Chaotic belongs to TCDigital.
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The first hours after Humans arrive on Perim are chaos. Some Humans have a level enough head to not panic, some lash out in panic, and many of them freeze in terror. The natives of Perim are no different, with action and inaction in equal measure.
I can hear the roar of violence drift in through the windows as I collapse to the ground. Soldiers bellowing orders, Humans screaming, cracks of weapon fire. I curl up, cover my ears, and focus on the sounds of my pulse and my breaths. I can't do anything for anyone outside right now, I can only focus on myself. I've never learned exactly how many die on this first day each time this all starts over, and I doubt I ever will.
My hiding place is crude, a small hollow between two walls, long-forgotten over centuries of renovations, long before Chaor gave this fortress city its drab name, UnderWorld City. Its entrance is practically invisible from the outside, a single large stone that swings on a hinge, one among many others. Perhaps servants once used to place for a brief rest between their duties, out of sight and out of mind. It's cold and dim, the only light coming from a crack in the far wall from the exit. There's not enough height to stand, nor enough space to lie flat.
I haven't finished catching my breath when I roll to a sitting position. I undo the laces of my right shoe and gingerly slide it off, then push my sock down to my heel and carefully feel my ankle. No discoloration, not particularly tender. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Good, even a sprain would cause tremendous problems with the short time I have available.
My mad dash earlier would have gone much smoother at an earlier time. While not at all a champion of physical fitness, my twenty-three-year-old body was at least energetic and somewhat in shape. I'd let myself go in the years since then, and now at thirty, I'm paying for my lack of discipline.
I lean back against the cold stone wall and silently laugh at myself. My chest hurts from the effort, and I can feel my throat threaten to swell shut. All this time I've spent in Perim, all these years I've lived, centuries by this point, and I'm still worrying about how old my body is. I'm not sure if it's the adrenaline wearing off or the absurdity of my situation, but it's just. Too. Funny.
Okay, that's enough laughing. Time to take stock. I pick up my shoe in my hands and look it over. Shoes with laces, I haven't worn a pair of those in over a year, and yet once again I arrive in Perim wearing them. White socks, material unknown. Gray shirt, blue jeans, fancy black belt. Those at least I owned back on Earth. My pockets are empty, save for a small knot of lint at the bottom of each.
Okay, physical inventory is complete. Disappointing. I was hoping that I'd manage to bring at least something with me this time around. Now to see what else I might have managed this time around.
I close my hand around the ball of lint and squeeze it. I stare at where I know it is. Right now it is a clump of thread, fiber, and dye, but it could be so much more. As I focus on the point, the piece of existence, I begin the test.
Lucid dreaming is the art of maintaining your awareness while you sleep. If fully lucid, a dreamer can perform impossible actions, from the relatively mundane such as flight and incredible feats of strength to the outright fantastical such as creation, destruction, and the shaping of the world itself. Some people are naturally talented at this, and they spend every night with the powers of a god. Others never experience this phenomenon, with their every night an indistinct memory, if even that.
My ears ring, a numbness crawls across my skin, and nausea rises from my gut as I stare at my clenched fists. I feel as if I might lose myself at any moment when I look away and relax my concentration, and the sensations slowly fade. My eyes feel heavy, and there's a weight on my chest. I rest my hand against my lap and, hesitantly, I open it.
In my palm is a ball of lint.
I sigh and flick the small ball into the corner of my hiding space. Of course, it didn't work. Still, better to check each time. The one time you don't try and it turns out it would have worked, you'll be kicking yourself all the rest of the way to your destination.
I slowly maneuver to my hands and knees until my face is near the exit to this cramped space. I press my ear against the stone and close my eyes, trying to slow my heart and my breath so I can tell if anyone is in the hallway beyond. A few tense minutes pass, and I'm certain I'm alone.
I crawl out, slide the secret door closed, then stretch out the knots in my muscles. The hallway is empty, but I still have little time. The UnderWorlders will still be searching for me, and the longer I wait, the fewer pathways I'll have available to me. Every exit from the palace will be blocked and watched by now, and it's only a matter of time until I'm caught. How fortunate that I'm not looking to escape just yet.
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The many hallways of this palace are all alike. Not to say that they're identical, just that, without a map, it would be easy to lose yourself in them for a lack of obvious landmarks. However, with a map, or at least the memory of one, you can at least get to a specific place.
My specific place is a lonely stretch of hallway. Tapestries line the walls, depicting creatures, places, and events. I've seen them many times over the lifetimes, enough that I know exactly where the one I'm looking for is. The most recent addition to these walls of history is a monument to Chaor's ego, a portrait of him many times larger than life posed in a dramatic roar, flaming weapons in each hand, body nude to show off his sweating muscular body and have his engorged masculinity in an obvious display.
I take a deep breath, bounce on the balls of my feet a little, and flex and relax my fingers. Then I grab a fistful of expensive thread by its edge and begin to scale the wall. One foot braced against the wall, another handful of tapestry, the other foot, another handful. Don't think about how high you're going. Foot, hand, foot, hand.
Partway up, I pause. I hear footsteps. I have minutes, maybe less. Time enough to reach my goal, or should I drop and try again when whoever it is has passed? No, my landing will make too much sound, surely this place will be put under guard. I don't know of anywhere else that has what I need. I climb again, faster now.
I'm level with Chaor's hips on the tapestry now, but I'm too far to the left. What I'm looking for is behind the cloth, closer to the middle. I take a breath to fight down the dizziness, then carefully turn around so I'm facing the back of the tapestry. Feet against the wall, reach as far as I can with my left hand and grab a hold. Left foot out and planted, right foot follows, right hand meets the left. Repeat. Repeat. Holy crap I'm high up. I pass the fuzzy outline of Chaor's fist in the image, now crossing the threads that depict his body.
I stop and place my left hand against the wall, feeling around. There, in a groove between stones, a small object, like a marble. I dig a finger into the mortar surrounding it and begin scraping its anchoring away.
"Who is up there?" a gruff voice calls out from the ground, toward the end of the hallway. "No use hiding, I can see where you are!"
As if I was trying to hide. What, like people are just going to overlook a wiggling extra bulge on Chaor's tapestry? I don't answer. Instead, I focus on my digging efforts.
"You have until the count of three, then I am taking you down myself! One!"
A soft crack, and it's come loose. I bring the object in front of me. A small bead, it looks like it's made of crystal. Just what I'm looking for.
"Two!"
I'm out of time. I grit my teeth, clench my eyes shut, and shove the crystal up my left nostril. Small pieces of leftover mortar scratch as I push it in, and I feel tears leaking from my eyes.
"Three!"
It's wedged, not coming out any time soon. I yank my finger out of my nose and-
Lights dance in my vision as something collides with my body from the other side of the tapestry. My stomach is rising into my chest. Falling. I've lost my grip-
I'm on the ground. There's a high-pitched ringing in my ears. Something is wrapped around my neck. There's a blurry figure above me. I blink away the stars.
A bull's face atop a muscular humanoid body glares down at me. One of his three-fingered hands is raised next to his face, clenched into a fist, and his other arm reaches down to below my face. He's got me by the throat. His orange skin is contrasted by his long blue hair, dangling around his face. A thin necklace threaded with long with teeth dangles between our faces. It's Rothar. He's not happy.
"I've got the intruder!" Rothar shouts, not taking his eyes off me.
I reach up and grab his wrist in a daze. It's a thoughtless, useless action, I'm not going to be able to get him off me.
Voices sound in the distance. "Disable him! Chaor wants him alive!"
Rothar grunts, "Understood," and he spreads apart the fingers of his raised hand. A twisting a flesh, and instead of fingers are three writhing serpents, mouths open and fangs dripping. A blur of movement, and there's a stinging pain in my shoulder, followed by a spreading numbness.
The bull-man releases me as the venom does its work. I feel my body getting heavy. Rothar stands up and looks off to the side, at something out of my field of view.
A voice from somewhere, it sounds so far away. "Are we to take him to the Pit?" If there's an answer, I don't hear it.
As the world fades away around me, I feel the corners of my cheeks lift in a grin. With the last conscious control I have, I mutter a phrase, softly enough that I hope none of the creatures standing around me can hear...
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Chaotic belongs to TCDigital.