Vincent cried out in pain as the wolf clamped down on his arm with its razor-sharp fangs. Fortunately, his clothing offered a small measure of protection. Keeping the jaws from sinking deep into his flesh with the initial bite, which allowed him time to shift; preventing the wolf from achieving its full deadly grip on his ravaged limb.
Vincent struggled mightily to get to his bag, but it was out of reach, and he knew in his heart that it would take too long to retrieve the knife.
He knew if he didn’t do something soon, the wolf would break through his meager defenses and tear into his throat.
Without a gun to fight back, and without a knife, Vincent scrambled desperately, feeling for something, anything that could help him escape his deadly predicament.
He fumbled, feeling a few rocks nearby that were far too small to help him. He cursed at his misfortune. Then suddenly, he felt something jagged. He might not have a knife handy, but a pointed rock would do just fine.
He grabbed the chunk of rock and jabbed it into the wolf’s head with all his might. Plunging it into the flesh again and again, like a dagger. The wolf growled with rage, but Vincent didn’t allow this to deter him in the slightest.
If anything, it spurred him on. He continued to attack, feeling the iron grip of the wolf’s jaws begin to weaken until his arm slipped free. He yelled as he continued his relentless assault.
The wolf slumped over, convulsing, but Vincent continued the attack, still yelling. Or at least grunting. Finally, he let up. Not because he had any desire to cease his assault, but purely out of exhaustion.
The wolf’s head was badly mangled from the attack and blood dribbled from its perforated skull. Vincent was hyperventilating, his breathing producing a ragged, wheezing, sound. He knew he should have blacked out by now. His body taxed to its limits from the accumulative effect of his wounds, coupled with extreme fatigue.
The only thing keeping him alert at this point was the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Shortly after the death of the final wolf, Vincent’s adrenaline had been completely spent - and as the last vestiges of the temporary energy ebbed from his system, Vincent’s body finally gave out. Darkness began to close in around him and he collapsed into oblivion.
###
One moment, Vincent was in total darkness and the next, he found himself sitting up. The first thing that stood out to him was that he could see everything clearly. That didn’t seem right. It was strange. He knew it was dark, but he could see everything around him as if it were the middle of the day.
Before he had time to come to terms with what he was seeing, he found himself suddenly floating up and out of the claustrophobic space of the tomb. Coming to a stop in the air above. He stared down for a moment, inspecting it with curiosity. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was. The fact that he was hovering didn’t seem to set off any alarm bells either.
Instead, he simply looked around for anything of interest and found himself naturally drawn to a scene of carnage. He saw the bodies of several wolves. It appeared as if they’d been killed in a vicious battle, but he wasn’t sure how they had died.
Again, he was struck by how light it was even though he knew it was dark. He could see everything clearly and yet; he knew that much of what he was looking at was shrouded deeply in shadow. He glanced up at the sky and took note of the full moon.
It was definitely nighttime. Though that didn’t seem to matter in his current state for some inexplicable reason. Stumped at the thought, he felt the urge to return to the curious scene in front of him to investigate it in greater detail.
He wanted to see inside the tomb and suddenly felt himself moving through the ceiling made of rocks. The fact that he had just moved through a series of solid objects didn’t perturb him in the slightest. Somehow, it was simultaneously strange beyond all explanation and the most natural act he had ever performed.
He looked inside and saw a man who had been severely injured, lying completely still. His body was pale and stiff. Vincent noticed that the man was not visibly breathing. Poor soul, he thought. I wish I could help him. But there was little he could do. He stood there for a moment, sadly mourning the man’s loss.
Eventually he decided there was nothing to do except move on. Oh well, I better get back to… what was it he needed to do? He wasn’t sure. He tried to recall, but nothing came to mind so he opted to stare at the man a while longer, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do next.
He inspected the wounds. The man’s arm was ragged and bloody -- and so was his leg… his leg. There was something about his leg. Then it suddenly struck him. He didn’t feel pain anymore. Vincent’s leg had been in excruciating pain and his arm had recently joined in on the competition.
He remembered vividly that he had been fatigued beyond comprehension and his whole body ached. Moments before, Vincent was in the worst pain of his life and now, he felt better than he ever had. He felt as if he were in perfect health. He inspected his arm and hands, and found to his surprise, that they were fully intact.
His leg was no longer in pain. He seemed to still have a body, but this was different somehow. It must be – it must be my spirit body, he thought. He inspected the man on the ground again and for the first time, he recognized it. It’s me. he realized, stunned. I must be dead… I’m dead! He pondered the shocking realization a while longer. It took some time to process the bizarre concept. It felt so strange seeing his own body. He wasn’t used to seeing himself at all.
Every now and then he would catch a glimpse of his own reflection in a pool of water, but it was always distorted, and he could only really view it from one angle. Mirrors were in short supply and when he did see himself in one, it typically wasn’t for very long. This was such an odd experience.
That couldn’t be him lying on the floor, cold and dead. He was alive, he was here. Yet there was his body. He recognized its features and realized that before he blacked out, he had been lying there, exhausted and wounded. So, he knew it must be him, but it was a very difficult thought to reconcile.
Nothing in life could have prepared him for this moment. He never would have imagined this kind of experience. But it was real. It wasn’t like a dream. He had lived long enough to know the difference between reality and a dream. This was every bit as real as his waking life.
In fact, it was somehow more real. It was almost like mortal life was all just a vague shadow of reality that he’d been trapped in for so long and now he was finally experiencing true reality for the first time.
Part of him mourned the fact that he had died. There was so much he still wanted to accomplish in his life, and he didn’t want to leave his family behind, but he didn’t know if there was anything he could do about that now.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Could he just go back into his body? He wasn’t sure how to go about completing that task even if he wanted to. He was beginning to acclimate to this new reality and now that the initial disorientation and shock had begun to wear off, he was able to focus more on the events that had led him here and his present situation.
Ezra! He thought suddenly. I have to go find Ezra and tell him. Tell him what, though? Hey Ezra, don’t worry. I’m dead.
Somehow, he didn’t think that would go over well. Could he even speak anymore? Unfortunately, since he’d died so far out in the woods, miles away from any civilization, there wasn’t anyone nearby to test out his hypothesis.
I need to find Ezra, he thought anxiously. I wish I could speak to him.
Suddenly, he found himself standing next to Ezra. Well, maybe not standing. He was sort of hovering next to him. He wasn’t sure how that worked, but he seemed to be able to keep up with Ezra just fine. Even though there was no way he could keep up with a galloping horse if he’d stopped to think about it.
He looked at Ezra and realized that there was something very different about him than what Vincent was used to seeing. Typically, if he studied someone’s facial expressions, body language, and posture Vincent could guess at what they were thinking or feeling.
But this was different. It wasn’t about the cues and guesswork. It was almost as if he could sense Ezra’s emotions and even his thoughts to a degree. This was utterly baffling to Vincent and also somehow strangely exhilarating, but at the same time it almost felt like it was completely natural.
It seemed somehow to make perfect sense. As normal as if someone stepped out into the sun, expecting to feel its heat on their skin. It wasn’t something that anyone ever questioned. It simply was. It was a fact of life that everyone accepted without question.
This was how it felt to Vincent to sense Ezra’s feelings and thoughts, even though he knew in mortal life this had been impossible for him to experience.
Suddenly he sensed danger and knew that Ezra was about to run into terrain that would cause him trouble.
Ezra, watch out! He screamed, but Ezra didn’t seem to hear him at all.
Ezra stumbled over a hill and was violently thrown from Duke’s back. Vincent could tell how much the impact had affected Ezra. He was stunned and out of breath and Vincent also sensed his rising panic about… A bounty hunter.
Someone was hunting Ezra and he was afraid that he would be killed now. Vincent also knew that the bounty hunter wasn’t far behind. As he studied Ezra closer, he began to realize that he was beginning to see something different now that he’d been in this state for a while.
If he focused, it was almost as if he could see different dimensions or layers of reality. He looked at Buster and saw the internal elements that made the hound who he was. Buster (Lvl 7): Hunting Hound. Abilities: tracking, heightened senses, high endurance and speed.
He knew he could see details regarding Duke as well if he tried hard enough, but he was far more interested in Ezra, so that was where he chose to place his focus. He could see the mental struggle that Ezra was experiencing as he caught his breath and began to reorient himself.
A flurry of thoughts raced through Ezra’s mind. He was going to run, no hide, no stand and fight. He was going to kill Duke. Kill Duke? That couldn’t be right. Vincent couldn’t fathom why he would do that.
As he concentrated, he realized that Ezra meant to use Duke as cover. It was something he’d heard of before. If someone found themselves suddenly ambushed by bandits or hostile Indians, desperate men would sometimes shoot their horse in a last-ditch effort to create cover, so they would have a chance at winning a firefight in which they were outnumbered or outgunned.
He’d heard of army men especially, who had claimed this tactic had saved their lives more than once. With the hunter rapidly closing in on Ezra, Vincent had to agree that it was probably his best chance at this point.
Ezra almost pulled the trigger but stopped just in time. Vincent understood his thinking. He wanted to hide but he didn’t think it was a viable option. Partially because he didn’t think he had time to find a good spot, or any spot at all with how little time he had. And even if he did, the animals would give away his position.
But in record timing, Ezra pulled out an impossible win. He could hunker down underneath the hill that had caused his folly. He just had to get rid of the animals. He slapped Duke and sent him running.
That would take care of Duke, but also act as a decoy for the bounty hunter to follow. He could potentially continue tracking Duke for several miles before finding out that the horse had no rider and by then the trail might be cold. At least that was the hope. There would be no telling when the rider had abandoned the horse, so in a best-case scenario it could cost the hunter a lot of time and potentially throw him off the trail completely.
It was brilliant. Ezra was still subject to the major risk that the hunter would notice him hiding behind the little hill. If the hunter stopped, or even slowed down for any reason to scout out the area, Ezra would likely be seen and killed.
Not to mention the fact that he still had Buster with him. The dog was high strung. He was in a heightened fight or flight state, and he would almost assuredly growl or bark out of instinct, giving away their position. Ezra was undoubtedly counting on the fact that the hunter would be single-mindedly focused on tracking him down. And desperately hoping he would quickly pass over them.
It was an incredibly risky gamble, but to Vincent’s astonishment, it actually worked.
Brilliant, he thought, still amazed that the risk had paid off.
Genius!
Vincent saw the skill that allowed Ezra to make such quick, strategic, decisions. Ability: Quick Under Pressure. (Passive): Allows the user to quickly calculate and execute extraordinary strategies in record time. (When under threat of death, increases the chance to proc a saving roll by 70%.)
When Vincent thought about how many times over the years Ezra had managed to pull out a victory when all hope was lost, the discovery of this ability seemed to make perfect sense. Vincent wasn’t sure if it was an ability he possessed as well. Considering the fact that he was now dead, he highly doubted it.
Vincent took note that the bounty hunter was John Wexler. He also noted that the man had been surprised by the sudden obstacle, but he’d dealt with similar enough situations over the years and his experience and muscle memory allowed him to act quickly enough to successfully make the jump.
Vincent also knew that Wexler could sense that he was gaining on his target, and he was more focused now than ever on catching him and claiming his reward. Ezra was relieved beyond words that it had worked.
Yes, Vincent could feel the emotions emanating from Ezra, but based on his reaction, Vincent doubted he needed that extra information to understand how Ezra was feeling at the moment. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief himself. Now that he wasn’t running for his life anymore, Ezra could head back to Vincent’s body.
My body! Is there anything he can do?
Vincent wasn’t sure, but he was certainly keen to find out. He attempted to communicate with Vincent and potentially guide him along the way, but it proved to be useless.
As far as Ezra is aware, I’m as good as dead… He suddenly realized the irony of the thought.
I’ll have to get used to that.
Vincent was anxious to get back to his body and see if there was any way he could be resuscitated, but the constraints of the physical world made the trip back take far longer than what he’d experienced earlier.
It was excruciating to see how long Ezra was taking to make it back on foot. Especially when he could sense that time was running out. He didn’t know how he knew, but Vincent knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the window of opportunity to get back to his body in time to remain alive was rapidly closing, and once it shut, he would be permanently barred from coming back.
He would have to move on to whatever stage of existence was next. And there would be no way to return to his mortal life. Just when Vincent was beginning to think they would never make it back in time, they finally reached the area where his body lay.
Wanting desperately to be near his body again, Vincent suddenly found himself inside the rock tomb once more. He attempted to reenter his body, but he wasn’t sure how to do it. It seemed as if something was preventing him from doing so, though he couldn’t fathom what that might be.
Though he could sense that it was not yet too late. He still had time to get back in his body before he was permanently separated, he just needed to figure out how. And fast. If Ezra entered the tomb and found him dead, he could decide to leave and then Vincent would be doomed even if he somehow managed to be revived.
Vincent was beginning to hope that he could be rescued, and excitement began to rise within him.
I can make it back! I can see my family again. I can keep my promise and we can live our lives. I can be a good father and husband. I’ll cherish them for the rest of my life.
Just as his hope had begun to soar, Vincent suddenly sensed that something was very wrong. He heard the sound of a gun cocking and the voice of the bounty hunter. He had a strong desire to see what was happening and found himself suddenly standing outside next to Ezra.
Wexler was on his horse, pointing a gun right at Ezra’s back. Vincent felt his hope evaporate. Obliterated by the crushing weight of despair. Vincent wanted to fight back, kick, punch or even bite. But he knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do.