—Chapter 4—

—Dread Nexus—

The blindfolded man smiled wide—his teeth brilliant. Was he a news anchor?

“Remember, my faithful viewers, if you are going to be insubordinate, make sure to do so in front of the cameras! The punishments for interference this year will be extreme, but that makes for damn good entertainment!”

The blindfolded man laughed and then yanked on his shackles. He… couldn’t seem to free himself. His raw skin bled a bit, but the news reporter hid the damage by tugging his sleeves over his wrists.

Kellan slumped onto the couch, rapt by the broadcast. Was this some sort of PTSD-fueled dream? What did it say about his mental state? Or perhaps he was beyond help now…

“This week’s forecast is filled with rain,” the anchor said. He brought a manacled hand up to his blindfold and stroked just over an eye socket, a splotch of crimson ever-growing beneath his fingertips. “Finding a place of shelter is recommended, especially considering that, from what I’ve seen, this Conflux will be very… exciting.”

Again, the man laughed, this time even throwing his head back as he did so.

Kellan grabbed his remote and switched the channel, curiosity driving his actions.

The first few stations were white static, but the third had loud music and whimsical colors. Kellan stopped switching and focused on the show in front of him. A group of children, vagabonds in appearance with ratty brown clothes and dirty faces, sat in a semi-circle around a fully grown man dressed as a clown.

The clown’s clothing, just as strange as the news anchor’s, consisted of a yellow and red jumpsuit with wide frills and fingerless gloves. He hopped about, dancing to the children’s clapping, and then disappeared off the side of the screen.

The clown returned with a four-foot-tall purple teddy bear. He flung the bear into the center of the semi-circle of children—the thing landed with a heavy thump—and he handed each child a plank of wood or baseball bat.

The children shrieked with delight, jumped to their feet, and whaled on the teddy bear with all their might. They screamed outsider, outsider with each swing, relentless in their brutality.

At first, Kellan thought the bear inanimate, but amidst the thrashing, he could have sworn the bear lifted its arms in defense, shielding its bear-head, and silently cowering from the blows. The bear “suit” was too small for an adult…

Kellan switched off the television.

He had seen enough.

The programming left him feeling uneasy. With a tightness in his chest, he pushed off the couch and shuffled through the apartment.

“The hell is going on?” Kellan whispered to himself.

Scratching at the door drew his attention.

Kellan readied his gun, lunged for the handle, and then threw open the door. Fog rolled over the streets, the pavement cracked and broken. The morning light, red because of the ominous fog, barely illuminated anything.

A dog stood at the door, its tail tucking between its legs. It whined and backed away a few steps.

Had it been the one scratching at the door?

Kellan stepped forward.

The dog bared its teeth and scrambled backward.

Kellan held his gun close, his breath slowing as he took in information. The dog’s teats hung low and swollen, milk dripping onto the pavement. Its golden fur was riddled with mange and its gums bled. The pathetic animal shook from malnourishment, its eyes wide in fright.

The dog had recently given birth.

She had puppies somewhere nearby.

“Were you the one knocking?” Kellan quipped, his anxiety never truly leaving him. “Now isn’t a good time.”

The dog offered a growl in response.

Kellan shifted back into his home. His fridge had nothing but beer, but one of the cabinets had some leftover beef jerky. He grabbed the bag and returned to the front door. The dog stared at him with wide eyes. Kellan threw the jerky onto the ground.

“There ya go,” he muttered. “At least one of us won’t be miserable, right?”

The dog—a golden retriever—devoured the meat. She went from piece to piece, her tail wagging. Kellan carefully stepped forward and then knelt. He stroked her head, trying to reassure her with gentle whispers, careful not to touch the raw and hairless areas near her ears. The dog didn’t protest the gesture.

Once the dog had finished her meal, she turned and trotted off.

Kellan stood and then tensed. Dread took hold of him as the dog’s silhouette faded in the fog. He didn’t want to be alone, and an irrational part of him thought that if he lost sight of the dog, she might disappear forever. Despite knowing his actions were against protocol, he jogged after the animal.

The mother dog perked her ears up at his company.

Newspapers swirled around Kellan’s feet. He bent down and snatched up a small scrap. The article was written in logograms—characters that represented whole words and phrases—common for Asian languages. Kellan recognized a handful of the Chinese hanzi, at least the simple ones he had taught himself on the side. He regretted not learning more, if only because the pictures next to the article showcased odd pieces of machinery that made no sense out of context.

Kellan grabbed another piece of newspaper. Again, the writing was in Chinese. Why? Fayetteville had never had a substantial Chinese immigrant population. He glanced up at a street sign as he walked by. It had large white hanzi characters scrawled across the standard government green.

He turned his attention to the apartment buildings and took note of their ramshackle condition. Walls sat busted and in disrepair. Windows were boarded up. Some walls were just… free standing. The roof and other three walls had been knocked down.

No one lived in the complex. Or if they did, their presence remained hidden.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Kellan quipped.

The dog looked over and tilted her head.

Kellan let out a single laugh. “Ya know, Scrooge got three ghosts and Susan met Santa Claus. Where’s my Christmas miracle, huh? I’d settle for anything other than dystopian Christmas teaches man to appreciate modern amenities. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

The dog continued on her way.

Kellan followed closely, shaking his head. Here I am talking to a dog, he thought. A dog that’s most likely in my own head.

The dog barked, and Kellan jumped for cover without a second thought. He slammed his back against a nearby crumbled wall, his gun readied and close to his chest. The wall, unsupported by a building or roof, acted as the perfect cover. Kellan glanced around, catching sight of the dog. He followed her gaze.

The hum of power cut through the fog.

Kellan stared in horror as a sphere of metal machinery hovered up the street, physically parting the water molecules by taking in air and ejecting it out the sides in its apparent ability to stay afloat midair. Radio antennas sprouted from the top of the metal sphere like spines, and four thick electrical cords hung limply from its underbelly—an underbelly painted with a thick black substance that contrasted harshly with the clean silver found everywhere else.

The machine-sphere was roughly the size of a motorcycle, completely suspended in the air, its electrical cords almost four-feet in length.

A single camera “eye” swiveled in front, stopping only once it “caught sight of” the dog.

When Kellan stared, another box appeared in his vision—words on the surface of his eyes.

Personal Ability—Blitzkrieg Analysis

The mage has keen sight and can comprehend visual information faster than others.

The mage can see basic details of other magical beings and objects upon first glance without the need to spend mana.

Kellan rubbed at his face and then stared again. This time, he saw words and numbers around the ball of machinery, like a reticle on his eye had homed in on the object.

Name: Pestbyter #32

Race: Semi-Sentient Construct

Magics: Metal, Eclipse

Rank: Incapable

Armor Rating: 5

Health: 20

Stats: Concealed

Abilities: Concealed

“Hello,” the ball of machinery—the Pestbyter—said to the dog. The machine’s voice, singsong in tone, sounded like a young girl with joy in her life, but it dragged on a fraction of a second too long, betraying its artificial nature. “Who are you?”

The mother dog barked again. And again. She ran to a nearby pile of trash, standing over it and growling with the ferocity only a mother could exhibit.

“Stand down while scanning commences,” the Pestbyter said.

A red wave of light swept the area up and down. Kellan pulled back behind the wall, avoiding what appeared to be LED lights scouring the nearby broken building. He didn’t know if the machine had the ability to detect heat or movement, or how well it detected sound, but he knew now wasn’t the time to get caught.

Did the machine have weird sight like he did? Could the machine see numbers and damage and health?

He needed more information—and he needed it fast.

Kellan waited, focused on observing the science-fiction monster hovering over the dog.

“You are not authorized to be here. As punishment, your belongings will be given to the Arbiter.”

One cord hanging from the machine tensed with life and stabbed down at the dog, piercing her head through the eye in one violent motion. The dog twitched and stumbled over, a whine escaping her throat in a long, drawn out, breath.

The Pestbyter’s other cords shot into the belly of the dog, ripping open her stomach and gathering up organs. The machine-sphere plucked each one at a time, ripping membranes from flesh in quick and efficient movements. A compartment opened on the underbelly of the sphere, and the Pestbyter stuffed each harvested organ deep within its motorcycle-sized body. The blood that splashed on its metal frame added a new coating of “paint” to the black that lingered.

Once done with the dog’s body, the Pestbyter scooped up the puppies hidden in the trash and shoved them deep within its metal confines as well.

The puppies whined and barked…

But no one came.

Kellan shifted in place, his body itching, and his willpower divided with all the new information he had taken in. He accidentally scraped his boots across a broken piece of cinderblock.

“Who’s there?” The Pestbyter swiveled in air, its camera-eye zooming and focusing.

Kellan froze.

“Please reveal yourself,” the Pestbyter said, its synthesized tone “sweeter” than before. “I won’t hurt you.”

Kellan knew bullshit when he heard it.

The hum of the Pestbyter hovering remained an ever constant in the otherwise silent atmosphere. The sphere didn’t move, it just remained floating on the other side of the street. Kellan held his breath. At the end of a five-minute standoff, the machine-sphere turned away, floating through the fog, seemingly having given up on anyone revealing themselves.

Kellan rubbed his eyes. They weren’t giving him any more information.

The Pestbyter didn’t search, nor did it detect him when he sat only thirty feet away behind a plaster wall. The machine might as well have been a man in terms of capability, and Kellan knew how to deal with men.

He jumped to his feet, but he didn’t know where to go.

How many of these Pestbyters were in the area? Who controlled them? Who had made them? What was their purpose? Who was authorized to be in the area and why was he here? Kellan heard his commanding officer’s words ringing in his ears. Know yourself. Know your enemy. Know victory.

The dog gave birth and nursed her pups for a few hours at the very minimum, he reasoned. Which means if the machine is patrolling the area, it isn’t doing so often, or else it would’ve caught the dog long before now. I can probably move around without getting caught… At least for a few hours.

As the sun made its long march into the sky, the fog dissipated.

Kellan turned his gaze upward, looking for anything he could climb to get a better view of the surrounding territory. He spotted a two-story building—a rundown gym with a fire escape ladder mounted to the masonry—and made his way over to it, slinking between rubble and decimated buildings. Shoving his gun in the waistband of his jeans, Kellan mounted a nearby fire escape ladder and yanked himself up.

Kellan leapt onto the gravel of the roof and instantly lost track of his previous thoughts.

The last of the fog cleared with the heat of the sun, revealing the world around him all the way to the horizon. Kellan stepped to the edge of the building, his eyes locked on the sight of Fayetteville.

Well…

Not really.

It was Fayetteville… if Fayetteville had absorbed both LA and New York City into its metropolitan area. The sprawling cityscape breathed the smoke of industry into the sky, blotting out most of the light. Skyscrapers—hundred-story skyscrapers unheard of in Fayetteville—dominated the skyline.

Kellan glanced up farther, his mind almost unable to take in everything all at once.

Zeppelin-style airships hovered overhead, red lights blinking at either end. More perplexing were the floating islands they were tethered to—chunks of rocks with buildings, trees, and grass suspended in air without any apparent machinery or technology to explain the phenomenon. The islands, large enough to be aircraft carriers, cast long shadows over the buildings far below.

The sky’s wicked shade of red persisted past the dawn, no doubt the result of the lingering smog and pollution.

“I see my puppets failed,” a voice from behind said.

Startled and already tense, Kellan drew his handgun and whipped around, inches from firing. He jerked his firearm to the side the moment he spotted the speaker.

A little boy, age ten at the most, stood at the other end of the roof. Had he been there the entire time? Kellan had been too preoccupied with the sight of the city—he hadn’t investigated the roof before turning away from it—a rookie mistake. I should’ve looked. I should’ve kept careful track of my surroundings.

Kellan’s eyes flashed with the same reticle that had appeared with the Pestbyter. This time, it focused in on the child.

Name: Sun Sen the Puppetmaster

Race: Human

Magics: Mind, Body, Soul

Rank: Concealed

Armor Rating: ---

Health: 6

Stats: Concealed

Abilities: Concealed

Kellan rubbed at his eyes, trying to shake away the images. They faded after a moment.

The Asian boy wore a long, sleek black robe meant for an adult, the bottom crumpled in a pile at his feet, but the neck—a turtleneck—fit snugly up to his chin. He lifted the bottom of his robes like a duchess lifted her dress and then crossed the roof in no real hurry.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he continued with a sneer. “But I thought you would’ve at least been incapacitated.”

The actions of the Pestbyter and the people on the television left Kellan wary. He kept his hands on his weapon and took a step back when the boy drew close. “Hello,” Kellan drawled. “Where’s your mother?”

“Hmpf!” the boy grunted with a huff. “What a patronizing thing to ask. Where is your mother?”

Kellan smirked. “You’re a little precocious, aren’t you?”

The boy swished his long, black hair back over his shoulder. His heritage was undeniable, but his eyes, dark and discerning, flickered with something more when catching the light. He looked Kellan up and down, his gaze lingering in a way no child should.

“What’re you doing still holding that?” the boy asked, motioning to the gun. “We both know you won’t shoot a child.”

Taken aback, Kellan gripped the handgun tighter. He narrowed his eyes. “You know what’s going on here?”

“Of course.”

“Then start explaining.”

The boy let go of the bottom of his robes, allowing them to once again pool again at his feet. Then he held his arms wide. He cleared his throat. “Welcome to the Dread Nexus, where every reality meets! Every outcome and possibility, be it high-tech, war torn, or prosperous. Every reality you could ever fathom, and the ones you can’t—realities with magic, sorcerers, AIs, and witches—every reality converges here and forms this world.”

Kellan waited and absorbed the information at a slow rate.

Was any of this real?

Did it matter? He needed the information. Whatever this was, he would have to report it all. Whenever he made it home.

The boy continued, “Enchantment and technology meet for mayhem and harmony. Those born here are natives, those who come here—people like us, people from other realities—are outsiders.”

Kellan stole a glance back at the massive cityscape. Despite the distance, he could see the signs of poverty and extreme industrialization. And his thoughts returned to the machine-sphere that had eaten the dog…

This can’t be real. It just can’t be.

“Let’s say… I believe you,” Kellan said with a soft chuckle. “And let’s say this is every reality ever. Shouldn’t this place be nicer? Where are all the prosperous realities?”

“They’re here.”

“Help me out then. I don’t see them.”

The boy stared up at Kellan with a harsh edge of seriousness. “Imagine the converging of realities is similar to mixing paints. You use whites, greens, blues—those are the prosperous colors—the prosperous realities. Then you also use browns, grays, and yellows—those are the unprosperous colors, representing the unprosperous realities. Then you stir them all together on your canvas. Do you know what happens then?”

“I’m no painter.”

The boy smiled. “They turn black.”