06 May: 11 days to Earth’s destruction

Sir. All attempts to establish contact with the svartalfar have failed. They slaughter our envoys on sight. We have been forced to conclude negotiations, with the overworlder race impossible, and recommend discontinuing this line of investigation. —Military report.

The next few days went by in a blur.

To my great relief, all the goods I ordered were delivered the next day, in full and without any surprises. After making sure I understood how all the equipment worked, and packing and storing away both Mum and my backpacks so we could leave at a moment’s notice, I dove into the Trials Infopedia and only ventured up for air when I needed to eat or attend to other needs.

I spent days learning about Overworld and its history. It seemed there were far more intelligent races on Overworld than the five who had created gates to Earth. The others were races whose Dominions were too far from wherever the Human Dominion had been founded, or who had played no part in assimilating Earth.

There was one bit of Overworld lore that caught my attention in particular. It was a reference to the Elders, the beings supposedly responsible for the creation of Overworld and the Trials themselves.

The gnomes called them dragons.

And from everything I could gather from the Trials Infopedia, the Overworld dragons bore a striking resemblance to the dragons of human folklore. Earth’s earliest dragon tales, I knew, dated back thousands of years.

It seemed impossible that the gnomes had been tinkering with human myths for that long. Were the Overworld dragons and Earth dragons one and the same? And if so, how could that be?

Answers to the mystery would not be easy to find on Overworld either, it seemed. According to the wiki, the Elders were long gone, vanished millennia ago. It was still an intriguing bit of lore, and one that quickened my interest in Overworld and its history.

Mum, to my great delight and secret relief, seemed as captivated by Overworld as I was. She dove into the Trials Infopedia with great relish. Every day, she seemed a trifle more confident, a touch steadier, and by the middle of the week, she appeared to have left her anxieties behind her.

My own studies of the Trials Infopedia advanced steadily, if slowly. By the end of the first day, I already knew that there was no way I would manage to internalise even half its information, not in the time available. Because of that, I was forced to prioritise.

Regardless, as the week advanced, my confidence grew. Assuming Mum and I managed a decent start, we could survive Overworld. I was sure of it.

But even as she and I stayed cooped up at home, things in the world outside went from bad to worse. Abductions by the evil overworlder civilisations, as I had come to think of the orcs, fiends, and svartalfar, continued unabated. Every day, there was a new story of another human taken prisoner, another home destroyed, or another military defeat.

And a few days into the week, news from our own scientists painted an even bleaker picture. In what seemed a coordinated release, researchers from around the world unveiled a flurry of papers whose data, to the dismay of many, supported Duskar’s predictions: the world was coming to an end.

Earth’s seismic and volcanic activity had spiked. It was so severe that geologists predicted, less than ten days from now, the world could expect to experience natural disasters on an unprecedented scale. Human scientists were unable to pinpoint the cause of the instability, but all agreed that some unknown force was manipulating the Earth’s core.

The news, understandably, sent shockwaves across the world, and hastened humanity’s exodus through the many overworlder gates scattered across the planet. Some did not even bother distinguishing between the overworlder races, and entered whichever gate was nearest.

The news, while disturbing, was not catastrophic.

It did not affect my timeline. Mum and I could still enter Overworld with time to spare. We planned on setting off for the elvish gate in two days, which by my calculations still left us four whole days to make the trip before Duskar’s ordained end of the world occurred. Four days, I felt, gave us a comfortable margin of security.

But a day before we were due to leave, as Mum and I were wrapping up our preparations, disaster struck.

✽✽✽

I was in my room, staring fixedly at my screen, and trying to ignore the glare of the morning sun peeking through my curtains, when Mum’s shout broke through my thoughts. “Jamie!”

“What is it, Ma?” I called, deep in the study of a particularly obtuse paragraph on the workings of dungeons in Overworld, and hesitant to leave my chair.

“It’s the gate, its opening!” she exclaimed.

“Oh?” I asked in a disinterested tone. “Again? How many orcs came through this time?” I added, thinking she was watching the news again.

There was a moment of shocked silence as Mum processed my response. “No, Jamie, not the one on the telly! The one in town!” she exclaimed.

What?! I bolted upright in my chair. I raced—well, quickly limped—to the lounge. Since its appearance, the portal in our town had never opened from the Overworld side, and everyone in the town had begun to think it never would. A few braver souls had entered its depths and not reappeared, evidence enough that the gate worked.

But no orcs had visited Earth through our town gate. Proof, the town gossips said proudly, that our town was too small for even the outworlders to bother with.

I stepped up to Mum’s stiff form at the window and peered outside. Most of the town was still asleep. But the few people out and about were running away from the gate. Captain Hicks’ troops were in turmoil too. Dashing for cover, they were unshouldering and readying their weapons. I swallowed nervously. All this activity seemed proof enough, but I searched on.

Then I saw them.

Beyond the frenetic militia, I spotted the orcs’ distinctive, green-skinned forms. My stomach clenched.

Why are they here?

But I already knew the answer. They were here to abduct someone. Whoever the unlucky individual was, there was little hope of resistance. In the countless abductions reported by the news over the last few days, there had been not a single mention of a failed attempt.

“Ma, keep watch. I’m going to grab the backpacks,” I yelled over the sounds of erupting gunfire as the militia engaged the orcs. “We leave now!” I turned towards the closet where I had stored our backpacks.

The town was no longer safe. I wished Captain Hicks and his men the best of luck, but they were doomed already and I wasn’t about to let me and Mum share their fate. We should have left when we had the chance. Damn it. I cursed the impulse that had caused me to delay.

“Jamie!” Mum’s bone-chilling cry of fear, like nothing I had ever heard before, made me swing around.

“Wha—?” The words died in my throat and my face drained of colour. Looming large outside our house were two of the green-skinned monsters.

The orcs were here.

“Quick, Ma,” I shouted. “Run—”

It was too late.

The door and the surrounding wall shattered, and two nine-foot-tall giants barged within. The first, an armoured brute with one chipped tusk who was wielding a hammer nearly as tall as I was, locked eyes onto my mum as he advanced.

I limped back into the lounge. Fumbling for the gun in my backpack, I forced myself in front of her. “Leave my—”

My useless words were cut short as a massive fist seized me and picked me up effortlessly. My legs dangled in the air as the orc raised me higher for inspection. The behemoth shoved his face in mine.

He is going to eat me! my mind screamed.

But the orc only took one long sniff before grunting dismissively and tossing me out the window. Frame and wooden bars shattered—no obstacle to my violent momentum.

I rolled to a stop on the front lawn in a heap of broken glass. Except for being dazed and battered, and sporting a host of stinging cuts, I was otherwise whole.

Thoughts frayed, I pushed myself upright on trembling limbs and saw that I lay at the feet of three more orcs. All of them observed my struggles in contemptuous silence. Based on the staff one of them bore, I knew him to be a magic user.

Mum shrieked.

No!

Orcs forgotten, I whipped my head around in time to see her small form sail through the same window that I had. My heart nearly stopped at the sight. But at the twitching of her crumpled form, I began to breathe again. She was alive.

I scooted over to make sure she was alright. Like me, though she was covered in cuts and bruises, she was whole.

Wood squealed again as the two armoured giants made another hole in our abused house on their way out. I threw myself protectively over my mum as the pair lumbered passed, but they ignored me and instead made for the line of waiting orcs.

My heart thudded in painful relief. But it was short-lived. Our straits were dire. This isn’t good, Jamie, not good at all. How are you going to save Mum? I had no answer.

“These two were the only humans inside, Shaman,” reported one of our captors, his voice barely more than a growl.

The shaman stroked his chin with one clawed hand—carefully manicured I noted inanely—and studied Mum for a silent second before flicking his gaze away from her to me.

His eyes narrowed. Pinned by his stare, I huddled down small while my mind worked frantically. A moment later, rocking back, the orc’s eyes widened in shock. “Impossible!” he exclaimed.

The other four orcs tensed and set cautious hands to weapons. “What is it, Shaman?” asked the brute to the shaman’s left. He was larger than his fellow warriors and his armour more elaborately decorated.

“His Magic Potential, Pack Leader. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before!”

“Hrnn,” grunted the pack leader in disinterest and relaxed from his alert posture.

“You don’t understand,” replied the shaman, outraged by his indifference. “The warlord himself will reward us for this!”

Not even that seemed to spark the pack leader’s interest. “What about the other one?” he asked, pointing with his axe at Mum. “Do you need her?”

The shaman flicked his hand dismissively. “No. Kill her.”

“What? No! Don’t!” I screamed, shielding Mum with my body. “I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt her!”

The pack leader ignored my words and advanced steadily forward. “Please, please—” I begged.

Rough hands grabbed me from behind and flung me away. I tumbled to a stop, face first in the grass.

“Careful with him, you fool! His hide is more valuable than yours!” the shaman shouted, berating the offending warrior.

“Jamie?” Mum’s bewildered cry was no more than a whisper, barely audible.

“Ma! I’m coming!” I yelled as I scrambled to my feet and spun around.

I was too late. An eternity too late.

The pack leader’s axe slashed into Mum. And out again. “No!” I shrieked, staggering forward. It can’t be. It isn’t real. Mum can’t be… But the sound of axe’s wet squelch as it struck unresisting flesh refuted my denial.

I dropped to my knees in time to her body’s own soft thud, and heard over and over again in my mind the sound of axe on flesh.

“What have I done?” I moaned. Arms wrapped around myself, I rocked mindlessly back and forth. Oh, Mum, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Why had we not left days ago? Why had I kept us here?

My head throbbed. Agony exploded behind my eyes. This can’t be real, I thought. I fled the pain. Fled myself, and watched—a spectator only—as the pack leader bent down over Mum.

Numb with disbelief, I was untroubled by the act. I kept my gaze fixed on Mum’s feet and her floral-patterned dress. It had been her favourite.

A single rivulet of crimson trickled down Mum.

I frowned, but did not let myself follow the disturbing line of red back to its source. I lacked the courage.

More streaks joined the first.

I blinked, still not understanding. But despite my denial, reality intruded. The rivers of red transformed into a tide and seeped into Mum’s once-pristine dress, marring it with ugly splotches.

It was blood. Her blood. I swallowed, unable to hold myself apart any longer. I looked up.

The pack leader was wiping his axe clean on Mum’s clothes.

Horror lashed at me, and my own vision turned red. In a haze of fury, I surged to my feet. Uncaring of the orcish warrior standing guard over me, I threw myself forward.

The orc reached for me, but I twisted away. Rage fuelled me as I charged the pack leader, intent on wreaking vengeance for the one person whose life mattered more than my own.

Another orc stepped in my way. I dodged, but failed to evade his grasp completely as his hands clutched at my shirt. With a mighty heave, I ripped free. Snarling, I resumed my charge, then staggered to halt as I caught sight of Mum’s corpse—headless.

Why hadn’t I noticed that before? I thought inanely.

Twisting my head, I searched frantically for the rest of her. Two feet away I spotted Mum’s severed head. I slumped to my knees, the life draining from me as I was transfixed by the frozen horror in her expression.

For as long as I live, I will never forget that: my last sight of my mum. Her eyes, opened unnaturally wide, stared sightlessly; her nostrils were flared wide in fear; and her mouth gaped open in a wordless scream of terror.

Oh, Ma.

Caving under the weight of my grief, I sagged listlessly and bent my head to the ground.

Mum was dead. She couldn’t be. But she was.

A heavy foot thudded down. On top of Mum’s head. The pack leader.

“Get up, you snivelling worm,” he snarled. Winding his foot back, and in an act as foul as it was sickening, the orc booted her away.

I lifted bloodless eyes to stare at the orc. Had he not desecrated Mum enough? Why heap further perversion on her?

This monster cannot be suffered to live, whispered the voice of cold hatred.

My rage reignited and all reason fled. Bounding to my feet, more animal than human, I leapt onto the shocked warrior, and clawed at his face.

Kill him. I will kill him, I vowed, seething with hate.

Blows thudded into me. I ignored them, feeling none of the pain. I raked my nails along the orc’s face and carved deep furrows into his skin.

“Gently, you fools!” the shaman screamed. “Don’t kill him!”

More blows landed, likewise unheeded. I had a singular purpose: to kill the green-skinned monster before me. Wrapping my legs firmly around the pack leader’s neck, I tightened my grip before digging my fingers deeper into his face.

The blows stopped. Yes! I exulted. He is mine now. I pushed harder, trying to gouge the orc’s eyes out even as his own tusks ate into me.

The shaman entered the fray, and something—not a blow—struck me from behind. My vision blurred. No! I wailed. I can’t die. Not yet. I must kill him.

But my will alone was insufficient to hold the darkness at bay, and consciousness fled.