Chapter 13 Part 4

"What do you mean we can't?" Gerti says with as much alarm as they could.

Try Reading Between The Lines, Pest. Phrothices growls, disappearing from their view directly behind them. His torn smile gets wider as he looms over them.

Francis Looks directly at them, no fear visible on him. "He's toying with us." 

How Boring. At Least The Little Insect Is Showing Some Fear, Even Though You're CLEARLY Horrified. A low rumble-like laugh reverberates in their throat. She Interests Me. Is She A Sentient Dungeon Core Perhaps?

 "You mean to say they all aren't like her?" 

Fraid Not. With a strike faster than they could perceive, Phrothices strikes Gerti, The Dungeon Core in the midsection. They keel over throwing up a rainbow liquid. Their form corrupts as they transform into a shiny, smooth purple orb. Francis looks down at it, paralysed from shock. Phrothices steadily pinches the orb with his clawed hand. How Easy It Would Be. To Kill Three Birds With A Single Strike I Could Destroy This Pest, You, And That Dungeon. All By Cracking This Core. Phrothices tilts their head as a fang bearing grin causes their torn up mouth to bleed even more, dripping onto the floor. 

"Honestly, go ahead." 

Hoh? Phrothices' slitted eyes bore into the DM with a sick fascination. You Surprise Me. Now Why Would That Be? They toss the Core into the air, flicking it with their thumb. It flies far higher than they expect. A dejected grunt escapes their lips. It's A Pest Even When It's Inactive. 

They look up at the core with scorn. The expression of hate towards it cuts through the air making an aura of fog swirl around them. "Since I'm probably dead either way. Would you care to humour me?"

After a short contemplation, Phrothices' neck twists round as if disjointed from the rest of their body, turning to stare directly at Dime's surveillance spell. They hook their finger in a beckoning motion towards someone. Get Here, Now. Their voice comes through imposing, every syllable breathes their aura all over the crater and past their spectators.

It takes but a moment before a grey blur grinds to a halt in front of Phrothices, knees dragging along the ashen ground as if forced. "You call for me, Your Majesty?" Beerwolf sputters. He prostrated before them, ass to heel, head against the ground. His entire body shivers when the beast before him growls.

You Fear Me. The Dungeon Core finally makes its way back down as Phrothices catches it in their palm. I Do Not Wish It To Be So. You Belong To Him After All. Or Me I Suppose.

"I am truly regretful for my pitiful sight, Your Majesty. If you wish, I would end my life here." Beerwolf's prostration stiffens as his fur stands on end in response to Phrothices furious response.

This Is Not The Man Whose Hands Once Held My Life. Just A Shell. To Be Broken So Easily From An Interrogation. The Battle Maids Would Kill You Before I Did, Friend.

Beerwolf flinches at the word, looking up at the one whome holds his soul. "It's not from that, Majesty."

Then Please, Continue. They direct. Tilting their head slightly with a soothing smile. The ripped flesh at the corners of their mouth sew themselves closed as best as they could, concealing the jagged rows of razor teeth behind a small scar. Does This Help?

Beerwolf raises himself to a seated position, nodding towards the tower of muscle and evil. "I would only say this. I do hope you take this into consideration." They bow their head once more.

Speak Your Mind. A dark mist about the size of a full grown person manifests itself as Phrothices sits themselves upon it. They cross a leg over the other.

(Narrator) GAY! Cough Excuse me. That just exploded out of me.

"I ask that you do not punish this individual." Beerwolf requests gesturing to Fransis with both hands.

Phrothices sits straight in their chair at the request, their foot making an accidental thud with the ground. You Choose To Defend Them? Why?

Beerwolf points to the Dungeon Core Still within their grasp. "It is that one who ordered and controlled the 'Interrogator'. Francis encouraged me to steel my resolve. Gave me as much as he could, even if it was only water."

And What Of Your Garb?

"Consumed by the orb. It was how they summoned him." Beerwolf answers.

I See. I'm Guessing Dime Vanished with it too. Phrothices growls as he spectates the sphere. The Audacity. They tap the orb twice in quick succession. A paper thin, transparent board projects forth from it.

Force Override A second panel appears with a sleuth of text in the observer's language.

Fransis watches with surprise. "Is that computer code?" He mutters.

Phrothices' eyes dart to him with curiosity. Another Dungeon Master That's Been Reincarnated From Another World. That Cannot Be A Coincidence.

Francis looks up at them with confusion and worry. "You know of my world?"

Yes, I Have Encountered A Few Of Your Kind At This Point. People Given Mysterious And Sudden Power, Coming From A World They Call EARTH. Stupid Name If You Ask Me. They stop examining the panels to evaluate Fransis. A slight smirk escapes them.

Francis chuckles nervously. "D-Do I have something on my face?"

No…But I Feel Like You Could Do More With This Than I Could. Phrothices hold the Dungeon Core up between two fingers. So Since I'm In Your Debt, I Feel I Should Reward You In Some Way. 

Phrothices changes their expression to one serious and commanding, one of a King addressing one of their subjects. It Would Be Inappropriate For I To Speak Upon This Matter. However It Is Rather Difficult For Us To Change Back Into Him. Phrothices ponders his options for how to alleviate their dilemma. They close their eyes. Give Me A Moment. Their blood red aura vanishes quickly as it is replaced with a less imposing soft purple. The chair shifts to represent a regal purple throne. Their eyes open, showing Christopher's delicate light-brown eyes.

Christopher coughs into a hand not his own, sort of not his. His smooth honeyed voice comes through without the duplicate voice or hoarse texture. "Apologies. Let's get straight to business." His eyes veer over to his right as a portal opens beside him and Jasyn and Jill walk through it. The child Beerwolf, so valiantly protected, clings desperately to the back of Jills legs. She can't help but to stare curiously at Christopher. "By Loreafanian law enough members of Royalty or Nobility are present to constitute this request in an official manner."

Jasyn speaks as the King's aid in replacement of Beerwolf who established the subject of this court meeting. "As everyone present already understands, His Majesty is not appearing as his usual self. However This country's governing Court Mage, Law Keeper, and Artificial Lifeform Dime, who presides over, and monitors The Dimensional Kingdom of Loreafan, has affirmed that he is currently present within Phrothices at this time."

(Narrator) It's a little confusing but basically Christopher, and the person who kinda inhabits his body fuse together both physically and mentally. Shmooshed together they make Phrothices. That's why it is generally accepted to treat them as a separate entity.

"This session of the Royal Court will of course be documented by Dime, as the subject requested official consideration from His Majesty. The flow of Mana Leakage will also be monitored as a capacity to deter falsehoods or misdirects." Jasyn unveils his Mythril blade, presenting it forward as he continues. "All possessions that have the ability to do harm shall now be confiscated from all parties including His Majesty until this matter has been resolved." Jasyn looks at Christopher like a pup who just smashed a family heirloom. A blush forms behind his helm and he snaps his head away in embarrassment. 

He coughs as it vanishes along with its sheathe. Jill presents her blade in front of the court, careful not to shove the child with it. which too was taken away. Christopher was next, pulling out a staff and a wand which both look like toothpicks in his hand. He moves his hand beyond the armrest of his translucent throne and lets go. They collect before they could drop very far.

Surprisingly, Francis sighs. "I don't know if this clarifies." He reaches for the adornment over his eyes and presents them for collection with an open palm.

"How are glasses a weapon?" Jill blurts.

Christopher leans, placing his knuckle under his chin. "We shall collect them, but before we begin. Do you care to elaborate?" 

"It gives the ability to measure and identify the magic of anyone I look at. It's how I knew I couldn't fight you. It only seems to work for me though."

"I've never heard of a magical item that could do such a thing. We have spells to measure mana and talents but never the spells they're using at a glance. A powerful weapon indeed. Especially if you need to identify someone." Christopher smirks, careful not to smile too wide in his unusual state. The child shies away deeper into Jill's leg hearing Christophers statement. Jill takes notice of it and attends to the child as the meeting continues.

"Let me get straight to the point. I would like to make you an offer." Christopher says plainly. Francis breaks out into a cold sweat, wondering if he even has a choice to decline I bet. "In exchange for deactivating this core, along with providing you with your freedom from it. I would like for you to become my left hand, just as Beerwolf is my right." 

Francis hesitates before attempting to respond. Christopher holds up a hand as he continues. "Allow me to clarify before you accept or decline my proposal. In accepting, I would need to transfer your soul into a new vessel. It could mean needing to kill you to accomplish that. Little is known about the ties between DC's and their DM's. Even if that is successful, to obtain the same status as Beerwolf entails the same sacrifices." 

Francis looks at Beerwolf confused for a moment before looking back at Christopher. "It means being under oath, branded by a Slave Crest. Breaking the contract means death for those branded."