* Contractual Obligations

*

At the end of what felt like hours of discussion—most of which was fruitless beratement from the lecherous lich—I had gleaned at least some information from her.

The first and most shocking reveal to me, though likely no one else in this reality, was that I came from World Eighty-Two. For all intents and purposes, it was a knock-off Earth variant, one of eighty-two to be precise, and, in my story, I used this term to add familiar technology and trends to a fantasy world in a legally distinct way. You know, because at one point I did dream of publishing. 

Now, this broke my already frail and shattered heart because I had of course thought I was on the original Earth when writing my story—the capital R, REAL Earth—but as it turned out, I wasn’t even important enough to be from that place in my own fantasy isekai scenario. I was simply World Eighty-Two Tahvin, who was forcefully transported into the cosmos surrounding his fantasy world of Esseria, which had become a reality due to my writing it—allegedly.

Phyllis went on to talk about the Tahvin-variants in other worlds who had been writing the same story, resulting in 'blah, blah, blah,' and cosmic-density-whatever—honestly, I kind of zoned out here. It was a little too Marvellous Theatrical Universe for me and, honestly, a bit cliché, so instead of hating my ghost-written existence even more, I decided to dissociate during this portion of the conversation. But the long and short of it was that enough versions of me all thought really hard on the same story, and that made it real—allegedly.

Next came the discovery of why Phyllis brought me here to guarantee that the ‘Ruby Prophecy’ went off without a hitch. So, why me? Well—again, allegedly—for no other reason than the fact that World Eighty-Two was the closest of the eighty-two realities to the Divine Barrier that separated the Cosmos of Fantasy and Reality. Apparently, it was always supposed to be me, but I simply hadn't gotten that far in writing the story yet. This meant that even amongst the other Tahvin variants, I was the laziest. So, fug me I guess, right?

Then, there was the fact that while I had dedicated the vast majority of my shitty existence to creating the history of this cosmos, not everything in the world beyond Phyllis' Mall Dimension was exactly as I wrote it. Some things would be slightly different, and others majorly so, all because different versions of me had also authored this reality—also a big fugging asterix allegedly here. But, in addition to that, some things changed because the world of Esseria I was set to now call home was also a living, breathing world in its own right—with real people living full lives, having families, and dying in it, including all the real consequences to actions that came with it. So, I’d need to be careful not to disrupt the natural flow of this world’s story while also not dying stupidly for assuming something.

That being said, I was here now, and there was no going back to Earth—World Eighty-Two. My life there was over, Tahvin was dead, and my life here, the life of Ishara, was beginning. So Phyllis insisted I get over it as quickly as possible and accept that there was nothing I could do about it. She also made sure to note that I should never use the name Tahvin again. It was a World Eighty-Two name which could draw the attention of the ancient and evil dieties known as the Caering Pantheon. The fact of the matter was that I didn't belong in Esseria, and if I died here, the chance of me going to one of this reality’s many heavens or hells was zero. Those Gods would be able to see that my soul didn't belong and definitely ensure it was lost to eternal damnation in the void between realities.

And, finally, as was the case with everyone of importance in this world who found their way to Phyllis' shop, the lich had a deal for me.

“A contract? With you?” I said with a grimace. “Sounds sketchy.”

Phyllis' contracts were, in simple terms, predatory. There were hundreds of pages of fine print, artistic flourishes in the corners which were, in fact, super fine print addenda, and thousands of ‘catch-22s’ and ‘gotchas.’ You needed to be a seasoned lawyer just to follow the legalese that read more like the rambling stream of consciousness from a delusional old woman than a contractual obligation.

That wasn’t to say that her deals didn’t have their benefits for the signee. Often, due to her age and abundant resources acquired over millennia, having Phyllis as a patron meant that an adventuring party was all but guaranteed to succeed at nearly any task they set out to accomplish. Whether it be from her aid of information, blackmail, or specialty weapons, armours and potions, Phyllis and her stores were both one-stop shops for everything new and experienced adventurers alike needed. But, like all things Phyllis, they came with a catch. To agree to her being a patron meant the adventurers had to deal with the eccentric Phyllis regularly and put up with her unusual, and often perverted, machinations.

“Yes, you know, a pretty standard contract,” Phyllis's elderly face smirked, and with a tap of her walker, the table whined under the weight of the paperwork dropped on it. “Nothing more than fifteen percent of your soul.”

“Ah, so an Eighty-Two-A then, huh? Fitting.” I grinned, looking into the dense wrinkly folds of her face, trying to find something to use as a tell. “Standard fifteen percent in exchange for what? Two hundred years of service? With a reanimation—not resurrection—clause?”

To die in Esseria was all but permanent. The ability to restore life from death was a magic lost long ago to all spellcasters after the Divinity Wars. Only a few beings knew that it was possible to raise the dead. A short list that included the ancient Caering Pantheon, the new-aged Emerald Pantheon, and Phyllis. 

But, it also took a lot out of her to bring someone back from the dead, so often she opted for a reanimation, which brought you back—sort of. But I had no interest in being an undead shill and a pawn to her capitalistic goals. Luckily for me, I spent a lot of time learning legalese in my previous life after the death of—

"Tch!" I gasped with a wince.

My heart began to race as I thought of her. Our final moments together. The accident. Grabbing at my chest, I could feel the panic setting in before Phyllis cleared her throat. I was ripped back from my mind to the moment.

“Good, you are the real deal,” Phyllis said as she tapped the table, and the contract disappeared in a burst of pink flames. “I’m old. I had to be sure I nabbed the correct Tahvin. But, since you’re obviously so well versed in my dealings, how about a Two-Fifty-Six-C with a Non-Compete Clause and access to my warehouse.”

“We both know your warehouse hasn’t been accessible since the Divinity Wars thirteen thousand years ago.”

Phyllis grumbled, leaning back into a seat and crossing her arms.

“Okay, fine, big boy, what do you want?”

“A Ninety-Nine-Z with a Dopamine Dam Addendum and the Act of God Clause enabled.”

We both knew what this meant, and I could see Phyllis slyly trying to lick her dry lips as the prospect was presented.

The Ninety-Nine-Z contract was a high-risk, high-reward deal. Phyllis would give me unlimited access to her stores and mini-mall dimension, the best current deals, free rein to do what I thought best for her and myself, and the ability to buy myself out of the contract whenever I wished. It was a great deal for me, and anyone who would work with me, as I did whatever I wanted to do with my new lease on life.

Then there was the Dopamine Dam Addendum, in which she put up a neural blocker to keep out all the nasty memories and experiences that haunted Tahvin, leading to my becoming a shut-in. The death of loved ones, the self-destruction of my life, and the pains of abuse and torment. She locked them away where they wouldn't come back to haunt me and cause panic attacks. In return, she retained the rights to the deepest emotional moments in my life and, as a result, could use them as she saw fit to reproduce or enjoy in her free time.

Finally, there was the Act of God Clause, on top of all this, which enabled a safety net if some divine cataclysm or act threatened my life before I could achieve Phyllis’ goals. If I died at no fault of my own, Phyllis was on the hook to resurrect me at least once, free of charge, as I currently was. This meant I'd come back in my current Ishara body, and not reincarnate into another being, like a slime or goblin, or reanimate into an undead corporate shill. 

And all this would cost me was the low-low price of one hundred percent of my soul as collateral.

That last part usually scared people, but unless you broke the contract, Phyllis actually took relatively good care of the souls she owned. After all, she wouldn’t have lived through every age of this world without being able to manage a soul bargain. I would simply have to make sure to remain on the up-and-up when it came to her payments. No dodging calls as I did with my family.

Oh, nice, I found a way to escape them. And if this deal goes through, I may not have to remember them very much. Sweet—

“What’s a soul going for nowadays anyway?” I asked as curiosity got the better of me.

Phyllis’ crumpled face opened enough to reveal a topaz eye that flared brilliantly. In an instant, I felt my body warm as though someone had covered me in a heated anxiety blanket. For a moment, I was both comfortable and constricted. Then, as quickly as it began, the feeling flowed out from me and down my leg like a trickle of liquid.

I instinctively checked to make sure I hadn’t relieved myself.

“Current demonic market value for your soul is around eight hundred thousand gold coins.” Phyllis tapped her walker once more, and a new contract appeared. This one was much smaller than the last, with only a dozen pages of fine-print legal nonsense.

I scanned the paperwork, trying to check the known hiding places of fine print, a process that Phyllis didn’t make easy. But eventually, I signed in triplicate, initialled in two dozen spots, and with the last ‘i’ dotted, the contract glowed a brilliant amber-gold.

A beam of radiant light connected the parchment to me and then to Phyllis. As my chest warmed, my extremities cooled before finally a mote of light emerged from my heart. It floated before me for a moment, hesitating as its flickering flame caught the same invisible gust as Phyllis' hair. Then, like it had been fired from a gun, the globule of honey-like energy cleared the space between us in an instant, disappearing into her mouth.

“Nom-nom-nom!” She grumbled excitedly.

Eagerly consuming the orb, in an instant, the form of Phyllis stood a bit taller. Like someone was actively fiddling with an age-reversing slider, I watched as her wrinkles faded, her eyes opened fully, and a new vigour washed over her. White hair regrew, becoming a dull pink, as once sagging ears tightened up. She still appeared old, but no longer did she appear ancient. Like a good-looking sixty-year-old for those who were into it.

“Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff! Mwahahahaha!” She cried out, cackling deviously. With a single bound, she leapt from her seat and stood atop my table. “That was tasty! I don’t feel a day over three thousand! Godsdamn, World Eight-Two souls are delicious. It must be all those saturated fates.”

“Don’t you mean fats?”

“No! Now brace yourself! Imma finger yuh!” Phyllis exclaimed before shoving her fist into my chest.

I didn’t have time to react as she took hold of my heart and firmly squeezed it.

“Gah!” I coughed as her sharp nails gripped around the actively pumping organ.

“Sit still! Stop squirming, yuh’baby.” She hissed, fiddling her fingers in an alternating pattern. “I have to inscribe the contract addenda on your heart.”

“My heart?" I groaned through the uncomfortable pressure I was experiencing. "And not my soul?”

Was this what a heart attack felt like? I thought, struggling to breathe.

“Soul? Boy, I have that now. You shot a fat wad of it into my mouth, remember? Delicious! So, if you’ve got enough energy to ask stupid questions, you should have enough to stop squirming!"

A minute passed before Phyllis removed her hand and, with a whip of her wrist, splattered some of my blood over the nearby tables.

She then took a moment to explain that, as part of the contract, there was no rush to complete the prophetic task ahead of me. She insisted that I do something that I wanted to do, giving me recommendations like swindling a triop of misfit scumbags to join me on a fun adventure or go find a dungeon and slay a dragon. Ultimately, Phyllis wanted me to do something to ease into the world I now lived in before potentially getting myself killed working for her.

This raised a question for me as I rubbed at my tender chest. What did I want to do? If I could do anything in my fantasy world, what was the one thing I wanted to do first? And, just like that, my isekai dream goals rushed through my head.

I want a safe place to wait out the coming war and divine destruction. I thought to myself as Phyllis skipped away from me, enjoying her newly acquired vigour. But I also don't just want to be a shut-in in another world. So, I guess, maybe do some adventuring? That could be fun for a bit, right? Dive into a dungeon and loot some ruins? I know a few good locations I never had a chance to flesh out for the main characters. So if I get there first, it's fair game. It would also be great for me to save a princess. A nondescript one, of course! One that has nothing to do with the main story of the world. Maybe slay a devil or create a new and powerful technology that makes me rich. Maybe a, no...I couldn't. A harem? I do want a harem...I'll find a way to make it not cringe.

I paused, thinking about the growing list of isekai tropes that had begun to fill my mind.

Do I have too many tropes? Too many themes in my new life? I wondered, watching Phyllis do the laziest jumping jacks I had ever seen. Nooo, I'm already a self-insert. I can do whatever the fug I want. Yeah, I want everything! My life can be a series of episodic events if I want it to be. Not like I have an audience to worry about. And then, once I finish everything I want to do, I'll sit back and watch the world burn from my McMansion on a mountain with my two-dozen wives.

And, with that thought, I remembered that while my plans were wonderful, the world of Esseria was set to go from a fragile peace to a grand cosmic war over the next six to seven years. So, ultimately, time wasn’t really on my side.

"I can tell you're thinking about the end of the world, boy." Phyllis hissed as she slowly made her way back to me while wriggling her fingers. "Well, you're in luck. Since I potentially screwed the strings of fate by bringing you here, I'm going to give you a signing bonus so you can get everything you hoped and dreamed of done before the end."

Withdrawing a coupon, she handed it over to me with a faint smile.

"Here's a coupon to the shop to get you all the starter adventuring equipment you need to survive a bit. But wait, there's more!" The smile twisted as she stared at my chest once more. "Since you signed today, I'm going to throw in a few months of martial and magical knowledge instantly applied to my muscle memory because I'm just that amazing."

“What?” I asked as Phyllis shoved her hand once more into my chest, this time gripping something deeper and foreign inside of me. “Gah! Stop doing that!”

“Shut up, yuh’baby! I'm gonna finger you deep this time. Hit that good spot, if you know what I'm saying!”