Chapter 113: 103. Answered Prayer

The Flaming Mother was a pink trailer sitting in a spacious gravel lot. The sitting area was outdoors with a pavilion covering overhead. The trailer’s front had an open window and counter where you could order drinks and snacks.

Jhara strolled up to the counter. The few junkers brave enough to stay out and drink got up from the tables. They cleared the area. Talk of her had gotten around fast. That was good for her weight.

“Care if I can have some water, barkeeper?” Jhara asked with Fuzzy’s little body peeking out from behind her legs.

“I won’t even give you that much,” the barkeeper grouched. “This is supposed to be neutral territory. There’s nothing neutral about the mom of the devil.”

He was an elderly man wearing a white straw hat. He was also a Rank 2 Mixworker, a [Crafter] derivative. It was doubtless the Mixworker was a tough guy.

He had to be tough to enforce neutral territory in Junkside before and after the leak in the apocalypse. He had to be cunning, too. His shelves were full. Either he had extra stock, or he had help getting stuff smuggled past the blockade.

“Give me The Flaming Mother and get out of here,” Jhara said. “If you kill me, the devil will know. If you stay, you die with me. If you leave, the devil will repay you handsomely.”

“If you’re gonna wave around the devil so much, why not get him to do the work for you?” he asked.

“It wouldn’t satisfy me,” Jhara answered.

The Mixworker shook his head as if he knew everything that needed to be known. “Stupid girl. Revenge never satisfies. Hold onto it as much as you like. You’ll end up losing everything else.”

“Maybe. But it’ll make for a hell of a bloody story,” Jhara said with fake cheer. “You might hear the end of it if you live long enough.”

The elderly man started reaching down under the counter. If he fought her, she had enough weight and power to win. But she had killed enough elderly men.

“Cutie Brown recommended this place to me,” Jhara added at the last second. “Maybe you know her?”

The Mixworker halted. His worn and wrinkled face folded into a piercing glare fixed on Jhara. He grumbled to himself. Then he said, “That girl needs to get out of here and live a better life.”

“I plan to adopt her when all is said and done.”

“What good would that do? I know the girl well enough. She should be seventeen now. Must’ve turned over last week.”

Jhara clenched her jaw.

The Mixworker snorted derisively at her. He bent further under the counter. He tossed her something.

Jhara caught the keys.

“The bar’s yours,” the Mixworker said, throwing on a blue coat. “Everything’s included. Even what’s under the counter.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re not welcome.” The Mixworker shuffled off and disappeared into the shifty, hazy-gray morning.

“He was a good human,” Fuzzy decided, springing up onto the bar counter. “And he left us some magic. Tavern magic. You can use that.”

Fairies could sense these things. The Mixworker might not be aware of his magic power ingrained deeply into his place of business. But it was heavy enough for Jhara to feel.

“Too bad I gotta ruin it,” Jhara said, taking the door the Mixworker had left open.

It was a tight space in here. There were stacks of drinks racked on one side. The other side contained boxes of snacks. Not all of the good drinks were on display. Some lined the floor beneath the counter and shelves. A quick peek underneath revealed a strange-looking gun.

Jhara [Analyzed] it and smiled. “You crazy old coot. You got some humor in you.”

She left the weapon under the counter and took out a bottle of water. She poured it into a rock glass. She gave that to Fuzzy who chirped out thanks.

Jhara poured herself another rock glass of water. She drank and waited where the barkeeper had been, looking out to an empty pavilion.

Fuzzy sat on the counter, kicking its legs with childish enthusiasm. Its human lips and mandible teeth parted to expose a flexible tube-like organ. It sucked up water daintily with its insect tongue.

Fuzzy was still a precious cutie to Jhara.

“This could all go wrong and lead to me dying,” Jhara said. “Then you’ll get captured again. And eaten. Are you sure you want to stay with me?”

“I want to see where all your magic goes,” Fuzzy said. “And help. I like helping.”

“You are too precious to be around a horrible person like me,” Jhara said, something inside her cracking a little.

Fuzzy tilted its head. “You’re not horrible. You’re hurt. There’s a difference.”

Jhara felt the crack widen. She tried to put emotional duct tape on it. It wasn’t sticking. She went a step further and prayed aloud.

“YoAnna, guide me.”

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Kind of weird to pray to a teenage girl her son’s crushing on, but Jhara needed all the support she could get to see this challenge completed. She still might not be strong enough. She still might not be able to overcome the Rankless weakness.

She could’ve sat back at her new villa. She could’ve told her son to kill his grandpapa and papa personally. Jay would’ve seen it done. He loved his mom dearly.

But her trauma wasn’t his burden. And to have him kill his family for her–even if they were bad men–felt wrong. Not because she was against murder or having her son stain his hands with family blood. It simply would not satisfy Jhara.

It wouldn’t help her move on fully to let Jay do it. Hell, going for revenge like a suicidal psychopath probably wouldn’t help, either. Just like the barkeeper had said.

This was all a gamble. It was a freaking whim that Jhara wanted to see through to the end. Right before her son tore things up and chopped off heads and splattered men like bugs.

She was probably hurting her son. He had pride in himself. A huge ego. He would want to come to her rescue. But he was a good son. He would keep loving her after she had twisted his arm to let her go down this path. Even if it meant that she died. In their weird and divergent way, they supported each other’s whims. For good or ill.

He could gallivant to danger and fight monsters. And she could face her demons and put a machete to their faces.

“Hello, Jhara.”

The glass cracked in Jhara’s tensed grip. She changed it for another rock glass and poured water into it again. She took a slow sip.

Then she gave YoAnna a sidelong glance. “Why are you here?”

The source of the leak in the apocalypse. She stood inside the bar. She was too tall for this place.

But by her divine will, the bar distorted around her without breaking fully. She could stand in her mortal height, looking both radiant and scary depending on which side of her face you focus on.

“Your prayer gave me access. Even if you didn’t want me to show,” YoAnna said with a small but beautiful smile. “I wish to observe closely and offer assistance.”

Jhara tried to feel the shift of the story’s gravity. Things were getting weirder fast. And Jean was taking longer than he should’ve.

YoAnna was going to fish for something. Jhara just didn’t know what yet.

“You can’t bless these grounds,” Jhara said. “I need it desecrated.”

YoAnna glanced around the bar. “The worst thing for a bar to have is no alcohol. Can I assist there?”

Jhara opened and closed her mouth. Would she lose power by receiving YoAnna’s help? Gosh, did her son put YoAnna up to this? That wonderful and cunning son of a bitch, he couldn’t help himself, could he?

But she couldn’t go without blame, either. She had prayed to the teenage goddess.

“I have my doubts,” Jhara said. YoAnna could be a devil, too.

“Do it,” Fuzzy advised, looking up at YoAnna with awe. “You are owed almighty assistance. It’s even better before the meeting.”

“I’m still not sure,” Jhara said.

YoAnna smiled pleasantly, almost disarmingly. Her scarred side looked less scary. “As you may know, I will not intervene once the great event of Challenge and Change starts. So you don’t have to worry about me stealing your kill. But I still want to assist you, so if you wish for a balancing weight: I will not heal the damage you accrue from this clash, and I get to make a request from you.”

“Deal,” Jhara said.

She wouldn’t bother trying to fish from YoAnna what the request would be. Could be small. Could be large. Jhara would accept the consequences as long as the [Godling] didn’t interrupt Jhara’s revenge.

YoAnna’s eyes flashed a golden light. The alcohol vaporized. All of the bottles and cans exploded. Glass shards and aluminum scraps flung all over the interior or out through the wide window. Steam billowed out through the openings even faster.

None of this touched the mortal woman, the insectoid fairy, or the teenage goddess. They had YoAnna’s shimmering golden barriers wrapped around them. All that remained was a truly desecrated bar. A sad sight to see. But it was a necessary deed.

Jhara’s gravity weight stayed the same, but her current power got boosted by [Desecration Rulership]. She had taken the barkeep’s business and magic, the sacredness of a bar, and made it a place without the worshiped drink. This was desecration from a unique angle most people might not recognize.

“Fuzzy, get under the counter. When I say Mana, give me [Mana Relief]. When I say Stamina, give me [Invigorate]. Cast those silently. And when I say burn in hell, give me the weapon there.”

“Okay!”

Jhara vaulted out of the bar window. Gravel crunched under her dirty and worn-out sneakers. She looked up at the pavilion. She didn’t quite like that being up there.

“I would like to remove the pavilion,” YoAnna said. “May I? It’s of no cost to you, anyway.”

“Sure.”

The pavilion disintegrated and fell in fine particles around Jhara without touching her. A smoky sky remained in its place. The air tasted a little acrid. The myriad light from the rainbow fire clashed with the brightening of the eastern horizon. Sunrise was almost here.

Only then did Jean arrive. He did not come alone. He brought with him two dozen men. And a giant humanoid monster that made Jhara feel weak. She had her work cut out for her. And she only had seventeen minutes.