Eldritch Night

by J M Hamm

  It wasn’t a battle song or some uplifting piece of classical music. Rachel sang a punk anthem, a song of youthful rebellion and independence. As her voice belted out, I heard a guitar and a horn join, though it seemed impossible for them to exist.

  As she reached the chorus a surge of vitality seeped into my limbs. I could feel myself getting stronger and my stamina replenishing with each beat.

  Maybe we can get out of this, after all, I thought.

  Chapter Twenty-two: The Gift of Madness

  The music reached a crescendo, quickly becoming faster and louder with each beat. The sounds of battle were now faint, almost an afterthought. Subsumed but not gone. The clang of blades and the pounding of flesh kept time with the rhythm, while the cracks of gunfire faded into gentle susurrus even as they increased in frequency. It was a frantic kind of harmony. The violence and the cacophony of battle blended together to make something beautiful and lasting — order from chaos.

  In addition to refreshing my stamina, the melody calmed my mind, giving me clarity and focus. Dozens of status updates and alerts had popped up showing my gains from the fight, cluttering my view. New skills, skill levels, feats - I scanned and then dismissed them all. None of them would help me with what I needed to do next.

  I had to use what it had given me.

  The eldritch energy swarmed around me like a cyclone, heavy and viscid. I could feel it pouring into me, and into my allies. It bled from the slain. It nourished my skills, causing them to grow larger and to gain new clarity. This allowed me to make out vague outlines of runes and arcane symbols from the tightly bound sphere in my chest. I could see the thick energy flow in, then be filtered into something lighter and more homogenous. It was weaker yet lacked the chaotic specks and pollutants that made up the rawer form of the energy.

  The greatest share of the dark energy swarming into me avoided this sphere, instead aiming for an object secured in an inner pocket of my leather jacket. I could feel the item nearly overflowing with power as it sucked dry the energy around it. It felt like it could burst at any moment, like a pocket-sized nuclear reactor.

  I reached into my jacket, ripping loose the threads that I had used to sew the pocket shut. With a shaking hand, I pulled out a long and narrow crystal. Its numerous facets sparkled in the fading light. It was as clear as glass but at its center was a tiny raging storm of black clouds and red, forking lightning.

  The Fisher Man, my dark companion, had called it a catalyst. It was like a seed, or a cocoon, from which could grow potential, possibilities. Power.

  The gem had gorged and grown large on the XP and energy that poured into me from the slain monsters. The crystal ate with glee and gluttony, never satiated. I could feel it pulling at me, at the energy around me. It needed to be unleashed, lest it consumes itself and all around me.

  This would be my greatest leap of faith yet. It could give me a class, grant me strength. All I had to do was trust. Trust the bit of madness left behind in my mind by an ancient and unknowable evil. I had given blood, and I would need to give more if the contract was to be fulfilled.

  It was an impossible trust to give, and yet what choice did I have? The barricade would quickly be overrun, and my friends and allies would die. I was useless, and crippled – one foot held together only by a torn ligament and bloodied flesh. I needed to survive, to become more powerful. I still needed to find my family — my mother, Liv, and Troy at the very least.

  I was willing to take the risk. I had to trust that what remained of me would be enough.

  In addition to the two feats and two skills required by Soul Forging, the catalyst required a sacrifice. This ability would make up the core of my new class, though changed and flavored by the other skills and feats I would need to contribute. The sacrifice would be the defining characteristic of what I would become.

  It wasn’t a hard decision, what feat to choose to represent the heart of my future power. The Reactive Adaptability feat sounded great on paper, and yet it was erratic and hard to trigger. My past experience convinced me that the feat would only activate if I had been brought to the brink of death. It was a safety net, useless unless I had already failed.

  “Fisher,” I said. “Do it now!”

  I called out to the companion as I willed the crystal to consume the feat, to take it as its core. Through our bond, I could feel the Fisher light up with glee. I glimpsed a mental image of the bird. It hummed with joy as it crushed an eye, still bloody and trailing a thick cord of optic nerves, between its beak.

  The catalyst floated up above me, seeming to stare down at me as I lay helpless on the hood of an old, rusted car. The crystal hovered for a moment, then faster than my eye could track it plunged into my chest. No wound was left behind, but I could feel the crystal slide through flesh and divide bone. It hummed and began to grow warm. The catalyst had found the heart of the strange sphere of energy in my chest, and it called out for more.

  I willed it to consume Eldritch Manipulation and Reactive Learning, the Fisher aiding me unseen. One feat, one skill: one of each to go. The gem began to rotate within me, its gravitational force increasing. I felt as if I would implode, and my ribs were bent inward.

  The chosen feats and skills took on physical forms like glowing runes and began to rotate within and around the crystal, matching its pace and expanding outward. I felt them explode outward in a burst of light, before being drawn back in. There were two competing energies pushing the abilities together and pulling them apart.

  Something wanted me to fail.

  I could feel the energy rebelling; the abilities were fighting against being consumed. The sphere was holding on to them, trying to exert its own force to repel the consumption of the gem. It was successful for a moment, the shapes that represented my abilities gradually slowed their descent and even reversed course for the briefest of moments.

  I felt the Fisher in my mind and coldness came over my body, seeping deep into the growing heat in my chest.

  The crystal reversed the direction of its rotation, moving even faster. A whirlwind of black and crimson energy coursed throughout my body. I could feel my skin crack and my eyes become dry and irritated. I bled from my nose and ears. Each cell seemed to be under stress as if I was being torn apart. Disintegrated.

  I willed the abilities into the crystal, hoping to expedite the process. My efforts proved to cause even more pain as my entire body spasmed. It was enough, however, as the skills plunged into the crystal, causing the storm to settle and solidify into black and red speck surrounded by four glowing runes.

  The crystal expanded until it was an oblong sphere of dark grey, black mist and red lighting swirling around it. It was nearly as large as the original sphere that held my skills and feats. If it consumed more it would become a perfect sphere that was larger and surrounded the original globe of energy.

  The arcane symbols began to twist once more, faster this time. I could feel my chest begin to pull inward again and my ribs began to crack. I screamed almost giving into the pain. My body was quickly losing strength. My vision became blurry and began to narrow.

  I almost lost to pain and despair, but a voice pulled me back. It was pure and loud, it spoke of fighting against the world, of independence, and rejecting those who tried to oppress you. It called out to fight the world just for the chance to be yourself.

  It was a song sung without care, reveling in itself because it could. It pulled me back, and with a final push of effort I called out for the catalyst to take the final two abilities. It was Madness.

  The catalyst began to draw in Autodidact and Mana Manipulation. As the abilities were tearing free, slowly being drug down into the crystal — I could feel the excitement and anticipation of my dark companion, the Fisher.

  The image of the companion, still in kingfisher form, invaded my mind. It was attacking a creature made up of thousands of eyes hidden between folds of thick rubbery skin. Tentacles, each with a cluster of eyes at the end, struck out wildly but the b
ird was too fast and was constantly pecking out eyes and eating them, even as it tore through tentacle and flesh with its talons.

  It wanted me to create this class, I could feel its anticipation and joy. These were the abilities it had suggested to me, the skills, and feats it had sworn would give me a powerful class. It was also the class that would further whatever game my companion was playing. It had called me bait, admitted to me that I was a pawn in its game. A lure to catch some otherworldly prey.

  Rachel’s voice sang out, once more repeating the chorus and filling my mind with powerful images of rebellion and independence. I wouldn’t play the game of others, I would make at least a small part of this class my own. Perhaps it would make no difference, but it would at least be my own choice.

  With energy and concentration born of rage, I reached into my chest, pulling back the skills I almost sacrificed. In their place, I pressed Analyze and Dark Companion. I would take more control over this creature, make it a core part of me. Perhaps we would merge, or one of us would become subservient. Either way, I would understand it. Know what it wanted, what it cared about.

  I didn’t know what would happen, but I could sense the panic and outrage of the creature. It called out to me, it demanded and begged. It pleaded for me to stop, warned me of the danger of this course of action. I stayed my course, a momentary impulse causing me to rebel and filling me with a need to create something of my own.

  The bird should have been proud, for what greater Madness was there than rebellion born from fear and lack of trust?

  The abilities quickly coalesced within the gem, causing it to grow larger. The facets quickly smoothed and grew more round, until the gem had only a single side. An unblemished ball of grey-red crystal. Within the crystal shell swam the sphere of energy that made up the skills, stats, and feats given to me by the system — no longer packed as tightly.

  This new crystal shell contained them, but also defined them and protected them by creating a barrier. The whole thing looked vaguely like a galaxy contained within a glass jar. An internal universe full of potential and under my control.

  I could feel the dark companion scream out in rage. I now had a sense of the creature in the back of my mind. I could feel its immediate intentions, its emotions. I could see what it saw, though not yet know what it was thinking. It was part of me now, perhaps it always had been. I had imagined it as an alien invader, a parasite. That was only part of the truth.

  Another, greater truth also spoke out in my mind. The truth of what I was, what I could become. The class I had forged from blood, the power I had gained on the cusp of death and betrayal. I accepted it, and it settled around me like a mantle.

  From this day forward, I was the Hierophant of the Elder Ones- Seer of the Unseen Infinite, Paladin of Madness.

  Chapter Twenty-three: The Truth of Madness

  I could feel the abilities I had sacrificed. They were not gone, but nor could I access them. I could feel them as burning lines that twisted in my chest forming the scaffolding around a crystal sphere of scintillating light. It spun and twisted, constantly changing color and shape as multitudes of imperfections appeared on its surface only to be ironed flat moments later. It was like a living sun, constantly expanding and changing.

  Was this the power of Madness? To constantly change and reinvent oneself? Perhaps that was madness, and yet it was saner than stagnation — we now lived in a world that offered only adaptation or death.

  The crystal orb represented my class. I needed no explanation, it was a part of me and I recognized it. It reacted to my acknowledgment with cords of energy that flowed through the sphere and burst into bright flares on the surface.

  It called out to me and I could see its desire to grow stronger and larger. It would improve as I did, though there was little difference between us. The class was me, or at least the parts of me with strength. Each of my skills and feats swam within its fiery light. No longer were they bound tightly together but spread out in long lines of runes and hieroglyphs that floated freely around the sphere.

  Those thin chains of symbols seemed almost insignificant. Perhaps one day they would grow large and plentiful enough to cover the surface of the orb, but for now, they covered only a fraction of a percent.

  It was impressive to look at, but what practical benefits had I gained? I opened my status screen with a thought and held a breath as it flickered into static. Slowly the static took on the familiar blue glow as lines of alien text appeared before me.

  “Well, shit.”

  What do I do now? I stared at the screen for several seconds. I could see where my stats were lined up, yet I couldn’t decipher the numbers, nor the long string of symbols that took the place of my feats. I sighed, slamming my fists into the hood I was still laying on. The status screen closed.

  I flexed my limbs experimentally as I sat up. I was still sore, and my ankle was clearly broken but I could feel the mana flowing through my body and the static-like feeling of eldritch as it moved through the air.

  On a whim, I opened my stats one more time. I might not be able to understand the numbers, but stamina and mana were also represented as bars and I had access to a readout that overlaid my injuries onto an outline of a human form. I could at least evaluate how badly I was hurt.

  As the screen opened once more I was greeted by the alien text. Just as I was sighing in frustration, the lines began to twist and form into familiar words. Was it as easy as turning it on and off, or had the system read my desire to change the language? I really had to read that manual at some point.

  Not today, I thought. Now to find out the good stuff.

  During the battle I had gained skill levels at an incredible rate, even picking up new ones. Something about mortal danger, or perhaps the saturation of eldritch energy in the air, caused skills to level more quickly in combat than they did during training.

  I’d gained a single point in both Staff Fighting and Defense as well as Pain Tolerance, Arcane Missiles, and Dodge. Even more impressive were the two new skills I had gained, Chain Fighting and Combat Proficiency — each already at the third level.

  The true gains had come in the form of a new category of Skills — Class Features. In return for the three Feats and two Skills I had sacrificed, I had received four new abilities: a net loss of one. After reading the class description, however, I realized that it really hadn’t been a loss at all.

  Each class feature was far more powerful than what I had given up, the only thing I really mourned was the lifesaving abilities of Reactive Adaptability.

  My Perception and Focus had each been increased by three and would continue to increase by one with each new level I gained. Almost as useful, was the increase of five to physical and magical resistances, as well as to a new category — Mental Resistance.

  I began to look through the class features more closely, but a blood-curdling wail brought me to my senses. I had forgotten where I was in my excitement. Categorizing my abilities would have to wait until my friends were safe.

  The problem was that no matter how powerful I felt, it was meaningless If I couldn’t even stand under my own power. My ankle was shattered, and even if I had been able to grit through the pain, it was incapable of supporting my weight.

  The first of my new class features, however, gave me hope for a solution. It couldn’t heal the ankle, but it could bind it and reinforce it like a plaster cast. I wouldn’t be graceful, but I could walk with the assistance of my staff. I glanced at the description one more time before deciding what to do.

  Eldritch Mimicry (0/15) Ⓐ- The energy of the Old Ones is now yours to command. No longer does it struggle at your touch. It dances in delight as it bends to your whims, taking on any shape that you can imagine — but only for as long as you can hold a clear picture of that form in your mind. This ability can mimic weapons, armor, and even the spells and forms of your allies and enemies. Anything created by this method will be a shadowy illusion of the truth. These shadow illusions ar
e only half as “real” as the original (50%) plus an additional 2% per skill level.

  It was what eldritch manipulation could have been if taken to its ultimate conclusion. Theoretically, it could copy anything — even if that copy wasn’t as strong as the original. I would need practice to fully bring this ability into my fighting style, but for now, it was exactly what I needed.

  At first, I found it difficult to create and focus on a unique design. Instead, I looked to my memories. Thin streams of energy appeared around my foot and shin, quickly weaving around them to create a shadowy outline — an exact replica, at least in shape, of the plaster cast I had worn as a child after I had broken my leg at summer camp.

  Awe-inspiring cosmic power? I used it to create a crude brace around my ankle.

  I stood slowly, still shaking as muscles that had been weakened by fatigue worked against pain and gravity. My legs buckled for a moment and I rolled from the car, my back striking the hard pavement as my limbs spread out around me. As I opened my eyes to look up, I made eye contact with Rachel, her face was flush and covered in sweat and running mascara.

  She had that weary glow of exhaustion that any athlete knows follows a hard-fought game. I realized that she was unable to sing anymore, and yet had still taken the time to check on me.

  Her song had saved me, perhaps even saved whatever passed for my soul. Her skills had given strength to the others holding the bridge, prolonging all of our lives. No matter how strong the bridge guards had been, or what their level, they would fatigue eventually.

  With Rachel unable to continue I felt that it was now on my shoulders to do something. It was possible that Tiller or Catayla would have a solution, but I needed to spread my new wings. Metaphorically anyway.

  Could I? … not now, focus.

  I wanted this battle in a way I didn’t fully understand. I needed it in the same way that I needed air to breathe. Something in my soul called out for conquest, and I felt twinges of approval flowing through my bond with the Fisher.