The statutes governing the apartment of Mrs. Higgins were etched into the very grain of the floorboards, more unyielding than the laws of the kingdom.
The First Tithe: Rent is due on the first, or the soul is forfeit.
The Decree of Silence: No resonance, magical or mundane, shall disturb the air after the tenth hour.
The Ban of the Beast: Under no circumstances shall any entity with fur, feather, or scale cross the threshold.
I sat in a cross-legged anchor upon the rug, my gaze tethered to the King's "gift." The Egg of the Calamity Griffin sat like an obsidian vessel for a captive sun. It pulsed with a rhythmic, subterranean orange glow—a heartbeat fashioned from magma and spite. Beneath its weight, the wood groaned and darkened, surrendering to the relentless heat radiating from the shell.
"If this artifact reduces our shelter to ash," I murmured to the shadows of my own mind, "eviction will be a mercy compared to the wrath of Higgins."
In the corner, Leon the Vanguard offered a low, metallic grunt of assent. At the kitchen table, Leonel the Archmage was locked in a frantic duel with a leather-bound Bestiary provided by Clara.
"The Calamity Griffin is no mere beast, Lord Leo!" Clara whispered, her shadow dancing erratically against the wall as she paced. "It is an S-Rank apex, a weaver of storms. The Bestiary warns that the hatching triggers a localized shockwave capable of flattening mountain ranges!"
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling the phantom heat through all three sets of nerves. "Splendid. I have a tectonic event currently incubating in my parlor. Is there a way to... dial down the apocalypse?"
"There is only the ritual," Clara said, her glasses catching the fiery pulse of the egg. "Dominance. The moment the shell shatters, you must lock eyes with the predator. You must project an aura of such crushing authority that the creature's primal instinct is forced to submit. Blink, and you are prey. Succeed, and it imprints as your shadow."
Lock eyes. Don't blink. A simple directive. My clones were already masters of the "unblinking void," mostly because my mental lag frequently left them staring at walls for hours on end.
CRACK.
The sound was a dry thunderclap. A fissure of blinding light split the obsidian.
"Defensive formations!" Clara shrieked, diving for the sanctuary of the sofa. "The shockwave is imminent!"
Focus. Isolate the bandwidth. I commanded Leonel to weave an absolute barrier, a shimmering shroud of mana to swallow the blast. I ordered Leon to brace, his tower shield a wall of cold steel between the egg and my main body.
BOOM.
The explosion was a physical weight, a wall of rippling heat that tore through the air. Leonel's barrier held, but the recoil sent the Mage staggering over the rug. My spatial awareness fractured as the Mage fell; the Knight, caught in the shared stumble, retreated a step too far and crushed my main body's toe under his iron boot.
The agony was a recursive loop. I shrieked internally as the Knight, startled by the shared pain, dropped his shield directly onto my other foot.
While the "Legends of Sameroth" were reduced to a whimpering, tangled pile of limbs behind a coffee table, the smoke cleared to reveal the Destroyer of Mountains.
It was... spherical.
It possessed the downy head of a baby eagle, the plump, lint-covered body of a lion cub, and wings that appeared to be purely decorative. It resembled a burnt chicken nugget that had been rolled in a dusty attic.
"Peep," the Calamity Griffin offered. A single, pathetic puff of gray smoke escaped its beak.
"It... it is condensing its lethality!" Clara hissed from the floorboards. "The dominance ritual, Lord Leo! Now!"
I disentangled my limbs, rising with a pained, shaky dignity. I positioned the triad. My main body stood center; Leon to the left; Leonel to the right.
Six eyes. One soul. No blinking.
I narrowed my gaze, projecting a "killing intent" that was mostly just the lingering frustration of my crushed toes. I am the Alpha, I broadcasted through the shared link.
The bird tilted its head. It looked at me. Then, confused by the overlapping signatures of my soul, it looked at Leon. Then at Leonel. The creature's tiny, primitive brain appeared to reboot. It looked left. Right. Center.
I stared. Leon stared. Leonel stared. A triple-pronged psychological assault.
"Peep?" the Griffin squeaked, its fluffy chest heaving with visible stress.
It waddled to me. No blink. It waddled to the Knight. A wall of iron. It waddled to the Mage. A mask of arcane indifference. Confronted with an infinite triangle of dominance, the Apex Predator sat on its plump bottom, covered its eyes with its tiny wings, and began to vibrate with terror.
"The Omni-Gaze Suppression!" Clara gasped, her quill flying across the page. "You trapped its spirit in a geometric cage of authority!"
"Precisely," I wheezed, finally allowing my eyelids to fall.
The creature peeked out. Seeing the terrifying gods had ceased their judgment, it chirped with relief, waddled to Leon's steel boot, and began to purr like a poorly tuned engine. It had imprinted.
Then, the heavy, rhythmic THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of a wooden cane ascended the stairs. The air in the room grew cold with the proximity of Mrs. Higgins.
"Leonard!" her voice shrieked through the oak. "The foundations shook! I smell the sulfur of forbidden alchemy! Open this door!"
"The bird," I hissed. "Hide the bird!"
I scooped up the creature. The realization hit my central processor instantly: the fluffy potato was the temperature of a freshly stoked forge.
"HOT!"
The phantom burn lanced through all three bodies. I reflexively tossed the living ember to Leon. He caught it, shrieked as the shared pain registered, and spiked the Griffin toward Leonel. The Mage, possessing the physical strength of a wet noodle, batted the bird back into the air.
THUMP. THUMP. The doorknob rattled as the master key slid home.
"IN THE HELMET!"
Leon ripped off his steel helm; Leonel dunked the bird inside like a flaming basketball. Leon slammed the helmet back onto his head just as Mrs. Higgins breached the sanctuary. She stood in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room like a predatory bird.
"Why is the floor scorched?" she demanded, pointing her cane at the black mark.
"A... culinary mishap," I said, my voice smooth despite the sweat. "A very hot turnip was dropped."
She narrowed her eyes, then looked at the Knight. "And why is your oversized companion steaming?"
Leon's armor was visibly radiating vapor. Inside the helmet, the Griffin had woken up. And it was peckish.
Peck.
A jolt of phantom pain stabbed my scalp. My right eye twitched.
Peck. Peck.
"He is," I strained, my knees trembling as the bird treated Leon's head like a salt lick, "engaged in a rigorous... internal meditation. The heat is merely the byproduct of his focused chi."
"Internal meditation," Higgins repeated, the words dripping with skepticism. "Listen well. If I find a beast in this dwelling, you will find yourselves in the gutter. Am I clear?"
PECK!
"Crystal... clear," I wheezed.
She lingered for five agonizing seconds before retreating. The moment the latch clicked, I signaled the Knight to de-helm. The baby Griffin sat perched upon his matted hair, happily chewing on a stray lock.
"Peep!"
I collapsed onto the sofa, the sensory overload finally ebbing. Leon dropped to his knees; Leonel laid face-down on the table.
"A flawless deception," Clara whispered, writing with a smoking pencil. "The Vanguard's helmet as a mobile incubation chamber! You sacrificed your own epidermis to nurture the beast! Truly, your compassion is a legend unto itself!"
I looked at the fluffy, flaming potato currently trying to eat my Knight's ear.
"Clara," I sighed, sync-ing my voices. "Buy meat. And a fireproof cage. We're going to need a bigger budget for the floorboards."