Vol. 3 Chap. 46 All God's Creatures

Vol. 3 Chap. 46 All God's Creatures

Truth dove into the panicking masses, letting them break his line of sight with the golems chasing him and the eye-spies above. It was far from perfect. They were still on him. But it helped. As he went, he shouted.

“The Golems are killing people! They have gone crazy! The Golems are killing people! Bombs, they set off bombs! Starbrite’s gone crazy! They are killing people!”

He didn’t even need to use Incisive. The words had all the effect he needed. Spells and charms started crackling out. Most people only had the Jeon universal spell, of course, but these days, who didn’t carry at least some sort of personal protection? It may be illegal, but again, these days, what did Illegal even mean?

Not that homemade or black market attack fetishes did much against commercial-grade security golems. Some poor bastard even had a knockoff needler. Truth watched the needles, pathetically free of any sort of attack spell, plink off the armored form of a golem. Maybe if he had a Sharp spell. Or one of dozens of anti-golem spells that were developed over the centuries. But he didn’t, and the needles went plink-plink-plink until the golem caught up and smashed his head into the ground and crushed his hand and slapped a paralysis charm on him, leaving him on the ground and unable to scream as the rest of the mob charged over him.

“Don’t let them get you! Don’t let them get you! The Golems are killing people. Starbrite is Killing People!” He hadn’t really thought about starting a panic beyond some vague notion, but his trainers in Siphios had been quite clear- provocation was the core of “freedom fighting,” and overreaction by the provoked could always be turned against them.

He ran crouched between people, yelling as he went. Waste not, want not, all that. And it gave him a chance to subtly shape his identity, becoming harder to spot. Becoming one with the mob. He worked his way to the edge of a shopping galleria, the security shutters rumbling down fast. He dove under them- and vanished.

Truth idled around the locked-down mini-mall for an hour or so. Most of the store employees had been ordered to shelter in place, shuttering their stores and praying the mob didn’t break in. Nobody knew what was going on. Nobody understood what was happening. This sort of thing just didn’t happen in nice districts. Secure, citizen, districts. This was the kind of thing that maybe, MAYBE, happened in the slums. Not that they knew much about that, of course!

It was a point of snobbish pride for the stores here- the retail staff were all the children of citizens, getting a little training in before their doubtless glorious future careers. The managers wanted to train their staff well- usually, the managers represented the bottom-most rung of salaried employees for a vast corporation. Their best hope to climb was a protegee succeeding and remembering their mentor.

Truth drifted along, looking through the shutters. That’s how it was in Jeon. You were employed by Starbrite, or one of the second-tier great corporations, or your parents pretended you had died in the crib. He looked in at the clerks, trapped behind the bars and mesh of the shutters or three centimeter thick enchanted glass storefronts. They were pacing around in neatly pressed suits and skirts, with ties or neckerchiefs or hats all in the focus group tested, board of directors approved color scheme. Attractive young “brand ambassadors” learning how to maximize shareholder value. Trapped in little boxes, waiting for the mob.

For once, the orders were correct. The mob had no interest in breaking in here. The safest place to be was out of the district. Truth walked over to a mostly empty food court and found a table. He had filled a good-sized sack with loot. A bit banged up by the rough handling, but still very nice indeed. It was noticeably heavy. He grinned. Maybe he had underestimated the long-term earning potential of armed robbery.

Truth swung the bag back and forth a little bit. What could he buy with all that loot? Well... was there even anything he wanted to buy? Elixirs were always good, but elixirs for those level four and up were not exactly retail buys. Maybe at a major branch of the Green Lotus or some other top-notch subsidiary of an alchemist tower, but even then, he would bet that you had to put in an order and wait for something to become available. All those Starbrite Level Four’s would be buying from the System Shop, too. That would take a big bite out of the market. Anyway, not something he could purchase with a stolen ring.

So elixirs were out. What about weapons? Those could certainly be acquired with stolen jewelry. A needler might not be as delightful as it once was, but it was still immensely lethal in his hands, a heavy needler more so. And if he really wanted one, he could walk up to the nearest army base, present the “order” to the quartermaster, and be issued his very own, free of charge. No need to spend more than the time on the trip. So that was out too.

A fancy firebird? His own flying cloud? Not practical under the circumstances or in the foreseeable future. Enchanted clothes? Overrated, mostly gaudy even by his standards, and Etenesh had made it clear she liked him in his skin, or as close to it as decency would allow. In retrospect, her saying, “My pretty man had a God Bod, and he should show it off,” probably wasn’t just her flirting.

And just a tiny piece of his soul was so toxic to her, it drove her into paranoia and misanthropy. He was literally poison for her.

Truth gave himself two quick slaps and shook his head, trying to shake out the intrusive thoughts. She was recovering. His “gift” would help her survive what was to come. She still loved him. And he had to make sure they would have a future together. As well as get his revenge.

“Glory! How quietly do you walk? Took a year off my life. You are looking for His Eminence?”

“Yes, he told me to call on him when I was in the neighborhood.”

“You are a friend of His Eminence?”

“No, no, just an acquaintance, but he seemed very insistent that I come and see him.”

“I am sorry, but you are both too early and too late.”

“Pardon?”

“Too early because he will be here leading worship at seven this evening, and you could make an appointment to see him then. Too late, because he generally does his pastoral work between noon and five, and has been out of the Church for hours now.”

“Ah. Well. Perhaps I will attend the service and find him later.”

“Wonderful. Our doors are always open. What name should I put on the appointment?”

“Johnny Bells.”

“Could you spell that?”

“Probably.”

There was a pause. “Sorry, force of habit. You wouldn’t believe some of the names we get.”

“No problem. I have to put down a deposit to hold the appointment, right?”

“Ah, no, not a deposit, no, of course not...” The young man started to explain hurriedly. Truth reached into his sack of loot and brought out a rather chunky ring. He casually rubbed off the maker's mark and serial, then etched a crude picture of a rat on the inside of the band. The embarrassed acolyte thought he was fishing around for his wallet, and looked shocked when the ring clattered on the mythril plated dish on the counter.

“Here, for James. I will see him after the service. I hope he’s ready.”