Soulweaver 75: Bars and Nightmares (Arc 3) (Book Two) (Patreon)

My fists clenched so hard, my fingernails cut into my skin, drawing blood.  “By what right? What right do you have to judge me, huh? You brought me into this world! Against my will!”

“Come now. You didn’t actually think you could save everyone, did you?” Cosmo said with a light laugh. “I mean, look at you. You, of all people! Saving anyone? What a laugh!”

“So it was all a lie, after all,” I spat, stumbling back. “You just brought me here to suffer,” I said, gesturing to the battlefield. Hundreds of corpses lay strewn about, being slowly consumed by the fires that burned the ground and the sky.

“A lie? No. I gave you your chance. And you failed. You failed so miserably, you even got poor Aerion killed.”

Cosmo patted Aerion’s corpse, coming away with blood. She hung limp in midair, skewered through the belly on the blade of an enormous greatsword. Her eyes were closed, her lips were slightly parted, and her skin had gone pale white.

“No!” I screamed. “That’s not true! There wasn’t anything I could’ve done!” 

Tears ran down my face unabated, and no amount of blinking stopped them.

“Nothing you could’ve done? My dear Grug, you failed to protect her!”

“Aerion… Aerion doesn’t need protecting!”

Panic reared its ugly head, and I began to hyperventilate. This was all wrong. Something was horribly off here. It wasn’t me who’d caused Aerion’s death! Was it? 

But before I could even begin to deal with that can of worms, Cosmo continued his little spiel.

“You failed to turn back the Cataclysm, and now you’re gonna die, too,” the god said, shaking his head. “Along with the rest of the world. First time in history the heroes completely failed to drive back the Archon, you know? Sure, some die along the way, but they always succeed. Maybe… Maybe if you’d just helped them… Maybe things would be different.”

“A bit rich, judging me so soon, isn’t it?” I said. “I haven’t even met any of them yet. Give me a chance!”

“A chance, is it? Just like Rogar gave you a chance. Failed him, too. Didn’t you? Ten years? Please, you didn’t even last ten weeks!”

“That’s… We have an understanding,” I said. “I’ll be back. I told him I’ll be back!”

“And what good is it, returning after four years?”

I frowned, and suddenly the world started to spin. “Four… Years? What are you talking about? That’s not true! It can’t be—”

I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out. I had to be anywhere but here. I looked around desperately, and found a door.

That was it. I had to get to the door. Stumbling, I ran. I almost tripped over the bodies. In fact, I was pretty sure I did, but I kept running anyway.

I grasped the cold doorknob and flung open the door.

In front of me were… Galaxies?

“Hey,” a voice said from behind me.

I turned.

The battlefield was gone, and I was suddenly facing a silver-haired bartender in a suit.

My awareness came flooding back. 

“The fuck just happened?” I said, wiping my brow. I’d been sweating profusely, but the tears on my face were gone without a trace, like they’d never existed.

“I can’t exactly look into your head… But I’d say you were having a nightmare.” Cosmo grinned. “Care for a drink?”

— — 

I stared at my glass of Japanese Whisky, idly turning it on the coaster. “It was so damn real.”

The bar was full of patrons, though for some inexplicable reason, everyone was sporting eighties clothing and hairstyles. That meant afros, bob cuts, and too much makeup. 

“I’ve had lucid dreams before, but… My god. That was intense.”

“Yes?” Cosmo replied.

“Hilarious. Seriously though. The fuck was that? Aerion dead? That battlefield? That wasn’t you, was it?”

I shivered, and not just figuratively. A chill went down my back. That was fucking terrifying.

“Greg, as flattered as I am that you think so highly of my powers, mind reading is not one of them. And I certainly can’t peek into your dreams.”

My eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I literally enter your bar from a dream?”

Cosmo shrugged. “You’re awake now. Your mind must’ve jumped directly from the dream to here.”

“If you say so,” I said, frowning. Even now, my heart hadn’t fully calmed down, and the cold sweat on my back wouldn’t go away for a while.

This despite the smooth jazz playing in the background. It was drowned out by the din of chatter, but it wasn’t a bad sort of noise, though. The place was lively, and even if all the patrons were just Cosmo conjurations, it was still comforting. Familiar.

“Well, dreams are usually manifestations of your subconscious mind,” Cosmo said as he wiped a glass.

“You do realize that’s a stereotype, right?” I said, feeling myself start to calm down.

“Manifestations of the subconscious?” Cosmo asked with wide eyes.

“No. Bartenders that constantly wipe glasses.”

Cosmo’s hands froze, and he frowned. “Odd. I researched several sitcoms, and they all showed it.”

“That’s your problem right there,” I said with a laugh. Somehow, despite himself, Cosmo always seemed to know how to cheer me up. “Anyway, you’re probably right. I’m scared of the same thing that happened to that delver and his wife happening to Aerion. I’m scared this Cataclysm will wreck the world.”

“Annnnnd?” Cosmo said, leaning in.

I turned my glass, causing the ice to clink melodically. “And I’m scared of gods playing games with mortals, Cosmo,” I admitted. 

“As you ought to be.”

“Can I trust you?”

“Would you trust anyone with the sort of power I have?” Cosmo asked.

I paused for a moment. “I would. Depending on their character. I’ll be honest. I really want to call you a friend, Cosmo. As ridiculous as that sounds—mortal befriending a god and all that. But I see Dominion. I see his pomp and ceremony and all the devotion people seem to have for him.”

“And?”

“And then I see the Cataclysm, and how none of you gods have lifted a finger to stop it. Where was Dominion when the Landing Castle crash-landed? Where was he when the meteors crushed and burned the city of Basecrest? And… Where are you, Cosmo? Dominion being an asshole I can at least understand, but what are you doing to stop this madness? Not all of you can be that callous, right?”

Cosmo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he poured himself a shot, downed it, and let the alcohol ride down his throat.

“You might be better served asking why we can’t just eliminate all the suffering in this world,” he said at last.

“This again?” I said, my brows knitting into a disbelieving frown. “We’ve talked about this before, Cosmo. I get that you can’t stop tragedy without trampling all over personal freedom. People are free to make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes get them hurt or worse. I get that. That’s a completely different thing from doing something about Armageddon every hundred years!”

“For what it’s worth, Cataclysm Dungeons don’t show up in my country,” Cosmo said softly.

My drink stopped halfway to my mouth. “I… Actually didn’t know that.”

“Scout’s honor!” Cosmo said, puffing up his chest. “Only domain in all of Axius that can say that. Quite the marketing slogan, don’t you think?” 

If true, that was actually one of the biggest bombshells he’d dropped to date. I supposed this would be public knowledge. Something I could readily confirm with Aerion. But still… What did that mean? Why would Cataclysms just opt out of attacking his territory? Did he broker a deal with whatever demonic faction the gods were up against? Or was there more to this?

“I admit, your point still stands,” Cosmo said. “I don’t stop the Cataclysms, and neither do the other gods.”

“And you won’t say why,” I replied.

Cosmo gave me a pained smile. “You know…”

“Yeah,” I said dryly. “It’s one of the million things you can’t talk about. Or choose not to, as you love to remind me.”

“Well, now that you’ve calmed down a bit, why not tell me about your current predicament? Your thoughts. Your plans. Your concerns…” The god patted his chest, closed his eyes, and nodded theatrically. “Lay it all on old Cosmo, here.” 

I shrugged. “I feel like I’ve bared my chest aplenty, already, haven’t I? The Cataclysm’s just about the only thing on everyone’s minds. People are dying. People died before the damn Landing Castle even arrived, and more and more are dying every day. 

“We don’t know if our strike teams are getting through, and Basecrest’s heard nothing from the capital regarding reinforcements. Seems everyone’s fighting their own battles. We’re oh and ten, the bases are empty, and Aerion and I are next up to bat. So, y’know… The usual. All out pandemonium, the end of days. Light stuff.”

“Oh, come now, Greg,” Cosmo said, deftly pouring me another drink. It seemed he was stirring up a cocktail this time—a Whiskey Old Fashioned. “Do you really think I brought you to this world to go die on some Divergence Rank backwater Cataclysm Dungeon?”

“I mean, no… But are you really gonna tell me no Champion’s died to some random monster?”

“None of mine have!” Cosmo said with pride.

“That’s because you haven’t ever summoned heroes,” I replied flatly.

“Wrong!”

I raised a brow. “You have? Seriously? Tell me about them.”

“Well, there was Rocky… And then Rocky II, and Rocky III.” Cosmo lowered his fingers one by one. “Rocky IX, and I think we’re up to Rocky the forty-seven thousand three hundred eighty-sixth, if my math is right.”

I stared at my patron god for a long, long moment.

“What?” he said, starting to squirm under my gaze. “Isn’t a god allowed to choose his Champions?”

“You’ve summoned rocks,” I said. “For the past hundreds of thousands of years… You’ve summoned goddamned rocks.”

“Hey! Don’t judge ‘em till you know ‘em! My rocks make the finest pets!”

“And what do the other gods have to say about that?”

“Allow an old sage to impart his wisdom, Greg,” Cosmo said, as Gandalf’s hat and pipe poofed into existence above his head. Cosmo took a long, slow puff. “The longer you live, the more you realize the opinions of gods aren’t worth a damn,” he said in a cracked, ancient voice an octave lower than normal.

“So you’re telling me you’re full of shit?” I said. “Thanks, Cosmo. Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind whenever you say anything from now on.

“Now, wait just a minute there, Greg!” Cosmo said in his normal voice. 

The hat and pipe disappeared, and he looked more flustered than I’d seen him in a long time. I don’t know why, but the sight filled me with joy. 

“Most gods. I meant to say most gods!”

“You’re amazing, Cosmo. You truly are,” I said.

“That’s… The nicest thing you’ve ever said, Greg!” Cosmo replied, his voice breaking. “I’m touched!”

I sighed. As always, I was a fool to expect more from my god. This world was littered with ‘Champions’ that were literally rocks. Still, whether intentionally or not, he’d basically let slip he’d participated in 47,000 cycles. Which meant he’d summoned that many rocks, and which also meant that he himself was at least half a million years old.”

I stared at my patron deity, who was clutching his heart with both hands. You’d never know it, looking at him. To me, he just looked like a goofy late-middle-aged man. A perfect Dad, if there was one.

“What’s it like?” I asked. “To live that long? Do you even remember anything that far back?”

I sometimes struggled to remember what I ate for lunch the day before. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what 500,000 years of memories must be like.

Cosmo seemed to hear the tone of my voice, and ceased his clowning around.

“I do,” he said. “We deities don’t have the luxury of forgetting, like most mortals do. I can recall events of ages past as if they were yesterday.”

“Must be nice,” I said. You’d be a certifiable genius after a few thousand years, just on account of remembering things no one else could.

“It is, perhaps, closer to a curse,” Cosmo said in a voice so soft that I barely caught it. “All the joys, all the sorrows… To be fair, there have been quite a number of joyous occasions. And yet…”

“It’s the tragedies that stick with you, isn’t it?”

“Like needles.”

“Don’t you ever get… Well, don’t you ever feel lonely? Or depressed?”

Cosmo gave me a small, sad smile. “From time to time. Want to know the secret to dealing with it?”

I straightened up. Now that was some useful advice. 

Cosmo, with the smuggest smile I’d ever seen, reached beneath the counter and pulled out a bottle. “Irish. Single. Malt.”