Chapter 2: EXPERIENCE
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Seriously? This is how I die?
A searing pain stabbed my ribs. Gasping for air, each breath became more of a struggle, like someone was using my chest as a trampoline. The pain intensified, radiating down my left arm. My heart raced, pounding against my chest like it was trying to escape.
I tried to sit up, but my body refused to cooperate. The room spun, neon lights from the Strip blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. I reached out, fumbling for my phone on the nightstand.
Gotta call... someone... anyone...
My fingers brushed against the cool surface of my phone, but as I grabbed it, I remembered. Shit. I'd turned it off. Desperation clawed at me as I tried to power it on. The device slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor.
I attempted to roll over, to reach down and grab it, but another wave of pain hit me. My vision tunneled, darkness creeping in at the edges.
No... not like this...
I shifted my weight, trying to get closer to the edge of the bed. Maybe if I could just reach the phone...
I felt myself falling, unable to stop the momentum. The marble floor rushed up to meet me, and then...
* * *
Someone stood before me. Suspended in the air and unable to lift my head, my vision was limited to glimpses of gold chains and purple robes.
“Who sent you to kill me?” the figure snarled, spittle hitting my forehead.
I couldn’t speak. Kill? Even if I was able to talk, what was there to say? After all, I was dreaming. But the more I tried to wake up, the more bound and trapped I felt.
He punched me in the gut.
“Talk!”
I’d never felt pain in a dream—if that's what this was. His fist twisted like a corkscrew as two knuckles burrowed into my stomach. He hit me again… and again… each punch more intense. My shoulders and back muscles screamed, driven to their limits. Tasting metal in my mouth, the next blow forced me to spit blood.
I imagined Karl had snuck into my room and was currently beating me with a baseball bat… or worse.
Some text glitched in and out before my eyes.
Name: Ember [8160]
Faction: -
Before blacking out, I saw an Asian husband and wife smiling at a two-year-old with a mop of red hair. The child wore a fairy outfit and waved a wand with a silver star.
* * *
I don’t think I’m dreaming.
My entire body was stiff, caked in filthy sweat, blood, and, by the smell of it—urine. Glancing down, a burlap sack covered my body with a rope around my waist. More rope bit into my wrists and ankles, suspending me off the damp, bloodstained stone floor. A window with bars on my left lit the room. Drab grey stone everywhere else. An oversized wooden door with metal hinges was on my right.
The text reappeared.
Name: Ember [8160]
Faction: Neutral
Level: -
Ignoring the possibility I was having a stroke, I tried to concentrate. Or maybe I’m comatose in a bed at some hospital.
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Metal clanking and heavy footsteps approached.
The door creaked open as two guards with polearms entered. They wore medieval armor and purple cloaks with gold tassels. Behind them, the figure in robes entered. I noticed the bruises on his right hand. I hope it’s broken.
“Who sent you to kill me?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I coughed.
He wound up to strike but paused after clenching his hand. He stepped back, but my relief was short-lived.
“Beat her,” he commanded.
The polearms rattled against the wall. Searing pain followed as metal gloves pummelled my sides.
I screamed.
***
I regained consciousness, angry at my Japanese dad. All he did was give me the best life possible. Both my adoptive parents did.
I don’t deserve to have parents, especially those two.
I closed my eyes and felt tears roll down my cheeks.
* * *
“Ember?”
My senses snapped into focus. Inches from my face, something crouched and stared back at me. It was humanoid but thinner, made of cracked orange clay mottled with different shades of rocks.
I recoiled, feeling my body protest as razor blades sliced down my spine. The thing stumbled back, giving me a fuller view of the scarecrow figure. Its arms and legs were disproportionately long, with oversized hands and feet.
“Please don’t be afraid.” The voice was calm, deep, and sounded male.
More text.
Name: Cragmarr
Tier 2 Disciple
Faction: Golem [Demi]
Level: 25
I gasped, “Crag… marr?”
“Yes, that is my name.”
Cragmarr knelt again, letting me see his eyes. They swirled—two orange marbles like melting creamsicles.
“It is good that you can read your interface.”
Interface? As in, user interface?
Ignoring the absurdity of his statement, I croaked, “Where am I? Who are you? What do you—”
“You are about to have an experience that will feel uncomfortable,” he interrupted. “Please stay calm.”
How the hell am I supposed to be calm?
Cragmarr snapped my ropes, allowing me to fall to the floor into a pool of sweat and blood. I attempted to stand, but my body wouldn’t respond.
Suddenly, I zoomed out from a first-person perspective to see myself from afar—like watching 4K security cam footage.
Maybe he meant “out-of-body experience.”
* * *
Ember was hunched over but ready. Cragmarr stepped to a grate on the floor and twisted it open, making a loud noise as stone ground on metal. She winced, hoping nobody heard that.
“Down there,” he said.
She dropped down with a splash into black sludge, feeling more shockwaves of pain. The rancid stench of waste was unbearable. The grate slid back over the hole with a clang.
“Ember, they will know you are gone shortly,” he whispered. “Run to the end of the tunnel.”
The cramped sewer forced Ember to crouch low. She ran like a monkey on all fours, splashing through the muck and slime. Ahead was the opening at the tunnel's far end as a muffled commotion could be heard above her through the thick stone walls.
“The prisoner has escaped!”
Stifling a gag, she kept moving.
A child's twisted arm dangled from an opening above the tunnel, the small hand dirty and swollen, yet the skin still soft and unblemished. As Ember drew closer, the rest of the tiny, mangled body came into view atop the grate. Time slowed as a single drop of blood fell from a torn nail.
A renewed burst of adrenaline propelled her down the tunnel. She passed under the next grate, where another body was curled up. Ember didn’t want to look but couldn’t help herself. Thank God, she thought, as it was an adult prisoner—an old man with a scruffy beard pressed his face against the metal.
Behind those bushy eyebrows, his eyes—flickering with fire—caught hers.
She touched his cheek, causing him to stir.
“Go,” he rasped.
She frantically tugged on the bars with a futile whimper.
Again, the prisoner said, “Go.”
Turning her head, rain fell outside the end of the tunnel. Streams of water poured across the mouth of the bars. She had an idea.
After crawling to the opening, she raised her hands to her mouth, allowing the cool rain to wash down her parched throat. She refilled her cupped hands and carefully shuffled back to the old man.
Lifting her hands through the grate, the prisoner drank as much as possible, his dry, cracked lips pressing on her palms.
With those fiery eyes, he stared at her with new intensity.
“Go,” he whispered. “Then seek me.”
Seek you? There’s no way in hell I’m coming back here.
The old man grunted as he was abruptly dragged off the grate. Her eyes met a guard's glare. The guard knelt and twisted the grate, covering her in dust and debris.
Ember monkey-sprinted away to the opening. Upon arrival, she desperately searched for some way to pry the bars open.
The guards entered the sewer and crawled towards her. They were bulkier in armor and moved slowly, but Ember had nowhere to go. She crumbled against the wall in despair.
On the other side of the opening, Cragmarr wrenched a bar from the stone. He extended a hand after dislodging another bar to make a big enough opening.
“Come on, Ember, you can make it.”
With just enough room, she squeezed herself through the bars.
Halfway out, Ember reached out, and Cragmarr hoisted her through. She clung to him tightly as they plummeted, the freefall stretching into an eternity in her mind. Cragmarr’s rock body absorbed the impact as the two plunged into the water. They sank like anchors.
Ember held her breath as long as she could, her chest burning with the effort. What had saved them moments before was now their undoing—pulling them into the abyss. Her lungs screamed for air, and as water rushed in, everything went black.