Reborn From the Cosmos

Here I am, returning home with the setting sun in the sky, ready to fall into the arms of a loved one after a long day’s work. A life I used to look down. A life I longed for. Now? A life I’m desperately trying to escape. It’s incredible how much can change in few years.

There was a time I used to look at homes like the Teppin estate, or the Tome estate now I suppose, and burn with envy, thinking that big homes and big money were the answers to life’s problems. I could care less about the wooden beams and glass windows now, the elegant trappings no different from chains. Though, I admit, it’s nice to have nice things.

“Welcome back, my lady.” Earl, ever attentive and unsettlingly competent as usual, is waiting by the door the moment I step inside, ready to take my coat. I squint; is he getting taller? It’s hard to tell. The usual indicator of a child’s growth spurt is their clothes not quite fitting right, but my steward is never anything less than impeccable. I ruffle his dark hair, grinning at the small imperfection in appearance, but also trying to gauge his height. Hm, definitely taller. My little ward is growing up. How long until he can look me in the eye? Oh saints, how long till Anna, my cute little beast, can do the same?

A strange mix of pride and dread squeezes my chest. “Any word?”

“There have been no missives, my lady.”

I let out a small cheer. Thank the saints. For the past month, it’s been nothing but one crisis, imagined or not, after another. If no one’s whining for my help, does that mean they’re finally figuring it out? There may be hope for my city yet.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“I’ve prepared some light refreshments before dinner. Would you like to take them outside?”

“Is there a reason I’d want to?”

“Miss Alana is sparring with Bell.”

What would I do without him? “Sounds perfect. Be right there.”

After a short break to change into something far less ostentatious, I follow my nose to the backyard. Hm. Many times, I’ve wondered if my clan and I are the best guardians for children, particularly given that I’m leaving their education to succubi. They seem to be turning out fine, but I’ll have to address Earl’s sense of normality. No with a common sense of scale would describe the mayhem behind the big house as something as simplistic as a spar.

As soon as I open the back door, one of my many eyelids drops down, an instinctual reaction to the brilliant flash of light that would have left me briefly blinded if I didn’t. Because of it, I can perfectly make out the two figures trading blows with enough speed and power to make a grown man wet himself at the thought of coming between them.

Throwing around the disorientating rays of gold is my not-so-saintly knight. If her sister is a rose blooming in snow, she’s a blunt weapon forged in fatality but dipped in honey, my lovely Alana. Though she’s more fierce than lovely at the moment, teeth grit and eyes narrowed as she swings sharp steel at her opponent. With her shoulder length hair clipped behind her head, dirt marring her face, and loose training clothes hiding her figure, most observers would probably mistake her for the young hero of common origins that appears in most fairytales. It’s a handsome, rugged charm that is rarely celebrated in a kingdom that glorifies noblewomen whose most strenuous exercise is planning parties.

She can’t match my progress, but with the support of three physical masters, she’s got unparalleled advantages. It’s been a year since we met. Back then, she had several years of conditioning and training, but that doesn’t mean much to the true monsters of this world. Sure, she could have thrashed the Ironcast brothers, but she also would have likely died in her first expedition past the Bleak Peaks, saints forbid.

Now? Well, she can’t walk around with the same impunity as us nigh immortals, but I can easily imagine her fighting a titan…a small one. Aside from her physical strength, working with Rolly has expanded her magical repertoire. As she fights, illusionary copies wink in and out of existence, the colorful silhouettes performing reflections of her attacks. Being made of light, their swings don’t carry the same weight as her blows, but where their blades land, they burn, spreading the smell of cooked flesh. They’re also incredibly bright, annoying distractions to anyone that can’t shield their eyes like me.

Still, that progress is meeting a dead end against her opponent.

Big Bell stands opposite her, my cuddly imp taking on the visage of a virtue, an obsidian woman with burning pits for eyes and a crown of seven horns. She’s wielding an enormous sword, the blade nearly as tall as she is, but despite its aggressive appearance, her actions are strictly defensive, using its incredible reach to keep Alana at bay and breaking her momentum with powerful strikes that would bisect my knight if she didn’t have the sense to retreat. She pays no attention to her smoking skin when the illusions strike her and the bright flashes Alana is fond of only take her off guard for a fraction of a second, if that.

I take a seat at the table prepared for me by Earl, far enough away to not be a nuisance, but close enough I can smell the sweat of my lover as she pushes herself against impossible odds. I can’t say I understand; we offered her a shortcut to power but she didn’t accept, preferring the much more strenuous path of fighting her way to power. I could never, but saints know I admire her for her work ethic. How she can put so much effort into improving, day after day, is respectable by any metric.

In that regard, she’s even better than my wife, whose entire existence is an unfair advantage.

“Hm? Were you thinking something rude, dedia?”

Speaking of. I sigh as she slips into the chair opposite me. As they always do these days, my eyes reflexively look her over, searching for signs of, well, anything. She’s not even two months into her pregnancy, one that could last years, but if there’s one thing my mother-in-law stressed, it’s that there’s no telling what could happen. Kierra’s crazy lineage is packed with surprises big and small. Saints bless her, she could wake up one day with an insatiable craving for blood. Or sprout wings. Or breathe fire.

I wish my imagination was running away with me. Those are tame compared to some of the things that have affected matriarchs in the past.

Finding nothing wrong, the tiny bead of dread that hasn’t gone away since I got the good news fades to the background. “Are you ever going to tell me what gives it away?”

“Hm. No.”

“But…why?” Isn’t it a bad thing that everyone can read my thoughts?

“Because it is amusing.” Ah. Hard to argue that. “You are better when you are honest.”

“Yeah, yeah. Scheming isn’t my strong suit.”

“A compliment. You would not like life as a devious creature.”

“I don’t know. Making people dance in the palm of your hand sounds interesting.”

“It also involves swallowing many insults and smiling at those that disgust you.”

Ugh. “You’re right. I’d be terrible at that.”

We lapse into silence as we watch the bout. Or rather, Alana’s very complicated training with a living dummy. “She’s flagging.”

“Mm. She needs to work on her stamina.”

“How long have they been doing this?”

“About an hour.”

Oi. That’s monstrous. “She’s been throwing spells like that for an hour?”

“She uses more of her mana as her body lags.”

Phew. For a minute, I thought Alana became a master caster without me noticing. I’d be happy for her of course, but I’d have questions. Lots of questions.

The bout ends with Bell deflecting Alana’s blade and sending her stumbling backward. Alana stabs her blade into the ground to steady herself, making a face the moment after; I wonder if it’s because of the unintentional abuse of her weapon or the lack of progress?

Bell copies her action, sticking her sword into the ground without a care as she struts over, Alana following much more sedately. My eyes rake over the glistening midnight black flesh as the virtue leans over me. “Coo­­­~” she hums, the usually cute sound coming out deep and resonant.

That kind of show deserves a reward. My hand grabs one of her horns, pulling her down and into a kiss. One the virtue extends as she wraps her arms around me,

“How’d it go?” Alana asks as she takes a seat at the table, dipping her dusty hands into a bowl of water held by Geneva.

I pull my tongue out of Bell’s mouth, eyes fluttering as the succubus continues her assault through other avenues. “G-good. Very, mm.” I catch the wrist of the hand making it hard to think. “Things are…going good. Right on schedule.”

“Good.” Geneva drops a towel around her shoulders. Alana wipes her hands and face before reaching for a tiny sandwich. “…you’re doing a good thing for the city.”

“Not for the city, sweetie.”

“Motives matter a whole lot less than results.”

“Yeah, well. It’s the least I can do.”

I yelp as a crumb hits my forehead.

“It’s a lot more than the least you could do. I’m glad you’re not shrugging off the battle but saints, Lou. Wallowing in it doesn’t help anyone.”

Offense curls my lip and I push Bell back with a hand. “I’m not wallowing.”

“Sure.”

“Should I be dancing on their graves?”

She pauses eating, pink lips turning down. “It doesn’t have to be either extreme. You walk forward, carrying the dead.”

“Suppose that’s the Victorian way.” What am I doing? She’s just trying to help. “Sorry, sorry.”

She watches me while chewing aggressively. When she finishes her bite, she nods. “You’re spending too much time in your head. You need to move.”

My brows wiggle. “What’d you have in mind?”