#21: Realms Part II: The Wizard's Laboratory
An awakening.
Content warnings: graphic description of bodily harm and death; body horror.
This is Part II of Realms, my new serial. If you are new to the story, start here at Part I.
Braccus’ body involuntarily returned to its death throes as the paralysis subsided.
In one fell motion the malevolent spikes of the mammoth mace had crashed through his face, fracturing his skull into infinite fragments and reducing his brain matter into a gelatinous paste. The wicked thorns of the hanging tendrils refused to release their prey, and the blow ripped his torso from all four limbs. They dangled high above the smear of Braccus’ body after it met the ground with devastating prejudice, caught between the unstoppable force of the mace and the immovable stone floor. The ruin of his corpse was completely annihilated.
And yet.
Inexplicably, his lungs filled with air. His eyes, though unfocused, could recognize a source of light directly above him. His intact body thrashed pathetically against…something. Realizing that he was restrained, Braccus’ initial involuntary movement became intentional protest. Despite the training, despite the enchantments, despite the very blessings of the Order that had granted him superhuman strength throughout his quest, he was too weak to break the restraints. Strength had failed him. Exhausted, he collapsed back into his seat.
He glanced at his restraints as his eyes began to adjust to the bright light. Simple straps of a material he could not identify held in place arms and legs that he did not recognize. These limbs were withered, brittle little twigs that a springbird would deem unworthy of its nest. He sat transfixed in horror as he watched them move at his command, realizing with ascending panic that this was the body he occupied.
A bell rang behind him. Something was attached to the back of his head, preventing him from fully turning to find the source of the noise. He felt the weight of the object pulling his head backwards. His teeth tingled as it seemed to hit the headrest behind him, though he could still move his head in a very limited range of motion.
The reedy voice spoke again.
“Oh boy. The client is calling, be right with you big guy.”
Still unable to identify the speaker, Braccus blinked away the remaining haze in his eyes and scanned the room.
Arcane machinery lined the walls. Sheets of illuminated glass stood on small pedestals atop precisely crafted tables. Each glowed, displaying strange glyphs in a language Braccus had never seen before. A clear bag filled with some sort of liquid hung from a pole next to his seat. From the bag a tube ran to his arm, where it appeared to be attached to the crook of his elbow.
A wizard’s laboratory, he thought. I must be subject to some illusion or enchantment.
He had dispatched plenty of wizards before, but usually with young Pelton beside him to help offset some of their magical defenses. This could prove difficult on his own.
Braccus flinched as he noticed a thick, black, vine-like cord, reminiscent of the dark tendrils that ensnared him in the emperor’s chambers, extending from a box-like device with blinking green and red lights. He followed the cord with his eyes until it split in two. One offshoot seemed to lead in his direction, but in his immobilized state he lost sight of it as it passed under his chair. The other wound its way around the front of his chair, across the room to his right, and ran up off of the floor directly into the back of the head of a familiar, unconscious woman restrained in a another nearby chair.
“Della!” his voice croaked. His throat felt unnaturally dry, as if he had not spoken in days. Della did not respond, but the reedy voice did.
“Did you just say - sir, an issue has popped up in our control room and I will need to attend to it. I appreciate that you paid a substantial sum for the Legendary Edition, but as you know we cannot fully guarantee the outcome of the experience. For further inquiries please contact Director Clangdon. Thank you for making the adventure real with us today.”
An agent of Clangdon, of course! The emperor seeks to repurpose me to his own end. The arrogance! I must destroy him.
The quizzical, bearded face of a slender man appeared in Braccus’ field of vision. He wore a long white coat over a checkered, buttoned collared shirt in a style that Braccus did not recognize. Half-moon glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and his gray beard and matching full head of thick hair were long-gray with occasional specks of black. He sat in a chair that rested atop four small wheels, and rolled across the room at will. “Peter, did you just call her Della?”
“Release me Wizard of Clangdon, and your death will be swift and painless. Delay further and you will know true pain.”
“Oh my goodness, I forgot to reboot your memories. The program ended so quickly…” the wizard turned to one of the glowing glass displays, and the sound of soft clicks filled the room as his fingers flew across a tablet that Braccus failed to notice earlier. The wizard suddenly turned back to face him with an exasperated look. “And then the client called - they actually called! Here! Can you believe that? We handed him that amulet! Della did all the work, but he couldn’t be bothered to put the damn thing in his inventory before charging the big bad alone and now he’s mad at us? Complete bullshit. Some people…” The reedy voice sighed. “Let’s just keep this little protocol lapse between us alright big guy? I promise to make it worth your while in the next session.”
Braccus began to feel an odd sensation at the base of his skull. It was similar to the feeling of a child gently pulling at the back of your shirt, trying to get your attention. Unable to reach up to investigate it, he instead glanced back at Della to get a better understanding of the devices they were attached to. The cord seemed to be protruding into her skull and was held in place by some sort of metallic clamp. A yellow light began to blink at the edge of the clamp.
“Okay Pete, here we go.”
The first thing he remembered was his mother, dressed in white. They were at the beach collecting sea shells. His father was there, ahead. “Peter! I found a crab! Come and see!”
He remembered pain. He was doubled-over with a cramping stomach. There was blood.
There was a game he could not play. Many games. Only games. Infinite lifetimes of infinite games, all within a system. Within himself. He was the game.
He remembered everything.
“You son of a bitch. How could you do this to us?”
Dennis laughed in his reedy voice. “You always say that big guy.”
An alarm from Dennis’ computer cut his laughter short. The blood drained from his face as he realized his mistake. “Sending and receiving packets…you’re still connected!”
Suddenly, the sensation at the base of Peter’s skull was no longer a gentle pull, but an overpowering riptide under a thundering tidal wave. The control room disappeared as the riptide pulled him out to sea and the wave crashed over him, ripping his mind deep into the psychiatric architecture of the Warrior’s Quest module that Dennis had installed into his brain weeks before. Peter perceived a cacophony in his mind, as if his ears were mere inches away from the screaming squeal of a braking train.
Then, silence.
And darkness.
And power.
Peter opened his eyes. Priestess Della stared down at him with fury. Pelton, Apprentice Mage of the Four Brooks, scanned him with nervous concern.
Peter rose slowly off of the stone floor of the emperor’s chambers, catching his reflection in a nearby mirror. He once again stood in the body of Braccus.
Della had resurrected him.