Chapter 62 – Festivities

Jack stumbled after the Taskmaster. He felt tired. Not in a bad way, mind you. It felt like the sort of exhaustion that came after an intense workout. When you’ve completely worn yourself out in a satisfying way. Jack tried to find comfort in that as he moved out of the mines and into the encampment. The exertion had him breathing heavily by the time they reached the entrance of the mines, and the Taskmaster raised an eyebrow at his lagging pace.

“Hurry up.” He commanded and Jack felt his manacles flare as he chased after the hulking jailer.

To Jack's surprise, the camp was alive with activity. There were far more draugr than he had ever seen since coming to the dungeon and all moving with manic intent and purpose. Many were carrying tools and wood as they moved to construct… Well Jack had no idea.

He was practically bent over, panting by the time they reached the longhouse where Onem resided.

Inside was also bustling with even more activity than in the encampment. Jack glanced around at several draugr setting up… decorations?

Are these assholes decorating?

The cognitive dissonance of undead zombies decked out in armor hanging up ribbons was enough to short circuit Jack’s brain for a minute.

He stood up, finally having caught his breath to see the Taskmaster, Halldis, and Onem all staring at him.

“You don’t look very rested… Or recovered.” Onem said matter of fact.

“I’m fine.” Jack lied, his legs wobbling and threatening to give way as he grit his teeth in defiance and walked over to the group.

“Hold on.” Onem said, putting up a staying hand and stepping in front of a table that looked to have a map on it.

“I asked the taskmaster to bring you here in hopes I could convince you to reconsider a soul-“

“Noooope.” Jack said before Onem could even finish.

“I require your assistance for the upcoming war. How am I to trust you to help strategize unless you swear a soul oath.”

“Let me ask you this.” Jack said. “What’s the plan if I don’t do the pinky promise of doom thing? You know I can’t fight with these fucking manacles on? So what’s the plan exactly?”

“I remove the manacles and send you in first. If you defect, you’ll have to fight your way past two armies instead of one.” Onem said, as though the solution was obvious.

“I’ll just run away?”

“Run away to where? Back to your friends at the Tower? Do you even know where you are? You can try to escape. But I will hunt you down.” Onem said, eyes going dark. “I’m your best shot at killing Gurthok and returning to your people, whoever they might be. If you betray me, you’ll have not only the forces of Gurthok to contend with, but my own as well.”

Jack closed his eyes, rubbing at his temple. He was so tired the last thing he wanted to do was sit around and debate Onem.

Running had been Jack's go to plan - just run the hell away the second he got a chance. He had no desire to actually help Onem. Not only because it was likely a trap of some sort, but because the man had spent god knows how long torturing Jack. That was hard for him to move past. He wanted…scratch that… needed to kill the guy.

Plus, Jack did in fact have no actual idea how big the dungeon was. There seemed to be other factions here, but how far would the Tower let him take it? Could he just run away and start a new life over in this dungeon? Buy some land and become a dungeon farmer? He somehow doubted the Tower would give him that option.

Above all that, there was Hannah to think about. She was out there somewhere and he had to get her out of here no matter wha–

“I'll tell you what.” Onem said, interrupting Jack’s train of thought. “I’ll even sweeten the deal for you. I’ll only make you swear the soul oath for the duration of the war. I won’t betray you, you won’t betray me. Then once we kill Gurthok, we can settle our little feud. How's that sound?” Onem punctuated his deal with a greasy smile.

“I’ll think about it.” Jack groaned, almost falling over, barely catching his balance at the last second.

“Fine.” Onem said, face turning sour. “You go think about it then. Don’t return to me unless you have an answer I would like to hear.” He finished in dismissal.

Jack turned and stumbled out of the longhouse. A draugr devoid of the ability to have a decent conversation guided him towards his tent, where he promptly passed out, sleeping dreamlessly.

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Jack woke up sometime the next day feeling almost as good as the day he entered the tower.. He had been worried he was getting sick with some magical bullshit disease or maybe turning into a zombie like everyone else. Turns out he was just tired. He casually inspected his body as he did several deep stretches. Everything seemed fine. Even his channels looked amazing.

Wait.

Jack stared at the channels in his legs for a long moment. They had been only partially repaired as of yesterday, with the scaffolding having been fully built and halfway filled out. Now they looked almost completely healed.

What the fuck? Jack wondered, staring in disbelief.

Had he accidentally stumbled upon some new, efficient way to recover while sleeping? He thought on it but it didn’t make sense, what was different now?

Jack’s next thought had been whatever the hell he had done in the mines. The grinding of his mana drops against each other.

He immediately set himself to the task of recreating that effect. If I can heal myself now… Jack mused to himself, a smile growing on his face at the possibilities.

He spent the better part of an hour attempting to recreate the process.

Nothing happened.

Frustrated and a little tired again, Jack left his tent walking through the growing number of tents that was slowly transforming itself to a war encampment. He could swear the number of draugr had doubled again as he pushed his way through several of the lumbering monsters.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Jack entered the mines, walking all the way down to the spot where he had first pulled off the cultivation thing.

He spent the rest of the day trying and failing to recreate the technique. Whatever zone he had been in, he was unable to duplicate. No matter what he tried he couldn’t get the technique to work. His concentration kept slipping and he would lose control of his mana drops.. It was almost like they knew what to expect and were fighting back against him now.

Jack left the mines tired, sweaty, and in a bad mood. A festival was there to greet him on his way out.

Well, not a festival, more like the depressed cousin of festivals.

Everything seemed very muted. Jack made his way through the bustling camp of draugr towards the longhouse. He had been in the mines trying and failing all day, and it had turned to evening as he basked in the cool night air.

Tables were set up in front of and all around the longhouse, food of every variety spread out across them, each with their own barrel of mead at the end.

The oddness of it all hit Jack when he realized the draugr were partying like people who had been commanded to party. No self respecting Zombie would willingly do the casper slide to whatever spoon in a garbage disposal music they had playing. It was all forced by Onem.

Jack fished himself a cup of the still terrible mead he had swiped from a passing server and took several deep gulps as he meandered about.

Onem spotted him and waved Jack over.

“This should be interesting…” Jack mumbled to himself as he worked through the crowd of draugr.

The draugr was sitting at a table that was staged above the rest. Halldis, the Taskmaster, and several other menacing draugr Jack had yet to make the acquaintance of were sitting with him.

Onem whispered something to the Taskmaster, who was sitting to his left. The Taskmaster looked as though Onem had just kicked his favorite puppy as he got up and moved to the end of the table.

“I was wondering when you would turn up. You didn’t strike me as the type who would miss festivities.” Onem said.

“Festivities?” Jack asked, taking a seat next to the draugr.

“We have several rituals, sacrifices, things of that nature that need to take place before we can officially declare war. First, though, we celebrate.” Onem said with a smile.

Jack looked out at all the draugr, who seemed very much not in the mood to celebrate.

“Why? They don’t seem… How should I say this… Very alive or at all interested in celebrating?” Jack asked.

“To remind them…” Onem grimaced. “We weren’t always like this. Mindless draugr who crave nothing but war, that is. We were proud humans once, until Gurthok doomed us all with his eternal war. The festival of war is a tradition, and a reminder to all the draugr here that they used to be so much more. If I can kill Gurthok and break them free of the hold he has on them…”

“Wait. You don’t actually control these guys?”

“I do and I don’t,” Onem said. “Gurthok’s rage runs through them, but Halldis figured out a way to manipulate who controls them.”

“How?”

“The Valkyries. That’s why we had them enslaved. Halldis was able to manipulate their powers and use them to break free the draugr under Gurthok’s control, turning them to our side.”

“So, they’re still slaves, just under your control now instead of his? How is that any better?”

“Yes, they are under my control. But that will not always be the case. I swear it. I want to destroy the control that Gurthok has over these soldiers, but in order to do that, I need an army. I can’t set them free until we kill Gurthok.”

Jack tried to piece together Onem’s motivations, but it all rang hollow to him. There is no way this guy is going to just set free the armies once he is in control, Jack thought.

“That sounds like a noble cause.” Jack lied. “You sure these guys don’t just want to die? Sounds like you’ve all been alive for a while now. Maybe they are ready for the big brain eating contest in the sky.”

“Despite what poetics you may have heard, no one actually wants to die. What I want to do is set them free. No longer will they have to fight in an endless war blinded by Gurthok’s rage. If, after I set them free, they choose death, then so be it. Either way, it will have been their choice.” Onem finished with a strength to his words.

Jack stared out among all the shuffling about draugr running through the motions of festivity, prodding at food, sipping from cups.

“Let’s say I believe you… What sort of oath would I have to swear exactly?” Jack said after a long moment.

“Simple. For the duration of the war, you won’t betray or bring harm to me or my forces, and I shall not bring harm to you.” Onem said, a smile on his face.

“Alright.” Jack nodded.

“Fantastic.” Onem said in a clap. “Repeat after me-“

Jack held up a staying hand, drawing a confused look from Onem.

“You said you had rituals and ceremonies to perform, no? How about we wait for that, and I do it in front of your soldiers? Help with morale?” Jack still didn’t have any intention of swearing the soul oath. But the name of the game now seemed to be ‘buy time and ingratiate myself with the guy until an opportunity to do… something presents itself.’ What that something was, Jack had no idea.

Onem stared at him for a long moment, a considering look in his eye. “I like that idea.” He said, nodding. “I’m glad to see you're getting in the spirit of things.” He finished, pulling something from his side. Jack stared as Onem dropped Jack’s void sack onto the table.

“As a sign of trust, I’m prepared to return this to you.” He said, pushing over the black bag. “As well as this.” He snapped his fingers and Jack felt the manacles around his feet drop to the ground. “Consider this a branch of trust I’m extending to you. Try not to disappoint me until the oath is sworn.”

Jack lost his mind for a brief moment, not ready for the wave of killing intent that radiated throughout his body as the manacles fell off.

Shit, sorry, didn’t realize I was on duty, came Happy Jack's strained voice from the back of his mind. Jack looked at him. He had Killer Jack in a reverse choke hold, his legs wrapped around his body. Killer Jack was frothing at the mouth, daggers at the ready.

Jack continued to ignore his growing insanity as he reached out and grabbed his void sack.

“Well that opportunity presented itself rather quickly…” Jack mused quietly to himself.

“What was that?” Onem asked, curious.

“Nothing, so are you going to tell me the battle plan now?” Jack asked, changing the subject.

“Not until the oath is sworn. Until then, let’s celebrate.” Onem stood up, raising a glass to the barely paying attention draugr.

“Soldiers. Tonight this man shall swear his soul in service of our armies. Let’s raise a toast to your newest general. Jack… uhm…” Onem paused, glancing down at Jack.

“Atlas,” Jack said quietly.

”Atlas!” He said, raising his cup to the draugr.

“World's best assassin” Jack added.

“World's best assassin!” Onem shouted.

“World’s largest penis and legendary maker of love!”

“World’s large- What?” Onem choked, caught off guard with the direction of his toast.

Some draugr raised their cups. Most flat out ignored him. Onem sat back down, a disappointed and somewhat frustrated look on his face.

“Perhaps a show of strength is in order.” Halldis said from Onem’s other side, breaking away from her conversation with the Taskmaster at the end of the table.

“What do you have in mind?” Onem asked, still disappointed at the lack of response.

“An exhibition? Show them the true might of your new general.” Halldis said, a menacing smile on her face.

“And who should we have Jack test his might against?”

“I volunteer.” The taskmaster said, staring daggers at Jack.

“Hold on…” Jack started to say.

“Very well.” Onem said, standing up again and addressing the group for a second time.

“Soldiers. Let us make our way to the pits. Your generals would like to showcase their strength for you.”

All the draugr rose at Onem’s command, shuffling out of the area towards a location deeper in the camp.

Jack cocked an eyebrow at the Taskmaster who was still staring at him; and Halldis, who had a menacing smile on her face.

These two assholes are planning something…