Interlude: Conner

  How the fuck is he still alive? Conner thought with awe.

  The man—was he a man?—was fighting nearly thirty monsters and wasn’t dying. More to the point, he was holding his own. He seemed to know what the monsters would do before they would, ducking this way or jumping aside, using one as a springboard, or lashing out behind him with a whip made of fire that seemed to materialize out of thin air. When the monsters couldn’t get through the tentacles, they sacrificed themselves to pin him down, which is when the man grew claws and began to tear them apart with his bare hands.

  It looked like the man would be able to take them all on until the moment he slipped on the blood-slick ground, costing him a precious second of coordination. In that moment where he spent a split second to catch his balance, the knobbed fist of a centaur monster collided with his side and shoved him into the waiting arms of the monster that hurt his eyes to look at.

  The man recovered, using his tentacles to lift himself in the air and get some distance. But he was hurting now and on the back foot. Several of his tentacles had been damaged or severed, and the fire whip was being used less and less.

  Conner let the familiar feeling of despair encase his heart once more. If things continue on this trend, the man… wait. What? What the—

  Conner couldn’t believe what he was seeing. While fighting a horde of monsters, the man was creating marks on the ground that looked similar to the marks of the circle the cultists were… praying in? Now that he was paying attention, Conner could tell the man was leading the monsters around the circle, and the fighting would get fierce when the man paused to score the ground with his feet or a spare tentacle. Conner glanced over at Jim and was horrified to find the head cultist hadn’t stopped in his sacrifices. The woman he had grabbed before now lay dead, the blood pumped out of her chest. With casual strength, Jim lifted the body and tossed her aside—another corpse for the pile.

  Jim glanced up at the carnage and did a double take. Conner could see him swear under his breath as he began to move with a newfound urgency—toward Conner. Terror gripped Conner’s throat as Jim’s hand clamped on his shoulder. His fingers were steel, lifting Conner with strength Conner felt no human should possess. The stranger roared again. It took Conner’s panicked mind a moment to register it wasn’t a wordless cry like it had been before, but a stentorian “No!”

  Jim paused, frowning at the stranger. Jim slowly turned to look at Conner, a calculating look behind his eyes. He raised his dagger. Conner tensed, anticipating the end of his life. He was surprised that instead of plunging that dagger into his chest like Jim had done to so many others, he instead dragged it across Conner’s back, eliciting a surprised, agonized yell from him.

  If the plan was to distract the stranger and get him killed, it backfired. Suddenly the stranger seemed to grow a foot— his arms and legs were suddenly longer, sharper looking. More tentacles sprang from his torso and thighs, barbs covered his arms and hands. What little skin he had that wasn’t black was suddenly consumed, the whole of him becoming darker—like he was painted in Vantablack. His hair floated around his head like a dark halo of a solar eclipse. The sudden flurry of activity was too chaotic for Conner to understand what he was seeing, but whatever was happening distracted Jim enough that he slowed to a stop as he watched the black monster absolutely tear through the remaining monsters. At some point, the stranger lost his T-shirt mask, but Conner couldn’t make out his face with the lack of light touching the stranger's features.

  The next thing Conner knew, all the monsters were dead. The stranger was still moving, blood and other liquids dripping from his many limbs as he paced the circumference of the circle, stopping periodically to scratch something into the floor with his tentacles.

  “Stop what you are doing, or I’ll kill him,” Jim demanded, raising his voice over the chanting of the other cultists. He pressed the tip of the dagger to Conner’s throat.

  “You’re going to kill him anyway,” the stranger said. His voice was still layered with the nightmarish sounds that had filled his scream earlier, but it was much reduced. The quality of his speaking voice sent shivers up Conner’s spine. The stranger gestured at the pile of corpses just behind Jim and Conner.

  “He certainly won’t survive if you don’t stop,” Jim growled, pushing the dagger enough that Conner felt it pierce his skin.

  The stranger didn’t shout again, but the universe did that weird fluctuation around him. The man clutched his fists and stopped moving. At least, he stopped walking. His body continued to change, making him taller, and more gangly. Two new limbs grew from his shoulders—not tentacles this time, but another two arms identical to the ones he already had. He glanced at his two new arms, flexing them experimentally before returning his attention to Jim.

  “So what now?” He asked, his nightmare voice sending daggers into Conner’s ears.

  Jim debated silently for a moment. “Leave,” he said. “I’ll allow the domain to let you and your comrades exit. In exchange, I’ll make sure this one—“ he gently shook Conner, uncaring about the dagger threatening to open his throat. “—lives.”

  The stranger snorted, causing Conner to flinch. “Even if I trusted you to keep your word,” the stranger said, gesturing with one of his new arms at Conner. “I haven’t seen anything that looks like medical facilities in this shithole, and he’ll die without medical attention. I need him alive.”

  “Then it would seem we are at an impasse,” Jim replied after a pregnant pause.

  The stranger took a step forward and reached out. Conner was confused, especially so when Jim tensed. The stranger was over a hundred feet away. Did Jim think the stranger could cover that distance before Jim could kill Conner?

  Conner’s thoughts were put aside as he saw something stop the stranger's hand. It was like he was pressing against glass. Conner watched in confusion, unsure of what he was seeing until he realized the stranger was right at the border of the strange symbols the cultists were praying in. Was—It must be magic.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Conner hadn’t put much thought into the horrible, impossible things he had been seeing. It was very hard to think with how much pain he was in, with how little food he had been given. Conner was frankly, thoroughly surprised he was conscious. Dozens of other prisoners had gone to their deaths without even waking when the dagger entered their hearts.

  It could be a force field, Conner reasoned, for some reason trying to play devil’s advocate for himself. But no, it was magic. The awful, terrible magic from old folklore. The magic of evil, curses, sorrow, and the absence of hope. There was no Gandalf to arrive to shed light into the dark, no magic sword to slay the ultimate evil. Conner was just unlucky enough to be caught between two evils. He could only hope that, if the stranger won, he was less evil than the cultists.

  As Conner watched, the stranger pushed with more effort against the invisible wall. Light began to emit from the area around his hand, followed by wisps of smoke. Conner heard Jim gasp. Conner assumed whatever the stranger was doing was impressive, to get that reaction out of the man. After pressing for a few more seconds, the stranger removed his hand and flexed it. Conner couldn’t make out his face, but he got the impression the stranger was wearing a thoughtful expression.

  The stranger reached out again with another hand. “Stop!” Jim shouted, shifting his grip on the dagger in a clear threat. Jim shifted his grip on Conner, dragging him around in front of the cultist as if to use him as a shield. Conner didn’t have the strength to hold his head up for more than a few seconds, let alone stand, so he was being held up by Jim’s iron grip on his shoulder. This proved to be awkward even for Jim’s prodigious strength, as he shifted to a kneeling position and dropped Conner to the floor.

  Conner could no longer see the stranger from his new position. The way Jim had him pinned to the ground (as if he could move if he wanted to), his back was to the terrifying man. Perhaps Jim had positioned him in that way so he could remind the stranger of the damage done to Conner’s back.

  What Conner could now see was another man outside the circle. The fight with the stranger and the monsters had taken the stranger to the other side of the room, opposite the entrance to the prison. As Conner watched, the blood-covered man in black armor was attaching a ring-like device to the empty air. The cultists nearest the newcomer were… still praying. Conner could barely make out their faces with how far away they were, but it looked like they were trying to grab Jim’s attention without ending their chants or moving too much. Their eyes were wide and panicked.

  “Make another move and he dies,” Jim said, repositioning the dagger.

  Conner got the impression the stranger was shrugging from his tone of voice(s). “If he dies, you die next. The only hope you have of walking away from this is if that man lives.”

  What does he want with me?! Conner thought, the stress of the situation loosening his fragile grip on consciousness. Conner held on, gritting teeth loosened by scurvy.

  “You think I wouldn’t die for the great one?!” Jim crowed.

  “Maybe,” came the reply. “But if I were a betting man, I’d say you value your life dearly. Cult leaders aren’t the most selfless people, historically.” There was a pause that suggested the stranger was considering. “Though, there is the risk that you’re a zealot.”

  “You have no idea of the depths of my devotion! The Great One will wipe—“

  Jim was interrupted by the stranger's much more powerful voice. “Listen, fuckface! I—“

  Conner didn’t hear the rest of what he said. That phrase! That cadence. Suddenly it was fourteen years ago. Conner tasted blood from a cut on the inside of his cheek. Eric Briggson had decided Conner was a victim, and despite the training their father had given him, Conner was too small to effectively fight back against the much larger teenager. His first attempt at self defense had merely pissed off Eric, which earned him a beating.

  In the previous two weeks, Conner had done a good job of avoiding the bully. But that day Eric had cornered him in a deserted street just a block from school. Conner didn’t even hear him, he was just suddenly shoved into an alley. Eric’s first punch had knocked Conner over, cutting his cheek on his teeth. Conner was about to get up and try to give a better showing than he did the last time when Liam appeared out of nowhere with a bat and took out Eric’s knee. Liam was wearing a hoodie and baseball hat, which must have been sweltering in the early September heat.

  Quick as lightning, Liam had the teen on the ground, pinning him. He was choking off his cries of pain with his bat pressed into the bully’s throat. “Listen, fuckface, ‘cause I’m only going to say this once; leave Conner alone. If I hear he’s having bully problems again, I’ll find out where you live and force you to eat fucking glass. I’ll break every bone in your fucking body with this bat and force you to crawl to the phone to call your own fucking ambulance. Do you understand me?”

  Eric was choking but had the presence of mind to nod hastily. Liam slapped him, hard. “I asked you a question, fuckface.”

  “Y-yes,” Eric gasped. It sounded like a gurgle.

  Liam leaned down, putting more pressure on the bat. “Do you believe me?” He hissed.

  Eric nodded as much as he could. His only verbalization was a croak that might have sounded like a “yes.”

  Liam stared into Eric’s eyes for a good five seconds before nodding curtly and lifting the bat off the younger teen's throat. As he stood, he maintained eye contact with the teen who was curling around his likely shattered knee. Without looking away, he stooped to grab Conner’s hand, yanking him up onto his feet. Conner was frozen, unable to move until Liam gave him another gentle shove, moving him in the direction of their apartment.

  They were walking for an entire block before Conner was able to shake off his stupor. “Liam, what the fuck? How did you get here?”

  Liam wasn’t looking at him. He was scanning the apartments and corner shops in the area, his eyes scanning and never staying on anything for more than a second.

  “Skipped last period,” Liam said, his voice tense. “When you came home all beat up, it wasn’t hard to ask around your school and find out who had it out for you. I just hope the asshole is dumb and scared enough he won’t think to press charges.”

  “What—Liam, I haven’t seen Eric in two weeks,” Conner said. “How the—have you been tailing me this whole time?”

  “Not the whole time,” Liam replied. “But often, yeah. It’s made my alibi a real pain in the ass to maintain.”

  Before Conner could reply, Liam seemed to find what he was looking for—garbage cans set out on the curb, ready for pickup. He found one that was only half full, wiped the bat down with the sleeves of his hoodie, and dropped it in.

  “Take your time getting home,” he said. “I’ll be home late, but don’t make excuses for me. As far as you know, you never saw me. If the cops ask you, you didn’t recognize the guy who hit that kid. Got it?”

  “Liam, I—“ Conner began.

  “This is important, Conner,” Liam said, stopping and pulling him into a hug. “Anyone who hurts you has to deal with me. But we can’t let this come back to bite us in the ass.” He released the hug, his eyes scanning around again before meeting Conner’s. “Got it? You never saw me, you don’t know where I am. Same for the cops if they ever ask. Understand?”

  Conner nodded shakily. “Y-yeah.”

  “Sweet,” Liam said, smiling briefly. “Hopefully this will calm things down enough until we move again.”

  “Dad said this was a permanent posting,” Liam said, not believing his own words.

  Liam snorted. “And we know how much his word is worth. I’ll see you at home.”

  Suddenly Conner was back in the present. Jim and the stranger were still arguing. The newcomer was lifting what looked like an old Western rifle and threading it through the ring device that was suspended in the air.

  With a burst of strength that surprised both himself and Jim, Conner turned around and faced the stranger—no. Faced Liam.

  What the hell happened to him?