Teuila joins us in our shared mindscape as I respond to Tiktik’s query about my wellness, “Not right away Kitten, no. I’m pretty sure we lost someone. A good woman. Despite how much we disliked each other, I never wished that on her. I can’t understand why she did it. Why did she throw herself into a fight that she knew she was hopelessly outclassed against? What’s more, why try to throw me away from it? I’m positive she understood how much more powerful the three of us are than ordinary people. I, I just don’t get it.”
Tiktik’s telepathic avatar gnaws the inside of her cheek before she conjectures, “So, apparently Jonah Johnston, Jonesy, went off a couple years ago, wanting to see the world, have adventures, that sort of thing. Last month though, pretty recently honestly, they got word that he died. I don’t know all the details, just word around town is all. I don’t think Keeley’s been the same since. Marshal started working double, nearly all day and all night, to work the same shifts as her on top of his own. Maybe to support his wife in her grief, maybe to keep her in check, or maybe to keep an eye on her, I can’t be sure.”
Oh hell. I figured it was something like that, but the confirmation that she was still in the early stages of grieving makes it all almost all the worse. I want to curl up and sob about Keeley’s upcoming death, or, her likely death. If Te says the prognosis wasn’t good, I believe her. I want to sob for the hardships the evacuees are going to face. I want to bawl my eyes out for the loss of their ancestors, an event that I still consider to be my fault.
I’m just so exhausted, physically, mentally, and definitely emotionally. Despite wanting to curl up and bawl my eyes out, it feels like I can’t. I would almost worry that the cursed-blood mingling with magical electric wood shards had burned away my emotions, but I don’t exactly feel numb. I just feel too tired to even acknowledge having so many overwhelming energy-demanding emotions for the moment.
Suddenly recalling that Autumn Brook was just supposed to be a pit stop, I groan, “Ugh. We should see if there are any boats left or if the carriage will float well enough to paddle across the lake. Are Clint, Dodge, and Meredith going to be able to handle sinking the town around the horde when it gets dark? Is your weather spell going to last until sundown Kitten?”
Teuila and Tiktik both nod at me via their telepathic avatars, so I gratefully slump onto the for-once dry cobblestone path where we rest. As I’m about to say more, Teuila explains, “I’m pretty sure that the CDM crew can handle it. Their geo whatsits aren’t as strong, since they’re shrinking, and losing their weird dragon-blood powers, but there’s three of them, and they want to make it up to Autumn Brook for being the gophers. Hah, they’ll be more like literal gophers. A-an-anyways. I’m sorry Air, I’m really, really sorry about, about just so much. I don’t even know how to ask for your forgiveness Love. Oh, but no worries about the boat, wanna tell ‘em Tiki?”
As my telepathic avatar turns saddened eyes towards Teuila, trying to intimate she doesn’t need to ask for forgiveness, Tiktik perks up as she adds for Te, “Oh yeah, so, Tim Fisher has The Drake waiting for us, and the carriage is already lashed to The Drake, set afloat behind her. He’s a ways out, but said we could signal, swim, or since we’re supposedly some kind of superheroes, just jump for it.“
Distracted from my previous thought, I smirk and half scoff a laugh. Tim’s a character, but a pretty great guy. I hope his wife and son are alright. What was his wife’s name? Lydia or Emilia or Amelia Gray or something like that? Their son is Richard, and her family passes down the mother’s last name, so Richard, Gray’s Son. For some reason, this flares up my genre senses.
Oh. Ugh, my genre senses say we’re going to run into Lochsie again, and possibly the giant mud crab that everyone thought was a central island in Lake Siempre. Friggin’ hell. I’d better trust those goofy senses again. It’s so weird. These senses come from knowledge of media from a world that doesn’t exist. How the hell does that work? How can it possibly apply?
Tiktik’s mental avatar pokes mine for attention while pouting as she playfully whines, “Also, can I just say? Owwwwwww my bones. Sniffle.”
The cutie actually says sniffle. Or well, telepathically thinks it at me. I wear a half frown as I recall just how hurt Kitten is. Then I recall that my externals are severely close to melted, and my internals are contending with fried nerves, fractured bones, and still occasionally fritzing with sparks of electricity. Today has not been kind to us. I console Tiktik with hugs and affection in thinkspace as best I can.
In meatspace, now that I’m getting a good look at her, I can tell Tiktik has wounds, bruises, and very obviously broken bones. I regret not having had the time to scan her more thoroughly when we were out there together, especially when she was unconscious. She’s such a petite gal, and so freaking brave to have been battling a horde of enormous monstrosities, with almost no backup. Te’s brave too, obviously, but I sometimes wonder if danger even registers for her. She seems almost invincible except against herself. Her greatest injuries thus far have been from pushing herself too far, too hard, at my request, when her ancillary powers weren’t effective after our radiant purge. Well, that time, and when we had a meteor piledriven into our faces.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Te, likely spurred on by my thought train, adds, “Oh! So, um, Helena, chieftan whatsit of the whosit over there. She said her tribe’s numbers have been dwindling. Some disappearing, others just straight up dying from the dragon-blood withdrawal or something. There’s not many of them left, so I think they welcome the idea of forming up with Autumn Brook. They’re in for a surprise when they realize what’s chasing them, but, well, hopefully their geo stuff can keep working long enough to keep blocking the trail behind them. I’m sure the CDM crew will tell them, and do their best.”
I nod dumbly along with Teuila, barely understanding what she’s saying. It dawns on me that our job for the survivors isn’t done, not by a long shot, but I literally have nothing left at the moment. I can’t give any more other than simply being a momentary slab of meat for the horde to cull through. I can’t lift my limbs, I’m tapped out on spells, consumable magical items, power within my staff, and using the electricity has agonizingly cored out my nerve pathways like some tunnel-borer machine. How the hell do we keep this from becoming a worldwide catastrophe?
Or can we use one apocalypse to solve another? Can we get through the gap, clear out the hydra, evacuate our friends and allies to Jeegoobotstan so that they can rebuild, and simply let the Bright Lord’s troops march into a hellishly overtaken Aasimovia? Hm. It feels somewhat cruel, since I’m pretty sure those troops are still people, unless they’re all soulless automatons controlled by the craplord. It would definitely put a dent in one of the forces that we’re up against, if not both. Not very heroic I guess, but it’s not like I’m being graded on some paragon points scale. I wouldn’t even know how to gain those in a time like this. I sigh at the idea that I’d have to prove myself to some figure like Anubis from Fakeworld’s mythology. Weighing my heavy heart against a feather.
Bud’s still been silent this whole time. I’m terribly worried about him. His aura isn’t strengthening or recovering at all. I don’t think it’s diminishing, but it’s so faint to begin with that it’s hard to tell. I sniffle, gulp down a sad breath and hastily try to rub the tears out of my eyes, but I can’t even lift my arms to do that at the moment.
Huff. What am I even doing? I’m laying here on cobblestone, in the presence of two amazing, powerful, beautiful women. Yet I can’t stop strategizing and planning and begging the universe for guidance, even though there’s almost literally nothing we can do. Teuila could maybe fight for a few more hours, despite how haggard she feels, and is. I wouldn’t risk her like that though. Not that it’s my choice or anything, but I wouldn’t want her to take that risk. It feels like I have to let my brain go down these rabbitholes, or the sad realities of the situation are going to sink in. Hopefully the Fel hordes literally sink in to the trap that The Brook will turn into with help from the plains Colossi. I hate that I’m retreating. Have I ever retreated before?
I’m so friggin’ conceited and full of myself. I’m used to being the most destructive presence on any massive scale field of battle. The fact that I’m one injured individual retreating from a fight shouldn’t make me so, so, so whatever I’m feeling. Feeling like we’ve lost because I’m backing out or something. I’m not the center of the universe, a fight doesn’t fail because I’m not there to lead the charge. Though, I mean, with me, Teuila, and Tiktik withdrawing, who the hell is left that can withstand more than a few minutes of fighting these hellish hordes? It’s hard not to feel like I must be conceited when I can’t come up with a way that the situation isn’t all up to me and my inner circle.
It feels surreal, impossible even. Like, this goes beyond fiction. This is so unrealistic. Three people against what seems like the limitless hordes of Hel, or Hell? What the hell? I find myself worrying yet again that I’m just having one final dying dream back on Can’Z’aas as Teuila reaches her hand towards mine one last time. I gulp back a frightened sob at the idea that this whole Rayileklian adventure might be some death-moment fever-dream. Then again, would that be better, or worse? I don’t know what I’d do if that were the situation. It’s not like I’d just give up, and let things play out to a horrific end for everyone. Even imaginary people deserve better than that.
What more can I do? I might be able to work the the kobolds or dwarves, any of those that are left, to be able to collapse The Gap. Or hell, maybe we can make the situation an even greater confused mess by unleashing the mite-hulks from the bowels of Rayileklia into the middle of the two hellish forces. Oh jeeze. One hellish force, one supposedly angelic force. Friggin’ hell. I predicted almost this exact thing when talking to Tiktik a couple of days ago about her smile. Gods why did I have to be right. I would be face-palming so hard right now if I could move.
Tiktik giggles at my exasperation and slightly at my helplessness. She drags one of my hands to plop it on my face for me. Heh. Thanks Kitten. I roll my eyes and try not to chuckle. Suddenly I’m beset by dizziness and waves of anger as wrath tries to resurface upon realizing how deadly the events that swirl about us are. I nearly vomit upon my own face as the emotion struggles to overtake me in sickening pulses and waves. My eyes swim about in their sockets and my head lolls weakly to the side as Teuila and Tiktik seem to have a worried private telepathic conversation. There’s so much that needs to be done. I just—. I don’t think I can be the person to do it right now. I’m, I’m feeling so weak, and in so much pain, and starving. My vision blurs at the edges until I’m seeing clearly in only a thin tunnel as my eyelids droop.
Between the nausea, weariness, and the various drains on so many of the systems in my body and mind, I’m losing consciousness quickly. I can’t fight it, despite knowing there’s still work to be done. I don’t want to abandon this heaping mess in front of Teuila and Tiktik, but I’m losing my struggle to remain awake. I vaguely hear Tiktik’s telepathic avatar saying something along the lines of, “Rest up Tiger,” as I reluctantly fade into unconsciousness.