Mana Mutation Menace (Journey to Chaos Book 3)

by Brian Wilkerson

  Pilaocv shook her head. "Whatever you say, Trickster's Choice. What happens if this thing causes trouble for my business?”

  Eric glowered. “You think I’m part of his prank? I hate him more than anyone because he bothers me more than anyone.”

  “True, but I’d like you to sign this agreement to reverse any deal we make if it becomes a problem anyway.”

  Eric’s eyes slitted.

  “I gotta look out for my business.”

  Pilaocv placed a sheet of paper next to the choker. With the contract in front of him, Eric only saw squiggly lines. He couldn’t read it nor could he remember how to sign his name.

  “What’s wrong? There’s nothing sneaky in here. It just says ‘negate the deal and reverse the transaction if criminal or tricksterish action results from it.’”

  “…Right. Just checking.”

  Eric took the pen and made squiggly lines that he hoped could pass for cursive.

  “Okay. How much do you want?"

  "How much will you give me?"

  "Normally, I'd give you fifty percent market value, but for something of this level, even that would tie up too much money. Few people outside of 'Prince Lunas' could afford something like this, so I'll give you twenty percent of its market value, but this one is damaged, so the repair costs mean I can’t even give you that much.”

  She talked solid numbers, percentages, mint condition value, the value of this damaged one, and the ways she could make money off it. All of it went over Eric’s head. He couldn’t follow it despite his memories telling him that he’d done this sort of thing before.

  It’ll pass…It’ll pass. I’m human, not a grendel.

  Eric looked about the store and his eyes fell on the jewelry case. Inside was a choker in a different style from the one on the counter. It had black velvet straps with a silver clasp in the back and held an amber stone set in gold. It reminded him of a certain special someone.

  "How about a trade?"

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "That necklace there with the amber stone.” Pilaocv opened the case and pulled it out. "Yes, that one."

  "Deal. Is it a Torch Day gift?"

  Eric nodded and Pilaocv gift-wrapped it. With the box in his pocket, Eric walked out happy. Dragon’s Lair Rule Number 7 led him to a quick score. Then he paused. Dragon’s Lair! Mia! He ran down the street with grendel legs.

  The door dinged as he stepped through, but Mia didn’t greet him. Nor did she see him. A thick, dark curtain hung around the front desk. Eric tapped out the ending of “Shave and a Haircut” and called for the pink princess.

  The curtain parted in the middle and retracted into the floor along with a cot. When the transformation was complete, Mia was sitting at her desk. Her hair was out of its pigtails and falling loose down to her feet. She wore a long pink nightgown and clutched a teddy bear under her arm. She rubbed her eyes and they lit up in recognition.

  "Eric, oh my gosh!" She jumped over the desk and glomped him. "I was so worried... Only a handful...Oh, I'm so glad you're safe!"

  Flat on his back, Eric shrugged. "I'm lucky, I guess."

  Mia leaned away and gave him a sly look. "As the chaotic book says, 'Those who live in The Trickster's favor are both blessed and cursed, for their lives are both long and interesting.'"

  "In other words, Tasio takes good care of his toys," Eric said dryly.

  Mia giggled.

  "Thanks for checking in." She stood up and helped him to his feet. “Is there anything I can do for you while you're here?"

  "Have I missed any requests?"

  Mia returned to her desk and looked through random drawers. Then she stood upright as if realizing something. She reached over to Eric, put her hand over his ear, and pulled out a long string of interconnected bills. The sight of her trick warmed Eric's heart. She folded them on her desk and brought out a pair of scissors.

  "It's mostly tabloid junk about Her Majesty. Shall I cut them up?”

  She clicked the scissors for emphasis.

  “No, it’s easy money.” I should do what I can to dismiss those rumors. They’re threats to my little sister, even if they are not physical, life-threatening ones.

  As he walked out of the guild, he made a note to himself not to attack the writers of the tabloids. They were not the threats. The rumors were the threats; the writers could be made into the opposite of threats. He nodded to himself, satisfied with his non-grendel logic.

  Tonight, he could sleep in his own bed. After months of ship cabins, tents, the water-filled medical tank, and the prison cell, he could finally lie down on his own mattress. However, there was a surprise waiting for him on his doorstep.

  Standing on the bridge above his house was a pale young lady in a black gown. Her skin possessed a dim radiance, as if moonlight made solid, and her stark black hair was finer than any he’d ever seen. Her figure was perfectly proportioned and her gown perfectly tailored to both show it off and remain tasteful at the same time. Looking closer, he realized it was too perfect. She looked like an artist’s finest ivory creation.

  "Good evening, Eric Watley. Are you comfortable with this form?"

  “Sure," he said while brandishing his staff. "You look better than most nobles."

  "Wonderful. I try my best to furl my divinity so it doesn’t overwhelm mortals, but you are currently a Razor Spirit, and thus more perceptive of such things. I feared my presence would drive you to despair and suicide.”

  The chaotic point in his soiléir glimmered. “I am not easily given to fear of gods.”

  A wave of Divine Presence rushed through him and chilled him to the soul. A string of ineffable sensations and feelings pulled into strict authority over endless existence in a vain attempt at order in boundless chaos and constant pain and despair and acceptance and peace and….His knees knocked, but his stance stayed strong.

  “Indeed. I am Samael, Right Hand of His Eternalness Lord Death and Overseer of Necrocraft." She curtsied. “How do you do?"

  "Fine. What's this about?"

  She smiled gently. "I’ll get right to the point. Make a contract with me or die."

  Chapter 3 Contracts of Life and Death

  "What?"

  Samael stepped forward and Eric struggled to focus as her skirts swayed. The motion was innocently seductive. When she spoke, her voice was more melodious than a harp.

  “You stole a Senescence podesta from one of Lord Death’s reapers. This is a crime against Lord Death, the Abyss, and the Cycle of Life itself. If not for Tasio pleading your case, I would have killed you already.”

  The memory of Reno Grade strangling him within an inch of his life hit him like a boxer's glove. Reapers served Death, one of the Three Natural Order Gods, and as such ranked four orders of magnitude above mortal humans. Even if he were immune to her death magic, she could break all the bones in his body before he could comprehend the pain.

  “I’ll have to thank him for that later.”

  “Indeed. Now you have two choices: you can voluntarily make a contract with me and become a reaper, or I can kill you and use your stolen authority to force you to become a reaper.”

  “Can’t I just give the authority back to Reno Grade, visit the Temple of Death, and say ‘sorry’ with a generous donation?”

  “No. Reno Grade is currently being sentenced in the Court of Life and Death, and his punishment will range from suspension to termination. Thus, regardless of the outcome of his trial, we need to find a replacement.”

  Eric weighed the pros and cons of stabbing her with the soiléir. His situation could hardly get any worse. The Torment Plans were not under Lord Death’s jurisdiction, so all she could do was kill him, which she was already planning to do anyway. If that failed, he could always summon Tasio. He was probably hanging around anyway.

  “Furthermore,” Samael continued, “the Death Corps are chronically understaffed because we are responsible for all of Noitearc. The loss of just one of us is a grievous blow to our operation
. If you make a contract with me, you won’t have to die immediately, and you will gain abilities someone in your earthly profession will find helpful.”

  She stepped forward and lightly grasped one Eric's hands in both of hers. "Please, make a contract with me and become a reaper."

  Eric pulled his hand away. "I refuse. I don't like Death. I don't understand how Basilard can drink with him. Despite the power Reno Grade's...podesta gave me, I rejected it during my recovery because I don't want anything to do with him.”

  Samael’s patience didn’t falter. “Reapers are not responsible for the death of your family. If you do not accept this responsibility, then the local anchored spirits could become dangerous and harm other people you care about."

  "You mean the spirits strong enough to resist the Abyss' pull and stay in this world? Spirits of the same caliber as the strongest mages? You want me to fight those?"

  “If you became a reaper, it would be child’s play. Not even Dengel could defeat one of us in the field, neither by breadth of knowledge or force of spirit.”

  This piqued Eric’s interest and he turned it over in his mind. Just the Senescence podesta enabled him to rot any material object into dust regardless of magical runes or spiritual power. That was the problem that came from fighting Death; it always won eventually.

  “What kind of abilities are we talking about?”

  “As a reaper, you will gain your own set of Podesta Necra, including legitimizing the one you stole, shed your fragile physical coil for a solid spirit form immune to all harm short of chaos, and the privilege to petition Lord Death for the delay of the passing of mortals."

  “So I’d become an immortal, unkillable super being?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could I kill ordercrafters?”

  “Outright kill? No, not right away, but you could drastically accelerate the countdown until their physical body implodes and takes their soul with it. This is as good as killing them.”

  “It’s a tempting offer but no thanks.” Eric extended his soiléir crystal and flashed its chaotic tip. Samael looked distastefully at it. “I’ve read about reapers and I’d rather not become one; too many rules.”

  He eased his way towards the stairs leading to his front door. His bridge house had the best warding Kasile could provide. If he would be safe anywhere, it would be there.

  “I will kill Nulso with chaos instead.”

  “That’s a good idea, “Samael agreed. “Elven immortality would be more to your liking anyway, and Tasio could give it to you.”

  Eric put one foot on the top stair. “Thank you for the advice.”

  “There’s only one problem.”

  Eric put his second foot on the top stair. “What’s that?”

  Suddenly, Samael’s right hand was around Eric’s throat and lifting him off the ground. Her left hand grasped the shaft of his spear. Her Divine Presence smothered his entire being; body, mind, and soul. Her eyes bore into him with a power beyond that of Evil Eye.

  "Tasio is not here now. He is in the Abyss and will not be able to hear you."

  “In... that case…” Eric gasped. It was getting hard to breathe and he had already lost feeling in his fingers and toes. “Samael, please trans—”

  A shimmering arrow streaked across the night and head-shotted Samael. It made her physical form flicker. The reaper couldn't remember the last time she’d felt pain. Standing just off the bridge was her attacker, an elf in a nightgown. Her body shook with the cold and yet she was sweating nonetheless. She panted and her teeth clattered, but she still wheezed out, "That won't be necessary."

  Annala stared down Samael like a warrior stares down a monster. In her hands was a gleaming white bow with golden filigree. She drew a second arrow, notched it, and it gleamed as well. Instant runes shone beneath her feet as a magic circle.

  "Good evening, Angel of Death. What do you think of my Death Killer bow? I made it myself in my mother's lab."

  With effort, Samael removed the first arrow and crushed it into nothingness. Despite the pain and annoyance this caused, her serene expression remained.

  "It is effective but presumptuously named. You cannot kill me. No matter how many—”

  Annala lodged a second arrow in her forehead and a third in her throat and a fourth in her chest. Samael's form flickered so much it disappeared, and the arrows fell to the bridge. Annala notched a fifth and fired it just as Samael reappeared. This time, the reaper caught it.

  "Elf, you try my patience," she said as the arrow burned her hand. "This boy must become a reaper for the sake of the omniverse."

  "That’s preposterous!" Annala nocked a sixth arrow. "He's kind and heroic and saves lives! He'd never be happy as a cold and ruthless arbiter of death like you!"

  "Hmmm... How odd." Samael reached into a skirt pocket. "Lord Death supposedly has a high public approval rating in this country." She pulled out a book and leafed through it. "I suppose it could because you're an elf but... Ah ha. Here we are; Annala Enaz, niece to Morrir Enaz. When he arrived, he listed your despair as one of his regrets." She looked up with the disinterest of a busy bureaucrat. "Didn't a reaper come by and address that?"

  Just for that, Annala released the sixth arrow. "Hit and run murderer!"

  Samael deflected and tsked. "Yes, I imagine Reno Grade wouldn't give a shit about mortal grief." Suddenly, her hands clutched Annala's neck. "Then again, neither do I."

  Fear of the reaper threatened to send Annala into shock but her hatred of it enabled her to power through her fear. She smacked the nether creature with her bow. Again, Samael’s form flickered and she grew two more arms to restrain Annala's. By now, the girl was suffocating and, with her last breath, she shouted, “Tasio! Ta—”

  Samael broke her neck and tossed her aside. "Even elves can't shrug that off.”

  She phased out of Eric’s spear charge and caught him in her arms. She wrapped them around his chest and drew him against her well-developed form. She giggled at his blush.

  "You humans are always like this, regardless of your gender."

  She leaned in close enough to breathe on his face and Eric felt consciousness leave him. Since the transformation process was basically rebirth into a minor god, it would be horrific and traumatizing. So much pain and he’d have to remember it for eternity. It was a professional courtesy for the contracted to be put to sleep for the duration.

  "Did you ever wonder where the term 'kiss of death' came from?"

  “I don’t.”

  For the first time that evening, Samael's smile flickered. She looked up into the face of The Trickster and what she saw there forced her to avert her eyes and step away from Eric. Ironically, she now resembled the form she had taken; a demure human lady.

  "I tolerated your threats to my chosen because he broke your law, but I will not permit violence against my innocent grandchildren."

  Samael shouted alien gibberish at Tasio. It aged the surrounding structures, caused nearby plants to wilt, and obliterated every single microorganism in the water beneath the bridge.

  "Careful!" Tasio ordered. "If you speak like that, you'll make someone's head explode."

  Samael stared at him in silence.

  "The answer to your question is..." He waggled his finger. “…a secret."

  He clamped her mouth shut before she could shout death-speech again.

  Samael considered removing his hands, but the look in his eyes made her reconsider. As the right hand of Death, she was the most powerful of reapers. She could kill beings that were otherwise immortal. She could reduce a planet to a barren wasteland with a swing of her scythe. However, even she was as a damsel in distress before Tasio's anger. As much as she didn't want to, she had to rely on her back-up plan. She tapped Tasio's hands and he lowered them.

  "As I recall, Trickster King, you are fond of wagers. If this is still true, I would like to propose one to settle our dispute."

  In his posture, bearing, and Divine Presence, such a title was suddenly be
coming of him. In a stern tone, he asked, "What do you have in mind?"

  "One of Eric Watley's foes has enacted a plan against him and the elf girl. His home is a place associated with monsters and mutation. If they retrieve him from such a place..."

  She referenced her book for the proper name.

  "…Ah yes, the Organic Research Repository, then I will clear Eric of all charges. If Eric dies or loses himself to his monster instincts, then I may claim him for Lord Death."

  "Anything else?"

  The subtext was clearly “not another word,” but she had to introduce this next clause in order to make the plan work. Otherwise, she was bound to lose.

  "Neither of us may intervene nor send proxies to intervene on our behalf. Aren't your kind always talking about 'self-determination' and 'helping mortals help themselves'? Now that you have so much to lose, you have a chance to prove it."

  Tasio softly clenched his fists, set his jaw, and closed his eyes. To the unobservant, it would seem that he was mildly annoyed, but Samael knew better. The Trickster was furious beyond words. If she pushed her luck with the second condition, then Lord Death himself could not save her. Tasio opened his eyes and Samael quivered.

  "Agreed."

  "I'm glad we could settle this peacefully."

  Graceful as ever, she dropped a curtsy and returned to the higher plane of existence known as The Abyss.

  While he waited for Annala's healing factor to finish its work, Tasio took out a pair of knitting needles. A half-completed scarf appeared and grew longer by the second. He wrapped the part that was finished around Annala to keep her warm. A few minutes later, Annala pushed her head back into place and sat up.

  "Thank you for the scarf, Grandfather.”

  “You’re welcome, Granddaughter.”

  Annala pulled it closer around herself. “What happened to the reaper?"

  "I took care of it," Tasio said nonchalantly. "Please wake up Eric.”

  Annala sat straight up and worried. "He's unconscious!?"

  "He will be until you help him."

  "What do I need to do?"