—Chapter 5—

—Tyranny Worms—

Kellan glanced back at the cityscape, his mind reeling as he grappled with his thoughts. Everything had happened so fast—what was real and what wasn’t? Could everything be a dream? Was it just a series of hallucinations brought about by stress?

The smell of smog and industry burned his nose.

It all seemed real. And if it was, what were his plans?

“Why can I see things on my eyeballs?” Kellan asked. “What’s with the boxes of information?”

“I told you,” the boy replied, rolling his eyes. “This is all realities. Unlike yours, most realities operate with more concrete rules to their universe. The magic stems from numbers, because numbers make up everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re made of cells. A certain number of them. And they’re made of atoms. Finite numbers of atoms. Even atoms have atomic numbers.” The boy crossed his arms and shook his head. “Listen, I don’t have all day to discuss this. Let’s just say—you have magic now. And magic is a little more precise than you might think.”

This was all an unknown.

During Kellan’s advanced training, his CO had stressed the need to gather intel in unknown situations. He had drilled it into Kellan’s head so deeply they had a mnemonic: SALUTE.

Size. Discover the strength of the enemy forces.

Activity. Discover the goals of the enemy forces.

Location. Map out the territory controlled by the enemy forces.

Unit. Discover the average team configuration of enemy forces.

Time. Determine the timeframe the enemy forces are operating under.

Equipment. Discover the types of maps, sensors, and surveillance tech the enemy forces use.

Then again, if he were trapped behind enemy lines, his CO had stressed another mnemonic: SERE.

Survival.

Evasion.

Resistance.

Escape.

The basic steps to return home. And as far as Kellan was concerned, this new “black paint” dimension was filled with enemy forces, which meant he was in enemy territory. SERE would be his priority, and SALUTE would be his secondary objective. If this dimension was the size of Earth, then no location was safe. He needed to find a way out of here—to whatever paint color he had originated from—and leave all of this behind.

Kellan lowered his gun and exhaled.

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” the boy said with a smirk. “I knew I chose the right man.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Kellan rubbed his temple, remembering the name Sun Sen that had appeared with the “basic” information. “Apparently, you know me, but last I checked, I’m not friends with many kindergarteners.”

“You may call me Sun Sen the Puppetmaster.” The little boy had a flare to his words, bordering on grandiose. “Or you may simply call me Sen or The Puppetmaster, whichever is the most appropriate custom to show respect in your culture.”

Kellan snorted. “Puppets? Like, the wooden toys?”

Then he remembered the men in his apartment… Puppet1 and Puppet2.

“All kinds of puppets.” The boy—Sen—didn’t seem bothered by the question. He had answered as though his profession were one of great importance. “I bring them to life. And then control them.”

Kellan wasn’t sure if he could trust Chinese-Pinocchio, but he needed as much information as he could get and the kid was providing it, free of charge.

After a few controlled breaths, Kellan took in the surrounding territory with a critical eye. His apartment complex, once home to eighty Fort Bragg personnel, stood barren. Only his residence, separated from the others by a long crack in the ground that encircled the building, appeared habitable. Rusted barbed wire adorned a tall, brick wall that surrounded the community of apartments—a wall taller than Kellan remembered.

No matter the similarities and details, he knew the area around him wasn’t his home. It mirrored his apartment complex, but it was something else. Something foreign.

Something sinister, Kellan thought, his attention caught on a stain of blood smeared across the road below.

“How did we get here?” Kellan asked, his gaze returning to the sprawling factories and collection of hovels just beyond the wall of the complex.

“I brought you here.”

Kellan jerked his attention back to the boy. “What? Why?”

“The Conflux is upon us,” Sen replied. “My sister wishes to participate in the competition, and we need one more outsider before our team will be official. You have a certain set of abilities and perks that will make you invaluable.”

Kellan stared down at the boy for a long moment.

Some child had brought Kellan to a nightmare realm in order to participate in a competition? Now Kellan knew he wasn’t insane. He wasn’t creative enough to think up such a bizarre situation.

Sen sighed and rolled his eyes. “I imagined our first meeting to be quite different. I had a speech planned out… But you’re not as frightened as I had expected. A pity. I had rehearsed a fine bit of theatrics.”

He flipped his hair back and sighed. “No one appreciates theatrics anymore…”

Footsteps echoed around the empty and shattered buildings. Kellan tensed and lifted his Colt .45 back into the ready position. No matter what was happening—either he was insane, or it was all real—he had to be on alert, lest he fall victim to the horrors and succumb to terror.

“We don’t have time for this,” Kellan stated. “This place isn’t safe. We should fortify a secure location and discuss everything then.”

Kellan took three long steps toward the ladder.

Before he could leave, Sen cleared his throat and said, “You will go nowhere.”

Kellan’s legs locked mid-stride and his chest tightened with an uncomfortable pressure. Everything hurt—mildly, like a sunburn, but deep beneath the skin—and Kellan gasped in unexpected shock. Even his heart felt squeezed and strained beneath some sort of oppressive force.

What is this?

He inhaled and exhaled, his mind focusing on the tautness of his body. Nothing itched, and the squirming had ceased. After a moment of realization, Kellan turned his head and glared back at Sen, his muscles stiff and filled with knots.

“What’s going on?” Kellan asked, his voice a harsh rasp.

Sen stepped closer, and Kellan pointed his gun. His torso prickled with strange sensations as he twisted himself to face the boy. Kellan’s body fought against everything he did, but with great effort, he could still force himself to move.

You will go nowhere.

The boy’s command echoed in Kellan’s thoughts… like his muscles were screaming the words back at him.

Sen offered a smug smile. “It seems my Tyranny Worms have matured enough to become useful.”

“You’re doing this?” Kellan asked, his voice strained. “Whatever this is—stop.”

Sen took another step closer, his confidence unfaltering. Kellan held the barrel of his .45 pointed at Sen’s head, Kellan’s finger gripped on the trigger. His heart pounded and his vision darkened into a tunnel. The boy was so young! Just a child and…

Heavy boots hit metal as people climbed the building’s fire escape ladder.

Sen combed his glossy, black hair with his fingers and waited. “Are you fighting it?” he asked. “You will not shoot me.”

Kellan couldn’t move.

“Just as I thought.” Sen kicked his long robes aside and stepped up next to Kellan. “You should settle into your new—”

With fast but rigid movements, Kellan wrapped his arm around Sen’s neck. He lifted the child up with the hold, cutting off his air and restraining him against Kellan’s chest. Sen was small—a third Kellan’s size—and easily manhandled. Kellan held the choke, unwilling to let the boy speak, and then pocketed his gun.

Kellan didn’t know what was going on, but he could put one and two together.

The boy had been the cause of the worms. He had admitted to taking Kellan from Fayetteville. Well, normal Fayetteville. He had even demonstrated some power over Kellan. For all intents and purposes, Sen was Kellan’s enemy, even if just a child.

Kellan wouldn’t allow the boy to run the situation.

“You’re going to take me back,” Kellan said, suffering the blows of the boy’s weak kicks as he struggled. “I don’t care how.”

Kellan’s vision failed him as searing pain flooded his body.

[Puppet1] used Draining Touch on [Alex Kellan] and inflicted -1 temporary fortitude loss.

The notification appeared in his mind, even if his eyes were closed.

Powerful hands yanked him backward, and Kellan lost his footing. He dropped Sen in the process.

Stand down, his body whispered. Don’t resist.

Kellan’s sight returned in time for him to spot his attackers—the two hooded men from the park—the same men who had invaded his apartment.

His stalkers.

Sen stumbled forward and rubbed the length of his neck through his oversized robes. “Ruffian,” Sen said. “I don’t need to speak to control my worms!”

Kellan’s stalkers slammed him onto the gravel of the roof. Kellan attempted to jump to his feet, but his body wouldn’t respond properly. He rolled to the side and half-stood, his movements sluggish and his skin gushing sweat.

Sen dramatically waved his arm. “Enough!”

The two “men” heeded his command and leapt away. Again, Kellan went to stand, but Sen glowered down at him.

Kellan got to one knee, but he couldn’t seem to force the rest of his body up.

The boy brushed himself off and offered Kellan a glare. “It seems not all my Tyranny Worms are mature… But it’s only a matter of time now. You won’t be able to fight forever.” He glanced over the two stalkers and his dark eyes went wide with concern. “Look what you’ve done!”

Kellan stared in horror the moment he got a good look at his attackers. They had holes in their bodies—one in the chest and one in the forehead each—holes that matched the damage of a .45 bullet. Their faces were ripped and torn, the damage radiating from the gunshot holes like shattered pieces of glass, and their eyes stared off in different directions, vacant.

The men shambled close to Sen as he gingerly examined their “injuries.”

Kellan saw no blood on their jeans or sweatshirts, but their inner workings were a mass of raw flesh, string, metal, and sinew.

Like… robots.

No. They really were puppets.

“My poor babies,” Sen muttered, frowning. Then he glared at Kellan. “You’ve damaged them. Why couldn’t you simply roll over like the others I had infested? The others gave me no trouble!” He exhaled with a huff. “And somehow you resist my worms. Perhaps you’re too strong. I can’t have you escaping during the competition…” Sen stroked his narrow chin. “I may have miscalculated.”

Kellan couldn’t offer a response. He stopped resisting and allowed himself to catch his breath. What’s wrong with me? What’re these worms doing?

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix you later,” Sen said, patting the “puppet men” on the head and shooing them away with a motion of his hand.

The mannequins took several steps back and said nothing.

Sen turned to face Kellan, but unlike the last time, he kept himself at arm’s length when he approached. “As for you—it’s impossible to go home anytime soon. Don’t bother trying to force me to take you back. It just won’t work.”

Kellan rubbed at his side, wondering how the worms operated. Was there a medication he could use to kill them? He knew he couldn’t ask, so he decided for something Sen might actually answer. “What do you want from me?”

“I already told you,” Sen said. He fussed with his oversized robes. “My sister, Lady Mage Sun Xiang, wants to win the Nexus Games, a competition held here in the Nexus once every ten years or so.”

Control over Kellan’s body returned in small increments. At first it was his feet, then it was hands, then his elbows. He moved and rotated as much as possible, frustrated by the disgusting parasites floating around his body.

Kellan shot the boy a glare. “So, you infected me with these worms in order to get me to help?”

“I didn’t infect you,” Sen said with a wave of his hand. “Tyranny Worms live in your bone, blood, and muscle, but you shouldn’t fret. They’re there to help you as much as they are to control you.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“They won’t let their host die that easily,” Sen replied with a smirk. He lifted his arm and stroked the crux of his elbow. “Maybe, one day, I’ll let you meet the queen.” A bulge appeared from under his skin—extensive and thin like a vein—reaching from his arm all the way up his shoulder and disappearing under his robes. It writhed beneath the surface, twisting, as if enjoying Sen’s strokes.

Oh, fuck me.

“Don’t make that face!” Sen huffed and turned away. “As long as the Tyranny Worms connect us, you’ll gain access to my unique skills. Some people on your dimension might even call it magic, but where I’m from, that’s not the term we like to use.” Sen rolled his eyes like this was all one big childish game.

Kellan still found it hard to believe he was taking instructions from a kid who looked like he had to steal hair from his father’s razor in order to have a beard.

“Am I ever getting back home?” Kellan asked.

“Home?” Sen lifted an eyebrow. “If you live through this competition—and heed my commands without further incident—then I’ll send you back. You might not want to return, however. Not when you see the prize for the winners.”

“Prize?”

Although Kellan had little interest in the Nexus Games, he did want as much information as possible. What prize was so valuable that it required kidnapping people and forcing them to join a team?

Kellan stared at the roof gravel. A small piece of him was reassured by the fact that they would be entering a game. Games had rules, didn’t they? Once he knew what to expect, perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult. Perhaps he could find some loophole and escape the games early.

“What’s the prize?” Kellan reiterated.

Sen gathered his robes up and walked over toward the ladder of the building. “If you want a full explanation of the prize, you should come with me. There will be announcements soon. All teams will have to gather at the starting point. The number of keys we’ll have to retrieve will be determined once everyone has entered.”

Keys?

“Wait.” Kellan got to his feet and held out a hand. “How can I trust anything you say? You could be telling me anything. I don’t know what you are. Even your appearance is a lie. I mean, you look like a little boy, but you’re clearly something else. Children don’t act like this.”

Sen snorted and turned on his heel. “Perhaps we should put some of my claims to the test.” He walked to the edge of the roof and pointed to the ground below. “I command you to jump off the building.”

Kellan caught his breath. “What? We’re more than twenty-five feet up!”

Before he could retort, Kellan felt himself compelled to follow through with the command. His body jerked against his stubbornness, zombie-walking to the edge. Sen only offered a smirk when Kellan glanced over. Was he enjoying his torment?

Unable to stop himself, Kellan walked to the edge and then jumped, his heart stopping for the second it took to plummet to the ground. The windows on the building flew by as the asphalt raced up to meet him.

He rolled upon impact, using his momentum to cushion the landing, but it wasn’t enough. One leg slammed up into his chest, winding him. He tumbled across the unforgiving asphalt with pain radiating from his knee and thigh.

[Alex Kellan] took 5 falling damage.

[Tyranny Worms] restore [Alex Kellan] for 1 damage a round.

Kellan rolled onto his back and stared at the red sky above, certain he had fractured a bone, perhaps cracking his sternum. It took him several minutes to realize he wasn’t dead. People have died from falls like that. What if Sen had ordered me to shoot myself?

Kellan held back a grunt of pain as his leg twitched. But within moments, the agony subsided. With a shaky hand, he felt up his thigh. Nothing. He wasn’t injured. Shock took hold of his thoughts, freezing them in place. He sat up and glanced down at his legs.

[Alex Kellan] has recovered all health.

[Tyranny Worms] return to Infestation Mode.

Kellan got to his feet. His legs didn’t fail him.

His eyeballs—the weird messages in his mind and sight—were telling the truth. The worms really had saved him.

He hadn’t seen Sen and his puppets get down from the roof, but they stood on the sidewalk, watching as Kellan examined his body for further injury. Kellan found nothing out of place other than his scuffed clothing.

“The worms use their own bodies to mend your flesh,” Sen said from across the street. His matter-of-fact tone was like listening to a dictionary speak. “They die so that your bones and skin and muscle can be repaired nearly instantaneously. However, the more that die to keep you alive, the less there are until they breed and repopulate your body. You don’t want to put them through too much stress for too long.”

“What’re you doing?” a man shouted.

Kellan snapped his attention to the noise, his hairs standing on end. They were in a hostile environment, why would anyone draw attention to themselves by yelling?

He readied his handgun, ready for combat.

Then he spotted the person who had shouted.

It was… a man. At least, sort of. He was humanoid in shape, but from what Kellan could see, the man was covered in fur, like a classic werewolf. Most of the man’s body was swaddled in heavy cloth, and the wolf-man wore a hood that half-covered his face, but not entirely. He had a canine-snout and long fangs, just like any frightening wolf out in the woods.

His clothing, brown and caked in dirt, rang with the clink of metal on metal as he stomped forward, though no metal adorned the outside of his outfit. He walked with a hunch, his head hanging lower than his shoulders, but even that didn’t diminish his impressive height.

The fur… It was reddish-brown and poked through any holes in the cloth wraps. The man’s hands had fingers, but they ended in black claws that shone with a keen point.

Again, a reticle appeared, targeting this new “man” and feeding Kellan information he wasn’t sure yet what to do with.

Name: Husker Linis

Race: Rennic

Magics: Wyld, Magma

Rank: Concealed

Armor Rating: ---

Health: 9

Stats: Concealed

Abilities: Concealed

Sen regarded the werewolf with a formal bow of his head. “Ah, Husker. You’re just in time.”

The wolf-man snorted and growled at the same time—an odd noise, but it was deep and threatening. “Sen. You disappoint me.” Husker motioned to Kellan. “I told you not to take this one. He’s too dangerous.”

Sen shook his head. “The man is skilled, isn’t he? We can’t risk losing by entering a teammate we can’t rely on.”

“You’re letting your emotions blind you. You could have flesh-sculpted one of the other warriors instead of taking the strong-willed one simply for his passing resemblance to—”

“Enough,” Sen snapped. “You said your piece. I disagreed. I have our new warrior under control, and he won’t have the option to fail us.” Sen shrugged. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“What will your sister think?”

“She won’t dwell on the matter because she won’t know of the matter, do I make myself clear?” Sen glared at the wolf, even though he was a good two feet shorter. He pointed at the beast with one child-sized finger. “Don’t tell my sister anything about our new warrior. She left me in charge of finding someone suitable, and I did just that.”

Kellan hated how much louder they were becoming. He had a PTSD-style flashback to the Pestbyter patrolling the area. With his gun held close, he said, “You two should keep your voices low.”

“I am not loud,” Sen said as he stomped his foot on the sidewalk. “This is a commanding tone, not an argumentative one.”

“Indoor voices.”

Sen threw back his hair and crossed his arms. “I won’t be treated like a child. I’ll have you know that, despite my appearance, I’m thirty years old.”

“Uh-huh. Then I’m sure your parents’ Google history contains a lot of things like, how do you abort a middle-aged baby.”

The werewolf man, Husker, chuckled at the comment, his voice gruff and low. When he straightened himself to full standing height, he was nearly nine feet, his shoulders broad and his muscles defined, even through the heavy clothing.

“He’s talkative,” Husker said. “That’ll be fun, but your sister won’t like it.”

Both of Sen’s puppets—the men with the weird bullet hole wounds—turned in unison. A set of soft footfalls echoed down the empty streets.

Kellan held his breath. Both Sen and Husker went silent.

“Kellan?” someone called out. “Is that you?”

Mavis stepped around the corner of a building, her eyes wide and her clothing just as dirty as Husker’s. The moment she spotted Kellan, a hopeful smile graced her freckled face. She limp-ran forward, pushing through her injury until she reached his side. Up close, Kellan saw that not every fleck on her skin was a freckle—she had a fine mist of blood splattered from her elbow to her ear.

And Kellan’s eyes—his Blitzkrieg Analysis—once again gave him information.

Name: Mavis Cartwright

Race: Human

Magics: Magma, Metal

Rank: E, E

Armor Rating: ---

Health: 7

Stats:

Strength—2

Dexterity—3 [Accurate]

Fortitude—1 [Hobbled]

Charisma—2

Manipulation—2

Intelligence—3

Perception—4 [Mystic]

Wisdom—2

Willpower—4 [Tough]

Abilities:

Personal—[Rebuilt]—The mage can develop their physical stats (strength, dexterity, fortitude) for half the arcana cost.

Mavis shook her head and the green of her eyes mixed with the red hue of the light, creating a bright gold yellow. The purple dye in her hair looked amazing under the crimson sky.

“Mavis…”

Kellan didn’t know what to say. He had almost convinced himself that she wasn’t real, but now that she was here, it was almost worse. Was Mavis trapped in this world with him?

“We need to get out of here,” Mavis said, grabbing Kellan’s arm tightly. “This place isn’t safe.” The edge in her words betrayed her panic. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think I’m hallucinating—see numbers over my eyes or something. Everything is different. It’s not right.”

“You brought two?” Husker asked with a growl, his fangs fully visible with his speech. “That’s unacceptable, Sen. We only needed one more.”

Mavis got an eyeful of the werewolf man and nearly lost her skin in fright. She paled—whiter than most snow—and Kellan held her tight. Although the werewolf was intimidating, Kellan suspected he would handle bullets like swiss cheese. Then again, I don’t have silver, Kellan mused. Might have to get creative.

Although she wasn’t entirely sanguine, Mavis stayed close to Kellan’s side, her wide eyes fixed on the wolf-man.

Sen crossed his little arms. “That woman was a mistake. I never intended for her to accompany us.”

“Are they mates?” Husker asked.

“I suppose that’s a logical explanation. I figured our warrior would be alone at night during the transition to the Nexus, but I had guessed wrong. He had been alone every other night I observed him, though.”

Mavis turned away and stared up at Kellan, determination in her gaze. Without speaking, she motioned with her head to the street. She pulled his arm again. Kellan shook his head.

“I can’t,” he murmured.

His muscles burned with his resistance. Stay where you are—the instructions echoed in his mind. Kellan couldn’t move his legs. Mavis furrowed her brow and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Do you know those two?”

Before Kellan could answer, Husker snorted. The clinking of metal, like chains, rang out. With each odd noise, Kellan grew more nervous. How long before the machine-sphere returned? Would it rob everyone here of their organs?

Husker motioned to Mavis with his giant, clawed hands. “Sen, take care of this. Order our warrior to kill the woman. Then we’ll see how much control you really have over him.”