Forsaken

by Cebelius

  The only thing he really didn't get was why he was here.

  How come I didn't die?

  "W- ... why?" he asked. His voice was a dry croak, but the word was intelligible.

  "Why are you safe?" the woman asked. Her voice came from above him, and he twisted to look, shifting a bit and setting a hand down on her stomach. It was pliant, warm, soft, but it did not sag. She took a breath and he felt himself rising, then slowly falling as she said, "You are safe because I chose to make you so. I was bathing in the pool yonder and heard the goblins shrieking. I was curious. Then, just like that, I saw you falling. I caught you, washed you, and now here you are. You have fallen far, little Midgardian. Do you know where you are?"

  At the moment, the only thing Abram knew for sure was that he was staring at the largest pair of breasts he had ever seen. Each was significantly larger than he was. The sight was jaw-droppingly absurd, and yet ...

  Okay, darkly erotic. Check. Good grief, would you just LOOK at those?

  He blinked as he grinned just a little, but it was a nervous smile. Compared to the giant on whom he rested, he was the size of one of those little green army men.

  Shaking his head as he remembered she'd asked him a question, he considered how to answer for a moment before saying, "Um ... hell?"

  "Hmhmhmhm ... yes, and no," the woman said, chuckling wryly. "You are no longer on Midgard, but you are not in Helheim ... though you are closer to that world than you might like. This place has many names, but those who live above us name it 'Subterranean Celestine.'"

  "What's above us?" Abram asked.

  "Many things," she replied. "The place you fell from is a dungeon called Svartheim that was made for me many long years ago, and above that is Celestine proper. The Everdark is below us ... one can go deeper, but none who make that journey return who do not know the way. Celestine's layers become more dangerous the farther down one goes."

  "Who are you?" Abram asked as he shifted, still moving slowly. He folded his feet underneath him as he stared up at those massive boobs. Even though they were obviously natural and so parted, he couldn't see much past them. He was a bit off-center, and had the impression that his dark sight had a hard limit.

  "My name is Angrboda. Does that mean anything to you?"

  Abram grinned in recognition as he said, "You are the mother of Fenrir, Jörmungandr, and Hel. You're a Jotun."

  "I am surprised and delighted that you know me!" Angrboda cried, and her voice boomed, echoing and revealing by sound what must be a vast open space.

  Abram instantly curled up and hid his head, unable to stop himself.

  After a moment, Angrboda's voice came again, softly this time as she said, "I did not intend to startle you."

  "You didn't," he said, unable to control his shivering, or the irrational fear that made him tremble.

  God dammit! This is a game! It's not REAL ... why is this hitting me NOW?!

  Despite the unreality of it all, it was too realistic, and he shut his eyes as he stammered, "It's n-not your fault. I'm agoraphobic."

  "You're what?"

  He snapped, "I'm terrified of open spaces, okay?!"

  There was a long moment of silence after that, then she said, "You jest."

  "Does it look like I'm joking, lady?!" he asked in a shrill voice that made him ashamed of himself. Despite his shame, he could not bring himself to uncover his head, or uncurl. "Is there a ... a cave? A low place? Anything? Some cover. I need cover!"

  He hesitated a moment, then added, "Please."

  Her hand bowled him over as she scooped and shifted him until he felt an ambient warmth and softness all around him. His shivering eased after a moment, and he set his hands down as his mind caught up with what she'd done.

  I am wearing the biggest boob hat in the history of the meme, he thought, and while part of him wanted to laugh hysterically, the other part was absolutely humiliated. He had been afraid of open spaces since childhood. He used to have nightmares of falling up into space, then — once age and reason gave him the understanding that couldn't happen — of being crushed by all manner of things falling down out of the sky. He'd lived his whole life with the unreasoning certainty that someday the open air would kill him.

  His shivering returned for a moment, then eased again as he felt the warmth of Angrboda all around him. She was cupping her hand over him. He could feel her heat.

  "Is that better, little Midgardian?" she asked, and her voice was tender.

  "Yes ... I'm sorry. I can't help it."

  "It is all right. I will keep you close to me while you remain here."

  The blind panic was fading, and Abram shifted to sit with his legs crossed as he asked, "Why are you protecting me? Why did you save me?"

  "I have need of you. I have told you that you are in Sub-Cel, and that above us are other realms of Celestine, but that doesn't begin to tell you where you are, or what that means."

  She paused, but when he said nothing she continued.

  "Here, most who encounter you will call you a template. There are ageless beings on Celestine collectively called Eldritch, and they require a template's seed to further their line."

  A memory clicked into place. The advertisement for the game had mentioned it would have erotic components ... and the opening brain dump had certainly had sex ... twisted though it had been.

  "The goblins ... one of them kept fucking me," Abram said. "Are they eldritch?"

  "Hardly. They are among the lowest and weakest beings, but even they benefit from a template's seed. How many had you?"

  "Just one."

  "Ah. A breeder. You were breeding an army for the goblins, and they did not want to risk your escape by giving you many partners. Did anything change inside you after the first copulation?"

  "I gained the ability to see in the dark."

  "Do you have it still?"

  "Yes."

  Once more Abram could hear the heavy beat of Angrboda's heart. It was louder now; practically right underneath him, thrumming with power.

  "Fear not, Midgardian; while the one who abused you still lives, she could never reach you here. No goblin would dare venture into Sub-Cel. Tell me how you escaped, and I will tell you more of what I know."

  So this is my chance to fish for information. Gotta say, questioning a giant while pressed into her underboob is a pretty cool way to do the opening exposition. Still, I'm kinda curious how deep the characters go in this game.

  "Why do you care?" he asked.

  Angrboda hesitated, then took a deep breath and said, "I am bound here until the end of days. I cannot return to Midgard until after Ragnarok. Few visit me, and those only rarely. Since I gave up control of Svartheim those visits are even more infrequent. I love stories, and if this were hell, my torment would be their lack. Tell me yours."

  Inwardly shrugging, he said, "I was chained to a table by the goblins. Then a ... snake-haired woman came and unlocked one of my cuffs before leaving me with the key. I killed a goblin on my way out, but was chased and fell. I woke up on you."

  "Fair enough, but how did you arrive here, on Celestine?"

  He frowned as he thought, I'm not actually here. I'm playing a video game. Isn't one of the basic rules of video games NOT to break the fourth wall?

  He felt answering that way would be the wrong play though. Breaking immersion might enrage the giant, so he thought for a moment, then made up a story, going with whatever came to mind. To his surprise, the lie came easily, as though it were what he was supposed to say.

  Probably another implanted memory, like a hidden dialog option to cover things I'm SUPPOSED to know, he mused as he spoke.

  "I ... died. I had an apartment, tenth floor. It's an old building and has false alarms all the time. Then ... it wasn't a false alarm. By the time I realized it the whole place was an inferno. I was searching for a way down when I found a little girl, crying in the hallways. I took her with me, and we made it out to a fire escape. There were firefighters there on a crane
, and I gave them the girl, but as I reached out everything went blank and I woke up here ... in the dark."

  "You died a hero," Angrboda said. "That is why you were brought here, to Celestine. Do you know how long ago that was?"

  Wow, she actually bought that shit. It really must be a hidden dialog that covers out-of-game content, Abram thought bemusedly.

  Aloud he said, "No. I lost track of the days. I was kept in the dark. I was force-fed and fucked while chained to a table ... forever. Then there was a, a monster. I already told you about her. She had snakes for hair. I'd have said she was a gorgon but she didn't seem to have a face and didn't turn me to stone. She unlocked one of my cuffs, but then she left me. She wouldn't wait. She said something ... said I would be a burden to her master."

  "Yet you escaped."

  Her voice was low and soothing, and he could feel its vibration through her body. She surrounded him, her presence comforted him, and he took a deep breath and nodded. Remembering the feeling that had been implanted in him, the sense of lost time, endless torment ... upset him. It felt real, uncomfortably so, and Abram was happy to move on.

  "Yeah, I guess I did. When I tripped and fell I was sure I was dead. Instead, I woke up here with you."

  "Your story is certainly filled with misfortune," Angrboda sounded genuinely sympathetic. "Perhaps — now that you are here — I can help improve your circumstances."

  Settling into the role he'd been cast, Abram asked, "Why would you? Why are you helping me? The Jotun were never fond of mortals."

  "I can see now the limits of your knowledge. This does not surprise me, for what men know fades with the passing of centuries, and it has been long since any of my kind strode the green fields of Midgard. Before we continue, what is your name?"

  "Abram."

  "Just Abram?"

  He'd played enough games to avoid that particular trap. "Well, it's usually a bad idea in these kinds of settings to give away your full name."

  "Is that truly what you believe? I will not dissuade you. Fair enough, Abram. Do you believe in magic?"

  Abram thought about that, then said, "I do now."

  The smile was obvious in her tone as she said, "But you did not before."

  "No, of course not."

  He felt Angrboda breathing, felt the rise and fall of her chest as he rode it, and dared to lean back against the supple comfort of her breast. She said, "Even when I roamed Midgard there were a variety of stories about me. You know me as a Jotun and that is true, but it is also true that I was once called Iárnvidia, and known as a troll-wife. We valued our families, but bore what Midgardians consider to be monstrous children. Not all of the troll-wives took gods for husbands."

  "Loki didn't marry you though," Abram said, struggling to remember.

  "No. He married Sigyn, and together they suffer until Ragnarok in a place far away from Celestine. I am unmarried." Her tone became gently teasing as she asked, "Would you be my husband, little Abram?"

  "Somehow I don't think that'd work out," Abram replied with a flicker of amusement.

  "Oh? Why is that?"

  Rather than answer her question, Abram asked, "Why did you ask me if I believed in magic?"

  The giantess sighed and said, "Because mankind is capable of magic, Abram. Right now your entire race is perpetuating the greatest ritual ever undertaken. Your people have eliminated magic in Midgard through an act of collective will. It will not return until the end of days. Gods, demons, devils, and mystic folk are thus banished to other planes. Such is the collective power of man."

  Abram thought about that, and Angrboda took his silence as an opportunity to continue. "Yggdrasil is tormented always in bearing the weight of the many worlds. All life torments it. Nighogg from below, Ratatoskr throughout, and the eagle above. But no life more abuses the great tree than that which resides in Midgard, for they have used their magic to abolish magic, and so the flows that support all existence are disrupted. It is this ritual, cast unknowingly but persistently by an entire race, that will bring about the end of days. All the residents of the other worlds are banished from Midgard, and it is only through the steady drip of souls from that place that they take sustenance."

  "So there really are nine worlds?" Abram asked.

  "There are more than nine, but the worlds are not so clear-cut as they were once upon a time, before mankind cast their great ritual. This place is known by some as Tartarus, others as Purgatory, but natives call it Celestine. I suspect that your knowledge contains only seeds of the truth."

  "Purgatory, huh? So what happens when I die here?"

  "None know. The souls of mankind are unique in this or any reality, and no one I am aware of — be they man, myth, or god — truly understands what they are for."

  "So ... I died, and this place ate my soul?" Abram asked, inwardly gaping at how many liberties the game designers were taking with mythology.

  "Yes and no. Midgard is in the middle, thus its name. All that flows through the tree is disrupted there. Nourishment from below, power from above. All of it is concentrated in Midgard, yet none passes naturally because of the great ritual. When humans die, the power and nourishment collected by their souls are finally released. All other worlds seek to draw it in, but most have a very limited ability to capture Midgardian souls. A heroic soul is brought here once every solar year. Other types of souls are drawn to other worlds at similar rates I would imagine. Where your soul goes when you die here is ... anyone's guess."

  "So I'm here because this world wants to eat my soul."

  "Yes, and Celestine provides powerful incentives to its denizens to consume you. Most Midgardians do not last long here. You are unusual in many ways, young Abram."

  "Is there a way out?" he asked.

  "For you? No. You died, and will die again one day. Perhaps even again after that on some other world. I suggest you take this opportunity for what it is. Death here is just as permanent as on Midgard."

  Abram scooted a bit further in under Angrboda's chest as he said, "I'm not sure I see an opportunity here."

  Other than to go out into a subterranean dungeon world and get eaten by the first thing that comes along, he mused. This game doesn't exactly have a great starting package, and it seems like I got dumped in the literal deep end.

  The giantess said, "Ah. Well then, allow me to test you before I say more. Search for an opportunity, Abram. Tell me what you find."

  Thinking this most recent turn in the conversation more than a little strange, Abram tilted his head and thought. He'd always known his intellect was a cut above, perhaps two or three cuts, but his superior intelligence hadn't mattered that much really. He'd been home-schooled due to his absolute terror of going outside. His parents had done their best with him, but once he'd gotten his GED and turned down every offer from all the colleges they submitted his application to, they'd summarily kicked him out and told him he was on his own as soon as he turned eighteen.

  He didn't blame them. He knew he was difficult to deal with, and his unwillingness to go outside only magnified the problem.

  Fortunately, he lived in the information age, and managed to score a networking gig that didn't require him to be in the office. That gig had led to another, and by the time he was twenty he was pulling six figures with multiple contracts maintaining storefronts and cloud resources for a variety of small businesses, none of which required he ever set foot outside his apartment.

  Since he got paid more for what he knew than what he did he wound up with a lot of free time. He dumped most of that free time into video games.

  That was his life. No girls, no real adventures. Only work and games that let him pretend he was someone else. Just thinking about it that way started depressing him.

  Scowling, he put thoughts of his wasted life behind and concentrated on Angrboda's challenge. What opportunity was there to be had here?

  Troubleshooting 101, start with the individual pieces. What do I know about this place?

  He knew the
game was set on another world. Going along with the backstory, he knew that he had been used for an indeterminate period of time to breed an army. He knew ...

  "Hold up. You said that they'd only had one breeder use me because they didn't want to risk my escape," he said, his mind whirling as pieces began to fit together. "I got dark sight from that one breeder. The implication is either that more than one female would increase the chances that one would have sympathy for me ... or, that I'd have gotten another power from a second girl."

  "You have an adroit mind. Allow me to assure you that goblins do not value sympathy. Finding a sympathetic goblin would be like finding a diamond in a gutter. While possible, it is vanishingly unlikely," Angrboda said quietly. "Continue. Tell me more."

  He spoke, nodding ever more rapidly as he did so. "The first time I saw her, she was like all the others, but the next time I saw her she was closer to my size, and ... I won't say prettier, but better, healthier, stronger. None of the other goblins I saw were like that. Just her. So she got something from me, and I got something from her. Some sort of power exchange through sex?"

  Her voice was wryly amused as she said, "Something like that."

  "Aaand the opportunity would be ..." Abram blinked as he muttered, "Holy shit. Angrboda, were you serious when you asked if I would be your husband?"

  "I was, though I warn you that if you desire true power, you will need to secure unions with more than just me. I will bear you strong children, but you will need more than my singular gift if you wish to rise."

  "What do you get out of this?" Abram asked, abruptly wary.

  "Abram, I am confined in the dark, and have been for much longer than you. We had that in common, but while you are now free, I remain bound. To you the space here is vast. To me? It is a prison cell. The dungeon above us, Svartheim, represents my only window into the world. It would be my pleasure to act through you. My children are fit to stand among and even to destroy the gods themselves, yet here I lay, forgotten by all ... except you. You knew my children. You knew me."

  Her hand pressed gently in, shifting her breast out of the way so that she could reach him, her finger found him, traced the length of his body as she said, "You are an opportunity for me to rise as well. Perhaps with your help, I can loose these bonds of mine. While I am forbidden to return to Midgard, I would be happy enough to make my mark upon Celestine."