Off to a Good Start

[Reece]

Within mere moments of stepping through the portal from the Nexus to the Pale Moors, Yajima was soaked through and chilled to the bone. The rain beat down harshly, and obviously had no plans of letting up any time soon. He may not be able to die (or rather, remain dead), now that he was one of these “Primes” that he'd seen mentioned on the Dataverse, but that certainly didn't make him suddenly immune to all discomfort... and it likely wouldn't save him from from hypothermia either; something which certainly didn't sound pleasant, even if he could survive it.

So it'd probably be for the best if he found Darkshire sooner, rather than later. Luckily, just in-front of him was a muddy path which led away from the gate; presumably in the direction of the settlement. Peering into the distance, through the thick curtain of water, he was almost certain he could make out a large wall a couple miles down the trail ... or possibly it was just a big rock. It wasn't like he knew this landscape remotely well, after all. Hell, for all he was aware, that lump on the horizon could well be some sort of giant monster indigenous to the area.

Suppressing the urge to take out his Dataverse device and pull up a map – he had no idea whether that thing was waterproof or not – Yajima squelched stoically down the “path”; which currently resembled a small, dirty stream more than anything else. It was no wonder the people of Darkshire were so depressed if this was the kind of weather they dealt with upon a routine basis. He'd probably be pretty depressed living here even if there wasn't an ongoing zombie apocalypse.

From what he'd read so far, the Moors had once been a bright and peaceful land, much as Camelot was now, back before the war... did the inhabitants of Darkshire truly believe that a return to those days was possible? Or were they perhaps simply seeking to avenge the loss of the land they once loved by causing as much trouble for Dracula as they could before succumbing to their inevitable, eventual defeat?

Musing over the fate of this tragic place, and worrying about just how doomed Darkshire might really be, Yajima wandered along the sopping path for a quarter of an hour or so, encountering no one in that time. Not that that said much. Between the howling of the wind, the noise of the deluge as it poured, and the waterfall of droplets clouding his vision, all it would have taken for someone to pass him by undetected would be for them to have put at least a few feet between themselves and the edge of the road.

Not that it really mattered to him, of course. He was a Prime, and Primes were immortal. He wasn't even thinking about being careful. The Dataverse was filled with stories, rumours, historical accounts, and more boasts than could be counted written about or by powerful Primes. As such, despite having read a few warnings about some Secondaries being almost as powerful as – if not more powerful than – Primes, he didn't truly believe that he could possibly die today … as far as he was concerned, the weather itself was his greatest enemy.

That, of course, was utter nonsense, as the Revenant well knew.
The Revenant – a six-foot-tall skeleton with grime-encrusted bones and a tattered, somewhat mouldy, hooded black robe – was only a secondary (summoned by a Prime long-since banished to the Underverse, along with the rest of Diablo's Army) but it was also a powerful telepath, and held a special sort of hatred for anyone who looked down on Secondaries, as well as for anyone who refused to fear death. Back when it had been human, the Revenant had been so terrified of dying that it had resorted to necromancy in order to avoid it. It just didn't seem fair to it that some people could get around death so easily, here in the Omniverse.

Unknowingly, simply by being present in its general vicinity, Yajima had infuriated the undead being.
Obviously, though, he had no idea that he was anywhere near it, and thus was taken completely by surprise when a pair of rotting, dessicated corpses charged out of the deluge and knocked him from his feet.

“Buraaaiighnnnz!” one of the zombies roared – its ruined vocal chords utterly mangling the word – it's gaping maw barely more than an inch from Yajima's face; yellow, black and brown teeth crowding its unnaturally wide jaws as a translucent, pale green, mucous-like substance which – must surely have been some sort of saliva – spattered down on his face. Half its skin appeared to have sloughed off or rotted away, and what was left was either sagging as though soon to fall as well, or had shrunk back to its bones, as if there was no fat or muscle beneath at all; which most likely was the case, actually. Its eyes were nothing more than sunken pits, and large clumps of its grey hair had fallen out in places. The only part of its anatomy which looked even remotely alive was the swollen, blistered and much-too-long tongue which twitched and convulsed madly in its mouth, dripping with that putrid saliva. Its clothing was so far beyond tattered that it now seemed to consist more of holes and tears than intact fabric. And it was filthy. Worst of all, though, was the smell.

Yajima found himself gagging, and for a moment feared that he wouldn't even manage to put up a fight; that the repugnant stench alone would incapacitate him; that he'd be able to do nothing more threatening than vomit on his aggressors as they ate him alive.

And then the zombie's head darted forwards, mouth opening even wider – too wide to be possible, in fact; as though its bones were elastic – before snapping shut around his face; its lower teeth digging into the bottom of his chin, whilst the upper ones struck the top of his head, and wherever they broke his skin, Yajima burned, as that vile ichor seeped into the cuts.

Shrieking at the pain of it, he lashed out with his fists, again and again making contact with the thing's decomposing flesh, his irises altering the their shape, changing to resemble the machina symbol; the dashed circle, which glowed a bright pink. This effect was excessively draining to maintain for extended periods, and so was normally used just to enhance a single blow. Now, though, each and every punch he threw was hitting at the absolute limit of his significantly-enhanced strength.

Normally, blows this powerful could knock back an opponent by a good few meters, yet in this case the undead abomination had its talons dug into his shoulders and his head clamped firmly in its mouth, and was holding itself in place with its own not-insignificant strength … strong as it may have been, though, it was also fragile.

His strikes tore through flesh and shattered bone with ease. The monster was clearly even more frail than a regular human. As his hands pierced its chest, over and over, he could have sworn that he felt something (or rather, some things) crawling upon him, as if they were being knocked free when the oily, rotten flesh burst and fell away every time one of his fists landed. Was the zombie seriously filled with maggots?

He'd have been repulsed if he weren't so terrified. The pressure on his skull was growing by the moment. It likely wouldn't be much longer before his bones began to snap. He screamed again, as his vision began to blur … and then the monster licked him, and some of that foul slime found its way into his left eye.

Oh. The. Motherfucking. Pain.
It made the burning in his cuts seem like a finger dipped in hot water for a couple seconds, compared to a dive into a pool of molten rock. He felt as if he eyeball was melting. Hell, maybe it was.

Losing what little self control had remained to him, he reached up and literally tore off the monster's lower jaw; catching it with both hands and snapping the bone in half, before tossing the shards aside.

Without that to hold it in place, the zombie fell to the ground immediately. Unknowingly, Yajima had completely annihilated its chest, to the point that its entire lower body had simply dropped off. Now all that remained was half a torso, two arms, and most of its head.

Rolling over, so that he was kneeling above it, now – rather than the opposite, as had been the case – he punched the vile creature in the face. Then punched again. And again. And again.

The first blow had been more than enough to make the kill ... yet Yajima could no longer see from his left eye, was in intense pain, and – frankly – wasn't feeling particularly merciful. Before he'd had his fill of turning its head to paste, though, the factor was struck from behind – remembering much too late that, yes, there were two of them – and knocked face-first into the muddied remains of the first's brain matter.

The creature twitched and shivered madly on his back; biting again and again at his skull. Whilst its partner had sought to simply shatter his bones to get at the grey matter within, this one seemed to be attempting to use its teeth as miniature jackhammers; repeated, rapid bites, rather than crushing or chewing upon the bone. And as with the other, its teeth – blunt though they were – had soon torn through skin, and more of that vile saliva had seeped into his body.

He was no longer afraid, though. At least, not of the zombie itself. He had beaten the first, and knew he could overpower this one as well. What that damned ichor was doing to his insides was another matter altogether, though. Anything that felt so horrific surely couldn't be good for his health.

He had completely forgotten all about Primes and Secondaries, in his panic. Forgotten that he'd just come back a few days later if ever he should die. All he could focus on was the fact that there was what amounted to a walking sack of plague crouched on his back and trying desperately to devour his brain; and that the longer he allowed it to remain there, the worse his chances of recovering from whatever diseases it carried would be.

Letting lose a wordless battle-cry, Yajima struggled up onto all fours, then kicked off the ground.

The zombie paused. It may have been an apparently mindless killing machine, but it did seem to have retained enough of its mental faculties to experience confusion.

It barely put up any resistance at all when he reached around behind his back, grabbed it by an arm, and swung it round beneath him. In the moment it took him to reach the apex of his twenty-meter leap, Yajima had grabbed its other arm as well, and now held it pointed face-down towards the ground beneath them. He knelt on its back with one knee, and placed his other foot on its skull.

Seeming to finally realise what was going on, the dessicated monstrosity began squirming and thrashing madly, a high-pitched keening noise which might have been some sort of scream pouring from its dessicated throat.

It was to no avail, though. He held it tight, and an instant later they landed. Both its torso and head caved in immediately; splattering the ground with gore and ichor.

Yajima was breathing heavily, his limbs might as well have been forged from lead, and his stomach was roiling at the nauseating stench. Splatting another of the reanimated corpses had only worsened the smell, unsurprisingly. The cuts on his shoulders and back, where those talons had dug in, throbbed painfully … yet were nothing compared to the intense burning where he'd been bitten … just as those wounds were similarly obscured by the indescribable agony that was his eye socket. He wasn't sure he even still had two eyes at this point.

Exhausted, sickened, and in more pain than he had previously thought possible (and given that he'd already been brutally murdered once, back in his home world, achieving this was by no means a meagre feat), he nevertheless managed to force himself to his feet.

There was one more foe left to face. He'd spotted it only whilst in mid-air; the black-cloaked figure lurking in the shadow of a withered old tree off to one side of the road, only the pale bone beneath its hood giving away its presence as it looked up to keep its vacant eye sockets locked on the combatants during their flight.

“I'm ready.” he snarled, fists clenching at his sides, as he lowered himself into some approximation of a proper fighting stance, glaring directly at the tree as it shuddered in the wind. “Come on out, zombie.”

“Zombie?” the voice was quiet as a whisper, and cold as an icy wind. Despite the heavy, unabated rainfall, he could somehow make it out clearly. “You misunderstand, boy.”

He expected an elaboration, but none came. The cloaked figure began to move slowly – very, very slowly; appearing about as agile as an arthritic tortoise – making its way through the long grass which lay between the pathway and its tree.

As the last dregs of adrenaline faded from his system, and it became increasingly difficult for him to remain upright at all, much less continue holding up his arms, Yajima had to wonder whether it was deliberately taking its time. Did it realise how tired he was? Could it make out the exhaustion evident in his posture even through this deluge? Or was it waiting for something else?

As the vision in his one good eye began to blur, he had to wonder if that was mere exhaustion, or something more?

Was this the result of whatever contaminants had lurked within the saliva of those rotting husks?

Most likely. It would kill him anyway, he felt sure … so why should he bother to fight it? Wouldn't it be easier to just rest?

He could slip away in peace, and when next he was reborn he would know better than to return to this foul place-

He sunk to his knees, his arms hanging limply by his sides as the water – and the toxins now surely infusing much of his blood – began to numb him to the pain he had been feeling. Even the hellish agony in his eye socket was growing distant as his consciousness gradually withdrew.

-and know not to mess with any more devilishly handsome skeletons.

Wait. What?

Damn.

Huh?

“I hate when that happens.”

He shrieked, suddenly falling backwards into the mud. The monster was standing right in front of him, one hand outstretched as though to touch his forehead. When had it gotten so close?

“It's so irritating, but I just haven't had the same ability to focus since I died.” the skeleton gave a disappointed sigh.

“Wh- what- what are you!?”

“I am a Revenant. Once, I was more ... or, perhaps less? But now? I am only a Revenant.” it tilted its head to one side, as though considering answering the question in greater detail, but then straightened up, not bothering to explain itself further. Instead, it reached out for him again.

This time, though, Yajima was ready for it. The fact that it was still moving as slowly as ever helped too. Even in spite of his exhaustion and the numbing ooze which had permeated his body, he was able to catch the creature's wrist as it moved towards him, and he smirked as he tightened his grip. These old bones would shatter immediately, he had no doubt.

The creature might have some sort of telepathic powers (at least, he was assuming that what it had done to him was a kind of telepathy) but it had made a big mistake when it had placed such faith in those powers that it had dared to come so close. This fight was over now.

A couple moments later, Yajima lost his grin.

The bones were colder than ice, and no matter how he squeezed, they just would not shatter … and, he realised with a growing sense of horror, his hand was slowly being covered in a layer of rime. Grunting with effort, he put all the strength he could muster into closing his fist- and was rewarded with a sharp crack … and a wave of searing pain.

For an instant there he'd thought that he'd been successful and had at least injured the creature. As soon as he felt that pain, though, and noticed the red liquid pouring from the cuts – no, not cuts; the cracks – in his hand, he quickly deduced the truth.

No longer having the energy to put up a fight, he let his head hang and his muscles slacken. It was over. He couldn't say for sure whether this overwhelming desire to sleep came from his own thoughts or those of the Revenant … but it hardly mattered anymore. He'd lost, that much was obvious. He was completely spent. There was nothing he could do to hold it off any longer.

And if he couldn't even make contact with his enemy without injuring himself, then why bother?

“This is the true power of a Revenant; the chill touch.” the undead spoke for the first time without any prompting; gloating as it casually regarded the shattered mess that Yajima had made of his hand. “Everyone always assumes that psychics must be ranged combatants, for some reason. No one ever seems to comprehend the notion of using telepathy simply as a means of buying time until we're close enough to fight effectively. So stupid.”

Reaching over with its other arm this time, the skeleton lightly rested the hand on Yajima's waterlogged hair. This weather was perfect for it's purposes. Everything froze so much faster when it was soaked. Already the hoarfrost was spreading steadily through the boy's hair. In little more than a minute, it would reach his brain, and then that would be that.

[Reece]

He didn't bother trying to resist. He was beyond exhausted, by this point. Even if the Revenant were to suddenly drop dead this very moment, there was no way he'd have the energy to reach Darkshire. He'd just collapse out here in the open, and likely sleep until past midnight. Hell, it was the middle of the day right now and he'd already been assaulted by no less than three undead in the twenty minutes or so he'd spent in the Moors. There was absolutely no chance that he could possibly escape notice until he'd awoken...

Assuming he could awaken, even if he was left alone. He still had no idea how serious the infections from that saliva would be, after all. Yajima gave one last defeated sigh, as the hoarfrost spread across his scalp. So much for trying to help out the people of Darkshire. He should have known that he'd be useless in a fight without Apparition. So what if he was strong? The Revenant had already displayed two abilities more powerful than anything he could do.

And judging by the fact that it didn't even have a name of its own, the creature was likely no more than a minion. How in hell was he supposed to protect people from the likes of Dracula if he couldn't even stand up to one lousy skeleton?

He had no choice, he supposed, other than to die here and make sure to avoid this verse in future; at the very least until he'd succeeded in summoning his machina. The Pale Moors were way beyond his level. He could only hope that somewhere there was a verse in which he could find some way of earning Omnilium without having to fight; since obviously everyone here had abilities far more impressive than his own.

Hell, even those zombies had had that toxic ichor of theirs in addition to super-strength. He had wanted to believe that he could be useful even without the giant robot he had piloted back home, but that was obviously not the case. There was simply no way that a normal human could contend with such powerful magic.

Thunk!

Surprised by the sudden noise, he looked up. The Revenant now had what looked like a crossbow quarrel rammed into the side of its skull, which was gradually freezing over. Removing its hand from Yajima's head – shattering many frozen hairs in the process – it yanked the bolt free, showing not the slightest discomfort at having taken what likely would have been a fatal blow to one of its zombie minions.

“Get away from that boy, monster!”

Down the waterlogged road, in the direction from which the quarrel had sped, two men in medieval, Western-style armour were splashing their way towards them. The pair were dressed mostly in brown leather, but also wore metal breastplates. Each was carrying a crossbow, and had a sword sheathed upon his hip.

They came to a stop a few meters away, their weapons pointed directly at the Revenant.

“Go ahead, shoot.” it told them calmly, with not the slightest hint of fear in its voice. “If you can, that is.”

“If we can? Of course we can shoot you! Who'd ever hesitate to kill a monster like you!?” shouted the younger of the pair – a blond man who must have been in his early twenties – before utterly failing to do a thing. For a few seconds, the three others watched and waited on him. His partner's patience gave out first.

“Seriously, Recur? I knew you were useless, but this really is impressively pathetic, even for you.” the older of the guards – a tall, thin-faced black man who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties and had a large number of thin, waist-length braids tied back in a ponytail – commented, giving a disappointed sigh.

“Wh-what? Why can't I move...!? And I'm not useless!”

“You do realise that telepaths normally struggle to even transmit their thoughts during combat, much less actually inhibit movement, don't you? To have been completely frozen in place, and while that thing's focus is split between the both of us and probably the kid as well? How little willpower can one man possibly have?”

“... What's a 'telepath'?”

“... Forget it. It doesn't matter.”

“You think you can do any better?” the Revenant inquired in its usual near-whispered, icy tone. This time around, though, there seemed the tiniest smidgeon of genuine curiosity present in its voice … or perhaps that was nothing more than Yajima's imagination. He was certainly curious, at least. Hell, at this point curiosity was pretty much the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the numbing cold and utter exhaustion he felt.

It certainly wasn't hope responsible for that. These two didn't stand a chance, and he knew it. The Revenant was far more powerful than its minions had been, and had already immobilised one of them. As much as he wished it was possible, there was just no way an ordinary, average town guard could hope to face such a creature and live. It may have been just an underling of some greater threat, but that didn't necessarily make it weak, as Yajima had found out to his cost. If he'd had the strength, he would have yelled at the man to flee. He desperately wanted to, but as it was he could barely muster the energy to keep his eyes open. A low murmur was the best he was able to manage, and the wind snatched his words away long before the guards could pick up on them.

“Of course.” The guardsman raised his crossbow and fired without the slightest hesitation.

The bolt took the skeleton in its neck, knocking free one of its vertebrae entirely. For an instant, time seemed to freeze. The dark-skinned man stood there calmly, arm outstretched, now-empty crossbow still precisely aimed at its target. His partner frowned, clearly unhappy as his superior made him look even more incompetent than he actually was by comparison. Yajima's jaw dropped.

And then the Revenant's head fell, landing upside-down in the stream/path with a light plop! A moment thereafter, the magic locking its bones together failed, and the entire skeleton fell apart. The only pieces which remained in place were its radius and ulna; the forearm bones to which the factor's frozen hand still held tightly.

“H-how did you do that?” Yajima stammered, gazing up at the man before him in wide-eyed amazement. Shock temporarily returning some clarity to his muddled thoughts, and granting him the strength to speak. Not much strength beyond that, unfortunately, but speech was better than nothing.

“I shot it, obviously.” he responded simply, before turning to his incompetent partner and instructing him to help the boy stand.

“B-but it was so strong … it shouldn't have taken just a single blow … it couldn't.”

“What're you talking about, kid? That thing was small fry; nothing more than a minor lich; a skeleton with a little bit of magic. Even Recur here could have taken it out if he hadn't been dumb enough to let it get inside its head.” he didn't particularly care if the kid thought that having good aim made him some kind of legendary hero, but he figured it best to keep the conversation going as long as he could; in the state he was in, if the boy fell asleep, he might never awaken … at least, not without spending a few days in the Astral Realm, assuming he was a Prime.

He was fairly certain that the kid was a Prime, since he hadn't failed to spot the remains of those zombies, and doubted a normal teenager could have taken out two undead and held off another, even if he had lost in the end. Not a particularly powerful Prime, if he was one, but still a better fighter than most Secondaries his age.

As he spoke, he and Recur helped the boy to his feet, placing one of his arms over each of their shoulders and beginning to lead him further down the path to Darkshire.

“Yeah, well, it's not like I was expecting the stupid thing to have fucking mind control powers, was I, Sarge?” the blond man huffed. Seriously, that guy was such a failure.

The boy was hanging his head, either he'd finally given in to sleep, or he was just depressed at the thought of being even less competent than Recur. That was understandable. Anyone would have been.

“You still conscious, kid?” the sergeant asked, shaking him lightly. The boy looked up at him, and though he never flinched – both in the Moors and in his home world, he'd seen his fair share of carnage – the guardsman wasn't able to suppress the frown which formed upon his face. Gods, that eye was a mess.

“Uh-huh … 'm awake … why?” the reply was weary and indistinct; already the clarity he'd shown a moment ago was fading. It'd not be a few minutes more before they reached the gates; they were so close he could practically smell the town. To get so near to salvation, only to have the boy die now … well, just because it wouldn't be anything he hadn't experienced before, that didn't mean he was okay with seeing it again. The deaths of children were always the hardest to accept.

“It'd probably be for the best if you didn't sleep.”

“Yeah, try stay awake, kid, you'll be better off for it.” whereas his sergeant's tone had been cool and professional, Recur didn't manage to keep the despondency from his voice. He knew full well how this would likely end, and didn't like it any more than his superior. They had some fairly powerful healers in Darkshire, of course (hell, the town likely would have been wiped off the map long ago if they hadn't), but they all had limits to their powers – as the existence of the Mayor's undead garrison constantly reminded everyone – and, well, the state this boy was in...

The kid glanced over at him and opened his mouth, as though to ask what he meant, before apparently working it out for himself.

“Oh.” he said instead. They waited in silence for him to go on, until half a minute or so had elapsed and he finally spoke up. He asked how they'd known to find him out there. It was obvious from the boy's distant expression that he was barely listening as it was explained to him, but they tried their best to help him retain consciousness.

He'd screamed fairly loudly when those undead had attacked, and the two of them had been returning from a patrol at the time (the farmland which lay outside the comparative safety of the town's walls needed protecting too, after all); they'd heard his cries and come running, it was that simple. If they'd returned even a minute later, or if he'd been attacked just a minute earlier, then there would have been no chance at all for him. It was luck, more than anything, which had saved his life.

They told him much more than just that, but as they reached the town and walked its streets, Yajima's thoughts grew ever duller, and afterwards – other than a vague recollection of entering a building full of sick and injured people, then being handed off to an old woman in a white and red robe – he was able to remember nothing else of his journey.

[Reece]

Yajima stared up at the ceiling. The only pain he now felt was a dull ache in the eye which that creature had licked, and which had apparently been bandaged over after those guards had dropped him off here. So far as he could tell, all of his other injuries had been healed. Whatever magic they'd used – and it had to have been magic, he was sure, for given the medieval look of this building, there was no chance in hell that it'd been technology – had even gone so far as to repair and clean his clothing.

He still felt rather tired, despite having apparently slept through almost an entire day – through the long, narrow windows on the opposite side of the room from his bed, the sun was just visible above the Eastern horizon – but even so, he couldn't just allow himself to laze around like this. He'd reached Darkshire, but had lost all hope that he might be able to defend it. At least, not yet. He wouldn't give up on protecting these people, of course, but had to find some way of earning Omnilium that wouldn't get him killed, for the time being; once he was able to summon Apparition then that would change everything.

Oh yes, he was looking forward to that day very much. In the mean time, though; he forced himself upright, and was immediately struck by a spell of dizziness. Damn. He was more worn out than he'd realised. How, though, he wasn't exactly sure, considering how long he must have slept already. Still, he wasn't exhausted, not yet, at least. Just as he was about to slip out of bed, though, a young, dark-haired woman who'd been tending another patient nearby, and who was dressed in what looked to be a pale pink nurse's uniform, glanced over his way.

“Gah!” she cried, and left the other man – who appeared to be fast asleep – to rush over to his bedside. “No, no, please, don't get up!”

She seemed rather frantic, for some reason, but not really having the strength to resist, he allowed her to push him back down and pull up his sheets. She smiled slightly when he didn't struggle, then took note of the fact that the boy was staring at her like she was a crazy person, and blushed a little.

“Er, sorry about that, but you really shouldn't leave. The Archwitch's magic drains your energy, sir, if you try anything remotely strenuous then you'll just collapse. Even walking could be too much for you!” she was rather emotive, this lady; as she spoke she also gestured emphatically, as though waving her hands around could actually make her point any clearer.

“Uh … the 'Archwitch'?” he wasn't sure why she seemed to consider it perfectly alright that some witch was apparently stealing energy from him, but he'd likely have been more concerned about the situation had she seemed more professional. She didn't exactly give the impression of being the cunning minion of some nefarious villain, after all. As it was, the question came out sounding more bemused than anything.

“Oh, yes, of course, you're a visitor!” her eyes widening, she seemed genuinely surprised by this 'revelation'. He was beginning to get the impression that she wasn't exactly the sharpest scalpel in the box. “The Archwitch is the head cleric of this healing house. She's very powerful, but she's also old and tires easily, so once her patients are out of critical condition, she uses her enchantments to pass the burden of the healing magic onto their bodies. That way, she's able to treat multiple people at once, rather than having to focus on one at a time, you see?”

“Hmm, yeah. I guess that's how I managed to sleep through an entire day then, huh?” it was a pity he'd wasted that first day here, but he could hardly blame the old woman for doing things as she did, it only made sense to try and treat as many people as possible, after all. He doubted that his time management was particularly high on her list of priorities. He was thankful, in fact; he hadn't wasted nearly as long as he would have done, had he actually been killed out there.

“Actually, you were admitted here two days ago.”

“Two days?” Gah! It was almost as bad as having died! He groaned. As his first and only fight since being kidnapped by Omni had proven, he was practically helpless here without a machina … and he'd already went and promised that guy from AntiOmni.org that he'd help him fight a dragon at some point. He really needed that robot. Who knew how soon trouble might arise again? On his way to the town, he hadn't even managed to walk for twenty minutes before running into a band of undead; they weren't exactly scarce in the area.

“I have to go. Now.” he struggled to sit, but was again held down by the nurse, and was reminded that he did not have the strength to resist in his current state.

“Nope. No way. Not happening. Your eye hasn't healed yet, and no one's removing that spell until its work is done, so you just lie there and rest. After a couple days you must be pretty hungry, right? So just wait here and I'll go fetch you something to eat, okay?”

“Oh.” now that she brought it up, and he stopped to consider the state of his stomach, Yajima realised that the young woman was correct; he was positively starving. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure!” she exclaimed way-too-enthusiastically, before heading off through the rows of thankfully mostly unoccupied wooden beds. Of course, 'mostly unoccupied' was a rather relative term, he supposed; there were over a hundred beds in this room, so even with most empty, there were still a fair number of patients, and when he took into account that it had only taken that Archwitch a couple days to heal most of his injuries … well, the rate at which these people were being admitted must have been pretty high.

Even with their mayor's own undead battalion on their side, it was clear that the people of Darkshire were by no means safe in this accursed Verse.

There were a few other nurses around, though none were dressed as had been the one he'd spoken to. One was in some sort of dully coloured Victorian gown, whilst the other three wore what looked to him like medieval peasant's dresses … not that Yajima could say for sure; he wasn't exactly much of an expert on the subject of ancient Western fashions, after all.

Rather than staring vacantly out at them and their roomful of mostly comatose patients – it seemed that he was far from being the only one whom the Archwitch had decided to allow to heal their own wounds – Yajima decided he might as well check out the Dataverse now, whilst he was waiting on that nurse to return.

He cringed. Crap. He'd forgotten. He'd been soaked to the bone that night, and still had no idea whether or not his Dataverse device was waterproof. Pulling the small tablet out from his jacket, he pushed down the power button and waited with baited breath for a couple seconds or so, before giving a relieved sigh as it began its start-up process.

He relaxed. It was alright. Good. To have wasted all that Omnilium when he'd had such a small amount to begin with would have been practically tragic. He'd never save up all that he needed if he had to keep spending it on every little thing.

Hmm … now that he thought about it, though, he no longer had any idea what he was planning on doing next. Originally, he'd simply wanted to help out the Secondaries against their aggressors however he could, and had decided that the Moors was as good a place as any to do so; even a better place than most, perhaps, given how much danger Darkshire always seemed to be in.

Now that he knew he was no match for any remotely large group of undead, though, simply roaming the area, slaughtering zombies wherever he found them and extracting Omnilium from their remains was clearly no longer an option. He'd need to think up some other way of getting money. Obviously theft was out of the question, so that really left only two options. His last resort – to leave Darkshire, seek out a less dangerous Verse, and hopefully return here after having completed Apparition – and the choice of finding a job.

He didn't want to give up on the Moors and leave these people behind if he could possibly help it, so as he surfed the Dataverse – checking up on OmniTwitter and AntiOmni.org, amongst other things – he opened a second tab, and began his search for employment...

[Reece]

He'd had little luck with the job hunt (shockingly enough, homeless fourteen-year-olds with no prior work experience were not exactly in high demand), but the food had been nice, he'd discovered a tournament they were holding in Camelot and had spent the last several hours looking at replays of its first round of fights. He'd just watched a humanoid dragon get impaled by a sorcerer with the ability to fire skulls at people when someone spoke up from nearby.

“So how're you doing, kid?” it was the blond man who had rescued- well, helped rescue- uhh … it was the blond man who had been present when that other guardsman had rescued him from the Revenant. He was smiling lopsidedly, apparently pleased to see that the boy had awoken.

“Oh, hello. I'm feeling much better now. Thanks so much for all your help, Mister … Recur, was it?” for some reason, the man grimaced when Yajima said his name. He had a feeling that his rescuers probably had introduced themselves properly at some point on the journey here, in their attempts at keeping him conscious. Unfortunately, since waking he had failed to recall much of that conversation, and so was forced to address him by the only name he could remember.

“No, it's not 'Recur'; that's just a dumb nickname. I'm Daniel Walker. You can call me Dan, if you want. It'd be nice if someone would.”

“Oh, sure … Dan.” it felt strange to address someone he'd barely even met so casually, but Yajima was well aware that even in large parts of his own world, people were generally much less formal than they had been in Japan. It shouldn't surprise him, he supposed, that the same applied here. “I'm Hideaki Yajima. Everyone outside of my family just called me by my surname, back home, but if you do things differently here...”

“Nah,” the guard waved a hand dismissively, “it's no big deal what I call you. Yajima is perfectly fine with me. Anyway, it's good to see you're recovering. If there's anything you need while you're here in Darkshire, just ask me and I'll see what I can do, 'kay?.”

“You will? Why?” it wasn't that he wasn't appreciative of the offer, by any means, but it seemed strange, to say the least, that someone who had already had a hand in saving his life (even if all he'd actually done was help him walk) should be acting as if he had a debt to repay. “Shouldn't I be the one offering to help you?”

“Well...” the man looked away. Embarrassed about something? “To be honest, Commander Skendor is always on the lookout for Primes to help out with the militia … but I'm not really sure it'd be the kind of thing you're suited to, what with you being just a kid, and, well...”

“Getting beaten up by a few undead?” Yajima asked, suddenly glum. If he'd been offered a position with Darkshire's guards back in the Nexus, before ever having come into contact with the zombies himself, then he would surely have jumped at the chance. It would have seemed the perfect way of both protecting the 'weaker' Secondaries, earning himself the Omnilium needed to summon Apparition, and giving him something worthwhile to do in the mean time. Now that he'd learned just how helpless he really was in the face of adversity, though, it seemed much less ideal.

“Um … yeah. I mean, you did much better than I would have, of course. It's just that, well, most Primes...” he trailed off, seemingly lost in thought.

“Are much more powerful than I am?”

“Yeah.” another pause, but this time around, Dan actually spoke up again. “I never talked to him myself, but the last Prime we had who volunteered to serve with the militia was the Avatar of Rage. He was … way beyond your level.”

“Avatar of Rage?” Yajima asked, raising an eyebrow. That didn't exactly sound like the kind of title that a noble, kind-hearted individual would give himself. In fact, going by name alone, this guy seemed like he might be better suited to working with Dracula's army, rather than Darkshire's guards.

“Yes. I only saw him in action once myself, but he tore through a mob of ghouls like they were nothing, and took down some sort of huge, patchwork mutant. It practically killed him, that thing, but until he'd finished it off, the guy just wouldn't stay down, no matter how badly injured he became … it was insane.” he fell silent for a moment, shaking his head. “You'd need to see it for yourself to believe something like that.”

Yajima stared thoughtfully down at the Dataverse device in his hands for a few seconds before replying.

“I think I might have.”

“Huh?” Daniel seemed surprised. The factor supposed that that was to be expected. The Omniverse was a big place, after all, and it was no doubt glaringly obvious that he was new to life here. The guardsman was likely assuming that he meant he had met the man in person. To clarify, Yajima held up the tablet computer in one hand.

“They're holding a tournament for Primes in Camelot right now, you know? One of the fights in particular was quite ridiculously violent. A crazy clown versus a white-haired mage. Either of them sound like this 'Avatar' guy?”

“The mage, did he fight with some sort of white energy?” the blond man was eyeing the Dataverse device suspiciously, as though it might suddenly explode in his face the instant he let down his guard.

“More than that. He literally transformed his body into that stuff at one point.”

“He's grown stronger then,” Dan grinned, “but its got to be him. I've never heard of anyone but Strazio who'd fit that description.”

Suddenly, though, the man's smirk vanished, his face taking on an almost fearful countenance.

“He did win, right? The Avatar of Rage couldn't possibly lose to a clown, right?” as much respect as he had for this mage, it was clear that Dan had learned that no matter how ridiculous they seemed, underestimating anyone in the Omniverse was a bad move.

“Yeah,” Yajima nodded, “though it was closer than you might think. His opponent might have been drunk, I think. Or stoned. Either way, he was at least as strong as I am, I'd say, and way more competent. If he'd been sober, things could well have ended differently. It wasn't an easy victory, by any means.”

“Impressive. If those are the calibre of people involved then it should certainly be interesting, I guess I'll have to have Ellen show me how to look up that tournament on my one of those data-whatcha-call-ems, once I get home.” he mused.

“Uh … you mean 'Dataverse devices'?” Yajima couldn't help but raise a sceptical eyebrow. This guy had presumably been living here for months, at the very least, if not years, yet couldn't even remember the name of such a simple, everyday item? Frankly, he would have expected those from old-timey worlds to be the most interested by the prospect of the Internet. It would surely seem like magic to them, after all.

“Yeah. Yeah, 'Dataverse devices' that's what it was. She loves those things; has done ever since she met that old, metal guy.”

“Uh...” Yajima wasn't quite sure how to politely point out that he had absolutely no idea who these people to whom he referred were, so just kept his 'statement' as vague as possible, in the hopes that Daniel would catch on on his own and explain. Of course, he did not. Instead, he just stared for a bit, as if silently urging the boy to continue.

“Never mind, it's nothing.” it wasn't like this guy's private life was any of his business anyway. It'd probably be best if he just didn't ask. So, instead, he awkwardly changed the subject. “Say, I don't suppose you'd know any place in town I could find some work? I need to make some money for … a project of mine. I'd originally planned on just killing zombies until I had enough, but, well, you saw how that went.”

“Yeah, probably not the best decision ever.” the guard smirked when he said that, but as he thought more about the question, that smile faltered. “To be honest, I don't really think you'll be able to find anything around here. Darkshire isn't exactly known for its employment opportunities, after all. The only chance you'd have, I'd say, would be with the militia. The commander could probably afford to pay you something for your work, unlike most people around here, and on top of that, you'd have the chance to take some Omnilium directly from the undead, like you said.”

“If only that was an option.” the boy sighed, glumly staring down at his hands, flexing the one which had been frozen by the Revenant's touch. It had healed completely, of course. Not even a scar remained. That did nothing to dispel the memories of what had happened, though. He had been helpless against that skeleton, whilst the sergeant had claimed that in the absence of its mental powers, even Dan could have taken it out. If he was even less competent than this guy – a man who by no means gave the impression of being particularly skilled – then what hope did he have?

He just had to face the facts, Yajima admitted to himself; up until he had gathered the large quantity of Omnilium he needed to build Apparition, he would only continue to be completely useless in combat situations.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence for a time, which seemed to drag on and on, until, at last, Daniel hesitantly spoke up.

"There ... might actually be a way you could, you know...? Join the guards, that is."

"Oh?" Yajima didn't bother getting his hopes up, but didn't see any reason to object to hearing the man's idea. It wasn't like listening to it could in any way make his situation worse.

Well, you may not be particularly capable as you are now, but if you'd agree to take part in a little … training scheme, of sorts, then I'm sure we could teach you how to fight these things, even give you a sword to do it with.”

“A 'training scheme', huh? And who's going to teach me this astounding level of swordsmanship? You?” he wasn't trying to be rude, but Yajima couldn't quite keep the disbelief from his voice.

“You don't need to say it like it's some completely ridiculous concept, y'know?” Dan grumbled, “I'm not that bad. But no. I wasn't meaning myself. Sammy's been asking after you these past couple days, so he obviously cares at least a little about your well-being. I reckon he'd be willing to help out if I asked him to.”

“Sammy?” this time around, the factor wasn't quite able to resist the urge to question Dan's apparent habit of referring to complete strangers as though Yajima was supposed to have some idea who these people were.

“Oh? You've forgotten him too?” the guard smirked at this revelation, clearly glad that his name hadn't been the only one the boy had failed to recall. “Sergeant Samuel Lombard; the guy who saved you from that lich a couple days ago. He's one of the few people I know who's probably capable of at least putting up a decent fight against the average Prime … maybe even winning. He ought to make a great instructor, I'd say.”

Folding his arms across his chest, the guardsman stood proudly, a smug look on his face, as though he'd just concocted the greatest military strategy of all time, and expected to have his genius lauded. “What do you think of that plan, then?”

“Well," Yajima paused for a moment, frowning slightly as he actually tried to seriously consider the idea, "if you can actually convince that guy to teach me, then I'd say you'll just leave me in even more debt to you two than I already am ... but if it means finding the strength to protect people without having to rely on a giant robot to do all the work for me ... I'm in.”

Judging by his expression, Daniel was somewhat perplexed by his mention of robots. Given the era he apparently came from, as well as his obvious aversion to technology, it was possible that despite having presumably lived in the Omniverse for some time now, he didn't even have a clue what a robot was. The boy considered explaining the term, but then decided against it. If he could deal with Dan referring to people he'd never met, then Dan could deal with this.

"You can repay me by helping us guard the town for a while, after you're all trained up." the man eventually responded, "How's that sound?”

“Sure.” Yajima grinned, "It's a deal."

“See ya, then.” turning and sauntering off, Dan lifted a hand to wave without looking back.

“Bye.” after he'd gone, the factor lay back in his bed, feeling more relaxed than he had all day. Since coming to the Omniverse at all, really. There was no guarantee that he'd ever be able to learn to swordfight, much less do so quickly, but at least he now had a chance at being at least somewhat useful in combat before having summoned his machina; though he still had no intention of remaining in this inter-dimensional prison any longer than he absolutely had to, it would be nice to have the strength to protect the people of this land from the evils arrayed against them, for however long he was forced to inhabit this place ... which, he had to admit, was likely to be a while.

[Reece]

“Well, it looks alright.” the Archwitch spoke after having removed the bandages from around his head. “How does it feel? How is your vision?”

He blinked a few times.

“Seems fine.” the eye appeared to have fully healed. Looking past the stern old lady, he grinned at Daniel, who was waiting hopefully.

“So he's free to go then?”

“Yes,” she glanced between them suspiciously, “you pair wouldn't be planning anything idiotic, now would you?”

Flinching at her sharp tone, the guardsman took a couple steps backwards, waving his hands before him, as though he could brush away the glare she had directed his way, “What!? No! Me? Do something stupid? Don't be ridiculous, when have I ever...?”

Daniel trailed off, wilting as he realised that not even Yajima, who had seen him in action only once, was buying into the belief that he was actually remotely intelligent.

“Recur is a pretty frequent visitor to our Healing House.” the voice came from the other side of the bed before which the factor stood, even before he turned to face her, though, Yajima recognised the speaker. It was the same pink-outfitted nurse who'd been present when he'd woken the day before. Her name was Saera, she'd told him at one point, and so far she was the only one of the Archwitch's assistants to whom he had actually spoken.

“Oh? I guess that makes sense.”

“You could at least pretend to be surprised by the revelation.” Dan said dully. The head healer scowled, but Saera just laughed.

“I don't know if that really can be considered a 'revelation',” she said, “after all, your nickname is-”

“Don't even say it.” he held up a hand to stop her, and she laughed again. “Hmph. Well, if you're quite done making fun of me, we'll just be on our way, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, sure.” before Yajima had taken two steps, though, she spoke up again, “Oh! I almost forgot! You need to actually pay for your treatment!”

Yajima shuddered. Crap. He'd hoped no one would notice until after he'd gone.

“Damn. Why'd you have to remember?”

She giggled. “You know, I probably wouldn't have if you hadn't gone on about how badly you wanted to leave and earn some money. It wouldn't be the first time I've forgotten to charge someone, after all. I bet you're regretting all those conversations we had now, huh?”

She laughed again. He couldn't help but get the impression that she cared a lot less about his financial well-being than he did. And then he noticed something rather worrying.

“Umm … Saera?”

“Yes?”

He pointed.

“Oh.”

The Archwitch's cane had been replaced by a pair of blood-stained, medieval bone saws, her hands clenched around the handles so tightly that her knuckles were white as her robes, one eye twitching as she visibly struggled to suppress the immense rage which had permeated her entire being.

“'Wouldn't be the first time'? 'All those conversations'? You imbecile! You cretin! What in all the hells have you been doing around here!? He's only been awake two days, how long could you possibly have spoken!? You think I pay you to chat!? And you've been letting patients go without charging them!? Are you mad!?”

As Saera backed off, fumbling for an apology whilst the old woman continued to rant and advance upon her, Daniel sidled up to Yajima.

“Say,” he muttered under his breath, “how about we use this opportunity to slip away?”

The boy nodded, and both turned to go, walking as quietly as they could for the first few steps, but accelerating as they went. Before he knew it, Yajima was running full tilt.

“Sleep!”

The spell resembled a small cloud of sparkling yellow lights, and when it struck the guardsman's back, he tumbled forwards immediately, smacking his head off a bedpost and crumpling to the ground.

The factor froze on the spot – glad her aim was so bad, but not willing to risk having the same happen to him if she kept firing those things and got luckier the second time around – and Dan groaned; the blow he'd taken apparently having woken him just as quickly as the crone's magic had put him out.

“You are going to pay up, insolent brat.” the Archwitch strode towards them, dragging after her a teary-eyed Saera, held by a clump of hair. “Here. This is how much you owe me, now get summoning, Prime!”

“Yes, ma'am.” he replied, studying the foreign coins for a few moments, before beginning the long and tedious process of materialising some of his own.

It likely took no more than a few minutes, but with the crone glaring at him the entire time, it felt like an eternity. Eventually, having exhausted the last dregs of the Omnilium he'd been given by Omni – some of the larger coins she held were surprisingly expensive to summon; they must have been cast from quite the precious metals – he stopped.

“You're not done.” she held up a small, dull copper piece between her finger and thumb.

“I'm broke.” he looked up at her imploringly, fearing that she would demand he extract something in order to finish his payment. She glanced at the coin in her hand for one long, drawn-out moment.

“Hmph. Fine, I'll let you off the hook this once. If I ever see either of you trying to get out of paying even a single coin again, though, you'll be charged double, got that!?”

“Yes, ma'am.” the boy and man chorused, heads bowed apologetically as Yajima handed over all he'd summoned.

“Good. Now get out of my sight! I do have patients to treat, you know!” the old buzzard screeched, snatching up her earnings in one claw-like hand. Many of those patients seemed to have been woken by her shouting, and along with the two other nurses currently in the large, wide room, were now staring her way apprehensively.

“Bye, you two, see you soon!” Saera gave the retreating figures a cheerful wave, but was interrupted when the ancient, decrepit hag yanked at her hair again, “Ow!”

“You can just stay silent, girl. We're going to be having a serious talk about how you go about your duties once I'm done here.”

As she cast her glare about the room, the other nurses hurried back to their work and many of the patients pretended to be fast asleep. Given that more than a few had been sitting up as they took in the spectacle, though, in some cases this act wasn't particularly convincing.