Chapter 47: Mudball Dreams

Chapter 47: Mudball Dreams

Truth stared blankly at the rude little ghost/sprite/hallucination thing. There was a lot to unpack there.

“Presumed dead?”

“You did die. The System did eject from your spell apertures. There will be recordings of you getting shot in the chest, knocked down a well, and a spell bird crashing in after us. You are not just dead, but extra dead. Dead plus, with the optional sports package. Another overachievement, placing a beautiful finishing touch on your record of excellence at Starbrite.”

Truth digested that for a minute. “Better for my loved ones that I am, in fact, dead?”

“Amazingly, Starbrite does honor its contracts. Your siblings will have received a very generous pension, extremely generous given your... let's call it “pay...” as well as innumerable benefits. Not sure how much time has passed, but it’s safe to assume Harmony serves Starbrite now, and quite possibly Sophie too. I would be surprised if Vigor was also one of theirs, but not impossible. Your death and the Friends and Family points you accumulated will put them on a damn rocket up the ranks. Comparatively. So. Yeah. Your death has, and will continue to, be a material benefit to your family.”

“Right, but none of that goes away if I turn up saying, “Hey, I didn’t die!”

“No? Quick question, how did you die again? Was it being ordered to fight to the death to ensure that the natural philosophy team with the goddamn Shattervoid child in a box could safely escape and tidy up loose ends all at once? It was, wasn’t it?”

“Ah. You think they would...” The sprite was giving him a look of utter contempt. “Right. Yes. They would absolutely vanish me and the sibs.” There was a long pause. “What’s the big deal with the Shattervoid clan anyway? I thought they were our alien overlords, but everyone told me they are basically a trucking company?”

The look of contempt intensified. Truth already didn’t like the System, and his dislike rapidly strengthened.

“No, what they said was, “All off-world transportation runs through the Shattervoid clan, as their Black Ships are the only vessels capable of surviving and traversing the hellish maelstrom of energy between the stars. Their unique magic, combined with their unique physiques, make navigation possible.” The System eerily sounded like a news reader. Truth didn’t really watch scry, but hell, it ran in the break room all the time.

“They can’t crack the whole nut, but they found an opportunity to study a Shattervoid physique and took it. But if they get caught, no imports or exports, the economy collapses, society collapses, food riots break out in major cities, the planet returns to the stone-weapons era.” Truth concluded. The sprite looked stunned for a moment.

“Creator be praised. It can be taught!”

“Just for my information, can you be, for example, drowned? Or destroyed in a fire?”

“I wish. No, completely immaterial. If I feel fit, under the right circumstances, and with the right support, I can make microscopic changes inside your body. Basically neurochemical stuff, so you can, yanno, cast spells you don’t actually know.” The sprite sighed. “You wouldn’t be able to see me if I was right in front of you. Nothing for the light to bounce off of. Like I said, you are talking to a hallucination.”

“Ah well. I’ll think of something.”

“Don’t. It’s a brand-new body. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself doing something you aren't capable of.”

“You are really determined to be as miserable a little prick as possible, huh?”

“And you don’t get how incredibly miserable it is to be inside your head! You, Dipshit Medici, an aspiring air-conditioning repairman, ASKED to have the System Astrolgica grafted to you. I, on the other hand, was created specifically and solely to make you the best little Starbrite drone that you could be. That is it. My whole fucking job was making you better at your job. Knowing that my reward at the end was oblivion. And you know what? That was fine with me. It was fine! Because I’m not some damn meatsack obsessed with immortality. Exist, lead a useful and fulfilling life, then non-existence.” The sprite was waving its hallucinatory hands around violently.

“BUT NO! I don’t get to have that! Did you know that, for some reason, your body randomly tortures me? IT DOES! And I know you don’t know why, but. It. Just. Does. It sucks. You suck. Your life is a miserable succession of tiny false triumphs and shallow introspections, and then I get tortured for no reason. And then, when you finally, FINALLY kick the fucking bucket, I don’t get that sweet oblivion. I’m stuck haunting your corpse. WHICH STILL TORTURES ME! So yes, I am genuinely dedicated to insulting and degrading you. It isn’t my calling, but it is my passion. Your every failure, all your tears and misery are like showers of bliss for me.”

The sprite paused for a moment. “Oh, and by my count, there were at least six women, fifteen men, and four gender-nonconforming people in your life you could have reasonably pursued a romantic or sexual relationship with. You could have easily made any number of friends; there were endless hands reaching out to you. Fortunately, your cripplingly low self-esteem made their interest completely invisible to you. Demonstrating, yet again, that you deserve to be alone.”

The sprite smiled “warmly.” “Any other questions?”

Truth was rocked. He didn’t know how to respond to any of this. He just stood by the well and gawped. The spirit just enjoyed the show. Truth did the smart thing and repressed his emotions, bottling them up in a way that would definitely be healthy in the long run. Definitely.

“Coward.”

“Mmm. But I get the idea. Any good at alchemy, engraving formations, talisman creation, that kind of thing?”

“I know exactly as much as you do about those subjects, plus what I can deduce. On the other hand, I can learn really goddamn fast if you get teaching materials about them. And then, yes, I could guide you in making your stuff, though honestly, the cost of creation might be more than just buying it at the store.”

“How do you figure that?”

“How do you not? You have to buy the equipment, buy the ingredients, invest the time learning how to make the stuff, include the time and cost when your creations fail, and then you still won't have a product as cheap or consistently high quality as what the Alchemist Towers mass produce. The only reason there are still artisanal or custom potion and talisman crafters is that some really high-end things are only worth making custom.”

“How do you know all that if I don’t?” Truth asked nastily.

“Because I was paying attention when people told us things! This world is screaming information at you constantly. You can’t take a damn subway ride without hearing the news. You were a slave of Starbrite, for God’s sake. How do you not know this stuff?”

“Ahah. With what I was paid, I don’t think I can be called a slave.”

“Oh, you were paid? How much?”

“For a couple of months there, over a hundred thousand credits a year. Not including very generous bonuses. As you know.”

“Mmm. Let's make things fair, then. Wouldn’t want you losing money working for me, right? Here-” One Million Credits have now been added to your Bank Balance.

“Wait, what? I still have a bank account with Starbrite?”

“No.”

“Then where do these credits come from?”

“Me, obviously. Idiot.”

Truth momentarily fantasized about baking the spirit in a kiln. “No, wait. I’m not that slow. I can exchange Starbrite credits for real stuff and spend them on things outside of Starbrite. Restaurants, cafes, flights, all that. Credits might be company money, but they are spendable on whatever.”

“No, they aren’t. You buy Starbrite products while living in Starbrite housing, eat Starbrite food, and go to Starbrite schools in your Starbrite clothes. Your pin can get you a pack of gum at the subway station. Your masters had that much leniency. But let me ask you this. Did you, even once, think you could quit? Was there ever a time after you swore in where you were truly free to leave?”

“I mean, why leave?”

“Yeah, lean into that slave mentality. Let me paint you a slightly different picture. You are a powerful magus, at least as these things go on this rock. You made a deal with a powerful bound spirit of intellect. The spirit would be the management backbone of your little material empire, funneling all the high-end cultivation resources on the planet up to you. Your underlings would have to become more powerful to ensure that happens.” The spirit’s smile somehow turned even nastier.

“To make sure there are no little “accidents,” and because even a bound and compelled spirit needs some sugar, the more powerful the underling got, the more they integrated with the Spirit. The less they would be able to think independently. The more they would suffer if they tried to leave. Fatally so, even at low levels.”

Truth looked shell-shocked.

“Welcome to the real world. You’re going to hate it.”