Dungeon Item Shop - Chapter 125: Stain (Patreon)

“There’s something else,” says Jubilee, rolling the bed-roll together in their room in the adventurer’s guild.

“Huh?” Fresh looks over at them, staring over Basil’s back. The priestess is hunched down forward and fighting to roll her bedroll together, but it keeps undoing itself. Jubilee takes a moment to glance at the other two in the room, perhaps judging a second time if this next topic was okay to talk about in their presence.

“Did you do something witchy?” asks Jubilee. “To that fuck from the merchant’s guild?”

Fresh looks around the room, glancing over her friends who all stare her way now. “Me?” she points to herself. “No, why?”

Jubilee doesn’t say anything, eying her carefully as if sizing her up. “Because he melted.”

Fresh blinks. “He what?”

“He melted,” repeats Jubilee, pointing at her. “It was a huge scene apparently. Happened while we were out in the forest. He was talking to some big-names and he just… melted.” Jubilee shrugs. “Everything but the eyes.”

“I didn’t do anything!” says Fresh instinctively, scratching her cheek a second later and wondering if maybe she actually did do something. Wait. He melted? Her eyes open wide as she connects the dots. “Jubilee! Is he dead?!” asks the girl, failing to notice Basil knelt down in front of her as she rushes towards Jubilee. Both of them yelp as Fresh stumbles over the priestess, falling down onto the floor. “Ah! I’m sorry, Basil. Are you okay?” asks Fresh, climbing back up to her feet but not looking at the woman.

“I’m fine,” says Basil, wheezing a little as the bedroll she had just finished rolling into a tube had pressed itself into her stomach. “Be careful, okay?”

“Okay, sorry Basil!” says Fresh, staring at Jubilee ready to get back to the subject at hand. “Jubilee wha-!”

Jubilee rolls their eyes, putting up a hand to interrupt her. “What the fuck do you think happened when I said he literally melted like a fucking snowman up a dragon’s ass? That he somehow did that without dying?” Jubilee places their hands on their hips, staring at her. “Dumb-ass.”

“Jubileeeee~!” cries Fresh in distraught horror as she clutches her face, as she realizes what this means. If the black-contract killed the man, that means her spell killed someone. A person. A human. That means that she…

“What? If you had nothing to do with it, then why are you so angsty,” says Jubilee. “I mean. There are literally thousands of people who can turn someone into a black puddle of shit. Oh. Wait…” Fresh feels her hands shaking, she feels the ever increasing beat of her heart move her body as a cold layer of sweat wicks on her skin. Fresh feels all eyes on her now.

“I- I- “ she stutters realizing that she’s a murderer now. Was this it? The worst thing that she’s ever done? Were they all going to be disgusted by her now? Afraid of her now?

“That’s not possible,” says Basil. Fresh looks back to her, turning around. “She was with us in the forest the entire time. No spell can go that far.”

Jubilee shrugs. “Look, I don’t give a shit. It’s a good thing in my eyes. A long time coming. I just wanna know how she did it so we can do it to more people in the future.”

“Jubilee!” yells Fresh, distraught.

“What? Just being honest. Sometimes people have to be killed,” says Jubilee, waving them off. “Right, meat-head?” they ask, looking at Shamrock who hasn’t said anything yet, though that in itself is perhaps the norm.

Shamrock looks over to them, having long since finished packing by simply crushing his bed-roll into a giant ball that he stuffed into his bag a little too roughly, tearing one of the straps somewhat. “A dark soul less makes the world brighter.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, I guess?” says Jubilee. “Everyone’s a fucking poet. Gods give me strength.” They turn back to Fresh. “So? Was it a curse? Or did you poison him?”

“Those are horrible things to say!” argues Basil, standing next to her as she starts to argue with Jubilee.

Fresh stands there feeling fairly lost in her emotions right now as she watches the two of them argue. She’s not even really listening to their words anymore, they just float towards her like empty sounds that her mind doesn’t pay any attention to, as it is occupied with other things. She clenches her fists. No more secrets.

“I think it was my fault,” says Fresh, looking at them. Jubilee has their finger pressed against Basil’s forehead, who looks ready to bite it off. Fresh rubs her arm nervously. “There's something else I should tell you.”

The girl spends the next few minutes explaining the windows with the black-contract and how they have appeared several times now, including for most of them. Everyone is silent for a moment after she finishes her story, everyone except Shamrock who can be heard through his excited breathing.

Jubilee starts. “And you didn’t think that something called a ‘black-contract’ was ridiculously evil and shady to start with?”

Fresh doesn’t have an answer and rubs her arm, looking away. “I didn’t make it happen on purpose…”

“It makes sense,” says Basil, quietly. “With such a suspicious patron… but…” Basil looks around the room. “I suppose I have no position to argue, since I’m alive because of the contract.” Shamrock’s chest heaves as he lets out another breath. Basil turns to look back up at Fresh, who just averts her eyes, not able to meet the priestess’ gaze. “But you really didn’t do it on purpose… right?”

“No, I promise!” says Fresh, somehow managing to look back up after all.

“So wait. Are we going to melt too?” asks Jubilee. “You spooky fuck.”

“Ah! No!” Fresh waves her hands. “I just… I think stuff only happens if the contract is broken.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” asks Jubilee.

“Ah…” Fresh closes her eyes to think.

“The seal was broken,” says Shamrock’s gruff, heavy voice. “Pacts are sacred.”

Fresh stares at him for a moment as she realizes.  “Maybe he tried to do something with the house, Jubilee? Or something that went against our deal with the merchant’s guild?”

Jubilee looks at her. “So you’re saying that it was his fault that he melted?” Fresh recoils. “That’s awfully convenient for you, but you know what? Fuck em.” Jubilee shrugs. “If he tried to go back on our deal because the circumstances changed, then I’m still fine with him being melted. Shady fuck.”

“A man is dead,” whispers Basil, some aghast.

“The world’s better off, zealot,” sighs Jubilee. “You reap what you sow.” Jubilee gets up off of the floor, swiping their hands together as if to dust them off. “Anyways. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s finish up here,” suggest Jubilee. “If I have to eat bar-food one more night, I’m going to vomit.”

Shamrock gets up, nodding once as he grabs his bag. Basil seems uneasy, sparing a glance at her for a second, but then gets up as well. Only Fresh remains sitting there on the  wooden floors, looking up to her friends confused and not all unburdened by this happening. “Is that it? You guys aren’t mad at me?”

“Nope,” says Jubilee rather plainly.

Basil looks at her and then just shakes her head as well, saying nothing, as she continues to try to roll her bedroll together.

Fresh stares at them, confused. Why aren’t they terrified of her? Furious at her? Disgusted by her? She wants them to be. This is too easy. She’s getting off too easy. Why aren’t they yelling at her? Why aren’t they running off to abandon her here on her own? She wants them to. She wants to be scolded and punished, but all that’s happening is that her friends are continuing to be her friends. The work that needs to be done is being done. Only she is still sitting here, lost and distraught.

Why? Why aren’t they doing what she expected them to do? She’s getting off too easy. She always gets away with everything that she does wrong too easily. Wh-

Fresh stands up, her legs pushing her up into the air despite the fact that she had absolutely no intention of doing so. The girl’s hands reach down, pressing against the fabric of her bedroll, as she begins to roll it together, as if someone were holding her arms from behind and coercing her movements. Feeling something wet trickle down her face, she forces herself to squint, sending down a single black tear from her eye onto the bedding, leaving an obvious dark stain where it lands.

“It’s okay to cry,” says a soft voice from next to her. Fresh turns her head to look over at Basil. “Would you like to pray together with me tonight?” suggests the woman.

“Don’t indoctrinate her, you kook!” yells Jubilee.

“I am not! I’m simply trying to be supportive!” argues Basil, letting out a quiet yelp as her bedroll undoes itself again.

Fresh blinks, looking at her friends and then turning back down to look at her own bedroll, trying to find the ink stain that she had seen forming there not a few seconds ago. But there is nothing there to see, except for a normal wet spot and two, pale, shaking hands that press down against the fabric.