Aeon Chronicles Online_Book 1_Devil's Deal

by Dante Sakurai

  “Where’s the rifle?” his father asked.

  Rowan’s mother palmed her face, fingers rubbing her eyes. She exhaled. “I think I left it in the car. I’m sorry. I didn’t think there’s anything out there. This is a reserve. There must be a hole in the fence.”

  “Damm,” his father breathed then picked up a knife and two more before beckoning. He didn’t appear to be as worried. Not at all.

  Rowan slinked to the unfinished tent with his mother, her hand on his arm. Her warmth seeped into him. His father handed the over the hunting knives. They were far larger up close, shiny, toothy, engineered to kill a bear with minimal effort. A high-level melee weapon, Rowan dared to joke. His reflection glinted on the steel, his eyes red and scared and ridiculously blue. The wolves must’ve spotted the color from a hundred trees away.

  Gingerly taking the blade and closing his fingers around the rubber grip, Rowan shook off his tremble and looked his father in the eye. “I don’t know how to fight with a kni—”

  His mother interrupted. “We have to, Row. If we run it’ll activate their predator instinct and they’ll all run at us.” She let go of his arm. “Stand big, make lots of noise, don’t lose eye contact, and stab them if they get on you. Like this.” She made stabbing motions in the air, large and forceful, not quick and small stabs like Rowan imagined. “Wave and rattle your fishing rod before they get too close. You can do it.”

  His father nodded, copied her stabbing motions, and gave Rowan a look like this was some kind of game or hockey technique they were showing. A macabre, life-threatening game. "Do that and slowly walk backward down the path towards the nearest ranger station. Don't run and hope the wolves get tired of us along the way. Understand?"

  Rowan blinked. Threads of hysteria crept through his body. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t even make the school basketball team. Alright, he was fit, but not a jock or an athlete. There were at least a hundred guys stronger and fast than him in a school of one thousand. Rowan doubted few of them could take on a pack of wolves. He couldn’t even handle a backyard snake without getting bit in the calf last year. He hadn’t accomplished a single physical feat in his non-virtual life. All his accomplishments were in-game or on his report cards.

  The trail was a mile long to the nearest ranger cabin and even longer to the car park. Not all the stations were occupied by rangers, thanks to budget cuts as Rowan's mother had mentioned earlier. The reserve rangers carried semi-automatic plasma-laser rifles that could take down several large bears in seconds.

  But it was a mile! And it wasn't even guaranteed there'd be a ranger there! Rowan felt the world spin around him. No way in hell could he walk backward for a mile on a gamble while these overgrown wolves snapped at his feet. No fucking way.

  “Careful of branches and roots,” his mother whispered. She stood straighter and spread her arms slightly.

  Cold sweat ran down his neck as the beasts approached. Their bodies began to clear.

  One. Two. Three.

  Four.

  Gods, they’d be boss monsters in one of his wilderness-themed games. Okay, maybe not boss monsters but mid-to-high-level at minimum.

  His father spoke, unusual confidence and authority in his voice. “Breathe and make lots of noise. They’re not that dangerous if you show strength and don’t run.” He nodded to Rowan.

  Four more trailed behind. Eight wolves trotted through the trees the pack in total—massive, aggressive, hulking canines. The doggy, fecal stench squeezed at his stomach and airways.

  The largest wolf’s head was level against Rowan’s chin. Its body spanned over two meters.

  His legs threatened to collapse while his heart skipped many beats. He couldn’t do this. Why did they have to go on a damn camping trip?

  He could be at home, in his room, safely playing his assortment of computer games or playing golf on his cheap, low-functioning virtual reality set. Rowan had killed countless level five wolves in Crystal Hunter Online. Why did he have to do it again in real life?

  The last wolf entered the clearing, its grey-brown paws trudging through the grass.

  “BAH!” his father roared and lunged forward on the stop he stood, protective of Rowan and his mother. “Get back!” At the same time, he pushed back against Rowan and his mother, guiding to the trail one step at a time.

  The head wolf paused for a second.

  “Back!” Rowan’s mother snapped. “Get back!” She stomped her foot.

  Three wolves barked in near unison. Their snarl rang in Rowan's ear. He kept tip-toeing backward. They'd made ten meters now.

  “AAHH!” his father yelled and slashed his knife.

  The head wolf paused again. Its eyes narrowed. It bared its fangs and barked straight at Rowan as his heart kept stuttering.

  Feeling lightheaded, Rowan’s breathing morphed into short, quick breaths. The forest heaved around him. His steps faltered. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. He couldn’t stand up to the wolves. Not eight of them. Not even one. Not even Max and his dumb gang.

  The sky began to tip. He leaned against a tree for support. This was the end of his pathetic life.

  “Rowan!” his mother shrieked. Her body blurred as she twisted around to him.

  In an instant, the lead wolf charged, maw gaping and dripping saliva.

  “Don’t you dare!” His father jumped in the way and met the wolf head-on, tackling the canine in a wrestling move that Rowan had seen before on television. They tumbled along the path. The wolf gurgled and barked; Rowan’s father yelled and hammered and stabbed its chest, right where its heart should be. The foot-long knife sank into the wolf’s fur, a critical hit.

  A howl of pain blasted out of its maw. The excruciating sound echoed through the forest and hammered against Rowan’s eardrums.

  The other wolves charged, a rabid torrent of fur and stench.

  “Rowan! Help!” his mother cried and dashed to his father’s side.

  The leading wolf reached Rowan’s father before his mother.

  But his father was already up, a crimson knife in his hand. Blood pooled and squirted out of the wolf’s chest as it whimpered, defeat, dying. Its glowing yellow eyes flickered to Rowan—pinning him in place.

  Confusion, awe, fear, and panic all stormed through Rowan as he took in the scene before him. His father tackled the next wolf. His mother kicked at another, slashing its mouth and face back and forth. Their combined bodies blocked the path and kept the remaining five at bay. His parents were fearless—unlike him.

  His mother screamed and jerked back, an arc of blood spraying the nearest leaves. Her hand darted to a wound on her left arm. The wolf took advantage and its maw gripped around her leg. Her screams intensified as Rowan stared with wide eyes. He stood utterly frozen, fishing rod in hand and knife in the other. His auburn hair fluttered at the edge of his sight as his mother collapsed the ground, helped only by his struggling and now-bleeding father. He’d killed two wolves now but the next had bit his hand. His parents would die at this rate, ripped to bits and eaten by these beasts.

  No. No. No.

  His heart thudded as two more wolves made it around and ravaged his parents. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose them. They were the only good he had in his life apart from his computer games. He couldn’t lose them dammit! Fuck this stupid camping trip!

  And it was all his fault. He’d stopped their retreat and almost collapsed onto a tree. All his fault. His parents’ screams filled the air, horrid like a nightmare.

  A wave of adrenaline coursed through his body and his limbs moved on their own accord. Time seemed to slow. His left arm slashed through the air and the fishing rod whipped the closest wolf’s hide.

  The wolf stopped biting at his mother’s bloodied, ruined face and turned to Rowan. His wave of adrenaline dissipated in a single stutter of his heart. He raised his knife and prepared for the worst, glancing at his father. He’d gotten the other wolf off his mother just then but now bled profusely from wounds
on his torso and legs. At least Rowan brought them some more time with his small attack, even if they were going to die along with him.

  The wolf sprang at Rowan, soaring in slow motion. This was it.

  As the wolf’s mass impacted Rowan, a beam of white light cut through the corner of his vision and sliced into a wolf atop his father. The plasma-laser disintegrated half of its head and hit the reflective metal of his father’s knife.

  The plasma split into a spray of dimmer beams. One hit his mother’s side and the other darted straight at Rowan’s head.

  The last thing he saw was a flood of white light.

  Chapter 2

  Simulation

  August 2nd, 2134

  Row— Rowan. Rowan Black. That was his name. He’d remembered the syllables after the third bout of consciousness.

  Darkness and silence. There was nothing except for a cold, slippery texture permeating this void. That’s all there was when consciouses came in fleeting, nausea-ridden bouts lasting for mere minutes.

  He attempted to think, to remember what’d happened before this darkness came, to remember his life. Nothing came. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t remember how to control his body or open his eyes.

  A strange sensation seeped through him as his mind struggled for answers. The taint was dull, muted and fuzzy and tingled. It was colder than the texture. It came from within him—from within his mind. A strange thing it was. It simmered till he slept once more.

  * * *

  August 6th, 2134

  Teeth, fur, throaty barks… and a stench which made the cold tingle dance through Rowan’s mind.

  It was a memory—that much was certain. And there were screams… A man… And a woman. Rowan couldn’t discern their blurred faces. Those screams fed the cold and the cold gorged till it raged in an icy fire before the memory faded. The frost devoured him till he and it was one.

  * * *

  August 7th, 2134

  “Rowan’s stable,” an old, smooth voice said.

  What was that? Rowan swiveled his mind through the void. It sounded distant and faint, like he was listening through something thick.

  “That’s great news,” another voice said. Younger. Male.

  The tone was familiar. Rowan swore he’d heard it his whole life.

  Another voice spoke. It was feminine. “Oh Row—” She made a strange sound—a sob, Rowan recognized after a moment. “I’m so sorry.”

  The man exhaled. “Did the stem cell treatment work? What about the bionic implants?”

  Bionic implants. Stem cell? Rowan recognized the syllables but the meaning was out of grasp. A swirl of confusion mired him. The seeping ice churned.

  “Successful,” the old voice said, husky and low, “Rowan’s skull, skin, hair, nerves, muscles, etc, have all been fully regrown. As for his brain, most of his damaged cerebral cortex has regenerated and his limbic system is functional. Though his amygdala, parts of his frontal lobe, and other systems were destroyed. The bionics will provide temporary function and promote rapid neurogenesis. His organic brain will regenerate and the implants and nano-machines will biodegrade. He will make a full recovery, eventually.”

  Comprehension slipped Rowan’s grasp again. The frost and ice ignited and he twisted and twirled in the dark, struggling for an answer.

  The void reclaimed him and his consciousness faded.

  * * *

  August 8th, 2134

  Something changed.

  The raging frost now tempted Rowan beyond all else—beyond his shattered memories that’d come to him irregularly. He needed it. He wanted it. He desired it for it now sustained him in this black hell that’d robbed him of his body and senses. And when the thought of this prison and that sad female voice, the frost blazed like an icy furnace in his mind. It was hot and cold, tight, uncomfortable in ways but it fueled his will unlike anything else in this darkness. It kept him alive and sane, barely.

  Rowan thrashed and heaved his being in this prison while the frost grew.

  The darkness cracked.

  His mind paused, startled by the sliver of light.

  That same old voice seeped through. “This is a process based on quantum technology, taking advantages of field signatures and residual entanglements. It can restore the few memories it can find in Rowan’s mind and purge whatever experiences he’s had in the tank.”

  Could this be his escape? He gathered the entirety of his willpower and threw his mind at the crack.

  The slippery darkness shattered, the light breaking through in a web. He tumbled into the light just as a wave of nausea stole his consciousness. The frost burned and cried a final time.

  * * *

  September 3rd, 2134

  What happened? Rowan squinted at the flash of blinding light. Where’s the wolf? Didn’t it just tackle him?

  The light faded and the wolf lunged at him. He brushed aside his surprise and queries for later. His breathing slowed as it soared through the air, granting him valuable time to examine the dog. Large eyes. Soft snout. Exposed chest. And he wielded a titanium knife. How dare this stupid animal attack him. It wasn’t even worth the small pinpricks of annoyance in his belly.

  Even without any martial arts training, this was an easy fight. He sidestepped, throwing the fishing rod to the ground, then hooked an arm around its neck as it barked and bit air. Pungent spittle and fur assaulted his senses. Strong legs kicked at his ribs. Rowan plunged his knife into an eye before he was overpowered. Then twisted. He met little resistance from its soft eye and brain.

  The wolf dropped to the ground, twitching. Dead. Blood and brains dripped onto the forest floor from the tip of his knife.

  Rowan turned, deciding to help his parents—but unfortunately, they were both unmoving, lying in pools of their own blood beneath bodies of wolves. Both dead.

  Rowan sneered, a lick of anger crushing his innards in a burst of heat followed by a distantly familiar seeping cold. His parents always treated him well, fed him well, bought him nice things. Objectively, they were indeed useful. Their deaths would inconvenience Rowan’s life greatly. If there were more wolves here, he’d make them suffer. He kicked the corpse of the wolf he’d just slain, then approached his parents’ bodies and crouched. Their pulses were out but bodies still warm. “Father. Mother,” he said and nodded. “You were always good to me.” He sighed, ignoring the stench of iron and rust fuming from all the blood.

  “It’s alright, Rowan,” an old voice said from behind,

  Rowan jolted straight as his skin tingled mutely—not at the surprise but at the fact that the park ranger knew his name.

  “This is just a virtual reality simulation,” the ranger said as Rowan turned.

  The balding, old man wore a pristine, white coat over a blue shirt and black pants. Circular, rimless glasses glinted in the evening sun filtering through the canopy. He stood neutrally, posture straight and arms at his side. A doctor, not a park ranger, obviously.

  And a simulation? like a hyper-advanced game? A frown creased Rowan’s brow. His skin and facial felt all too real, exactly his. This was one hell of a virtual reality simulation if it was. It had to be directly connected to his brain. Such technology had to be decades away.

  Doctors wouldn’t lie, would they?

  Perhaps this wasn’t, Rowan decided after a few seconds. The park ranger wasn’t seen and the doctor didn’t hide a plasma-laser rifle beneath his coat.

  The old man only studied him like a comforting security camera, face relaxed and still, no movement or a single fidget. Trained and experienced. He didn’t seem like a fake.

  Rowan gave him the benefit of the doubt though dull annoyance bent his toes, the doctor’s silence maddening. He considered his next words, a thousand thoughts buzzing in his skull. He picked one question that seemed more important than the others. He said, voice steady, “Do you mean my parents aren’t dead?” He needed them—for the next few years at the minimum. They provided almost everything for Rowan. />
  The doctor’s brows furrowed by a tiny degree which Rowan nearly missed. “Your parents are alive… and well.” He was either confused or surprised. Though he was hiding it.

  And Good. That’d save Rowan a lot of trouble.

  Nodding, he picked another question. “Why this simulation?”

  Those wrinkled, grayish-pink lips curled upwards. Those hazel eyes relaxed. His whole face shifted into what Rowan assumed to be a happiness of some sort—probably to help put Rowan at ease. It failed to cull his suspicions. He wasn’t a fool. This could still be kidnapping—or a dream. The doctor was already acting strangely. If only he could read his mind. Curiosity gnawed at Rowan’s stomach.