Dream Drive Ch. 10

"Got it."

Rachel and Hanta never got a chance to implement their plan, because as the rattok closed in, so did a bolt of lightning.

The spell exploded at Hanta's feet. Rachel was blown back by the explosion. Her health dropped dangerously low, now only 15 points. Aside from the dirt and soot, Hanta was unscathed, but his enchantment lost a sizable chunk. The bright indigo runes that covered his backside had dimmed to a small tattoo on one shoulder. Rachel searched for the mage, but he was hidden by the snow and the line of soldiers steadily making their way forward.

"Run!" Hanta shouted.

They turned tail and sprinted away. Rachel risked a glance back. A maw less like a rat and more like a lion bared its teeth at her and roared. She put her eyes forward and ran faster. Must run faster. Must run faster.

Their top speed was greater than hers; the thing behind her was catching up. She flicked her eyes to the side; Hanta was gone, either having changed direction or fallen behind. She could hear the thing breathing behind her, panting, slavering. Jaws snapped at her heels.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Something brushed against Rachel's side – or maybe she just caught her foot on something. She tripped, spinning to the left, and hit the ground hard on her shoulder. She slid a few feet and came to a stop in a well of mud and ice.

She kept her eyes squeezed tight, ready for the inevitable 500-pound monster to squash her like a bug.

It never came.

She heard sound, a man's voice. Light flashed bright enough to makes its way through her shut eyelids. When she opened them, her jaw dropped. The corpse of the rattok was falling to the ground, several holes having been punched through its body.

Rachel wrenched herself out of the Rachel-sized imprint in the mud and stared at the source of the light. "It's about fucking time," she said, marching forward. "Do you know how many near-death experiences I've had in the past fucking hour? Like, five. At least! Hale's magician almost fucking killed me. Then he captured me again. Then one of his fucking soldiers tried to shove a dagger through my fucking tits!" Rachel pounded both fists against his chest. "Fuck!"

Jackson grunted slightly, but didn't budge. He just looked at her, staring with a cutely bewildered expression. His lips flopped ineffectually as he tried to put some words together.

Rachel decided to continue.

"And then those fucking things came back, worse than before, giant rattok three times my size, and I'm running away for the fifteenth time and think I'm gonna die. And to top it all off, my hair smells like horse shit and vomit! And then you." She poked her finger into Jackson's sternum, using the motion to underline her words. "Finally. Fuckin. Show. Up! The hell were you doing in there, jacking off?!" Rachel folded her arms. "I saw that fat fuck spirit guide, there was no way that was acceptable erotic material. I demand an explanation."

Jackson blinked at her. A white haze misted off his skin, lingering on him like incense from a scented candle. His clothes looked a bit more messed up than usual, if that was possible, all disheveled and ripped. He really couldn't pull off the whole Indian-tribe look to begin with, and putting it with his constantly messy hair and pale skin just made him look like a vampire hobo.

After a moment, he gave a heavy sigh. His lips curled in a half-smile. "I don't know why I was expecting a thank-you."

"I've got a fucking thank-you right here."

"What do y-"

Rachel grabbed his collar and dragged him down to her height, then shoved her lips against his.

Jackson's essence was gone. His health hit rock bottom. Shaka was unconscious next to him, having pushed herself too far trying to save him.

Jackson had thrown the dice with the cannon. They came up snake eyes, and he crapped out. He hoped the results of the weapon had given them a chance. He'd never know.

In that last moment, the bad things in his life surfaced in his head, all at once, like the scum left behind when the water drains from a dirty sink.

His relationship with his mother had whirlpooled into non-existence. His relationship with Charles Ransfeld was far worse, a putrid concoction of hatred and longing for vengeance twisted up with should-have-beens and dead memories.

He kept away from people because he couldn't stomach any more of it. He was afraid that the common denominator in his life was in fact himself. He used arrogance and disdain to cloak his insecurities. He couldn't communicate to save his life.

But he didn't have an easy time.

Was that enough of an excuse to be a crummy human being?

A lot of people had a hard time in life. A lot of people had it worse than him, probably. At least he usually had enough food to eat, when mom didn't drink her checking account too dry. He had water, a place to sleep, central heating. How could he complain?

Or was everything relative? Did he meet the arbitrary universal limit for being allowed to feel like shit, and act like shit, or was he throwing an endless pity party for himself?

He wasn't sure.

Dying without knowing sucked.

Jackson was getting impatient for the introspection to end. Why wasn't he dead yet?

He opened up his eyes just as an Isis alert blinked in front of him, obscuring his view of the snow. It was another status effect. How could this possibly get any wor...what the fuck?

Soul Replenishment
While in Essence Overflow, damage to the soul steadily repairs itself. Absorption by the wound increases the rate of essence loss, but negates the negative effects of the damage.
Time Remaining: 4:58

Jackson's eyes shot to his essence bar. It was at 600 points and skyrocketing.

He leapt to his feet. The snow was blowing in full force, blizzarding around him to the point he could barely see his hands. But he couldn't feel any wind. They were down at the bottom of the hill, in a gully between it and the mountain. They should be sheltered from the brunt of the storm.

It hit him like a slap. Essence. This is the essence from my cannon shot!

His body was at the core of a tornado of light as the essence rushed into his skin. His blue bar surged, increasing far faster than it could leak back out of him. His essence hit the 1000 mark and kept climbing. He clenched his fists as he watched it, every part of his body tensing. Holy shit. Holy shit!

Noticing Shaka on the ground, Jackson went to a knee and checked her pulse. He wasn't a doctor, but her heartbeat seemed okay. He put an ear to her mouth and listened. Her breaths rattled, uneven.

Well, he had plenty of magic to spare. He drew the runes for a basic healing spell and pushed essence into her. Color rushed back into her features; the cold fog from her exhalations steadied into a regular pattern.

As Jackson killed the spell, the rush of essence came to a halt. He had about 1300, but it was dropping incredibly fast, at least 10 or 20 essence a second. He had to get to the battle. If he could keep collecting essence, keep himself in an overflowing state, he could keep himself alive and get his body back to normal.

Jackson glanced at Shaka. He didn't want to just leave her out in the elements. The cavern leading back into the mountain shrine caught his attention.

He lifted her up in his arms. She was surprisingly light. He jogged to the cavern, and after searching inside for a good distance, he found an out-of-the-way crevice and set her down. It wasn't perfect, but better than being in the snow.

Jackson ran back to the entrance. After a brief search, he found his energy cannon. Smoke rose from one end; the metal there was melted and twisted, as if it had shot a ball of lava too big to handle. A long crack ran down the middle. Jackson jammed it into his belt and ran up the hill.

It seemed like his cannon fire had done the trick – the warriors were holding their position, though scattered and disorganized from the last attack. The iron men were nowhere to be seen. He kept running.

By the time Jackson reached the first tents of the encampment, his essence had fallen to 800. If his predictions were right about the scoring system of his Attributes, his essence capacity was 335. The rate it bled away dropped as it got closer to his max capacity, but it was still dumping fast. He wasn't going to make it back to the battle before it dropped lower.

He flicked open his list of abilities, scanning through, looking for something he could use to speed himself up. His Lunge attack was the only thing that could propel him forward, but bounding around like the world's worst kangaroo for 10 essence a hop would just get him killed faster. If he dropped below 335, the effects of Soul Damage would kick back in and he'd collapse.

Should he spend essence on Agility? Rachel had definitely been fast, but he didn't know how many points she'd put into Agility to get that fast. If he spent too much and didn't get enough benefit, he'd be working against himself.

Frustrated by the lack of options, Jackson gestured sharply, dismissing the window. If he got close enough, maybe they'd see him – maybe Chaki would feel him. If they found him in time, the spirit guides might be able to heal him if they worked together. There were way too many maybes and ifs in that plan, but he didn't have a choice. He put his head down and pumped his legs, weaving his way between the tents.

The snow actually did get thicker, and it was picking up even more ahead, swirling around in force. He thought he heard something in the distance – shouting, or wailing. The storm muffled the noise. Maybe the battle was starting again.

A squall of snow came down out of the sky. Jackson could almost see lines marking where bands of ice were blowing hardest. He raised an arm, shielding his eyes against the oncoming gale.

The gale had no wind, and it wasn't any colder than it had been. Jackson opened his eyes.

His essence bar was filling, pushing higher and faster than it had before. He was so surprised he almost came to a stop. He remembered that he had a place to be, and he kept running. How is this happening? I already got essence from...

Cannon shot number one. This is from number two!

His essence totals swept up past 1300, easily trumping his previous record. He tried to think back. He'd been somewhat damaged when he fired the first shot, but he was fully healed by the spirit guides for his final salvo. Since he used life force to fuel the cannon, that meant the second shot was more powerful than the first.

The essence reward fulfilled his expectations. It soared up past 1600, and then 1700 in the time he blinked. A blue panel flashed in front of his face with the alert tone, almost causing him to trip on a tent stake. He caught himself and focused on the text.

Spirit Surge
Your soul has been exposed to spiritual power vastly exceeding its capacity, and its capabilities have been permanently altered.

- While in Essence Overflow, essence is lost at 75% the usual rate
- While in Essence Overflow, all Attributes except Spirit are increased by 10%
- While in Essence Overflow, Resolve is tripled
- While in Essence Overflow, passive health regeneration is tripled
- While in Essence Overflow, abilities that require essence have their damage increased by 25%

- Level: 7
- Progress: 78.9%

Even as Jackson watched, the Progress portion of the ability flickered upward to 100, then back to 0. He went to level 8, and then to 9. His overflow was so high that the new ability was leveling up like crazy. It didn't get any stronger, so he figured he had to reach the next tier for that.

His essence kept going up, up, and up higher still. His essence crossed over 2000 points.

A dark thought flitted across his mind. I must have killed at least a hundred people. Maybe more. And I'm running straight to kill some more.

Jackson found that the idea didn't bother him. He'd clawed his way out of a rattok pit, naked. He'd murdered some of them in their sleep in order to escape alive. He'd traveled through Dis, the City of Demons. He'd faced down the hunter, a freakish gargoyle thing that could cancel out his abilities.

This army was putting the few things he gave a damn about in danger. He was going to dismantle it in the most effective way possible, and that was that. If they wanted to run, they could run.

The increase in his essence was starting to slow down. Meanwhile, his health had recovered back up into the thirties. That was still low, but at least he wouldn't die if he was scratched the wrong way.

As Jackson climbed another hill in the sea of tents, he rapidly reviewed what he knew about Spirit. His essence was so far above what he could hold it was coming off in chunks, wasted. He needed to upgrade his Spirit. There was a sweet spot between having enough capacity to hold his essence longer while not having so much that he went out of overflow too soon.

He'd started off able to hold 100 essence. Going by the results of earlier investments, additional Spirit increased that capacity by 2.5 points apiece. He also knew that the initial soft cap for Attributes was 40 points – a conclusion Rachel agreed with. After the first 40 points in Spirit, he wouldn't get 2.5 points of essence capacity; he'd get some smaller value.

40 points of Spirit would give him an even 200 essence. Right now, he had 100 Spirit. His current capacity was 335. That meant that his last 60 points of Spirit had given him another 135 essence capacity. Quick math told him that was exactly 2.25 essence per Spirit.

Jackson jumped over a campfire. His moccasins caught the wooden stand holding up a pot, toppling it over. A hiss rose behind him as uneaten stew splashed over the embers. They'd abandoned the camp quickly.

His essence peaked at 2355, and then it started to drop. He glanced at his status bar. His Soul Replenishment had less than one minute left.

A weight that had clamped itself down on his stomach released. He felt lighter than a feather. He was going to be okay.

Jackson could feel power pulsing ahead of him, over the last hill where the army stood. Lights flashed. Runes glowed, colorful against the grey sky. The fighting was starting again. He kept running.

He had more than enough essence to get his soul back to normal, which meant that he needed to spend some to stop the waste. He dragged his thoughts back to his calculations. If he was programming it, what would he do? Nice round numbers. 2.5 for the first 40 Spirit followed that idea – it gave someone an even 200. However, now he'd gotten 2.25 for the next 60 Spirit. It didn't work in groups of 40. Was each step 20 points longer than the last? If it was him, he'd either keep it 40, or change it to steps of 100.

Jackson shook his head. This was getting too messy. He could either go with his hardware modder's gut instinct, or go with what followed mathematically. He decided to pick a spot in between. That would moderate the consequences if he was wrong.

Jackson opened up his Attributes and allotted 300 points straight to Spirit, then 500 into Strength. The Spirit should put him somewhere in the sweet spot he wanted to be. The Strength was for the army he had to fight.

Jackson's essence loss immediately slowed to a fraction of what it had been – currently at about 1300 and dropping slowly. His capacity was somewhere between 800 and 1200. From earlier, his essence started ticking down quite slowly when it was really close to his limit, so the speed told him he'd got it in the 800-1000 range. Perfect.

He passed a few girls that were near the bottom of the last hill, tending to the wounded. They injured were laid out in lines, exposed to the snow and the cold. They called at him as he ran by, but he didn't stop.

Jackson's feet hit the slope. It wasn't just his mood that had improved – his whole body seemed light. Moving was easy. His spear felt like a toothpick in his hand. His feet propelled him upward with just a touch of effort. Sprinting uphill felt like a nice walk.

He crested the hill, then stopped.

It was a total warzone. The grass was chewed up into mud and layered over with snow. Bright patches of red showed between the white. Bodies were everywhere. Warriors with glowing tattoos dueled massive, hulking rattok, monsters that made the beasts he'd seen back in the caverns look like toy soldiers. In the distance, marching forward through the storm, was the oncoming army of the iron men.

Jackson put his focus on his bond, trying to locate Chaki, but events unfolding in front of him dragged on his attention. Rachel and Hanta were sprinting away from two rattok. Rachel was outpacing hers for the moment, but Hanta's enchantment looked and felt weak, and his pursuer was right on top of him.

Rachel?

Jackson's brain spluttered for a few long seconds.

Rachel!

He didn't know what the situation was, but they needed help. Jackson started running again. A wall of tribesmen, formed into a line, stood between him and his destination. Trusting in the new feeling in his legs, Jackson bent into a crouch, and leaped.

He flew up into the air. His foot skimmed a head, sending one man reeling, his nocked arrow thumping into the ground. Jackson landed hard on the other side, rolling down the slope and straight into the rattok he was aiming for.

The brute was huge, but Jackson was moving fast. It was thrown down by the force; Jackson, in turn, had his momentum halted. He stood straight, surprised by how he was suddenly upright and not falling all over himself.

The rattok was an arm's length away, climbing to its feet and shaking off the blow. Jackson wasn't taking any chances. He gripped his spear and spent the 20 essence for Cyclone Thrust, aiming straight at the thing's head.

White light spun around the shaft and concentrated at the tip as Jackson thrust forward. His attack exploded through the rattok's head, pulverizing its skull in a shower of red flesh. The body thumped into the snow. Jackson's essence bar ticked up a few dozen points, then started down again.

Jackson ran past Hanta and his stunned expression. "Talk later!"

He drove his feet into the ground as hard as he could. His legs crushed the mud underneath him, and he began to build speed, catching up to Rachel and the rattok.

It was going to be close. Jackson hoped she had some health left.

He pushed off in one long step, brought his legs together, and activated Lunge. His feet glowed brightly, and he exploded forward

Jackson's speed carried him through the air, and he seemed to drift unnaturally far, as if the gravity had been turned down a notch. The essence gave him the extra few inches he needed to catch the rattok's exposed back.

He drove his spear into the creature's shoulder. The beast roared and fell, clawing out for Rachel as they went to the ground. It snagged Rachel's shoe, but she fell clear, sliding to a halt.

The beast reared up, throwing Jackson off before he could dig his spear in further. Jackson stumbled back as it turned to face him. He glanced at his health bar. He could take it.

The beast roared at him. Jackson charged forward, roaring his own challenge back. The monster's claw flashed for his gut. Jackson activated Triple Thrust.

Apparently the rattok traded size for smarts, because Jackson's spear was far longer than its arm. His weapon tore holes straight through the monster as if a three-hole punch had caught the thing and smashed down into it.

Jackson was stunned when it dropped to the ground, halted by the power of his attack. He'd expected the monster's momentum to carry it into him, even if it was dead. That was why he'd checked his health. But his newly-improved Strength stopped it cold.