Chapter 137 Interlude 3.12: These Violet Eyes

“What?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you,” said Atlas. “In your hometown.”

Jemi’s knife dropped to her side. Her head spun. Memories of when she was eleven years old, back when all this had begun, bubbled to the surface of her mind. The fuzzy television broadcast. The villager Timothy accusing her of being the poisoner.

“The case of the Linqin Poisoning was a complicated one. The Warden Selan had poisoned the village water and blamed it on a naga. He planned to take the credit for arresting a mass murderer and use it as his earning accomplishment into Paradise. When I found out, I rushed down immediately for you, because I knew you were living in the affected area.”

Jemi was silent.

“It was you,” she stated rather than asked. Her voice was cold. “You gave me the antivenom.”

The Chief Marshal looked sorrowed. “I only wanted to save you. I knew that you were sickly; when I found out about the poisoning, I was afraid that if I didn't get the antidote to you first, you wouldn't make it. I didn't know the village would pin the blame on you, it was supposed to be the naga Beast—I was just trying to protect you.”

Hearing that, a grin cracked across the Cockatrice's face. Maniacally, she began to laugh.

“You say that, but you still covered for Selan, didn’t you? Because you didn’t want humans to lose faith in angels. But to hell with me, right? You ruined my life because you didn't know,” she cackled. Then she smiled. “You should have just let me die.”

“I would never kill you, Jemisha. And I don't want to hurt you,” Atlas repeated emphatically. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just need you to walk away from here.”

The Cockatrice laughed some more. “You couldn't kill me now if you wanted to. Me? I have no reservations. You made yourself nothing but a stranger to me all these years, and a stranger you are still. You can't really be expecting the devil to make exceptions for a stranger, are you?”

With a burst of strength, the Chief Marshal swung his arm out. His sweep threw the Cockatrice back, allowing him to lurch off the wall and flap into the air, though his wings strained with effort against the density of the fog.

“If you insist on being stubborn, you leave me with no choice,” said the angel, drawing his sword.

“You never had one to begin with,” the Cockatrice bared her teeth, righting herself through the air.

But just as estranged father and daughter prepared to launch themselves at each other—

—They found that neither of them could move.

It was as if the air had now completely solidified, locking them in place. The temperature, too, had plummeted ten-fold. Teeth chattering, the Cockatrice tried to struggle, but it was as if thick tendrils of fog had wrapped themselves around her arms and legs and tail, preventing her from moving a centimetre. Atlas was in a similar situation.

As the two of them struggled to comprehend what was going on, a voice slithered into their brains. Only half-there, as if a voice that walked dreams, distant and close-by at the same time. You could scarcely see anything in the darkness, but one got the impression that there were two massive, circular eyes gaping out from the fog… like the ones of a colossal squid. Below the eyes, a fan of tentacles swam outwards, while the centre belched more frigid blackness. It was then that the angel and Beast realised that the viscous ‘air’ they swam in was more like ink.

The Kraken.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” it purred, tentacles curling. “You flatter me, but there's no need to fight over me like animals tussling for a mate.”

“Kraken!” Jemi bellowed first, wresting against her restraints. “I come at the behest of the goddess Medusa! I'll help you destroy anything and anyone you want. You won’t find another party as aligned to your interests.”

“I was here first. I found you first, did I not?” Atlas yelled. “The child speaks loftily, but she is young yet. You are a being aged three thousand years; you know the value of lived experience. I have flown this earth for centuries, while this girl isn’t even into her third decade. As much as she is special, the girl alone could not handle the Kraken’s power. There’s only one reasonable choice to be made here.”

“Shallow cretins,” huffed the Kraken. “My servitude is not this easily won. If I am the prize, then only I will decide the terms.”

“Bring it on,” the Cockatrice sneered.

“State your terms,” declared the angel marshal.

The Kraken’s dinnerplate eyes gazed upon the pair of them.

~~~

Outside of the forest. Fenlin city centre.

An older man and younger woman stood in front of a laksa house.

“Whew,” said the older man, patting his belly. His angelic wings fluttered behind him in anticipation as they stared through the display windows at bowls of glassy noodles immersed in fiery red soup, the telltale scent of simmering spices wafting into their nostrils from the open doors. “All that bickering really made me hungry.”

“Yeah, I’d kill for some lunch right now,” noted the young woman. “But, did we really have to come to this place? There’s another restaurant down the street that sells wonton noodles. I’d rather go there.”

“I’ll foot the bill.”

“Ah. Say no more.”

“We can always have wonton noodles if you want. But you’d have to pay.”

“No, laksa sounds great. Have I ever mentioned how much I love laksa? I fucking love laksa. I’d build a new den out of laksa if I could.” Jemi barged past Chief Marshal Atlas and into through the doors. “Hellooo? Table for two please!”

Unseen by everyone around them, they were joined by an invisible cord of ink. This cord had been tethered by none other than the Kraken itself, less than twelve hours ago. The cord made sure they could not go more than ten metres away from each other, no matter how much each struggled and pulled.

Whilst they were in the chasm, the Kraken had decreed: “The Cockatrice and the Chief Marshal of the Angels must spend five months together. At the end of five months, the Kraken will choose its worthy champion. If one or the other dies during this time, the offer is void and no one will gain control of the Kraken.”

Thus the current situation.

They sat in a secluded corner of the busy restaurant, which was packed with hikers coming down from the hills. The waiter was all smiles as he served the angel, even though Atlas was in casual dress. If they knew that he was the Chief Marshal, the entire restaurant would’ve probably been cleared out just to serve him. But Atlas made no show of his rank, and he wasn’t in the public eye enough to be recognised, so they were merely served at a slightly expedited rate. The food arrived, and Atlas drew the bowl towards himself and started wolfing down the laksa at extraordinary speeds.

“How long have you not eaten for?” Jemi asked as he watched him inhale his meal.

Atlas clamped a hand over his mouth as he struggled to swallow. He downed a cup of water, then cleared his throat. “I was down there for forty-nine days.”

“Forty-ni—how the hell are you alive?”

“Ration bars.”

“Ration bars. Huh.”

Atlas paused his eating. With a rustle, he reached back to dig around in his angel military pack, a haversack designed to sling below his wings. He pulled out a cardboard box, like the kind used to store cereal. It read JUMBO 64-PACK ANGEL RATION BARS. “Mount Casca doesn’t really produce much, but it does have these,” he said. “Each is packed with the calorie and nutritional requirements for a day. Remarkably convenient. They’ve got different flavours as well. I’ve got some left—do you want to try one?”

“Nah. I’ve tried them before,” Jemi said nonplussed, “and I’m not interested in borderline cracking my teeth apart. The only one with any decent flavour is the apple.”

“Hm. I thought nectar was the best flavour.”

“That’s what all angels say,” Jemi said. She reached for her own laksa, taking a small spoon of soup.

Atlas hummed as he watched her sip it. “Good, isn’t it? It’s authentic Kancha. Every region in Loukoumades makes it differently, but I like Kanch’s the most.”

Jemi swallowed. She sucked a decidedly long breath through her mouth. “It’s fine.”

“Good enough to make a den out of?” Atlas chuckled. Then he paused, peering at Jemi intently. “Wait… are you poor at spice?”

“No,” said the tight-lipped Jemi. Her face, however, was rapidly reddening.

“You are,” Atlas confirmed, sounding positively amused. “You look like you’re about to start breathing fire.”

“I think you spiked my food with something.”

“Your mother has a poor spice tolerance too, doesn’t she?” Atlas’ eyes glimmered. “You know, we used to wager if our kid would get her spice tolerance or mine.”

“.....” Jemi shifted. Then, she dragged her chair out and said, “I’m gonna get a drink.”

Atlas stood up too.

“What do you want?” Jemi asked.

“I’m not drinking today, but-”

“You stay there. It won’t be more than the chain allows.” She turned around. “And, I’m paying.”

Looking doleful, Atlas sat back down. Jemi Garen paid him no mind as she headed to the counter. There were no tricks or bargaining from her this time. She ordered and came back with a pint of beer.