Grimfalk rushed down a rarely used corridor located deep within GOD’s headquarters, his racing feet slamming into the ground so powerfully that the entire hallway shook. The summons that he had received had been urgent, but, of course, had made no mention of why exactly he was being called into a meeting. There was no doubt in the theropod deity’s mind that it involved the situation with Charlemagne and the asteroid, but if Brett had wanted him around for the remainder of the crisis, why hadn’t he just asked Grimfalk to stay?
Such thoughts occupied Grimfalk’s mind until he re-entered the President’s chambers, which had been absolutely trashed. The armchair he’d used had been crumpled up and launched halfway into the wall above where Brett’s desk had previously been located. The desk itself was missing, while the remains of Canius’ sofa were everywhere. Deep grooves had been etched into the floor and walls, destroying the carpet and tapestries. The theropod noted, however, that none of the President’s personal mementos were disturbed. These were a strange golden box with two winged humans on top of it, a macrocrystalline allotrope of carbon with a cubic crystal lattice, a sword from an island known for its metallurgy, and a small set of scrolls made of papyrus. Grimfalk wondered why the deity would care for such junk, but everyone was entitled to their idiosyncrasies.
“Hey, welcome back!” President Brett hollered from deeper within the chambers. The theropod had been so focused on the trashed state of the room that he had overlooked the doorway that he was certain had not been visible during his last visit. As he approached, uncertain as to how he was going to pass through the human-sized entrance, Grimfalk discovered that either the doorway was getting larger or that he was getting smaller. He didn’t really want to know which it was.
“You better hurry,” the human deity urged as Grimfalk hesitated. “Your rooster is almost to the asteroid.”
The theropod moved to join President Brett, who had changed out of his formal robes into a black T-shirt with white lettering and gray cotton sweatpants, on an enormous leather couch. Since Canius had already occupied the spot to Brett’s right, the President patted the spot to his left, and Grimfalk gingerly lowered his bulk to join the other two deities.
“What sort of garb is your Champion wearing?” Canius inquired after Grimfalk had settled himself in.
“I…I have no idea,” admitted the theropod deity, wondering what the message on the President’s shirt meant but too embarrassed to ask. “He usually wears a monocle, top hat, and he just got a vest, if I remember correctly. I’ve never seen that silver suit in my life. It looks familiar, though.”
“Yeah, we basically fed every movie, book, magazine, and the entire internet into our training materials for the System. I’m not surprised that your rooster is wearing a space suit,” Brett explained.
“Ah, a space suit,” Grimfalk repeated, the words sounding strange as they resonated through his skull.
The perspective on the view screen changed from a close-up on the rooster to a more distant vantage point as Charlemagne began forming an enormous beak-shaped mana construct as he continued his foolhardy charge toward the asteroid.
“How many boons relating to mana manipulation did you grant your Champion?” Canius asked, his eyes growing wide at the display. “His skill is simply phenomenal.”
“I’ve not yet seen any creature come close to harnessing that much energy,” Brett added. “It’s as impressive as it is infuriating.”
“Oh, a couple,” Grimfalk lied.
The canine looked up at the theropod, disbelief written on his face.
“Well, keep your secrets. I apologize for prying…that was dishonorable,” Canius apologized.
“Don’t worry about it,” the other deity mumbled.
There was an awkward silence that lasted until the long-awaited impact between the rooster and the enormous space rock. Brett visibly winced as Charlemagne lost the battle of momentum.
“Well, that’s that,” the human deity said flatly. “I’ll go let Rogier know we need that patch.”
“What do you mean?” Grimfalk asked, confused. “Charlemagne’s not out of it yet.”
“If it weren’t for that suit, he’d be a ground chickencicle,” Canius argued, his eyes glazing over for a moment as he imagined that tasty treat.
“Yeah, no, he’s fine,” the theropod confirmed. “Look, he’s also pulling himself back together.”
Brett and Canius watched in disbelief as the rooster’s body reformed itself, allowing Charlemagne to exploit the minute imperfection he had located in the asteroid’s defensive shield.
“This is unheard of,” Canius finally managed to say just as the shield exploded.
“Oh, he’s a goner for sure now,” Brett affirmed as he turned and started for the door.
“No, he’s still alive!” Grimfalk yelled before the human deity could leave. “I can tell.”
Brett looked completely unconvinced, but sat down anyway, his hand reaching out to scratch Canius behind his left ear as they all continued to watch the lopsided battle between the chicken and space rock.
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“He’s getting smaller,” Canius noted.
“But his vitals are stabilizing,” Brett added.
“He’s been hurt far worse than that before,” Grimfalk shrugged.
The trio remained glued to the screen as Charlemagne plunged from the sky, accidentally killed Bridget, absorbed her corpse into his equipment, and then charged up an enormous mana attack before faltering at the last moment.
“What’s going on with him? Has he finally lost his stupid chicken mind?!” the theropod raged as his Champion’s energy ball began to destabilize.
“No, nothing like that,” Canius answered. “Can’t you feel it? That asteroid has been emitting some sort of psychic attack ever since the mana shield was breached. I’m surprised that your Champion was able to get as close as he is…that field is quite powerful.”
“Look, that’s your Champion!” Brett cried out, pointing at the screen. “What’s her name?”
“That is Sirius, the Red Fang, a Party member of the rooster. Look well, my friend and President. Look well, Grimfalk of the theropods. Do not forget this moment. My followers understand loyalty. See how she sacrifices herself for the greater good.”
Grimfalk snorted, drawing a judgmental look from Brett.
“What, err, what is she doing to him?” he asked, trying and failing to avoid feeling ashamed for his rude behavior.
“Sirius has a number of skills and a Special Ability that can bolster her allies. She is using two now: Rally and Pack Empowerment. Look, they’re working.”
Grimfalk turned back to the screen to find that Charlemagne had shaken off the psychic attack. With a huge cry, the rooster unleashed the enormous ball of mana he had prepared, which hurtled forward and slammed into the asteroid’s rocky surface.
“BUCK-KAWK!!!!!”
“Quite the mouth on that one, Grimfalk,” Brett said with a grimace. “You should have a talk with him about that.”
“Uh-huh,” the theropod nodded, but it was clear that he wasn’t really paying attention. The System had once again rewarded him for his Champion’s effort.
A portion of Grimfalk’s mind continued to analyze the impact of receiving not only a percentage boost to his attributes but also a flat boost. While the total number was low, they were base attributes and thus would be increased by his current and any future Achievements. It also meant that the System was able to modify his Divine body on a level that made him uncomfortable. Not for the first time, he considered sharing the fact he was earning Achievements with the other deities.
While part of his consciousness mulled this over, the rest of him continued the conversation with Brett and Canius.
“Anyways, you must be pleased,” Brett continued. “I imagine that you bet heavily on your Champion’s success.”
“I sure did,” Grimfalk confirmed with a grin.
“I do not approve of gambling,” grumbled Canius. “At least not with inside information.”
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” the President scolded as he moved his hand to scratch behind the canine’s other ear. “You weren’t against imposing a temporary tax on Divinity to be shared among the deities of the Party that solved the crisis. I didn’t make any personal bets, mostly because I honestly wasn’t sure the rooster could pull it off. But forgive me for asking another question: I’m dying to know what sort of rewards you have planned for your Champion. You must have a few things in mind.”
Grimfalk once again felt shame as he realized that he hadn’t considered sharing any of his winnings with his most successful Champion.
“You are going to reward him well, right?” Canius barked.
“Oh, yes, yes certainly I will!” the theropod promised. “I mean, once we are able to come to an agreement on the terms of our truce, I’ll be able to increase my investment into Charlemagne’s growth.”
“I thought the terms were more or less agreed to,” Brett rebutted with a frown. “And I had a terrible time getting Fellissa to agree to them. But, in the end, she agreed not to send any more assassins after your rooster for the time being. That’s probably the best we’re going to get out of her…she wasn’t part of the original arrangement, she has no Champions in Charlemagne’s party, and, well, she does what she wants.”
“She is a being of rage and destruction,” Canius sniffed. “Regardless of her other qualities.”
Brett apparently chose to overlook his companion’s comment and pressed on.
“Listen, I’m happy to have a formal contract drafted and presented to you once things calm back down. But we have a deities’ agreement here and I don’t appreciate the implication that I won’t come through.”
Grimfalk threw up his arms.
“I’m not suggesting that you’ll break your word. I was just making sure that we hadn’t overlooked any details that still needed to be hammered out. The truce is simple enough.”
The human deity nodded.
“Good. Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I need to go and let Rogier know that his patch won’t be needed, just in case he’s not already figured that out. I’ll be back in just a few moments.”
Without waiting for a reply, Brett disappeared, making yet another demonstration of just how powerful the human deity was. Despite his recent stat increases, Grimfalk felt that he had not narrowed the gap between himself and the President one bit. Despite all that he had just accomplished, he sighed.
“I understand that the period following a great victory can be difficult,” Canius noted, seemingly misunderstanding the theropod’s reason for being dejected.
“No, no, it’s not that,” Grimfalk denied. “I just…I’m just not sure what happens next. I’m not really used to hanging out like this. Should I leave? Should I stay? Are there any formalities we need to address?”
“Yes, I can see how that might be difficult,” the canine agreed. “You have been a solitary hunter for so long. And, on top of this, I would surmise that the appearance of another asteroid similar to the one that destroyed all your followers would cause you significant distress.”
“Yeah, it’s a real kick in the teeth,” Grimfalk admitted. “No matter how much time passes, it never seems to get any easier.”
“Well, you can probably buy yourself a bunch of followers now, I heard that you were in discussions with Casuario about getting some cassowaries. I could put in a good word for you if you would like.”
“I would…I would very much appreciate that, thank you,” Grimfalk said, unsure why Canius was being so nice to him.
There was a long pause as the two deities watched Charlemagne first rescue the pangolin, whose name Grimfalk had never bothered to learn, and then Sirius. As the trio reached the troposphere, Canius stirred once again.
“The debt has been repaid. I am pleased by your Champion’s actions, Grimfalk.”
“He, uh, certainly is something, isn’t he?” the theropod agreed.
“I have been considering what you should grant him as a reward for his faithful service,” the canine continued. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Sure, hit me,” Grimfalk agreed, wondering just how much this was going to cost him. But his fears evaporated as Canius described something that the canine deity was sure would please the rooster. Something easy to grant, and, best of all, cheap.
