Born a Monster

238 Servant of the Axe – Kismet the Brawler

Chapter Type: Character Development

“Husband, are you TRYING to end in shame?” Madonna asked me. “I will remind you, if you wanted to look for burial grounds, offending our hosts is NOT the best way to go about it?”

“All I asked was...”

Kismet bounced a bead off my head. “Rhishi, you’re NOT that stupid. If you’re after something else, let us know. We’ll HELP you. But...”

“I want to tell him.” Madonna said.

“I was the one talking!” Kismet said.

“Only because you interrupt every conversation!”

“Lies! I only interrupt conversations that interest me.”

Ugh. They could go like that for hours. I stood up, walked to a door, slid it open just long enough to get past it, and closed it behind me.

.....

Oddly, it was Maido Imiji who followed me. “I will thank you to please remain inside. We Maido will bring you anything you need.”

I looked up at the moon. It was almost, but not quite, all black. Four, maybe five days. Then we would be out of gifts, and it would be time to leave. “What I want right now is to be away from the women in my life for a few hours.”

My wrist was the first thing to pop.

[Human transformation begun. Fifteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds until completion.]

Gods, I don’t even want to count the biomass that went into each and every little quirk and foible that goes into making humans human. But... it was COMPLETE, and I had need of it.

“What are you DOING?” she asked.

“I am assuming human form through a long and painful process. Since the guards are looking for a young reptile...”

She grasped my hand in both of hers and SQUEEZED. Bones, caught out of place, shifted to places they ought not. Yet there were more tears on her face than on mine.

“Please. No. They will kill us, just to hide that you escaped. Just... just come inside, please. Please.”

[Reversing human transmutation at this stage will not refund all consumed biomass. Focus on this message to accept and continue.]

[Reversing Human Transmutation.]

I made a noise such as a tin teakettle might. “Fine.” I said. “I shall return inside. Just let me finish changing back.”

Perhaps not trusting me, she watched the entire process reverse itself.

“Ahi-yah!” She exclaimed. “I will be out here a while, that is more than a few drops of blood.”

“From where?” I asked. “I didn’t notice my skin breaking.”

But there it was, under my left kneecap, sliding back to its more normal position. “I’m terribly sorry.”

She smiled. “Such is the life of a Maido, always filled with messes. You go inside, leave this to me.”

And so, I did. One might wonder why; I know I did. I didn’t even particularly like Maido Imiji. I found her annoying and imposing and her begging voice was squeaky, like a rat’s. She was genuinely afraid her people were going to execute her for something beyond her control.

Did a people like that deserve my respect? Should I feel bad coming to them as an ambassador, yet intending to take away an artifact and... what was that diamond’s name, again? Whatever, it was big, it was cursed, and it was just another thing I didn’t really care about but was going to try to get done anyway.

Because I did. My Truthspeaker Oath requires a lot from me, but it is lax on some of the stupidest things. I mean, so many of the human cultures didn’t even acknowledge that I was a person; so why did I hold to their values? Was being a person so much better than being a beast?

I can imagine Vashathan, chained in a cistern with his own excrement. My brother, possibly the one I have the strongest bond with. I couldn’t even work up a good amount of hatred toward Hortiluk, his captor. I mean, I wanted to be there when Vashathan ate him; who wouldn’t? But I couldn’t gather up blood vengeance toward him.

Even knowing I’d have to kill Hortiluk in order to feel safe, I couldn’t just HATE him.

I guess I’d always been like that, though. When my brothers and sisters began killing and eating each other, I chose to flee rather than fight.

From Eightfuhr onward, had I ever done something that I had WANTED to, rather than something that I was told by others I had to?

Kismet smacked me in the eye.

“Awaugh! What was THAT for?”

“Because you’re busy thinking about something rather than paying attention.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” she pulled her hand back, ready to strike again.

“I mean, I’ve reached a capacity for your antics with Madonna.”

I reached out and slapped her descending hand away. “I think I’ve also reached my level of tolerance for that, too.”

“I’ve always done that!”

“Yes, at a time in my life when being skinned was just something that happened.” I stood up straighter. “We may be friends, but I am NOT your plaything...”

Madonna’s eyes were open wide; Kismet’s were tiny slits. That should have been my first warning.

Her head dipped slightly, which should have been a warning. Instead, I had a moment of confusion. What WAS she doing now?

[You have suffered a YELLOW critical for double damage, taking sixteen bludgeoning damage. After armor, ten points have been received. 26/40 health remain.]

Even as I went flying, my stomach exploded in pain. What had she HIT me with? It felt like a sledgehammer, but all I saw was her extended foot, wrapped in her stocking.

“You always were a selfish little shit.” She said. “So absorbed in what affected YOU. In how it affected YOU. Of course, I have to hit you to get your attention. It’s the only way to keep you from killing yourself, you dunce.”

She balled up her fists, raised them to her shoulders, and let out a roar that would have made a lioness proud. Then she turned and stalked from the room.

“Madonna, what was THAT about?”

“I’ve told you you’re a moron with no redeeming charisma. I’d say that was proof.”

“I would say all of you are acting like children.” Gamilla said, placing a thin piece of wood in the ledger she was reviewing. “I will meet you at dinner time.”

She collected herself, and swept from the room, looking back with a smile on her face.

I would figure out what that smile meant later.

“Let me see your eye.” Madonna said, closing in.

“Oh, go spit in someone else’s eye. I’m not in the mood.”

“Clearly. Are you going to ask your charming and delightful wife why Kismet is in a mood?”

“I think that may be the first time I stood up to her bullying, and tried to tell her to stop.”

“Uh-huh. Very inspiring, especially the part where you landed firmly on your butt. And also so very, very wrong.”

“Fine, but tell me on the way to the outhouse. Or privy. Or whatever they call it.”

“Heh. I think the proper translation is water closet.”

“In which language?” I asked, letting her help me limp to one of the few outdoors buildings that didn’t raise the ire of our maido.

“Oh, do try to catch up, husband. It is only two dozen or so new languages.”

“So, what has Kismet this on edge? I don’t think I’ve seen her this way since Nastyman.”

“Nastyman? That nightmare spirit? I understood he has a new host.”

“And a new name. Last I knew, he was actually behaving himself.”

“There were twelve people here who weren’t behaving themselves.” Madonna said. “Each of them shared a sip from a wineskin that they were not to touch. I got to enjoy the show; Kismet – had an entirely different reaction.”

“Because her father was beheaded. She always told me she hadn’t seen it, though.”

“One doesn’t need to see a thing to imagine it, and to fear. Oh, husband! Her distress has been INTOXICATING.”

“Hold that thought.” I said, for we had reached the outhouse. I wasn’t holding much of anything, and the process seemed to go on for about twenty minutes, although the System timer showed less than eight.

Then, as I may have said, there was a quick washup in the outhouse.

“She IS becoming a more fearsome warrior.” I said.

“Let’s get back, it’s almost dinner.” She said.

“No, cultural expectation; I need to bathe first.

Madonna rolled her eyes. “Too far away for me.” I listened carefully to the words she used to call for one of the maids, the maid to pass me off to my guards, the guards to complain about my terrible timing, and so on.

Especially when I had to stop and use another water closet on the way to the baths. Complain all I want about Kismet, she does know how to hurt me when she wants to.

For the life of me, I can’t recall what caused the rest of the damage; it was something during my walk earlier that day. As with the way of lost memories, it will doubtless come to me when I’m thinking about something else.

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