Part 4
Unveiled
When Terry left the apartment Mr. Daniels was nowhere in sight. A big, black electric SUV sat by the curb near the Scholastic Dorm entrance. It was a safe assumption that it was the Daniels’ vehicle. It was probably the only vehicle in the area that could comfortably fit a man of Mr. Daniels’ size. Offering a friendly wave in that general direction, no need to be rude, Terry set off across campus towards Cardstock. Sunrise was another hour or so away, so Terry navigated by the glow of street lamps. It was probably due to the poor lighting, but Terry swore he saw something in the shadows, following him. It was only caught in the corner of his eye, swirling shadows in his peripheral vision.
When Terry would turn his head in the direction of the dancing shadows there would be nothing but poor lighting there. If anything was shifting in the shade, it was more ephemeral than solid. Crossing another street on his way to work, Terry saw an amorphous shroud in the corner of his eye. It was roughly man-sized cloud of smoke moved out of the shadows and towards him. When he looked directly in that direction there was nothing but dim light and snow. Terry thought he saw a person’s silhouette within that smoke, but he couldn’t prove anything.
A block further Terry was waiting at another crosswalk. He idly looked around him and followed the headlights of a passing car has it went down the street. Terry’s eyes widened in shock as he saw a man become visible in the headlights. Harsh shadows played across his features due to the direct light, but there was what could only be described as black smoke rolling off his form. The smoke seemed to suck in the light that struck it, making the outline of the man clear, but the details difficult to ascertain. Terry blinked to make sure what he saw was real. When he looked again the man in smoke was gone. The occurrence happened too swiftly for Terry to confirm if it actually occurred or not. It could have been his imagination. His mind wasn’t truly focused on his surroundings. The events of the morning dominated his thoughts.
What his mind focused on exchanged itself for a moment on the revelation of his new Fate’s Hand cards to the confusing and secretive actions of Priss once her father showed up. The two mythic-class cards were amazing, they were probably powerful cards, their flavor text did not really align with the Fate’s Hand cards that Terry had experience with and left him confused as to how they were used in game. But, they were mythic cards, they might have their own rules that would be applied once they came into play. He would tell Dave about them and see if he would be willing to test them out after breakfast—purely for their mutual education regarding mythic cards.
Priss was also on Terry’s mind. These thoughts were a concoction of concern and curiosity. Both were not new to Terry regarding Priss. She had a secretive and dangerous job with her family. Whatever it is they did allowed her to become dangerous when she chose to; so what did they do that required such skills? “Be patient. Priss said she would tell me about everything tonight,” Terry muttered to himself as he crossed the street once the light allowed it. “She will come home, like every other time, and we can finally talk about it.” Terry had always been curious about what Priss’ family did for work, but he had been content with knowing she came back safe. Now, however, he had a newfound desire to know due to what happened this morning. He also wanted to know why Mr. Daniels couldn’t be allowed to see the Fate’s Hand cards. Priss involvement with the game wasn’t really a secret as far as Terry knew. Then again, she didn’t offer much information regarding her family in general.
Distracted by these tumultuous thoughts, Terry began to feel uncomfortably warm in his jacket and began to unzip it to take it off. Halfway through the process he stopped in his tracks as he realized what he was doing in the middle of winter. Terry finally tore himself away from his thoughts and glanced at his surroundings.
The winter streets of downtown Fallsbend were gone. Terry was surrounded by trees covered in the blooming greenery of summer. As he spun on a heel to take in everything around him in disbelief, the sounds and smells finally filtered in for him. The chirping and chattering of small woodland creatures greeted his ears. Fresh air and the scent of animals and plants registered to his nose at the same time. Terry hardly left the city, but Priss did for work. The scent of woods was something he had smelled off of her before. His most outdoors experience was at the small city park we crossed on the way to and from his apartment. This was something wholly different and unreal.
Once immediate curiosity was sated, Terry’s rational mind wrested control once more. His eyes widened in realization to the fact he was not where he should be. There was no snow, no biting cold, not even a single building in sight. Terry was now going from uncomfortably warm in his jacket to unbearably hot, so he finally took it off. Stepping forward, Terry reached out and touched one of the trees surrounding him. The bark was rough against his fingertips as his hand gentled trailed down the side of the tree. It was real. But how? Virtual Reality was getting better, sure. There were sensory pods, but those were for the military and far too wealthy to play with. Terry never got to use one, just read the reviews. This was far too… far too tangible for even the sensory pods.
“How did I get here?” Terry voiced his tentative acceptance to the very realistic environment around him. He voiced the question with no real intention on getting an answer, just filling the air. An answer did come though.
“The more productive question to ask, Terence, is ‘why am I here?’” a familiar voice spoke from behind Terry. Spinning around, Terry saw a man cross through a threshold of smoke and become whole.
“Dr. Ramirez?” Terry questioned with disbelief coloring his voice. “Why are you here? What is this place? Am I dreaming?” Dr. Ramirez was Terry’s old creative writing professor from university. He was an older Mexican-American man with short, dark hair and an immaculate goatee. At the moment he wore black slacks, a dress jacket with a white collared shirt. On the right side of his jacket a chained lapel pin with a stylized lion wrapped around a dark gem sat. The gem seemed to gradually shift from black, to a deep purple, then back to black. It was mesmerizing.
“Those questions are not an improvement,” Dr. Ramirez said, ignoring the questions and Terry’s pleading tone. “I am here as a proctor and a messenger. Listen to what I have to say well, any mundane questions you can ask your martial monkey later.”
“What?” Terry asked dumbly. Dr. Ramirez sighed.
“Still asking the wrong questions,” he said, “listen closely. I am only going over this once.”
“This,” he gestured to the surrounding woods, “is a very real place as is everything, and I mean everything, else is as well. Consider your present predicament a test, not because you’re being graded, but because there are parties interested on if you survive. For this test I am your proctor, and by this I mean that I brought you here and I tell you the expectations. No assistance will be provided.
“How to pass this test is simple, follow only these two criteria: one, survive here in the Scarred Wood until the end of the day tomorrow. Two, discover your attunement. The first part will be exceptionally easier the sooner you succeed on the second,” Dr. Ramirez said as he listed the criteria off his left hand.
“How am I expected to survive in the woods? I have no idea what to do here?!” Terry said with a yelp quickly following as a tendril of smoke rose from his former professor and smacked Terry across the chest.
“No interrupting,” Dr. Ramirez stated with not a care in his tone, “The next duty I have is to be a messenger.” With that he reached into an interior pocket of his jacket and retrieved something. A light underhand toss sent a small object sailing through the air between the two. Not expecting the action, Terry fumbled and dropped it on the ground. A ring nestled itself amongst the blades of grass at Terry’s feet. After examining it for a moment or two, Terry gingerly lifted the ring from the ground. It was made out of a dark stone he wasn’t familiar with. Heat a bit warmer than his own pleasantly radiated from it. The top of the ring had the figure of a bird in flight engraved into it. The engraving was filled with silver, creating a contrast that allowed the artwork to be clearly seen.
The ring was beautiful, well-crafted, and certainly nothing Terry should have a right to have.
“Everything you will need is inside from what I’m told,” Dr. Ramirez said, “not sure why the Merlin gave you one of those rings, and I’m even dumbstruck that it was mana-bound to you.” Disdain crept into the former professor’s voice as he spoke that last bit. Terry was taken aback by the tone. Dr. Ramirez’s creative writing class had been his favorite before dropping out of university. He thought that there had been a healthy rapport between them. Either something changed or the professor had an incredible professional mask.
“Apologies,” Dr. Ramirez stated after taking a breath to reign in his leaked disdain, “it’s nothing personal. That ring is both powerful in its arcane function and in what it represents. Very few are given the opportunity to have one, let alone get it mana-bound. You are very fortunate.” This was more akin to the teacher Terry remembered, but he was still off put by all of this.
“Mana-bound?” Terry asked, “What does that mean? What is this ring exactly? Who is the Merlin?”
“Those might be the first useful questions you’ve asked yet,” Dr. Ramirez replied with a slight curl to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll answer two of your questions.
“Mana-bound means that an objects imbued with arcane power is directly linked with a particular mage’s mana signature. To put it simply, only the particular mage can use an object mana-bound to them. There are ways to override this, but it is time consuming and rarely worth the effort. Just having an arcane object itself is a rarity these days.”
“Wait, wait, and wait,” Terry hurriedly said, “mages? As in magic? Like fantasy?”
“Well,” Dr. Ramirez stated with another smirk, “if that is really your second question. Yes, like magic in the fantasy stories you wrote in my class. Well, perhaps not exactly like that, but the idea is sound.”
“That can’t be true, magic is just fantasy. Meant for stories and games,” Terry said with disbelief.
“Terence, you watched me walk out of smoke not five minutes ago and I struck you with smoke mere moments ago. What part of science allows me to accomplish such feats?” Dr. Ramirez asked.
“uhh,” Terry sputtered, not knowing how the rules of reality he was familiar with could logically answer the question.
“Remember what I said at the start of all this, everything around you is real, everything that is here is real. No story, no fantasy, just another part of the world that is hidden from plain sight to most,” Dr. Ramirez said to Terry. “Now the last bit of my job here, a message. The Arcanists, which is a group of mages from the Midwestern United States, would be delighted to accept you into our ranks and train you as a mage should you pass your test and have interest.
“Whether you accept,” he continued before Terry could raise his voice with another question, “is up to you. The Arcanists do not force other mages into our ranks, even if we offer the best protection and resources for our kind. Regardless of your decision, know that powerful figures and interested parties will take notice of you eventually. The Merlin and the Arcanists already have. Choose your future wisely.”
“That’s cryptic,” Terry said in a deadpan voice, “now can you explain all this more? I have no idea who or what any of that is, I don’t know where I am, I have no clue why I’m being forced to do some test, and I am so confused about what the hell is happening right now!” Terry’s voice grew to a frustrated pitch by the end of his string of statements. Dr. Ramirez quietly gazed at Terry after his outburst before replying.
“Nope,” he finally said, “I won’t answer any more questions. I gave you two, and it is no problem of mine that yours were poor ones. However, I will offer some free advice,” he paused for dramatic effect, “fight well or run fast.” With that Dr. Ramirez darkly chuckled to himself and began to step back. As he did a thick plume of smoke began to form behind him. Once he was fully obscured a thunderclap echoed through the woods and was gone. Only faint wisps of smoke were left, and those quickly disappeared with the gentle breeze. Terry was left alone in a strange woods with a fanciful ring in his hand, a growing list of questions, and a blooming anxiety.
“Ok,” Terry told himself, “deep breath. Let’s believe Dr. Ramirez for now about all this. Denying everything around me won’t help me survive if it is real. So focus Terry, focus.” Terry slapped his cheeks and then took a look around him, with a critical eye rather than a befuddled one. “I wish I had gone camping with Priss now,” he quietly complained, “I have absolutely no idea how to find anything in the woods.” But, maybe finding something isn’t the point at the moment. Dr. Ramirez had said to “fight well or run fast,” what exactly is he fighting or running from?
Quieting himself, Terry attempted to stretch out his senses into his surroundings. If magic was real, then maybe those web novels that were Terry’s guilty pleasure for bedtime reading had something to them. He concentrated, shutting his eyes tight and willing his other senses to feel out what lurks in the woods. Nothing. He sensed absolutely nothing.
Opening his eyes, Terry sighed and glanced into the woods around him. Lots of trees, shrubs, and other things that are green met his gaze. These didn’t seem particularly dangerous, but man-eating plants might actually be a thing around here for all he knew. Then, it hit him. He didn’t hear anything around him. When Terry arrived, before he even really understood his change in location, he heard the sounds of nature. Birds chirping, small creatures chattering, and other ambient noises within a woods that gave a hint towards what was around. Now, it was silent. Like the trees had taken a breath of anticipation for what came next. Panic began to swell up in Terry’s chest as the silence stretched itself. Anxiety was something of an issue for Terry and silence did a great job of perpetuating it.
A snapping twig to Terry’s left shattered the stillness in the air and further cultivated panic. Quickly twisting in that direction, Terry witnessed the culprit break through the cover of some shrubbery. It was a small humanoid creature. Pale green skin assisted in blending it with the surrounding foliage, long and gangly limbs were attached to a short body. An oversized head with large ears, nose, and eyes pointed directly at Terry. Large, black irises hovered above an open mouth filled with wickedly jagged teeth. A small wooden club was held in its hand. Something like animal furs hug from one shoulder and draped down its body to cover the nether region. From the smell, the skin hadn’t been cured at all; just thrown on after the creature was processed.
This creature was no great mystery for Terry. He had seen countless goblins on gaming screens and projections. It looked pretty similar to those fictions, but was longer limbed than Terry knew them to be. The goblin slowly moved forward with a slight hop to its step. Not really what video games had conditioned Terry to expect, and it was a tad terrifying. That could just be the situation as a whole though. Have to reflect on this later to figure it out.
What parts from video games regarding goblins could Terry trust? From what he knew they were relatively weak creatures in the grand scheme of things. They often prospered in groups under more powerful entities—either other, stronger, goblins or other races that would enforce dominion through force. Goblins were usually weak, early level creatures for heroes and champions to beat up for experience. Looking at the very real, very menacing goblin slowly advancing towards him, Terry did not feel like a hero or champion about to get some easy levels. No, he looked at the goblin and knew fear. That goblin had a hungry expression in its eyes and Terry was distinctly uncomfortable with it. Dr. Ramirez’s advice came to mind and Terry decided to follow the wisest of the options—he ran.
~
“Our objective today,” Commander Sunkin said in his deep voice as he exited the passenger seat of the SUV, “is a shaman that has been sighted gathering goblin tribes in the Scarred Wood. We are to take care of it before it spawns a legitimate issue for the Veil’s balance.” As he spoke, Priss watched her father pull out a small glided box, roughly the size of 20th Century cigarette box, and retrieve a coin the size of a quarter. She glanced at it as she stepped next to her father. It was something she had seen before, but it was the closest thing to magic that her father and other martials would personally handle. It was made of gold and pulsed with veins of green energy.
“An upstart goblin is not an issue,” Priss said in her distant, soldier’s voice. She began to hate that voice. “So why do we have a full squad to handle the issue?” Priss gestured to the Captain Frost, James the mean hockey player as Terry labeled him, and a mage she didn’t know the name of from the Moon Department of Crescent Dawn. Priss had been making an effort to know the names of the mages she worked with, but it was difficult when they had their guard up around her and other martials at all times. Commander Sunkin ignored the question as he walked through the front door of a local art supplies store, Matt’s Crafts, the sign of the window declared to the street.
“Hi there!” A not so awake and chipper door greeter for the store muttered as he rubbed at his eyes, “welcome to Matt’s Crafts. Can I help you find anything today?” Once sleep was taken out of his eyes, the door greeter, an older gentleman probably around 60 years old or so, took in our group with a breath of surprise. Before he could speak, Priss’ father spoke.
“Good morning Gerald, we won’t be needing any crafting supplies at the moment. We are simply here on business. I do think I will pick up some more yarn later though. If you could set aside two bundles of red and yellow acrylic yarn I’d greatly appreciate it,” Commander Sunkin kindly said to the old man, “Please inform Mr. Tonella that we will be in the restricted area for most of the day.” The old man inclined his head and said he would do so right away.
The restricted area was behind a steel door that presided in the employee’s hall. To the Veiled, people who were unaware of the Hidden World, magic; monsters; and the like, it was a door that was impossible to open. To most unveiled it was the same, but they could at least understand why. It was enchanted to only open with a magic coin pressed against it. A coin like the gold-green one that Priss’ father was rolling between his fingers. Once they got to the door he casually pressed the coin to the door and it silently slid to the slide to reveal the room beyond. Everyone from the squad marched in and the door closed behind them.
The room held a pedestal at the center of the room. It had a narrow neck that held a palm-sized tablet at roughly waist height. Other than that there were some shelves with seemingly random, mundane objects resting on them. There were pens resting on individual stands, rows of plain white coffee mugs, umbrellas hanging off pegs, and other ordinary items had no logical connection to the others in the room. Priss, her father, and James went to the items strewn about the room and retrieved them. Priss picked up a pen and coffee mug, her father gathered an umbrella, as did James. The mage whose name she did not know stood by the pedestal and placed his hand upon it.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
A blue vapor that hummed with energy uncoiled from a watch the mage had on his wrist. It travelled down his hand and into the tablet on the pedestal. The tablet soon glowed the same hue of blue and what seemed like specks of pollen in that color floated off it. Those magical, blue pollen-like specks gathered a few feet in front of the mage and pedestal and began forming a condensed ball. After a minute the blue mass was roughly the size of a tennis ball. At this point it contracted and then violently expanded outward. The blue energy was now spread then over an eight foot area against the far wall. It shimmered and then a scene foreign to the room was shown through it. Similar to a window, screen, or projection a green forest was seen through the portal that had been created. The portal was edged with blue energy the same color as the particles the pedestal had emitted.
“Mage, report,” Commander Sunkin ordered as he watched the mage take a step away from the pedestal with labored breathes. The mage took a red gem out of a pocket and placed it on the pedestal before replying.
“Commander Sir, the portal to the Scarred Wood is stabilized. I placed the rift near the Tree Folk village, Elm’s Bark,” the mage replied once his breathing was more controlled, “this position is not be far from where the shaman is, should reports be accurate.”
“How stable is the portal?” Captain Frost inquired as he rolled a shoulder in anticipation.
“It was a relatively painless process this time,” the mage replied, “with the red mana carrier crystal powering the portal I can insure six hours in the Hidden World. Eight hours is probably safe with this particular rift location, but beyond six there is no guarantee of stability.”
“Captain Frost,” Priss’ father said, “take the mage through the rift and secure a beachhead. Then scout the area and discover potential directions our target may be in.” Captain Frost nodded his compliance.
“Yes commander,” he replied with a salute, “come mage.” With that he and the mage walked through the blue portal against the wall and became part of the forest scene on the other side. Once the pair had gone through Mr. Daniels shift his body to face Priss.
“An equipment discharge? Really want me to believe that the burst of magic the mage and I sensed was an equipment discharge?” He asked her a tone that was only a degree warmer than when he gave orders.
“Our gear is enchanted by the Moon Department,” Priss began saying, “some arcane energy leaks out when they activate.” She knew this was a weak excuse, but she had not been prepared for the reality. Those Fate’s Hand cards of Terry’s were magic and she could not let her father know.
“And what exactly discharged?” Mr. Daniels asked with an unbelieving look on his face.
“My armor,” Priss answered quickly, “as you know, it has an automatic response enchantment and it partially activated.”
“And why did it ‘partially activate’?”
“Because of acts that I will not discuss with my superior officer or my father,” Priss curtly replied. By shifting the reason to something more scandalous and personal his focus may go away from the magic sense as the instincts of an over-protective father took control. It wouldn’t do any favors towards her father’s opinion of Terry, but it was better than the truth. His eyes narrowed at her words.
“Priscilla, I think it is time to reassign surveillance of Terence White to another operative,” Mr. Daniels said in his cold, professional voice, “It was allowed for you to present yourself as a love interest to the subject because it was argued that having our observer be a confidant would prove or disprove the concerns raised regarding him.
“Nothing has developed through this approach in over a year. A change of tactic will proceed. Once we are done with this mission you are to break contact with the subject and go on standby.” As he said this, Mr. Daniels pressed his thumb against the handle of the umbrella in his hand. Previously hidden symbols began glowing an orange-red color from where his thumb pressed and crawled the length of the umbrella. As the hidden symbols revealed themselves with the glow the umbrella began to change form. Its handle straightened and lengthened into a leather-wrapped handle; a thick V-shaped cross-guard sprouted above the handle; and the umbrella itself grew longer, flattening itself and transmuting into a light colored metal.
The entire process only took around five seconds. Once it was complete the once mundane umbrella became a sword that was three-fourths the size of Priss’ father. A great sword with red-orange symbols stretching the length of the blade hummed as his qi began coursing through it like a new vein.
“I disagree,” Priss said as she pressed the activation command on her pen and coffee mug, “I am the best opportunity we have if a development with the subject occurs. He trusts me and would tell me.
“That is if there is ever going to be a development. It has been two years. Terry could just be a veiled one that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” As Priss stated her case the pen and coffee mug had transmutations of their own. The pen grew into a short sword with a tip shaped like a tear drop. Her coffee mug flattened itself and expanded into a metallic circular shield.
“There are other methods of obtaining information regarding Terence White. If there is even a chance that he is a void-sourced manafested then he must be dealt with,” Mr. Daniels said with certainty. “We cannot allow any unbound manafested discover him and weaponize his power. Or worse, he accidently activates that foul magic without any control to speak of.”
“I understand that Terry could, possibly, be a mage of terrible power,” Priss said with heavy emphasis on ‘possibly,’ “but I haven’t seen any signs of magical power or the development of an attunement since I began this assignment. He is just a normal man trying to figure out life.” Her father adjusted his grip of the great sword and began walking towards the blue portal as he spoke, “This decision is final. Once our mission is complete you will break all contact with Terence White and a new operative will take over the observation task.” Priss was about to argue further but he stepped through the portal before she had the chance.
This is a problem, she thought, what I am going to do?
While having these thoughts and stepping towards the portal her slate chimed. It was a sound reserved for the spectating application used to watch Fate’s Hand games remotely. Curious, Priss turned on the slate’s projection with a flick of her wrist. The projection read, “Deck Mage has entered the field of combat, would you like to spectate?” Another gesture shut off the projection and Priss continued towards the portal. Dave and Terry were probably having a game before breakfast. Nothing she had time to watch, she had a job to do and an order to try and annul. She stepped through the rift and into the Scarred Wood.
~
“I,” wheeze, “will never,” cough, “dismiss,” another cough, “Priss’ invite to work-,” wheeze,”-out again.”
These words struggled to tumble out of Terry’s mouth between ragged breaths his lungs demanded as he ran through the woods of ever-present danger. He had followed Dr. Ramirez’s advice and ran. Ran hard and fast. Which worked out for about two minutes. In other circumstances, that wouldn’t be a terrible time for an all-out dash. Terry wasn’t out of shape, but exercise to him was to stay fit not become herculean. And fit, but modern standards, only had someone running at full tilt for two reasons: one, nature-called at the most inopportune time and the freeway’s rest stop was just a little too far away for comfort; two, you were running for your life from so sort of danger. Terry’s experience with the first option was rough enough, and he was not enjoying the second much either.
Side-stepping another tree and hoping it did not reach out and grab him, Terry heard the hurried crashing of his pursuers. Yes, pursuers. As in more than one. It seems that Terry’s understanding of goblins from games and books was not all inaccurate. They did like travelling in groups. When Terry first ran he thought he could disappear into the woodwork and maybe surprise the goblin somehow.
That idea was thrown out quickly as the creature began to hoot and holler as it saw him run away. As it did this more of the same sound began echoing through the woods. Apparently, the goblin was calling all his friends and neighbors to converge and participate in the hunt for Terry.
Terry kept running through the unfamiliar woods in hope of losing his green-skinned pursuers, but the plan was failing and he was slowing down. His run had reduced to an unsteady jog and anything within half a mile could probably hear his breathing. More crashing of foliage behind Terry motivated him to pick up the pace yet again. Time was running out because Terry was getting out ran. A brief glance behind revealed more than 5 goblins within 30ft of him. Not good, not at all. The sight inspired a second, or third, wind for Terry and he began to pull away with additional speed. That additional speed allowed for Terry’s face to smash with extra force into the earth as he tripped on a root.
The air whooshed from his lungs with the impact and his nose erupted in pain as the smell and taste of copper entered his senses. Terry’s thoughts tumbled as if in a rock polisher. Did the tree just trip me? Uugggh, this fucking hurts. Did grass always feel this soft?
Moaning due to the pain, he pushed against the ground in attempt to rise. As he did so a high-pitched cry reminded Terry of his situation. He scrambled to stand up and keep running, but a scream erupted from his lips as red-hot pain seared a line into his left leg. Terry toppled to the right and landed back on the ground. He couldn’t get back up and he had to get away from the goblins. That, however, wasn’t the prominent thought on his mind. Terry was in agony.
Terry had broken a bone before. A toe to be precise. He slipped on slick bathroom tiles and his foot crashed into the underside of the countertop. That had made him tear up and then hobble for a month or two. The pain he felt now made that broken toe seem like what it probably had been: a minor inconvenience. Terry pried his eyes open and stretched a hand to touch the abused area, but another strike hit him in the ribs, and pain reintroduced itself explosively.
As Terry toppled over in anguish, again, a howl of enthusiasm sounded off. Having a change in priorities, Terry glanced in that direction. A goblin stood there, a makeshift club held over its head in triumph and stinking pelt clinging to his torso. Its mouth was open in glee and Terry was able to observe the jagged teeth in fine detail. The goblin barked at Terry, either laughing at or taunting him, and swung the club again.
Terry had the wisdom to duck this time. He leaned back, landing on the ground a third time. His ribs rioted in pain, but adrenaline was thankfully numbing it a bit. Though dodging was a wise move, Terry had lacked the foresight to see that his position made it simpler for a newly arrived goblin to stab him with a crude stone knife. The blade’s invasion of Terry’s right shoulder offered him a pointed lesson on the value of situational awareness. More directly though, it was damned painful. The club strikes were at least spread out a bit. The knife wound left blinding pain and cut muscles in a very concise region.
Beginning to panic, Terry flailed his arms and legs. He needed to fight back. Needed to defend himself. He wasn’t a muscle bound ninja. He didn’t have the physical abilities or instincts that Priss did. The only things that Terry had going for him were Priss and his talent at a card game. Priss might have some awesome dedication to fitness and self-defense, but Terry wouldn’t want her to also be in this fantasy nightmare if given the choice, and a card game wouldn’t save him from these very real, very dangerous goblins. He had nothing to defend himself with.
I hope Priss will be alright after this is over, Terry thought as another club strike crashed against his chest this time. Another, now familiar, cry of pain erupted from his lips and his body curled in attempts to present a smaller target. He was ready for it to be over. Hopefully goblins killed before they ate their prey.
Prey.
Terry knew what it was like to feel like prey. To be watched by something more dangerous and powerful as something to toy with, something devoured. Terry knew what is what like to be prey and knew that these goblins were not predators. As the thought struck him, Terry soon discovered himself no longer on the ground being beaten and stabbed to death by goblins. He was in the dark place. Pain didn’t follow him here apparently. That was a relief.
What was less of a relief was the pair of grey eyes staring at Terry. They hovered right next to him. Unlike the many times before when Terry met the grey eyes in the dark place, a white vapor formed around the eyes. It created a snouted head, a body with four legs beneath, and what had to be a tail behind it. The grey eyes, and accompanying vapor body, were vaguely lupine. It stood before Terry, concern coloring its irises. How Terry knew, he couldn’t say. There was no facial expression, or even eyebrows to observe being raised or lowered in judgement. But, he just knew the grey eyed vapor beast was concerned for him.
“Why do you not call for aid?” a familiar, but not known baritone voice inquired. “It is unwise to hunt without the pack at your side,” It continued before Terry could reply. It looked beyond Terry and he followed the gaze. A rift in the all-consuming darkness rested there. A scene of now three goblins surrounding Terry’s huddled was within the frame.
“I see,” the vapor hound stated, “it is not…” it paused as if trying to figure out the proper word, “time, for my arrival.” The trio of goblins were slowly moving their respective weapons in unison. Preparing for the finishing blows no doubt. They looked like they were moving through molasses. It was beyond slow.
“It is frustrating I cannot see beyond this darkness unless you open the rift, otherwise the pack could have aided you sooner,” it said as it continued to observe the scene beyond the rift. Terry was, understandably, confused.
“What pack?” He asked, “far as I know it has always been you and I in this abyss.” The grey eyes looked back at Terry before answering.
“There is nothing here besides us,” it replied.
“Well, isn’t that what I just said?” Terry snorted.
“There is nothing here besides us,” the vapor hound continued as if Terry hadn’t interrupted, “because you have not called forth anything else from here. I sense other rift keys with you other than my own. Use them to call forth others to join our pack. Survive until it is time I join you beyond the rift. Then we shall show creatures like these,” the snout gesturing towards the goblins, “what true predators are.” A vicious, what had to be smile, spread across its face as fangs bared themselves. Terry couldn’t help but grin back. He had no idea where the feeling came from, but he knew he could trust this entity. Trust it more than anyone else Terry knew. More than Priss, but not by much.
“So what are rift keys?” Terry asked, “I’m all for getting some help and adding the ‘pack,’ but the how to do that is part I don’t know.”
“You have four other rift keys,” the vapor hound said, “simply touch one and pour your source into it.”
“Source?” Terry repeated.
“your mana, your intent, your will. Different words for the same idea. Focus that into the rift key as your handle it and it will call forth another from the nothing around us.”
“How can something to help me come from this?” Terry asked while gesturing to the absence surrounding them.
“Everything comes from something, but at some point something had to come from nothing. Your power simply calls what is and can be from where everything began,” the grey-eyed vapor entity answered, “this is not the time for a discussion though. It is time for you to go back and survive. I will be waiting for my own rift.” As these final words echoed pain began to blossom in Terry’s senses again. Bludgeon and stab wounds sang with an orchestra of agony. He was back on the forest floor, huddled in attempt to protect himself from anything lethal.
Recalling the conversation he had in the dark place, reached out with his intent to find the rift keys the entity spoke of. He knew there were five in total, and that gave him a pretty good idea of what exactly he was searching for. Terry imagined a region around himself that he could sense everything. It wasn’t every large. Just an inch or two from himself. Unlike when he tried to sense the forest around him, Terry did feel a response from his intent.
He felt the clothes on his body. They were heavy due to the winter weather back in Fallsbend, but now were cut and torn from the goblin assault and dash through the woods. In the pocket of his jacket he felt a powerful echo of, well of something. Terry wasn’t sure there was a formal word for what he was experiencing. He was not looking at the cards in his pockets, but he swore he sensed colors from them. He could hear the colors coming off of them. There were two blues, two bronzes, and a silver that sang. They did not sound like anything that Terry could relate to, but he knew the general aura of each. There were differences between them, but he did not have the time to investigate further.
Terry tried to grasp one of the blue auras. He found that it was too difficult to grasp. It wriggled out from his grip and continued to taunt him from just beyond his grasp. Then tried to grab the other blue aura he heard. This one was more familiar, it sung with tones of gray in it. However, this card was too large for him to fully command with his floundering magic and remained still regardless of his intent. The silver aura seemed to shriek at Terry, demanding his attention. Partly from desperation, partly from wanting the silver’s shrieking to go away, Terry swung his magical intent towards it and willed it to listen. Once Terry’s intent commanded the silver aura it silenced itself and relaxed itself into Terry’s magic. It was then he knew that the silver aura and its source were his to command. Terry willed the rift key he now controlled to open, and released what the dark place sheltered into the world.
A burst of orange light surrounded Terry after he opened the rift key through his intent. His already pain-exhausted nerves burned with power. Terry opened his eyes to see the trio of goblins stepping back, wide-eyed as he became a beacon of orange light. Looking at himself Terry saw it wasn’t he that was glowing, but an orange mist that was slowly rotating around him. The mist came from a Fate’s Hand card that somehow ended up in his grasp. It was the Sanguine Bat he pulled from the card pack this morning.
This time Terry was certain this wasn’t a normal card with a glitch. For one, the orange mist falling off the card wasn’t something Fate’s Hand cards could do. Secondly, he felt a connection to the card. He knew it was magic, real magic, and that it was his. Looking at the artwork on the card he saw the large bat looking directly at him with clear purpose. It looked to be saying, “are you going to let me help? You desperately need it.” Without allowing time for logical thought to question his action, Terry poured more of his will to live into the card and threw it with a cry of desperation.
The card sailed through the air rather flimsily. A trail of orange mist marked its trajectory towards the goblins watching Terry. The card glowed a brighter orange then flashed. Once the light was blinked out of Terry’s eyes he saw that where the card once was a bat the size of a large cat flapped there lazily. It had a 2 ½ or 3 foot wingspan and blood-colored fur on its body. Terry was certain that this was his creature. There was a living connection between them. There was a slight tremor in the connection, then a strain. If a rope connected Terry and the Sanguine Bat, then the bat just started tug-of-war.
Befuddled by what was happening Terry’s grip on the figurative rope slipped and moved more towards the vamp bat. As this happened he felt a drain within himself. Like there was a tub full of water and the drain had been opened for a moment then closed again. Concern flooded his mind as possible consequences of losing the tug-of-war match piled up. A growl, bestial and menacing resounded through Terry’s mind and being. It seemed to come from himself, somewhere he was beginning to become aware of.
“The new pack member questions the alpha,” the baritone voice said, “it questions our strength. Let it know where it stands within our pack.” Terry had questions, questions he felt that could be asked at a more appropriate time. For now, he grabbed onto the connection with the vamp bat with his intent and pulled.
It wasn’t much of a contest once Terry wasn’t distracted. As he pulled the authority of the connection into himself the tub of energy he felt before drained considerably. If he had to guess, maybe half was gone and slowly draining. Good news was, the vamp bat had submitted to Terry’s will and was part of his pack. Whatever that meant.
Sounds of shuffling brought Terry’s awareness back to his surroundings. The trio of goblins had enough of watching him and the bat stare at each other it and decided to charge forward. As they did this a stream of instinct flowed through the connection Terry shared with the Sanguine Bat. There were no words associated—just the need for action. The action in this case, was to attack and heal; to feed and drink. Sounded like a solid plan to Terry. He looked back at the bat and hoarsely said, “do it.”
The vamp bat flew into action once the words were spoken. It rose into the air and then dove sharply towards the lead goblin with the bloodied stone knife. The goblin shrieked in terror and raised its knife in defense of itself against the aerial strike. The Sanguine Bat rolled to the side and used feet to push aside the knife raised against it. No longer obstructed by blade, the bat opened its mouth to reveal a quintet of oversized fangs. They buried deeply into the shoulder and chest of the goblin. Crimson blood leaked from the punctures. The goblin tried harming the winged leech, but its assault grew weaker with each passing moment. Its skin shifted to a paler shade of green as the vamp bat concluded its task.
Once sated, the vamp bat flew toward Terry and began to glow crimson. Particles of red floated like pollen on the breeze between the familiar and its mage. As the particles impacted Terry he saw them slowly absorb into his body. As more were absorbed he noticed the pain in his bludgeoned and cut regions subside slightly. The symphony of pain was more of a garbage-band concert now.
Terry sighed in relief as the pain reduced. Slowly raising himself into a sitting position, Terry surveyed the developing situation around him. Above and slightly ahead of him hovered the Sanguine Bat. A constant stream of emotion flowed through the connection between them. With effort he could quiet it, but it was always there participating in his mind, feeding and inspiring thoughts. By all rationale having such a foreign bond should freak out Terry. This wasn’t normal, but none of this was. Dr. Ramirez said all of this was real and Terry finally believed him. Technology couldn’t do all of this. He would freak out about this later, but when he was whole and alive. Freak outs were best done when whole and alive.
Beyond the flapping familiar Terry saw two green-skinned monsters, one with a makeshift club and one with no weapon to speak of. Looking at the one with the club Terry’s anger flared. He wanted its blood. Wait, its blood? Where did that come from? The vamp bat took the thought as allowance to act and dove towards the club wielding goblin. It had still be mentally recovering from watching its fellow’s blood get drank like a Capri-Sun and did not react swiftly enough to defend itself effectively. The Sanguine Bat bit down and drank deeply.
Shrieks of pain and surprise quickly subsided as the goblin’s vital essence faded. Terry felt a trill of ecstasy run down his spine as his card creature finished drinking. Before he could make a mental note of that, four more goblins charged out of the woodwork. The friends and neighbors had arrived.