V-43 Cover-Up

You will learn the wrong lessons from life. This is not a condemnation, it is just how things progress.

As Pathbearers, we develop delusions as to why we prevail and succeed when so many others have fallen. Many of us subconsciously know the truth, or, even if we do understand the truth, refuse to face it because the reality is a thing that mauls the spirit. So we say that we were stronger, we were unique, we saw clearer. We were wiser and smarter, anything that makes us more special. 

The system loves this hubris. The system rewards it. And so we sink deeper into our mistakes. And there, so many drown before they ever reach the cusp of even Hero. Masters die when their mistakes never get remedied, and the most common mistakes I found among masters who dedicate themselves to my favorite skill–the skill of Stealth—is the assumption that they are enough alone.

The system does indeed build monuments to the individual, but the individual is not something that exists in a vacuum. There will come a time when your own skills are limited, where your own experiences prove to be more detrimental than beneficial, and, more importantly, where a softer touch or a more brutal hand might serve your objectives better than you yourself.

And with that comes the great test for those who wish to operate alone and call the shadows their sanctuary. Trust. Trust in another. Trust that someone else can see the job done. For Pathbearers will greet many enemies. Trust is a rare thing, that will see them struck down if they are careless. And trust can be used against you. Love can be used against you. But to stand alone means you will eventually die alone.

It is practically fated. You will encounter more Pathbearers, and someday you will face someone who has the right skills to oppose your own. For those you are not meant to fight, you will either avoid or send someone else to deal with them.

Be honest with yourself, and eventually learn this lesson: you must understand how to trust, who to trust, and how you should wield the trust. You need to find someone to rely on. You need something that operates beyond yourself. Otherwise, you are an island, and islands always get claimed in the end.

-Valor Thann

V-43

Cover-Up

In the aftermath, there was nothing in the world, nothing at all: no light, no darkness. There was only Shiv and a glowing mound of pristine, white dough. Strangely, he could feel the dough. He could feel it as if it were a part of his body, a limb that had been severed from him, but still remained connected through inexplicable means.

The Deathless tried to draw in a breath, but no air flowed through him. Yet he didn't choke, he didn't suffocate. This was a place devoid of atmosphere, devoid of oxygen, but it was bathed in vitality, in the translucent sublime essence of Psychomancy, in an orange mana that began to suffuse deeper, igniting the dough from within.

And as the dough came alight, shining brilliantly like a new dawn before Shiv, he heard twin voices call out from the inner depths of the salt-white substance: "Who? Who is out there? Where am I? Who am I?" Velly's voice was unmistakable, but it was soon joined by another. 

"Have I fallen? Have I finally crossed that final threshold into the Ascendants’ embrace?" Nornsong's voice was broken, and the sorrow lingering inside her was in full blossom. The Deathless felt horrible that they were dead, and once more he had to remind himself that these were just echoes. But by all the gods and the system, they were loud echoes. He could feel them, feel their wretched emotions, feel that final hit of fear and anguish that followed them just before they crossed the veil into death. 

The Sage of the Enkindled Heart allowed him greater sympathy than ever. But in some ways, the skill was double-edged. Tasting another's existential hollow of misery was not something Shiv wanted to do often.

"Call out to them," the Anointed Knight's voice trembled from Shiv's sigil. The Deathless looked down in surprise, but it soon diminished as he remembered how interconnected skills were to their users. He didn't possess the skill himself; it was simply granted to him by the fae. How did these mechanics work? What limitations were there? 

But it was clear that the Anointed Knight of summer was still bound to the skill, and could be called upon by Shiv at any moment. More importantly, though, it might allow him to spy and scry on things through Shiv as well. The Deathless took note of that. Might need to ask Cullywier how to blind or reduce the senses of the knight, Shiv thought to himself. 

"Nornsong?" Shiv said aloud. "Can you hear me?"

A brief silence followed, but there was a shift in the air. A billowing pulse of translucent mana washed over Shiv. It was like a pathway connecting him to the dough, and he felt the presence of both Nornsong and Velly's shattered minds stronger than ever before.

"Who are you?" Velly said. There was a lingering trace of fear and agitation in his voice. Nornsong didn't speak, but her anxiety was heightened all the same. For a few echoes, they reacted much like actual people did.

"I’m, uh… You might’ve known me as Marcus Unblood earlier. The truth is a bit more complicated than that…"

"Marcus?" Velly said. For a brief moment, he was confused. "I don't know any… wait… the commis? My mind is… I can't… why do I think I know you when I can't remember anything?"

"A common side effect," the Anointed Knight declared. "Not all of the mind survives, and as I told you earlier, you drained a substantial amount of vitality from these two echoes. Now they are only fractions of themselves. You must be careful what you say to them. If you agitate them too much, we will need to find other constructs to replace them."

"Constructs?" Shiv said, his patience thinning. "Is that what we're calling the dead people now?"

"It is what we're calling the resources I must devote to fielding the skill? Yes, indeed it is," the Anointed Knight said with a near arrogant huff. "Just because you can awaken a piece of bread does not mean it understands what it is. You need intelligence for intelligence. Nothing comes from nothing, Deathless."

"Have we fallen?" Velly asked. "Have I gone beyond the threshold? Are you the end? Are you Harlock, waiting to carry us across the Great Night’s End?" Velly sounded altogether confused. "Have you come to guide us to that final threshold within your embrace, to your kingdom of glory?"

Shiv didn't know nearly enough about religious theology, but upon what he experienced while facing the Ascendants, he sincerely doubted they had any kind of kingdom of glory. Shiv was almost about to tell them the truth on reflex, but then his Sage of the Enkindled Heart skill triggered, and he thought twice about the burdens and perils of honesty.

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: If you tell them the truth, there is a pretty good chance that their minds will shatter. Take a moment. You see how confused they are? How bad their memories are? How fragile the Psychomancy seems.

He did as the skill suggested and winced. There was a brittleness in the bread. There was a fragility there that told him, if he agitated or struck too much emotional discord into either Velly or Nornsong, there wouldn't be anything left in their minds. They would simply come undone and cease to be.

"Uh, yeah," Shiv said, going along with what Velly assumed. "This is Harlock the Midnight. You're in… heaven. Bread heaven. There’s some, uh, bread… stuff… happening right now.”

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: I also would like to remind you that I am not an Acting Skill. Please do not use me for that.

But despite his shit-acting, it seemed that his words delivered a dose of comfort to both Velly and Nornsong. "How I have yearned for this moment. I have prayed for all I've sinned, for all the wrongs I've committed. I thought I would forever be denied that final empyrean paradise." Nornsong almost began sobbing, and that made Shiv feel like absolute shit. He was taking advantage of someone else's faith, of people that really didn't deserve to die, in his opinion. "I wish I didn't murder my sister to fully claim my bloodline inheritance."

Shiv paused. Okay, maybe I didn't know these people very well, but even if Nornsong was a sister-murderer admitting the worst of her misdeeds to someone she thought was her god, that doesn’t mean that—

"And though I have devoted to you, oh, midnight, I cannot shake the memory of my true unworthiness, of the worst of my transgressions. I cannot forget the child I murdered that night when I broke into the Seasworn Vault in Atlantis. I know I am not supposed to mourn the death of a mermaid’s spawn, but I didn’t mean… the blade I drove into her to silence her was… She didn’t need to die.”

And that destroyed what remained of Shiv's sympathy. Okay. I have no more problems lying to her anymore, the Deathless thought to himself. Maybe Velly, but this one? No. I don't care about you, no more, Nornsong. Thanks for making it easy for me.

As the warm mana of the fae skill's magic fully spread across the entirety of the dough, two shapes began to writhe from both ends. One writhed and twisted, crawling out from the dense mound of soft and malleable white, arising to seem like a malformed version of the lizard chef. The other lingered on the ground behind him, uncurling from a mound of unshaped dough. Nornsong’s limbs were still ropy and unformed, but the vagueness of an elf could be seen if one truly squinted.

Within both their chests was a core, a core of emotional resonance, but also a core filled by the ruby-red glow of vitality, further encircled by a sphere of protective Psychomancy. It seemed that what was left of Nornsong and Velly's minds were deposited into each half of the dough. The vitality, ensuring their enduring existence, was slowly flickering away, but it didn't drain nearly as fast as Shiv's vitality golems did.

Both of the bread-formed chefs looked at the Deathless, and they stared upon him with great confusion.

"Forgive me, Harlock," Velly kneeled first. "But you do not resemble any form you have taken in scripture or in popular depiction."

"I uh… yeah you know that's the point of being Harlock the Midnight," Shiv continued bullshitting, "because you know you want to surprise people. Stealth is sometimes also stealth when it's a disguise."

Deception 38 > 39

"By the Laughing Radiant, you might be the worst liar I have ever encountered," the Anointed Knight said, gasping with disbelief. When the Bread Knight spoke, however, neither Velly nor Nornsong reacted. They couldn't hear him. Shiv could, however, and it was because of the skill, because only the Deathless remained connected to the Bread Knight.

"Yeah, well, I'm doing what I can. Right? I don't need them to go insane, frankly. Wait, did you have to convince everyone you put in bread to follow your orders? I thought this was supposed to be some kind of awakening skill."

"And what do you think awakening is?" the Anointed Knight said with a haughty snarl. "It is not a dominating skill or a mind-controlling skill. This has nothing to do with your strange patternist psychomancy; this has everything to do with making your new bread constructs do your bidding of their own desire before they are fully expended.”

"And so what? You needed to gaslight everyone you kill before you infuse them into the bread and ingredients with that heart every time?"

"Of course," the Anointed Knight nearly shouted back. "It is a skill where you manage to twist and convince another using your words. Not everything is simply an act of brutality. You oversized—" and once more the Anointed Knight caught himself before Shiv decided to retaliate and inflict more pain later. “It's simple. You must go along with what they believe to convince them to do anything you want.”

Shiv really didn't like the sound of that. “So, like everyone you've put in bread before, would they all like this?”

"Well, they were confused as well and scattered. The echoes don't last, but every human has a few specific desires that are usually aligned. And the many Fairwalkers who fail to make it out of my land after trespassing against the court serve as an ample supply of human resources to feed this skill." The Anointed Knight laughed: "It really isn't that hard. The dead are desperate. That is what I have discovered. You patternists are tragically pitiful. You always wait too long—till you have no more time nor future before you start seeking true joy or satisfaction—till you actually face your regrets and sorrows. And the desperate are easy to convince into service.”

“That’s… kinda fucked up,” Shiv muttered. Suddenly, Shiv was having mixed feelings about this skill. It might let him infuse life and activity into ingredients, but if he had to murder, harvest soul-traces from his victims using a messed up heart-thing, and then jam those lingering remnants into a food item…

Shiv wasn’t soft by any measure, but some things felt a little far, even for him. Maybe if I just use this skill on bad people or something…

"O Divine Lord of Midnight! I beg your forgiveness if my following question seems impudent, but…" Nornsong lifted her head, and the dough that composed her new body receded into itself. She looked just as she was before. But still, she was undressed. Mainly because she was covered in little more than grease, bread crumbs, and cooking oil when she died. A foolish thing based on the assumption that the fae bread couldn't see her that way. "Why are we made of dough? And why does it feel so strange to be here? There is a great deal I cannot remember." And she halted herself. There was a look of great uncertainty on her face. "Forgive me, O Midnight. I didn't mean to overstep."

Shiv reluctantly took advantage of her apprehension. "It’s, uh, fine devoted… faithful. I understand you have a lot of questions. It's just a normal part of being dead, you know. There's like a layer of final service before you can really cross over into true heaven." Shiv cringed with every word, and from what he could feel using his Sage of the Enkindled Heart skill, the Anointed One was cringing along with him.

"Just how bad are your Social Skills?" the fae hissed.

“Hey, my Psychology-Berserk Skill Fusion jacked your shit up.”

"That has nothing to do with a social skill; that is purely your ability to read and peer into another person's psyche. No wonder you are performing so poorly. Have you convinced anyone of anything diplomatically?"

"I've intimidated people before," Shiv defended.

"Intimidated? This is not about intimidation; this is about luring bees to honey. You need to be sweet. Deathless, you need to be careful. You need to convince the mind. If you force the mind, it will break. My word, my Laughing Radiance, you are a truly a monster to the bone—ah, forgive me, I get frustrated when I see… inefficiency."

"That's okay, Anointed. I'll forgive you. Maybe after I slam you against the bars a few more times, but I'll forgive you."

The Anointed Knight shuddered. 

Shiv continued speaking with the bread-chefs. "So… Uh, you guys passed the test. You're going to Heaven!" Shiv declared. "But before that, there's one final thing I want you to do. It's like a commemorative thing for how you've lived your life. You're adventuring chefs, and your cooking is pretty awesome."

“Pretty awesome,” Velly said, taken aback.

“Uh, shi—I mean, that’s what the—the people say these days, right?” Shiv tried to remember how Harlock spoke from what he could recall. The Ascendant was one of few words, and absolutely didn't sound like Shiv did right now. But who was to say what Harlock’s personality was like.

I really should have paid more attention to theology, Shiv thought to himself. Fucking war priest throwing me out of that church—it's not my fault I don't know anything!

But even with Shiv's absolutely atrocious acting, both of the fallen remnants accepted his words. They kneeled, lowering their heads before him.

"We will do as you command, Harlock. It will be our honor to serve you a final course," Velly said, looking at his hands and slowly balling them into fists. "We will be willing to offer ourselves as the final course unto you as well, for the glory of the Republic. Simply speak your will, and I will do everything within my power to see it done.”

"For the glory of the Republic," Nornsong echoed.

Shiv wondered if either of the two were this loyal in life. He didn't know them very well at all, but something told him that the bits of Nornsong's personality might have ended up inside the head chef's mind as well. They were both a little too similar to each other when it came to degrees of faithfulness.

The Anointed Knight chuckled darkly. "But even if you are crippled socially, it is clear that you don't need to have that high of an aptitude to compel them to service. As I told you before, the dead are desperate, the dead are lost, and with a few properly placed words, the dead are yours to awaken, to use and infuse into bread."

Shiv really didn't know how to reply to that. This entire endeavor was beginning to feel more and more questionable. Suddenly the world around Shiv began to tremble, everything rippled like the surface of a disturbed lake, and the orange matter spilling out from both Velly and Nornsong's new bread-forged bodies formed an aura around them. 

Just then everything burst apart, and Shiv found himself back in his original body. His skill sigils were flaring bright on the back of his hand, and with the final splash of mana, he found himself standing before two newly shaped forms. Nornsong and Velly had rejoined him in the world. They looked as he remembered them, both of them examined themselves and looked around the kitchen. 

Finally, they turned and noticed the cold-iron caged Bread Knight. Shiv tasted a surge of animosity coming from both the chefs, but he cleared his throat and drew their attention back to him.

"Welcome…" Shiv said, swallowing as he tried to keep this bullshit wagon train going. "Back to your kitchen. I had this place shaped to give you that final trial of, uh, pre-heaven."

"Of course, Deepest Midnight," Velly said, bowing his head. "We will do anything you ask.”

“Anything." Nornsong repeated.

Adam leaned in next to Shiv, and he asked with a voice barely louder than a whisper. "Shiv, what did you just do? Why do they think you're Harlock the Midnight?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," Shiv said through clinched teeth. He regarded the two bred beings before him, and decided to set a few things straight: "Ignore the Bread Knight for now. He's been defeated and caged by the Republic's glorious justice."

“I am undone,” the Anointed One said with as much enthusiasm as a parent forced to listen to their child suffer through faith choir after the eighteenth false-start.

Despite Shiv rambling awkwardness, both Velly and Nornsong accepted his words with resolute bows. The Deathless also caught the Anointed Knight rolling his eyes, but the eye roll froze halfway through as he realized Shiv had seen it. Suddenly, he looked down on the ground and re-assumed the role of pensive prisoner.

"Alright, the first thing I need you to do is," Shiv gave Nornsong and Velly a look over. "Felling hells, we’re going to need to find you some clothes after Nornsong. But before that, I need to… To see if you two can be baked.”

Both of the chefs snapped to attention and betrayed no hint of fear.

Velly held his lizard snout high and stood tall. "Of course, great Harlock. Yet, suddenly, the lizard chef was unmoving. He seemed lost for a moment.

"Is there something wrong?" Shiv said as his own worries rose. Would this be the moment where they realized he was full of shit?

"Forgive me, oh Deepest Midnight," Velly declared, "but I—" and the tension in the room grew. "I don't quite recall how bread is prepared."

Shiv blinked. "You don't?"

“Neither do I,” Nornsong said, dreamily. The left part of her dough-ass promptly fell off as well.

“Well, that’s a scene that’s going to come back to me in a nightmare at some point,” Adam muttered from behind Shiv.

"The awakened are made from partial remnants and echoes," the Anointed Knight said. "They often need direct guidance and commandments. They do not possess their original skills either. Understand you still must be the one that judges them, that leads them. They do not have specific knowledge, only bits and fragments of who they were. The deciding hand must still be you. You must command them to act!”

And Shiv gritted his teeth. It felt weird ordering a spiritual echo harvested from a dead person you knew to cook itself. And then you had to actually walk it through cooking itself. But Shiv's life was nothing but weird by this point. And besides, selfishly, this might be a workaround for the curse that's currently keeping my Cooking Skill crippled.

The Deathless drew in a breath and began navigating the moral and ethical ambiguities of the current situation the best he could.

"Well, alright Velly, so I, Harlock the Midnight, happen to remember how to make bread."

"That is wondrous. Oh Deepest Midnight," Velly said. His voice briefly became monotone, and his gaze lost focus.

Like some kind of damaged automaton, Shiv thought.

"That is wondrous. Deepest Midnight," Nornsong echoed. She wasn’t much more animated.

'Yep,' Shiv thought to himself. 'Parts of him are definitely intermingled.'

"Okay, so here's what you're going to do."

Adam tugged on Shiv's arm once more: "Shiv, what are you doing?”

“Gonna find out if I can make bread to make itself.”

The Gate Lord’s eyes grew wide. “They’re people, Shiv.”

The Deathless stared at Adam: "Yeah, well, you know, the customers still need to eat some fae bread, right? Otherwise they'll come in and check it out." The look on the Gate Lord's face got ever more incredulous. "Would it help if I told you that these people are not really themselves anymore? Just like fragments?"

“But… It still seems…” Adam looked extremely uncomfortable.

Adam didn't know what to say: "Yeah, well, I feel the same way too, but, uh, you know, I-I just-

"You want to use them as ingredients and to bypass the curse that's currently affecting you?" The Gate Lord asked.

"Yeah, something like that," Shiv admitted with a slight hint of shame.

Deep struggle played across Adam's features, and with a final and most reluctant sigh, he spoke, giving his assent.

"Well, let's see if we can make these bread people be willing to cook themselves."

"I still remember where the oven is," Velly declared. Nornsong didn't say anything. She rushed over to the back of the kitchen immediately, and promptly crawled inside the dormant oven.

“Please, turn my crust golden, Deepest Midnight,” Nornsong cried aloud.

“Oh, gods,” Adam said. “What demented skill did the damned fae give you?”

“The kind that makes food march and prepare themselves,” Shiv said, seeing some potential here.

And soon Shiv quickly discovered that heat and deformation inflicted no true harm on those awakened by the magic of the fae. Nornsong and Vellys' bodies both swelled, the dough bent across and developed a brilliant texture. The Chef Unwavering triggered, but it was only useful in a secondhand way. It allowed him to tell which parts of the bread-made chefs still needed more work. Using that, Shiv shouted out orders to his two pieces of bread, telling them to mould themselves in certain ways to let the heat seep through and affect their very core.

Leadership 6 > 7

The Chef Unwavering 75 > 77

Several times, both Velly and Nornsong shifted their entire being, cycling their insides to the outsides. This made them particularly well-fried pieces of dough, better than anyone could do without the application of a bit of personal Pyromancy. 

And through it all, they remained undamaged. Undiminished. Functional. And as they were cooked well, the orange glow of the fae mana grew brighter. Bits of their vitality slipped away, but they were still glowing bright at their cores. Shiv guessed they would be able to endure it for another few hours before they finally ran dry of the life essence that had sustained them.

"All right." Shiv breathed, watching as the two chefs practically cook themselves. "That's kind of creepy, but also really, really useful."

"I expected more joy from you," the Anointed Knight said from his cage.

The Deathless thought about it and then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it's the way around, but..." he clenched his fists. "I still need to get rid of this curse. It's not me. I'm not doing it. I'm just telling the food to shape itself into certain ways. It also leads me to break minds and kill people and feed it to the damn heart. So, uh, yeah, not really feeling all that much joy."

"You're a strange one, Deathless," the Anointed Knight declared. "I would have expected you to be pleased.”

"Well, let's just say you still have a lot to learn about humans." The Deathless rubbed his face. "Alright. So. Coming up with a story here for this entire mess: the chefs at Monster Mystery Meat took some fae bread. They got cursed by the bread. They got turned into bread. They come out. They explain that to the customers. The customers eat them. And then the restaurant burns down due to maintenance failure."

"And what about the survivors?" Adam said.

"Well, uh," Shiv paused. "Well…"

"Perhaps I could be of assistance there," Cullywier said. His eyes flashed bright blue, but then there came a glow of translucence. A translucence that ebbed out in the world like a gelatinous membrane. The air around the fey was shrouded, and Shiv’s Shapeless Tides began to rattle. "I've been known to be persuasive when talking to certain people. I cannot rewrite or destroy memories outright, but I can make them misremember certain things. Make the scene more like a tragedy than a butchery."

"Cullywier," Shiv said, "Are you asking me if you can use your mind magic on the remaining chefs?"

"It is simply the most applicable option we have, and it will not do any harm, they will just remember things slightly differently."

Shiv sighed.

“I don't like it, but I don't like most of this. Alright, updated plan" Shiv said, "so here's what we're gonna do: We’re gonna make the survivors think that their friends were contaminated by fae bread magic, we’re going to serve them to the customers as some kind of fucked-up final flourish—a final goodbye thing on their part and a symbolic artistic thing—and then we burn the kitchen down.”

“Gods,” Adam groaned. “That’s your plan?”

“Best one I got right now. But before that, I’m gonna need you to open up a dimensional pathway, Adam, and get the orcs to come over. There are some things we need to move over.”

And the Deathless started staring at the cooking stations and various appliances with naked greed.

“What things—really, Shiv? It’s not enough that we’re doing a cover-up and making people cook themselves, we’re adding theft to our misdeeds as well.”

“They serve to be saved, Adam. As much of the kitchen deserves to be saved as possible. It’s the best thing I can do.”

“For yourself, you mean,” the Gate Lord commented dryly.

“For the art of cooking.”

“And because you’re going to be testing this horrible infusing ghosts into ingredients, self-cooking Fae Skill to counter the curse, won’t you?”

“We’re gonna be murdering a lot of Inquisitors soon, Adam. Them, and who knows what kinds of other bastards. I just want their deaths to mean something aside from giving us levels. It’s the most ethical thing we can do.”

Rhetoric 1 > 3

“Shiv,” Adam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It would help if you actually sounded like you believe your own words.”

“I do believe my words. I believe that I can’t take losing all these beautiful cooking appliances, and I want Can Hu downsize them and put them in my cape. Or move them over the Courtney. It’ll destroy me to see all this lost.”

“And the horrid truth reveals itself: The urge to loot undoes another Pathbearer.” Adam shook his head and prepared a Veilpiercer.

“You’re the best, Adam,” Shiv said, with a hint of cheer.

“It really doesn’t feel that way,” Adam muttered.

“Well, you should trust my feelings more than you trust yours. I have a higher feeling-related skill than you.”

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Technically accurate, but mostly bullshit.

Adam narrowed his eyes at him.

“Can I come out now, Deepest Midnight?” Velly asked from inside the oven. The elf’s and lizard man’s bodies were twisted and bent in odd ways, both of their heads were pressed against the glass, and they grinned at him, happy as could be. “I am beginning to feel my arms peel apart from the heat. I believe I am crust enough now.”

“Huh,” Shiv said. “Oh, shit! Yeah! Come out! Come out, quick!”

Both Velly and Nornsong were bright-white and aglow with a pristine aura. As the oven’s flames were silenced, Shiv pulled the door open, and both the now-baked bread-people rose to their feet before Shiv. Chunks of textured breadstuff fell from them, but aside from that, they seemed altogether fine—even jubilant.

“Does our current state please, Midnight?” both of them spoke at once.

“Gods, that’s unnerving,” Adam nearly whimpered.

Shiv, meanwhile, saw more than a little potential. If he could infuse just enough of vitality and psychomancy with that heart in all his food, maybe he could have a kitchen handle itself. A self-cooking kitchen…

“There’s potential here,” Shiv said, nodding. “Lots and lots of potential.”

***

“...And so, dear customers, I must tragically offer myself to you as food, for it is the only way to make meaning of my life now that the terminal condition fo the fae curse has taken hold.” Velly concluded mournfully as another customer carved a small piece of him away. The room was solemn, more akin to a wake than a restaurant, and a few people were openly weeping. Bread-Velly was mostly missing his arms and legs by now, and as the large hammer-bearing automaton from earlier stomped over and took a chunk out of Velly’s dough-fried chest.

“I will miss you, chef,” the automaton groaned. There came a slight quaver in its robotic voice. “You and your wonderful meals. No one prepared dishes like you. No one pursued the excellence of food and the wonders of delectable delights like Monster Mystery Meat.”

Another sob escaped a nearby elf as she shoved a piece of Velly into her mouth.

“Do not weep for me,” Velly said. “I go to the Ascendants with pride. I have followed my Path to its end. Though I progress no further, I know that no one else has walked the Path of the Chef as true and devotedly as I. My only regret is that I have but one bread-body to offer all of you—beloved customers of my adopted home.”

More tears followed. More customers arrived to take chunks out of Velly. Nornsong had been eaten a while ago. In the corner of the room, Shiv watched on in the guise of Marcus Unblood. The entire affair was absurd, but yet, Monster Mystery Meat operated on the extremes when it came to the food offered. No one questioned this to be Velly’s final end. It was regarded as a somber, but also honorable, conclusion to the life of a trailblazing master-chef.

As more people partook in the breaking of Velly’s bread body, the lizard chef looked up and sighed in content. “Weep no more, customers. Know that this is how I want my tale to end. Weep no more, and feed. For the flesh that I will give is the finest bread of your lives! Your lives, and the lives of this world. And give thanks to our newest commis, Marcus Unblood, for aiding and ensuring that this final, dignified moment of ours might still come to pass.”

Heads turned in Shiv’s direction, and he bowed in a display of mournful respect. The act was genuine on his part, but this was also a means for him to argue for credit from Matlock later after the “tragedy” at Monster Mystery Meat fully concluded.

All in all, Shiv was a mess of feelings. He had evolved two different skills and gained an odd Fae Skill to make up for his temporarily disabled Cooking. On top of that, he looted a great many wonderful ingredients and kitchen appliances, and yearned to have them installed in his cape—or perhaps aboard Courtney once they regained access to Gate Theborn.

In the meantime, he continued playing the role of saddened newcomer as cries sounded from beyond the front doors as well. It sounded like quite a mob was gathering outside, shouting their best regards for Monster Mystery Meat. A few people had to be restrained and kept out when they desperately tried to partake in the so-called “last meal and flesh of Head Chef Velly” but beyond that, there were no other disturbances.

And so, as he watched another group come and carve away what remained of the head chef’s neck, Shiv sighed and wondered if this was going to be the case for every restaurant he entered. He came to Monster Mystery Meat for a novel experience, to do a bit of cooking, and to get extra credit.

He left with more skills, a fae prisoner, most of the cooking facilities looted, and a deep hatred for Maiden. And outside, the sky was getting darker, and he would be reporting in for his first shift as a medic for the 301 class.

“Can’t believe this felling day isn’t even over yet.” He was still pissed deep inside, but with Sage of the Enkindled Heart, it was more boon than burden.

“Well,” Adam said telepathically from inside Shiv’s cape. “All’s horrible, ends horribly.”

“I mean… There are some bright sides?” Shiv defended.

“For the chefs?” Adam nearly hissed.

“Ah, no. They’re dead as shit and getting mind-wiped. And my cooking is still jacked up from the curse. So. Gonna need to look into fixing that eventually. Felling… Might have to talk with the Educator later tonight. Speaking of, you want to head back to the coliseum after we finish the arson cover up.”

“Please don’t call it that. I feel terrible enough as it is. But… No. I think I’ll stay with you a while longer.”

“Really?” Shiv was surprised. Adam looked pretty exhausted emotionally and morally about this whole affair.

“Yes. Mainly out of fear that something even worse might happen after this—No, I’m sure something bad will happen after this, and I might as well be there and close by when you need my help.”

And despite all the horrible shit that happened, Shiv managed a slight smile. “Well. I don’t know, Adam. Maybe things might not be that bad later. This whole thing has been pretty felling weird and really bleak. And stupid. All this because someone stole some bread from the wrong world… Shit. I just can’t see how my first day as a medic will top this.”

No response came from Adam. “Shiv. Why… Why did you taunt the system like that…”

“What? I’m just saying, based on my experiences, it’s one crisis, and then we get a bit of time to—”

***

“Oh! Shit! Marcus! Thank the Ascendants you’re here! We need everyone we can right now! Everyone!”

Shiv barely had a second to respond from the moment Maxime Stormhalt laid eyes on him. There, outside the front steps of Last Chance Sanitarium—Phoenix Academy’s grandest on-campus hospital—a small army of Biomancers and healers were congregated. The Young Lady of House Stormhalt all but slammed a white beret on Shiv’s head and chucked a set of healer’s robes against him as she pulled him deeper into the mob.

Last Chance Sanitarium was built like two massive crystalline hands clasped around a rising tower. A beam of pure Biomancy speared up into the clouds from the apex of the tower. There were teams of magi in the surrounding airspace, and they had the tower layered in a hive of circulating spell patterns. The primary mana type coating the central tower, while the doorways leading the twin hands remained open but guarded by armed militia.

“What—what’s happening?” Shiv gasped, trying to understand what was happening. He had only returned to campus after handling everything at Monster Mystery Meat. There were people all around them, and they had the look of Pathbearers about to enter a battle, rather than healers ready to treat a patient. “Why’s everyone outside?”

“There are two rogue Morbomancers on the loose,” Stormhalt declared, her voice a grim growl. “They’re fighting each other in the bloody hospital. Drawing upon existing conditions to empower themselves to strike each other down.”

“Morbomancers?” Shiv asked.

“Biomancers specializing in magical disease,” she declared. “Former faculty, too. They were married to each other, but then their child suddenly got sick, and—well—he died earlier, and now they’re blaming each other for his death. And now they’re jumping across the bodies of our patients as shifting strains of diseases, trying to slay each other.”

“They’re… they’re turning themselves into diseases,” Shiv said, trying to conceptualize the situation. “And attacking each other? In the hospital.”

Maxime nodded. “We already lost the Oncology Ward to the Cancer Dimensionals they’ve unleashed. We need to take that section back before they breach pediatric and emergency.”

A notification loaded before Shiv’s eyes.

Hero-Biomancer Huell! Hero-Biomancer Morgana! We understand you are in pain, but this cannot continue! You are endangering the other patients at Last Chance—as well as your fellow Biomancers. Please submit to militia custody immediately!

The Deathless’s mind struggled to process everything that was happening. “What the hells…”

“I won’t blame you if you want to sit tonight out, Marcus, because this is about to be one hell of a shift. We’re preparing to go in with the rest of the militia. Hero-Biomancer Van Erren’s still missing, so I’m picking you as my apprentice if you’re willing to stay. I won’t lie to you, though—this might get bad. Real bad. If things go wrong, you listen close to me when I tell you to run.”

Shiv’s right eye twitched. “I just… got done burning down a felling kitchen, system. What’s this shit! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“I told you!” Adam almost whimpered. “I told you not to provoke the system. I felling told you!”