GritBoy huddled against the crater wall as the bullet hell played out on the battlefield behind him. His pulse-beam had run its course. With the enemy in retreat, all he could do was wait out the last barrage. He had survived his first test in the Final Realm.
As the sounds of warfare became more distant, he peered from his hiding place just as another warrior, wearing his colors, double-jumped into the crater next to him. The visitor laid down his weapon and eyed GritBoy from head to toe.
“I’ve never seen you before. I’m CloudCat. How long have you been with us?” he asked.
“This is my first battle,” GritBoy replied, “and you?”
CloudCat smiled. “I see… a newbie. With a starter kit no doubt. Me, I’ve seen enough battles and used up enough lives to be living on borrowed time.”
Ever since arriving in the Final Realm, GritBoy was loaded with questions. This was his chance to get some of them answered.
“Who are we fighting, and where is this place?”
“The enemy has no name,” CloudCat answered. “All battles take place here, on the Plains of Despair.”
GritBoy eyed the man’s weapon. “How many battles must I fight to earn the right to carry a shock-launcher?”
CloudCat chuckled at the warrior’s naivety. “That is beyond your control. All power spikes and weapon levels are determined by the Player.”
“Who is this Player, and when do I meet him?”
“No one sees or talks to the Player. If you wish to know more, seek out DeepSpeaker. He is the only one among us who is not a warrior. They say he knows things that we cannot understand. No more questions. We must return to camp.”
The two warriors climbed from the crater and headed toward the Mystic Forest.
* * *
Finding DeepSpeaker was not difficult. Many knew of the strange loner living in a bunker at the edge of camp. GritBoy stood in the bunker’s entrance, seemingly unnoticed by the tall, thin figure bending over the table inside.
“If you have something to say, come and sit,” DeepSpeaker said without looking up.
GritBoy entered and took a seat opposite the older man. The man moved his hands across the tabletop as though playing an instrument. It was no ordinary table, but rather a horizontal screen, aglow with symbols and numbers. GritBoy spoke loudly, to draw the man’s attention.
“I’m GritBoy, a new warrior who has already seen his first battle. I’m told you can help me understand more about the Player, and how I might talk with him.”
DeepSpeaker raised his head. “You have much to learn, my son. No one communicates with the Player. Not even I, the Player’s intermediary.”
“What do you mean?” GritBoy asked.
“You are a warrior. You deal in weapons, battles and the physical world. I am a puzzler. I deal in logic, pattern recognition, and the mental world. It is through me that the Player develops your skills and increases your chances of survival. Your success is in the Player’s best interest. Your sole purpose is to fight his battles to the best of your ability.”
“But what if I don’t succeed? What happens if I get no more lives?”
“When your time in the Final Realm is over, you will be taken to the Sacred Grove,” DeepSpeaker said. “That’s all I can tell you. Go now. Return to camp and prepare yourself for your next call to battle.”
* * *
GritBoy sat inspecting his new plasma-rocket. With dozens of battles now behind him, he began to think of himself as a true warrior. He had yet to lose a life, and was gaining confidence in his ability to survive.
The shouts from a female warrior broke his concentration. “Listen, everyone! CloudCat has met his permadeath in today’s battle!”
GritBoy looked up in disbelief. His thoughts of immortality were shaken. He called out to her. “IceSister, where is CloudCat now?”
“Where we will all go one day,” IceSister answered, “to the Sacred Grove.”
“Where is this Sacred Grove?”
“Just west of the Mystic Forest, but no one may go there before they are called.”
GritBoy rose and began wandering through camp — westward.
* * *
GritBoy reached the western edge of the forest by nightfall. Ahead, in an open field, was a large, shell-like building. He approached the building with caution, and entered an open doorway into a large room bathed in blue light.
“Why are you here?” spoke a voice from behind him.
Startled, GritBoy turned to face a being that towered over him. The caped figure, dressed in silver, had narrow eyes and a beak-like nose.
“I’ve come to find CloudCat.”
“You are not permitted here. I am HawkSpirit, keeper of the Reclamation Shell. CloudCat is undergoing his transformation.”
“Please,” GritBoy said, “let me see him. Is this the Player’s doing?”
“The Player has no control over what happens here. CloudCat is in the hands of a greater power.”
“What power can be greater than the Player?”
“Come with me.”
HawkSpirit guided him to a large pod floating in the center of the room. In it GritBoy could see the outline of a body, slowly disappearing.
“That is CloudCat,” HawkSpirit said, “in the final stage of his reclamation. He is now in the hands of the Developer. Your time will come someday.”
HawkSpirit led GritBoy from the building. “Return to the Mystic Forest and never reveal what you have seen here to anyone,” he commanded.
* * *
Dr. Uras looked out over the crystal waters surrounding Landtara Island. A sailing ship appeared on the horizon. The next visitors to Eternity Shores would soon be arriving. As a puzzler, he looked forward to assisting the Player in guiding these explorers toward some ultimate treasure.
Since his respawning, Dr. Uras dwelt only on cryptic algorithms. Totally absent were any recollections of battles on the Plains of Despair, or of a warrior once known as CloudCat.
This story previously appeared in Sci-fi Shorts.
Edited by E. S. Foster.
Dick Narvett retired from a life in international business and independent film acting. He currently lives in rural Pennsylvania, where he writes flash fiction and poetry. His work can be found in MetaStellar, 365 Tomorrows, Star*Line and Better Than Starbucks, among others.