Outside the windows of Ianthe’s office the sun had nearly set, turning the sky a muted orange-red pricked here and there with a growing number of stars.
The only sounds within the room were the tick, tick, tick of the ugly yet expensive clock squatting in a dark corner, and the anguished noises from the man on the couch.
There Hunter lay on his stomach, his face pressed into the cushion he’d tightly wrapped both arms around. Every once and a while he’d make a sound, which was sometimes a muffled scream, but was more often than not just a collection of incoherent whimpering.
He wasn’t in physical pain. He’d just had enough, and expressing this verbally into Ianthe’s cushion was the only thing keeping him from going outside and shouting at everybody else instead.
Surprisingly, what brought him this low wasn’t the recent tête-à-tête he had with the demon, but rather what Anemone had done to him afterwards.
This was not to say that he’d come to terms with being possessed, because he hadn’t. Even though the demon had quieted down, every time he thought about it he felt ill. It was as though he’d mistakenly taken a huge swig of bad milk, only to realize in horror that not only was he unable to spit it back out, but that it’d already grown a consciousness, taken up residence in his stomach, and dedicated itself to taking him down with it.
He knew it was in his head, but wasn’t sure how much of his mind it could access or influence. He knew it could hurt him and control him, but not to what extent, or whether or not it could affect anyone else though him. He knew it wanted him dead, but not when.
Just like that, his plan to spend the next week figuring things out was gone. Now he had to do everything he could as fast as possible or risk leaving Euphy and the other kids defenseless, and while in that panicked state of mind he’d made the mistake of going:
Hey… Maybe Anemone could help with some of this?
Figuring out who to tell about the game and how was his top priority, but the cohort he’d promised Psyche was also important. The big difference between those tasks was that the latter mostly just required a lot of paperwork, so thinking he’d offload at least one mental burden, he’d messaged Anemone to tell her what he planned to do.
He’d assumed the most this would result in was a few more meetings on his schedule, and that in the upcoming week he would, as fast as he reasonably could, work through it with his employees in a timely fashion, preferably before he got eighty-sixed by his new brain slug.
He had not expected that, upon failing to talk him out of making a cohort at all, she’d insisted they had to get started right now.
Or that she would then, ruthlessly and efficiently despite him sending her countless messages begging her not to, summon people from all sorts of university departments to his office.
On a Sunday.
A Sunday which also happened to be their last day of vacation.
A Sunday they would not get paid for, because they were all salaried.
Really, Anemone… What the fuck?
He could not for the life of him get a read on that woman.
One moment she was weeping and worrying over whether or not he was still sick, and the next she was forcing him to drag his sorry carcass at full speed across campus back to his office so that he could greet the concentrated cloud of working-class hatred she’d called down upon him.
He couldn’t even stop them from showing up, since the perpetrator was the only one among them whose contact Ianthe had bothered to save in her receiver.
As a result, rather than take some time to recover from whatever the fuck just happened to him in the library, he had to desperately pretend to be a functional human for hours in front of a group of strangers who wouldn’t piss on him if he caught fire.
He couldn’t blame them for being so upset, but at the same time neither could he defend himself. What was he supposed to say? That he was a victim too, that they’d all been ambushed by the sweet-faced little woman who remembered to buy them cakes for their birthdays?
Anemone had shown up as well, and she’d apologized and coaxed the lot of them through the mind-numbing labyrinth that was the legal application process with a gentle smile and several rounds of tea. As his employees left, coldly and reluctantly accepting his feeble thanks, she’d offered to buy them all lunch tomorrow to make up for it, which did not make up for it at all but did go a long way in making him look like a useless asshole in comparison.
Afterwards she was fine, but all he could do was sit at his desk with a haunted expression on his face as he quietly thought of all the times he’d been beaten, or shot, or stabbed, and how he would rather go through all of that again rather than endure the corporate-flavored nightmare she’d just put him through.
How was he already a terrible boss when he hadn’t even officially started his job? If he was the president, why did it feel like his secretary was the one in charge? Had she betrayed him like this out of malicious compliance, or was she genuinely trying to help him?
Even though he was wrecked by the experience, for the sake of his own survival he still tried to talk to her about never doing anything like that ever again, only to be met with so much tearful guilt and apologizing that he ended up having to comfort her.
By the time he finally managed to shoo her out of his office he was, physically and mentally, obliterated. He decided that he was done dealing with anyone or anything, and nothing could change that come hell or high water.
…
Or at least he was, until he looked at the clock and remembered that he was supposed to meet Iphis in less than an hour.
He did not usually throw tantrums. He preferred thinking up solutions to wallowing, taking action over moping, and yet nevertheless he had walked right to Ianthe’s couch, fallen onto it, and started screaming into it.
Wasn’t this all just a little unreasonable? Shouldn’t there be a limit to how much life could kick him when he was already down!?
Fuck, who was he kidding, wasn’t he himself the one to blame? He’d made the terrible choice to confront the demon, he’d panicked and asked Iphis for help afterwards, and he’d miscalculated the risk of contacting Anemone…
No, wait, there was someone else to blame, he could blame the Goddess for putting him in this position in the first place. Oh sure, She’d warned him he ‘wouldn’t like it,’ but did that really cover the colossal amount of bullshit he was currently shouldering? His daughter was in mortal peril, he’d ended up in a woman’s body, and his goddamn brain was haunted, so what exactly did that leave him to hold onto!?
Well, there was Euphy, of course, but he couldn’t even talk to her without scaring the heck out of her. And even if he could, he’d never really been sure how much of his own life he could share without burdening hers, so what could he even say? ‘Hi bubbeleh1term of endearment, like sweetie, glad to see you again, I’m back from the dead but might die again soon so don’t put the coffee on?’
This place didn’t even fucking have coffee!
Also, for that matter, magic was fun but he wanted to go home! ‘Culture shock’ couldn’t cover the shit he was going through, coming to this world felt less like visiting a new country and more like falling down a goddamned rabbit hole. That Alice kid made it through alright, but the difference between the two of them was that she was an impressionable little girl and he was a decrepit old man! He couldn’t even get used to dubstep, how the fuck was he supposed to acclimate to this crazy place and its insane goddamned people!?
His daughter was important, but surely this meeting with Iphis could wait a day, right? Maybe it wasn’t too late yet to cancel…?
Please?
But when let go of the cushion to pull out his receiver, the terrified look on Euphy’s face from earlier that day flashed through his mind, and he hesitated. The idea of putting off helping her just because he didn’t feel good, especially when he’d already failed her so many times, made him too guilty to send anything.
He just had to get through one conversation, right?
He could do it for her, couldn’t he?
Re-pocketing the receiver, he smashed his face back into the cushion and groaned.
What other option did he have? Meeting with Iphis when he was like this was probably a bad idea, but it was beginning to feel like every choice he made here was the wrong one, or maybe there just hadn’t been any good choices to begin with. He honestly couldn’t tell, as he’d spent the last two days too sick or too scared to think straight.
He’d never had a high opinion of himself, but he’d always had confidence in his ability to adapt and survive, and having that belief shaken again and again was paralyzing.
Either way, no matter how he thought about it, getting in contact with the Saint always ended up being the only workable solution to his current problem.
Ianthe had no friends and her family was entirely made up of bug-fuck crazy cultists. Furthermore, said cult family liked to send people to watch her, and while Ianthe had identified a few of those spies, she’d never been sure she’d found them all, which meant if Hunter opened his stupid mouth to the wrong person he might doom both his daughter and the country.
Unfortunately, he also didn’t entirely trust Iphis. He wanted to believe that Iphis was on the Lady’s side, but the dude scared the heck out of him, a fact further compounded by just how different he seemed from his game version. Hunter wasn’t sure yet just how much of Rabbit Heart’s information could be counted on, especially considering how little attention he’d paid to the story, and Euphy’s safety wasn’t something he was willing to gamble on.
If it were not for the fact that Iphis was the Saint’s grandson, he’d stay as far away from the guy as possible.
However, since that was the case, his only real option was to convince Iphis to ring up his holy nana on Hunter's behalf, and he…
Well, he currently had no idea how to do that. He probably should have been workshopping some kind of pitch instead of whining into a cushion, but the chimes now ringing from Ianthe’s clock and the more distant tolling from the campus bell tower told him he was out of time.
Oh God, he was going to have to talk to another person soon.
No, even worse, he was going to have to get off the couch, and he really wasn’t sure he could do it.
At this point he wasn’t sure if his fever was back or if he’d just been so fatally exhausted by everything that’d happened that he couldn’t tell the difference, but his head was throbbing and his thoughts were sluggish and incoherent.
Regardless, after this meeting was over, he was going to crawl back to the infirmary with his tail between his legs and beg Chiron to treat him again no matter how much it cost. He wasn’t sure if how he felt right now was what dying was like, but it had to be close.
A polite knock sounded from the door. Using up what little willpower remained, he unwrapped himself from his cushion and slowly peeled himself off of the couch, pausing only to rub a hand down his face and confirm that, yes, the cushion had left weird red lines all over his skin. Lurching to his feet and nearly falling right back over in the process, he steadied himself on Ianthe’s coffee table, fumbled for his eyepatch so he could slip it back on, and shouted, “One moment!”
Quickly adjusting his clothes, he made it to the door and ended up flopping uselessly against the cool wood instead of actually opening it, a move that reminded him of when he first arrived yesterday.
Had it really only been yesterday? God, it felt like it’d been years.
It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine… Just get this over with, and then you can go back to the infirmary and sleep for as long as you want…
Gritting his teeth and steeling his resolve, he stepped back and opened it, revealing Iphis on the other side.
“Good evening, President,” Iphis said, looking down at Hunter from the entryway, “Are you, um… Are you doing alright?”
Hunter took in Iphis’ concerned expression and his polished appearance and couldn’t help but feel offended.
How dare this bastard look so healthy! Look at that upright posture, that glowing skin, how there wasn’t a single hint of dark circles under his eyes! This asshole was probably well rested, wasn’t he?! Hunter felt it wasn’t fair, why couldn’t that be him?
… Wait, was all of this mishegoss2craziness happening to him because he’d cursed at the Goddess when he met Her? Shit, was it too late to try apologizing?
“President?” Iphis prompted.
Hunter flinched and realized he’d zoned out. Stepping back to let Iphis through the door, he said, “I’m fine, come on in.”
His words came out as a hoarse whisper, and he massaged his sore throat. His voice was extra raspy from all that screaming earlier, he was really beginning to regret not holding back a little.
Staggering to his desk, he fell down into Ianthe’s chair and let out a pathetic sigh. As he watched Iphis enter the room and shut the door behind him, the one silver lining Hunter could see in this whole situation was that, unlike him, Iphis seemed to be in a good mood. His golden eyes were sparkling with excitement, and there was a little spring in his step.
… Disgusting.
“You mentioned earlier that you needed help?” Iphis said. He began to drift around like he’d never been in Ianthe’s office before, looking at this and that with his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
“Yeah… and thanks for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice,” Hunter said, “Feel free to take a seat.”
“Oh—in a moment. You’ve got so many interesting little things in here,” Iphis murmured, furrowing his brows as he scrutinized some brass artifact Ianthe had on a decorative plinth.
“Ah, you like tchotchkes?3knick-knacks You can have that, if you want…”
Iphis mouthed the word ‘tchotchkes’ to himself, smiled wider, then looked back at Hunter and encouraged, “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what I can do for you, President?”
Leaning his elbows on his desk, Hunter put his chin on his hands and said, “I, uh… need to ask you a favor. Kind of a big one.”
“What sort of favor?”
“Well, I…” Hunter rubbed at his forehead and frowned, “I need to meet with the Saint, and I’m pretty sure you’re her grandson.”
“Oh? I’d love to know how you came to think that,” Iphis replied, his eyes glinting with sharp light from beneath his dark curly hair. “Why do you need to speak with her?”
“Because I’ve… recently come across a lot of sensitive information on the Order of the King Undying, and I’m only willing to share it with someone I know the Lady trusts.”
Iphis froze altogether at that, his surprise as obvious as his growing delight.
“President… are you serious? Is it just information, or are you willing to testify? Either way, I think we could work something out.”
Oh, thank goodness, Hunter thought, relieved. He’d been a little worried Iphis would insist on dancing around the subject. Instead, he seemed pretty willing to just talk things through straight, which saved Hunter the trouble of wheedling it out of him.
Maybe the way he’d been thinking about Iphis so far was unfair…? All things considered, from accepting the meeting to considering the favor, Iphis could have made things much harder if he wanted to, especially considering their respective affiliations.
“First of all, let me clarify: I’m not a part of the Order, I’ve just come across a lot of stuff about them. Second of all, I’m willing to consider anything you guys want, but I’ll only tell what I know to the Saint. That part’s not negotiable,” Hunter rasped. He pressed his hand harder against his forehead, wincing in discomfort. Shit, he was starting to feel pretty dizzy. Was that the fever again, or was that stress? Oy, who was he kidding, it was probably both.
“President… it really seems like you’ve changed,” Iphis observed, still standing a distance away from Hunter’s desk. “This morning you were concerned for the students, and now you’re willing talk with the Temple… You’ve really come a long way, haven’t you?”
“Oh, uh… yeah? Thanks I guess?” Hunter mumbled, his voice trailing off.
He’d been pretty exhausted before, but now he could barely keep his eyes open. On top of that, out of nowhere he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and it was making his fingers and toes tingle.
Oh no, this wasn’t a panic attack or something, was it? He was usually pretty good about avoiding that sort of thing, but considering what he’d been going through, it was possible one had snuck up on him anyway.
Hunter continued, “Look, that’s… my offer… I don’t need you to make a final decision now, just think about it and get back to me…”
“Oh, don’t worry! On behalf of the Temple I can already say we’re very interested. In fact, I’d love to talk through the details tonight.”
“Tonight’s not a good time, actually… if you don’t mind, I’ve got… I’ve got…”
He couldn’t remember what he was trying to say, or what he’d been thinking. Closing his eyes, he put a shaky hand to his chest, unable to keep himself from helplessly gasping for breath. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he really this delicate mentally, or was it this frail new body of his?
“Ah, I’m sorry. I should have made it clearer that I wasn’t making a request,” Iphis said, coming closer. “I'm not sure who you are, but you and I have a lot to talk about.”
Oh. Fuck.
A chill poured down his spine. When he opened his eyes and looked up, he realized that the way Iphis was staring down at him wasn’t so polite anymore.
“You… what did you do…?” he asked, though he could barely get the words out.
“You seem new here, so I’m going to give you a friendly word of advice.”
Iphis took his hands from behind his back and held them in front of himself.
It was only now that Hunter realized there was mana softly glowing blue in each of Iphis’ gloved palms, the energy swirling gently out from the edges and into the center, where it looked like it was being sucked into a single dark point.
“As long as you’re in this world, unless you trust someone, always keep an eye on their hands and feet,” Iphis said, letting out a laugh.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
This crazy bastard was attacking him!
Hunter wanted to move, but he didn’t have the strength to reply, much less defend himself. Unable to remain upright any longer, he fell forward against Ianthe’s desk, and the last thing he saw before his vision went black was Iphis’ grin, as wide and white as the Cheshire Cat’s.
Then there was a warm breath on his ear and a whisper that said, “See you when you wake up.”