Frank chimed in last, waving his hands like he'd just invented chaos itself.
"I'm just an old man," he said pleasantly, "so what I say is just… hearsay."
Jennifer narrowed her eyes. That was never reassuring.
Frank clasped his hands on his lap, looking every inch the respectable conglomerate king—the kind who attended charity galas, spoiled his grandchildren, and occasionally complained about back pain. But she didn't need reminding that he was also the most dangerous man in the underground.
"Some say Pandora Boxes are portal devices," Frank continued lightly. "Have you heard about them?"
He looked around the room, as if measuring who else might already know.
Silence.
He smiled. "Someone—or something—is searching for something through these portals."
A pause.
Frank scanned the room again. No one met his gaze.
"This is just an old man's speculation," he continued, "but perhaps the devices require someone on this side to open them. Doors, you see, rarely open themselves."
Jennifer blinked.
"And with a trigger to awaken dormant power placed within each box," Frank went on, almost conversationally, "any intelligent lifeform would be tempted to open the box. Curiosity, greed, desperation… take your pick. Once opened—" he made a soft clapping sound, "—the portals activate in the vicinity, and alien forces are released to search and destroy."
Frank smiled faintly. "The more intelligent the being, the greedier it seems."
He paused. "The brilliance of sending Pandora Boxes across the universe this way is efficiency itself: probing new planets for intelligent life, and then opening portals to release waves of alien cockroaches. They have already overrun many civilizations in devastating numbers."
Frank turned grim. "All this to feed their Lord."
No one spoke.
Jennifer listened in silent horror. This would have been exactly how she'd written such a webnovel. But this kind of story—just webnovel fiction, a pot of various fictional influences stirred together and flung into internet space for light entertainment. Ah, if Jennifer wrote it, Quintin the ML would rule it. All the women would flock at his eighteen-year-old feet. Or maybe because she met Rolly and he pretended to be her boyfriend so perfectly… but Jennifer would also love a romantic scene where Ronan the Dragon falls for a beautiful and mysterious heroine (preferably her) while kicking alien butt. Oh! That would be dreamy…
Jennifer cleared her throat and pretended she was still listening to Frank.
Frank was smiling at the silent room. No one else was smiling. He seemed to enjoy the moment a little too much.
"Of course, I wouldn't know any of this firsthand," he added mildly. "I merely… hear things."
Duke Chevon's gaze sharpened. "Frank, if you know anything at all, just spit it out."
"How dare I spit in front of His Excellency the Lord Duke…"
"Shut up, Frank." Duke Chevon's voice was steel. "Our world is at the brink of destruction."
Then, coldly, like liquid nitrogen: "Frank. If a cat crawled out of the gutter and spat in front of me, I would not remember the incident."
Jennifer was certain she would remember if that happened.
Frank sighed, as if burdened by the weight of gossip, and then smiled, continuing as though sharing a harmless anecdote over tea.
"You see, back alleys are terribly cluttered these days. Pandora Boxes lying around where they shouldn't be. And occasionally… things crawl out of portals. Into sewers. Into places one would rather not think about."
Jennifer's stomach turned.
"And such creatures," Frank continued absently, "fetch quite a price. Scientific curiosity, after all, is a thriving market."
No one missed the implication.
"I am not saying," Frank added quickly, raising a hand, "that I have anything to do with such… enterprises. Nor that certain organizations might already be handling alien technology and biological specimens in less-than-official channels."
He smiled faintly—but not as innocently as before.
"I merely hear stories," he repeated, slower this time, letting the words linger.
Adrian's expression had gone still.
"Once," Frank said, recalling something faintly amusing, "I heard of a particularly unfortunate humanoid insect that was captured. It was badly injured, yet still capable of speech."
The room went colder.
"It was, of course, treated with the utmost… enthusiasm," Frank said delicately, and Jennifer swore his smile tightened just a fraction. "And in its eagerness to cooperate, it shared quite a number of fascinating details."
Jennifer stared at him. Enthusiasm? That's what we're calling torture now?
"These alien creatures," Frank continued, "are from deep space. Devout little things. They worship a rather… insatiable entity known as the cosmic devourer—Lord Micah."
Adrian didn't move.
"And Lord Micah," Frank added, almost cheerfully, "has the delightful ability to take the form of whatever he eats."
Jennifer felt a chill run down her spine.
"They pass through portals in search of the things Lord Micah desires…" Frank spread his hands, smiling pleasantly. "At the top of this list is an entity called… the goddess."
Silence fell. Heavy. Absolute.
Everyone stared at Frank.
He smiled again, knowingly. "But you didn't hear this from me."
"How long have you known this, Frank?" Alpha Drake asked sharply.
Frank shrugged. "I don't know anything. It was just something an alley cat said."
Alpha Drake growled, "One day, Frank. I hope to find your dead body in an alley too."
Frank laughed as if a grandchild had said something outrageous. "I'm just an old man at the end of the journey. What does it matter whether I die in an alley or on a highway?"
"Wait," Adrian said suddenly, slapping a hand over his mouth as the pieces clicked into place. "If Lord Micah can take the form of whatever he eats… then it makes sense why he's searching for the goddess."
Duke Chevon's eyes widened, his voice low and grave. "If Lord Micah were to consume the goddess… would he not become a god himself?"
No one answered. They didn't need to. Because they all understood.
And then—
As one—
They turned to Jennifer.
Jennifer crossed her arms.
Why are they looking at me?
I'm not the goddess!
The silence stretched, thick with expectation.
Jennifer frowned at all of them.
"If Micah ate me," she said flatly, "all he'd get would be a tired, crazy kindergarten teacher."
A tired, crazy kindergarten teacher with secret romantic fantasies of falling in love with Ronan the Dragon while fighting alien cockroaches as the world ends.
WTH. The world was probably like this because the author was insane. Yes. Sorry, world.