The Church, the Mage, and the Snarky AI

Chapter 6: The Cleanser

Life is full of illusions. Your phone is vibrating in your pocket, that cute barista is into you, and you can turn the tables on your captor.

Kyle found himself firmly in the grip of that third illusion.

Trusting in the AI's ability to put the incantation on loop, he focused all his mental energy on the words, intent on mastering the binding spell and using it to gain the upper hand on Michelle. And the AI didn't let him down, dutifully repeating the mystical phrase ad nauseum.

No, the one who let Kyle down was Kyle.

No matter how many times the AI looped the chant, no matter how intently Kyle concentrated, he simply could not wrap his mind around the intricacies of the spell.

By focusing his thoughts inward, he found himself back in that strange mindscape. Everything was just as he'd left it - an endless expanse of inky black nothing, the luminous blue triangle thrumming with eldritch power. The AI's voice echoed through the space, the incantation repeating over and over, just as it had with the water sphere.

But nothing happened.

It was like trying to start a fire with damp kindling and a plastic spoon. No matter how much he scraped and sparked, his efforts fizzled.

"That metaphor's a bit of a reach," the AI piped up, abruptly cutting off the playback. "This is less 'the wood is too wet to burn' and more 'you're rubbing two bricks together and calling it a bonfire.' You're not even working with the right elements here, chief."

Kyle hadn't exactly been angling for a critique, but something in the AI's tone gave him pause.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's your take on this mess?"

If an incorporeal string of code could puff up with self-importance, this one was doing a bang-up job of it. It affected a pretentious throat-clearing noise, then slipped into its best impression of a lecturing professor.

"The mindscape is your mental garage. The incantation is your toolbox. That first spell you fumbled into was like prying open the lock with a crowbar. Congrats, you're in. But that little breaking and entering trick won't fly twice. You can't just grab any old tool off the rack and expect it to fit the job. Square peg, round hole, you scan?"

"…so what I'm hearing is that I'm back to square one. Fantastic."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger, buddy. I'm just calling it like I see it."

Kyle shook his head, equal parts frustration and begrudging acceptance.

As much as he hated to admit it, the AI had a point. Trying to strong-arm his way into arcane mastery was a fool's errand. He'd have better luck squeezing water from a stone.

But if not through brute force, then how?

The downside to being an accidental mage was becoming painfully clear. He'd stumbled backwards into power, but he had no idea how to actually use it. He was flying blind, feeling his way forward and hoping he didn't face-plant into a wall.

Kyle seethed with impotent frustration. He was half-tempted to swallow his pride and beg Michelle for a crash course in Spellcasting 101.

"Welp, looks like that binding spell was a bust. Bummer." The AI didn't even try to hide its glee at being freed from its one-phrase purgatory.

"You do realize that if I can't pull this off, Michelle is going to end me, right? And when I bite the big one, you're coming along for the ride." Kyle felt the need to remind his digital tagalong of their shared fate.

That certainly killed the AI's buzz.

With the incantation gambit well and truly tanked, Kyle decided to cut his losses and try a different angle.

This mindscape, this mental projection of his inner world, was the wellspring of his power. If he had any hope of turning this situation around, the key had to be hidden somewhere in the oppressive gloom.

Of course, staring slack-jawed at the void wasn't going to net him any earth-shattering epiphanies. Kyle pondered for a moment, then crossed to the floating triangle.

He thrust out a hand, aiming his palm at the sigil, and intoned the words of the water sphere incantation.

The effect was instantaneous. The triangle shivered as if struck by an unseen tuning fork, emitting a single crystalline note. The sound seemed to ripple through the mindscape, a wave of force both subtle and profound.

Kyle gasped, eyes flaring wide.

He could feel it, a strange resonance humming through his body like an electric current. A not-quite-pins-and-needles sensation, equal parts unsettling and exhilarating.

When he came back to himself, a shimmering orb of water hovered above his outstretched hand.

"Well would you look at that! A genuine, bona fide water balloon." The AI slathered on the sarcasm like cheap body spray. "So what's the plan, kemosabe? You gonna defeat the dastardly Michelle with the power of wet willies and surprise super soakers?"

Kyle paid the snide comments no mind.

In the instant the water sphere formed, the fabric of the mindscape seemed to shift, snapping into focus like a dislocated joint popping back into place. It was as if a veil had been ripped away, a sixth sense he'd never known he possessed dragging the hidden things into the light. Overwhelming, staggering, transcendent…

The moment passed in a hummingbird's heartbeat, but the afterimage seared itself into his mind's eye.

The mindscape practically shimmered with arcane potential, the air thick and heady with it.

In its passive state, this energy - this power - suffused the space like a fine mist, static and directionless. But the instant Kyle spoke the words of power, the triangle flared to life, acting as a metaphysical magnet. The dormant energy leapt to obey, swirling into the center of the glyph, coalescing, transmuting…

And from that critical mass of intent and invocation, the water sphere bloomed.

The triangle was a conduit, the incantation a lure, the finished spell a marvel of metaphysical engineering, the end result of will and raw energy in perfect concert.

For the briefest of moments, Kyle glimpsed the inner workings of magic, that tantalizing slice of the cosmic machinery.

But his elation barely had time to register before dread came crashing down like a bucket of ice water.

Because he could sense the fundamental nature of this power, the invisible leylines thrumming through the air.

That subtle tang of petrichor, that thrum of primal, burgeoning life… it was the element of water, pure and undiluted.

And when he repeated the binding incantation, directing all his focus towards the triangle, he felt the energy recoil from his ham-fisted overtures, actively resisting his call.

It was painfully clear that water magic and binding magic were not cut from the same metaphysical cloth.

Unwilling to throw in the towel, Kyle cast his mind wide, desperate to catch even the barest flicker of compatible energy. But no matter how far he reached, water was the only note in this one-song symphony.

The power was playful, capricious, dancing just out of reach. It deigned to cooperate, but only just, and only on its own terms. To Kyle's immense frustration, his mastery of this mercurial force was tenuous at best.

"Ain't that a kick in the pants," the AI grumbled. "Of all the elements in all the worlds, you get saddled with the one that's only good for party tricks and ruining a good pair of slacks. Congrats, Aquaman. Your superpower is being a human sprinkler system."

As much as he hated to concede the point, Kyle couldn't argue with the AI's assessment.

The water sphere was a cool visual, but it didn't exactly scream 'tactical advantage.' Certainly not against the likes of Michelle.

His grand plan to turn the tables had fizzled out before it could even get off the ground. So much for that brief, shining moment where he'd felt like the spider instead of the fly. This world seemed to take perverse pleasure in chewing up his hopes and spitting them out.

Dead end after dead end, every path forward crumbling to dust beneath his feet…

Kyle opened his eyes, the cloying dark of the mindscape giving way to the bone-deep shadows of the forest.

The wind whispered through the leaves, the boughs creaking a mournful counterpoint. Michelle perched on an adjacent branch, hooded and motionless as a living gargoyle. Between the distance and the darkness, Kyle couldn't make out her expression beneath the concealing cowl.

Come to think of it, he hadn't managed to get a clear look at her face once since this whole mad affair began. She was an enigma, a cipher, the quintessential wicked sorceress - a bottomless font of Machiavellian schemes and sinister designs.

He glared at her shrouded form as if he could pierce the ethereal barriers through sheer force of desperation, searching in vain for some chink in her eldritch armor.

"Oh ho! Is that the sweet stink of desperation I detect?" The AI butted in with malicious glee, its digital voice dripping with fake concern. "Finally ready to deploy the nuclear option, eh? The old 'if you can't beat 'em, seduce 'em' gambit? A bold strategy, Cotton. Let's see if it pays off!"

Kyle paid the AI no mind.

He had no intention of taking its asinine advice. Even if he could bring himself to stoop so low, there was no guarantee Michelle would take the bait. His adventures in this brave new world had made one thing abundantly clear - he was no harem protagonist, blessed with an irresistible charm that sent women swooning into his arms.

No, he had a different plan. A gambit.

He was going to have a little chat with Michelle.

Or rather, he was going to attempt to negotiate. Just like when he'd first crossed over, he'd use the scant few bargaining chips at his disposal to cut a deal, to convince Michelle to let him live.

It was a long shot, sure, but what other choice did he have? Even if it was a bad idea, it wasn't like he had much left to lose. Rock, meet bottom.

Kyle was nothing if not tenacious.

Steeling himself, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"Miss Michelle, you're in a very precarious position right now."

Rule number one of negotiation: establish dominance, project confidence, sell the danger.

Of course, he knew it would take more than a vague proclamation to rattle Michelle's cage. That was just his opening salvo.

***

In Kyle's mind, the conversation would go a little something like this:

"Miss Michelle, you're in a very precarious position right now."

Michelle, her voice dripping with disdain: "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

Kyle, unleashing his most sinister chuckle: "You thought sacrificing Annie would buy you time, but unfortunately for you, my family already knows your true objective. They're lying in wait at the vault, ready to spring the trap the moment you show your face."

Michelle, her composure shattering: "Impossible! How could they have found out?"

Kyle, howling with laughter: "Hahaha, you fool! I left a trail of clues along our route, breadcrumbs for my family to follow. Didn't see that coming, did you? Face it, Michelle - in the battle of wits, you're hopelessly outclassed!"

Michelle, stricken, all the color draining from her face: "What do I do, what do I do? Please, you have to help me, I'll do anything you say!"

And then Kyle would have her right where he wanted her. He'd offer her a deal - play nice, escort him back to his family, and he'd put in a good word, maybe even help her get her hands on that oh-so-precious vault.

She'd be putty in his hands, too grateful for his mercy to even consider double-crossing him. And once he was free and clear, well… a promise made under duress hardly counted as binding, now did it?

Michelle would be left with nothing, and he'd waltz away scot-free.

It was foolproof! Bulletproof! A masterstroke of manipulation!

Kyle stroked his chin, preening at his own unparalleled genius.

But of course, as anyone with two brain cells to rub together could've predicted, things didn't quite go according to plan.

Michelle ignored him entirely.

Kyle refused to let himself panic. Setbacks were to be expected. The road to victory was paved with potholes. He couldn't let one little speedbump derail his grand scheme.

He tried again, undeterred.

"I'm not being hyperbolic, you know. Your position is precarious, whether you choose to believe it or not."

Finally, Michelle deigned to respond.

"I believe you. You're absolutely right."

Kyle's words died in his throat.

Something about this didn't feel quite right.

Michelle's tone was placid, nonchalant. "You left a trail of breadcrumbs along our route, clues for your family to follow. Unfortunately for me, they've discovered my true aim - the vault. They're lying in wait, ready to spring the trap the moment I show my face."

"…"

Kyle was starting to feel like he'd walked into the wrong play.

The AI chimed in, its incorporeal voice dripping with secondhand embarrassment. "Oof. Gotta say, I really hate it when they don't stick to the script like this. How's a guy supposed to deliver his lines when his scene partner keeps stealing them?"

Kyle had never empathized with the desire to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground more. The urge to simply cease to exist had never been stronger.

Even without being able to see Michelle's face, he could FEEL the smug condescension radiating off her in waves. He'd thought perhaps she hadn't noticed his secret messages, that he still had an ace up his sleeve, but…

Well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"Uh. Well. Even if you did notice my signals, that doesn't necessarily mean you, uh. Cleaned up after me."

"Oh, I didn't," Michelle confirmed breezily. "Your little trail of breadcrumbs is still intact. Pristine, even."

Now Kyle was REALLY thrown for a loop.

If she hadn't destroyed the evidence, then the Lithers would have no trouble sniffing out her plan. They'd be camped out in front of that vault, just waiting to pounce. It was the same outcome Kyle had been gunning for, just without the part where he got to act like a smug, gloating mastermind.

So then why? Why was Michelle going out of her way to sabotage herself?

Bewildered, he pressed on.

"Why? Surely you realize this is only going to make things harder for you. What's your angle here?"

Michelle let out a sharp bark of laughter.

But before she could explain herself, the moment shattered.

Quick as a flash, she produced a dagger from the billowing folds of her robe, pressing the razor edge against Kyle's throat hard enough to dimple the skin.

"Not a sound, or I'll paint the trees red with your blood," she hissed.

The blade was so cold it burned, a line of ice kissing his jugular. Kyle's mouth went dry, his blood turning to slush in his veins.

Crap on a stick! What was this psycho doing?

One twitch, one spasm, one errant breath, and he'd be re-enacting that elevator scene from 'The Shining.' And not in a fun, Halloween party way.

Kyle was suddenly, acutely aware of the sweat gathering at his hairline, beading his brow.

But even with the looming specter of death hovering over him like a shroud, he fought to steady his thundering pulse. To THINK.

For all her violent lunacy, Michelle still needed him alive. His continued existence was the linchpin of her scheme. She wouldn't snuff him out on a whim.

If she wanted him silent, then something had to have triggered her psycho switch. Kyle's best bet was to do as he was told - clam up, wait it out, keep his neck in one piece.

As if to punctuate that thought, the sound of approaching hoofbeats shattered the forest's tranquility.

Kyle strained his eyes, peering into the gloom.

From the shadows emerged a phalanx of knights, their every movement crackling with power and purpose.

At a glance, Kyle counted a little over a dozen riders. They moved in perfect synchronicity, their formation so crisp and uniform, it could've been ripped from the pages of a geometry textbook. Each man was clad from head to toe in ornate armor, the intricate etchings and engravings a testament to the skill of their craftsmanship.

But most shockingly of all, the armor GLOWED, the metal thrumming with an ethereal golden light that pierced the forest's black heart like a flaming sword. Wreathed in this hallowed radiance, the knights seemed more akin to avenging angels than mortal men, divine judgment personified.

A dozen riders, yet their mere presence conjured the illusion of a thousand.

The very instant the knights crested the horizon, Kyle felt Michelle go rigid against him, her whole body seizing up like a corpse in full rigor.

Questions pinballed through his mind at breakneck speed.

Who were these glowing tin cans? What was their connection to Michelle? Did she know they'd be passing through? Was that the reason for her sudden panic? Could it be… were these guys the Lithers' goon squad, here to crash the party?

Kyle wasn't suicidal enough to try to flag them down for an assist. He was painfully aware of the steel kissing his jugular, a razor's edge from opening him up like a stuck pig.

The knights never so much as glanced in their direction, their purpose apparently fixed elsewhere. They thundered on through the brush and were swallowed by the night as swiftly as they'd emerged, there and gone between one blink and the next.

Only once the sound of hoofbeats had faded into memory did Kyle feel Michelle sag against him, the tension bleeding from her muscles.

A small eternity seemed to crawl by before she saw fit to remove the blade from his neck.

Slowly, tentatively, Kyle reached up to rub at his throat. He could still feel the phantom kiss of the metal, cold as the grave.

Just what was that woman playing at? Who were those glowing knights, really? And the question she'd so artfully dodged - why HADN'T she covered Kyle's tracks?

The mysteries were piling up faster than he could unravel them, the threads hopelessly tangled.

But before he could prod Michelle for answers, she beat him to the punch.

"Sir Lither, I apologize for my… inelegance just now. I'm sure you understand - one can never be too careful." She made a show of inspecting her dagger for bloodstains before secreting it away once more. "Now, I believe I owe you an explanation vis-a-vis that little trail of breadcrumbs you were so proud of."

Kyle waited with bated breath as she cast her gaze back the way the knights had come, her face an inscrutable mask beneath her cowl.

"I'm afraid it's rather a moot point. As it happens, I never had any intention of covering my tracks."

Kyle's mind reeled.

"What are you saying?"

A pause, heavy with unspoken insinuation. When Michelle spoke again, there was a smirk in her voice, cold and mocking.

"Did you honestly believe your family would come riding to your rescue? That you'd be saved by the bell?"

Kyle's stomach plummeted like a stone.

"Poor thing. You and Annie, thick as thieves… and twice as gullible. There IS no rescue party. There never was. Those brave knights you pinned your hopes on? The ones 'hot on our heels?' Nothing but a fairy tale I spun out of moonbeams and wishful thinking. The only ones tailing us…"

She jerked her chin in the direction of the departed knights, every word dripping venom.

"…are them."

Kyle was struggling to wrap his mind around this revelation.

Had the Lither clan truly forsaken him, left him to twist in the wind? Thrown him to the wolves without so much as a fare-thee-well?

But then… what about Michelle's fabled "rescue party?" The shadow dogging their steps, hounding their every move? The phantom menace that had Annie jumping at shadows and Michelle herself constantly looking over one shoulder? Was that nothing more than smoke and mirrors?

It beggared belief. And yet…

Had he fallen for the ruse as well, swallowed Michelle's story hook, line and sinker?

The sheer scope of her machinations was staggering. To think, she'd had them all dancing to her tune from minute one, playing them off one another like a master conductor. Not even her own lackey was safe from her forked tongue.

Of course Kyle, still wet behind the ears, had been taken in by her silver words. He'd been so SURE he had the upper hand, so convinced he was the spider and she the fly. But in truth, he'd been the dupe all along, every "clever" scheme playing right into her hands.

An ordinary man would have crumbled beneath the weight of such a crushing defeat. Thrown himself upon the witch's mercy and begged for a quick death.

But Kyle (and the narrator) had put far too much effort into this little passion play to bow out so anti-climactically.

"Wait. Hold on. Back up a second." Kyle's brain was firing on all cylinders, desperately trying to salvage some scrap of advantage from this unmitigated disaster. "If there IS no rescue party, then who were those guys? The glow-in-the-dark brigade that just rolled through."

He jabbed an accusatory finger at the space the knights had recently vacated, his eyes boring into Michelle's shadowed face.

Kyle had never been a particularly sharp judge of character, but even his sluggish emotional IQ could parse the subtle shift in Michelle's demeanor as she considered her answer.

At last, she deigned to respond, her voice curiously flat.

"They… are the Church's 'Cleansers.'"

"Cleansers? What is that, some kind of holy janitorial service?"

Michelle was silent for a long moment, staring off into the middle distance as if seeing through the veil of night to some bleak vista beyond mortal ken. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath, the air gone heavy and still.

And then, with an air of bone-deep weariness… she laughed.

A low, bitter sound, the grating scrape of a final breath rattling in a punctured lung. As if every cruel twist of fate was an especially cutting punchline, every fresh horror a morbid jest for her amusement alone.

"Cleansers." The word dripped from her tongue like acid, scouring away the last vestiges of her black mirth.

"They cleanse filth… starting with Annie."