? Darian’s supernatural nonsense.
? Arias breaking into their van like it was his personal lounge.
? A parade of eldritch horrors.
? The realization that physics simply did not apply to these two.
? Her sanity being tested daily by sheer chaos.
What she was not prepared for was Arias looking her dead in the eyes and saying:
“So, Monroe. You should go on a date with me.”
Monroe blinked. “Excuse me?”
Arias smirked. “You heard me.”
Stevens, sitting next to her, spit out his coffee.
“I—what—ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
Arias grinned. “Oh, very.”
Monroe crossed her arms. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”
Arias shrugged. “Because I’m charming, devastatingly handsome, and frankly, after dealing with Darian, I think you deserve a nice evening.”
Monroe opened her mouth. Closed it.
Stevens whispered, “Say no.”
Arias leaned on the table. “Say yes.”
Monroe sighed. “One date. That’s it.”
Arias beamed. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Stevens muttered, “This is going to be a disaster.”
The second Monroe left for the date, Stevens turned to Darian.
“So, we’re watching them, right?”
Darian took a slow sip of his coffee. “Obviously.”
Stevens nodded. “Good. Good. Just wanted to make sure.”
Within ten minutes, they were already set up in a surveillance van across the street from the restaurant.
Stevens adjusted the high-powered binoculars. “I hate that he looks so damn smooth.”
Darian, casually munching on a burger, raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”
Stevens scoffed. “Of Arias? Please.”
Then he paused.
“…Do you think he actually has game?”
Darian took another bite of his burger. “Oh, absolutely.”
Arias took Monroe to a high-end rooftop restaurant, the kind where the waiters acted like they were blessing you with food instead of serving it.
Monroe, dressed in a sleek black dress, sipped her wine and eyed Arias suspiciously.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Arias smirked. “Come on, admit it—you’re at least a little curious.”
Monroe rolled her eyes. “Curious about how much of a disaster this will be? Yes.”
From the van, Stevens sighed. “I feel like I should be getting paid overtime for this.”
Darian chuckled. “I feel like we should be selling tickets.”
Back at the restaurant, the waiter approached with a knowing smile.
“Ah,” he said, “date night?”
Monroe, deadpan, said, “No.”
Arias grinned. “Yes.”
The waiter beamed. “Lovely! We actually have a couple’s special tonight. Would you like the romantic dessert platter?”
Monroe glared. “Absolutely not.”
Arias chuckled. “Oh, come on, Monroe. Live a little.”
From the van, Stevens muttered, “I swear to God, if she actually enjoys this, I will riot.”
Darian, amused, zoomed in with a long-range camera. “She’s fighting it, but I think he’s wearing her down.”
Stevens groaned. “I hate this.”
Just when Monroe thought the night couldn’t get worse, some wannabe rich playboy walked up to their table.
Overconfident. Smug. Reeking of bad cologne.
“Well, well,” the man said, smirking at Monroe. “What’s a lovely woman like you doing with a guy like him?”
Monroe sighed. “Not in the mood.”
Arias, annoyed, looked at the man. “You can leave now.”
The playboy ignored him and leaned closer to Monroe. “Come on, darling, I can show you a much better time.”
From the van, Stevens muttered, “Oh, he’s about to die.”
Darian nodded. “Yeah, this guy’s not surviving.”
Back at the table, Arias cracked his knuckles.
“You know,” he said pleasantly, “it takes a special kind of stupid to hit on someone else’s date right in front of them.”
The playboy laughed. “What, you gonna fight me?”
Arias grinned. “You wouldn’t survive it.”
The guy scoffed—then suddenly his wine glass froze solid.
He blinked. “What the—”
The candle on the table burst into blue flames.
The playboy stumbled backward.
Arias smiled charmingly. “I’ll give you a ten-second head start.”
The playboy ran.
Monroe sighed. “Really?”
Arias grinned. “What? I was polite.”
From the van, Stevens groaned. “Why does that actually work for him?”
Darian smirked. “Because he’s an absolute menace and people like danger.”
Stevens sighed. “Monroe’s not gonna fall for this, right?”
Darian paused.
Then zoomed in with the camera.
Monroe was smirking.
“Oh no,” Stevens whispered. “She’s enjoying herself.”
Darian chuckled. “Congratulations, Agent Stevens. You just lost your partner to Arias.”
Stevens buried his face in his hands. “This is my worst nightmare.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
That night, as Stevens sat in the van having an existential crisis, his phone buzzed.
A text.
From Monroe.
“Had a good time. Don’t wait up.”
Stevens screamed into a pillow.
Darian laughed the entire way home.
Darian & Arias vs. The Chaos of Sports Bars
Darian had fought gods, survived eldritch nightmares, and battled forces beyond mortal comprehension, but nothing had quite prepared him for the unrelenting sensory overload of a sports bar on game night.
The place was loud. Not just loud in the way that battlefields were loud, but a deafening cacophony of overlapping conversations, guttural cheers, and the occasional, heartfelt scream of a fan whose team had just fumbled a crucial play. It was, in Darian’s opinion, a level of chaos that was both pointless and deeply unsettling.
"This is madness," he muttered, staring at the dozen massive screens blasting different games. The walls vibrated with cheers, arguments, and the occasional curse of a devoted fan in agony. Servers weaved through the crowds like battlefield scouts, dodging outstretched hands, gesturing sports analysts on TV, and the occasional half-thrown coaster.
Arias, on the other hand, was thriving. "This is amazing. Look at all these people, so emotionally invested in a game they’re not even playing!"
Darian eyed the crowd. Half the patrons were yelling at the screens as if their sheer willpower could alter reality. The other half were hunched over tables, clutching drinks as though their very souls depended on the outcome of the match.
A waitress passed by, expertly dodging a stray fist pump, and set two beers on their table. "You boys here for the game?"
Darian opened his mouth, but Arias cut in. "We’re here for the experience," he said, grinning. "He’s never seen a team sport before."
The waitress blinked. "Never?"
Darian crossed his arms. "I have engaged in many forms of battle, but not… this."
Arias clapped his hands together. "This is going to be so much fun."
The first half-hour was a whirlwind of confusion for Darian. The game—a sport involving an oblong ball, much shouting, and a baffling number of interruptions—made little sense to him. Every few minutes, the game would stop, people would yell, and then it would start again.
"Why do they keep stopping?" Darian asked, frowning. "Did the battle pause for a tactical discussion?"
"Time-outs," Arias explained. "Strategizing. Resting. Also, commercials."
Darian’s frown deepened. "This is inefficient. Let them fight continuously."
A man at the next table turned and chuckled. "Trust me, buddy, you don’t want to see that. Half these guys would drop dead in ten minutes."
Darian took another sip of his drink and observed. As the game progressed, the energy in the bar shifted—drinks were raised, insults were hurled, and one particularly intense man near the bar looked on the verge of throwing his chair.
Then came a crucial play. The entire bar held its breath. The ball soared through the air. A player leaped. Caught it.
The place erupted.
Arias was on his feet, cheering along with everyone else, despite not knowing which team he was rooting for. Darian, however, reacted by instinct. Sensing the explosion of energy, he flipped the table, ready for an attack.
Silence.
The patrons stared at him, beer dripping from the overturned table. The waitress sighed. "First time at a sports bar?"
Arias patted Darian’s shoulder. "Buddy, we gotta work on your ‘civilian’ reactions."
Darian exhaled, setting the table back down. "I am learning."
Things only escalated from there.
A particularly animated fan had somehow roped Arias into an impromptu drinking contest, which he was thriving in. Every few minutes, Arias leaned into Darian and whispered, "How do they have this much passion for something they don’t even participate in? It’s incredible. I respect it."
Darian, meanwhile, was attempting to decipher the rules of the game from the shouts around him. "Why did they just throw a flag?"
"Penalty."
"That man barely touched him."
"Yeah, well, rules."
Darian’s glare deepened. "Cowards."
The tension in the room only mounted as the game reached its final moments. The fans became more frenzied, drinks sloshed over tables, and a group near the bar looked like they were preparing for either celebration or a full-blown riot.
Then came the moment.
The last play. The final chance. The ball was thrown, caught… and then dropped.
The entire bar let out a collective, agonized groan.
One man collapsed onto the floor. Another cursed so loudly the bartender actually winced. Someone near the back threw a napkin dispenser in despair. Arias, caught up in the moment, dramatically fell to his knees, fists in the air. "NOOOO!"
Darian, watching this display, sighed deeply. "So much for warrior composure."
By the end of the night, Darian had accepted that sports bars were, in essence, controlled chaos. He didn’t fully understand the game, but he understood the passion. And while he didn’t exactly enjoy it, he had to admit… watching mortals lose their minds over something so trivial was oddly fascinating.
As they left, Arias slung an arm around his shoulders. "So? Same time next week?"
Darian shot him a look. "Absolutely not."
A drunk patron stumbled past, still shouting about the final play. Darian sighed. Perhaps next time, I will bring armor.
The Department of Motor Vehicles. A place feared by gods and mortals alike. A bureaucratic labyrinth where time lost its meaning, patience was a myth, and the air smelled of stale coffee and despair.
And today, Arias and I were trapped in it.
The DMV lobby was packed. Every seat was taken, people stood in clusters like lost souls, and the ticket machine beeped in mockery every time another unfortunate soul took a number.
I sighed and grabbed a ticket.
#A473.
The electronic board above flashed:
Now Serving: B106.
I stared at the number. Then at the board.
Arias, standing beside me, clicked his tongue. “Oof. That’s a tough one, brother.”
I turned to him. “This was your idea.”
“Technically, the government’s idea,” Arias corrected, grinning. “You’re the one who keeps destroying your licenses in combat.”
I exhaled slowly. “You set a DMV on fire.”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“You screamed ‘I free you from this torment!’ and threw a Molotov cocktail.”
Arias waved a hand dismissively. “We all cope in different ways.”
After an eternity, a robotic voice finally called:
“A473, window six.”
I stood, stretched, and made my way over, Arias lazily following behind.
A middle-aged DMV worker sat at the window, staring at me over the rim of her glasses. Her name tag read Patricia, and her expression screamed that she had seen some things.
“License renewal?” she asked, already bored.
“Yes,” I said. “For both of us.”
She sighed and slid two soul-crushingly long forms across the counter. “Fill these out.”
Arias picked up a pen and immediately scribbled:
- Name: Arias
- Height: Handsome
- Weight: None of your business
- Eye Color: Heavenly Gold
- Species: Absolutely none of your concern
I grabbed his form and crumpled it.
Patricia did not react. This was not her first war.
We returned the forms and were sent to the dreaded eye exam station.
A young man—probably new to the DMV, because he still had hope in his eyes—gestured for us to stand before the vision test machine.
“Alright,” he said cheerfully. “Just read the smallest line you can see.”
Arias peered into the device first.
There was a long silence.
Then Arias asked, “Do you want me to read all of them, or just stop at the microscopic inscriptions on the manufacturer’s warranty?”
The employee blinked. “Uh… just the smallest readable line.”
Arias sighed. “The copyright text at the bottom says this machine was last serviced by Jerry in Maintenance. Jerry’s a Capricorn, by the way.”
The kid looked concerned. “Uhm. Let’s just… mark you down as ‘perfect vision.’”
I stepped up next.
“Okay, sir, just read the—”
I squinted.
“…It’s all blurry.”
Arias choked on a laugh. “Darian. You’re immortal. You have divine senses. You can see into other dimensions. How do you—”
“I don’t know, okay?!” I snapped.
The worker, looking uncomfortable, just marked me as ‘passable.’
We made it to the photo station, where a dead-eyed photographer motioned for me to stand against the wall.
“Look into the camera,” she said, monotone. “Three… two… one.”
Flash.
I blinked as my divine eyes reflexively ignited, flooding the room with celestial fire.
The camera exploded.
The photographer stared at the burning remains of her equipment.
Arias whistled. “That’s gotta be at least your third DMV camera, brother.”
I rubbed my temples. “Just… print my last photo.”
The worker, still expressionless, typed something on her computer.
Then Arias stepped up.
The photographer sighed. “Three… two… one.”
Arias struck a pose.
The flash went off, and a moment later, the screen displayed his picture:
A perfect, glowing, magazine-cover portrait.
The photographer squinted at it.
“…Did you just smolder at the camera?”
Arias winked. “The camera loves me.”
Finally, after what felt like centuries, Patricia called us back to the counter.
She slid our new licenses across the desk.
“Here,” she said. “Try not to destroy these before the next decade.”
Arias examined his card, beaming. “Wow. Look at that. Perfect lighting. Perfect angle. I look incredible.”
I looked at mine.
The glitchy, corrupted photo looked like a blurry, eldritch horror. The DMV text system had mangled my name, and now it read:
DARIAN, UNKNOWN ENTITY.
I sighed. “Good enough.”
We walked toward the exit, freedom in sight.
Arias stretched. “Well, brother, that wasn’t so bad.”
I stared at him.
“We spent five hours here.”
Arias shrugged. “Could’ve been worse.”
Just as we stepped outside—
A tow truck pulled up, hauling my car away.
The driver leaned out. “Sorry, pal. Expired tags.”
Arias burst into laughter.
I stared at the sky.
Contemplated my life choices.
And then set the DMV on fire.