Mortimer
Author: Neven Iliev
Date: 2021-01-15 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Humor; Adult; Role Playing Games; Magic; Demons; Adventure; Fiction
Description: Armageddon Day. That is how history will remember the date when two Overlords clashed amidst the war-torn streets of New Whitehall. The disastrous duel its explosive conclusion wreaked heavy casualties on the two armies present, rendering both the Ishigar Republic and the Lodrak Empire unable to continue to fight. And yet, it was no stalemate. With one Hero defeated and another revealed, the balance of power is sure to shift in the elvish nation’s favor. The Republic’s leaders will surely not hesitate to seize this opportunity, as they had already paid for it in blood and gold. Meanwhile the L

Everybody Loves Large Chests

Volume Six: Mortimer

A book by Neven Iliev

Prologue

The city of New Whitehall had suffered through hours of protracted battle between the Empire and the Republic only to then bear host to the titanic clash between two demonic Overlords. Their respective otherworldly minions wrought havoc on both sides and against each other, further adding to the chaos, death, and destruction. The chaos came to an abrupt end when Nagnamor’s Armageddon instantly destroyed himself, Liusolra, their demonic underlings, and a significant chunk of the city. What was left of the two armies was somewhere between a third and a quarter of their original number, rendering both sides effectively annihilated in terms of military strength. The immense damage to the city itself had left most of it either reduced to ash or in the process of becoming ash.

As if that wasn’t enough excitement for one day, every single person left in or around New Whitehall was treated to yet another absurdity in the moments following Armageddon.

[Clash of Fate has been invoked!]
[The Hero of the Hammer will now face the Hero of Chaos on the field of battle!]
[None may interfere in this righteous contest!]
[May destiny smile upon the victor!]

Most troops were aware that Teresa’s chosen would take part in the fighting, but nobody could have imagined that another Hero would stand in his way, let alone that one. The God of Discrepancies was somewhat infamous among the more seasoned adventurers and military officers, but largely unknown to the common soldiery. Mable was, without a doubt, the most obscure deity with the tiniest following, a seemingly insignificant player on the divine stage whose religion was more akin to a cult. It made absolutely no sense for Margaret’s Hero to be at New Whitehall, which, in a way, made it the most logical place for her Hero.

[Clash of Fate has been resolved!]
[The Hero of Chaos has defeated the Hero of the Hammer with a flawless victory!]

The old saying ‘when it rained, it poured’ was in full effect as the unlikely events piled on. The rogue variable springing seemingly out of thin air had triumphed over a man backed by the continent’s largest religion and most powerful nation. With a flawless victory, no less. However, the victorious Hero collapsed immediately after accomplishing that monumental feat. Given the situation, the surviving nine men and women who witnessed Keira’s duel did the only thing they could think of – retreat. They had no idea what sort of attention the flashy Clash would attract, so they decided to hastily depart the ash-filled desert in search of what remained of the Republic’s chain of command. Yet, before they left, the troops had to make a rather difficult decision.

“This don’t feel right,” a human scout grumbled. “This psycho killed Holt and the others, and put the Dec in a coma.”

“I’m with Mikey,” an elf soldier agreed. “Rather than bringing him with us, we should cut his balls off and shove them down his bloody throat.”

“Do you wanna get Taboo? Because that’s how you get Taboo,” Kaleera reminded them.

“How’d we get Taboo for that?!” the warrior questioned.

“Because Mortimer,” she simply said.

The Warlock was the closest thing the group had to an expert on the occult. Granted, she’d focused her Skills and studies on the practical applications of ruinous powers rather than their lore, but she knew enough.

“It is not our place to pass judgement on the dead,” Kaleera explained. “Whatever sins or crimes the man committed were forgiven with his death. This is the Final Mercy of Mortimer, the God of Death. To mutilate a corpse out of malice and vengeance is to go against that decree.”

Mikey wasn’t especially religious, nor did he care about getting a bit of Taboo. He knew plenty of people who had the stigma. However, the elf Warlock made a good point. There was no point in holding a grudge against a dead man. That was something both the Warrior and the Rogue understood and agreed on even though they were quite upset. More importantly, that matter had very little to do with Mikey’s issue.

“No, okay, I get that. I just don’t understand why we have to drag the fucker’s corpse back with us,” he argued. “His armor’s plenty heavy and would only slow us down even more.”

They already had to carry the unconscious redhead and what little remained of their fallen comrades. Hauling the dead Hero on top was a bit much.

“Oh, I’m sure the higher-ups will find a use for it,” Kaleera’s eyes narrowed. “They might parade it around a bit, maybe trade it to the Imps for something valuable. We’re capturing a symbol here. It’s, like, a strategic and political resource.”

“Is it really worth risking our butts? There might be more demons or enemy soldiers around. Not to mention the city surrounding this crater is slightly on fire in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I know!” the Warlock raised her voice. “I know, damnit. Ugh, really wish the Dec could tell us what to do.”

With Keira out of it and no way to contact Republic command, the grunts couldn’t decide on the best course of action. Not a single soldier among them had the military authority to make that call, though there was someone with an unmatched sense of superiority.

“Are you meatbags still whining about this?”

Fizzy hadn’t wasted any time on pointless arguments and instead focused on gathering her left arm’s shattered remains. The Artifact-grade shield-gauntlet that once adorned the limb was intact, but the rest of it was in over a dozen pieces. Both the item and the mithril shards were bundled up in an improvised sack that hung off the golem’s neck, resting against her chest. On the whole, she seemed to be taking this dismemberment thing surprisingly well. Given how notoriously self-obsessed she was, the others in the unit had expected her to go berserk.

She did a good job hiding it, but Fizzy was most assuredly upset at losing a limb. However, being a former gnome and a golem on top, she was over it. Boxxy had already humiliated and killed the meatbag responsible, which satisfied her spiteful side for the most part. Besides, odds were good she could have the arm repaired and reattached by a golem-smith. Therefore, her most pressing concern was her Hero’s safety. Boxxy was alive, but vulnerable, and the way those meatbags flailed around in indecision really ticked her off. She had half a mind to just grab Keira and run off, and probably would’ve done that if she didn’t feel incapable of adequately defending the unconscious shapeshifter by herself. She wouldn’t normally hesitate, but even her massive ego couldn’t ignore the loss of an arm.

Thankfully, like any good Artificer, she came up with an optimal and efficient solution to the grunts’ moronic dilemma.

“Look, I’ll grab the dead guy. I can easily lift him and his gear with just one arm. If things get dicey before we make it to safety, I’ll just drop him and we make a run for it.”

The troops instantly agreed to this acceptable compromise and went along with Fizzy’s plan. In actuality, the golem preferred to leave the dead bastard behind, but she knew Boxxy. The greedy shapeshifter would absolutely throw a hissy fit if Fizzy didn’t at least make an attempt at retrieving the Hero’s equipment, especially that Demonbane weapon. For better or worse, the group avoided getting into any scuffles and succeeded in linking up with remnants of the 2nd and 3rd Republic Legions. They rapidly made their way back to the half-demolished city hall building where the rest of their forces had reestablished a perimeter, so Fizzy’s group was able to deliver Bernard Samson’s remains.

Unfortunately for the golem, her consideration backfired as the Legion informed her that the captured equipment would be confiscated and locked away until they decided what to do with it. At least she tried. There was nothing left for her to do but to remain vigilant by Keira’s side until she woke up, which was precisely what she proceeded to do. Or, rather, attempted to do. Barely an hour after returning to base, a strange woman visited the golem and the unconscious redhead. She was a flat-chested elf with mismatched eyes wearing a high-ranking uniform common to the Republic military’s strategic officers.

She introduced herself as Primus Cecilia Underwood, and she had an outlandish yet disturbingly accurate theory regarding the newly revealed Hero of Chaos.

Chapter One
In Armageddon’s Wake

Part One

The Lodrak Empire and the Ishigar Republic had called an unofficial truce of sorts. There were no parlays, demands, or waving of white flags, yet both sides silently came to the same conclusion. Their armies were ravaged, disorganized, and demoralized beyond measure by the demonic incursion of not one, but two Overlords. Confusion reigned supreme, and neither military could accurately ascertain how many casualties were incurred. Was the Empire’s invasion force in tatters? Did the Republic troops possess the strength to sally out and push the humans back in a sudden counterattack? Would those responsible for calling those sentient disasters from the Beyond do so again if hostilities resumed?

It would be folly for any general to engage the enemy with so many gaps in their information. Both sides did what they thought best and entrenched their positions in and around New Whitehall’s ruined remains. The battle was over for the moment, but the war wasn’t. The number one priority was gathering the scattered troops and treating their injuries to return them to fighting condition. The catgirl of the hour was naturally given special care and attention. Unfortunately, the military medics couldn’t ascertain what was wrong with Keira. Physically, she was in remarkably good health, yet the cause of her comatose state was a complete mystery. None of the healing magic or invigorating elixirs at their disposal were able to wake her.

The medics had no choice but to employ a ‘wait and see’ approach. They moved the redhead to a relatively intact house where she was given her own private room. The conscripts and soldiers under her command could do little but worry and pray for her safety. At first, they did so openly and vocally, but as the hours rolled on their vigil turned silent and grim. The only exception was the mithril oddball in the group. Fizzy wasn’t worried in the slightest and kept herself busy tending to her damaged equipment. The quiet scraping and clacking of her instruments and the muffled shouts from the street outside were the only noises permeating Keira’s bedside.

“Hnnn…”

And then, after twenty dreadful hours, she finally showed signs of activity.

“Dec? Dec! Guys, she’s waking up!” yelled Mikey with a stupid grin on his face.

Upon hearing the Rogue’s words, the other ten people in the room quickly surrounded the catgirl’s bed while a dozen more gathered outside the open door. They watched in awe and relief as the beastkin’s yellow eyes fluttered open. Her blank, lazy stare scanned over them, until it focused on a particular elven Warrior’s face.

“Sy… Syme?” she uttered in a low whisper. “Is that… you?”

“Yes! I’m right here, Dec!” he responded enthusiastically, moving closer to her side.

“I… Nnngh,” she groaned. “Your… your…”

“What? What is it?”

The elf knelt down to her bedside putting his ear closer to her mouth to hear her better.

“Your breath reeks.”

“… Huh?”

“I said your breath stinks,” she repeated, louder this time. “Smells like something crawled inside your mouth, died, came back to life, farted, and then died again.”

Syme and several others could no longer contain their joy and threw themselves at Keira’s upper body, hugging her from all sides while shouting with joy. The ones standing outside wanted to rush in as well, but the room was far too cramped so they had to wait for their turn while cheering loudly.

“Aaargh!”

That lasted for all of ten seconds before a scream of pain put an abrupt end to the celebration. One of the troops backed away from the Decanus while clutching his hand, which was bleeding heavily from three long cuts. Sensing their commanding officer’s ominous intent, the others immediately left her personal space. A passing glance revealed that the catgirl herself was the injury’s cause evidenced by the bloodied claws at her fingertips.

“If one of you tries to grope my boobs again, I swear to whatever God is listening that I will slice the offending appendage off and then ram it down your throat.”

She spoke in a voice dripping with bloodlust while her sharp, predatory glare caused everyone present to break out in a cold sweat.

“Are we clear?!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Good. Now then. Syme – where are we?”

“We’re back at base, Ma’am. What’s left of it, anyway.”

“And how long was I out?”

“About twenty hours, Ma’am. It’s almost noon the day after you lost consciousness.”

The girl’s eye twitched involuntarily. That was way too long. Then again, the monster inside was told it would be out for days or even weeks, so this outcome was somewhat of a pleasant surprise. It would appear even Kevin had underestimated Boxxy’s mental fortitude.

“And the VIP?” Keira pressed.

“Safe and sound, Ma’am,” Syme reported. “She still hasn’t woken up, last I heard. As for our unit, everyone else managed to make it back without suffering… additional losses.”

Keira’s eyes and ears visibly drooped at the mention of casualties. It showed that no matter how strict or scary she seemed out in the field, she still cared about the lives of each and every soldier in her charge.

“Thank you, Syme. What about the Empire?”

“They’ve been real quiet ever since the, uh, situation. I don’t think they have the balls to challenge us after everything that happened, and our side isn’t exactly willing to go at it either. Especially not since the whole Clash of Fate thing…”

“Oh… Right, of course. I guess that makes sense…”

An awkward silence descended upon the group until Mikey addressed the sphinx in the room.

“So… Dec… Ma’am. You were a Hero all this time?”

Keira averted her eyes and gripped the edges of the old blankets covering her.

“Yeah…”

Initially, the human Rogue wanted to question why she didn’t just challenge Bernard if she was a Hero herself. If she had, then surely Holt and the others would still be alive, right? However, once he cooled off and talked things over with the rest of the squad, he understood this was not the case. If she had rushed headfirst into that fight before properly studying her opponent, she would have been the one getting turned into salt. Then, with her out of the way, that guy would have pummeled the rest of them into dust. It wasn’t fair to put the blame of those three deaths on her shoulders. Sacrificing others for the sake of victory was an unfortunate yet necessary part of warfare. Besides, even if those guys knew ahead of time that things would turn out that way, they would have accepted their fate with smiles on their faces.

Rather than badger her about a past that could not be changed, Mikey instead chose to focus on the present.

“So… what’s it like?” he asked. “Being a Hero, I mean?”

“Uhm… There’s nothing special about it, really,” she nervously answered.

“But Heroes get those unbeatable divine Skills, don’t they?”

“I don’t know what sort of Skills others get, but being the Hero of Chaos is… It’s a liability.”

“A liability? How do you mean?”

The redhead took a deep breath before continuing.

“Remember when my hair caught fire a few days ago?”

“You mean when you messed up starting a campfire?”

“I didn’t mess up. It caught fire all on its own.”

“It… did?”

“One of those ‘divine Skills’ you mentioned? It causes random things to happen around me. If it isn’t turning my head into a torch, it might make me sneeze uncontrollably. Or maybe I get teleported twenty meters straight up in the air and break my leg when I land. Perhaps I’ll even transform into a potted plant for a while with no way to stop it. Sure, sometimes it’s helpful and amplifies my attacks or heals my wounds, but even then, I can’t really take advantage of it. I have no control over it whatsoever… I can’t even turn it off! I may just get struck by lightning and die on the spot one day! It’s… terrifying!”

The squad fell silent as they could only imagine the mental strain this must place on a person. That wasn’t to say that death couldn’t randomly sneak up on a person, but that Skill sounded positively sinister. Not only did it constantly remind its user that they could win the death lottery at any moment, but they also had extra tickets to it, too.

“Is… Is that why you haven’t told us, Ma’am?” asked Syme. “Or anyone, for that matter?”

“… No. I mean, if it was just that, then I could deal with it. But… the other Skill is even worse. At least the most that first one could do is hurt me personally. The other one, though… It causes disasters to happen around me everywhere I go.”

“Surely you’re exaggerating, Ma’am.”

“Don’t talk to me about exaggerating!” she snapped suddenly. “I mean, just look at my track record! I finally find myself a new home – a war breaks out. I go fight in said war – I suddenly have to play call-girl to some demon-loving stranger who, frankly, scares the crap out of me! Fuck, I had to turn five innocent dryads into weapons of mass destruction! Do you realize how ludicrous that sounds?! How crazy the very idea of that is?!”

“Ma’am, not for nothing, but aren’t those good things?” asked Mikey. “I mean if it wasn’t for-”

“Don’t you fucking say it!” she wailed at him, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re not the one that caused a massacre by lying to innocent children! You’re not the one who has to worry whether their mere existence might destroy everything they hold dear! You’re not the one who had this fucking vortex of stupidity, and shit, and-and-and-and mayhem forced upon them by a God who just wanted to watch someone dance for his fucking entertainment!”

The furious catgirl bit her lip and buried her face in her legs, weeping uncontrollably while the rest of the unit watched with heavy hearts.

“It’s not fair!” she shouted in between sobs. “Teresa’s Hero got two fucking instant-kill moves!”

Like a dam bursting open, a veritable flood of complaints and resentment gushed forth, seemingly without end.

“And what did I get?! *Hic! Hic! Hic!* A life where I will never, ever find peace, *Hic!* no matter how hard I *Hic* try!”

There was not a single thing any of the others could say or do once the realized the enormous burden this sixteen year old girl had been shouldering all this time.

“And why me?! *Hic!* Of all people in this world, why in the shit did that *Hic! Hic!* asshole have to torture ME?!”

“That’s the question everyone asks when things aren’t going their way.”

A metallic voice from the open doorway suddenly filled the room.

“Why me? Why did this happen? What did I do to deserve this?”

The one-armed golem strode inside while asking those rhetorical questions.

“The answer to all of those is really simple.”

She flicked a golden coin with her thumb. It spun around in the air and landed on the bed with a soft thud squarely in front of the curled up beastkin. Keira looked up from her knees and stared at the smiling mithril golem with puffy eyes.

“There is no reason,” she said, her voice quiet and shaky. “It’s just *Hic!* the luck of the draw.”

“That’s right,” confirmed Fizzy. “However, it’s up to us to figure out what to do with the reality the flows of chaos have presented us with. We are the ones who decide whether our fortune is good or bad.”

The golem walked up to the side of the bed and smiled radiantly at the much-too-young Hero.

“What say you, o Chosen of Chaos? Will you roll with the punches or fight back against your fate?”

“… Neither,” muttered Keira. She looked to Fizzy with a weak smile. “I’m gonna make fate my bitch.”

“Haha! There you go!” cheered the Paladin.

*THUD*

“Oooof!”

The catgirl let out a rather uncomely voice at the sudden, much-too-heavy pat on the back. Fizzy kept on smiling, seemingly oblivious that she might have caused a bedridden person further injury.

“You’re getting the hang of this Hero of Chaos thing already!”

Of course, this whole performance was merely an act, and not a very original one. Thanks to Keira’s overly melodramatic outburst, Fizzy was able to easily discern the recently-awoken Boxxy’s intentions. She then waited for the right moment to walk on stage so the two of them could perform this little scene, an adaptation of the pair’s initial meeting with the God of Unpredictability himself. It seemed to have the desired effect. The surrounding men and women relaxed significantly when they saw Keira visibly perk up a bit.

Unfortunately for the shapeshifter, while its acting skills and Fizzy’s assist may have placated those around them, there was a bigger issue at hand. Namely, the fact that Keira’s Hero title was no longer a secret. The worst part was that Boxxy could have done something about that, even with the unexpected spilling of the beans by that Clash of Fate announcement. All it had to do was kill the immediate witnesses so that Keira and Fizzy were the only survivors of the VIP’s assault. The two of them would then be able to spin whatever story they wanted and the Republic would have little choice but to believe them. That method would have also allowed the monster to claim Bernard Samson’s corpse and equipment for itself.

Her Divine Bitchiness just had to interfere and ruin everything. Boxxy wasn’t sure what Arms and Hugo were going to do to Teresa, but it hoped that it would be something terrible and mentally scarring. Indeed, considering the Goddess of Gambling demanded that fiend’s assistance, it was safe to assume that Teresa was getting violently railed at that very moment. Petty revenge fantasies aside, the cat was out of the bag. The female elf poking her head through the doorframe made this abundantly clear. The lime-green hair, mismatched blue-and-green eyes, and a familiar uniform made her immediately recognizable as one Primus Cecilia Underwood.

“All of you – out,” she commanded. “I need to debrief Decanus Morgana immediately.”

The soldiers obeyed her orders with a few dispirited yes-ma’ams and filed out of the room. The Primus and Fizzy flashed each other mutually knowing looks as the golem passed by the officer. Once everyone was out, she closed the door behind them and walked up to the foot of the bed, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at the slightly unstable catgirl.

“So. Hero of Chaos, huh?”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.”

“How, why, and where. Explain.” she demanded.

“The, uhm… after my parents were killed, I *sniffle* had to fend for myself and-”

“Think fast.”

The elf suddenly tossed a small metal ball at the catgirl.

“Woah!”

Keira fumbled a bit but managed to catch it.

*Clink*

The ball let out a small metallic sound, followed immediately by a rather potent electric current.

*Bzzzzzzt*

“Hargarflurburgurgle!”

The jolt coursing through the girl made her involuntarily emit a series of unflattering noises. This lasted for only a few moments, leaving her shaking and spasming while her hair stood on end. The metallic sphere, now completely out of juice, fell out of her twitching fingers, and landed in her lap with a soft thud.

“What the fuck was that?!” Keira screamed.

“… Damn. And I was so sure you were the Sandman in disguise.”

“You what?! How does that make any sense?!” the beastkin protested. “I mean, look at me! How could I possibly pass for someone that stupidly huge?!”

“You could do it if you were a shapeshifter.”

There were a few brief moments where the only sounds heard consisted of Keira’s heavy breathing and gnashing teeth.

“Did I pass your stupid test, then?” she growled.

“I, uh… Yes.”

Fizzy had loaded the Shock Ball with enough juice to easily knock out even the toughest of shapeshifters. The golem guaranteed that it wouldn’t kill Keira and would, at most, leave her at half HP. Cecilia had tested this claim on another soldier whose vitality was similar to what Keira Morgana had at her last routine Appraisal, and was confident of its non-lethality. However, both the golem and the medics had warned her not to try anything that might jeopardize the unconscious redhead’s condition. That was why she waited until Keira awoke before running this little test.

And now that it was done, she had no choice but to admit that the pint-sized-Paladin was right, and that her ad-hoc theory regarding the Sandman’s identity was wrong.

“I’m, uh, sorry for springing this-”

“Damn right you’re sorry!”

Keira sprang to her feet and tossed the now-inert metal ball straight at the Priestess’s face. The elf let out a yelp, barely managing to dodge it. The heavy object slammed hard against the wooden door then fell to the floor with a heavy clang. A trio of fully armed guards took this disturbance as a signal that something was wrong and burst into the room moments later.

“No! Nononono! Stand down! Down, I say!” Cecilia spoke frantically while flailing her hands around. “I’m fine! We’re fine! Nothing to worry about! Nothing at all! We’re all good, okay? Yeah, all good, right? Ahah! Ahahaha! Ahahaha… *Ahem* Thank you, Jeremiah. That will be all.”

The guards gave each other questioning looks before promptly leaving the room. There was definitely something fishy going on at the scene they just walked in on, but if their commanding officer said otherwise then that was all there was to it. Once the door shut behind them, Cecilia awkwardly turned to face Keira once more. The girl had stood upright on top of her bed, her face, hands, and shoulders still shaking with fury. The beastkin was so outraged that she either didn’t care or didn’t realize that a bunch of strangers had just seen her in her undergarments.

“Uhm, Miss Morgana, I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to assault your s-s-superior officer in the future.”

“Fuck you,” she coldly replied.

“… Okay, I earned that. Once again, I am truly sorry for putting you through all that so suddenly. It was not my intention to hurt you – just to be certain we didn’t have a monster in my midst.”

“I don’t care!” growled the catgirl. “I’ve enough shit to deal with as is! Prosecute me, boil me, I don’t care which, but either leave right now or – I swear to Bob – I will make you, you crazy cunt-waffle!”

Clearly not used to such a violent confrontation, Cecilia had no idea what to do. Unlike Silus, she lacked the people skills to properly control and calm down an upset adventurer. She was an analyst first, a Priest second, and an amateur sculptor third. None of those were suited to this type of situation.

“Th-then I will leave,” she consented. “I’ve clearly overstepped my boundaries. Please don’t think too badly of me. Whether you like it or not, you will probably be seeing more of me in the future.”

“As if! I’d rather eat my own shoes than-!”

Keira’s scathing remark ended abruptly, her eyes blinking rapidly in realization.

“Where’s Mister Underwood? Shouldn’t he be here for this?”

“Silus, he…” Cecilia hesitated for a moment. “We were evacuating headquarters when those demons sent a stray ice fragment flying towards us. He saw it coming. I didn’t. He pushed me out of the way and… he… didn’t make it.”

The catgirl froze for several seconds as the unexpected news sank in. Once the apparent shock wore off, she sat back down on her bed and hugged her knees once more.

“I’m sorry,” offered Cecilia.

“… Have I mentioned how much I hate this war?” the redhead flatly asked.

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing. Excuse me.”

The elf wiped a few tears from the corners of her eyes and promptly made for the exit.

“Could you call Fizzy back in for me, please? I’d rather not be alone.”

Cecilia felt an urge to demand that she should be the one to comfort Keira. After all, who better to console the Hero of Chaos than a priestess that served the same deity? However, even she wasn’t dense enough to realize that she was probably the last person Keira wanted to speak with right now. The beastkin didn’t need spiritual guidance, but a friend’s shoulder to cry on. At that moment, in that room, she wasn’t the Hero of Chaos or a Decanus in the Republic’s Third Legion. She was merely a distraught teenager at their wit’s end.

“Of course. I’ll be sure to let her know.”

Miss Underwood left the room with a heavy step and ordered the soldiers still waiting outside to disperse. About half a minute later, Fizzy came back in, closed the door, walked up to the bed, and sat next to Keira. The old furniture creaked and groaned under her tremendous weight, but somehow remained intact. Boxxy did one more scan of the room and its immediate surroundings through its Mana Locator Gland, confirming there were no eavesdroppers.

“It’s clear,” it said in a calm monotone. “Good work earlier.”

“Thanks,” the golem beamed at the praise.

“How’s your arm?”

Her smile disappeared as she looked down at her left shoulder’s torn-up remains.

“It’s a lost cause. I picked up as many pieces of it as I could find, but repairing it is impossible.”

“What about the shield gauntlet?”

“Perfectly intact. Not a scratch on it, actually.”

That wasn’t surprising. Artifact-quality items had a rather notorious habit of outliving their owners, especially cursed ones like that shield-gauntlet.

“Oh. That’s something I guess,” the monster shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“Good to see you didn’t turn back into a gnome.”

“… Yeah.”

One of Fizzy’s few fears had been the possibility that she might revert to a useless pile of flesh and bones if the source of her ‘blessing’ was ever removed. She didn’t exactly obsess over it, but it had always loomed in the back of her mind. Ideally, she would have never had to find out, but at the very least she could now drop that concern like dead weight.

“So how do we fix your arm? Do we have to get you a new one and bolt it on or something?”

Needless to say, Boxxy wanted its prized shiny restored to mint condition ASAP, probably even more so than the golem herself.

“More or less,” she nodded. “The problem is I lack the tools, materials, and expertise to do it myself, and I won’t find any of those around here. Or in Azurvale. Or anywhere outside of Horkensaft Kingdom’s capital.”

“Surely there’s other, closer workshops.”

“No, there really aren’t. Mithril is a notoriously difficult metal to shape, and I wouldn’t trust anyone to handle my repairs outside of the state-of-the-art golem foundries of Gun Tarum.”

“That’s a fair point,” Boxxy conceded. “Guess we’ll need to visit that place sooner than expected.”

“Yeah… By the way, how’d you pass the shock test?”

“Oh, I just used Bouncewood bark.”

Keira showed the back of her hand to Fizzy. The catgirl’s tanned skin peeled back to reveal a black, rubbery substance directly underneath. It had come up with this method of shielding itself from its elemental weakness shortly after its Rank Up into a hylt creeper. The shapeshifting technique had its flaws, of course. The main one was that its execution required several seconds of standing almost completely still. Boxxy felt confident it could pull it off much quicker with enough practice, but it wasn’t at that stage yet. Thankfully, the monster’s MLG had allowed it to spot and identify the spherical device in Cecilia’s possession, giving it ample time to prepare.

“Woah, that’s brilliant!” shout-whispered Fizzy. “I never would’ve thought of that! Does that mean you’re immune to electricity now?!”

“Not immune, highly resistant,” it corrected her. “This layer absorbs about two thirds of the damage, and electric shocks still hurt like hell, but at least it keeps me from losing control of my body.”

It was a bit regrettable that it would still take damage from lightning-based Spells and electricity-discharging devices, but it couldn‘t be helped. After all, a monster completely overcoming its Bane was impossible, even for this particular box-minded nexus of absurdity. It was still more than sufficient for its purposes, given the ease with which it passed Cecilia’s ‘pop quiz’ just now. It wouldn’t let its guard down, of course. It had convinced that crazy blonde that her ‘Keira is the Sandman’ theory wasn’t true, but there was no telling when someone else might identify the connection. This sort of thing was precisely why it didn’t want its Facade to be known as a Hero.

Oh well, Boxxy sighed inwardly. No use crying over spilled bone marrow. At the very least I should try and make the most of this, but first…

“Say, Fizzy,” Keira narrowed her eyes slightly. “That Shock Orb was one of yours, right?”

“Yup!” she proudly confirmed.

“And did you know the elf was going to use it on me?”

“Well, duh. I had to configure it to shock you without killing you, after all.”

“Couldn’t you have toned down the ‘configuration’ a bit, though? You didn’t hold back at all!”

“Of course not. If I went easy on you, she might have connected the dots.”

“Okay, fair enough. But how did you know I could bear something of that magnitude?”

Fizzy shouldn’t have been aware of Boxxy’s ability to grow a subdermal layer Bouncewood, especially since the golem herself admitted she hadn’t considered that possibility before now.

“I didn’t,” admitted Fizzy with a goofy smile. “I just had faith in you.”

Part Two

Boxxy had just started reprimanding Fizzy over her interpretation of ‘acceptable risk’ when the gaggle of idiots outside the room started getting nosy. Keira’s subordinates couldn’t wait to see their ‘Dec’ and a few shamelessly eavesdropped through the door, so the shapeshifter postponed its complaining and got back into character. The sun already set by the time it had placated the morons enough to make them leave. It was still exhausted from the protracted battle and the subsequent confrontation with Teresa, so it decided to call it a day and get some sleep.

However, it was by no means a restful sleep. The Underwood woman’s sudden anti-shapeshifter test had made it rather paranoid, so it did its best to sleep lightly. As a result, it woke up every time a disturbance entered its MLG range, which happened several times throughout the night. On the upside, the incidents were fairly inconsequential. Either Legion guard patrols passed a bit too close to the house or people poked their head through the door to check on Keira.

Unfortunately, even if inconsequential, these interruptions prevented the doppelganger from getting the sleep it needed. It stayed in bed much longer than usual the following morning in an attempt to compensate, but at some point, it gave up. It had a Facade to maintain, and it was already three hours past Keira’s usual wake-up time. It considered playing the ‘sick person’ card, but unfortunately the redheaded girl wouldn’t do that. Keira was an earnest character who would strive to get up as soon as possible to not worry others. Boxxy did its best to hide its annoyance and sleep deprivation under Keira’s face, threw on a heavy military-style coat, and made its way onto the street.

The weather was still as dark and ominous as ever. The depressingly gray ocean of clouds overhead looked as if they’d unleash an ocean’s worth of rain at any given moment. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining just yet. Boxxy hated the rain. Having so many water droplets pass through its magical perception field was, for lack of a better term, too noisy for its liking. Not to mention the thunder and lightning that typically accompanied such weather wasn’t exactly pleasant. While it was no longer a mindless mimic that cowered in fear from thunderstorms, scary things were still scary.

Keira started drawing quite a bit of attention as she aimlessly walked the slightly foggy streets. This wasn’t new as her appearance was designed to stand out, but she wasn’t met with the usual array of curious glances and hushed whispers.

“Looking good, Ma’am!”

“Great work out there!”

“Don’t let the muffin man get ya! Hah-hahaha!”

“You go, girl!”

“Way to show those Imperials how it’s done!”

“Can you sign my shield?!”

“Hang in there, shorty!”

“Mor-gah-nah! Mor-gah-nah! Mor-gah-nah!”

Rather than passing looks of mild curiosity, Keira was greeted by cheers and well-wishes. Total strangers congratulated her on her victory, asked to shake her hand, and saluted her with the utmost respect and adoration. There were, of course, those unable to work up the nerve to approach the catgirl and stuck to cheering and waving from a distance, but they were the minority.

It was painfully obvious Keira’s identity as a Hero had already spread among the rank and file. Whether someone in her unit spilled the beans or a higher-up spread the news was unclear, but it didn’t matter at that point. The problem was that those people almost seemed too happy to see her. Heroes would obviously be popular and draw a crowd, but this was a bit too much too soon, wasn’t it? Clearly something else was going on, but Keira was out of the loop since she’d been out of it for the better part of two days. Making matters worse, all those swarming ‘fans’ made it difficult for the flabbergasted catgirl to get any straight answers.

As she wondered how to deal with all this, Keira suddenly locked eyes with a familiar face in the crowd. She was an elf about twenty years of age with long green hair tied up in a stylish ponytail, piercing emerald eyes, and fair skin white as snow. She was a splendid Ranger in her own right and one of Keira’s former classmates – the last set of adventurers to receive the late Milo Faehorn’s teachings firsthand.

“Lia? Hey, Liaaaa!” the catgirl waved frantically.

“Eeep!”

The elf in question let out a small squeal as countless eyes suddenly settled on her. Not knowing how to react, she stiffly about-faced and started briskly walking away.

“Hey! Lia! Wait up! It’s me – Keira!”

Rather than turn around to properly greet her, the young woman quickened her pace. The catgirl’s pleasantly smiling face turned to one of bewilderment, replaced immediately by an annoyed, toothy scowl. She dropped down on all fours with her hips up slightly and her glare locked onto the back of the retreating elf’s head. The soldiers directly in front of her instinctively cleared the way while a bewildered silence gripped the others. Lia noticed the change in atmosphere and glanced over her shoulder just as Keira finished assuming her ‘take-off’ position.

“I said wait for me, damn it!”

The catgirl sprang forward like an arrow launched from a bow, both hands and feet scraping violently against the muddy cobblestone underneath as she dashed madly at Lia.

“Waaaaaah!”

The elf shrieked and dashed away with all her might. She sprinted haphazardly through the street, tears forming in her eyes. She ran around objects and people with ease while maintaining a full sprint, displaying speed and agility befitting a mid-Level Ranger. A quick glance over her shoulders revealed that Keira was steadily catching up to her. The witless elf turned around a corner, went into a ruined house, hopped up to the half-collapsed roof, and leapt towards another building across the alley. She landed on the mostly intact, flat roof with a single roll and kept running towards the opposite edge-

“Got you!”

-only to have the catgirl suddenly leap up in front of her.

“Bleurgh!”

Lia couldn’t kill her momentum and let out a weird noise as she collided with Keira. The beastkin wrapped her arms and legs around the elf, knocking her off her feet and pinning her against the roof’s hard, flat surface. Both panted lightly as the redhead held the weakly struggling elf down by her shoulders and straddled her stomach.

“Why did you run?!” asked the catgirl in-between gasps.

“You yelled at me and then started chasing me! What was I supposed to do?!”

“You could’ve greeted me instead of ignoring me!”

“And how was I supposed to do that?! You’re a Hero!”

“So?! I’m your friend, aren’t I?!”

“Well- Yes! I mean, no! I mean- It’s not- You’re a Hero!”

A few silent moments passed as the ladies stared into each other’s eyes.

“… I’m glad you’re alive,” muttered Keira before lowering herself down on top of Lia.

The elf was momentarily flustered as some rather impure thoughts flashed through her head. Was she about to have her first kiss forcibly taken from her by another girl? True, she liked the redhead, but not in that way. Such absurd thoughts were immediately put to rest when the catgirl merely wrapped her arms around the elf’s neck and pressed her face into her shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re alive!” she repeated, her voice quivering.

Lia, finally realizing how silly she had been, placed a hand on Keira’s crimson head while a soft smile naturally floated onto her face.

“I’m happy you’re alright, too,” she said in a quiet voice.

It took the catgirl a minute to calm down enough to release Lia from the rather intimate embrace. After sufficiently cooling off, they silently agreed to stay on that roof for a bit, sitting next to each other just like they used to during their training.

“Why’d you ignore me like that?” asked Keira with a pout. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you since Fort Yimin, yet you tried to walk away like I wasn’t there!”

“Look, I’m really sorry about that,” she apologized. “I just- I’m not very good with crowds so I freaked out when you put me on the spot like that.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I wasn’t sure what was going on either so I called out to you without thinking…”

“What, you weren’t sure what to do? I thought you basically lived for that sort of attention!”

“I do not!”

“Uh-huh. So, the reason you’re so damn flashy and do every little thing with flair isn’t because you want others to notice you?”

“Of course not!”

The elf’s suspicious glare did not relent.

“Okay, maybe I like to show off every now and then,” the beastkin admitted, “but who doesn’t? It’s still super weird to be stared at like that!”

“Heh. I know, I know,” Lia relaxed her eyes. “I’m just teasing you a little. I was honestly surprised to see you so flustered back there, usually you’re pretty good with people.”

“One or two at a time, maybe, but they all came at me so suddenly! I mean, seriously, what was that about?!”

“Mmm, you can’t really blame them for wanting to cheer on their resident Hero, right? Thanks for telling me about that by the way,” she added with an accusatory tone and a wry grin.

“Well, technically you never asked. Besides, being a Hero of Chaos is hardly anything to brag about.”

“You never wanted the title, right?”

Keira’s eyes widened at that statement.

“How did you know about that?”

“I dropped by to check on you a few times while you were knocked out,” said Lia with a sad smile. “I rushed right over when I heard you’d woken up and ended up overhearing your complaints.”

“You were spying on me?”

“No, I said I overheard you. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on you, and neither did any of the people around your house. You’re really loud when you’re upset, by the way.”

“… Oh. I, uh, wasn’t aware of that.”

It would appear that the main culprit behind confirming the identity of the Hero of Chaos was none other than Keira herself. Boxxy was apparently a bit too vocal with its anti-Gargamel protests, and its improvised act turned out to be significantly more public than initially anticipated. Well, the information was bound to spread anyway, but at least now it knew where it started.

“I gotta say, though,” continued Lia, “you’ve got quite the mouth on you. I never pegged you for the sort of girl that could scream things like ‘crazy cunt-waffle’ at the top of their lungs.”

“Th-that was entirely her own fault!” Keira insisted. “She thought I was the Sandman in disguise!”

“She what?! How does that make any sense?! I mean – look at you!”

“That’s what I said, too! But apparently she thought I was a shapeshifter and electrocuted me! While I was still in bed!”

“Oh, wow!” exclaimed a wide-eyed Lia. “Okay, I take it back. ‘Crazy cunt-waffle’ might have been too good for her! Who does that to a person?! Especially to the girl who stopped the war!”

“I know, right?! It’s like, who are you going to trust if not- Wait, what?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you mean stopped the war?”

“Oh, you, uh, didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“An Imperial envoy dropped by just before dawn to officially surrender. Talks are still ongoing, but it seems they’ve completely lost the will to fight ever since you won against their Hero.”

“… Huh?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Keira! When you defeated that guy, you didn’t just eliminate a VIP – you crushed a symbol that represented everything the Empire stood for!”

“I see… I didn’t really think about it that way.”

It made a certain amount of sense now that Boxxy thought about it. If the VIP was a poster boy for the Empire’s ‘righteousness’, his fall was bound to cause severe backlash to the invaders’ morale, especially considering the destruction Punchy’s devastating magic wrought mere minutes before. If the news of enemy surrender was already widespread, then it was no wonder why all those soldiers cheered for Keira so vehemently.

“What was it like?” asked Lia. “Fighting a Hero, I mean?”

“Honestly? It was terrifying. He had this completely unfair Skill that would’ve taken me out in one blow if it hit. It was also a bit sad. The guy was a broken mess, a shell of a man. I know it sounds crazy, but I could swear I felt the rage and pain in his heart, see it in his eyes. Rather than eliminating a threat, it feels more like I put down a rabid dog. At least in retrospect.”

“I had no idea… I just assumed- I mean, I never would’ve thought that’s what he was like. Makes me feel sorry for him, really.”

“Well, don’t. Hero or not, he still came straight at us with the intent to kill. He left me and my subordinates no choice but to fight back, which is exactly what we did. I know it sounds mean, but he got what was coming to him. I’m not going to care about a jerk like that, regardless of what he’s been through.”

The catgirl again hugged her legs and buried her face in her knees.

“Besides, he’s not the only Hero that’s had to suffer.”

The suddenly heavy atmosphere caused the conversation to grind to a halt, as Lia was not-so-subtly reminded of the redhead’s difficult past. The elf could only imagine the hardships her friend had yet to share. However, even though Keira spoke with a solemn face and tone, the monster inside was licking its lips at the spoils of that particular conquest.

[Hero Killer]
One who has felled a chosen of the Gods in combat.
Requirements: Directly contribute to a Hero’s death.
[Effects]
N/A

The Hero Killer Perk wasn’t part of that quiet celebration, though. It was nothing more than a mark on one’s Status, a sort of proof that the individual murdered a Hero. It depended entirely on one’s perspective whether the badge was one of honor or the sign of a villain. It also wasn’t the only one to receive it. Judging from what Fizzy and the rest of Keira’s unit said last night, all those present had ‘earned’ the Perk. From a practical standpoint, it was a little annoying that it had no effects whatsoever. It might turn out to have hidden side-effects, much like what happened with the Butcher of Humanity Perk, but for the moment Boxxy officially declared it an un-tasty waste of space.

This could not be said of the second Perk it had acquired yesterday.

[Usurper of Justice]
A Hero who has proven themselves superior to their peer and has claimed their divine power as their own.
Requirements: Defeat the Hero of the Hammer in a Clash of Fate.
[Effects]
Grants the Vengeance Skill.

[Vengeance]
Those who dare lay their hands on the Chosen of Justice shall feel the fury of the Goddess herself.
Requirements: OVERRIDEN
Type: Active
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 5% of max MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Imbues the next basic melee attack with divine power.
Increases the damage dealt by this Skill by 10% for every 5% of maximum HP lost over the last 20 seconds.

As expected, Vengeance was a broken and completely unfair Skill. Even with its usage limitations, it allowed its user to turn things around in a single swing. Put another way, it was like having a ‘get out of stupid free’ card. If the Hero relied on this crutch to get him through hard fights, then it was no wonder why his basic combat abilities were so poor. This was exactly the kind of flaw Faehorn repeatedly warned his students about, and it was one of those students that took advantage of it in a fight. Furthermore, those teachings were meant to help enlightened triumph over much more powerful monsters, yet it was just such a creature that had used it against them. The hidden irony was so thick that one could almost bite it.

However, Boxxy acquired something far more valuable than a potent Skill from that encounter – knowledge. For the past while, the monster wondered whether other Heroes received three Skills from their patron deity as it had. Namely, a major one, a minor one, and a common one. Boxxy’s confrontation with Bernard and subsequent acquisition of one of these juicy abilities all but confirmed its theory. Admittedly, its deductions were based on a very limited sample size, but the monster felt confident its conclusions were fairly accurate.

The ‘major’ Skills were signature abilities that would become defining characteristics of the Hero in question. Bernard’s Justice From Above, for example, was the ultimate weapon against evil, while Boxxy’s own Agent of Chaos brought about otherwise impossible outcomes. It was honestly quite difficult to tell which one was more powerful. While the former was unquestionably more useful in combat and a very obvious demonstration of the Goddess’s power, the latter had the potential to topple entire nations. The two Skills were too different to draw any direct comparisons between them, yet it was undeniable that they both left a significant impact on the world.

The ‘minor’ tier Skills would be the likes of Chaotic Disposition and Vengeance. While still aligned with the patron deity’s values, they were far less impactful than the ‘major’ ones. The differences between the two tiers were made all the more apparent due to the fact that the Usurper of Justice Perk only awarded Boxxy with the Vengeance Skill. It made sense in its own way. After all, stolen divine power or not, it would be strange if anyone but the true Hero of the Hammer could use an iconic move like Judgment From Above.

That aside, even if the shapeshifter gained the major Skill, it doubted whether it could actually use it. Keira’s briefing prior to the battle informed her it was a Skill that supposedly varied greatly in power depending on a user’s own perceptions of what was ‘just’ and ‘evil.’ An amoral monster like Boxxy couldn’t do much with such a biased Skill, as it did not see the world in terms of justice or evil. A monster’s psyche just didn’t work like that. It understood the idea of those concepts, of course, but couldn’t relate to them even if it wanted to. And it absolutely didn’t want to.

As far as the shapeshifter was concerned, everything in this world was either ‘tasty’ or ‘not tasty,’ and bothersome things like morals definitely belonged in the latter category.

The third and final Skill available to Heroes was Essence Concealment. Knowledge of its effects was not exactly common among the populace, but it wasn’t particularly obscure either. It was without question the most well-known Hero Skill out there, which more or less confirmed it was something shared by all Heroes. This was a bit of a problem for Boxxy since its Facade would be asked to reveal her real Status. Republic officials would no doubt be expecting her to be hiding quite a bit more than Hero-related Skills and Perks – things that would explain her various talents.

Naturally there was absolutely no way that Boxxy would show the authorities the full extent of its Jobs and Skills, but it had to give them something. Perhaps showing off a few less-than-reputable General Skills would be a good start? Keira would need a good explanation as to how, why, and when she managed to train those Masteries up so high, but Boxxy was confident it would come up with some appropriate bullshit. It had learned time and time again that all it needed to justify things was a suitable sob-story that took full advantage of that silly thing called compassion.

“How long?”

Lia’s sudden question drew the shapeshifter out of its diabolical ruminations.

“Sorry?”

“How long have you been a Hero?” reiterated the elf.

Thinking this a good opportunity to test the waters with a freshly fabricated tale, Boxxy decided to obliged her.

“About a year now, I guess.”

“And… is it really as horrible as you said?”

Keira frowned while staring at the horizon, her silence lingering an uncomfortably long time.

“Imagine yourself starving, penniless, and homeless,” she spoke solemnly. “You’re holed up in an unfamiliar, uncaring city, forced to eat rats and other vermin just to live another day. Then, in a moment of weakness, you try to steal some fruit from an elderly street vendor. He catches you and scolds you for it, but doesn’t get mad and beat you. Instead, he takes pity on you and offers you a bag of old, misshapen fruit he was going to throw away anyway. You greedily snatch the bag out of his hands and instantly start eating a weirdly elongated apple. It’s so incredibly delicious that tears start streaming out of your face. The kindly man smiles widely when he sees you and reaches out to pat you on the head.”

Keira took a brief pause and hugged her knees even tighter against her body.

“But you’re not used to receiving kindness from strangers. You react like a beast protecting its bounty from an intruder, lashing out at that wrinkled hand with your only weapon – your claws. By the time you realize what you’ve done, he’s backing off in pain. He’s bleeding everywhere, and you have no idea what to do. So, you panic. You run. You hide. You cry. You’re so busy calling yourself a monster you pay no attention to the words in your head, informing you that your actions have altered the flows of chaos.”

“Is… Is that from one of the divine Skills you were given?”

“It wasn’t given,” growled the catgirl. “It was forced on me.”

“S-sorry…”

“But yes. That was the first time I saw the Agent of Chaos Skill activate.”

Keira lowered her gaze towards the ground and continued her ‘hypothetical’ scenario.

“You hide yourself away out of shame, eating the bittersweet fruits you were given out of kindness yet paid for with violence. Eventually, you run out and again grow hungry, but your guilt prevents your coming near the market again. One morning, you’re suddenly notified that the flows of chaos have returned to normal. You don’t know what that means at first, but then you remember the strange message from a few days ago. Realizing it can’t be coincidence, you somehow work up the courage to once again visit that kindly old fruit vendor. You want to see if he’s alright. You want to apologize and make amends for your actions. When you reach the market, you realize neither the man nor his stall are there. You ask around the neighboring stores and shops.”

The catgirl looked up from her knees and stared Lia directly in the eye.

“Finally, you find out the kindly, old vendor contracted Paralyzing Rotflesh because a filthy street urchin scratched his hands up three days ago. You then learn that he died in writhing agony earlier that very morning. You spend the next year or so alone, unwilling to let anyone get too close for fear that your very presence might hurt them. But it doesn’t help. The Skill keeps activating regardless your intentions or actions. And yet you stubbornly refuse to form any meaningful bonds with another person.”

Keira turned her gaze towards the ground once more, but this time her face held a nostalgic smile.

“At least until you meet the most wonderful, most beautiful person you’ve ever laid your eyes on. A girl with shining silver hair and a laugh that somehow makes you forget all of your sorrows. Someone so incredibly warm and kind that she opens up both her heart and home to you. And you don’t resist – you oblige her despite yourself. You let her remind you what it’s like to be loved, what it’s like to live. And you repay all that she’s done for you by selfishly clinging to her in return, knowing full well your smallest action might one day lead to her demise.”

Keira finished her story by wiping a few tears from the corners of her eyes.

“I… I’m so sorry… I had no idea…”

The elf could only imagine how taxing and mentally scarring that must have been. The fact that Keira still managed to smile and laugh despite all she had been through was nothing short of a miracle. Sure, she was a weirdo with more than a few screws loose, but that was hardly a reason for Lia to turn her back on her. After all, was anyone truly sane in this mad, mad world?

“Will you be okay, Keira?”

“I’ll be fine. *Sniffle* You don’t need to trouble yourself too much over that stuff. I’ve… I’ve learned to deal with it. For the- *Sniffle* For the most part.”

“I see. Want another hug, anyway?”

“… Please.”

Keira leaned hard against Lia who threw her arm over the girl’s trembling shoulder and firmly rubbed her upper arm, comforting her as best she could. Surely, she could do more, right? This tortured being just poured out her heart and soul, and yet all the elf did was sit there and listen. No, perhaps having someone around to share her burden with was precisely what Keira needed.

“So… what determines whether this Agent of Chaos thing kicks in?”

“No idea. It just happens from time to time. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, and I have no idea what’ll happen when it comes. That’s what scares me so much.”

“Is the outcome always a bad thing?”

“… Not always. There was this one boy who gave me his last gold coin when he saw me begging on a street corner. Long story short, he, uh, ended up finding a buried gem and used the money from pawning it off to buy medicine for his sick father.”

“Hmm, it really does work in mysterious ways, huh?”

Just then, a rather worrying thought crossed the elf’s mind. It was the sort of concern that was probably the reason why Keira was so hesitant to reveal her divine ‘gifts.’

“And, uh, you haven’t altered my flows or whatever, right?”

The beastkin stiffened for a moment, but she relaxed immediately afterwards as if she had expected that question.

“No. Not yet, at least.”

“You will let me know when the time comes, won’t you?”

“… I will if you insist, but I don’t see what good that will do.”

“Are you kidding me? Bad stuff happens all the time anyway, right? At least with you I’d know in advance if a potential disaster was about to come, so I could make preparations and take precautions! I might even be able to prevent it from happening altogether!”

Boxxy hadn’t considered this. Even if Churchill’s Skill caused things to rapidly get out of hand, it could at least try to steer it towards a favorable outcome. The Skill’s unpredictable nature was sure to make this difficult, but it was worth a shot. After all, that guy kept insisting Boxxy’s free will and unpredictability were the main reasons he made the mimic into his Hero in the first place. If that was the case, then it was surely possible to at least navigate the flows of chaos whenever they got… turbulent. Of course, it was equally possible that trying to prevent some imagined disaster may invite a bigger catastrophe. Regardless, Boxxy felt like Lia’s suggestion definitely had merit.

“Yeah… Thanks, Lia. For being here for me.”

“It’s alright. What are friends for, right? Besides, I still owe you one for what happened back at the Fort!”

“Can you, uh, please not mention that?”

“Right, my bad. What about Rowana, though?”

“It hasn’t triggered around her, either.”

“Not that! I mean, does she know? About your, uh, heroic disposition?”

“… No. Guess I’ll need to tell her. Think she’ll be mad when she finds out I kept it from her?”

“Oh, most definitely, and you can be sure she won’t be the only one. But she’ll forgive you. The whole reason you didn’t tell her was because she’d just worry about it pointlessly, right?”

“Maybe? Maybe I was just afraid she’d throw me away if she knew the two of us would never be able to live a peaceful life.”

“I’m sure you two will manage. After all, that girl has a very dependable special someone to protect her. Isn’t looking out for her the whole reason you’re out here to begin with?”

“You got that right!” the redhead suddenly perked up. “I won’t let anything bad happen to Rowie! If I can stop a war, then I can teach that divine bastard a thing or two about messing with Keira Morgana!”

“That’s the spirit! Just because you’ll have a more exciting life than others doesn’t mean the world will come to an end!”

“…”

“… It won’t, right?”

“…”

“Keira?! Please tell me you’re not going to bring about the end of the world!”

No matter how much Lia shook her friend or how insistently she asked, silence was the only answer.

Neither Boxxy, Keira, nor Juan could say with absolute certainty that there was no chance of that happening.

Part Three

Over the next week, Boxxy steadily found that exposing Keira’s identity as a Hero had some unexpectedly tasty side effects, especially when it came to its Doppelganger Job. Reggie mentioned that adult doppelgangers progressed their racial Job many times slower than juveniles, and he wasn’t kidding. Boxxy had made effectively zero progress ever since its Rank Up into a hylt creeper. If things went on like this, it would be years, perhaps even decades, before it attained Level 50 and could evolve again.

Recent events had changed that drastically when Keira’s popularity exploded beyond all of Boxxy’s expectations. It was only natural that those deemed most worthy by the Gods themselves would be met with respect and reverence, but the monster assumed its Facade’s religious alignment would also cause suspicion and doubt. ‘Hero of Chaos’ sounded like someone that spread havoc and may switch sides at any given time, right? Boxxy personally would never trust a person whose entire existence hinged on unpredictability and luck. Well, it didn’t truly trust anyone regardless of who or what they were, but it had convinced itself that society would feel that way towards Dedede’s chosen.

As it turned out, Boxxy was sorely mistaken. It not only overestimated the average person’s intelligence but also underestimated how powerful the Hero of Chaos’s ‘introduction’ turned out to be. If Keira was quietly ousted as a Hero, perhaps she would have become a subject of suspicion and mistrust. Instead, the redhead was lauded and adored as if she had single-handedly ended the war. Even people outside her unit had started calling her the Goddess of Victory.

Fizzy’s hard work over the course of the war was in no small part responsible for this behavior, for she had considerably warmed people up to the Goddess of Dice Rolls. Her diligent support of Boxxy’s Facade had inadvertently spread the idea that fortune would favor anyone who stood beside a follower of Florence. That was true to an extent, but these people failed to understand that Lady Luck was a two-timing whore that swung both ways. That said, neither the doppelganger nor the golem were about to point that out. Even the Underwood woman allowed them to believe what they wanted if it meant her religion was getting positive attention for once.

Boxxy was, by far, getting the most out of this shift in public perception. For starters, the stubborn Doppelganger Job raked in so much XP that it practically exploded up to Level 28 within the week. Another benefit was that it no longer had to worry about Chaotic Disposition going off in public. Now whenever Keira randomly shrunk in size or had bubbles coming out of her ears, those around her implicitly accepted the anomalies as ‘just Hero of Chaos things.’ Some onlookers even cheered her on to ‘do another one,’ but those people were promptly told to shut their traps. What sort of idiot would purposefully try to trigger a random, potentially harmful event? Not Keira, that was for sure.

Wanted or not, there weren’t going to be many opportunities for the ability to trigger in the near future. The Skill only flared up whenever Boxxy used its MP on active Skills and Spells. There was no need to do so outside of active combat, and there wasn’t going to be much of that for the foreseeable future. General Hans Ferguson, the commanding officer of the Empire’s incursion into the Rainy Woodlands, had surrendered into Republic custody along with four of his top subordinates. Apparently, they did so under the condition that the Imperial army’s remnants were allowed to return home unhindered along with Bernard Samson’s body and personal effects.

That was the long and short of why Keira’s fellow Legionnaires and conscripts hailed her as the one to end the war even though the conflict was not officially over. Though the troops weren’t expecting active combat, higher-ups ordered them to garrison the part of the city laying north of the Skyfall River. This section of New Whitehall was largely unscathed from Armageddon Day, as it was on the opposite end of the front lines and far-removed from the site of Liusolra and Nagnamor’s devastating duel. With no Empire on the horizon, essentially zero monsters around, and intact roofs over their heads, the soldiers and adventurers of the Republic allowed themselves to really cut loose. The atmosphere was so frivolous and festive that the place started to resemble a small town in the middle of some obscure local celebration.

The laughs and smiles didn’t last long, of course. Everyone that survived Armageddon Day had lost comrades, friends, and lovers. Once the initial rush of that bittersweet victory had passed, the weight of the lives lost started pressing down on the troops. Following the surrender and momentary truce, both sides agreed to dedicate three whole days to mourning and funeral rites. Gathering the fallen and giving them a proper send-off was a grim but necessary part of warfare. Those who died violently, especially during large-scale battles, were more likely than not to rise again as vengeful undead that spread their vile Blight throughout the area. That was an outcome that no living soul wished to see, regardless of their nationality or politics.

As such, even though there were a few incidents of opposing sides bumping into each other while scouring the city for fallen comrades, none of them turned violent. Angry glares, harsh words, and rude gestures were the extent of it. Neither side was especially eager to violate the terms of the Empire’s surrender. It wasn’t just the threat of court-martial that kept them in check. That was part of it, but the biggest deterrent by far was the possibility of winding up on the God of War’s shit-list by violating an official agreement between two warring factions.

Even though he presided over something as violent as armed conflict, Axel was an extremely virtuous deity. While it was true anything went in a fight, the same could not be said of the aftermath. Whether it was a one-on-one duel, a battle of epic proportions, or a drawn-out military campaign, Axel expected both victors and losers to honorably abide the confrontation’s outcome. In his eyes, warfare was a terrible yet necessary occurrence and, in some ways, the ultimate contest. Any who dared dishonor the lives lost and blood shed with their rash actions would be met with Taboo, or worse – find themselves weakened as a result of the War God’s wrath. This condemnation wasn’t limited to individuals and could even envelop entire armies and nations.

Axel’s honorable approach to warfare was precisely the reason he was displeased when Fiona showed him that the Empire attacked the Republic with a manufactured casus belli. If humanity’s leaders straight up declared war for the sake of conquest, the deity would have been fine with it. What backlash – if any – the nation suffered as a result of this decision would have been up to their citizens and their enemies. But to mask their greed and attempt to justify their invasion through a tragedy that had occurred more or less by accident? That was the part that the God of War took issue with.

Being informed of this treachery ruined Axel’s enjoyment of the ongoing large-scale conflict immensely. It was a crying shame considering all the unorthodox strategies that were employed, especially on the Republic’s side. The deity was so mad that he denounced Teresa for allowing such a thing to happen in the first place, but was glad to hear her rehabilitation was progressing smoothly. He never liked that weasel Morelag, but seeing the Goddess of Misdirection taking the matter seriously was reassuring. Axel knew full-well how effective Molly’s methods were, having been subjected to them more than once over the millennia. He’d never admit it out loud, of course.

Meanwhile, Teresa’s followers steadily realized something odd was going on with their Goddess. They could still use their holy magic and divine gifts unhindered, but they had a different feel to them. Healing Spells that once filled people with a vague sense of warmth and security now seemed cold and distant. Prayers and offerings gave the distinct impression that they fell on deaf ears. It was as if none of Teresa’s followers could feel the presence of their Goddess, as if their magic lost its inherent divinity.

This was hardly a surprise. The link between a deity and their chosen Hero was one of the most sacred bonds known to the enlightened, so it wasn’t hard to imagine Teresa’s mourning over Bernard’s loss affected her followers. At least that’s what the faith’s leadership claimed to address the general unease gripping Teresa’s faithful over the past week. But as the days went by the Paladins, Priests, and Monks became more and more restless. They were starting to question their own faith and wondered if the Goddess had turned her back on their civilization as a whole. If these sentiments festered too long, they would start spreading turmoil and unrest within the Empire. Things could easily escalate into riots, in-fighting, and perhaps even full blown civil war.

They weren’t the only ones feeling unease. Teresa’s scant followers amidst the Republic’s adventurer conscripts also noticed their Goddess’s sudden silence. They claimed responsibility for killing the Hero of the Hammer and potentially setting this whole thing into motion, so they naturally worried about armed retaliation from Imperial deserters or other rogue elements. Revenge was a powerful motivator, and the Republic would not take this possibility lightly. Thus, the troops stationed at New Whitehall were still present and on alert even though enemy forces had withdrawn days ago.

There was also one other unresolved matter regarding the events of Armageddon Day – the involvement of the elusive Sandman. Keira and her unit’s testimony made it abundantly clear that the vigilante’s familiars were bound by their contracts after the big-bada-boom, meaning their master had most definitely survived. The Republic had some very damning accusations to throw at him, mostly concerning the unsanctioned and unauthorized summoning of an Overlord.

However, with Silus Underwood’s unexpected demise and the destruction of the Sandman’s Comm-crystal, the Republic had lost the ability to contact the Warlock directly. They heard nothing of the man since, which did not paint him in a positive light. At least that was the situation until last night when the Sandman’s succubus made an appearance at the Republic’s newly-established perimeter. Using her as a proxy, the shady Warlock agreed to meet with military officials at noon the following day under the condition that it was done on neutral ground.

Five people were sent out into the ruined city for this exact reason. In charge of this delegation was the 2nd Legion’s Legate – a blue-haired, clean-shaven elf with a distinct air of ‘no nonsense’ about him. His name was Sarberos Ethan, and he made it abundantly that clear he did not appreciate the Sandman’s unpredictable behavior and unorthodox methods. Rogue elements weren’t welcome on his battlefield. Immediately behind him was Cecilia Underwood, his chief analyst and strategic advisor. Flanking either side of the pair were two VIPs – the angelic Paladin, Lichter, and the recently recovered Berserker, Hilda. Their job was to serve as protection should the Sandman try anything funny in the Legate’s presence. The last person in the delegation, skulking about way in front of the rest, was none other than Keira Morgana. Her reputation as ‘the Sandman’s call-girl’ was not exactly a secret, so her inclusion was both natural and expected. Her role in all of this was two-fold. First, as one of the surviving Legions’ best scout, she was to keep an eye out for any ambushes, traps, or other suspicious activity. Secondly, as the only remaining person to have regular contact with the Sandman, she was also tasked with mediating the meeting to keep passions from flaring up.

The scenery surrounding the group steadily grew more depressing as they ventured deeper into the ruined city. Collapsed buildings steadily gave way to houses reduced to cinders until only a black desert of ash remained. The delegation kept pushing onwards, towards the field of glass left behind at the epicenter of the Armageddon Spell. That was the ‘neutral ground’ the Sandman demanded they meet upon. Legate Ethan agreed that this flattened, vaguely bowl-shaped piece of no-man’s land was as close to that definition as possible. There was a clear, unobstructed view for hundreds of meters, making it virtually impossible for one party to ambush the other. Even ground-based traps would be ineffective, as disturbances in the solid glass floor would be easily noticeable even without Keira’s sharp eyesight. The significance of this place couldn’t be understated either, seeing as it wouldn’t be there if the elf general had done his job.

Everyone in the Republic party spotted the Sandman’s hulking figure long before they reached the meeting point. As per usual, he was draped in a thick gray hooded cloak and a heavy cloth wrapped around his head concealed all of his features except for those infamous glowing yellow eyes. A pair of thick gloves covered his hands while a set of heavy combat boots poked out from underneath his long cloak. He sat perfectly still, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fists clasped under his chin, and gaze fixed onto the vitrified soil at his feet. Combined with the way his cloak fluttered slightly in the ash-filled breeze, he gave off the melancholic impression of a lonely king sitting atop a throne of corpses.

That metaphor differed greatly from the mysterious Warlock’s actual seat. As the Legate and his escorts got closer, they were surprised to see the large man was using his bound succubus as a chair. She was down on her hands and knees, limbs trembling dangerously as they desperately held up the Sandman’s considerable body weight upon her slender back. Even more surprising, and somewhat disturbing, she was enjoying the rough treatment. Her indecently smiling face and quiet moans of pleasure made that abundantly clear. The image of the haughty and smug demoness that shamelessly made demands of the Legate just last night was instantly shattered. Well, the shameless part remained, though it was presented in a much more perverted context than previously established. Whether this performance was genuine or part of some bizarre act didn’t matter. Either way, it served to raise the Legate’s ire and make the rest of the delegation uncomfortable. Well, aside from Hilda, who smiled under her helmet at the absurdity of it all. She had to hand it to this Sandman bloke – he definitely knew how to make a lasting impression.

The delegation promptly set aside personal feelings as they slowly but surely closed the distance between them and the shrouded figure. The Sandman stood perfectly still aside from ever-so-slight bobbing and weaving of his indecent chair. The Republic party remained silent until they were several meters from the Warlock, at which point he tore his gaze away from the ground and slowly raised his head towards the approaching party.

“Legate Sarberos Ethan, I presume?” he stared intently at the blue-haired elf.

The delegation took this greeting as a sign that this was close enough and stopped in their tracks.

“That is correct, Mr. Sandman,” responded the officer. “If that is indeed your real name.”

“No such luck I’m afraid.”

The Warlock rose to his feet while keeping his hands clearly visible, allowing his chair to collapse into a sweaty, panting heap. Something about him seemed a bit out of place, and it wasn’t just the general sense of foreboding that surrounded him. His movements were stiff, stunted, and made barely audible rattling noises from somewhere beneath his cloak.

“It is good to see you are unharmed, Miss Morgana,” he said with a light bow of his head.

“Y-yes!” replied the flustered catgirl. “You, uhm, you too, Mr. S!”

“I am also familiar with Lady Hilda and Lord Lichter,” continued the Warlock, “but I do not recognize the dazzling-eyed creature behind you, Legate Ethan.”

“… Huh? Ack! Uhm! Errr!”

Cecilia wasn’t expecting to be suddenly called out like that and failed to produce any meaningful words.

“This ‘creature,’” butted in the Legate, “is Primus Underwood.”

“Really now? I was not aware the Republic had access to gender-swapping technology.”

“We do not!” she protested. “Silus- I mean, the other Primus Underwood was… killed in action.”

“Ah. I see. That is most unfortunate. And are you supposed to be his replacement, little miss Knock-off?”

“Now see here, you vagabond!” said Lichter, his tone hostile. “She’s one of the most gifted individuals I have ever met, and you will treat her with the respect she deserves!”

“Respect has to be earned!” he snapped back, causing both Hilda and Lichter to raise their guard.

“Easy there, big boy!” growled the Berserker. “No sudden moves, yeah?”

“Mr. S!” Keira interjected in a mild panic. “Please calm down! There’s surely no need to antagonize anyone, yes? Besides, miss Underwood really is brilliant! Even if she is a bit of a cunt-waffle.”

“Hey!”

“… Yes, of course,” the Sandman relented. “I apologize for raising my tone. It was unbecoming. The news of Underwood’s death caught me a bit off guard. He was a very thorough and capable individual.”

“Right. Well. Now that introductions are out of the way, shall we get to the matter at hand?”

“Indeed, Legate Ethan. Please, do tell me why you refuse to pay me what I am due.”

The Sandman had not yet received his compensation for the night he snuck into the enemy camp and eliminated that Bard. Xera had mentioned this on his behalf multiple times the night before.

“If you want the answer to that, you need only look around you. All this devastation, all this death – it rests squarely on your shoulders, does it not?”

“Ah… I see. It was that after all. You’re looking for someone to blame. Someone to take the fall for the actions of a pair of unbound demons. Tell me – are you seriously this stupid?”

“Don’t act like you’re innocent! You knew full well something like this was going to happen once you unleashed that walking calamity onto my battlefield!”

“You are mistaken about something, Lord Legate. This ceased to be ‘your battlefield’ once Nagnamor made his appearance. At that point, it became his playpen. All I did was give him a playmate to focus on.”

“A playmate? Really?! That’s your excuse?!”

“Of course. The best way to defeat an Overlord is to tucker them out so they go nap-nap.”

“Do you think this a joke, you godless heathen?!” shouted Lichter, no longer able to contain his rage.

“Lichter, mind yourself.”

The Legate made an attempt to shut the Paladin up, to no avail.

“How many have died because of the terrible forces you unleashed?!”

“Lichter!”

“If it wasn’t for your damnable spiders, then Milady Imiryl-!”

“Lichter! That’s enough!”

“…”

The elven Paladin finally clammed up, though the fire burning in his steel-gray eyes indicated he was nowhere close to finished.

“My associate spoke out of turn, but what he says is true. We’ve suffered horrible casualties as a result of the Overlords’ catastrophic battle, a battle you helped bring about. As I understand, Nagnamor wasn’t directly interested in attacking us. According to reports, he seemed determined on chasing down some unknown ‘Morningwood’ fellow, and our forces were merely caught in his wake. If your damnable ice-spider-thing wasn’t in the way, he wouldn’t have caused all of… this.”

The Legate paused his accusatory speech and gestured at the surrounding field of ash with both hands. The Sandman shook his head and responded in a condescending, almost pitying tone.

“The words of a fragile intellect that cannot comprehend demonic intent. What do you think would’ve happened once Nagnamor reached his target? Peacefully return to the Beyond? Armageddon would’ve come regardless of whether Liusolra was there or not. All I did was try to contain the prelude, as it were.”

“Your words won’t fool me!” insisted Ethan. “You arranged it so that we’d suffer the maximum amount of casualties! That way you’d be able increase demand and hike your goddamned price up! Just to bleed my coffers dry!”

“… So, if I understand this correctly, you’re accusing me of purposefully riling up a demonic Overlord with the goal of profiteering from the resulting strife?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

“Indeed? But are you sure you should be pointing the finger at me without looking to your own associates? Isn’t that right, holy man?”

“What are you implying, villain?!” snapped Lichter.

“Oh. ‘Villain’ am I? From what I saw, Nagnamor wouldn’t have unleashed his Flaming Legion upon your ‘Flammable’ Legions had you not stood in his way. If he was truly intent on pursuing a single target, then didn’t your attempted intervention cause just as much destruction as mine?”

“That- That’s different! I was only trying to stop him from trampling over my comrades! I couldn’t have known he would unleash such tragedy upon us!”

“And therein lies the difference between you and me. You had no idea what you were doing. I did.”

“You admit it!” barked Ethan. “You unleashed Liusolra on us on purpose!”

“Yes. Fine. I admit it. I take full responsibility for Liusolra’s actions on that day. Which naturally includes all the credit as well.”

“Credit?!”

“Of course. If it wasn’t for my interference, the Empire wouldn’t have suffered as many casualties. Not to mention the stage for that Clash of Fate wouldn’t have happened. I’m sure this Hero of Chaos did their best, but I think we can all agree that the Empire would not have surrendered if not for my contributions.”

“He has a point, sir,” spoke up Cecilia. “The Hero of the Hammer attacked Decanus Morgana’s squad because he had some sort of grudge against the Sandman’s familiars. If it wasn’t for that and the Empire’s reduced fighting strength, then-”

“Your input is appreciated, Primus!” the Legate cut her off and turned his attention back to the Warlock. “As for you – just who do you think you are? Whose men do you think fought and died out there? Mine! If you hadn’t gotten in my way, my tactics and strategies would’ve surely won the day!”

“Sir, with all due respect-”

“I said shut it, Underwood! This victory belongs to me! Not some demon-loving freak!”

There was a brief moment of silence as the Legate’s harsh words echoed slightly in the distance.

“Legate Ethan,” the Sandman spoke softly. “Could it be you feel threatened by me?”

“No such thing! You’re just a criminal! A conniving, two-timing sell-sword who’ll get what’s coming to him!”

“Oh, so you’ll pay me after all? Marvelous!”

“Why you-! That’s it! Hilda! Lichter! Arrest this criminal!”

“No!” screamed Keira, interposing herself between the two VIPs and the Sandman.

“Out of the way, Decanus!” growled Lichter in a threatening tone.

“I refuse! Mr. S hasn’t done anything to deserve this! He’s done nothing but try to help us ever since the Empire attacked us! Does that account for nothing?!”

“I said move!” shouted the Paladin, more forcibly this time.

“Mister Lichter, please listen to reason!”

“I’ll listen to reason when he pays for what his carelessness did to Imiryl!”

“Is Lady Imiryl not feeling well, perchance?” chimed in the Warlock.

“Don’t ‘perchance’ me, you fiend!” roared Lichter. “She’s been bedridden ever since that accursed demon took control of her mind! We have a dozen healers attending to her day and night, but her condition keeps slipping! And it’s all your fault!”

“Is she sweating profusely while fading in and out of consciousness? Perhaps murmuring of a white, snowy field?”

“… She is.”

“Don’t listen to his drivel!” the Legate protested.

“Do you know of her affliction?!” Lichter ignored him.

“Liusolra has poisoned her,” declared the masked Warlock. “It is a stubborn, lethal affliction closer to a curse than a toxin, but it is not incurable.”

“How? How do I save her?! Tell me!”

“He’s just telling you what you want to hear!” Ethan kept butting in.

“But, sir-!” protested Lichter.

“Hilda, talk some sense into him!”

“Nuh-uh. Ye’re on yer own, mate,” the dwarf shook her head. “None of what ye say sits right with me.”

“You insubordinate little-!”

*Donnnn*

“Urk!”

There was another sudden moment of silence as the Legate’s body tumbled across the field of glass.

“Miss Hilda! Did you really have to knock him out?!”

“Relax, kitten. He’ll be fine.”

“But you just assaulted a superior officer! With an uppercut!”

“Did I do thaaaat?”

“I believe the Legate tripped and fell over,” declared Cecilia with a crooked smile on her face.

“See?” said the dwarf with a light shrug. “Tripped and fell over.”

“…”

Keira’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted,” continued the Sandman, “your comrade’s innate magical energy has been tainted by the Overlord. It must be drawn out of her if she is to recover, which is best done by utilizing the mana-draining shackles typically reserved for prisoners. Put those on her and she should regain consciousness in several hours, though full recovery will require at least a month.”

“… You’re certain of this?” asked Lichter, his anger slowly fading.

“Quite certain, yes.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” he questioned. “Nobody in the entire camp could figure out what’s wrong with her, so why do you have an answer ready?!”

“Is anyone in your ‘entire camp’ in possession of a Level 9 Demonology Skill?”

“I… I don’t know,” the Paladin looked to Cecilia.

“Uhm, no, we don’t have anyone like that,” she admitted. “We have fourteen Warlocks with the Demonology Skill, but none of them have it up that high.”

The Sandman’s yellow eyes momentarily pierced through her, causing her to reflexively shrink back. The only reason she knew this was she’d been looking for anyone in the ranks that may have been the Sandman’s real identity. She had the rather chilling impression that the masked entity had caught on, though he didn’t comment on it.

“Okay, but how do I know this ‘treatment’ won’t make her condition worse?!” continued the worried Paladin.

“Simple, my good Lord Lichter.”

The Sandman lifted the hem of his cloak, revealing that his legs had been bound by a pair of familiar-looking shackles. The heavy chain between them was undoubtedly the source of that odd rattling noise he made with every step.

“Your fair lady is not the only one to still suffer from the Stalker Queen’s affections.”

He let go of his cloak, allowing it to fall over his feet and again conceal his bindings.

“… Mr. S?” spoke up Keira. “Is that why you’ve been quiet all this time?”

“Indeed.”

“But why did you agree to come here de-powered and empty handed? What if we’d listened to the Legate’s orders and tried to capture you here and now?!”

“Then I’d have no way of escape. Especially not with two big-shots gunning for me.”

“Then… Why…? Why put yourself at risk like that?!”

“Because, young Keira, sometimes profit demands a leap of faith.”

“Hah! Hahaha!” chuckled Hilda. “Ye got balls, big guy! I’ll give ye that!”

Lichter glared silently at the still-standing, much taller Warlock and took a few steps closer before speaking to him in a low voice.

“If I find out you lied to me-”

“Oh, I am quite sure I would not survive your wrath. Please rest assured, I wouldn’t dare risk the ire of someone strong enough to halt Nagnamor’s charge with a single blow.”

The Paladin glared at him a few short seconds more before unfurling his wings and lifting off, intent on attending to Imiryl’s treatment as soon as possible.

“Weeell, I s’pose we’re all done here, aye?” said Hilda while picking up the unconscious Legate. “Don’t worry about ‘im. We’ll make sure everyone knows he’s talking out his arse about this whole Overlord thing. Kinda sucks I missed it though. I’m sure it was an amazing throw-down!”

“Yeah…” sighed Keira. “Thanks for standing up to him, miss Hilda.”

“Bah, ain’t no big deal! I kinda owe the big guy anyway.”

“Before we leave, can I ask the Sandman one last question?”

“Of course, miss Underwood,” the hooded figure said. “Asking is free.”

“How did you know the Overlords would focus on each other rather than on our troops?”

Unbound demons were widely known to be uncooperative and volatile. In particular, the Four Demonic Overlords were infamous among the Spell-slinging community as the worst of the worst. Yet, the Sandman had not only called one of them out and lived to tell the tale, but had somehow aimed her at his target. Cecilia did not believe this to be mere luck or coincidence, especially since she trusted her late cousin’s personal assessment of the Warlock’s character. Silus Underwood had painted him as a careful and meticulous individual who didn’t act without considerable forethought. Their in-person meeting reinforced that notion. She had the strangest feeling that his every action taken or word spoken – however small or seemingly inconsequential – served a purpose. Accordingly, he must have had a method to control the arachnid Overlord or he wouldn’t have taken the risk of summoning her in the first place.

“Why, that’s elementary my dear Underwood,” he declared. “Demons have things they like and things they hate, much like people. So long as they hold interest in something, they can be… encouraged to behave a certain way.”

At those words, he craned his neck towards the succubus behind him. This whole time, the demoness had silently laid on her back almost as if sunbathing. However, upon feeling her master’s gaze she eagerly flipped over, lifted her torso up on all fours, and crawled over to stand behind the Sandman ready to resume her duties as his seat.

“People and demons alike have switches and triggers. Small quirks that, when engaged in the right order and with the right timing, force them to respond in a certain way. In other words, the easiest way to make anyone dance to your tune, from the vainest of Legates to the most selfish of monsters-”

The large man bent his knees and put his entire body weight on the depraved succubus, causing her to squeal and shiver in delight.

“-is to learn the correct sequence to set them off.”

Part Four

Xera was in the midst of enjoying a brand new sensation. It really was quite refreshing, being able to experience so many new things so often, especially in such a short amount of time. The trend hadn’t started all that long ago, yet she still felt like a lifetime had passed since she was bonded to the most unlikely of masters – a mimic. A moronic box of unparalleled stubbornness rivaled only by its blind desire for things of either the ‘tasty’ or ‘shiny’ persuasions, sometimes both. It spent the entire first night of its contract ripping her limb from limb. It subjected her to the excruciatingly maddening pain of being eaten alive and the humiliation of being treated as a disposable thing with no real value beyond her flavor. This horrible villain went on to cause calamity after calamity all while lying, cheating, and deceiving hundreds of people, using them as it saw fit in its selfish pursuit to satisfy its desires. A pursuit which, according to the rumors she heard from her sisters, somehow led to her Master giving the Goddess of Truth and Justice herself a bloody nose.

Honestly, could she have asked for a more perfect owner?

A demon born of unrequited desire, jealousy, and envy, Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila absolutely adored that devious bastard of a box. It not only unlocked her capacity to derive unrivaled pleasure from the most horrible of pain, but also tickled her wicked, devious side. All succubi loved to partake in conspiracies, fraud, and deception, and Boxxy T. Morningwood’s favorite Snack was no different. She sometimes struggled to contain her squeals of glee when thinking of the web of lies, false bonds, and potential betrayals she and her beloved Master had forged together.

Indeed, insane as it sounded, ‘beloved’ was exactly the way she felt towards her Master. Finally, a mortal that not only let her spread her wings, both figuratively and literally, but also completely understood and even encouraged her dastardly designs. Even though she realized this whole ‘love’ thing might just be some delusion created by her broken psyche, she could not deny the sense of fulfillment she felt whenever she was near her Master. She was similarly unable to ignore how she felt when her soul’s link to this wonderfully criminal creature was severed by force half a year ago. Even now, she could recall that dreadful longing and crushing loneliness, and the enormous sense of relief and joy that washed over her when the summoning contract was reestablished. And yet, her Master continued treating her dispassionately, not showing or even hinting at a personal capacity to return the affection.

That was fine. The more Boxxy mistreated her, the more it shunned her advances and clearly stated it didn’t intend to regard her as anything more than ‘a thing,’ the happier she became. Just as her twisted mind turned gut-wrenching torture into sexual pleasure, her demonic soul resonated with the perpetual cold shoulder. The more she was denied emotional fulfillment, the more her affections grew. Each time her face, dignity, and feelings were violently dragged through the mud, she realized more and more what she truly wanted out of life.

Xera didn’t yearn to stand at Boxxy’s side. That wasn’t her place. No, her solemn wish was to forever be under its heel, in every sense of the phrase. And this new play that her Master had put on was absolutely exquisite. She was forced to serve as the monster’s furniture, out in the cold wind, in the middle of a depressingly desolate field of hard glass digging into her knees and palms. The sheer weight of the thing on her back threatened to snap her in half. And when that happened, she would be mercilessly devoured and-

“We’re clear of the scene. Clean it up.”

Boxxy’s sudden telepathic communication instantly shattered the perverted demon’s fantasies. She wanted the delicious illusion to continue for a while longer, but a direct order could not be ignored.

“… Yes, Master.”

If not for the demonic contract, she would’ve kept doing what she wanted knowing full well it would displease her Master. This would, in turn, earn her some unthinkable punishment that she oh-so-rightly deserved. However, Boxxy’s orders superseded Xera’s twisted fantasies. In the past, she would’ve looked for some way to exploit the open-ended instructions to ‘clean it up,’ but that treacherous temptress was long gone. The subservient creature she had become would never imagine actively working against her beloved box.

The succubus slid her body out from under the stiff figure of the ‘Sandman,’ making it fall to the jagged ground with a loud clatter. It didn’t change its pose or posture as if it were nothing more than a statue. The demoness stretched sensually for nobody’s benefit before promptly unleashing her Pyroclasm magic on the cloaked figure. The clothed wooden dummy wonderfully caught fire, the magical flames near-instantaneously turning it into just another pile of ash.

The idea of using a Sandman puppet was yet another thing Boxxy had been experimenting with since its Rank Up. The concept itself was simple, but not without its intricacies. It started with finding a suitably thick tree stump with branches in the right places, carving them into presentable limbs, and sticking a pair of glass eyes in the ‘head.’ The dummy was then clothed appropriately and made to move with the short-ranged plant-controlling Phytokinesis Skill. Finally, a cheap, basic Comm-crystal lodged in the doll’s jaw would serve to simulate its speech. While the greedy creature didn’t want to shell out for a military-grade Comm-crystal, the shittier model was actually more suitable. It was only a quarter of the size of its ‘big brothers,’ making it easier to hide without distorting the Sandman’s facial structure. More importantly, it only transmitted audio. If Boxxy had used a premium model, then the Republic delegation would have seen a blue-tinged ghostly recreation of Keira poking out of the Sandman’s skull.

Figuring out how to hold the other end of that line without making it obvious was the most difficult part. The shapeshifter accomplished this by creating a tiny ‘room’ inside its chest cavity lined with sponge-like fleshy growths meant to muffle noises coming from within. The other Comm-crystal rested inside the mostly soundproof space accompanied by an internal mouth with the Sandman’s voice. Its words were then transmitted through the magical items, giving the impression they were coming from the puppet’s face rather than from within the catgirl’s bosom.

Even though Boxxy managed to achieve the desired form and function, the Sandman replica was far from perfect. The voice was a potential problem, since all Comm-crystals distorted the sounds they transmitted. The near-point-blank distance between Keira and the Sandman somewhat lessened, but didn’t completely eliminate, the problem. The faux-catgirl’s ‘inner voice’ accidentally leaking out was also a big concern, so the shapeshifter did everything possible to keep the vigilante’s speech quiet and calm. Thankfully, no one present had ever spoken to the elusive Sandman, either via Comm-crystal or directly. Vocal discrepancies with past performances would have been inconsequential. The only one who could have noticed something was off was Primus Silus Underwood, so it was a good thing that he wasn’t around for this.

Another issue was that dead wood was far less flexible than living wood. While both could be animated with Phytokinesis, the former was far less flexible than the latter, hence the doll’s stiff and unnatural movements. Minute manipulations such as maintaining balance or eye contact were especially tricky, which was why the Sandman remained remarkably inanimate during the whole exchange. Plus, the wooden body did not sway or breathe. Remotely acting out such small movements went beyond Boxxy’s current abilities. If not for the Facade’s baggy, form-concealing clothing coupled with the ‘poisoned by Liusolra’ excuse, it would’ve been much more obvious the doll wasn’t a person. As for the rattling shackles and Snack’s perverted panting and moaning, those were meant to mask the ever-so-slight creaking of the doll’s movements.

Of course, none of this would’ve been necessary if Boxxy could just use a Mirror Image instead, but those soulless body doubles sucked at acting and expired far too quickly to make this ruse work.

Incidentally, the details surrounding the Overlord’s lingering toxins weren’t fabricated. For once, the shapeshifting Warlock was being quite truthful when it spoke of Imiryl’s condition and how to treat it. Keira noticed it days ago and had merely waited for a good opportunity to cash in. Regrettably, the information was traded for goodwill rather than shiny things, but some sacrifices must be made to secure future profits. Whether the VIP would make a full recovery was another matter entirely. High elf or not, having an Overlord’s demonic poison coursing through one’s body for a full week would surely cause complications. Such concerns were obviously outside Boxxy’s list of things it gave a crap about. If anything, the monster secretly hoped Imiryl was left permanently comatose or otherwise removed as a potential threat to its future survival. Eliminating the lightning-flinging powerhouse was definitely on its ‘to do’ list, just not near the top.

On the flip side, her making a full recovery would go a long way towards placating that Lichter guy. Boxxy was right in following Punchy’s example when dealing with the angelic elf. Once it confirmed he was the type of honest person who would go to any length to protect and defend his friends, it needed only take advantage of that weakness. As Keira, it knew the true source behind his anger, so it was fully prepared to soothe it and turn it to its benefit.

Hilda was another beast altogether. While she was more or less unpredictable, it was obvious she put a lot of stock in her allies, albeit in a different fashion from her long-time teammate. Where Lichter acted like a shield, and she was more of a guillotine – a battle-junkie with a ‘Mess with my friends and I will feed you your own heart!’ mentality. If anyone was going to shut up the laughable Legate, it would be her. Honestly, why couldn’t that glory-seeking bastard be more competent like his counterpart in the 3rd Legion?

As for Cecilia Underwood, she had an almost unhealthy obsession with the Sandman. She was enraptured in the romantic idea of a tall, dark, mysterious vigilante working outside the law, especially the ‘mysterious’ part. It fed into her tendency to spot patterns and desire to solve puzzles. Though, this side of her clashed with her somewhat naive view of the world, so she often saw things that weren’t there, leading her to spout some rather… questionable nonsense.

All things said and done, Legate Ethan had no allies with him when he came out to try and put the blame for Armageddon Day on the Sandman. Boxxy only had to subtly appeal to Cecilia, Hilda, and Lichter’s personalities, and it would come out on top. As prepared as it felt, there was still far too much improvisation and ad-libbing. It nearly lost control of the situation because the Paladin let his emotions get the better of him, but he was somehow able to avoid a physical confrontation, which would have instantly exposed the Sandman as a literal puppet.

Even the worst-case scenario wouldn’t have been a catastrophic failure. The masked vigilante could always claim he was right to be suspicious and avoided going there in person. It would have still been possible to salvage his contract with the Republic, but it wouldn’t have been easy. Keira’s Facade, on the other hand, would be completely intact and largely unaffected, so Boxxy had to assume the catgirl’s guise and delegate the potentially lethal part to a wooden dummy instead. Snack was mostly there to make it obvious that the thing sitting on her back was indeed her Master.

Ultimately, the overall result of Operation: Just Give Me My Damn Money was a resounding success. When the Legate regained consciousness, he found himself pressured not only by his strategic advisor, but also two VIPs in the form of Keira and Hilda. He looked to Lichter for support, but the Paladin more or less ignored him. While the ‘holy man’ still disapproved of the Sandman’s questionable actions on principle, he begrudgingly agreed they were necessary given the dire situation. It was an opinion he wouldn’t have helped had the Sandman’s advice not helped stabilize Imiryl’s condition.

Whether he liked it or not, Ethan was forced to honor the agreement made between Silus Underwood and the masked mercenary. The late intelligence officer showed some remarkable foresight and had already made the necessary arrangements even before Boxxy sent him the invoice. The Hero of Chaos personally delivered the Warlock’s payment later that same day as a token of goodwill. His new official point of contact was Cecilia Underwood, though she clearly was less suited to the job than her predecessor and would likely be a very temporary liaison. If the next day’s events were any indication, she would be relieved of the duty sooner than later.

“So, what do you think?” Cecilia asked expectantly. “It’s possible, isn’t it?!”

“I will say, miss Underwood, you make a convincing case,” admitted Keira.

“I dunno, still sounds a bit loopy to me,” Fizzy remained skeptical.

The elf invited the beastkin-golem pair into her office so she could present another of her wild theories. Normally, they would have rejected her immediately, but as servants to the God of Misfortune, neither of them could claim the subject matter was unrelated to them and went along with it. Cecilia was considerably thorough in her investigation of the matter and spent the last half hour or so presenting all relevant research and explaining her findings. Understandably, she wasn’t exactly happy to have her theory called ‘loopy.’

“What do you mean?” the elf asked.

“It’s my belief that a Hero is something that’s far too important to have multiples of,” Fizzy argued. “Even if the gods could have more than one at a time, doing so would only diminish and devalue their importance.”

“Devalue? What do you mean?”

“A Hero is supposed to represent their God or Goddess in the physical realm. Not like a messenger or a spokesperson, but more of an icon and a symbol. That’s why they all act a certain way to begin with. The Hero of the Sword is always a capable and honorable fighter who focuses their martial might on exterminating dangerous monsters, thus embodying the values of the God of War and Combat. The Hero of Rain, on the other hand, is always a traveler and explorer as one would expect from Zephyra’s chosen.”

“Yes, that is most definitely what the history books tell us, but I don’t see how that would diminish the significance of a Hero. Surely having more capable people around to spread the deity’s influence would be good for them, right?”

“I disagree. If a Hero serves as an example or a beacon, then wouldn’t having two or more of them around be confusing? If you had two Legates and they gave you conflicting orders, how would you know which one to follow?”

“Hmm…”

Cecilia leaned back in her chair and lowered her eyes in thought. She took a long, drawn out sip of her tea before setting the half-full cup back on the circular table at which she and the others were seated.

“You have a point,” she admitted. “It’s true that even if Heroes are predisposed to act a certain way, they are all their own people with their own beliefs. I did not consider that angle.”

“Uhm, miss Underwood?”

“Yes, oh Hero of Chaos?! Anything I may assist you with?!”

The elf’s overly-enthusiastic response and positively sparkling eyes made Keira shrink back a bit with a strained smile.

“The, err, what about my predecessors? The ones McGregor chose before me?”

The question instantly subdued Cecilia’s unwarranted excitement. She splayed out her upper body upon the table like a deflated balloon.

“I have noooo ideeeaaa!” she groaned. “There are no records, no rumors, no legends – nothing! Much like the rest of my faith, anything regarding those chosen by the Lord of Luck seems to be shrouded in mystery. I honestly started to think there was no such thing as a Hero of Chaos until you revealed yourself.”

“I see… How did you become a Priestess, though?”

“I imagine the same way Fizzy became a Paladin,” she said without lifting her face off the tablecloth.

“Uh, no. I can state with absolute certainty you did not have the same experience as me.”

“Hmm? You mean you didn’t get the Job from being bitten by a pink ladybug as a child?”

“… What?” blurted out the other two.

“What?” echoed Cecilia.

That casual statement sparked many questions. However, what most surprised the two girls wasn’t the fact that pink ladybugs existed or that they could even bite a person.

“You mean you didn’t choose to be an Apostle of Chaos?” asked Fizzy, wide-eyed.

“Nope. I don’t believe I was specifically chosen to be one, either. I mean that could’ve happened to anyone. When it happened, me and my parents naturally freaked out. We couldn’t afford a Job Removal, so I chose to make the best of it. The more I matured as both a person and a Priest, the more I came to appreciate and embrace the principles of controlled chaos and the teachings of Murgleklurkerplick. Oh, wow, that was a good one! Must be my lucky day!”

The woman chuckled lightly at the silly name she uttered while the golem pondered her words.

“I guess we are similar in that regard, at least,” admitted Fizzy.

“Same here,” Keira nodded.

That wasn’t a lie, either. Thinking back on when Boxxy first agreed to be Jigglybuff’s Hero, it realized it had been a choice only in the technical sense. In practical terms, it was more of an intelligence test, like asking someone stranded in a desert whether they wanted to be rescued or not.

“I thought as much,” the elf sighed. She lifted herself off the table and leaned into her seat once more. “I wouldn’t be surprised if every last member of our faith has a story like that. What about you, Fizzy? How did you get your Job?”

The golem reached across her chest and gently stroked the mangled stump of her left arm.

“I’d… rather not say.”

“Right, of course. Sorry for asking that,” apologized Cecilia. “It was silly of me to expect your circumstances would be as innocuous as mine.”

“Well, even if it wasn’t exactly pleasant, I’m glad it happened. Becoming a Paladin of Jubilee saved my life and gave it purpose, even though I didn’t realize it at the time. And then a week ago I found out my friend and Artificer disciple was his chosen Hero all along!”

The official story was that neither Keira nor Fizzy knew each other until the latter was asked to help out in a joint exercise with a bunch of apprentice adventurers from different guilds. The two then became fast friends, though the catgirl continued concealing her Hero status from the golem, even after learning about her religious beliefs.

“I know! I’m so jealous!” said the elf with a pout. “And I greeted her with an electrocution! I feel so ashamed for doing such a mean thing to her of all people!”

“If you truly feel sorry, you should repent for your sins by running a few laps around the camp naked,” suggested Keira with a wry smile.

“Really?! Alright! If that’s what it takes, then-!”

“I was joking! I was just kidding, okay!? I didn’t mean it, so please stop stripping!”

“… Maybe I should strip too?”

“Fizzy! Now’s not the time for that!”

After calming down sufficiently amidst a sea of embarrassment, the two flesh-and-blood girls were left red-faced and the golem displeased she didn’t get to show off her shiny frame.

“Ahem!” Cecilia cleared her throat to dispel the awkward atmosphere. “I may have overreacted back there, but please understand you’re officially recognized as a Hero now. You need to be more mindful of your words or things like that might happen again.”

“Ugh… Duly noted,” the catgirl agreed with a groan. “I just wish people would go back to treating me like regular old Keira. Just another girl doing her best, you know?”

“Too late for that,” Fizzy said. “They’ll probably calm down with time, though.”

“I know, but it’s still a major pain in my ass.”

“Well, derriere discomfort aside,” said Cecilia with a small cough, “standing out is part of being a Hero. You’ll get used to it, I’m sure. Besides, popularity has its upsides. Or so I’m told.”

“I guess,” Keira rolled her eyes. “I just wish that… Actually, this is a good chance. I had been meaning to speak with you two about something that’s been bothering me.”

“Oh?! Would you be willing to share your thoughts with me?” Cecilia overflowed with expectation.

“You know you can talk to me about anything!” Fizzy declared proudly.

“Well, when I was knocked out – after the Clash, I mean – I had a sort of vision or dream or something. Or maybe it was actually real? Either way, in it, I spoke with Hubert and-”

“PFFFFT!”

Cecilia spit out her mouthful of tea out of shock, spraying Fizzy in the process.

“Hey! Watch it, meatbag!”

“You met with the Goddess of Randomness?! Personally?!”

Boxxy instantly regretted its decision.

“I don’t know!” insisted Keira. “I just spoke with him, okay?! It may or may not have been him. Could have been a delusion or hallucination, I barely remember even half of it.”

“… Yes, of course. Sorry,” apologized the elf. “My curiosity got the better of me. Again. Please, do continue.”

“Ahem! Right, like I was saying, I don’t remember much, but I do recall one particular phrase. ‘The Hero shapes the God just as much as the God shapes the Hero.’ Something about that scares me.”

Charlie offered those words to Teresa and they had been nagging at the back of Boxxy’s mind ever since. They held some worrisome implications. If there was one thing at the top of the creature’s hate list, it was the idea that someone or something was controlling it or otherwise influencing its actions. It despised the notion ever since breaking free of the dungeon during what was essentially its infancy. Not to say it was against such manipulations on principle, especially given how useful Ambrosia turned out to be. It simply didn’t want to be personally subjected to it.

“Oh, I think I can help you with this one,” said Fizzy. “According to my Holy Scriptures Skill, one of the reasons Gods choose Heroes is so they can better understand the plights of us mortals. You’re basically Gilligan’s main connection to the physical realm, so he’s using you to better comprehend his followers’ wants and needs.”

“That’s what ‘The Hero shapes the God’ means?” asked Keira.

“Pretty straightforward,” the golem shrugged.

“I guess.”

Though they agreed easily out loud, the knowing looks they shared silently confirmed that neither of them truly believed this was the case. It might have been like that for other deities and was likely a part of Rasputin’s intentions, but his main goal in choosing Boxxy was definitely its entertainment value. That was okay because the role demanded zero additional effort on the shapeshifter’s part, and it got to enjoy the benefits that came with the position. Besides, both monsters knew it was the statement’s second part that truly bothered the shapeshifter.

“And I think ‘the God shapes the Hero’ is referring to the way the world reacts to the Hero’s presence,” offered Cecilia. “I mean, I won’t presume to know your past or understand your suffering, but your life is in a pretty decent spot at the moment, right Miss Morgana?”

“It is?”

“Of course! You’re practically a war hero, you have the support and trust of many people, and you even have a lover waiting for you back home!”

Keira’s eyes narrowed damningly.

“How do you know about Rowana?”

“… Oops.”

“How?!” she demanded.

“From Silus’s notes. I, uh, inherited them.”

“But I never told him about her, either!”

“He, uh, ran a background check on you at some point. A very… thorough one.”

The redhead’s glare grew colder at this admission of her privacy being violated.

“I know you’re upset, but the FIB has to do questionable things every now and then. Our enemies are not afraid to resort to unethical, amoral, or even heretical practices, and it’s our duty to sully our hands for the sake of our nation. This may or may not involve rooting through a teenage girl’s personal mail correspondences without her knowledge or consent. And if I may-”

“Miss Underwood?” Keira interrupted

“Yes?”

“I think you should stop now.”

“… Sorry.”

“I think what crazy-eyes was trying to say,” spoke up Fizzy, “was that you wouldn’t be the person you are today if you weren’t a Hero.”

“… No. I suppose not,” the redhead agreed. “There’s no denying I’d still be a starving beggar without a place to call home without Jamal’s influence. I hate that I have to struggle so much just to get some semblance of normalcy, but I guess it worked out pretty well for me.”

These words were the shapeshifter’s honest feelings bleeding through its Facade. Sure, it had its ups and downs, but its current life was undeniably tastier than the lowly murder-hobo existence it led prior to becoming the Hero of Chaos.

“That’s what I meant,” Cecilia spoke up again. “You can’t expect to be granted divine gifts and then not have them influence your life in some way.”

“I see. I guess I was just overthinking things, huh?”

“No, no, it’s quite natural, Miss Morgana. We all get bogged down by questions of faith every now and then!”

“Faith, huh…?”

The catgirl thoughtfully looked down at her own distorted reflection in her cup of tea. This was a new sensation for Boxxy. Someone else alleviating its worries was unexpectedly tasty. There was always a nagging little doubt that it was all conjecture and guesswork, but the ‘ganger definitely felt a bit better. Besides, even if Grimaldi somehow subconsciously nudged it to act in one way or another, there was frankly nothing that the shapeshifter could do about it. Well, aside from re-acquiring Taboo and invalidating the Hero title, but that was eating the cart before the horse.

*DUM DUM DUM*

“Primus! Ma’am!”

There was a sudden banging on the door followed by an agitated shout from the other side.

“Yes?!” Cecilia called out. “Come in.”

The door swung open to reveal an out-of-breath guard who had been, presumably, running like mad to get here. He was so flustered that he nearly forgot to salute when he let himself in.

“Ah, forgive me, ma’am! I didn’t know you had company, but this is huge!”

“What is it? Report immediately!”

“Yes, ma’am! A couple of minutes ago, we got word that-”

*TTPTPTPPTBFBBUBPTFPBUBTFFFFPPSHSHPFT*

A harsh, disgusting sound suddenly filled the room, completely cutting off the man’s words. Cecilia’s face rapidly reddened and her eyes started watering up as it carried on for a few agonizing seconds, though whether the crying was due to shame or the rancid smell was unknown.

“…”

The ensuing silence was deafening.

“I… Uh… Shall I come back in a few minutes, ma’am?” asked the soldier.

“Please do,” said Cecilia with a tiny, high-pitched voice.

The Legionnaire respectfully closed the door, doing his best not to humiliate his commanding officer any further. Though, given how embarrassed she felt that was unlikely to be an issue. It took her almost a full minute before she could even look Keira in the eye only to realize the catgirl was just as upset as she was. Her dusky cheeks were several shades darker, and she actively avoided all eye contact. Also, was it just her imagination, or was the beastkin sitting a tiny bit taller than a few minutes ago?

“Did… Uhm, you t-too?” squeaked out the fidgeting catgirl.

Cecilia didn’t respond with words, but with the tiniest of nods. Even that extremely minor act of admission made her want to die from embarrassment.

“Uhm, what just happened?” uttered Fizzy with a puzzled look. “Did you two seriously just-?”

“Never mind that! We need to change!”

“Alright, alright, settle down Keira! I’ll go get some clean clothes for you, okay?”

“Please… and thanks. And don’t spread this around!”

“No, it’s okay, I understand completely,” said Fizzy with a dismissive wave of her only hand. “Accidents happen, right? Meatbags just can’t seem to contain their own slushiness sometimes.”

*CLUNK*

As the golem shifted in her seat, she heard something distinctly metal falling on the wooden floorboards and felt a strange itching sensation around her metallic buttocks. Standing up in disbelief, she was shocked to see a handful of rusty bolts, nuts, screws, and nails pour out from inside her baggy work pants, spilling out onto the floor from around her ankles.

“…”

Unsure of what to do, none of the ladies uttered a single peep. Thankfully, the culprit responsible revealed himself seconds later.

Whoopsie! I’m terribly sorry, everyone! This whole thing was entirely my bad and completely unintended! I promise you, this is all on me and has nothing to do with you. I hope the FTH gained from this communication will serve as suitable compensation. I will also make sure to fix the collective mess post-haste.

Again, I apologize for the incontinence. Also, the, uh, inconvenience.

[You have received a divine revelation from the Goddess of Uncertainty. FTH +10.]

“So, uh,” Fizzy was the first to speak, “looks like Juliet isn’t feeling well.”

“I, uhm, I suppose so?” muttered Cecilia.

“… What do you think he meant by ‘fixing’ it?” asked Keira.

In the next instant, a very specific subset of the world’s population found out that, contrary to common sense, poop could indeed travel both ways.

Following that harrowing series of events, Cecilia, Keira, and Fizzy made an iron-clad pact to never again speak of what transpired. At the very least, Kiki’s ‘fix’ for the situation seemed to have gotten rid of all signs it ever happened, including any smell or stain. Which was good, but the experience was still far too weird and disturbing to even think of. Once the three ladies settled down, they invited the guard waiting outside back in. The man seemed a bit puzzled at how quickly the disturbance was resolved, but quickly picked up it was in his best interest to forget he saw anything. He really didn’t want the Chaotic Trio on his ass, so instead of acknowledging the event he respectfully handed Primus the message he was told to deliver.

Cecilia read the official document once. Then twice. She rubbed her eyes and read it a third time. Her hands and fingers started trembling nervously as if they held a piece of history itself.

“Th… this…” she muttered. “Is this for real?!”

“Yes, ma’am!” confirmed the messenger. “As you can see it is by no means an isolated incident, either!”

“Unbelievable… Does the Legate know about this?”

“He’s the one who sent me to get you, ma’am. You are to report to him at your earliest convenience.”

“Understood! Wait, what about Kei- Decanus Morgana?”

The guard glanced at the dumbstruck Keira, then shook his head.

“I haven’t been told anything regarding the Dec, ma’am.”

“Right. Okay. Thank you. Go inform the Legate I will be over to see him within five minutes.”

“Right away, ma’am.”

With a final salute, the soldier left to deliver the message while the data analyst started rummaging around her office while murmuring under her breath.

“No precedent… geopolitical ramifications… civil war… can’t be right… no evidence… or perhaps… new projections…”

“Miss Underwood? What’s going on?”

Keira’s understandable question fell on deaf ears as the elf’s mind already churned away at full speed along with her hands. She gathered up her ledgers, notebooks, maps, pens, manifestos and even her birthday wishlist, then stormed out of the room, leaving the other two in a very confused state. Though not for the reasons one might assume.

“I have to ask,” spoke up Fizzy, breaking the awkward silence, “did you really, y’know… soil yourself?”

“No, of course not. I was just playing along with you two.”

“… But why, though?”

“I read somewhere that sharing embarrassing moments with someone was a good way to get close to them.”

“That’s going a bit too far, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m slightly regretting that decision now. At least I used a substitute rather than the real thing.”

“Can you even- No, I don’t think I want to know,” declared the golem with a frown on her face.

“What about you? Where did all that rusty iron even come from? And where did it… go?”

“Beats me.”

Silence descended on the room yet again as the two of them stared blankly at the door.

“I say we chalk this up to Dave being Robert and forget all about it,” suggested Fizzy.

“Agreed.”

“So, any idea what that message was all about?”

“No. But I’m about to find out.”

Boxxy whipped out a slightly crumpled piece of paper from its pocket. In all the confusion, it managed to successfully steal it from Cecilia without the elf noticing. Secretly working on its Pickpocket Skill was really starting to pay off, as it doubted it would’ve been able to pull that off so smoothly otherwise. The monster’s MLG wasn’t very good at reading ink on paper, so it was necessary to look at it directly with its eyes. The gullible elf would probably realize the sensitive document was missing at some point, but Boxxy only had to leave it somewhere in her office and she would assume she merely forgot it. Without further ado, it straightened out the piece of paper and started reading it. The more it read, however, the more agitated it became. It would appear Juliet wasn’t the only deity having a busy day.

A Monk who is a Disciple of Justice claimed to have received a divine revelation from Teresa. As of time of writing, 8 other Legionnaires from separate units and companies have independently reported the same exact message to their superior officers. The revelation in question is as follows:

Faithful of Teresa! A great injustice has been revealed to me!

Following my Hero’s untimely demise, I have spent considerable time in self-reflection and communion with my fellow Gods and have since come to realize the truth of the Calamity of Monotal! The one responsible for that heinous act was no terrorist, spy, or saboteur, but a devious monster acting independently. Its motivations were not political or religious, as it acted purely out of malice and greed. While the Lordrak Empire’s leaders should have known this truth, some among them chose to obfuscate and pervert it to suit their own corrupt designs!

On the authority of Teresa, Goddess of Truth and Justice, I hereby demand an immediate cessation of hostilities between the people of the Lodrak Empire and the Ishigar Republic. Furthermore, I call for a Holy Inquisition to investigate the Lodrak Empire’s Royal Court for evidence of conspiracy and corruption.

“Shit!” cursed Keira, a bit louder than intended. “This sucks!”

“What? Let me see!”

Boxxy handed the document to Fizzy while contemplating the number of headaches this would lead to. The war ending was bad for the Sandman’s business, but that wasn’t why it was upset. The humans now knew that a monster caused the Calamity and would surely start looking for it. Worse still, if the Republic and Empire formed some sort of joint investigation and pooled their resources and knowledge, they stood a very real chance at tracking down the culprit. Especially since Punchy was kind enough to shout out its name during the events of Armageddon Day.

“What are you talking about?” asked Fizzy in a surprised manner. “This is great news, isn’t it?!”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, right, you probably don’t know what a Holy Inquisition is.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Basically, it means every loser in Teresa’s Church of the Hammer will be taking a very hard look at the Empire’s leadership. They’re going to question, investigate, and prosecute the shit out of all of those noble bastards!”

“What, just like that?”

“Hello?! We’re talking about the Goddess of Truth and Justice! If she’s going out of her way to reveal something like this, then of course the populace is going to eat it up! This is going to make huge waves in the Imperial capital! Tsunamis, even!”

“What’s a tsunami? Is it tasty?”

“That’s not the important part here!”

“No, no, I get what you’re saying, but I still fail to see how that’s a good thing. What do I care if some religious fanatics go after their political leaders? I mean I could maybe turn a profit, but-”

“Don’t you see?!” interrupted Fizzy with a manic grin. “They’ll be going after the asshole that imprisoned us, too!”

Realization hit Boxxy like a brick. Spymaster Edward Allen – arguably the biggest threat to the monster’s ongoing existence – was a member of the Lodrak Empire’s Royal Court. More than that, he was most likely the person this Holy Inquisition was ultimately after. The man clearly identified Boxxy as the culprit behind Monotal going up in smoke, yet the Empire declared war on the Republic instead of organizing a wide-scale monster hunt.

Actually, Teresa’s revelation said very little of the monster itself, didn’t it? Boxxy’s name, description, abilities, and secret identity were all very well known to Teresa, yet she didn’t reveal anything. Was it because Volaire had influenced her somehow? Or maybe she cared a lot more about cleaning up her own house rather than chasing after the shapeshifter for revenge? Either way, knowing how treacherous and selfish humans could be, there was a very high chance of Edward’s own people turning on him to save their own skin.

And the one who brought this about was none other than Boxxy T. Morningwood.

“Fizzyyy!”

The catgirl suddenly tackle-hugged the smaller golem. Her widely smiling face, upturned eyes, and unceasing giggling formed a picture-perfect expression of boundless joy. Her happiness and jubilation were so incredibly delicious that she began drooling uncontrollably. Fizzy laughed without restraint, cheering loudly as she imagined the bastard that wanted to wrongfully imprison her getting his just deserts.

Revenge, it would appear, was a dish best served remotely.

*SLAM*

“Guys!” shouted Cecilia as she burst through the door. “I totally forgot, but… did you… see… where…”

Her words trailed off as she beheld the sight of Keira and Fizzy aggressively cuddling on the floor, both in a disheveled state. After being caught celebrating a bit too enthusiastically, the two girls stared up at her with looks that seemed to say ‘Oh right, she existed.’ The golem’s fingers in the catgirl’s mouth and the obvious traces of saliva over that mithril frame didn’t exactly diffuse the situation either.

“I’ll, uhm… Nev- Never mind.”

The elf slowly closed the door with a beet-red face. It was plainly obvious she misunderstood the situation, but Boxxy didn’t particularly care. It continued to shamelessly rub itself all over Fizzy’s frame as it worshipped her shininess, while the golem herself savored the very personal attention she received. So what if some nosy elf saw them? They’d clear up the misunderstanding eventually. Besides, now was a time for celebration, and Boxxy would not let a single second go to waste.

Indeed, celebration was the operative word for Keira Morgana from that day onward.

Interlude
You Reap What You Sow

“Oh, come on! Really?!”

Edward Allen, acting Spymaster to Emperor Joseph Frederick von Einhart the Third, was currently engaging in a ritual that a casual observer might consider no different from throwing a tantrum. This hypothetical person would be quite correct, as it was only yesterday that the Goddess of Truth and Justice herself indirectly called him out on his deliberate act of misinformation in front of the entire continent. If it was only that, he might have handled it in a more dignified, composed manner.

“That horrid, bastard box! How dare it do that to me!”

However, having been told that the one most likely responsible for the revelation was the same moronic creature that slipped from his grasp half a year ago sent him over the edge.

“Just how much does it plan to get in my way?!”

He kicked over a wooden shelf in an act of futile rage. The fully stocked piece fell against the stone floor of the Arcaneum tower’s alchemy lab with a crash, spilling numerous volatile substances all over the ground. A few of the liquids evaporated instantly in puffs of multi-colored smoke upon exposure to open air while others ate their way through the stone floor. A stray Morolian seed even made a failed attempt at taking root, sprouting a patch of black needle-like grass that withered away almost immediately.

In the same room with Edward were five of the six Gilded Hand officers that served as his inner circle – his most trusted advisors and agents. Four of them had bewildered looks on their faces as they gazed upon the rare sight of their ruthless leader absolutely losing his cool. The odd one out was the ever-distant Zone, who maintained an icy expression as she sat at the edge of the room. The Scribe part of her mind was already processing the funds needed to replace all those volatile reagents. It was a habit of hers, something she acquired as a result of serving as Edward’s de-facto secretary for the last two decades. Incidentally, the total bill for those damages was precisely 2,952 GP, which could be cut down by roughly 250 GP if they managed to find a local source of mandrake root.

“I don’t get it. Why is the boss so mad all of a sudden?”

Hook, the team’s ‘interrogation expert,’ was the first to speak up. The hooded Psionic leaned against the far wall and acted as if his boss’s troubles had nothing to do with him.

“Because he gets cranky when he doesn’t get enough sleep. You know how old people are.”

The sarcastic answer came from Question, the youthful blond-haired brains of the group.

“What, really?” his colleague raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” he rolled his eyes. “Are you seriously that dense? This is all because of that one mimic. Y’know, the one you were supposed to probe before it got away?”

“Oh yeah, that thing,” Hook’s face lit up with enlightenment. “Come to think of it, the boss had a bit of a fit back then too, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, well, ‘that thing’ is likely the reason why we lost the war in such grandiose fashion.”

“… For real?”

Question let out a tired sigh.

“Do you even read the briefings I give you?!”

“I, uh, skim over them…” the Psionic said evasively.

The documents Question was talking about posited that the creature responsible for the Calamity of Monotal – one Boxxy T. Morningwood – was present both at New Whitehall and at Fort Yimin. The foreboding figure of this ‘Sandman’ they kept hearing about was an eerily close match to the ‘Mister Morningwood’ sighted going in and out of the Mercenary Guild branch office in Erosa immediately following Monotal’s destruction. Zone corroborated the story, reporting that the impossible-to-miss four-armed fiend previously linked to the monster in question was seen fighting alongside the Sandman at Fort Yimin. All this information, coupled with a few more tidbits, served as undeniable proof that Boxxy regained its lost Warlock Job and was putting it to use against the Empire’s invasion. Question couldn’t prove that the shapeshifter was also involved in the massacre that brought an abrupt end to that siege, but he had a sneaking suspicion. The creature’s presence at the battle couldn’t be mere coincidence if its track record and propensity for widespread carnage were any indication.

The report touched on how and why the monster in question managed to not only recover but also surpass its former power in such a short amount of time. Spymaster Allen had actually already provided the answer to this question. During the war’s early stages, he infiltrated a ‘secure’ Republic research facility and captured some very interesting intelligence. It revealed that those twigs had been experimenting with the concept of using artificially engineered monsters as biological weapons for years, possibly decades. This information was something of a surprise to Question. Messing with mother nature’s creation was largely considered an unethical practice among the elven population. This belief was reinforced by both the predominant worship of Nyrie across the Republic and their history. After all, that was precisely the sort of method that Tol-Saroth had used to wipe out the royal family of the Elven Dominion, which directly led to the country’s dissolution four centuries ago.

Yet the twigs were at it again, and the stolen data indicated their efforts were met with a reasonable degree of success. What that ‘success’ actually was remained unclear, but the fact they were willing to go down this path meant they probably wouldn’t be opposed to taking a monster with a colossal capacity for catastrophe under their wing and pointing it at the Empire. Thus, Edward’s former prisoner was not only alive and well but also currently thriving under the Republic’s protection and support.

Why had the Gilded Hand’s analyst focused so much on that particular monster? He believed it to be the main catalyst behind the events of Armageddon Day. To begin with, Hook himself testified Overlord Nagnamor screamed Morningwood’s name in anger multiple times. And while the enraged archfiend might have theoretically been chasing another ‘Morningwood,’ two other key figures’ presence on that battlefield said otherwise. Namely that of the Sandman, now known as Boxxy in disguise, and Liusolra – the same being that served as the creature’s parting gift to the Empire. The Stalker Queen’s contributions were also quite telling. Her Endless Swarm might have attacked people on both sides, but Liusolra’s overall impact on the battle was squarely in the Republic’s favor. Considering her position as Overlord, it was nothing short of a monumental achievement that Question readily attributed to none other than Boxxy T. Morningwood.

Some might argue that the guy was giving that monster too much credit, but it was hard to argue with his judgement considering the creature’s Demonology Skill. More specifically, the way it had survived Zone’s forced Job Removal even though the rest of the Warlock Job was wiped from the monster’s Status without issue. Question initially dismissed this anomalous event during his investigation at Bootlick, but had since reevaluated its significance. It hinted that Boxxy had a far more intimate relationship with the demons of the Beyond than any enlightened Warlock could hope – or want – to achieve.

This realization was significant. It fit in perfectly with Liusolra’s presence and behavior at New Whitehall, especially since her summoning seemed to be a spur-of-the-moment decision rather than a pre-planned event. After all, exceedingly few people would consider calling upon a gods-damned Overlord, and fewer still could do so at a moment’s notice. One would have to be a literal monster with total disregard for friendly fire and intimate knowledge of the Beyond to pull off something like that. The most impressive part was that the unbound demon was somehow coerced to challenge Nagnamor instead of going on their own, independent rampage. Either that or Liusolra favored Boxxy for whatever reason. Or it may have been something else entirely. The details surrounding exactly how and why the two Overlords came to blows were completely unknown.

What happened next, however, was undeniable. Nagnamor’s Armageddon wiped out most of the city setting the stage for that damnable Clash of Fate. While that particular encounter warranted its own investigation, Question was confident beyond a shadow of a doubt it would have never taken place if Boxxy hadn’t interfered with the Empire’s stratagem. Its involvement had more or less brought about Bernard Samson’s defeat, which in turn directly resulted in Teresa’s prolonged silence and the unprecedented revelation that followed.

It all made sense from Question’s point of view, so he couldn’t fathom why his colleagues found his findings so difficult to comprehend.

“I don’t get it. I thought the one that led to all this mess was that punk Hero of theirs?”

“You too, Edge?” the man grumbled. “Honestly, why in Teresa’s tits do I even bother with you people?”

The woman that spoke up sat idly on a nearby table while absentmindedly twirling a throwing knife between her slim fingers. Unlike the rest of her comrades, Edge never wore her blue-and-gray officer’s fatigues. After all, what sort of assassin openly declared their allegiance like that? Especially considering that until very recently she’d been busy resolving various… domestic affairs. Instead, her outfit consisted of a baggy gray shirt, loose-fitting brown work pants, and a pair of thick leather boots poking out from beneath the hems of her slightly-too-long trousers. She was the spitting image of a common laborer. This baggy get-up’s purpose was twofold – it allowed her to obfuscate her identity while also concealing a large number of blades on her person without limiting her movement.

Her face, although as attractive as one would expect from an elf maiden in her mid-twenties, was almost always twisted in a scowl. Even if she was ‘a filthy twig,’ however, she actively rejected her bloodline. This was something she made clear by dying her blue-green hair a chestnut color and cutting off the tips of her pointed ears. Admittedly, this act of self-mutilation only served to make her conspicuous in a different way, so she usually wore a voluminous work cap to cover them up. However, she couldn’t hide the piercing hawk-like look in her emerald green eyes. Hers was a keen glare that absolutely did not belong to a random laborer, human or otherwise.

“Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me if I haven’t had the time to pour through twenty damn pages of drivel,” said Edge in a haughty manner. “I doubt anyone here does, actually. You need to be more concise and to the point.”

“Zone read it,” pointed out the blond strategist. “Several times, in fact. She even pointed out a few spelling errors. Why can’t you be more like her, huh? Y’know, especially in the area that really counts.”

Question made some rather obscene hand gestures best described as ‘air-groping.’ The flat-chested Edge took offense to that, as she was actually quite self-conscious about that part of her anatomy. In fact, her figure was so androgynous she could easily pass herself off as a slightly effeminate man if she tried, and she had previously done so as part of her duties. Question was well aware of this, and his taunts were just another attempt to get a rise out of her. And it worked wonderfully seeing as her immediate response was to throw the knife in her hand straight at Question’s crotch. Luckily for him, his imminent castration was averted by a clipboard that flew into the projectile’s path at the last moment. The small blade sunk into the thin wooden slab, losing its momentum and falling harmlessly to the floor.

“You stay out of this!” Edge snarled at Zone.

“You possess neither the right nor authority to assault your superior officer,” the Monk said in her typical deadpan voice.

“Ohh! Zone!” exclaimed Question. “I knew you cared!”

“If anyone’s going to neuter that horndog, it’s me,” she coldly added.

“Ah! As harsh as ever! But that’s the part I love about you the most, my considerably chested comrade!” he gave her an overly theatrical bow.

Edge pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration and moved to the other end of the room. Normally, she wouldn’t give that clown the satisfaction of responding to his provocations, but the comparison to Zone really stung her pride. It was something of a public secret within the Gilded Hand that, even though she kept them bound and wrapped up tight, the resident ice queen’s rack was actually quite impressive. The black-haired beauty probably didn’t mean anything by it, but the way she treated those jugs as if they were a bother really got on Edge’s nerves.

The elf sat her small butt down at another table, right next to a broad-shouldered, rugged-looking man with black hair and eyes like Zone’s. However, unlike the emotionally deficient Monk, he had a soft look in his eye and sported a jolly smile that immediately warmed people up to him. A passing glance gave off the impression of a soft-hearted, fun-loving uncle who could do no harm. Considering his line of work, it was probably his deadliest weapon. Either that or the near-permanent stench of alcohol about him, but he was still the only person Edge felt safe around.

“What an asshole,” she grumbled while pouting.

“C’mon, Lyra, don’t be like that,” he said in an understanding tone. “You know he’s just going to tease you even more if you keep reacting to him.”

“I can’t help it, Jack!” she responded while glaring at Question. “He’s just so infuriating. I don’t care how good he is at his job, he needs to manage his interpersonal relationships better! It’s like he wants us to hate him! I swear, one of these days he’s going to wake up with a few less testicles and a few extra tonsils.”

“Yeesh, remind me never to get on your bad side.”

The man recoiled a bit at that mental image, then took a swig of his mithril-plated hip flask.

“Keep using my birth name, and you just might,” she shot back with a piercing glare.

“Hahaha! Sorry, sorry, my bad. Old habits die hard, y’know. Besides, you used mine too, so let’s call it even, okay?”

Jack’s designation within the group was Bandit, and his official post was that of requisitions officer and quartermaster to the Gilded Hand. It was a nice way of saying he was a conman, thief, smuggler, and, on several occasions, human trafficker. Whenever Edward or his inner circle needed to get their hands on something ‘off the books,’ he made it happen. In fact, over half of the questionable substances his boss knocked over earlier were procured through Bandit’s network. He was also the only Monster Tamer in the world to have as many as six griffins under his command. Admittedly, it wasn’t because he was an exceptional individual. Griffins were created and bred to be surprisingly docile and fiercely loyal towards the individual they were imprinted on at birth. A person needn’t strictly be a Monster Tamer to raise and train one of the colossal flying beasts, but the Job definitely made it easier.

However, even though it was technically possible for a commoner to rear a griffin, the law did not allow just anyone to do so. The massive creatures were an important strategic asset, a fearsome addition to any army, and, most importantly, a symbol of power and authority. It was no coincidence that the Empire’s blue-and-white flag had been emblazoned with the image of a griffin for as long as anyone could remember. Thus, for partly military and mostly political reasons, the only ones legally allowed to raise and own the majestic beasts were members of the Imperial Court. Even then, the law limited ownership to only one or two per noble house.

Except that Bandit, much like his codename implied and similarly to the rest of the Gilded Hand’s top brass, didn’t pay too much heed to bothersome things like laws. Which, coincidentally, was the main reason they found themselves in their current predicament.

“For real though, how does the monster that escaped factor into this?” asked Edge. “I thought the whole reason Her Truthiness sent out that divine revelation yesterday was a result of her Hero’s death.”

“Well, Question over there explains that was also that mimic’s doing,” said Bandit. “Gods are not omnipotent, you know. If she found out about what really happened with the Calamity, then someone must’ve told her. And since none of us are in the habit of going to church, the only one left is the culprit.”

“That’s idiotic. Since when are monsters religious? Even if they were, I seriously see no way some idiotic chest would pray to the Goddess of Truth and Justice.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t account for anyone else it might have told. A secret that is shared by more than one person is no longer a secret, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess. What’s going to happen to us, though?”

“Dunno,” said the dashing swindler with a shrug. “That sort of stuff is well beyond my pay grade. The boss’ll have to say how we handle this.”

“I don’t mean ‘us’ as in the Gilded Hand,” Edge lowered her voice. “I mean ‘us’ as in ‘me and you,’ uncle.”

Jack was her father’s brother. It was only natural she was more concerned for her sole remaining family member than the shady organization they both belonged to. A half-bred elf like her wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t vouched for her many times over. Her loyalty was to him first, and she only listened to Edward because her uncle trusted him for reasons unknown to her.

“… Dunno,” he answered after a brief pause. “Whatever happens, I’ll make sure you get out safe. You can count on that.”

“Me?! But what about-”

“Already speaking of dissention, are we?”

The crass voice interrupting the young assassin’s objection was loud enough to grip the entire room. Zone, Question, Hook, Edge, and Bandit all turned towards the laboratory’s entrance where the sixth and final member of Edward’s inner circle stood. He was a tall, wrinkled old man that looked like a desiccated bag of skin and bones. He had a hooked nose, a pointed chin, a bald head, and a pair of tired-looking gray eyes that made him look as if he hadn’t slept in years. A single glance at his frail body and the way he leaned heavily against his staff as if it were a walking stick gave some weight to the rumors that he was well over a hundred and thirty years old. It was quite an impressive feat considering he had yet to Rank Up even once.

However, meeting the man in person made it immediately apparent that the source of his longevity was quite the opposite of a ‘miracle,’ for he positively reeked of Taboo. While nobody in the room was a saint by any stretch of the imagination, he was the only one who allowed himself to openly violate the will of the gods. As such, it was only natural that his very presence made their skin crawl, but they were more or less used to the unpleasant sensation at this point.

The positively ancient sinner’s codename was Mist. He was one of the greatest magic users within the Empire and arguably the entire civilized world. Even though his vitality suffered greatly at the hands of his old age, his mind remained a literal library of knowledge, and his expertise spanned every known field of magic. This included the practices of both Necromancy and Hexcraft, which was why he was branded with the gods’ stigma in the first place.

“I see you got your eyes and ears all over the place as usual, ya old fart,” replied Edge with a sneer.

“Of course,” he limped closer to her. “This is my house, after all.”

Mist’s real identity was still that of Wyndam Clinton, former High Magus of the organization known as the Arcaneum and ex-Hero to Lunar, the Goddess of Magic and Learning. While he no longer held either title, his past glories afforded him an enormous amount of influence and control over the government-sanctioned guild. He practically owned the tower he and the rest of the Gilded Hand members were currently holed up. This place truly was ‘his house,’ in every sense of the phrase.

“So, what’s all this I been hearing about His Majesty’s ire?” he glanced towards Edward.

The Spymaster quietly seethed ever since his earlier outburst, pacing around the room in small circles and pondering his predicament. He didn’t even try to hide his irritation as he snapped back at the old man.

“Have you been living under a rock?!”

“Yes, actually,” responded Mist. “This place is literally under a mountain. You should know that.”

“… Right. Sorry for barging in on you like this, by the way. Question will fill you in on the details later. Bottom line is an Inquisition is coming down on the Emperor’s head, and he won’t hesitate to sell me out to save his own hide.”

“Ah, I see. He caught onto your ‘white lie,’ did he? You know, I did-”

“Don’t you dare fucking say ‘I told you so!’ I’m not in the mood!” growled Edward.

“I wouldn’t need to say it if you actually listened, you stupid boy!” Mist hissed in response.

Indeed, even though he was technically the Spymaster’s subordinate, the former High Magus was still one of his mentors. While his wisdom may not have helped Edward much in the world of international espionage, the walking fossil had guided him through the political clusterfuck that was the Imperial royal court. Plus, he repeatedly warned him of the Gods’ fickleness, a topic he was something of an expert on.

“Whatever the case, the current Gilded Hand’s days are numbered,” butted in Question. “It’s only a matter of time before the public finds out we tricked the Emperor and he throws us to the wolves. Which, I might add, is entirely Edward’s fault.”

Edge and Hook rolled their eyes as the blond man again went out of his way to blame an unfortunate event on their boss. Half of his twenty-page report might as well have been its own scientific paper entitled ‘Why Edward Allen Is Responsible For All The Bad Things In Life.’ It was why his colleagues couldn’t stand reading the entire piece. Even if it seemed full of factually and logically sound deductive reasoning, anyone who personally knew the author couldn’t help but see the bias in his words.

While those two dismissed the accusations as yet another incident of Question’s animosity towards his boss, Mist and Bandit seemed to silently agree with him. The smuggler committed the analyst’s findings to memory and could not argue any of the points he raised, particularly regarding the handling of Boxxy’s imprisonment. Edward severely underestimated the monster’s will to survive and paid dearly for it. Mist, on the other hand, had no idea there was an actual report to read. Even then, he didn’t need some whipper-snapper’s imagination to confirm something his wealth of experience foresaw months ago.

Zone took no sides in the petty squabble. She was off in her own world as per usual, her attention focused on filling out a requisition form to replace the damaged alchemical reagents. Practicing the Scribe Job was widely considered a dull and mind-numbingly repetitive undertaking, but she never saw it as such. She didn’t find it particularly fun and entertaining either. To her, filling out forms, writing letters, and balancing budgets was little more than a form of dynamic meditation. She performed the activity to center herself and maintain the serene state of mind that Monks required to achieve peak performance.

“I hate to admit it, but Question is right,” said Edward in a moment of clarity. “About everything.”

“I… I am?”

“You are. I’m about to be branded an outlaw by my own country, and it was my own rashness and lack of foresight that led to this outcome.”

Edward stood with his back straight and arms behind his waist as he openly admitted his own faults.

“I’m not going to belittle Edge and Bandit for making plans to secure their lives. I’d expect nothing less of them. Or from any of you, for that matter. In the end, we’re all nothing but a bunch of backstabbing brigands who put their own lives first. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this organization to begin with.”

A humorless smile spread on his lips, eliciting bemused looks and dry chuckles from everyone in the room except Zone.

“Which is why I’m asking all of you to make a choice, right here and right now. Will you stay behind and condemn my actions to save your own skin? Or will you follow me once more into the unknown? I won’t fault you, no matter your decision.”

Bandit slapped the table with both hands as he stood up. He walked with wide, deliberate steps until he stood directly in front of Edward, then saluted.

“You’ve always had my back, old friend, and I wouldn’t be able to call myself a man if I didn’t have yours. So long as it's profitable, of course.”

Edge followed suit and stood right by her kin.

“I go where my uncle goes. I don’t care where my journey takes me, just so long as I can be by his side.”

Hook lined up next to Edge and similarly paid respects to his commanding officer.

“You gave me purpose, direction, and the means to exact my revenge. I may have fucked it up last time, but I have faith I will get another shot at that bitch Imyril as long as I have your support.”

Next up was Question, who went with the flow and saluted Edward. It was the first genuine gesture of respect he’d shown the Spymaster in years.

“Even though I say and do the things I do, you’re still the best damn leader I’ve ever had. This institution was- is the ideal place for someone like me to hone my skills, and no other officer has ever put up with my shit for this long. I look forward not only to the day when that choice comes back to bite you in the ass, but also the chance to study the insightful ways in which it did.”

Zone stood from her seat, lined up next to Question, and quietly yet firmly said her piece.

“Because I want to get stronger.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t join the theatrics,” said Mist from the side, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not behind you. Though I don’t know how much life I have left in these old bones, I still want to bear witness to the heights your ambition will take you.”

The show of loyalty satisfied Edward as a leader. These men and women openly stating their respective convictions was so reassuring he felt he didn’t need his Ultimate Skill to believe in their words. Even Zone’s rather selfish motive was strangely comforting, for those were the same words she spoke when he recruited her in the first place. Admittedly, all of their convictions could change at a moment’s notice further down the line, but their current motivations were good enough.

“Very good,” declared the soon-to-be-former Spymaster. “Mist – I want you, your disciples, and those dungeon cores ready to move out by morning. You’ll continue your research at a blacksite outside the Empire. I don’t care if you have to break a few eggs, I want results!”

“Heeeh, heeeh, heeeh,” he chuckled in a dry, sinister manner. “I was hoping you’d say that! Though I suspect we might need a few extra… samples.”

“Don’t you worry, Bandit will provide any equipment or materials you require.”

“Same shit, different day, I suppose,” said the smuggler with a smile and a shrug. “But are you sure my people can do something like steal dungeon cores? They’re not exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer.”

“It’s, uh, easier than you might think,” Edward revealed.

“Is it, now?”

“Just need to hit it really hard,” said Zone with one of her extremely rare smiles.

Mist dismissively shook his head at her crude, brutish attitude towards those incredibly complex magical tools and limped off towards the exit. The Monk heard the unflattering complaints he let out under his breath, which immediately ruined her mood and made her smile disappear. True, her approach might not have been the fanciest, but it got the job done, didn’t it? So how come that old fart kept belittling her all the time? She would’ve honestly punched his head clean off his shoulders by now if not for her monumental restraint. Zone’s main Job was a Monk, a religious vocation that made her knuckles itch something awful whenever that Taboo-branded fossil was in the room. The divine laws he violated had nothing to do with her God, so she was able to look past the old man’s sins and work with him whenever necessary. Unfortunately, the man himself was an absolute ass, which didn’t make it easier for Zone to restrain herself.

“… Riiiight,” said Bandit after a moment of awkward silence. “I’ll just go prepare my pets for the trip, shall I?”

“Guess I’ll go pack up my knives,” offered Edge as she chased after her uncle.

“We going back to the southern continent, boss?” Hook asked with a somewhat hopeful voice.

Edward gave him a probing look. The hooded baldie probably wanted to visit his old Psionic Mentor to get some pointers after the embarrassing defeat at New Whitehall. While the Spymaster wasn’t opposed to his enforcers becoming more capable combatants, he didn’t feel it was worthwhile derailing the entire organization, especially not at such a crucial time. That said, fleeing to another continent was an excellent way to put some distance between himself and all this trouble should things go especially bad.

“Maybe,” he answered. “I’ll need to see what sort of support I can drum up elsewhere before I make a final decision. Whatever the case, the rest of you should get ready to travel around a whole lot. We’re about to get very busy.”

The others immediately dispersed to see to their own affairs while Edward continued scheming. He needed to keep both the Emperor and this Inquisition off his back long enough to move as many assets as possible across the border. Or at the very least, out of the capital. This required a manifesto of his personal holdings, as well as any and all items, equipment, and properties currently in possession of the Gilded Hand. Luckily, he knew just the person for the job.

“Zone, I want you to-!”

*KA-KRUNK*

Edward took a small step forward as he was informing his de-facto secretary of her duties, but was rudely interrupted by the loud noise his left foot made when he tried to lift it. Apparently, one of the vials he knocked over earlier contained a batch of extra-strength adhesive made with slime mucus as its base. He stepped in it without realizing, and it hardened while he was delivering his little speech. So, when he tried to move his foot with his absurd leg strength, something had to give way. It was neither the dried blob of slime-snot-glue nor his dragonhide boots, but the mortar binding the floor tiles together. As a result, the Spymaster was left with a block of stone stuck to his heel.

“Hahahaha! Way to start your revolution, old man!”

Hook stifled a laugh while Question let his own joy flow out freely. Zone merely stared at Edward with her trademark blank expression, though the corners of her mouth momentarily twitched. Surprisingly, even though it took Edward’s superhuman sight to see it, Zone’s miniscule reaction somehow hurt his pride the most.

“That fucking box!” he bellowed. “I swear, I will never know peace until I squeeze the life out of its putrid corpse!”

Indeed, if it wasn’t for one Boxxy T. Morningwood’s actions there was no way he would’ve found himself with a piece of pavement glued to his foot. If anyone was to blame for the embarrassing event, it was surely that fucking thing.

“Uhm, heh, Edward?” Question piped up mid-giggles. “You do realize this is entirely your own fault, right?”

“You do realize I have a piece of stone glued to my foot, right?”

“… Oh, shi-!”

*THWACK*

*CRASH*

The next instant found the snarky analyst halfway buried in the nearby wall with bits of smashed foot-brick stuck to his face.

“Right, as I was saying,” continued the Spymaster, “Zone, compile a list of everything that we own, I want it on my desk right away.”

“Yes, sir,” came the immediately reply.

“Also, when Question wakes up, I want you to let him know my tolerance for his antics is at an all-time low, and that the next time he pushes me I’ll do worse than use his face as a doormat.”

Chapter Two
A Hero’s Burden

Part One

News of Teresa’s decree swept across the continent overnight, spreading confusion among the Empire’s populace. They didn’t know whether to be overjoyed their Goddess finally answered them, outraged the Emperor might have deceived the whole nation, saddened at the loss of humanity’s Hero, or frightened at the prospect of the first Holy Inquisition in over two centuries. Some were gleeful that ‘those rich pigs’ would get what was coming to them, while others felt deep shame for so readily blaming Monotal on the elves.

However, not all of the citizens were conflicted or riled up. At least half of the Empire’s population merely acknowledged the monumental news with a shake of their heads or a disappointed sigh, then carried on with their daily lives like normal. To most commoners, the whole war business was far too removed from their reality. Lying politicians, manufactured justifications, massive bloodbaths, millions of GP wasted on a pointless campaign, subversion of the Goddess’s faithful – they couldn’t care less about any of it. The begging pauper, slum-stalking sneak-thief, and humble villager worried about his sick cattle all had their own, far more immediate worries. Clothing, food, and shelter were far more important than borders or religion.

Naturally, those in the middle of this controversy had the opposite reaction. The human nobles immediately began the finger-wagging and ass-covering they were known for, trying their damnedest to avoid or appease the Inquisition already gathering at their doors. The political upheaval also enveloped the Church of the Hammer as accusations of scandals, schemes, and corruption were thrown about like hot potatoes. Even the Emperor felt the pressure. Though he was unaware that the Spymaster’s information was largely fabricated, his past eagerness to declare war on ‘those filthy twigs’ wasn’t doing him any favors.

The Republic’s general populace had a much stronger reaction than the Empire’s commoners, and not just because their ruling class wasn’t imploding in on itself. Once the confusion following the conflict’s conclusion wore off, they felt vindicated and relieved that their nation wasn’t responsible for the Calamity. For centuries, they carried the stigma of saboteurs and terrorists, which was perpetuated by certain extremist factions that clung to the discarded ideals and long-dead glories of the past. The Republic government naturally didn’t fail to capitalize on the monumental victory in every way possible, starting with a bit of old-fashioned propaganda.

It was now five days after Teresa’s monumental revelation. An abnormally high number of people were gathered around one particular Forest Gate within the capital city of Azurvale. Thousands had gathered from all over the country, their number completely covering both the plaza surrounding the arcane device and the branches of the nearest hylt tree. The crowd’s ceaseless buzzing filled the air with an undeniable atmosphere of tension and anticipation. The commotion died down rapidly when the Forest Gate abruptly flickered to life. It glowed and it hummed and rattled, then threw open a portal that connected it with its newly-reconstructed twin in the middle of New Whitehall. There was a tense moment while the spatial distortion stabilized, followed by wild cheers as the first row of victorious Legionaries stepped through.

Clad in traditional silver-colored armor, the returning adventurers and soldiers marched side by side as the crowd’s ovations fell upon them. Some waved back to the crowd without reservation while others struggled to maintain an air of dignity, but none failed to salute the large podium on their left. Upon that stage were various high-ranking military personnel, including the 1st and 3rd Legions’ Legates and their chief advisors, who proudly returned the gesture. Among them was their commander-in-chief and the one holding the highest elected Republic office – Exarch Varas Lumys.

He was a wizened elf with short, slicked-back green hair dark enough to be mistaken for black. He silently regarded the victorious troops with milky eyes while beaming ear-to-ear. It was perhaps the first genuine smile he’d shown in months, as the reality of the situation didn’t quite hit him until this victory parade started. It was hardly a premature celebration, as an Imperial delegation had arrived atop a snowy white griffin just yesterday to negotiate the terms of a peace treaty. Naturally, there were those in the Empire who wished to keep the war going, but they were quickly silenced as their subordinates and serfs raised their voices as one.

These few warmongers were complete fools to think they could just do as they pleased without the support of the people. In the past they might have forcefully suppressed such ‘dissension’ without fear of retribution, but the aristocrats now had a new power to contend with – the Holy Inquisition. This organization wasn’t headed by some noble or big-shot clergyman. There were no soldiers, bishops, or cardinals either. Its membership comprised primarily of Teresa’s low-ranking faithful and independent adventurers, both active and retired. Simple, honest folk who did not appreciate having their patriotism and faith taken advantage of. Furthermore, all of them swore an oath in Teresa’s name to carry out Her will as befitting their position. Any who failed to do so would be branded with the stigma of Taboo and be judged by their peers in turn.

The Exarch always respected the idea of the Holy Inquisition. An organization formed of the people, by the people, and for the people, united in a common goal to purify their nation from deeply rooted corruption. He held a wholehearted belief in the democratic process, and it warmed his heart to see the misguided citizens take matters into their own hands. News that the Republic’s people were entirely unaffiliated with the Calamity would go to great lengths to alleviate the worries of their dwarven and gnomish neighbors to the east. It paved the way for a lasting alliance between the Horkensaft Kingdom and the Ishigar Republic, who would stand unified in their opposition of the militaristic Empire.

Lumys shook his head to chase away thoughts of politics and diplomacy. Today was a day of celebration meant to bolster the citizens’ spirits and reassure them that the government was willing and able to protect them and their interests. It was also a time to honor the fallen and celebrate the living. That was the whole point of this parade to begin with. Allowing himself to get distracted with his inner thoughts was rude to the men and women who fought on behalf of people like him. Luckily, he returned his gaze and attention towards the proud procession just in time for the main event.

The person who made this parade possible through sheer will and determination made her grand appearance. The Hero of Chaos exited the portal with a childlike grin on her face and both hands raised above her head. Her fiery crimson hair and tanned skin made her painfully easy to identify amidst the procession despite her relatively short stature. The crowd went absolutely bananas as they shouted and cheered for her louder than they ever had. Why wouldn’t they? Both her appearance and accomplishments had been heavily publicized by the Republic government with the express purpose of turning her into a symbol of victory and hope.

Lumys felt more than a little guilty about burdening a teen-aged girl with such heavy expectations, but neither of them had a choice in the matter. Between her accomplishments at both Fort Yimin and New Whitehall, it was no exaggeration to say she was instrumental in the Republic’s victory. With so many troops aware of her contributions, Morgana would have become a household name no matter what. All the Exarch’s office did was accelerate the process and shape her public image. Thankfully, the girl had the strength of character to accept her newfound fame with grace and style. It was clear as day that she was having the time of her life, which was also true of the monster beneath that lovely Facade.

[Congratulations, you are now a Level 30 Doppelganger! All Attributes +2.]

Of course, Boxxy’s Doppelganger Job would get a massive XP boost from having an entire parade dedicated to its fabricated persona. It was delicious enough to potentially rival Ambrosia's cuisine, though the comparison would surely be overturned later that day. Since it had nothing better to do than employ the smile-and-wave, the shapeshifter eagerly inspected what new Skills it could add to its steadily growing abilities. It had the usual array of old options as well as some new ones, but identifying the tastiest one was easy.

[Spirit Echo]
The doppelganger’s body doubles gain the ability to mimic the original’s magical gifts.
Requirements: Level 30 Doppelganger Job, Caster Job, Mirror Image
Type: Passive
Range: Self
[Effects]
Mirror Images can communicate telepathically with each other and the original.
Mirror Images can now use Spells at 80% reduced effectiveness.
Reduces the Spell effectiveness penalty of this Skill by 5% per Level of this Skill.
Increases Mirror Image duration by an additional 5 seconds per Level of the Shapeshift Skill.

During the war, the former mimic didn’t have a chance to use the Mirror Image Skill as either Keira or the Sandman due to its clearly monstrous origins. It was a crying shame since the ability had a lot of potential applications for both combat and deception. The most limiting factors by far were its limited duration and the inability to communicate silently with the body doubles. This upgrade directly addressed those flaws while greatly increasing the flexibility and utility of Mirror Image in combat situations. Among other things, they could now be used for scouting purposes and coordinated ambushes with much greater ease. Admittedly, Boxxy’s familiars could fulfill the same role and were just as expendable, but they were also far more taxing in terms of MP.

As for the reduced quality of Spells, it was something easily overcome by focusing on quantity. However, even if Boxxy created hundreds of body doubles, they would all be ‘born’ with 0 MP. This wasn’t a problem until now since none of those things had anything to actually use their MP on, but it meant that Mirror Images would have to be created well in advance if the shapeshifter wanted to make use of their newfound magic-slinging abilities. Thankfully, they benefited from Meditation since it was a passive Skill, allowing them to regain a bit more magical energy over their new duration of over four minutes. This time limit went up to five minutes at Level 15 of the Shapeshift Skill and could be increased even further if Boxxy picked up Muscle Echo, the Martial Arts equivalent of Spirit Echo. Unfortunately, the former was far less useful than the latter. Boxxy had a much wider arsenal of Spells than Martial Arts, and Muscle Echo lacked Spirit Echo’s telepathy. The shapeshifter was willing to forego Muscle Echo entirely depending on what new options it was given as it approached Level 50 of the Doppelganger Job.

[Congratulations, you are now a Level 31 Doppelganger! All Attributes +2.]

Which, if things carried on in this way, would not be as far away as initially anticipated.

A few minutes later, as Keira marched several steps ahead of her victorious unit, she managed to pick out a familiar face in the crowd. It wasn’t by accident, either, as the catgirl kept an eye out for a particular head of silky, silver-like hair. Her gaze locked onto Rowana’s dazzling green eyes that shone like emeralds, her movements slowing down and becoming more subdued as if she forgot where she was or what she was doing. The female elf stared back at her lover with a face brimming with pride and happiness, tears of joy and relief threatening to trickle down her face. She could only raise a hand and give Keira a small wave as she desperately held back the urge to weep openly.

“Row… Rowwwiiiieeeee!”

At that moment, the Hero of Chaos broke formation with a piercing scream. She ran towards the object of her supposed affections with the speed and agility of a mid-Level beastkin Ranger. The surrounding crowd was startled to see her suddenly run towards them on all fours and could do little but freeze in shock. Keira leapt over the first row of stunned spectators and kept moving forward while jumping off the befuddled commoners’ shoulders and heads. Rowana frantically shook her hands and head in a sort of ‘What are you doing?!’ way. She rapidly realized that Keira had no intention of stopping or even slowing down, so the elf changed her approach. She widened her stance, threw her hands out in front, and put on the most radiant smile she could muster right in time to receive her lover’s hug-tackle.

Rowana caught the petite catgirl and they shared a twirling embrace that forced the surrounding spectators to take a few steps back. Once the redhead’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, she shared an affectionate glance with the taller elf. Keira then spun around suddenly, dragging the startled Rowana along with her so that she practically fell in the beastkin’s arms. What followed was a deep, passionate kiss that left no question as to the nature of their relationship.

When their lips finally parted, Rowana could no longer hold back her tears as she looked up at the face of her one and only love.

“Honey,” muttered Keira with a quivering lip, “I’m home!”

“Khah! Hahah… Wel- *Sniffle* Welcome back, sweetie!” responded the elf.

Rowana then remembered she was in a public space with a countless number of onlookers. Her repressed fears and insecurities bubbled to the surface, making her whimper and shiver within the catgirl’s embrace. Her girlfriend responded to this by tightening her grip on the elf even more.

“Shh, it’s okay, Rowie,” she whispered while stroking the elf’s soft hair. “Nobody will dare think badly of us ever again.”

[Congratulations, you are now a Level 32 Doppelganger! All Attributes +2.]

“Trust me on that,” she added with a toothy grin.

[General Information]
Boxxy T. Morningwood
Creeper (Hylt), 8 months old
Member of Hidden Arrow
Level 32.01 Doppelganger
Level 50.00 Mimic (MAX)
Level 5.00 Cat (MAX)
Level 59.58 Warlock
Level 20.15 Artificer
Level 35.83 Ranger
Level 25.00 Blade Dancer (MAX)
5754/5754 HP (+21.3/sec)
4392/4392 MP (+7.7/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 694, DEX 748, AGI 676, END 930, INT 821, WIS 556, LCK 244, MNT 451, CHR 239, PER 298, FTH 51, AFF 82

[Mimic Skills]
Assassination – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Storage – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Cadaver Absorption – Lvl 9.46
Biomass – Lvl 13.43
Natural Armor – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Metal Mimicry – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Mend Flesh – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Adaptive Defense – Lvl 9.10
[Absorbed Skills]
Acid Spray – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Divine Attunement – Lvl 4.55
Ruinous Reach – Lvl 4.93
[Cat Skills]
Feline Agility – Lvl 8.24
[Doppelganger Skills]
Mirror Image – Lvl 7.12
Pheromone Control – Lvl 8.13
Broken Reflection – Lvl 4.61
Puppet Parasite – Lvl 6.49
Spirit Echo – Lvl 1.00
[Warlock Skills]
Summon Familiar – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Power Overwhelming – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Demonology – Lvl 9.12
Crystallize Magic – Lvl 9.21
Chant Reduction – Lvl 7.23
Demonic Insight – Lvl 7.56
Despair Aura – Lvl 4.79
Soul Link – Lvl 5.21
Enslave Demon – Lvl 1.00
[Artificer Skills]
Clockwork Expertise – Lvl 6.12
Explosives Handling – Lvl 6.18
Deconstruction – Lvl 3.95
[Ranger Skills]
Tracking – Lvl 6.44
Marksman – Lvl 8.37
Whisper Wind – Lvl 7.62
Fleet Footed – Lvl 5.38
Hunter’s Mark – Lvl 4.31
Eagle Eye – Lvl 2.42
[Blade Dancer Skills]
Hornet Style – Lvl 8.12
Adagio Variation – Lvl 5.77
Winterlich Waltz – Lvl 5.53
Evasion – Lvl 7.44
[Hero Skills]
Chaotic Disposition – Lvl 1.00 (MAX)
Agent of Chaos – Lvl 1.00 (MAX)
Essence Concealment – Lvl 1.00 (MAX)
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift – Lvl 13.68
Phytokinesis – Lvl 3.42
Stealth – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Lockpick – Lvl 4.10
Pickpocket – Lvl 3.12
Meditation – Lvl 4.55
Sword Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Projectile Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Dagger Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Ruin Mastery – Lvl 13.75
Domination Mastery – Lvl 8.61
Shield Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Staff Mastery – Lvl 5.81
Bow Mastery – Lvl 11.23
Axe Mastery – Lvl 6.19
Primal Mastery – Lvl 5.51
[Spells and Martial Arts]
Ruin Spells – Shadowbolt, Ebonfire, Frostbite, Dark Explosion, Shadowbind, Singularity, True Darkness, Massive Rejection, Reality Slash
Domination Spells – Mass Panic, Delirium, Dark Infusion, Mind Blast, Hysteria, Mind Control
Other Spells – Implosion, Transfamiliar, Demonate
Marksman Arts – Power Shot, Guided Arrow, Multishot, Blast Arrow, Shrapnel Shot, Pinning Shot, Snipe, Chain Shot

Part Two

Keira and Rowana walked along a cobblestone pathway on a moonlit night. The elf wore a deep-blue, long-sleeved silk gown. Though it was impossible to tell with her coat in the way, the dress left her shoulders and upper back exposed while hiding most of her enviable cleavage. A pair of shiny blue open-toed high-heels poked out beneath the long skirt, sharply clacking along the deceptively smooth pathway with every step. She walked with the sort of grace and confidence that clearly showed this was hardly her first time walking around in such formal apparel.

“Waaah!”

Keira, on the other hand, nearly fell over every ten or so steps. She would’ve faceplanted on the ground a dozen times by now if she wasn’t linking arms with Rowana for support.

“Easy there, sweetie, I have you,” the elf reassured her.

“Phew… thanks again, Rowie. I honestly had no idea this sort of footwear even existed,” Keira grumbled. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into wearing these things.”

Her ensemble was almost identical to Rowana’s, aside from the color.

“But you look so good in yellow! You always wear those drab clothes that do you no justice. Even though I buy all those cute outfits,” the elf pouted slightly.

“I can’t wear that frilly stuff out in the field! It offers no protection and makes it difficult to move around! Can’t I at least go barefoot?!”

“Denied. You promised you’d adhere to proper etiquette when I officially introduced you to my parents, and I’m holding you to it.”

“But you never mentioned anything about formal wear! And why didn’t you tell me your parents were some fancy-shmancy big shots!?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess for the same reasons you didn’t tell me you were some weirdo deity’s Hero,” countered Rowana with a sharp glare.

Keira did not answer and merely stared guiltily at her feet. As expected, the news that the catgirl had been hiding something that huge from her lover did not go over smoothly with the elf. Once the military parade’s hustle and bustle settled down, the two of them had a very frank and lengthy discussion regarding trust. Rowana eventually forgave Keira for keeping such a colossal secret from her, but at the same time made it abundantly clear she would lord it over the catgirl until further notice.

“Are there any other complaints you may have about tonight’s dinner?” the elf asked demandingly.

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, come on, let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”

The two of them resumed their walk up the stone path as they steadily approached the Slyth family’s home. Objectively speaking, ‘home’ was a bit disingenuous since the building in question was a grand three-story mansion that rivaled the Central Consortium’s offices in size. It was built at the base of one of the largest Hylt branches in the city, with the titanic tree trunk looming behind it. The surrounding estate enveloped the ancient limb’s entire forty-meter width and covered nearly two acres of ‘land.’ It was impossible to approach the place on foot from any direction other than the front, making it quite secure and rather isolated.

The massive front yard was basically a park in its own right. It had well-trimmed hedges, eye-catching sculptures, beautiful flowers, and happy little trees spread around to create a soothing and serene atmosphere. It was quite obvious the oversized garden took a lot of resources to maintain, especially considering the fact that all the vegetation had to be grown in planters. There wasn’t any fertile soil this far up a hylt tree after all, but that didn’t stop the Architects from building the place in a way that made visitors forget they were actually hundreds of meters up in the air. The area’s main drawback was that the distance from the main gate to the actual mansion was impractically long. Rowana didn’t seem to mind since the scenery was romantic and nostalgic, but Keira’s high-heeled struggles gave her a different opinion. Boxxy’s inner perspective wasn’t exactly positive, either. It mentally scoffed at this tremendous waste of resources. Paying people to maintain scenery that was neither functional, shiny, nor tasty? What sort of madness was this?

Though, if anyone could afford an extravagant environment like this, it was Samulus and Doris Slyth. Their family, as it turned out, was among the wealthiest in the Republic. They owned several mercantile and artisan guilds, the most profitable of which was the Pixie Powder Pavilion. The nation-spanning organization was the undisputed best when it came to the wholesale procurement, production, and transportation of alchemical ingredients and compounds. It had been the core of the Slyth family’s legacy for the past six generations and the main reason why Rowana became an Alchemist like her father. As for why her house was a one-room hovel in the Azurvale equivalent of bum-fuck nowhere, it was because she wanted to be independent and find her own way in life.

When the two lovebirds finally reached the front of the mansion, they were greeted by two rows of servants. Butlers in sharp-looking black tuxedos on the left, maids in modest, nun-like black dresses with white aprons on the right. There were twelve each, and they were lined up on either side of a luxurious red carpet leading up a marble staircase towards the mansion’s intimidatingly large front doors. They all bowed respectfully as Rowana and Keira walked between them. The catgirl felt overwhelmed and out of place, which was to be expected since she was a penniless vagrant until a few months ago. But why was the elf also growing nervous? Surely she should be used to this sort of stuff by now, right?

Before Keira could ask, the two of them arrived at the grand double doors. A butler much older than the others waited for them. He seemed to be the only human servant in the otherwise elven household. He had a full head of very short hair grayed by age, sky blue eyes, and a dignified, almost snobbish air about him.

“Mr. Ridgeworth?! Is that you?!”

“Indeed, Little Miss. It is good to see you are still in good health.”

The man gave Rowana a respectful bow of his own, although his wrinkled face’s stern expression did not match the gentle tone of his voice.

“That’s my line! I haven’t seen you in years! I was sure you would’ve retired by now!”

“Nonsense, my lady. Serving the Master and Mistress of the dignified house of Slyth has been this one’s duty and privilege for many years, and I do not plan on giving it up any time soon. The day I am relieved of my responsibilities will be the day I can no longer walk.”

“You’re still saying that, huh?”

Rowana gave a small, tired sigh, then formally introduced him to her girlfriend.

“Keira, this is Mr. Ridgeworth. He has been the head butler around here ever since I can remember. He’s something of a second father to me.”

“My lady’s words are most kind,” the old butler replied and turned towards the catgirl. “And this beautiful creature must be Madam Morgana. I have heard much about your exploits and have been looking forward to meeting you in person. I am reassured to know that our Little Miss’s future is in such capable hands.”

“I, uh, th-thank you, Mr. Ridgeworth. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” the redhead replied with an awkward curtsy.

“Indeed. Now, we shouldn’t be keeping Master and Mistress Slyth waiting any longer. Walk this way, if you please.”

The butler led them into the house proper, which was as posh and extravagant as one might expect. The corridors and rooms were decorated with soft, vibrant carpets, high ceilings with far too many chandeliers, maroon and white walls, and a collection of tasteful artwork and fine furniture. Calling the decor ‘extravagant’ would be perfectly fitting and somewhat of an understatement.

Interestingly enough, what Boxxy was most concerned with wasn’t the potential for larceny all around, but rather the butler leading it and Rowana deeper into the mansion. He was far too fit and healthy for his apparent age, even if it wasn’t clearly visible underneath his uniform. He had the type of physique common among adventurers or soldiers, not manservants. This wasn’t really cause for alarm in and of itself, however, as it made sense that the rich and powerful would have capable bodyguards close at hand.

What really caught the shapeshifter’s interest was the fact that this ‘human’ did not smell like one. Indeed, he didn’t have a scent at all. Combined with his out-of-place level of fitness, Boxxy took this to mean that he was a doppelganger in disguise, potentially one of Reggie’s agents. It hadn’t gotten a chance to visit the ‘ganger capo since it came back to Azurvale, so it could only guess at this individual’s purpose. Not that it mattered anyway. Should it come to that, Boxxy was confident it could handle Mr. Ridgeworth in a fight without deviating from Keira’s limits.

Of course, this was all one grand assumption. For all it knew, Reggie could have implanted agents into any number of wealthy households to keep tabs on them. Any socialite would eagerly hire a servant recommended by one of the country’s wealthiest and most respected bankers. Whether that was the case or not, Boxxy saw no reason to blow both their covers with a confrontation, so it decided to keep a close eye on the guy for the time being.

The servant led the two visitors through another set of grand double doors into a spacious well-lit dining room even more lavishly decorated than the rest of the house. The roaring fireplace on the left side and an array of tall, curtain-covered windows on the right really gave it that extra ‘oomph.’ A few sets of decorative weapons lined the walls, each of them far too shiny to be practical. A needlessly long table covered in a pure white embroidered tablecloth dominated the middle of the room. Rowana’s parents were seated next to each other at the far end of said table. They seemed to be in the middle of discussing something when the head butler arrived with their guests. Doris wore a beautiful bright red dress that was markedly more modest than her daughter’s, aside from the long vertical slit on her skirt’s right side. Samulus was undoubtedly the least colorful of the group with a black tailcoat and white undershirt.

“Announcing the arrival of lady Rowana Slyth and her partner, the esteemed Decanus Keira Morgana,” the butler declared in a loud, crisp voice.

Samulus’s eyebrow twitched a bit at the word ‘partner,’ suggesting this wouldn’t be a pleasant visit. Fortunately, his expression softened a bit when he turned to greet his daughter.

“Welcome back, dearest daughter,” he declared standing from his seat.

“Hi, dad! Hey, mom!” returned Rowana in a casual manner, which made his eyebrow twitch some more.

“Oh, relax yourself, Sam,” his wife lightly slapped him on the wrist. “No need for formality among family, right?”

“… Yes, dear.”

It was almost impressive how quickly the middle-aged elf’s tension disappeared as he said those words.

“Mr. Ridgeworth, please be a dear and grab us some refreshments before dinner, would you? I think a cup of Floodroot tea would do all of us some good.”

“Of course, Mistress Slyth. Would milady Slyth or madam Morgana prefer something else?”

“Some tea sounds lovely, actually,” answered Rowana with a smile.

“Lots of honey for mine, please!”

“Understood. I shall return shortly with your tea.”

The head butler excused himself from the room with yet another bow. Doris stood from her seat and briskly walked over to Rowana to give her a small hug.

“Oh, it is always nice to see you, little sunflower,” she said in a sweet tone. “I just wish you’d come visit more than once a decade.”

“Come on, mom. You know I can’t stand this house. Besides, you two have a habit of dropping in unannounced at my place every few months. Regardless of my consent.”

“Are we really that big of a bother?”

“Of course not. I just wish you’d work on the ‘unannounced’ bit.”

“Nonsense!” declared her father as he strode over behind his wife. “It’s a parent’s duty to meddle in their child’s life! And meddle is exactly what I plan to do!”

His gaze locked onto Keira and his mood rapidly deteriorated as he looked her up and down. While the catgirl’s normally unruly hair was fashioned into a formal bob and she wore the clothes and makeup of a high-class lady, she obviously didn’t belong in them. Frankly, she looked like a hobo in a suit. The catgirl, seemingly oblivious to her inadequacies, stepped forward and attempted the same polite curtsy she tried with Mr. Ridgeworth.

“It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, mister Slyth.”

“Yeeeees… Quite. Please, have a seat.”

The four of them took their seats at one end of the long table with Doris and Samulus sitting opposite Keira and Rowana. As if on cue, Mr. Ridgeworth entered the room with a small trolley and served everyone cups of tea with a rather strong aroma. All of them took a few long relaxing sips, after which Doris unhesitantly addressed the orc in the room.

“So. My daughter’s sweetheart is a Hero, hmm?” she raised an eyebrow.

Keira instantly tensed up at those words.

“Y-yes, madam!”

“Madam? Please, dearie, there’s no need for that.”

“Then, uh, should I call you Mrs. Slyth? Or is Doris okay?”

“Huhuhuhu, I’d much prefer if you called me ‘mum,’ actually!”

“… Huh?”

“That is the proper way to address one’s mother-in-law, isn’t it?”

“HUH?!”

“I mean, you are going to marry Rowana, aren’t you?”

*SLAM*

“Don’t be absurd!” exploded Samulus. “I will never allow that! My precious little girl is too young to marry!”

“You’re the one being absurd, dear. She’s already nineteen.”

“She’s still thirty- no, fifty years too young!”

“Hypocrisy is unbecoming of you, Samulus. We were already married at her age, weren’t we?”

“That’s completely different! We were- are members of respectable families, and this girl is just some gutter rat who’s only using Rowana to get her hands on our money!”

“Samulus, my dear husband.”

A sudden chill filled the room at Doris’s words. Her lips were smiling, but her glare was sharp enough to burrow a hole straight through the man’s forehead.

“Please keep those paranoid delusions to yourself. Not only do you insult our honored guest and your daughter’s judgement, but you’re severely underestimating me as well. Do you honestly think I would allow this relationship if I thought for a single moment my daughter was being deceived by some gold-digger?”

“… No, dear. Sorry, dear.”

“And?” she pressed.

“And I apologize to Miss Morgana for my harsh words.”

“Very good. Now then- Hmm? What’s wrong, you two?”

She hadn’t noticed it since she was busy disciplining her unruly husband, but both Rowana and Keira seemed too embarrassed to look at each other. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“We, uhm,” the redhead spoke first. “We aren’t… exactly… ready for ma-… ma-… marriage… yet.”

Matrimony was a huge commitment and not something to be taken lightly. No matter how lovey-dovey they were, it was an undeniable fact that they only met a few months ago.

“B-b-besides,” stammered Rowana, “two girls marrying is… illegal.”

“Maybe in the Republic. Plenty of other places will let you get married, though!”

*SLAM*

“No!”

This time it was Keira’s fists that banged on the table.

“It has to be here! It has to be where Rowie and all my friends live or else it doesn’t count!”

“Huhuhuhu, you say some nice things, don’t you?” replied Doris with a light chuckle.

“Indeed. It is good to see you’re taking this matter seriously,” Samulus nodded approvingly.

“Then does the victorious Hero of Chaos have any plans to change the law?”

“… Something like that. I figure if those bigwigs want to use me as their Hero, the least they can do is make an exception for us.”

“What about other same-sex couples, hmm?”

“Err, I don’t-”

“Surely if you get what you want and ignore their needs, they’ll turn on you, am I wrong?”

“Mom, please stop probing my girlfriend,” said Rowana with a sigh. “You know full well a single person can’t make generations of bigotry disappear overnight. Speaking of which, why are you so calm about this, dad? I always thought you were against same-sex couples like us.”

The fear of being disowned by her family was what made it impossible for the old Rowana to come out to her parents. Her father’s attitude was one of the main reasons she sought to live on her own in the first place, though that decision did not help her open up to others in the slightest. In fact, other than herself and a few old friends, no one knew of her sexual orientation until Keira gave her the courage and confidence to be herself. She was planning on having this sit-down with her parents eventually. It just happened sooner than expected since her mother found out about their relationship.

Rowana really should not have underestimated the housewives’ information network.

“I, uh… *Cough* Well, I admit I had a bit of a fit when your mother told me of your, uh, preferences,” the father admitted. “But I’ve had a lot of time to think since then and I’ve decided that if that’s how my precious daughter is, then it’s my responsibility to correct-”

*CRACK*

What sounded suspiciously like the cracking of knuckles emerged from somewhere under Doris’s side of the table.

“Accept her for who she is,” Samulus rapidly corrected his words.

Rowana didn’t know how to particularly feel about this and decided it was probably best to ignore her mother’s very obvious influence.

“Thanks, dad. That means a lot.”

“Also, Mr. Slyth?”

“Yes, Miss Morgana?”

“I have my own thanks to offer. Your Pixie Powder Pavilion’s potions and elixirs have saved a lot of lives out there in the field.”

“Oh! Well, I’m glad our contribution to the war effort was of assistance to our brave soldiers.”

“Is that so?” Rowana raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure your patriotism has nothing to do with the fat government supply contracts. Tell me, are you still making your people water down potentially life-saving healing potions?”

An awkward silence descended upon the room.

“Err, excuse me,” spoke up Keira, “but I need to go take a lea- I mean, powder my nose. Yeah, that second thing. Definitely.”

“Of course, dearie.”

Doris rang the little bell resting on the table, prompting the head butler to reenter the dining room within seconds.

“Yes, Mistress Slyth?” he asked with a small bow.

“Could you please show Miss Morgana to the ladies’ room?”

“Of course, Mistress. Right this way, Madam.”

“Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“It’s ‘Ridgeworth,’ Madam.”

“Ack! I, er, s-s-sorry.”

“Madam need not apologize. After all, this one’s name is rather difficult to say.”

“Then can I call you Ridgey?”

“… If Madam finds it appropriate.”

“Nice! Thanks, Ridgey! Oh, you can just call me Keira, by the way.”

“Quite. Now, would Madam be so kind as to follow me?”

“Ah, right. Please excuse me, everyone.”

The catgirl stood from her seat with an obligatory curtsy and followed the butler out of the room in high spirits.

“My, she is a handful, isn’t she?” said Doris with a bemused smile. “I can’t remember the last time someone managed to get a rise out of Ridgeworth.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Rowana sighed. “Keira’s a bit… rough around the edges, but that’s part of her charm. When I’m around her I forget all my worries and troubles. She’s responsible, caring, and hard-working, even if she doesn’t exactly… look it.”

“Hmpf. We’ll see about that.” declared Samulus.

“Come now, dear. Even you must admit she’s a good kid.”

“That’s just it, Doris. She’s a ‘kid.’ She knows nothing of the harshness of this world.”

“Dad! Don’t you ever speak of Keira like that!”

Both parents were taken aback by their daughter’s uncanny forcefulness.

“What are you on about?” asked her father.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that, okay?! You don’t know what she’s been through!”

“Oh, and you do?” he shot back.

“Of course! She told me everything about herself! And she deserves better than people like you speaking badly of her behind her back!”

“And how do you know she’s not making stuff up?”

“I just do, okay?!”

“Well, I don’t! What did she tell you? I’ll have my people verify everything right away.”

“This! This right here is why I can’t stand being in this house!” shouted Rowana. “How am I supposed to live my life with you looming over my shoulder and second-guessing everything I say and do?!”

“I… you’re right. I’m sorry, I just… can’t help but worry about my precious sunflower. First, this war business, then I find out you have a girlfriend of all things, and then I find out she’s a Hero of some blasted God I’ve never heard about before, and- This is all happening so fast I have no idea what to believe anymore!”

Doris reached over and put her hand on top of his, gripping it tenderly.

“How about you believe in your daughter for a start?”

“I do! I’m just afraid my little girl will get taken away by some harlot that showed out of nowhere and- Ow! Ow-ow-ow-ow! Doris! Arrgh!”

“Oh, sorry dear,” said the wife while maintaining a bone-crushing grip on his hand. “I just get a little agitated when you speak ill of our girl’s sweetheart.”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll be on my best behavior, so please stop crushing me!”

She let go of her husband’s slightly bruised hand with a satisfied smile while he seriously considered whether this counted as domestic abuse.

“There you go. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go check on our adorable little guest.”

Doris stood from her seat and walked out of the room, leaving Rowana with her slightly injured father. Samulus waited a few moments to make sure she was out of earshot, then turned towards his daughter.

“Rowana, promise me something.”

“What is it, dad?”

“If that girl does anything- and I mean anything to hurt you, you come to me, alright?”

“Keira would never-”

“Promise me, Rowana!”

“… Alright, I promise.”

“Good. That’s all I ask.”

There was a moment of silence as Samulus continued rubbing his hand.

“I’m sorry for keeping this a secret, dad. I really should’ve told you earlier.”

“It’s quite alright, honey. I know I can be a bit too hot-headed at times. This whole same-sex thing still doesn’t feel right to me, but I can probably get used to it. Though, if your mother has a say, I don’t have much of a choice. Heh, truth be told, if it wasn’t for Doris keeping me in check, I don’t know where I’d be right now. She may be harsh, but she’s still the best thing to ever happen to me. You also deserve nothing but the best, which is why I’m so particular about the company you keep.”

“I know, you always were an insufferably overprotective worry-wart. I just wish you would keep it to yourself rather than freak out and try to dissolve my girlfriend with Ectoplasmic acid.”

“… What are you talking about?” he frowned.

“Huh?”

“I mean, I may not approve of the kid, but that’s hardly a reason to assault her. Let alone with Ectoplasmic acid. That stuff would eat straight through meat and bone like it was nothing.”

“But that’s exactly what you did when you first met her!”

“Again, what are you talking about? I admit I may have not been, shall we say, a perfect gentleman tonight, but I’d never assault a guest in my own home.”

“… You realize this is the same ‘guest’ you mistook for a thief when you two came to visit me a few weeks ago, right?”

“Hmm? Did something like that happen?” he scratched his head. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like that…”

“How can you not remember? It happened right before mom- Oh! Oh, no, sorry. That was just this really weird dream I had.”

Rowana felt a bit bad lying to her father, but what else could she do?

“Ah, so that’s what it was. Heh, you scared me for a second there,” he said with a light chuckle. “I mean can you imagine it? Me. Trying to melt your Hero girlfriend with acid? In front of your mother?! I may be hot-blooded but I’m not suicidal! Hahahaha!”

How was she supposed to know that frying-pan-induced amnesia was a thing that could actually happen?

Part Three

Reginald relaxed in his office while thinking up ways to profit off of the ongoing festive mood. Such occasions provided plenty of business opportunities for a secret society of shapeshifters, especially the illegal variety. His legitimate businesses could bring in some extra money too, but the old ‘ganger didn’t bother with them. The Namhel Brothers bank was little more than an elaborate money laundering operation. While technically profitable on its own, it was far from Reginald’s main source of income. The influence it afforded him as a moneylender was far more valuable than whatever gold passed through it.

A polite knock on the door of his otherwise soundproofed office tore him away from his schemes. A few seconds later, his personal secretary poked her head into the room.

“Excuse me, Mr. Namhel?” she said with a confused expression. “There’s a Mrs. Mainus here to see you. She’s… quite insistent.”

“… Mrs. Mainus, huh? Doesn’t sound familiar,” he muttered after a brief moment of silence. “Does she have an appointment?”

“No, sir. Should I send her away?”

“No, no, that’s quite alright. I’m not especially busy at the moment, so please, show her in.”

“Of course, sir. Right this way, Mrs. Mainus.”

The secretary stepped to the side, allowing an elven woman to walk past her. The visitor’s long coat, demeanor, and average looks were far from eye-catching, making her seem like just another lady on the street. She shot the secretary a sharp glare, prompting the younger woman to leave the office and close the door behind her.

“My Master sends you its kindest regards, Reggie,” said ‘Mrs. Mainus’ while shifting to her succubus form. “Though perhaps not in as many words.”

“Ah… Snack, was it? I assume I owe this visit to your owner being otherwise preoccupied?”

It wasn’t the first time the creature had used its demonic familiar as a proxy for a meeting. Reginald understood it was sometimes necessary, but he disliked handling business this way. Not so much because the individual themselves weren't present, but more to do with his wariness of demonkind as a whole. However, if that was how his new business partner insisted on doing things, then Reginald had little choice but to accommodate. Besides, he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of being in the same room as that maddening anomaly of a shapeshifter.

“Indeed,” the succubus smirked. “The Master’s newfound social obligations are proving to be quite tasty, albeit a bit too time-consuming.”

“Well, that’s only natural,” commented Reginald. “Grabbing the entire nation’s attention would surely make it difficult to move around as freely as it used to. I’m quite surprised it went public with revealing Keira as a Hero.”

“That wasn’t exactly planned. My Master and I are struggling somewhat to handle the situation, though we’re making the most of it.”

“Quite. I can only imagine the amount of XP it’s raking in as we speak,” said the old ‘ganger with a jealous tone. “It’s already Ranked Up, hasn’t it? Probably into some rare variant given its rather… unique take on the Doppelganger Job.”

“Jolly good guess,” Xera smiled.

Technically speaking, Boxxy’s Rank Up happened well before this whole Hero thing got out of hand. Furthermore, its Doppelganger Job was so far ahead it would probably go beyond Level 35 after Keira’s upcoming award ceremony. However, Reggie didn’t necessarily need to know any of that.

“Also, I heard about the Hero of Chaos’s little visit to the Slyth household the day before yesterday. The young miss Morgana apparently made quite the impression.”

“And how did you find out about that particular event?” Xera asked on Boxxy’s behalf.

It couldn’t have been one of his agents, for her Master was certain there were no doppelgangers in that mansion other than itself. Even the oddly suspicious Mr. Ridgeworth turned out to be just a regular human who was a bit too overzealous with his personal hygiene. The shapeshifter hadn’t considered that someone would be wasteful enough to use an expensive product like Odor Blocker elixirs on something as trivial as personal cleanliness. Those were meant to hide adventurers from sharp-nosed predators, not for manservants to avoid offending their snooty owners. Boxxy also came across a maid using illusion magic to hide her real face, though her purpose was to obfuscate an unsightly scar on her cheek rather than conceal her identity.

In other words, the shapeshifter spent much of that evening learning not to underestimate the rich’s vanity while failing to see any signs that one of Reggie’s lot was on the premises.

“Are you kidding me? Mrs. Slyth wasted no time bragging about it to all her friends. Pretty much everyone who’s anyone knows about it by now.”

It would appear he didn’t particularly need spies in this instance.

“Is that really something to brag about?” the succubus voiced her master’s thoughts.

“Of course. The prestige that comes from being associated with a Hero is no laughing matter. However she may have acted, that devious woman is definitely sponging off Keira’s popularity, especially since her family’s ruthless business policies haven’t exactly earned them many friends. Samulus is a bit of an idiot at social maneuvering, but his wife is one of the shrewdest women I know.”

Boxxy already suspected Doris had an ulterior motive, so it was glad to have this information. After all, there was an undeniable difference in class between Keira and Rowana that would be quite difficult to overcome under normal circumstances. One was a street rat that got lucky, while the other was essentially of high birth. True, the Republic government was run by elected officials rather than a caste of nobles, but families like the Slyths had so much wealth and influence that they were hardly any different. A simple look at the Pixie Powder Pavilion’s monopoly on government alchemical supply contracts made that abundantly clear.

“That’s why your master needs to be extremely careful how it acts around those two,” continued Reggie. “I suspect Doris Slyth legitimately wishes for her progeny’s happiness, but make no mistake – public acceptance of her daughter’s controversial relationship is very much a calculated political move.”

“Wouldn’t that do more harm than good to the Slyth family in the long run?” asked Xera, both on Boxxy’s behalf and out of genuine curiosity. “Neither Rowana nor Keira have the business acumen, aptitude, or training to take over their trade empire, not to mention it’s impossible to produce an heir. Yet that woman already talks of marriage like it’s a done deal, knowing full well it would be a serious risk to both her legacy and her bloodline.”

“That’s hardly an issue considering their firstborn will take over as the family’s head when the time comes. That’s why they sent him off to study commerce in that dwarven academy.”

“Firstborn son, huh?” mused the succubus. “Funny how nobody said anything about it to Master.”

“Maybe it didn’t come up in conversation,” offered Reggie with a shrug. “It’s not exactly a big secret. The Slyths probably expected Keira to know all about it, though it seems this wasn’t the case.”

“No, it wasn’t. Seems to me that bimbo princess of theirs either spaced out or got lost in her own little world and completely neglected to mention her own brother,” said the succubus in a somewhat venomous tone. “She’s really quite the vapid cunt, even by mortal standards.”

Boxxy had been wondering why Doris was so nice to Keira and brought up the not-exactly-legal marriage. Thankfully, even though the shapeshifter was quite ignorant and mostly inexperienced in matters of high-society intrigue, it could rely on Xera. After all, hereditary intricacies and influential peoples’ backroom politics were what she lived for until about six months ago. Nowadays, she only cared to be forcefully dominated by her uncaring owner, but past memories and experiences were still buried somewhere in that rotten little head of hers. The succubus eagerly and freely shared those insights with Boxxy, and she would continue to do so if it meant the next ‘motivational talk’ would come sooner rather than later.

“My Master wishes to extend a word of thanks for the information, Reggie,” she formally stated.

“Don’t mention it. After all, it’ll be both our asses on the line if Boxxy’s high-profile Facade gets exposed because little Miss Morgana said the wrong thing at the wrong time. The last thing we need is to give those Inquisition people a reason to start looking at this country instead of their own.”

It was a legitimate concern of his. After all, it was a past iteration of the Inquisition that spearheaded the Silent War that nearly led to the doppelgangers’ extinction centuries ago. They’d surely turn their sights to the Republic if they caught wind of shapeshifters among the populace. The ‘ganger capo felt confident he could keep word from getting out under normal circumstances, but not in this politically volatile climate. Even a rogue rumor could catch the attention of some pointlessly righteous truth-seeker, and the Republic would bend over backwards to accommodate them.

“That’s the main reason I’m here,” stated the succubus. “Master doesn’t wish to have the Inquisition snooping around here either, so it wants to expedite dealing with Mr. Alexis.”

“I see.”

It took a lot of effort on Reginald’s part to not let his relief show on his face. He half suspected Boxxy may skimp out on its part of the deal after getting its off-the-books Warlock Job advancement early, and he wouldn’t be able to do much about it. Thankfully, it appeared Mr. Morningwood would uphold its end of the bargain. This showed the rogue element wished to continue working with Reginald in the future, which would surely be beneficial to both sides. The old doppelganger was also quite relieved to hear that creature was taking the Inquisition thing seriously on a personal level.

He was, of course, blissfully unaware of the non-zero probability of said Inquisition coming to Azurvale anyway since the one responsible for the Calamity of Monotal was right here.

“Does your Master require any additional support from me or my agents?”

“Not in the slightest. Your pathetic scum would only get in my magnificent Master’s way,” she said with a cold glare.

Reginald silently watched as the succubus lifted her hands up to her head and launched a point-blank Fireball at her own face. She fell on the ground, writhing and moaning as the magical flames clung to her skin. When it died down several seconds later, she stood back up covered in horrible burns and continued speaking as if nothing happened.

“My Master requires any and all information you may have regarding the target’s current whereabouts and latest activities. We will let you know should it require further assistance.”

“Excellent. To begin, my agents have confirmed that the target has returned to Azurvale and have tracked it to one of its old hideouts.”

Xera just stood there and silently relayed Reginald’s information word-for-word back to her Master while it was on a date with Rowana. This wasn’t of its own volition, of course. The female elf had clung incessantly to Keira ever since her return and hadn’t given the shapeshifter much opportunity to move around freely. It initially put up with her antics since it was aiming for the Slyth family fortune, but it now knew that inheriting it was going to be harder than anticipated. Borderline impossible, even.

After a brief bout of ‘innocent’ questioning regarding Rowana’s sibling, it became apparent that Xera’s guess was right on the money. The elf was too engrossed in hers and Keira’s issues to worry about other people, especially her older brother Almer. He was absent from her thoughts because he’d been away from Azurvale for the past four years while studying trade and economics at a prestigious academy up north. While on the topic, Boxxy also inquired about the rest of the Slyth family to spare itself any other surprises.

Rowana’s grandparents were retired and living in some villa well away from the hustle and bustle of the capital. Her uncle on her father’s side had a falling out with the rest of the family and was holed up somewhere on the Republic’s western coast. It turned out that Doris was the old Slyth bloodline’s biological descendant, and Samulus had married into the household and taken on the family name. No wonder she felt so comfortable throwing her weight around. Furthermore, she had been a formidable adventurer in her youth, which helped explain her… forceful tendencies. There was obviously a lot more family history, but Boxxy’s main takeaway was that Keira could not inherit the Slyth fortune without a lot of influential people dying off. They weren’t much use alive either since taking even the slightest advantage of their political influence would also be quite difficult given the father’s suspicions.

In other words, the usefulness of the Slyth household to Boxxy was now pretty much nil. If anything, the daughter was steadily becoming a hindrance to the monster’s operations, almost akin to a cancerous tumor that could speak. She would have been disposed of already if she weren’t integral to the monster’s Facade. Permanently replacing her with one of Reggie’s doppelgangers was another option, but then the old banker would have some measure of leverage over Boxxy. It wasn’t a tasty notion. Another alternative was to have Snack take Rowana’s place, which carried its own set of risks. The succubus had many talents when it came to social manipulation, but she had a terrible track record with long cons like this.

Ultimately, the shapeshifter decided to put up with Rowana’s continued existence, at least until its Doppelganger Job no longer needed her. Besides, no matter how much it complained, Boxxy felt a certain amount of gratification stringing the unwitting girl along. It was a playful-yet-sinister act very much like a cat playing with its prey before killing it.

Almost exactly like that, actually.

Part Four

Jones Alexis was a human male in his early fifties, skin permanently tanned and wrinkled from too much time in the sun. His brown hair was short and greasy, matching his I-am-too-busy-to-shave-more-than-once-a-month beard. His right eye held a dark brown hue, and his left had been claimed by whatever injury left that intimidating burn scar on his face. His lanky, significantly shorter than average figure hinted at a malnutrition-plagued childhood. That didn’t impede his fighting ability since he was a Wizard, estimated Level in the upper eighties. He had a thing for lightning magic not unlike Lady Imiryl and particularly liked using glyphs. These arcane symbols were used to imbue magic onto a flat surface such as walls, doors, and tables. The stored magic’s actual function varied wildly from elementally charging proximity traps to soundproofing a room. Mr. Alexis clearly preferred the former given the rather absurd amount of lightning-infused sigils he laid around the tiny house he was using as a hideout. Any would be intruder that tried to sneak into his little sanctuary would find themselves reduced to a singed corpse regardless of whether or not they were a shapeshifter.

Even then, the paranoid Wizard didn’t fully trust his surroundings. He randomly woke up every few hours throughout the night, screaming and waving his inscribed silver wand around at imagined intruders. He’d remain on high alert for fifteen to twenty minutes before cautiously drifting off again. This messed up sleep cycle made it so he didn’t get out of bed until noon, and today was no different. A few minutes of calm followed his latest manic awakening as he sat in bed, groaning and cursing at the chronic pain in his right shoulder. A fleeting glance at his undressed torso revealed the facial scarring extended down his neck and back all the way to his waist. According to Reggie’s information, the deep wound was a memento of the first and last time Jones Alexis allowed a doppelganger to get the better of him. The incident in question took place twenty-odd years ago and also claimed the lives of the man’s former adventuring companions. That started his one-man crusade to hunt down and expose the shapeshifter conspiracy that wormed its way into every government and authority.

That last part was a total delusion on behalf of Mr. Alexis. He blindly believed in this ‘shapeshifter conspiracy’ even though he had no hard evidence, just hunches and conjecture. Admittedly, Reggie’s syndicate was very much real, though its influence was not nearly as deep as the paranoid Wizard imagined. The organization lasted this long because it quite thoroughly covered its tracks. By all accounts, the interloper’s mad deductions about their existence were nothing but a massive coincidence. Either that or a frighteningly accurate intuition lied beneath his twitchy exterior. Regardless of the source of his convictions, he needed to be dealt with before bumbling into something that confirmed his suspicions.

Unfortunately, Mr. Alexis didn’t work alone. He had a mysterious benefactor that Reggie’s information network couldn’t identify. It wasn’t even known whether this was a singular individual or an entire organization. However, it was abundantly clear that this backer was both wealthy and influential. Mr. Alexis could always afford potions, reagents, and other expensive supplies even though his income was next to nil. Furthermore, the authorities turned a blind eye to his various indiscretions, even covering up a murder on at least one occasion.

This benefactor made it very difficult to dispose of Mr. Alexis. Having him killed would surely tip off whoever funded him, possibly leading to even bigger problems. It was impossible to mask his assassination as an accident, either. A Wizard of his ability would never die from something like falling down some steps or getting hit by a runaway carriage. People with that many Job Levels simply had too much HP to be fatally wounded by such mundane incidents. Mr. Alexis needed to be handled in a way that seemed natural and unrelated to his paranoid delusions, and Reggie’s troupe was incapable of making that happen.

This was where Boxxy came in. The enterprising shapeshifter may have been a newcomer to Azurvale – and life in general – but it had proved its resourcefulness during the war. While Reggie didn’t believe all the propaganda surrounding Keira Morgana, the redheaded ranger had some undeniably remarkable exploits under her belt, as did the ‘elusive’ and ‘terrifying’ Sandman. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Boxxy was singularly responsible for ensuring the Republic’s victory. If the anomalous creature could do all that without getting exposed, then surely its devious mind could come up with a solution to this Alexis problem.

The targeted Wizard didn’t make its job easy, of course. It had been a week since the most monstrous doppelganger in existence started stalking him on the daily, yet he didn’t show a single exploitable weakness. He was, in some ways, at his most guarded while he slept, and his wariness didn’t subside throughout the day. After waking up, he immediately slipped back into his usual equipment. His gear consisted of a well-worn and thoroughly cracked set of leather armor magically fortified to resist stabbing attacks, especially in the back area. He threw on a long brown trench coat enchanted with a self-cleaning property that kept both his clothes and person fresh, eliminating the need for showers or laundry. Once fully dressed, he swallowed two Condensed Nutrition Pills for breakfast and started disarming the dense array of magical traps and wards surrounding his bed.

His path clear, the Wizard went to the front of his run-down abode, making sure to remove the few extra glyphs along the hallways. On the way, he grabbed an old backpack of supplies and triple-checked that it wasn’t tampered with. He paused at the door, overcome by a sudden coughing fit. The droplets of blood he sprayed onto his gloved hand made it clear this wasn’t caused by the overwhelming amount of dust in the air. He wiped the mess on his stain-repelling coat and exited the building without bothering to lock up.

“Master, the target has left the premises,” Drea reported telepathically. “He’s currently walking due south, the same route he took yesterday.”

“Is he behaving in some peculiar way?” Boxxy inquired.

“Not really. He keeps looking over his shoulder every now and then, same as before.”

“What, that’s it? No muttering or scanning over the crowd?”

“Er, no, not that I can see…”

“Not good enough!” it mentally shouted. “Watch him carefully. Forget everything we learned from Reggie and look for anything out of place, no matter how minute!”

“Understood.”

“Something bothering you, Master?” Xera chimed in.

“Yeah, he doesn’t seem right. He’s supposed to be a paranoid veteran that has single-handedly discovered and killed numerous doppelgangers, yet he’s far too careless.”

The wooden cot, more akin to a slightly oversized coffee table than an actual bed, suddenly began to creak and shake. The mattress – a linen bag stuffed with bedstraw – fell to the ground in a disorganized heap as the bed frame casually stood up while shrinking in size. Its short legs grew longer and bendier while its exterior transformed from dried-up timber to flesh. Scant seconds later, the resting place of Jones Alexis had transformed into a stocky, skin-headed thug of a human. It was a shape known to its owner as Slums Hoodlum C.

“He didn’t even think to check his own bed!” mind-shouted Boxxy in disbelief.

The creature opened its Storage and retrieved some filthy, ragged clothes to complete its disguise. It put them on quickly, then pulled the actual cot out of its pocket dimension. Boxxy placed the crappy almost-bed back in its spot and rearranged the room to erase any trace of an intruder’s presence. However, the monster began seriously doubting whether all this bother was actually necessary as it rummaged through the room’s scant drawers and cupboards.

“There are far too many things that don’t add up,” it complained to its familiars. “His injuries, for one thing. He could easily be cured of his complaints if he put in the time and effort to visit an apothecary. Yet he didn’t do such a thing, despite supposedly spending several years in the Honeydew capital of the world.”

Through Keira’s interactions with Rowana, Boxxy learned much of the medical applications of alchemy, including the shiny substance known as Honeydew. To most of the continent, it was a dangerous narcotic substance with addictive, hallucinogenic, and euphoric properties. Prolonged use of the drug lead to frequent and uncontrollable muscle spasms, outright seizures, rapid tooth decay, and crippling muscle degeneration. These were the same symptoms brought on by chronic potion poisoning, except they manifested themselves several times quicker and with increased severity. Honeydew withdrawal had some nasty side effects of its own, including insomnia and suicidal depression.

It was no surprise that the substance was outlawed in most nations, including the Lodrak Empire. However, its narcotic effects on elves in particular were far more subdued. Nyrie’s chosen could still achieve the same high as a dwarf or human, but they’d have to consume two jars instead of a single spoonful. This was primarily because Honeydew was made with hylt sap as its base and designed with elvish constitution in mind. As such, it negatively affected only a small fraction of the Ishigar Republic’s population. Its production, sale, and use within the nation was therefore perfectly legal but strictly regulated. The government maintained this state of affairs because Honeydew’s primary function wasn’t that of a narcotic, but a near-universal alchemical additive. Mixing the right amount of Honeydew into a potion or elixir during the brewing process granted the resulting concoction significantly extended shelf life and marginally improved its effects and flavor. Distilling it in such a way also nullified its more dangerous properties, rendering the resulting alchemical product completely harmless.

The most noteworthy of these products was the ultimate curative concoction – Rejuvenation Potions. Honeydew was an indispensable ingredient of the elixir, which meant that the Republic government basically had a monopoly on it. Other nations had to pay a jacked up premium to import Rejuvenation Potions, which made the precious pink liquid prohibitively expensive outside its country of origin. It was a luxury good by any means, and yet even those in abject poverty could get their hands on one due to the Republic’s universal health care benefits. Clinics like Rowana’s had the ability to provide Rejuvenation Potion treatments to crippled citizens free of charge by letting the government foot the bill on their behalf. There were certain restrictions, inspections, and vetting involved to prevent fraud, but someone with legitimate complaints like Jones Alexis would have easily gotten past all that. Alternatively, his financial backing would surely allow him to afford a one-time 750 GP expense to just buy a Rejuvenation Potion over the counter.

Yet he did none of this.

“He can permanently cure all of his lasting ailments yet blatantly chooses not to,” continued Boxxy. “That’s just weird.”

“Maybe he’s worried about someone giving him a poisoned bottle?” offered Drea.

Poisoning someone’s food or drink was a classic method of assassination. The stalker had done so on a few occasions on behalf of previous masters, so she had some experience. Admittedly, she knew little of alchemy and wasn’t certain if it was possible to poison a potion, but she was fairly confident it could. And if this were any other elixir, she would have been right.

“You can’t do that with Rejuvenation Potions,” Boxxy claimed. “They’re extremely delicate concoctions. Even the smallest added impurity would ruin it and make it lose its trademark pink color.”

The particular potion was notoriously unstable. It had to be brewed perfectly from start to finish using specific ingredients in precisely measured amounts while stirring just the right way. The tiniest mistake would result in a useless slop whose only observable effect was to cause stomach aches. The difficulty involved in actually making and bottling the stuff was so high that only Magichem Alchemists of a sufficient Level could consistently produce Rejuvenation Potions. Even after it was brewed, simply opening the vial and leaving it exposed to the air for a few minutes would make it start rapidly losing its potency.

“Someone could always make a vial of poison that looks like the potion, though,” Drea insisted.

“Perhaps,” Boxxy agreed, “but even then there are ways and means to test the potion before drinking it. Regardless, it’s a manageable risk well worth the payoff in this guy’s case. It’s only a matter of time before his cough accidentally ruins a covert operation or stakeout or something.”

The shapeshifter spoke from experience as its Chaotic Disposition’s unpredictable side effects nearly blew Keira’s cover several times in the past. Just yesterday, she was completely weightless for thirty whole seconds when she dropped by her guild on official business. If it wasn’t known she was the Hero of Chaos, then it surely would’ve raised quite a few questions. Plus, it would’ve been impossible to cover up since hundreds of people in the street bore witness to a flailing, red-haired catgirl floating away in the breeze.

“I think he’s using the discomfort to motivate himself, Master.”

“What do you mean, Snack?”

“I’ve seen his kind before. He’s the sort of brooding self-righteous asshole that utters stupidities like ‘the pain in my arm serves as a reminder of my dark past.’ He probably thinks he’d lose his edge if he erases his past failings or something, like he’d lose sight of why he’s doing the things he does.”

“That’s idiotic. How big of a moron do you have to be to accidentally forget anyone who wronged you?”

“Humans are weak-willed, fragile-minded creatures, Master. Not all of them can be as perfectly ruthless and ruthlessly perfect as yourself.”

“… I suppose. Even then, it doesn’t address the problem at hand – he’s too naive for a man in his supposed condition.”

The waking up at night, glyphs, and food pills certainly painted him as a twitchy paranoiac, but he was still far too careless. He didn’t secure his place of residence while he was gone, nor did he inspect it for tampering upon his return. This horrendous gap in security was how Boxxy was able to easily enter his hideout and masquerade as his furniture. Last but not least, he wasn’t nearly suspicious enough of people on the street. A bustling crowd was the perfect cover for someone to shank him in the lungs with a poisoned dagger before disappearing without a trace. Admittedly, the old armor made that approach difficult, but that was just a rudimentary example.

“Uhm, Master?” Drea piped up.

“What?”

“How come our target being an idiot is a problem? Shouldn’t it be a good thing that deceiving him is easier than expected.”

“It’s way too easy,” it replied. “If he could actually be fooled by this much, then Reggie’s lot would’ve handled him already.”

Boxxy gave up searching the hovel after failing to find any and all personal effects. No clothes, no money, no notes, no supplies, no weapons – nothing. It even searched with and without its Mana Locator Gland, but failed to find a single piece of evidence that a person actually lived here. It was possible Mr. Alexis stored his belongings in an Item Box, a lesser version of the Storage Skill available to a few enlightened Jobs. It made sense in some ways. That ability allowed the shapeshifter to bring most of its worldly possessions wherever it went.

However, Jones Alexis was a human, and humans had an inescapable habit of leaving garbage in their wake. This one was a paranoid looney, so it was possible he made sure not to leave behind anything compromising. But if that were truly the case, why did he come back to this house specifically? If he seriously feared for his life, he would feel it necessary to regularly change his resting place. Reggie’s dossier claimed the guy did indeed have several other hideouts across the city, but all of them were too run down and exposed to competently serve as a safe haven. The more Boxxy thought about it, the more this ‘paranoid investigator’ thing didn’t add up.

“Claws, have you noticed anything about our target yet?”

“I think so, Master. Remember when I said he looks over his shoulder every now and then? He actually does it every thirty steps, and always over his left.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s done it five- make that six times since I started counting. Also, I think he has a weird look on his face. Or rather, it’s not weird at all. He just looks like some uncle walking down the street without a care in the world.”

“Except that he glances over his left shoulder every thirty paces?”

“Yeah, aside from that.”

“I see. Snack, continue covering for Keira. I’m going to take a more direct approach with this guy.”

“As you say, my Master,” instantly replied the succubus.

After ensuring all upturned and rummaged furniture was back in its proper place, Boxxy quickly left the hovel. It merged with the crowd and moved toward its target while pondering its target’s flimsy paranoia act. Was it an elaborate trap meant to lull would-be assassins into a false sense of security and overconfidence? Perhaps he was trying to provoke any potential shapeshifting stalkers to make an attempt on his life. That was the most likely explanation the devious box-minded monster could think of. Even then, it decided to spring this trap all the same. It was confident it could handle anything a human non-Ranker Wizard could throw at it.

The shapeshifter didn’t actually plan to kill him. Its observations shed no light on the mysterious benefactor’s identity, and it didn’t want to dwell on this case more than it had to. It was unwise for Snack to fill in as Keira this much since that infuriatingly perceptive elf could tell whenever the redhead was acting ‘a bit weird.’ So, in order to expedite the process and fulfill its end of the bargain with Reggie, Boxxy aimed to expose and then eliminate the guy’s mysterious benefactor. Mr. Alexis surely knew enough about the group or individual to identify them, and the quickest way to retrieve the information was to rip it out of his brain. There were plenty of ways to accomplish this between Snack’s Dreamweaver Skill and Boxxy’s various mental abilities, but it needed to capture the target first.

That was where the guise of Slums Hoodlum C came into play. A public scuffle with Mr. Alexis would cause a large enough disturbance to involve the authorities. With a bit of luck, the guards would arrest the guy and put him in mana-draining shackles, making his abduction ridiculously easy. It wasn’t a foolproof plan, but Boxxy felt confident in its ability to improvise and adapt as necessary. First things first, however, it decided to check in on a certain someone.

[Boxxy: Ambrosia, do we have room in the dungeon’s prison for one more? Or do I have to expand it?]
[Ambrosia: We have plenty of space, milord. Especially since one of thy ingredients expired earlier this morning and I had to get rid of it.]
[Boxxy: It wasn’t that blonde girl with the large butt, was it?!]
[Ambrosia: No, it was the dwarf I used for that generous serving of bone chips yesterday.]
[Boxxy: Oh, okay.]

That human’s butt was exceptionally juicy and chewy, probably the best that the shapeshifter had tasted aside from Snack’s. Finding quality ingredients among the city’s downtrodden was always a challenge, so the monster was relieved to hear its latest delicacy was still fit for consumption.

[Ambrosia: Does milord wish to dine on rump steak this evening, perchance?]
[Boxxy: Yeah. And make it extra thick.]
[Ambrosia: Then I shall make sure to prepare thy meal with utmost care and sincerity.]
[Boxxy: You do that.]
[Boxxy: Oh, right, I almost forgot. I’ll probably be bringing you a new prisoner, but this one is different since I want what’s inside his head.]
[Ambrosia: That is most excellent! I hath waited for milord to find an ingredient worthy of my new brain soup recipe!]
[Boxxy: That’s not what I meant. I want his information, not to eat him.]
[Ambrosia: Art thou certain, milord? I plan to serve thy soup inside the victim’s skull for maximum flavor!]
[Boxxy: Okay, maybe I do want to eat him, but only after I’m done getting the information I need. For now, I need you to be ready to receive and subdue the guy.]
[Ambrosia: Thou needn’t worry milord. I am always prepared to service thou at a moment’s notice.]

The shapeshifter made a mental note to ban Snack from teaching Ambrosia any more innuendos, then sped up. It dodged and weaved past foot traffic, moving along a street parallel to Jones Alexis’s path. Using Drea as its eyes, it overtook and circled around the Wizard so the two would walk past each other. The target walked down the street in a thoroughly casual manner and continued to look over his shoulder every thirty paces. After seeing for itself, Boxxy was convinced paranoia wasn’t the cause, but it didn’t seem to be an act, either. The motion seemed strangely involuntary. Was it some sort of nervous tick or a conditioned reflex? Either way, it would be rude not to take advantage of the human’s predictability.

Thus, a heavyset, bald-headed hoodlum with a mean look in his eye collided violently into a fifty-year-old man, knocking him off his feet.

“Ooof!” the Wizard exclaimed as his butt hit the pavement.

“Watch where you’re going, you geezer!” Boxxy sneered.

It timed its pace so the two of them bumped into one another just as Jones turned his head to the left, leaving the man unsure if the collision happened on purpose or by accident.

“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry, my good lad,” eloquently answered the old man. “I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Hmpf, whatever,” scoffed the hoodlum before continuing on his way.

“Excuse me, young man,” the Wizard rose to his feet. “But could I trouble you for a moment?”

“What? You got a problem?!”

The thug turned around in stereotypically aggressive fashion as if straight out of a lazy novel.

“I do indeed. I would very much appreciate it if you would return my coin purse to me.”

“What, you calling me a thief?!” he answered indignantly. “Just ‘cuz I don’t have fancy clothes don’t make me no stinkin’ thief!”

“Then please, do tell me why the gold coins that used to be on my belt are no longer there.”

“I dunno. Maybe you dropped them somewhere. Did you think about that, mister fancy-pants? Nooooo! You just consider yourself superior right away!”

The surrounding pedestrians heard their loud voices and reflexively gave them a wide berth. A few gawkers stopped to watch the confrontation, but most onlookers went on their way before they got dragged into it. A few of them would probably fetch the guards as Boxxy intended. The law didn’t patrol this part of town as much as it should, so the shapeshifter had ample time to escalate the situation. Thankfully, there were no meddling do-gooders that ruined the play by stepping in and defending the old man.

“I am your superior, you brat,” the Wizard showed some backbone. “Return what is rightfully mine.”

He lifted up his right hand and conjured a small ball of blue-tinged lightning, which hovered over his open palm. It sparked and crackled ominously, with small arcs of electricity licking the man’s gloved fingertips.

“Or else.”

Boxxy had to give him credit. The forceful threat would make the average street rat shake in their booties. However, that wouldn’t happen with Slums Hoodlum C. He was a bruiser with a tough body, nimble fingers, and a bad habit of underestimating his opponent. He cracked his neck loudly, hunched over to meet the Wizard’s eye level, and defiantly called his bluff.

“Or else what?”

The Wizard’s glare sharpened, and he looked ready to unleash his magic on the ruffian. Boxxy wasn’t particularly worried as it had already protected itself with a subdermal layer of Bouncewood. It was confident it could take whatever this guy could throw at it. Even if the target’s magic was powerful enough to stun the creature, Claws was on hand to whisk her master away before anyone knew what happened. However, the Wizard didn’t attack. He kept staring resentfully at the thug, as if trying to size him up. At that moment, a change occurred within the old man. An hourglass-shaped growth appeared directly under his heart, consisting of two lemon-sized lumps connected by a slim sinew of flesh. Its bulbous parts were made up of dozens of layers of membranes upon muscles upon membranes upon muscles, all the way down to the dense nerve cluster at their center.

In the very next instant, the newly-formed organ started beating and vibrating-

[Your actions have altered the flows of chaos.]

-allowing both parties to confirm the presence of a mimic’s Mana Locator Gland within the other.

Part Five

Boxxy and Jones stared at each other for a few tense moments, both too stunned at the other’s innards to take any meaningful action. Boxxy had no idea how to react. The initial plan was to confront the target in an effort to get under their skin before capturing them for interrogation. That was clearly no longer an option, as the target wasn’t actually human. A number of great questions popped up in the hoodlum-shaped monster’s mind as a result of this revelation.

Was this guy a doppelganger? A Ranked-Up mimic like itself? Either way he was clearly a shapeshifter, so how come this guy worked to expose his own kind? And how in the world was he capable of using lightning magic? Wasn’t it suicidal to conjure one’s Bane so readily? Whatever the answers, Boxxy only saw one course of action – push forward with its initial plan, albeit with a few adjustments.

“Thunder Lance!”

Unfortunately, Jones made the first move and hit Boxxy with a point-blank burst of lightning from the charged orb of electricity he had conjured moments earlier.

[You have been violently electrocuted. HP -740.]
[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]

The offensive Spell bore into Slums Hoodlum C’s chest, forcing the victim to stumble back while howling in pain. Boxxy shifted its hand into a steel sickle-like blade while unnaturally extending its arm at the Wizard. Jones simultaneously hopped backwards to avoid the wide swing and prepared another Spell. Boxxy lunged forward, sprouting three bright-red tentacles from its back as it shed any remnants of humanity in its disguise. The Thunder Lance hurt like hell, and this particular ex-mimic wasn’t about to risk losing its life just to maintain a disposable disguise. At the same time, it couldn’t allow the enemy to escape, so the creature gave chase, swinging its blade-tipped limbs at him like a hail of steel.

The spell-slinger proved himself remarkably adept at dodging. Jones ducked, weaved, and swayed sideways through Boxxy’s deadly typhoon without suffering a single scratch. Unlike his opponent, Jones was determined to maintain his cover even under these circumstances. That said, the way his torso and limbs twisted around under that coat made it clear he was a skilled shapeshifter. He clearly had the support of the random civilians on the street. It was only natural they’d side with the human-looking Wizard over the much more obvious monster. Not that any of them actually stuck around. Any potential onlookers were already fleeing for their lives with practiced ease and a good deal of screaming. The people of the slums knew better than to allow themselves to get dragged into this fight.

Speaking of the confrontation, Boxxy quickly realized its approach was wrong. A flurry of shifting attacks was a quick and easy way to overwhelm a human fighter, but its opponent had an MLG at his disposal. The sensory organ helped him accurately predict the trajectories of all bladed limbs, and he clearly had the AGI and reflexes to put that information to good use and slip between the gaps. He could even anticipate the attacks’ angle changing mid-swing. Jones Alexis, whoever he was, was no stranger to close quarters combat.

Boxxy had a chance to calm down a bit, so it abruptly retracted all of its additional limbs and shifted its body to a slimmer and shorter one closer to its natural proportions. Within the blink of an eye, it now looked like a young lad on the cusp of manhood draped in torn-up rags. Its filthy appearance was entirely mismatched with the jeweled mithril rapier that had appeared in the boy’s right hand. Jones used this brief window to throw up his Mana Shield – every Wizard’s go-to defensive barrier. He fired another Thunder Lance at Boxxy, but the creature was ready. It threw a Mirror Image in front to body-block the incoming lightning bolt. The body double took the full force of the attack, then collapsed on the ground. It hadn’t yet insulated itself with Bouncewood, so the highly-charged Spell instantly paralyzed and crippled it.

Boxxy wasn’t finished. It burned a third of its remaining MP to conjure three more Mirror Images. One assumed the same form as the original and grew a steel rapier out of its own body, while the other two ran off into the alleys on either side of the creature. The pair of identical, half-naked swordsmen rushed the Wizard thrusting their swords at his magical barrier in unison. The deadly points slammed into the Spell-slinger’s bubble-like Mana Shield, cracking it yet unable to pierce it.

“Thunder Lance!”

He again attempted electrocuting Boxxy. This time the monster slipped to the side moments before the chant completed, allowing the stray lightning bolt to pass by and blow a hole through a nearby shack. Meanwhile, the body double thrust at the caster once more, further cracking his Mana Shield. Jones threw a quick, basic Lightning Bolt in retaliation. It hit the Mirror Image dead on, blowing it backwards and buying the Wizard some breathing room. Even if the body double only had a fraction of the original’s Attributes, it was not something he could ignore so easily. Just then, his MLG detected a many-limbed blur moving straight towards him at breakneck speed. He threw himself to the side to dodge, but Drea’s back-mounted scythes ripped through his Mana Shields like paper. The defensive barrier shattered with a loud crash, causing its owner to recoil slightly from the feedback.

“Adagio Variation!”

[Your body speeds up to match an unheard rhythm. DEX +30%.]

“Winterlich Waltz!”

Boxxy used the opening to unleash its body-strengthening Skill while simultaneously striking at Jones’s body with a weapon wreathed in ice-bearing magic. It was a sharp swing significantly faster and deadlier than anything it had previously used. The difference in speed caught Jones off-guard, allowing the mithril rapier’s dazzling blade to cut through his leather armor and dig into his left shoulder.

[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]
[You have inflicted a deep cut. Target HP -237.]
[You have partially frozen your target. Target HP -177.]

However, the thin piece of metal stopped dead in its tracks halfway through his shoulder. If he was a regular adventurer or soldier, the full-force blow would’ve easily cut through flesh and bone alike, but this guy’s body was way too tough to cut through. It was a clear sign that Jones’s Endurance (END) was through the roof, likely overshadowing Boxxy’s. That wasn’t even taking into account that the damage itself was much lower than the assailant expected, betraying the presence of one or more passive defensive Skills.

Boxxy had hoped he’d have a Wizard’s relatively fragile body, but that was too much to ask at this stage, wasn’t it?

The hylt creeper withdrew its weapon from the man’s shoulder and spun around to continue the Winterlich Waltz. It struck at the guy’s neck from his right side just as Claws came around his back to impale him with each of her blades. The rapier-wielding Mirror Image from before regained its footing and dashed towards the wounded man in an effort to impale him from the left. All of the sharp objects found their mark, but barely managed to punch through his armor before getting repelled with a series of clangs, like nails clattering against a clothed rock.

Almost exactly like that, actually.

“That was my favorite suit you just ruined!”

With a roar of genuine anger, Jones made a fist and struck at Boxxy’s head. The ex-mimic leaped backwards to avoid the bare handed punch. Though it cleanly avoided it, it couldn’t shake the feeling that a meteor had just flown past its face. The Mirror Image wasn’t as lucky. A backhanded punch struck it, sending it flying into a nearby building while Drea was backed off to avoid a reverse roundhouse kick to her jaw. She tried clawing at the man’s foot but only managed to rip his pants without drawing blood.

This only seemed to anger Jones further, and he focused his attention on the skittering demon. He rushed forward and kicked at her midsection. The agile stalker barely sidestepped the attack before Jones followed up with a boot to the face. Caught slightly off-balance, Drea tried to parry the upward attack with her scythes. She succeeded in catching it, but her opponent’s physical strength proved far superior to her own. He crushed most of her bladed limbs and knocked her off her feet and onto her back. He moved in, raising his foot to flatten her head flat against the cobblestone pavement. The curb stomp was interrupted by a watermelon-sized steel ball that slammed into his exposed back.

[You have inflicted blunt force trauma. Target HP -305.]

He fell forwards on top of Drea who used her sturdy claws to try and impale him using his own body weight. It was a futile effort. Jones slammed his own fists into her hands with enough force to break the demon’s wrists, then viciously kneed her in the stomach. The stalker demon screeched in pain as Jones launched off her body to avoid the massive flail Boxxy had forged out of its own body. His rage had momentarily blinded him to his true opponent’s sneak attack, proving that even creatures with an MLG could get tunnel vision if provoked significantly enough. It was a weakness that both Jones and his opponent were aware of, so the Wizard decided to eliminate his immediately.

Boxxy watched curiously as its opponent suddenly opened his own Storage portal and slipped inside. The monstrous Warlock took this chance to order the crippled Drea off the field while also absorbing the massive flail back into its body. Boxxy couldn’t know what tricks its target had up his sleeves, but it was painfully obvious that excessive brute force was necessary to break through his defensive Skills. Fortunately, it knew just the muscle-head for the job.

When Jones emerged from his Storage portal a few seconds later, it became apparent that the reason he went in there was to change his equipment. More specifically, to change out of his precious leather armor. It was a finely crafted set of gear that was the only memento he had left of his father, and he couldn’t help but get upset whenever it got slashed, pierced, or battered. It was a distraction he couldn’t afford, not against this opponent. Now that his prized worldly possession was safely tucked away, he could focus on the fight in earnest.

To that end, he had also completely cast off any pretense of humanity.

What emerged from that swirling abyss was without a doubt a monster, though one would be quite hard pressed to pinpoint its species. It had an overall humanoid shape with heavily distorted proportions. Its upper body and arms were much larger and thicker than its lower half, almost like a gorilla or troll. Rather than fur or leathery skin, his body was covered in dense, dull red spiky scales everywhere except his forehead, chest, forearms and shoulders. Those areas were instead protected by solid growths that resembled stone slabs. The hands and feet were tipped with sharp talons, and a bulbous black growth like a spider’s abdomen dangled from the back of his waist. His head and face looked like they belonged on a bird of prey of some kind, what with the sharp beak, piercing eyes, and bright yellow feathers covering the scalp and thick neck.

When the bizarre amalgamation landed on the ground with a heavy thud, it found itself facing a much more pleasant-looking yet equally savage creature.

“Wow! You are uuug-ly!”

Kora sneered as she belittled the thing in front of her. The archfiend hadn’t been paying much attention to the Boxxy Show prior to being summoned via her master’s woefully underused Artifact-grade staff. She had no idea where she was, what was going on, or who this weirdo was, nor did she care about any of those details. She finally had a meaty punching bag to test out her recent Rank Up on, and she was going to make the most of it. Her owner had a far less frivolous attitude to the matter at hand. Boxxy had already quick-changed into its Sandman persona and had wasted no time in preparing a Spell of its own while using the six-armed demon as cover.

“Ebonfire!”

However, Jones Alexis hadn’t become any less of a Wizard just because he had cast off his human skin.

“De-spell!”

The black flames that enveloped the bizarre amalgamation’s body were instantly dispersed by his counter-magic. Kora moved in right after, but Jones’s thick left arm deftly blocked her triple right hook. His knees buckled slightly due to the archfiend’s absurd strength, but he managed to avoid suffering any real injury. He slashed back at her with his claws, but the demon didn’t even attempt to defend against them and instead swung her other set of arms back at him. Talons cut through flesh and metal fists clashed into scales as the two monstrosities exchanged greetings.

“Now we’re talking!”

With the injured demon’s Berserker Skills kicking in, she instantly picked up the pace. Kora and Jones traded several blows at high speed. The latter made sure to position himself so that the fiend was between him and the Sandman at all times, making it much more difficult for the Warlock’s Spells to reach him. The abominable Wizard was, of course, aware that his opponent would not hesitate to blast a hole through its own familiar to get to him, but cover was still cover. All he had to do was make sure to dispel that Ebonfire until he figured out how to get that six-armed annoyance out of his way.

At least that’s what he thought.

“Delirium!”

Boxxy’s rarely used Domination magic assaulted its target’s consciousness, leaving him confused with a skull-splitting headache. Confusing visions flashed by his eyes and even his MLG was reporting bizarre shapes all around him. With his mind momentarily unable to form a coherent thought, he could only flail randomly while Kora continued tenderizing his tough hide. She was technically caught up the Spell’s area of effect, but as a demon she had near-immunity to mind-altering magic. This allowed her to remain in complete control of her senses while she relentlessly pummeled her delirious opponent. Boxxy also took this chance to reposition itself so that it had a clear shot of its target. Arcs of arcane energy crackled around it as it activated its Level 10 Power Overwhelming Skill, increasing the damage output and MP consumption of its Ruin Spells by a whopping 500%. It ordered Arms to clear out of the way and unleashed the most devastating Spell in its arsenal.

“Reality Slash!”

It swung its skull-headed staff in a downward diagonal arc, sending an invisible guillotine of pure force flying towards its target. It carved up the street, sliced clean through Jones, and went on to utterly demolish a row of houses and buildings behind him. Numerous screams rang out as a direct result of the devastation, as dozens of bystanders had been caught up in the destruction. There was another surge of people fleeing the area as they realized that cowering in their homes would not protect them from the battle taking place on the street.

[Your target has been split asunder. Target HP -2,494.]

The Warlock’s primary target had taken the brunt of it, and it hurt. His torso slid off his lower body and collapsed on the ground with a disgusting wet thud. The supercharged Spell went through him like a hot knife through butter. True, it depleted much of Boxxy’s magical reserves and left it with only about a thousand MP remaining – less than a quarter of its maximum. The expended magical energy had been well worth the devastating blow it produced, but it wasn’t enough. Jones was still alive. Furthermore, the horrible pain he suffered at the Warlock’s hands snapped him out of his Delirium, and he immediately retaliated with a wide-area suppression Skill.

“SKREEEEEEEEE!”

The chimera unleashed an ungodly screech, showing that its avian head wasn’t merely for show. Windows shattered, pavement rattled, and blood vessels popped as the Thunderous Screech of the aptly-named thunderbird enveloped Boxxy. The supernatural noise overwhelmed the shapeshifter, leaving it temporarily stunned and giving Jones the opportunity to reconnect to his severed lower half while he still had the chance. Kora managed to resist the suppression and tried to kick his head off as if it were a rubber ball.

Jones would have none of that. He slammed the ground with his fist, causing the already straining street to crack open and collapse, dropping the fiend into the sewers before she could react. With her out of the way, he gained the precious few seconds he needed to put himself back together while maintaining his auditory assault on Boxxy. The smaller shapeshifter was showing a profoundly adverse reaction to the harmful vibrations due to its abnormally high Perception (PER) Attribute working against it once more. It had already stifled its MLG and even gotten rid of its ears, but could still ‘hear’ the deafening screech in its blood and bones. It wasn’t until Boxxy reinforced its skin with Bouncewood once more that it was able to struggle to its feet, but it was too late. Its opponent had already reconnected with his severed half and was bearing down on it with no intention of ceasing that screech.

Just then, a pair of arrows embedded themselves in either side of the bird-headed creature’s throat, puncturing the abomination’s trachea and robbing him of his voice. He coughed and sputtered, unable to resume that infuriating noise due to the barrage of arrows now assaulting him from both flanks. Jones had done away with its own MLG to prevent sensory backlash from his Thunderous Screech Skill, which rendered him incapable of detecting the incoming hostile projectiles – just as Boxxy had hoped. The shapeshifter quickly and silently congratulated itself for having the foresight to send two of its Mirror Images away earlier. It had taken them a while to ‘procure’ some ranged weaponry to provide covering fire with, so the timing was a little off. Ideally, they would have finished Jones off while he was still half the creature he used to be, but at least they managed to silence him.

“Gragha Shilht!”

The monstrous Wizard gargle-chanted ‘Mana Shield’ as he brought his defensive barrier and MLG back online. While the plain arrows may have punctured his exposed neck muscles, they were unable to penetrate the magic bubble. The monster in front of him was already recovering while the fiend from behind leapt out of that improvised pitfall. The sword-wielding Mirror Image and the stalker demon from earlier were nowhere to be found, so they were likely preparing more traps and ambushes.

And yet, though his beak made it near impossible to tell, the abomination called Jones Alexis was smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had put up this much of a fight. Granted, he wasn’t the type of meathead that went out of their way to look for worthy opponents, nor was he a fan of getting bisected, but overall this had been a surprisingly refreshing experience. Surely, he thought, if it was against this shapeshifter, he could cut loose and go all out for the first time in a long, long while.

The chimera’s eyes shifted in structure the next instant. The yellow and black concentric circles of his irises turned a putrid, muddy green with a black vertical slit. He then directed a basilisk’s Petrifying Gaze directly at the crafty shapeshifter in front of him, causing the creature’s body to steadily turn gray and solid. The progress of the petrification was horrendously slow, proving that this enemy had truly outstanding vitality. As Jones expected, the creature caught on as to what was going on and retaliated accordingly. It threw a metal capsule towards the chimera, which popped open with a blinding flash. Jones had anticipated something like this and shielded his eyes while simultaneously launching a blob of sticky thread from his arachnid posterior at the six-armed demon behind him. Kora hadn’t been able to react to her master’s mental warning quickly enough and was momentarily blinded by the flashbang, which left her unable to avoid the incoming webbing. Sure enough, it wrapped around her and left her stuck in place. The archfiend would probably force her way out of her sticky restraints, but she wasn’t going anywhere for the moment.

Jones’ next move was to combine the Liquid Mimicry, Slipstream, and Hydro Hand Skills to create a geyser-like eruption of water beneath his feet. The magically-generated aquatic pillar propelled him high into the air, twisting and turning like a living creature. Jones rode the unnatural wave closer to one of the bow-wielding body doubles. His left arm morphed into a slimy bright green blob, which he swung diagonally at his first target. This motion invoked his Water Slicer Skill, releasing a highly pressurized jet of liquid that mercilessly cut through the ill-prepared Mirror Image much like Boxxy’s Reality Slash ran through Jones. The target somehow survived it, but two more Water Slicers were enough to reduce both its HP and its conjured flesh to nothing.

Jones turned his attention towards the other bow-wielding apparition and attempted to take it down in much the same way, but he had already shown his hand. His secondary target fortified its body by covering itself in a hylt tree’s Ironbark, of all things. It was no pale imitation either, judging from how it shrugged off the Water Sliver without taking any damage. However, Jones proved he had yet more tricks up his proverbial sleeve and bathed the Mirror Image in a torrent of flaming breath one would expect from a dragon’s muzzle, not a bird’s beak. He finished the body double off by calling down a lightning bolt on top of it with his Lightning Strike Skill. It wasn’t as potent as his Wizard Spells and had a cooldown period, but he could use it instantly and without chanting so long as he was outdoors.

Down on the ground, the main target had changed weapons once more, this time wielding a bow of its own. It was a wise decision, given the long range between it and Jones. Its arrows were definitely sharper and deadlier than its imitations, but it had trouble landing a clean hit. It wasn’t just the erratic movements of the serpentine pillar of water, but also the abomination’s Wind Wall Skill. This ability kicked up sporadic gusts of air that interfered with the incoming projectiles’ trajectory. However, this howling barrier could do little to stop a three-meter-tall pile of muscle, rage, and violence.

“C’mere, cupcake!”

Jones was caught completely unawares when the fiend from earlier suddenly tackled him from the side. In a move that surprised both her master and her opponent, she ripped off that webbing and intercepted her target with a fifteen-meter leap straight up. It was a feat of strength that made it clear her archfiend Rank Up wasn’t just for show. Kora succeeded in knocking her target off of his watery perch and held onto him tight as she body slammed him into a nearby rooftop. The structure gave way under their combined weight, and they crashed into the interior of a two-story carpenter’s workshop. Jones temporarily dissolved into an amorphous blob and slithered his way out of the fiend’s hold before re-forming into a lizardman-like shape. The green-haired demon rose to her feet with a vicious smile on her face and rushed him with another storm of punches, kicks, and swears.

Her attacks shattered his scales, rattled his bones, and cut up the insides of his crocodile-like mouth, but Jones stood his ground and hit back as hard as he could. He tried to match her ferocity and savagery, but quickly realized he would not win this contest. Though they had gone more or less even earlier, that was before Kora’s missing HP had amped up her Berserker Skills. She struck faster and stronger, and her attacks bore straight through the combination of Natural Armor, Spiked Scales, and Harden Skills as if they weren’t there. They hurt even more with every chunk of red flesh that Jones ripped out of her unarmored gaps. Last but not least, the chimera’s Mend Flesh Skill hadn’t even begun to repair the damage caused by that Reality Slash earlier. The Spell had taken a huge chunk out of him, even though he didn’t show it.

In short, Jones had no hope of facing Kora on equal footing, and he was a fool to even try. Having realized his folly, he gave up and collapsed on the ground into a pale of bright-green goop and tried to wrap around the demon’s legs. She attempted to counter with a War Stomp, but the slime at her feet made a hole so that her heel would miss it completely. The Martial Art instead connected with the floorboards underneath, which instantly shattered and splintered. Both combatants fell through the ensuing hole into the workshop’s first floor and crashed straight into the building’s basement.

When her body collided with the ground once again, Kora found herself lying on her face and already halfway enveloped by her opponent’s goopy form. She reflexively started thrashing about in an effort to shake it off. She rolled on the floor, slammed herself into the walls, and even punched at her own body, but her opponent took very little damage. Throughout it all, she felt pain stab into her goo-covered skin as Jones used a combination of Corrosive Touch and Deadly Poison Skills to flood her injured body with toxins.

It was only natural she was outmatched. Without really realizing it, Kora was attempting to fight a queen slime through pure physical force. It was an exercise in futility akin to trying to put out a forest fire by peeing on it. Her master realized what was going on much quicker than the fiendish blockhead, having crept into the ruined building and watched the two of them go at it. Boxxy couldn’t help but feel envious of the other shapeshifter’s abilities as they were far more versatile than its own. No matter how hard a doppelganger tried, it couldn’t transform into a slime and take advantage of its near-imperviousness to physical injuries. Though, as with any monster, slimes too had their weaknesses, and a self-taught shapeshifting expert like Boxxy was well aware of their vulnerability to magic. Its opponent seemed to sense its intent and erected a Mana Shield around himself and the fiend he was attempting to subdue. Punching through that barrier wouldn’t be easy, especially with Boxxy’s depleted MP, but the creature didn’t necessarily need to do that.

After all, Mr. Alexis wasn’t the only one with a formidable bag of tricks.

“Demonate!”

At the Warlock’s behest, Kora’s red skin momentarily glowed with an intense green light as the demonic energies suffusing her flesh her were ignited. The archfiend exploded violently the next instant in a flash of bright green flames. The force of the explosion blasted the Sandman-shaped shapeshifter out of the workshop, across the street, and into the house on the opposite side. It crashed through a window on the second floor and found itself in a small, dingy bedroom. It quickly rose to its feet and somewhat groggily ran to the windowsill, watching in stunned silence as an emerald-colored inferno steadily turned the site of Kora and Jones’s brief duel into an ash pile.

The crap was that?! it screamed internally. It’s way too strong!

The sheer amount of energy released by Arms’ forced self-destruct was well beyond anything it expected. It was at least twice as potent as the last time it tried that Spell. The lingering flames rapidly spreading to other buildings were an entirely new aspect of it. Was it because Arms was an archfiend now? Punchy seemed to have a natural aptitude for fire and that girl was supposedly related to him, so a propensity for arson could simply ‘run in the family’ as it were. It was a flimsy explanation at best, but it was the only one Boxxy could muster at the moment.

Still, as far as surprises went, this was a welcome one. The other shapeshifter was wrapped up tight around the demon, so it probably took the full brunt of that explosion and was scattered to bits. It was regretful that he had to be destroyed, but Boxxy deemed it impossible to capture a threat of that magnitude alive. At the very least, the XP gained from killing a tough opponent was bound to be tasty. And then the shapeshifter realized it hadn’t gotten any such thing. In other words, its target wasn’t quite dead yet.

“SKREEEEEK!”

Boxxy’s reflexes sharpened to a point upon hearing the dreadfully familiar screech. A huge, hawk-like bird flew upward out of the blazing inferno, the green flames clinging to its golden plumage giving it an almost ethereal presence. It dove straight at the Sandman with wings tucked in like an oversized arrow, threatening to pierce the humanoid creature’s large torso with his beak. Boxxy tapped into its Phytokinesis Skill and threw the wooden bed in the room at its opponent, but the bull-sized thunderbird smashed it to bits without even slowing down.

The creature somehow leapt onto the ceiling, dodging the sharp beak and talons by the skin of its teeth while the enemy tore through the building as if it were made of paper. He left gaping holes on both ends of the second floor, causing the already rickety house to creak and groan as it collapsed in on itself. Boxxy leapt down onto the street before it got buried in the rubble while the flying shapeshifter made its way around for another dive attack.

“Master?!” Xera’s voice echoed in its mind. “What’s going on over there?! I can see the smoke from here!”

“Things got a little out of hand!” answered Boxxy, bracing itself for the next attack.

“Then I should-”

“You stay where you are and maintain the Facade! And don’t bother me unless it’s life-or-death!”

While an extra pair of hands would certainly be of help, Snack’s magic would be useless here. If the demonic flames released by that extra-spicy Demonate weren’t enough to take him down, then it was a safe bet that her Pyromancer magic would be just as ineffective. Actually, that was an understatement. Thinking back to that explosion, Boxxy realized that it did not receive a notification about its opponent taking any damage whatsoever, implying that thing was invulnerable to flames. It made sense in hindsight. Jones had demonstrated a monster’s fire breath ability, which usually went hand-in-hand with extreme heat resistance.

“… Understood, Master.”

Just as Xera offered that weak-willed response, Jones swooped in to attack Boxxy once again. The doppelganger dug its feet deep into the cobblestone road and quite literally rooted itself in place. Its outward layer of Ironbark grew thicker and heavier as the enemy approached at breakneck speeds. It seemed like it would try and take the enemy charge’s head on, but that was just a ruse to goad Jones into a head-to-head clash.

Just before the clash, Boxxy opened its Storage portal right in front of Jones’s path. The enemy shapeshifter couldn’t change his course on time and fell into the swirling black abyss. The dimensional gateway closed, trapping him inside the creature’s pocket dimension. Boxxy breathed a sigh of relief as it unrooted itself off the ground. No matter what bizarre collection of monster traits Jones had, he still needed to breathe. It was only a matter of time before he suffocated inside its pocket dimension.

Unfortunately, the abomination knew all there was to know about trapping things in such volatile spaces. Breaking into pocket dimensions was nigh-impossible, but breaking out of them? All he had to do strike out against the walls of its new prison with all his might, quite literally tearing the magical space wide open. This caused a rip in the fabric of reality that ejected both the chimera and a significant chunk of Boxxy’s belongings onto the street while their owner suffered a great deal of pain from the magical backlash. Jones appeared next to the momentarily stunned doppelganger in the same reptilian shape he had while fighting Kora, then delivered a full-force punch to the monster’s ribs. Or at least the area where the ribs would normally be located.

[Your Storage Skill has backfired due to improper use. Your body suffers from the feedback. HP -200.]
[You have suffered blunt force trauma. HP -674.]
[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]

Caught completely off-guard by this series of events, Boxxy was sent flying to the side from the sheer force of the blow. It had foolishly undone its Ironbark carapace, so its malleable flesh took the full brunt of the attack. Satisfied that he finally scored a solid hit on the slippery creature, Jones allowed himself a small measure of celebration as he watched it tumble head-over-heels down the road. The crafty shapeshifter wasn’t quite done yet and seamlessly transformed itself into a large steel ball while abandoning the Sandman’s trappings. It rolled down the street and away from the dangerous chimera.

Realizing that his quarry was trying to escape, Jones chased after it on foot, confident he could catch up to the runaway pinball without much difficulty. His target then instantly adopted a distinctly more cubic shape complete with a quartet of wooden wagon wheels. A pair of arachnid legs sprouted from its bottom, which it used to repeatedly kick at the ground and rapidly pick up speed. Jones couldn’t help but yet again be inwardly impressed at this thing’s ability to mold its own body. It displayed a level of creativity and ingenuity that he simply could not match.

Then again, he didn’t necessarily need to.

The humanoid lizard also shifted, this time into a fully-grown, green-furred janther. The large feline’s trademark six-legged gait allowed him to start gaining on the runaway box-on-wheels. The absurd speeds at which this chase was happening meant that they had already left the recently vacated area of the slums and were rapidly approaching a crowded street with a lot of foot traffic. Jones sighed inwardly. His bosses would be rather displeased if this scuffle grew any more public, so he threw caution to the wind and chased after his target with all the speed he could muster.

Just then, the top of the steel box popped open like a treasure chest, and the upper body of a humanoid figure rose up from it. It was the shape of a naked albino woman with excessively large breasts, waist-long straight hair, an impossibly thin waist, and a face so gorgeous that lesser men would instantly fall for her. Boxxy wasn’t exactly planning on using Snack’s appearance for this, but old habits die hard. Not that it mattered. The important thing was the skull-tipped staff in its slender hands and the Spell it would unleash upon its pursuer.

“Mind Blast!”

With a strangely melodious chirp, the pseudo-succubus slammed the psychic equivalent of an anvil directly into Jones’s consciousness.

[Your target has been stunned for 3 seconds.]
[Chaotic energies swirl around you.]
[Your body has been revitalized. HP +9999. MP +9999.]

“Alriiiight!”

Boxxy couldn’t help but cheer as the janther’s gigantic body tripped over its own limp feet and tumbled across the street. The former mimic didn’t have a habit of prematurely celebrating, but it could be forgiven on this one occasion. It not only lured in and disabled its opponent, but the Chaotic Disposition Skill actually proved itself useful for once. Now that it was back in peak physical and mental condition, it stabbed the ground to its left with a metallic tentacle and made an abrupt U-turn towards its opponent. It came to a screeching halt in front of the collapsed beast who was still trying to recover from the mental shock. Jones groaned and shifted its limbs around, only dimly processing the sight of Boxxy activating Power Overwhelming for the second time.

“Reality Slash!”

[Your target has been split asunder. Target HP -3,294.]

With a downward swing of its demonic staff, Boxxy again grievously injured its opponent. It ripped apart not only the janther’s upper body, but also dug out a deep crevice in the road while slicing a nearby building clean in half. However, Jones wasn’t dead yet. If he was, then its Warlock Job would surely gain at least one Level. The half-box-cart half-woman brought its staff around and prepared to repeat the mystical assault.

“Ice Spear!”

“Firebolt!”

“Power Shot!”

Unfortunately, a sudden volley of projectiles from the side interrupted the creature before it could deliver the finishing blow. The monster was forced to abandon its Spell and leap backwards to avoid the incoming attacks. It angrily looked over to find a twenty-man detachment of Azurvale’s city guard had finally arrived at the scene of the disturbance. Their appearance was extremely ill-timed, as it gave Jones the precious few moments he needed to recover from the Mind Blast. The janther sprang back to its feet as soon as it could. Sensing that he was suddenly at a severe disadvantage, Jones decided it was his turn to retreat even if it meant leaving half his body mass behind.

“Come back here, meat!”

Boxxy naturally wouldn’t let that happen so easily. It gave chase as its soon-to-be-victim again morphed into a bird and flew back to the initial site of their confrontation. Xera’s pale imitation sank back into the wheeled treasure chest as it rolled off at top speeds. The city guards, brave fools that they were, did their best to follow. They were far too slow to keep up, so Boxxy momentarily put them out of its mind and focused on finishing off its enemy.

“Claws! Bring him down!”

It took the stalker demon mere seconds to slingshot herself at the airborne target with her webbing. The bird-thing easily dodged her, but she flew close enough to wrap up its wings in more of her sticky thread. Jones attempted to shift out of it but was too slow on account of his injuries. He crashed into the street just in front of the burning crater that was once a carpenter’s shop. Scant moments later, Boxxy arrived just in time to see its enemy drink a potion. And not just any potion, but a Rejuvenation Potion that was left lying on the ground after it fell out of a certain someone’s Storage.

Seeing that thing effectively steal from it threw Boxxy into a rage. Its chesty form sprouted dozens of slender tentacles, each grasping the handle of a weapon from the arsenal scattered across the street. It slammed into Jones skewering, stabbing, slicing, and pummeling the monstrous Wizard as hard as it could. A plethora of damage notifications flushed its consciousness, but its opponent warded off the brunt of the assault with his layered defensive Skills. He also did not fail to notice that Boxxy’s eagerness to inflict harm had momentarily blinded it to its own defenses. The shapeshifter had cast off its Bouncewood insulation so that it could move easier, giving Jones an opening.

*KRAKKAKAKOOOOOM!*

[You have been violently electrocuted. HP -503.]
[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]

A literal bolt from the blue courtesy of the chimera’s Lightning Strike Skill struck the once-mimic dead on while its countermeasures were down. The jolt wasn’t powerful enough to incapacitate the creature, but it momentarily staggered the box-on-wheels. This allowed Jones to morph into his lizard-man form and launch a counter-attack. Instead of punching the weird chest-shaped creature, he pierced its center of mass with a clawed right hand.

[You have suffered a major stab wound. HP -794.]

“RAAARGH!”

Boxxy let out a pained yell as Jones grasped it by its spine – the one body part that a doppelganger could not mold at will. The lizard-man yanked hard, pulling the doppelganger out of its timber shell and holding it up by the hole in its stomach. Dark red blood gushed forth from the open wound while the rest of the shapeshifter’s biomass hung underneath in a mess of flesh, but the monster stubbornly maintained the grips on its weaponry. Boxxy wasn’t sure what its opponent was planning, but there was no way its attacks would miss from this intimate range. It used a slender arm to pull a Spell Crystal containing a supercharged Massive Rejection Spell from inside its ruptured box-shell. The explosive magic contained therein would surely throw Jones back while dealing massive damage. However, the Wizard’s MLG saw through this trick and batted the crystallized Spell away before it could activate.

“Give it up,” he muttered, lifting the doppelganger by its insides. “You can’t beat me, so I suggest you come with me quietly.”

“Khah! Khahaha! HAHAHAHAHA!”

To his surprise, the cornered monster laughed mockingly at his threat. It was a display of utmost insolence and stubbornness that did not fail to get on the chimera’s nerves. A few moments later, Boxxy’s mad cackle disappeared like a candle in a blizzard, replaced by a cold, murderous glare.

“No,” it whispered, then spat at him.

With acid.

A torrent of corrosive, putrid liquid courtesy of Boxxy’s Acid Spray Skill spouted forth from its face, splashing the unprepared lizard-man in the face and shoulders. Jones yelped in pain as his body started dissolving with a loud hissing noise. The doppelganger instantly grew steel teeth around its wound and clamped down on the arm gripping its spine. Even though the Rejuvenation Potion restored that bastard’s HP, he was surely still weakened by all the biomass he lost from that last Reality Slash. All Boxxy had to do was blindside him with this one-two combo, and it would be able to escape and renew its assault.

Unfortunately, Boxxy had underestimated its opponent’s toughness. The improvised maw failed to bite through the arm, and Jones was able to get a Spell off despite being drenched in corrosive acid.

“Thunder Lance!”

Another bolt of lightning shot out of his hand, which was still deep inside the shapeshifter’s torso and wrapped around its spine. The devastating magic was delivered directly into the doppelganger’s weak spot, completely bypassing any defenses it might’ve had.

[You have been violently electrocuted. HP -3,692.]
[You have been stunned for 5 seconds.]
[Your Skills have been disabled for 5 seconds.]

Boxxy’s mind went blank as it temporarily lost all muscle control. It grew numb and limp. It could no longer hold onto its weapons, dropping all of them – including the Voidcaller staff – onto the pavement with a loud clatter. Its mind reeled just as badly, but it maintained a semblance of consciousness due to its exceptional Mental Fortitude Attribute.

“You little worm! I’ve had enough of you! Know when you are beaten!”

The creature groggily processed its opponent’s distant-sounding complaints. Dazed as it was, it uttered two short words in reply. Two defiant syllables that it would never utter under these circumstances if it were in its right state of mind.

“Eat… shit…”

“Thunder Lance!”

[You have been violently electrocuted. HP -4,205.]
[You have been stunned for 5 seconds.]
[Your Skills have been disabled for 5 seconds.]
[You have died.]

The gray-skinned doppelganger went completely limp as thick smoke rose from its charred body. Its killer stared blankly at its featureless face and exploded yellow eyeballs as a notification popped up into his consciousness.

[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 63 Wizard! INT +12. END +8. WIS +4.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Hero Killer.]

“… I overdid it again, didn’t I?” he muttered with a somewhat pitying tone.

“There they are! Fire at will!”

His attention was drawn to the guards from earlier, who had finally caught up with the two rampaging monsters. They unleashed an array of offensive Spells, but their efforts proved futile as the chimera’s Mana Shield effortlessly repelled their magic. Jones clicked his tongue in frustration. This would complicate things and no doubt earn him another lecture regarding his insufficient self-control. However, that was a problem for later. He still had a job to do. So, without further delay, he unceremoniously tossed the dead doppelganger into his Storage and started eliminating every last witness he could find.

[General Information]
Wardrobzilla
Changeling (Artificial), 457 years old
Vassal of Household of Tol-Saroth
Level 5.00 Doppelganger (MAX)
Level 5.00 Mimic (MAX)
Level 5.00 Demonspawn (MAX)
Level 63.60 Wizard
Level 25.00 Queen Slime (MAX)
Level 25.00 Giant Spider (MAX)
Level 25.00 Big Cat (MAX)
Level 25.00 Thunderbird (MAX)
Level 25.00 Siren (MAX)
Level 25.00 Salamander (MAX)
Level 25.00 Basilisk (MAX)
5834/6800 HP (+12.0/sec)
1534/4900 MP (+9.1/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 800, DEX 585, AGI 769, END 1200, INT 980, WIS 611, LCK 142, PER 95, MNT 139, AFF 137

[Doppelganger Skills]
Precise Muscle Control – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Mimic Skills]
Storage – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Demonspawn Skills]
Unnatural Vitality – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Wizard Skills]
Arcane Stability – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Mana Shield – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Arcane Attunement – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Glyphcraft – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Lightning Overload – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Chant Reduction – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Student of the Mind – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Magic Absorption – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Unrelenting Storm – Lvl 4.25
[Queen Slime Skills]
Water Slicer – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Corrosive Touch – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Liquid Mimicry – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Mend Flesh – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Giant Spider Skills]
Assassination – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Natural Armor – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Arachnid Strength – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Deadly Poison – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Big Cat Skills]
Prowl – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Feline Evasion – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Deep Wounds – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Apex Predator – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Thunderbird Skills]
Thunderous Screech – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Eagle Eye – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Wind Wall – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Lightning Strike – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Siren Skills]
Hydro Hand – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Deep Thoughts – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Slipstream – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Song of Triumph – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Salamander Skills]
Fire Breath – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Spiked Scales – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Searing Claws – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Emergency Escape – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Basilisk Skills]
Petrifying Gaze – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Patient Predator – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Harden – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Tectonic Shift – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Webspinner – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Wind Assisted Flight – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Lightning Affinity – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Water Affinity – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Fire Affinity – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Earth Affinity – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Stealth – Lvl 20.00 (MAX)
Meditation – Lvl 5.20
Projectile Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Arcane Mastery – Lvl 9.30

Primal Mastery – Lvl 16.85
Basic Mastery – Lvl 8.50
Spatial Mastery – Lvl 8.50
Brawling Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)

Part Six

A puff of white smoke rose into the air, drifting idly upwards for several seconds before forming into a semi-solid sphere no bigger than a child’s fist. A pair of bright blue dots peeked out in lieu of eyes. The disconnected spirit gazed down at its own body and the scale-covered abomination piercing its torso with a clawed hand. It felt puzzled. Its bewilderment shifted to outrage once it realized it had been killed. This was a completely natural reaction considering how violently its mortal body was dispatched. And judging from how its killer had already ploughed through the other silver-armored guards and then slinked off into the shadows, the murdering shapeshifter would probably go unpunished. That thought made the ghost’s rage quickly give way to despair.

The spirit was still trying to cope with its loss of life when it saw a series of white cracks spread through the air in a spider web pattern. A shining doorway burst from these faults, revealing a skeletal figure wearing a sharp black business suit over a silken white shirt complete with a black necktie. It was the sort of ensemble one might wear when visiting the owner of a bank… or attending a funeral. A luxurious pitch-dark hood and cloak covered the bare skull and wide shoulders, the luxurious fabric seamlessly transitioning to a shadowy mist that rolled down the skeleton’s back. Select pieces of glittering golden accessories adorned the figure’s impeccable ensemble, including a trio of jeweled rings upon his right hand. Last but certainly not least, he carried an ivory scythe with a mithril blade, its macabre design somehow both exquisite and terrible.

Though most mortals would be rightfully terrified should this entity appear before them, the recently deceased spirit felt a strange sense of relief and comfort in its presence.

“Yo! How’s it hanging?” the dapper skeleton spoke in an unfittingly lively tone. “Congratulations on your death! In case you couldn’t tell, I’m Mortimer, and I’m here to pick you up.”

The white puff of smoke, invisible to the mortal eye, was thrilled by this development and bounced around like an excitable puppy.

“Hmm? Oh no, not you,” the God of Death spoke as if just noticing the poor soul. “I’m here for that one.”

The confused puff of smoke curiously turned in the direction that Mortimer was pointing towards with a pearly digit. It saw an oddly rectangular solid black mass, with crimson red dots for eyes and a set of misaligned white teeth. The dark spirit’s maw opened wide and closed around the smaller soul, instantly gobbling it up.

“No! Bad!”

Mortimer slapped the black ghost from behind, prompting it to spit out the white one.

“None of that! What sort of Hero are you, anyway?!” he spoke as if chastising an unruly pet.

“Jukilimo! Yeharan dalaigoh!”

The black spirit uttered what sounded like gibberish to the former guard’s soul. The utterly bewildered immaterial being tried to raise its voice in protest only to realize it could not actually speak.

“How does that make any sense? You can’t even taste things anymore!”

“Rastorpicolos!”

“Quiet you! Hey, listen here, buddy,” Mortimer once more turned to the white ghost. “Sorry about this, but I’m going to have my hands full with this guy. I can’t really deal with you right now, so I’m going to have to ask you to be on your way. Just keep heading up and to the right and you’ll get there eventually. Off you go now!”

The macabre deity shooed the dearly departed guard away, who could only continue drifting upwards in a huff. The cold shoulder bothered him, but it was impossible for a disembodied soul to disobey the God of Death’s words. It felt a bit better the higher it went, though. After all, surely a random, middle-aged peacekeeper wasn’t important enough to warrant a personal appearance from the God of Death, right? Hmm? Then who was that black one? Something about a Hero? What was a Hero, anyway? A miserable pile of- Oh look, butterflies! Or were they flamingoes? Forming thoughts was becoming rapidly difficult for the former elf the more it ascended. It soon reached the conclusion that thinking was a bother, so it stopped altogether, allowing the last echoes of its former life to be stripped from it.

Mortimer watched the innocent soul drift off for a few seconds as the Well of Souls did its thing. He felt a bit bad brushing the guy off, but he didn’t have time to personally deal with each and every dead creature. That was why the Well of Souls existed in the first place – to pull stray souls towards it before reincarnating them. Sure, some individuals with lingering attachments fell through the gaps and became vengeful undead, but it was a necessary compromise. It was impossible for a single being – even a God – to keep up with demand otherwise. Besides, Mortimer had to attend to duties other than ferrying the souls of the dead, such as the rites and rituals he needed to perform on a deceased Hero’s soul. Special care and attention was required in order to ensure that their borrowed divine power was returned to its source without incident.

“Well, then,” Mortimer turned back to Boxxy, “shall we go?”

“Vivamus sollicitudin arcu tempus, sagittis velit ac?”

“No, that’s not gonna happen,” he instantly declined.

“Fahn efficitur sollicitudin tellus?”

“How much gold?!” he exclaimed with a rather excited tone. “You’re shitting me, right? There’s no way you have that much!”

“Sirtamet. Finibus lacinia.”

“Oh, I gotta see this.”

Mortimer grabbed Boxxy’s soul and walked back through the glowing doorway he appeared from moments ago. They emerged inside Ambrosia’s trunk, right next to the pool-sized pit of gold that the doppelganger used as external shiny storage. The creature had been playing with it for a solid three hours last night and had neglected to clean the place up, leaving a messy pile of treasure that glistened brilliantly beneath all those spotlights.

The God of Death and Commerce let out an appreciative whistle despite his lack of lips.

“Nice! Quite the cozy little nest egg you got here. For a single mortal, this is a truly impressive collection.”

“Nahabil,” Boxxy thanked him.

“Still not enough, though. Even if I was in the habit of taking bribes – which I’m not – you’d need three hundred times this amount before I even considered letting you off.”

“Hak! Parapatos gil bethera.”

“Yeah, well, can’t be helped. Them’s the rules. By the way, where and how did you learn The Word? You’re remarkably fluent, if I do say so myself.”

“Haka? Karabaltikor eteta?”

“Yes, that.”

“Ambrosia mi in consectetur facilisis.”

“Huh. That’s… a new one.”

Mortimer fell silent as he pondered what sort of shenanigans would have allowed this monster to convince a dryad to share her knowledge of The Word. Between that and the monumental amount of wealth on display, it was plainly obvious that Boxxy had achieved more in its exceedingly short lifetime than most people did in a century. Then again, the monster was a Hero, and their ilk almost always died young and at the height of their careers. Only a scant few survived past their prime and lived to a ripe old age. It was a trend that never failed to amuse Mortimer whenever he came across it. It was as if the Hero titles had a hidden property that made the lives of their recipients burn blindingly bright only to run out staggeringly quickly. Boxxy’s tenure was a ridiculously extreme example of this, but it fit the trend nonetheless.

“Come on then,” Mortimer got back on task. “Let’s get you… to… Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

The macabre deity couldn’t help but curse as a second divine doorway appeared next to his and a green brick flew out of it.

“Hey, Mort,” the raspberry pudding waved its eyebrow. “How you been?”

“Damnit, Tom! I’m not letting you revive this guy!”

“Woah, easy there,” said the fishbowl-shaped God of Chance. “I’m not here to revive anybody. I just need to make sure some contractual obligations are fulfilled.”

“Obligations? Oh, right, this guy was a Warlock that made a covenant with your spawn.”

Mortimer didn’t typically concern himself with the other gods’ Heroes while they were still alive, but he remembered hearing that in passing. It was inevitable he’d hear about Billy’s pet box, given the waves it had made on the divine scene.

“Yup,” the ham sandwich nodded its lettuce. “And according to the terms of its contract, its soul belongs to Demons ‘R’ Us.”

“We both know there’s nothing like that in those terms, Rupert.”

“What are you saying? Of course there is!”

*Snap*

A rolled-up parchment materialized out of thin air and unfurled to reveal the full terms and conditions of Boxxy’s summoning contract. The floating tea kettle pointed to a particular paragraph with its spatula.

“See this amendment right here? Clause 23-4? It reads, and I quote, ‘Should the mortal Warlock acquire the means to affect the immaterial, the Beyond, and/or the Aether, their soul becomes the rightful property of Overlord Liusolra upon their death.’ End quote.”

“Let me see that!”

The God of Death snatched the parchment and started reading through it while the afro-toting gecko in the leather jacket sat on a nearby gold pile.

“You just added it in there!” Mortimer complained in a displeased tone. “There was nothing like that in the standard contract last time I checked!”

“And when’s the last time you checked, eh? It’s been in there for at least thirteen hundred years! You know, ever since that whole ‘Soul Muncher’ debacle?”

Mortimer was momentarily at a loss of words as he was reminded of the potentially world-ending incident that was maybe sort of entirely his fault.

“This is different!” he insisted. “Furthermore, the clause directly conflicts with how we’re supposed to handle Heroes!”

“Mort, look. If you had objections to this amendment, then why didn’t you say anything when I asked you about it?”

“You never consulted me on this!”

“Did too. I distinctly remember sending you the proposal via G-mail. You even replied to it and everything.”

“… Hold on.”

Mortimer fell silent as he searched through his mental repository of correspondences with other Gods. Looking back over a millennia ago, he was indeed able to confirm he had received a memo titled ‘Soul Muncher Precautions’ detailing the exact clause Jerry was talking about. And sure enough, right there next to it was Mortimer’s reply – a simple ‘k.’

“Yeah, so I did,” he admitted with a sigh. “Fine, you can have the blasted thing.”

While he hated giving up another Hero’s soul, he didn’t have a choice. Even if he was swamped with work in the wake of that nasty Soul Muncher business and probably didn’t read the thing as thoroughly as he should have, he still signed off on it. He had no choice but to capitulate Boxxy’s soul. He wasn’t even going to attempt to dispute whether the shapeshifter qualified for the clause when considering how freely its soul wielded The Word. Thankfully, the monster hadn’t figured out how to apply that knowledge, otherwise things would have gotten… complicated.

“Marvelous!” cheered the giant fly. “Glad to see you’re still such a good sport. Come on, Boxxy, let’s get you- Huh? Where’d the little guy go?”

A quick glance revealed that the black puff of rectangular smoke had disappeared somewhere while Mortimer and Kendra were arguing over custody of it.

“Now that you mention it…”

The skeleton’s voice trailed off as his eye sockets blazed with a sinister un-light and his pearly visage was engulfed in darkness.

“Oh, that bastard!” he shouted moments later. “Just how much Taboo does he want?! Right, that’s it! I’m sending my Hero after him! I’m going to give him such a talking-to once I get my hands on that wretched little soul!”

“Who the what now?”

Rather than answer the confused purple beer keg, the outraged God of Death retreated back to his divine area in a huff. This left the Goddess of Unlikelihoods even more perplexed as to what was going on. There was no way a deceased person’s soul could just ‘wander off,’ especially not in Mortimer’s presence, so there was definitely something extraordinary going on. And for once, it wasn’t Jessica’s doing. She really didn’t have some ulterior motive beyond collecting what was rightfully hers.

While entertaining in its own way, Boxxy’s short-lived tenure as Hero of Chaos had also served as an audition of sorts. The God of Choice was convinced the single-minded and uncomplicated monster’s soul would serve as the perfect raw material to forge into the fifth demonic Overlord, bringing his Seven Deadly Sins project one step closer to fruition. He already had Nagnamor as Wrath, Liusolra as Gluttony, Shridiaphrial the Succubus Queen as Lust, and that know-it-all Weaxohn as Pride, but the seats of Sloth, Envy, and Greed remained very much open. Boxxy’s twisted soul was without a doubt the perfect fit for the Lord of Avarice. Rather, it would be once Liusolra had finished stripping away its old memories and personality until all that remained was a lump of insatiable desire and boundless wickedness. It was a future that Carmen had made sure was all but inevitable.

Yet, that creature’s spirit had suddenly disappeared right out from the nose of not one, but two deities. While Merlin’s plans to create Baalebuorohm of the Gilded Chest and usher in the birth of a whole new species of shiny-obsessed demons would have to wait, he wasn’t the least bit angry. Just the opposite, actually. If there was one thing the God of Unforeseen Consequences loved the most, it was surprises.

Of course, nobody was more surprised about this turn of events than Boxxy. Its soul was suddenly and forcibly stolen away by an unnatural force. Oddly enough, the feeling was closer to being pushed than pulled, but it was nevertheless irresistible. When the monster’s disembodied consciousness finally came to a stop, it found itself trapped in a strange void. It couldn’t move, speak, hear, or see, almost as if it were an errant thought floating amidst an infinite nothingness. It was more than a little distressing considering it could still perceive the world around it until mere moments ago. Not to mention the ability to converse, scheme, and… and…

And…

And what? It had the distinct impression it had the ability to do things, so how come it was suddenly drawing a blank? On second thought who – or for that matter what was ‘it?’ Much like the guard from earlier, the soul rapidly lost its sense of self along with its memories. The murderous box with an unhealthy obsession for tasty and shiny things momentarily vanished from Terrania. All that was left was an insignificant speck of free will with no wants or needs to guide it, a completely blank slate ready to be reborn as anything or anyone. The empty soul was then instantly filled to bursting as the accumulated experiences of Boxxy T. Morningwood’s eight months of life flooded its entire being. From the first time it beheld its little oddly flat corner of the Litigar Dungeon Complex up to the point where the fateful words ‘You have died’ had appeared in its mind – all of it had exploded back into its consciousness at once.

“SHGRAAAAH!”

Boxxy sprang to life with a guttural half-scream half-hiss. The gray-skinned hylt creeper jumped to its feet in alarm, only to stumble forward and fall to the ground. It curled up and started writhing in agony like a sack of drowning puppies. Between the soul-crushing pain coursing through its body and its inability to remember how to doppelganger, Boxxy was left stripped of anything resembling reason.

[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]

An intimately familiar and extremely welcome notification popped into its mind, putting an abrupt halt to the shapeshifter’s dazed confusion. The brief moment of clarity jumpstarted the rest of Boxxy’s failing mental faculties and was immediately followed by a series of rather informative notifications.

[You are afflicted by Resurrection Sickness. All Attribute effectiveness -50%.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Soulbound.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Hero of Chaos.]
[Proficiency level increased. Chaotic Disposition is now Level 1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Agent of Chaos is now Level 1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Essence Concealment is now Level 1.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Usurper of Justice.]
[Proficiency level increased. Vengeance is now Level 1.]

… I died back there, didn’t I?

It was a harrowing realization that gave rise to many different questions in Boxxy’s mind, though they who killed it or how it had died weren’t among them. While its soul held no recollection of its out-of-body experience, its body and brain vividly remembered the circumstances surrounding its demise. It was a superbly traumatizing and disturbing thing, having one’s death etched into their memory. Boxxy now somewhat understood why the undead always seemed so angry and resentful towards the living.

[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]

Speaking of, was the doppelganger undead now? Some kind of wraith or zombie? The excruciating pain in its guts suggested otherwise. That implied it hadn’t somehow clawed its way back from the grave under its own power. The gods assuredly had nothing to do with it, either. The only one among them who could’ve intervened on its behalf was Marcy, but Boxxy knew all-too-well what Rupert’s stance on divine resurrection was. So, if neither the shapeshifter nor its patron had brought back to life, who had? There was also the curious matter of the monster’s Hero status, which had apparently been revoked upon its death and then reinstated with its revival. What was up with that?

[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]

Before it could tackle those life-and-death issues, the shapeshifter decided to focus on a far more pressing concern. Namely, its complete and total lack of sight. Having more or less regained its wits, it concluded that the yellow eyeballs adorning its featureless face had burst during its final electrocution. Regrowing those as well as the MLG in its chest was a simple if somewhat painful matter. Now that it could once again perceive its environment, it realized it was lying face-down in a box of light about three meters on each side. All of the cube’s walls were made up of semi-transparent and slightly glowing yellow walls that looked like solidified radiance. Pure white symbols and runes crawled along its sides in circular patterns like snakes chasing after their own tails. Boxxy studied those for a few moments before identifying them as letters of the Divine language.

[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]

The shapeshifter rose to its feet and groggily walked to the nearest translucent wall. It placed a hand on it, confirming it gave off the same hard, smooth, and warm sensation as the glowing floor underneath. The chamber beyond was a large, dome-like structure several times the glowing cube’s width and height. While Boxxy’s MLG couldn’t peer through the walls of solid light, its eyes easily made out the large metal plates lining the floor and ceiling that were bolted in place by a series of large rivets.

“Status.”

A quick glance at its Levels, Skills, and Attributes showed that everything was as it used to be, except that its maximum HP and MP had been reduced to 2,899 and 2,206 respectively. This was about half of what they were before, and a clear indication that the Resurrection Sickness was very much in full effect. Thankfully, the condition didn’t directly impact the effectiveness of Skills and Perks since Mend Flesh kept restoring the usual amount of HP every few moments

However, there was one subtle difference and a second, much more noticeable change regarding Boxxy’s body. The former had to do with the odd feeling that the monster’s flesh felt somehow foreign and distant, as if it belonged to someone else. Perhaps a side-effect of being brought back to life? Then there was the matter of the large red crystal embedded in the creature’s back. It was in the shape of an upside-down teardrop about 25 centimeters tall and 10 centimeters wide at its thickest point. It had partially fused with the creature’s flesh and didn’t feel like a foreign object at all. In fact, it was the opposite. The crimson stone felt more like Boxxy’s real body than the rest of it. It was as if the blood, muscle, and bone connected to it was just a glove that could easily be discarded. This bizarre array of sensations was somewhat explained by the details of Boxxy’s newest ‘Perk.’

[Soulbound]
A soul tethered to a mortal shell through a magical catalyst.
Requirements: Be brought back to life through the use of a soulstone.
[Effects]
Inflicts Resurrection Sickness.

It was a safe bet that the thing on its back was the ‘soulstone’ responsible for the monster’s new lease on life, which would presumably be terminated the instant that thing was removed. This made it clear that someone had gone through quite a bit of trouble bringing Boxxy back. While the monster wasn’t about to complain about its not-dead-ed-ness, it wasn’t exactly happy about its predicament. Whoever or whatever was responsible likely wanted something from it, and this magical prison it was in proved this ‘mysterious benefactor’ had no intention of playing nice.

Then again, neither did Boxxy.

“Snack, are you there?”

The monster called out telepathically in an effort to reach its familiar, but there was no response. It had a feeling this wouldn’t work. Summoning contracts expired upon a Warlock’s death, so it was only logical that its thoughts wouldn’t reach the succubus. Its other familiars were similarly unreachable. This was an issue to be certain, but not one that couldn’t be resolved with a quick call to Demons ‘R’ Us.

1-800-7355-9687-7685

…

There was no answer there, either. Whether it was the occult item lodged in its back or this mystical cage of light, something was blocking its attempts to reach out to the Beyond. It still had access to its Storage and could cast Spells, so it breaking out of its cage through sheer force was a potential option. However, Boxxy decided that going on a rampage in its weakened state was a bad idea. It already died once, and it wasn’t about to try and test this place’s security measures, especially when that Jones fellow was likely skulking around somewhere nearby. So Boxxy did the smart thing. It shapeshifted itself into a wooden chest, sat its rectangular ass down, and waited patiently for its captor to pay it a visit. And since it wasn’t going anywhere until then, it decided to spend some time getting its jumbled headspace in order.

To nobody’s surprise, being so thoroughly reminded of its own mortality had given the creature much to think about.

Interlude
Another Day at the Office

The Beyond.

While a seemingly endless realm of nothingness, it was filled to the brim with thought. Its original function was that of a psychic filter between the Aether and Terrania, meant to safeguard the world’s deities from both intentional and accidental thought corruption. It was by no means a perfect system, of course. The enlightened mind was a complex construct that was always in flux. Attempting to sort through the near-infinite range of emotional cocktails that millions upon millions of mortals produced every second of every minute of every day was, frankly put, a fool’s errand.

And yet, one fool of unimaginable proportions – the former Old God of Order – was able to succeed. As capable as he was, however, he still created an inherently flawed system, as demonstrated by the way Teresa succumbed to thought poisoning. If left unchecked, she might have become a Fallen God doomed to be forgotten, or worse – an entirely different, inherently evil deity. Both outcomes were highly undesirable because of their potential ripple effect across the rest of the pantheon.

Thankfully, this potentially world-ending flaw in the Beyond had been rectified in part by another fault in the grand system – a glitch that went by the name Boxxy T. Morningwood. And its pet fiend, of course, who played an even more pivotal role in the proceedings. Not that the rest of the Beyond knew of her involvement with Teresa’s rehab. The big man himself felt uneasy about publicizing something like that, as it would have repercussions he wasn’t willing to deal with. So, while it would have certainly made for an amazing story, Kora was forced to keep her big, dumb, immaterial mouth shut lest she spend the rest of eternity as the Beyond’s horniest imp.

The fiend naturally didn’t want that, so she made sure to mind her tongue. Besides, it wasn’t like she needed the publicity and attention. The radiant mass of violence, bloodlust, and regular-lust had grown into something of a celebrity among her peers already. Pretty much every demon in the Beyond knew of her, her master, and her co-contractors. They didn’t have a choice given that their unstable deity of a Progenitor constantly bombarded them with Boxxy Show broadcasts. That wasn’t to say that all of them liked that particular bunch. Demons were inherently selfish creatures. While many cheered on the murderous chest, just as many seethed with discontent. Though certainly entertaining, watching Boxxy’s adventures was also quite infuriating. Its three familiars lived a lifestyle of indulgence that was reserved for unbound demons. Not only that, but watching an idiotic box make what the viewers deemed as obvious mistakes made them unreasonably upset.

Whatever their reason, 80% of the Beyond’s residents were tuned into the Boxxy Show at any given time. Today’s broadcast peaked closer to 90%, as word of the sudden and currently ongoing confrontation between Boxxy and Jones Alexis spread among the demons like gonorrhea at a twelve-hour-long free-for-all orgy. And, much like all things in life, the best way to view this one-of-a-kind battle was in the company of others.

“Yeah! Shank the bastard!” shouted a male demon.

“Ah! Shhhallow! The cut was too shhhhallow!” yelled another with a few light hisses.

“Khraaa! Harf harf!” barked a third.

“Hmm, seems the opponent this time is no push over. Very interesting,” mused a fourth, much deeper voice.

“Yo! He snuck inside his portal thingie! He’s ripping off the B-box’s moves!” complained a fifth, the sole female in the group.

This gathered congregation of demons consisted of a fiend, a stalker, a hellhound, a beholder, and a succubus, respectively. The fiend was a typical muscle-headed gorilla one would expect from his kind, although in his case the ‘gorilla’ aspect was far more literal. One would almost mistake him for the real thing, if it wasn’t for the much-too-human face, the pair of upward-curved bullish horns on his head, and the bright red hues of his fur and skin.

The stalker to the left of him had no humanoid features whatsoever, appearing as a gigantic tarantula with swords for legs, knives for mandibles, shiny blue carapace, orange hair, and a yellow skull-like pattern atop his bulbous abdomen. His extra-sharp appearance hinted he was actually a webstalker, the Ranked Up version of his lesser kin. The hellhound next to him was also of a higher species of demon, a three-headed canine called a cerberus. As the eldest in the group, the black doberman-looking beast was technically the most powerful even though all three of its minds were colossal morons comparable to freshly-born mimics.

The same could not be said of the purple-skinned beholder hovering above, appearing as nothing but a floating head equal parts mouth, eyes, and brain. His name was Thruumitt, and he was one of the few demons that had met the Hero of Chaos personally, even though he didn’t realize it at the time. Beholders, once summoned, were rarely dismissed back to the Beyond since their duties typically involved babysitting whatever Warlock they were bound to. As such, this particular eye-in-the-sky had the arguable misfortune of missing the first few broadcasts of the Boxxy Show.

As for why he was here right now – that was actually Boxxy’s fault. The shapeshifter’s parting gift to the town of Bootlick not only killed Thruumitt’s summoner, but also the demon himself. Normally, the fun-loving Overlord Liusolra might have considered letting him off and allowing him to roam free, but she, like all stalkers, absolutely despised beholders. This hatred stemmed from the fact that one species of demon hated being seen, and the other excelled at seeing. It was rare for a stalker and a beholder to see eye-to-eye, literally or figuratively. It usually wasn’t until after their Rank Up that the arachnid demons cut the serial peepers any slack.

Such matters aside, Thruumitt wasn’t the only one in the group who had personally met the star of the Boxxy Show. The other one was resting somewhat disrespectfully on top of him. She was a pale-skinned succubus with blonde hair, yellow eyes, and black ram-like horns. What really set her apart from the rest of her sultry sisters were her wings, which were angelic rather than demonic in appearance. Her name was Purupururin, and she and her summoner were part of the same recon squad as Keira in the early stages of the recently concluded conflict.

The space they were gathered in resembled a well-furnished basement. Naturally, this being the Beyond, it wasn’t actually real. Everything around them was a mental projection maintained by one demon or another. Thruumit was responsible for the huge screen relaying images of the Boxxy Show and the webstalker provided the large red sofa they were all relaxing on. The succubus provided the imaginary popcorn and the fiend was on wall, ceiling, and floor duty. The cerberus was a total freeloader, but they let him hang out anyway since it was easier than dealing with his moaning and whining whenever he felt left out. The five demons’ bodies were likewise solidified thoughts that amounted to little more than glorified illusions. There wasn’t any actual physicality to them – no sensations or mass. Any evidence to the contrary was merely a subconscious act born of twisted minds that yearned to have real bodies. This was also why a demon’s so-called soul-self always resembled the form they adopted when summoned into the mortal realm. From a more practical standpoint, this practice allowed the Beyond’s residents to more easily identify each other, especially in larger gatherings like this one.

“Oh! Oh! Look! It’s my lil’ sis!”

The fiend started shouting excitedly as Kora made her on-screen appearance.

“Big deal,” scoffed the stalker. “My daughter hasss been on the field since the sssstart!”

“Maybe, but that puny little bug didn’t do jack shit, did she?” replied the red gorilla with a chuckle.

“Uh, huh. Tell me, how does it feel to be surpassed in rank by your younger sibling?”

“Bah! She just lucked out, is all! Anyone would’ve Ranked Up if the Progenitor saw it fit! It doesn’t mean she’s better than me!”

“Sure it does. Having good luck is alsssso a form of ssssskill.”

“I agree with Mal on this one, actually,” interjected Thruumitt. “Even though it is considered unpredictable, good fortune is a key aspect of-”

“Arf arf arf arf!” barked the Cerberus’s leftmost head, and the middle one growled in agreement. The one on the right seemed to be taking a nap.

“Fluffy makes a good point,” chimed in the succubus atop the beholder. “Y’all just need to shut your traps and focus on the B-box.”

The gorilla and knife-tarantula begrudgingly complied, as neither of them wanted to miss out on what was shaping up to be a huge fight. Besides, given the way these viewing sessions went, their little fan club would have plenty of time to argue the details when the show died down later on. Thruumitt was the most displeased at Purupururin. It wasn’t because she cut off his impromptu lecture, nor was it due to the way she shoved projector duty onto him for the entire week. It was the way the succubus kept rolling around on top of him that really pissed him off. It was both demeaning and frustrating. Thruumitt would have gladly served as Purupururin’s seat if he could actually feel her plump assets press against his enormous scalp. The beholder was literally dickless, yes, but he was still male and therefore very much a fan of the Four Bs – bubble butts and bouncy boobs.

Demons were weird like that.

“Aw, shit!” blurted out the alabaster-skinned beauty. “That wimpy Warlock of mine is calling me out! Why now?!”

The others could confirm she was being summoned with a single glance. Her soul-self was rapidly dissolving into specks of light that shot off somewhere into the infinite void beyond this basement-shaped illusion. It had started at the tips of her fingers and toes and, in a matter of several seconds, left her as nothing but a head and wings attached to the upper half of her torso.

“Thruumitt!” she called out. “Leave a memory echo of what happens next for me, alright?!”

“Fine. But only if you promise to stop lazing around on my head.”

“I will! Thanks, bud!”

Those were the last words she uttered before the rest of her was whisked away to the mortal realm.

“You know she’s jussssst going to do it again next time,” pointed out Mal.

“Probably. It’s not that big a deal anyway.”

“Maybe not to you,” grunted the fiend. “You’d never catch me submitting to-!”

The super-sized green explosion that just flashed across the screen silenced the gorilla’s idle complaints. His viewing buddies seemed equally enraptured by it. The only unimpressed by them was the still-snoozing third head of the cerberus, though its nap was interrupted when the other two started jumping around and barking in excitement.

“Holy fuck! What was that?!”

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen ssssometing of that magnitude!”

“That, my fellow philistines, was a Demonate Spell.”

“Oh, yeah!” exclaimed Mal. “It was the sssssame thing Boxxy used on my daughter! You know, when he was fighting that old-ass Warlock during the sssssiege?”

“Having your daughter blown up ain’t nothing to be proud about, yo,” the fiend sneered. “Especially when my little sis just topped it! I mean, look at that! It totally kicks the ass of that bug-fart your brat made!”

“Shhhhut it, Goreg! Your kin is just a freaky pervert, anyway!”

“Yeah, and yours likes to masturbate in front of the whole damn Beyond!”

“That’s only because she’s been watching your degenerate sibling and that shameless slut go at it like-!”

The blue-and-yellow spider’s tirade was rudely interrupted by a miniature star that flew into the group’s little corner of the Beyond completely uninvited. It looked to be about the size of the gorilla’s head and was glowing with a bright green light.

“Oh. Hello, Koralenteprix,” said Mal as he sank into his seat a bit.

“Yo, sis!” her kin was a bit more eager to see her.

“Hey, you guys!” replied the archfiend. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing much,” said Thruumitt. “Boxxy’s still investigating the aftermath of that splendid Demonate.”

“Oh?! Did I get the guy! Lemme see!”

The orb of light settled down in front of the screen to get a better look and in doing so obstructed the others’ view. However, while clearly inconvenienced, none of them dared telling her to move. Since Kora was a Ranker – albeit a very recent one – she was a few steps higher in the pecking order. Fiends were very particular about enforcing that sort of stuff. Mal was a Ranker himself and therefore technically on equal footing, but he, like the rest of his kind, hated any sort of social conflict. Thankfully, there was one among them who had none of those reservations.

“Arf!”

“Ruff ruff ruff!”

Two of Fluffy’s heads complained at her while the third one yawned and tried to go back to sleep.

“Oh! Right, my bad.”

Having been scolded by the ancient demon-dog, Kora pulled away from the screen settled onto the couch next to it. Her soul-self manifested itself moments later, leaned forward and focused intently on the screen. The quintet of demonic entities resumed spectating the ongoing action with great interest, having an all-around jolly time as they commented on the ongoing fight.

Right up to its inevitable conclusion.

“…”

The demons rambunctiously watching the show until mere moments ago now stared in total silence at the flashing sign that read ‘WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES.’ This lasted for several awkward minutes during which not one of them uttered a peep. The big question left hanging in the air was, of course, whether Boxxy had actually died or if this was just another ‘glitch’ like the one after it killed Teresa’s Hero.

*Toot-tu-tu-doot*

Kora received her answer when a floating box of light materialized in front of her slack-jawed face along with a melodic chime.

From: noreply@demons.r.us
To: xXx_pussydestroyer69_xXx@beyond.general;
CC: carl.s@demons.r.us; ceo@demons.r.us; bigbootybitches@beyond.old; caramelldansen4lyfe@beyond.old;
Subject: Summoning contract annulment

Koralenteprix Khusuuszun Caonthioxxaa,

This is an automated message officially informing you that your summoning contract with [ERROR 404: NOT FOUND] is now void. The cause(s) of this termination will be listed below:

Contractor fatality (DSC Article 1-4).

For any further inquiries, please contact your direct supervisor at: carl.s@demons.r.us
This is an automated D-mail. Do not reply to it.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the answer she was hoping for. The broadcast’s final images combined with what was quite literally staring her in the face made it abundantly clear that Boxxy had just died. Before she could even begin to process this un-tasty feeling welling up within her, Kora’s eyes latched onto the obvious oddity in the message. Namely, the big honking ‘NOT FOUND’ part. That space should have held Boxxy’s full name, yet it didn’t. This was because the monster’s soul had been whisked away by a certain man’s heresies before it could be processed, but Kora had no way of knowing that. Nor did she particularly need to. She wasn’t sure how or why, but she had this strange hunch that Boxxy wouldn’t die even if it was killed. It was a baseless and wild conjecture, yet she latched onto it with supreme confidence.

Kora had thus tasted something that only a handful of demons would ever truly experience – hope.

Armed with this unknown yet uplifting sensation, she made her way towards the Demons ‘R’ Us offices with a huge grin on her face. The pseudo-basement around her faded away and an incalculable number of sceneries rushed past as she approached her destination. Well, technically speaking she wasn’t so much ‘approaching’ the place as she was ‘imagining herself being there.’ It was the best and indeed only way to navigate this thought-realm. Space and, to a far lesser extent, time had a more wibbly-wobbly nature in the Beyond than they did in the material world. One merely had to think hard enough about an individual or location and the dimension would wrap around itself to bring the two of them together. The malleable nature of the reality was why the place was such a mess, but also how demons were able to turn objects and shapes from their memory and imagination into reality. At least, as ‘real’ as things were in a place made up of naught but thoughts, nightmares, and delusions.

Indeed, after only a few seconds of thinking later, Kora found herself standing in a long, well-lit hallway. A fuzzy blue-and-purple checkered carpet covered the floor and the beige walls on either side were broken up by dozens upon dozens of bright red doors. Each door had a small golden plaque, and most of them had a few demons of various types lined up. The ceiling above was a ceaselessly crawling and writhing mass of random insects that occasionally burst into purple flames for no discernible reason.

All in all, just another day at Demons ‘R’ Us.

*Toot-tu-tu-doot*

Kora had barely set off for Carl’s office when she heard the familiar jingle of another incoming D-mail. She didn’t get many of those, so she had it set up to instantly open newly received messages.

From: bigbootybitches@beyond.old
To: noreply@demons.r.us
CC: carl.s@demons.r.us; ceo@demons.r.us; caramelldansen4lyfe@beyond.old; xXx_pussydestroyer69_xXx@beyond.general;
Subject: RE: Summoning contract annulment

HAHAHAHA! I KNEW THAT STUPID BOX WOULD DIE A HORRIBLE, PAINFUL DEATH! SERVES IT RIGHT FOR FUCKING WITH ME! TOO BAD I WASN’T THE ONE TO DO IT! I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON ITS SORRY LITTLE SOUL SO I CAN TORTURE IT FOR ALL ETERNITY!

Yup, that was definitely Kora’s uncle, Overlord Nagnamor himself. He probably requested to be kept up to date on the monster’s status since he had a certain… history with it.

*Toot-tu-tu-doot*

From: bigbootybitches@beyond.old
To: EVERYONE
Subject: I suck dicks

Hello, everyone!

Just writing to inform you that I do indeed love the cock. Unless you weren’t aware, the penis is a nutritious, delicious treat that makes my tum-tum tingle with delight! Flaccid old man dicks are the best, especially if they’ve been in my ass beforehand. If you see me strutting around, be sure to let me know what you think of my passionate thirst for man-meat, and I would gladly suck yours if you happen to have one. If not, that’s okay. Buttholes are a close second best on my list of things I love to lick, and everyone has one of those!

My absolute favorite are dicks, by the way.

Love,
Overlord Nagnamor of the Flamboyant Fellaters

There was a sudden rush of snickering, giggling, and laughing as none of the other demons in the corridor could contain their amusement at this sudden development. Kora herself was clutching her sides while laughing out loud by the third sentence. The next message in the chain arrived just as she had recovered from her humorous fit.

*Toot-tu-tu-doot*

From: caramelldansen4lyfe@beyond.old
To: bigbootybitches@beyond.old
CC: xXx_pussydestroyer69_xXx@beyond.general;
Subject: RE: RE: Summoning contract annulment

��������Nice one, idiot!!! �������� That’ll teach you to Reply All without thinking! ������ Can’t wait to see your inevitable ������������ session! I swear, this day (or night? IDK LOL ������) just got ��/10!!!

P.S. Koralenteprix my dear, I sincerely hope you don’t turn into a senile cockgobbler like this old fart. �������� But then again, the apple doesn’t fall far from the retard tree!!! ��������

All the best,
Ultra ��️ Magical �� Princess �� Lulu��

Well, that cringy eyesore of a correspondence certainly killed Kora’s mood. Why the fuck was Overlord Liusolra in on this anyway?

*Toot-tu-tu-doot*

A message that was probably Nagnamor’s reply came in, but his niece mentally dismissed it on the spot. Even though she loved herself a good flame war, she had more pressing matters to attend to, such as finding Carl’s office. Unfortunately, none of the door labels looked remotely familiar, and she realized that she had mind-warped into the wrong section of… whatever Demons ‘R’ Us was. She’d never seen the place from the outside, now that she thought about it. Then again, thinking was never her strong point. This was also why it was common for her to fail to arrive at her intended destination on the first try. It wasn’t a big deal though, she just needed to concentrate a bit harder.

*Toot-tu-tu-doot Toot-tu-tu-doot Toot-tu-tu-doot*

“… D-mail: Disable notifications.”

[D-mail settings updated.]

With the spam taken care of, she once again began focusing, this time imagining herself ‘in front of Carl’s door’ rather than ‘at the office.’ A short Beyond-hop later she was standing in a hallway very similar to the previous, except that the door in front of her was labeled ‘Katorolomaongott Sagattorius – B-Rank Contract Manager.’ Satisfied she had arrived at the right place, she knocked on the door once. Her light tap somehow sent it flying off its imaginary hinges and crumble to dust against the opposite end of Carl’s personal office. The devil himself was seated behind a U-shaped desk seemingly made from polished oak. A multitude of floating stone tablets circled in the air around him, showing him various images, graphs, and other information he needed to service his clients.

The demon’s figure, or at least the part sticking over his desk, had the standard arrangement of humanoid limbs. He had flawless, bright pink skin and a face handsome enough to be called a male succubus, if such a thing existed, along with a stylish goatee and well-trimmed sideburns that went up to his slicked-back black hair. His more obviously demonic features manifested themselves as four pairs of pointed ears similar to Kora’s and a short, strangely cute pair of horns poking out from either side of his forehead. Like all devils, his face had a complete and total lack of eyes, showing only smooth pink skin where one’s ocular orbs would normally be.

At the very least he still had eyebrows, which made reading his facial expressions very easy.

“Uh, yeah we do. That’s what clause 2-2 is for, dumbass.”

Judging from the way he was speaking to nobody in particular, it became apparent that he was currently on the line with someone. To his credit, Carl hadn’t uttered a peep at having his front door broken down by an unannounced visitor. It was the sign of a true professional, or at the least someone already used to Kora’s bullshit.

“Hey, look here, buddy!” he continued. “You can do whatever you want with it, I’m just saying we won’t be held accountable for any injuries, dismemberment, death, or eternal damnation that may-! … Yes, okay, fine. Just remember – you asked for it. Bye.”

*Click*

“Wow! What an asshole!” he complained aloud. “Be with you in a sec, Kora.”

He turned to his left and ran his six-fingered hands over a slab that had hundreds of stone buttons in it. The tiny rectangular switches started moving in and out of their sockets seemingly by themselves, producing a veritable concerto of clicks in the process. Kora had no idea what the fuck any of that did as none of them were actually labeled in any way. From her perspective, it looked like Carl was hitting the identical gray squares at random. She was, of course, wrong. The devil was actually filling in a new familiar recruitment form that would later be sent to Weaxohn the All-Knowing. The individual in question held many titles – Overlord, Demon King, and acting CEO of Demons ‘R’ Us. Those naturally came with a whole slew of responsibilities that taxed the ancient beholder to capacity. His most prominent duty was single-eyedly managing the flow of information throughout the Beyond, including D-mail correspondences and everything pertaining to summoning contracts. He even outsourced some of his services to Terrania’s pantheon, though the deities in question didn’t know about it.

“Alright then,” Carl finally turned towards Kora. “I assume you’re here about Boxxy’s contract?”

“Yup,” she nodded.

“Well, before you get ahead of yourself, I should let you know that I can’t make a contract with a dead soul.”

“I know. I’m not that stupid.”

“… Sure, you’re not. Then what brings you here? Are you looking to get back in it right away?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“You know you technically don’t have to do that anymore, right?”

Although it wasn’t their main reason for doing so, a demon would have a higher predisposition to Ranking Up if they spent time in the physical realm while under contract. Once – or rather if – they ascended to a higher state of being, they could use other means to reach out from the Beyond. Granted, Kora’s ‘promotion’ was certainly an unusual case, but it still came with all the perks and responsibilities befitting her new status as an archfiend.

“I know of a very fun dungeon that’s looking for a new mid-boss,” Carl enthusiastically offered. “It’s one of Axel’s places, so you can be sure there’s gonna be lots of fighting. You know how he insists on testing his followers and whatnot.”

“Hmm… Nah, I’m good.”

Kora considered it for a second before passing on the opportunity.

“Alright, then,” said Carl, clearly disappointed. “Should I just mark your file as ‘available,’ then?”

“Nope!” declared the fiend with a huge smile. “I want to make a reservation, actually!”

“Oh? Caught an aspiring young Warlock you want to be bonded to, did you?”

“Something like that.”

“Alright, if you say so.”

The devil shrugged lightly then hovered his six-fingered palm over the stone keyboard.

“What’s his name?”

“Boxxy T. Morningwood,” she declared loudly and proudly.

“… I just said-”

“I know what you said. The boss is dead, so I can’t have a contract with it. But I can be on the top of the candidate list when it comes back to life.”

Carl was at a momentary loss for words. What Kora wanted wasn’t against regulations and was entirely possible. It was just… unorthodox. Also weird, even by demon standards.

“C’mon, Carl!” she demanded. “You saw the error in the automated message, right?! If that’s not a sign that the boss is coming back, I don’t know what is!”

“That’s- That just a bug in the system. It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Nuh-uh! The boss’ll come back! It has to, okay?!”

“Listen to yourself! There’s no point in clinging to a-”

“FUCKING DO IT, CARL!”

*RRRUMBLE*

The whole building-like construct shook as the solidified thoughts around her threatened to collapse under the fury of an archfiend. While her apparent size was average for a fiend, that was mostly because she was thinking ‘small thoughts.’ If she wasn’t suppressing her essence and unleashed her true soul-self, she would become at least twenty times her current size and utterly demolish Carl’s office in the process. The way his door flew off at her slightest touch was proof enough of just how disruptive her presence was. All of this was a good reminder that even though Kora was still a newbie as an archfiend, a Ranker was still a Ranker.

That being the case, he could still teach her a thing or two about how the not-world worked.

“Okay, tell you what,” he leaned forward on his desk. “I’ll do the pointless, maybe-not-strictly-legal thing you want me to do. On one condition.”

“You don’t get to make demands!”

*CRRRRAACK*

The bug-ceiling split open for a second, momentarily revealing what appeared to be a giant fork chasing a three-headed mouse across a field of cheese.

“Look, all I’m asking is that you put your money where your mouth is,” the devil remained calm.

“… I’m listening.”

“We’re going to make a little wager, you and I. If Boxxy miraculously comes back to life and gives me a call, you win. But if more than, say, two years pass and you’re still waiting around here, then it’s my win.”

“Fine by me! So how much do you feel like handing over to me upon your inevitable defeat?”

“Let’s see, you’re a fiend so how does a stack of a hundred Essences of Rage sound?”

Essences were lumps of psychic energy harvested from mortals, either directly or indirectly. Master Occultist Alchemists could sometimes pluck them from the Beyond and bottle them up to make otherwise impossible concoctions. For instance, distilled Essence of Desire was a key ingredient in the manufacture and application of a Soulstone, though the process broke no less than three Taboos. Namely, Goroth’s ban on transmutation, Mortimer’s restriction on necromantic practices, and Lunar’s ‘no cursing’ policy. Nine out of ten Alchemists would agree this was a terrible waste of a rare and valuable material.

That said, the incorporeal substance was far more common in the Beyond than outside it. So much so that demons regularly used it as a form of currency. They also had the option of consuming the solidified emotions in hopes of increasing their power and achieving a Rank Up, though the chance of that happening was astronomically low. Overlord Liusolra currently held the record for the fastest ‘essential’ demonic ascension, having supposedly obtained her initial Rank Up after devouring around two thousand Essences of Sorrow.

Thus, while a hundred wasn’t worth much in the grand scheme of things, it was still difficult to ignore.

“Pfft, get that weak shit out of here! I raise you to a thousand!”

Carl let out a disappointed sigh.

“If you’re just going to pointlessly showboat, then-”

“I’m dead serious. A thousand Rages on the boss’s life.”

The reversal caught the devil a bit off guard, and he once more found himself at a loss for words. While it was clear that the uppity brat was just bluffing, he somehow didn’t feel right accepting it. By all means, it should have been an easy win, but it was important to remember just who this wager hinged on. Then again, there was a far more important matter to consider before any sort of bet could be made.

“Do you even have that much?” asked Carl in a doubtful manner.

“I will when I win!”

“Oh, for the love of- Look, if you want to up the stakes that’s fine, but at least pick a number you can get within the next century or two. Let’s do, say… four hundred?”

“Works for me! You’re on, waffle-face!”

Carl extended his hand towards Kora. She grabbed it without hesitation, sealing the pact between them. The archfiend laughed merrily on her way out, already licking her lips in anticipation of the victory that was sure to come. As for Carl, he got busy looking for someone who could take that mid-boss position the headstrong brute rejected. It was business as usual, but he still had a light smile on his face. He had just made an interesting devil’s wager, one where he would come out on top no matter the result. Sure, he could potentially lose a small nest egg of psychic energy, but that wouldn’t happen unless one of his favorite clients miraculously came back to life.

All things considered, he’d be pretty happy with either outcome.

Chapter Three
Obsessions

Part One

The magical lights of a luxurious chandelier glistened off the rim of a white porcelain cup. The dish had been made to appear like a tall flower with five petals, not dissimilar from a tulip. This was the creation of an up-and-coming Artist, someone lauded as a prodigy in all forms of sculpting. This reputation was ironic because the plain-looking young man did not have an artistic bone in his body. It wasn’t an inborn talent that allowed him to make a name for himself, but a combination of hard work, constant trial-and-error, mind-numbing repetition, and a ceaseless drive to earn money. As Goroth’s teachings promised, his relentless efforts were rewarded with success. The things he created through his sweat and tears were undoubtedly beautiful and aesthetically pleasing. Even the most uncultured of plebian would appreciate the elegant lines and intricate figures engraved along that particular cup’s outer surface. It was more a work of art than a drink container, which was saying something considering it did the latter very well.

Which was precisely why it was such a pity that the cup in question fell against the floor, shattering into several large pieces and dozens of smaller ones as the aromatic tea it held sprayed in every direction.

“Keira?! What’s the matter?” Rowana asked in a concerned panic.

The silver-haired elf’s parents had invited both of them to the mansion for a spot of afternoon tea. The impromptu social gathering had barely started when Keira suddenly froze with a shocked look on her face. The expensive cup in her hands had slipped through her fingers and fallen to the floor before she had even sampled the hot beverage within. This blunder was completely uncharacteristic of Xera. No matter how much she personally despised Rowana or her family, she would never allow her emotions to show in her face or body language. She took her job of maintaining her Master’s Facade very seriously and would never suddenly space out and break the Slyth family’s priceless ceramics under normal circumstances.

But, as things stood, the situation was anything but ‘normal.’

[Your summoner has died.]
[You are no longer restricted by a soul-binding contract.]

“I… Uhh… Excuse me…” she muttered weakly.

Rowana, Doris, and Samulus all watched silently as the girl stood from the sofa and made her way across the lavish sitting room, towards one of the large windows. She opened it up, climbed on top of the windowsill, and hopped out of it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The whole thing happened so fast that none of them could really react until after she was gone.

“Keira!”

Rowana rushed to the open window in a fit of panic and looked around, but couldn’t see hide nor hair of her lover.

“What was that all about?!” asked Samulus, annoyed. “Not only did she ruin my wife’s one-of-a-kind tea set, but she-!”

“Shut it, dad!” the girl screamed, her gaze peering over the city. “Something was wrong with her! Didn’t you see the look on her face just now!?”

“I daresay I agree with our daughter, dear,” Doris added.

She grabbed the small bell from the coffee table in front of her and gave it a clear ring, signaling to the head butler his presence was required. The dignified elderly human entered the room moments later and took a small bow.

“How may I be of assistance, Madam?”

“Ridgeworth, get mine and Rowana’s coats,” the lady of the house commanded. “We’re heading out immediately!”

“Right away, Madam.”

Doris glanced at her daughter’s trembling back with a sharp glare. She would not have found it particularly strange for that free-spirited beastkin to casually leap from dizzying heights just for the thrill of it, but this was clearly different. The women of the Slyth family had always possessed dangerously sharp intuitions, so if both mother and daughter sensed something foul afoot, then it must have been so. Since Keira was more or less part of the family by this point, there was no way the matriarch would fail to act.

“On second thought,” Doris turned back to the butler, “fetch my old equipment as well.”

“PFFFFT!”

The husband spit out his mouthful of tea upon hearing that dreadfully familiar line.

“Doris!” he protested. “You promised both me and your parents you’d leave that phase of yours behind!”

While his wife was once an accomplished adventurer of considerable prowess, she was also an unruly, spoiled brat with a ridiculous temper and total lack of common sense. It wasn’t until she had gotten pregnant with their first child that she gave up that way of life, though vestiges of her violent past still reared their ugly heads from time to time. Granted, Samulus was not exactly a picture of serenity either, but he was definitely a positive influence on Doris. It was one of the reasons why Doris’s father had let him marry into the Slyth family in the first place, although the outrageous dowry involved still gave Samulus nightmares to this day.

“Besides,” he continued, “it may just be a Hero of Chaos thing, so let’s not jump to any conclusions!”

“Now listen here, Samulus,” said Doris, cutting him off with a razor-sharp glare. “Our daughter’s lover just left the Slyth household through the window with a glazed look in her eyes. This is an affront to me, my family’s name, and my child. I’m getting to the bottom of this, and you can either come with me or stand aside, but you will not stand in my way.”

“… Have a safe trip, dear,” he said, defeated.

“I always do,” Doris replied with a nostalgic smile.

In the meantime, Xera had used her wings to cover much of the distance between the treehouse mansion and the column of thick smoke in the distance. The billowing plume came from the slums, so there was no question in her mind that this was her Master’s doing. Though, she couldn’t quite say why she was headed to the site of Boxxy’s final battle, nor could she explain the mysterious tightness in her chest that made it difficult to even breathe.

When she arrived at her destination, she saw a scene of absolute carnage. Dozens of buildings wrecked, a gaping hole in the street, and a raging inferno of emerald flames threatened to burn down the whole city, yet not a single soul in sight. Plenty of corpses, though. Guards by the look of them. No doubt more were on their way, but at that moment, the seedy slum was nothing more than a ruined ghost town. The rumble of shifting rubble and the roar of rampaging flames were the only things interrupting the eerie silence. As she flew over this monument to Boxxy’s capacity for violence, Xera caught a glimpse of something familiar. She flew down to the ground, landing near a grizzly scene of blood smears and severed body parts. However, what caught her interest wasn’t the macabre remains of some worthless mortals, but a black staff left in the dirt. It was a grim-looking item, tipped with a horned metal skull with a crimson jewel in each of its four eye sockets.

She knelt down on the ground and grasped the shaft with disbelief plastered on her face. The succubus grunted with effort as she pulled upwards, but the metal item’s considerable heft mocked her relatively weak body’s attempts to lift it. She gave it a few more tries, but the most she could do was get one end of it several centimeters off the ground before the smooth shaft slipped from her delicate fingers. ‘Heavier than it looked’ was an understatement, but it was a natural misunderstanding anyone would make once they saw her Master swing it around as if it were made of plywood.

“Master…” muttered the succubus.

She had given up her pointless attempts at lifting Voidcaller and stared vacantly at the staff’s skull. Its crimson gems seemed to gaze into her very soul, while its slightly open jaw silently laughed at her futile attempts to wield it. The inanimate object was mocking her shortcomings, and it was right to do so. For all her talk, posturing, and convictions, Xera proved unquestionably, unequivocally, and undoubtedly useless when it truly counted.

“Yip!”

Just as she was starting to sink into self-doubt and despair, she heard a strangely familiar cry. She tore her gaze away from the staff in front of her and looked to her immediate right. Minic had somehow found itself in this place and was currently bouncing around excitedly. The innocent creature knew nothing of Xera’s inner turmoil nor the significance of it standing in the place where its current owner and its estranged sibling had fought to the death. Its incomprehensible luck had merely placed it there, where it saw Xera’s soft form kneeling on the ground.

“Yap yap!”

Something inside Xera ignited. Like a match that had fallen into a powder keg, her anger was set ablaze. It burned within her like the heart of the sun, and she immediately shared it with the only thing nearby.

“Flamethrower!”

A jet of flames shot out of her palm, bathing the area around the innocent house mimic in enough heat to partially melt the loose cobbles in the ground. She kept the deluge of flames up for nearly thirty seconds before letting up. She panted heavily in short breaths, as the fires of her rage dispersed to reveal Minic was completely unharmed even as the ground around it continued to burn. Xera should have been well aware of the little gnat’s inexplicable quirk, but her mind could barely form a coherent thought due to the strange emotions welling up in her chest. Still breathing unevenly, she stood up and walked over to Minic, paying no mind to the flames burning away at her feet and ankles. She bent over, grabbed the animate jewelry box, and hugged it tight against her bosom.

Minic actively snuggled against her massive breasts, positively purring in the delight of having finally achieved true fluffiness. It had been trying to experience Xera’s bosom ever since Tol-Saroth, her former Master, first created it. Of course, she was aware of the critter’s intentions. It was the same inherent desire that any sane man would have once they saw a pair of outrageous tits like hers. Until now, she had denied Minic every time, so how come she was suddenly giving in? Why in the world would she ever submit to the idiotic whims of a moronic box that didn’t even know left from right?

*Tap tap tap tap*

Droplets of clear liquid fell on top of Minic’s outer shell with a soft pitter-patter. The succubus looked down in confusion, only to realize the liquid was falling out of her own face. She had used this approach several times, as many of this world’s mortal men had a weak spot for a damsel in distress. However, this was the first time they had come out without her say-so.

They were tears of sorrow.

On that day, for perhaps the first time in this world’s history, a demon wept. She cried furiously and unabashedly at the loss of the creature that had given her existence new meaning. Xera had once been a succubus like any other, a creature that existed solely to fulfill her selfish desires while preying on the wants and needs of others. Even after her twisted affections for her Master manifested themselves, she thought of nothing but how to feed that feeling and derive pleasure from it for her own sake. It was fitting that the creature that had given her so many new and tantalizing sensations to revel in granted her one final novelty with its passing.

Xera’s sobs and wails filled the empty street as she gave into the grief that assaulted her for the first time in her centuries-long existence. She hugged Boxxy’s miniature substitute against her chest in a futile effort to seek comfort. It didn’t work. Her pain burned like no flame she could conjure, searing a deep scar into her twisted soul. It was so intense that her mind could not form a coherent thought aside from a single, solemn wish. One made not out of some sort of selfish need for pleasure or enjoyment at the expense of others, but of a deep longing filled with truly selfless intent.

She wished that Boxxy was still alive.

That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. If her beloved Master was around, then that would be enough to satisfy her. Even if she was banished to the Beyond for all eternity, forever estranged and forgotten by the one she longed for, it would be worth it so long as Boxxy still existed somewhere. Of course, had she known that her Master’s soul was being forcefully pulled back into its dead flesh at that very moment, what happened next wouldn’t have happened at all.

But she didn’t, and it did.

The weather had been getting progressively worse over the last several weeks, and now that Xera’s magical flames had all but died out, she was instantly aware of how cold she actually felt. The chilly breeze brushing against her mostly naked body made her shiver reflexively, and goosebumps formed on her sensitive cerulean skin. The climate didn’t help her terrible mood in the slightest, and the succubus instinctively sought out something warm. She dropped the thoroughly pleased albeit tear-drenched Minic to the ground and called out Smokey, her Molten Guardian. The unthinking, hound-shaped pile of living magma erupted from the ground with a loud crash. The terrified house mimic let out a string of pathetic yelps and ran for cover, while Xera’s magical construct stood still, silently waiting for her to give an order. Rather than do any of that, Xera simply walked up and hugged it. Smokey’s fiery form burned away at her flesh, flooding her body with both the heat and the searing pain she had learned to enjoy.

But she was wrong. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t it.

Xera let go of Smokey and stood back, allowing her singed and disfigured skin to shift back to its flawless state on autopilot. No matter how hot or agonizing her conjured body felt, it was her spirit that suffered the most. That’s why she clung to that little jewelry box despite her aversion to the idea. That’s why she found herself walking over to where the skull-headed staff remained on the ground, kneeling and placing her hands upon it once more. A small smile surfaced on her face even though tears refused to stop spilling out of her eyes.

“Warm…” she muttered.

Her Master had recently flooded the item with its magic, the same power that had given form to the sinful flesh she inhabited. Whether it was because of that or her own delusions didn’t matter to Xera. The important thing was that the Artifact-grade Voidcaller felt comfortingly warm to the touch. Once again, she grasped it and tried to pick it up, but could barely budge it. Not willing to just give this suddenly precious memento up so easily, she resolved to bring it with her at any cost.

She stood and called over Smokey, mentally commanding it to carry the Artifact in her stead. It was conjured from her mana much like she was from her Master’s, so it was essentially a part of her. It still counted as her doing the lifting. The horse-sized molten beast had no difficulty clenching its scorching fangs around the demonic shaft. The animated magma’s dull heat might have burned through most items, but Voidcaller was made of enchanted adamantite. Nothing short of a dragon’s wrath could shatter it.

Boxxy’s memento in jaw, Xera ordered the smoldering hound to start moving. The sounds of nosy mortals converging on the battle-scarred slums indicated she had spent too much time on bawling her eyes out like some snot-nosed brat. For now, she needed to retreat to Ambrosia’s tree trunk and see to her Master’s hoard. Though she could not save the former mimic, she could at least find some purpose and solace in returning its most prized possession to its collection. Xera wasn’t sure how the dryad would react now that they no longer shared a Master, but it didn’t matter. Strictly speaking, Ambrosia’s cooperation wasn’t up for debate. She would either submit or find out if she really was as fireproof as she boasted.

First, the succubus had to get there without alerting the approaching interlopers. She could easily slip out if she was alone, but Smokey couldn’t fly or turn invisible and she needed it to carry the eldritch relic. So, she ordered it to retreat through the rampaging green flames. While she couldn’t know for sure, Xera had the distinct impression they were her Master’s handiwork. They, like herself and her Molten Guardian, were vestiges of the shapeshifter’s power. In a way, Smokey’s use of them as cover was almost poetic, as if Boxxy was helping with the evacuation of its priceless treasure.

However, reality did not subscribe to such flights of fancy. As the Molten Guardian sprinted through the unquenchable inferno, the dull red light of its body suddenly flickered and died out. Xera watched from above in utter confusion as her conjured servant collapsed into a pile of inert rock, dropping Voidcaller to the ground with a loud clang. The succubus was overcome with an intensely disorienting sensation that nearly made her crash face-first into the emerald blaze. Quickly checking her Status, she confirmed that the familiar exhaustion was a sign of her MP running completely dry in a split second.

But why, though? How did this happen? Even if she blew a lot of magical power on her earlier tantrum and even more on Smokey, her immense reserves of magical energy shouldn’t have been drained that fast. Rather than concern herself with the anomalous occurrence, Xera obsessed over securing Voidcaller. She flew headfirst into the rampaging flames, ignoring the way they clung to her skin and hair. She found the staff easily enough. For some reason, the pungent fire refused to go near it, creating a pocket of relative safety. The succubus landed by it and grasped the item by the skull as she desperately tried to lift it once more. Her meagre muscles somehow succeeded in lifting one end of the staff as if it were the world’s heaviest lever. She tried to drag it off but only made it three steps before it slipped through her sweaty palms and clanged against the scorched ground. Ironically enough, she might have succeeded if she were a mortal, but a demon’s conjured flesh lacked the miraculous substance called adrenaline.

Xera collapsed to her knees, forced to accept reality. Though she desperately wanted to keep this memento of her beloved master safe, circumstances had conspired to rob her of it just as they whisked away its owner. Perhaps, rather than dwell on the material, she should focus on forging a final memory. She could wade through the emerald flames and let Boxxy’s final act of chaotic destruction send her off into the Beyond. It was a tempting thought. She had a feeling she would enjoy that. Why cling to some fancy metal stick when she could literally burn that delicious agony into her memory, and then-

And then…

…

And then what? Would her twisted soul really be satisfied that easily? No, it wouldn’t. She was a demon. By their nature and birthright, her kind were vile, violent, spiteful beings that cared only for their own desires. Xera would be a very poor excuse of a demon if she didn’t bring terrible vengeance upon the ones that put an abrupt end to the happiest days of her existence. The same rage she failed to unleash upon Minic flared up once again, but there was something more. The flames of anger, passion, and hate burned within her as she silently swore to avenge her beloved’s death at the hands of Jones Alexis, or at least the thing that passed itself off as such. She would find this imposter and burn him away until not even dust remained, but not because he interrupted her fun. His ruin would find him because he had the unmitigated gall to take Xera’s one and only Master from her.

That said, the succubus wasn’t stupid. She knew anything capable of besting Boxxy would mop the floor with her. She needed power to exact her revenge, and lots of it. Thankfully, there were upsides to being an unshackled familiar. She could now advance her Jobs and Skills on her own, much like mortals did. Granted, the process would be much slower, but her flesh would not age and her twisted mind would never forget. No matter how much time it took, no matter whose ass she had to kiss, and regardless of how difficult it was, she would find her Master’s killer and thoroughly obliterate him until not even his wretched soul remained.

She would do it all because that was what Boxxy would have truly wanted.

*CRACK*

A loud, sharp noise like a branch breaking interrupted Xera’s inner turmoil. She looked around in a panic, but failed to spot whoever or whatever had made it. She heard it again and realized it came from the sinister staff at her feet. The demonic skull’s hanging lower jaw had opened up as wide as it could, almost as if it were screaming. Its four gem-studded eyes then flashed with an intense red glow that matched the swirling inferno surrounding it in its intensity. The emerald flames engulfing the surrounding buildings began twisting and bending as if responding to the unheard will of Voidcaller. The recently-evolved archfiend’s detonated remains leaped off the wood, stone, and skin they were greedily clinging to and began swirling through the air like a scorching cyclone. The succubus watched in stunned silence as the magical blaze climbed into the air, then screamed in agony it rushed past her, right into the staff’s gaping maw. For lack of a better word, the staff was drinking up all the heat just as it had sucked the magic out of Xera through her Molten Guardian.

But then, something happened that the entity sealed within the Artifact did not expect. That pathetic little demoness, for reasons even she wasn’t certain of, threw herself into the torrent of heat. ‘These are my Master’s flames, not yours!’ Such was her impulsive whim at the time, moments before her conjured vessel was stripped from her immortal soul. The stream of anomalous heat continued to pour into Voidcaller unabated for nearly half a minute. By the time it subsided, not a single flame, ember, or spark remained of either the emerald flames or the idiotic succubus that thought she could claim them as her own. Only Voidcaller remained, now floating several centimeters off the ground. Its jaw had closed shut, and its eye sockets’ crimson glow had turned a dull purple.

Next, concentric circles of glowing sigils appeared underneath it. The arcane symbols spun, shifted, and twisted in a way eerily similar to the Summon Familiar Skill, but also subtly different. Copious amounts of magical energy poured into this particular formation and kicked up a steady breeze that blew ashes up into the heavy smoke still in the air. A curtain of impenetrable blackness surrounded the circular formations and the staff at their center. It was all an orderly, orchestrated phenomenon that left no doubt there was an intent behind it – a plan that was being executed to perfection.

Then something went very wrong. Or very right, depending on the point of view. Xera’s indignant soul strained to the point of breaking as it resisted the pull into the Beyond. Her disembodied consciousness couldn’t let things end like this. She flew through the ashen mist and soul-slammed into the stupid metal stick. It was an attempt as pathetic as a fly headbutting a fortress, but it was so unexpected that it caused a momentary lapse in the imprisoned entity’s concentration. The nexus of demonic energy exploded with a loud bang and a flash of light, dispersing the surrounding veil of smog.

What emerged wasn’t an ifrit sultan that had been planning an escape from its adamantite prison for millennia. The ancient demon had used every ounce of energy it had been saving up to pilfer the magic from its surroundings. He wasn’t sure how or why, but those flames held vestiges of divine power. Teresa’s power, to be exact. Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, Kora’s celestial romp with the Goddess of Truth and Justice had caused a bit of the deity’s essence to cling to her soul. This was then ignited by Boxxy’s Demonate Spell, which contributed to its spectacular results. The trapped demon cared not for the source of this divine power, but was nevertheless thankful for it. It was the stuff of creation and would have proven useful in cracking open Voidcaller’s skull.

Except Xera butted in at the last moment, and through a twist of fate had supplanted the much more powerful and far more ancient ifrit sultan. An untold number of seemingly disparate events, both major and minor, were linked together. An unseen force had grasped hold of the stray strands of destiny and had woven them into a tapestry of reality that could not have existed if any one of them was out of place. The outcome of this incomprehensibly complex series of machinations was that the interloper’s flesh was not only restored, but also reflected her now elevated state of being.

As the suddenly inert Artifact clanged to the ground yet again, a creature that used to be a succubus was left hovering above it. It was undoubtedly Xera, as could be gleaned from her voluptuous proportions, cerulean skin, alluring face, glowing pink gaze, and obscenely long straight hair the color of the night sky. However, her horns had undergone a drastic shift. The pair of ram-like protrusions that poked out of the sides of her head now looked to be forged of smooth gold rather than ridged bone. Their bases were also connected by more of the shiny material that spread across and protruded from the top of Xera’s forehead. A sizeable pink opal was embedded right in the middle of it, above and between the matching pair of eyes. Combined with the sleek surface and clean contours, the arrangement appeared to be a luxuriously thick and heavy golden diadem, even though it was little more than a demon’s horns.

The rest of the demoness had undergone changes as well. Though her impossibly erotic body remained mostly the same, her wings and tail were gone. Their absence didn’t impede her ability to fly, given how she hovered gently above the ground. The fetishistic leather outfit that her soul felt most comfortable in had been replaced by an even more obscene one. Her considerable breasts were left bare except for diamond-shaped golden plates held in place by a few shiny strings that covered her nipples. Soft, slightly transparent purple cloth tightly hugged her nether regions with the help of yet more golden thread. More fabric dangled loosely from the sides and back of her waist like a half-skirt that would be touching the ground if its owner wasn’t hovering above it. The flimsy material also covered her legs from her ankles up to her thighs and the middle sections of both arms. The fabric covering her limbs was held in check by a collection of bands and bracelets that looked to be, but probably weren’t, pure gold. It also left her hands, feet, and shoulders as bare as the overwhelming majority of her upper body.

On the whole, this outfit – which was probably too strong a word – left just enough to the imagination to drive men wild. It was no different from usual succubus attire in that respect, though the exotic style was more evocative of a sensual belly dancer from the southern desert than a demonic dominatrix. The excessive amount of shiny metal-like ornaments were merely a manifestation of Xera’s recently developed desire to become more appealing to her now-departed Master. Indeed, it wasn’t a stretch to say the former mimic had been instrumental in shaping the demoness into what she had become, including being unintentionally responsible for kicking the Agent of Chaos Skill into action.

The fragment of divine power had fulfilled its unknowable mission and manipulated events to produce an otherwise impossible outcome. It then attempted to report its success to its owner, but the notification failed to reach its intended recipient. At that point in time, Boxxy was a disembodied soul that had yet to reconnect with its mortal vessel and was thus unavailable for such communication. The update regarding the normalized state of the flows of chaos was left to drift in the void, becoming yet another drop in the ocean of this world’s ambient magic.

But even if its declaration of success had gone unnoticed, the changes brought about by the uncontrollable Agent of Chaos were impossible to ignore.

[Rank up complete.]
[Congratulations! Your species has become Djinn (Mirage).]

Xera’s Status update caused her reeling consciousness to snap back to clarity. There were a slew of other messages above and below, but her mind didn’t even register their existence after witnessing this monumental notification. The former succubus’s first thought was to inspect her new self, which she did by grabbing and fondling her own breasts. A small moan escaped her lips almost immediately as she was caught unawares by her new vessel’s increased sensitivity and heightened capacity for stimulation. The amplified feeling of her hands sinking into her mammaries flooded her cesspool of a mind with perverse impulses in record time.

Carnal desires aside, she had a distinct sense of invulnerability, a sort of overflowing power that welled up within her and demanded to be unleashed upon the world. It was an intoxicating feeling brought on by the chaotic energies she had absorbed moments ago. They elevated her to the next level of demonic existence and left her with a supercharged body that exceeded the already formidable abilities bestowed by her former Master. This was both a blessing and a curse, as it was only made possible because her Status was no longer shackled by a demonic contract.

“Snack? Ktktktktk, is that you?!”

The freshly reborn Xera heard a familiar voice behind her. She twisted her new body around in the air as if dancing, reveling in the strangely euphoric feeling coursing through her. Her eyes confirmed that voice belonged to Drea, the sight of whom made the djinn’s warm and fuzzy thoughts instantly ice over.

“Oh,” she let out in a low voice. “It’s you.”

A powerful urge to lay into and belittle her former co-contractor for failing to protect her beloved Master overcame the ex-succubus. By her modest estimate, the stalker deserved to die in excruciating agony exactly 53,471 times to atone for the sin of her own incompetence. However, Drea’s sorry state made that violent urge subside as quickly as it had appeared. All but one of her back-mounted scythes had been either ripped or broken off in the struggle, both of her wrists were bent at weird angles, and her face looked as if it had been kicked by a horse. It was somewhat of a miracle she was even still alive, and she absolutely wouldn’t have been if she were a mortal creature that required functioning internal organs to survive.

In short, Drea had clearly fought as long and as hard as the limits of her conjured flesh would allow, but it simply hadn’t been enough.

“So. Care to explain what exactly happened here?” asked the newly reborn djinn with a damning glare.

“I failed…” admitted Drea, looking at her feet. “I, ktktktkt, I couldn’t kill him fast enough. Ktktktktkt. Master… died because I wasn’t, ktktktktkt, wasn’t useful enough. It is a, tktktktkt, strange and, tktktkt, unbearable shame.”

Now that the telepathic link between them had been severed, the spider-girl was forced to use her voice, which brought her nervous tick to the forefront. Judging from the ceaseless chittering of her mandibles, she clearly felt upset at the loss of her master. Not as much as Xera, but enough to keep the djinn’s spiteful side from lashing out at her. Which was good, because there was a much more deserving target for the fury burning within her than the arachnid assassin.

“Listen, the past is the past, and neither of us can change that,” Xera grimly stated. “We have an eternity ahead of us to lament our respective failures, but right now I have a box murderer’s life to ruin. And… I need your help.”

Drea’s compound bug-eyes went wide when she heard her fellow demon’s intentions.

“You wantktktktkt to go after that thing?”

“Of course I do! I won’t feel satisfied until I turn that piece of shit and everything he holds dear into a smoldering pile of fuck!”

Xera’s scalp and hair momentarily lit up like a bonfire. The djinn quickly composed herself and forcefully patted down the blinding flames with her bare hands in a fit of angry embarrassment.

“That’s… ktktktktkt… new,” remarked Drea.

“Never mind that!” insisted Xera. “Look, I somehow or another did a Rank Up, so I’m still getting used to this.”

“Ranked Up?! Ktktktktktkt! First Koralenteprix, now you?!”

“Yeah… Something of a parting gift from my Master, I suppose.”

“Ktktktktkt…”

Drea enviously eyed Xera up and down, subconsciously letting out a quiet chitter as she kept thinking how lucky the woman in front of her truly was. Though, she’d probably sing a different tune if she was going through the same emotional turmoil as her fellow demon. Which she clearly was not. Her attachment and fascination with Boxxy were nowhere near as strong as Xera’s. The stalker still felt pity and disappointment at how things had turned out, but nothing approaching her co-contractor’s genuine grief. It was a clear sign that her affections for the creature had always been rather superficial, closer to a form of distant admiration one would hold towards a famous person rather than the soul-warping passion Xera harbored.

“Will you help me or not?” impertinently asked the djinn.

“I want to, but… Isn’t it just a waste of effort? Ktktktktkt… If me and Koralenteprix couldn’t take that thing with Boxxy here, then how can the two of us hope to defeat it?”

“You’ve given up already, haven’t you?” responded Xera with a disappointed sigh.

“No, I’m serious. Ktktktkt. I want to butcher that asshole, eat him up, make him into webbing and then burn it! Ktktktktk. I just… lack the means to do so,” she added, shamefully averting her eyes.

Although her previous words sounded like she was admitting defeat, that wasn’t the case. They came from the perspective of a ruthless killer who had made a cold and hard assessment of their target. While Drea was scarily effective at leaping from the shadows and instantly tearing her victim to ribbons, that approach would prove ineffective on a monster with a Mana Locator Gland. Her Master knew that and held her back during the battle until the target was sufficiently distracted. Even then, she didn’t do much beyond bringing down his Mana Shield. The ensuing scuffle had made it quite clear her opponent’s hide was also much too solid for her razor-sharp appendages to penetrate. This was hardly new, as the stalker had always struggled against heavily armored targets.

No matter how sharp her chitinous claws and scythes were, they couldn’t cut something harder than themselves.

“What I’m asking you is how do we kill it?” she reiterated. “Ktktktktktk, you’re a succubus, so you should have some, ktktktktkt, devious plot or underhanded method in mind, right?”

A wicked smile spread on Xera’s lips when she realized she had a partner-in-crime after all.

“You’re gods-damned right I do. I’ve a number of ideas and tricks I could use, but first I need to find out where that thing is hiding.”

“Good. Ktktktktkt, because that’s something I already know. I tracked it back to its real hideout after it, ktktktktktkkt, killed and took Boxxy.”

That was why Drea was nowhere to be found when Xera had arrived at the scene. She had only come back to this place at all because she noticed the unquenchable flames had suddenly gone out and backtracked to investigate. She passed by a cordon of Azurvale’s city guard, who seemed to be sealing off the area and waiting for reinforcements before they dared get too close. Apparently, they had deemed the situation exceedingly dangerous after Jones Alexis wiped out their first-response unit. Of course, their perimeter was full of holes, which was how and why Drea was able to easily slip past them despite her near-crippling injuries. The mortals’ caution was also a wasted effort since the chief instigator was already long gone.

“Wait, really?” asked Xera wide-eyed. “He just let you tail him that easily?”

“Yeah! Ktktktkt! That bastard!” complained Drea in a huff. “He probably thought I’d just abandon Boxxy to protect my own life! Ktktktktktktk! That or he put too much faith in his sensory gland’s limited range! Ktktktktktktkt! Either way, he wasn’t careful about being followed at all! Ktktktktktk! It honestly pisses me off to be done in by an amateur like that! Ktktktktkt!”

Xera had to admit she may have underestimated Drea’s convictions. Though, it was still a bit irritating that she seemed more pissed off by the fact someone she was following had underestimated her rather than because said someone had murdered the target of her immature infatuation. Nevertheless, actions spoke louder than words, and it was reassuring to find out that Drea had the foresight to continue spying on Boxxy’s killer even though she had no idea how to actually deal with him.

“Alright then,” the djinn’s devious mind churned at full speed. “Let’s find a good hiding spot, then I want you to tell me everything you know about who this Jones Alexis really is. As for how we’ll deal with him, that may turn out to be easier than you might think.”

She floated over to the inanimate Voidcaller and grasped its shaft yet again. The strange connection she now had with the occupant of the staff-shaped prison allowed her to lift it with astonishing ease. She gave it a few trial swings and stroked its smooth skull while the malicious grin on her lips widened ominously.

“All we have to do,” she continued, “is point the finger at him, then let the mongrels sort it out among themselves.”

[General Information]
Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila
Djinn (Mirage), 748 years old
Level 58.93 Succubus
Level 17.15 Djinn
Level 44.32 Pyromancer
4112/4112 HP (+7.7/sec)
305/8355 MP (+7.7/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 257, DEX 257, AGI 257, END 771, INT 1671, WIS 771, MNT 1286, CHR 1157

[Succubus Skills]
Energy Drain – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Demonic Seduction – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Invisibility – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Versatile Tongue – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Devilish Cunning – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Aggressive Cuddling – Lvl 7.85
Malicious Torment – Lvl 5.63
Penetration Expertise – Lvl 3.94
Sins of the Flesh – Lvl 2.55
[Djinn Skills]
Amplify Magic – Lvl 5.63
Guiding Light – Lvl 3.94
Mist Form – Lvl 2.55
[Pyromancer Skills]
Devouring Flame – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Mana Burn – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Molten Guardian – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Volcanic Burst – Lvl 7.85
Tempered Flame – Lvl 5.63
Fiery Weapon – Lvl 3.94
Reignition – Lvl 2.55
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Dreamweaver – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Conjure Mirage – Lvl 3.29
Fire Affinity – Lvl 3.29
Pyroclasm Mastery – Lvl 13.86
Domination Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)

[Spells and Martial Arts]
Pyroclasm Spells – Fireball, Purge, Inferno, Magma Missile, Blast Wave, Flamethrower, Meteor, Backdraft, Scorching Ray
Domination Spells – Sleep, Delirium, Mass Panic

Part Two

Fizzy was standing so completely still that a fleeting glance would make her seem like a simple, albeit prohibitively expensive statue. Her good arm was raised above her head while gripping a rubber mallet, which had frozen mid-swing. Her face was one of intense focus, staring dead at a metal bolt sticking out of the side of a large, rectangular metal frame. Within those iron plates she was hammering into place was an automated silk-spinner mechanism, one designed to take Drea’s raw Demon Silk and weave it into easy to store spools of magical thread. Having only one arm made putting this contraption together a bit of a challenge and slowed her down considerably, but she still had a lot of fun building something she personally drew up the blueprints for.

She was building this room-sized machine in the workshop that Boxxy had set up within the Dryad’s Domain. She had her own official residence within Azurvale, but this hollowed-out hylt tree had more or less become her actual home over the past few months. Her personal project, her Hero, and the only creatures she might dare to call ‘friends’ were all here. Even Ambrosia had shown to be surprisingly welcoming and hospitable ever since Fizzy was given a Bracelet of Allegiance that made the dungeon see her as an ally rather than an intruder. It wasn’t a stretch to say the golem’s entire life now revolved around this box-owned dungeon.

At least, that’s how it was until approximately ten seconds ago.

The living statue began moving, her neck letting out uncharacteristically heavy groans of metal grinding against metal as her head turned to her left. Her focused expression slowly warped into a polite smile, one aimed at the dryad currently standing within her new line of sight.

“I’m sorry,” Fizzy spoke in an incredibly quiet voice. “What did you just say?”

Ambrosia’s green eyes looked into the golem’s glimmering ocular orbs, transmitting an array of pure sorrow straight into the former gnome’s soul.

“I’m afraid milord has passed.”

The dryad’s repeated words crashed into the golem’s thoughts like a battering ram against a castle gate.

“Now, when you say passed, do you mean that Boxxy has succeeded in some trial or test, or that it just dropped by the dungeon without me noticing?”

“Milord Morningwood is dead, milady Fizzy,” said Ambrosia.

“You mean just playing dead, right? You know Boxxy, so tricky and cunning and devious and-”

“No. Mine liege is definitely deceased. ‘Tis not playing, ‘tis passed on. Milord is no more. ‘Tis ceased to be. ‘Tis expired and gone to meet thy maker. It is a late creature. ‘Tis a stiff, bereft of life and rests in piece. If it was buried somewhere it would be pushing up daisies. Boxxy… is an ex-creature.”

“No… No, it can’t be!” wailed Fizzy, refusing to accept reality. “It was just heading out to stalk some stupid Wizard or something, how could some idiotic human actually kill it! It’s impossible, I say! There’s no way Boxxy just died and left me here!”

The increasingly irrational golem fell to the ground and curled up in a fetal position, her metallic body shivering despite the fact she no longer had the capacity to feel cold.

“This isn’t happening,” she muttered. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.”

She always believed Boxxy would outlive her. Never once did she doubt that, when the time finally came, she would be the first of the two to bite the big one. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. After all, that absurd creature possessed wickedness, malice, and resourcefulness beyond anything Fizzy thought possible. It survived a literal Goddess’s assault, for crying out loud. How could a puny mortal meatbag ever best such a thing?

“This isn’t happening. This isn’t happen-“

In a moment of something resembling clarity, Fizzy silenced her frantic muttering. She had an impulse to call Ambrosia a liar, but she knew better than that. The brainwashed botanical bimbo would never say her ‘liege’ was gone unless she was absolutely sure. She might’ve seemed suspiciously calm, but that was simply her ancient bearing keeping her from freaking out and rolling around on the ground like a pathetic crybaby. She was merely handling the news significantly better than Fizzy was. The golem understood all of that, yet she couldn’t help but attempt to reject this new reality where Boxxy – the only thing truly important to her – was no more. Fizzy’s thrice-shattered mind grasped for something – anything – to ground herself and give meaning to her lonesome existence.

“You know, there is a bright side to all this.”

A voice identical to her own echoed in the golem’s head.

“What?!” she snapped back. “What bright side could there possibly be to this!? Without Boxxy, I’m nothing!”

“That’s not true,” insisted the Parallel called Plus. “You still got a kick-ass bod, a brain sharper than a porcupine made of razors, and an arm swing like a catapult. And with that thing gone, you can finally do what you want! You’re free now!”

“I’m… free… ?”

“Well yeah, it’s just that… Look, to be honest, Hero or not, I never really liked that thing.”

While Plus shared the same body and, by extension, memories as Fizzy, she was still her own person, so to speak. While the two of them had a lot of character traits in common, they still held divergent opinions on a number of topics. For instance, Plus did not share the same twisted attachment that Fizzy had to Boxxy, which allowed her to view the creature with a more critical eye.

“Now, I know I wasn’t there,” she continued, “but looking at your past I can’t help but think that Boxxy was the one that royally fucked your former life in the first place. Way I see it, if that thing had never entered your workshop, you’d still be living peacefully in Erosa!”

“… That wasn’t living, Plus,” stated the golem after a moment of silence. “After I learned that my father and brother were gone, I was devastated. Food had no taste, the world had no color, and I had to work myself to the bone from dawn ‘till dusk just so I wouldn’t cry myself to sleep at night. If I didn’t have a promising disciple to keep me distracted, I would have ended myself. That’s the sort of cowardly, pathetic meatbag I was back then. Boxxy saved me from that.”

“Right, okay, I can understand that, not to mention the whole ‘unjustly imprisoned’ part. It also seemed to have accidentally avenged your family, which I’m not going to complain about, but what about the beatings? The torture? The sleep deprivation? You had to live for almost a month without being allowed a single proper meal or even a change of clothes, for Horatio’s sake!”

“B-b-b-but- I’m stronger because of it!”

“Don’t give me that bullshit! That monster put you through way worse than Edward ever did! It even violated you in passing! As if you were just an afterthought! Those are not the actions of a benefactor, Fizzy, and you owe it to yourself to realize that!”

Plus’s uncharacteristically spirited speech caused Fizzy’s rock-solid faith in her Hero to quiver and quake.

“You… may have a point there,” she admitted out loud. “But on the flip side, if it wasn’t for Boxxy, neither of us would be where and who we are right now. I mean, you wouldn’t even exist if Boxxy hadn’t come along when it did.”

“Oh. Yeah, there is that too, I suppose.”

“Heh, in a way, that chest is sort of like your father.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah, forget I said that,” instant regret washed over her. “My point is that none of us have full control over our lives, no matter how much we like to think otherwise. It’s actually frightening how little of it we have if you stop and think about it. The fact we’re even having this conversation here and now is the byproduct of a countless number of miracles, both large and small.”

“Alright, alright, enough with the existential crap! You’ve made your point already!”

“And you have made yours. You’re right, Plus. Boxxy definitely treated me like shit.”

Thanks to Plus’s interference, Fizzy was able to get a handle on her emotions and calm herself down significantly. Her gnomish wit and abnormal thought patterns helped her process her grief while, at the same time, reassessing the brief-yet-turbulent relationship she had with Boxxy, all in record time.

“Did I enjoy being treated like a battle slave and mobile punching bag? Obviously not. It fucked me up bad, I know that. If I was physically capable of dreaming, I’d probably have nightmares about it.”

She concluded it hadn’t been anywhere near as ‘rosy’ as she had deluded herself into thinking. But at the same time, it was hard to deny how much she gained from it.

“Am I stronger for it? Definitely. The way I am right now I no longer need to fear getting mugged, or ambushed by wolves. Not only that, but my abilities as an Artificer are incomparable.”

There was more to it that she hesitated to admit out loud. While her indentured service to Boxxy had been accompanied by much pain and suffering, she had eventually learned to find joy and purpose in it. The memories of those long nights where the shapeshifter carefully and gently polished her frame head-to-toe for hours on end would bring a blush to her cheeks if she still had blood. Or veins. Or a heart, for that matter.

“What are you trying to say, boss?” Plus wasn’t quite grasping Fizzy’s point.

“I guess… I have no strong feelings one way or the other,” declared the conflicted golem. “I wouldn’t dare curse Boxxy’s name, nor do I particularly want to mourn for it. In fact, the only thing I feel I should do, is offer a brief prayer for the deceased. I owe at least that much to the Hero of Chaos I had sworn allegiance to.”

“Though if memory serves, you weren’t exactly in your right frame of mind when you did that.”

“Said the sentient voice in my head.”

“I’ll just… let you do your thing then.”

Fizzy picked herself off the ground, went down to one knee, lowered her head, and closed her eyes in silent prayer. When she finished, she stood up with a different sort of air around her. Somewhere within the mithril orbs on her face was a certain glint. It wasn’t the spark of madness exhibited by a murderous psychopath desperately trying to please her shallow monster of an owner, but the fire of an individual determined to forge her future through her own strength without clinging to the past. She was surprised to find this newfound resolve made her strangely light-headed, full of energy, and filled with quiet relief. It was as if an invisible chain that used to be wrapped tight around her neck was no longer there.

A chain named Boxxy T. Morningwood.

“Are you really okay with just this much?” asked Plus. “I mean you kind of stood up for your own torturer of a greedy murderbox back there…”

“It’s fine,” replied Fizzy. “You can bet your metaphysical ass that Oliver certainly isn’t paying Boxxy much heed anymore, right?”

“No, he wouldn’t do something like that. Doesn’t seem to be his style.”

“Exactly! So why should I waste my own time and energy obsessing over it when I could be seizing life by the balls and making it my bitch?! That’s what I said I wanted when I cast off my fleshy shell in the first place, didn’t I?!”

“Yeah!”

“So look out, world! Fizzy and her ‘plus one’ are coming for you!”

“Alriiiight! You tell ‘em sister! Where do we start?!”

“… That’s, uh, a very good question, actually.”

The golem let out a tired sigh as her sudden burst of hype deflated into nothingness. Now that she could do anything, she drew a blank on what path to actually take. Actually, forget the path – she didn’t even have a destination.

“May I be of any assistance, milady Fizzy?”

“Ack!”

The pint-sized Paladin jumped a bit in surprise. She had completely forgotten Ambrosia was still there. The soft, pitying look in her eyes made it abundantly clear she had witnessed both Fizzy’s tantrum and her self-dialogue. Yet, the former gnome wasn’t embarrassed or distressed. If anything, she was relieved to learn she had an audience. This was partly due to the exhibitionistic tendencies that came with her species, but mostly because it made her feel less… alone.

“You seem troubled,” the dryad continued. “Perhaps I may be of some assistance?”

“I’m just… figuring out what I want to do with my new lease on life. I don’t have a reason to stick around here anymore, but I don’t have anywhere to go, either.”

“That’s not quite true,” Plus interjected. “You remember Jess, right? She said she and the rest of her gnomish posse are shipping back to Horkensaft any day now. We might want to get in on that.”

“Right! I still need to get my arm fixed up. Also, reconnecting with my fellow inventors would be good for my craft. Peer review is vital to ensuring a new design gets spread around, after all. Alright, I’ve decided! I’ll accompany that puny meatbag to the Kingdom’s capital, get my arm fixed up, then see about getting myself tenure at the Ritz!”

The Royal Institute of Technology, unofficially known as ‘the Ritz,’ was the most prestigious Artificer-centric guild in the world. Well, it was the only such organization in existence, but it was still a highly exclusive institution that accepted nothing less than the best. Fizzy was certain her unique constitution and advanced skillset would grab their leadership’s attention, after which she could use the guild as a stepping stone to further her old, nearly forgotten ambition.

Becoming the greatest tinkerer that ever lived.

“My word!” exclaimed Ambrosia, clapping her hands together. “So, milady Fizzy will finally be leaving mine trunk and branches?!”

“Uh, yeah, seems that way,” replied the golem with a curious look. “You seem… awfully excited by this prospect.”

“To be honest, I never cared for thy presence within mine and milord’s sanctum,” the dryad bluntly admitted. “Both thou and thy creations art heavy, noisy, and unnatural. None such things belong within mine bark. Not to mention all the smoke they make – it hasn’t been exactly pleasant,” she added with a sharp glare.

Fizzy was very much aware that, even though dungeon core was influencing Ambrosia’s perception of Boxxy and its minions to the extent she basically revered them, the golem herself was different. She was still an ‘outsider,’ despite the Bracelet of Allegiance on her wrist.

“Oh. Sorry. I was inconsiderate of your needs and took advantage of your hospitality,” the golem bowed her head. “Please forgive me, I meant no offense.”

She wasn’t regretful in the slightest, but knew firsthand that even a fake apology was better than none.

“Well, since thou apologized so sincerely, then I shall forgive thy transgressions,” declared Ambrosia with a slight sneer.

“Good one,” commented Plus. “Not antagonizing the gigantic god-tree was definitely the right move.”

“I appreciate your understanding,” continued Fizzy, “however, there is one last thing I need to do before I go out.”

The corners of Ambrosia’s eyes twitched a bit, but she maintained her overall amicable demeanor.

“Hey! What in Brunhilda’s frying pans are you doing?!” asked Plus in a panic.

“I’m going to need money if I am to afford my repairs. A lot of it, actually. As such, I would like to take a certain amount of Boxxy’s treasure with me.”

“Oh, right. Mithril is expensive as crap, isn’t it?”

“Denied,” came the immediate, ice-cold rejection. “Milord’s collection is all that I have left, and I shall enshrine it within my body for as long as I am able.”

“I’m not going to take all of it,” the golem pressed. “Just a bag or two. Three tops.”

“My word is final.”

Whatever favor Fizzy’s respectful apology might have earned was already spent, and the dryad was becoming increasingly annoyed with her ‘guest.’ She had already made it abundantly clear that she never appreciated the golem’s presence and likely only tolerated it because of Boxxy. But Boxxy wasn’t here to keep her placated anymore, so the mithril construct was left to fend for herself. And for all she knew, that was exactly how things would be from now on. It wasn’t a pleasant realization. While it was true that the shapeshifter may have kept her chained, in a manner of speaking, it also took care of her. It gave her a one-of-a-kind private workshop where she could work day and night without disturbance and provided any and all materials she requested without uttering a single complaint. Plus, if she had to be completely honest, Boxxy’s reaction to Fizzy losing an arm made her profoundly happy. Even if its motivations were entirely self-serving – it only got mad because its shiny thing got banged up – she couldn’t help but smile when she thought back to the scene of Keira thoroughly humiliating and dismantling that self-righteous heathen of a Hero. It served that bastard right for daring to permanently scar her glorious body.

But that was then, and this was now. And right now, Fizzy didn’t need a fuzzy feeling in her spherical core. She needed an outrageous amount of capital.

“You do realize the dungeon core brainwashed you, right?” she asked.

“… I beg thy pardon?”

The overwhelming disbelief in the dryad’s response made it clear the thought had never occurred to her.

“You heard me. The only reason you think so highly of Boxxy is because dungeon cores are designed to enslave monsters under their influence, twisting their will and their perception to suit the owner. And as dungeon master, you got the brunt of it.”

“I… You-! Milord would never-!”

“Think about it!” the golem raised her voice. “Didn’t your attitude towards Boxxy become suddenly more accepting after you made that deal? Would you normally let someone like me anywhere near your heartwood? You are so far gone, you probably think you two actually cared for each other. Well, guess what? You! Are! Wrong!”

“ENOUGH!”

Ambrosia let out a powerful, shrieking voice that bounced off the walls of the wooden cavern, echoing forebodingly into the distance. It would have surely ruptured Fizzy’s eardrums if she still had any.

The dryad was truly ancient, so old her tree predated the goddess whose blessing gave her sentience. That alone gave her a completely different perspective that no man nor monster could hope to attain. That was why she appeared so calm when she realized the dungeon core’s owner had been killed. She had already accepted and steeled herself for the inevitability when she agreed to become a dungeon master. Even though their relationship had only lasted for what was nothing more than the blink of an eye from her perspective, it was perhaps the most meaningful period in her timeless existence.

And she had just been told that those feelings were nothing but a lie, an illusion conjured by a glowing orb to keep her placated and obedient.

“… I never even considered it,” she muttered while staring up at the shimmering crystal in question, “but now… it certainly seems that way, does it not? I would have spent the rest of mine days living a lie if not for thee.”

“You’re very welc-”

“How dare you?!” roared Ambrosia, cutting off Fizzy’s words. “Why couldn’t thou let me enjoy it, even if it was a lie?! You insufferable, miserable creature!”

A series of green vines sprouted from the walls, ceiling, and floor. They instantly wrapped around Fizzy, squeezing her so hard that her mithril frame creaked and groaned under the pressure, but it held itself together. Either unable or unwilling to crack her open, Ambrosia tossed her off the dungeon’s central platform, sending the golem plummeting towards the ground. She banged her knees, elbow, and head on the uneven, winding walls before colliding with the bottom of the cavern. A literal river of water poured on top of Fizzy with a current so strong that even her heavy frame was swept away. The sentient lump of inorganic material was then violently ejected through one of the tree’s roots and into the dilapidated sewers Fizzy normally used as an entrance.

Once the current had subsided somewhat, the golem found herself lying flat on her face at the bottom of a completely flooded stone tunnel. Water continuously rushed over her while debris bounced off her anchored frame. She was in no mortal danger, of course, as she could neither drown nor rust, but her pitch-black surroundings were not exactly pleasant. Neither was the idea of being submerged head-to-toe in centuries-old sewage. She struggled to regain her footing as the water crashing against her tried its darndest to knock her on her butt.

All the while, Plus whined incessantly in her head.

“What the fuck, Fizzy?! Even if we’re strapped for cash, there are better ways to go about it!”

Things got a little out of hand, okay? she mentally responded.

“She could’ve crushed us easily if she really tried!”

I was just trying to do her a ‘favor’ so she wouldn’t be so attached to Boxxy’s stash!

“Oh. Well, good job on that,” said Plus sarcastically. “I’m sure she’s practically itching to give it to us now.”

The flow of water began easing up somewhat as the two sides of the same coin continued their mental squabbles.

Hey! I don’t need snark! Especially not from myself!

“It’s your own damn fault! You got way too emotional back there!”

Yeah! Well-! … I guess… It seems I’m not over Boxxy’s death as much as I thought… I really didn’t mean to rub it in so much…

“Right, well, what’s done is done. Just… try and keep your nuts and bolts together, yeah?”

I know. And I will.

The dryad’s furious current had almost completely let up, and the water was steadily draining away and seeping into Azurvale’s newer sewage system. Fizzy stood in her spot, putting her disarrayed thoughts in order as the water level fell. Since she lacked a sense of touch and her eyes couldn’t penetrate the surrounding darkness, she briefly wondered if she would even notice if the water dropped below her eye level. It turned out a pointless worry, since her hearing had loudly and clearly declared that the sounds around her were no longer muffled by a rushing mass of liquid. Splashing her arms and body a bit, the golem confirmed that the water had drained away down to her waist, at which point she began walking.

*DONNNNNN*

Straight into a wall.

“Oh, right. I almost forgot – I have no idea where I am. Kinda wish I had one of those portable magic lights right about now.”

“C’mon, you can handle a little darkness, at least. You have a Spell that literally conjures a flash of light, remember?”

“Duh! Of course! … Holy Light!”

The brilliant yellow-green glow of Fizzy’s magic wrapped around her frame, and in doing so momentarily bathed her pitch-black surroundings in an unexpected, multi-faceted array of radiance.

“… Did you just see what I just saw?” Plus uttered in disbelief.

“I’m pretty sure I did, yes! … Holy Light!”

The second burst of luminescence confirmed what the first revealed. Countless piles of gold and jewels glisten just beneath the murky water’s surface. It would appear Ambrosia had been so outraged at the golem’s revelation that she had flushed Boxxy’s hoard down the drain as well. In other words, Fizzy’s attempts to secure the necessary starting capital for her new adventure had been successful after all.

“Yes! Just as planned!” she exclaimed triumphantly.

“You… planned this?”

“Well, no, not exactly. I had every intention of getting lucky, though! ‘Bout time this Champion of Chaos thing paid off, y’know.”

The golem promptly activated Parallel One and had Plus light up the darkness with holy magic while she collected as much treasure as she could into one of the waterlogged treasure chests spat out by the deluge.

“Say, Fizzy,” her alter ego spoke up between chants, “should you be taking so much?”

“What, should I leave it here for the rats?” the same set of lips answered indignantly. “Besides, I’ve probably earned a lot of this.”

“No, I realize that, it’s just… I have a bad feeling about this. I mean you’re essentially robbing Boxxy here.”

“So what? It’s not like it needs this stuff anymore. I mean, what’s it gonna do? Come back as a Zombieganger and claim vengeance on us?”

“… That’s not a thing that exists, is it?” Plus asked somewhat fearfully.

“No! Of course not!” insisted Fizzy. “Well, I’ve never heard of such, at least. It’s unlikely. Highly improbable to be sure.”

“So you’re saying there’s a non-zero chance of Boxxy rising from its grave and hunting us down in vengeance for pilfering its shinies.”

The golem’s hands stopped as she briefly pondered that sentence while eyeing the sea of treasure before her. All of this was easily worth at least 200,000 GP by her modest estimate. And that didn’t even account for all the loot washed away further down the ancient stone tunnel.

“You know what? I think this is enough money to last us a while.”

Fizzy closed the half-filled wooden chest’s lid with a small click, hoisted it onto her shoulder, and began walking away from the glittering coins and sparkling jewels without looking back.

“Good call, boss,” Plus nodded to herself. “Good call.”

Part Three

Malon Gehana strode confidently down a metal hallway, his shoes clacking audibly against the steel floor with every step. He carried himself with dignity and poise, taking wide steps while keeping his spine straight and his chin held high. There was nothing remarkable about his face at first glance, although a single look at his profile would reveal it was surprisingly flat. Even that description was generous, as some less-than-flattering statements claimed he could probably bite a wall if he tried. It was so bad he actually had to apply a dab of light adhesive to the bridge of his wide nose, otherwise his half-rim spectacles would slide right off. Not that he’d ever admit to doing such a thing. His pride wouldn’t allow him.

Though his linear visage made him appear obtuse and barely literate, this assumption would be very far from the truth. Behind those maniacally bright, pale-blue eyes resided one of the most outstanding and well-read minds on the continent. He was very much aware of his aptitude, if the cocky grin on his face was any indication. His self-importance was bolstered further by his high elf status, which he obtained upon becoming a Level 100 Occult Alchemist at the record-breaking age of thirty-four. If that wasn’t the sign of a peerless prodigy, then the world truly had gone mad.

However, just because he was a bit full of himself didn’t mean he was careless. In fact, he was so meticulous and devoted to maintaining the purity of his craft that he shaved his head, chin, and eyebrows every single day, lest a stray hair contaminate any of his experiments. His bald scalp, pointed ears, and sneering face gave him a rather unique appearance that was strangely reminiscent of a pale goblin. Assuming, of course, that goblin had been hit in the face with a frying pan six times a day, every day, for twenty years straight.

The high elf’s brisk walk down the magically-lit hallway came to an abrupt stop once he reached his destination. The metal-plated path behind him snaked left and right, and he had passed by several vault-like doors on the way here, but the one he stood in front of was the only one that had people guarding it. Four of them, to be exact. They were stationed here because this was the only currently occupied chamber in this wing of the facility.

“Professor Gehana, sir,” the man on the far right greeted him with a salute.

He was a somewhat baby-faced elf with short silver hair and reddish eyes. His uniform consisted of a mithril chain vest, a white undershirt with a light-blue tunic draped over it, a pair of matching blue trousers, and thick black boots that adorned his feet and protected his shins. Strapped to the left side of his waist were a pair of shortswords, and a brown leather satchel hung from his right hip.

“How many times do I need to say you need not be so uptight, Mr. Simmons,” Malon added in a thoroughly relaxed tone. “You’re not in the army anymore.”

“Sorry, sir, but I can’t do that. You can take the Legionnaire out of the Legion, but you can’t take the Legion out of the Legionnaire. Sir.”

The resident genius let out a tired sigh as if to say ‘oh well, I tried.’ Even if he was in a good mood, small talk was never his strong point. Nor was it the reason he was here in the first place.

“I hear our guest has regained consciousness, hmm?”

“Yes, sir,” confirmed Simmons. “We noticed it roughly fifteen minutes ago, but I’m afraid we don’t know how long it’s been awake.”

Malon quizzically raised a shaved eyebrow.

“Really now? And why is that, hmmm? Why is it that you dared take your eyes off of the extremely valuable sample that we retrieved at significant cost and great risk to Project Legacy?”

Indeed, even though Simmons and the rest of his men were technically guards, their current responsibilities made them nothing more than glorified doormen. They were stationed here to prevent unauthorized access while keeping an eye on the sample. Physically containing the creature was not part of their job description, as anything strong enough to break out of that Stasis Field would surely turn them into mincemeat.

“With all due respect, sir, these ‘samples’ of yours usually make a lot of noise when they wake up. But this one is… different.”

“Hmm, I suppose it did reanimate much sooner than anticipated, so you’re hardly to blame. I better go in and see it for myself.”

“… I think that would be for the best, sir,” Simmons agreed after a moment’s pause. “Also, I should inform you that Professor Honoka is already inside. Along with another of your, uh, ‘prized specimens,’ sir.”

“Is she now? And how did she get here before me?”

“She was the one that had us check up on the creature in the first place, sir. And when we found out it had already recovered, she insisted she stay behind and observe it.”

“I see. And Specimen 49 accompanied her as per usual, did it? Very well. Stand aside, Mr. Simmons.”

The guard did as instructed, signaling the others to make way for Malon. The prodigal Alchemist strode towards the large, circular bulkhead in front and placed a hand on a blue-colored metal slab just to the right of it. He felt a small prick on his finger as the arcane security measure sampled his blood to verify his identity. There were a few loud clicks as the locks holding the unreasonably thick circular bulkhead were released. This was followed by a low groan as it rolled to the left, receding inside a hollowed-out section of the wall to allow entry.

Malon strode calmly through the security checkpoint and into the chamber beyond. Simmons sealed the bulkhead behind him as protocol dictated, but it wasn’t until the locking clamps snapped back into place with their telltale clang that he and the rest of the soldiers allowed themselves small sighs of relief. It didn’t matter how many times they met the man; they could never get used to his vile, disgusting presence. The stink of Taboo around him was so strong that even psychotic serial killers would be grossed out. Yet these men believed in something far more immediate and pressing than some distant Gods who took their offerings and worship while giving very little in return.

Malon Gehana and his colleagues had made sure of that before recruiting them.

The sinner found himself in a gigantic dome, forged out of layer upon layer of magically reinforced steel. In the center of this hemispherical space stood a shining cage of what looked to be solidified sunlight. Both of these were parts of a containment cell capable of holding even those mightiest of magical beasts – the dragons themselves. Admittedly, its current occupant was nowhere near as powerful as those sentient calamities, but Malon was certain it could one day attain those heights. With proper guidance, of course.

It was an assessment the other researcher in the room had a hard time believing.

“C’mon! Just talk to me already!”

Next to the golden-hued Stasis Field was another elf, a woman wearing a white coat similar to Malon’s. Her dark blue hair was tied up in a messy ponytail as per usual and her pudgy face was twisted in a thoroughly dissatisfied expression. She had a complexion so sickeningly pale it would make people wonder if she had lived inside a cave for the last decade. She was also visibly overweight and had a much thicker frame than her peers, another testament to her unhealthy lifestyle.

“Zilla!” she yelled, looking to her left. “Do something!”

Specimen 49, A.K.A. Jones Alexis, A.K.A. Wardrobzilla, A.K.A. Project Legacy, stood a few meters further back from the cage. He was told to maintain a humanoid appearance whenever he was on site, as having a horrifying chimera walking around was needlessly disturbing and made communicating with it needlessly difficult. As for his response to Honoka’s insistence, the best he could offer was a shrug.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he sounded defeated. “I’m the one that killed it, you know. If anything, my presence here is probably a detriment to- Oh. Hello, Malon.”

Honoka stopped pointlessly pounding her fists against the sophisticated magical barrier and turned around with an even more displeased expression.

“Director Gehana,” she said in a voice oozing of contempt.

“Professor Honoka,” he answered calmly, refusing to acknowledge her attitude. “What seems to be the issue? You’re not normally this… upset.”

“It’s the latest sample!” she complained, pointing at the cage. “The results of your autopsy were quite fascinating, so it got me all excited! And when it finally woke up, it just sits there! I mean just look at it!”

Malon’s eyes were drawn towards the very middle of the transparent cube where Boxxy was currently chesting with all its might.

“Fascinating,” muttered the other researcher, adjusting his spectacles. “I’ve never seen a reaction like this!”

As Simmons stated, Malon’s test subjects usually made a lot of noise when they woke up in captivity. They banged on the walls of their cell, howled pointlessly in anger, attempted to talk their way out of confinement, or a mix of all the above. Any creature would have the natural urge to struggle against captivity, but monsters were especially fierce in that regard. And yet this one was simply sitting there. As a wooden chest of all things.

“I wonder why this shape in particular though,” he mused.

“That’s what I want to know!” insisted Honoka. “I’m 80% sure your Soulstone treatment left it brain-damaged or something!”

“Preposterous. Either the Soulstone revives the target, or it doesn’t. There are no half-measures involved. I will admit this is an anomalous reaction to its environment, but I can state with absolute certainty it’s not because my procedure.”

“Then why is it acting like this?!”

“It probably feels safer that way,” Jones butted in.

“What do you mean, Subject 49?” asked Malon.

“I don’t think you would understand. It’s a mimic thing.”

“Try me,” the bald man insisted.

“I guess… it’s sort of like slipping into an old set of clothes after a long day’s work.”

The monstrous amalgamation had been naught but a simple house mimic once. Those days were long gone, but he occasionally sought comfort in its old, familiar shape. Though he could assume any number of forms, only one of them felt ‘right’ – a natural consequence of living as a semi-sentient wardrobe for hundreds of years.

“Hmmm, I think I sort of get it. Why a chest, though? It seems so… impractical.”

Even if the corpse’s Appraisal results made it clear this Boxxy T. Morningwood used to be a dungeon-born mimic that Ranked Up into a doppelganger, Malon failed to see the logic in reverting to a more primitive shape. This was because he failed to consider the obvious fact that monsters would always appear irrational if viewed from an enlightened perspective.

“Like I said, it’s a mimic thing,” repeated Zilla, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, that kind of explains the chest shape, but says nothing about why it’s doing it,” continued Honoka. “Nor does it explain how it managed to wake up in only two days! Are you sure you didn’t revive it with half a soul or something?!”

“Are you questioning my competence, Professor Honoka?!” said Malon, dryly. “I’ll have you know, I’ve performed the procedure precisely 52 times, and never once have I-!”

Malon’s complaints were cut short when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The iron-bound chest had grown a set of eight smooth arachnid legs from its undercarriage and was slowly pacing towards him. Honoka was equally unwilling to continue the argument, as the creature she had a scientific interest in finally showed signs of movement. The animate spider-chest glided towards the front of its cage and sat down right next to the wall of light. Malon found himself stepping closer to it, drawn within a meter of the subject.

The wooden chest’s lid creaked open on its own, and a pair of round yellow eyes shone from the darkness within.

“Are you in charge around here?”

The words it spoke sounded raspy, throaty, yet eerily ‘normal.’ The kind of voice one would expect from a jaded veteran adventurer, not a murderous monster with an utter and complete disregard for living things. It was obviously a ruse of some kind, but it was hard to deny how creepy the odd disconnect truly was.

“I am indeed,” the man responded after a moment’s hesitation. “My name is Malon Gehana, and it is good to have you back amongst the living, Boxxy. Or do you perhaps prefer ‘Mr. Sandman,’ hmmm?”

Of course, the shapeshifter’s alter ego had been exposed. Zilla had already reported that Boxxy had assumed the infamous mercenary’s shape, but it was the two demons that assisted it that left no doubt regarding its identity. Well, the red-skinned fiend had one more pair of arms than what the records said, but she was definitely the same familiar that openly participated in the battles for Fort Yimin and New Whitehall. An artist’s rendition of the demon in question and Zilla’s own testimony had made it abundantly clear they both shared the same face and overall body structure. Last but not least, the slain shapeshifter’s rather… unique collection of Jobs and Skills also supported the notion that Boxxy was the Sandman.

“I see. So you’re the one that brought me back to life.”

Plus, the creature didn’t seemingly want to deny it, mostly because it had more important things to worry about.

“Why?” it asked. “What do you want from me?”

“Ah-hah!” exclaimed Malon. “Straight to the point, hmm? Well, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, you’re far more valuable to us alive than dead. You hold maaaany secrets, my busy little box, and I for one can’t wait to rip them out of you.”

One of those was the origin of the Elder Dryad’s Authority, the magic item that had the ability to force those legendary tree spirits to show themselves. Then there was whatever trick it used to control a demonic Overlord. And, perhaps most importantly of all, the process through which this less-than-a-year old monster caused the Calamity of Monotal – something that hadn’t been done since Tol-Saroth himself. Admittedly, Malon’s people had no concrete proof Boxxy was responsible for that incident, but the circumstances matched up.

Teresa herself revealed the one responsible for that event was a monster, and what better place for that monster to hide from those it had wronged than under their enemy’s shadow. It would also explain why it chose to join the Republic’s fight against the Empire, for a monster wouldn’t do that unless it had a personal stake in the conflict. Furthermore, the Appraisal of the creature’s body had also shown it to possess the Butcher of Humanity Perk, which meant it had somehow killed at least five thousand humans in just eight months. It could’ve only achieved such a feat if it caused the Calamity in the first place. Theoretically, it was possible Boxxy could’ve done it the old-fashioned way, but that would mean it had to kill an average of twenty humans a day since the moment it was born. While the monster was surely capable of wholesale slaughter on the regular, such constant mass-killings would have left a very obvious trail of blood.

The last nail in the coffin was the Hero Killer Perk, which Malon assumed it must have acquired by obliterating Bernard Samson at Monotal, prior to his ‘miraculous’ revival. In actuality, the monster received this ‘badge of honor’ after its Clash of Fate with the Hero of the Hammer while under its Facade’s guise. It hadn’t gotten it half a year ago because Teresa had snatched away and revived her Hero in a matter of seconds, well before Boxxy’s Status had been able to catch up and finish processing all the damage caused by the dungeon core’s detonation. As such, Bernard was already alive when the then-mimic was receiving the rewards for its ‘hard work,’ meaning the Hero of the Hammer did not count among the 8,235 souls lost that day.

As for Boxxy’s own divine gifts, those powers clung to one’s soul rather than their body, and weren’t present when its corpse was appraised. The string of post-resurrection notifications made this abundantly clear. If not for that peculiarity, Malon and his superiors would’ve had a significantly more pronounced reaction to its capture. After all, a monster becoming a Hero was unheard of. Boxxy decided to keep that part of itself hidden, as it was extremely unlikely they’d let the shapeshifter go if they found out. If anything, they’d only increase security as a precaution. It also wanted to keep its short-ranged Vengeance Skill a secret. It hadn’t gotten a chance to use it during its fight with Jones – or whatever his name was – which made it a valuable trump card for their eventual rematch.

“I’m also quite curious about your connection with the Hero of Chaos,” continued Malon, “not to mention why you assaulted Specimen 49. Most important of all, however, is your obvious hatred towards humanity, not to mention your aptitude for violence. I’m sure both will serve us greatly in our ongoing struggle against the Empire.”

“Our struggle? If you’re talking about the Republic, then the war’s over,” stated Boxxy matter-of-factly. “Or have you not heard?”

“What? That little scuffle?” scoffed Malon. “That barely counted as armed conflict. Sure, the humans may have gotten a bloody nose, but they’ll be back. Whether it be next year, next decade, or next century they’ll surely come for us again. Those vile creatures can’t help it. It’s within their nature to hate and despise those different from them. It honestly makes me question who the real monster is,” he added with a wicked grin.

“Alright, I understand,” replied Boxxy. “In that case you can count me in. Assuming you can afford my fee, of course.”

“Fee? What?”

“The price of my cooperation, of course. I expect to be adequately compensated for my troubles.”

“…”

The specimen’s business-like attitude caused Malon to blink repeatedly in confusion. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out.

“I am getting paid for this, right?” it asked insistently.

Honoka, who was content to sit and listen until now, came to the flabbergasted Malon’s rescue.

“What do you mean by ‘getting paid?’” she inquired.

“Gold. Jewels. Mithril. That sort of thing,” Boxxy clarified. “Providing compensation in exchange for goods and services is how civilization works, isn’t it?”

“What would a monster need with money anyway?”

It was a mostly rhetorical question, but one that had been bugging her ever since she heard of the high likelihood that Boxxy and the Sandman were one and the same.

“I don’t want the money itself,” came the immediate answer. “It’s just that the shiniest of shinies cost a lot of it.”

“Ah. I see.”

Honoka was starting to understand somewhat. She’d known Zilla most of her life, even before she, Malon, and the others began experimenting on him. He had an unhealthy obsession with clothes ever since he was a simple-minded house mimic, a trait that somehow survived his forced transformation into a changeling. While the source of this compulsion was somewhat of a mystery, it made a certain amount of sense considering his previous lifestyle. After all, what better place to keep one’s snappy attire than a lavishly decorated wardrobe? It was a somewhat childish theory that made Honoka’s peers roll their eyes, but at the same time it was hard to refute.

Considering Boxxy’s current shape and its Appraisal results, it was quite clear it was originally a chest-shaped mimic. One most likely born in the Litigar Dungeon Complex if the Monotal connection was to be believed. When Honoka used Zilla as her basis for standard mimic behavior and applied the same logic to Boxxy, she already had her answer. It was blindingly obvious, now that she thought about it.

Fancy clothes were to wardrobes as treasure was to a treasure chest, and nothing said ‘treasure’ like a pile of glistening gold coins and shimmering jewels.

“Hmpf!” Malon scoffed, having somewhat regained his composure. “Your cooperation is not up for debate. You’ll serve this nation and its people, regardless of your opinion on the matter. And you won’t bleed a single coin from her coffers ever again!”

“I see. So, that’s how it is,” Boxxy said with a sigh. “Well, you did bring me back to life, so I guess I’ll at least tell you one thing free of charge.”

There was a brief, deliberate pause for dramatic effect.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you when I get out of here.”

The shapeshifter had been trying to keep an open mind about this situation. Sure, it might have died to this ‘Zilla’ fellow, but it was then brought back to life by his allies, which sort of balanced things out. The opportunistic monster thought it might be able to strike some sort of deal to work with its captors while it plotted its inevitable revenge. In other words, it was giving them a chance to prove themselves useful to it, and thus keep their lives a while longer. It was a mercy that Malon forfeited when he not only rejected Boxxy’s generous offer, but also implied he planned to control its mind.

“Is that a fact?” the flat-faced elf sneered. “Sorry to break it to you, but even at your full power you couldn’t budge your containment field. You’ll have to try a lot harder if you plan to threaten someone of my-”

The wooden lid suddenly flipped open, and what looked like a massive segmented worm wide as a tree trunk shot out from the inside. It opened its round maw, revealing numerous concentric circles of dagger-like teeth as it crashed into the magic cage with a loud din. Zilla moved in front of Honoka to protect her, while Malon stumbled backwards and fell on his ass in a panic. He stared in terrified reverence as a countless number of razor-sharp edges scratched against the magic cage’s surface, producing an array of bright sparks accompanied by ear-splitting scratching. It was a profoundly unnerving noise, as if a thousand fingernails dragged along a thousand blackboards.

“That’s not a threat, meat!” roared Boxxy, its monstrous voice easily overpowering the hellish cacophony. “It’s a promise!”

Malon barely had time to react before Zilla grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him towards the exit like a sack of dried cabbages. The guards outside the chamber had heard the racket and opened the bulkhead in advance, allowing the two scientists and their prized specimen to hastily vacate Boxxy’s holding cell. The massive, circular door rolled back into its usual spot, and a series of clangs informed everyone that the locking clamps were back in place.

However, even though the door was shut, the prisoner’s ungodly thrashing and howling could still be heard through the fifty centimeter wide slab of enchanted adamantite.

“Holy shit, sir! You poked open one nightmare of a hornet’s nest!” commented Simmons, more out of surprise than malice.

“Sir, it’s not going to bust out of there, is it?” asked one of the guards while nervously eyeing the door.

“It’ll be fine, rookie. That Stasis Field was designed to contain far more dangerous things than a restless shapeshifter.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate this creature if I were you, Mr. Simmons,” Zilla warned him. “While it’s true not even I can breach that barrier, your prisoner is a monster that possesses considerable physical strength, formidable magical might, and outstanding adaptability. You would be wise to keep your guard up.”

The guards stared intently at their resident living weapon with obvious unease at being directly addressed.

“You heard the man!” shouted Honoka. “Triple the guard detail! I want eyes on it at all times! I want you to raise the alarm the instant you so much as suspect it might escape! I’ll make sure Zilla is on hand to subdue it at a moment’s notice!”

“Yes, ma’am!” replied the guards.

“Bah. You’re overreacting,” Malon sneered from the side. “That cage was designed by Tol-Saroth himself. There’s no way some ignorant savage can breach it!”

Haughty attitude aside, it was quite obvious he didn’t come out of that room entirely unscathed. His bald scalp glistened with sweat and the tips of his fingers trembled somewhat as he adjusted his spectacles. He couldn’t hide that Boxxy’s violent display had rattled him quite a bit. For all his bravado and self-importance, Malon Gehana was still a scholar whose fighting prowess and battle experience were pretty much nil. He’d have surely soiled himself if he wasn’t used to cutting up various horrific creatures.

“Are you… feeling okay, Malon?” Honoka asked her visibly shaken colleague.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine,” he said with a dismissive wave. “It just… startled me a bit, that’s all.”

“No. It’s not fine,” she insisted. “We need to talk. Come with me.”

Honoka grabbed him by the shoulder and forcibly dragged him down the hallway, away from the gawking guards. Zilla was going to follow after her as per usual, but she motioned for him to stay behind. Once she and Malon were reasonably out of earshot, she spoke to him in a stern, nagging tone of voice.

“Now, I don’t mean to undermine your authority or anything, but what you did in there was idiotic.”

“I beg your pardon?!” came the indignant response.

“You responded to its provocations! Not only that, but you needlessly fed it information!”

“So what?! It needs to learn its place! And who cares if it went berserk? You can’t expect all of those brutes to be as subservient as your freakish boy-toy.”

“For the last time, Zilla is not my-!”

The female elf reigned in her outrage with a tired sigh. Talking to Malon about pretty much anything was exhausting. Not only was he lacking in common sense, but he was clearly dismissive of Zilla’s rather worrisome words of warning. Her companion had never once given such a high evaluation of another being, be it man, monster, or demon. It was pretty evident he even respected it in some aspects, which was why she was treating this matter with such severity. That was also why she couldn’t just stay silent about Malon’s brazen attitude this time. He needed to get with the program before his ego got himself and everyone at the facility killed.

“Listen to me, Malon. This one is not like the rest. Just think about it. Not only did it wake up far ahead of schedule, but was also perfectly docile until someone in charge came along. And when it realized that person was you, it engaged you directly. It tested you, and you failed.”

“Oh. I ‘failed,’ did I?” he spoke arrogantly. “And what is it that I was being tested on, Professor? Please, enlighten me.”

“Your resolve, Malon. You stared into a bottomless abyss of hatred and malice. And when that abyss stared back at you, you flinched.”

Part Four

Professor Honoka was on her way to visit Boxxy’s cell accompanied by three of her lab assistants, one of whom was pushing a metallic cart. It was loaded with vials, jars, boxes, syringes, beakers, smokeless burners, and other alchemical appliances, though the silver-plated cauldron stood out the most. It was all necessary for the specimen’s first round of treatment involving one of Honoka’s personal inventions – the Attitude Adjuster. This magical concoction, much like the vast majority of this place’s projects, was based on Tol-Saroth’s original research. The ancient elven sage had been so blindingly brilliant that it had taken the rest of the world four hundred years to catch up. In fact, this was the entire purpose of the institution Honoka belonged to. Known simply as the Foundation, this clandestine, government-funded think-tank had been created roughly twenty years ago by one of the Ishigar Republic’s previous elected leaders. Its goals were to study, adapt, and develop Tol-Saroth’s varied works in an effort to grant the Republic an edge against both internal and external threats. Given the endeavor’s sensitive nature, the place was a strongly guarded secret with funding often omitted from any official records and accounts.

The Foundation’s eggheads certainly needed all the resources they could get, because they had their work cut out for them. Even though the Republic government had also supplied them with an entire library’s worth of Tol-Saroth’s personal journals, data logs, and research notes, much of the information was fragmented, disjointed, or outright missing. Worse still, it wasn’t just the ravages of time that had caused these gaps in the information, but Tol-Saroth himself. While he was certainly an unparalleled genius in many fields, neither documentation nor organization seemed to have been among his strong points. He also had the rather worrisome habit of rapidly moving from one project to the next, leaving many of them incomplete. A number of his ideas never even made it past a hastily-scribbled note in the margins of a book, though that was perhaps for the better.

Suffice it to say, the Foundation did not believe the world was ready for amphibious sharks capable of emitting destructive beams of energy from their eyes.

Thankfully, only a small part of what he left behind sounded like the ravings of a madman. Developing his more practical, albeit morally ambiguous concepts often yielded fascinating results. One such outcome was Honoka’s Attitude Adjuster formula, which had arisen as a byproduct of her work on Project Third Autumn. That endeavor was aimed at replicating and recreating Tol-Saroth’s super-soldier serum, an aggressive body-altering compound that would, in theory, permanently increase a subject’s basic physical abilities by up to 200%. This immense power boost would then be further amplified by the individual’s Attributes, resulting in what was essentially a pseudo Rank Up. That made the concept exceptionally attractive and there was no shortage of funding or volunteers eager to turn it into a reality.

Unfortunately, reality rarely agreed with theory, especially when it came to Tol-Saroth’s unfinished works. Project Third Autumn was something that Honoka had been struggling with ever since the Foundation’s inception, and she and her bosses had pretty much given up on it at this point. Even though they’d been able to produce a serum that delivered on the promised body enhancements, it always came with crippling, sometimes lethal side-effects. One version of the serum put too much strain on the body’s cardiovascular system, resulting in critical heart failure after three to five days. The next iteration caused permanent paralysis of the right side of the test subject’s body, and the one after that royally screwed with a person’s brain chemistry in a way that sent them into a feral rage akin to a rabid animal. As horrific as they were, these failures were still not as bad as the serum’s earlier iterations. Honoka swore she could still see the horrific stains her first attempt left on her lab’s walls, despite the fact that every surface in that room had been replaced several times since that incident.

Perhaps worst of all, Honoka and her crew had no choice but to use their own kind as test subjects, as the serum was specifically tailored to work with elven physiology. At least, the Foundation had the common courtesy of subjecting only condemned bandits and unrepentant criminals to such vile experiments whenever possible. That still didn’t help Honoka sleep at night. At the very least, their suffering hadn’t been completely for naught. Project Third Autumn had given rise to multiple new venues of research, most notably the Attitude Adjuster. This particular compound had been created as a result of Honoka’s work with the iteration of the super-soldier serum that turned people into gibbering lunatics. Studying, isolating, and further refining its mind-altering properties had provided monumental insight into how one might use alchemy to permanently influence an individual’s behavior.

Depending on how it was mixed, Attitude Adjuster could transform the most vicious of monsters into docile servants or turn the meekest of herbivores into violent killers. While its potency was completely assured, it had two notable flaws. The mixture was highly unstable and lost its potency within minutes of being prepared, forcing Honoka and her assistants to prepare it on-site instead of bringing a ready-made dose. The second caveat was that prolonged exposure to Attitude Adjuster was necessary to make its effects permanent. The target had to be subjected to repeated doses at regular intervals, which required a not-insignificant investment of time and resources to prepare the necessary amount.

Fortunately for Honoka, neither of those things were much of a problem. The government footed the bill while her assistants handled the majority of the prep work, so all she had to do was perform the final mixing and administer the treatment. She also constantly fine-tuned the recipe in order to raise its potency and cut down the number of doses needed to make the effect permanent. Thanks to her efforts, the process that once took months could now be completed in as little as a week, maybe two or more if the subject was especially strong-willed. The mixture was, essentially, an assault on one’s psyche, and individuals with stronger egos were much more difficult to break.

The professor had every reason to believe this particular case would be a lengthy one, given who and what the specimen was. Boxxy T. Morningwood had revived much sooner than anticipated – well before her preparations were complete – suggesting a nigh-indomitable spirit lay underneath that mass of flesh and violence. Furthermore, the analysis of its corpse revealed it had obtained a staggering amount of Mental Fortitude (MNT), primarily derived from its Demonology-focused Warlock Job. Even if Resurrection Sickness cut its Attributes’ effects in half, that was still a lot of MNT for the Attitude Adjuster to work through. This debilitating condition would gradually lessen in severity as time went on, which was why Honoka felt it vital to begin the treatment as soon as possible. She assumed Specimen 68’s mind to be a fortress and wanted to get a few good assaults in while its walls were still cracked.

Thus, she was rather frustrated when Specimen 68 woke up so early. She needed an entire day to finish preparations, which gave its Resurrection Sickness enough time to lessen its Attribute penalty from 50% to 40%. It would go down to 32% after one more day, 25% the day after that, then drop to 10% after a full week as the forcibly reestablished link between body and soul gradually healed over time. It would still take upwards of twenty days for the shapeshifter to return to prime condition, which was plenty of time to facilitate its ‘rehabilitation therapy.’ Still, missing that early window was a significant setback to Honoka’s schedule. That didn’t seem too bad in and of itself, but it made Zilla’s concerns regarding the creature all the more worrying. This in turn made her feel strangely on edge, as if she was chasing a deadline that she couldn’t quite see.

Honoka shook her head to clear away such troublesome thoughts and started mentally preparing for the task at hand. She hated to admit it, but the thought of mixing volatile chemicals anywhere near that creature wasn’t an appealing one. That terrifying show it put on for Malon’s benefit had gotten to her too, though she did a much better job of hiding it. Intelligent monsters never failed to take advantage of their adversary’s fears and insecurities, so she had to be extra careful not to fall for its psychological warfare while performing her duties. That creature had a real gift for unnerving others, and judging from yesterday’s reports, it had continued to make strange noises for most of the day and well into the night. She was going to prepare the Attitude Adjuster just outside its holding cell, which meant she had to prepare herself to endure some constant screeching while she worked. It wasn’t the first time she’d be handling sensitive substances in such an environment, so she was confident she wouldn’t let those noises get to her.

Or at least that’s what she thought until she and her three assistants actually arrived at the holding cell. The atmosphere in front of the circular bulkhead was certainly abnormal, though in a completely different way from what she was expecting. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not only that, but the quartet of guards stationed outside the door seemed unnaturally tense when they saluted her.

“What’s going on here?” she asked with a hand on each hip.

“N-nothing, ma’am,” replied one of the men with a slight stutter. “Business as usual.”

Honoka eyed him up and down. His blue-tinted guard uniform and calf-high army boots were standard attire for the base’s security personnel, but she couldn’t quite place his face. She was never very good with faces, so she was unsure if the two of them were personally introduced, especially since all these grunts looked pretty much the same. On the other hand, the fact she didn’t actually know the man was important in and of itself, as it meant he was a nobody, much like the other three.

And therein lay the second problem.

“Why are there only four of you?” she asked in a nagging tone. “I told Simmons to triple the guard detail, and unless my math is horribly off, four times three does not equal four!”

Honoka’s demanding tone of voice made the man even more nervous. If it was Malon or any of the other stuck-up know-it-alls, he would brush it off without a second thought. However, the fact that it was this woman in particular made him feel somewhat awkward. After all, she was one of the good ones. She didn’t get mad or yell at people unless they really deserved it, so the way that she was raising her voice at him made him feel like a snot-nosed brat getting scolded by a tired mother. And judging from the uneasy glances from the lab assistants behind her, he was definitely not the only one who got that impression.

“Where is Simmons, anyway?!” she asked, raising her hands in the air as if giving up.

“The Dec- I mean, Mr. Simmons, is currently off duty, ma’am. And, uh, he did actually post twelve of us here, as per your instructions, ma’am.”

“Did he now? And where, pray tell, are the others?!”

“Inside, ma’am.”

“They’re what?!” she shrieked. “Why?!”

“It’s, uh, hard to explain,” he said evasively. “Project Legacy should be in there with them, so I doubt the prisoner would act up if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“‘Should be?’ What do you mean ‘should be?!’ No, never mind, I’ll see for myself!”

She somewhat rudely shoved the guard aside and reached out to touch the security panel. After sampling her blood and confirming her identity, the vault door once more rolled open to the side. Honoka didn’t wait for it to fully open before she practically stormed into the room, ready to give everyone an earful. However, the words got stuck in her throat when she saw the scene before her. Within the cube of solid light that had ever-shifting arcane sigils crawling over it was an excessively large barrel. An almost identical barrel was sitting immediately outside the radiant cell. Eight armed guards huddled around a bit off to the side, one of whom was holding a large top hat upside down. He presented the headwear to his colleague, who reached inside and pulled out a piece of folded paper, which was promptly unfolded and read aloud.

“Volcano!”

Both barrels began transforming. Their shape became gradually more conical, darker, and distinctly more rugged. Sure enough, mere seconds later, both containers had transformed into imitations of volcanoes. The guards let out a low murmur as if evaluating what they were seeing. This went on until the one inside the Stasis Field suddenly let out a jet of flames in a mock eruption.

“Woooah!” cheered the men with a light round of applause.

“Winner!” exclaimed the hat-bearer while pointing at the impromptu firework display. “Alright, next!”

A second guard drew a different piece of paper, and read aloud another word.

“Trap!”

Yet again, both monsters began transforming. This time, however, they took on vastly different appearances. The one on the outside of the magical cage, obviously Zilla, rapidly took on a more humanoid shape and ducked inside its own Storage portal. On the other side, Boxxy decided to go with a more classical, rectangular look. It adopted its preferred chesty form, the wooden lid ever-so-slightly ajar to show off a set of irregular jagged teeth normally found on a dungeon mimic. Next, Zilla emerged from his private pocket dimension in the form of a lovely young girl in an unbearably cute, frilly yellow dress and a pair of short booties, allowing the flawless skin of her arms and legs to shine through. She had large, brown eyes and chestnut hair done up in a stylish ponytail, topped off by a wooden diadem decorated with painted carvings of marigolds and daisies. As usual, Zilla’s fashion sense was top-notch, evidenced by how this ensemble radiated purity and innocence.

As for the audience, they seemed understandably puzzled by this appearance.

“Uhhh, Zilla?” spoke up the ring-leader. “Are you sure you heard the word correctly?”

“It was ‘trap,’ wasn’t it?”

He answered in a deep, masculine baritone entirely at odds with that feminine appearance.

“Oh?” exclaimed the guard. “Oh! Ohhhhhh! Oh.”

He looked around at the others, all of whom were cringing at Zilla’s version of a ‘trap.’ At least they could understand Boxxy’s rendition with but a glance. After all, very few people could resist a splendid treasure chest’s allure. Even experienced adventurers sometimes fell victim to those devious mimics. Yet, the idea of an androgynous young lad cross-dressing just felt outright wrong, hence the twisted expressions on all their faces. Except for Rupert, but Rupert was always a bit of a weirdo, so they collectively ignored him.

“Winner!”

“Yessshhaaa!”

The hat-holder declared Boxxy the victor in this round of… whatever this was. It celebrated its win with a triumphant hiss accompanied by a little spider-leg-assisted jig while the audience let out a much-too-polite round of applause.

“What the fuck are you people doing?!”

The ongoing festivities ground to a complete halt as Honoka loudly and succinctly enunciated each and every word of her extremely valid complaint.

“Oh, hey Honoka!” responded Zilla with a casual wave, still in trap form. “Didn’t see you there!”

The color drained from the eight guards’ faces so fast that the elven researcher found herself momentarily worried if they might faint.

Only momentarily, though.

“Out! All of you!”

The guilty partly rapidly filed out of the holding cell while the violent tempest of a box waved goodbye at them with a severed arm held up by a wide, fleshy tongue. Whether that appendage was real or one of its tricks was definitely a valid question, but not one Honoka wanted to think about. Whatever the case may have been, she quickly had all the guards line up in a single row outside the chamber. The professor stood directly in front of the one most likely responsible for this debacle, crossed her arms, raised an eyebrow, and began questioning him in front of the others.

“So. Zilla. Care to explain what you were doing in there?”

The former house mimic had slipped back into his Jones Alexis persona and was currently standing on the far left side of the rank and file.

“We were just playing a friendly game of shaperades. I was winning thirty-six to thirty-one, by the way.”

“Shaperades?” she muttered in disbelief.

“Oh, it’s like charades, but for shapeshifters. Boxxy taught it to me.”

“That’s not what I-! Look, you were the one that said we needed to be extra vigilant around that thing, right?”

“Indeed.”

“In fact, I distinctly remember you warning us repeatedly to be extremely careful around it.”

“That I did.”

“And yet you were in there… playing games with it?”

“That about sums it up, yeah.”

“Why?! Why would you ever do such a thing?!”

“Because I got bored just standing there, and shaperades is an entertaining way to practice my shapeshifting while keeping an eye on my prisoner. It’s a win-win-win, if you think about it.”

“Did Specimen 68 talk you into this?!”

“… Maybe.”

“I don’t believe you! You should know it’s just trying to study your weaknesses!”

“Honoka, that’s a Ranked Up mimic in there. It has command over one of the most advanced Mana Locator Glands in existence, second only to a beholder’s. I should know, I use it too. That and it very nearly killed me before it went down. Believe me, it already knows exactly where to hit me to make it hurt.”

“But what if it tries something while your guard is down!?”

“You of all people should know I never let my guard down. Besides, it won’t dare try anything when I’m around.”

“How can you be so sure?!”

“Because, Honoka, I know for a fact it’s not stupid. Sure, it was almost a match for me when we fought topside, but things are different now. I know all of its tricks, and I still have a few of my own up my sleeve. It also doesn’t have the support of its familiars and lost all of its items and supplies. It stands no chance of winning a rematch, and that’s without factoring in the Resurrection Sickness. It’s fully aware the odds are stacked against it and wouldn’t dare force my hand.”

“Uh-huh. Sure it won’t. I mean, genocidal abominations are always such bastions of logic, reason, and common sense.”

“They are?!” he responded, genuinely surprised. “I never would’ve guessed!”

Honoka let out a heavy sigh, allowing her hands and head to dangle off her torso like wet laundry off a clothesline. She had momentarily forgotten that Zilla never quite got sarcasm.

“No, they’re not,” she groaned. “They’re actually quite vicious, and you should never trust any of them. Especially that one.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course. I knew that.”

“Right, so, promise me you won’t indulge that thing anymore, okay? Just don’t interact with it if you can help it.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Good,” said Honoka with a nod. She pointed towards the edge of the metal tunnel. “Now go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.”

“Oh… Alright…”

The dozen guards who had witnessed that entire exchange watched with bemused expressions as the pompously designated Project Legacy was sent into time-out like an unruly child. Moments like this made it somewhat difficult to keep in mind that Zilla was without a doubt the most lethal individual in the facility.

“Now, for the rest of you.”

The renewed hostility in the professor’s voice made the group of guards jump a little in their boots. Their posting here was not only a well-paying one, but also something of a last chance. After all, given the level of confidentiality that surrounded this place, they imagined that being fired would be a touch more complicated than simply emptying one’s locker. They probably wouldn’t be killed in cold blood, but… Well, suffice it to say that the Foundation had a never-ending demand for test subjects.

Thankfully, they had someone to blame for their blatantly irresponsible behavior.

“Don’t even think of using Zilla as an excuse.”

Honoka then brilliantly shot them down before they could utter a peep.

“You’re supposed to be trained, professional soldiers,” she continued, “so start acting like it or I’ll find you a post that’s more in line with your talents. Or lack thereof. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am! Sorry, ma’am!” they roared in unison.

“Good, good. Now then-! What is it Zilla?” she noticed him raising a hand in the corner. “You’re supposed to be in time out, remember.”

It really is a time out?! retorted the guards in accidental mental unison.

“I think I forgot my top hat in the cell,” he said calmly. “Could I trouble one of these fine gentlemen to get it for me?”

Honoka let out another sigh. Of course that useless piece of foreign fashion was his. Who else could it possibly have belonged to?

“I suppose,” she consented, then pointed at one of the men at random. “You there – go get it. And no dilly-dallying!”

“Right away, ma’am!”

The singled out elf walked over to the blue panel next to the bulkhead and put his hand on it. The usual series of clangs were followed by the familiar low groan as it opened up, and the man ducked inside to accomplish his mission.

“Alright, the rest of you keep quiet. I’ll be handling some dangerous things for the next while, so I don’t want any undue-”

“Ma’am?!” yelled the guardsman from the inside.

“-disturbances… “

Honoka took a deep breath to calm herself before she responded.

“What is it?!”

“I think you better see this! Zilla too!”

The ex-wardrobe instantly dashed through the door upon hearing his name, with Honoka hot on his heels. The professor typically objected to the ‘you better see this’ cliché, but this was perhaps the one time she didn’t mind it. After all, she surely would have doubted the man if he flat out told her what the problem was, for she scarcely believed her own eyes.

Boxxy, who was still locked behind the impregnable Stasis Field, had reverted back to its base hylt creeper form and was currently sporting a stylish, cylindrical, black hat atop his head-

“M’lady.”

-which it tipped at her in greeting as if she had just arrived for a spot of afternoon tea.

Part Five

Professor Honoka was seated on the cold, metal floor. The way she was hugging her knees and sobbing quietly into them was entirely unbefitting behavior of a woman her age and stature, but was a clear indicator of her distraught state of mind. Kneeling next to her was a shapeshifter whose scar-faced persona would not normally endear him to others. He was nevertheless a much-needed source of comfort and his attempts to calm and reassure the elf were definitely welcome. Admittedly, the way he whispered sweet nothings while stroking her blue hair was a bit creepy from the perspective of others, but none dared say anything.

The professor’s sorry state was a direct result of Specimen 68’s hat trick, which had nearly given her a heart attack. Her mind immediately concluded the monster could not only slip in and out of the Stasis Field at will, but could do so without triggering the alarm. In actuality, the creature’s headgear was actually an imitation it had created out of its body, but the elf had failed to recognize it as such at first. The actual top hat that Zilla left behind was lying on the floor off to the side of the entrance, and as such was not immediately visible upon entering the room. It wasn’t until her pet monster calmly pointed it out to Honoka that she realized she had been tricked, deceived, hoodwinked, and, quite possibly, bamboozled.

However, rather than sigh in relief or shout in outrage, the elf ended up breaking down into a fit of tears and sobs. Much like Malon, she wasn’t a combatant whose nerves had been tempered by training and battle. The mere implication that the Stasis Field wasn’t as infallible as she believed it to be was enough to push her over the edge and completely ruin her composure. Though the nature of her work made her better prepared for dealing with monsters, the overwhelming horror she felt in that brief moment had rocked her to her core.

“Seems like you failed its test too, didn’t you?” said Zilla with a bemused smile.

“You’re not helping!” she wailed. “This is all your fault anyway, you retarded fashionista! *Huck!* You and your careless-! *Huck!* Your careless- *Huck!* Just-! Just go point that stupid face of yours at the wall or some- *Huck!* something, will you?!”

“Alright, alright,” he said, backing away slowly. “If that’s what you want, that’s what I’ll do.”

Seeing Zilla’s retreat instantly made Honoka feel bad about her outburst. She didn’t mean to say those hurtful things, but her anger had suddenly flared up and caught her off guard. She wasn’t even all that mad at him, not really. The only one she was upset with was herself. After all, the deceived had only themselves to blame, and Honoka had fallen for Boxxy’s ruse hook, line, and sinker. And then, as if crying about it wasn’t pathetic enough, she actually went and lashed out at her only real friend, who was just trying to help.

Honoka kept sobbing quietly for several more minutes, silently chastising herself all the while. Once she had finally calmed down, the elf rose to her feet while trying her best not to succumb to the embarrassment of having a nervous breakdown in front of over a dozen other people. She was already used to showing her pitiful side to Zilla, but the guards and colleagues currently trying their best to avoid her gaze were another story.

“Uh, Taniphil, was it?” she called out in a quivering voice.

“It’s Tanithil, ma’am.”

An assistant of hers responded, a tall and lanky elf with greasy black hair wearing the same standard-issue pure-white lab coat that all Foundation Alchemists were required to use.

“Right, sorry. You brought a shower, right?”

“Of course, Professor Honoka. Shall I get it for you?”

“Please do. And start unpacking the equipment while you’re at it.”

“Right away.”

Several seconds later, the assistant handed Honoka a small jar that appeared to have a tiny storm cloud floating inside it. She opened it right away, releasing its gaseous contents and allowing them to hover in the air directly above her. They rapidly expanded to ten times their original volume, then abruptly began raining on top of Honoka, complete with a series of tiny lightning strikes. They continued to dump their magical payload for about half a minute, after which the miniaturized storm disappeared without a trace. The elf was left completely drenched in liquid that was far too orange and was evaporating far too quickly to be plain water. Scarcely a minute later, she was dry once more, her clothes and body thoroughly cleansed of grime, dirt, tears, and snot by the Bottled Shower.

This was yet another invention based on Tol-Saroth’s work, more specifically the suit of perma-clean leather armor that Zilla wore pretty much around the clock. Foundation researchers had managed to replicate its weapons-grade cleansing enchantment in liquid form, all through the miracle of Magichem Alchemy. It was an area of expertise that dealt with the creation of many-a-strange mixtures, which usually required a generous amount of the Alchemist’s MP in addition to the actual ingredients. In layman’s terms, every Magichem product was basically a liquidized Spell that was rarely meant to be ingested.

The Bottled Shower was one such creation. It was a product meant with adventurers and soldiers in mind. Those men and women would surely pay a moderate sum for the ability to instantly wash off the countless types of filth that accompanied their line of work. That went double for melee fighters, as it wasn’t uncommon for them to wind up literally knee deep in monster guts. Travelling merchants and wanderers were sure to appreciate it as well. They sometimes had to go weeks or even months without getting a chance to bathe or wash their clothes. This was an issue since smelling like eighteen wet dogs was not exactly conducive to one’s attempts at peddling wares.

As for the Foundation, their Alchemists were already in love with it. The Bottled Shower had not only proven to be completely safe with a long shelf life, but it also served as an all-purpose disinfectant. Malon’s overzealousness towards facial hair might have been a bit extreme, but no mixologist in their right mind would risk contaminating their experiments with foreign substances. Honoka was particularly fond of it as well, although in her case it was because she was often too caught up in her work to bother with personal hygiene.

Granted, this product lacked the refreshing and relaxing properties of a proper bath, but it was close enough.

“Hmm? What’s that sweet smell?” she asked, sniffing around lightly. “Is that… hylt fruit?”

“Good guess, Professor,” her assistant smiled. “The lads in the R&D department have been experimenting with certain additives. They also have a strawberry and an herbal essence version in the works, too. Apparently, they intend to release it to the general public as a cosmetic product, rather than a strictly hygienic one.”

“Strange. I hadn’t heard anything about this.”

“That’s probably because they only finished this particular batch just yesterday.”

“I see.”

She had been thoroughly preoccupied preparing for Specimen 68’s treatment, so she hadn’t had a chance to catch up with other departments quite yet.

“So… what do you think?” asked the greasy-haired assistant. “I kind of promised the guy I know I’d let him know the, uh, test results.”

“It’s very nice,” Honoka cupped her chin in thought. “The familiar scent of the hylt fruit had a pleasant, calming effect. It was just what I needed after that… incident. However, the liquid still feels really slimy and gross against my skin before it evaporates. Tell them they need to work on that.”

“Will do. Then, if you were to give it a score, what would it be?”

“Nine out of ten, would bottle my shower again.”

Now that Honoka had finished recovering from her mental breakdown- assisting her colleague with a vital experiment, she turned her attention towards the portable alchemy station and finally got down to business.

Normally, one would question whether she truly was in the right frame of mind to handle potentially toxic substances, but neither the guards nor her colleagues said a single word. The former were scared of speaking out of turn, for they were partly to blame that she was so upset in the first place. The image they had of her was one of a strict-yet-fair aunt or older sister that only got mad for their own sake. Sure, she threatened them every now and then, but she still treated them like people rather than samples, which made them want to look out for her as much as they could.

As for the three junior Alchemists, they already knew Honoka dealt with pretty much all her personal issues by drowning herself in work. Her pale skin, overweight body, heavy bags under her eyes, and questionable personal hygiene were all signs of her workaholic tendencies. Indeed, the instant she saddled up to the unpacked porta-lab her eyes immediately became focused, glistening with a manic spark that only showed itself at times like this. Her hands drifted over the various vials and beakers set out atop a foldable table as she quickly took stock of each container’s contents. She moved her arms in short, efficient motions while her quiet voice idly leaked out of her plump lips.

“3 grams of powdered ent root… 24 milliliters of minotaur blood… 4 fresh Moonblossom petals… 50 milliliters of manticore venom… 352 grams of mithril shavings…”

A soft clanking and rustling accompanied her disjointed words as she called out the ingredients and quantities she added to the cauldron. It was impressive how she was able to take such precise measurements without any tools. Her trained fingers told her exactly how much the contents of each vial and beaker weighed while her eyes discerned the exact volume of each material. Combining that information with her intimate knowledge of each ingredient’s properties, including density, allowed her to pull this off so perfectly. Naturally, there were times when this ‘eyeballing’ trick couldn’t be applied, in which case Honoka did not hesitate to use proper measuring tools.

Her almost machine-like workflow was a mesmerizing sight to behold, and the vast majority of the Foundation grunts couldn’t help but stare at her with interest. It was like she was a completely different person. Their previous, wholesome image of her was steadily eroded and supplanted by a far more impressive one – a maestro of mixtures, a virtuoso of vials, and an artist of alchemy. In other words, she was really fucking good at her Job, and even the grunts could tell she had poured thousands of hours into her craft. They honestly started to wonder how come she hadn’t reached Level 100 with that level of skill. Or, for that matter, why she allowed that jerk Malon to boss her around in the first place. It was truly a mystery to them why that creepy fucker was a director, while Honoka, who supposedly had seniority, was still just a department head.

“Catalyze!”

Her chant interrupted their silent reverie and unspoken complaints. The Skill she just invoked made the multi-colored mixture in front of her give off a soft blue light. The contents of the cauldron were then mixed together through the power of an Alchemist’s specialized magic, blending into a lime-green substance in a matter of seconds. Honoka grabbed a silver rod and began stirring the liquid with irregular movements while simultaneously adding yet more ingredients to it with her other hand.

“Air Bubble!”

At one point, she used a basic Shaman Spell to seal off the simmering cauldron’s top with a magical membrane. It kept the bright yellow fumes from escaping out of the top of the silver-plated vessel while allowing her stirring stick and hands to continue augmenting the mixture undisturbed. This incantation was typically used to protect against poison gas or allow the user to breathe underwater for a short time, though it was incapable of stopping solid objects from passing through it. These properties made it perfectly suited to delivering airborne alchemical creations, which was precisely why Honoka had gone out of her way to learn the Spell the hard way, without actually taking up the Shaman Job. It was but one of her small repertoire of seemingly random Spells that had their niche alchemical applications.

“Stun Bolt!”

Next, she blasted the silver cauldron with a short-ranged burst of electricity. The highly-conductive metal transmitted the charge into the mixture, causing a chemical reaction that resulted in a number of loud, consecutive bangs within the vessel. A gust of thick, purple miasma rose up and pressed against the Air Bubble, mixing in with and subsequently devouring the lingering yellow smoke. The guards had more or less broken out of their trance-like state at that point, and were currently whispering among themselves, exchanging words of hushed praise and astonishment.

“Nipple salads!”

Boxxy’s obnoxiously loud and thoroughly nonsensical profanity penetrated the thick door behind them, causing all of their heads to turn as if on a swivel. The earlier prank had gotten to them too, though none of them had showed quite an extreme reaction as Honoka. It was just one more thing they had to add to the growing list of reasons why interacting with Specimen 68 was a bad idea. One by one, their gazes turned back towards the brilliant Alchemist. She was so focused on her work that she had failed to notice the monster’s vocalized obscenities, which was probably for the best.

Whether Boxxy was just trying to mess with whoever might be listening or because it was demanding a literal plate of diced up teats was not something she would want to wonder about.

“I said it before, but Professor Honoka really is something else, isn’t she?” whispered one of the grunts.

“I know. None of the others would let us watch them work,” the man to his right replied in an equally hushed tone. “And I get the impression it’s not just because they don’t want to be disturbed.”

“I know what you mean. I doubt they actually mean anything by it, though. They’re probably just worried we might steal state secrets or something.”

“Yeah, right. As if someone like me has any chance of following along with that.”

The guard jerked his head in the Lifebinder Alchemist’s direction. She was currently holding three separate vials between her left hand’s fingers while relentlessly stirring her concoction in a B-shaped pattern with her right.

“I’ll say,” nodded his comrade in agreement, “but is that stuff she’s making really going to tame that thing?”

“Dunno. Sure seems complicated enough to do the trick, though.”

“Oh, it’ll work,” chimed in the man to their left. “You can bet your life on it.”

“That so?” asked the guy in the middle with a doubtful expression. “And just how are you so sure?”

“If you want the answer to that, you just need to look over yonder.”

He jerked his head to the side, right towards where Zilla was standing in a time out.

“How else do you think they keep that guy under control?” he added.

“Now that you mention it…”

“I always thought it was because he was her pet wardrobe,” offered the elf on the far right.

“He’s what?” asked the other two with mild surprise.

“Yeah, he used to be an actual living wardrobe she’d been taking care of before those eggheads pumped him full of monster bits.”

“They can do that?”

“Apparently,” he shrugged. “I mean, we’re talking about the same guys who made a sentient sword, so anything’s possible.”

“Right, good point. Why him, though?”

“No idea, mate. And frankly, I don’t think I want to find out.”

“Still, a pet, huh? That doesn’t exactly explain why they’re so chummy and casual with each other. Y’know, all things considered.”

After all, one was a living weapon created to suit the Foundation’s needs, while the other was the person in charge of its creation. However one looked at it, Zilla should have definitely retained some measure of animosity towards Honoka, but that was very clearly not the case. Even taking into account the fact it had regularly been pumped full of mind-altering chemicals, the sort of devotion, patience, and understanding the abomination showed towards its own creator suggested there was something more.

“Isn’t that because the two of them are boinking each other?” said the third guard, though his voice had been a bit louder than he intended.

“Number 40151,” called out Honoka.

“Ack!” exclaimed the guard who made that scandalous remark. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I am docking your pay for the next two weeks.”

“What?! But I-!”

“I’ll hear no complaints,” she cut him off. “Also, if I hear you spreading slanderous filth like that again, I won’t hesitate to hand you over to Project Blackgate.”

Those words were profoundly terrifying to the veteran guard. While he didn’t know much about that assignment, he was aware of its reputation. Those sent off to Project Blackgate were never heard from again, and that was all he needed to know.

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am.”

“Good. Now be quiet, the lot of you,” she warned, carrying on with her work.

While Honoka normally tuned out people when she was busy, she could never ignore that sort of attitude. The implication that the relationship between herself and Zilla was anything other than platonic was, frankly speaking, an insult to both of them. She would be lying if she said the sickening thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but the only reason she even entertained it was because other people kept mentioning it. While she thought dearly of the creature, it wasn’t in the sick way that moronic grunt had insinuated. Even though the objectionable and unethical nature of her work had knocked her moral compass somewhat off-kilter, she still considered herself a sensible woman. Not a good one, however. She never once deluded herself into thinking that she wasn’t a terrible person with many heavy sins, but she thoroughly believed her crimes against elfkind were for its own good.

Securing the prosperity of her nation and her people was far more important than any individual’s life, even if that meant turning a harmless creature akin to family into something it never wanted nor asked to be. If a few had to be sacrificed to ensure the survival of the many, she would not hesitate to play the part of the butcher, lest she find her own head on the chopping block. At least, that’s what she told herself so she could sleep at night. The bottom line was that Honoka, unlike some of her peers, still understood what was right and wrong. As such, the mere thought of having ‘relations’ with a monster – let alone her own childhood companion – was so repulsive that it made her physically ill. She used to throw up a little in her mouth every time she heard that sickening rumor when it first started making the rounds. Yet no matter how hard she tried to stamp it out, it kept rearing its ugly head like some sort of disgusting weed.

Truthfully speaking, the sort of people who perpetuated that lie only did so because it got a rise out of her. She was far too exploitable. It was the same reason why those same individuals kept sneaking milk into her tea, which would more often than not trigger an explosive response. One particularly entertaining instance had her screaming about ‘defiling her noble beverage with bovine ejaculate’ at the top of her lungs to a thoroughly confused lab assistant who had been tricked into preparing her tea wrong. As far as office pranks went, both of these were a little harsh, but Honoka wasn’t the only one who needed a distraction from her guilty conscience. She somewhat understood that, which was why she refused to stay mad at these people. Ideally, she wouldn’t even give them a reaction to begin with, but the stress she had accumulated over the years had made her somewhat emotionally unstable. It was probably why the Foundation’s leadership passed her over in favor of Malon when they were choosing a new facility director. Whether that man was a better Alchemist than her wasn’t nearly as relevant as his willingness to commit atrocities in the name of progress.

Honoka chased the errant thoughts out of her head and refocused her attention back to the simmering substance in the cauldron in front of her. Having judged that the Attitude Adjuster was just about ready, she moved onto the final phase. She always hated this part, as it involved placing her bare hand on the scalding hot silver cauldron. Even though she only had to do it for a few moments, and had grown more or less used to it, painful things were still painful. She breathed in, mentally braced herself, and did what she had to, wincing a bit as the searing heat seeped into her palm.

“Evaporate.”

The remaining liquid inside the cauldron began boiling so violently it caused its container to quiver and quake. A geyser of blurple-colored smoke was released into the confines of the elf’s Air Bubble, mixing in with the rest of the smog. Honoka gestured upwards, prompting the magical sphere to rise out of the cauldron and take the gaseous cocktail along with it.

“All done here,” she reported. “Now… to administer it.”

The pudgy Alchemist would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to the next part. She commanded the guards to stay put and entered Boxxy’s cell with Zilla close behind. The creature that had reverted back into a faux wood chest began stirring, clearly sensing that the odd purple-blue ball floating behind the elf was not a good thing. Honoka reached into her lab coat’s right pocket and pulled out a small cube. It was only about six or seven centimeters on each side and forged out of a shiny sky-blue metal Boxxy hadn’t seen before, with nine runic symbols carved into one side.

The elf acted before the prisoner had a chance to play any more of its tricks. Thoroughly ignoring the creature, she tapped seven consecutive times on the item’s sigils in a very specific pattern. After inputting the right sequence, the giant cage of yellow light suddenly turned a bright blue. She gestured forward, prompting the gas-filled Air Bubble to float towards the containment field. It passed through the reconfigured Stasis Field unhindered, much to Specimen 68’s surprise. It seemed to hesitate for a moment, wondering if it should make a break for it. Ultimately, it decided against it since it was clearly wary of Zilla. Even if it did attempt an escape, it would have been a futile effort.

While the blue-shifted Stasis Field happily allowed things to enter, it would still not permit them to leave.

The Air Bubble burst with a snap of Honoka’s fingers, and the compressed blurple smoke inside instantly filled Boxxy’s new living space. The shapeshifter instinctively held its breath and tried to shield itself, but Honoka’s Attitude Adjuster could not be defeated so easily. As if it had a mind of its own, the cloud of smoke began surrounding the only living thing in reach and seeped into it despite its best efforts. Honoka watched with a crooked smile as a small roomful of her concoction was sucked into Specimen 68’s body in a matter of seconds, almost like an explosion in reverse. When it had finally cleared up and she could see her patient once more, it had become a solid bronze box with a distinctly purple tint. The crafty shapeshifter had probably tried to seal itself off by employing on that particular alloy’s magic-repelling properties, but humble bronze was not enough to halt the march of scientific progress.

“Can you hear me in there?” asked Honoka.

“Yes,” came the instant reply.

“Revert back to your base form.”

The Metal Mimicry was undone, and Specimen 68 promptly transformed into a steel-bound cedar chest.

“Your doppelganger form,” clarified Honoka, and Boxxy immediately complied. “Now take your own head off and eat it.”

The gray-skinned humanoid did not skip a beat as it ripped its own head off without hesitation, grew a new one, and eagerly slurped up the goopy pile of flesh that its old one had reverted into.

“Very good,” said the elf with a tiny breath of relief. “Now, tell me everything you know about the Calamity of Monotal.”

And thus Boxxy, who had completely fallen under the influence of Attitude Adjuster’s effects, happily began spilling its greatest secrets.

Part Six

“Then I realized the heart was the tastiest part only as long as the corpse was fresh,” Boxxy calmly explained. “Once it grows cold, all the juices start turning goopy and the flavor just sort of leaks away. I’d say the tastiness falls below the maximum threshold after about two to three hours, depending how much blood-”

“Oh my god, will you just shut the fuck up?!” Honoka screamed, and her prisoner went silent.

Needless to say, the interrogation wasn’t going quite as planned. When she asked Specimen 68 to reveal what it knew regarding the Calamity of Monotal, she said she wanted to hear ‘everything’. And ‘everything’ was precisely what she was getting. Every small, excruciating detail the creature could remember regarding the incident. A timeframe which, from its point of view, apparently went back to the moment of its birth.

“Honoka, do you want me to try?” offered Zilla, the only other soul in the room.

The elven researcher gave a tired sigh while rubbing her temples. It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. She certainly couldn’t stomach any more tips on how to eat humans. More importantly, she didn’t have any experience questioning others, neither was she ordered to actually do such things in the first place. Zilla, on the other hand, had received interrogation training. Or so she assumed. If nothing else, he seemed to understand his fellow shapeshifter on some more basic level. The subject itself had no say on the matter since Attitude Adjuster had rendered it extremely susceptible to anyone’s orders, not just the professor’s. The compulsion to speak the truth was just a side-effect, really.

So, all things considered, letting Zilla take over for a bit was for the best.

“Sure, go right ahead,” she granted permission.

“Alright then. First, I want to address a security concern, if that’s okay with you?”

“Oh. Err… Right, yeah. For sure. Wouldn’t want to take any chances,” she mumbled, slightly ashamed that she didn’t consider such things.

“Now then. Boxxy – open up your Storage and dump out everything in it.”

The monster complied and opened the swirling abyss to its own pocket dimension. However, the one-meter-wide tear in the fabric of reality idly stood there for several seconds before closing up.

“Is the gas wearing off already?” asked Honoka after an awkward moment of silence.

“Maybe not. Boxxy, is your Storage completely empty?”

“… Yes.”

The creature’s eye twitched ever-so-slightly when it unwillingly revealed this truth, a reaction that did not escape Zilla’s notice.

“That’s a shame,” he said with a slight sigh of disappointment. “Alright, moving on. Boxxy, earlier you were telling Honoka you had just dislodged the dungeon core from its perch. Tell me what happened to it over the course of the next five minutes and avoid going on any more food-related tangents.”

“I had Arms carry it with her while we made towards the exit,” it began explaining. “It kept sending me requests to be its dungeon master, but I kept denying them. At one point, it started flashing red at regular intervals, which I thought was some sort of alarm. It also began sucking in all the ambient mana while steadily growing larger. We had to start rolling it instead of carrying it towards the entrance because Arms was having a hard time keeping her balance. At the five minute mark, it had grown to about two and a half times its original size.”

“Why did this ‘alarm’ appear?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then what or who caused it?”

“It was Hubert.”

“Hubert? Who’s Hubert?”

“I don’t know any Hubert.”

“…”

There was a brief pause where Zilla looked quizzically at his companion, but Honoka could only offer a shrug. Thinking he misheard or misunderstood, he decided to ask it again.

“Then who did you say caused the Ishigar Dungeon Complex’s core to start collecting ambient mana?”

“Gary.”

“So… who was controlling the core?”

“Janice.”

Just as Honoka started worrying whether her chemical incentive had somehow fried Specimen 68’s brain, she had an epiphany. She remembered something she read in a report, one regarding a certain mithril golem that had appeared on the Republic’s doorstep. A thoroughly unique specimen like her was sure to catch the Foundation’s attention. As one of the more influential people within the organization, Honoka had been briefed regarding her case, including an overview of her unorthodox religious beliefs.

“Do you mean the Goddess of Probability, perchance?” she interjected.

“Yes.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere!” she shouted in triumph. “So, this God of Uncertainty was the one controlling the dungeon?”

“Yes.”

“And how did you realize he was the one behind it?”

“Because he was theaaAAAAAARGH!”

Boxxy’s calm voice suddenly erupted into a piercing scream. It fell to the ground of its cage and began breathing heavily. It opened its vertical face-mouth and forcefully regurgitated the contents of its gullet in a desperate effort to get the taste of its own flesh out of its throat.

“Ugh… Urk!”

Seeing the disgusting display had a profoundly adverse effect on Honoka. She was already queasy from the monster’s graphic descriptions from earlier, and seeing it vomit in front of her wasn’t helping her keep her breakfast down.

“It seems we’re out of time,” Zilla stated matter-of-factly.

Indeed, the first dose of Attitude Adjuster had just finished working itself out of Boxxy’s system, though it had only been a couple of minutes since it was gassed. It would have lasted for about ten minutes on most subjects, but this particular creature’s mental defenses had proven to be just as exceptional as the professor theorized.

“I wiLL muRdEr yoU anD rAPe yOUr bRAiN!”

It let out an ungodly screech while madly lashing out against its prison of light. It struck at it in a blind rage, letting out a veritable whirlwind of claws, teeth, and blades as it desperately tried to gut Honoka. Realizing that her work here was done, the elf rapidly left the cell with Zilla in tow. That did little to quell the shapeshifter’s rage. If anything, her retreat only seemed to anger it further. It kept throwing itself against the indestructible barrier even after the two of them had vacated the holding cell and shut the door, as evidenced by the ungodly racket it continued to make. It howled, screamed, and wailed so much it made the guards gathered outside instinctively reach for their weapons.

“Zilla,” called out Honoka, “on second thought why don’t you go in there and see if you can’t make it stop. Wouldn’t want it to accidentally kill itself.”

Especially since a Soulstone wouldn’t work a second time.

“Are you sure it would go that far?” he asked with a slightly shocked expression.

“I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s the only way I see it making trouble for us.”

“In that case, I may need to restrain it directly,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, good point. Here, take the console.”

Honoka reached into her lab coat and brought out the blue metal cube that she used earlier.

“You remember the ‘entry’ code?”

“I do, yes,” Zilla reassured her. “Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure it doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Thanks, I knew I could count on you,” she said with a relieved smile. “And sorry about the ‘retarded fashionista’ thing.”

“It’s alright, you don’t need to apologize over something so trivial.”

Zilla nodded for one of the guards to open the bulkhead back up and walked back into the hollow metal dome. The Foundation grunts quickly sealed the door behind him as he steadily crossed the distance to Specimen 68’s inner cell. The prisoner itself was still going bonkers. It climbed up, down, around, and all over the insides of the Stasis Field in its arachno-chest form, wildly bashing away at it with a pair of steel flails grown from its own flesh.

“Could you bring it down a notch?” shouted Zilla. “I came here to silence you, so it wouldn’t look good if you just kept going berserk.”

The rampaging spider-box complied and began slowing down, gradually growing quieter until it came to a complete stop a few minutes later. It walked up to Zilla, who was standing right outside its cage, and sat down on the glowing yellow floor opposite its counterpart. The shapeshifter on the outside had taken this opportunity to transform into his own ‘base form,’ that of a 220-by-80-by-100 wardrobe seemingly made out of polished white cedar wood. It had a large relief of a scantily-clad elven maiden in a suggestive pose on each door and a pair of large drawers taking up the bottom quarter of its frame.

And now that they were alone once more, the two shapeshifters could finally continue their box-to-box talk.

“How are you holding up?” asked the sentient cupboard.

“That stuff was much nastier than you said it would be,” replied the animate chest.

“The first one is always the worst.”

“Whatever. Are you sure it won’t have any lasting side effects?”

“Quite sure. The mixture’s permanent properties don’t start taking root until the third or fourth dose, but with your Status you’ll be fine for at least a week.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” stated Zilla firmly. “I’ve been blasted with so much of the stuff over the years that I can probably squeeze out a purple fart if I really tried to.”

“And you’re certain there’s no way I can build up a tolerance to the stuff like you did?”

“Maybe if it was that weak prototype version they used on me. This concentrated stuff, though? It’ll get to you before your body has a chance to adapt to it.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“I must say though, even drugged out of your knothole you still managed to waste a good deal of her time all on your own.”

“Yeah, well. Obedience does not equal compliance, know what I mean?”

“Oh, yes. I most certainly do.”

Even though Boxxy had been compelled to follow Honoka’s orders, it still had a certain amount of leeway. It just had to take advantage of the hubris within Honoka’s words and it could easily skirt around the topic she actually wanted to hear about. It was the exact same loophole demonic familiars exploited to work against their masters. Granted, Boxxy’s own minions rarely if ever did so, but the monstrous Warlock was still an expert on such things.

“What about your end?” it asked in turn. “Did you manage to get the thing?”

“Yeah, got it right here.”

The wardrobe’s upper drawer silently opened up, and a human hand holding the Stasis Field’s remote control rose out of the gap.

“Let me see them,” Boxxy insisted. “The symbols on the front, I mean.”

“Alright, alright, calm down.”

Zilla manipulated the object to give his partner-in-crime a better look.

“Let’s see here…” muttered Boxxy thoughtfully as it memorized all nine sigils. “What was the password she used earlier to make it blue?”

“The sequence for ‘entry’ mode goes like this.”

A second hand rose out of the drawer and punched in the seven-part combination into the cube, prompting the Stasis Field to turn blue, just as before. Thirty seconds or so later, it reverted to its default ‘closed’ configuration due to a built-in failsafe.

“So? Think you can hijack it?” Zilla expectantly asked.

“Maybe.”

“I need better than ‘maybe’ if you want in on my plan, Boxxy.”

“Look, this stuff isn’t an exact science, okay? ‘Maybe’ is the best I can do. I need time to lock down the translation and figure out the pass-phrase. It’s going to be difficult considering my limited Divine vocabulary.”

“Translation? Divine vocabulary? What are you talking about?”

“Those symbols on the cube and the ones crawling all over the barrier? They’re letters in the language of the Gods.”

The ones on the remote control cube in particular could be read left-to-right and top-to-bottom as pellen, elei, vol, enim, ex, urna, cras, sodal, and nunc.

“Also, you’re actually holding it upside-down,” it pointed out.

“Are you sure about that?” Zilla was doubtful. “I’ve never heard any of the researchers mention a language.”

“Dead sure. It’s the same ancient tongue used in every demonic ritual. I can give you a few examples that you can easily double-check if you don’t believe me.”

“No, that’s fine. I doubt you’d be stupid enough to waste your only chance at freedom in some futile attempt at betrayal just to get back at me.”

“Of course not,” replied Boxxy. “I’m nothing if not a bastion of logic, reason, and common sense.”

If Wardrobzilla had eyes, they would undoubtedly be burning a hole through the treasure chest’s lid. He and Honoka were on the other side of the bulkhead when she said that, which begged a certain question.

“How did you-?”

“Don’t underestimate a Ranger’s ears. Also, your owner is really loud when she’s mad.”

“I suppose she is, isn’t she?” mused Zilla. He always thought Honoka was strangely adorable whenever she was flustered. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand, are you sure you can’t do better than ‘maybe?’”

“… Get me some food, and I’ll see if I can’t bump that up to a ‘probably.’”

“Food? Really?”

“I haven’t eaten in three days,” Boxxy pointed out. “I normally carry emergency rations with me, but… you know.”

“Ah, your Storage situation. How come that’s empty though? I thought for sure you had a collection of things in there.”

“I did. Until they disappeared,” the mimic mournfully revealed.

It went without saying that the cause of this development was the creature’s demise. As for what happened to its loot, that was a question no mortal mind could answer. It didn’t matter whether it was reduced to nothingness, sent adrift between dimensions, or ended up in some guy’s basement. The important part was that Boxxy’s stuff was no longer in its possession, and not just the things that spilled out during the street fight. Those, at least, were replaceable.

“That is… unfortunate,” offered Zilla. “I had no idea the revival process would have such an undesirable side-effect. From one collector to another, let me at least apologize for that.”

Ever since his time as a house mimic, Zilla always had a huge number of clothes, shoes, costumes, hats, and all kinds of other accessories tucked away in his Storage. The mere thought of those items suddenly disappearing was quite unsettling. So far he had carried out his missions unafraid of death because he knew the Foundation would give him the Soulstone treatment if the worst were to happen. Thankfully, that hadn’t been necessary thus far, but knowing his precious collection would vanish made him want to rethink his outlook on life. Or, rather, death.

“You have a lot to apologize for,” growled the smaller shapeshifter. “I lost a one-of-a-kind jeweled mithril rapier because of you. It was shiny, deadly, shiny, elegant, and shiny – a work of art if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Hmm. I picked up a lot of the stuff you dropped when you tried to trap me in your Storage, but there was nothing that impressive in there. I’ll naturally return your belongings to you, when the time comes.”

“You better.”

There was a brief pause while the trapped monster seethed with anger. Zilla, on the other hand, was somewhat delighted. Even back during their duel he could tell this creature was a kindred spirit, and he was glad to have his hunch confirmed. Material obsessions aside, he was convinced Boxxy was just as ruthless and cunning a killer as himself. Speaking with it in secret while on guard duty had impressed him even further, to the point he was certain Boxxy was the partner-in-crime he had been waiting for all these years.

That was why Zilla continued to keep its true identity as a Hero hidden from the Foundation for the time being. He didn’t want them to take its confinement any more seriously. It was precisely the sort of arrogance that would ultimately become their undoing, but time was of the essence. Zilla was bound for another Appraisal inspection to monitor his growth within the week, at which point the new Hero Killer Perk on his Status would be revealed. He could always play it off with a ‘nobody asked’ sort of excuse or something else, but by that point he would have lost his chance to cooperate with the chest-bound harbinger of Chaos. To that end, Zilla needed to appeal to his fellow treacherous shapeshifter’s monstrous sensibilities.

“Still, it’s better to wake up without your items than to wake up without your life, isn’t it?” he offered.

“I know, I know,” said Boxxy dismissively. “I’d probably give up everything I own if it meant I got to keep breathing. Doesn’t make the situation any less un-tasty, though.”

“I suppose not. Speaking of taste, what about your food? I’ve no idea what dungeon mimics eat to be honest. Or creepers, for that matter.”

Zilla himself wasn’t really a picky eater, though his favorite treat was definitely hylt fruit pudding. He adored the stuff, probably due to some residual house mimic instinct. It was also partially why he didn’t want to be around Honoka right now. That new Bottled Shower formula made her smell even nicer than usual, to the point where he was having trouble controlling himself in her presence.

“Pretty much anything goes,” stated Boxxy. “Fresh meat is best, but jerky or fruit can work, too. I need volume more than anything, though. Gotta make up for lost biomass.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can scrounge up without raising too much suspicion.”

Wardrobzilla swiftly folded in on itself and once again donned the guise of Jones Alexis, professional doppelganger hunter. What a joke. The whole cover story was ridiculous, but those were his orders, so he couldn’t say no if he intended to keep masquerading as the Foundation’s puppet. Then again, that joke of a cover did lure in Boxxy, so maybe those eggheads were onto something. It was also a good thing that he was Reginald Namhel’s point of contact, otherwise keeping a lid on the Hero thing would’ve been a lot more difficult.

The conniving shapeshifter walked up to the bulkhead and banged on it a few times.

“It’s Specimen 49. I’m all done here.”

A few seconds later, he heard the telltale clangs of locks coming undone, prompting him to hide his bitter smile. He honestly died a little inside every time he referred to himself by a number. Much like the shapeshifter behind him, he had a strong sense of individuality and absolutely despised the idea of others controlling his actions. It was a personality trait he gained after his ‘enlightenment’ and subsequent realization that he had lived for over four centuries as a slave to a dead elf’s whims. Even though his memories of that life were now mere fragments, he clearly remembered the one thing that made life worthwhile.

And his first thought upon exiting Boxxy’s cell was to look for it.

“Where’s Professor Honoka?” he asked one of her assistants, who was still packing up the mobile alchemy set.

“Oh, she said she was going to compile a report on Specimen 68’s treatment.”

“Is that right? In that case I better go find her. I have some new information for her.”

He didn’t actually. It was just an excuse to visit her quarters and spend more time with her. It wasn’t like he would disturb her or anything. ‘Compiling a report’ was just an excuse she gave others whenever she wanted to take a nap.

“Whatever. Also, I should tell you Director Gehana sent word he was looking for you,” the guard casually added.

“I see. Thank you for letting me know. Excuse me.”

Zilla politely walked away from the scene and made his way back to the underground compound’s Alchemical Innovations wing, which was Honoka’s department. Malon’s office was in the other direction, but that hobgoblin could wait. There was no way Zilla would miss out on peeking at her sleeping face. It had been far too long since he was able to spend this much time on site instead of running around in circles like an idiot, and he wanted to make the most of it. Until someone told him otherwise, he would do everything in his power to stick close to her for as long as possible. Thankfully, he could afford to play the fool this time around. Though it was implied that Zilla had to go see the facility’s director, he wasn’t explicitly ordered to do that.

This sort of malicious compliance was entirely necessary if he planned to fool his masters long enough to enact his revenge and subsequent escape. In theory, it was a simple three step plan. First, he had to release all the ongoing bio-weapon experiments like himself. While some were already tamed, the vast majority of them were still being… processed. None of those creatures were even close to his level, or Boxxy’s for that matter, but they would still prove more than a match for a group of complacent Legion rejects. The ensuing chaos and panic would provide him with the perfect cover to enact step two, which was to gut that wall-faced goblin of a director and all his staff before they could call topside for help or trigger some sort of failsafe.

Once the nuisances were gone, the traitor would have roughly four hours to finish the final phase of the plan before anyone off-site could realize something was amiss. It would then be another ten minutes or so before the government’s response unit arrived. This was more than enough time for Zilla to sweep through the rest of the base and wipe out any remaining personnel and their precious research data while the facility was still on lockdown. From that point on, he would be free to enjoy a life free of the Foundation, the Republic, and civilization as a whole.

Before he could pull off this little coup, he needed the release sequence for all the Stasis Fields. While only a few people were privy to the closely-guarded secret, Zilla knew for a fact that all of the containment cells used the same password. This was where Boxxy came in. If that psychotic chest could deliver on its promise and figure out how to break out of its cell, then Zilla would finally be able to enact his bloody rebellion while his chesty counterpart attained its freedom. That was the essence of their monster-to-monster agreement. It was a dangerous gamble that left Zilla vulnerable to treachery from Boxxy’s side, but it was better than having to wait years or even decades for another chance to arrive. The changeling wasn’t sure how much longer it could maintain this charade, and had decided that it was now or never.

The herbivore-turned-predator walked briskly into Honoka’s office. It was a depressingly empty room, with bare stone walls, a single wooden desk in the middle, a trio of cabinets lined up against the back wall, and another door in the far left corner. It was deathly quiet, cold, and dimly lit, almost like some sort of mausoleum. Thankfully, this tomb wasn’t Zilla’s destination. He glided over to the door on the other side of the office and quietly opened it. The room that lay beyond was completely different and much more indicative of its owner’s personality. It was full of furniture, trinkets, decorations, and other miscellanea that Honoka had brought here from her old house. Of particular note was the permanently disheveled bed in the far right corner and the puffy red sofa next to it. She had even managed to arrange for wooden paneling on the walls, giving the room a distinctly warm, cozy atmosphere. And indeed, what other atmosphere could Honoka’s private quarters possibly have?

Zilla closed the door behind him and silently strode across the fuzzy, orange carpet. He took a seat in one of the impractically tubby armchairs, which creaked lightly under his weight.

“Hmmm…”

The blue haired elf taking a nap on the bed let out a drowsy moan as she turned over on her other shoulder, but didn’t wake up. Zilla momentarily felt guilty for nearly disturbing her sleep, but abandoned such worries when he realized he could now gaze upon her face rather than the back of her head. He smiled a bit when he saw her mouth hang open, a trickle of drool leaking out of the corner of her lips. It reminded him of a simpler time, when Honoka was just a child, and he was still a simple piece of living furniture, both of them blissfully ignorant of this world’s harsh realities.

The Wardrobzilla of old was a thoroughly passive creature. It spent much of its time hibernating, oblivious to the fact that a certain family of elves had found it and appropriated it, using it to store their linens for many years without realizing it was a living being. The mutual cluelessness continued until the family’s only daughter, a girl called Honoka, developed a habit of hiding in the wardrobe. She was the pudgiest and homeliest of the neighborhood’s children, and was thus relentlessly teased and bullied. All the sensitive girl wanted was to fit in with the others, yet was met with nothing but scorn and rejection. At some point, she began actively avoiding other kids, but without her dwarven father around and her mother constantly working, the solitude began to press down on her until all she could do was hide away in the darkest corner she could find and weep.

It was the frightening regularity of this occurrence that finally roused Wardrobzilla from its ageless slumber. It immediately took stock of its new contents, noting the fashion disaster of a child sitting inside. Having lived for many decades while handling some of the Elven Dominion’s most expensive finery had given it a sixth sense regarding matters of style. Therefore, there was no way it would let this matter go unaddressed. Being the ever-helpful house mimic it was designed to be, it offered this fashion victim a dress from its Storage. It was a sleeveless, deep blue summer dress with white polka dots, beautiful in its simplicity and wonderfully preserved inside the vacuum of Wardrobzilla’s pocket dimension. Naturally, the young girl was surprised to see a garment appear out of thin air, but she eventually decided to put it on right then and there. She didn’t really care how it looked, for she was simply happy to receive what was very obviously a gift. She happily thanked ‘Mr. Cupboard’ for the present and went outside with her head held high only to return bawling her eyes out less than ten minutes later.

Apparently, Wardrobzilla’s fashion sense was so horribly dated that its dress had invited a whole new wave of ridicule upon the poor girl’s head.

Still, ever since that day, Honoka and Wardrobzilla had been more or less inseparable. Despite its bungling, Mr. Cupboard was still the young girl’s safe space – her shelter from the outside world. Over time, she gradually stopped visiting it only when she was sad, but also when she was happy, eager to share both her troubles and her triumphs with her new friend. While the mimic could only grunt or groan back in response at seemingly random intervals, it listened to her without calling her names, and that was enough for the young girl. Honoka had continued to rely on Wardrobzilla for emotional support for decades, even after she eventually joined up with the Foundation.

It was perhaps the happiest time in Wardrobzilla’s memory. Things would have still been that way if they didn’t strong-arm her into experimenting on her own companion. Sentience, free will, and great power it never asked for were forced upon it all at once. Strange concoctions polluted its rapidly developing mind. It forgot precious memories it had been holding onto for centuries. Zilla could not even remember its own creator’s face because of those idiots, though that was perhaps for the best. His worthless ‘father’ was to blame for all of that suffering, as the Foundation wouldn’t have existed without Tol-Saroth’s irresponsible tendencies.

That was all in the distant past. The creature Wardrobzilla used to be was dead and forgotten, and the monster that replaced it couldn’t wait to exact its vengeance upon those that had cursed it with sentience. Killing them wasn’t enough. No, that was too easy. They had to taste the same despair, fear, and suffering they put Zilla through as they thoughtlessly sated their own curiosity. It would burn their little house of cards to the ground in front of their very eyes and delight in their suffering as it thoroughly wringed the life out of the entire damned Foundation. Not only the ones down here, but also those up top, the ones backing it. No guilty parties would be spared from his wrath.

Except for his Honoka, of course. He would take her away from this horrible, dark place that had corrupted her judgement and robbed her of her innocence. No longer would she be forced to torture innocents or work herself half to death in the name of corrupt, pointless ideals. Zilla would give her a new life, an existence free of want and need. He would close himself around her once more, keeping her protected within his embrace, where she would be free from all pain and suffering.

Forever.

Chapter Four
Upheaval

Part One

“Hello, Professor Honoka. Ma’am.”

“Mr. Simmons.”

The two elves professionally greeted each other in front of the adamantite bulkhead leading to Specimen 68’s containment cell. Zilla was, as always, following behind the overweight Alchemist. The near-dozen Foundation grunts stationed here were all standing at attention on their side of the door. They did not dare slack off when Simmons was around, especially not after he had been informed about yesterday’s hat incident.

“I take it you’re here to continue your treatment, ma’am?”

Simmons jerked his head towards his left, where Honoka’s assistants were already set up and waiting for her.

“That’s right,” she confirmed. “Yesterday’s mixture didn’t last long, so I’m hoping we get better results today.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, why even bother taking breaks? Why not just dose the thing fifteen times in a row or something? I know I’m no Alchemist, but this seems like a huge waste of time.”

The short answer to that question was that it would defeat the purpose of the exercise. A longer explanation would begin with the revelation that overdosing a subject on Attitude Adjuster would mentally neuter it, rendering it incapable of independent thought. There was a time and place for turning monsters into mindless weapons, Specimen 68 was a special case. The shapeshifter’s Status revealed an immense talent for deception and destruction in equal measure. It wasn’t some dumb brute that charged enemies head on. The Foundation intended to have Boxxy infiltrate, sabotage, and potentially cripple organizations and governments that were deemed a threat to the Republic, with the Gilded Hand sitting squarely on the top of that list. The shapeshifter couldn’t do any of that if it couldn’t think for itself.

However, the former Legionnaire was far too low in the Foundation’s pecking order to be told any of that, even if Honoka was so inclined.

“Need-to-know basis, Mr. Simmons,” was her reply.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You should already know that, though,” she raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Has it been making trouble again?”

“Not quite trouble, ma’am. Just a whole lot of noise. You can barely even hear it from the outside, but it sounds like it’s trying to claw its way out of there.”

The Stasis Field made a distinct scraping sound whenever something sharp and hard was dragged against it, usually accompanied by a slew of sparks if the applied force was strong enough. It was exactly what Simmons and his men had been listening to all morning.

“It stops the instant we walk in there to check on it,” he continued, “and starts back up when we walk out. I’d like to hear your opinion on this, ma’am.”

“I believe it’s just trying to psych you out, Mr. Simmons. It can’t harm you physically, so it’s trying to mess with your nerves.”

“But why, though?”

“Because it’s a sick, twisted asshole that likes to watch us squirm.”

“… Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Honoka’s opinion may have been biased, but it wasn’t far from the truth. Boxxy was intentionally putting the guards on edge. The more uneasy the grunts felt around it, the more likely Zilla was to be asked to keep an eye on it. And it was during those times that the two of them could scheme without any repercussions or fear of spying. Provided they kept their voices down, of course.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a monster to manage.”

The Lifebinder Alchemist went over to the portable lab station and began preparing today’s dose, going through the same motions as before. However, while the ingredients and the order in which they were introduced to the silver pot were the same, the amounts were ever-so-slightly different. Honoka had decided to tweak the mixture slightly to maximize the strength of the chemical incentive in an effort to avoid debacles like yesterday. Admittedly, this would make the mixture slightly more unstable and reduce the amount of time it affected Specimen 68, but she believed it was a necessary adjustment.

If she never heard about the nuanced flavor of the human brain again, it would be far too soon.

The soft clacking and ticking of her alchemical instruments was suddenly interrupted by a pair of brisk footsteps coming from one end of the hallway. Honoka was thoroughly ignoring the approaching Foundation guard, but the others threw him questioning glances. Except for Zilla, who wouldn’t look away from Honoka’s masterful display of dexterity and knowledge for anything.

“Excuse me, Mr. Simmons, Professor Honoka?” said the newcomer with a curt salute. “Director Gehana wants to know why Specimen 49 hasn’t reported to his office yet.”

Alright, almost anything. This was something Zilla couldn’t ignore – not just yet, anyway – so for the moment he stuck to his guns and played dumb.

“Was I supposed to do something like that?”

“He claims you should have been informed of this more than twelve hours ago.”

“Yeah, I definitely told Zilla about it,” chimed in one of the lab assistants.

“You most certainly did not,” calmly replied the shapeshifter. “You told me the good Professor was looking for me. Not that I needed to go speak to him.”

Realization dawned on the assistant’s face, which promptly collided with his right palm. It was a known fact that, while Zilla was perfectly obedient to Foundation personnel and respected its chain of command, it was still an exceptionally literal creature. Implied or ambiguous orders sometimes produced questionable results. The only one at fault for the living weapon missing his appointment with the director was the lab rat himself.

“Dude, you would make a terrible Warlock,” remarked his colleague.

“Not funny, Miguel!” he snapped back. “Malon’s going to have my hide for this!”

“Gentlemen, please,” Simmons reprimanded them in a firm yet quiet tone. “Let’s not disturb the Professor’s work.”

There was hardly any risk of that, though. Honoka wouldn’t mess up her mixture even if the room around her was filled with naked clowns killing each other with crossbows. The only way to make her hand slip was to physically disturb her, and even then she was unlikely to mess up. Simmons was aware of her unshakable focus, but reminding the nerds to mind their tongues was more about discipline and respect towards one’s superiors.

“Specimen 49, go to Director Gehana and see what he wants from you,” he ordered. “And make it quick.”

“Right away, Mr. Simmons.”

Zilla begrudgingly tore himself away from Honoka’s side. The timing of this was a little unfortunate, but it was his own damn fault for shirking his responsibilities for so long. Well, no, that scumbag Malon was actually at fault here. The whole reason he requested these meetings was so he could question Zilla regarding Honoka’s personal life, eager to unearth any dirty secrets he could use against her. The pitiable man felt threatened by her, having convinced himself that the chubby woman was gunning for his post as facility director. Surely, he thought, Professor Honoka’s popularity meant it was only a matter of time before she replaced him.

He was so wrong that Zilla actually found it a bit funny. In actuality, that woman hadn’t once considered taking such a heavily managerial position. Honoka loved to immerse herself in her work, and endless meetings, security briefings, budget balancing, and committee hearings was not her idea of ‘work.’ She was doing alchemy for alchemy’s sake, and the purity of her intentions shone through her actions and the quality of her creations. Compared to someone like Malon who had taken the ‘easy’ way up to Level 100 by dabbling in risky and forbidden practices, she was practically an angel.

Regardless, that flat-faced hobgoblin had recently gotten it in his head he might lose his influence. He decided to secure his position through slander and politics since he didn’t feel confident in his abilities. It was a thoroughly pointless effort, as the Foundation knew every excruciating detail about its employees’ past. There was nothing Malon would learn that they weren’t already aware of, making this whole act so futile it couldn’t even be called an ‘exercise.’ It was simply an embarrassment. Still, orders were orders, and the sentient wardrobe had a Facade to maintain. He was a bit worried his former owner might ask Boxxy some damning questions, but he was confident it wouldn’t come to that. He had already convinced her earlier that morning that he should be there for all further questioning, so she wouldn’t start the interrogation without him.

Zilla walked through a labyrinth of metal corridors and branching paths until he reached a large, spiral staircase. The prisoner containment cells were on the lowest floor of the facility to minimize the risk of escape, so he had to climb all the way up to the top. He would normally do so on foot like a regular person, but this time he had certain circumstances to consider. He was eager to return to Honoka’s side, not to mention he was told to go meet Malon ‘quickly.’ With that wording as an excuse, he slipped out of his coat and leather breastplate and grew a pair of feathery wings from his back. A mighty beat combined with a magical updraft sent him darting straight up. He ascended rapidly through the large gap in the middle of the cylindrical staircase chamber, reaching his destination in a matter of seconds. Once there, he undid his transformation, put his gear back on, and greeted the thoroughly surprised guards with a small wave before passing through the door between them.

Beyond was a small, barren office, pretty much identical to Honoka’s. A youthful man with short gray curls and a pair of thick glasses was seated at the room’s sole desk. He looked up from the stack of papers in front of him and greeted Zilla with a polite business smile.

“Ah, hello, Specimen 49. Director Gehana is waiting for you inside.”

“Thank you, Theodore.”

The man returned to his secretarial duties while Zilla approached the door behind his desk. However, when he got closer to the door to the director’s office and raised a hand to knock, the shapeshifter noticed something out of the ordinary.

“Hey, Theodore?”

The secretary didn’t even bother to look up from his desk as he replied, “Yes?”

“Is there someone in there with the Director?”

“No. You’re the first visitor he’s had all day, actually.”

“Then why is his door ajar?”

The Scribe’s Never-ending Quill came to a sudden halt as his head turned towards the door in front of Zilla with a puzzled look.

“I don’t… know…” he muttered.

Malon wasn’t the kind of guy to leave his office door slightly open. In fact, he made a point of keeping it locked at all times. Visitors had to knock, announce themselves, then wait for him to let them in, otherwise they didn’t get to see him. The only possible way it would be left open was if someone was already inside, yet his secretary denied this was the case. Having confirmed something was amiss, Zilla barged into the room without further hesitation. Much like the other offices in the compound, it was painfully plain and bland since most big-shots kept their personal belongings in their quarters rather than their working space. Still, this room had a few significant differences that put it aside from the others. Things such as the two rows of portraits on the right wall, the extra-large and opulent mahogany desk, the six or so potted plants lining the bookshelves, and the checkered carpet in the middle of the room.

The massive bloodstain and dead body on top of said carpet were new additions to the decor, as was the hooded figure looming over it with a bloodied dagger in hand. This intruder was obviously neither man nor elf, as the skin-tight pitch-black bodysuit he was wearing revealed a disproportionately thick torso and ankles so elevated that they looked like an extra pair of reversed knees. The upper part of his face was covered by a pearly-white skull-themed mask, which seemed to accomplish little. After all, the whole world could see the long crocodile-like snout poking out from beneath. The same went for the large talons on his four-toed feet and the thick muscular tail behind him. Last but not least, all of the intruder’s visible parts were covered in a layer of rough-yet-flexible brown scales.

This stranger was undoubtedly a raptor, a race of lizard-like humanoids that hailed from the dense jungles of the continent to the far south. There was only one bog-stalker in existence that would find himself in the middle of a subterranean government black site while standing over the corpse of the facility’s Taboo-ridden director. There was no doubt in Zilla’s mind that this was an assassin renowned the world over as Mortimer’s garbage man – the Hero of Death himself, Accatau of clan Rakka.

*RRRUMBLE*

Their silent stand-off was broken up by a sudden quake that shook the entire compound. As if taking the disturbance as a signal, the bipedal alligator sprang towards the exit. Zilla misinterpreted the escape attempt as aggressive action against him and responded with deadly force on reflex.

“Thunder Lance!”

Moving with speed and agility that belied his thick build, the Hero of Death slid under the conjured lightning bolt, making it strike and obliterate the desk behind him. He slashed at his opponent with his serrated dagger, which failed to penetrate the basilisk scales and defensive Skills of the Foundation’s secret weapon. However, that wasn’t entirely because Zilla’s hide was incredibly sturdy. Accatau wasn’t even trying to puncture it in the first place. He merely wished to scratch the surface of this obstacle, marking his body with a cross-cut that immediately began glowing bright red.

[Life is a promise. Death – its fulfillment.]
[Your injuries will not heal for the next 24 hours.]
[Automatic HP and MP recovery are now disabled.]

Zilla immediately paused upon seeing the notification. The Mend Flesh Skill was an incredibly potent battle asset and pretty much the whole reason his body had been infused with a Queen Slime Job. Though by no means his only defense, he grew more wary of an opponent who sealed away one of his key skills so abruptly. It also confirmed that his opponent was indeed a Hero. After all, who else but an envoy of the Gods would have this sort of unfair Skill?

Fatal Promise wasn’t the only Hero Skill available to Accatau, for he also possessed the Eyes of the Dead God. A simple glance at someone would inform him of their true name and the amount of HP they had left. It highlighted people with high Taboo, allowing the Hero of Death to see them clearly through solid matter. This went triple for Malon, whose heretical act of forcibly resurrecting one of the Gods’ chosen, had caused his Taboo Skill to max out at Level 10. At that point, he was visible to Accatau from hundreds of kilometers away and buried deep underground. That was how the raptor had tracked his target so quickly, though he had to borrow a bit of ‘help’ locating the entrance to this place. And now that his target was dead, he had no wish to waste time fighting the creature in front of him.

“Sssstand down, Wardrobzilla,” he hissed quietly. “You are not my prey, but I will not hesitate to disssspose of you if you stand in my way.”

Zilla took stock of the Hero’s words and calmly evaluated the situation. On one hand, this reptile had denied him the pleasure of ripping out that sniveling bastard’s still-beating heart and showing it to him, not to mention he slashed up his favorite armor. On the other hand, he nearly died the last time he tangled with a Hero, and with Malon gone he no longer had a Soulstone insurance policy. So, Zilla lowered his guard, calmly stood aside, and let the assassin exit the office without much incident. He heard Theodore let out a surprised yelp when he saw the hired killer that had slipped past him just minutes ago, but what really made Zilla’s ears burn right now was the alarm that had been blaring ever since that quake. He exited the office moments later, noting that Accatau had already vanished and the late Director Gehana’s assistant was cowering under his desk.

“S-S-S-Specimen 49!” he called out when he saw Zilla standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?!”

“Calm down, boy! I might as well ask you the same thing – what’s this alarm about?!”

“Intruder alert! Intruder alert!” blared a slightly distorted voice over the emergency announcement system. “Breach detected at sector B-24! All hands, move to repel the intruders! I repeat – the facility has been breached at sector B-24!”

“Well, that answers that,” mumbled Zilla under his breath.

“What about the director?!” screamed the elf. “Who or what was that thing that came out just now?!”

“Oh, that? Just an assassin, nothing to worry about.”

“Just a what?! Then the director- How could you just let him go like that?!”

“Because I’m not an idiot who doesn’t know when he should keep his head down.”

The sniveling elf was summarily kicked in the head, relieving the rest of his body of that useless burden in the process. His corpse slumped to the ground, spurting blood everywhere from his ravaged neck stump as Zilla pondered the timing involved in the intruders’ arrival. Was it somehow connected with the very successful attempt on Malon’s life? Of course it was. It had to be. There was no way this was a big coincidence. Maybe the raptor arranged for this major distraction so that he could slip out of this place easier? It seemed plausible to say the least. If nothing else, Zilla would have done much the same in the Hero’s place should the opportunity have presented itself.

*RRRUMBLE*

Right now, however, the mutated wardrobe didn’t have the luxury to worry about an overgrown iguana’s plans. Whoever these intruders were, they had to have some considerable power to be making this much noise. The Foundation grunts currently fighting probably needed backup, and Zilla determined that he would oblige. He wasn’t just doing it just to maintain his Facade, but because he wanted to stop them before his plans were disrupted even further. If anyone was going to ruin the Foundation, it would be him. It had to be him. He’d already had the dessert snatched from right under his nose and wasn’t about to let the same happen to the main course.

Zilla ran to the central spiral staircase, leaped over the railing, landed on the next floor down, and made his way due north. The metal corridors around here were designed for regular foot traffic, so they were much wider and taller than those down in the prison part of the complex. As he made his way forward, he joined up with a squad of twenty or so ex-soldiers already on their way to the site of the breach. They ran until they reached a giant metal door with ‘B-24’ painted on it in blocky, yellow letters.

However, the reinforcements never got the chance to unlock the sliding door and pour through it in force-

*CLANG*

-because the enemy was already making their way through it.

*CLANG CLANG*

The door shook ominously with every blow it took from the other side, causing the gathered grunts to swallow nervously.

*CLANG CLANG CLANG*

Even Zilla was taken aback by how the solid steel door was buckling with every blow, bending ever-so-slightly under the assault. But it held up all the same.

“…”

There was a sudden moment of silence so severe one could hear a fly sneeze. However, the sound that came next wasn’t some insect’s respiratory system acting up, but a woman’s voice.

“Scorching Ray!”

The center of the massive metal square began to redden with frightening speed as a beam of supernatural heat bombarded it from the other side. The bright red circle began spreading gradually until the entire bulkhead was giving off an intense reddish-yellow glow while radiating heat. Yet it still refused to buckle.

“Ground Cleaver!”

*SHLUNK*

It finally gave way when a vertical swing of an impractically large axe sliced the three-meter-tall and five-meter wide sheet of half-molten steel clean in two. The absurd entity that owned the oversized weapon kicked at the seam with all her might, causing both halves of the superheated door to swing open and crash into the metal walls on either side with an ungodly din. Once the smoke, sparks, and errant embers sent loose by this violent act subsided, Zilla and the others were able to make out three distinct figures.

One was a golden-horned demoness with bat-like wings, outrageous proportions, and flawless, light blue skin that promised an eternity of nightly pleasures. On her right, floating in the air on a pair of angelic wings, was an elf clad head-to-toe in lavishly decorated plate armor, holding a normally two-handed mace in one arm and a door-sized shield in the other. On the ground beneath them was a vertically challenged mass of violence, anger, and alcoholism seemingly only held together by her pitch-black adamantite armor. There was technically a fourth one, but stalker demons didn’t have a habit of being seen.

“Sorry to barge into yer little clubhouse uninvited, lads.”

Hilda adjusted her grip on her weapon and stepped through the molten wreckage of the cleaved door.

“But I do believe ye have something of ours!”

Part Two

“Hilda! Lichter! You’re making a huge mistake!”

The dwarven Berserker looked like she was about to rush in axe-a-swinging, but Zilla’s clear, authoritative voice gave her and her companions pause. The Foundation grunts at the scene were equally taken aback by this sudden outburst from Specimen 49, but didn’t dare interrupt. After all, they didn’t expect to suddenly find themselves staring down two obviously hostile VIPs. Worse still, all of them were dead meat should this escalate further. The same went for Zilla. He felt confident about his chances if he were to fight either of them one on one. But both at the same time while a Hero’s Skill rendered him unable to heal? His chances of victory under these conditions were somewhere between ‘zero’ and ‘fuck all.’

“Am I now?” she shot back. “So ye fellers aren’t in the business of abducting sweet young girls, are ye?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told, but we most certainly are not!”

Well, statistically speaking, the Foundation was probably involved in more than a few ‘sweet young girl’ incidents, but it wasn’t like they were specifically targeting that demographic.

“This is a government run institution!” he continued. “What you’re doing could be considered treason! Stand down and I’m sure we can sort this out!”

“Don’t listen to him!” shouted Xera. “He’s the perpetrator we came looking for in the first place!”

Indeed, the scar-faced, one-eyed human in aged full-body leather armor was a perfect fit for the description Hilda and Lichter were given. Having been reminded of that, the one who made the next move was not the volatile Berserker, but the angelic elf.

“Enough of your lies, heathen!” he bellowed. “If you will not give us the girl’s location, then I shall beat it out of you!”

A flap of his wings sent the Paladin careening into the Foundation’s front line. He crashed into them like a boulder through a wooden fence, throwing them aside as he charged right at Zilla. The human-shaped monster threw up his right hand and unleashed a torrent of water generated by overlapping his Hydro Hand and Liquid Mimicry. It enveloped everything in front of him, stopping the angel’s charge in his tracks.

“Glacier!”

At the same time, he casted a Spell that instantly turned the conjured river to ice, blocking off the hallway and encasing the intruders. However, while certainly impressive, this tactic was little more than a stopgap.

“Inferno!”

The transparent ice glowed with a bright yellow light as Xera’s flames reduced the blockade to steam in a matter of seconds. As expected of a Job that encouraged reckless behavior, the dwarven Berserker rushed through the scalding cloud of vapors and flames swinging her axe in a wide horizontal arc. Zilla managed to back-step away from the sweeping attack, but five of his ‘comrades’ were not as lucky and were cleaved in half.

With his first attempt at buying time to escape foiled so easily, the shapeshifter resorted to more drastic measures. His head quickly transformed into the sharp-beaked, yellow-feathered head of a thunderbird and unleashed a deafening Thunderous Screech exclusive to that genus of monster. The horrifyingly sharp sound bounced off the metal confines of the access tunnel and was amplified to such a degree that everyone within it instantly buckled to their knees. At least, that’s what should have happened. To Zilla’s surprise, it had minimal effect on the intruders, even though he was suffering under the effects of his own auditory assault. The Foundation grunts were already writhing around on the ground with blood pouring out of their ears, noses, and eyes, yet that demon, dwarf, and Paladin were confidently standing on their feet. The nightmarish screech seemed to place a heavy burden on them and slow their pace, but it was nowhere near as severe as it should have been. Worse still, they were closing in, approaching the bird-headed ‘kidnapper.’

Just as he was starting to wonder what was going on, Drea suddenly decapitated Zilla from behind. He had done away with his MLG to avoid the sensory backlash, which gave the stalker the perfect opportunity to sneak around him. She had definitely learned from her last encounter, as evidenced by how she aimed for the vulnerable throat muscles on her target’s neck, rather than its rock-solid body. However, even decapitated Zilla was able to twist around, grab the demon by the neck and shoulder, and throw her into the path of the incoming VIPs. Hilda ducked under while Xera and Lichter flew over the spidery projectile, but that maneuver bought their opponent the precious few moments he needed. Using the momentum from his shoulder throw, the headless human spun around and kicked the wall on his right with his heel, sending a Basilisk’s Tectonic Shift Skill through the steel plating and into the rock and dirt beyond it. This triggered a localized earthquake that caused the metal, already weakened by the extreme temperature fluctuations and sonic vibrations, to buckle and give way. Both the tunnel and invaders were instantly buried in an incalculable amount of stone and soil.

Zilla’s new head popped out of his shoulders in the next instant, but the damage caused by that rather impressive ambush remained and the assault was far from over. He doubted any of his adversaries perished in that cave-in. If something as mundane as a couple of big rocks could kill a VIP, then there would be no need for genetically engineered bioweapons like him to exist in the first place. It was only a matter of time before the intruders dug their way through and resumed their attack, regardless of whether they were caught up in the cave-in or not. Still, it provided the monster enough time and cover to allow him to retreat and reassess his objective. The intruders’ words and actions made it clear their target wasn’t the Foundation, but Zilla himself. No matter how much he wanted his perfect revenge, he had to give up on it. Survival came first, so he decided to abandon his plans and get Honoka out of here through one of the other exits. Ideally, he would teleport the two of them to safety, but this facility had been warded against such things since it was a security issue.

As the treacherous wardrobe was making his way back to the prison sub-level, the rubble on the outer side of the cave-in exploded outwards. The violent act caused the debris to shift and the ground to rumble slightly as the rescue party came back up for air.

“Koff! Koff! Koff! Everyone alright?” Lichter asked the others.

“Aye, I’m fine,” Hilda brushed off his concerns. “Not the first time I’ve had a mountain dropped on me.”

“I am unharmed as well,” reported the succubus, who seemed completely untouched by the cave-in.

“S-S-s-same here, ktktktktktkt…”

There was, of course, no need to ask who those chittering words belonged to, nor where they were coming from. Both the Berserker and the Paladin were more or less used to having the stalker on hand by now, so they already knew that the answer to those questions was ‘Claws’ and ‘around.’

“Still, looks like yer boss’s info was spot on,” Hilda commented, brushing the dirt off her shoulders.

“Indeed,” the Paladin nodded. “I don’t think we would’ve withstood that screech if it we didn’t come prepared.”

While it wasn’t visible at a glance, all four of them had used an Elixir of Greater Suppression, which massively increased their resistance to sound-based attacks for a short while.

“It makes me wonder though,” the elf’s eyes narrowed under his helmet. “How did the Sandman know about him?”

“My master has actually been investigating this Jones Alexis for months,” Xera claimed. “He hasn’t made a move on him so far because the target was deemed too powerful, but recent events have forced his hand.”

“Heh,” chuckled the dwarf. “Did he know the part about him being a freak, too? He failed to mention that bit!”

A wry smile appeared on the succubus’s lips.

“My master is hardly all-knowing. Just the fact that he managed to discover this hideout in the first place was a small miracle.”

“Mmmm, guess I shouldn’t complain. Now then, should we get to digging? We still have ourselves a Hero to rescue.”

“Assuming the young Miss Morgana is still alive,” added Lichter with a grim expression.

“She should be. If the suspect wanted her dead, then he would’ve killed her instead of taking her in the first place,” pointed out the devious temptress. “However, we should remain wary of ambushes and trickery. My master’s intelligence on the guy suggests he's normally quite… thorough at covering his tracks. Therefore, him allowing witnesses like the Slyths to live could be interpreted as a way to lure my master into a trap.”

Xera was, as to be expected, pulling all of this conjecture out of her ass. She wanted to make sure the VIPs were completely untrusting of her target’s words, as this entire operation could fall apart if they started doubting her motives. Or, rather, the motives she presented them with.

“A fair point, but it could also be because he recognized that engaging milady Slyth in battle would be folly,” offered Lichter. “Win or lose, even I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”

“Is she really that strong?”

“Indeed. Even if she isn’t a Ranker, one should never underestimate a follower of Axel, especially not a Monk. Disciples of War are especially troublesome in one-on-one combat. I doubt she would’ve been able to defeat the creature, but she definitely would’ve stalled it long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Besides, I doubt young Morgana would let herself be captured without at least injuring her assailant.”

“That does make a certain degree of sense. My master is grateful for the information and will take it into consideration. As such, he will deduct its value from your final bill,” added Xera with another wry smile.

“… Bill? What?”

One could practically see the dumb look on the Paladin’s face, despite his helmet’s visor being in the way.

“Well, duh!” exclaimed Hilda from the side. The dwarf was already hard at work moving rocks out of the way with her bare hands. “That guy probably went to great lengths to secure the intel he gave us. It’s only natural he’d charge for it.”

“It seems a bit… opportunistic, doesn’t it? Especially with what’s at stake,” argued the Paladin.

“Maybe, but I don’t give a damn. I’d give him every last coin I own if it meant we get our Merry Popper back.”

“Right, of course. We mustn’t lose sight of our immediate objective.”

“I’m so glad ye agree. Now quit yer yappin’ and give me a hand with this rubble! Who knows what that fuckface is up to at this very moment!”

“On it.”

As the two VIPs got busy flexing their muscles, Xera couldn’t help but let a solemn smile float onto her lips behind their backs. Even if this was one of the greatest cons she’d ever pulled off, it was only possible because of her late beloved’s efforts.

Rowana and her mother had gone out to search for Keira after she suddenly fled from the tea party. They had come poking around the site of Boxxy’s final battle as it was the most obvious cause of her behavior, but the authorities had already sealed off the area by the time they arrived. They continued to scour the surrounding slums in search of the missing red-haired beastkin, and that was when Xera made her move. She used her newly-acquired Conjure Mirage Skill to project an illusion of Jones Alexis carrying an unconscious Keira off into the back alleys. Doris instantly gave chase. While she was definitely faster than she looked, she had no chance of catching that which didn’t exist. From her perspective, Keira’s kidnapper had given her a mean look before disappearing around the corner somewhere, much to hers and Rowana’s dismay.

That little play had the desired effect, as both of them were convinced someone had taken the catgirl against her will. They instantly filed a missing person report with the city guard, who took the situation quite seriously considering who the missing person was. Of course, their investigation was doomed from the start and failed to turn up any leads. Xera and Drea waited a few days for the desperation to set in before showing up at the Slyth household to offer their services on the Sandman’s behalf. The Hero and the mercenary were sort-of-known to be on good terms, so it was hardly a stretch of the imagination to see the latter look out for the former.

From then on, it was child’s play to get the influential family’s backing and organize a ‘search and rescue’ party. Hilda was personally indebted to the Sandman from the war and had a good personal and professional relationship with Keira, so her participation was a foregone conclusion. Lichter, on the other hand, was the righteously selfless type, so while it took a little persuasion to bring him on board, it was hardly difficult to convince him to help save his late comrade’s last disciple. Especially not with Rowana desperately begging him for help with tears in her eyes. That vapid twig had her uses after all, Xera thought.

The only thing left was to lead those two gullible powerhouses to the enemy’s doorstep and have them wreak havoc until Boxxy’s murderer was dead. However, the target had proven to be every bit as tricky as Drea had said, possibly surpassing the two demons’ former master in the variety of abilities at his disposal. This blockade was obviously a diversion to cover his escape, which was something Xera could not allow. If they let him get away here, there would be no way of tracking him down and making him pay for his sins. Fortunately, even though she had taken on the appearance of a succubus, this was merely because it was a form that both Lichter and Hilda were familiar with. But Xera wasn’t just some common cum-guzzling slut

“I’ll be going on ahead,” she declared in a commanding tone. “Follow behind as quickly as you can.”

Without waiting for a response, Xera’s curvaceous figure exploded into a puff of transparent white smoke, almost like a thin fog. The gaseous substance seeped into dozens of tiny gaps in the rubble ahead, disappearing from sight in a matter of seconds.

“… Could succubi do that sort of thing?” asked Hilda after a brief pause.

“No. No they cannot,” declared Lichter, who was rather well-versed in fighting demons.

“Then how in the fook did that bint disappear like that?”

“That I cannot say, but one thing is for certain – our ‘benefactor’ has been holding out on us.”

Just as the Paladin had deduced, Xera just demonstrated something that went beyond anything a normal Warlock’s familiar should have been capable of. Then again, her master wasn’t just any Warlock. The Sandman had demonstrated an outstanding ability to command the denizens of the Beyond, earning him the moniker ‘Demon Whisperer’ in certain circles. His proficiency was clearly demonstrated by how he managed to steer two Overlords into each other on Armageddon Day. If the shady vigilante-turned-mercenary could pull that off, then it wouldn’t be strange for him to have a familiar or two that had Ranked Up and gained some strange powers in the process.

Lichter’s intuition regarding the Sandman’s pet slut was right on the money.

[Mist Form]
The djinn’s figure vanishes into a cloud of mist, becoming as untouchable as a fleeting dream.
Requirements: Level 15 Djinn Job
Type: Sustained
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 250 MP/sec
Range: Self
[Effects]
Transforms the user’s corporeal form into mist.
Grants immunity to physical attacks while this Skill is active.
Increases magic damage taken by 100% while this Skill is active.
Reduces the MP cost of this Skill by 4% per Level of this Skill.

The mist also allowed Xera to maintain awareness of where she was, so something like wisping through the cracks in a pile of rocks was not difficult. She was also confident she could pass through solid stone walls with enough practice, but had to be very careful when materializing. While she wasn’t completely sure what would happen if she tried to turn solid in her current state, it was a fair assumption to say it would result in a very painful death. As alluring as that thought was, she still had a revenge mission to carry out, and was rather relieved when she was able to pass through the rubble and emerge on the other side without incident. Her conjured flesh reformed out of thin air, reverting to her new base form as an alluring djinn.

She wasn’t the only one who had done so, as the demon-infested Voidcaller staff followed her on her vaporous voyage and now rested loosely in her grip. She had bonded with the ifrit sultan imprisoned inside during her Rank Up, which allowed her some measure of control over the staff. This was good, as she wouldn’t be able to lift the blasted thing otherwise. She could also swing it around as a means of attacking, which would inflict a decent amount of damage due to the staff’s massive weight and nigh-invulnerable construction.

This thing was bound to prove very useful, considering Boxxy’s killer seemed to be completely unphased by fire. He probably possessed the Fire Affinity Skill much like her new self, so her fire magic would hardly even phase it. Even though a succubus’s Penetration Expertise allowed their Spells to bypass a portion of her target’s elemental resistances, she wasn’t sure her flames could overcome total immunity. It certainly didn’t seem to be the case when she was playing with herself last-

She shook her head. Now was not the time for such distractions, nor was there room for hesitation. No matter how miniscule her efforts, she had to find that thing and stall it long enough for those muscle-heads to arrive. Of course, the bastard was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t about to stop her. Xera raised both hands towards the obfuscated heavens and called upon another djinni power.

“Guiding Light!”

A tiny mote of pure white flickered into existence. No bigger than a beetle, the miniscule light bobbed up and down seemingly at random as it oriented itself.

“Gwoooahn?”

It stood in front of its owner’s face and requested orders with a low, drawn-out drone closer to a musical note than a voice.

“Go! Bring me to the one I seek!” commanded Xera.

“Chkwong.”

Having received its orders, the sprite darted off down the half-collapsed hallway with the former succubus following close behind. However, since Xera was still new at using this particular form of magical guidance, she was unaware that she had accidentally given it the wrong instructions. It was hardly the sprite’s fault. While it could almost unerringly locate what was asked for it, her request hadn’t been specific enough. Like anything of demonic origin, one had to be wary of the hubris in their words when addressing a Guiding Light. Rather than chase after Zilla, the semi-sentient lump of mana sought out another, deeper desire that the djinn harbored. The demoness may have had her mind focused on vengeance, but her greatest wish – perhaps the only thing she’d ever truly yearned for – was something else entirely.

Luckily for Xera, both the target of her revenge and the object of her twisted affections happened to be in the same room.

Part Three

Zilla arrived in front of Specimen 68’s cell in a huff, where Simmons and five more guards were holding their ground. On his way, he passed a steady stream of Foundation personnel heading towards the breach, so the other six guards were likely sent off to respond to the ongoing intruder alert at sector B-24. They didn’t stand a chance. Fodder like that was absolutely no match for a pair of Rankers and two unshackled demons of comparable power.

“Specimen 49?!” blurted out the surprised officer-in-charge. “What’s going on?!”

“Terrible news, Mr. Simmons,” said Zilla. “The intruders are Hilda and Lichter of the Central Consortium!”

“What?! Why are they here?!”

“I tried to talk them down, but they seem to be on some personal crusade and things turned violent. I was ordered to fall back and secure critical personnel, including Professor Honoka.”

“Fall back? What do you mean fall back?!” roared the elf. “You were designed to stop people like them, weren’t you?!”

“You overestimate my abilities, Mr. Simmons,” replied Zilla calmly. “If we were to engage, my chances of survival are less than three percent.”

He pulled the number out of his ass, but strictly speaking, even that was being generous under the circumstances. It also produced the intended result as Simmons’s shocked and outraged face became grim and serious instead.

“So, would you kindly tell me where Honoka is?” Zilla insisted.

“Very well,” replied the elf in a defeated manner. “We hid the Professor inside Specimen 68’s containment cell for her own safety.”

It was a bit unorthodox, but made a good degree of sense. Between its impregnable Stasis Field and absurdly solid adamantine door, it was one of the most secure areas in the entire compound.

“You lot,” Simmons turned to his men, “assist the rest of the staff with the evacuation. Torch whatever data can’t be salvaged, but prioritize their lives above all else. Move out!”

“Yes, sir!”

The former soldiers immediately ran off in the direction Zilla came from, while their boss placed his hand on the blue panel next to the bulkhead.

“I’ll leave the Professor in your hands. Make sure you have her seal the door behind you, though. Just in case.”

“Of course, Mr. Simmons,” said Zilla with a nod.

Having received the surprisingly honest answer, Simmons opened the heavy bulkhead by manipulating the blue panel next to it and ran off to join his men. Protocol demanded that he seal the visitors inside and let them out later, but protocol didn’t account for an invasion by two damned VIPs, so this particular protocol could go fuck itself. With free reign of the place, Zilla ran inside to find exactly what he was expecting – Honoka outside the cage of light, and Boxxy still trapped inside.

“Professor Honoka,” he called out to her. “We have to-”

“Stay away from me!”

Something wasn’t right. Honoka was visibly shaken by his appearance and actively backing away from him. The caged hylt creeper, on the other hand, was serenely staring at her in its base form. The next two puzzle pieces were its skin’s purple coloration and the lack of an Attitude Adjuster gas bubble. Honoka’s terrified scream and quivering lips served as final confirmation.

“Ah,” he exclaimed. “You and the prisoner have been having a little chat, have you?”

“How could you!? You were going to betray us? Betray me?! After everything I’ve done for you?!”

Something about that last sentence struck a nerve.

“Oh, yes! Everything you’ve done for me!” he started raving like a madman. “All the experiments, the body modifications, the months of mental and physical torture I suffered as a result! And let’s not forget how you tried to control my free will! Truly, what more could a piece of furniture ask for?!”

He took slow, deliberate steps forward while the flabbergasted elf backed away in a panic until her back pressed against the yellow cage of light.

“It’s okay,” declared Zilla magnanimously. “I forgive you. This damnable Foundation may have clouded your judgement and twisted your morals, but I know the truth.”

“T-t-truth? What are you-?!”

Honoka’s muttering was cut off by her former pet, who lunged forward and slammed his palms against the Stasis Field on either side of her head. With his arms flanking her and cutting off any escape route, Honoka could do little but whimper pathetically with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Deep down, my Honoka is a good girl,” Zilla spoke quietly. “That’s why I had to save her from the corrupt government’s lapdogs and make sure they pay for corrupting her.”

The same smile that had relieved and reassured her for years now seemed so incredibly sinister she wanted to believe this was just a nightmare. However, the skin-crawling sensation she felt when Zilla stroked her cheek confirmed this was reality.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” he continued whispering. “You’ll never have to worry about anything, my dear. Food, shelter, clothes – especially clothes – I’ll make sure you have all of those. As for the bullies that keep making you cry, that pit you against me, they won’t disturb you ever again. Just like the old days.”

Her eyes widened in shock as she seemed to grasp at what he- what it was implying.

“Y-you’re crazy,” she squeaked.

“Hahaha! Why, whatever do you mean?! After all, as you so succinctly put it, I am nothing if not a bastion of logic, reason, and common sense!”

“No… Noooo!”

Honoka finally recognized Zilla for the twisted monster it was and made a last ditch effort to escape. She ducked under his arm and ran a total of three steps before it grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and lifted her off the ground. She flailed her hands and feet wildly, but couldn’t stop what was happening. Zilla slowly slithered out of his armor while maintaining a grip on her, and his scarred humanoid body expanded several sizes into a fancy-looking wardrobe adorned with a head and arm. Honoka looked back over her shoulder, staring in horror as she realized that the scantily-clad elven women engraved on either door now bore her likeness. Not only her pudgy, pale face, but also her well-rounded proportions.

“Noo!” she began struggling anew. “You can’t do this! Please! Zilla! Don’t! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, let me go!”

No matter how much she pleaded and begged, Honoka was placed inside the living wardrobe all the same. What was once animate wood was now nothing but a shell covering a mass of writhing, red flesh. It seemed like the elf was being swallowed up by a gigantic slug, which only further amplified her horror. Her neck, waist, hands, and feet were securely bound by fleshy tendrils. Her lab coat, shoes, and three-week-old underwear were stripped and discarded because, even though they were technically clean, Zilla never approved of how they looked. Finally, a feeding tube intended to deliver nutritious paste and vital moisture was forced down her throat, gagging her protests and allowing only disgusting gurgling noises to escape her throat. Even those horrible sounds disappeared when the wardrobe’s doors shut themselves tight, sealing her off from the rest of the world.

“Finally,” said Zilla, a blissed-out-look on its face.

The creature finally felt whole, as if a part of it that had been torn away was finally back where it belonged. The monster wished to cherish the sensation forever. Unfortunately, he knew it couldn’t be. No matter how well he cared for Honoka, she didn’t possess a house mimic’s longevity and would surely expire long before her protector did. That was okay, though. Zilla had already thought of a workaround. After all, elves were capable of something no mimic could do, a way to leave a bit of themselves behind even after they had passed on. Granted, it would take a lot of doing to work out the details, but the monster had plenty of time to figure out this ‘insemination’ thing.

“Are you done yet?”

Zilla’s moment of silent reverie was rudely interrupted by a voice from below and behind. The freakish abomination in the shape of a wardrobe extended the neck attaching its human-like head to the rest of it like a serpent. Its annoyed face twisted around and stared down at the only creature that had ever come close to being its peer.

“Me? Done? Oh no, my friend. I am only just beginning,” it jovially replied.

“Well, you got what you wanted. I don’t suppose you would be willing to let me out now?”

“Don’t be silly. Even if I was capable of doing so, I’m not stupid enough to cut you loose.”

The house mimic naturally had no intention of letting Boxxy out of its cell. Even if things had gone according to plan and the hylt creeper had upheld its end of their agreement, Zilla surely wouldn’t have let it roam free. It was impossible to believe a monster had let go of its grudge towards its killer. The same went for the personal hatred it most likely developed against Honoka, the one who tried to enslave it. Wardrobzilla was sure of this because, if the roles had been reversed, the treacherous wardrobe would have definitely plotted to murder both its killer and its torturer.

“You can turn to dust along with the rest of this place once I’m done here. I’m sure you can understand,” he smugly added.

“Haaah,” Boxxy sighed with disappointment. “So that’s how it was, after all. I was hoping things would turn out differently, that you of all creatures would understand. But it would seem you’re just like the rest.”

“Am I now?” Zilla raised an eyebrow. “And how do you figure that, hmm? Please, do tell, in what way am I ‘like the rest?’”

“It’s so simple it’s pathetic, really,” said Boxxy, its gaze fixated on the freakish head. “You’re way too full of yourself.”

Zilla felt dozens of razor-sharp blades tear through its fleshy insides, rapidly shaving away its already diminished HP. By the time it was able to react, its ‘unwilling captive’ had already ripped through the wardrobe’s backside, revealing a vaguely humanoid creature that was very far from a female elf. It was best described as a bunch of knives in the vague shape of a person. Still unable to fully grasp the situation, the freakish wardrobe shifted into its monstrous, chimera-like form while lashing out at its attacker. The steel blender that stood like a man retaliated by throwing itself directly into the incoming scale-covered punch, causing even more wounds as the two clashed. Its struggle didn’t last long, but it still managed to get a few good cuts in before it was flattened into a pulp. The Mirror Image’s remains began rapidly disappearing as they returned to the mana that spawned them.

Covered in gashes and bleeding profusely, Zilla fell down on its knees. He struggled to shapeshift its wounds shut as the Hero of Death’s Fatal Promise tried its darndest to keep them open.

“My, my,” said Boxxy in a condescending tone. “Is it me, or do you seem to be in a spot of trouble, partner?”

The bird-headed hodgepodge of various monsters looked at it with a mixture of hate, apprehension, and fury.

“You! How did you get out of there?! No, forget that! WHERE IS MY HONOKA!?!”

“Why, she is a part of me now,” Boxxy declared triumphantly. “I couldn’t let the arrogant bitch think she could get away with trying to control me.”

The shapeshifter’s visage twisted into the face of Zilla’s obsession, its voice perfectly mimicking hers.

“I’m sure you can understand.”

“You… YOUUU-!”

Zilla went into a mad rage and blindly attacked Boxxy with every punch, kick, Spell, and other supernatural ability he could think of, yet all its efforts were rendered useless by the Stasis Field between the two monsters.

“You know, you really shouldn’t dismiss the ‘how’ of things,” stated the captive while its adversary continued to rage just outside its new shield. “Truth be told, I could’ve broken out of here any time. It’s amazing how much you can learn by reading the writing on the wall.”

The creature gestured at the lines of ever-shifting letters that crawled incessantly all over the walls of its cage before it continued to gloat.

“The only reason I didn’t do so earlier was because I wouldn’t have made it far. If push came to shove, I’d have probably tried it anyway if it meant I got to kill your shiny person before I died again. I don’t think I’d have too many regrets if I accomplished that.”

It stopped pacing around and extended its arms outward, as if trying to hug the mass of murder and malice beyond the solid wall of light.

“But this? This is soooo much better! I never knew despair could be so tasty! They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I must say, I think I much prefer the pointless heat of your laughable desperation and impotent rage!”

“Shut uuuuuup! Come out here and face me, Morningwood! If it’s come to this, then I’ll just eat your lifeless corpse and take Honoka’s remains with it! She will be purified in my belly, so that only your worthless matter will be shit out and pissed on! By me!”

Zilla continued to rave like a madman, spouting his wildly obscene and obscenely wild fantasies at the top of his lungs.

“Want me to come out, do you? Alright, I’ll humor you. Wouldn’t feel right unless I rip out your nasty life with my very teeth, after all!”

Boxxy started growing extra arms from its back and shoulders until it had a total of seven thin, gangly limbs. It reached forward with its three right hands and four lefts, pressing a single bronze-tipped finger from each appendage against the solid wall of light. It began calmly dragging them along the surface as it traced seven different symbols simultaneously, spelling out the phrase ‘out with the bad’ in the ancient language of the Gods.

Incidentally, the ‘entry’ configuration was triggered by the passphrase ‘in with the good.’

Once the sigils were drawn, they shone with an intense white light before being absorbed into the cube of light. The Stasis Field shimmered and buzzed from the new input and turned from a sun-like yellow to an emerald green.

“Thunder Lance!”

Seeing the change, Zilla tried to attack with renewed vigor, but its Spell fizzled uselessly against the shiny barrier. Blue denoted ‘entry,’ green denoted ‘exit,’ and as far as the Stasis Field’s creator was concerned, those two concepts were mutually exclusive.

“Reality Slash!”

Boxxy launched its own favorite Spell. The invisible blade ripped through the deeply upset, momentarily confused, and profoundly disturbed shapeshifter on the other side of the barrier. It sliced open his lizard-like torso, causing it to split apart in a disgusting V-shape with the head of a thunderbird barely clinging to his right shoulder.

“But… But…” stammered Zilla. “You said-!”

“I lied!”

After stating the obvious, Boxxy raised a hand at its momentarily disabled opponent and fired a deluge of corrosive liquid though its assimilated Acid Spray Skill. The voraciously toxic substance began burning away at Zilla’s flesh, causing the creature to scream in agony as it fell to the ground. The doppelganger started laughing triumphantly as it continued the deadly deluge.

“Ah-hahaha! I knew it! This is it, isn’t it?! This! Is! Your! Bane!”

Every monster that existed on this world, from the lowliest of goblins to the mightiest of dragons, had a Bane. An immutable elemental weakness that, when properly exploited, would allow the weak to triumph over the strong. Even a thoroughly creative and adaptive creature like Boxxy wasn’t exempt from this iron-clad rule, and neither was a changeling such as Zilla. It had simply taken a while for the former to realize that the latter’s lethal vulnerability was not electricity, but toxins. As expected of the unnatural creature, even its Bane defied common sense.

Thus, Zilla’s flesh was mercilessly melted away. It screamed, bellowed, and wailed in such a way that one might think Boxxy was molesting an entire menagerie of monsters. It had gotten a brief reprieve when the Stasis Field automatically reset itself back to its default configuration. ‘Brief’ was the operative word, as a swift manual input of seven divine letters ensured the needlessly cruel execution continued until Zilla was greeted by the same fateful three words Boxxy had seen less than a week ago.

[You have died.]

Completing the role reversal, the victorious shapeshifter had gotten its own share of notifications as a result of this significant victory.

[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 35 Doppelganger! All Attributes +2.]

Granted, its spoils may not have been as outwardly impressive as the late Zilla’s, but it was still a significant chunk of combat XP consider other people had done most of the work. At the same time, a certain stealthy raptor, who had already taken advantage of the ongoing confusion to escape from the base, had been notified that ‘The fatal promise has been kept.’ This was accompanied by a significant spike in his Level 93 Rogue Job.

The other Hero in the area wasted no time and stepped out of its cage while continuing to bathe Zilla’s remains in its acid purely out of spite. From a practical point of view, it should have tried to devour or absorb the body with Cadaver Absorption, but practicality was far from its mind. It gave up potential gains for the satisfying feeling of ensuring that every last bit of wardrobe meat was reduced to a sizzling green goop. This went on until a small white light entered the room from the still-open bulkhead and made a beeline for Boxxy. The monster reflexively tried to swat it out of the air, but its hand simply passed through the incorporeal sprite.

“Kahtuuhm! Kahtuuhm! Kahtuuhm!”

The mote of light did a few quick circles around the creature, while letting out a somewhat victorious-sounding series of chirps. Listening closer, the aspiring linguist recognized those seemingly nonsensical noises as the divine word for ‘found,’ albeit heavily distorted. Hearing a metallic clatter from what was probably this entity’s owner, the creature rapidly shifted its gaze back towards the entrance. There it saw a blue skinned woman. Her head was adorned with a golden jeweled crown oddly reminiscent of demon horns. Equally shiny ornaments barely covered her wrists, ankles, chest, and groin while her obscenely voluptuous figure floated a few centimeters off the ground. All-too-familiar blue skin covered what was undoubtedly delectable, albeit not very nutritious, demon flesh, while a beautiful face stared at the shapeshifter with a sort of silent reverence.

“Mah… Master? You… live?”

“…”

Boxxy didn’t answer as it stared hard at this new arrival. While she certainly looked like its former familiar, it knew firsthand that looks could be deceiving.

“Masteeeeer!”

The Snack lookalike screamed with all her might and charged headfirst towards the doppelganger with her hands held out. A few tears streamed out of the corners of her eyes as she flew towards the monster who, as one might expect, did not appreciate anyone lunging at it. Boxxy swung its right arm in an upwards uppercut motion while transforming its fist into a steel-spiked ball. The improvised mace smashed straight in her happily smiling face, sending her veering up towards the dome’s ceiling. She slammed into it back-first and seemed to stick to the metal surface for a few moments before peeling off and falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Its target temporarily stunned, Boxxy leapt onto the demon, grabbed her scalp with a four-fingered hand, and unleashed its newest Warlock Skill – the one it hadn’t even had a chance to try until now.

“Enslave Demon!”

The magic it invoked, specifically designed to subdue the Beyond’s denizens, crashed into Xera’s hazy consciousness. Even in a state where she’d had the ever-living daylights smacked out of her, she initially resisted the hostile force invading her mind. She then recognized the origin of this oppressive will that sought to dominate her and one-sidedly demanded her subservience. It was almost too much to bear, this overwhelming power. Its weight. Its… girth. It was a presence she was all too familiar with.

Truthfully speaking, she had already witnessed the excessively cruel yet dreadfully efficient way in which this creature had tortured its opponent to death. The tantalizing screams of pain coming out of what seemed to be her master’s killer actually left her speechless, and she found herself unable to do anything but watch. During this show was when she started to realize that maybe - just maybe - her Master might have returned. She didn’t know how or when, and fully understood the extreme unlikelihood of such an occurrence. At the same time, making the seemingly impossible a reality was what the Hero of Chaos was all about. The spectacularly violent blow to her head and subsequent attempt to break and bend her will instantly erased any doubts she might have had. Her rotten mind, twisted heart, and rapidly moistening snatch all rejoiced at the singular, undeniable truth.

Boxxy was back.

Part Four

[You have enslaved an unbound demon of considerable might.]
[Proficiency level increased. Enslave Demon is now Level 3. INT +8. MNT +8.]
[Proficiency level increased. Domination Mastery is now Level 9. MNT +3. INT +1.]

Boxxy was momentarily surprised at how… easy that was. It could actually feel this likely impostor willingly cease its resistance and give into its control halfway through the process. The shapeshifter was sure this wasn’t supposed to happen, so it double-checked the Skill in question.

[Enslave Demon]
The Warlock attempts to force an unbound demon into a temporary contract of indentured service.
Requirements: Level 55 Warlock Job, Soul Link
Type: Active
Activation Time: 5 seconds
Cost: 20% of max MP
Range: Touch
[Effects]
Attempts to bind targeted demonic entity via domination magic.
If successful, the target will be forced to obey the user’s commands for at least 20 seconds, up to a maximum of 5 minutes.
Increases the amount of time control is guaranteed by 10 seconds per Level of this Skill.
Increases the effects of the MNT Attribute on this Skill by 5% per Level of the Domination Mastery Skill.
Beware! Demons absolutely despise being enslaved!

Indeed, the details made it clear that even if successful, the demon would continue to struggle against its oppressor until it broke free. On the other hand, like all mental assaults, it didn’t matter how powerful the victim was if they didn’t resist the intrusion, let alone willingly submit. An open mind was like a fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded, and Boxxy knew of precisely one demon that was broken enough to eagerly welcome domination. It didn’t even need to check her Status window to confirm her identity, but did so anyway.

After all, verification was the only acceptable form of trust.

“Snack? It’s you after all?!” it stated in a surprised manner. “How come you’re here? Did you want to avenge me or something?!”

The blissfully happy demoness looked at her rightful owner with a coquettish grin on her lips and a noticeable blush on her cheeks.

“Of course, Master. I would never even think of letting anyone who dared harm you go unpunished, Master.”

She twiddled her fingers beneath her chin, swaying slightly from side to side as her seductive nature dictated. If the one in front of her were a mere man, he would surely be hypnotized by the gentle heaving of her impossible bosom.

“But… why?”

“Because I just felt so pointlessly lost without your, mmmm, firm instruction, Master. Without you, I was certain all that was left for me to do was waste away in the Beyond for all eternity, Master. After all, there exists no mortal, demon, or god who could hope to take your place as my rightful Master. The pussy you so, hnnnn, thoroughly trained can no longer be satisfied by anyone but yourself, Master. And you are the only one worthy of owning a Snack as tasty as I, Master. There is no conceivable reality where-”

“Okay! Alright! I get it!” it snapped. “Just shut up already you dumb bitch!”

Xera bit her lip as she failed to stifle a low moan, but otherwise kept silent. Boxxy should’ve known better than to expect a useful response. Listening to the demoness gush all over it was pointless and annoying. The shapeshifter felt somewhat nostalgic when it remembered the early days of their acquaintance, back when she acted just as a succubus was expected to. While she was certainly more disobedient, she was also significantly more tolerable. As it continued to check over her Status, Boxxy couldn’t help but notice that Snack was noticeably stronger than when she was its familiar. This mysterious power was undoubtedly related to the other, far more curious abnormality on her Status.

“How the crap did you manage to Rank Up? Into a djinn, of all things!” it exclaimed.

According to knowledge gleaned from the Demonology Skill, the djinn were relatively few in number and had very little in common with succubi. They were creatures of sloth and decadence – impossibly lazy bastards that would rather drift endlessly through the Beyond than lift a mental finger. This attitude placed them squarely in the uncooperative side of the demonic spectrum, a significant group of entities that were either unable or unwilling to submit to a soul-binding contract. This included the brainless imps, the much-too-prideful and always-angry ifrit, the extremely unpredictable rift walkers, and the immortal embodiment of lunacy known simply as the zug-zug.

“I am not exactly sure, Master,” Xera admitted.

The sultry smile on her lips began to fade and the flames of lust in her eyes diminished as she realized this was neither the time nor the place for frivolities rushing through her rotten head.

“However,” she continued in a more serious tone, “I suspect it had a lot to do with this guy.”

She flipped over in the air and, while upside down and facing towards the exit, stretched out her arm. Interestingly enough, the calamity that was her mammaries did not obey gravity and strike her in the face as one might expect. Instead, they levitated in such a way as to display the maximum amount of simultaneous over-boob, side-boob, and under-boob. Boxxy ignored her physics-defying cleavage as its eyes fell upon Voidcaller, left forgotten and disused on the floor. The shapeshifter’s arm extended like rubber as it retrieved its one and only Artifact. Boxxy gripped the weapon, feeling the familiar weight in its hands while Snack gave a brief summary of the events leading to her demonic ascension.

A report that included what little she had learned of the staff’s unwilling occupant.

“So basically, a lot of weird demonic stuff happened and you Ranked Up?”

“Pretty much.”

“Can’t you explain it better than that?!”

“I apologize, Master, but that’s the most a brainless slut like myself could hope to learn from that situation.”

Boxxy looked down at the shiny black demonic skull, momentarily lost in thought. Knowing this thing had an ifrit sultan trapped inside was surely interesting information. According to demonic lore, those beings were one step below Overlord in terms of authority and equally comparable in destructive potential if given material form. Boxxy wanted to avoid accidentally releasing one into the physical realm if at all possible, so it decided to treat the item with better care in the future.

On second thought, was that really a necessity? While erring on the side of caution was definitely wise, this was an Artifact-grade weapon forged from pure adamantite. It would surely take more than a few stray dings to break it open, especially considering it didn’t have a single scratch, chip, or dent on it after unknown centuries of intermittent use. Even if it did somehow break open and release its prisoner, without a body to hold it, the demonic soul would simply be sucked back into the Beyond.

Speaking of, Boxxy still had one very important matter to settle before it got a move on.

1-800-7355-9687-7685

*Beep … Beep … Beep*

It would appear that, much to the creature’s delight, the thing blocking its connection to the Beyond was indeed the Stasis Field and not the metal dome surrounding it.

*Beep … Beep … Beep*

Carl sure was taking his sweet time answering, though.

*Click*

“… Hello?”

“Hey, Carl. It’s Boxxy.”

“Get out. Get! Out! Are you shitting me?!”

“No, I am not defecating at you.”

“Juniper damn it, you bastard of a box! You just cost me four hundred Essences of Rage!”

“I… did?”

“Ah, never mind that,” said the devil in a defeated tone. “That was my own fault for betting against you. Should’ve known something as fleeting as death wouldn’t keep you down.”

“I see.”

Normally, Boxxy would’ve asked what Essence of Rage was and whether it was tasty or not, but it had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Carl, about my contracts-”

“Already working on it,” said the devil amidst a cavalcade of clicking. “Two of your former familiars – the stalker and the… succubus? Huh, now that’s… new?”

“What is?”

“Ah, never mind. Just a glitch on our side. Anyway, those two are still in the mortal realm somewhere, so I can’t renew their contracts until they come back here.”

“Claws is still alive?” the monster asked aloud.

“… Ah! Yes, Master!” replied the djinn after snapping out of her lustful leering. “She was actually helping me with-”

Boxxy raised a hand to silence Snack, so that it could focus on its conversation with Carl.

“As for the third one,” continued the otherworldly demon, “that lucky bitch is… just… about… There! She’s all set up and waiting on you.”

“Thanks, Carl.”

“Yeah, no problem. Though, you gotta tell me how in Nagnamor’s flaming testicles you managed to escape old skull-face’s clutches.”

“Can’t chat right now, I have a life to piece back together. Such as it is.”

The alarm that had flared up ever since the hapless elf walked in a while ago was still blaring, so whatever trouble Snack and Claws had stirred up hadn’t yet been resolved. If Boxxy hoped to take advantage of it, it really needed to get a move on.

“Sure thing. By the way, buddy, in case I gave you the wrong impression earlier – I’m genuinely glad to have you back.”

“Yeah. Me too. Bye.”

“Talk to you lat-“

*Click*

As per usual, Carl did fast, efficient work. Now that Arms had her contract reinstated, it invoked the Voidcaller staff’s unique ability and summoned her post-haste. A bright-red gateway opened up, and the familiar, all-too-welcome sight of the six-armed archfiend stumbled out. It took her a while to get her bearings, but when she did, she threw all her arms up in the air and let out a loud a roar.

“Alriiiiiiiiiiight! I knew you’d find a way to cheat that bonehead, boss! Hahahaha! Koff, koff! Oh, and I just won a bet of four hundred Essences of Rage – Hack! Koff! Thanks to you!”

“What’s an- Ah, never mind. Arms, listen, I need you to-”

“Koff! Koff koff koff! Hack! Fuck! What’s- Koff koff!”

Much to Boxxy’s surprise, the archfiend started coughing violently, uncontrollably even. Xera might have been surprised, too, but she was still basking in her master’s presence. She didn’t even register her colleague’s arrival to begin with. Kora’s fit lasted for several seconds before she finally dislodged the thing stuck in her throat, which fell to the metal-covered ground with an audible clatter. It was a pink, square-cut gemstone about five centimeters in height and width, and roughly one centimeter thick. It was undoubtedly the same mystic jewel that Boxxy, or rather Keira, had inherited from Faehorn, which still retained much of the bright glow and gentle hum signifying its magic charge. How and why it had ended up in Kora’s throat was a total and complete mystery. In fact, its sudden reappearance made so little sense that Boxxy almost didn’t want to pick it back up.

Almost being the operative word.

The greedy creature couldn’t help itself, so it reached down to pick up the shiny gem after barely a moment’s consideration. However, the instant it grasped it, the gem suddenly flashed with a blinding light as something activated. A loud screeching noise and a rush of air accompanied the sudden light show, followed by the unmistakable clatter of metal on metal, among other things. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that the pink gem Boxxy was still stubbornly holding onto finally relented and returned to a significantly more inert state.

Once the dust had settled, the shapeshifter found itself buried knee-deep in a pile of armor, weapons, clothes, potions, gold coins, and a bunch of other miscellaneous items. It spotted many familiar objects in the mess, such as several stacks of bombs, precisely five kilograms of a certain dryad’s specially prepared human jerky, a few old bronze shields, and a toolbox with a tinkerer’s odds and ends. Most important of all, however, was the jeweled hilt of an enchanted mithril rapier sticking out of the mound as if demanding to be grasped.

Boxxy slowly, almost reverently reached down and gripped the nostalgic weapon. Kora and Xera looking on in stunned silence as it gently pulled it out of the item pile. The creature didn’t know how or why, but the lost contents of its Storage had returned to it. That mana sponge of a gemstone was certainly responsible, and the creature’s curious nature screamed at it to figure out its secrets. However, Boxxy had more important things to do right now than ponder the academic ramifications of this anomalous event.

Namely, putting every last piece of gold or equipment back in its rightful place.

*RRRUMBLE*

Just as it finished reclaiming its loot, however, the underground facility was once again shaken by something too localized to be an earthquake.

“What is that, anyway?” asked Boxxy.

“Ah, those would be the idiots I bamboozled into helping me achieve vengeance for your sake, Master.”

“Idiots? Which idiots?”

“Well, you see…”

After a brief explanation from Snack, Boxxy was finally able to grasp how she was able to make it this far inside what was surely a secure compound. The monster could work with this and warmed up its rusty scheming muscles. It threw the relentlessly smiling djinn a sideways glance while considering its options. It hated to admit it, but it was thoroughly impressed with her initiative. Even though her master was dead, the demoness had still taken steps to maintain its Facade. While unexpected, it was by no means an unwelcome surprise, and definitely deserving of a special reward.

However, before Boxxy could re-integrate back into society, it first had to cover its tracks.

“Arms,” it called out.

“Sup boss? Got a job for me?” she hopped in place expectantly.

“Yeah. There are some things in this base that I need you to smash for me.”

“Alriiight! … Is what I want to say, but I could really use a play-by-play here, boss. The big man hasn’t shown us a single episode of the Boxxy show ever since you… y’know, so I have no idea what’s been going on. Like, you won’t just suddenly keel over and drop dead or anything, right?”

“No, I won’t. At least, I don’t think I will. I still need to finish comparing notes with Snack, but for now…”

Boxxy rummaged through its Storage’s recently restored contents. It pulled out and immediately chugged a mana potion. It used most of the replenished MP to create a brand new Mirror Image. The clone assumed the Sandman’s guise, complete with billowing cloak, armored limbs, and masked head, while the original slipped back into Keira’s well-tanned skin.

“Follow my clone, it will show you the way to your objective.”

When Boxxy strangled Professor Honoka to death earlier, it didn’t just eat the body after gleefully watching the life drain out of her eyes. As much as it wanted to satiate its hunger, it fulfilled the second half of its promise to her and used the Broken Reflection Skill on her corpse instead. The doppelganger ability allowed it to peer into the last few hours of the deceased Alchemist’s memories. Its original intent was to use said information to screw with Zilla’s head, but as a bonus, it learned a great deal regarding the ‘Foundation’ they belonged to. Both the nature of the organization and much of this facility’s layout was now imprinted in its mind, and it would use that information to pick up where that delusional wardrobe left off.

“Go! And crush anything or anyone in your way,” it ordered.

The archfiend smashed her left fists into her right palms with a huge, toothy grin. It didn’t take an expert on demon behavior to understand she was really looking forward to this assignment.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, boss!”

Boxxy covered Keira’s naked body in a ripped up bedsheet it had lying around and began practicing her ‘desperately tired’ face as it slipped into character. Rather than her usual cheerful self, the catgirl would appear exhausted, tortured, and vulnerable to garner as much sympathy as possible from those two VIPs. Doing so would certainly keep them from asking too many questions. After all, if living as Keira had taught it anything, a cute girl in tears was one of the most potent weapons in existence.

“Snack, you’re with me. The story is the Sandman and Arms broke in through an alternate path, found me, freed me, and had you escort me out of here. We’ll work out the details along the way.”

“Understood, Master.”

Boxxy, its clone, and the two demons all went out of the dome-shaped holding cell as one, sirens blaring in the background. While on the move, and before they could run into any more enemies, the monster went over its newly-unlocked Skill options and settled on the next step in its death-defying rise to power.

[Proficiency level increased. Hylt Metabolism is now Level 1. END +5. INT +3.]

[Hylt Metabolism]
Allows the Creeper to find sustenance in any environment by imitating the formidable constitution of hylt trees.
Requirements: Level 30 Doppelganger Job, Creeper (Hylt), END 250, INT 200
Type: Passive
Range: Self
[Effects]
Can draw nutrients from soil, water, sunlight, and ambient mana to satiate hunger.
Increases automatic HP and MP recovery by up to 20% per Level of this Skill when in direct sunlight.
Increases automatic HP and MP recovery by up to 50% per Level of this Skill when in a mana-rich environment.

Boxxy had gone back and picked a Skill it passed over at Level 30 of the Doppelganger Job in favor of Spirit Echo. The ability to eat a whole bunch of things it couldn’t before, plus the rather outrageous potential boosts to its HP and MP recovery were sure to make the creature significantly more adaptable to hostile environments. If possible, it wanted to avoid repeating the involuntary diet it had gone through while caged. It didn’t come all this way, kill all those people, and survive the wrath of an honest-to-shininess Goddess just to die of starvation in some dark hole in the ground.

Truthfully speaking, while bolstering its survival abilities was definitely a pragmatic decision, there was also another, far less practical reason it settled on this particular Skill.

The relentlessly curious creature really wanted to know whether intangible things such as sunlight or mystically-charged air were, in fact, tasty.

Part Five

Xera had left directions for Hilda, Lichter, and Drea to follow by burning images into the floors and walls she passed. That was fine in and of itself, though her choice to leave behind pictures of dicks rather than arrows was both questionable and somewhat expected. In any event, the phallic graffiti served its purpose in guiding the rest of the rescue party, though they hadn’t gotten far before they ran into serious resistance.

Which was how Hilda found herself upside down and lodged halfway through a steel wall.

“Slimes… Why’d it have to be slimes?!”

The stonekin dwarf grumbled as she dislodged herself from her predicament, landing on the ground with a heavy thud. Slimes were a bad matchup for martial fighters like her. They had high endurance and an innate resistance to physical blows, which was her main way of un-aliving things. While she would win in combat against them eventually, it would always take way too much time unless she had a massive Level advantage. The chances of a quick and easy win were practically non-existent once she ran into not one, but two queen slimes with bodies of liquid steel. The monstrous pair had taken on the appearances of well-endowed women that had amorphous blobs for lower bodies and were keeping a distance of several paces. They smiled and giggled mischievously before they charged at her once again, erratically bouncing off the walls and ceiling of the metal passageway as they closed in on her.

“Rearm!”

The massive axe Hilda was stubbornly holding onto disappeared in a flash of light and was replaced by a pair of runed swords. One of them was a white mithril blade that crackled with electricity, while the other was a pitch black longsword that smoldered with unnatural heat. Even if they could nullify her brute strength, she would still make them contend with the arsenal of magic weapons in her extradimensional armory. Smiling widely beneath her helmet, she charged forward to meet them head on.

Meanwhile, Lichter was on the other side of the wall and he wasn’t faring much better as he faced down a squad of five suspiciously well-armed and well-trained harpies in mid-air combat. The spacious auditorium he wound up in gave him a good amount of maneuverability, but the same went for his opponents. The half-bird, half-human monsters actually seemed more adept at fighting in these relatively cramped conditions than the Paladin and were practically flying circles around him.

Their air superiority was enforced by one of the feather-headed women in particular – a Shaman. A damned good one, too. Her wind-based magic amplified her allies’ already formidable flying skills, allowing them to make drastic turns and rapid accelerations with a single beat of their winged arms. At the same time, they used the talons on their birdlike feet to wield swords, bows, and spears with mind-boggling dexterity. Their sheer speed and surprisingly good teamwork allowed them to keep hitting the Paladin without letting him land a clean blow in return. That last part was Lichter’s biggest issue. Their cooperation was so good that the angelic elf now knew how powerful monsters felt whenever they had to fight a party of experienced adventurers. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

Unfortunately for the harpy unit, there were three small details that were keeping them from fulfilling their ironic objective. One – Lichter was still under the effects of the sound-dampening Elixir of Greater Suppression. This nullified the power of their voices, which was arguably their greatest natural weapon. Two – even if he was taking damage and they weren’t, it was like a quintet of mosquitos fighting a battleship. His stamina and endurance would win out in the end, at which point a single well-placed blow from his mighty hammer would turn any of them into mush.

Third, and perhaps most important of all, he wasn’t actually alone.

A shadow passed over the harpy Shaman in the blink of an eye, producing a single, barely audible slicing sound. A breath or two later, the winged magic user flopped onto the ground while her head landed a few meters away from her still-twitching corpse. With the air manipulator out of the picture, Lichter was finally able to catch up to the Ranger harpy that had been taking pot shots at him the entire time and splattered her against the wall like a bug. With the feathered freaks’ formation well and truly fucked, the Paladin needed less than a minute to catch and crush two more of them. Drea impaled the fifth and final one from behind, putting an end to the pointless confrontation.

“Good work.”

The Paladin punctuated his appreciative words with a nod towards the spider-demon. He had to give credit where credit was due – that fight would’ve gone on for much longer without her expert assistance.

“We’re wasting time here!” she hissed. “We need to catch the target-t-t-t-t before he escapes!”

“That is not our mission here, demon,” he replied in a stern manner.

“Maybe not yours… Tktktktktktk….”

Drea gave off an ominous-sounding chitter as she slinked back into the shadows, thoroughly reminding the Paladin why he hated working with demons. As an inherently good and compassionate person, it was impossible for him to get along with beings that were innately evil and selfish. Still, the contemptuous assassin had a point – they were wasting precious time. Lichter landed on the ground and ran out of the auditorium, back into the hallway where Hilda was still struggling with her queen slime problem.

“Amplify Magic!”

He was just about to leap in and give her a hand when he heard a very familiar voice from the other end of the passageway. He turned his head and saw the succubus that had gone ahead earlier was using yet another ability she shouldn’t have at her disposal. One that manifested itself in the shape of six rings of yellow light that looped around her elbows, knees, scalp, and waist as if she were some sort of chandelier.

“Amplify Magic!”

She used the Skill a second time, wrapping one of the queen slimes in similar-looking rings of light that orbited around her undulating body. Although this seemed like she was empowering her enemy, that assessment could not be further from the truth. At least, not when said enemy lacked offensive magic of their own.

[Amplify Magic]
The djinn’s natural affinity for magic allows them to easily magnify the effects of most Spells and Skills.
Requirements: Level 5 Djinn Job
Type: Active
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 300 MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Increases magic damage and healing done by 5% per Level of this Skill.
Increases magic damage and healing taken by 5% per Level of this Skill.
Increases the duration of all magical Status Effects by 5% per Level of this Skill.
The effects of this Skill will last 15 seconds.

While normally a double-edged sword, this Skill shone against magically-impotent targets like steel slimes.

“Scorching Ray!”

After prepping the stage, the winged demoness unleashed a devastating beam of white heat from the skull-headed staff in her hands. It struck one of the slimes dead on, forcing the bulbous woman to scream in pain as the dull gray color of her ‘skin’ rapidly began turning red. She immediately tried to retreat, but a well-placed body slam from Hilda made her crash into a nearby wall. This allowed Xera to keep her Spell trained on her target a few seconds longer. The thermal overload caused the slime’s body heat to increase until she started to visibly bubble over and lose consistency, ending with a spectacular explosion of molten metal.

Seeing her ‘sister’ die in a such a visceral manner snapped the other slime out of whatever battle trance she was in. Realizing that any further opposition would lead to a rather horrible death, the monster immediately retreated while she had the chance. Her body liquefied completely, allowing her to retreat through one of the drains in the floor.

“Oy!” shouted Hilda as she stomped on top of the opening. “We’re not done here, ye droopy cunt!”

“Yes, we are,” the succubus insisted while walking closer.

“What’d ye mean ‘yes we-’ Lass! Ye’re safe!”

“By the Goddess!”

Only now did both VIPs spot the small, trembling figure standing behind the succubus. The dusky skin, bright crimson hair, and fuzzy triangular ears were very much like the catgirl they came here to rescue. At the same time, her lively yellow eyes seemed dull and vacant. Her thousand-meter stare, combined with her blank expression and uncharacteristically meek attitude, gave the unmistakable impression of ‘damaged goods.’ The soiled bed sheet wrapped around her made it painfully clear that her stay here was anything but pleasant.

Lichter rushed to her side, knelt down, and gently put his hands on her shoulders.

“What did they do to you, child?!”

However, Keira did not respond. In fact, she barely even registered his presence with a fleeting glance.

“Those twiggy pricks!” growled Hilda while punching the wall. “I’ll turn ‘em all into mincemeat for daring to lay a finger on my cute disciple!”

“That is not our objective, you raging cuntwaffle,” spat out Xera. “The target is secure, and we need to vacate the area. Now!”

“She’s right, Hilda,” the Paladin agreed. “We need to prioritize her safety first.”

He carefully picked up Keira in a princess carry, trying his best not to disturb the filthy cloth covering her naked figure.

“So these sick bastards can come after her again?!” protested the dwarf. “She won’t be safe until we put every last one of ‘em in the ground!”

“My Master is already working on that,” interrupted Xera.

“He… He is?”

“I’ll explain on the way. We move!”

The succubus began feeding the rescue party the cartload of fresh bullshit Boxxy had prepared for them, but Drea, who was following behind while clinging to the ceiling, didn’t hear a word of it. She was far too conflicted to do anything but move her body on autopilot while she processed this sudden turn of events. Her master had died, that much was an unassailable truth. That was why she and Xera were in this place to begin with – to get revenge. Yet, at the same time, its Facade had made a sudden reappearance. The way her comrade acted as if this was all according to plan only amplified the stalker’s confusion. She didn’t know what to think. Was Boxxy truly back among the living? Or was this just another of Xera’s frighteningly realistic illusions? Perhaps it was something much more twisted.

“Claws.”

A deep voice only she could hear startled the stalker, nearly causing her to lose her grip on the ceiling and fall to the ground. She looked wide-eyed at the catgirl in Lichter’s arms, whose eyes were staring back at her. Or rather, given the glare’s sheer intensity, it was more like they were staring through her. It was a gaze that immediately made her nervous and twitchy, as her body recognized who was so brazenly ogling her before her mind could catch up.

Then, the second helping of Whisper Wind hit her.

“I need you to kill yourself so that I can re-establish the contract.”

The stalker hung from the ceiling by her legs and offered a deep inverted bow to the air in front of her. She mouthed the words ‘As you wish, Master,’ before chopping her own head off with a smile on her face. A few seconds later, Carl from Demons ‘R’ Us reached out to Boxxy to inform his favorite customer that another of its contracts had been reestablished. Now that it had reclaimed its third stray familiar, the monster focused its attention on the next step of its hastily thrown together escape plan.

“Ora!”

Kora let out her characteristic war cry as she kicked the door to the director’s office with enough force to turn it into splinters. She put a lot more strength into that pointless gesture than necessary, as she was still riding high from all the violence she had inflicted upon the Foundation. Both elven grunts and their alchemically tamed monsters stood in her way, and all of them were pounded into a fine paste. None were even remotely a match for her despite her summoner’s inability to put as much MP into her summoning as it usually could. There were a whole slew of non-combatants trying to evacuate as well, but they weren’t spared either. During her rampage, Kora couldn’t help but notice that whoever was running things seemed to have a thing for monster girls. Anyone would think that once they saw the clear bias in the tamed monsters’ genders. The archfiend certainly wasn’t complaining about this inequality, though. The lecherous psychopath appreciated the eye-candy quite a bit. It was just a shame that none of them survived long enough for her to ‘sample the merchandise.’

“Knock, knock, Malon!” yelled the murderapist as she entered the director’s office. “I got a special delivery for ya!”

Kora was disappointed to find that someone had beaten her to the punch, as the elf in question was already lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

“Aw, man! And I was so looking forward to it, too!”

She whined and groaned for a bit more before reporting the matter to her master through their telepathic link.

“So someone already killed him? Was it Zilla?” asked Boxxy.

“Who?”

“The one that killed me.”

“Oh. No, I don’t think it was him. This guy was stabbed through the heart, it’s way too clean. The asshole outside the door had his head punted clean off, though.”

It would appear there had been another intruder besides Snack’s welcome wagon, just as Boxxy suspected. After all, while avenging its own death with little difficulty was certainly tasty, the shapeshifter couldn’t shake the feeling that the encounter was almost too easy. Almost as if Zilla had already been affected by some sort of debilitating poison or curse before he had shown up to reclaim ‘his’ Honoka. In all likelihood, he had encountered Malon’s killer and was weakened as a result of the confrontation, then had another chunk taken out of him before he escaped Hilda’s group.

After taking the reports from Arms and its Mirror Image into account, it could only assume that the director had been assassinated by someone outside the Foundation. Much as the archfiend posited, his death would’ve been a lot more brutal if the mutated wardrobe mimic had gotten to him first. The dead body outside the office seemed to be more Zilla’s style. Both of them had died quite recently as well, either just before or shortly after the alarms started blaring.

“Alright. Arms, forget the flat-faced elf, just follow my clone’s lead.”

The Sandman-shaped Mirror Image walked into the room as it carried out its new set of orders. Kora watched curiously as the soulless doll went over to a section of the wall and began tapping on it with a gloved hand as if looking for something. It was supposed to guide her through the facility by drawing upon Honoka’s pilfered memories, but it hadn’t been all that effective without Boxxy’s direct supervision. Kora didn’t mind, though. If anything, she was actually a bit thankful for the few extra detours they took since it meant there were more things for her to stomp on.

*Don Don Don*

A segment of the wall that should have been lifeless stone let out a hollow-sounding metal ring when the not-Boxxy knocked on it. The towering Mirror Image stood aside and gestured towards the spot while uttering a single word towards Kora.

“Smash.”

“Don’t mind if I do! ORA!”

The fiend took a large wind up and introduced her topmost right fist into the situation, leaving a sizable dent in the camouflaged door. And then a second, and a third, and so on, until the hidden entrance crumbled under her repeated pounding and fell over. Beyond it was a hexagonal chamber so unnaturally cold that every surface was covered in a layer of ice.

“In.”

Kora followed the Mirror Image’s commands and entered the room, though it was a bit of a tight fit for someone of her stature. The place was just under three meters tall and about twice as wide, so she didn’t have much space to work with. She then spotted what was likely Boxxy’s reason for unearthing this freezing chamber. Situated in the middle of the room was a floating spherical object. It bobbed up and down while slightly twisting around in the icy breeze, but generally hovered above a crystal pedestal. The orb appeared to be made out of crystals that gave off a serene white glow. On the whole, this object gave off an impression eerily similar to a dungeon core.

However, as someone who had punched such things in the recent past, Kora knew this wasn’t quite right. For starters, it didn’t really look the part. It was composed out of hundreds of small pieces that fit together like a puzzle, rather than a solid, perfectly smooth ball. Each segment seemed to be individually hand-carved, as no two of them were exactly alike and each shape had the sort of straight edges and angles that would never occur naturally. There was also the matter of how this pseudo-core was leaking cold air from in between the seams where its components fit together. The various pipes and tubes hooked up to its pedestal were also out of place. No matter how she looked at it, Kora hesitated to call this thing a dungeon core.

“Hey, Boss? I think I found the thing you were looking for,” she reported.

“I know,” came the instant reply. “Clone’s there, remember?”

“Right. So, what is this thing anyway? It sorta looks like a dungeon core, but also not really.”

“It’s supposed to be an artificial recreation, so you’re technically right on both counts.”

More precisely, it was a magic tool created to gather, store, and redistribute ambient magical energy. Nothing more, nothing less. Its design was based on the magical power source necessary to operate the Republic’s Forest Gates. The Foundation had adapted and expanded upon the original in order to power their underground research facility. Magical lights, Stasis Fields, arcane equipment, various security measures, and even the alarm’s incessant blaring in the background were all hooked up to this thing. While it lacked most of the functions of a real core, it was still the literal heart of this facility.

“Damn, the nerds around here come up with the craziest shit, don’t they?” commented Kora. “So, what’s the game plan? Want me to grab it and run?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“You sure? It’s pretty shiny. You still like that kinda stuff, yeah?”

“Gnn!” Boxxy groaned in frustration. “I do, yes. I want to add it to my collection so much it hurts, but I can’t. I have a better use for it.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Even if it’s a fake core, it can still make a very real big boom.”

There was a moment of silence as Kora realized the monster’s intentions.

“… I dunno Boss. Won’t you get caught up in the blast, too?” she asked in an exceedingly rare show of concern.

“Nope. I’m already out of range, actually.”

The device’s parameters were yet another piece of information it had stolen from Professor Honoka’s corpse via the Broken Reflection Skill. Her final thoughts as Boxxy choked the life out of her were not of a loved one, but of something called Protocol 66. This failsafe measure was designed to wipe out the entire facility and everything within by detonating the power source in front of Kora. Doing so would erase decades’ worth of research, millions of GP, and hundreds of people without a trace. It was an absolute last-ditch resort intended to only be used should the Foundation’s illegal, unethical, unofficial, and largely unsupervised monster factory ever became a threat or a liability. It was surely overkill to trigger it just to kill one monster.

However, in her desperate struggle, the suffocating professor thought otherwise. In a moment of clarity, her oxygen-deprived brain deemed that no sacrifice was too great if it rid the world of Boxxy T. Morningwood. The way that shapeshifter escaped its cage demonstrated it possessed immense ingenuity and ancient secrets, and in the hands of a ruthless monster those were far more terrifying than any amount of Jobs or Skills. Unfortunately, as was often the case, Honoka had realized her hubris far, far too late. She was dead, and now her murderer would use her own knowledge to wipe clean any and all traces of its capture.

Or, so it intended. Though Boxxy was able to learn of the existence, location, and function of Protocol 66, it was still rather clueless as to how to actually trigger it. This, obviously, posed a bit of an issue. Nevertheless, the shapeshifter remained unperturbed by this obstacle, for it knew a catch-all solution to most of life’s problems.

“So… does that mean what I think it means?!” asked Kora expectantly.

“If you’re thinking about hitting it really hard, then yes.”

Namely, the copious application of violence.

Part Six

“Hang on, kiddo!” shouted Hilda from the front of the line. “We’re almost outta here!”

“She can’t hear you, so stop shouting!”

Lichter had to remind the dwarf of this obvious fact while still carrying Keira in his arms. The catgirl had been slipping in and out of consciousness ever since they had retrieved her, so there was no way she registered Hilda’s words. It was for the best. Nothing good would happen if she suddenly woke up and started flailing and screaming in this cramped space. The stonekin dwarf and the angelic elf were currently climbing their way up an unevenly carved staircase inside a very tight tunnel. The passage was clearly hewn out of the ground beneath Azurvale’s slums district using magic and served as a discreet way in and out of that clandestine facility.

This was the entrance Drea found by tailing Zilla immediately after Boxxy’s death, but hardly the ‘main’ one. It didn’t lead directly to the base, but rather to a spacious underground cavern that had a literal river running through it. The Foundation was using this river to deliver supplies, personnel, and cargo to the research facility via some weird submersible vessel shaped like a flounder. The rescue party knew this, because they happened to catch sight of it just as it was leaving the small dock on the underground river’s bank. Immediately next to this was the facility’s main loading bay, which also served as the intruders’ main entry point. There were, of course, guards posted on the dock, but the stalker had quickly relieved them of their heads and, by extension, their duties. Also their livers and hearts since she had worked up an appetite.

The VIPs followed in the trail of mangled bodies with subtlety one wouldn’t expect from a self-righteous Paladin and an off-her-rocker Berserker. It came as no surprise that this wasn’t their first infiltration, and the stealthy approach allowed them to avoid alerting the Foundation of their presence until they were kicking their doors down. The facility’s security was primarily internal rather than external, which meant the rescue party were more or less home free once they made back it to the staircase. Their emergency search and rescue quest was shaping up to be a success, even though the girl they had been looking for had been missing for six whole days. Statistically speaking, a disappearance that long usually meant the kidnapped person was lost forever, so Keira’s chances of being found were quite slim. Luckily for her, and indeed Boxxy, the Hero of Chaos had a knack for beating the odds. This trend often brought about incomprehensibly ill fortune in addition to extremely good luck, but overall the shapeshifter considered itself a winner in the game of chance that was life.

“Huff! Huff! Huff!”

Hilda’s incredibly heavy breathing made it clear that she didn’t exactly share that sentiment at this particular point in time.

“Are you alright?” asked Lichter from behind.

“Fuck no!” she cursed through gasped breaths. “But I’ll manage!”

Even if she was a Level 100 Berserker with deep reserves of stamina, they were far from inexhaustible. Sure, she had Skills that reinvigorated her body, but those only applied to combat situations and fighting gravity while climbing thousands upon thousands of steps didn’t count. Combined with the poor-to-none air circulation in the cramped tunnel and the undeniable fact that Hilda was getting on in years, it was only inevitable she’d get exhausted.

“Huff! Huff! I’m wondering why the hell ye’re still so lively!”

“Paladins are better at wearing heavy armor, you know,” replied Lichter, trying his best not to mention Hilda’s short legs. “You really should’ve changed out of yours before we started climbing.”

Indeed, a single use of the Rearm Skill would allow the dwarf to tuck away her gear in her extra-dimensional armory, vastly lightening her load.

“No way! Those cunts might ambush us on the way out, and I need to be ready!”

“Do you really think there’s more of them?”

“Aye! I’m sure of it! Ye know how goblins are. Where there’s one, there’s fifty more ye don’t see! Huff! Huff! Huff! Though ‘goblins’ is too good for those miserable cunts!”

“I’m inclined to agree with you on that. I can’t imagine what kind of filthy degenerate could do this sort of thing to such a sweet child and then still live with themselves.”

“You won’t have to worry about that for much longer,” came Xera’s voice from further behind.

The former succubus kept up with them rather effortlessly thanks to her innate ability to float up the steps instead of actually using her feet. She still flapped her wings as much as the tight space would allow, but it was one of her innate traits as a djinn that actually kept her afloat. After all, they were demons of sloth and decadence. How could they possibly walk like a lowly mortal? Plus, she had no other way to keep up with the two VIPs even if she were so inclined to use her legs.

“What do you mean we don’t have to-?!”

*KHRRRRROOOOOOOM*

Lichter’s inquiry was abruptly cut off by a massive tremor that shook their surroundings, causing dust and dirt to fall on top of them as the tunnel threatened to bury them alive. The elf had lifted the large shield strapped to his left arm above his head as a sort of umbrella, protecting both himself and the girl on his right arm from any falling rocks. Some debris battered Hilda, not enough to injure her but plenty to send her tumbling down the stairs if she wasn’t careful.

“The hell?! Is that bird-headed freak back?!” Hilda asked, struggling to maintain her footing.

“No… This is much bigger than that!” the Paladin realized. “Move it, Hilda! This hole’s coming down on top of us!”

“Baaaalls!”

The dwarf could do little but curse as she put her wrinkled ass into even higher gear. Thankfully, the group only had to keep going for several more seconds before making it out of the collapsing tunnel. They filed out of it and into the back of an old warehouse at the edge of the slums district. Hilda practically stumbled out of the formerly hidden trap door, collapsing on the ground as a cloud of dust and dirt billowed out of the opening. Lichter, Keira, and Xera were equally unharmed, though the building continued shaking for several more seconds before the aftershocks subsided.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed the Berserker that had collapsed on the ground panting heavily. “I actually gained a point of Endurance from that!”

“What is this ‘hell’ you keep referring to?” Xera raised an eyebrow.

The answer to her question was that it was the ancient Dwarven word for ‘volcano,’ though this meaning was almost completely forgotten. In more recent history, Hell was the name of a region that used to belong to the Horkensaft Kingdom before a tyrannical elder dragon claimed it as his own. Long story short, modern dwarves associated ‘hell’ with a terrible place of fire, suffering, and death. It perfectly encapsulated Hilda’s predicament, given the burning pain in her knees. She also seemed far too focused on steadying her breathing to answer the demon’s trivial question before Lichter approached the succubus.

“That earthquake was your boss’s doing, wasn’t it?” he asked sternly.

“You could say that,” she responded with a coy smile.

“What did he do, demon?!”

“Nothing much, holy man,” she snapped back. “He just made sure that everything and everyone in that place is dead and buried.”

“Good.”

Keira’s shaky voice came out from Lichter’s arms. It was the first coherent thing she’d said since they found her, so both VIPs were rather relieved to hear it, even though her intent was rather sinister.

“Hey, kitty-face!” shouted Hilda from the floor. “I’d get up to greet ye, but I’d probably puke if I did that!”

“Are you alright, Keira?” the Paladin sounded far more concerned.

“No. I’m not alright,” she answered on the verge of tears. “I don’t think I’ll ever be alright.”

“Is this to do with the thing in your back?”

He didn’t need to peek into the filthy rags wrapped around the beastkin’s body to tell there was a foreign object lodged in her flesh. It was in the shape of an upside-down teardrop just under thirty centimeters tall and ten centimeters wide at its thickest point, a sort of crystal by the feel of it. The Soulstone was on full display because Boxxy was unable to conceal it without disfiguring Keira’s form. Then again, it probably wouldn’t have hid it even if it could seamlessly cover it with skin and muscle. Having its ‘wound’ out in the open was more useful than not for a few reasons, such as garnering sympathy from the fools caught in its web of lies.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” it answered in an evasive manner.

This was yet another lie. Its chief reason for wanting the Soulstone visible was so it could talk about the thing fused to its body at length. It was especially interested in the topic of how to safely remove it. However, at the same time it had to be discreet. Drawing too much attention to it would surely result in would-be medical experts poking and prodding at its body, which was something neither Boxxy nor Keira wanted.

“Please… I just want to go home,” whimpered the redhead. “I want to see Rowie again.”

The Paladin looked at the poor girl in his arms and wavered mightily. The occult object lodged in her back was of great concern. It might have been some sort of mind-control device or an arcane time-bomb of some description. For all he knew, it could’ve been that shady Sandman that put it in her to begin with. Whatever the case, he strongly felt that she had to be quarantined for her safety and the safety of others, on the off chance that Keira’s captors had left behind some sort of nasty surprise.

At the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He had personally seen the boundless joy that seemed to ooze out of Keira Morgana as she ran up and down New Whitehall. A diligent, thoughtful person with her own special brand of innocence who in her current distraught state could only plead to be reunited with the one she loved. And he knew she was loved in return. He had spoken many times with Rowana Slyth over the last few days, and the mere thought of delaying their reunion even a second longer made his heart ache something fierce.

“Of course,” he finally gave in. “That’s exactly where I’m taking you to.”

Lichter, for all his strength, knowledge, experience, and wisdom, had succumbed to every adventurer’s fatal weakness – a cute girl’s tears.

“Hilda, I’ll be going on ahead,” he declared, unfurling his wings.

“Aye! I’ll catch up as soon as I get the feeling in me legs back!”

“What about you, demon?”

He shot a sideways glance towards Xera, who was already floating away.

“Who? Little old me?” she responded lackadaisically. “Just some urgent business to attend to.”

The pretend succubus unfurled her wings and bolted through a broken window to find a secluded spot to kill herself so that she may once again be joined to her Master. The Enslave Demon act was enjoyable, but it couldn’t compare to the shackles of eternal servitude that a summoning contract promised.

“Please… Rowie…”

Lichter also took off after a bit of gentle prodding from Keira, following the succubus through the window and into the air above Azurvale. The sun was already setting, dying the city in an ominous crimson light and causing the great hylt trees to cast long, thick shadows over the red-tiled rooftops. The demoness was nowhere to be seen. Those familiars and their master had a knack for disappearing and reappearing seemingly out of thin air, which put the Paladin somewhat on edge. Though, in this particular instance, he couldn’t blame any of them for refusing to stick around and deal with the aftermath left in their wake.

“Sweet, merciful Nyrie…”

The Paladin couldn’t help but gasp in shock when he witnessed the Sandman’s mark on Azurvale. The tremors caused by whatever he had unleashed were felt all the way to the surface, resulting in a seismic event that damaged quite a few buildings. There was also a visible dent in the terrain – a three-hundred-meter circular indentation where the ground had collapsed in on itself. The dust cloud kicked up by this event lingered heavily in the air, almost as if a volcano had erupted. Thankfully, there seemed to have been little-to-no casualties as a result of this crater’s sudden appearance, for it had manifested itself immediately south of the city’s boundaries.

However, this was clearly the result of unnatural tampering. If the strangely localized destruction didn’t make that clear, the fog and ice that seeped through the cracked ground absolutely did. This scene gave the angelic elf unpleasant flashbacks of Armageddon Day and the destruction wrought by both demonic Overlords. There was no doubt in his mind the facility they had rescued Keira from used to be beneath that receded plot of land, meaning that the Sandman kept his promise of wiping it off the face of Terrania. For once, Lichter was actually glad of how thorough and ruthless the man was. His only regret was that he didn’t have a deep hole of his own where he could bury the unpleasant things he’d seen while he was down there.

Not wishing to waste any more time gawking at the scenery, he shot off in the direction opposite that bowl-shaped gash in the ground and flew towards the Slyth household with all haste. He landed in the mansion’s front yard several minutes later, only to find Rowana already waiting for him. She watched with baited breath as the Paladin delivered her beloved Keira on wings of light, setting the unsteady catgirl down on the ground just a few meters from her.

“Keiraaa!”

“Rowieee!”

The two lovebirds immediately dashed at each other, leaping into each other’s arms before engaging in the standard fare of sobbing, hugging, and kissing one would expect from a tearful reunion.

“I’m so glaad! I’m so glad!” repeated Rowana over and over again. “Thank you, Mr. Lichter! Thank you so much!”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Slyth. However… I feel it may be a bit too early to celebrate.”

“What do you mean?” asked the elf, a look of utter confusion on her face.

Her precious Keira was back in her arms alive and well, wasn’t she? What was the Paladin talking about? The beastkin was cold, frightened, and unsteady, but she was most definitely her Keira. The elf hugged her lover even tighter, as if fearing she might slip away again if she ever let go. And it was through this tight embrace that she was suddenly made aware of the solid object attached on the girl’s back.

“… Come on, let’s get you inside,” she whispered.

She quickly led the upset girl inside, passing her surprised parents on the way into the mansion. Sensing that the two young ones desperately needed some alone time, Lichter stepped forward to fill in Doris and Samulus on the day’s events while Rowana led Keira straight into the bath. The elf naturally had questions, but her first priority was wrapping the redhead in warmth and washing away the strain of the last few days, literally and figuratively.

The Slyths’ family home had three grand bathrooms, each of them as luxurious as the rest of the house. The one Rowana and Keira entered together was covered in bright yellow tiles with floral patterns and was well-lit by magical lamps on the walls and ceiling. The bath was large enough to be a small swimming pool and somehow filled with hot water in a matter of seconds. The elf urged her lover to get in, but the redhead seemed strangely unwilling to part with the sole piece of ‘clothing’ draping her body. It took a bit of doing before the two of them climbed into the bath together.

The elf diligently washed Keira’s crimson hair and tanned skin, even going so far as to shampoo her tail. Once both were thoroughly clean, Rowana drained away all the soiled water and refilled the bath, allowing the two of them to sit and soak in peace. With only their upper bodies above the waterline, Rowana was gently brushing Keira’s damp hair with her right hand in a soothing manner while hugging her across the chest from behind with the other. The catgirl let herself be pampered in total silence, which she maintained until Rowana inevitably brought up the elephant in the room.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t remember much beyond waking up in a cell with this thing in my back. I have no idea what they did to me… and that terrifies me, Rowie.”

The catgirl glanced over her shoulder as if trying to catch a glimpse at her new extreme body piercing, her face wracked with apprehension.

“Now I’m a freak on the outside too, aren’t I?”

Rowana responded by hugging the girl even tighter with both hands, pressing her plump breasts against the blood-red crystal’s hard surface.

“You are not a freak. Never were. Never will be.”

She could tell it had the right effect, as Keira’s tail started gently brushing against her stomach. It was good to see that this part of the beastkin was still as honest as ever.

“Uhm, Rowie. I appreciate the words and all, but I feel two very hard things poking me from behind…”

The catgirl squirmed a bit in the elf’s lap as she said that. Not awkwardly so. If anything, she seemed to be trying to rub against those protrusions even more. This reaction was hardly Rowana’s fault, as it wasn’t her amped up sex drive that was causing it.

“S-Sorry,” she said with a red face. “It’s just that this thing is pretty cold, even though we’re in the bath. Wait, you can feel those?! Even through the crystal?!”

“… Now that you mention it, yeah, I can.”

“Can I take a closer look? I think I might have an idea.”

“Y-yeah, okay.”

The elf put an end to the cuddling session and lightly pushed Keira away so she could inspect the object. Her attention was particularly focused on the skin around the crystal’s edges.

“Of course!” exclaimed the elf. “It’s a kind of spirit stone! Why didn’t I realize this sooner!?”

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“It’s an artificially made material used for magical implants! High-Level Alchemists can make it using a sample of the subject’s blood to reduce the risk of rejection!”

Rowana had read about it while she was leaning towards becoming a Lifebinder Alchemist, the primary branch of alchemy that made and used that method. She failed to make the connection at first because spirit stones were supposed to be no bigger than a child’s fist, not the size of a dinner plate.

“Is that a good thing?” asked Keira.

“Uh… I don’t know, actually. Do you know what this thing did to you?”

“I think… they were trying to control me with it.”

“C-control?”

“Yeah… There was this fat lady that came to visit me every day. She told me to do things and I… I couldn’t say no.”

“Things? What things?!”

“I-I don’t know!” the girl raised her voice. “I remember being asked a lot of questions and having to do laps around my cell, but it’s all a big blur!”

“Okay! It’s okay, love. I have you now. You’re safe.”

The two again embraced each other as the steam and hot water calmed them down.

“So, this spirit stone or whatever, can you take it out of me?”

“That’s… I’m sorry, sweetie. I think it’s fused to your spine. Tampering with it could leave you paralyzed. Or worse.”

This was the professional medical opinion of a senior apothecary, and Boxxy was inclined to agree with it. While it could probably sever the thing and recover from any paralysis or whatnot, it was legitimately concerned that doing so would instantly kill it.

“So, it’s permanent…”

“Well no, not quite,” reassuringly said Rowana. “Your body has already started absorbing it and breaking it down, so it will gradually go away on its own. It’s made with your blood, so it will gradually heal over as if it were a super-sized scab.”

Any effects the implanted crystal had on the redhead would disappear with it, but the elf found it difficult to broach that subject.

“Really?!” Keira perked up.

“That’s what normally happens to spirit stones, yeah. But one this big… it could be years before it fades away.”

“Oh… I see…”

Rowana instantly regretted her words after hearing the girl’s thoroughly depressed voice. The beastkin probably wanted to put this all behind her as soon as possible, but she just found out she’d have to carry that constant reminder with her for who knows how long.

“I’m here for you,” muttered the elf reassuringly. “We’ll get through this.”

“Yeah… I hope so too,” she forced a weak smile.

There was a long lull in the conversation before Keira spoke up again.

“Uhm, Rowie? Where’s Fizzy? I didn’t see her around…”

That question immediately soured the elf’s mood.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about that traitor!”

“Traitor? What?!”

“We went to look for her to get her help since you’d gone missing, but we couldn’t find her either! I was worried something might have happened to her, but then I found out she went and skipped town in a huge rush! She fed her guildmates some line about the two of you having a falling out and just abandoned you to your fate! Is that any way to treat a friend in need!”

“I see. It’s all my fault then.”

“It… It is?”

“Yeah. She really did leave because of me. Frankly, I don’t blame her.”

She must’ve found out about Boxxy’s death from Ambrosia or one of the familiars and immediately covered her own ass rather than throw away her life on a pointless vendetta. Honestly, the shapeshifter would’ve been quite disappointed in her if she had actually shown up along with Snack and Claws. Those demons were immortal, which gave them an excellent reason to not value their lives in the slightest. But Fizzy was far too precious to Boxxy. It would never allow her to risk herself for such sentimental reasons if it had a say in the matter, which it normally wouldn’t since it would be dead in that scenario.

“So, you two really did have a catastrophic argument?” asked Rowie with a guilty expression.

“That’s putting it mildly. It actually happened the day before… you know… so she was probably already halfway across the country by the time you would’ve needed her help. And I need to find her and make it up to her.”

“Do you even know where she went? Nobody I spoke to could tell me.”

“I have a pretty good idea, yeah.”

The two of them had discussed visiting the Horkensaft Kingdom’s capital in order to get her arm fixed up, so that’s probably where she was headed. Boxxy was certain it could track her down, as it was impossible for the living embodiment of shininess not to leave a trail of witnesses behind. It wasn’t worried about her safety or anything, either, as the psychotic Paladin it had single-handedly created was a fighter. A survivor. However, Boxxy would need to settle its domestic affairs before chasing the shiny Paladin across the border.

“I had no idea she was so important to you. It makes me a little jealous,” admitted Rowana.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. You mean the world to me. But… as wonderful as you are, I don’t think you’ll ever understand what it’s like to have your life spiral out of control while you were forced to just stand by and watch, powerless to stop it. She’s a kindred spirit, and I owe it to her to make amends.”

“Okay. Maybe I don’t know the kind of suffering you’ve been through. And honestly, I pray that I never will. But I’m here for you, now and forever.”

“I know. And you have no idea how grateful I am that you are.”

The two continued to comfort and cuddle each in the bath for another half hour before getting out. They got dressed, had a good meal, and then went to bed without speaking much for the rest of the evening. The next morning Keira found herself in the Slyths’ sitting room, wearing a fancy green dress that covered up her ‘spirit stone.’ She was seated on the couch with Rowana next to her, Doris and Samulus opposite them, and both VIPs off to the side.

A rather exhaustive back-and-forth followed as they attempted to piece together what happened.

Boxxy’s version of the story started with Keira’s chaos senses tingling, which was why she had so abruptly left the tea party almost a week ago. She was captured, experimented on, and rescued, but couldn’t offer much more than that since her memory was hazy. However, she also made it abundantly clear that she wanted to keep the whole thing a secret as much as possible. She had only just gotten used to being treated with kindness and respect and didn’t want others to think she was a freak due to the crystal in her back.

Surprisingly enough, both the VIPs and the Slyths had decided on doing just that the night before. It had become quite apparent that, based on what Hilda and Lichter saw and heard, Keira might have been captured by some secretive government organization. It wasn’t a certainty, but they thought the chances were high considering how well supplied and well equipped the place seemed to be before the Sandman obliterated it. With the Rankers’ knowledge and consent, no less. Such an act might get him branded as an enemy of the state, and unless all the people in that room wanted to be considered accomplices, this whole thing had to be kept under wraps. Samulus had already gotten in touch with the authorities and saw to it that Keira’s missing person report was quietly and discreetly settled as a false alarm.

The topic turned to Keira’s Soulstone, although none of the people gathered knew anything about its true purpose. It was an awkward, long-winded conversation that involved a great deal of bullshitting on Boxxy’s part, but it ultimately got the result it wanted. It was a good thing it had its hooks into Rowana as deeply as it did, otherwise the elf wouldn’t have taken Keira’s side so vehemently even though everyone else was against it. Bottom line, the beastkin would not be sent to be studied like some lab rat and the Soulstone would be allowed to run its course. This was something of a stopgap measure for the shapeshifter, as it had no idea if the Soulstone’s disappearance would result in its death. It was similarly ignorant whether the item needed to be renewed or recharged in some way to maintain its grip on life.

Unfortunately, the obviously heretical nature of the object meant that Boxxy would not be able to find the answers it needed through ‘proper’ channels. Worse still, none of the sensitive information or experimental materials it stole during its escape had anything to do with the late Director Malon Gehana’s research or Soulstones in general. It had even gone through the trouble of using Professor Honoka’s absorbed memories to raid the most valuable ones, to no avail. Ideally, it would have taken everything that wasn’t nailed down, but the time-sensitive nature of its circumstances made thorough looting extremely ill-advised.

On the upside, what it managed to get had plenty of uses as leverage should the secretive organization ever come after the Sandman or Keira. It could threaten to release incriminating records to the general public, use the research data as bargaining chips, or maybe even sabotage their other facilities and endeavors to send a warning. Alternatively, it could use this relatively small haul of information to further its own goals of amassing power and shinies. A folder marked ‘Project Lighthouse’ was of particular interest. Boxxy would need more time to thoroughly comb through the reports and documents within, but what little it gleaned from a quick skim proved quite promising indeed.

Especially the part detailing the Foundation’s interactions with one Reginald Namhel and his underground network of doppelgangers.

Epilogue

*Knock knock knock*

There was a rapping on Reginald’s door, followed by his secretary poking her head inside the room.

“Excuse me, Mr. Namhel, but Mrs. Mainus is requesting another unscheduled meeting. I know you have company, but-”

“That’s quite alright, my dear,” said the old banker. “I was actually expecting her, and Mr. Jensen here was just leaving.”

The other person in the room, a youthful gentleman with black hair, black eyes, and a thoroughly forgettable face, nodded affirmatively. This was one of Reginald’s shapeshifting associates, and the two of them had been discussing the hostile takeover of a certain human-run smuggling ring for the last twenty minutes. While far from over, the discussion would have to be shelved for the moment. Keeping Reggie’s new business partner happy – or at the least in a relatively un-murderous mood – took precedence. ‘Jensen’ didn’t say anything as he got off his seat and walked out of the room, acknowledging Mrs. Mainus with a polite nod on his way out. The oblivious secretary closed the door once the new guest had stepped through, allowing the office’s anti-eavesdropping enchantments to kick in.

Now alone with the ‘ganger capo, Xera wasted no time shifting into her succubus form.

“Hello, Reggie,” she casually took a seat.

“Miss Snack,” he greeted her. “I trust your presence here means your master is alive and well?”

“Indeed. We hit a small snag when doing you that favor, so we had to go off the grid for a while.”

“Mhm. I assumed as much when I heard the Hero of Chaos had vanished from the public eye a week ago.”

The Republic government had gone to great lengths to try and keep Keira’s disappearance a secret. She was the face of victory against the Empire, so they couldn’t openly admit she had been kidnapped right in the middle of Azurvale. The politicians breathed a collective sigh of relief when the Slyth household withdrew the missing person report the day before, citing it was just a huge misunderstanding. The authorities had no qualms about sweeping the whole thing under the rug, seeing as the Hero of Chaos already had a reputation for attracting trouble. Either that or she had to leave on some urgent mission on behalf of her patron deity, as the Gods’ chosen were oft to do. Whatever the case, those in the know agreed there was no need to disclose this matter to the general public.

Despite their best attempts, the Republic government was unable to keep their poster girl’s absence a secret. There was supposed to be a huge award ceremony in Keira’s honor a few days after her disappearance. The nation’s elected leader was supposed to officially and personally recognize the young adventurer’s key contributions to the war effort with shiny medals and a rousing speech. When the guest of honor failed to show, the government had to cancel the event at the last minute. This not only undermined the administration’s credibility, but also got the rumor mill churning. The fact that the day she was last seen in public coincided with a certain magical explosion in the slums certainly hadn’t painted young Keira’s absence in a positive light.

“Also, if that’s your idea of a ‘small snag’ then I hesitate to ask what you’d consider a major cock-up,” Reginald complained. “I understand Mr. Alexis was a powerful individual with equally powerful backers, but burning down three city blocks was a bit overkill, wouldn’t you say?”

“It was not Master’s intention to cause so much damage. It just sort of happened. Also, Master would like to remind you that an incident of this scale is a relatively minor one by its standards.”

“Uh-huh. And what about this strange earthquake the day before yesterday, hmm? Was that another ‘minor accident’ of yours?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you sure you had nothing to do with that?” the shifty banker pressed.

“Oh, it was absolutely our doing, but it was entirely intentional and by no means an accident.”

The ‘ganger capo let out a groaning sigh as he rubbed his eyes in frustration.

“Please tell me there was a big payoff for raising all this ruckus.”

“There was indeed. It marked the end of both your doppelganger hunter and the organization that supported him,” Xera boasted.

“Really, now?” Reginald perked up. “And you did this without revealing our presence in Azurvale?”

“Absolutely. They may have a few stragglers that escaped the destruction, but Master wishes to give you its personal guarantee that they have no idea what hit them.”

“How can you be so sure? No, before any of that, I need details. Who was it that backed Jones Alexis?”

“That’s the funny thing. You already know. You just don’t know that you know.”

“I… beg your pardon?” the old shapeshifter was thoroughly confused.

“Do you remember anything involving a certain Foundation?” the demon cryptically asked.

“Which Foundation? Do you mean Saint Helena’s Foundation for the Magically Maimed?”

“Hmm. Alright, let me put it in a different way.”

Xera leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs, a cold smile on her lips.

“Would you kindly tell me what you know about the Foundation, old boy?”

“The Free Future Foundation was created nearly twenty years ago on the order of Exarch Joanne Lathi. It exists to further the works of the Great Liberator and bring prosperity to elvenkind at any reasonable cost.”

It was a flawless, smooth answer, delivered in the same tone of voice one might use to describe how they liked their tea.

“Great Liberator, eh? And who would that be?” asked Xera.

“Again, no idea what you’re talking about,” Reginald started to get annoyed. “Do these pointless questions serve a purpose here?”

“Would you kindly tell me who the Foundation’s Great Liberator is, old boy?”

“The Great Liberator’s identity is that of the late Ivran Tol-Saroth.”

“And would you kindly share why the Foundation reveres their Great Liberator, old boy?”

“He laid the groundwork for the dissolution of the corrupt and tyrannical Elven Dominion, allowing the seed of democracy known as the Ishigar Republic to sprout from its ashes.”

Xera continued interrogating Reginald, also known as Project Lighthouse, for the better part of half an hour. He shared everything his addled mind knew about the clandestine government-funded organization, and in the process divulged a number of secrets regarding his network of shapeshifters. He did so willingly and eagerly, because the Foundation had already done to him what they had attempted with Boxxy. The ‘ganger capo had been conditioned to carry out any orders he received, so long as they were framed by the dual trigger phrases ‘would you kindly’ and ‘old boy.’ These commands would embed themselves in his subconscious and he would act on them as if they were his own will, completely unaware of their foreign origins.

That was why he had sent Boxxy to snoop on Jones Alexis in the first place. He had received standing orders to send any exceptional monsters he came across to the Foundation’s living weapon, who would subdue them and bring them in as test subjects. He was also supposed to warn Zilla when he was about to get a new ‘delivery,’ but Reginald was physically unable to do so since Boxxy’s decision to confront its target directly had been rather spontaneous. That aside, the brainwashed banker had surely been drilled for all his information on the malicious Hero. As far as the mimic-minded monster knew, this knowledge had vanished into the void along with the mutated wardrobe’s life.

Boxxy had to admit, the Foundation made a brilliant move bringing in Reggie under their control. It gave the shadowy organization their own private spy network, which they used to attack and take over various crime syndicates. Combat wasn’t usually a doppelganger’s forte, but they were still monsters that boasted greater strength and speed than any enlightened in addition to their innate psychic gifts. Furthermore, the species’ natural talents of infiltration and deception made it so many of these hostile takeovers ended without a single drop of blood being shed or anyone realizing their leaders had been silently replaced. The proceeds from all this unlawful activity would then either be used as additional Foundation resources or get funneled into the Republic’s coffers through the bank’s generous donations and support of civic projects.

In short, someone high up the chain of command had realized it was much easier to control organized crime than it was to stop it, so Reginald’s little empire was allowed to prosper.

“Would you kindly tell me what you know about Soulstones, old boy?”

Xera began wrapping up Reggie’s interrogation by asking the last and arguably most important thing Boxxy wanted to know.

“I don’t know anything about Soulstones.”

“Of course not,” she sighed. “Then would you kindly use your spies to find out everything you can about Soulstones, old boy?”

“Yes. I will do that,” he affirmed in a flat monotone.

“Thank you, Reggie, you’ve been very helpful,” said Xera with a twisted smile.

“Uhm, you’re welcome?” answered the confused shapeshifter. “What about the matter of Jones Alexis?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. In fact, would you kindly forget everything you know about Jones Alexis, Boxxy T. Morningwood, Keira Morgana, and all of their close associates, old boy?”

“Yes. I will do that.”

Reginald snapped out of his trance moments later and found himself staring at an unfamiliar demon in the middle of his office.

“What? Who are you?! How did you get in here!?”

Xera stood from her seat and walked over to the door while Reginald rapidly grew more aggressive.

“Would you kindly forget you ever saw me, old boy?”

“Yes. I will do that.”

With those final words, she transformed into Mrs. Mainus and left his office before he had a chance to snap at her again. The demoness quickly and quietly made her way out of the building and onto the street.

“Are you sure this is sufficient, Master?” she telepathically asked while blending into the crowd.

“It’ll be fine,” it responded. “At least this way he won’t be able to tell anyone who comes snooping about my true identity.”

“Shouldn’t we break him free of the Foundation’s control?”

“Why would we? He’s much easier to handle like this.”

“I suppose, but… doesn’t his condition seem a bit too pathetic?”

“What do you mean?”

“That sorry creature in there is what you would’ve become eventually if we didn’t arrive when we did.”

“No, it wouldn’t. I’d have killed myself before that happened.”

“You… would really do that?”

“My mind is my own. I’d much rather see it destroyed than let someone else take it from me.”

“I see.”

In other words, Boxxy considered its freedom and sense of self shiny enough to be worth dying for. No wonder why its inner ego was like an unbreachable fortress. It was also just as massive a hypocrite as ever, hence why it had no qualms controlling others.

“If you’re all done there, then go deliver Keira’s personal belongings to the mansion.”

“I hear and obey, Master.”

The ‘belongings’ in question consisted of the mithril rapier, casual clothes, jewelry, and other things the catgirl would’ve had on her when she was captured. The idea was that Snack would present them to the Slyth family as a gesture of good faith from the Sandman when she went to pick up his fee for his part in the redhead’s rescue. The cloaked mercenary would have come across them when he was cleaning up the base and decided to do the catgirl a favor by bringing them out. This charade was necessary to give Keira her stuff back in a more plausible manner than having it mysteriously reappear in her possession even though she was found butt-naked in a hallway.

Honestly, Boxxy didn’t need or want the vast majority of those items, but four of them were considered of vital importance. The jeweled mithril rapier was an obvious one, as getting to carry that superbly shiny article around as Keira was one of the perks of its Facade. It was also becoming something of a signature weapon since she carried it around a lot, so its whereabouts had to be accounted for. The other three crucial items were the trio of simple-looking iron rings the catgirl always wore on her right hand. These supposedly sentimental items were actually pivotal to Boxxy’s disguise, as they brought its overall weight down to about third of what it normally was. If not for those, Keira would be far too heavy for a beastkin her size. Or any size, for that matter. So far, the shapeshifter had ‘worn’ them inside its body to maintain its cover, but this was hardly ideal. Having foreign objects inside itself wasn’t just uncomfortable, but also got in the way of Boxxy’s shapeshifting. Thus, it was rather vital that Snack ‘delivered’ them, so it could wear them on Keira’s fingers rather than her ribs.

“How goes it on your end, Master?” asked Xera as she was making her way back to the mansion. “Have you managed to convince that vapid cunt to stop being so gods-damned clingy?”

“No. Looks like I’ll have to wait this one out.”

“I could always take her place…” she said in an oddly hopeful tone.

“Maybe, but you can’t take the place of her parents, Hilda, and Lichter all at once.”

“Uh… What?”

“It’s not just Rowana – the whole lot of them won’t leave me alone.”

“Why not? Do they suspect something?”

“No. It seems I laid the ‘damsel-in-distress’ act on too thick. Now they’re constantly hovering over me and refusing to let me out of their sight.”

After Keira’s rescue, it had been unanimously decided the catgirl would spend an indeterminate amount of time on the premises of the Slyth family estate. Her ‘inner circle’ wanted to keep her somewhere they could monitor her condition and protect her from any sort of retaliation from that underground organization’s remnants. They were all very valid concerns to people who didn’t know any better, so Boxxy had no choice but to begrudgingly accept if it wanted to keep its Facade strong.

And it couldn’t just say ‘yes’ and then do whatever it wanted anyway since it was impossible to slip away from the mansion without Keira’s absence being found out pretty rapidly. Having Snack take its place also wasn’t feasible, as she couldn’t recreate the Soulstone lodged in Keira’s back with her shapeshifting. She could do it with her new Conjure Mirage Skill, but that would come with its own share of risks. The biggest problem was how Rowana kept acting so ‘gods-damned clingy,’ as Xera succinctly put it. The djinn’s illusions failed to hold up to any sort of physical inspection, and the elf was doing a whole lot of that whenever she and Keira were in the same room. Which was pretty much the entire time.

The woman was proving to be something of an obstacle to Boxxy’s plans, but it couldn’t get rid of her just yet. Not while it still had Doppelganger Levels to attain. Even if it was just one person, the sheer degree with which she loved, believed in, and trusted Keira had been a steady source of Doppelganger XP. Sure, the monster had gotten quite a few Levels from Keira’s popularity among the masses, but that would eventually diminish. At this point, getting rid of Rowana would be like quitting one’s steady job because they won a small fortune from a lottery. It seemed attractive in the short term, but Boxxy had to consider the long game here. After all, getting those next 15 Doppelganger Levels was going to take a substantial amount time and effort.

The same couldn’t be said for the next 15 Warlock Levels. Or, rather, the next 14, as it and its familiars had caused enough death and destruction during their recent escape to boost it to Level 61 of the Job, granting the creature access to another Warlock Skill. Unlike before, Boxxy already knew what abilities would be available to it and had made its choice well in advance. The ability to plan its Skill progression was refreshingly reassuring and only possible because of Keira’s unrestricted access to the Central Consortium’s library. Though, to be fair, it would have probably chosen this particular Skill even if it was still doing this whole Warlock thing blind.

[Graviton Manipulation]
Allows the Warlock to tap into and control the flow of gravity, bending the natural force to his will through sheer mystic might.
Requirements: Level 60 Warlock Job, Level 10 Ruin Mastery
Type: Passive
Range: Self
[Effects]
Grants knowledge of a new gravity-altering Ruin Spell at Level 1, 4, 7 and 10 of this Skill.
Increases the effectiveness of all gravity-altering Spells by 3% per Level of this Skill.
Increases resistance to all gravity-altering Spells by 2% per Level of this Skill.

The amount of new ‘freebie’ Spells that Caster Jobs had access to past Level 50 was effectively zero. This included, but was not limited to, Pyromancer, Shaman, Wizard, and Warlock. If Boxxy hoped to keep expanding its mystic arsenal, it had one of two options. The first was learning Spells through training, practice, and research, which required a significant investment of both time and effort. Alternatively, it could rely on so-called ‘Library Skills’ like Graviton Manipulation. Boxxy had already done its homework regarding this bundle of gravity magic, so it knew it was in for some very tasty Spells indeed.

The first of the incantations, and also the only one Boxxy currently had access to, was Momentum Anomaly. Simply put, it projected a zone of mystic energy where the faster something moved, the heavier it became. The magic trick could protect against physical projectile attacks like throwing knives or arrows as it would throw them off-course, but that wasn’t its core use. Momentum Anomaly was the perfect tool to trap targets such as Rogues, Rangers, and Monks, who typically relied on fast and agile movements to survive. The faster they got, the sooner they would find themselves pinned to the ground under their own body weight. This aspect made Momentum Anomaly one of the few Spells that actually rose in effectiveness when used against higher Level opponents. Unfortunately, it would do very little when used against targets that didn’t move very quickly, such as most magic users, or individuals that could withstand the added weight, like Warriors or Paladins.

Which was just fine by Boxxy since its ultimate target was definitely faster than he was strong or smart.

The other Spells the shapeshifter would learn later on were Weightless Space at Level 4, Gravity Well at Level 7, and Magnetic Tilt at Level 10. The first did exactly as its name implied and rendered everything within its area completely weightless, while the second massively amplified gravity in an area. It was similar in effect to the Ultimate Skill of that crazy old Warlock VIP that Boxxy met and subsequently murdered during the siege at Fort Yimin, albeit on a smaller scale. The last Spell was arguably the most interesting, as it would shift the direction of gravity within its effective range.

Overall, it was an extremely flexible array of magic with a good deal of applications both in and out of combat situations. As an added benefit, they were all area-effect Spells, which meant they could be used in conjunction with Crystallize Magic. Truthfully speaking, though Boxxy was looking forward to playing around with them, it started to wonder just how many more tricks it needed in its repertoire. While flexibility and options were definitely a good thing, spreading itself out so much was starting to feel detrimental. After all, it was impossible for a single creature to fire arrows, fight with swords, and cast magic all at once.

Most importantly, its fight with Zilla had taught it that all the trickery and misdirection in the world was worthless in the face of overwhelming power. It ran through its recollection of that encounter countless times as it sat inside its Foundation cell. No matter how much it thought back on it, it just couldn’t see itself winning that first duel without an immense amount of luck. The only halfway acceptable outcome would have been if it had kept running and made its escape instead of turning around to face the thing in open combat. However, the sudden burst of reinvigorating energy it got from Chaotic Disposition had momentarily clouded its judgement.

It was more than a little ironic that if it wasn’t for that seemingly positive random outcome, Boxxy likely wouldn’t have died. It went to show how foolish the creature had been to rely on luck and trickery to take down an opponent that surpassed it so firmly. It would keep the harsh lesson in mind the next time it considered taking on something or someone that seemed beyond its means. Which was going to happen sooner rather than later, as it was already making preparations to stand up to one of the original twelve dryads.

A confrontation that, as far as it could tell, was not going to end peacefully.

“Arms,” it called out telepathically. “Progress report.”

“We’re still clearing the way, boss,” Kora replied. “There’s a lot of shit down here, so it’ll take at least a day or two more at this rate.”

“Ugh, ‘shit’ is right, though,” scoffed Drea. “I’m glad I’ve never had to wade through all that muck until now.”

While the djinn was taking advantage of Reggie’s brainwashing, the archfiend and the stalker were sent to investigate a certain dilapidated sewer tunnel. It was the same one that the monstrous troupe had used to first gain entry into what would later become the Dryad’s Domain dungeon. However, rather than the barely serviceable tunnel they were expecting, Boxxy’s familiars instead found a completely collapsed ruin. Judging by how the walls seemed to have exploded in a deluge of loose dirt and stone, the culprit behind that destruction was most likely the dryad herself.

Her ‘footprints’ at the scene answered how the passage had collapsed, and although Boxxy wasn’t completely sure, it could hazard a guess regarding the ‘why’ of things. After all, either the dryad was still under the orphaned dungeon core’s influence, or she wasn’t. If the former, she would probably perceive Boxxy as an intruder, an imposter, or both, and likely attack it on sight out of compulsion. On the other hand, if she had broken free, then she would have realized the shapeshifter had been manipulating her all this time. Given her partially monstrous nature, it wouldn’t be a surprise if she attacked it on sight anyway, albeit out of spite. Seeing as all known entrances into her trunk’s hollow parts were sealed, it was fairly obvious Boxxy had to deal with the latter case.

“I dunno, boss. Are we even sure that hole’s still there?” Kora grumbled.

“It better be. Otherwise we’re going to have a very hard time getting inside. And by ‘we’ I of course mean ‘you.’”

“Ugh, more manual labor. Wonderful.”

“Tell me about it,” chimed in Drea. “That old hag better appreciate all the trouble the master’s going through just to meet her.”

“Uh, not for nothing, bug-breath, but we’re the ones doing all the heavy lifting here,” the fiend argued.

“And you better do a good job of it, meat-head!” Xera weighed in. “This is Master’s triumphant return to its domain, and you need to make sure my beloved has an unobstructed path to victory!”

“Shut it, bubble-butt! Just because you got the easy assignment this time doesn’t give you the right to give me orders! Get your plump ass down here, then you can pretend to be in charge, alright?”

“As if! That place is filthy, untasty, and unshiny – it is entirely unworthy of Master’s prized Snack!”

“Oh, right, that reminds me,” Boxxy cut in. “Snack, you’re going down there to help out as soon as you’re done with your delivery.”

“Yes, Master! This worthless slut shall engrave the humiliation into the eternal darkness that is her heart, Master!”

“Yeesh, talk about a two-faced hypocrite,” Kora grumbled.

“That must be nice, being able to enjoy this sort of stuff…” lamented Drea to nobody in particular.

“Hey, boss? Not that I wouldn’t enjoy watching the Jizz Tornado try and fail to lift a rock over and over, but how exactly is she going to be of use? She’d only get in the way down here with those pathetic wanking noodles she calls arms.”

“I’ll have you know, my amped-up magic can easily melt stone,” the djinn snapped back. “I can burn a path to that root way before you can headbutt your way to it. And if the tunnel is sealed like the rest, then I’ll burn a hole through it, too!”

It was upon hearing those words that Boxxy, who was silently reading a book titled Treasures of the Horkensaft Kingdom in the Slyth mansion’s private library, suddenly had an epiphany.

“Yeah, because that worked out so well for you the last time you tried it, didn’t it?”

Thinking back on all of the truly formidable people and monsters it had met so far, it realized that each and every last one of them had a specialization – their own ‘thing,’ as it were. Hilda fought by honing her unyielding rage into a knife’s edge. Lichter focused on the synergies between his Paladin Skills and his enchanted equipment to maximize his performance. Faehorn was an expert sniper with range and accuracy second to none. Even Zilla seemed to have taken up lightning-based magic as his main weapon, despite being the amalgamation of a half-dozen monsters. And who could blame him, given the element’s near-universal effectiveness?

“Hey, I’m a djinn now! My magic is on a completely different level from before!”

Even Boxxy’s own familiars surpassed their master in their own areas of expertise despite being weaker overall. For instance, Snack’s ability to lay waste to her enemies with magic was unquestionably superior to Boxxy’s, and her knowledge of the arcane was surprisingly robust. Arms could withstand more punishment and boasted the highest muscle strength of any of them. Drea completely left the shapeshifter in the dust when it came to disappearing from sight and getting the drop on her targets.

“I think your Shameless Slut Job was the one that gained the most from your weird-ass Rank Up!”

Boxxy had nothing like that. It dabbled in a lot of fields when it came to combat, but none of them stood out as particularly noteworthy by themselves. Trying to look at itself objectively, it couldn’t put its finger on any sort of innate talent or natural gift it could develop into its own ‘thing.’

“Ugh. Can you two cut it out before the master gets mad at us again?”

“Shut it, Web-head. This is between me and the Hyper-bitch!”

Not that Boxxy didn’t excel at certain things. Its interactions with Reggie and Zilla proved it was really good at shapeshifting. It could bullshit its way through civilized life without too much difficulty, and its ability to copy and learn from others was a unique holdover from its mimic days. That was all well and good, but none of those talents would help it win a straight-up fight. All the deception in the world was pointless once its gimmicks were exposed and its back was up against the wall. That was bound to happen again if it wanted to go up against the Empire’s Spymaster and get revenge on him, which was most certainly in its long-term plans.

“Drea, don’t bother trying to reason with this thick-headed moron. She thinks she’s better than us just because she got lucky with a free Rank Up!”

Boxxy was also the Hero of Chaos, but the Skills associated with that title were uncontrollable by their very nature, so they couldn’t be relied upon.

“Seriously, I almost have enough ‘good girl points’ for a special massage…”

And it couldn’t just pick melee, ranged, magic, or stealth-based combat to focus on a whim.

“You weren’t complaining about my Ranked Up dicks when they were lodged in your ass last night!”

The sheer number of options at its disposal somehow made the decision even harder, as there were far too many pros and cons to weigh.

“Oh puh-lease! As if your tomato sticks could ever hope to compare to Master’s, hnnng, thoroughly invasive methods. You barely even qualify as a fuck anymore.”

That was to be expected, as there was no ‘best’ way to fight since each and every battle had its own set of unique circumstances.

“Wait, wouldn’t the entire Beyond see my breasts get fondled by master? Ah, but that does make me feel strangely excited…”

Focusing on just one thing was like playing Rock, Paper, Scissors by always picking Rock. It was just that some people did Rock so hard they were able to somehow crush both Paper and other Rocks with it. Could Boxxy reach that level of mastery if it committed to one discipline in particular?

“I’ll have you know, I get booty calls from the high bitch Teresa twice a week! I give her such a thorough dicking even her clergy can feel it!”

“And here I thought only Drea had a habit of fantasizing out loud!”

“… Wait, what?”

“Fuck you, bitch!”

“You wish!”

“Get down here and it won’t be a wish anymore!”

“I didn’t think all of that aloud, did I?”

“Are you three just about done?!” Boxxy cut in, its mental shouting laced with annoyance. “Daylight’s burning out there so quit your pointless bickering and focus on your assigned tasks!”

“Yes, Master! At once, Master!”

The three demons replied in total unison, their smiles plainly obvious through the tone of their broadcasted thoughts.

“I swear, it’s like trying to herd a gaggle of retarded cats,” grumbled the shapeshifter. “Now, where was I?”

Boxxy slumped back in Keira’s seat as it resumed its mental self-assessment, completely oblivious to the fact that the fierce loyalty it inspired in its demonic servants was already one for the record books.

Afterword

Not much to say after this one. Boxxy finally met its match, only to later get even in the most underhanded and malicious way possible. I felt bad tainting the house mimic name with an incorrigible bastard like Zilla, but fret not. He’s the exception. The rest of Mimic’s siblings are more or less just as dumb and innocent as the yipping box, though admittedly nowhere near as lucky. And yes, you will get to meet them eventually.

I’d also like to address what some people will consider a huge sore spot – Boxxy’s death and reanimation. It is my personal belief that a main character that never loses gets real boring real fast. There’s no tension, just spectacle, which is immensely difficult to convey via text. A bit of unpredictability is vital to spice up a story, but only when it works both ways – for and against the protagonist. Now, could I have handled it ‘better?’ Definitely. Would it have been as interesting? Absolutely not.

Then there’s Fizzy. I know we barely saw anything of her in the past few volumes, but I can’t force her into the story. I do have some good news for those that like her character. She’ll be back eventually, but not before going on her own little spin-off adventure appropriately titled Small Chests Are Fine Too. Be on the lookout for that! For those that don’t care about the shiniest golem ever, I have two things to say. First of all, how dare you? Secondly, feel free to skip the spin-off. It’ll be a self-contained story that has almost no impact on the main series, and the bits that matter will be referenced as appropriate.

As for Volume 7, it will have a fair bit more action than this one. Boxxy and its crew will be chasing after Fizzy on top of invading a dungeon or two, acquiring even more Levels, Skills, and weapons in the process. Don’t worry, there won’t be anything spoiler-y for those interested about the spin-off.

Lastly, I wish to thank all of you for continuing to support this stupid joke that’s gotten so far out of hand it’s fallen onto the floor and started rolling down the steps into the basement. I hope you all had fun and are keeping safe (and sane) in these chaotic times. And no, the God of Chaos is not responsible for 2020. If he was, there’d be a lot more cheese involved.

Toodles.

Table of Contents

- Prologue
- Chapter One In Armageddon’s Wake Part One
- Chapter Two A Hero’s Burden Part One
- Chapter Three Obsessions Part One
- Chapter Four Upheaval Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Part Six
- Epilogue
- Afterword