Dream Drive Ch. 10

Essence
Life Force

Jackson didn't have a target. He didn't even know if it was going to work at this range. He didn't even appreciate what he was messing with - this thing was ancient technology that could use his soul for fuel. He tried to focus on where the enemy spell originated. Worst case scenario, the shot was a dud and the spirit guides would patch him up fast.

Jackson took a long breath and braced himself. "Life force."

The claw dug in and clicked, as if latching onto his bone. His 143 life dropped down to 5 in an instant; the strength was sucked from his body.

A beam of pale grey light lanced from the end of the gun. Jackson's torso was bent back by the force. The spirit guides around him flinched, shielding themselves with their arms. An echo of magic power shot out over the fields like ten spells cast all at once.

The white light bent upward, then whistled up into the clouds that covered the sky. It bent again, then rocketed forward, rapidly eating up the distance to the two armies. It split into two beams, then four, each half as wide but traveling even faster than the initial shot.

Jackson collapsed to the ground. The gun fell from his hands. He clutched at his stomach. He felt like retching. The vague indicator of some status effect blinked under his health bar, which itself was pulsing red with a warning tone.

"Shaka," he grunted. "A little help!"

She knelt near him and drew runes. She barely used her hands to draw; the runes appeared as her eyes moved across his body, as fast as he'd ever seen her make them. They flashed as one, and his health bar began to refill.

Shaka's face was worried. The expression didn't suit her. "Your spirit is weak. Even Shakhan's blessing couldn't shield you."

"Yeah," Jackson said. "Figured it –" He held his breath for a moment, fighting the feeling of his stomach turning over. "I feel like shit."

"Keep your crassness to yourself," she snapped.

If he hadn't been spending so much effort sitting on his nausea, Jackson would have laughed – even in this situation, she couldn't resist slapping him on the wrist. He grunted an affirmation instead. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It would have killed any of us to use that weapon," Shaka said. "What did you do?"

Movement from the other spirit guides drew Shaka's attention. Jackson propped himself up just in time to see the results of his work. The beams of light plummeted into the dark grey lines of the iron men. He couldn't make out the carnage at this distance, but he could see the holes his power made in their lines as it darted and blasted between them, ricocheting every which way. Dozens and dozens of black figures toppled over before the light dissipated. The tribesmen seized the moment, surrounding isolated pockets of soldiers and crushing them. Even though they were too far to be heard, the spirit guides shouted out cheers and encouragement.

A few more people joined in healing Jackson. His health bar rapidly refilled, but the status effect box lingered under his health bar. He poked at it with a finger.

The box expanded, giving him a clearer view of the picture inside. It was small grey wisp with a red dagger stuck into it. A label below the picture described it in detail.

Debuff: Soul Damage
Use of magical means or methods beyond your capabilities has torn at your soul, rendering you weakened. You will remain in this state until healed or your soul repairs itself.
Time Remaining: 9:17

"Shit," Jackson said. His health peaked at its maximum of 248 points, but the debuff wouldn't vanish. "Shaka, stop. That's not doing any good."

Shaka let the runes vanish. "There's more to heal," she said. "You took on too great a burden. I can sense the damage, but I'll need time to construct the runes. That kind of healing must be precise."

The guide that helped Shaka tapped at her arm and pointed to the battle. "Look!"

Jacked struggled to see as the spirit guides clustered in front of him, exchanging worried looks. Shaka offered her hand. He leaned on her heavily; he could barely shift his feet forward. His stomach protested at the motion.

The iron men had withdrawn back down the hill. At a glance, it looked like the center of their lines had collapsed; the mages led the retreat from horseback. The warriors were pushing through, chasing them down.

But then Jackson saw the edge of lines swing inward. It wasn't a rout, it was bait. He only now noticed what was at the tip of their formation – square formations of troops with long pole weapons, clad in black steel. As the soldiers fell back, the tribesmen took up the center space, which left them in a disorganized mob between the two groups of elites.

It was a risky strategy. Jackson's sense of tactics only came from strategy games he'd played, but it didn't take a genius to understand that splitting your army could be dangerous. Elites or not, surrounding an enemy army didn't work as well when you had half their numbers.

He was confident the tribal warriors would be able to hold their ground for a moment. They could regroup, then crush one half of the army before turning back to crush the other half. The mages were probably just using it as a distraction to ensure their escape. The whole army would be moving away soon enough.

A few moments passed; the mages stopped a distance away, then reorganized their foot soldiers as the tribes paused to face their new attackers. Jackson waited for the warriors to pick a side and crush one of the squares of troops.

It didn't happen. Rather than be pressed back by overwhelming numbers, they kept moving forward, hacking through the tribesmen with almost no resistance. Where their blades passed, dead bodies accumulated.

Lights flashed along the new battlefronts. Jackson recognized the white sparks of abilities. One of them might have been an arrow from Chaki. Maybe the other apprentices were casting spells.

It wasn't enough. The warriors bunched away from the black formation of elites, surrounding their own archers. Any ground they gave was swiftly taken by the halberdiers. The vicious assault had won time for the rest of the iron men to regroup, and now they were moving back in to attack the tribes on a third front, led from behind by the mages on their mounts.

"Those blade-axes," Shaka said. "They're sharp enough to slice through wood and bone. We have to empower our warriors so they can fight back."

"At this rate, they're going to lose."

"We won't make it in time!"

"You will," Jackson said. He tapped Shaka's shoulder, getting her to let him free, then hobbled back to the energy cannon. He lifted it up and knelt, planting himself firmly. "This'll slow them down. You guys start running."

"Jackson," Shaka said, "you can't use the weapon again. You'll worsen the damage. Let me use it –"

"I don't think so," Jackson said. "You just said I'm the only one that could survive the backlash."

"Then you have to wait until I can heal you. I'll start drawing the spell."

Jackson glanced at the timer. It was down to 7 minutes and change. That was 7 minutes too long. "How long will it take you to draw the spell?"

Shaka furrowed her brow. "Some time, at least."

"That's too long. You lead them down and help the tribes. This shot won't kill enough of them to decide the battle."

"Jackson –"

"Goddammit, Shaka," Jackson said, "Chaki is down there!"

The spirit guides stared at him. Shaka's expression was briefly shocked, and then it firmed into her usual stubborn scowl. She opened her mouth with a look that told him he was about to get a lecture.

"Shaka, I always listen to you," Jackson said, cutting her off. "I think I respect you more than anyone I've ever respected. Please hear me out. I'm not trying to kill myself."

Shaka hesitated. After a moment, she closed her mouth and folded her arms with an expectant look.

"Our guys are going to break under that attack," Jackson said. "Even if we start running now, they'll be slaughtered before we get there. If I fire now, that will give the tribes a chance to fall back and get a better position. You can meet them halfway, then support them with magic to even things out. I'll catch up after."

"I'm going to stay and heal you." Jackson started to speak again, but Shaka stopped him with a finger, jabbing it into his face. "This is not negotiable, Jackson Vedalt." She turned to the others. "The rest of you, get going. Now!"

One spirit guide turned and started running. The rest followed. Jackson nodded to himself, then set the gun against his chest.

Shaka moved a short distance away. "You had better know what you're doing, Jackson."

No clue, actually. "It's under control," he said. Jackson mentally opened up the cannon's information screen, scanning it for anything he might have missed.

Energy Conversion Cannon
An ancient device discovered by Jackson in long-abandoned ruins. It can convert life force or essence into a powerful blast of energy that ricochets between foes; weaker enemies may be destroyed outright. The more energy it can access, the more powerful the effect, but the backlash leaves the user severely weakened. Repeated use is not recommended.
- Rune Slots - None
- Durability - Extreme

He wanted to wait until his debuff was gone, but he didn't have the time. Another five minutes of warfare was five minutes his tribe didn't have. He pushed the butt of the gun into his shoulder; the claw sunk into his skin. He barely felt it above the nausea.

As Jackson eyed the panel that flashed up, a realization struck him. That was the first time he'd really thought of it as his tribe.

He probably should be more worried about the consequences of what he was about to do. Pushing his soul harder when it was still recovering was extremely dangerous. He didn't have any idea what would happen. Even the item's description warned him not to do it, and Isis didn't hand out information like that often.

Jackson was concerned, but he didn't feel any hesitation. He had stared the abyss in the eye and come back in more or less one piece. This was peanuts by comparison.

This was the action that would guarantee the most damage to the army that was killing the People-Under-The-Mountain. It was most likely to save Chaki's life. It was the best possible move.

With that confidence underwriting his voice, he spoke the words aloud. "Life force."

Jackson's health bar plummeted from 248 to 5. A massive beam of grey light erupted from the gun. The shockwave ripped the weapon out of his hands; it smacked his neck and spun away through the air. Jackson was blown backward and sent into a tumble down the hill.

His brain felt muddled. He could barely feel his limbs. It felt like he was rolling down in slow motion. His head snapped back against the ground. He flipped over. His face was dragged across the grass. Flipped over. Not much pain.

His vision went grey. It took him a few moments to recognize he was looking at the sky. His health bar was completely empty. The fall must have knocked the last bit of health from him.

Shaka was there. She was saying something. At least, Jackson thought she was. He saw her lips moving, but he couldn't hear her. Bright runes appeared around him as she began to sculpt a spell.

The status symbol under his health bar changed. He couldn't lift a finger to get a description. He tried to focus on it, mentally order it to expand – and at his command, it did.

The picture came into sight. It showed the grey wispy soul again. It was ripped into two pieces, the red dagger having been driven between them.

Debuff: Soul Tear
Repeated damage has torn open your soul. You are extremely weakened. Unless healed by powerful magic, you will lose health rapidly until you die.

There was no timer.

Shaka's magic went to work on him, but Jackson could tell it wasn't enough. His health bar started filling – and then it skipped down by ten or twenty points. Shaka kept pouring herself into the runes, and his health kept rushing back, but it always ticked back down.

Sweat was dripping from Shaka's forehead. She was breathing hard. Jackson tried to move again, but there was nothing there. It was as if whatever was linking his brain to his body had been cut.

Whatever was linking it? Heh. He knew that. He studied it. It was his life, before Isis, before Charles. Decisions made in the cerebral cortex and prefrontal lobe were passed to the motor cortex regions, then to efferent spinal neurons, ganglia, more neurons, neuromuscular junction, muscle movement. It was what they copied to make prosthetic limbs. The whole science was based in mimicry of what was already there in the body.

Shaka collapsed next to him, sweating and shaking from her exertion. His health bar had actually been refilled quite a bit, back above two hundred. She'd fought very hard for him. He watched it tick back down.

213.

193.

173.

Jackson wished he could see Chaki again. He could feel her still, her bond, burning bright. He couldn't reach for it like he did before. That part of him was gone, too.

It occurred to Jackson, then, that he'd been cheated at the end. He'd never gotten the essence for making all those kills with his energy cannon. Maybe he was too far away. He'd never tested if distance mattered with essence after making a kill. All his other kills were close combat.

113.

93.

Motion next to him. Shaka was up on an elbow. Her face was clenched in effort. She raised her hand, and more runes appeared.

His health popped up back up to 166, and then she collapsed. He hoped she hadn't hurt herself. He was a lost cause.

But he'd made his own decision. There was some solace in that.

146.

126.

Lucifer was right, in a way. For all the criticism he leveled at everyone around him, at the world, at the injustice in the system, what had he done to change things? Nothing much. He just whined about it and called everyone else stupid.

106.

86.

Maybe that's why he felt calm. He'd finally stood up and done something.

Fucking Isis. Fucking Emil Mohammed. I believed you. I thought you got it, got me. I guess I was the stupid one.

66.

46.

26.

6.

Jackson's bar hit zero. Pain shot through him, a claw that reached into his stomach and started digging around as his insides.

His essence bar started draining. The measly 56 points blew away in the wind. In a few seconds, he was in the single digits.

I guess that's the end, then. Good luck, Chaki. Rachel.

White light crept up on the edges of Jackson's vision. It danced around like snow, drowning out Shaka and the grey clouds above. Looks like the storm is going to be pretty bad after all.

Rachel could hear a whistle in the air. It turned into a shriek as the beams of white light shot down toward them. The horses started tramping their hooves in the ground, nervous.

"If you want to live, Rachel," Hale said, "I'd suggest staying within our shield!"

Rachel's magic bindings fell loose. She immediately started struggling to free herself. She was getting sick and tired of being passed between captors like a piece of meat. Whatever this was, it was her only chance to get away. Between holding her and keeping their horses in check, her guards were barely managing to keep their hands on her, but she couldn't quite get away.

"Orders, my lord?" one shouted.

"My lord! What's coming?!

"Hold her steady!" Hale said. "Ren, joint cast with me! Write for a narrow deflection angle!"

Ren glanced at Hale, nodded. They both began to scribble in the air. Runes blossomed in front of them. Ren's glowed blue; Hale's were an ugly maroon. They wrote in the air furiously as the white streaks grew closer.

An arrow zipped up and buried itself through Ren's hood and out the back of his head. He slumped over, dead. Half the spell collapsed. Rachel twisted her head enough to see Chaki back on her feet, her clothes scorched and her hair frizzed from Hale's lightning attack.

"Kill her!" Hale shouted. He was still looking upward, entirely focused on repairing the faltering spell. Chaki fired another arrow, but one of Hale's guards took the shot for him.

The beams of light slammed into the shield of runes Hale had drawn into the air. The power hammered on it repeatedly, cracking and banging like fireworks on a tin roof. Sparks and flashes of energy flared from the impacts. Hale bent backward in his saddle, fighting against the force with his body as he shoved his magic into the shield.

The white lasers stopped their assault, reversed direction, and rushed straight toward Chaki. Rachel barely had time to blink before they reached her.

And then they bent around her. It was almost creepy – laser beams, twisting around something at 90 degree angles. And then they were off, rushing toward the battle lines.

Rachel started running. She grabbed Chaki – who was still standing there, dazed – and started pulling her by the arm. Chaki eventually let herself get tugged into a run. Rachel risked a glance back over her shoulder. Hale was slumped in his saddle, his face pale as a ghost, breathing hard. His guardsmen had surrounded him and were drawing him back.

Screams drew Rachel's attention back to where they were moving. She stumbled a half step, caught herself, then kept going.

As if they had a mind of their own, the lasers had gone straight for the armies that were still smashing into one another. The lines of light blew through the iron men, punching holes straight through their armor and leaving bloody messes behind. Just as they reached the warriors, they bent again, traveling left and right down the lines.

Dozens died in a heartbeat. Maybe a hundred. Maybe more. The end result was a huge hole in the lines of the iron men. Rachel didn't sprint quite as fast as she could – she was a lot faster than Chaki, and she didn't want to abandon the chick that just saved her ass several times over. As they ran over the corpses, Rachel lifted a big iron sword from a dead man's hands. Thanks buddy.

Essence drifted up out of the corpses. It spread into the air somewhere – Rachel lost track of it in the clouds. And then she wasn't so sure it had even gone up at all. It had started snowing - little flurries drifting down from the sky.

The warriors had crushed through the gap in the enemy lines. Rachel and Chaki were suddenly surrounded by friendly faces. A few gave Rachel odd looks, but Chaki stayed close, keeping an arm on her to let them know she was vouched for.

Trumpets sounded from Hale's troops. Their main line was retreating. A huge roar went up from the warriors. Spears were lifted into the air in victory.

Booming war horns blasted at the end of the line. The shouting war cries were replaced by a buzzing murmur of confusion. A voice sounded above the heads in the crowd. "They're attacking our flanks! Stay organized! They're attacking the sides of our line!!"

There was a sudden mad press to leave the center and get to where the fighting was good. Rachel and Chaki were carried along in the current. "What's the plan?!" Rachel shouted over the din.

"Keep fighting!" Chaki shouted back. "Wait for Jackson!"

"Sounds good to me! Thanks for helping me out!"

"A friend of Jackson is a friend of mine," Chaki said.

That was a bit mushy for Rachel's taste, but she wasn't in a position to complain about it. She nodded at her and tried to focus on scooping as much of the grime out of her hair as possible while they were carried along toward the front.

As the immediacy of the battle faded somewhat, it occurred to Rachel that she was totally surrounded by a crazed mob of mud-and-blood smeared Indians. God these people smell bad. That one is barely wearing any clothes. Is he smeared with mud? Rachel was abruptly pushed to the side by a surge in the crowd; someone's ankle stomped straight on her toes. "You fucking asshole!"