Apocalypse: Fairy System Macronomicon (a book to read txt) 📖

“Zlesk…” Jeb groaned. He didn’t need a bunch of people standing around staring at him to make sure he didn’t stub his toe.

“I’m not budging on that one, so deal with it.”

“Bleh.”

“C’mon, I’ll help you,” Zlesk said, lifting Jeb to his foot, where Jeb stood woozily in place, unable to take a step.

“What’s wrong?” Zlesk asked, frowning.

“They took my foot,” Jeb mewled—actually mewled. Jeb’s face crumpled up and he tried not to ugly-cry from relief. The stress of getting tortured for an entire afternoon burst out in an unexpected way. “I just got it, too, and it already needs to get fixed!”

“Um…there, there.” Zlesk awkwardly patted Jeb on the back, seemingly unsure of what to do.

Jeb took a shuddering breath. “I’m fine. It’s just a dopamine crash from the torture,” Jeb said, waving him off and wiping his face. “I would like my foot back, though.”

“Umm, sir, that prosthesis contained a Schedule 1 improvised Annihilation Myst weapon…which are illegal,” Dee said.

“Like, really illegal,” Dum chimed in.

“Did it enter the official record yet?”

The two melas glanced at each other. “…No.”

“Then you didn’t find it. Bring my fat patsy’s foot back right now.”

“I’m not fat,” Jeb muttered.

“You are to me,” Zlesk said, patting him on the back more naturally this time. “C’mon, let’s hop your way back to your cell.”

“Ow, ow OW!” Jeb hissed as Zlesk tried to get an arm under him. Jeb’s arms had been worked over so good, they didn’t want to do anything in particular but rest in a sling for a couple weeks.

“Hold on, I’ll do this myself,” Jeb muttered, hardening a pegleg out of telekinetic force, and putting it under his stump.

He gingerly put his weight on it, and was pleased when he didn’t fall on his face. He had to move it mentally rather than physically, which presented extra difficulty when his concentration lapsed, but he managed it.

Jeb split the thread of Myst in two and used the other one to grab himself by the diaphragm, steadying his balance.

It was a bit like riding a unicycle and juggling, but it worked.

Jeb walked out of that room with one foot and no arms. Admittedly, he walked very slowly and laboriously, but he walked.

Just a few more Deals and I’ll be flying again.

Jeb sat down on his bed in solitary, gladly accepting his fancy foot back. The toe was crudely glued back on, and it would probably snap off from the pressure of walking in a matter of hours, but Jeb was happy to have it. He slipped the prosthetic back into its proper place on his stump with a grateful sigh before tightening the straps and flopping down on his bed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jebediah,” Zlesk said.

“Tomorrow,” Jeb said, waving a hand and closing his eyes.

Once Zlesk was gone, Jeb opened his eyes again, studying the cracks in the ceiling.

The sheer amount of stress he’d endured today had basically tired out his amygdala until it was numb, allowing him to look at a ceiling like any other person might. It was a small island in time where he simply couldn’t feel the slowly encroaching fear.

It was nice.

Jeb wanted to feel the scar on his palm to reassure himself, but his fingers were swollen, which was a good change. As long as things continued to change in a way that made sense, Jeb could convince himself he wasn’t in some kind of nightmare hell-loop. It’d been years, but echoes of that strange cyclical thinking still came back to haunt him every now and then.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he had the soothing pain of broken arms and the stress of a botched assassination to lull him to sleep. To prove this wasn’t all in his head.

“I’m really messed up, aren’t I?” Jeb muttered to the ceiling.

“Yep,” Smartass said solemnly, patting him on the cheek.

******

Jeb only got about five hours of sleep before the sentinels roused him in order to make him more ‘presentable’. They put his more damaged left arm in splints and a sling, while his dislocated right arm got some tightening wraps around the joints to help them stay in place while they healed.

They gave him a mildly magical tea that brought the swelling down substantially and slipped him into a keegan-style robe to make him look more…official, maybe?

Between getting his leg back and the loaner walking stick, Jeb was able to totter his way to court without assistance, except for getting out of the carriage. He had some difficulty navigating the marble staircase under the gawking gazes of the spectators, but he managed.

All the while, Jeb kept his eyes open for the keegan assassin. The chances of the guy coming back for more immediately when he had a hole in his shoulder were slim, but Jeb didn’t intend to be caught off guard again.

Jeb was led to a seat in the center of the room by the firm hand of one of the sentinels, who remained standing beside him, arms clasped in front.

Jeb sat in the uncomfortable chair and waited as audience members streamed in around him, taking seats on tiered bleachers that stretched around the central court, like this was a Roman gladiatorial match. As if this was the most entertaining thing they were gonna see all week.

They have no idea. Jeb chuckled.

Once the audience was in, he kept his eye open for anything akin to a jury, but he didn’t even see a separate spot for one. That’s not a good sign.

Once everyone was more or less settled, the guy standing next to him shouted, “Please rise for the honorable Judge Elkor.”

Jeb really wanted to stay seated to make a statement and prove how cool he was under pressure, but