Chapter 5 The Deity Has Jokes
THE DEITY HAS JOKES
Ozirax
And there was hope for her, Ozirax was learning. More than he’d ever thought.
They’d been the last squad on duty when they’d found the humans, and because of the skirmish, they were given additional time off. Time to train their new recruit, who despite being at a disadvantage, was proving an utter terror in the sparring ring.
Ozirax wished he didn’t enjoy the sight so much.
Especially because it made those papers sitting on his bedside table all the more real.
And all the more threatening.
Four days wasn’t long enough to have a human prepared for missions, but it was enough time for Ozirax to understand her more than she would probably appreciate.
He noticed it didn’t take Kalypso long to fully wake up in the morning, an admirable trait for a warrior in their position, but by the end of the day, she would crash hard enough to be dead to the world in the initial stages of sleep.
When she added food to her plate, it was barely enough to consider a meal. Rand was constantly dumping another helping of protein and vegetables onto her plate and took to stuffing a few strips of dried meat in his pockets for breaks in training.
In sparring, she preferred her left side, and while she’d not been trusted with a steel weapon yet, he saw how her gaze never lingered long on any of the basic ones that the warriors trained with.
A wooden sword one day, daggers the next.
She did, however, continue to use her tongue for lashings, particularly when she was frustrated over her disadvantages, and there was no shortage of fights that broke out.
Mostly between him and her.
Those two colored eyes were expressive, and he read every bit into them, even as she tried to disguise it.
Her sleep habits suggested a life of being on alert, ready to react at a moment’s notice.
Her eating, well, it was clear food hadn’t been easy to come by for her in the human world.
And with how often she demanded news about her sister, he knew that she’d made sure Kat was full before ever caring for herself.
She was prickly. If she were a demon, he imagined she’d…
well, she’d probably have the same spikes as him.
Orange, for that destructive and chaotic nature.
Poisonous, no doubt, with a double set of horns to show her stubbornness.
A tail poised to slice like that of an atteapir, with a fire that showed no signs of quelling.
Instead, she was a bland-colored human. Bronzy hair thick and long and dangerous enough to be both a weapon and a liability.
She didn’t have spikes, and her words were more vicious than her fists, but that stubbornness served her well.
He still didn’t trust her not to take her sister and run, but the more he worked with her, the less he worried about a weak spot for their first scouting mission together.
A blur of gold pulled him out of his distraction.
“You’re going to snap another quill,” Tonomoch grumbled, snatching the drayk feather from his grip. He studied it, then frowned. “Aw, these are my good ones.”
“Sorry,” Ozirax said, tossing the packet of papers to the table in front of him. Two broken quills scattered with the impact.
Tonomoch flopped on the couch next to him, draping an arm over the back of his seat. “Your mind is a mess.”
Ozirax threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. “No shit.”
“You see Korinaz about it?”
“Haven’t had the time.”
“Make time.” Tonomoch smacked his shoulder, pulling his gaze. “Serious. I know you’ve talked through some shit with him before, but it’s worth going back. Especially with… you know.”
“I don’t need to talk about the human.”
Tonomoch snorted. “I meant the application papers you still haven’t finished, but yes, let’s also discuss Kaly.”
“You’re not my therapist.”
“But I am your friend, even before you were our squad leader, and when your emotions have been crawling over my skin since the moment we brought the humans back, maybe you could benefit from talking them out.”
Ozirax grimaced. “She’s not ready for a mission. Not with the strange happenings lately. Those monsters are unpredictable on the best of days, but something has them spooked and it’s getting more dangerous.”
Tonomoch nodded, lips twisting to the side. “I don’t disagree. But… is that all?” At Ozirax’s glare, the gold demon held up his hands in surrender. “Not your therapist. Just trying to figure out why you’re hurting my poor quills and getting nothing on the page.”
For a short moment, Oz considered telling him why the thought of taking yet another promotion made him want to give Spicy his sickle and let her have her way with him, but then the woman herself was barging through the door.
Or, rather, Rand was barging through the door with an irate human screaming profanity hauled over his shoulder.
“You motherfucking lumpy piece of shit! I’m going to fucking carve out your insides with a bar of soap, you fucking—”
The door slamming cut off her sentence, and then Rand was setting her on her feet and scanning her from head to toe.
Both Ozirax and Tonomoch were on their feet in an instant, but it wasn’t until she shoved Rand away from her that Oz realized the glaring thing he’d missed.
Spicy had tattoos. A lot of them. She was wrapped in one of the shower curtains, dripping wet with no towel or clothing in sight, leaving her arms and collar exposed to reveal a network of vines and florals twisting around her muscles.
Her knuckles were also bleeding that strange red blood of hers. That was probably what he should have been focusing on.
“What did you do, Spicy?”
Her glare whipped to him, one of those bloodied fingers jabbing his direction. “Fuck off with that nickname, and also, fuck you for thinking I did this. Those pricks stole my clothing.”
“So you…” Tonomoch gestured to her outfit. “Improvised?”
“After she split her knuckles on Xagrud’s fangs when she punched him in the mouth,” Rand added, and Ozirax didn’t miss the smirk on the triage healer’s face that had nothing to do with getting to use his skills. Rand wrapped a hand around her wrist. “Come on, I’ll fix you up.”
He didn’t give her an option, even as Kalypso very vividly described what she’d also do to Rand if he ever jerked off to what he’d caught a glimpse of before she’d had the opportunity to cover herself.
Ozirax stared after them, left eye twitching until they disappeared into Rand’s chamber, but it was too late. The sight of the additional ink crawling across the breadth of her strong shoulders had burned itself into his mind.
Tonomoch’s hand clamped down on Oz’s shoulder, giving him a shake. “Okay, we are definitely talking about the emotions that just spilled out of you like a burst pipe.”
Perfect timing, the door burst open again, this time Garion sprinting through with wide eyes. “What did I miss?”
“Show’s over, Garion,” Ozirax mumbled, flashing one more look toward the hallway before facing the blue demon. “Where have you been?”
“You know, some of us still need a little extra coin, so I’ve been picking up some shifts in the offices. It’s also why I headed back early. You’ve got a visitor.”
Ozirax’s spine stiffened.
“Ah, shit,” Tonomoch said, sidestepping the spikes that had lifted on Oz’s arms. “Schedule that chat with Korinaz while you’re there. We’ll prep for sparring.”
Ozirax had no words for the demon, he only dutifully walked out of their common room and let his feet carry him toward the offices.
He’d just made it to the atrium when the gathering of demons quieted, dispersing away from Xagrud—accurately described as a lumpy piece of shit, only a burnt-orange one—who was leaned casually against a wall.
He pushed off, smirking despite the split in his lip and the blood still caked on his chin—black and red both.
“Hey, Oz. How’s that human trash of y—”
Ozirax grabbed the asshole’s spiraling horn and yanked it down into his own jabbing knee.
Caught off guard, the orange demon was too stunned to stop Ozirax before he was slammed face first into the wall.
Xagrud slumped to the floor, a weak groan escaping his lips.
Unsatisfied, Oz added his second hand and snapped the rust-colored horn from the bastard’s head before tossing it onto the limp pile of unconscious demon.
He glared around at the onlookers, none so brave as to come near—either to face Ozirax’s wrath or help their comrade—then stormed out of the building.
The expulsion of energy did nothing to calm his nerves as he walked to the office building, heading directly for the chamber named for the god of destruction. He didn’t pause to admire Wrasmos’s swords etched overhead, only pushed through the door and stood at attention.
“Sir.”
Zalvokan turned away from the wall of retired weapons, red skin glowing in the demonlight. “Son.”
Scars peppered the demon’s weathered face, thick horns curled back around the sides of his head. The Skullcrusher, he’d been called, known not for his fire, but the brutal ways in which he’d killed monsters in the Dreadmoor as a squad leader.
Terrifying, in a way that always made Ozirax feel small, despite being several inches taller.
“You wished to see me?”
He did not fail to notice that his father stepped away from admiring his own two-headed battle axe, heavy steps bringing him closer until he was standing directly in front of Oz.
It was the following silence as he stared at his father, waiting, that made him want to squirm.
Finally, two words filled the thick air. “A human.”
Ozirax did not flinch. Nor did he answer, at least not without a direct order to, especially when he could hear the fury dripping from his father’s tone.
Zalvokan snarled, his fangs on display. “They dare insult our family name by saddling you with a human?” He turned, armored tail whipping furiously behind him, and strode for the large window overlooking the barracks.
“I have to find out through your mother’s gossip chain that my son has been reduced to a babysitter because of Severath’s foolish decision to bring these creatures into our home. ”
Ozirax only held his tongue because he’d had thirty-five years of practice. He watched his father’s fists curl, standing his ground even as the demon turned back and stomped toward the door.
“After everything I’ve done for this guard, they have the tail to punish you for another’s actions? I know this is simply to distract you from your dream. I will speak with the council and get rid of her.”
“Wait.”
It was with utter horror that Ozirax realized he’d spoken aloud. His father stuttered a step, eyes narrowing, and Ozirax only had half a second to cover for his mistake.
“You don’t need to get rid of her.”
Fuckfuckfuck. He steadied his heartbeat, mind racing. Earning respect in the guard had been hard enough without all of his father’s meddling, but this was so much bigger than what his father believed.
It was about using Kaly to get a so-called dream position he wasn’t sure he wanted at all.
“She’s worthless,” he found himself saying. “Obstinate. Weak. But that’s useful.”
His father’s head tilted in wary curiosity. “How?”
Ozirax scoffed, the lies quick to his tongue all to avoid the wrath of Zalvokan.
“I’m using her to send a message. To the guard, to the council, to all of Heck.
I’m going to prove humans are a liability and we never should have let them in.
Their decision to allow her into our squadron will prove a mess when her weakness interferes with our mission.
They think to play a game, and I’m using their piece against them. ”
Something passed over his father’s face—something like pride—and it made Ozirax’s stomach sour.
“Playing politics.” The red demon hummed. “I was worried you’d stopped using your spines. Perhaps you are cut out for this after all.”
Ozirax hated himself, more than he did on a normal day.
“She’s going to get herself killed doing something foolish.
” Not entirely a lie, but he didn’t want to admit that he’d been admiring her fury for the last several days.
She’d held her own, even if she’d instigated fights that she should never have walked away from without interference from the squadron.
“That weakness will help us get rid of the problem faster.”
His father nodded, eyes studying Oz like he was looking at a new son. “Don’t let her be a distraction long. Finish the application and send it to Harrox. The guard needs a captain with that kind of ruthless mind.”
Ozirax waited a long time after his father left before exiting the office, pausing outside in the courtyard at the shrines of the demons’ gods. Stones were erect in a semi-circle, a littering of offerings to the gods in the bowls underneath each.
But he lingered longest on the stone carved with two crescent moons back to back, the same symbol he had inked above each knee. A symbol for the deity of the stars and moon, one that he’d been silently asking for advice since he was a child.
Oz had so many questions, and all of them lingered on the human woman he was inexplicably drawn to for reasons that could only be explained by this power of divination, knowledge, and trickery.
“Frank,” he whispered to the deity. “What the actual fuck?”
A breeze tickled his shoulders, as if they were laughing, and it followed Oz all the way back to the barracks.