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Chapter 8 - Therapy, but Explosions

Chapter 8: Therapy, but Explosions

The city skyline was on fire again.

Not metaphorically—like, actually on fire.

Because apparently, someone thought throwing a fireball at a gas station was a "good tactical move." Spoiler: it wasn't.

Aza was lying on the roof of a half-collapsed bus, chewing gum that probably expired during the dinosaur era. "Y'know, Sol, sometimes I think I'm the problem."

"Only sometimes?" Sol's voice echoed in his head, that calm divine tone somehow dripping with sarcasm.

"I mean, come on. I save a bunch of people, and suddenly I'm on the news as 'Masked Menace Destroys Market District.' Like, sorry for caring?"

"You also stabbed a vending machine," Sol pointed out.

"It ate my coins!" Aza sat up, the red of his suit catching the orange glow of the burning skyline. "Do you know how hard it is to find a working vending machine in this economy?"

"Harder than finding your brain cells, apparently."

"Ohhh, that's rich coming from a celestial squatter who doesn't even pay rent!"

"Rent?!" Sol sputtered. "You think the Almighty gave me a budget?!"

"Exactly my point. You're freeloading. I should start charging for headspace utilities—heating, divine light, mental health damages…"

"Your mind is already a disaster zone, mortal."

Aza smirked. "Then call me FEMA, baby, 'cause I'm here for disaster relief."

---

A siren wailed below. Drones scanned the skyline for heat signatures.

Aza leaned forward, aiming a broken rifle like a telescope. "Welp. Cops. Magic Division too. I think that one's holding a lightning baton. That's cute."

"You could surrender."

"And give up my bad boy reputation? No thanks."

Sol sighed. "I regret being assigned to you."

"You chose me!"

"I blinked, and you happened."

"Romantic."

Before Sol could argue, a missile whooshed past. Aza dodged, rolled, and ended up hanging upside down off the bus roof. His mask slid halfway up his face.

"Okay, note to self: don't taunt people holding missiles."

"Remarkable deduction," Sol deadpanned.

Aza swung himself back up, drew two pistols, and started shooting at the drones. Except he was yelling things like "Pew pew!" and "Die, flying tax collectors!" with every shot.

"Must you do that?" Sol asked.

"It boosts morale!"

"Whose?"

"Mine!"

---

When the last drone exploded in a glorious ball of sparkly doom, Aza stood on the edge of the bus, arms spread wide like some heroic idiot on top of the world.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the audience," he said, turning his head directly toward you, "if you're still reading this, congratulations.

You've officially survived eight chapters of my nonsense. You deserve a cookie."

Sol's voice sighed in his head. "Are you… addressing the void again?"

"Not the void," Aza said proudly. "The readers."

"The what?"

"The people out there! Probably eating snacks right now, judging my life choices!"

"Are you certain you didn't hit your head harder than usual?"

"Oh, totally. But that's my secret, Sol. I'm always concussed."

---

A sudden BOOM interrupted their banter. From the smoke below, a silhouette emerged — tall, armored, with glowing blue eyes.

"Ah," Aza said, pointing dramatically. "Plot development."

The figure's voice was metallic. "Ass Assin. You are under arrest for crimes against the Crown, the Guild, and basic common sense."

Aza holstered his pistols and cracked his neck. "You forgot fashion laws, 'cause honey, this suit is illegal."

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" the knight demanded.

"Oh, absolutely. My breakfast. Pancakes are sacred."

Sol muttered, "I weep for humanity."

---

Aza lunged forward. The rooftop fight was chaos — bullets flying, swords clashing, Sol yelling things like "You can't just throw grenades indoors!" and Aza responding with "Watch me!"

At one point, Aza slipped, kicked a sword, caught it midair, and yelled, "Did you see that?!"

"No," Sol said. "But I felt your ego inflate."

"Good. I trained it to do that."

When the armored knight finally went down, Aza stood over him, panting. "You fought well, my metallic friend. Tell your boss I'm open for work—discount rates for attempted murderers."

And then, with zero hesitation, he grabbed the knight's comm radio and shouted into it:

"Hey, anyone ordering pizza? This guy forgot to pay."

Static. Then gunfire.

Aza shrugged. "Guess not."

---

As he walked off into the flaming distance, Sol asked quietly, "Why do you keep doing this, Aza? The jokes, the recklessness… the pain under it all."

Aza smiled under his mask. "Because, my shiny imaginary friend… if I stop laughing, I might start thinking."

A beat of silence.

Then: "Also because explosions are really fun."

"Of course they are," Sol muttered.

Cue dramatic outro music as the camera pans out, the city burning, Aza flipping the bird at a police drone before vanishing into the smoke.

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