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316. Broom Time`
🕑 Added 2025-02-26 15:00:04 +0000 UTCBefore long, the puppets started filtering away from the streets. Most headed in one direction, toward the largest, grandest building in the strange city. A few wandered back toward their houses or shops, or headed out toward some distant part of the city to enjoy what remained of their time awake. Ike and the others mixed in with those, wandering off in the general direction of the parks.
They already knew where the brooms were, and once they escaped from the crowds, they retreaded their footsteps in record time. The man was still guarding the brooms, with a firm expression on his face. Ike extended his senses, examining the parks around them. They were alone. Just the three of them and the broom guard, all alone in the park.
“Is it time for violence?” Wisp whispered.
Ike nodded. “I’d say ‘don’t kill him,’ but he’s a puppet. He’s already dead.”
After his conversation with the man, he was clear about two things. One, that these people, pitiable as they were, did not deserve any consideration. They’d made their choice and thrown in with Brightbriar rather than fight. There was no reason to hold back on their part. Secondly, they were puppets. Brightbriar could control every part of them. If they failed to kill this man, he might bounce back up and go combat mode, or alert all the other puppets, or even alert Brightbriar himself.
True, attacking him would still risk alerting everyone, but somehow, Ike felt that Brightbriar wouldn’t pay too much attention to a bit of homicide during his all-important sales pitch. For all the puppetmaster knew, this was puppet-on-puppet violence. The woman’s attack on him indicated that he cared so little about these puppets that he hadn’t bothered to restrict their homicidal urges, though Ike had no doubt he could. No, Brightbriar was looking down on them, something which also indicated that a little bit of extreme violence would fly under the man’s radar.
These people were already dead. They’d chosen to die the second they’d bent the knee to Brightbriar and accepted their new role as his puppets. He had no sympathy for them, nor did they deserve sympathy. They were willing participants. How terrible that they regretted their choice, but it was too late for regret. They had all been adults when they’d picked to become puppets, and there was no point holding back against those who bowed their heads to a tyrant.
She grinned. “Excellent.”
The three of them entered the garden. The man looked up. He frowned sternly. “You two? Again? What’s your excuse this time?”
Ike spread his hands. He grinned disarmingly. “What? We not allowed to walk around here?”
The man stood between them and the brooms. “Mhm. Back up, or I’ll be forced to—”
Lightning flashed. A sharp crack rang out as the man’s head caved in. As he fell forward, still struggling, Ike pushed his body down faster and slammed his fist into the man’s back, right where the core on the automatons was. Another crack, and the man’s body went still.
“What? Hey, come on. Leave some for the rest of us,” Wisp complained.
“Speed was of the essence,” Ike replied. He grabbed a broom and threw one to Wisp, then another to Mag. The bird frowned and gave Ike a look, but before he could protest, Ike shook his head. “We don’t want to advertise your true form to thousands of puppets, do we? Use it to fly. Once we’re out of here, you can do whatever.”
Mag pouted, but he didn’t complain. He took the broom and ran his fingers over it, familiarizing himself with its shape.
Ike watched for a second, just long enough to be satisfied that Mag was actually figuring things out, then turned to his own broom. It was more or less the same as the kind of broom someone used to brush the floor. A practice flying object, something cheap and easy to store and likely cheap to enchant, though he didn’t know much about the enchanting arts himself. A small gemstone panel sat on its front, emanating an aura of mana. He ran his finger over it, and felt a skill call out to him. It was almost like a skill orb, except he didn’t have to absorb the skill to use it—in fact, he couldn’t absorb the skill. The gemstone had absorbed the skill, and bonded with it just like a mage would. He put a tiny bit of aether into the gemstone, and felt a more powerful pulse of mana emanate from a chunky wooden box toward the back of the broom. Instantly, the broom shot upwards, taking Ike with it. In an instant, he went from standing on the ground to fifty feet in the air.
Whoa. Ike lifted his finger off the gemstone. The skill died out, and he fell back toward the ground. He braced himself and landed, absorbing the blow of the impact.
Wisp applauded. She sat on the broom, clutching it between her thighs, and hovered over the grass with ease. “Baby’s first flight! So cute!”
“Oh, shut up. Where’d you learn to fly a broom, anyways?”
“Stole one. Or two. Or three. Spiderwebs work on brooms as well as they do on flies, you know,” she said with a wicked grin.
“Yeah, that figures,” Ike muttered. He slung his leg over the broom.
“Ah… wait, wait. You might want to ride sidesaddle,” Wisp suggested.
“What? Why?” Ike asked. Beside him, Mag also sat on the broom like Wisp and zoomed around, a bored expression on his face. He flipped over upside down and dangled there, with no visible effort on his part. Lifting one hand off the broom, he yawned.
“I’ve heard male human genitals are delicate things. And the broom, you know.” She gestured at the seated position she was in. “It rides up.”
Ike looked at her, then the broom, then Mag, still zooming around with impunity. His brows furrowed, and he gestured. “If it’s that dangerous, how come Mag’s okay?”
Wisp shrugged. “Bird things.”
“Bird things, what bird things.” Ike rolled his eyes at her. He wasn’t going to ride sidesaddle like some noble girl. Leaning back, he activated the broom.
It slammed up. All the air left him, and he immediately lifted his hand off the gemstone panel, falling to the ground once more. Biting, acid pain surged through his body.
Wisp raised her hands. “I warned you.”
“Fuck…” Ike muttered, more at the pain than anything else. He laid on the ground for a few seconds, catching his breath, then stood once more.
“Sidesaddle?” Wisp suggested, a hint of an evil grin on her face.
“Nah.” Ike tossed the broom on the ground. He stepped on it, putting one foot on the gemstone panel. This time, he fed it the barest scrap of aether, the smallest quantity he could possibly generate. The broom lifted slowly off the ground, hovering a foot or so over the grass. He grinned at her. “I’ll stand.”
“Lame. I was going to enjoy you flaunting about like a noble brat.” Wisp shook her head.
Turning serious once more, Ike nodded. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He didn’t think Brightbriar would respond to the puppet man’s death, but he didn’t know that. Best to escape before the puppetmaster made up his mind.
Wisp nodded. Mag, still bored, flipped upright and drew close. At Ike’s signal, the three of them flew upwards, leaving the city behind.
Hopefully what we found out is enough to please the ants, Ike thought, looking down at the city below. Seeing it like this, he could feel pity for its inhabitants. Locked between an enemy they couldn’t defeat and an impossible choice. The mages, the ones who could have fought—they could be disdained, and rightfully so. But what about the children? The mortals? The weaker mages, who would be naught but chaff in the war?
Ike shook his head. No. They made their choice. Whether they regret it or not, they chose to side with Brightbriar. Turning his head skyward, he flew toward the exit.
