Eight: A LitRPG Novel of Magical Survival

The Red Room was dark. Night had fallen during the discussion with the uekisheile, and there wasn’t even a sliver of moonlight shining down from the chimneys above. Instead, water fell in thin streams. Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing strangely, and it sounded like the cave growled.

Inside me, the uekisheile happily soaked in my heart dantian like it was a spa. My mind spun at the sheer absurdity of the situation, but all I could do was shake my head. If I’d let every confusing and strange situation in this world stop me, I’d have died that first day. It was with that thought that I picked up my gear—still sitting where I’d put it—and left via the room’s other exit. After due consideration, I’d decided that the chimney was too tough a climb.

The tunnel went about twenty yards before the ceiling descended, and I had to stoop to continue. The stalagmites and stalactites were so close, they looked like teeth. The breeze was stronger here, flowing between the gaps. It carried with it a pungent scent, musky and manure-like. There was definitely something still living within these caves.

My hope for an exit and fear of coming across a murder cat mingled in me, which apparently caught my passenger’s interest. I felt their confusion, but was at a loss on how to explain the feeling without seeming to threaten the uekisheile. I tried feeling threatened, and that must’ve worked, because suddenly tufts of fuchsia lichen sprouted on my face, neck, and hands.

The main body of the uekisheile was still inside me—I could feel them stirring in my dantian—but they were able to materialize extensions of themselves outside of me as well. I’d witnessed it happening once before, when I’d offered them the eilesheile, but had been too occupied at the time to think about it. Now, though, shock rolled through me. My body really wasn’t my own anymore.

They expressed, defend-satiation-defend, and urged me onward.

“Oh gods, I’ve become a mobile home.” It was a poor attempt at humor, but what else could I do? If I let myself feel as disturbed as I truly was, that might affect the truce the uekisheile and I had between us.

Impatience-hunger-hunger.

Ah, so they wanted to eat again. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

The tunnel opened into a chamber about the size of a small house. The scent of manure was stronger here, and I found a pile of dung in the corner. Cautiously, I kept going, spear at the ready.

The path sloped up in a natural spiral. Long fingers of stalactites reached down its center, and rivulets of water flowed along them. It made the stone slippery.

I loosened my grip on the spear. “Easy now,” I whispered to myself.

The spiral continued for another fifteen yards. At the top was another small chamber. The floor here was pitted with holes, some only a foot deep, while others were deep enough for me to fit into. The shallower ones were already filling up with the water from one of the two exits leading out of the room. I cupped some to sniff, and it smelled clean.

The fact that the holes were filling up meant that the water source was intermittent, otherwise they’d be full all the time. Was it rainwater? If so, was the way it was coming into the cave accessible and large enough for me to fit through?

For form’s sake, I checked the exit without water first, but it sloped back down and quickly ran into a dead end. The other, though, continued up, and with every step, my heart beat with both more hope and more dread.

The sound of thunder rumbled, echoing past me down the tunnel. The breeze suddenly carried with it the scent of electricity, and under it was the pungent smell of a big cat.

I cupped the candlestone with one hand to narrow the light into an even thinner beam, and crept carefully forward. Ten yards and a hundred years later, I found another small chamber. At the far end, a mountain lion slumbered, framed by an opening to the world outside. Lightning flashed, illuminating the creature, and I quickly stowed the candlestone inside my shirt.

The cat had thick, hunched shoulders from which a total five furred tentacles grew. At the end of each tentacle was a dark razor. The cat slept on a dry mound to the right of the entrance. The rest of the floor was slick with rainwater.

I considered trying to sneak past, but the uekisheile had a different plan in mind. Excitement-hunger-anticipation. Hunger-hunger-satiation.

Well, they were probably right. Even if I was at one with the land, I didn’t think stealthing past was an option. I stank to high heaven, and once I was near the cave’s exit, the cat would scent me for sure.

For the moment, I put aside the question of how Lazy could be a talent. I needed a plan. The creature outweighed and outmuscled me, and while I had more reach with the spear, it wasn’t by much—not with his tentacles.

I put my odds at winning a direct confrontation at nearly nil. Sure, I might surprise him with a Cold Snap, but I didn’t think that’d stack the deck enough in my favor. If this were a game, it would be the perfect opportunity for a stealth insta-kill. Or a rogue’s backstab or sneak attack.

Wait. Maybe there is a way.

I looked over the route—there was nothing on the floor that might crunch under my feet, and in any case the cave echoed with the roar of the storm and the sound of water as it streamed past the cat. Even the wind worked in my favor, sucked down into the tunnel like a breath into lungs. As long as I stayed behind the lion, I should be able to get close.

I can do it, I thought, and the boundary between fear and excitement blurred. I carefully set my spear down and drew both stilettos. Then I stretched one foot out to step onto the dry section of the chamber, and eased onto the elevated stone.

From the uekisheile, all I sensed was, anticipation-anticipation-anticipation.

Step by step, I crept closer. I didn’t let the tufts of fuchsia lichen sprouting from the backs of my hands distract me. All my attention was on moving silently toward the chliapp lion. I was about ten yards away, every nerve on edge, when it suddenly hit me what I was about to do—I was sneaking up on a hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, razors, and death—and the insanity of it stopped me. I froze.

I’d had encounters with mountain lions and bears in my previous life, but back then neither they nor I wanted anything to do with each other. All we wanted was to avoid the scary thing we’d come across and go back to what we were doing, whether that was hiking, searching for game, or fishing up some delicious berries or salmon.

It was strange, but in that moment—sneaking up behind the chliapp lion so I could stab it with stilettos made from the spikes of parasites I’d found in a waist-high pile of dragon dung while being occupied by a hyper-intelligent lichen who was very much wondering why we’d stopped when there was good food close by—it fully hit me I was living in another world. And that it’d continue to force me to do things that would otherwise terrify me.

I’d committed before to living in this new world, but there was a part of me that continued to cling to the ideas and memories of the old one. I’d slowly acclimated, though, and furiously trained to prepare for whatever came at me, but something held me back. Fear? The animal inside fighting to hold onto the safety and comfort of my old world?

Even if I hid myself away with Ikfael in the Glen for the rest of my life, that wouldn’t be enough to protect me. Trouble had come to the Glen twice over—after thunderstorms just like this one—and there was no avoiding danger. If that was true, it’d be better to meet the danger head on.

Or in this case, sneak up on it in the dark and stab it in the back.

So, as thunder crashed outside and the lion stirred—as my heart jumped in my chest and the lion settled once again into sleep—something changed in me. I’d held on, unconsciously, to my old life, but that wouldn’t be enough. To survive, to thrive, I’d have to embrace this world and the life it brought with it.

Of course this world would change me. How could it not? I’d been an immigrant before; I knew the process. Whether you wanted to or not, a place changed you, shaped you, and molded you. Even the act of holding on was a change in and of itself.

These thoughts were old territory for me, well worn after thinking so long and deeply about my experiences as an immigrant. The epiphany unfolded quickly, blossoming in a visceral understanding of myself and the situation in which I’d found myself. Fear was and would forever be my enemy. And just as in my past life, I’d do everything in my power to spike it through the heart, to embrace the life it hid from me, and to hold onto the hope of something better.

Yes, on the cusp of danger and death I realized how, in order to live my new life, I had to let go of my old one. It was an impossibility to begin with—that life was gone, and so was its world. The important things that mattered—Helen, Alex, and Daniel—I’d carry with me in my heart. Just like I carried my grandparents in my heart after they died. My father and mother too, once I’d learned how to forgive them for their all-too-human failures as parents.

I was Ollie—but also Eight—and I would embrace the life offered to me.

I took a slow, quiet breath, and blinked the thoughts away. I settled myself into the land, even though I was terrified.

I’d lost track of the uekisheile’s qi in the midst of my turmoil, but now that I was paying attention, I sensed a jumble of thoughts radiating from them. They’d followed along on my realization-epiphany trip, and it confused the hell out of them.

Question-question-question!

Not now, if you please. We still have a danger-threat-food. Wait-answer-eat.

Agree-agree-agree. Wait-answer-eat. Even though the uekisheile said they’d be patient, I felt like only half their attention was on the chliapp lion. The rest was on me, carefully watching my qi for further disturbances.

The moment had passed without waking the lion. His ears were still, as was his tail. There was a soft susurration, as he breathed steadily in and out. The hilts of the stilettos were rough. I was glad of it, as they’d otherwise slip from my hands. I was resolved to carry on, yes, but it didn’t mean my palms weren’t sweaty and my back wasn’t soaked. Carefully, I wiped my eyes clear.

With each step, the tension wound through me tighter and tighter. I needed to focus on my footing, so I didn’t bring to mind the Anesthetic rune until I was just within reach of the lion. There was a two-foot gap between the creature and the cave wall. I sidled in between to better reach its torso. I briefly considered stabbing it in the neck, but the tentacles lay all around like sleeping snakes. There was no way to get close to the lion’s head without stepping on one.

A short prayer: Gods and goddesses, spirits of the land, watch over me. Please, please let this work.

The uekisheile perked up, but I ignored them and focused on the Anesthetic rune and the way the cool energy of the spell flowed through me and into the area around the animal’s gut sack. Just in case, I also enchanted the stilettos to enhance their innate painkilling properties. Gently, slowly, I stuck the stilettos into the lion.

When I had casted Anesthetic on myself before, my whole leg had gone numb. I assumed the same was now true of the lion’s torso. I bit my lip, worried that ruffling the fur would disturb the lion’s sleep, but the Anesthetic dulled its sense of touch, as well as the pain. I slid the stilettos in and out, blood following in a stream. In and out. In and out. Using different angles, I stabbed the lion several times.

When he didn’t stir, I grew more confident the plan would work, and continued stabbing him, maybe six or eight more times. I was so focused, I wasn’t sure of the number. It was like being at an award ceremony, realizing you’d just given your speech, but you don’t remember what you said or how you said it. Everything was a blur; there was just me and the lion, my hope and fear, and underneath it all was the confusion of the uekisheile.

I left the stilettos inside the body on the last stab. The chliapp lion stirred in his sleep, and I didn’t want to risk further disturbing him. I eased away, and snuck back toward the tunnel.

Back in my hiding place, I watched—my hands gripping the spear—as the lion slowly bled out. The lazy thing never woke up, and when it stopped breathing, I nearly fell over from the release of tension. Still, I was careful and waited for another twenty minutes to be sure. I prodded the lion with my spear, but it was really dead.

I thanked the gods. I thanked Helen and the spirits of the land. I thanked everyone and everything that had contributed to me becoming the man I was—a man who had the wherewithal to survive an encounter with a chliapp lion. I was on my knees, inundated with gratitude, when the uekisheile prodded me with a question. No, it was more like a demand for answers to a list of pent-up questions.

“Yes, I’m here. We can talk now.” I shaped the tone-bundles along with the words. My plan was to speak every time we communicated in the hope they’d eventually be able to understand me better.

Frustration-frustration-question. Answer-now-answer.

“Yes.” Answer-now-answer.

Wonder-people-wonder. Questions-many-questions.

“The world is full of people,” I said, sitting back, gathering the thought-bundles together. “Some good, some bad, but most are a mix of the two. Do you know good and bad? I can’t imagine that you do.”

Hunger-satiation-coziness. Fear-threat-danger.

“It can be that simple, I suppose, but things get pretty murky once you start working your way up into higher orders of thinking. Intelligence can be a wonderful rationalization for all kinds of horrible actions.” I paused, at a loss for how to convey that thought. Then I realized I was having a conversation about moral gray zones with a lichen.

I did my best, but the uekisheile’s response was confusion-confusion-confusion.

“Sorry, that’s my fault. I really should be talking about simpler topics. I’m just hungry, and also hungry for company.”

The uekisheile paused as they chewed on that. Their qi formed and reformed with their thoughts, each one unguarded. I watched as they realized for the first time in their existence that they were also lonely.

Fear-threat-loneliness. Hunger-desire-company.

The uekisheile hadn’t known loneliness before. I’d taught it to them, and a spike of guilt ran through me. Worse, a part of me wondered at how I could use that loneliness to my benefit. It was like I was a teenager again, and I had hated being a teenager.

Confusion-alarm-threat.

I took a breath to settle my thoughts. “Sorry. Sorry. That hate wasn’t aimed at you. It was a memory of things from before we met.”

The uekisheile said, Action-reaction-pattern. Pattern-repeat-pattern.

The idea was surprisingly complicated: of patterns repeating over time, like day and night alternating. No wonder they’d so easily caught on to the game I’d created—sure, it was simple, but they were also used to experimenting with action and reaction to look for patterns.

The uekisheile thought, slowly working their way to a conclusion. Action-loneliness. Reaction-company. Pattern…

The qi trailed off, as they didn’t know how to fill the loneliness.

The uekisheile reminded me of a stray knowing nothing but the streets, their eyes full of longing upon being found. Dogs could be incredibly loyal and sweet, or they could be ugly and vicious. It all depended on how they were treated. Were they family, or were they tools to instill fear in others?

Helen and I had adopted several dogs, and they’d been nothing but loyal. My emotions and memories must’ve leaked out again, because the uekisheile’s qi flared, similar to when they’d realized I was a person. The epiphany rolled from them into me, like waves to the shore.

Their thoughts stuttered. Action-loneliness. Reaction-company. Pattern-family. Pattern-family. Pattern… love. The unfamiliar emotion confused the uekisheile. Curiousity-curiousity-love. Anxiety-curiosity-love.

“I don’t even—”

The way I’d been communicating was by connecting my emotions, thoughts, and intent to my qi. For me to talk about love was to talk about Helen, Alex, and Daniel, and the message wouldn’t be filtered by words. The uekisheile would have a front-row seat on the raw emotions. My raw emotions.

Curiosity-curiosity-curiosity. There was such longing to know about family and love in their request.

“Okay, okay, just hold on. Let me think for a moment.”

Curiosity-curiosity-curiosity. Love-love-love. The uekisheile’s enthusiasm for the topic grew. Their qi wagged like a tail.

And that was when I realized there was no artifice in the uekisheile. They were as pure as a puppy. Yes, they were far more dangerous and could kill me at any time, but there was no hint that such a thing would ever happen. If anything, I was a treasure they’d found, a place of cozy, delicious wonder.

It was weird to have another being inside my body, but it was also an opportunity. Already, I felt my magical energies recovering as a result of the uekisheile’s help. And there was the qi condensation too—I didn’t know it for sure, but I strongly sensed that if I continued along that path, my qi body would grow stronger. Much stronger.

The uekisheile waited for me.

“Oh, damn it, all right.”

They must’ve sensed my acquiescence, because the qi wagged even harder. Curiosity-curiosity-curiosity. Love-love-love.

“Just let me get the gutsack out, and then we’ll talk.”

It was cold enough I didn’t have to worry about the meat going bad, but only if the lion’s gutsack was removed. If not, the bacteria inside it would spread and spoil the meat.

The process was a bloody, messy affair with all the puncture wounds, and once it was done I stepped to the entrance to wash my hands clean. The rain fell in sheets, making it impossible to see anything beyond roughly fifty yards out. I seemed to be high up in the escarpment though, with a narrow path to the left leading up. The stone ran slick with the rainwater. Lightning flashed, and its thunder rumbled through me. I tossed the mangled gutsack over the side. Now that I didn’t have to worry about it spoiling the meat, dressing the rest of the lion’s corpse could wait.

The uekisheile was curious about the lightning and thunder, but was undeterred. There’d be no leaving the cave until the rain stopped, anyway, so I found a dry spot by the entrance to watch the lightning, sat down, and started telling stories—vignettes of the life I’d lived with the ones I loved. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason to the stories, nor any order to speak of. The narrative was less important than the feelings.

I didn’t want to sugarcoat love and friendship, so I made sure the stories weren’t all pleasant. There were bitter moments too in my relationships with my wife and children, and certainly troubles too.

Someone once said that you only feel as much love as you’re willing to feel pain. I’ve found that to be true.

The uekisheile curled around themselves. Occasionally, their qi burbled in response, but mostly they listened to my feelings. The sun eventually came up, but the rain continued to pour down, drenching the forest below.

I drank rainwater to ease my throat, then kept talking, until I got to the point where there weren’t any more important stories except for Helen’s cancer. I’d avoided it all night, but as the pool of stories got smaller and smaller, the story of her death got bigger and bigger. Big enough that it was all that was left inside me, a stone blocking my throat from continuing.

Bitter-sweet-love. Lonely-pain-lonely.

My throat wasn’t big enough for the stone. I didn’t know if it’d ever be. Sure, I’d told the story before to family and close friends, but never to myself, and that was what it felt like in that moment: me telling the story to myself, as well as the uekisheile. The unadorned story. The unfiltered story. The real story of just how much of myself I lost when Helen died.

And bless them, the uekisheile tried to comfort me. Lonely-bitter-pain. Love-love-love.

“Thank you. That’s kind. And yes… the love was worth the pain.”

Action-reaction-pattern. Ollie/Eight-Helen-Uekisheile.

I couldn’t help myself—I laughed when they offered to replace Helen with themselves in my feelings. I’d never been proposed to by a colony of lichen before. With a sad grin, I shared my gratitude again, but declined.

We can start with friendship. Yes, that’d be okay. And then one day, maybe family.

By midday, the rain had finally started to let up. I rubbed my face to wake up from the strange dream-like state I’d been in while telling my stories. I was starving, but didn’t have any wood for a fire. I wasn’t willing to eat raw lion meat either. My fear of parasites hadn’t gone away—which was ironic, given the uekisheile inside me. But then, it wasn’t a parasite, was it? It was a symbiote now. Or something like it.

Speaking of which, they were hungry too. I brought us back to the chliapp lion. There was residual qi in the body, and I put my hand into the gut cavity. “Go ahead. Eat your fill.”

A part of the uekisheile sprouted along my hand and disappeared into the body. I felt their qi spread, hunting along the meridians to search for the major qi structures. The lion appeared to have three dantian: one in the head, one in the chest, and a smaller one in the hunch of his back where the tentacles emerged. All three lit up at once when the uekisheile ate his qi. I also caught sight of the thicker meridians, but not enough to understand how the qi once flowed through the lion’s body.

The uekisheile’s tufts emerged from the wound, satisfied, and were reabsorbed into me. It was a sight I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to.

Since I was beside the lion, I collected the claws and started skinning him. The fur was heavily damaged where I’d stabbed him, but the upper body was free of cuts. The work was good for settling my mind and emotions. It’d been a roller coaster of a night and day.

After the fur was removed, I reached inside the body for the core but found it missing. The uekisheile had eaten the lion’s silverlight along with his qi.