in which our heroes get attacked!!!!!!

It was a dark and stormy night. It’d been the same way when Frell and Pebble had met. He’d tried to kill her several times, but his divine knife turned the rain into steam, which she’d used to her advantage; thus both of them had survived, as had all the soldiers he would’ve killed otherwise.

That was then, and this was now, and it was also dark and stormy.

“We just passed by the turtle station,” the thief said. “Saint. Hello? Does the Demon King forbid those too?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting,” Alpherson said.

“Does the Demon King know that traveling this road at night is a death wish?”

“Yes.” Pebble hadn’t gotten ambushed on her way here, though she kind of wished that she had. Those bandits would’ve probably yielded a nice bounty. Then again, they’d gotten so good at gauging their prey lately that Frell and Pebble had to dress as an elderly couple or else no one would approach them. “We’ll be fine, sadly.”

“...sadly, huh…”

They were silent after that. Pebble toyed with the button of her tailcoat while holding the umbrella with her free hand. It’d been a while since she’d traveled with strangers. Whenever Frell and she teamed up with others, he did most of the talking.

“Bandits aside, what if we get sick? Or slip on mud? And are unable to get help because we’ll be on a mountain in the middle of the night under a storm? Has the Demon King thought about that?”

“You speak as though the god of evil had sent us on our journey,” Alpherson said.

“The what.”

“Demon King,” Pebble corrected. “If you’re going to complain so much, then you can leave.”

“I’m not—it’s common sense, but fine, whatever.” Not even five minutes later, the thief continued: “There’s an inn up ahead. It’s not like we won’t sleep for the next three days anyway.”

“We won’t,” Pebble said.

“What,” that was the thief.

“Pardon me?” That was Alpherson. “Oh. A figure of speech, surely…”

At last, she stopped. She had to stop. She would’ve pointed at them with her umbrella, but she didn’t want to ruin her makeup. “This isn’t a field trip. Get it?”

To which the thief inquired, “Are you out of your mind?”

“Are you two under the false impression that this is a guided tour?”

They were staring at her as though she’d turned into a sock.

“We’ll walk to the cave, get the stone, then sleep. It’s better that way. It’s safer. It’s less annoying. They had no waterproof tents at the store. Evil doesn’t sleep.”

Now they were staring at each other.

“...fine…” if she dispatched them, she’d have to wait for people to join again. Frell had insisted that the tale had to include a group of heroes, not a lone one. It took a while, but she finally got the logic behind this: if a one-person party died, then that was the end of the journey. If one out of five kicked the bucket, that left four to finish the job. “Let’s go to the stupid inn.”

Of course, no one would die in this tale; it’d render the end result pointless. If peace required sacrifice, then it wasn’t real. Easy as.

The inn was also the store where Pebble had bought the provisional clothes. In this economy, to be multi-faceted was to survive.

The second floor had rooms. Pebble, Alpherson and the thief rented one chamber each, which was wasteful. The beds, of course, were giant clay bricks with blankets. There were no other guests at the inn.

“Ah,” Pebble mumbled as she leaned on the window to sulk. “A trap.”

So then she stopped sulking. Instead, she raised a victory fist…

…until she remembered that they had three days to arrive at the cave or else Frell would wait for a long time and get annoyed, and chew her out, and annoy her by proxy.

So then Pebble sulked again.

She’d gotten kidnapped before to reach the bandit lair and beat them up, but these sorts of operations took time. What if she abducted the thief and asked for ransom instead? That wouldn’t be nice… besides, Alpherson could get hurt, and he had a wife and kids.

Did she want a wife and kids? Or, well, husband. Same difference. She’d asked Frell about it once, and he’d told her that he was a devout priest and that she was being disrespectful. Yeah.

Pebble headed to the dining area which had a single worker napping at the counter. It was otherwise empty. The thrift store was closed. A drink was probably out of the question.

“Saint.”

She squeaked. She’d literally never squeaked in her life. Someone tapped her right shoulder, but when she turned to look, there was no one. “Hi,” the thief said above the right one.

Well, that was fast. Pebble’s hairpin was beginning to crack, but it’d do as a weapon… again…

“Relax,” the thief said. “It’s just me. Hungry?”

He had the decency to step in front of her this time. He had black, messy hair barely long enough to tie and skin the color of the walls, which was to say dark. Pebble had been sued for using food to describe skin tone once. She shrugged. “Does this place even have food?”

“Yeah. Pretty tasty too. Alphieee!”

The girl at the counter jolted awake. Alph- name? Blond hair? All of that pointed to her being from the wind tribe, but the true giveaway would be her lexicon. “My apologies!” She said. “That was quite unbecoming of me. Please allow me to repay my indecency through free… oh, you.” She leered at the thief, who waved. “Well, free drinks for the lady. The lad gets free punches.”

Pebble sat before the counter. Frell had taught her a spell to detect poison, but her digestive system was usually more effective. “Hot chocolate with whipped cream, caramel swirls and marshmallows please.”

The clerk squinted. “Pardon me?”

“A choco milkshake, but melted.”

The thief invited himself next to her. “I don’t think they have that stuff in here.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Aren’t milkshakes a regional specialty?”

“I guess, but… you realize this is a bar, right?”

“Your point?”

The clerk returned with the hot chocolate. Instead of a swirl, the caramel had a smiley face. She punched the thief’s arm. “Ow,” he said, and she made no comment on this, and she left to the kitchen (to nap).

Pebble sipped on her drink. The texture was… interesting. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to ask for milk with cocoa powder instead…

“Alphie, stop messing around,” the thief called out. “Gimme the usual.”

“Die!” Cried the clerk across the wall.

The drink was poisoned—a neurotoxin, to be precise. Those were usually more bitter than the alternative. Pebble took a pill bottle out of her pocket. “What’s wrong?” Asked the thief, glancing at her from the corners of his eyes. His shoulders were tense. He’d probably strike soon to prevent her from taking the antitoxin.

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Pebble said, which instantly loosened him.

“...eh?”

“Yeah… but my love for milkshakes transcends boundaries.”

“Ah. Gotcha.”

Pebble nodded.

The thief nodded.

They did this until he said, with a tight smile, “As if.”

He struck; she used the drink to counter this. Of course, this sent scalding drops everywhere, which made him hiss, and which made her mourn the loss of an otherwise great drink. By the time he’d recovered, she had already swallowed the pill.

She parried his knife with a spoon. The thief used his free hand to grip the counter for better leverage. His grin was wild. “And here I was, thinking I’d have a chance since you hadn’t brought any weapon.”

To which Pebble replied, “I’m the weapon.”

She let the spoon go before it froze. An ice spike burst out of it, narrowly missing her throat. Weird—ice magic usually needed humidity to…

…oh, wait, the storm.

Well.

That wasn’t good.

Stepping on the remnants of her milkshake was a grave mistake, for it froze, and she slipped. As Pebble landed flat on her back, the thief grabbed a stool and tried to slam it onto her face, but she rolled to the side in time.

Her new tailcoat…

This one was pink…

And it was so cute…

And now it was ruined.

Pebble grabbed the stool by one of its legs. Strangely, the thief did not attack again. He stood before her, cross-armed, eyebrows raised. “Not using magic?” He asked.

A series of horrible flashbacks invaded Pebble’s mind against her consent. Most of them involved red marks on a test. “No.”

“Am I not worthy enough, or…?”

“No.”

The blade on his hand—an ordinary butter knife—had lengthened into an ice sword. He twirled its hilt between his fingers as though it were a pencil. “Well, that sucks. I’ll try to keep it entertaining anyway.”

“I said that you’re not worthy, not that I can’t use magic. Which I can. Everyone can.”

He scoffed. “And everyone can sing, but most people suck at it. Thank you for the intel, Sa—AH!”

She’d captured his ankles between her feet to trip him. While he did lose his balance, he ended up gripping the counter again—with one hand. He shook, but he didn’t fall. Pebble kept his legs in a vicegrip anyway. Eventually his arm would get tired. He’d fall. He’d also become a carpet. He’d ruin his outfit. And Pebble would get her revenge.

He couldn’t even swing his ice sword at her without losing his balance, though he sure tried. With a strained voice, the thief said, “This is… how women like me… between their legs…”

“And this is… how I like men… at my mercy…” For once, Frell’s harassment was useful: she knew how to reply to these taunts.

He laughed, though it came out breathy. “Are you sure? Because it… it looks like… you’re also struggling.”

“I’m not!”

“Then why…” he grimaced. His arm was shaking. “...are you still… on the floor, huh?!”

“Because I like being a carpet!”

Alpherson walked downstairs.

Alpherson heard that.

Alpherson walked upstairs.

“W-wait!” Pebble called out. “NO!”

The thief was laughing again. “You’re all alone, Saint… all alone…”

“And you’re not?”

“Nope.”

Alphie hopped above the counter, and she had a butcher’s knife. “Hiii! Also byeee!”

With a disturbing gleam in her eyes, the clerk swung it at Pebble’s neck. Pebble could’ve probably slid off again, but she was annoyed—very much so, in fact—so she caught the blade between her palms.

Finally, the thief collapsed.

Alphie was frozen—metaphorically speaking. Even if she hadn’t been, it would’ve been easy to twist the butcher’s knife off her grip. She all but allowed the hilt to slide off her fingers. Her eyes were locked on to Pebble’s.

While Pebble wasn’t fond of hurting civilians, the sheer glee Alphie had shown at the prospect of beheading her brought forth unpleasant questions.

Was she a repeat offender?

Was this a common occurrence?

How many people had she—they—killed?

With her palms still gripping the blade, Pebble slammed the hilt of the knife against Alphie’s nose. She screamed, collapsing and holding her face.

Pebble sat up. “Enough,” she said.

The thief followed suit. “Wait, Saint, I can explain! Sheesh, did you actually break her nose?”

“Explain. You have ten seconds. One. Two.”

“Ransom! There’s a bounty on your head.”

“Three. Fo… oh.” That made sense. Frell had stupidly revealed himself in that village and the capital, with Pebble demonstrably being an accomplice. Corruption and bystander damage (though she was still tracking those involved to try to pay her due) didn’t help. “Let me guess: you need the money because a family member is sick. Or the inn was about to go bankrupt. What else… hmm, those two are the common ones. Also, who cares? It’s just a broken nose. She’s being dramatic.”

“Mmnn… not!” Was Alphie’s contribution. She was whinging.

The thief’s eyes were wide open again. They were amber at the edges, purple near the pupils. Pebble had a jewel like that. “...yeah… my sister. So sick…”

So he was lying. Pebble played along anyway. “I get it. Life is tough these days.”

“It is. To be honest, that’s the real reason why I joined you guys. I’m very sorry. My poor, poor sister…”

“The poor thing, yes. What is her name?”

“Topaz. Wait, no, that’s mine. She’s uh. Amethyst.”

Pebble had to physically hold herself back from recoiling. Gem names… so he was from one of the rich mining villages. How had he ended up as a bandit? Hadn’t gem miners benefitted the most from the war since the stones they harvested were often used to channel spells?

“But I get that my sister is none of your business. After all, you have a world to save from the evil demon god king. Her life is meaningless by comparison. She’s not important enough, I guess.”

The look Topaz gave her was, by far, his most effective strike yet. It made his ice blade seem warm by comparison.

“Go on, Saint. Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep saving the world.”

“I will,” Pebble mumbled, looking away. “I’ll get the talisman to heal Alphie. You’re joining me, Topaz, assuming that’s your real name, like your very real sister.”

“And your very real demon king?”

“Yes.”

His smile was equally icy.