Mortimer, page 17
part #6 of Everybody Loves Large Chests Series
Earth Affinity – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Stealth – Lvl 20.00 (MAX)
Meditation – Lvl 5.20
Projectile Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Arcane Mastery – Lvl 9.30
Primal Mastery – Lvl 16.85
Basic Mastery – Lvl 8.50
Spatial Mastery – Lvl 8.50
Brawling Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Part Six
A puff of white smoke rose into the air, drifting idly upwards for several seconds before forming into a semi-solid sphere no bigger than a child’s fist. A pair of bright blue dots peeked out in lieu of eyes. The disconnected spirit gazed down at its own body and the scale-covered abomination piercing its torso with a clawed hand. It felt puzzled. Its bewilderment shifted to outrage once it realized it had been killed. This was a completely natural reaction considering how violently its mortal body was dispatched. And judging from how its killer had already ploughed through the other silver-armored guards and then slinked off into the shadows, the murdering shapeshifter would probably go unpunished. That thought made the ghost’s rage quickly give way to despair.
The spirit was still trying to cope with its loss of life when it saw a series of white cracks spread through the air in a spider web pattern. A shining doorway burst from these faults, revealing a skeletal figure wearing a sharp black business suit over a silken white shirt complete with a black necktie. It was the sort of ensemble one might wear when visiting the owner of a bank… or attending a funeral. A luxurious pitch-dark hood and cloak covered the bare skull and wide shoulders, the luxurious fabric seamlessly transitioning to a shadowy mist that rolled down the skeleton’s back. Select pieces of glittering golden accessories adorned the figure’s impeccable ensemble, including a trio of jeweled rings upon his right hand. Last but certainly not least, he carried an ivory scythe with a mithril blade, its macabre design somehow both exquisite and terrible.
Though most mortals would be rightfully terrified should this entity appear before them, the recently deceased spirit felt a strange sense of relief and comfort in its presence.
“Yo! How’s it hanging?” the dapper skeleton spoke in an unfittingly lively tone. “Congratulations on your death! In case you couldn’t tell, I’m Mortimer, and I’m here to pick you up.”
The white puff of smoke, invisible to the mortal eye, was thrilled by this development and bounced around like an excitable puppy.
“Hmm? Oh no, not you,” the God of Death spoke as if just noticing the poor soul. “I’m here for that one.”
The confused puff of smoke curiously turned in the direction that Mortimer was pointing towards with a pearly digit. It saw an oddly rectangular solid black mass, with crimson red dots for eyes and a set of misaligned white teeth. The dark spirit’s maw opened wide and closed around the smaller soul, instantly gobbling it up.
“No! Bad!”
Mortimer slapped the black ghost from behind, prompting it to spit out the white one.
“None of that! What sort of Hero are you, anyway?!” he spoke as if chastising an unruly pet.
“Jukilimo! Yeharan dalaigoh!”
The black spirit uttered what sounded like gibberish to the former guard’s soul. The utterly bewildered immaterial being tried to raise its voice in protest only to realize it could not actually speak.
“How does that make any sense? You can’t even taste things anymore!”
“Rastorpicolos!”
“Quiet you! Hey, listen here, buddy,” Mortimer once more turned to the white ghost. “Sorry about this, but I’m going to have my hands full with this guy. I can’t really deal with you right now, so I’m going to have to ask you to be on your way. Just keep heading up and to the right and you’ll get there eventually. Off you go now!”
The macabre deity shooed the dearly departed guard away, who could only continue drifting upwards in a huff. The cold shoulder bothered him, but it was impossible for a disembodied soul to disobey the God of Death’s words. It felt a bit better the higher it went, though. After all, surely a random, middle-aged peacekeeper wasn’t important enough to warrant a personal appearance from the God of Death, right? Hmm? Then who was that black one? Something about a Hero? What was a Hero, anyway? A miserable pile of- Oh look, butterflies! Or were they flamingoes? Forming thoughts was becoming rapidly difficult for the former elf the more it ascended. It soon reached the conclusion that thinking was a bother, so it stopped altogether, allowing the last echoes of its former life to be stripped from it.
Mortimer watched the innocent soul drift off for a few seconds as the Well of Souls did its thing. He felt a bit bad brushing the guy off, but he didn’t have time to personally deal with each and every dead creature. That was why the Well of Souls existed in the first place – to pull stray souls towards it before reincarnating them. Sure, some individuals with lingering attachments fell through the gaps and became vengeful undead, but it was a necessary compromise. It was impossible for a single being – even a God – to keep up with demand otherwise. Besides, Mortimer had to attend to duties other than ferrying the souls of the dead, such as the rites and rituals he needed to perform on a deceased Hero’s soul. Special care and attention was required in order to ensure that their borrowed divine power was returned to its source without incident.
“Well, then,” Mortimer turned back to Boxxy, “shall we go?”
“Vivamus sollicitudin arcu tempus, sagittis velit ac?”
“No, that’s not gonna happen,” he instantly declined.
“Fahn efficitur sollicitudin tellus?”
“How much gold?!” he exclaimed with a rather excited tone. “You’re shitting me, right? There’s no way you have that much!”
“Sirtamet. Finibus lacinia.”
“Oh, I gotta see this.”
Mortimer grabbed Boxxy’s soul and walked back through the glowing doorway he appeared from moments ago. They emerged inside Ambrosia’s trunk, right next to the pool-sized pit of gold that the doppelganger used as external shiny storage. The creature had been playing with it for a solid three hours last night and had neglected to clean the place up, leaving a messy pile of treasure that glistened brilliantly beneath all those spotlights.
The God of Death and Commerce let out an appreciative whistle despite his lack of lips.
“Nice! Quite the cozy little nest egg you got here. For a single mortal, this is a truly impressive collection.”
“Nahabil,” Boxxy thanked him.
“Still not enough, though. Even if I was in the habit of taking bribes – which I’m not – you’d need three hundred times this amount before I even considered letting you off.”
“Hak! Parapatos gil bethera.”
“Yeah, well, can’t be helped. Them’s the rules. By the way, where and how did you learn The Word? You’re remarkably fluent, if I do say so myself.”
“Haka? Karabaltikor eteta?”
“Yes, that.”
“Ambrosia mi in consectetur facilisis.”
“Huh. That’s… a new one.”
Mortimer fell silent as he pondered what sort of shenanigans would have allowed this monster to convince a dryad to share her knowledge of The Word. Between that and the monumental amount of wealth on display, it was plainly obvious that Boxxy had achieved more in its exceedingly short lifetime than most people did in a century. Then again, the monster was a Hero, and their ilk almost always died young and at the height of their careers. Only a scant few survived past their prime and lived to a ripe old age. It was a trend that never failed to amuse Mortimer whenever he came across it. It was as if the Hero titles had a hidden property that made the lives of their recipients burn blindingly bright only to run out staggeringly quickly. Boxxy’s tenure was a ridiculously extreme example of this, but it fit the trend nonetheless.
“Come on then,” Mortimer got back on task. “Let’s get you… to… Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
The macabre deity couldn’t help but curse as a second divine doorway appeared next to his and a green brick flew out of it.
“Hey, Mort,” the raspberry pudding waved its eyebrow. “How you been?”
“Damnit, Tom! I’m not letting you revive this guy!”
“Woah, easy there,” said the fishbowl-shaped God of Chance. “I’m not here to revive anybody. I just need to make sure some contractual obligations are fulfilled.”
“Obligations? Oh, right, this guy was a Warlock that made a covenant with your spawn.”
Mortimer didn’t typically concern himself with the other gods’ Heroes while they were still alive, but he remembered hearing that in passing. It was inevitable he’d hear about Billy’s pet box, given the waves it had made on the divine scene.
“Yup,” the ham sandwich nodded its lettuce. “And according to the terms of its contract, its soul belongs to Demons ‘R’ Us.”
“We both know there’s nothing like that in those terms, Rupert.”
“What are you saying? Of course there is!”
*Snap*
A rolled-up parchment materialized out of thin air and unfurled to reveal the full terms and conditions of Boxxy’s summoning contract. The floating tea kettle pointed to a particular paragraph with its spatula.
“See this amendment right here? Clause 23-4? It reads, and I quote, ‘Should the mortal Warlock acquire the means to affect the immaterial, the Beyond, and/or the Aether, their soul becomes the rightful property of Overlord Liusolra upon their death.’ End quote.”
“Let me see that!”
The God of Death snatched the parchment and started reading through it while the afro-toting gecko in the leather jacket sat on a nearby gold pile.
“You just added it in there!” Mortimer complained in a displeased tone. “There was nothing like that in the standard contract last time I checked!”
“And when’s the last time you checked, eh? It’s been in there for at least thirteen hundred years! You know, ever since that whole ‘Soul Muncher’ debacle?”
Mortimer was momentarily at a loss of words as he was reminded of the potentially world-ending incident that was maybe sort of entirely his fault.
“This is different!” he insisted. “Furthermore, the clause directly conflicts with how we’re supposed to handle Heroes!”
“Mort, look. If you had objections to this amendment, then why didn’t you say anything when I asked you about it?”
“You never consulted me on this!”
“Did too. I distinctly remember sending you the proposal via G-mail. You even replied to it and everything.”
“… Hold on.”
Mortimer fell silent as he searched through his mental repository of correspondences with other Gods. Looking back over a millennia ago, he was indeed able to confirm he had received a memo titled ‘Soul Muncher Precautions’ detailing the exact clause Jerry was talking about. And sure enough, right there next to it was Mortimer’s reply – a simple ‘k.’
“Yeah, so I did,” he admitted with a sigh. “Fine, you can have the blasted thing.”
While he hated giving up another Hero’s soul, he didn’t have a choice. Even if he was swamped with work in the wake of that nasty Soul Muncher business and probably didn’t read the thing as thoroughly as he should have, he still signed off on it. He had no choice but to capitulate Boxxy’s soul. He wasn’t even going to attempt to dispute whether the shapeshifter qualified for the clause when considering how freely its soul wielded The Word. Thankfully, the monster hadn’t figured out how to apply that knowledge, otherwise things would have gotten… complicated.
“Marvelous!” cheered the giant fly. “Glad to see you’re still such a good sport. Come on, Boxxy, let’s get you- Huh? Where’d the little guy go?”
A quick glance revealed that the black puff of rectangular smoke had disappeared somewhere while Mortimer and Kendra were arguing over custody of it.
“Now that you mention it…”
The skeleton’s voice trailed off as his eye sockets blazed with a sinister un-light and his pearly visage was engulfed in darkness.
“Oh, that bastard!” he shouted moments later. “Just how much Taboo does he want?! Right, that’s it! I’m sending my Hero after him! I’m going to give him such a talking-to once I get my hands on that wretched little soul!”
“Who the what now?”
Rather than answer the confused purple beer keg, the outraged God of Death retreated back to his divine area in a huff. This left the Goddess of Unlikelihoods even more perplexed as to what was going on. There was no way a deceased person’s soul could just ‘wander off,’ especially not in Mortimer’s presence, so there was definitely something extraordinary going on. And for once, it wasn’t Jessica’s doing. She really didn’t have some ulterior motive beyond collecting what was rightfully hers.
While entertaining in its own way, Boxxy’s short-lived tenure as Hero of Chaos had also served as an audition of sorts. The God of Choice was convinced the single-minded and uncomplicated monster’s soul would serve as the perfect raw material to forge into the fifth demonic Overlord, bringing his Seven Deadly Sins project one step closer to fruition. He already had Nagnamor as Wrath, Liusolra as Gluttony, Shridiaphrial the Succubus Queen as Lust, and that know-it-all Weaxohn as Pride, but the seats of Sloth, Envy, and Greed remained very much open. Boxxy’s twisted soul was without a doubt the perfect fit for the Lord of Avarice. Rather, it would be once Liusolra had finished stripping away its old memories and personality until all that remained was a lump of insatiable desire and boundless wickedness. It was a future that Carmen had made sure was all but inevitable.
Yet, that creature’s spirit had suddenly disappeared right out from the nose of not one, but two deities. While Merlin’s plans to create Baalebuorohm of the Gilded Chest and usher in the birth of a whole new species of shiny-obsessed demons would have to wait, he wasn’t the least bit angry. Just the opposite, actually. If there was one thing the God of Unforeseen Consequences loved the most, it was surprises.
Of course, nobody was more surprised about this turn of events than Boxxy. Its soul was suddenly and forcibly stolen away by an unnatural force. Oddly enough, the feeling was closer to being pushed than pulled, but it was nevertheless irresistible. When the monster’s disembodied consciousness finally came to a stop, it found itself trapped in a strange void. It couldn’t move, speak, hear, or see, almost as if it were an errant thought floating amidst an infinite nothingness. It was more than a little distressing considering it could still perceive the world around it until mere moments ago. Not to mention the ability to converse, scheme, and… and…
And…
And what? It had the distinct impression it had the ability to do things, so how come it was suddenly drawing a blank? On second thought who – or for that matter what was ‘it?’ Much like the guard from earlier, the soul rapidly lost its sense of self along with its memories. The murderous box with an unhealthy obsession for tasty and shiny things momentarily vanished from Terrania. All that was left was an insignificant speck of free will with no wants or needs to guide it, a completely blank slate ready to be reborn as anything or anyone. The empty soul was then instantly filled to bursting as the accumulated experiences of Boxxy T. Morningwood’s eight months of life flooded its entire being. From the first time it beheld its little oddly flat corner of the Litigar Dungeon Complex up to the point where the fateful words ‘You have died’ had appeared in its mind – all of it had exploded back into its consciousness at once.
“SHGRAAAAH!”
Boxxy sprang to life with a guttural half-scream half-hiss. The gray-skinned hylt creeper jumped to its feet in alarm, only to stumble forward and fall to the ground. It curled up and started writhing in agony like a sack of drowning puppies. Between the soul-crushing pain coursing through its body and its inability to remember how to doppelganger, Boxxy was left stripped of anything resembling reason.
[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]
An intimately familiar and extremely welcome notification popped into its mind, putting an abrupt halt to the shapeshifter’s dazed confusion. The brief moment of clarity jumpstarted the rest of Boxxy’s failing mental faculties and was immediately followed by a series of rather informative notifications.
[You are afflicted by Resurrection Sickness. All Attribute effectiveness -50%.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Soulbound.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Hero of Chaos.]
[Proficiency level increased. Chaotic Disposition is now Level 1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Agent of Chaos is now Level 1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Essence Concealment is now Level 1.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Usurper of Justice.]
[Proficiency level increased. Vengeance is now Level 1.]
… I died back there, didn’t I?
It was a harrowing realization that gave rise to many different questions in Boxxy’s mind, though they who killed it or how it had died weren’t among them. While its soul held no recollection of its out-of-body experience, its body and brain vividly remembered the circumstances surrounding its demise. It was a superbly traumatizing and disturbing thing, having one’s death etched into their memory. Boxxy now somewhat understood why the undead always seemed so angry and resentful towards the living.
[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]
Speaking of, was the doppelganger undead now? Some kind of wraith or zombie? The excruciating pain in its guts suggested otherwise. That implied it hadn’t somehow clawed its way back from the grave under its own power. The gods assuredly had nothing to do with it, either. The only one among them who could’ve intervened on its behalf was Marcy, but Boxxy knew all-too-well what Rupert’s stance on divine resurrection was. So, if neither the shapeshifter nor its patron had brought back to life, who had? There was also the curious matter of the monster’s Hero status, which had apparently been revoked upon its death and then reinstated with its revival. What was up with that?
[Your flesh has been mended. HP +200.]
