Chapter Eighteen: Lost and Found
Written by Ethan
Finnegan’s spirit hovered high in the air, far above the tavern where he’d seen Laureena enter alongside her beast. The sudden expulsion from his body hadn’t given him much time to think about the operating procedures of his new, ghostly form, nor had the Irapa given him any sort of guidance. So, once the velocity of Horran’s initial separation spell had slowed, Finnegan merely floated like a bobber on the surface of a calm pond and waited for something to happen below.
He was surprised to see two children exit the building and scamper off towards the shore, their pitiful cries muted by the whipping wind. They were dressed in little more than rags and wouldn’t survive long unless someone intervened.
The village that he now found himself above wasn’t located too far from the one where his journey on the Northern Plateaus had begun, though this settlement was a bit larger and situated directly on what used to be the shore. Anji had told him in their initial meeting that contact amongst the settlements in the area had more or less ceased after the Shift, with a few stragglers trickling through every now and again to inquire about news from the outside, or trade what little supplies they could muster. It wasn’t too different from how they had all existed in the past; the Northern Plateaus were known for being the sort of place one goes to disappear. Eventually, the visits from nearby settlements had stopped altogether, but considering the circumstances, the patrons at the bar never really bothered themselves with worrying about what might have happened to cause it.
Finnegan assumed the worst as he looked at the cluster of weathered buildings below, likely frozen tombs of their former inhabitants. He couldn’t imagine a worse fate than starving or freezing to death. In a way, he hoped the monsters he’d faced out in the tundra had given the populace in these desolate areas a quick end.
“Horran, there are still people out here,” Finnegan said, unsure how his voice would reach the Irapa, but confident it would. “Two kids, and judging by their belongings, they’re not going to make it long.”
After a few moments, he heard an odd, echoing buzz that grew in volume from all directions, like someone fumbling to find the correct channel on an ancient communicator.
“That is surprising. Do not worry,” Horran answered nonchalantly. “They will join their loved ones soon enough.”
Finnegan understood that the Irapa had a different view on life and death than most, but still, he imagined the idea of children in immediate danger of freezing to death would have resonated more with Horran. He felt the need to do something about it himself, but even if Finnegan had full control of his movements, there was little he could do to help them in his current state. If the children saw his projection, they’d only become even more frightened than they already were.
“Can’t you do something?” Finnegan pleaded.
“It is not your concern, Finnegan. They will be in a better place soon. Please, return your attention to Värlof, we must know what it aims to do.”
Finnegan detected a hint of preoccupation in the Irapa’s voice, as if Horran was focused on two activities at once. Additionally, his voice wasn’t coming through as clearly as it had before. Strange echoes and reverberation were leaking through as he spoke, like the sound of a crowd in the background of an old concert recording.
Before he could inquire further, Finnegan heard a loud crash followed by a muffled explosion coming from the tavern, though from his vantage point he couldn’t get a good view to see what had happened. He halfway expected the roof of the building to explode in a great burst of flame and for Laureena’s beast to go slithering after the children that had just escaped.
The children stopped in their tracks, apparently startled by the sudden commotion. But as Finnegan watched them, he realized their attention was focused on the ground and not the tavern. The larger child, a young girl, suddenly grabbed onto the other and held on, which caused the smaller child to howl even louder. They stood there for a moment, pressed together so tightly that they had become a single form. Then, without warning, they disappeared from Finnegan’s view, sucked beneath the surface by some unknown force.
As Finnegan stared at the blank space where the children had just stood, an abnormally bright light began pouring from the windows of the tavern. He started to grow disorientated as the world around him contorted, the edges of shapes blending together as a canvas of neon colors formed around him.
“Horran, something strange is happening…” he tried to say, but the words slid from his mind and evaporated into chaotic static.
After a few moments, the visual disruption subsided and he found himself standing on an island he did not recognize. Above him loomed a massive column, the foundation of a brand-new world that beckoned him to be a part of it. Looking around, he saw throngs of people clamoring to get to the column’s base, some working together and others fighting like wounded animals. As he watched, he felt Värlof’s implanted anger beginning to build within him, his hunger for death demanding satiation.
With no apparent closure to the scene, the vision grew dim, and then darkness enveloped him. Finnegan became aware of a dull pain in his chest, something distant that seemed out of place, something he shouldn’t have been able to feel in his current state. He floated in the black abyss, aimless, and though he knew time was passing, it felt like an abstract concept. Then, light sparked like fireworks before his eyes and he felt himself moving briskly through space, similar to what he’d experienced when Horran initially separated his spirit from his body. However, this was a sharper sensation, more intense, as if the Irapa had lost control and Finnegan’s spirit was flying back uncontrollably towards his body like it was attached to a snapping rubber band.
The sense of movement halted abruptly and Finnegan felt the air around him depressurize like an airlock. All at once, the anger he’d experienced before rushed back into him and he knew he was back in his physical body.
Springing up from the ground with an inhuman scream, Finnegan found himself back in Horran’s room, though things looked very different. The door to the small chamber had been ripped from its hinges, with pieces of it strewn about the area as if it had been hit by a cannonball. The sleeping mats were flung to either side, one of them torn and spewing light-grey insulating material all over the floor.
Horran was huddled tightly in the corner of the room holding a piece of wood in front of his body like a shield. A small puddle of blood had begun to form beneath his body. He was injured.
Finnegan looked at the Irapa and the urge to eviscerate him became so intense that he started to physically shake. In the back of his mind, a tiny, insignificant voice begged him to stop. He ignored it; the demon had taken over completely.
“Please...stop!” Horran called out weakly, but his pitiful words only enraged Finnegan more.
Before Finnegan could land his first blow, the Irapa pulled a hand from beneath his makeshift shield and pointed up towards the ceiling. The crazed man hesitated for a moment and looked up, realizing that Horran was more concerned about the threat lurking above his head than the one standing directly in front of him.
In an instant, Finnegan was set upon by a Vist that had been lying in wait in a crevice in the stone ceiling. It landed on top of him with all of its weight, knocking him to the ground and pinning him down with one hand while the other wound up for a venomous strike from its paralyzing talons.
Finnegan had no choice but to turn his attention away from the Irapa and towards the monster, and any specific malice that was directed at Horran only moments before was now redirected and amplified at the wretched thing towering on top of him. These creatures were everything Finnegan despised in this horrible new world, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to track down every last one of them and pull them apart limb from limb.
The snarling beast attempted to stab at Finnegan, but the former Iso deftly grabbed its wrist midair and then ripped the arm off at the elbow in a single, fluid motion. Purple smoke poured from the wound as the creature reared back in pain.
Not missing a beat, Finnegan pushed the creature off of him and shoulder-rushed it into the far corner of the room, slamming its body into a wall with enough force to crack the stone. The Vist tried swinging its remaining hand towards Finnegan, but he ducked and then smashed the beast into the floor, caving its chest in with the impact. As it laid there quivering and broken, Finnegan reached down and grabbed either side of its head, pulling until it came off with a sickening pop.
The Vist’s life force left its body and Finnegan felt instantaneous relief from Värlof’s affliction. His mind had been a teapot emitting a deafening whistle, and now it was as if someone had taken it off of the flames and opened up the lid. Glancing over at Horran, he was thankful the creature had attacked when it did - the thought of ravaging the Irapa Magi in the same fashion he had just dismembered the Vist was terrifying.
“I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses, my friend,” Horran said as he gently lowered the piece of wood and set it down beside him. “I was afraid you might pull my head off.”
Horran tried to laugh, but the effort caused him to start coughing uncontrollably. As Finnegan neared, he noticed wounds on the Irapa’s thigh and chest, both of which were slowly transforming his skin into purple, stone-like scales.
“Whoa, try to relax Horran, you’re hurt.” Finnegan rushed over to the injured man. “What happened here?”
“When Värlof’s vessel teleported away, the corrupted immediately turned their attention to us. They tore through the upper layers quicker than we expected, but our guards made a stand outside this room, easily destroying any of the beasts that made it down here. Then--” Horran paused, wincing as the Vist’s venom spread throughout his body.
“You saw the vision too,” Finnegan said.
“Yes, and in that brief window, the guards became distracted and many were killed, though thankfully most of our people had already gotten to safety by that point. The guards who survived managed to finish off the remaining creatures when they came to, but one made it through into this chamber.”
“Why didn’t you go with the other survivors?” asked Finnegan. “Why didn’t you leave me?”
“In all honesty, I was about to. We tried everything to cure you while you’ve been up there scouting, but nothing worked. The Tollstrungs offered to help, but before we could formulate a real plan, the vision occurred, and then I lost control of the separation spell when the Vist stormed through. We tried, but everything that could have gone wrong did. If I’d known all it took to treat you was for you to kill something, I’d have brought some livestock up.”
“Wait a second, slow down,” Finnegan said, holding up his hand. “I thought this was the lowest level of your colony. And did you say Tollstrungs, as in Cret and Dallon Tollstrung? The Free Roamers? What is going on here, Horran?”
The Irapa took another deep, labored breath, fighting off the effects of the toxin.
“I’m afraid we have not been entirely forthcoming with you,” sighed Horran, “though you can’t really blame us, considering your current state. Still, we can’t expect you to help if you don’t understand what's at stake. As you know, when the capital mandate went into effect, many powerful Magi, thinkers, and technicians were exiled. However, some were able to flee to the Northern Plateaus, a place even the Capital didn’t care to oversee. At first, we kept ourselves isolated, fearing outsiders would disrupt our way of life. Then our deity reminded us of our teachings, of a world below this one that was cast into darkness by a powerful race known as the Settlers, a place full of beings that were cruelly left behind so that a select few could prosper.”
“Deity?” Finnegan asked.
“Jartow. He’s been our spiritual guide since our people first came to this barren land, giving us insight into this world and the one that came before it. He and Värlof were two of eight powerful beings that existed before our time in an ancient land not unlike this one. Fearful of their power and influence, the Settlers and their followers captured the other seven, locking them away in special containment orbs. Seeing what became of his brethren, Jartow voluntarily exiled himself to the Northern Plateaus, promising not to interfere with the Settlers’ plans.”
Finnegan recalled what Värlof had said about the old world, but listening to Horran, it seemed like Värlof’s narrative may not have been entirely accurate. Was there an entire world like this one deep beneath the surface?
“I suppose if a fire demon exists, it's only fair you throw a giant snow bear god in the mix as well to balance things out,” mused Finnegan.
“Jartow feared the same fate that befell the world below would happen again here,” continued Horran, “and instructed us to prepare a shelter that could support life should the worst come to pass - a shelter opened to all. For years, we have welcomed displaced peoples into our midst, instructing the communities on the surface of the Northern Plateaus to keep our planning and movements secret in exchange for goods…and eventually a place below. Utilizing the diverse knowledge we gained from the exiles, we began to expand slowly, but there was a limit to what we could accomplish. Until the Free Roamers arrived.
“The Free Roamers had knowledge that astounded both us and Jartow alike - knowledge only the Settlers could have possessed. It was contained in a cache that was given to them for safekeeping by a Capital scientist about to be exiled to Vlyk. We were wary at first, as their callous reputation preceded them. We knew that they were responsible for the mass destruction of the great tree, which left the orbs of this world open for defilement.”
“You’re talking about the boko trees, right?” asked Finnegan, trying his best to keep up with Horran’s deluge of information.
“In the north, we call them karu, but they are one and the same. Many cultures have their own name for the trees, but most know them as the boko.”
“Why did the Free Roamers destroy them?”
“Greed. I’m afraid it's as simple as that. The trees’ bark, sap, and wood have incredible properties - properties that allowed them to create all manner of advanced equipment, which in turn made them quite a profit. When we first met them, they were actually culling our grove, as most of their supplies had been seized by the Capital after the mandate was enacted. They made astonishingly quick work of it too. That is until Jartow sensed something and set off, eventually destroying all of their machinery and capturing the two brothers in the process.”
“So that's where they disappeared to,” Finnegan said. “I knew the Iso battalion tasked with hunting them down. It was as if those brothers were wiped from the face of the planet.”
“They almost were, when we caught them ravaging our greatest natural resource. But seeing the sort of technology they possessed, we allowed them to atone for their sins. And atone they did. Their contributions to our cause were immeasurable. With their help, we could do more than merely build a shelter; we could create a safe environment where we people from all walks of life could thrive.
“But when the Shift started, and the world was torn asunder, we knew we needed more space than even the Northern Plateaus could offer. So, using the Free Roamers’ knowledge, we built a path into the underworld via the boko in hopes of retaking it and giving the people of this world a chance, though the de-powering of our orb has delayed us significantly. It was the only thing preventing the Vist from creating a column and destroying the Northern Plateaus, but the shaman was forced to drain its power when he fought with Värlof. Unfortunately, it hasn’t regenerated due to us needing to raise smaller barriers against the Vist, and constant attempts from that girl Värlof controls to teleport away.”
“I have to be honest…that all sounds crazy,” said Finnegan. “Aren’t the Vist from the underworld? And Värlof? You want to go back down there? What about the vision we all just saw about ascending the platform? Isn’t that the safer bet?”
Horran shook his head. “We do not fear the underworld. The Tollstrungs have a means of countering the corruption below, and for now, it appears that Värlof has somehow been subdued. Its unmistakable spiritual presence in this world has all but faded…outside of what you hold within yourself, that is. We believe the vision is a deception; we have been expecting something like it for a while now. You may have seen an ascent to a new promised land, but we saw the deaths of untold numbers of people, the death of all of those who are not strong enough to compete. Jartow has witnessed it all before.”
Horran’s words resonated with him. Finnegan was far too familiar with being left behind, with being lonely in a world full of people looking out for only themselves. He hadn’t had even a moment to internalize what he had seen in the vision yet, but Horran’s perspective did make it feel more violent than hopeful.
“This is a lot to process,” sighed Finnegan, “and I have even more questions now than I had before. But it will have to wait until those purple-spewing bastards aren’t tearing this place apart. Tell me what I can do.”
Horran smiled softly, then suddenly lurched forward and grabbed at his leg, which was now completely covered by the purple scales.
“The Vist are trying to get into the lower levels to shatter the deactivated orb and turn this island into a column. We can’t let that happen. You have to get to the main chamber and fend them off while the technicians do their work. The shaman and his three bodyguards were there when the attack first happened, but I fear they won’t last long due to his lingering injuries.”
Finnegan nodded and bent down to help the Irapa up, but Horran brushed his hand aside.
“It's too late for me, I will only slow you down. Just go.”
With that, Horran placed his hands on either side of his head and fell into the same sort of trance he had when separating Finnegan’s soul from his body. After a few moments of stoic concentration, the Magi’s hands fell to his sides and he slumped to the ground.
Finnegan rushed outside the room and took in the carnage that was spread from end to end of the long corridor. There were charred, frozen, and disintegrated Vist bodies all over - their first attack wave had been devastated by the magic of the Irapa guards. But amongst them were also bodies of the Irapa, frozen in time by the venomous touch of their attackers. They were all dressed in suits of armor that seemed to fit similar to Iso suits, though made of a material that resembled wood as opposed to lightweight metal and plastic. It was incredible craftsmanship, even more advanced than the Capital equipment Finnegan had assumed was world-class. None of the armor on the dead bodies had sustained any more damage than a scratch. The fatal wounds inflicted on the guards apparently came through the more flexible material that connected the different pieces together, the same sort of places Isos tended to get injured. If the vision had not left the guards completely open to attack, they probably could have held out for far longer, perhaps indefinitely.
Värlof’s affliction had given Finnegan new-found strength, but he wasn’t sure if it came with added resilience as well, so he decided to put on one of the suits that looked about his size. Each set of armor looked like it was built to a person’s specific measurements, so he feared they may not fit properly, but it would surely be better than nothing.
As he pulled the suit from the guard’s petrified corpse, Finnegan felt something in the connecting material give and loosen up, allowing him to easily slide the armor off. He quickly put it on, feeling each piece adjust accordingly to his form as soon as it touched his flesh. Despite its rigid appearance, the material felt soft and cool to the touch, like the underside of bark pulled freshly from a tree. Within moments, the armor had completely adapted to his body.
Being Magi, the Irapa were not armed with conventional weaponry, so Finnegan was forced to scan the area for something tangible he could use to protect himself. To his left was a small room, the door broken open during the battle in the hall. Entering, he found a stack of heavy furniture and his eyes fixated on a chair leg adorned with a metal sphere for a foot. Reaching down, he pulled on the hefty furniture limb, expecting to exude all of his strength to simply loosen it from its base. Surprisingly, it ripped right off, and he realized that his affliction had blessed him with power whether he was raging out of control or not.
With renewed confidence, Finnegan picked up his pace. As he rushed headlong down the corridor, he noticed the air had grown dense, with a light purple haze hanging just at eye level. It grew difficult to breathe and his eyes began to water. As he progressed further into the hall, he began to choke on the fumes, realizing that the Vist remained a threat even after they died. He’d only fought the monsters in the open air, so he hadn’t noticed the toxicity left behind in a contained area, but their death plumes were the perfect counter to the Irapa’s last stand. These tight corridors had little natural air flow.
He covered his mouth and barreled through until he made it to the enormous main chamber Horran had mentioned. The smoke was less concentrated here due to the scale of the room, which had packed snow walls almost twenty meters high. The relief of fresher air was short lived, however, as a mass of Vist had already filled the chamber, gnashing claws and teeth chattering together like a plague of man-sized locusts.
On the far side of the room, the Shaman stood with his hands outstretched. His barrier was holding back the onslaught as the three girls who had been tending to him earlier conjured elemental beams from their hands. They were holding their own just fine in the fight, but the shaman looked weary, and Finnegan could see the barrier slowly retreating backwards as the creatures swarmed on them.
Behind the Irapa stood a massive metal door, the design of which was far more technologically advanced than anything Finnegan had seen in the rest of the base. Thirty lights, each numbered, were situated on the wall above it. Nine of them were illuminated, indicating that this was the door to a great elevator and someone was traveling up from twenty-one floors below. The elevator didn’t seem to be moving particularly fast, and appeared that it likely wouldn’t return before the Shaman’s energy was drained completely.
“Not gonna live forever, Finny,” the former soldier mumbled before yelling at the top of his lungs and barreling headlong into the crowd of monsters.
Instantly taking notice of the screaming man swinging a chair leg wildly in the air, the creatures turned their attention away from the shaman and swiftly descended on Finnegan instead. Each monster that drew too close was smashed in the face with the makeshift mace, the velocity of the swings splattering chunks of their heads across the room and sending purple smoke erupting up in billowing plumes.
Seeing the purple clouds and remembering how noxious the smoke had been in the corridor, Finnegan quickly changed his strategy and began trying to maim the creatures rather than kill, doing his best to target their horribly mutated limbs. Hopefully he could buy enough time for the elevator to reach its destination.
Despite their ever-growing injuries, the creatures continued to surge, now splitting their attention between Finnegan and the four Irapa. A group of Vist deftly moved to surround the shaman and his bodyguards, forcing him to adjust his barrier around them completely, limiting their space to move even further.
Finnegan kept up his attack, but more and more of the creatures were pouring into the chamber, and any hope of beating them into submission was looking dim. Unable to pierce his boko armor, the Vist rushed Finnegan simultaneously, dogpiling on top of the man until he couldn’t move. Through the pile of bodies, he could see that the shaman and his guards were still fighting, but the barrier had retracted enough that only two of his guards could extend their hands. Soon, none of them would be able to attack at all, or risk leaving the barrier and being exposed to the sea of venomous claws.
The elevator’s progress was at the eleventh floor now, the blinking lights appearing to stall out before it reached the tenth, then quickly lurching forward and rising up five floors rapidly, as if someone had kicked a control box into functionality somewhere in the facility. Moments later, the elevator had arrived at the chamber floor.
“Please don’t be a scientist, please don’t be a scientist,” Finnegan pleaded, gritting his teeth as he watched the doors slowly open.
The Vist turned towards the elevator as a loud ding echoed through the chambers. Instantaneously, the air was filled with flashes of green light as an array of energy beams erupted from within the elevator, shredding the monsters that had surrounded the shaman and his guards.
Out of the elevator, six men wearing the same boko armor stepped out brandishing upgraded versions of the carbines the Capital military used - clearly the work of the Tollstrungs. But even though they were armed with the latest tech, Finnegan recognized inexperience when he saw it. The men stepped nervously out into the chamber, their weapon handling undisciplined and formation full of holes that a more intelligent enemy would surely have capitalized on. This community may have been founded by incredibly intelligent people, but it wasn’t populated with soldiers. And now, most of the Irapa guards were dead from the attack.
The novice soldiers tried to push forward but were immediately engulfed by a cloud of purple smoke from the Vist they’d just killed. A soldier on the front line dropped to his knees and another pulled him back into the elevator. The room was quickly becoming too toxic for anything not born of the underworld.
Finnegan’s mind flashed back to the conversation with Horran, and their desire to retake the land below. How could they possibly expect to survive if the very air they breathed could kill them? A feeling of hopelessness washed over him. Above this world on the platform or below it, the concept of surviving this apocalypse felt like a fairy tale, like most everything else Finnegan had believed throughout his life. A goal as unattainable as suppressing the Magi after his brother had died, or maintaining any tangible sense of “balance” in the world as an Iso.
Just behind the group of soldiers, an unarmed man in a puffy white suit that covered his head and face lumbered forward dragging what looked like a massive razor clam on a pull cart. He situated himself just outside the elevator door and began fumbling with a control panel on the handle. In response, the clam’s shell opened up with a loud pop and began to make a vacuuming sound. The smoke, mere moments from overwhelming everyone in the chamber, was rapidly sucked into the clam and filtered into a translucent jar on the bottom of the cart.
Now able to breathe, the soldiers began to sweep the area with their firepower, giving the four Irapa enough space to move away from where they had been cornered and make their way towards the elevator. Two of the girls led the shaman towards the doorway, while the third joined in with the soldiers, her elemental attacks obliterating the Vist far quicker than the gunfire but still not enough to push back their ever-increasing numbers.
“Hey! Hey! Over here!” Finnegan tried to shout, but the weight of the Vist on top of him compressed his lungs, preventing him from raising his voice loud enough. He wriggled as they stabbed down at him, unable to pierce the boko plates or find space to penetrate between their seams.
The Irapa girl paused for a moment, as if an unseen force was communicating with her, and then turned in Finnegan’s direction. When Finnegan looked up again, the beasts on top of him had been reduced to cinders.
“You must get up my friend,” an ethereal voice urged.
“Horran?” Finnegan responded, recognizing the Irapa immediately.
“The Vist will soon overwhelm you. Their numbers are greater than we ever imagined. You must get below!”
Finnegan pulled himself up, brushing off the burnt remains of the Vist as he rushed towards the open doors of the elevator. An injured Vist, lurking behind a thick plume of smoke, leapt at him, forcing him to stop and brace for attack. Before it made contact, the creature froze in mid-air as if time itself had stopped, and then was unceremoniously tossed across the room.
“Thanks, Horran!” Finnegan called out.
“I wish I would have had the time to separate the guards from their bodies before they perished,” Horran’s voice said mournfully. “Then this may not have been such a daunting scenario. Go quickly, Finnegan. You must get to the others!”
One of the soldiers noticed him wading through the field of death and purple smoke and waved to try and get his attention. The shaman and the girls were already safe inside the elevator and being tended to by one of the armored soldiers, while the others held off the encroaching Vist.
“Move!” the woman shouted, firing off shots into the mass of monsters that crawled their way towards the open elevator.
Finnegan broke into a sprint towards the group, pumping his arms and vaulting over a Vist that dove for his legs. It clipped his boot with its claw and Finnegan fell to the ground, instinctively rolling onto his side and bouncing back up to his feet as another creature swung at him wildly, catching him on the front panel of his armor and sending him toppling backwards head over heels.
Before he could regain his composure, five Vist converged on his location, blocking his path. Finnegan felt himself physically pulled to his feet by Horran’s spirit, but the monsters grabbed at him and began tugging him away from the elevator. Finnegan looked to the Irapa and the soldiers, knowing that everyone was out of time.
“Go!” he called to them, waving them off with one hand while raising his makeshift mace with the other. “I got this!”
Finnegan stepped forward, the veins in his neck bulging as he did his best to look imposing. “Let’s finish this!” he hollered, swinging his weapon in intimidating circles above his head. Horran tried to clear a path by tossing the creatures back towards the entrance of the chamber, but they simply spilled back into place like displaced sand.
For every Vist Finnegan and Horran killed or injured, it seemed like two more took their place, the chamber endlessly refilling with the deranged entities and their caustic smoke. Finnegan prayed for the demonic anger to overtake him again, to give him the savagery to match this seemingly unstoppable opponent. But he knew that his affliction was only a short-term fix for a long-term problem. Even if it got him out of this mess, then the Irapa were going to have to deal with him and his murderous rage as their next problem.
“I’m sorry Finnegan, I fear there’s little more we can do,” Horran’s words echoed in his mind.
“No. If we can buy time for everyone else to escape, then we’re doing exactly what’s needed. Quit trying to save me, Horran. You know I’m a lost cause. I’ve got this. Go help the others. The ones who really need it.”
As he fought, Finnegan could see Horran making his way through the crowd of Vist, monsters flying left and right revealing his invisible path.
As Finnegan readied his mind for a last stand, a sound caught his attention: A rumbling like thunder was coming from the direction of one of the tightly-packed walls of snow. The Vist turned and faced the noise, forgetting about Finnegan and the occupants of the elevator, and began slowly creeping towards the wall with talons outstretched, as if preparing for an attack.
“What now?” Finnegan said to himself, looking over to see if the soldiers were also drawn to the sound.
The rumbling intensified to a crescendo and the wall exploded in a shower of snow and ice. Jartow burst forth, an opaque barrier of ice covering his entire body. The massive bear-like animal let out a thunderous roar so loud Finnegan thought his ears were going to pop and began barreling through the Vist, knocking them limply across the chamber. A beam of ice spewed from his mouth, instantly freezing the mass of creatures that had been blocking Finnegan’s path to the elevator. With a single swing of his colossal arm, Jartow shattered a volley of frozen beasts into a constellation of icy shards.
Finnegan couldn’t help but throw his arms up in celebration as Jartow trampled the legion of Vist like they were ants, piles of grey bodies crumpling under the ancient beast's massive paws. The Vist continued to pour into the chamber but were destroyed as soon they stepped foot inside, heaps of broken bodies piling up as Jartow pushed the remaining creatures out of the room and through the tunnel from which they’d arrived.
The soldiers and the Irapa girl, rallied by the appearance of Jartow, rushed back out into the chamber, eliminating any Vist that’d survived the initial onslaught. Close at their heels, the man in the white suit pushed his cart with the giant razor clam forward, pulling more smoke out of the air until the purple haze was all but eliminated.
When no more Vist remained, Jartow sealed off the entrance to the chamber with his ice breath and lumbered over to Finnegan. His ice armor thawed and began to fall off in clumps, revealing tiny passengers clinging to his back: the two small children Finnegan had seen in the village earlier.
The two wide-eyed children slid down Jartow’s back into Finnegan’s arms. Their wild ride had left the girl in terrified silence, but the young boy had a broad smile across his face.
“Again!” he shouted, throwing his hands up into the air.
“Another time, young one,” Jartow smiled, “Go join the others, it is still not safe here.”
The children hurried over to the groups of soldiers, who escorted them into the elevator and gave them a quick once-over.
“I have to be honest,” Finnegan said, “I thought you’d all left them out there to die.”
Jartow turned to him slowly, a fierce look in his eyes. “I once left an entire world to die in darkness and chaos…I will not allow the same to happen again.”
“Well it sounds like you’ve created a place down below where people will be safe.”
“Yes, but they are not the only ones who need saving,” sighed Jartow. “The Remnant’s vision does not promise salvation. Almost all who heed its call will meet their doom. The inhabitants of this world are not the only ones contending for a place at the top...my brethren will be vying for supremacy as well.”
“The eight?” asked Finnegan. “Horran told me they were trapped.”
“They were,” Jartow answered, “But their containment orbs were corrupted, just like Värlof’s, and now they have autonomy once again. We’ve been monitoring the situation via our anima scouts, those disconnected from their physical bodies, as you were. Most of the eight have been biding their time, hidden from view, waiting until they were beckoned to the new world. It’s playing out exactly as it did before, though this time the Settlers have allowed those they once feared to be amongst those competing in this horrendous contest.”
“So everyone who ascends the platform is going to have to fight against super-powerful ancient deities?”
“Amongst other things,” Jartow replied. “Some have powers that will improve their chances for survival, like the Magi and the Touched. But even together, they will struggle to contend with any one of the eight. On top of that, the denizens of the underworld have begun breaching the surface, flocking to places of power. The Vist built the columns; they will surely be at the summit in full force.”
“It's going to be a bloodbath,” Finnegan gasped. He remembered the state of the remaining islands without columns: sick and starving people squabbling for scraps. What choice did they have but to try and look for something better? “What can we do?”
“We’re going to bring back as many as we can, grow our numbers and push further into the world below. As I said before, I will leave no one behind.”
Finnegan nodded, impressed by Jartow’s conviction. It was a stark contrast to Värlof’s chaotic ambition. Still, the situation reminded him of the old lady that lived in his neighborhood when he was a child, a woman obsessed with collecting stray animals and giving them a home. The locals praised her, until she brought home three starving hounds that wound up eating the old woman in her sleep.
“Jartow, this all seems like absolute madness, but I wouldn’t be alive right not if you hadn’t saved me back there. I’ll help you with this in any way I can.”
“We’ve been prepared for this, and have already assembled an extraction team,” said Jartow. “There is no time to waste; we’re leaving immediately.” He turned to the man in the white suit, who’d been slowly creeping up to the group with the shaman and the three girls. The man pulled off his mask to reveal a heavily scarred face, barely recognizable as Callan. It was Cret Tollstrung.
“This way everyone,” Cret said, waving the group through. “The transport is ready, so we need to get down to the lower floor. I can explain the procedure on the way. It's very important you pay close attention.”
Finnegan eyed the man up and down, somewhat taken aback by his appearance. When people spoke of Cret and Dallon Tollstrung, they made the brothers seem like massively-built brutes whose very presence terrified friends and foes alike. In reality, Cret was a slight man, thin and sickly in appearance. Perhaps the years had taken their toll, but it was clear that these men’s reputations were exacerbated by Capital propagandists. Still, Finnegan spent years imagining the Tollstrungs as enemy number one, so he hesitated in following the man’s order. A firm nudge from Jartow let him know that now was not the time for suspicion, and the group moved hurriedly towards the elevator.
Once inside, Finnegan walked to the back of the elevator where a glass window allowed him to see through to the metal wall behind. As they moved down into the core of the facility, Finnegan noticed the wall begin to change subtly, with small branch-like growths weaving in and out of the metal, growing thicker and overtaking it like a long-dilapidated building. Eventually, the metal disappeared entirely, replaced by what looked like the bast of a tree.
“Are we traveling through the boko?” Finnegan asked out loud to no one in particular.
“Of course, how else do you expect to get into the underworld?” replied Cret as he typed away on a small touch pad. “The trees are both barriers and pathways between this world and the one below it, so naturally it made sense to adapt them to meet our needs. In fact, much of our facility has been incorporated into this tree, not unlike the Nemarus city of Vandenala, though not on the same scale.”
“Nemarus?” Finnegan said, his mind struggling to add even more players to the board.
“They are an aquatic race created by the Settlers to aid them in their endeavors,” said Jartow. “Though they’ve become zealots over the years. We try our best to avoid them.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have the time to update you on the entirety of the world’s history,” said Cret with a tone of condescension. “We need to get you all to the boko portal and begin the transfer process. It’s not quite as fast as a transport ship, so the journey will still take several days, but it will feel instantaneous to you. We tried to speed up the process, but trees don’t do anything particularly fast.”
“You’ve adapted the boko for transport?” Finnegan asked, amazed at the Tollstrungs abilities.
“Not exactly. Because the trees are actually one giant organism stretched across the entirety of the world, it evolved a means of rapidly transporting nutrients and water to its many extending groves. And despite much of the boko on the surface no longer existing, its subsurface vascular system is still intact.”
“Meaning we’re going to pretend that we’re plant food?” Finnegan said sarcastically.
“Precisely. We’ve discovered a means of tricking the boko’s system into prioritizing specific sections, a false signal indicating the need for sustenance. By adjusting this signal, we can move anywhere that a tree once stood. This is how we’ve been able to rescue people who the Capital couldn’t.”
The elevator door dinged again, and the group walked out into a long, narrow corridor composed entirely of living wood, just large enough to allow Jartow to walk through without crouching. Thick cables ran across the walls like tentacles, ending at the back of the room, where a round portal of forest-green light was situated, its surface swirling languidly like a pond.
In front of the portal stood an impressively tall man, almost a head above Finnegan. His stout frame evoked a lumberjack or miner, his weathered face stoic and unblinking. His bulky arms were framed with a metallic exoskeleton, ending in two gargantuan saw blades that could have cut an ursua king in half. Below his waist, where his legs should have been, were two artificial limbs made of what Finnegan now understood was the wood of the boko trees. Finnegan knew this could be no one other than Cret’s young brother, Dallon.
“We’ve identified the location of the column in the vision,” explained Cret, “and found a place just off the coast where you all can land without immediately drawing attention to yourselves. Jartow will still need to build an ice bridge across to the edge of the island that surrounds the column, as it’s about a kilometer away. From there, your goal is to get as many people here as possible. If my calculations are correct, we have more than enough room to accommodate everyone who agrees to return, though clearly, not everyone will make that choice. Any questions?”
“I do, but I am pretty sure I wouldn’t understand the answers,” said Finnegan.
“Of course you wouldn’t. Well then, please step through the portal. Equipment and supplies will arrive at your destination shortly after you do. Good luck.”
Dallon was the first to walk through, his large frame quickly disappearing into the oozy portal. Jartow followed, as did the shaman and his three guards, with Finnegan apprehensively moving behind.
Finnegan took a deep breath and stepped into the portal, his vision going black as his body was absorbed and accepted into the boko’s root system. He felt a brief sensation of movement, like his stomach had suddenly climbed into his mouth, and then found himself deposited onto the rocky shore of a nameless island. Cret had said it would take days to travel the distance, but for him it would seem instantaneous. Finnegan certainly didn’t feel like any significant time had passed. In the distance, a massive column loomed overhead, the platform above it blotting out the sun, leaving the world in an eerie superficial darkness.
Finnegan watched as more and more people materialized from the exposed boko roots, their bodies oozing out like sap before resuming their natural form. Some were Irapa, wearing the same sleek armor as Finnegan. Others wore heavier armor like Dallon’s, though instead of saw blades, their limbs ended with imposing cannons. After so many years as an Iso, Finnegan couldn't help but chuckle at his company: Magi and Technik, working together to save the beleaguered at the end of the world. As the final volunteers and supplies came through the transport, all of their heads craned upwards. A massive Capital airship soared overhead, making its way towards the column.
Fate Index:
1. Interspecies relationship becomes a little one-sided
2. The world’s problems are a projection of one character’s mind
3. Extended stream of consciousness
4. Fantasy deathmatch
5. Protagonist’s identity is thrown into question
6. People begin to question their belief system
7. Protagonist gets overzealous and makes a major mistake
8. A creature’s weak spot gets found by accident
9. A great artifact of the past is found, calling to a new owner
10. Social faux pas has serious consequences
11. The inevitable end is actually a rebirth
12. Betrayal
13. Protagonist finds powerful item or treasure
14. Magic finger traps, but for the brain or heart
15. Current location revealed to be (a) hell
16. After a long string of losses, a character begins to succeed only to jeopardize someone else's success
17. Protagonist takes up cause of beleaguered
18. Razor clams
19. Virtue of protagonist is tested by an ally
20. Nothing happens when something is supposed to happen
Outcomes Used:
17. Protagonist takes up cause of beleaguered
18. Razor clams
Added outcomes:
Protagonist reveals a secret
(thanks to Kevvy)
Someone dies trying
(thanks to Charlie)
