prologue

The gun failed. Of course it did. In the face of the heirloom, nothing so flimsy could penetrate the skin of its host.

Said host, now that it was taking a good look at him, seemed dazed. Like his brain has taken too long to register that the bullet had been fired, that if the heirloom had no input in the situation he would crumple onto the floor in a pool of flesh and relief. It didn’t matter if it saved his life this one time. He was sleepwalking. If he stayed sleepwalking any longer, he wasn’t going to survive.

A host like him wasn’t built for the world mundane. Therefore, it was only logical that the host return to his homeland.

The heirloom worked fast. It’s transported men before, it can practically do it with their eyes closed. Encase the blessed host in cushioning, make sure he doesn’t feel the change in atmosphere. Create the transport bubble, a hard light shell to bring everything that he cares to keep on hand. Stay quiet, no one must know that its host is on the move. No one can know that its host exists. The world mundane is anathema to its host, so why should any of its inhabitants care if he’s gone.

Because he is going to be gone. Light thrums through the shell, enough to coat the heirloom, the host, every atom in pure energy.

And as light does, it travels. Faster than anything mundane could see.

Of course, Spenser Kane couldn’t comprehend anything that happened in the two or so seconds since the gun fired. Of course he wouldn’t, it was 3 in the morning, he just processed there was a gun to his fucking head, and right when he was about to process that he was going to die forever, he was flashbanged with the force of a thousand suns.

It felt good. Something about all of that felt good. Better than anything he ever felt when he was alive.

…He was dead, right? He should be dead, this must all be what happens when you finally kick it. You’re showered in a blue so bright it’s indistinguishable from light, you lose all feeling in your body, and some angel or god or something would come to collect his mortal soul and bring him to heaven or reincarnation or something. Or hell. Probably hell, given the fact that he was just shot in the head. No one who gets into that situation would be into heaven.

So there was nothing else for him to do. He just had to wait. Wait for someone to come and bring him to rest.

It took…an amount of time to realize that he could still feel his body. He couldn’t tell any time in wherever this place was, all he knew was he tried to move his leg and ended up tripping over himself. Which led to the further realization that this limbo had a floor. Which was a really strange thing that a limbo could have. Maybe once his leg started to feel a little less sore he could explore this place a bit more, except he was dead. His leg wasn’t supposed to hurt.

Something rang in his head. Like an icepick driven straight through his eye. He winced, getting onto his ass to balance himself, to get any sort of sense of stability from this situation.

When he opened his eyes, there was a woman.

At least, it was the shape of a woman. In the shape of a person, at least, he could see her head, her arms, her legs peeking out of the tail of flame that curled around her, slowly melting her wax as she stepped closer. He hoped it was wax. It wouldn’t be becoming of him to stare at her if her face was melted off into a skeleton, her face was not going to be melted off into a skeleton, she clearly looks fine, how does he even know if she’s even-

“You’re not royalty.”

Her lips didn’t open. Her voice didn’t seem to come from any one direction. Despite its omnipresence, she didn’t seem particularly commanding. Just annoyed. Almost disappointed.

Spenser blinked. “Excuse me?”

The woman sighed, pinching her palm so a drop of wax dripped slowly down, drying fast enough to make a club hard enough to whack Spenser right in the chest. Right where his brooch fused to his chest, sitting placidly with the pulse of his heart.

Spenser almost gasped before the woman interrupted her. “That’s not yours. I don’t know how you got your grubby little fingerprints on this, but you’re definitely not royal blood. I can smell it on you, it’s…” She trails off almost laughing to herself, tone sickeningly ringing in his head as she turns away from him.

Like he’s nothing.

“Excuse me?” Spenser gets up, head still pounding, trying to reach the woman, being on fire notwithstanding. “I die, and the first thing that you say to me is that I’m not good enough for you?”

Another sigh, from the woman. “You see, that’s exactly how I know that you’re not taking this-”

“No. No no no no, you don't get to decide how serious I take this, I don’t know what’s going on, and now you’re accusing me of stealing? Something is clearly wrong with my chest and you’re just gonna leave me alone?”

“You’re animated.”

“No fucking shit I’m animated, I’m not gonna let you leave me-”

Spenser grabs at her arm. She’s clay in his hands. Matter of fact, she’s completely melted by the time he reaches her. She didn’t have the time to melt that fast, Spenser knew that, and yet. She’s gone. Something almost uncatchable. Something that’s just going to leave him alone again.

“Oh I’m not gonna leave you. That’s much more of a hassle than killing you outright.”

“Don’t.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. He freezes - no, is frozen to the ground, trying his hardest to look for her, fists trying to clench as hard as he could. The stone in his chest pulses faster.

“...‘Don’t’? Like you’re in a place to bargain? You already know too much, if I don’t get rid of you now, you’re going to be a problem to yourself and everyone around you. And obviously we can’t have that, can we?”

“But-”

“But you were just going to die!” Another one of those laughs, more to her own sense of humor than to anyone else. “You were fine with it before, what changed?”

Spenser went silent. There was nothing that he could say.

“No. Go on.”

A hand grabbed at his chest, the brooch in his chest, its fingers digging deep

“Give me a reason why you should live. I dare you.”

Another sentence, tumbling out of his mouth. “You wouldn’t be treating me like this if I was royalty.”

“That’s a fact, not a reason.” The grip tightens. Spenser winces.

“All I’m saying is, what makes royalty? Who’s…who’s to say I’m not one?”

The woman stares holes into his eyes. “...I am. No one’s held a proper throne here for ages, everyone royal is dead, and no one’s stupid enough to take what they deserve-”

“So you can become royalty!”

“Only if you’re…”

A shine reflects off the woman’s eyes. She drops Spenser. For a moment she’s looking at nothing at all. The brooch continues to pulse.

“...Only if I’m what?”

The woman laughs, just once, turning away from him and forming another club from her palm. “Fine. Try to become royalty. I dare you. Hell, I dare you to survive one week in this place! No sweat off my back, I’ll have you where I want you either way, understood?” And she doesn’t wait to be understood, because the second she finishes she strikes her club on the ground and the blinding blue fades away into the oh my god.

They’re being suspended in the sky. The floor’s going.

Spenser stays frozen, the woman teetering the edge between wax and sky as she waits for him to fall. “...Well? It’s not like you’re gonna be good to your word if I fall to my death.”

The woman smiles as she steps closer, just short of Spenser and yet still towering. “Oh, this won’t kill you. I’m a god of my words, what can I say?”

The wind picked up. The pulsating feeling in his head, his chest, his very soul grew intense enough that he could barely stand. She was everywhere. Spenser could breathe her.

“What are you-”

“Oh, that’s a slip of the tongue, wasn’t it?” And one more laugh as she raises her club. “I’m God. This is my country to command. And if you don’t give me what I want, I’ll be tearing that life support right out of your chest.”

“So be a good boy and be king for me, won’t you?”