Mount Everest was fucking cold. That was obvious of course, but it always caught Discord off guard just how cold it was, and his stubborn refusal to don anything warmer than his usual attire of a t-shirt and jeans didn't help matters in the least. He wouldn't even close his coat, and its tails danced in the bitter wind as he trudged through the knee-deep snow, feeling his body constantly fighting against frostbite, ascending through an unmarked section of the mountain. He only traveled the tourist path only one time, and that was one time too many. He thought it might be fun, climbing with a group of humans, full of songs and camaraderie, but none of those schmucks had even brought a flask. Something about alcohol affecting them more at high altitudes, but he only cared as far as the booze went. None of the humans even had climbing experience, just a bunch of dentists and accountants. The trail was filthy, the trash of thousands of humans scattered like snow over the… well, snow, and with no safe way to clean it up. They couldn't even retrieve most of the bodies of the ones who couldn't hack it, just leaving them as landmarks for the next generation of schmucks.
In fact, that was why he was here freezing his balls off, to find one of those bodies. A body none of the humans knew to look for, except maybe one guy in Minnesota, but he believed birds were government surveillance devices. Not a credible source. The body itself was nothing special, but it had something very special on it's person. Does that phrase still work for a corpse? It didn't matter, he was getting close, he could smell it. When it came to death, his nose was impeccable, even in this frozen hellscape. He stopped and sniffed the air. The smell was coming from a pair of boulders nearby, and between them he found his prize.
Kronko had been here for centuries, ever since Discord had cracked his skull against the rocks; he named the poor soul after the sound it had made. He wasn't sure what his real name was, or even what he was doing on Everest, but the idiot came at Discord with a shovel, and no one shovels Discord and gets away with it. He chuckled as he brushed the snow off the Kronko-sicle. Same goes for Havok. That kid could take it just as well as dish it out, it was a damn shame he was taking so long to come to terms with himself. They hadn't spoken since that mess at the farm, and it sucked. Big time. He didn't want to be here, half-frozen, looting a cadaver. He’d much rather be messing around, dragging Havok on some misadventure, laughing about it at The Drunken Bastard afterwards, making jokes about it for weeks to come. Instead, he pulled the small statue from the stiffs’ inner coat pocket.
It was a nickel statue of a dog-like humanoid holding a spear and shield; the nickel primordial relic. Some relics were an amalgam of numerous Primordials, all joining together and transmuting themselves into pure elements to survive the Devourers’ rampage before space and time had meaning, but this relic spawned from a single primordial. It had a simple effect, the nullification of any psychic link for whomever kept it on their person. He kept it here, safe in Kronkos’ pocket because, for whatever reason, that applied to him even when it was in his bottomless coat, and he couldn't talk to Sue and Mary with it. Or anyone else with a line to his head, for that matter. The last few weeks, he had been hopping around the world, cracking down on the newfound Ragnarok cults, and this would be a handy little tool for interrogation going forward, keeping their pesky god out of their ears. He still had no idea what to do about the big guy in the sun, but it was a step in the right direction. Maybe. He told himself it was, at least.
Somewhere deep in the endless space of his coat, one of his phones buzzed. He fished around until he found the right cellphone, flipped it open and put it to his ear.
“You've reached Discord, state your business or die a thousand deaths.” There was a crackling static from the other end, a byproduct of the lack of cell towers for a good hundred miles. “Hold on, give me a second.” He tucked the statue into his coat and snapped his fingers, and suddenly he was in a cramped space the size of a garage filled to the brim with an eclectic selection of scientific devices, standing before the one who called him. Miguel Estamos blinked and stared at him for a moment before he spoke again, forgetting to put down his phone.
“I said I have some results,” Estamos said lamely, “if you have a little free time.” He stood frozen against the backdrop of an unknowable contraption, like the byproduct of a giant squid having sex with a spool of surgical tubing and selling their offspring to a mad scientist. There was a non-zero chance that was exactly what it was.
“Great.” Discord snapped his phone closed and tucked it into his coat, taking a few steps closer to the still stunned Estamos. “What have you got?” He looked down his nose at the squirrely little man, that creepy smile peeking out once he adjusted to the situation.
“Wonderful!” Estamos’ grip loosened and he let his phone clatter to the floor, scampering across the small room to a terrarium on the opposite wall, a handful of winged insects clinging to the glass. “The sample you provided was beyond useful. I managed to reverse engineer your blood to find the compound that allowed for your rapid regeneration, and I've been providing these beauties with an aerosolized version I was able to produce.” He gently slapped the top of the terrarium, a single insect buzzing away from the glass at the disturbance. “I raised them from nymphs, acquired from a pond nearby which I've verified has no supernatural qualities whatsoever, and as they matured I've been transferring them to this tank.”
“Neat,” Discord said flatly, unwilling to show the beanie-clad savant any appreciation or praise. He leaned forward and examined one of the bugs through the glass. It was small enough to fit on a fingertip and slender, a pair of wings standing straight up from its back and a needle-like appendage jutting out from the tip of its abdomen, nearly as long as the insect itself. “Mayflies: they only live for a day or so after maturing, just long enough to mate and lay eggs. That's why you're using them.” It wasn't a question; he avoided asking this weirdo questions whenever possible. Said weirdo grinned and slapped his palms together.
“Precisely! Their rapid lifespan made them ideal subjects, and they have played their part admirably.” Estamos pressed his nose against the glass, causing the mayflies to wisely flutter to the other side of the terrarium. “The first few dozen perished naturally, and the next twenty or so lived beyond their lifespan, but physically deteriorated to unsustainable nutrition after four days. I gradually increased the dosage until I found the proper ratio.” He peeled his face away from the glass and rounded on Discord, leaving a smudge surrounded by condensation, his eyes sparkling with some perverse joy. “The oldest one in this tank matured sixteen days ago, and has shown no sign of aging further. They are genetically predisposed to simply mate and die, and their extended lifespan and increasing population has resulted in an exponentially larger amount of eggs, which have thankfully not hatched yet.”
Estamos gasped and rushed over to a desk in the corner, retrieving a notebook from the middle of a stack twenty-high and flipping through the pages. “Interestingly, adult mayflies do not have mouths and do not eat, but that has not hindered their survival. I've provided them with sugar water on the off chance they might be able to osmose nutrients through their crapaces, but it has remained untouched and they have remained alive. Am I correct in assuming your body has no need of nutrients or fluids?”
“You are.” Discords’ biological functions were best described as ‘optional,’ with no need for food, water, rest, air, or any given amount of his biomass to survive.
Estamos grinned wider as he flipped the pages more rapidly. “Fantastic! That confirms my suspicion! The mayflies required a larger dose because they were incapable of consuming nutrients! If I'm not mistaken, this compound applied to a being with a proper mouth would require a much lower dosage to survive! I must move on to mammalian trials!”
As Estamos prattled on, absorbed in his own notes, Discord lifted the lid of the terrarium and stuck his hand inside, waiting until one of the mayflies landed on his palm. He closed his hand and retracted it, replacing the lid and examining the insect. His fingers uncurled and he looked at the creature, its segmented eyes looking back at him. All creatures recognized him, large and small; it was almost a rule of nature. The mayfly climbed up his finger, perching on the very tip of his middle finger.
In a flash, Discord crushed the insect between his finger and thumb, rubbing them together to ensure its demise. He stared at his smeared fingers, intently watching for any sign of movement, any sign of regeneration. There was none. Just a smear on his fingertips. That was good. It was one thing to let a being live past its expiration date, it was something else entirely to erase it. He stuck his middle finger in his mouth, scraping off the smear with his teeth, doing the same with his thumb and swallowing. The best way to dispose of evidence was to eat it, a lesson he had learned millennia ago. Estamos hadn't even looked up from his notebook.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“How close are you to being ready for human trials?”
Estamos’ eyes, which had been rapidly scanning the pages as he flipped them, stood still, fixed on a single spot in his notebook. He looked up, any trace of his grin long gone.
“What?” His eyes had gone glossy and he stared unblinking at Discord.
“It works on bugs.” Discord clicked his fingernail against the glass of the terrarium. “It's a great start, but you have to go bigger. How close are you to trying it on people?”
Estamos opened and closed his mouth, and his eyes cast about the room, as though he was seeing his own workshop for the first time. “Never, not with the resources I have now. With my current equipment, I can only synthesize the compound to approximately twelve percent purity, not to mention I lack a great deal of what I would need for the simple reason that it's all completely unavailable to civilians. Even me!” He threw his hands up and let them fall, shaking his head. “This is all I can do with what I have.”
Discord narrowed his eyes at the squirrelly little man, letting him stew in the tension. He did not like Estamos, regardless of how useful he was. He was too useful; it hadn't even been a month, and he already had a working prototype. That endless void behind his eyes tugged at Discord, that limitless potential, the impossible revolver he had in his coat. He couldn't understand it, and that pissed him off. He thought about drawing the Handcannon now, obliterating this prick Brit and his bugs in one shot, burning the place to the ground and watching from afar while he slurped on a milkshake. It would be so easy.
“What could you do with more?” He asked, instead. Estamos grinned.
“And that,” Miguel said, flicking his pointer stick at the picture of a mayfly on the final page of his presentation, leaving a small tear in the paper insect, “is why it is essential you allow me to continue my research under your employ.”
Derrek was having a good day until he looked up from the weekly budget reports to find Discord sitting across from him. He almost asked if he was ready to stop lying to him before he saw the man in the other chair opposite to him. He was an ordinary-seeming man in ordinary clothes, a few stray strands of black hair sticking out from under his wool beanie, disoriented in a way Derrek knew well. Eighteenth gear. Interesting to see it from the outside. To his credit, he adjusted quickly and introduced himself as Miguel Estamos, leaning almost entirely over Derreks’ desk to shake his hand. He obliged, if only to get the man to sit down.
Miguel had sprung out of his chair and produced a full-sized presentation easel from a small satchel at his hip, along with a roll of paper twice as long as the bag could hold. He mounted the paper in a flash and began what felt like a rapid-fire sales pitch/molecular biology lecture, jumping back and forth from scientific jargon and detailed diagrams of molecules and compounds that went clear over Derreks’ head to highly-logical cost-risk analyses and an incredibly astute understanding of Frostbytes' business practices. His hands moved rapidly as he spoke, the swish of his pointer cutting through the air punctuating his flamboyant sentences.
If Derrek was understanding him right, he was Shale had been after for decades: Immortality. It was too good to be true. He looked over to Discord, who hadn't said a word the entire time. It seemed he had been repeatedly clipping and regrowing his fingernails during the presentation and had a pile an inch high on his left thigh. As soon as he realized he was noticed, he scooped up the pile and jammed it into his coat, leaning back and crossing his legs in one quick motion, chin propped on his chin as though he were paying attention. Derrek almost wanted to laugh, but he wasn't there quite yet. He shook his head and looked back to the still-smiling eccentric presenter.
“Mr. Estamos, would you please step out for a moment? I would like a private word with…” Derrek sucked a breath in through his teeth, glancing sidelong at Discord, “our mutual acquaintance.”
The man in the beanie grinned wider. “Of course! Please call for me when you're ready.” He put the tip of his pointer to his opposite palm and pressed his hands together, collapsing the metal stick, and trotted out of the room with purpose, the heavy door clicking behind him. Derrek wondered how Janice would react, since she wouldn't have seen Miguel come in, but Discords’ uncharacteristic demeanor demanded his attention.
“Did you seriously give that guy your blood?”
Discord shrugged, neither smiling nor frowning. “I've got plenty of the stuff, figured it couldn't do any harm.”
Derrek propped his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, steepling his fingers as he looked at Discord through narrow eyes. “And how long have you been holding onto this?”
For the first time since he appeared, Discord smirked. “Thirty-seven seconds. That's the amount of time between me finding out about this and that freak giving his spiel. Though, for the sake of honesty, if he could've given a better product I would've waited until he could. I wouldn't waste your time if I didn't think there was something to it.” He turned to look at the door then back at Derrek, leaning in and lowering his voice slightly. “This guy is fucking weird, but he’s legit. He did all this with basically garbage; give him a lab and he’ll change everything.”
Derrek stared at him for a long moment. He had thought about this moment for weeks, about tearing into Discord with a savage verbal assault, cutting him deep with any of the dozens of speeches he had rehearsed in the shower. It all seemed far away now, and all he felt was happy to see his friend after what felt like forever. Things couldn't continue as they had, but he had made an effort to bring him a worthwhile peace offering, and it was almost touching that he was making an effort to make things right.
Almost.
Derrek leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and cocking an eyebrow at the trickster, asking the right question. “Is this how it will be from now on? Are you finally going to start being straight with me?”
Discord grinned sheepishly. “I can't promise I’ll tell you absolutely everything immediately as it happens, I’d be in your ear non-stop otherwise. I will make a concerted effort to make sure you know what you should, and I will severely cut back on the lies by omission.” He reached into his coat and produced a bottle of liquor with a pink gift bow tied around the neck, placing it on the desk. It was a bottle of Steel Barrel prime reserve, aged for seventy years, only one hundred sold a year. It was an excellent gift, but it was also a distraction.
Derrek eyed his old enemy and crossed his arms, ignoring the bottle for now. “So, what are we going to do about Ragnarok?”
Discords’ grin fell away and he let out a long breath through his nose. “I'm still working on that.” He twisted in his chair to look at the doors again, looking back to Derrek with his bright white teeth on display. “But just between you, me, and that eavesdropping pedant, I'm feeling good about our odds. Once he's got this shit cracked for people, I say we put him on it full time.”
Derrek stared at him for a long moment. As apologies went, this might have been the best he'd ever received; a genuine-enough promise, an outrageously expensive bottle of whiskey, and the key to immortality to boot. Coming from Discord, this was about as good as he could have hoped for. Derrek was still angry, still agonizing over his actions, still haunted by dreams and flashbacks, but time had lessened all of it. He supposed the only way to move on was to move forward. He cracked a grin of his own and leaned to the side, calling toward the door.
“We’re ready for you, come on in.”
A fraction of a second later, the doors cracked open and Miguel slipped back into the office, scampering across the space to stand before the desk, that grin still plastered on his face. “Have you come to a decision?”
“I have.” Derrek stood from his desk and strode to his minibar, retrieving three tumbler glasses and bringing them back to the desk. “I accept your proposal. From this day on, you will be a probationary employee of Frostbyte, serving under my direct supervision. You’ll have a team and a space in research and development as well as whatever budget you need to produce results, within reason.” As he spoke, he cracked open the expensive whiskey and poured a modest measure into each glass, placing one in front of each man and claiming one for his own. Discord wasted no time taking his drink and swirling it under his nose, inhaling deeply, but Miguel was still focused on Derreks’ words “Succeed, and it will be a permanent position for you to pursue whatever goals you deem beneficial to the company. Are these terms acceptable?”
Miguel grinned even wider and took up his glass. “Indubitably!”
“Wonderful.” Derrek raised his glass, met with a clink from the other two drinks as they toasted. “To a brighter future.” The three downed their whiskey, the smokey liquor passing over Derreks’ tongue pleasantly, Discord inhaling his drink as he did everything, and Miguel coughing and choking, met with raucous laughter from Discord. Derrek smiled, glad the confrontation he had been dreading for weeks had boiled down to an unimaginable boon. For the first time in a month, his time with Terra notwithstanding, he was feeling hopeful about the future, confident in his ability to shape it to his advantage.
He decided to enjoy it while he had it. He had no idea how long it would last.
