05-31-2018, 01:23 AM
I open bleary eyes, then reach up and rub them, finding myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling and listening to a hubbub of low chatter, along with an undercurrent of what sound like pained moans. I have no clue where I am.
“Ah, you’re awake. Feeling any better?” I turn to my left to see none other than the Golden King—now once more clad in his full set of armour—sitting by my bedside. Suddenly, my memories all come rushing back and I sit bolt upright, then bring my legs up under me, so that I'm in a sort of kneeling position, and bow down to him, my fists clenching as I’m overcome with guilt and self-loathing.
“I’m sorry! My king, I- I failed you… I’m so-”
“Enough.” I cease instantly at his casually uttered command, and not just speaking; I quit moving as well, my every muscle held rigidly in place, without so much as a twitch, and I even hold my breath as I wait a few seconds for him to speak again, to condemn me for my inadequacy, “You did all that you were able to. I could ask no more of any of my subjects. You did well, Ahana… now, quit bowing and answer my question; how are you feeling?”
Rising to face the god-king of Nippur—the awfulness I feel for having failed him now mingling strangely with my joy at having been given this (undeserved) praise—I look down at myself, inspecting my body for injuries, and noticing the lack of any gashes or bruises marring my skin… in fact, I don’t even have so much as a paper cut. Something else snatches my amy eye, though; in place of my usual outfit, I’m now clad in nothing but a simple, short-sleeved cotton shift, the bottom of which reaches barely halfway down my thighs.
“I’m… eh… fine, my king. I’m not hurt at all… somehow… but… um… what am I wearing?” I shift awkwardly, plucking at the thin fabric with the thumb and index finger of my right hand.
“That?” he shrugs, “Just a hospital gown. The nurse had to remove your own clothes to properly clean and treat all of your wounds… or she thought she did at the time, at least, though it seems that you heal quite quickly, even for a Prime, so in hindsight I guess it may not actually have been necessary.”
I don’t have a clue what he means about me healing faster than other people, since I’m sure I couldn’t ever do that back in my own world, but I’m not exactly able to focus on that right now. Instead I blush furiously and struggle to meet his gaze, “Oh… uh… my king, you didn’t, er… I mean, you weren't- when she…”
“Did I look? No, of course not, what sort of pervert do you take me for?” by his smirk and the levity of his tone, I can tell he’s enjoying seeing me all flustered like this, and isn’t actually offended by that inadvertent implication of mine, so I don’t feel the same need to offer my most profuse apologies that I would were he actually irritated. Instead, I simply cough awkwardly and look down in embarrassment. I'm relieved to get that response from him; I can hardly imagine I must have looked particularly appealing after being beaten as badly as I was, so I appreciate him keeping his eyes to himself.
A few moments pass in silence, and even without turning back his way, I’m acutely aware of his eyes on me. The awkwardness ends at last when a couple men—dressed all in white, in shirts, trousers, and flat-soled shoes, each with a little, golden cross pinned on their left breast—whom I assume must be two of these ‘nurses’ which the god-king mentioned, rush over to stand by my bedside, and the foremost one begins to speak, his nervousness in the king’s presence clearly apparent, “I apologise, King Gilgamesh, but we’re rather full today and, ah, as your companion seems to be more or less recovered… well… might it be possible for us to use this bed for someone… uh, more in need?”
Both the god-king and I look at what the pair are carrying between them; a stretcher upon which lies a moaning, whimpering man, his right elbow bent back at an unnatural angle, a thin sliver of bone jutting out from torn skin… along with a whole lot of blood.
“You think you can stand?” Gilgamesh gets to his feet and turns to me, much more serious now.
“Of course.” mimicking his attitude, I quickly hop off the bed. Personally, I don’t really give a damn about some random injured guy, but I know that the king cares about his people… and besides, it’s not like I have any reason to want to stay in bed anyway.
We watch the man being gently moved from stretcher to his bed in silence, then the god-king speaks up once again, “Well, we’ll only be getting in everyone’s way if we continue loitering around here, so you head off down that way, get your clothes back and get changed, then we can meet up again outside, alright?” he gestures further down the room, past the bed I’d lain on, when telling me where to go, then cocks his head slightly in the opposite direction to indicate the way out, as he mentions that.
“Of course, my king.” I answer brightly, unable to keep from smiling even though I do genuinely try my best to keep up that serious, professional demeanour. I wasn’t even sure that he would want to keep me in his service at all after my dismal performance in that bandit raid, much less ever work alongside me again personally. I’m overcome with gratitude at his generosity, and immediately begin to sink down into a kneeling position.
I freeze, then hurriedly straighten up, a deep blush colouring my cheeks as I realise just how much this short dress will show off if I actually do drop to one knee. Instead, I simply sketch a quick bow in his direction and avoid making eye contact. He doesn’t comment on this, but I spot a small smirk on his face as he turns to go, and have a sudden desire to bury my head in the sand and try to forget that that ever happened.
Since that isn't really an option, though, I head off to my left—the way the god-king indicated for me to go—and try to avoid looking at any of the staff or patients as I walk between the row of beds to either side of me… not wanting to meet the gaze of anyone who might have noticed the close call I had there.
At the end of the hall there are a few different rooms, though it’s hard to get lost; the one marked ‘laundry’ is obviously what I’m looking for. Heading in, I see several rumbling, metal boxes, with little glass panes in their fronts, which show clothes and sheets spinning around within… presumably these fabrics are being washed in some way, though whatever magic they use for such tasks here in Nippur is clearly far different to what I’m used to from home.
On one side of the room, beside a large basket filled with blood-stained garments, stands a young woman in a short, white dress, though hers is much tighter than the loose shift that they’ve given me, and shows off her figure nicely. Like the male nurses, she also wears one of those golden pins. She seems to be just standing around waiting, perhaps on one of the cleaning boxes finishing its load, so that she can put on another.
Looking to the left, I notice a row of shelves with already-washed articles of clothing neatly folded and stacked upon them. I scan them briefly, looking for my-
“There.” I glance back at her, then follow the nurse’s pointing finger and spot my things.
“You remembered me?” I ask, mildly surprised, as I walk over and pick them up, before looking back across at her.
“Well, it’s not every day we meet someone with animal ears, even here in the Omniverse… and besides, from what I hear, you were carried into the hospital by the king himself... it’s not like anyone’s going to forget that in a hurry.”
“He carried me here?” I knew I must have lost consciousness at some point, of course, but I had imagined I was probably just brought in on a stretcher like that guy with the broken arm, by some generic orderly or perhaps a couple guards or other random citizens that the king might have called upon to aid him… just thinking that he himself had done such a thing for me fills me with gratitude… though more than a little shame as well. How demeaning it must have been for a divine being such as he to have had to help a mere peasant such as myself. I feel bad for getting hurt severely enough that I would put a burden like that onto him. I must do better.
“Bridal style.” the woman grins at my discomfort, “Oh, and for what it’s worth, he was also bare-chested when he walked in here.”
“Mmm...” I bite my lip with enough force to hurt even in spite of my Protections, trying not to lose myself in any inappropriate daydreams. The nurse laughs, though, clearly having no trouble deducing the thoughts going through my head, “Ah...! I’d, uh, I'd better go get dressed.”
She laughs again, then gestures to a doorway in the far left corner of the wall opposite the one in which was the door I had entered through, “The changing room is just through there.”
Hurrying inside, into the small, bland room—unadorned completely apart from a wooden bench positioned by the far wall—I quickly strip off the shift and put on my own clothes once more, noticing as I do that there’s no sign of any cuts or tears in the many places where those bandits had been chopping away at me with their weapons. Someone must have spent quite some time fixing the sari for it to be so well done. No doubt because I was brought here by Gilgamesh himself, they went to extra lengths for his sake.
Exiting that area, I toss the balled-up hospital gown at the smirking nurse, who grabs it out of the air and tosses it in the basket beside her. I pause after opening the next door, and turn back to her, “Could you give my thanks to whoever fixed up my clothes?”
She nods, “Will do.”
“Thank you.” I leave, grateful to whomever that person is; had the sari still been a mess, I certainly couldn’t have been seen in public, alongside the god-king, wearing such shoddy attire, so I would have had to take a few minutes to sort it out myself, using Omnilium, which would have meant keeping him waiting even longer, and so would have left me feeling guilty for wasting any more of his precious time.
Thankfully, by following some helpfully placed ‘EXIT’ signs, I’m able to swiftly find my way out of the building. He’s waiting for me just beyond the doors, apparently not at all bothered by the glare of the sunlight despite the full suit of armour he’s dressed in. He’s also looking down at a small, rectangular tablet in his hand, not unlike that one I summoned on my way to Nippur; a Mobile Dataverse Device, I believe I read somewhere on the Dataverse that it was called.
“There you are. Say, how do you feel about death tournaments?” he looks up from his device, speaking casually, as if this is the most normal question ever to ask someone completely out of the blue.
“Uh...” my thought processes are totally derailed by this seemingly random query. I manage to kick them back into gear, though, “I don’t really have any special feelings about them one way or another, my king.”
I’d like to give the ‘correct’ answer if at all possible, but since I don’t know his own feelings on the matter and so cannot simply say something which I’m sure he will be in agreement with, I reluctantly settle for simply being honest.
“Ah... so you’d probably not be too interested in participating in one then? I’ve just heard that this year’s Dante’s Abyss tournament is starting up soon and figured it would be a good way to publicise Nippur’s rebirth if some of us were to join… you don’t need to feel pressured into doing so, though, I’m sure a few of the others will be up for it.”
“I will join! I would gladly do anything that would please you, my king!” I drop down onto one knee and gaze adoringly up at him, staring into his beautiful, crimson eyes. He gives me an odd look for a moment and I feel my blush return slightly as I wonder whether I might have accidentally put a little too much emphasis on the word ‘anything’ in that second sentence. Then he smiles.
“Excellent. Glad to hear you’re up for it.” stashing the device safely inside his armour, the Golden King begins to head off immediately, and I hurry after him.
After a couple minutes of walking, though, something occurs to me and I speak up, “My king, what of the walls? We never got to complete the repairs to those. Is it alright to leave that unfinished?”
“Don’t worry,” he waves dismissively, “I’ll send a message to someone to get it done while we’re away. I’m sure there are plenty of citizens around who could do with paying jobs, and we should still have some stockpiles of building materials, I imagine, so they should be able to handle it.”
“Aha, right, of course.” there’s a tinge of worry in my voice as I say this, and my smile is shaky at best. I feel as if I could just curl up and die. I’m not brave enough to confess to him that I’ve already un-summoned an entire warehouse filled with huge stone blocks, without permission, to get the Omnilium I would have needed to fix those walls myself… so that as a result, there may not even be enough material left for the citizens to do this alone, depending on how many—if any—other warehouses there are... I want to confess, because I'm sure he'll only be angrier later if I don't, when he eventually finds out from someone else... but I just can't bring myself to say something to him which I know would earn me his disapproval.
He gives me another odd look and I squirm uncomfortably under his authoritative gaze, but he doesn’t question my odd behaviour, and soon looks away. I stifle a sigh of relief. We walk on in awkward silence… or what feels awkward to me, at least, though Gilgamesh appears perfectly content to drink in the adoration of his loyal citizens as they stop what they’re doing to watch him pass.
Soon we’re at the gates once more, and I notice him looking over at the lumpen, half-finished attempt I made of repairing the wall section to the right of the gateway… no doubt he’s wondering how I managed to do such a terrible job, despite taking such a long time about it… especially since using Omnilium requires nothing more than for one to visualise their desire. He must think that I have all the imagination and intellect of the average potato.
I cringe just thinking about his ever-lowering opinions of me, but he makes no comment on this failure either. I can’t say I know why my king is being so forgiving, but I won’t question it… I can only hope his patience holds out long enough for me to actually manage to start to get things right.
Unlike when Gilgamesh had first summoned these gates, they now stand wide open, though there are a half dozen guards stationed nearby, at the ready to haul on the chains of the pulley system which will swing them closed, should any more bandit attacks threaten Nippur’s security. The Golden King strides confidently through them, and I follow meekly along in his wake.
Outside is a vast marquee of dark grey canvas, with its entrance flaps pinned open and the word ‘Syntech’ emblazoned on its side. We’re met by a rush of cool air as we step inside, a pleasant breeze which is immensely refreshing after the scorching heat of the city streets. There are all manner of desks and chairs and benches and cabinets and chests and all sorts of other furnishings lying around the large room, some piled high with papers or strange instruments, whilst other areas are completely bare. And placed seemingly at random atop some of these objects, there are numerous fans, their blades spinning rapidly as they produce this pleasant air current.
Seven uniformed individuals stand over by one of the tables, looking down at what I presume to be some sort of Dataverse Device, though it’s at least three times the size of the little, hand-held tablets that Gilgamesh and I have used. Upon noticing our arrival, two of them turn and head over our way, a handsome enough man—though of course he pales in comparison to Nippur’s god-king—and a bubbly, enthusiastic woman, who steps up to me and grasps both of my hands in her own.
Dragging me off, away from my king—who is being led aside much more respectfully by the male employee—the woman babbles inanely to me about this ‘Dante’s Abyss’ thing, her voice annoyingly high-pitched. She sits me down at a desk, shoves aside a pile of files with such force that several of them topple to the ground, then slides a pen and paper in front of me. Looking down I begin trying to read the extremely small print which covers practically the entire page. After a few sentences I give up.
“What is this?”
“Oh, nothing much, just a liability release waiver, to confirm that Syntech bears absolutely no responsibility in the event of your brutal, drawn-out and agonising departure from this mortal coil, and also cannot be held accountable for any belongings lost or stolen, for any mental trauma which you may experience before, during or after Dante’s Abyss... or for anything else at all, really. If you could just sign on the dotted line then we can move right along.” her tone is so cheery that I almost sign without even giving it a thought, before taking a moment to think about it and realising that this sounds sketchy as all hell.
Still, my king is interested, and I can’t bear to look like a coward to him, so—feeling like I’m signing away my soul—I scribble down my signature where instructed. Snatching up the form almost the instant my pen has left the page, the woman glances down at what I’ve written, then asks, “Name?”
“Ahana Varma” I tell her, to which she nods in response, apparently deeming my handwriting neat enough to be more or less legible.
“Excellent! Well-” she hauls me to my feet and begins dragging me off somewhere else, “-if you could just follow me over to this table here, we can run some quick tests, ensure you’re healthy enough to participate, and then get on to the fun stuff!”
Not wanting to ask what she considers ‘fun stuff’, I do my best to sit patiently in the new seat she has plopped me down in as she hooks me up to several strange appliances piled clumsily one atop the other on the table beside my chair. She nods cheerily and occasionally quotes some utterly meaningless number at me, as if I’m supposed to care.
Then she frowns at something, taps a screen, and shakes her head, making a tutting noise and muttering something about old equipment.
Then, quick as a flash, the crazy bitch stabs me.
I’m not hurt—in fact, her ‘attack’ is blocked by a single, tiny spark, so despite her speed, this Syntech woman clearly isn’t the most threatening of fighters herself—but I instinctively yank my hand back nonetheless, glancing down at it to make sure she hasn’t broken my skin.
“What the fuck was that abou!?” I demand, looking back up to see her inspecting the now-broken syringe which had been her weapon of choice.
“Oh, very sorry, just had to test something out!” she giggles, her tone of voice alone giving me a powerful urge to pummel her face in, “I couldn’t let you take part if we couldn’t get accurate readings of all your vitals… so I had to be sure you really were as thick-skinned as this old thing said you were!”
The young woman slaps the display she had been frowning at earlier, causing it to wobble dangerously and almost fall, before she hurriedly steadies it. My lips purse into a thin line of annoyance. Her ‘thick skin’ comment worries me, even though I know full well that my defences are magical rather than biological in nature… is she just a fool, or is that how I seem to everyone? Is that how Gilgamesh sees me? Not as a master of defensive spellcraft, but merely as a simple, brutish creature with some inherent durability?
Forcing myself not to overreact and pick a fight with this cretin, I allow her to lead me to the next station—which she assures me repeatedly is ‘the best’—and then go through the motions I’m instructed to for the purposes of making their little ‘promo’... whatever that is. I demonstrate my ability to summon golden flame, and create my javelins from thin air as well, then follow her ‘suggestions’ and strike some poses which make me feel utterly ridiculous.
I keep my gaze well away from the side of the tent where the god-king is surely going through all this nonsense as well—though I imagine he is doing a much better job than I at maintaining his dignity—as if by not seeing him I can somehow keep him from seeing me as well… even the thought of him observing this idiocy is mortifying.
When at last the bubbly attendant has had her fill of posing me like a doll, she squeals with delight and applauds briefly, in so irritating a manner that I actually begin to wonder if she’s being intentionally patronising.
Before I can make up my mind, she hustles me off once again, and I’m instructed to stand on a wide, metal disc, which she says will teleport me straight to a place called the ‘Danteverse’, almost certainly without any permanent, irreversible tissue damage. Ignoring that last bit for a moment, I try to ask that I be allowed to wait for my king before proceeding, but before I can get out more than a couple words, there’s a tremendously bright flash of light and everything around me vanishes.
“Ah, you’re awake. Feeling any better?” I turn to my left to see none other than the Golden King—now once more clad in his full set of armour—sitting by my bedside. Suddenly, my memories all come rushing back and I sit bolt upright, then bring my legs up under me, so that I'm in a sort of kneeling position, and bow down to him, my fists clenching as I’m overcome with guilt and self-loathing.
“I’m sorry! My king, I- I failed you… I’m so-”
“Enough.” I cease instantly at his casually uttered command, and not just speaking; I quit moving as well, my every muscle held rigidly in place, without so much as a twitch, and I even hold my breath as I wait a few seconds for him to speak again, to condemn me for my inadequacy, “You did all that you were able to. I could ask no more of any of my subjects. You did well, Ahana… now, quit bowing and answer my question; how are you feeling?”
Rising to face the god-king of Nippur—the awfulness I feel for having failed him now mingling strangely with my joy at having been given this (undeserved) praise—I look down at myself, inspecting my body for injuries, and noticing the lack of any gashes or bruises marring my skin… in fact, I don’t even have so much as a paper cut. Something else snatches my amy eye, though; in place of my usual outfit, I’m now clad in nothing but a simple, short-sleeved cotton shift, the bottom of which reaches barely halfway down my thighs.
“I’m… eh… fine, my king. I’m not hurt at all… somehow… but… um… what am I wearing?” I shift awkwardly, plucking at the thin fabric with the thumb and index finger of my right hand.
“That?” he shrugs, “Just a hospital gown. The nurse had to remove your own clothes to properly clean and treat all of your wounds… or she thought she did at the time, at least, though it seems that you heal quite quickly, even for a Prime, so in hindsight I guess it may not actually have been necessary.”
I don’t have a clue what he means about me healing faster than other people, since I’m sure I couldn’t ever do that back in my own world, but I’m not exactly able to focus on that right now. Instead I blush furiously and struggle to meet his gaze, “Oh… uh… my king, you didn’t, er… I mean, you weren't- when she…”
“Did I look? No, of course not, what sort of pervert do you take me for?” by his smirk and the levity of his tone, I can tell he’s enjoying seeing me all flustered like this, and isn’t actually offended by that inadvertent implication of mine, so I don’t feel the same need to offer my most profuse apologies that I would were he actually irritated. Instead, I simply cough awkwardly and look down in embarrassment. I'm relieved to get that response from him; I can hardly imagine I must have looked particularly appealing after being beaten as badly as I was, so I appreciate him keeping his eyes to himself.
A few moments pass in silence, and even without turning back his way, I’m acutely aware of his eyes on me. The awkwardness ends at last when a couple men—dressed all in white, in shirts, trousers, and flat-soled shoes, each with a little, golden cross pinned on their left breast—whom I assume must be two of these ‘nurses’ which the god-king mentioned, rush over to stand by my bedside, and the foremost one begins to speak, his nervousness in the king’s presence clearly apparent, “I apologise, King Gilgamesh, but we’re rather full today and, ah, as your companion seems to be more or less recovered… well… might it be possible for us to use this bed for someone… uh, more in need?”
Both the god-king and I look at what the pair are carrying between them; a stretcher upon which lies a moaning, whimpering man, his right elbow bent back at an unnatural angle, a thin sliver of bone jutting out from torn skin… along with a whole lot of blood.
“You think you can stand?” Gilgamesh gets to his feet and turns to me, much more serious now.
“Of course.” mimicking his attitude, I quickly hop off the bed. Personally, I don’t really give a damn about some random injured guy, but I know that the king cares about his people… and besides, it’s not like I have any reason to want to stay in bed anyway.
We watch the man being gently moved from stretcher to his bed in silence, then the god-king speaks up once again, “Well, we’ll only be getting in everyone’s way if we continue loitering around here, so you head off down that way, get your clothes back and get changed, then we can meet up again outside, alright?” he gestures further down the room, past the bed I’d lain on, when telling me where to go, then cocks his head slightly in the opposite direction to indicate the way out, as he mentions that.
“Of course, my king.” I answer brightly, unable to keep from smiling even though I do genuinely try my best to keep up that serious, professional demeanour. I wasn’t even sure that he would want to keep me in his service at all after my dismal performance in that bandit raid, much less ever work alongside me again personally. I’m overcome with gratitude at his generosity, and immediately begin to sink down into a kneeling position.
I freeze, then hurriedly straighten up, a deep blush colouring my cheeks as I realise just how much this short dress will show off if I actually do drop to one knee. Instead, I simply sketch a quick bow in his direction and avoid making eye contact. He doesn’t comment on this, but I spot a small smirk on his face as he turns to go, and have a sudden desire to bury my head in the sand and try to forget that that ever happened.
Since that isn't really an option, though, I head off to my left—the way the god-king indicated for me to go—and try to avoid looking at any of the staff or patients as I walk between the row of beds to either side of me… not wanting to meet the gaze of anyone who might have noticed the close call I had there.
At the end of the hall there are a few different rooms, though it’s hard to get lost; the one marked ‘laundry’ is obviously what I’m looking for. Heading in, I see several rumbling, metal boxes, with little glass panes in their fronts, which show clothes and sheets spinning around within… presumably these fabrics are being washed in some way, though whatever magic they use for such tasks here in Nippur is clearly far different to what I’m used to from home.
On one side of the room, beside a large basket filled with blood-stained garments, stands a young woman in a short, white dress, though hers is much tighter than the loose shift that they’ve given me, and shows off her figure nicely. Like the male nurses, she also wears one of those golden pins. She seems to be just standing around waiting, perhaps on one of the cleaning boxes finishing its load, so that she can put on another.
Looking to the left, I notice a row of shelves with already-washed articles of clothing neatly folded and stacked upon them. I scan them briefly, looking for my-
“There.” I glance back at her, then follow the nurse’s pointing finger and spot my things.
“You remembered me?” I ask, mildly surprised, as I walk over and pick them up, before looking back across at her.
“Well, it’s not every day we meet someone with animal ears, even here in the Omniverse… and besides, from what I hear, you were carried into the hospital by the king himself... it’s not like anyone’s going to forget that in a hurry.”
“He carried me here?” I knew I must have lost consciousness at some point, of course, but I had imagined I was probably just brought in on a stretcher like that guy with the broken arm, by some generic orderly or perhaps a couple guards or other random citizens that the king might have called upon to aid him… just thinking that he himself had done such a thing for me fills me with gratitude… though more than a little shame as well. How demeaning it must have been for a divine being such as he to have had to help a mere peasant such as myself. I feel bad for getting hurt severely enough that I would put a burden like that onto him. I must do better.
“Bridal style.” the woman grins at my discomfort, “Oh, and for what it’s worth, he was also bare-chested when he walked in here.”
“Mmm...” I bite my lip with enough force to hurt even in spite of my Protections, trying not to lose myself in any inappropriate daydreams. The nurse laughs, though, clearly having no trouble deducing the thoughts going through my head, “Ah...! I’d, uh, I'd better go get dressed.”
She laughs again, then gestures to a doorway in the far left corner of the wall opposite the one in which was the door I had entered through, “The changing room is just through there.”
Hurrying inside, into the small, bland room—unadorned completely apart from a wooden bench positioned by the far wall—I quickly strip off the shift and put on my own clothes once more, noticing as I do that there’s no sign of any cuts or tears in the many places where those bandits had been chopping away at me with their weapons. Someone must have spent quite some time fixing the sari for it to be so well done. No doubt because I was brought here by Gilgamesh himself, they went to extra lengths for his sake.
Exiting that area, I toss the balled-up hospital gown at the smirking nurse, who grabs it out of the air and tosses it in the basket beside her. I pause after opening the next door, and turn back to her, “Could you give my thanks to whoever fixed up my clothes?”
She nods, “Will do.”
“Thank you.” I leave, grateful to whomever that person is; had the sari still been a mess, I certainly couldn’t have been seen in public, alongside the god-king, wearing such shoddy attire, so I would have had to take a few minutes to sort it out myself, using Omnilium, which would have meant keeping him waiting even longer, and so would have left me feeling guilty for wasting any more of his precious time.
Thankfully, by following some helpfully placed ‘EXIT’ signs, I’m able to swiftly find my way out of the building. He’s waiting for me just beyond the doors, apparently not at all bothered by the glare of the sunlight despite the full suit of armour he’s dressed in. He’s also looking down at a small, rectangular tablet in his hand, not unlike that one I summoned on my way to Nippur; a Mobile Dataverse Device, I believe I read somewhere on the Dataverse that it was called.
“There you are. Say, how do you feel about death tournaments?” he looks up from his device, speaking casually, as if this is the most normal question ever to ask someone completely out of the blue.
“Uh...” my thought processes are totally derailed by this seemingly random query. I manage to kick them back into gear, though, “I don’t really have any special feelings about them one way or another, my king.”
I’d like to give the ‘correct’ answer if at all possible, but since I don’t know his own feelings on the matter and so cannot simply say something which I’m sure he will be in agreement with, I reluctantly settle for simply being honest.
“Ah... so you’d probably not be too interested in participating in one then? I’ve just heard that this year’s Dante’s Abyss tournament is starting up soon and figured it would be a good way to publicise Nippur’s rebirth if some of us were to join… you don’t need to feel pressured into doing so, though, I’m sure a few of the others will be up for it.”
“I will join! I would gladly do anything that would please you, my king!” I drop down onto one knee and gaze adoringly up at him, staring into his beautiful, crimson eyes. He gives me an odd look for a moment and I feel my blush return slightly as I wonder whether I might have accidentally put a little too much emphasis on the word ‘anything’ in that second sentence. Then he smiles.
“Excellent. Glad to hear you’re up for it.” stashing the device safely inside his armour, the Golden King begins to head off immediately, and I hurry after him.
After a couple minutes of walking, though, something occurs to me and I speak up, “My king, what of the walls? We never got to complete the repairs to those. Is it alright to leave that unfinished?”
“Don’t worry,” he waves dismissively, “I’ll send a message to someone to get it done while we’re away. I’m sure there are plenty of citizens around who could do with paying jobs, and we should still have some stockpiles of building materials, I imagine, so they should be able to handle it.”
“Aha, right, of course.” there’s a tinge of worry in my voice as I say this, and my smile is shaky at best. I feel as if I could just curl up and die. I’m not brave enough to confess to him that I’ve already un-summoned an entire warehouse filled with huge stone blocks, without permission, to get the Omnilium I would have needed to fix those walls myself… so that as a result, there may not even be enough material left for the citizens to do this alone, depending on how many—if any—other warehouses there are... I want to confess, because I'm sure he'll only be angrier later if I don't, when he eventually finds out from someone else... but I just can't bring myself to say something to him which I know would earn me his disapproval.
He gives me another odd look and I squirm uncomfortably under his authoritative gaze, but he doesn’t question my odd behaviour, and soon looks away. I stifle a sigh of relief. We walk on in awkward silence… or what feels awkward to me, at least, though Gilgamesh appears perfectly content to drink in the adoration of his loyal citizens as they stop what they’re doing to watch him pass.
Soon we’re at the gates once more, and I notice him looking over at the lumpen, half-finished attempt I made of repairing the wall section to the right of the gateway… no doubt he’s wondering how I managed to do such a terrible job, despite taking such a long time about it… especially since using Omnilium requires nothing more than for one to visualise their desire. He must think that I have all the imagination and intellect of the average potato.
I cringe just thinking about his ever-lowering opinions of me, but he makes no comment on this failure either. I can’t say I know why my king is being so forgiving, but I won’t question it… I can only hope his patience holds out long enough for me to actually manage to start to get things right.
Unlike when Gilgamesh had first summoned these gates, they now stand wide open, though there are a half dozen guards stationed nearby, at the ready to haul on the chains of the pulley system which will swing them closed, should any more bandit attacks threaten Nippur’s security. The Golden King strides confidently through them, and I follow meekly along in his wake.
Outside is a vast marquee of dark grey canvas, with its entrance flaps pinned open and the word ‘Syntech’ emblazoned on its side. We’re met by a rush of cool air as we step inside, a pleasant breeze which is immensely refreshing after the scorching heat of the city streets. There are all manner of desks and chairs and benches and cabinets and chests and all sorts of other furnishings lying around the large room, some piled high with papers or strange instruments, whilst other areas are completely bare. And placed seemingly at random atop some of these objects, there are numerous fans, their blades spinning rapidly as they produce this pleasant air current.
Seven uniformed individuals stand over by one of the tables, looking down at what I presume to be some sort of Dataverse Device, though it’s at least three times the size of the little, hand-held tablets that Gilgamesh and I have used. Upon noticing our arrival, two of them turn and head over our way, a handsome enough man—though of course he pales in comparison to Nippur’s god-king—and a bubbly, enthusiastic woman, who steps up to me and grasps both of my hands in her own.
Dragging me off, away from my king—who is being led aside much more respectfully by the male employee—the woman babbles inanely to me about this ‘Dante’s Abyss’ thing, her voice annoyingly high-pitched. She sits me down at a desk, shoves aside a pile of files with such force that several of them topple to the ground, then slides a pen and paper in front of me. Looking down I begin trying to read the extremely small print which covers practically the entire page. After a few sentences I give up.
“What is this?”
“Oh, nothing much, just a liability release waiver, to confirm that Syntech bears absolutely no responsibility in the event of your brutal, drawn-out and agonising departure from this mortal coil, and also cannot be held accountable for any belongings lost or stolen, for any mental trauma which you may experience before, during or after Dante’s Abyss... or for anything else at all, really. If you could just sign on the dotted line then we can move right along.” her tone is so cheery that I almost sign without even giving it a thought, before taking a moment to think about it and realising that this sounds sketchy as all hell.
Still, my king is interested, and I can’t bear to look like a coward to him, so—feeling like I’m signing away my soul—I scribble down my signature where instructed. Snatching up the form almost the instant my pen has left the page, the woman glances down at what I’ve written, then asks, “Name?”
“Ahana Varma” I tell her, to which she nods in response, apparently deeming my handwriting neat enough to be more or less legible.
“Excellent! Well-” she hauls me to my feet and begins dragging me off somewhere else, “-if you could just follow me over to this table here, we can run some quick tests, ensure you’re healthy enough to participate, and then get on to the fun stuff!”
Not wanting to ask what she considers ‘fun stuff’, I do my best to sit patiently in the new seat she has plopped me down in as she hooks me up to several strange appliances piled clumsily one atop the other on the table beside my chair. She nods cheerily and occasionally quotes some utterly meaningless number at me, as if I’m supposed to care.
Then she frowns at something, taps a screen, and shakes her head, making a tutting noise and muttering something about old equipment.
Then, quick as a flash, the crazy bitch stabs me.
I’m not hurt—in fact, her ‘attack’ is blocked by a single, tiny spark, so despite her speed, this Syntech woman clearly isn’t the most threatening of fighters herself—but I instinctively yank my hand back nonetheless, glancing down at it to make sure she hasn’t broken my skin.
“What the fuck was that abou!?” I demand, looking back up to see her inspecting the now-broken syringe which had been her weapon of choice.
“Oh, very sorry, just had to test something out!” she giggles, her tone of voice alone giving me a powerful urge to pummel her face in, “I couldn’t let you take part if we couldn’t get accurate readings of all your vitals… so I had to be sure you really were as thick-skinned as this old thing said you were!”
The young woman slaps the display she had been frowning at earlier, causing it to wobble dangerously and almost fall, before she hurriedly steadies it. My lips purse into a thin line of annoyance. Her ‘thick skin’ comment worries me, even though I know full well that my defences are magical rather than biological in nature… is she just a fool, or is that how I seem to everyone? Is that how Gilgamesh sees me? Not as a master of defensive spellcraft, but merely as a simple, brutish creature with some inherent durability?
Forcing myself not to overreact and pick a fight with this cretin, I allow her to lead me to the next station—which she assures me repeatedly is ‘the best’—and then go through the motions I’m instructed to for the purposes of making their little ‘promo’... whatever that is. I demonstrate my ability to summon golden flame, and create my javelins from thin air as well, then follow her ‘suggestions’ and strike some poses which make me feel utterly ridiculous.
I keep my gaze well away from the side of the tent where the god-king is surely going through all this nonsense as well—though I imagine he is doing a much better job than I at maintaining his dignity—as if by not seeing him I can somehow keep him from seeing me as well… even the thought of him observing this idiocy is mortifying.
When at last the bubbly attendant has had her fill of posing me like a doll, she squeals with delight and applauds briefly, in so irritating a manner that I actually begin to wonder if she’s being intentionally patronising.
Before I can make up my mind, she hustles me off once again, and I’m instructed to stand on a wide, metal disc, which she says will teleport me straight to a place called the ‘Danteverse’, almost certainly without any permanent, irreversible tissue damage. Ignoring that last bit for a moment, I try to ask that I be allowed to wait for my king before proceeding, but before I can get out more than a couple words, there’s a tremendously bright flash of light and everything around me vanishes.