by Thomas Duder
Even after having met God, Yahweh Tetragrammaton Itself, the Four still ruled Williams religious perspective. So it was that Williams had not only trained in magical and even a few martial arts but, above all, had refined his belief in the Four elements that all Magi swore by.
He may have transcended the original contract, but he still upheld his belief in them. Drawing power from his faith, he reinforced his will and continued, becoming the conduit for both Gnome and Shiro as they fought on his behalf.
He only needed a little more time.
Aristotle, caught off-guard, recovered and began to run alongside the Ghost Dog, reaching out to grip her with his poison-covered hands. Letting go at the last second, Shiro yelped as he grazed her spiritual form, leaving a long streak of painful, glowing red coloration against her pristine hide.
Crying out, sharing her pain, Williams fell backwards as if struck powerfully, faltering until he felt small, warm hands catch him and lower him to the ground. Looking up into Gnome’s red eyes, the Earth Spirit whispered to him and him alone.
”Don’t stop. It hurts, but don’t stop. Lord Daniel had taken far worse than this,” she smiled as she continued, “And he has chosen well in you. Both the Shopkeepers have. You can do this, Tyler.
Don’t stop!”
Blinking away maddening waves of pain, the Magus slowly dragged himself out of her embrace, on hands and knees but still in the fight.
Any second now, any second now!
Rising to one knee, then to his feet, Williams roared out a command.
”SHIRO! FULL STEAM AHEAD!”
Unleashed, Shiro howled as her red eyes took on a pale violet color. Without summoner or conjurer to control her, the Guardian Spirit doubled in size suddenly, massive, pale horns springing up along the center of her muzzle.
Twice the size of a man, a spectral seal glowed redly between her enraged eyes, the simple mean face design of The Shop.
Williams, taking the gamble that Shiro simply wouldn’t go wild and hunt him as well, completed the ritual, cried out, “SHIRO, GUARDIAN OF THE SHOP! I UNLEASH YOU! WOE TO THIS WORLD, WOE TO OUR ENEMY!
ALL HAIL THE SHOP!”
Howling, “ALL HAIL THE SHOOOOP!” Shiro hurled herself at Aristotle, practically sailing through the air in a single bound, driven by her utmost hunger.
To guard the gates of the Shop was her duty, but to destroy…
Her pleasure.
Aristotle grunted and disappeared. One moment jaws large enough to crush cars reached out for him, promising destruction more certain than anything else.
In the next moment he simply wasn’t there.
Standing in front of Williams, Aristotle buried his fist into the younger man’s solar plexus. Eyes bulging, the Magus doubled over before crumpling to the ground, finally driven beyond his physical capabilities.
Snarling at Gnome, who began to fade away slowly, Aristotle whispered, “Lesson learned, you fool. The best way to defeat a conjuration is to defeat the conjurer. I’m going to enjoy killing him, Gnome, then I’m coming for you.”
Another surprise rocked Aristotle as Gnome merely smiled. Still connected within Williams mind, Shiro spoke up for Gnome, her voice incredibly human, “Why bother, when you cannot defeat a measly Apprentice? Fool.
Know defeat.”
Within the very next moment Aristotle chose the lesser of two evils, ready to destroy Shiro instead of dispelling her when suddenly the concrete wall exploded towards them, covering them in dust and debris.
Her body still tangible yet, Gnome covered Williams prone body with her own small form, protecting him from the blast. Shiro, laughing, attacked Aristotle in a sudden charge, slamming her massive head against his torso and sending him back only to slip to the ground, his feet accidentally discovering where Williams had thrown his metal plates.
From the dust, drunken slurs began to complain in even tones.
“Now who in the world would cause such a commotion so close to our motorcycle?”
”Who did this? Who caused such a ruckus near Lucille?”
Emerging from the dust cloud of their combined explosion, both enraged and inebriated, the Ricketts twins snarled at Aristotle as Shiro savaged at his forearm.
“Hey, brother mine!” the older twin said, pointing at Aristotle, “That looks like that jackass we were supposed to look out for.”
“We were, we were!” the younger twin pointed at him as well, a hand on the longsword strapped to his back under his enchanted cloak, “He is the jackass who is being too rowdy around Lucille, my brother!”
“GET THIS DOG OFF OF ME!” Aristotle roared, physically hauling the massive Spirit about as he regained his feet. Stomping a foot, he raised a curtain of vicious, poisonous energy upwards, washing over the ghost dog.
Shiro, yelping from tremendous pain, backed into the older Ricketts’ arms as the younger moved swiftly, passing the entire group to reach out for the whitewood staff, still clutched in Williams hand. Gripping Ash, the younger twin whirled it overhead before slamming it to the ground, two fingers in front of his face as he began to chant.
“Why you-!” Aristotle, about to attack the younger twin, suddenly backed up as he found himself under vicious assault from the older. Slashing and thrusting the longsword with noteworthy skill, the older Ricketts twin kept Aristotle focused on him as the assistant realized what kind of enchanted blade he faced. The same kind of poisonous, vicious red energy coated the edge of the longsword, and even though Aristotle was aware of and knew how to counteract such fell magics, he hardly had the time to do so while also fending off the older Ricketts twin who seemed far too focused on trying to skewer him viciously.
Cackling, the older twin backed up half a step before surging forward, charging Aristotle with the broadside of the longsword. Leaping backwards, Aristotle beheld the strange spectacle of the twins true fighting style as the younger twin completed his spell.
”Here, jack of ass! Eat this:
Cease and stop
All functions rocked
Thine heart to drop
BREAK IT UP!”
Between his hands an orb of chaotic, pink energy surged and swirled before hurtling directly for the older twin. Spinning in place, the older twin palmed the large ball of magical chaos before continuing his backspin, slamming it directly into Aristotle’s mask.
Screaming, even though he took no damage, Aristotle immediately scrabbled at the mask on his face, his nails breaking on the enchanted metal as his senses faltered completely, displacing his sense of the world completely for a moment as the Synaesthesia spell flowed through his magical defenses, powerful defenses which had been, for the most part, fooled by the offensive swirl of chaotic energy itself, unsure of which to defend first.
A long enough moment that felt like an eternity to his battered senses.
Falling back hard and beyond the range of the longsword, Aristotle fell to one knee, his head swiveling from one group to another. Advancing on the assistant slowly, the older twin practically took up Aristotle’s tortured, returning gaze as the younger one collected the prescient and awake, but weakened, Williams, Shiro limping at his side and staff in tow. Escaping the battle, the younger twin cried out from behind the wall, “HEEEEEEY there’s a girl in my sidecard! I mean, sidecar. Dammit. Here, the Tordekians are going to take our brothers home, friend.”
”You’re my home, brother,” the older hiccupped, dispelling the murderous gleam in his eye as he advanced on Aristotle, longsword held firmly in both hands, his sure step belying his drunken state, “And take our motorcycle to friend, Sidecard. I mean, sidecar. I mean….damn.”
Regaining his senses, Aristotle roared in frustration, his clawed hands resisting the urge to conjure up any of a thousand spells of doom and death, each one more potent and worse than the last.
Cutting through his drunken haze, the older Ricketts twin surged forth, wanting to strike before being struck. Surprising the twin, Aristotle continued to roar as he gripped the longs
word’s blade with both hands, steam erupting as poisonous energy met poisonous energy, the blade cutting into the flesh of his hands, his muscles straining as he overpowered the older twin for a brief moment.
Letting go of the sword suddenly, the Ricketts twin cackled, “Here, you want it? Take it!”
Cutting through the confusion, Aristotle caught completely off-guard, the twin suddenly leaped straight up and drop-kicked the blade’s crossguard, nearly piercing the assistant’s stomach if not for his reaction speed and strength. Driving Aristotle backwards, the twin landed flat on his back with insane, drunken giggling as the vicious assistant stumbled backwards, very nearly falling back with the sword almost buried into his guts.
Holding up his clenched fist, thumb out, the twin cried out, “Hey, Bimmy! Which one am I?”
From behind the wall, the younger twin called out, “I’m Bimmy, you’re Jimmy! And he’s-”
Both cried out, “The dummy!”
The older twin pressed his thumb down, hitting the mystical signal necessary to detonate the longsword as he rolled himself in his enchanted cloak. Taking a bit of the pointier shrapnel against his back, thankful for the thickness of the cloak stopping much of the velocity and his lightweight chainmail keeping him safe from harm, the older twin waited until the younger twin staggered back onto the scene to pat him on the back. Though the chainmail/cloak combo had blocked the dangerous bits of shrapnel, they were still there in the fabric, and the younger twin ground the tips of the shrapnel against his clothing accidentally, irritating his skin.
“Ow, ow, ow!” the younger twin said, reflecting their shared irritation, “Stop that, you fool!”
”I’m not doing that, you are,” the older twin groaned. He extricated himself from his rolled-up cloak, demanding his brother’s assistance since he was being so annoying.
“I’m not drunk, you’re annoying,” the younger twin grunted before crossing his eyes, uncrossing them and trying again, “I’m not annoying, you’re drunk!”
”Hey, is that guy still alive?” the older twin looked over to Aristotle, finding neither body or gore to help confirm the corpse.
Looking back at the makeshift entrance of the concrete wall, the younger twin quizzed, “Uh…hey, Williams! You alive?”
Ignoring Shiro’s affirming answer, speaking for Williams since he required more rest, the older twin slapped his younger brother on the shoulder, “Hey, no, I meant the other guy. Williams is gonna survive, he’s one of us.”
“He is one of us, but did you see him?” the younger brother began to slur, “Heeeee’s pretty messed up. We should ask…our Tordekian friends…for help now. You should listen to me, I’m the older brother today.”
“No, I’m the olderrrr brother today, and you’re drunker than I look,” the older twin caroused. Not confirming kill or body, the two staggered away from the battle, intent on getting back to their beloved motorcycle, watching as the Tordekians began to form a human chain and simply pass Gnome, who began to fade back into existence as Williams regained strength, back down the line. Shiro slowly floated and watched the twins walk back onto the scene. Though she had been “unleashed,” no longer requiring the power or shared connection with a conjurer, she was still locked to the staff, unable to leave a certain distance from it.
While her battle capabilities increased tremendously after being Unleashed, there were many negatives as well. She, herself, had no steady source of mana to spindle, and all damage she took was permanent until healed through magical means. As a conjuration she would simply be dispelled if her life force took enough damage, but when unleashed she completely lost that failsafe.
Death, for the dead, was permanent.
Watching her friends (and staff-wielders) stagger towards the motorcycle, the White Dog realized she was going to have to take control of the situation. Barking orders, she immediately had the Tordekians produce one of their Designated Driver disciples, frantically bullying and cajoling the twins from driving.
While they had somehow won the day against a major power, the last thing she needed was for the two idiots to drive drunk.
Not on her watch, not on this night.
****
Frank had died.
He knew that now. It had taken him quite a bit but as he rested, snug in a borrowed hotel room, needing to catch twenty minutes of sleep to recharge at least some of his strength, the truth was revealed to him.
For once he found it hard to accept.
Accept, the name of his greatest strength, his greatest ability. Completely human as he was, it was this ability that allowed him to retain balance, inwards and outwards, in a world gone far beyond normal.
Normal was never an option for him, and it was even worse now.
He had died. The bruise on his back fading, he had simply walled it off of his memories, a memory he dared not dwell on nor let Kitty know of, the second soul that inhabited his headspace. While Kitty had been involved, the memories of the second soul were Frank’s to govern, and this he had ruled was one the sensitive creature need not know.
He had landed, bounced, and rolled to a complete stop, having fallen from the top floor of the world’s tallest building.
He had died, fair and square with no coming back, no tricks, traps, or return tickets at the time.
“Are you truly this insane to think I’m going to take you?”
He had been to the Other Side, the Underworld, Underverse. Five million names and counting were given to the Land of the Dead, and the glorious creature that stood before him had just as many names as well.
Pantheons would come and go. Some were mere reflections of one another, reincarnated and regulated by a rare High God. Some were completely unique, and would be again.
All save this one.
Death.
To Frank, Death appeared as a raven-haired woman, radiating power and sensuality, her flesh pale and face invisible, a mass of darkness within her hood, her robe belted at her waist to emphasize her feminine features, full and lovely to the eye.
That was the one part about Death that actually confused Frank. Death was…Death, there was no need for her, him, It, to take up either form or look in order to entice those It reaped, yet there you had it.
To some, Death was a close friend. To others, it took on the guise of comforting family members. Still others it would appear business-like and nondescript, and to some others still it would appear as a vixen or stud, full rutting ready and radiating sexiness if not sensuality.
That It KNEW this form bothered Frank made it all the more annoying.
Despite the darkness that clouded Its face, Frank knew what face It would have. It was the same face that haunted his dreams from time to time, when he wasn’t looking.
He could feel Its smile through the darkness as it spoke to him, Its voice strong and way too female to be true, “No, you’re not asleep. You’re not dreaming. I’m actually here, you’re actually here, and you shouldn’t be.”
Frank grunted and arose from the ground where his body lay. Though he had landed, and died, in front of the skyscraper known as Babel, he now found himself in a sparse field of utter black, the gravestones and twisted, gnarled trees standing in bas relief to a dark, burnt orange sky.
Burnt orange, bitter amber.
“A bit dramatic, isn’t it?” Frank spoke, his voice redolent with power, even here.
”Tsk tsk,” Death admonished him, “Such disrespect! You’ve been throwing your weight around a bit much, Fran-k.”
Frank shivered at the way It spoke his name, with a hard ‘k’ at the end. Though it was a moniker only his close lovers ever used with him, he didn’t find it strange that Death would know of such a thing. Though he wasn’t allowed to remember the few times he had traipsed ‘her’ domain, he knew that she had long since earned the right to use that pet name, secret as it was to him when their play was over.
Secrets were their stock in trade, the both of them.
“So, that’s it?” Frank
looked up at the strange moons up above, two green and one blue, a fourth horrid, black one in the distance, “I do a header to the ground? I mean, I could’ve gone out way worse than this-”
”Did you not hear me, Fran-k?” Death asked. If he could see Its face, he would’ve noticed the arched eyebrow, the amusement in its golden eyes.
Instead, ignoring the fact that he felt such an intense attraction to both form and face, hidden as it was, he instead grunted, “You said it best. I have no tricks, no traps, no secrets left. This is the end of the road for me, and at least it wasn’t at the hands of that idiot Angel-gene or that idiot, Morrow Kind. Plus, I caught you off-guard. Bonus.”
Death tilted her head, somehow making the transition from “It’ to female before Frank’s tortured perspective, “And why do you think Morrow Kind is involved with this?”
“Karsiel’s strange assistant,” Frank grunted, running a thumb across his neck before flashing several messages to her in one-handed sign language, “As nice as he seemed when we kicked Karsiel’s tulpa dog, I could taste it. Song Magic.”
Death flashed several responses back in the same sign language, answering aloud, “Well, I certainly can’t tell you one way or another if it is. The Pact of Pantheons binds even one such as I, the shadow of this world. The foundation of this plane, born before even the Abstracts and Ideals given form.”
“Gods, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Frank chuckled, ignoring how he SHOULD have been naked as well. All spirits, once deceased, were naked, bereft of their mortal belongings immediately.
Straddling him, Death placed a slim hand against his chest, “I tell you, Frank, I cannot take you. It’s not just that you’ve grown too powerful or are beyond me - in fact, since you haven’t been presented with the proper situation, you’re very capable of being killed like any other mortal. Are you not here, with me, right now?”
“You haven’t really embraced me yet, y’know,” Frank grunted, kind of disappointed at that.
