For the Record

Welp. I guess it’s safe to say Nyx’s workshop is absolutely, completely, not remotely intact after all. Erebus really didn’t leave anything at all, did she?

(Well…) my Assistant trails off.

Well what?

(I have an idea. Pick up these fabric scraps and channel them some mana. If you really do have the same mana signature as me, and they’re really not completely destroyed, something might happen.)

I can’t help but think this is going to explode in my face somehow, but considering the serious look on her face I decide to go along with her. I hold the shredded robe scraps in my hand and channel some mana, and they grow like some kind of plant until I realize I’m holding a complete set of white robes, stained with blood and ash where the shreds once were and with faint runes running in a pattern probably only noticeable if you’re looking for them.

(Not completely destroyed, then,) Nyx observes. (They probably have a few more effects still in them. Never thought that old habit would be worth anything but time and resources.)

Wait, so I’m holding a magic item?

(That’s exactly what I’m saying. The last one I made,) she answers. Her face betrays a hint of melancholy.

Huh. I wonder what it does... Well, whatever, magic items are magic items, and Nyx clearly made it for herself so it has to be at least decent. So, I swap out my current attire for it.

I don’t notice anything different, other than it feeling a bit drafty.

(You have to tie the front, idiot,) she snipes.

Ah. Right.

I head back to the larger main room and see Pyrias and the others have stopped searching and begun moving the wreckage to one area, like they’re trying to help clean up. I’m not really sure why, since they don’t owe me anything.

I must have said it out loud too, since Pyrias answers, “We owe her. Not you.”

“Fair enough. I can also contribute. Despite her sharp tongue, she’s been mostly helpful to me too.” I promptly begin using The Ravages of Time on the parts that look too far beyond saving. They crumble to dust.

***

After an evening spent clearing wreckage, the workshop’s living quarters no longer look completely destroyed, and instead like they’ve only been… well, completely destroyed.

(There’s only so much you can do without creation magic. They don’t have it,) Nyx says.

Well neither do I. How do you normally furnish places like this?

(You buy furniture. Duh.)

I mean, sure, I could have predicted that response. I’ll say this much though, this is a much nicer place than that apartment. The only things it had that this place doesn’t is intact furniture.

(And Philip.)

Right, and the cat.

…

(We’re going to bring him here,) she says.

Ugh, fine. We’ll need to trap him or something, there’s no way he’s letting me anywhere near him.

(You have a material body now. Try it again.)

Huh.

After a time spent reminiscing – Pyrias and the others amongst themselves, with me passing along Nyx’s words – I offer to buy them a drink for their help, but they all turn me down. They really, really seem to think highly of her.

(Of course they do. I used to adventure with them, after my sister finished her apotheosis. I’ve spent literal decades with them.)

Wait, how old are you? You look young.

(I’m an ascendant. Or, was. The second you get a System, your aging changes. More so if you take an evolution and change races. Have you noticed how, even with a gnarly new name, you haven’t felt your Soul Thirst once yet?) she says, crossing her arms and cocking her head to one side.

That’s… a fair point. That’s because of my evolution?

(Most likely. That or your Class. Possibly both.)

Don’t think I didn’t notice you change the subject.

She grits her teeth, and finally answers. (Mid-hundreds is all you’re getting.)

Alright. I decide it’s time to stop testing her compulsion and start heading into the busier streets to see if I can find someplace to refurnish the workshop. With Nyx’s help, I barter off the mechanical parts I first salvaged from the apartment to a scrap trader for just enough enni to buy a small animal carrier and toss it in my dimensional storage. Then we make the hop back to the honeycomb and beeline to the apartment.

I let myself in the front door as usual, and as usual His Highness isn’t happy to see me. I’m greeted with the same barrage of hissing from his hidden corner under the sofa… hey, couldn’t we take that with us?

(Probably. I doubt your storage can fit it though.)

Well, you never know until you try. I reach out with my will to pull the sofa into my storage space, and while it lifts half an inch, it then drops right back to the ground. I can somehow tell from my Skill that it’s because it’s too big. Huh.

I refill the cat’s dish before spending another day practicing taking things in and out of my storage as well as weathering Nyx’s complaints about my use of time, but by nightfall I’ve managed to rank it up to level 4. I take that as a sign, and make another attempt to fit the sofa – and slurp, it pops right in. I manage to fit in the small table too, and all the other assorted things, including the wall posters.

Philip is not pleased to have his hiding place removed, and has settled on crouching in a corner to hiss. I’d have thought he’d be tired of it by now, but he’s nothing if not tenacious.

(It’s time. You already took his dishes,) Nyx says.

Fair enough. So, how does this work?

(Well, you know all the things I did before, even though I couldn’t actually touch him?)

Sure. I was definitely paying attention.

(Asshole. Fine. Get low to the ground, speak in a gentle tone, and-)

Screw that. I activate Dominate.

And Philip, with a glazed look in his eyes, stands right up and saunters over to me. Good boy. I take the carrier from my storage and direct him into it, then close the wire mesh door on the front. Problem solved.

Complete with the unmistakable sound of Nyx’s hands hitting her face.