Politics, mortal and divine

“He didn't tell you?” As I shrug and visibly move my hand towards the control console, the other captain continues, “Sorry, he has a bounty on his head… ten million… from the new President of The United Arcologies of Suron, as he is the last remaining known heir of the late emperor.”

“Explains a few things,” I consider… I don't really have a plan for these… and I already beat the guy, I have what I'm after… “Well, I'll ask the other questions later. Goodbye, General Mehinder.”

I cut off the feed, and the world fades away, replaced by the tiny little book-lined office… and today, **** already has those stupid plastic mirrored shades on.

“Welcome back,” he nods, looking at one of his

[books.

As](http://books.As) I start to get to work, I ask a question, “Life's wife and kid… what were they like?”

The demonic looking entity considers that a bit, the burning darkness that is his hair dancing as he tilts his head, “Keep in mind, my perspective on anyone will be skewed, as will most deities: In general, we only see people when they're worshipping us under some name, when they're at a religious site dedicated to us under some name, when they're near or involved with an activity that touches on our domains, and so on.”

“And in your case, that's ****,” I nod as I continue my paperwork.

“Yes. Combat, disease, accidents… nobody needs to actually die, but the possibility needs to be there for me to see it.” The literally black man tilts his head the other way, “My sister's lover, Mark… he came to my attention a LOT. Bar fights, mostly. He was usually sober enough to avoid killing his opponent.”

I pause, “Usually?”

“After he reached adulthood, I collected one or two people a month by his hand…” **** shrugs, “...just from bar fights. He got into around ten times that many. He seemed aggressive to me, but again…”

“Slanted perspective,” I nod, “So he was fond of ****, and an angry drunk. The child?”

“Earnest… I don't know much. I saw him all of twice: At his grandmother's funeral, and the day I collected him. He was sad and quiet at the funeral, screaming in terror at his ****.” **** looks at his books on the shelves, “I'd need some time to look up anything more.”

I look up from my paperwork, and over at the books, “What did you mean by that?”

“The books are from Dad. They contain literally every piece of information about this Fractal: Everything that's ever happened, everyone that's ever lived, all the physics…” he pauses, “it's ‘just’ this Fractal, and ‘only’ current and past information: They even stay up to date. Give me a little time, and I can answer…” he pauses again, “...anything I'm allowed, pretty much.”

I tilt my head, reaching for a book out on ****'s desk, and ask “May I?”

He chuckles, “You can try.” I grab the book, open it… and find I can't see the pages. They're not blank. They're not black. They're not fuzzy. I just can't see them. It doesn't make sense, and I close it to avoid the headache.

As I rub my temples, the master of this room continues, “As you can see… or rather, not… I have little concern that anyone will steal one.”

As I finish my paperwork, I consider that, "What did they get from their contracts?”

“Mark wanted to win every combat… and the devils came through on that. Any time he fired a shot in earnest, he hit the mark. Any time a shot was fired at him, it missed.” **** shakes his head, “The same applied for anything else in a fight: Spells, knives, fists, whatever. If it was a fight, he couldn't lose… so of course, the man who killed him did it by using that assurance to lead him into a trap: He won the fight, sure… but it was the burning roof collapsing on top of him that did him in.”

My host takes another breath, “Earnest I can only speak of a surety of what was in the contract, and how the devils implemented it: He became supernaturally attractive. Every woman who saw him wanted to bed him and have his babies… right up until they were pregnant. Which, thanks to an inheritance from his mother, would be the first time, every time. After that, the mind control lapses and the woman reverts to her normal behavior… which is why he and his dad died on the same day. It was arranged by the husband of a woman he bedded… he didn't survive long enough to see his plan work. But it did.”

“Why do devils do that?” I idly

[wonder.

My](http://wonder.My) sponsor answers easily, "Mortal souls create and store divine energy: That's what the devils are truly after. They spend that energy to fulfill contracts, collect what the soul contains upon ****, and hold onto the souls as long as they're allowed after to keep squeezing out every last drop. Dad puts a limit on the maximum duration, and when the time runs out, my sister collects them for reincarnation.”

“That divine energy is your ‘food’, then?” I consider.

“Essentially,” **** agrees.

“So a lack of worshippers…” I consider.

“Should not be a problem,” **** shakes his head, "Souls were ‘tagged’ - for lack of a better term - for who gets to harvest their energy by Dad, long ago. He only changes the listing when he adopts another child, and that by adding souls to the pool. We all have the same number of souls in circulation.”

I think about that for a long time, “...and there's enough souls that there's always a lot of them waiting for your sister to reincarnate, right?”

“Yes…” ****'s eyebrows furrow.

“And you're essentially starving.” I don't phrase it as a question.

He answers it like one anyway, “Essentially…” he tilts his head.

“And I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest your sister seems flush with power…” I consider, “...which you can probably tell, being the one who handles collection.”

“Yes,” **** leans his head back, “She wouldn't….”

“She hates you, and in a roundabout way she gets to pick who gets fed.” I take a slow breath, “Are you sure?”

**** pauses a long time before he answers that one, pulls out his parchment, checks off a line, then covers his face with his clawed hands, “Are you done? I need to think. I know what I would have answered, but now…” he trails off.

I put down my own worksheet, “Yes. And… I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” **** sobs, “it's Dad's way of breaking hard truths to people…” he waves his hand, and the office fades out.