The Isekai App

Back in the Slice again.

I was face to face with none other than HusbandMandy, Owen Walsh himself, Steward of the Feast of Fools. My face, my body. Well, he was chunkier.

And he was in board shorts, no shirt. His skin was covered with some kind of dermal animated cosmetic: green and red lines, designs in constant motion. Runes, schematics, calligraphy in dozens of languages. Non-stop, glowing. A living lantern, even in the bright afternoon.

He looked desperately confused. "You transcended. All of you Chanclateers. And now you're at our barbecue. What's so damn important that you un-transcended? What did you want to tell me?" He ran his hands through his shaggy black hair. "Could have been an email, man."

"Sorry. Be with you in a moment, my friend is melting down."

I went over to Lir, past the dark, shining sculptures.

There was an island in the Slice, just off the coast of Borneo, the Obsidian something. It was covered with many black statues of nonhuman creatures and spongy sweet-smelling clover that felt good on bare feet.

The statues here, or cenotaphs, I'd been told to call them, were of people who had left the Slice. Transcended, gone on to better things. To the Heavyside Layer. I found a statue of a dog, for example, grinning and running, frozen in midair, hovering above its pedestal. And one of a Human male named Sean. Sean seemed like a douche, but all right, good for Sean.

A picnic had grown into a full-blown party. The Feast of Fools itself, menacing and beautiful, hovered off to the East a little, providing shade in the hot afternoon. Cool mist flowed down from its three waterfalls, giving us frequent rainbows. Gardeners drifted lazily, tending its crops and wonders.

Music drifted among us: a cool guy, funny and smooth, singing about how Everybody Eats when they Come to My House.

The Fools themselves, beings of all sorts, operated the massive grill, distributed something like ice cream but was much, much better, helped young kids at arts-and-crafts tables.

"So many cute girls," said Lir. "Oh my god. I'm not ready for this. They're…look at them."

He was right; there were women all over, comfortable in shorts, dresses, casual summer clothing, bare thighs, bare tummies, cleavage. Smiles, laughter, loveliness.

It was killing Lir, who was now a Human male. "I wasn't ready to be so pervy." He looked like he was on the verge of panicking. "Their butts! Get me out of here."

"Not yet," I said. "You've trained for this mission, amigo."

"Oh no no no. I feel like an idiot." Because Lir had chosen his new form specifically to attract ladies; he was the handsomest man ever to walk the earth. Precise features, glossy black hair, wide shoulders and narrow hips. Long, dextrous hands, tall tall tall.

In a pale blue bowling shirt, black collar, on the back was an iron-on Team Chancla! with the face of a glaring red bull as a mascot. "Mateo, why'd you let me do this?"

"You wanted to give it a try because you were impatient with me being shy around girls. You'll be fine, man. You look like Jinu from K-Pop Demon Hunters. Go get 'em, tiger."

He didn't go get 'em. He stayed put, so I walked away and let the Master operate. They could go get him, maybe. Lir was getting the once-over from a lot of the ladies present, but his terrified embarrassment was keeping everyone at a distance. The wide shoulders were hunched, his piercing eyes furtive and shifty.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Aggressive mating plumage on that guy," Owen said. "What's his story? Is he one of you?"

"One of me and you. He's the dude there on that idiot's shoulder:" I pointed at the new statue on the island.

It was six beings all over one pedestal: Lir, in Cazador form, was there, dynamically on the shoulders of the Human figure. A Gardener, somehow hovering in statue form. A Pingster, jaws agape; a Kung Fu Crawdad, posed in some martial arts form or other. All of them were in comic-book action poses.

"Who's the kid?" Owen asked.

"Me," said a Human child, standing next to her sculpture form. The statue version of her was baring its teeth in a ferocious grimace, her tiny Human fists ready for battle.

"Wow, are you famous?" Owen knelt to meet the little girl eye-to-eye. She was maybe five years old, wearing the same Winnie costume I'd seen another kid wearing on Halloween night. "I'm Owen. What's your name, slugger?"

"Molly." Her head craned to look at the rest of the statue. "That's my dad." She pointed at the Human figure in the sculpture, the one with Cazador Lir on his shoulders. "He's a fire fighter guy."

"So glad to meet you, Molly!" And I could tell he was. He'd been watching all the kids, and especially all the parents at the gathering here with the kind of focus I recognized in myself, a mania that consumes all.

"Dad-bod!" It was Mandy Nakahara, charging up and grabbing the belly of her husband. Owen's skin animations flared, burst into fireworks and blinking animated hearts, little anime caricatures of his wife.

Mandy herself. Oh boy. Cute, sure. But I remembered her as Hazel, the chubby sexpot Mata Hari that had all been a lie.

But this wasn't Hazel. I could feel it, she was…good. Sweet-faced, twin pigtails, eyes that missed nothing.

And very pregnant. She was round and jovial, waddling about with short, thick legs, wearing some sort of comfortable, loose garment with purple fish and hearts all over it. I couldn't stop staring; she glowed with good health, smiling and kind. Apocalyptically adorable.

There came that moment that happens now and then post-Sliceday; she could tell I had big feelings when I saw her. Good and bad. She met my eyes, raised an eyebrow.

No point in hiding anything and no way to do it. I made a show of shielding my gaze with my forearm. "Too…charming…my GOD…"

"Oh, I like him. This fellow strongly resembles you, Husband." She peered at me. "Did I hear someone really really cool say you were her dad?"

Molly nodded solemnly. "He let me kill the capitol city." She cleared her throat. "Washington DC is actually its own capitol, did you know? I trampled it." She punched her fist into her hand, marched in place, stomping a few times.

Mandy smiled at her. "Wow, you're so tough! What's your favorite animal?"

"Not a cow. I know you think I'll say cow. I like sinosauropteryx."

Mandy led her away to make a sinosauropteryx, whatever that happened to be, at one of the craft tables. The pregnant goddess also carefully watched her husband and I. I was pretty sure the two of them were conversing telepathically, or maybe they were both fizzing desperately from pregnancy hormones.

Something happened with us: some door came down, or they let me in, or…I felt the furnace blast of their love. They admired and respected and lusted.

Memories of Mandy: a voice in the dark, a force for justice, an executioner of vile gods…

… here she was on their wedding night, naked and luscious, lips parted, panting, blazing like an angel…Owen, a kind of bewildered nerd sorcerer-janitor-king, merciful and kind but vicious and violent and bitchy with foes….surfing naked with her…savoring a campfire, head busily down, hands on her hip bones…

I slapped my face. "Whoa sorry!"

Mandy snorted a laugh, covered her mouth.

Owen smirked. "Happens to some of the adults we meet. Can't be helped; don't hit yourself, dude. Doesn't seem to happen to kids, which…uh…yeah. Anyway I have so many questions. You're a dad? What do I do, man?"

I shrugged. "Oh please, you got this. Look at you. Look at all this! You're … this!"

"Oh yeah, well you're that!"

We simultaneously narrowed our eyes and glared at one another. Then, in chorus: "Wanna make out?"

It had the desired effect: Mandy went into more of that giggling snort. We watched her with satisfaction. She waved us away, building what looked like an earless Cazador with Molly.

"We gotta talk," I said.

"I know."