Chapter Text
This was stupid.
Incredibly stupid.
Quite possibly the dumbest decision of your life.
But you knew that. And you were doing it anyway.
“Why?” Any sane person might ask. Because you wanted chicken nuggets. And you were broke. So, who better to ask than the gods for some cash? Courtesy of your lovely friend for reminding you of their existence. You should really thank them later. Maybe you could budget to part with some of your precious nuggets for them.
Anywho, you had a blood ritual to get back to. Sure, maybe not the most pleasant result of all your sleep-deprived decisions, but it would… probably be fine. You’ve been through worse. Though right now, you were craving some good ol’ 3am nuggies, and you were a determined lil’ shit to get them. Come hell or high water, you were getting those nuggets.
And who would deprive you of that?
——————
Turns out, a lot of things could.
The main one of which being: blood loss.
You… may have greatly underestimated the cutting power of your handy-dandy kitchen knife. You also may have forgotten to prep any sort of preventative measures to stave off such bleeding. But, uh, it’ll probably be fine.
You’ve… you’ve survived worse, right?
You’ll be fine. Totally fine. If anything, this should make the ritual even more effective. Too much blood never hurt anyone, right?
You were beginning to question the authenticity of that forum post you found the ritual on. It had claimed to summon creatures of godly origin— “100% guaranteed every try!” But as your blood began to pool and seep into the chalk covered floorboards of your apartment with little fanfare… you weren’t too sure of it. Things were starting to turn slightly blurry, dizziness and nausea not helping that fact. The weight of your actions was starting to form a pit in your stomach, the climbing sense of impending doom making itself known to even your half-lucid self. You were beginning to become… startlingly awake. The first peaks of adrenaline had already entered your system, heart rate increasing with every fumbling step forward. You had to get help.
You had to—
…
…Did your floor always glow that shade of green?
…
Yes, you decide, that was normal. Just another attempt of the floor goblins to bite your toes off. “Spit acid all you want, you aren’t winning today,” you triumphantly mutter to yourself. For extra measure, you stumble over to the summoning circle and start to kick at the green glow. Your efforts are rewarded with the “acid” slowly dissipating, instead replaced with a lovely black smoke. Said smoke begins to pool and expand to cover nearly the whole room. But even in your near-drunken state, you notice that the smoke only really gathers at the places where your blood had spilled. Slowly, the smoke begins to clear off the blood, taking it with it as it retreats back to the circle it came from.
Ah, the cleaning elves, you reason to yourself. “Thank you, cleaning elves!” You near-shout into the circle as the smoke too begins to dissipate. At your call, the circle starts to glow once more, and you are compelled to state your deepest desire.
“…Chicken nuggets.”
With those magic words, the circle glows brighter. The strong green glow it emits almost feels like an encompassing warmth to your numbing skin. It soothes you, letting all your distant thoughts and worries over your very possible near-death simply drift away. Before you know it, you’re already snoozing away on your chalk covered floorboards.
——————
“Hey, mortal. Wake up.”
At the prodding of an incessant voice, you begin to feel out for the first wisps of consciousness you can grasp a hold of. You immediately regret it, however, when you’re flooded with the rush of sensations your injuries provide you. Hurt and pain is all you can process for a few excruciating moments.
Is this what dying feels like?
“You’re not dying. Not yet. But you are wasting my time.”
You draw your aching limbs toward your chest in an attempt to savor the lingering warmth of that pleasant green glow, mourning its loss. It takes another few moments for your brain to catch up with what was said, and all it comes back with is confusion. You dutifully express this confusion in as eloquent a manner as you can muster.
“…Huh?”
You slowly peel your eyelids open, blinking the crustiness away before attempting to focus on the figure in front of you. All you can make out is the blurring lines of something shrouded in what looked like living darkness. A shadow-thing.
“That was painfully slow to watch, even with the great caliber of patience granted to beings such as I.”
You blinked at the shadow-thing. The shadow-thing blinked back. Only then did you register that the shadow-thing had eyes, and was talking. To you.
“What the heck are you?!”
You think you’re given the most unimpressed look you’ve ever received in your life, and that’s saying something, given your usual bouts of idiocy.
With the composure only several lifetimes could have gained, the shadow-thing heaves a heavily burdened sigh and fixes you with a rather neutral glare, all things considered.
“I am a being who hails from a land far beyond your mortal plane. Many fear my existence for what it is, and rightfully so. Most currently, I’ve been summoned by you to fulfill your heart’s deepest yearning. Now tell me, mortal, what is it you desire?”
Without hesitation, “Chicken nuggets” is your simple reply.
A heavy silence hangs in the air. The living darkness of the shadow-thing shifts, briefly, and you think you catch the barest hint of a man’s outline before it reverts back just as soon as it had shifted. You momentarily question whether you had seen it shift at all. Maybe you were seeing things, you wouldn’t be surprised. But regardless of your mental sanity, you decide to change your dub of shadow-thing to shadow-man for the time being, for your own sake. It’s not like anyone would know.
…The shadow-man is glaring harder at you. What were you talking about, again?
“…Excuse me?”
You stare blankly at the shadow-man, hoping for some clue to the conversation at hand. At your blank stare, the shadow-man’s face appears to scrunch up like that of a particularly disturbed cat. You start to glance around, briefly, as if that would magically clue you in to why the shadow-man is staring at you like you personally offended his bloodline. …Maybe you had, actually, now that you think about it.
“How are you even alive, truly? You’re more of a hálfviti than a þurs!”
You blink at the shadow-man and decidedly ignore the gibberish you heard, giving him an honest shrug. You really needed to get your hearing checked. “I don’t know, man. I thought I passed out from blood loss a while ago.”
“Not that. Your survival skills are abysmal, and your basic capacity for intelligent functioning seems even lower than that, somehow.”
You shrug again. “But I’m alive, that’s what matters, right?”
“…”
“…That reminds me, why aren’t I dead right now?”
The shadow-man lets out another heavy sigh. “That knowledge goes beyond even my capabilities, but in terms of your injuries, you have the summoning circle to thank for that.” At your curious stare, he continues. “The circle seals all external wounds and ensures the summoner won’t die. We’ve long since learned to take precautions when dealing with your kind, for all its tendency toward idiocy. What you did was incredibly stupid, yes, but it’ll heal. …It might even be my reason for being here, given how much blood you shed.”
The shadow-man appears to realize something and shakes his head. “Regardless, we have greater matters to attend to. What, Midgardian, do you desire? There are times for pranks and trickery, and this is not one of them.”
“Chicken nuggets.”
The shadow-man’s demeanor instantly hardens. “What do you mean ‘chicken nuggets’?”
“I mean chicken nuggets. Y’know, fast food. That’s all I want.”
The shadow-man gives another glare. He seems to do that a lot. “I know what chicken nuggets are, mortal. Do you mean to say you wish for an infinite supply of food?”
“Nah, just a meal.”
The shadow-man’s eye appears to twitch. “Then, do you mean to wish for a large sum of money to purchase all the nuggets you want with?”
“Nope, just the nuggets.”
His eye seems to twitch more erratically. “Surely you’d mean to wish for the most satisfying meal of your life with those nuggets, then?”
“No thanks, I’m content with the taste as is. Comfort food is called as such for a reason.”
“You… just want nuggets?”
“Yep.”
“...”
“…”
“No.”
“What?”
“I said no. I refuse to believe that is your wish.”
“Why not?”
“There is simply no way that all a mortal desires in life is but an easily accessible food item— it’s absurd!”
“Convenience is everything, man. I just want some comfort food, and I’m broke. So, can you gimme the chicken nuggets or what?”
The shadow-man eyes you in exasperation. “Is that truly all you want? No money, fame, or power? You’d sell your soul for some chicken nuggets?”
“Yep,” you shrug. “Now, can we get on with it?” You squint your eyes suspiciously. “…Or is it that you can’t get me my nuggets? That seems kinda weak, dude.”
The entity before you half-sputters and gives a scathing glare. “I am far from ‘weak,’ mortal. You’d do well to respect me of that.”
You eye the shadow-man impatiently, uncaring of the consequences. If he were that fed up with you he’d have killed you by now, right?
The shadow-man heaves an especially burdened sigh for the third time tonight, and you are prompted to ask a question that’s been bothering you.
“Why are you so weirded out by this? Surely you’ve come across weirder in all your human wish-granting.”
That gives the shadow-man pause.
“...”
“I am not usually one for summons.” He sounds almost excruciated to say this. “Normally such matters are delegated to those more… acquainted with Midgardians, such as my dimwitted brother. It has been many a millennia since I was last summoned.” The shadow-man pauses, looking at you thoughtfully. “You must truly embody a spirit of mischief to have called upon me. That, or— hm.” Shadow-man eyes the lack of spark behind your glazed-over eyes. “Perhaps this is another punishment of mine.”
That causes you to snap to attention. “Why would you be punished?”
Shadow-man deadpans. “I’m the god of trickery, what have you think?”
“…”
"...”
“…You’re a god?”
“Yes? What did you think I was? Was that not the ritual you performed?”
“I mean, yeah, but you look more like a personified thunder cloud than anything I thought you’d look like.”
Shadow-man narrows his eyes at you. “...Judgy, much?”
You put your hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I just thought you were some ethereal wish-goblin.”
If looks could kill, oh boy. Shadow-man was looking downright genocidal.
“Hey, hey,” you try to appease, “I’m saying this is a total upgrade, not that I’d think my wish wouldn’t be granted either way, of course.”
Shadow-man keeps a steady glare on you, before dragging his head upwards in exasperation. “...I can just hear them snickering now,” you think you hear him mutter.
“Well, uh,” you cough into your hand, “speaking of wishes…”
“Yes, yes, you’ll get your nuggets. I’ll have you know, this petty disguise is not by choice. The gods who are summoned cannot be seen by their summoners, courtesy of the same summoning circle that ensured your survival.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you so bad. Look, just give me my nuggets and I’ll be out of your hair, er, clouds. Your storminess.”
For the fourth time that night the shadow-man sighs his soul away, straightening up afterwards. “Listen, for whatever reason, the amount of blood you sacrificed and your, ahem, charming personality were enough to call me here to the mortal plane. There is only one deal we make with mortals following that: your soul in exchange for granting your heart’s deepest desire.”
“…Isn’t that more demon-like?”
“I don’t make the rules, nor do I have the power to contest them. I only follow them.”
“…Alright then. Easy enough, I accept.”
Shadow-man looked surprised by your easy acceptance, but then again, he really shouldn’t be. You’ve proven yourself to be quite divergent from the typical human model over the course of the few hours you’d spent together. Now it was simply time for that to come to an end. Strangely, you feel almost… disappointed by that. You think you see something similar mirrored in the eyes of the entity before you, though his face certainly didn’t show it. As much as you bantered, you don’t think you’d mind crossing paths with this shadow man again. Whether you’d admit it or not, he made for nice company. You can see something clearly plagues his mind, and it most certainly isn’t any of your business, but you find that you wouldn’t mind being the one to help him through that someday. But, ah, you’re just the idiot human. You have your part to play. Perhaps that might change one day, but you have a long time coming before then.
The moment holds a certain reverence as the shadow-man offers his hand to you. You feel a wave of nostalgia as you recall a similar scene in a movie you once loved.
Come on boys, won’t you shake a poor sinner’s hand?
You take his hand with all the respect the moment accounted for, giving it a firm shake once, twice. With a small flourish, the deal is firmly sealed. A small remnant of the deal remains in the form of a mark left on your palm, but you don’t find yourself too worried.
“The mark isn’t visible to anyone but those directly involved in the deal, so you won’t have to worry about covering it up. It should fade when the deal is completed on both ends.”
You try to listen, you really do, but you just feel so inexplicably tired after shaking his hand. You find yourself slowly nodding off without your consent.
“…Aren’t you gonna take my soul?”
“We only collect after your life has met its natural end.”
“Oh… see you again someday, then?” You try to smile as wide as your tired face might allow.
You think you hear the tiniest sliver of a chuckle before you find yourself no longer able to hold yourself upright. Your eyes close as you fall not onto the hardwood floor you had expected, but rather, into the soft arms of someone breaking your fall. You feel said arms begin to carry you, and before you know it, you’re being lowered onto the comfy sheets of your bed.
“Rest up, mortal. You’ll have your nuggets come morning.”
As your consciousness slowly slips away, you have one last fleeting thought before you succumb to the comfy abyss of your dreams: You forgot to ask for his name.