Rule 22

Fade Away Quietly & Take A Bath

Statement: This portion of my recount is full of what-ifs. Such ideas are dangerous in a world where every moment must be handled on its own merit. We—none of us—can afford to lose sight of what’s in front of us. Yet everything we do is a means to an end. Though on the broader scale, this too raises an interesting point, one I’ve touched upon before but lost sight of during the simple act of survival.

This world is created by design. We’d been brought here deliberately. Yet in the two months since my arrival, I still haven’t figured out why. I ask this over, and over, and over, and feel like each time I ask, I’ve touched a little bit more upon the truth. On the secret behind everything.

I lay there. The single tube had been like something from a mad scientist’s lair. There might be a glass eyeball rolling around on the ground for all I knew. That would make as much sense as anything. Someone’s false eye came to life in a vat of gelatin and turned into a monster. I weakly chuckled at the absurdity.

There were no orbs. No yellow, whites or greens. Only silence. The door that had been hidden should be visible to the others. Maybe when the eyeball creature had died it ceased being relevant. Any guess would be unverifiable speculation.

“Ghost?” Callisto shouted.

Her voice brought me back to the present. It seemed to come from the wall next to me, which fit with our relative positions. She cried out again. I couldn’t figure out why she cared. She pretended to care for Hawthorn, until she didn’t. She pretended to care for Mister Underwood, until she didn’t. Ghost would be the same. I, Lance, the real me, had been the same.

Here we were, in a strange fantasy world gone wrong, and we were repeating the same song over and over.

It didn’t matter anymore. They had each other. They’d always had each other. I only had myself, and could only rely upon myself. This twisted maze had simply reaffirmed that a dozen times over. I lifted a hand and wiped away wet bits of slime monster.

“I’ll live through this.” The mantra tumbled from my lips. It felt pathetic on its own so I added more. “I’ll grow stronger. I’m not like them. They’re still…”

The sentence was never finished. In my mind I saw the image of those three, huddled together in a protective circle. Them against the looming monster, and me in the darkness. I told myself that it was better that way. They were useless in defeating the true monster.

Three times I’d worked with them. Three times I’d tried to fit in. And all three times, I’d felt like an outsider. Even in our brief time together. The lag, the disconnect between what I heard and saw had been another hint we weren’t on the same page. In a world of fantasy, that had to be a magic number.

So, I’d never try again.

It was time to find an exit. They could keep the prizes. The crown from a dead man and the board were all that remained. The totes would be useless. I’d learned all I needed to and would go about my own way. I could take the bus to get pants that might fit my various forms, experiment a bit with the powers, take a bus ride home, then commence losing myself in murdering ogres.

Post Note: Some may say this was a form of running away. I call it a realization—that going with them had never been my answer. I’d done everything in here, by destroying the monster’s paths, killing it, destroying the ooze king’s body or whatever it had been, and all that could have been done without them. So, I could likely defeat the Ogre King without relying on this mystery weapon.

My hand lifted. The white aura from before had vanished, and as it dwindled I had faded into the background. Their eyes would slip right past me without ever taking note. That meant I was me again. Lance the unwanted. Lance the sucker. Lance the pathetic man with a broken hip who would never walk again. I shook my head in denial.

I think, most of all, in that moment, I missed my mom. Her death had been the start of everything going wrong. The car crash had simply been a shortcut to rock bottom, but that had already been my destination.

My legs worked. I staggered out the door and slunk along the wall.

“Ghost!” Allegra shouted.

She may be able to see me on her map, but if I didn’t respond, then she’d get the hint. Right now, I wanted only to be left alone.

My pants were still extra loose. The material holding them together must have partially dissolved in that slime, like Callisto’s hole-filled clothes. It served as a sign of my own mental state when I refused to even give the trio a once over.

Now that we’d defeated the monsters and the papers tacked to the wall had faded, whatever magic kept us trapped must have vanished as well. There, clear as day, sat a short tunnel. Outside was rubble from the rock I’d smashed. It was stupid to think we were so close to the exit for that long. This hellish nightmare had been nested inside a park in the middle of nowhere.

It made no god damned sense. That monster had built this place. Or it had found tools and tried to create its own personal dungeon. Someone else must have put the rock in the way. There were so many factors playing into this and I understood exactly zero of them. That bothered me.

Such considerations kept me busy as I wove around the side of the room to an exit. Their cries for ghost eventually faded. Their normal voices were like faint whispers from the other side of the room.

By the time I got outside, I guessed at two things. First, whatever layer, for lack of a better term, I’d been pulled into, probably had to do with my status as a sneak. It also seemed limited, which might have to do with the creature I’d killed. It must have been a sneak as well, simply blind due to its species of powers. Nothing else made sense. Its death had eventually resulted in the place falling apart and the two layers being put back together.

Second, I assumed it had been trying to form an impossible dungeon, where it could move around freely and keep others away. Either as a trap to gain more power, or a way to ensure no one ever bothered it. I couldn’t even figure out what sort of place this hangar, or bunker, or storage area, had been before the world went mad.

I felt weak. I felt naked. Being Lance served no purpose so after trudging through the woods to the main path, I switched to Mister Underwood.

My shirt shredded with the sudden increase in size. I sighed, peeled it off, and wiped away some of the dried-up gunk. Water would help get the rest, and I could scrub tender spots that had been practically assaulted by a single monster. It still amazed me how that creature had been creating a private dungeon with the remains of a monster. Too bad his initial test group, us, thoroughly trashed the place.

I sniffed the air and struggled to remember Allegra’s map. A few streams should be running through the park, long meandering lines that joined up the farther north they went. My heightened sense of smell gave me a clearer direction and I soon found a creek.

There, I drenched the shirt and attempted to clean myself completely. It was futile of course, but soon my pants were wet and nearly one color again. The rest of my body felt relieved of all but the most stubborn of crust. Once done, I sat there, letting my thick unfeeling toes wiggle in the stream.

Night had crept up on me. A bright fat moon hung overhead. There was mild discomfort from being out in the chilly air. I kept an eye out for spiders but would have welcomed something to squish. Not fighting was acceptable as well.

My body fell backward to lay on the ground. I felt drained beyond belief, tired, and hungry. Those were all sensations that would pass. Part of me wanted to simply not think, about Callisto’s admittance of using Hawthorn, about how we’d been trapped, about that damnable scene where Allegra, Callisto, and Leon looked like a heroic picture come to life.

I didn’t mind being an unsung hero. It was more that other people so close to me were the focal point. If Allegra sketched the party there would be an aura of majesty coming off the paper, and me quietly in a corner brooding heavily.

That wasn’t right either. I didn’t want to brood. It was me. I simply didn’t fit. Killing came too easily to me. In everyone’s eyes I was a means to an end. Coach Madison had seen it. Little Shade probably used me as well. Thinking of her made me remember two things. One, that I’d seen her nearly naked, and enjoyed the sight. Second, that we’d killed the hydra. The fact that my next thought was wondering who would win, me as Mister Underwood, or the hydra, proved my earlier statement correct.

I didn’t fit.

A sane person would have chosen to stick with other humans. A sane person wouldn’t put so much thought into defeating monsters and only look at women with the intent to bed them. Those impulses couldn’t all belong to this dryad magic. If I had any self-control it would be possible to shrug off the inclinations.

Post Note: In truth, hours passed while I circled the same series of thoughts. I could say that everyone I’d met simply wanted to use me, for me. Even Midge expected favors. In many respects, I was no better. The only time I helped others without ulterior motives was when their interests coincided with my own. Realizing a fact, and taking the idea to heart, do not go hand in hand.

I summoned a blade and held it up to the sky. The knife was so tiny in my giant hand. The stars on my hilt were tightly packed and shimmered when held by a tree. When brought to the sky the blade faded from sight, as if it had returned to where it belonged.

What was I in the face of that completeness? I was a broken young man. With a broken artifact. Absorbing pieces of magic from shattered beings. I was a smiling killer, made by a man playing a game.

That thought shook me. I sat up and brought out the spell book. The mirrors reflected my mean mug and protruded jaw. I flipped past them to the back cover.

There were still two cards there, and I recalled where I’d seen one of the names. Hephaestus. Midge had said it. That this book had been made by him. That he was playing a dangerous game. I thought back to the stocky man with his thick beard. An “Underkin” he’d called himself. Gruff, direct, and with little patience. The stewardesses were Wildchilds.

I had his card. That meant something as well. It should somehow assist a buyer, myself, in finding the seller. There was no other reason to hand out a business card. Either he wanted more business or had something that needed to be said but couldn’t because of the time limit. It could also serve as a test to see who could survive and return.

There was also the other card with a name I didn’t recognize. That made me think back to the demon on the faerie tale version of a city bus. He’d given me the card and said a clothes maker’s stop was on the bus route. From that bit of information, I inferred it might be possible to visit Hephaestus to get some answers. His store might be on the route as well.

It had to be possible. If I could find him, then I assumed I could find answers. Something that made more sense than Midge’s stream of nonsensical babble. Hephaestus would be direct. He’d have a better understanding of how to handle the spells. And if I could figure out that, and get pants, then I’d be far more capable of handling the Ogre King.

My blood chilled. Once again, I’d lost sight of the real goal. It wasn’t simply killing the nasty boss downtown. It was about making sure Stella would be safe. I cursed myself for nearly dying. Death helped no one survive.

Goals helped me. It had been the same after my accident. Drugs kept me from freaking out. Doctors babbled for hours. I focused on the next step. Show up for physical therapy. Pay for food. Keep Dad’s house clean. My life revolved around completing those tasks to reach the day when I’d be able to walk without a crutch or wheelchair.

I’d reached that day a month and change ago, but never stopped to appreciate it. I’d only resolved to be able to take care of myself and survive. After all, the only person I’d been remotely close to was Richard, and he’d given up. He’d given up and left Stella behind.

“Very well. Decisions have been made. Execution of said plans is naturally next.” What I meant to say was different. My enlarged chest heaved in a heavier than expected sigh. There was also the matter of trying to understand my spells. Hephaestus could be dead for all I knew, or unreachable, or sitting in a bar watching my struggles on a magical television.

None of it would surprise me at this stage.

I detested scattered bits of information needing to be woven together to make a clear picture. At the same point, my entire life since the event basically existed as a blank puzzle being slowly filled in. Truthfully, learning to play the game was more important than learning why the game was being played, at least at first.

Technically, why was an easy question. Games were played with the goal of winning or passing time. In this changed world it could be possible that games were played to win something, lose something, get revenge for something, and the list went on. I half expected that this Secret King I’d heard of once or twice was involved. Hephaestus was already an established player, though he sounded like an unwelcoming person who had butted in, and then there were the stewardesses with their minor differences and sharp teeth.

They’d addressed me by all three names, almost like they were separate individuals. Now I understood a bit better. In a way they were, but they were still me. They were to be treated as disguises that came with strong characteristics, ones that were clear enough I barely needed to keep it straight in my head. An actor would have a harder time. Lewd thoughts, different ways of speaking, those were natural and stayed distinct.

My spells were not. Especially the black one. All that time, neither Callisto or Leon had seemed to notice or care. Blades were plentiful since most of the population had died. A single kitchen knife set might have dozens of sharp objects to borrow. The netting could be common in their minds.

Or maybe they knew and pretended not to. They could simply be playing along with my crazy need to pose as alternate people. I suspected that was impossible given how their speech and choice of topics had changed while I was Mister Underwood and “G-H-S-T.”

Being alone caused too much introspection. It was time to leave. My barrel would be waiting for me, hopefully. If nothing else, I expected the golden thread to be worth as much or more than the entire trashcan filled with spider web. Both were my prizes for this trip to the wilderness.

If there was anything in this world resembling justice, then it came in the form of me being able to use the bus while the others had to walk. And I’d gotten to know what the others truly thought of me.

I stood and readied to leave. The sudden motion made something else in the moonlight shift and lift its head. In the darkness sat two hard to see eyes that seemed to be gold. We blinked at each other. Other features slowly came into view, pointed ears, a long snout, wet muzzle, and lanky body.

It was a svelte canine. I tilted my head.

It froze and a lip pulled back. I could barely make them out in the darkness, which annoyed me. Being Mister Underwood seemed to cancel many of my default abilities from the other two forms.

A howl filled the air. Snarls from behind me joined the rising noise. More golden eyes became apparent. Additional dogs or wolves padded toward the river front. Soon an army stood there, and I let it happen, perfectly content for whatever came next.

Post Note: As a former city dweller, I couldn’t tell the difference between wolves and dog breeds. There may not be much difference. The important parts are still the same. Teeth. Claws. Travel in groups if they don’t hate each other.

“Fantastic.” I’d been sitting here worrying about having too much time alone with my thoughts, and the universe handed me something to kill. Despite my bout of self-deprecation, things were looking up. I could get back to my roots of killing monsters threatening me.

Out of the darkness a more human snarl echoed, followed by, “Who dares invade our forest?”

The sudden appearance of someone speaking English was enough to make me pause. Then I shook off the worry. The cashier had spoken to us and recited garbage lines. The white-skinned creature in the dungeon had done much the same. As before, being able to speak didn’t indicate intelligence or value.

“A simple traveler searching for glory and riches!” I shouted. What I’d meant to say was “I came here for pants and a weapon to fight an un-killable Ogre King.” Lying was hard to do and apparently being Mister Underwood made me more talkative. This annoyed me, and when stacked with the dozens of golden eyes staring in my direction, I urgently wanted to stab someone.

Never mind that my starlit knife was essentially a toothpick with this form.

“I smell the blood of a white one on you,” the stranger said. His words vibrated with an intensity that mixed disgust and slobber. “Did you chase the cockroach to its lair?”

“Naturally.”

“And killed it?”

“Accidents are inevitably bound to happen.” That hadn’t been what I intended to say. I fought back the urge to pull out my red spell and simply lay waste to the masses.

A creature lumbered toward the stream I’d been dipping my toes in. The monster was taller than a man but shorter than my Underwood form, peaking at maybe seven feet and change. Dim light and this form’s poor vision, compared to Hawthorn anyway, made the other features difficult to pick out, but I was sure of one thing.

The wolves Allegra had mentioned were run by a full-on werewolf. That made as much as sense as the rest of this stupid state park. I vowed, once Stella was safe, to return and burn this entire place to the ground. Trees, spiders, ooze monsters, wolves, and all.