336 The Ripple
I’m not going to live forever, and neither will you.
This is a statement that most people theoretically understand but don't actually believe in. In our heart of hearts, we always think we're going to be here, because what is death but the absence of ourselves?
But I'm not here to talk to you about death. Death is certain. It will happen. We will be swallowed by the end. The only question is when and how.
Some Pathbearers comfort themselves with the notion that they'll live for a small eternity. And if you get powerful enough, maybe you will. Maybe you will make it a reality instead of a white lie. But we don't live in the past. We don't exist in the future. We live in the ever-present now. In one thousand years, or just one month, when the time comes, it'll feel like the blink of an eye. And that's why we all search for our own kind of immortality. Because we want to last, we never want now to end. We're searching for a sort of certitude in life, as real as the steel we fill our hands with, as hard as the flames we conjure, as sweet as the dying screams of the grayskins.
Some kind of permanence.
But existence isn't a stone; it's a vast ocean, and all we are are ripples crashing into each other. Some of us might make bigger splashes than the others. Some of us might cause more than one ripple. And some of our ripples might even become like tidal waves, sweeping away countless other lives.
But time is boiling, leeching flame. Your ripples will flatten. Your impacts will settle. And at some point, you will cease to be. And so will your deeds.
There is no true permanence. Legacy is as much comfort as true immortality.
Don’t chase it.
Don’t chase any of it.
Don’t chase glory. Don’t chase power. Don’t chase freedom or peace. Don’t chase anything if you are looking for a promise from the world. It won’t come. Do things because they are worth doing. Do things because they are something you want to do. Do things to be the person you wish to be.
We don’t live in the relative future or past. We live right now. We’re with each other right now. Look to your left. Look to your right. Look behind and ahead and at me and think of your families and friends and all the things you cherish. Do it for that.
We might all be forgotten someday. But that’s another time. That’s not yet. And even after the wave flattens, the deed remains true.
The past is gone. The past can be forgotten. But the past is never untrue.
If there’s something I want you to keep close to yourself, my would-be Rangers, it’s that we should strive to live our lives better, rather than fleeing from death. And so when I fade, when you fade, when it all fades, we can marvel at the ripples we’ve made and all the other vibrations that follow.
The deed remains. The deed endures. The deed itself has worth.
—Hero-Ranger Morgan Munny, Ranger Commencement Speech
336
The Ripple
“What? What are you bloody on about?” Georges sneered even harder—quite a testament since he was the literal embodiment of the “sneering at fuckwits” school of thought.
Shiv opened his mouth to explain, but he choked as Georges stepped out from the painting with a casual hop. Shiv staggered a step back as his mind ground to a halt. The clone of his dead mentor needed three steps to keep up with him. Freed from the portrait, Georges stood at his original height, which was average at best.
But Georges Archambault never let a little thing like size get in the way of a good ass-chewing. “So, who are you then, one of the louts from Humphrey's kitchen? Oh wait, no, better yet, you're probably one of those pastry fuckers, trying to snatch some of my grill-slaves.”
A small part of Shiv's psyche noted the term grill-slave. The rest of him was trying to keep a distance to avoid hurting Georges, as if he were being pursued by a piece of sugar glass. “I’m—”
“There's a special kind of stupidity to the way you sound. If I have to guess, you probably have a Common Writing Skill. Probably not that high in terms of math or all the other things either. So, let’s start putting this together.” Georges managed to back Shiv up against the opposite wall, who bumped against a frame. A muffled “agh” sounded from the portrait behind him, but Shiv’s eyes remained locked dead to Georges’s face. “You can’t be from a proper Cook’s kitchen. None of them would take someone this slow. At least I godsdamned hope they wouldn’t. That leaves one other possibility, then.”
The gleam in Georges' eye turned dangerous as he held his arms wide. In one hand, there was a spatula glistening with oil and bits of red. Is that blood? Shiv thought to himself. In the other, a cooking knife that was practically the color of polished moonlight. It also doubled as a mirror, allowing him to get a glimpse of himself—resolving the winding tour his tooth fairies brought him on in an instant.
Torn between so many things at once, Shiv’s mind spun as he struggled to decide what he wanted to focus on first.
Thankfully, Georges helped him come to a conclusion instead. “Well, take your swing then.”
Shiv froze. “Huh? What?”
Georges spat his cigarette at Shiv. It crashed against his chest with the force of a mortar shell. The entire hall rumbled. Several portraits crashed to the ground—and the subjects depicted within tumbled and cried out in accordance. Shiv’s new armor cracked, and a grunt escaped him. The barbecue ribs of his plate splintered at the bone and ruined his girdle. Sticky, sweet sauce slipped through soft-bun layering the inside for Shiv’s comfort. More disconcerting was how the tooth fairies were crying out inside his skull, whinging in hymns of pain.
Gawking at the squished cigarette butt caked against his chest caused Shiv's Non-Sequitur skill to pulse, though the effect was far too weak to conjure full vision.
But he knew there was something else at play here.
“Ow, ouch, augh, and eiee!” the Vestment’s fae spirits declared. “Our chest is broken! A blow has been struck! We are ruined, breached, sullied, and leaking… But what is this? From harm comes a seed to aid our growth…”
Vestment Skill Gained: Food Quality Assurance (Initiate) 1
“Oh? What is this? Something to ensure the tendons of beef cuts remain durable, and our cabbages do not liquefy upon initial impact? Hurray!”
The notification, new skill, and commentary went unheeded by Shiv; he was still trying to process the sheer power and violence contained within Georges’ cigarette. That felt like a punch from a Low Master. The Georges Shiv knew was most definitely not a Master in Physicality.
"Well, get on with it." Georges cracked his neck as he scowled at Shiv. "Make your fucking attempt so I can get back to doing what I've been doing all morning. I got a giant cock-stew, a mountain of rotting chicken skewers drizzled in curry sauce, an unseasoned Hellgoat lamb leg, and far too many other dishes hissing on the plates to waste time with you fuckwit. So either try to take my head off or kindly fuck off somewhere else.”
Shiv's eyes jumped between the flattened cig-butt that had fallen to the ground at some point and his own reflection in Georges’s kitchen knife. There, saw that his chest piece was almost entirely pulped on the outside and leaking within. The damage was far more severe than he'd initially felt. The only reason it didn’t disintegrate outright was probably due to his personal Toughness.
Still, this armor is softer than glass. Held up against that hit like something made out of cooking ingredients against a missile.
Upon further observation, Shiv saw that the tooth-crown fused around his helmet was partially cracked as well. The other fairies were nowhere to be seen either. It seemed like they'd just vanished after he ignored them.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Shiv. Focus. Georges.
“I’m—I’m not here to take your head,” Shiv said. “I’m not here to hurt you at all. I just—I knew you. I mean, I knew who you actually were.”
Georges’s left eye twitched. “What the fuck does that even mean? Who I actually were? What are you on? Did you sneak a bite of the Princess’ Datura-Pulp Porridge?”
“I knew the Pathbearer you were, or the Pathbearer you were based on.” Shiv gritted his teeth. He needed to explain things in detail so that Georges would understand. “We're in the Fairwoods right now, but I think that you're a copy or maybe even a clone of someone called Georges from Earth.”
“Clone?” Georges’ fury broke briefly as confusion took hold. “Georges? What kind of fucking name is Georges? With an ‘s,’? You shitting down my leg and telling me it’s piss? You pissing up my ass to give my shit some taste?”
“Well, those are some new insults,” Shiv grunted under his breath. “No. I’m not doing either of those things. Listen, I don’t know what you can remember or who you think you are, but I’m pretty sure you were based on my former mentor. His name was Georges Archambault. He was from the Yellowstone Republic, and—”
Georges took a step to the left and pointed at the placard beneath his now vacant portrait. “What does that say, kid? Right there, etched into the gold. Read that to me if you can. What does that say? What's the name?”
“Uh, Ser Cuntus of Motherfuckland.” Shiv tried not to cringe. Georges could be vulgar, but taking on an absurd, curse-ridden name in place of his own was very much out of character. Pair that with his extreme aggression and heightened unpleasantness, and Shiv was starting to wonde—
“You can read! Fucking brilliant. Really surprised me here, boyo. I was wondering just what kind of slow you were earlier. Guess we can rule out fully illiterate now. So. Since the plaque there says my name’s Ser Cuntus, what do you think that means?”
“That you’re not Georges Archambault?”
Not-Georges barked a laugh. “By Her Hungriness, he just used logic! He must be as smart as the bottom percentile of dogs. The really fucking dumb cunts of the litter. If you could put all that together, then why did you bother me anyway? If you’re not here to avenge me for taking one of yours as a grill-slave or aren’t a spy from another kitchen, what possible reason do you have for interrupting my cocksucking work?”
“I just—I told you—”
“What? That I looked like someone you know? What? Do you see your dead father in me or something? Is that what I’m dealing with? An orc-sized child who lost his fucking papa and wants to cling and suck on the nipple of the next closest man in terms of resemblance?”
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: The way he mocks and berates us sounds like Georges, but there is an added edge here. Look at his core. Do you see it?
At his Skill’s command, Shiv peered into the emotional core of the man standing before him, and his eyes narrowed.
Pitch-black mists rushed to and fro within the polished sphere representing Georges’ emotions. Shiv tasted the foul bitterness in those feelings and knew it to be a visceral hatred rooted deep in the foundations of his psyche.
He swallowed again. “Not really, just—”
Shiv’s explanation was cut off by an attack. The blow carried sloppiness and contempt in equal regard, but its weaknesses were rebuffed by the Heroic-Tier Reflexes possessed by this version of Georges—Reflexes that made him almost faster than Shiv, who Phase Framed through the hit at the last moment, barely sparing himself a spatula across the face and further damage to his armor.
Inside, he felt like his father had slapped him all the same.
Phase Frame 93 > 94
Georges was rough, crude, and could be cruel if given cause. But, unless he was defending himself, he never physically assaulted his employees or guests. The most he ever did was grab and shake a person to better scream slurs directly into their eyes as if they were ears. Leaping to violence was not like Georges. Shiv had intuited that a part of his mentor despised nobles and Martial Pathbearers for the way they lived their lives—and how they forced everyone else to live by their rules. Even with how meager Georges’ physical capabilities were compared to most Martial Pathbearers of his Tier, it was clear that he restrained himself. Perhaps even avoided violence altogether, likely out of spite.
Not quite so for Ser Cuntus, who was really living up to the name so far.
“Look,” Shiv began, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot in his throat. “I just want to—”
Cuntus tried to hit him again. This time, Shiv saw the blow coming, and he ducked under, causing Cuntus to stumble off balance. Shiv caught the man before he could fall—who responded by slamming his shoulder into Shiv’s chest in an attempt to drive him back. But where their Reflexes were comparable, Cuntus’ strength was lacking. He slammed into Shiv the same way a flea might bounce off a boulder. Metallic plates of chef-armor protecting Cuntus rang like a struck gong as he bounced off Shiv's body.
“Fucking hells,” Cuntus spat. His eyes widened for a half-second, then narrowed into slits as he stepped away from Shiv. “Well. I’ll be damned. Godsdamned orphan shit is actually as tough as he looks.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Yeah, and your other self was a much nicer person,” Shiv replied, unable to keep a bit of his frustration from spilling over. “He was also smart enough to know that starting a fight with someone three times his size wasn’t a good idea. Guess both of us are fucking idiots.”
Cuntus tensed. A wave of overflow vectors flipped over and aimed themselves past Shiv’s back in anticipation of the coming attack. Cuntus’ eyes flared, but rather than erupting with flames, steam began pouring out from his orifices like a boiling pot with an unsecured lid. A piercing shriek followed, cracking nearby glass and driving twin spears of pain into Shiv’s ears.
“Be warned, Deathless! Ser Cuntus intends to boil us and render our vessel into cooked ingredients with his Pyromancy! You must act now and end this misunderstanding, lest we be lost before we can be of service to the Princess!”
The sheer panic conveyed by the tooth fairies forced Shiv's hand. He was pretty sure he could survive the impending attack. Even if he couldn't, he would just come back stronger. The same couldn't be said about his Vestments of Edibility. Once lost, his armor might stay lost. Paired with how little he wanted to hurt Georges, Shiv found himself driven toward a diplomatic solution. A golden shell hardened around his body. Georges went absolutely still. Time itself was decelerated within that field, and Shiv used his Chronomancy to buy himself thirteen seconds of thought.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Consider a retreat. Such would be the wisest decision. Right now, our opposition wears Georges’ face and has a few of his mannerisms, but the rest of him is an enigma, or worse yet, a threat.
Shiv pressed his lips together. Maybe we can call out to the Princess, see if she can help us resolve this.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: She is connected to our armor; she knows what is happening. She has not intervened, and that signals her consent. Does she strike you as the type to care about the safety of her subjects if it offers ample entertainment? Consider what she allowed you to do to her Anointed Knight. He was the Captain of her Bread Guard, a parody of knighthood though he may be. That was still an honorable position in the Court, and she casually allowed him to be humiliated for a laugh. She will not intervene on our behalf, especially not against a highly regarded Master Chef. She will simply treat this like a spot of drama to go with her pre-appetizing tea.
Shit, you're right, but… Shiv gritted his teeth. I don't want to leave without trying something.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: You can't reach him. We don't know nearly enough about him to appeal to his psychology. We don't share history with this version of Georges, if that's who he is at all. Staying here risks everything. There's no logic to it.
I know. But I still need to try.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Shiv…
I know he's dead, Sage. But I need to try. I need to. There's nothing logical about it. You might be able to help me change my anger into something useful, but this isn't just anger. This is everything.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart:This is a moment deliberately engineered by the Usurper-Narrator to draw you deeper into her desired narrative. This is also the System's attempt to pull you down to the waters of conflict, and they are both succeeding.
Just give me one shot. One attempt. Just a little bit. If he attacks, I'll swap places with my Severed Shadow. Just five seconds.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: You are bargaining with your own Skill. You are arguing with your own rational mind. We both know you are not going to keep that promise. If you stay, you will betray yourself completely. You already know what's going to happen. I can't help you. You have already made this decision. I'm sorry.
“Fuck,” Shiv hissed. He was about to commit to something stupid, and he knew it. But just because he was determined to be strategically stupid didn't mean he had to be tactically foolish. He considered his enemy. He didn't want to hurt Georges, but if he waited around for Cuntus to attack, then he would be ceding the initiative to his enemy. So far, Cuntus had revealed that he was about as fast as Shiv was, but he didn't possess a Chronomancy skill or any temporal wardings.
Best to strike before the iron got hot.
His Shapeless Tides inverted again, this time darting up along his arms. As they concentrated in his hands, he smashed into Cuntus' body, but pulled back just enough that he didn't cause any harm. Shiv engulfed Georges’ face with his left hand while activating his Bifurcated Processing to bring forth his Pillar of Orichalcum. A red-gold beacon speared up from his body, cracking a chasm through the ceiling before slamming into something that rivaled his durability. A following heartbeat birthed another rush of overflow tides, and Shiv stacked that along the back of the vectors, further boosting his physical might and Magical Resistance. He effectively had Cuntus encaged. If this attack was Pyromancy as the tooth fairies claimed, then Shiv could rupture the mana field.
Wherever the hells it is. I have Pyromancy, but I don't see any fields originating from him.
Fracture veins spread across Shiv's temporal shell. Running out of time. He dismissed his Chronomancy and prepared for what was to come. Instead of a blast of hyper-heated air or another attack he wasn't prepared to face, a muffled cry of surprise escaped Cuntus as Shiv plucked him off the ground like a giant plucking a daisy. Before Cuntus could swing his spatula, his knife, or even kick at Shiv, the Deathless leveraged his grappling and pinned him against the wall.
Deprived of leverage and lacking in strength, Cuntus wriggled like a caught fish on land. His magic, comparatively, proved far more formidable. A wave of crushing mana crashed against Shiv. It was like he was trying to hold a city together while it was crumbling apart. The difficulty wasn't a thing of force. Shiv had that in ample supply. At any moment, he could close his fingers and turn Cuntus’ head to paste. The battle right now was one of control. Cuntus' steam swirled and stabbed around the insides of his face. Somehow, he didn't boil his own skin, which either hinted at a specially developed heat-immunity Toughness skill or that he was an incredibly skilled Pyromancer. Either would prove invaluable in a kitchen.
“Hey, listen.” Shiv infused his voice with a hint of menace. “The only reason this fight's still going is that I am giving you mercy. The moment I stop giving you mercy, the moment I close my hand, you're going to stop kicking those legs.” He proved that fact by tightening his grip just enough for Cuntus’ skull to feel it. The gushing waves of magical steam cut off in an instant. Cuntus’ body went stone-still. He'd realized his predicament—that Shiv wasn't lying.
Shiv waited for that familiar fear cord to connect them, but it never came. Instead, Cuntus' emotional core showed something else: a clearing of that dark bitterness. The hatred that resided within the man parted, but in its place came something sour, something festering like a miasma, but also faintly bright.
Is that… amusement? It didn't seem like just amusement, but that was definitely a part of it.
A muffled noise came from Cuntus, and Shiv blinked. “Sorry, couldn't quite catch that. My hand's over your mouth.”
Cuntus sneezed against Shiv’s palm. Probably because he couldn’t stop living up to his name.
“Thanks for the snot. Now, I'm going to give you a choice. You're going to talk to me like we're both reasonable adults. We're going to stop insulting each other.” Shiv paused. “Okay, we can keep insulting each other, but we're going to keep this battle to words at most. No more violence. If you're fine with that, I'll let you go. You can try to screw me over, but you don't have a Chronomancy skill. I do. So. I suppose it’s my turn to ask you what kind of idiot you are. You got a lot of curses on your tongue, but that doesn't mean you can do basic math. Can you do basic math, Cuntus? Can you solve a logic puzzle for me? What happens when a hammer hits an egg?”
Cuntus considered the question at length. When he finally spoke, it was with a controlled muffle that Shiv could actually understand. “The egg decides to calm down and have a proper conversation with a very reasonable hammer.”
The cheekiness of the response painted a weak grin on Shiv’s face. “Clever egg.”
“Very reasonable hammer,” Cuntus murmured. “You have some actual bite, boyo. I thought you were one of the Princess' playthings, the kind she uses for a day and then tosses aside. See that I was wrong about that. Also, about who you are. Speaking of which, if you let me go, I promise not to breathe any steam at you. After that, you can introduce yourself properly to me, like you were trying to do earlier, before I…”
“Before you decided to use violence as a first resort?”
“Something like that. So, how about it; you let me go, and we can speak to each other like, how you described it, proper adults?”
Cuntus vibrated softly. There was a minor lie hidden in his words. “Hey, if I let you go and you do something dumb, don't be surprised if I crack you open. I won't kill you, but I might take off your arms, and I also might keep that spatula and knife you have there.”
The vulgar-named chef tried to tilt his head. He failed, still trapped within Shiv's grasp. “Why do you want that? A spatula and a knife? Doesn't look like it'd do you much good. Seems to me you'd be more effective at tearing people in half.”
“Can't exactly tear a bunch of meals in half, now can I?”
A beat followed. “You're a chef too, then? What the fuck am I asking? Of course you are. You're here. If you're here and you're not food, then you're a chef or a server. Shit, lad, if you started off telling me you were a chef, then maybe I wouldn't have tried smacking you.”
With every following statement, Cuntus seemed ever more the bastard wearing Georges’ skin. “It’s my fault, is it?”
“Fault? It’s got nothing to do with fault; it’s got everything to do with bloody interest. I didn’t think you were worth speaking to—thought you were one of those fucking bastard Bread fucks bothering me about my hobbies. Or worse, one of my hobbies comes back to bite me on the arse.”
Shiv frowned. “Hobbies?”
“Never mind that shit. I’m not going to do anything. Swear on the next dish bound for Her Hungriness’ stomach. Can you put me down now?”
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: There’s still something off about his core.
Shiv looked down and frowned. There wasn’t any fear at all. Not a lot of people surrendered without feeling intimidated. But that was the lesser oddity; the greater question was why Cuntus was filled with so much amusement.
Gardener of Doubt: Because he knows something that you don’t, and he’s looking forward to showing you a truth we may not like to witness.
What the hells does that mean?
Shiv’s Non-Sequitur pulsed again, bestowing another helping of ominousness upon his shoulders. Never a straight answer in the Fairwoods. What are you even playing at, Evanescia?
Against his better judgment, he released Cuntus, but then Shiv froze time once more, materializing his Chronomancy field as he retreated across the hall. He established ten meters of space between himself and his potential enemy. Again, stupid decisions didn’t need to suffer from stupid tactics. If he was to keep things questionable, then he was going to do it in the most optimal way possible.
Skill Gained: Tactics (Initiate) 1
“Well, this’ll make Irons happy. If I ever manage to get back to him.” Shiv grimaced. This extended excursion had thrown his plans for a loop once again. Who knew how things were back at Gate Piety or in the Republic? Shiv certainly didn’t. Not with most of his bodies still blocked from access. He could still feel them. They weren’t fully severed, but he just couldn’t quite reach them.
Time resumed.
Cuntus did not restart his offensive.
Shiv’s Vestments let out a satisfied sigh. “Ah, glory! Glory! Our wearer is a diplomat and a deft warrior. Praise Her Hungriness for choosing rightly. We have been gifted to a proper Pathbearer!”
But Shiv didn’t let the praise distract him. He and Cuntus stared each other down, waiting for the other to act.
“You’re not very trusting, are you?” Cuntus asked. There was a vicious gleam to his eyes—another difference between him and Georges. The latter was never vicious; tired and driven were the twin sparks that lingered in his gaze, always.
“Being too trusting is a major comorb—uh—comor—comorbidity for a Pathbearer.”
Writing 15 > 16
Memorization 31 > 32
Yes! I managed to remember the word. Thank you, Helix and Odes.
A laugh escaped Cuntus. “It really is, ain’t it?” He nodded and looked back at his portrait. “Well. Here’s to neither of us killing the other, eh?”
“Yeah. Guess so,” Shiv grunted, trying to hide his awkwardness. He had gone from trying to speak with, incapacitating, and then reasoning with Georges’ dickheaded clone in the span of a few seconds.
“So. You’re a chef, then?” Cuntus sniffed. “Guess that makes you more than just another finger-snack for the Princess. But if that’s the case, what the bloody hells are you doing up here? You were really honest about knowing me and all that? You thought I was someone called who? Georges? Fuck kinda name is that?”
Shiv struggled to come up with a proper explanation. “It’s… complicated. Maybe I’m wrong, but a few decades ago—”
“Right. Hate to interrupt you, boyo, but I got some slaves I need to be driving so they can finish our hourly meals. Can you talk and work at the same time?” Cuntus asked.
That took Shiv off-guard. “Can’t all chefs?”
“No. Not the shit ones or the dead ones. Terrible conversationalists, those.”
Shiv laughed.
Cuntus didn’t.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: He’s absolutely serious.
Shiv swallowed. “Okay. Yeah. I can talk and cook at the same time. You want me to—”
Cuntus waved him along. Instead of walking back into the portrait, he started marching down the hall. “Yeah. Fuck it. Why not? Until the Princess calls you to deal with a wart growing between her toes or to find a rare goat to add to one of her mutton-mashes, I think I can snatch you up for a spin. See what your worth is. Better me than that bland, raw-chicken cooking frog-fucker Ser Oliver.” Cuntus promptly spat off to the side, and his saliva blew a Cuntus-sized hole through the wall, which promptly collapsed. Dust from the rubble filled the room, and a curtain of haze obscured Shiv’s vision. Where his physical sight faltered, his Atlas kept Cuntus lit bright.
That, and a certain Food Sensing Skill provided by his armor, continued to tug at Shiv—revealing to him that there was a pinch of salted beef stashed inside Cuntus’ armor.
Shiv hurried along, following behind Not-Georges. “Where are we going?”
“Down. To the bottom of the keep. Well. Almost. We stop right before we end up hitting the Great Hunger Maw. Have an entire level to myself—real fucking wonder of a place. You’ll see. How long you been cooking, lad?”
“Uh. Well. Technically, over ten years, but—”
“Fuck. Barely an infant, then. Guess you can still help peel the potatoes or something. Shit. With how bloody strong you are, I might let you do a few alone.”
Shiv didn’t get it. Why would he need to peel a potato with someone else? “A few potatoes alone?”
“Yeah. Usually takes a few hundred dead commis to even get one done. Lazy, weak shits.” Another gob of spit was launched. This one hit another chef in a portrait dead center in her chest. She let out a shriek of offense and was promptly launched backward in the painting and out of view. “But I didn’t name my kitchen The Boiling Toad for nothing. Takes a hot flame to make proper metal. Why do we think things would be different when it comes to preparing a meal?”
Shiv eyed the back of Cuntus’ head. That intensity was all Georges. The callousness wasn’t.
“But you look like you’re fine with the heat, aren't you?” Cuntus asked. “Your last master worked you good. I can smell it off you. Proper broken chef you are—even if you're a baby.”
“You didn’t know I was a chef until I told you.”
“Wrong! I didn’t bloody care to know before. Now that I’ve decided to think of you as a person, I can taste it off you. Can’t hide it. You stink of practice and…” Cuntus sniffed deeper. “Sadness. When did Papa die, boyo?”
“About nineteen years ago,” Shiv answered dryly. “Georges was more recent.”
“Oh. A double orphan. I was wondering why you were so fucking salty.”
Shiv halted for half a step. “Wait. You can literally taste me?”
“You? No. Your emotions? Yeah. Speaking of, the hells did you do to your anger, boy? There’s something inside it. I tried to have a bite earlier. Burned my tongue and nearly took a chunk out of me instead.”
“What?”
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: I have no recollection of this.
“Yeah. Can’t quite Analyze your Path or Skills either. Guess the Princess wants to keep the gift wraps around you for as long and as tightly as she can make them. But you know what? I like me a mystery. See how many licks it takes to get to your center. And in return, maybe I can give you what you want as well.”
“And what do I want?” Shiv asked. A bit of irritation was starting to climb. Georges was never presumptuous. Cuntus was nothing but.
“A new daddy, of course. It's probably why her Highest Voyeur, Evanescia, led you straight to me.”
The ground fell out under Shiv as that final sentence struck him. “Wait, what?” he hissed. “You know about Evanescia?”
Cuntus chortled darkly. He just kept walking. Didn't turn back to look at Shiv. “Know her? Boyo, I’ve fucked her in a dozen different bodies. I've felt her tight and good, loop after loop. She’s the reason I’m still stuck here. And I’m guessing she’s the reason you’re trapped here too. Hm?”
Once more, a question echoed in Shiv’s mind. “Stuck here. You're… not from here. Georg—er, Cuntus, how did you get here? Do you… remember anything about who you were before the Fairwoods?”
Silence. Crushing silence.
And then, Cuntus finally turned around. Another sneer. “Well. I think you’re going to tell me all about who I was. Or who you think I was, anyway. Start spilling, son.”