[T: 18 Hours]
The Obsidian Skeleton has finished searching around an empty room, full of dust and rotting books of leather and parchment, the books unceremoniously littered all over the floor. Oddly enough, in the room, there are no tables, or shelves that would have housed these antique books of the past. It exits the room, stopping just outside of the doorway, the doorway itself missing its door. What is even more odd is that the hinges that are supposed to connect the stone doorway to its missing door are missing as well; the stone where the hinges would normally be inlaid is destroyed.
The Obsidian Skeleton looks to its left, gazing down the hall to the left, then looks in front of it, down the hall to his front. Its black skeletal face betrays nothing of its thoughts. Both halls are boringly empty, all gray and dark, where imprints on the floors and the walls indicate that once upon a time, there were carpets covering the halls and paintings hung on the walls. The Obsidian Skeleton observes both halls for a bit, before looking to the hall on its right, where on the floor, the dust is disturbed, with fresh imprints of someone having recently walked the floors; that someone being the Obsidian Skeleton. Seeing no purpose or reason in going back the way it had come, it turned once more, to examine the halls on its left and front.
The Obsidian Skeleton looks to its left. Then it looks to its front. Then it looks to its left. Again. Then it looks to the front. Again. It starts tapping its right foot. Tap. Tap. Tap. Again, it looks to the left, then again looks to the front. Tap. Tap. Tap. Finally it just stops tapping its foot and just looks forward. It looks forward; one second, two seconds, three seconds. Then it takes a slow and hesitant step forward. It stops. It looks to the left again. Then it looks forward again. It takes another step. Then another. Then another. Each step gets progressively faster than the previous, with less time in between each step. Finally it just simply strolls down the hall, marching forward, deciding that this hall is the hall to explore.
It rounds a corner and just staring at a wall is a creature; a yellow, fat creature with pointed ears and blades for fingers. The Obsidian Skeleton stops and observes the creature. As it observes it starts tapping its right foot again. The creature raises its head, slightly, to the sound of the tapping and turns in the direction of the noise. It froths in the mouth as it starts to walk up to the Obsidian Skeleton, just stopping short a few feet away from the Obsidian Skeleton. The creature looks up at the Obsidian Skeleton, the six foot tall creature (seven foot if including pointy ears) looking up at the eight foot tall metallic construct. The demonic yellow creature looks up with its beady eyes and its mouth open, frothing. It does nothing as if contemplating the existence of this animate object. It raises its claws, but does nothing with it, as if it is not fully committed to acting out any action.
The creature receives a blow to the top of its head, the Obsidian Skeleton dropping its clenched fist like a hammer.The yellow creature drops from the blow and lays stunned for a few seconds. It gets back up, acknowledges that the Obsidian Skeleton is an “other” and opens its mouth wide, revealing its pointed teeth. It receives a clenched fist into its face.
The creature reels backwards, taking a step back. But the Obsidian Skeleton does not stop and continues hammering at it. The creature grasps the side of the stone wall with its long claws, scratching at the walls, attempting to get back up. But it slowly slides down as the blows continue to hammer at its resistance. The Obsidian Skeleton continues to hammer and pummel at the creature that no longer responds.
[T: 18 Hours]
The sun has not come up yet. Yet many are awake. They did not sleep well throughout the night. The air was cold; the grass wet, its juices squeezed out by the weight of the human laying atop it. People give each other weird glances. They feel something happening. They don’t know what is happening, just that something is and that that something is an experience shared by many of the people around them.
In one part of the glade a family of six sit together. A caucasian old man, wearing khaki fatigues; although he doesn’t seem to be in the army, the old man’s son, possibly in his thirties or forties, his wife, teenage son, elementary grade daughter, and a baby toddler. The husband clutches his head, rubbing it. His wife, a slim bodied woman, leans into him, clutching her husband's arm and tries to look into his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”, the wife asks.
Still rubbing the side of his temple and looking at the ground with a disconnection, with a frown on his face, he replies, “It’s my head. I’ve a headache.”
With a slight worry, as although a headache is not a big deal, but still caring for her husband, she asks, “Is it bad?”
Her husband gives a sigh, stops rubbing his head, and stares into empty space to think, “No. It’s not bad”, he finally says. Then he looked at her. “I just had the weirdest dream. It’s all fuzzy and there’s something whispering to me. But the whispering didn’t whisper words.. It’s a - it’s an emotion. And it’s not a good emotion either. It’s a - it’s a… I can’t explain it. It’s a sort of violent emotion.”
His father, the old man, sits up. “You too?”, he asks. His son turns and just stares at him. “I had a similar dream”, the old man says, “But mine was more vivid.” He pauses and stays silent, his son and daughter in law looking at him, waiting. “Mine had, erm, the war. Images of it.”
“Nam?”, his daughter in law asks. “I thought you got over your PTSD before I even married Lucas. Did you bring your meds?”
“No, I didn’t. That might be an issue. Some people have started to look a little blue.”
“Blue?”
“Blue. Like they themselves aren’t blue, they just look blue.” The old man grimaces, shakes his head and waves his hands, to indicate that he doesn’t want to talk about it. His voice is gruff. “Anyways. The dream. You said you had whispering?” His son, Lucas nods. “But it wasn’t words, it was an emotion?” Another nod. “Well, my whisper had words in it. And flashbacks of Nam. I dreamed of bits and pieces of my time there, and the whisper said something like…”, the old man looks at the ground, staring at nothing there. His tone and voice is deep and solemn as he says, “Not even the gods fight necessity.”
His daughter in law repeats her father in law's words and whispers to herself, “Not even the gods fight necessity.” She looks at her father in law and her husband. “And you two had these whispering dreams?”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Her husband nods, “Mine was whispering emotions to me. Conveying them.”
Her father in law quips, “Mine was more vivid. Images of the war, and the whispering was more… lucid… it actually had words. And now I’m seeing some people like they are blue or something. Like they have a blue outline.”
“That could just be a coincidence. A side effect of you not taking your meds”, says his daughter in law.”
“Maybe.” The father in law’s voice is rough and the tone shows reluctance.
“Well. I didn’t have a dream like that. In fact I could hardly sleep.”
“Maybe that’s why you didn’t have the dream. Because you didn’t sleep.”
“Maybe.” The conversation is over. There isn’t much more to say. Everyone sits in silence. One of the children, the toddler, makes a small noise; a groan, and turns on their side.
The old man is sitting, cross-legged, when a small breeze blows by and whispers;
Old Man… the war may be over, but your fight never ends…
The old man looks up, puzzled. He glances at his son and his daughter in law. They haven’t heard it.
The Colosseum has opened. And the Players who have been chosen are appearing. A competition of various life or death deciding challenges will commence. The Gods have chosen their champions, their gladiators, and I have chosen you… Old Man. I offer you sponsorship. One that you will desperately need if you want your family to even barely survive. “You” will be my champion. The old man doesn’t respond.
You need not be wary of me. I only wish for your victory. My intentions are genuine. And to prove that, I will send you a gift. You will need it for the start of the first round. Especially since the odds have been purposely stacked against you…
“My fucken meds…”
His daughter in law looks up at him, “Excuse me?” His son looks at him quizzingly.
“I was just saying that I think I’m sort of feeling the effects of not taking my meds.”
His daughter in law, different from before, now has a seriously worried look. “Are you sure? How bad is it?”
The old man waves her off, dismissing her worry, “It’s fine. I can see that I’m being a little schizo. People just look blue and it's pissing me off.”
“Oh…” The daughter in law retreats her questions and looks at her husband. Her husband shrugs.
You cannot run. You cannot hide. You will soon see that I do not lie.
[T: 20 Hours]
The dawn has started to break. Grayish light gets brighter and brighter as the sun comes up. 1rst Sergeant La Fonte and the Master Sergeant are awake and speaking with the Sergeant and the Corporal.
The man, Red, seizes his opportunity and gets up to talk to them. One of the black men, from the black gang, follows Red with their eyes. His eyes are cold and his concentration is focused on the interaction.
The black gangster see’s La Fonte and the Master Sergeant halt their conversation with the Sergeant and the Corporal as they notice Red approaching them, his pace and body language showing the intent that he wished to speak with them. La Fonte and the Master Sergeant look at each other, then look back at Red. As they speak, the black gang leader can tell that Red is trying to persuade them of something. The 1rst Sergeant is looking at Red, with his hands in his pockets, as Red speaks and the Master Sergeant is looking down at the ground clutching at the rifle slung in front of his chest. Both men have a thoughtful look, and they seem to be taking Red seriously.
The Master Sergeant says something and Red answers, to which La Fonte says something and Red answers again. Both men don’t show any signs that they are in disapproval of Red. The Master Sergeant tells Red something and Red nods. Then the Master Sergeant looks at the Sergeant and the Corporal and tilts his head to the side. All four men, the Master Sergeant, 1rst Sergeant, Sergeant and Corporal walk a few feet away, leaving Red behind. Red stays where he is, looking as the four men walk away from him, waiting patiently, as if he is waiting for an answer.
The black gangster is still observing the interaction when he hears the faint whispering of a voice.
The World is an Oyster. For you to pry open and take its pearl. But for you to take the pearl you will need to use sword and pistol…
The black gangster frowns and looks left and right, trying to determine the source of the whisper, but when searching for it he cannot find it. His gang is sleeping. The groups around him haven’t shown signs of stirring. He alone is awake and active and the only one in the immediate area to even have noticed Red interacting with the military.
The World is an Oyster… And only you can take it for yourself. No one else will help you… Help yourself.
Still frowning and unable to find the person whispering to him, the black gangster with a nose scrunch, one side of his face curled as if in disgust, with raised cheeks; a facial expression of utter confusion, he turns his attention back to Red and the military.
The four men come back to Red and the Master Sergeant asks Red a question, a question with no contention or malice, a question with genuine concern. Red answers and a satisfied look appears on the Master Sergeants face. The two men; Red and the Master Sergeant, shake hands and Red walks back to his group.
The Master Sergeant turns to the Sergeant and Corporal and says something, to which the Sergeant and Corporal nod. Then the Master Sergeant and the 1rst Sergeant walk into the forest towards the South. Red himself starts talking together with his group where they start talking with one another.
The black gangster scoffs, and laughs to himself as he shakes his head.
The first round has begun. The oyster threatens to overwhelm you; swallow you. What do you do?
“Man, shut your bitch ass up”, the black gangster mutters.
One of the members of his gang stupidly snorts, and murmurs a “Huh?”, and farts, as they are roused to the black gangster's angry outburst.
“It’s nothing. Just some stupid people. Go back to sleep”, the black gangster orders, but the man has already gone back to sleep. The black gangster angrily mutters to himself, “Man. This place, messing with my head. Fuck this place.”
[ T: 1 Day 2 Hours]
More soldiers start to come out, transported by the Beam of Light. For a short time, entire waves of the groups transported are all military. They are welcomed by the Sergeant and Corporal.
[T: 1 Days 4 Hours]
A 2nd Lieutenant arrives. The Sergeant salutes him and provides him with the currently known details of the situation.
[T: 1 Day 5 Hours]
Another 2nd Lieutenant arrives. This one is female. Both 2nd Lieutenants are told about the civilian operations planned to be conducted, led by Red. The female 2nd Lieutenant is more agreeable to the idea of having civilians organized to help support the military in recon. The male 2nd Lieutenant is not happy about it.
[T: 1 Day 7 Hours]
A 1rst Lieutenant arrives. Both 2nd Lieutenants salute him. He salutes them back. Apparently the male 2nd Lieutenant knows the 1rst Lieutenant as they are in the same platoon. Around two dozen military personnel are now in the glade.