Chapter 17: Chapter 17: That’s Unfortunate

Later, Cyl would look back at the event that transpired and wonder belatedly if there had been anything it could have done differently to prevent the unfortunate current situation. 

Then it’d remember that everyone made mistakes so it was okay—

“No, it’s not!” Emral screeches, "You’ve been gone for six days Cyl. Six days! Do you know what happens when our overlord goes missing?!” 

Thoughtful, Cyl contemplated the question. Checked it out. Vibed it. Really really dug into it. Dissected the structure and—

“EVERYTHING STOPS WORKING CYL! EVERYTHING!!!” Emral looked close to having an aneurysm. Large veins bulge out the sides of her head and her skin turns an unusual shade of purple. 

That can’t be healthy. 

Cyl casts a healing spell.

“I have a vague idea,” It says, “But I’m not sure it’s right. What year is it? You all look a bit different than I remember. Did you do something with your hair or grow taller or-“

“HOW DO YOU NOT REMEMBER?!” Now it was Zayn’s turn to yell. 

There must be something in the air raising their catecholamines.

“WE GOT RAIDED THREE TIMES!!!”

Or they just needed a time-out.

“I’VE BEEN FIGHTING GOBLINS FOR SIX DAYS CYL!!!”

…Definitely a time-out. 

“Did I forget something important?” Cyl asks, taking its journal from the space dimension, a thick black monstrosity engraved with heaps of security runes and counterspells. “I had assumed we were still in isolation.”

“…” Nyla gazes at the empty space her coworkers had once occupied.

“Judging from your silence, I was wrong.” Cyl laughs brightly, gaze pausing on the latest journal entry before flipping back a page.

Dreary.

Another few pages.

Dreary,

Once more, 

Dreary. 

Till a whole decade’s worth of daily entries pass yet the tone of the summaries remains the same; Sad, solemn, and upsettingly dull. 

Gosh, did nothing good happen or was its past self choosing to focus only on the negatives?

Excluding the tidbits of improvements in some projects and a few additions to its collections, nothing was particularly exciting enough to catch its interest.

Leaving isolation counted, it guessed, although that wasn’t going so well either.

Sure a streak of bad luck seemed to engulf its actions, but why so serious? 

It’s not like the world could afford to deny their existence forever. 

Clearly, past Cyl was going about this whole debacle all wrong.

It was trying to force a large amount of change in a very disproportionate amount of time, forgetting that change couldn’t be forced, it had to come naturally.

Like when you have no other choice than to accept it since it has already penetrated every corner of your life and you risk exclusion from society by refusing its presence. 

Exactly like that.

Just ask the early humans. They deeply despised every other humanoid species before almost being driven to extinction by the distinctly non-human demon king. Leading to a societal-wide discovery of acceptance in their desperate bid for survival.

It’s as the saying goes, ‘comparison is the bringer of joy’, so when other worse intentioned and hostile species begin leaving isolation in bulk Astoria would surely start to feel joyful to have the race of monsters living closest to them be so genial and friendly in comparison. 

One step leads to another and maybe in a century or two acceptance blossoms and their false status as aliens disappear.

It’s all a matter of time, really.

“I dislike the content of my recent entries.” Cyl decides, “Everything reeks of gloom, doom, and boom; …And so many bad decisions. Gosh, I was really on a roll these few years why did no one stop me?”

Or say anything. Not once was it mentioned that the council did anything to dissuade it when a spectacularly bad idea found its way into past Cyl’s agitated mind.

Sure they got paid for community service but a large chunk of the council's jobs included being the voice of reason for a good reason.

“Well,” Nyla begins, “We tried. Really, we did. But you were at stage five.” She holds up her left hand, “And for our personal safety we usually stop trying to intervene at stage three.” She brings her right hand below it, “See the difference? That big chunk right there is the chance we might get punished if you don’t like our response. Poor Myla was so scared. You started complimenting her skin texture in that really intense way you sometimes get and she thought you wanted to eat her.” Nyla brings her hands down, shrugging with a smile, 

“You've been at stage five for seven years.” She says.“I got influenced the earliest I think, year two into it your explanations actually started to make sense. Even the ones I first dismissed, the second time I hear them I would think, what if, then following the law of hypotheticals I’ll somehow find myself agreeing with the words you were saying; even some part of me knew they were pure nonsense.” Nyla opens one of the cabinets storing essential oils. 

Amazing. 

Cyl cups its cheek in awe, “That’s a new record.” It says,“You’re usually the most logical.” 

And rational.

“Yeah.” Nyla agrees. She picks a bottle from the cabinet, takes a sniff, and raises it in question. 

Cyl nods and she pockets it. 

“I wish we could have done more to help but…” 

“I wish I could have done a lot less in the first place,” Cyl says as sincerely as it could. “We have so much time, why was I in such a rush?”

“Well…”Nyla hesitates, 

It waves, “We have enough time. But that’s all we need, really. Our strategy should have been gentle indictment instead of instantaneous acceptance at the beginning. I think we started in the right direction then eventually spiraled south.”

Or north. 

Far, far north.

Cyl sinks into the tub, engulfing its head in the boiling hot water. 

A few seconds pass…

“You’re still here?” It emerges, tone curious. “Is there anything else or…”

“We’re still out of power.” Nyla informs, pocketing another bottle, “But I can wait. Everyone’s still asleep so-“

“Oh.” Cyl’s sclera glows blue before fading back to its usual featureless white. 

“Anything lower than a basic golem should work but everything else would take more time. I’ll have the damage from the raids fixed before sunrise so try to get some sleep. Inform Zayn and Emral of their day off this week, void knows they need it. So much anger is unusual.”

“Great!” Nyla grins, “I’ll get going.” She teleports away. 

Cyl sinks back down into the tub. 

Today was going to be long.

============

Right.

About its words from earlier.

Understatement of the week.

“I have made a severe and critical lapse in my judgment.” 

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Cyl's day began with a three am apology.

“I had assumed based on previous occasions the…‘break’,” It grins, ”Would be most twelve hours or less in duration.”

Its gaze pauses at the bare wall of its residence, another casualty from that unfortunate Goblin raid. 

“I was wrong.” 

So, so wrong. 

Like, 6 days less type of wrong. 

Since it’s now mid-October.

A complete week after the festival.

Six unfortunate days of nonstop raiding from their lovely neighbors in the closest dimension. 

The goblins.

“I regret the damage caused as a result of my inopportune disappearance and I hope it is of great relief for every citizen to know that actions would be taken to ensure a diplomatic visit to our neighbors in accordance with our pacifist ideals. Cleanup from the raid shall proceed as usual and financial losses acquired as a consequence of this event shall be fully refunded in the span of a week. It is also with great difficulty I inform you that as another unfortunate consequence of my break, some impressions that have been made upon me this decade would require repetition as they are temporarily out of my reach. In simpler words, I lost my memory. Have a great morning.” Cyl ends the recording.

There. 

Simple, precise, and to the point. 

One down, everything else more to go.

It teleports to the south barrier intertwining with the Goblin realm, making sure to reinforce it to maximum security before opening a portal into the realm.

In accordance with the time zone of Cyla, the moon in shone brightly in the purple sky signifying the start of daytime.

A few raiders spot it and attempt to escape but only make it to a short distance before dropping from their rides, their life force sucked out of their bodies in a gas of green.

“Eragol, Eragol.” Cyl mutters, trying to remember the exact location of their age-old ally.

It knows they relocated from the south after its last visit so…east? Probably. 

It wouldn’t hurt to try. 

Some few teleportations eastward and the holy empire of Erogol present itself in all its glory. The great white walls gleam in the dark surrounded by garrisons stationed at various locations to protect their borders. Cyl floats some distance away from the capital city, contemplating the appropriate mode of response to their neighbor's latest unprompted visit.

Poisoning their soils might lead to famine but something about the long-term wait just felt particularly unsatisfying. It wanted something immediate, and lucrative. 

A plague? That would work. Then it could market the cure for an astronomical price in order to vitalize the feeling of satisfaction at causing so much despair. But that was against their terms of agreement.  

It needed something simple but effective.

Something critical but not inherently malicious.

Something...

Ah! 

Of course. 

It was obvious all along.

Proportional consequences for proportional actions. 

It should just kidnap a few members of their royals and nobility for ransom.

Stealing would just seem so…unbecoming.

But a kidnapping, now that was extremely dignified. 

So many members of the nobility died from similar incidents. It was practically their favorite way of death. It not only proved the worth of their lives to their relatives it also helped filter the truly loyal subordinates from the unloyal ones.

And someone had to pay for that damage. 

At this point, it was practically retribution. 

To really start with a bang, Cyl teleports into the royal bedroom as its first chosen location. 

“I see you paid a visit.” It says brightly, stepping past the shrunken bodies of the guards littering the floor. 

Some type of security rune activates but breaks down quickly with a little imprint of aether. 

Only two hundred? That’s a bit more than usual. 

Cyl closes the door of the secret residence, a separate one from the last time it was here. 

It’s amazing the castle wasn’t facing structural collapse from the number of secret bases they dug in every single corner.

This must be the twenty-fifth, simply amazing.

“A pleasure to see you too, Igetis Cyl.” Vrieneang, the firstborn of Eragol’s royal family greets, “Thought you’d finally kicked the bucket but I guess it was too good to be true.” He says, tone wry and melacholonic.

Cyl laughs delightedly, “The pleasure is all mine Vrieneang. I see you got married.” It smiles at the horrified-looking lady clutching the duvet of their bed in a tight grip. 

Brown hair, smooth skin, a truly impressive set of horns, and tall in height.

“She looks lovely.” Cyl compliments, slapping off the attack of the knight who thought he was being sneaky. 

“Augggg...” He groans from the ground, blood pulsing off his crushed shoulder. 

He was not.

Cyl moves closer to the bed, disabling more defense mechanisms in the way.  

They really stepped up their defense from last time. Impressive.

“Are you of Jehdekx descent?” Cyl asks the lady, noticing her unusual features under the dim lighting of the wall torch.

“...Yes.” She admits reluctantly, lips pursed in a thin line.

“Oh!” Cyl coos, “How delightful!” It cups her cheeks, Turing her face side to side for further observation.

Seemingly satisfied by her features, it does the same to Vrieneang. 

Vrieneang attempts to put up a struggle but quickly stops after a pat to the face leaves his jaw dislocated. 

“I’m sorry.” Cyl fixes it back in place, “I just pictured the appearance of your future kids and my heart exclaimed with joy.” 

Cyl pauses, gazing down at them in contemplative silence. 

“If, that is,” It begins, tone curious, “You can afford to live that long.” 

A minor spell leaves them both incapacitated. 

“I don't appreciate the behavior of you clansmen in my nation, you know. But don’t worry, I only ask for a chunk of your treasury as compensation, nothing you can’t afford.” 

And really, they must have gotten something for the effort placed in their raids. Cyl knows otherworldly technology sells for quite a sizable sum in this backward dimension.

“I can’t give you that much.” Vrieneang grits out, trying and failing to move his limbs. He flays continuously on the bed before being joined by his wife in a truly admirable depiction of integrity.

Cyl laughs, the sound deceptively bright and pleasant in contrast to the gloomy bedroom. “That’s rather unfortunate.” 

It slaps an immobilizing spell on them for good measure.

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