by J. J. Lorden
The top was sealed with a cork bound down with wire that twisted about a rolled rim. Turning it upside down, he watched a small bubble of trapped air tumble through the deep, wine-color fluid and settle in the rounded bottom.
There were no markings on the vial itself, so he looked closely at the cork and found something–QE1–in dark print. A soft red call out appeared.
Quantic Elixir-1
He smirked. “Heh. Couldn’t be anything so simple as a health potion.” He was glad, things weren’t simple in Kuora. That was good. He didn’t want simple.
He pulled the stone out and did the same thing, scrutinizing it, but didn’t get an identifier tag.
Satisfied he wasn’t going to learn more, he dropped the black rock back into the bag, slid the elixir into its sleeve, and pulled the bag over his head, settling its one strap on his shoulder.
Austin wondered about his friends; a bit surprised that neither had responded to his howl. Maybe I sounded too much like an animal. He smirked at that thought.
The area was wide open; they could easily be within line-of-sight, and they were almost certainly within shouting distance. He called out, “Rach…” and choked on the name.
It sounded wrong, so wrong that his tongue tripped over the dissonance. Remembering their in-game names, the ones they’d agreed upon before logging in, he tried again.
“Valerie! Carson!” This time the names felt natural.
The abruptness of his voice carrying over the field was startling; it punched into the night, and he immediately worried it could get the wrong kind of attention in a way that his earlier howl hadn’t concerned him.
He didn’t want to attract a predator.
Erramir crouched and waited quietly, allowing the energy to flow up through his feet and sharpen his senses. Gradually, his attention merged back into the crisp night.
After a time, Erramir felt the need to check on the logout function. He pressed his desire, explicitly wanting to view the button or activate a system dialog without actually logging off. A soft glowing red message flashed in his vision.
Logout not allowed while you are in combat.
“Well. That’s not good.”
He blinked the message away and immediately sensed an energy change from the direction of the woods. The new sensation had a malicious taste–it was sharp and hostile. The noises of the nighttime quieted from that direction.
He looked urgently toward the forest for a threat. In the grass, slightly to the right, something was cutting a line of dark blue through the light blue prairie. Like a slow arrow, it moved down the slope from the forest and pointed directly toward him.
He stared at the spot intently, crouching with his hands up. The thing reached the bottom of the vale and stepped into the stream without making a single noise.
A dark feline form was visible for the briefest moment before it sank into the water. Moments later, he caught a glimpse of it emerging on the near side of the stream before it disappeared behind the grass.
Damn, this is not good. If I get killed at my spawn point, can this thing spawn camp me? The horrible thought sent chills through his body.
The beast was much harder to track coming up the hill as he lost the advantage of looking across the vale. Still, he knew it was cutting stealthily through the grass, ascending the slope he stood atop.
Running would just get him killed; he knew that, so Erramir considered a distraction and looked for a rock or a stick. Nothing. Just hip-high grass and soft soil. His hands suddenly felt naked without some kind of weapon.
“Shit,” he whispered, dread spreading through his chest–death was almost certain.
He didn’t know how realistic Elle had made pain. But given the feeling of the grass on his legs and soil under his feet, he guessed pain would probably be pretty intense. Hopefully, she’d done something to lessen it–because he was about to get a healthy serving.
The dark blue disturbance created by the thing’s passing got clearer as it closed. Now it was only about 25 feet out, and he could see it subtly outlined through the grass, almost like a ghost.
Cats were vicious predators, and this one looked to be at least his size. No, it’s bigger than me. Worse, judging from its thickness of leg and body, Erramir guessed it was twice his weight.
The grass waves flowed around the one immobile point–it was crouching to pounce. He desperately tried to think of something clever. Then a strong feeling struck him, banishing his panic: Don’t wait for the cat–act first, it seemed to say.
He listened and dropped low, grabbed two handfuls of grass right against the ground, and pulled. The dark soil gave minimal resistance, and he was rewarded with two large balls of root-ensnared dirt hanging off long flexible grass stalks.
Erramir let the stems slide through his fingers, gripping them just below the seed heads. In his gut, he felt an urgent need to act. Now!
He sprang from crouching into the air, arching high toward the dark shadow, and hit the ground in a full sprint, straight at his foe. He spun the grass flails wildly. “Buaaaahhh!” His bellow was deep-throated, and wild energy surged in his arms and legs.
Bits of dirt flew everywhere. One struck the cat in the face and it recoiled. Erramir closed the distance to within a few strides while it was distracted.
Then the cat recovered and came at him. It took just one step, then leapt, pale blue claws stretching for his chest.
He dodged left, but not quickly enough. Claws raked his right arm. They cut deeply into his bicep and dug in, jerking his right side and spinning his body. The cat passed, and the claws tore free.
Stumbling backward, Erramir tried to recover, tried to find his footing, then his legs tangled.
Landing hard on his shoulders; he went with the roll, pulling his knees in, twisting his head to the side, and sending his legs up and over.
Unfortunately, his time as Point had been insufficient orientation to the strength of this new body. His zealous attempt to gracefully regain his footing was long on Twitch and short on Agility. The result being that he over-rotated, landed on his heels, which skipped off the soil, planting him firmly on his butt and elbows.
Pain erupted in his arm. It was almost blinding. He shook his head and focused; if he slowed, he was dead. The agony faded–and almost disappeared in a rush of adrenaline.
Erramir rolled to his knees and saw the cat had already landed and turned back toward him.
Then, an instinct hit. It wasn’t a thought; it just felt right, natural, like something he’d always known. An icon appeared in the top center of his vision. It depicted a kite shield emblazoned with a gnarled tree... and it was pulsing.
Erramir mentally hammered the icon.
A wave of intense goosebump-like prickling raced from his head to his feet, leaving his whole body instantly covered in dark scales. His hands looked like those of a pit viper–if a pit viper had hands.
The cat bolted back at him. Erramir was still on his knees, but that was okay. He wasn’t going to try and dodge again. A dark desire for violence ran through him now. With an upper body lurch, he raised himself just enough to snap his feet down and land in a crouch.
With no weapon and no armor, he felt primal and embraced it, snarling with bestial ferocity as he raised his hands, fingers curled tight–black nails out.
The cat’s yellow eyes met his snarl with disdain. Its front paws hit him square in the chest, but he kept his arms high above them and viciously grabbed the cat’s face, digging into it with animalistic savagery.
His nails cut deep, split the feline fur, slicing into flesh, and rending deep gouges through the cat’s broad cheeks.
They were in the air then, and Erramir tucked his knees up to his chest. His ass and lower back hit the ground first and they slid through the grass. Erramir braced his feet into the belly of the cat, protecting himself from its rear claws.
The mouth of the beast gaped wide enough to swallow his head whole; prehistoric-looking fangs curved slightly inwar
ds. Each was more than half a hand long, and Erramir imagined that clamping down, those fangs might be long enough to pierce entirely through his brain.
The full weight of the cat pressed his shoulder-blades and spine into the earth. He forced his head back into the soil and braced out his arms, attempting to hold the cat’s head as a pivot point.
It ignored his efforts, trying to power through his grip, despite the wicked effect of his nails.
Hot saliva and the cat’s blood ran onto his face and down his arms. His grip on the sides of its face started to give. Humid breath washed over him, and the open maw filled his vision.
Erramir braced himself and explosively pushed with his legs.
Ents had powerful legs, apparently… or maybe Dramogan did? Some part of his genetics was imbued with incredible leg strength because the cat’s hindquarters instantly accelerated over its head.
The threatening mouth followed suit–its maw snapped shut on air, whiskers brushed his nose, and hot spit splattered on his cheek. Erramir didn’t even notice.
As the head twisted back, pulling away from his grip, he dug in and ripped his hands away, trying to inflict maximum damage. Meat tore, and blood sprayed his face.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one with claws, and his opponent’s had apparently managed to pierce his DrakkenWood Skin. As they tore free, he saw dark scales go flying by amidst a shower of his blood. Some were still attached to chunks of flesh. Oddly, he thought his own blood was a bit brighter than the cat’s.
Time slowed to a crawl as he watched small bits of his body sail away with the beast. Seeing his very real-looking digital flesh in the air, Erramir realized with absolute clarity that he was going to die.
The only question was: could he continue fighting until then or not? Stopping to appraise the damage would mean certain death.
A flash in the corner of his eye caught his attention. There he saw a bar; it was orange and nearly three-quarters empty. The flash was from a blood-drop icon. It blinked again, and the bar shrank, turning red. Yep, I’m dead, might as well go out swinging.
Resolved and re-focused, Erramin decided to try a more direct variation on his dirt flail trick. He scooped up two handfuls of dirt, grass, and roots, did a back spring directly to his feet, and spun to face the feline monster again. The cat had landed hard, and it too was just regaining its feet.
Squinting yellow eyes regarded him warily above a mangled face.
Deep gashes ran along the muzzle back to its ears. They were bleeding heavily, and the dark liquid ran freely, coating exposed inner-cheek skin and fur before dripping off the jawbone.
One gruesome slice had severed its left cheek from the mouth corner all the way back to jaw-hinge, leaving a long flap of skin hanging loose and exposing a whole row of blood-coated teeth.
There were a lot of teeth. Revealed as they were, the carnivore’s weapons looked disturbingly wicked.
Erramir was shocked by the damage–he’d definitely underestimated his claws. They were clearly much more dangerous than he’d realized.
The beast probed the wound with its tongue, sticking it out through the side where there should have been flesh.
As it realized the extent of the injury, its fury visibly built, and its hackles rose. A guttural growl emanated from the beast, vibrating in Erramir’s chest. He could almost see its wrathful indignance at being hurt by such an inferior being.
Not that Erramir was puny, he was easily 6’4” and at best guess 250 pounds. But in the cat’s universe, he assumed that an unarmed man, even one of his size, wasn’t supposed to pose a threat. No easy lunch here, you fucker.
Then the beast dipped its upper back, thrusting its bloody mug skyward, and a deep roar erupted from its mouth. The noise should have caused Erramir to crap himself, but he didn’t. He, too, was lost in the blood fury. He just didn’t have that roar to announce it, or did he?
Howling is for suckers, he thought.
Eyes narrowed, and teeth bared, Erramir seized upon the momentary distraction to bolt at the cat and hurl the dirt at its face. A lump hit dead center just as the feline monster brought its head down, temporarily blinding it.
He was closing fast and grinning at the thought of his claws digging deep into something vital–then Erramir’s foot went right into the hillside.
The ground swallowed his leg to mid-thigh, and he slammed to a stop against it. His upper body sling-shotted forward, and, unable to get his hands up in time, he slammed face-first into the ground.
The sudden impact broke a weight free from his back–his sack. It spun away into the grass.
Dazed but still focused, he pulled his leg free and clambered back to his feet. The fabric of his pants was cut slightly, but the leg felt fine. Unbelievably, the beast hadn’t fully recovered yet. It was pawing at its eyes and shaking its head, attempting to regain its vision.
Erramir covered the remaining distance in a heartbeat. He jumped onto the cat’s back, straddling it like a bull rider and wrapping his clawed hands around its neck.
The cat responded instantly, jumping straight up in the air.
Erramir felt himself becoming imbalanced and realized he had no chance to maintain his precarious perch. He was confronted with a choice between inflicting maximum damage or fighting to hold on for as long as possible.
The latter seemed pointless. He chose damage and dug black claws deep into its neck, then leaned back and yanked.
The cat landed and bellowed. Since Erramir had surrendered his grip in favor of rending its neck, his foe had no issue bucking him off as it bounded forward and away.
He flew back, flailing in the air, then landed awkwardly on his cut-up arm and back. Air rushed out of him.
His abdomen spasmed as his lungs cried for breath. It was fruitless, though; his diaphragm was totally stunned. Even so, the fight wasn’t over.
He rolled over. And fighting pain and a sense of suffocation, lifted himself onto his elbows, then his knees–that was when he noticed a stream of blood flow out of his chest.
Ohh... Not good. He looked at his life bar; it was quite a bit smaller than before, and the bleeding icon was blinking faster.
Knowing that death was nearly upon him, Erramir sought to face his killer and found the cat about 20 feet away. Its tail hung limply, and it was facing away from him, staggering around like a hobo flush on cheap booze.
Confused, Erramin tried to regain his feet and collapsed back to his knees, chest heaving for air and starting to feel a bit dizzy as he did. Through this, his gaze stayed locked onto the cat.
Its movement looked very much like the animal was about to collapse, which was perplexing. Erramir didn’t think he’d done that much to hurt the creature–a few good cuts, maybe enough to injure and drain some of its life at best.
Then it turned to the side... and he saw.
A veritable river of blood ran from its sliced-open neck. The liquid pulsing out in time with its mighty heart and soaking the prairie in red. Woah, I did that?
A moment later, the cat toppled onto its side, overcome by blood loss. Erramir stared at his downed foe, disbelieving that the enormous predator’s life was over by his hands.
He looked around dizzily, literally searching for anything that could better explain his victory. The night was silent.
Slowly, it settled in that he had done it... just him.
Then he looked to his hands as he held them open in his lap. Both were covered in blood and dark fur bits; in his right hand, he had a large chunk of black, furry flesh. It was extremely bloody, and the thick liquid ran between his fingers, dripping to the ground.
“Huh. Look at that.” Apparently, the move to rip into its throat had really worked. He didn’t remember tearing out a piece of the cat’s throat, but it definitely explained the kill.
“Much respect to you… child of the ancients. You fought fiercely; I did not believe the blood still lived.” The voice, thick, rough, with a slight Gaelic brogue, came from where the cat lay d
ying.
What the hell? It can talk? Looking up from his bloody hands, Erramir saw the golden yellow eyes regarding him.
Defeated and dying, the mighty black cat’s blood lust had faded, and now those eyes held intelligence. It seemed that the beast was definitely talking to him, less a beast than he’d realized apparently.
Then its lips moved again. The ripped cheek was pressed into the ground, and it struggled for words. The effort revealed a large bloody tongue that, strangely, seemed unfamiliar with forming speech. His distraction with its capacity for language was cut short by the words.
“You have defeated me in singular combat. Will you accept my honor as is the right of the victor?”
Although the cat’s condition was worse than his own, Erramir was definitely dying too. Given that neither of them would survive this fight, he wasn’t comfortable calling himself the victor.
If anything, the fight was a draw in his mind. Even so, this hardly seemed a time to split hairs, and he felt compelled to grant its dying wish. “It is my privilege to accept your honor.”
“This is as it should be,” the cat replied, then its eyes began to glow, and its speech became formal.
“My honor become yours. My soul to yours. I have died in the fire of revelation. In rebirth, I was forged anew–a hammer to crush deception in service to truth. I am the medium, the body by which the unseen is revealed. I go now to reveal the final truth. As I am, I am, as I have always been.”
Erramir was spellbound. The ceremonial words stirred something in him. He wanted to respond, to show equal respect to the cat, but he–
A memory suddenly came to him, a memory of his part to this ceremony. It was on his lips, and without hesitation, he spoke.
“I accept your honor as mine. To your soul, I assume protectorate. I seek the fire that consumes all but does not burn as I quest to be reborn and named in truth. I will carry your honor along my path unto the whole or death. As I am, I am, as I will always be.”
The energy of the earth pulsed through him as he finished.
Erramir continued to stare into the cat’s golden eyes and felt himself seen as a living being. It was a gift to be seen in this way, as it was far deeper than what the world typically saw.
