Prologue III - No Half Measures

I’m drowning in myself.

Consciousness returns in fragments.

***

My lungs are filling, yet I can’t breathe.

Evander!

***

The body tries to inhale and falls short. Air slips in shallow and unevenly. The chest can’t fully expand.

***

My mind spasms, convulsing against the flood of scents, sounds and a mounting agony.

***

The body sears with pain in the torso. A tight, internal pressure builds, as if something inside has collapsed. Autonomy ceases, and feedback is sent to force a conscious effort.

***

My soul bears the burden of a slow transition to death. But I feel the scales, the connection to Caelan, preserved. I float, my soul gradually pulling against the tether that ties us. My mind has secluded me. I’m offered shelter from the suffering of my flesh. Yet I feel the incessant signals piling at the edges of consciousness.

***

The body instinctively compensates by taking shorter, quicker breaths, but only delays the inevitable. Oxygen supply reduces as vision dims. Circulatory feedback is abundant, nudging the unresponsive brain.

I know I must let the barrier down. I need to protect the hard drive. Caelan needs me. I must continue. He will not succeed.

***

My soul relinquishes. My mind comes alight with a tidal crash of information. Death was the better of these evils. My body spirals up slowly, trying to ease me into the damage.

I pry my eyes open and look up at a hole in the ceiling. The penthouse above is a cloud of splinters and dust.

I reflexively choke as I rasp through my final, hollow breaths.

Lying on the floor below, I find myself in the hotel bar. Overworld souls mill about me, patrons enjoying their evening. Their soft glows fade and retreat as they sense the nearby threat.

The Hubris does nothing to hide its presence and insurmountable power. It’s boasting at my expense.

A part of me tries to rise, the dread of knowing it will come down and finish me after my narrow survival.

But looking down, I find my forearms crushed and a long splinter from the chair I must have landed on, firmly embedded in my leg.

My bone-deep pain becomes a near soul-shattering torment.

I try to scream, but tip back, spluttering as bubbling blood runs down my cheeks and throat, filling my nose with a copper tang.

Amongst it all, I feel the cold of the hard drive, which is still miraculously attached to my neck. The mission offers a glimmer of reprieve, a flicker of focus.

My soul grabs the bond, finally swimming through the pain enough to register Caelan yelling at me. Though I still cannot make out what he is saying.

Caelan, I’m in trouble.

Caelan knows. He can feel the scales teetering through our link. The pain washes over him, too, as I lack the energy to shield him.

The hole in the ceiling creaks.

The blank face of the Hubris looks down at me from the hole above. It tilts its head, as if in thought.

I can feel it appraising me, searching for a reason I could survive such a strike. It seemed almost hesitant, as if its pride was wounded in its failed attempt to destroy me with one blow.

Its hollow eyes glow as it determines its next move. It lets two whip-like clicks fly, followed by a damp trill. It’s communicating…

Adrenaline allows me a welcome moment of clarity. Caelan senses this and sends a strong, desperate message.

Evander. I want you to pitch the scales.

Absolutely not, that will kill you. Pitching and Collapsing are one and the same.

My mind clouded, thoughts coming slowly as if swimming in tar. Deep down, I knew a lack of oxygen was likely to blame.

I will empty the scales to my limit; if you die, the scales collapse regardless.

I feel the scales shift enough to clear my thoughts, and the pain recedes a little as clarity trickles in further.

Caelan must survive. I can die, but he must survive, even Alterless.

Caelan, stop! This is not up for discussion. You’re already weakened, and I know someone is tracking you, too.

I’ll go to the hospital, there’s one nearby. It’s safe, and if I collapse, they’ll keep me alive until you can shift the scale back. Evander, I will not survive my Alter’s death. You will not leave me.

There is a pause.

Caelan’s dread aligns with mine as our hearts beat in time.

Our link is wide open; every thought flashes between us, searching for options.

Caelan. An Alter can’t live without their vessel. You, however, can continue without me.

The ceiling squeaks as long-muscled arms reach through the hole, grip tightening on the edges as it lowers itself. It glides down, effortless, controlled. Its eyes never leave mine, yet its face contorts, as if trying to remember a forgotten expression.

It drops without a sound.

Our perfect specimen.

Apex was our instruction.

We were so pleased to surpass expectations.

It approaches, languid and proud.

I try with all my might to raise my left arm, feel the muscles quivering as I try to grab it, but my arms are beyond useless.

It knocks me aside with such tenderness.

The intimacy of the kill floods in. Its sunken eyes swell with anticipation.

It reaches down, sinuous veins rippling as it takes hold of the hard drive around my neck, running its fingers along each link in the chain. Its throat bobs as it gurgles its victory. Spatters of blood and saliva run down its chin. I watch on, the remainder of my threshold doing enough to keep me lucid in a depth of agony.

It’s over. You must leave Caelan.

I gave you the choice, Evander. I will not be a bystander. That is my choice.

My body convulses as if I’ve been struck by lightning.

I hear the splinter push from my leg, feel every minute fibre bend and break as it hits the ground.

Air fills my lungs as I feel the vibrations of my bones knitting together.

My forearms reknit so fast, flailing before locking into place.

The blood on my leg begins to bubble, it sizzles and spits, and I relish the microscopic scents. I’m like a pot overboiling.

The room around me has burst into life with thousands of sensory inputs; I relish the tickle that runs along each hair in my inner ear.

The air is stale, yet charged.

I instinctively know it will rain in forty-three seconds. Each body in the suite above has been dead for twelve minutes, save one, who secreted their last fear pheromone eight minutes ago.

I feel the thrum in the air as the Hubris’ muscles tense, back tightening to a lethal coil.

I track its eyes as it releases the hard drive, pulling back its slow-forming fist. Each twitch hints at the lethal jab it intends for my windpipe if I remain stagnant for the next three seconds.

I move.

Stand out of harm's way as the creature’s face scrunches with the immense effort behind its blow.

I watch as its fist slams into the ground, hear the granular crackle of microfractures working up its wrist, followed by a fibrous tearing as ligaments stretch and tear. The near odourless chemosignal of pain rushes through my sinuses.

It is fast.

I watch its eyes track me as it moves.

I am faster.

I begin to understand the need to preserve moments of utter control.

I suck in a breath, readying myself for what I must do.

A whisper falls upon our link.

Caelan!

My accelerated mind pushes all sensory feedback aside, as time continues to meander before me.

I feel the link. My presence and threshold are like bottomless wells, and I search amongst the pooling energy, trying with everything I have to manage the shift and add something to Caelan’s scale.

I found him. A speck amongst my cosmos. A husk beneath my divinity. My anger fades before it’s truly begun.

He is a whisp, a soft breeze from the end.

The fulcrum of our scales remains intact.

I will see this done. Once I do, we will discuss this.

Nothing comes in return.

I dash towards it, left arm drawing back as I mimic its technique.

Its eyes follow again, shifting its weight as I close the distance.

It drops slightly as I let fly my hopeful strike.

I take it in the shoulder, flesh colliding with flesh.

I pour almost everything into the blow, keeping a sliver to sustain me.

As I release the power, a great clap of thunder erupts.

The energy jolts from me, disintegrating the creature's arm and half its pectoral. I didn’t feel its trophy armour, the thin veil offering no protection from our pitching scale.

It howls as it is launched back into the bar, its black blood spraying all over the bottles and shelf behind it.

It collapses.

I check the hard drive again; the chain remains around my neck, but it is nearly scalding to the touch.

I move on instinct and run for the closest window and throw myself over the balcony.

My threshold dwindles as air buffets my skin, cooling my scalding fever.

I land and groan as the shift and adrenaline fade, giving way to a bone-deep fatigue.

I made it. I’m alive, Caelan. I still have the drive.

“I’m alive!”

I can’t sense Caelan through the link.

My relief dies.

His light is all but gone, washing away like the blood from my clothes as the rain begins.

Tell me you made it to the hospital. Caelan. Answer me, you bastard!

I’m tired, Evander.

A gaping pause carries across the link.

I slow down, trying to focus on Caelan’s emotions as his mind fades.

Fear and resignation. Pain, and a soul-deep weariness.

He has me.

I feel his mind slip completely.

Our link feels severed.

I’m lost.

I navigate the archives of my mind, reaching for a glimpse of a plan.

Caelan would lead with caution. Safety before anything.

Steeling myself, I nod, the basis of a plan forming.

I look back toward the hotel, a deep pit settling in my stomach.

My hair stands at attention as the Hubris looms on the balcony, supported by another elongated form. It lets forth a booming click that cracks like a damp whip. I instinctively cover my ears as I lock eyes with the creature.

The creature from the facility holds itself differently, radiating a blistering malice.

In the light, it is clearly the more ruthless, a crimson smile etched up its cheeks. Flaps hang haphazardly from its lips, between its teeth.

It clawed this smile with its bare hands.

The Hubris draws back its narrow neck and shrieks.

The windows around me shatter as a new figure emerges from the penthouse.

It dives from the highest floor, headfirst, limbs unmistakably elongated.

He has three.