#galacticgreg

Though most people would have dismissed said occurrences as rumors, those rumors held enough weight that no businesses wanted to set up shop there. The local government liked to pretend the building didn’t exist, either. So naturally, when people were being killed supernaturally, the people of Swarthmore needed something of a hero to address the problem.

If they thought they could get heroism from the mongoose, they would have had to keep looking. But what she lacked in heroism, she more than made up for in efficiency.

A weasel woman with nth-degree burns all over her body slowly crawled toward the office window in a fruitless attempt to escape her attacker. The flames around her were starting to overwhelm her, the heat blurring her vision. She then saw the mongoose in question emerge from the flames on her left. All the weasel could make out was the mongoose’s glowing orange eyes and the jet-black katana she summoned out of thin air. 

“You’ve RUINED EVERYTHING!” the weasel cried out in protest. Unfortunately for her, she had run out of aether to cast even the simplest of spells to either fight or flee. 

“Not my fault you didn’t pick up a hobby like sewing or bingo, lady,” the mongoose spoke in a casual tone. “Though I must admit, whatever you were doing in here did keep you looking young. If it helps you feel any better, I’ll take a picture of you before you die. Someone’s bound to appreciate it.”

And technically, the mongoose was correct. A person’s brain was still active for a little bit after decapitation.