(TLO) Chapter 50: Actors and Psychopaths (Patreon)

The air was stale with the smell of blood. It wasn’t metallic, to be honest, though there was iron in it. No. It smelled like rotten grass and melted bone if acid had been used.

Two suns blazed from above, disagreeing monarchs vexed by the survival of a particularly troublesome subject sent off to die in some forgotten war. One was yellow. The other was a dirty orange that felt and looked wrong.

The ground beneath them, a desert of infinite sand, once a beautiful brown and yellow as all deserts come to be, was tainted by a massive splotch of swamp green, large enough to be put on a map. Scattered all over the stain were countless arthropod legs as long as eight feet, their polished carapace of bone-white stained in green blood. There were some that were stained crimson, but they weren’t much, neither was the color.

At the edges of the mappings of green blood, Wyrms lay scattered, like boundaries marking the territory of a particularly fearful lord. Their bodies were half-swallowed by the sand beneath them. One still squirted green blood and seemed to be in the last fight of its death throes, trembling and quivering like a child caught in the cold. Against its side, a boy with bare feet and tattered clothes rested.

“Four,” Seth said, his chaotic breath finally slowing.

That’s a small number, considering, one of his minds thought.

“Maybe.” Seth’s hand moved to the sword lying in the sand. He winced at the pain from the simple act and let it be. “But if we are to count each limb, I think we can really call it a horde.”

But we won, another mind pointed out. Against the odds.

Seth’s hand moved down to his thigh and his expression tightened. He had won. That much was true. His hand wrapped around a piece of Wyrm leg as long as four inches, and ripped it out of his thigh with a loud cry. His other injuries, scrapes and tears, punctures and lacerations, screamed in protest, a background symphony to the cry of his thigh. He bit down on his own teeth to quell his scream as he fought the pain. He did this because he was a man. But mostly, he did it because he feared sound might draw another Wyrm to him. He had discovered during his fights with them that they could not see. They merely followed their prey with nothing but sensed vibrations.

“If this was real,” he said. “I’d be dead. We can’t call this a victory.”

His words seemed to chastise his minds, and they offered no response.

He let out an exhale through his mouth and thought about the last few hours. They had seemed longer while he’d been fighting for his life. Now that he was not, they felt like the hours they had been. If this had been real with no promise of a return unscathed, he would be staring death in the eye in a few minutes. How he always managed to survive by the skin of his teeth was a testament to his luck. That, and the strength of the monsters. He was fairly certain none of them had reia control yet.

He had done a lot of running and panicking the first time he’d been drawn into the world of [Lucid Dreaming]. Terror had held him at the sight of the monsters then.

At first he had thought them reia beasts, but he knew better now. These creatures, whatever they were, had no cores. They did not command the power of reia. But this did not make them any less deadly. He had fought a horde of serpents large enough to swallow him whole with venomous breaths that corroded trees if left in them for too long. He’d fought against spiders with steel webs and feet sharp enough to cut through iron. He had fought against monkeys armed with branches they swung like swords. Jackals that fought each other as much as they fought him. Trees vividly alive with a hunger for human blood. He had fought against too many.

And now he had fought against mutated Wyrms with centipede legs they used like spears.

At least this time he came out of it with a reward more than a mandatory return.

[Stamina Increased].

[Precision Increased].

[Strength Increased].

You have stood in the hold of your own terror and fought long, regardless.

[Mental Strength Increased].

Increased Efficiency in Skill [Fractured Mind].

He read the notifications without a smile. It would’ve helped more if they were quantified. If he knew just how much they had increased, perhaps he would’ve taken satisfaction in them. That [Fractured Mind] was growing meant he had used it.

“Any ideas when?” he asked his minds, and felt them shiver.

Too many times, a fragment answered.

Way too many times, another agreed.

Seth sighed. Even his minds were tired. He pressed his hand against the hardened carapace of the Wyrm he rested against and tried to stand.

He failed and fell back down. He leaned his head against the body behind him and sighed again.

The pain in his leg did not allow him do much. And only so much could be done with one good arm. He rested back against the creature and stared at the dual suns in the sky. They glared back like angry wives.

“Ever wondered how far this place goes?” he asked.

His minds’ answer was abrupt. Nope.

“You’re not even the slightest bit curious?”

Nope, a mind answered. Besides, even if we were, it wouldn’t matter. We’ll be leaving soon, anyway.

Seth scoffed. Of course they would. These places were designed to be nothing more than hell holes for him to be punished, woe bedight any ideas to take it as an exploration ground.

It wasn’t long before the long awaited notification popped up.

Consequence Quest: [Lucid Dreaming].

You have failed to uphold your duty. The way to power is paved in hardship and determination. To fail is to prove oneself less. On this path every failure is consequential. It is your duty to survive the horde of creatures coming your way until penance is deemed served.

Objective Passed: [Survive The Horde].

Reward: Freedom.

…

Return imminent [0:04].

Do we think we’ll be getting more increments in the coming quests? A mind asked, excited.

Another answered it quickly: We hope not.

Why not?

“Because that will make all of this feel justified,” Seth answered. “Then maybe we will come to look forward to it; come to want to face it for the sake of growth.”

Oh.

“Yeah,” Seth mumbled bitterly as the timer came to an end.

He was looking forward to working legs and two working arms once again. He stared at his disfigured arm, broken horribly from the fight. He added mutated wyrms to the list of creatures he didn’t like.

He did not close his eyes as the world around him faded. Yet, he saw nothing as it did. The last vestige of this world was a single line of words as all else fell away, absent to his mind. The words blazed before him. They seemed, by their very existence, mocking rather than congratulatory.

Consequence Quest [Lucid Dreaming: Survive the Horde] Completed.

The notification eased away like ashes in the wind and the world returned to Seth in a cascade of blue light. It filled his attention long enough for him to forget what other colors looked like before reality came into view.

………………………………………..

Seth returned to the real world to find it was morning, bright and annoying. The cold of the night weather was gone. It was replaced by the growing warmth that came with the threat of noon. The sound of training echoed throughout the seminary, distant dings to Seth’s ears.

Many thoughts came to Seth as he got to his feet. There was the pleasure that came with the abrupt absence of pain. It reminded him, as it did so many times, that whatever had just happened had been an illusion of sorts, an amalgamation of false information that held his mind hostage. The punishment was nothing but a state of his mind. He scoffed at the thought and mumbled to himself.

“Try believing that when you can’t feel your leg and your arm is lying away from you.”

On his feet, he rounded his shoulder and found them terribly sore. He flexed the arm that had been broken horribly mere moments ago. Finding it healed but still in mild pain and absent of any apparent kinks he needed to work out, he eased himself to the edge of the weapon’s shed and peeked out the corner.

He might’ve just won against four giant monsters—perhaps in his head—but that did not mean he wasn’t late for morning lessons. His absence would be unwittingly noticed.

We can sit today out, one of his minds suggested.

Seth nodded, an involuntary response to the sense of agreement that spilled from another thought. Wait it out behind the shed here, it thought. No one would think to look for us here.

Seth sighed at the idea, not that it wasn’t tempting. His eyes wandered the training yard and was gladdened by the absence of human presence.

“So,” he said, taking one final glance. “What do we then do for food?”

Talk fatso into getting it for us.

Seth grimaced at the thought. If he was to believe the voices in his head and accept that they were him, then that meant he must really have something against Timi’s size.

You don’t.

Seth stepped out from behind the shed. “Well, you guys pick on him quite a lot.”

He dusted his clothes—joggers and cotton shirt—simply because he had nothing to do with his nervous hands and realized he’d left his room with bare feet. His minds seemed to muse on his response as he walked the distance across the training yard.

He’d learned long ago that the trick to getting away with doing something unacceptable was not to take pretense at innocence but to take pretense at confidence. Act as if whatever had been done had been done intentionally and purposefully. When done right, those unaware of what had been done would not suspect something wrong had been done. And those of moderate to weak wills, unwilling to face confrontation, would leave it be for fear of the possibility there was something, perhaps an exception to the rule, that would put them on the wrong side if they spoke.

We already know the consequence is in our head, right? a mind asked.

Yes, another answered.

Which means we aren’t really being teleported to another world and fighting monsters. There’s no portal actually opening in front of us and taking us to another world.

Correct.

Then why did we run? Couldn’t we have simply laid down in bed and let it claim us?

As logical as the question was, the answer was something his minds were supposed to know. After all, the sense of panic and urgency that filled him when the timer began counting down filled them too. It left them bereft of much logic. There was an unreasonable fear that gripped them. It triggered an instinctive response. As he tried to call up a fraction of that panic, another mind answered for him.

Would we like a repeat of what happened the first two times?

Seth found himself shaking his head as all his minds recalled the events it thought of.

The first time he’d been forced to face the consequence, he had panicked and feared as the timer counted down before him. It had been late in the night on one of the few nights when he and his brothers did not retire to bed early. They had been contained in easy discussions. Josiah enlightened them on more of the way of Christians while Forlorn poked a playful finger in Barnabas’ ear. Each brother had what had kept them occupied. Salem told a story of the old Vikings, of how they stormed England and how the country had survived it, and some of them listened, while Silverfang objected to the beauty of American freedom, claiming his tribe had been one of the original occupants of the land before the Americans claimed it from them rather forcefully. Seth found the boy was most often full of shit and rarely ever gave the things he said much stock.

When the countdown had begun, panic had filled Seth like a thousand insects invading the smallest bee hive. In the months that had passed and the consequences faced, the feeling was becoming something bearable, but the first time had been savage. Seth had rambled and ranted as the portal opened. He had begged any and every one for help before he’d been sucked into it.

When he’d woken up, it was in the healer’s room with a confused healer and a scowling Igor. But what had worried him more was the news of how Timi had taken his insane reaction. The boy had quite literally wept. He had panicked and cried and refused to let any of their brothers anywhere close to Seth's convulsing body. He had wailed as he’d rushed him to the healer’s room alone, begging the man to heal him. Promising eternal subservience if he could. Seth wasn’t sure if they were lucky the priest hadn’t taken the boy’s words seriously, even though the man had done nothing at all to save him.

The second time had been different. The consequence had claimed Seth in his sleep and, according to the stories he’d garnered from his brothers, he had convulsed in a particularly violent seizure. He had convulsed in his bed, trembling and thrashing like an electrocuted fish out of water. Timi’s panic had been greater than the first time and Fin had taken a particularly vicious blow to the head from Timi when he’d tried to hold Seth down. It had sufficed to knock him out.

When Seth had returned to the waking world, Timi had begged him not to die—pleaded.

He’d known he was Timi’s only friend in the seminary, but the boy’s words had helped him understand a fraction of just how important the boy took him.

“Don’t leave me here all alone, Seth,” the boy had said with rheumy eyes and choked sobs. “Everyone always leaves me. Please, don’t be everyone.”

On that day he had promised never to leave. He had given a promise that could not be kept.

Thus, for peace to reign, he’d taken each consequence away from sight. It kept Timi none the wiser and reduced the worry of his mental health he saw in his brothers' eyes.

Seth stepped out from behind the shed as his mind recalled the events with squared shoulders and head held high enough to be proud but not arrogant. He crossed the training field, certain there was no one watching but considering the possibility that there was.

Last night, while in full sprint, the training yard had seemed a large landscape. Now, it took him little time to walk from the shed to the end of it. All the while his minds bickered over the subject of if missing breakfast had caused them a significant loss of nutrients and the possible solution of if he needed to go steal something from the kitchen.

Or perhaps one of the older boys, one mind offered, excited. We already know they hide food in their rooms. And we’ve already done it before.

“We’re really not thieves,” Seth informed it quietly, eyes taking in as much of the surroundings as he could without seeming suspicious.

We’ve done it too many times to be saying that.

“No,” he told it, then frowned at the sound of grass bending under the pressure of someone walking. He did not look in its direction as he added: “We’ve done it enough times to be able to say we’ve done it.” His frown deepened, but not because of the sound. “And by we, I mean me,” he finished.

His minds chuckled. It was like having a group of friends find something funny when he didn’t. You’ll get used to it.

Seth shook his head. “I really won’t.”

And he really hoped he wouldn’t. Using a plural pronoun to refer to himself was a terrible idea. Off to his side, perhaps forty feet away, someone approached.

Seth steeled himself as he kept his head forward. He feigned a level of ignorance, knowing that the closer the person came, the higher the chance he would have to give attention or seem suspicious. He fought the urge to quicken his pace, leave the training yard before whoever it was came close enough to warrant his attention. He had no idea who it was, but should it be someone with authority over him, it would leave any hurry suspect. Unfortunately, this was information his minds usually gathered for him, but they were too engrossed in an argument of pilfering to be any help.

The exit was close now. He was out of the training yard but needed to get across the threshold to be free of the wide space.

His feet picked up the pace and he fought to will them back into sluggishness, to regain a casual speed. The problem existent in the pretense of correctness, of authority, was in the fact that with the simplest fear growing in the mind of the culprit, it could be dashed so easily, like a particularly old skin shed in preparation for a new season. Only actors and psychopaths are immune to this.

Seth was neither… he hoped.

“I know our Reverends are good,” the man approaching him said casually, his voice deep and carrying so that it seemed as if he had spoken in Seth’s ear. “But I doubt they instill this level of confidence in anyone they teach.”

Seth froze at the sound of the voice, actions stilled. Rare as it was, there was no seminarian that did not know it. None that did not at least fear it.

So, with a fearful mind and trembling hands, he turned and greeted his superior with a slight bow of his head, hands hidden behind his back. Unsure of the time of day and wary a wrong choice would only serve to worsen his situation he chose his words carefully.

“Good day, Rector.”