Dream Drive Ch. 10

"Rach-El! Rach-El!" Hands reached under Rachel's shoulders and dragged her up. The Indian chick's brown eyes thrust themselves at Rachel's face, darting over her features. "Are you alright? Can you stand?"

"Gonna say yes to alright." Rachel tried her feet. Her ankles caved in like wet paper mache. She couldn't get any strength into them. "No to stand."

"Okay, hang on!" The girl pulled one of Rachel's arms around her shoulders and started walking her forward.

The battle around them had devolved into a melee. There were no lines, no organization; just people fighting people. They walked through the center of it, trudging through the mud and the screams.

"If you heal me, I'll be able to walk," Rachel said. "My health is too low!"

"Health? Oh, your health bar!" The girl turned and put a hand out, drawing runes in the air. White lines followed her fingers, then flashed. Rachel's health was restored 20 points. "That's all my essence. Let's get back to–"

Rachel shoved her to the ground because a spear was thrust at her neck. They collapsed together. The girl shouted and struggled under her, not understanding the situation. Rachel leapt up just as another spear came in, trying to skewer them both. She escaped without harm, but the spear stabbed through the girl's leg, pinning her to the ground like a stuck moth.

Rachel instinctively reached for her sword, but her hand grasped air. She'd forgotten about losing it.

Instead, she threw herself at the soldier holding the spear, driving into him with an elbow just below his chest plate. He grunted under the blow, but held his ground. Rachel's arm throbbed where it ground into his chainmail.

Despite the recent boost to her strength, he probably outweighed her three to one. They struggled for leverage, each trying to topple the other's balance. Rachel wrapped her hands around his waist and dug her feet into the mud. He beat at her back, pulled her hair, smacked at the back of her head.

There was a thump. The man stopped struggling. Rachel glanced up; an arrow was jutting through his cheek and out through his head. She pushed on his chest; he toppled over like a felled tree. She glanced back to see the girl on one knee, bow in her hands.

A white wisp rose from the soldier's corpse. It drifted slowly toward the girl, then was sucked into her body when it got close. Essence. Rachel's eyes went flicked to the girl's left hand and noted the pentagram scar. Unlike Rachel's which was twisted and curled, hers was a neat imprint, more like a henna tattoo than a marking.

"Thanks Chiki," Rachel said. "Fucker almost got my hair."

"Chaki," she corrected. "We have to regroup with the others before the lines form up again and trap us."

"I've got some essence left," Rachel said, "but almost all my skills need a sword."

"Then we run faster," Chaki said. "I'll shoot anyone that comes at us. You can pick a blade on the way."

Rachel turned toward the thick of the killing field. It was true – dead bodies and ownerless weapons were all over the place. There had to be a sword stuck in the mud somewhere. Always with the fucking mud. I guess beggars can't be choosers.

"Alright," Rachel said. "Let's do this shit!"

Chaki stared at her. "This...shit?"

Rachel made a fist and pumped it into the air. "Yeah. For when you're ready to take them on."

"Them?"

"You know – them. The man. Authority. A challenge. Shit headed your way." Chaki still looked baffled. Rachel huffed and rolled her eyes. "It's an expression, okay?"

"Oh." Chaki's eyes lit up in understanding. "Jackson uses a lot of those."

"The dissertation can wait," Rachel said. "Less talking, more walking."

"Fair enough."

"You won't be going anywhere."

Rachel felt her bones freeze over. The voice was cold, precise, and horribly familiar. She turned her head towards its source.

Lord Hale approached them on horseback, surrounded by his elite guard. A second mage rode next to him – the one that had been taking Rachel back, until Chaki came to the rescue. Dicks. Double-dicks.

"Chaki," Rachel muttered. "That's collar man. Got any essence from that dude you owned?"

"Enough for one attack," Chaki whispered. "You?"

"I can do a few skills. No sword, but at least it'll be something. Make a distraction." Chaki bobbed a small nod.

"Rachel," Hale said. "It's good to see you again. I hear you collected one of my matrices for me."

"Yeah," Rachel said. "Did your man tell you I plan on pushing your shit in with it?"

"Conversations are always so colorful with you around," Hale said. "An instant of freedom and you're back to your bad habits. We'll be doing some corrective exercises later."

A strange phantom of pain passed through Rachel's chest. She swallowed.

Hale's gaze fell on Chaki. "Drop your bow, and I might spare you."

Chaki's hands moved faster than Rachel would have thought possible. She fired her bow an instant later. The projectile shot through the air.

The magician next to Hale had raised his hand. Blue runes glowed in front of them. The arrow clinked off its surface and fell into the mud.

Hale raised his finger; runes blossomed in front of him. A bolt of purple lightning shot out as Chaki fired a second arrow. The two attacks passed one another mid-flight. Chaki's arrow struck the shield again and fell down, useless. Hale's lightning smashed Chaki in the chest. She was blasted off her feet and back into the air.

Rachel flinched, and then she realized she was supposed to be moving. She dug her boots down and burst into a sprint, reaching for her essence. She didn't have her sword, but damn if she wasn't going to punch him in the face.

"Ren, restrain her."

The mage next to Hale was already casting. Rachel was ducking between the horses when the spell caught her. White ropes of energy wrapped around Rachel's legs. She tripped forward and face-planted into the mud. Her arms were dragged behind her back and tied together by another strand of energy.

Rachel lifted her head and spat the crud out between her lips. She strained against the bindings, growling out between clenched teeth. One of the white bindings on her hands snapped; the energy made a popping sound as it released. It stung her hands; the horses near her stepped back, frightened by the sound.

She used her freed hand to pull on the binds at her legs, but a fresh wrap snagged her wrist. Lying on the ground as she was, she couldn't dodge; her hands got wrapped up again just as quick as before. And then another rope was added, and then a third, holding her arms tight enough to be painful.

She was not going to be collared again. She was not going to be this freak's possession. And so she started crawling forward, pulling her body across the ground like a worm, defying her tied up arms and legs.

She didn't get very far. The men around her laughed at her, chuckled. They didn't even have to move their horses.

"Did we really have to do this the hard way?" Hale said.

Rachel screamed. No words, no swears, just pure frustration, pushing past her lips and through the mud. She'd been doing so well. And then, poof. Fuck magic.

"That was rather unbecoming."

Rachel was hefted into the air. She was turned to face the sky. Hale's face stared down at her. She stared up at him, his preened hair, his neat features, everything impeccable and in place as if he'd planned the singular moment down to the style of his shave. He dug his hand into her pocket and drew out the ink-black box. "Thank you for returning the matrix. I do appreciate it."

Rachel cleared her throat and hocked a loogie at his face. The ball of spit-snot splattered onto his chin with a satisfying smack. Hale's face twisted back in disgust.

"Listen up you little shit," Rachel said. "Jackson is coming, and he's way stronger than me. If Jackson doesn't get you, my brother will. My brother will fuck your shit up. He will fuck your asshole raw! Do you fucking hear me!?" She shook in her bonds. "I'll watch him make you sweat like a whore in church! I'll fucking –"

Hale backhanded her across the face. She recoiled from the strike. Hale sighed and shook his head. "Rachel, Rachel. Won't you ever learn?" He put his lips next to her ear. "I forgive you," he whispered. "It's my fault, really. I was soft. When we restart your education, I'll take it more seriously. You have my word."

Rachel started screaming, shifting. She whipped her torso and kicked legs. More guards moved in and clamped down on her renewed efforts. Someone stuffed a cloth in her mouth; her screams turned into muffled groans.

Hale looked over his shoulder. "Give me a collar."

Something snagged Rachel's senses. She blinked. Hale looked up, frowning at the sky.

It was magic. Even though she couldn't see it, she could feel it - like not being able to see lightning, but still feel the rumble in your chest.

"My lord, that was a powerful spell," Ren said.

"Can you sense its alignment?" Hale asked. "Where was it located?"

"Near the mountain," Ren said. "It's coming this way. Quickly."

"What type of magic?" Ren sat on his horse, his eyes closed, a hand on his forehead. He didn't answer. Hale faced him fully. "What element, Ren?"

"I can't tell," Ren said. "I can't sense an alignment."

"Don't release her binds," Hale said. "I'll handle the defense."

"Look," one of the men said. "In the clouds!"

He pointed up into the sky, so Rachel was able to see his finger. She squinted. It was hard to make out, but there were angular white lines high above them, cutting against the grain of the cloud layers.

The streaks stopped, then seemed to shrink into dots. They held in place for a moment, white specks against a grey sky. The specks started to grow larger. Then larger still. She cocked her head, frowning. Why would that happen?

Rachel inhaled sharply as she realized. They're coming straight at us.

"Release her binds, shields up!" Hale shouted. "Now!"

Jackson's Statistics:

Strength - 100 +10 (+10%)
Vitality - 185 +19 (+10%)
Agility - 50 +3 (+5%)
Compulsion - 0
Persuasion – 0
Spirit - 80 +20 (+25%)

Health – 143/248
Essence – 56
Carry Weight – 28.4/59.0

Jackson reappeared within the chamber that lay in the base of the mountain. The world swum back into view around him – first the mural at his feet depicting the tree, the pentagram, and the claw; and then the strange cavern, with its sterile dark walls and stone golem guardians. He felt his weight settle onto his heels as the teleportation finished.

He stood there, and he breathed the air. It was the freshest breath of air he'd ever had.

It felt like coming up out of water after being pushed under for an uncomfortably long time. He resurfaced just as his chest began to seize up with the need to inhale.

He rubbed a hand over his face. He felt sweat smear over his nose and forehead. His skin was warm to the touch.

Shakhan was not Shakhan. It was Satan itself - Lucifer.

In a way, Lucifer was supposed to keep the rest of the devils in Hell. But it was a long and crooked road from that grudging and unwelcomed duty to its current status of noble guardian of the underworld, at least in the eyes of the People-Under-The-Mountain. That thing was evil, and it had Jackson's soul in its clutches - or so it claimed. It was a confirmed liar. Still, when he considered the black pentagram carved into his left hand, Jackson was inclined to believe that Lucifer wasn't bluffing.

He could feel Chaki again. The bond had burst back into his head, gold and fierce and full of her fire. It was the lifeline that pulled him back.

His relief warbled into worry. How was he going to tell Chaki the truth about Shakhan? How could he tell Shaka, or Hanta, or any of them? Their entire lives were based in a false mythology.

"Jackson?"

On top of that, there were already at least sixteen people that were condemned to having their souls laid at Lucifer's feet – the finalists of the Top Gamer competition, all who received their copies of Isis early. He'd bet a lot of money that every single one of them had already logged in; you couldn't hold the game in your hands and not play it. But there were another five thousand beta testers that were about to blissfully leap off the cliff of fate and condemn themselves.

Jackson couldn't take Lucifer's word that they had some sacred charge to stop the demons before they attacked Earth. That could all be just as big a lie as anything else it said. He had to speak out, put something on the internet, some kind of proof. Anything he could to bring Isis to a halt until he could find Emil Mohammed and ask him why he sold himself and everyone else to straight to Hell.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. "Jackson? Are you alright?"

Jackson turned. Shaka stood there. The aged lines of her face were bent in concern. Her hair hung string-like across her face. Her features were colored in bands of red and black from the runes that glowed around them, the remains of the spell that had teleported Jackson down into Dis.

Jackson managed to nod.

"Did you meet with Shakhan?" Shaka asked. "What did she say? Did she have words for us?"

Shaka's eyes felt like they were boring into his head. He could suddenly feel the eyes of all the other spirit guides, watching him, waiting for something – but his mind was a blank.

What could Jackson possibly say? Shaka was so damn tough that she even beat him into shape, but if there was anything in the world that could get to her, it was that her worship was a bunch of crap made up by the guy that told the first lie. Jackson didn't know how long Lucifer had planned all this out – the tribes, the mountain, Isis, Emil Mohammed - but it obviously had plenty of time on its hands over the past several millennia.

"Jackson? What's wrong?"

Jackson's brain found the escape hatch. "An army," he said. "There's an army outside, attacking us, the mountain. We have to help!"

Hushed murmurs from the spirit guides filled the air. They collectively released their magic, and the glow on the mural faded, sealing off the teleporter back to Dis. For a moment, it was pitch black. Some of the spirit guides drew new runes and relit the cavern with a multicolored field of spotlights.

"What army?" Shakhan said. "What are you talking about?"

"Shakhan told me that we have to defeat the army on the plains," Jackson said. "We can't let them get inside the mountain. Let's go!"

Without waiting for confirmation, Jackson started off down the hall, spear in hand, his energy cannon swinging from his hip. He could hear the spirit guides following along behind him; their collective shuffling of feet echoed through the tunnel.

Shaka was quick to keep pace. "Who is attacking us?"

"I think it's the iron men," Jackson said, "but I'm not sure. I'm just going by some pictures I have. Shakhan showed me."

"How did they find us without us knowing about it?" someone behind them called.

"We have scouts out in every direction!" said another.

"They never could have gotten this close to the mountain!"

"Shakhan didn't say," Jackson called back. "All I know is what I just told you!"

The ground underneath them shook. Some people stumbled. Jackson threw a hand on the wall for balance.

Small spheres of white light flickered to life along the roof of the tunnel, leading back out the way they'd came in. The space was washed in bright light. He squinted his eyes and kept moving. Maybe it had something to do with whatever he'd activated back in the mountain.

As they ran through the tunnel, Jackson thought back to the city, back to the conversation. He had the strong impression that there was something in Dis that was really dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands, some kind of powerful magic or device. Jackson couldn't trust Lucifer on which hands were the wrong ones. Lucifer seemed to want Jackson to do something with it, which meant that going back and taking whatever it was for himself was the wrong move. At the same time, it didn't mind waiting for someone else to come along, a more willing puppet.

Lucifer was trying to push its agenda forward using Isis. It claimed demons had broken free and were going to eventually destroy Earth. Suppressed by the fear and the cold, Jackson hadn't challenged its statements, but it didn't offer any proof. It didn't show him anything. It just insisted that they had to do something about it.

If Jackson went in, Lucifer got what it wanted. If someone else went in, Lucifer got what it wanted. If the army went in – or really, one of the two men that Lucifer told him he needed to kill for his quest - that was bad. Apparently that wasn't allowed. Lucifer needed someone playing the game of Isis to take the power inside Dis.

The only winning move was not to play. He had to stop anyone and everyone from going to Dis. If no one reached the City of Demons, then it wouldn't ever become a problem. Alright. Protect Dis now, then warn everyone on Earth about Isis. Somehow.

They reached the door back to the outside. Jackson led the group up the first foothill past the entrance to the cave. The sky was grey, and the air was cold – uncomfortably cold. His breath steamed in front of him.

"Snow," Shaka said, still running beside him. Jackson saw it was she pointed; a few flakes were falling from the sky. Hopefully it wasn't a big storm.

Jackson stopped at the top of the hill to catch his breath. His mouth fell slack. He stared into the distance. The roar of thousands of men washed over him, a rolling tide of shouts and war cries mixed with an exchange of hunting horns and shrill war trumpets.

Shaka loped to a halt beside him, sharing his gaze. The rest of the spirit guides trotted up; they all stopped just the same. No one spoke.

Below them, nestled in the valley between hills, was the sprawling tent city. Past that was another hill on which a tremendous battle was being fought. A giant line of warriors stretched across the high ground like a two-tone snake, one side brown with leather and skin, the other side grey and black with iron armor. They fought over a patch of land that had been moiled into an alien landscape of mud and blood and smoke. Great blackened craters scattered here and there made it seem as if some giant machine had stomped its way across the field, crushing and burning the ground as it went.

A distant purple light flared. Magic shot out of it and exploded on some target Jackson couldn't make out. He recognized the color and the shape of it – that was lightning magic, like the rattok mage had used. Like the kind he and Rachel had found at the bottom of the dungeon.

"One-Above," Shaka swore. "We have to get down there. They're helpless against that kind of spell. Jackson, prepare yourself. I'm going to cast upon you so you can get there first."

Another woman stepped forward. She was probably Shaka's match for age, though she was quite a bit fatter than her more wiry counterpart. "I'll cast with you."

"Better idea," Jackson said. He pulled the energy cannon free from his belt. "Can you all heal me? Do you have enough essence?" They didn't answer him. He looked back over his shoulder. "Did you hear me?"

"Jackson," Shaka said, "you aren't hurt. What are you planning?"

"Abuse of the game mechanics," Jackson said. He planted the claw-end of the gun against his shoulder, trying to imagine the metal sinking into his skin like getting his blood drawn. It helped, but it still pricked a little too hard. He went down on one knee, then lifted the pointy end up, as if he was aiming to lob a shot at the enemy lines. "Get ready to heal me. I'm going to need it in a second."

A tan, translucent game panel appeared in front of Jackson. Two lines of cursive blue writing offered a choice. It hovered in front of him, waiting for a selection.