Chapter 39

  The crowd of minotaur soldiers stood in shocked silence as I pulled my sword out of their dead general’s side. I was in a daze, I felt dizzy as I stood up, and I wanted to sleep more than anything in the world, but this wasn’t over yet. The messages were piling up on my NeuroHUD, warning me of the sorry state of my SAC, the IFD seemed to be convinced I had a broken collarbone — although I didn’t feel anything other than a numb pain in my shoulder — and of course the notification from Button that I had gained enough EXP to reach the next level and I had to choose whether I wanted to upgrade myself or my SAC.

  ‘Reinos, the general is dead,’ I whispered news of my victory to my general via the RMS.

  [Yes, Lord, we noticed, and it’s good news. The enemy is weakened and confused already. It seems we won’t need to retreat. I’m calling Detachment Alpha to join the fight. We’ll clear out the neighbouring camps. We will win this, my Lord, we will win this!]

  ‘Good work, general,’ I said and let him get on with his job.

  I had my own survival to worry about; the hundreds upon hundreds of enemy soldiers stopped staring at their dead boss, their eyes now on me. A few of them even took small, tentative steps forward, weapons drawn and ready. I was so tired, so sleepy, I wanted to just collapse to the ground, let the minotaurs finish me quickly so I could rest for all eternity. But it wasn’t an option of course; I couldn’t afford to die here, otherwise what would become of my daughter? Of the dungeon? Of my plans to get back to my own world or universe where I belonged?

  [Skill: Psychic Resistance (Combined) has reached level 9.]

  ‘What?’ I blurted out the word as the notification popped up on top of all the warnings already there.

  ‘What? I tell you what! A disgrace, that’s what. A total, unmitigated disgrace. You call this a duel?’ Burning Darkness screamed into my head like an angry housewife who had just caught her husband walking into the kitchen with muddy shoes. ‘You let go of me. Twice. And hardly any proper swordsmanship. Didn’t I tell you to let the skill do its thing? Didn’t I? And what did you do? Brawling! That’s what it was: a brawl on the ground like two imps after a day of heavy drinking.’

  ‘Just … shut up! I won, didn’t I?’ I snapped at him, looking around warily while putting him back to his sheath and reaching for my rifle — which was still there and intact by some miracle.

  ‘Yeah, well, you did.’ Burning Darkness conceded the point and quieted down.

  The minotaurs were regaining their wits rapidly, more and more of them taking steps towards me. I hoped I’d be able to shoot my way out of here. But I was getting sleepier. And sleepier. The world around me — the leather tents, the approaching minotaurs, the burning sky above — began to darken and fade.

  ‘Listen, something’s happening. Something’s not right,’ I whispered to my sword, panting, struggling to move my lips.

  ‘What’s not right?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s psychic. I’m getting sleepy. I can’t … I can’t keep my eyes open.’

  ‘Oh. That’s … not good,’ my sword said. ‘We need to get out of here now!’

  I wanted to reply to him, I wanted to move my limbs, to run, to walk, to crawl, but I couldn’t. Sleep was coming without mercy, my eyelids heavy as lead.

  ‘Oh no, no, no! Don’t fall asleep here, man!’ I heard my sword’s voice, a distant echo in a distant corner of my head. ‘Oi! Put him down, ya hear!’

  Put who down? I wasn’t sure, I was too sleepy to be sure. I gritted my teeth as I gathered all of my willpower, all my strength. I forced my eyes to remain open, only to see a confused crowd of minotaurs looking around as if they had lost something. And the world was moving. Or was I moving?

  [Skill: Psychic Resistance (Combined) has reached level 10.]

  [At level 10, Psychic Resistance (Combined) can be upgraded to a variety of more complex and potent skills.]

  [Please choose one of the following:]

  [Psychic Shield (Combined): this passive skill is a linear upgrade of your Psychic Resistance skill. The skill provides enhanced shielding against psychic spells and aura effects of both Hell and Upstairs origins.]

  [Psychic Riposte (Combined): this switchable skill is a divergent upgrade of your Psychic Resistance skill. The skill continues to provide a passive and slightly enhanced shielding against psychic spells and aura effects of both Hell and Upstairs origins. The active aspect of the skill absorbs a portion of the incoming psychic energies and uses it to create a psychic thrust as a counterattack.]

  I just about managed to read the text when I heard Burning Darkness screaming.

  ‘Calvin! We’re … we’re moving! Do something!’

  His voice was muffled as if he was talking to me from another room. And he had called me by my name. Huh, always a first time for everything. But I had no idea what was happening, the world around me had faded to a uniform grey emptiness. My only clue and my only chance was the notifications for the available upgrades to my Psychic Resistance skill. Thinking clearly and logically was impossible in this frightening dream state I was falling into, and my decision was one of spite and anger.

  [Skill: Psychic Riposte (Combined), has been added to your list of skills.]

  ‘Psychic Riposte!’ I called on the skill as soon as I had it.

  I felt something happening in my soul, not exactly sure what, but I felt a little less sleepy. I guessed the passive effect of improved psychic shielding was kicking in, but … what about that riposte against whoever was attacking me?

  ‘Ahhh, that tickles!’ a voice filled my mind so completely I thought my own consciousness would be pushed out of it. ‘One cannot underestimate a surface creature.’

  The voice was deep, bottomless, dark and menacing; if a black hole could speak, this would be its voice, pulling and pushing with such force it could tear someone apart.

  ‘Who … the fuck … are you?’ I managed to squeeze the words out. Maybe. Or maybe I was just thinking those words. I couldn’t tell.

  ‘Oh, shit, it’s him!’ Burning Darkness wailed from a considerable distance.

  Did he … did he know who the owner of the abhorrent, nightmarish voice was? Was this a good sign? A bad sign? The sword certainly didn’t sound happy.

  ‘Who is this? What’s happening?’ I demanded, hoping the sword could hear me.

  ‘Fight it, my man, fight it! It’s Kralsen!’ he yelled.

  Kralsen? As in that Kralsen? The demon general in possession of the “Dreamer of Pain” epithet?

  ‘Tarashak! Kralsen is attacking me. Why?’ I said, directing my words through the RMS to my general back home.

  [Uhm … Kralsen? He’s at Garoshek? Listen, tell him that …]

  ‘Interesting. The archmage has pledged himself to you? A human?’ Kralsen’s horrid voice echoed in my mind. ‘Hm, I suppose he’d have no issue serving anyone. Maybe even us.’

  Tarashak’s message vanished from my NeuroHUD, and even my sword’s voice faded away from my mind. I was sure it was Kralsen’s doing. I had to resist this. Somehow. I might have been high enough level and strong enough to brawl with a giant minotaur, but I was almost helpless against this kind of psychic assault. And why the hell was he assaulting me?

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  ‘Psychic Riposte!’ I called on my new skill again as I felt its active part was ready for round two.

  My mind cleared up a little more, giving me a little bit of hope, but Kralsen just let out the most disturbing giggle I’d ever heard.

  ‘This really tickles. You really are something else, human. Not a hero, not yet. But resourceful. Resilient. And brave to the point of foolishness. I haven’t enjoyed watching someone’s fight for a long time.’

  ‘Fucking glad I entertain you!’ I snapped at him, a little bit of my will returning. ‘Psychic Reposte!’

  [Skill: Psychic Riposte (Combined) has reached level 1.]

  Kralsen hummed, almost as if he was enjoying my skill’s counterattack. My vision finally returned to me — blurry and shaky — as his influence diminished thanks to the increased passive shielding effect, and as I took in the view, I learned I was no longer in the minotaur camp. Instead of the angry, confused enemy soldiers and their tent city, or the dead general and his enormous warhammer, I was moving through the familiar, barren terrain of this part of the Ring, away from the camps. Moving? I was being carried, or maybe dragged, by a dark, shadowy figure that loomed over me. Was this Kralsen the Dreamer of Pain? He didn’t look a least bit like the fire-demons I knew or the ice-demons I had seen before. Tall, skinny and dark to the point I couldn’t distinguish any features, as if the void of space itself had been crammed into the outline of the creature. What kind of a demon was he?

  ‘What are you? Where are you taking me?’ I snarled at him through gritted teeth, feeling sleepy again.

  ‘Oh, you’re looking. And seeing,’ Kralsen’s said, his rumbling voice calm as if just making a remark about the weather or something.

  Pain flared up in my injured shoulder, and I felt the magical, psychic pressure descending on my mind along with the faint scent of Hell Mana, and I did my best to resist and retaliate with my new skill.

  [Skill: Psychic Riposte (Combined) has reached level 2.]

  ‘It won’t do, creature of the surface world. I will see what I want to see, and you will see what I want you to see.’ His reply echoed in my mind as the world once again began to fade to black, my eyes closing despite my efforts to keep them open. I was falling asleep, the part of me that wanted to rest warring with my will to stay awake. The last thing I saw before I lost the mental battle was the cold, matter-of-fact notification of my skill getting another level.

  [Skill: Psychic Riposte (Combined) has reached level 3.]

  ***

  I was a deep sleeper; after eighteen years in the Allied Systems Army, having been deployed in a dozen different conflict zones on a dozen worlds, I could sleep under most conditions, be it in barracks, or a trench, an APC, an abandoned building, in a cave, on a shuttle in zero-g, or pretty much any place provided no-one was shooting at me. And I wasn’t a lucid dreamer or a dreamer of any kind, so I was rather unsettled as I was looking up at a blue sky and white clouds, knowing this was a dream.

  The air smelled salty, the waves of the sea frothing and foaming, seagulls squawking above the rustic and familiar pier on which I stood. I looked down at myself; my dress uniform clean and ironed, the envelope in my hand containing the eighteen-year contract I had signed with the Army, the stitches along my spine still tingling after the procedure to implant the NeuroHUD module. Nineteen years old and I already knew what I wanted out of life: to be able to afford to buy a cottage and settle down here, and to see other stars and worlds before doing so. I wasn’t smart enough to become a Navy officer or a sailor, let alone for Naval Intelligence. I wasn’t a berserker with a death wish so the Marines were out, and local aerospace or ground forces would have confined me to a single planet. The Army was a reputable branch, priding itself on being a fair, rational and professional organisation — and it was. It was the perfect fit for me.

  So, why was I back here? And in a dream no less? Ah. Kralsen. The bloody Dreamer of Pain”, emphasis on the word “dreamer”, which was beginning to make a lot of sense. And there he was, his tall, dark and thin form standing next to me on the pier, silent and motionless, looking at the horizon where the vast, blue sky merged with the vast, blue ocean. He was definitely not a Fourth Ring native; I could tell that now.

  Both he and I looked up as a shuttle streaked through the sky, probably coming down from one of the orbital stations and heading for the nearby port. I sighed, suddenly longing for this place — over the years it had become a distant, almost forgotten memory, a place, a plan, an idea, a hope. My chest began to tighten, and I wanted to leave before I’d get myself worked up over my retirement plan. But as I turned around, instead of the seaside town and the beach walkways, what greeted me was a wide concourse crammed with holographic adverts and signposts and way too many faceless people rushing along the place. Oh damn! Trektym 5-2 Station.

  Kralsen looked around, turning his featureless, pitch-black head left and right without saying anything, observing my dreamscape, my memory of the station. I looked around, too. The faceless crowds moving, going in and out of shops, bars, restaurants, that cozy little brothel that used to advertise itself as the best on the station. Soldiers, marines and sailors coming and going, wearing their regular service uniforms, and while their chatter was an unintelligible background noise, I knew everyone was talking about the campaign against the pirates operating in this block of star systems — or the Pirate Purge as they later called it.

  I walked down the concourse and took a side corridor, leading to a bar I remembered to be rather well stocked. Dream or not, might as well have a drink. Kralsen walked beside me, still silent and looking around in my memories, his ominous presence making me feel like I was haunted by evil spirits. My only consolation was that if he had thought I was from the surface of his world, then he must have been thoroughly confused at what he was seeing now. We arrived at the door of the bar, the old-fashioned neon sign above it bathing the corridor in purple and blue light. I hesitated to press the button to open the door. This was a dream after all, and a bottle of rum that only existed in my head wasn’t going to get me drunk, was it? Plus, I had an uninvited tourist following me around, which irked me. This was my dream, for gods’ sake, my memories!

  ‘You want to see more, huh, Kralsen? Let me show you more then! You will see what I want you to see.’ I said to the shadowy demon, grinning at him as I pressed the button to open the door, focusing my dreaming mind on a memory. The dark figure flinched, and I felt like he was saying something, but I couldn’t hear his words.

  The hatch of the shuttle opened, and the marine squad in front of me poured out into the docking bay of the pirate ship, guns blazing. Most of the atmosphere had already vented into space through the torn hull — I couldn’t hear the gunfire or the explosions, but I could feel all the vibrations through my SAC as I followed the insane marines, running after them as quickly as one could on a ship with its gravity generators gone. The magnetic sole of the SAC’s boots kept me grounded, and since we were in my dream, Kralsen’s dark form was unaffected. He followed me as I followed the marines, taking cover behind broken equipment and shuttle parts, popping up to shoot back at the pirates hiding behind their barricades. I took a few shots at them as well when I deemed it safe enough to do so. The pirates didn’t last long; their mismatched SACs and other, non-combat survival suits weren’t a match for the highly trained, highly aggressive and much better equipped marines. The trouble came when we broke through the docking bay’s defences and made it to the main corridors of the ship. Better armed pirates who knew the ship’s layout well and strategically placed automated sentry guns … it took a toll on the marines, and I had a lot of work to do, all in zero-g and in the meagre remnants of an atmosphere.

  A bullet tore through a marine’s shoulder, then an exploding grenade smacked the poor sod against the ceiling, shrapnel and debris showering others. A couple of marines aimed their rifles at the pirates who had thrown the explosive and riddled them with flechettes, tearing them apart completely.

  ‘Corpsman! Over here!’ I heard on the comm, my NeuroHUD showing me the location, leading me through the cloud of zero-g smoke and flashing lights.

  ‘I’m a medic, mate, a medic!’ I grumbled at the marine who was dragging his shot and grenade-struck comrade away from the ongoing firefight.

  ‘Don’t care! Do something, doc!’ the marine yelled at me.

  The ID beacon as well as the tag on the injured marine’s SAC said “Corporal Kessler.” Oh, the young woman I would meet on the Alice Cooper for a second time five years after this. How could I have forgot her? That grenade had really made her SAC look like a crumpled tin can, globules of her blood seeping through the cracks on her breastplates and pauldron, floating up into the smoky air. Lucky for her, marines had the latest and hardiest of SACs, so her systems were still running, and she was still alive. I had Sys connect my SAC to hers to get the authorisations done so I could remove parts of her armour. I had my med kit, the O2 supply, the clotting agents and anything else needed to stabilise the young corporal. Her system released the synthfibres and couplers, and I removed her helmet, immediately putting the full-face oxygen mask on her. She was conscious, she was in pain, but she was a marine and it would have been a sign of weakness for her to cry out. So, she didn’t, she was just looking at me with wide, teary eyes while I worked to take the damaged plates of her SAC off. She wasn’t the first marine I’d treated, and she wouldn’t be the last at that point in time.

  ‘What do you think, Kralsen?’ I asked the dark shadow standing over me and the corporal. ‘Do you want to see more?’

  I didn’t wait for an answer, I focused on another memory: a line of sentry turrets on an army garrison’s walls tearing into approaching APCs and trucks on Coria. Then another: my squad clearing an apartment building of insurgents, coming under fire, killing the enemy and then treating an injured squadmate. Then another. And another.

  ‘Stop!’ Kralsen’s unimaginably deep voice finally reached me.

  I blinked and I was back, lying on charred and cracked ground, looking up at a sky that was a sea of flames and smoke, and over me stood the Dreamer of Pain in all his dark, featureless glory.

  ‘You are not from around here,’ he stated rather than asked.

  I wanted to groan as my physical fatigue and the pain in my shoulder and my limbs were returning to me, but I decided I’d follow corporal Kessler’s example and show no sign of my pain and discomfort.

  ‘No, I am not.’ I sighed, taking a deep breath of the familiar, sulphuric air.

  That’s when it downed on me that my helmet — instead of my head where it should have been — was in Kralsen’s hands. How the hell he had managed to remove it I had no idea. And if that hadn’t been enough, another demon was looking down at me, seeing my face for the first time.

  ‘Ah, Reinos, glad to see you’re still with us,’ I croaked at the general, who was peering at me with all the confusion in the world showing in his yellow, demonic eyes.