Chapter 1:
Stupid Maid Boxing Prison
Where was i?
Oh yeah, that thing with the thing.
And then stuff happenend that led here.
Now it's all a mess.
Sorry for the Info-dump.
Sometime after midday, the Wastrel felt something he had not experienced in over five hundred years…fear.
It was cold prickly sensation that ran the length of his arms, closely followed by an icy panic, as he quickly searched the pockets of his tattered coat.
He was supposed to be getting ready for a date, not sitting cross-legged in the centre of an arena surrounded by the smouldering bodies of Hell Beasts, Goliaths, Gladiators and Doom-Class Warlocks with over-sized staffs.
Worst luck. He thought.
It was then; a cold realisation hit him from out of nowhere.
“Oh yeah!” He said, slapping his forehead. “I put it in my inventory.”
Reaching through the fabric of reality, the Mage pulled out a box of Pocky sticks and proceeded to munch on a few. .
Phew.This day could have been ruined
The Royal Box suddenly came to life with bellows of unfettered rage.
“EXCUSE ME!” Roared The King. “WHY ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!”
The Wastrel looked around, dully.
Oh right, the execution. He thought, rubbing his bony legs. Heavy iron shackles were secured around both ankles and chained to the ground. At two thousand years, he was ridiculously handsome, with sharp chiselled features that must have stopped aging around twenty one.
Angered, the King turned back to where his closest attendants were bowing.
“I need more Wizards.” He said. “Bring all the ones from the Castle!”
“With respect, Sire.” The High-Equerry said. “We need those Wizards to defend the kingdom. They’re rather important for the whole ‘not-dying-in-a-war’ thing.”
“They’ll be reposted, once this man is gone.”
“Except, this man is classed as a ‘Galaxy-Killer’. That’s not just a fancy title, but his literal skill-set. Everything you throw at him will be like petals on the wind.”
“I don’t care. I have been slanted, insulted, and betrayed!”
“Then punish him to the full extent of the law. He cannot resist, for his moral code is also a weakness. I suggest we use that against him.”
“Not good enough! I want blood.”
“Are we done here?” The Wastrel said, tapping his watch. “I got a date.”
The King tuned back, his cheeks shiny with crimson.
“You should have thought about that, before you started entertaining MY WIFE!”
He pointed to a young woman with an hourglass figure, whose dress could barely contain her…personality.
“In my defence, you did say if anything came up, I was to debrief her ladyship and fill her in.”
“On the DETAILS!”
“My apologies. I am not at liberty to second guess his Majesty’s whims.”
“You knew exactly what I was talking about.” The King said. He then twisted his snarl into a wicked grin. “How does it feel to know I get to bed her every night?”
The Wastrel smiled.
“Well, once you push past two inches, it’s like a brand new body*.”
*Note: He didn't use the word 'Body' .
There was a collective gasp as everyone in the crowd stifled a laugh.
“GUARDS! SEIZE…!”
The King’s orders were cut short when a large shadow filled the Arena. Darker than a Gamers internet history, a disaster-level Dragon hovered nearby, its eyes burning pits of purple and gold.
“It’s a Dragon!” Someone from the crowd yelled.
“No flies on that one.” The Wastrel said.
“Hey, shut up!”
Before anyone could respond, a bright blue column of fire tore through the Fighter’s gate and reduced it to rubble. The crowds on either side, whilst unharmed, made an immediate mad dash for the exit.
Guards quickly poured in from recesses dotted around the walls.
Now slightly less bored, The Wastrel got to his feet and dusted himself off.
So it’s come to this.
“Wizard!” shouted the King.
The Mage looked around, irritated.
“Why are you still here?”
“Shut up and listen. Lay waste to that Dragon, and then return here so your death sentence can resume.”
“Eh? How does that make sense? It’s like suicide watch on Death Row.”
“A decent man would comply.”
“Since I am only one those things, I can half comply, your grace.”
New levels of rage found the King, but was quickly hustled away before he could protest further.
The Wastrel rolled his shoulders.
Finally, some peace and quiet.
After disintegrating the shackles with a glance, he cricked his neck and went to join the circle of guards, with spears poised at the ready.
They may as well flip the bird, for all the good that’ll do.
The Mage turned his gaze toward the sky and made ‘telescope’ gesture with his hand. Through the circle, he trained his focus back on Dragon and smiled.
I’m definitely going to be late.
***
“You’re late!” The Waitress said, glaring at the man who had tracked grey powder into the Diner.
“That’s what I thought!” The Mage replied,
Genuinely nervous, he had been frequenting Unlucky Fried Herring for the past five years, slowly building up a relationship with the one brunette, until he found it comfortable slinging dry witticisms her way.
“Well? Out with it.” The Waitress said “I looked quite the fool, all dolled up and waiting for you to show your face. And now you have, it’s covered in charcoal and is that ash?”
“To be fair, your job title is literally ‘Waiting’.” The Wastrel said, smirking. It quickly faded, when the womans' pupils turned a dark shade of pink. In a panic, he raised his hands. “Hey-hey-hey! Why don’t we pass by my place and I can throw some clothes on?”
The Waitress stood up slowly, her face a picture of shadow, where only the eyes were seen glowing with killer intent.
Bad idea.
“Throw…something…on?” She said, her voice deepening. “It took me three hours to get ready, but you want to treat it so casually.” Almost like flipping a switch, the girl’s manner changed back to normal, folding her hands together under one cheek. “Alright, I know just the place.”
“The place for what?” The Wastrel said; dizzy from the whiplash mood-swings.
Holding out her hand, the woman beamed.
“Why, the place my family has owned for centuries.”
***
Realms of Antiquity, spare me from this torture. Anything else I can endure.
‘Low and Behold’ was an exclusive clothing store tucked away in the hills. Every time he came here, The Wastrel felt like a lowly peasant, with its high-class merchandise racked nearly under tiny spotlights. In the centre, casual wear was stacked together with mathematical precision. Even the customers were referred to as Clientele.
The Waitress led him to a part of the store reserved for newcomers who dropped out the sky. It was always the some dark haired kid with OP spells and zero combat skills.
For a joke, The Wastrel would often tell these new kids, that frequent use of magic would drain the life force of random civilians. He was always surprised how many ‘Cheddarmancers’ ( A Wizard that cheeses the battle) were okay with this.
Ah humans, never change.
“Here we are.” The Waitress said. “Pick one.”
The Mage eyeballed a rack of Noble attire: Cloak. Tunic. Cloak. Tunic. Cloak. Tunic. They were ether Black or White, with some sort of diagonal belt across the body.
What is this some kind of Duke of Cringe? Who would wear this??
He felt a deep sigh leave his body.
“White one, third from the left. “
***
Whilst he was in the changing room, the Waitress decided to examine a nearby rack of polished Sabres.
“How about a sword? You can’t be a fake noble without a sword.”
“It would be embarrassing if I was forced to use it in battle.”
“You never learned?”
“I cannot use swords or any weapons.” The Mage said. “In all my years, I have been proficient in magic only. Channelled it, harnessed it. Decades spent poring over ancient text. Only once have I required the use of weapons, but never my fists.” He snorted. “Perish the thought.”
“Is that why you are covered in ash? Because you couldn’t beat the Dragon? . Maybe if someone taught how to throw a spear…”
“The Dragon wasn’t the issue.” The Wastrel said, abruptly. “It would have been an easy fight, had I not been arrested halfway through the battle.”
Still bristling at the memory, he recalled being slammed to the ground and clapped in irons, as the Dragon raged on next to him.
Flat against the dirt, the Wastrel wriggled in protest, but the four guardsmen deemed his crime a priority and not the five-storey monster blasting wave after wave of azure fire.
What made it worse, was he didn’t do anything wrong. One tiny lick of Dragonfire had glanced off the edge of his force-feild, brushing the nearest guard.
This was enough to make everyone stop what they were doing and focus their attention on the wrong enemy.
Tossed into a jail cell, the iron bars were slammed behind.
“I think you are missing the big picture here.” The Wastrel said; hands still bound.
The Deputy was unimpressed.
“The only picture here, is that a crime has taken place and punished accordingly.”
The Mage wrestled himself into a upright position.
“There are lives at stake. Many people will die, if I don’t steer that thing away from the village.”
“Many more lives will be at stake, if I were to fail in my duty. Turn a blind eye and the rule of law and everything falls apart. Something like that could lead to a break down in society, with destruction running amok.”
“Destruction is running amok! That’s why I should be out there.”
“The law states…”
“The law! The law!” The Wastrel said, almost spitting with disgust. “The same law that states you can be fined 500 gold if toys are mislabelled, but its okay to steal anything under a 1000?! Disregarding commons sense with callous indifference, not only rots intuitions, but enables criminality.”
The Deputy banged on the bars with his baton.
“Alright, that’s enough out of you. Given the charge, you should be out -----“
A bright blue inferno tore through almost everything, reducing the building to a set of charred rooms.
Newly covered in ash, the Wastrel released himself and waved away the rolling smoke. Dragging the guards into the cell, he treated their wounds and checked their pulse.
Still alive. One day you’ll wonder why. Until then, it’s nap time.
Exiting the cell, he noticed how the only thing remaining was a ring of bricks around a single basement door, behind which the proud Dragon stood.
“Oh hey, it’s open.” The Wastrel said. “You know, all this attention is not really good for my love-life. Goddess.”
Still making jokes, despite half the village burning. The Dragon said, its outline cutting through the smoke. You’re lucky I haven’t started on the population yet.
“I’ve been lucky before. All this? I’m not feeling it.”
You got too comfortable, Wizard. I did warn you. Any place you settle down, any place you think to call home, I will destroy. And the longer you stay, the fewer people shall remain, until there is nothing but embers and bone.
“Jokes on you, the Embers and Bone is my favourite pub.” The Wastrel said, half-heartedly. He slumped down on the surviving chair, his sense of humour waning. “How long do I have?”
The usual: last light of evening. Get your affairs in order, funny man. Or leave it to me. It’s entirely your choice.
The Dragon extended its massive wings and flew away, leaving a brief dust storm in its wake.
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