Chapter 34: Back to Reality
The world comes back to us with an abrupt suddenness, spiraling, swirling, and expanding until we're standing amongst the rest of the group. I can immediately tell that they've been here for longer than at least an instant, Sir Kahlin is leaning against a tree, MM and Miss Hellretour are pulling at each other's hair. I look back at the moose and he huffs angrily but quickly averts his gaze once Ruby glares at him, running off now that his job has been fulfilled.
The others stop and look at us immediately upon our arrival. M.M. cocks her head, but she can only go so far, with Miss Hellretour's fingers so deeply interwoven in her hair, and she spits out, "What took y'all so long?"
I twirl the staff in my hand with practice ease. "This bitchin' ass thing. How long were we out?
Miss Hellretour smiles easily. I"t was only three minutes. That's some good time dilation there, Rubes. "
Ruby grins eagerly, pressing up onto her toes. I can see the flush in her face. The amazing feeling coursing through her veins that can only come from being directly complimented from your literal hero. "T-thank you, Ruby the Red Mage."
Ms. Hellretour waves her hand like she's batting away an annoying insect, her face twisting in displeasure. "No, no, I told you that is your name in this age. You can call me Ms. Hellretour. None of that Ruby nonsense anymore, okay?" Across Miss Hellretour's eyes, a flash of pure, genuine happiness crosses before her hardened mask slips back over. "That name is yours now."
M.M. decides that now is as good of a time as any to interrupt this wholesome moment between my girlfriend and my actual teacher and pipes in with, "You guys know that so many people share names and stuff. I don't know that it's that big of a deal. We can call you Ruby 1 and Ruby 2." She then falls to her knees in pain as Miss Hellretour begins to twist her fingers, hair ripping out handfuls as M.M. pleads, "Master, Master, please stop. I give!"
Miss Hellretour's lips press into a thin line, her demeanor as cold as ice. "Then what do we say, M.M.?"
MM's face convulses for a moment as her brain racks itself trying to find any string of words that can alleviate her of her torment before she finally finds the key. Her voice and face completely stripping of all emotion as she says with a completely neutral tone, "Names are important, that's why choosing your own means so much. I'm sorry Ruby. I'm sorry Miss Hellretour. Please forgive me."
Ms. Hellretour yanks M.M.'s head backwards. She's now making direct eye contact upwards with Ruby. Ms. Hellretour confidently raises her chin, gloating and basking in the moment. "Do you accept her apology, Ruby?"
Ruby takes in the moment with an eagerness and a sadistic nature I didn't quite know she had in her. It kind of makes my heart flutter a bit, to be honest. She furrows her eyebrows, tapping her index finger on her chin, looking off into the distance. A long, wistful hum drools on as she pretends to think. Finally she gives in and lets MM off the hook, "I'm not quite sure. I guess I'll forgive you, M.M. But don't let it happen again," she wags her finger disapprovingly but still with an air of playfulness.
As much as I wish for this moment to stretch out into eternity, I have to be the one to play the serious card. "Okay everyone, enough messing around. Let's go save the prince."
But unfortunately for me, Ruby is not done with her moment of playfulness. She crosses her arms, a smirk growing across the side of her face, her eyes lightheartedly flitting around my face. "So, Jessica, what exactly does the prince need saving from?"
I shrug meekly. "I don't know, the undead? His older brother? Maybe something from space?" As I continue to talk, embarrassment slowly spreads through me causing me to just trail off muttering nothings into the wind.
A smug smile forms on Ruby's face. "Silly Jessica, your little prince isn't in any danger right now. No, he's actually ramping up an attack on said older brother. We're going there to rally the troops."
Surprise forms on my face, my eyes widening, my mouth dropping. "That's certainly not the message your inner world was giving with the whole eye bleeding thing. I guess I just got it in my head that there was danger afoot. It's good to know that for once we'll be the ones doing the attacking. Let's go, gang. We're really getting it together!"
We launch into the air, flying into the sky.
Soaring through the clouds with the gang was damn fun. Albeit a little wet. That's what they don't tell you about flying through the clouds. You'll end up with soaked ass clothes. Just make sure you don't wear all white. It's a rookie mistake. Although, with subsequent additional magical spells, that became less of an issue. It is kind of lame having to cast a whole mirage of magic just to what? Fly around? But that's what modern wizards are, aren't they? Just lazy, contrited assholes who do nothing but just cast spells for their convenience. Aw, what? You don't want to just fly around and dry off the old fashioned way, using the wind? Next you're gonna cast spells to make your food and even wipe your ass. Can you even say that you're living anymore? Well me, I wipe my ass with my goddamn hand and I wash that shit off. Because I didn't grow up with all this fancy shit. I'm removed from it. Better off in my opinion. But they don't care about any of that. They'll say things like, "Oh, isn't it difficult? Isn't it time-consuming? Doesn't it take away from your day, from your magical research to go and cook yourself some soup?" Or things like, "Oh, I don't want to shake your hand. What if you didn't wash it good enough? In fact, I think I see shit under your fingernails."
Anyways, we find ourselves circling Prince Rythel's encampment. He's camped in a good defensive spot up at the top of a plateau. Must have been an absolute pain in the ass for all of the actual hardworking people who had to carry all the shit up there. Although I do see some ropes and pulleys, so maybe that's how they did it. Just a few unlucky fellas required to climb up the thing before the rest get to utilize their hard work in impromptu elevators.
I'm uncertain why they chose to go through all of that work to get up there until we get a bit closer. I see an enemy encampment that is surrounding the plateau. Before I can think anything wrong or stupid, luckily, someone informed spits out the facts.
"The first prince won over most of the generals by simply being a part of the army. This has led to the first prince having an innumerable amount of military force. Although his skilled fighters are actually behind at this point, Rythel gained the upper hand after beating Prince Leon."
We land unmolested in the middle of the plateau, immediately accosted by Prince Rythel, "What took you all so long?"
I roll my eyes heavily and groan before responding, "Dude, it's been like three hours tops. Chill out."
His eyes narrow, a finger jamming at me in my direction. "When I'm king, you won't be able to speak to me like that."
I respond smoothly, "When you're king, it will be all because of me, so you'll be the one using formalities towards me. Got it?"
His face flushes with anger, his features twisting together in a scowl. I" won't be using formalities towards you, Jessica, but fine, I'll allow you to speak to me in this way. And I'll even free your people like you so desperately desire. Because I," and he turns away from us, looking past towards where his older brother is encamped. "I will be a good ruler, a fair one, one that is true to his people. "
Oh, wow. I guess as it's becoming more real and real, this kid's chops are actually starting to get put in place. I wonder what sparked this change? Whatever it was, I'm proud of the kid.
Prince Rithel looks back to us, vulnerability flashing in his eyes before he reels his emotions back in and the stone mask slips back on. Power and authority now rushing through his voice as he commands, "I want us to all go to my tent immediately. We need to discuss the upcoming battle plan."
Fat Tree has grown used to the heat of the first layer of hell. What used to be a scary, treacherous place has now become regular and dull. He doesn't flinch as the portal behind him closes. Technically, it's cutting off his only way out of here, but Fat Tree knows that that won't be the case for long. He wanders rather aimlessly down into the ravine. Hopping from ledge to ledge, the occasional rock chipping off or scattering, falling for so long before it would finally hit the ground. It's times like these where Fat Tree wishes his body could be a bit stronger or his magic a bit better. But he's content to take a few more moments rather than crushing his body to a paste just to have it re-heal—regeneration hasn't made him immune to pain.
Finally, at long last, Fat Tree makes it to the bottom of the ravine. It's there that he finds a river of black tar streaming narrowly along the floor. It's bubbling, sputtering and spitting, steaming burps of acidic-smelling belches into the air. This will be his guide now, and so Fat Tree follows this river of tar. At times it widens, at times it narrows, thinner than a fingernail, but always its presence remains. At last, it curves harshly, jutting downwards into an ominous opening of a cave. The cave has a narrow entrance, but after crawling into it, it opens up eagerly and widely. The ceiling of the cave now stretching hundreds of feet tall and widening out several dozen feet.
Torches are placed on the walls at even distances. And in front of him now, there is a large metal door. It stretches up to be 50 feet tall. There are large metal bolts all along the framing of the door, drilling it deeply into the rock. Carved into the metal itself is the insignia of a demonic family—a large dragon being beheaded by a woman with a scythe. The woman is pictured to be in rags, the carving of her much more detailed and intricate than the rest. Her face is tightly bound by an insidious laughter that seems to rip through her body, causing her muscles to be tight and her posture to be stiff.
Fat Tree wraps his knuckles against the door, the sound echoing off the ceiling and dully ringing in his ears. He takes several steps backwards, placing his hands behind his back, wrapping his left fingers around his right wrist. After several minutes stretched by, the moments aching seeming like an eternity, the door on the right, the door creaks open slowly. However, it stops, barely cracked open as a small impish creature sticks its head out. Narrow yellow eyes glare at Fat Tree looking him up and down. The creature is only two and a half feet tall. A thin red tail thwips side to side, showing deep displeasure.
A thin and raspy high-pitched voice screams outward, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
"To meet with the woman of the house." Fat Tree has dedicatedly practiced the lines that Swiftblade went over with him time and time again, trying to be careful to understand that his success in this mission is crucially interwoven with the information that he relays.
The impish creature merely smirks, screeching, "What's the password then?"
Fat Tree sticks his tongue out to the side, only slightly, just enough to dig up the exact memory of the password. This was the most difficult part.
"Password1234!"
"You may enter right away," the red creature's voice becomes more savory now that it knows Fat tree is allowed to enter It pushes on the door slowly but surely, opening it wide. A long, lush, royal red carpet is rolled from the very entrance all the way up to the steep stairs that peter off at a large golden throne. Upon the throne sits Fat Tree's target.
She stands at a staggering nine feet tall and is covered head to toe in gleaming obsidian-colored armor. It's made of only the finest materials that you can find within Hell, and penetrated by anything but the strongest attacks. And her face shows a smug aura of confidence, an unbroken ruler who dominates anything that appears before her.
Fat Tree walks slowly, confidently towards her, stopping at the base of the stairs. He cranes his neck upwards, taking in the vision before dropping to a knee and bowing his head. It is a false servitude, one that he would never do had it not been absolutely essential.
"I enter your majesty's presence with a most humble request."
A deep, gravelly voice answers back, "Speak now, lest your request be forever forgotten."
"A ruler from the overworld wishes to court you. She requests a meeting with you posthaste."
The demon queen laughs. It's warmer and livelier than Fat Tree would have ever expected, and it fills the royal hall. "Why would I leave my throne, my domain, for such meager promises?"
Fat Tree extends a letter stamped with the Queen of Death's insignia.
Her eyes narrow in on Fat Tree, scanning to see any sign of treachery. When she finds nothing, she gestures with the slightest twitch of her finger forward, and a small red demon scurries down the stairs, huffing and puffing as he snags the letter from Fat Tree, crawling back up the stairs as quickly as possible before placing the letter in the demon queen's hands.
As Fatree watches the demon queen read the letter, he observes a varied flurry of emotions. He wishes that he knew what the letter said, but Mother Death did not allow him nor Swiftblade to read it. The emotions roll through like tides in the ocean. Surprise, Horror, Lust, Happiness, Glee, Pleasure, Anger, Sadness. Each one coming and fading as quickly as the last, reappearing and disappearing at a moment's notice. It is as if each word is laced with an emotional spell, rendering the demon queen strapped to an emotional rollercoaster. But Fat Tree knows even with his magical inabilities, there is no such spell, the only thing being communication. He is amazed at his queen's ability to facilitate emotional response in such an incredible way.
Finally, as the letter ends and the demon queen's eyes trail off, growing distant. Fat Tree sees a flush crawl up her neck, resting gracefully on her cheeks. She folds the letter up and puts it into her armored pocket and slides it into a crevice within her armor. Then, she stands up, shouting, "Off we go. Time to meet my bride!"