Eternal Game of the 108 Chapter 1: Out of Time (Patreon)

Prologue

This isn’t my house. I was just turning because the kettle was whistling for me an instant before, and now I’m… somewhere else? I turn left to right. I see a door. White walls. I turn and this still isn’t my damn house.

“What the fuck?”

A flat spreads out around me, clean and empty. The light is on. The walls are white, and made of something that looks vaguely like plastic. I recognize that the thing in front of me is a door because it looks like a lift entrance, with a slit in the middle. Behind me, the rest of the room awaits in sterile silence. The more my eyes wander and the more I notice anomalies. What should be a kitchen, to my right when I turn, sports several implements I do not recognize. The eating spot is a low surface with several large pillows encircling a wood table. There seems to be a sort of work office to my left from the desks and what looks like a futuristic screen. A narrow set of stairs in the middle leads up to a mezzanine. 

There is a table next to me with electronics of a brand and make I’ve never seen before.

There are windows behind me. They lead to distant walls and square windows. It’s apparently night outside.

Suddenly, there is a great din. Sounds like horns blaring all together with other strange instruments. Drums. I hear the distant pop of fireworks and for a while, the clinical white of the room fills with colors. It keeps going for a while, and this makes me realize a few things.

One, I’m not in England anymore. 

Two, I’m trespassing. This is a home. Not mine.

Three, how the bloody hell am I here? I’m still holding my cup like some kind of idiot. Right. What do I do? I’m lost. I shouldn’t be here. If one is lost, one should stay where they are and await rescue. However, one should also attempt not to commit indictable offenses whenever possible. I’ll probably get more help if I’m not criming. I can probably find some help outside. Approaching the door, I find a panel to the right, just an ugly rectangle with some sort of rectangle. I tap it.

Nothing happens.

Outside, the party continues. Something flies by the window at a good speed. I tap again, push, swipe, press. Nothing works.

“Well.”

I assume the bedroom is upstairs. Maybe someone’s there? A flashing script appears on one of the kitchen things. I stare and realize I do not recognize anything. It’s made of squiggly circles, almost cursive and I am certain I’ve never seen it before.

Surely I’m on Earth and this is just a big misunderstanding? Wait, no.

“This is lucid dreaming, right? I read about it.”

This has to be a dream. Surely. So there would be nothing wrong waking someone upstairs, hypothetically, but hypothetically if I were to walk up I might end up with a faceful of blunt force trauma. Or lead.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

And to my surprise, the gate in front of me finally opens. Into an empty corridor.

“Ah.”

Something flashes on the left. 

“Hello? I just —”

Shock. Falling. Fallen. Light reflected in shining glass.

Death count: 1

Qualia points acquired: 1 (violent death, clean)

Total available: 1

First Book: Book of the Fool.

Chapter 1: Out of Time.

I am conscious. Not in the way one wakes up, not even with a disoriented start. I am nothing, and then I am conscious. And sitting.

Under my butt is a comfortable seat. In front of me is a table, then two entities, then an empty plane of luminous sand hills extending to infinity with one peculiar object, and then, the void.

The object in the desert is a corpse. I recognize the slippers, the shorts, the white tank top and beige shirt. Hairy legs. That’s me. Minus the upper right side of the head. A glazed brown eye stares aimlessly, lashes stained with one last tear. I should feel nauseous, but I can’t. 

A flash of pain sears my brain. I touch my temple and feel warm flesh, although I know I shouldn’t? The feeling leaves just as quickly as it came. I should be hyperventilating, but I can’t. 

“Tea?”

One of the entities sitting in front of me in a leather chair much like my own is a handsome man of indeterminate ethnicity with a tan face, silver eyes, and short white hair cut and styled to perfection. He wears a white suit that would look expensive if it were not so pristine. As it is, it looks unreal. The man hands signals and the second entity approaches.

While the man could turn heads just walking anywhere, the… person? The person next to him couldn’t pass as human in the most unhinged of BDSM parties. She, tentatively, towers over both of us. Her limbs are unnaturally thin, ending in far too many fingers linked together by strands of skin like the wings of a tattered bat. Her face is barely human, haughty with high cheekbones but the features are all wrong. The skin seems stretched to the limits over… I look at her eyes and there is nothing there. Nothing. It’s like seeing a hole directly into the void beyond. I know I should be reeling in horror, but I can’t. 

Despite her lawn-mower worthy mitts, the tall woman serves me tea with perfect composure in a nice white porcelain that wasn’t there just a moment ago, and because I am polite, I take it. 

It’s piping hot and delicious. Earl gray with a dash of lemon. It would calm me down if there were any emotions to quell.

“Uh, thank you?”

“You are welcome,” the man in white replies with clear amusement. Then after a delay: “I know who you are.”

“Hi, I’m—”

I cut off.

“To be precise, I know everything about you from your exact age to your body composition to your genetic makeup to your memories, Steve. I know you more than any human ever knew themselves.”

He takes a sip of his cup which I would have sworn didn’t exist either.

“I have many questions,” I say, this time uninterrupted.

“I will hear you first.”

“Can you stop fucking with my mind?” I ask, and I should be worried about confronting beings that I clearly dangerous, but I can’t.

“From your perspective I have already done all the mindfucking I will ever do. Your lack of reaction is merely a side effect of this space, which is my domain, and your nature, which is that of my champion.”

“Excuse me?”

“Have more tea,” the man offers with a smile.

I recognize this expression from meeting with deans, directors, and bankers. It’s the face of a man who is sympathetic to my situation yet doesn’t intend to do shit about it. Nevertheless, I take another sip. It’s exactly as hot as it was before. 

Weirdly, it helps. 

“I have too many names for them to matter,” the strange man continues. “I believe the best option for you would be to know me as Chronos.”

I blink at that.

“You’re the Greek titan of time?”

“I am not, nor have I ever severed my father’s genitals before being deposed by an ungrateful son, however I am a divinity and time is my domain, so Chronos will do.”

I steal a glance towards Miss Lovecraftian wet dreams. She bows very slightly.

“This is Moragan, the Entropy. Morag for short.”

“A pleasure,” I lie.

“I am not the only divinity in this universe. In fact, there are exactly 108 of us and we play a little game. I have placed all of my tokens on you for this round, Steve. The end is simple. You will win this contest and become the archon. The ruler of all we behold.”

I wait a bit before replying to this absolute nonsense and because he’s waiting for me and because he waits exactly half a second to reply to me every time and that’s just weird and I should be unnerved, but I can’t be. 

“What if I refuse? I mean, I can’t be the archon.”

“Your chance of success is, from your current perspective, exactly zero. A flat zero.”

“Then why? I don’t want any of this shit. I was very happy at home, thank you very much.”

I don’t want to die.

“It no longer matters. It is out of my hands and in any case, you cannot lose,” the god remarks over his cup.

“The fuck you mean this is out of my hands?” I demand, and strangely I can feel the barest traces of anger flaring at the edge of my psyche. I should be angrier. I want to be angry. Why can’t I be? 

“It is no longer in my hands because I committed everything to creating the perfect candidate. No one can stop you now, not even me.”

“Me? I’m the perfect candidate? To be a king? Listen mate, I’m a professional cello player with the political acumen of a lobster. You don’t want me as an archon or a champion or… didn’t you say I had 0% chance of success? Hello?”

“You do at this stage of the loop.”

“What?”

He points behind him and I see the corpse again. I should feel the chill of a realization snake on my back but I can’t.

“Wait… I really died?”

“The first of many. And speaking of which, I believe we should end this discussion here. You will notice something upon waking up. Try to direct the energy to your hands, and then towards the panel. It’s keyed to your soul. Have fun!”

“What the — “

Plastic walls. A gate. This isn’t my living room.

My empty cup shatters on the ground. 

***

“Fuck!”

Everything rushes in at once. I stumble forward. Shock. Horror. Disbelief… Mostly disbelief. This has to be a dream, albeit a weirdly convincing one in which I am lucid and also can experience pain because I just stubbed my big toe against the damn door. Panic. Quick breaths. No, wait, I need to get out of here. I need to get out NOW. Someone is going to kill me otherwise. Shaky fingers on the panel, beating, hitting but it doesn’t fucking do anything! Wait, no, breathe, focus.

Focus.

The ghost of a sensation of cold in my head brushes against my mind and I remember falling and I remember dying. I stumble again. It really happened. I died. I died! Ok, ok, get out. Get out and don’t die. 

My musings are cut short. A headache comes, only it’s not pain so much as pressure and I suddenly, abruptly feel like… something opened the door to my brain? It made me lose balance and I fall on my ass.

“Wow.”

Trippy. I feel like my perception is different? Somehow? If I didn’t know better, I’d say I just got a new sense but I know better so either I’m going through a psychotic break or twatted to my fucking eyeballs on some experimental drug MI5 snuck in through my window. Either way, having a whale of a time here thank you.

“I need out.”

Yes. I need out. Chronos said something about energy. Even if I’m hallucinating the whole experience, I’d still rather not hallucinate getting my brain splattered on the lino. I touch the panel again, and I focus. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Move to my hand. Move to my hand and thank you please hurry please hurry hurry hurry please. FUCK!”

But I feel it, or rather, there is something pushing back. Latching. I get it. It’s extremely strange, like a phantom limb of a member I didn’t ever know I had. Like a body beyond the body. This makes no sense at all but then again, nothing does so fuck it. I coax the connection alive. Something of me lazily pushes against the panel and I’m reminded of my sister’s baby daughter learning how to grab things, wee fingers moving like awkward pinchers, only I’m thirty, bumbling like an idiot, and nowhere near as cute. Finally, the latching sensation increases and the panel rings with a gentle chime. The door slides open. I see a polished stone corridor. Outside, the crackle and pop of celebrations reaches a crescendo.

“Yes!”

Left? Right?

The brief flash came from the left so right it is. I am out and sprinting in an instant. I wish I were wearing proper shoes instead of those comfy slippers. I also wish Friday hadn’t been leg day. Doors to the left and right as I sprint on, also white, clinical. Lush carpet sinking under my feet. I don’t know where I am but this is definitely the upper middle class den. 

The corridor moves right and so do I, and then I come across someone. I almost stumble to a stop.

The woman is tall and statuesque, wearing something that I can only define as haute couture, silver with red markings. She is taller than me by at least twenty centimeters and I’m not a short man. Her eyes, golden with red sparks, turn to me. She possesses the alien beauty of a statue and though she looks human, I get a deep sense of alienness from her. But this isn’t what stops me. Her frown and pointy ears are also not what stops me. What stops me are emotions, the emotions I can feel radiating from her: surprise, disgust, fear, not of me, but of her peace being broken. Before I can even blink, she is gone in a flash of speed and the door closes with a quiet hiss. She… she moved so quickly, what? I couldn’t even see her!

Oh, right, killer. I rush ahead. I spot a larger door to my left, with a large panel and two arrows. Squiggly script much like the one in the flat winks at me, and for some reason, when I blink again, I can read them. I can read them. The upper one says up and the lower one… ok this is a lift. I punch the button and nothing happens. The script doesn’t even waver.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

I don’t think I have the time to fumble energy out of my sorry carcass just now but I see something promising to the side. Double doors. Stairs? There is a knob. Unlocked. Stairs.

I’m saved. 

I cackle madly as I rush down. I’m saved? No, I’m royally fucked. Even my damn slippers slide and I almost break my stupid neck trying to hurry. I hear the door up there creak open.

No no no no no no.

I hear a quiet whir as I launch myself into the lower floor’s door. It’s locked.

“No no no.”

Shock. I see red on the wall. I fall.

I see the ceiling and something silver, round, and flying by the railing. Metal ball with an eye. I was killed by a drone? I can’t breathe. Something warm and thick fills my throat. Want to cough it out but can’t. Liquid fills my lungs. 

The pain is abominable. I cry, but not for long. The drone fla —

Death count: 2

Qualia points obtained: 14

Soul awakening: 10

Violent death, short agony: 2

Met first alien: 1

First telepathy event: 1

Total available: 15