Era winced. I'm starting to think “safeword” is a misnomer.
“Well, pirate?” asked Liv. “Do you know what happens? Anubis, Anubis, Anubis!”
[Liv — Branwen's Safeword]
[Liv — Branwen's Safeword]
[Liv — Branwen's Safeword]
“Enough, already!” said Era.
At this point, Branwen was catatonic.
“I have a question,” said Ofelia, already shutting off this whole “Anubis” debacle.
[Ned Caratacus — Branwen's Saf–]
Oh, shut up, I can say it.
“If it's how that word controls her,” said Era, “it's the result of years of hypnotic conditioning and training to—”
“Where's Noah?” asked Ofelia.
Liv looked up from Branwen to find Noah, only to find herself in a thick, lavender-colored fog the same color as his amethyst beads spewing from where Noah would have been. Please don't let this be what I think it is.
A flickering in the smoke gave Liv her answer—instead of the necklace, heavy amethyst chains tethered Noah to the ground.
“Noah,” said Era, getting a very strained “A” for effort in not raising his voice. “Her lips didn't actually touch yours, did they?”
As far as ten second silences go, this one was one of the longest before Noah responded.
“Blessed are the penitent,” whispered Noah through his tears, “for their shackles shall be as the keys to Argo's kingdom. Those who accept the Gods' light into their hearts...” It was the prayer of the condemned.
Liv dropped her staff, still trying to process this. My best friend is gonna die. My best friend is gonna die. Okay, this is happening now. This is a thing. My best friend is gonna die. Okay. Don't freak out.
Relax, Liv. I said relax! There's nothing you can do. So, do nothing.
Find Branwen and saw her legs off—
Maybe later. Okay. Just.
Is the angel here yet? Maybe we can reason with it.
Maybe we can kill it.
If I could just—
[Liv — Riastrad]
A dark, purple light filled her vision. Warm. The ground beneath her disappeared. Bright and dark all at once. Her face glowed with the fires of—
“No!”
[Liv — KO self]
She fell down and beat her face against the concrete, scattering war pixels with every hit. “Never again! Never again! Never again! No Riastrad! Never! No! Go away! Go to Hell! Die! Die! DIE!” Screaming and sobbing through her teeth, she lost consciousness with a whimper.
Even if Noah had to die today, she didn't want to be the one who killed him.
[Riastrad aborted!]
[Liv was KO'd!]
Era cringed from the sound of Liv's suffering, though he could scarcely see it through the fog.
[????? — Descend]
A blinding bolt of holy lightning struck the ground, carrying forth Noah's executioner with it.
“He's here,” said Ofelia. “It has been an honor, Friar Noah.” She knelt in prayer.
[Boss Battle!]
[Chopiel, Seraph of Decapitation ~You brought this upon yourself~]
[Bestiary — Chopiel, Seraph of Decapitation]
[Type: Spirit]
[Weaknesses: Darkness]
[HP: 20,000,000]
[Description: Unlike more boring planes of reality, angels in Luminar aren't beautiful, aren't helpful, don't protect you, don't play harps, don't have wings, don't need wings, wish your kid would stop trying to give them wings because that bell is very annoying, and, given the chance, will absolutely gut you like a trout for breathing without their permission. Their appearance varies slightly, but similar traits are found throughout: a bladed, often serrated halo floats above their head, and the rest of their three meter high body is covered by a large, ghostly cloak with a metallic face mask, all of which are decorated with sacred embroidery and designs from Luxiacon stories, which are pretty hard to make out through all the light and fog that accompanies their appearances.]
“Friar Noah Tamino,” said the Seraph, with a voice that cracked the asphalt. “You have broken the sacred covenant of the Healer's Code, and for this, you must die. Bow your head.”
“I obey, holy Chopiel,” said Noah, the rattling of the chains on his body indicating a bow.
Chopiel extended its armored hand, and a five meter long flaming sword appeared in its grasp.
And then...well, who's to say what went on in Era's head that moment? Perhaps it was his admiration and love of Noah and Liv. Perhaps it was fear that he'd lose the people close to him, just as he did five years ago. Perhaps it was an episode of Phil Clippenclop: Horse Lawyer that he hate-watched with Liv a week ago after fighting some monsters, the episode that dealt with religious ritual murders in Celsior. Perhaps he was just so tired from fighting the GU that night that he understood the risks of following through with such a rash plan and just didn't care anymore.
Whatever it was, Era saw two paths: fight the Seraph and everyone dies, or ignore the Seraph and Noah dies.
He took the third.
Era rushed between the Seraph and Noah, and with a mighty thrust of his right index finger toward the executioner, yelled, “Objection!”
Chopiel halted its sword midswing. Noah continued to whisper the condemned man's prayer.
“This does not concern you, Elf,” said Chopiel. “Do not interfere.”
“Not a chance,” said Era, already regretting this. “As per the 12th amendment of the Celsioran provincial constitution, all executions must be preceded by a trial.”
“His crime is an affront to the Gods.”
“Yeah, yeah, great. I'm sure he's violating all sorts of sacred laws. But Celsior is a secular state. King Gregor is an atheist. Maybe if we were in Ovinium you'd have legal clearance to lop his head off as much as you like. But if you did it here, it'd be pure and simple murder.”
In a flash of light, the flaming sword grew 300% more flaming. “Your argument is heresy. The oathbreaker dies, and for this insolence, you will die with him.”
“You sure Argo would be okay with that?”
“Silence!”
“Because the existence of fallen angels does imply some kind of internal disciplinary structure. I'm not saying you shouldn't kill him. I'm not your boss, I don't make the rules. I'm saying if you do, it could be your head on the chopping block next, for killing someone outside your jurisdiction.”
The sword's flames died out over two minutes of loaded silence.
Finally, the Seraph asked, “do you have an alternative proposition?”
Era cleared his throat as he approached twelve people sitting cross legged on the pavement—four homeless men, three over-caffeinated college students, two waitresses from the nearby 24 hour pancake house, two late night fry cooks, and “Timmy Boy,” a trembling old man with pockets full of aspirin.
They were all united over a common purpose: making a quick 500 G out of the Chosen Three's fight money.
The other heroes (including Liv, healed by Ofelia) stood leaning against the bridge's fence. Branwen was nowhere in sight. She was combing through the wreckage for any sign of Redacted and Expunged (who had, fortunately, survived the crash, and had been key witnesses for the defense).
Noah, still bound by the chains, had been mumbling the whole “blessed are the penitent, for their shackles shall be as the keys to Argo's kingdom” thing for so long that it now was more of a “blast the panties, or Chuck Shelby's cats are corkin' him,” which did not help his case in the slightest.
Era didn't have a tie, but pretended to adjust it as he began his closing argument.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” said Era, “the case for Noah's acquittal is mind-numbingly simple. You've heard the testimony from Branwen's crewmates: if she weren't experiencing severe audio-visual hallucinations due to lifelong sleep deprivation, she wouldn't have kissed Noah in the first place, on account of being a lesbian. Our witness from the scene of the
crime—thank you, Ofelia—confirmed that Noah didn't enjoy the kiss, not even in part, and attempted to resist.
In short: while their lips did technically touch for a fraction of a second, the facts of the case speak for themselves. The physical contact was accidental, mutually non consensual, and, in the same way that tripping and falling off a cliff isn't the same as recreational cliff diving, was not a kiss to begin with, and, ergo, not a breach of the Healer's Code. The defense rests, your Honor.”
“Can we leave now?” asked a waitress.
“Where am I?” asked a homeless man.
“The government's made of sawdust,” mumbled Timmy Boy.
“Silence, mortals!” The Seraph beat the pommel of its sword against the charred husk of what was once a pickup truck and was now the judge's bench. “The prosecution will now deliver its closing arguments.”
The prosecuting attorney—Centurion Chazz of the GU, who had come out of hiding to fulfill his civic duty—rose from his seat on the pavement. He pretended to shuffle a stack of invisible papers, put his hands in the pockets of his invisible blazer and drew a submachine gun from the back of his pants, aiming it at the jurors.
“Gimme a guilty verdict or you're all gonna die,” said Chazz. “The prosecution rests.”
“Objection!” said Era. “Your honor, this is a court of law, and no place for weapons or violence.”
The Seraph took a moment to turn to the gigantic flaming sword in its own hand, and flatly replied, “objection overruled.”
Liv, from the “gallery,” piped up: “That's the way we're gonna play, then? Fine. Give my healer a 'not guilty' verdict, or I swear, all twelve of you are gonna bleed out, slowly and—”
“Jury, please ignore the Mystic's statement, as the defense has already rested its case,” said the Seraph. “The jury will now retire for deliberations.”
“No need,” said the foreman, one of the fry cooks. “We decided on a verdict during the last recess, and this hasn't changed our minds.”
[Verdict: Not Guilty]
“What the vog did I just say?” yelled Chazz, shoving a clip into his gun.
[Jury Foreman: Atomic Buzzkill]
The foreman sighed. “Look, I'm working the night shift at Cheeseburg, and I have PhD in biology. Even my name tag has 'Dr.' on it, and people ask why I'm even here behind a deep fryer, and not in a laboratory somewhere. Each time, I laugh and say 'me too' or 'that's student loan debt for ya' so that I don't break down in tears, which would violate food safety regs. Half of us are single parents. Timmy Boy invested his life savings in a deli meats company the day before someone contracted Phiscaean turbo-leprosy from the imitation bologna.
Point being, Chazz: we live in Celsior Central, so that gun of yours can't do anything to us that hasn't already happened inside. Our only hope is that we can be put to work to help someone else out of the same misery that addictions, human cruelty, and corporate greed have brought upon us—like the defendant here —so that just maybe, our lives aren't completely wasted in this world.”
[Centurion Chazz is too bummed out to kill anyone.]
“The defendant will stop clapping!” said the Seraph.
“Sorry,” said Noah.
Chazz pocketed his gun, hanging his head. “Damn, that's...I'm sorry. All this time, I've blamed the problems in my life on elves and women, but I'm starting to think that maybe everyone's knee deep in the same misery as everyone else. If we don't realize this, and work together to build a brighter future for our—”
[Chopiel — Toss Judge's Bench]
Wham!
The truck landed midspeech, and Chazz became a smear of red entrails on the pavement.
[Centurion Chazz was slain!]
White-hot divine anger shot from the Seraph's eyes. The haze emanating from its body became smoke, sparks, and the embodiment of thousands of years of the Gods' hatred of sin.
“For this outrageous insolence, you are all of you condemned forevermore to the blackest pits of Hell!” shouted the Seraph, cracking the bridge underneath them. “Cackling gremlins will feed you the boiling viscera of the damned as you drown in your own sick for all eternity, and the Wheel, Flame, and Fleece will look upon your agony with a warm, gentle smile, for They have seen that Their divine justice has been exacted!”
“That's pretty metal,” said Liv.
“ESPECIALLY you!”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“As for you, Noah…”
[Chopiel — Angelic Mercy]
[Chains broken!]
[Noah's Amethyst Beads were restored!]
“The defense's argument, while blasphemous, is logically sound. Do NOT let this happen again.”
“Oh, thank you!” Noah sobbed. “Thank you so much, from the bottom of my—”
“Shut up, already!”
[Chopiel — Ascend]
[Chopiel disappeared into the Heavens!]
Era closed his eyes. It was well after one in the morning, and his body felt like a sack of rotten potatoes. When's the last time I went without sleep for this long? Gods help me, I'm too tired to exist. If there are any more pirates, angels, or GU waiting to pounce, they can fight themselves to the death.
“When do we get our money?” asked the foreman.
“Right,” mumbled Era, still trying to stay awake. He turned to the courtroom sketch artist—Steve, with some crayons. “Steve, if you could head up back the Doomwagon, my wallet should be under —”
Suddenly, a sickening voice echoed in the back of Era’s mind.
“Hang on a sec.” Bug Man?
How are you still here?
But I have the bells with me.
Okay, okay, hang on. Lemme try and parse this. Something I did here must have made you come back.
Uh...
It was the Neverstone's energy. Mother of vog—
[Era fainted from exhaustion!]
Chapter 16
Toasted Plastic
< A cold, unfinished scream am I >
< A bitter could-have-been >
< I'll never live, I'll never die >
< Until you let me in >
< The Gods a cradle-butcher be >
< Existence was my sin >
< I shriek for life to hear my plea >
< I beg you, let me in >
< The gateway in your weary mind >
< It rumbles from within >
< I starve in wait for someone kind >
< To come and let me in >
As he had expected, Era's nightmares were particularly terrible. The Bug Man had invented a few new ways to force feed him hornets while declaring his undying devotion. And there were earwigs! Honest to Gods earwigs, the one insect no one even thinks about until it's brought up.
He woke up in his top bunk, a cold sweat on his brow, with the Bells of Miracles still on his chest. Dammit, Era, what were you thinking, absorbing that energy blast for Noah? The Bug Man never showed up until you took Rimsky's little machete laser to the chest, and now he's back in full force. I should have seen this coming.
Wait, don't beat yourself up too much. Noah would have died otherwise.
Still, the Bug Man's return is going to be a problem in the long run. It'd be best to solve this problem on my own. I'm supposed to be the leader here; if my teammates knew I were a demonically possessed train wreck, they'd lose all their confidence in —
&nb
sp; Cinnamon?
Era sniffed the air. Definitely cinnamon sugar.
He turned to the right.
A platter of fresh bought snickerdoodles, still warm, sat at the end of his bunk. A tent card at the top read, “For saving me <3,” in Noah's swirly handwriting.
Era chuckled. Geez, make a bitter jerkass like me all flustered, why don'tcha. Where is that goober, anyway?
The bus was quiet and empty, save for Steve, nestled face first in a bag of CBC's. The door was open, though. Looking outside, Era could tell that the bus was in the parking lot of some kind of campground.
Era checked his phone—11:42.
VOG! I'm late for Raphael's training!
The air was wet, the sun was hot, and the clouds mercifully kept it hidden. Every now and then, Era silently checked the tip of his nose for any sign of raindrops from the cloud cover. No such luck.
With his sweater covered in snickerdoodle crumbs, Era limped his way down a rickety floating bridge across a muddy, shallow lake. At the other end was a muddy island in the center, where his friends were just finishing up with a band of ogres through the trees.
[Bestiary: Ogre]
[Type: Humanoid]
[Weaknesses: Ice]
[HP: 10,000]
[Description: Ogres are notoriously the least important and/or popular monster in Luminar. Not only are there millions of them, but their attacks are nondescript and generic, their design—green humanoid with fangs, a loincloth, and a club—is unoriginal, their battles are both sickeningly easy to win and time consuming, and they drop meager loot and experience points.]
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 22
