Chapter 1
Arthur leapt off his couch, snapped awake by the horrible and jarring crash that partially knocked the wind from him. He sputtered, gagging on his own spit, fighting for air while desperately trying to catch his breath and simultaneously peering about himself as his mind fought to play catchup with his senses. The world was tilting on an axis for him, sight darkening around the edges as his eyes narrowed to slits with a furrowing brow, vision swimming as though he were watching rolling waves beneath an ocean surface… mind floating as they flowed, in and out, in and out… He wobbled on his feet for a moment, trying to keep upright, trying to fight back against the torrent of sensory overload, an arm reaching out to the nearby wall of his camper to steady himself. A hazy tide of nausea began working him over, smacking him around like an overly frustrated small-town cop… One who, perhaps, had only earlier that week caught his wife cheating in bed with another man, Arthur being that particular individual… Fantasies of dreams and nightmares filled his quickening thoughts, Arthur finding a strange, almost dark comedic humour in the comparison, to which he could only shake his head at the places his own imagination took him to…
As his stomach threatened to hurl the contents of an earlier lunch, it was all the young man could do but weather the storm, even as his head began pounding with the onset of a migraine, vision spinning about as existence itself seemed to—slide but moments before he was suddenly and inexplicably lying on the ground, utterly flabbergasted by how he’d gotten there! It only took a slurry dozen heartbeats for him to come to the unanimous conclusion that he’d fallen in a most unceremonious fashion… Hell, he hadn't even felt the impact! The lights in Arthurs's head dimming for an unknowable span of time as consciousness faded and an all-consuming blackness welcomed him with its warm embrace. He had no earnest way of knowing just how long he’d lain there, unconscious and unmoving, confused, concerned and above all, absent from reality itself when, as if by magic, the assault on his person seemed to suddenly fade… Disappearing as muddled thoughts slowly returned, emerging from the mire of concussive injury, however, as the ordeal he’d endured departed, swiftly dissipating as though it were all some—bad joke, he was nevertheless left completely and utterly—exhausted.
“Uhhgnnn… fuck…” He groaned while picking himself up off the floor, wincing not because the mysterious malady that had befallen him persisted but because he’d managed to smack his head upon something as he fell. Not the first time he’d taken a good whack to the old cranium...
He had played hockey in his younger years, following in the footsteps of his older brother, but, all the same, it was all more than enough for him to nearly forget about the massive crash that had awoken him—key word being nearly… With dazed eyes, Arthur moved to his camper's wall-mounted control panel, noting with some relief that the large touchscreen and the greater interior of his home were—thankfully, undamaged. Regardless of—well, whatever had happened, he knew, first and foremost, that there were no replacement parts for his camper at a—readily available convenience. Worse still was what might happen should he be forced to attempt to take the RV to a mechanic… The camper was six-hundred thousand dollars worth of next-generation off-the-grid living… complete with a revolutionary all-electric design that relied upon high-yield solar energy to power everything from the hot-water tanks to the engine… Heralded by NU-Gen technologies, the company had designed it to be the ultimate vehicle in its admittedly luxurious, if not a touch gimmicky, class. Intended to allow one to escape back to nature without leaving a footprint beyond its rubber treads.
It was twenty-six feet of all American ingenuity, a perfect home, if not a slightly unattainable goal, for a single guy looking to get away from the mediocrity and modern slavery of city life… somehow acquired and disconnected from its satellite tracking before it had even been released by his inspired crazy uncle who’d sold it to Arthur for little more than twenty-five grand, cash. As to how the man had procured it, Arthur could only guess, but he assumed it had, more or less, something to do with the mans—ah… career. A little arcane chicanery, as it were, both in regards to the vehicle's acquisition and his uncle's lacking of very deserved jail time. As for himself, it’d been his life's savings… the sum total of everything he’d managed to accumulate over his short life, a cruel and horrid reality that accompanied the miserable rat race that was being a young adult amidst the middle of what was the twenty-first century.
Again, he hadn't asked how his uncle had managed to steal it, for there could be no question that was how it had been procured; however, seeing the opportunity for what it was, Arthur, oddly, hadn't even blinked an eye at it. He’d always been a strait-lace kid most of his life, never getting into fights, never causing his parents a reason to worry… His grades had been good, he’d had lots of friends, and when he’d been accepted to university to pursue a career in engineering, everyone had all said the same thing about him… Arthur was—good… It wasn't until he finished his first year in the programme that he realized not only was he bored with life, but that he himself was boring as well…
That was when the partying had truly started, a spiral of ambitious and frankly ridiculous decisions that had led him to his twenty-fifth year alive and, first beyond the clutches of society, spent alone in the wilderness of the northern Canadian state, hiding away from the social world and living the life of a drifter in his stolen miracle of a recreational vehicle.
The key in it all was that, for the first time in his brief existence within the cosmos, Arthur could have been said to be truly happy, living alone without responsibility, free from the expectations of his ivy-league parents and their ever-present disapproving gazes… Allowed to build and tinker, absent the disdainful eyes that had always observed him, showered with all that nature provided so he might do as he pleased. Spirited away from the oligarchs that controlled everything from major media outlets to the coffee shops and—avocado toasts he could scarcely afford...
His wealth or, whatever one might call a young adult's meagre savings had arrived largely by way of criminal means, a half lifetime spent working, a paper-boy when he was young, a part-timer in high school and later still as an intern utterly eclipsed by a laughable six-months spent hustling marching powder in his old stomping grounds for some less reputable but rather reasonable acquaintances of his uncle…
So, when he quickly performed a diagnostics check upon what was his only home, he slowly began to feel the tightness of a potential panic attack just waiting in his chest—alleviating as one system after another returned positive and in working order. A deep sigh of relief filled the air as Arthur leaned back against the sofa and just sat there, collecting himself as he replayed what had happened in his mind. Was the crash real, or had it been one of those falling-off-a-cliff dreams? If it’d been the latter, then Arthur could say that it had undoubtedly been the very worst of such he’d ever gone through… not that he often experienced those sorts of fantasies…
No, his personal insomnia-inducing issue was Rebbeca, his sleep-paralysis demon who always liked to watch him from the corner of a room. Paralyzing him whenever he noticed her whilst lingering at the edge of a dream before moving to stand over him like she was mad she’d been observed in a once near nightly game they had with each other… Of course, it wasn't real; he knew that, and the game part was merely how his younger self liked to rationalize it all… Rebbeca wasn't even a woman to begin with, simply an unidentifiable dark shape with the vague figure of a person.
Now, while it was true that Arthur had sometimes—overreacted in his younger days to being attacked by his own mind, now, much older and more used to his brain's nocturnal shenanigans, he often met the demon with a sort of cavalier cheer. Making jokes and challenges by equal measure, as much because he’d gotten so accustomed to it all as to prove that Rebecca was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. It had been ages since he’d physically revolted in such a violent manner to her presence, and what was weirder was that he tended to always remember when she visited in the first place, which, he was fairly sure, she hadn't.
Without question, the crash had definitely been something more—tangible than a shadowy bump in the night… Arthur’s next train of thought was that a particularly large bear, or maybe a moose, had knocked into his RV… Neither creature obviously being one with which an individual typically wanted to tangle with, especially whilst unarmed… That wasn't to say he had no means by which to defend himself, but scouting was a primary skill of a self-proclaimed survivalist that any good outdoor enthusiast should employ when able!
As it happened, Arthur had the perfect solution! With a quick navigation through his console, he eventually found the option to allow the windows to return to a transparent state. Naps were best taken when within a dark room, and he’d severely tinted the glass to allow himself an—uninterrupted break. He watched as the nearby panes shifted in shade, transitioning from a near-perfect black to a crystal-clear state that allowed him to view the outside world sans the intervention of technology. At first, as Arthur peeked about the immediate area, he felt a tinge of concern when he didn't actually see anything eluding to what he was looking for. The threat of the unseen giving him a chill as cool and crisp as any person with arachnophobia might get from spying a spider in their bathroom as they went about their most vulnerable moment on the toilet. Only to look back and realize it had vanished from sight, a phantasm ready to reappear when it was least expected, perhaps even crawling up the side of the toilet itself…
Thankfully, he wasn't arachnophobic. Not anymore, at least. Living in the wild tended to harden oneself to much of nature’s many denizens. However, it was the fear of something else, something far more concerning, that had Arthur’s breath catch as a realization of a terribly wrong situation hit him like a speeding freight train.
His camp was gone… His shed, his firepit, stacked wood, smoking hut, the damned lake! It was all… gone… Panic filled Arthur’s gut as his eyes rapidly darted about the unfamiliar greenery, the man spinning on his heel to look out the opposite window, expression collapsing as he stared dumbly at—at… What would one even call that? A village? A fucking medieval hamlet? A… a… oh boy… He shook his head in bewilderment, just watching as tendrils of smoke rose from chimneys of brick and timber homes with what looked like clay shingles layered upon roofs.
There couldn't be more than a dozen or two such buildings scattered about in the distance, whilst, further still, Arthur could see far-off barns and crop fields that largely surrounded the sleepy settlement, most having a sort of—run-down look if his eye could be trusted. Had someone found his RV and, towed it to some remote village—without him so much as stirring during the journey? No! That was—heh… utterly ridiculous! There wasn't a hint of civilization around him for hours in any direction back at his home base! Not to mention that it would have taken a fairly substantial tractor to even tow him from his little slice of wilderness. The pop-outs were even still engaged! You couldn't even get the bloody tires to so much as spin so long as they were out…
Nooo, there was something here that wasn't making any sense… something that had his mind running without traction… but, an unlikely prank or maybe a glitch with… well, the RV’s system discounted… he really didn't know what to even think for it all… His past experiences simply providing no semblance of assistance towards unravelling something that almost felt on the cusp of a nightmare…
Regardless, he knew he would have to go outside and figure this all out, one way or another; after all, it wasn't like he could just sit there and close his eyes until it all went away… sucking on his thumb in the fetal position while waiting for mommy and daddy to make it all better again! No, he had his adulting license, for whatever such a thing was worth… Plus, Arthur knew what dreams felt like; he’d been granted the double-edged blade that was lucidity in both his nightmares and fantasies and from a young age, no less. And though he had to admit that the—backdrop for the situation was—freaky enough for a nocturnal realm of his own imagination, the rest possessed a definitive—mmhmm… realness to it that was unquestionable to his mind. He was awake. He was cognisant, and, annoyingly, this was no dream. Shit… He’d of preferred it if it was a dream!
Shaking his head to clear it of what cobwebs remained, he turned, moving to exit the motorhome from its only door, locked as it was, but pausing as he did so when his gaze fell upon a most peculiar sight. Up until that moment, Arthur had earnestly thought he’d manage no more surprises throughout the day, having been so recently convinced that either A, he was about to be arrested or B, his stolen vehicle had, in a strangely comedic fashion, been stolen… One had to learn to laugh at all of life's many, and sometimes personal, fuck off’s… Yet, when his eyes locked onto a sort of halo effect emanating from a floating handful of abnormally large and luminescent—cards, he felt, perhaps for the second time in as many minutes, utterly perplexed by two entirely separated mysteries. His head cocked almost involuntarily as he peered at the queer happenstance, a hand raising to scratch at the back of his neck while his jaw slightly slipped from where it had held itself.
Cards in of themselves weren't anything odd in his life… after all, Arthur had a whole whack of the damned things in his wallet! And, he’d always loved playing such games with his closest friends with more collectable or regular examples rather than bureaucratic. Ukuer, poker, president, Pokemon when he was a kid… oh, he was sure he was forgetting a few, but… Glowing cards, however, held a certain—unusual quality about them that gave an individual pause, no matter who they were. And floating glowing cards were, of course, something of a holy trinity of words preluding countless more fictitious dreams that he had no doubt many children possessed, himself included, specifically those of a trading persuasion...
As for himself, well, he’d liked video games as much as the next kid when he’d been younger, but… as with many in life, responsibility and expectations had stripped Arthur of much of his childhood fancies… Time restraints, expectations and finally wilderness had stood as rather firm barriers in his way of maintaining many of his old hobbies. Still, it was with an offhanded candour that Arthur nevertheless pinched at his arm, feeling the spike of pain run through his nerves just to be certain… It might be a touch cliche and played out, but, one thing he’d never actually felt in a dream was genuine pain. That being said, dreams, despite his experience with them, could still be tricky things… Diversification was, and would always be, one's best ally.
“There’s—no way… right?” He murmured to himself, blinking several times as if the action itself would make the scene before him disappear.
The whole—card situation was, in theory, something he could discount—on its own... The whole appearing somewhere else after taking a nap was, of course, something he could ignore—okay, well, not ignore, but rather, explain in both an articulate and rational manner. Appearing a kilometre or so away from a medieval-esque village when he was supposed to be in the middle of nowhere, and the magical-looking tarots that had abruptly appeared like some godly gift? Well, suffice it to say that the somewhat repressed nerd in Arthur was all but screaming his bloody head off!
The cards practically called to him, chiming bells in his head, tolling to the tune of some sacred song! A prelude to start a grand adventure. Yet, as he mentally accepted that what he was about to do was reach for a set of magical-looking tarots with the earnest prayer in his heart that the magic in them was more than mere name, he felt a force within his chest burst into reality!
“H-holy shit!” Arthur cried out, half jumping and half stumbling backwards as three now somewhat familiar shapes materialized in the air at chest height. Each spinning with a sort of slow, divine reverence, tilted on a slightly diagonal kilter, right in front of where he’d just been standing.
There was this—magnetism he felt whilst gazing at them, a sensation of longing… like they already belonged to him… were precious… Irreplaceable… and yet, he could only have one, for they were each of them one and the same. Possibilities, that's what they were… not real, not yet, but all he might have to do to make them so was to simply reach out and pluck one… He tried to shake himself free of the—mist that seemed to snare his thoughts, the strange notions and queer knowledge that shouldn't be there but, nevertheless, was all the same. He tried to refocus on what was important, to free himself and figure out exactly what was going on… yet the oh-so-wonderful allure of the three tarot cards before him was as a siren’s song to a love-lost mariner wandering the coast… Irresistible, unshakable… whispering with thought-numbing echoes in his ear, their call arriving as a seductive melody so enchanting he could hardly look away… As if on a cloud, Arthur floated back towards the trio, half-hooded eyes staring at the intricate artwork that covered each surface with rapt attention, all else in the world falling away to inexistence...
The first card depicted a, somewhat unsurprisingly given the connotations, ornate and gleaming sword, unsheathed and pointed downwards, its long double-edged blade straight and broad, looking to be as good about the job of chopping as it was a killer’s bludgeoning tool. A vivid border, one that appeared to almost be filigree by how the card's edge shone like worked silver, created an unending pattern around the tarot's perimeter. The work was art in of itself, an entire history of unspoken battles raging across the card’s edge, knights and banners, monsters and demons… the forces of good and evil clashing within an endless and silent war… it was all very—heroic. The warrior, or so it was titled on the opposite side… an undeniable promise that heralded a call to peerless adventure and physical trials…
There was just one problem… Arthur wasn't the heroic type. Oh, he was trim and fit, to be sure, healthy as anyone could hope to be on account of his once debt-riddled parents receiving a small fortune for allowing an up-and-coming company to modify his genes in the womb with a wildly experimental procedure, mixed of course with a healthy lifestyle without excess or waste. He wasn't superhuman by any stretch of the imagination but give it a dozen more years, and one never knew, maybe the likes of such might just appear in the world by man’s very hand. But, just because he went for a hike every morning and was, in point of fact, marginally more durable than the average person, in of course, the grand scheme of things, didn't mean Arthur was a fighter… More, he’d never actually thrown a punch in his entire life! Or, at least, not any outside of mandatory tests… No, he was a self-titled gentle giant that had the somewhat lanky height and mass associated with it. And though the power in his muscles could cause harm as with others of similar builds or smaller, he’d always lacked the drive to go looking for conflict. Arthur had always been a thinker, preferring to work out any imagined issues he might have through words and reason. He’d always admired the age-old sayings of many a grand strategist and brilliant tactician, in that a battle should be won long before ever taking to the field. It was why he’d always loved playing wizards or summoners when playing games… Preferring synergy to raw power in nearly all forms. The mind was his ultimate tool, not some petty sharpened blade…
In the end, Arthur promptly passed the first card by, eyes falling upon the second, which offered the promise of knowledge over war. The tarot held within it a picture of a book, a large and weathered leather-bound tomb with more pages in it than a small town's local library. A sort of ethereal hue hung about the thing much in the same way as the cards themselves, potentially alluding to a hint of magic within its writings. A runic script that Arthur could scarcely understand, one that seemed to almost tickle at the fringe of comprehension, swirled about at the tarot’s edge, the strange markings glowing gently in a cascade of shifting and pulsing colour that became truly difficult to stare at, yet simultaneously captivated his attention and gaze.
On the opposite side, he spied the card's name; the scholar—its existence holding rather obvious promises, just as had the first. Arthur had always been a good student and liked learning, even if he didn't like the classroom. He could, if pressed, make himself learn through a more scholastically conventional means but had always found that he was more successful in his endeavours when he manually worked his way through a problem. He was a tools man, liked doing things with his hands over writing them down, solving problems with both practicality and, when needed, calculations within tangible and relatable scenarios rather than the endless theory drafting of disjointed and scarcely interesting class work.
It was closer… definitely closer, given the promise of magic the card so earnestly made to offer, but, still, it wasn't quite—him… and, strangely enough, the—gravitas of the situation simply wouldn't allow him to stray from his true self.
The final card immediately caught his attention, the presence of a large rotating brass gear holding his eye as might a particularly attractive woman at the bar. The cog was a simple thing, made of metal and without rust or wear. On the perimeter, a more dystopian steampunk theme seemed to play out within the tiny mural. Arthur wasn't what one might name a complicated individual. He enjoyed what he liked, avoided what he didn't and blended in with the crowd when he was able to. Friends found him fun and humorous to be around, and he was never averse to a good night out with anyone who asked, but his first and foremost self-proclaimed perfect evening was one wherein he spent it alone, lost amidst the presence of his own thoughts.
When such opportunities arose, they were generally spent working on whichever little side-project he was most interested in at the time, his focus on any single one of them fleeting at best in lieu of a curiosity that pushed and punished him towards endless iterations of how to achieve something in brash or new ways. Making things was where his heart truly lay, as evidenced by his wilderness workshop, wherever it still was, filled to the brim with various schemes and variations on animal traps, which had been the latest of his mind's sometimes narrow fixation.
It was titled; the engineer, an apt description, he thought, given what the tarot portrayed. At first, Arthur had sort of imagined that the three cards might represent a sort of homage paid to the famous holy pillars of such genres, might, magic and crafting… and, in the end, he didn't think he was entirely far off the mark… But, there was a small feeling of personalization here that he could appreciate. Certainly, if the final card had been named something along the lines of craftsman, then he might not have been so inclined towards it. There was a powerful magic, in its own right, about the use of proper words when trying to entice someone, a way to play upon egos and emotions that weren't often so easy to find by an individual without the right inclinations. But what did that say about the other two cards? Had the second been named magician, then, likely, he would have given it more consideration than he had, and if the first had been called something more along the lines of general, then surely he would have given it more than a passing thought… Or, maybe he was just thinking too much into all this… With a small sigh, Arthur shook his head, the allure of what the final card offered simply too much for him to deny.
Mentally, he reached out to the geared tarot, fingers moving towards it in conjunction with his thoughts until they brushed against it, the act producing a gleaming light that immediately made him pull away. Again, a familiar scene opened before him, only, this time, the cards that sat spinning in the air were nearly all slightly different variations of the one he’d chosen. In an entirely similar fashion, all three cards depicted this form of familiar deviation while this time adhering to the criteria of the original he’d chosen.
Now, the first appeared the same as that initial example he’d reached for, the brass gear spinning slowly within, the steam-driven world of inventions and limitless bizarre innovation existing at its fringe. On the back, Arthur read the mundane as the tarot spun around, causing him to frown as his gaze slid over to the next, just managing to catch that the second card was titled the Arcane before it turned. On the second card's opposite side was a large and partially jagged crystal gear that was wreathed in sparkling magic. The thing pulsed with power within the tarot's depths while its border was made up of an unending tide of magical contraptions. Traps, staves, swords, armour—tools of all manner and persuasion really, littered the card's perimeter, most with tiny but visible runic markings upon them.
If the first was meant to offer a life filled with fantastical but probable inventions that could somehow only be achieved by a world driven by magic, then the second promised the advent of an existence wherein he did nothing but work with ridiculous concepts. Axes that created streaks of lightning in the air, toilets that could flush waste halfway across the world with portals, guns that could fire spiralling chakrams honed to the razor's edge… well, if nothing else, the concept itself was rather intriguing… It would open up an entirely new reality of ideas and plans for him! He could make flying carpets or… no… no, the more he looked, the more he was getting the impression it was what one might call enchanting than anything else… The whole carpet thing would probably still pan out, but, he got the sense that this wasn't precisely what he was building it up to be… A shame, but understandable in a manner given what he’d really been hoping for was, in a way, an amalgamation of both cards as one.
He supposed the fact that wasn't an option either served as a sort of limitation to whatever this was, which, truth be told, was not at all uncommon within the fictional realms he enjoyed delving into, yet it was no less disappointing all the same. He guessed that enchanting might not exactly fit the bill either; after all, he didn't really have a semblance of true understanding behind his assumptions, and maybe he was wrong! Yet given that he wasn't seeing airships and golems, but instead, tools galore, well, he just couldn't shake the feeling he was right.
So, it was with a small tinge of frustration that Arthur looked to the final tarot, once again, an eyebrow raising as he noted that what he saw essentially boiled down to a card within another card… Its border was wispish, without fine detail like the others, more a shifting mass of incredibly dense glowing fog… the depictions focus within its core, appearing much in the same manner, despite managing to hold a distinctive and recognizable shape. On its back waited the words: the soul.
“The—soul?” Arthur asked, chewing on his lip as he watched the title rotate out of sight.
If the card was implying that it offered the opportunities to—and, this was a leap, engineer souls, then was it also implying that these—these tarot cards were, well, his soul? Or rather, variations on what it was, what it could be? From a certain, more—deranged perspective, Arthur could see it; he didn't agree with the concept as a whole, largely because he’d never actually believed in any sort of afterlife… but, then again, he was willing to suddenly believe in magic, wasn't he? How was this latest tidbit truly any different? Was that what this was? Was he somehow working with his… his soul… What did his soul, if he even had one, have to do with cards?
He certainly enjoyed collecting them in his youth, but, he’d have never of said that they were his reason for living or any such ridiculous devotion to a game! In fact, he could even be said to have outgrown such hobbies as others sharing his interests drifted, pulled towards their own individual lives beyond the confines of youth… Some getting girlfriends, others getting jobs… Arthur—took a few minutes to sit and think about this… For one, if the soul were real, and, for whatever reason, his had been suddenly—unlocked… And, now, he was about to dive headlong into some hidden occult other-half of earth, which, honestly, sounded as if it might be as batshit crazy as it did when spoken aloud rather than in his own head, then, did all the previous cards represent some form of power he would receive?
Were he honest with himself, that had already sort of been his working theory, even if he did still believe something—beyond his understanding was at play here. But, following that logic, everyone would have a similar card, and he’d seen at least ten that were just floating in the air before—well… before he’d been confronted with something of a forced decision. If he were to choose the soul engineering card, then would he be able to somehow make new souls, or, was it more that he would be able to adjust the parameters of whatever the card entailed? S-similar, he thought, to the very concept he was even now currently undertaking. Magic and robots, be damned! If he were right about this and was being offered an opportunity to create the very things that gave people special powers then wouldn't that sort of—trump anything else he could possibly hope for? Wouldn't he be able to make a card that, say, summoned a giant death mecha with lasers and a cockpit from which he could soar through space? Now, that was an idea that he could certainly get behind.
This, of course, all hinged upon the fact that Arthur wasn't, even now, still on the floor, bleeding out and twitching with pooling drool from a head wound, half-mad, and currently living out his final moments in a delirious dream-like existence where magic and souls were all real. Full stop…
“Ahhhhh… Fuck it… why not?”
He reached for the final card, this time managing to grasp it as the others dissolved into—painfully, blinding light, shooting into the iteration he held as it glowed like superheated plasma and reformed into something that was entirely tangible to the touch. Blinking away the stars in his gaze, Arthur eyed the tarot in his fingers, not seeing that anything had really changed about it, even as he began peering about his camper, the world of white that had enveloped him beginning to recede like it had never existed, creeping, just as it had arrived, as if lurking yet still upon the very precipice of reality where it waited to be called on again.
Arthur cleared his throat with a sort of—awkward—nervous energy, licked his lips and shuddered as he fought to regain a semblance of sanity, turning the card over, almost on instinct, before hesitating as he was met with a frankly massive wall of written text that hadn't been there before.
He was silent as he quickly scanned the paragraph, a slight frown forming upon his face despite how his every geek fibre swelled with excitement… The—gist, as he learned whilst he rapidly read it, then re-read it just to be sure, was that he was now able to—reset a soul’s power and reconfigure it to his machinations… simple, right? It was unique, claiming that no other version of itself existed, nor could exist for that matter.
In all honesty, so far as explanations went, the wording actually seemed rather vague, filled to the brim with so much room for inferred guesswork that he could earnestly say it felt as though there were little to no restrictions upon the—power he’d just stumbled into. That being said, Arthur had long learned that nothing in life was as good as it first seemed, especially when the potential pitfalls surrounding something felt purposefully and perhaps maliciously absent… There was also the little and somewhat worrisome addition of a single line written in fine ink that appeared just below the card's name, the phrasing making Arthur frown for a moment as his gaze swept across the words with a contemplative break of the surrounding silence.
“Soul Engineer… Utility Card, Derived from racial card—Human Ingenuity… Soulbound, upon being lost by its owner or forcibly taken away, this card will be destroyed.” He flipped the tarot over, looking to see if anything else had changed before turning it again, taking a deep and long breath and clearing his throat. “Be destroyed.” He parroted, softly clicking his tongue while staring hard at the entirely concerning nibble of a warning. The connotations between the destruction and souls weren't at all lost on him. Arthur feeling a chill run down his spine as he involuntarily shivered at the thought… “Right, so…. either I really am crazy, or this is really—actually fucking happening then… Right!”
Arthur shook his head, he felt like he was doing that a lot lately… eyes drifting to spy the handful of apparent souls that were currently floating in his kitchen with a weary gaze. Now, while this was a stretch for a man who’d grown up in a decidedly Jesus-loving household. If cards were souls, which, given the concepts he’d been picking up until this point, seemed a reasonable enough leap in logic. And every person was born with a soul that was inside of them then, why were there a random bunch of so-called—souls sitting where they were?
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
His own card, he could—work through, intellectually speaking of course, even if he didn't understand it nor even begin to comprehend what it would mean for the concept of an afterlife, but the cards that were floating in his RV weren't even sitting at chest height… In reality, it could be said that they were more or less hovering a few inches or so off the floor…
“Right,” he thought, head tilting to the side while chewing his lip, where his trailer's wheel would be… Hmmm… A sudden thought occurred in his mind, the colour draining from his tanned face as he observed the soul-stuff as it casually waited, as though expecting him, no almost demanding him to pick them up. In a slight daze of uncertainty, Arthur did exactly that… reaching down with a single hand to collect the stacked bunch, which accepted his touch with an almost ready willingness to them that was—skittery and alien…
On a guess, he released his own, still-held soul card to the air, watching it disperse in a cascade of showering light, imagining it to manifest a heartbeat later with those strange new instincts of his, and nodding along as it did so, once more, appearing at a uniformly measurable chest height and arm length, waiting for his perusal. He banished it again, this time without the intent to bring it back, instead focusing on the new cards in his hand and doing his best not to think about why they were there, to begin with, at least, not until he was ready to go outside…
There were exactly ten tarots in the… deck, as he was deciding to call it, each with various takes on colours and visual alterations that, at first glance, probably denoted a possible sort of either and or both a hierarchical system of capabilities and an organizational categorization of structure in broad strokes. All of it regulating and potentially implying what one might expect any—soul to actually do from the standpoint of competency.
Only one of the lot was what Arthur would have named as silver, or, perhaps, possibly rare as its name was written out as though the ink used was derived from glittering moonlight itself. It was called the abyssal cultist, a self-titled class card and, supposedly, it offered its wielder an inherit or greater understanding of its possessor’s chosen fanaticism… Blood magic, shadow magic, dark rituals and pacts with extra planner entities were—all among the licorice assorted—list of bestowed powers that the card would offer… The specifics as to the spells themselves delved a touch deeper the more he read, the text seeming to almost expand as he focused upon any given subject.
There had been—very few moments in Arthur’s life when he truly felt as though he were wandering into a terrible situation with no evident way out… and, unfortunately, this happened to be one of them… An ominous foreboding welled within the pit of his gut, which he tried his best to ignore, moving through one problem at a time the best he was able. The other nine cards were all very interesting, of course; there was one that was named personal storage, for example, and another that dealt exclusively with languages, which, should Arthur's growing hunch to be correct, would undoubtedly pay dividends given the sinking suspicions in his heart… All the while, more still felt like they were variations upon a frankly uninspired fantastical realm of what he might otherwise expect to see. Ice shards, a barrier, food and water conjuration… All in all, there were only two souls that were labelled as class cards, the second being another variation of a scholar tarot with a different picture than what he’d been offered. A stylized scroll. The description appearing to offer the owner a more—generalized understanding of rudimentary and foundational academic concepts that didn't directly exclude the possibility of magic; however, the implications of the matter were quite evident. It made Arthur question if these—cards were the only means to express the, dare he say it aloud, arcane, silly as the concept was… Or, if they were more a crutch to be used in place of dedication and learning… much like the language and scholar cards sort of hinted at…
If magic existed as languages did, things that people either invented or could otherwise learn on their own, then were the cards sort of like—cheating? And more, what would bloody well happen if he used the scholar card to learn rudimentary magic, then, took it away? Would he suddenly lose all that knowledge, even if he’d been working with it for years? Honestly, the thought stung at Arthur, making him question if using such a thing was even a good idea! The notion that he’d suddenly have this—gap in his comprehension of the world that hadn't been there before, an integral piece of his memories just vanishing, was—eerie and frankly disturbing to contemplate…
Either way, it wasn't as though he actually knew any magic, and he certainly wasn't about to add a card like the abyssal cultist to his own repertoire. No, that one just had too much of a—nefarious ring to it to even consider… The storage card he felt to be safe enough to regard with a touch—less suspicion, just as the language card, and even the scholar one… but he couldn't help but feel a sort of… hesitation in simply trying to press the tarots into his chest. The desire to do so waiting almost longingly at the fringes of his psyche.
The implications of the ten cards were a clear and definable number that he could work with… ten cards to any individual's personal soul deck seemed a plausible enough number to place as a restriction on such a thing given his—limited experience thus far… But, questions if such an action as adding cards to one's soul or joining souls to souls was a limited, if not permanent, measure burned at the forefront of his mind…
If he were to, say, add the tarot that claimed to give him the ability to summon basic fresh food and water twice a day, would it then be with him for the rest of his life? That of course, wasn't to say that never having to worry about such things was precisely what one might call terrible, but the notion nevertheless gave him pause. Unsure what else to do, Arthur stacked the cards neatly back together and placed them up in one of his cupboards, right next to his spice rack. Then, taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and prepared himself for what came next…
Arthur opened the door to his motorhome, catching the crisp and fresh breeze of a mid-spring morning… an observation that he couldn't help compare against the fact it had been hotter than the devil's asshole after spicy wing-night. Amidst a heatwave during summer, no less. Or. at least, it had been when he’d gone down for the nap. The ozone had taken a rather brutal pummeling over the years and—each season that passed seemed to get hotter and hotter. And while the reprieve from the shirt-drenching humidity and muggy misery that it had been outside was—appreciable… His thoughts of course, were, sadly, railroaded as a truly god-awful stench filled his nose, nearly making him gag with the terrible offensiveness of it!
He’d naturally smelt the scent before… and, with no more proper manner to name it, it was shit. He nearly spoke the word aloud as he peered out the entrance to his RV, lips biting off the curse while staring down at a sight that he’d been dreading to find… Right beneath his tri-axel trailer's middle-most wheels and beneath his popout kitchen area was the lower half of an all too real corpse. One that was wearing what looked like dark and tattered robes of a decidedly—dark and worshipy variety… A corpse that had relieved its bowels in its—passing… or rather, had—had the… contents of its insides popped out of it like an overripe pumpkin after an utterly devastating amount of weight had squashed it with brutal finality…
The stranger's boots were muddy and worn, the hem of their garment shredded and fouled with stains of dubious degree cleanliness… And, of course, who could possibly ignore the—fresher substances of a brownish-red nature that made him gag… Arthur heaving to the side for several moments as the wind shifted and the smell got worse…
In one of their pale, leathery hands, and just ever so slightly visible from where it lay, was what looked to be a blackish blade made of some polished glass-like and gray material… the tires of his camper cutting off the sight of the supposed cultist’s upper half.
This wasn't good… not good at all… Did this make him a murderer? Would anyone care to help him figure out the truth with how insane his story would sound?
“Oh, hello Mr. and or Mrs. Officer, I was just minding my own business, taking a nap within a stolen RV whilst living in your state illegally and bam! All of a sudden, I appeared on top of a cosplaying hippie! Ah, haha, I realize this sounds odd, but I assure you it-is-the-truth! Oh! And also he dropped magic cards when he died, nooo, no ma’am, not the silly childhood game cards, reeeeeal cards, ones that glow and shine like bricks of gold! Ah, they might also be souls, so, best we stop at a church on the way in and—pray to the big man upstairs, just in case, right-o? Hip-hop into the cruiser now!”
Yes… that was as good as a quick trip to an insanity plea whilst being charged with manslaughter that he’d probably ever manage to cook up again… And in the comparative silence that was his strangely zen-like and—floaty existence as he stood there, Arthurs's mind wandered back to thoughts of the nearby village… Face frowning as he considered the problems from a new angle.
Was this—individual a member of the community that might have people who would come and search for him? Well… that was utterly without question! He could… flee… maybe t-try to escape and thus avoid any form of responsibility for what had happened… but, then again, he was amidst a sea of tall grass… Probable cause be damned, if there was a literal trail of tire tracks that led back to wherever it was, he next chose to stop, then even a simpleton would be able to connect those dots.
Yet, perhaps the most pressing concern that filled Arthur’s mind was what the man had once been rather than his… ahem, current state of being… His cards implied he was a sort of religious fanatic… cultists coming in all shapes and forms of worship as to what it was they pledged their allegiances to. Arthur had, in his web-browsing adventures, happened across quite a handful of different but largely harmless devoted types that, as he’d admitted, hadn't really turned him away from a constructive conversation, so long as they seemed to be—decent enough folk.
However, somewhat unsurprisingly, he didn't feel the same degree of—nonchalance when considering the dead man beneath his tires. Abyssal sort of had something of a disreputable air to it all, and, the fact he was wielding a particularly suspicious item in his hand, looking the way he did, Arthur surmised that he'd rather not be discovered by any of the man's—associates.
That of course, left him in a rather delicate situation as his options, at least as he saw them, were rather limited. His first thought, beyond simply running away, was to quickly and quietly dig a hole. But, that idea quickly fell by the wayside as he realized that nearly all of his tools were actually outside when the—event that transported him, be it wilderness farmers or magic, had taken place. He could always go the shallow grave route and try his best to make do with his hands alone, but… Arthur sighed, leaning against the doorframe as a weary expression took his face. There was, of course, one perfect way to solve his problem…
Arthur was immediately disgusted with himself for even considering it, but the more he thought about his other options, the worse they all seemed to pale by comparison. Digging a hole, lighting the cultist on fire, fleeing the scene… no matter which he might choose, all left evidence remaining to be found. Given that he didn't want that, he silently resigned himself to the reality of what he might have to do.
Though never one to truly balk when it came to the more—unsavoury tasks life so often demanded as of late, the looming concerns that he could end up hog-tied and roasting over a bonfire like a witch was—enough to clear whatever lingering concerns he held. If it came down to it, the corpse's dignity or his survival, the choice was rather clear, wasn't it? That being said, on the other hand, the young man couldn't be sure that this individual actually belonged to a much larger nearby group… in fact, to assume anything about them was tantamount to foolishness. For all he knew, the stranger was just some—evil travelling priest, so far from home that nobody would have even known where he was… Yet, on the other side of the supposed token, the entire village might be filled with his peers… no, in such cases, despite how terrible the thought alone was, pragmatism and caution were, sadly, his greatest allies…
He moved back inside his home, taking a deep and meditative breath as he began packing away all the various compartments and objects he had strewn about, cleaning with a sort of grim resolve before retracting the pop-outs of his RV. Silently, he moved to the lone driver's seat, unfolding it from its nook and starting the engine, which activated with a creepy stillness that he’d never really gotten used to.
A grimace was all he could manage as he felt the rear wheels bump over something which he could only hope had been a pothole… even if his mind quickly disillusioned himself from the fantasy. He very nearly kept driving, came within a hands-breadth of simply keeping his foot on the accelerator, ignoring every rational thought in his brain whilst rejecting what he was about to do. Nevertheless, he exited the vehicle a few moments later after turning the engine back off, eyes glazed and heart frosty with resolve, a gleaming cleaver in hand.
“It's just another animal…” he silently told himself, trying his best to convince his conscience that he was still a decent person… He couldn't have imagined things in his life having gotten much worse than they were now, magic land not withstanding. Naturally, there was the briefest of thoughts he held in his mind wherein it offered up an alternative to his dilemma… one in which he might somehow harness his supposed newfound power in an attempt to solve the issue in a—less grisly fashion. Certainly, the personal storage card was one such option; if one were to follow in the steps of more—free-spirited game-like logic, then it might even offer an effective time extension to his issue…
However, as with many things in life, his plan did not survive contact with the universe's own. Thus, stepping outside, meat cleaver in hand, Arthur was confronted with the reality of what such a weighty load actually did to an individual's torso. He almost vomited at the sight of the damage, gore and viscera liberally smeared across the waving grass, the body looking as though a boulder had been dropped on it from the heavens themselves, the remains smitten by some vengeful god of rock and stone.
Pieces of bone were scattered everywhere, red chunks and splattered blood, the remnants of a once more—intact body… Arthur earnestly was surprised that a wheel could even cause that much damage, then was quickly reminded that said rubber was rather—shapely, solid, and intended to be capable of gripping all manner of terrain—and backed by thousands of pounds which were compounded by velocity, short as the fall had been...
Squashed was an entirely adequate means by which to describe what he saw, which, as it happened, lined up nicely with the feeling of having crash landed that had been his more—initial concern. Now that things had evolved, his plan that had largely consisted of grappling the body to dump into his RV’s black tank reserve had—stuttered to a halt…
The issue wasn't the location itself. Which, foul as it sounded, was where the toilet dumped his raw sewage, the holding tank filled with a sort of super bacteria that happily devoured anything of an organic variety that they were fed with a trade-off that amounted to the occasional expulsion of what would be a rather potent blurb of presumed noxious gasses that were, thankfully, purified before being released into breathable air. No, his issue was something so much worse…
Objectively, the plan as a whole was itself utterly filled with serial killer vibes that Arthur, no matter how hard he tried to justify it all, couldn't shake, largely because he was fairly certain that, as it was now, the body wasn't quite—compact enough to likely fit… hence, the cleaver. Nevertheless, in the end, he wasn't sure which eventuality he would have preferred… the one where he was playing the role of a new American psycho or the reality that he now found himself in… the same which left him staring at a small child, unconscious—or worse, lying atop what looked like a large stone chopping board, two more examples of the same sitting on either side, only, with large piles of windswept ash and—burn marks.
It took a rather generous minute for his mind, slowly in the process of rebooting as it was, to fully take in the latest pit of humanity he’d discovered. Ritual sacrifice… the phrase was truly the only way he could describe what he saw… a small clearing of grass having been removed in a near-perfect circle with the incapacitated girl and the already sacrificed, waiting at its center. He immediately ran to her side, eyeing the bruising around her arms and legs, the cloth bindings that restrained her, along with the terrible welt upon her temple. There could be no question about it; the girl had been kidnapped to be used within some profane ritual that had, in one manner or another, something to do with how he’d wound up here… there were just too many coincidences… What else did he even have to go on towards explaining how he’d gotten—wherever he was…
There of course, was only one problem… alright; truth be told, he had to admit that his problems only seemed to multiply by the second; however, the primary and most recent hiccup to his nerves arrived with the realization that the girl wasn't human. Ohhhh, at first glance, and with panic and adrenaline flooding his thoughts, the mixup was an easy one without question. The child had two arms, legs and an all too familiar head, after all, entirely what his people might call humanoid in every sense of the word. Yet, that alone was where the similarities began to deviate if not entirely transform… Tiny horns poked out from behind, dishevelled and greasy raven hair, their alabaster tips standing out starkly against fair caramel skin that approached the dusky. He couldn't see her eyes, closed as they were, but, from the shape alone, they appeared to be oddly wider, almond-like, and her little button was nose partially slitted at the sides, sort of like a hound’s was… The child's ears were more oblong than round, lightly contouring to a tip at their points and, strangely—thicker, almost as if they might have light musculature.
In truth, she was no larger than a human girl of her presumed age would normally be, hmmm in and around what Arthur mentally worked to be twelve or thirteen? But, the presence of a long and slender tail combined with a pair of leathery wings that he’d at first mistaken for odd blankets all combined to provide a definitive answer to his growing concerns… hells, she didn't even have feet… her ankles more akin to a cats or dogs, digitigrade and with hooves at the termination.
Demon was the first thought that arrived in his mind, but the fear of underworld denizens hunting him for his soul was quickly overshadowed by instincts, which all but screamed at him to get over whatever episode he was falling into. He could see the rise and fall of the girl's chest, thoughts racing as he moved to action. Stooping down, Arthur collected the poor thing in his arms, momentarily looking about himself as though expecting to see a party of locals already spreading into the wilds, searching for their lost child. The idea was utter rubbish, all things considered… as much due to the child's appearance as their location. With the town close enough to see in the admittedly far distance and with the lack of anything in the grassland beyond it and the RV, Arthur hadn't a doubt that he would hear such a party's approach long before needing to look for it. And, so far as the child's more—physically deviant traits were concerned… the truth was that Arthur wasn't sure what to think…
Either the girl really was a—spawn from the depths, the daughter of fire, brimstone and ash, a summons rather than a sacrifice… or she was a part of some secret race hidden away from human society, a species wherein the normalized idealization of demonkind had been copied from. While the summoning aspect didn't precisely explain why the girl appeared to have been living without a bath for a few days or—given the smell—wow… a potent mix of blood, mud, fire and excrement, it might have explained why she was naked. By contrast, considering what he could with the knowledge on hand, if she was meant to be a sacrifice, it all sort of made more sense. Was one of course, to ignore the infernal-looking nature of her existence… Did hell send its minions to the real world stinking like they’d been living in a dark-age hamlet all their lives? Probably not… but proof of such things would be his burden regardless.
Arthur had the child on the trailer's king-sized bed and unbound within a few moments, struggling against the worn but sturdy cloth to cut her free without causing either of them harm. Next, he quickly inspected her for injuries, not noting anything extraordinary beyond more bruisings… Arthur wasn't a doctor or even a nurse, but he had taken first-aid as a part of an extracurricular class in the uni, so when he came to the conclusion there wasn't anything wrong, medically speaking of course, that he could help with, Arthur simply moved on. He dealt with the poor girl’s—dignity shortly thereafter, wrapping her tiny form in a crisp white blanket and cooling a wet washcloth for her head.
There was no fever he could see, no indication of major internal bleeding where the goose egg at her temple swelled, but he admitted to himself that human anatomy might not exactly be so—accurate despite the similarities offered at first glance. A concussion was what looked to be the most obvious reason she was yet unconscious… and, frustratingly, there was truly little he could do about it beyond letting the girl sit and rest. The fear that something far worse had happened to her, that her life was in danger had, in reality, spurned Arthur into action… but, now, standing there whilst aware there was little he could do left him feeling… wasteful…
He poured her a reusable plastic bottle of filtered water and left it nearby, incase she woke, leaving his RV once again whilst his nerves stood on end. He paced back and forth a handful of times while brushing at his hair, just trying to rediscover a semblance of calm in his trepidatious inner workings… Sidelong, Arthur eyed the vicious-looking knife in the dead cultist's hands… his resolve firming that the girl wasn't some demonic horror from the sulphur pits that was merely wearing the guise of a child… but a victim… and one that had been intended to be murdered by a fanatic. After all, hadn't he been the one to appear as he had? Summoned… brought forth through the void and twisting nether of chaos and reality itself?
Suddenly, Arthur found his disgust for the dead man no longer focused upon his morbid presence, his gut churning with the notion of what the monster planned to do… had done when he really thought about it, considering the two piles of ash… Thinking on it, he still hadn't gotten a good look at the zealot's face, the man's hood shrouding what was already pressed downwards in death. Yet, Arthur noted that the man indeed had boots—boots that were in no way shaped to fit hooves. There was also no evidence of wings on the man, nor a tail—if a man was what the cultist was…
“So, what are you then?” Arthur murmured to himself, hardening his will to the filth and gore of it all… “Human or something else…” A sneer formed on his lips as he pulled off the figure's hood and tilted its face.
What Arthur was greeted with was not what he’d been expecting… gaze narrowing upon an utterly alien and strange creature. Its features were gaunt and reptilian, white albino skin leathery with a snouted face that looked unhealthily stretched in a righteous of obvious pain and surprise. Massive fang-like teeth filled its maw in a similar manner to a crocodile, and three eyes, yet wide with disbelief, stared blankly in death, each a strange—off-white yellow with reddish-orange slitted irises… though, Arthur noted an absence of any pupils…
The—thing, which was as far from human as he was from an octopus, had no hair, only fleshy tendrils with a sort of spike at the end of each, appearing to flow down its back in line with the creature's spine. Frankly, he wasn't really prepared to perform an autopsy on the thing and, after seeing enough, silently moved away after a handful of minutes squatting in the grass, staring at the hideous monster and its somehow human expression… Surely, if anything was to be said to be sent from the abyss, then it was the—beast that lay before him rather than the child in his trailer…
There were a great many things that the young man could have been said to be certain of in his life. Things that, no matter how hard another pressed, they’d find it impossible to convince him otherwise. The spherical nature of earth was the foremost that came to mind, the fact that birds were, in point of fact, very real and not some made-up government conspiracy, another. In reality, Arthur suspected these opinions and the countless others like them were largely shared with the more intelligent of his species, which left the outliers to be named whatever one might choose to given their personal beliefs… However, after the girl… the change of scenery and, now—whatever this thing was… Arthur, against what he might have once considered rational thought, was beginning to seriously doubt the validity of his assumptions that claimed he was still on earth… This idea of course, only spread within him like a cancerous weed, eroding the foundations of his sanity as, for the first time since he’d woken, he looked to the sky, a small breath leaving his lips.
A blue expanse interspaced with soft pillowy clouds was what immediately greeted his gaze, but it was not these most familiar of aspects in which he found his breath failing him, but, instead, the glaring inconsistencies that held his attention as though gripped in an iron fist. No moon nor sun or stars waited for his observation above… each seemingly and impossibly replaced by an infinite network of twisting branches and roots, winding their way through the cosmos while producing an ethereal golden hue. They spanned a limitless expanse without end nor beginning, spreading out in places as might a tree’s canopy, while, in others, the complex weave joined and converged until there was naught but singular, massive bundles that stretched for infinity… Between the staggering array of shifting radiance were small marbles of blue and green, countless floating orbs of dazzling beauty separated and connected all the same by the vast system of glowing mass that existed wherever one looked. Planets… there were planets off in the distance! Dozens… no hundreds of Earth-like planets!
Arthur felt a wave of vertigo wash across him, stumbling backwards whilst unable to yet tear his eyes away, all but crashing into the side of his RV like a wandering chicken while it rained. A small groan was enough to aid Arthur in his return to reality, the young man’s head snapping to his doorway, but a moment before, he was rushing up the stairs. He paused at the entrance, watching as the child blearily looked about herself, pupils disturbingly odd, like a softly purple and glowing four-pointed star that sat upon an ires backdrop of pitch darkness, the sclera otherwise normal... The appearance gave Arthur a chill down his spine as the girl’s enchanting gaze locked on him, clear confusion and muddled uncertainty plain to see in her expression. Arthur made to talk, opening his mouth but a moment before he reconsidered, the once irking suspicion that he was no longer upon earth now gaining a significance of traction and swinging at him with a wild haymaker.
The poor girl was confused, injured and doubtless scared enough without him starting to babble at her in, to her, what would be an entirely alien language… but, he did have a solution for that, now didn't he? Arthur hadn't thought he’d be going back for it so soon, especially since there’d been too much on his mind in a back-to-back panic-driven spree of off-the-wall circumstances… Yet, within the—creatures deck of cards had been something to deal with such a very scenario, hadn't there? Arthur quickly opened up the cupboards again, finding the tarots and sifting through them until he found the one he wanted. The translator… its name scrawled out in flowing bronze script…
Arthur simply had no context as to what any of that really meant so far as the cards hinting capabilities were concerned, but if ever there was a time he needed to just hope for the best, this would be one of them. He didn't have a manual for any of this, or even so much as a hint… however, what he did possess was a childhood filled to the brim with as countless a number of fantastical works as a magically deprived species imagination could manage which, was enough to take as many educated guesses as he might need.
It was only when, upon his fourth failure to add the tarot to his—deck, each attempt combing quietly muttered words with actions that included pressing the soul card against his chest, then Arthur finally summoned his own and tried to place the translation card beneath his soul-engineer.
There was a—sensation, like a pop but more muddled that brought with it a feeling of brief euphoria in which, without explanation, Arthur felt inexplicably changed. Like a piece of a puzzle he’d never known was missing had suddenly fit neatly into his brain. He looked upwards, eyes meeting with the small child's own who had been busy watching him without so much as moving a single muscle, face frozen in fear as she’d regained her bearing.
“Do you… do you understand me?” He softly asked, licking his lips with concern when the girl didn't so much as shift in reply. “I'm not going to hurt you…” He continued raising his arms and sitting down, making himself look smaller if only to help alleviate the child's earnest concern. “I think I rescued you… There was a cultist, dark robes and white leathery skin… Do you… by chance remember any of that?”
She blinked at him, her figure beneath the blanket seeming to almost deflate as a modicum of tension disappeared, her eyes closing hard, over and over again, as if to shake away her delirium before; with a tiny and fearful voice, she eventually responded.
“I remember being taken at night… I was… I was flying when I felt magic… Why do you look so strange? And sound so strange as well?” Her brow furrowed as if struggling to parse through her own disjointed thoughts, yet seemingly lost in a haze of a battered mind.
Arthur likewise found the girl's speech to be—off… Not unpleasant, but, more guttural and throaty than English… yet, he could only surmise that, because of the card, he could still understand what she said, even if the words themselves weren't altered. Still, he had to furrow his brow in thought as he tried to make sense of her words… They all translated of course, but the speed in which they tricked into his mind was like—watching a poorly synced movie with subtitles, one where the words on screen lagged far behind what was being said. Honestly, it was entirely jarring, but he powered through all the same.
“The badman who took you is gone,” Arthur stated, trying to talk simply like he might when conversing with one of his young cousins, lowering his hands a fraction so they rested on his knees. “he hurt you, and, I think I hurt him… he’s gone now but… Try not to move or your injury might get worse.”
The girl nodded, wincing as she did so, appearing to at least believe his story for what it was. Sadly, Arthur didn't exactly have a playbook when it came to stumbling across random and potentially non-human children who were on the cusp of being slaughtered like swine for a feast… Frankly, it was all rather awkward to an extreme… Yet, they were making progress, as evidenced by the child's willingness to converse. Unfortunately, the next words that arrived from her lips felt like a gut punch from an over-simple farmboy with fists heavier than brick. “Where am I? Where’s my mom?”
“You're safe! You’re safe!” Arthur tried, more anxiety rising as an entirely new problem rose to the equation. Gods, he hadn't even considered the girl's mother—worse, her possible—current state of being given the piles of ash… Still, he trundled through, determined to, at least, be a pillar of reliability if for no other reason than his own moral compass and sense of communal duty. “A-and, I—I don't know about your mom,” He continued, voice as confidant as he could make it. “but we can certainly go find her! I’ll… We can go together! Do you know where you live? Is it in the town that's nearby?”
To his utter lack of surprise, the girl frowned as he spoke, appearing to—struggle with some of the translation on her end as well, but, nevertheless, she seemed to get the gist of it. But, when she tried to get up, letting out a pitiable mew as she did so, Arthur shot to his feet, moving close to press her back down, the child's gaze going wide with his close proximity, which was to her clear distress.
“You’re hurt…” He tried to explain, giving her space, but, not willing to allow her to try again. “Need to lie down, rest.”
She still looked infinitely displeased with his presence but appeared to do as he bade, remaining still, even if her distrust was clearly evident. Arthur considered what he should do, eyeing the barely contained despair the child held in her expression for a short few moments before arriving at an idea. He moved back to his kitchen, opening the special cupboard and reaching inside a partially torn cardboard box. He retrieved two small packages, both of the same design, after digging around to find a matching pair, returning to the girl with a small smile on his lips. Carefully, he undid the first wrapper, making sure she was watching, using his teeth to break off a bite of the brown chocolate bar he’d brought with him.
He made sure she noted how he slowly chewed it, swallowed, and then took a second bite, savouring the flavour of what might very well be one of the last chocolate bars in existence; comparatively speaking, of course, he did still have half a box… The girl was hesitant when he offered it to her, and, in truth, he wasn't terribly sure if it was even safe for her to eat… but, given how—similar the world looked, he was banking on the fact that he wouldn't be starving out here due to some protein issue that poisoned him whenever he made to consume anything. It wasn't like the air was harmful or anything, so chances were good food wouldn't be an issue… he hoped… Given everything else, praying for the fact that Magic-land rules would smooth everything out was as much as he could reasonably hope for…
The girl eyed the candy bar he unwrapped for her with blatant distrust, her entire frame shying away and not seeming to want anything to do with it right up until the moment her nose seemed to catch its scent. Subtle as it was, at least to Arthur, and he’d been the one to open them. It nevertheless captured her interest as two little nostrils flared in a careful twitch. It was almost cute how the girl hesitantly tested the bar with a small lick after cautiously accepting it, eyes shooting wide with surprise, but a heartbeat before whatever reservation she might have held disappeared in light of a desperate and potentially dormant sweet tooth. Arthur watched her all but devour the small Halloween-sized bar, teeth very sharp and very pointed, making laughably short work of the proffered candy before the girl licked her fingers with a brightening demeanour.
“Did it—taste good?” He asked, smiling warmly while keeping his distance.
Again, he found the girl’s guard rise, her attention refocusing on him, crossed pupils narrowing, though, to his pleasure, and the slight smile on his face, he noted there to be a good deal less concern, as though she wanted to distrust him still, but, was finding difficulty in pressing her own case. He waved the largely intact remains of the second bar before her, the demon-girl's gaze following the thing like an enchanted puppy who was being teased by a juicy sausage.
He grinned, offering it to her before leaning back. This time, she chewed slower, treasuring the treat as she ate, and also considered him through a crumbling caution. He decided to take a sip of water from the nearby bottle as well, waterfalling it at first to display its contents, then letting her watch as he drank it with a touch more normalcy before handing it too towards her. She took the bottle carefully, mimicking exactly as he’d done to open it after a mere few seconds, then drank deeply of its reserves, pulling upon the bottle with a needy desperation, her body finally relaxing as her shoulders collapsed, water forming in her eyes.