Rule 24

Get on the bus, again & Take Demons At Their Word

Statement: When this journey started, it was me and crutches. In a way, it still is. Given that the store owner put my remaining crutch in the book that always travels with me. I’ve lost clothes, resources, weapons, and pieces of my body—but I constantly find myself in the dark pouring rain with that crutch—the book. I wonder what that says about me? What would happen if I simply let go? Could I? Such an idea is ill advised because I still need the book to survive—as I needed the crutches before. But what if?

I woke up groggy and with a hand pressed to my side. Blood had dried. Small critters that were scavenging for scraps scurried into the darkness as I sat up. I caught sight of gray fur on a stiffened tail before it vanished into the tree line.

My skin felt wet and rough, as if sandpaper had been rubbed against it. The wounds from my fight were partially clotted. I pulled off the remains of my tattered pants and heaved with a painful sigh.

Post Note: Looking back, I wonder if the wolves I’d killed had puppies. It would be just like this strange world to provide monsters babies, then make them suffer in the wake of me chasing catharsis and orbs. Survival between species cares little for progeny. Greed cares even less.

Though in truth, this parting was no worse than my separation from Little Shade. Callisto might have expected me to survive. She might have stabbed me because I’d clearly gone mad in her world. I could objectively look at the aftermath of this clearing and see what had happened.

Dead wolves were everywhere. The sight puzzled me. Monsters should have turned into orbs. They hadn’t, and for a moment I seriously wondered if I’d lost my sanity. Fear gripped me and my mind spun an impossible tale. I’d been drugged, heavily sedated, and run away from home. Perhaps all the monsters I had struggled against were simply part of a fever dream.

Then I found the book I’d had crafted, sitting next to me. Harmless, peaceful, almost serene as the midday sun baked its cover. Clearly this wasn’t a dream and I’d casually murdered a pack of wolves that weren’t monsters spawned from some mythical plane. The endless mini-orcs and other monsters came from somewhere else to here. The wolves might have been natives.

I stood, dusted off my thin pale legs and frowned. Not only was I in a field of dead monsters that refused to turn into orbs, I’d reverted to normal me. Scars were all over my skin, and my muscles screamed in displeasure if I poked too hard. The spot where I normally placed Hawthorn or Mister Underwood’s mark was a pile of scabs.

Walking hurt even more, but my choices were few. Stay and risk the wolves returning during daylight, or leave the park before nightfall and find a safer place. Out and away from senseless danger I walked, headed toward what rewards might remain for my efforts.

The exit was easy enough to find. I managed to stay stealthed, or sneaky, all the way to the web-covered arches that signaled the exit. From this end, I could see the broken tollbooth that had been off the entrance, what remained of a parking lot for guests, and another ruined house that might have served as a visitors center.

I didn’t care about exploring the ruins. Right now, they probably had little value to offer me.

Outside the gate was a slightly different story. My barrel full of webs had a lid atop it, and on that sat a bundle of clothing. They’d left me a fresh pair of pants and a shirt that was too large. I wondered if that was Callisto’s way of apologizing for stabbing me. If so, fuck her. She probably considered it a fair trade and had even left my barrel of spider webs instead of throwing a match in it and letting the whole thing go up in smoke. There’s nothing like an apocalypse to bring out the crazy in people.

I stood at the bus stop for what felt like hours, waiting for the fat troll and her wooden mockery of a real bus to come pick me up. Nothing happened.

My fingers drifted to the spell book. I hadn’t tied it to my leg or put it in an oversized pocket. It’d been sitting comfortably under an arm. My precious source of power was always close by, and most days I didn’t think about it. Even now, I barely put thought into flipping through the pages and digging up my green spell. But it felt like a stranger’s hand went onto the page to pool green energy. That other man curled his hand into the right position then brushed the marking onto a less damaged portion of my skin.

And it felt like that unknown man, took only a few breaths to transform into the muscle-bound version of myself, Mister Underwood. I continued staring at my now empty hand and the dimmed page that had once housed green.

I knew this was the end of my little adventure outside of town. There was no telling what I’d return home to. Regardless of knowing my next few short-term goals, I felt at a loss. For once, I wondered if all my efforts amounted to anything of use. I could go mile beyond mile and still lose Stella. Allegra and Callisto could die on the way home. The base could have been overrun already, and despite all these possibilities I’d been holding myself together by focusing on two simple desires. Do what I needed to—to survive. Do anything else needed to keep Stella alive.

“Get in!” a shrewish voice screamed.

The smell of her flame registered before the demand. I shakily lifted my gaze and took note of the bus that had magically appeared. I hadn’t heard it but there it sat. Lantern like lights in front, wooden paneling along the sides, and crude glass windows.

“Where to?”

Her words made my brain stop all conscious thought and reboot.

“Come on, we’re burning daylight.” She spit on the floor and tapped her cigar over my toes. I hardly noticed the ash descending and felt nothing but distant annoyance. The door started to close and I stuck out a hand to prevent her from driving off.

She cranked it open, I stepped on with my cargo in tow.

“Well?”

I opened my book, flipped to the back, and tapped on the card that said Atropos.

She squinted and leaned over. A horrible sour stench, which had somehow been bottled by her flabby arms, wafted out of her pits. “What the fuck is this?”

“A tailor,” I said. My words were still detached, along with the rest of me.

“Market. Got it.” She nodded then the door clicked behind me. “Fifty! And Fifty for the barrel.” Her cigar wielding hand tapped against the black box. I slid my card through a thin strip, the box purred and flashed me a white toothy grin. It was exactly like before. I wondered how she’d managed to chain a small version of the vending machine to her bus.

We jerked into high speed. My body swayed and sat on the first available seat, I drew the barrel close. My card had money on it. It had titles, but I couldn’t focus on any of that now. Thoughts wandered.

The bus ride gave me a few minutes to think. Not very many. Just enough to know I couldn’t say how I’d act when reuniting with the others as Hawthorn. Our time together in the forest had changed me. I’d no longer look at them quite the same way, and they would never know why. To them, I was simply Hawthorn. Son of Mayor Kent. A murdering machine who was too ruthless. In a way, he was perfect. He had no need to socialize and I felt at home in an attic pondering the nature of reality.

I envied Mister Underwood’s form. He was so tough that wandering alone in a spider infested forest was a walk in the park. Tough enough that I’d forced the wolves to rely on trickery. Strong too, and being in this form apparently let me travel aboard the useful buses.

Both forms were still better than being simple old Lance. My weakest self, though he’d become a ghost and that ability hadn’t turned off since I’d picked it up. It was as though magic had geared toward turning me into a monster no matter what happened. Hawthorn, the male dryad. Mister Underwood, the civilized ogre. Lance, the half-a-ghost. Each one broken from what their stereotype should have been.

My spell book had been melded together from three different partial objects. Parts that were made whole. They shared some traits. The black spell still worked the same. The red spell had adjusted to match the form. I suspected red was always meant to be a person’s first magic in this new world.

The further I pondered this whole situation, the less and more it made sense. Red could have given Leon his power absorbing aura, but it became gold. It could have been his hammer stun ability. It could have been Callisto’s double tap with weapons or her speed. Everything else simply fit a personality style.

They were more, complete, than I was. I had no better way to describe it. They’d reached a solid form. Like curtains and carpet matching the couch. They were a pair of pants that complemented the T-shirt. Whereas my spells and abilities were a mismatched bundle.

I sighed heavily.

“Ah. Done with work for the week, are you?”

The sudden invasion of my mental headspace made me jump. I turned and found the demon, once again, sitting behind me. It was as though he’d never gotten off the bus. Days had passed and we were in the same position all over again.

The creature’s form bothered me less the second time. His goatish face and abyssal eyes were almost normal. And how could I judge him, being a brutish monster myself.

So, in response to his question, I nodded.

The demon huffed a cloud of steam that smelled like sulfur.

“Me as well. I detest these long three-day shifts, but one does what one must to make a deal. The price of being a big fish in a small pond. Still, we do as we must to get by. Success must be achieved before those new to power are subjected to those old.”

That statement worried me but I suppressed the inquisitive part of my mind with logic; he implied there were other creatures out there. If we, myself and the other three as prime examples, had grown this much in a few months, than those who had been here longer would be that much more frightening. To use Leon’s terms, it was like a low-level person being suddenly run over by a higher-level team.

The idea chilled me. Stella would never survive if creatures more powerful than the ones we’d been facing suddenly showed up. The Ogre King still posed a threat and if there was worse to come, she’d never make it. Once again, all my actions might be for nothing.

The demon huffed another cloud of sulfur in my direction. “How are you finding it? Life in this new world of ours?”

“Difficult to adjust to,” I responded honestly.

“Ah.” He snorted in amusement. “Caused by the minimal guidance, I suspect. Such a pity. Mortals are, of course, constrained by freedom. Immortals have rules. But in between is dangerous. That time when the rules are still forming as the mind adjusts. I met a goddess once. Lovely thing, wispy limbs, and curls in her hair like freshly captured sunlight. When she smiled it was dawn. She’d been mortal once herself, but sought love during her transition. Love became a chain. Such became her powers.”

He nodded in my direction as though he’d explained something noteworthy. He hadn’t, and my confusion must have been obvious on the dimwitted face I wore.

The demon snorted. “The rules, you see, formed around her desires, those became her chain to transform mortal flesh into immortal. She is no longer burdened by free will like so many Adamschilds are. As yourself once was, before you found yourself in transition.”

My face twitched a few times as I put serious thought into what the demon had said. A transition phase almost made sense, in a remote sort of way. Using fuzzy logic, it made even more sense. But then there was this other aspect, free will being removed by becoming something else. That—I did not like. It sounded like slavery.

“Can you explain more?”

The demon smiled, showing sharper teeth that caused his lips to puff out slightly.

“Certainly. Though it’s best to start with common ground. As you’ve, grown, no doubt by ridding the world of other ethereal nuisances given poor flesh, have you noticed changes in what functions you perform?”

I nodded. The spells seemed unstable and performed in new ways as I acquired abilities and combined old ones. There didn’t seem to be rules to the changes and that left me confused.

“Then you are on the path of transformation, as I was before settling upon a final form.” He nodded and I tightened my cheek in a partial frown. The demon must have noticed my dissatisfaction but took it in stride by continuing.

“To extrapolate, when I first, came to, in the border between this world and the last, I was making a deal with a rather sweet woman. She offered the use of her nethers in exchange for a bit of my debt, you see. A deal, as it were. One I made more than once. This shaped me, and now I subsist on deals.” He wiggled long fingers and nodded. “And, carnal delights, of course.”

The bus shifted as the large troll woman poked her head out to glare at us. The demon waved. I turned back and forth between the two of them, trying to understand what the nonverbal exchange meant.

“Deals are for the crossroads,” the demon said by way of explanation. “So, not here naturally. Travelers on the bus are forbidden, you see, from being anything but cordial. Were I to make an offer on your soul, it would be frowned upon, and I’d be left with no way to get to work.”

That made sense. The bus driver had been listening to us and moved to act against the demon for potentially getting out of line. It also served as a reminder that the driver could hear us talking.

“I’d noticed she runs a tight ship,” I said.

“Ah. She is the driver. She is the bus. So naturally, while here, we must obey her rules. It’s a small domain. A tiny one. As the crossroads are to me. Tell me, brother, have you a domain?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer that. He’d been kind and didn’t dance around topics, but his manner of speaking could be hiding deeper meanings. Giving a demon an answer about myself might also be unwise. My brother would have thought so.

But his words of domains and solidifying views made sense. Allegra, Callisto, and Leon had already found their way to interact with the world. Knowing Leon believed this to be a video game with quest boxes and other nonsense didn’t help me. But this demon’s words, they implied Leon’s view was a result, or lead to, transforming into something greater.

“Negative,” I offered after deliberation. It was the truth. I had no specific place to call my own. “Nothing like this.” I gestured with one hand at the surrounding bus.

“A roamer then. Such a thing is understandable. Though as you grow you’re likely to, solidify, as it were.” He brought up two fingers to his forehead and tapped at the base of either horn. “And that changes you, until you are, final. For instance I had much smaller horns a year ago. There were also more, unwary mortals traveling about. They paid a price, I gained a reputation, and became more, as I said, finalized. Finished, but only in one sense of the word. You understand?”

The demon was strangely kind and gave me time to ponder his words. He stared at me with pitch black eyes that seemed like a soulless hungry abysses. I felt certain he would squish in the palm of my hand if we got into a fight.

“Parts,” I answered.

“That’s all we are. Parts become part of something larger. Parts of who we were, mixed with parts left over of the old. Though I’ve heard the—” The demon paused and leaned to the side. I would have said he was eying the bus driver before daring to utter something dangerous, but without pupils I couldn’t tell. “The Wildchilds, those who suffered most recently from the Adamschilds, are playing a bigger game. Something more than a war of attrition or refilling the ranks.”

He glanced around again, slower this time, studying the windows and rear of the bus. It all seemed normal enough to me, given we were in a fantasy construction made to resemble a modern innovation.

“Have you found that secret yet? They say that anyone who learns the truth, will be a prince when the merger comes.”

My eyes narrowed. I had a lot of little secrets that I’d gathered, but none of them fit with what he was saying. In truth, I had no clue how to process what he’s spoken of at all.

Post Note: And, it is here I should mention a dangerous secret. Or perhaps I should say, I’ve mentioned the dangerous secret already—from his mouth. Not only did he explain to me that we were being changed—but that we were being changed to “fill the ranks.” That implies we’re replacing people, or preparing for a war. But against who? Humanity?

“Ah, my stop. Home sweet home. A small piece of hell to warm my soul on these chilly days. I must be going, do give Atropos my regards.” He spoke calmly and showed no regard for the after echo of screaming that came with his voice. I ignored the effect, trusting that we were in a sanctuary space.

“And your name?” I asked as he got up to pass me.

“No demon names on the bus!” the driver shouted, followed by the wet sound of phlegm being rolled in the back of her throat.

He smiled and stepped to the front. “Oh, my dear Mister Underwood, knowing a demon’s name is as dangerous as making a deal with one. For your own safety I must decline, you understand. Names have power.”

He walked off. I didn’t retort, but the demon knowing my name, in light of his own being dangerous worried me. The only redeeming feature is that I’d labeled myself before anyone else could.

The doors started to close and the demon tapped on my window. I looked over, and he shouted through the window. “Farewell, or don’t. If you find yourself in need of a job, I always welcome those willing to solve problems, in any manner of ways!” His voice drifted off as the driver put us into high speed.

Post Note: I still don’t entirely know why names are so important. Time and time again it’s been mentioned, time and time again it’s proven nothing. So far, the only example of it seeming to matter belongs to Midge and Mister Yuck Yuck. That, and I can’t call myself by something that isn’t mine, is it related to titles?

The landscape zipped by even faster. My trollish chauffeur leaned. “Next stop, market. Twenty minutes!”

Twenty minutes was a long time on this bus. If I followed her explanation from the last ride, it was a spot that was far away. It would have been hours by any normal means, even if I had a clue where this place was in relationship to everything else.

There were ways to distract myself. Focusing on my abilities had been the easiest. Using the white spell as Lance had given me the ability to walk through walls. That fit with the large horse monster with wings I’d first seen. There was a small chance it was like my red spell, that shifted from a remote trap to a charging type move between forms.

Maybe it didn’t. I wouldn’t know unless I risked trying. I opened the book and prepared myself for trial and error. One big thumb reached down to pool white energy.

“No spells on the bus!” the trollish driver bellowed. “You fucking idiot! Read the sign.” A large thumb jerked out into the isle. She must have meant the gibberish up on a space near the ceiling. On city buses, that same space was used for ads and reminders of route changes. This one had nonsense scrawled along it in a flowing script.

I sat and thought myself in circles for twenty minutes. The bus brakes went on. We skidded, turned in circles, and slammed to a stop.

“Get out!” the trollish driver shouted.

I stood and wiggled my legs. They hadn’t healed completely and scars crisscrossed all over my exploded skin. The sight made me feel grim and battle worn. I lumbered up to the front and glanced behind her at the map. There were no glowing flames telling me where this place was in relationship to my hometown.

“Pardon me, ma’am—”

“Out!”

“If I might inquire—”

“Fuck your Christ in the eye!”

That seemed uncalled for. These changed creatures, such as the stewardesses and this bus driver, didn’t like religion.

“If, we’re soon to be joined with a world beyond ours, would anything scare you?”

“Unionization.” She scowled, stuck out her cigar and rubbed it into my arm. The mild sting hardly phased me as I put thought into her words. “Now get out.”

The huge troll of a bus driver proceeded to dig between her disgustingly large thighs and fished out another cigar. I shuddered and escaped before she could subject me to any more disturbing mental images. Before my trashcan hit the ground, the bus peeled out. By the time I’d turned around the large wooden vehicle with its burning candle lights had vanished into the distance.