Everybody Loves Large Chests - Chapter 320

Arisha’s eyes narrowed with focus as she gripped her weapon. One would think it would be difficult to concentrate in her unstable condition, but she was a veteran with centuries of experience. Tendrils of solidified shadows conjured by her Ultimate Skill lashed out from behind her back and coiled around Kora’s midsection. They hoisted the nosferatu’s victim upward and then swung her down with terrible force. Just as her target was about to impact the ground, Arisha made two unbelievably quick and precise strikes with her Phantasmal rapier. The powerful blade ripped through reality itself and opened two linked horizontally-oriented portals directly above one another, with the demon in the middle.

That maneuver left Kora perpetually falling between the two rifts. Given her initial momentum and considerable mass, gravity saw to it that the hoarder instantly became a blur of skin, metal, and swearing. Arisha allowed the demon to continuously pick up speed until she quite literally caught fire. Once her velocity had reached that point, the nosferata struck with her weapon once more. This time she created a single portal that had a forty-five degree angle to it. With her momentum given a new direction, Kora was sent hurtling through the cloudy noon sky like a shooting star.

Arisha rested her weapon against her exposed collarbone and looked triumphantly towards Boxxy.

“See? Hic! I told you I wouldn’t lose,” she said as smugly as she could in her inebriated state.

“Bah! Shouldn’t have given you’z dat handicrap,” the shapeshifter slurred its words.

“Too late to back out now. Hic!”

“We’ll seez. Even if you’z beat my last throw, I’z wazn’t really tryin’ or anyfin’!”

It hadn’t managed to beat Arisha the last time they played Idiot Toss, but the shapeshifter had powered up tremendously since then. It was certain its throwing technique had leveled up as well. That said, there would be a slight lull in the contest until Kora actually landed and distance could be measured. Thankfully Boxxy and Arisha had already worked out what to fill these gaps with.

“So anywayz, as I’z wuz sayin’. Dere I’z am, havin’ just bodied dis diamond dragon, roit.”

Namely, by having the shapeshifter regale its drinking buddy with tales of its Shattered Isles adventures. Arisha quite enjoyed listening to Boxxy’s stories because of the amusing way it presented them. At that moment, one of its tendrils was shaped like a distorted version of Azzyth’s corpse, complete with a miniature chesty abomination doing a little dance atop it. Two more tentacles joined in the scene, each adopting a caricature of the two elders Boxxy had encountered at the time.

“So this git iz like, ‘Oh, look at me. I’m big, and white, and old, and scary. Fear me, hurr durr.’”

The shapeshifter spoke in a mockery of Ygmolt’s voice while wiggling the corresponding ‘puppet’ in a degradory fashion.

“Oi! You’z cut dat out you’z old windbag! Dat dere’z one of my boiz!”

It then did the same to the unflattering Hazalag replica.

“I’z do’z what I’z wantz! It’z my island, hurr durr.”

“Nuh-uh. You’z shove off or I’mma shove my claws up you’z ass!”

“Fine, wutevah. I’z don’t actually care!”

Boxxy then had the Ygmolt meat-puppet saunter off while shaking profusely.

“And den the white git ran away like a lil’ bitch.”

Meanwhile Arisha was rolling on the grass crying with laughter.

“Ahahaha! Ahhh-hic-hahahahaha! He’s totally like that!” she barely squeezed out.

“Huh? Whozat?”

“Ahah! Ahah! Ahahah… Hah…” the nosferatu’s laughter wound down. “Hazalag, I mean. He was my- Hic! My sponsor, too, back in the day. Three times, actually.”

“Well put me in a dress and call me a river! Why didn’t you’z say so before!?”

“You never asked,” she giggled. “I suppose it’s just another unexpected way we’re – Hic! – alike.”

“Daz true. Nice guy, dat Hazalag, doe.”

“For an elder dragon,” she added, still chuckling.

“So doez dat mean you’z got three of dem’z Phanthrasmals?”

“No, sadly. Hic! Infinity Edge here is the only one I got, from my first Festival. I didn’t- Hic! I didn’t do too well on his Quest the other two times.”

“Wuz it alwayz the same one? Gathering the despair and stuff?”

“Mhm,” she nodded lazily. “First time I completed it instantly. He, um, hic! He really liked my memories of all the harassment I’ve received because of my looks. He told me he already ‘knew that flavor’ the next time. Hic! So I didn’t get any bonus points. Hic! Something like that.”

“Huh.”

Somewhere in the hazy recesses of Boxxy’s mind, it recalled that Arisha was quite self-conscious about her perceived hideousness. Even after all she had been through, the Bloody Baroness still couldn’t get over something as superficial as that. It was something Boxxy never quite understood, but had also misunderstood. At first it thought it couldn’t grasp why she was so relentlessly resentful of her looks because it was a shapeshifter. If it wasn’t happy with its appearance, it could just get a new one with a thought. However, in a moment of inebriated clarity, it realized that she was far more obsessed about the subject than any other enlightened Boxxy had met.

“So, I’z been wonderin’, why you’z care so much about you’z looks?”

“Ah… I don’t like talking about it,” her joyous smile shifted to a more somber one. “However, I’ll share my tale if you tell me something about yourself first.”

“Sure. What you’z wanna know?”

“Why does Drunk-You sound like an orc?”

“I’z not sound like an orc. You’z sound like an orc!”

“Oh, stop, you’re making me blush,” she chuckled again. “Seriously though, why the accent? You were like this last time too, but now it’s way more pronou- hic! More pro- Hic! More- Hic! Ah fuck, you know what I – Hic! – mean.”

“I dunno. And dun care. I’z talk like I’z talk like, and I’z ain’t changin’ for you’z.”

“Wouldn’t want you to. Hic! I think it suits you quite well. Anyway, a deal’s a deal…”

Arisha downed the rest of her mostly full wine glass in one go.

“Right. Hic! So, to make a painfully long story short, I wasn’t always this hideous. It’s just that some stuff happened and an unbreakable blood-curse befell my entire family. That’s why, no matter – Hic! – how much I try, I never scar, get fat, or have dry hair full of split ends. Same goes for all my descendants, too. Hic! Frankly, it’s a miracle that I’m not the last of my bloodline.”

She somewhat envied those who had been born after that curse had taken hold. People like Kaede had always been ‘disfigured.’ It made life difficult for them, but Arisha was the one who had to be reminded of her bygone beauty every time she looked into a mirror. That, in her mind, was the truly painful part.

“But then why’z you’z wearing dat stuff?” Boxxy gestured at Arisha’s provocative neglige. “Iz not the kind of thing you’z nose-fart-u wear.”

Indeed, the underwear was cute and elegant by normal people’s standards, even with the ominous skull decorations on the lacy bits.

“I just do,” she shrugged. “It’s actually an Artifact. Hic! Looks ugly, but it’s reaaally comfortable. I just don’t let others see me like this. Usually, I mean.”

“But you’z don’t mind me’z seeing you like dat?”

“No. Because you don’t care what people look like. Unless they’re shiny. Hic. And that suits me just fine.”

“You know, I’z could try making you’z super nasty if you’z want.”

“… What do you mean?”

“You’z remember Meatball?”

“I think so. Hic! He’s that knight you enslaved, right?”

“Daz roit!”

“What about him?”

“I’z forgot to tell you’z about the special Skill I’z used to make ‘im. It’z got a huge impact on the physician- physchial- fiscal- It doez loads to you’z body.”

“See, you had my curiosity. Now you have my attention. Do – Hic! – tell.”

“So, it starts with a lot of *schlorp*. The *khlurksh* happens after, and then there’s some *grhhhohwll* just before-”

“Boxxy, dearest,” Arisha interrupted. “We talked about this. Hic! Please use your words.”

“Grnh… Here, I’z just gon demon-state.”

Boxxy plunged one of its tentacles into the nearby forest, making it stretch to almost a hundred meters in the process. It rooted around the trees and bushes trying to find a woodland creature. While it did so, the barely audible sound of Kora impacting the ground could be heard somewhere in the far distance. However, the shapeshifter was not as experienced with drinking as Arisha and couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time.

After a short while it managed to snag and reel in a twin-tailed timber wolf that was as big as a person. The poor beast had no idea what was going on as it was slammed onto the ground in front of the shapeshifter. Boxxy then subjected it to its Corrupted Influence, causing the victim’s body to warp, twist, and mutate obscenely.

“Eeeeek!” Arisha squeed loudly while she hugged the monstrosity. “It’s soooo cuuuuute! By the blood of my grandfather’s ballsack! It’s so adorable I can’t bear it!”

“So yeah. Dat’z what I’z can do to you’z.”

“Do it! Right now!” she demanded frantically.

“Ah. Whoops,” Boxxy realized. “I’z forgot, iz a one-per-day deal.”

“Oh…” the noblewoman’s head dropped dejectedly, only to perk up a moment later. “That means you can just do it tomorrow though, right?”

“Sure. Why’z not.”

Boxxy was omitting the part where the corrupted subject would become its mind-slave, but it didn’t do so accidentally. It wasn’t out of malice, either. Arisha had Legendary Mentality, which meant she was immune to anything even remotely resembling mind control. The odds were good that she could enjoy the physical deformity without the mental portion of the Skill. The only real issue was whether the ability was powerful enough to overcome the curse, but there was no way of knowing that without giving it a try.

“Then it’s a date!” Arisha declared, then went right back to hugging the mutated wolf. “In the meantime, can I keep this little bundle of nightmares? He’s far too precious.”

Boxxy didn’t particularly care about its newest creation, so it figured it might as well accommodate that simple request.

“Oi!” it turned to the hideous beast. “You’z gotz all dem warts on you’z snout, so you’z name iz now Pukestain. You’z Arisha’s pet now, got it?”

“Blorghh!”

The thing confirmed by letting out a bark that turned into brief-yet-violent barfing halfway through.

“Pukestain! I love him already!” its new owner cheered.

“We’z got a problem, though,” the abomination grumbled. “I’z think we’z runnin’ outta booze, and I’z not drunk enuff yet.”

It shuffled its considerable mass around as it checked all of the barrels and bottles haphazardly thrown around it. As it did so, it was momentarily reminded of Xera’s existence. The djinn had tried to convince her tipsy master to reenact that impalement statue she had been eyeing in Arisha’s mansion. She had succeeded, which was why she was currently being worn as a tentacle sleeve. It wasn’t her first time being penetrated ass-to-mouth, but this occasion was made extra-special by her master’s attitude of absolute indifference towards her.

In any event, Arisha agreed that the lack of libation was an issue. Getting Boxxy smashed to the point where it ‘met Botty’ was going to require significantly more liquor, preferably of the Thunderbrew variety. The abomination had so much body mass and constitution that chugging three barrels of the stuff had barely gotten it past the ‘heavily buzzed’ stage. Arisha herself didn’t want the party to end just yet, but also didn’t feel like blowing her entire alcohol collection in the process.

The two of them briefly discussed the issue and quickly came up with a solution. The simplest and easiest way to find a huge amount of dwarven liquor was to get it from the source. In this case, it meant going to the Horkensaft Kingdom and raiding the Thunderbrew clan’s breweries. In their intoxicated state, neither Boxxy nor Arisha considered what kind of collateral damage that course of action could cause. Admittedly they wouldn’t have cared even while sober, but they would have at least thought about it first. Either way the only real issue was getting to their destination in a timely manner, which was absolutely no issue considering the pair’s combined list of Spells, Skills, and assets.

Boxxy regained consciousness at sunset, roughly six hours after it had set out from Arisha’s backyard in search of Botty.

“Grrnhnhnnng…”

Its awakening was as turbulent as a freak thunderstorm about to decimate a small fishing village. The drunken bender had left the creature with what would have been a headache if abominations had heads. Something certainly ached, though, and it was ensuring the shapeshifter was in a profoundly foul mood. On the upside the pain was so distracting that Boxxy completely forgot about its depression, at least for the time being.

The hungover monstrosity began climbing out of the strange pit it had woken up in. Something – probably itself – had for some reason carved a cubical six-by-six-by-six-meter chunk out of the rocky terrain. Additionally, and far more puzzling, the hole was filled to the brim with countless perfect spheres. They were all the same size – about as big as apples – and either carved or molded out of a variety of materials. Furthermore, all of them were polished to a pleasantly smooth finish regardless of whether they were made from wood, copper, glass, bone, or something else entirely. Last but not least, the bottom of the cubic cavity was drenched in what appeared to be a few dozen liters of raspberry juice.

Once Boxxy was out of the mismatched ball pit, it begrudgingly scouted its surroundings. Its drunken bender had ended at the foot of a mountain. It wasn’t just any old pile of rocks, either. The looming, dark silhouette in the distance undoubtedly belonged to none other than Blackthroat Mountain. It was an old, dormant volcano atop which the dwarves of old had built Gun Tarum. That place was the ancestral center of dwarven civilization and current capital city of the Horkensaft Kingdom. Boxxy was quite familiar with the region since it had visited it many times on Sandman business. Those memories allowed it to identify a few subtle differences in the scenery that weren’t there the last time it dropped by.

For starters, it looked as if about a fifth of the mountain was missing. Most of its western slope was just gone. Secondly, and potentially related, the volcano was no longer dormant. What gave away its resurgence of activity were the slight, random rumblings in the ground and the massive amount of smoke and lava pouring out of its sides. Lastly, and most notably, the face of the mountain sported a series of enormous holes that were plainly visible from tens of kilometers away. However, despite the enormous amount of lava pouring out of the openings, they didn’t seem to be caused by the surge in volcanic activity or any other natural phenomenon. Indeed, the way the glowing red holes contrasted with the black mountainside to clearly spell out the word ‘FARTS’ suggested their creation was rather deliberate.

Boxxy naturally had no idea whether it had anything to do with the cataclysmic graffiti. Even with its Legendary Intelligence, it could only recall about a third of what had happened after it and Arisha invaded that brewery. That said, logic dictated that the shapeshifter was most likely responsible for the volcanic ‘FARTS’ sign. It was far from the only incident it had caused, too. For instance, Boxxy knew full well that it was to blame for the devastation that had befallen the farmlands on the other side of Blackthroat Mountain. About half of the fertile fields there had been scorched into oblivion while the rest were encased in a layer of unmelting ice. It was the aftermath of Luisolra and Nagnamor having an all-out brawl. The two Overlords had been summoned by Boxxy and Arisha respectively just so that the drunken duo could watch them clash for their own entertainment.

The abomination spent several minutes reminiscing about the immensely amusing outing while its unstoppable constitution overcame its titanic hangover. Once it felt better, Boxxy did a quick inventory of its possessions and Status. It saw that a bunch of expendable items were missing from its Storage and that its CHR Attribute had been raised as much as Essence Shift would allow. Both issues were relatively minor and easy to fix, so it didn’t give them too much thought.

Moving on, Boxxy decided to verify how its familiars were doing. Well, except for Arms. It already knew she was dead. It never went to collect her after that last Idiot Toss round, so she had expired after her master abandoned her in the wilderness with a pulverized spine. As for the other two, Claws was also dead. Boxxy had no idea when, how, or why she had perished, but it didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to it was that it hadn’t violated its summoning contract, something it knew for sure since Carl would have called otherwise. Snack, on the other hand, was somehow both alive and still impaled on Boxxy’s tentacle. She had been there so long that the monster had completely gotten used to it. Nevertheless, the monster didn’t feel like indulging her any longer, so it scraped her off on the nearest boulder.

With that self-inspection out of the way, the only loose end was Arisha. There was no trace of her aside from a small note on the ground next to the ball pit. She had done the same thing when she and Boxxy first met, so it was safe to assume she had simply gone home after the extended drinking party had run its course. Curious as to what message awaited it this time around, the shapeshifter picked up the folded piece of paper and gave it a read.

– Arisha 💋

Boxxy was a bit perturbed by this since it didn’t know what Taboo she was referencing. However, it had indeed lost quite a bit of FTH now that it had another look at its Status. The change wasn’t noticeable at first since its Ultimate Skill made its Attributes somewhat fluid. It figured it wasn’t worth worrying about, though. If the Gods could turn a blind eye to the Boneshaper’s existence, then they could tolerate some of its shenanigans. That and it could just ask the nosferata what had happened the next time they met up, which would be quite soon. Boxxy had every intention of following up on its offer to attempt a Corrupting Influence on her, though now that it was sober it figured it could get something from her in return. That aside, the monster very much wanted to party with Arisha some more in the future. Though all that drinking hadn’t helped it understand the nature of life in the slightest, it had still been a welcome distraction.

“Oh, well,” it sighed heavily. “Back to it, I suppose.”

Boxxy set off for its lair while contemplating its next move. Drinking aside, its initial conversation with the bloodlord had been rather thought-provoking. The question of what it would do once it had its big answer stuck out like a rusty nail in a human’s forehead. It mulled the matter over for a bit before it arrived at a simple yet satisfactory conclusion. Once the shapeshifter knew what the goal of all life actually was, it could adequately choose whether to hasten or hinder its completion. Better yet, it could decide not to get involved at all. That was the power of free will, and Boxxy would exercise it to the fullest.

With that issue successfully postponed, the monster was able to return to its lair within a few hours. Once there, it realized three things. The first was that it terribly missed Fizzy’s new self, and couldn’t help but smother her with appreciation the instant it laid eyes on her. The feeling was somewhat mutual, given the way the golem giggled as she disappeared in a sea of tentacles. The second thing that caught Boxxy’s attention was that Lavender had sent a few messages while it was passed out. If it had seen those, it would have been a bit more prepared to address the third matter. Namely, that its feathery follower had returned from Hell with a rather curious souvenir.

“You’re back in one piece,” it spoke calmly while it tongue-washed Fizzy. “Were you successful?”

“In a way,” Jen answered evasively. “I didn’t locate the elder’s lair, but I secured a reliable source of information.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you have a juvenile ruby dragon in a headlock?”

“Mostly,” she nodded.

The wyrmling in question struggled to break free of the harpy, but her hold on its neck was too tight. It was rather amusing that she was able to subdue it with just her thighs and legs. All she had to do was tighten her lower body’s grip and the beast would start choking and wheezing pathetically. It was far from the only thing she had done to keep it in check, of course. By the look of things, Jen had repeatedly broken all of its legs and wings and then held them at awkward angles while the dragon’s regeneration did the rest. As a result, all of the bones had set in ways that rendered the beast’s limbs incapable of supporting it even though they were technically healthy. The Monk had, essentially, bullied the winged lizard into submission.

The reason why Jen had gone through that trouble seemed obvious. Just as she said, that youngling would prove a valuable source of information once its brain was scrambled by Boxxy. It was the same strategy the shapeshifter had used against Azzyth during the Festival, yet it hadn’t thought to do the same on Terrania. Then again, Boxxy hadn’t really begun to tackle the issue of locating Hadros’ lair. It was confident it would’ve thought to do the same once it gave the task some serious consideration, so it did not hesitate to take credit for the idea.

Still, Jen was to be commended for her efforts. Not only had she anticipated the abomination’s plans, but had also spared it some legwork by securing the necessary specimen. That sort of initiative was why Boxxy preferred that its servants were free-thinking rather than mindlessly obedient. True, it did have to put in extra effort to incentivise them, but motivating Jen was surprisingly simple. All the monster had to do was to praise her openly and directly and her susceptibility to compliments would do the rest.

However, Boxxy felt it was necessary to address that last thing she had said before it dispensed any verbal encouragement.

“What is ‘mostly’ supposed to mean?” it probed.

Jen looked away guiltily before she replied.

“… I was hoping you could let me keep it afterwards.”

“Why?”

“No reason. I just thought the one we left behind on the Isles looked kinda cute.”

“So you want to keep a mutated dragon as a pet?”

“Y-yeah,” she blushed lightly, clearly embarrassed.

“Seriously? First Arisha and now you, too?” the monster grew annoyed. “I didn’t Rank Up into an eldritch abomination so that I can be a pet dispenser to weird women.”

The last time the monster checked, the Skill was called Corrupting Influence, not Cuddling Initiator.

“Besides,” it continued, “what are you going to do with it? Take it for walks? Feed it snacks? Spar with it so it becomes a musclehead like you? Where are we even going to keep it? In your chamber? And don’t give me that look of, ‘All of those sound like great ideas!’ I have more important things to do than cater to your idiotic whims!”

Boxxy’s rant was a clear sign that it was taking out some of its frustrations on Jen. Her request really wasn’t as big a deal as it was making it out to be. Corrupting the wyrmling would ensure its obedience and the dungeon could provide all of the sustenance and room it needed until the harpy eventually grew bored of it. The shapeshifter even had a dungeon master that it could command to handle all of the details. However, it couldn’t help but feel as if the Monk had gotten cocky and was taking it lightly just because it had given her a bit of independence. Boxxy considered whether it was worthwhile to subjugate the harpy through force and violence – the only two languages that morons like her truly understood.

“Um, I think we should keep it,” Fizzy piped up from inside the bundle of moist tentacles behind Boxxy. “I need dragon’s breath to finish my dragonbone forging experiment, remember?”

“Oh. Okay, we’ll keep it.”

And like that, the matter was settled. Jen’s ears perked up upon hearing those words, though in her excitement she accidentally tightened her grip on ‘Puff II’ and nearly strangled it to death.

“My Corrupting Influence is recharging at the moment, so go put it in the holding cells for now. Lavender! Handle it!”

The alraune dungeon master sprouted out of the floor in an instant.

“Sure thing!” she said merrily. “Like, right this way, Jen.”

The harpy merrily followed Lavender’s instructions. Naturally, she dragged the unfortunate wyrmling along without releasing her leg-lock. Though she couldn’t fully lift it, it was still rather impressive that her wings were powerful enough to move the large, struggling creature. The shapeshifter patiently waited for the distractions to be out of sight before it turned back to the only being that deserved its full attention.

“By the way, Shiniest In All Existence?”

“Yes, Boxxy?” Fizzy chirped delightedly at that title.

“Did you finish your calculations?”

“Which ones? You’ll need to be more specific.”

“The ones we talked about before I left.”

“… Huh?” the golem answered dumbly.

“You know. About my trajectory through space after the Festival?”

“What about it?”

“When we spoke you agreed with me that something didn’t add up and said you’d investigate.”

“Are you sure about that?” a radiant eyebrow was raised.

“Yes. I’m pretty sure. I spent thirty minutes giving you all kinds of data.”

The monster had given her every parameter it could think of. Not just the basics like mass, velocity, heading, and travel time, but also seemingly inconsequential factors such as weight loss, body temperature, and depression rate. Admittedly some of those had been approximations or estimations since the creature did not have any form of measurement, but it trusted the accuracy of its senses at the time. It saw no reason why someone as brilliant as Fizzy couldn’t piece things together from that information.

“Data? About what?” she asked, completely dumbfounded.

Boxxy froze for a few moments.

“Oh. I think I get it now.”

It then slowly uncoiled itself from the golem as it began to grasp what was going on.

“Hey Fizzy, when’s the last time you spoke to Bob?”

“What’s that got to do with data?”

“Just humor me.”

“You know Juan hasn’t talked to me in years, right?”

“But you pray to him all the time.”

“Obviously. Just because he doesn’t answer doesn’t mean-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” it interrupted her. “What I mean is, you say things to Bob on the regular, yeah?”

“That’s one way of looking at it. She did mention that she likes to listen to every single prayer she receives from her servants.”

“Right, because the God of Chaos is an unpopular deity with relatively few mortal worshippers, and relies on those prayers to be kept abreast of what’s happening throughout the world.”

“Exactly.”

“And you like to pray for good fortune every time you start a new project or experiment. So, you tell Bob what you’re about to do before you actually do it.”

“Where are you going with this?” Fizzy sounded suspicious.

“What if Bob caught wind of a few individuals that were closing in something he wanted kept quiet? What if he didn’t want anyone unearthing one of his schemes before it paid off?”

“Then… he would probably see to it that the concerned party simply forgot about it. Like what happened whenever you tried to warn people about Agent of Chaos.”

Two years ago, Keira had attempted to tell Nao that her Hero Skill had activated and that the wolfkin should expect ridiculous things to happen. However, the boyish Wizard failed to comprehend the information no matter how many times the then-doppelganger repeated itself. It was literally as if its words were going in one ear and out the other. Everyone else the shapeshifter talked to at the time was like that too. Boxxy could freely discuss Agent of Chaos whenever it wasn’t active, however, which was how it was able to discuss the hidden obfuscation feature with Fizzy.

“But what if that wasn’t exclusive to the Skill,” the shapeshifter posited. “What if Bob could freely use that method to control the flow of information? What if he decided that allowing you to answer my question would compromise something?”

“Before any of that, Boxxy?” the Paladin put the brakes on its train of thought.

“What?”

“How come you’ve been calling Gilberto Emily this entire time?”

“I… That… Huh.”

The monster went dead silent. Or at least as quiet as a pulsating mass of malicious muscle could get. It hadn’t noticed it until then, but it would appear that it was somehow able to consistently refer to the God of Chaos as Bob – the name the deity had used during the first and only time he had introduced himself. Boxxy had no idea what had changed that would allow it to refer to the enigmatic entity so decisively, nor could it discern what the implications were. It didn’t even know when it had happened. However, that realization had, in its mind, brought to light a certain oddity.

“Hey, Fizzy? How come I never considered Bob for my list of ancient beings to question about life?” it pondered aloud.

Was it the God of Chaos trying to hide himself with the same mental safeguards he used for Agent of Chaos? That didn’t seem too likely considering how the abomination wasn’t affected like the golem was. Then, perhaps, was the cause psychological? Boxxy’s last meeting with Bob hadn’t exactly been pleasant and the shapeshifter had decided to stay out of the deity’s way as much as possible. Perhaps it had been subconsciously avoiding the subject of good old Bob-o as a result of those events. It seemed likely, but it didn’t want to discount direct interference on behalf of the God of Chaos. He was meddlesome like that, despite all statements to the contrary.

Either way, the abomination had reached an epiphany that made its next move clear.

“Okay, seriously,” Fizzy spoke up, sounding rather upset. “Boxxy, what’s going on? You’re weirding me out way more than usual, and trust me, that isn’t easy!”

“Hold that thought for a minute. I need to make a call.”

1-800-7355-9687-7685

*Ring-ring*

*Click*

“Hey, Boxxy.”

“Hi, Carl.”

“What can Demons ‘R’ Us do for you today?”

“I have a complaint that I’d like to personally give to the one in charge.”

“I… haven’t the foggiest what you’re on about,” the devil sounded confused.

“You heard me. I want to talk to life’s manager, so tell Bob to get off his stupid couch and arrange a meeting with me.”

“Ah, see, that’s not something I can do-”

Carl went quiet mid-sentence.

*Clap*

*Clap*

*Clap*

A series of oddly nostalgic sounds washed over Boxxy’s consciousness, which were followed by an all too familiar voice.

“Well done. Well done, indeed.”

A fraction of a second later, Boxxy found itself standing in the personal domain of the God of Chaos. It was still as wide, white, and seemingly infinite as before, but this time there was an oddity. Rather than some bizarre, random, ever-changing amalgamation of things that represented the concept of uncertainty, there was but one man. Granted, a man that somehow oozed both absolute control and infinite patience, but a mere man nonetheless.

More specifically, his appearance was of a human male somewhere in his thirties. His skin was unremarkable, his chin was cleanly shaven, his eyebrows were well-groomed, and his short black hair was slicked back in a professional manner. The most exceptional thing about his impeccably groomed face were his mismatched eyes. The left was a vibrant green color while its neighbour was a soothing blue, both of which were hidden behind a set of rectangular, thick-rimmed spectacles. His outfit consisted of formal business attire in the form of a white shirt, black neck tie and dress shoes, and a set of matching vest and trousers, beige. The ensemble was tied together with silver cufflinks on the necktie, collars, and sleeves.

It was an appearance that, all things considered, was far too prim and proper to ever be considered the divine embodiment of chaos.

“Good evening, Mr. Morningwood,” he smirked. “Please, have a seat.”

Bob gestured with a gloved hand, causing the infinite whiteness around him to disperse like a fog cloud in a tornado. This revealed an array of dark hallways lined on all sides by glowing doorways with little wisps of light constantly jumping between them. There was, of course, not a single place to sit.

“The manager will see you now.”