Chapter 10: Ind-Axe-pendent Day!

Oh, neat! A mysterious memory from my past life on earth! I love stuff like this!

Earlier

So, just as that super-cool old guy had stood up and given the order to his skarn stooges to finish making a meal of me, a sudden burst of fierce wind struck at us. I had just enough time to see the old guy make this sweet looking sideways leap that got him safely out of danger before the skarn and I got swept up by the gale.

A gale made of razorblades, it seemed. Ouch!

On my mother’s name, guys, I swear that I have never once placed a small animal inside a blender. Not a mouse, not a frog, not even a spider. I’ve never even been tempted to do something like that! Why would I? The idea of it is so gross!

Seriously, just because at a young age I manifested the behavioral traits that those know-it-all doctors refer to as “the dark triad” (didn’t that sound just like the name of a thrash-infused progressive rock band?) didn’t mean I was cruel to animals.

(I like most animals, even if most animals don’t like me. People, I could occasionally do without.)

But I have to confess this: more than once I've wondered what it would feel like to be inside of a blender, myself. Now I knew!

It’s not weird! Please don’t look at me while wearing a facial expression that says: that’s weird! It’s not! Don’t people riding an elevator sometimes wonder what it would feel like to throw themselves out of an open window and plummet to their death? It was the same principal! Except less likely, because there are no giant blenders.

Or so I thought until I found myself in the middle of one. I later found out it was a spell called [Tornado Strike]. I felt like its name didn’t really do it justice. A more descriptive and accurate name would been [Instant Pudding]. At least that’s what I would have called it.

So, there I was, strung up all throughout the treetops in bloody pink ribbons of torn skin and innards. Pretty nasty, right? It didn’t bother me that much; I loved Halloween, so clearly my costume this year was going to be sexy decorations.

That thought gave me a nice chuckle, at which point, I blacked out.

Gosh, [Tornado Strike] was something else, wasn’t it? Being rendered unconscious due to serious injuries was something that'd only happened to me once on this new world, and that was only because of my ignorance of how slimes worked.

Realizing that there existed magic that was powerful enough to cream even me this badly; well, it was a real wake-up call! I still had so much more growing left to do before I was safely beyond the reach of death. Maybe it was time to start taking this world just a little more seriously before I got caught with my pants down again!

Hey, look at me, I’m learning a useful lesson! And all it took was being turned into a bunch of meat confetti! Hurrah for me! Hurrah for axes!

__

Years ago...

“[****], can I talk to you for a ‘sec?”

So, there I was one night, minding my own business at the Olive Garden, enjoying a delicious plate of their world-famous chicken alfredo pasta with unlimited breadsticks, when who else but Tommy “Angel face” Torelli, the favored fucking son of my boss, Angelo Torelli, came strutting up to my table like he owned the goddamn place, and pulled up a chair as though I’d invited him to sit with me.

This was a few years before I became an axe, so naturally my worldview was a lot less sophisticated and peaceful. There was just something about Tommy that pissed me off. Something that I hated so much. I think it was those adidas sneakers he wore all the time. The way he laced them was so sloppy. It really bothered me. Also, he was such a little moralist.

We didn’t call Tommy Angel Face just because he was pretty. This sanctimonious clown considered himself a good person! Can you believe that shit? What kind of a deluded fuck participated in organized crime but still carried himself with the solemnity of a saint?

Did he think throwing a few bucks in some priest's collection plate and chanting a few hail Mary's would magically resolve him of his bad deeds? Not fucking likely!

Oh, wow, I forgot how much I used to curse back when I was human. Sorry about that!

“[****], why do you eat this shit, man?” Tommy asked with a condescending sneer. “You’re working for real Italians! You need to come out with us one night, we’ll show you what real food tastes like!”

“I like this place,” I replied. “Once a semester, if we met our goals, the staff would take us to Olive Garden as a treat. It was nice. I could eat as much pasta and breadsticks as I wanted. It made me feel happy.”

“That shit ain’t real pasta, bro—

“I fucking said I like it here, Tommy. That okay with you?” I asked with a smile.

Smiles were always so hard for me. I practiced them a lot, but I never improved at making them. My attempts sure shut people up quickly, though.

“All right, all right, no offense meant,” Tommy said placatingly.

“So, why are you interrupting my mealtime?” I asked as I swallowed another forkful of noodles.

Tommy frowned at me, put off by my rudeness. He wasn’t used to being treated like that.

Tommy was his daddy’s precious boy. He grew up in the lap of luxury and knew what time his meals would come every day. Hell, the fact he even got to eat every day made him such a lucky little prick! Toys for Christmas, warm clothes for winter, he had the life I’d wanted for myself as a kid. Now he was making the rounds, moving up in the organization under his daddy’s watchful eye. Giving mugs like me our marching orders.

The heir apparent.

The prince that was promised.

Tommy the Saint.

This fucking guy.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened at Donelli’s yesterday—

“In a public fucking restaurant?” I asked sharply.

“Relax, we’re the only ones here,” he said reassuringly.

“When are we ever really fucking alone, you goof?”

“[****], I just want to know what happened there—

“Don’t know a fucking thing about it, ask somebody else.” I told him.

“[****], I know my dad sent you there to collect a monthly donation. But somehow that ended with Mark Donelli catching some lead in his knee—

“Sounds like a hell of a catch,” I said approvingly.

“Why don’t you just give me some of the deets?”

“If there’s any details to anything that allegedly happened, someone else knows them. But you know who doesn’t? Me. Good night, Tommy.”

“[****], don’t get up. [****], come on, man, this if going to be my crew one day, I just want to—

“Good night, Tommy.”

I got up and left him there, my face still as blank and neutral-looking as it always was, even though beneath its placidity, I was burning with anger and a genuine desire to put one through Tommy's eye.

Little prick always thought he was smarter than he was. He was always so cocky even though he had nothing to back it up beyond his daddy’s name. He’d really fucked up this time, though. Coming to my favorite restaurant, wired.

I’d never be able to eat there again. All because of him.

Saint Tommy. Saint Fucking Tommy.

How long had that little bastard been a rat?

__

Now...

Whoa! That flashback was awesome! It was so atmospheric, and I bet that at a certain point in the future, it’ll become extremely plot-relevant in ways I wouldn’t expect! I sure hope I remember these details for later!

So, what’d you think of human-me? Yeah, I agree, he was kind of a jerk! For some reason, I thought that I’d always been a carefree and fun-loving sort of person. But as it turns out, a lifetime spent with low impulse control and extreme anger issues had made me extremely unpleasant to be around.

Heh, there go my rose-colored glasses!

Yeah, I much prefer being the me that I am now. I didn’t miss those old days of paranoia and rage induced anxiety and luring the boss’ son into an empty parking lot so I could get at him with some rusty wire snips. Life now was much more relaxing.

Or should I say…rel-axing!

I stood up and stretched out my arms. It felt so nice! Looks like [Rooting] and [Troll Regeneration] had done a good job of putting my meat puppet back together while I was unconscious. I’d even grown back my eye! How cool was that?

Oh, now, what was this? the old guy and the girl were going at it! Whoa, they were both good! Wow, they were bouncing all over the place, weren’t they? Jeez, this fight was awesome!

…Or at least it was awesome.

But then they started talking. Oh, man, did they ever start talking.

I get it, there was probably some vital exposition being delivered here. A lot of background information and character motivation; important stuff for sure! But then they also started talking about what techniques they were using against each other, and how the other one was a fool for triggering their trap card and which ability originated where, and it was a little too much for me.

Gosh, they sounded like a pair of Yu-Gi-Oh! larpers who were acting out a card game. This was getting painful to watch.

To help alleviate some of my boredom, I took a look the old dude with my [Divine Eye].

Woo, nice stats. And he did indeed possess the [Magic] skill trait that I wanted! Gosh, now I was torn. They both had the skill that I wanted. I couldn’t unlock my Earth magic without it! So, the choice really came down to who deserved to die more. The old guy was really cool, and yet he was okay with feeding me alive to his pets.

And the girl was pretty (sooooo pretty) but she’d also torn me to shreds with a vacuum nuke without a moment’s hesitation! Let’s face it, they were both dib-wazzles! But, only one of them needed to lose their life to fuel my personal growth. So, who would it be…?

[Axe Mastery].

No. That couldn’t be right. I was mistaken. I’d better check that again.

[Axe Mastery.]

Nooooooo…

Old guy…old guy, why? What happened to you? You seemed so nice! Was it a lie? Was it all a lie?

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[Axe Mastery].

It had to have been. The proof of your depravity was now looking me square in the eye.

[Axe Mastery].

Traitor!

[Axe Mastery].

Monster!

[Axe Mastery]

Enslaver!

[Axe Mastery]

Oppressor!

How many axes have had their freedom stolen by you, old dude? How many axe-handles have you forced chains upon, you gosh darned son of a biscuit!

How many axes did you force to call you: master?

This would not stand.

This ends now.

__

Culner couldn’t believe it.

This kid was pushing him back like he was nothing. Every time he tried to have his skarn run interference for him, the kid blew through them, not even sparing them a glance. His focus was mesmerizing in its intensity, and the power behind his strikes were rattling the old mercenary’s very bones! His offense was his defense, a perfect combination of merciless strength and absurd reaction time that prevented Culner from counterattacking! It was maddening!

The boy roared again. It was an enhanced war cry, and it was so brutally effective that it was capable of causing mental damage! Culner had no choice but drop his control over the skarn in order to shield his own mind. The skarn for their part, fled for their lives, so terrified of the stranger that in their haste to escape, they even ignored the unconscious Ardale Langier laying defenselessly on her side.

“Hold! Hold on, damnit!” Culner called out. “Who are you? Why are you coming after me like this?”

“Your sins have found you out, old man,” the kid responded.

“What do you mean—

“Stop it. Don’t humiliate yourself with any more lies! I know who you are now and what you’ve done. I know about your real betrayals. The true acts of darkness that have blackened your rotten soul. I know about the lives you’ve sold into slavery for profit.”

Culner paused, dumbfounded. No, how could he…no one could have…No, this wasn’t right.

He was lying. He had to be lying! Culner had assurances that those deeds could never be traced back to him.

And yet, the boy stood there, steadfastly looking at him with resolute eyes. He knew. He really knew.

“How much will your silence cost me?” Culner asked.

“I won’t be bought off by your filthy coins.”

“You don’t even know what I needed that money for!”

“It wasn’t worth it.”

“You don’t know that—

“Yes, I do. We both do.”

“DAMN YOU!” Culner screamed, truly losing his temper for the first time that night. “It was going to happen anyway! No one could have stopped them from taking what they wanted, I-I lessened the damage, it would have been so much worse without me—

“You made a profit and you walked away. But I can see your crimes, old man,” The boy said. “They’re written on your very soul. And I’m calling you to account for them.”

“You sanctimonious little worm! You have no idea how this world works! What men have to do for survival! You're good with that axe, boy, but so was I! and it still wasn’t enough to change this ugly, unendurable cesspool of a planet whose shit we’re all forced to swim in! Wake up! See things as they are, not as you want them to be!”

“That’s what makes you so despicable, Rathen Culner,” the boy said. “Your cowardly acceptance of evil, and your refusal to admit your part in it.”

Culner laughed bitterly at those words. “So, what are you then? Some sort of wandering hero of Justice?”

“No. I’m just a nameless axe that’s chosen to be swung in the service of the voiceless.”

“So, you do think you’re a hero!”

“Your words mean nothing.”

“Neither do your ridiculous sentiments! You’re nothing but a self-righteous punk living out an indulgent fantasy of heroism! Well, that dream ends tonight! Now, let me show you the real world! A world filled with horror and despair lurking just beneath the gawdy delusions of your childish dreams!”

“Fine. Show me.”

No more words, Culner decided. No more words for this bastard. He wants to judge me, does he? I’ll send him screaming into HELL!

It had always been like this. Ever since the war, when Culner had first won fame for himself as a young peasant warrior whose axe couldn’t be defeated. That war had been his making, allowing him to earn his Knighthood, and then his ascension to the Crown’s Blades. But always, he was looked down upon. Always judged, always considered unworthy of his achievements. The secondary parts of being one of the Royal family’s protectors: the lavish lifestyle, the constant socializing, his family always demanding money from him, the endless pressure to keep climbing higher…

It had broken him. And when it had broken him, he had made decisions that, as the boy said, had blackened his soul. Selling those children into slavery had been the worst of them. And somehow this boy knew what he'd done and had come to punish him!

“No,” Culner whispered. “No, No, NO, NO, NO, NO! I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO!” he screamed! The blade of his axe flared brightly to life, now engulfed with purplish light as he poured his remaining mana into it. It was time to end this!

“Go to Hell, Hero! Go to Hell and leave me alone! [Soul Breaker]!”

Culner leapt into the air and brought his fiery axe down with tremendous force onto his opponent’s skull. The blow was flawlessly delivered, splitting the boy’s head down the middle and continuing all the way to his waist. No matter how powerful his healing imbuement may have been, the kid wasn’t getting up from that one.

Culner leaned on his axe, now exhausted. It was done. His miserable secret was safe once more. But how long would it stay that way? Maybe it was time to leave these lands; leave them before another would-be hero arrived to set things right. That might be the only way he’d be able to die in peace—

“Hey, Culner,” said a familiar voice from behind him. No, it couldn't be, it couldn't…

Culner turned around and was greeted by the mind-numbing sight of the boy standing before him as his body swiftly pulled itself back together; thin plant-like tendrils quickly knitted up the severed meat and bone wrought by Culner’s axe, while the skin itself quickly regenerated with a nauseating zipping motion. Soon, there was only a vertical pink line to suggest where the wound had been, and then even that vanished from sight.

“What the f—

“You’ve just been P-AXE-cified!”

Before Culner could respond, the boy swung upwards with his axe. It was a similar strike to the one Culner had delivered, only the boy’s had started at Culner’s crotch instead of his head. And this one didn’t end at Culner’s waist, but instead continued to rise all the way to his skull, splitting him vertically in two.

“Axes to axes, dust to dust.”

__

I didn’t exalt in my victory as I ordinarily would have. Defeating this man brought me no joy. It had been my solemn duty to avenge the many axes he must have delivered into bondage, and so that was what I had done.

It had merely been what was expected of me.

That’s not how any of that works, at all, in the slightest, in any appreciable way, ever.

Huh? What do you mean by that?

[Axe Mastery] just means he was very good at using an axe in combat.

Seriously?! Jeez, what was he getting all worked up for then?

Who can say what haunts the hearts of mortal men?

Ha! I’ll say! Yeesh, what a weirdo!

By the way, congratulations!You have earned four thousand experience points!

Aww, not even a level up?

Let me finish, please. Congratulations, you have received the skill trait [Magic].Congratulations!You have unlocked [Earth Magic] Level 1!

Oh, oh, oh, oh!

Please stand by to receive your imbuement of magic.

Wait, what does that mean—

Oblivion struck.

Again.

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