Apocalypse: Fairy System by Macronomicon (fox in socks read aloud txt) 📕

Jeb chuckled at the idea of buying a sexy elf waifu, then kicking her out on her ass because he was more interested in the control lens in her collar.

Come to think of it…

In a flash of inspiration, Jeb had an idea for a gun that used Annihilation lenses. All he had to do was attach a spring to the focal slider.

Cock it back, setting the range to minimum, then pull the trigger, allowing a pulse of Myst to travel through the lenses. The focal point rapidly shifts as the spring pushes the lenses together again, boring a hole in a straight line out from the gun.

Gotta write this down! Jeb scrambled back to his wagon and wrote down the idea before he forgot. Jeb was forced to write the idea down on a piece of leather because he forgot to buy himself a drafting journal.

Okay, when I get to the city, I am definitely setting myself up as a mysterious and wealthy survivor of the ‘hard’ difficulty and buying a place to work on my magic…and possibly kidnap children.

Jeb’s half-formed, pseudo plan involved buying a mansion with a huge basement, then disappearing orphan children, feeding and housing them in secret until the bad guy came sniffing around looking for the other reaper horning in on his territory.

That could work. Killers are notoriously territorial.

It was also kind of a bad idea and a logistical nightmare. Jeb might be able to feed and care for them with magic, but he couldn’t physically keep track of a couple dozen kids and still investigate.

Pros: Bad guy comes to me, doesn’t suspect me of hunting him at all.

Cons: Screaming children pissing and shitting everywhere, getting in my way and stopping me from doing my job.

Wait… Slaves.

Jeb grinned as the plan started to come together. If he wanted to come across as a wealthy serial killer, there was no better way to prove he was psycho than to buy some people. These purchased people could help watch his kidnapped children.

I’m such a nice guy.

Jeb chuckled to himself, carrying on with his day.

A week into the ride was far too long to go without conversation, and Jeb managed to strike up conversations with the driver on several occasions. This particular day they were off-roading, and Jeb had the worst case of swamp-ass, aggravated by the jostling of the wagon.

“So how do you stand this heat?” Jeb asked, popping his head out of the shade.

“What heat?” the melas driver asked, glancing down at him.

“Oh.” Well, that makes sense.

“Are humans a cold-weather species?” he asked, glancing up at the blazing sun.

“I hadn’t thought so, but apparently. We like places around seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit, whatever that translates to in alien temp.”

Apparently The System translated for him, because the driver scoffed. “Seventy-two degrees? That’s nothing.”

“So I noticed,” Jeb said, ducking back into the shade.

“The melas enjoy the oil-rich desert and volcano wilds, averaging a hundred and fifteen degrees, human temp.”

“Damn. This must be balmy then,” Jeb said.

“Indeed.”

“Hey, Brav,” Jeb called.

“Yeah?” the driver responded.

“What do your people know about kidnapping?”

Brav actually turned to stare at him, brow raised.

Jeb couldn’t overlook the possibility that the human children were being taken by an alien. It was about fifty-fifty in Jeb’s head.

“Why?”

“I’m looking into missing kids for someone. Is it a common thing for melas?”

Brav barked a short laugh. “Roil, no, it isn’t common at all.”

“Why?”

“Melas babies light themselves on fire as a defense mechanism until they’re three years old or so; they’re dangerous to all but their mother. Same unique chemical reaction. Catching on fire from a flaming baby you’re not directly related to is mildly poisonous.”

“Poisonous, not…burny? Are you hazing me?” Jeb asked.

…

“You’re serious?”

“Of course. Piss off a melas and you’ll feel the heat.”

“How the… Wow. That explains a lot.”

“Why? What do your human infants do to protect themselves?”

“Scream really loud, I guess? They poop themselves and throw up, too.”

“Acid vomit?” Brav asked, eyeing Jeb cautiously.

“No, just regular vomit.”

“How on Pharos did you survive as a species?” Brav asked.

“I’m asking myself that right now,” Jeb said, shaking his head before he noticed something in the distance. Through the wobbling heat waves, Jeb was able to make out the distinct shape of a car.

“Hold up!” Jeb said, banging on the wagon and crawling out into the open to ride shotgun. “What is that?”

“A human construction of some kind?” Brav asked.

“It’s a car!” Jeb said, jumping off the wagon and running for it. “This way!”

“Is the human serious?” another wagoneer called.

“Come on!” Jeb called, motioning them to follow. “Where there’s cars, there’s road! With any luck, it’ll be the Interstate!”

After a minute of running through the arid desert, the car resolved into a Plymouth Voyager propped up on a large boulder, where it had crashed when the driver vanished. Around the boulder, the road finally came in view. He could see where it had been Stitched together with the Pharosian desert: the I-5, in all its eight-lane glory, wide enough for half the wagons to travel along side by side.

There were hundreds upon thousands of cars littering the road, but only a handful likely had their brakes on, so it would just be a matter of pushing them off the road.

Come to think of it, I wonder if I could scavenge up some gas and get one of these babies running? I could get to Solmnath in style.

“What are you on abou—Eck Ban!” Brav came to a skidding stop in the sandy soil, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “What on Pharos is this?”

“It’s a road.”

“It’s the ruins of a caravan the size of a city,” he whispered, scanning the thousands of cars