"Tch!" Medici clicked his tongue irritably but didn't refute Alaric. He knew Alaric's advancement speed was already remarkable. As for the "wanting to see Mom" comment, Medici ignored it outright.
Used to Alaric's wild tangents, Medici could brush off his nonsense, but the War Angel from the Fourth Epoch, unfamiliar with Alaric's style, was caught off guard. Stunned, his eyes widened slightly. He glanced at Alaric's matter-of-fact expression, then at Medici, who seemed unfazed, before saying incredulously, "You just let him talk like that?"
Before Medici could respond, Alaric jumped in, indignant. "How's that nonsense? Sasrir is your foster mother, Red. Sasrir himself admitted it!"
"Sasrir just couldn't argue you down." Medici said, rolling his eyes.
"Which means he agreed with me." Alaric replied, unabashed, grinning at the visibly shocked War Angel. "Don't be shy, Red. I get it!"
"…"
Get what?
"Fine, fine, you get everything." Medici said, rolling his eyes again. As a seasoned veteran, he didn't bother arguing with Alaric and turned to the War Angel, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I don't know if you can change your fated path, but… just be careful from now on."
It was clear Medici had much he wanted to say, but it all boiled down to a simple "be careful."
"I know." The War Angel said, dropping the issue of Sasrir's title. Thinking of his impending fate, a shadow passed over his eyes.
"No need to be so gloomy." Alaric said, raising an eyebrow as the mood grew heavy. "Sure, your fate as hot pot fodder is tough to change, but look on the bright side. Knowing it in advance, you can at least report it to the True Creator. That way, when you die and become a evil spirit, Ouroboros might drop by now and then to keep you from getting too bored."
"While big fate points are hard to shift, tiny details are easy to tweak. You could even set up a circus to perform daily in your underground tomb." Alaric continued, grinning. "Pretty good idea, right? If you're really bored, I could have Mr. Door send you his gossip books. I've wanted those for ages, but I only have incomplete versions. You'd get the full editions... lucky you!"
The War Angel's mouth twitched. "…That's quite the suggestion."
"Right? And if you're still bored, think of it this way: life goes on. If you can't change the situation, make the best of it." Alaric said, unfazed. "Plus, look even further ahead. Survive a thousand years, and a brilliant, heroic boss will swoop in to save you from your misery. Doesn't that give you something to look forward to?"
"Brilliant and heroic? Who?" Medici asked, feigning confusion as he looked at Alaric. "You?"
Every word dripped with sarcasm, though none was explicit.
"What, you think I'm not brilliant and heroic?" Alaric shot back, brimming with confidence.
"Whatever makes you happy." Medici said, his sarcasm honed from long experience with Alaric. He gave him a once-over, then sighed, shaking his head. "This life's getting bleaker by the day."
"If it's that bleak, go hang yourself from a tree." Alaric quipped, grinning.
"I wouldn't mind, but I'm worried a certain shady organization would collapse without me." Medici said, crossing his arms with a scoff.
"No worries there. If you kick the bucket, I'll just pull your past self to fill in. You're not exactly expensive, and my spirituality can handle it." Alaric said, still grinning.
The two, masters of snark, traded barbs, embodying the Hunter's creed and proving the best Hunters often came from other pathways.
Watching them go at it, the War Angel, previously weighed down by his fate, felt his mood lighten.
He glanced at Medici, then at Alaric, and suddenly chuckled. "Alright, enough bickering."
Turning to Medici, he said, "See, this is what blindness gets you. Deny it all you want."
Then to Alaric: "Admit it, you're a shady boss, born to be strung up."
In one move, he drew the ire of both.
"But…" The War Angel paused, looking at Alaric. "Your suggestions have some merit. Life does go on… Heh!"
"Exactly!" Alaric said, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "You adjusted faster than I expected. I thought you'd be crying and throwing a fit for a while."
"Even Ouroboros wouldn't cry and fuss over something like this. You think I'm some fragile porcelain doll?" The War Angel scoffed, then glanced at Medici. "I don't doubt your identity anymore."
"You shouldn't have in the first place." Medici said, shooting him a look and clicking his tongue.
Alaric pulled out a pocket watch, checked it, and looked at the War Angel. "You've got five minutes left. Want to wander around this era or visit some old friends?"
…
The War Angel didn't opt to explore this unfamiliar era... maybe out of disinterest, or maybe because five minutes was too short to do much.
Instead, he made a decisive choice: he tracked down the nearest Amon Avatar and gave it a thrashing.
"What the... Medici, are you sick? What did I do to you?" The Amon Avatar, freshly arrived in Backlund for work, grumbled, nursing a head full of lumps.
The War Angel dusted off his hands, feeling invigorated, his fists practically buzzing with energy.
Though Amon wasn't the mastermind behind his hot pot fate, he was an accomplice. Beating him up was letting him off easy, and the War Angel felt no guilt.
Alaric and Medici emerged from the pocket dimension. Alaric curiously poked at the lumps on Amon's head, while Medici smirked with schadenfreude.
"…Two of them? Tch, no wonder the strength felt off. It's the past Medici." The Amon Avatar said, stunned at the sight of two Red Angels. He clicked his tongue, about to say more, when he winced. "Ow, easy! I'm just a Avatar, but I still feel pain!"
Alaric had poked too hard.
"What are you doing here? I thought Backlund only had Lil' Amon, no other Avatars. Up to some mischief?" Alaric asked, curious but unfazed by the unfamiliar Amon Avatar.
After all, if anyone should be nervous, it was Amon.
***
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