W.I.P

Chapter 1

This stranger, whom I know to be my father, smiles down at me and says, “I’ve taught you everything I know. Now, it’s time for you to make a name for yourself.”

Instinctively, I know what he says is truth—can list what this man has done for me—yet the memories themselves are a messy tattered patchwork of information. Even the house around us is unfocused. I can’t remove my gaze from the man’s face, but the objects in the periphery shiver and pop as new things take their place. What is this?

My lips move on their own, “I’ll make you proud, father.”

I didn’t say that…

A cupboard behind 'Father' snaps into focus and he turns and walks to it. My eyes, instead of shifting and searching the rest of the house, is forcibly drawn to his left leg. An old war wound from twenty-seven years ago left him with a significant limp. His pride won’t let him use any of the canes I’ve made him over the years. I’m stuck watching as he hobbles back and places a heavy bag in my hands.

Even knowing what it is, I ask, “What’s this?”

The man rubs the back of his neck, his eyes avoid my own. “I know it isn’t much, but it should make the journey a bit easier.”

The coins clink as I hold them tighter. “I’ll make you proud.” Am I repeating— is he not going to say anything?

With the money secured to my belt, my body makes for the door. What? No. I'm not leaving yet! At least tell me what’s going on! Where is this?

As the door unlatches, thousands of tiny papers flood through, peeling away at the house until all that remains is a blank, white, space. I don't know who I am. I don't even know if I'm still in my body. How much time am I losing?

Chapter 4

“It's five shillings a night.”

Candles are lit. Has it been hours or days? My body hands over the money and the woman motions me to follow. As I do, I think on what this body knows. I’m in Lofton. I was raised in Kettlebrook. The inn keeper guides me up the stairs. It's probably been a fortnight. Unless I hitched a ride, or had to hunt for food. Or stopped to help fight off the six bandits attempting to kidnap the raven-haired noblewoman…

Right. This is pointless. If I went as fast as possible it would take seven days, but what does that even get me? I. Can't. Move!

We stop in the middle of the hallway. The woman doesn't move to open any of the doors. Did I change something? Did she notice something was off? Maybe if I try a bit more.

Her skin whitens and peels away into pages that flit past my face. No emotion reaches her eyes. My body makes no move to save her. She’s just gone. The floor and walls are next. My body and I watch as the giant mass of papers tornadoes toward us. Why are you waiting? You can see it, can’t you? Run!

But we don’t run, instead, we stare, unblinking, even as the white nothingness consumes everything around us.

An older man towers above us. “Rooms down the hall,” he jerks a pale green thumb behind him. The inn is still here. The stairs are gone. The woman is gone. It’s the same but different. I nod a thank you and scurry past the ogre, choosing the first open door and shutting it with a sigh.

“Finally,” I plop down on the bed, “a chance to rest!”

What? No! We don’t have time for this! What happened to the woman? Why did it all change? What’s going to happen to us?

I close my eyes and succumb to sleep.

Chapter 13

The market is loud, I’d even consider calling it bustling if there were any people. It's just empty stalls with invisible merchants shouting about goods that don’t exist. Footsteps from people that aren’t there on a cobblestone path that forms at the touch of my boot. Is it possession? How can it simply walk through this as if nothing's amiss? Doesn’t explain the world though.

Something soft and warm tugs at my arm.

“Come on, daddy! Hurry up!” A tiny blond-haired girl materializes beside me. The pages are still smoothing out and darkening to match her skin as she runs away giggling. My body, oblivious as ever, chases after her. The merchants are no longer invisible, but their stalls remain just as empty as their gazes.

The little one grabs my hand again. “Look, look!” The space where she points begins to shutter and pulse. “A dancing bear!”

We don’t see the bear; too busy watching her face. This will be the only time she can experience this. Our heart aches.

There is murmuring around us and we are forced to look up at the shifting sky. It’s blue, then purple, then red.

This would be a great time to leave, body.

A pale circle looms over the square. Symbols I know to be demonic carved themselves into the sky. The warmth from the child’s hand is gone. When—why didn’t we notice? The sky darkens as the circle glows brighter.

Please, just look down. You were focused on her this entire time, so why no—

CRACK!

A massive column of red light slams down. The market explodes in rubble and chaos. “Daddy!” can barely be heard over the crescendo of screams, but this body wastes no time as it pushes and shoves its way through. I don’t know where she is, but it does. Like a puppet being pulled by its master.

We find her laying on her side in a small pool of blood. It’s too late; a piece of wood had impaled her stomach. We pull her into our lap. She won’t make it.

“Daddy, it hurts!”

We brush the hair from her face as we say, “I know. I know, but it’s going to be alright. You’re going to be fine.”

If you were going to be so useless, you should’ve just given me my body back!

“I’m cold.”

I hold the girl tighter, rocking back and forth. As her tiny hand falls limp a guttural scream tears through our throat, piercing the heavens and shattering the sky.

Chapter 30

These scenes, are they the past? A punishment, tormenting me with my failings? Even that doesn’t explain everything.

An older burly man shakes his head, “Bad omen, that.”

Huh? The body doesn’t move, but our eyes glance up at the scarlet moon.

“There’s still time to turn back,” says a raven-haired lady.

“No,” It stands. “I’ve come too far to turn back now. I’m ending this tonight. For Katrina.”

Katrina? Right his, our, daughter.

The ground shifts, miles of trees whip past us. I thought we were close, this feels endless. The body remains looking forward undisturbed. Wonder which direction we’re going. The world abruptly stops as we stand in a desolate clearing; the scent of grass and flowers long gone.

The ground is littered with demonic bodies. Purple miasma seeps from their wounds. We step on the body in front of us and pull our sword out. Satyrs? We flick the blackened blood off the sword and sheathe it. The goat legs, the humanoid torso, the horns—they are definitely satyrs. What are they even doing here? There’s no memories of this that I can pull from the body. Both us and them are just here. It sighs and looks to the sky.

Will you at least comment on the missing companions?

“How long has it been since I’ve seen the sun?”

Figures. They must be dead. Or maybe they don’t exist anymore, not that you’d care. You’re just an empty puppet.

“Just a bit more now.” It takes a step and the ground shifts once more, hurtling us forward and past the stairs, through the dark castle and up the spire until, at last, the Demon King sits before us, our sword already piercing her gut.

So we skip this fight too huh? Not powerful enough to be a god.

Tears blur our vision. “Why?” It collapses before her. “Why did you do it?”

She smiles as she says, “It was the only way.”

We glare into her black eyes. “For what?”

“To save her.” She reaches into her robes, pulls out a small golden orb and holds it out to us.

The body hesitates, before grabbing it with shaky hands. There’s something curled up inside. “Katrina,” it whispers. As it looks back up, the Demon King and everything around her is peeling away, swirling away into the bright nothingness beyond.

Chapter 1.2

The wooden chair is uncomfortable and presses against our spine. A middle-aged woman lies on the bed beside us, her breathing ragged and labored. There is sweat glistening on her forehead. I want to help her.

My body stands and I realize how short we are. The top of the bed is the same height as our chest. We’re a child, aren’t we? The body climbs up the bed and scoots its way closer to the bedside table. A small basin of water with a towel is there. Our hands are small and we can’t wring out all the water. It’s still dripping wet when we place it on her forehead.

Well, at least you tried.

She opens her eyes, turning her head towards us slightly. “My son. My sweet boy. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” I don’t know if her tears are from the pain or the sadness, but we wipe them away all the same.

“Your father—" a coughing fit stops her and the wet towel falls off. Should just put that back, not like it will help at this point. The body grabs the towel and tosses it back into the basin.

We stare at the towel as mother’s coughing slowly dies down. Pick it back up? The body reaches for the towel again and grabs it.

“Your father will be here soon,” Mother’s voice forces the body to focus on her once more, dropping the towel back in the water.

So I have some amount of control. The spell must be slipping. I can feel it, the compulsion to stand and move to the door. Like an actor following a script. The carriage is here and that’s my cue to leave.

Before we leave we turn one last time to say, “I’ll keep fighting, mom. No matter what.” That's right. Whatever you are, I hope you’re listening, because when I break out of here there’ll be hell to pay.