Chapter 123 (Patreon)

“So,” I said to Juice Box. “Henrik is your brother?”

She nodded. “He’s what we call a Principal. People say they’re a cult, obsessed with cataloging all known species. But that’s not true. They’re looking for just one. And they think they’ve found it.”

Donut: LONELYYETI43 SAYS I HAVE THE PRETTIEST FUR PATTERN SHE HAS EVER SEEN. SHE ALSO SAYS SHE’S GETTING A TATTOO OF ME ON HER LOWER THORAX.

Carl: You’re supposed to be helping Katia sew.

Donut: I DON’T HAVE THUMBS, CARL.

I shook my head and returned my attention to Juice Box. She remained in her human form, but she’d made herself bald for some reason. We sat in the Spit and Swallow, which was filled with camels taking a break from their constant work to repair town before the next impending sand storm.

“So this Quetzalcoatlus creature is what they’re looking for?” I asked.

“That’s what I’m getting at, yes. Problem is she’s a ghost.”

“And that’s why you took over the guards in charge of the gnome hostage. You needed to get to Wynne. You needed to get to him because he had the ability to make her temporarily corporeal, which would allow your brother to touch her and gain the ability to turn into her.”

“Yes.” She paused, staring off as a group of grim-faced dromedarians got up and left, on their way back to work. “I didn’t want any part of it. I thought it was disrespectful after they took us in. Still, I would have helped him sooner had I know the Hunting Grounds were accessible, that this was something that could actually be accomplished. Had I helped, perhaps we would have avoided all of this.”

“Your brother was torturing the gnome,” I said. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have been on board with that.” She didn’t answer, so I continued. “But the gnome is dead, and Quetzalcoatlus is still a ghost. They’ve gone into the maze anyway. What do you think they’re going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Henrik is desperate.”

“And why are they trying to find her? What’s so special about her?”

Juice Box sighed. “She’s a type of creature that doesn’t normally live in these lands. She has a special ability to cast a spell. She can alter plants. Like her, my people aren’t from this place. Our bodies have adapted, but not fully. With each generation, defects appear. It is happening more and more.”

I thought of that changeling girl, Ruby. The one with the missing arms and the sunken-in head.

“Compression sickness,” I said.

“Yes,” Juice Box replied. “One out of every four births is now sick. The ones born with it are sterile. My brother believes if he can obtain the spell, he can create a food source that will give us the necessary vitamins that will stave-off future birth defects.”

“What about the Gate of the Feral gods? Before, you said it was a myth.”

She waved her hand and then took a long drink. “I lied. It is no myth, but it is dangerous. Using it was always the backup plan, but it was even more desperate of an idea than the plan to give flesh to Quetzalcoatlus. Plus, even my brother didn’t want to resort to using it. He is not that cruel.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The artifact has three parts. My brother has one piece, which he stole from the dromedarians. The gnomish Commandant has the second, and the third is on the surface in the hands of the mad mage. The artifact consists of three parts. Two pocket watches and a winding box. When they’re put together, the gate can be opened.”

I had already guessed most of this, but I still didn’t know the most important part. “And what can they do with the gate?”

“It’s simple, really. One can open a gate from one place to the next. But it comes with a cost. It rips a hole into the depths of the Nothing. So when the gate finally closes, an ancient, feral god comes through into the world.”

“A feral god? Which side does it come through? The side where the gate is opened or the side where the gateway leads?”

“The opening side. Which is why even my brother doesn’t wish to use it. We can go home, but it would bring devastation to this world.”

“I don’t even know what a feral god is,” I said.

Juice Box shivered. “They are the gods from before. The immortal beasts who roamed the heavens before the pantheon banished them into the Nothing and created the world. Their banishment has driven them mad.”

New Quest. The Gate of the Feral Gods.

Henrik the Changeling. Commandant Kane. The Mad Dune Mage. They all have pieces of the artifact. Take it from them. Collect all three. Put them together.

What happens next is pretty damn neat.

Reward: You’ll have the gate.

~

The sandstorm came, and we hunkered down in the personal space. Despite the valiant efforts of the townsfolk to prepare the city for the storm, their efforts weren’t enough. The moment the winds came, the not-yet-finished shield ripped away, forcing everyone inside. The town would be buried in sand by the time the storm was done.

The moment the shield failed, we all received a quest to “save” the town by procuring a bunch of deflated balloons that they could use as a shelter. It was a regular, bronze quest that I shoved off on Louis and Firas and Langley, who’d finished searching the ruins of the other town. They could use the experience.

They had spent the remainder of the day grinding and picking up loot. There was no sign of any surviving bactrians except one in a single saferoom bar. The group had also managed to secure an intact, gnomish Drop Bear airplane. The pilot was nowhere to be found. They dragged the machine to the edge of the other town and covered it with a tarp.

On the surface, Gwen’s team had finally managed to breach all the walls, but now they faced the main entrance to the castle, which was magically locked. They were currently trying to figure out how to get in. The mage still hadn’t shown himself.

The tomb raiders were stuck in saferooms. The entire catacomb was now filled with water. They had dozens of water scrolls, but that wasn’t enough. They were paralyzed for now.

Chris/Maggie remained entombed. Donut could see their dot on the map as long as she stood nearby. The room was half-filled with water and was pitch black, which had to be awful. We set Mordecai to work. He needed something called vile dill for his potion. He hadn’t found it yet. He was seeking an alternative using the store interface and by talking to folks at the Desperado Club.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how horrible this had to be for Chris. Being helpless was one thing, but what he was currently enduring was just too much. The more I thought about it, the more I regretted not putting him out of his misery.

I understood what Donut had done. Hell, if I had thought of it, I would’ve done the same thing. Still, it felt like the wrong decision. It was the easy way out, and in this place, the easy way usually came with dire consequences.

But I had push all of that out of my mind and focus at the task at hand: capturing the gnomish throne room.

Here’s what we knew. After we’d crashed the Wasteland, all that remained was a single building held aloft by an enormous magical balloon. The building was a house, nothing more. There were no obvious defenses. The entire gnomish airforce was now grounded. It appeared there were only two living creatures up there. Commandant Kane and his daughter. The kid was about ten years old. That was it.

Once the sandstorm ended, we had two hours before it got dark. All around, camels emerged and started digging the town free. I pulled the farseer and searched until I found the small house, which has settled high above, just over the edge of the lip of the bowl. It floated all the way to the top of the bubble, like a children’s balloon that had gotten away from a kid and was now wedged in a high ceiling.

“We can still try shooting it down,” Katia said, standing by my side.

“We could,” I agreed. “It’s probably the easier way to do it. But I want to get that pocket watch. And if it falls now, I’m afraid it’ll land outside the bowl. Then what would we do?”

“You also don’t want to hurt that kid,” Katia said. “I think I know you well enough by now.”

I nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” She was absolutely right.

“They do that on purpose, you know. It’s no accident they put a child up there.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But they should also know by now my stance on killing NPCs. I don’t want to do it, but I think they’re better off dead anyway. So I won’t hesitate if my hand is forced. Even if it’s a kid.”

We stood side by side for several silent moments.

“Did you ever want children?” Katia finally asked.

I turned to look at the woman, surprised at the question. I knew she’d had some painful issues with this subject, but I didn’t know the details.

“No,” I said. “Not really. I wouldn’t be a good dad. Bea told me she thought she was pregnant like ten times. She never was. The first few times, when I thought she really was, I was goddamned terrified.”

“I… I have trouble seeing you with that woman.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I can’t have children.” She paused, looking down at herself. “When I was human, I mean. I was going to adopt. You can do that in Iceland when you’re single. I got pre-approval. I was on the list. That’s all I ever wanted. Something happened, and I got disqualified. It’s not important. But I’m glad now. I keep thinking about that Maggie woman, and how twisted she’s become. It’s because she’s a mother. Losing everything can do that to you. I can’t help but wonder how different things would be for me if I had a child. I’m glad now I don’t.”

The way she said it, I knew she wasn’t being truthful. It wasn’t something I would ever understand, the need to have children. I said nothing.

“Anyway,” Katia continued. “I still think we should just blow it out of the sky.”

“You’re just mad you’re not going to get the chance to go skydiving again,” I said, putting the telescope away.

“Usually I get irritated when you want to leave me behind on your little schemes,” Katia said. “I’m pretty happy to sit this one out.”

I patted her on the shoulder.

It was time to go. Behind me, Donut emerged from the bar, followed by Mongo and another robot Donut. The toy company had sent her three more, two of which had been promptly destroyed by Mongo. This fourth one was supposedly more durable. It’d survived one attack, but the head was now scarred from Mongo teeth.

“Come on, Donut,” I said. “Let’s roll.”

The robot version jumped onto my shoulder. This one was significantly heavier than the last. It turned its head toward me. “There sure were a lot of babies in there, Carl,” the toy said. “I wonder how long they will continue to cry in the dark.”

“Get the hell off of me.” I pushed it from my shoulder, and it landed on its back with a crunch. Mongo was on it in a second, grabbing it by the neck and shaking. The head ripped, and a countdown timer appeared over the toy.

“Goddamnit,” I said. “Everyone get back.”

We all scrambled away. The toy exploded in a shower of sparks and smoke. It wasn’t a big explosion, but it would’ve hurt if we’d been closer. It was enough to leave a scorch mark all over the front of the Spit and Swallow.

“Yeah, that’s safe,” I said as I collected the pieces. The controller core of the robot was a round, marble-sized metal ball. Like the last few times, the core itself had exploded, making it look a metallic piece of popped popcorn. “I can’t tell if these guys are a toy company or a weapons company. Either way, they’re terrible at it.”

Mongo screeched in agreement.

The real Donut jumped to my shoulder and sat with a harrumph.

“They said this version was indestructible,” she said sadly. “Do you think the Kardashians had to deal with defective merch? This is most disappointing.”

“I don’t think the toy people know what they’re doing,” I said.

Loita: Carl, you know perfectly well that the real version of these toys can take much more stress. Your boosted strength is what’s causing the problem. The toy is meant to be played with outside of an enhancement zone by children, not survive within a dungeon environment.

Carl: Hello, Loita. You should tell Donut’s sponsors that parents will shy away from toys that could potentially melt their child’s face off.

Donut: ALSO I DON’T SAY CREEPY STUFF LIKE THE DOLL DOES. IT’S REALLY WEIRD.

Zev: The audience loves the strange vibe of the doll, but I tend to agree with the crawler. It does not sound like her. We put that in the notes, but Veriluxx hasn’t changed it.

On my shoulder, Donut tensed up upon realizing Zev was a part of the conversation. I knew she was still worried about the kua-tin’s well-being.

Donut: HI ZEV!

Carl: Nobody is going to care about the toy’s voice if it keeps randomly exploding.

Donut: HE IS RIGHT. IT IS NOT A CARL DOLL.

Loita: We require the sponsor to make the doll self-destruct if it is sufficiently broken so you don’t get your hands on the important interior parts. The real version won’t have that feature.

Carl: So you’re the ones screwing the sponsor over. I bet they’re not too happy then. I’m no marketing expert, but I can’t imagine this thing is going to do well with how it’s being presented.

Zev: You are not wrong, crawler. There are memes.

Loita: That is not of your concern. You will be going on their program in 50 hours. They assure us that before that happens, you will receive a proper prototype.

Donut: TELL THEM I NEED TO HAVE THE ABILITY TO CHANGE THE ROBOT’S NAME. CARL CALLS IT “ROBOT DONUT” AND THAT JUST WON’T DO. I HAVEN’T DECIDED ON CHARLIE OR IVY. WHAT DO YOU THINK, ZEV?

Zev: It’s inconsequential, Crawler.

Donut’s claws dug so heavily into the side of my neck, I winced with the pain. Her entire body was rigid. I reached up to pet her.

Loita: Very well. We are done here. Try not to break the next one.

Zev: If you must choose a name, I would go with Ivy.

Donut let out a very slight gasp.

Donut: I THINK YOU’RE RIGHT. BYE ZEV!

Donut did an excited little hop on my shoulder. “Okay, Carl,” she said. “Let’s go take out that castle in the sky.”

~

The gnomish Drop Bear used actual gasoline for fuel. The abandoned biplane’s tank was almost dry. I still had plenty of the fuel in my inventory, all in metal canisters.

I examined the vehicle as I filled the tank. I needed the plane as light as possible, so I was only going to fill it up a quarter of the way. It didn’t have any bombs left under the wings, which would help with the weight. The plane did not look real, like it was something a drunk dude had built in his backyard out of scrap metal. Not something that was supposed to actually fly. I took a deep breath thinking about what we were about to do.

The airplane featured a frothing, rabid koala bear thing painted on the nose. There were also words in Syndicate standard stenciled onto the nose above the artwork. I wiped the dust off to reveal the plane’s name.

“Wonderful,” I muttered.

The plane’s name was Death Trap. It had four bombs painted after the tag. I took a can of spray paint and covered it up. I then wrote Nightmare II on the side. Donut objected, but only half-heartedly. She’d been oddly distracted since our discussion with Loita.

The plane was half buried in the sand when we arrived. Thankfully Langley had been smart enough to have it covered with a tarp before the storm. They all had gone off in search of downed balloons. They needed to collect five of the things to finish the “save Hump Town” quest. There were plenty scattered about the bowl. They had to fight off both gnomes and giant lizards, but at this point, the group of crawlers had enough experience with both that they could handle themselves. They were now on their way back to Hump Town to meet up with Katia.

“Holy shit,” I said as I realized I could easily pull the plane out of the sand. There was no way I could lift the thing off the ground, but the double-engine plane was lighter than I expected. Ten or more levels, and I’d be able to stick the vehicle into my inventory. Wouldn’t that be something?

After we finished cleaning the thing off, I sat in the pilot seat and Donut took to the rear-facing gunner’s chair. I had to rip both of the arm rests off just to fit in the thing. As I settled in, Donut put her paws up on the large gun and started making shooting noises. There was no runway here, and we wouldn’t be able to take off. Not in the traditional sense.

I started the engine to make sure it worked. Both engines spun right up. I flipped the switch and turned them off. I had no idea how to fly the thing, but the controls were similar to all the flight sims I’d played a dozen times. And they were simplistic compared to the original Nightmare’s controls. There were five gauges, two throttle switches that could be controlled individually or in tandem, rudder pedals, and a stick. That was it. Thankfully I only needed to “fly” the thing for a few minutes. And I didn’t need to worry about landing or taking off.

“Ready for this?” I asked. The virtual sun had already fallen below the horizon, and darkness spread across the bowl like an inky stain. High above, our target glowed like a star.

“Let’s do it,” Donut said.

The emergency recovery balloon was deployed using a handle to the right of the too-small cockpit chair. I had to be careful because there was also an ejection seat mechanism right next to it. We’d already rifled through a crashed version of this same plane, and with the one we looked at, the ejection seat worked as intended… but it didn’t have an attached parachute. There was no way to tell if this seat was the same without taking it out, but I was willing to bet that none of them had parachutes. I hadn’t noticed any chutes when the Wastelandfell.

Only a few pilots had bothered deploying the escape balloon. The balloons did nothing but elevate the disabled vehicle to the top of the bubble. There was nobody left to rescue them if they had.

I pulled the lever, yanking on it like a car’s emergency brake. The twin balloons burst upward, hissing as they filled with… well I didn’t know what they were filling with. It was some sort of chemical reaction instead of a conventional balloon.

The whole plane jerked, tail first. We started to rise into the air. Slowly at first, but soon we were moving faster and faster. I watched the needle indicating our altitude as we rapidly rose into the air.

“Carl, Carl, there are still bullets left in the gun!” Donut suddenly exclaimed. “I can shoot stuff!”

“Don’t you dare,” I called over my shoulder as we rocketed upward. We climbed straight up, caught a breeze and continued to rise at an angle, moving toward the very center of the bubble. I kept a wary eye out for the large birds that sometimes patrolled the skies.

I didn’t see any enemies. Before the storm, there had been a handful of balloons up against the ceiling, but they’d all disappeared. I knew a few had simply fallen, crashing against the desert like meteors. Some had plummeted on the land quadrant. Some in the ocean.

All that was left was the target.

It took us less time than I expected to reach the top of the bubble. We hit the ceiling with a bump, and suddenly we weren’t rising any more. I checked the altitude, and we were just about five kilometers above the bowl, which was already pretty high off the bubble’s sea level. This was much higher than we’d been last time. I didn’t notice any change in pressure or difference in oxygen levels. I pulled up my health pie chart menu, and it didn’t show any sort of oxygen deprivation. That was good.

I formed my xistera, loaded it with a thumper, and I tossed it upward, just to see what would happen. Even this close, I still couldn’t tell if the bubble’s wall was transparent or just a screen. The metal ball clanked loudly against the glass-like bubble wall before falling away.

Donut peered over the edge and watched the ball disappear into the night.

“Really, Carl,” she said. “That’s going to land on somebody’s head.”

I turned until I could see the distant light, about a half of a mile away, also pressed against the ceiling of the bubble. Damn, I thought. We were further away than I’d hoped.

“God, I hope this works,” I said. “It’s about to get loud.” I reached down and flipped the two switches to turn on the plane’s engines. “Hold on!”

I pushed the dual throttle switch and grasped the stick. I balanced my feet on the two rudder pedals and held the stick steady. The plane whined and jerked forward, pulling the balloons along the ceiling. I held my breath as we started to turn. Because we were still attached to the emergency balloons, I wasn’t really “flying” the plane. It was more like using training wheels on a bicycle and then pushing ourselves toward our destination by pumping the pedals just a few times.

“Shit,” I mumbled as we turned too much. I eased the stick in the other direction. I pushed the right rudder pedal, and we eventually lined up with the house. I eased up the throttle and we started skittering along the top of the bubble toward the flying house. I cut the power and let our momentum take us in.

“Get ready,” I called to Donut.

The house loomed. A massive, glowing balloon kept the home aloft. The balloon was huge, more than four times the size of the regular hot-air balloons used by the other flying machines. It glowed with magic and shone like a beacon, leading us in like moths to a flame.

The “castle” itself was nothing more than a square hunk of land with a two-story home sitting upon it. The house looked like any regular home one might find in a suburban neighborhood. I realized with surprise that was exactly what it was. It had a double garage, a porch, and even a little garden out front, though half of it was gone. The building was painted a dull beige and made of aluminum siding. There was even a basketball hoop attached above the garage.

Still, the house hadn’t survived the crashing of the Wasteland unscathed. The top floor windows were broken out. and part of the chimney had fallen in on itself. The rain gutters hung loosely off edge of the roof. Christmas lights clung to the gutters, blinking.

“Do you think they heard us coming?” Donut asked.

“Probably,” I said. “So be careful. Do you see them?”

“No,” she said. “I see the stairwell though. It’s on the second floor of the house.”

The magical balloon was attached to the house with a massive net. The airplane eased in like a boat against a dock, coming to a stop against the edge of the colossal balloon. We were a good forty feet above the top of the house.

“I’m going in,” Donut said. She jumped from her back seat to the net of the balloon.

I held my breath, worried the magical protection would hurt Donut. Mordecai said she’d be able to touch it, and he was thankfully correct. I climbed up out of my seat, balanced on the nose, using the top wing to steady myself. I jumped over to the balloon, clinging onto the net. Donut dropped to my shoulder.

“You’re not scared of heights, are you Carl?” Donut asked, looking down. She had a death grip on my shoulder.

“No,” I said as I started to scale my way down the net. The Nightmare II hung directly over my head, bobbing in the air. Once the escape balloon of the airplane touched the giant balloon, it also started glowing, like the balloon-protecting magic was contagious.

“Are you sure? It’s really far,” Donut said. “Look, we can see the lights on the ground level. I think that’s the mage castle. It’s really far down there.”

“We already fell once. There’s lots of shit that scares me, Donut. Height isn’t one of them.”

“Well it should scare you, Carl. This is terrifying.”

“Don’t look down.”

“Where else am I going to look, Carl?”

“You didn’t seem afraid earlier when we were in the hot air balloon.”

“That was before we fell out of the sky. I would like to avoid doing that again.”

We quickly descended. The net attached to the house at the four corners of the lot. I didn’t want to risk jumping to the roof and sliding off the edge, so I climbed all the way to the dirt lot and jumped down.

The ground felt unsteady. It wasn’t the same as being on water, but it was an odd, stomach-lurching sensation. We took a few steps toward the house. I moved slowly, wary of a trap or ambush.

“You don’t see anything?” I asked again.

“Nothing.”

That had to have heard us coming. We approached the porch. A cockeyed “Welcome” sign hung from the center of the dirty, white door. The sign was hand painted in blue and silver paint and had a star at the bottom, indicating the previous owners had been Dallas Cowboys fans. The doormat had a picture of a pistol and said, “We don’t dial 911.”

“I’m getting mixed signals,” said Donut.

She released Mongo, who landed onto the porch with a screech. He looked around, eyes going wide when he realized the ground was moving. He turned and looked up at Donut and let out a worried squeak.

Donut leaped from my shoulder to the back of Mongo and gave him a little pat on the top of the head. “So, are we just going to stand here, or are we breaking the door in?”

I eyed the doorbell and contemplated just ringing it to see what would happen. Probably a bad idea, I decided. “Okay, we’ll send Mongo and the clockworks through the upper window, and we’ll breach in through the front door. We’ll meet at the stairwell, but tell Mongo not to…”

I didn’t finish. Front door opened, and a young, female gnome stood there, gazing at us.

“Hello,” she said. She wore an oversized Dallas Cowboys jersey as a dress. She had brown pigtails peeking out from under her red, conical hat. The front of the jersey was smeared with blood.

“Have you come to kill my father? You’re a little late. He’s already dead. Do you want to come in? I’m making lemonade!”

***

Hello everybody! Once again I attempted to give you two chapters and ended up giving you only one because I'm not quite done. Sorry for the cliffhanger. The next chapter is a little wacky. I hope you're all doing well. I appreciate every last one of you!

Later today (Thursday, 1-21) I am tentatively scheduled for an interview on Soundbooth Theater's live show. If it happens, it'll be around 5 PM Pacific Standard time.  

I also hope to have cover art for book 3 to show you soon. It features Gore-Gore the mantaur. It's awesome!