by Cebelius
If I get to choose which of those Abrams I'd rather be, that's an easy choice.
Breakfast was perfunctory but satisfying. Abram was an excellent cook. Since he didn't ever go outside, there were few hobbies he could take up beyond those that dealt with his work. One of those was cooking. Even before his parents had thrown him out he'd taken over cooking duties for the household, and knew his way around the kitchen. As he cut into his omelet, he smiled at the memory of his mother bragging to one of her friends that he could feed the family with a lemon and a box of expired baking soda.
He checked his phone, but could see without even unlocking it that he had no new messages.
As he wandered into the main living area, he found himself wondering what day it was, and realized that it didn't matter. Monday was no different from Sunday for him, because he was never truly off work. Whenever disaster struck, he got a call. As long as he picked up the phone when that happened — and solved the problem — he got paid.
Still, it did seem that it had been a long time since he'd gotten a call. He couldn't remember the last time, in fact. Still, a quick check showed him the symbol indicating he had power, a signal, a connection.
Shrugging inwardly, he put the thought from his mind and lowered his phone as he looked at his desk, at the shades sitting next to his mouse.
It occurred to him that he didn't know how to charge the damn things, and hadn't seen any kind of power meter on them. Sitting down, he picked them up and turned them over in his hands, but aside from the power symbol, softly glowing in its place on the frame, there wasn't really much else to see.
As far as he knew, he was putting some kind of miniaturized nuclear reactor on his face. Given how advanced the game was, the bigger surprise would probably have been if he had been able to comprehend the hardware.
A sense of foreboding gripped him as he held the shades in front of his face, looking at the inner screens. The fact was, he didn't understand any of this. The game was impossible. The hardware was incomprehensible. Yet he knew that he couldn't stop playing. It was hard, cruel, twisted ... but within the world of Celestine he had something real life could never give him: power.
Real power.
He shook his head. It wasn't real. It was the illusion of power. It was just a mirage, but even that was still better than anything he could make for himself in his one bedroom apartment, servicing distant networks for people who had him on speed dial but couldn't remember his name half the time when they called. Celestine — with its rape and savage cruelty, its ever-present threat of immediate death and torture — had at some point become more enticing to him than living with the fact that he was essentially abandoned by his parents and dismissed by people that didn't understand his fear in an unsympathetic world that simply didn’t care about him one way or the other.
The premise of the game was insane, yet it drew him in. The problems he dealt with in the real world made him yawn. Everything he really needed was taken care of here. In there ... he had to fight for everything, and if he made a mistake, his fate might be worse than death ... or it would be, if it were real.
Why does it feel so REAL?
The question echoed in his mind. The game wouldn't be nearly as compelling if it was without that unmistakable component of reality. He lifted a hand and touched his forefinger to his thumb, rubbed the two together. He concentrated on the sensation.
Then he turned out the lights and put the shades on, willing the world around him to vanish.
It did.
11
The Broodmother
Abram opened his eyes to find a dramatically different world than the one he'd left. The cold, wet cave in which he'd logged out had been replaced by a warm, humid subterranean forest of mushrooms.
"What the hell? When did we get to the Mushroom Kingdom?" he asked, glancing around.
"We continued to travel while you were asleep," Sif said, her voice drawing his attention to her.
The area around them was weirdly lit by button mushrooms that seemed to come in green, red, and blue. The various colors grew in their own patches, but here and there one that was the 'wrong' color was mixed in. The light they gave off was sufficient to ruin his dark sight, which made him uneasy despite the fact that it gave him back his color vision.
Pale stalks thicker than most tree trunks faded into pitch-black above their heads, but he could see the dim outlines of caps that ranged from slim and rocket-shaped to others that were as broad and flat as carpets. Many of the stalks did not reveal their secrets at all, their caps entirely hidden by the darkness.
His fear of open spaces began to encroach, and he pulled his attention down and focused on what was immediately around him in an effort to stave it off.
Sif herself was pale to the point of complete albinism save for her blue-on-black eyes. Her hair was just as white as her skin, but it was matted and clung to her neck and shoulders. Color vision revealed her soiled tunic to be in even worse shape than he'd thought, and he felt a pang of sympathy for her, despite the fact she'd known about him and done nothing. It was obvious that she had not had an easy time of it.
Her face was so gaunt that he had no idea what she might look like at what, for her, would be a normal weight. Her expression was pensive, and he realized he was staring.
"Sorry," he said, searching frantically for a verbal save. "I just ... this is the first time I've seen you in living color."
"What do you think?" she asked.
"I think you need to eat more," he said, trying a smile.
Her lips twitched, then she glanced down and shrugged as she said, "I could say the same for you. Angrboda has said there is plenty of food in this forest, so hopefully we will both have enough food to eat soon."
Glancing around, Abram saw that the giant's proxy was asleep a few feet away, leaning against the same mushroom stalk he was.
"How long have I been out?" he asked.
"I don't know. I slept first. Angrboda woke me up so she could get some rest, and I've been awake since then. There are no watch candles here so I don't really have a good sense of time," she said. "We should probably wait a while before waking her up though."
"Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm awake," Angie said. Abram glanced over in time to see her tilt her head back along the stalk to look at him with a lazy sort of smile as she said, "I don't really need true sleep, but it's good to close my eyes and drift for a while. Now that Abram is awake we should move on. If we don't hunt, we don't eat."
The three of them stood, dusted themselves, and Angie took the lead as they started out again.
As they walked, Abram's agoraphobia abruptly came crashing down on him again, and he took a quick few steps to put him next to Angie as he tried to keep from shivering.
She glanced down at him curiously, then up. She must have realized what the problem was because she dropped an arm over his shoulders and drew him in close.
He didn't think it would be enough, but to his surprise and great relief, his shivering eased and the fear receded.
The going here was much easier than it had been in the cave. The ground was mostly flat and felt solid, though it was topped by a layer of something that was spongy and which Abram suspected was the accumulated remains of the forest rising all around them.
He found himself wondering how such a place as this could be. What possible ecology could have given rise to such a tremendous accumulation of fungus? He thought about asking, but decided against it, purely to see if he could figure it out on his own. Angie and Sif would be there to ask later if he couldn't guess, but as far as mysteries went it was an enticing one and he found himself examining the surroundings closely as they moved through the forest, looking for hints.
The exercise proved frustrating, but before he could give up and ask, they all heard a high, thin scream. It was distant, but definite.
"Who lives here?" Abram asked as Angie tilted her head, obviously listening for more.
When she didn't immed
iately hear anything, she said, "No one who sounds like that. Let's go see what there is to see."
She set a pace just short of a run, and Abram kept up gamely enough, though he kept one eye on his stamina bar as he saw it start to deplete. Just walking didn't tax him, but this new pace did, and he estimated he'd be able to keep it up for perhaps fifteen minutes before he needed to rest.
Fortunately, within five minutes, they could hear the clash and cry of combat, and Angie slowed as she mused aloud, "It sounds like dwarves, but to be fighting here ..."
She glanced back at him, then asked, "Abram, do you trust me?"
"Obviously, why ask?"
She pursed her lips, glancing from him toward the still unseen source of the sounds of fighting, then said, "Because what I believe we need to do will seem counter-intuitive to you, but I think we should help."
Abram shrugged and spread his hands. "Okay? Duh? Saving the dwarves seems like a good way to-"
"I think we should defeat the dwarves."
"Oh … kay? Who are they fighting?"
"She is Yara Hecilë, though few know that name. Most simply call her the Broodmother."
Abram blinked, then cautiously said, "That ... doesn't sound like someone we should be helping."
Angie glanced back at him and lifted her hands as she said, "Thus the question, 'Do you trust me?'"
He thought for only a moment before nodding as he said, "As long as there are no survivors who can tell the dwarven outpost we killed their people, I'm fine with this. If we go this route though, we have to go all in. No enemy witnesses."
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Angie said with a warm smile very much at odds with what she'd just proposed, at least from Abram's perspective. The idea that they were going to go and save the monster was completely backward, but at this point he was willing to roll with it. Insofar as he could trust anyone on Celestine, he trusted her.
They were already running toward the battle once more, and with a flash of insight Abram asked, "Is she one of yours?"
"What? Oh, hah! No. Not one of mine, though I do know her mother," she replied.
Though her answer had only left Abram with more questions, the sounds of battle were getting louder. Through the thick forest of mushroom spires he could see flashes of brilliance that he presumed to be magic, along with the more constant glow of flame.
When they reached the scene of the battle, he pulled up short a moment along with Angie and Sif behind them as he took in the scene.
There was a rigidly defined square of dwarves advancing step by step across a wide open space that had obviously been recently cleared by fires that still raged at the outskirts, including near them to the right and left, though they had come out in a place whereon only smoldering ashes remained. The trail of devastation reached back farther than they could see. It was as though a series of farming combines had come through and simply leveled a massive swath of the forest in preparation for the advancing force.
Opposing the dwarven square was a swarm of what he could only think of as giant centipedes. That was — functionally at least — exactly what they were. Orange, segmented carapace atop multi-segmented chiton legs moving with frightening speed were fronted by massive, barbed pincers. Each specimen looked to be between three and five feet long, their bodies held almost a foot off the ground as they hurtled into the enemy lines.
Yet though such insects would have posed a mortal threat to Abram and his party, the dwarves seemed to have come prepared specifically to face such threats. Every dwarf was armored so heavily that Abram was certain he wouldn't have been able to move even if the only thing he tried to put on were the sabatons and greaves. Each complete suit made the wearer look like a roughly human-shaped locomotive. As though simply to flaunt their ridiculous strength, they also carried metal kite shields that were at least two inches thick and maces that looked like nothing so much as a bowling ball on a stick. They systematically crushed the insects both with the points of their kite shields and their massive maces. Abram saw only two dwarven corpses in their wake, which was otherwise awash with shattered chiton and still twitching insectile bodies.
As he looked beyond the attacking swarm, he saw movement amid the still towering stems of a pair of mushrooms that had somehow survived the wash of fire. His eyes narrowed, then widened as what he saw came into full view.
If the centipedes were giants among their kind, this creature was their god. He couldn't even estimate her total length because at least some, perhaps even most, of her was still hidden among the mushrooms. She rose up along one of the stalks, each of her legs easily twelve feet long. Her carapace was more red than orange, and brilliant yellow quills tipped in black flared out from each leg joint. Rather than a head, she had a woman's body, though even that was completely giant-sized. Given the detail he could see from a hundred yards away, he estimated her head alone was the size of his torso, and a mane of brilliant yellow spikes tipped in black flared from her head and back like some kind of brutal mohawk. The humanoid body was bronze-skinned and utterly nude, with breasts that were proportional and tipped with bright red nipples on a frame that was otherwise what Abram would have described as a hardbody. Aside from her chest, there wasn't an ounce of soft on her. Her facial features seemed mostly humanoid, though her eyes were multi-faceted green gems that glittered as she glared down at the puny mortals opposing her.
So taken was Abram at the sight of her that he didn't realize at first what she was doing until with a crack, the massive mushroom she had climbed broke and began to fall. His jaw dropped as he watched the absolutely huge thing tumble down to smash the dwarven square, tremendous chunks of fungus exploding in every direction.
Abram looked up at Angie and asked, "The fuck do we need to help her for? She's going to wipe those fuckers out no problem."
Angie didn't answer with words. She simply nodded out toward the scene of carnage, and when Abram looked, he breathed, "No way ..."
The dwarves were still advancing.
It took almost a full minute, but when the square emerged from the devastation of the gargantuan fallen mushroom, it seemed that not one had been harmed.
"Dwarven armor is not to be taken lightly," Angie murmured. "Ordinarily, Yara would simply run away. While dwarves can be almost indestructible in battle, they are not exactly known for their speed. As you can see, she is already down to her smallest spawn. She must have been fighting these invaders for days."
"Smallest spawn? Days? Are you fucking kidding me?"
As he spoke, Abram noticed movement from within the square. Then a wave of perfectly synchronized crossbow bolts were loosed in a flat trajectory toward the looming form of the broodmother.
Perhaps thirty feet out, every single missile burst into lurid green flame, describing a line of fire that was too low for their massive target to duck, and too wide to dodge.
Several struck her, and she let out a piercing shriek of agony similar to the one that had first alerted them to the fight in progress. The ground trembled as she twisted and writhed, attempting to hide behind the one remaining stalk of mushroom still standing between her and the advancing square.
"Now or never, Abram," Angie said quietly. "We can abandon her to her fate and avoid the dwarves as well, but ..."
She hesitated, then sighed and said, "She's my friend. I would like to help her if we can. It is risky. I did not know the force arrayed against her was so large. There are at least thirty dwarves in that square."
Abram hesitated. In his mind's eye he imagined that square of dwarves crushing the remaining hobgoblin resistance. He couldn't even begin to picture how the hobs would have any hope of beating something like this.
Yet as he thought a moment more, he realized that he wouldn't be able to gain their support even if he helped them here because, quite frankly, they didn't need his help. If he didn't intervene, they would certainly wipe out the broodmother on their own. He also couldn't help but remember that Angie had said the dwarves did to h
er last lover.
His jaw tightened, and he gauged the distance. The dwarven square was almost a hundred feet away from them, and getting farther away. He would need to expose himself in order to get close enough to cast his spells. He would have to commit.
Well, okay then. Time to play.
As Abram strode from cover, he realized that what he was about to do was stupid. He didn't know much of anything, but he'd just seen what amounted to a bomb go off on top of this dwarven square, and it hadn't done anything to them at all.
Then again, I have no idea how dense these mushrooms are, he mused. He'd been wondering how such massive shapes could possibly support themselves. Perhaps the answer was by being super light. The impact of the mushroom cap had looked impressive, but it had practically flown to pieces as soon as it struck.
The dwarves were obviously not anticipating an attack from behind, because by the time he'd come within fifty feet the square had given no evidence that they'd noticed him. He glanced back at Sif and Angie, then forward again as he thought.
He then made a gesture for them to lay down, then did so himself, dragging one of the centipedes over to provide visual cover. He glanced back, assured himself that Angie and Sif had done the same, then focused on the square which he now knew was within range.
"Tentacular rune. Tentacular rune. Tentacular rune ..."
The runes exploded into action as soon as he cast them, their tendrils of oily darkness erupting across the back of the square. After placing five runes and thus expending over a quarter of his mana, he hunkered down and waited to see what would happen. If those runes didn't wreck the disco, he was prepared to call it a night and get the fuck out, as he very much doubted he had enough drain lightning to handle them all even if they were nice enough not to just run him down and turn him into a pasty red smear with those ridiculously over-sized maces.
