42 (II)

Reunion

Shiv was getting very tired of this question. “Right now, I’m just someone that really wants to cook. But, honestly, I’m Shiv. Up to you if you want to believe it.” Shiv let out a breath as he considered letting his own grievances go. He failed immediately. He wasn’t that noble. “Also, Heather: Go taint yourself. Really. I’ve never liked you—I never liked the way you treated me like vermin, I never liked the way your stupid hat and armor looked. And I especially find it goofy and stupid how you decided to become an elf.”

She blinked rapidly, as if he lightly slapped her across the face.

“I get that I was an Omenborn,” Shiv muttered, trying to keep his anger from going somewhere unreasonable, “but what the hells did I ever do to you? What did I ever do to earn your scorn? Huh?”

Heather swallowed. Tran was looking worried.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Heather. I want to know. I would like to know. Was there something wrong with me? Or were you just an asshole too?”

Her expression twisted between extreme discomfort and building fear. Shiv scoffed. “Really? Now you’re silent? Is this it? It was easy to look down on me when I was just some Pathless, but now that I beat and broke the woman that butchered you guys, suddenly there aren’t any words.”

“How?” was all Heather managed. “How did you become this powerful?”

“Death,” Shiv answered casually. “I fought. I died. I fought. I died. I fought. I died. My Path demands it. The System rewards it. And I…” Shiv grinned, his expression turning just a bit feral. “I’m really starting to enjoy it. But it also brings up the stress in me, so—Siggy! I feel you bleeding again! So, all the gods help me, are you peeling the potatoes, or are they peeling you!”

“I-I-I’m trying,” the goblin cried out in anguish. Shiv sent another wyrm. The Inquisitor Psychomancer wasn’t going to have a hand at this rate.

“You’re the first damned Pathbearer to lose a knife fight to a bunch of potatoes,” Shiv snapped. He took in a breath and let it out. “Broken Moon, I’m starting to understand Georges. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Eat shit, Heather. You too, Tran. But you eat less shit. Just a little less.”

Both Tran and Heather flinched and shrank a bit before him. Shiv wanted to keep going, but with his mask off, he could feel their minds and—that’s a lot of hurt echoing out from them. The Psychomancer did a number on them… Shit. I might have picked a bad time to vent.

Shiv grunted. “Drink your tea. It’s getting cold.”

Heather shook her head and swallowed. “If you hate us that much, why did you even save us?”

“Wait,” Tran said, his expression growing confused. “How did you know where we were?”

“I didn’t.” Shiv chuckled. He pointed at Oldsmith—who jerked back in terror at Shiv’s sudden movement. “Bastard-bot here decided to beat a child slave half to death in public. I decided to return the favor, and after fighting the smartest, weirdest orc I’ve ever met…” Shiv paused. “The only orc I’ve ever met, I came by to pay him a visit. Also, the gate’s under lockdown, and I plan to murder the Gate Lord and most of the slavers here. You guys I discovered by accident. Along with the world’s stupidest conspiracy. A conspiracy I ran head-on into without knowing.” Shiv eyed Oldsmith. “That’s your fault too.”

The Master-Advisor clutched its face with its remaining arm and began to do the bot equivalent of weeping.

Shiv didn’t like the sound. “Oldsmith. Cry more and I’ll discover how much human flesh I can force into your joints using your friends here.”

The crying stopped, replaced by uncontrollable shaking. Shiv could live with that.

Intimidation > 49

“Holy shit,” Tran muttered, going a little pale himself.

Shiv looked at the Slayers and—after seeing their faces and sensing how traumatized they really were—started feeling bad. “Look. I’m—not exactly sorry. I meant every word. But I wasn’t going to ever let you guys die. Even you, Heather. You’re an asshole, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be tortured and killed. The same doesn’t go for the Inquisitors, the slavers, or Master-Child-Beater here.”

“I should have never ordered those gloves…” Oldsmith whispered as it slumped tighter into a ball.

“The point is,” Shiv continued, “I was always going to come for you. Always. Because that’s who I am. That’s who I want to be as a Pathbearer. Not some psychotic Omenborn monster that butchers and tortures people for pleasure or to complete some ritual.” Shiv mentally cursed his parents. “I won’t be like them. I won’t be… What are you two looking at?”

Heather and Tran were staring at the Inquisitors with pained expressions on their faces. “Two people who look pretty butchered and tortured,” Heather managed to say. She then sneered viciously. “But they had it coming. They deserve more. And worse for what they did—for what they did!”

A spatial distortion shivered around her. Tran reached out and took her by the arm. “Heather… Heather—”

“They ripped so deep,” she continued, trying not to sob. “They kept pulling my memories apart and cutting deeper and deeper and I couldn’t stop, and they wouldn’t listen and I—” Tran held her, and for the first time, Heather Hawgrave seemed human to Shiv as she started weeping. Her entire body shook. And then Tran started crying too. Shiv stared at them for a bit longer, coughed, and decided to check up on Siggy in the kitchen. This wasn’t for his eyes. And he was kind of regretting venting his repressed anger on them earlier.

Might not have been the best time… Shit. I’m making a habit of this mistake. I don’t think ahead enough. Valor might have stopped me there. Uva definitely. Felling hells, I’m starting to miss them something bad. Well, her a lot more than him. Even Adam. He’ll probably be happy to see the Slayers, but the other stuff—I better get my wyrms ready to eat a possible heart attack he might have.

Whatever the case, I need to start getting a hold on my anger here too. Weave was practically relaxing, but this place, the slavers, the pointless cruelty, 811, and almost everyone here makes me want to go on a killing spree. But the slaves and weak have paid enough for that recklessness. No. We do this with more control. More focus. I need time to prepare and plan. And also to find the damn Animancy Core…

“Siggy,” Shiv said, resolving to be more mindful and controlled. His resolution died immediately as he did a double-take at the potatoes. Red crept in from the corners of his vision as he nearly lost control and beat the goblin to death in a fit of blind rage. “What—you—godsdammned what is this shit you felling shit are you trying…” At this point, Shiv stopped being capable of human speech as he stomped over to squint at the potatoes.

His hands were shaking. His hands were shaking so much, and only the sweet sensation of pulling a goblin apart would cure this affliction. Beside him, Siggy was shaking, sobbing, and backing away.

“Peel… peel the skin… just skin…. Peel.” Shiv managed, his right eye twitching. He picked up a potato—barely one left. Most of it had been carved practically to the core. So much good stuff had been chipped away. “This… this is not peeling. This is… this is… atrocity.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” the goblin breathed.

Shiv took in a deep breath. Later. He could always kill her later. Slowly, even. What did Georges do in this situation? How did he, oh… oh right…

“You… godsdamned… walking cesspit,” Shiv forced out between clenched teeth. Siggy flinched as if she was struck. “Give me that knife. Never touch a knife again. Get out of the kitchen. Forever. Never come back in. If I see you in a kitchen—any kitchen—again in your life—in all the lives to come and across existence—I will return, and I will make the potatoes peel you.”

She chucked the knife on the table while nodding so fast her head blurred. “Okay—please, don’t—okay!”

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“Out,” Shiv growled. “Watch them. Listen to what the Slayers tell you. And close the door.”

She practically achieved Master-Tier speed with how fast she fled.

Intimidation > 50 (Skill Evolution Imminent)

Skill Gained: Culinary Berserker (Adept)

And the red-rage burrowed deep into Shiv’s flesh, infusing him with more strength, a single-minded focus, and an insatiable need to peel and cut and cook until it was done.

He slapped the mangled potatoes off the cutting board. This… this was his fault too. He should have never entrusted such a sacred duty to a drug-dealing, slave-running, pants-shitting bastard. He needed to do this himself. He was the only one that could do this…

“The kitchen…” Shiv snarled. “…will fear me! I will be chef! I AM THE CHEF! THERE IS NO GOD IN THIS KITCHEN! BUT THERE WILL BE A HELL! THERE WILL BE A MONSTER!”

His primal declaration made the walls shake and doors rattle. Outside, his Biomancy detected Siggy shaking and crying uncontrollably. She deservedworse for what she did.

Shiv gathered new potatoes—knew exactly where they were as he blasted into the pantry. He seized them like a wolf ripping into flesh, and took carrots, spices, peppers, and a jug of water. With each step, his rage radiated out from him, seeping into the kitchen. His rage became preternatural. Every ingredient in the kitchen glowed, and all the appliances sneered and taunted him, mocking his skill.

“I’ll show you,” Shiv growled, pulling the chef’s knife Georges gave him from his cloak. He stared down at the potatoes and imagined them to be Confriga, Harkness, 811, and so many others he hated. “I’ll show you all. I’ll teach you true pain. There is no god for you… not even the System will protect you from me…”

Strangely, the potatoes began to tremble.

***

Cooking > 31

Culinary Berserker > 3

Skill Evolution: Intimidation (Initiate) > Dread Aura (Adept)

Dread Aura > 55

When the red mists of absolute fury broke and sense finally returned to Shiv, he found himself and all the others seated before a massive dining table filled with food. Shiv blinked. On the other side of the table, Oldsmith wept mechanically as it inexplicably rammed a chicken drumstick against the vox-slot it had instead of a mouth. It was especially silly because it couldn’t actually eat anything.

And then there was also something else. Shiv could sense how broken the automaton was—feel its terror. It was like a shell inside the bot’s being, and it rattled and broke some more as Shiv tentatively reached into Oldsmith. The bot squealed out in terror as its crying intensified. Shiv shivered slightly as he felt a rush of something flow around him. It was like a mana field, but not quite—it was far more shapeless, and emanated out from him more like an odor. It also couldn’t be directed like a magical skill, but he could strengthen or lessen the aura if he focused enough.

The others at the table were equally petrified. Siggy felt more fear-broken than even Oldsmith. Her hands shook as she fed the paralyzed Inquisitor Psychomancer spoonfuls of diced and seasoned potato. The Inquisitors were next to her, and they weren’t much better off. The Psychomancer recited a litany and refused to meet Shiv’s gaze. The female Inquisitor he had used to redecorate the interrogation room wall tried to put up a facade of strength as she glared defiantly, but her courage was a fragile thing as well. Even Heather and Tran were partially cracked.

And everyone was eating food. Food Shiv could only very vaguely remember preparing in a fit of all-consuming rage.

“What just happened?” Shiv muttered.

Tran eyed him and swallowed. “You, uh, you made everyone food. And you told us to eat.”

“It wasn’t actually a choice,” Heather whimpered.

Shiv blinked as he counted twelve different dishes on the table.

“I can’t eat anymore. Please…” The Inquisitor Psychomancer gave a broken sob.

“Strength, Inquisitor Wilson.” The female Inquisitor swallowed. She looked mostly healed. The other Inquisitor was still paralyzed. “Don’t let this beast know your—”

Shiv glared at her and focused on magnifying his Dread Aura as much as he could. Her words became lodged in her throat as she choked. Her courage burst like a crumbling pillar. She looked away and began eating as fast as she could, foregoing dignity and scarfing things down with her hands.

Shiv blinked. “I… I made you all eat?”

“Yeah,” Tran said, watching Shiv as if he was a mana bomb about to explode. “You, uh, you were in the kitchen for about two hours. You were… pretty mad. And then you came out with dish after dish, and, well… we started having dinner. You demanded we all eat before anything else.”

“I… did?” Shiv said. He rubbed his face. He could barely recall anything. The potatoes were—his hand started shaking. No! Don’t think of that! Control! Shiv pushed the memory away, but glared at Siggy. She refused to meet his eye.

“She tried defying you at first,” Heather said, sneering at the female Inquisitor. “She even tried to fight you. But then you took her into the kitchen and there was so much screaming… A while later, she came crawling back out, crying and begging for mercy. There’s, uh, a pile of your bodies in the kitchen now. Most of them are missing ears, eyes, noses…”

Shiv suddenly felt a little sick. He looked at the female Inquisitor. “Did—did I cut you and use the wyrm too—”

She burst into tears as she shoved more food in her mouth. “I’ll eat,” she mumbled through the food. “Just don’t show me the proper peeling method again! I’ll eat!”

Broken Moon, what the hells did I do? Shiv thought, swallowing. “I—I tortured you? I—” He looked at Tran. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Tran did a double take. “Stop you?”

“Yeah! Just… I was mad. But I didn’t need to do that! I—why didn’t any of you tell me to stop?”

“Shiv, man… I… tried,” Tran managed, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I came into the kitchen and… what you were doing to the food and her eyes and… I tried to get you to calm down and…”

“You threatened to impregnate him with her wounds,” Heather breathed, shuddering.

“I… did? What?” Shame and horror swelled up inside Shiv. This wasn’t… he didn’t want… he wasn’t thinking. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “All the fighting and things I’ve seen… I was already beyond pissed. And then I went into the kitchen and saw the potatoes—” Rage exploded inside Shiv as the memories returned to him. He clenched his fist. “Those godsdamned potatoes. You!” Siggy fell back, trying to flee. “Stop!” Her courage shattered into dust as she turned to look at him. “I’ll never forgive you for what you did to those potatoes. I…”

Shiv took a breath and fought back the red creeping across his vision. “I—I’m sorry. I’m just… Very stressed. I was… I was hoping to vent some of that pressure and rage through cooking.” He sighed. “I do feel a lot better now.”

Everyone stared at him. “That’s… good.” Heather nodded. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

“Yeah,” Tran said, forcing a slight smile on his face. “Yeah… Good. We all need to… to let off some, uh…”

The crippled Psychomancer gagged. And then froze. Shiv narrowed his eyes at the man, and found himself curious. “I heard that cough before… Was there too much salt?”

“No… no!” he cried.

Shiv snarled. He flared his Dread Aura, and the Psychomancer’s courage was ground to ash. “Don’t lie to me! The truth: Too much salt?”

“Yes! It’s so strong! Too strong! It’s the saltiest thing I ever ate…” He started wheezing.

The Deathless paused. He got up. He walked around the table. Siggy blacked out in terror at his approach. The Inquisitor Psychomancer began to shiver and sob. His female comrade wept as she cursed at Shiv. “Damn you, monster. Look at me, Inquisitor Wilson! I’m here! The Aurora is here! You will be embraced soon!” She reached across the table to take his hand, her own courage on the verge of breaking again.

Shiv reached down. Everyone tensed. And he took a bite of the diced potatoes. “Ugh!” Shiv gagged, and started coughing too. “It’s like I’m eating a desert—like I’m eating sand. What—” He thought back to his rage… He didn’t use that much salt. At least he didn’t remember using that much. So how could… He studied the food and noticed the dishes glimmered with traces of the hateful redness that possessed him earlier. Shiv blinked. Is this… Culinary Berserker’s doing? Is it magnifying the flavors and tastes? What even is Culinary Berserker? What kind of skill is that? It just felt like it was amplifying my rage in the kitchen… amplifying everything… Maybe even the taste.

Shiv shook his head. “I’m… I’m sorry. My cooking is usually better,” he said, a bit stunned. He eyed the Inquisitors staring at him in shock. “That said, you’re still finishing this. It might be your last meal, so make it count.”

They both started weeping and praying together.

Sighing, Shiv walked back to his seat and shook his head. “What a long, godsdamned day.” And then his eyes fell on the Inquisitors again. And also the Master-Advisor. “And it’s still not over. Tran. Heather. There are few stories we need to hear. And these fine folks are going to tell them to us after they finish their food.”

Shiv leaned in closer and pushed his Dread Aura as hard as he could. “And they’re not going to lie or leave a single detail out.”

He pulled his bloody chef’s knife out of his cloak and slammed it into the table.

The Inquisitor Psychomancer went cross-eyed, and then he promptly passed out.

Dread Aura > 56

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