The Newt and Demon - Chapter 4.50 - Champion

Khahar had left Theo an interesting gift. A gift that would be useless to any other alchemist—even one who had such an unfair start as Theo. The key to using the spirit fruit was Tero’gal. Time moved at an absurd pace in there, giving the fruit time to mature. And the old Moscovian spy knew it. He knew about Tero’gal, and the alchemist’s command over it. Like some grand game of interdimensional chess, he was shoving pieces into place from behind the scenes.

It was nothing out of the ordinary for Theo.

After the bombastic experiment, Salire and Theo returned to the lab for more experimentation. But Thim had arrived, interrupting their process to take measurements on the existing stills. The old Dwarf claimed to have some ideas for improvement on the current design of his equipment. Improvements were always good. While they waited for more privacy, the pair ran two batches of [Refined Hallow Ground Essence]. Reports from Gronro claimed the supply was running low, and they were increasing their daily usage.

Something had stirred the undead in the north. If not for the deadly approach to Murder Passage, the town would have already been overrun. As it stood, Gronro-Dir was still the shield. Still the sword, ready to cut out into the endless hordes with a hateful blade. Each military mind in the Southlands Alliance seemed content enough to remain defensive. Only Alran Cherman voiced concerns about the stability of their ponderous approach to warfare. But without a solution, they remained behind the shield.

Thim finished his work, allowing Theo to withdraw the [Dragon Apple Petals] from his inventory. They were scaly red things, reminding him of the scales of the dragon that Tresk summoned in the Dreamwalk. The alchemist almost chipped his tooth trying to bite into the hard scales. They were flexible, but nearly impossible for him to get a chunk off of. He fell back to his method using the [Reagent Deconstruction] ability.

“How is this batch going?” Theo asked, closing his eyes to focus on the petal.

Salire scurried around the wide-open space of the new lab. The [Dragon Apple Petal] went up in smoke before she had a response. The alchemist ignored the system message for a moment, listening to her report. “We’ve got drips. That’s what Tresk says. Drips!”

[Property Discovered]!

You’ve discovered the first property of the [Dragon Apple Petal] spirit plant! [Dragon’s Dance] property discovered.

Using [Reagent Deconstruction] to discover properties was hit-and-miss. It was best used for finding the secret fourth property of a reagent. But with enough willpower and determination, an alchemist could find the others as well. It was a matter of sifting through the strange powers coursing through those plants.

“[Dragon’s Dance],” Theo said, tapping his fingers on a wooden table. “Interesting. If this is anything like the apple itself, it’ll be destructive.”

By weight, each [Dragon Apple] would provide the same amount of essence for the main part of it, and the petals. With two stills producing [Refined Hallow Ground] essence directly into the building’s storage, Theo decided to test the new feature. The pipes that hung from the ceiling were moderately flexible, allowing him to place them directly under the condenser of the stills. He snaked one down to the third still, inserting an [Earth Mote] to power the suction feature.

After he set up a small batch of the petals, a knock came from the door. Zarali entered, her normally flowing hair frizzy. She had a look of mania on her face. “Both of you!”

Then she ran out the door without another word.

Theo and Salire shared a confused look, then shrugged. They set the automatic shutoff for the stills, estimating the time before leaving the lab. The alchemist locked up, flipping the sign to ‘closed’ before heading off. Zarali was scampering off in the distance, headed directly for the new temple. Even with his magic senses so stunted, he could feel the energy in the air. The unmistakable scent of freshly ground herbs, burning coal, and something else that he couldn’t identify. His pulse quickened.

“Drogramath,” Theo said, taking a deep breath.

This was the end result of incorporating the temple into the town. The process took a few days, but it seemed as though it was done. Drogramath now had a direct line to Broken Tusk. Just as Khahar had planned.

A large crowd had formed near the temple. Adventurers from Aarok’s army were gathered to form a line, keeping people out of the temple for now. Shouts of disappointment, and some anger, rose from the crowd. Theo pushed past the crowd with Salire close behind. He felt her nervousness in the air. Heard it in her voice when she asked for words of comfort.

“Should be fine,” Theo lied. “Drogramath is nice enough—he’s just short. No, not in stature. He gets to the point.”

The temple was still mostly empty. Sledge had been building furniture and decorations inside, but it was sparse. Near a raised dais, Zarali knelt. She kept her head bowed before a ghostly figure. Drogramath stood, peering down at his priestess. The Demonic God wasn’t what Theo had expected. While they had met in the past, it was through the shadowy communication method. Now he was standing there in full detail. A bandoleer stretched across his chest, filled with potions. He wore a simple leather coat, plants poking from each pocket. Sturdy leather boots with deep treads. He looked like an alchemist. Not a god.

Like all other Drogramathi Dronon, his skin was a deep shade of purple. His black hair fell over his shoulder, almost completely straight. The God of Potions was missing his left horn.

“Just follow my lead,” Theo whispered, taking a deep breath. Salire was practically vibrating. The alchemist raised his voice as he approached the massive figure of his patron. “I’ve done as you asked, Drogramath. The temple is built.”

“And yet,” Drogramath’s voice boomed over the temple, rattling the furniture. “You dedicated it to yourself.”

“And you.”

“My Lord, I—”

Drogramath held up a silencing hand, stopping Zarali before she could get the words out. He let out a breath that swept through the temple. “You’ve brought an apprentice. I can’t help but notice she isn’t Dronon.”

“Those seem in short supply,” Theo said, standing to stare up at the god. “Salire has a knack for the art.”

“The art,” Drogramath said, shaking his head. He grumbled a low rumble that shook the foundations of the temple. “You are but a mewling worm under my…”

The Demon God trailed off. His head swiveled, then his eyes narrowed. He took a very deep breath and nodded. There was something going on in Drogramath’s realm. A Wisdom of the Soul message popped up, revealing more information than Theo had any right to know. The Potioneer’s realm was under attack. That was likely the status quo in the high heavenly realms.

“Am I not a good servant?” Theo asked. “We both know this is an unconventional relationship. But something has rubbed me the wrong way from the start.”

“Our plans are impenetrable to a mortal. But, please. Do go on.”

“Why didn’t you make me your champion?” Theo asked. “Was that your plan for Belgar before he died?”

Drogramath issued a laugh that nearly deafened Theo. The god doubled over, shaking his head as his cackles filled the air. “Theo Spencer! You are a fool! I put my faith in a jester! In a damned cosmic moron destined to doom us all! Oh, this will make for some excellent poetry. Oh, there once was a man named Theo. His head was so swollen, what an ego! He said, like a loon, I’ll be a god here soon! And…”

A Wisdom of the Soul message popped up. Theo’s eyes went wide, his heart hammering in his chest. All his time in Broken Tusk, and he could never shake the idea that Drogramath was as much an enemy as anyone else. All these days passed without him noticing a simple fact. A legendary core was powerful, that was an obvious fact. But how much better was it than a common-rank core? Twice as good? He was far more innately skilled than double the baseline.

“You son of a bitch,” Theo said, staring up at the god. Drogramath was still reciting rude poetry. “When the hell were you going to tell me?”

“I certainly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drogramath said.

“Lord Drogramath…” Zarali started.

Drogramath’s head spun. His gaze bore a hole into the priestess. She silenced herself immediately.

“You think you’re so smart?” Theo asked, balling his fists up. “That wasn’t even a poem! That’s called a limerick, you idiot!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so dumb, you’d have known you were my champion from the start!” Drogramath shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Theo.

Theo knew little of the relationship champions held with their gods. One thing he did know was that they were closer to each other than anyone else holding aligned cores. His mind unraveled all the times he was touched by the power of Drogramath. When the Demon God attempted to interdict him. His core whispering information to him like a damned walkthrough. If the alchemist had taken the time to talk about it with Fenian, he would have known. If he had taken more interest in the champions of the world, it would have been obvious.

“I guess we’re both idiots, then,” Theo said, his gaze locked onto Drogramath’s.

“At least we can agree on that.”

“Uh, guys?” Salire asked. She had prostrated herself on the ground, only tilting her head to peak up at the argument. “Is this constructive?”

Both Theo and Drogramath cleared their throat at the same time. “I suppose not,” they said in unison.

“Declaring a champion is an investment,” Drogramath said, crossing his arms. “You’ve already paid for yourself, Spencer.”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “Are you from Earth?” No one from this world addressed him by his last name.

“It’s too soon to peek behind the curtain. But, no. I’m not. Anyway, you wouldn’t have done as well as you have if I told you. Khahar ran the predictions on that path, and it ended poorly. You needed someone nearby that was a champion so you’d get the idea. Then you needed to figure it out on your own.”

Drogramath moved off that topic way too quickly. Even without Wisdom of the Soul Theo was getting ideas about the god’s origin. “Fine. Well… thank you for making me your champion. Which means… Well, I guess I can ask a favor.”

“Your apprentice.”

“My apprentice,” Theo said, gesturing back to Salire. “She has a knack for alchemy. And passion.”

“I don’t give my cores to anyone but Dronon.”

“And I’m not a Dronon. Not culturally, anyway.”

“Hmmm… Alright, fine,” Drogramath waved his hand lazily. Salire was sent flying through the air, impacting the ground and groaning. The sound of two spheres of metal hitting the ground nearby echoed throughout the temple. “Done. Now that we’re done with our shouting match, I’ll tell you something. Fenian needs to succeed in his plan. Karasan must die, and you’re going to help him.”

“Aren’t I already helping him?” Theo asked, keeping an eye on Salire. She was breathing. The shock of being forced to take a new core would’ve been great, but she would recover. “What else can I do?”

“The answer lies with the fruit. Cultivate them, and you’ll unleash weapons on this world that have never been seen before. It will catch the king by surprise when he fights Fenian next.”

The entire exchange was jarring. Theo and Drogramath went at each other like brothers, fighting for some stupid reason neither could remember. And just like brothers, they had cooled down just as quickly. The sudden onset of hot emotions, then the instant cooling left the alchemist feeling drained.

“Will I be able to talk to you here again?” Theo asked.

“Yes. The cooldown is long, but we’ll meet here again.”

Holy hell, this is like watching one guy argue with himself, Tresk said.

Theo turned, spotting her with her face against an invisible barrier near the entrance. Drogramath’s power had created a shell of privacy, allowing them to converse without interruption. But the Marshling’s statement gave him perspective. He had gained perspective through her eyes on his situation.

As though sensing the alchemist’s shifting priorities, Drogramath spoke. “You’re free to attend to your new assistant, Theo. I must speak with my priestess.”

“Thanks,” Theo said, his thoughts drifting here and there. He scooped up the Half-Ogre woman and her discarded cores, carrying her out of the strange purple field and out onto the street.

“Is she alright?” Tresk asked. “People are saying you sacrificed her to Drogramath to make the town more powerful.”

“That’s absurd.”

“But maybe?”

“No. Come on. Where is that Ogre staying in town?”

“The tavern. Want me to carry her?” Tresk asked.

Theo looked down at the limp woman in his arms. A twinge of guilt flashed through his mind. This was what she wanted, but she wasn’t warned of the price. He could only hope it was worth it in the end. He shook the thought out of his mind, fording a path through the crowd toward the tavern. While they walked, he used his telepathic connection with Tresk to update her on what had happened. She didn’t seem shocked at anything he said. She later revealed that she was eavesdropping through their connection.

“Bilgrob?” Theo asked, poking his head into the tavern. But the question was unnecessary. A massive figure sat on the floor in the tavern’s corner, sipping a large barrel of booze. The alchemist approached, holding Salire out.

Bilgrob belched. “Touched by a god? Yeah, I’ve seen this before. Spiritual shock from taking some cores. Yeah, yeah. I got a spell for that. Hold on.”

The Ogre placed his barrel of liquor on the ground, then took a deep breath. He chanted some words in a strange tongue. Ribbons of light sprung from the ground, wrapping themselves around Salire. They tightened, then vanished. The sound of a frog was heard croaking somewhere in the distance.

“All done. I’ve soothed the torment in her soul. Also, every frog-like creature on the continent is compelled to find their way to her.”

“What?” Tresk asked.

Bilgrob chuckled. “Yeah, Spit is funny like that. The magic always comes with a downside. Anyway, she needs to rest. Get her in bed. Make sure she gets plenty of hard liquor.”

“Thanks, Bilgrob,” Theo said, pausing for a moment as a message appeared.

[Wisdom of the Soul]

Bilgrob wasn’t exaggerating. Any frog-adjacent creature confined to the continent is making plans to find Salire. To do what? Who knows. Who cares, we’ve got frogs to worry about.

That was a bit of a willful message from the wisdom pop-up. It was always wise not to ignore such a pointed message from the intuition-based message. The swamp was filled with those little octofrog-things. Harlags. Theo tossed the Ogre a few gold coins for the effort, even though the Priest of Spit claimed to refuse payment. He headed off for the manor with Tresk, finding a pleasant room for Salire to recover in.

“Rowan,” Theo said, knowing the man was always close at hand. “Watch over her. Prepare for frogs.”

“For frogs?”

“Millions of them, apparently,” Theo said, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. “You should practice a stomping motion, then discover the best way to remove frog guts from the hardwood floors.”

Rowan stammered, but Theo didn’t wait for him to respond. The flash of anger he felt when meeting with Drogramath had faded to a smoldering ember. If this was the old him, he would have gone on the warpath. Demanding answers from Fenian—perhaps even from the god himself. He took a deep breath, centering himself. The Elven trader warned him about this. Not this specifically, but the twisted path he walked. Only now did the alchemist realize why he was so amiable to the concept.

It was confusing enough to think that a piece of his heart wasn’t his own. That his decisions were influenced by Tresk, and Drogramath from afar. But now it seemed as though the God of Potions had been influencing him closer than he knew. More of a voice in his ear than a distant whisper. Through the power of Tero’gal, all those voices had been silenced. What remained was Theo Spencer, true to the system’s resignation of the creator tag on items. Those little pieces of other people were cast out, leaving the purest form of himself.

Tresk picked up on what Theo was doing as he walked to Fenian’s room. The alchemist slipped through her grasp as he threw the door open, locking his gaze on the wheelchair-bound trader.

Fenian turned the chair, flashing a smile. “What did I do this time?”

“How do you know when you’re a champion?” Theo asked.

Fenian’s face brightened up. “Oh, did he finally do it? Did he make you his champion?”

An intuition message popped up. When those messages were certain about something, it was the truth. Fenian wasn’t lying. He didn’t know that Drogramath had made Theo his champion from the start. If he was keeping that from the other conspirators, what else was he hiding?

“The question,” Theo said.

“You’ll know it in your heart. A closeness with your god. They can only select one champion, and every god does it differently. There. That’s your answer—so spill the beans.”

Sometimes it was hard to focus on living when there were so many weird things going on around town. Theo drew a steady breath, watching the excitement on Fenian’s face fade. For all his blustering, the Elf was wise. His perception cut through most of the bull, biting deeply into the truth. Being a twin-champion didn’t help matters.

“Oh, that little rapscallion. I’m going to give Drogramath a nice thrashing the next time I’m in his realm,” Fenian said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Come. Sit. Let uncle Fenian instruct you, Champion of Drogramath.”