Downfall And Rise

by Nathan Thompson

  I kept it in my other hand for now, then thought better of it. I reached down to remove my recent victim's belt and after I had fasted it over my own rags. Then I thrust my short sword into my belt as safely as I could and began walking down the left hallway. I had wanted to leave the portal open. And I had wanted to save the girls and other prisoners first. But as long as it was open I'd have to deal with reinforcements, and I couldn't even guarantee that the enemies I killed would stay down.

  I hurried, but I didn't like it. The two earlier idiots hadn't had a chance to raise the alarm while alive, but they had just gone back to earth. Even if their original bodies were both alone, all it took was for one of them to remember what cell phones were and I'd lose the element of surprise.

  I ran faster. I felt my stronger bones aid me in propulsion. It felt like my synapses were firing faster. And the wind pushed on my legs with every leap, buffeting me forward to faster speeds.

  I had reached the corner Chris mentioned almost before I realized it, and then I turned and charged to where he had mentioned the portal was. Now was a perfect time to find out if he was tricking me.

  He wasn't.

  I saw the purple-black light flickering ahead. Three men were standing or sitting on crates around the portal. One of them looked like he was trying to smoke an authentic pipe and failing, judging by his coughs. I couldn't hear them talk, because I was moving too fast. And that was great.

  I was really tired of hearing these guys talk.

  The most important thing I could tell though is that they were all relaxed, which meant Stupid and Stupid Jr. hadn't let anyone know I was reenacting one of those ancient prison-break dramas on television.

  They weren't even looking at me until I was almost in the room. Then the one standing in the middle, who was actually wearing real armor and had a spear like me, let out a shout and pointed at me.

  Marking him as the greatest threat, I braced my spear toward him and rushed forward as fast as I could.

  My speed surprised the both of us. I heard air whistle pass my ears and it felt like the ground was pushing my feet further forward. The man kept screaming and turning toward the portal when my spear took him in the throat. His vital guard felt like sandpaper as I punched through it. My spear shuddered in my hands, as if it had suddenly gotten stuck in a thin tree limb, and as it jounced out of my hands I realized I had punctured the man's spine as well, something the vital guard couldn't really fix. He fell limply, not even screaming anymore.

  I staggered past his new corpse, coming dangerously close to the portal as I did so.

  Then I heard it again.

  “Traitor prince! Traitor-prince! Curse and kill the traitor-prince!”

  That old thing, right.

  The voices were trying to crawl into my head again, and I couldn't have that. I turned to the guy currently dropping his pipe and reaching for his machete. Since my hands were free, I pointed all ten of my fingers at him, and the tiny bolts leaped out and shocked into him. They had vastly progressed in power since the first time I used them and I saw him go down twitching, opening his mouth without making any sounds. The last guard was running toward me with his combat machete. I darted to the right, far faster than I thought I would, causing him to stumble as he missed me entirely. Barely retaining my own footing, I began to cast another spell. My casting speed had somehow increased as well, because as soon as he got to his feet and turned to charge me my Friction Slash took off his head.

  “Traitor-prince! Traitor-prince!”

  I staggered away from the portal, the voices diminishing slightly. Then I faced it and felt the small voice speak up again.

  Use me.

  Who are you? I asked once more.

  You know me. And I know you.

  Where in the hell have you been? I growled. Do you know what happened to me?

  Yes. I was there. And I rage.

  Use me, the voice begged again. I rage. And so do you.

  Fine, I growled. I didn’t have time for an argument right now anyway. But this isn’t over.

  The familiar burning-melting sensation ran down my knuckles again. And the strange handle was once again in my hands

  Let the lightning beget light and fire. Then let the fire beget more light. Then let the light beget growth. Darkness becomes fuel for light, fear becomes fuel for courage, courage becomes fuel for triumph, triumph becomes fuel for growth. Light your fires, smite your unrighteous fears, expand every joy in your defiant heart.

  The words were doing something inside of me that I couldn't put my finger on. It was almost like something new was fluttering around, like paper and furniture was being rearranged. I felt Pain writhe in outrage of being shuffled around, but I couldn't even hear its voice at the moment.

  The gray fire was melting something off my hands, and as before I felt whole and not harmed. Not even my prior trauma bothered me. Lightning traveled between my two flaming palms until I brought them together. Then a bolt as thick as my forearm shot into the portal.

  “Traitor-prince-traitor-prince-noooo!”

  The voices shut off as the lightning impacted, and the purple-black hole began to smoke and create silver sparks. The lightning traveled in and out of its center hole, and the whirling disc finally seemed to get knocked off balance. The hole began spinning in an off-center direction, getting smaller and smaller until it finally winked out.

  Are you still there? I asked the quiet voice, panting after the expense of magic.

  No time. Go. Needed. By many.

  Swearing under my breath at the unwanted new mystery, I picked up the spear I had killed the first guard with.

  The armored guard's body faded completely. His studded leather fell to the ground along with a much more useful belt than I was wearing.

  A third, fourth, and fifth casualty has been lost to Stellar War, my mind-screen suddenly said.

  “Gah!” I said out loud. “Time the freak out! Is this going to happen for every instance of constructively solving my problems with a deadly weapon? Are other people getting these messages, because operational security is supposed to be a thing! And what the hell is Stellar War?”

  I got even madder, in part because I had just made the hypocritical mistake of loudly complaining about operational security, and also because I had no idea how to adjust the messages in my mind-screen. That was another thing I had never fully worked out with Breena because these messages were never this distracting, and in early cases gave important information too late.

  Pre-recorded Message:

  The Challenger should be aware that mind-screen information is always released personally. Global broadcasts can only come from a planet's core. Furthermore, next time you have a question for your mind-screen Wes, just think it out instead of screaming loudly or by doing some other roundabout method that Breena's already tired of dealing with. And yes I programmed this message in advance. I had to start doing that after the last Challenge because Breena was threatening to figure out how labor unions worked and form one of her own. Now save the rest of your questions for Breena after finishing whatever Challenge you're currently on.

  -Stell

  That answered that. And made me miss her again. And worry about her. And get back to work again.

  The Cosmic Council has been contacted regarding Challenger's exploits in Stellar War. Challenger is being recognized as a notable leader of his faction. Challenger's Infamy has risen given his personal role in the war.

  Current rank is private recruit. Challenger can now summon a uniform denoting his rank and affiliation in the current Stellar War. Challenger's status as a noted leader allows him to temporarily conscript other willing sentients to his faction.

  I blinked as I tried to process all of that information, and failed. Still had no clue what this Stellar War was, didn't care for the name frankly, and then I decided that the more important thing was that someone was actually offering me a uniform.

  More importantly, someone was offering me a shirt and p
ants that didn't itch and might very well have pockets I could use. They were apparently going to offer me some kind of aid for every act of murder- no, that's unfair right now. It was self-defense. Let's call it self-defense. Aggravated self-defense, and with a deadly weapon, but still self-defense. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Anyway, they were going to meet my basic needs for every count of aggravated self-defense with a deadly weapon that I provided them with.

  Screw it. I'd take it right now. My suspicion was trumped by my need for pockets to carry more gear, and so that I could actually own a set of non-scratchy clothing.

  Because I couldn't exactly go to a retail store anymore.

  More twirly stupid hand motions. Then I felt my already thread-bare rags rot off, and something else wrapped around me. I really hadn't pictured anything but something practical, comfortable, and reasonably durable. And with a lot of pockets.

  That was just about all I got. And I had no complaints.

  Comfortable, fitting underclothes appeared over all the necessary areas. Then some weird, snug-fitting, medieval version of military fatigues and boots covered the rest of me. On one leathery bicep sleeve was a single stripe that probably signified my rank as a private. On the other sleeve was some sort of coat-of-arms-ish picture of two dueling dragons. It felt comfortable enough to move easily in, and durable enough to not shred apart at the first sign of trouble. I also got the impression that I could wear other armor over it. Most importantly, there were pockets all over the thing. Probably more than any medieval tailor ever thought was practical.

  My skin hummed for a moment, then I felt the magic on me recognize my new clothes and adjust to them. I knew I didn't have much time but I went around grabbing everything I could. I figured the other prisoners would need any clothing and medicine I could find at the very least. And I grabbed all the weapons, since it wouldn't hurt to have some armed bodies behind me that were actually on my side. Not that any of them were as good as my new spear, let alone my silvery short sword.

  I grabbed the pipe and pouch of tobacco too, because why not.

  I needed to move fast, but I went ahead and checked the piles of boxes around me. I found more what looked like wrapped packets of bread and jerky, a bow and a quiver of arrows- good quality, something said in my mind- and packets of herbs that Breena had taught me could be used to treat the more common diseases and injuries.

  The last box had a satchel with old books and scrolls in it. The satchel was a good sign because I needed more carrying space. But I'd have to take the books and scrolls out of it, and I had just played too many games to be stupid enough to leave what could easily be a whole bunch of magic behind. Even if it turned out I couldn't use it, Rhodes' people would probably find a way.

  Provided that the rest of them were smarter than the bunch I was fighting here.

  Carrying space, the back of my mind said. Container…

  My handle.

  My new uniform had come with a sheath, so there was no reason to store my short sword in the handle I was carrying around.

  I tried holding out the handle, and when I waved it over the books the entire satchel disappeared. I grunted, and the hand-grip felt heavier for just a moment. I got the feeling that its capacity was limited, and that it couldn't hold much more weight than what I could carry on my own. I didn't complain though, because that still meant it had doubled what I could lug around. I went back and put everything fragile or heavy in my new magic hand-grip of holding, hoping that nothing broke when it landed in the extra-dimensional pocket. I even put the second spear I found, but I strapped the guy's leather armor over my frame before I finally headed out.

  I just hoped I wasn't taking too long.

  The black-oil torches fluttered on the wall as I walked past. They seemed to have gotten dimmer after I blew up the portal. I still hadn't seen anyone come out. I figured they didn't hear the earlier battle. Or they had finally smartened up and had picked a rally point to ambush me at.

  “Come on Rick! How long could it take to cut off a little retard's head?”

  Nope. Still working with room-temperature IQs. That was fine. Murphy's Law could have the day off if it wanted and I wouldn't even dock its pay.

  I didn't answer the voice, but I walked close to the corner and held my spear. I listened for the footsteps to get close. The man kept calling for his friend, and I had to fight to stay focus. This was the one that said he was going to go torture Val and Sam and Kayla, so I had special plans for him. I just had to make sure those plans didn't cost me anything important.

  Val's tormentor kept calling out and swearing until he walked around the corner. I let him make eye contact with me for half of a second before I stabbed my spear above his waist and just below his belly. He was still surprised, and since the vital guard partially depends on awareness I was able to overcome its ability to protect his spine. I felt it crack, taking away his legs for now, and twisting it to try and keep it in place. He dropped the weapon he was holding, and my eyes narrowed in anger as I saw what it was. It was a medieval warhammer, although the was head blunt, instead of spiked like most of the real ones were. It still had the billed hook on the other end though. But I quit paying attention to the dropped weapon because he was about to scream in pain.

  I leaped over my weapon and slammed a shale-covered fist into his mouth. It wasn't a perfect idea but it cut off his scream just enough to be effective. I hit him a few more times, probably a lot more than an anger management counselor would be comfortable recommending, and then I grabbed him by the throat and squeezed enough to keep him from yelling out.

  “Be quiet,” I said, slowly, clearly, and (probably) calmly. People would debate that last one, but the important thing was that he had gone quiet, and staring at me with wide, shocked eyes.

  “I'm going to let go enough for you to talk in a minute. There are some questions you really need to answer as best as you can. You're not going to lie or evade them, and you're not going call out for help. You're not going to do any of that because I remember every time you and the others murdered me. Right now, I have the time, knowledge and inclination to give one of those deaths back. I remember which ones hurt and broke me the most, and if you aggravate me I'm going to do at least one of them to you, assuming I don't try to combine the worst two. Nod if you understand me.”

  I shouldn't have been able to intimidate him. He was at least my height and almost half-again my weight. Given his background he had probably seen all kinds of horrible torture and murder, and probably had a hand in the worst examples.

  But he nodded anyway.

  Maybe it was because of the spear in his spine. Maybe I had hit him harder than I thought earlier. Maybe it was the wind and earth and lightning magic crackling quietly around me. Maybe something in my eyes said I was the honest type, and that he could trust me to keep my promises.

  “First question. Are Val and Sam and Kayla still here?”

  I had relaxed my grip, but he still chose to nod.

  “Are they still alive?”

  Another furious nod.

  “Are they okay?”

  Silence.

  “Let me clarify,” I growled. “You should assume I already know very bad things happened to all of them. You should also assume that I'm very, very angry about it, and that the fact that those bad things were done to them just to help disguise my father's murder makes me that much angrier. It's too late to fix either of those things. Actually, I take it back. There's one thing that might help a tiny bit.”

  With my free hand, I pulled out the handle again.

  Use this, the voice that had guided my lightning said. It will bear witness.

  “Record,” I said aloud. “This is a voluntary confession from... what was your name again?”

  “Steve,” the man under me croaked. “Just Steve.”

  “Okay, first names are fine for now. And this is a voluntary confession, right Steve?” I asked levely.

  “Yes! Yes! Completely voluntary!”
the man said desperately. “Not, not coerced at all!”

  “That's wonderful, Steve. Thank you so much for coming forward. Now I wanted to ask you some questions about the events surrounding John Malcolm's death. You have time for that, right Steve?”

  “Yes, absolutely! Happy to help!”

  Sheesh he's agreeable, I thought. Am I really that scary right now?

  I didn't think I was. But then again, I had died dozens of times and these days I was hearing voices and having all kinds of internal conversations with myself.