in which a warrior, a thief and a priest reinforce the importance of CBT (not that kind)

As Pebble failed to come up with a tactful way to tell Alpherson that his family was in dire need of therapy, she plastered bounty notices all over Alph Town, instructing them to send pertinent letters to Alpherson’s estate—officially named The Estate of Alpherson, Alphyn, and Mimi von Schwarzschatten Nekoyanagi de la Cruz the Eighth.

Now that she’d had ample time to cool off, she figured that it’d be mean to just… abandon him… and since Frell had buried the sacred stone in the estate, Alpherson could tag along for one last adventure. After that, however? No more. How could he pretend to save the world if his own family was falling apart?

Frell’s official stance on the matter was, “You should keep Alpherson. At this point, even one person believing in the legend should be enough. We can’t waste any more time getting new people, especially if you keep focusing on them instead of the quest.”

Pebble was drinking a banana, peach and coconut milkshake at the estate’s official bar. Frell and Topaz were having alcohol. “What about his cuckoo family?” asked Topaz.

“We can try to help, but… actually fixing the issue will take time. Months. Years.”

“Wouldn’t reuniting the family help?”

“Saving the world would also help—a lot more people all at once.”

As the bartender—blond and green-eyed, of course—poured them a new round of drinks, he said, “If I may provide some constructive criticism, I believe that your call to action speaks to a large number of people; many a traveler has walked by, reading. However, once they see that you’re stopping the god instead of killing them, their enthusiasm withers away like a flame amidst a storm. This world isn’t one where gods are to be aided. I myself have left my slaying days behind, but every time I see a wandering deity, I can’t help but think of the blood on their hands, curdling away, as I have no option but to smile and serve them.”

He said that, but so long as Frell didn’t remove the neckband, he was no different than Topaz or Pebble to the waiter. The eerie white pupils were another thing entirely, but it wasn’t a god thing so much as a trait that no longer existed… in mortals, anyway.

Frell drank his shot, let out a contented, “Pah!” then nodded. “Yup yup. Agree. We could word things differently. Instead of calling the Demon King a possessed god, we can focus on him being a beautiful, innocent priest.”

While Topaz asked for a straw, Pebble replied, “That defeats the point of the quest. We want mortals and gods to unite against great evil, not… mortals uniting against gods. Again. Because that’s what they’ll focus on, I bet.”

“Uniting gods and deities?” The bartender inquired.

Frell stepped on her boot under the counter, which wouldn’t have bothered her as much, except they were white and new, so Pebble stomped back. “Ow,” Topaz said.

“Wrong person. Sorry.” Then she turned to the bartender.. “Have you ever thought about how tiring it is to hate? How much better life would be if you applied that effort in something, I don’t know, meaningful?”

Slowly, the bartender nodded. “I understand. So this quest is a publicity stunt for the master’s upcoming book.”

“No.”

Topaz, who’d used his newly acquired straw to drink from Pebble’s stop without her consent, began to laugh.

“Stop.”

“I’ve been thinking, Peb. We can’t solve all problems in the world at once. That’s the thing. We can’t ever save everyone.”

Tonight brought forth a sad drunk Frell, it seemed.

“Mortals hate mortals. Gods hate gods. A Demon King can show us that we can work together, but… you know, that’s only the beginning. If we have to edit your bounty, then so be it. If we have to leave Alpherson behind, then so be it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Another employee walked in. The bartender wore an eyepatch, the new girl a stick instead of a leg.

It wasn’t easy to let go of hatred. It, too, was a source of strength. “...I don’t know. To me, the quest loses meaning if it’s just mortals defeating a god turned Demon King. I’m just saying. Besides, wouldn’t it be good to lead by example?”

“Are you proposing we recruit a god?” asked Frell.

“Maybe? I don’t—” Pebble took a sip of her milkshake, only to find out that Topaz had drained it. Him holding his head due to the ensuing brain freeze did little to assuage her rage.

Lead by example…

“...know. Another milkshake, please. Same flavors, but please add poison.”

“On it,” the bartender said.

Lead by example…

“Kidding. No poison.” Pebble swallowed her overwhelming need for revenge. “Don’t do that again, Topaz. That’s not nice.”

“Your mom’s not nice.”

Lead by example…

“I could try to find a way to alter the scenario,” Frell said, toying with the empty shot glass. “Make it more about Alpherson’s choice. I know you won’t agree, Peb, but if we follow all your moral objections, then we’ll never get anything done. The Demon King’s underling will seize the estate. Hmm… not sure if kidnapping his family would work, though. I don’t want to traumatize them any further.”

“It’s for a play,” Pebble clarified when the bartender and employee gave Frell horrified looks.

“...though seizing the estate is technically kidnapping already, so let’s do that. He can choose to either heal his family or the world.”

“Frell, that’s callous even for you.”

He shrugged. “None of it is real. Besides, you can think of it as a wake-up call. He’s one of those ‘if I deny that something bad is happening, then everything will be fine’ types.”

“And how would you know?” Topaz asked.

Frell winked.

“Ah.”

“So if you think about it, him staying wouldn’t do much of anything. I asked if his wife had a therapist earlier, and he said that he’d ‘been looking’, which is a lie obviously. He does not want to get one, cuz if he does, he has to accept that things aren’t great. Something like this will force him to accept reality. Win-win scenario.”

Pebble had heard about therapy before, but it sounded kind of stupid. How did it help anyone to tell a stranger about their problems? How was that different from keeping a diary? Yet Topaz was nodding. “That’s nice and all, but wouldn’t it traumatize them more?”

“Not if they don’t know that they’re being kidnapped.”

“...uh-huh. So you’ll—I guess we’ll—trick them into having a tea party or something. Meanwhile, the main character will think that his family’s being held hostage, and…? What if the plan fails?”

“It won’t,” Frell said. “I was thinking that if Al—the main character still refuses to help his family after that, the innocent priest will guilt him into it.”

“Huh. I thought the idea behind this was freedom of choice.”

“It is, but… I guess you could call it a contingency measure. I like the main character a lot. He’s cute. I’m sure he’ll do the right thing.”

“And if he doesn’t, he’ll be forced to.” When Topaz tried to sip from Pebble’s milkshake again, she seized his straw, then stuck it up his nose. What he called her was something that could get him arrested in some tribes.

This was, needless to say, a horrible plan. Worst of all was that Pebble couldn’t find it in her to stop it. She’d be a hypocrite. Coercing the world into saving itself wasn’t that dissimilar to this.

It could be another test, perhaps. She’d passed the first one with Topaz. So.

Pebble sighed.

Still, she would not change the bounty.

If no one else joined again, so be it; those who did would lead by example.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

The plan was going swimmingly until Lou ghosted him at the last minute. As Frell visited the Holy City that evening, the new gatekeeper—the god of thorns—grudgingly hopped off the tower to deliver the letter.

Hated Frell,

I’m pleased to inform you that, due to a revolt in the southlands, I’ll be unable to fulfill your request. This matter is of utmost importance; my presence was personally requested by the counselors.

Best of luck with your horrible quest.

Had Frell not been sealed in the mortal realm and he would’ve stopped the southlanders himself, purely out of pettiness. In theory, he could always break the seals—so long as he did so here, where he could override the spell.

Yet… he hadn’t just agreed to live among mortals. Frell the priest could live freely among them. The god of lust could not. He’d have to be extremely meticulous about this, so he sought aid from the wisest person he’d met in some time.

“I don’t understand that term,” Mimi said. “Forgive me.”

Minutes later, he was teaching her to draw trees. “It means that you and mother will stay in this room while drinking some tea and cookies. Like hide and seek?”

Mimi’s blue eyes were huge. “I don’t like that.”

“Hide and seek?”

“No… must we be kidnapped together?”

Frell was silent for some time, watching her draw line after line to simulate pine needles. “Are you afraid of your mother?”

After a moment, Mimi nodded.

“Is she ever um. Does she ever… is she mean?”

“No… not mean. She screams too much, but not to me. She speaks too much like a grown-up.”

“Meaning…?”

“Things I don’t understand.”

Next up: landscapes. No, mountains weren’t triangles. No, the sky wasn’t a blue band above a void of nothingness. “What about your father?” Frell asked. Mimi shook her head. Still, he pressed: “What if you get kidnapped with him?”

“No…”

“Scary?”

She nodded.

“Why? He’s very nice. I’m sure he loves you very much.”

“Mhm.”

So he didn’t press any further. Frell’s own parents had been very nice, though nowadays he’d grown weary of drawing them; their faces had begun to blur along with everyone else’s. “Would you like your father to see you more often?”

“No.” But then Mimi stopped drawing. “He’s busy.”

“And if he wasn’t?”

“Then we would not have a house.”

“I don’t think that’s true. He can work without leaving you. Does mommy, uh, your mother leave a lot, too?”

Mimi shook her head. “She likes drawing.”

“Oh! She paints.”

“She sells drawings.”

At least they had something in common now aside from murder. All the help in the world was futile if the person did not help themselves. When they’d fallen to that point, it often felt as though everyone else thought of them as broken. Ashamed and angry, they’d retreat into the only place where they wouldn’t be seen as lesser—themselves. Thus the best way to approach them was not as a helper but as a peer.

“Can I see your mother’s drawings, or…” Mimi was frantically shaking her head. “...yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Why are you in them?”

“In them?”

“Why are you in her drawings?”

“Uh… I’d have to see them to tell you?”

Mimi stared at him. Through him. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

She walked. He followed. At the back of the library was another, smaller door. The almost-stab came to mind, but by then, she’d already opened it.

“She’s not here right now.”

They walked in. Mimi hopped, casting a spell on the oil lamp to light the room. Dozens—hundreds of paintings lay scattered around the room. Some had been stacked on top of each other. Some hung from the walls. A few were half-finished on a canvas. A sizable number of them had a red-headed, winged man slaughtering soldiers.

“Ah,” Frell mumbled. “That’s not… me? We have the same hair, maybe.”

“No. That’s you.” Mimi waddled to one of the stacked paintings, rummaged around, then pulled out a portrait.

Frell’s mouth was dry.

…fine, that was him. His cheeks were stained red, and he stared at the viewer with a cold smile, green eyes glowing, sitting atop a pile of corpses.

“That’s you, right?”

He had to put the painting down. “No.”

Had Alpherson seen these?

He had to have, right?

If he hadn’t, that frankly… made more sense than the alternative. As for the mother, she was old enough to have memories of the war.

But.

“Hey, Mimi… does your mother have siblings?”

“I don’t know.”

“Parents?”

“Not anymore.”

“What happened to them?”

“A bad man took them.”

“...a bad man, huh?” Frell glanced around the room. Some paintings were beautiful, if mundane. A few were swirls of darkness from which something inhuman peeked. Some of them had a monster in them. “...maybe.”

“Why are you in her drawings?”

“That’s just someone who looks like me. That’s not me. But he was a very bad man.”

Mimi stared at him. Through him.

“Let’s go back to drawing,” he said.

“Alright. Are you scared of the bad man, too?”

“Yeah.”

On their way out, Mimi took his hand.

He shouldn’t have shown up.

He shouldn’t be here.

He should’ve stayed the villain.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be talking to her.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have become a god.

He shouldn’t have killed.

He shouldn’t be alive.

Frell teleported back to the hotel. He was keeping a tally this time—fifty-two uses left for the teleporting stone. The guards were playing cards at the coffee table. Once they saw him, they immediately scrambled up. “No need,” Frell said. “Like I’ve said before, MULTIPLE TIMES, I won’t hurt you.”

As if on cue, he recalled stomping on one of them.

The guards fled the room anyway. They’d stand outside until he left again. The usual.

Frell sat on his bed.

He shouldn’t be here.

He drew a tree. The butterfly fluttering outside. A monster. He stabbed the monster’s eyes until he tore the page.

Frell had been a therapist for a century or two. A chef. A construction worker. A hermit.

A good approach for a sensitive patient was to put oneself in their shoes. Of course, this was easier said than done; most people filtered experiences heavily through their own. In the end, many of them came across as patronizing instead (Frell had also been a patient).

Perhaps he’d humored Pebble for long enough. She seemed to get along with her friends now, so it’d be fine.

It’d be fine.

He was used to being hated anyway.