by Jacob Spadt
The world’s ignorance astounded me at times.
The irony of my current dilemma was not lost on Eryn or me. She knew how I felt about the church and my disdain for letting them be involved in my life. One of the priests that had watched over me when I was in the coma came to visit me a couple of times. I did not know of his existence until last week when I got an official apology from the church about the previous priest’s actions. Apparently there was some mystery around where he had come from. I had to refrain from saying, “Ya think?”
Father Gerone was a young man about twenty eight or so, only a few years older than I was. He was very short and looked like he never ate due to the size of his frame. It made me laugh see him walking up because he had a jet black goatee and a serious look on his face as if he was on some mission from God that was beyond secret. His walk was confident, but he was not very coordinated; he always tripped coming up the walkway to the house due to the uneven sidewalk sections settling over time. His lack of hair made him look older than he was. He was, however, a nice man and showed genuine concern for people so our talks were not too painful, although his accusations of my affiliations did prove annoying. Just like being in a mass, he always opened our talks with a very lengthy prayer that had me almost asleep by the time he finished.
The hardest part was the questions. He asked me questions that I had no answer to, or any possible way of knowing. It was always the same theme. How long had I been interested in the occult? When did the devil approach me and promise me great changes in my life for power? Was I ready to repent? Yet he always asked me in such a way that made me feel guilt for the things happening to me. How could I be responsible for things beyond my control? Not getting labelled as a freak was now a life ambition. I simply wanted to figure my life out and did not dare tell him that we were actually going to ask for help on that level since the church could not provide any answers.
Movement out the window caught my eye again. The rain had stopped for the most part; it was a light mist now. I liked the rain. It washed things away and renewed life. I wished that I could step outside into the rain, and emerge out the other side back in my old shape or form and go exploring with Jason. Those days seemed so long ago and in part they were; I could never go back. That part of my life was over. My parents were dead. Dieter Gutermuth was dead. The new “me” was undiscovered. There was no clue to what my purpose was now. Science failed and medicine was not even at the same table as science was. Religion was an absolute travesty to me. I had spent a lot of time in prayer no avail. God was not speaking to me or was not home. Maybe I had angered him somehow or maybe the answer was what was actually happening was supposed to happen.
I did not have a clue who to turn to aside from Eryn’s idea. My life continued to be full of strange dreams of slaying daemons. It made me shudder to think there was actual enjoyment in that. I felt in control being this close to insanity. One particular dream that I had involved a small village of people that apparently knew who I was; they were friends. In my dream, I walk in and countless people greeted me and called me all by my new name. Based on the look of the buildings, it seemed to be akin to the Roman era. There were tile roofs like the ones seen on villas from old pictures. The clothing and local garb seemed to be Roman like. I saw a few soldiers around wearing armor that looked to be from that era also. The houses were stucco and not more than a few stories tall at best.
They number in the thousands but small enough to know quite a few people there especially if you are a shop owner or market place urchin. There is some sort of market filled with people looking at the wares for sale. Basic weapons, food, and clothing displayed on tables. The clothing is very basic but looks durable, made from wool or cotton, or some other materials. People moved about with purpose, something was wrong. Then screaming came from the other end of the market. One or two voices cry out then five, then seven, then a whole chorus of cries and screams. I rush to the other of the market place towards the noise only to find some sort of daemon is attacking the townsfolk and the guards are already dead. The people are calling to me by name for help in the panic and chaos. Next thing...there are weapons in my hands and I am moving with a purpose to engage.
I began to hack and these monsters with fury and vengeance. They see me coming and begin leaping on me from roof tops and other small structures. It took me many times of seeing this dream to realize that my size matches my reality. So the daemons try to topple me by getting up high, and using their weight to knock me down. One leapt from the left I duck and swing a blade up like a back hand and felt the steel bite flesh hard. A shower of ichor sprayed all over the ground; I rose up and swung at two more that tried to sweep my legs. The leg of is severed by my sword...the other is taken in the stomach lengthwise. It falls in two with bowels spilling on the ground.
Creatures with grayish green skin surround me, anywhere from four to eight legs, and lots and lots of teeth and claws. Quick count it is at least two dozen and one gigantic one.
“You.”
With my sword leveled at it after speaking, it talks to me in some language somehow understood. It says something like “not yet” then dozens more swarm me. I am cleaving and swinging like a chef in a restaurant preparing a meal. Parts of daemon are flying all around and the ichor is flowing and spraying...getting on everything, including me. I am leaping and dodging, parrying, and striking with such ferocity that my motions are a complete blur through most of it. Daemon anatomy litters the ground and they just keep on coming. I take down the first dozen or so without breaking a sweat or getting hit.
Then the damage starts to accumulate. A bite on my thigh is moderately deep. These things have poison in their mouths, but I strangely am not worried about it. A claw on my abdomen leaves six marks horizontally; more of a light scratch but six of them will start to bleed a bit. The warmth of my own blood flows mixing with the ichor droplets on my skin, which are cold to the touch strangely enough. Several more wounds in various locations are all minor, but still add to the pain. The daemon blood, however, does burn when it hits an open wound, and a sick feeling that accompanies the pain, as it is very toxic.
I seem to know this in my dream because upon command my swords ignite and I touch them to each of the wounds to sterilize them and stop the bleeding. It hurts like hell, but I grunt through the pain in between swings that I am taking respectively at targets as they present themselves to me. They hesitate. The large one moves away and is casually eating some sort of beast of burden that I do not recognize but am not surprised to see. It cries in pain as the daemon has started on the backside of the creature slowly taking bites and chewing like it has not eaten in a while...like it is savoring what would be a good steak. I feel sorry for the beast but cannot get there to end its suffering.
Another horde has just arrived from the woods. They have charged into the fray right about the time I get down to only about six of the original total. I glance again and the big one that smiles at me with a mouthful of intestine that is bleeding and falling out of its mouth as it chews. I just shake my head and holler, “You can’t hide behind your meal forever.” Then I say a name as if I know this one...Something that sound like "Discus."
More daemons come. I continue to slay them left, right, and center. Six point counter attack, three point parry, and defensive parry-block combination into a whirling attack that manages to lure in about seven of them in and removed heads in one swing of both blades. I can smell and hear the searing flesh continue to cook as the heads hit the ground. They smell of burnt offerings to God in the Old Testament. It fills my nostrils with a smell that I long for…dead daemons. It allures me and entices me to engage further and further into the ranks without mercy or fear. I feel a threat from above me but far out of reach of my blades. The flyers have joined the attack now. I was waiting for that. Right when I have the battle figured out, it shifts again.
This is expected. I am now swarmed on all sides and getting attacked from multiple targets that are swoopi
ng in from the heavens. Something triggers within me, and warmth surges from somewhere inside me. The burning sensation took its toll on my limbs. This subsides and the flesh begins to knit itself back together. The blood flow ceases and my skin hardens like its liquid metal but flows and flexes with each movement. At this point in the dream, I realize that I am not even wearing armor. I have dual baldrics crossed on my back and a tunic that is silver. A cloak blows in the wind and moves with me.
The fight continues for several moments. The bodies of daemons litter the market place by now. It is well over a hundred that have been hacked into pieces. The garish nature of the fight has me even surprised at the violence level of which I am engaging. It is ruthless, I am slaughtering these monsters in such numbers that it makes me wonder how they can replenish their ranks so quickly, and keep coming at me with such ferocity and self-abandon. Something drives these creatures with hatred beyond what I am even capable of seeing. Even with my momentary lapse of drive to keep slaying them, which only lasts for a second or two because the dream gets good after I finish off the small ones, there is a panoramic view of the battle field. I cannot even count the carnage at this point. The fight is graphic, but nothing can prepare me for what I see as I turn and look.
Just like some sort of movie you see where the hero never runs out of bullets and the body count is insane, the pieces of daemon laying everywhere, broken bodies of townsfolk mixed in is sobering. Yet as I play back the dream I can actually still remember and see each of the daemons, what was cut off if anything or how they simply fell onto my blade in such a fashion it was not just skill but a manor of they almost wanted to die. The bigger one looks right at me as he jumps off whatever he was sitting on to watch the fray and laughs as he throws himself at me and I wake up. This is all very weird. Why does it stop there? I have seen a few seconds more where I start to swing but never what comes next. It is like having your video player eat the tape right at the final scene of a movie, so you never get to see it.
This almost traumatizes me more than the dream itself. All the gore and daemon blood, townsfolk slaughtered by the dozens, and I do not get to kill the bad guy whose name some of the people know. It is rather disturbing to me that I am more upset about that than the people that died. Just like fishing and the one that got away. I always feel unfulfilled when that dream occurs and I awaken, denying me the conclusion. It is always more graphic when I am asleep, or in the stupor I now call sleep.
I have told Eryn about this and that I seem to be having more and more dreams that all have the same theme. Violence and death on a scale that makes stories I hear about world wars pale in comparison. They have started to tie into each other also. Like chapters in a book. She seems to think I should find a hypnotist and see if they can dig around in my brain somehow to see if there is any sort of relation or if my mind is just tapping into a highly creative portion of my brain. I am not so sure about doing that because I am afraid of what they may find.
Shock factor aside I like the dreams because I feel like I am doing something rather than sitting around and being a freak. Something tells me Eryn would freak out if she knew this.
Why does blood affect me so?
The sight of it makes me go into a trance-like state almost every time with no memory of it. The last time it happened was at the sink when Eryn was making dinner. She said I was non responsive for about twenty minutes and it was almost like a panic attack. She was able to get me to sit. At least I did not collapse. That would be embarrassing to be this big strong man that collapses at the sight of blood. None of it made sense because when I see it in my dreams it excites me and draws me into combat. Yet in real life it shuts me down and perplexes me.
The sun started to peak through the remaining clouds like light showing through holes in a vapor canvas and painted the countryside golden yellow. The back yard was slightly still dark and dismal, lending to a melancholy mood that I was now feeling. A few squirrels foraged in the grass, hopping from raised spot to raised spot and trying to avoid an accidental bath. Birds were still in their hunt patterns and trying to capitalize on the earthen crawlers’ plight. It always interested to me how rain always seemed to change the mood of the day. Yet it reset things and allowed for new beginnings. Just like taking a bath refreshes and revitalizes the human body, rain always seems to preserve life and keep the wheels of nature turning.
I rose from my spot on the carpet and noticed that I must have been sweating profusely by the dampness of the carpet. When I went to remove my shirt and put on a fresh change the clothes, I realized the clothing was not damp at all. Yet the carpet was close to being soaked. I went to the closet to grab some towels to place down. Yet again it did not make any sense how the carpet could be soaked while the clothes were totally dry.
Normally I would try to come up with something humorous to tell Eryn about this, but I found my thoughts were not in a funny mood. My humor fell short. I felt serious, almost like reality was crashing in on me in such a way that I did not find things funny anymore.
“Great!” I thought I am becoming as jaded as Jason and his crazy quest. I had nothing come to mind of how to tell Eryn of the freak water incident with a humorous twist. Perhaps it was best not to tell her at all. The last thing she needed to do was stress about leaks in the roof or freakish sweating. Next thing I know she will be asking me twenty questions about how it happened.
There arose in me a longing for her to return from work. I knew I loved her. What if she did not feel the same? It was not a hard decision to stay silent.
After all, silence was golden.
XXXII
Clues
Several days passed since my trance-like visions on the carpet. I felt like my mind was not just lost...but evaded me locating it. The hallucinations did not feel like visions or dreams. They felt like memories.
This was not possible!
Each day my journey into my mind took me to the surreal. The effects of the environment in each scene immersed to the point that my tactile senses came alive, whether it be a brisk, cold wind or the gentle dance of the breeze in the sun. The daemons had a foul smell to them. Many smells assaulted me. The rancidness of their breath found its way into my mouth. It tasted sulfuric. Saliva burned slightly when they bit me, and when their venom hit my bloodstream, I felt my body on fire.
These moments turned into hours. They came a few at a time or continuously, increasing my desire to experience these fights – to feel the life being choked out of the monsters of legend felt right to me. Holy vengeance channeled through me, wanting me to slaughter my foes and to relish doing so. This emotion became so strong it was hard to contain. The smell of their blood on the battlefield afterward was intoxicating, driving me to the next set of images that played out in my head.
It was like watching television, only better, and I found myself sitting there daily, stupefied. They came on suddenly, grabbing me like a paralysis, yet I did not want them to stop once they started. This existence consumed me, and I did not even know why yet.
An image had just shown large walls that were so tall they stretched into the clouds. I could not see what was behind it, only that the wall itself was covered in daemons the size of a large dog. They had wings and flitted about speedily. I had been slaying them with swords as fast I could swing. They fell by the dozens before me. Bodies decorated the walls like a façade. Blood covered me like a glaze and I felt permeated by it. My blades added to the disarray from the daemonic body count in my wake.
The vision shifted. My view flew backward and faded out completely, bringing me back to this reality. In previous days, the intensity was nothing compared to now. It felt hollow and false now as if I was looking through a lens at what my real existence should be. Yet I was still getting used to this new body. Its size, weight, strength, dexterity, and endurance had all increased beyond most of the athletes I had ever heard of. In fact, I was sure that defeating the warriors of modern sports would be easy.
I caught myself
at the thought. Being cocky was never a luxury. The few things in my life that defined me never made me feel better than anyone else. A mental note to purge that way of thinking came to mind. This had to be a gift from God, life, or karma, best used to better the world somehow. Learning who I would transform into, was vastly becoming my soul purpose and these memories played a part. Even though my body was not visible in them...my shadow was. These events were things that never happened. Perhaps it was a vision of the future. One question remained beyond the obvious.
Why?
What could I have done to cause my life to derail so bad that my reward was a coma? Each wound left more than an echo that the incident had happened. Pints of my blood decorated the walls on dozens of occasions Eryn told me. They documented each event, but the records were now sealed. Something told me the church had footage somewhere, or perhaps photos to study. I knew the police did have some, but they were only of the blood on the walls and the stained or soaked bedding. The amount of blood that I lost was also not possible, further confusing the medical community as to how my existence continued. The body of a small man does not hold the volume I lost.
My curiosity was beyond obsessed.
I had never seen a daemon in my life, but did not doubt they existed on some level...so fighting hundreds upon hundreds was not logical. However, it was impossible to overlook the final facts. I was a giant with fighting skills that matched a seasoned warrior with muscles that normally took years to build.