SpeedRunner (Tower of Babel Book 1)

by Adam Elliott

  “Now, on your left, you will see an enormous golem that we are absolutely not going to be screwing around with." Shifty said in his best this is your captain speaking voice after several more minutes of unsteady progress. “If you'd like to enter the room feel free to do so, but keep in mind I will leave you to die if you aggro it.”

  “How close is too close?” Celia asked.

  “Keep out of arm's reach for sure.” Shifty chuckled, dropping the annoying affectation. “I wouldn't go further than halfway into the room, just to be careful.”

  Celia was the first into the room, with Cayden following close on her heels. After the close confines of the tunnel, even the oppressive atmosphere of the boss chamber felt like heaven.

  The room was circular, perhaps thirty feet across with a ceiling nearly to match. It needed such a height to accommodate the towering body of the four-legged construct that took up a sizable part of the room's far end. It was a quadruped, which surprised Cayden. Shifty had called it a golem, but the creature before him was in no way humanoid. It's metal surface gleamed eerily in the green light that washed over it, revealing a centaur-like body with four arms emerging from the torso. The hands hung at the monster's sides, each clasping a blade as tall as Cayden.

  “Damn.” Cayden murmured. “Skill Use: Observe.”

  He was linked to Shifty, which meant that all the information the Carnivalist had on the automaton was streamed through to him. Even still, the information displayed was as basic as could be:

  Runic Guardian

  Level 6 (Boss)

  HP: ????/????

  MP: ????/????

  TP: ????/????

  Skills: Unknown

  Resistances: Unknown

  Weaknesses: Unknown

  Cayden's breath caught in his throat. Runic Guardian. That meant...

  Cayden turned away from the construct, the light of his glowstick washing across the wall to his left, illuminating what he was now sure he would find there.

  Runes. Hundreds of them.

  “Okay, I don't think we're going to be messing with that.” Celia said with a laugh that suggested she had originally planned to try to bully Shifty into confronting the monster. She took a few moments to admire the terrible form of the construct, then turned back to the entrance. “Cayden, are you coming?”

  “Yeah. I... just a second okay?” He knew how he must look, the glow stick in his hand waving this way and that as he scanned the surface of the wall. It took a conscious effort to slow himself down, taking a more measured and casual approach as he lied. “I'm just taking some recordings of these.”

  “Of what?” Celia asked. “The runes?”

  “Yeah. Never know what you might learn.”

  The girl laughed at that, Shifty's snicker joining her from the tunnel. “Don't take this the wrong way Cayden, but better men than you have tried.”

  A wave of embarrassment rolled over him with shame quick on its heels. He wanted to shoot back a response, to tell them both that he might very well be the only person who could make sense of the runes. To say to them that all he needed was an hour or two in here to possibly double his vocabulary. He was angry at them for mocking him, annoyed at having to hide like this, and most of all furious over yet another missed opportunity.

  “Fine." He said, turning away from the wall with a deep, shuddering breath. Celia started to speak, but his fury must have been written plain across his face by the way the words died in her throat.

  Cayden made for the exit, his boots scraping echoes along the stone floor. His back ached as he once again hunched down to enter the tunnel, but something caught his eye before he could shamble his way inside. A single letter, just barely illuminated by the light of the glow stick. He stumbled back upon seeing it, fumbling for the glowstick to reveal the whole phrase before him.

  “The White Knight.” Cayden repeated.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Please don't.”

  The whimpered words were the only thing that let Cayden know he was awake. The only thing that let him know he existed.

  He was alone in darkness. It was stuffy and cramped. His arms reached forward, and to the side, fumbling with the smooth wooden surface in front of him. It moved, just a touch. His digits curled around an edge and tugged but again it hardly budged.

  “Please!” The desperate word was a plea now, stifled only by a harsh, feminine cry, a dull thud, and the sound of retreating footsteps.

  He needed to get out. He needed to see. He needed to help!

  Fingers were more frantic now, clawing along the edges until at last, they found purchase and the door began to move.

  Across from his hiding place, and Cayden knew he was hiding, he could see windows. Enormous floor to ceiling windows that made up the entire far wall of the expansive room. He was high up, but at a glance he couldn't tell how high, particularly with the warm sunlight assaulting eyes that had been too long in the dark.

  Where am I? He had time to think. Before he saw her.

  The woman was dead, Cayden was sure of it.

  She was on her face, her hair matted to one side of her head. A red halo ringed her motionless head, the stain on the plush rug expanding ever outward as the fabric struggled to absorb all the life that was flowing into its fibers.

  He turned away. Tears stung his eyes, and sudden weakness threatened to bring his legs out from under him entirely. This was wrong. He knew that. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

  Footsteps forestalled a panic attack. He was coming.

  Cayden slid back into the closet he'd emerged from. He couldn't fight. But he could watch. He could escape.

  Fear gripped his heart as the footsteps grew ever louder. Boots clicked off hardwood with methodical precision. Left-Right. Left-Right. The man was so close now that Cayden could feel him, even if the view through the slit of the closet door showed him nothing.

  An eternity passed while Cayden waited for him to arrive, an endless breath held in panic.

  It was strange to see a man act so casual after what he'd done. His footsteps were measured and patient, with none of the panic that filled Cayden, or the adrenaline that should have filled a murderer. He was methodical but disinterested. The act was boring to him, the transfer tedious. Cayden couldn't see his face. With his back to the sun, there was no face. Just a slim man cloaked in robes, his head hooded and his face concealed by shadow as he went about his work, moving the dead woman onto the tarp.

  He doesn't want to make a mess. The thought infuriated Cayden, but the fury was not enough to spur him into action. He watched, motionless, helpless, as the man rolled, lifted and dragged the still bleeding body onto the tarp, then began the arduous process of dragging the body back down the hall.

  Only when he was gone did Cayden realize his face was covered in tears.

  Now was his chance. Perhaps his only chance. The man would be looking for him soon; he knew that too. A man that driven? He would notice one of them was missing. He would come looking.

  The closet wouldn't save him.

  Cayden pushed the door ajar for the final time and turned his attention to the room. Was there anything he could use as a weapon? Would it matter? The man was bigger and stronger. He had a knife? But so what? He was human; his blood was as red as the pool that filled the room with the scent of copper.

  A bottle. That was what he needed. The bar wasn't far away, just a few steps, skirting the wet, sticky morass at the center of the room. 2009 Bryand Cabernet ought to put an expensive hole in the back of his head if swung hard enough.

  Taking up arms did little to quell Cayden's unease. This was all wrong, from the smear of blood across the window to the view outside it. Was it summer? What month was it? Everything felt fuzzy as he looked out towards the picturesque day taking place on the other side of the glass. It was better to focus on the horror, to concentrate on the now rather than the could have been.

  Tracing his path was easy.
Blood had trickled off the back of the sheet as the woman had been dragged down the hall. He hadn't entered either of the two bedrooms to the right, nor the bathroom on the left. Straight. Towards the dining room.

  He had to go. He knew he had to go now. But some part of him lingered, kneeling next to the blood, touching it with outstretched fingers. The man would pay for this. He'd die for this.

  His steps came quicker now as he made his way down the hallway. The man knew he was here; he had to know that. Speed would be his only ally. Speed to escape from this hell, or speed to send the man to his. He only had to cross the dining room, pass through the sitting room, and the door would await him. There were cameras in the elevator. Maybe even cameras in the hall. Someone would help him.

  Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he rounded the corner.

  His mind revolted at the sight. So many bodies. It was hard to tell how many since many of them were anything but whole. He tried counting left arms, got to twelve and vomited. He fell to the ground, shuddering in terror, in anguish and confusion. How had the man even had time to do this? Cayden knew there couldn't have been time. So many of them were alive such a short time ago.

  The scrape of soles against wood stopped all logical thought. Adrenaline competed with fear for control of his body. Fight, or flight?

  They were the same he realized. The man was standing by the door, silver gleaming in a bare hand covered with blood.

  “There you are.” His voice was... fuzzy. Like a voice heard underwater.

  “You don't have to do this." His own voice was no better. It was so shaky with terror that he couldn't even recognize it.

  “No. I don't." The man nodded. Only the bottom of his face could be seen beneath the hood, and even that was fuzzy and unclear.

  No other words needed to be spoken. Cayden knew there was no talking to the man. Silver flashed as the man closed on him, and Cayden's wine swung heavy. There was a resounding crack as the man crumpled to the floor and Cayden ran. He sprinted faster than he had ever run in his life, his body slamming into a door that didn't budge, then struggling with a lock that wouldn't move.

  Why wouldn't it move? He turned the latch and heard the lock thud home. He pushed and pulled, thrashing at the door. He turned the bolt again, but it still wouldn't budge. What was wrong with it? Why wouldn't it move?

  “You don't think I'd let you go so easily? Do you?”

  The man loomed behind him, and he felt small. The robed body cast a shadow over his own that silver knife dripping with red. It had been clean before, hadn't it? Cayden knew it had been clean.

  Blood spotted the left side of his white shirt, a growing trail that was already working its way down his side.

  He was dying. Cayden knew that. There was no pain, no feeling at all as he slumped back against the door, a bright streak of his existence trailing behind him as he sunk to the floor.

  The man made no move. He only stood there, watching Cayden as he bled. Watching the color begin to drain from his face. Cayden wanted to look up, to see the face one last time, though he knew what he would find there. But there was no energy inside of him, no power to do so much as lift his head. Only barely enough to speak.

  “Why?”

  The man seemed to ponder the word for a moment before he shrugged. "Who am I not to?"

  Tears joined the other fluid draining from Cayden now. For that reason, this man had killed them? He'd hurt so many? He wanted to scream, wanted to thrash and fight and kill if necessary. But he was growing tired, and above all of that, he wanted one thing. "I don't want to die."

  Cayden couldn't see it, but he knew the man was looking down at him as he spoke.

  “You won't. Not really.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  There were small rays of white in Cayden's blue eyes. How had he never noticed that until now?

  Then again, how much time did he spend looking into a mirror? Let alone stare into his own eyes with his nose mere inches from the glass. It wasn't the sort of thing one would notice if they devoted anything less than their total focus to the observation.

  Why am I staring at my own eyes? The thought sent a jolt through Cayden's body, enough to snap him out of whatever reverie had overtaken him. He shook his head twice, blinking in an attempt to clear out the mental cobwebs. It wasn't right, why was he looking at his own eyes? How did he end up here, face to face with his reflection?

  Where even was here?

  Cayden whirled, his faculties and memories streaming back to him. He'd been in the tunnels with Celia and Shifty. He'd been looking at the runes, and then...

  The White Knight

  Had he died? What was that, a dream? A memory? A panicked hand went to his flank but came away dry after striking nothing but the metal of his armor. The sound reverberated, echoing in what sounded like an enclosed space, though it was impossible to tell.

  Cayden was ringed on four sides by mirrors, their flat surfaces reflecting his baffled expression back to him in a number of different ways. The room was dimly lit from above, but the light seemed to vanish in the reflections as the mirrors doubled themselves off into eternity. There was no entrance or exit, no seems or smudges of any kind on the surfaces around him. What had happened to get him to this point?

  He snapped his fingers to draw up a menu, only to realize that he wasn't wearing his glasses. His mirror was gone as well, along with all connection to the outside world.

  “You came.”

  Cayden whirled as the words broke the silence, his hand reaching for a sword he quickly discovered was absent as well. Just as well, he never would have drawn the weapon.

  On the other end of the small room, just barely out of arm's reach stood a woman. She had her back to him and stood close enough to the mirror in front of her that Cayden could only catch little glimpses of her face.

  She was white. Not caucasian, but alabaster white. What little skin showed beneath the curved plates and soft leather of the armor that covered her diminutive frame positively glowed as the light struck it. The girl wasn't pale, or ashen, quite the contrary, she looked alive and vibrant, as if the sun should have been the one concerned about getting a tan when faced with her presence.

  Her hair was no different, its silken length trapped in a neat bun at the back of her head. A few wisps of rebellious hair were the only things to mar its perfection, though the more he gawked, the more he felt that they complimented it instead.

  The leather she wore, the shield across her back, even the metal of her armor held a similar brilliance. It should have been hard to look at something so bright, yet all he could do was stare.

  "You're different than what I expected. But then again. You aren't here, are you Cayden?"

  "I..." Cayden stammered. He could see a smile on pink lips, her smirk one of the only bits of color in her reflection. The sight of it stopped him cold, sent him struggling to grasp the very concept of language. He couldn't have answered her question, even if he understood it.

  Instead, he reached out for her, his gloved hand coming within an inch of her shoulder before reality flickered. She was gone, and he was once again staring at his reflection. But it was a reflection that held a secret. She was behind him, nearly back to back.

  He started to turn, then thought better of it. Perhaps this would be easier. “I don't even know where I am.”

  "You're where you need to be. Where I hope you will be." He hadn't realized it at first, but there was an echo behind her voice. Like a song sung in harmony. Her voice was beautiful even as the words it spoke felt heartbroken.

  “You are The White Knight.” Cayden stated matter-of-factly.

  “That is what it calls me, yes.”

  Cayden turned his head a few degrees to the right, just enough to catch sight of the woman's reflection.

  No, not a woman. A girl. The armored girl was no older, perhaps even a little younger than Cayden. Back to back, she stood barely to his shoulders. The smile was gone now, her expressio
n one of sadness as she stared at the ground.

  “How do I find you?” Cayden asked after a short pause, turning back to look straight ahead.

  “You'll know.”

  “Should I?” Cayden pried.

  The question seemed to strike a chord. The girl was silent save for the soft clinking of armor plates touching one another as she shifted from foot to foot. "I don't know." She said, at last, a soft sigh parting her lips. "I want you to, but..."

  “It is dangerous.” He finished for her. He didn't have to see her nod to know it was there.

  They stood in silence. For how long Cayden couldn't begin to guess. There were no clocks, no sun, no alarms or alerts. It could have been seconds; it could have been years that he stood there. He just listened to her breath, trying to slow the pace of his own to match it.

  “I'll find you.” He said at last. “Always wanted to rescue a damsel in distress.”

  This time it was her head that turned. Her slender neck arched just enough that he could catch a glimpse of her reflection in his peripheral vision, complete with a half-smile and upraised oh really eyebrows. “Do I look like a damsel?”

  “You don't look like anything I've ever seen.”

  "Good answer." The girl paused for a moment in an attempt to keep a straight face; then a musical giggle spilled from her lips. Even that was accompanied by a second voice playing across it in unison, though soon enough a third joined in as her mirth overwhelmed him.

  Their laughter echoed through the chamber as each delighted in the release of built up tension. It was a short-lived reprieve, the laughter eventually giving way to cold reality as they both looked to their reflections once more.

  “It is almost time.” She whispered.

  “Time for what?”

  “Time for you to go.”

  Cayden frowned. “I will find you.”

  He was never more sure of anything in his life.

  “I believe you.” The girl replied, taking a few steps forward, away from him. One last attempt at dry humor filled her voices as she added. “It isn't like I have anywhere to go.”