39 – Hunter guides the youth and has a chat with Moros

TW:

Spoiler

Addiction, Cannibalism, Xenophobia (discussed)

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As Monday rolled around, Hunter found himself back in his office during a brief lull between what felt like an endless parade of meetings. With his elbows on his desk, chin propped up on his fists, he stared into the middle distance as he stewed in annoyance.

Giving up drinking had been hard, but as time passed he felt less and less like he needed it.  Nowadays his desire to drink had more to do with liking how it felt than a physical dependence.

His relationship with nicotine was different. After all these years the urge to smoke never really went away, he just got better at ignoring it, and even when it wasn’t pestering him directly he’d still find himself unconsciously reaching for a pack of cigarettes or pawing his pockets for a lighter, as though his addiction was just waiting for a moment of inattention to try and take back control.

This pissed him off so badly that spite alone kept him from picking it back up again, but apparently that wasn’t necessary anymore because when he’d woken up this morning that addiction was gone.

“A little gift, huh?” he muttered through clenched teeth. 

On one level he was a little spooked that Morphy could pull off something like this. If they could do that, then what else in his head could they change?

On another, if he’d known that all he had to do to kick his nicotine habit was bite a giant slug he would have sprinted right up to that possessed commander and started chomping.

“That son of a bitch,” he continued, angrily popping his knuckles one by one. “Why’d he have to go and give me something so fucking nice?”

He knew that agreeing to work with Morpheus was probably stupid idea, he really did! He’d been ready to take his time nobly coming to terms with turning the demon down for the good of mankind or whatever, but this had cut all that resolve out from under him! The relief he felt in the absence of that horrible mental itch made him feel so giddy he wanted to start singing and spinning around like Julie fucking Andrews!

There was no way that worm would let him keep this if he said no, right? Of course not! And just the thought of having to put up with it again when he finally knew how great it felt to live without it almost had him in tears.

What was even worse was that he couldn’t ask anyone else to talk him out of it. His instincts were screaming that telling anyone from the Temple what was going on would cause him even more trouble, and it was very hard to ignore that feeling even though he knew that the only thing riskier than trusting a demon would be to do so in secret!

Why was it so hard not to make bad choices? Why, at his age, was he still this stupid!?

Exhausted and fed up, he picked up a book on his desk and slammed it against his forehead a few times in an effort to knock some sense into himself.

Across the room Prince Damon, who’d been sitting quietly at a small desk, looked up and stared at him in wide-eyed confusion.

Lowering his book, Hunter noticed this and shot the kid a glare, demanding, “What are you lookin’ at, you little twerp?”

“What is wrong with you?” Damon asked, still unable to keep his questions to himself despite the friendly warning Hunter had given him last time.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m an adult, I can hit myself all I want,” Hunter snarled back just as a little timer on his desk began to ring. Turning it off, he continued, “It’s been forever, are you done with your apology letters yet?”

“Yes. I told you ages ago, you just ignored me,” Damon mumbled, picking up the papers in front of him and holding them close to himself defensively.

The stupid jerk had been tasked with writing apology letters to Euphy and her little catgirl friend. This arrangement had specifically been requested by the girls, so even though Hunter thought it was a boring punishment he’d nevertheless committed himself to forcing the Prince to reflect on his actions in an essay format. To this end he’d taken the exemplary apology letter Iphis wrote him after the dislocation incident and handed it off to Damon to learn from. 

However, as he headed over to Damon and took a look at his work, Hunter couldn’t help but feel like this kid had somehow managed to ignore every part of Iphis’ example that might have been useful.

“This is garbage,” Hunter said, flapping the papers for emphasis. “Have you never apologized to someone before? What the heck am I missing here?”

Iphis’ foibles aside, the man wrote a top tier apology letter. Its formatting, composition, and prose were so masterful that upon reading it Hunter had the urge to give it a perfect score, and if not for the fact that he knew Iphis it might have fooled him into thinking the man was genuinely repentant.

Just how many apology letters had Calliope forced her grandson to write for him to get that good at it? Maybe he ought to ask, because judging by what the Prince had written so far, this was going to take more than a few tries.

“I did apologize! I even counted the words to make sure I hit five thousand for each, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that this whole thing reads as ‘my bad for not realizing how important you were.’ It has nothing to do with what you actually did wrong!”

“But that is what I did wrong,” the Prince insisted, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his face away with a huff. “If it weren’t for that I wouldn’t have gotten punished.”

“So what, you think everything you did would have been fine if you’d just done it to someone else?”

“Yes, that’s how it’s always been. It’s my birthright.”

Good God, Hunter thought, closing his eyes. He’s serious.

He supposed that from the Prince’s perspective everyone else was being unreasonable. Except for a few select adults, he’d probably never been burdened with the idea that other people were, well, people before. With a little time, effort, and skills most humans learned in kindergarten, he could probably be convinced otherwise.

It was just that Hunter was the last person who should be trying to teach anyone ethics, and he knew that, which made him feel very awkward. 

“Kid, did you like getting kicked around by the Temple? Being arrested, detained, thrown to me—are you having a good time with this?”

“No, but that’s just the way things work. It’s not like I can do anything about it,” Damon muttered. His lavender eyes were burning with a very familiar brand of wronged youthful resentment, as though Hunter was just another brick in the wall rather than a reasonable adult trying to teach him not to violently assault people.

“Maybe not for yourself, no, but you can set an example by changing your own behavior! You’re a young person, deciding how things will work differently for the next generation is basically your whole job! All you have to do is go, ‘wow, being treated like that sucked, so I won’t put anyone else through it!’” Hunter shouted, gesturing wildly with his hands. “‘Treat other people the way you’d want to be treated,’ it’s the golden fucking rule, it’s very simple!”

“If it’s not going to benefit me, why should I bother?” the Prince sneered.

“Come on, seriously?” Hunter sighed, covering his eyes with his hand.

In the old days he occasionally advised young criminal wannabes, so he was very familiar with how they thought and what motivated them, but he had no idea how to get through to a spoiled rich kid. Even trying to recall what he could of Ianthe’s childhood didn’t help because she was so much crazier than Damon that none of it felt relevant.

The only silver lining he could see was that, unlike Ianthe, this kid didn’t seem to be planning his wrongdoings in advance. He just did stupid shit in the spur of the moment and got shocked when consequences showed up later.

Damn it, he bet Euphy would’ve known what to say in this situation. She’d probably even know the exact philosopher he needed to quote. He briefly considered asking her, but the last thing he wanted was her getting any more entangled with this brat and he knew she’d probably figure out what was going on even if he tried to hide it.

Should he just force an ethics class into the Prince’s schedule? It wasn’t like anyone could stop him, but then again many of the people here seemed to have a rather feudal mindset. For all he knew his own professors might end up reinforcing all of this idiot’s worst beliefs.

Having run out of ideas, he took a deep breath and asked, “Okay, then answer me this: why’d you decide to pick on the girls in the first place? Trying to force your fiance to kiss you, attacking a stranger because she cursed you out—whether or not you think you have the right to do that, is that really who you want to be? A fucking scumbag?”

To the Prince’s credit he did seem to genuinely consider the question. Now visibly flustered, he hesitantly replied, “They disrespected me first. I was just trying to teach them a lesson.”

Thank God, finally something I can work with! 

In his experience half the dumb social stuff kids did was just posturing to hide their insecurities. Hell, he’d done it himself back when he was a teenager! Smoking and drinking, getting into fights, stealing cars—all stuff he thought made him look tough, but mostly just resulted in him getting into trouble for no good reason.

Drawing on decades of wisdom and the occasional grand theft auto, he put his hands on his hips and wisely advised: “Kid, I hate to break it to you, but you can’t force people to respect you.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I can.”

“No. You can make them fear you, you can make them obey you, but respect is something they have to decide to give you themselves.”

“Nonsense. You have no idea what you’re talking about, you’re just abusing your current position to try and… and influence me so you can weaken my future reign. Don’t think I’ll forget any of this,” Damon threatened, glaring at Hunter as though confident he’d caught onto this old man’s scam.

Working hard to make his naturally provocative tone sound a little gentler for once, Hunter cajoled, “Come on, think about it. If you weren’t a prince anymore, how many of the nobles you know would still give you the time of day? If your family lost their wealth and power, how many of the people working for you would stick around to help? Do these people really respect you because of some mystical birthright, or do they just find you temporarily useful?” 

The Prince’s eyes widened and he grew still, the color draining from his face so quickly that Hunter felt a little guilty.

Eesh, what was the problem? Was the idea that his peers and underlings only gave a shit because they got something out of it really that shocking?

Taking a step back and putting his hands up, he said, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to threaten you, I’m just asking you to be honest with yourself. What do you think should be worth more: you as Damon, a living, thinking, feeling person, or a title anybody can lose?”

“I… I don’t know,” he mumbled, wilting like a flower as he stared off into space with an empty, listless expression. “I’m not sure anything really matters at all since death always finds us sooner or later…”

Teenagers, Hunter thought, rubbing his face with a hand.

“Look, kid. As much as it might suck to hear, the only thing you can control is making yourself into someone you respect,” Hunter said, poking the Prince in the chest with the rolled up papers in an attempt to snap him out of whatever gothic angst he’d fallen into. “That way, even if the whole world dismisses you, you still know your own worth.”

“Oh…” 

Gingerly taking the papers Hunter offered back, Damon asked, “Is that what you did?”

“Huh? No, are you fucking kidding me? I tripped coming right out the gate and I’ve hated myself ever since.”

“What? But you’re so confident, so I thought maybe that was why—”

“I’m not confident, I’m good at bullshitting, there’s a difference,” Hunter said, gesturing for the Prince to get up. “Now get the hell out of my office, I’m sick of looking at you.”

“What!? How dare you—”

“Look at the clock, you got a class soon and I’ve got a one-on-one with my lieutenant—or what, you want to sit in on our meeting? You want more work than I’m already giving you?”

“Oh—n-no, that’s not necessary—”

“Well too bad, your reading comprehension is atrocious, so review Iphis’ essay again and write me a summary of what he apologizes for and why each part of his apology is important. Once I’m satisfied with that, you’re writing these letters again.”

“But—”

The door, which had been left cracked open on behalf of the Prince’s knights waiting outside, swung open as Hunter kicked it with his foot.

Out in the hall Moros could be seen standing between the Prince’s big twin knights. At the moment they were glowering down at him in unison, the weight of their silent anger crackling like invisible currents in the air. Since he was dwarfed by their significantly above-average height and build, the first thing Hunter thought when he saw this scene was that his precious lieutenant was being bullied, and he automatically stepped forward to put a stop to it.

Then he recalled that, regardless of his delicate appearance, Moros was a man who’d cleared out an entire mansion’s worth of guards almost single-handedly. Taking a closer look, both of the knight’s expressions seemed to carry a hint of grievance, and there was something subtly mischievous about the way Moros kept looking back and forth between the two with an air of innocent anticipation.

Oh, I see. He’s the one bullying them.

Moros was so sick when they’d first met that Hunter had unconsciously categorized him as fragile, but ever since the guy had gotten his curse treated he’d been doing pretty well. In that case, why did Hunter keep assuming he needed defending? Was it just because he was pale and kind of a weirdo?

While Hunter struggled to reexamine his unconscious biases, the Prince rejoined his knights, both of whom were openly relieved to see him.

“Let’s finish our conversation… another time,” Moros said in farewell.

The knights stormed off without a reply, their royal charge in tow, and Hunter waved Moros into his office.

“Were those two bothering you?” he asked, shutting the door.

“No, we were just chatting about politics.”

“Is that the kind of thing you should be talking about at work?” Hunter asked. He moved to block out most of the room’s windows with ectoplasm, which prompted Moros to exchange his sunglasses for glasses.

“Is it not?”

“Considering the relationship between our countries, maybe it would be better to pick a different topic in the future? Oh, hang on, I almost forgot—do you mind if I eat something? Getting rid of the Prince took longer than I thought.”

“I don’t mind, go right ahead.”

“Thanks,” Hunter replied, taking a seat as he gestured for Moros to do the same. Pulling out a few crackers to munch on, he explained, “Wanna hear something crazy? Turns out this new body of mine almost never feels hungry. Instead, if I don’t eat often enough, I just get sleepy and nauseous, isn’t that stupid?”

“Is it? My body’s like that as well.”

“Really?” Hunter asked, now sliding the crackers Moros’ way. “How do you manage it? I’ve started setting a bunch of timers to remind myself to snack, otherwise I start falling asleep in meetings.”

“I don’t manage it, I just go to sleep and nobody’s brave enough to comment on it,” Moros shrugged, accepting a cracker.

“Well that is… certainly one method,” Hunter conceded, silently deciding that since Moros was his most competent employee such a thing was probably fine. 

“By the way, I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation with the Prince while I was waiting.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes, you’re… surprisingly gentle with him. I thought you’d be more like Iphis.”

“What, would you prefer I try to kill him? Or maybe beat him up a bit?” Hunter asked, using a bit of magic to re-heat a pot of tea his secretary had left him and pouring some for Moros. “I promised Calliope I wouldn’t do that, and the girls said they don’t want that either.”

Anyway, it looks like I’m gonna make him write so many apology letters he’s gonna wish I’d just hit him, Hunter thought with fatigue, any satisfaction he might have enjoyed about this tainted with the knowledge that he’d be the one reviewing them.

“Does that mean you’ve forgiven him?” Moros asked, accepting the cup and cradling it in his white-gloved hands.

“Of course not, I get pissed every time I look at that little shit, but so what? In the end, this isn’t about me,” Hunter replied, pouring himself a cup of his own.

He still didn’t really like tea, but at this point he was around it so much that drinking it anyway was becoming a habit.

“Still, I doubt he feels as generously towards your daughter as she does towards him… doesn’t it bother you, that you might be guiding her enemy?”

Hunter hesitated, giving Moros an evaluating look.

If this had been coming from Iphis he would have interpreted it as a test, an insult, or a challenge. However, just like the time when he’d interrogated Hunter about his ectoplasm, Moros had such an air of genuine curiosity about him that it was hard to take it personally. He got the impression that Moros was only asking because he really didn’t understand.

“I’m not sure what you were like as a teenager, but I was just as violent and stupid as that brat is, so I can assure you that no kid improves by being hated or ignored,” Hunter explained, watching Moros’ reaction carefully. “All I’m doing is giving him a chance to change for the better.”

“You were like him when you were younger?”

“Uhh, I mean, approximately?” Hunter shrugged. “I wasn’t bugging girls or anything, but I did some pretty terrible things, yeah. Honestly, I’d probably be a lot worse today if a couple of adults back then hadn’t seen what a fuckhead I was and reached out anyway, so I just think of stuff like this as, you know… paying it forward, or honoring their memory, or some sappy bullshit like that.”

Moros rubbed his chin as he considered this, his blue eyes lowered in shadow and his brows furrowing like he was seriously chewing things over. 

Surprised to see him look so openly concerned over anything, Hunter got a haunch and asked, “Are you maybe dealing with a similar situation yourself?”

“Yes, something like that. A student I’ve been keeping an eye on has caused some trouble, so I’ve been thinking about speaking to them, but… both the situation and my own feelings are complex. I fear my motives are selfish, or that my intervention might make things worse.”

“No, no, you can’t think like that—people need other people’s help, especially young people because they don’t always have the experience to know what they can and can’t survive,” Hunter argued. “As long as you’re giving someone advice because it would help them, not necessarily you, then what’s the harm? I mean, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.”

“A… horse? I’m sorry? I thought we were talking about a student.”

“Sorry, that was an idiom. I meant that in the end, it’s still up to the kid you’re advising whether they listen to you or not.”

“I see. Yes, that’s a very good point…”

Since Moros didn’t seem interested in elaborating further, the two of them went about actually doing their jobs.

Not much had changed since last week. The investigation into Dean Hegias and the expedition needed more time for Moros to look into things, so the only real update was that the families of the threatened students had been informed. Hunter, sure that this was the kind of thing that might turn into a lawsuit if they weren’t careful, told Moros to let them know he’d be willing to meet in person and made a note to check in with the university’s lawyers before he did so.

Thankfully Moros had already informed said lawyers of the situation, which once again increased the affection Hunter felt towards this man. An employee who always did what was needed ahead of time and without being asked was, in his opinion, worth their weight in gold. 

Since Moros had no real problems on his end it was Hunter’s turn to cause more trouble, and he briefly outlined the conversation he'd had with Banda, the Urran grandfather he'd met back in Kastri.

While Hunter himself had offered to start working with non-Covenant vendors, Banda’s personal request was that he find a way to get the university to accept non-Covenant students. Apparently Banda’s own grandchild had been accepted at Aegis but ultimately couldn’t attend for that reason, which unsurprisingly turned out to be a problem their community faced at basically every university in the country.

Hunter had been anticipating some kind of complex bureaucratic headache only for Moros to say, “Oh, that won’t be a problem. The registrar’s office already has a process for enrolling non-Covenant attendees; we use it for our international students.”

Slowly processing this, Hunter replied, “So… we can admit domestic students who aren’t part of the Covenant, we just don’t?”

“Yes,” Moros confirmed. “If I am correct, the process is that they can apply and be accepted, but once it comes time to verify their identities they cannot do so without Covenant membership. Because of this their applications stall and they are eventually dropped from the roster, with their spots given to the next in line.”

“But… why? Just, why? That’s so fucking stupid!” 

It wasn’t like belonging to the Covenant was the only form of identification Cydonian citizens could get, it was just the most common one. From his perspective, it was like an American university saying they’d recognize driver’s licenses as valid but refusing to accept passports.

Squeezing his temples, he interrupted Moros before the man could reply and said, “No, you know what? Don’t answer that, I have a feeling I already know: it’s because we’re bastards, right? I bet in every world humans are bastards just because they can be. I take it Ianthe didn’t care about the problem?”

“I’ve brought it up to her before, but she felt she had no reason to deal with the headache it would cause… Which is why, as your Provost, it is my duty to inform you that while the change itself won’t cause much bureaucratic difficulty, you are likely to receive quite a bit of pushback as the one behind the decision.”

“Good! If any cockroaches want to come and introduce themselves that’ll save me the trouble of chasing ‘em out of the woodwork later,” Hunter declared, smacking his fist on the desk as though crushing a bug. 

“Then I will also warn you that quite a few of those cockroaches will likely be coming from the Temple itself,” Moros continued in that icy way of his that Hunter was starting to recognize as scathing disapproval.

“Is that so? What about you, Moros? Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“I do, but most of my views aren’t considered mainstream, which is why I usually keep them to myself,” Moros replied, the ghost of a self-deprecating smile gracing the corners of his lips.

Huh.

So they were, were they?

Actually, now that he thought about it, Moros had handled the news that Hunter was possessed better than anyone else. Not only had he accepted things without fuss, he’d started treating Hunter better once the truth was out, even going as far as to stand up for him to Chiron.

Even if he couldn’t trust the others to stay cool about Morphy’s offer, maybe telling Moros about the dream might not be such a bad idea?

“Hey Moros, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Do you think all demons are evil?”

He’d expected Moros to take a moment to think it over, but without missing a beat the man confidently replied, “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.”

Taken aback, Hunter blurted out, “Really? You don’t?”

“I don’t believe any being is born evil, much less an entire species.”

“But… a lot of the stuff I’ve read says they’re super-intelligent predators, right? That they prey exclusively on humans, that they don’t have feelings—”

Moros held up a finger, interrupting him. “First of all, if being an intelligent predator makes a species evil, then humanity cannot escape that label either. In all my years investigating demons, I have never… encountered a single act of demonic depravity that humans have not themselves also committed.”

Then, raising another finger, he continued, “Second of all, there’s no definitive evidence on whether or not they have feelings, but even if they didn’t, why would that matter? There are plenty of humans who feel little or no emotion and yet… manage to get by perfectly fine. ‘Feelings’ are not the only parameter with which an intelligent being may make decisions.”

“Well, sure, but does it make sense that all the demons people run into just so happen to be evil? The ones recorded in books are jerks, my demon’s a jerk, and so was the one we fought on Saturday!” Hunter exclaimed. “If there were, uhh, for lack of a better term ‘chill demons’ out there, why isn't anyone talking or writing about them?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you imagine it? If you began talking or writing positively about demons, what do you think the result would be?”

Hunter stared at the cleric sitting across from him, one who’d helped keep an eye on him while he was secretly under arrest for suspected demonic possession on the grounds that he’d been acting a little funny, and said, “Well, alright. You have a point.”

Leaning towards him, Moros tapped a finger on the table and continued, “It might help to think of it this way: since people like yourself who can see them are incredibly rare… how does the Temple manage to find demons in the first place?”

Thinking it over, Hunter replied, “If I had to guess? Missing persons, suspicious deaths, and murders.”

“Exactly. We look for bodies, and when we find them we find… the violent demons who make them. However, since we have no other reliable way to identify demons, we can’t say there aren’t some living among us who simply don’t cause any noticeable problems,” Moros replied with a shrug.

“So you think it’s kind of like a survivorship bias, then? People keep finding evil demons because they're the ones attracting all the attention?” Hunter murmured, thinking it over as he rubbed his chin. Then, struck with an idea, he pointed at Moros and asked, “Wait, have you ever encountered a friendly demon?”

“No. Because if I had, I’d be obligated to report their existence to the Temple regardless of my own personal feelings on the matter… That is also why I only have conversations like this when I’m sure they’ll remain a secret,” Moros replied, his cold gaze seeming to wordlessly ask if Hunter was a snitch.

“Of course! I mean, you know my situation, this is the last subject I’d wanna kick up trouble over. I was just, you know, looking to get your perspective on things,” he babbled, holding up his hands defensively. “Actually, that reminds me—what about Selene’s demon? They’ve gotta be at least a little cooperative for the Temple to be willing to work with them, right?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been apprised of the details, but Calliope herself was the one who warned Iphis and I not to interfere with the matter, and I do not believe she’d tolerate such a thing if it came at the cost of others.”

“Well that’s… disappointingly vague,” Hunter complained.

Damn. So that meant the only way to know would be to ask Selene herself? But what if he let something slip and she figured out that he was possessed himself? He wasn’t sure he’d be willing to risk that, and even if he did he had no guarantee she wouldn’t just run away like she had last time. Heck, she hadn’t even shown up for work today, even her poor secretary couldn’t get a hold of her, so how was he gonna pin someone that flighty down?

Then again, if she was willing to blackmail him then she probably wasn’t entirely clean herself, right? If he could dig up some dirt on her first and create a comfortable state of mutually assured destruction, then maybe the leap might be worth it…

Across from him Moros settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers, his gold-rimmed glasses flashing in the dim light. After watching Hunter drift off for a while, he softly asked, “So, I take it there’s something going on with your demon that you’re afraid to discuss with me?”

Yanked back to reality, Hunter stared at him in shock.

“Don’t look at me like that. You wouldn't have approached the subject this way—or at all, I expect—if you’d asked Iphis or Chiron this question before you brought it up to me. Furthermore, even though you kept trying to argue against demons, you seemed… more and more relieved every time I disagreed with you,” Moros explained, his pale blue eyes as serene as a cloudless sky. “Well? Haven’t I proven I won’t fly off the handle regardless of what it is? So, do go on.”

… God damnit. 

I forgot how much I hate talking to detectives.

“Alright! Fine,” Hunter grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest unhappily. “Last night Morpheus asked me to make a deal with them.”

“Oh? They go by a name, not an epithet? How humble,” Moros murmured, as though the admission Hunter had been fretting over was mildly interesting at best. “What are they asking for?”

“They want me to feed them other demons.”

“Ahh, well, it’s no surprise. There’s plenty of documentation recording cannibalistic tendencies among demons. In fact, I’ve witnessed it myself.”

Slapping his hands on the desk, Hunter exclaimed, “Really, that’s it!? ‘It’s no surprise?’ You don’t have any problems with the request at all? Don’t you think they might be up to something sinister? Shouldn’t you be bothered by the idea of someone killing more ‘potentially innocent’ demons? I mean, you did just make a pretty impassioned defense of their species!” 

“If by ‘sinister’ you mean you’re worried they have ulterior motives, then yes, I’m sure they do, I thought that was obvious. Off the top of my head, the likeliest result of ‘feeding’ them would be that they grow stronger, which could be a big problem for you in the future… but I’m fairly confident you’re smart enough to realize that yourself, so you must have a valid reason to consider it anyway, yes?”

“W-well, yeah—”

“And for the record, just because I don’t believe they’re all ‘evil’ doesn’t mean I’m obligated to coddle them. I simply view them... the same way I view any other thinking creature,” Moros replied coolly, dismissing Hunter’s concerns with an elegant wave of his hand. “Anyway, I’ve consumed a number of them myself, so it would be rather hypocritical of me to judge you for it.”

“Okay, but—can’t you at least tell me that making a deal with a demon is a bad idea!? Come on, discourage me a little for goodness’ sake!” Hunter begged, desperate for someone to validate his hesitance lest he be overwhelmed by the overwhelming desire to kick his nicotine addiction for good.

“Ah, I’m sorry… I’m used to having this sort of discussion with Iphis, so it didn’t occur to me that you’d be willing to listen if I warned you against it,” Moros replied, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “In that case, of course it’s a bad idea. You’d be taking a huge risk on the behalf of an entity whose motives we don’t understand, and gods only know what the future consequences might be. Only a blithering idiot would agree to that kind of thing blindly.”

“Thank you! Thank you, that is exactly what I needed to hear!” Hunter cried out, clasping his hands together in gratitude.

“However, it is also my view that you were irrevocably doomed the moment you became possessed. In light of that I’d be concerned with having any options at all, much less ‘good’ ones.”

“Oh come on!” he groaned, pulling his hair in frustration. “Just tell me not to do it! I’m not good at resisting temptation on my own, okay?”

For most of his life he’d lived by the rule that he might as well try anything once, which had led to a lot of fun but also multiple addictions, a career as a murderer, and now potentially a demonic contract.

But Moros kept making the situation sound so reasonable, and as a result the resolve he’d felt to refuse earlier was not so much wavering as it was wildly pinwheeling its arms while making exaggerated ‘whoah’-ing sounds as it stumbled about on stilts knocking into things.

“Well… I’d say if the idea of eating demons makes you that uncomfortable, then you should probably refuse.”

“Uncomfortable? I don’t know if I’m uncomfortable, necessarily, I… I guess I’m just not used to the idea of eating anything that can talk back?” Hunter said, squeezing his head between his hands. “And why the heck are you being so casual about this? I mean, aren’t you a vegetarian!?”

Moros slowly blinked at him.

“I don’t eat meat. Demons aren’t made of meat. What’s the problem?”

“No, but aren’t they, you know—people? At least kind of?”

“Well, wouldn’t that make it fairer?” Moros asked, tilting his head. “After all, the animals you normally eat aren’t smart enough to properly fight back.”

“You… uh… wuh…”

Slumping bonelessly in his big chair, he stared blankly at the dark surface of his desk and tried to put his thoughts together.

He’d had plenty of debates on this kind of subject during Euphy’s journey through vegetarianism, veganism, and then back to vegetarianism, but this was the first time he’d encountered someone like that who was willing to argue that eating more intelligent beings was better.

Was he wrong to be freaked out by this? Iphis and Calliope and now Moros all treated this sort of thing as normal enough to discuss casually, so maybe his reluctance was just because he wasn’t used to sharing a planet with another highly intelligent species?

No, no, that couldn’t be right, because if fairies or werewolves or leprechauns had been real back in his old world he definitely wouldn’t have been comfortable with the idea of eating them! But then again, like Moros said, demons weren’t exactly made of meat, and it wasn’t like the single bite he’d taken so far had been unpleasant. Plus, all the cool kids were doing it, and they seemed just fine…

As Hunter slowly succumbed to the most cliche form of peer pressure, he asked, “If it was you, what would you do?” 

“If it were me?” Moros murmured, tilting his head and tapping on his cheek as he thought things over. “Honestly, I’d probably write an ironclad magical contract and then milk the demon for all they’re worth.”

“A… a magical contract?”

“Of course. You and I are bound by contracts only if we choose to honor them, but spirits and demons are very literally forced to follow any terms they agree to. If it helps, I know a few lawyers within the Temple’s Judicial Department who specialize in spirit contracts, and I’d be happy to consult with them on your behalf.”

“Really? That—that would be great…”

Well, heck, if he could get a contract that protected him then wouldn’t taking the deal be worth it? After all, he wasn’t keen on being chewed on every time he went to sleep, and the red stuff from that 'Pool of Communion' was something he really didn’t want to think about, so much so that the moment the possibility crossed his mind it slipped away just as quickly.

Under his breath he muttered aloud, “If this is something I can just consult a lawyer for, then is it not as big a deal as I thought it was?”

Moros must have caught what he said, because the man let out a soft little laugh and said, “Oh, no. No, it’s a very big deal, and it’s a good thing you decided to bring this to me instead of anyone else or you’d have been in for a world of trouble. I would highly recommend you keep this between us going forward, and I’ll do the same.”

“Really? I mean, gee, thanks…”

He thunked his forehead down on the desk, officially abandoning hope that he could ever bring this up with the others.

At the same time he couldn’t help but feel another surge of gratitude and affection towards his increasingly trustworthy lieutenant. 

Speaking into the desk, Hunter said, “You know Moros, back where I’m from they’d say it’s a crying shame you weren’t born Italian.”

He used to hear that sort of thing all the time himself, but it wasn’t until now that he fully understood what it really meant.

So far Moros had been nothing but capable, calm, and discreet. Heck, even the time he’d tricked him into a carriage he’d done it so smoothly that Hunter hadn’t been able to hold it against him for long. On top of that he was aware of the ins and outs of both Aegis and the Temple, he seemed to know what Hunter needed before he could even ask for it, and he was willing to look the other way when things got a little shady…

If he tried to step down as provost after the Calamity ended, Hunter might just get down on his knees and beg him not to leave.

“I don’t think I understand what you mean?”

“I mean you’re a mensch!¹a great guy” Hunter cried out, suddenly sitting back up. “When we first met I thought you were kinda—er, you know, but now I see you’re not nearly as uh—uhm—”

“Stiff? Uptight? Pompous?”

“As proper as I thought,” Hunter broke in, snapping his fingers and pointing at Moros. “You’re flexible and dependable, and I for one appreciate that.”

He’d already promised to make Hebe employee of the month in perpetuity, but maybe he could convince her to let Moros hold her for a few of her portraits? 

“Thank you. I don’t think I’ve received that sort of compliment before.”

“Well, I mean it, from the bottom of my heart,” Hunter said, clasping his hands together.

“In that case, is there anything else you’d like to tell me about the deal before I reach out to my contacts?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it was pretty straight forward: feed them in exchange for them giving me powers… Ah!” Hunter snapped his fingers again, realizing he’d forgotten something. “But demons weren’t the only option! They said they could eat people’s dreams, too, but I was even less sure about that one. It sounds better on paper, but based on my experience it means waking up with internal bleeding.”

His eyes sparkling like Hunter had finally said something interesting, Moros softly exclaimed, “They can eat dreams? My, that is curious, I wonder how it works? Ah… I’m almost tempted to let you try it out on me just to find out, but I suspect that my divinity would make that impossible.”

“Yeah, no offense but Morphy is not a big fan of you guys,” Hunter sighed, waving his hand. “Uhh, hmm… I don’t know, didn’t I just give you guys a big list of active cultists? What if I tried it on one of them?”

He didn’t like the idea of going all Freddy Krueger on regular joes, but he also didn’t feel like he had to extend that grace to his daughter’s enemies. If they didn’t want to get their brains eaten, then they shouldn’t have joined a club that wanted to sacrifice a teenage girl to an evil undead god, it was that simple.

“Are you… asking me to let you experiment on the Temple’s prisoners?” Moros replied, shocked at the suggestion.

“It was just an idea, I’m spitballing here,” Hunter hedged, still having a hell of a time figuring out how this guy’s moral compass worked. “A minute ago you were telling me to eat people, how is this worse?”

“Demons are not legally protected entities, but humans are. Furthermore, the Temple is at least in part a public institution of justice, which means that if a cleric like myself allowed you to harm people in our care it would be a very big problem if the truth ever got out,” Moros explained, his tone apologetic. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to consider it, but I can’t risk harming Calliope’s reputation like that.”

“Ahhh, okay,” Hunter nodded, now getting it.

Moros might be working for him, but he was working for Calliope too, and he wasn’t comfortable doing anything that might hurt one of those allegiances on behalf of another. 

If anything, that just made the man seem even more responsible.

“I understand your frustration, though. In fact, I often share it myself,” Moros sighed. “Working for the Temple means that a lot of what I can and cannot do is very restricted… In some ways I almost envy our bloodthirsty new friend, the Shadow.”

Raising his eyebrows, Hunter asked, “You, uh… envy the guy who skins people? You maybe wanna elaborate a little on that?”

In a wistful tone Moros explained, “I envy that they are a third party who can act as they please. Whatever I do I must keep in mind that it will one day be scrutinized, and that if I act carelessly the Order might use my mistakes against our organization as a whole. In contrast, the Shadow can identify an enemy and directly take them out however they please. Even better, the grisly way they did it means that the Temple doesn’t have to worry about taking the blame.”

“Huh. That’s a good point, I hadn’t really thought about it that way,” Hunter replied.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d spent most of his past life working as a professional third party, and causing trouble that couldn’t be clearly blamed on anyone was one of the most frequent requests he’d handled. 

In fact, if he was being honest, for a while now he’d been wondering whether or not he ought to come out of retirement. 

The Temple was big and powerful, but its nature meant it had to at least try to work by the book. That meant there were currently a lot of people running around who Hunter knew were a threat, but who probably wouldn’t be taken care of until a slow and methodical investigation found enough evidence to justify doing so. 

Since their crimes meant they’d all be facing a death sentence eventually, did it really matter if he sped things up?

After all, the gods who’d brought him here must have known what kind of person he was, right?

Would They really have been willing to do that if his meddling would cause Them problems?

Heck, if he looked at it from another angle, wouldn’t he basically be doing Them a favor? The fact that he himself found the whole idea an exciting and interesting challenge wasn’t nearly as important as the good it might do.

As he chewed this over, Moros continued, “While I’m willing to look the other way on a lot of things, I’m afraid I can’t directly help you in this case. In that regard Iphis has always been more ‘flexible’ than myself.”

Yeah, Iphis didn’t really strike Hunter as the kind of person who let reputation get in the way of what he wanted to do.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly tell that nut job he wanted to try feeding cultists to his demon, but…

Then again, did he really have to tell him? 

Even a little help could go a long way, and it’s not like any of the deceased could rat on him.

Well, as long as he made sure not to leave any ghosts, anyway.

“If you don’t mind, there’s another meeting I’ve got to get to,” Moros said, breaking Hunter from his reverie.

“Sure, no problem, let me see you out,” Hunter said, getting up so he could get the door for Moros.

While he hadn’t fully decided on anything yet, he felt a lot better now that he had options to consider and support behind him. This was one of the reasons why, when Moros suddenly blocked him before the door with a grave expression, he was so startled. 

“Ah… I nearly forgot, there is one more thing,” Moros murmured. 

What thing? And can you stop looking at me like you’re about to tell me terrible news? 

“Iphis mentioned that you once offered to pay him if you accidentally shot him, correct?”

Oh, was that the problem? Hunter nodded and quickly reassured him,

“Yes, but—and I want to make this very clear—I did not shoot Iphis. Not even once.”

“Good.” Taking a step closer, Moros looked down at him, his pale eyes cold behind his glasses. “I must warn you—not for Iphis’ sake, but for your own: you should be very, very careful not to hurt him.”

Then, his already deadly serious expression darkening further, Moros added, “Especially if it seems like he’s letting you do it.”

“Uh… okay?”

Normally he’d interpret this kind of situation as a ‘don’t you dare touch my boyfriend’ kind of thing, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t what this was about. 

Something about the way Moros said all of this sounded like he’d really like to hurt Iphis himself.

“Can I ask why?”

“No, you cannot, because those details are private. But as long as you are careful, you’ll be fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Moros said, that forbidding expression of his vanishing as he reached for the door. 

Nodding to him in farewell, Moros exited the room.

Left behind with nothing but a vague yet ominous statement, Hunter let out a small sigh and muttered to himself,

“So I really can’t shoot Iphis?”

Not even once??

Not even if he was willing to pay for it???

That didn’t seem fair.