Slumrat Rising

Chapter 135: The Rusty Iron Pole of Deep Love

Truth stared at the old man. The rancid geriatric was indifferent to the hard look and lit another cigarette off the burning cherry of the first.

“My soul is having visions without me.”

“Best guess? Yeah.” The old man nodded. He held up the cigarette and examined it. Truth was momentarily glad it wasn’t Red Bats or something. He didn’t recognize the brand.

“That’s not a thing.”

“Buddy. Who’re you talking to right now?”

“I have no idea?”

“I already told you. I am literally a tiny piece of divinity attached to the Brass Sea, whose whole job is giving people visions. Now. Tell me again, what, in your expert opinion, cannot be a real thing?”

“No, look, the mind, body, and spirit are all connected. You can’t have them just go off on their own. I had a vision of the heavens. Mind and soul went together. Some people get bodily snatched up into heaven on a vision journey. You can’t have just one bit going off and doing its own thing.”

“You can’t, huh? Look, I’m not saying it’s common. First time I’ve ever seen it, actually. But that doesn’t make it not real. Hypothetically, you could be remembering a previous life, but c’mon. Reincarnation is even less common than wandering souls. Your soul clearly has a weird relationship with the rest of you. Not my department. I’m here for the orthodoxy and the demon-smiting. As we “speak,” your body is getting a tune-up, and you are going to be a lean, mean, spiritual error-destroying machine. So, look forward to that.”

The old man shrugged and sat on his desk. “I have no idea what this thing is, but I’m loving it, by the way.” He took a long drag on his second cigarette.

“Cigarettes?”

“Is that what these things are called? I mean, I know about tobacco, obviously, just not this kind of packaging. No, I’m talking about that semi-detached bit of soul you have running around in there. It’s kind of great, you know? I like the way it’s been tempering your psyche.”

“What?”

“Yeah, from what I can see, you have some kind of incredible curse refining your body, you got a mini-bit of soul tempering your mind, and you have your soul itself, which goes off and has adventures, nudging it up the reality hierarchy. It's an impressively complete system.”

“What do you mean, tempering my psyche?”

“Felt any strong compulsions to do anything recently?”

“No! Other than a random dislike of farmers, but that’s the curse.”

“Weird, but okay. No, I mean, your psyche, your… brain? Thoughts? The part of you that is the intellect. It’s been repeatedly tempered. I’d bet cash you are a pain in the ass to mentally whammy now.”

All traces of saintliness had fled from the old man. He now gave the impression of a bum sharing his “wisdom” with gullible kids, in exchange for them getting him schnapps from the convenience store he has been banned from due to a “complete misunderstanding, and the owner’s an asshole.”

“First of all, you don’t have any cash.”

“Of course not. Gambling is a sin.” The old man frowned at Truth.

“SECOND, that thing was literally torturing me. It tried to get me to commit suicide.”

“Meh. You lived. The point is that your brain is a lot stronger now. You might not be any smarter, but you are a lot more aware of who you are and what you really think about things. Compulsions and illusions are going to have fits dealing with you. Air demons must hate you.”

The old man leered.

“I’d say someone built you this way on purpose, but I’m honestly not sure how that could be done. I’d look into the soul vision thing if I were you. On your own, though, our time here is up. Go, young seeker! Crush demons, destroy devils, and cleanse the world of heresy!”

“What’s heresy?” Truth yelled as everything started fading out.

“Whatever the boss says it is.” The old man grinned as the vision faded away.

“That’s no answer!” Truth shouted, stumbling through the steam. “Define your terms, you sonofabitch, and fucking pay me if you want me to work!”

“He’s fine.” A voice came through the fog. It sounded muffled for some reason. “I assume. I don’t know him. Maybe we should call the cops.”

Truth was a bit confused, but he was an old Harban street kid. Someone was calling the cops? He turned on his heel and ran. There was a loud, pointed sigh, a brief chant, and a giant silver hand grabbed him. Truth tried to struggle, but the hand just ignored him and hauled him back in front of… Merkovah? And some other not-priests. Teachers, maybe.

“Did he just demand wages from Saint Ephirimdot?”

“Let’s not be hasty. There is a decent chance he was negotiating a contract with the Liars.” Merkovah sounded so done.

“Twice! I’ve been stiffed on my fee twice!” Truth was furious. “I’m going to hunt that fucker down and take it out of his hide!”

“Oh dear, he’s still confused by the vision. What a pity. We are going now. Actually, we were never here. Bye.”

Merkovah was a beardy blur towards the door, dragging a swearing Truth through the air behind him.

____________________________________________

Merkovah, for reasons that had nothing to do with his mental and emotional exhaustion and everything to do with his commitment to training Truth, chucked Truth into a deep pit in an abandoned building site. He then filled the pit with demons. Then he sat down, leaned back on a pile of half rotten framing lumber, put his feet up on a rock, and tried to rest his eyes. A moment later, Merkovah shifted a little, got more comfortable, and covered his face with a handkerchief.

There were noises coming from the pit. Swooshes and ZONGs and crackles of lightning. Screams, mostly demonic. Chanting. A lot of chanting. Some rhythmic thuds. Probably the earth demons getting in the mix. At the very edge of his hearing, demonic whispers attempted to nibble at his mind. He ignored it.

There was a long rippling noise. In Merkovah’s expert opinion, it was the sound of a flaming sword moving at very high speed through the air. Then, a rapid succession of meaty chunk noises. A sort of bubbling hiss, and that kind of sharp, acidic, chemical smell that burrows directly up through your nostril and starts stabbing into your brain.

Must be a lot of acid if he could smell it all the way up here.

Was that a black-headed oriole singing? What’s it doing here? Really lovely little birds.

There was another series of chunk noises, followed by incredible snapping sounds as bones were shattered and spines torn apart.

“I didn’t forget you, fuckface. Eat it. Eat it! YOU HUNGRY? I GOT DINNER FOR YA!”

There was a sort of throttled gurgling noise accompanied by hammering. It eventually went still.

“Don’t forget to leave a review and a five-star rating. IN HELL!” There was a final crack-splat sound like a melon hitting concrete at speed.

“I hate air demons. I don’t care who knows, I hate ‘em. They got me talking in the middle of a fight. Who does that shit?”

Merkovah sighed and stirred himself. No dust clung to his clothes as he stood. He walked over to the edge of the pit. Truth was standing in a pond full of demonic gore, the blood and bile bubbling from the intense heat and acid as slowly dissolving bits of demons faded back to hell. All of Truth’s clothes appeared to have melted or burned away, though he seemed only a bit scratched up. One of the demons appeared to have its various limbs forcefully jammed into its slavering maw beyond its normal, enormous capacity.

“Ok, the spell resistance and demon smiting works.” Truth yelled up. “Also, you need to replace my clothes.”

Merkovah nodded thoughtfully at that. “Certainly. A reasonable expense that should be covered by the employer as I failed to provide you with the appropriate protective clothing. I will certainly pay for a new set. After you finish the next few waves.”

Merkovah filled the pit again and went back to the timber pile. Everything was so tiring these days.

____________________________________________

System, how close are we to Level Four? Truth had eventually made it back to Nag Hamadi, dressed in a poncho with the words “attractive clothing” hastily written on it. He was both impressed and annoyed that everyone seemed to believe it. One girl wolf whistled him. The constant build up of spells was really showing.

Given how insanely fast you cultivate and all the “National Treasures” you have… ingested? Not literally ingested, but… you know what, who cares? About fifty percent of the way. Which should leave you a gibbering monstrosity, but no, you are better than ever.

Still struggling to not be an asshole?

It's getting better. I’ve got to admit, I am kind of fascinated by the idea that I am somehow tempering your brain against mind control. Seems counter-intuitive.

Why? Remember what Merkovah said about those… pre-nuptial spells?

They overwrite any existing mind-control spells.

Right. Starbrite went for the soul, then used the soul to literally, permanently change my mind. Ultimately, there would be no magical compulsion. I’d be doing what they wanted of my own free will. At least until the System Astrologica moved in and took up residence.

So the last thing Starbrite would want is for you to be easily enchanted. It would be a serious security risk. But if they had me temper your mind so that you listened to me, and only me…

No security risk. Now that I think about it, air demons haven’t managed shit against me with their mental attacks.

The low-level trash hasn’t. Let’s not assume you are unenchantable.

Probably for the best.

He was laying on his bed, staring at the tiles on the ceiling. They stubbornly continued not to have any secret wisdom, hidden messages from earlier occupants, or anything of dramatic interest. And the latest novel was shit.

Great, you seduced seven women, but you lied to each of them, and now you are in trouble. Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? I feel sorry for the girls. Some of them clearly have some kind of brain damage or psychiatric problems, and you went and took advantage of that. You are trash. The other girls need personality transfusion urgently, as they are either boring or awful. One of the girls is outright abusive. They were all some manner of unwell.

Takes one to know one and all that.

Truth smiled. Well. Maybe he wasn’t quite that bad. Etenesh liked him. She liked him a lot. She sounded a little… fixated these days. But he hadn’t had much in his life that he could rely on. People least of all. Having her obsession felt safe. Safer than ordinary affection would. He knew it wasn’t healthy for her and potentially for him. But like a carriage ride to the pastry shop, he would take comfort over health.

He still didn’t fancy his chances of seeing thirty. Hitting twenty-five was an achievement already. He was determined to live well, if only for a little while.

He picked another book off his short pile. “Ludmilla is bored with her humdrum office life, so she leaps at the chance to work for the hunky, demanding Mr. Gertwig. But what should she do when it turns out Mr. Gertwig is actually an incubus in disguise?!” He read aloud. His smile turned into a grin. Sounded promising.

He flipped to a random page.

I stepped into his office, the air heavy with anticipation. The room was a haven of opulence, lined with dark mahogany bookshelves that whispered of secret desires. My eyes were drawn to the large, ornate desk, a symbol of his power and dominance. Mr. Gertwig stood there, impeccably dressed, exuding an aura that both frightened and captivated me.

His eyes, piercing and enigmatic, seemed to see right through my façade. As I approached, my heart raced, my palms clammy with nervousness. The scent of attar, the corruption of roses, wafted through the room, mingling with the forbidden desires that danced between us. At that moment, I knew I was in his thrall, unable to resist the allure of this handsome, cruel man.

Alright, he was in. Before he could turn to page one, there was an urgent hammering at the door.

“Tommy, TOMMY! Get your ass up. You need to see this!” It was Jember. Truth was up instantly, sword in hand, and running to the door.

“What?”

“The Black Ships are back. And they aren’t here to trade.”