Death Smith - Book 1 - Chapter 22

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Feeling good

Several hours ago.

February, 14 AR.

United Kingdom, north of Liverpool, Outside Rift 7.

Grace felt suddenly disconnected from the black energy that had enveloped her. In an instant, her body came to a sudden halt as it slammed into the ground. Before her eyes could adjust to her surroundings, she could hear the roaring sound of objects slamming into the environment. She could hear the sounds of flesh hitting metal and protective cables being torn apart by fast-moving objects. Before she could collect her senses, however, a flood of whispers and cries rose up all around her, like a thousand lost souls, crying out against their fate.

The once tidy and compact R.A.M. Rift site had been transformed into a battlefield. No doubt shocked at the sudden arrival of the Rifters, the site crew quickly jumped into action, storming out of their mobile barracks as they organised.

It happened in the middle of the night, so most of the crew had already changed into their sleeping clothes before they rushed out of their quarters. The damp night air was icy on their skin, filled with the scent of unnatural elements that the Rifters had brought back with them. Some of these items littered the ground, having escaped their now broken containers.

“Rifters, report!” Grace yelled, turning around to see if everyone had made it out alive. One by one, the Rifters reported they were intact. The Rift had flung the Rifters, who had been further away from the Rift-event, quite far. The force had even hurled some of them with enough force to tear apart the protective cables and nets that served as a barrier around the Rift.

“Grace!” Jack Derby call out, rushing towards her, eyes filled with concern. “What happened?” He asked her.

“The Rift turned bad,” Grace said, her eyes darting over towards a massive hole in the protective net. She had no doubts that things they had brought back with them had bombarded the surrounding area. Although this place used to be a construction yard, she feared there might still be collateral damage.

“How many wounded and how many dead?” Jack asked.

“Six dead. Five porters and one fighter. Beyond that, we have a dozen wounded, mostly minor,” she told him, barely able to utter the words. She hated herself for losing this many people. She shifted her gaze over towards where the wounded Rifters were. Most of the injured were Porters. She could see no life-threatening injuries at first glance.

“I’ll contact GRRO’s local office and let them know we had a bad run. Anything above a ten per cent casualty range will warrant an investigation. The best thing we can do is to be proactive about this. Anything I should know beforehand?” Jack asked her, his eyes watching hers scan the hole in the net before they shifted over towards three Rifters. There was something fierce in those eyes of hers when that happened.

Grace did not answer him. Instead, she made her way over towards some of the Rifters that appeared fine. “Those not injured will help store and secure the items at a designated spot. I want no more injuries because of people tripping over sharp Rift materials,” She ordered the Rifters around her. The R.A.M. personnel had already set up basic triage. Most of the injuries were minor, save for two that had suffered a concussion and a broken arm.

She glanced backwards and studied the Rift, which no longer threatened to expand. It was less dense than it had been before, having shrunk since its peak moments before. She shifted her gaze and took stock of the injured Rifters, looking at each of them with concern until her eyes fell on Kira, then Connor and Louis again. “Jack, follow me,” she said as she started moving again.

‘Six dead. Where did it all go so horribly wrong? The people that died were under my command… my protection. What the hell do I tell their families?’ Grace thought before she reached the three Rifters. “You three, follow us. We are going to have a long talk about what the hell happened in there,” Grace said as she pointed at a trailer that functioned as a break room.

* * * * *

Lance groaned in pain as he awoke to the night sky looking down on him. A dirty blanket of rubble and dirt lay over his body. Bruises, scrapes, and cuts covered his arms and legs. Lance simply lay there for a moment, letting the world spin around him, watching it pass by in a blur without really seeing anything. He could feel his fingers on his left hand behaving weirdly when he tried to wiggle them. He brought up his hands in front of him, seeing several fingers on his left-hand bend out of place.

Between gritted teeth, he said to himself, “Dislocated - possibly broken as well.” Using his right hand to steady the injured fingers, he exerted pressure on them one at a time, hearing them pop back into place. He fought back some curses as he crawled to his hands and knees, feeling a sharp pain on his back as he did so. He could feel blood running down his side from a wound. Looking back, he noticed the steel shield embedded in the ground behind him; no doubt it had saved his life throughout the ordeal, but also nearly impaling him at the end. ‘I probably have lost a lot of blood,’ he thought as he took a closer look at the shield.

Blood covered the broken edges of the shield, showing that Lance had cut himself on it. ‘No doubt if Thomas was here, he would have shared a witty remark about it being a double-edged shield,’ Lance thought, feeling a jolt of despair explode within his mind before he suppressed it, focusing on the task ahead as he activated his skill.

[You have used Mend wounds lvl 1 at the cost of 10 Magicka]

[Current Magicka 37/135]

He realized some time had passed because his Magicka had regenerated. “I must have been out for a while,” he said out loud. He slowly got to his feet and felt the healing light pass through his body before it faded again. Lance then grabbed Thomas’s battered shield and stored it in his inventory.

He slowly reached over and grabbed a piece of debris to push himself upright, leaning against a nearby wall that was still upright. Lance could see the Rift in the distance, suggesting that the force that carried him out of the Rift must have been enormous for him to have landed here. He could see the destroyed wall behind him and the impact marks on the dirt in front of him. Lance vaguely recalled at what speed he had exited the Rift, breaching the safety net. He had positioned the shield back in front of him to protect himself, but it had been a close call. Lance let go of the wall he was leaning on and tried to stand on his own feet. He swayed back and forth for a few seconds before he steadied himself.

‘I am lucky to be alive,’ Lance thought as he massaged his left hand. He could see the sight of several emergency service vehicles near the Rift. Dozens of people were busy there, helping the wounded or securing the site itself. Lance took a few steps forwards, knowing that they could help him if he reached them. He had stopped moving as he watched how three figures made their way to a line of cars. Even amid this chaos, he had instantly recognised them by their equipment, their posture, and even the way they walked. There was no way Lance would not recognise the people who had turned their backs on him and Thomas. There was no way he would not remember the people who had left Thomas to die.

“No!” He yelled, watching all three of them get into a car. None of them were in handcuffs. A part of his mind wanted to rationalize it, pointing at the GRRO logo at the side of the cars and the fact that they would probably get questioned. Still, that rational part of his mind failed to convince Lance, his traumatised state was far too unstable in this moment. “Why are they not arrested?” He said out loud, his hands trembling as he fought hard to control his breathing, near moments away from having a panic attack. This was the first time he encountered those three again, and it nearly broke him in that moment.

“I… I’ll…” he paused, unsure what he wanted to say. It was more of an emotion that was forming inside of him, maturing with each passing second. He gritted his teeth as he activated his skill three more times, sending three bursts of energy throughout his body to lessen some hardships he had sustained. His eyes narrowed to slits, and his mouth tightened as he watched the cars drive away. He felt his rage build up, pressing against his senses like a hammer upon an anvil. His body trembled with anger as he took a step away from the Rift and towards the nearby parking lot, having made up his mind.

* * * * *

Lance started the motorcycle’s engine as he adjusted his visor. Although he wasn’t as proficient a driver as Thomas, Lance still knew enough of the black motorcycle to bring it to life. Lance had watched several GRRO employees and doctors arriving at the parking lot before heading towards the Rift. Some had observed Lance as they passed him, but a wounded and bloody Rifter wasn’t unusual that evening.

He had stayed away from the Rift site. Instead, he had collected his gear and that of Thomas. The latter had resulted in Lance prying open Thomas’s locker with the shield. Beyond needing the helmet and motorcycle keys, he took the rest of Thomas’s things. It had not felt right leaving it there so close to the Rift. There was too much commotion near the Rift for people to realise who Lance was or that a person had smashed open a locker, not that Lance was clearheaded enough to ponder the consequences of his actions.

Lance knew he should have turned around and gone back to the others and explain what had happened. Perhaps it could hasten the investigation. Each time he felt the urge to do so, he checked his inventory, seeing a broken shield, several Rift-shards, and the body of his best friend stored inside. It sickened him to see his friend labelled as an ‘item’, but it was the brutal reality he now found himself in. How the hell could he explain what had happened to him and Thomas? What about his new class, or the fact that he carried Thomas inside of his inventory? He had no answers to those questions, and a part of him knew he was growing more unstable by the minute. The many injuries, the blood loss, and the mental shock, all of it were building up. He needed some time to think things through, away from the others.

Focusing on an item would usually bring up options, such as retrieving or combining it. This time, two new options were available: Repair and forge. Both stemmed from his new skills at obtaining the class ‘Death Smith’. He had tried the repair option several times, but the greyed-out option would not work. He knew it was futile to get his hopes up, but each time he still felt a piece of his heart wither when it stated that repair would not work on that item. Finally, in a wave of emotions, he pressed the forge option.

[Item can be forged. Templates available: 1]

[Required Shards: 20. Do you wish to proceed?]

[Yes] [No]

Lance had paused before he activated the forge option, watching several Rift-shards get used up while a countdown appeared underneath Thomas’s body inside his inventory. He nearly threw up right there and then, swallowing bile as he slammed his fist against the tank of the motorcycle. At that moment, he tasted fresh blood in his mouth. Lance finally steeled his resolve and went home, knowing he needed to figure out what this new class meant, what to do with Thomas and the three people that had betrayed them. The black motorcycle jerked forward, taking him further from the Rift.

* * * * *

Lance groaned as he pushed open the door to his apartment. His body ached after the long ride home. It was the searing pain in his left hand that bothered him most. Another flash of blue light enveloped his body, trying to mend his injuries. It was because of his skill that he had got home in the first place and not passed out somewhere in a ditch due to fatigue and pain.

The light illuminated the room and threw dark shadows in the corners. The apartment was old and rather small, decorated with mismatched furniture, a worn-out couch, and some plants in the corner that gave some warmth to it all. A stack of clean dishes stood piled up in the kitchen, clearly forgotten by Lance before he had left for the Rift.

As the effects of his skill faded from his body, he switched on the lights in his apartment, wincing when he realised, he had used his left hand. Old habits had overridden his ability to prevent self-harm. Lance dragged himself to the kitchen to grab a bag of frozen peas from the fridge before collapsing on the couch.

He opened his inventory, eyes scanning the numbers underneath Thomas, counting down before he withdrew his smartphone, letting it suddenly appear in his right hand. Lance tapped the broken screen and unlocked it. With the device suddenly near a cell tower, it vibrated, showing missed calls, text messages, and other notifications. The last one was a missed call from Daniel. More missed calls would no doubt arrive later. His mind was not yet ready to explain that he had survived, and Thomas had not. The thought of him telling Thomas’ family, his little brother… How could he even find the words? How could he explain to anyone what had happened?

He pressed the icy peas more firmly against his wounded hand, appreciating how the pain reduced his thoughts to simple sensations that would leave him emotionally intact, for now.

[You have finished forging an item.]

The status update immediately drew his attention. He had ignored other messages about his low Health, Magicka, and that he had levelled up to level 11 after surviving the Rift. He felt his throat dry up as he retrieved the item that was unnamed in his inventory, ignoring the option to rename it.

A moment later, a naked pale figure sat next to him on the couch, unmoving and unnaturally devoid of colour. The body’s once red hair and bright blue eyes were now degraded to where it was just a different shade of grey. It pained him to see his friend like that, sitting so eerily still and changed. Any hope he had of saving his friend left him at that moment. Still, the body appeared uninjured and did not show the fatal wound that had stolen Thomas’s life back in the Rift.

[You have stored an item in the inventory.]

[You have combined and retrieved an item from the inventory.]

Briefly, he removed the pale body from the couch, only to have ‘him’ appear a few seconds later, now dressed in the battered R.A.M. padded work clothes that had once belonged to Thomas. The badly damaged clothes, at least covering up the body’s nudity. Even dressed, the pale body did not move, nor react. The longer Lance stared at him, the more he noticed that the body never blinked or even breathed. It was almost statuesque in appearance.

[You have retrieved two items from the inventory.]

Lance retrieved a single cigarette and lighter from his inventory. He flicked open the lighter and produced a small flame, gazing into it for a moment before lighting the cigarette. After bringing it to his mouth, he inhaled deeply before placing it between the lips of the pale man next to him, securing it in place. Lance fought back the urge to cough as he let the smoke stain his lungs, exhaling after a while. “There we go,” Lance said, his gaze upwards. He stared at the ceiling as if that might hold answers to whatever he was feeling at that moment.

There was a stillness in his apartment that went beyond mere silence. Lance simply sat there, injured, and covered in dirt and dried up blood. The grey body to his side was perfectly still with a ‘thousand-yard stare’, like a corpse might maintain. The more Lance thought about the situation, the more he realised that this wasn’t Thomas.

The body’s height, build and even the small blemishes on his face were a perfect replica of his best friend, but it was missing whatever made Thomas the man he had once been. The body’s former white Rift-shard was now a dull grey.

A few minutes passed like that, with both still and silent, the occasional bit of ash breaking off the cigarette and pooling up in a single spot. “You know smoking is going to get you killed one day,” Lance said, forcing his gaze away from the ceiling and towards his still companion. He noticed the cigarette was still barely in place.

Instead, only anger lingered that evening. A type of silent anger that might undo a person if one wasn’t careful. Lance’s hands turned white from clenching his fist so firmly despite his injuries. The sack of frozen peas fell to the floor as he swore an oath right there and then.

“I swear to you, Thomas. No matter what, I’ll get justice for you.”

He then opened his email, and the file attached to it before hitting the play button on his smartphone. The file was a song that Thomas had sent Lance before this Rift, wanting to use it to celebrate them both reaching level 10. A pained chuckle left him as he closed his eyes as the song played, making a sweet mockery of the situation.

The smartphone’s screen showed both a reflection of a pale hand picking up a sack of frozen peas and the song title being displayed on the device; Feeling Good - Nina Simone.

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Author: Osirium

Copyright: 2021 OsiriumWrites

Released: 2021