Portal Trouble fiction by Chad Kovac
I felt a terrible stirring of essence in the missing time between the disappearance of celestial bodies and the rise of the golden carrier wave. The kind of stirring that sends shivers up the spines of those who don’t dabble in the grand chaotic arts. But not I. For I am a Grand Druidiotic Practicer, a wizard of unmatched—and often unpredictable—power.
Impervious to the dangers that protective darkness might harbor, I strolled, staff in hand, to my portal dampening device. For when one’s portals are as potent as mine, safeguards are not optional. Last month, a minor miscalculation opened a rift to the Eternal Bakery, and now my goats won’t eat anything but croissants.
The dampener buzzed softly as I approached. Everything seemed in order, no ominous flickering or stray sparks. With practiced ease, I opened my portal, fully expecting the usual swirl of harmless interdimensional ether. My goal was simple: retrieve a misplaced alchemy tome before the library realm slapped me with overdue charges.
But as the portal flared to life, something unexpected emerged. A tendril of unpleasant energy slithered out, followed by a shape that coalesced into something unspeakably wretched.
The creature before me was humanoid, in a way only nightmares could imagine. It wore a faded suit, its tie hanging limp like an afterthought. Its eyes gleamed with a predatory glint, and in one clawed hand, it held a clipboard.
“Greetings, valued customer!” it screeched, voice like nails on a chalkboard. “I’ve come to discuss your portal’s extended warranty!”
I froze. This wasn’t just a horror from beyond the veil. It was worse—it was an interdimensional warranty salesman.
The creature advanced, its grin stretching impossibly wide. “You see, Grand Druidiotic Practicer, your portals are exposed to all sorts of wear and tear—dimensional rift fraying, wormhole wobble, time-loop glitches. But with our premium extended warranty—”
“Silence, fiend!” I bellowed, raising my staff. “I need no warranties! My portals are flawless creations!”
The salesman sniffed. “Oh, really? And how will you handle interdimensional entropy? Or spontaneous gremlin infestations? Just last week, a Practicer in the Ninth Realm—”
I’d heard enough. With a flick of my wrist, I conjured a simple cantrip, a burst of concentrated dismissal energy. The creature shrieked as it disintegrated into a puff of paperwork and oily smoke, its clipboard clattering to the ground before vanishing in a small pop.
The room fell silent. The portal shimmered innocently, as if it had no part in summoning that vile salesperson.
“I banish thee, foul harbinger of unsolicited offers,” I muttered, adjusting my robes.
The golden carrier wave rose at last, washing over me in reassuring light. With a sigh, I turned back to my work. The tome could wait. There were greater threats in this world than overdue charges—like the possibility of another portal warranty pitch.
Such is the perilous life of a Grand Druidiotic Practicer.
Impervious to the dangers that protective darkness might harbor, I strolled, staff in hand, to my portal dampening device. For when one’s portals are as potent as mine, safeguards are not optional. Last month, a minor miscalculation opened a rift to the Eternal Bakery, and now my goats won’t eat anything but croissants.
The dampener buzzed softly as I approached. Everything seemed in order, no ominous flickering or stray sparks. With practiced ease, I opened my portal, fully expecting the usual swirl of harmless interdimensional ether. My goal was simple: retrieve a misplaced alchemy tome before the library realm slapped me with overdue charges.
But as the portal flared to life, something unexpected emerged. A tendril of unpleasant energy slithered out, followed by a shape that coalesced into something unspeakably wretched.
The creature before me was humanoid, in a way only nightmares could imagine. It wore a faded suit, its tie hanging limp like an afterthought. Its eyes gleamed with a predatory glint, and in one clawed hand, it held a clipboard.
“Greetings, valued customer!” it screeched, voice like nails on a chalkboard. “I’ve come to discuss your portal’s extended warranty!”
I froze. This wasn’t just a horror from beyond the veil. It was worse—it was an interdimensional warranty salesman.
The creature advanced, its grin stretching impossibly wide. “You see, Grand Druidiotic Practicer, your portals are exposed to all sorts of wear and tear—dimensional rift fraying, wormhole wobble, time-loop glitches. But with our premium extended warranty—”
“Silence, fiend!” I bellowed, raising my staff. “I need no warranties! My portals are flawless creations!”
The salesman sniffed. “Oh, really? And how will you handle interdimensional entropy? Or spontaneous gremlin infestations? Just last week, a Practicer in the Ninth Realm—”
I’d heard enough. With a flick of my wrist, I conjured a simple cantrip, a burst of concentrated dismissal energy. The creature shrieked as it disintegrated into a puff of paperwork and oily smoke, its clipboard clattering to the ground before vanishing in a small pop.
The room fell silent. The portal shimmered innocently, as if it had no part in summoning that vile salesperson.
“I banish thee, foul harbinger of unsolicited offers,” I muttered, adjusting my robes.
The golden carrier wave rose at last, washing over me in reassuring light. With a sigh, I turned back to my work. The tome could wait. There were greater threats in this world than overdue charges—like the possibility of another portal warranty pitch.
Such is the perilous life of a Grand Druidiotic Practicer.
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