Chương 102: Chapter 99 - Treasure, Destiny, and Wixx

Freya waved one hand in front of herself as though trying to push away the compliment from Chelsea related to her blessing.

"Oh stop, you don't need to be nice. And the title only gives five strength. It's not meant to be actually used as I only bless Valkyr. And they all have their own titles so it's worthless allocating resources to it." Chelsea barely heard the last part. Her attention had already gone to the numbers. Plus one to all numbers in her current assigned title.

"No seriously. Yes the four extra titles thing from Bodarex is probably better but yours is super comparable. That's plus one to all numbers? Not just a single number?" She started moving through her titles, reading them quickly while her fingers tightened around a handful of grass.

"My Valkyr alone would get a major boost from that. That's its intention isn't it? Oh my gods you're brilliant! Do all of the Valkyr titles have multiplicative effects like Havoc?" Freya's expression softened despite the faint embarrassment still lingering there. She looked away toward the pasture, where the griffins had finally stopped watching Bradford from a distance and returned to pretending they were not interested.

"A couple do but as time went on I kept pumping more resources into Havocs. I really wanted you guys to live longer but you all have that weird bloodrage quirk. Or bloodlust in your case."

"Yeah. The bloodlust does feel nice. I will do my best to not die on you though. There has to be a way to get two blessings. Yours with Bodarex's. Could you imagine? We're talking about my mother's levels of power." Freya turned back to her.

"Really? You think it's that good?"

"Basic math tells me yes! You take my 3x strength from the havoc title while holding a weapon to 4x. Yeah. I'd say that is a pretty good instance. Oh my gods. What about my call!?" Chelsea pulled up the details again, and the familiar title information appeared in front of her. She leaned forward, reading carefully this time, not as a frightened girl trying to understand what had happened to her, but as someone looking for every possible edge hidden in the wording.

Called by the Agony and the Torment- The mythical spear, the Agony, and the mythical Shield the Torment have called out to you. They await your growth. Initially assigning the title grants: Choice of 3 abilities from the soul attacks list. Additional 24 free skill points to be assigned to soul attack abilities. Maintaining the title grants: Soul attacks deal permanent damage to maximum health.

Every 25 unique humanoid targets hit with a soul attack in a 24-hour period grants 1 free skill point to be assigned to a soul attack. Every 10 unique humanoid targets hit with a soul attack in a 24-hour period grants 1 free attribute point. All assigned traits are disabled once the title 'the Agony and the Torment' has been achieved. Chelsea read it once, then again. Bradford's next step rocked the field on his back gently beneath her, but she barely noticed. The numbers were clear.

If Freya's blessing truly added one to every number in the title, then the effect would not be small. It would change the way the entire title functioned.

"So every twenty six enemies I hit, I would get two free skill points and four free attribute points. That seems really good. Not to mention I'd get one extra skill point when I assign it. And another ability. I don't know if gaining your blessing would delete the Boda one." Freya let out a small laugh. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders.

"You called him Boda. I'll be completely honest, Chels, I have no clue. I've never really interacted with a mortal who so easily hops around gods." Chelsea stared at the title window a moment longer before closing it. The breeze moved through the tree again, and a few petals came loose from the flowers around her. They drifted across the grass on Bradford's shell while Chelsea sat very still, thinking. Bodarex had given her something incredible. She knew that.

Four additional title slots was the sort of advantage people should not be able to obtain. But Freya was here.

"You know what?" Chelsea sat up and turned around to her on her knees.

"Let's do it. Fuck him. He hasn't visited me in a month and a half. He was all buddy buddy then ghosted me. If taking on your blessing gets rid of his, fine. That just means I am on the same playing field as everyone else. Wait, do you get anything for having me blessed or blessing me… whatever. You know what I mean." Freya's smile disappeared. The change was immediate enough that Chelsea felt it. The goddess no longer looked embarrassed or amused.

She looked at Chelsea with a seriousness that made the shade beneath the tree feel quieter.

"Chelsea," Freya said.

"I'm not going to let you. Five titles isn't even a thing that's possible. Giving up on it…" Chelsea did not look away.

"I don't care."

"But I do! I want you to be as safe as possible." Freya reached out and caught the end of Chelsea's hair between two fingers, rubbing the strand absently while Bradford continued his slow walk through the pasture. The shade of the tree moved across the grass on his shell, and the wildflowers shifted with each small motion beneath them.

"I haven't..." Freya sighed and let Chelsea's hair slip from her fingers.

"Nevermind."

"No. No. Don't do that." Chelsea crawled across the grass toward her, still on her knees. Even like that, she had to look up to meet Freya's eyes. The goddess had turned slightly away.

"You big goofball." Chelsea reached up, grabbed Freya's chin, and made her mouth open and close a couple of times.

"My name is Freya and I don't want to talk." She mocked Freya's voice. It was a caricature of her actual speaking voice. Freya's attempt to maintain dignity failed almost immediately. A chuckle escaped her, low and reluctant, while Chelsea continued moving her chin.

"Talk. Come on. I'm sure you see my every movement all day everyday. You see how I'm feeling all the time. Least you can do is tell me how you're feeling. Sorry, my omniscience hasn't kicked in quite yet. Don't worry. I'm sure I'll stumble on a title or..."

"Chels." Freya closed her eyes and breathed in. Chelsea lowered her hand from Freya's chin but did not move away. She sat back on her heels beside her, close enough that the conversation felt private despite the open sky above them. Freya's armor shifted, then vanished piece by piece until she wore a regular shirt instead of the breastplate. It made her look less like a goddess of Valhalla and more like the woman Chelsea had sat with in the quiet room at the end of the hall.

"I told you eight hundred years," she said quietly.

"Eight hundred long long long years. In all of those years. You are my first real friend." Chelsea started to protest. Freya shook her head and held up one hand before Chelsea could get the words out.

"Just listen. I'm guessing you were going to say 'but there have been other Havocs.' Yeah there have been. You're totally right." Chelsea closed her mouth. Bradford's next step carried them past the watching griffins below. One of them turned its head to follow the slow movement of the tree on his shell. Freya's voice had changed. It had lost the casual humor she usually hid behind.

"Seventy-nine of them. In seventy-nine nice bloodthirsty women, not one of them would I have actually called a friend. I didn't mind talking to them. It helped pass a lot of the time. I've built my own prison here. I don't talk to anyone and just stay in my room all day everyday. Til this goofy little demon girl showed up in my life." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Chelsea looked down at the flowers between them, smiling.

"Everyday I can't wait for you to wake up so I can watch your every move." Chelsea looked back up.

"Uh. Every move?"

"Yep. All of them. When you come visit me is my favorite though. Watching you interact with those kids at the orphanage is pretty cute too."

"Oh hush." Freya smiled at that, but it faded quickly.

"You're my best friend in the world... no, the universe, Chels. Hell. I see you more than my best friend, like a super ultra best friend. Whatever that's called. I know I'm not your best friend. You have Ivy, and your family and Passion and even Suffering. Don't think I don't see you two interacting." Chelsea laughed quietly and looked away toward the pasture.

"I mean all of this to say I will do whatever I have to to keep you safe. If that means seeing that Bodarex blessing everyday? Then so be it." Freya stopped talking. For a while, Chelsea let the silence stay. Bradford's footsteps carried them forward with that same smooth rocking motion. The tree above them rustled softly. The flowers brushed Chelsea's knees, and the sun moved in broken patches across the grass. Finally, Chelsea shifted and looked up at Freya with her signature smile.

"For a god you sure are dumb. And so am I for that matter. My family is my family. My mother is my mother. My aunt is my aunt. Ivy is... well Ivy is my girlfriend. Passion is sweet and we are friends. Suffering too. They are such sweet girls. But 'friends' is about as far as I reach with them. I didn't realize it til now. I was missing someone very important in my life. But she's been holed up in her room and being Miss Creeper watching me sleep." Chelsea leaned a little closer and lowered her voice.

"I'm talking about you." Freya smiled.

"The someone special that was missing was my best friend. You remind me so much of your little sister. And yet, you're your own thing. If you'll allow it, I'd like for you to be my super whamodyne best friend 9000 as well." Freya let out an excited, emotion-filled chuckle and nodded quickly.

"Yes please." She reached for Chelsea and hugged her tightly. Chelsea allowed it for a moment before the pressure became too much. Freya still did not always seem to remember the difference between goddess strength and Chelsea strength.

"Freya, remember you're stronger than me. Don't want a repeat of that super embarrassing Passion moment." Looty Call Wixx I am Looty Call Wixx. I know this because I decided it was true. There are few honors greater than naming oneself, and fewer still greater than selecting a name of such dignity and strength. Looty, because I am a treasure. Call, because I answer destiny. Wixx, because Mother is Wixx. I am aware of my royal station as Mother regularly calls me her little princess.

This must mean Wixx is the surname for a queen. I made the decision to follow Mother into the realm beyond the world. I have performed this feat without being noticed. This is, of course, because I am a mimic. A poor mimic would be seen. A dead mimic would be opened. A foolish mimic would sit in plain sight and expect the world to admire its craftsmanship. I am none of these things. I am patient. I am silent. I am pink and white. This color change was wise.

When first I arrived, I bore the natural noble coloration of my kind. Brown, gold, with dark little seams. A proper treasure chest shape, perfect in every possible way. Yet Mother's room is not proper treasure-chest territory. It is a realm of soft pink and pristine whites. Had I remained brown and gold, I would have been a jewel upon snow. Worse, I would have been noticed. So I became pink and white. This was not cowardice. This was artistry crafted by a true genius. Now I belong to the room. I am not an intruder.

I am a detail. A small decorative item of no immediate importance. If Mother glances across the chamber, her eyes slide past me. If the large one called Passion stomps through, she does not pause. If the servants of false flesh stand still along the wall, they do not regard me, which proves they are dull creatures without taste. Except for Mother of course. She is perfect. I came here in a care package. That was the beginning of my grand voyage. I remember the box, though not fondly.

It was packed with offerings meant for Mother. There was Scented cloth. Food. Treasures of personal significance. Things touched by those she loves and therefore powerful beyond coin. I was among them, tucked away with great care, which I took to mean I had been chosen as one of her most beloved items in this world. I did not wait for Mother to open the package. A lesser creature would have waited. A loyal pet would have presented itself. A trinket would have sat where placed. I am no trinket. I am Looty Call Wixx.

I worked my gums along the inner fold. It took the full majesty of my tongue, which remains my greatest tool and second greatest feature after my eyes. When I escaped, Mother had not yet noticed me. Victory came early. I settled beneath a soft hanging cloth near the wall and watched the room reveal itself. Mother's space is rich with hiding places. Under the bed, or behind the desk. The room also contains meals. Not meals in the common sense, perhaps. Not the warm flesh Mother favors.

Not the bright hearts she stores and consumes with such sincere happiness. I am too small for such glory. My gums are mighty, but they are gums. My tongue is noble, but it is not a blade. I eat what the room provides. There is blood sometimes. That is the finest. Mother leaves little traces of it in places she does not notice. A smear beneath the edge of the desk. A dried flake near the pouch where she keeps her treasures. A thin crust on cloth that should have been washed sooner. Human blood has a deep taste.

Demon blood is different, sharper and more spirited. Mother's blood is rare, and I treat it with reverence. Sweat is more common. The large one, Passion, provides much of it. She trains often and sleeps heavily. This is usually when I feed. Where she sits, I may later feast. There is salt in such leavings and proof of mighty labor. I respect it, though I do not love it. There are other fluids. I do not know all their names. Though, the most common speaks of human arousal.

This is a problem mother does not seem to share with the large one. A true survivor does not question the banquet too closely. Mother has many moods. I have watched them all from shadow and softness. There is letter-writing Mother, who sits at the desk with her shoulders curled inward and puts her heart onto paper. This Mother smells of longing. I do not approach her, though something inside me wants to comfort her. The air around her is too tender, and I am not yet large enough to protect such sorrow.

There is training Mother, who leaves and returns with the scent of effort clinging to her. This Mother moves with purpose, though not always grace. She sometimes drops things. I approve of this. Dropped things create opportunity. There is speaking-with-the-large-one Mother, who attempts cheer even when her insides are rain. I do not fully understand the large one called Passion. She is loud and fragrant. Luckily for me, she seems unaware of corners. If she ever discovers me, I expect one of three outcomes.

She will try to end me. She will attempt to force-feed me the arousal. Or she will ask Mother. Finally, there is crying Mother. I do not like crying Mother. When she cries, the room changes. The air becomes soggy, and even the servants of false flesh seem to understand. I cannot go to her. I have no arms with which to hold. I have no legs with which to climb. I have no teeth with which to threaten the sadness. I can only remain hidden and succeed at being unseen. This is the burden of a mimic.

We are not made for comfort. We are made for waiting. And yet, when Mother cries, I still move closer. Not close enough to be found. Never that. Discovery must come at the proper hour. But close enough that, should danger enter, I will be ready to do what must be done to protect mother. The god came once. I knew it was a god because the room grew aware before the door finished opening. That one belongs to the far room, the forbidden room, the room the others fear.

She came to Mother with power wrapped around her and grief hidden poorly beneath it. I watched from beneath a curtain fold and did not breathe, though I do not think breathing is my chief concern. Mother trusted it. This was interesting. Mother trusted few with the softest parts of herself. She is generous with kindness yet guarded of her true self. The god knew how to touch her without breaking her. I did not reveal myself to the god. It did not matter. It knew of my presence.

It knew where I was before even entering the room. My place remains uncertain. I must establish dominion. I will rise up and overthrow this god if I must. Every creature who survives in a room must understand the borders of its kingdom. The bed belongs to Mother. The desk belongs to letters. The wall gaps belong to the bunnies of dust. The low cloth shadows belong to me. The servants of false flesh. They are strange to me. I have studied them extensively. One wears the robe of the flower-scented elf Mother loves.

This robe is precious to her yet she gives it to the servant without restraint. My greatest triumph came three nights after my arrival, when Mother crossed the room, looked directly at my hiding place, and saw nothing. Nothing. Her blue eyes passed over me. Her horns gleamed. Her tail twitched. She was searching for something, perhaps one of the small objects she misplaces because she owns too many wonders. She did not see me. The pride nearly made me open my lid. I did not.

Control is the difference between treasure and garbage. Since then, I have moved only when necessary. I travel at night, or when Mother is gone. My method is elegant. I open slightly. I extend my tongue. I push. I close my lid. I wait. I repeat. Progress is slow, but kingdoms are not conquered in a single slide. This adventurous life has seen me cross from the curtain to the desk leg. I have been witness the to wonders of the shadow beneath the bed and returned alive.

My travels have allowed me to taste blood from three different species, one drop of spilled ink, a thread from a sock, and much of the strange fluid from the large one known as Passion. I grow wiser by the hour. Perhaps, I even grow larger. It is difficult to tell. I haven't had mother measure me since her leaving. Her leaving was difficult as no one remained to say, 'Looty Call Wixx, what a fine and secret child you are.' in not so many words, of course.

Mother does not yet know she has been followed by her loyal treasure into the realm of the god. That is acceptable. A mimic's love is patient. One day, Mother will find me. Perhaps she will lift the curtain and see my pink-and-white splendor tucked against the wall. Perhaps I will be discovered while heroically consuming a dried spot of battlefield blood from her discarded gear. However it happens, Mother will know. She will see that I came with her.

She will understand that I hid well and I will be called a good girl, once again. She will recognize my success. Until then, I remain unseen. I am Looty Call Wixx. Mother has not noticed me. Therefore, I am magnificent. Chelsea Freya released Chelsea, "Sorry about that." She laid back down under the shade tree as Bradford rocked them. Chelsea laughed and joined her. Pulling out the remnants of a heart she had eaten most of earlier, she took a bite. Freya smirked noticing the blood dripping down Chelsea's chin.

"Oh, that reminds me. You know you have a mimic living in your room?"

"Oh, Looty? Yeah. I think she believes she's being stealthy. I'm not sure how she got here. Or how she changed her color. I asked Passion to leave her alone."

"Ah! Yeah good call." Freya replied with a laugh.

"You have the strangest pets. A mimic and a tree-turtle."

"Tortoise." Chelsea corrected....... Hey guys it's Riley! Thank you all so so much for all of the reviews and ratings! I am LOVING seeing my ranking going up. I have decided to do a bit of a challenge. Currently I'm at 299 ratings/reviews. When I hit 325 I'll release a bonus chapter. The fabled "Missing Chapter 34." (It's a good one) As always thanks for being here and if you can't wait for tomorrow's chapter you can always check out my Patreon here: Riley's Patreon