A lone piece of newspaper was carried by the wind down an empty street. Horrible buildings stared at Marco with their black-eye windows, angular expressions of architectural terror smashing against an equally gray sky. He felt cold and lonely, with seemingly no way in or through the blocks, cut out by tall cement walls with barbwire spiraling.
At the first intersection—one of truly endless—he realized he was trapped in an inexplicable grid of concrete. No traffic signs or lanes detailed the never-ending asphalt slabs where no vehicle was parked.
He knew it in the back of his mind—there was no way out of there. He would face death in a place so void of life it would come easy. Then a glimmer of hope—something finally breaking the continuity of inaccessible walls—it wasn’t black as the glass of the windows facing the deserted streets, but of shining white.
Marco crossed the threshold and that apocalypse became a forgotten specter of his mind. He stumbled over a very soft and wet surface, the blocks replaced by a forest, the sun breaking through in a myriad of rays filtered by the red, yellow, and orange foliage. The air was so still that the falling leaves drew unbroken downward spirals. Marco could see how by a near eye-pond, filled by an underground spring, stood the Elder hunched and wrinkled—a bearded Methuselah.
With a slight gesture of his open hand, mostly covered by the ample sleeves of his mantle, and by shifting his blue eyes he directed Marco over to that pond.
An irresistible curiosity gripped him, with short steps he approached the round edge to find it was made of granite, and so were the sides of the deep basin of which he couldn’t see the bottom. Contrasting so sharply with the ultramarine blue were fat red and white carps beneath the mirror of water.
The Elder was a statue, and Marco’s ears picked up the sounds leaves made in separating from the branches and landing to form a coat. Those woods were so peaceful and warm—that could be why he didn’t address the Elder. Knowing there was a profound truth to be found in the peaceful existence of the carps in the ponds, these words resonated in him like a chiming bell.
“Through us life is satisfying itself. That’s because the experience of an individual is self-contained, while its result is left to us all in the form of the eternal consequences of our actions.”
“Becoming us all over again,” replied Marco. “I wish I could be like those carps in the pond.” A certain longing gripped him. “To be undisturbed and extraneous to the universe. But like you say, I too desire complexity and fall to its shortcomings.”
“There are ways to escape, but in the end you will always be running away,” continued the Elder, dejected. “The better your life will become, the more painful it will be to give it up. And if it gets so bad that you wish to get rid of it, or when something or someone is forcefully taking it from you, all that you will feel is hatred and pain in your last moments.”
“Not if you loved.”
“Love,” repeated the Elder. “One of the meager self-contained rewards of taking the compulsory lease of existence. The universe suits itself—perhaps it is by knowing everything and always being that it craves the opposite.”
Thoughts of ignorance and death lifted the haziness that veiled Marco’s mind, and he suddenly realized what was going on—he was lucid dreaming.
“A dream inside a dream,” he affirmed, shaking his head in staring at the pond. When he lifted his eyes up to meet the Elder’s those shined like burning sapphires within their ancient sockets, his skin as iridescent as his robe.
After that day, Marco changed his routine. Every morning, he went out in the woods to hunt deer by riding Kalexis, and she didn’t mind having to rely on the supplies at the villa when he sometimes missed the shot—they both didn’t want to be late for training. When they were done either in the forest or at the villa, they joined Iugid and Vashim by the shore of the lake. Since he got an early start, Marco got to practice with Tael late in the afternoon rather than into the early hours of night. After his dinner he slept with Kalexis so to wake up together early in the morning—it stunned him how wilder the sex was in the forest right after she had his catch.
His next session against monsters in the trial grounds happened a week later—once a week, until he fully mastered fighting the smaller fiends. Only allowed to use his sword and shield, he managed to defeat eight of them before receiving a slash to the leg that brought him on his knees. Tael’s arrow came out of nowhere just before the rough edge of a blade ripped his face open.
After a month of training, Marco faced the same challenge with more successful results. That’s because he practiced defensive sword techniques to fend off enemies that wielded spears. He now countered stabbing intuitively, by bringing the tip of the enemy’s weapon away with a swipe of the blade, advancing to pierce the exposed flank before the enemy had the time to fold into a defensive stance.
Frequently, in training with smaller Vashim, Marco was encouraged to use his superior size to his advantage, pushing with his shield right after parrying, to bring an opponent off balance. All the bits connected, and he was surprised by the easiness of his executions—he used his legs to topple demons too close to him, he was sure and steady on his feet, fearsome in knowing what to do, his senses never on any of his opponents but always scanning.
He stepped around on the spot—over eight demons, this time at once, were advancing from tree to tree. Their eyes gleamed black, their sharp-toothed grins of a disgusting yellow. The bodies of six of them that still bled out at his feet did not scare them off.
He was afraid, but of a controlled fear that made him stronger and faster. Some of the monsters howled as they darted to and from the pine trunks. Once again, Marco wished he had his bow. But before he could use it, he would have had to prove to Vashim that he could clear the test without having to resort to it.
With the pain of failure fresh in his mind, he ran up to the nearest monster that readied to take his charge, two armed demons with spears joining it. Marco surprised his foe by leaping across the air, burying his right boot into its green face—but its blood was red like the rest of them. He didn’t stop a moment after touching the ground, swiping his sword across the jabbing lances, breaking one and disarming the other, finishing the demons with seamless slashes. More of the screaming beasts, with their bald heads and short horns, one red and one blue, advanced holding a rugged axe and a sword. Not being pressed by nearer monsters, Marco let go of his trusted sword to pick up the spear of the abated foe. Marco ran three steps before throwing it, and it pierced through the chest of the blue demon. He recovered his sword in time to face the axe wielder and successfully block its attack, blowing its wind out with a roundhouse kick that made it slide over the needles.
“Someone else wants a piece of me?” thundered Marco.
He set off to look for the little monsters, and when he found one it ran away like a squealing pig. He was chasing it when four others menacingly appeared from behind tree trunks. Marco thought to be handling the physical strain well. He turned and parried just before being stabbed, used his sword to cut off an attacking arm—when a flying spear missed the back of his head by a few inches.
Copious blood sprayed from the stump, the incapacitated demon shrieking as it ran away. Marco then used his shield to block an axe, delivering a lateral blow that found the buckler of his opponent. He was forced to step back to counter, with three more demons joining the three that were already on him. He could only block the spears that formed a line—he couldn’t move for the kill without being killed himself by those flanking him.
He snared, forced back. A red demon flung an axe at him, but he traced it through the air and dodged it. He was afraid when more of the demons added to the advancing line, bringing him downhill and to more monsters approaching from behind. He lost it to the angers he felt in those moments—the anger of having to train to fight in a blood craving show, as well as that of not having a bow! Clasping his shield and sword with iron grips of rage, he ran up to the line of spears and broke one. This exposed and isolated a club-wielding demon that got its head cut right off. Fear and gore broke the line, the little devils scurrying away—leaving just a particularly mean one to face Marco sword to sword.
He charged it only to come to a dead stop. That way he was going to be most effective at blocking the incoming attack.
The dark creature, short but muscular, delivered and knew how to parry the counter. Marco was struggling, but after receiving an attack aimed low at his legs he found the opening, stepping to the side while blades met, and made the demon’s guts drop.
When he looked around for more enemies he saw none, and when he called for them he heard no taunts. This time uninjured, he was more celebratory of his own victory when the robed figure of Sathkela appeared. He planted his blood stained sword in the ground and threw his shield like a Frisbee across the forest.
“You have passed the test,” said she from a distance once Marco—still rubbing and clapping his hands from the excitement—gave off most of his steam. “But much tougher ones await you—now you are ready to train with Kalexis, and learn how to defend yourself from larger foes.”
“I see how she could help with that!” exclaimed Marco, looking forward to finally training with her.
“On the other hand, a month has passed since you returned to this world. Back then, you expressed the wish to be placed back into deep sleep, and it was Gianluca to tell you when it would be possible. If you so desire, you are ready to exit now.”
Marco was completely forgetful of his achievement and entirely focused on contemplating what Sathkela just said—he stared back with severity. “I have no intention of leaving in the middle of my training, and I thought you understood I would be staying here for as long as Kalexis wished I did.”
“That’s right, but I also kept in mind the desire you expressed for yourself. I’m not surprised that your words reflect your actions, but one can never guess.”
Marco smiled daringly. “I’m not so easily driven away.”
“Very well,” said she, and just like all previous times Marco had his day off spent in the sole company of Kalexis.
The weather was getting warmer and going toward the digital equivalent of summertime. He still worked with Iugid and Vashim, finding Kalexis capable of training him without needing assistance from any of the other masters. Getting used to the pounding of fighting, he didn’t make any fuss about having to cause her an injury while she trained him to use a practice spear that had a metal ball head. She explained how to deflect her attacks, how to feint to cut through her guard without being disarmed and taken down as frequently happened. For a change from the beach, Marco and Kalexis found plenty of flat ground and soft grass in the open space of the inner orchard of Gianluca’s villa. Quin and Dod always showed up when they were training there, with Dod, the leather-armored saurian, having plenty of interesting tips to share, such as how to improve footing by adopting certain stances. If he also had to count the archery he practiced every morning on Kalexis’s back and in the evening with Tael, Marco was putting up with a good ten hours of work each day, with the task of having to learn making it even more demanding. Only then—as he started getting a taste of real combat—did he read the war manuals Iugid suggested to cover the more theoretical side of things. To do that, he recurred to the dining table computer in Kalexis’s room, as it was easier to read than any paper book. It was fun to browse and gave him a chance to learn more about the universe thanks to its very illustrative library. He was particularly fascinated when reading up on how Araks always remained in touch with their wild side, something expressed in the least by their habit of wearing clothes only when strictly necessary. It was heart-warming to discover they never fought primitive internal wars, were extremely industrious, and tightly knit from the very start to the end of their former society. No wonder they were weary of members of other races that wished to join them, and truly never mixed, limiting the reach of friendly interracial dealings to the sale of the exquisite crafts they were known for. Watching documentaries about galactic history and learning about the impact of the Zigs on their newly conquered Andromeda galaxy was an educational way for Marco to relax in the nest with Kalexis. There he saw how the Zig race, starting out as a caring and maternal one, ended up tampering life on many planets, enforcing its self-proclaimed rule while achieving the sympathy of terrified spacefaring vassals through the sale of corrupted entertainment.
He knew personally how the Zigs crossed the line—by bringing slaves such as themselves from another galaxy to make shows. By boycotting them, the Pranksters were punishing a violation of intergalactic policies, but all across the Andromeda galaxy planets and people were tortured by the Zigs for the sake of whimsical games and experiments, and sadly nothing could be done about it. Just as they didn’t do anything about the Kronians, or prevented a single race from becoming the ultimate ruler of any specific dot in the universe. But because the Pranksters believed that strategically aimed interventions were key to intergalactic stability, he had the unprecedented privilege of getting a taste of how they existed.
A week later, he had to face the same challenge again. When he came home with Kalexis from his morning hunt in the forest, he found Tael at the door with something for him. It was a more powerful hunting bow with pulleys, unlike the composite bow he was familiarizing himself with. It packed way more of a punch, but Marco took longer to draw its string all the way to his nose, and found it much harder to keep steady. Tael gave him ten arrows and a last minute tips.
“When shooting, try to remove yourself from the fight, as it will require all of your concentration. Only that way can you be one with the bow, and your arrow will always find its target.”
Then Marco went down to the orchard to practice the spear with Kalexis just like any other day.
At the end of the two-hour session she was happy to state that he was moving better, his rolls and jumps brisker. Marco’s body was also fit from the exercise, disturbing considering it was all happening inside of his head.
Later that day he was down at the lake practicing with the short sword. He was having a break when he asked something of his master. “Wouldn’t you rather be outside, where the air is real?”
“How can you tell this is not real?” replied Vashim. “But yes, I do see your point. I too would rather be myself than my own reflection inside a computer, although we aren’t here only to enjoy ourselves.”
The small gray alien in his black kimono rested his weight on the longsword he planted in the soft clay, his red belt flapping in the wind.
Marco readied himself for the next round, raising his shield, his sword, and so his guard.
Before he knew it, he was entering the sloping forest of gray pine trees where to meet his nemesis—that horde of pestiferous demons. While he previously fought under the sun—with the demon’s colorful skins visible in the shaded forest—this time Marco headed in at sunset, after an afternoon of reviewing take downs, evading grapples, and practicing throws with Iugid.
His muscles were stiff, and his mind tired when facing the lurking dangers. Only thanks to his low-light archery training did he detect one of the creatures far away. He quickly pulled out an arrow from his quiver and cocked it with a smooth motion. He gazed down the arrow to fix its flesh-ripping four bladed tip on target.
Marco spotted more of the sneaking demons in letting go of the string, striking the first across the chest. He drew another arrow while turning back—three demons were running toward him, in clear line of sight. He got another arrow on target but those closing in to his left and right forced him to drop the bow and draw his sword. He didn’t have time to grab his shield hanging by a strap to his back. Two were on him, one yellow and one blue—he dodged their crude blows, parried one with just his sword. These demons were meaner than previous ones, but he managed to kill them quickly. In seeing his swift executions the advancing demons ran away, but Marco was aware of how those hiding behind him were getting closer to try and sever his spine. His battle cry was primitive as he armed himself with the shield, charged down the hill to trample the nearest demon—he was pleased by how terrified it was when it dropped its spear and fled. With no intention of sparing any of those disgusting things he caught up with it and drove his sword through its back. Some of the monsters regrouped and formed a line, so he ran back and grabbed the spear from the ground, impaling a lone demon in full charge with it. Another one got up to him but he had the upper hand after a quick exchange, crushing its horrible face with the boss of his shield. Making his way back to where he dropped his bow, Marco eliminated another two monsters trying to surprise him. He dropped his bloodied sword, now having to contend with that charging line of spears, axes, and swords propelled by short though fast hoofed legs. He knocked down two demons with his arrows before having to arm his sword. He evaded the stabbing blows keeping spear tips away, defending from swiping blows meant to take out his knees. Using successful blocks to gain ground on those encircling him, he became a whirlwind of death—spears snapped and gashes opened, and when he blocked with his shield he always returned a kick.
Demons rolled on the ground to get back up and onto him, amassing all around. He slashed furiously to keep up, the dying laments of his foes counter-pointing each successful strike. He very distinctly felt the mushiness of flesh and rigidity of bones—nothing quite like jabbing through one of those demon’s skulls.
His whole body ached from fatigue, but the way ahead was clear—he thought he could attempt to break free. Having to trudge uphill, twelve demons closed up on him forming a double line. He stopped for a moment to recoup, and a flying spear landed by his feet. He could either flee or dive into that line, but he wasn’t sure he could take out the spears nor keep the axe and sword wielders at bay with blocks and kicks—he was exhausted.
The line of grinning and taunting demons advanced on him. Then a powerful roar scared those malefic apes of engineered madness. Focused as he was on destroying his enemy, Marco did not linger. He found his way around the startled line, disarmed a spear that was clumsily pointed at him. Finding his way in he clashed against the foe, taking a second unprepared—he laughed as the line broke and the monsters ran away but not because of him.
Kalexis had entered the fight with a leap, swiping her claws across incoming spears while she plowed right through. She crushed a demon with her rear paws, tossing others away from where she landed with her sheer weight. She didn’t wear any armor but had no trouble dispatching three monsters brave enough to be destroyed by her combination of claw and final jaw attack.
Marco wasn’t distracted, taking care of killing those that were getting back up while the rest just ran away—he damned himself for having lost his bow somewhere in the confusion. He looked for it while making sure no more foes were sneaking up on them, but there was barely enough light left to see.
“Lost something?” asked Kalexis, smiling upon the bodies of the little devils she torn apart.
Marco damned himself. “Can you please help me find it?”
She walked down the hill as if she already knew where it was.
“I don’t think I did too bad this time,” said Marco.
“When on foot, you have to keep moving to use the bow more effectively,” she commented. “I had to intervene, do you realize you were going to take on twelve at once?”
“Yup,” said Marco. “But you just rammed through that line of spears without wearing an armor.”
“Easy,” she said with a little shrug. “As long as you will stand beside me, I’ll cover you—but I’m proud that you can also stand on your own, now. Hopefully the Zigs won’t take your training into consideration, or they might try to make it harder for us.”
“I hope—”
“We may hope, but I’m glad to know you’re committed to the training. Rest assured that whatever happens, I’ll be by your side.”