Chapter 67: Alternatives

Chapter 67: Alternatives

The ghostly serpent shattered in Truth’s grasp, dispersing as wisps of grey gas under the brilliant tropical sun. Widow Yettran gasped and rattled on the ground, shivering like she had a fever. Her color was improving. The disgusting mottling was fading away. The green had already vanished. Truth looked around awkwardly. He had destroyed the spirit’s corporeal body, but the spirit was very much alive and around somewhere. Being able to make a talisman that kept ghosts and evil spirits away suddenly seemed like a very good thing. The inaugural upload of this chapter took place via N0v3l-B1n.

There was a sudden cessation of noise. A silent thrum ran through Truth. Then a pause and another silent thrum. As though he were standing next to a great bell he could not hear, only feel. The house and garden seemed to explode into clouds of smoke and ash. Grey howling spirits with smoldering ember eyes rose from every withered plant, from the cinderblocks in the walls, from the cheerful lace curtains fluttering in a breeze only they could feel. All fleeing the silent sound of that terrible bell.

Truth took a last look at Widow Yettran. She looked like an old lady who had lived with a prolonged illness. But what could he do for her even if she was on death’s door? He went back in for Merkovah. After all, the snake was still in there.

The house was vibrating. Something had descended upon it, some vast presence come down, and merely mortal matter could not withstand its presence. The shadows had been banished. The snake twisted in knots of agony, trying to escape its flesh. The warrior spirit was on one knee while Merkovah... was having an argument.

Merkovah’s beard seemed to go rigid with indignation. He tossed his head in irritation. A scholarly finger wagged, then jabbed. Truth had no idea what he was arguing with, as all he could make out was a glowing ball of light and shimmering pressure in the middle of the room. The tolling of the bell seemed to come from whatever it was. Merkovah pulled a copper talisman from a pocket and tapped parts of it repeatedly as though emphasizing a point. The entity shimmered a few more times, then vanished.

Merkovah snorted, chanted something guttural under his breath for a minute, then turned towards the spirit. “It’s Ajani, right?”

“Yes, Teacher. I believe we met long ago.”

“Not that long! I’m not so old.” Merkovah waved his hands, and the spirit chuckled.

“Well, it feels long ago. Is there... any hope of returning me to my place?”

“I’m afraid not. Besides, you should have left years since.”

“I know. I wasn’t ready to leave her. She wasn’t ready for me to leave.” The spirit smiled sadly.

“Come. I will say the Shomash for you. You will definitely go to heaven.”

The spirit laughed softly one last time and shook its head. “Well. Some kind of heaven, I guess. Thank you, Teacher.”

Merkovah put the amulet away and clasped his hands in prayer. It was short, guttural, and clearly sincere. Without even a final sigh, the spirit disintegrated in a spray of lights.

There was a moment of silence, then Merkovah straightened his clothes and looked over at Truth. “How’s Widow Yettran?”

“Better.”

“Do you understand what happened here?”

“Not really. Her husband’s spirit was trapped in the spell bowl guarding the threshold, and it exploded under the pressure of necrotic spirits. He emerged to make a last-ditch effort to keep Yettran alive, but it plainly wasn’t going to be enough. You exorcised the house by invoking some kind of angelic spirit. Beyond that, no idea.”

Merkovah chuckled and walked out the door. He attached the copper talisman to the inside edge of the doorframe, pushing the nails in with his fingertip. “Come, let’s get Widow Yettran back inside.

They settled the old lady back into her bed. Teacher Merkovah pulled up a chair next to it and started praying. Yettran woke after about fifteen minutes. There was discussion, weeping, anger, more weeping, then acceptance. Merkovah patted her on the shoulder and left with Truth. They had been speaking a language Truth didn’t recognize.

Sophia would have gone to college, of course. Aced it. Maybe got a deferment for her national service, maybe went early just to get it done, then went back for postgrad. She could still be finishing her undergrad, maybe. Or not. Vigor... it was tougher to say. He should be on the college track. Should be admitted to college. He was a fighter, though. He had that meanness in him since he was a kid. No way he would be content as an office drone. He might be doing something... unpredictable.

Harmony... Starbrite would have had Harmony for five years now. And while Lab Technician was a D-Tier job, all those friends and family points had him set for a lateral transfer to an upper C-Tier managerial position track. Odds were good that he had the System now. Odds were good that the System had him.

Which led him to the next thought he had been avoiding. How was it even possible to fight Starbrite? It was a planetary-scale corporation. The corporation would still exist even if he had a magic needler that would let him one-hit-kill the entire C-Suite from ambush. The System Astrolgica would still exist. And what if he could kill the System? He would put hundreds of thousands directly out of work and millions more who depended on those hundreds of thousands for their livelihoods.

Not that he gave even one half a fuck about other people’s job hunt, but he knew they did. All those millions of people would fight to the death to defend Starbrite because, for them, Starbrite meant prosperity. Starbrite meant not the slums.

Jeon would mobilize the military to defend Starbrite. At 20% of the economy, they would be insane not to. Tens of thousands of conscripted kids doing their national service now in a shooting war with the madman determined to destroy the most respected company in the world.

He would fight the world for his siblings. He just didn’t want to do it literally. He would like to have them free, sane, and with their spell apertures intact when he got them back. He had not the faintest idea how it was possible.

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Merkovah apparently lived in a well-appointed house on the northern fringe of the city. Less fancy than he would have thought a Level Seven’s dignity would demand. Still much larger and nicer than the overwhelming majority of the homes in Moyle. The carriage was met by a pair of young folk, who greeted it enthusiastically.

“You’re back!” The young woman said. A cheerful voice, cheerful clothes, cheerful hair blown by stray breezes making her look like she was always in motion.

“Do we have a new friend?” The young man asked. “I thought you said “Two’s enough.” He seemed no less cheerful than the woman, but where she was lean, he was athletic. He looked like someone who could run all day and would at the slightest provocation.

“You two are freeloaders. He’s worse. I’m employing him.” Merkovah looked martyred.

“Employed? As what, a cook?” The young lady said hopefully.

“Cook would be great. Really great. Hint hint.” The young man nodded strongly. Merkovah turned towards Truth and let his face droop.

“You see, Mr. Wells. This is why I need a bodyguard. The constant betrayals.”

“Bodyguard? I figured he was your boyfriend.” The woman looked genuinely shocked.

“I was prepared to entertain the idea that he was a pro, though not dressed like that.” The man nodded along with her.

“I’m a happily married man!” Merkovah bellowed.

“Sure, sure. I’m sure your wife is very real. Sure.” The young lady “comforted” him. Truth coughed.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Tommy Wells. I am good at talisman maintenance and violence, but I am trying to learn other skills. I enjoy reading novels, trying new foods, and seeing new places. I would love to hang out with you two and get to know you better.”

The two people, roughly the same age he was when he fell down the well, were cheerful, fit, funny, and, if not stunning beauties, pretty good-looking. If being dead wasn’t a good enough reason to change, what was?