Chapter 6: Chapter 4: Susie

Chapter 4: Susie

 

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Skill: Enhanced Looting (Level 1) [User may touch a deceased life form (or portion of said life form) or unlocked storage space (to include clothing items and private magical storage spaces attached to deceased life forms) to activate this looting ability. Items looted by this ability are added directly to the user’s inventory (if applicable) or will appear in a temporary chest in their vicinity.]

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Logan looked on from a removed corner of the pocket dimension, a huge sphere of empty space, as massive, glistening dark violet tentacles moved inevitably towards the central suspended dais. Time skipped forwards and he saw himself wrapped in a tentacle’s grip, unconscious, his body pale and limp.

 

He had no feeling in the strange, trancelike out of body experience, but he was sure his body below was being crushed to death, ribs cracking under the pressure of the tentacle’s titanic grip.

 

Suddenly the scene vanished, and he was outside of the sphere now, floating alone in space, the splendor of the tremendous starscape laid out before him. The beauty of it awed him, and he floated there dumbfounded, a speck of dust in an endless sea of lights, shining in every color.

 

With a jolt, he realized how infinitesimally small he was, how utterly powerless, a rowboat in the open sea, a tiny mote of life existing at the whim of forces beyond his comprehension, easily extinguished by the faintest breeze.

 

The stars darkened, as if a shroud had been pulled over them. An overwhelming presence, felt but unseen, filled all of space. It was overbearing, commanding, tyrannical; it refused to be overshadowed by the stars, and so denied them their radiance.

 

Logan felt exposed in a way he had never experience before, vulnerable, like a lit candle in the eye of a hurricane, waiting for the inevitable end.

 

His continued life depended on the generosity of this… something, this other being that pervaded over all, that dominated existence itself. It laughed, a base rumbling that reverberated in his being. It wasn’t a human sound, but the intent was unmistakable. It laughed at his insignificance, his helplessness.

 

The universe around him, once expansive and bright, vibrant, and full of life, was now a smothering darkness that closed in around him, suffocating him, threatening to crush him to death. The overpowering laughter continued, mocking him as he was buried alive. The world closed in, his vision reduced to a single point of blackness, then nothing.

 

Logan awoke, panting, the image lingering in his mind.

 

“Mikey,” he thought, desperate for reassurance, for any connection, any sense of safety.

 

"Hey there buck-o! What's up? You look a bit pale; you didn't turn into a vampire or something while you were asleep, did you?" Mikey replied, his voice clear, piercing through the haze in Logan's mind.

 

After a moment, Mikey sensed his bodily companion's mood, Logan's unease seeping through the thin mental membrane that connected them.

 

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"Are you okay?" he asked, his tone switching from playful mockery to pensive concern.

 

“Yeah, I think so. Just a nightmare. Could you see it?” Logan said.

 

"No… but I can feel it. Your soul’s transition from death to the afterlife was interrupted. That’s not supposed to happen; in fact, I've never even heard of it happening. This isn't something I was trained to deal with, I'm sorry mate." Mikey said.

 

Mate?

 

“Don't be sorry. You came with me to help me, right? That’s more than I could ask of anyone. I guess you don't have much of a choice now, but thanks for being here."

 

Mikey didn’t respond, remaining silent as Logan recovered from the nightmare, slowly regaining his sense of agency after the dissociative experience of the dream.

 

He sat up in bed and discovered a roll of beige cloth and a bowl of stew on the table next to the bed. The stew's aroma intoxicated him, and he noticed for the first time since waking up how hungry he was.

 

He hadn't eaten since, when? Mikey's pocket dimension? He remembered eating something... Cheetos, and something else. What was it?

 

He focused on the memory, concentrating on it; the dais, glossy and perfectly flat, the absurd tie-dye beanbags, Mikey's ridiculous form—.

 

His mind blanked, as if he'd run headfirst into an invisible wall, and he sat staring dumbly at the air in front of him. He blinked several times, returning to himself.

 

The stew sat forgotten on the table beside the roll of cloth.

 

On the foot of the bed were a pair of rough looking pants, a long-sleeved linen shirt, and a pair of simple boots that looked like they’d cause more damage to his feet than their protection was worth. He mentally thanked Huck for them anyways.

 

He noticed a bowl of stew on the table next to him, its aroma drifting towards his nostrils, savory scents of spices and steamed vegetables causing him to salivate. He was starving, he realized, and began to scarf down the stew while giving the cloth roll a cursory inspection.

 

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