The march of the gnomes…
Many would call the march of the gnomes just something that happened on a Sunday. No one knew why exactly the gnomes were marching on a Sunday.
Most people were just going about their business and not caring much about anything at all.
But the gnomes, the gnomes, were different this time.
And they, just like any other creature on a war path, knew what to do, exactly when to do it and how to do it.
What Peter and Asmodeos couldn't understand, however, was why exactly the gnomes wanted for them to take all the golden snakes with them.
After all, if the gnomes wanted to just take over the world with the power of friendship, then they could have just done it with pitchforks and torches.
The dark gnomes had their hellhounds with them.
Big dogs, bear-hunting dogs. Extremely fluffy.
Said hellhounds were, as the name suggests, extremely dangerous.
Peter didn't want to be anywhere near one, and yet he still was. One of them had taken a liking to him, and he, as a dog lover, had decided to keep it as a pet.
Asmodeos, on the other hand, didn't hold the same sentiment. He looked at the gnomes' dog, then at Peter, then back at the dog.
"Peter, honestly, why don't you just give the dog a bone and have it run away?" Asmodeos asked.
For all that Peter looked fetching in his new armor with his gambeson, he was still Peter. And as such, Asmodeos knew that if the dog decided to chew him up, it could.
"What I don't understand is..."
Before Peter could say anything, something sprung out of the bushes.
It was a small creature, fluffy but with very, very sharp teeth.
Said teeth were jutting out of its mouth and, as pretty much any forest predator, it was hungry and wanted to eat some gnomes.
Peter didn't waste any time. He unsheathed his copper sword, which was actually a sword that could turn anything it touched into golden statues, and, without even a hint of remorse, Peter charged the forest creature.
Asmodeos didn't sit idle, either.
He took out his bow and arrows, for he couldn't use necromantic mana anymore, and aimed.
The thing about the two protectors of the gnomes was that they weren't very good at fighting.
Maybe it was because they were both very skinny, and the fact that they both wore clothes that were too cumbersome for them.
Or, in Asmodeos' case, because his hair was too long.
As the forest creature managed to get on Asmodeos' head and started to tug at the man's hair, Asmodeos found out a truth about such creatures.
They, like many other creatures, when threatened, secreted mucus.
And so, as Asmodeos tried to save his hair, he decided that should he find any activists whose purpose was to protect wildlife, he was going to make sure they never, ever bothered him ever again.
The old-fashioned way.
Peter took a hold of the dirty hair as the creature which had dirtied said hair hugged his leg. It was a small, fluffy creature, and Peter didn't have the heart to kill it anymore.
Not now, when Asmodeos was glaring at him so.
Peter decided to take the initiative.
"Asmodeos, it is just hair. That is a living, breathing creature you want to strangle!"
Peter was going to tie up Asmodeos if the need arose, but if not, he was pretty sure that he was never ever going to go inside the forest by himself.
After all, if he did that, then the forest creatures could, and he was pretty much sure that it was a big no-no, they could actually make it so that his own hair was shaved clean.
Asmodeos just hopped and tried to pinch the creature once more. He pulled back his hand at the last second as he noticed that the fur of the creature was getting wet.
Now, this is just crap. Asmodeos thought to himself. This is just putrid crap. What am I going to do without hair?
"Asmodeos, it is just hair, really. You'll look better with shorter hair!"
Peter decided that if he had to wait for Asmodeos to calm down on his own, then he would never ever manage to escort the gnomes to the village.
And if he didn't escort the gnomes to the village, then the gnomes were never ever going to find out that no, they couldn't change the world.
But Peter believed in them and cared for them and thought they were kind and good and needed to have a small spot under the sun.
Even if that spot was so tiny that most people would think it was by the shade.
And so Peter, without thinking too much about it, took the mage's hair, which was slicked with mana, and cut off all the strands which were wet.
His sword, however, was now a magical sword.
It was a copper magical sword, which turned things into golden statues.
And so…
Asmodeos' hair turned a golden color and began to shine.
Peter couldn't understand what was happening, but he could understand one thing and one thing alone:
Asmodeos was now a magical creature!
"God darn it, Peter! Did you cut my hair with the copper sword?" Asmodeos was one second away from popping a blood vessel.
He turned around, looked into Peter's eyes, glaring.
They stood so, glaring into each other's eyes, not understanding the laws of magic anymore.
Asmodeos honestly believed that if the nature spirits decided to force them on the way to being heroes, then they could at least have spared his hair.
Asmodeos touched his hair, then touched Peter's hair, and then, just because he could, poured some of his mana inside of Peter's scalp.
Hoping that the man would feel his emotions through the link and be more considerate next time.
Peter did not fall; Peter did not die.
No.
For Peter was a hero, and heroes could not fall from chaotic mana.
But what Asmodeos didn't know back then was that he had bonded Peter to himself.
And since now, he had Lady Luck's potion in his hair, for Lady Luck had given the ability to Peter's sword, he was almost sure that nothing could do them apart, not even death.
And as he found that out later, as Peter sleeping in a different room caused him pain, he knew he had fucked up.