Sand fell around the human body as the wind flew by. The crowd around recognized the situation as a common one, and quickly dispersed. All went their separate ways but Zikakry, who adjusted his coat and began taking notes on a pad. The first thing the human saw as it opened its eyes was the massive, rat-like figure of Zikakry, an Ocrain, twitching his whiskers as he scribbled.
“Ah good. Name?” Zikakry asked.
“What?”
“I said, name?”
“R-Reston Reach. Where am I?” he asked, slowly crawling up to sit then stand in the street, brushing off red sand from his pants and jacket.
Zikakry ignored him and instead gasped and began writing more furiously. When Reston’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the remnants of the crowd walking about a red sandstone town square, around him buildings and towers of a redder stone, all old but undamaged. There were Ocrain like Zikakry around the square, and Wonlings, Yost, Somians, and other species he had heard of only in passing, if at all. It wasn’t like anything he’d seen since he’d been back at home.
“Was I captured?” he asked almost on impulse.
“What’s that?”, Zikakry asked, lowering his pen and raising his eyebrows, “You think you’re captured? Now that is fascinating, oh yes, you’re in uniform I see. Brown hair too, curious, curious indeed. And rather short. Hmm, I see. I see.” he mused, scribbling something down again.
Reston couldn’t understand why he even asked about capture now, like the reason behind it was whisked away from his mind as soon as he spoke the words. He looked down at himself and saw that he was indeed still in uniform, a blue one with many ringed planets that he recognized, but could not remember why. Even racking his brain for any hint of a memory came up blank, but something was there. He just didn’t know what.
He stumbled on his feet but then walked closer.
Zikakry was a little shorter than Reston, but that didn’t stop him from being all too intimidating for the scared human.
“Right,” Zikakry said, snapping his notebook closed, “My name is Zikakry, at your service. Now you, Reston was it? You’re dead. Welcome to paradise, my friend.”
It took a little while for Reston to both register and believe those words. He looked into Zikakry’s eyes and scanned for any sign of irony or jest. He seemed completely serious, which stunned Reston further. Zikakry continued on,
“Okay, maybe a bit too strong a start. I’ll explain along the way, follow me.”
Reston, mind still blank from confusion, followed. Along the red brick side road away from the square, Reston saw all people from both his blurry memories and ones unknown to him, tree-like Vorchians creeping along, sinking their roots into the ground, large rat-like Ocrain scurrying away, and even Wonlings, with toothy grins, studded in diamond shells. Zikakry began narrating throughout, though Reston didn’t bother to listen much.
“And the city, Morantis we call it, really, it is great. Everything you could want. We just muck it up so much,” he said, scurrying and leading Reston down another turn.
“Muck it up, how?” Reston asked. He didn’t reply, or if he did, Reston couldn’t hear him. Zikakry had led him through several crowds, pushing past the rabble, which made it easy to follow. In spite of this, the quick walk had disoriented him, and every time he called Zikakry to slow down, he seemed to just scurry faster ahead. The distance between them grew until Zikakry disappeared in the crowd, obscured by the passing by of the numerous species of Morantis, many larger than he, with no qualms about pushing him to the side to pass by.
“Zikakry?!” He called out, pushing through the crowd frantically. He began to repeat himself before the air was knocked out of him, as he was pushed back and forth by the crowd around him, forcing him forward. He panicked, closing his arms near himself, until he was shoved completely out of the crowd, flinging him to his knees on the sandy road in front of a building. People walked around him, offering as much help as they could, in their collective decision to not trample him. A pained groan escaped him as he looked up to see Zikakry above waiting for him. Behind him, a bar with a swinging door, with the words “Stoned Mason”, in faded and cracked wooden letters above. Two lanterns were on either side of the door, lighting up the road in the evening shade.
"As I was saying,” Zikakry said, “look at this one. Not a natural establishment like other ones in Morantis, not automated by the city itself. No, Sigil owns this one, made it themselves, hires their own people, for the same shit pay from the mortal world. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Reston shook his head slowly, and then perched up onto his feet. He looked at Zikakry skeptically, but then shrugged and walked in through the door he was holding open, giving him a nod as he slumped inside. Zikakry followed behind, slamming the door shut.
A crimson smog thrashed against Reston’s face as he walked in. It was thick, and heavy, and filled his lungs immediately. He braced himself for a moment, expecting a coughing fit, before realizing he felt nothing. Must be just for show, he thought. Through his obscured vision, he could see several round tables and a bar, with mostly Wonlings behind the bar, and mostly Jungei around the tables. Reston had never seen Wonlings up close before. They towered above him, their shark-like heads peering down at him curiously. Their entire body was covered in a shelled carapace, studded with dimly glowing diamonds on their backs. Reston thought they looked like giant armadillos. Something about them stirred up a strong feeling of excitement, towards nothing in particular, as aimless and confusing as it was intense.
The Jungei, most of them taking their natural forms of swarming parchment tentacles, many of them inscribed with runes Reston couldn’t recognize or make sense of. The red smog that surrounded every table obfuscated the walls, but Reston could see the outlines of
“Never seen a Jungei before?” Zikakry asked, with an amused toothy grin. Reston shook his head wistfully.
“I didn’t expect them to be so… jelly-fish-y,” he replied, shaping the air with his hands, gesturing the shape, or as close an approximation as he could manage, of the people in question. Zikakry let out a crackly chuckle, “damn freaky bastards,” he said under his breath. He lead Reston towards a table in the corner, the only unoccupied one left. Around them were more Jungei, gathered around similar round tables, all having a tall yellow metal hookah in the center, with tubes attached which whispered out puffs of red smoke. Zikakry sat down, gesturing to the opposite chair, which Reston crashed into tiredly. Some of the Jungei around them stopped smoking, and turned toward Zikakry. Their parchment bodies constricted angrily, letting out a hiss, not out loud but into their minds, a telepathy that Reston responded to with vertigo and irritation. Fuck that’s weird. As soon as he thought that, they turned to him for a moment. They didn’t have a face, let alone a face, but he could feel their stare, and was relieved when it turned out to be brief. They returned to their hookahs and began wrapping their bodies around the tubes again. Reston stared with worried eyes until Zikakry cleared his throat, in a rough and scratchy sort of way.
“You going to explain anything now?” Reston asked, after taking a few calming breaths. Zikakry grumbled, plucking a menu out of the grasp of Reston’s reaching hands, then reading over it wistfully while humming,
“Patience, human, there is time for scurrying,” he replied, licking his lips, “and a time for eating. I am absolutely famished.”
Reston frowned and picked up another menu. They were made of some sort of hard metal, a dull gold color with little shine. Glancing his eyes over it, his eyebrows shot up in surprise more than once. Twice fried ostegaph, Ganbrass infused purple bake, pre-masticated teeth, and other such things that Reston had scarcely an understanding of. He looked at Zikakry pleadingly, but his eyes were fixed on his own choices.
On the corner of the menu, Reston noticed a strange glimmering, as if shaking glass were covering it, ` thin. His hands shook ever so slightly as he floated a finger towards it, tapping on it quickly. The shimmering grew brighter, and after a moment, a small tower of light, nearly the size of Reston’s hand, flew upwards from the menu, its shape converging on several points, and then expanding to cover the entire menu, until it formed holograms of the various foods and drinks mentioned in the menu, in a slowly spinning circle. The hologram flickered for a moment, and then lit up brighter and clearer. Reston looked over at Zikakry, who had similarly turned on the menu, and was clicking on various holograms. Reston followed his example and slowly tapped on the “Ganbrass infused purple bake”. It flashed gold, along with subtitled words that read “Order Sent”. He’d never seen something like that in a restaurant; it seemed especially strange to him, among everything. The hologram technology seemed familiar, but how’s it in a restaurant?, he thought. Ah well, I’ll just send in this order. Clicking on the “send order” button beckoned forth a high pitched chime from the menu, which immediately stopped glowing, and the holograms converged on a singular point in the corner again, flowing like quick, violent water.
“What’s Ganbrass?” Reston asked, putting the menu down with a dull metallic ting.
“All that matters in this place. It’s the metal this thing is made out of,” Zikakry said, flicking the menu with his finger, emitting out a clang, “comes in handy, lots of interesting little uses, not confined to just violence, believe it or not.”
“Violence?” Reston asked. Zikakry finished ordering his own food and deactivated the menu, then holding it up high. With an abrupt motion, he brought it crashing down on Reston’s unaware face, staring confusedly at Zikakry’s wry smile. Reston’s eyes spun as the impact hit, his arms instinctively reaching to the top of his head as he cried out, “ow!”. Zikakry laughed and laid the menu back on the table, pointing in glee at Reston rubbing his head.
“What the hell, man?! That shit hurts,” Reston spat out.
“It’s the only thing that can hurt you here. Think back, everyone bumping into in that crowd, falling forward like a lump of clay — hilarious I’d add — did any of it hurt, even feel uncomfortable?” Zikakry asked. Reston thought for a moment,
“I… guess not. How does that work?” He asked back.
“Nobody really knows, but be on your guard for that sort of thing. You’re just an Image now, waiting to be reincarnated back somewhere in the Milky Way, so you can’t normally be hurt,” he said grimly, staring into Reston’s eyes, “but Ganbrass is different, it actually affects you. Some people use it to make drugs, or machines, or exotic foods,” he continued, gesturing to the menu, “but it can just as easily end your reincarnation cycle. Forever. And rather painfully.”
“Stay away from Ganbrass, got it,” Reston said, raising his brow and shoulders, while rubbing the top of his head sorely, and glancing at the menu, “How does reincarnation work? Am I still the same person?”
“Oh sure you’re the same person, to an extent. Your Image transforms but tends to stay the same generally, for a few reincarnations. Then something happens, and you change. Most people only keep their Image the same for a dozen or so reincarnations,” Zikakry explained, staring closely at Reston, “I’d wager you’re in your, hmm, let’s think, perhaps your seventh reincarnation? That sounds about right. As for avoiding Ganbrass, can’t do that, I’m afraid. The city runs on it. Even our currency — yes, we have that too, damned as we are— is, itself, Ganbrass. And you’ll want to protect yourself with it too, heavens grant that you never need to,” Zikakry replied, before smiling gleefully as a young Wonling came rushing over, dressed in a stained white apron, carrying three plates. He rubbed his paws while chuckling as the server laid two of the plates, each with strange, moving, gelatinous foods Reston had never seen before. The third plate had a purple pastry with glints of dull yellow Ganbrass interspersed throughout it. The server silently bowed and left rapidly.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Reston smiled and immediately raised his fork up high, stabbing it down into the purpler mass. It pierced into it cleanly and without resistance, sinking in like pudding. He pulled away a piece, leaving behind trailing strings of a thick red liquid that Reston thought looked like discolored cheese. Zikakry was distracted, repeatedly glancing at his own food, and violently scribbling on his small leather notepad.
Reston sniffed it briefly, but the air was thick and obscured with the red smog, with the faint smell of grass and what seemed like burnt plastic. He couldn’t tell what came from the food, and what from the dozen Jungei around him, but he confidently took a bite nonetheless. It was soft, like a sponge, quickly falling apart in his mouth into sweet threads, each thin and pliable, tasting of berries and cream, though not quite as good as Reston remembered. He started humming while eagerly reaching for another bite, when his hands froze. Tiny pinpricks began to litter his entire tongue, growing in intensity and size, spreading to his cheeks and lips. They felt numb, cold, the pain now subsiding as the cold spread to his neck, and arms. Zikakry had finally come to his senses about the situation, and was saying something, but Reston could barely keep his eyes focused on his angrily moving mouth. The cold had spread to his legs now. A thousand thoughts whirled through Reston’s mind as he tried and failed to move his limbs, leaving them paralyzed, whether from fear or otherwise, he could not tell.
Shit, am I dying? Is this really how I go? Fuck, was it the food? Wait, I can’t die. Right?
His vision began blurring, and white spots began to dot his vision, until the combination of the red smoke and whatever was happening to him now, let him tunnel visioning on Zikakry’s inaudible voice. Even as his consciousness faded, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for drawing the attention of so many Jungei around him. They were all staring him down, he could feel it. His breathing was slowing down, but that wasn’t what Reston began to worry over. No, something, something, was missing. Something was wrong.
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When Reston came to, he was sitting against a red stone wall, in the dim light of the sunset, hidden from view. A confusion filled his mind as he tried to recall the events that lead up to his current situation, but he began to connect the dots when he saw Zikakry standing next to him. He was intently watching Reston, and threw up his paws excitedly when Reston stirred.
“Oh wonderful! You came to! Now, tell me everything,” he said, unbinding his notebook.
“What?” Reston asked groggily, rubbing his forehead.
“Tell me everything you just experienced,” Zikakry ordered, not looking up.
“What?” Reston asked again, a hint of anger this time. Zikakry put down his pen.
“After you ate the Ganbrass,” he said curtly, as if it were obvious, “Did you remember anything?”
Reston briefly recoiled away from Zikakry at these words. His Trueheart began pounding, hastening its pace like a stampede, filled with fear. Something was still wrong, and doom would follow. For what felt like hours he saw time halt as thoughts raced through his mind, warnings and omens. Through the haze of it all, he began to remember the truth, what truly was, and what was not. He did remember what he saw after he lost consciousness — a warning in the dark, from a familiar face, one like his, yet from a life forgotten. And then in turn, he remembered how to respond, as if ingrained in him. "No, I don’t remember a thing,” he said innocently, “When did I eat Ganbrass?”
Zikakry spat on the ground and began angrily pacing around, silently for as long as it took for Reston to pull himself up from the floor, grabbing fast on a stone brick jutting out from the wall.
“Ah well, not to worry. There will be others,” Zikakry said sullenly, “It’s getting dark, you should find a place to stay.”
Reston eyed Zikakry cautiously, considering his question. The glow of the sunset was already beginning to fade, and the streets around them were empty.
“Like where?” he asked.
“An apartment would be ideal, but not in this area,” Zikakry replied, “Nothing out here worth your while.”
“What do I need an apartment for? I thought this was paradise,” Reston said, while brushing off red sand from his pants. It was extremely fine, and soft to the touch, with not a hint of sharpness or abrasiveness in each grain.
“Too true, you won’t have need for sleep here,” Zikakry replied, walking towards a main road and signaling Reston to follow, “But it’s not safe to be out on the streets at night. The Citadel doesn’t have much jurisdiction where we are, so close to the wall, and outskirts.”
Reston stood still for a moment, watching Zikakry walk away, until he heart a scratching sound from the ground beneath him. It was a faint vibration, from an unknown source, but Reston didn’t wait for it to present itself. He quickly ran over to Zikakry, catching up to him.
“Anything could happen here, and nobody would be the wiser. Hardly anyone lives here,” Zikakry continued, “Even Sigil, or hells, even the Outriders, don’t venture here.”
“So why are we here?” Reston asked, with a waver and shake in his voice.
“We were in the area, and it’s close to where I live. You had better come with me, Reston Reach,” Zikakry said sternly, “You’re an interesting specimin and I wager you don’t even realize it,” he continued, stopping at the intersection of the road. There were some empty, unused buildings surrounding them, all made of the same red sand bricks that the entire city seemed to be built out of. It was nearly dark now. A solitary black metal street lamp emitting a bright red glow from above, stood in front of Zikakry. He took a deep breath, and clasped his paws around the circumference of the light pole, and then pressed his entire weight against it, growling as he did, putting a great amount of effort into pushing it. Reston opened his mouth to speak when the light pole suddenly shifted forward, the ground underneath it rumbling and cracking as it moved away slowly. As it shifted, it revealed a hole in the ground, leading to a staircase, at the very bottom of which a white light glowed out. Sand began falling into it, blown away by the night breeze.
“Welcome to the King’s Court,” Zikakry said, gesturing to the staircase, “You should stay here tonight.”
Reston looked down, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of anything at the end of the tunnel.
“King’s Court? I thought you said there was a certain Citadel that ran things,” Reston said.
“The Citadel is human scum,” Zikakry spat, “No offense to you, but they care nothing for the other species. The King’s Court fights for the Ocrain like me, and for those like you too, as you will certainly see soon,” he explained.
“Why me? I’m just a normal human, nothing special,” Reston said confusedly.
“Hah! Nothing special indeed! Khahahah!” Zikakry replied, stepping down through the trapdoor, laughing to himself. His laugh was crackly and rough, but filled with the same joy of a child discovering a new toy. Reston betrayed every instinct telling him to run right there and then, and moved forward fearfully. He followed Zikakry down the steps, the light slowly growing in intensity as they drew near. At the end of the stairs, an open door stood, made of polished Ganbrass. Behind it, stood a white furred Ocrain waiting eagerly, and threw up his arms in excitement when Zikakry came into view. He was wearing an open red coat, matching his eyes, and towered over both Zikakry and Reston.
“Zikakry,” he said simply, with a sly smile, after he put his hands down, approaching in small, quick steps.
“Qid,” Zikakry said, mirroring his deadpan expression and smile. Reston stood awkwardly behind Zikakry, peering out and waving nervously to Qid.
“Is that him? Reston Reach, our beloved new specimen?” Qid asked, grinning happily now.
“That’s me,” Reston replied. Zikakry and Qid gave each other a knowing look and began walking down the tunnel at the base of the stairs, which was well lit by warm electric light above, affixed to the low ceiling. Reston ducked his head and followed.
“So, Reston, you arrived today huh?” Qid asked in a chipper tone, “Whatcha been up to? Dragged ‘round half of Morantis by old Zik?” Reston laughed along with Qid nervously. Before he could respond, they arrived to the end of the tunnel, which opened into a large, well lit room, with a similarly low ceiling. Reston stood mouth agape upon seeing the entire room, which extended through hallways and wings for as far as the eye could see, was absolutely crawling with Ocrain, of all colors and sizes, all scurrying with great intention here and about, never stopping in their tracks and each quickly disappearing into other rooms as quickly as Reston noticed them. The walls and floor were a darker red stone compared to the buildings above the ground, like aged blood to Reston’s eyes.
Zikakry and Qid led him past the crowd, who scarcely stopped to acknowledge them beyond a mere nod towards the two Ocrain leading him. The hallways were labyrinthine and confounding, turning every few dozen steps, the hallways gradually becoming less crowded, until they were the only ones walking through empty corridors. They had passed several doors and off shooting halls, all with no signage or any sort of indication as to where they led. Reston had tried to his wit’s end to keep track of the route, but he quickly lost track, which he worried was intentional.
Eventually, they arrived to another set of stairs, and then below, a dark room behind a metal door. Zikakry flipped a switch and illuminated the room, which revealed a drab, empty room with only a chair in the middle of the room, and a bed at the other end. The walls were an even darker red, old and aged and chipped. Reston quickly turned around, only to see Zikakry locking the door behind him.
“Sit down Reston,” Zikakry commanded. Reston hesitated, and then looked at the both of them decisively,
“No, I’d rather just leave,” he stammered, “I can find another place to stay.”
“Just sit down, we just need to confirm something,” Qid said gently, or at least attempted to. Reston shakily walked over to the chair, sitting down reluctantly. Zikakry smiled and, from his pocket drew out a small box with a screen on one end, and a needle on the other.
“Wait,” Qid said, “Use mine, just to be sure.” He removed an identical device from his own pocket, and then walked over to Reston.
“What is that?” Reston asked, looking at the door.
“It’ll just be a little pinprick, we’re just testing your reincarnation number, with your current Image,” Qid explained, rolling up Reston’s left sleeve and bringing the needle close to his arm. The tip of the needle was Ganbrass, and thinner than a filament. Qid stabbed it in without warning, but Reston could scarcely feel it. Within the same motion, Qid pulled out the needle and stared long and intently at the screen, away from Reston’s view.
“Jhaka! You weren’t lying! This isn’t heard of!” Qid shouted, showing the screen to Zikakry, who silently nodded.
“Nobody in this Morantis even comes close, imagine how much the Citadel would pay—” Qid said, before Zikakry punched him in the side, gesturing to Reston, who immediately began understanding the situation. In a quick motion, he leapt up from the chair, tripping over it as his leg got caught by the chair. He twisted and jumped up just as quickly, attempting to run towards then door, but Zikakry and Qid were already upon him, pinning to the ground. Shit, shit shit shit shit. He tried to squirm his way out of their grasp, but the combined strength of two Ocrain was too much for even him. They slammed his head into the ground, rubbing it into the sand, right next to the reader that they had dropped. On the screen, a few inches from his face, was a number, next to the words “Total Image Reincarnations”. Reston tried to focus his blurring vision, but they slammed his head against the floor again, and the last thing he remembered was the number on the screen, cursing him.
Total Image Reincarnations: 3,983,000,000