thought about things. Maybe he could have asked Kitty to use his heart to save her so they could ride into the sunset together. Maybe he could have asked Benevil to use his power to save her so they could ride into the sunset together. Maybe he could have asked Mole to discover the cure to save her so they could ride into the sunset together. That would¡¯ve been nice. Why hadn¡¯t he done that? Stupid. She didn¡¯t answer him. But her silence was right. Yeah. Maybe they could still ride into the sunset together. It wasn¡¯t too late. ¡­Maybe. He had to talk to Mole first, though. They had known each other for over three years, after all. Just ditching him would be wrong. ¡°Rat! Always happy to see a human face,¡± the smile greeted warmly. ¡°Come, take a seat. I hear they¡¯ve put you in charge of ration-buying?¡± ¡°Yeah, it used to be Plus¡¯ work, and then Jazz picked up the slack, but¡­¡± The smile twitched. ¡°Yeah. I understand. These are tough times for all of us. Would you like some clarea?¡± Jarne turned to see Kitty inching closer, a tray in his hands. The eye looked down at him. Yellow. Unfeeling. Animal. Holding up his hand, Jarne was able to politely decline without smacking the tray out of his hands. Nodding, Kitty stepped away. ¡°No? That¡¯s a shame. I hope it¡¯s fine if I have some, still,¡± the smile said, accepting a cup from the eye. Using his right hand. His right arm. The smile saw him, and widened. ¡°My arm¡¯s gotten a lot better, as you can see. I really do think my morning exercise did it¡­ Kitty suggested it a while back, and I¡¯ve been sticking to it on the daily! And, lo and behold¡ªthe fruits of my effort!¡± He turned his arm, up and down, the movements only slightly stiff, the fingers only a little too rigid to close into a full fist. The smile split to allow a prideful little laugh. ¡°Wonderful, isn¡¯t it? Of course, it still isn¡¯t flexible enough to let me write with it, but I¡¯m getting there. And it¡¯s all thanks to Kitty. Isn¡¯t that ironic? He might have relieved me of its use, but he also gave it back! So, less than taking it from me, it was more that he just¡­ borrowed it for four years or so. Silly, no?¡± Icy cold goosebumps spread across his back, his legs, his arms, making the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up, a coldness gripping his limbs as though his blood had been replaced by ice water. His right leg started jumping, or maybe it was twitching, on repeat, forever and ever. Putting his hand on it, he gripped it hard enough to feel his nails draw blood, but it still wouldn¡¯t stop jumping, the sole of his shoe making a tacka-tacka-tacka-tacka noise against the hard wooden floor. Or maybe that was the sound of his heart. Tacka-tacka-tacka-tacka. As fast as that of a mouse. ¡°Rat?¡± the smile said. ¡°Rat, are you okay? You look¡ª¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. He stood up. ¡°Sorry, I have to go.¡± ¡°Really? But what about¡ª¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± he bit out, his hand instinctively forcing itself into his pocket to touch her. He breathed out. ¡°I just¡ªI have to go. Bye, Mole.¡± ¡°Oh. Sorry to hear that. Goodbye, Rat! I hope to see you soon.¡± Jarne left. He walked out of the door, hurried down the stairs, sprung out of the doors, and then ran towards the hospital in a mad dash, panting and almost stumbling several times, only barely catching himself. Everything was passing by him in a whirl. The whole world, spinning. Only by touching her did he feel any kind of calm. It was like she was still there, and when he let his fingers brush against her, her soul was touching him back. Fingers interlocked. The hospital approached, but he went straight for the stables, where he flattened himself against a wall, trying to restrain his breathing. He had to be sneaky. They never did find any good replacement for Lent, and Rat¡¯s effort had been too pitiful to be sustainable. But whoever was on duty now wouldn¡¯t be quick to let him simply grab a drake and leave. And so, he waited. Ears and eyes on edge, ready for anything. After some time, the current stablemaster left, and Jarne slunk inside. He knew most of the drakes by heart. In return, they knew him. Holly. Litten. Jam. Charm. Killer. Pepper. Many fine drakes who would be well suited for this task. However, he didn¡¯t need a humpback, he didn¡¯t have that much luggage. Nor did he need a four-legger, or a stomper. All he needed was¡­ His eyes fell on Lance. ¡­A proper sprinter. Perfect. Lance knew him well, but Jarne still let him sniff his hand, and fed him a bit of dried meat. That way, he was more than happy to be untied and led out of the stables. Once Jarne had him properly saddled up, making sure no one was looking, he jumped on and headed out. Everything he needed, he had in his inventory. Either that, or in his pocket. He didn¡¯t need anything else. And still¡­ Hesitation gnawed at him. Was this really the right choice? What if he was overreacting? What if¡­? His hand touched her gem, and he felt calm once more. No, this was it. He had to leave. There wouldn¡¯t be any retries on this. Steeling his heart, he set out towards the eastern gate. ¡°Sir Rodent?¡± one of the guards greeted at his approach. ¡°What are you¡ª¡± ¡°Let me through,¡± Jarne said. ¡°I¡¯m on orders from the mayor.¡± The guard hesitated. ¡°We¡¯ve been ordered to not let¡ª¡± ¡°And I¡¯ve been ordered to write a list of anyone who defies the mayor¡¯s orders,¡± Jarne replied. He glared at the guard. ¡°Would you mind reminding me of your name?¡± The guard shrunk back. ¡°O¡ªof course not. A thousand pardons. Allow us a moment to¡­¡± ¡°You better hurry. I¡¯m getting an itch in my finger.¡± ¡°S¡ªsir yes sir!¡± Within only a minute, the gate was open. Jarne nodded gratefully to the guard, and rode through the gates, out of the city, and into the beautiful world outside. Hills and plains dotted by bold wildflowers rolled on either side of a simple cobblestone road. An eastern wind combed through the tall grass, caressing his hair, and bringing with it the smell of fresh grass and spring flower blooms and leaves and forests and trees. The wind was fresh. It seemed to wash off the stench of almost a full year¡¯s worth of grime and terror and death and horror. The city was behind him. And ahead of him was the sun, setting just over the horizon. He touched the gem in his pocket. They were going. Soon, it would all be over. He¡¯d forge a new life, somehow, somewhere. It didn¡¯t matter how. Nothing mattered anymore. Reaching back, he untied his hair, letting it fall loose, the wind quickly snapping it up, making it whip back and forth, dancing freely. Jarne took one look at the road, and then turned Lance towards the open plains. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he said, his voice full of excitement. ¡°Let¡¯s ride!¡± Lance chittered with joy, and with no further instructions needed, rushed into the open plains. The gleeful drake bounced and bounded across the silky grass, leaving a trail of flower petals and uprooted grass in their wake. And Jarne was laughing, now. Laughing because it was all over. Laughing because life could finally move on, like it was supposed to. Laughing because the world was beautiful, and he had never been so excited to experience it. To be alive. What a wonderful thing it was, to live! Laughing, riding, they crossed the plains, leapt over streams and logs, crossed through a patch of trees, rushed through plains and crop fields, exploring the most mundane miracles the world had to show. Only when the sun had set fully did Jarne stop laughing. Lance was exhausted, and so was he. As luck would have it, with the world being so kind, they were able to find a little clearing next to a stream, just in time. The water in the stream was crystal clear, and Jarne could spot a few fishes rushing by. Even though he didn¡¯t need to, even though he could just buy food in the shop, he decided to try fishing for them. But first, he resolved himself to have a well-earned, if somewhat cold, bath. He set up a fire, grilled the fish over them, and sat next to it, drying off his hair while Lance gulped down fish. The sun had set, now. It was dark. Above, the stars gleamed like gemstones. Jarne felt like he could watch them forever and ever. The air was cold, but the fire was hot. The fish could use some seasoning, but the fact that he had caught them himself made them so, so tasty. As the fire continued to crackle and burn, Jarne laid down, using his jacket as a blanket. The stars twinkled overhead. Lance yawned and curled up around him. Jarne smiled. It was beautiful. Life was beautiful. A little weight in his pocket made itself known. Chuckling, Jarne pulled her gem from his pocket and held her up against the stars. The light of the stars and the moons refracted inside her, becoming a million billion little rays of multicolored light, a carnival of rainbows, all in the palm of his hand. Still smiling, he laid her atop his chest, and allowed his eyes to flutter shut. He was happy to be alive. And life had never been kinder. 279: F30, Scurrying He woke up to the sound of something snapping. A little twig or something, he was sure. And still, he decided to open his eyes, just in case. Everything was dark. The fire had burned out, but a few cinders were still glowing in its heart. Unfortunately, this singular light source only served to make the darkness around him so much darker. The foliage between the trees, the bushes and even the stream, everything was pitch black. The only other light came from above, though even the stars seemed muted. Silently, he put her back in his pocket. Something felt wrong. Something was¡­ off. He sat up. A sensation made him furrow his brows in confusion. He¡¯d gone to bed without fully drying off, sure, but he should have been dry by now. It didn¡¯t make sense that¡­ He touched a hand to the cold wetness on his chest. It was sticky. Sticky, and dark, even darker than the forest around him. Realization struck him like lightning and he spun around, finally looking at Lance properly. The sprint drake had been lying so still that he¡¯d thought him to be asleep. But he wasn¡¯t breathing. The drake was curled up, mouth slightly open, eyes wide¡ªthe pupils having turned an eerie, dead white. He was dead. The sharp, perfectly cut slit across his throat was proof of that. Jarne stumbled back, falling on his behind. He was starting to hyperventilate, heart beating out of his chest. As he crawled backwards, unable to make sense of what he was looking at, what had happened, and why, he muttered under his breath, on repeat, ¡°What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck¡­?!¡± All the way until his back bumped into something cold and bony and knotted. Like a pair of thin tree trunks. He looked up. A pair of yellow, cat-like eyes met him. He let out a scream and flew to his feet, stumbling back so far he tripped on Lance, falling back to the ground. The eyes simply followed him, uncaring, until they stood in front of the remaining cinders. The tawny light created just the slightest red lining around the figure. The silhouette, much like the eyes it wore, was well familiar to Jarne. That didn¡¯t make things better. ¡°K¡ªK¡ªKitty?¡± he stammered. ¡°Wh¡ªwhat are you¡ª¡± Kitty shook his head, sighed, and stepped closer. Normally, Jarne was taller than him. Not by much, but enough to stave off any sense of threat from the smaller man. Now, though, this was no longer a factor. Jarne was on the ground, staring up. And Kitty, with the eyes of a natural predator, stared down. ¡°Now why¡¯d you go and do that?¡± ¡°D¡ªdo what?¡± Jarne said, whimpering pathetically. ¡°I haven¡¯t¡ªI said earlier that I was going to do this, and Mole¡ª¡± The eye inched closer. ¡°Moleman¡¯s worried sick.¡± ¡°Really? Th¡ªthat¡¯s¡­ I¡ªI¡¯m sorry, but that¡¯s not¡­ Y¡ªyou can tell him, wh¡ªwhen you go back, that I¡¯m fine. See? I¡¯m doing just fine! He doesn¡¯t have to¡ª¡± Now, Kitty hunched down. He perched himself right in front of Jarne, knees to his chest, close enough to make a struggle wholly unnecessary. He tilted his head. ¡°What tipped you off?¡± ¡°S¡ªsorry?¡± The eye narrowed. ¡°It was the arm, wasn¡¯t it? Hm. That¡¯s troubling. I thought that since Moleman hadn¡¯t noticed, no one else would, either. But you did.¡± A clawed hand reached up to scratch his chin. ¡°Curious. Was it only the arm, or was there something else? I¡¯d love to know so I can avoid similar issues in the future.¡± Right there and then, it clicked. Jarne couldn¡¯t tell if it was the corpse of his drake beneath him, or any one thing the eye said, or if it was simply the situation as a whole. But he knew, right at that moment, that it was already too late. ¡°It was Jazz,¡± he said. ¡°She told me. She told me everything.¡± ¡°Everything?¡± Despairing triumph reared up within him. ¡°That¡¯s right, everything! I even know that you¡¯re the one who infected her!¡± He stared at him. Silently, mutely. ¡°Wow,¡± he said, showing no reaction whatsoever. ¡°I really thought reversed brain damage resistance level two would have greater effects. So she could still express herself despite that, huh? Or maybe she already had a high tolerance¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°Well, we¡¯ll see if you turn out any better. It¡¯s a very delicate balance, you know. You have to be too out of it to be able to make sense, but not to the point where you die from it. Not easy. Tell me, what¡¯s your level in brain damage tolerance?¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°Brain damage¡­ tolerance¡­?¡± ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t¡­?¡± He frowned. ¡°Weird. You should try leveling up that stuff, you never know when it¡¯ll save your life.¡± He paused. A sound blurted from his throat that almost resembled a laugh. ¡°Not that it¡¯ll matter in a while. Now, then¡­¡± He stood up again. Jarne stared up at him, fairly certain that this was it. Kitty cocked his head at him. ¡°What are you doing? Come on, we have to go.¡± ¡°Huh? Oh, uh¡­¡± He pulled himself to his feet. Not waiting for him, Kitty walked straight into a brush of foliage, forcing Jarne to scramble after. After a minute or so, they emerged into more trekkable open fields. ¡°Weren¡¯t you going to¡­ What is¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to carry you all the way back,¡± Kitty said. ¡°That¡¯d take ages. It¡¯s much easier if you walk by yourself.¡± ¡°You¡¯re telling me,¡± Jarne said, ¡°that you expect me to walk to my own grave?¡± ¡°Basically, I guess.¡± He laughed. This was fucking ridiculous. ¡°You¡¯re a monster.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°When Mole finds out you did this, he¡¯ll never forgive you.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°So, let me get this straight. You spread the plague. You killed Sully. You killed Plus. You killed Jazz. And now, you¡¯re going to kill me.¡± He laughed bitterly. ¡°When do you plan on killing Mole? You must be saving the meatiest piece for last. That¡¯s only obvious. So, when? Do I get to be there?¡± He couldn¡¯t see Kitty¡¯s face, but he knew from his voice that he was frowning deeply. ¡°Most of that was incorrect, but it¡¯s worrying how much wasn¡¯t.¡± He hummed. ¡°But if it makes you feel better, you¡¯ll probably be dead within the coming three days. The dragon plague as a whole is disease resistance level two, but I¡¯ve used up TRR for disease level three and four, so I¡¯ll have to use level five on you. I¡¯m not sure how strong it¡¯ll be, but considering that Jazz died in less than a week from TRR level four, I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯ll die within three.¡± ¡°And then,¡± Jarne said, ¡°you¡¯ll use my heart to heal Mole.¡± ¡°No,¡± Kitty said. ¡°Then, I¡¯ll convince him to leave this city because he won¡¯t have any extra lives left.¡± ¡°Right. Sure, great. You can¡¯t honestly think he¡¯ll agree to that. I mean, you¡¯ve seen the way he¡¯s been these past weeks! He¡¯d rather die than stop working.¡± Head downcast, face turned away from him, Kitty suddenly looked very, very small. ¡°I have to try,¡± he said. ¡°What else can I do?¡± Maybe stop killing your friend¡¯s friends. Maybe stop being such a horrible person. Maybe do a kind thing for once in your life. Maybe¡ª ¡°Let him die,¡± Jarne said. ¡°How many times has he been sick now? Three, four?¡± Kitty didn¡¯t answer. Didn¡¯t even look at him. ¡°Enough times to make anyone suspicious. But not him. And why is that? Because you¡¯ve lulled him into some weird delusion of invulnerability. And, yeah¡­ if you¡¯d asked to heal his sickness earlier, a few months back, he would¡¯ve refused. But he would have had a choice. You trust him, don¡¯t you?¡± After a few moments, Kitty gave a meek nod. ¡°Right. You¡¯re his friend. He¡¯s your friend. And that means that you trust him to make decisions for himself. Sure, maybe he¡¯ll make a decision you disagree with, but if he did it fully knowing the consequences, following his own heart, in relation to himself¡­ It¡¯s his choice to make. Not yours. If you have to control him to be as you want him, you don¡¯t really like him as a friend¡ªyou like him as a concept.¡± Jarne shook his head. ¡°And I know that hurts to hear. You don¡¯t want him to die, or to kill himself, but when it comes to him and his life, then¡ª¡± Something flew at him from the darkness, barbed and growling and with yellow eyes like a cat set in deeply sunken eye holes, tackling him to the grassy field, night dew tickling him coldly as the bony shadow above him pressed him down, a horrible, barely human face closing in on him, nose furled up, lips drawn back to reveal needle-like yellowed teeth. ¡°I am his friend!¡± the horrible shadow snarled. ¡°And he¡¯s my friend!¡± Jarne felt his heart pounding in his chest. The sight above him was terrifying. Every instinct in his body, kept from time immemorial, from when to be the hunter or the hunted was a daily struggle, screamed at him to run, to fight, to attack, and to survive at any cost. But he couldn¡¯t move. Not out of paralyzing fear, but rather, something else entirely. Understanding dawned like a summer sun in his chest. ¡°Why¡­¡± he said, reaching up toward Kitty¡¯s face, ¡°are you crying?¡± Heavy teardrops fell from the wide, trembling eyes. ¡°Huh? Wh¡ªwhat¡­¡± Kitty touched a hand to his face, only for his fingers to recoil at the wet touch, as though scalded by holy water. ¡°No, this isn¡¯t¡­ I¡¯m not¡­¡± Gently, Jarne clambered out from under him. Kitty let him. Jarne watched silently as Kitty sat down and hid his face in his elbow, knees drawn to his chest. Carefully, Jarne approached him. He held out a hand towards him. ¡°Kitty, it¡¯s okay, you don¡¯t¡ª¡± Kitty¡¯s hand flashed out, claws glinting in the moonlight, and suddenly Jarne¡¯s palm was in shreds. Even the bone had been cut. As cleanly as though with a laser. He stared at it. His hand felt warm and wet. His fingers were still attached, but as he moved his wrist, they flopped down like a bundle of limp bananas. He didn¡¯t feel anything. But he could see his flesh. He could feel his hot, warm blood flooding down his arm, soaking into his shirt. ¡°See?¡± a bitter voice rumbled. He turned to see Kitty, looking at him blankly. As though he was stuck in a daze. No¡ªthis was how he usually looked. Apathetic. ¡°I hurt people. It¡¯s what I do. It¡¯s all I can do.¡± He giggled. ¡°Even Moleman. Lord knows I¡¯ve hurt him. But he always forgives me. Isn¡¯t he nice?¡± He smiled. The same kind of smiles wolves gave. ¡°I have a feeling, though, with this¡­¡± He brought his claws to his face, gingerly licking off Jarne¡¯s blood. ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll finally condemn me.¡± ¡°Ah¡­ ah¡­¡± Jarne breathed, trying to put his hand back together again. That was his right hand. That was the hand he used to paint minifigures. He couldn¡¯t lose it. If he did, he wouldn¡¯t be able to continue his game with his players when he came back home. He still hadn¡¯t finished his campaign. This one was going to be his masterpiece. But he couldn¡¯t do it with only one hand. He had to fix it. He had to¡­ A shadow dotted out the stars. Two new moons had appeared in the sky. Jarne gaped up at them. He hadn¡¯t heard him. Hadn¡¯t even seen him. When¡ª ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the moons said. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be able to let you walk all the way to your grave. This will have to be it. I hope that¡¯s okay, Rat. Oh, and¡­¡± The moon split into a crescent smile. ¡°Don¡¯t dwell too much on the irony, okay?¡± Jarne trembled, eyes widening. ¡°P¡ªplease. I¡ªI don¡¯t want to¡ª¡± ¡°They never do,¡± the moons said. A clawed hand of sheer void spread across Jarne¡¯s vision. ¡°Now, please hold still while I¡­¡± He was touched. He saw a flash. He touched her. ¡®Lenna¡ª¡¯ And then, it was all over. 280: F30, Lets Go Home, Okay? I saw the light fade from his eyes. His mouth slacked open, and his arm went a little limp. But he wasn¡¯t dead, and he wasn¡¯t brain-dead. ¡°Uh¡­ uhh¡­¡± Rat muttered. A little bit of drool went down his chin. ¡°Muh¡­ Mommy? Mommy. Hello. Uhh¡­ Muhh¡­ Help. Hello?¡± There we go. That¡¯s proper. That¡¯s how it should be. I go down on one knee. His face slowly adjusts to keep looking at me, but his expression is like that of a dog. A really dumb, unaware dog. ¡°Hey,¡± I say. He blinks at me. But it looks as though he could comprehend that¡ªmostly, at least. ¡°Can you walk?¡± ¡°Wuh, wuh¡­ Uhh¡­¡± ¡°Right. Heh. Guess not, huh¡­¡± I crouch down in front of him. It¡¯s so strange. Alter the brain just a little, and a face that was once so intelligent and full of life becomes¡­ this. He doesn¡¯t even look like himself. He looks like¡­ like if someone took a bit of clay, made a lifelike imitation of his face, and then smooshed it up just a twinge. I inch closer to him. I don¡¯t really want to look at his face. So, looking at the ground, I say, ¡°Do you¡­ do you think Moleman will agree to leave? I really hope he will. You were right when you said it¡¯s unlikely, that he¡¯ll probably want to work to death, but¡­ But I don¡¯t¡­¡± Hot burning scalding heat rises to my cheeks and my eyes and the world blurs again. Gritting my teeth, I raise my face to look at the stars. Maybe then I won¡¯t have to cry. ¡°I don¡¯t want him to die. If he hates me forever, that¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll do anything for him. Even if it means I¡¯ll never get to see him again. But¡ªbut if he dies, then¡­¡± Damn it. I can¡¯t breathe normally. Can barely even talk. The stars are blurring into triplets. ¡°Then¡­ what was all this for¡­?¡± A pair of arms reach out and pull me in with mechanical, rigid movements. Like an animatronic. I blink the tears from my eyes. Above, Rat¡¯s stupid face beams down at me, half-paralyzed muscles contorting into a fool¡¯s impression of a smile. But he¡¯s crying, too. ¡°N¡­ nuhhh¡­ Is¡­ okay¡­ Uhh. Uh. Life¡­ good¡­ M¡ªmuhh¡­¡± His arms aren¡¯t especially strong. I could escape easily, if I wanted to. But I don¡¯t. I stay. For some reason I don¡¯t understand, I stay. Curling up, I stay in his arms. My voice choked by tears, I croak out, ¡°Th¡ªthank you, Rat.¡± It takes almost an hour to work up the strength to leave. ¡°Can you stand up? Here, like this¡­¡± I pull him to his feet. He stumbles a little. He holds up the hand I mangled. ¡°Hurt. Owwh. Oww¡­¡± ¡°Sorry about that. I was just¡­ You startled me. Here, let me see that¡­¡± I pull some bandages Moleman gave me from my inventory. A while back, Jazz taught me how to wind them. I hold out my hand. ¡°Here. Your hand, please.¡± Nodding, he puts his mangled hand in mine. Let¡¯s see, the rabbit goes out of the hole, over the log, under the log, over the log, under the log, over the log, under the log¡­ Hop hop hop hop¡­ ¡°Uhh¡­ Uhhh¡­!¡± ¡°I know it hurts, but I need to bandage it. Or else it could get really hurt.¡± I click my tongue. If only I had a heart on hand, I could heal him fully. But I don¡¯t. All I have is my own hands and my stupid abilities. Do I have a single ability that¡¯s useful outside of killing things? I can¡¯t heal. I can¡¯t help. I can¡¯t do anything. Why does Moleman bother to keep me around? Not that that¡¯ll last much longer. He¡¯ll get fed up with me soon. He has to. Otherwise¡­ I tie together the last part of the bandage. ¡°There, all better. How does it feel?¡± ¡°Heh,¡± Rat says, smiling. I smile back at him. ¡°Okay, good. Great! And you can walk, so¡­¡± He takes a step, stumbles, and takes a bite out of the ground. Alright, maybe it won¡¯t be that simple. Hmm, let¡¯s see here¡­ This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. I pull him back to his feet. ¡°Uhhh¡­ Uhhh¡­!¡± ¡°There, there,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re fine. Don¡¯t cry over something like this. Here, let me have your hand. See? It¡¯s okay.¡± Gulping back tears, he nods at me, resolutely keeping himself from sobbing. I smile. ¡°Alright. Good. Now, let¡¯s go. I¡¯ll hold your hand so you won¡¯t stumble or get lost. Okay?¡± ¡°Ohh¡­ Okay¡­ Th¡ªthank¡­ thank¡­¡± I smile at him. ¡°No problem.¡± We walk all through the night. Sometimes, he got tired and we had to take a little break, but that was okay. We reached the city just in time for dawn. A little sigh escapes my lips, but not Rat¡¯s notice. He tilts his head at me. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. Don¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°Nuhh¡­ uhh¡­¡± It seems I can procrastinate no longer. I turn to him, letting go of his hand as I do. ¡°Hey, Rat? Could you please climb onto my back?¡± ¡°Uhh? Uhh-huh!¡± I kneel down, and almost excitedly, he clambers onto my back. He¡¯s not as heavy as I thought he¡¯d be, so I¡¯m able to stand up without much issue. I glance over my shoulder at him. He looks so excited. ¡°Now,¡± I say, my voice only wavering slightly, ¡°close your eyes. It¡¯s a surprise.¡± ¡°Ahh¡­ Yuh! Thank¡ªthank!¡± He squeezes his eyes shut. How silly. Since he¡¯s got his hand on my shoulder, I don¡¯t have to reach far. Steeling myself, I touch his left hand. <[Touch of Reversed Disease Resistance (Lv.5)]> ¡°Hk¡ª¡± And that¡¯s the only noise he can make before his entire body goes limp, his head slumping down across my right shoulder. Is he¡­ No. I can feel his breath growing haggard, and his skin turning feverishly hot. He¡¯s alive. But not for long. Normally, I would hope that Moleman wouldn¡¯t take it too badly. But not now. Not with this. I want¡­ No, need him to react. To scream and cry and wail at me to save him no matter what. Then I can tell him that there¡¯s no saving him this late, and since I¡¯ve discussed the matter with Benevil, he¡¯ll get a no from him, too. So he¡¯ll understand that this is it. He has to get out of here. Or else, he¡¯ll die. And I won¡¯t be able to stop it. I approach the city gates. ¡°Halt! Who goes¡ª¡± I shoot him a look. He freezes in place. I enter the city, shifting Rat slightly as I do. Moleman isn¡¯t there to greet us, even though I sent him a message explaining that I would be here around this time. Weird. Just in case he missed my message, I send him another one, explaining that I¡¯ll be bringing Rat to the hospital. That should get him going. Reaching the hospital is easy. The streets are pretty much deserted, nowadays. Almost every single doorpost has been marked, so basically everyone is under quarantine. The ones who aren¡¯t are the people forced to do the work needed to keep the city on life-support. Rationing, latrine-emptying, guarding¡­ Standard stuff. The hospital has honestly become kind of superfluous. It¡¯s just a place where people die. And, frankly, why go to the hospital to die when you can do it from the comfort of your own home? Still, there¡¯s nowhere else to put Rat, so that¡¯s where we¡¯re going. I hope Benevil cleaned up the room Jazz trashed. I¡¯m not sure where else I could put him. Benevil meets me in the courtyard, Mitt at his side like usual. She looks weirdly haggard. Now that I¡¯m looking at him, even Benevil comes off a bit more stressed than usual. I hesitate to ask them. ¡°Uh, is everything¡­?¡± ¡°Sorry, not quite,¡± Benevil says curtly, his voice harsh with grief. ¡°Pinn didn¡¯t last the night. We hoped you could, but it¡­¡± He shakes his head starkly. Mitt looks like a haunted porcelain doll. ¡°Let¡¯s not dwell on it. Come¡ªwe have prepared the room again.¡± ¡°Great, thank you. And¡­¡± Mitt looks at me. Eyes like saucers. BLACK. Ah, so she hates me, then. I can understand that. In that case, it doesn¡¯t matter what I say. ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s go.¡± I put Rat to bed, discuss things with Benevil, and then I bid him goodbye. I send another message to Moleman, telling him that we¡¯re in the usual room. Waiting for him. And then, I wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. A hour passes. Two. I send him another message. Another hour passes. And¡­ ¡°Hey! Sorry I¡¯m late, I had to attend a meeting with the new chief of guards regarding the latest batch of executions. Do you think you¡¯ll have time to do them alongside the rationing and everything else? I know it¡¯ll be a large workload, so I¡¯ve actually received the name of a highly respected secretary and assistant who¡¯ll be able to carry out a large portion of the work you¡¯d otherwise do. Is this okay? I know it¡¯s sudden, but¡ª¡± I stand up, my eyes glued to what he¡¯s wearing. To what he isn¡¯t wearing. ¡°Why¡­¡± I swallow dryly. My trembling eyes find his. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you wearing the hazmat suit?¡± ¡°The¡­¡± Smiling, he shakes his head slightly. ¡°Oh! You think¡­?¡± He laughs. ¡°Oh, no, don¡¯t worry about that. See, I¡¯ve thought about it, and I¡¯ve figured out why I haven¡¯t been sick yet. Or, rather, why I¡¯m immune. It¡¯s pretty simple, see, I¡ª¡± Rushing forward, I grab him by the shoulders and throw him out of the door, following closely after. He falls to the floor. ¡°Kitty, what are you¡ª¡± ¡°You aren¡¯t immune,¡± I say, breathing heavily. ¡°You seriously aren¡¯t. So being close to people sick with it, especially Rat, is¡ª¡± He slowly rises to his feet, dusting himself off. ¡°Let me speak fully, please.¡± Years of obedience chokes the words out of me and I fall silent. ¡°Thank you.¡± He smiles lightly. I wonder when he last stopped smiling. ¡°See, it¡¯s simple. I¡¯ve figured out what this plague is, and why I haven¡¯t fallen sick. It¡¯s the same reason you haven¡¯t fallen sick, either! Simply put¡ªmy resistance is too high.¡± ¡°Your¡­ resistance¡­?¡± ¡°Yes, exactly. My divinity resistance. It¡¯s at level three. And since this plague isn¡¯t actually a disease, but rather a spell, it means I¡¯m too strong for it to affect me.¡± ¡°What do you mean, a spell?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a spell. I analyzed it. With some help from the God of Knowledge, I was able to get it narrowed down. I still don¡¯t know what spell caused this, or who cast it, though of course my primary suspect is the God of Kings¡ªor maybe even the king of Acheron. He¡¯s known as a great sorcerer, so I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he did something like this as a test to see if we could handle even a challenge as grand as this.¡± I can feel my head shaking back and forth. What the heck is he on about? What is this? I clench and unclench my hands. When did he become like this¡­? 281: F30, An Apple A Day ¡°You aren¡¯t immune,¡± I say, deliberately. ¡°Nonsense. I haven¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°You aren¡¯t immune,¡± I say again, a little louder this time, ¡°because you have been sick. But¡­ But when Plus donated his heart, it got healed. You were safe, and good.¡± ¡°That¡¯s nice,¡± Moleman says, but his voice is strangely absent. ¡°Lovely for Plus to do that. Helping me out and all.¡± Damn it. What is wrong with him? I push through it. ¡°You aren¡¯t sick right now. But if you were to fall sick¡­¡± I shake my head. ¡°Listen¡ªyou remember I said Jazz had some kind of ultra-fast mutation or whatever? Rat has the same thing. He¡¯s beyond help and he¡¯s beyond talking. He¡¯s basically gone already. I don¡¯t know how this new mutation works, so whether he lasts one day or three is up to chance, but¡­ Yeah. He¡¯ll be dead within days.¡± ¡°That¡¯s no good.¡± ¡°Exactly! It¡¯s not good¡ªit¡¯s bad. It¡¯s really, really freaking bad. Because, guess what? After he dies¡ªI¡¯ll be the only human left. Nobody else will be able to heal you if you fall sick.¡± ¡°I see. That would be problematic, yes. I can¡¯t really do this without you, so I need you around. And I¡¯ll need at least a month or so to fix this plague situation¡­¡± He hums thoughtfully. After a few moments, he holds up his hand and snaps his finger. ¡°I got it! We¡¯ll need to act a bit quickly since Rat is unpredictable right now, but could you call Benevil here?¡± My mouth feels dry. I lick my lips. ¡°Well, uh¡­ Since Cruelty is probably interested in all of this, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if¡­¡± The door to the hallway opens and Benevil steps inside. ¡°He¡¯s kept me updated, yes.¡± Without waiting for me to say anything, he turns to Moleman. ¡°Now, what did you have in mind, dearest mayor?¡± ¡°One of your miracles allows the victim to live for a month longer, right?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. Their body is put in a sort of stasis, getting neither better nor worse, without being infectious, either.¡± His expression doesn¡¯t even waver. ¡°However, I feel like I should mention that I don¡¯t have much time left. Hardly enough to use this expensive miracle.¡± ¡°But it would be possible, no?¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Benevil answers. ¡°Maybe as a favor.¡± His lips spread a little, though it didn¡¯t quite become a smile. It was more of a sneer. ¡°I suppose it would be a fittingly cruel end, to die to let a man suffer like an animal for a month. All so that if things came down to it, you could use him up to continue your reign.¡± A toothy grin. He reached out, and placed his hand on Moleman¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Kitty has truly raised you into a brutally kind ruler, Mole. When this city dies, and you rise from its ashes, I have no doubts that you will continue to conquer and kill with kindness. It fits you.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Moleman said. ¡°So, will you do it?¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. ¡°If my Lord and Master is so cruel as to grant this final request¡ªyes.¡± Anxiously, I let my eyes hover where a certain status message should pop up at any time. Right about now¡­ <[Very well. I shall allow it. You are all too entertaining to let slip away.] Benevil¡¯s expression softens. ¡°I see. So, this is it, then. Will you allow me to bid farewell to my apprentice?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Moleman says sympathetically. ¡°Take all the time you need.¡± ¡°Thank you. You are too kind.¡± He left. I watched him from the window in the door. I could only see his face, crouched down, talking warmly. Kindly. A pair of small, slim arms reached up and around his neck, and now I could see Mitt, too. Her pained, despairing face, her screams muted by the thick walls. And Benevil, patting her on the back, holding her tightly. First her brother, and now him. I can¡¯t help but wonder what¡¯ll become of her. Maybe she¡¯d be better off¡­ I turn to look at Moleman. He must feel horrible. I mean, when we saved her, he was in a right state. Sure, he¡¯s changed a bit since then, but he¡¯s still himself, and she¡¯s still¡ª He isn¡¯t looking at her. He¡¯s looking at the open air, eyes moving left to right. Reading. ¡°What are you looking at?¡± ¡°I¡¯m checking through my notes. There¡¯s a meeting I have to be at in half an hour, but I¡¯ve already canceled one meeting today, so I can¡¯t really afford to skip this one.¡± ¡°You¡¯re leaving?¡± ¡°I think so, yeah. That¡¯s fine, right? It¡¯s not like I can do anything to help. I¡¯ll just be in the way. That¡¯s¡­ okay, right?¡± His smile trembles. ¡°You don¡¯t think I¡¯m a bad friend, do you?¡± ¡°No, of course not,¡± I say easily. ¡°You¡¯re an amazing friend! I mean, if it weren¡¯t for you¡­ Well, you know. I¡¯ve said this whole speech so many times you hardly need to hear it again. I owe you everything.¡± ¡°Thanks, Kitty.¡± The smile rights itself, placidly engraving itself onto his lips. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear that.¡± The door opens and Benevil enters, closely followed by Mitt. Their eyes are both puffy and red. ¡°Is everyone ready?¡± ¡°Ah, sorry, but I¡¯ll be leaving,¡± Moleman says. ¡°I have a meeting I need to get to.¡± Benevil slowly turns to look at him. He cracks a smile. Then, he chuckles. It develops into a giggle. And after only a few seconds, he bursts into full-blown laughter, cackling, hysterics, a fit of mania that forces him to hunch over, supporting himself on his knees, each wheezing laugh interspersed by a hoarse gasp for air. ¡°Oh, oh,¡± he says once he stops giggling and panting. He puts his hand on Moleman¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You are too kind! Oh, I always knew you had it in you, but this is too much, too far. Wonderful! If He hadn¡¯t already had His eye on my dear apprentice, I am certain the God of Cruelty would be most interested in your future exploits.¡± Confused by his outburst, Moleman simply stares back, his smile straining. ¡°Um, okay? Well¡­¡± He looked down at Mitt, regaining some strength. ¡°On that note¡­ Since you¡¯ll be dead soon, I was thinking that I might take her in. Kitty will be busy doing other things, so I¡¯ll be needing an assistant. How does that sound?¡± ¡°As a follower of Cruelty,¡± Benevil said, ¡°I am certain she could find no greater teacher.¡± Moleman bowed politely. ¡°You underestimate yourself, Doctor.¡± ¡°Certainly not.¡± His face darkened slightly. ¡°Now, be off with you. I have an appointment with death.¡± He cocked his head at me. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ll be bringing your little pet with you?¡± Moleman looks at me oddly. ¡°Were you thinking of staying?¡± Ah. Uh¡­ Oh. ¡°No,¡± I say. Why was I thinking of staying? Obviously, my place is at Moleman¡¯s side. There¡¯s no need for me to watch Benevil die. I don¡¯t gain anything from it. I lose nothing. ¡°I¡¯ll come with you.¡± Moleman smiles, relieved. ¡°Great. Let¡¯s get going, then. My nine o''clock is a noble, and they aren¡¯t very keen on waiting.¡± As we leave, I shoot Benevil one last look. ¡°Thanks,¡± I mumble. He nods at me. ¡°May Cruelty spread through you,¡± he said. ¡°And may your master cherish you.¡± I frown at him. The door closes behind me and I see the last of him. Hm. I wonder who he meant. Weird. 282: F30, Schedule May 27th鈥擜pril 3rd At seven, he ate breakfast with his last friend. At nine, he spoke with the Judgess of Krizia regarding her house¡¯s rations and the possibility of increasing manpower through her funding. At eleven, he had a lunch meeting with the leaders of the departments of justice. At twelve-thirty, he attended the day¡¯s execution. Four nobles of house Saad had been arrested trying to organize a riot in order to break through the southern gates. Kitty had sniffed them out, and handily made away with them. They had all agreed to donate, which was lovely. At two, he met with the new director in charge of distributing rations. He asked to receive a large portion as his wife had recently given birth. At three, he took a walk through the city, doing good publicity by personally attending the daily distribution. Someone tried to attack him, but Kitty made away with them. At six, he ate dinner with the late mayor¡¯s wife, alongside her lady friends. As they were all from various noble families, he had good reason to keep on their best side. One of them confessed to him in private that she had entered the city temporarily to visit friends a few months back, and had been barred from leaving. She begged to be allowed exit. At nine, he met for evening tea with Judge Lyth of the Ynnre house, and discussed the coming day¡¯s executions. The honorable judge pleaded with him to pardon one of the young men to be executed¡ªone of the twenty or so looters who had gotten to the Fysh house to ravage it before anyone else. As usual, the bodies had been stolen. Another dead house. The young man was apparently the judge¡¯s nephew. At ten thirty, he spoke in passing with a clutch of guards to encourage them to keep working. At eleven, he retired for the night. Of course, he spent this time in his office. It wasn¡¯t safe at the manor. If he died, the city died. He had to value his life. He had to work. And so, he worked. He sat at his desk, and all throughout the night, he worked. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. At six, he had an appointment. He stood up, stumbled, and was caught. ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°No problem.¡± He moved on. At eight, his last friend came to visit. They talked. Then his last friend left in a rush. He found it worrying. At nine thirty, while speaking with the new Judge of house Feynix, he worried about his last friend. At twelve, while at a lunch meeting with Fr. Blueroot, he worried about his last friend. At one thirty, while signing off on the new ward by the north gate, he worried about his last friend. At three, he was told that his last friend was no longer in the city. At five past three, he sent him away to bring back his last friend. At three thirty, he waited. At four, he waited. At four thirty, he waited. At five, he waited. At six, he waited. At seven, he waited. At nine, he waited. At midnight, he waited. At two, he waited. At four, he waited. At five, he waited. At five thirty, he waited. At a quarter to six, he waited. At six, his last friend had finally been brought home. At six thirty, he met with the heir to the house of Dagrun regarding the upcoming distribution of rations. At seven, he ate breakfast alone. At a quarter past eight, he went to visit his last friend. At a quarter to nine, he was alone. At nine, he had a meeting with someone and spoke about something. At ten thirty, someone spoke to him, and he answered in Swedish. They didn¡¯t notice. At twelve, he ate lunch together with his shadow. At one, his shadow suggested something, though he wasn¡¯t sure what. He agreed to it. At two thirty, he passed out and woke up. When he realized he wasn¡¯t at home, he cried. At three, he met with a judge about killing people. The judge thought that more people should be killed, because it would save more people. He agreed. In the Arabic numbers, he wrote down a note. 0 + 1 - 1 = 0. So it was okay. At a quarter to four, he vomited. At five, the shadow spoke to him. At some point, the day ended. He was alone. The next day began. He was alone. The next day began. He was alone. It was April, and of the thirty-five thousand remaining survivors, twenty-six thousand, eight-hundred and forty-two were sick. His last friend had been dying for a week. The shadow told him he was sick. On the third of April, at eight in the morning, Emil was admitted into the room adjacent to that of his last friend. 283: F30, Smiling So, another room had been converted. It looked pretty good. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of things in your stead. And Mitt will ensure that you¡¯re kept up to date. As far as I can tell, you aren¡¯t sick with what Rat has, so that¡¯s, you know¡­ good.¡± The room used to contain others, but they had been moved. It didn¡¯t matter. It had been scrubbed and cleaned and fresh bedsheets and curtains had been brought in. The curtains waved at him from the window. They were pink. ¡°I was supposed to have a meeting today at eleven. Will you go in my stead?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m not¡­ Heh, well, you know me, right? I¡¯m not exactly a meetings type of guy. I¡¯d rather just watch things. But I can¡¯t, so¡­ I think the best way to do this is if you write a list of people to be kept up to date, and I¡¯ll tell them everything they need to know. Of course, I¡¯ll hold a speech tomorrow to tell everyone that you¡ª¡± The world flashed with light and darkness and images of weaved intestines and flying claws and crashing windows and wind howling through dying dead killed hallways dashed through his brain with swords in hand shouting and screaming for him, kill, kill, kill, and his heart went cold, something cold going through it, stabbing him, killing him, making him cold, and dead, and¡ª ¡°Moleman? Moleman, are you okay?¡± ¡°Today. Today. It has¡ªit has to be today. You get it, right?¡± Smile. Smile. He had to smile. Polite! Responsible, and pleasant to look at. And now, to truly express how delightful his company was¡ªa laughter. Ha-ha-ha! That way, they would like him, and everything would go well. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°If you do it tomorrow, they might¡­ You know¡­ Haha! You know what they might do!¡± ¡°You mean, the¡­?¡± The shadow painted across the room, the darkness slashed across the floor and up the walls, the shade that stared with eyes of yellow, wavered before him. ¡°Oh. Yeah. Those guys.¡± A hum filled the room. Unpleasant. Horrible. Grating. Smile! Smile. Always. Always smile. ¡°I think we should get rid of them. I¡¯ve checked the numbers, and the amount of rations they¡¯re gobbling up is really senseless. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention this, but I¡¯ve been doing a bit of independent research, and house Fysh has been embezzling the rations. That is, selling them in return for services and things. It¡¯s real bad. So, I¡¯m thinking we should just get rid of them. It wouldn¡¯t be too hard.¡± ¡°All of them?¡± ¡°Yeah, basically.¡± The room was so pretty. The wallpapers were colorful, and had a floral pattern. It was like sitting in the middle of a meadow. And the view outside really wasn¡¯t too bad. He could see all the way to the cathedral. It was such a gorgeous building. When he got better, and the city got better, and all this ended, he would have loved to come back to visit together with all his friends. Like going on a vacation. It was pretty similar to the German churches and cathedrals he used to visit while on vacation with his family. He¡¯d never been too excited for them, but his brother was always very curious to see them. Beautiful. It was all so beautiful. ¡°Okay. Sounds good, Kitty.¡± ¡°Right. I¡¯ll take care of that tonight. Do you think I should mention it in my speech?¡± The clouds were pretty, too. Cottonballs in the sky. This one was a cat. That one was a mouse. And around they went¡ªround and round and round and round. ¡°No, you don¡¯t want them to be prepared. Do it quietly. If they catch on, they might retaliate together. The city wouldn¡¯t be able to withstand that.¡± ¡°Good point. I¡¯ll make sure it happens under wraps. Come morning, we¡¯ll have one less thing to worry about, and the city will be none the wiser. Great!¡± Sunny. Blue skies. Clouds. Pretty curtains. ¡°Yeah. It sure is.¡± He wished he could fly. Far, far away. Into the beautiful blue tomorrow. On a cloud of cotton. With all his friends at his side. And there would be no shadows. And no nighttime. And no yesterdays to regret. And no tomorrows to fear. Only today. And today was beautiful. 284: F30, Ghost Quintet ¡°We¡¯ve run out of rations, but I¡¯ve been going into dead houses and eating all the corpses and transforming them into rats, so I was thinking I could distribute those? Would that be fine?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°A lot of people have connected me to the nobles disappearing, is it okay if I take care of those, too? But like, in a more public fashion, so people know not to mess with the government.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve sniffed out a bunch of people planning on storming one of the gates, and I want to keep this from being a problem in the future, so could I just, like¡­ Kill them, and then pile their corpses against the gates? That way, people won¡¯t be able to escape without going through a bunch of dead bodies. What do you think?¡± ¡°Sounds good to me.¡± ¡°Alright, so I¡¯ve been distributing them for a while now, and I¡¯m starting to run out of rats. I was going to assume it¡¯d be fine, but I just want to get your input on it. Is it okay if I do a few more rounds? To slow the spread, I could even, like, pull a cart behind me, go pick up bodies, convert them to rats¡­ I might have to distribute them raw on account of the time strain. I¡¯m mainly asking because I think, if I do this, people will catch on, and they might not want to eat the rats. Considering that it came from, you know, the dead bodies of their friends and family.¡± ¡°Then let them die.¡± ¡°You¡¯re starting to get a bit bad. I¡¯ll be amputating your leg. That way, you can still work. Isn¡¯t that nice?¡± ¡°That¡¯s nice.¡± The shadow ate his left leg. The darkness crept closer. ¡°Hey, Mole. How are you? It¡¯s been a while, hasn¡¯t it? I just wanted to let you know that, heh, yeah, I made it out! I totally escaped this whole situation. Sorry I didn¡¯t tell you earlier. Jazz wanted to, but, you know¡­ Yeah. You know me. I always make it out of these situations, don¡¯t I? Heh, remember when we all went into that ante-purgatory trial stuff, and I almost got eaten by a spider? I got stuck in the webs, but then you came rushing to my side, and you got me out of it, but then you didn¡¯t know where to put me, so I almost fell to my death instead? Yeah, that was crazy! But I always survived. I¡¯ll keep doing that, so you don¡¯t need to worry. I¡¯m fine.¡± The shadow returned. ¡°I really suck at this. Keeping contact with people is horrible. Honestly, and I know you won¡¯t like hearing this, but I¡¯ve seriously given up on trying to manage everyone. Besides, basically nobody is in any state to work. I guess Mitt¡¯s the only real exception there, but that¡¯s because Cruelty preliminarily made her his apostle, which makes her immune to the dragon plague. Which is nice, sure, but the way she looks at me sometimes¡­ Makes me nervous. I think, once this is all over, I¡¯ll send her away just so I won¡¯t have to look at her. But, right now, she¡¯s the only person who can tend to you. So, it¡¯s a necessary sin, I guess.¡± ¡°Yeah, I guess.¡± ¡°Right. Anyways, your other leg needs to come off. That¡¯s okay, right?¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± ¡°Good. Great. I never expected anything different from someone like you, Moleman.¡± The shadow ate his right leg. The darkness crept closer. ¡°H¡ªhi, Mole, it¡¯s¡­ Sorry, I just¡­ It¡¯s a bit hard to see you like this. But Rat told me you¡¯d make it, so I guess this is¡­ It¡¯s a necessary loss, maybe? I¡¯m not sure. Sully was always the more medically learnt of us, you know¡­ I was just the healer because I didn¡¯t know what else to be. I wanted to be a cool mage, like you are, but I¡­ I didn¡¯t have the guts. Fighting things makes my legs shake. But you never teased me. Not even once. And I¡­ To me, that meant the world. But you never seemed to see it as anything strange. Teasing people wasn¡¯t in your nature. Still isn¡¯t. But I¡­ I¡ªI don¡¯t¡­ I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s happening to you anymore. I¡¯m scared, Mole. Because you are still Mole, aren¡¯t you? If not¡­ Who are you?¡± The shadow returned. ¡°Hoo, boy. Another riot. I don¡¯t understand how people keep having the strength to riot when they¡¯re basically walking corpses, the lot of them. The guards weren¡¯t any help. When I showed up, they actually turned on me, me! Yeah, despite me being your stand-in and trusted representative, they went against me. So, as unfortunate as it was, I had to do away with them. The latest captain of the guards tried to beg for their lives to be spared, but I personally counted that as a form of going against you, which is technically treason, so I had to do away with him, too. It¡¯s all for a good cause, of course. By the way, I¡¯m not asking people if they want to donate or not anymore. My thought process is, if they¡¯ve already been so callous and cruel as to break the laws and go against you, they have forfeited their rights to life, and also their right to their own body. So, I can use it as necessary. I hope that¡¯s okay with you, Moleman.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°It¡¯s okay with me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s perfect. Love hearing it. Now, which arm do you want amputated? One needs to go, but I¡¯m not sure which you¡¯d prefer. You¡¯ve been using the left one as your primary hand for three years now, but your right hand is your actual dominant hand. So, which will it be?¡± ¡°Whichever¡­ works best.¡± ¡°Right. Great. I don¡¯t know if I said this before, but I think that in times like these, we can¡¯t afford to waste any flesh. So, your limbs will be going to the rat-making project. That¡¯s no issue, is it?¡± ¡°No issue.¡± ¡°Excellent. In that case, I¡¯ll go with your left arm. Guess you won¡¯t be able to play the lute for a while, huh, Moleman?¡± The shadow ate his left arm. The darkness crept closer. ¡°I¡¯m not disappointed, Mole. This wasn¡¯t your fault. You put your faith and your trust into the wrong person. Please¡­ when this is all over, don¡¯t hate him. Don¡¯t hate yourself for trusting him. He was your friend. Maybe he still is. We may not always have seen eye-to-eye on everything regarding him, but I have never doubted your sense of morals. You always did what you thought was right. I admired that in you. I¡¯m not sure why I didn¡¯t tell you until now¡­ Maybe I was prideful. You seemed to look up to me, and I didn¡¯t want to shatter that. Before all this, I used to be a truck mechanic. I told you that, but you didn¡¯t seem to understand why I was ashamed of telling you. I thought, then, that I¡¯d dropped my big secret. I¡¯m not some mystical adult, with everything figured out. I¡¯m only in my early thirties. I don¡¯t know anything. But you made me feel like an adult. A real one. One who could guide you towards a better future. But¡­ I don¡¯t think I can guide you anymore. This is as far as my help goes. From now on, you¡¯re on your own. That¡¯s what it means to become an adult¡ªI just hope you keep a firm grip on your morals. Lord knows plenty of adults forget that one at home.¡± The shadow returned. ¡°Hey, Moleman.¡± ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°There¡¯s only your right arm left.¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°After this, a month will have passed. It¡¯s almost May.¡± ¡°Almost.¡± ¡°Rat won¡¯t be in his stasis anymore. I asked Mitt, and there¡¯s no freezing him again. This is it. One arm, and in a week or so, Rat won¡¯t be around. So, I¡¯m thinking¡­ We need to get out of here. I can¡¯t let you stay here. This city¡­ it¡¯s beyond saving, you know? There¡¯s nothing left to save. So, my thought process is¡­ Because, just because we run away doesn¡¯t mean we need to fail. When I first came here, I had a pretty good idea for how to fix this. See, we only need to solve the plague situation, right? There¡¯s no need to actually save anyone. If we look at this as a sort of patient-zero situation¡­ We just need to keep the plague from spreading. Which we can do, by doing away with everyone. I¡¯ve thought about this for a while now. I know how to¡­¡± He sat up. He lifted his blackened arm and pointed it at the shadow. A recently learned, higher-tier spell flashed through his mind. The codex formed around his wrist, converting the tawny divinity rushing from his heart into a specific form, a specific spell, pointed right at that horrible shadow. Divinity surged within him. His heart rushed, skipping one beat, two, what little blood he had left speeding to deliver enough divinity to execute the spell. It wasn¡¯t enough. His hand exploded. ¡°Wh¡ªwh¡ªwhat the heck¡ª¡± He slumped back down. ¡°What the heck was that, Moleman?! What were you even trying to¡­ I mean, if this was an attempt to make my work on your right arm easier, then I¡¯ll remind you that one hand¡ªwhich you now currently lack¡ªis equal to one rat, which can feed a goblin for a day. Doing that could have led to someone¡¯s death. Is that what you want? I¡¯m really disappointed in you, Moleman. But, I mean¡­ What¡¯s done is done, I guess. I¡¯ll just keep doing my work, despite you making things harder. Because, yeah. I hadn¡¯t gotten to that point, but yes, I was going to amputate your right arm. Or were you that excited to get rid of it? Sometimes, I really can¡¯t understand your thought process, Moleman. By the way, with this, you¡¯ll have one week left to live. Anyways¡­¡± The shadow ate his arm. The darkness overtook him. In the darkness, a silhouette approached him, her face burning with rage. ¡°So. Now you know how it feels, Mole. Being mute, unable to scream out in terror because of how horribly unfair this world is. Or maybe it¡¯s just your dear Kitty. Do you regret it now? Letting such a blight on the world live? I always knew it¡¯d come to this. Ever since I first saw him, I knew he wasn¡¯t human. But I thought better of you. I looked at you, and I thought, ¡®Now there¡¯s a guy who¡¯ll make it far!¡¯ Not that I was right about that, either. You¡¯re as bad as he is. No¡­ You¡¯re worse. Have you ever thought about that? Or maybe that¡¯s what you want. You want to be just as bad as he is, because then when you die, nobody will have to mourn you. You¡¯ll go down in history as another horrible hoeksak, and Kitty won¡¯t have to mourn you. That¡¯d be nice, wouldn¡¯t it? Such a lovely fantasy. A pretty delusion that Kitty won¡¯t let you make into a reality. You realize that, right? There¡¯s no way you haven¡¯t caught on by now. He¡¯s not going to let you die. If he could choose between you and the world, he¡¯d choose you. Even if he had to kill the world himself. Because he doesn¡¯t give a shit about the world. The world made him feel nothing but bad, so he feels justified in making the world feel bad, too. But you¡¯re different. You made him feel good. Like he was a good person.¡± The silhouette sneered. ¡°So, he wants to change that. If he can make you condemn him¡­ Tell him that he¡¯s a bad person¡­ That he doesn¡¯t deserve to feel good¡­ Then, he¡¯ll finally let you go. Then he can kill you without feeling guilty. Because you¡¯ll confirm in him the one fact he holds above all the rest¡ªthat he¡¯s a bad person, undeserving of love.¡± She moved closer. Hanging over him. Looming, grinning. ¡°You know what to do, then. You want to die, Mole? You want to finally be free from this suffering? You want to escape this monster you made?¡± Her face was right above him. A ceiling of darkness. ¡°Tell him the truth. ¡°Then, you¡¯ll be free.¡± Emil drew in a rasping, weak breath. In, and out. In, and out. ¡°...Okay.¡± 285: F30, Unsuitable Work Sure, it¡¯s not like Moleman made it look easy or anything, but running a city is absolutely not something I¡¯m fit for. Trying to keep everyone on the same page and up to date is a logistical nightmare, and combined with the fact that I¡¯m simply not good at talking to people, it makes things all the worse. At least the weather is nice. Yes, in fitting with it finally becoming May, the rain and cold have actually let up! It¡¯s now sunny, mild weather, and the sky is a cloudless blue. It¡¯s honestly a very pretty day. Such a shame that the warmth makes the bodies rot faster. ¡°That house has one in it, that one has two, and that house is full, so send in a squad,¡± I say, pointing to each designated house. At my side, the most recent captain of the guards nods hurriedly, his head slung low, eyes moving wildly as he starts barking orders at his equally frazzled-looking subordinates. Most of the guards are now wearing the leather hazmat suits to cope with the plague, but this guy¡ªwhatever his name was¡ªhas his face visible. That¡¯s how I can tell that his eyes and cheeks are sunken in¡ªa good sign for his working diligence. ¡°Chop, chop, chop.¡± I glance back. It¡¯s only the first gathering of the day, and we¡¯ve already got three carts full of bodies. Most of them are fairly fresh, but a few are really old. Since I¡¯m busy with things, I only assist with the gathering once a week or so. If I didn¡¯t, a certain some groups of people would refuse to give us the bodies of their deceased family members for dumb sentimental reasons. But since I¡¯m here, I can just sniff, point, and whoosh! One more body to make rations out of. One more body to spend five minutes eating and transforming into rats. Oh, boy, I sure do have my work cut out for me. Yippie. This floor is soooooo fun. As I grumble about such things, someone bursts out from their house. Ah, it¡¯s a kid. It runs up to me, panting and trembling from weakness. Desperately, it grabs onto the tatters of my clothes. ¡°Angel!¡± it says. ¡°Angel, please¡­ save my dad! He¡¯s sick, and I¡¯ve heard you can commit miracles¡ªmiracles that cost a life. I¡¯m prepare to give mine, so please¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯re breaking quarantine,¡± I say. ¡°You do know that¡¯s a death sentence, right?¡± The little kid goes pale. From the corner of my eye, I spot the latest captain of the guards, Mr Whatshisname, averting his gaze, unable to bear watching. Well, whatever. If I¡¯d been someone of actual importance, I might have chastised the guards for allowing a potential assassin to get so close. But considering that I¡¯m hardly the one in danger here¡­ I¡¯ll let it slide. The kid looks down at the ground between us¡ªat his tattered shoes, and my pale, clawed feet. When he looks up again, his eyes are glittering. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s from awe or tears. ¡°But you¡¯re an angel. You can save my father. I¡¯ll give my life¡ªanything else I have is yours. Please¡­¡± I raise my hand to execute him, but then another goblin rushes out, slightly larger, and going by the lack of mane, female. She clutches the kid in her arms. ¡°No! He doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s talking about¡ªplease! Let us go. I beg of you, angel¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re also breaking quarantine,¡± I say. Does this entire bloodline need a lesson in obeying the laws or something? Her ears fold back like a scared rabbit. Silently, head bowed, she goes down on her knees, pushing her kid down as well. ¡°Please. Spare us. We have nothing. With my husband¡¯s death, there is nothing left for us. I beg of you, use your power to¡­¡± She keeps speaking, but I¡¯m looking up at the house she came from. Sniff sniff. Yeah, he¡¯s dead. I turn to the latest captain of the guards, pointing at the house. ¡°One in there.¡± And then I point down at the two in front of me. ¡°Two over here.¡± His body jerks. He looks like he wants to say something. The last captain of the guards had done that, too. And then he¡¯d made the mistake of speaking. Not very clever. He didn¡¯t last long. Considering that this latest captain isn¡¯t saying anything, he might last a little longer. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The mother looks up at me. ¡°What are you¡ª¡± I do away with them both. The latest bodies are thrown into the cart, and then we move on. This really is tedious. It just never ends, you know? We arrive at my office. Since the raid, and since I did away with all of the nobles, the mayor¡¯s manor has basically been left to rot. But I had a better idea. So, now, the entire manor has been converted into a little office for me, which also works as a rat slaughterhouse and skinning operation. Because, yes, I¡¯m so nice that I have the rats skinned and gutted before handing them out as rations. If there was an ¡®employee of the month¡¯ for this city, I¡¯d have earned it five times over. Anyways, I wave the carts with the bodies into the east wing, where they¡¯re unloaded into the butchering section. There, a couple of workers disassemble them into more manageable chunks, which are funneled directly into my office. Going into said office, I take a seat and begin my part of the operation¡ªnamely converting the meat into rats. Isn¡¯t that nice of me? I could just have fed everyone the diseased meat and been happy, but instead, I¡¯m giving them fresh, healthy rat flesh! I¡¯m too kind, really. Anyway, meat goes into my mouth, rats go out into a specific hole in the wall which goes into the rat manufacturing portion. All rat rations¡ªor rations, as I would call them if the pun didn¡¯t work too well to be legible¡ªare distributed fresh, on the daily, delivered straight to their houses. Truly a luxury. While in my office, I receive some visitors. The first one is¡­ some guy who cares too much about healing people. ¡°With your assistance, oh angel, we believe that we may be able to¡­¡± ¡°Could you lift your head so I can actually hear you? Thanks.¡± Still kowtowing, trembling in every limb, he raises his head. ¡°Forgive me. Please forgive me. It wasn¡¯t my intention to¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, whatever, just tell me what you wanted to hear.¡± Saying so, I take a bite out of a foot, frowning slightly at the rotten, putrefied taste. ¡°Y¡ªy¡ªyes, of course, erm, that is¡­¡± While he continues rambling about whatever it is he¡¯s worried about, I let my eyes trail around the room. I refuse to do paperwork, so I don¡¯t have a desk. Instead, I have a pile of yet-to-be-eaten flesh, which is continuously added on by a hole in the wall flushing in the latest additions. Originally, I hadn¡¯t intended on having to talk to anyone in here. But then someone who¡¯s no longer with us mentioned that if I¡¯m anyways just sitting around, I might as well use the time more productively by accepting guests. Which¡­ Yeah, okay. That works. Unfortunately, there¡¯s one issue with this plan. It¡¯s just so boring to listen to people whine about things I couldn¡¯t care less about. ¡°Rejected,¡± I say randomly, not even listening for a lull in his monologue to inject it into. He looks at me as though I¡¯d killed him already. ¡°P¡ªpardon?¡± he asks with a stutter. Why do they always stutter? It¡¯s getting old. Should I just do away with him to avoid the droll stuttering? Ah, but then I¡¯d have to pull him apart¡­ Or I¡¯d have to call someone to drag his body away¡­ That¡¯s such a chore. If only Moleman was here, I wouldn¡¯t have to care about this stuff. I could just zone out, and¡­ Well, I¡¯m zoning out already, but whatever. ¡°Angel, I¡ªI assure you, I hold nothing but respect when I ask of you¡­¡± ¡°If you don¡¯t leave in the next minute, I¡¯ll consider it treason and execute you.¡± That usually gets them moving. Not this guy, though. So, he¡¯s stupider than I initially thought. ¡°Angel, I hate to ask this, but¡­ Before, I had very good interactions with¡ªwith your master¡­ The honorable SuperMoleman. I was thinking, if you only let me speak to him, then¡ª¡± I put the foot down and swallow what was in my mouth. Then, I stand up. He draws back in fear. ¡°Ah¡ªah, no, s¡ªsorry, I misspoke! I meant no harm, it really wasn¡¯t¡ª¡± I do away with him. Staring down at what¡¯s left, I frown. Opening the door, I lean out and wait until I can see a worker. ¡°Hey, you¡ªcome clean up this mess, will you?¡± They hurry over. Soon, the body is gone. A few minutes later, he shows up again through the chute on the right, adding to the pile of flesh. I convert him to rats. Life goes on. And in the afternoon, I go to the hospital. I walk alone. The streets are empty. There are no bodies. There are no rats. All of them have been scavenged, scrounged up and turned into food for the remaining survivors¡ªwhich is not a lot, mind you. Less than half of the original population remain. The majority of them are sick. If we¡¯d followed Rat¡¯s plan, those people would¡¯ve been healed now, and the plague would¡¯ve been over. But there¡¯s no point in mulling over the past. I spot someone down the street. I give a sniff. Ah, he¡¯s breaking quarantine. Bad, bad goblin. I head towards him to tell him that, only to have him run towards me. Soon, he plants a knife in my chest, right through my heart. He lights up in triumph. I sigh. ¡°You¡¯re breaking quarantine,¡± I say tiredly. ¡°Also, trying to kill me is illegal, though not a death sentence like the former is.¡± His expression falls. Now that I look at him, he looks pretty ragged. The plague really did a number on this guy, huh? I pat him on the shoulder. He looks briefly confused before I do away with him and eat one of his hands to recover my heart. It¡¯s unusual for them to go straight for the heart, though. Most of them go for my stomach, or my neck, which is a good bet, but still incorrect. I guess you¡¯d need a mob to pull together a proper attack on me now. Unfortunately, since I keep track of any large gatherings, this isn¡¯t very feasible. Well, whatever. After a bit more walking, I reach the hospital, where I go to visit an old friend. 286: F30, An Exception ¡°Hey there, Rat,¡± I say, stepping inside. ¡°Today¡¯s the day. I brought a few sweets, thought you might like it.¡± ¡°Unh. Unh. Unnhhh,¡± he says, rocking back and forth with each sound. It¡¯s a little impressive. ¡°I¡¯m sure he will,¡± Mitt says, accepting them. I look down at her. Yeah, there¡¯s definitely something off about her. Ever since she became the apostle of cruelty, she¡¯s been weirdly calm. Like she¡¯s got everything figured out. ¡°See, Rat? Kitty brought sweets. Wasn¡¯t that lovely of him?¡± ¡°Y¡ªyuhh¡­¡± ¡°I know. Here, open your mouth¡­ Say aaaahhh¡­¡± ¡°Aaaahhh¡­ aaaaahhhhhh¡­¡± She fed him a few of the sweets, smiling warmly. ¡°That¡¯s good. Very good, Rat,¡± she says. Leaning back out, she turns to me. ¡°Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Angel of Death?¡± I frown at her use of the ridiculous, unflattering and completely incorrect nickname people have been using for me. At least I know she¡¯s not being serious. ¡°Actually, there is. But I¡¯d like to take it¡­¡± I nod meaningfully towards Rat. ¡°...Elsewhere?¡± She gives me a look. I know what she¡¯s saying. We both know Rat can¡¯t understand. Not like a normal person would. But still, I just¡­ ¡°Alright,¡± she says. ¡°The waiting room, then.¡± ¡°That¡¯ll be great.¡± She follows me outside, closing the door behind her. Since I know it¡¯s what she¡¯s expected, I speak quickly. ¡°It¡¯s about my floor-clearing plan.¡± ¡°Oh, boy, here it is. Are you really doing it?¡± ¡°Yeah. Tonight, May fifth. I¡¯ve said this before, but unless you want to be part of the cleanse, I suggest you leave the city before nightfall.¡± ¡°Do you really think you could kill me?¡± ¡°Since you haven¡¯t learned how to use euthanasia yet¡ªyes, I do. So, since Cruelty hardly wants to lose another apostle so soon after the last one, I recommend you heed his wishes and leave.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not my boss, and neither are you.¡± ¡°He literally is, and I literally am. But, you know what? If you want to die, sure. Stick around. Be my guest.¡± ¡°You know something?¡± she asks. I perk an eyebrow at her. ¡°I still don¡¯t get it.¡± ¡°Get what? What¡¯s there to get?¡± ¡°Why,¡± she said, deliberately, ¡°won¡¯t you use me to save him? It¡¯s all been set up very conveniently. You could heal him with that drooler in there, hang around, play friends for a while longer, and then use me for the final heal. No need to rush it, now. Wouldn¡¯t that work out great for you?¡± I look down. The floor is suddenly very interesting. ¡°But you¡¯d die,¡± I say. ¡°You can¡¯t want that.¡± ¡°You shouldn¡¯t care.¡± ¡°Moleman saved you,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re important to him.¡± ¡°As if Rat isn¡¯t even more so?¡± ¡°Rat¡¯s already going to die. But you¡¯re¡ª¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Why won¡¯t you kill me?¡± ¡°Because,¡± I growl, ¡°I don¡¯t want to! Shouldn¡¯t that be enough? It¡¯s an inconvenience to kill you. That¡¯s enough, isn¡¯t it? What more could you possibly want as an excuse? Do you want me to cry and sob and weep because you¡¯re just a kid? Because I¡¯ve known you for a couple months? Because you matter to me? Well, if you do, I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t be able to deliver. None of those things are true. I don¡¯t care a lick about you. I just want¡­ All I need is¡­¡± She sighs, shrugs, shakes her head, and examines the ceiling with as much scrutiny as I did the floor. ¡°Fine. You know what? I¡¯ll give you a reason. If you let me live, I can tell everyone that your precious master didn¡¯t do this. It was all you. Every little piece. I¡¯ll be a living witness to your wrongs, and poor little nub-leg in the room over won¡¯t have to explain to the king why the whole city died and was replaced by equally dead rats. That makes sense, right? That¡¯s a logical, faultless explanation for why you could possibly want me to live. There¡¯s no other reason. Nothing emotional or attachment based. Does that satisfy you, Angel?¡± My shoulders fall a little further. I bite my lip. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, softly. ¡°Something like that.¡± When I look up again, she¡¯s smiling, softly. ¡°Right. I¡¯ll be gone before sundown. But I won¡¯t say goodbye, because I know we¡¯ll meet again. Though, right now, I can¡¯t say whether we¡¯ll do it as enemies or friends.¡± ¡°Time will have to tell,¡± I mumble. She hums. ¡°Yeah. Time will have to tell.¡± For a few seconds, we look at each other. I smile. ¡°Could you let me be alone with Rat for a moment? Just a few minutes.¡± ¡°Sure. Call me when you¡¯re done.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± I head back inside. Rat turns to me, mindlessly smiling. I take a seat next to him. Sniffing carefully, I¡¯m able to tell when Mitt¡¯s far away enough not to be a factor. But I know that if Cruelty finds this interesting enough, he¡¯ll spill the beans anyway. Not that I care at this point. ¡°Hey, Rat,¡± I say again. ¡°How are you? Did the sweets taste good?¡± ¡°Unh. Unh. Unh. Unh.¡± ¡°Right. That¡¯s good. That makes me¡­ happy.¡± My hands curl into fists. ¡°So¡­¡± I feel myself smile. ¡°You were right. All along. All the way back then, when you tried to run away, and I caught you. You were right all along. I just¡­ I didn¡¯t want to think about it. But you get it, don¡¯t you? It¡¯s a bitter pill to swallow. It¡¯s not strange it took me this long. It still¡­ It still hurts, you know? But I think about it every day.¡± Reaching out, I take a hold of his hand. It¡¯s warm. It anchors me to the here and now. It doesn¡¯t do anything to stop the tears, though. ¡°You were right. I¡¯m not a good friend to him. I don¡¯t¡ª¡± I hiccup, forcing down a haggard breath through the rising sobs. ¡°I don¡¯t even think I¡¯m his friend, at all. ¡°Yesterday,¡± I continue, ¡°while I was working, I tried to recall things I knew about Moleman. Like, what his favorite animal was, or his most played video game. And I couldn¡¯t think of anything. I checked through our messages. We never¡­ Three years together, and we never really talked. Not about things that matter. Like¡­ I can¡¯t recall what his brother¡¯s name was. I¡¯m sure he said it, at some point. I know how important his brother is to him. But it never registered. I never¡­ cared about it. Not really. All I ever cared about was the fact that he was my friend, and I was his. That was the only important thing. Not him, not our actual friendship¡­ Just the idea of it. ¡°And I really was terrible. An absolute garbage friend. I think¡­ I think the first time he asked me not to kill goblins¡­ must have been after I¡¯d finished the third or fourth floor. I can¡¯t remember. But it was three years ago. Three years, and I still haven¡¯t taken that damn promise to heart! And then there were all the other times I promised him this and that. But I didn¡¯t actually listen. I thought¡­ Stupidly, I thought that a friendship was unconditional. Like, you¡¯re friends with someone, and then you¡¯re friends forever, and no matter what you do, it doesn¡¯t change that fact. But that¡¯s not how it works. A friendship¡­ it¡¯s like a car. You have to work on it all the time or else it won¡¯t run smoothly. Routine check ups and occasional breakdowns is one thing, but to really keep it going¡­ To make sure it actually runs well¡­ You have to drive it. You have to uphold the friendship at its base level. And I never did that. I¡¯ve done the friendship equivalent of buying a car and then leaving it out in a field for three years, to then expect it to start up instantly at the turn of the key. Isn¡¯t that stupid? What an idiot I am! A horrible, horrible idiot, and an even worse friend!¡± I crumble down into my chair. I can¡¯t really see anymore. Everything is all blurred. ¡°You saw what I did to him. That¡¯s why you tried to run away. You did exactly what I always should have done. Because I clung on to Moleman like a starved tick, he became like this. I don¡¯t know what he is anymore. He¡¯s not himself. I ruined that. I ruined him. That¡¯s not something a friend does. But¡­¡± I feel a smile rise to my lips. A weak, desperate one. But a true one. ¡°I¡¯m going to fix it, though. See, Moleman¡­ Right now, he doesn¡¯t feel anything. I can tell. I can see that part of myself in him. The part that doesn¡¯t care if he lives or dies.¡± I speak slowly, letting the words come to me, one by one. ¡°I understand that part very closely. That¡¯s why I know that there¡¯s only two real ways to get rid of it. The first would be to give him something to love. Something to make him decide that life¡¯s worth living, as long as he can protect it. But there¡¯s nothing like that left. I took it all away, hoping that I could be that thing in his life. I¡¯m not, though. I never will be. I wanted to be his tool, so now, that¡¯s all I am. However, there¡¯s another solution.¡± My smile broadens as I recall the face of an old friend; another one I ruined. Someone with eyes of BLACK hatred. ¡°I just have to make him hate me enough to make killing me his life goal.¡± I look to Rat for a response¡ªanything. He smiles back at me, gently. I squeeze his hand. I guess that¡¯s what I should expect. That¡¯s what I get, at least. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ll try to do with this. In a sense, I think I''ve been trying to do this for a while, to little success. Though, with this, I might finally succeed.¡± I chuckle. ¡°If nothing else, I can¡¯t possibly be a worse friend than I already am. What I¡¯ll do tonight is just the natural culmination of all that. So, what I¡¯ll do to him¡­ It¡¯s basically okay.¡± I search for words. ¡°I¡¯m not forcing him to live, I¡¯m... compelling him to. That¡¯s it. Sometimes, all you need is a little push. That¡¯s what I think he needs. You agree, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yuh-yuh,¡± Rat answers intelligently. I smile warmly at him. ¡°Thank you. That means a lot to hear.¡± Standing up, I move for the door. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be seeing you tomorrow! The city¡¯s going to get real hot before then, so make sure not to die during the night, okay?¡± ¡°Yuhhh, yuhhh¡­ Unnhh¡­¡± ¡°Great! I¡¯ll see you around, then.¡± Closing the door behind me, I head towards my final visit of the day. I can only hope Moleman will take the news as badly as I hope he does. 287: F30, Angel of Death ¡°Hey, Moleman, there you are,¡± I say, entering his room. Or maybe it¡¯s an office. We never did decide on that. Either way, it¡¯s piled with stacks of paper and letters¡ªmost of them unread. It¡¯s not like he had to sign off on too many, anyways. Funnily enough, now that I¡¯m looking, there are no books in here. Ursula got plenty of books, and she read a fair few of them before she croaked. But Moleman hasn¡¯t even asked for any. Too busy with work, I suppose. ¡°I brought you something good.¡± Holding up a little glass of fruit juice, I step closer to his bed. Back when he was still whole, the bed looked a little small. We weren¡¯t able to get a custom-made human-sized one into the room, and he insisted on the goblin variant being fine, so I let him go through with it. Now that he¡¯s nothing but a lump with a head, the bed doesn¡¯t look too strange. I think he¡¯s the first one we¡¯ve amputated all four limbs on¡ªsuccessfully, at least. He looks a little funny, what with his head propped up and his body being nothing but a sheet-covered hump. All his curly, dark hair is tangled against his pillow, some of it matted to his forehead in sweaty lumps. His thick lips are cracked and pale, parted slightly to show a BLACKened tongue. And even though he¡¯s never exactly been the slim type, his cheeks and eyes look sunken, as they do on most sick people. His eyes turn to me. I drop the glass of juice. Trembling, I feel a grin spread across my face. There it is. Finally! Finally he¡¯s looking at me like that! ¡°Ah¡ªah, I¡¯m sorry, I¡­¡± I go down on my knees, pulling my little blue handkerchief from my inventory to dab up the juice. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I was¡­¡± I stifle a laugh. Or maybe that would make it more extreme? Or it could make him rethink things. I can¡¯t take the chance. This has to work perfectly. Bringing my handkerchief to my lips, I suck out the liquid before returning it to my inventory. I¡¯ll wash it properly later. Glass in hand, I stand up again. Ah, I feel so nervous. I¡¯m like a girl asking her date out to the prom, except I already know he¡¯s going to say ¡®yes.¡¯ Holding the glass in both hands, I take my place at his side. My claws nervously tap against the side of the glass. ¡°S¡ªso¡­¡± I say, my stomach bubbling and full of butterflies, my smile awkward and wriggling. ¡°You finally hate me, huh?¡± His eyes don¡¯t shift away from me. I know he can¡¯t talk. But he doesn¡¯t need to. Simel didn¡¯t need to, and I still understood him perfectly. At least, at the very end. ¡°Good. That¡¯s good. That¡­ that makes me really happy, Moleman. It¡¯s a good thing. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen you this alive in¡­ Months, I guess. How does it feel? Do you feel better? Ah, wait, sorry, I shouldn¡¯t push it. You¡¯ve made up your mind. I can tell.¡± My smile widens. His BLACK gaze wavers. Ah, shoot. Can¡¯t have that. ¡°I¡¯ll do it tonight, by the way. They won¡¯t see it coming. For your sake¡­ I¡¯ll try to kill them in their sleep. That should be fine, right? It will be finished around morning, so if you don¡¯t want to think about what¡¯s happening, you can just pretend it¡¯s the birds and the dawn. It¡¯ll be okay. It¡¯ll all turn out okay.¡± His eyes darken again. Fully. Properly. There¡¯s still a little glint in there, but I¡¯m sure that come morning, it¡¯ll be gone. Then, he won¡¯t have to look back. And neither will I. He opens his lips. I know what he¡¯s about to do. Without explaining myself or waiting even a single second, I press my finger to his forehead. ¡°Sorry. I can¡¯t allow that.¡± <[Touch of Reversed Divinity Protection (Lv.6)]> He blinks at me. I need a moment to collect myself, so I put my palm to his forehead. Yeesh, what a fever¡­ Pulling my handkerchief out of my inventory, I almost use it before realizing that it¡¯s still wet and dirty. I put it back, frowning. Then, I turn to him. The words aren¡¯t jumbled together in my head anymore, so I can talk. ¡°Don¡¯t look so afraid,¡± I coo. ¡°You¡¯re okay. I¡¯d never hurt you lastingly. This is¡­ this was¡­ See, I asked Benevil about it, while he was still around, and he asked Cruelty, who was so fond of him that he told him everything he wanted to know. So, to explain it briefly¡­¡± I bring myself to smile. ¡°Now, I won¡¯t have to worry about you blowing your head off using magic.¡± His eyes widen by a fraction. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, seating myself on the edge of his bed, ¡°I may not be able to use it, but thanks to Benevil, I know how it works now. His private notes were very helpful in that. Now I know that your little hand-exploding trick a few days ago wasn¡¯t a very unusual consequence of a spell backfiring. I also know that you can use any part of your body to cast a spell, including your head. However, without using a spellcollar, doing so could cost you your life. Which I¡¯m sure is something you¡¯d like to do right now, because then you can die a heroic death or something. Wouldn¡¯t that be nice?¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. His eyes tremble with rage. ¡°But I¡¯ve stopped that. See, this ability I have¡­ It lets me use the effects of resistances on others, to the degree I¡¯ve acquired. It¡¯s self-explanatory for stuff like brain damage resistance or organ rupture resistance. But what about gamma ray resistance? Or, better yet¡­ What about divinity resistance? What would that do? Well¡­ I tested it out. And, from what I can tell¡­¡± Going by the look in his eyes, I shouldn¡¯t even need to say it. But I still do. ¡°It inhibits the use of divinity. I¡¯m not sure how deeply it inhibits it, or for how long it lasts, but¡­¡± I smile. ¡°For now, it¡¯ll keep you from blowing your own head off.¡± I look down at him. His eyes, burning with BLACK. Do I really need to twist the knife in further? Is there any need to say anything more? Well, I guess if he hasn¡¯t made the connection even though he hates me now and I just told him about TRT, he needs a less subtle hint. ¡°Oh, by the way,¡± I say easily, ¡°I spread the dragon plague.¡± He doesn¡¯t even move. That¡¯s understandable. With what I just said¡­ he¡¯ll need a bit more time. If everything tonight goes well, he should have all the time he¡¯ll ever need to think about it. Sighing, I stand up again. He¡¯s not looking at me anymore. He¡¯s just staring straight ahead, like he¡¯s peering out into some kind of mist. Well¡­ I¡¯ll leave him to it. I have a lot of work to do, and only a single night to do it. ¡°I¡¯ll be going now. Unfortunately, I can¡¯t tell you exactly when I¡¯ll be back to pick you up, but¡­ You should be able to hear me.¡± I head towards the door. Putting my hand on the door handle, I only just have time to pull it before a dull gurgle behind me snaps me out of my daze and I turn back around. He¡¯s leaned towards me, face twisted in hatred of a kind I¡¯ve only ever seen on Simel, his eyes just as BLACK as his distant friend. I smile at him. ¡°Glad to see it. Goodbye, Moleman.¡± Then, I leave. How does the saying go? The night is young, and so am I. Before I do anything, I need to check the time. Let¡¯s see here¡­ <19:24:31 Day 1 219> Right. Perfect. I¡¯ve got over half an hour until the designated meeting time with the latest captain of the guards. I could probably stick around here for a while longer, but then I might be late, which would be uncool. So, putting all that aside, I head out to my date with destiny. Let¡¯s see here, according to my schedule¡­ at eight in the evening, I¡¯ll meet up with the guards and the various other unpaid social workers. Then I¡¯ll kill them. Once I¡¯m done, probably at around eight thirty, I¡¯ll head to each of the gates to kill the remaining guards and break the locking mechanisms so it will be impossible to escape, even if there are survivors. And then, from nine to five, approximately, I¡¯ll kill the rest of the people in the city. This shouldn¡¯t be any issue. ¡°A¡ªAngel, we have gathered, as you asked. Pray tell, for what reason¡ª¡± ¡°You bastard! Why the hell did you¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s gone insane! Run, we have to¡ª¡± ¡°Aaaaaaaaahhh!!¡± ¡°Please, no, I have a family¡ª¡± ¡°Spare me, I beg of you¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t hurt me, please don¡¯t hurt¡ª¡± <...> Alright, that¡¯s the guards done with, and I¡¯m a whole ten minutes ahead of schedule! Wonderful. Onto the gates, then. ¡°Angel? Why are you here? Didn¡¯t you summon everyone for a meeting at the¡ª¡± ¡°Wh¡ªwh¡ªwhat have you¡ª¡± And then the others. <...> Doing all of the gates took more time than expected, but I was able to leave one of them usable for when we leave later. And now, there¡¯s only the city itself left. Normally, I¡¯d set fire to it straight away, but I have to make certain that I get everyone. Besides, I need to control the spread properly, otherwise it could preliminarily reach the hospital. So, despite there being a more efficient way of doing this, I head out. First house. I slip my claw between the door and the doorframe, slice the lock in two, and enter. The adults are awake. I enter the living room, where the mother holds the children in her arms and the father tiredly sings a lullaby. They don¡¯t notice me. I saunter up behind him and slice off his neck. <26 130 infected.> Now, she notices. Her eyes go wide. Her ears fold back. ¡°A¡ªangel?¡± I kill her. <26 129 infected.> The kids wake up. ¡°Angel?¡± I really hate that nickname. <26 127 infected.> That¡¯s one house down¡­ A couple thousand left to go. Yeah, this is going to be a long night. 288: F30, Duet Emil watched the dawn that wasn¡¯t a dawn and knew that soon, the shadow would come for him, too. Is this how Simel had felt all those years ago? What a fool he¡¯d been, to try to argue with him. To try to take the shadow¡¯s side and justify his slaughter. Did a tiger need an excuse to eat flesh? Even less did the shadow need Emil¡¯s reasoning. It simply did things. Whether it be by instinct, emotion masquerading as reasoning, or reasoning under the guise of sympathy was irrelevant. Emil had already decided. There was evil in this world. It stood in the raging fire, it crept in the darkness, and it tainted every smile he¡¯d ever worn. Evil was a friend who said ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯ and ¡®I don¡¯t deserve your forgiveness.¡¯ Evil was kind. Evil was funny. Evil was the friend he had always wanted, the second brother he¡¯d never had. Evil had been with him all this time, whispering flattery and laughing at his jokes. Evil could get better, but wouldn¡¯t. And Emil was the same. Always had been. He was the same as him. He was the shadow¡¯s shadow. He¡¯d only been too arrogant to notice that the shadow he cast was doubly dark; his smile twice as crooked; his fall twofold. One for you, one for me. Outside the window, within the flames of the city, the shadow danced among pirouetting rats. No one was screaming anymore. There wasn¡¯t anyone left to rush out of their house, clutching their child to their breast. No one to witness evil, aside from him. The city was bright in the darkness, and warm in the middle of the night. The shadow disappeared from sight. But he knew that it had gone into the hospital. There was nowhere left for it to continue its massacre aside from the hospital. So that¡¯s where it went. Emil listened as the voices of the hospital erupted in shouting before being snuffed out. At first, they were far away. Then, closer, closer. As the shadow approached, missing not even a single patient, the voices faded into nothingness, their lives snuffed out within moments. The last one was just outside his door. But even as that final patient died, he couldn¡¯t hear any footsteps. Not even breathing. Nothing. Evil was quiet. Evil was pleasant. Evil was a delight to be around. The door opened. In the darkness, a yellow eye peeked inside. The shadow entered. ¡°Hey,¡± it said. ¡°So, I¡¯m back. I¡¯m done. That was¡­ genuinely really exhausting. I mean, seriously. I¡¯m like the mormons out here, moving from house to house¡­ Except instead of bringing them the good news about how to get to heaven, I just get them there straight away!¡± Emil smiled. Evil was funny. Evil found comedy in the tragic. Evil was not to be trusted. The shadow froze, its dark shape splattered across the room. ¡°That¡¯s not good. That¡¯s¡­ why are you looking at me in that way? That¡¯s not¡­¡± It scuttled across the room. Emil smiled up at it. ¡°Shit. Shit. What happened? I was gone for like twelve hours and now you¡¯re¡ªyou¡¯re not even¡­ What is this? What is that expression? I can¡¯t¡­ This doesn¡¯t make any sense. I¡­¡± It hissed a breath. ¡°Damn it. Nothing to do about it now. The fire is closing in and I still have to get Rat¡¯s heart¡­ Well, hopefully this will fix things. You¡¯ll be coming along.¡± Of course he would. What else could he do? The shadow lifted him into its arms. He couldn¡¯t quite feel it. Everything was dull and numb. All he felt was a sense of pressure as the shadow carried him out of his room and into the corpse-littered hallway. The shadow glanced down at him. ¡°Well? Is this¡­?¡± Emil smiled up at it. The shadow clicked its tongue. They continued. ¡°Now that I think about it, you never did visit Rat. Not that I fault you or anything. I wouldn¡¯t want to visit him either, with the way he is now.¡± The shadow observed him closely, watching for any shift in his easy, simple, quaint smile. It frowned. Grinding its teeth, the shadow sat him down on a chair, propping him up in front of the patient. ¡°Look. Here he is. It¡¯s your friend¡ªRat! Isn¡¯t it horrible what¡¯s happened to him?¡± The patient, his pale face held up by the shadows clawed hands, blubbered and mumbled, smiling dumbly. What a pitiable thing. Emil hoped he would soon be put out of his misery. The shadow flinched, a desperate, pained expression flashing across its snarling face. ¡°That¡¯s horrible. You¡¯re looking at him the wrong way. He¡¯s your friend, you¡¯re not supposed to look at him like he¡¯s¡­ like he¡¯s¡­ some thing!¡± It breathed heavily, releasing the patient. Frowning in exertion, the shadow stormed up to him. Grabbing him by the scruff of his collar, it raised him into the air easily, like he was nothing but a sack of potatoes. ¡°Alright. I see how it is. You don¡¯t want to think of him as your friend? Sure. Fine by me. But, one thing you should know¡­ One thing I didn¡¯t want to tell you¡­¡± It hesitated. How strange. Evil shouldn¡¯t hesitate. Still holding him, the shadow pointed at the patient. ¡°I did that. He was trying to run away. So, to keep him here as an extra life for you, I made him like that. And¡ªand even worse? I did the same to Jazz. So she wouldn¡¯t tell you about what she¡¯d figured out. It¡¯s horrible, isn¡¯t it? I made it so you couldn¡¯t say goodbye to her properly! And then, I did the same thing to Rat! Simply because I cared more that you lived than that you were happy. Horrible, right? I¡¯m a terrible, irredeemable person, aren¡¯t I? Please. You agree, don¡¯t you?¡± He did. He agreed fully. It was terrible. Even more than that¡ªit was evil. Pure evil. Just like he was. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. What the shadow was doing was evil. However, since he was doing it to Emil, who was also evil, it wasn¡¯t evil anymore. It was good. Hurting evil was always good. And so, Emil smiled. The shadow flinched back as though burnt, dropping Emil to the floor. The pressure turned to pain and Emil began to writhe on the floor, moaning listlessly. ¡°Auhh, auhhhh¡­¡± ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m so sorry, I just¡­¡± Emil glared up at him. The shadow backed away. ¡°Now it¡¯s right. Now you¡¯re looking at me like that again. Why? I don¡¯t understand. You loved me a moment ago. Is it the physical pain? No. But¡­ why? You¡¯re incomprehensible. Why won¡¯t you make sense¡­?¡± Unlike the shadow, Emil knew that he made a lot of sense. He was perfectly rational. There was no fault in his reasoning. It was the shadow that wouldn¡¯t be consistent. Evil did not change. Evil pretended to change, made a show of changing, and then didn¡¯t. Evil was static. The shadow was acting wrong. It lifted him up and sat him back down on the chair. ¡°I¡¯m going to get you your heart now,¡± it said slowly, ¡°and you¡¯re going to sit right there and try to remember whose heart it is I¡¯m getting.¡± Emil watched as the shadow extracted the heart from the patient. The shadow seemed to think it was slick, putting the patient in a coma before it began to operate. Maybe it thought Emil wouldn¡¯t notice. The shadow was doing it the wrong way again. It was all wrong. Once the shadow had the heart in hand, it turned back to him, and uttered a horrible sigh of relief. ¡°Okay. That¡¯s good. Keep feeling that way and this should all turn out just fine. Right? Right.¡± Heart in one hand, it took a moment for the shadow to figure out how to carry both the heart and him. In the end, it simply slung him over its shoulder and headed out. Its hand was warm and wet. Its shoulder was cold and sticky. As it walked, the swaying pushed breath out of Emil¡¯s lungs. The hospital was filled with corpses. Once it exited the building, the streets were filled with corpses, too. Dead rats dotted the sidewalks. Various organs and limbs laid strewn here and there. Emil didn¡¯t really feel anything. He was surprised by himself. He¡¯d always been weak to gore, quick to nausea, but not now. It was the most grisly, horrific sight he¡¯d ever seen, and yet, he didn¡¯t feel any worse than he had as a kid, when he found a dead mouse in his room. He¡¯d merely felt a sense of disgust, and a certain type of indignity at knowing something like that had crawled underneath his bed just to die. How dare it? He felt that now, too. The air was filled with ash and smoke and final breaths. The houses stank. The whole city seemed to be choking beneath a miasma of cooked meat. It smelled like a rotten barbecue. Meat and heat made for a tasty smell. Of course, he¡¯d never want to try it. He wasn¡¯t like the shadow in that regard. They were both equals in evil, but they still differed, if only slightly. As the shadow carried him through what was left of the city, Emil tried to recall what it had been called. The names of the streets, and the owners of the houses, and the sellers of the stores. He couldn¡¯t remember any of it. The only witnesses left to the history of this city couldn¡¯t remember anything about it. How horrible. How evil of them. The city gate loomed ahead. Corpses had been piled around and atop it. ¡°Give me a second,¡± the shadow said, putting him down as it began to one-handedly root through the corpses. In the end, it found a lever of some sort, which opened the gates. Heaving Emil back onto his shoulder, the shadow continued its heavy trek. The air outside was nice and fresh. The early dawn had painted the world in pink and blue, clouds of lofty yellow streaking across the sky in diamond shapes, blown east by the gentle ebb and flow of the wind. The world no longer smelt like rot and death. It was fresh, free, and boundless, bobbing to the rhythm of the shadow¡¯s gait, rocking Emil into a gentle, dreamless sleep. When he woke up, his ears were filled with the eager rush of a nearby stream. His body felt wet and cold. Opening his eyes, he found the shadow, awkwardly washing his body one-handedly with water from a stream, ensuring that he wouldn¡¯t get sick again. The shadow had cleaned itself as well, no longer covered in gore and viscera. It was clean, with skin and hair and a face to match the eyes. It noticed Emil¡¯s gaze. ¡°Stop that,¡± it grumbled. ¡°Please stop looking at me like that. I hate it. Can¡¯t you see what I¡¯m holding?¡± ¡®My salvation,¡¯ Emil thought. ¡®My cruel, horrible salvation.¡¯ The shadow lowered his hand, bringing the still beating heart out of view. "Now, hold still. I can still smell some pathogens on you. I prepared a coat for you to wear once I¡¯ve healed you, but as for everything else¡­ I recommend that you avoid pulling anything out of your inventory for like a week or so. Your staff should be okay, but everything else is off-limits. Capiche?¡± Emil watched it. Grimacing, the shadow finished washing him. It pulled him back onto land. They were next to a stream, beside a grassy, beautiful field. Lying on his back, Emil watched the clouds float by. That one looked like a cat. That one looked like a heart. That one looked like a claw. The shadow loomed over him, eclipsing the sky. It held his salvation in its hand, clutched tightly. ¡°I¡¯m going to operate now,¡± it said. ¡°It¡¯s going to hurt. But when it¡¯s done, you¡¯ll be fully healed. You¡¯ll be okay. And as for me¡­ I¡¯ll be gone. I¡¯ll disappear, like I¡¯m supposed to. This is probably the last time you¡¯ll ever see me.¡± It crouched down above him. Its clawed hand moved down his chest, one claw slitting a line across it. It¡­ hurt. He breathed. Something sawed through his bones. It hurt. ¡°Don¡¯t move too much or you¡¯ll suffer needlessly.¡± Crack, crack, crack, crack. His ribs went away. His skin was pulled away. His muscles were bent away. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. Claws moved through his flesh. Sawing away parts, tearing away others. Opening him up. Harming him. Filling his chest with horrible pain that made it hard to breathe and no matter how much he wriggled and writhed it wouldn¡¯t stop. It hurt. It hurt! It hurt! ¡°Auuhhe, aaauuuhhhhh¡­!¡± ¡°Stop,¡± the shadow said beyond a sheen of red, ¡°don¡¯t¡­ Please don¡¯t make this any harder than it has to be.¡± Sawing, tearing, hurting, popping, pulling, hurting, slicing, dicing, hurting, claws in, claws out, arteries going off, warm wet blood pouring down his chest, disgusting and warm and wet, all horrible, and the pain, it hurt, it hurt so badly, he couldn¡¯t breathe, he couldn¡¯t move, and no matter what he did he couldn¡¯t fight, he couldn¡¯t run, he couldn¡¯t do anything, he couldn¡¯t even beg for mercy from someone who had been a close as a brother. And from just beyond his view, he saw that shadow, that horrible, horrible shadow, pull his heart from his chest. ¡®No,¡¯ he thought, ¡®not that¡ªdon¡¯t take¡­ my heart. Without that, I¡¯m¡­¡¯ The other heart was shoved into his chest. It was cold. But only for a moment. Then, it burned. A fire was lit in his chest. A fire like that of a thousand houses, all going up in flames. Burning like the pits of hell, filled with the souls of innocents who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Fire, like justice, fire, like revenge, fire, like¡­ His arms sprouted from his sides. His legs likewise. He breathed through new lungs. He was¡­ he¡­ He could finally think clearly again. Before him, hunched down like a beggar, leaned halfway over him as though worried sick, stood Kitty. His eyes were moist and reddened. ¡°Moleman,¡± the younger man breathed. ¡°You¡¯re back, aren¡¯t you?¡± Emil touched a hand to his throat, to his chest, to his everything. ¡°Wh¡­ what¡­?¡± Kitty slung his arms around him. ¡°I¡¯m so glad. I¡­ I really missed you.¡± Before Emil could react, Kitty detached himself again. ¡°Okay¡­ Okay.¡± His eyes were focused on an invisible message. ¡°I have to go now. I¡¯m sorry for everything. Not that it matters.¡± His smile widened. ¡°Gosh, am I glad to see you looking at me like that again. I really thought I¡¯d lost you for a moment there.¡± ¡°Kitty,¡± Emil breathed. Not waiting for him, Kitty stood up. ¡°Right. Right! I¡¯ll be going now. I hope¡­ No, nevermind. Before I go, I just want you to know one thing.¡± His smile turned melancholic. Tears fell from his eyes like raindrops on a cloudless day. ¡°I want to get better. I really do. And¡­ I¡¯m going to work towards it. I really am. But¡­ If I do get better, for realsies, then¡­¡± He wiped his tears. ¡°I don¡¯t mind if you¡¯re not there. You could become so much, Moleman. And I¡­ I can only hope to be worthy of being your shadow. If even that.¡± Emil pulled himself to his feet. ¡°Kitty, wait,¡± he said, but it was too late. ¡°Goodbye, Moleman. Even if I was never your friend¡­ I always held you dear. That will never change. I love you.¡± He reached out for him. ¡°Kitty, I¡ª¡± But just like that, he was gone. Petals in the wind. And for the fifth time that year, Emil hadn¡¯t gotten to say goodbye. 289: Floor 31, The Chained Giants Well in the lobby, I sit down. The floor beneath me is WHITE. My shadow is BLACK. Purely by routine, I slit a line across my palm. RED drops of blood drip down between my legs. RED, WHITE, and BLACK. RED, WHITE, BLACK. RED¡­ WHITE¡­ BLACK¡­ I blink, slowly. Red, white, and black. I put my finger into the blood, drawing a red line through the white floor and my black shadow. Swish, swish, swish. Eventually, I¡¯ve drawn a heart. A red heart, surrounded by black shadow, on the white floor. Isn¡¯t that nice? I lie down and stare up at the endless white void above. When I close my eyes, the black is calming, even though the light tinges it with red. I feel calm now. Relaxed. At peace, strangely enough. A smile rises to my lips. I was able to bring him back, in the end. Now¡­ now, he won¡¯t have to worry about me anymore. He can move on with his life, and so can I. He¡¯ll live his own life. I¡¯ll live mine. And I won¡¯t hurt him ever again. My lips tremble. Hot red shame wells up to my eyes and streaks down my cheeks and neck. ¡­I miss him. I miss his laughter. I miss his smile. I miss his voice, and I miss his words. But¡­ this is how it has to be. This is how it should have gone, years ago. I wipe off my face, cheeks and neck. Hastily sitting up again, I shake my head. Right! No use in dwelling on it. It happened, the world moves on, and I have a promise to fulfill. That¡¯s why I have to move forward. I¡¯m sure that right at this moment, Moleman is moving on, too. He¡¯s strong. Much stronger than I am. I stand up. A poster on a nearby pillar catches my eye. ¡®Hang in there!¡¯ All too true. My eyes move around the empty lobby. Well? I got the floor clear message, I got the god of comedy¡¯s cryptic reward¡­ Considering that I just beat floor thirty, there¡¯s something missing. So, out with it. Go on. I¡¯m waiting. <[Have you calmed down now?]> Yes, I have. And I¡¯m ready to make my wish, so¡­ Before I have time to finish my thought, I¡¯m whisked away, and all of a sudden I¡¯m standing in the most sterile room I¡¯ve ever seen. It looks like a therapist¡¯s office, but not like the real ones¡ªrather, it looks like the ones you¡¯d see in a soap opera or something. The kind of therapist office whose owner would recommend yoga and veganism to cure schizophrenia. ¡°I can tell you¡¯re thinking mean things,¡± Pain says from His chair, ¡°but the fact that I can¡¯t understand what you¡¯re saying is messing with Me.¡± I turn around to face Him. ¡°You can get messed with?¡± His permanent smile turns thin. ¡°Yes, but I¡¯d prefer it if you didn¡¯t.¡± I sit down on the couch opposite to Him, seating myself to face Him properly. ¡°Alright,¡± I say. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± He inches back a little where He sits, writing something on the notepad in His hands. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yeah. Really.¡± ¡°Well¡­ Okay, then!¡± He beams a smile. ¡°Phew, that¡¯s great to hear. I was starting to get worried!¡± I restrain myself from asking why. Considering that He¡¯s supposed to be a several thousand-year old god, being messed with shouldn¡¯t do anything. Though, I suppose, if He finds it unpleasant, I shouldn¡¯t press it. ¡°So,¡± I say, ¡°what¡¯s with the new decor?¡± ¡°Do you like it? I thought it¡¯d fit with the theme of your last visit, though now that you¡¯re here, I¡¯m starting to reconsider.¡± ¡°Can we skip the whole talking thing and get to the wish-making?¡± He flinches. ¡°...Are you sure? I was thinking that since you¡¯re currently fresh out of conversation partners, I might be able to¡­¡± ¡°I wish I was a good person,¡± I say. He blinks at me. So, I repeat myself. ¡°I wish,¡± I say, ¡°that I was a good person. A moral one, who knew right from wrong. You should be able to do that, right? Maybe You can¡¯t directly make me better, but¡­ At the very least, You should be able to transplant some kind of moral compass in me. Maybe have a morality system, where if I do the wrong thing, a little pop-up shows up, telling me ¡®murdering someone kills them!¡¯ and then I can avoid doing that. If it also told me what I did right, I think that would work really well. Moleman told me I learn best from positive reinforcement, and I think I agree with him, at least partly.¡± I smile hopefully. ¡°Can You fix that? It would be really helpful.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°I¡­¡± Lightly shaking His head, He leans in closer. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but that isn¡¯t¡­ What you¡¯re asking for is¡­ It¡¯s just not feasible. What you want is for someone to watch and judge your every move, which simply isn¡¯t possible for Me. I have duties, you know. Prayers to answer, paperwork to file¡­ Babysitting your conscience simply doesn¡¯t fit into my schedule.¡± ¡°Then,¡± I say, my hands trembling, ¡°maybe one of the other gods could do it? Or all of them. That would be good, right? They could give a nuanced, general perspective on my actions, and judge accordingly. If everyone does it, no one will have to watch me all the time. And¡ªand you know¡­ I like games, and numbers, so¡­ If we implemented a point system to match their opinion of me, then¡­¡± ¡°What you want,¡± the God of Pain says, ¡°is something you have already rejected.¡± I freeze in place. ¡°S¡ªsure, it didn¡¯t work before, but I wasn¡¯t really trying to get better, right? I was just cruising along, being evil, hurting people without a shred of care¡­ But I know that¡¯s wrong now! So, now, I¡¯ll actually listen to their advice! Now¡ª¡± He smiles thinly at me. ¡°Now, you¡¯ve gotten better.¡± I bite my tongue. ¡°No,¡± I choke out. ¡°No, I haven¡¯t. I¡¯m as bad as I¡¯ve always been. Knowing that I¡¯m bad doesn¡¯t change anything. No¡­ No, that isn¡¯t true. The fact that I know I¡¯m bad makes me worse, because now, whatever harm I do¡­ it¡¯s conscious. It¡¯s aware. I¡¯m aware. So I have to change. And You¡ªYou can help me! Please. It¡¯s my wish. It¡¯s all I want. It¡¯s all I need. And¡ªand if not that, then¡­¡± A pathetic smile streaks across my face, and I look down at the floor. White marble tiles. How disturbingly fitting. ¡°I wish that You¡¯d get rid of me.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡± ¡°You can,¡± I whisper, my eyes still on the floor. ¡°It would be easy. We both know it. You see, I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m a blight on this world. I hurt everyone I love. My family was better off without me, and so is Moleman, and this world. Don¡¯t pretend this isn¡¯t the case. Why else would the gods hold a vote on whether to keep me or toss me out?¡± ¡°We decided to keep you, though.¡± ¡°Only half of you. The other half had the right idea. The god of love voted for me to stay here because he didn¡¯t want me back on Earth. That¡¯s the only reason I¡¯m still around. You should have killed me all the way back then. Or¡ªor am I not worthy of even death? Do You think death is a mercy I can¡¯t afford? I wouldn¡¯t disagree. Maybe You¡¯re like Cruelty, and think living is a greater suffering than dying. Being the God of Pain, You must know that letting me live would certainly create more pain in the world. So, You refuse me even the smallest of kindnesses. You truly are one of the evil gods. Perfectly fit to rule over someone like¡ª¡± There¡¯s a grumble. I look up to see the God of Pain, His face set in an expression of disgust. He isn¡¯t smiling anymore. I flinch at the sight, recalling for once that I¡¯m in the presence of a God. ¡°You¡¯re pathetic,¡± He says. ¡°You can¡¯t stand a single person mourning your passing? Do you hate yourself that much?¡± He scoffs. ¡°And you¡¯re supposed to be our greatest soldier. Too busy drowning in your self-loathing to consider the feelings of those around you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not it,¡± I say, dumbly. ¡°That¡¯s not why I¡¯m saying this. You got it wrong, this is¡ª¡± ¡°A pathetic display from a child begging for a few more scraps of attention before heading gently into that good night. Isn¡¯t that it? You hope that if you put yourself down harshly enough, you might rouse my sympathy. And you might have, before this. What you¡¯ve done is your own fault. Becoming someone else, forcing your moral duties onto someone else, or even dying is just your cowardly way of escaping responsibility.¡± ¡°No. No, that isn¡¯t why. I do want to die. But I can¡¯t do it myself. If¡ªif You do it, You can make me suffer more than anyone has before! Hurting someone like me is moral. It¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°Your moral arguments are shallow, even more so than those of your friend.¡± ¡°My¡­?¡± My hands clench into fists. ¡°How dare You? Don¡¯t speak of him. Not like that.¡± Grinding my teeth, hands trembling with rage, I fly to my feet. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare say that about him! Moleman always knows what¡¯s right, and what to do, and what not to do! So, if he thinks I¡¯m evil, then¡ª¡± He¡¯s smiling again. All rage seeps out of my body and I¡¯m left trembling, confused. His hands fold themselves atop His lap. ¡°There. Now you¡¯re back again.¡± ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m¡­¡± I shake my head. ¡°What¡­?¡± ¡°You were gone there for a bit. How do you feel, Kitty?¡± ¡°I feel¡­¡± I scowl. ¡°¡ªJust about ready to smash Your obnoxious white teeth in, You damn moon-man!¡± He laughs heartily. ¡°Happy to hear it! Yes, that¡¯s exactly how you should speak. None of that self-pitying parade.¡± ¡°...What are you even talking about?¡± ¡°Well,¡± He says, fully ignoring me as He stands up, dwarfing me as usual, ¡°this has gone on long enough. Now, tell Me. What do you wish for?¡± ¡°I told you, I¡ª¡± The look in His eye silences me. Right. He¡¯s right. That¡¯s not actually what I want, is it? What I really want is¡­ ¡°Please make it so I don¡¯t have to return to the lobby.¡± He hums happily. ¡°Because it makes you feel positively horrible?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Because I don¡¯t want to waste time when I could be beating floors and getting better.¡± His smile widens into a broad grin. ¡°Lovely! Done. Though¡­ Considering that the lobby is supposed to act as a time of relaxation and socialization, removing it would sooner be seen as a detriment than a handicap. So, I¡¯ll be nice. You get another wish. Now, what would you like to wish for?¡± I pause where I stand. Well, that¡¯s not what I expected. I get to make another wish, huh¡­ That¡¯s a tough one. I guess¡­ ¡°If¡­ when I die¡­ Could you let people know? Like¡­ anyone who cares whether I live or die. I can¡¯t guess who this would be, but¡­¡± ¡°I can,¡± He answers easily, smiling gently. ¡°Consider it done.¡± Nodding to Himself, He begins to move towards the door. I follow Him at a distance. ¡°It¡¯s about time you got going, My friend.¡± As I approach, He opens the door, holding it open for me. ¡°Beyond this door is the next floor. And after that¡­¡± He chuckles. ¡°I have a feeling our next meeting might be a bit strange. Though, all things considered¡­ I doubt it will take too long. Have a good one, Kitty. I¡¯ll be cheering for you.¡± I glance up at Him, and then at the open doorway. It¡¯s dark out there. From now on, I¡¯m on my own. It might get very lonely. Nothing I¡¯m unused to. But, still¡­ I turn to Him, and give Him a hug. When I leave His embrace, my whole body is trembling, and I feel like I got struck by lightning, chewed up by rats, bathed in Joker-chemicals and thrown off a rooftop wearing nothing but a suit made of porcupines. But He¡¯s smiling. ¡°How unexpected! It¡¯s been a while since¡­ No, I¡¯m not sure if anyone¡¯s ever hugged Me willingly before. How funny!¡± His grin turns cruelly teasing and He parts His arms again. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you might want another one?¡± ¡°No¡ªno, I¡¯m good,¡± I croak out. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ haah¡­ be going now. Th¡ªthanks.¡± ¡°Always happy to have you for a visit. Goodbye, Kitty, I¡¯ll see you again. Hope you enjoy the floor!¡± Waving at Him, I exit through the door. Wet, cold and barren cave walls meet me and I remember that this tutorial has no damn originality. ¡°Hey, Pain, this floor sucks, can I skip i¡ª¡± Ah, nope, the doorway¡¯s already closed. Just my luck. No other choice, I guess. I¡¯ll just have to keep moving. Unfortunately for Pain, this floor sucks, and I will refuse to explain to what extent. Just know that it contained chained-up giants who weren¡¯t too happy to see me. Luckily for my betterment, they were all chained up, so I didn¡¯t need to kill them. So¡­ I didn¡¯t. I can only hope that that was the right choice. Killing is bad, after all. Unless these giants actually wanted to be killed, in which case I should probably have killed them. But I can¡¯t know that. How am I supposed to know what their eyes mean when I¡¯m too busy trying not to think about how I¡¯m the size of their thumbs? Insanity. Since I didn¡¯t fight them, the floor itself was pretty easy. There were some parasitic creatures plaguing the giants which I killed, but killing monsters isn¡¯t bad. R¡ªright? Animals are fine to kill. Yeah. Nothing bad there. I just have to keep going. In the end, beating the floor wasn¡¯t any difficult. I came out of it without spilling sapient blood, and I think this is only the first of many such triumphs. With any luck, it should only get easier from here on out. 290: Floor 32, Cocytus鈥擟aina The sensation of moving straight from the cold, barbed cave to somewhere somehow even colder is disorienting, to say the least. Not appearing in the lobby feels strange. Downright alien. Not that I¡¯ll miss it, of course. However, the sight before me is well worthy of reconsidering my choice of wish. ¡­What the heck is this place? <[Clear Condition] Move on.> Before me, continuing on for what seems like eternity, is a frozen lake. The ice is black, and when I look down, I can¡¯t see where the ice is supposed to end. I would assume that it¡¯s been frozen all the way to the bottom, but I can¡¯t see the bottom to confirm it. The ice continues endlessly beneath me, ahead of me, and also behind me. An unbound expanse of sheer black ice. The sky is dark, too. I can¡¯t say if there are clouds or not. However, there is a light fog blanketing the ice, visible just beyond the edge of my vision. Not thick enough to hide the fact that the ice goes on forever and ever, but enough to make any possible enemies briefly invisible. I¡¯d be able to smell them, though, so I should be¡­ My nose scrunches up. What¡­ the heck is that smell? I begin moving. My feet, being just as cold as the ice, stick to it rather than sliding across them. Each step removes one more layer. Skin, fat, muscle¡­ But it doesn¡¯t matter. I keep moving. The smell tingles in my nose, harsher than the cold, more familiar than the smell of my own house. As the fog parts before me, silhouettes become visible in the ice. At first, I can only see their heads, poking out of the eye miserably. But then, as I come closer, their bodies are visible too, encased in the ice. Goblins. Some adults, some children, most of them in bundles of three or more. Mother and father and child, their arms permanently frozen around the others in an eternal embrace. As I walk by them, their eyes turn to me, shining with black hatred. I heed them no mind. They don¡¯t matter. Only she does. Beyond the fog stands a shadow. She smells like home. Even her silhouette is so, so familiar. The turn of her hair, the way she stands on the ice, the sway of her form¡­ I start running. My breath hisses through my throat. It¡¯s her. She¡¯s here. She¡ªStolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I rush into her arms. ¡°Mom,¡± I say, weakly. Her arms fold around me. Warm. So much warmer than the air and the ice and the cold. I press my head against her chest. She smells like home. Like our house. My chest feels so tight it hurts. I can barely breathe. Still, I force myself to look up at her, hoping against hope that it¡¯s a ruse, that I¡¯m seeing things wrong, that the floor is throwing a cruel curveball at me and anytime now I¡¯ll gain another level in hallucination protection. She smiles down at me. ¡°Did you get stronger, Lo?¡± I blink the tears out of my eyes. ¡°No,¡± I choke out. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Well, I sure hope you¡¯ve been eating enough. You look like a skeleton!¡± She wipes a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. ¡°How will I be able to bring you to the pageant now? Your hair is all greasy. Oh, look at your neck¡­ Do you think you¡¯ll still fit into your collar?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a dog, mom,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t do dressage.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re right,¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯re too untrained to be led through those spooky tunnels, and too short to jump over the heights. You¡¯d be terrible at it, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yeah, I would.¡± For a few moments, she looks down at me, her aged face wrinkled up at the eyes. ¡°You¡¯re being awfully huggy today. Any specific reason why?¡± ¡°No, not really.¡± ¡°You usually hate it when I hug you.¡± ¡°I know.¡± She holds my cheek. ¡°Did something happen?¡± ¡°Nothing in particular,¡± I croak. ¡°Liar. What did I tell you about lying?¡± ¡°I¡¯m bad at it, so¡ª¡± ¡°No use in lying to mom.¡± She smiles smugly. ¡°Well? What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Mom¡­¡± I hold her slightly tighter. What is her. What isn¡¯t really her. ¡°Do you know where we are right now?¡± ¡°Where we¡­?¡± Hands clasped around my back, she looks up and around. Nothing seems to strike her as unusual. She looks the same as she always has been. ¡°We¡¯re at home, aren¡¯t we?¡± I press my face closer to her. She¡¯s wearing a red T-shirt with horses on it. It¡¯s faded, and the print has started to wear. I¡¯ve seen her wear that same T-shirt ever since I was a kid. It¡¯s probably older than I am. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°We are.¡± She pats my back. ¡°Leave it to little Lo to act weird out of the blue. When are you planning on growing up? If you don¡¯t eat your greens, you¡¯ll be stuck like this forever, you know. Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s a little odd for a son to be shorter than his mother? You need to grow big and strong, so you can get good work, and¡­¡± I zone out. She¡¯s talking, and I¡¯m listening, but it¡¯s not really registering. How many times has she told the same speech, listing the same faults? Every time, she told it in different tones. I never really thought about it that much back then. At that time, her spiels were just annoying. Another long-winded monologue about how I¡¯m a sucky kid and a failure of a son and if I could only be a bit more like my sister, then I¡¯d do so much better and wouldn¡¯t mope around in my room all the time. But only now am I really listening to her. Not what she¡¯s saying, but rather what she¡¯s intending. ¡®I hope you become a son I can be proud of.¡¯ ¡®I hope you get better.¡¯ ¡®I hope you become a brother equal to your sister.¡¯ ¡®I hope you live a good life, even when I¡¯m no longer there to help you.¡¯ ¡®I love you.¡¯ ¡°I love you too, Mom.¡± She pauses her speech. Sighing, she pats my head. When I look up to her again, she¡¯s smiling. Her eyes shine sympathetically. ¡°Look at you. All grown up, so quickly. The years just ran us by, didn¡¯t they?¡± Humming a familiar melody, one of the lullabies she used to sing, she presses me closer. ¡°You¡¯ve been through a lot, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°I¡ªI have.¡± ¡°Did it hurt?¡± ¡°It did,¡± I say, trembling in her arms. I feel like a little kid again, running to mom because I fell and scratched my knee. ¡°It¡ªit really hurt. And¡­ I hurt people. I hurt a lot of people. I didn¡¯t want to¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to¡­ But I still did. And I don¡¯t know where to go from here.¡± ¡°Have you tried saying sorry?¡± I look up at her. She¡¯s grinning down at me. I chuckle bitterly. ¡°You suck at giving advice, Mom.¡± ¡°I know, I know,¡± she replies. ¡°But¡­¡± She holds me a little tighter, putting her chin on top of my head. ¡°I¡¯m pretty good at giving hugs though, aren¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I mutter into her chest. ¡°You are.¡± She holds me for a while. I cry into her faded shirt, and she hums to me, her song joining with the wind. Sometimes, I stop crying, only to start back up a little while later. She doesn¡¯t mind. She strokes my back and my hair, muttering about how I need to keep my back straight and keep my hair washed. She tells me that I¡¯d be so handsome if I only put on a little weight. She tells me, without saying it at all, that she loves me more than anything. And in the end, I¡¯m not crying anymore. I¡¯m breathing, slowly, gently. If only I could fall asleep in her arms, she could stay a bit longer. If only I hadn¡¯t done what I did¡­ I would never have had to leave to begin with. ¡°Are you ready to let me go?¡± I look up at her face. At her gently smiling, lightly wrinkled face, aged by worries and woes. I swallow down another sob. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± ¡°Good. I love you, Lo. Don¡¯t ever forget that.¡± She kisses my forehead. ¡°I love you too.¡± Then, she turns to snow, and disappears with the wind¡ªher humming echoing across the ice. ¡°Goodbye, Mom.¡± 291: F32, Cocytus鈥擜ntenora The black ice stretches on. Further and further. I move slowly, robotically, across the endless expanse. <[Clear Condition] Move on.> Now, the people in the ice are frozen up to their chins. They can¡¯t move, but they still follow me with their eyes. It¡¯s still mostly goblins. But, as I walk¡­ There¡¯s a human here. Perplexed, I crouch down next to him. He stares at me with wild, black eyes. ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Y¡ªy¡ªyou k¡ªkilled me,¡± he stutters through chattering teeth, barely able to open his mouth. ¡°On th¡ªthe boat. I was i¡ªinnocent. B¡ªbut you¡­ Killed¡­ m¡ªme. Ate my¡­ heart.¡± Which one was¡­? ¡°Oh, wait, yeah, I remember. Um¡­¡± Why did I kill that guy again¡­? I guess it was more convenient to get rid of him. Easier for all of us. ¡­What a shitty reason to kill someone. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± I say, standing up. His eyes burn fiercely. ¡°I¡ªI¡ªI hate¡­ y¡ªyou¡­!¡± I move on from him. As I walk, face downcast, I spot a few others I recognize. Some by name, others only by a vague recognition. ¡­These are all people I killed, aren¡¯t they? I look out over the black ice. Endless ice, endless silhouettes encased into it. There¡¯s a lot of them. Thousands. This must be the distance I have to walk. Nothing else to do but keep walking. After some time, I encounter my old friends. Scar, Al, Cal, Cir, Nazzo, Coco, Dragon, Cane, Farello, Cante, Barbariccia¡­ I go down on my knee next to them. ¡°Where¡¯s Coda?¡± ¡°M¡ªmurderer,¡± Nazzo hisses. ¡°K¡ªk¡ªkiller.¡± ¡°He¡¯s¡­ haah¡­ f¡ªfurther in¡­¡± Cir mutters. ¡°I see,¡± I say. Looking down at them, I feel a sense of vertigo overtake me. Why did I kill them? Why? I stumble to the right, only to slip and fall on my ass. Only some of them are turned towards me. Their eyes burn with black fire. For the rest, I can only see the backs of their heads, and their bodies, stretching endlessly into the dark ice. I draw my legs closer to me. ¡°I don¡¯t get it. It doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. A pair of footsteps approach me, alongside the rustle of feathers. I don¡¯t look up. I don¡¯t need to. His smell is unique, as far as goblins go. I don¡¯t need to move at all. He sits down to me, crossing his legs beneath the simple, hand-sewn tunic. Leaning into my field of vision, Goss smiles. ¡°What doesn¡¯t make sense, Kitty?¡± I glance at him. I look back at my friends. ¡°Where are we, right now?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll, it¡¯s¡­¡± He glances around. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure we¡¯re in my room? Why¡ªis everything okay? You look a bit out of it¡­ Are you sure you¡¯re alright?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ fine. Basically.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Goss says. ¡°At least, I guess so¡­¡± ¡°I wonder why I never hurt you,¡± I mumble to myself. ¡°Not like I did everybody else.¡± ¡°Why you never¡­?¡± He chuckles nervously. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Um, I guess I just never gave you reason to? I mean¡­ Why would you hurt me to begin with? We¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°I would like to think so,¡± I say. ¡°But it just doesn¡¯t make any sense. Nothing about you is any different from the rest of them. Nazzo was as childish as you are.¡± ¡°Hey,¡± Goss says. ¡°Cir was as stubborn¡­¡± ¡°Hey!¡± ¡°And the rest were just as silly and airheaded.¡± ¡°Oh, come on, now! That was mean, Kitty. Besides¡­¡± He turns away, his one wing folded back meekly. ¡°It¡¯s not like you didn¡¯t hurt me at all.¡± ¡°...I did?¡± He laughs weakly. ¡°Well, yeah, I mean¡­ A little. You kind of pushed me to do some stuff I didn¡¯t want to do, but it all turned out well in the end, so¡­¡± ¡°So that makes it okay that I hurt you?¡± I say accusingly. ¡°That means I didn¡¯t hurt you?¡± ¡°No!¡± Goss says. He shakes his head lightly. ¡°Gee, Kitty, what¡¯s gotten into you?¡± ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry, I just¡­¡± ¡°Besides,¡± he continues, ¡°it¡¯s not like I didn¡¯t hurt you either.¡± I frown at him. ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± ¡°It is. When we first met, I literally tried to kill you! I mangled you halfway to Ret-inn and you never despised me for it.¡± ¡°But that was different. I healed from it. I was fine in the end.¡± ¡°It still hurt though, didn''t it?¡± I jerk back as though struck. ¡°Th¡ªthat¡­ That doesn¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°You just said it did. The fact that you were alright in the end doesn¡¯t absolve me of my sin of hurting you. I¡¯m unforgivable. That¡¯s what you¡¯re trying to say, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°No! That¡¯s not it at all!¡± He smirks. ¡°So, that line of thinking only applies to you, huh?¡± ¡°That¡­ That isn¡¯t it either.¡± ¡°Then, what is it?¡± I flounder for words. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I have no idea. The point is¡­ I genuinely don¡¯t know. Maybe it really is just me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Goss said warmly, sighing out at the endless black ice. ¡°You know, Kitty¡­ Friends fight sometimes. They hurt each other sometimes. I hurt you, and you hurt me. But, in the end¡­ We were able to move past it. Because¡­ We were able to accept one another. Faults and all. You accepted me, despite my downfalls and mistakes. Even though I didn¡¯t become what you thought I would. Even though I was me. And I¡­ I did the same for you.¡± Reaching out, Goss touches a hand to my shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re my friend, Kitty. What you¡¯ve done for me¡­ No amount of hurting will ever make me forget it. You could burn down my home, and deep in my heart, I¡¯d still be grateful to who you once were. Maybe I can¡¯t love you like this forever¡­ Maybe one day you¡¯ll change so badly your own mother can¡¯t recognize you¡­¡± He chuckled. ¡°But that¡¯s in the future, isn¡¯t it? I can¡¯t know if you¡¯ll change for the better or worse. What I can know, however, is that unless I have hope that you can change for the better¡­ Unless I have faith that you¡¯ll try to change for the better¡­ Unless I love you, through the ups and downs¡­ I can¡¯t call myself your friend once you bloom, like you were always supposed to.¡± His wing wraps around me, like a warm blanket. ¡°I trust you,¡± I hear myself say. ¡°I know you believe in me. But¡­ but¡­¡± The dark gazes of my friends stare up at me. In them, I see a conviction of strength that equals Goss¡¯ own. An unshakable faith. A belief that can¡¯t be broken, that says that I am a bad person, and I can¡¯t change. I feel myself smile. ¡°So that¡¯s why,¡± I mutter. Goss smiles, right next to me, always right next to me. A friend. Someone who trusts me. Someone I can trust. Someone¡­ who was not lessened by my presence. Someone who¡¯s grateful for my existence. Someone who would miss me. ¡°Kitty,¡± Goss says, so close to me, his feathers covering my shoulders like a warm blanket. ¡°Yeah?¡± His smile widens. ¡°Can you let me go now?¡± I match his smile, nod, and hug him close to me. He turns to feathers in my grasp, fluttering away out of my hands, and into the dark, dark sky. ¡°Goodbye, Goss.¡± 292: Floor 33, Cocytus鈥擯tolomaea I stand up again, wiping the perspiration from my nose. A status message pops up to greet the next part of the stage. <[Clear Condition] Move on.> It¡¯s colder now. My nose feels crunchy, and my fingers are getting stiff. As I walk, the people in the ice shift. Now, they have sunken down so far that the ice reaches their eyes. But only the bottom lid. It almost looks as though they all cried the lake together. Even though their eyeballs should be frozen in place, their eyes still watch me as I pass, dark as the ice around them. I move through them like a specter. I think I can recognize some of them from the floor that came before. Pinn, Lent¡­ This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. I pause at one of the silhouettes. Benevil looks up at me, his calm, dark eyes watching me without a hint of malice. Since his mouth is frozen shut, I can¡¯t talk to him. The ice has even reached too high up for him to hear me. Silently, I bow my head in appreciation of what he¡¯s done for me. The sides of his eyes curl up. Even though I don¡¯t understand what expression he¡¯s making, I move on. The people in the ice aren¡¯t as numerous as the previous two circles. In the first, a number of them were frozen in clusters, close enough to touch. Even in the second, there were plenty of people down there, with plenty of hatred to show. This one isn¡¯t quite as densely populated, but the sheer depth of the hatred in their eyes makes up for it. I recognize many of them. Soldiers, guards. Innocents. I walk among them and through them. After some time, I come upon four silhouettes, buried up their eyes in the ice. Ursula, Plus, Jazz and Rat glare up at me. Below the ice, they are close together, their hands clasped firmly to form a close ring. I know they can¡¯t talk. I know they can¡¯t hear me. I know it isn¡¯t even really them. And still, I bow my head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± And then, I move on. I march silently through the fog. It¡¯s all I can do. After some time, I smell a familiar scent, and notice a crowned silhouette, moving regally through the fog. I almost run to him. There¡¯s so much I want to tell him. So many apologies for so many things. I want to hug him close to me and cry into his royal mantle and tell him how wrong I was for everything I put him through. But it¡¯s not what he needs. I know that. He doesn¡¯t need apologies from the person who did all this to him, or half-hearted promises to do better. What he really needs is¡­ I grit my teeth. Turning away from Simel¡¯s silhouette, I move on. 293: Floor 34, Cocytus鈥擩udecca <[Clear Condition] Move on.> I continue moving. As the temperature drops and the air becomes colder and colder, the fog begins to fade. I can¡¯t see anything in the ice anymore. There¡¯s nothing but darkness, ranging on for what seems like miles. It¡¯s gotten cold to the point where even though my body barely produces any warmth of its own, my breath is turning a milky white. I can¡¯t smell very well anymore. My nose feels strange, and my eyes hurt. Beads of ice have frozen onto my eyelashes and nostrils. My eyes follow my feet. Left, right, left, right. One step after the other. I can¡¯t stop. Never stop. I have to¡­ There. A foot below the ice, hanging in suspended motion. Still clad in his regal robes. The king of Acheron. His dark eyes stare up at me, listless and cold. But he¡¯s in there. I can tell. As I walk across his form, his gaze follows me. A while later, I spot the emperor. His eyes follow me, too. And then, just as I¡¯m about to baselessly hope that that might be it, I find Coda, laid on his back, as though in a crystal coffin, right below me. I fall to my knees above him. Without thinking about it, I press my hands against the cold, dark ice. He can¡¯t respond. He can¡¯t do anything. All he can do, and all he does, is stare at me, with eyes as black as the ice around him. Tears crystallize at the corners of my eyes. I wipe them away. Bowing gently to him, I whisper ¡°Sorry,¡± and stand up. Then, even though it hurts, even though walking feels like torture, I move on. I limp listlessly atop the ice for hours and hours. My breath burns coldly in my throat. The fog is gone now. It¡¯s so cold that my breath isn¡¯t visible anymore. My chest aches. My feet hurt. But I have to keep moving on. I have¡­ to keep¡­ moving. Endless black around me. So above, as below. I¡¯m moving forward, but it feels like I¡¯m going in circles. The same black eyes stare up at me, passing by intermittently below the ice. My joints creak. My ribs crack. But I have to keep moving on. I have¡­ to keep¡­ I freeze in place. Below, in the ice, there¡¯s a new silhouette. His eyes are closed, his hair is shorter than I remember, but it is him. Going down on my knees, I press my fists against the ice. ¡°N¡ªno,¡± I say, my voice cracking from the effort. ¡°No, Moleman isn¡¯t¡­ He¡¯s alive! I¡ªI saved him, he can¡¯t be¡ª¡± Below me, unmovable, in a coffin of glass, lies Moleman. He isn¡¯t wearing his robes, or his uniform, or his formal outfit. He¡¯s wearing a hoodie and jeans. But it still isn¡¯t right. He shouldn¡¯t be here. This is wrong! ¡°I didn¡¯t kill him!¡± I cry at the eternal darkness. ¡°He¡¯s not¡ªhe isn¡¯t really¡­¡± Panting, trembling, still on my knees, I thump my fist against the ice. Thump, thump, thump. ¡°Haah, haah, haah¡­¡± I lift my hand. It¡¯s bony, pale, clawed and a deep, unnatural purple at the fingertips. ¡°I can¡ªI can save him,¡± I whisper. ¡°I can still save him.¡± I put my claws to the ice and begin scraping. Like a man unearthing a coffin from the ground, I claw at the ice, my hope rearing pathetically with each piece of ice scratched away. I can do this. I can do this. He isn¡¯t gone. I can still save him. I paw desperately, my fingers turning an even deeper purple, hypothermia bringing a fever to my hands and arms. But it doesn¡¯t matter. I claw and I claw and I claw and I claw. Below me, the black ice is chipped away, mounds of sheared ice piling up beside me as I fight against the ice and the water to bring him back. One by one, torn off my effort, my claws fall off, but it doesn¡¯t matter. I keep going. I have to keep going. And, in the end¡­ My hands touch something soft. ¡°Oh, oh God, Moleman, oh, God,¡± I mumble weakly as I push off the last of the ice, grabbing his stiff clothes and pulling his body out of that horrible black hole and into my arms. ¡°Moleman, oh, God,¡± I continue muttering into his cold, stiff hoodie. He¡¯s so cold. Even colder than the ice. But he¡¯s okay. I¡¯m sure he is. I didn¡¯t scratch a bit of his body. He¡¯s alright. He¡¯ll be fine. All he needs is a bit of warmth, and love, and¡­ As I hold his stiff body, a silhouette approaches from afar. I can¡¯t smell it. I can barely see it. Even if I look right at it, it doesn¡¯t feel real. Its form, hazy and blurred, fades into the darkness around it like a shadowy mist. It doesn¡¯t look like anything at all. All I can see are three pairs of eyes, glowing like those of a cat¡¯s. I press Moleman closer. As it silently walks closer, its form hunched and gangly, I finally understand what I¡¯m looking at. It halts, a dozen or so meters away. And there, it simply stands, watching me with animal curiosity.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. It¡¯s me. Clad in the same tatters of clothes I¡¯m wearing, its hair as long and greasy and tangled as mine, its claws torn off as though it, too, had unearthed Moleman from his icy crypt, just across the ice, stands a copy of myself, with a single striking difference. It has three faces. The central face has stark, red eyes, its lips curled into a show of eager bloodlust. The left face has eyes of pure black, its brows furrowed down into an animalistic expression of contempt. The right face wears eyes that are so white they don¡¯t feel real, with a look to it that says absolutely nothing at all. All three pairs of eyes are turned to me, though despite the looks on its faces, it shows no intention to attack. <[Clear Condition] Defeat it.> ¡°Haah, haah, haah, haah¡­¡± Breathing heavily, I look down at Moleman. He looks so young. And that wrinkle isn¡¯t pinched between his eyebrows anymore. He looks¡­ At peace. Ah, but there¡¯s a little¡­ I tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. There. Now, he¡¯s okay. Now, he can rest for a moment while I handle this. I lay him down gently atop the mound of shaved ice I formed. It looks like he¡¯s lying on a pile of feathers. Soft, and calm. I stand up and face that thing. It watches me, silently, alertly. ¡°Did you do this?¡± I ask. ¡°Did you hurt Moleman?¡± It draws back slightly, hunching down. ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I say. ¡°You did. Just like you did everything else. You¡¯re some¡­ some kind of amalgamate of all my misdeeds, aren¡¯t you? It¡¯s all you. It¡¯s always been you.¡± All three faces shift as it moves down, bobbing its head, preparing itself to strike. I can tell. It¡¯s looking for an opening. Some crack in my defenses that it can go for. I chuckle bitterly. ¡°I can¡¯t believe they¡¯d make it this easy. Downright simple. Quai¡ª¡± I bite my tongue. Wrong. wrong word. It doesn¡¯t seem to mind. The red-eyed face draws itself into a terror-inducing grimace, grinning pathetically. The black-eyed one frowns, nose wrinkling up. And the white-eyed one merely stares. A giggle crawls out of my throat. It¡¯s so stupidly obvious. Red, black, and white. Anger, hatred, and apathy. Are these my cardinal sins? Ridiculous. As I grind my teeth, it retreats further away. Cowardly. Pathetic. ¡°You¡¯re the worst,¡± I mumble, ripping the tattered remains of my clothes from my body. No use in showing sympathy to this thing. All I have to do is get rid of it, and I¡¯ll be alright. This has to be the easiest floor I¡¯ve ever faced! Laughing, I throw myself across the ice, aiming my claws for its stomach. But I miss. Ah, what¡¯s this? Oh, yeah, my claws fell off while digging Moleman out. Silly me! So, instead of slashing it up, slash slash slash, I slug it right in the stomach, grinning as I feel ribs crack under my knuckles. ¡°There we go!¡± I cackle gleefully. ¡°First strike, it¡¯s my point! Come on, come on, it¡¯s your turn, three-face!¡± Whimpering, it stumbles back, two of the three faces contracting in pain. ¡°Aauuhh¡­¡± As it touches a hand to its stomach, it groans painfully. I¡¯m not sure what else to do, so I stare as it mewls pathetically, tries to straighten out, and runs at me, fist raised and ready. Here we go, now here¡¯s a proper fight! Finally, some action! Go on, hit me! It punches me in the stomach. It doesn¡¯t hurt at all. No bones cracking, no organs rupturing. I frown in confusion. ¡°What was that?¡± I say. ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Drawing back again, it pulls its right hand to its chest, almost as though the mere act of punching me was enough to hurt. ¡°What the hell,¡± one step forward, one kick to its side and it goes flying, ¡°was that supposed to be?! Is that the worst you can do?¡± ¡°Ahh, aahhhh!¡± it moans, trying to pull itself to its legs despite its knees shaking like maracas. Storming up to it, I help to make the analogy more fitting by directing a swift kick at one of its knees, cracking the kneecap and forcing its leg to bend in the wrong direction. ¡°AUUUUUUUU!¡± it cries as it goes down, but that¡¯s not enough. Stepping on its other knee, I scoff at how absurdly brittle it is. A single step and it cracks like an egg! ¡°How pathetic can you be?¡± I growl at it. The creature, this supposed incarnation of my most despicable traits, merely blubbers and tries to crawl away, frail arms pulling a frail body along the ice. ¡°I thought this was going to be an actual fight,¡± I mutter, clambering over its tawny form to seat myself atop its stomach. It howls in pain, merely from that. ¡°This is just a beatdown.¡± Terrified, it tries to claw at me, but it''s so weak that it¡¯s pathetic. I bat one arm away a little too hard and it breaks, becoming utterly useless. ¡°Auu, auu, auu!¡± it yowls, like a stomped cat. ¡°This is dumb,¡± I say as I start to half-heartedly punch its faces with my right hand while holding down its remaining arm with my left. ¡°This is utterly stupid. If this is supposed to act as some sort of encouragement from the gods, in the vein of ¡®overcoming anger, hate and apathy is super easy!¡¯ then it¡¯s not helping. This honestly sucks. This is supposed to be hard, damn it! Hellish, even! And yet, it¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s¡­¡± I stop beating it. Below me, the creature sobs, shivering from the cold. I blink at it. Slowly, my bloodied fist unfolds. My hand falls on the cheek of the center face. It¡¯s warm. Its blood is warm, and its face has color to it. Gently, I wipe away the tears from its cheek. Leaning in closer, I let myself look at it, fully. After some time, it stops crying. Hesitantly, it opens its eyes again. A pair of trembling, red eyes watch me, frightened. ¡°Who are you?¡± I ask. It blinks at me, face moving into dozens of different expressions, frowning, brows furrowed, raised, eyes squinting and moving up and down. Then, chin trembling, its mouth opens. The red-eyed face speaks, in a small voice. ¡°I¡¯m Love.¡± Nodding, I turn to the black-eyed one¡ªthe one that stares at me with dark eyes and snarling face. My words come out easily. ¡°Who are you?¡± Its lips flash up, exposing its teeth, baring its fangs and its horrible, unwavering hatred. ¡°I¡¯m Faith.¡± Silently, my eyes fall to the final one, the white-eyed face, which sees me, unfeeling. Even bloodied and beat, it doesn¡¯t cry. Its icy white eyes send goosebumps across my arms. ¡°And who are you?¡± There¡¯s a shift. Just the slightest one¡ªa little quirk to its otherwise stone-carved lips. It smiles at me. ¡°I¡¯m Hope.¡± I see. So that¡¯s how it is. Clambering off, I sit beside it as it rises again, taking a seat beside me. My eyes move up and down its scraggly form. ¡°I look like shit,¡± I mutter. The middle head smiles at me, like a small child would. Turning away from the creature, I look at Moleman. I sigh at myself. How stupid can I be? It¡¯s not Moleman. And not just in the sense that it¡¯s nothing but a shade. That over there¡­ It¡¯s LetsFraternizeTogether. The person I ¡®killed¡¯ four years ago. The real Moleman¡­ The current Moleman¡­ He¡¯s alright. He¡¯s alive. If he was dead, I¡¯d have seen him down here in the ice. But he¡¯s not. I just¡­ The creature leans in and hugs me, putting its one usable arm around me. For a moment, I¡¯m unable to move. The arms are bony, the chest is hard, and its breath smells like rotten meat. So, this is what it¡¯s like to hug me? What an unpleasant sensation. I hug it back. ¡°Will you hold me, even when it¡¯s hard?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Will you let me love you? Have faith in you? Hope for you?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± It holds me tighter. ¡°Thank you.¡± It¡­ He dissolves into dust in my arms. The wind blows him away, but I don¡¯t feel alone. Even though the ice is cold and the howling winds bite, deep in my chest¡­ I feel warm. 294: Floor 35, A Lake Calming My feet plunge into ankle-deep, glittering water. The sudden brightness blinds me, and I stumble back, falling into the water. It¡¯s¡­ warm. Beneath the glistening, bright water is a layer of smooth, sleek sand. I press my fingers into it. Soft. When I drag my hand through it, a lower layer of darker, muddier sand is exposed. It¡¯s colder than the topmost layer. I grab a handful and hold it up, watching as the watery sand drips from between my fingers. My eyes move to the sight just beyond it. ¡­It¡¯s a lake. A still, calm lake, stretching across my vision. It¡¯s not huge. I can see the shore on the other side, tickled by reeds and creeping into a delightfully luscious forest. Trees in green shrouds stretch across the left and right side, going all around the circumference of the lake, all the way to where I¡¯m sitting on the other edge. Above, the sun shines brightly, not a cloud in the sky. It¡¯s¡­ beautiful.