Dream Drive Ch. 04

"Aww, sweet! So that's..." She bent low, stopped. "Um...can I ask you a favor?"

"You want me to pick the crystal out of the sludge for you."

"...hmm," Rachel said. "You know too much. The emperor demands your immediate execution."

"Who's the emperor?"

"Some guy I just made up to give color to the metaphor of the fact that I'm bothered you know me that well this quickly," Rachel said.

Just listening to her made him feel out of breath. Jackson rubbed his neck. "Uh...ok."

Blue eyes shone up at him. "Pretty please with sugar on top?"

Jackson sighed. "Alright, but -"

A club was rising over Rachel's head. A rattok's arm held it.

Jackson didn't think - he reacted. His spear shone white, and he turned his body into the thrust, guiding with one hand and pushing with the other. His feet shoved past Rachel. He stretched into the motion, spinning the shaft.

White lines of light streamed around his weapon. When he turned the spear, the light followed the motion, rotating, shaping into a cone. He pushed the Cyclone Thrust forward.

The iron point exploded through the rattok's head. It bored a hole through the creature's skull, leaving a fist-sized tunnel where the shaft had been. It dropped like a rock.

More shrieks. Two more of the big ones were shoving in through that door - no, three of them.

"Rachel!" Jackson shouted.

She was already on her feet. They rushed the doorway together to try and cut the rattok off. Jackson jumped into a Lunge, burning another 10 essence, flying ahead of his partner.

The rattok raised a buckler. It shone white. The shield blurred to intercept Jackson's blow. His spear was deflected out and away.

Jackson crashed into the rattok. He might have been stronger, but it was still like hitting a wall. He rebounded, off-balance, and the rattok raised its club.

Instead of attacking him, though, it swung to the right. Rachel's incoming sword strike was knocked away. She managed to keep her grip on her blade, and she used it defensively, deflecting the next series of blows.

The rattok was different. There was something on its armor. Something black. It -

Another rattok was muscling through the doorway. No time to think. Jackson gripped his spear and stabbed.

The rattok twisted. Jackson's weapon sliced its side, drawing blood, but it was a blow it could take and keep going. It growled and grabbed the shaft of his weapon, trying to tug it out of his grip.

Jackson knew better than to fight for his spear when he was overextended. He let it go and launched himself forward. He slapped his shield into the rattok's face, then plunged his dagger into its gut.

The rattok dropped his spear and stumbled, pressed back by Jackson's weight and the pain in its stomach. Jackson hit it with his shield again, and the creature fell backward. Jackson went for the sure kill.

He immediately took a club in the face from the hulking rattok behind it. Jackson flew backward, hit the stone, and rolled until a pile of bones broke his momentum. His health bar lost a sizable chunk.

He clambered to his feet, a little dazed, but still in one piece. His eyes widened when he saw Rachel fighting.

She was fast. Her cloak fluttered around her as she moved, making her form shift in the dim light. The rattok kept trying to hit her, but his club either struck air or just brushed through the billowing part of her clothes.

Every failed lunge with the club left the rattok vulnerable to her counterattacks. Her sword darted and slipped in the openings, accumulating cuts and slices one after another. The rattok was growing tired from the effort and its injuries as it pursued her around the bone piles; it was like trying to chase down a phantom.

Rachel turned on a dime. The rattok was caught with its club down. Rachel's sword glowed like hot iron.

Jackson barely caught what happened next. Her sword appeared to multiply. It looked like she was leading with six hands and six swords. The flashing light hurt his eyes, increasing the illusion of the magic. But he could see her shoulder twitch - she was actually stabbing six times in succession. It was his Triple Thrust turned up to the next level.

The rattok raised its buckler. It glowed white. It appeared to expand, covering most of the rattok's body with a clear white shield made of essence.

Rachel's strikes rained down on the barrier. She scored a deep cut where its leg was exposed, but the rest of her attacks were blocked, stopped as if she'd stuck her sword into jello. She drew back and hesitated.

Jackson barely threw himself out of the way of a club. His opponent had stopped to watch the battle, too, but apparently the ceasefire was over.

Jackson gave ground to avoid more swings of the spiked club. His eyes caught another rattok coming through the doorway, another massive pack leader. At this rate, they'd be overwhelmed. He had to turn things around.

Jackson ran for his spear. He grabbed it, but tripped. The rattok on the ground, dagger still in its gut, had slashed a claw through his foot.

Jackson fell into a roll, absorbing the momentum. He climbed up on his hands and knees. By the time he got his feet underneath him, the rattok was on him again.

His spear glowed white. Jackson thrust forward, a simple, straight attack. A Power Thrust.

It only cost 5 essence, but it was also the one he had practiced the most. A single, simple attack.

It was level 25.

The rattok was already swinging. Jackson felt the course of the spear change in his hands, guided by the power. It punched directly through the rattok's forearm, shredding fur and flesh. His spear kept going, driving through its body until it emerged from its back.

The rattok's club slipped from its hands. Its body was stuck on Jackson's spear like a hunk of meat on a skewer, arm pinned to its chest. Jackson drew his weapon free. White mist rushed from the rattok and into his body. His essence jumped back above 60.

He didn't have time to get a better look, because three rat-dogs leapt over the corpse, leading the way in front of another oncoming foe. Jackson flung his shield up to protect his face. One of them latched onto it and dragged his arm down.

Jackson fell on his back. His spear clattered away from him. He heard a sharp snapping sound - he wasn't sure what it was. The rats sunk their teeth into his leg, his arm, biting as if trying to tear chunks of flesh off him.

Jackson winced as his health bar skipped down a few points at a time. The bites felt like sharp slaps against his skin. He ignored the pain and used his free hand to grab his second dagger - the bone dagger.

It was a wicked, serrated thing, not the keen edge of the iron weapon. He slashed it across the back of the rat on his other arm. It shrieked and scampered away. He started kicking his legs to dislodge the others.

A paw slammed down on Jackson's chest, knocking the wind out of him. He wheezed. A pack leader loomed over him and raised his club.

Jackson jammed his dagger into the creature's ankle. The rattok roared and brought its club down. Pinned as he was, Jackson couldn't escape. His head was crushed between the stone floor and the weapon. His health bar fell below halfway.

Jackson's head felt like a rung bell. His face stung, as if prickled by needles. He blinked blearily. He'd lost his shield.

The rattok paused, confused. Clearly it expected Jackson's head to be pulp. It raised the club again.

He had to do something. Jackson wrenched his body to the right and slammed his palm left, forcing the dagger deeper into the rattok's leg. It shrieked its rat-growl and fell to a knee - right on top of Jackson. He grunted as the monster's weight came down on him.

He had one more dagger. Jackson brought it up, tearing his belt in the process. The rattok plunged his claws into Jackson's chest and ripped down, tearing his rawhide shirt open and leaving red lines on his skin. Jackson ignored the pain, grabbed the rattok by the cuff of its armor, and slammed his dagger home into the thing's eye socket.

"Jackson!" It was a shout. Rachel's voice. "Jackson!"

Jackson strained to get the lifeless body off him even as his essence jumped higher. He rolled it to the side and made his feet. Rachel was slung over the shoulder of the rattok that could use essence. Two more pack leaders flanked it.

"Let go of me you dirty fucking fuck! I'll get lice from your shitty fur!" Rachel kicked and screamed like a banshee, squirming in its grip, but the rattok seemed to barely feel her hands.

The chieftain stared at Jackson, who was crouched, watching carefully. He glanced at the spear lying a distance away, then at the bloody dagger in Jackson's hands. It barked a growling sort of squeak, several times - orders.

The two hulking rattok moved to obey - and they flanked Jackson from either side. One placed itself between Jackson and his spear, club held defensively. The other moved in fast, circling a pile of bones that sat in the middle of the room.

These things were smarter than the smaller ones. They had him surrounded and cut off from his main weapon. The leader retreated the way they'd come, Rachel hefted like a sack. "Jackson!" she screaming. "Do something!"

"Hang on, Rachel!" Jackson called. "I'll catch up!"

"You had better, you big stupid single-celled Cro-Magnon piece of fucking shit! Fuck, this rat is disgusting! Let go of me, you ugly sonovabitch, I'll fucking kill you, and kill your family! I'll bathe in your fucking blood! I'll cut off your arms and..."

Rachel's epithets faded into unintelligible echoes. And then there was just the sound of his breathing, and the low growls of the rattok.

The rattok closest to Jackson had slowed, but was still moving forward, creeping along, waiting for an opportunity. Jackson held his dagger low, eyes scanning the room. He needed an advantage. Climb on one of the bone piles, get high? No, too unstable.

His skin was glowing - hazy. He checked his essence. 105.

The rattok guarding his spear barked something. The two rat-dogs Jackson hadn't injured jumped from behind a bone pile.

Jackson reared back and let out a War Cry.

Essence gathered around his mouth, almost like a megaphone. A shock of sound pulsed through the room. The two rats landed at Jackson's feet; they clawed at their own ears, as if trying to block it out. The two larger warriors cringed, clutching at their heads.

Jackson didn't need a spear to Lunge. He jumped into the air, distance boosted by his essence, going for the rattok near his spear. His dagger flared like a torch and took it right in the neck. He flew past, his momentum strong enough to nearly sever the monster's head. It slumped to the ground.

Jackson snatched up his spear, found his balance, and charged back. The two rat-dogs were still recovering; he skewered one from behind, and stomped the other with the heel of his moccasin. There was a satisfying crunch under his foot. He kicked it across the room for good measure.

The last rattok was bellowing, charging, club first. It was just going to try to overwhelm him with brute force.

White energy flew from his enemies into Jackson. His essence jumped up to 142. The haze on his skin glowed brighter.

Jackson's spear was still stuck in the corpse of the rat-dog, but he focused anyway. It began to glow white.

The attacking rattok didn't slow. Either because it thought a spear embedded in a rat would hurt less, or that Jackson couldn't attack properly with his weapon in an awkward position, it charged in.

Jackson's Crescent Sweep forced his spear up. The white light was sharp enough to split the body of the dog, letting his spear fly free. The rattok stumbled to a halt - and Jackson's spear flew by its face, just short of hitting.

Its eyes bulged in confusion as a long cut sliced across its chest and over its snout. Jackson grinned. Crescent Sweep was deceptive - the essence extended his range a good half-foot.

It began to back away. Jackson gripped his spear in both hands and held it. He clutched his essence, and the tip of his spear flared. The rattok watched the end of his weapon with frightened eyes.

Jackson drew the spear back over his shoulder, holding it like a bat. The rattok's snout curled in a frown, and then it realized. It backstepped, but not far enough to meet Jackson's three steps forward. His Polearm Sweep caught it right in the side of its ugly face with a hard crack.

The rattok tumbled to the ground. Jackson ran in for the kill, but it kicked out with a foot. Claws sliced into his skin and tripped him; he fell over his enemy.

Jackson punched and kicked like a madman. The rattok knocked his hands aside and opened its jaws. They closed around Jackson's neck. Teeth dug into his flesh.

Jackson growled and jammed two fingers into the rattok's nose, pulling it backward. His other hand scraped at its face, digging into the cut he'd made, scratching at its eyes. He shoved his nails into any weak point he could find.

The rattok's mouth finally released him. Jackson punched the heel of his hand into its jaw, and its head slammed back into the floor. It moaned, dazed. One of its eyes was gone. Part of its fur was torn away where Jackson's nails had dug in and ripped it off.

Jackson stood, grabbed it by the foot, and dragged it over to a bone pile. He picked the sharpest-looking rib he could find and jammed it into the creature's neck. Its body shuddered, as if the nerves were reacting to the violation. He withdrew the bone and stabbed again.

It stopped moving. Jackson's essence flew up to 169.

The haze on his skin grew brighter; the counter was ticking down faster. The more he held beyond capacity, the faster it leaked.

His brain fed him that observation in a distant, flat sort of way. He needed to use the essence. Use the essence.

A regular low beeping caught his attention. His health bar was flashing. A little indicator told him he was below ten percent health.

He squinted. It felt like he had to work hard to focus his eyes. 7.45/126 health left. He needed health.

His essence was already down to 162. Jackson opened the menu and dumped all the excess into Vitality. That brought him to 69.45/188, and his bar stopped blinking and beeping.

He settled back onto a pile of bones and breathed. It wasn't the most comfortable seat in the world, but he didn't care. His body was exhausted. His shirt and leggings were ripped; his belt was nearly torn off. Sweat and dirt and blood covered him like a paste.

They had Rachel.

Jackson glanced at the doorway leading out of the ruins. He already knew he wasn't going to leave, but he wanted to look at it for some reason. He wanted to at least touch the easy way out before going on a suicide mission.

He really wished Chaki was there.

Jackson grunted and lifted himself up. Four dead rattok warriors. Four essence crystals. He gathered them from the pools of black sludge and slipped them into his pocket. At least that part of his clothes was still working.

He collected his daggers from where they were scattered around the room - along with quite a few arrows that had fallen out of his quiver. One of the rattok had its own belt, and its own dagger. Jackson replaced his ruined belt with it, then slid his four daggers into place.

Jackson eventually found his shield - it had been smashed to pieces. The metal handle on the back was bent flat against the wood, rendering it useless. He sighed. Well, his spear was better if he two-handed it, anyway.

Jackson frowned, and felt at his chest. The strap he used to keep the bow on his back was gone - and so was the bow. A quick search revealed the weapon near where he'd fallen to the floor. It was broken in two. That was the sharp snapping down he'd heard before.

Dammit. That wasn't even his. At least his quiver was in one piece, even if it was a little bent.

He heard growling - low shrieks. Guttural, brief. Rattok talking. They were coming to see what was taking the others so long.

Jackson ducked through the closest door and stayed crouched. He was going to have to do this quietly.

###

The collar on Rachel's neck throbbed. Lord Hale wanted her to return.

Well, he was just going to have to wait a bit. Maybe a big bit. Well, that was just a silly way to put it. A big bit was more like a while, right? But how long was a while, exactly? Longer than a bit, definitely, and probably longer than soon. Sometimes. She didn't think it was longer than later, but that would depend upon the event to which later referred.

A drop of water fell on her head, and her thoughts froze, interrupted. Horrible, moldy water, in her hair. She rubbed at it with her fingers, ran them across her scalp. That got the water in her hands, but that was better than on her head. Marginally.

Rachel shifted sideways to get out of the path of the droplets. She'd had to do that a lot. The droplets seemed very random.

She was curled up in her cell, hands wrapped around her legs. She sat so that her body touched the grimy stone in only three places - each heel, and her butt. It was the best she could do and sit at the same time.

She glanced at the front of her cage. It was lined with rusty iron bars that were packed too tight to slip through. He'd kicked at the door for a while before giving up. The iron wasn't quite old enough to give.

Her cloak was torn - almost shredded. It hung around her neck like black rags. Her hood was gone, and her hair spilled free. She fingered a gold curl. Poor hair. I tried to save you. I'll do better next time.

At least her clothing was intact. It was skin-tight, and quite comfortable, actually. It had a very soft lining, but had a hard, protective outer surface. The one thing Lord Hale had done well was the clothing. She strongly suspected that he just wanted to see her in black leather, but the outfit appealed to her, so that was one thing she hadn't complained about. Maybe she should have; encouraging him sexually, even in the slightest, was probably a bad idea.

Diffuse blue light hung in the air around her. It made everything look heavier, sadder, as if she was inside a Picasso painting.

That was okay. She was used to cages. She'd been in one for a while. And now she was caged by Hale, and now caged by rattok. A cage in a cage in a cage.

The collar throbbed harder. It was a warning, a reminder of what would happen if she didn't return soon. Rachel shivered, and not from the cold or the grime.

God, the dirt. It was in her hair. She could feel it, crawling like ants on her skin, getting into her clothes. The air was moldy and dead and wet. It made her clench up just to breathe it.

The rattok had taken her sword. Maybe if she'd put points into Strength, instead of throwing everything into Agility, she'd be able to break out. Right now, she was useless.

She'd run out of essence, and run out of daggers, and all it took was one hit from that rattok to knock her down. That club his her like a truck. A truck made out of feathers, maybe, but a truck all the same. Then it had grabbed her before she could get away.

Rachel rocked on her heels. It had been at least 30 minutes. Maybe more? Maybe she was just bored out of her skull. The seconds passed like hours.

"Come on, Jackson," Rachel muttered. "Let's go. Damsel in distress here. Emphasis on the distress. You've got to be the mysterious hero guy that comes out of nowhere to save the day because despite being quiet and stern you're actually really nice and you have a thing for scrawny crazy girls."

Sure, he wasn't exactly her type. She would have preferred someone more muscular. Maybe with a tan. Long hair. Cover-of-a-romance-novel sort of thing. He was kinda more the bishonen style, if you made him anti-social, took away the sparkles, and gave him a frizzy messed-up hair. So, he wasn't much of anything at all besides a nerd that never went out in the sun.