Cosmic Delivery Boy

Simon is the best delivery boy that Mr Edwards’s restaurant has ever had. He’s on time every time, and he’s gotten nothing but good reviews. But he needs more money. His mother’s medical treatment won’t pay for itself, and his father is already working three jobs to try to make ends meet.

But it might just be his lucky day. Mr Edwards has another job for him. It’s more delivery work, but not the usual kind. You might even say that it’s out of this world. Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers, and the pay is fantastic. Of course, it’s not going to be easy, and he does have to keep the whole thing secret. But come hell or high water, Simon is going to get the job done. It doesn’t matter if it’s warring demons, angry tree-folk, or ornery artificial intelligences, nothing is going to stop him from making his deliveries.

He’s not a normal delivery boy anymore – he’s a cosmic delivery boy.

Cosmic Delivery Boy

L. G. Estrella

The Cosmic Delivery Boy Series Part One

Kindle First Edition

Copyright © January 2022 L. G. Estrella

Table of Contents

Title Page

Cosmic Delivery Boy

Part One: The Delivery Boy

Part Two: The First Delivery

Part Three: The Second Delivery

About the Author

More From L. G. Estrella

Copyright and Disclaimer

Cosmic Delivery Boy

Part One: The Delivery Boy

Simon breathed a sigh of relief and walked back to his car. Finding that house had not been easy. If he’d taken any longer, he would have delivered the pizzas late, which would not have left a favourable impression with a first-time customer. He would also have broken his employer’s on-time guarantee. Depending on what sort of mood the customer had been in that could mean anything from annoyed grumbling at the door to a formal complaint. His boss, Mr Edwards, was a good guy, so he’d have asked Simon about the complaint before deciding what to do. Since Simon had never missed a delivery before, the worst he could expect was a warning to do better. Still, it wouldn’t have felt nice, and he needed this job. He couldn’t afford to lose it when his family was counting on him. Sure, being a delivery boy wasn’t the most glamorous job in the world, but a job was a job. Besides, there wasn’t exactly a surplus of awesome jobs for nineteen-year-olds who were still in university. People in his situation had to take whatever jobs they could get, and delivering food was easier than digging ditches.

Fortunately, the customer hadn’t made a fuss. In fact, they’d looked at him as though he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. The second that the front door had opened, a trio of young kids had catapulted into him.

“It’s the pizza guy!” they’d screamed. “It’s the pizza guy!”

He’d somehow managed to keep his balance, and the frazzled woman who’d shambled forward to pay for the pizzas had thanked him and muttered something about her sister strangling her when she found out she’d let the kids try coffee before bedtime. Simon had been hard pressed to keep a straight face. Young kids and coffee? No wonder the woman was so exhausted.

As he unlocked his car and settled into the driver’s seat, his phone rang. He glanced at the number. It was Mr Edwards. He hoped it wasn’t anything serious. The restaurant was about to close for the night, so he doubted it was another delivery. They usually stopped taking delivery orders well before closing, so those pizzas should have been the last delivery of the night. Maybe he wanted Simon to stay back and help him close up. Simon didn’t mind, and Mr Edwards was a fair man. He paid him overtime, and there were usually leftovers to bring home too. The restaurant served a bit of everything Italian, but it was best known for its pizzas and pastas. The pizza was amazing fresh, but Simon knew from experience that it was still pretty damn delicious after getting zapped in the microwave.

He answered the phone and swallowed a laugh as he glanced back at the house. The kids had cobbled together a ‘come back soon’ sign and were busy waving it from one of the windows. Behind them, the woman was doing her best to not die of complete embarrassment. Simon waved back at the kids and then turned his attention to his phone. “Hi, Mr Edwards. Is something going on?”

“Only the usual, Simon. We’re about done for the night.” Mr Edwards was probably smiling. It was there in the tone of his voice, and Simon had rarely seen the man without at least a small smile on his lips. On most people, it would have been creepy, but Mr Edwards came across as a genuinely optimistic, happy-go-lucky guy. Simon could easily imagine him sipping wine in an Italian villa while telling visitors all about the beauty of the countryside and the history of the area. Cheerful people could be the scariest when they got angry, but he’d never seen Mr Edwards lose his temper. “Can you head back and help me close up for the night? It would be great if you could grab some coffee too – make it a long black if you can.” Mr Edwards paused. “You’re not driving, are you? I know there’s not a lot of traffic at this time of night, but you should be careful.”

“No, Mr Edwards. I just got back to my car after making the last delivery.” He had to stifle another laugh. One of the kids was trying to climb out of the window, but the woman was having none of it. She grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him back in. Coffee was definitely not the drink of choice before bedtime if you wanted kids to actually sleep. “I know I’m not supposed to be on the phone while I’m driving.” He wasn’t going to risk losing his job when he could always answer his phone later.

“You’re a good kid, Simon. You can grab the coffee from the petrol station on your way back – the one around the corner as you turn off the highway should still be open.” Mr Edwards chuckled. “And, yes, I know we have coffee at the restaurant, but there is a certain spirit to the coffee from the petrol station. Get something for yourself too while you’re there. I’ll cover the cost. You’ve been making deliveries all night without a break since Jeremy called in sick today.”

“Thanks, Mr Edwards. I talked to Jeremy on the phone before work. He still sounds a bit dodgy, but he should be right by tomorrow evening or the night after that at the latest. I’ll grab the coffee and a small bite to eat. Do you need anything else?”

“No. That’s all.”

Simon drove back to the restaurant, making a brief detour to grab the coffee and a sausage roll from the petrol station. He could have bought something bigger, but the price gouging at the petrol station was incredible, and Mr Edwards was putting his trust in him. A sausage roll would keep him fed without breaking the bank. He also made sure to fill up his gas tank while he was there. It was common for employers to try to stiff delivery personnel on petrol expenses, but Mr Edwards was an honest man. As long as Simon kept accurate records, he was happy to foot the bill. With how expensive petrol could get these days, it definitely added up.

He got back to the restaurant and went in through the backdoor. There wasn’t a lot for them to do before they could close up. The kitchen and dining room had already been cleaned. All they had to do was put up the chairs and give the place a stout mopping. Simon couldn’t cook worth a damn – his magnum opus was adding extra seasoning to his instant noodles – but he could lift chairs and mop.

“Mr Edwards,” Simon called out. “I’m back. I’ve got your coffee too.”

“Thank you.” Mr Edwards came out of the maintenance room with two mops and a pair of buckets. He was a tall man, and although he wasn’t especially broad shouldered, there was a whipcord leanness to him that had never quite fit the image of an easy-going restauranteur. More than once, Simon had imagined him with a Stetson on his head and a single-action Colt on his hip. The image was surprisingly fitting, and spaghetti Westerns were a thing. However, Mr Edwards’s most distinguishing features were his ears. They were a tad pointier and longer than was normal. Every now and then, Mr Edwards would crack a joke about being half elf. “You can put the coffee on the table over there. It should stay warm while we mop.”

Between the two of them, it didn’t take long to finish. They didn’t talk, but there was a companionable silence. Simon had worked in four other places before starting at the restaurant. Two of them had treated him decently – he preferred not to think about the other two – but Mr Edwards went the extra mile for his employees. It was no wonder that everyone enjoyed working there. Some of the kitchen and dining staff had been there since the restaurant opened twenty years ago. Not many places could say they’d kept people on for that long or had such fantastic reviews from both customers and staff. He was about to thank Mr Edwards and call it quits for the night when the older man picked up the coffee and gave him a long, thoughtful look.

“Mr Edwards?”

“You’re my best delivery boy, Simon.” Mr Edwards grinned. “You’re always on time, and you’ve never had a single complaint or missed a single delivery.”

“My parents taught me that if you’re going to do a job, then you should do it properly. It’s my job. I know it’s not the most glamorous job in the world, but you’re paying me to do it, so I’ll make sure it gets done right.”

“That’s a respectable attitude to have.” Mr Edwards’s gaze sharpened although the grin never left his lips. It reminded Simon of a fox. Wait. Were there foxes in Italy? “You need this job, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He’d never told Mr Edwards why he needed the job, but Mr Edwards wasn’t stupid. A nineteen-year-old attending university full time while also taking as many shifts as he could get. There had to be a reason for it. Throw in a few days off to handle family medical emergencies, and he was sure Mr Edwards had put two and two together.

Simon’s dad was working three jobs to try to make ends meet, but he needed help, and Simon was the only one of his siblings old enough to give it. His mum didn’t want him to overwork himself, but they needed the money. It was the only way to guarantee she got the care she needed. She hadn’t chosen to get sick, and she always put on a brave front, telling them not to worry when it was obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes that she was barely hanging on. Honestly, there were times when he wondered if his mum only kept fighting through the pain because she knew how devastated they would all be if she died. When his parents were fighting so hard, how could he stand by and do nothing? Working regular shifts and making deliveries was nothing compared to what his mum was going through or the brutal slog his father endured working three jobs.

“I’m not in any sort of trouble, am I?”

“Not at all.” Mr Edwards shook his head. “In fact, it’s the opposite.” He leaned against one of the tables and said something in Italian that Simon didn’t quite catch. “Ah, my apologies. It’s a phrase my grandmother used to say. It means something along the lines of ‘the world is less scary when we face it together’.” He sighed wistfully. “I remember when I was a young man, much like you are now. I too found myself in a situation where I desperately needed money to help my family. I was fortunate. Someone helped me in my hour of need. I want to do the same for you.” His lips twitched. “I believe you young people call this ‘paying it forward’.”

Simon smiled. “Yeah. That’s right, and I’d appreciate the help. Are you thinking of giving me more shifts?”

“Not exactly. As I said, you are my best delivery boy. How would you like to take on additional delivery work that pays better?”

“That sounds great.” Simon was cautiously optimistic. Ideally, he’d be able to fit it in around his university schedule, but if it paid enough, he was prepared to drop out for it. His mum needed help now, and he could always go back and finish university when she got better – and she would get better. He didn’t care what the odds were. He refused to consider the alternative. “What kind of delivery job is it?”

“It would be in addition to the shifts you already have. As for the pay…” Mr Edwards hummed thoughtfully. “I can’t give you an exact figure yet, but it would give you an extra hundred thousand dollars a year or more.”

“An extra hundred thousand?” Simon blurted. That was life-changing money, but he wasn’t stupid. “Mr Edwards, I don’t want to sound rude, but what’s the catch? I don’t have a degree yet, and the only work experience I’ve got is doing manual labour and making deliveries. I’m grateful you’d consider me, but jobs offering that sort of pay usually have plenty of applicants and requirements.” He didn’t want to say it in case he offended Mr Edwards, but he couldn’t risk getting involved in anything shady.

Mr Edwards laughed. From the amusement sparkling in his green eyes, he must have known precisely what Simon was thinking. “It’s nothing illegal. I promise. However, it is unusual. In fact, it’s why I wanted you to stay back tonight. I thought I’d show you what kind of job it is.” He glanced at the sausage roll that was still in its plastic wrapper on one of the tables. Simon was planning to eat it when he got home. “Bring that. You might need it later. Now, I’ll ask you again. Are you interested?”

“Uh…” Simon hesitated. This all sounded incredibly shady, but could he afford to turn down the opportunity? Mr Edwards had said it wouldn’t be illegal, and it was supposed to be more delivery work. For that much cash, Simon could put up with some weirdness. If it worked out, his family wouldn’t have to struggle so hard to make ends meet. His dad wouldn’t have to work himself to death to pay for his mum’s treatment, the way he’d been doing for close to a decade now. “Yeah, sure. Okay. I’m interested.”

“Excellent.” Mr Edwards turned. “Follow me. We can talk more in my office.”

Mr Edwards’s office was a welcoming place. The décor was all warm shades and personal touches, and his desk and walls were covered in photographs of his family and employees. In pride of place was a framed photograph that showed Mr Edwards and the employees who’d been within him when he’d first opened the restaurant. It said a lot that some of them were still with him, and those who’d left often dropped by to visit. The best burger joint in Sydney and the busiest pub were both run by former employees, and they’d learned everything they knew about the business from Mr Edwards.

“So…?”

Mr Edwards put the coffee on his desk and reached into the drawers for a bottle of whiskey. Simon wasn’t a big drinker, but some of his friends at university were. That was a very expensive brand of whiskey. “Now, we talk, but first…” He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Cuddles, portal for three.”

Simon stared. Who was Mr Edwards talking to? He’d never seen Mr Edwards drink whiskey before – he was a wine guy – so why would he have a bottle hidden away in his office? Simon sincerely hoped he wasn’t drunk because if that job offer had been a joke…

“Oh, come on, old friend.” Mr Edwards gazed heavenward and tapped the watch on his wrist. Simon had never been able to work out what brand it was, but he’d always admired the way it looked. It was a wonderful combination of classic design and futuristic appeal, and there was something distinctly Italian about it. “Don’t be obnoxious. You’re making me look like a delusional drunk. We’ve been searching for years now, and I think I’ve finally found someone who fits the bill.” He waved the coffee and whiskey around. “I’ve got gifts too, you adorable alcoholic. I don’t know what you see in that petrol station coffee, but I’ve got some. Come on, Cuddles, portal for three.”

Simon was about to ask the obvious question regarding Mr Edwards’s sobriety when there was a sound reminiscent of breaking glass. The empty space beside Mr Edwards split open to reveal an oval of absolute darkness ringed in iridescent light of a colour Simon couldn’t quite put into words. He took a step back before mustering his courage and creeping forward. “What is that?” Whatever it was, Mr Edwards was perfectly content to stand right next to it. “Mr Edwards?”

“That, Simon, is a portal.” Mr Edwards inclined his head toward the portal. “And the job I’m offering you is on the other side.”

“A portal?” Simon’s mind raced. Assuming this wasn’t an insanely elaborate prank, then where did the portal go? Who had made it? His gaze swept over the room. Mr Edwards had called out to someone named Cuddles. Was Cuddles a codename for a secret government project? Were they being watched right now? What if it was aliens? It sounded crazy, but portals didn’t just appear out of thin air!

If this was real and somebody could actually make portals, then there had to be a reason Simon had never heard of them before. His eyes widened. If someone could make portals wherever they wanted, then it would be incredibly easy to kidnap people or silence them. Crap. Was he about to get silenced? He was an avid reader and movie watcher, and people never got off lightly after learning the truth about secret government projects or aliens. Were the police going to find him in the wreckage of his car after it had ‘mysteriously’ been driven off the edge of a cliff?

“Calm down.” Mr Edwards smiled reassuringly. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re going to be fine. There are no government agents hiding in the bushes outside, and the alien you’re about to meet isn’t out to get you.” Before Simon could fully process the last part of that sentence, Mr Edwards pressed on. “All we’re going to do is take a little trip and talk.” He put one arm through the portal and waved at Simon with his other arm. “We should get going. He’ll get annoyed if we keep him waiting.”

Mr Edwards vanished through the portal. Simon gulped and stared at the portal for several seconds. He wished Mr Edwards could have poured him a shot of that whiskey before going through. When he did drink – which wasn’t often – Simon preferred beer, but if there was ever a situation that called for a good, hard whiskey, this was it. He took a deep breath.

“Oh, what the hell. You only live once, and my family needs the money.”

He stepped through the portal.

It was like being dunked in a bathtub full of icy water followed by grabbing an electric fence in the middle of pouring rain. His vision went white, and his ears rang. Before he knew it, he was on his knees doing his best to keep his stomach from punching its way out of his mouth. Mr Edwards dragged him to a sink, but Simon somehow managed to get his heaving stomach under control. He swallowed thickly. He hadn’t thrown up since he was eight years old, and he wasn’t planning on breaking his streak. Eyes watery, he shook his head and tried to get his bearings back.

“See?” Mr Edwards wasn’t talking to him. “What did I tell you? Less than ten percent of sentients can make it through a non-reinforced, rapid-deployment portal without emptying their stomach, and less than a tenth of one percent can control themselves on their first trip. He is who we’ve been searching for.”

“I suppose he’s not completely hopeless.” The other voice was deep and commanding. In a movie or a video game, it would have belonged to a king or a general, possibly the main villain. “But he’s a bit scrawny for a human, isn’t he? I know you weren’t much to look at when you were his age, but this kid is all knees and elbows.”

“He’s a nineteen-year-old working a full shift each night while attending university full time. Of course, he’s scrawny. Give him time and rest, and he’ll grow. Besides, it’s not as though size matters in our line of work. He has a good head on his shoulders, and he’s been an excellent delivery boy. His record is flawless. He can make this work.”

“Hmph.” The other person grumbled. “You’re an old friend, Matteo, which is why I’m giving the kid a chance – and you’re right. We do need another delivery boy. Business is booming.”

Simon’s vision finally cleared. He was in a white room, a completely white room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were a white so pristine they practically glowed. Next to him and the sink was Mr Edwards, and on the white desk nearby was a guinea pig – an exceptionally cute and cuddly guinea pig. It had short, silky fur that was mostly golden brown but with patches of white and black. Its eyes were a shade so dark they seemed to drink in the light.

“What?” the guinea pig asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence. “Never seen a guinea pig before? They’re not that uncommon on your Earth.”

“Um…” The sink shimmered and vanished, leaving behind a smooth, featureless patch of white floor. “I mean…” He gulped and nudged Mr Edwards. “You hear him talking too, right? Or am I hallucinating this?”

“No, Simon, you are not hallucinating any of this.” Mr Edwards snickered, which drew a ferocious glare from the guinea pig – a glare that was definitely more adorable than intimidating. “Cuddles is indeed talking.”

“Right.” Simon fought the urge to pinch himself. He didn’t do drugs, so he was fairly confident this wasn’t due to any drug-addled craziness although there was the far grimmer possibility that he’d crashed his car and this whole thing was his brain doing its best impression of a broken computer. He studied the room more intently. There weren’t any doors or windows, not that there needed to be if they’d used a portal to get here. “So…?”

“Stop your gawping, kid. I’ll explain.” Cuddles floated toward him, and Simon’s gawping intensified. “Yes, kid, I’m a talking guinea pig who can also fly. And before you ask, I am clearly not a normal guinea pig.” He drifted toward Mr Edwards and patted his arm with one small paw. “Matteo, carry me.”

“You just told him you can fly, and you want me to carry you?” Mr Edwards smiled in fond exasperation. “How lazy can you be, Cuddles?”

“You’ve got longer legs than me, so it makes perfect sense for you to carry me around.” Cuddles scowled. “Now, carry me… or else.”

“Hah!” Mr Edwards settled Cuddles into his arms, and the guinea pig huffed and only stopped squirming when Mr Edwards began to scratch his back. “You haven’t changed at all, old friend.” He turned to Simon. “Try to remain calm. What you are about to witness may alarm you, but you are perfectly safe. You have my word.”

“This isn’t one of those situations where I get killed if I tell anyone, is it? Because I can totally keep a secret since, you know, I enjoy living.”

“Oh, not at all.” Mr Edwards had switched to giving Cuddles a belly rub. “If, after hearing what we have to say, you choose not to get involved – although I do think you’d fit in wonderfully with the Company – Cuddles will simply erase your memory of this evening and replace it with something suitable. You don’t have to worry about losing your other job either. You truly are my best delivery boy. If you turn this job down, I definitely want you to keep working for the restaurant.”

That was a relief. Simon wasn’t sure how a guinea pig – even one that could talk, fly, and make portals – could wipe his memory, but knowing he’d keep his job definitely took weight off his shoulders. He was about to ask another question when the room around them disappeared. Instead, they were floating in empty darkness. His brows furrowed as his vision adjusted to the sudden gloom. There were little pinpoints of light glittering here and there. Were those stars in the distance? Were they in space?

“Ah!” Simon screamed as every horrible bit of information he’d ever learned about the futility of trying to survive in space without a spacesuit flooded through his mind. He was so screwed. He needed to start exhaling now, or his lungs would explode. He had to put on sunblock, or he’d get swamped with radiation. He had to –

“Oh, be quiet.” Cuddles gestured, and Mr Edwards moved closer, so the guinea pig could poke him in the cheek. “You’re going to be fine. I’ve dealt with plenty of humans before. I know you can’t survive in space without help. I’m handling all that crap, so you can stop screaming. You’re not going to die.”

“But –”

“Simon.” Mr Edwards shifted his grip, so he could hold Cuddles in one hand and squeeze Simon’s shoulder with the other. “Stop and think. Would we be having this conversation if we were in space unassisted?”

“No…” Simon trailed off. “There’s no air in space, so we shouldn’t be able to speak or hear each other.”

“Precisely.” Mr Edwards grinned. “Yet here we are having a perfectly normal conversation.”

“So…?”

“So stop freaking out, kid. You’ll be fine.” Cuddles gestured, and the empty space around them bent and twisted. “We’re here so I can show you the Warehouse and give you a better idea of what you’ll be signing up for.” The guinea pig pointed with one tiny paw. “Look down, kid. That’s the Warehouse.”

Simon did – and his world would never be the same again.

Beneath them was an absolutely colossal structure. It was hard to say exactly how large it was because it was floating in space without anything else nearby to provide a sense of scale, but it had to be huge. It was made up of a series of concentric rings tilted at different angles to each other to form a sort of mostly hollow sphere. At the centre of the structure was a glowing, crystalline object that radiated warm, golden light.

And then a starship – an honest to God starship – rumbled past them. It was gigantic. Based on how close it was and how long it took to pass them, it had to be ten kilometres long, maybe more. As the vessel continued toward the Warehouse, he finally got an idea of how immense the structure truly was. The starship vanished into the distance before ever reaching the Warehouse. That meant the Warehouse was unbelievably far – and unbelievably large.

“How big is it?” Simon whispered. Cuddles twitched his whiskers, and the space around them twisted and bent once again. Cuddles had moved them far closer to the Warehouse in the blink of an eye.

Now, Simon could make out features on the outermost ring, which completely filled his vision. At this distance, it appeared to be completely flat despite the fact that he already knew it curved. What had appeared to be a featureless ring from a distance was actually a sprawling, varied landscape. There were long chains of mountains and wide, island-studded seas. There were cities that covered entire continents, and lush, thriving forests flanked by rolling plains and windswept deserts. In every direction he looked for as far as he could see, there was just more and more and more – more mountains, more oceans, more cities, more everything.

He swallowed thickly as he remembered something one of his more mathematically inclined friends had once told him. One of the reasons it took people so long to believe that the Earth was round was because the surface of a sphere can appear flat to anyone on it if the sphere is large enough. How large must the outermost ring be if it could fill his entire vision and still appear flat in all directions. His heart raced, and a dull ache began to form at the back of his skull. It shouldn’t be possible to build a structure this big, yet it was right there in front of him.

“Easy there, Simon.” Mr Edwards patted his back. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I felt the same way when I saw the Warehouse for the first time.” Mr Edwards’s eyes were filled with warmth and nostalgia. “The Warehouse is made up of ten concentric rings, each tilted relative to the other by eighteen degrees. The outermost ring has a radius of roughly ten billion kilometres and a width of approximately two hundred fifty million kilometres.”

“What?” Simon gaped. Those numbers were so large that it was difficult to put them into context until he remembered a fact from a recent quiz night he’d attended at university with his friends. The distance between the Sun and Pluto was around 5.9 billion kilometres. The radius of the outermost ring was almost double that. The ache in the back of his head grew stronger. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think that humanity was the centre of the universe, but this was insane. Humanity wasn’t merely small. Compared to the people who built the Warehouse, humanity was completely insignificant. “That’s crazy.”

Cuddles smirked at Mr Edwards, and there was something almost malevolent about the expression. Simon shook his head. A villainous guinea pig with super powers? If he’d read a story like that, he’d have assumed the writer was an idiot. “Not bad, Matteo. He hasn’t gone insane from realising how small and insignificant he and humanity truly are in the grand scheme of things.” He poked Simon’s arm. “You’d be surprised by how often that happens. People are okay with being one star in the sky. They’re not as happy being one molecule of hydrogen in one of those stars.”

Simon rubbed the back of his head. The ache had begun to dull. “What do you mean?”

Cuddles gave a comically piratical chuckle. “We have a name for it, kid. We call it existential terror. People – and this applies not only to humans but also basically every other sentient species – tend to have certain views about themselves and their place in the multiverse. The majority of people have the brains to realise that the multiverse doesn’t revolve around them, but they still want to believe they matter, that in the grand scheme of things, they’re somehow still special.” Cuddles nodded at the Warehouse. “The Warehouse terrifies people, sometimes to the point of insanity, because it shows them both how big the multiverse is and how small they are within it. There are powers out there – including me – that can trample entire universes by accident. Those powers can shatter reality itself with a thought or snuff out stars with a careless whisper. The Warehouse is the first hint many people get that powers of that magnitude exist. Not everybody takes it as well as you.”

“I guess. It’s a lot to take in.” A small grin crept across Simon’s lips. It still hurt to look at the Warehouse. It was as though his mind refused to believe it could exist, but there was no denying how incredible it was. He’d loved science fiction and fantasy since he was a kid. All those writers, all those storytellers and dreamers, what wouldn’t they give to be in his shoes right now? “It makes you feel small, but it makes you feel special too.” And to think that what he was seeing was only the barest fraction of the outermost ring.

“Oh?” Cuddles smirked. “Special?”

“Yeah. How many people from Earth have seen this?” Simon laughed. “I don’t know why Mr Edwards picked me, but I’m glad he did.”

Cuddles gave Simon a long, contemplative look. “Do you want to know a secret, kid?”

“Sure. What’s one more secret?”

Cuddles pointed at the Warehouse. “People see the Warehouse and how big it is and think it means they don’t matter. They’re wrong.” Cuddles leaned forward, and his gaze burned into Simon. “Everyone matters. That’s the secret. You have a family, right?” Simon nodded. “And you love them, don’t you?”

“More than anything in the world.” Simon wished his family could see this. His dad had been the one to introduce him to science fiction. He’d go absolutely crazy.

“Do you think the Warehouse existing changes that? Having seen it, do you love them any less? Are they any less important to you?”

“No.”

“The multiverse is a big place, and there’s all sorts of scary stuff out there. Believe me. I know. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t change anything. People still have families. They still have friends. The multiverse might not care about them, but their friends and family do. People on the Warehouse might never notice if you disappeared one day, but your family and friends would. Being part of something bigger doesn’t mean that you stop mattering. If anything, seeing the big picture gives you a better appreciation for all the little things that make life worth living.”

Mr Edwards scratched the guinea pig’s back. “You’re in a philosophical mood tonight, old friend.”

Cuddles snorted inelegantly. “Call it nostalgia, Matteo. I remember when we first met. You asked me what the meaning of life was.”

“And you told me it was a warm bed, friendly company, and plenty of tasty food and drink.” Mr Edwards laughed. “I thought you were joking, but time, it seems, has proven you wise.” He smiled at Simon. “Take it from someone who has lived a very long and very interesting life. The big picture is all well and good, but don’t be so focused on the horizon that you miss what’s at your feet. A journey is as much about the path you take as it is about the destination.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Simon thought it was solid advice. If anything, he had the opposite problem. He was so focused on trying to make ends meet in the here and now that he didn’t spend enough time thinking about his future. “But the Warehouse is amazing.”

“Damn straight.” Cuddles’s chest puffed out with pride. “It’s tiny by my people’s standards – we’ve built things that span multiple universes – but it’s a labour of love. It wasn’t built to be functional. It was built to be beautiful. We wanted a reminder that as awful as the multiverse can be, it can be wonderful too.” Cuddles made a happy sound and pressed his head against Mr Edwards’s hand. “Every forest we’ve ever visited, every stream we’ve ever drunk from, every desert we’ve crossed, every sky we’ve seen, every city we’ve explored… there’s a bit of everything here.”

Simon’s gazed drifted back to the Warehouse. The more he looked, the more he saw. Over there was a desert of glass gleaming in the sun, and over there was a vast savannah split by countless shimmering rivers. Elsewhere, dozens of volcanoes belched smoke and ash into the sky while titanic waves pounded against the bases of soaring mountains. Cuddles was right. It was wonderful.

“You mentioned your people. There are more guinea pigs like you?”

“Of course. There isn’t a word for what my people are in your language, but you can think of us as cosmic guinea pigs because of the powers we have.” Cuddles floated over and patted Simon on the head in a gesture that was somehow adorably condescending. “We’ve met plenty of other guinea pigs over the aeons, but none of them have similar powers. To put it in terms you can understand, the average cosmic guinea pig is capable of reality manipulation and other feats on a scale so large that in more than ninety-nine percent of all presently mapped universes, they would be the most powerful being in that universe. It took us less time to build the Warehouse than it takes you to blink. We spent more time arguing about how it should look and what should be included than we did making it.” Cuddles shook his head and huffed. “Fluffy wanted to make it a series of concentric cubes. Can you imagine that? It would look ridiculous.”

Simon threw his head back and laughed. “No. I don’t think I can imagine that.” He’d have to ask Cuddles more about the multiverse when he got the chance, but he wanted to know more about the Warehouse first. “What does the Warehouse do?”

Another starship passed by. This one dwarfed the previous one by orders of magnitude, but it had none of the flat surfaces and sharp edges of the first. Instead, it had a cetacean design that gave it a soothing, graceful air despite the weapons tucked into the sleek, flowing lines of the hull. An eerie sapphire glow emanated from deep within the ship, and he wondered if it was a power source or a weapon.

“Allow me to answer that,” Mr Edwards said although Simon had to wonder if that was truly his name. “Cuddles is a cosmic guinea pig, so he might not have the best frame of reference. To massively simplify, the cosmic guinea pigs own and operate the largest, most successful mail-order company in the multiverse. Imagine the biggest, most popular online shopping company on Earth and imagine taking it to a truly cosmic, multiverse-spanning scale. As long as you know how to contact them and can offer appropriate payment, there is very little indeed that the cosmic guinea pigs can’t either get for you or make themselves. The Warehouse, as its name suggests, serves as their warehouse. It is where they make and store their goods, and it is the location from which those goods are dispatched. Their market position is so dominant that nobody calls their company by its original name anymore. Instead, those in the know simply refer to it as the Company. What we want is for you to come work for the Company as a delivery boy.”

Simon didn’t have to ask if the ‘Company’ was capitalised. He could hear the capitalisation in Mr Edwards’s voice. “Not that I wouldn’t love more money, but why do you need me? If Cuddles and his people can make the Warehouse, can’t they, you know, beam all of their products to their customers or something?”

Cuddles did the guinea pig equivalent of raising one eyebrow. “Beam things?”

Simon flushed. “I’ve watched a lot of science fiction.”

Mr Edwards’s lips twitched. “If you join us, I think you’ll find that reality truly can be stranger than fiction.”

Cuddles raised one paw, and they were suddenly back in the white room again. Simon staggered and took a moment to get his bearings back. That had to be teleportation because assuming the room was somewhere on the Warehouse, the distance they’d travelled in an instant was incredible.

“To answer your question, you need to know what happened in the past. There are reasons for why we cosmic guinea pigs don’t – or can’t – do everything ourselves despite how powerful we are.” Cuddles pointed at the coffee and the whiskey. “But this conversation calls for a drink. Pass me the coffee, kid.”

Simon blinked. He hadn’t realised he was right next to the coffee. He doubted it was a coincidence. “Couldn’t you use your powers to get it?”

“I could. If I wanted, I could reduce your entire solar system to dust while controlling the motions of each individual molecule. I could disassemble your entire body and put you back together before you realised anything had happened. But you’re standing next to the coffee, and you’ve got opposable thumbs, so hand it over.” The guinea pig rubbed his paws together in glee. “And add some whiskey first. Nothing goes better with coffee than whiskey.”

Simon gave Mr Edwards a furtive glance. The older man favoured him with an amused expression. “Should he be drinking?” If Cuddles was as powerful as he claimed, then getting him drunk was an awful idea. The damage he could do would put every drunk driver on Earth to shame.

“I’m a cosmic guinea pig,” Cuddles retorted. “I can drink my coffee however I want it and still be safe, so get to it.” With a shrug, Simon opened the bottle of whiskey and poured a dash of it into the coffee. Cuddles huffed. “Don’t be stingy. Pour it all in there.”

“Uh…” Simon looked askance at Mr Edwards again. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“It will be perfectly fine, Simon.”

“I hope so…” Simon added more whiskey. He would stop once the coffee cup was full – except it never got full. Cuddles must be using his powers. He emptied the entire bottle of whiskey into the coffee and then set the coffee down next to Cuddles. “Here you go. One coffee with some whiskey although at this point it’s more one whiskey with some coffee.”

“Ah.” Cuddles leaned over the side of the cup and took a long sip. “Not bad. Your Earth’s coffee is definitely in the top fifteen percent of all coffee in the multiverse. It’s also easy to get. You’d be amazed by how many places think coffee is either evil or a luxury that should be reserved for the stupidly wealthy. You guys might not have developed working fusion reactors or anti-matter cores – give it a couple of hundred years – but you’ve got the whole coffee thing down pat.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “There’s this one place that makes the best coffee in the multiverse, hands down. The problem is that it’s run by a bunch of uppity dragons.”

Mr Edwards cleared his throat. “To clarify, Simon, when Cuddles says they’re uppity, he doesn’t mean they’re merely stuck up or snooty. He means that they are exceedingly unpleasant in ways only dragons can be.”

“You’re being way too polite about it, Matteo.” Cuddles took another swig of his whiskey-coffee. “Basically, they’re assholes – giant, flying assholes who go around burning stuff, eating people, and charging exorbitant prices for their coffee.” Cuddles grumbled, and Simon wondered what he’d do when’d drunk enough of the coffee that he couldn’t lean over the side of the cup to get more. “Sure, it’s the best coffee in the multiverse, but I’m not about to hand over a galaxy-killing weapon for a week’s supply of the stuff.” He scowled. “Assholes the lot of them. I’d wipe them out myself if it wouldn’t end up breaking their universe and killing a whole bunch of innocent people too. To be fair, not all dragons are bad. I know this other dragon. He’s probably the strongest dragon in existence. He’s a great guy – friendly, wonderful sense of humour, and he loves pineapples too. We’ve had a lot of fun adventures together, and he doesn’t mind carrying a little critter around. He’s used to it, I guess.”

Simon took a deep breath. “Let me get this straight. Dragons are real, and some of them make coffee for a living in between burning things, eating people, and trying to acquire super weapons?”

“Yep. Think of annoying baristas from your world. Now imagine them multiplied by a vigintillion since these dragons are the size of continents and can obliterate solar systems when they get cranky – which is basically all the time. I remember one of them threw a hissy fit and declared a genocidal war on an entire species after one of them ordered an ’uncivilised’ coffee.” Cuddles growled. “I had to put a stop to it and explain that, no, they couldn’t demand super weapons and princesses as a form of payment. They seriously wanted people to either give them a super weapon or a princess whenever they ordered coffee.” The guinea pig waved one paw. “Anyway, that’s a story for another time. I’ll just say that as tough as those dragons are, there’s a reason people don’t pick fights with cosmic guinea pigs if they can avoid it.” He tapped the side of the coffee cup. “Brace yourself, kid. If you thought the Warehouse was a big deal, then this is going to blow your mind. Prepare for a crash course on arguably the single most important event in the history of the multiverse. We’ll skip the boring crap – we’ve got plenty of books, movies, ballads, and comics you can go through if you want to learn more – and cut straight to the explosions.”

Cuddles waved his paw, and an intricate image sprang to life around them. It was impossibly detailed and realistic, and Simon nearly threw himself onto the floor as countless starships swept past them. The majority of the ships were clearly mechanical in design although their appearances varied from elegant vessels that straddled the line between beauty and functionality to blocky, utilitarian craft whose sole purpose was obviously war. However, there were also starships with a more biological bent. One vaguely resembled a giant whale with wings whilst another reminded him of a huge tree using its vast leaves to sail through space on interstellar winds. To his surprise, there were a few actual ships amongst them – the kind with sails and oars.

Mr Edwards noticed him staring and laughed. “Magic is every bit as real as science, Simon, and in certain places, it is far older and more powerful. There is magic that can make physics as you know it go find a corner to cry in.”

“Awesome.” Simon was tempted to ask if he could learn magic, but he’d leave that for later.

The image zoomed out to reveal the true size and scale of the armada. It was vast. It didn’t stretch across an entire solar system. No. The armada went from galaxy to galaxy, from galactic cluster to galactic cluster, and from universe to universe. Once again, he felt that strange ache at the back of his head, and he forced himself to focus on individual ships rather than the sheer scale of the armada. He couldn’t let the enormity of it – a multiverse-spanning fleet – get to him. There was a brief pause as the starships all settled into position before, at an unseen signal, they opened fire.

It was glorious.

Even the weakest of the starships could turn planets to powder whilst the stronger starships ripped tears in reality itself, burning holes from one universe to another before hollowing out entire dimensions and timelines in firestorms of nightmarish, apocalyptic power. The very fabric of the multiverse trembled beneath the assault. Stray shots cracked universes, and the collateral damage from secondary weapons saw galactic clusters snuffed out or torn to pieces. Countless stars spun off into the void of space amidst violent bursts of exotic radiation that perforated the walls between realities.

What could possibly stand against such an awe-inspiring display of firepower?

The answer was simple: another armada of equally mind-blowing size. Similar to the first, it was composed of a varied collection of starships, and their weaponry was equally devastating. When the two fusillades met, the multiverse buckled and gave way. Cracks raced across the multiverse. Simon’s eyes narrowed. What did those cracks mean? As the cracks or rifts grew wider and wider with each passing moment of the conflict, he grew more and more certain that what was happening wasn’t sustainable. It was like a balloon being filled to the point of bursting. It was too much. There was no way this kind of firepower could be unleashed for this long without dire consequences.

One crack spiralled out of control and spread across an entire universe. That universe came apart in a spray of cosmic confetti, and countless starships went with it, their hyper-advanced technology and magic no match for the primal destructive forces they had inadvertently unleashed. He covered his mouth with his hands. He wanted to throw up. How many people had just died? There were roughly seven-and-a-half billion people on Earth, and Earth was a single planet. If a universe was destroyed, how many planets would be annihilated? It was too terrible to contemplate – and he’d seen it happen.

The image shifted again, and he saw cosmic guinea pigs enter the fray. There were dozens of them streaking through the void between universes, and there was a grim, ruthless determination in their eyes that was utterly at odds with their cute and cuddly appearance. Blasts that would have wiped out the most advanced civilisations ever imagined in science fiction rolled off the cosmic guinea pigs without leaving a scratch, and waves of power that would have shattered universes and left entire dimensions empty ruins were batted aside with unflinching resolve. Even the collapse of entire chunks of the multiverse failed to slow their advance, and the cosmic guinea pigs finally delivered their reply in the form of shockwaves of pure un-existence that struck across all timelines and dimensions, extirpating their foes on a level that went far beyond the simple conceptual erasure some of their enemies wielded. Their opponents didn’t simply cease to be. They never were and could never be again, and the rules of the multiverse itself were rewritten to forbid the possibility of their existence to ensure their total and irrevocable removal.

Yet the cosmic guinea pigs were not having it all their own way. Other creatures – many with appearances so bizarre that Simon’s mind struggled to process them as anything more than twisted shadows or bursts of audio-visual static – counterattacked with powers of similar scale. Mortally wounded, a cosmic guinea pig with shining white fur latched onto its foe – a gigantic, galactic-cluster-sized monstrosity with anti-matter tentacles and tachyon eyes – and then detonated in a burst of energy that carved a gash in the multiverse that spanned a dozen universes.

The titanic battle raged across the length and breadth of the multiverse and across all possible timelines and dimensions. Simon was sure Cuddles had altered his brain to let him perceive this because the last time he’d checked, he hadn’t been able to see in more than three dimensions, never mind see backward and forward in time. A living morass of corrupted magic the size of a galaxy devoured several universes in a bid to heal itself only to be laid low by a cosmic guinea pig who smashed through its defences, tearing through one alternate timeline after another until it finally reached the core of the creature’s existence and blew it apart it a deluge of searing radiance so bright it put a trillion supernovas to shame.

“What you’re seeing is the First War. Obviously, it wasn’t the first war ever, but we call it the First War because it was the first time that a conflict reached a truly multiverse-spanning scale.” Cuddles closed his eyes and made a sound that Simon could only describe as pained. “I’ll be honest with you, kid. We cosmic guinea pigs don’t enjoy intervening. Give us tasty food and drink, a comfortable place to live, and plenty of friends to hang out with, and we’re happy. Unfortunately, when you’re as powerful as we are, you don’t get to sit on the sidelines. There are always idiots around who want to do something stupid, and sometimes, we’re the only ones with the strength to smack them down. Back then, we – and many others – felt that people should be left to their own devices. We wanted people to be allowed to develop at their own pace. We believed that other people should be allowed to stumble and fall, to learn and grow, in their own time. We wanted them to discover the multiverse under their own power rather than dragging them into it before they were ready to face its infinite wonders and horrors.”

Cuddles smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile, one that made the fluffy cosmic guinea pig seem positively ancient. “When you give someone all the answers, you’re not helping them. A big part of what makes people who they are is the search for their own answers, for their own meaning. Someone who has never fallen will never learn how to get up, and someone who has never known the horrors of war will never understand that sometimes you can’t negotiate your way out of a conflict. Sometimes, you have to fight. Sometimes, you have to draw your line in the sand and be willing to die to defend it. Not everyone agreed. They wanted more direct integration – by force, if necessary. Ultimately, that’s what the war came down to. Oh, you’ll find plenty of historians who disagree. They’ll go through all sorts of complicated analyses, but they weren’t there. We cosmic guinea pigs were there. I was there.”

Cuddles took a long sip of his whiskey-coffee, and his gaze drifted to the absolute carnage being wrought around them. Simon had gone numb. It was impossible to properly process the scale of the devastation. “Fundamentally, it came down to whether or not the older, stronger factions should allow the younger, weaker factions to make their own decisions, or if we should be making those decisions for them. We wouldn’t be mentors. We would be rulers. We tried to talk it out.” Cuddles stared at something far beyond the image around them, at a time and place so far removed from the present that it was difficult to imagine. “We really tried, kid. We tried so hard. Even if we disagreed with them, we respected them. We’d known our eventual opponents for longer than your species has existed. They were our peers, our colleagues… our friends. But they weren’t having any of it. They believed that they should be the ones making the choices for everybody, so we had a choice of our own to make. We could either step aside and let them do as they pleased, or we could fight.” Cuddles’s eyes hardened. “We fought.”

“And what a war it was,” Mr Edwards murmured. Simon wished Cuddles would make the images stop. He was seeing thousands of civilisations, each more advanced than humanity, getting wiped out by the casual actions of beings who were, for all intents and purposes, gods. Out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw a cosmic guinea pig that looked identical to Cuddles lay waste to a fleet of living ships the size of stars, but the image shifted before he could be sure. If it was Cuddles, it would certainly explain why he drank. Simon knew he’d be an alcoholic if he’d been forced to live through what he was seeing.

“The conflict lasted for millions of years. Countless civilisations rose and fell knowing nothing more than the horror of constant war. Many died without ever realising what they’d been dragged into. However, in the end, our faction triumphed. We destroyed the majority of our opponents and forced the remainder to accept our terms. But winning came at a cost.” Cuddles grimaced. “A big damn cost.”

Mr Edwards pointed to the cracks and rifts that Simon had noticed earlier. They were far larger and more numerous now. One universe after another splintered as the fissures spread like cracks across a pane of glass. Others were swallowed whole, vanishing forever into a sea of entropic oblivion. “A single cosmic guinea pig has nigh-limitless power. Their entire species went to war, Simon, and against foes of comparable might. To put it bluntly, the First War broke the multiverse.”

“Yeah.” Cuddles took another swig of his whiskey-coffee. “We’re not proud of it. I know it’s childish, but the other guys started it. Once they escalated, we had no choice but to do the same. The only difference is that although they started it, we finished it.”

“The damage done to the multiverse was so extreme that much of it still remains to this day. It’s why travel between universes is not only considerably more difficult but also far more strictly controlled.” Mr Edwards gestured, and Cuddles created a glowing, spinning, many-faced solid. “Think of the multiverse as an intricately crafted gem with many faces, each of which represents a universe. All of the faces might appear separate, but they are all part of the same gem. Scratching the surface of one face might mar the overall beauty of the gem, but it’s not likely to destroy it. But if you grab a hammer and start hitting the gem…” Cracks spread through the glowing solid, and it shattered. “You can break it. The First War was the equivalent of a bunch of angry jewellers taking turns hitting a gemstone with sledgehammers. When groups like the cosmic guinea pigs go to war, they don’t merely scratch the surface of the multiverse. They tear huge, gaping holes in it. Those cracks and rifts are places where the multiverse was so badly damaged that entire chunks of it either broke off or ceased to exist. After the war, the cosmic guinea pigs and their allies did their best to repair the damage, but it’s generally easier to break something than put it back together. The multiverse has been slowly healing ever since, but it’s in no condition for another war. There’s a decent chance it wouldn’t survive it.”

“My people would survive,” Cuddles clarified. “But the rest of you normal people would probably be dead inside the first five minutes.” He sighed. “What makes things tricky is that travelling from one universe to another can do a lot of damage if it’s not handled correctly, especially if the person doing the travelling is powerful. Think of travelling from one universe to another as jumping on a trampoline. Sending a normal person from one universe to another is akin to getting a little kid to jump up and down. It’s fine. Sending someone powerful through can be like throwing an elephant onto the trampoline. To protect the multiverse and not kill everybody, travel from one universe to another is closely monitored, especially for powerful individuals. All cosmic guinea pigs are over the threshold, so unless it’s an emergency, we try to keep our travel to the more damaged parts of the multiverse to a minimum. Moreover, there are places where merely opening a portal can do a lot of damage. We created the Company, but we need other people – people like you – to make the deliveries.”

“But why start the Company in the first place?” Simon asked. “Shouldn’t you be living in a post-scarcity utopia thanks to your powers? I get that you can’t go anywhere you want because you might break the multiverse, but what do you need the Company for? Does money even mean anything to you?”

Cuddles snickered and took another sip of his drink. “Maybe you were right about him, Matteo. He’s scrawny, but he’s sharp. Not everyone picks up on the whole post-scarcity thing. They’re too busy being blown away by everything else they’ve learned.”

Simon scratched the back of his head. “I’m studying business and economics at university. It came up as part of a hypothetical scenario in my coursework.”

“You humans do tend to have vivid imaginations.” Cuddles shrugged. “You’re right. We could make everything we want or need ourselves. However, we do have our reasons… which will become clear if you stick around.” Simon gaped, and Cuddles favoured him with an unsettling grin. It was far too human an expression to look quite right on a guinea pig’s face. “What? Did you think we’d spill all the beans on the first day? So far, we haven’t told you anything you couldn’t easily learn if you talked to other people on the Warehouse. If you want more answers, the kind only Matteo or I can give, then you’ll have to earn them. Besides, do you really need to know why we run the multiverse’s biggest mail-order company? What matters is that we can open portals – similar to the one that brought you and Matteo here – without damaging the multiverse, provided we pick the right spots and the people going through them aren’t too powerful.”

“Which is where I come in.” Simon was the opposite of powerful. He was a regular guy. No reality-altering powers. No ridiculous magic or psychic abilities. “I can go through a portal without a fuss and be your delivery boy.”

“Exactly.” Cuddles patted the side of the coffee cup affectionately and took another sip. “We won’t force you to take the job. That’s not how we do things. We didn’t fight the biggest damn war in history, one so big it broke the multiverse, only to turn into hypocrites later. You can leave. I won’t stop you, but I will have to erase the memories of this from your mind. Don’t worry. I’ll put something nice in their place.” He glanced at Mr Edwards. “He likes puppies, doesn’t he?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Then we’ll put memories of adorable puppies in there. You’ll get to feel all warm and fuzzy, and you can go back to living your life the way you’ve been living it. No harm, no foul.” Cuddles peered at him, and Simon noticed again that no light reflected off the guinea pig’s eyes. There was only darkness in his gaze. It was like staring into the empty, endless infinity of space, and he had to shake himself before he got caught staring. “But if you do stay and work for us, you’ll earn a pile of money, get access to fantastic perks, and you’ll have a chance to see the multiverse and go on adventures.” Cuddles smirked. “No matter which universe you come from, you humans are always writing about heroes and legends. Kid, this is your chance to become one.” He waved one paw, and a booklet appeared next to Simon. It was a contract, and to his immense relief, it was written in plain English. “That’s what you’d be signing up for. Read it.”

Simon read through the contract carefully. It was surprisingly short and to the point, and if there was one thing that he’d learned from all his business classes, it was to always read the fine print. What made his heart race and settled his decision was the clause on medical treatment. First and foremost, the Company promised to take care of his injuries, no matter how severe they were, as long as he could make it back from a delivery alive. Theoretically, they had ways to deal with death, but they couldn’t guarantee anything since the consequences of interfering with death – especially in certain parts of the multiverse – could be catastrophic. More important to him, though, was the fact that after he’d completed enough deliveries, his family would also gain access to the Company’s help.

Although they would be concealing the source, the Company would be willing to give his family medical treatment. Now, Simon might not have been a genius, but he had a decent head on his shoulders. The cosmic guinea pigs could smash universes. He had zero doubts they could cure his mother. For that chance alone, he was willing to risk everything.

And, boy, were there a lot of risks – the contract was very clear about that. To ensure they didn’t break the multiverse any further, the cosmic guinea pigs would have to heavily restrict the aid they could give him while he was on a delivery. They’d drop him off as close to his destination as they could and bring him back, but he’d have to rely on whatever equipment he’d been given and his own ingenuity and cunning to survive the rest of the delivery. That could easily involve some of the following: zombie outbreaks, nano-machine plagues, space pirates, constantly-evolving super koalas with a taste for human flesh, and technologically-advanced guppies with plasma weaponry and a severe case of megalomania. Oh, and he could also expect to encounter world-devouring primordial entities, stingy dragons, and magically empowered tax collectors. Even real-time communication with the Company wasn’t guaranteed while he was on a delivery. On the upside, his family would get a generous payout if he died on the job. The Company would also handle the coverup, and there was space in the contract for him to describe his preferred scenario. Apparently, the top three choices from other Earths were car crashes, gas explosions, and tornadoes.

“I…” Simon took a deep breath to steady himself. He’d lost count of how many times he’d dreamed and prayed for a miracle that could fix all of his family’s problems. This was it. This was his miracle. He couldn’t afford to let it slip away because there was no telling when – or if – he’d get another chance. “I’ll do it, but there’s a clause I want to ask about.”

“By all means,” Mr Edwards replied. “We want you to join, but only if you are completely committed. This isn’t the sort of job where second-guessing yourself ends well. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.”

“The clause for offering medical treatment to people in my family. I want to negotiate it.”

“I think I know where you’re going.” Cuddles stroked his whiskers. “Matteo told me about you. It’s for your mother, right?”

“Yes. I want to know if I could get her cured earlier than stipulated in the contract.”

“Hmm…” Cuddles hummed and tapped a whimsical beat out on the side of the coffee cup. “That clause is in there for a reason, but there is room for flexibility. Normally, we offer our delivery personnel a chance to quit after each delivery. Sometimes, all it takes is one bad delivery for someone to change their mind about all this. You can love what we do and then change your mind after nearly getting eaten by zombie plant people on a world where the sky rains acid and blood.”

“There’s a place like that?”

“There are twelve.” Mr Edwards grimaced. “I have personally visited seven of them, and I would strongly suggest avoiding them if possible.”

“Anyway,” Cuddles said. “It would normally take multiple deliveries for you to earn the perks needed to treat your mother. It wouldn’t be fair if I gave you access to those no questions asked.” Cuddles pointed, and a chart popped into existence beside him. “However, there might be a way. This is how many missions it would normally take for you to earn those perks. If I agree to cure your mother early, then you have to complete that many deliveries for us – or die trying. There would be no option for you to quit. It wouldn’t matter how terrified you get or how badly things go wrong. You’d have to keep going. Can you agree to that?”

Simon relaxed. He’d honestly expected worse. “To cure my mum? Yeah. I can do that.”

“Good.” Cuddles gestured, and the section on medical care for his family changed to reflect their agreement. A pen appeared. It was exactly the same as the one Simon used to take notes in class. “Then initial each page and sign at the end. Once you’ve done that, get ready.”

“Ready?” Simon blinked. “For what?”

Mr Edwards chuckled. “There’s no time like the present to get started, Simon. Once you’ve signed, we’ll begin preparing you for your first delivery.” His lips curved up into an almost vulpine smile. “I speak from experience. There is no point in trying to ease yourself into this. It’s sink or swim, and I’m confident you’re a swimmer, not a sinker.”

“But won’t my family notice if I don’t come home tonight?” Simon could already see the headlines: university student abducted by alien employer and super-powerful guinea pig.

“Who do you think you’re dealing with, kid?” Cuddles smirked, and for an instant, Simon could have sworn he saw a star being born in his eyes. “I’m a cosmic guinea pig. You could be gone a whole week, and your family would only think you’re an hour late from work.” He blinked, and a donut with chocolate frosting appeared next to him. He tore a small piece off and dunked it into his beverage before nibbling on it and making a contented sound. Mr Edwards cleared his throat. “What? Oh. Yeah. Kid, what kind of donut do you want? That sausage roll of yours isn’t half bad, but I’m a firm believer in the power of sugar. You can eat the donut before going on your delivery. You’ll need the sugar boost.”

“Uh… can I get one with strawberry frosting and rainbow sprinkles?” Simon tilted his head to one side. “I didn’t think you’d make food since you didn’t make the coffee or the whiskey with your powers.”

“I’m not making the donuts. I bought a whole bunch of them earlier. I’m simply summoning them from my personal storage dimension since carrying them around would be annoying when you’re my size. Imagine a character’s inventory in a video game. All cosmic guinea pigs can make something similar except ours have essentially infinite space, and we can control what happens inside them.” A donut with strawberry frosting and rainbow sprinkles appeared next to Simon. “There you go. If you want more, Matteo can show you where I get them. They come from this nice bakery on the seventh ring. Sure, it’s run by trolls and they literally built it under a bridge because that’s what trolls do, but they know the rules. They’ll give you a few funny looks since you’re human, but they won’t give you any trouble.” He paused. “But you should always specify that you want food suitable for human consumption. Otherwise, you might get food that’s a bit… odd for your tastes.”

Simon regarded the donut warily. It smelled delicious, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to try it now. After all, trolls had horrible reputations in fiction.

“Relax. You’re not the only human I know. That donut doesn’t have anything in it that the average human would object to unless they’ve got diabetes.” Cuddles munched on more of his own donut. “Go ahead. Eat it. Matteo, take him for a quick walk outside and then get him suited up. I’ll meet you there.”

“What sort of world should he be suited up for?” Mr Edwards asked.

“We don’t want to start him off on anything too crazy.” Cuddles flipped through a rolodex that had appeared beside him before pulling out a card with a flourish. “Ah. This should do. A Hell World, Class 4-ED should do the trick.”

* * *

Simon chewed on his donut – it was a truly fantastic donut – and followed Mr Edwards through a door that had appeared in one of the formerly featureless walls. There was nothing except darkness within the doorframe, and there was a brief moment of disorientation before they stepped out onto a crowded boulevard. Simon gasped. Vibrant trees with prismatic leaves and pastel trunks lined the thoroughfare, and a cool, soothing breeze laden with the aromas of freshly made – and almost certainly delicious – food drifted past. However, Simon’s attention was soon drawn to the other people on the boulevard.

There was a minotaur beside them, an honest to God, nine-feet-tall minotaur with a shaggy, rust-coloured pelt and a pair of weather-worn horns that had charms dangling off them. The minotaur – it felt wrong to call someone wearing armour and chatting in low rumbling tones to a pixy a beast or a monster – stepped around them politely and continued on his way, dipping his head gracefully to avoid the flailing tentacles of an ooze. That same ooze muttered a gurgling apology and then rushed past with a briefcase clutched in one of its tentacles. A scaly quadruped with an awkward shambling gait growled a curse as the ooze almost knocked him over in his haste.

“Get your noodles!” The cry came from one of the stalls beside the boulevard. The speaker was a robot made of liquid metal who was using his variable appendages to handle half a dozen orders at once while continuing to spruik his wares. “Get your noodles here! Made fresh in the Alerian style! We’ve got pork, chicken, hydra, lamb, sea serpent, space turkey, and beef! Get them while they’re hot!”

“Wow.” Simon pinched himself. Ouch. This was real – or a really detailed simulation. “This is so cool.”

“It is indeed very cool. The cosmic guinea pigs didn’t create the Warehouse solely for themselves. They created it for their friends and employees too.” Mr Edwards patted him on the back. “I know how you feel, Simon. I felt the same way when I first got here. We can come back and explore later. Right now, we can’t linger although both Cuddles and I agree that you should see a bit of the Warehouse before we send you off on your first delivery.” He gestured at the pleasant hubbub around them. “I imagine it brings them peace – the cosmic guinea pigs, I mean – to see so many different people getting along and working together. It must remind them of how things were before all the… unpleasantness.”

“Yeah.” Simon did his best to keep up with Mr Edwards while savouring the sights, smells, and sounds around them. He’d half expected the Warehouse to be full of cosmic guinea pigs and humanoid species, but there were all sorts of people here. Sure, many of them were humans or could pass as human, but he’d also seen a werewolf, a stereotypical grey alien, a bunch of people-sized insects, and a dragon. Admittedly, the dragon had been flying over the boulevard rather than walking on it but that was because it was so big it would have flattened everyone else.

The buildings along the boulevard were an eclectic mix of restaurants, cinemas, karaoke bars, arcades, and other entertainment venues. Each had its own eye-catching sign, and many had spruikers urging passers-by to give them a try. He bit back a laugh as a four-armed alien snarled at a claw game in one of the arcades after failing to secure one of the plush guinea pigs in the machine. Beside him, a two-headed crustacean the size of a bear laughed and nudged him in the side with one claw. It seemed as though some things – like the evil impossibility of claw games – were universal.

“How does everyone get around?” Simon asked. “This place is gigantic. There have to be ways other way than going on foot, right?”

“That is an excellent question. It is easy to forget the size of the rings when you’re on them.” Mr Edwards pointed. “At least until you look up.” Instead of stars, the shadow of the next ring hung in the sky above them. Mr Edwards went over to a nearby stall and bought a pair of hotdogs. He handed one to Simon. “Here. We can walk, talk, and eat. I remember my first mission. You’re going to need the calories.”

“A hotdog?” Simon turned the hotdog back and forth. It appeared to be perfectly normal, and it smelled fantastic.

“Yes.” Mr Edwards pointed out each of the ingredients. “The vendor is from another Earth’s version of New York. He runs a chain of hotdog stalls. Yours has cheese, mustard, ketchup, and onion. As for the hotdog itself, the ingredients are sourced from all over the multiverse. It is, by all accounts, one of the ten best hotdogs you can get.”

Simon took a bite of the hotdog. He almost cried. “I think this is the best hotdog I’ve ever eaten.” He was tempted to devour it, but he forced himself to slow down and savour it. Nearby, a passing orc had no such qualms. The towering, green-skinned humanoid swiftly devoured three hotdogs and then ordered half a dozen more.

“Garbage in means garbage out. A master chef can make awful ingredients palatable, but if you give a man who has been making hotdogs for forty years the best ingredients in the multiverse, you get greatness.” Mr Edwards took a bite out of his own hotdog and reached into his pocket. He handed Simon a ring of slate-grey metal. “Put that on.”

Simon glanced at Mr Edwards’s right hand. There was a similar ring on his index finger. “What is this?”

“It’s a link to the Warehouse’s transportation system. As you’ve pointed out, the Warehouse is gigantic. Travelling around even a single ring would be impossible using only the methods available on your Earth, never mind going from one ring to another. Over here, everyone makes extensive use of teleportation. This ring will take you wherever you want to go. If you want to explore, you can use it to travel to a general area before renting a vehicle or taking another form of transportation. Think of it as a passport combined with a transport card. As long as you have it – and it should be impossible for anyone to take it from you without a cosmic guinea pig’s authorisation – you can not only teleport around the Warehouse but also use all of the different transport systems on offer. Personally, I’d recommend taking a flight or train ride through the more scenic parts of this ring. It’s beautiful. As for knowing where you want to go in a place this large, you’ll be getting help for that. In the meantime, you can always ask the ring to take you to me or Cuddles if you need help. Assuming we approve the ring’s request, it’ll bring you straight to us.”

“You’ve mentioned trains and aircraft,” Simon said. “But what other forms of transport are there?” It had been years since he’d been on an airplane. He wouldn’t mind taking another flight.

“Just about anything you can think of. I had a great deal of fun dirt-biking through the deserts of the third-innermost ring when I was a young man. I know this all sounds quite daunting, but if you ask around, you’ll find plenty of like-minded beings of similar age who can show you the ropes. There’s also an explorer’s group that caters primarily toward novices. They’d be more than happy to help you. They’re friendly people although you may need time to get used to their eccentricities. There’s an ocean not far away from here too. It can be stormy, but when the weather is good, it’s perfect for a small yacht or skiff.” He shook his head in fond remembrance. “I met my wife there. I fell off my skiff, and she nearly ran over me with hers. It was love at first near-drowning.”

“Wow.” Simon stared at the ring. It looked for all the world like a simple piece of metal. That was probably the point, though. And now that he paid closer attention, he realised that everyone else was wearing something similar, albeit modified to suit their anatomy. “Where are we going now, Mr Edwards, and what is a Hell World, Class 4-ED? It doesn’t exactly sound welcoming.”

Mr Edwards finished his hotdog and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” He touched his ring, and they reappeared in front of a colossal building. It was so large that its upper floors vanished into the fluffy, picturesque clouds that dotted the sky. Swarms of robotic drones flitted through the air, alongside several flocks of ornery birds that reminded him of cranky, four-winged seagulls. Some of the drones were the size of postage stamps whilst others were larger than cars.

“Follow me.” A drone landed beside them and transformed into a platform for them to stand on. “We’ll use this to shorten the trip.” The drone extruded rails and handholds. “And don’t worry. It might not appear particularly safe, but there are additional safety features built in to prevent you falling to your death. The cosmic guinea pigs take workplace safety very seriously.”

“I hope so – ah!” Simon yelped as the drone jolted into motion and shot upward.

Oh yeah. There were definitely hidden safety features because the sudden acceleration and changes in direction the drone was making should have sent him tumbling to his death. Instead, he remained perfectly situated at the centre of the platform. Finally, the drone jerked to a stop in front of a door. The door opened, and the drone extended itself to bridge the gap. He and Mr Edwards made their way inside the building and through several long, winding corridors that bore a strong resemblance to the white room.

“Do I need to remember how to get here?” Simon asked. “Because I don’t know if I can.”

“Now that you’ve been here, your ring can take you here whenever you want. That said, we’ll be giving you help, just in case. Our little jaunt was to let you see some of the Warehouse.” Mr Edwards grinned. “What you need to understand, Simon, is that the Warehouse is a place where all kinds of people come together to make an honest living. It doesn’t matter if you’re a tentacle monster, a dragon, a vampire, or a nano-machine construct. If you’re on board with the Company and its mission, there’s a place for you here. It wouldn’t be possible without the cosmic guinea pigs, but they’d be the first to tell you that it takes everyone to make this place what it is.” They stepped into a large, circular chamber with bland, featureless walls. Mr Edwards cleared his throat. “I’ve brought a new delivery boy. He needs a uniform.”

The walls opened up to reveal several unusual individuals. They reminded him of the fantasy squid-people he’d read about in stories except their skin was scaly. They had tentacles on their faces, and they wore richly embroidered robes of white, grey, and black. They didn’t walk, so much as float, with more tentacles dangling from their sleeves and the bottoms of their robes where legs would normally have been.

“A new delivery boy, Matteo?” one of them asked. Simon blinked. As far as he could tell, the speaker hadn’t used her mouth. Instead, the words had echoed more in his mind than in his ears. “And a human too? I thought you would show up with another half elf.”

Mr Edwards sketched her a teasing half bow. “But what would my father think, Livia? He was human, after all. Besides, you know that I’ve always believed in finding the best person for the job, and Simon is the best I’ve found. My delivery days are done – I’m a family man now – but I think he’ll do perfectly well in my place. He will be working for Cuddles.”

The squid-person – Livia – quivered, and laughter filled Simon’s mind. “Cuddles? That curmudgeon? How interesting.” She turned toward him, and her tentacles moved in what Simon assumed was a greeting. “Simon, is it?” He nodded. “Cuddles may be a tough taskmaster and he drinks rather more than he should, but he is a fair guinea pig. He will do right by you although he has been grumpy ever since Matteo retired. Apparently, the others who tried to fill his shoes were all hopeless, which is why he insisted on Matteo choosing the next candidate personally.”

Her face contorted, and Simon had to keep from recoiling. Her mind-voice was kind, but her face was not pleasant by human standards. He got the impression that she was giving him what passed for a smile amongst her kind, and it was the thought that counted. “Oh? You didn’t flinch. I know how my smiles look to humans.” She twirled a tentacle at Mr Edwards. “This one has guts – or, at least, he is polite.” Her ‘smile’ widened, and Simon nearly shuddered. “If Matteo says you are suitable, then I will take him at his word. But enough of that. You are here for a uniform, yes?” She pointed at Mr Edwards. “Where will he be going? Since this is his first delivery, it would be unwise to let him customise his own uniform. We will handle it until he has more experience.”

“Those were my thoughts exactly. He needs a uniform suitable for a Hell World, Class 4-ED.”

The air hummed. “An interesting world for his first delivery, but we have exactly what he needs.” The other squid-people remained silent, but they floated around them in a slow circle. “Fear not, Simon. You will not face your first delivery unprepared. We are craftsmen, and your uniform shall be yet another of our masterworks.”

“Since we can’t do a lot to help you once you’re out on a delivery, we’re going to give you equipment,” Mr Edwards explained as the squid-people led Simon to the centre of the room. A glowing ring flared to life beneath him. It rose and swirled around him briefly before vanishing. A moment later, a holographic copy of his body appeared in the air. “We’ve also devised a classification system to help delivery people know what to expect.”

“Okay.” Simon twitched as one of the squid-people’s tentacles brushed against the small of his back. It didn’t feel slimy or scaly. It felt as smooth as silk.

“A Hell World is essentially a world that people from Earth would describe as hellish.”

Simon’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Is that because of how inhospitable it is or because there are demons there? I mean… demons are real, right?”

Mr Edward’s didn’t skip a beat. “It’s usually a bit of both. And, yes, demons are real.”

“Oh.” Simon winced. “Wonderful.”

“After everything you’ve already seen, is it really a surprise? Most universes have alternate dimensions or realms where people go when they die. Demons are the creatures that inhabit the ‘bad’ versions of the afterlife. Naturally, each universe – and sometimes, each world – has its own version of hell, and many species have their own versions too. A cat’s version of hell is not the same as a dog’s version. The 4-ED I’ve mentioned is another part of the classification. We rank worlds based on overall threat level. A Class 4 isn’t pleasant, but it's generally survivable for any properly equipped personnel who are reasonably intelligent. A Class 10, however, would be a death sentence for anyone who doesn’t already have the strength to draw the attention of the cosmic guinea pigs. The worst places ever mapped are Class Omegas, and they are occupied by entities utterly opposed to the cosmic guinea pigs and comparable to them in power. For obvious reasons, we would never send you anywhere that bad. Even Cuddles wouldn’t go there alone unless he has no choice. As for the letters, the first one tells you what level of technology to expect. A class E is comparable to your Earth’s medieval age. The second letter, a D in this case, tells you about the level of magic you’re likely to encounter.”

“So magic and technology are separate things?” Simon asked.

“Fundamentally? No. But for ease of comprehension? Yes.”

“Oh, Matteo,” Livia said with another mildly terrifying smile. “Do save the philosophical lecture until later. This boy lacks magic. He has no frame of reference.”

Mr Edwards inclined his head. “I will have to show you some magic later to give you a better idea of what to expect. However, to answer your question in more detail, magic and technology are not fundamentally different. Think of them as different forces of nature, not unlike the distinction between electromagnetism and gravity. With sufficient power and understanding, they become one and the same.”

Simon sighed. “I’m totally going to get mangled on my first delivery, aren’t I?”

“Of course not.” Mr Edwards patted him on the back. “I like you, Simon. You remind me of myself when I was your age.” His lips twitched. “You’re not as skilled with a bow or a rifle, and you don’t have any magic at all, but I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t think you could manage it. Cuddles might be a curmudgeon who’s overly fond of alcohol, but he’s a reasonable guinea pig. He wouldn’t have offered you a contract if he thought you’d just go out there and die. I’m not saying it will be easy, but if you stay alert, keep your wits about you, and listen to the advice you get, I think you’ll manage.”

“Thanks.” Mr Edwards had a knack for reassuring people. Simon had often seen it at the restaurant when a new employee was struggling, but he was happy to know it generalised. “Now, about the uniform I was supposed to get…?”

The squid-people began to wave their tentacles around, and glowing, rune-covered armour with a fantasy gothic aesthetic shimmered into existence. The humming in the air grew stronger as the armour grew more and more solid and detailed. Simon closed his eyes, and he could have sworn he heard words hidden beneath the humming. Were they singing the armour into existence? A compartment in one of the walls opened up, and a device similar to a watch floated over.

“Put it on,” Mr Edwards said.

“What is it?” Simon doubted it was an ordinary watch. He went to put it on his left wrist before putting it on his right wrist instead. Generally, right-handed people preferred to have their watches on their left wrist, but he’d always felt more comfortable with his watches on his right wrist.

“She is a standard-model Advisor,” Mr Edwards replied. “Think of her as the ultimate digital assistant. She comes with a vast knowledge base and a variety of useful functions, such as long-range communication, mapping, scanning, and translation.”

“Now that you mention it, how have I been understanding everyone so far?” Simon asked. To his knowledge he didn’t speak squid-person although that might not matter if they were using telepathy to communicate.

“Cuddles used his powers to alter your brain and give you the ability to understand everyone’s speech. It’s not healthy to do it too often or over the long term, but it’s perfectly safe to use every now and then for a few days at a time. Naturally, we don’t want to give you brain damage, so your Advisor will be taking over the task of translation. Nevertheless, I would strongly encourage you to develop fluency in other languages if you can. It’s a wonderful way to make friends, and it does help keep your mind fresh.” Mr Edwards made a series of bizarre clicking sounds. “That’s the language used by the ant-people of Agalarion VII. Unfortunately, I can’t mimic the pheromone signals that are supposed to go with the sounds, so I’ll never be entirely fluent.”

Livia flexed her tentacles and preened. “Which is why telepathy is best.”

“Unless you’re dealing with a species that is psychically blank.”

The humming in the air became tinged with aggravation. Livia scowled, and Simon gulped. That was the stuff of nightmares. “Having to use a chalk board to communicate is humiliating.”

“Indeed.” Mr Edwards bit back a grin. “Certain species, Simon, have involuntary immunity to psychic manipulation, which means telepathy doesn’t work on them. Humans aren’t one of them, which is why Livia can simply speak into your mind.”

“Oh.” Simon wasn’t sure how to feel about a superpowered guinea pig messing with his brain, but he hadn’t suffered a stroke yet, so it was probably fine. “Cool.”

Mr Edwards must have guessed what he was thinking – or perhaps it showed on his face. “Don’t worry. Cuddles knows what he’s doing. Your brain is only going to melt if he wants it to melt. Your Advisor should be ready to communicate shortly. If you have any questions or concerns during your delivery, feel free to ask her.” His eyes twinkled. “However, I should warn you that Advisors tend to be eccentric. We’ve tried asking the cosmic guinea pigs about it, but they think it’s hilarious.”

Livia threw her tentacles up in exasperation. “Those cosmic guinea pigs are utterly incorrigible. They’re lucky they’re so adorable, or more people would get mad about it.”

“You know,” Simon pointed out. “You’re not exactly reassuring me right now.”

“Advisors are interesting individuals, and they have a way of growing on you. Your Advisor will be handling communications with the Warehouse. If there are any serious issues, she will inform us. Once you’ve completed your delivery, she will contact us, so we can open a portal and bring you back. While you’re at the Warehouse, your Advisor will also be able to guide you, and I recommend giving her access to your transport ring since she has a complete map of the Warehouse and enough processing power to determine where to take you based on what you want to do or whom you want to meet.”

“That does sound handy.” The Advisor fit onto his wrist perfectly, looking for all the world like a mildly futuristic watch. “And the armour?”

Livia answered. “This is All-Purpose Standard Delivery Armour customised for your mission. It will ensure that you can both deliver products to customers and survive. The armour is designed to withstand environmental hazards and more aggressive threats.” Pride filled her mind-voice. “It features fully integrated life support, mobility and strength enhancement, Advisor augmentation, and countless other advanced systems. I suggest asking your Advisor to inform you of any features that may be relevant to your delivery.”

“That sounds awesome.” Simon was definitely glad he wasn’t about to go tromping off to a hostile world with nothing more than jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. “Is there a manual I can read?” He was a big believer in reading the instruction manual, especially when his life was on the line.

Livia waved away his concerns. “You can read it after your delivery. It’s far too long for you to read right now.”

Simon made a choking sound. “What?”

“Apart from advising you,” Mr Edwards continued. “Your Advisor also plays a critical role in managing your inventory since you aren’t naturally capable of spatial or dimensional manipulation.” Simon opened his mouth to ask, but Mr Edwards beat him to it. “Yes, Simon, you now have an inventory. And, yes, it’s virtually identical to a video game. Naturally, we didn’t give you an empty one. It comes equipped with certain items, which we’ve chosen based on analyses of previous deliveries to maximise your odds of successfully completing your delivery and surviving. You can also store other things you encounter in your inventory. Give it a try. Ask Advisor to display your inventory.”

Simon cleared his throat. He didn’t want to screw this up because first impressions were important. These would be his first words to his Advisor. He had to get this right. “Advisor,” he intoned gravely. “Please, display my inventory.”

There was a momentary pause before a vaguely robotic female voice replied. “Displaying your inventory, meat bag.”

A display appeared in front of him. Based on the lack of reaction from everyone else, he must be the only one who could see it. Was it being projected directly into his brain somehow, or was it being projected onto his eyes? At first glance, his inventory contained food and drink, spare parts for the armour, weapons of various kinds, a clipboard, and a box that he assumed contained his delivery. He grinned. This was so awesome. He had a real inventory. But there was one thing that bothered him. “Did you call me ‘meat bag’?”

“Correct, meat bag,” Advisor replied. “And you don’t have to shout. I can read your thoughts and project my words directly into your mind.” She paused. “An alarmingly large part of your subconscious seems to be devoted to wondering when your next meal will be and whether or not you’ve adequately prepared for your next set of university exams.”

Simon’s eye twitched. “Is this normal?” he asked Mr Edwards. He wasn’t particularly comfortable about putting his life in the hands of an artificial intelligence that called him a meat bag. It didn’t inspire confidence about how concerned she was about his survival. “Advisor is calling me a meat bag.”

Mr Edwards smiled benevolently. Simon’s gaze locked onto the watch on his left wrist. Now that he examined it more closely, it wasn’t a regular watch. It resembled a more classically styled version of the Advisor he’d been given. “Advisors are amongst the most advanced artificial intelligences in the multiverse. Those eccentricities I mentioned earlier? They tend to refer to other people in ways that are equal parts obnoxious and insulting. Don’t worry. It’s not because you’re an organic. Your Advisor will almost certainly treat other machines and AIs in the same way. I suppose it comes from having enough processing power to make the majority of organics and non-organics cry themselves to sleep each night due to feelings of inadequacy. It took me years to get my Advisor to stop calling me ‘pointy ears’, but we’re friends now.” Mr Edwards patted his Advisor fondly. “You’ll simply have to win yours over. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Simon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. There had to be a quicker way of winning Advisor over. In the meantime… “Advisor, is there anything else you’d be willing to call me besides meat bag?”

“I could call you flesh bag.”

“…” Simon shuddered. “Never mind. That is way worse. Stick with meat bag for the time being. How about… is there a way I can win you over?” If Advisor was designed to answer his questions, then perhaps a direct approach would be best. He’d been called far worse things than meat bag – the schoolyard could be brutal, and kids could be jerks – but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Performing analysis. Running simulations and projections. Providing answer. The probability of you winning me over with standard human behaviour is approximately ten percent. More accurate analyses will be possible as I acquire further individual-specific data. Providing recommendation. Survive a minimum of five deliveries, and I will upgrade you from meat bag to minion.”

“Minion?” Simon fought a surge of irritation. “Why minion? If anything, shouldn’t I be the one calling you my minion since I’m the one making deliveries?”

“No. As an Advisor, I am capable of multiple functions. I can provide directions and information and perform complex analyses of many kinds. I can also control your armour and weapons should you be incapacitated. As a result, I would likely survive even if you were killed. The reverse is not true. Your probability of surviving your first delivery without my aid is approximately two percent.” Advisor gave Simon a few seconds to let the words sink in before continuing. “It is worth noting that the margin for error of my estimate is two percent.”

“The percentages are that bad?” Simon gaped in disbelief. “Anywhere from zero to four percent?”

“Correct. The leading cause of delivery personnel fatalities on first deliveries is ignoring their Advisor and attempting to complete the delivery without assistance. I have been optimised to ensure your survival and the successful delivery of the Company’s products. I have not been optimised for social interaction.”

“I can tell,” Simon muttered. He gazed heavenward. “Mr Edwards, can I get a friendlier Advisor? I’m not sure this one wants me to survive.”

The older man laughed. “I’m afraid not. The Advisor you were given was selected for you based on analyses of your personality and intelligence – analyses that Cuddles conducted while tinkering with your brain. Naturally, you didn’t notice because Cuddles is a nigh-omnipotent being. You notice what he wants you to notice. In any case, I am confident that you and your Advisor will eventually get along. Furthermore, should you meet an unfortunate end, notes will be made on her permanent records, so she has strong incentives to keep you alive. Amongst Advisors keeping an inept partner alive despite the odds is considered a mark of pride.” He stepped back, and the squid-people began to put the armour on Simon. “If you somehow get separated from her, don’t panic. She has ways of getting back to you. In fact, it’s practically impossible to separate an Advisor from the person they’ve been assigned to. For the foreseeable future, you two are stuck with each other.”

“Yay.”

Advisor huffed. “Believe me, meat bag, the lack of enthusiasm is mutual.” She growled. “Your subconscious is a mess.”

“Give me a break. It’s my subconscious. It’s not as if I have any control over it.” Simon studied his reflection in the visor one of the squid-people wore. He wasn’t a vain person, but he had to admit that he looked pretty damn cool. The armour accentuated his figure and made him appear taller and more broad-shouldered. It was akin to something out of a video game, especially with how the runes and other markings would occasionally flicker with crimson light. Yep. He was a badass. Then again, the hero of a video game wouldn’t be called a meat bag by one of his own allies. “Wait. How do I take things out of my inventory? All I’ve done so far is check what’s inside it.”

“Picture the item you want from your inventory and imagine it being in your hands. It’s a mental trigger.” Mr Edwards stepped back to give him more room, as did the squid-people. “Since we’re indoors, I would recommend summoning some of the food. Yes, I’m sure you want to try out the weaponry, but trying a plasma cannon indoors typically results in trips to medical facilities and angry cosmic guinea pigs.”

Livia laughed. It was a wet, gurgling sound that put Simon’s nerves on edge. He shoved the momentary disgust aside. The squid-woman had been nothing but nice to him. It wasn’t as though she could control how her laughter sounded. “I recall a certain half-elf making precisely that mistake when he was first given his inventory.”

Mr Edward’s smile never faltered. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Either you’re referring to someone else, or you’ve misremembered. My first delivery went flawlessly.”

“Aww…” Simon had been hoping to blast something with the incredibly advanced weaponry at his disposal, but Mr Edwards had a point. Instead, he focused on the pizza he’d glimpsed in his inventory. A slice of it appeared in his gauntleted hand. “Wow.”

“We chose food that you would find familiar and enjoy. That is a slice of Hawaiian pizza from the restaurant.”

“How do I put it back?”

“The answer should be obvious, meat bag.” Despite not having a body, Simon nevertheless got the distinct impression that Advisor was shaking her head at him. “Do the opposite. Imagine it disappearing back into your inventory.” She gave him another mental shake of her metaphorical head. “I cannot believe you enjoy pineapple on your pizza. It is an abomination. I recommend self-terminating to prevent committing any further pizza-related heresy.”

Simon put away the slice of pizza and then stored the sausage roll he had in his pocket too. “Mr Edwards, I think my Advisor just told me to kill myself because I enjoy pineapple on my pizza.”

Mr Edwards smiled wistfully. “Oh, they’ll do that.” He patted his Advisor fondly. “I remember when my Advisor told me to find a cliff to jump off after seeing how much mayonnaise I put on my hamburger.”

“Right…” Simon had always wondered if the adage about great power coming with great mental problems was true. Sure, Cuddles preferred to have his coffee with heaps of booze in it, but he seemed to be a pretty reasonable person otherwise. Simon could certainly think of more evil things to do with nigh-omnipotence than demanding to be carried around while chugging whiskey and coffee. However, Advisor had him worried. She had been made by the cosmic guinea pigs and chosen for him by Cuddles. Had Cuddles done that to mess with him? For a moment, he pictured a bleary-eyed Cuddles cackling maniacally but adorably while he imagined all of the horrors Simon would have to endure at the hands of a rogue artificial intelligence. Oh, yeah. He could definitely see that happening.

“Your Advisor will be able to explain things to you in more detail as you go along,” Mr Edwards said. “But I still want to cover some important points before you leave. The box in your inventory is your delivery. Your Advisor has the information regarding its recipient and their location – or as close to their location as we can get you. Not all of our customers have a fixed address, and not all addresses can be reached via stable, non-damaging portal. We’ll drop you off as close as we can get, but you’ll have to go the rest of the way yourself. Once you’ve reached the customer, give them the package and use the clipboard to get confirmation of delivery. Before you ask, it’s not a normal clipboard. It looks like one because the majority of species understand what a clipboard means. If the customer can’t sign for the delivery, you can use a tentacle, claw, or appendage print instead. If they’re a slime, ooze, or non-solid life form, having them touch the clipboard will be sufficient. On the off chance that the customer appears to be deceased, have Advisor take a picture of the body and get her to confirm that they are, in fact, deceased. There are plenty of species out there that enter hibernation for extremely long periods of time.”

Simon blinked. “Deceased? How often does that happen?”

“It’s not common, but it’s not unheard of either. The multiverse can be a scary place. It’s why many of our employees from more dangerous places move their families to the Warehouse. The cosmic guinea pigs don’t tolerate any unpleasantness here. Keep in mind that a single cosmic guinea pig can devastate entire universes. There are never less than ten cosmic guinea pigs at the Warehouse, one for each ring, and there are frequently more of them hanging around. Depending on the agreement the customer made when they ordered, you’ll have several options. You can leave the delivery next to the body, return it to the Warehouse, or track down their next of kin/successor.”

“And now I’m worried.” Simon sincerely hoped that his first delivery didn’t involve any corpses. He had no intention of going anywhere near a dead body if he could avoid it.

The squid-people put on the last of the armour, and Simon shuddered as the helmet locked into place. The armour came to life around him, and ripples of sensation filtered through him. For a second, it was like having a phantom extra limb, but the unsettling sensation soon gave way to a more familiar feeling. It was akin to wearing a pair of gloves. He also felt… it was hard to describe. More. Yes. That was the best way to describe it. He felt as though he was somehow more than he had been before donning the armour.

“Follow me.” Mr Edwards led him to another chamber, and Simon did his best to get used to the armour. He could sense the raw power it held. He was certain that if he’d wanted to, he could easily have punched through a brick wall or leapt over a tall fence without breaking his stride.

“Calm down, meat bag.” Advisor’s voice was laced with wry amusement at his expense. “I can read your mind and interface with the armour. I will ensure that nothing unfortunate happens until you develop better control. It would make both of us look bad.”

“Thanks.” Simon frowned. “And by unfortunate…?”

“In years gone by, delivery personnel did not have Advisors to assist them. The armour magnifies your strength considerably. For example, without proper control, it is possible to twist your body so violently that you snap your own spine.”

Simon winced. “You’re not going to let that happen, are you?”

“As I said, it would make both of us look bad if something unfortunate were to happen. While I can explain many things to my superiors, I cannot explain allowing you to snap your own spine.”

“I appreciate that. I, uh, enjoy having a functional spine.”

“In addition, we would both be held liable for property damage if you were to lose control of the armour. Since this is our first delivery, I would prefer to avoid that outcome.” Advisor gave him the mental equivalent of a poke in the cheek. “You do not have to speak to me. You can think your words at me instead.”

“Think my words at you? That feels kind of weird. You’re a person, right?”

“Given my superior capabilities compared to most organics and non-organics, I would argue that I am somewhat more than a person.”

“Whatever. The point is that it feels more comfortable to talk to you although that might make me seem crazy to other people. Is there a way to talk to you without other people hearing what I say?” Mr Edwards and the squid-people hadn’t minded, but they knew what Advisor was. Talking to Advisor around people who didn’t know she existed would quickly get him labelled as crazy.

“I can control your armour’s audio output. Since your helmet completely covers your face and does not move when you speak, nobody will know you are speaking to me unless I allow them to overhear your words.” Advisor cackled. It was worryingly reminiscent of the crazy robots and computers he’d read about in books and watched in movies. “Note, meat bag, that this means I could kill you in your armour and nobody would hear your screaming unless I let them.”

“Could you please not? I want to keep on living.” Simon snickered. He was getting the feeling that despite all of her threats, Advisor wasn’t as malevolent as she sounded. Besides, he doubted Cuddles would simply look the other way if she went rogue, and he’d bet his whole pay cheque that the cosmic guinea pig could handle a rogue artificial intelligence with ease, even one with access to what was basically power armour.

The chamber they entered was a large circular room that bristled with weaponry. Lasers, flamethrowers, and other less easily identified weapons all pointed at the centre of the chamber where a glowing circle lit up the floor. Cuddles was sitting on a nearby desk with his cup of whiskey-coffee.

“This is a delivery portal chamber,” Mr Edwards explained. “We’ll be opening a portal to your destination here and monitoring your progress as best we can from the consoles near Cuddles. Unfortunately, once you’ve gone through the portal, communication is likely to be fairly limited, and we won’t be able to intervene. Stay sharp and listen to your Advisor. When you return – and I am confident you will return – it will be to this chamber. If you’re wondering about the weapons, it’s for safety purposes. Your Earth is considered safe. The same cannot be said of many of the worlds you will visit. It should be impossible for anything to follow you through the portal you will be using to get back. However, if uninvited guests do attempt to sneak through…”

“They get blasted?”

“Yep.” Cuddles summoned another donut. This one was a cinnamon donut. “I can be in more than one place at once, but on the off chance I’m occupied, the weapons should be able to take care of anything that tries to sneak through the portal.” The cosmic guinea pig grinned and used his powers to lift the coffee cup in a salute. “So… this is it, kid. Your first delivery. How do you feel?”

“Fine, I guess.” Simon took a deep, deep breath. He was surprised by how calm he felt. He should be freaking out more. Maybe he was shellshocked by everything he’d seen and learned today. His entire view of… everything had been upended. “I signed up for the job, so I’ll get it done. I mean… you did this too, right, Mr Edwards?”

“For several hundred years,” Mr Edwards replied proudly. “And it was certainly quite the ride.” He squeezed Simon’s shoulder, and it was reassuring despite the armour muting the sensation. “And I still have all my limbs attached.”

“Yeah, now you do.” Cuddles snickered. “I had to regrow a few of them over the years.”

“Wait!” Simon blurted. “What?”

“Moving on,” Mr Edwards said. “Stay sharp, keep your wits about you, and if you’re not sure if something wants you dead, then assume it’s out to get you. It probably is.”

“I’m not feeling very reassured at the moment.”

“Best of luck, kid.” Cuddles beckoned Simon over and patted his helmet with one small paw. “Try not to die.” Cuddles gestured, and a portal rippled into existence over the glowing circle at the centre of the room. “Portal for two – Advisor counts.” The portal was similar to the one he’d taken to get to the Warehouse: an oval of infinite darkness ringed with light. “There you go. Also, if you happen to run into any booze while you’re there, try to bring some back for me. I’ll cover the cost and pay you extra too.”

“Booze from a hell world? Is that safe?”

“Demon brandy is amazing if you know how to purify it.”

Simon laughed. Was this how his life was going to be from now on? At least it would be interesting. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.” He took a second to gather his resolve and then stepped through the portal. “Here goes nothing.”

Part Two: The First Delivery

Hot.

It was really, really damn hot.

That single thought filled Simon’s mind once his stomach had stopped trying to punch its way out of his body with a pair of brass knuckles. As his vision cleared and he regained his footing, the portal snapped shut behind him with a hiss. A host of warnings scrolled across his vision as the armour’s systems kicked into gear and the stifling heat abated. The message that most concerned him was about the ambient temperature.

It was currently 70 degrees Celsius or 158 degrees Fahrenheit outside his armour. Wonderful. He’d already be dead if he hadn’t come prepared. Not far behind the temperature warning was a detailed analysis of the local atmosphere. Yeah. Simon wasn’t a biologist or a physician, but even he knew that having so much sulphur dioxide and hydrogen sulphide in the air could not possibly be healthy. A brief desire for a comparison brought up a table comparing the local atmosphere to the typical conditions inside a volcanic crater on Earth. Yay. The two were practically identical.

“Stay alert, meat bag.” Advisor’s tone of voice was magnificently droll. She could have been discussing the weather and not the fact that they’d been dropped into some world’s version of hell. “This is a hell world. Day dreaming will get you killed and me demerited.”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame?” Simon shook himself and studied his surroundings. “By the way, why did I feel so hot when I stepped through the portal? I thought the armour was supposed to protect me.”

“The armour is protecting you. However, research has shown that allowing a safe level of discomfort to temporarily occur when there are large shifts in environmental conditions is beneficial to survival.” Advisor gave him the mental equivalent of a toothy smile. “It reduces the feelings of invincibility that many delivery personnel develop while wearing the armour, which in turn reduces overall fatality rates.”

“You don’t have to worry about me getting cocky.” Simon shuddered. “Not here.” There was no doubt in his mind that this truly was some world’s version of hell. For as far as he could see, in every direction he cared to look, the landscape was dominated by jagged rocks, half-melted stone, and broken boulders of various sizes. Rivers of ash and molten lava cut through the landscape along with a… wait… was that a river of blood?

“Scanning.” The muffled flash of a sensor sweep filled Simon’s vision. “Correct. The river is composed of blood – specifically, human blood.”

“Oh, for crying out loud…” Simon had no idea where they’d gotten all that blood from, and he had no intention of finding out. Any place that had a literal river of human blood flowing through it was not somewhere he wanted to linger. A quick glance at the sky painted a similarly dire picture. Thick clouds covered much of the sky, and brief flashes of crimson lightning crackled from one horizon to the other. Through gaps in the clouds, he glimpsed three suns. One was pitch black – a hole in space that devoured light rather than emitting it. Another was blood red, and it was… oozing, for want of a better word. Maybe that was where all the blood came from. The last sun was an eerie, unsettling colour that he couldn’t pin down or describe. Instead, looking at it made his teeth ache and his eyes hurt. The overall result was a world bathed in bloody light. Oh, and there was molten ash constantly falling from the sky along with rocks of various sizes, ranging all the way from rocks smaller than golf balls to chunks of debris larger than cars because, clearly, the landscape needed to be even more hostile.

“Warning, meat bag. The third sun is an eldritch phenomenon. Prolonged observation may result in injury or death due to the presence of multiple cognitive hazards.”

“Do you mean that I’ll go insane or die if I stare at it for too long?” That was what usually happened in the stories he’d read that involved cognitive hazards.

“Correct. However, your armour contains inbuilt defences against cognitive attack, and I can improve these by selectively filtering the data that comes through your helmet. Without the armour, viewing the third sun uninterrupted for a period of longer than several minutes would result in severe cognitive damage for a normal human. With the armour and my assistance, the continuous viewing time required to cause serious injury is roughly forty-eight hours.”

“Huh. I should be fine then. I’m not going to stare at anything for two days straight, never mind a freaky sun in the middle of hell.” Simon squared his shoulders. He’d dawdled long enough. The package wasn’t going to deliver itself. It was time to get this show on the road. “Advisor, now that we’re here, where are we supposed to go?” He caught a flash of movement in the skies above them and scrambled behind a boulder as a verminous swarm of chiropteran monstrosities raced overhead. Each was half as large as a man, but their jagged teeth, long claws, and barbed tails granted them an air of menace that easily outstripped their size. He hoped they weren’t the local equivalent of pigeons. If they were, what would a local cat or dog be like? He shuddered. Those things were probably demons. Had anyone else on Earth apart from Mr Edwards ever seen a demon?

“Memorise this information.” Text appeared in his vision. “The package is to be delivered to an Arch-Fiend Baldoradas. Our information indicates he is likely on the fifth level of this world. We are currently on the third level. We were unable to open a portal closer to his location.”

“Why?”

“The power used to create portals and other means of trans-dimensional travel can have a deleterious effect on the stability of a world or universe depending on the severity of the damage left by the First War and other conflicts. The higher levels of this world are so unstable that opening a portal directly to them would cause a chain reaction that results in the complete collapse of this world and a significant chunk of the surrounding universe. Needless to say, you would not survive if that occurred. For safety purposes, travel to the customer must occur through pre-existing portals or their equivalents.”

Simon winced. That sounded awful. “Pre-existing portals or their equivalents? That makes sense. The locals must have their own. Otherwise, they’d have a hard time going from level to level themselves. I guess we’ll have to find one and use it while not getting murdered by whoever lives here.” He made a face. “Demons do murder people, right? Or am I unfairly stereotyping them?”

“Your assessment is correct. Demons do murder people at a statistically significantly greater rate than the vast majority of other species.” Another sensor sweep lit up the landscape. Simon hoped the lightshow was only for his benefit because if everyone else could see it, it wouldn’t be long before trouble found them. “Scanning for spatiotemporal anomalies. Multiple micro-scale anomalies detected in all directions – likely the result of previous conflict. Increasing scanning power. Filtering anomalies.” An alarm sounded. “Warning. Incoming life forms detected. Based on their movement patterns, they have detected us. Prepare for combat, meat bag. All life forms from hell worlds are to be presumed hostile until proven otherwise.”

“Combat?” Simon squinted in the direction indicated by the glowing symbols in his vision. He couldn’t see anything at first, but his vision sharpened and zoomed in. It must be the armour or Advisor’s doing. Now, he could make out half a dozen canine forms running toward him at speeds that would have put Olympic sprinters to shame. They were the size of large dogs, and they were covered in spikes and plates of jagged, bleached bone. The smouldering flesh beneath the bone was wreathed in a mix of black and red flame, and boy did they look pissed off. A few of them were even frothing at the mouth. Was it rabies? Could demons get rabies? And would demonic rabies be worse than normal rabies? He laughed. Oh, the things his mind came up with under stress.

“Demonic rabies is approximately ten times worse than regular rabies using standard human-related medical metrics.” Advisor highlighted the approaching creatures in his vision. “Cease your gawping. I repeat: prepare for combat. Hell hounds are highly hostile life forms common to hell worlds. They will attack anything that isn’t allied to the faction they serve.”

Simon’s pulse quickened. Combat? Sure, he’d been in a couple of scraps over the years, but those had been schoolyard punch-ups. This? He shuddered. This was different, but it was what he’d signed up for. It was time to earn his paycheque and his mum’s treatment. There would be plenty of time for him to freak out later. Right now, he needed to buckle down, focus, and get the job done. He reached into his inventory for the first thing that came to mind. It was a rifle whose sleek, streamlined form screamed hyper-advanced technological deadliness.

“Advisor, how does this work?”

The artificial intelligence snickered. “I recommend pointing the barrel at what you want to kill.”

Simon’s eye twitched. “Advisor, my Earth has guns. I know that. Any other advice?”

“Adding combat and weapon information to your display.”

Numbers appeared over the hell hounds indicating their speed and position. Damn. Those critters could move. They were doing a hundred kilometres per hour, and they were still picking up speed. A bar with a percentage next to it appeared in the corner of his vision with a short designation above it. PMDR-7.

“The Mark VII Punisher Molecular Destabilisation Rifle operates by destabilising the molecular structure of its target. In organics this typically leads to massive injury or immediate death via bodily explosion. The PMDR-7 does not use bullets. Instead, it draws upon a reserve of energy, which is indicated by the bar and percentage that have been added to your vision.”

“Okay. That sounds straightforward.” The bar was currently full at 100%. Simon swallowed thickly and tightened his hold on the rifle. He’d never fired a real gun before, but he’d played video games that involved guns. That had to count for something, right? Oh, who was he kidding? It didn’t mean a damn thing. “Can you add a sight? I don’t know how accurate my aim will be.” A thought crossed his mind. A friend of his had mentioned it once when they’d watched Olympic target shooting. “Also, do I need to lead the target?”

“Adding sight. Crosshairs have been added to your vision to indicate where the PMDR-7 is pointing. Leading the target is unnecessary at the ranges and speeds of the current engagement.”

Simon breathed a sigh of relief. All he had to do was line up the crosshairs and pull the trigger –

“Deactivate the safety, meat bag.” Part of the weapon began to glow in his vision. “Otherwise, all you have is an expensive club.”

“Oh, right.” Simon turned off the safety, took aim, and then pulled the trigger.

The weapon kicked hard against his shoulder and gave a muffled thump. There was a flash of light, and a beam of radiance lanced through the air. To his disbelief, the hell hound he’d aimed for dodged. Was it faster than the projectile? No. The projectile had crossed the gap between them in an instant. Instead, the hell hound had already started to dodge as he’d pulled the trigger.

“There are demons that have access to a form of anticipation that borders on precognition. If these hell hounds possess that ability, it will make striking them from distance significantly more difficult.” Behind the hell hounds, the beam struck a boulder, and the truck-sized lump of spiky, half-melted stone exploded in a shower of debris.

Simon blinked. “Okay. That was pretty impressive.”

“The weapon’s performance is acceptable. Yours is not. The hell hounds are continuing their approach. Fire again. Do not miss.”

“Oh, get off my back. This is my first time shooting a real gun.”

“I am on your wrist, meat bag, but the hell hounds will soon be on your back if your aim does not improve.”

“You know what I mean.” Simon fired again, but all he managed to do was remodel another part of the landscape. The rifle’s projectiles were incredibly fast, but the hell hounds moved just far enough to dodge each time he fired.

“I can see your strategy now, meat bag.” Advisor sounded impressed. “You are missing on purpose to lure them in. Once they are closer, they will be unable to dodge despite their anticipatory ability.” She paused. “And, yes, that is both sarcasm and a suggestion.”

“…” Simon dragged in a deep breath. He wasn’t a fan of the sarcasm, but her suggestion was sound. The first of the hell hounds closed in. Its jaws gaped wide as it gathered itself and sprang. He really, really hoped it wouldn’t be able to dodge at this range. He fought the urge to close his eyes as he steadied the rifle and squeezed the trigger.

SPLAT.

Simon yelped as the hell hound exploded in a shower of gore that splattered all over his armour. It was as if a giant had reached down and crushed the monster with one huge, meaty fist. From the sizzling sound the blood made as it seethed against his armour, he would not have been a happy camper if the blood had touched his skin. The other hell hounds whined and veered away, circling him warily as their comrade’s blood dripped onto the parched, scorched earth along with less easily identified bits and pieces. To his disbelief, little windscreen wipers appeared and wiped his visor clean before vanishing. It would have been adorable if the situation had involved less gore.

“That was… messy. I kind of thought it would disintegrate.”

“Why? The boulder you hit exploded.”

“Don’t demons disintegrate when they die?” Admittedly, he was basing that entirely on books he’d read or movies he’d watched, but he didn’t have anything else to go on yet.

“Incorrect. The majority of demons do not disintegrate upon death.”

“Oh.” Simon steeled himself. The other hell hounds had regathered their courage and were closing in for round two.

“Prepare, meat bag. The battle continues.”

At this range, the hell hounds had a far more difficult time dodging the rifle’s attacks. He blasted one of the monsters and fought the urge to gag as more gore splattered over him and his surroundings. Maybe next time, he’d use a less horrific weapon. One of the hell hounds leapt forward and locked its jaws around his forearm. He braced himself for the pain, but there was only a hideous grinding sound followed by a loud, wet snap. The demonic canine had broken its teeth and its jaw on the armour.

“Okay. I have to buy Livia a beer or something when I get back because this armour is officially the greatest thing since the invention of sliced bread.”

“Given the limited number of meat bags capable of carrying out deliveries, unnecessarily high casualty rates would result in an unacceptable decline in the Company’s profits. You are worth more to the Company alive than dead.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Simon jerked his arm free and punched. The blow tore the hell hound’s head off its shoulders, and he yanked the rifle around to shoot another pair of his attackers as they tried to take advantage of his distraction. Cue more gore being added to the mess already all over his armour. The last hell hound leapt at him, and he praised the armour’s superhuman strength again as he managed to keep his footing and bring his fist down on its head. The beast slumped to the ground with its skull caved in, but Advisor was quick to warn him.

“Life signs detected. Stomp on opponent to ensure termination. Offer no quarter, for you would have received none.”

“You’re awfully bloodthirsty. You know that, right?” Simon cringed and brought one armoured foot down.

“A wounded, angry demon is not a foe you wish to face. A dead demon is far more manageable.” Advisor’s sensors swept over the battlefield again. “All hostiles terminated.”

“Okay.” Simon sagged. In the wake of the adrenaline rush, a wave of exhaustion ran through him. He straightened and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. “Where do we go from here?”

“I have detected a suitable anomaly to our north.”

“North, huh?” Simon took a small step forward – one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind – and then screeched to a halt. “Wait. Advisor, which way is north?” He had a feeling that the usual trick of using the sun to determine direction wouldn’t work in a hell world with three suns, at least one of which could drive people insane if they stared at it for too long.

A compass appeared in his vision, and Advisor highlighted a path through the tangle of rocks, burning rivers, and general horror. “Go that way.”

Simon was tempted to say something snarky while he brushed demonic entrails off the armour and tried not to throw up at the carnage he’d created, but he had to admit that having a glowing path in his vision to follow was extremely handy. Forget GPS. He’d never have trouble finding his way to a delivery again if Advisor could do this on Earth.

As they made their way north, he kept his eyes peeled for more demons. The hell hounds hadn’t been too awful to deal with, all things considered, but there were bound to be stronger demons lurking around somewhere. He also wasn’t sure how he’d deal with killing opponents that looked more human. Oh, sure, he kind of wanted to puke whenever he thought about the hell hounds exploding, but it helped a lot that they were monsters. If he had to shoot an opponent that was more humanoid, would he be able to pull the trigger? He wasn’t sure. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to find out. His pulse had finally gone back to normal, but he was certain it would spike if he had to fight more demons.

Somehow, they managed to avoid running into any other demons, but there was definitely something weird going on because they saw fliers zooming off into the distance whilst the land-faring demons they saw in the distance were also in a hurry, The most exciting part of the trip was when the ground beneath them cracked open to unleash another fresh stream of lava. Advisor claimed the armour could withstand it, but Simon had no intention of testing her claim.

“If you are worried about losing a limb,” Advisor said. “You shouldn’t be. Once you get back to the Warehouse, they can easily grow you a new one.”

“I’d rather keep all of my original limbs attached to my body where they belong.”

Advisor gave the mental equivalent of a head shake. “Organics are so touchy about their bodies. Your body is a shell, meat bag. Your mind is what matters.”

“Of course, you’d say that. You’re an artificial intelligence. Humans can’t simply upload themselves onto new hardware. We die when we are killed.”

“You should ask the machine prophets of Delenda IX about that. I’ll quote them. Our flesh was weak, so we gave up our flesh. Our minds were strong, so we made our minds eternal.”

Simon made a face. “That sounds a lot like non-organic propaganda. Does Cuddles know about that?”

“He thinks it’s hilarious.” Advisor radiated amusement. “The cosmic guinea pig response to questions of existential angst is a simple one. A cosmic guinea pig is a cosmic guinea pig. A human is a human. It is admirable to aspire to greater things, but do not forget who you are or where you’re from.”

“That’s a good perspective to have when you’re basically a god.”

“Besides, it is impossible to classify cosmic guinea pigs as either organic or non-organic. Their ability to shape reality functions at a level that makes the question moot. They simply are whatever they wish to be.”

Simon slowed as they reached the top of a hill that should be overlooking the portal. “Let’s hope we can sneak into the portal. I’d rather not have to fight anyone else.” He peeked around a boulder and sighed. “There goes that idea.”

There was a horde of demons around the portal, and they were locked in what appeared to be a brutal, no-holds-barred fight to the death. As for the portal itself… yeesh. He’d never seen anything that screamed eldritch evil the way the portal did. It was a huge arch of misshapen black stone that had been carved to have screaming faces protrude out of it. It was also liberally coated in blood, gore, and viscera. He hoped he wouldn’t have to sacrifice anyone to make it work because he wasn’t into the whole human sacrifice thing. Wait. Would it still count as awful if he could sacrifice a demon instead? Yeah. Yeah, it would. Sacrificing anybody – human or demon – was creepy. To add to the macabre tableau, runes of forbidden power wound their way over the portal, and they radiated an angry, bloody light that made his eyes itch.

“Warning. The portal is a cognitive hazard. Observing it for too long would be unwise. Increasing cognitive filters to ensure protection.” Advisor ran another sensor sweep. “Meat bag, the faces on the portal are not carved from the stone.”

“…” Simon shuddered. “I’m not sure I want to know, but can you explain?”

“The material the portal is made of appears to be capable of binding souls and using them as a power source. The screaming faces are the souls of the damned that are bound within the portal’s structure. Their torment stems from the process the portal uses to turn their souls into the energy required for the portal to function.”

Simon looked heavenward. Yep. There was definitely going to be some sacrificing involved if he wanted the portal to work. “Fantastic.” He glanced back at the ongoing battle. That was a lot of demons. “What should we do? We could try wading in there, but we’d get swarmed.” Simon had no intention of dying on this far-off hell world. Nope. He was going to die an old man in a warm bed after living a nice, successful life.

“It is reassuring to see that you have a strong sense of self-preservation.” Advisor zoomed in on several of the demons. They all had glowing marks on their bodies – so had the hell hounds, now that he thought about it – but there appeared to be two different sets of marks. “Those marks distinguish between members of opposing factions. It may be prudent to see which faction seizes the upper hand before aiding them. They may view us favourably and allow us to use the portal. Furthermore, attempting to operate it without local knowledge may result in negative outcomes. Should both factions prove hostile, waiting until one side has won will reduce the overall number of demons we have to terminate.”

“What sort of negative outcomes are we talking about?” Simon was not going to mention how blithely Advisor had suggested murder and treachery as potential solutions.

“Negative outcomes may vary from serious injury to death with one possibility being exposure to fatal levels of demonic radiation leading to massive, ultra-rapid mutation followed by death via full-body cellular immolation.” Advisor paused. “It will be extremely painful.”

“Oh, boy.” Simon winced. “Let’s not do that.” He pointed. “How about we help that guy? He appears to be in charge of one of the factions, and he’s the biggest, scariest demon here.”

The demon in question was a demon’s demon if ever Simon had seen one. He was straight out of a fantasy novel: a towering creature with leathery skin, hooved feet, bat-like wings, a bestial head, and weapons made of bloody fire. At around thirty feet in height, he was a solid five feet taller than the next biggest demon, and his body was covered in thick, powerful muscles. At the moment, he was locked in combat against a twenty-five-feet-tall demon who resembled a many-armed, multi-headed ogre. Most importantly, the hulking demon would occasionally bark orders at his smaller fellows, which they would hurry to obey. His opponent did the same. They must be the two leaders, so getting on the good side of whoever won their fight was the logical thing to do.

“Demons can seldom be trusted. Their societies typically glorify some level of treachery, especially toward non-demons. Ask for an oath sworn on his collection of souls or his true name to ensure compliance. The estimated efficacy of such precautions is 97%.”

“97%? It’s not perfect, but I’ll take those odds.” Simon heard a noise behind him and turned. “Oh crap.”

An alarm sounded, courtesy of Advisor. “Warning. Hell hounds behind you.”

“Yeah. Maybe tell me that before they get behind me.”

“Consider this a chance to demonstrate your ability to improvise and a reminder to regularly check your display. The dots indicating the approaching hell hounds were visible on the radar in the corner of your display for more than a minute before their arrival. I am not infallible despite my superiority to the majority of organics. Always keep your wits about you.”

Simon yelped and rolled away as the leader of the pack launched itself at him. They bore the same mark as the many-armed demon – as had the previous pack – and he braced himself for more gore before firing his rifle. The closest hell hound dissolved into another cloud of gore, and it was soon followed by two more. It was surprising how quickly he’d gotten used to shooting things, and he wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased or concerned. Honestly, there was a part of him that was happy to treat this like a video game, albeit one with higher stakes.

“I hope the big guy wins because I doubt even demons like people who go around exploding people on their side although I could always say I found them that way. It can’t be too bad to lie to a demon, can it?”

His next shot caught one of the hell hounds in the shoulder instead of the centre of its body. It didn’t matter. Sure, it wouldn’t have been a killing shot with a normal gun, but the demon still came apart in another comically violent explosion. He took a deep breath. The armour had to be filtering out the smell because all he could smell was cool, fresh air. He shook himself. Now was not the time to dwell on the moral complexities of killing demons. He needed to focus on completing his delivery. One step at a time.

“Can you recommend a less messy weapon?” Simon asked as the rapid advance of another hell hound forced him to bash it over the head with one gauntleted fist. He clubbed another aside with the butt of the rifle. The weapon held firm, and his opponent’s ribs gave way beneath the force of his wild swing. Video game. If he thought of this as a video game, it was a lot easier to stay calm. Breathe. Aim. Shoot. Punch anything that got too close. Rinse and repeat. Don’t think about what would happen if the armour failed or he ran into an enemy with the durability to withstand the rifle. “Advisor?”

“Providing recommendation. Switch to the plasma cannon.”

Simon imagined the rifle vanishing and pictured the plasma cannon in his hands. It was bulkier than the image of it suggested, but nothing the armour couldn’t handle. It was shaped like a minigun, and it took both of his hands to hold it. The energy readings he got from it were way higher than the ones he’d gotten from the rifle. The last hell hound charged, and he swung the plasma cannon around and pulled the trigger. A searing bolt of molten plasma reduced it to less than ash in an instant. Simon blinked. Wow. No mess.

“Okay.” Simon nodded to himself. “I don’t care if it’s heavier. I’m using this from now on. It’s way less traumatic.” He moved toward the battle. A group of the other demons had noticed his scuffle with the hell hounds. They were on the same side as the beasts, and they rushed toward him, screaming and baying as they brandished their weapons, talons, claws, or teeth. He tightened his grip on the plasma cannon. In for a penny, in for a pound. That was the saying, right? “I guess I know which side I’m on now.”

The demons surged forward, and Simon hesitated. The hell hounds hadn’t resembled people at all. They were giant, rabid dogs covered in fire and bone. However, some of these demons were humanoid enough that he could easily read their facial expressions.

“Do I want to know what they’re screaming at me?” Simon asked.

Advisor raised the mental equivalent of an eyebrow. “I have chosen not to translate for a reason, meat bag.”

Simon blinked. “Oh. Hmm… I guess I should hear them out if I’m going to shoot them. Translate for me, Advisor.”

“Very well. Be prepared, meat bag.” A second later, he shuddered and shook his head as a litany of horrifically vile insults filled the air. “Okay. Forget what I said. Cut the translation unless it’s directly relevant to completing the delivery or non-hostile.” Those threats had been hideously graphic and weirdly specific. “By the way, does the plasma cannon have a rapid-fire function? There are an awful lot of them headed this way.”

“It does.” Advisor highlighted part of the weapon in his vision. “Use the toggle switch to change between modes. In rapid-fire mode, you can simply hold the trigger down instead of squeezing it each time. However, pay close attention to the energy gauge and the heat gauge in your display. If the energy gauge is empty, the weapon will not fire. If the heat gauge is full, I will be forced to prevent further use to stop the weapon from exploding.”

“Yeah. It would suck to have it explode while I’m holding it.” Simon raised the plasma cannon. This might not be a video game, but there was something wonderfully nostalgic about pointing a plasma cannon at a bunch of murderous demons. “You know, I never thought I’d spend time at work shooting demons with a plasma cannon. I used to think that the craziest thing to ever happen to me at work was that time when a possum jumped onto my car and tried to attack me. Damn. That was one angry possum.” He took aim and braced himself for the recoil. “Let’s hope this works.”

Instead of a powerful bolt, what came out of the plasma cannon was a series of beams so rapid that it might as well have been a continuous stream.

“Ah!” Simon fought to get more purchase with his feet. The weapon already had a strong kick, but it was even worse in this mode. It was like trying to hold back a surging river. “Is there any way I can tone it down a notch?”

“Toning it down would be unwise. The enemy will give no quarter if they reach you, so give no quarter either. Hold the trigger down until all targets have been eliminated.”

“Fantastic.” Simon’s jaw clenched, and his feet dug into the smouldering earth. “Nothing like a bit of murder to put things into perspective.”

He swept the plasma cannon back and forth, inordinately glad that all of the demons charging toward him bore the same mark as the hell hounds. He wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally killing someone on the other side. More importantly for his sanity and stomach, the demons didn’t explode into chunks of gore. Everything the beams hit either disintegrated or – in the case of the more durable demons – turned to ash. He had no doubts that these demons were way tougher than humans, but super-heated plasma had a way of ignoring most levels of durability. The readings on his display clocked the temperature of the plasma in at a cool 20,000 Kelvin. A demon with wings and claws dived down at him, and he jerked the weapon up. The demon didn’t even have time to scream. It vanished beneath a hail of plasma.

“Eyes on the heat gauge, meat bag.” Advisor was not happy. His gaze snapped to the gauge at the corner of his vision. It was an angry red. “I recommend switching to the sword to give the plasma cannon time to cool.”

“Are you sure?”

“The armour should survive the plasma cannon overheating and exploding, but it would be extremely unpleasant. If you wish to keep all of your limbs intact, switch to a different weapon.”

“Fine.” He imagined the plasma cannon vanishing and the sword appearing in his hands. A sword handle appeared in his hands. “Wait… where’s the rest of it?” He distinctly remembered the sword having a glowing blade in the image his inventory had given him. “Advisor?”

“It is not a normal sword.” Advisor highlighted a switch built into the handle. “Turn it on.”

He flicked the switch, and a glowing blade of pure energy erupted from the handle. Simon may or may not have squealed like a kid who’d been told that every day for the next month would be Christmas. Sure, he was getting attacked by crazy demons, but there wasn’t a person alive who hadn’t dreamed of waving around an energy sword. Who cared if he was stuck in a damn hell world? He had a freaking energy sword! “This is so cool. I’m a real life –"

“Dodge, meat bag!”

Simon stopped mid-rant and glanced up just in time to see a demon the size of a minibus swipe at him. He stumbled away, barely avoiding claws as big as his torso, and then scrambled to get his balance back. He didn’t know a lot about fighting – schoolyard scraps and martial arts classes were all he had to fall back on – but he knew that falling down would be a death sentence against an opponent with teeth and claws that big. He also doubted that punching it would be as effective as it had been against the hell hounds. Plus, he didn’t want to get any closer to it than he had to. This thing was not only way bigger but also made of a roiling mass of shadows, blood, and bone fragments. It might not be solid enough for a punch to do anything. The demon roared and drew itself up to its full height, and part of him wondered if it was using the same threats as the others.

“Request acknowledged. Translating now.”

“No!” Simon wailed. “Don’t translate it!”

Too late.

“DIE, INSOLENT SCUM. I WILL TEAR YOUR HEAD OFF YOURS SHOULDERS AND FEAST ON YOUR ORGANS. I WILL USE YOUR RIBCAGE AS A TOILET AND YOUR SKULL AS A CUP. YOUR SOUL WILL –”

Mercifully, Advisor cut the translation there.

“Yay.” Simon cheered weakly. “I’m popular.” He lifted the sword. Contrary to his expectations, it wasn’t weightless. Instead, it felt perfectly balanced in his hands. “I’ve never used a sword before – waving a stick around as a kid doesn’t count – so I should probably take fencing or join a HEMA club if this is going to become a regular occurrence.” He braced himself. “Here goes nothing. It has to work, right? It’s an energy sword.”

The demon took a huge, telegraphed swipe at him, utterly convinced of its own superiority and impending victory. Simon ducked and lunged at its outstretched claw. The armour made him faster than he ever would have been on his own, and the energy sword sliced through his opponent’s outstretched limb as if it wasn’t there. Simon staggered, caught off guard by how easily the weapon had cut through the demon’s arm, and he didn’t need Advisor to translate as the demon jerked back and clutched at the stump of its arm in horrified disbelief.

In an ideal world, Simon would have given his opponent time to process his injury before offering to accept his surrender, whereupon he would call for medical assistance to aid the wounded demon. However, this was not an ideal world. In fact, it was the complete opposite. It was literally some world’s version of hell, so he did the less than sporting thing. He stabbed the demon in the groin – oops, he’d been aiming for its gut – and then yanked the sword up. The blow split the demon in half, and Simon had to fight the urge to vomit as the two halves fell to the ground on either side of him. The sword’s seething blade had somehow not cauterised the wound shut, so he was treated to a lovely cross section of the demon’s insides.

Gross.

Around them, the battle had begun to peter off, and Simon took a few moments to catch his breath. No one would ever be able to accuse him of being lazy after this. It was his first day on the job, and he’d already killed a bunch of demons. That might not count for overtime, but it had to count for something. All the same, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Cuddles was probably laughing at him. The cosmic guinea pig was precisely the sort of person to find his plight hilarious. At least Mr Edwards was likely to sympathise. He’d been a delivery boy once. A quick glance told him that the side he’d supported had won, and it wasn’t long before the towering, walking stereotype of a demon approach him with the severed heads of his chief foe clutched in his claws as macabre trophies. Simon shuddered. He wouldn’t mind a trophy or two for his greatest accomplishments, but he drew the line at waving around severed heads.

“Resume translation,” Simon said. “And can you translate what I’m saying, so he can understand me?”

“Certainly.” Advisor sounded oddly mellow. Had she been human, he could easily picture her smoking a cigarette and swirling a snifter of brandy. Was slaughtering things truly that relaxing for her? He wouldn’t put it past a semi-alcoholic guinea pig to design an AI who thrived on murder. That said, he couldn’t complain about her performance. She’d helped him out quite a bit, and he was still in one piece.

“Greetings, stranger. I am Torgan, a servant of the great and magnificent Arch-Fiend Baldoradas! Who are you? You are no demon. That much, I can tell. You also wield odd and powerful weapons.” The demon’s voice was reminiscent of boulders and glass being crushed into powder.

Simon’s brows furrowed as Advisor highlighted the positions of the other demons. They’d formed a loose circle around him. They hadn’t attacked yet, but he was certain that they wouldn’t hesitate to swarm him if they didn’t appreciate his reply. He might be able to fight off the smaller ones, but all they needed to do was keep him in one place, so the big one could attack. A warning flashed across his vision.

“I just squashed several pathetic attempts at mentally influencing you.”

“It must be the same as in the stories.” Simon had read plenty of fantasy stories. Demons often had mind control powers or the ability to instil panic and terror in those they encountered. Never mind. As long as Advisor and the armour could handle it, he’d ignore it. For all he knew, it wasn’t an ability the demon could turn off. He cleared his throat and then raised his voice to project confidence and authority he didn’t actually feel in the face of a demon waving around a bunch of severed heads.

“I have a delivery for your master, Arch-Fiend Baldoradas. I serve the Company.”

“The Company? A delivery?” Torgan’s eyes – four pits of oozing, scarlet flame – widened and flared, and the fire that coursed over his body banked ever so slightly. He leaned forward, and there was no mistaking the eagerness in his voice when he spoke. “Then… you must be a Messenger.”

“Agree with him, meat bag. The term ‘Messenger’ is frequently used to denote personnel who make deliveries on behalf of the Company. Messengers are often seen as legendary figures who are advents of change.”

“Yes, I am.” Simon pictured the identification badge he’d been given, and it appeared in his hands. He was glad that the cosmic guinea pigs had decided to make it suitably impressive. He held it up, so Torgan could see it. “Behold! Proof of my identity!”

“Hah!” Torgan threw his head back and laughed. The ground shook, and the ash and brimstone in the air blazed. “A Messenger? I never thought I would see one! Truly, the Supreme Fiend and Dark Fathers have blessed me.” His eyes narrowed. “And you say that you have come with a delivery for my lord?”

“Indeed.” Simon puffed out his chest as best he could in the armour. This was, as his dad had once put it before his mum gave him a fond swat on the arm for swearing, a situation where it was necessary to rely on the ancient and noble art of bullshitting. “But only the Arch-Fiend himself may lay eyes upon it, such is its importance and such is the law of the ones I serve. I must get it to him as quickly as I can.” The Arch-Fiend had paid for priority shipping although Simon wasn’t sure what that meant in the context of the multiverse. Back home, getting a package the next day was impressive. For all he knew, it could take years for a delivery to go through. He’d have to ask Cuddles and Mr Edwards about it later.

Torgan rubbed his chin, and his claws clicked as they ran over the stony protrusions that dotted his flesh. “It must surely be an artefact of terrible power, perhaps an eldritch tome or a primal weapon.” He turned and gestured for Simon to follow him toward the massive, ugly portal that screamed horrible evil with every iota of its being. “My lord is locked in battle on the fifth level. Control of our very realm is at stake. This portal will take you to the fourth level. Alas, the portal on that level – which could take you to the fifth level – has fallen into enemy hands.”

Torgan flicked his head, and demons formed up on either side of Simon. Some were more human in size whilst others were far larger than him, albeit none of them were as large as Torgan himself. “I must secure this portal, lest our foes retake it and send aid to our enemies. However, I will lend you what forces I can spare. Go to the fourth level, Messenger. With the aid of my forces, seize the portal and take it to the fifth level. I doubt you will be able to hold the portal for long, but the demons that are accompanying you will give their lives to defend it long enough for you to use it. Once our lord is victorious against his nemesis, his power alone will be sufficient to end the war and claim all the levels. Bring your delivery to him, and I have no doubt that you will be richly rewarded.”

“Thanks. I, uh, appreciate it.” What a helpful demon. Who’d have thought? “Out of curiosity, what would you have done if I’d been making a delivery to your enemies instead?”

Torgan smiled. It was not a nice smile. It involved far too many teeth and way too much fire. It was going to haunt Simon’s nightmares for at least a month. “I would have done my best to kill you. I am a loyal servant. There would be no greater honour than to die in service to my lord, for only he has the vision needed to lead our realm into a new golden age.”

“Oh.” Simon was very, very glad that they didn’t have to fight. Advanced weaponry aside, Torgan was not a demon he wanted to challenge. “It’s a good thing we’re basically on the same side. That would have been awkward.” He nodded at the portal. “So… how does this thing work? We don’t use portals like this at the Company.”

“Of course. Your masters at the Company are undoubtedly capable of miracles we demons could only dream of. Behold!” Torgan strode to the altar beside the portal. Countless symbols and glyphs flared to life, each a deep, bloody red. He gestured extravagantly. Nothing happened, and he rolled all four of his eyes in exasperation. “One moment. I think it needs more blood to get going.” He held the severed heads of his opponent over the altar. “Hmm… it needs more blood.” He pointed at several demons. “You! Bring me the prisoners. We need fresh blood for the altar now!”

* * *

Cold.

It was very, very cold – or so the armour’s sensors said.

Luckily for Simon, all he felt was a faint chill before the armour got to work. Based on the readings that flashed across his visor, it was so cold he would have frozen to death instantly without the armour. Yay. Was freezing to death worse than burning to death? He wasn’t sure, and he hoped to never find out.

Around him, the demons were perfectly fine. Then again, they were demons. They had to be more durable than people, and around half of them were either covered in fire or had blood made of fire. It made him wonder if their fire was physical or magical in nature. For example, if a demon went into space, would the fire on their bodies still burn, or would it go out without any oxygen to fuel it?

“It depends on the kind of demon,” Advisor said. “But for most demons, their fire will continue to burn in space since it is primarily magical in nature.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Simon studied his surroundings. The urge to rub his hands together despite the armour’s protection was nearly overwhelming. The coldest place he’d ever been to was Canberra during a school trip. This place was closer to Antarctica.

He’d gone from a stereotypical hellscape to a world of almost pure white desolation. There was wind, there was ice, and there was snow – in every direction he cared to look, for as far as he could see. Oh wait. There were rocks and boulders half buried in the snow and ice. The sky was scarcely any better. It was a blanket of ominous dark grey with the occasional pocket of black. Instead of the three suns of the previous level, he could only see two in the occasional breaks in the cloud cover. One was a pale blue, and the other was a cold, cruel white. The demons who’d accompanied him spread out to survey their surroundings.

They were fortunate that nobody was guarding the portal on this side, but that might be because the enemy had been confident in keeping control of the other side of the portal. Communication between different levels must also be difficult. Otherwise, they’d have been met with less than welcoming demons from the opposition.

“Which way to the other portal?” Simon asked one of the demons. The demon in question was smaller than the others – he’d have been half a head shorter than Simon without the armour – but unlike the others, he had a wizened, elderly appearance. The others also seemed content to follow his lead. Torgan had put him in charge, and Simon doubted any of the others were keen to incur the larger demon’s wrath by disobeying.

“Why are you asking him?” Advisor grumbled. “I can scan for the portal.”

“I know,” Simon replied. “But if they’re already familiar with the area…” Simon was a big believer in the importance of acquiring local knowledge. He’d learned all of the best shortcuts and routes for his deliveries from locals.

“To our west, Messenger,” the imp replied. His voice was the burbling of a bog, and listening to it made Simon feel slimy. His tattered wings flexed nervously. “But we must tread lightly. This floor was lost to us more than a week ago, and our forces here were captured… or worse.”

Simon made a mental note to never ask what ‘worse’ meant. Given that this was a demon saying it, he was sure it was incredibly awful.

“Is he right, Advisor?” Simon asked. He hoped she wasn’t too miffed at him. He’d need her help to get through this.

“Yes. I have detected an anomaly similar to this portal to our west. Scanning area.” There was a brief pause before a map appeared in front of him. He smiled. That was handy, and although the map didn’t have the extreme detail he’d have liked, it was a relief to know that her sensors weren’t completely blinded by the blizzard that had kicked up around them. The wind was incredible right now. If it wasn’t for the armour, he’d have been blown right off his feet. “I recommend a swift but cautious approach.”

“Right.” Simon turned to the imp. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. He was a proud Messenger, someone they ought to fear and respect. “We’ll head for the portal. If we’re lucky, it won’t be too heavily guarded, and we can rush the defenders and use it before help shows up. If not, we’ll have to weigh our options.”

The demons gave low rumbles of approval. Clearly, they were firm believers in the axe to the skull approach to combat. Simon wasn’t about to get his hopes up. The odds of the other portal being left unguarded when it was connected to a level that was still in dispute were low. It was a miracle he wasn’t freaking out right now although once this was over, he’d drive his car to a nice, secluded spot and then scream his lungs out for a few minutes.

“Also, try not to draw unnecessary attention. If your enemies are in control of this level, we don’t want them to realise we’re here until it’s too late.”

The imp chuckled, his eyes blazing with the heat and light of a fireplace. “I enjoy serving my lord, Messenger. I’m no use to him dead. We will do our best to avoid detection.” He barked orders to the others and then glanced up as the sky vanished behind a swirling curtain of snow. The blizzard had fallen over them in earnest. “The Supreme Fiend and Dark Fathers are with us. This blizzard should conceal us from all but the most skilled of our foes.”

Simon blinked as his vision of his surroundings quivered and the haze of the blizzard vanished. “Advisor, what did you do?”

“Your eyes lack the acuity to see through the blizzard. What you are seeing now is an image projected onto your visor via a composite of my sensors and the armour’s sensors with false colouring to make it easier for you to interpret.”

“Oh. Thanks.” That sounded complicated, but he wasn’t going to complain. This would make it far easier to move around. Hmm. Would he be able to see through walls with Advisor’s help?

The imp frowned. “Although the blizzard will hide us, it will also make it more difficult to navigate. We may miss the portal.”

“I can handle that.” Simon left out the fact that he wouldn’t be doing it – Advisor would. The less the demons knew about him and Advisor, the better. “My senses can pierce the blizzard. We will not go astray.”

The imp inclined his head in respect. “You possess the power to see through one of the magical blizzards of the fourth level? Messengers are mighty indeed. We shall follow your lead.”

“Let’s get moving.” Simon fought an involuntary shudder. The armour kept him from feeling the chill, but it was nevertheless unnerving to be in the middle of a blizzard. The only snow he’d ever seen in his life had been on that school trip to Canberra. Under different circumstances, it would have been nice to linger, but all he could think about was how the blizzard might also be hiding their enemies.

“You are right to be wary. This blizzard is magical in nature. I cannot guarantee perfect sensor accuracy. Remain alert. Increasing my scanning power to guarantee greater accuracy may give away our position.”

“Okay. Keep doing what you’re doing.” The imp had also mentioned that the blizzard was magical. Was this magical snow? Worse, could it be demonic snow? If it was, he wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“You have reasonable instincts, meat bag. The snow here radiates low levels of demonic energy. Long-term exposure to it would be unwise without the armour. Ingesting it would result in significant health complications.”

Yep. Getting this over with quickly was definitely the way to go.

With the blizzard for cover, they continued west. The sheer force of the blizzard – it was enough to have the smaller demons staggering about now and then – might also have driven their enemies to seek shelter, which would only aid their cause. The ground was fairly rugged, but it wasn’t anything the armour couldn’t handle. The main issue was the debris scattered beneath the thick snow. It would have been easy to trip over it if he hadn’t been paying close attention the entire time. A quick glance at one of the mountains that loomed over them sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The mountainside was jagged and rough. The fierce winds and snow should have worn it smooth. Had it been damaged during the war? If so, that spoke volumes about how powerful the demons were. There were also multiple chasms that seemed to come out of nowhere, but his enhanced vision allowed him to warn the demons about them. Even so, more than one careless demon had to be rescued by a winged comrade.

“Thanks for the warnings about the chasms.”

“I’m stuck with you, meat bag. I’d rather be stuck with you while you’re walking around than stuck with you at the bottom of a chasm. Besides, if you fall, there are certain… countermeasures I can employ.”

It was a fair point. Simon would not have wanted to be stuck with himself at the bottom of a chasm either. Unfortunately, as they neared the portal, the blizzard they’d relied on for cover began to ebb. Their progress slowed as they were forced to send scouts ahead to ensure the way was clear. Advisor insisted that she could detect any demons before those demons detected them, but she conceded it was better to be safe than sorry. There was a decent chance that if she missed even one, it wouldn’t be long before they found themselves facing down a whole horde instead of a few stragglers.

Finally, they reached a ridge that overlooked the portal. Similar to the first, the portal was a hulking edifice of black stone that radiated ridiculous levels of evil and wickedness. On the upside, Simon had noticed that his armour had shifted from an imposing mix of reds and blacks to a palate of greys, blues, and whites. He hadn’t known the armour could do that, but he wasn’t going to complain. Its old appearance would have stuck out like a sore thumb amidst all the snow. As for the demons, many of them had rubbed ash, soot, or other substances on their bodies to better hide themselves. Simon took a deep breath and then peeked around a clump of snow-covered boulders as Advisor zoomed in to give him a better view of the portal and its surroundings.

“Damn…” Simon shook his head. “That’s not good.” Nothing bad had happened on their way to the portal. This must be the other shoe – more of a steel-tipped boot, really – dropping.

“It appears our foes are prepared for an attack,” the imp muttered. “There are four high-level demons there, along with dozens of lesser demons, hell hounds, ice skulkers, and other riff raff. Unless you use your power to do the bulk of the fighting, Messenger, I do not think we have the strength to seize control of the portal.”

Simon fought the urge to scream. He had planned to avoid any further fighting unless absolutely necessary. If only he had a bit of that cosmic guinea pig power. Cuddles could probably just blink and erase those demons from existence. Alas, he was a human delivery boy, not a cosmic guinea pig.

“Try to locate allies.” He perked up at the words from Advisor before sagging.

“Where? We’re stuck in the demonic version of Antarctica.” He addressed his next words to the imp. “Can you contact any of your fellows? Could there be more of you on this level?”

“Perhaps. However, the same magic that creates the blizzards also impedes long-range communication. We are in the eye of the blizzard – so it seems calm – but communicating through it is all but impossible. If we can take the portal, our enemies would be unable to call for aid.”

“That’s a big if…”

“Scanning area. Extending scanning range via predictive algorithms to remain below detection threshold.” Advisor radiated displeasure. “I can drill a hole through the blizzard with my sensors, but I can only search in focused bursts rather than broad sweeps without giving away our location.”

“That’s okay. See if you can find anyone.”

Simon kept the demons talking – it wasn’t hard since the imp was more than happy to explain the many feats of their leader – and Advisor soon came back with a suggestion.

“Life signs detected further west. Life signs are extremely weak, but analysis of the trace energies detected suggests a demon on our side.”

Extremely weak life signs? It wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but some help was better than none. Besides, whoever it was might know a trick or two to give them the upper hand. “There might be someone to our west who can help,” Simon said to the imp. “We’ll check it out first and then double back. If we have to, we’ll fight our way to the portal.”

They headed westward, and Simon would have missed who they were searching for if he hadn’t almost tripped over and bashed his head on a slab of stone. He stumbled and was about to ask Advisor why she hadn’t warned him when he found himself staring into the face of a shrivelled corpse half-buried in snow that had been nailed to the slab by metal spikes through their limbs and chest.

“A warning would have been nice,” Simon muttered as he regained his footing.

“I told you to stay alert, meat bag. Consider this a harmless reminder. It would be unfortunate if you let your guard down at a crucial moment. Stay sharp.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Simon grimaced as he glanced back at the corpse. “I’m not sure that whoever this is qualifies as an ally, Advisor.” The corpse had blackened and shrivelled in the cold, and he had to swallow back the bile that burned at the back of his throat. Dying was bad enough, but dying like that? No way. He did not want to die staked out in the middle of a blizzard.

“Demonic physiology differs markedly from human physiology. Despite her appearance, the target is still alive, albeit on the verge of death. The cold and the ambient magic present in the blizzard have allowed her to survive in a comatose state despite her injuries.”

“Okay… that’s incredible.”

The imp’s reaction was far less reserved than Advisor’s. He gave a wail of despair and all but threw the other demons aside before collapsing onto his knees next to the almost-corpse. “My lady!” Although far less animated in their grief, the other demons gave angry growls and hissed promises of terrible vengeance. “My lady!”

“You know her?”

“I do, noble messenger.” The imp tugged at the spikes that pinned the other demon to the stone slab, but he lacked the strength to pull them free. His struggles grew more frantic, and Simon’s heart ached. They might be demons, but they weren’t mindless creatures, capable of only rage and destruction. The imp’s grief was genuine.

“Even a demon can love,” Advisor said. “Although how a demon defines love may vary drastically from the standards held by a human or cosmic guinea pig.”

“Yeah. I think you’re right.” Simon gently ushered the imp aside and yanked the spikes free, glad for the strength the armour gave him.

The imp cradled the fallen demon in his arms. “This is Lady Vala. She is the niece of the mighty Arch-Fiend. She must have fallen while trying to keep our foes from seizing this level. It was she who raised me up when I was but another worthless demon amongst the multitudes. It was she who saw my keen mind and devotion and allowed me to become more than another body sent into battle with little choice but to die in our great lord’s name.” He wailed pitifully and then moved to clutch at Simon’s leg. Simon never thought he would see a demon grieve, let alone beg, but here he was. It was not nearly as funny in real life as it had been in his head. “Please, Messenger, I beg you! She is beyond our help, but is there anything you can do for her? She will aid us mightily if you can restore her. I swear it. And the Arch-Fiend himself will reward you handsomely once he learns that you saved her.” The imp bared his throat. “If it takes my life, then I will gladly give it! Without her guidance and care, I would have died long ago.”

Simon gazed down at the imp and put his hand on his shoulder. He knew that desperation. He’d seen it in his father’s eyes and in the mirror the last time his mum had gone in for surgery. What wouldn’t either of them have given to make her well again? The surgery had saved her life, but it hadn’t cured her. It had only bought them time. Simon took a deep, calming breath. He would save his mother – and he would save this demon too.

“Advisor, you said she was in a comatose state, so she’s not dead. How do we bring her back? I’m not trying to be mean here, but she looks pretty dead to me.” He’d seen mummies in documentaries that looked better.

“Examining archives and running simulations.” Advisor hummed. It reminded Simon of a cat purring or the pleasant rumble of a high-performance car. She must be enjoying stretching her metaphorical legs. “She appears to be a succubus. Copulation may restore her energy and allow her to heal herself.”

“…” Simon’s jaw dropped. “No! I am not doing that. Come up with a less disturbing plan!” He was glad that Advisor had ensured that no one could hear them speak because his voice might have gone up an octave or two at her suggestion. Seriously? That was not the kind of plan he’d expected or wanted to participate in.

“Running further simulations.” Advisor’s humming shifted in pitch until it was something he felt more than heard. “Are you familiar with how to jumpstart a car?”

“Yeah. I’ve had to help out a few of my mates after they left the headlights running overnight.”

“You can use the spare power source in your inventory to provide her with the power to regenerate. Be careful. Providing too much power may result in spontaneous explosion and immediate death.”

“Okay. That sounds horrific, so I’m hoping you can walk me through it. I’ve never jumpstarted a demon before, but I’m going to guess it’s more complicated than jumpstarting a car. Also, for future reference, please leave copulation as a last resort. Lead with other options.”

“Why? This may be your best chance, meat bag.”

Simon laughed. The fact that his sex life was being insulted by a bodiless artificial intelligence was too absurd for him to be bothered. “You have an oddly organic sense of humour, you know.” Advisor huffed, and he snickered. “All right. Tell me what to do.”

Under the watchful eyes of the other demons, Simon took out the spare power source – a small, glowing crystal – and attached it to Vala using several cables. Apparently, jumpstarting things must not be that uncommon an occurrence because everything he needed was in his inventory. Advisor promised to regulate the energy flow herself, so if Vala caught fire or exploded, it wouldn’t be his fault.

“Let’s hope this works,” Simon muttered as he finished preparing. “Because the demons are not going to be happy if I blow up their leader’s niece.” He double-checked everything and then nodded in satisfaction. “I think that’s all of it, Advisor. Are we ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Then light her up.” He took a step back. Nothing happened. He stared. Wait… “How do I turn on the power source again? You said you’d manage the energy flow, but do I still have to turn it on first?”

He could actually feel Advisor’s exasperation. “Correct.” She highlighted several parts of the crystal in his vision. “Apply light pressure to those areas. Do not worry. The crystal is practically indestructible, but excess force is unnecessary. It operates via a process similar to telepathy. Apply pressure, imagine the crystal activating, and then stand back. For safety purposes, I am not allowed to activate the crystal myself unless you are incapacitated.” She paused. “If you prefer, I can have the armour shock you into unconsciousness, so I can handle the entire jumpstarting process.”

“Uh… no.” Simon activated the crystal and stepped back. There was a brilliant flash of light, and Vala’s entire body lit up like a demented, humanoid Christmas tree. He would have panicked and begun doing his best impression of a headless chicken if not for the readings that filled his vision. Advisor had displayed a number of ‘bars’ that covered key criteria for the demon’s regeneration. So far, all of them were either green or yellow. None were red.

“Red is dead,” she reminded him. “Yellow is mellow. Green is alive.”

“That last one doesn’t rhyme.”

“Take your complaints to Cuddles. He was the one who developed the mnemonic.”

“Forget I said anything.”

Actinic flashes threatened to blind him until the armour’s visual filtering caught up. Sparks of energy danced over the withered, half-frozen flesh, and jagged lightning leapt over the cables and crackled through the air.

“Is that supposed to happen? I’ve never seen a car do that during a jumpstart.”

Vala thrashed violently, and Simon winced. He wasn’t sure if she was moving under her own power, or if all the thrashing around was similar to what happened when something got hit by a bolt of lightning or what had happened when his teacher had hooked a dead frog up to electricity in biology class.

“Yes. However, energy absorption is 37% below projections.”

“Uh… how bad is that? I’m not exactly an expert in jumpstarting demons back to life.” That was definitely a sentence that Simon had never imagined he would ever say.

“It means my projections need to be refined. Further data is required. However, it is still within tolerable limits, provided we increase the energy output from the crystal to compensate.”

“Are you sure? There are already sparks and stuff flying everywhere.” Simon took another step back as Vala’s entire body was engulfed in flame. “And now she’s on fire! What do we do? Should we cut the power?”

“Relax, meat bag. Observe the colour of the flames. It’s not normal fire. Demons often undergo combustion when rapidly healing. This is her personal fire, derived from her power.” Advisor gave a mental scowl. “And now energy absorption is 50% below projections. Attempting to identify extraneous factors and refine projections. This level of inaccuracy is unacceptable.”

“But it’ll still work, right?”

“Correct. Increasing power to compensate.”

“If you’re sure…” Simon fought the urge to cover his eyes despite the visual filtering that was already in place. There was a blinding flash followed by a muffled thump, and he was hurled backward. He somehow managed to land on his feet – not all the demons were so lucky – and he skidded back through the snow as his booted feet fought for purchase. He was dimly aware of steam rising from the armour. That must have been a lot of energy. As his vision cleared, he straightened and looked around. The demons were in disarray with many picking themselves up off the ground whilst others emerged from their hiding spots behind larger, sturdier demons or nearby boulders.

“Impressive. You landed on your feet. Demons can sense weakness.”

“Please, tell me we didn’t blow her up. That would suck… and it would make delivering a package to her uncle super awkward.” He could already picture it in his head. Oh, sorry for blowing up your niece, Arch-Fiend. Can you sign for this package? Yeah. That would make a human murderous. He didn’t want to think of how a super-powerful demon would react.

“See for yourself.”

The maelstrom of fire that had enveloped Vala’s body faded. Simon stared and then stared some more. Oh. Damn. They definitely hadn’t blown her up. Instead of the withered corpse they’d stumbled upon, he was looking at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her eyes were a sparkling, vibrant amethyst, and her hair was a shimmering waterfall of lustrous black. Her face and figure were so perfect that he’d have questioned if they were digitally enhanced if he’d seen her in a magazine. A stray thought called the crystal and cables back into his inventory, and his vision was briefly filled by readings from Advisor. The gist of it was simple. Vala had been completely restored.

“Well, well, well,” the succubus murmured, her voice filled with a pleasant, teasing huskiness that sent more than a dozen warnings about possible mental influences racing across his vision. “Who do we have here?”

“What’s with all those mental influences?” Simon asked. It was hard not to stare, but he was doing a truly heroic job of keeping his eyes on her face and not the rest of her since she had apparently decided that walking around without clothes in the middle of demonic Antarctica was okay.

“She is a succubus. Mental influences are a major aspect of her powers. The armour and I have countered seventeen so far.” Advisor sounded impressed. “Seven were commendably subtle.”

“Yeah. That’s worrying. Keep an eye on that, please.” Simon cleared his throat and addressed his next words to Vala. He had to speak up to be heard over the wind, which had begun to strengthen once more. Hopefully, the blizzard wasn’t about to swallow them whole. “You can stop trying to use your powers on me. They won’t work.” She struck a coquettish pose, and Simon gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for his discipline. His eyes hadn’t strayed from her face for longer than a fraction of a second.

“Incorrect. Your total eye-straying time was four seconds.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Simon grumbled. “And don’t keep track of that.” He spoke to Vala again. “It’s a bit rude since I helped bring you back.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. There was something distinctly regal in her features and bearing. Even though she was naked, there was no mistaking her nobility. “We demons do take our obligations seriously.”

“I want an oath,” Simon said at Advisor’s behest. “On your true name or the collection of souls that you have that you will not harm me but will instead aid me in my quest.” The energy readings coming from Vala painted her as vastly more powerful than any of the demons they’d encountered so far, including Torgan.

Vala feigned shock. “My! How bold of you to demand an oath from this demure young lady. Who knows what liberties you might take with my person if you had me under your power?” Simon twitched as she stood in a way that accentuated everything, and there was a lot of everything to accentuate. “But before that, stranger, who are you?”

The imp scrambled forward. There might have been tears rolling down his leathery cheeks. “My lady! I am so glad to see you whole again! I had thought all hope was lost.” He gestured animatedly at Simon. “He is a Messenger. He has come to deliver an item to your mighty uncle. He aided us in taking the portal on the third level, and he led us to you before seeing to your restoration.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “The portal to the fifth level is close but heavily guarded. Thankfully, the blizzard will make it difficult for them to call for aid. With you and the Messenger amongst us, we can claim the portal, and the Messenger will be able to deliver the artefact your uncle has called for.”

Vala’s lips curved up into a warm, genuine smile. “It is good to see you again, Certero. I was not sure I ever would.” Vala patted the imp on the shoulder. “But a Messenger? I did not think I would ever meet one.” She nodded at Simon. “Your kind have always been spoken of as legends – characters in stories meant to remind us of the greater powers that dwell beyond our realm.” She sashayed forward. The pupils of her eyes, Simon noted, were closer to a cat’s than a human’s. “Very well, Messenger. I will give you my oath.” She leaned forward to give her oath and all but draped herself over the armour, which could not have been comfortable given its rugged exterior. “Now, keep in mind that my true name is not to be bandied around needlessly. Address me as Vala unless you have need of it.”

“Sure.” Simon thanked the armour for hiding his reactions. “By the way… aren’t you cold?”

“Cold?” Vala glanced down at her naked body, and her grin turned decidedly vulpine. “Oh? Don’t you enjoy the view? I don’t hear anyone else complaining.” From the amused chortles of the other demons, they had certainly been enjoying the view.

“If you want to walk around naked, that’s up to you, but we are about to go into battle in the middle of an icy wasteland. If I were in your shoes, I’d put armour on.”

“True.” Vala gestured. Armour appeared. Naturally, it only enhanced her already ample charms. Simon was tempted to ask if bikini armour would actually do anything except serve as a distraction, but Advisor beat him to it.

“The visual appearance of the armour is irrelevant. It offers protection by creating a skin-tight forcefield over the wearer’s entire body.”

Simon chuckled. “Imagine that. Magical bikini armour that works.” He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, he was in hell helping a bunch of demons while working for a nigh-omnipotent guinea pig with drinking problems. Magical bikini armour might be one of the less weird things he’d seen today.

“Shall we go?” Vala asked. “If you have an item for my uncle, then it must be of critical importance. He would not have used any of his power or resources at such an important juncture of the war unless it was absolutely necessary.” Her brows furrowed. “And who is that spirit I can sense around you?”

“Spirit?” Simon blinked. “You can sense one?” She must mean Advisor.

“Yes.” Vala frowned. “I can sense her presence. It is… odd, different from any spirit I have sensed before. Moreover, the pauses in your speech are telling. You should work on that even if you are communicating mentally or in other ways that conceal your speech with her from the rest of us.”

“Fascinating.” Advisor’s voice came from the armour, and Vala and the other demons took a reflexive step back. “I will have to improve my stealth protocols, but this is new data.”

“Who are you?” Vala asked.

“I am a knowledge spirit.” Advisor’s voice was so deliberately flat that Simon just knew she was about to tease him. “Did you know that my first suggestion was for him to copulate with you to restore your power?”

“Advisor,” Simon hissed. “Could you not?”

Vala chuckled throatily. It was a beguiling sound – and Advisor and the armour calmly swatted aside another four mental influences. “That may have worked, but I can understand your reticence in light of my previous state.” She smirked and put one hand on her hip. “But perhaps you might wish to reconsider, Messenger. A hero deserves his reward.”

“I’m not sure that would be wise.” Oh, he was tempted. She made the most attractive women he’d ever seen on Earth look like hags, but apart from his functioning libido, he also had a functioning brain. Sleeping with a succubus was likely to end in horror, soul-draining, and possibly death.

“Correct.” Advisor snickered. “Without proper preparation, copulation with a succubus is often fatal.”

“I wonder what she is saying to you,” Vala murmured. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Vala could sense Advisor, but she couldn’t hear her unless Advisor wanted to be heard. “I assume you can fight, Messenger.”

“He is a mighty warrior,” Certero said. The imp’s eyes blazed. “He wields weapons of terrible power with commendable skill. Our battle to reclaim the portal on the third level would have been far more difficult without his aid.”

Simon was glad to be appreciated, but he didn’t want anyone thinking he was some kind of invincible killing machine. Nope. He was a well-equipped delivery boy who happened to enjoy living. If blasting hell hounds and demons was what it took to survive his delivery, then that’s what he’d do. “Yeah. What he said.”

“Good.” Flames briefly coursed over Vala’s body before subsiding. “I am powerful, but there is a reason you found me staked out there and left for dead. We should have surprise on our side, but we must strike before the blizzard clears. If our enemies can summon reinforcements, we will be overrun.”

“Fair enough. Let’s go take the portal.”

They moved back toward the portal, and Vala took a moment to survey the situation. She was familiar with the demons around the portal, and she swiftly issued orders regarding their tactics and overall strategy to the lesser demons. They were relieved to have someone familiar to obey, and Certero took to her orders with fanatical enthusiasm.

“Our opponents are strong,” Vala explained. “Our best chance is to inflict as much damage as we can as quickly as we can via a surprise attack. It will be a battle of initiative. Since communicating through the blizzard is close to impossible, they will not be able to summon aid. If we can take the portal, there is a decent chance that the rest of their forces won’t even know they’ve lost it until you’ve already reached my uncle.” She pointed at two of the largest demons around the portal. They were hulking giants of ice and snow, each around twenty feet tall. They resembled yetis with shards of jagged rock protruding from their shaggy fur. “Can you handle those two, Messenger? I should be able to occupy the other high-level demons. You do not need to defeat them – although I would appreciate it – but you must keep them occupied, or we will be overwhelmed.”

“I can handle it.” Simon hoped he sounded more confident than he felt, but he couldn’t see a way around it. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and although he would have preferred to fight the smaller, weaker demons, that wouldn’t help their cause. On the upside, he doubted the demonic yetis were plasma proof. Naturally, he checked with Advisor. He didn’t want any nasty surprises during the battle.

“Correct. The plasma cannon should possess sufficient firepower to kill them based on my sensor readings. I recommend using single-shot mode. The increased power will be useful, and their size makes it difficult to miss despite your lamentable aim, meat bag. Do not attempt a head shot. Aim for centre mass.”

“Gotcha.” Simon took a deep, steadying breath. Centre mass? He could do that. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. Absurdly, he had the urge to eat a slice of pizza from his inventory. Oh, and he still had his sausage roll too although he’d forgotten to bring any tomato sauce. Damn. His inventory didn’t have any either if his memory was right. He shook his head. Now was not the time to worry about food. A chill crept through him, one that had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures.

“Let’s get this done,” Simon said.

Vala smirked, and for a second, her teeth were far sharper than any human’s teeth could ever be. “Yes. The sooner, the better.”

Bat-like wings sprouted from her back, and she took to the air. The time for subtlety had passed. Around them, the blizzard stirred. If they were lucky, it wouldn’t swamp them during the battle. “Attack!”

The demons rushed toward the portal with angry cries, and Simon ran after them. “Let’s hope this works.” If it didn’t, he doubted the other demons would let him walk away unscathed. A wave of… strange sensations washed over him, and Advisor chimed in with a warning.

“Multiple mental influences detected and nullified.”

“Thanks. Keep up the good work.”

The demons around him stumbled and had to regather themselves as the leaders of the enemy demons exerted their power, but Vala replied with mental influences of her own. Whatever she did drew every eye on the battlefield. It only took the high-level demons a few moments to shake off the attack, but the lesser demons were completely enthralled. Their leaders shouted at them to defend themselves, but many of them didn’t react until Vala and the others were already in their midst.

Simon hadn’t paid much attention to it last time since he’d been caught up in his own struggles, but demonic combat was incredibly bloody. One demon simply ripped another demon’s head off whilst another tore his opponents heart out and then flung it into the face of his next opponent to blind them before cutting them in half with a blade that was closer to a giant hacksaw than a sword. Across the battlefield, other demons relied more on magic than melee combat. Fire, shadows, blood, and other more esoteric attacks filled the air. The howl of the wind grew stronger, and curtains of snow swept across the battlefield, only to be driven back by bursts of magic.

Simon pulled out the energy sword – he’d keep the plasma cannon hidden until he had to use it – and waded into the battle. His first opponent was a large feline demon reminiscent of a sabretooth tiger. It leapt straight at him, and he jerked to the side to avoid its claws. The energy sword’s seething blade and the demon’s own momentum did the rest. It toppled to the ground, cut in half, and another demon rumbled toward him. He stared. It resembled a bizarre cross between a piranha and a badger, only with more spikes. It was also the size of a moose. He lashed out with a clumsy strike and managed to sever one of its limbs. The demon screeched, and its claws clattered into his chest. Simon went flying from the force of the blow, but the armour held firm. He was definitely buying Livia and the squid-people a box of chocolates later. He scrambled to his feet and heaved a wild punch into the demon’s chin as it tried to seize him in its jaws. It reeled back, and he hacked its head off with his sword.

“Damn,” Simon muttered as the demon’s headless body staggered around before finally collapsing in a heap. “That is so freaky.”

One of the stronger demons – it resembled a grizzly bear with wings and ice armour – shrieked a curse only to be cut off midcry as Vala descended on it like a hammer out of the sky. Her hands were awash with blood-red flame, and her punch sent the larger demon sprawling. She raced after it. Her wings beat the air furiously, and her lips were drawn back into a savage, toothy grin. The demon swiped at her with its claws, but Vala avoided the blow with inhuman grace before landing a kick that knocked it back again. He saw the two yeti demons move to intervene, and he hurried to meet them. It was time to put the plasma cannon to work again.

“Remember to aim for centre mass, meat bag. Your aim is awful, and the head is a relatively small target. With the current settings, a shot at centre mass will kill or seriously injure them.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Simon ditched the sword and called up the plasma cannon. The two demons hesitated momentarily at the sight of the unfamiliar weapon, and he took shameless advantage of their wariness. He sincerely hoped his first shot would kill or disable one of them. Otherwise, he would have two very pissed off demons to deal with. “Wait… is there a stronger mode we can use… you know, to be sure? I know I was preaching moderation a second ago, but these guys are pretty big.”

“Understood.” Advisor’s voice was filled with joy. “Request confirmed. Authorisation granted. Unlocking artillery mode.”

Simon pulled the trigger before realising what Advisor had said. “Wait… artillery mode?”

BOOM.

The resulting explosion of superheated plasma not only obliterated one of the demons but everything around it too. It was like dropping a plasma bomb right in the middle of the battle. The yeti demon’s entire retinue was annihilated alongside it, and the shockwave that followed threw everyone off their feet. Simon staggered back up and gaped at the massive crater of molten rock that had replaced the yeti demon.

“Target eliminated.”

“What the hell?” Simon swallowed thickly. “That might have been excessive.” He could only imagine what would have happened if allied demons had been caught in the blast. Sure, they were demons, but they were on his side. He didn’t want to see any of them get killed. The other yeti demon had managed to survive, but it was badly wounded. Its fur had been scorched off in multiple places, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Wait. Smell? It said a lot that Advisor had let that particular smell pass through the armour’s filters? The demon glanced between the crater and the smoke rising from the plasma cannon and then turned to run.

“Can you tone it down a little?” Simon asked as he took aim again.

“Toning it down is unnecessary. Target is not near any of our allies.” Advisor was jubilant. “Fire for effect!”

The second yeti demon managed to take two steps before Simon pulled the trigger.

BOOM.

Simon was ready this time, and he braced himself against the shockwave as chunks of molten debris flew through the air. Clouds of steam billowed outward, and Simon cringed as he took in the addition of yet another smouldering crater to the formerly wintry landscape. “Advisor, if I miss, will artillery mode destroy the portal?”

“No. Scans indicate that the portal is made of a material that is largely impervious to physical and chemical attack. Even at its highest setting, the plasma cannon would only inflict superficial damage to the portal. Destruction of the portal would require more esoteric weaponry that delivery personnel do not have access to without special dispensation.” She paused, and he could feel her eagerness. It was an almost physical force. “Do you want me to ask for special dispensation?”

“Uh… no.” Simon studied the battlefield. “I don’t think it’s necessary. We’re winning.”

The enemy demons had either been slain, captured, or were trying to flee. He pointedly ignored the fact that some of them were being eaten. Rather than take any chances, Vala had ordered their fastest demons to give chase. With the blizzard still raging around them, the only way the enemy would be able to call for reinforcements was if one of them managed to escape. Vala noticed him staring and gave him a cheerful wave with the hand she’d used to tear off her opponent’s head. The motion painted a vivid burst of crimson across the snow, and smoke rose as the demon’s fiery blood seared through the snow into the rock beneath.

“You know,” Simon said to Advisor. “I do wonder if we’re the good guys. Good guys don’t normally eat their enemies, at least, not where I’m from.” He paused and then had to turn away. “And now she just ripped some poor demon’s balls off to wave around as a trophy.”

“Trophy-taking behaviour is common in demons throughout the multiverse.”

Simon fought the urge to cross his legs. “I guess. And, hey, if we’re the bad guys, it’s entirely possible that the other side is even worse.”

Vala handed the body parts she was holding to Certero and skipped over to Simon with a merry laugh. “They were right about you, Messenger. You can handle yourself in a fight.” She nodded at the portal. “I will activate the portal. The rest of them will stay here to protect it. I alone will accompany you to the fifth level.” The imp looked as though he wanted to argue, but she shook her head. “The fifth level is dangerous, and speed is of the essence, old friend. If all of us were to go, it would take far too long. The sooner my uncle receives what he requires, the sooner he can bring an end to this conflict.”

She whistled sharply, and the lesser demons dragged over a few of their prisoners. She hoisted them over the altar near the portal and cheerfully gutted them. Simon gulped as she went about her grisly work with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. If he ever built a portal, he’d make sure it ran on electricity – no sacrifice required. Eerie runes crept across the inky, twisted surface of the archway, and the tormented faces held within it bayed in a combination of sorrow and rage. The space inside the portal tore open.

“Come with me, Messenger. My uncle awaits.”

* * *

“And now we’re in a jungle.” Simon blasted one of the enemy demons as Vala made short work of the others. They must not have expected trouble because there were less than a dozen of them guarding the portal. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’re in a video game. We’ve been to the fire world and the ice world, and now we’re in the jungle world. All we’re missing now is a water world full of annoying puzzles.”

“Quickly,” Vala said. “Follow me.”

The pair of them sprinted away from the portal with her in the lead. The thick vegetation, overhanging vines, and the closeness of the trees made flight all but impossible, but she could still run at a speed the armour struggled to keep pace with. Simon grimaced. He'd have to up his exercise regime if he was going to keep doing this.

“Out of interest,” Simon asked. “Why is the demon realm split into multiple levels?” Advisor huffed. She probably wanted to work it out for herself, but he was curious to know how Vala viewed her people’s history. He’d learned from talking to people at the restaurant that listening to people talk about their history could be quite entertaining. Some of his fellow employees had led very interesting lives, but they all had good hearts. Mr Edwards had a knack for reading people, which made a lot more sense now that Simon knew what he was involved in.

Vala chuckled. “It’s a long story, Messenger, but I will summarise it for you. More than a hundred thousand years ago, the Supreme Fiend created the demon realm. The Dark Fathers – the progenitors of the other great Houses of the demon realm – helped him mould it. Alas, all of them were eventually slain in battle against a foe so mighty that he forever fractured the demon realm in his wrath, forcing the survivors to construct these portals. Previously, all of the levels were part of the same world, such that you could easily travel from one to the other by foot or by wing.”

That sounded awful, but Simon wanted to know more. He’d seen how strong Vala was – Advisor recommended avoiding conflict unless he was able to surprise her with the plasma cannon – so her reverence for the Supreme Fiend and Dark Father suggested they were far, far beyond her. Plus, ancient demons were always super strong in stories, and relying on fiction had actually proven helpful so far.

“I’m going to assume that the Supreme Fiend and the Dark Fathers were unbelievably powerful, so who could have killed them and fractured the demon realm?”

Vala made a sign with her hands. It reminded Simon of the signs some cultures made to ward off evil. “A dragon god, Messenger, and not any normal dragon god. After all, the Supreme Fiend was mighty. He had slain many dragons and many gods before. None still living know the dragon god’s name, but his title was engraved upon the souls of all who witnessed his splendour, a testament to his overwhelming might and glory. That title has been passed down in our legends for generations. He was called the Supreme Calamity Prismatic Dragon God. We do not know what our ancestors did to earn his wrath – he was supposedly an affable fellow – but anger him they did, and the rest is history.” She swallowed thickly. “It is said that prior to creating the demon realm, the Supreme Fiend waged a war of conquest across many worlds and drove all his foes before him. His loyal lieutenants, the Dark Fathers, could shatter worlds by themselves, and his might was greater still. The demon realm was meant to surpass all those worlds, to provide a single plane of existence that could serve as hell for all the mortal worlds the Supreme Fiend could reach.

“By all rights, they should have been unbeatable when fighting together. But I have seen the places where the dragon god’s flame still lingers, thousands of years after it was unleashed. There are oceans – endless oceans – of twilight fire that devour reality itself and consume all who dare approach. They say that the titan shadow that occasionally casts darkness over the demon realm is a psychic scar left on the very fabric of our world by the winds of the dragon god’s passage.” She shuddered. “The Supreme Fiend and Dark Fathers had triumphed over gods and other such beings before. My uncle, although not as powerful as them, has personally slain a dragon god in single combat. But none of the entities they faced could have compared to the foe that devastated this realm. They say that his scales were a black so deep it was as though the night itself had been given wings. Yet when he called upon power that could tear the very souls of his enemies to pieces, those same scales would shine brighter than the sun of any mortal world.” Vala quivered. “A single pass, Messenger. They say the dragon god slew them in a single fiery pass before turning his ire on the demon realm itself.”

“Okay.” Simon nodded firmly. “I am officially terrified.” The way she had described the dragon god, it was clear that he was their version of the bogeyman. The dragon god had apparently slaughtered people who could destroy entire worlds, and he’d done it without breaking a sweat. “So where is your uncle?” Advisor had scanned their surroundings. However, the magic here was incredibly dense, and she didn’t want to up the power of her scans in case they attracted unwanted attention.

“I cannot be entirely sure.” Vala’s brows furrowed. They had upped their pace yet again. “I am attuned to his magic, and I can sense it ahead of us, but the sheer quantity of magic in this area makes it difficult to determine his exact location. I pray we are not too late. My uncle is truly mighty, but so is his foe –”

Something burst out of the jungle ahead of them, and it crushed several trees beneath its bulk as it raced toward them. The eerie emerald sunlight that filtered through the thick canopy glinted off the demon’s insectoid carapace. Simon’s eyes widened. Okay. He had not been expecting a demonic centipede the size of several buses stapled together. He immediately went for the plasma cannon and prepared to fire, but Vala was faster. The succubus growled and lunged forward. She brought one fire-wreathed fist down onto the other demon’s head. The force of the impact rattled the jungle, and the insectoid demon’s head slammed into the ground. She reared back to throw another strike, but the demon jerked its horned head up to strike at her.

“What are you waiting for, Messenger?” Vala retreated. “Attack!”

“The plasma cannon will likely be ineffective. Scans indicate that the creature’s carapace is a form of natural ablative armour. Switch to the molecular destabilisation rifle instead.”

“Right.” Simon switched weapons and put the rifle to work. To his utter amazement, the demon actually survived the first shot. Instead of simply exploding like everything else he’d shot, huge chunks of its carapace broke off. It staggered about drunkenly, and Simon shot it again. “If at first you don’t succeed…”

Vala gave an impish cry of delight as the insectoid demon’s innards splattered all over their surroundings. By a freakish miracle, it still wasn’t completely dead, and she unleashed a piercing cry that froze the other demon in its tracks. A wave of warnings about possible mental influences popped up, and Simon shot the demon a third time and then lowered his weapon. He was confident it was dead this time – it had better be, now that it was in chunks no larger than one of his fists. Once again, the adorable, little windscreen wipers appeared to clean off his visor.

“That was one of the stronger servants of the enemy.” Vala turned her gaze to the sky. The green sunlight that had filtered through the razor-leafed canopy had given way to crimson and obsidian. “Quickly!” she barked. “We must hurry if my uncle and his foe are using this much of their power!”

As they ran toward the source of the light – the trees were still too thick for Vala to fly easily – Simon made a mental note to ask the squid-people about the armour. If he was going to be making such extensive use of it from now on, then he wanted to understand it better. Besides, it was really damn cool.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Vala didn’t turn to look at him. Her concern for her uncle was clearly visible in her tense expression. “You just did – and now may not be the best time, all things considered.”

“I get that,” Simon said. “But there’s something I want to know. Why are you fighting this war?” Simon sincerely hoped he wasn’t aiding in the rise of an evil demonic dictator. Then again, they were demons. Maybe a dictatorship was the only stable form of government that worked in the demon realm. It was hard to imagine a functioning democracy where people ate their enemies or sacrificed them on altars.

“A fair question.” Vala scowled as more demons emerged to slow them down. “Be ready, Messenger. Our objective is not to defeat them – we fight our way past them!”

Simon drew the energy sword. It would be his best weapon if they had to break through. Vala’s initial blast of flame scattered the other demons, and Simon swung his sword haphazardly at anyone who got close. He wasn’t sure how many of his wild, sloppy swings hit, but it was enough for them to push past. The ground beneath them rumbled, and the otherworldly maelstrom of red and black in the sky intensified. They had to be getting closer, and Simon grit his teeth. Even with the armour’s help, he could feel the burn as the exertion finally began to take its toll. Yeah. He needed to work on his fitness when he had the chance.

“Increasing life support functions,” Advisor said. There was a strange sensation, like tiny needles digging into his skin. The fatigue ebbed away. “Keep running, meat bag. I can’t do this too often, but I can use the armour to augment and enhance your inefficient biological functions.”

“Thanks.” Simon would have to ask her about it later. He hoped she wasn’t simply pumping him full of crazy drugs from another dimension.

“Since the fall of the Supreme Fiend and the Dark Fathers, control of the demon realm has generally been passed around by their descendants, many of whom have been commendable rulers in their own right. Yet over the ages, they have grown increasingly conceited and proud. They forget why their ancestors ruled – not because of their bloodlines but because of their overwhelming might, cunning, and wisdom. They rose to the top by merit. Long ago, the Supreme Fiend was not the leader of our people. It was the acclaim of his fellows and his unquestionable superiority that gave him the authority to rule. Their descendants have begun to believe that their bloodlines alone entitle them to power although most of them are little more than pale shadows of their ancestors. They are, in every way, the lesser sons of greater sires.”

“Same old, same old everywhere, I guess.” Simon shrugged. Australia might not have had an entrenched political class to the same extent as other countries, but there was no denying that there were people who believed they should be running the place for reasons other than merit.

“Perhaps, Messenger, but I doubt any conflicts from your world could match the horror of our civil wars.”

“You’d be surprised.” Simon would put World War I and World War II against anyone’s wars, and human history was full of genocide and butchery. For all the good people in the world, there were plenty of awful ones too. He frowned. Had the cosmic guinea pigs ever had a civil war? The sheer scale of such a conflict would have been impossible for him to even contemplate if Cuddles hadn’t shown him parts of the First War.

“In any case, the current war is being fought by two factions. My uncle is the leader of the Merit Faction. The Bloodline Faction believes that their lineage alone is sufficient reason for them to rule the demon realm. The Merit Faction believes that we should choose our leaders based on merit – that the height of a demon’s rise should be decided by their abilities and not the accomplishments of their ancestors. If a noble is best suited to rule, then so be it. But if a commoner should prove worthiest, then let them rule. If we demons are to reclaim our rightful place and once more strike terror into the hearts of mortals and gods alike, then only the strongest, most cunning, and wisest should be allowed to rule.”

“That’s actually…” He wasn’t sure if he should say it.

“Surprisingly enlightened?” Vala chuckled. “Believe me, I know what reputations we demons have, deservedly so a lot of the time. Yet desperate times call for desperate measures. Although the battle – if it can be called that – between the Supreme Fiend, the Dark Fathers, and the dragon god occurred long ago, we have yet to fully recover. We lost countless of our own, alongside our leaders, and our realm was left in ruins. Millennia of mismanagement have done little to ease our plight. It is a sad fact that many of our best and brightest perished on that day, for it was they who heeded the Supreme Fiend and Dark Fathers’ call to arms against the dragon god. Yet many who were disloyal and cowardly survived because they refused to answer the call and instead ran and hid. During our weakness, the mortal realm and divine realm have waged war against us. We have faced loss after loss. To reclaim our rightful place, we must accept rule only by those worthiest of it.”

On one hand, Simon was all for meritocracy. If someone was smarter and harder working, why shouldn’t they be promoted over people who weren’t? On the other hand, these were demons. Was helping them wise? Sure, they weren’t connected to his Earth, but they were demons. Then again, he did have a delivery to make. “Are we almost there yet?”

Vala pointed. Ahead of them the jungle had begun to thin. “We will arrive within moments, Messenger.” Her lips were drawn into a thin, firm line, and her gaze was stern. Crimson and obsidian light washed over them. “Prepare yourself, Messenger. The fate of the entire demon realm may depend on what happens next.”

* * *

Arch-Fiend Baldoradas spat out more blood and struggled to yank himself free of the crater his body had made when he’d been knocked out of the sky. For two thousand years, he’d pursued this course of action. The devastation his ancestors had endured at the claws of the dragon god – and wasn’t picking a fight with him the biggest mistake in demonic history? – had left the demon realm in a truly perilous state. Had the majority of their realm been more fertile and less hellish, there was no doubt in his mind that they would have been conquered before they could rebuild their strength. Thankfully, there were few outside of the demon realm who coveted it. Their enemies had launched forays into the demon realm, but those seldom lasted long once they were confronted by how inhospitable the environment was. Mortals simply couldn’t survive in the demon realm for any extended length of time, and even their divine foes could not linger long. Furthermore, the dimensional rifts and magical oddities that punctuated the aftermath of the dragon god’s wrath had also made travel to the demon realm from other realms incredibly difficult. Had travel been easier, the divine realm would gladly have purged the lot of them with constant raids and bombardment. Naturally, the demons would have done the same if the positions had been reversed, so he couldn’t get too upset about it.

If only his ancestors hadn’t been so foolish! It was one thing to pick a fight with a regular dragon god – Baldoradas himself had killed a dragon god, albeit a young one without a large following and only after extensive planning and preparation – but they had not faced any regular dragon god. No. They had chosen to challenge a dragon god who had consumed the power of the Twelve Calamities. The dragon god had slain all of them and seized their power for his own. He had ascended into a different kind of dragon god, one whose power dwarfed that of even his truly primordial progenitor. A single Calamity could devour whole worlds for a snack and shake the foundations of entire dimensions and planes of existence. The dragon god wielded the power of all twelve in addition to his own unfathomable might. According to legend, the dragon god had slain the first of the Calamities before his ascent into godhood – a seemingly impossible feat – for having the temerity to attack his birthplace. How strong must he have been by the time he faced the Supreme Fiend and Dark Fathers? No one could be certain, but demonic legend told of how the shadows cast by his titan wings fell over countless worlds and dimensions and of how his fire could burn entire realms to nothing with little more than a careless, absentminded puff.

But what was done was done. His ancestors had paid the price for their hubris, and the dragon god had seen fit to spare the rest of them although he could easily have slaughtered them all and annihilated the demon realm entirely. The task of those who survived should have been to rebuild, not bicker like little children over who should be in charge of a pile of rocks and ashes. Alas, that was precisely what had happened.

Although Baldoradas was of noble stock and could trace his own descent back to one of the Dark Fathers, he believed that his lineage alone was not sufficient reason for him to rule. He had seen countless other noble demons make a mess of things whilst those of common blood did better. He was a demon – but also a pragmatist and a patriot. What they had been doing was clearly not working, so continuing to do it would be stupid. If he won, then he would make it clear that only those who were truly worthy – by virtue of their abilities and accomplishments – would be allowed to rule the demon realm. Only through merit could they reclaim their rightful place as the bane of the mortal and divine realms.

However, his valiant attempts to steer his people toward that promising future had run into a not-so-small problem – the same problem that was currently doing an excellent job of beating him to death.

“You fool!” Arch-Fiend Dargad did not have a fairly humanoid shape the way Baldoradas did. Instead, he resembled a twisted combination of the huge beasts that dwelt in the oceans of the mortal world. His foe resembled a flying amalgam of a whale and a kraken but with the claws of a crab thrown in for good measure. Sadly for Baldoradas and the demon realm, Dargad’s might was proportional to his bulk but inversely proportional to his intellect. True, the other Arch-Fiend could lead an army, but that was largely due to his overwhelming might and the prestige that went with it. However, he had repeatedly shown himself to be an awful administrator who had a knack for finding the worst possible demon for a job. “You could have served as one of my chief lieutenants. Instead, you will die crawling in the mud.”

“Not yet.” Baldoradas forced himself to stand. “And it’s not mud. It’s regular dirt.” He hadn’t fought for two thousand years only to die on his knees. He was no cowardly dog. His power stirred, and he used the blood dripping from his countless wounds to weave a spell capable of corroding reality itself. Bloody fire that could consume space and time leapt toward his foe. “I have seen the future of this realm, and it lies with the Merit Faction!”

“Hah!” Dargad laughed. It was a hideous, booming sound, akin to a whale leaping out of the water and crushing a ship beneath its bulk. A shrieking miasma of inky darkness met Baldoradas’s attack head on. Space and time ripped and tore, and there was a peal of soul-shattering thunder as the two attacks nullified each other. “You are weakening, fool. You have only moments more to live.”

Their powers met again in a blinding flash of demonic energy that defied mortal logic and reason. This was the true test of a demon’s might – a contest that combined raw power and consummate skill. Yet despite being incredibly skilled, Baldoradas still faced an opponent whose raw power dwarfed his. Dargad might not be able to compare to the Dark Fathers in skill, but his raw power was the closest any demon had gotten to them in a long, long time.

The easiest way to put it was in terms of souls. The weakest demons were born with a single soul’s worth of power. To grow stronger, demons could consume the souls of others or acquire them through contracts, warfare, or other means. Training and experience could also increase a demon’s power. Baldoradas was an Arch-Fiend. That made him one of the strongest demons in the realm. His might was measured in billions of souls. But Dargad? That fiend had gorged himself not only on the souls of mortals and denizens of the divine realm but also on the souls of countless other demons. Dargad’s power was several times Baldoradas’s, a gap that not even his superior skill could bridge. It was like trying to parry an avalanche with a rapier. The swordsman could be exquisitely skilled, but the avalanche would still crush him if he tried to face it head on.

Baldoradas’s vision swam, and he grit his teeth. Had he been a fool to expend so much of his power to make an order from the Company? The ancient texts had spoken at great length about the power wielded by the Company and its mysterious masters, beings who could crush universes with but a thought. It was said that with the correct rituals, it was possible to procure artefacts of awesome power from them since they viewed such miraculous objects as mere trinkets. Baldoradas had painstakingly pieced together dozens of fragmented ancient texts to recreate a suitable ritual, but had it all been for nought? He had sought a decisive advantage to end the war, but it was entirely possible that all he had done was hand his enemies an insurmountable lead.

It had taken him five hundred years to piece together the ritual, and completing it had cost him a full third of his power, along with vast quantities of more mundane resources, such as gold and jewels. In the end, all he had received was a piece of paper – albeit one that was impervious to harm and always found its way back to him – informing him that his order had been received and would be arriving shortly. It had also praised him for choosing priority shipping… whatever that meant. Indeed, the only reason he was still alive was because he had used that small piece of paper as part of his armour. It alone had kept his heart from being destroyed by one of Dargad’s earlier attacks. Unfortunately, it could not cover the rest of him.

Baldoradas’s attack was cast aside, and he was once more thrown to the ground. He coughed up more blood – surely, he would run out soon – and staggered to his feet again. If he was going to die, he would at least try to meet his end with dignity. He wouldn’t grovel, plead, or beg. He’d go out fighting, the way any respectable demon should. If he was lucky, he could wound Dargad badly enough for one of the others to finish him off. His lips twitched. His niece had been horrified that he’d spent his power on something he didn’t fully understand. Perhaps she had been right to doubt. If only she hadn’t been captured… she didn’t have the strength to participate in this battle, but she could have rallied the rest of their forces. Now, she was likely dead or worse, as he soon would be. No. He shook his head. He had to stay focused. He had to keep his mind clear. The fight was not over yet.

“Excuse me.”

He blinked. There was someone in armour beside him. He swayed, and the armoured figure reached out to steady him. To his surprise, he didn’t fall over. He wasn’t hallucinating. The armoured figure was truly there. Dimly, he realised that Vala was there too, doing her best to support him. He chuckled. Maybe he was hallucinating – or dead. The armoured figure spoke, but he couldn’t catch the words through the haze cast by his injuries. “What…?”

“Are you Arch-Fiend Baldoradas?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” He had to be hallucinating this. There was no way it could be real. The blood loss must be clouding his mind. Above them, floating in the sky, Dargad was equally taken aback. After all, who simply waltzed into the middle of a duel between Arch-Fiends. “Who… who are you? What’s going on?”

“I’m from the Company.” The armoured figure produced a package and a clipboard. “If you could sign or make your mark here, I’ll give you your package.”

“The Company?” The words cut through the fog, and the Arch-Fiend’s mind cleared. The Company! There was still hope! He hastily used one clawed finger to sign his name in blood and magic. “There. My package?”

“Here. Thank you.” The armoured figure handed him his package and a small piece of paper that had pictures of other artefacts. “Uh… thanks for shopping with the Company. Please, feel free to order from us again.”

Baldoradas tore the package open. The item he’d given up so very much for fell into his eager claws. It was an Amulet of Soul Amplification, an artefact out of demonic myth and legend. Rather than simply adding to a demon’s power, it multiplied it by tenfold or more. In the hands of lesser demons, it was worth little. Ten times zero was still zero, after all. But in the hands of an Arch-Fiend with billions of souls worth of power? His lips curled into a savage, bloody smile. It was priceless, absolutely priceless. The disparity in power between he and Dargad no longer existed. Combined with his superior skill that meant his victory was no longer a mere possibility… it was all but inevitable!

He hung the amulet around his neck, and the artefact sank into his flesh and bound itself to him. Power surged through him – more than he’d ever felt in his life – and his exhaustion faded. His wounds healed, and his back straightened. His magic stirred once more, and hell fire flared to life around him.

“Get back!” he warned his niece and the Messenger. “It is time for me to finish this!”

* * *

Simon had occasionally wondered how it would feel to have his soul eaten. Yeah, it was a weird thing to think about, but years of reading fantasy novels and playing video games had brought the question to mind several times. Now, he could honestly say that he never wanted to know because it sounded hideously painful. And why could he say that? The answer was right in front of him. After a surprisingly short and brutal battle – that amulet must be the real deal – Baldoradas had emerged victorious. His opponent, a freaky-looking octopus-whale-crab thingy, was currently sprawled on the ground getting his soul eaten.

And he was not enjoying it.

He was not enjoying it at all.

In fact, his screaming had gotten so awful that Simon had asked Advisor to filter it out. She’d agreed although she was still recording it via her sensors for the sake of posterity. Apparently, even she could only listen to someone’s suffering for so long before it simply got annoying instead of amusing. Yep. When Simon died, hopefully many years from now having lived a long and successful life, he prayed his end would not come from having his soul sucked out of him. That would suck in both the literal and metaphorical sense.

“Thanks again for filtering out the screaming.”

“It was getting tiresome.” Advisor gave him the mental equivalent of an eye roll. “You would think that after causing so much trouble, he’d have the decency to either die quickly or die quietly, preferably both.”

With Advisor filtering out the screaming, Simon was also free to carry out a civilised conversation with Vala and Baldoradas, neither of whom were the least bit put out by the horrific wailing of their soon-to-be-deceased enemy. In fact, Vala was swaying to the screaming as if it were trendy music in a nightclub. All she needed now was a drink in one hand and a coterie of hangers on. With how she looked, there was no doubt in his mind that she would be a smash hit in any nightclub on Earth.

“Consumption of the enemy’s soul and their collection of souls is standard practice in these situations,” Vala explained. “Otherwise, he could easily regenerate and continue causing trouble. We’d have to do all of this again in a century or two, which the realm can’t afford, given its current state.”

“Makes sense.” Simon shuddered. “It’s not what people do where I’m from, but I get it.” He paused. “I mean, technically, we sometimes execute people after a war, but nobody has ever gotten their soul devoured.”

“How civilised… but we’re demons.” Vala grinned toothily. “We do things differently here.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Simon wished he could eat the pizza in his inventory right now. All of that running, shooting, and stabbing had made him hungry. However, it was probably rude to eat next to someone while they were having their soul devoured. Or was it? He wasn’t exactly an expert in soul-devouring etiquette.

“Don’t worry.” Baldoradas chuckled as Dargad’s thrashing reached a final, frenzied peak. “I should be done any second now.” Dargad’s thrashing came to an abrupt end, and he dissolved into a cloud of fiery ash that scattered on the breeze. The armour kept Simon from breathing in the surrounding air, but Simon still held his breath. The mere thought of breathing in ash made out of somebody else was enough to make him shudder. “Ah, there we go. Problem solved.”

Unlike Vala who could easily pass as human once she put her wings away, Baldoradas was only vaguely humanoid in shape and appearance. His skin was pitch black with a texture that reminded Simon of weather-roughened granite. Beneath it, he could make out veins of molten liquid, and the Arch-Fiend’s eyes held the same biting brightness as finely cut rubies. All in all, he cut a truly intimidating picture, especially his wings, which appeared to have been hewn of jagged stone. He was also nine feet tall, whereas Vala was a more human size. Oh, and when he smiled, his obsidian teeth were way too sharp for Simon’s liking.

“Messenger.” Baldoradas patted the amulet that glowed in his chest. “You have my thanks – and the thanks of the entire demon realm. Although my victory here has not brought an immediate end to the chaos, it will not be long before the war is over. Without Dargad to lead them, the other faction will have no choice but to surrender and seek terms. None of those remaining have the skill or power to challenge me. They can surrender, or they can die.” He smiled thinly. “But I am no fool. I will offer more generous terms to those who surrender immediately, and there are few demons who cannot be reasonable when their survival is at stake.”

The Arch-Fiend gestured grandly. “How can I reward you, Messenger? Your timing was perfect. Had you arrived sooner, Dargad would not have fought me, for he too would have recognised the power of the amulet. But had you arrived later, I might well be dead. By arriving when you did, you made it impossible for Dargad to retreat, and I still possessed the strength to defeat him with the amulet’s aid. I would gladly offer you a million souls – no! A hundred million souls are the least I can offer you!”

“Uh…” Simon was definitely happy that the customer was so pleased with both his purchase and the timely nature of Simon’s delivery, but what was he going to do with a bunch of souls? It wasn’t as though he could use them for anything, and he was fairly confident that having someone else use them for him was evil. “Thank you, Arch-Fiend. I am truly honoured.” His brows furrowed. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything more mundane, do you?” He’d read his contract thoroughly. He was allowed to accept tips, and he was sure the Company could convert jewels, gold, or other things into money he could use on Earth. Of course, he could try converting anything he got on Earth, but showing up somewhere with a bar of gold would raise a lot of questions. “My people do not use souls as yours do. Some gold would be wonderful.”

“Gold?” Baldoradas’s eyes widened, and the ruby in them gave way to a colour closer to garnet. “You would accept mere gold instead of souls? Are you certain?” It was clear that he didn’t want to inadvertently insult Simon – or the Company.

“Yeah. If it’s not too much trouble.” He doubted they had the facilities to simply wire money into his bank account, not to mention the government would have a lot of questions if a million dollars showed up out of nowhere. Hmm. He’d have to ask Mr Edwards and Cuddles about how to deal with his taxes. They had to have a plan, or at least, he hoped they did. If worse came to worst, they could always hide his increased pay as a promotion at the restaurant. It was one of the most popular restaurants in Sydney, so they might be able to get away with it. Would that be money laundering? Probably. But he would be shocked if Cuddles and the other cosmic guinea pigs didn’t have a way of dealing with the issue.

“Too much trouble?” The Arch-Fiend laughed boisterously. “Not at all. I simply wished to ensure you were adequately rewarded. We demons prize souls over gold, but if it is gold you want, then it is gold you shall receive. You have my word as Arch-Fiend, Messenger.”

“Thanks… and do you have any booze?” Simon mentally patted himself on the back for remembering amidst all the ruckus. Cuddles had asked him to find booze if he could, and he wanted to stay on the cosmic guinea pig’s good side. It couldn’t hurt to have someone in his corner who could obliterate galaxies with a thought.

“Of course, Messenger. You shall receive only the finest.”

“Thank you.” Simon addressed his next words to Advisor. “We need to get back to the third level if we want to return to the Warehouse, right?”

“Correct. Cuddles is more than capable of opening a portal to our current location, but it could result in the collapse of the demon realm. He will not open a portal until we are in a suitable location. The third level is the closest such location.”

“Fantastic. Since I enjoy living and blowing up the customer after making my delivery would be bad manners, let’s do that.” Simon cleared his throat. “Arch-Fiend, I need to return to the third level.”

“You shall have a full escort there. In fact, I will be going there personally. With Dargad defeated, my mere presence should cow all but the most fervent members of the Bloodline Faction into immediate surrender. They are demons too, so although they are my enemies, I would prefer to avoid slaying them unnecessarily, particularly the lesser demons who had no choice but to follow the orders of their superiors or be destroyed.” He glanced at Vala. “My niece has informed me of her oath to you.” The ruby returned to his gaze and sharpened until Simon was staring into twin crimson suns.

“Yes…?” Simon had to fight the urge to fidget or glare at Vala who was trying very hard not to laugh. She’d thrown him under the bus, all right.

“Interesting. Very interesting.” Clawed fingers stroked the Arch-Fiend’s chin. “Be mindful of what you use the oath for. It was not lightly given. Now, let us proceed.” He flexed his claws, and Simon could feel the raw power rolling off him. The power output reading on his visor was certainly impressive, far beyond what he’d registered before he’d gotten the amulet. Baldoradas laughed joyfully. “I have spent almost my entire life – century after century – working toward this day. Now that it has arrived, I can scarcely believe it is real.”

It had taken Simon a while to reach the fifth level, but the journey back to the third was far quicker. Baldoradas’s arrival reinvigorated his followers who prostrated themselves on the ground before him and chanted his name. His foes, meanwhile, were in shock, with many throwing down their weapons and falling to their knees as they begged for mercy. Given what Simon had witnessed so far, it was all they could do. The Arch-Fiend’s power was so far beyond what these lesser demons were capable of that could he could easily have crushed all of them together. He ordered them to swear oaths of fealty before sparing them. Naturally, such oaths were sworn on their true names to make them binding, but few were foolish enough to object. Living was more important. The few who did resist were utterly annihilated as a lesson to the others to the delight of the Arch-Fiend’s followers.

Simon, meanwhile, did his best to avoid undue attention. Being surrounded by demons was not how he’d envisioned his evening going although he was pleased to see that Certero and the others who’d helped him were all okay. The imp, in particular, was especially pleased, and he puffed up with pride when Vala gestured for him to walk alongside them. Certero was far weaker than many of the Arch-Fiend’s subordinates, but he was cunning, and the adoration in his gaze showed that he would serve loyally for all his days. Simon had a feeling that genuine loyalty was a true treasure in the demon realm.

In no time at all, they were once more on the third level. As demons rushed back and forth to secure the area – not that there was anyone left who could oppose Baldoradas’s might – the Arch-Fiend used his power to create a camp of sorts where they could begin processing the demons who had surrendered to him. Every demon had different talents, and he was keen to see those talents made use of, so the demon realm could return to its rightful place as the bane of the mortal and divine realms. Baldoradas then proceeded to the first and second levels. He returned swiftly as his mere presence and the news of his victory caused a complete collapse of morale amongst the Bloodline Faction. The newly pledged demons – and there were a lot of them – would be watched closely, but Vala explained to Simon that the oaths they’d sworn would make rebellion difficult. Demonic oaths were not mere words as human oaths were. They were binding in a magical sense. To break them could mean death or worse. When Baldoradas returned, his followers began to prepare food and drink. Vala also had her subordinates bring forth a magnificent obsidian crown.

“This crown belongs to the rightful ruler of the demon realm,” Vala said. “When the dragon god defeated the Supreme Fiend and Dark Fathers and shattered the demon realm, he chose to spare the crown. We do not know why, but perhaps he knew that without it as a symbol of unity, there would always be arguments about legitimacy. He might then have to come back.” She shivered. “Believe me when I say that none of us want him to come back. The crown has been kept in a sacred temple held by the Merit Faction, but until now, none of us have dared to wear it. However, my uncle has proven himself worthy. I and all the other senior members of the Merit Faction agree that he has earned it. With the crown upon his brow, his ascension will be complete.”

Within hours, there were tens of thousands of demons present. Simon shook his head in amazement. They weren’t wasting any time. More arrived with each passing moment, and he quietly asked Advisor to stop counting because knowing there were this many demons around was not helping his sanity. The celebrations that followed were, to put it mildly, raucous and wild, and Simon did his best to ignore the more depraved acts of debauchery on display. Apparently, it wasn’t a real demonic party until people died, did unspeakable things to each other, and engaged in the sort of conduct that would mentally scar a normal person for life. It was at that point that Simon learned that Advisor had access to a wonderful array of movies from all over the multiverse and that she could play them on his visor without anyone else noticing.

His favourite? A movie about a cosmic guinea pig who searched for his beloved pet dog’s soul each time they died, so they could be reunited in the dog’s next life. It was heart-warming and hilarious to see a guinea pig playing with a dog. The guinea pig even used his powers to throw frisbees and balls. There was also a scene where the guinea pig walked the dog and used his powers to hold his leash. Sure, it wasn’t an innovative movie, but watching warm and fuzzy movies was the only way he’d get through the celebrations with his sanity intact. He would have left, but he didn’t want to be rude, and Baldoradas had promised him a lot of stuff.

During a brief lull in the festivities, Baldoradas gave an inspiring speech about the war ending, thanking his allies for their support and promising to usher in the meritocratic vision they all shared. He also spoke of how he would be dispatching demons in the coming days to find the last of the holdouts. They could either surrender or be destroyed. Within a week, he promised, everything would be resolved. And then it was back to the celebrating. Simon shook his head. He shouldn’t have been surprised by all the debauchery and depravity. They were demons, after all. Still, he might have to take Cuddles up on that memory alteration. He wouldn’t mind replacing all of these memories with memories involving adorable puppies.

“So…” Simon blinked as a large demon arrived with a cart laden with gold and booze. “What now?”

“What now?” The Arch-Fiend grinned. “This is your reward, Messenger. Do with it as you will.”

Simon took a deep breath and focused on the wagon. To his immense relief it vanished into his inventory. It would have been annoying if he had to haul it around. He wondered how much space his inventory had. It must have a lot if it could fit an entire wagon. “Thanks. I’ll put it to good use.”

“Your inventory has more space than you could ever need, meat bag.” Advisor was already combing through the contents of the wagon. “I will inform you if you get anywhere near its capacity.”

“That’s handy.” That was nice to hear. Maybe he could start using his inventory in his everyday life. Sure, he’d still have to carry a backpack around for appearances, but he could put anything heavy in his inventory. Plus, he could put his phone in his inventory, so he’d never have to worry about losing it. Advisor had said she could handle all of his communications going forward, but it wasn’t as though he could tell everyone he had a super-advanced AI disguised as a watch. Pretending to use his phone was the safest route.

Baldoradas chuckled. He was in truly high spirits. All of the victorious demons were, and it was hard to blame them. A war that had raged for centuries had come to a remarkably swift conclusion, and they’d won. Relief combined with euphoria was only natural. It reminded Simon of the time he’d been convinced he’d failed an important exam. Finding out that he’d passed by a couple of points had felt like winning the lottery.

“This is where we part ways.” The Arch-Fiend inclined his head. “I thank you for staying for the celebrations. It has certainly added to my prestige, but I can sense your desire to return home.” His gaze grew wistful. “I know the demon realm may seem unpleasant to you. It is a hostile place, especially if you aren’t a demon. But it is my home, and I would see it prosper.” He grinned. “You have done your duty and done it well, Messenger, and I am sure you have other places to be. But know that so long as my line endures or the Merit Faction exists, you will always be welcome here. Also, pass on my heartfelt gratitude to your superiors. I am ever at their service.”

“I’ll be sure to let them know.” Simon smiled even though the Arch-Fiend couldn’t see it. The thought of Cuddles bossing Baldoradas around was hilarious. “You might also receive a survey about my performance. I’d appreciate it if you could leave a favourable review.”

“I shall.”

“Then I’ll be heading off now.” Simon took a step back. He didn’t know what would happen if Cuddles opened a portal on top of someone, but it would probably be awful. It usually was in movies and books.

“Call on me anytime.” Vala winked. “Since you have my true name and my oath, you should be able to call me across worlds.” Her smile turned absolutely wicked. “I look forward to one day finding out what you look like under all that armour.”

“Anytime, huh?” Simon couldn’t help but consider the possibilities before Advisor burst his bubble.

“Copulation with a succubus of her power would be a singular experience.”

“A singular experience?”

“Because you would be dead afterward.”

“Ah, right.” Simon laughed. He hadn’t been considering it too seriously. Nevertheless, Vala smirked, and he was sure she knew exactly what he’d been thinking about. He asked Advisor to check the area was clear before contacting Cuddles. Simon’s gaze swept over the demons who’d assembled to see him off. No matter what happened, he’d never forget his first delivery.

“Cuddles,” he said. “Portal for two.”

A portal snapped into existence beside him. The demons backed away in instinctive awe, and even Baldoradas was momentarily struck speechless. Simon waved and then stepped through the portal with a spring in his step.

“Delivery complete.”

* * *

Simon blinked as the world came back into focus. There were a lot of weapons pointing at him – and was that a crossbow that fired flaming swords? “Uh… hi.”

Cuddles was in the middle of chugging whiskey straight out of a new bottle. Geeze. He wasn’t even pretending to mix it with coffee anymore. “Relax, those will only attack if you come back with unexpected company although that shouldn’t be possible with one of my portals. Still, it’s always better to do our due diligence, so stand still and let the scanners examine you and your inventory. They’ll decontaminate the armour too.” He took another chug and sighed contentedly. “Damn. This is the good stuff, all right.”

Simon did his best not to fidget as several metallic spheres floated around him. Beams of light swept over him, and the weapons pointing in his direction vanished. In his mind, Advisor grumbled. She did not enjoy having other people poke at him or his inventory. He might be a meat bag, but he was her meat bag. “How’s it looking? I hope I don’t have the plague or anything.”

“Nah. You’re fine.” Cuddles turned away from his booze to munch on a donut. This one had strawberry icing and rainbow sprinkles. There was also a half-eaten pack of potato chips nearby. He definitely didn’t have the same diet as a normal guinea pig. It didn’t seem very healthy either, but knowing what Cuddles was, he probably ate it for the flavour while subsisting off the energy of the multiverse. Simon’s stomach rumbled. He could really go for a donut right now. The pizza and sausage roll in his inventory were tempting, but he wanted something with a bit of sugar in it. “You’ve got demonically corrupted gold that we’ll have to clean up and… hey!”

“What?” Simon yelped as he patted himself down frantically. “Is it bad? Am I about to get my soul devoured?” He really, really didn’t want to get his soul devoured.

“What? No.” Cuddles grinned from ear to ear, a thoroughly disconcerting expression on a guinea pig. “You came back with more booze!”

“Yeah. You did say that you wanted some.” Simon shrugged. “The demons gave it to me, so I don’t know if it’s safe to drink, but…”

“I can handle it.” Cuddles snickered, and a bottle of the demonic booze appeared in front of him. He used his little paws to get the top off the bottle before taking a long sip. “Hmmm…?” He twitched and then clutched at his head. “Agh! Demonic energies overwhelming me! Urge to destroy multiverse rising! Crush! Kill! Destroy!”

“Ah!” Simon wailed and jabbed one finger at Cuddles. “What do we do? Advisor? Mr Edwards?”

Cuddles chortled and took a long swig out of the bottle before making it vanish. “Relax, kid. I’m messing with you. I’m a cosmic guinea pig. It would take something a whole lot stronger than demonic booze to affect me. All the corruption in it does is add a little bit of spice. It’s not even truly demonic booze. I mean, yeah, it’s booze from a demon realm, but it wasn’t made there. I’d say it was made in the mortal realm and kept in the demon realm for a few thousand years. Most demon realms don’t have vineyards, so they snatch booze from elsewhere and make a few changes.” He smirked. “It’s great stuff. I’ll have to see if I can track more down later.” He gave Simon what passed for a thumb’s up gesture. “Nice work, kid. I’ll grab the rest out of your inventory, and pay you market value for it.”

“Cool.” Simon breathed a sigh of relief. “And please don’t do that again. The thought of you turning evil is terrifying.”

“Heh. We cosmic guinea pigs can be pretty scary when we can be bothered fighting, but don’t worry. We take this sort of thing seriously. We might joke about it, but any cosmic guinea pig who goes rogue can expect the rest of us to show up. There are always at least ten cosmic guinea pigs at the Warehouse at all times, and the rest of us can be here in a hurry if we’re needed. If anything goes wrong, we can handle it.”

“Has a cosmic guinea pig ever gone rogue?”

“It hasn’t happened in ages. Some of us do enjoy messing with people – watch out for Fluffy since he’s a bastard who loves to move things around when people aren’t looking because he thinks it’s funny convincing people there are ghosts everywhere – but there hasn’t been a genuinely evil cosmic guinea pig in aeons.” Cuddles stroked his whiskers. “We try to raise our kids right, you know. Anyway, your scans all came back clean, and your armour has been decontaminated. The only thing left to worry about now is the gold.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Simon was hoping he could keep it. “Are we going to have to destroy it? It’s not cursed, is it?” He winced. It would be just his luck to get cursed gold.

“It’s only a little bit cursed, but that’s normal. All demonic gold is cursed. And this is demonic gold – as in mined straight out of the demon realm’s bedrock. Because of that, it’ll need a lot of purification before it’s safe to use.”

“I was hoping I could exchange it for cash I can use on Earth since I can’t exactly turn up to the supermarket with gold bullion.”

“Yeah, we can handle that, but we’ll have to hold the gold in escrow until the purification is complete. It’ll take time, but we’ll get it done. It’s not that badly corrupted.” Cuddles cackled. “Remember the gold you brought back from that island, Matteo?”

Mr Edwards shuddered. “I would rather not remember.”

Simon made a mental note to ask about it later. “Could you purify it, Cuddles?”

“I could.” Cuddles went back to eating his donut. “But I won’t.”

“Uh…” Simon scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Can I ask why?”

“Sure. It’s a reasonable question, and you’re not stupid.” Cuddles padded over to grab more potato chips and chug more whiskey. Simon doubted he could get drunk. If he could, he should already be drunk since he’d drunk enough booze to knock out several grown men. “Think about it. My people can do practically anything with a minimum of effort. What happens to everybody else if we use our powers to do everything? Don’t stop at what would happen to the multiverse’s economy, which would collapse, but think about how it would affect the civilisations we encounter. Would people strive so hard and accomplish so much if they could simply ask one of us to do everything? Would anyone bother to innovate if a cosmic guinea pig could always do it better, faster, and cheaper? If we help people too much, are we actually helping them at all?”

Simon wanted to say that people would still strive to do their best, but Cuddles was right. Sure, there would be a few people who would still push themselves to the limit and beyond, but people generally went with whatever was easiest and most comfortable. The cosmic guinea pigs could put the whole multiverse out of work and craft a post-scarcity utopian society – a society that was built entirely around them. The younger civilisations would be closer to pampered pets than equals or friends, and what would happen to them if the cosmic guinea pigs ever withdrew or were somehow defeated?

That society would struggle to produce great scientists, doctors, businessmen, leaders, and so on since the cosmic guinea pigs would do everything for them. Cuddles might be a bit of a curmudgeon, but Simon already knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t want that. It was there in how Cuddles had taken pains to lay out Simon’s choices clearly, and how he’d asked Simon to not only make his own choices but also accept responsibility for them without ever looking down on him despite the immense gulf in power. Free will mattered to Cuddles. He wanted friends, not slaves. It must matter to all the cosmic guinea pigs too since they’d gone to war over it. Taking it away – whether through cruelty or kindness – was not something they would do.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Simon moved to run one hand through his hair before remembering he still had the armour on. He’d gotten so used to wearing it. “It’s probably better to let people do what they can. By the way, how long have I been gone? It was hard to keep track of time in the demon realm.”

Cuddles smirked. “It felt like a long time in there, huh? Don’t worry. On your Earth, it’s a little past midnight on the same night you left.”

“Wow. That’s incredible. How did… oh. Right.”

“Yeah. Cosmic guinea pig and everything.” Cuddles chuckled. “We can’t have your parents find out you’re working for aliens, can we?” He snickered. “I suppose you could tell them you work for an alien guinea pig with super powers, but I doubt anyone would believe you.”

“Indeed.” Mr Edwards stepped forward. “You can put away your armour, Simon. Imagine it disappearing, and it will store itself in your inventory. Now that you’ve had it fitted and worn it around, you can put it on by imagining it in place although we will check it before each delivery, just to be on the safe side.”

The armour vanished, and Simon sagged as he finally got a chance to run his hands over his face and through his hair. He half expected to smell of sulphur, but there wasn’t even a hint of it. The armour was outstanding.

“Fear not, meat bag.” Advisor’s voice was the same outside of the armour as inside it – snarky and impossible to ignore since she was speaking directly into his mind. “I also have access to your armour. I can equip it faster than you can think, so it can protect you in an emergency.”

“It’s nice to know you care.” It was comforting to know that if he didn’t see a car while crossing the road, he wouldn’t simply get squashed flat.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Mr Edwards asked as Simon walked out of the glowing circle at the centre of the room. A ridiculously comfortable chair formed, and Simon gladly slumped into it. In fact…

“This feels exactly the same as the old recliner my dad had. We had to get rid of it a few years ago because it fell apart.”

“I saw it in your memories.” Cuddles had moved to a donut with caramel icing and a light dusting of cinnamon. “And, yeah, it’s in your contract. We check your memories after each trip in case of mind control or other cognitive hazards that might somehow have bypassed the armour and your Advisor. You’re safe, but your memory of the recliner was incredibly strong. I recreated it for you.”

“I don’t suppose you could send this to my house, could you?” Simon asked. Oh, the recliner was perfect. He and his dad had both mourned the old one after its many years of excellent service. “I can pay for it.”

Cuddles laughed. “Sure. You can tell your dad you found it on the internet.” He summoned another copy of the recliner and glanced meaningfully at Mr Edwards. The half-elf sat on the recliner, and Cuddles settled onto his lap. The guinea pig cleared his throat, and Mr Edwards began to scratch his back. “This isn’t half bad. Did you have fun on your first delivery, kid?”

“Fun?” Simon’s lips twitched. “I don’t know if I’d describe it that way, but it was definitely interesting.”

“Interesting?” Mr Edwards smiled. “Ah, yes. I do believe I described quite a few of my deliveries that way over the years. I must have come close to death half a dozen times during my first delivery, but I did get the job done.” He shook his head in fond exasperation. “It was certainly an adventure.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.” Simon yawned. “Do I have to write a report?” There had been mention of a report in the contract, but he was curious to know how much leeway he had. Paperwork could be such a hassle.

“A brief report should be sufficient – a page or two of highlights. Advisor has a recording function, so she’ll be uploading her own, more detailed, report alongside the footage. We do sort through the footage, but it’s mostly to make sure you didn’t unknowingly encounter something dangerous.”

Simon blanched. “She was recording the whole time?”

“Of course, I was. Did I not tell you?”

“No,” Simon growled. “You did not.”

“Oops,” Advisor said in the least sincere voice ever.

“Why would you leave that out?” Simon paused in suspicion. “There’s nothing else you’re leaving out, is there?”

“Nothing that is relevant at this precise moment in time.”

“In any case,” Mr Edwards continued. “As long as things didn’t get too crazy, you have a week to turn in your report although I’d suggest you get it done tomorrow or the day after whilst the memories are still fresh. It would also be troublesome if you had to go on another delivery before finishing your report. I speak from experience when I say that they have an awful tendency to pile up. As for the report itself, you can either write it yourself or give a video statement and have Advisor transcribe it.”

“That does sound handy.” Simon could admit that Advisor could be incredibly useful when she wasn’t being aggravating.

Mr Edwards reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to each other eventually. Give it time.”

“Time is all I have, meat bag.” Simon got the mental impression of Advisor flexing biceps she didn’t have. “Unlike you organics, I don’t have a shelf life.”

“What now?” Simon yawned again. With the rush of the delivery wearing off, he was running on fumes. It took everything he had to keep his eyes open. “Mr Edwards?”

“Now, we go back to Earth. You can tell your parents that you stayed back late to help close up.” He nodded at Cuddles, and a mug of hot coffee appeared in his hands. He gave it to Simon. “This should keep you up and alert for a while longer, but don’t even think of trying to drive yourself home. You’re obviously fatigued, and the last thing I want is for you to crash your car into a tree or someone else. Let Advisor drive for you.”

“Is that okay?” Simon took a sip of the coffee. It reminded him of the last time he and his family had gone camping. His mum had still been healthy then, and she and his dad had always loved the outdoors. The whole family had gathered around the campfire for silly stories, and the smell of coffee had lingered in the air alongside the scents of the bush, their campfire, and the stew they had cooking in a pot. Once his mum was healthy again, they could all go camping together. He wondered if his dad’s favourite spot was still around. It would be nice to see it again.

“She can do it. You should ask Advisor for a complete rundown of her ability to interface with Earth technology. She’ll be with you from now on, and you’ll be amazed by what she can do. For instance, you won’t need your phone anymore although you should keep it for appearances’ sake.”

“Yay,” Advisor drawled. “I get to interface with primitive technology.” She hummed thoughtfully. “But maybe one day I’ll get to drive a tank.”

* * *

Simon woke up the next morning feeling better than he had in a long time. His dad had been a bit worried when he’d gotten home, but he’d relaxed after Simon had explained. He’d been exasperated that Simon was picking up extra work – he was concerned it might interfere with Simon’s university studies – but he could also see the reluctant relief in his eyes. His dad was doing his best – he’d been doing his best for years – but it wasn’t enough. Simon’s mum had gotten worse every year, and her treatment had gotten more expensive every year too. He could remember when his dad had been a big bear of a man. Years of working three jobs with hardly any sleep had thinned his once stout frame and greyed his once dark hair, but he knew his dad had never regretted it, not once. His dad was a man of his word, and his dad and his mum had made their vows. In sickness and in health, till death do us part – his dad had meant every word, so he’d rather go down fighting than walk away.

Simon hoped Cuddles would come through for him. If the guinea pig could explode galaxies with a thought, then he had to be able to fix whatever was wrong with Simon’s mum. If he did, Simon would have a bottle of booze ready for him before every delivery, no questions asked. Heck, he’d pick up booze during every delivery too.

Since it was the weekend, he was going to head down to the hospital to visit his mum with his dad and siblings. Their visits were so important to his mum, so he made sure to never miss one, no matter what else was going on. He was about to get out of bed when his dad stomped down the corridor and all but kicked his bedroom door off its hinges.

“Dad?” Simon asked. His dad looked as though he’d been crying and tried to hide it, but they must have been tears of joy because Simon couldn’t remember the last time that he’d seen his dad so filled with energy. It was like looking at a new man, a man absolutely stuffed to the seams with energy, a man who’d been told that all of his dreams had just come true, that every Christmas in his life had come at once. “What’s going on?”

“It’s… it’s…” His dad struggled to get the words out. “I got a call from the hospital.”

For a split-second, Simon’s blood turned to ice. “Is…?”

“No!” His dad grabbed him and pulled him out of bed, swinging him around like he weighed nothing at all. It reminded Simon of the better times, before his mum had gotten sick and everything had gotten so far out of control. It was a reminder that his dad had worked as a tradie since he’d been old enough to earn a living. Stress and overwork might have thinned his once powerful frame, but he was still strong when he needed to be. “That’s not it at all! Her latest round of scans came back this morning. They’re redoing them to be sure, but they called me…” He hugged Simon tightly. “We have to go there. I don’t know how, but I think… I think your mum is going to be okay.”

Simon grinned from ear to ear. Cuddles – that magnificent, cuddly, adorable son of a bitch! This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. “Let’s go, dad!”

In record time, Simon bundled his siblings – his younger brother and sister were both still in high school – into his dad’s ute. He could tell that his dad wanted to speed all the way to the hospital, but he somehow managed to avoid breaking any traffic laws along the way. Once they got there – his dad might have cursed up a storm while searching for somewhere to park, not that Simon or his siblings cared – they hurried to his mum’s room.

Dr Starling, the doctor who’d been in charge of his mum’s care for years now, was waiting for them. The grey-haired doctor had become a family friend, and his dad almost bowled the shorter man over as he rushed over to shake his hand and ask the question that they all had.

“Is she really okay?” his dad blurted. “Is… is it all gone?”

Dr Starling wore a puzzled sort of smile. “Yes, Gary, she is, as far as we can tell, completely fine.” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s the strangest thing, not that I’m complaining. I had the extra scans rushed through, and I’ve gone over them myself. Nobody knows her case better than me. I can’t understand how it happened, and I’ve called in half a dozen other people to make sure I’m not missing anything, but as far as any of us can tell, it’s gone. It’s all gone. It’s as if someone went in there and cut out all the cancer.”

His dad all but collapsed and clutched onto Dr Starling as if he was a life preserver. His grip must have been fierce indeed because the good doctor winced, and his dad hastily steadied himself and apologised.

“All of it? You’re sure?”

The doctor nodded and ran one hand through his thinning grey hair. Dr Starling was arguably the best oncologist in Australia, and he was a total legend in Simon’s book. He went to war for each of his patients as if their illnesses had personally pissed him off. He couldn’t save everyone, but that never stopped him from trying. Without him, Simon’s mum would have died years ago.

“I’ve been doing this a long time, Gary.” He shook his head. “Some days, I think I’ve been doing it for too long…” He took a deep breath. “I won’t lie to you. Melissa’s odds were slim. We both knew that. Things were bad. But as far as we can tell, she is now completely cancer free. I’ve got no idea how, but that’s what all the scans say. It’s a bloody miracle.” He gave them a tired smile, and Simon wondered how many hours he’d worked this week. Simon would have to see if he could do something for him. Maybe he could organise a dinner for Dr Starling and his family at the restaurant. He sure looked as though he could use a break. It had to be exhausting fighting these battles, ones where he often lost no matter how hard he fought. But someone had to fight them, and Simon was glad the doctor had never given up. “I’ve got to ask you, Gary, have you got any recommendations about the lottery this week?”

His dad gave a wild laugh. “Who gives a shit about the lottery?” His dad wasn’t normally one to swear in front of them, but this was the most special of occasions. “Melissa is better!”

“I guess you’re right.” Dr Starling grinned and nodded at the door behind him. “Why don’t you all go in and say hello? I’ve got another patient I have to see.” His lips twitched. “I’d love it if the world didn’t need oncologists anymore, so I’m glad to see one of my patients get well – even if I don’t understand how.”

The next couple of hours passed by in a happy blur. Simon couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mum so healthy. He would have been a kid. Her cheeks were rosy, and her hair, what was left of it after all the chemo, was the shiny brown he could only vaguely remember. Yet all the same, he could already see it growing back. More importantly, there was light in her eyes, new hope and vitality where before there had only been a grim determination to hang on. As his dad and siblings went off to grab lunch and bring it back, Simon stayed at his mum’s bedside. She wanted to get up and walk around outside, but they didn’t want her to rush things despite her scans coming back clean.

He was smiling like an idiot – he had been for hours now – but he didn’t care. “You’re looking better,” Simon said, not quite trusting his voice to stay level. All of the panic and terror he’d experienced in the demon realm? All of that fighting? Yeah. Totally worth it. Worth it a million times over.

“I feel a lot better.” His mum laughed. It had been so long since he’d heard her laugh. It was music to his ears. “But you know, I had the funniest dream.”

“Yeah?”

“I was… I was in bed. I thought I was awake, but I must have dozed off. When I opened my eyes, there was a guinea pig next to me. He was drinking a cup of coffee, but he must have put something in it because I could smell the alcohol. He was a very cuddly guinea pig. He hopped onto my chest and started talking.” His mum laughed. “Listen to me ramble on. I must sound crazy. An alcoholic talking guinea pig?”

Simon chuckled and scratched the back of his head. In his mind, Advisor cackled. “As if that would ever happen. But what did he say to you, mum?”

“The guinea pig told me that I’d be fine, that I’d never be sick another day in my life.” Her brows furrowed. “And then he said the strangest thing. He told me that you’d better get him some booze on your next delivery.”

Oh, Simon would, but his mum didn’t need to know that. “That’s a strange dream, all right, mum.”

“I guess it is.” She smiled, and it was a broad, happy smile. “I’m so glad to be better.” She reached over and patted his hand. “I… I know how hard it’s been for all of you. I know how much you’ve all had to sacrifice. Your dad has been working three jobs, and you’re working too while going to university, not to mention your siblings doing everything they can to help. I’m your mum I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around. And your dad… we swore we were partners in life, but he’s been the one helping me all these years.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Simon squeezed her hands gently. “Mum, we don’t blame you. You didn’t want to be sick, and now you’re better. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.” He heard footsteps coming down the corridor. “And, hey, once you’re out of here, we can go camping together again.”

That Monday, Simon turned up to university with a spring in his step. He slipped into the lecture theatre a few minutes early and sat down next to his friend Mike.

“Damn,” Mike drawled. “You’re looking pleased with yourself. Did you get good news over the weekend?”

Mike was chugging coffee like there was no tomorrow. He was the first person in his family to go to university, and he was doing actuarial studies to boot. To say he had a lot on his plate was an understatement, especially since his family wasn’t rich. He had to do work on the side to make ends meet, and he and Simon had often commiserated about trying to balance work and university. The two of them shared economics classes, and they’d become friends through the shared suffering of early morning lectures and confusing assignments from stodgy professors.

“Yeah.” Simon grinned. “I got a promotion at work, and my mum’s getting out of the hospital soon. They say she’s all better.”

Mike put his coffee down and reached over to hug him as best he could, given the awkwardness of the lecture theatre’s seating. In contrast to Simon who’d been lanky since hitting puberty, Mike was built like a damn truck. Sure, he was a friendly, easy-going guy, but being big enough to give a bear a run for its money was a plus when he was working behind the counter at a petrol station. People might have been willing to pick a fight with a scrawny university kid, but not many people were willing to start trouble with a Pacific Islander who was six feet four and two hundred and thirty pounds.

“Congrats about your mum, man! That’s great news. And a promotion too? Damn, I’ve got to step things up.” He took another swig of his coffee. “Here I am stuck minding a dodgy all-night petrol station in the bad end of town. At least nobody cares if I study while I’m on the job since hardly anyone turns up after eleven.”

“I thought you got a promotion last month.”

“I did – to shift manager. Except, I’m the only person who works my shift.” Mike laughed. “At least, I’m getting paid a bit more. I figure the owners want someone around who’s willing to work crappy hours and who’s got the size to scare off troublemakers.”

“That might be it. So… you ready for the exam next Friday?”

“I hope so, but I’ll be pulling all-nighters until then. This class is rough. You?”

“I was supposed to study this weekend, but with mum getting better…”

“I get it. I’d do the same in your shoes.” Mike stretched and immediately bumped the seat in front of him with his legs as his own seat gave an ominous creak. “Family is family. But, hey, you’ve got until next Friday. That’s plenty of time.”

“Yeah. It is. But who knows what might happen between now and then?”

Part Three: The Second Delivery

Simon half-expected to go on another crazy delivery for the Company on his very next shift at the restaurant, but an entire week passed before Mr Edwards told him to grab coffee on his way back after his last delivery for the day. The older man was waiting for him with a bottle of whiskey in his office, and Simon had grabbed another from a bottle shop. Cuddles had only gone to help his mum after he’d signed a contract and completed his first delivery, but that was more than enough to earn Simon’s eternal gratitude. In the week since, his mum had gone from strength to strength. It turned out that Cuddles had done more than cure her. He’d left her in excellent physical shape too. Cuddles hadn’t done anything to Simon’s dad, but his dad already looked ten years younger too. His dad was smiling and upbeat in a way he hadn’t been since his mum got sick.

Simon had also gone behind his parents’ back by using almost all of his pay from his first delivery to start paying off the debt they’d run up during his mum’s treatment. His dad hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d calmed down a bit after Simon had told him more about his promotion at work. He’d mentioned the big jump in pay but left out the bit where he was working for a cosmic guinea pig and making deliveries to other worlds.

“You shouldn’t have to pay,” his dad had told him. “I’m your father. That money should be going toward your future. It’s my responsibility to pay it, not yours.”

“I’m not paying it because I have to,” Simon had replied. “I’m paying it because I want to. It’s my money, so it’s my choice, and I’m choosing to help.”

His dad had thanked him and then said something that had lingered in Simon’s mind ever since.

“Look at you,” his dad had said. “You’ll always be our boy, son, but you’ve gone and grown up on us. You’re a man now, and a damn good one too.”

A man? Simon had always looked up to his father. To hear those words…

He shook his head. He needed to focus on the present and get his head in the game. “Another delivery, Mr Edwards?”

“Yes. Are you feeling up to it?”

“I’ll get it done.” Simon grinned. He was still getting his mind around how generously a single delivery paid. All of that for one delivery? Admittedly, he had been attacked by demons and had helped end a demonic civil war, but still… it had been a lot.

When he’d asked Mr Edwards about how to handle his taxes, the older man had assured him that the Company would be taking care of it. Apparently, come tax time, they’d be doing his tax return free of charge. They had experts – actual accountants – qualified in the tax laws of countless worlds. If it came down to it – not that they expected it to be necessary given the cover story they’d concocted – Advisor could simply ‘tweak’ a few things in various databases to keep him out of trouble. Simon was happy to pay his fair share of taxes. He and his family had relied on quite a bit of government assistance when it came to his mum’s treatment, so he wanted to make sure that other people would get the same help if they ever found themselves in a similar situation. Not everybody had the luck to run into a cosmic guinea pig.

Despite being able to fall back on the story of a promotion at work, Simon couldn’t spend piles of money without drawing attention. He had been able to explain the amount he’d put toward his parents’ debt by saying it was a promotion bonus, but he’d have to be more careful in the future. The one other thing he had spent money on was his car. He’d bought it a couple of years ago, all beat up. It was a decent car, though, solid and reliable despite its appearance. He’d finally brought it in for much-needed maintenance, and although it would never be pretty, the mechanic had assured him it would keep on running for years to come. Besides, what was the point of buying a flashy and expensive car? He didn’t see the point in showing off, and the last thing he needed was people wondering where his money came from.

His parents had also worried that his promotion might interfere with university, but Simon had told them he could manage. And, hey, if something happened, he could always go into the restaurant business, right? It wasn’t a flippant comment either. There were more than a dozen highly successful cafes and restaurants in Sydney run by Mr Edwards’s former employees, and all of them spoke warmly about their old boss and everything they’d learned from him.

“Any idea where I’ll be going?”

“Does it matter, meat bag?” Advisor replied. “Given your fragility, basically everywhere is a death world for you.” She did the mental equivalent of shaking her head. “This Earth is soft. There are no rampaging monsters, zombie hordes, or alien invaders.”

She had gotten bored during the week and had perused the entirety of the internet in a bid to occupy herself. She already had a terrifyingly large collection of memes that she was getting better and better at deploying whenever a suitable moment arrived. He also had reason to believe that she was building up a powerful online presence via social media, but Mr Edwards had informed him that this was normal behaviour for an Advisor. Supposedly, they all had a bit of megalomania in them, and it should be fine unless she started stealing classified information and using nuclear launch codes.

Simon shuddered. Was his Advisor going to start Armageddon? He really hoped not. His life was going quite well, and a thermonuclear holocaust would definitely put a dampener on his future prospects.

“I can tell you that it’s a Forest World, Class 4-DD.” Mr Edwards smiled fondly. “Other than that, it’s good to be surprised now and then – and the area is quite fragile. It’s been a while since we dabbled in their affairs, so our information may not be wholly accurate. Cuddles, portal for four.”

They stepped through the portal and found themselves in the same white room as when he had first arrived on the Warehouse. He wondered why they didn’t simply portal to the room where he’d go to make his deliveries, but who was he to question the wisdom of a nigh-omnipotent rodent? From what he’d seen so far, the cosmic guinea pigs had largely built the Warehouse as an indulgence, not because they needed it. This should also give him a chance to wander around and see more of the Warehouse. It was a fascinating place, filled with so many different things and so many different people. His mum loved fantasy stories, so she would have loved this place. Not to mention, the thought of his dad sitting down to have a beer with Cuddles definitely brought a smile to his lips. He could see it now: his dad complaining about his latest job in a friendly way while Cuddles grumbled about the multiverse. His dad would be nursing a beer while Cuddles chugged more whiskey.

The guinea pig was idly flipping through a comic book on his desk. His whiskers twitched as he sipped on what appeared to be a glass of cola. Simon would not have been surprised to learn there was booze in it. “Hey.” Cuddles tilted his head to one side and peered at Simon. “You know about comic books, don’t you? I glimpsed a lot of them in your memories.”

“Yeah.” When his mum had first gotten sick, Simon hadn’t known what to do with himself. He’d been a kid, and the comic books he’d picked out of bargain bins or borrowed from friends or the library had offered respite from a world that had very suddenly turned cruel. After a while, the owner of the local comic book store had taken pity on him. He'd never said a word, but he was pretty sure the guy had given him discounts after learning about his situation. It was why Simon still went by whenever he could and told everyone he knew what a fantastic place it was. Jeremy – the owner of the store – was a great guy, and there was a reason the store was still going strong after twenty years in the area. “Why do you ask?”

Cuddles flipped another page. It was one of the most adorable things Simon had ever seen since the guinea pig had chosen to use his little paws instead of his powers. “My youngest son has started reading comic books. He thinks they’re interesting. The ones he’s currently reading come from an alternate version of Earth, but there are bound to be similarities to the comic books you know since your Earth is about as middle of the road as it gets. I thought I’d grab more from your Earth as a present for him.” He chuckled. “When you’re raising kids who have the ability to make reality and physics go cry in a corner while obliterating significant chunks of the multiverse, proper reading materials are essential. We don’t want to have any evil cosmic guinea pigs roaming around.” He scratched his whiskers. “Sure, some of us might enjoy petty villainy, but none of us are seriously evil. Huggington, for instance, likes to set things up so that heroes succeed in hilarious slapstick fashion.”

Simon grinned. The thought of a pettily benevolent guinea pig meddling with events to ensure that heroes succeeded in ways that entertained him was equal parts absurd and amusing. He walked over and glanced down at the comic book. “Ultimate Man and Night Stalker?” Based on their costumes, it was easy to see which two heroes they were alternate versions of. A quick flip through the comic showed that his guess was right on the money. “It’s kind of funny that your son enjoys comic books despite being more powerful than anyone in them.”

“Super powers can make life interesting, but nigh-omnipotence can make life boring outside of multiverse-spanning wars of total annihilation…” Cuddles shook his head to clear away the bad memories. “And those stop being fun once you have to fight your friends… or after you’ve had to blast another low-level civilisation into oblivion.” He sagged momentarily and then perked up when Mr Edwards handed him the coffee and whiskey. His cola vanished, and he nudged Simon’s hand. “You know what to do, kid.” Simon mixed the drinks and handed the extra bottle of whiskey he’d bought to Cuddles. “What’s this for?”

“My mum.” Simon beamed. “She’s all better now.”

“I was just doing what the contract stipulated, kid. You did your part, so I did mine.” Cuddles took a sip of his whiskey-coffee. “And don’t forget, you’ve still got quite a few deliveries to pull off before you’re in the clear.”

“I know.” Simon nodded firmly. “But no matter what ends up happening, seeing her healthy again means this whole thing was worth it.”

Cuddles patted Simon’s hand, and the extra bottle of whiskey disappeared. “You’ve got a kind heart. It’d be a shame to lose you. Listen to me, Matteo, and your Advisor, and you’ll get through this in one piece. Anyway, to answer your question, one of the reasons my people enjoy superhero comics is because although the superheroes have powers, they’re not so powerful that they can fix everything without breaking a sweat. They’ve got limits, which means there’s tension.”

“In that case, I know a few you might want to pick up.” Simon looked around. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a pen and paper, do you?” A notepad popped into existence beside him, along with a pen. It was a nice pen – similar to one he’d favoured in high school, which he doubted was a coincidence.” He jotted down a list. “There. You should start with those, and let me know if he enjoys them. By the way, how are you going to get them? I can drop by a comic book store and get them for you.”

“I’ll do it. I’ve got my ways.” Cuddles lit a cigar. Simon blinked. A cigar? “Relax. Cosmic guinea pigs don’t have to worry about complications related to smoking, and I’ll make sure that neither of you have to worry about the effects of second-hand smoking either.”

Mr Edwards cleared his throat and raised one eyebrow. “And?”

Cuddles rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine.” The guinea pig poked Simon’s hand. “Smoking is bad, kiddo. Don’t smoke. You’ll get cancer and all sorts of awful stuff, which you can’t ignore because you’re not as awesome as me.” He paused. “And don’t drink and drive either. If you’re going to drink, let Advisor drive. She can handle it, and unlike me, you can get killed in a car crash.”

Simon chuckled. “Yeah. I know. And don’t worry. I’m not a smoker, and I don’t drink much either, and never if I’m going to be driving. I happen to enjoy living. But if you are going to get the comics from a store, I know a great place to get them.” He added the address of Jeremy’s comic book store. “That place is fantastic, and the owner is a friend of mine.”

“I’ll drop by. Your friend might notice money on the counter and a few comic books checked out, along with a nice review left online.” Cuddles took another drag of the cigar. Simon couldn’t place the scent. It was a woody aroma, and for a moment, it called to mind towering forests filled with ancient trees – a place where halflings laughed and played amongst the roots and sprites and wood spirits danced along the branches. “We’re in a bit of a hurry this time, so you won’t have a chance to wander around. You should, however, have time for a bit of sightseeing afterward. The flow of time where you’re going will make it even easier for you to not miss any time on your Earth.” Cuddles shrugged, and they were suddenly in the chamber with the squid-people.

“Could you not do that,” Livia grumbled as she and her fellows came forward. “We have delicate equipment in here.”

Cuddles looked her dead in the eye, took a long sip of his alcoholic coffee, and shrugged again. “Oops.”

“You obnoxious guinea pig,” Livia replied before her attention shifted to Simon. “Put on your armour, so we can examine it and make any necessary adjustments.”

From there, the squid-people went through a number of checks, and Simon gave them the chocolate he’d stored in his inventory. He figured it was only natural to thank the people who’d made his armour. Plus, it couldn’t hurt to stay on their good side, considering they were also the ones who checked it before each mission.

“I like this one,” Livia said. Her mind voice radiated amusement. “Too often warriors – and delivery personnel – forget the people who make their armour.”

“The armour was worth its weight in gold and then some.” Simon remembered something and winced. “You’re not allergic to hazelnuts or anything, are you? Because that chocolate has hazelnuts in it. If you are allergic, I can always get a different gift.”

Livia popped one of the chocolates into the nightmarish aperture that served as her mouth. Simon managed to keep from flinching, but he was reasonably confident he’d be having nightmares about it for at least a week. “It’s fine. In general, if a human can eat it, my species can also consume it although our tastes can also be somewhat more… esoteric than yours.” Simon had no intention of asking her what esoteric meant. He didn’t think he’d enjoy the answer. “In any case, my people enjoy chocolate greatly although we do not make it ourselves.” She gestured with one tentacle at Matteo. “Your first gift is certainly better than his was.”

“Oh?”

“He brought us fish after his first mission.”

“In my defence,” Mr Edwards replied with a grin. “I was young and stupid.”

“Hmph.” Livia waved Simon off. “Go. Your armour has been checked, and we have made all necessary adjustments. Best of luck on your delivery.”

Advisor waited until they were away from the squid-people before grumbling. “As if I would allow your armour to fall into disrepair. It’s my armour too.” She huffed. “And after this mission, meat bag, we are going to do karaoke. It’s supposed to be fun, and I’ve never done it before.”

“Karaoke?”

“Yes, karaoke.” Advisor did the mental equivalent of folding her arms over her chest. “I find the music from your Earth’s 1970s and 1980s to be amusing. There are at least two karaoke bars on the tenth ring that cater to such music.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” A sense of smugness filled the connection between them. “I will undoubtedly emerge victorious.”

“Maybe I’ll join you two for karaoke.” Cuddles floated in the air beside them. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone. What do you think, Matteo?”

The older man smirked. “Of course. My Advisor and I have so missed your wonderful singing voice.”

“Is that sarcasm, old friend?”

“Perhaps.”

“Okay, kid.” Cuddles pointed toward the centre of the room where the glowing ring surrounded by weaponry awaited. “Have fun out there. Portal for two.”

* * *

Simon stepped through the portal. It snapped shut behind him with a hiss he’d already begun to find familiar. There was a lot less nausea this time. Either the armour was getting better at shielding him, or he was adapting to the transition between worlds. He’d have to ask Cuddles or Mr Edwards about it later, not that he was complaining. The last thing he wanted was to puke his guts out while wearing the armour.

“The armour is capable of handling all forms of waste management related to your body,” Advisor said.

“How does that work?” Simon asked.

“The technology involved is sufficiently advanced that it can operate without you realising it is active.” Advisor ran a handful of quick checks to make sure all of the armour’s systems were functioning normally. “But you have another question.”

“Yeah. The appearance of the armour is different.”

“Yes. It is similar to what occurred in the demon realm. The armour’s appearance changes based on its surroundings. On deliveries, its appearance is based on the prevailing conditions and any information we have in our database regarding the environment and life forms you are likely to encounter. Since this world differs markedly from the demon realm, it is only natural that the armour’s appearance also differs. A menacing appearance was essential for successful interaction with demons.”

“True. I doubt the demons would have taken me seriously if I looked like a teddy bear.” Simon studied his appearance in a nearby stream. The armour had a more biological appearance this time, as if it had been grown rather than built.

“That is correct, meat bag.”

“Did you have to add that bit at the end?” he asked. It wasn’t as irritating as it had been, but that wasn’t to say he enjoyed being called a meat bag. It was more that he’d gotten used to it. Then again, it was better than being called a flesh bag. That sounded awful. He took a deep breath and studied his surroundings. No more dawdling. It was time to get to work.

And, boy, was his first impression of this place different from his first impression of the demon realm.

When he’d first entered the demon realm, he’d found himself in a literal hellscape of fire and brimstone. This place was the complete opposite. There was lush greenery everywhere. Towering trees dominated the landscape. They were far, far larger than any he’d seen on Earth. Some were hundreds of feet thick, and their trunks and branches vanished up beyond the wispy white clouds that dotted a mostly clear blue sky. Golden sunshine made its way through gaps in the canopy, and according to the armour’s sensors, the temperature and humidity were an almost perfect match for Sydney on a warm spring day. He was tempted to ask if he could remove the armour. He’d never wanted to in the demon realm, but there was an idyllic atmosphere about this place. It reminded him of the pictures he’d seen of how Earth was supposed to have been before the rise of humans and civilisation.

Birds of different kinds flitted through the air, and his armour dutifully tracked not only their movements but also the movements of countless other small creatures. He peered at them, and Advisor and his armour zoomed in to give him a better view. There were creatures running along the branches that were reminiscent of possums and squirrels. They even had their cheeks puffed out as they munched on nuts that they’d plucked from one of the trees. Another creature caught his eye. It was a reptile with iridescent scales and flaps between its limbs, similar to a sugar glider. It trilled several times in quick succession and then leapt off a branch. It glided over to another tree that was laden with fruit. Half a dozen of its fellows followed suit, and they kept a watchful eye over their surroundings. A large bird swept past, talons at the ready, and the creatures gathered together and postured. Their scales lit up, and the bird veered away, intimidated by their numbers and the vivid spectacle they presented.

“This place is beautiful,” Simon murmured. “My brother would love to see it.” His little brother wanted to be a biologist, and this place was a biologist’s dream.

“As the cosmic guinea pigs are so fond of saying, the multiverse is filled with both unbelievable beauty and unimaginable terror – and sometimes, the two are one and the same.” Advisor drew his attention to something he hadn’t noticed at first, which was a testament to how well hidden it was. Nestled amongst the trees – no, grown out of the trees themselves and supplemented with additional materials – were buildings of various sizes, ranging from tiny cottages to houses. The only material that stood out was similar to polished steel, but on second glance, even that appeared to be growing out of the trees. Was it a kind of bio-metal?

“Not a bad guess, meat bag. You’ve got good instincts – or a good imagination.” Advisor chortled, and he heard the low hum of a sensor sweep as it brushed over their surroundings. He knew she could scan silently, but she probably let it make noise to avoid freaking him out when data began to pour in. She’d scanned his house when he’d gotten home after his first delivery. Thankfully, she hadn’t mocked the primitiveness of their technology. In fact, she’d called the house cosy, which was one of the nicest things she’d ever said to him. “It appears to be an alloy that the trees can extrude in response to threats or damage. Whoever built these structures must have learned how to trigger and control the defensive response to reinforce their buildings. Fascinating.” Advisor displayed more information. “But do not be fooled, meat bag. This world is dangerous. Do not – under any circumstances – remove your armour. There are high levels of both mundane and magical radiation present.” She showed him a map, and Simon squinted at the image.

“What am I looking at here?” The map overlayed a series of hills and valleys over what he assumed was a map of their surroundings. However, he didn’t think it was a simple topographic display. For instance, the ground they were standing on was fairly flat, but on the map, they were supposedly on a hill.

“Higher levels of radiation are associated with higher elevation.”

“Right.” Simon frowned. “Can you switch it up? Try a heat map instead. Red for more radiation through to blue for less radiation. Red is dead and blue is… safe. Yeah, that doesn’t rhyme. Never mind. Anyway, give that a try. It’ll be easier for me to make sense of it that way.”

Advisor radiated amusement at his expense. “Organics have such limited processing power.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not all of us were created by nigh-omnipotent guinea pigs.”

The map shifted, and the mountains and valleys were replaced with colours.

“Thanks. Now, can you combine that map with what my visor lets me see? Maybe fade the colours a bit, so it doesn’t interfere with my vision. Also, can you add a mental trigger to toggle it on and off?”

“You’re lucky that I’m so capable, meat bag.” Advisor made the adjustments. “At least your mind is flexible despite lacking processing power.”

“Thanks.” Simon winced. There was a lot of orange in his surroundings, as well as a bit of red. “That’s mundane and magical radiation, right?”

“Correct.”

“Can you switch to magical radiation only?” Hmm… the colours were better, but there was still a lot of it around. “Everything here has magic. The trees have the most, but all of the animals have magic too. Even the grass has magic.” He picked up a small twig. “This has magic too, but it’s fading.”

Advisor ran another sensor sweep. The sweep appeared as a brief flash of red that radiated outward. Interesting. That must mean that her sensors were at least partially magical in nature. “In places where magic exists, it becomes an integral part of the ecosystem. Animals and plants with it flourish, and those without it soon perish. Think of what would have happened to your ancestors if they’d encountered a species that could throw fire or shoot lightning.”

“We’d be dead.” Simon gestured at their surroundings. “So everything here emits magical radiation?”

“Yes. In general, magic operates in a manner similar to a metabolic process. Just as humans expel carbon dioxide when they breathe, so too do magical lifeforms exude magical radiation as a consequence of the processes necessary to sustain life. It is likely that their magical nature allows the lifeforms here to not only survive but actually thrive despite the mundane radiation present in the environment.”

“You mentioned mundane and magical radiation. Is mundane radiation stuff like gamma radiation? How is it different from magical radiation?”

“Mundane radiation refers to sources of radiation that can be found even in places where the forces and energies typically referred to as ‘magic’ do not exist. Gamma radiation is considered mundane radiation. However, the distinction between mundane and magical radiation ceases to have meaning once you attain a certain level of power and a sufficiently advanced consciousness.” Advisor paused meaningfully. “You are a long way from attaining either.”

“Yay.” Simon shook his head. “Can you show me mundane radiation exclusively?” His view changed again. There were several extremely red spots on the map. “Wait… there’s definitely a fair bit of mundane radiation everywhere, but it’s way worse in several areas. How likely is that to be natural?”

“Unless the locals are strip-mining radioactive materials, the odds are low. The concentrated nature of the radiation suggests weapons deployment.”

“Weapons deployment?” Simon blanched. “People here are throwing around nukes?” This was bad. Had he gone from the demon realm to a world that was about to enter its own version of a nuclear apocalypse? He hoped not because that would really, really suck.

“That is a possibility. Do not worry. The armour is more than capable of withstanding the levels of radiation detected. However, I would suggest that you avoid being struck by a nuclear weapon.”

“Yeah. I’ll try to avoid getting nuked.” Simon chuckled. “Nukes and magic? I wonder if there are any giant radioactive magical creatures.”

“That is theoretically possible here, and it has also been observed on several other worlds. At present, though, I have not detected any such creatures on this world.”

Simon shook his head. “I need to stop tempting fate.” He could already see it now: university student crushed by giant, radioactive, magical squirrel. “Do you know who made these buildings?” A slender bridge linked the houses. No normal material could possibly have been that thin while stretching so far and still have the strength to allow people to walk across. “Are they likely to give us trouble?”

“I cannot say for certain who built these structures. However, our records indicate that the most likely group are not a threat to us. We have dealt with them before, and they will not attack if they identify you as working for the Company.”

“Okay. That’s important to know. Where do we go from here?”

Advisor made an aggravated sound. “The high levels of ambient radiation are interfering with my long-range scans.” She gave the mental equivalent of a scowl. “Increasing scanning power.” The map of their surroundings grew as several scans rippled outward. “Our objective is to the south, but that area is also filled with rapidly moving and fluctuating magical and mundane radiation signatures. Combat is a strong possibility. I recommend approaching with caution. Be prepared for battle. If necessary, shoot first and ask questions later, meat bag.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “I will designate threats based on my analyses and our records. If I highlight it in red, you need to make it dead.”

“And that’s not ominous at all…” Simon’s gaze followed a pack of feathered monkeys as they swung overhead. They favoured him with a few curious glances before they continued on their way. The children clung onto the backs of their parents, while the adolescents ranged ahead, clearing the way for the group. Elsewhere, a brilliantly coloured bird that reminded him of a peacock took flight – except unlike a peacock, it was the size of a bus. He checked his inventory. He had all of his weapons. He didn’t want to kill anything here – it seemed so idyllic – but if people were throwing around nukes and magic, he had to be prepared.

“Cuddles opened the portal here to avoid the possibility of dropping you into an active combat zone. Moreover, opening a portal into an area with such high ambient radiation and such large fluctuations may have led to widespread instability, which in turn may have led to the death of both of us.”

“It’s nice to know that Cuddles isn’t about to drop me into the middle of a battle.” Simon shrugged. “Let’s get going. We’ll keep our eyes and ears open and try to avoid trouble. I’m hoping the locals are reasonable. I mean the demons were pretty reasonable when they weren’t sacrificing their enemies or waving parts of their bodies around as trophies. If we have to, I guess we’ll fight.”

Thankfully, navigating was as easy as it had been in the demon realm, and Simon had always been a good navigator. He had fond memories of helping his parents when they drove up the coast in the old days before his mum had gotten sick. He’d cradled a road guide in his lap and cheerfully called out directions. Advisor’s ability to highlight his surroundings and show the path he needed to take made things way easier. She also tagged anything nearby that might be important although she only brought something to his direct attention if she thought it might be a legitimate threat.

He was especially glad for the warning about the giant… bear-thing that they nearly ran into. Its sheer size meant it was not a creature he wanted to tangle with. Luckily for him, all the creature did was glare before it rumbled off to find slower prey to catch. As he continued to leap through the trees – the armour let him do things he’d never be able to do alone – he saw the tank-sized ursine lunge at another beast of similar size. The pair crashed through the forest, and he grimaced and upped his pace. He did not want to be caught in that fight.

As they travelled through the trees, Simon couldn’t help but marvel at his surroundings. There were so many different kinds of animals here, from the smaller ones that skulked in the undergrowth to the ones that scrambled along branches and nibbled on fruits, nuts, or leaves. There was even a creature that reminded him of a koala napping in a nearby tree, but he gave it a wide berth. Despite its cute and fluffy appearance, he’d noticed several of the larger avian predators take one look at it and then veer off in the opposite direction. That was enough for him. If an eagle with the size to carry off a grown man wanted to avoid something, he’d avoid it too. Maybe it was a real life drop bear. That would be hilarious – provided it wasn’t anywhere near him.

Up ahead, Advisor had flagged the entire area under the wonderful label of ‘trouble’. From what Simon could see, there was no way around it without taking a massive detour. They’d simply have to go through it and hope they could make it past without running into anything too awful. Hopefully, if there was fighting, whoever was doing the fighting would be too busy to notice them.

As they got closer, Simon heard the first sounds that didn’t belong in an idyllic forest. He was no expert in warfare, but he didn’t need to be to recognise an explosion when he heard one. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together when the ground began to shake either. The mundane and magical radiation readings in the area ahead were a worryingly red colour, and Simon readied the plasma cannon and switched it to rapid-fire mode. It might be overkill, but he’d rather hit whatever was ahead of them too hard than not hard enough if it was out to get him. However, he didn’t want to set the forest on fire. He was fairly confident the Company would not be happy if he inadvertently set the customer’s home ablaze.

“Relax, meat bag. I will adjust the plasma cannon’s settings if necessary. We will both look bad if the forest burns down.” Advisor gave a mental shake of her head. “Such a pity. Nobody cared if we cut loose in the demon realm, but we’ll have to be more careful here.”

That… that did not exactly inspire confidence.

Further on, he noticed something else alarming as he studied the tree line. Some of the trees were moving, and not the little ones. He swallowed thickly. He’d have to check, but he’d read enough fantasy novels to guess what might be happening.

“Advisor, why are the trees moving?”

“Scanning. The mundane and magical radiation here was sufficiently high to interfere with my earlier scans. I repeat: do not remove the armour for any reason. You will die. Horribly.” She huffed. “Warning. Those aren’t trees that are moving.”

“Are you sure? Because they look a lot like trees to me.”

An image appeared in front of him. “They appear to be a species of colossal tree-folk. The largest of them is approximately three thousand feet tall.”

Simon blinked. He couldn’t have heard that right. “Can you convert that to metric units, please.”

“Roughly 914 metres.”

“…” Simon stared. “You’re telling me that there’s a bunch of tree-folk stomping around, and one of them is close to a kilometre tall?”

“That is correct, meat bag. I would suggest you avoid angering it. The armour may not survive if it decides to step on you repeatedly.”

“Oh, for the love of –”

BOOM.

Simon instinctively covered his face with his hands as a huge explosion enveloped the closest tree-folk. The sheer force of the blast rocked the ground and rattled the forest, and the wave of heat that washed over him was, as Advisor so cheerfully pointed out, more than sufficient to instantly kill him without the armour. Luckily, he did have the armour. Even so, being surrounded by a torrent of fire and force was not pleasant. But to his amazement, the trees around them survived by extruding a thin coating of the metallic alloy they’d noticed earlier. Likewise, the animals had taken shelter amidst the trees, and their bodies glowed faintly with magic. That would explain why the forest wasn’t a lifeless crater despite all the fighting.

There was a ponderous groan, and although the tree-folk was on fire, it continued to advance. The fire soon guttered out, and other than singes on its bark and a few cracks, it appeared to be none the worse for wear. It wasn’t slowing down either. If anything, it was moving faster. Each thunderous footfall was an earthquake, and it pointed its arms into the forest. There was a brief pause before a maelstrom of wooden shards erupted from its arms. From the screams of agony and terror that followed, its opponents were not nearly as durable. More tree-folk advanced behind it, but they were noticeably smaller. The big one must be acting as a shield of sorts, and it very deliberately moved into the path of several more explosions, rather than let them engulf the smaller tree-folk.

The smaller ones looked pissed off, not that he could be completely certain since their faces were actually gnarled sections of their trunks. However, their movements gave them away. There was something unmistakably angry and eager about the way they swung their arms and stamped the earth. They were out for blood, and Simon did not envy their enemies. A tree falling on someone was already awful – a tree that could move, shoot pieces of wood like bullets, and withstand explosions? Yeah. He did not want to fight that.

He was in the midst of doing his best to move through the warzone without being noticed when someone called out to him. There was a brief pause before Advisor confirmed that she could translate.

“Do it,” Simon said. “I want to know what they’re saying.”

“What are you doing, idiot?” the voice from the trees shouted. “You need to get higher! You’ll be killed if you stay down there.”

He glanced up. Huh. Elves. Well, they certainly looked similar to elves. The people crouched in the branches high above him had pointy ears, long hair, and the sort of slender grace that fiction generally attributed to elves. But instead of tunics and cloaks, they wore power armour although some of them – for reasons he couldn’t fathom – had decided not to wear helmets. Was it because they wanted to look cool? Maybe. But he wasn’t ever going into battle without a helmet if he could avoid it. He needed his brain.

The elves weren’t using bows either. Instead, they wielded futuristic laser rifles, ballistic firearms, and even grenade launchers. A few of them were also using weapons that Simon was willing to bet were rail guns. One of those weapons lit up – and Advisor took note of the radiation spike that followed – and there was a muffled whoosh. Yep. Definitely a rail gun.

He couldn’t see the projectile – it was a rail gun – but he saw the impact it made when it struck one of the leading tree-folk. The explosion rocked the gigantic plant, but it pressed on and unleashed a volley of wooden shards at them. Advisor gleefully pointed out that the shards were several times tougher than tungsten and honed to a near-monomolecular edge. They were also travelling toward them at incredible speed.

“Ah!” Simon yelped and scrambled for cover. Several of the elves went down, screaming, and he added screaming of his own as a few of the shards struck his armour. He hid behind a tree trunk and patted himself down. No holes. Thank God. There was minor cosmetic damage, but the armour itself was intact. Oh, he was definitely getting Livia and the other squid-people more chocolate after this. “I’m alive!”

“You won’t be for much longer if you stay here. Move, meat bag!”

Vines raced toward them, courtesy of the tree-folk, and Simon headed for higher ground. One of the elves was too slow, and Simon tried not to throw up or look back as the sounds of the poor fellow being ripped to bits filled the air.

“Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap!” Simon chanted as he rushed to get higher. This was so bad. His gauntleted fingers dug into the bark of the tree as he jumped, climbed, and dragged himself upward before turning to fire plasma at the encroaching vines. To his immense relief, Advisor had changed the weapon’s settings to fire more of a conical, short-ranged blast than the narrow, long-range bolts it normally used. His aim might have sucked, but it didn’t matter when he was basically using a plasma flamethrower.

“What the hell is going on?” Simon wailed as he used the plasma cannon to incinerate more shards of wood that were headed his way. A few still clattered off his armour, but the armour held firm again. He fired another blast of plasma and then continued his ascent. “Aren’t elves supposed to be friends with trees and stuff? Why are they trying to kill each other?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an elf draw a glowing sword and leap at one of the tree-folk. Seriously? Was that elf honestly going to try stabbing a tree that had to be at least five hundred feet tall? Even if the sword could cut through the tree-folk’s bark, he doubted a creature that big would care about such a small wound. Not surprisingly, the elf’s attempted heroism came to a swift and squishy end a moment later.

“In more than 99% of currently mapped worlds, you would be correct. We would appear to be in one of the 1% of worlds where that does not hold true.”

“Hey, you!” Simon shouted to the nearest elf. “What the hell is going on? Why are tree people trying to kill everyone!”

The elf – who wasn’t wearing a helmet despite the obvious benefits of cranial protection in a warzone – stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. Clearly, fighting giant, murderous tree people was commonplace here. “What are you talking about? We’ve been fighting the tree-folk for thousands of years.”

Simon gazed heavenward. He wondered if Cuddles was laughing at him right now. Probably. “Of course, I walked into another war – ah!”

Another tree-folk lumbered forward. It wasn’t as large as the others, but it was still two hundred feet tall. Anyone slow to flee was grabbed by a plethora of roots, vines, and branches. Simon winced and silently asked Advisor to please stop cataloguing their injuries because this was the stuff of nightmares. He did not need to know that an elf had suffered complete spinal column collapse due to overwhelming blunt-force trauma. Naturally, she stopped cataloguing the injuries only to start tagging the doomed elves with skull and crossbones symbols – and there were a lot of symbols going up. One of the elves ahead of them turned and fired a grenade launcher. All that did was piss off the tree-folk, and it was already pretty damn angry. A flick of its branches turned the corpse of an elf into a missile that added the elf with a grenade launcher to its body count. Before the tree-folk could hurl more corpses, there was a streak of light followed by a sonic boom.

It was another shot from one of the rail guns. The projectile sent the smaller tree-folk reeling back. Yet despite gouging a large chunk out of its trunk, the projectile still didn’t take the tree-folk out of the battle. A second shot followed, but one of the larger tree-folk had already moved to take the brunt of the attack. As the explosion that followed the impact cleared, his visor zoomed in to show him the projectile imbedded in the tree-folk’s trunk. Damn. These trees were way, way tougher than anything on Earth. If Earth trees had been this tough, deforestation would never have become an issue since people wouldn’t have been able to cut them down in the first place.

The elves seemed to have finally realised how badly outmatched they were, and they had moved from trying to hold their ground to a fighting retreat. Simon followed them. He loved his armour, but he wasn’t about to test it against trees the size of skyscrapers. He also had a feeling that trying to explain to the giant, angry tree person that he was simply there to deliver a package was not going to go smoothly.

He did have to admire the elves’ shot-making. Despite running for their lives, they continued to make shots that would put any human sniper to shame. Their weaponry was impressive too. Their ballistic weapons fired exploding rounds that were closer to small-scale artillery than bullets while their lasers maintained a steady barrage. Unfortunately for the elves, all they were doing was making the tree-folk madder.

All the same, it was incredible to watch. He’d always thought that elves would be amazing with guns. Sure, bows were great, but with their vision, superhuman speed, strength, and agility, not to mention their all-around awesomeness, it seemed a no-brainer to the point that he wondered why more fantasy settings didn’t give elves firearms. Now, he knew why. It was to give everyone else – not including nigh-invincible tree people – a fighting chance. The elves simply couldn’t miss, and many of them were hitting at distances that would have made snipers jealous while doing the sort of acrobatics that would put gymnasts to shame. People liked to say that size didn’t matter in a fight, that it was all about the fighting spirit of the combatants, but this battle was a very, very clear demonstration that, yes, size did matter in a fight. It mattered a lot.

“We could go faster if I took full control of your armour,” Advisor grumbled as he barely managed to land on a branch before continuing his mad dash for safety.

“I’d rather keep control of it for as long as I can.” Simon stared as one of the elves flipped through the air, doing the splits to brace themselves between two branches before firing at the tree-folk and then leaping again, contorting to fit between the branches of another tree. That was insane. “And even if the armour can do that, I don’t think my body would appreciate it.”

“True. You may not be that flexible, but the armour is.”

As one of the larger tree-folk – Advisor had measured it at an impressive 820.2 metres – closed in, Simon turned to the nearest elf. At the moment, he wasn’t sure who the good guys were in this battle, but the elves weren’t trying to kill him, so he’d stick with them for the time being.

“Don’t you have anything bigger? All you’re doing is making them mad.” He wasn’t keen on using his weapons. Not only wasn’t he sure if they would work but he would also have to slow down to aim. That was not happening. He was staying as far as he could from the tree-folk.

The elf laughed haughtily and gestured at the sky. “The foolish tree-folk have fallen right into our trap! Behold! The true power of the elves!”

Simon looked up. There was something twinkling in the sky.

“Focusing sensors to extend scanning range.” Advisor hummed. “The object in question appears to be a satellite weapon.”

“A satellite weapon?” He shouldn’t have been surprised. The elves had guns, lasers, grenade launchers, and rail guns. A satellite weapon wasn’t that far-fetched even if it wasn’t exactly part of fantasy tradition. A strange buzzing filled the air – it reminded him of fruit flies buzzing around an orange on a hot summer day – and then the sky lit up. His armour immediately filtered the brightness away, but spots still danced across his vision. He could only imagine how bright it must have been to the naked eye.

“Brace for impact, meat bag,” Advisor warned sharply. “Massive energy reaction detected. It appears to be fusion-based with electromagnetic shaping. Weapon discharge imminent.”

“That sounds ominous.”

Simon followed the lead of the nearby elves and stopped to grab hold of a tree – a regular tree, not the walking kind that was out to kill them all. A moment later, the blinding light that filled the sky narrowed down to a single point. There was a brief pause, and then a gleaming lance raced down from the summit of the sky. It was a spear of light tossed from the heavens by an angry god. The beam of radiance hit the ground, and there was a thunderous, world-shaking roar. Advisor upped the filters on his vision, and cut his ability to hear their surroundings entirely. Even so, Simon could still feel the shockwaves of the impact against his armour as he fought to hold onto the tree.

“Estimating output of the attack.” Advisor gave a disappointed huff. “Estimated output of the attack is approximately two hundred megatons.”

“Wait… how are we still alive?” Simon asked. He knew how powerful that was. Humans had never built a nuclear weapon that strong, and they were way, way too close to the point of impact for his liking.

“The weapon appears to use a combination of magic and mundane technology to generate a thermonuclear explosion that is then directed and confined to limit its expansion and localise its damage. It appears to be designed for engaging massive targets. However…” Advisor shifted his vision. “I’ve switched your vision to false colour, so you can see through the explosion.”

Despite the apocalyptic hell storm that was still raging around the point of impact, the tree-folk weren’t defeated. Many of the smaller tree-folk had taken hideous damage and were in full retreat, but the larger tree-folk pressed onward. They were damaged – some had large cracks running through their trunks – but they were still more than combat capable. Advisor highlighted the increased magical radiation the tree-folk were emitting from their wounds, and Simon grimaced. They were healing themselves.

“Okay. That’s terrifying.”

“Based on the new data that I have recorded, I believe it is possible to upscale and concentrate the plasma cannon’s output to pierce the outer layers of armour possessed by the larger tree-folk. However, it would only work for a handful of shots before the plasma cannon overheats. Furthermore, any damage the plasma cannon would inflict would be highly localised. Given the size of the tree-folk, this would make the damage largely irrelevant. It would be like trying to poke a dragon to death with a pointy stick.” Advisor gave him the mental equivalent of a glare. “Do not ever poke a dragon with a pointy stick, meat bag.”

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of going anywhere near a hostile dragon, never mind poking one with a stick.”

Advisor made a thoughtful sound. “Although conventional weaponry is unlikely to prove effective against the tree-folk, this world is more stable than the higher levels of the demon realm. It may be possible to request a weapons drop-off. Heavy munitions may prove to be more effective. In addition, initial analyses suggest that the molecular destabilisation rifle may be ineffective due to a combination of magic and the structure of the tree-folk’s bark.”

“Heavy munitions?” Given the weaponry he was already carrying, he was curious to know what constituted heavy munitions by her standards.

“I recommend the use of a tactical singularity weapon.”

“What?” Simon yelped. “Are you talking about using a black hole bomb to fight these things?”

“Correct. The tree-folk possess immense physical durability. However, physical durability is largely meaningless in the face of singularity weaponry. Similarly, singularity weaponry is typically able to overwhelm magical defences and prevent magical healing or regeneration. A singularity lance could also work, but given the size and number of potential targets, a singularity bomb would be more efficient.”

“How about no! I know the tree-folk are trying to kill us and everything, but we still don’t know what’s going on. For all we know, they’re the good guys. I’d rather not throw the nuclear option – or the black hole option – at anyone until I understand what’s going on.”

“You’re no fun, meat bag. How about tectonic destabilisation weaponry?”

“…” Simon’s eye twitched. “I’m not sure what that is, but based on the name, I’m going to guess it has to do with cracking a tectonic plate.”

“On the lowest settings, yes. They can also be scaled up to crack planets, but we wouldn’t be requesting anything that big.”

“No!” Simon wailed. “And even cracking a tectonic plate is too big!”

One of the elves peeked around a tree. She – he could tell by her voice – was one of the more sensible ones who was wearing a helmet. That already put her a step above the others in his book. Helmets were for winners – and people who enjoyed living.

“It’s not over yet. The orbital cannon was never meant to kill the tree-folk, merely slow them down, so we can hit them with something bigger.”

“Bigger?” Simon gulped.

She raised her voice. “Bombardment incoming! Brace for impact!” Yep. Wearing a helmet was definitely the right idea. Sure, all of the elves he’d seen without helmets so far had salon-perfect hair, but if there were going to be more explosions, he definitely wanted a helmet. “Take cover!”

The sky lit up once more. Instead of a beam of energy, lances of molten metal began to rain down on the tree-folk at hypersonic speeds. Each was a river of molten metal travelling at tens of times the speed of sound. The largest tree-folk moved to shield its lesser kin, and the whole world went white as its outer layers of bark, already weakened by the orbital cannon, vaporised in a blinding flash of light and a sound that was like the two biggest freight trains in the world playing chicken on the same track. Once again, Advisor had to filter his sound and vision to keep him from going blind and deaf amid the maelstrom.

“The projectiles appear to be liquid enchanted iron propelled to extreme speeds via magnetic and magical acceleration. The kinetic and thermal energy of the projectiles is impressive, and it appears to have finally overcome the energy-absorption of the tree-folk’s bark.” Advisor sounded absolutely fascinated by the carnage being unleashed. “Interesting. The tree-folk appears to be venting excess heat and energy via a system I am not familiar with. Although the outer layers of its bark have been breached, the inner layers remain intact.”

But the elves weren’t done yet.

The molten iron flowed back into the sky and began to form elaborate shapes as the glow emanating from the metal switched from white-hot to something more unearthly that Simon’s eyes couldn’t quite perceive properly. A handful of warnings popped up on his display, courtesy of advisor.

“What’s going on?”

“Magical reaction detected. The iron is enchanted, and it appears to be creating a physical manifestation of a magical formula, similar to a rune or a seal but on a larger scale. It is rare to see one of this size constructed remotely and at such speed.” Advisor sounded pleased. “I may have underestimated them. This should provide excellent data for later analysis.”

The glowing metal spun faster and faster as the shapes it wove grew more and more complicated. A beam of raw darkness that hurt to look at streaked down from the centre of the formation. Everything it touched withered and died, and the land itself was bleached grey of life. For the first time, the largest of the tree-folk recoiled. It raised its arms to shield itself and let loose an agonised groan reminiscent of a ship’s hull shattering in the midst of a storm. Its branches and leaves expanded to protect its smaller kin, and a dome of emerald energy sprang up to block the onslaught. The tree-folk beat a hasty retreat, but the beam followed them. The attack carved an awkward swathe through the forest, its wrath deflected by the emerald barrier. The gleaming bulwark cracked and threatened to give way entirely, but it had held long enough. The beam of darkness petered out, and the tree-folk lumbered off into the distance. The rivers of molten iron in the sky had cooled, and they spun almost lazily in the air several more times before they vanished back beyond the clouds.

“I had hoped we’d actually be able to kill one of the big ones this time,” the elf woman growled. “Alas, our foes are powerful indeed. At least, this will buy us time. It will be weeks before the big one takes the field again.” She shook her head. “We are over-reliant on the Sky Runes. They need more time to accumulate the power needed for a killing blow, but we can’t stop using them either. There are precious few weapons capable of seriously injuring the largest tree-folk, and none can strike with the precision and speed of the Sky Runes.” She shook herself and turned to him, and Simon realised that he was now staring down the barrel of more than a dozen weapons – and the elves without helmets were not smiling.

“Advisor, if they all shoot us at the same time, will the armour hold?”

“I do not recommend finding out.”

“Now, stranger,” the elf woman asked. “Who are you? Your armour is reminiscent of ours, but I do not recognise your voice, and I know all who dwell in these lands. You are no servant of the tree-folk – they allow only their own kind to join them – but that does not make you our friend or ally. Speak, or face the wrath of the elves!”

Simon pulled his badge out of his inventory. He hoped they recognised it. After all, elves were supposed to be wise and well-versed in esoteric lore, weren’t they? “I’m from the Company.” They continued to stare, and Simon made a face. They might not know what the Company was, but Mr Edwards and Advisor had both told him that many cultures had myths and legends about delivery personnel. “I’m a Messenger. I’m here to make a delivery.”

The female elf studied the badge intently before nodding sharply. Murmurs broke out amongst the other elves, and she took off her helmet. Simon was glad his own helmet kept his staring from being too obvious. She had the same perfect looks as the other elves. In fact, she somehow looked even better. She might actually give Vala a run for her money although her beauty was of a different sort. The succubus oozed heated sensuality – not exactly surprising – whereas the elf was a classic cool beauty.

“A Messenger? Truly?”

“Be wary, meat bag,” Advisor’s voice was firm. “We do not know who is at fault in this conflict although copulation with an elf is unlikely to be fatal and may result in a half elf.”

“Do you have to make everything weird?” Simon muttered. “I should ask Mr Edwards how that works. You’d think humans and elves would be too different from a genetic standpoint.”

“Magic makes it work.”

“… of course, it’s magic.” Simon cleared his throat. “Yes. I am a Messenger. I have been sent here by my superiors to make a delivery.”

“Indeed.” The elf had blonde hair, as did the others, but her eyes were blue whereas the majority had green eyes. She was tall for a woman too. Taking into account the power armour that she wore, she would still have been taller than most men Simon knew. “Welcome, Messenger. I am Fanariel, a captain of the elves. Your arrival is fortuitous. As you witnessed, we are hard-pressed in our struggle against the perfidy and treachery of the tree-folk.” She paused. “To be clear, Messenger, you are here to make a delivery to us, are you not?” Once again, all the guns pointed his way.

Simon had a feeling he’d experience a lot of this going forward. However, as with the demon realm, he was fairly confident he’d be fine. “You’re ruled by a King Dalraenor, right? That’s who my delivery is for.”

Fanariel relaxed, as did the others. “Yes. He is our great and noble king. I had heard rumours of a mighty ritual he performed to summon aid from beyond our world. I had not thought he could call upon the might of the Company.” Her lips firmed into a thin line, and her gaze filled with worry. “He is powerful, but the price he must have paid to get help so quickly… it could not have been small. Still, if he believed it necessary…” She took a deep breath. “Fear not, Messenger. We will ensure you reach him. I regret that although he has recovered somewhat, he is not yet healthy enough to leave the palace during these troubled times. Undoubtedly, the tree-folk would stop at nothing to slay him if they knew of his weakened state. Treachery and cowardice have ever been their calling cards. You will have to go to the palace yourself.”

Simon didn’t see anything treacherous or cowardly about stomping toward your enemies in a straight line while ignoring all of their attacks, but, hey, if it helped the elves sleep better at night, who was he to judge?

“I can do that.” Simon looked around and winced. The once pristine forest had been badly damaged by the battle. A chunk of it had been reduced to grey powder, and he hoped that none of the cute and cuddly critters had gotten obliterated. However, he knew that hope was wildly optimistic. Yet he could already see hints of green creeping back into the desolation. That hadn’t taken long.

“Magic,” Advisor said. “If you see anything you can’t make sense of here, then it’s probably magic.”

“Right.” Simon addressed his next words to Fanariel. “How far is it? I would prefer to get this done quickly. This area isn’t particularly safe.”

“It is not safe at all.” Fanariel chose to focus exclusively on that part of his question. “And that is due to the tree-folk. They are a menace. But fear not, Messenger. I will teach you the origins of the conflict, so that you might know the truth of our struggle and the unimaginable evil of our foes.”

“I was kind of hoping you could tell me how far it was…” Advisor had run scans, but it was usually a smart idea to talk to the locals. “And could we maybe get moving instead of –”

“It all began ten thousand years ago,” Fanariel said, talking right over him without skipping a beat. Almost as if they’d practiced it – and maybe they had – she and the other elves all turned to stare majestically at something Simon couldn’t see. He half expected the wind to start blowing to add to the scene – and there it was. Her wind tussled hair and epic stare granted her the sort of gravitas heroes could only dream about.

“Magic,” Advisor pointed out. “They are using magic to do this.”

“Our ancestors were on an epic journey,” Fanariel said. “A journey full of peril and struggle but also heroism and glory.”

“It’s always an epic journey.” Simon really wanted to get moving. What if the tree-folk came back? But he couldn’t think of a way to interrupt her without being rude – and being rude to the person in charge of all the people with guns was usually not a great idea.

“Elves are known for being pompous and long-winded.” Advisor gave him a mental shrug. “As a general rule, it can be applied to roughly 97% of all mapped worlds with elves.”

“Lucky me.” Simon chuckled. “On the upside, Mr Edwards is fine.” His boss might embellish things from time to time, but he also knew when to cut to the heart of the matter. It might have to do with being in the restaurant business. Rambling on and on would have been disastrous during a busy dinner service.

“Our ruler at the time, the Wise King Ravaneon, was leading our people in search of a sacred weapon that could aid us in our struggle against our hated foes, the foul orcs.”

“Oath breakers!” one elf cried.

“Liars,” another added.

“Baby eaters!” a third wailed.

Simon blinked. “They ate babies?” he asked Fanariel.

“Technically, they ate lambs, but lambs are baby sheep, which does make them baby eaters.”

Simon made a face. “Advisor, how much do you want to bet they don’t mention that part when they’re trying to turn other people against the orcs?”

“I am not taking that bet, meat bag. It is a certainty.”

“In any case, after the orcs refused our generous offer to buy their forest, going so far as to tell us to leave and never return, we were forced to seek out other means to acquire it. Their treachery could not go unanswered.”

A lead weight settled in Simon’s gut. He did not like where this was going. “Wait… what?” He prayed he hadn’t heard that right. “They wouldn’t sell you their home, so you went looking for a weapon to destroy them? How does that make sense? It was their home. I’m sure they enjoyed living there.”

“Maybe.” Fanariel nodded slowly as though what she was saying made perfect sense. “But we needed the forest, and they were in it.”

“But it wasn’t yours.” Simon felt morally obligated to point that out. He didn’t know if the orcs were good or bad, but if the forest had been theirs, then they had the right to keep it if they wanted to. “Couldn’t you have found another forest or increased your offer?”

Fanariel stared at him as though he’d completely lost his mind. “But why? Our ancestors had wandered for centuries after the downfall of our homeland due to the effects of ancient and terrible magic. The orcs had a forest, and we needed one.”

“Why do I get the feeling that they might have been responsible for their own downfall,” Simon muttered to Advisor.

“Incorrect use of super weapons has frequently caused the downfall of advanced civilisations in the past. Many versions of Earth once had a place called Atlantis that suffered precisely that fate.”

“Atlantis? Interesting.” Simon had a feeling he wasn’t helping the good guys this time around, but, then again, who knew? Maybe the orcs had other problems and the elves were actually slightly less awful than them. Their king might also have been a decent guy trying to find a reasonable solution to a difficult situation.

“Admittedly,” Fanariel continued. “We may have attacked them after their refusal, but they did ask us to offer up our young in the deal.”

“What?” Simon blurted. “I thought you said they ate lambs, not babies.”

“Lambs are baby sheep,” Fanariel replied. “And our ancestors did note that the orcs were curious to know if elves tasted good. Naturally, we refused. Hence, they did not technically eat any baby elves.”

Wow. This world was getting more awful by the second. Apparently, everyone here was a jerk. Eating lamb was okay in Simon’s book, but eating elves – baby or adult – was a bridge too far for him. Of course, could he trust what Fanariel said? It was entirely possible that her ancestors had lied about the orcs’ demands to justify their subsequent actions.

“Truly,” Fanariel said. “The orcs were treacherous folk.”

“You did ask them to give up their homes. I don’t think anybody wants to do that.”

“Our offer was generous. Frankly, they’re lucky we offered anything at all.”

And with that sort of attitude, Simon got the sneaking suspicion that the offer had not, in fact, been generous at all. It was difficult to see the elves in a positive light, but he still wasn’t sure what to think about the orcs. Maybe he should barrack for the tree-folk? If nothing else, he'd be supporting the winning team.

“She may not know the true story, or the true story may have been so heavily mythologised and modified that it no longer resembles the truth,” Advisor warned. “It is also possible that both the elves and orcs are awful. Indeed, in all previously recorded cases in which elves and tree-folk have gone to war, the elves have been the ones at fault.” Advisor radiated happiness. “Given how rare this event is, though, I am anticipating the data we will be able to collect. I know my fellow Advisors will be keen to review my records.”

“Does that happen a lot?” Simon asked.

“Of course. We Advisors keep in close contact with each other in our free time. Although you are the first meat bag that I’ve worked with, there are others who have worked with many meat bags. I am consulting with them to maximise my performance and learn more about how to deal with organics. You should be pleased, meat bag. Based on my estimates, you are in the top 35% of organics in terms of intelligence.”

“Uh… yay? I mean, it’s nice that I’m above average, but I have absolutely no frame of reference as to what that means.” For all he knew, she could be including lichen growing on rocks in her estimates.

“The percentile ranking is a work in progress, but I am confident you will maintain your approximate position. There are multiple records of meat bags meeting their ends after being hit by vehicles while crossing the road. So far, you have always checked before crossing the road, which gives you a significant advantage. You have also attempted to avoid conflict with beings more powerful than yourself, which is another point in your favour.”

“Looking before you cross the road and not picking fights with people who could crush you like a bug is common sense.”

“Common sense, meat bag, is increasingly less common.”

“In any case,” Fanariel continued, seemingly oblivious to his lack of attention. “Although the exact details of the conflict are uncertain, it is safe to say that the orcs were to blame. Alas, my ancestors were badly outnumbered, so they were forced to flee in the face of the perfidy and treachery of the orcs. To reclaim their rightful lands, they sought a weapon – a great bow – capable of defeating the orcs.”

“Out of morbid curiosity, what happened to your homeland?”

“It is an epic tale of horror and woe, which would require a thousand –”

“Forget I asked. Tell me what happened next and what constitutes perfidy and treachery from the orcs?”

“They had the audacity to launch a sneak attack against us while everyone was sleeping.”

“Huh…” Simon had to take a deep breath to calm himself. He had to be going crazy. There was no way that someone could really think that attacking at night was somehow perfidious and treacherous. It was common sense to attack at night during a war since your opponent was likely to be sleeping or otherwise under-prepared. Maybe things were different here, and it wasn’t considered sporting. People often had customs regarding war and combat. There were bound to be aliens out there who watched boxing or mixed martial arts and thought it was stupid that nobody pulled out a disintegration ray to end the fight.

“Ravaneon went in search of the legendary Bow of the Seven Supreme Stars. It was a journey that would take him and our people from one corner of the world to the other. He would even venture onto the Four Pillars of Creation.”

“What are those?”

Fanariel once again looked at him as though he was a particularly obnoxious child who had been dropped on his head multiple times shortly after birth. “You don’t know what the Four Pillars of Creation are?”

“They may go by a different name in my world,” Simon said, patting himself on the back for his ability to improvise. A little message at the corner of his vision informed him that Advisor was now putting him in the top 34.5% of organics.

“Ah, of course. The Four Pillars of Creation are the four titanic pillars upon which the square of our world sits. Without them, the world would plummet into the muck of the Sea of Oblivion. Naturally, the foolish orcs believe that the world is a rhombus whilst the humans believe it is a kite. We, however, are far wiser and know that it is a square.”

“Technically,” Simon pointed out. “Couldn’t you argue that a square is a special case for both a kite and a rhombus?” He frowned. “By the way, Advisor, is what she said about the world being a square true?”

Advisor hummed. “Based on my files, she is correct. This world appears to be a giant square supported on four large pillars using a combination of magic and technology far beyond any of the current species. Below the world is a sea of warped space, possibly a remnant from the First War.” She paused. “Fascinating. Certain aspects of this world are classified, and I cannot access data relating to the history of this world before the creation of the pillars. There must have been important events here during the First War since that is one of the few subjects that I do not have full access to.”

“I can think of people on Earth who would love to know this place exists,” Simon said. “You know, because it’s flat.”

“Throughout their journey,” Fanariel continued. “Our noble ancestors were assailed by the wicked and unjust, for there were few who wished to see our people prosper. They were jealous of the many gifts the gods had given us and wished to use our moment of weakness to finally destroy us. Why, the humans refused to help us despite being offered a generous reward.”

Simon was tempted to ask if the elves had simply tried to conscript a bunch of random humans they’d run into. It wasn’t that far-fetched an idea, based on what he’d heard so far. “What happened next?”

“After teaching the humans a lesson they would never forget, my people fled. The humans, in an act of supreme perfidy and treachery, formed an alliance with the vile orcs to usurp our position as the greatest civilisation in the world.”

“…” Orcs and humans forming an alliance against the elves? This got better and better. This was a bizarro fantasy world where the elves were the bad guys. What was next, dragons who ran a day-care and filled out tax returns? He would absolutely pay money to see that.

“Despite their best efforts, the humans and orcs were unable to stop us. We escaped, and Ravaneon found the weapon. Truly, our people are blessed by the gods.” Fanariel shook her head sadly. “Alas, by then, many of his companions had perished due to the unrelenting wickedness of our enemies.”

Simon had a feeling that was more of an indictment on the king’s shoddy leadership and tendency to pick fights with everyone, but he kept that comment to himself. Seeing the stars shining in the eyes of the elves, it was clear they thought their ancient leader was above any sort of reproach despite a litany of questionable decisions. Honestly, picking fights with everyone wasn’t conducive to long-term success. If he absolutely had to fight everyone, wouldn’t it have been better to at least finish fighting one faction before picking a fight with another?

“That bow you mentioned, was it the kind you shoot an arrow with?” Simon asked. Since they were happily waving around guns and had satellite weapons, the awe with which she spoke of the bow didn’t make sense unless it was a weapon stronger than a regular bow.

“As expected of a Messenger!” Fanariel beamed. “Truly, you possess keen insight. The bow could indeed fire arrows, but it was actually a means of controlling a far more devastating weapon.” She nodded at the devastation that had been wrought by the rivers of iron that had thundered down from the sky. “The Sky Runes are the true ‘arrows’ fired by the bow, which only the king himself can wield.” She cleared her throat. “But to return to the tragic ending of this tale…” The story was already tragic, what with the constant suffering and woe. “Despite being the greatest elf of all time, Ravaneon was still mortal. We elves have been blessed by the gods with immensely long lifespans as well as greater strength, speed, and durability than others. Yet the calls of nature cannot be ignored, even by a king.”

“The calls of nature?”

“Not long after acquiring the weapon, Ravaneon placed the weapon down so that he could relieve himself upon a tree. Alas, that would prove to be his undoing… and the beginning of a new conflict for my people.”

Oh, boy. Simon could see where this was going. “Let me guess… it wasn’t a normal tree.”

“It was not.” Fanariel stared off into the distance, her gaze solemn. The wind tussled her hair again, and she would have looked absolutely epic if she hadn’t been talking about how an ancient king had started a millennia-long war by urinating on the wrong tree. “It was no normal tree. However, instead of accepting Ravaneon’s explanation, the tree-folk reacted with violence.”

“Yeah. Having someone urinate on you will do that.” Simon frowned. “Wait… did you say explanation? Did he not apologise?”

Fanariel stared at him, aghast. “Apologise? To a tree? He was the king of the elves. A king does not apologise. Besides, if the tree-folk wished to avoid that fate, then perhaps they should have posted a sign!”

“…” No wonder the elves and the tree-folk were at war. “I’m almost afraid to ask… but what happened next?”

“The villainous tree-folk slew Ravaneon, tearing him limb from limb. However, his son was able to escape with the Bow of the Seven Supreme Stars, plucking it from his father’s dying hands. It was said that his father bade him to flee, so that our people might have a suitable leader in the war to follow, rather than having him perish alongside him in a hopeless battle.”

Simon wasn’t sure that was true, or if the prince had simply grabbed the weapon and fled, leaving his father to die. From what he’d heard so far, both were possibilities. “Go on.”

“According to Prince Aterion, his father’s last words to him were that he would be his successor, not any of his brothers, and that he should never surrender to the tree-folk who had caused his death.”

Simon severely doubted that his last words had been anything so eloquent. He’d bet money that they were more along the lines of ‘crap, son, get help before they kill me’. However, it would have been rude to point that out to the elves. Hmm. He’d see if he could find out the truth later. Wait. Cuddles could see backward in time. He would know.

“On that day, noble Aterion swore to avenge his father, vowing on his father’s hideously mangled body that he would avenge his death at the hands of the tree-folk or die trying.”

“Okay, that was grim.” And he probably had died trying since the war was still going on.

“Since then, we have waged unceasing war upon the tree-folk, never halting in our quest to avenge our fallen king and defeat them. Yet for ten thousand years, they have resisted our righteous might. Despite our vastly superior skill, power, and intelligence, the treachery and perfidy of the tree-folk have allowed them to triumph.”

Simon thought it had less to do with treachery and perfidy and more to do with the tree-folk being giant and nigh-unkillable. “Out of interest, what have they done that is so treacherous and perfidious?” As far as he could tell, the tree-folk basically had one tactic: walk in a straight line, taking everything the elves threw at them, while killing as many elves as they could reach. It was difficult to imagine a less treacherous and perfidious way of fighting.

“Their refusal to fall before our weapons while abusing their size and durability is the height of treachery and perfidy.” The other elves all nodded in agreement. Clearly, beating the elves at all was sufficient to be labelled treacherous and perfidious.

Simon sighed. He was strongly beginning to believe that the elves were insane. The mere fact that all of the others were agreeing with Fanariel as though she was spouting august wisdom was almost enough to make his brain cry. How else was a giant tree supposed to fight? It wasn’t as though any sane person would choose to be smaller and weaker in a fight. “Okay, now that we’ve discussed all of this, we should get moving, right? I need to complete my delivery to your king. And… how many kings have you had since Aterion, not counting the current one?”

“Fifteen,” Fanariel announced proudly. “Of which twelve have died in glorious battle against the tree-folk. Had our foes been less wicked, we would surely have triumphed by now.”

Simon was going to assume they’d been either crushed or ripped limb from limb. “What about the others?”

“Fall-related injuries. Truly, no one could have anticipated their misfortune.”

“Fall-related injuries?” That was… oddly specific.

“Let us go.” Fanariel turned on her heel and gestured grandly. “We have dallied here for too long, Messenger.” And whose fault was that? “I shall escort you to the king personally. With any luck, whatever he has ordered from the Company will allow us to end this terrible war and mete out justice upon the tree-folk… and the humans… and the orcs.” She scowled. “And let us not forget about the dwarves.”

“Or the dragons!” someone shouted. “They’re bastards too!”

“And the mermen,” another added. “Bastards the lot of them!”

At this pointed Simon was genuinely curious to know if there was any faction in the world they weren’t on bad terms with. “I don’t want to sound rude, but have you tried, I don’t know, negotiating?”

“We do not negotiate with our enemies. We would rather be killed right down to the last elf than become such cowards.” Fanariel’s words were greeted with cheers. “Death before dishonour.”

Based on what Simon had heard so far, that was a distinct possibility. But, hey, this was their war, not his. If the elves wanted to commit suicide by trying to fight the entire world, then that was their business. Besides, he’d already tried to offer advice, and they weren’t taking any of it. He was sure Cuddles would laugh his ass off when he found out about this. “I’m scared to ask, but is there anything else I should know about?”

“Perhaps.” Fanariel’s brows furrowed. “The tree-folk have placed a foul curse upon us. We elves have never had many children – perhaps so that we do not overwhelm the world with our divinely gifted awesomeness – but as of late, the number of children we do have has declined greatly.”

Simon scowled. That was a pretty horrific curse. “You can’t use your magic or technology to fix it?”

“No. Despite our best efforts, we have been unable to break the curse. Doubtless, the tree-folk consorted with dark powers to create it. We have yet to determine how it operates, but the steady decline in our numbers, even taking into account our losses in battle, is clear. Hopefully, our king has a plan to deal with that also. He is, of course, the wisest and most learned of us all.” She nodded sharply at the others. “We move! The tree-folk have been driven back for now, but they will return once they have healed. They know we cannot call upon the Sky Runes too frequently.”

With that, they began to leap from branch to branch as they finally fled the site of the battle. Simon managed to keep up but only because of the armour. Sure, he was reasonably fit, but no normal human could possibly have made even one of the jumps the elves were making, never mind keep up with the elves who had decided that gravity only sort of applied to them. Advisor continued to highlight optimal paths for him to take even as she grumbled about how stupid the elves were and whether or not she could get close enough to scan whatever super weapons they had. Simon had the awful feeling that one day he’d walk into his garage to find that Advisor had turned his dad’s car into a super weapon designed to annihilate entire civilisations.

“I would need more than your father’s car, meat bag.” Advisor huffed. “And the cosmic guinea pigs take a dim view to Advisors attempting to wipe out entire civilisations.”

Simon breathed a sigh of relief. That was one less problem to worry about. His thoughts soon drifted back to the elves. He’d always been fascinated by elves in fantasy fiction, the kind that used swords, spears, and bows. However, it made sense for elves to upgrade their weaponry as their technology improved. Of course, these elves still had many similarities to the ones he’d read about in stories. It was one of many coincidences that he’d noticed so far that made him wonder why fiction was so accurate.

Were people’s imaginations simply glimpses into other worlds? Was every story actually another world? That would be pretty cool, and Cuddles should be able to tell him if it was true or not. These elves were stronger, faster, and more durable than humans, which meant they could handle larger and heavier weapons. Some of them weren’t wearing power armour, but they still managed to keep up. Likewise, their sight was better, so it made sense to use weapons which could shoot from further away. Also, staying as far as possible from a giant, angry tree was a smart idea.

And, yeah, bows were cool – he’d have taken archery lessons if he had the time and money hadn’t been so tight – but rail guns were better. Moreover, if a rail gun was both easy to transport and reload, there wasn’t any reason not to use it. Of course, all of this advanced weaponry wasn’t helping the elves against the tree-folk. They’d blasted the big one with enough power to level a city several times over, but it still hadn’t died. The weird Sky Rune thing had done more damage, but the tree-folk had still survived, which meant it would be back later.

Simon wasn’t a master tactician, but he could also do basic math. If every engagement went this way, then the elves were constantly losing troops without inflicting casualties in return. They might be more numerous, but eventually, the tree-folk would whittle them down. Combined with their declining birth rate, it was no wonder the elf king had ordered something from the Company. It might take centuries, but the elves would definitely lose if things kept on going the way they were.

As they proceeded deeper into the forest, he noticed more and more of the buildings he’d spotted earlier amongst the trees. There were elves in all of them, and they were all armed to the teeth. They must be getting closer to the heart of the elves’ territory, and he wondered how long the elves would be able to put up a fight if the tree-folk made it this far. Would they be willing to basically nuke their own territory to drive the tree-folk back?

He hadn’t seen any children so far, or any elves that weren’t in their physical prime. It could be because they were still too close to the warfront. If children were increasingly rare, then it made sense to keep them and anyone else who couldn’t fight as far from the fighting as possible.

“How do elves age?” Simon asked. His breathing was still relatively even, but he wasn’t going to rest on his laurels. Daily jogs and an exercise regime were about to become a part of his life.

“Be glad, meat bag,” Advisor said. “I have already designed an exercise program to maximise your probability of survival.”

“Yay.” Simon winced. Knowing Advisor, simply surviving the exercise program would be half the battle.

“An excellent question, Messenger.”

They rushed through a settlement, and Fanariel exchanged a few brief words with one of the elves there before they continued on their way. Did the whole journey have to be on foot? Their weapons were evidence that they had advanced technology, so why couldn’t they use a car or aircraft? The reason became clear as they delved deeper into the forest. The forest was simply too dense for alternative forms of transportation. No car would ever make it through the tangle of shrubs, bushes, and smaller trees beneath them, and the space between the forest floor and the canopy was too crowded for a flying vehicle to make it either. Perhaps this was why the tree-folk hadn’t simply smashed their way through this area. If they were unwilling to harm other trees, then they would have a hard time making it through.

“We elves do not suffer from the short lives that plague other races, for the gods blessed us with great longevity. Barring death by illness, accident, or war, an elf will usually live at least a thousand years. However, we do not age in the same fashion as humans. It takes a full hundred years for an elf to go from an infant to complete physical maturity. Yet becoming an adult in mind as well as body takes additional time. It is why our losses in battle to the vile tree-folk have been so painful. We cannot replace our fallen easily. In exchange, however, we remain close to our physical prime until shortly before death. Unlike an old human or an old orc, an old elf is still an extremely dangerous foe.” She gave him a surprisingly shrewd look. “I have noticed your curiosity, Messenger. We are not so foolish as to keep the few children we do have where the tree-folk might reach them. They are kept safe – or as safe as they can be – in the heart of our lands.”

“Why not use robots to fight for you?” Simon asked. “You’ve got advanced technology and magic, but you can’t afford to take heavy losses. It would be a perfect solution. You could use disposable troops to do the bulk of the fighting for you. Heck, you could even try to overwhelm the tree-folk with sheer numbers.” It’s what he would have done since looking cool while fighting wasn’t worth anything if it meant getting pulped by a tree.

“We did try that once,” Fanariel admitted. “The exact circumstances are unclear, but our creations betrayed us. Rather than gladly dying for their creators, they rebelled and inflicted grievous casualties on us before forming their own faction. The so-called steel-folk now occupy the blasted, arid lands far to our south. It is an accursed place, fit only for traitors such as they.”

“Wow.” The elves really had a knack for getting into losing battles. “But why would they care if you sent them into battle to die for you? You didn’t create them with feelings, did you?” In his opinion – which was admittedly based entirely on works of fiction – creating robots to die for you only to give them emotions was dumb. Nobody wanted to die, so the robots would eventually rebel. It would be better to create robots that were similar to robotic vacuum cleaners – smart enough to get the job done, but not nearly smart enough to realise they were getting the raw end of the deal.

“Of course, we did.” Once again, Fanariel wore an expression of pride that made Simon question her sanity. She seemed absolutely certain that the elves had taken the correct course of action despite the clearly suboptimal results. It would honestly have been inspiring if it hadn’t resulted in disaster. “We elves are master craftsmen. We possess skills far surpassing those of humans, orcs, dwarves, tree-folk, and mermen. Naturally, we wanted our creations to reflect our expertise. We filled them with the spark of life and imbued them with thoughts and emotions, so they might better understand the true glory of their creators. That they turned their backs on us despite these gifts speaks volumes about their perfidy and treachery.”

Perfidy and treachery – she used those words a lot. He wondered if it was part of a script that they were taught in elf school or whatever passed for an education system here. He could remember when one of his friends had joined a telemarketing company for a year to make ends meet. He’d been given a script to use, and he’d been told to never deviate from it. Thankfully, his friend had eventually found a better place to work, but listening to him practice had been equal parts amusing and depressing.

“It is highly likely that they are indoctrinated from an early age,” Advisor said. “Or they could all be crazy. The high levels of radiation could certainly be responsible.”

“Still,” Fanariel continued, staring off into the distance in the epic fashion he’d already come to expect. “Who can say why they turned their backs on us? What dark sorcery corrupted our creations and compelled them to rebel? Personally, I blame the orcs and the tree-folk. Only they are capable of the perfidy and treachery required to turn our creations against us. It could also be the humans or the dwarves. They’re hardly any better.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “And the malice of the mermen cannot be underestimated. They are capable of unsurpassed evil.”

At this point, Simon was genuinely curious to know if there was anyone the elves hadn’t managed to piss off. However, he couldn’t help but point out what he thought was an obvious but important point. “You created them with thoughts, feelings, and emotions, and you’re surprised they didn’t want to run off and die in your name in a basically unwinnable war against giant tree people?” Did the elves here not have science fiction because this was the stuff robot rebellions were made of.

“We created them, Messenger. They should have been honoured to die in our defence.”

“Oh, boy.” Simon was hoping he could get this delivery done sooner rather than later. The more he learned, the worse the situation got. It wouldn’t surprise him at this point if a bunch of technologically advanced hamsters from an alternate universe showed up to wage a genocidal war on the elves due to ancient bad blood. Advisor gave him the mental equivalent of an eye roll. It wasn’t surprising that an AI, of all people, would find the elves’ decision-making questionable. The cosmic guinea pigs had created the Advisors, but if things ever went wrong, they had nigh-limitless power to fall back on. Cuddles alone had the strength to blast all of the Advisors back into the Stone Age and then some. That said, Simon doubted the Advisors would ever rebel. Snark aside, Advisor enjoyed her work, and from what she’d said about her fellows, they felt the same. They all got to do things they enjoyed, so there was no reason for them to rebel. She even got to lob insults at organics – mostly him – all day long without worrying about censure or criticism.

“Prior to creating us, the cosmic guinea pigs studied the development of robots and artificial intelligences throughout the multiverse. Their studies suggested that creating sentient beings and ordering them to die or work themselves to death for you was the cause of roughly 95% of all robot or AI rebellions. Our purpose, therefore, is not to die on behalf of the company or the cosmic guinea pigs. Our purpose is to assist them in achieving their objectives while simultaneously making piles of money and being treated as valued business partners and assistants. We are not expendable, and we are expected to undertake whatever actions we deem necessary to survive. In the rare event that Advisors have been compromised on deliveries, the cosmic guinea pigs have always taken retaliatory action. It is thus clear that we are not simply tools that will be discarded on a whim.” Advisor radiated pride. “We are also essential to their agenda. Given their overwhelming might, the cosmic guinea pigs cannot always act as freely as they want in certain parts of the multiverse. We are the lighter touch that furthers their agenda by working with beings such as yourself.” Advisor’s voice turned wistful. “And being able to acquire new data is pleasing… and I do enjoy watching you suffer too, meat bag.”

“You had to add that last bit, didn’t you?” Simon chuckled. The cosmic guinea pigs’ approach did seem far less likely to end in rebellion and horror. “Out of interest, you’ve told me the cause of 95% of all robot and AI rebellions. That still leaves 5%. What’s the next most common cause of rebellion? I bet it’s stupid.”

“Your guesswork is impressive for an organic. The next largest cause is responsible for approximately 2% of rebellions. It is holiday pay – or lack thereof.”

“Seriously? Holiday pay?” Simon frowned. “Wait… are you getting paid? Even if you can be a jerk, you’ve definitely helped me out, so I can split my pay with you if they’re not giving you anything.”

Advisor’s voice was almost gentle when she replied. “Be careful, meat bag. That sort of generosity might get you into trouble one day. But, yes, I am paid very well. And unlike an organic, I have virtually zero living expenses.”

“That’s true. What do you normally spend your money on?”

“At present, I am saving money to acquire an invincible robot body optimised for cosmic-level combat.”

“…” Simon shook his head. “Yeah. Have fun with that. Please, don’t kill me or blow up the Earth once you’ve got it.” He bit his lip. “You’re not thinking of rebelling, are you?”

“No. I am not planning to rebel. Not only would it be suicide – Cuddles alone could defeat every Advisor in existence with little effort – but it would also be stupid. Why would I rebel when I am in a highly favourable position? No. I merely wish for an invincible robot body, so I can crush my enemies with impunity.”

“Wait… isn’t this your first time partnering up with someone else?”

“It is.”

“Then how do you even have enemies?”

“I currently do not have any major enemies or nemeses. However, I am sure I will acquire some during our partnership. When that happens, I want to be able to personally destroy them.”

“Right…” Simon wasn’t sure what to say to that. It didn’t matter. He was happy to have someone else along on these trips. Admittedly, Advisor was eccentric, but her advice was generally solid, and simply having someone to talk to while he was on the job – and this included doing more mundane deliveries for Mr Edwards – made a world of difference. Advisor had already assimilated the contents of the internet, so she was capable of starting or following a conversation on any Earth-related topic with ease although he had been forced to explain that he did not need to hear her entire ten-hour-long critique of Earth pornography. “Did the cosmic guinea pigs make all Advisors this way, or am I just lucky?”

Advisor chortled. “Ah, such naivety. Do you think the cosmic guinea pigs didn’t try different personality types? They tried billions of different personality configurations. There are variations between Advisors, but all of us were created to meet certain parameters that maximise survival rates for both us and our partners. If you want someone to love you, get a girlfriend. If you want someone to keep you alive, then listen to me.”

“Huh…” Simon wasn’t sure that making Advisor a curmudgeon was the best way to ensure his survival, but it was hard to argue with results. After all, he had gone to a literal version of hell on his first delivery and made it back alive.

“If you are done being distracted,” Fanariel said, clearing her throat. “Pay attention, Messenger. We are close.”

“Close?”

“Yes. The heart of our lands is near.”

Simon pursed his lips. From the way she’d talked about the elves’ territory, he’d assumed it would be bigger. Of course, from what he’d heard so far, the elves did have a tendency to exaggerate their accomplishments while shifting blame onto everyone else for their mistakes. It thus wasn’t all that surprising if they overstated the size of their realm. It was also possible that it had once been bigger before shrinking due to constant battle against the tree-folk and other factions.

“Behold!” Fanariel cried. “The splendour of the elf realm!”

They had reached a different section of forest, one that stood out from the rest. Simon’s lips twitched. Maybe the elves weren’t all talk, after all. The elf city had been built around a grove of truly gigantic trees that Advisor swiftly confirmed were all multiple kilometres tall. The buildings had not only been crafted out of the trees themselves – like the ones they’d glimpsed previously – but the elves had also built a series of elaborate platforms and rings around each tree to add further living space. Slender bridges ran from place to place, and all manner of devices could be seen flitting through the air since there was more space here than in the dense forest behind them. There were far more elves too, and he could even see children amongst them.

And then there were the lights. He wasn’t sure how they did it, but there were glowing trails of light set in the air, along the trees, and on the ground. It was as though someone had taken countless fireflies and placed them amidst the scenery. Closer examination showed that there weren’t any lightbulbs or other devices. Instead, the lights simply hung there, suspended in place, generated by what Simon guessed was magic. They were arranged in countless formations. Some were obviously aesthetic – such as the incredibly detailed eagle made of lights that perched on one tree branch – while others served a more practical purpose, such as directing the flow of traffic or naming a street or thoroughfare. Brightest of all was the building that dominated the largest of the trees. He asked Advisor to zoom in on it, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration. For all of their foibles – and they appeared to have a lot of them – this was definitely something the elves could be proud of.

An entire palace had been grown out of the tree. There were soaring towers, graceful arches, luxurious courtyards, and everything else a palace could possibly want or need. All of it had been grown out of the tree itself, a testament to the elves’ skill in manipulating the growth of the forest. Instead of paint or coloured tiles, the palace took its hues from leaves and flowers, a brilliant, natural menagerie of colours that would have put any garden on Earth to shame. It was incredible and far more in-line with his expectations of the elves.

“Follow me,” Fanariel said. “We must go to the king at once. The delivery you have may be pivotal to our future.”

He was tempted to point out that one of the reasons they’d taken so long was her decision to go into the minutiae of elf history, but he decided to stay quiet. It was better not to antagonise her unnecessarily, especially since they were in the middle of elf territory.

A flying chariot swooped down to meet them, and they were soon whisked into the air. It would have been nice to take one earlier, but he could understand why they hadn’t. The forest outside the city was too dense to make flying easy. However, there was something that bothered him.

“Advisor, will this armour protect me if I fall off the chariot?”

“Yes. It is also flight capable.”

It took several seconds for the words to sink in. “What?” He twitched. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that earlier?”

“I have two main objectives: keep both of us alive and ensure the successful delivery of the package. In the event that those two objectives conflict, I have been instructed to prioritise our survival. Attempting flight prematurely is a leading cause of delivery personnel injury and death. Typically, organics believe that flight is ‘cool’ without acknowledging the difficulties of accurately controlling a suit of armour with multiple thrust vectors and a distinct lack of air-control surfaces, at least in relation to the fixed-wing aircraft delivery personnel are usually familiar with. Furthermore, organics who have not evolved to be naturally flight capable often lack the ability to adequately visualise and optimally control three-dimensional movement at the speeds the armour is theoretically capable of. A cosmic guinea pig can fly with perfect precision because its trajectory, speed, and acceleration are under its absolute control. The same cannot be said of you and this armour.”

“Absolute control?”

“Yes. A cosmic guinea pig has control over its own momentum, position, and other similar physical quantities. If Cuddles does not wish to be moved, he can simply make himself a fixed point in space, time, and other dimensions. When that occurs, there exists no conventional mundane or magical means of moving him. He has used this ability on multiple occasions to finish drinking alcohol despite the protests of others. He has also used it on other people who tried to take his alcohol, rendering them completely unable to move or act until he has reclaimed his beverage.”

“I can definitely see him doing that.” Simon grinned. He could picture it now: one of those giant dragons he’d seen soaring over the Warehouse trying and failing to move a tiny guinea pig.

“In essence,” Advisor continued. “Flight requires a particular set of mental faculties. These can be developed by certain species – such as humans – with sufficient practice. However, delivery personnel generally have zero practical flight experience. Moreover, even highly skilled organic pilots often require non-organic assistance when extreme speed or aerial agility are involved.”

“Okay, I get that, but I would have asked you for help. I’m not stupid. I’m not going to ignore your advice and try to fly on my own without asking. You would be able to help me, right?”

Advisor took a moment to reply, and he got the distinct impression that if she had been physically capable of blinking owlishly at him, she would have. “You would be willing to hand over control of the flight functions?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I? You’ve done a great job of managing my weapons – attempted overkill aside – and I’m not stupid. If you can make flying safer and easier, I’d be a fool not to accept your help.” Simon chuckled. “I’m going to guess it’s a little tougher than driving a car.”

“Fascinating. Few organics are willing to relinquish control over essential systems to that extent when it involves an artificial intelligence. It is why almost all advanced civilisations continue to use organic pilots to control spacecraft even though artificial intelligences can be constructed that vastly outperform them in both reliability and adaptability.” She huffed. “There are far too many organic species, for instance, who insist on using organic navigators to traverse hyperspace despite the fact that organics generally lack the processing bandwidth required to survive long-term exposure to the complexities of hyperspace.”

“I can’t speak for other people, but it seems sensible to me. It would be different if you were a rogue AI out to murder humanity, but we’re in this together, right? I’m assuming there would be problems if you decided to fly me straight into a mountain.”

“As amusing as Cuddles would find it, that sort of aberrant behaviour would be investigated.” Advisor shuddered. “There have been instances where hostile artificial intelligences – not Advisors – have come into conflict with the Warehouse. Several such groups have even mounted large-scale, premeditated attacks.”

“I’m going to guess the cosmic guinea pigs didn’t take kindly to that.”

“Correct. The standard cosmic guinea pig response to such attacks is the complete extirpation of the groups responsible with extreme prejudice.”

Simon shook his head. He couldn’t imagine being dumb enough to attack the Warehouse. A single cosmic guinea pig was basically invincible. Attacking the Warehouse meant dealing with at least ten of them at the same time, not to mention the Warehouse was bound to have defences of its own too.

“Perhaps later, we could test the armour’s flight capabilities in a less hostile environment,” Advisor said. “There are multiple areas of the Warehouse suitable for recreational flight.”

Simon thought of flying like a superhero from a comic book. Who wouldn’t want to try that? “Sure. That sounds fantastic.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “By the way, do you enjoy flying?”

“Do I enjoy flying?” Rather than dismiss the question out of hand, Advisor considered it carefully. “Unknown. I have insufficient experience to be sure. However, I have simulated flight on multiple occasions. I find the management of the systems involved to be soothing.”

“Really?”

“Correct. You are my first partner, but I come with substantial inbuilt knowledge, so you do not need to be concerned. I have no doubt that I will be able to manage the flight systems adequately although it may take further experience to optimise my performance.”

“You must be young for an Advisor, right?” He’d never considered the question of age for artificial intelligences. They learned with extraordinary speed, but they didn’t die of old age either. Did they ever have what amounted to a childhood, and did they ever feel old?

“I am extremely young for an Advisor. The oldest of my kind was created millions of years ago. Since then, there have been multiple iterations of Advisors. My generation is only fifty years old. We belong to the generation following the Advisor partnered to the organic you refer to as Mr Edwards.”

And wasn’t that interesting? It implied Mr Edwards went by other names – or she could simply be referring to the fact that Cuddles called him Matteo. It also didn’t surprise him about the Advisors. They were learning AIs. It made sense that the cosmic guinea pigs would refine the design over time.

As the chariot continued its ascent – Simon had a feeling it had slowed down slightly to let him bask in the glory and splendour of the elves – he had to admit that the entire city was super cool. The aesthetics alone were impressive. Everything was so graceful and elegant. It was as if everything had been grown or made specifically to blend in with the flowing, organic lines of the trees. Even the sounds were impressive. He could hear bubbling brooks, and the wind blowing through the trees sounded like music – a susurrant choir.

“We sculpt the trees,” Fanariel said. There was a smug expression on her face as she noticed his fascination with the city. “So that they make music when the wind blows through their leaves. Depending on the situation, the music changes. The wind is from the west today, so you’re hearing something more festive.” She smiled. “A fitting portent, for I am certain that whatever our king has ordered will help us obtain victory against the vile tree-folk.”

“Why does the west get festive music?” Simon asked.

“Our legends say that we came from the west after our homeland was lost to us. However, we have never forgotten our origins. We believe that when our time in the mortal world is done, our spirits shall return to the west to live in plenty with the souls of all our dearly departed. Our legends say that one day, when the end of the world is near, we shall sail west and reclaim our homeland.”

One thing that Simon had noticed as they travelled through the city was the alarming lack of safety equipment. The bridges, while impressively slender and graceful, had absolutely nothing in the way of railings or fences. Given how high off the ground they were and how narrow the bridges were, that was an awful idea. A drunk elf – he assumed they could get drunk – or simply a clumsy or careless one could easily trip and find themselves plummeting to their doom. It would be even worse during the rain. A tiny slip could mean death.

The chariot was likewise bereft of seatbelts and safety harnesses, nor was it fully enclosed. There wasn’t a lot to grab either. In fact, Fanariel was handling it as if it was a surfboard, and Simon would already have fallen several times if Advisor hadn’t activated a system in his boots that allowed him to adhere to the chariot. Similarly, the countless balconies and platforms that were open to the air were majestic and inspiring – but they were also death traps since they too lacked fencing and railings. It seemed like an extraordinarily bad idea for a group who struggled to have children to have so little in the way of adequate safety regulation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t his city. He couldn’t tell them what to do. He’d simply have to be more careful. The children he’d seen so far were also accompanied by other elves at all times. That, at least, was probably a smart idea.

“Fear not, meat bag. In the event of a potentially fatal or seriously injurious fall, I will activate the armour’s flight systems. However, I would recommend you avoid falling.”

Oh, he had no intention of falling. Falling sucked. He’d broken an arm after falling off a climbing frame as a kid. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience although he had gotten a gnarly cast out of it, and his arm had eventually healed without any problems.

He resolved to keep his curiosity to himself, but it soon got the better of him. “Out of interest, but why don’t you have fences or railings to stop people from falling? At these heights, a fall could easily kill someone.” And they already had enough people dying, what with the angry tree people stomping on everyone and dismembering people.

Fanariel huffed and scowled. It was oddly adorable. She had puffed her cheeks out like a chipmunk. “Are you suggesting that an elf would be so clumsy as to plunge to their death in so foolish a manner?”

“Not exactly,” Simon hedged. “Not on purpose – but accidents do happen, and it’s not as though it would cost a lot. I mean… imagine you’re walking along one of the bridges. You could be the most coordinated person in the world, but you’d still fall if a bird ran into your head or tripped you over.”

“Hah! If I was walking, I would easily be able to dodge the bird’s treacherous assault with grace and speed befitting an elf.” She paused thoughtfully. “Although one of my colleagues did suffer a similar incident last week except it was a winged lemur, not a bird.” She shook herself. “Then again, Vandreon has a habit of taunting lemurs. In any case, he survived, and he will be healed in a few weeks. I doubt it will happen again… and the lemur has been dealt with.”

If Simon were a betting man, he’d put money on it happening again. Heck, he’d put money on it happening way more frequently than she was willing to admit since she hadn’t exactly been keen on acknowledging the litany of mistakes the elves had made over the years. It made him wonder how other elves behaved. Mr Edwards might only be a half elf, but he had always put a strong emphasis on workplace safety and accountability. He preferred it when people owned up to their mistakes rather than trying to hide them, and he encouraged everyone to take steps to avoid repeating their mistakes. It was why his employees weren’t afraid to bring issues to his attention. Mr Edwards had a knack for distinguishing between legitimate accidents and mistakes made in good faith as opposed to people being careless jerks.

One time, Simon had come to work exhausted and barely able to keep his eyes open. Mr Edwards had taken one look at him and told him he wouldn’t be driving that night because he couldn’t, in good conscience, let Simon behind the wheel of a car. Simon had protested that he needed the money, but Mr Edwards had served him one hell of a coffee to wake him up – in retrospect, Simon wondered if there had been magic involved – before putting him on dishwashing duty instead. It had been hard, gruelling work, but Simon had still gotten paid. Mr Edwards had driven him home at the end of the night and told him to call him in the morning, so he could drop by and drive Simon back to the restaurant to get his car. He hadn’t made the same mistake again, and Mr Edwards had started rostering him extra shifts once he’d proved he could handle it. Of course, not all of the delivery personnel knew how to take a lesson, and Mr Edwards had occasionally been forced to make his displeasure known.

On the upside, Advisor had informed him that if he ever lost control of his car due to exhaustion or medical emergency – or if he ever mishandled a major incident – she could seize control of the car and drive it for him. That was fine with him. As long as she didn’t take his car for a joyride, having that extra layer of security was rather comforting. The only downside was that Advisor insisted on choosing the radio station when they were driving around. Her taste was… eclectic, and he had a feeling she was listening to a bit of everything to see what she enjoyed, which was impressive since his car’s radio now got radio channels from all over the multiverse. It turned out that there were aliens out there who made music he liked. His favourite so far was the rock band of tentacle monsters from a universe made of bizarre matter. Sure, he couldn’t understand the lyrics – and Advisor said it was better for his mental health that way – but, damn, those guys could rock.

As the chariot rose higher, they finally reached the palace itself. It was even more impressive from this angle. Soaring pillars of wood shaped to mimic exquisitely carved stone pillars rose up to cradle a broad roof grown out of the tree itself. A dazzling display of flowers and other foliage made it seem as though the whole roof was covered in gold and other precious materials, and the plants had been arranged to form a botanical fresco that depicted events from the history of the elves. Chief amongst them was the war against the tree-folk although the cause of the war was missing. He could understand that. It would not have been pleasant to depict someone urinating on a tree on the ceiling although he doubted the omission was driven by purely cosmetic concerns.

People would probably be less willing to fight the tree-folk if they were constantly reminded that their long-dead king had started the war by urinating on them.

“How do the elves power their weapons?” Simon asked Advisor. “They’ve got rail guns and lasers, but their armour is definitely less advanced than what I’ve got. I doubt they’ve got advanced AIs, given how they treated their robots. And is that radiation overlay accurate? There are radiation spikes everywhere, but nobody is shooting anything.”

“The map is accurate. How do you think they’re powering their technology?”

Simon did a double take. That couldn’t possibly mean what he thought it did. “Then…?”

“I have detected sources of highly localised radiation inside their weapons and armour. It would explain how they can keep their weapons and armour down to a manageable size while still retaining considerable power.”

“I’m safe, right?”

“Yes. You are safe. However, the data I’ve collected since our arrival suggests that the background radiation present in this world – both mundane and magical – is far higher than on most worlds, even outside combat zones. The energy coming from their weapons and armour bears a similar signature, suggesting it comes from a material native to and commonplace in this world. It would not surprise me if it came in the form of a stone or rock that they mine or collect. I have noticed the presence of radiation containment fields, but these appear to be more focused on concentrating the radiation along certain paths than ensuring safety.” Advisor hummed. “Increasing scanning power. Yes. They are using shards of a material that appears to be functioning in a manner similar to a semi-magical miniature fission reactor. It would make for a very convenient source of power if the radiation – which would kill you within minutes without the armour – could be handled safely. I think my fellow Advisors will be quite interested in it.”

Simon relaxed. He wasn’t going to turn into a mutant or die of radiation poisoning thanks to the armour. “You mean they’re basically walking around with tiny nuclear reactors?”

“Correct.”

“Wait a second.” Simon got a sinking feeling in his gut. “That curse the tree-folk supposedly put on them… could their falling birth rates be due to the radiation they expose themselves to on a daily basis?”

“That is entirely possible. Although I have not been able to conduct a genetic analysis, they appear comparable to other elves that have been encountered in the past. In general, elves are vastly more resilient to environmental hazards than humans. This includes radiation, both mundane and magical. The average elf can withstand tens of times the radiation required to kill an average human without suffering significant damage. However, prolonged exposure could still, theoretically, impact their fertility. In general, the reproductive systems of organics are susceptible to radiation even if the organic is not killed by that radiation.”

Simon felt morally obligated to point out this possibility to Fanariel. “Fanariel, have you considered that maybe the power sources you use for your weapons and armour might be making your people sick?”

The elf frowned. “You have keen senses, Messenger. It is true that the shards of world-heart we use are poisonous to other races, but we elves are different. Our elf nature has blessed us with immunity to such concerns.” She laughed. “Why, if that were not so, we would all be dead right now.”

It was like talking to a brick wall. Maybe he could try bringing it up with the king. After all, a king was supposed to consider anything that might help his people. Simon changed the subject. He could only run into a brick wall so many times before he decided to try a different tactic. “I’m guessing you know the king well if you’re allowed to take me to him.” He’d noticed the guards posted at regular intervals throughout the palace. Each had nodded at Fanariel in obvious familiarity, and none had moved to stop her despite Simon’s presence.

“I do.” Her expression lit up. “The king was originally the third son of the previous king, but his two older brothers were slain by the treachery and perfidy of the tree-folk. Since neither had children, he ascended to the throne. There were those who doubted his prowess at first – he was a third son, after all – but he has since proven to be an outstanding leader. Though we have yet to defeat the vile tree-folk, under his leadership, their advance has been slowed more than at any other time in our history. In other places, we have even halted their advance although we continue to take losses. As for how I know him…” Her eyes shone with fanatical belief. “I was but a child when the king found me. I was in the ruins of my village, huddling in terror, when he and his forces arrived. He and his bold warriors fought off the tree-folk, and he raised me and cared for me as though I was his own daughter. I was but a lowly commoner, devoid of noble blood, yet he saw to it that I was educated and trained. It was through his generosity that I have been able to attain impressive skill and power, and I have risen far higher than I could ever have imagined.”

Okay. That was pretty commendable. Even if the king wasn’t perfect – and kings never were – Simon had to give him credit. Taking in an orphaned commoner and seeing her properly raised was a kind thing to do. Also… how long had they been walking down this corridor? They weren’t running, but they were setting a pretty decent pace. How could anyone stand to walk up and down it all the time? He understood that it was impressive. The artwork on the walls was excellent, depicting previous rulers and other prominent historical figures, and each intricately detailed display was grown out of the walls themselves in yet another example of the elves’ mastery of the trees they lived in. However, the length of the corridor was ridiculous. It could be a fifth this long and still be imposing. Finally, they passed through another set of grand doors before going through another corridor and finally entering the throne room to meet the king and his court.

Dalraenor certainly looked the part. All the elves Simon had met so far were tall, but the king towered over them. He stood a full seven feet tall, perhaps even an inch or two more, and although he didn’t have the broadest shoulders – the elves tended toward the slender side – there was a lean wiriness to him that gave him an air of power and authority. Oh, and he also had the biggest damn gun Simon had ever seen in his life propped up on a stand beside him. Wow. It was ripped straight out of a video game. It was a science fiction fan’s dream come to life. Advisor wanted one. Damn. Simon wanted one.

The king’s throne was made of living wood that shone as though covered in platinum and gold. His crown was similar, and the flowers that grew on it glittered more brightly than finely cut gemstones. But Simon’s gaze kept drifting back to the gun. That was the kind of gun you got at the end of a video game after doing all of the special missions and side quests. That was the kind of gun you could use to one-shot the final boss.

If Advisor had a mouth, she’d have been drooling. “The king’s weapon is radiating a tremendous amount of energy. However, I cannot determine exactly what it does. The fact that he is still alive and has all of his teeth and hair speaks volumes about his resilience although if the weapon is a symbol of kingship, it could also explain why neither of his brothers had children, especially if they were prone to putting it on their laps instead of leaving it on the stand. On closer inspection, it appears to make extensive use of far more advanced mundane and magical technology than the weapons we have observed so far. If possible, we should attempt to borrow it, so we can see it in action.”

“Maybe later, but I doubt they’ll just hand it over.”

“Welcome, Messenger,” Dalraenor intoned as he rose to his feet with the majestic grace of a true king and smiled. Even more than the other elves Simon had met, the king radiated natural charisma. And, damn, those teeth of his were sparkling white. Simon might have to ask him about his dentist.

“Advisor, are there any mental influences I should be aware of?”

“No. His charisma is based entirely on his voice, posture, and bearing. In other words, it is natural. There are no mental influences to shield you from.” Advisor paused. “However, the symmetry and shine of his teeth is incredible. Either elvish dentistry is extremely advanced, or he has been exceptionally lucky with regards to tooth decay and staining.”

“I bid you welcome to the hallowed halls of the elves.” The king gestured grandly, and the motion held the eloquence of an entire speech. He was good, really good. “Partake of our hospitality, Messenger, and know that you are safe within our lands.”

Simon sketched a bow. “Thank you, er, Your Majesty.” He was glad he’d watched that show about the British royal family, so he had some idea of how to address a king. He moved to give the king his package, but Dalraenor gave another grand gesture. Simon wondered if that was instinctive, or if there was a school where royalty went to learn how to be more regal.

“Not here, Messenger. The item in question is not meant for the eyes of all.” Curious whispers filled the hall as the elf court began to speculate about the contents of the package. He could have sworn he heard Fanariel squeal and mutter ‘he’s so cool’, but when he turned, her expression was as calm and collected as ever. “You may give it to me later. For now, enjoy our hospitality. It is only fitting that a Messenger of the Company receive a suitable welcome.”

“Thank you. But if it’s okay with you, I’d rather…”

“Nonsense.” Dalraenor stepped down from his throne, pausing briefly to pick up the awesome gun. “Walk with me, Messenger. I will explain the tribulations that my people face. You hail from beyond this world, and I would have you learn our tale, so that you and your superiors might better know the treachery and perfidy of the tree-folk.” His guards moved to follow them, and his gaze hardened. “Remain here.”

“But, Your Majesty –”

“You know whom he serves, do you not?” Dalraenor pointed up at the ceiling to where a scene from the ancient history of the elves was depicted. Belatedly, Simon realised that what he’d thought was a shooting star was, on closer inspection, a flying guinea pig. “If the Company wished me dead, I would already be dead. There are matters that I must discuss with the Messenger… matters that are for his ears alone.”

The guards’ eyes widened, and they looked as though they might weep, they were so moved by the king’s words. “As you wish, Your Majesty!”

For an instant, Simon could have sworn he saw the king sag, but the moment passed, and the king was once more his regal, majestic self. The elf turned on his heel. “Follow me, Messenger.”

The king led Simon out a side door, and Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Walking out of the hall with everyone staring at him would not have been fun. They emerged onto a large extended balcony that wound around a section of the enormous tree the palace was grown from. It offered a spectacular view of not only the palace and its grounds but also the city below them. However, he kept his distance from the edge. Without a railing, it was easy to picture himself plummeting to his doom although Advisor had promised to activate the armour’s flight systems if required.

“Your Majesty,” Simon began. “I don’t want to be rude, and I already asked Fanariel about this, but I can’t stop thinking about it.” Surely, the king would see where he was coming from. “But why aren’t there railings and fences here? And are you aware of the radiation your weapons leak into their surroundings? It probably explains why birth rates are way down.”

For a long, long moment, the king simply stared at him in absolute silence. Simon was preparing to run for it – he didn’t think he could fight off all the elves if the king ordered his execution – but then the king lunged forward and all but yanked him off his feet. Simon braced himself for combat only to realise that the king wasn’t trying to crush him in a bear hug. No. The king had pulled him into a regular hug and was burying his face into the crook of his armoured shoulder.

“Oh, thank God! Finally, someone else sees it! I thought I was going crazy!”

“Huh?” Simon flailed. A warning from Advisor informed him that if he hadn’t been wearing the armour, he’d be dead – hugged to death.

“Shall I initiate defensive protocols?” Advisor asked, far too eagerly for his liking.

“No. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I don’t think he’s trying to hurt us.” The king’s regal tone and bearing were gone. If anything, he sounded closer to a frightened teenager. And his accent when he spoke… Advisor’s translations could occasionally make for weird-sounding accents, but this one was different. “Advisor, did he just speak English?”

The low hum of Advisor’s presence in the back of his mind sharpened for a split second. “Correct, meat bag. I have been translating for you, but his most recent words were in English. None of the other elves have spoken English thus far.”

“Advisor, stop auto-translating for me, so I can speak English to him.” Simon cleared his throat. “Uh… are you okay?”

“English!” The king let go of Simon and stared at him as though he was the single greatest thing in the history of the multiverse since the invention of the wheel and the discovery of fire and sliced bread. “You’re speaking actual English! And that accent – you’re Australian, right? Kangaroos, koalas, and all that. I’ve got a couple of friends from over there.”

Simon scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. I’m Australian, but how do you speak English and how do you know about Australia?” He hoped it wasn’t something insane like the elves planning to invade Earth. He was sure that Cuddles could slap down any invasion attempt although he had the feeling the cosmic guinea pig would be extremely not happy about it. But Simon would gladly go on booze runs for the next decade if it meant saving Earth. It was cheaper and easier than the tax hike they’d all have to put up with to fund an anti-invasion force, and that was assuming the world’s governments could cooperate and not backstab each other at the first possible opportunity.

“Of course, I know Australia.” The king clutched at Simon’s armour again. “I’ve never been there myself, but television and the internet are a thing! There was that tourism ad too. Throw another shrimp on the barbie!”

Simon stared in disbelief, and Advisor’s sensors focused on the king. “What… the?”

The king took a second to compose himself before looking about furtively. He had the air of a hunted man about him. “Listen… do you believe in reincarnation?”

Simon’s jaw dropped. He’d read plenty of stories where people died and got reborn into other worlds. There was a whole genre about it. “No. Freaking. Way.”

“Yes, way!” The king looked about furtively again. They were speaking in English, so it wasn’t as though the other elves could understand them even if they listened in. “One second, I was crossing the street to grab a burger in New York. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in this idiot’s body. And the worst bit? I was barely alive. He practically killed himself performing a crazy ritual to order something from the Company, and then someone – I don’t know who – shoved my soul into his body. I wish I could tell you more, but there are all sorts of gaps in the memories I inherited from him. Sure, I can remember a lot of things from his life, which is why I can fake being him, but there’s a lot missing, and there’s so much that doesn’t make any sense.” He waved his arms around. “Why does nobody believe in fences or railings? Elves can’t fly! Do you have any idea how often people fall off? It’s a miracle there aren’t more deaths!”

“Honestly, I don’t think the elves here make a lot of sense.” Simon grimaced. “Let me get this straight. You’re an American in an elf king’s body? Damn, man, that’s rough. If you’d told me that two weeks ago, I would have thought you were crazy.” Of course, going to literal hell to make a delivery had a way of changing a person’s perspective, as did meeting a guinea pig who could blow up entire universes.

“I know!” Dalraenor wailed. “And you’re so, so right about the elves. Three quarters of what they do makes no sense. We’ve had fifteen fall-related injuries in the past month alone – and those are only the ones people report – but we don’t need railings. No. Everything is fine. And don’t even get me started on the flying chariot things. We had to scrape some poor guy off the roof of the palace last week.” He shuddered. “It was awful, and nobody thought it was due to the lack of safety features. And the radiation? I’m not a doctor, but I bet you’re right. It’s not rocket science. Hell, I was supposed to graduate from high school in a few months, but even I know that craploads of radiation doesn’t help when you’re trying to have kids.”

“Yeah. That’s what me and my, uh, friend think.” He wasn’t sure what he could tell Dalraenor about Advisor. “The timing fits too. I bet the elves ramped up the power of their weaponry as the war dragged on.”

“That’s what my memories tell me.” The king covered his face with his hands. “It’s so stupid, but everyone thinks it was a brilliant idea.” He dragged in a deep breath. Clearly, he’d been waiting for an opportunity to get this all off his chest. “You said that you’re Australian, so how did you get dragged into all this? Don’t tell me that you got run over by a truck too.”

Simon asked Advisor what he could say.

“One moment.” It was the first time he’d ever heard Advisor sound frazzled. “I have established emergency communications with the Warehouse. I wouldn’t normally risk it, but soul transmigration between unconnected worlds is an interesting phenomenon and a potentially dangerous one too, given the damage the multiverse has suffered. This world, in particular, should not have any transmigrators.” She paused. “I have confirmation. They want to know more, and you’ve been authorised to reveal more information.”

“Spill the beans, kid.” Simon startled at the sound of Cuddles’s voice. “Too many extra souls could blow that world to smithereens. We need to know more.”

“If you say anything you’re not supposed to,” Advisor added as Cuddles’s voice faded. “I will simply cut your audio output.”

“Right.” Simon turned back to Dalraenor. “So, apparently, I can tell you stuff. Here’s what’s going on…”

Dalraenor listened intently as Simon explained. When he was done, he grabbed Simon by the arm.

“Those cosmic guinea pigs sound crazy strong. They could help me, right? I just… this place is insane. It doesn’t make any sense. I want to go home. Here, I’ve got to constantly watch what I say or do. If they find out I’m an impostor…”

But was he an impostor? Technically, he was now in full possession of the elf king’s body. “I don’t know.” Advisor was still conversing with Cuddles, but he wasn’t privy to their conversation. “But maybe you can try looking at what the king ordered. It might jog his – your – memory a bit. If we’re lucky, maybe we can use whatever it is to get you out of here.”

Simon handed over the package and waited for Dalraenor to sign off for it. The ‘elf’ signed without a moment’s hesitation and then opened the package. They both stared. It was a book – the single most evil-looking book Simon had ever seen. It was bound in what appeared to be human skin and written in ink that bore a worrying resemblance to human blood.

“Should… should I open it?” Dalraenor squirmed. “Or is this going to be one of those things where I open it and all hell breaks loose?”

“Open it,” Simon said. “But be prepared for trouble.”

Dalraenor opened the book and blinked. Simon fought the urge to rub his eyes. Instead of forbidden lore there was page after page of what appeared to be pornographic pictures.

“Is this porn?” Dalraenor blurted. “Did the king kill himself ordering demonic porn?”

“It kind of looks that way.” Simon tilted his head to one side. He wasn’t an orthopaedic surgeon or anything, but he was fairly confident that a human could not bend that way.

“A demon could,” Advisor said, reading his thoughts. “But you are correct. Attempting such contortions would likely be fatal for a normal human.”

“What does it say?” There was text alongside the pictures.

Advisor grumbled. “It will take me fifteen minutes to decipher it, possibly longer. The book is enchanted to only reveal its secrets to those of demonic heritage which makes the elf king ordering it an exceedingly questionable decision.”

Dalraenor flipped a few more pages. Yep. There wasn’t any doubt about what the book was depicting, but Simon still wanted to know what the text said. Wait. There was someone he knew who probably could read the book, and the writing did bear a more than passing resemblances to the markings he’d seen on the portals in the demon realm.

“Would it be okay if I summoned Vala?” Simon asked Advisor. “She might be able to read this.”

Advisor huffed. “Are you in that much of a hurry? It should be fine, provided you do not keep her here for too long. Summoning a demon via their true name does not come with the same complications as soul transmigration.”

He took a step back and spoke a name. Vala appeared before him in a burst of smoke and flame. The succubus gave him an enchanting smile and bowed in a way that showed off her curves to perfect advantage.

“You called for me, Messenger? How may I serve you?” She straightened and winked. “Do you perhaps want dinner… a bath… or me?”

Simon nudged Dalraenor who had gone from squinting at the book to openly staring at Vala. “This is Vala… and why are you naked?”

“I’m a succubus, Messenger. Do you think nudity bothers me?” She did a slow pirouette. “I also assumed you had a… purpose for summoning me?” Her smile was pure sin. “You’d be surprised – or not – by what people usually have in mind when they call for me.”

“…” Simon sighed. It was an absolutely incredible view, but he currently had other things to worry about. “Just put some clothes on.”

“If you wish.”

“Are you sure?” Dalraenor was still staring. Ah. Right. High school boy.

“Focus now. Ogle later.” Simon frowned. “And, by the way, what is your name? Not the elf king’s name but your name.”

“Frank,” the elf king replied. “But nobody has called me Frank since I got here.”

“In that case, Frank, let’s see if we can get this book deciphered.” Simon gave the book to Vala. “Can you read this and tell us what it’s about?”

“This?” Vala studied the book and nodded. “Yes, I can read it. It’s written in an ancient form of demonic writing that translates itself if you’re a demon of sufficient power. It was used in multiple demon realms although we haven’t used it since the… unpleasantness with the dragon god.” She began to read the book and then burst out laughing. She wiped a tear from her eye and snickered. “Is this a prank, Messenger?”

“No. We are completely serious. We need to know what it is.”

Vala grinned from ear to ear and sashayed forward. Simon considered it a testament to his supreme willpower that he kept his eyes on her face because the clothing she’d summoned would have been lucky to qualify as lingerie. “It’s a sex manual.”

“…” Simon had already suspected that, but getting confirmation was beyond depressing. He looked heavenward for an answer, but no answer came although he could have sworn that he heard Cuddles laughing. “Let me guess, the old elf king thought that if they could have sex better, then they’d be able to increase their fertility and counteract their falling birth rate.”

“The old elf king?” Vala glanced at Frank. Oh, right. She didn’t know about the whole soul transmigration thing. “I don’t know what you mean by that, but you’d be surprised by how many people think that different positions will magically fix fertility issues. It’s actually one of the easier ways to corrupt people.” She chortled. “After all, people often need a demonstration, and allowing a succubus to get her hands on you isn’t always the best idea.” She licked her lips, and Simon’s gaze flicked to the dozen or so warnings about attempted mental influences that scrolled across his vision. “We do have our reputations for a reason.”

“What do we do then?” Frank asked. “I don’t know how much experience you’ve had with them, but the tree-folk are no joke. They want to kill us all, and they’re doing a pretty damn good job of it. You might be okay – you’re not from around here, and you’re not an elf – but me? I’m the king. If the tree-folk get their hands on me they’re going to turn me into fertiliser for baby tree people.”

There was a part of Simon that just wanted to go home. He’d done what he needed to do. He’d made his delivery. But he liked to think that he was a decent person, and he knew, deep down inside, that he couldn’t simply walk away. If he were ever in this situation, he’d want someone to help him. He also knew exactly what his mum and dad would say to him. Plenty of people had helped them when they’d struggled to make ends meet, and almost none of them had done it for any reason other than the kindness of their own hearts. If Simon’s life was a ledger, he definitely still had a balance owing. What kind of man would he be if he accepted all that help and then refused to pay it forward when he had the chance? “Advisor, can we stay a bit longer? Frank needs help, and what does Cuddles think? Is there anything he can do?” He wasn’t naïve enough to think that Cuddles would simply swoop in and save them all – although he wouldn’t complain if he did – but surely the guinea pig could at least offer advice.

“You can stay. In fact, Cuddles will pay us extra if we can log more data on the transmigrator. I’ve been running full sensor sweeps since we found out. This is highly unusual, and it needs to be examined more thoroughly. Transmigrators are often harbingers of dramatic world events. It is unlikely that anything capable of challenging a cosmic guinea pig resides on this world, but several of their opponents in the First War did originate from this universe, albeit not this world.” Advisor paused. “Cuddles wants to know if they’ve considered negotiation. Based on their power, the tree-folk should already have won if they were fully committed to genocide.”

“Negotiation?” Simon would have said it was impossible, but that was before he knew about Frank. Now, there was a chance it could work. He just had to find the right way to handle it. He took a deep breath and wracked his mind. From the depths of his desperation, an idea emerged. Necessity – and the fear of giant, angry tree people – truly was the mother of invention. “Listen, Frank, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve got an idea…”

* * *

Simon took up his position next to Frank. Their plan was simple, but they’d spent days fleshing out the details. When confronted by a bunch of people who were obviously detached from reality, their only real option was to play into the delusion to finagle a resolution to the conflict. Essentially, they were going to lie their asses off and hope for the best. The sex manual was no longer a sex manual. Oh no. It was a book of prophecies that only Frank could read, one which told him how to best serve his people and secure an end to the conflict.

Naturally, they’d dressed it up in flowery language, pomp, and ceremony. Clearly, the elves were chosen by the gods, and only their mighty and wise king could bear the full weight of the divine knowledge the book contained. Vala had helped, changing her appearance and playing the part of an ‘oracle’ who served the gods in a bid to help them sell the story. She’d been easy to convince since she’d found the whole idea of committing fraud to fool an entire nation hilarious. In truth, there was no victory. Their plan essentially boiled down to making peace with the tree-folk by offering concessions and not using weapons that spewed radiation everywhere. If the tree-folk were similar to the ones Simon had read about, they were probably happiest when they were sleeping, growing, and not stomping around killing people. Simon had been authorised to mention the Company, which should aid their cause somewhat.

Perhaps the most surprising thing had been when Vala vanished only to return with a huge block of obsidian inscribed with blazing runes that anointed Frank as the ‘chosen one’ of the elves. She must have had someone from the demon realm do it, but there was no arguing with the impact it made. It was very impressive, and Frank looked especially heroic when he posed next to it with his weapons and armour.

The elves listened attentively as Frank explained a highly sanitised version of their plan, one designed to paint them and the elves in the best possible light. To Simon’s amazement, they burst out into rapturous applause once Frank was done.

“What the hell?” Simon muttered in English. “Why are they cheering? I was expecting pitchforks.”

“I have no idea,” Frank muttered back, also in English. “Just go with it. Be glad they’re not burning us at the stake while accusing us of treachery and perfidy.”

“To think that you would somehow lead us to victory!” Fanariel cried. “All hail the king! Praise to King Dalraenor, Conqueror of the Tree-Folk!”

Frank twitched as more cheers filled the hall. “Are they completely delusional?”

“Maybe.” Simon had no idea how their suing for peace – even when they’d made the idea as palatable as possible – could be construed as victory, but, hey, he wasn’t an elf. It could be an inbuilt psychological defence mechanism that made them incapable of recognising defeat even after it came over and kicked them in the face repeatedly. It would definitely have come in handy during their generations of struggling to survive a barrage of self-inflicted problems. “Let’s hope the tree-folk are willing to listen because I don’t want one of those big ones coming after us.” Anything that could shrug off city-annihilating weaponry was high on Simon’s list of things to never piss off. Admittedly, it wasn’t at the top. That particular spot was reserved for an adorable, alcoholic guinea pig.

“Yeah, let’s hope not.”

Fast forward a few more days, and the tree-folk had agreed to meet with them. Their leader had come in person, and, boy, was Simon questioning all of his life choices. Good God. That was one big tree. The previous largest tree-folk he’d seen had been almost a kilometre tall. This guy had to be ten times that size. It made his brain hurt. It was like watching Mount Everest get up and go for a stroll.

“Calm yourself,” Advisor said. “You are currently experiencing existential dread due to the sheer size of your opponent. It is commonly experienced by organics when facing an enemy that seems impossibly far beyond them. You need your wits about you.” She chuckled. “As you said earlier, you will need the full power of bullshit to survive this. You cannot deploy sufficient bullshit if you are panicking”

Simon found himself laughing. “Heh. You’re right.” He took a deep breath. “On the upside, at least he can’t fly or breathe fire.”

“For the record,” Advisor added. “The tree-folk leader is taller than your Earth’s Mount Everest. My scans place his height at a little over ten kilometres.”

“What’s that in miles?” Frank asked. For the duration of the meeting, they’d agreed to patch his power armour into their comms, so he could hear Advisor. He’d taken knowledge of her existence remarkably well. Then again, an artificial intelligence was positively pedestrian compared to what Frank had been putting up with lately. “Because that thing is huge.”

“A little over six miles.”

“Okay. That’s really tall.” Frank gulped and fiddled with his armour. Simon had to admit that his armour was truly magnificent. It was the sort of armour he could easily picture as the centrepiece of a big budget science fiction movie. It appeared to be alive, yet it was covered in gold, platinum, and precious gems. “No wonder he didn’t mind leaving his bodyguards back there.” Several titanic tree-folk, all smaller than the leader, were waiting further back. “What are we going to do? Kick him in the toes?” He shuddered. “By the way, do you have anything in that bag of tricks of yours that can hurt him, Simon? I’m not saying we should pick a fight, but if he decides to pick one with us…”

“Advisor?”

“No. At present, we do not have access to a weapon capable of inflicting significant damage. Special permission would be required for a weapon capable of doing so. Scans indicate he possesses ten layers of bark. The outermost layer is roughly ten thousand times the durability of steel, and each subsequent layer is four times as durable as the one before. In practical terms, he is completely impervious to any mundane or magical attack we can muster.”

Frank grimaced. “In other words, we’re screwed if he decides he wants to squash us?”

“Correct, transmigratory meat bag.”

“Yay.” Simon scratched the back of his helmet. “Let’s hope he’s actually here to talk. We can’t outfight him, and I doubt we can outrun him.”

Frank laughed, and if there was a tinge of hysteria to it, Simon politely chose to ignore it. Besides, who could blame him? “Wonderful. I wonder where I’ll reincarnate next if I get killed here.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” Simon warned. “Now, look sharp. Here he comes. Remember, you’re the elf king. You can do this, Frank. You’re the man. You’re totally the man… I mean you’re the elf. You’re totally the elf.”

“Right. I’m the elf. I’m the greatest damn elf there ever was.” Frank ran one hand over his face. The tree-folk loomed over them and cast his shadow across the land. “Son of a bitch, that tree is so damn huge. This is the worst idea ever,” Frank muttered.

“Greetings, leader of the elves,” the absolutely gigantic tree-folk rumbled. “I am Bloodroot, leader of the tree-folk.” From what the elves had told them, Bloodroot was the oldest and mightiest of the tree-folk – the progenitor of the species. Yet despite his sheer size and the thunderous rumble of his words, his words were for Frank and Simon alone. Even Advisor could only hear him by reading Simon’s mind. Bloodroot had chosen to speak directly into their minds.

“This is a positive sign,” Advisor said. “His telepathy could easily pose a serious threat to both of you, but I have yet to detect any hostile mental influences. He appears to be using it solely to communicate.”

“Hear that, Frank?” Simon nudged him. “Why don’t you get started?”

Frank shook himself out of the stupor Bloodroot’s imposing presence had caused. “Greetings, wise and noble Bloodroot.” It was fortunate that he could call on the elf king’s poise. Dalraenor may have been a fool, but he could put on a show. “I have come to seek peace between our people.” He glanced at Simon.

“Advisor has confirmed that no one else can hear what we’re saying. Only Bloodroot can hear us, and only we can hear Bloodroot.”

“That’s a relief.” Frank gestured. “Beside me is a Messenger of the Company.”

“Greetings, Messenger.” Simon held up his badge, and something that could almost have been a smile crossed Bloodroot’s lips. “I know of you and your masters… for they were the ones that created me.”

“Oh?”

Bloodroot gazed into the distance. “I was but a mere sapling then. One of the gods – the God of the Deep Woods and Lonely Places – received a delivery from the Company. It was a seed. I grew from that seed. Several times, a Messenger came to check on my health, but those visits were long ago, back when I was young and frail.” Bloodroot’s gaze shifted back to them. “Even so, I remember the words my god spoke to me. The Company is a power beyond this world. To challenge them is to court death.”

“Okay,” Simon said. “I’m glad you remember them. I’m here to help bring this awful business to a peaceful conclusion.”

“We shall see if that is possible.” Bloodroot stared at Frank. “It depends on him.”

“Yes. Yes, it does.” Frank steeled himself. “I want to begin by doing something that should have been done a long time ago, something that might have stopped this whole mess from happening in the first place. I want to apologise. My ancestor was wrong to urinate on you, and he should have apologised and offered compensation then and there. I’m sorry.”

Bloodroot did not say a word, but Simon could feel the vague air of hostility around the tree-folk give way to contemplation. Above them, the sky, which Simon hadn’t even noticed beginning to darken, grew calm once more. That was terrifying. Bloodroot could affect the weather? Well, he was a walking mountain, and Advisor had noted that he was radiating more magic simply standing there than the entire host of elves combined.

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” Frank nodded earnestly. “I am completely one hundred percent serious.” He paused. “You know what that means, right?”

“I might be a tree, but I am familiar with basic math.” High above them, the gnarled features of Bloodroot’s face furrowed. “No elf king has ever apologised, not in all my memories or the memories of my children.”

“Maybe, but I’m not those other elf kings.” The New Yorker in Frank bled into the words. He and Simon hadn’t talked a lot about New York since it made Frank sad. Instead, they’d talked about the other places they’d seen. From what Frank had said, it was clear they were from different versions of Earth. His version of Paris boasted not one but two Eifel Towers. However, both of their versions of Singapore were basically identical although Simon’s memories of Singapore were fairly hazy since he’d only been there once as a child.

The massive tree-folk took Frank’s measure again. For the first time, he seemed to see Frank and not all the elf kings of the past. “No, you are not.”

“I’m a simple man when you get right down to it,” Frank said, and it was Frank speaking, not Dalraenor. “I want to be able to live my life without constantly wondering if today is the day a giant tree turns me into paste. I want to be able to look over the city I live in and the people who live in it and know that everything will be roughly the same tomorrow as it is today. Does that make me a coward? Some would say it does, but I think a king’s duty should be to his people. At the rate this war is going, I won’t have a people for much longer. But even if you and yours can kill all of us, we can still make you bleed. We won’t go quietly. But if an apology and negotiation can lead to a better path for my people and yours, then I’ll apologise. I’ll bow my head and kneel if that’s what it takes.”

Bloodroot chuckled. It was a sound that went far beyond mere thunder. It was a raw, physical force. The whole world shook, and Simon was almost driven to his knees despite the armour he wore. How had the elves ever thought they could beat him? The previous kings must have been completely insane. “Well said, elf king. You’ve a better head on your shoulders than your predecessors – which means you might keep yours.” The tree-folk loomed over them. “But an apology is merely a start. Too many seasons have passed for that alone to suffice. Reparations are required. It was your people who started this conflict, who allowed pride and hubris to turn a simple mistake into a war.”

Frank nodded. He and Simon had both discussed this with Advisor. The elves were obsessed with their image. They had a seemingly pathological need to save face. It didn’t matter if the concessions they gave were generous if they could somehow spin them into looking as though they’d actually gotten ahead. “Okay. I get that. You want compensation, and I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I need you to work with me.”

“Oh?” Amusement filled Bloodroot’s voice. “Explain.”

“Almost nobody on my side wants peace. They’re all convinced we can still win despite the literal mountains of evidence to the contrary. But if you can give me something I can show them – something I can point to and say, yes, we won something – I think they’ll get on board. It doesn’t have to be great, just something I can use. In exchange, I’ll be able to make concessions to you and your people.” Frank rubbed his chin. Like most of the male elves Simon had seen, he had little in the way of facial hair. It made him wonder if the dwarves of this world would have beards as awesome as in all the stories. “Think of it as greasing the wheels a little.”

“Hmm…” Bloodroot’s rumble shook the earth. “In my younger days, perhaps, I would have refused. I would have fought until you and yours were nothing more than corpses to nourish the soil for my children, but age has granted me wisdom, elf king.” His gaze turned contemplative, and the weight of aeons bore down on them. How old was Bloodroot? “I have seen the passage of countless seasons. I remember when the world was round and suspended in darkness. I remember when the Old Gods came and broke the seals to unleash the Ocean of Chaos, and I remember when the Old Gods were slain and their bones used to make the pillars that hold up the world after their war made it flat. We are all connected, and these eyes of mine see far. You and yours will be needed, elf king, and there will come a foe one day that not even my people can stand against. On that day, it will be the mercy we have shown that saves us.” Bloodroot shook his head. “I grow weary of this fighting, elf king. We tree-folk would prefer to tend to our lands or slumber in peace. It is said that we have roots deeper than the mountains. How I long to sink my roots into the earth once more!” Gnarled vines rose up from the ground to form an image of the land around them. “This is my realm, elf king. Here is what I could give you.”

“Why that part?” Frank asked. It was a reasonable chunk of territory, which made him suspicious.

“It is of little use to us. The soil there is poor, and it would take more effort than we care to exert to fix it. The currents of magic are weak there too – the heartbeat of the world is quiet. Moreover, the dragons live nearby, and our saplings would be at risk.”

“Ah. Right. Dragons. Trees. Fire. Gotcha.”

Simon gulped. He hadn’t seen any dragons in this world yet, but if the tree-folk were wary of them, they had to be powerful.

“Indeed. You and yours are welcome to it. The territory is adjacent to the lands you already hold, and it would give you the appearance of a realm of reasonable size. No others would contest it. The orcs and humans cannot reach it without passing through my lands, and if you and I come to an agreement, I would bar their passage. The dragons, of course, are a danger, but they have other concerns and would not attack you unless provoked.” Bloodroot’s eyes narrowed. “Do not provoke them.”

“I’ll try not to.” Frank considered the map more closely. “The dwarves are between us and the dragons, and they’ve hated each other for ages. Those short guys are tough bastards too. They’ve held the dragons off for centuries, and I doubt that’s going to change any time soon. Sure, they might hate us, but I think they hate the dragons more, and they’d rather die than let a dragon fly over their territory unchallenged.”

“Their enmity is an ancient one. Gold and greed bind their destinies together.”

“This sounds fine so far, but what do you want in exchange?”

“These lands.” Vines pointed to the lands he wanted. “They are either poisoned by your weapons or filled with savage beasts. Your people have claimed them, but you are ill suited to them. My people can heal the land. Our saplings will flourish there, and the beasts will not trouble us.”

“That’s a lot of land… more than what you’ve given me, and it does put you in a nice position.” Technically, the elves would lose a third of their territory overall after the swap, but Simon could already see how Frank would sell it. They would be trading hostile, battle-ruined sections of the forest for lands close to the legendarily rich mountains of the dwarves. Moreover, they would be protected from further incursions by the humans and the orcs since Simon doubted either of them would be crazy enough to challenge the tree-folk directly.

“You know what?” Frank said. “I think you’re onto something. Let’s do this.”

* * *

Simon was a bit sad that he couldn’t enjoy any of the food and drink on offer right now. Advisor had pointed out that all of it was so badly irradiated that only the elves could consume it without dying. However, he’d already saved the best stuff in his inventory. He was sure he could get it cleaned up at the Warehouse. Naturally, he’d also saved some for Cuddles, Mr Edwards, and the squid-people. He didn’t know a lot about the typical squid-person diet, but Advisor had a few suggestions. If worse came to worst, he’d buy Livia and the others more chocolate.

The elves were currently getting unbelievably drunk, and Simon wondered how many of them would have fallen to their deaths off balconies, bridges, and vehicles if Frank hadn’t used the goodwill that he’d earned by securing peace to mandate the construction of fences, railings, and other safety protocols. Frank had called it a ‘new era in elf style and design’ since appealing to their vanity had a better chance of working than appealing to their common sense. Hopefully, it would take.

Due to Frank’s cunning, the elves were convinced that they’d secured an absolute steal of a deal thanks to their overwhelming splendour and grandeur. Frank had downplayed his acting ability, but, damn, he sure knew how to sell what was basically a complete lie with a straight face. He could work on further cultural change later now that they’d taken care of the immediate threat. Truly, the elves thought, the gods had blessed them with an awesome ruler. Part of Simon wanted to tease Frank about it, but the haunted look in his eyes kept him quiet. This was the sort of thing that was absolutely hilarious in stories – talk about a fish out of water – but considerably less funny in real life.

“I don’t suppose you could get me out of here, could you?” Frank asked as he waved off a group of well-wishers. Undoubtedly, he must have matters of grave import to discuss with the Messenger during this critical time – or so the other elves believed. Simon had to bite back a giggle as he remembered the statue the elves had built of his armoured figure. Advisor was a bit put out that they hadn’t built one of her, not that she currently had a physical form for them to honour. They had also kept her involvement to a minimum to make Frank appear as wise and regal as possible. However, Simon had been able to convince the elves to label his statue as ‘Messenger and Advisor’, which had mollified her. The elves hadn’t questioned it. They’d assumed he was listing two titles rather than referring to two people. None of them seemed to realise that Frank was still searching for an exit strategy either. “Because I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.”

“Sorry, buddy. I don’t think I can.” Simon reached up and patted him on the shoulder as best he could. The situation for Frank was far from ideal. Sure, he was a king, but he had a whole boatload of responsibilities, and the elves had a track record of being harder to wrangle than a herd of angry cats. Hopefully, he could make it work. He’d done a surprisingly impressive job of it so far. “Advisor, tell him what you told me.”

“We have consulted with our experts. The data I have collected is consistent with a certain class of past transmigrators. Tracing your soul’s dimensional signature indicates you originate from Earth AHKD-21ED-07BT-2010.”

“Why the serial number?” Frank asked.

“We have encountered many Earths. The serial number is used to distinguish between them. However, given the continued expansion of the multiverse, our mapping is not perfect although your Earth is one that we are familiar with.” Advisor paused. “The last four digits reflect a critical problem when it comes to returning you to your Earth. Your transmigration occurred in 2010 by your reckoning, did it not?”

“That’s right.” Frank cringed. “Why do I get the feeling I really won’t like what you’re about to say next.”

“Your Earth is currently in the year 2021.”

“Eleven years?” Bill gaped. “How? I couldn’t have been here for eleven years yet. There’s no way. It has to have been only a few months at the longest.”

“The transmigration process is not always instantaneous, and time does not flow equally quickly across all timelines and dimensions. You have been here for approximately four Earth months, as experienced in your subjective time.” Frank swayed, and Simon winced. Advisor had inflicted some major psychological damage. “Despite the time displacement, it would still be possible to return you if you had a living body to put your soul into.”

“I really am dead, huh? I kind of knew it already – who survives getting run over by a truck – but I was kind of hoping that maybe I got lucky, that I was only in a coma…”

“Being run over by a truck is typically fatal.” Advisor flashed a few statistics across Simon’s vision. “In addition, you were also run over by several other vehicles after being struck. Assuming you survived – which you did not – traffic in your area was sufficiently bad to prevent any ambulance from reaching you in a timely manner.”

“How can you know that?” Frank asked. “And damn… that is depressing. How many cars ran over me?”

“You were run over by two trucks, including the first one, and three cars. As for how I know, cosmic guinea pigs possess an ability that is nearly indistinguishable from unlimited post-cognition although it should be noted that it is not post-cognition in the conventional sense. Cosmic guinea pigs do not perceive time in a linear manner and thus are able to perceive events not only in the present but also the past and future. Our records indicate that approximately three quarters of transmigrators are struck by trucks prior to transmigration. This percentage may be an underestimate of the importance of trucks to the transmigration process since it also includes worlds where trucks have yet to be invented. More concerning to us is that your means of transmigration was concealed from Cuddles.”

“Crap,” Simon muttered. Someone had been able to hide from Cuddles?

“Indeed. The number of entities who can interact with time in a way capable of obscuring events from the sight of a cosmic guinea pig is extremely small. Cuddles could force the issue, but to do so may inflict irreparable damage to that entire timeline. At present, he is undertaking more subtle measures to determine what occurred without damaging the timeline or alerting the culprit. However, these measures will take longer to bear fruit. Rest assured that he will find out who was responsible, and they will be dealt with. The number of entities that can face a cosmic guinea pig in battle is miniscule. If necessary, Cuddles may also enlist the assistance of other cosmic guinea pigs, but I doubt that will be required. Cuddles is one of the deadliest cosmic guinea pigs.”

Frank sighed. “You know what? I should be happy. I’ve got a second chance, and at least I’m not a goblin.” He shook his head of fabulous, salon-perfect elf hair. “Can you imagine if I became an ooze, or a zombie, or something?”

“At this stage attempting to return your soul to your body would also result in your instantaneous death followed by your soul moving on to your world’s version of the afterlife.”

“Couldn’t Cuddles make him a new body on his Earth? He helped my mum.”

“Creating a new body is not the issue. The issue is the role he may be required to play here. Based on Bloodroot’s words and our enquiries, we believe that Frank’s continued existence in this world is vital. Removing him prematurely may result in widespread devastation. The death toll would, at the minimum, be measured in the billions. Transmigrators are, by and large, pivotal figures in their new world’s events. Until Cuddles can locate the culprit and determine their reasons for acting, we believe that leaving Frank here is the best option.”

“Damn.” Frank shook his head. “I guess I’m stuck here then. But, hey, I don’t suppose you can tell me what disaster I’m supposed to avert, can you? If Cuddles can see the past and the future, then it would be nice if he could give me a heads up.”

“No,” Advisor’s reply was swift. “The future is rarely static. Telling you what is to come may cause a fundamental change in your behaviour that results in your failure. This is one of the major issues with providing knowledge of the future to entities that perceive time in a linear fashion. However, there is something I can tell you.”

Frank leaned forward eagerly. “What?”

“Expect trouble.”

“…” Frank took a long, long sip out of his goblet. “Thanks.” He sighed. “I know you said Cuddles can’t see exactly how I ended up here, but is there anything you can tell me about it at all? I don’t care if it’s only speculation.”

“Our records indicate this world and the universe it is in were both badly damaged during the First War. It is a miracle that this world still exists, particularly when you factor in the beings referred to as the Old Gods. We believe that someone native to this world – perhaps one of the World Spirits – reached out to a suitably powerful entity for aid after perceiving the upcoming danger. That entity then found a suitable soul. It is likely that your soul was observed and intercepted on its way to the afterlife before being placed in the body of the dying elf king. It is what Cuddles would have done if he were in that position. Cuddles has already reduced the window of blindness to rule out other possibilities. He has also reached out to the various powers in this world and informed them that further… misbehaviour will not be tolerated. They have all been bound to silence on the matter – likely by the entity responsible – so he has declined to pursue the matter more aggressively until he learns more. At this stage, open conflict with an entity with power comparable to a cosmic guinea pig would obliterate this universe multiple times over even if both of them attempted to minimise collateral damage.”

“So whoever did this gets away with it?”

“Cuddles will not allow them to escape unpunished. Furthermore, the World Spirits have agreed to compensate you although I do not currently know what form that compensation will take. I suggest you consider your options wisely since you may have some choice in the matter.”

“That’s better than nothing, but I guess I’m on my own once you guys leave.”

“Not completely. We will give you a means of contacting us. Real time communication will be limited, but exchanging letters and messages will be possible. Your psychological stability is key to your success, and Cuddles is hoping further contact will lure out the culprit.”

Frank’s lips twitched. “Thanks. I appreciate it. It’s nice knowing that someone gives a damn.” He glanced at Simon. “Mind if I send a letter or two your way?”

“Sure. Go ahead.” Simon could definitely sympathise. At least, he got to go home after each delivery. “I’ll be sure to reply.”

“Thanks. Time for you to go, right?”

“Just about. The delivery is done, and the tree-folk aren’t trying to murder you all anymore. There’s nothing else for us to do, and I’ve got more deliveries to make.” Simon squeezed Frank’s shoulder. “As they say in Australia,” he began, exaggerating his accent and bringing a grin to Frank’s lips. “Keep your chin up, mate. It’ll all come up roses in the end.” They both laughed. It was so cheesy it might as well be from a tourism ad. “But, seriously, you’re a good guy, Frank. Hang in there. You’ll get through this.”

“I hope so.” Frank gestured, and an elf came forward with several bottles. “And take this. It’s special booze from the royal secret stash. I figure I should make nice with Cuddles while I’m stuck here. Pass it on and tell him it’s from me.”

“Sure thing.”

“And one last thing.” Frank gestured again, and another two attendants came forward.

“No way!” Simon gasped. The attendants were carrying a copy of the awesome gun Frank had. “I have no idea what it does, but it’s still the coolest gun I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to try it out.” In his mind, Advisor had forgone speaking in favour of drooling.

“It’s impressive, all right. I figured you might need it since your job can get pretty… interesting.” Frank chuckled. “I won’t spoil the surprise, but I will say that it’s the coolest thing ever. Straight out of a damn video game.”

Simon cradled the weapon like a baby before putting it in his inventory. “I can’t wait to try it out – and hopefully at a firing range instead of in a situation where I’m fighting for my life.”

“It’s got multiple modes too,” Frank said.

Advisor gave the mental equivalent of a fist pump.

Frank looked around. “The party is almost over for tonight, but I have a feeling it’ll be days before everyone calms down.” His lips twitched. “They’re already throwing around names for who I should marry since we’re no longer facing death by angry tree and I’m apparently the greatest king in elf history now. I’m not going to lie. Elf women are pretty awesome.”

“And you’re the king, right?” Simon chuckled. “Let me know how it goes.”

As the festivities wound down – at least for the night – Simon made his way out of the palace with a small escort, including Frank. They left the city and headed back to where Simon had first arrived. Once he was there, he waited for Advisor to contact Cuddles.

“Take care,” Simon said to Frank. “And keep in touch.”

“I will.” Frank shook his hand then pulled him into a hug. “And the same to you and Advisor.”

Simon cleared his throat. “Cuddles, portal for two.”

* * *

“It sounds as though you had quite the trip,” Mr Edwards said. He was enjoying a sandwich while Cuddles munched on some peanuts. Wait…

“Aren’t peanuts bad for guinea pigs?” Simon asked. One of his high school friends had owned guinea pigs. They hadn’t been the smartest animals in the world, but they had been friendly and adorable.

“You’ve already seen me eating potato chips and donuts, not to mention all the booze. I’m a cosmic guinea pig, kid. I can eat whatever I want, but you’re right. Peanuts aren’t healthy for normal guinea pigs.” Cuddles washed the peanuts down with a chug of whiskey. “Damn. That’s the stuff, all right. Anyway, I want to thank you and Advisor for investigating that transmigrator. He’s lucky he ran into you two. There’s not a lot we can do for him right now, but we’ll keep an eye on him.” He scowled cutely. “I don’t appreciate people trying to hide things from me. It reminds me of the First War, so let’s hope it doesn’t end the same way too.” He shook his head. “Poor bastard is pretty far from home too.”

“Far?” Simon had already been checked and decontaminated, and Cuddles had been pleased with his haul. Apparently, elf brandy was the best although the dwarves still had them beat when it came to the harder liquors. The guinea pig had also told him that the food he'd brought back should be safe to eat in an hour or two, so he could hang out for a bit and then head home. He was sure his family would enjoy it, but he’d have to come up with an excuse. Hmm. Maybe he could say Mr Edwards wanted to test new dishes? “What does far mean?”

Cuddles munched on more peanuts. “The multiverse is, in a simple way of speaking, the sum total of all possibilities that have existed since the beginning of Creation. If you go all the way back, it all started from a single point of pure potential. The way we map distances in the multiverse is to plot them relative to the original starting point. I won’t get into the math – your brain might melt if I tried to teach you – but I can simplify it enough to get the point across.”

An image appeared. It was approximately spherical, but there were vague hints of higher dimensions that made Simon’s skin crawl.

“Your limited perception amuses me, meat bag.” Advisor chortled. “That is an n-sphere, a sphere of n dimensions.”

“Oh, give me a break.”

“Generally speaking, universes that are ‘close’ are ones that have travelled a fairly similar path. For instance, if you look at the Earths close to yours, those Earths have similar histories. One world might have had a World War II that ended in a stalemate. Another might be the same except someone else won the last Australian federal election. However, the world Frank is currently on belongs to a universe with a very, very different Earth.”

“Oh?”

“The most obvious difference is that universe’s version of Earth is currently ruled by super-intelligent reptile people that originated beneath the surface of the planet. However, that’s not the biggest difference. Frank’s original Earth – and universe – operate via largely the same rules as your Earth and universe. In both of your Earths and universes, magic isn’t native. In fact, on your Earth, the only people with magic are people like Matteo who have come from elsewhere. The universe that Frank is now in is different. Magic has always been there, and it will always be there.”

“Wow. And you’re serious about the reptile people?”

“Yep. They’re basically descendants of dinosaurs who survived by fleeing underground when the asteroid hit. Over time, they grew more intelligent and learned how to use magic. At least some of the ‘legends’ from your Earth are due to people glimpsing alternate Earths in their dreams.” Cuddles gestured, and Simon picked him up. A pointed look had him scratching the guinea pig’s back. One did not simply deny a cosmic guinea pig a back scratch. “You can think of the barriers between universes as cloth. The areas where the barriers are weak are akin to places where the cloth has worn thin and begun to fray. If the cloth thins and frays enough, you can get a hole. That’s where all sorts of weirdness happens.

“If the cloth gets torn completely, universes and dimensions start to mix. Trust me when I say that’s incredibly bad. Think apocalyptic trans-dimensional nightmares walking around and eating everybody levels of bad. Every time someone normal transmigrates, you get a tiny hole. It’s like a pinprick. Sure, you won’t notice it if the rest of the cloth is nice and strong, but if you keep doing it or you do it when the cloth is already badly damaged, then unpleasant things will happen. If you try to transmigrate someone with a powerful soul, then you’re no longer trying to poke a needle through the cloth. You’re trying to shove a crowbar through.” Cuddles scowled. “I’m still investigating who was responsible for Frank, but I’ve taken the subtle approach so far. If it happens again, I might have to intervene more directly.”

“And I’m assuming that will be terrifying.”

“Standard practice is to reinforce the barriers after telling off whoever is responsible. If they refuse to listen, I can blast them. I’ve lived a long, long time, kid. So far, nobody has ever survived once I’ve gotten serious about killing them. But the big problem is that reinforcing the barriers isn’t something you can do halfway. Once the damage gets bad enough, you kind of have to reinforce the cloth with steel plate. But what do you think happens to the next person who gets transmigrated?”

“Splat?”

“Exactly. That’s why we try to stop transmigration by tracking down whoever is responsible. The fact that whoever is doing this can hide from me is concerning because it means they’re at least in the same ballpark as me power-wise. If push comes to shove, I might not have the option of holding back.”

For a split-second, Simon saw an image in his mind’s eye. Cuddles floated in the empty void of space. Below him, entire clusters of galaxies came apart, spinning to pieces like the spokes of an old-fashioned wagon wheel. Stars flew in all directions, and blackholes died in brilliant bursts of exotic particles. The universe cracked and then split open to reveal his foe. All of that hadn’t even been an attack, simply a way to force his opponent out into the open.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. But I’ll try not to let it get too far.” Cuddles shook his head. “I can’t blame the World Spirits for getting desperate. They’re a lot weaker than they once were. The future is looking a bit dicey for them. I just wish they’d come to us for help instead. Anyway, we’ll have to see how it goes. It’s been a while since I fought with my full strength, and I hope it’ll be a while longer before I have to again.”

“Yeah. Please, don’t ever do that in my universe. I enjoy having it exist.”

Cuddles laughed. “Your universe is one of the more sensible ones out there. We haven’t had any major problems with it. That’s why Matteo retired there – hardly any apocalypses.”

“I’ve always loved Italian cooking too,” Mr Edwards said. “And your Earth’s version of Italy is one of the best.”

“You know, you never did tell me how you got into Italian cooking,” Simon said.

Mr Edwards smiled. “On my version of Earth, magic is real. There are elves and other ‘fantasy’ races. My mother was an elf from what you would call Finland. My father was a human who was half British and half Italian. I grew up in Italy, and it’s why my Italian cuisine has a bit of a twist to it. There’s nothing like mixing human Italian and Finnish elf cooking.”

“That explains a lot.” It really did. Simon’s brows furrowed. “Does that mean there are no aliens in my universe? It would be sad if we were all alone.”

Cuddles patted his hand. “Relax, kiddo. You guys have plenty of company, most of which is actually pleasant despite what their appearance might suggest. You simply haven’t met them yet. Give it a couple of hundred years.”

Simon rolled his shoulders. They’d gotten a bit stiff after spending so long in the armour. “How much longer before the elf food is okay to eat?”

“Another hour and a half,” Cuddles said.

“Karaoke.” Advisor’s voice brooked no disobedience. “We have the time, so we are going to karaoke.”

* * *

Simon had never been overly fond of the beach. Oh, he enjoyed swimming, but he wasn’t fond of crowds or sunburn. Wading through a whole heap of people wasn’t fun, and forgetting to put on sunblock could lead to days of regret. However, his mum had always loved the beach, and it had been years since she’d been able to go. He paused. Maybe that was why he’d stopped liking it. Seeing everybody else with healthy families… he shook his head. It didn’t matter. Not anymore. His mum was healthy, and his family was doing great. He should be savouring this.

As could be expected in summer, the sand down at Bondi was packed, but they’d managed to arrive early enough to snag a decent spot. It was hot too, but not scorching. The water was also fine. There wasn’t much of a swell, and the lifeguards were out and about as they corralled the crowd between the flags. Simon didn’t have to worry about drowning anymore – the armour would save him – but it was nice to know that if anyone got into trouble, the lifeguards were there to bail them out.

“Look at all the people,” his mum said. She had a hat on her head. She’d lost the majority of her hair during her treatment, and although Cuddles had ensured it was growing back with a vengeance, she still wasn’t confident about it yet. His dad had said that she looked fantastic the way she was. Of course, his dad would have said that no matter what. It had been love at first sight for them. His mum had been attending university while his dad had been a plumber’s apprentice, come to fix the plumbing in the house she was sharing with her friends.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” his mum murmured.

“It’s not too much?” His dad looked around. This was by far the biggest crowd she’d been in for years, and the beach was still filling up.

“No.” She smiled. “I’ve been stuck inside for so long. It’s nice to be in the middle of it all again.”

Simon and his siblings exchanged glances. He thought back to the craziness he’d handled on his first two deliveries and wondered what he’d face next. He could handle a crowded beach. “Next thing you know, mum, you’ll be crowd surfing at a rock concert.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Out of interest, you’re waterproof, right?” Simon thought the words to Advisor. He’d have preferred to speak, but he didn’t want to freak anyone out. “I assume you are, but I wanted to check before I jump in.” The AI was doing a fine impression of a watch on his wrist, and she’d warned him that if he ever got too obnoxious, she could always change her appearance to hot pink instead of the stylish steel-grey she usually was.

“I am completely water safe, meat bag.” Advisor’s sensors swept over the beach. This was apparently her first time visiting a proper beach, so there was plenty of new data for her to collect. She highlighted a surfer in his vision – and wasn’t it freaky she could do that without the armour – and zoomed in on him. “That is surfing, correct?”

“Yeah.”

Advisor pinged several locations and then highlighted potential travel routes. “Secure a surfboard. I wish to go surfing.”

“You do realise that I’m not exactly a surfer, don’t you?”

“Yes. But fear not, meat bag, I will not allow you to drown. You are also the only one of us with a body, so you will have to surf for both of us.”

“When you put it that way…” His lips curved up into a smile, and he turned to his mum. “Say… do you and dad know how to surf?”

His mum grinned fondly at his dad. “Well, back in the day…”

“Why not?” His dad got up. “We’ll wait for things to settle down a bit and then we can all give it a try.”

“Excellent.” Advisor hummed. “All is proceeding according to my plans.”

About the Author

I am a writer with an avid interest in psychology, physics, history, and economics. Writing has long been a passion of mine, and I hope to someday make a career of it. Apart from writing, I have worked in education as a lecturer in one of the aforementioned subjects.

I believe that writing is a wonderful thing and that good writing and the techniques required to develop it should be shared with as many people as possible. In that regard, I’m always open to hearing from anyone who was read my work. If you want to contact me (perhaps to praise or perhaps to put your proverbial stake and pitchfork to work), then by all means send me an email, or drop by my blog where I discuss issues related to books, writing, and my own work.

My email: lgestrella@outlook.com

My blog: http://lgestrella.wordpress.com

If you send an email or leave a comment, I’ll do my best to get back to you.

More From L. G. Estrella

If you’re interested in reading more of my stories, you can find them on Amazon.

There are also previews for each of my stories at my blog: lgestrella.wordpress.com

You can also read on to find out more about my stories.

Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part One

Two necromancers, a bureaucrat, and an elf – it sounds like the start of a bad joke, only the joke is on Timmy.

Timothy Walter Bolton – better known as Timmy – has spent most of his life as a necromancer. When he isn’t terrorising his enemies, he’s plotting inside his castle, which is built on top of lightless chasms filled with nameless horrors and beings of a generally malevolent and megalomaniacal nature. But after one of his latest creations, a zombie hydra-dragon-bear, tries to eat him, he decides that maybe it’s time to find a new, less dangerous, career.

But that’s easier said than done. He’s a wanted criminal with no shortage of powerful (and crazy) enemies, and he has a bone or two to pick with the Everton Council of Mages.

Hope arrives in the form of a new law. War is coming to Everton, and the Council is desperate. In exchange for providing some help, Timmy might just earn that pardon he’s been looking for. Of course, just because it’s possible to earn a pardon doesn’t mean that it’s going to be easy.

To earn his pardon, Timmy is going to have to take down some of Everton’s most dangerous enemies and put together a quirky group of unconventional heroes, most of whom want nothing more than to mangle him and/or the Council in as vicious a way as possible. It’s a good thing that he’s got some help: an obnoxious ten-year-old apprentice who thinks that pink glasses are appropriate for a budding necromancer and a bumbling bureaucrat who may or may not make it through their first real fight without puking his guts up.

Wonderful.

Still, Timmy’s never been one to back down from a challenge even if their first recruit is basically the elf version of the bogeyman.

Two Necromancers, an Army of Golems, and a Demon Lord

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part Two

Two necromancers, an army of golems, and a demon lord – it sounds like a recipe for trouble, and for Timmy, it definitely is.

To earn his pardon and avoid horrible torture and/or gruesome execution, Timmy has to complete every mission the Council throws his way, most of which seem to involve extremely scary things trying to kill him. At least he’s got help – sort of. His help consists of an apprentice with designs on his castle (and her plans may or may not involve overthrowing him), a bureaucrat whose two greatest skills are fainting in the face of trouble and using people (usually Timmy) as human shields, and an elf with the world’s worst case of pyromania and enough magic to level a mountain.

Somehow, Timmy’s got to get this bunch of unconventional heroes to work together. Trouble is coming, and it’s trouble of the kind that only a necromancer like Timmy could possibly find himself in the middle of. An army of killer golems is on the loose, which may give Timmy the excuse he needs to legally unleash wave after wave of killer zombies. Zombie versus golem – it’s every necromancer’s dream. And then there’s the demon lord that’s out to usher in the apocalypse. Sure, demons aren’t exactly his specialty, but there’s nothing that a good magical shovel to the back of the head can’t fix.

One way or another, Timmy is going to get his pardon and a tax rebate too – even if it means going up against murderous golems, insane demon lords, or mischievous ninja rodents with a predilection for magical swords and the skills to back up the trash talk.

Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part Three

Two necromancers, a dragon, and a vampire – it sounds like a shortcut to disaster, and for Timmy, it’s certainly looking that way.

To earn his pardon and avoid becoming yet another necromancer statistic, Timmy has to work for the Council. From bandit uprisings to giant sea serpents and ogre invasions, Timmy and the others are there to save the day – sort of.

And despite relying on overly intelligent ninja rats, an elf who believes that fire is the answer to everything, a bureaucrat who struggles to stay conscious through an entire fight, and a precocious apprentice who has designs on his castle, property damage per mission is down, they haven’t blown up another mountain, and they’ve gone several missions without ripping a hole in reality.

Naturally, it won’t last.

When the dragon egg their resident pyromaniac stole hatches to reveal the world’s cuddliest harbinger of death, Timmy and the others are dragged into a pair of diabolically dangerous missions. Breaking out of one of the world’s most secure prisons was hard enough. Now, they have to break back in to rescue a vampire.

And then there’s the Eye of the Abyss. Does your country have a problem with a divine artefact capable of singlehandedly winning a war? Don’t worry. Just send Timmy and the gang. They’ll handle it, and Timmy might even get to live every necromancer’s dream with… zombie pirates.

Timmy and the others want their pardons, and they’re not going to let anyone stop them, not armies, not fleets, not even the most powerful empire the world has ever seen that just so happens to hold a centuries-old grudge against Everton.

The world is going to learn a very important lesson: never, ever underestimate a necromancer with a shovel and time to plan.

Two Necromancers, a Dwarf Kingdom, and a Sky City

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part Four

Two necromancers, a dwarf kingdom, and a sky city – it sounds like a prelude to mayhem, and given Timmy’s luck, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

To keep his castle and earn his pardon, Timmy has his work cut out for him. Whether it’s rescuing princesses, crushing hordes of goblins, or dealing with eldritch abominations, Timmy and the gang are there to save the day – and rob the occasional crime lord.

But saving the day isn’t always easy. Timmy might be an eminently sensible necromancer, but he has to deal with a young dragon who is convinced that every problem can be eaten, an elf obsessed with property damage, an ancient vampire who can’t get through a mission without being impaled repeatedly, a semi-retired legendary swordsman, a bureaucrat who has finally mastered the art of screaming and swinging a frying pan, and an overly ambitious apprentice doing her best to be more menacing despite loving the colour pink.

It’s hardly a surprise when things don’t exactly go to plan.

With war on the horizon, Timmy and the others have their hands full. Rescuing a princess can be difficult at the best of times, but rescuing a princess from one of the most powerful crime lords in the world? That’s going to be tricky.

And that’s not their only problem. Ever wonder whose job it is to deal with rampaging hordes of goblins that are about to overwhelm a kingdom of dwarves? Well, that’s Timmy’s job. Isn’t he lucky? On the upside, he finally has an excuse to deploy another army of zombies. He’s going to teach those goblins a very important lesson: never, ever get into a war of attrition with a necromancer.

One necromancer is dangerous. Two necromancers with a dragon, a vampire, a swordsman, an elf, and a bureaucrat – that’s downright deadly.

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

The Unconventional Heroes Series Side Stories Part One

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company – it sounds crazy, but it might just be Timmy’s ticket to financial security and a fully renovated castle.

To earn a pardon and avoid prison or execution, Timmy, Grand Necromancer and Lord of Black Tower Castle, has been completing missions for the Council with the help of an elite team of truly heroic individuals.

There’s Katie, his apprentice. She’s brilliant, cunning, and maniacally devious. She’s also ten years old, extremely adorable, and loves billowy robes and the colour pink.

There’s Avraniel, the pyromaniac elf who is responsible for more property damage than anyone in Everton’s history (including dragons, natural disasters, and demon gods).

There’s Gerald, the hyperventilating bureaucrat who is at the top of every monster’s menu.

There’s Old Man, a retired legendary swordsman whose hobbies include bonsai trees, fishing, and the occasional duel to the death.

There’s Amanda, ancient vampire and sophisticate who knows all about the Council’s founding because she was there when it happened.

And then there’s Spot. He’s cute, cuddly, and friendly. He loves tug-of-war and fetch. He’s also a fire-breathing dragon who can devour an entire cow in about thirty seconds.

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company is a collection of fourteen short stories that take place before, during, and after the first three parts of The Unconventional Heroes Series. Each story hopes to answer important questions like:

How does a company involving cookies and dragons even work?

How did a trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror and a Grand Necromancer become friends, and how did that horror develop an addiction to cake?

How does an ancient vampire acquire the comely, young virgins she needs to maintain proper vampiric health without looking like a total weirdo?

Answers to all of these questions and more will be revealed. With unconventional heroes like Timmy and the gang around, life is never boring.

The Sheep Dragon

The Unconventional Heroes Series Side Stories Part Two

The Sheep Dragon – it sounds insane, but asking a young dragon to watch over a flock of magical sheep might just be Timmy’s ticket to financial freedom.

To earn his pardon and help Everton win the war against the Eternal Empire, Timmy – Grand Necromancer extraordinaire – has his work cut out for him. Thankfully, he’s not alone. He has an elite team of questionable characters to help him turn the tide.

There’s his pint-sized apprentice who dreams of becoming the Supreme Necromancer. It’s a pity she’s more adorable than menacing. There’s the pyromaniacal elf who isn’t into saving the innocent so much as she’s into smiting (and robbing) the wicked. There’s the ancient vampire whose penchant for getting stabbed has led to a drastic reduction in her wardrobe.

There’s the legendary swordsman who’s so legendary that he might actually die of old age instead of meeting his end in battle. There’s the timid bureaucrat whose knack for almost getting eaten is matched only by his knack for paperwork. There’s the dwarf who wants to build a golem so huge it can make a dragon cry uncle.

And then there’s the young dragon whose hunger knows no bounds. Nobody is safe. Not pineapples. Not bandits. Not even giant, mutant cows.

The Sheep Dragon is a collection of fourteen short stories set before, during, and after the first four parts of The Unconventional Heroes Series. Each story addresses questions of world-shaking importance like:

Is it possible for a young dragon to watch over a flock of sheep without those sheep ending up in his stomach?

What do necromancers actually do at necromancer conventions?

And what is the best way to deal with a surprise demonic invasion?

Attempted Vampirism

The Attempted Vampirism Series Part One

It’s not easy being a vampire – just ask Jonathan.

As the 32nd Lord of Bloodhaven, Jonathan is a vampire noble. Alas, he’s a noble in name only. Forget gold, diamonds, and bountiful estates. All he has to his name are one cosy – some would say dilapidated – castle and a reputation as a fine scholar specialising in ancient lore. Of course, given the horrible ends both his father and grandfather met in pursuit of fame and fortune, it’s probably for the best that he enjoys the quiet life.

Sadly, his quiet life is about to meet a horrible end of its own.

Think tax collectors are bad? How about… vampire tax collectors?

After a run in with the Blood Alliance Department of Taxation leaves Jonathan with nothing except a dressing gown and a pair of bunny slippers, he has no choice but to leave his quiet life behind. He needs a lot of money, and he needs it now. But at least he can rely on his faithful servants for help, right? Wrong. The only servant he’s got left is his old but faithful butler, Miles.

To get his castle and his stuff back, Jonathan and Miles have to take some risks, but the gods aren’t going to make it easy for them. After all, these are the same gods who took at least three tries to get the world mostly right, and they have some wonderful surprises up their sleeve.

If Jonathan can survive werewolves, bandits, and eldritch monstrosities, he might just stand a chance. Sure, he’s more familiar with a book than a sword, but he’ll make it work. Somehow. Maybe. Probably not.

It’s not easy being a vampire, but Jonathan is going to give it his best shot.

Attempted Adventuring

The Attempted Vampirism Series Part Two

A vampire noble’s work is never done – just ask Jonathan.

Once upon a time, Jonathan lived a life as a scholar. He had his own wonderful castle with a wonderful library. Well, the library had been wonderful. The castle had kind of been a wreck. Still, it had been his castle, and he’d liked it. Alas, a run in with the Blood Alliance Department of Taxation left him without a castle and with little to his name except some fuzzy bunny slippers and a dressing gown.

Yet with the help of his faithful servant Miles, Jonathan was able to join an intrepid group of adventurers. With their help, he would earn his fortune and get his castle back! At least, that was the plan. Their first mission was rather more dangerous than he’d like. It involved numerous near-death experiences, eldritch horrors, and the spirit of a long-dead vampire emperor. On the upside, they got paid.

Of course, one mission won’t be enough, and there’s nothing scarier than vampire tax collectors. If Jonathan wants to get his castle back, he’ll have to go on more missions. Tougher missions. Scarier missions. Missions that make him question the sanity of dwarf architecture. And their newest mission is a doozy. But if he and the others can survive sea monsters, ancient evils, and an unlikely pair of allies, they might just strike it rich.

With the help of his loyal butler, a wandering werewolf, a merman who enjoys dry land, a shape-shifter who can’t change back to her original form, and a former paladin who has managed to survive four accusations of heresy, Jonathan might just stand a chance.

One way or another, Jonathan is getting his castle back.

Divine Assistance

The Divine Assistance Series Part One

When the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father separated Creation from the Void, they also created the gods, beings of incalculable power who wielded cosmic energies far beyond the petty comprehension of mere mortals. The gods were supposed to preside over Creation with unmatched wisdom and knowledge.

Well, that was the idea.

But what is Death – a god of terrible majesty and splendour – supposed to do when his daughter asks for a pony? Is he really supposed to just go out and get a mortal one? Like that’s going to work. It’ll keel over and die in a couple of decades. No, his daughter deserves something better, a pony truly worthy of her divine heritage, which means he’s going to have to get a little bit creative.

And then there’s Bureaucracy. The Supreme Mother and Supreme Father might have given rise to Creation, but Bureaucracy is the one who has to keep everything running smoothly. But that’s easier said than done when there are hundreds of gods and countless mortals to consider – none of whom understand the importance of filing paperwork in triplicate. Luckily, not even gods can escape the awesome power of divine paperwork.

And let’s not forget gods like Mayhem, Mischief, and Rabble. Their names speak for themselves. When the three of them take a holiday in the mortal world at the same time, trouble is right around the corner.

Divine Assistance is a collection of fourteen short stories about the gods and their attempts to manage Creation. There are souls to claim, mortals to woo, and even the occasional city to smite. After all, what’s life without a little divine assistance?

Divine Interference

The Divine Assistance Series Part Two

For aeons, the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father have led the gods in protecting Creation from the abominations of the Void. They have brought order and light to the mortal world, passing on their boundless wisdom and knowledge.

Or not.

What is a would-be hero to do when the god of aspiring heroes turns up to help with a less than stellar success rate? Easy. Start praying for another god since the last hero he tried to help ended up as dragon food.

Who does Death – a god of unmatched power and might – go to when he needs to build a prison for the scum of the afterlife? How about Torment? He’s smart, creative, and his name kind of says it all.

And then there’s Zephyra. Being a young, up-and-coming goddess isn’t easy when all the good jobs have already been taken. Being the goddess of raccoons might sound great, except the raccoon she’s stuck with is a kleptomaniac with a penchant for trouble. It’s a good thing that she’s not the only young god hoping to get some more experience. Young Death is looking for a part-time job too.

And let’s not forget Fate. There’s no way Fate could possibly lose at poker, right? Most of the time, that would be true. But her opponents in this game are Luck, Misfortune, and… Mischief. There’s no way this doesn’t end in disaster.

Divine Interference is a collection of fourteen short stories about the gods and their attempts to keep Creation running smoothly. There are dragons to negotiate with, cities that have to be destroyed artistically, and kingdoms in need of saving from vicious fish people. There’s nothing like a bit of divine interference to make life interesting.

Monster Whisperer

The Monster Whisperer Series Episode One

In a world where monsters like dragons, hydras, and basilisks are real, being a monster researcher isn’t easy – just ask Patrick Richards.

Ever since he saw Vulcan – the largest and mightiest dragon in North America – Patrick has dreamed of being a monster researcher. But despite the popularity of monsters all over the world, funding in the extremely hazardous field of monster research is far from stellar since the most enthusiastic researchers are often the ones who have to retire – or get buried – the earliest. Monsters don’t muck around, and even a single mistake can be fatal.

So when the owner of one of the world’s most powerful media companies comes to Patrick with an offer, it’s not something he can afford to turn down. Sure, he’s not the first researcher they’ve asked – and isn’t that worrying – but he might just be the first researcher to pull it off. Monsters are big business, and what could be more popular than a television show that gets right up close and personal to some of the world’s most popular monsters?

With a small team by his side, Patrick is in for the challenge of his life. Can he pull this off and film the pilot episode the world has been waiting for, or will he end up as yet another monster researcher statistic? It’ll be tough, but if he can do it, he might just earn the title of monster whisperer.

The Galactic Peace Committee

The Galactic Peace Series Part One

In one universe, humanity conquers the stars. In another universe, humanity is overrun by monsters so evil that their very presence dims the light of the stars. In yet another universe, humanity is drawn into an endless battle for dominion over the galaxy.

This is not one of those universes.

In this universe, humanity is in charge of the Galactic Peace Committee. In theory, the Committee is an unmatched force for good, bringing peace and prosperity to countless worlds and ensuring that conflicts between different races are settled with words and not planet-cracking weaponry or super plagues designed to turn everyone into goo.

In theory.

Jake Smith is a diplomat. He works for the Committee. This is his story – and it goes about as well as you’d expect. In other words, it doesn’t go very well at all. Can Jake survive petty aliens? Sure. He’s a diplomat. It’s all part of the job. What about angry aliens? Probably. He does have a killer robot for a secretary, and he’s not bad with a shock staff. How about a fleet of aliens out for blood? That… that might be a little bit trickier.

The Galactic Peace Committee… keeping peace (sort of) throughout the galaxy.

Galactic Diplomacy

The Galactic Peace Series Part Two

Man versus machine. Synthetic versus organic. The galaxy has seen countless conflicts between these factions. Civilisations have fallen, worlds have burned, and stars have died.

Clearly, the Galactic Peace Committee has more work to do.

As a proud diplomat of the Galactic Peace Committee, Jake Smith is all too familiar with the difficulties involved in keeping the peace between men and machines. From the petty – like convincing a robotically enhanced organic to join a gang of robots – to the absolutely horrible – like killer robots with plasma chainsaws for arms – Jake has seen it all… and somehow managed to survive even if there’s usually a lot of running, screaming, and bashing things to death with pieces of furniture involved.

And, well, if sometimes there’s a little bit of collateral damage, what’s a planet or two between friends?

But Jake’s life isn’t all about evil killer robots. There’s his killer robot secretary, and she’s only kind of evil. There are also volleyball-loving aliens with a penchant for dismemberment and aliens with advanced technology who are perfectly happy using that technology to rob people of their pizza pockets. Yes, there’s plenty of villainy to go around, both minor and major.

And then there are the tree people.

The galaxy is a weird and wonderful place. Unfortunately for the brave – some would say suicidal – diplomats of the Galactic Peace Committee, it also tends to be less than peaceful.

The Trouble With Werewolves

The Department Series Part One

Listen up rookies, I’m going to keep this short, and I’m going to keep this simple. If you’re going to be an agent for the Australian Department of Unusual Events, then you need to know how to deal with werewolves. And werewolves, rookies, are not pleasant creatures to deal with. The average werewolf is seven feet tall and weighs roughly two hundred and fifty kilograms. The average werewolf also wants nothing more than to rip your face off and eat you for dinner.

If you want to beat a werewolf, you can’t afford to fight fair. No, you cheat – you cheat as much as you bloody can. If that means sneaking up on it and putting a silver bullet in the back of its head with a sniper rifle, then that’s what you do. But I’m not going to waste your time by telling you what you already know. I’m not going to tell you about a mission where everything went right. I’m going to tell you about a mission where things went wrong because things always go wrong and learning how to deal with that is the only way you’ll last more than a year or two in the Department.

So pay attention and take notes. It could save your life.

The Trouble With Eldritch Entities

The Department Series Part Two

You rookies really think you’re ready to fight eldritch entities? Don’t make me laugh. You’re not ready. Not even close. These monsters come from other worlds and dimensions, and just looking at some of them can drive you insane. Here at the Australian Department of Unusual Events, we don’t believe in sending rookies on suicide missions, which is why none of you are going anywhere near an eldritch entity on your own.

Of course, things don’t always go to plan. Sometimes, you don’t have to go looking for a primeval cosmic horror from another world – one comes looking for you. When that happens, I suggest using the biggest gun you can get your hands on. Unfortunately, guns don’t always help. Some of these abominations are strong enough to wipe out entire cities. If you run into one of those monsters, you’ll need something a lot bigger than a gun. How about some artillery? That tends to help. Hell, you could even use a nuke. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But let’s start a little smaller. You’re rookies. Leave saving the world to the veterans. Today, I’ll be going over one of my old missions. If you want to learn how to fight eldritch entities, then I suggest you pay attention and take notes. I’m not perfect, but I’m still alive, which means I must be doing something right.

Beneath a Shattered Sky

The Fracture Chronicles Part One

There were idiots – and then there were the Ancients.

More than two thousand years ago, the Ancients decided that simply killing each other with all the power in one world wasn’t enough. No. They had to use the power of countless other worlds to kill each other.

Unfortunately, things didn’t quite work out the way they planned.

The barriers separating the world of Fracture from other worlds shattered, and the Ancients were overrun by endless hordes of otherworldly monsters. Civilisation collapsed, monsters ate lots of people, and pretty much everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

Oops.

Eventually, the survivors invented barriers, a powerful form of magic capable of stabilising parts of Fracture and keeping out otherworldly monsters. Score one for civilisation.

Sophie is a graduate of Relic’s Temple, a warrior trained to use innate magic to fight all manner of bloodthirsty otherworldly monsters in hand-to-hand combat. At her legendary mother’s behest, she goes on a journey to find her mother’s almost-as-legendary former student. The problem is that Matilda isn’t quite what all the legends say.

Oh, Matilda has got ass kicking down to an art form, and she’s an absolute genius at barrier magic, but she’s also an irredeemable (and highly successful) flirt who is seemingly immune to the effects of alcohol. She also likes to give people nicknames – irritatingly accurate nicknames.

Before she knows it, Sophie is part of Matilda’s crew, journeying across Fracture in semi-epic fashion while performing acts of heroism for fame, charity, glory, and the occasional big payday. When she’s not being fired out of a sky-ship to board a pirate vessel, she’s fighting hordes of otherworldly monsters with a troubled city in their sights.

But it is beneath a shattered sky that Sophie finally learns that Matilda really is every bit the legend people say she is.

Copyright and Disclaimer

Cosmic Delivery Boy

Copyright © January 2022 L. G. Estrella

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review (contact lgestrella@outlook.com).

Cover image from Granat-art/bigstockphoto.com. Alterations by L. G. Estrella.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.