by Eddie Patin
Jason stopped, standing in the bog, as the storm whirled and gusted around him. The whipping wind and its loud noises became muted then drowned into a drone that made Jason's skull buzz.
He looked up. The sky was a shadow. The raging storm seemed like a dream that he heard now as if underwater. Looking behind him, he saw that the giant was gone. Jason was standing in a long, dark corridor with hazy walls that shimmered like a mirage, extending before and behind him as far as his eyes could see.
"What the fuck...?" he asked. His voice made his head reel. It echoed through his skull, on and on.
What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?
Where...?!
Jason dropped his AK. He felt the weapon slap against his belly as if the sensation was far away. It was like he was in a weird, dream world. He looked at his hands and saw them leaving tracers in the air as he moved them. He watched his fingers for a little while, then pulled up his OCS.
The screen was bright when he unlocked it, though the glowing words and background hurt his eyes and left after-images as he tried to figure out where the hell he was...
Unknown.
Jason shook his head and stared at the word. Had Vorealus sent him ... somewhere else? He had to. This was like some strange shadow version of the swamp, but the trees had become infinitely long walls, and...
The tall walls going on and on reminded Jason of the canyons of Maze World. It was like a shadowy version of Maze World.
"Whatever..." Jason said.
Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.
He reached into his collar, grabbed his home key, and rifted home. His portal opened with brilliant, crackling orange fire that seemed all the brighter because of Jason's dismal surroundings. When he could see his garage through the other side, Jason carefully stepped through. He tried not to stumble, because his head was spinning...
When he emerged into his own universe, it was like breaking out from being underwater. Jason immediately closed the rift behind him, reveling in the normalcy of the concrete under his feet and the harsh fluorescent light in his eyes.
He could hear again. His head cleared. He could see with a stunning acuity. He heard a sloppy scrambling sound and the heavy clanging of something metal...
Jason screamed when something soft snaked around his leg and tried to pull him down.
He looked down. Fresh horror washed over him.
It was the troll. The goddamned troll. It had regenerated quite a bit while he was gone, and it had crawled right at him, dragging its head in the case along with it, banging the metal container on the floor as it went. Jason's mind tried to comprehend what he saw. It was as if the troll had regenerated tendrils out of every hole in the case, which traveled down to where the bottom of its head should be. Then, the probing tentacles had twisted and intertwined with all of the other, making something like a neck. The growing form had continued downward from there, creating a big, flabby green chest about as big as Jasons with two tiny stumps like fat snake tails growing out from a tiny pelvis. There were also now two arms—one three feet long and grabbing Jason—and the other still too underdeveloped and weird to accomplish anything.
"Oh my fucking God!" Jason cried as the mass quivered and pulled itself toward him, banging the case along the concrete floor.
It was pale green like pea soup mixed with Elmer's glue, lumpy like crusty bread dough, and hairy in places. The big case banged and clanged along on the concrete floor behind it, pulled along in violent bursts.
Jason drew his lightning gun and fired into the center of the chest-mass. His particle beam crackled like electricity and set the thing on fire.
Don't burn it to death! he thought.
"Oh, screw the bounty!" Jason shouted, shooting the revolting mass of flesh and soft bones and the beginnings of innards two more times.
The troll released him. He stepped back, aimed his lightning gun, then took a deep breath. His heart was pounding. Jason felt like burning everything down. He'd lost everything.
It's not hopeless yet, he thought.
"But there's no other way!" he muttered, holstering his weapon when the troll lay still. He walked over to his tool rack again and pulled off an axe. Then, he started 'pruning the troll' again. He had to use the actual pruning shears in the end, cutting off the last and smallest pieces that were trying to escape the case. "What can I do? I can't defeat Vorealus!"
There has to be another way.
"But what? I can't use time travel. I can't fight him. He's immune to all of my weapons and powers! He's a fucking titan!"
Jason sat down on the stairs for a moment, staring at the pile of stinking, smoking troll pieces with his chin in his hands. His garage floor was streaked with green blood.
Then, he stood, returned the tools, and carried the pieces in his arms and hands through the side door that would lead him to the backyard. Jason needed to burn the pieces, but he didn't want to set his garage on fire again. He could have gone back to the Shattered Swamp again to rift to the lava world from there, but Jason didn't want to set foot in that terrible world again without first coming up with another idea to save his friends.
He had to get to those cubes without Vorealus around. Maybe he could set a bookmark in the castle. Did the courtyard ever change with the storm? Probably not.
"What can I do to rift there? How can I get around—?"
Jason suddenly felt a squirming piece of troll slip from his fingers.
"Shit!"
He stopped, looked down into the grass around his feet—brown and shrunken by the oncoming winter—but didn't see anything!
A jolt of panic shot up inside him.
Did he really just drop a piece of troll?! Or had he just imagined it?
Shit.
What would happen if he did? Would it grow into a full-sized troll? Jason felt his eyes widen as he searched the grass around his feet, but he saw nothing.
"Oh God," he said, turning his face into the sunshine. "It's all bad!"
He continued into the backyard, hoping that he didn't really lose a piece of regenerating troll meat on his freaking home planet. Jason found a flat spot in the shade where there was still a bit of melting snow, so opened a horizontal rift to lava world there. He threw the pieces in, felt the blast of heat in his face when he did, and clenched his eyes shut against the burning vapors.
Then he closed the rift and frowned.
"What am I gonna do?" he said, stomping back around to where he thought he might have dropped that piece of troll again. "I've gotta save them!"
But how?
Jason searched the lawn for a while, but found nothing. Feeling a cold lump of dread in his belly, he went back into the garage and locked up the side door. Then, staring at the case with the living troll's head inside, he turned on the faucets of his game processing station's big, stainless steel sink. He plugged the drain. As the water filled, he stared at the blemish in the metal where the 9mm round had hit after plowing through poor Jason 1241's brainpan.
When the sink was full, Jason hefted up the case and put it inside, holding it down until it filled with water and the head was fully submerged.
Then he put a heavy car jack on top of it.
Jason paced the garage, desperately searching his weary and shell-shocked brain for answers. He pulled up his OCS several times, turning on the screen, then letting it drop back down again.
He had to think of something, and fast!
Chapter 27
The floor was hard and the air was still.
Gliath could smell nothing but himself. The small space around him was devoid of scent, save for the lingering odor of ozone and a strange burning smell.
As soon as the fogginess lifted from his brain, the Krulax leapt to his feet. He felt the cold, smooth surface of the cube under him. He instantly reached out and touched the two nearest walls, then crossed over to touch the others. He reached up and touched the clear ceiling, which was only a foot or so over the tips of his ears. The surface of
the crystal-like material was cold. It was as smooth as polished metal but as transparent as perfectly-clean glass. He left large handprints from the oils of his fingers.
Trapped.
Gliath heard his own quickening breaths amplified by the tightly-enclosed space.
He didn't even remember getting there. He and Jason Leaper 934 were approaching the giant, watching Ranaja standing in his cube. Then, he heard Ranaja over the Earth radio on his armor...
I am with you, Jason Leaper 934...
He remembered the final conversation in pieces. Ranaja and Morgana Soloster on the radio. Jason Leaper 934 insisting that he had a plan and could succeed. The primordial giant standing before them, smiling and talking, then arguing about the animals within the cubes being dead.
And I recognize you, kitty cat...
The thunderous words of the giant named Vorealus echoed in Gliath's mind, rolling under the boiling and panicking desire to be free. The leopardwere looked up, touched the ceiling above his head again, and gave it an experimental thump with his mighty fists.
It was solid and thick; as solid as the armored shell around his torso, upper arms, and thighs.
Gliath brought his face close to one glass-like wall and peered out into the menagerie. It was bright outside. There was no storm. The giant wasn't present. Many other cubes hung in the air around him, all above the various alien trees that the leopardwere could no longer smell. He searched for Ranaja and tried to get his bearings, but Gliath didn't see his good friend in any of the cubes around him. Those were full of motionless forms; mostly dead and gaping animals from the swamp with their dried lips pulled back over yellow teeth and their eyes bulging out of their skulls. Their twisted hands and paws reached into the air. They'd died from asphyxiation.
He searched more for Ranaja, then Morgana Soloster—even Jason Leaper 934—but couldn't find them.
Feeling a fire blaze up in his blood, Gliath backed away from the clear wall before his face. He let the burning power consume him and prepare his iron muscles to release his full fury. Then, charged and bashed the wall with his full strength!
The Krulax Deathhand smashed into the wall, his mighty form thumping against the smooth surface and his armor clanging loudly. He grunted out a growling huff.
He was knocked back.
Gliath found himself growling uncontrollably, giving in to the beast in his heart. He attacked the wall again. He smashed it so hard that he fractured some of his fingers.
Then he fell back again.
Winding up once more, Gliath charged the wall, crashed into it with his shoulder and right arm, then let out a growl of pain as the force smashed his body.
The cube's wall stood, unmarred and impenetrable.
Reaching up, the leopardwere braced himself against the ceiling—ignoring the pain of the broken bones in his hands—then furiously kicked the floor again and again with his legs. With lower leg muscles like steel cables, strong enough to leap in great bounds, Gliath's legs had the force of a wrecking ball. He kicked as hard as he could, smacking his eardrums with the tremendous sound of it, but the floor ignored his ferocity, sending jolts of lancing pain up his feet, ankles, and knees.
At last, breathing heavy and fogging up the inside of his prison, Gliath stopped.
He calmed his breathing. Thinking of his inner well of strength, he focused on his body's slow mending of his hands, shoulder, and legs. Gliath felt his tail—with a mind of its own—smacking against one wall as it swished back and forth wildly.
When his right hand was healed again, he reached down and seized the grip of his Earth slug gun, what Ranaja had called a 'Glock 21', but did not draw the weapon.
If he shot at the cube from the inside, if his lead slugs didn't penetrate, then they would bounce uncontrollably and likely back at him. While he could certainly regenerate a random slug wound or two, if he happened to be hit in a more vital area, healing would cost him precious resources that he may not be able to replenish for quite some time...
His radio squelched.
"Hey, Gliath, good buddy. You're awake."
It was Ranaja's voice. Gliath drew in close to one wall and searched for his good friend again. He pulled the radio from its place on his armor harness and pressed the button to speak.
"Yes, Ranaja," he replied, his voice low and resonant in the enclosed space. "I cannot see you."
"I can see you," Ranaja replied. "I'm across the path and almost on the opposite end of this ring of cubes. I can only see you with zoom though, kitty cat."
Gliath turned to see the opposite curve of the farthest cubes. Now, he could barely see the shadowy form of a man standing in one far away.
"We have failed," Gliath said. "I have failed you, Ranaja. Is Jason Leaper 934 dead?"
"No, man," Ranaja replied with a chuckle. The leopardwere could hear the smile in his voice. "He got away. He's a clever fruking dude. The new guy rifted out right before the giant zapped him. You've been asleep for hours."
A female voice came in.
"Gliath is awake?" It was Morgana Soloster. "That's good. It's been a long time since you two fought the giant."
Then, that rough and tired voice of the stranger mercenary came through.
"So, how many more guys can come rescue you?" he asked, breaking down into a fit of choking coughs. Gliath recalled that the human's name was Callam Malax. His words were interrupted by quick gasping for breath. "Are we fucked? You just ... have one guy? One guy against the fucking—" He broke down into coughing fits again then his transmission cut out.
"There's still hope," Morgana said. "I'm ... I'm starting to have a harder time breathing, but..."
She trailed off.
"Yeah, there's still hope," Ranaja said. "Listen, Callam. If anyone can get us outta here, it's our friend Jason."
"Oh yeah?" Callam replied. "I didn't totally see—" He broke down into a sort of gasping fit, but continued his transmission until he was finished then went on. "I didn't see all of ... just lots of colors and lights. But now you're down one lycanthrope, and if your friend doesn't get here soon, we'll all gonna be deader than shit."
"He's not a lycanthrope," Riley said.
"I am a Krulax," Gliath said into his radio.
"Doesn't fucking matter," Callam said. "We're all gonna die ... of Carbon Dioxide poisoning in..." He trailed off, gasping for breath. "Goddamn, this is the worst ... fucking headache! I'm gonna choke on it in ... not long. Then you ... other humans. You're human, right?"
"Yeah," Riley said. "I've got a pretty bad headache myself and I've got extra air."
Everyone paused for a time. Gliath sat down.
"What's ... Carbon Dioxide?" Morgana asked. Her voice was weak.
Callam Malax laughed over the radio, pained and labored. "How can you...? How do you not know that, sweetheart? Aren't you guys ... planeswalkers? Don't you know ... basic science?"
There was a moment of silence then Ranaja came back.
"Cut the shet, Callam," he said. "Morgana came from a fruking dark ages world."
The dying mercenary laughed over the air again and Gliath wondered why he bothered to broadcast it. Didn't he have to intentionally press his radio's button to communicate?
After a fit of gasping and wheezing, Callam replied. "Well that's ... too bad. Guess ya made a poor choice, girl." He coughed a few times, gasped, then went on. "Carbon Dioxide ... a byproduct gas from our breathing. These cubes are fucking airtight, right? We're using ... we're using up the O2 and filling it full of ... well, you know. I won't ... I won't last much longer. You guys? Maybe ... twelve hours? Maybe less. More for your cat man I suppose..."
They were all quiet for a time.
Gliath contemplated his cube. It was indeed airtight. It had to be, based on the condensation all over the walls from his useless attempts to break through the mysterious material. He could feel the humidity from his own rage. He was warm.
This may be the place of his second death.
His first dea
th—back when he'd pledged his second life to Ranaja after being freed to live again—had at least been a warrior's death. During the invasion of Zatakoga, the enemy had not struck him down, but when the Nilmastridr shattered the building that scattered his unit, it was still a death in combat. As Gliath lay crushed under the rubble, moments from death when Ranaja had saved him with his cybernetic strength, he was at peace with his warrior spirit.
It is better to be crushed under tons of shattered stone than to die from one's poisonous leavings of breath...
It seemed that Gliath's second life—his time under the mercy of Ranaja—was coming to an end.
The leopardwere looked across the way toward Ranaja again and saw his friend standing. The duster coat made a broad shadow within his cube.
Perhaps there was still time. The human female would likely die first. Ranaja had his artificial lung, so would last longer than an unmodified human.
Jason Leaper 934 would either rescue them ... or he wouldn't.
The leopardwere's eyes were suddenly taken by the sight of the giant storming past. The black maelstrom followed him, swirling and dark and swallowing the air and the trees surrounding his cube. Gliath couldn't hear anything outside of the cube. The visage of the huge titan—tall and terrifying in his rage with his face twisted and darkness pooling around his blazing eyes—was a silent spectacle. The leopardwere couldn't even feel the quaking of the ground under the giant's purposeful feet. Vorealus's eyes glowed as if full of yellow fire. The necklace on his broad, blue chest pulsed and flared again and again like a heartbeat with bright, crimson light.
Gliath longed to launch himself at the giant, even if such a battle was hopeless. He would rather die by being obliterated by the 'broken god'—as Jason Leaper 934 had called him—than sit in his prison until he could no longer breathe. He yearned for the giant's mighty fist to smash him into the marble walkway and break all of Gliath's bones once again. He wanted Vorealus to pound him into the ground over and over until the Krulax was no more. He was certain that he might even cut the great giant once or twice with his Blessed Warblade before his ultimate demise...
