Magic Murder Cube Marine

The first thing Francis did when he got back to Brexis was kiss Willow. The second thing was to re-establish their telepathic link. The third involved informing her that the undead weren’t far behind and filling her in on what happened in the forest.

“There is a wight controlling them.” Willow explained.

Julia swore. “I knew those skeletons were too well organized.”

“But, on the bright side, we found a way to weaken the undead under its command.” Willow gestured out toward the city. Brexis wasn’t teeming with life, but it was definitely active. “Without supplemental magic from Brexis, the undead it stole will start shutting down. The wight will have to give them some of its own power when that happens, which will reduce the amount of undead it can have active at any one time.”

“That explains why they stopped trying to swarm us. Thanks, babe. You saved my ass." Francis gave her another kiss. "So, what’s a wight?”

As if to answer, a skeleton wearing Hawiian print swim trunks and smoking a blunt burst through the doors. “Wights are fucking arseholes!” Undead Overseer Locke said, “They’re always stealing my shit. They never put it back. And, they are absolutely terrible conversationalists. Very uninspired. They’re worse than revenants!”

“You must be Locke. I’m Francis.” The Marine extended his hand to the undead aussie. “It’s a pleasure to meet a man who shares my fondness for fine shirts.”

“Only the best, friend. Now, I don’t mind you wearing it, just put it back when you’re done.” Locke looked around. “Well, this place has gone to hell, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. It has.” Responded an elderly hound Francis didn’t recognize. He walked over to Locke and held out his hand. “Would you be in a sharing mood?”

“Sure! Knock yourself out! Lord knows it isn’t doing me any good.” The lich handed over the blunt to the elderly hound. “I hear it works wonders for your glaucoma.”

Jack raced up the stairs and froze. “Francis, we need to talk about something. Something that is really, really important.”

“He means me,” AtropOS said before it hit the blunt like a champ, its facade falling away to reveal the golden skeleton beneath. Smoke billowed out from its eye sockets.

Locke poked AtropOS in the ribs with an elbow. “Wow, does that make you important?”

“Apparently.” AtropOS held up the blunt. “Jack, you should have some, You seem tense.”

“No thank you. I like to keep a clear head when dealing with pseudo death gods.”

Francis and Willow watched the exchange with curiosity. “I have a vague idea who Locke is, but the golden hound is new to me.”

“I think he’s something they had trapped in the lower levels. Hank says it’s incredibly evil and will kill everyone. But my instincts say we should probably talk first, because that thing is powerful enough to kill us all without raising a sweat.”

“I don’t sweat,” AtropOS said as it walked towards them, “And you can call me ‘he’ or ‘it’, both are accurate.”

“My name is Francis.”

“Wonderful to meet you. I am… well… in search of a new name.” AtropOS admitted. “My old one no longer fits.”

“You could be Kyle,” Francis suggested helpfully before Willow could stop him.

“No. I’m not feeling it,” the creature replied, “What else do you have?”

The Death Cleric looked around with surprise. Francis had said a name, and the creature hadn’t escaped or gone off to end the world. “You could be… Wilbur.”

Wilbur tried the new name on. “Yeah, I like it. The name doesn’t fit the face though.”

They watched as Wilbur morphed into an elderly man with a pair of blue overalls and a big white bushy beard. “Much better! Though I do feel the strange urge to start doing some woodworking. Or maybe baking.”

Jack walked over to Locke. “On second thought, I absolutely would love some of that.”

The lich handed over the blunt. “Have fun.”

***

Once again, Francis found himself taking stock of the situation. Jack was out of commission, and not just because he was too stoned to do anything except talk about classic rock. Dying more than once per day was absolutely out of the question.

The wight could be at their gates at any moment. Willow was the only person with full health and magic (besides Brick, but he didn't count). And once the undead situation was all sorted out, they still needed to help the refugees.

Francis decided to delegate. He put his hands together and started praying. “Murder Cube, if you could find it in your heart to absolutely land a Texas sized smack down on that wight trying to kill us, that would be awesome.”

A System alert appeared in front of him.

—

Unfortunately, your prayer could not be answered.

Shawn, the Wight, is the champion of a rival god.

—

Francis could bet he could guess exactly who Shawn served. “Fucking goth boy is really starting to piss me off.”

Of course, if gods couldn't kill other people's champions, there was always the Conoco Gas Fields trick.

“Willow, how can I get in touch with Hades?”

***

“Hey, sexy,” Francis said into the bowl he had stolen from the kitchen to use as a scrying pool. “I’ve got a question for you.”

Hades looked down into his own scrying pool. He hadn't expected Francis to reach out directly. “Fire away.”

“Thanks. Now, tell me. I've been having a problem with a certain wight by the name of Shawn. He's not one of yours, is he?” Francis let the question hang.

“Nope. Absolutely not.” Hades lied, knowing that if he admitted to sending a wight after Zeus’ people, it could spark a war. Besides, Shawn could handle himself. Francis didn't stand a chance.

The Marine smiled. “Ok, so you won't mind if my friends and I go deal with him?”

Hades fought back the urge to scream at Francis. “He's not one of mine. Do what you have to do.”

“Great!” Francis looked off to the side. “Hades says Shawn isn't one of his, and he doesn't mind if we kill him. Go do your thing.”

“Who were you talking to?” Hades asked.

“Don't worry about it. It's not your guy,” the Marine said, grinning even wider.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Don't worry,” Francis repeated, “You already told us, Shawn isn't your guy.”

***

Shawn the Wight, Champion of Hades, was trying to decide the best way to kill Francis when he heard a high pitched whistling sound. The pale skinned undead looked back and forth, trying to locate the source of the sound.

It was getting closer, but Shawn had no idea which direction it was coming from. Finally, Shawn thought to look up.

“MY NAME IS MURDER CUBE! YOU HURT MY CHAMPION, PREPARE TO DIE!” Screamed Murder Cube as it descended on Shawn like a meteor made of gunpowder and hate. “DEUS EX CUBUS, BITCH!”

***

“Woah,” Francis said as he watched the shockwave ripple out from the blast zone, “Hades, you are so lucky he's not your guy. Because my guy, just turned Shawn into a fucking crater.”

Hades was furious. “Do you really think that you can fuck my wife and kill my people without any consequences?”

“Yes,” Francis replied, “But I would never fuck your wife, because cheating ain't cool.”

The god of death stopped to think for a moment. “I'm going to have to call you back.”

Hades had a sneaking suspicion that someone was messing with both of them. He called up the image of his wife Persephone in the scrying pool, she was still making love to Francis’ doppelganger. Next, Hades decided to call up an image of Zeus, and the same scene appeared.

“Hello, brother,” Hades said as he rubbed his pale hands together. “I think it's time you and I settled our differences, once and for all.”