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Lumia 4 Part 2

Alistair found himself in an endless umber chamber that seemed to be underground. It contained a bunch of huts that orderly lined the walls. Huge bonfires blazed in the middle of the cavern with scarlet flames every hundred meters or so, providing the only light available. It looked rather empty and only a few people with strange-looking pets wandered around.

“Welcome to Xecro,” Fig announced.

“What now?” Alistair asked.

The girl tapped her finger to her lips thoughtfully. “Hmm… What to do… What to do… Ah, I know. I need to take you to someone.”

So she grabbed his arm and dragged him down the chamber.

Alistair looked around at the passing walls, huts, and the staring citizens who watched Fig drag him to who-knows-where. He was unsure of whether or not Fig wanted to murder him in a dark room or not, but he put his suspicions aside and decided that he would trust her.

By the time they skidded to a stop, Alistair’s vision was spinning and he felt as if he were going to keel over. He collapsed to the ground and panted heavily.

“Come on! Get up! We’re here,” Fig encouraged. When Alistair did not respond, she rolled her eyes. “Well, if you’re not going to get up, would you just look to your left?”

Alistair did so and found himself looking at not another hut, but a huge black tower that seemed to be go on and on and on and on. It had several small windows that looked like stars in the night sky and (Alistair swore that there were some were in the formation for Scorpio) a roof that ended in a sharp point that sprouted barbed wire like some sort of demented hairstyle. He was amazed at how breathtaking they had made it. But the tower suddenly reminded him of the mermaid door and he gave a slight shutter.

'I miss that door,' he thought. 'But there’s no turning back. That door belongs to a bunch of liars and idiots. I’ll probably never see it again,' that made him cringe, 'but that’s better than believing everything the Mastress and Fowlis say.'

“Here is the tower where the Overlord of Xecro resides,” Fig explained.

She tried to make Alistair stand up, but whined and complained that he was too tired, so she had to drag him into the structure by his wrist.

They entered the tower and found themselves in a circular room with dark walls. There was a spiral staircase in the center that seemed to go on for ever. A painting of some squid-shaped creature was hung on one of the far walls. It was expertly painted that Alistair thought that is was real for a moment. A cloaked figure stood expectantly at the foot of the staircase. He seemed to be waiting for them.

“Fig,” he said.

“Truss,” she responded.

“I see that you’ve brought a new one.”

“Yes. I trust that the Overlord is ready?”

“Indeed. Come.” He signaled them to follow him.

Fig propped the boy onto her shoulders and followed Truss up the staircase.

Yet again, Alistair felt a slight spark of doubt, but he crushed it, reassuring himself that these people rescued him and cared a whole lot about him. Of course, he was forced to go along with them because Fig was carrying him and he was too tired to walk by himself—never mind run away.

Several thousand stairs later (which was torture for Fig), they found themselves in a shadowy room that was illuminated only by a rather large candle that say on a podium that stood in the center. On a throne made of what seemed to be thick octopi tentacles sat who Alistair assumed was the Overlord. His body was lean and muscular, but not muscular enough so that he looked like a professional weightlifter. He had greyish skin and wore a ring of pebbles around his head. His left arm was made entirely out of bits of steel that were held together by loose wires that intertwined in a peculiar fashion. Next to him stood another figure who was completely covered in shadows so that only an outline of his body could be seen.

“The anticipated newcomer? Is this him?” the Overlord inquired. He had a deep, powerful voice that bounced off the walls like an out-of-control rubber ball.

Fig nodded and gestured to Alistair. “This is he, Alistair.”

“Interesting… He was taken by Lumia, right?”

“Yes.”

The Overlord gestured to Alistair. “Tell me your story, Alistair.”

He complied and the Overlord stared at him thoughtfully after he finished.

“Thatcher, take this young boy to his room. Fig may go also. Truss, I want to talk to you about that girl.”

The figure next to him nodded and walked briskly towards the staircase. Fig and Alistair followed.

As Fig carried him up the lengthy staircase, Alistair tried to get a good look at what Thatcher looked like, but the dark cloak that he appeared to be wearing gave no indication to what he may be masking.

When Alistair started to again doubt his trust in these new people, they came to a landing that led to a hallway that was scarcely illuminated by torches. Doors dotted the walls here and there and a brown carpet covered the floor. They stopped at a door that situated in a spot where they could no longer see the entrance to the hall and Thatcher opened the door. He grabbed a nearby torch and led them inside.

The torch illuminated a dark space with no windows or anything really all that decorative. Only an uncomfortable bed and a wool blanket was plopped in the middle of the floor.

Alistair wasn’t very impressed with it, but he knew that it was better than staying at Lumia just to be constantly lied to.

“Fig, you can take the room just down the hall,” Thatcher said.

Fig set Alistair onto the bed (which was about as comfy as lying on a bunch of sharp rocks) and left without another word.

Thatcher sat down next to Alistair and pulled off his cloak, revealing that he was boy with ragged brown hair, cat-shaped eyes, and a fox’s tail. He couldn’t be much older than Alistair, maybe thirteen or so. His fingers appeared shockingly webbed and he had leaves growing on his neck.

“Where you born that way?” Alistair questioned and immediately regretted it; he had sounded a bit rude and hadn’t meant to say it right away.

Thatcher (much to Alistair’s relief) didn’t seem to take offense, replying, “No, the Overlord did this to me.” When he saw the other boy’s look of horror, he quickly added, “It was a gift, don’t worry. It was much like what the mobsters at Lumia did to you, except they did it to me so I could be improved. Think of it as an upgrade.”

“Oh. So, how did you get here?”

Thatcher got a faraway look in his eye as if he were reliving a painful memory.

“You don’t need to answer that one,” Alistair assured.

Thatcher smiled. “Thanks. You know, they’ll probably give you some upgrades.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We do that with everyone we accept into our cause.”

Alistair’s eyes sparkled with wonder as he imagined what cool things they’d give him. Bat wings? A lion’s mane? Cat ears? The possibilities were endless.

A thought that made Alistair question his new allies suddenly struck him. “What cause?” He was fearing the worst.

“To make the world a better place,” he answered simply.

That wasn’t enough for Alistair. “How?’

“Well, we get rid of the vicious liars like Lumia and make the world the perfect place to live.”

Alistair suddenly felt as if he was fighting to keep his eyes open. “What are you going to do with me?”

“We knew that you had serious magic, even before Lumia did. We want you to fight with us, to help us, to help the world.”

Alistair yawned and shut his eyes. He felt Thatcher get up off his bed and heard him walk towards the door.

“Good night, Alistair,” he said.

Alistair was too tired to utter a reply. The last thing he heard was his door shutting before he was plunged into a world of dreams.

~

Alistair awoke in the dark. He became a little panicked and then he remembered where he was. He got up out of bed and groaned because of the pain that his aching muscles were bringing him. He soon got over it and, feeling his way along the wall, got to the door. He opened it and was instantly bathed in soft torchlight. He wasn’t very sure what he was supposed to be doing, so he walked his way along the rest of the hall which had remained unexplored. He kept count of the number of torches so he wouldn’t get lost, but found nothing spectacular.

During his walk, he remembered how he had been constantly doubting these new people. He felt awful for not respecting their hospitality and bringing him to a place where he belonged, so he vowed to never doubt them any longer. He flooded his mind with pleasant thoughts about them. He often thought about what kind of generous upgrades they would give him and what he would get to do for them in return for their kindness towards him.

The hall seemed to go on forever and he found himself losing count of the number of torchlights (although that would have been mostly due to him thinking about the life that laid ahead of him). However, he found himself needing to pause to give his aching body a break.

“Hopefully they’ll be able to give me better strength for an upgrade,” he panted thoughtfully.

He tried to regain count of how many torches there might be as he waited for his body to stop pulsing with pain. He concluded with 6470 torches and resumed his walk.

At what may have been the 13522 torches mark, they stopped and an endless void of darkness yawned before him.

Alistair contemplated on whether or not to proceed. What laid before him? Was it safe enough to go on? But curiosity overtook him and, taking a deep breath, he snatched a torch from its post and headed in.

The torch produced barely enough light for Alistair to see his hand in front of his face, but it was better than nothing. Nothing interesting could be spotted amongst the darkness anyway, but Alistair continued on nevertheless.

He looked back to see no light from the illuminated expanse of the hall.

'This is getting a bit freaky,' he thought.

But he swallowed his fear and unfortunately carried on, only to hear a slight hiss coming from an unknown location. Alistair looked around in fright, only to see the typical darkness. There was another hiss and a chill went up his spine.

'Maybe this was a bad idea,' he thought.

Suddenly, a creature lunged out from the darkness, toppling the boy to the ground, and sending the torch skittering to the ground, which led to it’s flame’s demise.

Alistair wrestled with the thing as it hissed and tried to lunge at several of his body parts with what might have been sharp claws, teeth, and maybe a tail. They rolled around the floor like an insane tumbleweed, hitting a wall a few times, but that never stalled the fight. Alistair tried to attack the thing once, just to turn the tables and maybe make the thing go on defense, but he only managed to drive his fist into what might had been its mouth (he didn’t want to think of what else it might have been). The creature was keeping him restricted to fighting on the ground, meaning that Alistair couldn’t stand up. It probably wouldn’t matter because it would probably end up tripping him in the end.

Alistair could feel scratches and gashes forming along his body, but he kept trying to defend himself, hopefully to defy death. Before he knew it, he was rolling in his own blood. The feeling disgusted him (not to mention terrified him. After all, he had just been reformed from the remnants of his body), but he never gave up the fight.

Suddenly, he remembered one of the spells that Fowlis had taught him. He made the peace symbol with one of his hands and made a fist with the other. Between struggles with the creature, he somehow managed to wave his legs around frantically. He got the feeling of static electricity shocks on the tips of his fingers and his attacker was thrown off. He got up as fast as he could and ran in a random direction. He ended up slamming into a wall. He tried it again and succeeded in running down the hallway. He was unsure if he was running down the way he came, but he never dared to slow down.

He felt as if his lungs were some out-of-control bonfire and his legs were soggy noodles. His head pounded and his mouth felt like a mini Sahara Desert. He felt dizzy from lack of water and collapsed to the ground.

Water.

The thought made him crave the liquid more than he had ever wanted a family. He almost broke out in tears at the thought of never being able to have fresh, ice-cold water in his mouth again.

Amongst his fantasies of water, he had failed to hear footsteps tapping their way towards them.

“Well, judging by the scratches, I see you’ve encountered Jet,” a sharp female voice said nearby.

Alistair’s head shot up and looked around for the voice.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Well, not as bad as Jet did,” the voice said. “Stand up, it’s time for your upgrades.”