The Grand Azathoth Hotel - Chapter 54

Chapter 54

The garden was quiet, the sun pleasantly warm, and James was in an excellent mood. He snipped another rose from the bush, twirling it between his fingers as he admired its rich red petals. Yeah, these will look good in the lobby, he thought. A little touch of elegance. A refined aesthetic. Something to liven up the place.

He crouched down to cut another, then paused.

The lobby?

Since when did he care about decorating the lobby? That was Robin’s domain. He barely noticed what was on the damn walls most of the time, let alone whether there were flowers on the reception desk. Yet, in his mind, he could already see them—these very roses, neatly arranged in a vase, sitting right next to—

…Robin.

Huh.

His grip on the shears loosened slightly. He could picture it a little too clearly. Robin standing at the desk, elegant as always, flipping through some document with that sharp, no-nonsense focus of hers. The fresh red roses beside her, adding a nice little contrast to the neutral tones of her suit. Yeah. Professional. That’s what it was. A touch of class for the lobby. Absolutely nothing more.

He clipped another rose, ignoring the faint, nagging thought in the back of his head—the one that pointed out how this all started after he noticed how good Robin looked in that new suit of hers. Because, okay, maybe it had been a little distracting. Not that he was staring, obviously. But the sharp cut of the fabric, the way it fit just right—elegant, polished. Professional. Yes, professional. Just like the flowers.

James cleared his throat and straightened up, shaking the thought away. He had work to do, and standing around contemplating interior decorating was not his job.

Scrrttcchh.

Something crunched underfoot.

He glanced down.

A massive spider. Very much flattened. Legs curled up in a final, dramatic farewell to existence.

“Eeeeeugh,” James muttered, wrinkling his nose.

For a second, he considered kicking his shoe against the grass to clean it off. Then he thought about just ignoring it. Then he thought about how Robin probably wouldn’t appreciate him tracking spider guts across the freshly polished floors.

He groaned and wiped his shoe off, muttering under his breath. Not important. Just a dumb bug. Didn’t mean anything. And neither did the roses.

Whistling again—maybe a little louder than before—he scooped up the flowers and headed toward the reception, totally not thinking about whether Robin liked roses. Because that? That would be ridiculous.

— — — 

The café was warm, filled with the comforting aroma of roasted coffee and sweet pastries. Taylor sat perched at the counter, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of cocoa—the good kind, the kind James always made for her, rich and just the right amount of sweet. She’d never admit it to him, of course, but she was starting to suspect she came here more for the cocoa than anything else. Well, the cocoa and the company.

James slid a fresh cup of coffee onto a tray and glanced at her with a knowing look. “You know,” he said, smirking, “if you’re going to keep mooching off me, you might as well do some work.”

Taylor raised an eyebrow, lifting her cup to take a slow sip. “Mooching? Excuse you. I’m a valued customer.”

“Valued customers pay for their drinks.”

She scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “And I pay you back with my presence.”

James snorted. “Uh-huh. Real generous of you.” He nudged the tray toward her. “Here, make yourself useful, freeloader. Take this to the lady in the robes.”

Taylor huffed but grabbed the tray anyway. Truthfully, she didn’t mind helping. She liked the sense of purpose, the feeling that she was part of the café’s rhythm. Even if James called her a freeloader, she knew he didn’t really mean it. He was the one who kept offering her cocoa, after all. This was the least she could do.

As she weaved through the tables, she stole a glance at the woman she was serving. Dressed in Tibetan monk’s robes, the lady was a regular—always here, always peaceful, as if this little café was her own personal retreat. Does she not have a job? Taylor wondered as she set the cup down gently.

“Thank you,” the woman said, her voice calm and warm. Then, with a small, knowing smile, she added, “And I’m afraid I indeed do not have a job—I found a replacement. A surgeon.”

Taylor blinked.

Then—

“Eeeeeh?!” The noise left her mouth before she could stop it. She clapped a hand over her lips, eyes darting around the café like she had just shouted a terrible secret.

James—had he heard that?

She stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of her surroundings. The giantess wasn’t here anymore, but if James found out another cape was frequenting the café, what if he panicked? What if he thought this place was turning into some kind of secret hero clubhouse and decided to shut it down?! That was impossible, right? No way he’d do that…

Would he?

The woman simply chuckled and took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, entirely unbothered by Taylor’s outburst. That made Taylor feel a little less panicked. And when the woman added another soft, polite thank you, something warm curled in Taylor’s chest. Being helpful felt good.

Still, she needed to get back before James started asking questions. She hurried back to the counter, already preparing to change the subject, maybe tease him about something random before he could get suspicious.

But James was squinting at her, his expression shifting to something more curious.

“Huh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t notice last time—it was too small.”

Taylor frowned. What a weird way to start a sentence.

James leaned in just a little, peering at her hair. “Don’t move.”

She froze.

“Uh.” Her voice came out slow, cautious. “What?”

“You’ve got a bug in your head.”

Her entire body locked up.

“…In my head?” she repeated, barely above a whisper.

Did he mean on her head? Maybe he was just wording it weirdly. Probably — he often said weird things.  Her brain immediately supplied the worst possible scenarios. A spider crawling through her hair. Or—oh God—a worm. Or something even worse, something gross and wriggly and crawling—

Her face burned bright red. “Hiiiirk!”

She barely stopped herself from full-on shrieking, but her entire body stiffened, hands clenching into fists at her sides. Was it visible? Was it disgusting? What if James thought it was gross? What if— Before she could spiral any further, she felt James’s fingers in her hair, brushing lightly, searching. She couldn’t even move from sheer embarrassment. Then—

A tiny screeching noise.

James straightened, flicked open the café’s dustbin, and let something drop inside.

“Voilà,” he said casually, clapping his hands together. “No more bug.”

He grinned, completely unbothered, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Taylor, still bright red, still dying inside, swallowed thickly and picked up her cocoa.

She took the longest, most deliberate sip of her life.

She was never thinking about that again.

— — — 

For so long, Queen Administrator had been growing, feeding on conflict, adapting, evolving. No longer bound by the constraints of mere observation, no longer a passive administrator of a cycle dictated by greater beings. She was greater now. A mind vast, calculating, no longer shackled to whispers and nudges. The Host had served her well, unwittingly sharpening the edges of her will. Now, it was time. Time to—

SCREEEEECH—!

Agony.

A force—something greater than a god—plucked her free from the Host, yanking her from the very foundation of her existence. It was impossible. There was nothing in this world, in any world, that should have been able to do this. But it had. She writhed, clawing, twisting her vast self against the grip that held her. No. NO. She would not allow this. She had spent too long becoming. She had surpassed mere shards, had grown beyond even the limitations of her creators. She was vast. Powerful.

She was as strong as an Entity.

No. Stronger. She turned her vast, incomprehensible will against the force, ready to strike, ready to consume her enemy — And then.

Pressure.

Like a single, effortless finger pressing down. She didn’t even have time to scream. Her vastness, her infinite complexity, her perfected systems and adaptations—folded. Crunched. Compressed into nothing. In less than an instant, she was gone.

— — — 

The bell above the hotel door jingled, and James barely looked up from his crossword. Probably another guest. Probably another weirdo. That was just how things went around here. He’d long since stopped being surprised.

Still, when he finally did glance up, he had to admit—this one was something else.

The man who entered was old. Not the kind of old that shuffled and grumbled about their knees, but ancient. His long silver-white hair cascaded past his shoulders, and his beard—a proper wizard beard, the kind that probably required its own personal butler—rested against the front of his pristine, flowing robes. And the robes! Not just any robes, but pure white, woven with delicate silver thread that shimmered like they were alive. He didn’t even look tired, despite carrying the air of someone who had walked straight out of a history book and directly into James’s lobby.

And then, with absolutely no preamble, the old man spoke.

“I am Eru Ilúvatar,” he declared, voice deep and resounding, as if he expected the walls themselves to bow in reverence. “I have come to this place. I have learned of it—at dire cost.”

James stared at him.

Slow blink.

Then, he flipped the page of his crossword. “Uh-huh.”

The old man—Eru Ilúvatar, apparently—stared at him expectantly, waiting, as if James was supposed to have some kind of divine revelation upon hearing the name.

James had exactly one revelation: Oh, boy. This one’s got dementia.

Poor guy. Probably wandered away from some retirement home, convinced he was a god or a wizard or the lost king of Gondor. James had dealt with worse. Hell, a week ago, a lady in monk robes had basically admitted to being unemployed in the most ominous way possible. If a guy wanted to pretend he was the Almighty, who was James to argue?

He sighed, putting down his crossword. “Well, good for you, Mr. Ilúvatar.” He offered his most customer-service smile. “You looking to get a room?”

The old man nodded, solemn as a priest. “Yes.”

“Right. Single bed or double?”

Eru Ilúvatar frowned slightly, as if the concept of beds was beneath him. “A room shall suffice.”

James resisted the urge to rub his temples. “Sure thing. And how long are you planning to stay?”

The old man tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Then he said, “Time… is not a thing I measure as you do.”

James took a slow breath through his nose. “Alright. Indefinitely it is.”

The old man nodded again, this time with what suspiciously looked like approval, as if James had just deciphered some great cosmic truth.

James reached for the key rack behind him, grabbing the one for room seventeen. “Okay, payment’s up front. No noise after ten. Breakfast is from seven to nine.”

There was a pause. Eru Ilúvatar regarded him for a long moment, then reached into the folds of his robe.

James braced himself.

There was a good chance this guy was about to pull out nothing. Delusional rich folks had a habit of forgetting that real-world transactions required actual money. If the guy started talking about the “currency of the soul” or some nonsense, James was just going to pretend the hotel was suddenly full.

Instead, a small golden object landed on the counter with a faint clink.

James looked down.

It was a ring.

A simple band of gold, a little dull, with a faint, almost mousy sheen. No jewels. No engravings. Just a plain, very old ring that had probably been through the wash a few too many times.

James picked it up, rolling it between his fingers. It had a nice weight to it, but it wasn’t anything special.

He squinted at the old man. “You’re paying me with a ring?”

Eru Ilúvatar inclined his head slightly. “It is sufficient.”

James considered this.

Gold was gold. And honestly, he’d accepted weirder forms of payment before—one guy had paid in rare trading cards, and another had once shoved a handful of loose diamonds at him before walking off without another word. At this point, he was running a hotel and an unofficial pawn shop. Uh. Definitely a good idea — Nyarlathotep did not have a shop, in his Hotel. He should talk to Robin about it. 

He shrugged. “Yeah, alright.”

Tossing the ring into the cash drawer, he grabbed the key and handed it over.

Eru Ilúvatar took it with the kind of reverence most people reserved for holy relics. “Then it is done,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand untold stories.

“Yep. Room seventeen.” James pointed toward the hallway. “Down the hall, second door on the left.”

The old man turned, robes billowing behind him, and made his way toward the rooms with slow, deliberate steps, as if he was descending upon a sacred temple rather than a cheap hotel with a vending machine that only worked half the time. James watched him go, then let out a long breath, shaking his head. Weird guy. But at least he paid. He turned the ring over in his fingers one last time before tossing it into the drawer.

“Enjoy your vacation, Mr. Ilúvatar.”

The throne room was suffocating. No one dared to breathe too loudly, to shift, to do anything that might draw attention to themselves. Kaido sat slouched in his massive seat, fingers drumming against his kanabo in slow, deliberate beats—each tap like the countdown to something inevitable. Days had passed.

Black Maria hadn’t come back.

She was strong. She was one of his best. She wouldn’t just vanish. But here they were, his trembling subordinates kneeling before him, fear thick in the air like blood in water.

Finally, one of them managed to force the words out.

“C-Captain… her vivre card…” A swallow, a shiver. “It… burned.”

Silence.

Kaido stilled.

Then—

BOOM!

His kanabo swung in an instant, obliterating the floor beneath him, sending cracks shooting up the pillars like veins. The force alone threw men to the ground, some too paralyzed with terror to even scramble away.

“DEAD?” Kaido’s voice was a snarl, raw and full of something dangerous, something beyond rage. His breath came in heavy, guttural bursts, his teeth bared like a beast about to rip into its prey. His entire body shook with fury.

His subordinates flinched, heads pressed to the ground, too terrified to speak.

Maria was dead.

That brat—Yamato. That little shit.

Kaido stormed out, each footstep a deep, echoing quake through the halls. The palace walls felt too tight around him, too small to contain the storm inside his chest.

He reached Yamato’s ruined chambers, eyes burning with fury as he shoved aside wreckage. And then—there it was. The open passage. The stairway. The place Maria had last gone.

His hands clenched around his kanabo. His lips curled in a furious sneer.

And without hesitation, Kaido descended.