Each swing of the knights’ swords that met the black beast's flesh, were countered by the encroaching swarm of beasts that joined the fray. Many knights fell victim to groups of beasts' claws while others were battered by their clenched fists after some of the knights had been pulled off their horses. Christofer could hear the faint screams of the beasts as if their very souls were screaming for vengeance. He heard another scream, turned his head and saw that one of the knights was impaled on one of the larger beast’s massive claws. The man was lifted into the air and thrown off his horse. Christofer didn’t stop for a single instant unless he had to dodge an incoming blow, running with all his might.

  “Why does this shit keep happening?!” he screamed furiously as he dodged yet another knight’s blade and another beast charging against one another.

  “Fate, happenstance? Who can tell? This is a dream. But the dream belongs to the other,” the gecko answered as Christofer ran, his breath heavy with exhaustion.

  The endless chatter and screeches of the beasts were silenced one by one as arrows began to arc across the battlefield. Christofer rolled on the ground as an arrow flew by his face with a hair's breadth, lodging itself in the face of a beast in behind him. Branching, electrifying pain spread out from his left forearm as if he had struck the ulnar nerve when the arm suddenly dissolved and reformed into a black, semi-solid tendril-like substance, ending with a wispy form of a clawed hand. It pulled the dead beast in front of him. Numerous thuds were heard as arrows repeatedly began hitting its corpse.

  “What the hell?” Christofer blurted out as he tried to gain the attention of the gecko.

  The hand moved on its own and stabbed the beast with his clawed hand. Christofer peered out from the opened wound. Within the torrential rain of arrows, four beasts were unimpeded, circling the horses like vultures despite their backs becoming increasingly reminiscent of porcupines.

  “My best guess? The ability of the other. Your subconscious will make you follow the path, steer you if need be. As is the nature of all memories,” the gecko replied.

  Christofer’s hand turned back to its original state with a numb prickly sensation. As strength left his arm. He could no longer hold the weight of the beast. With the shield gone, he bolted.

  A loud noise reverberated as a large ballista bolt pierced seven of the beasts in rapid succession, creating a gruesome instant kebab before the friction caused by the collective weight of the beasts stopped its momentum. Christofer’s head jerked around to locate the source for a moment before he returned to a more panicked sprint.

  Noticing an exposed structure in the hill, he ran for cover, hoping to hide there. On the side of the building inside of the hill, he could make out another of those familiar symbols, a red handprint around a lock. Christofer pressed his left hand against the mark without hesitation. An uneasy electrifying feeling spread throughout his body, like before with his arm, but now tenfold more powerful, and he found himself unable to breathe. His body seemed to twitch and distort, turning into a dark smoky mist and seeped through the cracks as if he was dust and the other end was a vacuum cleaner. The world shifted to shades of green as if he was suddenly wearing a pair of antique night vision goggles. Reforming back into his old self on the other side, panting like a dog to regain his breath while his sight gradually returned to normality. A silhouette of black smoke hung in the air as he looked down on his hand.

  The wound that had previously clotted had once more begun bleeding profusely, creating a small puddle on the ground. He looked at his reflection in the puddle on the floor, smearing it out to a larger puddle. Something that would be able to take his size. He hunched down, peered into the blood puddle. Hoping. Squinting to see a reflection, the scenery reflected changed. He jumped and fell in complete silence into what felt like a deep chasm. As he fell through the darkness, he heard whispers that spoke of worlds left behind and worlds to come, until they faded gradually, leaving him in silence.

  Strange fragments flickered, images, memories. Above the cries of the fallen beasts arose new buildings, built on the bodies of the slain. Another image took its place, the pine trees that shaded the roads to the splendid city had been shaped into the engines of the city's demise, the memories faded one by one, like mirages in the darkness. The desolate silence gave voice to thoughts that pierced his broken mind. His memories of twenty-six years of life flowed like a kaleidoscope as the sensation of falling increased, despite knowing that he was standing motionless in perfect equilibrium, peaceful and still yet lacking substance. He could feel the rhythmic beating of his heart from the wound on his left hand and from his growing heat in his shoulder. A single drop of blood collided with the dark below radiating crimson ripples, continuously resonating in a way that was synonymous with the requiem of an opera singer holding their voice at the highest pitch, wavering yet withstanding.

  The heat from his shoulder grew in intensity as a spark within ignited a flame, spreading down from his shoulder to his navel. He couldn't hold back his muffled screams as he felt it carving its way through his skin, curving, branching, weaving as coiling lines flowed and twisted within as emotions and memories bubbled to the surface. Embers that kept igniting.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  His heartbeat resonated with the numb dark void around him as he sank deeper with each beating of his heart, searing waves into the void, like a lump of hot coal in the sea. The emotions were pushed down, settled beneath and then bubbled up as the liquid rose with the crimson color deepening with each bursting bubble.

  Sinking into its warm embrace, he could feel it begin to flow onto his fingers and between the joints of his bones, flowing up his arm and into his ribs. He could no longer push down the memories, as a directionless fire burned within them. The colors gradually coalesced into an increasingly darker mass before him. Details and veins grew as it began to beat in unison with his own. Seared into the left side of the large heart was a familiar symbol of the lock and hand. On the right side was a green glow from within elaborate carvings of groves and tribal horns spiraling around the indentation for his right palm. The glow called to him, to release the chains that bound him as his right hand moved instinctively and came into contact with the symbol.

  The tribal horns connected as fractures spiraled outwards, from symbol to symbol until it went full circle, releasing a plug from which emotions flowed into him like molten scorn. Blistering white pain, anger and hatred engulfed him, burning all to nothing, leaving only a dark cinder of self at his core as the crimson void grew into a blinding white light.

  * * *

  Christofer awoke to two faces, Ike and the captain, both white as milk, standing above him. They shook in an unnatural way, and it wasn’t until he saw the orange leaves dancing in the moonlight and heard the creaking wooden wheels trundle forwards that he put two and two together. The captain was the first to speak with a raspy deep voice as if his throat was dry.

  “Trespasser, you-“ the captain coughed and continued, “What happened to you? We heard screams.. and the image we saw afterward-”

  That was a good question, what had just happened? He didn’t know. Thoughts raced around in his head, searching for any feasible explanation. But each query led to the same end result, nothing. For a minute he didn’t move. He still couldn’t understand what had just happened. Suddenly pieces were gradually coming back to him.

  “I.. think I was attacked by a deformed shadow-ape-thing. It bit me and then-“

  Christofer tried to get up. He tried to raise his arm, yet his right arm was broken. The bones were completely fractured, bruised and battered. He groaned in pain at the effort and the bandages that he was wrapped in got slightly dyed with red.

  “..and then you went berserk?” the captain continued, “I saw the carnage from your rampage. That was the first time I’ve seen a troll killed with a mug and I hope it will be the last.”

  Christofer looked down at his body, he was wrapped like a mummy with the exception of his right arm and head. A large red crack was visible on his right hand, with darkened veins spreading from the hand down to his elbow, as if it had been struck by lightning. His other arm was wrapped tightly with a bandage, splashes of red covering deep gashes. The wound on his left hand had, like his right hand, clotted since earlier.

  “Oooh,” Christofer said nonchalantly with a quiet delirious voice, “Troll? Those are real?” with his attention fading somewhere along the way as he looked into the sky through the branches and dancing orange leaves, watching foliage blur past.

  The trundle of the wheels continuously creaked as the horses pulled the carriage over the rough terrain. With a loud noise, the wheels of the carriage toppled over a sharp stone on the road and shook the carriage as the road shifted to an old cobblestone road.

  Grass and weeds grew through sides of pale rocks on the ground. When the flurry of motion became too much he looked up ahead and fixed his gaze on a particular tree, following it as it slowly approached, streaked past, and then gradually receded behind him. His head was starting to get a little dizzy, so he leaned back again. A meteor etched a brief, spectacular arc, burning with a steady, strong flame as it faded somewhere in the distance as a line faded amidst the clouds.

  The dance of leaves gradually ended, resulting in Christofer turning his head to the side. A wide swath of farmland stretched out as far as his eyes could see in the night, lit up by the gentle moonlight. Ike leaned forwards and spoke up as soon he saw the movement.

  “Don’t sleep now, trespasser, you got a serious concussion fighting that troll. Our rushed patch job with bandages won’t last for long. We’re going for a little detour to visit herbalist Gerard,” Ike said.

  Christofer made a tired nod at the words.

  “We’ll be there in a few hours, don’t fall asleep,” Ike continued.

  “Herbalist Gerard? Is he any good?” Christofer said slowly.

  “He’s cheap,” the captain chimed in without turning around.

  With the branches finally out of the way, he could see the night sky clearly as it slowly twisted around up in the atmosphere, the stars shining brightly as they appeared to move with the twist. The night sky shone brightly with stars. Unwinking, constant. Suns and worlds by the million. Dizzying constellations, cold fire in every primary hue.

  It was a calming experience. In the city, the smog of car exhausts would always cover the night sky. Dark clouds, illuminated by the moonlight, obscured the stars occasionally during their travels. Soon they arrived in front of a large stone building, with the shine of a warm lamp glowing from the windows. The lantern beside the hanging sign made sure they could read the name: Herbalist Gerard.

  “We’re here!” the Captain roared. “You, get the other side,” he said as he instructed Ike to grab the lower portion of the stretcher.

  “Alright,” The captain grabbed the upper portion of it. “One, two, three-” they lifted it off the carriage.