Ch. 9 - Thunderclap
Morning broke.
Indigo light brushed my eyelids. I opened them slowly, wincing against a headache.
The fireplace glowed warmly. The room was comfortable. The sheets were pure white and of fine quality, and the blanket draped over me was soft. Abby had gotten us a good room.
“Did I overdo it yesterday?”
I had completely drained my divine power and collapsed. The magical exhaustion still lingered. My body felt like it was running at seventy percent. My head was spinning.
“Zoë, wake up. I’m starving. And I want a bath—”
I stopped mid-sentence. The person sleeping beside me wasn’t Zoë.
It was the pointy-eared Annette.
I shouted.
“Abby! Abby! If you’re nearby, get in here!”
I didn’t understand anything. Why Zoë wasn’t here, why a strange woman was in the room—I couldn’t make sense of it.
Before I could react further, Abby and Oni-girl burst in, practically kicking down the door.
“Di! Are you alright!?”
I shouted back.
“What the hell is this woman!? Damn it, bring the incense!”
My outburst woke the elf girl.
“W-wait—”
But I roared in anger.
“Get out, you whore! Did I ever ask you to tend to me!? Abby! Answer me, or I won’t forgive you!”
I kept yelling, furious without knowing why.
Abby dropped to her knees, shoulders slumped.
“Di, I’m sorry! I didn't mean to make you angry! But I had no choice!”
Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She looked exhausted.
“Di-Di. Please calm down, okay?”
Oni-girl tried to step in between us. It only made me angrier.
“And who are you!? Insolent! When did I ever call for you!? I entrusted everything to Zoë! Abby! Answer me!!”
Inside me, Dietrich Becker was shouting.
Filthy. Unwelcome. Disgusting. A strange woman in a strange room. Nothing here had my permission. Everything offended me.
Mother Asclepia had always loved the silence that reeked of death.
Abby bowed so low she almost touched the floor with her forehead.
“Forgive me! Forgive me, Di. Please quell your anger. I beg you! Don’t unleash Thunderclap!”
“Thunderclap?”
Only then did I realize—the fury I felt wasn’t mine alone. It was Dietrich, a full-fledged priest of Asclepia.
Unlike me, who was still learning, the priests of Asclepia were conservative. They hated disruptions to their routine, especially early in the morning when they devoted themselves to meditation and contemplation.
And Dietrich was no exception.
The explosive reaction I was feeling was called “Thunderclap.”
I exhaled, slow and deeply.
I was Dietrich, but also I wasn't.
In the end, I was me.
I breathed, forcing my anger down.
I won't let it control me!
Slowly, Dietrich’s rage faded, but the disgust in my chest remained. Because I, too, found this situation intolerable.
The room sank into silence.
Yes, morning should always carry a quiet weight, like fresh death.
I felt the same.
I liked the cold blue morning light.
The chirping of birds. The distant hum of passing cars. TV in the background, the anchorwoman reporting the day’s weather.
No need for change. Focus lived in stillness. The usual rhythm promised the usual strength.
I showered, shaved, and straightened my appearance.
In the mirror, my usual self stared back.