Stupid Sexy Cryptids [144-147]

144: Festive Fencing

“You fucking beerch,” Wattica snarled, the black sword in her claws rearranging itself back into a massive gun aimed at Comet. “You’re going to pay for that!”

"Don't attack her with magic!" Sevviya barked, eyes glowing bright with astral sight. "Her clothes are… extra-reactive! They feed on intent!"

"Intent of what?!" Wattica asked, retreating away from Comet.

"They weaponize the concept of 'Naughty'!" Sevviya yelled back. "If you target her with malice, the artifact-chain inverts the attack, uses your own mana and belief in the Slayer to convert your body into dungeon bloom!"

Comet looked victorious. The bells on her choker jingled menacingly as she dusted herself off. Another prad pulled hissing Carrla away, spraying the tiger's hand-stumps with black liquid from a small container with a green cross in a circle.

"Saint Nikky protects her jolly reindeer!" the Mained Wolf claimed smugly. She swiped the air with colorful claws, leaving a trail of frost twinkling in the air. "You want to hostile me again? Go ahead! You'll be struck down by your own crystalline hearts! You're all slaves to the Frontenachii dominion, forced into wickedness by your masters! You know in your souls that you are all naughty!”

A few of the gathered prads winced ever so slightly at the judging words of the Herald.

“You’ve got something non-magical to take her down?” I asked the growling Wendigo beside me.

"Null rounds. Handy shit for stopping high-level mages,” Wattica replied. “They disrupt aetheric fields on impact, won't care about 'intent' or 'naughty lists’ and should punch a hole through her festive sweater, her ribcage, and the booth behind her.”

“I'd rather not damage her that much,” I said. “We need to interrogate her about the dungeon warship without wasting time on incantation.”

“Let's try a manual solution,” Wattica stated. “Kendra, Seclii! Null fields on, we’ve got us a clever witch to disarm!”

A prad female hawk and crocodile stepped out, holding black swords. Their armor rearranged itself into small black pyramids. Other prads stepped away from them as the floor around the pair of swordsmen turned completely gray.

“Chop up her outfit!” the Wendigo ordered. “Try not to damage her too badly.”

The swordsmen blurred as did the festive wolf. My gun unit processors accelerated and time slowed, allowing me to track their fight. The hawk and crocodile were fast, but sadly not as agile as Comet. 

The Mained Wolf rapidly exhumed a pair of candy-cane colored rapiers from her sweater pockets, repelling the black swords with sharp clangs.

Snowflakes flew around Comet, hissing as they evaporated against the gray bubbles surrounding the Nullifying-field-armed prads.

"An anti-magic projection?” Comet chirped, dodging a swing from the hawk. Her candy-cane rapiers collided merrily against the null-swords again, sending sparks. "Null-fields cannot stop the passion of a fit, living heart! The holidays are a physical burden! You must pick presents with love and wrap everything perfectly as is tradition!"

The hawk soldier dove forward, black blade aiming for Comet's stick-on antlers.

Comet dropped to a crouch, long, spindly legs acting like loaded springs.

"Hold still!" The crocodile roared, lunging.

Comet exploded upward, vaulting over the reptile's head. She flew out of the null-field’s range, reached into her extradimensional pockets and pulled out two large cylinders.

“Wrapping time!" she declared.

Thick, glossy paper unspooled. It didn't look like an ordinary kind of wrapper and shimmered with reinforced fibers, visibly tough enough to tow a truck.

She landed behind the crocodile. With a manic giggle, Comet whipped a roll of red and gold foil around the soldier's snout.

The croc girl tried to free her jaws, but the paper held.

Comet spun. She moved ten times faster than a biological creature should. She circled the irate crocodile, unspooling yards of the high-tensile material. "Round and round we go!"

The crocodile slashed with his null-blade. The paper caught the weapon, bunching up and failing to shear. It was sticky and quickly bound his arms to his torso.

"Get off her!" The hawk thrust her sword where Comet stood a second ago.

Comet leapt sideways, using the bound reptile as a springboard. She threw a second blue and silver roll at the avian.

The roll hit the hawk in the face, unraveling instantly.

Comet grabbed the loose end and yanked.

The hawk stumbled. Comet scrambled up the side of a booth, jumping over the avian's head, effectively creating a pulley system with the paper. She wrapped the material around the hawk's hands, pinning them tight against the hexasuit.

"Gotta make it look neat!" Comet yelled, pulling the roll until the hawk's grayscale-field casting armor creaked.

She kicked the back of the crocodile's knee, forcing her down, then shoved the hawk on top of the reptile.

With a final flourish, she bound them together, looping the pair into a tight knot.

The two prad girls lay on the floor, groaning, whimsically mummified into festive presents.

"And a bow on top!" Comet slapped a large, sticky red bow onto the hawk's chest.

She stopped in front of her victims, panting.

"Hmpf." She looked at Wattica, smoothing her skirt. "That was rude. Guests deserve cocoa, not null-swords."

Wattica scowled at her defeated champions and smug Comet.

“She beat them with stationery," Galateya commented, observing the situation through Sage's wall monitors.

"A clever way to oppose nullification. Howevah, she fights like someone desperate," Sage added. "Someone who knows she is cornered."

“Is she cornered, though?” Galateya asked.

“She's absolutely cornered,” Sage insisted.

“Kawartha is outside the pub in a Corpse Seeker. She's already barricaded the exits with twenty ton concrete blocks,” I said with my human lips. “She won't be able to get through such, right?” I glanced at the Skinwalker resting her head on my shoulder.

“The limitation of concept rewriting magic is that it cannot eat through solid rock that quickly, especially on a linear world,” Sage replied, “she deffo trapped.”

“She can't gate out, right?” Galateya asked.

“Gating requires the presence of a very powerful dimensional mage and a softer, much more malleable Astral. I'm watching out for their moth. If she makes a move, I'll intercept the targeting vector and yeet it at the big hole in the moon.”

“Can you disrupt all future gates like that?” I asked. “Prevent the Greens from infesting our Earth with their magic forests?”

“Alas, no,” Sage sighed. “Screwing with moths requires my utmost attention. I cannot disrupt a location I cannot physically focus the skulk on. I'm not an omnipresent critter.”

“That was a very pretty dance,” I addressed the panting Maned Wolf as the Emperor. “But, can you dance faster than null bullets?”

Comet glared at me.

"Do you get that you can't keep this up forever, Comet?” I asked. “Wattica can shoot the clothes off your body. Along with the limbs attached to them."

Comet’s fur paled. 

“G-go ahead,” she let out, calling my bluff. “I’m… I’m not afraid of death or pain! I will be reborn within my Lady’s Workshop! Hurt me enough and my heartcore will implode, seeding festivus!”

“Sage, how come Sergey didn’t turn into a tree?” Galateya asked. “He’s been face-humping her sweater for like an entire minute, no?”

“No magically-backed ill intent,” Sage answered. “The artifacts weaponize the attacker’s own mana. Also, I think that they don’t see humans as a danger. No magic to reflect as our lovely humans are magically inert, have no heart cores.” She pawed at me from behind.

“So the humans can undress her without blooming?” I asked as my human self.

“All signs point to yes,” Sage said.

“I'm giving you ten seconds to undress then we start shooting!” Wattica barked at the festive prad.

"Hold your fire, Commander," I ordered as the Emperor, raising an armored hand. 

"She turned my Knight's paws into a festive hedge,” the Wendigo girl growled. “I am going to shred her!"

"And risk detonating whatever payload she's carrying? Or worse, risk the magical backlash turning the entire bar into a ginger-bread house?" I countered. "Look at her. She's a walking booby trap rigged with tinsel."

Comet Evergreen puffed out her sweater-covered chest, projecting defiant, albeit slightly concerned, merriment. "Yes! My Saint's protection is absolute! Strike me down, and you shall all become ornaments on the Great Tree of—"

"Zip it with the threats, Herald," I cut her off. "You've already boxed yourself into a corner. By turning Carrla’s paws into landscaping, you've pretty much admitted to everyone here that you're a baddie."

“What?!” Comet gasped. "I am NOT a baddie! I am a… A bringer of joy! A good girl!"

"Good girls don't mulch people's hands," I pointed out. "Good only girls bring presents, not dispense pine-needle leprosy. You hurt her. By your own logic, that puts you squarely on the Naughty List."

"No!" Comet defended herself, vanishing the candy-cane swords back into her pockets. "It was self-defense! She attacked me, smacked me into the table! The sweater judged her ill-intent! I am pure! I am the nicest reindeer of all!"

"If you are so nice," I said, "then you have nothing to fear from the innocent, right?"

"What?" She blinked.

I turned my head toward the corner of the booth where Sergey was trying very hard pretending not to exist.

"Sergey," I boomed.

The astrophysicist flinched. "I didn't do it! I don't know what 'it' is, but I… I have rights!"

"Sergey," I said with a warmer tone. "You are about to become a hero of humanity. You are going to disarm the bomb."

"Bomb?" Sergey looked around wildly. "What bomb?! Where?"

I pointed a metal finger at Comet. "Her."

Comet growled. "You better now touch me! My sweater will consume you! It will turn your bones into candy canes!"

"It won't," I corrected. "Carrla attacked you with intent to harm. Does Sergey look capable of malice, Miss Herald?"

We all looked at Sergey. He looked like a wet owl in fogged up glasses.

"He tastes like he's about to pee himself," Wattica observed dryly. “A puddle of liquefied fear. Very yummy.”

"Exactly," I said. "Pure innocence. Sergey, I am giving you a direct order as the Emperor of Earth. Take off her sweater."

Sergey choked. "You want me to... strip the alien wolf lady?"

"To save the world," I said. "Think of it as... unwrapping a very dangerous present."

"I am not a present!" Comet yelled. "I am—"

"Do it, or the Wendigo will have no choice but to shoot her arms and legs off," I told Sergey. "And if she accidentally kills her, the resulting See-Mass implosion might turn you into a fruitcake. Literally. Do you want to be a fruitcake, Sergey?"

"I... I have a gluten intolerance," Sergey muttered.

"Then get to work." I said. 

Sergey swallowed hard. He reached out with trembling hands. 

"Don't do it!" Comet hissed, baring her teeth. "It will bite your hands off! It has conceptual teeth! Knit, purl, KILL!"

"She's bluffing," I said confidently, hoping I wasn't about to get the nerdy astrophysicist killed. “You’ve touched the sweater already. It can’t hurt you.”

Sergey reached out, his fingers brushed the fabric.

Everyone flinched slightly. Wattica and her prad kobolds kept their fingers on the gun triggers.

Nothing happened.

No pine needles. No frost. No explosions. Just a guy touching a sweater.

Sergey blinked. He poked the fabric again. "It's... soft?"

"It's a cashmere blend!" Comet blurted out, indignantly, batting his hand away. "High quality! Obviously it’s soft! Hands off!”

"See?" I said. "The sweater doesn't mind you. You're just a harmless human, one who doesn't believe in See-Mass, doesn't give a fuck about the Slayer. Now, take it off."

"I... okay." Sergey looked at Comet. "Ma'am, could you... lift your arms?"

"Ma'am?! I will not!" Comet indignantly crossed her arms over her chest. 

"Sergey," I sighed. "You have to be firm. Start with the fake antlers. She can't defend all of the artifacts. Everyone human, help out. Disarm the Herald!"

Sergey seemingly made a decision and lunged for the reindeer antlers.

Comet blurred in the air, once again showcasing that pradavarian physiology was no joke. 

She ducked under Sergey’s grab, grabbed his wrist and simply... set him aside. Gently. Like one might move a toddler who was about to touch a hot stove.

"No pawing the merchandise without permission!" Comet yipped, vaulting over the table. Her candy-cane skirt fluttered, bells jingling frantically.

"Humans! Intercept her!" I bellowed. "Prads and Omnids, keep away from her!"

"For the Emperor!" Dave roared, abandoning his beer and diving over the booth.

145: Polite Brawl

Tom and Sarah scrambled after the Herald of See-Mass.

Comet landed on the sticky floorboards. She spun, looking for an exit. Dave was airborne, aiming to grab her.

Comet caught Dave mid-air, spun him around in a waltz-like maneuver, and deposited him on a nearby barstool. It was like watching a Chihuahua tackle a Greyhound.

"You lack the holiday spirit!" she chided him, wagging a finger. "Assault is not very jolly!"

“Secure the exits!” Wattica growled.

“Already handled,” I said, “I barred them with concrete blocks when I entered the bar.”

“Ah.” Wattica nodded. “Well done.”

"Grab her legs!" Sarah yelled.

Comet hopped over Sarah, performing a mid-air split that would have won gold in gymnastics.

"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Wolf!" she laughed, a hysterical edge creeping into her voice as she realised that there was no quick escape from the bar now. She shoved Tom away with a flat palm to the chest, sending him sliding across a table filled with empty pitchers. "Sorry!”

I watched her fight. Every time a human got close, she deflected, dodged, or gently shoved. It was the most polite bar brawl I had ever witnessed.

"Can I shoot her paws off now?" Wattica asked with a pouting expression.

"No." I stated firmly. "Let the humans handle it."

The Wendigo Commander rolled her eyes at me, probably thinking that I was wasting time, since Comet moved ten times faster than the mundane, drunk cosplayers chasing her.

Comet vaulted a pool table with far too much ease as a bald, muscular bar patron tried to grab at her.

"I will report all of this rudeness to the Saint!" she threatened, scrambling for freedom. “All of you are going on the Naughty list!”

I decided that it was time to interfere. My gun unit servos whirred, the processors accelerating to the max. 

Time slowed to a crawl. I stepped into the aisle.

Comet saw me moving. Her eyes slowly went wide.

I didn't try to grab her. I didn't try to punch her. I simply... Pushed a heavy pool table directly across her path.

Comet tried to stop. Momentum disagreed.

"Oof!"

The Herald of See-Mass went airborne. She flailed, looking like a festive windmill, before crashing face-first into a pile of beanbag chairs in the corner of the lounge area.

"Dogpile her!" Sergey shrieked, finding more courage now that the wolf was horizontal.

The humans descended.

It was a mess of grasping hands and colorful wool.

"Get the sweater! Pull the sweater!"

"Trying to!"

"Get the antlers! The antlers!"

"Get off me!" Comet howled from beneath the mound of cosplayers. 

Sergey went flying into a wall. She bucked, sending Dave rolling across the floor. Even while trying to be gentle, she was strong enough to bench press a minivan. She was winning the wrestling match simply by existing.

"She's slipping out!" Tom yelled, clutching a single red and white string he'd managed to liberate. "She's too fast!”

Comet surged upward, shaking Steve and Dave off herself. Her sweater was only slightly bunched up. The headband was askew, the felt antlers drooping sadly.

"Enough!" Comet snarled. "I am going to put you all in time-out! I will—"

THWACK!

"Happy Holidays, bitch," Sarah yelled. The glass bottle of Ambrosia brought by Comet connected with the back of the festive wolf's skull with a sound like a melon being dropped from a roof.

The magical glass of the artifact was sturdy, and didn't even crack or break.

Comet’s eyes rolled back into her head. Her tongue lolled out. She swayed for a second, looking like a drunk cartoon character. 

Then, her sweater and antlers ignited with flashing colors, seemingly not allowing her to be knocked out.

Comet opened her eyes with a groan.

"Nutcracker!" Steve roared, winding up like a major league pitcher. "Attack the candy-cane claws! Bite off the manicure!"

He hurled the wooden soldier. It spiraled through the air, jaw unhinged like a tiny, painted python.

Comet blinked, steadying herself. "What…? You dare attack me with my own gifff… YEOWCH!"

The Nutcracker clamped down hard on her long, index claw, cracking the swirling red and white patterns. 

CRACK!

"My acrylics!" Comet shrieked, flailing her hand wildly in an attempt to dislodge the toy. The wooden soldier hung on tenaciously, chewing rhythmically, spitting out flakes of magical enamel. "No! Stop chewing off the enchantment!"

Wattica chortled.

Comet dug into her pocket with her free hand, dragging out the barrel of something that looked suspiciously like a peppermint Gatling gun, fluffy orange and black tail whipping back and forth in agitation.

"Oh no you don't!" I bellowed.

It was a bad idea to touch her with my magitek body as such would likely trigger sweater defenses. However, blunt force trauma via furniture stayed fair game. I grabbed the heavy, chrome-plated barstool bolted to the floor next to me. My servos whined, torque spiking to max.

SCREEEEEECH.

The bolts sheared. I ripped the stool from the concrete like a weed, swinging it at Comet like a warhammer.

WHANG!

The heavy, mundane, bar stool collided with her gun-arm. 

The candy-cane weapon went flying into the ceiling, shattering a light fixture. Comet yelped, the impact spinning her around, digitigrade feet scrambling for balance on the bar floor.

"That is not jolly!" she screamed, pivoting for a kick, orange thighs covered in festive green fishnets flexing.

I didn't let up. 

I accelerated my body and swung the stool again, aiming directly for Comet's smug, festive face.

I disconnected from my gun unit and released the bar stool a split second before the chair met her face. My Backend consciousness snapped back into my human body, leaving the Emperor’s body as an empty shell. An inanimate object. Physics in motion. 

On Sage's monitors, the heavy barstool completed its arc, catching Comet in the front of her chest.

She went airborne with a strangled yelp, arms flailing, fluffy orange and black tail fluttering in the air.

CRASH.

The Herald landed spine-first on the pool table, scattering balls in every direction. Her body bounced once, twice, the green felt dimpling under the impact. The cue ball ricocheted off three bumpers. The eight ball rolled lazily toward the corner.

Plunk.

"Corner pocket," Sage commented. "Eleven outta ten for the pantsu display.”

Comet groaned on the green felt, candy-cane skirt hiked up past her thighs, revealing the full length of her prad legs wrapped in emerald fishnets. Her sweater had ridden up more, exposing a stripe of toned, cream-colored belly fur that heaved with each labored breath.Felt antlers sat crookedly on the disheveled red-black mane. 

She looked like a Christmas decoration that had been put through a blender. The nutcracker was still attached to her, chewing on her thumb.

"Steve!" I barked. "Distract her more with the toy!”

“Nutcracker! Bite her face!” Steve ordered.

The wooden toy soldier leapt off Comet’s thumb heading for her face.

"GYAAAH!" Comet shrieked, clawing at the wooden soldier gnawing on her ear. "GET OFF! OFF ME!"

Sarah bravely vaulted onto the pool table, straddling Comet's midsection as the Nutcracker distracted the prad with bites.

THWACK.

The Ambrosia bottle connected with Comet's temple.

"Stay!"

THWACK.

"Down!"

THWACK.

"You!"

Comet didn't stay down for long, swatting the human girl off herself with a slap, sending her flying. I caught Sarah in the air, gently lowering her to the ground.

“Thanks,” Sarah panted, rubbing her red cheek.

“Don’t get within swatting range of her,” I said.

The Nutcracker bit down on Comet's nose.

"YEOWCH!"

“Nutcracker! Get under her outfit!” Steve directed the doll.

Comet slapped her own nose with a hand just as the Nutcracker dove under her festive sweater.

"Gah, no! Get out of there!" She cried as the wooden toy moved under her outfit like a shark-bulge.

Comet yelped and yanked her sweater upward to grab at the wooden menace.

The motion revealed her entire torso. She wasn’t wearing a bra or a shirt. Loops of shimmering red and gold festive tape wound around her chest like gift wrapping, the sticky material pressed flat against cream-colored fur. A glittering silver snowflake dangled from her belly button. The Nutcracker clamped its wooden jaws around the ornament with single-minded determination.

"MY PIERCING!" Comet shrieked, momentarily forgetting about escape. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

The Nutcracker bit down harder. The snowflake cracked.

Comet clawed at the wooden soldier attacking her belly jewelry, struggling to pry it off.

I accelerated once again, looking around.

The jukebox.

I crossed the room in two strides. The vintage Wurlitzer stood six feet tall. It was several hundred pounds of speakers, metal plating and vinyl records.

I grabbed it with both hands, the metal groaning.

I rapidly carried it over Comet's thrashing form, positioned it above her chest and face, and then let go, once against disconnecting myself from the gun unit.

Mass obeyed gravity.

WHAM!

The jukebox landed squarely across Comet's chest, crushing her arms. The pool table groaned. Comet's shriek cut off into a muffled wheeze as three hundred pounds of American musical history pinned her flat.

"MMMPHHH!"

Her legs kicked wildly. Her arms flailed beneath the music machine, letting go of the toy’s mouth. The Nutcracker bit harder on the snowflake piercing and it detonated into crystalline shards. 

I slipped back into the gun unit.

Comet's claws found purchase on the jukebox. Her muscles bunched.

She heaved.

The jukebox lifted. Two inches. Four inches. Her face emerged, gasping, snarling.

"You think a music box can stop—"

I was already moving, spotting a brass footrail along the bar counter base. Heavy gauge. Industrial mounting. I grabbed and pulled.

SCREEEEEECH.

Six feet of solid brass ripped free from the floor.

Comet threw the jukebox. It tumbled across the room, smashing into a booth. She surged upward on the pool table—

I swung the brass rail like a quarterstaff, caught her across the stomach, and slammed her back down. Before she could recover, I threaded the rail over her stomach and slid under the pool table, bending the rail underneath and around the table.

Metal screamed as I cinched the improvised restraint tight, locking her torso flat against the felt.

Comet thrashed. The brass held. The pool table's legs scraped against floorboards.

"CAN'T... MOVE..."

"Dave! Fruitcake! Now!" I ordered.

Dave lunged forward with the dense magical pastry. Comet saw him coming and clamped her jaw shut.

"MMM-MMM!"

I looked around, spotting a pepper grinder on the bar. I snatched it up and snapped the entire thing open above Comet’s face, flavouring the festive wolf.

Comet’s eyes went wide as she inhaled the pepper. Her sealed lips trembled, nostrils flared dramatically. Her ears shot straight up.

"Ah..."

Her chest expanded.

"Ah..."

Her whole body tensed like a coiled spring.

"AHHHHHHHH..."

"BRACE!" I roared. “Ready the cake!”

"CHYEEEEEWWWWWW!"

The sneeze was volcanic. Her head snapped forward with whiplash force, jaw flying open.

Dave shoved the cake into her gaping mouth before her jaw could close.

"MMMMMMRRRRRRRRPH?!"

Comet's cheeks distended obscenely, packed with dense magical pastry. She was going to spit it out.

"Dave! The scarf!" I ordered.

Dave yanked the festive scarf from around his own neck and whipped it across Comet's bulging cheeks, wrapping the woolen material over her snout. Comet focused her attention on the human, swatting him away from herself and sending him flying backwards.

I accelerated.

The scarf hung in the air, loose ends drifting. Comet was snarling, attempting to spit out the cake.

I grabbed both ends. I wound the fabric twice, three times around Comet's muzzle, threading it through itself in a sailor's knot, making sure not to touch Comet. Constrictor knot. Half-hitch. Another constrictor. Figure-eight lock.

The whole sequence took a fraction of a second before I let go of the scarf and leapt away.

Comet's scrabbled at the knots, half-stripped candy-cane nails scraping uselessly against the enchanted fabric. Her eyes streamed tears, mixing with the pepper residue on her cheeks.

"NNNNNNNGH!" she screamed through the scarf-gag, voice muffled into a pathetic whine. "MMMMPH! MMMRRRRNNNGH!"

Her back arched off the pool table. 

"She's not swallowing!" Dave yelled. "How is she still not swallowing?!"

"She's stubborn," Sage observed. "She'd rather suffocate than surrender. The Saint chose her heralds well."

Comet's legs kicked wildly. The Nutcracker had resumed its assault on her claws. Comet barely seemed to notice, all her focus on NOT letting that fruitcake travel down her throat.

Her face was turning red beneath her fur. Her chest heaved. Crumbs and drool leaked from the edges of the scarf.

146: Unwrapping the Herald

"Steve!" I barked. "Gloves on, tie her tail to the table!"

Steve pulled the gifted magic gloves on. He grabbed Comet's thrashing, long, fluffy tail with both hands, yanking it toward the corner pocket.

"NNNNNN!" Comet tried to pull it back. Her spine twisted. The movement forced her to arch her back at an extreme angle.

THWACK!

The bottle of Ambrosia wielded by Sarah descended. Comet's head snapped sideways. Her struggles weakened for half a heartbeat. "MMMMMMNNNNNNNNGH!"

I tore through the pocket mesh in a single motion, assisting the cell leader. Steve pulled Comet’s tail through the hole and wrapped the fluffy appendage around the table leg. Once. Twice. Three times. 

The magic gloves he had on helped him hold onto the wiggling Herals. He wrapped the tail around itself, creating a self-tightening loop that would only get more secure if she pulled.

Comet finally seemed to register her new predicament. She tried to buck.

The tail pulled taut, yanking her hips back to the felt.

"NYYYEEEEEH?!" She cried out. She tried to roll sideways. The anchor held.

Her claws weakly scraped at the scarf on her snout. The colors of the fur on her face had gone from red to purple. Her eyes were streaming. Her chest heaved with desperate, fruitcake-blocked breaths.

I tore an entire dining couch booth from its base.

"SWALLOW the tasty cake," I commanded, looming over her and holding the massive booth overhead. "Or you WILL suffocate. Your choice. Also, I will drop this couch on you."

Comet's silver eyes met mine. I saw defiance there. Fury. Humiliation.

And finally, survival instinct.

Her throat worked. Once. Twice. A massive, visible bulge traveled down her neck like a snake swallowing an egg.

GULP.

"She ate it!" Dave cheered high-fiving Tom, "Wew! Great success!"

"Five... four... three..." Sage counted down.

Comet's movements turned syrupy and loose, like a marionette with half its strings cut. Her legs stopped kicking, settling into weak twitches. Her claws fell away from the scarf, flopping to the felt. Her head lolled sideways, pressing against the green fabric, a strand of drool escaping from beneath the gag.

I lowered the booth back down.

"Wuzzzzat," she slurred through the silk. "Whyyyy... whycome there's... there's sooooo many eyes watching meeeee…”

“Watching and judging!” Sage laughed.

"Prettyyyyy," Comet drawled. "So many foxies... in the hollow branches… seeing… mrahhh… gift-whapping... did I use enrghh ribbnnn?...”

“Definitely not enough,” Sage replied.

“Drrrrwwagon,” Comet squinted at me. “Rwarinbbbbbbooow dwagon at the roots… judging mreeeee….”

Galateya growled beside me.

“You… you won’t… win,” the festive prad drooled, flailing weakly. “You can’t… can’t beat her… she holds my soul… mrry… Saint…”

"Strip her," I ordered. 

“Mrrr,” Sage giggled into my left ear, “So assertive. Like a supervillain from a porno.”

I valiantly ignored her.

The humans descended on the pool table, grabbing fistfuls of cashmere. Comet's arms flopped weakly offering only mild resistance.

"Nuuuuu," she slurred. "M'cold... gonna be nakey… tree… dragon… and fox… eevrroneee... wathhhing mreee… uuu…”

Sarah grunted, hauling at the hemline.

Tom grabbed the antlers and pried them off.

Dave worked one sleeve free, inverting it over Comet's limp paw. Her arm flopped back, failing to stop him. He moved to the other sleeve.

"Arms up, puppy," Sarah ordered, tugging upward.

Comet's arms rose about three inches before falling back down. The fruitcake had stolen all her coordination.

They pulled in unison, the sweater inverting over her head. Comet's muzzle emerged from the neck hole, scarf still firmly in place, felt antler completely gone now. Her mane was a disaster of matted fur and static electricity.

The sweater finally came free. Steve held it up like a flag trophy, grinning at me.

Comet lay on the felt in just her candy-cane skirt, torn green fishnets, and festive wrapping. Her cream-colored chest rose and fell with slow, intoxicated breaths. The jingling green collar circled her throat.

"Collar next,” I stated.

“Nutcracker! Chew off the collar!” Steve ordered after struggling to figure out how to unlock the leather belt for a few seconds.

The toy soldier rushed up and clamped down on the leather and began chewing.

CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

"Hehehehe," Comet giggled. "Tttt… Tickles… mstaphhhh!"

CRACK.

The buckle gave way. Steve yanked the collar free.

The candy-cane skirt was pulled off by Sarah without much resistance, revealing ginger fur and candy-cane striped g-string underneath. Comet's legs twitched half-heartedly.

"Fishnets!" Tom grabbed one ankle. Sarah grabbed the other. They peeled the green stockings off like shucking corn.

"Nutcracker!" Sergey ordered. "Finish the manicure! Strip every claw!"

"And the feet!" I added. "Don't forget the toe-claws!"

“On it, Emperor!” The Astrophysicist replied.

I watched as Steve coordinated the Nutcracker once it finished demolishing the festive paint on her hands. The wooden doll attacked Comet's toe-claws with equal vigor, wooden jaws working tirelessly.

Comet giggled again, her head lolling back. "Hehehehe... full service salon... would recommend… to the other reindeer..."

Sarah yanked the G-string off her. The wolf yelped, covering her crotch with a hand and blushing furiously.

She yelped even louder as the humans peeled the festive tape off her, leaving her completely naked. Comet covered her chest with one hand.

“Uhm? What do we do with these?” Sarah asked, holding up the harvested, festive clothes.

“Got a null-bag or something?” I turned to Wattica.

“Uhhh yeahhh,” the Wendigo Commander responded, drawing her eyes away from the sight of Comet splayed on the pool table. She snapped her fingers and a prad bear approached from the crowd bearing a small gray metal box. The humans stuffed Comet’s clothes into the box. 

"I have to admit, Emperor," Wattica added. "That was the single most ridiculous takedown I have ever witnessed in my years of military service. Condiments and See-Mass presents as weapons! Ha! Didn’t think that mundane, level-less humans could take on a dungeon Sentinel, yet here we are."

"We aim to entertain." I commented dryly. 

The Wendigo winked at me.

“Think the other Commanders will cooperate as much as you if the Princess and I offer them employment?” I asked her.

“Mmmm… maybe,” Wattica mused. “Especially, if you offer it… in an impressive manner. I am an entrepreneur. A privateer who can see where the winds are blowing. Like… mmm… The cheerful human with the hook hand I was watching on your primitive two-dee picture-box earlier."

She gestured a sharp claw toward the television mounted above the bar which was currently playing Peter Pan. I chortled mentally. Of course the Wendigo would associate herself with the villain.

"He has style," Wattica said with a pitch of approval. "A loyal crew and… he hates ticking clocks, giant crocks and human children. I relate to him on a spiritual level. Plus, with the Slayer's Sword avatar turned into lunar confetti, the central debt ledger is now vaporized. As my ranking isn’t high enough to lease a warship like the others higher up, so now my commission debt is… zero."

"So you are a free agent," I said.

"A pirate open to offers," she corrected with a toothy grin, "Steaks and fear are an excellent starting package, Emperor, do not get me wrong. However, a girl has needs. Maintenance costs. Hexasuit polish. Ammunition. I expect a competitive hourly rate in O-Bux, half of it transferred to an offplanet Omnithornian account."

"Sure," I agreed. "This can be organized… after we deal with the festive menace."

I definitely didn't have access to any funds or O-bux, but that would be a problem for the future me to sort out.

"Excellent. Then we are in business." Wattica turned to the cheetah. "Sevviya. Herald threat assessment?"

The Scrutimancer cautiously approached the pool table. She inhaled deeply near Comet's neck, then moved down to sniff her paws.

"She smells like a wet, scared dog," Sevviya wrinkled her nose in disgust. "And fruitcake. The cinnamon stench and the festive chorus is gone. No dungeon resonance. Just a drunk, naked, very embarrassed prad."

"Good," I said.

I reached down, accelerated myself and unraveled the scarf gag.

Comet took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping drool from her maw. She looked up at me blearily, struggling to focus on my person.

"You... youuuu won’t get away with this, human-tree," she slurred, "Saint Nikky will... put coal in your… somewhere…"

"Doubtful," I said. "Here. Put these on."

I dug into my leather side bag and tossed the bundle at her face.

Comet fumbled with the fabric. She struggled into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. 

On the front of the black shirt, a cartoon fox was making a dumb face. The bold, white text above and below the graphic read: “NO THOUGHTS, HEAD EMPTY”.

The shorts were black too with the words "TOUCH TAIL" printed in bold, white letters across the butt, a fox eye visible in the dot above the i.

Comet looked down at her chest. A low whine escaped her throat. "More eyes… of the fox?" she asked.

I didn’t answer her, slipping a Sage-containing friendship bracelet onto her wrist from my collection.

"Now, to our new Security detail..." I dug into my bag and handed an entire pile of outfits and friendship bracelets to Wattica.

"What’s this for?" Wattica asked, eyeing the clothes suspiciously.

"Company branding," I said. “Courtesy of my Archmage.”

“Aight.” The Wendigo Commander unfurled the black fabric.

It featured a neon green graphic of a fox. The text read: “EXTRATERRESTRIAL EMOTIONAL SUPPORT FOX”.

Wattica stared at the shirt. Then she smirked at the TV screen where Captain Hook was yelling at Smee. She looked back at the shirt.

"Acceptable," she decided, pulling it over her hexasuit with a shrug.

I handed another shirt to the Scrut. The cheetah accepted the garment with a grunt.

Her shirt had a pink fox on it. It simply said: FURRY TRASH.

"I do not get it," she grumbled.

"It means you are elite," I lied. Sage chortled beside me.

I distributed the rest. The shirts featured more stylized foxes and meme tags such as: 

IF I FITS, I SITS.

PRESS ‘F’ TO DOUBT

TAX EVASION EXPERT

SCREAMING IS A VALID STRATEGY!

Within a few minutes, the Frontenachii division looked like a group of convention-goers who had raided the discount bin at a meme kiosk. The humans led by Steve accepted and pulled on the shirts with amused looks.

"My... my cheer," Comet exhaled, looking marginally less magic-cake-high, "you took my cheer."

"We disarmed you," I corrected.

She looked up at me. Then at the humans and Frontenachii in fox-themed shirts.

"I… I am... empty,” she let out.

"You are free," I insisted.

"I am useless!" she wailed. "I can't hear the Saint! I can't hear the Sleigh! I'm… I’m a nobody with nothing left! Please! Give me back my purpose!”

I sighed.

Comet looked at me, shivering. "What are you going to do? Execute me? Turn me into wall art like the Frontenachii?"

Wattica snorted. "You would make a nice rug, prad."

“For now, I’d like to ask you some questions,” I said.

“I cannot betray my Saint’s secrets,” Comet shook her mane.

"Can you read her thoughts now?" I asked the Wendigo.

"Loud and clear," Wattica answered with a cruel smile. "Her mental defenses were tied to the clothes. She is wide open. If she lies, I will know. If she omits a detail, I will know."

"Excellent," I said. "Now. A test question. Do you actually like Sergey?"

Comet froze. She glanced at the astrophysicist now wearing the “WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?” shirt.

"I..." she started and then fell silent.

"She does indeed like the human," Wattica revealed.

Comet’s shoulders slumped. "Yes. He is... refreshing, nice. He really doesn't want to kill things. He likes stars. He is soft. He reminds me of... before."

"She's telling the truth," Wattica confirmed, looking mildly disgusted. "She thinks he is 'precious.'"

"Hey, I'll take it," Sergey interjected, wiping his glasses with a blue microfiber cloth from his pocket.

"Good," I said, freeing Comet from the metal bar. "Everyone back to the booth. Comet, since you think he's so precious, you get to sit... On his lap."

Comet blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Sit on his lap. Sergey, your job is to wrap your arms around her. Hold her. Pet her fur if you want. Make her feel safe."

"Is this... some kind of trap?" Comet asked, eyeing me warily as she cautiously got off the pool table, staring nervously at the Frontenachii surrounding us as we relocated back to the booth.

147: The Bridge Keeper

"Physical contact releases oxytocin,” I explained. “It promotes bonding. Also, it’ll be harder for you to flee if you're tangled up in a nerd.”

Comet hesitated, exhaled, then slid back into the booth. She lowered herself onto Sergey’s lap once again, this time looking quite despondent. The astrophysicist stiffened at first, then awkwardly wrapped his arms around her waist.

“You’re not abandoned, not alone on this planet,” I said as I sat down across from Comet. “You can have a family here, be free of your endless mission of murdering planets.”

Comet’s eyes filled with sparks of tears. Sergey hesitated, then reached up and began to scratch gently behind her fluffy, orange ear.

Comet let out an involuntary chuff of air. Her leg twitched. 

"Comfortable?" I asked.

"Adequate," Comet grumbled, leaning back against Sergey with a soft exhale.

"Right. To business," I said. "Where are the magic Seeds, Comet? Do you have them on you? Are they inside the sweater's pockets or something?"

Comet opened her mouth to answer. It was quite obvious from her expression that she wanted to. She was tired, beaten, and I had shown her my power.

“They are—” she began and then fell silent, as if a vice clamped around her throat.

“Denied,” Sage commented. “She needs to ferment in our Linear Aether for a week or two for her pact to come apart, I reckon.”

"I... c-can't..." Comet gagged, clutching her throat. "It… it hurts… The pact... it won't... let me..."

"She's not lying," Wattica noted, "If she forces the words, her heart will rupture. She cannot even think about it.”

"Fine," I sighed. "Stop. Breathe."

Comet gasped, the invisible noose loosening. She slumped against Sergey, trembling. Sergey hugged her soothingly, muttering "it's okay, you're okay."

"We'll come at this sideways," I decided. "If you can't talk about the weapons, let's talk about the wielder. Talk about yourself. Who were you, Comet? Before you were a Herald. Before the bells. What was your real name?"

Comet stared at the table for a solid minute as the astrophysicist gave her gentle pets.

"I was..." She swallowed. "I was Solara."

"Solara," I repeated, "and where did Solara live?"

"Uggaron. Gardafell," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut. "I was a Wayfinder. My family tended the Great Bridge that led to the Gardafell Kingdom for generations."

"Tell me about Gardafell," I urged on.

"Uhrmmm," Comet let out a deep sigh. Her voice grew distant, her gaze unfocusing. "My childhood there was nice. Magic was... plentiful and the days were sunny. We didn't… didn’t know that we were all living a lie. We thought the Great Sun would always shine, that the adventurers would always cross from the bridge to the mountain dungeons, to always pay my family a toll of seven coppers. One autumn, when I turned seventeen the sun… darkened. Then the seasons stopped turning. The leaves fell, but new ones never grew. The Seers called it the Gray Echo… The Breath of Entropy."

She shivered.

"Magic started to die. Runes stopped working right. Hexagrams failed. The people... It was like everyone stopped moving forward. Many became obsessed with the past, lamented over it, and prayed to the First god-King for the return of sunshine. As the winter went on and on, many wished for the 'Golden Age' when the Sun was bright and the magic was more functional…"

"And then?” I asked as she fell silent.

"One of the great Archmages discovered the rune of Chronomancy,” Comet let out. “He… he claimed it could send anyone back in time to the Golden Age. To live in the sunlight again. To bring back the fire. It was a lie. A trap. False hope sold for gold to a generation of desperate people."

"Time travel is usually messy," Wattica noted from beside me.

"It wasn't genuine time travel… It was a cage," Comet whispered. "When you stepped back into the past the people there weren't real and… your body stayed in the present. It became a Husk. An empty shell that just stood there, breathing, staring at nothing, starving to death unless someone fed and took care of it. But your mind... your mind went to the Liminal past."

She shuddered violently, claws digging into the denim of Sergey's jeans, making him wince.

"It looked perfect at first. You saw the Golden Age. You felt the sun. But it was just a memory loop. A hollow dimension. There was no future there. And the longer you stayed, the more your soul decayed, the more magic you wasted. And then the Conceptoids… infested the false past dreams."

"Conceptoids?" I asked.

"Hungry things," she replied. "Non-people. Fucked up holes in reality. Entropic life, sort of like Astral Phantoms. They… hunted the minds trapped in the false past. They eat your memories until you forget who you are, until you become just another hollow shadow wandering the gray. I almost got eaten by one myself… and swore to never dive back into the past again, no matter what."

"And your people... did this willingly?" I asked.

"They were terrified!" Comet declared. "The present was dying! The crops were failing! They thought if they went back enough, they could stay in the past forever. Or at least escape the end. Dream of something better… My village... half of them became Husks. Just standing in the fields, drooling, while their souls were being eaten alive in a false timeline."

"And you?"

"I was a Wayfinder, one of the bridge Keepers," she said, fiery pride warring with the sadness. "I had a strong soul. A bright Spark. I tried to heal the Husks." Her voice broke. "Kaerlen... he was the High Warden. My betrothed. I loved him. He swore to protect Gardafell. He swore to protect me!"

Wattica snorted. "I see where this is going."

"A Voicast came for the capital," Comet continued, ignoring the Wendigo. "The King became a Husk, bloomed with the gray, lost his mind. Panic set in. Kaerlen... came to me one morning. He said the Mages… found a solution. A way to fix things."

"What kind?" I asked.

"A ritual of sacrifice," Comet whispered. "A pure Spark. To jumpstart the heart of the world." She looked up at me, her eyes wet. "He told me I was the chosen one. That my soul was the only one bright enough to light the way. He led me to the Great Bridge. It spanned the Eldercoss river, a canyon of jagged rocks and white dust. The whole village was there… ones that weren’t husks anyway. My parents. My friends. They were all cheering."

"They cheered for your death," Wattica noted.

"I thought we were doing a ritual together, “ Comet sighed. “I stood on the edge, raising my staff. I looked at Kaerlen, waiting for him to join me. To hold my hand."

The Mained Wolf squeezed her eyes shut against the memory.

"He didn't take my hand. He looked me in the eye... and he said, 'For the Kingdom. For the Sun.' And then he shoved me."

"He betrayed you," Sergey whispered.

"There was no spell," she choked out. "No hexagrams. No mystic void. I fell sixty feet. I hit the rocks in the dry riverbed… I didn't get to die quickly. My spine broke. I couldn't feel my body. I lay there in the dust, bleeding out, looking up at the bridge. I could see Kaerlen peering over the edge. I saw my parents. They were watching. Waiting."

"Waiting for magic to kick back on?" I asked.

"For the Sun to reignite," Comet spat. "They thought my death would trigger a miracle. Nothing happened, obviously. The sky stayed gray. The wind stayed cold. I watched Kaerlen frown as he realized he'd murdered me for nothing. He told them all that the sacrifice would take time."

"You were unlucky enough to be born on a doomed world," Wattica muttered. “One that we failed to reach in time, I suppose.”

"I lay there for hours," Comet said. "The cold creeping in. The Gray Rot started to eat my body. I was all alone. Betrayed by everyone I ever loved. I died in the dirt… cursing all of them."

"And then?" Sergey asked.

"Then the bells rang," she said. "The Sleigh shattered the gray sky. Saint Nikky descended." Comet’s fingers dug into Sergey’s hand. "She… She healed my broken body. And she told me the truth."

"Which was?" I prompted her on.

"That Uggaron wasn't a real world," Comet said. "That Gardafell wasn’t a real kingdom. It was a 'Narrative'... a magic story created by… a System Wizard. A game left running for too long. The User… the First King and Adventurer we prayed to so often for bountiful harvests… he died before I was even born. She told me that we were all NPCs. Constructs bound to a script that had run out of pages…”

“Saint Nikky…” Comet rubbed her face. “She… told me that my fiancee didn't betray me because he was evil. He betrayed me because the world was broken, and he was simply a mechanism trying to fix a glitch in the failing code. He was an NPC following a script."

"She offered you a way out?" I guessed. “Vengeance?”

"She saved me," Comet said, "We set the first… Seed into the riverbed where my blood had soaked the ground."

I nodded.

"It bloomed. The Great Tree erupted from my death site, reached up across the chasm with her emerald branches. She consumed the bridge… the village… consumed the Husks… She freed everyone from the misery of the slow, terrible end. She gifted them… peace…”

I stared at the Herald.

"Kaerlen tried to run," Comet said, a dark satisfaction curling her lip. "The roots got him too. I watched as the pine needles pierced his armor. I watched him turn into wood and sap. He became a decoration. An ornament hanging from the branches of the silent world that killed me."

"And you call that justice?" I asked.

"I call it mercy!" she hissed. "MERCY! Saint Nikky showed me that in the Workshop, there is no rot. No false hope. We harvest the souls bound to NPC bodies! We liberate them from the doomed narratives. We funnel them into the Sleigh. We give them a new name. A new purpose."

"Which is what?" I asked.

"Making toys!"

I mentally pictured a merry Santa’s workshop inside of the sleigh warship. "Do they get paid?"

"No."

"You do realise that sounds like slave labor," I observed dryly.

"It's better than being a Husk!" Comet cried, desperate to make me understand. "Better than dying in a ditch while your fiancee watches! Better than being a prop in a dead man's game!"

She glared at me, defensive and broken. "You judge me, human. You call me a monster. But I am a savior! I spare them the slow rot. I spare them the betrayal. I give them all a silent, festive end! I rewrite their terrible ending!”

I remained silent for a long moment, letting her justification hang in the air. I looked at Wattica, then at Sergey.

"So," I mused. "You think being a Kobold in a sweatshop, building toys, is… freedom?”

"It is… purpose," Comet insisted. "We are a charity! The toys made in our Workshop are gated to the goodly children of Omnithornia!"

"Is it?" I asked. "Or is it just another script? It doesn't sound like Saint Nikky is freeing anyone, Solara. She seems like the new User. She picked you up, dusted you off, and coded you to be a reindeer instead of a Wayfinder."

"No..." Comet shook her head violently. "No, she loves us! She rewards us!"

"She bound you with a Blood Contract just like the Frontenachii," I pointed out. "And she sent you to my Earth, to murder billions of innocent people. You traded a negligent god for an abusive one."

"It's not abuse!" Comet cried. "It's... it's..."

"It's a cycle," I stated firmly. "You're simply passing the pain down the line. You're turning other people's homes into graveyards because you're terrified of being alone."

"What else is there?" Comet asked. "The narrative set by the System Wizards runs out. The Rot… Entropy comes for every world. Your Earth can't escape its inevitable end either. Every world dies slowly and painfully. The Workshop offers stability, work, purpose, salvation! Why won't you understand?! I'm not a monster, I help lost souls find a new home!”