The Gamer Chapter 1105 – Classified and Chained 2 – Nightingale (Patreon)

The leg of a bird entered the car first. It was thicker than one would usually find on a bird, fitting with the human thigh to which its digitigrade shape connected. The skin of the bird-like leg was pitch black, as were the talons that tipped the four claws, three expanding forwards and one back, of her feet. The human portion, a smooth and almost entirely exposed thigh, was moonlight white.

Feathers as black as the windows enchanted by this goddess covered the wings that blocked the rest of her from John’s sight while she made her way in. While she sat down, she used the corner of her wing to support herself on the table. There was no doubt about what kind of being she was, beyond a goddess. ‘A harpy,’ John thought, more intrigued than before. ‘A proper one, with wings for arms.’

Once seated against the wall of the driver’s cabin, the goddess folded her wings tightly, revealing the rest of her body. She had a lean hourglass figure, nothing, neither her hips nor her bust, sticking out in any pronounced fashion while the overall remained quite pleasing. A leotard covered her torso, showing her pale shoulders and how they quickly transitioned into her wings.

When John looked at her face, he found a pair of deep purple eyes staring back at him with great interest. Her face was beautiful, the white of her skin contrasting with her black lips, eyebrows and lashes. All of it was framed by black hair, which was just the mildest bit dishevelled.

When she was still, the outline of her feathers and the individual strands of hair blurred into black masses, making the rest of her body stand out like a full moon in the night.

“The Nightingale,” she said, her harmonious voice sending shivers down John’s spine. The involuntary reaction caused a figurative explosion of jealousy to wash over his mind. Somewhere else in the room, a certain, musically gifted slime girl stared like only someone who got their territory invaded could. The goddess looked over to Undine for one second. “That is my name.”

“Fitting,” John responded truthfully in accordance with his reaction. A second wave spread through the mental network. Nightingale grabbed the door with the claws of her feet and shut it closed behind her. The isolation was once more complete. “Before we talk, I need a moment.” In the spirit of avoiding disaster, the Gamer turned to his jealous water spirit. “Undine, come here.”

“Why?” she snapped back.

“So, I can cuddle,” he insisted in a soft tone, patting the spot right next to him. “Come here.”

Undine made her way over, slowly at first, then accelerating into a quick flow. For a moment she was entirely formless, then she consolidated back into her female shape at his side. John placed a kiss on the top of her head, and that at least calmed her down.

“The Nightingale,” Metra spoke up in the meantime, “you look more like a raven to me.”

Raising one of her wings before her mouth in a courteous gesture, the goddess laughed softly. “I hear this often. Once I had brown feathers and a fairly normal complexion, if still comparatively pale. It changed after my ascendance to goddess of night.”

“Goddess of night, hm?” the Gamer hummed and looked at her. “You must be among the stronger gods then.”

“Hardly.” Nightingale shook her head. “Admittedly, you humans think a lot about the night. Since you illuminated it with electricity, you tend to respect it less, however. I theorize as much, I must say, I’m a young goddess.” She lowered her wing enough to show her smile again. “You may Observe for yourself.”


While the mild bit of deliberate censorship there was expected, John couldn’t help but voice his surprise at her age, “Thirty. That’s really young, especially for the concept you embody.”

“As Mother Shadow told me, the last god of night was slain by the Dangun Clan,” Nightingale told them.

‘Was that during the Abyssal conflicts of World War 2?’ the Gamer wondered. ‘I can ask Fade whenever I see her next.’ “I suppose I should be thankful that he died so I could meet a beauty like you,” he said.

“Fuck, dude,” Metra laughed, “that was beyond corny.”

“I feel flattered regardless,” Nightingale hummed amusedly. Completely folding the raised wing, she continued, “I heard a few things about you, John Newman, from Mother Shadow, Luna, and elsewhere.”

“Only good things, I hope?”

“No. Primarily intriguing bits.”

“I doubt any of it is as intriguing as you,” John responded flirtatiously. Although he could not help himself actually flirting with this attractive harpy, he did have an ulterior motive. “Says here that you aren’t part of any guild, yet the Sons of Odin let you serve as their concealment?”

“I am a guest, learning to handle her powers after her ascendance; serving this council has been part of my apprenticeship,” Nightingale responded. “To remain here as a patron goddess has crossed my mind, but I would always be a lesser in this pantheon. That aside, the weather does not suit me.”

“I can understand that.” The Gamer, out of reflex, looked out, or rather at, the window. His dick considered jumping the gun and immediately offering Nightingale a place at Fusion. His mind was more reasonable. Instead, he asked, “Are you muting the sensation of the moving car too or are we still at the airport?”

“The former,” Nightingale responded freely. “We respect your intellect, John Newman. You may be able to count the amount of turns we make on the road and compare with mundane maps later.”

“I suppose I could do that,” John admitted just as openly. “What I need from the Odin’s Sons, I need too desperately to try any shenanigans though.”

“Is that right?” Nightingale hummed.

Under the table Metra and John had a little foot wrestling match. “The guy couldn’t live another day with me moping about.” Metra grinned.

“I don’t know, making you into a housewife sounds like an interesting challenge.”

“Not happening. If I stay at home, I’ll be the convenient sex slave wife, not the housewife.”

“We call those stay-at-home nymphos, not sex slaves.”

“Sure, but saying sex slave gets your dick rock hard, stud.”

“Huh,” Salamander grunted her way into the conversation. “Completely forgot you call him that too. Must be a badass thing.”

The First of Wrath winked across the table. “Ya know it.”

Nightingale raised her wing again in that elegant, smile-hiding motion and chuckled. “You are an interesting party, there is no doubt about that.”

Her movements raised another point of interest for John. “How is it to live without hands, anyway? Do you need special bottles or something?”

“Inelegant as it is, us true harpies…” she twitched with her wings to indicate where the difference was, “…usually use our feet to grab the objects of our desire. The shape of our legs helps somewhat with that.”

John expected a demonstration, but Nightingale remained still. ‘Probably not proper for a lady to twist herself into a pretzel in front of a stranger,’ he thought.

“This is an issue that I no longer face, however,” the harpy said. Black feathers turned into a complete black blur and burst into a small explosion of short fibres. Underneath the disappearing wings, slender human arms appeared, black nails tipping the paleness of her arms and the legs that replaced her previously bird-like talons. “Ascendance has its perks beyond the power of Faith,” she practically sang with her clear voice, just before the scattering fibres reversed course and gathered back around her limbs, transforming them back into their previous form. “I prefer the form I was born with.” John had more questions, he always had, but the harpy continued before he could voice any, “Enough about me, President Newman… or may I call you John?”

“John is perfectly fine.”

“John,” she said slowly, giggling at the obviously appreciating reaction he had. There was no dishonesty between them: she knew exactly what she was doing, speaking, dressing and acting like this around a known playboy. In return, the Gamer didn’t bother to mask his obvious appreciation for her physical form. “Your power, or talent, rather, is rumoured to rival that of Romulus.”

“That appears to be the case, yes,” John confirmed in a serious tone. There was no way she was bringing that up without wanting anything. “The nature of my powers is different from his. In terms of raw, individual might, he will likely always outclass me.”

Nightingale inched a little closer to the edge of her seat, towards him. “Indeed. What you possess, in return, so I heard from Mother Shadow, is a particular ability to apply impossible solutions to incredibly complex problems.”

Keeping his eyes focused on hers, the Gamer warned, “It’s not universally reliable.”

“I am currently scouting out my options,” the goddess of night confessed. “A friend of mine has been struck by a terrible disease and her body is wasting away over the years. She is very dear to me.”

“And you are trying to find people that could heal her, now that you have this status as goddess of night,” John analysed. She responded with a simple nod and he leaned back. “What kind of condition are we talking about?”

“Admittedly, I do not understand the details. The condition was created by a mishap with alchemical concoctions. She is a member of the Austrian court and many healers have tried to help. They only succeeded in pushing back the inevitable. Her condition sits too deep…”

John rubbed his chin. “Since you’re in contact with Luna, I assume you asked Romulus too?”

“Yes, and for the many powers he has, his are still based in traditional healing methods,” Nightingale responded. “I need a miracle and you are one who is reportedly able to work such. Fortunately for me, you happened to come where I am.” Her purple eyes stayed on him, reading his reaction.

Still stroking his chin, the Gamer pondered. ‘If Romulus doesn’t know a healer who can help her, Undine won’t be able to do it either,’ he thought. ‘What other resources do I have? Quests and Perks, that’s how I work the impossible…’ He closed his eyes to disengage his Casanova brain from the situation. Without Nightingale’s gorgeous face in his view, it was easier to think objectively. ‘I want to do it,’ he realized that immediately, ‘I want to do it because Romulus wasn’t able to. I should only want to save a life… but I am just not a saint…’

“You must ask yourself what your reward will be,” Nightingale guessed at his thoughts. She inched a little bit closer, a movement so close that he could feel it. “I am willing to offer whatever I possess.”

John opened his eyes again and looked at the attractive harpy, less than ten centimetres away from him now. In her body language, he saw no desire for him, only concern. Waving off, he said, “I won’t need anything in return. All I can do is try though.”

When she blinked at his declaration, John realized that she had midnight blue eyelids. As if to question his resolve, she slowly backed away. “You truly want nothing?” she asked.

“I want a great many things.” The Gamer shrugged and squeezed Undine. “I have no need to barter for most of them. I will help you because I want to save a life and because I want to do something Romulus can’t.” He gave her an apologizing smile. “I’m a competitive bastard.”

“Prideful,” Nightingale said. “I appreciate the honesty. Truly and deeply, John, I do.”

“Is this matter urgent?” he asked.

“The one blessing of the situation is that the attempts to push back her inevitable demise are working,” the goddess of night told him. “It is no pleasant life she leads, however, so I’d appreciate haste.”

“And she is being kept in Austria?”

“Vienna, yes.”

“I’ll have to make some calls after we get done with this Fenrir business.” John switched from his chin to scratching the back of his head. “Lydia will probably let me borrow her plane for the trip… do you know someone who can secure a landing strip?”

“I must confess I do not.” Nightingale seemed unsurprised by the speed of this development. If she had been a court singer before, she must have known how quick the rich and influential were able to get something done, when they put their mind to it.

“I’ll give Max a call too then,” the Gamer said. “Gnome can you remind me if I somehow forget?”

“S-sure!” the season elemental stammered.

“We’ll see about this before we go home then,” the Gamer decided and finally lowered his hands. “To emphasize: I have no guarantees that something will work. Having a look at her condition may allow me to find a cure immediately, after some extensive…” John didn’t want to outright state how his powers worked, “…research, or never. I can make no promises but to check on her.”

Nightingale lowered her head in a thankful bow. “That is all I can ask for. Thank you.”

They continued to chat as the car rolled on.