Chapter Text
It was a strange calm in the wake of the Briarwoods’ fall. A hesitant, relieved, at times even boring lull that almost sometimes could make Percy think for a few minutes that things might return to some level of normal. Whatever version of normal existed these days anyway.
They had retaken his home. He had gotten to kill the monsters who stole his family and youthful naivety. He had one of his sisters back. The citizens of Whitestone lived and were even now rebuilding as the Sun Tree began to restore itself. He had celebrated Winter’s Crest, of all things, alongside his friends and sister and people in the castle and city he had grown up in.
He could almost think that everything that had come before was just a horrible nightmare if he didn’t still have his sister’s name on his gun.
But that was a problem for another time. The smoky voice in his mind had quieted, possibly sated for the time by the extensive bloodbath Percy had wrought in his vengeance. Yes, Cassandra’s and Dr. Ripley’s names were still emblazoned on the barrels of his pepperbox, but he felt no notable desire to fulfill them. He recognized the feel of the demon’s touch on his mind and emotions now and had firmly decided it would not take such liberties again. Any future use he put his weapon to would be for his own reasons and by his own hand, not the demon’s.
He knew the others wanted him to just get rid of the gun completely. He had Ripley’s attempt at a knock-off after all, free of curses at least, inferior though it was. At the very least, they proposed having Pike or Keeper Yennan try to remove whatever curse came part and parcel with his weapon for everyone’s peace of mind.
Percy had declined and rebuffed Scanlan’s attempts to charm it away from him. He had only just learned the full nature of its creation and he had no intention of surrendering it before he had gotten to study the full extent of its abilities and costs. Who knew if it would work as well post-exorcism? How much of its power had truly come from Percy’s inventing and how much was fiendish magic all along? He would rather know before allowing someone to neuter the weapon that had given him his revenge.
He also didn’t know what would become of his deal if the tool of fulfilling it was suddenly denied him. Although he had no intention of admitting it to the others, the demon’s silence was more concerning to him than relief. A shoe was waiting to drop and he could only hope he would get to decide what was under it when it did. Alone in a guest room of his former home, after the festivities and politicking of the day were closed outside, he would sit, running his thumb along the four unmarked barrels of his pepperbox, almost willing new names to appear just to end the anticipation.
Even before he had known the gun represented an actual literal pact with a demon, he had known it for what it was: a beginning without an end. All that had changed was he was no longer the one adding the names to the barrels.
But somehow, no further disasters befell Whitestone in their time there. They celebrated the holiday, aided in the reconstruction, negotiated a ruling body, and as soon as Percy could reasonably arrange it, passed off control of the city to his sister and the council and happily followed his friends back to Emon. Knowing his home was safe was a relief, but one he preferred knowing from a distance at the moment.
Back in his adopted home, life settled into the brand of normal he was more recently acquainted with. He set up their keep as an embassy. They tracked down Daxio, another loose end of the Briarwood’s treachery cut away. They returned to the house of the late, scaled General Krieg and were nearly killed by purple worms. Life was good. Life was right. His gun was just a gun. He could work with this.
However, if life had taught Percy anything, it should have been that the quiet times never lasted. Calm was simply that predatory inhale of something horrible preparing to descend and rip it all apart. He couldn’t have foreseen four ancient chromatic dragons, but in retrospect he should have known that defeating one nightmarish amount of awfulness at home could only mean some new amount of impossible horror would appear to destroy his other home. Life could have no less.
The onslaught was a blur of chaos and terror. He remembered the white dragon toppling Allura’s tower, a similar feeling of shocked wrongness to when Lord Briarwood lunged over the banal atmosphere of dinner. He remembered the black and the red, laying waste to the palace, and possibly Uriel with it. He remembered the green most of all, facing them down with poison and intelligent, cruel eyes, the flash of Delilah and Ripley’s eyes through the screams and ruin, before he was fleeing again, another moment of desperate cowardice as he clustered with his friends and then they were through a tree and away to the deceptive normality of Greyskull Keep.
He had only a minute to feel the writhe of familiar guilt of fleeing a city in ruins—his city, his people—before reality caught up to their walls and there were survivors to harbor and danger upon them and, ridiculous as it was, he found himself fighting a white dragon for the third time in his life. They lived only by the grace that they were too insignificant to be worth the dragons’ time, and then they were inside, settling survivors and their staff, and the quiet could no longer drown out the pounding of his heart.
Out of the way of the bustle, he knew he should be organizing, planning, taking charge, anything useful, Percy instead found himself instead pressing his back against one of the now-frigid stone walls, just breathing, eyes shut, fingers resting over the pressure points on his face in a poor substitute for his mask.
Fool. Damned fool. Why would life grant you a victory without taking something greater? There is no peace without cost, no satisfaction without retaliation. You fled Whitestone a pitiful, cowardly child, unable to defend yourself and your sister, much less your family, your city. Are you still that sniveling child now? Or will you take the vengeance that now lies within your power?
“Percy?”
Grog’s voice broke through the reverie. He didn’t even realize he was gripping the stock of his pepperbox, but he released it now, forcing his hand to hang empty at his side instead, not quite relaxed.
“Can I have a word with you, please?” Grog continued, looking equally tense where he stood, jerking his head toward the door to Percy’s workshop beside him.
“Certainly,” Percy agreed and he thought there was an unfamiliar roughness to his voice, but gods knew after everything today, none of them were quite themselves at the moment.
Descending into his workshop was a salve to Percy’s nerves. Down here, nothing had changed. His tools lay exactly where he stored them, organized and clean. His forge was cold but with wood and coal stacked in the bin, ready for use. His designs and calculations were still spread on the bench where he had last left them before heading out to the fateful speech of Uriel’s only hours before. How had it only been hours ago?
Percy breathed the cold, slightly sooty air, letting it calm him as he made room for Grog to step into the room as well.
The Goliath lingered in the doorway. Percy felt a little twinge of warm satisfaction that the man had finally learned a healthy respect for the workshop.
“May I come in?”
“Yes, of course,” Percy nodded, the sense of control of his space steadying him further.
Grog walked in, still tense. “Can you shut the door?”
Percy frowned slightly. No one had followed them down. The basement was about as private as it got in the keep. “All right.”
“Can you lock it?”
Percy froze slightly, hand still on the heavy door. A little flicker of wariness made his fingers twitch, very aware his back was to Grog, but he complied. “All right.”
He had to admit, as Grog explained it, his plan had a welcome simplicity in the face of the astronomical challenge this horde of dragons presented. Use the probably evil skull to wish away the dragons, then face just whatever single evil creature the skull itself unleashed. Four evils down to just one in a snap. It was a fair thought, and honestly a somewhat impressive calculation for Grog to determine on his own. But still…
“We have an opportunity here,” Percy agreed, hands folded as he leaned on the workbench in front of him, mind running through the possible outcomes. “But not one I think we should approach lightly. I’m still…working on the previous bargain I made.”
“That’s why I came to you! You have a demon. Maybe it knows something about this that could help us.”
Percy grimaced slightly, rubbing his knuckles. “It hasn’t been saying anything since Whitestone.”
“Oh.” Grog paused, disappointed.
“What about your new friend?” Percy asked, flicking his eyes at the sword hilt over Grog’s shoulder.
Grog looked almost self-conscious, squinting at Percy warily. “What friend?”
“It’s just us here, Grog. I heard it too.”
Grog relaxed slightly. “Craven Edge only talks when it wants to. Mostly about being hungry.”
Well, that was a confirmation to file away for later. “So equally unhelpful.”
“Can’t you at least, like, ask your smoky bastard? Maybe it can talk to the skull too.”
Oh, didn’t that sound like a brilliant mix of personalities? Percy rubbed his eyes. “Before we start introducing even more evil voices to this conversation, I’d rather include some of our people as well.”
Now that angry edge returned to Grog’s voice. “The others don’t have the balls to handle dark stuff like us! Besides, the skull said it has to be someone…‘touched’.”
“And the skull has you and it has me to pick from. But we need the others. We need…” He scrunched his eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Witnesses, at best? Firepower if it goes wrong.”
When he looked up, he saw Grog scowling at him with that dangerous mix of stillness and contained fire that Percy knew was at least as deadly as his black powder. “Who?” Grog said at last. “Which of the others?”
Percy exhaled, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “At the very least, Vax. Keyleth, at the very least.”
“Key--?! Keyleth?!” Grog erupted, sputtering. “She’s bleached whiter than Whitestone!”
“Exactly!” Percy retorted. “We need good people. I will take the skull out of its hiding place and I will try to talk to it. Just try and discern what it is and how it works and what it wants. And if for some strange reason things go wrong or we get a repeat of Whitestone, I need people who would be more than willing to…at the very least knock me out. So I’m going to be needing you and at least one other, preferably a magic user, ready to deal with me if something goes weird.”
Grog took a few steps closer, looking down to emphasize his height and bulk over Percy. “I think you only need me.”
A very familiar sensation kindled deep in Percy’s chest. His hand twitched even though it was nowhere near his holster. But he didn’t break eye contact with Grog. “Are you willing to take on me—” Grog snorted but Percy pressed on. “—and Orthax, and whatever is in that skull that potentially can obliterate dragons with a thought, entirely on your own?”
Grog’s nostrils flared above him, muscles tensing, but Percy didn’t flinch. He just waited.
Finally, Grog ground out, “Name one other.”
Percy drew a breath. “Keyleth.” He saw Grog’s jaw tighten again and decided compromise was better than being outright rejected. “Or Vax. Pick your choice, honestly. Whoever’s less busy upstairs.”
Grog nodded, glaring down at him a moment longer. “All right.”
Then, with barely a break in the tension, Grog turned and headed out of the workshop.
As he left, Percy closed the door behind him, resting his hand on the solid mass of the door again. In the silence that settled back into the room, he tapped one finger thoughtfully.
He shouldn’t. He had left well enough alone since the Briarwoods and their contamination had finally been eradicated from Whitestone. His dreams were untroubled by smoke. He had been normal—or as normal as he could imagine for himself—for the weeks since. He should hold onto that as long as it lasted.
But nothing was normal now. And they had four ancient dragons razing their entire world and something potentially worse lurking in a skull hidden in this room. Orthax was a known quantity, at least, and one they had driven back once before. A familiar evil could at least prove a useful resource in this new disaster they were thrust into. Desperate times, and all.
Bracing both hands on the door, Percy drew a deep breath again and reached out to that cold, shadowed place at the very back of his mind. And touched it.
It was almost alarming how effortlessly it came back to him. He felt the now-recognizable edge return to his thoughts, the tendency toward ruthlessness already there, now honed slightly sharper. The slight chill that always sat at the base of his ribcage seemed more noticeable, but perhaps that was just because he was paying attention to it now. He half-expected to see smoke billowing off of him when he opened his eyes, but there was no visible indication of this shift. And no pressure on his mind or his actions toward cruelty or violence.
Simply a sensation of presence, an unspoken acknowledgment of I’m here.
Interesting.
Shoulders a bit straighter, Percy hurried to his cache before Grog returned and took out the skull, still wrapped in the tapestry they had stored it in at General Krieg’s house. Making sure the door was still closed and he had time, Percy set the skull on the table, uncovered it, and sat across from it, feeling the second set of eyes regarding it through him.
“Okay, talk. You have my attention.”
The crystal imbedded in the skull’s eye socket shifted, its color swirling until it formed into a face of a species Percy had never seen before. “I have been tormented in this prison for eons. Free me and I will grant you a wish. Whatever you desire.”
“Your case is…?” Percy prodded, unimpressed.
“I was wrongfully sentenced to this imprisonment. Enemies sought my downfall and cast my soul into this crystal. I committed no crime.”
Lies.
Percy rolled his eyes. I knew that. While there were, of course, innocent people in the world held captive by evil forces, in Percy’s experience most people in jails had done at least something to deserve their imprisonment, and he included himself in that estimation. A prison this elaborate? Was no accident.
“What type of wishes are you capable of granting?”
“Wealth. Power. Anything,” the skull’s inhabitant replied. “What would you desire?”
“A wish for the entire town to be fixed and the dragons to be banished.”
“That is within my power.”
Percy listened for the other voice in his head, but it offered no insight into whether that was true or not. Very well.
“Last question: At what price?”
“Free me first. Receive your wish. Then we can discuss a price.”
Percy didn’t even need the rumbling rejection in the back of his head to know that was a bad deal when he heard it. “Right. That’s all for now.”
He threw the cover back over the skull and leaned back on his stool, tapping his fingers on the workbench agitatedly.
That was enough, as far as he was concerned. A bargain with undisclosed terms was not one to agree to. He was living with enough proof of that. Still, perhaps the skull could have some usefulness if handled in the right way. It was rare to encounter something with no potential benefits, no matter how risky. But nothing could be decided about it until they confirmed exactly what was inside of it and what power it truly wielded.
Percy stood up as he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He composed himself, shoving the dark voice back into the recesses of his mind, and waited for Grog to enter. He was pleased to see Vax follow Grog in. Impulsive as the man could be sometimes, his moral center was as solid as Keyleth’s and Percy trusted Vax’s judgment right now, even though he looked as shaken and emotional as the rest of them.
With Vax’s presence, a welcome sense of sanity returned to the room. He listened to their explanation of what was going on and even spoke to the skull himself with the same skepticism Percy had. And Percy was relieved to see Vax arrive at the same reservations and agree further research was necessary before making any decisions about the skull.
Still, a little sense of warning continued to prickle along Percy’s spine. Rationality was not doing anything to calm Grog down. If anything, Percy could feel the tension beginning to escalate and Vax wasn’t someone Grog listened to on the best of days. There were too many bad directions this could spiral, and Percy decided it would be wisest to remove the object of temptation from the picture before Grog’s remaining restraint gave out.
As Vax continued to plead for practicality, Percy waved his hand and quietly cast an illusion of the skull dropping through shadow into the table, leaving only an empty, shadowed space behind.
The conversation immediately came to a halt. Grog sputtered, staring in shock at where the skull had appeared to vanish. Vax paused, staring at the spot, then looking over at Percy with a difficult expression to read. Percy wondered briefly if he was able to see through the illusion, but it didn’t really matter. It had had the intended effect on its target audience.
“I thought it might be best to return the skull to its hiding place until we decide what we wish to do about it,” he said calmly, but belying the tension of his muscles beneath the façade.
Grog recovered from his shock, turning to Percy with his brows furrowed. “What the fuck was that?”
“That was a small reminder that you should know exactly what you’re dealing with before you touch power,” he replied, still motionless.
Grog stared even harder, his mind assimilating this new information in its usual ponderous fashion. “Can you do magic?!”
“Yes. While Orthax has been quiet since before Winter’s Crest, his…gifts appear to have remained.”
He could feel the weight of Vax’s gaze even though he wasn’t taking his eye off Grog. “You didn’t feel the need to mention this, Percival?”
“You all already saw what I could do in Whitestone.” Percy spread his arms in a gesture of hiding nothing. “Nothing has changed about my abilities since then except Orthax has no longer been pressuring me to use them. Nor had I really had cause to do anything with them before today. But I’ve hidden nothing about them from you.”
Truth.
Vax pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “I wish I could say that was our biggest worry right now. Your…buddy, Orthax, he hasn’t been talking to you and saying things like, ‘Hey torture that guy, it’ll be funny’?”
“No.”
Truth, by nuance.
Vax rubbed his eyes. “Well, one disaster at a time, then.”
“Wait!” Grog snapped. “You can do magic now?”
Percy looked at Vax. “What do you think he’d do if I said ‘no’ now?”
“No, but that settles it, doesn’t it?” Grog insisted. “Percy fucked with something evil and got magic powers out of it! What if we all got magic powers too?”
“I suspect it would be at a rather large cost, big man,” Vax said wearily.
“We don’t know that! Guy in the skull just wants to be free. That’s easy! Besides, Percy’s fine! Look at him!”
Percy exchanged a look with Vax. He was idly curious what the man did see in him, but didn’t dwell on it.
“Look, I’m not going to pretend I always make the best calls,” Percy conceded. Stay rational. Not always the best tactic with Grog, but it was with Vax and he could feel the escalation a hair trigger from detonating in the room. “But I at least would like to know its name.”
The growl rumbled up Grog’s throat. No, not the right tactic indeed.
“You…fucking pussy,” Grog snarled. “We have a chance to save the city now.”
Percy saw Vax put his head in his hand, but held onto the tenuous thread of control he had on the room. He felt a little stir inside him, that smoke at the back of his mind invisibly reaching out toward Grog, a subtle suggestion to maintain calm.
“We have a chance to stop anything worse from happening. Or we have a chance to unleash something far worse on it. I need to know more first.”
Vax pleaded Grog for patience as well, but Percy’s entire focus now was on Grog’s face, imagining the tension and anger leeching away into the shadows.
Grog didn’t relax, but Percy could see his posture shift slightly, from direct confrontation to a more fidgety energy. He turned from them and stomped toward the table where the skull rested behind Percy’s illusion. Vax winced, but Percy just watched, a slight satisfied grin twitching at his mouth as Grog examined the table, looking around it, under it, over the shadowed spot concealing the skull without a hint of discovery. Bless the low perceptiveness of simple minds.
There was a knock at the door behind them.
“We need to talk to the girls,” Vax said, looking at Percy.
Percy didn’t take his eyes off Grog. Grog’s hand reached out toward the apparently empty patch of shadow on the table. Percy’s hand twitched toward his holster, just in case… But Grog withdrew his hand hesitantly, returning to looking without actually physically touching the shadow.
“Your plan is good,” Percy intoned again, envisioning the words as smoke weaving through Grog’s anger. “It just requires a little bit more study. It’s a good plan.”
Grog continued glaring at the table, but folded his arms sulkily, giving up his search for the moment. He snorted derisively to himself. “Study…”
That would do.
There was another knock and Vex’s voice called through the door. “Are you in there?”
Percy immediately straightened up, breaking his focus on Grog, if not his attention. “Yes, come—Please come in.”
Vex opened the still-unlocked door and joined her brother inside. Through the edge of his vision, Percy saw her take in the details of the scene with her quick glance, filing it away and keeping the slightly put-out look on her face without reacting. “Well? What’s this big master plan you all are plotting?”
Percy took the break in the tension to run his hands over his hair, settling the shadows to the back of his mind again. “Vex, uh… Vax, do you want to—Actually we might as well just get Keyleth down here as well.”
“Pike as well,” Vax agreed quietly.
Percy reached for his earring. “Pike? Keyleth?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The muscles were tighter than he had realized. “Meet me in my workshop, please.”
He saw Vex giving Grog a questioning look, getting only a sullen grumble in return. Seeing the moment of distraction, Percy made a casual move to sidle over to the table as if to lean on it and very subtly scooped the skull out of the illusion and securely behind his own back.
Glancing over, he confirmed Grog was still pouting to himself like a scolded child. However, Vex’s keen eyes were on him with a curious, pointed look. He gave her a little wink and a conspiratorial grin.
“Patch this up,” Vax said, apparently equally oblivious to his move, and then headed out of the workshop, presumably to follow up on finding the others.
Percy felt a little sense of relief with the skull in his grasp, but he knew this wasn’t over yet. Grog watched Vax exit the room, scratched his beard for a moment as he glanced over at Percy and Vex. Then, without a word, he walked over to the door and shut it with an air of finality.
Okay. Percy saw Vex’s eyes widen, but kept his own demeanor calm even as he shifted his stance into a slightly more ready balance.
“I want that skull,” Grog said in a dangerously casual tone. “I want it now.”
“This is about the skull then?” Vex said, clearly trying to maintain the calm in the room too, though her voice was a bit brittle.
“Yeah,” Grog continued. “Percy’s trying to do some fucked up shit with the skull.”
Vex’s eyes flicked to Percy, but he kept his eyes on Grog, expression unwavering.
Grog put his back to the door, a wall of muscle and intention preventing anyone else from rejoining them. Damn, he was going to force them to do this the hard way.
“I want the skull. Right now.”
“Let me see your sword,” Percy countered.
To his credit, Grog didn’t blink. “No. You don’t want to see the sword.”
Vex was now eyeing them both, cautiously moving between them, arms out.
Percy ignored her, eyes still on Grog, debating if he should risk dipping into that shadowy influence with as perceptive as Vex was. Any hint of untrustworthiness now would flip the table in a direction he didn’t want. Best to leave it with the pieces he had already put in play.
He shifted the skull to one hand behind his back and pointed at the illusion still disguising the now truly empty spot on the table. “Reach into the shadow and see if you can take the skull.”
Grog considered, looking at the table, before straightening up and maintaining his place blocking the door. “No, I don’t think so. Your water fucked me up last time. You get it out of the table.”
Damn. Although he was fairly pleased that lesson had worked so effectively.
As they stared each other down, each waiting for the other to be the first to move, Vex’s eyes darted back and forth between them, desperately trying to read whatever was going on. Percy wanted to give her some signal or indication, but his attention was too focused on being vigilant for any slight twitch that would betray Grog’s attack, and the smoke was all too easily accessible. Safer not to give any tells at all.
A knock at the door nearly broke the stalemate.
“Hey, uh, big man,” Vax called. “Uh, Trickfoot wants to talk to you.”
Brilliant. Percy sent a thought of praise to the rogue for knowing Grog’s weak spots. He probably should have left it be at that, but he couldn’t resist digging the knife just a bit to try to guarantee a reaction.
Very quietly, knowing Vex—Vex who was gauging them both now as he spoke—would hear him too, he asked, “Does your friend have an opinion on the skull?”
It was hypocritical, yes, but when the chips were down better to cast doubt at your opponent first.
Grog, however, was not taken off guard by the question. “Which friend?” he replied.
“Your new friend,” Percy prodded back, eyes still locked on Grog’s, matching him casual smile for casual smile.
Understandably, Vex broke first. “Who the fuck?! What the fuck is going on?! What fucking friend?!”
Percy couldn’t resist chuckling a bit. She whirled on him. “I saw you, Percival.”
“You did,” he acknowledged, but raised his free hand to his lips in a shushing gesture, hoping she would be mollified by being in on the trick.
Grog hadn’t flinched and remained posted in front of the door. Percy decided to reach out to the other sane mind in the room.
“Vex.” He kept his voice calm and sincere, appealing to her view of him as a rational person. “Trust me.”
He heard the door slam against Grog’s back, heard Keyleth’s bewildered voice. Reinforcements were there. The situation would soon be under control.
In light of that, he shifted, letting his pose be more open, if not breaking his stand-off with Grog. “Or pick who you trust,” he offered.
Grog scoffed. “Trust.”
“I trust your judgment,” Percy added.
Truth again.
“Vex, listen to me,” Grog tried. “What did you see?”
Vex stammered, looking back and forth between them. Then her gaze hardened slightly on Grog, finding something to grasp onto. “Who’s your friend?”
Percy smirked slightly. Good.
Grog sighed, exasperated. “The skull grants a wish. It can only be used by those with dark presence around them. That’s Percy. That’s me. I went to him for help because I’m trying to free the city of these fucking dragons, but it wanted Percy. And apparently Percy didn’t tell us he’s still getting magic from that fucking demon thing.”
Shit. Touché.
Vex’s eyes whipped back to Percy, alarmed.
“Nothing new since Whitestone,” he assured her honestly. “Just the same parlor tricks you saw there, nothing darker, nothing more demanding. Nothing beyond that.” He gestured to the shadow on the table.
She looked him over with those intense, searching eyes. He clamped down every whisper of shadow to the back of his mind, but otherwise kept his posture open.
“It wanted Percy,” Grog restated accusingly.
“And I said no,” he countered.
“Did you?” Vex asked, hope warring with worry in her voice.
He nodded definitively, being as forthright as he could convey.
“The hell you did!” Grog snarled, starting to break a little more.
“Wait, who wanted who?” Keyleth yelled through the crack in the door.
Percy heard Vax giving a quick rundown to those outside, apparently only making Keyleth more bewildered. Behind Grog, he could see Keyleth try to reach her arm through the gap to touch Grog and Pike trying to squeeze her small form through, neither to any avail.
Grog managed to ignore the commotion behind him, focusing a convincingly sincere look at Vex. “Vex, if he has the skull, we have to get it away from him now.”
Vex looked back at Percy, her expression filled with hesitance, and he was a little surprised at the tiny twinge of hurt he felt below the approval. “P-Percy?” she asked, beseeching him for some clue, any clue, that she was doing the right thing.
“I have the skull,” he confirmed. Calm. Honest. “I’m not going to use it. I don’t trust him not to use it.”
“How about you guys give me the skull?” she suggested. “I’m not even touched by anything dark.”
Percy was relieved to see Grog nod. “That’s a great idea.”
“That’s fair,” Percy agreed. Still not taking his eyes off Grog, he stepped forward and carefully took the wrapped skull from behind his back. When Grog didn’t make a move to lunge at him, he handed it comfortably over to Vex.
She accepted it as carefully as if he had just handed her a pouch of black powder while on the Fire Plane. He watched her swallow hard, flicking a look at Grog. Slowly, she backed into a corner, looking down at the bundle of cloth worriedly.
Pike shoved against the door again, yelling at Grog. He shouted back at her to wait.
Despite Grog remaining posted at the door, the normality of their bickering gave Percy the faint hope maybe the situation was resolved now that the skull was in neutral hands.
That hope was quickly extinguished back to cynical readiness as Grog refocused on Vex and demanded, “Give me the skull. You don’t want Percy to have it.”
Through the door, Vax yelled, “That’s a bad idea, Vex!”
“I don’t want either of you to have it!” Vex said.
“Don’t give me the skull,” Percy repeated, “but don’t give him the skull either.”
“It’s on a ticking clock,” Grog pressed, his frustration starting to crack through his attempt at calm. “If you want to, you can ask it what it wants and then you’ll know, or you can give it to me and we can be done with this!”
Vex swallowed, but carefully unfolded the tapestry to reveal the skull underneath. “What the fuck do you want? What the fuck are you?”
Percy kept his eyes on Grog as the skull answered Vex with similar information to what he had been given.
“Are you Vecna?” she asked.
He arched an eyebrow. Clever one, always.
The voice in the skull just chuckled. “No. Vecna’s been long gone. I am not a being of such power.”
That didn’t mean its power wasn’t significant, though. Beings of far less power than a god still had brought a great deal of ruin to Percy’s life more than once.
“Why would we free it?” Vex asked, turning to Percy.
“So it would grant us a wish,” he answered. “It claims it would give us a wish. If we let it go. I think we need a name before we do that.”
Speaking with Vex was so conversational, so normal, that he almost let his guard down. And of course Grog used that hint of distraction to make his move.
Percy’s reflexes had been honed to lightning quickness over the past years, but now they seemed to move even before he was aware. He caught the flash of Grog lunging into motion out of the corner of his eye, but his arm was up, gun drawn and the shot fired, before he even finished processing what the move meant. His bullet hit Grog’s shoulder and Percy was now moving as well, darting in front of the Goliath’s rush to get to the skull. As he dragged it—and Vex—out of Grog’s line of movement, his brain caught up at last and he felt his body settle under his conscious control again, gun still out toward Grog as a warning.
Grog, already barreling forward, not slowed a fraction by the blood dripping down his shoulder, made no attempt to reduce his momentum. Instead, he merely shifted his target, redirecting slightly from Vex to aim toward Percy. Percy didn’t have time to squeeze off another shot before Grog was on him. The Goliath’s massive shoulder dodged his gun to slam him square in the chest. The force jolted his breath out of his lungs as it took him off his feet, landing backward on the ground hard enough to knock any remaining air from his chest and send his gun scattering away from his hand.
Despite the stun of the blow, he was just conscious enough to be aware the skull was not in his possession. Gods, don’t let the idiot grab it from Vex.
Get up.
He wheezed, attempting to gasp enough air back into his body to do so. Blinking the stars from his vision, he raised his head to see Grog now standing between him and Vex—feigning at protecting her from him! The discomfort of the pain in his chest turned to indignation and anger. For fuck’s sake!
Behind him, Vex stepped away, reclaiming the shelter of the corner and demanded. “What is all this about? Why do you even need this? Why do we want to set him free? I don’t understand!”
“We don’t!” Grog growled, still standing over Percy. “We don’t! We just don’t want him to have Percy!”
Of all the gall…
There was a bang off to the side of the room and he realized as time accelerated back to its normal pace that without Grog to block the door, the others had finally managed to join them in the workshop.
“He doesn’t want me!” Percy managed to rasp as he recovered enough breath to assert his innocence. “I don’t want to use the skull! I want to keep you from using it!”
“What is going on in here?!” Pike interjected, planting herself in the center of the room with far more gravitas than her size should be capable off.
To finish matters further, Keyleth stepped behind her, cracking her staff against the floor. A gust of wind erupted from her, a magical manifestation of her frustration and anger that swept over all of them.
Percy threw his arms around his head as tools were blown off the workbench beside him, squinting his eyes against the clouds of soot that suddenly filled the room. He coughed, waving it away from his face as he pushed himself up amid the settling haze. A part of him was grateful for it, though, as he couldn’t guarantee with certainty that he wasn’t emitting a bit of his own smoke by that point.
“SILENCE!” Keyleth roared, a respectable embodiment of the tempest that was her destiny.
Thankfully, everyone seemed to comply. Percy took the moment to sit up, still coughing, and clean the soot off his glasses enough that he could at least see.
Nearby, he could see the blurry shapes through the haze of Pike approaching Grog. Her eyes flicked to the bullet wound in his shoulder, but she said nothing about it. When she asked him for Craven Edge, Percy smirked slightly with satisfaction. Trusting her to have the issue in hand, he put his glasses back on, pushed to his feet, and gathered up his gun again, backing into the other corner Vex wasn’t occupying and squaring off to wait, finger ready by the trigger of the pepperbox.
Grog was still in the center of the room, Vex in the other corner with the skull in her hands. Pike stood before Grog, Keyleth behind her, Vax at the door speaking to someone outside. The numbers were back on their side for the moment.
Grog looked down at Pike, his expression still more closed than Percy would have liked. “I love you, Pike. You’ll thank me.”
And he turned around and easily ripped the skull from Vex’s grip.
In the shocked instant, Percy snapped the gun up again, aiming for the skull, Grog’s arm, whatever he could. His finger started its curl around the trigger as Grog’s arm was already moving, bringing the skull down forcefully in a spiking motion. Fuck fuck fuck.
He squeezed the trigger anyway, watched the bullet pass uselessly through the empty space Grog’s hand had occupied. The skull’s arc continued on its fatal sweep toward the ground, but Sarenrae apparently worked her miracles in strange ways. Percy saw Grog’s eyes lock with Pike’s face and she proved once again that it was no exaggeration to say she could bring down giants with a single disappointed look. The skull fumbled out of Grog’s hesitating grip, bounced once, then rolled intact across the floor toward Keyleth.
Percy exhaled with relief, his gun lowering slightly, eyes closing.
And then Vex scrambled forward in her own blur of motion, scooping the skull back up and bolting for the door.
“What the fuck is happening?!” Keyleth yelled, and her hand swept out.
Percy felt the spell hit. His muscles tightened involuntarily, locking him in place. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t react, couldn’t brush the trigger again if he wanted to.
Refocusing on the room, he saw Grog shake his head, but remain in motion. Vex continued darting out the door as Vax moved to defend her, daggers in hand. No one, in fact, froze except him.
A little flicker of irritated anger simmered in his chest. Not that he could do anything about it.
“Everyone stop!” Keyleth shouted into the commotion. “Why are we fighting?! We just watched our city burn to the ground! What are we fighting over?!”
“We’re not fighting!” Grog retorted. “We’re trying to protect the skull.”
Lies.
“What does this look like?!” Keyleth snapped back, not taken by his claim. “What does this look like to you?”
Grog thought briefly, eyes passing over Percy. “A statue garden?”
A growl rumbled from Percy’s throat, the only sound he could produce right now.
“Everyone get in Percy’s workshop and we’re going to talk this out!” Keyleth slammed a fist on the workbench beside her, sending up another swirl of soot.
“Mm, Keyleth? You don’t know what’s happening,” Vex said quietly, still shielded behind her brother.
“I would if any of my fucking party would for once tell me something! You all didn’t tell me the full fucking story when we went back to General Krieg’s house and now look what happened! Look what happened because you assholes aren’t communicating!” She stabbed her finger right at Percy’s face.
He managed a few muffled sounds of protest at the absurdity of her accusation at that moment.
“Shut up, Percy!” she retorted before turning back to the rest of the room. “This is because of us and you all know it is. Let’s figure this out.”
Percy knew he should be paying attention as they grilled Grog, but he was tired of hearing the man’s excuses, tired of trying to make futile pleas for a bit of common fucking sense, tired of fighting when all it did was land him here. Here, frozen in Keyleth’s spell when he was the one who had been trying to prevent disaster in the first place! And now Grog—Grog who had just tried to shatter the fucking skull—got to argue his fucking case while Percy was bound as if he was the instigator who couldn’t be trusted. Fuck this whole situation. Fuck him for expecting justice and fairness even from his own friends. Fuck the whole fucking thing.
Through his silent fuming, he became aware of a shift in the conversation. Everyone was now paying attention to Vex, even following her out into the hallway. Still stuck in his corner, Percy could only strain to hear the edges of their conversation, calling strangled noises in hopes they would remember he was still there. Oh gods, if they forgot him and left him alone there, still frozen, he would find such a way to make them pay later…
But the others returned back into the room, noticeably calmer and with Scanlan now among them. Before he could catch their attention, the source of the sudden new calm followed them in. Percy couldn’t have articulated the relief he felt at seeing Allura even if he had had control of his body. It was the same profound sense that all was under control that his mother had exuded back in those simpler days when his biggest frustrations were his siblings taking one of his tools or books. For a heart-stuttering moment he saw her eyes and expression on Allura’s face before he forced himself back into the present disaster.
“Okay! What have we stepped into here?” asked an unfamiliar dwarven man with her.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him, looking over the room. “Uh, I apologize for my intrusion. I had a, uh…”
Her eyes seemed to process the scene around her. Percy frozen. Blood running from a distinctively-shaped wound in Grog’s shoulder. Vex clutching a bundle of tapestry. The overall sense of conflict paused, not resolved.
“Is everything all right?”
Percy grunted, hoping to remind them to free him.
“We could use your help at the moment,” Vex said.
“Things are very tricky,” Percy attempted to say, automatically trying for his usual air of dignity now that they had civilized company.
Allura gave him a very puzzled look, likely not understanding him or the reasoning for his condition, but she pressed on. She introduced the dwarven man currently looking around the workshop as a colleague, which made Percy slightly more at ease at letting the man into his sanctum.
Frustratingly, no effort was made to release him from Keyleth’s hold even as Allura told them how she sensed the effect of Emon’s destruction all the way in Whitestone. It wasn’t until they broke the news of the dragon attack to her that Keyleth finally decided to free him from his indignity and let him relax his arms and recover some semblance of normalcy as he stood with them.
Despite Allura’s shock, they persuaded her to give her insight on the skull. The confirmation of how dangerous and untrustworthy the individual imprisoned within most likely was gave Percy no small amount of smug satisfaction, especially as it finally made Grog resign to the fact that it was not a wise option to take.
However, that small amount of petty enjoyment was quickly overtaken as the reality of the threat outside settled back over them. Worse, the knowledge of the dragons was visibly shaking Allura. That alone twisted fear in his stomach. People like Allura weren’t supposed to have anything to be frightened of. Not with the sort of power she could wield.
His mind flashed again to his mother, to both his parents’ faces when the Briarwoods had enacted their betrayal. The shattering of the illusion of safety his home had represented in his childhood. His family torn to shreds, his naively secure world decimated piece by bloody piece by monsters he never could have foreseen descending upon them…
His hand clenched on the grip of his pepperbox. Gods, how had he ever been fool enough to think everything would be fine again?
The idea that they could have had any role in unleashing this new horror upon the world didn’t help either. The gods knew he had already brought enough new evils into this world. Being party to releasing an ancient red dragon would only further justify his damnation.
No. He and the others hadn’t done anything beyond what an average band of adventurers were capable of. If an evil on the level of an ancient red dragon could be released by their meager escapades, then it hadn’t been very well bound to begin with. He refused to bear culpability for that, nor should any of their group. It wasn’t a fair burden to lay upon them.
But then, when had the universe ever been just?
Fortunately, Allura seemed to agree, and insisted any fault lay with her and the others who had initially imprisoned the dragon in the first place. It didn’t ease the concerns of the party much, but it was a start. Regardless of why it had happened, the danger fell to all of them to deal with now. They needed a plan, they needed answers, and most of all, they needed information.
Allura sensing the fall of Westruun as they spoke only drove home the need for urgency more. Percy found himself doing calculations in his head—distances to Westruun from Emon, the flying speed of an ancient dragon, the distance and strategic value of Whitestone…
None of it was good.
They ultimately decided to take a moment, allow Keyleth and Allura to scry on her people in the Fire Ashari colony where the red dragon had torn his way into their reality. As they did that, the others were granted a brief time to regroup and think.
Percy sat, exhausted, and for the first time in a long while truly felt the distance he was from Whitestone. His mind was filled with the image of his home under the rule of the Briarwoods, his home beginning to rebuild and recover when they had left after Winter’s Crest, his home burning or choking in poison as dragons descended upon it, his people dying in the streets, his sister dying alone in the snow while he ran, far, far away…
His fingers turned over the gun in his lap as he sat, slowly tracing the chambers of the barrel as he turned it quietly, the familiar movement and metal curves grounding him as things spun incomprehensibly out of control around them. The smell of soot and smoke in the air filled his perception, woven with memories of loss, of fear. Of revenge…
As he turned the barrels again, he became aware of a roughness to the metal that was familiar, but wrong enough in the present to draw his attention. He could feel etched letters under his fingers. One barrel—Ripley’s. Another—Cassandra’s. But the remaining four should be smooth. He had killed those whose names had adorned them.
And yet as his calloused fingers glided along them, he felt the edges of tiny, very present letters.
His heart thudded in his chest and he swallowed dryly. He had known this time would come. From the day he left the final barrel blank to the time Cassandra’s name appeared on it, he knew there would be more names appearing. Orthax had upheld his end of the bargain and he would collect his due.
It would have been nice if he had had the decency to wait until the world wasn’t beset with ancient dragons, but demons had never been noted for their consideration.
Taking a steadying breath, Percy accepted his reality and let himself look down at the names of his new targets.
Huh.
Well. That made things very interesting.
A gasping sob from Keyleth drew his attention back to the room. She stepped back from the crystal ball.
“It destroyed everything. They’ve killed everyone!”
Percy closed his eyes briefly in sympathy. It wasn’t her home, it wasn’t her family, but losing one’s subjects, one’s people, was still a personal offense. Especially for someone like Keyleth, who took on guilt so readily.
He listened as Allura talked her down, reassuring her that terrible as things were, it was their responsibility to deal with it now. He ran his thumb over the barrel again, embracing the weight of the gun in his hand and the power that came with it.
“I’m a firm believer that there’s always a way to victory, if we’re smart about it and we’re quick about it,” Allura said firmly, speaking up to rally all of them as Keyleth had steadied some. “Now, I think we should look for survivors. Gather those we know that can rally to our cause in Emon and beyond. Who do we know that we can count on?”
“Vasselheim, maybe?” Vex proposed. “Contact everyone we know at the Slayer’s Take?”
“Kima can bring in the Platinum Dragon’s followers,” Pike agreed.
“Freddy, I hate to ask given what they’ve just been through, but what about Whitestone?” Vax asked, voice a bit hushed with hesitance.
“They may be able to help if they still stand,” Percy agreed, feeling oddly calm talking about his home’s unknown condition. He stroked one barrel again. “Are we interested in any possible ally?”
The others looked over, recognizing the tone of voice he knew he adopted when suggesting an unorthodox idea.
“Anyone you know who could be of use,” Allura said, interested.
“Percy…?” Keyleth was watching him warily, noting what he was looking at.
Percy stepped forward, holding out the pepperbox for the others to take. “It appears my…benefactor is supportive of our cause.”
Vax reached out and cautiously took the gun, turning it in his hand as the others gathered around. Percy watched them, gauging the expressions on their faces as they read the four new names etched along the barrels of his gun:
VORUGAL
UMBRASYL
RAISHAN
THORDAK
“No,” Keyleth said vehemently, stepping back as if the gun had gone off. “No, we just got you away from that. We’re not doing that again!”
“Keyleth…” Vax tried soothingly, although his free hand had gone up to rub his eyes.
“There are dragons outside right now, killing everyone! We can’t deal with a fucking demon now too! I can’t—Oh god, it’s everything coming back at once.” She sounded near to hyperventilating again.
“Percy,” Vex said, voice low and serious. He turned from Keyleth to see her eyeing him appraisingly. “How long have these been on here?”
“I just noticed them now. They weren’t there when I was cleaning it earlier this afternoon.”
“Just now, as we were learning about them as well?”
“Presumably.”
“Does that mean your…friend is listening in on us right now?” Scanlan asked.
Percy scratched at the back of his head. “One can assume. As much as he always has been.”
He felt the atmosphere in the room chill even further. He couldn’t tell if the others actually did shift slightly away from him or if it was his own projected perception of the situation.
“Complete honesty, Percival,” Vex said, still watching him with those perceptive eyes. “Is Orthax still talking to you?”
Percy exhaled slowly, very aware of the fine-edged sword he walked on. “Not since Whitestone. Not until tonight.”
“God damn it, Percy,” Keyleth groaned, pressing a hand to her head and pacing away slightly.
“He hasn’t given me any commands or exerted any influence on my actions—”
“You can be sure about that?” Vax asked dryly.
“I know what it feels like now. I would know. Besides, he—”
Fuck. Well, deception was only going to make this worse. Fragile as things were, better to be honest now than have them find out later. At least this way he could control the conversation.
“…He wasn’t even the one who initiated contact again.”
There was another precarious moment.
“I’m sorry,” Vax said in that dangerously quiet tone. “It sounded like you said you summoned the demon?”
“I reached out for his insight on the matter of the skull,” Percy confirmed, curious how far keeping a matter-of-fact and casual tone would get him before things went to hell.
“And why did that seem like a good idea to you?” Vex asked. He noticed she moved the bundled tapestry a little farther away from him.
“Grog proposed it and the idea had a bit of promise.”
“Did you just hear yourself?!” Vex snapped. “When have you ever thought Grog had a good idea?”
Grog looked slightly offended, but Pike patted his knee, keeping him from interrupting.
“I had already sent him to get Vax or Keyleth. If anything had gone wrong—”
“There are new names appearing on your gun! I think things went wrong!” Keyleth said, jabbing an accusatory finger at the pepperbox.
“That was going to happen one day anyway,” Percy retorted. “At least he decided to choose some reasonable targets this time.”
There was a weird pause in the room. Percy looked around, darkly bemused.
“You didn’t think we finished this at Whitestone, did you? We didn’t destroy Orthax. All we did was buy time. He fulfilled his end of the bargain. I am acutely aware that he is going to collect his payment. But I’m certainly not going to complain if he decides to be useful while doing so.”
Vax was scrubbing his face with his hand again. Keyleth was staring at him wide-eyed.
“Seriously, can you hear yourself, Percy?”
“See? I told you we shouldn’t give him the skull,” Grog muttered quietly.
Pike elbowed his leg gently. “You did try to spike it. I don’t think it was good for either of you.”
“None of this is good!” Keyleth snapped. Vax put his free arm around her back, attempting to calm her.
“In fairness, he came to the same conclusion as Allura that the skull was too dangerous,” Percy offered.
Keyleth huffed an exasperated laugh. “Oh. Good. The alligator says not to pet the snake.”
“Look, I’m not going to pretend I remotely trust Orthax, or that skull, or anything outside our own group right now, to be perfectly honest,” Percy said, trying to keep the frustration low in his voice. “However, as dire as our situation has become…I can’t help but feel this is a potential worth discussing.”
“The option of becoming a hit man for a demon in order to kill the dragons?” Scanlan asked with what might have been sarcasm, might have been actual consideration.
“Not exactly. Not—” He sighed sharply, assembling the words carefully before speaking. “The dragons need to be destroyed. The best efforts of genuinely powerful individuals did not…finish the job. Difficult times sometimes call for…unorthodox alliances.”
“You’re actually seriously proposing this?” Vex narrowed her eyes. “Knowing how things went in Whitestone?”
“You all know the nature of this…deal I apparently made,” he said, gesturing toward the pepperbox. “Orthax could have added more names at any time. Any names he wished. Names of good people, people we care about.”
“Like your sister,” Scanlan put in.
“Yes, like my sister," Percy agreed, not rising to the bait. "But he chose right now to put the dragons on there, the same villains we already have ample reason to want to destroy on our own. Offering his abilities to further that cause. This…” He paused, fingers steepled in front of his mouth, organizing the possibilities even as they raced through his mind. “This is not unintentional. This confluence of goals is…a compromise worth consideration. Shared interests. Kill two birds with one stone. Or four dragons, as it were.”
“I can’t believe we’re even debating this!” Keyleth said. “Percy’s demon is picking enemies for him to kill again! That got pretty fucking fucked up last time!”
“This is different,” Percy argued, although even he knew how narrow the distinction was. “This time I know it’s real and so do all of you. I can recognize his…touch on my mind and prepare for it.”
“Is that why Grog has a bullet hole in his shoulder?” Keyleth prodded.
“He was going for the skull. And Vex.”
“You could have fired a warning shot. You’re a good enough shot. You could have intentionally missed.”
Percy turned to Grog. “Would a warning shot have stopped you?”
Grog snorted, shrugging the now partly-healed shoulder. “Getting shot didn’t stop me.”
Percy gestured toward him, point made. “And I could have shot him somewhere much worse.”
“That’s not the best selling point for your case, Percival,” Vax said wearily.
“Perhaps not, but the argument stands. I have not lost control of my reason nor my actions. I only acted to try to prevent things getting worse, not for my own benefit. I have no interest in power, just seeing these dragons eradicated from our homes. And if worse truly does come to worst, you all were able to drive the demon back last time. This time…you know not to hesitate. Should something need to be done.”
“Great,” Scanlan said with a plastered, nervous grin. “Nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan.”
Vax blew out a long breath, looking at the floor. “I’m going to regret this and I hate myself already for saying it, but Percival may have a point here.”
“Are you kidding me?” Keyleth asked, whipping toward him.
“It’s fucked up. We all know it’s fucked up. But everything is fucked up right now. Emon is in ruins. Westruun might be a smear on the map now. Who knows where else these monsters are going? People are dying. And we’re nothing. Kids with knives and bows and magic tricks. We can’t do this without allies. We’ll get better ones, but…right now, I’m not sure we can afford to turn down any help we might get, however fucking sick it is.”
Percy raised an eyebrow. Not who he had expected to support his proposal, but unorthodox alliances indeed.
“You’re seriously okay with the idea of Percy letting his demon out to play again?” Vex demanded.
“Nothing’s okay. But…” Vax scrubbed his face again. “I was there, before the rest of you joined us. Percy was actually talking sensibly about the skull. Encouraging caution and being insufferably reasonable, like usual. Freddy, you had already started talking to Orthax again by then?”
“Right before you came into the room,” Percy confirmed.
Vax rubbed his hand over his chin, scratching at the slight stubble coming in. Gods, was it all still the same evening? “I’m willing to consider that maybe, perhaps you aren’t being influenced so far. For what that’s worth.”
“Thank you,” Percy nodded.
“And we know from before that I can reduce its effects too,” Pike added, giving Percy a small, reassuring smile. “In person, this time.”
“Wait, so none of you would let me use the skull, but you’ll let him do this?” Grog pointed at Percy with just enough aggression to make him bristle after the previous conflict. His finger twitched but his gun was still in Vax’s hands.
“I wanted the skull to work,” Percy said instead. “I hoped it would be that simple. But it was a very bad deal. This…” He gestured to the gun again. “Is a bad deal as well, but it’s one I already struck long ago and at least it’s a known quantity by now. I’d rather spare us getting into any other unfortunate debts unless they’re guaranteed to be worth it.”
“You know, there’s one other option we haven’t tried yet. I’m just saying.” Scanlan looked up at Vax. “You give me the gun and I go throw it in some acid.”
“You are not destroying my gun.”
“We can throw the skull in too. Make it fair.”
“We’re about to face four dragons and you want to have one less weapon at our disposal than in a normal fight?” Percy demanded.
“He’s right, Scanlan,” Vax sighed. As Keyleth started to protest, he added, “We can’t just throw away a weapon right now. Ridiculous as it is, we have bigger problems than a demonic gun at the moment.”
A polite, if pronounced, throat-clearing reminded them they were not alone in the workshop. Allura stepped forward slightly, a bit hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I wanted to let you handle things within your group, but…I feel I should hear a little bit more about this ‘demonic gun’?”
All eyes flicked back to Percy and he was again overtaken by the sensation of being caught by your mother at something you weren’t supposed to be doing.
“Yes!” Keyleth perked up. “Allura, tell Percy how crazy he is to think about still using that thing!”
“It’s…a complicated situation,” Vex sighed.
“Percy sold his soul to a demon to murder the fuckers who murdered his family,” Grog said.
“Not consciously!” Percy protested. “I thought I dreamt all of it.”
“Well, turns out it was real and Percival’s gun is sort of connected to this demon somehow, though it’s apparently calmed down some since he got his revenge,” Vax finished.
“I see,” Allura said, eyeing Percy in a way that made him wish he was dealing with one of the dragons instead. Dragons were far simpler than disappointed wizards. “May I see the gun?”
Vax looked over to Percy, who waved him to hand it over. “Just mind where the barrel’s pointing. It’s still loaded.”
Allura carefully took the pepperbox from Vax’s hands, reacting with surprise at its weight, as most did when holding it for the first time. Looking it over cautiously, she shifted it into one palm, moving her other hand over it. As her fingers glowed, Percy felt an odd sensation below his sternum, like wires probing at the cold spot that hovered there. He covered his discomfort by shifting his weight, still watching her.
The glow faded from Allura’s hand, but the troubled look remained on her face. “That is a dark curse imbued in this weapon, Percival. I don’t like knowing you have this.”
Keyleth made an exaggerated ‘told you so’-ish look his direction.
“I know,” Percy conceded. “But I like what we’re up against even less.”
Allura touched her forehead, sighing. “I’m afraid I agree. I could attempt to dispel the curse on this or at least begin to contain it, but I wouldn’t be able to do either until tomorrow and I don’t think Drake and I can afford to wait that long before we continue on to Westruun.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Keyleth asked.
“The city has been attacked, but the Cobalt Reserve may still stand. If we can go and stay out of sight, help those we can, perhaps we can gather what bits of research remain and bring them back to figure out how to take down the red dragon for good.” She shook off her concern, focusing on Vax, then each of the rest in turn. “I still would prefer to see this dealt with, but I’m not certain how many high-level magic users out there are not…preoccupied currently. I take it, for the moment, you feel you have this under control?” She gestured to the gun.
“Enough to not be our biggest concern, at the moment,” Vax said. “And besides, if de Rolo starts getting squirrely, we can just let Grog finish what they started here.”
“Oh, all right then. I like that,” Grog grinned, cracking his knuckles.
Percy chuckled. “You’re welcome to try. I would’ve had you back there.”
“He’s delusional,” Grog said. “It’s the demon talking.”
“It’s not the demon,” Vex sighed, giving him a Look.
“I think I should hit him to make sure.”
“No.”
“All right,” Allura said over the conversation, a bit nervously. “In that case, I’ll leave you to make your own plans as we prepare to go on our own way. Percival?” She extended her hand with the gun still sitting on it.
He nodded his thanks, reaching out to take it. As his hand closed over the top of it, her other hand came down on top of his, gently but unbreakably catching his between hers. His eyes snapped up to hers and she held his gaze as firmly as she did his hand. He could feel invisible power humming beneath her skin.
“I do not like you using this weapon. But, as has been said, we have many concerns at this moment that require our attention first. However, if you choose to follow through with this plan, I just need you to promise me one thing.”
“Yes?” he responded, a trickle of fear buzzing around his spine.
“If at any time you feel the demon taking control or find yourself doing things you would not choose for yourself, go to Pike or to Kima or another of similar power and light, and let them help you keep this thing at bay.”
“Of course,” he said graciously, relieved. “I have no intention of letting this monster harm anyone I care about.”
“Good.” Allura nodded, releasing his hand and the gun in his grip. “Make sure you include yourself in that category.”
He blinked, fumbling for words a bit as he stepped back, returning his gun to its holster. “Of course. I will.”
Allura nodded again, then turned her attention back to her dwarven companion and the journey they had ahead of them. Vox Machina likewise began to debate what to do next about the situation. Percy tried to focus, tried to have useful insight, but he had a hard time ignoring Keyleth’s distrustful gaze at the corner of his vision, radiating her opinion about his choice.
And he couldn’t forget the fact that she bound him in magic during the argument earlier while leaving the others free. Very well. If that’s where they stood now, so be it. They had bigger issues to worry about right now.
Later, looking back, he would regret that decision. And would wish that Allura’s request was the worst promise he would break.
But that was later.