CHAPTER TWO [PART THREE]
Lhu's Liveship
103 Years Since the Citadel's Founding
Year of the Void-Scarring Talon, Month of the Egg.
“I would grade your progression a B, Avatar.”
“I would grade your teaching a D, Lhu.”
“And what about Chuchotte?”
I glanced at Chuchotte and shivered beneath his assumed gaze.
“I would grade it an A, of course.”
Chuchotte took a menacing step forward.
“A plus?” I added, panicked.
“My dear Avatar. Classifications go up to S here.”
“Then S!”
Chuchotte reached for my neck though I hastily backed away.
“Further, the S-tier is subdivided into ten ranks, concluding with the highest most classification: S-X.”
“Alright, S-X! And if there happens to be anything above that, then I retract my statement and insist upon the fact that your teaching was fundamentally flawless.”
Chuchotte nodded and stepped away.
“Disappointed to see how susceptible you are to a menacing gaze. Very well. There are only five days remaining of your training, which brings us to the next phase - practical field learning. We’re going to be sending you to Hell!”
“Hell as in-”
“No, not the underworld. Or demonworld. Or devilworld. Or land of the dead. Or whatever other simple delusion you came up with. Hell is a penal colony planet. It’s where totalitarian worlds like to send their ne’er-do-wells when they get too rowdy. See, there is, generally speaking, no escape from Hell.”
“So what? I need to survive for five days?”
“Survive? Ha! Too easy. No. You must figure out a way to escape in five days.”
“Come on, Lhu. How many people are in Hell, huh?”
“I think the count is in the billions last I checked. Is that correct Chuchotte?”
Chuchotte lifts up three fingers.
“Three billion.”
“And how many have escaped?”
“None. Well, one nearly did once. Long ago.”
“Yet, you imagine I’ll figure out a way to escape.”
“Or be doomed to live in Hell forever. The perfect conclusion to this tremendous sink-or-swim training regime I cooked up for you. And a great chance for you to demonstrate everything you’ve learned.”
“And you don’t have a hint for me on how to escape?”
“How could I possibly offer you a hint? No one’s ever escaped! I’m not omniscient, Avatar.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Lhu. There’s no way this is going to work.”
“If the pattern wills it, you’ll make it out.”
“I’m starting to get the feeling you’re simply trying to bait Weaver with all your shouting about the pattern-willing things.”
“It is true that I would derive as much enjoyment in abusing Weaver’s patterns as I do in seeing it broken.”
“Can’t you leave me out of your petty behavior?”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Oh, certainly. But I won’t. Anyways, you’re wasting time, aren’t you? The clock’s ticking, remember? You need to get this done before the start of your academic year, and you won’t learn how to escape from Hell while aboard this liveship.”
“Fine. Let me just prepare-”
“No time for preparation, off you go!”
I felt the heat on my back only a second before Lhu shoved me backward and I found myself sprawling across a sandy plain.
“Best of luck, Avatar! And remember, all of these people are criminals, remain vigilant my baby-clone-brother!” And he shut the door. I stood up, brushing the sand from my clothes away. The smell of cooked meat quickly reached my nose, and I gazed about to discover I was in some sort of temporary camp. And I had become the center of attention rather quickly. Lizard-headed figures dressed in cloaks, sun hats, and masks, wearing all manners of fetishes from presumably long-deceased foes stood at attention, hands already on machetes, spears, and the like. I hoped the watch would successfully translate for me.
“I come in peace?”
I suspected they cared little for my intentions, particularly with the amount of licked lips and head-to-toe scans I received.
“Now! What I will not abide is being eaten.”
I couldn’t blame their indifference on my mildly threatening tone. I was one, unequipped, qhimphal, among countless, one might surmise, foes. And between a qhimphal, and whatever these anthropomorphic lizards were, a qhimphal seemed more the prey than the predator. It was to be expected they’d feel more or less confident in the outcome of a confrontation.
“I know you all think that you have the advantage here, but consider this. Have you ever seen someone fall through a door in the middle of nowhere? I suspect not. If I were you, I would be somewhat cautious about mindlessly entering a frenzy just because you see meat before you. Have some measure of self-preservation. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
Some did seem to consider these facts, but it took one of them to be brave in the face of wisdom for the rest to follow.
“I want you all to know that I abhor violence. But I abhor the idea of my dying just a fraction more.”
The first of the lizard-headed meat-eaters charged in, a machete overhead. The movement seemed pathetically slow to my freshly trained eyes, and to my recently tortured body. I was able to strike him, an open palm to the chest before the machete came down in a downward swing. The creature flew backward, off its feet, and into its nearest allies.
“Okay, perhaps I lied on the first point. Violence can be somewhat enjoyable in the right circumstances. But generally speaking, wanton violence isn’t much to my liking.”
More ran in. I would like to pretend that an array of skillful martial arts learned over the past twelve days offered me superiority over the lizard-men, but that would be a lie. What I had gained over the past twelve days was a tolerance for pain, strength beyond anything I could have ever imagined in my past life… or in my original’s life, and an overall increase in physical capacity. I moved fast, reacted faster, and anticipated better. My technique left something to be desired. Chuchotte had proved himself to be more barbaric than technically minded. He fought purely on instinct, and that instinct typically pulled him towards whatever method would hurt me the most. It was fortunate, then, that these lizard-folks likely succeeded over most of their enemies by virtue of numbers advantage and viciousness, and less so a particular skill in combat. In turn, I took much joy in evading swings and thrusts, feeling immediately rewarded for my efforts over the past nearly two weeks. It was a delightful contrast to running away desperately from Chuchotte.
“I view most of you as menaces to society. At the very least, blankly attacking someone informing you they mean no harm makes it so that you probably deserve whatever is coming to you. But I’ve yet to cross the threshold where I’m comfortable with killing, and I’d like to avoid crossing over that threshold for as long as possible. Honestly, I’m not sure if my soul can take it, so best to avoid it for now. That being said, I have no moral qualms with ridding you of a few resources that I suspect would make my time in this hell - and I mean that not in that this place is called Hell, but in that it’s a place of great suffering, which is likely why it received this name to begin with - much easier.”
It appeared I wasn’t very good at gauging my strength, or the lizard-people’s strength, or the necessary restraint required to incapacitate them but not kill them, as they stood back up rather often, each time with a deeper snarl. But they were outmatched and disadvantaged, and before long, most were too busy groaning on the sands to put up any more of a fight. I felt like an adult among children, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel an immense sense of satisfaction and fulfillment in the act.
I grabbed a machete, a spear, and a water gourd, folded up a tent, stripped one of them of a cloak, and a sun hat, and took a gas mask just in case - though I wasn't sure if it would be much of a fit for my duckbilled-face. I was only partially grateful that I had been subjected to a sojourn by a volcano during my time in the Exaggerated Space Room, because I imagined that qhimphals natural habitat did not lend itself to a desert wasteland. It would not make traveling any more comfortable, but it would at least save me from an underwhelming and untimely, if not tragic, end.
Along the edge of the makeshift camp, there were a dozen reptilian creatures slothfully laying in the sand. The fight nearby had done little to disturb their slumber. They were used as mounts and caravans, I guessed. A thought came to mind and I opened my watch, interested in seeing if I could identify both the mounts and the mounters. Though, as I did, I was greeted with an error. I should’ve expected it. If no one was ever able to get out of Hell, there was hardly any need to expand the watch’s range to this planet. Which probably meant that the lizard-bandits did not understand what I said. I decided to assuage any guilt over the misunderstanding with the fact that I did raise my hands in innocence. At least, I think I did. Well, even so, they didn’t have to be aggressive to begin with. I was unarmed!
I approached one of the mounts gingerly. Many of them gazed up, lethargy in their eyes. But at least there wasn’t hunger like my recent assailants.
“I’m in dire need of transport throughout this desert. What do you say?”