ALFG Chapter 175: I Insist Somebody Will Die And I Hate Hoping

“What do you mean you don’t know where Dirk is?!”

The guy who’s introduced himself as the Autoresponder lifts a shoulder, barely turning back as he continues down the ruined street. He said he and the others have found a house to stay in — a favorable thing since what Jake has seen of the city is apparently status quo.

What in god’s name has happened to New York?

“I wasn’t here,” the Autoresponder says.

“Where were you, then?”

The guy says something, but the sound bounces against Jake’s consciousness and fails to stick. He blinks, baffled, then turns to Tavros who’s got the same confused look on his face.

The Autoresponder stops walking, peering over his shoulder to watch them. With the darkness around them, the red glow of his eyes shines faintly through his cracked glasses, lingering for a few seconds before he turns away and resumes his trek.

Beside him, the adult human clears his throat. “We lost track of Dirk Strider around…I suppose it would be a month or so ago by Earth’s count.”

“How the hell do you lose a guy like that?” Jake asks, voice rising at the end far louder than he intends it to be. “Did you lose him —” He swings his gaze to the Autoresponder meaningfully. “ — or does he not want to be found?”

The Autoresponder tenses, pausing in his walk for the briefest of moments, before he continues on, saying nothing and stuffing his hands into his pockets in an oddly human gesture.

“I’m very sure we lost him; it’s quite difficult to hide from the Seer of Void,” Nightwalker says. Jake instantly shares a look with the others. “As to where he is, I’m afraid that’s still something we’re trying to figure out. We were scattered in different locations until very recently. Myself and a few others were in one post, Strider here was in another. We arrived just over a week ago to take care of…a threat.”

“Whatever did this to the city?” Thor finally speaks. The man flanks their whole group, and has been silent for the entirety of the Autoresponder’s explanation, though every time Jake glanced at him, he was listening, albeit while constantly scanning the area around them, one hand on Mjolnir at all times.

“...yes,” the human says.

Jake turns as Thor’s eyes narrow slightly, jaw steeling. “It sounds as if there’s a story there.”

“It’s a long one, but it’s done with,” the Autoresponder says.

“Then I believe we have nothing but time.”

“I’m not much of a storyteller.” The Autoresponder inclines his head toward the human, whose posture slumps slightly; his eyes grow tired and haunted as they lose whatever alertness they had just a few seconds ago.

“Well,” he says. “What do any of you know so far?”

They spend the rest of the half-hour walk to the house swapping stories and catching each other up. While Asgard and Vanaheim have been dealing with Her Imperiousness, Midgard has simultaneously been dealing with the other half of their problem — the Heir of Blood. Jake’s shoulders hike up as he listens.

The Reckoning-Bringer. The memories of his glasses splashed with red and Ethu screaming in his face to make his choices replay at the forefront of his mind. Soldiers dismembered and mangled with stolen space magic. Haldis and Caelum trapped in the War Room until they deal with him.

There was a recent victory, thankfully, as one of the bastard’s most recent pawns has been eliminated. The Autoresponder’s walk hastens at the mention, though not by much, like he’s trying to not be obvious.

“We lost someone in the process,” Nightwalker says, quietly. “One of his friends, from what I understand. He was injured gravely while trying to take her down.”

Jake frowns. “Who?”

“His name was Eridan, if memory serves.”

The boy nearly sighs in relief, then stops himself at how awful it would be to do so. The only people he’d thought the Autoresponder would ever deign to call friends were himself, Jane, or Roxy — not Dirk; that didn’t seem like something he’d call his creator and the guy whose brain he was an electronic copy of — and since Jake had been on Asgard, he’d immediately concluded it was either of the girls. But it looks like the Autoresponder’s started talking to a few more people since he’s gotten here.

Before Jake can let the relief sink in, however, the trolls chorus, “Eridan?!”

Nightwalker nods. “I assume you’re from the same session, then?”

“He got brought back too?” Tavros’ eyes are wide, and he keeps looking at Nepeta and Equius. “And then…”

The human pauses and inclines his head. “I’m sorry,” he says. “The Sylph would have completely destroyed all of reality given the chance,. He had to stop her.”

Nepeta frowns, then her brows lift in shock, before they twitch back into a frown again. But she doesn’t say anything, simply looking to Tavros in quiet communication again. Equius grunts, but similarly stays silent.

Ahead, the Autoresponder keeps walking. He’s almost disappeared into the darkness with how far away he is.

“And this Sylph is no longer a threat?” Thor asks.

Nightwalker shakes his head. “We’ve more time now before the universe starts to collapse in on itself again.”

The god nods, expression settling into resigned seriousness. “Because the Reckoning-Bringer is still at large.”

“That,” Nightwalker says. “And reality’s still fraying at the seams.”

#

The house they’ve holed up in is a modest two-story building sandwiched between an apartment with several broken windows and a townhouse that reeks of rot. Jake wrinkles his nose at the smell. Poor Nepeta keeps a hand over her sensitive nose until she’s inside, shaking like that would help get the smell off her. Thankfully, the place has its windows sealed shut, allowing for as little of the stench to get in as possible.

The Autoresponder immediately makes himself scarce, heading for the stairs with heavy thunk-thunk-thunks of his feet. Weird to think that the thing’s walking around with a body, but maybe Dirk needed someone to run physical errands for him now that he wasn’t stuck in a tower in a waterlogged world. With all the business of the Reckoning-Bringer and Her Imperiousness, he likely felt like he needed backup, especially if he was got dropped here by himself or with only one other person, like Jake had been with Tavros.

“Did you really lose Dirk?” Jake repeats, directing the question to Nightwalker, who’s taking his boots off to wipe them clean and set them by the shoe rack. Given what they’ve all been walking around in, Jake and the others follow suit.

“We did,” Nightwalker confirms.

“But you said you were someplace else, didn’t you?” Jake points out. “And pardon me if this is rude, but I know Strider. I’m quite familiar with how he operates, and I don’t think he’s someone who’d let himself get lost in a convoluted stream of machinations unless he wanted to be, or he had a reason to, especially when he wants you to think he’s lost. Are you absolutely sure he didn’t pull the wool over you?”

Nightwalker’s bright blue eyes slide to him, studying. Before Jake can squirm in discomfort under the attention, he says, “I’m sure you believe in your friend’s intelligence, but trust me when I say the Heir and their friends are just as capable.”

“I’m not doubting that,” Jake defends,. “It’s just — ”

“Close the goddamn door before I rip your lungs out to switch with my mine, Nightwalker. It fucking reeks!” comes from the kitchen, accompanied by the loud slam of what sounds like a cupboard.

Jake flinches, attention swinging to the darkened kitchen doorway; Tavros jumps slightly; Nepeta and Equius instantly take steps back, readying themselves for a fight; Thor’s grip on Mjolnir tightens.

Nightwalker clicks his tongue. “Close the door, he’s a bit of a wimp.”

“Fuck you!”

“No, thank you.” Seeing as everyone is still on edge, Nightwalker walks over and pushes the door closed himself.

Footsteps approach from the kitchen. Jake’s fingertips faintly glow with the familiar white-gold heat of his magic, everyone else with him similarly standing ready.

From the shadows, a silhouette emerges. Jake spots the horns first, high and curving in a wave, going way past the doorway that the person has to duck to make his way through. Then, the rest of him: unnaturally tall in a way that reminds him of the Na’vi, grey skin, clawed hands, closed gills on his neck, and fins on the side of his head. Violet eyes sweep across the group, lingering on Nepeta for a moment before they pin on Jake and narrow.

In the man’s left hand is a glass of water. His right, resting at his side, has a golden manica clamped around the forearm. There’s something there, something that makes Jake stare at it for too long, something that sings for him to get closer despite the obvious, imposing figure wearing it.

The adult troll lifts his free hand — Tavros, Nepeta, and Equius all flinch back — and points a sharp violet nail at Jake. “Who’s the brat?”

“A friend of Strider’s; both the one we have and the one we lost,” Nightwalker says.

The troll’s gaze narrows, zeroing in on one of Jake’s hands, before he brings it to the others. “These my shitty double’s friends?”

“I believe they’re your descendant’s.”

“Shit,” Tavros mutters.

The older troll’s jaw tightens. He drops his hand, then turns to make his way back to the kitchen. “Long as they don’t fuck anything up,” he says, voice getting fainter. “Shitty double’s awake, by the way.”

Nightwalker relaxes at the news. “Excellent.”

“Shitty double?” Jake turns back to him, just as Nepeta hisses out, “That’s the Orphaner Dualscar!”

When Jake chances a look at the rest of them, beads of sweat dot Equius’ temple while his fists clench at his side, muscles strung up like a cornered animal; Nepeta’s eyes dart around with fear and wariness; Tavros’ limbs draw as close to him as possible. Only Thor looks at ease, though with how the trio are acting, his expression has fallen to concern.

“He’s harmless,” Nightwalker says, to which the trolls give him a look of bafflement. “Our goal right now is to get back to —” he says a word, the one that pings right off Jake’s retention “ — and regroup with the others. Imposing as he might seem —” there’s a smug snort from the kitchen; Nightwalker rolls his eyes  “ — he’s not dangerous to anyone unless you prove to be a danger yourself.”

Thor ducks his head slightly. “Do you children know him?”

“We know of him,” Equius bites out. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

“Regrettably, the Heir’s brought him back,” Nightwalker huffs. “But he has his uses.”

Jake looks to the kitchen again, frowning. That arm guard… “He’s a Hope player.”

“His…ancestor, I suppose, was,” Nightwalker says. “He has authority to use the man’s magic, but he’s not a Hero of Hope  himself.”

“And does this ancestor of his have more of the answers we seek?” Thor asks.

“I don’t know where the man is, honestly,” Nightwalker says. “But should he be assisting us, I believe the Heir of Doom will have their timetable for it. For now, as I’ve said, our goal is to regroup. The four of you have been quite isolated from the rest of us, but if you’re here then it must be time for everyone to gather. We have a sizeable gathering back at my cabin, and more at the house in — ” there’s that unhearable word again “I know this must be quite sudden given you’ve just arrived, but it is now time for all of us to pool our resources. The erosion of the universe has once more been delayed, but we still have adversaries to hunt.”

The reminder makes Jake’s hands fidget in nervousness, but he’s seen the destruction that the Reckoning-Bringer has dealt upon Asgard, and now upon Earth. Besides, this is what he’s agreed to come down to Midgard for, to help bring down the Heir of Blood and Her Imperious Condescension.

“Um.” Tavros shifts on his feet, the metal of his prosthesis clanking as he does so. “Where did you say we were going, again?”

Nightwalker repeats the name of the city. Jake still doesn’t hear it, and from the confused looks all around, neither do the others.

“That’s fine.” Nightwalker waves the confusion off. “With Cronus awake, we should be able to get to the city with the Full Moon, anyway.”

“Yeah, we could,” someone says from the stairs. Jake turns just as the Autoresponder leans over the edge of the railing. Despite having heard him speak already, an uncanny nagging familiarity scratches at Jake, and after a moment, he realizes that the thing’s voice is just Dirk’s, formant-shifted lower for differentiation. “Except Ampora’s booked it.”

Nightwalker’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Ampora’s gone.” The Autoresponder has a scrap of paper pinned between his index and middle finger. From this distance, the only thing Jake can make out is violet against the white sheet. “Said he had an errand assigned by the Heir of Doom that just came in.”

Nightwalker opens his mouth to protest — and then hears Heir of Doom and immediately shuts it.

Dualscar, meanwhile, marches out the kitchen and bares his teeth at the man, hissing out, “Pathetic dog,” before detouring to the stairs to snatch the scrap of paper from the Autoresponder. “How the fuck are we supposed to get back to — ?”

“We don’t,” the Autoresponder says. “He says to wait, we’ll find someplace else to gather soon.”

“If that’s the plan —” Nightwalker begins, then draws his sword to deflect a small sliver of white-gold that Dualscar slings his way; though the troll’s fins are flicked back and his mouth is pulled back in a snarl, the human’s stoic expression remains. “ — then we’ll wait.”

“Do you do anything else other than taking orders?” Dualscar asks.

“Does it incense you that I can follow instructions from someone you consider an honorary ancestor better than you do?”

“There are no other houses for us to hide in,” the Autoresponder calls out as Dualscar makes an aborted move toward Nightwalker. The troll looks like he’s about to rip the man’s throat out with his teeth… then turns away and climbs the rest of the stairs, heading for the second floor and crumpling Cronus’ note in his hand.

The Autoresponder doesn’t follow him.

“So no meet-up?” Tavros asks.

“Unfortunately.” Nightwalker sighs. He motions to the living room. “I apologize for the accommodations, but as you can see…”

The others immediately shuffle away, happy to rest somewhere that’s not covered in bits of someone decaying. Jake follows Tavros as the boy takes a seat on the couch, both of them leaning back against it in exhaustion. Thor, meanwhile, sticks by Nightwalker, asking questions in low, hushed tones.

“We got lucky,” Tavros whispers. When Jake turns to him, he says, “The Reckoning-Bringer found us ‘cause of Haldis and Caelum scrying, but if it weren’t for that, he probably would have never figured out where we were. Compared to that…”

The windows are closed and the night is thick and dark outside, but there’s no disguising the eerie emptiness of the city.

“He knows about Asgard and Vanaheim now,” Equius reminds from where he’s opted to sit on the floor, right beside the television setup. He’s set back against the wall, arms crossed. Beside him, Nepeta leans her head on his shoulder, picking at the hem of her shirt. “Which means we have to deal with this fast.”

Maybe they can go and look for…wherever Nightwalker said they needed to get to on their own. If it was a place that existed, then it could be found, right? Like a secret site one needed to solve a riddle to get to — and with Jake’s magic, he might as well have the master key. They just needed to gather enough information so he knew what to do. Just needed someone who knew the place well enough to get there.

Upstairs, the Autoresponder retreats to the second floor.

#

“On a road trip across a continent I have no idea how to navigate again,” Cronus mutters under his breath as he carefully maneuvers the motorbike down the debris-covered highway. The Full Moon had directed him to one that was still serviceable, parked in the garage of some poor bastard the worms were feasting on in the front yard. With how he had to fill his days in Sicilia, he’d picked up several things to learn alongside his magic, and Luciana, in a misguided attempt to flirt with him, had offered to teach him how to ride a motorcycle. The Heir had never gotten him one to use on the daily, but he still knew how to, and Angeles had happily suggested he put his skills to good use before they’d ended their call.

He would have liked to sleep a little longer, really get his bearings before he set out on a road trip again, but the kid had said that with the Anathema spell having no siphons, they were on a time limit. If their hunches were to be believed, they needed to make the most of the time they were buying everyone, take every scrap of luck they could get, including Cronus being ahead of schedule in terms of setting down the lights.

Buy enough time, that had been their own words. I should be able to buy enough time.

Even in death, they couldn’t rest. They should be able to.

Sadly, whatever they’re dealing with, a Bard of Hope is probably not the right person to fix it. The most Cronus can do is do his job, do it fast, and do it well; if he gets everything in order and the Heir of Doom can come back early, then they might be able to do something about their ailing Anathema Point.

Thankfully, the first location he needs to hide a coin in is close. With that in mind, Cronuus drives at full speed to Stark Tower.