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A Gamer's Guide 368
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 12:00:14 +0000 UTCMy feet touch ground, real ground, and I watch in mild curiosity as Garath’s body, still bowing, his chin pressed into the dirt and mud, splits perfectly in half. Two pairs of folded wings emerge from the slit, pure white, shimmering like woven dreams in the pale moonlight. And once they’ve emerged fully, they fold out, massive and bright, covering up the black sky with ease. The skin begins to turn empty in some parts, and I can’t tell whether the whole process reminds me more of a lizard shedding its skin or a bug emerging from its pupa.
Whichever it is, the wings soon begin rising, higher and higher, as Garath’s back begins pushing itself out, trembling with exertion. I’m not sure how or why, but I’m not standing at his chest anymore, but rather at his head. Or what used to be his head, I suppose. Honestly, I’m not sure what’s happening. It seems to be going well, though, so I’m not going to complain.
A pair of massive arms pop out of the slit, feathered and clawed but still as white as the moons above. The arms quickly grab a hold of the sides of the slit, pulling the rest of him further out, allowing his chest and neck to appear. The neck struggles for a bit, wiggling and writing to fully escape, only for the head to emerge with a pronounced pop!
There he is!
With his neck and head so gigantic, my first impression is that he looks a bit like an all-white lighthouse, especially since his eyes and head are turning around, slowly, scanning his surroundings with silent impunity. I chuckle. He has to be so damn confused right now. Yeah, and now he’s looking down at his hands. His arms. Because he has arms. Four wings, and arms. Even though dragons are supposed to have a face fundamentally incapable of expressing emotions in a way we skinnies are supposed to understand, I can tell at a glance that he is utterly flabbergasted right now.
Nose wrinkling up, he begins searching again, looking for…
Oh!
I take a couple steps back to get away from the shadow of his shed, waving my arms as big as I can. “Yoo-hoo!” I yell up at him. “Down here, Garrie!”
His bright pink eyes finally home in on me, causing his lips to curl up in an expression of animalistic delight. “There you are,” he breathes deeply, letting his upper body fall down atop his shed. Apparently, he’s still really heavy, because this movement caused the earth to shake just a bit, the gust of air even making me stumble back a little—right into Rice’s arms.
“Oh, hey,” I say, beaming up at her. “I did it!”
She looks down at me in abject horror.
Well, that’s a bit weird. Since she isn’t responding, I leap out of her arms and turn around to face her, not paying too much attention to Garath’s attempts to fully remove himself from his shed. Or pupa? Ah, who knows. Nicely enough, Rice is at the forefront of everyone else, who are also looking at me in a fairly odd fashion. This is kind of like… Hang on, I have to think up a good analogy. This is… like… Oh, I got it! They’re looking at me like I just summoned cthulhu at the dinner table. Yeah, that’s it! Which is kind of rude, since it likens Garath to cthulhu, with whom he shares very little.
I jerk a thumb at Garath, smiling to everyone. “See? I knew we could solve this without violence!” Not to mention that Simon is informing me that I happened to absorb almost §0,003 divinity from doing it, which is an insane amount, since §0,01 is enough to crown someone a god.
Another minor earthquake and I glance back to find Garath attempting with great difficulty to pull his tail from his shed. “You can do it!” I shout at him. “Don’t give up!”
After some more heaving and grunting, Garath finally pulls out his tail, which whips the air with such force that an audible crack! echoes across the woods. With that, he has no trouble stepping fully out of his shed, emerging like a pure-white moth into the blackness of the night. Frankly, he looks angelic, which is sensible, since he apparently is one.
<Principality [Nameless]>
Not sure why he’s nameless, though. I guess it’s because he’s no longer himself, but rather in my service or something?
…Actually, how the hell does that work? Aren’t angels born into angelhood? How does a dragon become an angel? This makes no sense. Hmm. Then again, we did both hope that he would become mine, so…
I rub my chin.
…Hm? I can—?
I look down at my hand. Whoa, it’s normal again! Normal as in non-translucent, though. It’s still as white as paper, and my hair, too. Now I’ll at least be able to put on proper clothes, I suppose. And I’m not talking like some kind of deity anymore. Excellent! All things considered, this turned out way better than I would have dared to hope for.
Haha, get it? Hope? Because, I’m, you know?
The earth shakes as Garath steps out of the husk of his former self. I think he’s about the same size, but the arms actually add a bit of height to him, since the wings otherwise kept him a bit stooped. Head held high, he only has to take two steps to come in range for a civil conversation.
I smile up at him as he lowers his head, a deep, animal rumble emerging from his throat as he descends to our eye-level. From here, I can hear the beating of his heart. As he breathes, hot, humid gusts of wind blow across us, powerful enough to whip at our hair and make some squint. His massive slitted eyes move slowly across the group of onlookers, from one to the other, almost as if he’s annotating each one. Actually, no, I know that he’s doing that. Right now, he’s connecting the people he’s looking at with the people he saw in my heart and mind, naming them each as he goes.
Finally, his eyes fall on Lett. “You,” he says, his voice a rumbling, deep baritone. Glyph holds Lett tighter, but I can tell that Lett isn’t scared. Far from it. Garath can tell as well. That is why he doesn’t hesitate to raise his arm, bringing his massive, car-sized hand to the both of them. He extends one finger, and points, with the very tip of his barrel-sized claw, at Lett’s midsection. “In there, you have a book. I did not write it, nor did I steal away a scholar to write it for me.” His eyes gleam with anxious curiosity. “When the smoke has cleared, will you please retell its contents to me? There is something I need to know.”
Clutching Lett like a babe to her chest, Glyph takes a step back, clearly ready to run for it if Garath were to make even the slightest movement. He doesn’t, though.
I’m urged to speak up for him, but have no need to, as Lett smiles towards Garath, and reaches out to touch his outstretched claw. “I would be glad to. The life you have led… I would be honored to hear it retold by the one who experienced it.”
Garath huffs. “I see. Very well. Blood for blood; I shan’t refuse this exchange.”
Returning his hand and claw to his side, Garath leans out, taking a seat a bit off to the side like a particularly polite golden retriever. Though, of course, his face is thoroughly unfitting to the simile.
Turning away from him, I take a look at everyone else. The atmosphere is weirdly tense, even though we solved everything handedly. Sure, a lot of people have died, but not as many as there could have been. Yes, all things considered, this was quite the success! Everything turned out a-okay. Yippie!
<You have gained a new follower.>
…Huh?
<You have gained a new follower.>
<You have gained a new follower.>
<You have gained a new follower.>
<You have gained a new follower.>
<...>
What the heck…? Why is—
“A miracle,” someone says. My eyes instinctively search for whoever said it, only to find one of the many soldiers—his armour muddied and one arm broken—meeting my gaze. As I blink at him, he falls to his knees. “A miracle!” he cries again, and now, others are piping up as well.
“A miracle,” one says, kneeling.
“A miracle of hope,” adds another, soon dropping.
“Praise be to the God of Hope!”
I stare in horror as the soldiers, mere fodder, begin bowing and kowtowing, their eyes gleaming with a powerful emotion I’ve never seen before, shining like gold.
I hate it. I hate it so much. Even though this is the first time I’ve ever been looked at like this, I know I never want to see it again. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it—
<They love you.>
The voice is familiar, though hearing it in my head is not.
Garath? Is that you?
<They have witnessed the birth of a God.
Do you truly expect them to remain impartial?>
No, of course not, but this is—
<If you wish to end it, simply kill one.
One death and they will all start running.
Scampering like quicklegs.>
I don’t want to do that. Killing for this reason is unnecessary. I just need one of them to…
I turn to Sythe. He must know better. He’s Simel’s officer! He won’t be duped merely by watching me make a furball out of a skinbag, or by convincing Lett to stop being stupid. I’m not a god. I’m only a man, and this is—
His eyes widen and fill to the brim with gleaming glimmering awe, to the point of spilling over into tears of joy, and to my utter distress, he falls to his knees, then further onto his hands, to finally kiss the ground fully, now almost flat against the earth. “My God, my God, my God,” he mutters and I want to disappear again. “Oh, joyous days, oh, happy days!”
I want to retch. Bile is seeping up into my throat and I want to spit it at his stupid bald head. Where did his ridiculous hat go? Oh, it’s a hundred paces off. Good riddance.
My teeth are grinding together. “Don’t do that,” I growl at him. “Stop it. Stop grovelling. Stand up, damn it!” At my yelling, something white and spindly bursts from within the earth like a spider from a cocoon, grabbing a hold of Sythe and forcefully pulling him to his feet. I stare at the protrusions, hoping I might be hallucinating them. But, no. Three spider legs have emerged from the ground. Maybe if I dig straight down I’ll disappear forever and no one will look for me?
As suddenly as they arrived, the legs fade away, turning into white flower petals as they do. Have I mentioned that I hate my life? This is not the kind of thing that should happen to sensible, law-abiding citizens.
And now, Sythe is starting to babble about being touched by the light of hope. Yeah, okay, no, I’m going.
