Ritualist (The Completionist Chronicles Book 1)

by Dakota Krout

  Ritualist

  Book One of The Completionist Chronicles

  Written by Dakota Krout

  © 2018 Dakota Krout. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by US copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is rated PG-13 for literary fighting, foul language, and puns unsuitable for people of all ages. It also contains advanced mathematical concepts unsuitable for liberal arts majors.

  For book updates and news from Dakota:

  www.DakotaKrout.com

  www.Facebook.com/TheDivineDungeon

  www.Patreon.com/DakotaKrout

  www.Twitter.com/DakotaKrout

  www.Goodreads.com/Dakota_Krout

  ~ Table of Contents ~

  ~ Table of Contents ~

  ~ Acknowledgments ~

  ~ Prologue ~

  ~ Chapter One ~

  ~ Chapter Two ~

  ~ Chapter Three~

  ~ Chapter Four ~

  ~ Chapter Five ~

  ~ Chapter Six ~

  ~ Chapter Seven ~

  ~ Chapter Eight ~

  ~ Chapter Nine ~

  ~ Chapter Ten ~

  ~ Chapter Eleven ~

  ~ Chapter Twelve ~

  ~ Chapter Thirteen ~

  ~ Chapter Fourteen ~

  ~ Chapter Fifteen ~

  ~ Chapter Sixteen ~

  ~ Chapter Seventeen ~

  ~ Chapter Eighteen ~

  ~ Chapter Nineteen ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-one ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-two ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-three ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-four ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-five ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-six ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-seven ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-eight ~

  ~ Chapter Twenty-nine ~

  ~ Chapter Thirty ~

  ~ Chapter Thirty-one ~

  ~ Chapter Thirty-two ~

  ~ Chapter Thirty-three ~

  ~ Chapter Thirty-four ~

  ~ Chapter Thirty-five ~

  ~ Chapter Thirty-six ~

  ~ Chapter Thirty-seven ~

  ~ Epilogue ~

  ~ Afterword ~

  ~ Appendix ~

  ~ Sneak Peek ~

  ~ Acknowledgments ~

  There are many people who have made this book possible. As always, the first among them is my amazing wife, who always encourages me to do the best at any task I set my mind to. She pushes me to set deadlines and meet them, and always does her best to make sure I am maintaining a balance of working and taking care of my growing family.

  A small thank you to my daughter, who reminds me why I am working so hard. I hope that I can always be the person you need me to be!

  A special thank you to all of my patreons, who supply me with an endless stream of coffee, but especially to: Steven Willden, Nicholas Schmidt, Samuel Landrie, Blas Agosto, and Justin Williams. You guys are so involved, always offering great advice and hints to writing better stories.

  Finally, a great thank you to all my friends, family, and beta readers who made their way through the awful early editions in order to make this book readable! A special thanks to my friend and editor Dylan S., who helped me to release a high-quality book.

  ~ Prologue ~

  “Sir, the geological surveys all came back clean! There is nothing we could have done to predict this,” the man standing in front of the toolpusher–the person in charge of every crew on the oil rig–nervously reported.

  The toolpusher looked back at him with dead eyes, a slight sneer on his face. “You think those eco-terrorists that masquerade as conservationists will give a damn that there was an earthquake? You think they won’t blame Earth Friendly Oil for the largest spill in a decade? EFO is already in the spotlight after that crew lost control five years ago, and then you tap into the largest underwater oil deposit anyone has ever seen. A week after you make the call, an earthquake on a city-killing scale has its epicenter right where we are drilling? You think they will let that be passed off as a coincidence?”

  “Well, most likely no, but what do you mean I made the call-” the nervous roughneck tried to speak, only to be cut off with a hand held out at chest level.

  “Look. I know you are a good guy, and you run a tight crew. You’re real good at what you do. You are also fired. We need someone to take the fall, and you are the only likely candidate.” The toolpusher sighed at the bleak look, which was the only response to his words. “Look, it isn’t like we are going to send you off with nothing. We’re giving you five years pay as severance and–if you change your name–we’ll even give you a glowing recommendation!”

  “Change my name…? You’re blaming this on me?” There was a blazing fury in his eyes now. “I was only here so I could make enough money to finish my doctorate! You were the one that made us-”

  “Yeah, well, thing is, we can’t have you associated with us after this incident since your name will forevermore be the hallmark of damage to the environment.” The toolpusher put his feet up on his desk, chuckled heartlessly, and waved his ex-employee off. “Sure as heck ain’t gonna be me going down for this. Let us know what new name you come up with.”

  “You’re going to play it like this? Fine. I’m going to find a way to get back at all of you, even if that means ridding the world of its dependence on oil entirely.” The fire turned to ice in the man’s glare. “From now on, you can call me… Elon.” He stormed out of the office, then had to wait an hour before a helicopter arrived to take him away. Elon decided he had had enough of this world: the drama, the strife. He decided to pursue the dreams he had as a child. He would work toward building a colony on the neighboring planet, Mars. Elon reached into his bag, sneaking a peek at the large, blue-glowing rock that had been pulled up from under the ocean floor. ~Core.~ This rock was filled with power; he just knew it! ~Core!~ Was it an alien artifact? It almost seemed to be whispering to him. In the right light, there were even faint markings coating the blue stone in shimmering, undulating light. ~Core, for abyss sake!~ Almost as if it were covered in chains.

  Elon decided to study this Core. Core? He felt an odd satisfaction with the term. He would reach his dream eventually, but he needed a way to make money. Elon turned his mind to his past interests: the Internet, renewable energy, and outer space.

  Over the next few years, Elon rose like a phoenix in the tech world. He started a payment system, multiple companies, and finally, the pinnacle of his dream, a privately owned space research center. Space Y. Then the stock market crashed, and he was out of money. Well, for a very short amount of time. With newfound free-time and after years of putting it off, Elon devoted his efforts to researching the Core more directly instead of simply carrying it around as a good luck charm and reminder.

  After weeks of preparation, Elon hooked energy-sensitive wires between the Core and his personal computer in an attempt to analyze it. His monitor flickered, and the metrics on the side of his screen went haywire. There was no way that his Wi-Fi had just transferred forty-three Exabytes of data, was there? Elon stared at his shifting monitor as text appeared on it.

 

  ~ Chapter One ~

  “Drink up boys!” Staff Serge
ant Knecht called. “Tomorrow we’re on QRF all~l~l day long!”

  Sergeant Nelson shook his head, a tiny bit professionally upset by his soldiers drinking so heavily the night before they were on duty for the quick reaction force. To be fair, as the medic, he was against them drinking at all in this heat. The motto of the army may as well be ‘Drink Water!’ He understood the need the others felt to forget their troubles, but tomorrow they would be wearing full kit in one-hundred-ten degree weather.

  “C’mon, little Joe!” Private first class Johnson slapped his favorite medic on the shoulder. “If they get too dehydrated, just do what ya always do! Stick ‘em!”

  “Way too loud.” Sergeant Nelson glared at the overly familiar tone, “Johnson, you know that you can’t be so casual and use my first name like that around officers. They’re super touchy about that, especially when we get a chance to drink. You know they are always looking for an excuse to take away drinking privileges.” Indeed, a few of the butter-bars (2nd lieutenants) had glared over at them and muttered something to the people at their table. The Captain grabbed the hostile officer as he started to stand, shaking his head to force the agitated man to calm down.

  “Also, we don’t have a bunch of IV’s right now, so it’ll be a bit hard to ‘stick em’ as you suggest. The shipment of supplies is late. Hell, the fuel shipment is late again, which is why we are doin’ half patrols. If we had a logistic sergeant in charge over there instead of that two bit luey, we-”

  “La-la-la!” The PFC put his hands over his ears. “I’m not hearing you say bad things about our executive officer right now! I’m not getting into logistics, administration, or politics!” When a gleam appeared in Joey’s eyes, Johnson quickly amended, “Or religion! Nope, tonight I’m drinkin’!”

  Even though he wanted to say something, the PFC sure had him pegged. Sergeant Nelson laughed and settled back into his seat; it was fun to mess with this kid’s head. He slowly sipped his one beer for the night, drinking twice as much water to counteract the dehydration. Good times.

  ***

  “We’ve got a problem, sir!” A radio operator, Specialist Krout had been pulled out of headquarters and pressed into service on the medevac helicopter when the last guy had come down with a bad case of… dying. “First platoon got hit, they found an IED the wrong way. QRF is on the way, but they need evac and medical attention ASAP.”

  “Wow, use more acronyms in your next report, Krout,” a sarcastic reply was snapped out. The pilot–Warrant Officer Lyons–warmed up the rotors and soon began flying toward the coordinates Krout provided. He turned his head to look behind himself. “Nelson! You and your guys ready to go?” According to the nine-line medevac report included, there were no hostiles in the area so landing to pick up wounded was a top priority. Joe was relieved to hear that they could go right in; their platoon only had two choppers and both were used for quick pick-ups. Battalion–almost fifty miles south–had the real firepower, and he didn’t want to wait an additional twenty minutes to save his comrades and friends.

  “Always, sir!” Joe shouted the reply. Jumping the few remaining feet as soon as they touched down, Sergeant Nelson and his two specialists grabbed a gurney and made a run for the smoking wreck of a Humvee. The wounded were spread on the ground as far as twenty feet away, and low moans of pain came from several of them. Those ones didn’t worry him as much as the men who were silent.

  A Staff Sergeant came over and gave him a quick situation report, “Five wounded, two critically! Meyers is awake but not making any noise. He… he lost his leg! He should be screaming.” He held back a sob as he spoke.

  “Different man, different way of dealing with pain. Nothing you could do, brother. Nice work on that tourniquet.” Nelson shook his head as he knelt down to triage the men. After an initial assessment and the adjustment of a few tourniquets, he noted with relief that all of these men would survive if they got proper care in a timely manner. They loaded up the worst of the wounded and took off. Sergeant Nelson was fully absorbed in keeping the men stable… until he heard an ominous shout.

  “Oh shit!” The chopper took a hard turn, which gave Nelson the perfect view of an RPG coming straight at the broad side of the chopper.

  There was a flash of fiery light... just before everything went black.

  ~ Chapter Two ~

  *Beep*.... *Beep* … Joey Nelson opened his eyes so he could shout at Johnson to shut off the stupid game he was always playing. He tried to turn but found his head held fast. Now fully awake, he looked around and saw white everywhere. He had been in them enough to recognize the flat colors and prison-cell feel of an army hospital.

  “Frack,” was all he could say, as close to swearing as he allowed himself to get. At least for the ‘hard’ swear words, anyway.

  A smiling face came into view. “Awake are you? They were right! Good, right on schedule. Good, good.”

  “Who are you?” Joey blearily asked, the drugs he was on right now must be really good. “Are you a doctor?”

  The greasy smile quivered a bit as the man seemed to be dealing with an internal battle for morality. Morality lost by a large margin. “Well. No. I’m sorry to say, I am an attorney.”

  “What the…? For what?” Joey struggled to remain fully cognizant of his surroundings. “Where are we? There are no lawyers in this god-forsaken desert, the only good thing about the whole dang place.”

  “That’s uncalled for.” The greasy man’s eyes shifted into a hurt look. “We are back in the States; you must have been out of it for quite a while! About a month, I believe. Just long enough for the paperwork.”

  “What are you going on about? You an army lawyer? They kicking me out now?” Nelson’s voice had a dreamy quality to it as the drugs tried to send him off to the darkness again.

  “No, no… well, yes, you are getting an honorable discharge, a few medals, and most likely a pension, but that's not my department. No, I am here representing your wife, Daisy.” A wet tongue flicked out and moistened his lips.

  “Where is she? Is she coming to visit?” Joey looked around desperately for his wife; they had only been married a few months when he got his deployment orders.

  “She already did, and… well, that is why I am here. I specialize in divorce cases, and I needed to inform you that your wife is getting your marriage annulled. In this case, she is not trying for anything that you owned, and she will only take the possessions and money that she brought into the relationship. She wants this to be as painless as possible for you.” The faux concern in his voice pulled Joe back toward awareness.

  Joey’s eyes bulged out, “What? Why would she leave me, I…?” He tried to sit up, only to realize that he could not move at all. He had thought that he was held in place, but now darker, more insidious ideas of his status were appearing in his mind.

  “You must understand how difficult it would be for a twenty-year-old woman to be married to a quadriplegic, sir.” The lawyer stopped in shock as Joey’s eyes went blank and his face drained of color. “Sir?”

  “Hey!” A female doctor stepped into the room. “Who are you? Is he awake? What did you tell him!”

  “What are you talking about?” The confusion was evident on the lawyer's face. “I have a legal right to inform him....”

  “If he is awake, it is the first time since he got shot down! Get out or I’ll have you arrested!” The doctor shouted in a tone that was bordering on shrill. She ran over to Joey as the lawyer scampered away mumbling apologies. “Sergeant Nelson, it isn’t that bad, you could…”

  Joey cut her off, “Am I paralyzed?”

  “...Yes,” was the reluctant reply.

  “Will I ever regain functionality?”

  “It’s… not likely,” she admitted quietly.

  “Is my wife leaving me?” The doctor had the good grace to look away and not answer as a sob accompanied the question. “Pardon my insubordination, ma’am, but I think it is that bad.”

  ***

  The most hu
miliating three months of Joey’s life passed in a blur as he tried everything he could think of to regain the use of his limbs. If he could even get his fingers to move he could at least type for a living instead of being a drain on all of his loved ones’ resources. He had been moved into his mother’s house at her insistence, and she had been feeding and taking care of him since. Luckily, a portion of his benefits went to the hiring of a nurse that cleaned him so he didn’t have to suffer the indignity of having his mother do that as well.

  “You have a visitor, my love,” his mom called out as she entered the room.

  Bitterly, he muttered, “Please let it be the grim reaper.”

  She smacked his leg and glared at him; he didn’t care. He couldn’t feel the strike anyway. One of his buddies from the army came in with a grin as his mother left the room.

  “Tim Ramen, as I live and breathe.” What felt like the first real smile in months stretched his cheeks.

  “Well you look like shit.”

  “Thanks, I still look better than you. At least my arms still have some definition, unlike those noodles you wave around uncontrollably.”

  “Why are you lazing around? Rub some dirt in it, you’ll be fine. Best cure the army can buy, raw dirt.” Tim had trained as a medic with Joey and had always been full of eccentric jokes.

  Joey nodded. “Ah yes, your catch phrase. You know, a few of those privates took you seriously and got infected. When a medic tells you to do something…”

  “You do it,” Tim finished the saying and chuckled. His face slowly lost a bit of its forced cheer. “Well, damn, buddy. Any good news about this?”

  “Well, turns out I’m rich. After my ex sold my house and car and dog and…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it, your life is basically a country music song right now,” Tim interrupted him laughingly.