Olo pressed the bar up with a grunt. He controlled it smoothly down to his chest before pushing it up once more. Huge and defined arms glistened with sweat as they shook. He racked the bar back into place before sitting up from the bench.
“This is some good lighting.” He took a brief moment to admire the size and definition of his upper body in the mirror.
“Your darker skin allows for improved visibility of muscular definition. Is my assessment correct?” Skrellim said.
Olo regarded the Threnosh and their unique power armor. Their lower half resembled an octopus or a squid, with 7 tentacles instead of legs. The upper half was basically a normal torso, minus the arms. They instead had attachment points for a wide array of weaponry or defensive systems. Since they were in one of the training chambers Skrellim was bare of those.
The whole deal was weird to Olo. He had seen the Threnosh outside of the power armor a few times and they looked pretty similar to a normal Threnosh, two arms, two legs, that sort of thing. The only difference was their pinkish skin tone, which was weird, but not that weird.
“Uh… yeah, I guess.”
“Though you are significantly larger than the others of your kind, so perhaps it is not an equivalent comparison,” Skrellim continued.
“Yeah. That’s true. I don’t care about the looks anyways. It’s more about being as strong as I can be to fulfill my role,” Olo shrugged.
“You are significantly weaker than the much smaller human females and oldest male.”
Skrellim spoke in the typical Threnosh fashion. Entirely neutral, so he didn’t take it as anything other than a factual statement.
“The Cruces don’t really count as regular humans when it comes to the physical stuff. I’m pretty strong, but what that means got changed with the spires. You can get Skills that boost you more than you could possibly be before.” Olo eyed the large, round plates on both ends of the long bar. 7 of them on each side. 675 pounds for reps. That Enhanced Strength passive was really great. Problem was that he had already maxed it out to the 50% increase to his base and he didn’t know how to get the Skill to improve. He had started out with a Lesser Enhanced Strength a few years back, so that suggested there was a Greater version. Did he need to keep lifting? Was it a matter of leveling up? Probably both.
Did this count as superhuman strength?
He wasn’t lifting the equivalent of cars and trucks like Remy, Tessa and Veronica, but he was maxing out at weights a few hundred pounds above what he remembered were world records back in the old days and he was doing it without the assistance of a bench shirt.
“Alright, I think I’m warmed up enough. Going to try to beat my max.” Olo got up and added plates to the bar until it was at 1395 pounds. Amazingly enough the bar barely bent. He could only shake his head at the Threnosh metal. There had been many arguments between him and his friends about whether it was more like adamantium or vibranium. Which was dumb, because the Threnosh metal didn’t have any weird vibration related properties, so the answer was a no-brainer as far as he was concerned. “Just help me get it off the hooks to start. Don’t jump in unless I ask.”
“Yes, I know the proper procedure. I will only assist at your request,” Skrellim said.
Olo got on the bench and lay down. Feet and legs firmly planted on the floor to help him drive the weights. Back slightly arched, core tight. He fixed his grip until it was perfect. Getting the weight up was as much proper technique as it was simple strength. You needed both to maximize your potential. A couple of unnatural Skills helped.
He breathed in and nodded to Skrellim.
Flexible, metal tentacles wrapped around the bar and helped Olo get it off the hooks.
Almost like nothing.
For all Olo’s strength, Skrellim’s delicate-looking tentacles outstripped him.
A controlled descent down to his broad, muscular chest was followed by a smooth press up. He held it for a moment before shifting the bar back into the hooks with a thudding clang of metal on metal.
All of that should’ve been impossible. His muscles should’ve been blown out by the warm-up before the max attempt.
“You have succeeded,” Skrellim stated.
“Thank you, Enhanced Stamina,” Olo muttered. “To you too, Skrellim. I’ll be going back to Meridian in a couple days, so it’ll be a while until my next attempt.” For some reason he couldn’t muster excitement. He felt like he was cheating.
“I am still 12 tasks away from qualifying for duty in Orchestral Meridian. I look forward to fighting with you in live combat.”
“Er… yeah, me too,” Olo nodded. “Catch you later.” He grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off before he put the plates back.
It was as he was about to leave the training chamber that the music in his head returned.
No. That wasn’t right.
It had never left. He had just managed to not notice it for a small slice of time.
The dreams had never stopped.
He had thought that talking about it with the others. That sharing it would somehow make it a little better. It hadn’t.
Almost another week had passed since he had brought it up with Mads. Almost two full weeks of nightly terrors— Mrs. Cruces had made them all undergo daily tests and scans as soon as Veronica had told her— and they found nothing.
Olo hadn’t been surprised by that. He had figured that it was magic, which was worrisome because as far as anyone knew there weren’t powerful magic users on the Threnosh world.
Check that.
Those cragant hierophants were supposed to be pretty deadly, but there weren’t any recorded instances of them sending people nightmares.
“Worst. Break. Ever.”
Rather than rest and recharge, they had been wrung dry and rubbed raw by what they saw whenever they tried to sleep.
He tried to put it out of his mind.
He needed to get some protein down. Needed to fuel the beast. He headed straight for the cafeteria. He could shower after.
It was past lunch time, so the place should’ve been empty, which was for the best since he didn’t feel up to social interaction. It wasn’t like him and he knew why. The music was changing him, he recognized this and yet he couldn’t fight it, which was perhaps the worst part of it all.
He wasn’t himself, he knew the cause, which meant that he should’ve been able to fix it.
The feel good brain chemical release from his workout was gone by the time he reached his destination.
“What’re you doing at the cafeteria?” Johnny said as he rounded the corridor corner.
“I—”
Johnny held up a hand. “I know, but I’m not going to call it the sustenance chamber or food dispensary or whatever they call it. It serves food, so it’s a cafeteria.”
Olo bit back the instinctive annoyed response. Remember who you are and how you act, he reminded himself. “I was going to ask you the same thing. It’s a late lunch for you, isn’t it?”
Johnny shrugged. “I was trying to avoid— well, this,” he gestured vaguely in Olo’s direction.
Olo forced another deep breath and a silent count to five.
“Nothing personal. Just didn’t want to have to talk to anyone and now, we’ll have to sit together and talk because if we ignored each other and sat far apart it’d be weird,” Johnny continued. The customary smirk wasn’t present on his face.
Olo found the flat stare disconcerting.
“It’d only remind me of why we’re all being assholes to everyone and everything. You get me though, right, big guy?” Johnny sighed.
“Then why don’t we sit and eat together without being assholes,” Olo said.
“That might be a too big ask. I mean, shit, even Bastien’s been a dick and he’s the most least dick of us all,” Johnny snorted. “I swear Vee was going to twist my arms and legs off last time I saw her. Smiling, happy Vee… c’mon, that’s scary, right?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“You asked her how much longer Twinkle Star had to live, so I’m not chalking that one up to our nightly problems,” Olo snorted.
“Fair, but that creature is like 20 years old. Ain’t natural.”
“Look at it this way… if we are under magical attack then shouldn’t we do the opposite of what it appears to be trying to achieve.”
“Ah, the contrarian method.”
“Isn’t that, like, your personal philosophy anyways?” Olo raised a brow.
“Yup…” Johnny smiled after a moment. “Okay. I’m in. Let’s eat, cause I’m starving.”
Olo took much longer than Johnny at the different food dispensing stations and sat down with a tray piled with various meats and vegetables.
“You sure that’s enough?” Johnny said. “I can go with you if you need an extra set of hands.”
“I just finished lifting.” Olo reminded himself of his own words and ignored the annoyance he felt.
Johnny sniffed but didn’t say anything as the two ate in silence.
“Okay… this is weird… so, how’d the lifting sesh go?” Johnny said after what felt like an eternity.
“Beat my one rep max on the bench. Put up 1395 pounds,” Olo said with some pride.
“Yeah, I’m not as meathead-y as you. I’ll need a normal person translation,” Johnny said. “I mean, I got the gist, but I’m betting that I’m missing the significance.”
“It’s like a few hundred pounds more than the world record back in the old days. It’s not that impressive though, since I have Skills boosting my strength and stamina,” Olo said.
“Plus 50% to strength, right? So, without that, you’re looking at like 900 pounds, bro… you’re crazy,” Johnny barked a laugh. “Oh no! I can only bench press 900 pounds, I’m so weak,” he copied the deepness of Olo’s voice.
Olo reminded himself that this was how his friend was normally, so that was a good thing and he shouldn’t be angered. Because that was the nightmares pulling his strings. “Yeah, okay, point taken.”
Johnny eyed him suspiciously for a moment before continuing. “At least you’re getting stuff done. I have spectacularly failed to do anything, except have a persistent headache from the lack of sleep. It’s like that pinched feeling behind the eyes, you know… and here you are putting up personal bests. Let me guess, a 1-ton squat?”
Olo shook his head. “Not feeling up to that, so I focused on the bench.”
“Meh… congrats! We might have to slide you into the superhuman strength category like Vee and Tessa… oh, by the way, I don’t know if you heard, but she’s also been having the bad dreams, so we can check the theory that the source is somewhere close to us here.”
“Tessa too? Shit… what about Mr. Cruces? I know Mrs. Cruces hasn’t been affected,” Olo said.
“Nope, Remy’s lucky. Maybe cause they’re old. Like, they lack our youthful imaginations. Although, being in our mid-twenties I’d have thought we’d be clear from dream terror attacks. That sort of thing should only be happening to kids and teens, like in stories. Killer eldritch clowns typically go after the little ones, you know, on account of the delicious purity of their child minds,” Johnny said.
“I remember that story differently, It went after them when they were adults,” Olo said.
“Oh god,” Johnny shivered, “could you imagine if there was something like that out there?”
Olo’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to. We saw one in those tunnels.”
“Oh… right, full on evil temple and everything. Huh? Maybe it’s not so weird that we’re having bad dreams. Ain’t right for people to see those things. Fishy bastards,” Johnny spat.
“I thought the cultists were worse. They had a choice. I figured the fishmen are just… like that.”
“Conceded,” Johnny sighed. “I just want a good night’s sleep. Is that too much to ask?”
“It isn’t,” Olo agreed.
“We’re going back into a war zone. I didn’t get a chance to explore my Class!” Johnny slammed a fist down on the table. It barely budged.
“About that… why are you so focused on becoming an Assassin. Your Rogue one is fine,” Olo said.
“Because we figured that specialization is better. Hence, I need an upgrade.”
“But why that one. It’s so… focused… on one thing, at least, presumably.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe, cause being able to kill our enemies sounds very useful. Honestly, I’d rather be a Ninja, but that’s not gonna happen.”
“Why not? Classes are supposed to be made up of self-image combined with actions and some sort of hidden prerequisites. Theoretically, there’s a lot that’s reachable.”
“Tell that to Gene. He’s trying so hard, but he’s still got two gimped Classes instead of Spellsword or Mageblade or whatever he’s going for. Look, I just can’t be a Ninja. I’m mostly Mexican by ethnicity. Last I checked my people don’t do ninjas. I’m pretty sure I’d need to be culturally Japanese to have a shot. I’m not cool with that cultural appropriation shit,” Johnny said.
“You want to be a Ninja? Then maybe you need to change that mindset,” Olo shrugged.
“Tried, but I’m mostly sure that Assassin crosses all cultural boundaries.”
“But it’s so… murderous.”
“Don’t worry, I’m only planning to assassinate evil guys and things. I just need Caretaker to give me assassination-type missions or something. I bet that’s the key I’m missing.”
“Too dangerous—” Olo began.
“Is what they and Remy have repeatedly said,” Johnny finished. “Training wheels, man. They’re never going to take them off for us. Even though we’ve all hit Level 30… minus Gene,” he snickered.
“How’s Bastien? I haven’t seen him since his praying aura thing didn’t work.”
“Bummed. I checked in on him. Been mostly praying and meditating or are those the same things?” Johnny shrugged. “In his defense, it didn’t exactly not work. I felt— not good exactly, but better when he was using the ability. Just didn’t last and he can’t keep it up all the time.”
“That’s probably what he thinks. I’ll pay him a visit.”
“That’ll be good even if I’m sure it won’t change anything. He’s just been in his room. At least he gets food delivered, so I know he isn’t starving himself.”
“We all cope in our own ways.”
“You lift ridiculous weights, Mads shoots things and Gene gets his ass kicked by the uniques,” Johnny smirked.
“And you?”
“Been doing a lot of thinking about Classes and what not. Like our theory that there’s a possibility that a hierarchy of sorts exists like in games. They can be common, uncommon, rare or epic, maybe even unique.” Johnny’s eyes lit up as he snapped his fingers. “One way we can come out ahead with the nightmares. What if it can lead to a better Class? Think about it… you could be, like, a Soul-Tortured Warrior. Bastien can get Nightmare-Touched Acolyte. Mads… Sharpshooter of Twisted Dreams. And I will be a Shadow Terror Assassin.”
Silence.
“Yeah… no. Let’s not share that with the others,” Olo said.
“I don’t know,” Johnny crossed his arms, “sounds pretty cool to me.”
“I’m not about to be a tortured anything.”
“All up to you. Not saying you have to be that.”
They conversed while they continued to eat.
The topics became light and both managed to keep their irritation with each other from leaking out too much.
Johnny finished first since he had a normal-sized person’s serving and he departed shortly after.
Olo wondered if his friend’s mood had been improved. His had been for at least a little while, however he could already feel the music sinking its hooks and dragging itself into the forefront of his mind.
He tried to focus on his food. The taste, the texture, everything about it. More than he would normally do.
The ice cream station called to him after he finished his primary meals.
“Can’t be weak.”
He got some fruit instead.
Once full to satisfaction he left the cafeteria with a protein shake in hand. He hadn’t looked into the ingredients. Probably made out of the Threnosh version of soy, which was likely just like the soy back on Earth. “Thank you, Cal.”
He finished the drink as he walked back to his quarters and finally had that shower.
A beep from his PID greeted him upon getting into his gray onesie.
The results from his latest scans from Mrs. Cruces.
No changes.
He was the picture of great health.
They still hadn’t detected anything out of the ordinary.
He couldn’t get the music out of his head. It always got stronger the closer it got to bedtime. He dreaded it. It’d take hours before exhaustion would pull him under. Then the terror in his dreams. He’d wake in a sweat. Check the clock and find that an hour or two at most had passed. Then he’d be unable to sleep until the next night when it’d repeat.
He decided to get his thoughts and fears out via journal.
The holographic projection of a screen and a keyboard appeared on his desk with a wave of a hand. The letters were English thanks to the spires’ universal translation system; however the layout was different. Months of use and he still wasn’t used to it. The typing went slowly since he had to look at his fingers.
He forced himself to record an accurate account of the latest nightmare. The images appeared in his head, which forced him to stop and calm himself with breathing exercises.
“I don’t know if this is helping.”
An hour of struggle later and he decided that it hadn’t.
As a last resort he started watching recordings of his training fights.
Against his friends and several of the unique Threnosh.
It was a bit cringe watching himself. He couldn’t help but be critical. His flaws stood out glaringly obvious, while he couldn’t see what he did well. Perhaps, it was more that he didn’t allow himself to see the latter.
All he saw was someone that could only defend. Sure, he was strong, but it didn’t amount to much in the greater scheme of things, not compared to the truly powerful ones.
What was the point of trying to gain strength if he could never even remotely sniff those heights?
The music in his head grew louder and more incessant.
After less than an hour he had enough.
He shut off the projection with a curse, followed by the lights before he crawled into bed, defeated.
Accompanied by the darkness and the music he waited for the inevitable.