Chapter 12 (Patreon)

Bruce fell.  Gray walls rushing past him as he hurtled toward an eventual splatter of raspberry jam.  His stomach was in his throat, the sickly burn of bile threatening to make its presence known.

Silently, he activated Phase Armor.  It would almost certainly do next to nothing when he eventually hit the ground, but it wasn’t like Bruce had a flying pattern or the ability to stretch out his hands and feet and glide away like Treekipp.

A bridge rushed by to his left, revealing a glimpse of another tunnel that ran away from where he’d started.  Seconds later, Bruce spotted another bridge far to his right.  He couldn’t see the corridor that ran up to it, but its appearance confirmed a stray thought.

The Great Labyrinth had levels.  He hadn’t seen a stairwell yet, but-

Pain exploded in Bruce’s legs as they slammed into another bridge.  Phase armor flashed, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough to stop the sharp crack of agony that filled his body.  Before he could react beyond a sharp gasp, Bruce was spinning end over end, freefall unable to slow his momentum as he hurtled toward the bottom of the valley.

He barely had the presence of mind to re-activate Phase Armor before the ground rushed up and slammed into him.  Then, with a flash of white hot agony, everything went dark.

The scrape of his back against the ground was what convinced Bruce he wasn’t dead.

His eyes were still closed, and distantly Bruce could feel something gripping his left ankle and slowly but steadily pulling him.  With each step it took, his back dragged along the ground, pulling his shirt up until his bare skin was brushing up against the not-stone of the maze’s floor.

Disorientation and terror warred in his head.  There was no way that Maddox was in the belly of the Labyrinth with him, and even if he was, the other man would have been prattling his ear off by now.

Bruce tried to pull his foot back while kicking with the other only to discover that his body was as weak as a kitten.  He could barely muster the strength to twitch, let alone enough energy to pull his leg free.  For better or worse, he was going wherever his kidnapper wanted.

With an exercise of will, Bruce cracked his eyes open.  The strange half-light that came from everywhere was the same as always, but it felt like an assault on his vision.  Everything was too bright, half blinding him as Bruce tried to make sense of what was happening.

The ground pulled at his back, bare skin catching on the floor as he was dragged.  Nausea and pain welled up in Bruce’s body despite Regeneration working overtime to try and fix the damage.  Thudding steps echoed, strangely distorted as whatever was dragging him plodded slowly through the tunnels buried deep in the bowels of the Great Labyrinth.

Bruce blinked, trying to restore his sight.  The ceiling and the walls were the same in their unending beige glory, so he leaned up slightly, trying to get a glimpse of his captor.  In front of him, a hulking humanoid shape made of fire gripped his leg, slowly pulling him along the ground.

He jumped, or tried to.  Despite his strength partially returning, the person or creature dragging him had a strong enough grip that Bruce’s sudden movement was as ineffectual as a mouse trying to struggle free from the talons of a hawk.

It didn’t react.  The dull orange flames didn’t burn his leg, it’s grip didn’t get tighter, and it didn’t turn around to look at Bruce.  Hell, even its steady plodding pace remained the same.  All he could do was lay back down and let the creature pull him toward his fate.

Five minutes later, Bruce’s back was sore despite Regeneration, and the rest of his body was mostly recovered.  He couldn’t free himself from the burning silhouette’s grip, he’d tried twice, but the unending agony and disorientation from the fall had faded into nothingness.  Finally, it stopped, releasing his leg and taking a step away before disappearing into a cloud of cinders.

Bruce sat up, wincing at the pain in his back as he reached down to gingerly massage his ankle.  It looked like he was in another sanctuary, but the lights were somehow dimmer.  Like there was something filtering out the fake light of the maze.  The twilight almost seemed to draw attention to the flickering embers that had been his kidnapper.  They swirled through the air, blowing away from and toward a pile of-

He hissed, ankle forgotten.  In the center of the room was a skull.  It looked vaguely humanoid but the brow was wrong and it was far too big.  Even as Bruce watched, the flickering motes of light and fire drifted through the air, surrounding the skull and settling upon it.

Bruce jumped to his feet, ignoring the twinge from his leg as he turned to run away.  Before he could take a second step, the room’s exit burst into flames, creating a thick crimson wall between him and freedom.

A wave of pressure slammed down on Bruce.  It felt like his arms and legs were draped with sandbags.  He made it one more step before teetering uncertainly and falling to his knees with a loud thud that resounded through his entire body.

It hurt.  Not quite as much as when he had hit the bridge while tumbling into the abyss, but it felt like he had fallen from about twenty feet up.

Then he toppled forward, hands barely catching himself as the weight of the world slammed itself down on Bruce’s back.  He strained, barely able to push himself back up to his hands and knees as he fought for breath.

The dim half-light of the room began to glow a deep reddish yellow, and dread filled him.  Slowly Bruce turned his head, unable to move his arms or legs without falling to the maze’s floor.  It was only out of the corner of his eye, but he could see the skull burning.  More importantly, it was floating.

It opened its mouth, letting a snake of fire slithered out.  It reached out and touched Bruce’s ankle.  There wasn’t any heat or burning, just a slight sensation of pressure.  For a second he felt a pinch in his temples, like a headache was coming on, and then the headache and contact cut out simultaneously.

“WILLIAM ALLEN BRUCE.” The voice assaulted Bruce’s ears, slamming into them like a crash of thunder.  “BE NOT AFRAID.”

“It’s just Bruce please,” he replied, wincing at the tinnitus that was already starting.  “Also could you speak a little quieter, it feels like you’re chucking rocks at the inside of my skull.”

“Bruce.”  At least whatever the voice was, it was speaking at a more reasonable volume now.  “I command thee.  Be not afraid.”

“Got it,” he grunted.  “Also, if you’re the one weighing me down, I would appreciate it if you’d stop.  This has passed through exhausting into downright painful at this point.”

The pressure on Bruce’s back disappeared.  With some relief, he stood up.  His knees still hurt from being slammed into the ground, but at least he could control his body once again.

He turned, and wasn’t entirely surprised to see the massive skull, wreathed in flames and floating in front of him.  It opened its mouth and the voice, still booming like a rockslide in a valley, echoed forth.

“Bruce.  Be not afraid.”

“Got it,” he said, biting his tongue to stop himself from making a crack about how he had understood its directions the first two times.

The skull flew closer, reddish yellow flames dancing across its surface as it came to a halt barely a foot from him.  Pinpoints of blue light shone from deep in its eye sockets as some sort of alien intelligence scanned him up and down.

“You appear to be a member of The Race’s priest caste,” it rumbled.  “But your avatar is equipped as a warrior.  Moreover I can smell hints of servitor and Rigellian on you.  State your caste and purpose William Allen Bruce.”

“Caste?”  He questioned, brow furrowing as he tried to stop himself from taking an instinctive step backward from the flying skull as it crowded his personal space.  “Like in India?  I don’t have a caste.  I was security and a backup technician on a MarsCorp exploration team if that’s what you meant by purpose.  As for right now?  I’m just lost in this maze trying to find a way home.”

He bit his lip as another pinch in his temples sent a spike of pain into his head.  The tightness began moving under his scalp, as if there were a small creature burrowing through his mind and leaving a tingling burning sensation in its wake.

“I see,” the skull replied, seemingly unaware of his discomfort.  “India is a subcontinent where members of the priest caste further divide themselves.  It appears that your entire culture is composed of members of the priest caste.  I see no servitors and-”

It paused, the faint blue lights in its eye sockets flaring as the pressure in Bruce’s mind erupted.  He stumbled backward, falling to one knee even as blood began to trickle freely down his nose.

“You keep the warrior caste in cages,” it rumbled dangerously.  “You deprive them of their alchemy that makes them whole and force them to live out their lives as animals, beating their chests for your sick amusement.”

Bruce reached up, wiping the blood from his face as he struggled to formulate a response through the sudden pounding headache.

“I don’t know anything about a warrior or a priest caste,” he croaked out.  “I’m just a guy that was hired because I know how to survive in extreme environments and shoot straight.  We didn’t risk any of our scientists exploring the pyramid.”

“Then you will explain why you smell of Rigellian betrayers despite appearing as one of The Race,” the apparition growled.

Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t get a chance.  A wave of pressure washed over him as the blue light in the skull’s eyes flashed dangerously..

His head felt like it was in a vice.  Pressure gripped it from all sides as an invisible force pushed deeper, causing Bruce’s eyes to water as it rooted around through the depths of his brain.  Flashes of heat followed by the tingle of reawakening nerves accompanied the taste of cinnamon as the flaming skull stared him down without any response.

Finally, after what felt like an hour but was probably more like two minutes the pain and pressure faded.  The burning skull floated backward a foot or so, not enough to make Bruce feel comfortable but enough that it wasn’t actively crowding him.

“I apologize for the mind probe little one,” it said thoughtfully.  “I thought that there had been a civil war amongst The Race and that your caste had sought to oppress others.  Never would I have imagined that The Race had devolved to the point I have seen in your memories.  Rather than the towering spires and bustling cities of integrated worlds, there is nothing but degenerate half-people choking on the fumes of burning petro-chemicals.”

“Thanks?”  Bruce replied, reaching up to massage his now aching head.  “I’m not sure that I like the phrases ‘devolved’ and ‘degenerate half-people,’ they kinda sound like the sorts of things an evil burning skull would say before trying to turn me inside out or something.  Still, I’m glad that whatever happened isn’t my fault.  Whatever you did to my head, I’d like to avoid experiencing that a second time.”

“You are not free from suspicion yet Bruce.”  Its voice was like an avalanche.  “But I will let you answer in your own words.  I have analyzed your abilities.  A hammer and shield is proper equipment for a warrior, that I approve of.  The problem is that they are weak and inefficient.  If they were self developed, I would accept that, but they smell of the forced submission of the Rigellians.  Tell me Bruce, do you serve the Rigellians?  Are you a descendant of the priest caste, or are you one of the betrayers unwitting pawns?”

The skull flared dangerously, lighting the entire sanctuary room with its red blaze.  For the first time, he felt heat.  It was like someone had flipped a switch and suddenly he was baking under its glare.

“I thought I was clear on this,” Bruce responded, taking a step back from the creature.  “I have no idea what the priest caste is and I have no idea what Rigellians are.  I vaguely know what the word caste means because some societies used to practice caste systems, but that was far away and long ago.  More than that, it’s a word with nuance to it.  I don’t know if the castes you are talking about are like, societal roles that can be changed or something that is stamped into your being at birth.”

“As for Rigellians?”  He asked with a shrug.  “I know that Rigel is a star.  I don’t know what color it is or where in the night sky to find it.  I don’t know why I would smell like it.”

“Are you sure Bruce?”  The skull questioned menacingly.  “Any encounters with duplicitous aliens recently?  Perhaps the one that ‘gifted’ you the abilities that are currently poisoning your system?”

Bruce felt his eyes widen.

“Treekipp?  The little green squirrel guy?”

“A borelite,” it hissed.  “The open and beckoning right hand of the Rigellian Federation.  They blink their big eyes and look helpless all while stealing everything you’ve ever valued and passing information back to their sinister masters.  Their tainted patterns and honeyed promises have killed almost as many of The Race as the rest of the betrayers combined.”

“Look,” Bruce said, raising his hands to placate the burning skull.  “I don’t know the first thing about what’s going on.  I don’t know what ‘the race’ is, I don’t know what a borelite is, I don’t know anything about Rigel.  I’m a human, and I’m here as part of a team that’s trying to explore and industrialize Mars.  We were exploring and I ended up stumbling into the Great Labyrinth.”

He paused, frowning slightly before continuing.

“Hell, I don’t even know if that’s the real name for this place.  All the information I have is based off of what Treekipp told me, and now you’re saying I can’t trust the little guy.”

“You cannot,” the phantasm replied, “and the word you have for yourself may be ‘human’ but that is not entirely correct.  Your species may have forgotten its origins and its birthright, but despite untold years trapped in the belly of this great beast, I have not.”

“Bruce.”  It’s eyes flashed blue again and he tasted a flash of cinnamon as something pressed against the inside of his head.  “The Rigellians have robbed you of your empire, your destiny, and your very history.  Now, their servants, the borelites, seek to enslave you with false promises and trapped patterns.”

“Tell me, ‘human,’ do you wish to seize the powers of your ancestors, shake off the unseen bondage of the insidious tree merchants, and step forth onto the galactic stage a free man in control of his own destiny?”

The room lapsed into silence for a second before Bruce realized that the creature was actually waiting for a response.  The question had seemed rhetorical so he had simply waited for it to continue speaking, but apparently input was required of him.

“Yes?”  He hazarded, trying not to anger the volatile entity.

“My name is Kassar,” it responded, its voice thundering throughout the room.  “Once I numbered amongst the top echelons of The Race’s warrior caste.  Now I am dead, naught but a memory infused with a fraction of the power that I held in life.  Despite being a shadow of my former self, I have the power to remake you.  To transform your body and soul so that you can survive the dangerous circumstances you have found yourself in.  The only thing you must do Bruce is to extend your right hand and welcome my spirit into your body.”

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