“Awww, look at you. Such an angry little puppy.” Rhuna poked Rye, who was dangling by her ankles. “You’re not making any friends with a glare like that. Buuut it is adorable, so I’ll let it pass.”
“Do you really think that I will serve as your replacement, as your puppet after this?” Rye asked. “You don’t even see me as a person. I’m more of a project, a-a pet to you.”
“Sit.” Rhuna said, roughly plopping her down in a cell. Rye rubbed her behind as the eyes of a dozen other undead huddled in the corners met hers. It somehow did not surprise Rye that Rhuna also practiced mass kidnapping after today. This was just another Ruthersday for her.
“Alright. You sit tight and while I go set up a perfect ambush for our ambushers, you think about what you said. And did. And don’t come crawling back to me with sniveling apologies, I have enough sycophants.” She turned to leave, talking to Timothy who had appeared without even prompting. “I am going to need the following: A couple sticks of dynamite. A bag of feathers. Ten tons of cement…”
Rhuna’s voice disappeared soon after, leaving Rye to search for crumbs of uplifting thoughts. Being in jail meant she did not have to listen to the lioness’ ramblings anymore, for one. And Elia had broken out of worse jails before. The bars were fairly wide, but not wide enough, and the lock looked like one hell of a tough nut to crack.
Were there any guards around?
Rye leaned forward, squeezing her face in between the metal. She felt her reservoir tank. Rye jerked back, but not before the bars bit her nose.
“Ow-ow-ow!” she yelped, pulling back with a bloodied face.
Reservoir-slurping mimic jail bars. How awful. How fitting. Elia would have no way to pick them, and Rye had no way to sneak past with her [Dream-haze projection]. The jail cells all around looked just as unusual, each and every piece tailored for a different kind of inhabitant.
For a moment, she felt helpless. Was there anything that Rhuna didn’t have, anything at all?
No, she would not think like that. Everything would be fine. She just needed to sleep, and dream, and talk to Elia.
“Five thousand,” Zippo hissed at the back of her mind.
“I get it, I get it.” She settled into the comfortable looking corner and curled up into a ball. “But I get to talk to Elia first. Then, I’ll do the five thousand dreams in one sitting, even if it takes me a real day, alright?”
Zippo gnashed and grumbled. He did not like that she was getting something out of it before paying her previous debt. But he did eventually relent, and the white dream enveloped her like a welcoming blanket. Rye sighed, tension bleeding away.
Finally, she was back in control.
She opened her eyes. Everything was on fire.
----------------------------------------
When Rye had declared that she needed to take a break and disappeared, Elia had only been a little bit angry. It was blindingly obvious that the girl wanted to prove herself. After so much time spent in the backseat, after attaining some amount of power, it was only natural that anyone would want to test it out, and regain a modicum of control over their life in the process.
But, as anger did, it faded, and for the first time in a long while, Elia felt relief. Relief that she did not have to struggle and bleed and die for a day. A day that then turned into weeks.
It was in her third week that Elia started worrying about her impromptu vacation ending. Even though baths were always hot, even though the food was plentiful, every day that crept on by only heightened the nervous energy bounding about inside her.
So, she got up, and started on some light exercises. Just something to take her mind off of things. She had gained a considerable strength increase only a few days prior after all. Learning to control that strength, finding its limits inside this safe space, was only a reasonable thing to do.
Then week four rolled around and Elia was sure that something was wrong. Rye should have called her outside by now.
Elia intensified her training. She stumbled across an armory, filled with every weapon she had ever wielded. It was a ride down memory lane, jabbing with the spear that had been her first real martial weapon, the reach making her early days much easier, and her earlier self overconfident. A spear was a nice change compared to all the short blades she had wielded in the past three months.
Three months of adventure. Three months of life.
She trained harder, going through glaives, poleaxes, and more exotically named and shaped polearms: The Goedendag, a type of mace-spear. The Brandestoc, a short, thin spear with two prongs diverting like downy barbs of a feather. The Ox-tongue, the Partisan, the Scorpion. Guisarmes and Breches. Pitchforks and sharpened sticks.
Then came the bludgeoning tools. The humble club, a reliable companion in dire times. The carpenter hammer, a less reliable companion for more desperate times. Flanged maces and warhammers; Horseman’s picks and Morningstars and Flails, too.
She trained with them all, day in, day out. With so much variety, Elia never grew tired. And with every day she trained more, ate less.
Axes. The kings of chopping, though they were dangerous for lack of reach, and lack of a handguard. Fingers beware.
Bows, not her favorite. A sword could kill even while dull. A bow without arrows was just a delicate piece of wood and string.
‘Many things you can do with string you can’t with swords though,’ she thought.
Crossbows were worse. The less said about one-and-done weapons the better. She did not have the strength to reload them back then anyways, and not the time to do so now.
Daggers, however, were an old favorite. Elia could carry so many daggers.
Lastly, swords. She was split on swords. There were so many after all. Most of them weren’t intended for warfare, but self-defense. In the modern world they had been heavily romanticized, the results of which she had become infinitely familiar with in the maze, when she had dropped a spear in favor of a cooler looking broadsword.
‘Beginner mistakes. Some people only make them once.’
If Elia had to choose, she would take a shortsword. Her small frame meant she leaned towards small weapons anyways. The longer ones would just unbalance her, though that was thinking like a baseline human. Now that she was stronger, had more tenacity, could she work with longer, heavier weapons?
She could. Though that did not change much about her preferences.
‘Do what you know, and know it well.’
But endlessly fighting empty air was not the best form of practice. And more than that, Elia was pretty sure something in here was watching her. She caught one of the kids from Littleton, the village Rye had set up for her adventure, spying on her.
‘I thought that part of the dream was supposed to be over. Hmmm.’
She eyed the castle where she had unceremoniously interrupted said adventure. It was still full of challenges, right?
It was. There were boobytrapped corridors, and riddles galore, enemies to battle too, though not as many as in Loften. It was a nice distraction, but nothing too challenging. Then, at the very top, Elia entered a throne room. Standing over the body of the king was a man wearing starry robes and a wide-brimmed hat. He had glasses too, modern, square-ish ones.
He looked like a normal guy cosplaying as a wizard.
“I am… the evil wizard mark,” he said dramatically. “And you… are late. Very, very late. Forty-two days late.”
Elia blinked. Nobody in Littleton ever hinted that they were aware of time, or its passing. And the way he was looking around nervously was also not likely the way Rye pictured a wizard, evil or not.
“You’re different,” Elia said, looking around. “So, what’s your deal?”
“You have come to rescue the princess.”
“You mean Rye? Already did.”
The wizard stared at her. “I… what? She didn’t tell me. This is off-script.”
“Well, you killed the king. Maybe that’s worth starting a fight over?” Elia offered.
The wizard stroked his beard stubble. “Perhaps. Are you interested in a game?”
“As long as it isn’t riddles.”
He nodded, then settled back into his evil-wizard schtick. With a rap of his long staff, a portal opened. “You will fight my minions, big and small. You must defeat them, defeat them all. I see you scoff, but beware, for they are devious, and not exactly fair. Should you fail, and I see you fall, then the same the villagers shall befall and screams of innocents shall fill the air.”
Before Elia could comment on the wizard's poetry skills, a trio of monsters jumped out of his portals.
“Beware, my most unbalanced of encounters! He cackled evilly. “This monkey can jump in and out of walls in the same turn.”
She dodged a pile of poo that dropped from the ceiling and exploded into a cloud of toxic stink.
“This golem cannot be hurt by physical attacks.”
A ten-ton fist cracked the floor right next to her.
“This giant prismatic caterpillar can jump fifty feet, and slays anyone it hits in a single fell blow.”
A shadow fell over her head, but instead of dodging, Elia swiped at it with a sword. The caterpillar died, cleaved in two., leaving only the two other monsters, and the wizard, who was conspicuously passive. Even without him slinging spells, the two monsters harried her at every bend and break. It almost felt overwhelming.
It was perfect. This was exactly what Elia had asked for.
She got into the groove, dodging, weaving, parrying, rolling.
Eventually, the monkey screwed up and got taken out by a throwing dagger just as it emerged from a wall behind her. But the Golem was proving a harder nut to crack. Unlike in reality, it just flat out ignored the effects of her [Cutting Cutlery]. She had to get creative.
Elia grinned as the floor shook under its impacts. She circled around a line she knew was right above a corridor. Paying attention to the layout paid out when the floor sagged, then gave away completely. She jumped, then kicked the teetering golem down where a dozen traps activated simultaneously. They did nothing to the golem, but it was now well and truly stuck in between the walls, flamethrower traps spewing their sticky residue lazily all around.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
She wiped her forehead, then sauntered over to the wizard.
“You have bested me, but I will be back! Teleport!” he yelled and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Elia looked around. Then she walked up to a spot in the room and punched it. The wizard appeared from underneath a spell of invisibility.
“OW! That friggin hurt!”
“Misdirection. I like it.” She offered him a hand. “Nice setup. I don’t think I could have beaten it without that lucky caterpillar kill. Also, why are you so different from the others?”
“I’ve asked that myself over these past few months of my existence. All I know is that the villagers are like me, but just scared to show it. ” He hesitated, then took her hand. “If you’re going to kill me, do it quick.”
Elia blinked. “Why would I do that?”
“It’s part of the script. The evil wizard either escapes or dies, the hero saves the princess. So says my creator.”
Elia winced.
“Yeaaah, I don’t think Rye was aware of how… aware you people would be when writing the script.”
“Well, I would appreciate if you could put in a good word for me. I am called ‘the evil wizard Mark’, but I too would like to walk around town without catching a face full of rotten fruit. And you show up as second only to the creator.”
“Really? I don’t have any more power than you do in this place.”
That was when a familiar all-encompassing presence descended upon all of them.
“Elia! Oh my gods, what did you do!?”
“Me? Nothing! That was your golem!”
The presence focused on Mark. “Was it you?”
“H-hello creator,” he stammered. “Nice to, uh, feel your divine and unfathomable presence.”
The world grumbled.
“Woah, Rye, chill. I finally found the time to enjoy your adventure, it was very nice. Lots of attention to detail. The physics simulation in here is great.”
Half of the castle, which was already cracked, finally crumbled. A tower fell over, tearing much of the outer wall with it. Elia looked out, Rye peeking over her shoulder.
“Are those protesters?” Elia asked, pointing at a group of people..
Rye’s brows furrowed. “I don’t remember making a mob.”
They even had signs and posters. ‘Give me more pie recipes’ was written on one of them.
“No creation without self-determination!” yelled someone in the mob.
“I don’t want to make the same laundry every day,” yelled the washerwoman. “More colors! More fabrics!”
The two blinked, then hid back inside their tower.
“Rye, I think your dream is unionizing.”
“Well it shouldn’t be,” Rye hissed. “That means I made it wrong. And besides, I don’t have time, we don’t have time for this. Let me erase it and I’ll try again.”
Elia put a hand on Rye’s shoulder. “Rye. Don’t. These are people.”
“They are dream-constructs. Convincing simulacrums. I crafted them with my own two hands.”
“And how long did you spend living among them? Have you eaten Amantha’s pies, have you slept in Igor’s tavern and felt just that slightly bit at home?” Elia tightened her grip on Rye’s shoulder. “Can you look little Tommy in the eyes when you snap your fingers to unmake him?”
Rye visibly flinched, jerking her shoulder away. “D-don’t touch me! Not… not there. Rhuna was… not very gentle.”
Elia blinked. “You’re not doing so swell. Sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“No, I am not,” Rye sighed with a deep fatigue. “Rhuna captured us. She wants us to be her successor. If we fail, she’ll mind control us, or beat us, or let us rot in a dungeon until we lick her feet.”
“Ok,” Elia said.
Rye just looked baffled as she tightened her belt, and checked her weapons over.
“You’re not worried,” she noted.
“I am. I just don’t know how worried I should be.”
“Very.”
“I’ll be the judge of bad situations. Let’s get out.”
“I can’t. I need to manage dreams. It’s the price I pay for using my power outside.”
“Alright.” Elia said. “Are we pressed for time?”
“We’re rotting in a dungeon.”
Elia blinked. “Well, then I’ll help you sort your dreams.”
“You will?” Rye asked. “It might be dangerous. I’m pretty sure it will be for you.”
Elia shrugged. “First things for everything. Though I was not expecting another first this late in my unlife.”
“You are an old lady after all.” Rye smirked, then held out her hand. “Come and lose your dream-virginity with me.”
Elia burst out laughing. “Since when are you funny?”
“I don’t know, since when are you so sensitive?”
Elia paused. “Fuck, what if we did merge and just didn’t notice?”
“Then you can rest easy, knowing that I wouldn’t have wanted to merge with anyone else.”
Somehow, that gave her some sense of relief. She waved the evil wizard Mark goodbye as Rye plucked her, clipping her through the wall at mach speeds until they were far enough that the center of the dream was just a vague scribble on the horizon.
“So, how do we do this?” Elia asked. “You said you were sorting dreams?”
“Yes, more or less. Zippo showed me how before I pulled you in here. You’ll have to dream through them at least once to know which one goes where, when, how and, most importantly, why. Think of it like diving into a whirlpool of snippets taken out of the life of the collective unconscious. It’s a bit emotionally harrowing, but you’ll learn, and we’ve got plenty of time.”
Elia nodded along as if she understood it all.
“Alright, I’m going to send some dreams your way. Make sure not to dream them all at once. The earlier we get out here the better, but best to get out in one piece.”
“Pshhh, I can handle a few dreams,” Elia said and proceeded to make a mistake.
----------------------------------------
Elia awoke from a dream of a bekki chasing undead in a circle to the taste of stinky jail ground on her lips. She pushed her face off of it, slowly, gently. She wanted to sniff it. Bekki apparently wanted to sniff a lot of things. Instincts and all that.
She sniffed herself instead. Didn’t smell much better.
Elia? Elia, are you there?
“Everything smells purple. And I’m craving some undercooked unigoat meat.”
Sensory misalignment, personality drift. That’s… not great. It should go away after some time. In a few days, maybe a week.
Elia growled in annoyance. She walked up to the bars. They hissed at her. Elia hissed back. They bit her. Elia, in a sudden urge of unbelievable wisdom, bit back. It tasted like iron and blood – mostly hers – but there was something viscerally satisfying about just going ham like this.
The mimic screeched, first in anger, then pain and confusion, and finally fear. It had never been bitten back before. The little brainworm grafted to its decentralized nervous system weighed the threat of Rhuna killing it later versus the rabid creature tearing into it now.
The bars bent to the side with a whimper.
“Teeth.” Elia spat on the ground. “Never underestimate teeth. Good weapon.”
That was impressive. And savage. Are you really the newly reformed, friendly neighborhood Elia?
“I spent the last few weeks doing nothing but cutting air. I am in a terrible mood. I want to cut other things.”
Oookay, if you say so, then I’m all for you.
“You’re very different when you’re inside your white dream. Not as mellow.”
I have all the power in the world in there. I have no excuses not to use it.
Elia plucked some mimic from her teeth as she surveyed the area. People from all walks of life were sitting in their personalized cells, from a small old lady with sharp eyes to a pair of Vili weaving strands of wool beneath their collective six arms.
“I think this is Rhuna’s favorite-people collection.”
An ungodly wail echoed through the halls, followed by a monotone warning trumpet.
I think we should move. You probably triggered an alarm.
“We don’t have our gear,” Elia commented, noting the rather large chunk that the mimic had bitten out of her arms. “I think I’m bleeding out. And I assume the armory is not unguarded.”
It is very not unguarded. And you probably have a while before the dizziness from bloodloss kicks in.
“They even took my spoons.” Elia sighed.
How despicable.
“Ahem.” Elia turned to the source of the voice. “Over here. Yes, you, miss bitey-knighty.”
In one of the cells, there was a half woman, half lizard person sitting with crossed front paws, as if expecting polite company. She had a haughtiness to her when she was awake. Elia only faintly remembered her while she was unconscious.
It’s the princess, at the top of Yolon’s tower. Remember? Oh gods, is she here because we left her behind?
“Hmm,” Elia hemmed. She walked over to her.. A single touch to his bars sent an electric current down her body. She got back up, slightly singed and moderately more pissy.
“It seems you aren’t the smartest of saviors I could have hoped for.” She sighed, as if this was some sort of small slight against her person. “Very well. I will let you save me.”
Elia blinked. “I don’t think you get to dictate terms, being behind bars and all that.”
“Well, obviously, you are here to save me, witch-princess Mayalena. Why else would you infiltrate the lion’s den so… haphazardly, if not out of love?” The princess rolled her eyes. “I will give you a peck on the cheek, as the law of princesses demands it. But no more! Everything further you must earn in righteous courtship.”
Courtship? Wait, but you already have Karla, is she implying… oooh, I love a love triangle.
“Nope, no, full stop. We are not going down that road.”
And she is a princess too, a princess of witches.
“Apparently, they flock to me.” Elia pointed at the witch accusingly. “I will get you out. But you better help with our prison break instead of expecting us to carry you.”
The princess-witch sighed again, very dramatically. “Well, I can show you where the treasure is, I suppose. Every dragonslayer has earned their slice of treasure outright.”
“Treasure?” Elia did like a bit of treasure. “I don’t have my lockpicks.”
“You won’t be needing them,” the princess said. “In the farthest cell down the hall, you’ll meet a man, a giant, and one of the better tempered ones. I understand he tried to climb the mountain, like most of the lot here.”
“Right.” Everyone here was in the same boat. They would make good distractions, though the empathetic part of her immediately slapped that idea right out of her ears. “Sorry, what was your name again?”
Her eyes widened as she stopped in front of a cell without doors. The bars were missing too, their solid steel frame embedded into the opposite wall.
The giant was huddled in a corner, trying, and failing to hide his massive frame. He was large, approaching nine feet, and heavyset with muscles that looked like they weren’t made to look good, but to do work. The signs of undeath stretched his skin thinly over them, dark veins cascading down his arms like the roots of a dark oak.
Elia grinned. He would do nicely. “Hey bud, I need a strong man to twist some steel and bust outta here. You in?”
He raised his head. It was stuck in a pot. Whatever he said was too muffled for her to make out.
The words on the pot spell ‘shame’.
“Right.” Elia paused, all too aware of the shrill trumpeting alarm. “I’ll, uh… give you something nice if you do?”
He stared back at her, or maybe he was just lost in thought. But after a moment, he stood up, bonking his head on the ceiling.
“Peaches,” he said.
Peaches?
“Peaches.” Elia nodded wisely. “A whole heap of ‘em, just for you.”
Assuming we can find a peach tree.
The giant beamed and followed her to the princess, quickly gripping the metal and yanking it out of the stone before it could shock him too much.
“Oh, how pleasant,” she said, stretching his feet as he exited his cell. “Finally some space to stretch my claws and tail.”
She did, less like a lizard and more like a cat, giving Elia ample time to appreciate the curves of her upper body, had she been interested. But she was busy staring at all the other undead, some clamoring for help, others waiting patiently to see if the new upstart was about to get beat down.
Rapid footsteps signaled enemies approaching, but they soon disappeared into the distance. They were going somewhere else, somewhere more important than the jail.
“Alright everyone,” Elia yelled. “Courtesy of the giant, I’m breaking you all out. Whether you follow me or go elsewhere is up to you. A fair warning though, I am feeling very chaotic neutral today, and I’m not leaving without busting some heads.”
A nod and the giant went to work, breaking iron, stone, and living wood, liberating people from cells specifically made to keep them inside. Muttered cheers turned into a chorus turned into a cacophony. Elia was surprised when someone grabbed her by the arm too quick for her to react and tossed her into the air.
“Ack! I have no clue what you’re all saying!” she yelled.
They’re yelling ‘freedom’ in seven different languages. I think they like you.
“Oh, you think!?” She managed to right herself just as a couple of dregs trickled into the dungeon with polite ‘hello’s’.
The assembled prisoners barreled right over them, boons and spells flying freely. Elia was quickly caught up in the mob, but used her [Frog leap] to push herself to the front.
This is going too well.
“I think Rhuna’s slaves are distracted by something else.” Elia ducked under a sword, which was quickly teleported out of the undead’s hands and into one of the prisoner’s. “Whatever it is, I’m glad it isn’t close by.”
She turned the corner and ran straight into an unmoving shielded knight. Two conjured hands quickly bounced her right off the ground like a pendulum, but Elia stopped just short of elbowing the figure in the face as she recognized the armor.
“Karla?”