Chương 19: Restoration

Dragonfly, the two star hunter, continues to leisurely flip through his spellbook. Calling it a 'book', though, seems like an inadequate description. He is something like an idiot savant: a fairly poor mage in terms of mana storage, casting speed, quick thinking, and problem solving. His gift is in the creation of spells. Where a typical caster may deal with a specific magical beast with a general approach, Dragonfly can craft a spell that can perfectly counter it.

Typically, a spellbook will contain anywhere from thirty to eighty spells: less for combat-focused magicians who value having fewer but more accessible and reliable options, more for experienced casters who have the experience to locate the spells quickly. Truly versatile casters may have as many as two or three hundred spells at their disposal. Dragonfly's spellbook contains roughly two thousand individual spells.

"Please hurry?" Damselfly asks. The invisible barrier the tiny guardian spirit has made around them has already been up for ten minutes, and is beginning to falter beneath the constant hit and run assaults by a deceptively agile amphibious monster. Its massive, saber like teeth once again try to find purchase, but fail to. It slips back into the water, webbed feet that end in claws more suited to water than land.

"Don't rush me. I have a bunyip spell in here somewhere. I- oh, here it is. I put it in the water section and not the amphibious section. My mistake." Dragonfly stands up, and channels what mana he has into the complex magic circle, so densely drawn that it resembles a mandala more than a typical magic circle. At once, the water turns gray, forcing the bunyip to the surface. The instant the water is breached, the air around the broken surface tension turns a foul gray that matches the color of the water.

The bunyip tries to make for dry land, but the water has become far too thin, providing almost no traction for movement. Within fifteen seconds, the beast tenses, and dies unceremoniously. Dragonfly makes a mental note to move the location of the bunyip spell, as the water returns to its natural state. He, with a little effort, wades into the chest high water and starts pulling the monster to shore.

"You need to organize your spellbook," Damselfly says, watching him move the carcass.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm serious! Another few minutes and you would have been vulnerable! I'm a guardian spirit, not a god!"

"Uh-huh."

"Are you even listening to me!?"

"Nuh-uh." Dragonfly checks the carcass over. The spell was supposed to work more quickly than it did. He should probably rewrite it entirely, given he finds out what he did wrong. - Woodlouse checks the cameras he had Isopod set up before taking his position atop a bank. The target is crafty, and has been careful to avoid using the same location twice. Woodlouse, taking the last known locations of victims, has more or less narrowed down the monster's nest.

Based on old sewer maps he's cross referenced with modern ones, there's an unused portion within the center of the range of victims. The bank is situated directly above a manhole cover that Isopod confirmed wasn't rusted shut, despite not leading to an active location. A fairly reliable lead, and according to Woodlouse's statistical analysis, this is by far the most likely location it is using.

Sure enough, the camera shows a young woman who has been milling around the area for the last couple days, now leading a construction worker towards the alleyway the manhole is situated in. Yep, that's gotta be it.

"Hey, Isopod, you read?"

"Yeah," the gargoyle replies into the solar-powered walkie talkie situated next to him.

"Quarry is approaching with prey. You got it?" If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Isopod looks around the street.

"Construction worker?"

"The girl he's with, actually. Wait until they're in the alley. The monster takes about seven seconds to transform back to its normal shape, that's your window."

"Got it." Isopod flexes his stone hands and claws. This creature isn't a threat to him. He positions himself to drop. As soon as the woman stops moving, he jumps down into the alley. Long, thin, chitinous black legs start to pour from her mouth, a giant spider-like creature turning inside out. Isopod doesn't slow himself down, only extending his wings enough to angle himself vertical to the target.

Before the spider monster can fully emerge, the seven foot tall stone creature lands on top of it, crushing it instantly into a spray of red and yellow innards and cracking the concrete ground beneath it. The construction worker looks at the scene in horror, as Isopod stomps on the crushed body a few times to check for any reaction. He looks over at the man who was only seconds away from becoming the Jorōgumo's next meal.

"What kind of construction work do you do?" The worker, terrified, blurts out, "plumbing!" With a disapproving grunt, Isopod takes off into the sky, snatching the walkie talkie on his way back home.

"Stepped on the spider."

"I saw. A shame we couldn't just trap it in a cup and take it outside."

"I took it out, minus the side."

"Terrible pun. Just awful." After a short flight, Isopod approaches his home: an apartment building's roof. He doesn't understand the appeal of being inside a building, when there's so much more to see from atop the tall structure. Humans, he thinks, designed him well for his purpose. It's deeply regrettable how much trouble they are. To be built for a sole purpose, having that purpose stripped away, and left alone to find a facsimile of it elsewhere is a cruel joke.

One that he's since learned to laugh at, but there's a bitterness that hasn't left. He lands on the roof, onto a small brick projection that once housed a flagpole. It's only as large as he is, just as he prefers. Off to the side, though, is a wicker basket filled with various stones, along with a small note. Isopod takes it, reading it quickly.

'Great job these last few days! Here are some snacks to hold you over. -W' Humans, he thinks, are far too driven. The elevator doesn't reach the roof, implying Woodlouse must have walked up and down at least one flight of stairs while carrying a basket of rocks. That had to have been incredibly painful for him, all for the sake of a surprise. Woodlouse could have just left them by the open window, but opted for this instead. He takes a rock at random, crunching into it. Calc-silicate skarn, his favorite.

It even has some copper in it, for an extra kick. There is no cathedral left to guard, but there is still something sacred here worthy of his protection. It will do, he thinks. -"Forty-seven... forty-eight... forty-nine... fifty." Dragonfly rolls onto his back after finishing the last pushup, and kips up. He grabs a banana from the kitchen, and starts munching it while passively watching the television.

"Too much TV-""Oh my FUCKING GOD!" Dragonfly shouts, startling his partner.

"Can I go ONE GODDAMN DAY without you riding my ass? I get it, you feel what I feel, but for hell's sake your eyes aren't gonna fall out if I want to spend my free time on whatever the hell I feel like! I'm not joking, you're really aggravating the shit out of me." Damselfly's watery eyes peer into her host.

"I... I just-""I know! I know you're trying to help! But god, maybe I'm my own god damn person! I eat what you want me to, I exercise how you want me to, I sleep how you want me to, and you still never shut up! I'm going to lose my shit. One more 'helpful note' today and I'm going to put you in the washing machine on high." She lands on the side table to sulk, back turned to him and sniffling to herself. Dragonfly ignores her. This isn't the first time, it won't be the last.

He's not going to be made to feel guilty over watching god damn television. Damselfly peeks over her shoulder at her host. Her previous host, Dragonfly's father, died of heart disease at 47. She looks at the ticking counter above Dragonfly's head, and sees it doesn't change from just sitting down... she has been particularly hard on him, and he doesn't know that she can see his natural lifespan. It's not the kind of thing he should obsess over. No, that's her job.

As a haltija, she is functionally a symbiotic spirit. She protects him, he feeds her with traces of his life energy. Nothing too steep, maybe seven or eight months of his life in total. If she can extend his life beyond that, then she will have fulfilled her end of the bargain. It's selfish, maybe, and there's the question of quality vs quantity of life... but he just needs to get into the right habits, and maybe his counter will stop declining.

Since bonding to him when he was fifteen, the counter has already risen by four months. He's still primed to die early, before his father, even, but she is confident that he can get over that hump. Once he's strong enough to overcome the genetic predisposition, his life expectancy should double. But she can't tell him that. He has enough to worry about without that added stress on his body. Telling him he's destined to die young will only make him sullen and hateful. That's what happened with his father, after all.