Loose Ends I

People often respond to threats by either becoming a larger threat or fleeing in hopes of avoiding the threat. All choices were tactical and rational in Irwin's opinion–no matter how many insecure people think otherwise.

That's why it was called Fight-or-Flight, as both options were chosen for one purpose: staying alive.

To live another day, a phrase so many take for granted. A phrase that now permeated the thoughts of the witches of the Grand Coven as Malkanthor's Garrison began their slaughter.

Such an attack would be normally beneath them and, frankly, would not actually do so because their fight with Dagon had exhausted their Grace and the stability of their vessel. However, Irwin's procurement of four slivers of Angel's Grace–each worth 50 credits–temporarily fueled their starving energy source, negating that second reason.

As the bloodbath continued, Irwin strolled straight to the center of the compound whilst entertaining himself with the views unique to the now-uninhabited island. He could still see a dozen living familiars loitering around the beach, but most of them were either empty husks abandoned by their owners or destroyed by the hurricane that carried the army inside of the island and, if not that, by the explosive and poisonous potions thrown by the aerial witches.

Although Irwin could see the corpses ripe for the taking along his way, he felt like treating himself with a big feast. As such, he left them alone so that his lackeys could pile the corpses up in one enormous mountain of credits.

However, his sightseeing came to an abrupt end when he arrived at the destroyed pavilion. Stepping over the detritus made of wood, paper, and clumps of blood and ash, he set his sight on his first victim.

Thrudgelmir, the giant son of Ymir. Now heartless, both literally and figuratively, the giant lies bleeding below a wooden post with tiny needle-like splinters dotting his board chest.

He was not yet dead, that Irwin was sure. As the giant's extensive and rapid regeneration fueled by his wrath, kept the nordic myth alive, but not for long.

Irwin kneeled down with a grin, shamelessly shaking his head as if it was a shame that it had to be this way.

"Don't worry, Gelmir," He says, gazing deep within Thrudgelmir's glazed eyes. "I'll make sure your son gets his last gift from his father."

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All tradeable items have been scanned. Please select which item to trade:

▪︎ Thrudgelmir - Class 3 Demihuman - Ancient Jotun Variant: 338

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Thrudgelmir slowly turned to ashes, beginning with his feet. His eyes, for a brief moment, became sober as he glared at Irwin with ill intent.

"Pay… this… thou… fold…" He cursed slowly, having his mouth broken preventing him from speaking further.

But Irwin finished his rhyme for him, "Sleep well, old man. Don't worry, the afterlife's just as cold."

'I think I fucked up the rhyme. Shit, can I redo it–Ah, no… he's gone.'

Thrudgelmir's credits were a drop in the bucket for his wealth, but a very large and very welcomed drop. With his death, Irwin nearly regained the credits he had to pay for the Enochian Puzzle Box.

He groaned up and dusted his hands, intent on dealing with the other two immortal friends of his. He found Brunhilde with tears flowing down her cheeks as she choked on her blood. What was left of her arms was reaching for her sliced-off arm that lay in the distance.

Irwin picked up the forearm under her pitiful gaze and kneeled beside her, dangling the arm out of her reach. If he was being perfectly honest, he doesn't care much for Brunhilde, yet he found himself woefully understaffed when the end of the world was just right around the corner.

She spit out a glob of blood and saliva at him, hitting Irwin in the cheeks. "Betrayer."

"I didn't really betray you when it was all part of the plan. Well, my plan." He reasoned out, "But I'm not here to argue with you, Hilde. I'm here to offer you salvation."

"Kill me, you bastard!" She yelled weakly.

Irwin procured a card from the Trade Store and activated it, which activated the curse on Brunhilde's girdle. He felt her breathing hitch, throat tighten, and her lungs becoming dangerously close to exploding. For a minute, Irwin stood there as Brunhilde's pale face became even paler and then blue-ish as her body faced the effects of the lack of oxygen.

All the while angel after angel dropped the corpses into the crater next to what was once the entrance to the pavilion. They gazed at what he was doing, but continued on their task as Brunhilde's life was not their concern.

A minute later, the curse's effect halted and allowed Brunhilde a short reprieve from death. She breathed out mouthfuls of air, trembling at the viciousness with which Irwin showed her.

"I'm not offering you salvation from death, Hilde." He brought his face close to her ears. "I'm offering you salvation from myself. I'm offering you relief from minute after minute of near-death."

He stood up and threw her arm beside her before turning around and walking away. Another card appeared on his hands as he spoke. "I'm gonna give you a moment to yourself. In the meantime, let me offer you a taste of what's to come."

The card in his hands burned into ashes and the girdle's cursed effect activated once more.

Irwin turned inwards, to the broken metal throne that once seated the owner of the island. There lay the leader of the trio and the only pagan god amongst them.

Not unlike Thrudgelmir, Hephaestus lay nearly dead from his fight with Dagon. The pagan god went berserk and relieved himself of his sanity and humanity to give himself a chance against the Prince of Hell.

'That was extremely stupid,' Irwin thought before kneeling down beside Hephaestus, whose body contained multiple gaping holes from Dagon's ruthless attacks.

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All tradeable items have been scanned. Please select which item to trade:

▪︎ Hephaestus, God of Blacksmithing (True) - Class 4 Demihuman - Ancient Grecian Variant: 411

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He was fascinated by the remarks on his body. His last trade with a pagan god was with Woden and there were no 'True' or 'Ancient Grecian' or 'Extant' remarks. He checked his Supernatural Record and, sure enough, there was far more information about pagans inside of its category.

"So… Woden is just a myth of Odin. Like an extra body that became a separate entity because it was being worshiped by a bunch of vikings… Well, that sucks." He blew raspberries at what the Supernatural Record had written about Odin/Woden as he traded Hephaestus for credits.

"Wait, does the extra detail mean that the Trade sub-system is fucking reliant on my hunts? Because Woden just got Myth remarks. Oh my god! It's learning." Irwin chuckled at his own joke.

He returned to Brunhilde, the relatively milder temperament of the three. She had just finished the curse's effect and was regaining the energy to stitch her arm back together.

Irwin pulled a large piece of wooden post and placed it beside Brunhilde so that he could look at her while seated.

'Even evil bastards get tired.'

"So, Hilde, what's your answer?" He cleared his throat and glowered at her. "Will you serve me for all eternity on your own freewill or become my slave for all eternity bound by hundreds of oaths and magical contracts, all the while being tortured to near death? Oh, as a bonus, I'll give you a hint: There are no options that result in your immediate death."

Irwin procured a bottle of green potion and dropped the whole liquid onto Brunhilde's chest, allowing her a small reprieve from the pain coursing through her body. The healing potion was apparently enough to let her stand by herself, albeit shakily and painfully slow.

Her knees bore into the ground as she held her head low. She crossed her remaining arm into her chest before grunting out in pain.

She bellowed forth, "I… offer my eternal services… to his lordship."

Irwin chuckled, feeling proud of himself by gaining yet another sword by his side. Still, he bought a scroll of magical contract from the Trade Store and threw it towards her.

"Sign it, bleed on it, and become mine for eternity."

…

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▪︎Curse Advancement Sigil▪︎

Price: 150 Credits

Type: Card 

Effect: Once consumed, the detrimental effect of a Cursed Artifact will activate and affect the user, wearer, or holder of said artifact. Can only be used on single-type or chain-type Curse effect. Usage of the Sigil will not restart the countdown on the Curse effect. Can be used more than once.

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▪︎Sancus Corpus Protectries, Volume 2▪︎

Price: 300 Credits

Type: Scroll; Oath

Effect: A divine contract created by the Prophets of Sanctus to protect his priests from being betrayed by their acolytes. The contract is but a blank scroll to be filled with specifics by both the contractor and the contactee, and activated upon the drop of both their blood. Betraying the contract means eternal punishment under the guidance of the contractee.

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