A Prison of Worlds (The Chained Worlds Chronicles Book 1)

by Daniel Ruth

  A Prison of Worlds

  Book One of the Chained World Chronicles

  By Daniel Ruth

  Dedication

  To the three wonderful women in my life, Wendy, Krystal and Amberlyn

  A Prison of Worlds

  Book One of the Chained Worlds Chronicles

  Copyright © 2014 by Daniel Ruth

  All Rights Reserved

  ASIN: B00R9ZBF62

  Revision 4

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 1

  The huge scaled claw grasped me around the waist and bore down. At this exertion, the last feeble energies that made up my shield collapsed and the sharp digits, each at least a half foot wide, slowly began to sink into my hide. It was excruciating and added more to the panic and terror erupting within me.

  I had already summoned my barrier several times throughout the battle, only to have this forty-foot-long, scaly brute seemingly, almost lazily wear it down and then sink his fangs or claws in my flesh. At this point I was tapped out. Exhausted of all my resources, I beat on my captor’s grasping hand with all my remaining strength. My arms spun like scythes, restricted from full strength by the positioning of the hand grasping me, but still respectable in my own eyes. Bruises and shallow cuts formed and healed almost immediately. Damn dragon regeneration. Of course, my own similar regeneration was the only reason I was still alive.

  Through my adrenaline and fear, I was overjoyed not to feel the claws sink into my body inch by inch. I had blocked the pain from my wounds at the start of the battle and I really couldn't decide whether to curse myself or not; it also meant I had exhausted my energy reserves a tiny bit sooner. A small part of me idly decided I was glad. If this thing was going to kill me, and it really looked like it wasn't avoidable, I could at least try to keep what was left of my pride and dignity by not screaming like a piglet.

  Out of psionic tricks, I tried one last ace in the hole and fuzzily willed my body to make the transition from the scaly form I wore to a formless cloud of mist. I saw a movement from the corner of my eye and then the universe went black.

  I think I was conscious for a minute or so before I actually realized it. The world seemed surreal, the gigantic leering dragon face hovered over me like one of the old time derelict human construction cranes I ran across in one of the city ruins. So absurdly huge, I felt I had been shrunk to the size of a mouse for a moment. As things came more into focus, I noticed the incredible pain in my head and some red liquid pouring into my eyes and over my body... and of course the ever present spears of pain piercing my side.

  A low rumbling reverberated around me and it took me a moment to realize that the dragon was speaking to me. “Finally awake? I was afraid I broke you prematurely.”

  I really wanted to say something sarcastic and witty, but it was all I could do to keep my eyes focused on that huge face. In fact, the creature was even larger than I remembered it being during the battle. My muddled brain tried to grasp this oddity. Did he use some sort of spell to grow? Why would he? He had already won.

  It suddenly dawned on me. My skin was pink; well, what I could see of it under the blood. I was in my human form. Now I was really confused. I definitely did not remember changing into anything. The last thing I remembered was being sucker punched while I was planning my escape as a cloud of animated gas. There was absolutely no human form involved in my plan.

  “I see you noticed your new condition, my little trespasser,” the dragon stated in his rumbling gravel tone.

  “Huh,” I angrily mumbled through a jaw I could swear was broken. Even when you heal as fast as I do, see if you can come up with something smart to say when you feel like your head, sides, and chest are going to explode or burn up respectively. Honestly, I have been hit with fusion grenades and walked away feeling better.

  “Your companions were merely human, so I simply eliminated them. I expect no more or less from vermin.” The giant paused in thought. “You, however, are another issue. You are from a branch that I thought had died off, but still, a dragon is a dragon.” The creature’s next pause was filled with menace. “A dragon should know better than to trespass on another's territory, even a hatchling such as yourself.”

  “Hrphhgr.” I filled the pause with my broken jawed wit. Okay, even I didn't know what I had tried to say.

  “I have been experimenting with the older magics, from the time of the birth of our race. Lesser beings tend to explode when you apply them, but you... you came at a good time. I think these won't kill you,” he stated gravely while his other massive hand came into my view and painfully poked my chest. “But they will expand my understanding of how they interact on ... well... you, and help keep you out of my home.”

  Looking down to my chest where the dragon was tapping, I suddenly realized there were new symbols etched there. Marks emblazoned and appearing like red tainted scars. The two new symbols on my chest were not my work; however, looking at them I instinctively knew what they were. One was the symbol for ‘human’ and the other was the symbol for ‘anchor’.

  A slow surge of panic percolated through my numb brain. I had no idea what language these were in, but I had an instinctive knowledge of numerous things, many of them mystical in nature, and somehow I knew what these meant. And somehow, deep down I knew I was screwed.

  “Yes. I see you understand.” A rictus grin stretched across the thing's face as it realized I knew what he had done. “No more changing shapes for you. You came to my home as a human and now you'll stay as a human as you leave.”

  He still had one hand wrapped around my waist and his claws embedded deep in my body. This filled my attention as he stood up straight, and I jerked up in the air like I was a marionette, or more aptly, a hooked fish. It elicited a low moan. The motion hurt quite a bit. Damn, guess that technique I used to banish pain had worn off while Mr. Evil had been at work; we hadn't been formally introduced so that was how I thought of the creature.

  He turned away from me, and my panicked eyes feverishly darted over the area we were in. We were in a clearing and there was no sign of the fight, nor thankfully the remains of my friends. That would have hurt more than this guy’s talons in my gut. What did catch my attention was a rather large circle chiseled into the ground. My handy instinctive knowledge triggered and I knew that the circle was meant to open a dimensional portal. Once I realized this, I spread out my senses and realized that we were smack dab in the middle of two ley lines crossing, a point of enhanced power and incidentally a weak point in the fabric of reality. I was starting to get a bad feeling for what this guy’s plan was.

  “When I get back I am going to rip your guts out and feed them to the demons,” I finally spit out as my jaw healed enough for me to garble out. There were always demons slipping through the rents and tears of our battered world. Might as well get some use out of the horrid things.

  I think he understood because his other hand came out in a blur and broke my jaw again. Did I mention I am a moron?

  “You are really exceptionally powerful for one so young. It is unfortunate y
ou had to try your hand against me.” I could almost hear mirth in his voice underneath his natural malevolence. “You will find that I am likely to be the most powerful dragon you'll ever know, at least until I send you to meet the dark dragon god.” I had kinda figured that out. We are hugely territorial, but I had met a few others... briefly. Mr. Evil was in his own class. He must have been at least ten millennia older than anyone I knew of.

  I am not really up on the nuances of various world religions, but I would have to be raised in a box not to understand his reference to the patron god of evil dragons. I think he was promising to kill me. I suppose this was only fair since I had just threatened something similar, if more graphic.

  “By the way, you will be staying exactly where I send you until I come to see the results of this little test. The second rune will ensure this.”

  My eyes went a little wide at this. Rune magic was a very powerful lost art that was said to be forbidden to learn. I guess being a bad ass ancient dragon makes you fearless in certain areas. As Mr. Evil was gloating, he reached the circle and began the process of activation.

  I stared hard at the circle while he absentmindedly waved me around in the air. I couldn't draw this circle, or any other, but part of the hereditary knowledge that allowed me to know what it was also told me that the specific squiggle there was the place you put the coordinates that controlled where this thing went, and more importantly, where you were in relationship to it. I rallied my wavering concentration to impress this information on my brain. If that old lizard was right then I wouldn't be able to use my own powers to teleport back. I would have to do it the hard way.

  I think that Mr. Evil got tired of me wriggling around. Admittedly, he was about three times stronger than me and way healthier, but I like to think I was strong enough to distract him from the more complex magics involved in creating a portal. I even tried to bite his hand, but human necks turn out to be pretty inflexible. One moment I was upright craning my neck towards his talons and the next I had been flipped upside down and I was seeing the ground race towards me.

  I woke up covered in sweat and engulfed in almost complete darkness. That's okay, I see in complete darkness, but the trip hammer of my heart and the laborious breathing was definitely not normal. Or at least it hadn't been before an ancient creature killed all my friends, trapped me in human form, and then exiled me to another dimension. I guess that's what growing up is all about.

  Without turning on the light, I looked at the barely luminescent clock and noted that I had gotten two hours of sleep. Not comfortable but plenty for me. Sighing, I trudged to the kitchen and got out a roasted ham I had bought from the store and stuck in the cooler for later. Precooked, it really does taste better in human form that way. Who knew?

  Slowly the sweat on my skin evaporated and the energetic heartbeat slackened as my body realized it wasn’t about to die. I was too young for this crap. At my age I should still be mindlessly throwing myself into stupidly dangerous situations, not waking up in the middle of the night scared of some scaly boogieman.

  I walked back to the study and used a trickle of mental energy to lift one of the books from the pitiful remaining stack of less than twenty ragged hardcovers leaning up against the wall. They varied in age and condition from the newly printed synthetic nupaper to the old yellowed and barely legible acid stained paper of bygone ages. There was a slew of furniture options to choose from in the cozy room, but I slouched into my favorite overstuffed faux leather chair. My hands were still greasy from dead pig, so as I finished off the last bit of meat and licked the juices off my hands, I levitated the book, moving it in front of me and read. I flipped through the pages rapidly, my eyes scanning the page in a second before moving to the next one.

  This massive tome was a more recent copy of a copy. After about 20 minutes, I felt a mild throbbing as the concentration I was investing in the levitation and memorization of the book started to wear on me. I was tempted to just ignore it and continue, but memories bubbled up where injudicious overuse of even minor abilities had caused my resources to run dry at critical points. Grunting in slight dismay, I floated a towel from the kitchen to me and wiped my hands clean while allowing the book to fall lifelessly into my grasp.

  I know bibliophiles that would kill me for touching a book without thoroughly washing my hands, but I was too dispirited to worry. The book I was reading was what this world had to supply regarding magic. It was written by a quack. A really verbose quack with diarrhea of the mouth, or quill in this case. When one of my kind are born we get a lot of baggage and a cornucopia of gifts. We inherit the general memories of our forefathers and some truly staggering physical gifts. That’s not to say that I remember what my father ate fifty years ago on a Tuesday, but I get a seed of their skills. I know how to make a pie, add, subtract and multiply, whack people with some basic skill with a sword and even know Ohm's Law for electric circuits. My parents must have been true Renaissance people. I can't say I am an expert at any of these things, but with a little practice these seeds can grow more rapidly than you'd expect.

  The skill I most value from my inheritance is knowing what to do with my psychic power. All of my kind, and in fact all of our breeds, have it bubbling up inside us, much like our magic. Most don't do much more with it than toss around balls of energy, form a sword, or move furniture around. Basically, flashy parlor tricks.

  Someone in my ancestral line must have been a true pioneer because once I started to actively develop my skills, I found entire repertoires opening up from my hard work and meditation. Not to boast too much, but I haven't met anyone better and may never unless I ever actually meet my ancestors. Moreover, I truly enjoyed exploring the powers of the mind, delving into the sleeping potentials and teasing them out, working with it until it blossoms into a true gift. That’s what psionics are to me and I love them. This actually is more than a little odd for one of my kind of any age, since to be honest, we relate more to magic. Heck, in so many ways we are magic. I still had my instinctive knowledge of magic and that was once more than enough. I took to my budding memories of my psychic potential like a duck to water and never looked back. Until I got exiled here.

  Nowadays the love of my life isn't all that helpful. Psionics are great for mind over matter, controlling minds, healing, short distance teleportation, and many other tricks, but I have yet to see a psionic bridge the dimensions with the power of his mind alone. For that, you need magic. Even my digging into my ancestral memories didn't hint at future skills in this direction. My inherent ability to move between the gaps between the dimensions had been stifled by whatever rune the ancient dragon had placed on my chest, and my only hope to get back or even leave this dimension was to learn magic myself or find a friendly mage.

  The problem I was having was that as far as I could tell this dimension didn't know squat about magic. The place that I had called home before I got stuck here was what this world would consider a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The particular town I came from was a little stunted when it came to science; however, it was crawling with magic users of a multitude of varieties. In that tiny corner of the scorched earth, the people and whatever assorted riffraff that had fallen through the cracks in reality had rediscovered magic and used it to pick up civilization by its bootstraps and trudge onward.

  I looked once more at the book in disgust. Here everything I had found was cloaked in religious nonsense and generally useless. I had avoided magic in my old home for the most part, but the part of me that made my race what we are just knew what was real magic and what was fiction. I was tempted to throw the book to the ground but lacked the emotional energy. I simply sighed, and dropped it back to the reject pile and pulled another from the larger stack. Tomorrow I would go to the antiquities bookstore on my way about the city and give these away. Books were rare enough in this new world that I would feel guilty to remove one from existence. Even if it was just a piece of crap.

  I was just settling down for another long read w
hen a pounding came from my front door. Dropping the book on a nearby table and getting up from the comfortable overstuffed chair I had situated myself in, I trudged to the door and opened it. Squinting a little at the rising sun, I looked at my visitor and was a little surprised to see a thin, twenty-something young man with mousy brown hair peering down at me from a few inches of advantage, swaying on his feet and looking like he was about to collapse any minute.

  Frowning in concern, I moved forward to support him and led him into my home, noting in passing that he was dripping blood on my carpet. Oh well, I keep all my nice things in my other apartment. I kept telling myself that as I avoided looking at my carpet being ruined.

  “Jeremy... I wish you' be more careful.” I shook my head sadly. I had Jeremy on an ongoing contract. In my opinion, he was the best private eye in the city, and he liked dressing the part. He wore an old baggy trench coat and a wrinkled off-white dress shirt. Unfortunately, he had a bad habit of playing the hero; I think his clothes were in better shape than he was. He was also a good friend despite his lack of fashion sense.

  “Hey, the job’s dangerous, jealous boyfriends and all that.” He gave a small breathy laugh that quickly turned into a groan. “Sorry to wake you.”

  By this time we had reached the kitchen, the hardwood floor guaranteed that no more of my rug would be damaged, and I casually tore the coat he was wearing off to expose a bloody gunshot wound. A slight resistance told me it was actually an armored cloth. Probably resistant to heat and stiffened on impact to dissipate kinetic energy. It was likely why he was still alive and not spending the night being resuscitated in the local hospital.

  “Hey, that was my favorite coat,” Jeremy jokingly whined. It looked out of place on his six-foot-four wiry frame and rugged features. How he got here with that wound boggled my mind; it's not as if we're close neighbors. He lived at the edge of the bad part of town, nicknamed the Blight by those that knew of it and couldn't avoid thinking about it, whereas this house was in a middle class suburban area of Arch. “Turn on the damn light. It feels like a tomb in here.”