Chapter 154: Chapter 129

Sonya tossed the knife up and down in her hand, turning it over between her fingers. She stared at it for a moment, admiring the white material. She hadn’t brought it out of its case in a while. It was light and harder than anything that Amos had been able to make thusfar. The long blade was somewhere between a combat knife and a machete. She glanced up at the door leading out of her dojo and bounced a bit on the balls of her feet as she pulled up her hud and began putting in the settings for the doll that would come out of it. The other dolls in the test house were non-combat, used for more domestic purposes.

The ones lined up behind that door on the other hand. She popped her neck as the door opened and a doll strutted out, walking with a very familiar gait. In its hand was a knife of its own. It adjusted its posture and stood casually, hand on its hip and knife pointed at her. The flexible machine waited until she raised her own weapon, adopting the same pose. They faced one another for a moment before she tilted forward, ready–

A chime rang in her head and she groaned, “Oh come on! I was just about to-” She blinked at the name and answered immediately after changing over her voice.

She asked, lowering her weapon and gesturing for the doll to leave. It bowed and turned back to walk into the room.

He said stiffly.

Her lip twitched, She asked as she twirled the knife between her fingers.

Prichard said, sounding a bit more relaxed,

She raised an eyebrow, She asked, walking towards her office. The door opened with a hiss and she sent the mental command to pull up a recording of the Olympics on one of the sections of screen around the room. She sat on her desk as a file made it into her HUD. She opened it and scanned it briefly.

He said, n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Sonya raised an eyebrow,

He said with a laugh,

Sonya’s eyebrows rose and a wicked smile stretched across her face,

–

He walked down the hall, his cane striking the ground now and then. He didn’t need it anymore, his control over his body had improved by leaps and bounds. Even so, he still liked it, it made him feel classy. He whistled a bit as he made his way along the path, twirling his cane between his fingers now and then as he passed paintings. Paintings of himself superimposed in a number of historical events, or just famous paintings. Was it a bit egotistical? Sure, he’d admit to that. Was it also hilarious and really tied in this particular hallway’s decor? Absolutely. He snickered a little to himself as he came to a stop in front of a pair of large double doors. He glanced back the way he’d come, the high-ceiling of the dimly lit hallway giving it a cavernous feel. He reached out with his cane and rapped on it twice.

A low growl answered him, deep enough to rattle the air a bit, and he brightened. He pushed the doors open and threw his hands open in greeting. “Pavlov! Daddy’s here!” He called out into the large, darkened chamber.

Deep in the dark, a shadow shifted, and a glowing red eye opened. It was huge. Easily the size of a dinner plate. The eye swiveled unnaturally in the creature’s head before pointing in his direction. He held his arms open as something big and terrible moved. Its massive bulk shifted in the shadows, a head larger than a riding lawnmower turned in his direction. A paw hit the ground and the floor shook once then again, and again, as the massive thing barreled toward him at full speed. Charon let out a laugh as the titanic dog crashed into him, bowling him over and licking his face with a tongue as wide as a welcome mat.

He kept laughing as Pavlov licked his face, pawing the ground and pressing its nose against his head, huffing and sniffing now and then. “Good boy! Who’s a good boy!” He praised the mighty canine, the sole survivor of his initial group of zombies. Out-aging all of his zombies by half a year at the minimum. His rise to power hadn’t been easy, but Pavlov had been his constant companion and ally. He scratched at the beasts fur as the zombified hound nuzzled him, overjoyed at his attention. He pat the side of its head, “Alright buddy, let me up! Come on now!”

It let out a growling “Rowf!” of acknowledgement and pulled away, planting its rear on the ground and sitting up at attention. He had to crane his head back to look at it, even as he got up.

“You’ve gotten big!” He laughed, “You ready for your next meal?” The hound barked again and leaned forward, sniffing at him. “You’ve also gotten smarter again,” He pat the side of its nose, “No I don’t have it on me, buddy. It’s coming. So don’t eat the delivery guys, alright?”

It squinted at him as if in consideration before huffing out a breath and barking again, sitting up straight and dignified. “Yeah, you’d never eat one of my zombies by accident. Not once,” He said sarcastically.

The hounds head drooped a little and he snickered, “You’re fine, it wasn’t that big a deal, bud,” He said and looked the creature over. It still looked like a hound for all intents and purposes but it was so much larger than any hound he had ever heard of. More importantly, after it had reached six months in age he had felt that he could loosen some of the connections between himself and it and let it act more and more independently. It was different from programming his zombie puppets, coming up with recordings or interplays. No, Pavlov was special. He wasn’t sure if it was because it was a monster or if it was because of its age, but he could feel it growing smarter and smarter, drawing off its connection to him to essentially construct its own identity.

The result of that and regular feedings? The biggest and bestest boy in the whole wide world, as far as I’m concerned. He thought proudly as the doors behind him rattled. He sensed two of his zombies on the other side and they opened the doors at his whim. Pavlov growled once but he gave the dog a look and it settled. The two zombies in suits strode inside, dragging a corpse along with them. A dead-eyed man with a portion of his forearms carved out. Charon rubbed his own forearms and checked the fresh stitching. He was getting good at that.

“Got something special for you today, Pavvy,” Charon said as the two zombies dumped the corpse on the ground. He kicked it, “This is a heroic-tier villain who crossed a new friend of ours,” He said with a chuckle and walked around the body before stepping away from it.

Pavlov sniffed the air and sent him a look. He shrugged at it, “What?” He sneered a little and showed off his wrist, “I just took a little bit.”

The hound didn’t need any more prompting, it stalked forward and snatched the remains of Gale Force into its mouth, chomping down with bone-crushing force before swallowing the body whole. A faint glow burned for a moment beneath the beasts skin and it let out a heavy breath, tossing its head left and right with a shiver of delight before barking again at him and wagging its tail. He raised an eyebrow, “Don’t get greedy,” He teased the massive canine. It let out a whine and he walked over, wrapping his arms around its snout, “Oh you’re so good! I can’t give you anymore right now but I’ll get you something tasty as soon as I can! Good boy!”

A feeling went through him as he squeezed his companion. It huffed and glanced towards the doors. He paused as well and turned his head, narrowing his eyes. “Seems we have a visitor,” He said gravely, “Powerful one.”

He pulled back and straightened his coat as he willed the zombies at the entrance of the Styx to invite their guest to the Large Parlor. He turned and walked out the door as the zombies that had brought the corpse opened them. Behind him, Pavlov lumbered forward, not stopping as it reached the doors and trotted out into the hallway that had been made more than big enough to fit its bulk. Charon made his way to the end before turning away from the smaller doors that lead into the main hallway of his home. Instead he turned left to another large pair of doors that opened again with just a thought. The two zombies on the other side stared blankly at him and Pavolv as they walked in.

The Large Parlor was just that, a wide room with a high ceiling meant for greeting guests while Pavlov was available and giving the massive hound a place to walk around and do other things besides sleep and play in his room. The room consisted of a false glass ceiling with blue glass arches and lights set up behind them to make it look like daytime. A garden made entirely out of artificial plants and greenery was present. He’d never considered himself much of a green thumb and wasn’t going to risk killing a bunch of plants just to make something pretty. A small creek flowed through it using some of the water from the building’s pipes. At the center was a gazebo made of white wood.

He walked towards it with a smirk on his face as he spotted the figures waiting for him. Two zombie guards and someone sitting in a wheelchair.

He rest his cane on his shoulder and stepped up, Pavlov looming behind him as he alighted on the floor of the gazebo. He cracked a toothy grin, “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” He said with a dark laugh, looking the person in front of him up and down. It was a bald old man, thin, tired, with gray mottled skin almost like a zombie’s. He had haggard bags under his eyes and a cold expression. His eyes themselves, though, were full of vitality and barely restrained contempt. The old man was sitting in a wheelchair with a blanket over his knees. Thin hands with delicate claw-like fingers in his lap.

The old man’s lip twitched, “Are you Ishtar’s middleman?” He rasped.

Pavlov growled and Charon held up a hand, grinning, “I believe you’re looking for Mephisto, in that case,” He said with a small bow, “I am Charon. Ishtar and I have a partnership but I make my own business, thank you very much,” He corrected the old man before tilting his head and giving the man a vicious look, “You still haven’t introduced yourself, sir. That’s rude. I don’t like it when people do that. It makes me very disinclined to help them.”

“I am Blight,” The old man growled.

Charon blinked and stood up a bit straighter, tilting his head to the left and right, “You? You’re Blight?” He blinked and reached into his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and tapped away for a moment, mumbling to himself before he pulled up the Pandora’s Most Wanted list. He selected Blight and a picture appeared of a frowning middle aged man with hair. He squinted at it, then up at the old man, then down again. He pursed his lips and held the picture up next to the old man’s head. The old man frowned and Charon barked out a laugh, “Well I’ll be!” He snickered and put his phone away, “You know some people frown upon posting up old pictures on your dating profile,” He said, waving his cane disapprovingly.

“I’m forty two,” Blight rumbled.

“Eh?”

Blight stared at him, “My ability reverses damage on things,” He growled, “The consequence is that my body suffers the repair as age and sickness instead. I have various forms of cancer and my body is withered and broken.”

Charon raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Pavlov who snuffed once and sat down, staring at the old man. It didn’t seem interested in eating him anymore. He turned his attention back to Blight, “So you want healing from Ishtar? Get your youth back?”

Blight’s lip twitched, “I have a scheme to propose for Ishtar. My youth is just a portion of the deal and wholly unnecessary, though it would expedite things.. It will take time to achieve what I want, more than a year or two at minimum, but I’ve come to realize that I cannot achieve my ends without support.”

Charon was impressed. This guy couldn’t care less about his own body as long as it meant achieving his goals. He stood up straight and adjusted his tie, “Alright, I’m interested. Let’s see if Ishtar would be too. Whatcha got for me?”

Blight’s eyes narrowed, “There’s a man I want to kill more than anything on this earth.”

“A single murder? I could just call up the night so-” The old man coughed, loudly, cutting him off. A cough that turned into a peal of wheezing laughter. Charon blinked and his lips dipped into a frown, “You got a problem with the Night Society?”

“You are suggesting throwing pebbles at a mountainside,” The old man chortled cruelly, leaning back in his wheelchair, “This person won’t go down that easily.”

“Who are we talking about?” Charon asked.

“First Wind,” Blight snarled, clenching his fists, “First Wind! That insidious wretched malcontent!” He slammed his fists on his wheelchair, “He runs around destroying natural wonders and isolated pollution centers to test the strength of his abilities, then he blames it all on me!” He roared, his fingers popping and cracking under the pressure of his rage. “I may have been an ecological activist at one time, but I stopped my activities after the flash!” He swore, spitting on the ground, “I’ve been going around restoring damaged natural sites! I was working on healing the great barrier reef!”

The old man’s rage was palpable, “I heard you wrecked the reef,” Charon said.

“First Wind!” The old man nearly shrieked before slipping into a coughing fit, “That piece of shit came in while I was working, took pictures of my ship, and then ravaged the reef with his ability! He picks isolated spots to practice and train. I’ve been monitoring him. The damage to the redwoods in California was him too!”

Charon pursed his lips and glanced back at Pavlov who was laying on his side and paying absolutely no attention at this point. Charon huffed through his nostrils. He was trying to look vaguely interested while he was actually extremely interested. Ishtar had made it a point to give him a list of names that she was explicitly interested in dealing with. Among that list was First Wind. Each and every one of them she wanted some sort of role in killing. He rubbed his neck with his cane, though, and tilted his head in thought. If he came across too eager then the man might make more demands than necessary. More importantly, this sounded like the kind of thing that Ishtar should address directly.

“Hmm…” He hummed, stepping away for a moment and starting to pace, “Let’s say I believe you. Do you have a plan? A higher goal than just killing this son of a bitch? Sounds like you can’t go around healing the world forever,” Charon said, turning back to him, “Ishtar likes long term plans too.”

Blight stared at him for a moment, “I’m putting together a team and a possible successor. We have a few plans in mind to bring First Wind down, but again, it will take time,” He looked down at his hands, “As for my other activities,” He trailed off for a moment before speaking, “If she deigns to return my youth to me, I’ll not only start healing the world again, I’ll start attacking pollution centers again if she wants. I’ll be the bad guy they made me out to be if that’s what it takes to earn her favor.”

Charon raised his eyebrows and smirked, “You know what? I think we could do business,” He said and pulled out his phone again, “Let me get in touch with Mephisto and you and the dealmaker himself can have a little talk. If everything goes well, I might be able to convince the Queen to make a visit. I’m sure her direct intervention is much more potent than her age-reversing contracts.”

The withered man let out a breath of relief and slumped in his seat, “Consideration is all I ask,” He said with a sigh, “Thank you, Charon.”

“Just doing my job, Blight. Regardless of whether or not you’re actually guilty of your crimes, I consider it an honor to be hosting one of the top ten in my club. Shall I set you up with a room?” Charon asked, finishing a quick text message and sending it off.

Blight smiled at him, “That would be nice.”