Chapter 232: The Scaly Consequences of Moist Actions (Patreon)

She hadn’t bothered looking over her shoulder, but I didn’t need eyes to know whose black, scaly mitt was hovering back there. That was Lotte. During all these onslaughts of revelations, one thing I had noticed: Lotte intervened the most— or perhaps hated the most— was whenever one of my dusty past incarnations tried to micromanage my life.

Even now, since the leviathan was left behind by one of them and was actively overstepping her pay grade to bully me out of making my own terrible life choices, I could feel Lotte's anger radiating at the prospect.

I was starting to understand the nature of this "curse" a bit more.

Couldn't say I blamed either of them. One was acting because she didn't want me to suffer. The other was acting because she refused to let my agency in decision-making be stripped away by something of my own past lives' doing.

I felt myself aligning more with the latter regardless.

I was starting to get a little annoyed at my past selves now. It's my life now, y'all should stay where you are. Dead! I glared at my doppelganger, who frowned as if wondering what she'd done to earn that look. Bah. I wasn't going to explain it.

Not that I despised having her around, quite the opposite and far from it. But boundaries were boundaries. They were more than welcome to drop by for the occasional tea party and a chat, but the moment the teacups were cleared, I was running this circus my way. If my decisions ended up biting me square in my scaly arse, then fine. At least it was my arse getting bitten!

"That's because it is true," I said to the leviathan, who still wasn't aware of the gigantic black claw behind her in the moment. "I’m not entirely sure how much you know about your dear ‘Master’s’ true nature, but you know enough to grasp just how toxic their dreamscape really is."

To which the leviathan frowned, then fell into a state of contemplation. "It seems I have grossly overstepped my bounds. Please forgive me, Master. I am merely a steward. Whatever path you carve, it is my sacred duty to yield, not to dictate the map. I apologize for my insolence. I merely…"

She shuddered, keeping her head down. "Couldn't fathom the thought of you willingly putting yourself in a state of constant torment just to save these mortals." She laughed humorlessly. "Alas, I am but a fickle calculator of odds. Spending an eternity marooned in this pocket dimension is hardly ideal for one's mental hygiene. I fear my gears have rusted. I beg your pardon should my insolence flare again. You will correct me when I falter, Master… won't you?"

Though it was unrelated, a question came to my mind and wouldn't let go. "I shall. But…"

Why haven't you just packed your bags and left?

I was certain someone like her could do her duties here and still perhaps leave this plane, and spend a few centuries loafing around the outside world just to see what a tavern smelled like. But for some reason, the words died in my throat before they could slip past my teeth. It just felt obvious, and didn't feel like a question I should be asking after seeing her spiral that way earlier.

The answer was simply that the Divine Dragon— or whichever self-absorbed prick among my past lives made her— just never thought about it that way. ‘Oh, splendid idea! Let me just engineer an impossibly brilliant, hyper-competent being to babysit my private terrarium while I trot off and die! Surely leaving an emotionally complex being alone in a dark closet for an eon won't completely warp her psyche! What could possibly go wrong?’

I once thought that perhaps beyond a certain power, you just stopped being human. I considered that threshold to be Gold. I wondered what people that powerful could possibly feel humane about. But the answer turned out to be a lot. Just because they were terrifying forces of nature did not mean they were any less emotional than everyone else. Sure, the mental fortitude was fortified like a fortress, but the fortress still had an idiot sitting on the throne inside.

And now I was witnessing someone who was above that realm, literally godlike in terms of her powers, watching her unravel with the exact same pathetic vulnerability as an abandoned puppy.

I could ask many things of her. Like what would she do after it was over. Up until now our entire conversation had orbited around me and my grand rescue mission and the mortal strays I wanted to drag to safety but not a peep about her. And I felt like I already knew the answer.

She had no intention of leaving. And why would she? Her absentee landlord had finally waltzed back through the front door after an eternity of silence. And even though I felt something akin to pity for her, and far more pragmatically ruthless part of my brain already whispering about how obscenely useful someone like her would be once I busted out of here, and yet I still wanted her to experience life in her own manner.

But looking at the flustered mess right in front of me, I felt that would be the cruelest thing to do to her.

Was I overthinking here? Overstepping the bounds of my own wisdom to come to conclusions that might have more nuance to them? Projecting my own bizarre blend of dragon-complex and amateur philosophy onto an ancient beast? Probably. But life had a way of drumming lessons into my skull and my gut insisted this particular flavor of truth was spot on.

"Water under the bridge," I shook my head instead. "Besides we don't have the luxury of doing anything else right now. I need to get moving before that damp nuisance scoops up the rest of the keys and waltzes away with the trial reward to her own doom."

My answer didn't seem to surprise either of the two. My doppelganger just shook her head while the heavenly leviathan fell into a state of contemplation.

Someone had to win the trial to pry open the gates of the Spirit Plane, obviously. But did anyone in this room honestly believe I was going to let all that juicy, juicy prize power just slip through my fingers?

Hell to the absolute no!

After suffering through this much headache, trauma and all this existential nonsense, I was taking my cut. At my greasy little core I was still the exact same shameless, greedy dragon I’d always been. What had my scent on it belonged to me and God help the poor sod who tried to pry it out of my clutches.

Whether I managed to save the life of the thieving brat who was currently trying to swipe it from me in the process? Well. That remained to be seen

"One last question, oh magnificent leviathan," I said with a wide grin. "Point me toward the Water Leviathan’s actual, physical carcass. It’s high time someone taught that soggy little squirt some manners."

***

Markus did have a few wishes before he finally met his end. None of them were particularly profound. He didn't harbor any tender, teary eyed affection for the clan patriarch but he did have an extensive, meticulously curated catalog of filthy slurs he desperately wanted to scream into that old bastard's wrinkly ear for dumping him into this godforsaken trash-heap of a trial in the first place.

But for now, he kept his facial expressions intact as he addressed the two faerins before him. Both had been sent to investigate the earlier loud earthquakes and anomalies originating from the Abyssal region, exactly where Miss Venam had gone. And both had returned brainwashed.

Markus was sweating, almost falling off his chair, when he saw that the two entering his "office" bore the very same azure aura he had witnessed around fully mind-controlled people, the ones the Water Leviathan had completely taken over.

They didn't know that he knew. Well, nobody did, since it was an ability granted to him by the Abyss Key. He could witness bodily anomalies in the people he observed; they manifested as these strange auras, as the Key revealed to him. And right now, he was certain these two were controlled by the Water Leviathan.

He was taken aback, however. The Water Leviathan had never been this blunt before—never directly controlled his people. It always took the subtler route, tormenting them from the shadows. And further, this might be the very first case where the Water Leviathan had affected anyone other than the drakkaris.

So… had all that predictable, patterned nonsense just been an elaborate pantomime? Or had it somehow increased its power? What was the motive behind it all if it could simply take control of whomever it wished from the start and had just been playing with its food this entire time?

At this point, was there anything left to be surprised by? He was just so blindingly and spiritually tired. Every five minutes in this realm was just another cheery reminder that any sense of control they had was just an unfiltered delusion.

The two faerins had returned to report that a massive area within the Abyss had been destroyed by something carrying immense power. The ground had literally been scorched into glass, which neatly explained why the floor had been bouncing beneath their boots at that time.

Which was true enough, since he had also sent Veshka to investigate. He simply tended not to mention her to anyone; even on a mission, she moved like a ghost. So these mind-controlled faerins certainly hadn't lied, but what the hell was the Water Leviathan's objective here?

He looked up at both of them, and whatever the reason may be, he couldn't allow these two to meet anyone else. The Water Leviathan's influence was like a plague. He didn't know how they had gotten mind-controlled in the first place. Veshka had noticed nothing that might hint in that direction. But one thing he knew: the Water Leviathan needed a weak nerve to influence people. Perhaps they had witnessed all that destruction, and it had shaken them to their core— pushing their already depressing mental morale and fortitude further down, allowing that insidious parasite to take hold.

After all, he refused to believe the Water Leviathan's ability had no drawbacks. If it were that simple, it could have simply taken over everyone else here and wouldn't have needed to rely on these cheap tricks to fulfill whatever agenda it had.

For now, he made a decision. Drumming on his desk with his pinky finger, he signaled to Veshka and dismissed both faerins. They bowed and turned to leave—just as two sharp needles gleamed in the darkness, heading for the nape of both their necks.

Veshka was a certified artist when it came to rapid paralytic diplomacy. Her neurotoxins were brewed from the local flora and hit like an iron sledgehammer.

But just as Markus expected the needles to pierce both and paralyze them on the spot, both faerins bent like reeds, letting the darts whistle harmlessly through empty air.

Welp. Plan A was fun while it lasted.

Markus didn't hesitate as he slammed his palms into the mahogany desk and launched the entire three-hundred-pound slab straight at their teeth while simultaneously yanking on the Abyss Key's throttle. A colossal, ink black silhouette of a horned leviathan erupted around his frame, washing the room in pitch-black pressure.

Subtlety was officially in the bin.

The two thralls shed whatever was left of their humanity in an instant and grins stretched their faces until the skin looked ready to tear, and their hands blurred to their inventories, first one snatching a serrated black saber and second one a delicate, pink-blossomed catalyst staff from thin air.

The swordsman slashed downward, igniting arcs of black flame that sheared Markus's dark chains in two, while the caster effortlessly redirected the spiraling lightning nets Markus threw out

It was annoying but it was ultimately useless. No matter how much of a power boost the Water Leviathan had granted them, it was simply too low against the might of the Abyss Key, combined with Veshka and Markus's own abilities.

Markus played the loud and clumsy target, while trading blows and throwing lightning until Veshka’s second volley arrived from the blind spot behind the bookshelf. Veshka didn't miss twice.

The twitching started in their calves, crept up their spines and locked their joints in solid iron. Within seconds both faerins crumpled into the splintered wreckage of the floor, paralyzed from the jaw down.

Veshka finally appeared fully in the room, surveying the smoky mess—the destroyed shelves, chairs, and everything else. The entire room would have been obliterated if it had been any smaller or constructed from a less durable material than abyssal basalt.

"Are they…?" she questioned, already having an inkling as to why Markus had signaled her to attack.

"Yes. Controlled by the Water Leviathan. Didn't even bother pretending to have personalities."

Yet despite their limbs being paralyzed solid, the stretched grins on the faerins' faces never left.

"Ah…" One of them opened his mouth. "I really would have preferred to drag this out, darling. Truly, I would. But my schedule just became terribly tight. You’re sitting there stewing in your little questions—how, why, what, and goodness knows what else—  when the answer is just a boring cliché."

The faerin's grin widened, their eyes glinting with something ancient and predatory.

"A blade in its scabbard bites deepest when drawn at the very end. Flash your fangs too early and the livestock learns to dance out of reach. But strike when they think you're toothless? Heh, just clean, lovely butchery."

The voice shifted, becoming layered with an eerie resonance that was distinctly not the faerin's own.

"The Key shields that thick skull of yours nicely enough," the voice purred before the faerin’s glowing eyes drifted to Veshka. "And she had the good sense to erect a rather sturdy mental barrier. I could have chewed through it, of course, but she’s the cautious sort— would have cracked that delightful little tooth-mounted alarm charm the second my fingers brushed her mind. You vermin really are so tiresomely resourceful. Naturally, I had to ensure my own safety was ironclad before knocking on your door."

Markus felt his stomach drop. "And you're dropping the veil now because—"

Before the words could leave his mouth, a serpentine mass of silver scales wriggled out from beneath the collar of the paralyzed faerin's tunic.

Markus's breath choked in his throat.

The Ice Key?!?

Venam had taken it with her into the Abyss. If that bastard had it in its clutches... what in the hell happened to Venam?

"Oh, I can hear the little gears grinding in your skull, Markus. Don't strain yourself, you're not wrong." The voice laughed. "I didn't come to turn this room into an abattoir. It’s quite simple, just surrender the remaining Keys in your possession and I’ll be on my merry way."

Markus’s jaw tightened. He was about to tell the bastard exactly what anatomical orifice it could shove those Keys into, but Veshka’s hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder with bruising force.

She yanked him toward the shattered window.

Markus looked out and felt his soul violently drop into his boots.

Down in the plaza stood a sea of people.

They were simply standing there in dead, eerie unison with heads tilted toward his office, eyes wide and completely blank. There were drakkaris standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Depth Dwellers. All different beastfolk lined up in horrifying, harmonious rows.

"Relax. It’s not quite as grand as you fear. I couldn't crack every single egg in the basket, obviously, turns out a solid half of your precious flock had minds like soggy clay. Barely had to nudge them. The stubborn ones were politely neutralized by their newly enlightened neighbors before they could raise a squeak. Nobody has been liquidated... well, not yet. The board is set. Hand over the Key, for I know you have hidden one of them somewhere even my eyes won’t be able to reach and every single soul walks out of their trance unscathed. That is my sacred word. Play the stubborn martyr... and I will rip you off that throne, pin your eyelids to your forehead, and force you to watch while I peel every last one of your precious citizens like ripe grapes."

"..."

"The decision is yours."

Markus was in a bad, bad dream. Part of his mind refused to believe what was happening was real at all. It was all just a damn nightmare. And yet, before he could even form any words to respond to this impossible dilemma, a third voice cut through from beside him.

"Oh, bloody hell. Truly?"

It casually chimed in from the shadow right beside Markus’s elbow.

"Let's see you try that before I do my thing and atomize your scaly carcass from the face of the mortal plane, you damp little bitch."