The numb and dazed young man came to his senses under a droning buzz of gunfire and explosions. The smell of ozone assaulted his nostrils moments before the stench of offal, blood, and entrails. He became nauseated and retched even as his body attempted to suck in enough air to allow him to live.
His body was slowly waking up. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t understand what was being screamed around him. He felt as if thousands of needles pricked his body as if every limb was asleep. His eyes weren’t working, his addled and waking mind registered only a faint blur. He knew he was prone, facing the ground and it was as if a vise was pressing him down. He couldn’t move.
The atmosphere felt different. Heavier. He felt the warmth of sunlight but the sun was reddish. As his conscious mind fought to, at the same time, make sense of what was happening around him and get his body moving again, all the boy wished was to wake up from what could only be a nightmare.
He could hear the roar of guns and cannons. The whistle of artillery. The inhuman screams of the warriors around him. He choked on clouds of dust and caustic smoke, burning his throat and nose. He tried to scream but no sound escaped his throat. His eyes slowly regained focus but they stung from the chemical smoke. He wept in a vain attempt to keep his corneas safe. His only solace was to shut his eyelids with all his might.
His heart pounded for his dear life. His blood felt like molasses, refusing to flow through his veins but slowly gaining momentum. His arteries and veins burned and his muscles cramped as if he’d run a dozen Marathons one after another. His whole body was on fire, his whole being was in pain.
Sounds of engines and gears crushing the dirt near him alerted him of nearby danger. The syncopated pounding of feet marching told him people were nearby. The shouts, the guttural warcries, and the screams of pain and anguish told him he was in the middle of a battlefield.
He was no warrior.
That would change if he could survive.
Whistles precluded the booming pound of artillery shells delivering ruin to the enemy. Whose enemy? The young man knew not. Gravel and debris pelted his back but he dared not move. As far as he knew, if he hadn’t died yet his location must be safer than the battlefield around him.
He heard people shouting their warcries again. Screams and the rushed stomping of boots reminded him of a bayonet charge. The whirring and sharp whistles of their weapons firing evoked the idea he was in a sci-fi nightmare.
Then the monsters charged too. Their voices were too many octaves too low, their throats too gurgly. Was ‘gurgly” a word? The question told him his brain had recovered basic reasoning functions.
And with that, came the fear. The dread of the unknown induced a panic attack and the basic instinct of self-preservation kicked in with all might. He emptied whatever fluids he had to empty in a shameful display of his lack of self-control.
Around him, in whatever hellscape he found himself in, people and what could only be monsters fought and died. He heard the threads of tanks, the explosions of grenades, and more artillery shells. So many artillery shells.
The fighting got closer to him. He felt warm fluids… was it blood? He was sprayed on by copious amounts of the greasy thick gunk. Then the bodies fell on him. Was he in a ditch? He winced as more bodies fell on top of those bodies. He feared he would be crushed.
And yet he dared not open his eyes. His muscles still ached and his head couldn’t stop pounding and spinning. Too scared to move, too afraid to scream. The pile of armored bodies over him muted the sound of battle.
But not the vibrations. But not the stench. His every breath was a battle against gravity, to lift the bodies above him.
Summoning his every strength, he twisted a bit and found some room for breathing. The stiff corpses above him formed a canopy, a secluded place for him. No longer being pelted by debris, he finally succumbed and passed away.
----------------------------------------
The numb and dazed young man came to his senses hearing the skittering of thousands of small crabs crawling over the rotten bodies above him. He was thirsty and hungry and still in pain. The nightmare hadn’t ended, if only it became worse.
Strange electricity ran through his mind. His skin tingled. Above him, he could hear shouts, and what could only be sci-fi weapons firing. The whistles and dins were eerie and terrifying. Pinned, he could only hope he could survive.
Musical voices like a choir shouted their war cries. Machine guns roared. The ground shook under what could only be giant monsters or dinosaurs stomping around. Explosions. Artillery. More screams of pain. Mechanical voices. Explosions. Oh, so many explosions.
Then the lightning struck. A thousand roars and each of them sent jolts over his body. Even behind his closed eyelids, he could see the flares of the sparks frying the dead bodies around him. He burned as his body resonated with the electricity.
Hours later, it was over. He could still hear the musical voices, talking near him. The sound of metal hitting metal, of wreckage being torn asunder dissonated against the voices.
Then the weight vanished from above him. One by one, the bodies were being removed. Sunlight once more hit his exposed skin, burning where lightning scorched him before.
Something picked him by the scruff of his neck and lifted. He feared his spine would yield and break.
The young man finally screamed and flailed his limbs in the air. The heavy smoke and ozone still burned his throat and lungs but he didn’t care.
Then he was tossed against a hard pavement covered in debris. His skin broke and was scratched in several places. His ragged and blood-soaked clothes offered no protection against the debris and wreckage.
Gasping for air, struggling against the pain, he opened his eyes.
----------------------------------------
The scared and crazed young man witnessed an alien scenario. Tall spires of crystal pierced the skies. They seemed too far and too big to still be transparent but they caught the light and shone. The dark clouds of smoke and soot did a poor job of hiding a lilac sky with two suns.
Around him, the wreckage of tanks and thousands of bodies, both human and alien went as far as the eye could see. Chitinous monstrosities, purple aliens, green aliens, blue aliens. Men in metallic power armor, men in military body armor, and men in strange and decorated uniforms lied lifeless everywhere.
But not all was death. A few aliens were alive and pointing strange weapons at him. Glowing rifles without barrels. Shapes too sinuous and too colorful. Bodies too thin and lanky and tall. Eight feet tall. Giant robots lean and faceless with spears of light floating over their shoulders secured the perimeter.
What seemed like an alien woman with a teardrop-shaped mirrored bubble helmet and some symbols on her… robes? Armored clothes? He couldn’t tell. But the woman was facing him and he sensed she was attempting to communicate with him.
“Water!” He grunted.
The alien woman moved back for a while. Placing one of her armored, long, and too slender hands on the side of her teardrop domed faceplate, lightning sparked around it and shot at him.
He flinched and screamed. He feared the burn but the lightning struck his brain, his mind instead. Then it was gone.
The woman spoke something in their musical voice. It was like the person spoke in three different octaves at once, sometimes forming a chord, most often the same note. It would be beautiful if he wasn’t so scared.
One of the aliens rummaged through one body and dragged a military canteen. He rudely tossed the canteen to the young man, striking his sternum and skittering away out of his reach.
The alien woman, clearly a leader, scolded the warrior. He didn’t like it. Grumbling, he picked another canteen, opened it, and dumped damp stale water over the young man.
Desperate for water, he could only fight against himself to drink it. He almost drowned and choked. Coughing, he spat congealed phlegm and blood. But the life-giving fluid gave him some freedom of movement. He turned on his side and retched.
He spewed only bile. His stomach yearned for sustenance.
The aliens force-fed him some ration bars. Moldy power bars, he thought. The young man couldn’t remember where the idea came from. He couldn’t remember anything about himself. But he ate as only a desperate man could eat in an alien hellscape battlefield.
With what strength he had, he crawled to the next dead soldier and seized another canteen for himself. He drank everything, he rummaged through the dead man’s, a human, pockets and devoured more ration bars.
His body complained as his stomach got overworked. He vomited everything. Choking, retching, dizzy, and weakened, the young man once more attempted to feed himself. But this time he went slowly.
Stolen novel; please report.
The aliens took their time. The woman and the rude warrior kept watch over him as he availed himself to the dead soldier's disgusting rations and stale water canteens as the other giant robots and warriors searched for survivors.
The rude soldier argued with his leader. The woman’s tone was adamant. Several times he trained the business end of his gun on the young man but she barked an order to stand down.
Sated, the young man fell unconscious over the dead soldiers.
----------------------------------------
The estranged and confused young man was far from home. Too far from home. He woke up and felt some creamy gunk and bandages all over his body. His clothes were gone and he was lying on a metallic gurney facing artificial lighting. Everything around him seemed as if made of metal, bone, crystal, or a combination of the three. He came to the conclusion he was in some alien facility. The aliens had spared him and saved his life. Anywhere was better than that hellish battlefield.
Oh, how he was mistaken.
But not there. The alien’s medical bay held not only him but more of those tall and lanky aliens. Their skin was rugged and silvery, purple, or bluish now that he could see them without their armors. They didn’t seem to have any body fat. It was all muscle, sinew, and bone underneath that tough hide. They had long pointed ears and colorful hair. Their faces seemed harmonious and even eerily beautiful.
The teardrop-helmet woman came to see him a few hours later. Sparks ran around her helmet and he smelled ozone.
<
His eyes went wide. Telepathy. The young man nodded.
<
The question made his mind question itself. His brain sought the answer, awakening what few memories he could recall.
“Earth,” he replied.
Then she asked something that made him doubt everything.
<
Images flashed through his mind. Airplanes. Cars. Buildings of concrete, steel, and glass. A city by the ocean. Where? He couldn’t remember. Aluminum and glass slates that granted both wisdom and entertainment. A peaceful time where war was only seen in the news. Or in movies or video games.
“When is it now?” He asked back.
<
He remembered an accident. An explosion at the university. A fusion reactor? It should’ve killed him. Maybe it did. He still couldn’t believe what his senses told him.
<>
She touched his temple, a spark jumped into him, and he blacked out.
----------------------------------------
He awoke on a bed. Naked under the linen comforter, his body didn’t ache. He was thirsty and a quick search revealed a few canteens on the nightstand. The furniture was made of metal but his mattress was soft and the bedding seemed to be cloth. At least that.
He drank slowly, remembering when he got sick from going too fast. The water was better than before and he drank a whole canteen before he was sated.
The young man looked around. He was in a room, walls made of metal and bone. The door was a hazy sheet of crystal and had no lock, hinges, or doorknob. A wooden chair with some clothes was the only other feature aside from the bed and nightstand.
He stood up and stretched. Then he examined the clothes. It was a military uniform like the ones he saw the dead men wearing. He tried it on and found it was two sizes too big. His memory was hazy but he could swear that everyone was taller than him. After fiddling and folding and tying the clothes, he was dressed.
The crystal door slid into the wall – of course, it did – and the same helmeted woman entered.
<>
It wasn’t a request. This woman was a military commander. He was no soldier but followed her nonetheless. He had a sense that he was only alive because she wanted to. These aliens held no sympathy for his species.
They walked without speaking across corridors and past many crystal doors. Past several well-armed and armored aliens. Too many to even consider escape. Until she stopped before a door and it opened without any visible input. They entered a great domed room and he marveled at the sight.
They were in space. The stars danced above him. On the edge of the dome, he could see the lilac planet underneath.
<
He tilted his head. He recognized the words and concepts, but he couldn’t understand.
“What is the warp?”
<
“If I may ask, ma’am, what do you call yourselves?”
<
He wondered if he could write it down but he had no pen or paper.
<
Like all of his kind, he yearned for companionship. As if reading his mind – no, she was definitely reading his mind, she chastised him.
<
“Understood,” he ruefully nodded.
<
Was he in one of those System Apocalypse stories? A sci-fi portal fantasy? He still doubted all this was real and he was just hallucinating it. But he called upon his “datasheet”.
> Name: ________________
>
> Species: Primitive Human
>
> * Agility: 3 / (0/10)
> * Strength: 2 / (0/10)
> * Endurance: 2 / (0/10)
> * Hit Points: 1 / (0/20)
> * Attacks: 1 / (0/10)
>
> Weapon Skill: -5 (0/5)
>
> Shooting Skill: -5 (0/5)
>
> Psychic Skill: -1 / +1 (0/5) (0/5)
>
> Current Psychic Skill: 0
>
> Leadership Skill: -5 (0/5)
>
> Deployment Cost: 1
>
> Experience Points: 20
>
> Special:
>
> * Dual Nature: Your Psychic Skill can be developed in both positive and negative values independently. You can set the value anywhere between the maximum and minimum at the start of each phase.
He felt pressure against his temples. The woman was reading his mind as he browsed his “datasheet”.
<
He noticed she didn't explain all of the characteristics there. As helpful as she seemed, she herself stated she was not his friend or ally. He was a tool, a weapon against her undisclosed enemies.
<
Again, it was an order. He had to appease this woman or he might end up as dead as those on the planet below. He focused on the first number and willed it to increase.
> Psychic Skill: -1 / +1 (1/5) (0/5)
>
> Experience Points: 19
Again… until it became (5/5).
> Psychic Skill: -2 / +1 (0/5) (0/5)
>
> Experience Points: 15
<
He dumped the rest of the points on the positive. How was he supposed to know which one was which? The first point cost five, then the cost increased to ten.
> Psychic Skill: -2 / +3 (0/5) (0/20)
>
> Current Psychic Skill: 0
>
> Experience Points: 0
<
He did as commanded. Each point that ticked up increased his awareness of something else at the edge of his perceptions. Something bigger and all-encompassing. He also could sense the enormous power the woman before he wielded. She could crush his existence with but a thought.
<
She grabbed his temples and channeled raw lightning through his brain. He felt a jolt of pain as concepts flowed from the alien mind into his. He could almost grasp the infinite proportions of a parallel world and touch it. He could draw power from there and make it real in the material world. Raw power manifested as vengeful lightning that would fry his enemies.
Then he also learned how to channel the energy in a kind and soothing way. He would use what lifeforce remained in the body to heal wounds. He also knew that if the body was close to death’s door, there was little it could do to stave off the grim reaper. This power, “Regrowth” was meant only for minor wounds.
After his ordeal, he had the mother of all headaches and a new entry in his datasheet.
> Psychic Disciplines (1/2):
>
> Basic:
>
> Lightning Smite. Difficulty 5. Range, 36 meters. Deal 1-3 HP of damage to one unit, or 1-6 on a critical success.
>
> Biomancy:
>
> Regrowth. Difficulty 9. Range, 6 meters. Restore 1 HP of damage to an organic unit.
<
He returned what he imagined as a dial to the neutral position but wondered, what did the negative setting do? Aside from hindering him from using his newfound psychic powers, what was the purpose of a negative value?
Curious, he set it to minus two. The woman stopped and turned on her heels.
<> she sounded very annoyed. This time, no sparks ran over the edges of her mirrored faceplate. He also lost that connection to the beyond.
If his negative skill hindered the psionic power of others, it could be a defensive feature. He set it to zero before she could order a guard to kill him or crushed him herself.
He walked through the corridors of the alien starship until another crystal door that looked exactly like all others. The woman pointed to a military leather backpack.
<
He struggled to lift the heavy backpack as she opened the door and shoved him inside. The door closed behind him and he found himself in a small circular room, not five feet across. Then he was unceremoniously ejected from the alien starship.
Looking across the viewport, he could see the majestic alien vessel. Sleek and crystalline, it was both powerful and gorgeous. Then space shifted and distorted. The alien ship stretched into the infinite and vanished as reality rebounded on itself.
Fires flared around his crystalline pod as he re-entered the planet’s atmosphere. Looking above, he saw several mechanical vessels appearing from a rift in reality.
Then they opened fire on his drop pod. A laser shot hit his crystalline shell and he fainted from the shock as it was sent spinning down the atmosphere.