Mom's home

The impact with the ghoul dropped it to the floor, debris scattering around. It also half-winded John, but the blow had surely done its work - his staff had skewered the beast clean through its… shoulder, John realised just in time for the creature’s other hand to drag his weapon free from where it had been impaled and knock both staff and him across the corridor and into the living room.

Pain blossomed across his back and head as he struck the wall, dropping to the floor with his ears ringing. A quick glance at his Status showed that the blow and impact had shaved a good fifteen points from his dwindling Health bar; he couldn’t take many more blows like that and live. The ghoul stalked in now, one clawed arm spread wide - although the one attached to the shoulder he’d struck hung uselessly at its side. That was something, right? Half the weapons, half the difficulty.

It turned out that half the difficulty of a ghoul was still rather more than John was ready for. Another blow sent him spinning, barely deflected by his staff. He managed to score a hit to the thing’s other arm, red welts forming on its skin, but a swipe sent him staggering backward. Another growl, and the ghoul charged forward in a move John was barely able to stave off with wild swings of his weapon. This was not going well; he was dropping Health with every swipe even though he was blocking or deflecting them, the impacts making his wrists ache as his Health bar dropped rapidly towards single digits.

It was luck that saved him ultimately. By sheer accident, his wild spinning of his staff got it trapped between the beast’s legs for a moment and the thing stumbled. Pulling free, John watched in slow motion as the stumble then caught on the edge of the trashed kitchen cabinet, the ghoul hoisted by its own destruction as a simple loss of footing rapidly turned into a crashing fall to the floor. Before it could begin to rise, John brought his staff down on its head, hard. And again. And again. He pummelled the thing’s head until his arms felt like noodles - then with a sudden fanfare the beast crumbled into multi-coloured dust.

He sank to his knees, dimly aware of the shimmer at the end of his staff fading as notifications popped up in front of him.

John stored his staff in his Inventory, raised a hand wearily to his forehead and activated the Barrier Destruction Skill. Beyond the window, the oil-slick sky shattered and the gentle glow of the evening sun poured in. Around him, the destruction of the house vanished in an instant. He blinked, turning and staring at the furniture perfectly back in its rightful place before two noises made him start. The first, another pop-up - this time, red text on a black and white box rather than the normal yellow on blue he’d grown accustomed to.

The second, the shocked intake of breath and the sound of his mother’s voice calling out, “John! What on Earth happened to you?”

John looked down at himself. Whatever magic had fixed the damage to the house… had not touched his clothing. His shirt was torn, dirt and a handful of already dried bloodstains mingled with traces of vomit. He winced. Brenda’s arms wrapped around him a moment later, his face crushed into her ample chest. “Did someone beat you up? Oh, John, you should have called me!”

Brenda pulled back, staring into John’s eyes with such a look of concern it broke his heart. For once, he’d not been in a fight - at least, not with anyone human - and of course that would be the one time she’d see him in a battered state. Never mind all the times Frank had wailed on him - he’d managed to hide those bruises, but this would take some explaining. John grimaced and sank into one of the chairs, wincing as he did so and thinking quickly. “I’m fine, Mom, really. You should see the other guy. Some punk was causing some girls some grief when I was coming back from the shops, so I tried to step in.”

The lie stung on his tongue as he said it, but it was simpler than the truth. “I fought two terrifying undead monsters in an alternate reality version of our house, aided only by the voice of god possessing one of my model soldiers,” was a quick ticket to the emergency room, while the comfortable lie resulted in Brenda beaming at him, her earlier concern replaced with maternal pride.

“That’s the man I raised. Sit, sit. I’ve brought takeout, you stay there and I’ll get us both a drink. I trust you’ve already treated any serious scrapes?” John nodded; she’d raised him to know how to do basic first aid since he was a little kid. Embellishing the lie a little, he gestured to the rips on his shirt. “Torn, not cut, Mom. Mostly just abrasions from hitting tarmac a little hard; some antiseptic cream and I was as good as new. Just didn’t have time to change before you got back - it delayed me quite a bit, and I was trying to decide if this shirt was worth saving before I swapped it for a new one.”

Brenda returned a moment later with a bottle of juice, two mugs and a spare t-shirt of John’s she’d retrieved from the dryer. It felt warm on his skin as he tugged it on over his head, his mother already tutting over the cuts and stains on the shirt. “It’s probably fixable, but honestly it might be cheaper and easier to just buy a new one when I get paid at the end of the month. You’ll have to make sure you’re on top of your laundry until then, I'm afraid, young man,” she said, tossing the shirt aside for now and pulling the takeout containers free from their bag.

John managed to get away after dinner; Brenda had business of her own to attend to, and he claimed exhaustion after the fight - which was actually true. Hurrying back upstairs, he closed the door to his room, walked over to the desk and sank into his computer chair, heaving a sigh of relief. A sigh which was interrupted moments later by the sting of a tiny plastic crozius hitting his knuckles. “Hey kid, I told ya we needed to talk. Ya took all night yappin’ with ya ma downstairs. Respect to the lady and all, but we’ve got business to attend to.”

Jumping in his seat, John turned to look at the figurine. “I thought you’d vanish like the monsters when the house got put back together?” John stammered, staring at the rather cross looking plastic model.

“Vanish? Na, not when I finally got me a real Abyssal worshiper. Gonna stick to you like glue, kid. Plus, ya did go to the trouble of painting me up a real fancy lookin’ idol to inhabit. Nice fuckin’ brushwork on the banner and all, real slick like.”

Having the god that was currently possessing his model sound more and more like the extra in a gangster movie was not helping John maintain his cool. “Abyssal? Worshiper? Idol? And what was that place, those things?” John asked, words tumbling out in the hope that the tiny figure might have some answers to the questions he’d had building up all day.

The figure sighed and leaned on its crozius. “Ya got a lotta questions, kid. Figures the first worshiper I’d find would be greener than Gaia’s backside. Holdin’ this possession ain’t easy, so what do ya wanna know first? No, wait. Guess I should start with the basics. Alright, kid, one welcome to the Abyss talk comin’ right up.” The model stomped forward and sat down on John’s keyboard, pressing the spacebar down under its weight and dropping its arms to rest on the keys behind it. “So, the Abyss, yea. That’s where ya are now, kid. No, don’t look out the window like some kinda spook. It’s the same world ya always been in, just… there’s guys out there that’ll chuck a fireball at your head rather than a flick-knife. Slick talkers that’d be able to sell bathtub booze to Capone, and a whole buncha weirdos of various kinds. Some nice, some real nice, and some mooks like those two ya put on ice earlier.”

John frowned, a little unsure how to take the infodump he’d just been given. On reflex, he cast Observe at the tiny figure, before blinking at the fanfare and results.

Malal’s idol stomped forward and peered at the box floating in front of John. By way of explanation, the figure gave a wave toward itself and added, “I’m a god, remember - can’t do much, but I can see some things - like whatever my worshipers have got going on with the boss. Would have thought ya would use that little trick sooner though; rule one for ya, kid, knowledge is power here. Alright, what do ya want me to explain next?”