SWNOVELS Chapter 3: Wake up
Chapter 3: Wake up
The Revenent came into awareness slowly, aware of little more than the deep aching pain throughout their body. A rheumatic pain like every bone they possessed had been gently, tenderly, smashed with a sledgehammer.
The breath would have been drawn from their lungs had they had any air to give. For a terrifying instant they felt like they would suffocate only for their body to remember how to breath a moment after.
They opened their dry mouth and forced air into their lungs, nearly doubling-over in a fit of coughing as they cleared from their wind pipe what felt like dirt, dust and phlegm.
On opening their eyes, the world appeared blurry and dim. The Revenent could only perceive the glow of a red warning light overhead. Its alternating glow drowning their surroundings with neon red in one moment only to give way to darkness again the next.
With time, their eyes adjusted- the world appearing monochromatic in the darkness as whatever mechanism they were an audience to oscillated between darkness and redness.
In their growing ability to perceive the world, they found themselves laying down flat within a sarcophagus, in a body of vicious pink fluid that glowed faintly in the dark.
Stasis Fluid, the Revenent realised. To their own unease and confusion.
Looking upwards, they peered through the glass panels of the sarcophagus’ lid before them, seeing past the fractal cracks of the panel and into the darkness above to see a bare concrete ceiling. Large cracks stretched across its surface from wall to wall, interrupted by large holes that allowed rays of burnt red light to infiltrate through.
The Revenent lifted up their hands, struggling against a weakness that made their shoulders feel like jelly and their hands feel numb. They pressed their palms against the front of the sarcophagus lid. Pushing against it weakly and doing little more than make the hinges of the lid creak, the Revenent instead became acquainted with the mother of all migraines beginning to grow within their skull.
It was getting hard for the Revenent to think.
But that didn’t stop them from acting.
The fog in the Revenent mind was thick and unyielding, but they knew they needed to get out of this darkened place.
The Revenent pushed through the pain and weakness, lifting their legs up to press their knees against the door panel. They pushed against it, pinning their back against the base of the stasis pod- until something snapped and with an angry hiss, the hatch of the sarcophagus flung wide open, breaking off one of the hydraulic springs, twisting to the left to fall to the floor beside the pod. The reverberation of the tempered glass against the stone floor drowned under a splash of water.
The Revenent pulled themself up, tearing their body free of the pink slime to throw their legs over the side of the sarcophagus, dropping them into a body of iced old water that had flooded the room bringing with it a layer of dirt and silt they could feel under their feet. The sensation of blistering coldness rocking up through the legs threatened to drew their breath from them again, but they caught the exhale and slowly blew it out. Forcing air back into their lungs until they felt ready to stand up in the pools of water.
The Revenent looked around again, finding themselves in a semi-circular chamber. Like the antechamber of a tomb. There were rows of stasis pods to the left and right of their own. Covered with a thick layer of dust, masking the glow of the stasis fluid and the silhouette of the bodies within.
For the briefest moment the Revenent thought they were not the only one here. They thought there were others around that could help them.
They stood up upon shaky legs, trudging forward only to collapse and fall against the side of the neighbouring pod. Gritting their teeth and groaning as the cold water engulfed their form, soaking into their chalky undergarment- a backless bodysuit of black elastic material that was evidently not waterproof and a body harness formed from a dark green leathery rope intricately tied around their torso. Hugging their body in its embrace.
It was a Karada, they recalled. How they did, they didn’t know. They didn’t have the faculties yet to know.
Lifting themself back onto their feet and reclaiming their balance, they rubbed against the glass panel to look into the pod. Hoping that somehow, they would be able to remember the face within. Or failing that, that whoever was within could help them in turn for being awoken.
Instead they peered in and gasped with horror. There was a man inside the pod. At least, what used to be a man. His body was now decomposed. His flesh and muscles having decayed and emulsified, melting off his body as it diffused outward.
The Revenent had no hope of recognising their face when all that was left of it was a grim rictus and eyeballs that were floating out of their sockets by thin stings of sinew.
The sight made the Revenent nauseous. Or maybe it was the migraine doing that. The Revenent couldn’t tell. They closed their eyes, took a few deep breaths and pushed themselves off the pod, towards a raised platform. A gangway that acted as the pathway to each stasis pod.
The Revenent figured that following it would bring them to an exit. But as they trudged through the waters, they sensed movement up above. A sound like the footfalls of large heavy paws and a reverberating snarl like that of a dog.
No... like that of something constructed in the image of a wolf.
The vision of a beast with metallic skin, bejewelled eyes and teeth- breathing out balls of fire and molten metal- emerged to the forefront of the Revenent memory.
They remembered the feeling of Eldritch Silver claws cutting into them. Tearing into their lower back... and then nothing. No feeling below their waist. Only the sensation of pain against their right flank and a cold wetness. A weakness that slowly spread throughout the rest of them before the darkness claimed them.
It was one of those things that had ended them, they realised.
A name came to mind for such a creature... a Fenris?... No, A Fenrir! An automatonic beast of metal and wrath.
A being once built to hunt down and destroy Fiends and all manner of Fell Beings, ultimately corrupted by the same forces they were built to destroy.
They were made in the image of monsters and had in turn become monsters.
There was one nearby. The Revenent could sense it. Nearby and above.
Keeping their eyes on the ceiling, they brushed aside the slick and dirty hair of their fringe and quietly moved through the waters to walk up onto the gangway.
The rays of red light spilling from above- light that hurt the Revenent eyes to look at- were cut off. They could hear something sniffing overhead. Then a loud huffing bark before they saw a large silver paw with jagged metallic claws burst downward through the ceiling.
The Revenent moved with as much swiftness as they could muster, their bare feet splashing against the wet surface of the gangway floor as they maneuvered their way towards the threshold of a passageway.
They swung around it, taking cover in the corner between the doorway and the walls of the corridor.
Something like instinct and practised movement had them breath through their mouth instead of their nose. Controlling their breathing to be slow and steady least they create more noise than their own hammering hearts within their chest.
Peeking around the corner they watched as the paws ripped through the ceiling. Until the load above was too much to bare and with a great thundering crash the front end of the Fenrir fell into the antechamber.
A juvenile of its kind. Only about the size of what the Revenent recalled was called a Bus, rather than a decently sized boat.
Its large elongated snout bearing a maw of jagged silver teeth, bejewelled with emeralds. Its eyes were crystalline spheres of yellow. Its skin an intricate armour of black and silver ceramic metal. Arranged in a hexagonal pattern and forming what looked like scales to the Revenent eyes.
The Fenrir sniffed at the empty pod the Revenent had escaped from. Growling in disappointment. Then it turned its attention aside to sniff at the pod neighbouring their own.
It opened its mouth wide, molten drool falling from its jaw into the pools of flood water to sizzling away under it- before lunging forward and biting into the pod, tearing away at it to get at the body inside.
The Revenent turned away and faced forward, looking down the corridor to see two doorways and a stairwell that led upwards to the surface. A steady stream of water flowing down it to flow through the passageway and into the antechamber.
Creeping forward, mindful of the metal beast goring its way into the corpses behind them and careful to make their own plopping footsteps no louder than the sound of the stream, they looked into both rooms. Seeing in the one to the left a control room of some sort. A wall of monitors above a touch screen control panel that had a layer of dust over its cracked black surface.
The one on the right looked more like a restroom. There was a messy bed in the corner that looked like it hadn’t been touched since the person who had slept in it last arose from its embrace and simply had not bothered to remake the quilted sheets again before they left... if they had left this place at all.
Resting against its foot was a sword. Resting in a sheath of polished black wood accented with green metallic panels of baroque flowers. There was something familiar about the weapon. Something about the shape of the crescent rainguard and the emerald pommel that ebbed at a small corner of the Revenents mind.
Looking across the room, they saw a worktable. Covered by a layer of dust just like everything else. But upon it was a holstered handgun. A Handcannon of some sort.
In the opposite corner was a circular tube. A combination shower, toilet and sink.
Between it was a wardrobe and a clothes cupboard, which they quietly moved towards and opened to find disintegrated pairs tactical clothing, worn leather jackets and combat boots.
The only thing that didn’t look to be an withered, aging relic was a folded sheet of crimson red fabric. A weather-proof cloak that’s surface had a honey-comb pattern of hexagons. But something about it felt as familiar to them as the sword and the gun did.
Looking to their right on sensing movement they looked into the shower to see themselves reflected in the mirror. The only thing in the room not covered in layer of dust.
The Revenent took the second to ground themselves in the body they saw.
A tall figure, gaunt and skinny, lacking any pigmentation on their body. Their skin was paler than pale, their hair- through mired by dirt and dust- was pure white. Their slitted eyes a light shade of blue between their pointed ears.
The word ‘albinism’ popped into their head but it didn’t seem to fit. Something within told them it was something more.
The only parts of the Revenents body that looked to have any colour were the large number of mean red scars across their arms and legs, miring the faded tattoos etched into their body.
Red Roses and Vines along their thighs running down below their knees. Blue Roses with Vines along their arms and shoulders, ending at the back of their hands.
The Revenent could feel the scars on their back and along the side of their chest burn hot. Hotter than any of the other scars they possessed.
In a flash they could see the echo of what they had once been. The same height but fair skinned and muscular. They had the build of a sea warrior once. But such strength was as lost to them now as the colour in their dirty blonde hair and their eyes that were once green with rings of amber.
They didn’t waste time reflecting upon it.
If they did, they feared the never ending questions they would have would only paralyse them in inaction.
In the here and now it didn’t matter if that body was their own, or if they merely usurped it from whoever had it before.
The Revenent couldn’t afford to stand still. They needed to mobilise.
They slipped into a pair of black pants that were able to fit around their thin waist.
Not bothering with a shirt as they all disintegrated in their hands, instead grabbing a leather jacket and immediately realising it was way more than just leather. They could feel a metallic weave within it. Turning it into a form of body armour.
Slipping into a pair of boots that looked their size, they threw on the cloak. The material feeling immediately comfortable and warm against their body.
The Revenent then moved forward. Grabbing the sheathed sword and strapping it to their right hip, then moving back across the room to pick up the holstered Handcannon and strap it to their left thigh. The weight of both the objects reminding them of their own weakness as they struggled to quietly bind them to their clothing.
Moving back towards the doorway and peeked around the corner, looking to the left towards the Antechamber- checking to verify that the metallic beast was still were it was before. Eating the corpses in the stasis pods.
The Revenent didn’t stop to process what was happening. They couldn’t afford to. They pushed off of the door frame and staggered their way down the corridor- keeping their plopping footsteps no louder that the burbling stream flowing down the stairs.
Failing that, no louder than the sounds of flesh being torn and bones being broken within the Juvenile Fenrir’s own mouth.
Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, they ventured forth into the darkness. Letting their vision slowly strain and adjust to the until the world once more grew monochromatic, but ultimately made visible the elevator shaft. The doors left wide open revealing the capsule within had become dislodged from the rails along the sides of the shaft, and had sunken down into the pit.
Mindful of the weakness that still plagued them, they clambered up onto the top of the elevator, navigating their way over the creaking capsule and towards an emergency ladder that rose upwards along the side of the shaft before climbing their way up it.
They stopped what must have been 6 storey’s up to catch their breath. Their fatigue making their migraine worse. Making it harder to drag their body up the ladder.
But their spirit was stronger than this body they were in. The Revenent was determined to get out of this place more than they wanted to give into weakness.
They closed their eyes and growled through the pain, repeating the repetitive movement of putting one arm and leg up above the other and stepping up. Until their hand reached a solid ceiling. A mechanical hatch.
Opening their eyes again they looked for a way up and out, looking down and seeing an emergency release lever behind a glass panel, just to their left.
The Revenent unholstered the Handcannon. Uncertain of its reliability after what they could only assume was a long, long period of disuse.
They didn’t know the exact amount of time. They didn’t think they wanted to know. But they had no intention to fire it. It simply didn’t feel safe to do so.
Smashing the base of the magazine through the glass, not really caring if the Fenrir heard them or not, they holstered it and pulled the lever. Opening the emergency hatch to reveal a small crawlspace they were able to climb up into. Crawling through the vent-like chamber they came to yet another panel. One that they only needed to push against to make drop from its slot.
Pressing onward the Revenent clambered out of the vent, falling onto the floor of another chamber. A small foyer by the look of it. The floor level and solid, the ceiling in admittedly better condition than the chambers below.
The Revenent sighed in relief, knowing now they had put distance between themself and the Metal Beast.
But they didn’t stay idle. With a groan they pushed themself back up onto their feet and staggered their way forward towards a circular door.
Muscle memory guided their movements more so than a conscious awareness of what they were doing.
They pushed against the door, straining against it weakly before they snarled in frustration, took a few steps back and rammed their shoulder against it.
Knocking the breath out of them and forcing the mechanism within to give way, sending the circular stone door rolling off to the side.
On opening, they were greeted by a rush of warm air and the sight of overcast skies that burned red, piercing through the bare branches of the trees for as far as they could see from that place.
Raising up a hand to shield their eyes, the Revenent staggered forward out of the door to walk along an unfamiliar path.
It had perhaps been a worn dirt trail long ago, but nature had since reclaimed it.
Overrunning it with moss, tall grass and the fallen leaves of the beech trees that grew along the sides of the road.
The Revenent followed that trail for as far as it went. Trudging up on a slope uphill, throwing up the hood of their cloak to shield their eyes from the sunlight that managed to infiltrate through the clouds above.
Eventually they reached a clearing.
Finding themselves upon what they assumed was a ridge, as they simply lacked the long sightedness to be able to see that far.
They could see everything within 20 metres of them in focus. Turning around they could see the beech trees perfectly well.
But not the horizon.
All they could see where green, grey and black blurs below them to the west- leading the Revenent to assume they were near an inlet or perhaps on the coast.
To the East, they could see something glowing green. A pillar of light that burned upwards into the skies above.
The faded memory of that blighted city sprung forth once again, but the Revenent let it pass through them. Hardening their hearts to the horror they could recall.
A gust of wind from the west carried the smell of stale sulphur and salt. Pulling the Revenents attention from the east back to the west.
In the most bittersweet way, it smelled like home. Not that they had any idea where home was.
Zipping up their leather jacket and closing over their cloak, the Revenent set off once more to follow the ridge, towards what they hoped was the sea.
They didn’t set off with a plan in mind. All they had to go on was fear and confusion. The need for food, water and shelter.
But the Revenent figured that if they just followed the ridge and then followed the coastline, they would eventually reach somewhere that could provide them with these needs.
Somewhere that could offer them sanctuary from the elements and from the fell beasts that stalked this land... where ever this land was exactly.
Somewhere that could give them the space they needed to organise their thoughts and find some form of clarity. A means to clear the fog in their mind. If anything got in the way they were adequately armed to protect themself. Whoever ‘they’ were…
That question in particular seemed of intimate importance to the Revenent.
“Who am I?“; the Revenent asked themselves out loud, speaking to no one in particular.
They might as well have been asking the world to give them an answer. But all it could give the Revenent was the whistling of wind in their ears and rustling of tree branches and leaves all around them.
They mulled over such a question for several minutes as they staggered along the ridge. Decidedly moving a bit further away from the edge in consideration of their poor balance.
But nothing emerged from the fog.
They had nothing left, the Revenent realised. No name. No knowledge of their own history. No place to call home.
Such thoughts might have frightened them- might have led them into despair’ if they didn’t feel a cold, tempered focus within them. A focus that had them push onwards, pushing against the weakness as their staggered walk slowly grew into a purposeful stalk forwards.
Keeping their right hand resting upon the pommel of their sword and their left arm close to the grip of the gun, the Revenent travelled onwards into the wild without the fainted idea where they were or where they were going.
Only knowing that they felt the pangs of hunger in their gut, that their mouth felt dry from dehydration and that beneath the pain of the migraine that made keeping their eyes open a trial in itself- they could feel that they were being watched.