Chapter 16: Gopher guts

“So, uh, this is Mato.” I say to Demarcus, gesturing to the elderly native american man hopping down from one of the wooden tables.

Mato slings the crossbow over one shoulder, and without an ounce of suspicion offers a hand out to Demarcus with a slight smile.

“Mato Holt, ranger.”

Demarcus goes to dap him up and their greeting is lost between generations. Demarcus compromises with an old school firm handshake, and replies “Demarcus Davis. Uh, [Warrior].”

He says [Warrior] with a certain tone and emphasis that makes it clear he’s talking about his class. Mato stutters over an “uh—” as I snicker and clarify “he meant he was a park ranger before this. But he is also a [Ranger].”

“Oh, alright man, yeah, that’s cool. So, How’dya know Cy?” Demarcus’ prior confidence and enthusiasm wavers in the face of a stranger that his friend was running with— without him.

“Met him when he first got here, lil’ firestarter was pokin’ webs with a stick. Saved him from the oncoming spiders.” Mato says with a chuckle that Demarcus shares politely, yet fakely. “So, I’m takin’ it that y’all knew each other from before.”

“Yeah. Way more than knew each other, we’re family.”

Mato raises an eyebrow at that. “Helluva family resemblance.”

That gets me laughing, giddy from both the victory, Demarcus’ return, and just being alive… well, after-alive.

“Alright, imma keep watch at the big hole, make sure that explosion ain’t callin’ down the whole nest on us. Y’all can catch up but, keep an eye out.”

I give Mato a sarcastic salute as Demarcus turns back to me. “You pals with that guy now?”

“Eh, think of it more as allies. He’s a decent guy, bit bossy, but he’s got a soft spot and a sarcastic sense of humor once you dig it out of him.”

“But jesus Demarcus, I’m so glad to see you here man, and… I’m sorry.”

Demarcus sits down next to me on a large square stone.

“...Especially since you’re gonna have to shave your head.”

“What?” Demarcus says, eyes alighting in panic as he raises a gauntleted hand up to the side of his head. He looks around for a mirror before unclasping a buckle and tossing off a gauntlet and feeling closely.

“God damnit man! You burned off my hair!” His genuine anger quickly turns to playfighting as he punches me in the shoulder, his half-hearted outrage is sabotaged by the edges of a smile. I play up the hit and grin wide, just happy to be giving him shit again.

Demarcus sighs, then doesn’t meet my eye as he continues. “Nah man, don’t be too sorry. I always knew I’d die for you guys, just feel like shit that you all died with me anyways.”

“So, the other guys up front with you...” I begin to ask.

“Yeah.” Demarcus replies quickly. “Miguel fired first, that fucker blows up and picks a fight as soon as a fight’s an option. Even against like a hundred cops that immediately shot the shit out of him. Johnny got hit in the leg, I dragged him back behind a desk and was covering him when I… went down.”

I can tell this is weighing on him heavily.

“So, the cops were waiting for ya at the back? Did Higgy not make it? I can’t feel him here.”

Oh.

Oh God.

He doesn’t know that we left him behind. He thinks we died at the post office.

I— I have to tell him, right? Lying about that is a good way to break his heart later. He hates getting lied to, hates getting betrayed by those he trusts, and this place has fucking magic. There’s no way truth spells don’t exist, or that some weird fuckin’ [Witch] or whatever won’t use my lie against me.

But, Demarcus has abandonment issues, if I tell him we left him before we even knew he was dead… that’d kill him.

Again.

He romanticizes the gang, the pedestal he put us on is the pillar holding up his mental health. If he found out we wouldn’t die just to die with him, it might break him.

“Not…” I start, mouth suddenly dry. “Not exactly.” I say in a half-measure.

Like a fucking coward.

Demarcus quirks an eyebrow confused, and I realize I have to clarify.

“Higgy made it out, but I didn’t exactly die at the back.”

Demarcus sits up as I speak.

“I can explain later, it’s a lot.”

He nods and that’s enough for him, because of course it is. He trusts me. But I have no idea when that later is, and I can tell I’m just gonna keep pushing it off like a fucking pussy. I should just speak up now. It’s not like he can afford to hate me right now, I’m his only real ally— no. That’s a shitty thought. Just say something.

“...You don’t feel anyone else?” Not what I wanted to say but, I am curious.

“Nah, just you. It’s like a… feeling. Like you know where you’re goin’ ya know? I can still feel ya now but I don’t really need to. Like if you’re looking right at something, you already know where it is. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, D, I get it.” I say, voice a little softer.

“I’m gonna be an optimist and say that Johnny got out alive. Miguel probably just picked the hamster blender afterlife of infinite violence.”

“The fuckin’ what? Oh, that hell. Yeah. I picked the Game cuz it sounded like something y’all would pick— at least you, Higgy, and Miguel would. Might’ve been wrong about that.” Demarcus says. Then, he quickly leans over and painfully ruffles the hell out of my disgusting hair with an equally disgusting gauntleted hand.

“Wasn’t completely wrong though eh? Knew you couldn’t resist the idea of being a god. Ya already think you know better than everyone.”

I push his hand from my head and say "Hey, I kinda do know better. So far. For the most part.”

Demarcus laughs as I renege on my claims of omnipotence.

“Alright,” Mato speaks up as he walks back over towards us, taking a hefty swig from his waterskin. “Shot a few stragglers but it’s lookin’ like this place is either cleaned out or the bugs are runnin’ for the hills.” He gestures with his waterskin to me.

“You said killin’ this thing would prob’ly be how we get to the next floor, so, what now? What usually happens in them video games?”

“Well, usually killing the boss unlocks or reveals a door or something to the next floor, but I’m not seeing one. Demarcus, did you see a big locked door on your way in?”

“Nope, but even if I did, we should probably stick around to take some stuff from this place before we leave. I saw a sweet painting in one of the halls that I bet would sell for a bunch, or I can just keep it. It’s nice.”

“We’ll get you that painting man.” I say. “And he’s got a point, Mato. At the very least we ought to go grab you some more bolts. Plus, I wanna take another look at that catapult. And this is a castle! I’m betting they’ve got an armory or a vault or something. Gotta see what’s in there.”

Demarcus follows up with “hell yeah, boss loot! If there’s a throne we gotta sit in it.”

I laugh and fist bump him at that as Mato replies. “Alright. We gotta resupply, but we gotta find that door. The forest is still burnin’ and we gotta make progress. I’m worried just worried that the spider queen destroyed the way out on its rampage. Or is sitting on it.”

Our eyes collectively turn to the still sizzling spider queen, taking up what must be a football field in size and weighing somewhere in the tons.

“No way we’re liftin’ that.”

***

We head back up to the tower and find it destroyed. So, no free enchanted wood for me.

We resupply at the kitchen, finding some larders untouched. Demarcus wolfs down food like he hasn’t eaten in days, and then reveals to me that he really hasn’t; Too busy chasing me down.

My heart twists and I go looking for something to make it up for him, finding a cask of ale and he laughs and fills his waterskin with it.

Demarcus points out a painting in one of the halls, and we cut it from the frame with Mato’s knife, sticking it in Demarcus’ pack.

Attached to a few internal rooms of barracks, dining halls, privies, and various other rooms essential for common soldiery, we find a basic armory. I test out a spear on a training dummy and find that [Tool Proficiency: Pokin’ Stick™] doesn’t work so well when my intention is to stab, and I attempt to decipher the nuance between a stab and a poke as Mato restocks on bolts and Demarcus finds a set of steel pauldrons and metal shin greaves that fit him. The open faced kettle helmets all look “too goofy”, so he forgoes them.

Eventually, after exploring the webbed ruins and excavating some collapsed rooms, we find the throne room. Demarcus and I take turns sitting on it and acting imperious, demanding our “servants” bring us Taco Bell. Mato just waits patiently, face revealing nothing. As we leave the room to continue on, Demarcus bumps my shoulder and tilts his head to gesture behind us and make me look back, and we catch Mato stealthily take a seat on the throne for only a moment, thinking we weren’t looking. We crack a smile at that and pretend we saw nothing.

Attached to the throne room, down a defendable spiral staircase and locked doors I pick the simple locks of, we find the treasury. Or at least a very ornate door with a golden rotating handle and three sets of fancy locks. Decorative sets of armor with swords and shields stand to either side of the door.

“Those things are definitely gonna wake up and try to kill us if we open the door aren’t they?” I ask.

“Most definitely.” “Why not at this point?” Are Demarcus’ and Mato’s responses.

“And now, my dear Demarcus, you can see the most powerful skill that this Game of Gods can offer in action” I say, raising the Pokin’ Stick I’d been using as a walking stick.

From 6 feet back, I gently poke a suit of armor in the chest. Then the head. Then, I shove it hard and topple the helmet.

“Looks like we’re in the clear.” Mato says.

“Nuh-uh. Classic move. They pick up the helmet from the ground and then attack.” I say. “But I’ve got an idea.”

I begin violently jabbing the armor until bits and pieces fall from either set, then use the stick to drag two arms, both swords, a leg, and both helmets over to us.

I pick up the armor pieces and begin handing them to Mato and Demarcus.

“Hold these.”

They do, and I approach the door. Examining the locks, I don’t understand them. I begin to cast [Eye-dentify] on it, taking a meditative stance on the ground. As soon as I feel the magic begin to flow within me I hear the clatter of metal, and open my eye to see the armor set on my left fall to the ground, one leg missing, and falteringly try to stand.

The armor on my right begins to wander, armless, and I hear Demarcus laugh as he and Mato grip the armor pieces I handed to them tightly while they rattle and shake in their captors’ hands.

I finish casting, and come to understand that this is a magical lock, its original spell changed to unlock not from the right keys but from the defeat of its guardians.

I look up to see its guardians flopping about headless, thoroughly defeated.

So… the door’s already unlocked.

I really should’ve checked if it was locked before casting the spell.

I sigh, stand, and open the door.

Stepping in and shutting the door behind us, Demarcus drops the armor pieces to the floor and watches them roll against the now shut door.

The three of us look around and see… a pretty disappointing vault, to be honest.

A chest at the front of a table lined with gold, sure. But also weapon racks all laying empty, besides one, loose empty sacks, and an ornate mannequin wearing only a single helmet.

Demarcus begins shoveling gold coins into his bag, as Mato examines a large double-headed axe on the wall. A crimson ruby with a faint glow is set within its head.

I toss the barbute styled helmet to Demarcus, a tall and rounded helm with a thin opening in the shape of a T from its base across the eyes, allowing the mouth to be open as well.

“More your style?” I ask him.

“Oh fuck yeah.” He slaps it on his head and my arm shoots out.

“Wait!—” I yell.

“How do I look?” He asks me, giving two gauntleted thumbs ups.

“Like a guy that wants to get cursed. C’mon dude! I have an identifying spell now, don’t touch anything that might be magical without me checking it.” I admonish.

“Oh shit, you have that?” He asks.

“Oh, right, you didn’t know. Yeah I can do that. I’m a [Mage] if that wasn’t obvious.”

“God damn that’s cool. You can do magic? What else ya got?”

“I’ll tell ya later. How’s the helmet feel?”

“Honestly,” Demarcus replies. “Kinda comfortable.”

A short but loud whistle comes from behind us, where Mato stands at the chest.

“Oy, Cy, I think this one’s for you.” He says, holding a black bolt pouch as well as a pair of green leather boots at his side, but holding up in his other hand what looks like a small scrap of paper.

I walk towards him and, although he tries to hand it to me, I simply look over his shoulder at what is on it.

I can make out the word “[Mage]” written in opalescent black ink, with gold filigree surrounding the paper square, but his big-ass thumb covers the rest of it.

Gingerly, I take the paper from him, and read the rest.

Mark of the learned. Use for a single lesson from a high tier [Mage]

I begin immediately casting [Eye-dentify] and what I receive is a few scraps of information as well as a nose-bleed and a splitting headache.

I learn that these marks are used to the mutual benefit of those with teaching classes and those that need to learn. The Great Work has tampered with this one for the purposes of the tutorial to be single use.

Something is horribly wrong with it.

It is volatile, it is falling apart, within moments its very being will be torn asunder and I will never remember it existed as it shouldn’t exist. Not like this.

I need to use it right away.

That last scrap of information is the loudest, the clearest, and comes almost as an echo or an intrusive thought. But, it is a thought in the normal tones of my own consciousness, not the forced upon information the Great Work or magic has given me before.

I need to use this right away.

I stumble and nearly fall over, hand slamming against the lid of the chest, Mato goes to catch me and Demarcus drops something metal with a clang and sprints over to me.

“Son! Ya alright?!” Mato asks.

I look up and meet both of their eyes through my blurred vision and ringing headache and say:

“I’ll be right back.”

***

I am sitting in a white room, much like the one I first appeared in post-mortem. Except, I am not surrounded by nothingness— this room clearly has dimensions and it is not very large; Office sized. White walls, white floors, yet I am sitting on a simple and cushioned wooden chair at a wooden table. Across from me at that table is what looks to be a hook hanging from the ceiling, but the hook curves gently and then straightens outward. At its end is not a point but a long wooden bar, like a perch for a birdcage.

I sit there for a moment, silent and confused, before a blur of movement and a violent crash causes me to toss my chair back and stand.

A flash of color and a spray of feathers as something impacts the perch hard, causing it to swing back and forth wildly as the body that hit it flops to the floor. I lean over the table and see what looks to be a massive heron, a bird, but wearing yellow robes and an ornate black satchel, its… spectacles?... shattered when this unmoving, unconscious bird person hit the ground.

I stare for a moment, dazed by the circumstances, and begin to pull my Pokin’ Stick to try and wake this bird guy when I see movement from the flap of the satchel.

I step back quickly and hold the Pokin’ Stick at length as suddenly, a black gloved hand juts out from the side of the satchel. It pats around on the leather until it finds the buckle of the bag and unclicks it.

Something spills from the bag, or some-one as they go into a sloppy roll and then quickly hop to their feet. They face away from me, but I can see they are the same height as me. They wear fancy black pants that go high past their waist, with a sky blue double-breasted frock coat that ends slightly above their midriff with broad and stiff shoulder epaulettes. Their hair is dirty brown, shoulder length, and tied back into a half bun. The sleeve of the right arm is tied up to the shoulder, and it seems that their right arm is missing.

They groggily turn, almost losing their balance, and I see their face.

My face.

But– not. He is a bit older, and the biggest and most notable difference is that the entire right side of his face is gone. Not completely gone like he has half a head, but as though the top layer of skin had been torn off. I can see the muscles moving, his teeth and jaw exposed completely on that side with bits of scarring skin regrowing over it. A lot like Two-face from the 2008 Batman movie ‘The Dark Knight’. Yet despite that, he still wears the eyepatch.

He turns fully, catching his balance. He looks me up and down, then smiles and shouts.

“Gopher guts!”