Stupid Sexy Cryptids [139-143] (Patreon)

139: A Crowded Chessboard

“Your great-granny’s fucked in the head too,” Sage commented. “Is sex-slavery and human eugenics a step above or below being murdered by x-mas trees on the ladder of potential horrors we’ve got ourselves here?”

“Yeah, no shit,” Galateya hissed. 

“I’d rather not give Legate Ixthia more ammunition and bug her over every little thing that we can…” Sage began.

“Can what?” Galateya growled. “Sage, this is serious!”

“It is indeed a super cereal issue,” the fox agreed. “But it’s our cereal to chew on. Your great-grandmother will probably try to swat the Sleigh out of the sky with a moon chunk or something. Which ain’t gonna work. That’s a dungeon-ship powered by like a bazillion bound souls. At best she’ll cause the Sleigh to temporarily dive into another dimension. At worst, Saint Nikky will target your great-grandmother’s ship and then you won’t have a Legate on your side trying to make you the Baroness of Earth.”

Galateya crossed her arms, looking like she’d prefer the outcome of her great-grandmother getting turned into a festive tree. 

“We have to be smarter about this,” Sage said. “I’m a fox. Foxes sneak. They don’t smash their way in like dragons. Regular dungeon manifestations are hell-a-dangerous. A mobile one that can target entire planets with syntropic overwritery? That’s like ultra-mega-rare-pokemon Galactass level jamboree.”

Galateya let out a draconic huff.

“As for the Omnid Stabalists. They’ve their own interests in this dimension. Obvious business is that they’re trying to legally fuck over the Frontenachii by digging up as much evidence of their crimes as possible to censor their corporate branches in Omnithornia-Earth. Howevah, we don’t know what their hidden business is,” Sage added. “The Stabalists act all high and mighty and present themselves as harbingers of fairness or whatever, but in reality they’re still Omnids. Dragons who desire power, knowledge and all that shebang. Right now, ‘cus of our lovely Emperor’s takedown of the Frontenachii warship, they might show us some respect, but ‘das about it. A bigly might IF we keep up the appearance of being a power to be reckoned with. For all we know—they might want Nikky’s Sleigh to eat this planet.”

“WHY?!” Galateya choked.

“To catch her in the act of eating planets,” Sage explained. “Duh.”

“So they’d sacrifice our Earth?” I asked.

“Maybe, like, not all of it.” Sage shrugged. “But some of it, for sho’. Always remember, they serve the interests of the Omnithornian Senate and Omnicorp consortiums. The amount of shits they give about our planet and its human and Omnid inhabitants is on the low end.”

"Right. We have Laika up there." I pointed at the ceiling. "Hating humanity hard because we probably remind her of the man who betrayed her. How old is she even?”

“Twenty, I think,” Sage answered. “She is an inexperienced Astral diver with waaaaaaaaay too much power in her hands. Is how I got into her head so easy peasy.”

“Who else?" I added.

"The Eight Heralds," Sage said. "Reindeer sisters. We know where one of them is, thanks to your Seattle cell. Miss Comet Evergreen is getting drunk with the humans, looking for the Emperor. If I’m reading things right, she’s a scout, a seeder who plants the infection vectors. She either carries the See-Mass dungeon Seeds on her or has already planted them somewhere."

“Planted them where?” I asked.

“I dunno,” Sage shrugged. “I only Astral-project good. I don’t sniff seed locations. I just know that the Seeds exist ‘cus Laika dreamt ‘bout ‘em chewing up her homeworld and feels bad.”

“Why haven’t they bloomed?” I asked.

"’Cause our planet sucks."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Magic-wise," she clarified with a grin. "Our Aether is thick as shit. Linear. Boring. It is like trying to grow a tropical orchid in a concrete parking lot. The Seeds are hungry, but there is no food. No ambient mana to fuel the dungeon-bloom reaction. The Saint's engine is stalled because Earth is too mundane to eat."

"So we are safe?" Galateya asked hopefully.

"Noppers," Sage shook her head. "Our boring-ass parking lot was safe. Until about an hour ago."

“What happened an hour ago?” Galateya asked.

"The Gardeners arrived," Sage clarified. "The Sixth Fleet is planning to terraform all of our concrete parking. They bring Life Seeders. They bring magrad-infused rivers. Most importantly, they bring their own massive Dimensional Gates to pump raw Aether into the environment to make their plants grow."

"And water the Saint's seeds," I finished. 

"Ye," Sage said. "The Frontenachii Sixth Fleet will land, open their gates to fix our world, and inadvertently provide the juice needed for the Coniferous Conversion to go critical. Once those seeds get a taste of high-octane mana... Boom. Jingle bells all the way to the apocalypse. Heh. It’s like the opposite of Judge Doom’s parking lot plan.”

Galateya frowned. "We have to stop the Sixth Fleet then."

"We can't fight a whole fleet," I said. "I destroyed the Slayer's Sword with a clever trick because Evalithria let Shady, Nexxali and me into the incarnation temple like an idiot. And even if we stop the Gardeners, Saint Nikky is still up there."

"We need to deal with the source," Sage suggested. "Laika. She is the navigator. She guides the Sleigh. If we take her out, or change her mind..."

"Change her mind?" Galateya scoffed. "How?! Did you see her dream? She was burned alive, Sage. She hates humanity with a passion. You can't debate that kind of trauma."

"You don't know dat’ for sure," Sage mused, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. "Every dog wants to be a good boy. Or girl. Deep down. Saint Nikky screwed her desire for validation into a weapon. Maybe we can unscrew it?"

"She is a Pradavarian with a grudge," Galateya argued. "A soldier bound by a blood pact to a Krampus Omnid. Pradavarian contracts are absolute. I know this. I’ve been smacked with a magisteel cane by my heartless prad Instructors often enough."

"Blood contracts can be broken," I said, looking at the dragon. "Shady and I managed to break Nexxali’s contract."

“From what you’ve explained,” Galateya said. “Nexxali’s been wiggling her contract with her internal songs for over a decade. She was practically already free.”

I shrugged.

"Laika is running on pure hate,” Sage said. “Hate is strong, but it is brittle. It burns hot and fast.”

"And she is lonely," I added, thinking of the solitary, forsaken figure in the capsule. "She wanted to come home. She wanted a family. Nikky gave her a planet-murdering job, not a home."

“Yass,” Sage agreed. “I think that we gotta seduce her. Seduce all the reindeers out from under Nikki's nose!”

“Seriously?” Galateya stared at us. “How are we ‘seducing’ that prad dog? She’s up on a warship in space!”

"We can't seduce her from down here," I agreed. "But we have a connection. Right?”

“‘Das right! Laika wants to find the Wizard of Darkfall," Sage confirmed. "She is hunting my signal. All I gotta do is…”

“Let her find you," I finished. "Give her a target. Lure her in."

Sage grinned, showing her chompers. "I do like being bait. I am delicious. Very snackable."

“So you’re going to seduce her in the Astral?” I asked.

“No,” Sage said. “My seduction powers only work in person. I’m not the Miss Universe Hotness contest winner in the Astral, more like a biblical angel with too many fox eyes.”

The dragon girl sighed.

“I can’t come out into the open, only trap Laika in her dream for a while. Overall, I’ll be your shadow, your backup, your door. Teya will help too. Laika is backed by the Sleigh warship. It’s dangerous to go alone against shit like that. Gotta have a team. We’ll grind the dog down together tonight!” 

"We can use the resistance too," I added. "Comet is in Seattle. Maybe we could feed her bad intel through Sergey. Or lead her to a location we can trap her in?"

"Sagetopia?" Galateya asked.

“Maybe after we seduce the dog,” Sage mused. “Can’t manage two bigly jobs at once.”

"No." I shook my head. "I don't think that it’s a good idea to reveal Sage’s spooky, magic village to Saint Nikky. The festivus will bloom there more effectively, right?”

“Tru’ ‘dat,” Sage agreed. “We can’t lead the reindeer to Sagetopia, their apocalypse-mass Seeds would be waaaay too dangerous there, probs take out the valley and Cascade to boot. The Heralds of See-Mass gotta be kept in locations with as little mana as possible, that way they won’t be able to do much damage.”

“Sage, where is Saint Nikky herself?” Galateya chewed on her bottom lip.

“Dunno,” Sage said. “Maybe down on the planet looking for me? Orrrr more likely, chatting up the new Frontenachii Admiral and the Stabalists. She’s not looking for me or if she is looking for me, she’s not burning a massive hole through the Astral like Laika is. Also, I like what A-man did with Stormy-O. We should do the same with Sergey. Use him to mess with Comet."

“Agreed.” I said. “Hrm. I should update Kawthy about all this stuff, get her to help out.”

Sage nodded. I grabbed the keyboard, opened a new Grome browser window, logged in my personal account and started typing a message to Piotr.

[Ashlawd]: yo dude, you with bird or wolf?

[Stormy-O]: bird. Chilling in Seeker, she ranting my ears off w 100500 rando asks. Had a good time w Linari in the forest, she got called up by Sillicia to do work or smth a few hours ago.

[Ashlawd]: give Kawthy your phone I’ve questions for her

[Stormy-O]: k

[Stormy-O]: Hi Ash! This is Datamancer Kawathra borrowing my lovely human consort’s phone! Where are you? Why did you break your neural interface? I was tracking you through it to make sure you’re safe from the Skinwalkers!

“Got a mike here?” I asked, glancing at Sage.

“Yepp.” The naked fox nodded and dug into her pile of electronics and slid a fox-ears themed headset onto my head. “Tharr.”

I pressed the call button. Kawathra’s face appeared on screen.

“Hey Kawhy,” I said. “Sage broke the magic headband you made me, so I’ll need a new one.”

“I already made another one.” The Datamancer bobbed.

“Head into another room, I gotta talk to you about… my future Barony management biz,” I said.

The magpie quickly stepped away from the couch that she was sharing with Piotr, entering a separate chamber inside her Corpse Seeker.

“Relocation complete, conversation is now private,” she said.

“Good,” I began. “Say, what do the Third Fleet Commanders think about the Greens?

“Predators and Herbivores don't get along well,” Kawartha replied. “At all. This is a rather unprecedented situation, created by the capital ship’s destruction and the shutdown of the warship manufacturing facility on the Empress’ citadel. The Third and Sixth fleet don't commonly interact that much. I predict a great deal of escalating tension between the Wendigo Commanders and pred ‘bolds vs the Terraforming Administrators and their herb ‘bolds.”

“What Omnid types are Sixth Fleet Commanders?” I asked.

“Nature aligned,” Kawartha clarified. “Similar to Knight Galateya. Admiral Colette Frontenachii is a Mbielu-Mbielu-Mbielu!”

“Which is what?” I asked.

Kawatra snapped her finger rings and a hologram appeared next to her featuring a very curvy woman with stegosaurus-like features. Brown scales shifted to aquamarine ones like undulating waves. The spines on her back and arms were covered in quirky-looking rapidly blooming and dying plants. A lovely dress crafted entirely from colorful seashells and beads framed her body. A mane of pearlescent aquamarine scales cascaded across her head like a waterfall of agates sliced into thin sheets.

“She seems… nice,” Galateya commented.

“Admiral Colette is an aquatic-domain aligned Omnid,” Kawathra clarified. “Do not let the seashells and the soft demeanor fool you. The Sixth Fleet High Command operates on a fundamentally different paradigm of power accumulation than the Third. The Wendigos of the Third are hoarders. They gather artifacts, wealth, and fear into warships. They build pointy warships and terror dungeons. They extract resources, steal thoughts and subjugate populations, etcetera...”

"And the Greens?" I asked.

"They claim Domains," Kawathra said with a look of distaste. "They function on the principle of Symbiotic Domain Expansion. Admiral Colette does not gain power from what she keeps locked away in a box. She gains pleasure and essence from what she stands upon. Her strength scales exponentially with the square footage of the environment she and her branches successfully terraformed.”

"Like a lawn," Sage muttered, "an aggressive, magical lawn."

"Precisely," Kawathra bobbed. "On a ship or a station, a Gardener is merely a powerful Omnid. On a world they have converted and seeded? They are gods. The domain itself answers, fights for them, blooms with fungal networks, roots, world-trees and corals which slowly manifest Dryad Avatars. Admiral Colette will use ANY means necessary to acquire as much square footage of your planet as possible. She connects ALL Frontenachii colony worlds via a network of dimensional gates from which her Dryads spread their influence via roots, spores and Life Walkers.”

"That seems… worse than railguns," I sighed.

"It is insidious," Kawathra agreed. "The Third Fleet breaks you into submission with threats and fear. The Sixth Fleet claims the land you stand upon, infests the air you breathe, and gradually changes all fluids that you drink. Give them a finger to lick and they’ll eventually take over the whole body. They’ll do it with a smile too, ensnare the locals gradually with gifts of free plant-based food, clean air, warmth, happiness and protection from the elements and monsters.”

“Weaponized eco-sustainability?” I mused. “That doesn't sound too bad on paper.”

“Yes. Don't fall for their sweet promises, don't give them an inch of air, sea or land,” Kawartha stated sharply. “Don’t make deals with the Greens, their kobolds or their Dryads. They all work together to gradually take over everything everywhere.”

“I, urm…” Galateya voiced. “I don't understand how environmental sustainability is bad. Won't I have to work with Greens, make deals with them to improve the planetary environment if I do become the Baroness of Earth?”

“My ‘dorkable dragon-bun,” Sage voiced. “You are thinking like a child who believes that because the candy is free, the van must be safe."

"I am not a child,” the dragon rolled her eyes at the fox. “If the Sixth Fleet brings plants that clean the air and feed the hungry, surely that is a net positive? Managing a planet requires resources. If they offer them..."

"The Greens don’t simply offer resources, they offer dependencies," Kawathra corrected. "The Sixth Fleet does not conquer with guns. They conquer with root systems. Imagine, if you will, a landlord who offers to renovate your house for free. They replace the plumbing, the wiring, the air filtration. It is marvelous! Everything works better than before."

"That sounds... good?" Galateya ventured.

"Until you realize," Kawathra waved a clawed hand covered in silver rings, "that the new air filtration needs you to obey the Dryad. The new plumbing only accepts water treated with their enzymes. The wiring only connects to their power grid. And if you try to leave? You feel like you are suffocating. You thirst. You starve. Because your own body has been subtly altered by the environment to be incompatible with the world you used to inhabit."

"Bio-lock-in," I murmured. "Like Apple, but with biology."

"Yes, oh Wise Emperor," Kawathra affirmed. "The Gardeners don't want slaves in chains. Chains break. Chains require guards. They want symbiotes. They want a population that literally suffers without the specific mana-rich frequency emitted by their World Trees, a population addicted to their delicious plant-based noms. They will cure cancer, yes. By replacing the human immune system with a fungal network that answers to the Dryads. They will end hunger by growing fruit that is delicious, nutritious, and addictive enough to rewrite your neural pathways to eventually reject all non-Frontenachii-grown food."

"Yikes," Sage muttered, "Vegan heroin."

"Colonization via comfort," Kawathra continued. "They will land. They will ask for a small patch of land—a desert, a wasteland—to prove their good intentions. They will terraform it into a paradise. They will invite humans in to sample things there. 'Look,' they will say. 'No disease. No suffering. Perfect weather.' And the humans will flock to them. They will sign contracts they don't understand to live in the Garden of Eden. And once they are in, they become part of the Domain. Their thoughts, their biomass, their waste, their souls... it all feeds the roots."

Galateya frowned. "But... if I am the Baroness... I would be in charge of the contracts, yes? I could regulate them. Force them to use open-source biology?"

Kawathra let out an avian laugh. "You cannot regulate a weed that grows faster underground than you can cut it from above. Admiral Colette has Dryad Administrators who can talk you into anything. They use 'Soft Power.' They are diplomatic. They are kind. And they are utterly relentless. By the time you realize you have lost control of your planet, you will be just another lovely, decorative flower in Colette's interdimensional bouquet."

"Cosmic gentrification!" Sage added. "They move in, plant a Whole Foods and a yoga studio, and suddenly the locals don’t have an economy, culture, or production of their own anymore."

"Basically," Kawathra agreed. "The Third Fleet steals your magic stuff. The Sixth Fleet smothers your future, removes your industry, eliminates your rebels. If everything is wonderful, if food is basically free, if all of your needs are provided for by the Dryads, why fight the terraforming process?”

I rubbed my chin. "So, on one side, we have the decapitated mess of the Third Fleet, who are confused and angry and want to shoot me. On the other, we have the incoming Sixth Fleet, who want to make us into happy, fruit-addicted tenants. And hovering above it all is Saint Nikky, waiting for the Sixth Fleet to turn on the mana-faucet so she can turn the planet into a Christmas ornament."

Kawartha tilted her head, processing my words.

"Don't forget the Stabalists," Sage added. "Who are watching everything like a HOA board member with a pair of binoculars, waiting to write a fine."

I nodded.

"A crowded chessboard. Verrrrry crowded,” Sage purred, massaging my head with her fingers.

“We need to confuse and derail them,” I said, a foundation for a plan forming in my head. “Make them all fight each other. How tightly do the Greens follow signed contracts?”

“Very,” Kawathra said. “The Dryad network basically enforces contracts to the letter.”

“Alright. I’m going to need another Emperor body,” I said. “Plus another gun unit frame for me to wear so that I can control it.”

“Figured as much.” The Datamancer nodded, the edges of her beak curling up in a cheeky grin. “Since you broke your last one quite dramatically. Both are already made.”

“Great,” I relaxed. “You’re efficient and you know what I want before I even have to ask for such. Deliver both to the Books and Nooks ASAP. Also, afterward I need you to make a delivery to Seattle and…”

140: Drinking Games

Comet Evergreen was winning.

It was, frankly, embarrassing how easy it was to win against local humans. They were emotionally starved creatures who practically threw themselves onto the Naughty List, exposing their wishes and connections the moment you waved a bottle of glowing alcohol and a pair of slender legs in their direction.

"Tell me more about the... aperture," Comet purred, trailing a candy-cane-painted claw down the front of Copernicus's flannel shirt. She leaned in, letting the scent of warm cookies and Charmchain radiance wash over the sweating astrophysicist. "Does it see... naughty things in the dark?"

"It... Uhm, gathers photons," Sergey stammered. He slumped against the booth's vinyl upholstery, entirely pinned by Comet’s festive bulk. "It resolves... nebulae. Star clusters. The... the wonders of the cosmos."

"How wonderrrrful," Comet whispered, nipping at his ear. "Does it see where your Emperor lives?"

"He doesn't... live in space," Sergey squeaked. "At least I don't think that he does? Honestly, I've no idea where he lives. The War-gunner wiki isn't very clear about his current citadel location as it's not the 50th millennium yet."

Comet refilled his shot glass with the Ambrosia-vodka blend. "Drink up, star-gazer. The Saint loves a well-hydrated boy."

Sergey drank. He was an easy target. All of the locals lacked levels. This planet was full of weakling humans far too easy to bend. The more time she spent with these simple human rebels, the more Ambrosia they drank from the bottomless bottle, the more information the List Ledger artifact gathered about them and their naughty allies and leaders. 

With the eight reindeer probing humans across the planet, the Ledger would assuredly manifest the full address of their high lord’s castle on one of its endless pages. Once this step was achieved, the Sleigh could make a jump there and seed absolute, inescapable festivus into its magic heart, overwrite all of its magitek defences, infect all its defenders. The more magical the castle, the faster it would fall to the dungeon bloom.

The Frotenachii legionnaires were weak too, pacified utterly by the destruction of their capital ship. Saint Nikky would deal with their current leaders and then they all would perish or flee this doomed world in their ships.

Comet glanced across the table. The cheetah prad Scrutimancer [Sevviya] was currently half-draped over Oppenheimer, purring loudly while the human fed her pretzels. The badger prad [Uarri] was snoring face-down in a pile of peanut shells.

Easy game, the Herald thought, suppressing a yawn. Weak, stupid, generic, lowly NPCs. Where is the challenge? How did the Human Emperor even take over a Frontenachii warship? He must be hoarding all of the high magitek in his castle. That will be his undoing, the source of his downfall.

She turned her attention back to Sergey. He was cute, in an easily breakable sort of way. His current shell would bloom soon enough. Soon, his soul would be freed from his narrative-imprisoned body, and become reborn inside the Workshop. Then he would understand it all, thank her for freeing him from his misery.

"You know, Copernicus." Comet rested her chin on his shoulder, continually feeding the artifact more Astral connections. "I have a big sack of magic toys. It is full of surprises. If you can make some educated guesses about the location of your Emperor... I might let you peek inside."

"I keep telling you." Sergey shamelessly eyed her cleavage. "Nobody knows where the Emperor is. Not even the internet!"

"Yeah, yeah,” Comet said. “I get it, you don’t know where he is.” She felt the Ledger pulsing in her pocket with warmth. It was ready, fully linked itself to the humans. “Why don’t we make it a festive drinking game of it?”

“A game?” her warm human-seat asked. “What are the rules and prizes?"

"Tiered rewards for my nerdy star-gazer," Comet beamed. "Tier One: I let you bury your face in this jolly sweater for a full minute. Tier Two: A soft kiss on the cheek. Tier Three: A kiss on the lips. Tier Four: You can pet me anywhere you like. And so on…”

“And for a final tier you’ll take him for a ride in your Sleigh?” Oppenheimer laughed. “To join the Mile High Club among the stars?”

“Yes,” Comet said, making her seat shudder in approval.

"And what about the rest of us?" Oppenheimer asked. "Can we play this game too? What’s our incentive?"

“Ah! Presents from the Sleigh,” Comet reached deep into the extradimensional pocket of her sweater and began pulling out a variety of items wrapped in green and gold paper and red bows.

“What are the presents exactly?” Her seat asked.

“Magic items,” Comet explained. “You may claim and unwrap each IF your guess is goodly. I’ll explain what each does once you open your gift.”

“Sounds fun!” DorkVader said. “And what exactly makes a guess… goodly?”

“The Ledger will judge your guess as warm or cold,” Comet placed the red book onto the table and let it guide her fingers to a page with “The Emperor of Earth” line on it written in festive, slanted script. “If your guess is warm you may procure a reward. If it’s cold, you must drink Ambrosia! We’ll start with the Stargazer and move right in a circle!”

"Go on, Copernicus," Comet purred, "where does the Emperor of Earth hide?"

"The... the Moon?" Sergey guessed. "The dark side of the moon?"

“The Moon” An invisible hand wrote in the ledger. The word shimmered and then turned red, fading away.

“Nope,” Comet stated, bringing a shot glass to the human’s lips. “Cold. Drink up.”

“Why would he nuke his own backyard, dude?” Oppenheimer laughed. 

"Next!" Comet chirped, turning her gaze to Dave. "Darwin! Can you guess where the Emperor lives?"

“Uhhh,” he scratched his chin. “The Earth?”

The word “The Earth” appeared on the page and flashed green and then turned black, remaining on the paper.

“A goodly general answer,” Comet threw a festive package at Darwin. The human unwrapped it, revealing a red and black scarf.

“A magic scarf?” He examined the fabric.

"The Scarf of the Hearth," Comet stated. "Knitted by a talented Spindlemancer elf of Saint Nikky’s Workshop. It never gets cold, never frays, never rips, and makes you look dashingly heroic!”

“Cool beans,” Darwin wrapped the festive scarf around his neck. He glanced at the empty seat. “Sarah’s missing out on the present dispensary."

“Prolly throwing up in the bathroom,” Oppenheimer commented. “She’s a lightweight.”

“It’s been like thirty minutes,” Darwin pointed out. “I should text to see if she’s okay.”

The scarfed human pulled out his phone, tapping on it. “Got a message! She went out for some fresh air, got a headache. Says she’ll be back after she grabs an Advil from the 713 shop nearby.”

"My turn to win magic presents! A castle!" DorkVader shouted. “Bet he lives in a castle!”

“Castle” the Ledger wrote. The word flashed red and vanished.

“Nope,” Comet said. “Not a castle.”

“Boo,” Tom took a shot of Ambrosia.

"I bet he's in a bunker," the Scrutimancer slurred from Oppenheimer's shoulder. She pointed a wobbly claw down. "Deep underground. Hardened. Shielded. That's what I would do. Someplace with thick walls and barrier shields to block the Astral signal. 881 gals found the vamps deep underground in Cascade."

A black word “Bunker” appeared on the page. It didn’t flash any colors, fading away.

“Eh?” Where’s mah colour?” the cheetah demanded.

“Sorry, kitty,” Comet smiled jovially. “The Ledger only works for the locals. You don’t live here and have no narrative connection to the Emperor, so it can’t judge your guesses.”

“Laaaame,” the prad huffed.

“Alas, you aren't part of the Emperor's story yet." Comet poured a generous shot of Ambrosia and slid it toward the cheetah. "That was a very lovely tactical assessment though. Here. A participation prize for the lovely hunter!"

Sevviya looked at the drink, then at Comet and downed the drink into her jaw and then burped loudly. The Maned Wolf expectantly looked at Oppenheimer.

“This is an easy game. Statistically, general guesses are pretty much a guaranteed winner,” the human said. “The Emperor lives… next to a forest.”

“Next to a forest,” the Ledger wrote. The words flashed green and remained on the page.

“Aw yuss!” Steve grabbed a present from the pile and unwrapped it, revealing a pair of red gloves.

"Mittens of the Yeti. Excellent grip. Perfect for making snowballs or... grappling with difficult truths,” Comet revealed.

“Too bad it’s summer, eh,” Oppenheimer elbowed the cheetah. 

“It’s winter in Antarctica,” Sevviya commented, sniffing the gloves in his hands. “We could fly there on a glider… once things settle down a bit and Watty gives me a vacay day. Hrmmm. These are definitely magical. I’m not sure if they’d work that well on you, considering that you’ve no magic heart core though. No curses either.”

“Curses?” Comet arched an eyebrow. “Our charity dispenses quality magic gifts, no tricks there!”

“Still don’t trust your festive face,” the cheetah huffed. “You’re too jolly. Nobody’s this jolly.”

“Being jolly isn’t a crime, kitten,” Comet rolled her eyes. “I believe it’s your turn, Seer.” She slid her claws along Sergey’s chest.

“Urmmm,” Sergey contemplated. “The Emperor… lives in… the North hemisphere.”

"The North Hemisphere," the Ledger wrote in elegant, sweeping script. The text flashed a vibrant, minty green and burned black into the page.

"Ding, ding, ding!" Comet squealed, bouncing on Sergey’s lap. "A winner is you! We have narrowed it down to fifty percent of the planet! Such a smart boy. Such big... cartography skills."

She grabbed the collar of his flannel shirt, her hazel eyes dancing with emerald spirals. The human looked like a deer in headlights, yummy prey waiting to be consumed, or in this case, rewarded.

"You know what that means, Copernicus," she lowered her voice to a sultry, vibrating growl. "Tier One reward unlocked.”

The human comically opened his mouth. She buried him deep in the red wool of her sweater, pressing him tight against her chest. Comet held him there, feeling his muffled, half-hearted protests against her cleavage. The Seer deserved something nice before his death.

“One minute of chest time,” she commented and glanced across the table. 

"Lucky punk," Oppenheimer muttered. 

"I could suffocate you too if you want," Sevviya commented. "But I'd use my armpit."

“Challenge accepted,” the human laughed. 

“Oh yea? Receive it then!” The Scrut’s eyes flashed and then she climbed onto his lap. The arms of her hexasuit folded away and she shoved his face into her exposed armpit. 

The human designated as [Steve] by the Ledger didn’t look discouraged in the slightest. A wet, enthusiastic slurp echoed from the confines of the cheetah’s underarm.

Sevviya stiffened, her ears swiveling back. Then, she let out a half-gasp, half-shriek.

"Heh! Hehehe! Gah! Stop! That tickles!" She squirmed, trying to push the human’s head away. Her claws were retracted, so she wouldn't shred his face, effectively achieving only softly pawing and kneading his hair. "Stooooop! Slayer! You wet, raspy-tongued ape! Why?!"

The Frontenachii Scrut dissolved into a fit of giggles as the human assaulted her other armpit with his fingers. “Nooooo! Eeeeeeekkk!”

Comet maintained her false, beaming smile, internally cringing and contemplating the merits of taking the noisy, annoying cheetah Scrut to the back of the building to turn her into a pine tree. Drunk human males were… handsy. And the fact that the Frontenachii prads were openly enjoying this sort of submissive debasement? A stain on the predator species!

She looked down at the small human whose face was currently buried in her sweater. Sergey had stopped struggling. He was quietly breathing in her scent, looking properly submissive and malleable as wet clay.

"Time's up, Star-gazer," Comet peeled the astrophysicist off her chest.

Sergey emerged looking dazed, glasses crooked, face flushed a deep, healthy crimson. He blinked, pupils blown wide.

She blessed the cute boy toy with a soft smile and turned back to the human tagged as Dave. "Your turn. Give me a location. A geography. Where does your leader lay his head?"

Darwin scratched his chin, looking at the words on the page: Earth. Northern Hemisphere. Near a Forest.

"If he likes forests... and he's paranoid... I'd say he likes high ground,” he mused. “Defensible terrain. Near the mountains!"

Comet’s eyes flashed to the Ledger. 

“Mountains,” the invisible hand scribbled.

The text flared a brilliant, pine-needle green.

"Mountains!" Comet cheered, throwing her arms up. The bells on her wrists jingled merrily. "Another winner! You boys are on fire tonight! Take your See-Mass gift!”

Darwin dug into the pile of presents and pulled out a box and unwrapped it. “Is that a fruitcake?” He asked.

"Yep,” Comet evaluated the gift with Astral sight at a glance. “The Ever-Chewy Fruitcake. One bite a day restores stamina. Two bites bless you with your happiest childhood memory. Three make you smell colors. Four expand Astral sight. Five grant you the sweetest dreams of See-Mass.”

"Is that safe?" Dave asked, sniffing the colorful brick of dried fruit. “What if I eat the whole thing?”

“Sugar coma,” Comet chortled. “Probably.”

“Probably?” Dave raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t recommend experimenting with it,” she shrugged. “Keep it down to five bites or less.”

“Okkay,” the human agreed.

Comet giddily looked at the Ledger.

Northern Hemisphere. Forest. Mountains. That narrowed it down significantly, but it was still a large haystack. She needed a needle. 

"You," she pointed a candy-cane claw at the human wearing dark sunglasses. "DorkVader. Name a direction!"

“Uhhhh.” Tom adjusted his sunglasses, leaning back. "Mmmmm.. Let me think. North of here?"

The word North flashed red on the page and faded away.

“Booo,” Tom complained. He grabbed and drowned a shot.

“Staphhh, I surrender,” the Scrutimancer mewled. She weakly batted Steve away, panting and wiggling. 

“No surrendery! East!” Steve declared from underneath the flailing cheetah.

The word “East” flashed green. The cheetah finally escaped the human, slumping onto the couch beside him, tongue out.

“Aww yeah.” Steve grabbed and tore another present open, revealing a nutcracker toy. “Does it bite through steel or something?” He asked.

“No,” Comet said, eyeing the present. “It’s a pocket protector golem. You declare the name of the target and it bites the target ceaselessly, allowing you to get away. Also, it can be set to protect a pocket from pickpocketers with the phrase ‘stop thief’.”

“Neat,” Steve grinned. He shoved the nutcracker soldier into his pocket.

"Your turn, Copernicus," Comet whispered. "Where does the Naughty Emperor hide?"

Sergey swallowed. "He... Probably likes isolation," he said.

"Isolation isn’t a location particularity," Comet stated, ears perking up. "Guess more than that.”

"Uhhh…” Sergey considered the answer. “West of Seattle and somewhere... woodsy. Probably, an old mansion in the forest, near the ocean?"

“Old, isolated mansion near the ocean,” the Ledger wrote, the words shining bright emerald.

Yes, yes yes. Comet celebrated internally. I’m almost there! So close! 

She pictured the Emperor’s secret base in her mind, imagined herself looking at a fortified, human mansion from the beach as it bloomed and imploded from within with See-Mass trees. The downfall of the local Lord of Mankind and his Fox Archmage loomed in her future, was nearly within her grasp.

She leaned towards Sergey and kissed his cheek fiercely, hugging him tightly. “What a good boy you are! What a helpful sweet boy!”

141: A Most Unexpected Party Guest

"Hey guys!" a human female suddenly shouted over the music and human din from behind them. "Look who I found wandering around the parking lot! He was looking for the party!"

Great. The human female was back. Probably brought another nerd in a costume. Comet prepared to seduce the newcomer with simple gifts and Ambrosia.

Then the figure stepped into the light, arriving at their table.

Comet’s brain froze solid for a second and did a hard reset.

This wasn't a nerd. It wasn't a cosplayer. It was a wall of muscle wrapped in a Frontenachii black hexasuit and magisteel armor, topped with a lush, bright red cape.

The face was a golden skull mask. Polished, gleaming, imperious. It caught the neon lights of the bar, reflecting it with triangular edges.

Comet inhaled deeply, refusing to believe her eyes. Her tail stopped wagging. The bells on her choker went silent.

It couldn't be. It couldn't! What?! How?!

She had watched this man pilot a ten-kilometer warship into the moon four hours ago. She listened to his broadcast, saw him disintegrate in a blaze of glory.

The drunk Frontenachii soldiers lowered their glasses, all staring. The Scrutimancer jolted awake and smacked her companion. The badger woke up, snorting and blinking at the new arrival. Symbiote guns jumped into their claws from underneath the table.

"No way," Oppenheimer beamed, not noticing the shocked looking prads. "Oh dude, now that's a wicked cosplay!”

Sarah grabbed a chair from a nearby table and dragged it over. "Guys! You'll never guess who this is!" She noticed the armed prads and fell silent, then rapidly retreated away.

Comet didn't need to guess.

The golden mask turned toward her.

The Emperor of Earth sat down. The chair groaned under his weight. He was massive, taking up enough space for two men. His red cape spilled over the back of the seat, pooling on the floor like a pool of blood. He was now directly next to Comet.

Close. Too close.

Comet’s mind raced through potential future paths:

A: Summon her sisters or the Saint. (Too slow).

B: Pull out her gun and See-Mass him up. (Too public).

C: Pretend this was totally normal and she wasn't currently sitting next to a man who had just nuked the moon.

She chose Option C as the safest path forward. Something was wrong with her senses, something very unnerving throwing off her Astral sniffing.

"A late arrival to the party?” Comet’s voice trembled slightly before she smoothed it into a purr. 

The Emperor turned his golden skull toward her. He didn't speak immediately. He just let the silence stretch, heavy and uncomfortable, until Comet felt the urge to fidget.

"I heard you were looking for me," the Emperor said. His voice was deep, resonant, and carried the same metallic distortion that had been broadcast across worlds to Omnithornia. 

"Damn," Sergey said. "You even sound like the real deal!"

Comet’s smile felt frozen on her face. "I... yes. I… work for a charity. We deliver... cheer."

"Cheer?" the Emperor repeated.

He leaned in. The golden mask was a foot from her nose. 

Comet Evergreen, the prad empowered by the Spirit of See-Mass, the girl who faced down superstructure-sized planetary defense grids and armies of mages, felt a shiver run down her spine.

This wasn't supposed to happen! The final bosses didn't just show up this early in the game. She didn't feel him ahead of time, didn't expect for her query to simply COME to her.

Comet swallowed. Her mouth felt dry.

"I..." she started.

"Well?" The Emperor spread his hands, palms up. The black gloves were reinforced with kinetic impact plates. Omnid design. High grade magisteel, recently made. "I'm here. Where's my fruit basket?"

"It's... Urm… in the Sleigh," Comet squeaked.

"That's inconvenient," the Emperor noted. "I was hoping for a snack. Piloting capital ships really works up an appetite."

He turned to the human waitress hovering nearby.

"Beer," the Emperor ordered. "And nachos. The biggest plate you have. My friend Comet here is paying. She has a very generous expense account from Saint Nikky."

He looked back at Comet, the golden skull tilting slightly.

"Right, Comet?"

Comet stared at him. Her brain was screaming TRAP TRAP TRAP, WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE WHAT. Her job demanded she maintain the merry façade.

"Y-yes," she managed, sounding thin and reedy. "Saint Nikky... provides g-gifts to all. Would you like some Ambrosia?"

"Excellent," the Emperor said. "Then let's drink. You can tell me all about your eight sisters. And your Sleigh. And exactly why you think planting dungeon seeds on my planet is a polite thing to do."

Comet’s heart stopped.

He knew. HE KNEW?! LEVIATHAN'S TITS! HOW?!

"I... don't know what you mean," she laughed nervously, bells jingling. "Dungeon seeds? That sounds... spooky. I'm just a charity worker, I deliver presents to nice boys and girls."

She waved a hand at the presents on the table.

"Don't be modest, Comet," the Emperor said. "I love gardening. We have much to discuss."

He looked at Sergey.

"Sergey, my boy," the Emperor said warmly. "You're doing a great job. Friendly diplomacy is key. A job well done on seducing the Harbinger of See-Mass."

Comet screamed internally. She had been played!

Sergey looked confused. "What? Huh? What is happening?"

"He's the real deal," the prad Scrutimancer hissed. "That's the REAL Emperor of Humanity, you knob! I smell the ocean of fox eyes looming over him. An archangel leering at me from the abyss!"

The Frontenachii around the pub tensed up. Gun units sat in their hands, pointed at the Emperor.

This was bad. This was VERY bad.

Comet’s fingers slipped into her extradimensional pocket tightening around the See-Mass pistol. She glanced into the Astral and saw it too.

Eyes. So many eyes.

FUCK MY LIFE.

"Go ahead, Harbinger," the Emperor spoke, his deep voice unnervingly cheerful. "Shoot me if you dare. Admiral Evalithria shot me in the head, then she lost her ship. Do you dare to lose your dungeon vessel too? Because I could just as easily drive it into the moon if you annoy me.”

The Emperor’s chest was broad. It was a guaranteed, easy kill.

Comet didn't dare make the move, mind fraying at the edges as she stared at the ghostly eyes in the abyss.

The magic-less humans weren't horrified at all, they simply saw the dim, smoky interior of The Tipsy Sasquatch. To Comet, peering through the Astral, the air behind the Golden Skull was a writhing tapestry of pure liminal terror.

Wings. 

Massive wings made of thousands of blinking fox eyes unfurled from the Emperor’s shoulders, phasing through the booth, the wall, and the humans. They stared at her. 

Thousands of colorful pupils dilated at random, whispering a single word into her mind: Snack.

Comet’s smile twitched. 

"You possess... a very spirited aura," she managed to squeak out, slowly removing her hand from her pocket. "Saint Nikky teaches us that violence at the dinner table puts one on the Permanent Naughty List."

"Wise woman, your Saint," the Emperor said.

The tension in the booth was thick enough to cut with a chainsaw. Sergey looked scared and confused. The cheetah Scrutimancer was huddled against Oppenheimer, gun out and hissing softly like a kettle left on high heat.

"You," a sharp, female voice barked from above.

The Emperor slowly rotated his golden mask to face the newcomer. “Yes?”

The Wendigo Commander was looking imposing even in her drunken state. She wore a standard black hexasuit unfolded to the sternum, revealing spotted gray-black fur and a collection of cheap plastic Mardi Gras beads draped around her neck. Her antlers were festooned with glow-sticks highlighting her black and slightly emerald feathery mane.

Flanking her was the tiger prad who had earlier threatened to drink Sergey's jelly plus ten other armed prads.

"Commander Wattica," the Emperor greeted her as if they were old friends meeting for brunch. "I see you've embraced the local culture. The glow-sticks nicely accentuate your lovely bone-skull."

"Youuu," Wattica hissed with narrowed silver eyes. "My Scruts tell me you are him. The Primitive ruler. The Ship-Breaker!"

Comet rapidly slid the red Ledger back into her extradimensional pocket.

"Emperor of Earth, if you please. 'Primitive' implies I don't know which fork to use for salad," the Emperor corrected. "And yes, I broke your ship. I hope you packed your toothbrush."

Carrla growled, claws extending. "We should gut him like a fish!"

"At ease, tiger," the Emperor waved a hand dismissively. “We’re all friends here.”

“F-frie-h-nds?” Wattica let out, looking shocked at the audacity of the human Emperor to claim such things.

"Yes, friends. Sit down, Commander," he commanded. “Grab a chair. Drink with us!”

The order carried the weight of authority, backed by the pressure of the astral eyes.

Wattica hesitated. 

Then she seemingly made a decision, grabbed a stool and sat down. 

Comet noted that the Wendigo was obviously trying to claw information out of the Emperor’s head with her hooks and was failing at it. The Frontenachii girl looked increasingly confused and frustrated.

Carrla stood behind her, looking ready to pounce if the Emperor so much as sneezed wrong.

"Fine. This is a… truce," Wattica announced, trying to salvage the shreds of her dignity. She poured herself a shot of Comet's ambrosia without asking. "A temporary cessation of hostilities due to... logistical complications."

"Call it what you want," the Emperor said. "I call it a date."

Comet choked on her own saliva. "A... date?"

"Why not?" the Emperor spread his arms, the red cape fluttering. "Look at us. A dungeon-spreading wolf, a Wendigo Commander, humans and prads sharing drinks. It's a lovely party!"

"You... Destroyed our capital ship today," Wattica ground out, slamming the empty shot glass down. "Many of us are staying on Earth or in cramped quarters on smaller ships ‘cause of you!”

"Your capital ship was a prad meat grinder," the Emperor said coldly. "And now it's gone. You're welcome."

Wattica opened and closed her skull-mouth struggling with the man's audacity.

The nachos arrived. 

It was a mountain of corn chips smothered in molten yellow cheese, jalapeños, and questionable-looking ground beef. The waitress set it down and vanished rapidly.

"Eat," the Emperor ordered. He grabbed a chip, shoved it into the mouth-slit of his mask, and crunched loudly.

Wattica stared at the food. "What is this slop?"

"Cultural heritage," the Emperor said. "Nachos! Try it."

The Wendigo Commander gingerly picked up a cheese-laden chip with two sharp claws. She sniffed it. Then, with the air of someone defusing a bomb, she placed it in her mouth.

She chewed. 

"It is... excessively salty," she judged. "And fatty. And spicy."

"Good, right?"

"S’ acceptable," she grunted, reaching for another.

Comet watched the scene with mounting frustration. This had all gone so wrong!

The narrative was broken. The Final Boss was eating bar food with the Enemy Commander while her intended prey, the astrophysicist, was currently clinging to her like a lost drowning man at sea.

[Rudy!] She cast via her Neural Interface to the Sleigh. [The Emperor of Earth is here! He’s here! What do I do?!]

[What do you mean he’s here?] Rudy replied.

[He’s right here! Sitting in front of me! In the bar! I found him!]

142: Sudden Final Boss

[Great job,] Rudy commented. [You're way ahead of schedule! Seduce him, follow him to his base and kill everyone there. You know the drill, why do you sound so panicked?]

[I didn’t even sense him coming, Rudes,] Comet mentally flailed. [It's like he's not even here! I can't sniff his soul! It's like he's just an empty armor suit! There's nothing there!]

[So he's good at hiding his Astral imprint?]

[I… guess? He knows everything Rudy! He knows who we are!]

[Relax, you got it. I believe in you! The Saint's power protects us! Even if he's a talented Seer, the foreknowledge of the future won't save him, the stronger he is, the faster he will fall!]

Comet tried to relax, feeling far too tense as if a thousand spiders were crawling on her neck. It was the eyes. Far too many Astral eyes were intently leering at her. She suddenly noticed colorful string and cube bracelets sitting on the Emperor's wrists and feet between dark armor plates. Hundreds of them. Each featuring random, colorful text and drawings of fox eyes.

"So," the Emperor said looking at the Wendigo, "Commander. You have a problem. I have a solution."

"My biggest problem is you, human," Wattica growled around a mouthful of chips.

"Your problem is that you are stranded on a planet you failed to conquer, your boss is fired, and pretty soon, Admiral Colette and the Green Fleet are going to land," the Emperor leaned forward. "They're probably going to turn this bar into a vegan smoothie shop. They're going to make you wear flower crowns. They're going to lecture you about your carbon footprint and UwU eating habits, right?"

“Yes.” Wattica shuddered visibly. "The Greens are insufferable knobfolds. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to take control of the local government and then leave!"

"Exactly," the Emperor nodded. "You desire fear and blood, don't fit in their friendship garden."

"What in Slayer’s name do you want, Emperor? Why are you here of all places?" Wattica asked.

"I want you to defect," the Emperor said simply.

The bar went silent. 

"Defect?" Wattica laughed. "To what? You? A human?! Whyever would I…"

"The human who broke the Slayer's Sword," the Emperor said. "The human who is currently married to your Princess."

Wattica choked on a jalapeño. "Married?!"

"Happily," the Emperor said, patting his chest. "We had blood-raw steaks for dinner. She's doing great. A bit tired from all the excitement, but very much happily ruling this lovely planet as my Lady dragon.”

"That is… Yes. Urmmm…" Wattica let out. "The Admiral... Said the Princess was a traitor. A thief."

"Admiral Evely was mistaken," the Emperor said smoothly. "Why would the princess rob her own house, sabotage her own future, steal from the Empress? And now she’s paid for her mistake. Aunt Evely is currently a demoted, old lady with no power or hoard to her name. Princess Aquillianne extends her hand, and is offering you a deal, Commander. Security. Purpose. A territory of your own. For you and your girls. No Greens telling you what to do. Think about this, truly, Wattica—would you prefer to serve a Green Admiral or a pureblood Frontenachii Wendigo Princess?”

“Hrmm,” Wattica looked thoughtful. "What’s the catch?"

"You do occasional work for the Princess," the Emperor said. "Help protect our wonderful planet-wide domain from... minor, external threats." 

“Minor external treats liiiike?” Wattica tilted her skull-head. “I ain't going up against the Sixth Fleet, just so you know.”

The Emperor pointed an ironclad finger at Comet.

Comet felt the weight of everyone’s attention shift to her.

"External threats," Comet repeated, producing a somewhat fake giggle. "Like... meteors?"

"Like invasive weeds," the Emperor said. "And bothersome pests. Dungeon Seeders.”

Wattica thoughtfully looked at the nachos, then her eyes slid to her empty shot glass. 

"The Greens will make us eat tofu," Carrla muttered.

"I have raw steaks," the Emperor countered. “As many as you desire. I have humans. More fear than the entertainment deck provided you, at no cost whatsoever. Free range, rich, organic terror, fertile hunting grounds… Like nothing you’ve ever had… not the wall-preserved, half-alive fast food fear Auntie Evely’s warship offered you.”

Wattica swayed in her seat slightly and then grinned wide with her white Wendigo chompers.

“To start off, I want you to cut this fake charity worker off from her warship, Wattica,” the Emperor said.

The guns of the Frontenachii suddenly swivelled towards the Maned Wolf. Comet guessed that the Frontenachii Commander must have given a mental order to her prad kobolds.

The Maned Wolf prad suddenly felt like a piñata. And the Emperor had just handed everyone a stick. Several gray rays struck her from Frontenachii guns, making her heart-core tingle oddly.

Damnation! This wasn’t supposed to happen! Planets didn’t, couldn’t fight back. Not like this, never like this! She was a hunter not… prey! 

She desperately tried to gather See-Mass around herself and felt… nothing.

Nothing at all. There was no response from the Seed buried below Seattle.

Her cheeks flashed, the heat transitioning from her skin to the tips of her fur, igniting separate hair strands bright red.

Performance issues?! Why here?! Why now? 

Damn it all!

Her connection to the Sleigh and nearest Seed felt like a tiny, barely visible thread. Ordinarily, she could take out a small city, all she had to do was wish See-Mass upon them. 

No matter how hard she wished for Let It Snow, the power simply wasn’t gathering, wasn’t coalescing properly in her chest. 

She felt empty, alone.

[Rudy!] She tried. [Rudy?! Are you there?! I need extraction! RUDY!!]

Nothing. All she heard in her head was static. The Frontenachii had somehow cut off her signal.

“I’m not a pest,” Comet let out. “I’m a harmless charity worker from Omnithornia. I came to your planet to spread…”

“See-Mass cheer?” The Emperor finished for her, his deep voice drowning out hers. “It won’t work. Your Seeds will not bloom on my world.”

Comet realized how truly fucked she was.

The Wendigo Commander looked ready to break Comet’s spine for a mere promise of raw steak and endless human terror. The tiger prad flexed her claws, ready to pounce and tear out her throat.

Worst of all was the Emperor. He sat there, a mountain of black armor and red fabric, casually crunching a tortilla chip while thousands of liminal fox eyes peered at her over his shoulders. 

He read like nothing at all in the Astral. Like emptiness. Like a hollow tree branch that wasn't even here!

“Do tell me, Comet, who is the Slayer?” The Emperor of Humanity asked.

"The… Slayer?" Comet repeated.

"Yes," the Emperor said, casually dipping a chip into a cup of salsa. "Didn't you come to my planet to teach the ‘savage locals’ about the Slayer? Enlighten me. Who is the Slayer? Why does he want you to wear ugly See-Mass sweaters? Why does he want everyone here to die by your hand?"

The pradavarians and the Wendigo tensed up even more, eyes digging into Comet. The Maned Wolf didn't dare move from where she sat on a human's lap.

“Don’t shoot our lovely Comet,” the Emperor said. “I want to talk to her, understand why she does what she does.”

The prad servant of the Saint straightened her spine. If she was going to be executed here, pinned between a golden skull and many Frontenachii guns, she would go out preaching the Good Word.

"The Slayer is… the Inevitable," she began. "The Cosmic Reset. When a world grows old, when the laws of the Numbers decay and entropy begins to chew on the edges of reality, the Leviathan wakes up. She is the… Great Serpent, the Avatar of the Wormwood Star comet. She coils around the dying world and slowly… squeezes it clean."

"Clean how?" Sergey asked.

Comet ignored him. She looked straight into the dark eye-sockets of the Emperor's gold mask.

"The Leviathan feasts on potential. She radiates entropy, decay of reality. And when there is nothing left but suffering and hopelessness... He arrives. The Slayer. He emerges from the abyss with a blade that can cut anything. He fights the Leviathan. A… battle begins. And in the end… He cleaves her in twain."

She ranted out, thinking of how to escape this trap.

"Sounds messy," the Emperor commented.

"It is glorious," Comet corrected with a pitch of reverence she didn’t have to fake. "And from the blood of the Leviathan… Life begins anew. The rot is purged and entropy inverts itself. The cycle restarts. Destruction fuels creation. It is the fundamental truth of existence. Through their battle… doomed worlds become reborn.”

"Right," he said. "Standard cosmic horror cycle. Big snake, big sword, big world reboot. Very heavy metal. I already heard as much from my Frontenachii Princess. You skipped a pivotal detail."

"Did I?"

"Yeah," the Emperor pointed a cheese-covered finger at her. "Where does the jolly Saint Nikky, the reindeer-you and the festive-tree-dungeon fit into this? Did the Slayer kill the Leviathan with a candy cane? Did he gift-wrap her corpse?"

Commander Wattica snort-choked.

Comet felt her cheeks flush again. "Do not mock the aesthetic! Saint Nikky teaches us that the end does not have to be grim! Why must the apocalypse be gray? Why must entropy be cold and sad?"

"So you bring about the Coniferous Conversion?" The Emperor asked. "How does that help?"

He knew. He knew everything and was just fucking with her, playing with her like a cat plays with a tasty mouse. There were too many guns pointed at her. Her power wasn't working correctly. 

Something inside Comet snapped.

"We bring lights! We bring songs! We bring salvation!" She declared. “We bring liberation from the all-binding narrative!”

"You turn people into festive trees," the Emperor stated flatly. "I saw it."

How could he see that? WHAT?!

"I... that is..." she stammered out. "We..."

She felt Wendigo hooks clawing at the edges of her mind. The See-Mass antlers repelled the mental attack.

"Curious. I... Can't seem to read your mind at all," Wattica commented. "What kind of a charity worker hides her thoughts with See-Mass music?"

"It's an… Artifact effect," the Scrutimancer cheetah said, sniffing Comet. "I think that she's covered in high level artifacts. The antlers. The bells. The festive outfit. An entwined chain of artifacts!"

"Simple defensive measures!" Comet swallowed. "We go to doomed words to spread the Word of the Slayer. We..."

"You are... party planners for the apocalypse," the Emperor summarized. "Is that it?"

"We are Heralds of the Holy Jolly!" Comet snapped. "We... we help... the unfortunate souls!"

The Emperor stared at her. 

"Let me get this straight," the Emperor said. "The Slayer arrives when a world is threatened by a massive, life-consuming entity. A Leviathan. He kills the Leviathan. He saves the potential of life by ending the threat. And from the spilled blood, a new story begins."

"Yes," Comet nodded. "Exactly."

"And you work for the Slayer?"

"Saint Nikky aids the spirit of the Slayer… thus I work for the Slayer, yes."

The Emperor picked up another nacho. He held it like a weapon.

"Comet," his deep voice rumbled. "I just dropped a ten-kilometer capital ship out of the sky. A ship named the Slayer's Sword. A ship that was packed to the brim with harvested human souls."

Comet blinked. A cold feeling started in her stomach, a sense like she was falling.

"I broke the Sword," the Emperor continued. "I killed the beast that was strangling this planet. I purged the rot of the Frontenachii invasion, took down their Admiral. And now… a new order is beginning in this bar. Right, Commander Wattica?"

"Right," Wattica agreed with a teethy grin. "All hail the new management!"

The Emperor turned back to Comet.

"By your own theology, Comet... I struck down the Leviathan. The Leviathan being the Frontenachii warship."

What? Where in the Abyss was the Emperor of Earth going with this? 

Comet stared at the mad human with wide eyes.

143: I’m the Slayer

"I ended the threat," I went on, piling lies atop of lies. "I saved the future. I brought about a new beginning."

The Maned Wolf stared at my manufactured body.

“Yessss,” Sage whispered encouragingly into my human ear a hundred miles away from the pub, “Tell her that you’re the Slaya!”

"I am the Slayer," I concluded dramatically.

Comet’s made a sound of a dying fox. Wattica barked a laugh.

"That's... no," Comet squeaked. "That is blasphemy! You can't just call yourself that! The Slayer is a cosmic entity… the strongest warrior who can survive the absolute entropic breath of the Leviathan!"

“Big dead ship? Check. New era? Check. Terrifying eldritch power that makes your knees weak?" I pointed my finger at Sage who was hugging my real body from behind. “Do you see the eyes, Herald?”

Comet looked past the Emperor-gun unit, staring at Sage who wasn’t really there.

“Dass right. Witness me n’ shake in your striped panties, wolf,” Sage laughed, the sound of her seductive foxy voice making my insides melt. Her chest rubbed distractingly against my back.

The Skinwalker was once again amplifying my signal with her unholy powers, using her Tower room in Cascade to cast an Astral echo of fourteen thousand fox souls between my human body and the Emperor gun unit. The sneaky fox was a master of Astral illusions and made my Emperor-self seem far more magically potent than I truly was.

"You... can't be him! You can't!" Comet insisted, trembling.

“Keep at it,” Sage added, “She’s just a lost, broken soul. I very muchly doubt that anyone outright claimed to be the Slaya in front of her face. It’ll throw her mental defenses off, confuse her pact, allow us to bend her even more.”

"I am the Slayer’s Avatar in this dimension," I lied, hoping that this wouldn’t upset my newly minted Frontenachii minions while derailing the Maned Wolf from her mission. "And I am very disappointed in my Heralds. You were supposed to spread joy and love. Instead, you are trying to turn my planet into a garden center without permission. That's kind of Naughty."

I extended my hand out, offering her an empty palm.

"So, Herald Comet. Where is my tribute? If you serve the Slayer, and I am the Slayer... then you work for me now. Hand over the Seeds. Hand over the List. And tell Saint Nikky she owes me a lot of back-pay."

Comet glanced at Sergey. The astrophysicist shrugged helplessly.

“How can a mere human be the Slayer?” The tiger prad whispered to her Wendigo Master.

"A mere human wouldn’t be able to take the Slayer’s Sword from Admiral Evelithria," Wattica replied with a contemplative look. "It was... a Leviathan-sized vessel with thousands of Corpse Seekers, Legates, Commanders and our best legionnaires. It established Forty Seven planet-wide colonies… Thousands of worlds, nations and citadels fell to its might. Yet here, a world without magic somehow overcame us? That’s simply not logistically possible. When I reach out towards him, I feel nothing there, just liminality. You taste it, yes, Carrla? The sense of being observed by something vast?”

The tiger nodded.

“Some of us believe that the Slayer doesn't simply manifest from the abyss, that he is born and lives among the people of a doomed Earth. That the Slayer reincarnates too... That on every doomed world there's a Slayer simply waiting for the right time,” Wattica added, helpfully cementing my mad declarations. “Those eyes in the abyss… they remind me of a dream I had long ago of the Leviathan, a vision I received during incarnation… a man standing against the endless nothing and the dragon made of endless eyes peering down at him… Perhaps he’s not The Slayer, but a potential body for one, a fitting vessel waiting to be filled when the Wormwood Star awakens on this world.”

Comet looked at the guns pointed at her, the gray rays removing color from her fur. She looked at me. She looked at the nachos. 

“Insist it harder,” Sage hugged me tighter. “I’ll press down on her in the Astral, push her just enough for her to tumble. Teya, keep feeding me dragon-mana, s’ very yum.”

"Yes. I am the body of the Slayer," I stated, adding more bass to the Emperor’s voice and letting sub-bass rumble the silverware on the table, affirming the Wendigo’s speculations. “I simply wait for his Holy Spirit to fill me when the time is right!”

Inside my head, my real human head, currently resting comfortably against Sage’s body in her fox-den attic, I was mentally giggling with wild abandon.

I was… a dirty, shameless liar. 

An electrical engineer with little job prospects, one who had watched too many anime series and played too many RPGs, was successfully gaslighting an interdimensional invasion force and a crazy Maned Wolf into believing… That I was their prophesied cosmic reset button.

If I rolled a one on this Deception check, the pub would erupt in railgun fire.

Thankfully, the beautiful thing about piloting a remote-controlled meat-puppet from a hundred miles away was that I wasn't afraid of Comet or Wattica and her many guns. Fear is a biological response to immediate physical danger. 

If Comet pulled a hidden candy-cane machinegun or whatever she had in her pocket and blew my head off right now, I'd lose a very expensive, Kawathra-printed gun unit and create another handsome corpse. The real me would simply turn off the neural interface headband, and go to bed in the embrace of my fox and dragon girlfriends.

The extra-muscular, distant body gave me a swagger I didn't truly possess. It allowed me to spout absolute bullshit with utter conviction. Wendigo hooks couldn’t read the extra-syntropic network-style thoughts of remotely-piloted gun units.

"Well? I'm waiting for my tribute, Herald." I added.

Comet looked like a deer in headlights. Or rather, a pretend-reindeer wolf in the path of a semi-truck. Her hazel eyes darted from me to Wattica, then to the spectral fox-eyes Sage was Astral-projecting behind me through hundreds of friendship bracelets she put on the Emperor’s armor.

"This... this doesn't make sense," Comet uttered. "The Slayer... he doesn't eat nachos. He doesn't sit in dive bars! He is the End of a narrative! The Silence! The beginning of everything!”

"The Silence is boring," I countered. "I prefer salsa. Also, I’m his body, not his spirit. The rest of me will awaken when the Leviathan requires a chopping, perhaps… fifty thousand years from now.”

Wattica barked another laugh, silver eyes filled with mirth. She was drinking in the Herald’s fear of my words. The Wendigo Commander was doing the heavy lifting for me, her desperate need for a new master who’d give her delicious all-you-can-eat fear buffet filling in the plot holes of my improvised theology.

"He broke the Sword!" Wattica stated. "He silenced the Admiral. He’s done the impossible, what no world dared to do against our grand armada. He fits the prophecy better than your absent Saint, Comet! A truly worthy husband for our highborn Princess!"

“Hear, hear!” Her soldiers affirmed.

“She is nearly cooked,” Sage whispered. “Like a turkey. Stick a fork in her, A-man.”

“Working on it,” I agreed, disabling the voice transfer for a moment. “If she panics, she might start shooting civilians.”

“Then we take away her toys,” Sage purred. “Ashy, tell her to strip.”

“Eh?” Galateya voiced beside us.

“Let’s get her naked,” Sage insisted. “Buck naked. Birthday suit. The full monty!”

“Why?” Galateya asked, sounding mildly scandalized. “Sage, we are trying to neutralize a threat, not... fulfill another one of your fantasies. Is this really the time for horny foxnanigans?”

“It ain't horny, T-bun! Well, not just horny,” Sage corrected. “Comet ain't an experienced mage like me. She ain't even an Omnid with a Fractal Engine heart like you. She’s, like Laika, is a prad that’s basically one paw in the abyss. Half of her belongs to entropy, the other is being held together by Saint Nikky’s dungeon ship.”

“Meaning what?” Galteya asked.

“Comet operates by the power of belief and all those See-Mass trinkets,” Sage explained, “She is basically… a funnel, an antenna. You heard the Scrut, T-bun! That sweater? The bells? The headband? Those aren't just bad fashion choices. They are potent-as-fuck, entwined artifacts. Anchors. She channels the Festivus dungeon through them. She holds no real power of her own. She’s a battery-operated toy!”

“Right,” I said. “Like a cleric drawing power from a holy symbol. If we remove the symbols…”

“She becomes a mere average prad, a tall foxy-doggo in a bar,” Sage finished. “So, Emperor... tell her to take it off. Tactical undressery!”

I suppressed a smirk. 

"Comet," I reactivated the mental voicecast. "You doubt me. You cling to your old master because you fear the cold. You clutch your colorful trinkets like a child holding a security blanket."

Comet flinched. Her hand tightened on the fabric of her festive sweater. She must have sensed where I was going with this.

“A true Herald of the Slayer requires no fakery,” I said, tapping my chest. “Belief comes from the Heart. If you truly believe that you’re a Good girl serving the Slayer’s divine mission, take all of those festive trinkets off!”

Comet blinked, clutching her collar. "My... my artifacts?

"The sweater," I listed. "The skirt. The bells. The headband. Remove them."

"You want me... naked?" she squeaked.

"I want you pure," I corrected, channeling every cult leader documentary I'd ever watched. "I want to see the warrior beneath the wrapping paper. The Saint claims to own you. She brands you with her props. I offer you true freedom, acceptance and understanding. All you have to do is cast aside her chains!"

"Yes! Take that shit off," Wattica ordered. The Wendigo seemed to catch on immediately, or she simply enjoyed seeing a prad scared and humiliated. "Show the Emperor of Earth some respect, you festive nuisance! Open your mind to me so that I can confirm that you’re not a threat to the domain of our Princess!"

"I... I can't," Comet stammered. "The sweater... it protects me from the linear friction. The bells... they help me hear the Astral..."

"They are crutches,” I said. “And you are supposed to be a wolf, aren't you? Wolves don't need sweaters. Wolves don't need bells."

Comet swallowed.

"Unless," I whispered, "you are just a pet? A dressed-up doll for Saint Nikky to play with? Is that all you are, Comet? A toy? One that she’ll discard once your use runs out?"

The insult landed. I saw it in the way her ears flattened, the way her lip curled.

"I am not a toy," she hissed. "I am a… a Herald of See-Mass! A prad predator!"

"Prove it," I challenged. "Take off those fake antlers!”

"Uh, guys? Is this... is this standard diplomatic protocol?" Sergey suddenly found his courage.

"Yes, Copernicus," I said. “If she doesn't take those artifacts off, the Frontenachii will do it for her. The Wendigos don’t like when someone’s keeping secrets, thinking naughty thoughts, planning to murder everyone on our planet.”

Comet squeaked, clutching the neckline of her fuzzy red sweater. "This is... this is harassment! Extreme misconduct! I am a charity worker!”

"You're a walking arsenal of magical artifacts disguised as an ugly Christmas sweater party," I corrected.

The Maned Wolf twitched, gritting her teeth and glaring at me.

"She's fighting it... but it's not enough," Sage sighed. "We'll have to undress her manually. The blood pact probably won't allow her to pull the antlers off."

"Wattica. De-festive the wolf please, since she won’t do it herself." I ordered.

The Wendigo's glowing eyes flashed to her kobold.

"On it," Carrla growled.

The tiger prad flashed from where she stood. Carrla’s massive, hexasuit-covered dark hand clamped onto Comet's shoulder.

"Down, Rudolph," the tiger growled.

"I am a Maned Wolf!" Comet protested as she was slammed face-first into the table. The tiger grabbed he sweater, pulling it off.

Suddenly, Carrla shrieked. She recoiled violently, releasing Comet as if she were made of molten iron.

"My hands!" Carrla wailed, staring at her palms in horror. “Ahhh!”

Brown roots and green pine needles were erupting from the tiger's hands. They grew all over, shearing right through her hexasuit armor gloves and skin like splinters, curling and branching. Frost bloomed around the wounds, turning her orange fur white with ice. A festive, eerie melody jingled through the air.

"Fuuuuuck! It burns! It’s so cold!" The tiger screamed, leaping back and shaking her hands, trying to dislodge the magical infection. "Get it off! Get it off!"

Wattica’s symbiote gun rearranged itself into a black, elongated sword. She spun through the air and sliced off the tiger’s hands. Carrla stared at her bleeding stumps, whimpering softly.

Her infected hands landed on the ground, blooming into small, festive x-mas trees covered in colorful ornaments.

The other prads retreated away from the little pines with horrified expressions.