Chapter 312: The Prophet Had a Very Bad Dog

The first behemoth punched the second through a stone pillar, and I immediately understood that the wasteland had been wasting a perfectly good pay-per-view business.

I watched from the licensed survey gallery behind thick viewing panels, well above the underground basin. Dazza remained in the separate protected exercise enclosure after his walk, visible through a small monitored feed rather than wandering among people who preferred their minds unchewed.

Bridget stood beside me with her arms folded. She had agreed to the trip because I promised to handle the dog first, and I had kept that promise even when the distant noise sounded like two buildings having a personal disagreement.

The walk had involved feeding, following the bowl and persuading Dazza that a dropped metal sign wasn’t a bonus. He had returned the sign after eating its corners, which I chose to describe as progress while paying for it from the gallery’s small damage allowance.

[System: Proud father moment, mate. Your little bloke’s learned to share food after licking all the good bits off, which puts him ahead of half the cunts at a family barbecue.]

I was considering putting his achievement on the fridge once we owned a fridge he wouldn’t interpret as a puzzle feeder.

Below us, the larger behemoth stamped three times before charging. Its opponent shifted away from the damaged pillar, leaving the charge to strike stone instead of the vulnerable side it had been protecting.

I described the movement aloud before it happened. Galaxy Brain helped me track the pattern, but the clues were physical: weight shifting, damaged ground and a creature repeatedly avoiding the same leg.

A nearby observer asked how I knew. I told him the big bastard was advertising its intentions more clearly than most people in my family, which apparently sounded profound when delivered by a glowing snake above a giant underground fight.

The gallery rented its camera connection for commercial observation with strict no-entry rules. Eight hundred covered the camera, connection and session, while our return ride cost one hundred and twenty and Dazza’s third holding day added another hundred.

I announced a paid stream through the club’s existing account, using the actual viewing feed rather than pretending my internal phone had grown a camera. Ten bought access for the session, and the early preview showed enough genuine monster violence to make the offer understandable without a marketing committee.

Bridget checked that the gallery’s permission covered the stream. I checked that people could actually pay, which felt like an equally important part of responsible business ownership.

Two hundred and forty-six viewers purchased access before the session ended. The two thousand four hundred and sixty in real receipts left my private balance at fifty-two thousand one hundred and twenty after the listed costs, which was a delightful improvement on paying to be shot at.

On the feed, my controlled red lure reflected in the observation panel. I brightened it while explaining that the smaller behemoth would go low on the next exchange, then watched the prediction succeed because the larger creature kept leaving the same opening.

Below the gallery, a torn piece of stone struck the outer catch wall hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling. The operator closed one observation shutter until the creatures moved away, reminding everyone that paying to watch did not make us qualified to climb down and join in. I kept my commentary going from behind the closed panel.

The chat called me a prophet. I said I was a snake with eyes and a financial interest in people watching, but several viewers interpreted that as humility instead of a correction.

[System: Careful, champ. Once people decide you’re holy, every normal thing you say turns into a bloody instruction. Tell them to drink water and they’ll start arguing over which fucking cup.]

I refused to take responsibility for religious crockery, especially before we’d covered the camera bill.

The gallery observer asked whether my light guided the creatures. I explained that the panel separated us and the beasts were following their own behavior, but he looked at the glow and nodded with the confidence of someone hearing a secret I hadn’t told him.

Bridget laughed quietly beside me. She suggested predicting something deliberately ordinary, so I told the stream I was about to go feed my dog and expected him to make a complete mess of it.

We switched the camera to the protected holding view with the operator’s permission, keeping the actual psychic barrier between Dazza and the gallery. The creature saw the feeding tray open, rushed toward it and spilled half the scrap over himself before retrieving every piece.

The chat became much worse. Apparently a glowing snake predicting a many-eyed horror’s behavior completed a story people preferred to the explanation that I owned an exceptionally stupid pet.

I praised Dazza through the speaker. He pushed a bent metal ring toward the camera housing, and Bridget asked whether the prophet intended to clean up after his sacred teeth thing before leaving.

I did the cleaning through the manipulator tray, because promises counted even when several hundred strangers were trying to turn them into scripture. Dazza settled after another small portion, and the operator confirmed the pen’s seals before we returned to the public exit.

The stream had earned money, advertised the club and shown our location in clear detail. I considered the first two achievements while Old Mate pointed out that the third might interest the person Hansen had recently paid to ruin my day.

A tall figure waited beside our hired cart. His body looked like pale tofu shaped around the firm lines of a tree, and a rocket launcher rested against his shoulder as casually as someone else’s umbrella.

He looked from my glowing lure to Bridget, then down at the koala keychain attached to his weapon case.

"Matthew Vane," he said, with the pleasant certainty of a man who had followed a public address. "I was Horass, and I hoped you appreciated how convenient that little broadcast had made this meeting."