Dice Mage: A GameLit Adventure

by Andrew Beymer

  "How could this be happening to me?"

  It could happen because his mind had, so far, ignored all the signs pointing to something seriously fucked up going down on campus today and tonight, and suddenly he realized that everything he’d seen today was true. The goblin. The thing in the sky. The chick talking about a piece on a board. It was all true, and it was all pointing to one thing:

  He was going to get fucking killed if he didn’t start playing by the new set of rules the world had set for him.

  The creature growled as it fell down on all fours. Its nose moved up and sniffed the air, and Mike found himself suddenly thinking of the ending to An American Werewolf in London which had always terrified him.

  Finding himself in that situation now as the slowly unsettling feeling that this was all a lot more real than his brain gave the situation credit for initially was unpleasant, for sure. Especially when he knew he didn’t have a bunch of London Bobbies armed to the teeth behind him ready to take this thing out.

  “Mike?” Gwen said from the other side.

  The thing turned and snarled at her. It didn’t seem particularly happy that she was trying to call in the cavalry. Not that he thought he was really the cavalry to begin with. Not when he was in a situation where he was likely to be long dead by the time any sort of armed authorities arrived.

  And even then the authorities who were likely to arrive were a bunch of campus cops who didn’t have good odds on surviving. A bunch of paunchy Barney Fifes who were more accustomed to babysitting drunks on the weekends than dealing with potentially dangerous mythological creatures come to life didn’t seem like the best rapid response team.

  “Fuck,” Mike said, realizing he was in well over his head here. That he’d probably been in well over his head all fucking day long, and now he was in deep shit because he’d ignored all the signs.

  10

  Where Wolf?

  “Look asshole,” Mike said, his brain still reaching for some way this couldn’t be real. “I don’t know what convention is in town, but I do know that you shouldn’t be walking around scaring ladies like this.”

  The thing stood up on two legs again. The motion was fluid. The kind of motion that said this was either a cosplayer who took his or her time in costume entirely too seriously, not out of the realm of possibility for someone who put that much time and effort into a costume, or this thing was real.

  The thing growled, and any parts of his rational mind that might’ve still been hanging on beat a hasty retreat. That growl was very right in all the wrong ways.

  The logic was simple. If this was a crazed cosplayer or some furry looking to get their jollies by being entirely too accurate with their costume then presumably whatever sound board they were using to make those noises would have a limited number of options.

  Only this one sounded different. Before there’d been a short growl. Like the thing was annoyed. Now it was low and throaty. The sound seemed to vibrate the entire alley around them as it echoed back and forth, and it didn’t stop.

  It was the kind of long growl that said that noise was coming from the back of the creature’s throat and not from the cheapest Made In China speaker the asshole in a costume could find on eBay.

  Mike waved goodbye to his rational brain as the gibbering terror of prey in the presence of a terrifying predator took over.

  “Fuck,” Mike said, patting his pockets.

  The dice were in there, of course. They still felt warm. They still seemed to be pulsing. As though they were trying to get him to do… something.

  The idea of dice trying to get him to do something was about as ridiculous as the idea of a giant werewolf in leather armor with a black sword coming at him, though as he looked at the thing he had to admit that he was rapidly reevaluating his view of the world and where the line between fantasy and reality was.

  Considering all the shit that’d happened to him today that line seemed to be blurred to hell and back. Even if his brain was trying to convince him this all had to be some hallucination. Something caused by whatever that chick had done to him.

  That part was getting quieter and quieter as the part of his brain that’d realized this was all pants-shittingly real started to really assert itself in an effort to keep him alive. Not that he thought his chances were good against a fucking werewolf with a fucking sword.

  “Nice pooch,” he said, patting his pockets again. “Maybe I have a milkbone or something?”

  The thing sniffed as he mentioned a milkbone. He wondered if the thing was human when it wasn’t transformed. Maybe it was excited at the possibility of a treat. Though it kept moving towards him, dragging its black sword against the brick and causing sparks to dance behind it.

  “Tough crowd,” he said.

  Though, to be fair, he figured quoting classics of ‘80s paranormal comedies at the thing probably wasn’t the best way to get on its good side.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Gwen shouted. “Call the cops or something!”

  Or something was right. He rummaged around in his pocket. As though there was actually a chance he was going to find something in there that he could toss at this monstrosity to distract it.

  His hand closed around a die. A big one that must’ve fell out of his bag. Maybe the d20, even. A strange warmth hit him. It was the same feeling he got when that hot toga girl touched his chest. Only this time it traveled through his whole body. Like there was an invisible wind whipping around him that didn’t touch anything else in the alley.

  The werewolf threw its head back and let out a mournful howl. That howl chilled him to the bone and counteracted that strange warmth. Not because it was particularly terrifying, though the thought of a werewolf howling was enough to turn anything in his bowels to liquid.

  No, the thing that was truly pants-shittingly terrifying was that the werewolf’s call was answered. There were more of these things lurking out there in the darkness. Hunting. And he got the odd but certain feeling that the thing these assholes were hunting was him.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Gwen yelled.

  Luckily for Mike the thing seemed to be monumentally stupid and easily distracted. Gwen shouting was enough to draw its attention. The thing wheeled around and stared at her with a growl. It advanced on her again, raising its sword.

  “Fuck,” Gwen said. “This is the last fucking time I ever go out behind the shop without my fucking phone.”

  Lots of thoughts tumbled through Mike’s head. Not all of them helpful.

  This thing was real. He was pretty fucking sure of that now. Impossible as it seemed. Calling the cops wasn’t going to do anything since they weren’t going to believe him, and by the time they did believe him enough to send someone to investigate he’d be bleeding out on the ground or dead.

  If he was lucky, that is.

  No, if he was going to take care of this thing then he was going to have to take care of it himself. The only problem was he had no idea how he was going to do that without winding up in a thoroughly punctured and leaking state.

  “Damn it,” Mike growled.

  “Oh yeah,” Gwen said. “Swearing at it is really going to help!”

  “Don’t worry Gwen!” he called out, suddenly not sure if he wanted to help her if she was going to be sarcastic like that, but knowing at the same time there wasn’t a chance he was leaving her to die. “I’m going to do something!”

  He wasn’t sure what the heck that was. He needed to get the thing’s attention. So he reached down and did the only thing he could think of while he thumbed the button for 911 without really thinking about it. He reached down with his other hand, the one holding the warm d20, and grabbed a bit of asphalt and chucked it at the scary werewolf as hard as he could.

  Something weird happened when he did that. There was a spark in his hand. As though the asphalt, or the die, was on fire for a moment. Then the moment was over and there was just a dark chunk of asphalt sailing towards the werewolf.

  But
for that brief moment Mike had felt alive. Like magic pulsed in his veins.

  He felt less alive as the chunk landed harmlessly to the side of the werewolf. Clearly his aim was off. It looked down and he almost thought he could hear the thing laughing in contempt at his attempt to save Gwen, but he couldn’t be sure.

  After all, the thing was a big smelly werewolf. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was even capable of feeling an emotion as complex as contempt. No, this seemed like the kind of creature that was far more basic on the list of emotions it felt.

  “Come on you bastard!” he shouted. “You don’t want her! You want me!”

  Though of course there was always the possibility that one of those base emotions the thing felt was hunger. As in it was hungry like the wolf, and when it looked at Gwen it felt more along the lines of pure lust than bloodlust.

  That’d never been his thing, but he was sure there was probably a Rule 34 for lusty werewolves out there somewhere on some dark corner of the Internet. Not a dark corner of the Internet he ever wanted to find himself in, mind you, but he was sure it was out there.

  He reached down and chucked another chunk of asphalt at the thing. This time he was more on the mark, and again there was a brief flare up that lit the alley around him for a moment. He hadn’t imagined it that time. Something weird was going on here.

  Well, weirder than confronting a fucking werewolf, that is.

  He hit, but there was a tiny problem in that he was chucking asphalt and not solid stone at the thing, which meant it crumbled as soon as it hit. The werewolf turned and growled at him, but kept advancing on Gwen.

  “Oh that is fucking gross,” Gwen said.

  “What?” Mike asked.

  “The thing has like this massive dog dick hanging out and… Oh yuck. If that’s where this is going just kill me you fucker!”

  Well there was one question answered, though the wolf seemed to be inclined to grant Gwen her request. It raised its black sword. Again the black metal trailed against the brick alley wall and again it trailed little sparks.

  Mike shook his head. He wanted to swear at this thing. He wished he had a gun or something, though there was something about the way it moved and the sheer impossibility of the thing’s existence that had him wondering if any sort of terrestrial weapon would work on the motherfucker.

  One of the things all the movies seemed to agree on was the only thing that could kill a werewolf was silver. Mike always thought that was ridiculous. It’s not like the impact of, say, a minigun would tear apart a werewolf any less than a minigun with silver-tipped bullets. A nuke would probably vaporize a werewolf just as well as everything else it hit.

  Not that it mattered since he didn’t have any advanced weapons on him to test out his werewolf killing theories. The monster didn’t seem to be in any mood to pull its attention away from Gwen. And in a moment Gwen wasn’t going to be standing there. She’d just be some chunks of meat and this thing would probably be feasting on her.

  It definitely didn’t seem like it was interested in any of the depraved stuff that he might find in that dark Rule 34 dominated corners of the Internet he’d prefer not to think about, even if Gwen was getting a front row seat to the thing’s rather nasty front end.

  Mike had to think of something. He needed to stop this thing more than he’d ever needed to do anything in his life. He needed to save Gwen, and that thought was accompanied by another flash of light.

  Mike looked down at his hand. Down to the source of that light. To the die that’d flared with an impossible light every time he tossed a chunk of asphalt.

  The thing glowed white hot, though it wasn’t melting which he would’ve expected from a chunk of plastic. Though he was starting to think it wasn’t merely a hunk of plastic. He also didn’t feel any heat, for all that the light coming from inside it was nearly blinding.

  The light pulsed. As though the die wanted him to do something. He looked up at the wolf.

  Time felt like it’d been compressed, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds since he started chucking things at the wolf. He was starting to understand people who said that time seemed to slow down when they were in the shit, because it was certainly happening to him now.

  The werewolf stopped and stared at the flashing light filling the alley. It turned, and its eyes went wide when they landed on the die. The thing regarded him with a mixture of fury and anticipation.

  He didn’t like getting a look of anticipation from this thing. It made him worry that maybe the only reason he hadn’t been visiting that twisted Rule 34 corner of the Internet via real life so far was because the wolf didn’t swing that way, but no.

  The wolf only had eyes for the die in his hand. It let out a snarl as it charged him.

  Okay then. He had the thing’s attention, but this wasn’t ideal. He was out of ideas, so he threw the pulsing d20 at the creature. It was the only thing he had left to throw, and it’s not like it could do any worse than the asphalt chunks.

  Time seemed to slow down even more than it already had.

  The die tumbled through the air. The wolf raised its sword hand to cleave Mike in two rather than going for Gwen. Which might’ve seemed like an improvement in some chivalrous part of his brain that was happy he was biting it and not the lady, but then the more logical portion of his mind butted in and pointed out that if the thing managed to kill him then it likely wasn’t going to be long before it was taking swings at Gwen again.

  The die didn’t move in an arc as gravity took over like Mike would’ve expected. No, it hovered in the air in front of him tumbling around until it came to rest on twenty. The die flashed as the whole world froze around Mike.

  Warmth pulsed at his side. He pulled out his trusty Crown Royal bag and was less than surprised to see the whole thing glowing. It looked for all the world like the bag holding those weird stone things at the end of Temple of Doom, only he was pretty sure this was real life even if it seemed like it was fantasy.

  “What the fuck?” he asked to no one in particular since time was slowed to a crawl and he was pretty sure no one could hear him in his bubble.

  It’d been that kind of night, and it looked like the weirdness was far from over.

  11

  Magic Dice

  “Okay,” he muttered. “Weird shit is going down, but that weird shit seems to be keeping me alive so I’m not going to complain too much.”

  He opened up the bag and was nearly blinded by the light that poured out. He was surprised that the solid purple bag was able to hold back that much light.

  He poured the dice out into his hand. His D10 was pulsing this time creating most of the blinding light, and it pulsed in real time despite everything else being slowed to a crawl around him. Including the werewolf with its sword raised and ready to do some damage.

  He still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on here, the last time he tossed one of these glowing dice it seemed to make whatever universal power was messing with him at the moment happy.

  The brief image of that hot sorority chick flitted across his mind. She seemed more annoyed than she’d been when he ran into her on the sidewalk, and while he couldn’t understand the words coming out of her mouth considering they were in a strange language, he got the feeling from the way she looked and acted that they were words of the four letter variety.

  Then that mental image was gone, leaving him alone in the alley. Well, he figured if he was going to have visions of people cussing him out then they might as well be visions of someone who looked as good as toga chick.

  Whatever. It was time to toss the dice.

  He shrugged and threw. He had nothing to lose considering he was about to be bisected by a creature that shouldn’t exist. The fact that the bisection had just been slowed down only meant it would be that much more painful when it happened.

  This time he did it underhanded, but the die rocketed forward along with the D20. Time picked back up to a normal pace.

  The dice
turned to fireballs as they streaked through the alley, and the collective light was enough to banish any shadows that might’ve been thinking about making an appearance.

  Gwen threw a hand over her face. No doubt she was just as blinded as the werewolf which screamed out in pain and threw up its sword hand. As though that was going to block the dual balls of flaming death making their way towards the damn thing.

  Those two balls of flaming death that’d until so recently been a couple of dice slammed into the werewolf and sent it flying up and over Gwen. It slammed into the wall behind and slightly above her, and he was suddenly reminded of the old advice about things going up and how they eventually came down.

  “Get out of the way!” he shouted.

  The dice stayed against the wolf creature for the briefest of moments, immolating the thing, before they flew back at him. He was so busy trying to save Gwen from the dictates of the laws of gravity at that point, though, that he didn’t even think about it as he caught both in his hand and stuffed them back in his whiskey bag.

  If he had time to think about it the whole thing probably wouldn’t have been nearly as smooth. Like he might’ve fallen on his ass from the impact, or he would’ve had time to think about the potential danger of catching dice that were on fire, or maybe they would’ve slammed into him and knocked him out and then who would’ve saved Gwen?

  He grabbed her and yanked back just in time for the creature to slam against the grimy alley floor. She pressed against him and even though he was doing the whole saving the damsel in distress thing he couldn’t help but reflect on how nice it felt having the damsel in distress pressing against him.