Magic Murder Cube Marine

Later that evening, Willow retrieved Francis and went out to sit with him in the garden. She could tell he was tired and overwhelmed. But thankfully, he wasn't the kind to lash out when that happened. Instead he made appreciative noises as she rubbed his shoulders.

“What a fucking day,” the Marine said, stealing a puff from Willow's cigar. It tasted of spice and leather. “You know, I'm almost relieved.”

Willow continued to rub his shoulders without answering. Though, she did kiss him on the side of the forehead to let him know she was still listening. The Marine had knots in his back the size of walnuts.

He continued, more or less talking to himself. “I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it did, things suddenly got a lot more simple. I know who the enemy is, and that we can stand up to them if we need to.”

Francis turned around and took her hand in his. “You saved my ass today. I wouldn't have even thought to ask the other gods for help.” he grimaced, “I'm just a grunt. I don't know if I'm even qualified to lead this city. But, knowing you have my back makes all the difference.”

The Death Cleric looked at her deity and stroked his face. He was powerful, but also incredibly innocent, in his own way. Willow had watched dozens of gods fall. She had even killed a few of them. And it hurt her to know that no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to keep him safe, chances were she would outlive Francis.

Angering Hades and attracting the attention of a major pantheon didn't speak well for their chances of survival. Willow had promised never to lie to Francis, and she wasn't going to start now.

The Death Cleric tapped her forehead and started speaking in Grunt. “The assholes who run the show aren't going to let us win. They'll kill us, then burn down Brexis. Even if we fucked off to the middle of nowhere, they'd still find a way to screw us over.”

The Marine grunted, absorbing her words, thankful to be able to respond in a language that was uniquely suited for such discussions. “It is what it is. There's shitheads everywhere. What are you gonna do?” He shrugged and looked at her. “It’s better to die with blood in your boots, than piss running down your legs.”

Willow looked at him hopefully. “So, we gonna fuck ‘em up?”

“Yeah. We’re gonna fuck ‘em up good,” the Marine assured her, his voice becoming more and more certain as he spoke, “This is my patch, my people, and my crew. If someone is stupid enough to touch any of them, I will fist-fuck that person to death with their own arms.”

“Fuck yes!” The Death Cleric straddled her man, shoving him back onto the soft grass of the garden. She hitched up her robes and grinned. It was time for his reward (and hers too, for that matter).

***

The stars were out in full when Francis finished seeing to the needs of his High Priestess. He stood up, naked in the garden. Willow waved at him because she couldn't speak yet. Her legs were softly twitching and she wore a look of absolute contentment.

Julia and Shiv nodded to him from their self-assigned posts by the palace gate. They were making sure that nobody disturbed their boss. Shiv gave him a thumbs up, a shit eating grin spreading across her face.

As Francis walked through the garden, something became clear to him. He was spending too much time worrying about shit that did not matter. In fact, he had been so wrapped up pretending to be a god and a leader that he forgot who he was. Speaking in Grunt had brought it all back, the surety of purpose and an understanding of his place in the cosmos.

The Marine relieved himself on an ornamental shrub and sighed with relief. It didn't matter that he wasn't qualified to lead, or that powerful gods were plotting to fuck him over. It was his job to make sure that his people, all of his people, were safe and taken care of.

The difficulty of the task did not matter. The low chance of success was not his concern. He would not let his plans of resurrecting Brexis be derailed by some old fuckers in robes. Sure, they were gods. But Francis was a Marine, and Marines make do.

***

Francis had been adamant that they provide an education to the children of Brexis. But because of his recent revelation, it would be a bilingual school. His people would have a common language to unite them.

The Marine watched as Julia and Shiv taught their new students the basics of how to paint. They weren't going to start on things like mathematics until the others arrived. So, for now, they painted.

A little girl with blond braids raised her hand. “Miss Rose, Justin keeps stealing all the blue paint from the supply room.”

Shiv cleared her throat. “And how would you say that in Grunt?”

The little girl concentrated on the unfamiliar language, smiling as the words came to her. “Boss Rose, Justin keeps rat-fucking the supply closet.”

The boy named Justin rolled his eyes and handed over a pot of blue paint. “Sorry.”

Francis grinned as Julia gave the girl a sticker for the successful translation. Grunt was an incredibly efficient and effective language. It really cut down on the bullshit and misunderstandings.

When the head of the Immortal Revenant Service heard they would have to translate the entire tax code into Grunt, he had decided to move on to the afterlife instead. Now Locke was in charge, and he was having a blast.

The old lich had simplified everything dramatically. Within a week Locke had boiled down centuries of archaic tax code into terms even a grunt could understand. Though Francis had to admit it was weird seeing the word “cunt” written in legal documents. (But that was Australians for you.)

The Marine left to go inspect another aspect of his rapidly growing city. No, not growing, resurrected. The city had been brought back to life.

He stood on the high road and summoned Relativity. Together they watched as the living and undead coursed through Brexis' streets. He looked up, even the birds had begun to return now that the aura of undeath was down to safe levels.

Francis tapped his staff twice on the black stones of the road as if he were trying to get its attention. “We've got a long way to go, but this is one hell of a start.”

Slowly the blackened hand curled into a thumbs up gesture. Relativity was very happy with the progress thus far. But it was only the beginning.

Brexis had been the most powerful city in all of Vahnis, and god willing (in this case, Francis), it would rise to power once again. Slowly Relativity began to change, evolving to suit its new situation.

Black flakes rained down as the dreaded Staff of Moral Relativity shed its skin. It didn't need to be stuck in the past anymore. Now was the time to look forward towards the future.