Critical Hit!

Critical Hit!:

            It was by all standards a slum den: vomit, rust where an old heater must have been, moldy wood, urine, rodents fighting against the regulars for food and, on the whole, that kind of clientele who could hit anyone in the face who could be able to pronounce a polysyllable  such as “sophistication”. Not that they couldn’t write or read, not that they didn’t know that somewhere in the universe there were people who used big words, say, bigger than a growl; it was only that any four years old child learnt that aggressivity was a way to manipulate others and, when those children didn’t learn any other tool and were rejected because of it, they decided that it was a good way to survive in the long run: at the end of the day, they could seize what their strength allowed them to.

            Yes, they were dangerous people, however, drawing hasty conclusions would make us lose sight of the following fact, in a certain way, they understood one of the three fundamental truths of life: words were powerful and could be dangerous.

And here we should stop at Heidel, because she knew each of those words.

Please remember that was the kind of den which people pretend not to see at the far end of an alley, and because of that reason it seemed strange that someone like Heidel was sitting there, in a corner while sipping her beer.

Heidel was a battlemage, she had studied in universities much bigger than that citadel and only her clothes were more valuable than that citadel. She had an impeccable and majestic look, and it was also utterly out of place.

Nevertheless, those fresh corpses by her side, still steaming, perhaps were able to convey a message of no disturbance if possible.

Either way the rest of customers looked more concerned about Shivala, her companion and a woman that, judging by her expression, her size, some tattoos that broke any aesthetics or a two-handed sword that still showed bloodstains belonging to someone who was not polite enough with her, possible thought that inn was some kind of lovely family venue to stay during the afternoon.

Her expression was of happiness, of course, that place was pleasant in her opinion and, generally speaking, she liked listening her partner:

—Indeed —Heidel said—, But I mean, why a human would meddle in demons’ affairs?

—Humans tend to accept covenants with them in exchange of power or they use demons as slaves in case they manage to harness them with magic for long enough —Shivala answered—. On the other hand, demons’ hunters tend to have very short careers inside the guild.

—That is exactly why I ask. Besides, why would a human have an interest in destroying a particular demon? We can rule out religious motives, I suppose… And why would he would hire us?

—Other than our inability to value our working experience or to choose a safe job? —Shivala enquired, pensively—. There is also reputation.

—Ours or his?

—His.

—Do you care to elaborate that point?

—Our client failed to control this demon.

—Are we working for a necromance —Heidel asked, surprised.

—Possibly. For a quite stupid one, in fact.

—Why are you so sure?

—He covered chains under his clothes, but you could hear the clinging sound if paid attention. When a necromancer tries to dominate a demon, even in order to have a calm and amiable conversation about a potential covenant, as demons are not known by their cordiality, he wears a chain, it looks like something symbolic, but it’s a catalyst. If our aforementioned demon is not submitted, this chain will be permanently attached to the summoner’s body. An attempt to remove it, even with magic’s aid, tends to not end very well in my experience.

—In all honesty I don’t understand it —Heidel said, quite confused—. Nobody is so stupid to seek revenge due to his own incompetence while only armed with it!

—That seems like prejudice in favor of necromancers, is it something of the mage guild or something like that? Now are all mages suddenly intelligent? I believe I know your lot better than you.

—What about… a knight order? —the battlemage volunteered—. Knights are basically a bunch of idiots who fight for what’s right no matter if what’s right ends up being terribly wrong.

—I adore your grim approach to ethics —Shivala assured her—, but nobody does that anymore, you know perfectly that every knight order ended up as servants of the demons. No country allows knights on its lands.

—There is a question that keeps appearing in my mind, how do you know so much about demons?

—I am a necromancress.

Heidel had worked a long year with her and she would have almost felt betrayed by her perilous lack of perspicacity had she not been too busy understanding what her friend had just said.

—Multiclass —she clarified, getting ahead of her vexed mumble with an explanatory gesture—, you know: barbarian and necromancress. You are a battle mage, aren’t you? It’s basically the same.

—I don’t raise dead people! —she defended herself, hurt.

—And that only makes you less fun —Shivala pointed out.

—Yet, during this time have you been killing people, raising them afterwards and killing them again?

Shivala burst in laughter and added:

—That would be quite unprofessional, right? Nah, almost nobody pays for that.

Emer knock the door and after a while  a necromancress opened it and greet him. Her hair looked disheveled at best and her black tabard tried to cover the rest of her clothes, probably put on in a hurry, as she was still trying to catch her breath and her blush made her customer marginally suspicious. She, noticing his indiscreet stare from the corner of her eye, loudly cleared her throat.

—Sooo… —she started.

—What about my wife? Is she ok? —by his hurried words and expressions she determined that the man looked worried.

—Yes, I mean… no. She’s dead but… she’s very good at it… —the necromancress scratched her arm and avoided looking into her customers eyes.

—What?

—Well, not everything’s lost… we can turn her into a zombie> —she offered.

—WHAT? —it was impressive how could she hear those block letters.

—What? —she replied.

—That’s ilegal —her customer said sternly.

—Illegal and not very hygienic, mind you —she pointed out—. I was… testing you? —she ventured.

—Why?

—Errr… We have a 10& discount for loyal clients! —she said happily—. Loyal to good manners and lawful alignments, of course. We can, however, send your wishes, messages or curses, if that’s the case, to her.

—I’ll go with some words.

—Untainted ones, I take?

—Helen, Helen! —he started shouting up high to the sky, after that, he thought about it for a second and the started to scream downwards—. Hele, do you know where our Patrick is?! Lady, that little boy is a demon…

—I doubt it, sir and, yeah… contacting spirits is a complex art that cannot be performed by shouting at random places on the street. —Because you needed some skulls and candles for the set up mainly, and a cozy room to eta some biscuits in there after a seance since it made her hungry afterwards—. Please come back in the evening and we’ll see what we can do.

—Love? —A female voice came from inside of the house—. Please let me deal with the customers serv,,, Oh… —a blonde woman got out who, judging by the symbols on her white tunic, was a cleric and judging by her faltering breath she tried to catch up, may have been doing some exercise Emer couldn’t really think of even when he considered walking and also running—. I’m afraid we are momentarily closed, however your wife’s remains are being treated with the utmost care according to the article seven, section three, of our contract. We know how hard can be losing a beloved one and we know that no words uttered by any man or woman can take away the pain from an aching soul, also we cannot abide to do such a thing by using magic since we have strong philosophical principles to uphold and that’s why we have a free beer vouchers for our clients —she gave one to him and closed the door.

The necromancress stood there, slightly confused and attempting to smile.

Then the cleric opened the door and, laughing, she grabbed her absent-minded necromancress by the arm and they went inside.

—What’s the plan —asked Heidel, intrigued, as they went down the street, leaving behind an arch made of stone which linked a small garden among the houses, lit by the last sunbeams.

—Plan? I believe you’re mistaking me for someone else —answered Shivala, stopping by a house and knocking on the door—. Tiff! —she yelled— I need help! For free, if possible!

The door opened and the cleric appeared.

—Hi, Tora, how is it going? Is Tiff at home?

—Yes, come in… emmm… is she trustful? —she asked regarding Heidel.

—I’ve worked with her for a long time and she doesn’t seem to care about my inhuman capability to get in trouble —she said, shrugging her shoulders, then she got closer the clerics with little to no discretion and whispered—. She scares me actually… she’s loaded and I think she’s lost contact with reality… it’s like a metaphor of the economic power —she managed to mutter.

—We’ll keep an eye on her —she nodded at the same volume.

The cleric heard a baby cry behind her back and that made her hair stood on end. When she turned over Tiffany was smiling at her on a pentagram and a demon who had the decency enough to having adopted a quasi-human form was tenderly holding a baby who looked like an chilling shadow, thief of light.

—Hello, Tora, do you want a cookie? —the demon offered her, innocently.

—We will keep the baby this week —Tiffanny told her, smiling—. Beleth says that there’s a lot of movement lately on the dungeon dimensions and that the poor child is not sleeping well.

—I really see why you both ended up having a baby —Tora commented.

Heildel didn’t understand what was happening on that living-room.

—I don’t understand what’s happening —she declared in consequence.

—All right —Shivala started, trying to organize her ideas—. Tiff is a powerful necromancress —Tiff entertained herself by making the baby laugh and ignoring the rest of the world—, perhaps you haven’t noticed about that, but she doesn’t wear chains since she doesn’t attempt to control nor confine the demons she may summon. In fact, that way she made a name for herself among the demons and Beleth, over here —the demons shook her hand delicately, Heidel wasn’t sure about where that arm came from, but she kept her composure—, was summoned by her. The point is one night they drank a lot, they made a pact to bring a very odd child to this world and the outcome is the little Abraxas. But Tiff was focused on her own stuff and she started dating Tora —Tora bowed before them—, who accepted this bizarre story because, like Tiff, there’s only one in a million. And probably because she fancied her. Not to mention the great idea they had about opening this business. And we are here because maybe they know which demon was the one that asshole tried to beckon.

—May I ask what’s your asshole name? —Beleth asked, curiously, while rocking the child in his arms.

—He calls himself Matt the Mighty —Shivala answered.

Tiffany burst out laughing and the demon and her exchange a mischievous look.

—No! —Shivala said, while trying to restrain herself.

—Yes! —the necromancress replied, this time her amusement turned into a silvery laugh —. She tried to subdue Beleth, no less.

—There’s something I don’t understand —the demon confessed—. Well, honestly, there are many things I don’t understand about the situation, but I will narrow this down a bit, what does he wants from me?

—He wants vengeance —said Heidel.

—Does he want to seek revenge for his ineptitude through me?

—Bold yet stupid —Tora determined.

—In a certain way… you are the symbol of his inability as a necromancer —Tiffany reasoned—. Although, well, on a practical level… his inability is actually his… —she ended, absorbed.

—Then —Beleth contunied—, he wants me dead?

—It’s much better than that —Heidel mentioned, definitely embarrassed due to the weight of the context.

—He wants —Shivala explained—, and I quote, “destroy you”. He pays us just for taking you to him. What do you say? —she proposed.

—I wanted to make a cake for the girls… —he commented with trouble in his voice.

—Nobody cares about the guy actually having some kind of powerful artifact to destroy a demon? —Tora enquired.

—I would like to remember that this guy calls himself Matt the Mighty —Shivala intervened.

—All of us will go —Tiffany said—. I don’t think this mas would know how to use it if he was somehow able to find this artifact, which, by the way, is beyond his financial or his intellectual reach, and I don’t believe he has it in his possession, but the Skull of Shadows it’s an object that allows to imprison highly powerful demons. And I won’t let an idiot to hurt Beleth —she said hugging him—, if Tora accepts to put some protection seals on the baby or something like that —she added—. Tora? Please? —She was looking at her with puppy dog eyes.

—Of course, taking the cleric and a demonic baby along is always the sensible option —she claimed—. That being said, I hope you’ll reward me for this —Tora naughtily whispered to her ear, and the necromancress only could smile.

—Wait, with adventures or sex? —she asked in bewilderment.

—With sex —Tora patiently answered.

—Then let’s go for our money —Shivala encouraged them—, we will split it evenly between all of us, of course, and with our demon in case he’s interested in money.

—I will make the cake afterwards —he said while winking at Tora—. You’re the best.

Dead leaves scurried towards them like tiny animals, in the meanwhile the breeze gained

momentum over time. Autumn has left a pleasant night after a sunny day, a soft and yet present cold was there, though, making the skin hairs standing on end. That baby held on arms looked around with those beady eyes which sparkled like the light at the end of the tunnel, only if said metaphor’s light was anything but comforting and if the tunnel was an everlasting nightmare.

And Beleth and Tiffany stared at him as if he was the most beautiful thing on this world.

Shivala and Heidel led them through the alleys and until they got to a modest garden flanked by a small church façade, in front of the party came to a halt.

—A temple to the goddess Shar, custodian of the secrets never to be revealed —Tora commented, as she weaved spells to protect the baby—, our necromancer adopted a dramatic stance that his disposition to humiliate himself cannot pay for.

Heidel opened the door with a magic burst, the floor marble tiles reflected the moonlight as a lit stripe. After they entered, the necromancer, with his back toward them and in shadows, turned around.

Shivala placed her palm across her face before such a ridiculous performance.

—We meet again, Be…Who the hell are all those people?

—I am Tiffany, I live on the Cherry street, at the house with the blue doo… —Tora and Beleth covered her mouth hurriedly before she could ramble on about totally out of place information regarding personal details. Those slips didn’t happen often, but sometimes she forgot about social context even more than usual. Tiffany endured her murmuring as much as she could and when she broke free she just kept on talking without a second thought—. And here is Beleth, that demon you, mister, want to destroy. As a fellow of the guild, I would like to examine how do you proceed with such a task.

—But the demon seems to be here willingly… —Matt hesitated.

Heidel enragedly approached the necromancer and stood in front of him, covered by an unstable coating of fire which was seemingly feeding on her wrath.

—We brought your demon to you, give us our money —she demanded.

—Excuse me —Shivala intervened, showing a docility that contrasted to her size and armament—, we held our side of the bargain and I won’t be able to control my partner for much longer: she thinks you’re not keeping your end of it.

Matt decided to gulp. Somewhere in his mind a voice couldn’t avoid telling him that, come to think of it, it was the demon what should be restrained.

—No, I mean, I have the money and all… there you are, there you go… —he managed to give, terrified and with a trembling hand, a bag with coins to that aggressive looking woman carrying a two-handed sword, lest he could avoid looking at the battlemage who had uttered a terrible battle cry—. It’s ok now, I have given you the bag, right? —he begged.

Heidel’s fire disappeared and she answered with a bright smile and a bow. And Matt the Mighty couldn’t find an appropriate reaction to what had just happened.

All of them decided to part.

—Wait! —he remembered—. Beleth is mine! Andariel gave me her power.

—Andariel? —Tora whispered.

—She was a powerful archdemon millennia ago, yet now and judging by this whole situation… she beseeches anybody, seeking attention, I guess —he shrugged.

—You can’t do this to me! —the necromancer complained—. If I don’t offer something to her in exchange of her favor, she will imprison my soul! Could you not give me that baby?

In that moment, everyone decided to stay, there was a general feeling of curiosity to learn in which creative way that guy was going to die.

Beleth and Tiffany turned to him, their eyes were sheer anger.

There are times in which even the most idiotic of men realizes that that luck which held him through a series of nonsensical events he nurtured has vanished.

—People like you are the reason why everybody hates people like you —Tiffany stated.

—You’re also a necromancer! —Matt complained.

She looked at him in puzzlement, not understanding him.

—Your life is a headlong rush into the unknown —started Beleth to say— while you wager the scarce dignity you maight have, charmed by that illusion of control a demon whose only virtue is patience relates to you as you try to understand where are you or why are you so stupid to no avail —Beleth pointed out.

—Too many subordinated clauses —Shivala murmured to him.

—Emmm… thank you? —he answered at low volume—. The fact that no order nor fate exists, human, won’t save you from yours —he added to face Tiffany afterwards—. Will you do the honors?

Matt, full of rage, casted a spell, uttering a chain of words containing a power which dwelled at the dungeon dimensions and was freed on the church floor tiles, getting spilled from every word coming out of his lips cracking the boundaries of reality and, in consequence, destroying him as his skin started to necrotize and melt while his owner was screaming in pain.

It took some seconds for our fellowship of adventurers to react to that sort of study on human body’s perspective covering the floor in red and entrails where Matt the Mighty had tested his incompetence for the last time.

—This anticlimax has been very disappointing, I need cake —Tiffany asserted.

Critical Hit! by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at https://martarousselperla.blogspot.com/.

Pic source: https://www.deviantart.com/bogdan-mrk/art/Necromancer-563550167