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Slumrat Rising Vol. 5 Chap. 3 Rain, Rain, Go Away
🕑 Added 2024-03-06 17:00:06 +0000 UTCTruth raced the sunset into the big city on the river. His road atlas claimed, to Truth’s deep suspicion, that the name of the town was “The Hot Male Side of the Shang River.” Which was clearly stupid on several levels, not least of which being that the river (according to that same road atlas) was called the Han.
I think we need to work on our Onis more. This is dumb.
<<Literal translations can be misleading. You have shepherded people, but how often have you ever actually herded sheep?>>
The city, whatever it was called, came as a shock to Truth’s senses. He was a Harban boy, born and bred. He was used to high density, hive-like slum towers and gorgeous wealthy districts. This city had those things… kind of. Just different enough to feel utterly alien and familiar all at once.
It was the apartment blocks. They looked like they had been stamped out on an assembly line. Identical buildings, dozens of stories tall, sorted into tidy rows like corn stalks. Row after row of them. Then lower apartment blocks were merely a half dozen stories, but four or five times the width of the towers. Those were sorted like books on a shelf. Neatly lined up and ready for use. Each perfectly identical to the other.
Very like home. Very like the mass produced housing Starbrite and its imitators churned out. He was struggling to put his finger on the difference. The sheer concentration of perfectly identical structures was almost enough to throw him by itself, but that wasn’t the whole of it.
They… he wanted to say that they were clean, but it was more a feeling of ‘clean,’ more than the actual state of being ‘not-dirty.’ Like the people living there took pride in their infinitely replicating apartment buildings. Maybe that was it- the people looked like they wanted to be there.
Nobody looked stressed about the war. In fact, more people looked worried about the sky. They were a very little bit north of the volcano’s plume, but the dust spread wide through the atmosphere. It wasn’t just Truth. Judging by the way everyone was hurrying home, nobody wanted to be on the streets tonight.
Truth cruised around looking for a mid-market hotel. Something with reliably clean beds and decent spell bowls under the doors. One of the great feats of magical engineering right there- making the bound demons able to pass through home wards without getting demolished by the spell bowls.
He turned down a busy street and was brought to a quick halt. Floating above the street, ten meters up, were little folded paper birds. Thousands of them, all the same model. The birds were in a variety of bright colors, and they mostly just floated in place. Sometimes they would shift a little or pretend to preen their non-existent feathers. What made them really special in Truth’s eyes were the lights in them. Each paper bird was lit from within by a bright, white light shining through the colored paper.
It was gorgeous. It was lively and joyful and fun, even with the identical birds manufactured in six approved colors. Under the darkening orange-black sky, they seemed brilliantly alive and hopeful. He smiled up at them and hoped they wouldn’t come to any harm from whatever was coming tonight.
The hotel boasted the “Sure, why not?” name of Summer-Hill Suites, despite having no suites and being built on perfectly flat land. Busy night at the hotel, it turned out. A lot of people from out of town suddenly felt the need for the shelter of the city.
Truth stood behind the clerk and looked at the list of available rooms, and picked the most expensive one that was still empty. If someone came in the middle of the night, he would deal with it then. Besides, the “most expensive one” was a double-queen-bed room with a pullout sofa, intended for an entire family to share. Not exactly the stuff of fevered dreams.
Flopping on the adequate mattress, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. There was something fun about how he managed his sleeping arrangements. No worries about safe houses, or being snitched on. What made it better was that Jeon knew he was doing it too. No idea about Onis’ degree of information on him, but their internal security services had a reputation for unpleasant thoroughness. They would be checking all the hotels, all the time, whether he existed or not.
They knew what he was up to. They just didn’t have an effective answer. It must be driving them crazy. He smiled beatifically. He passed through the world leaving no footprints. His body was sealed against most magics. He didn’t even emit heat or smell unless he wanted to. People weren’t allowed to see him unless he let them, and even then, they saw only who he wanted them to see. It didn’t work on the very highest level people, but for all but a fraction of one percent of the world’s population? He didn’t exist.
He kept calling everyone else ghosts or unreal, but right now, he was the real ghost. Another time that might bother him. For now, he just enjoyed it and closed his eyes. He would sleep while he could. He had a feeling that it would be a short night.
Truth woke to the sound of drumming rain on the window, and screams through the walls. He was up in a flash, slid into his already laced up shoes, and ready to fight in an instant. His eyes slid around the room- nothing. He glanced out the window. Whatever was hitting it was dark and viscus. He squinted. Hard to tell in the dark, even with his eyes, but… blood. It was raining blood.
He drew in a long breath through his nose. Yes, no mistaking that metallic stink. Blood, human blood. The screaming had died down, replaced by nervous chatter. These walls were really too thin. He’d have to leave a complaint. If it was raining blood, that was a problem for the windows, the walls, and the gutter. Unpleasant, but tomorrow the air and water demons would have a fantastic day and all would be well again.
He took a closer look out the window. He didn’t see anything moving out there. Not as many lights on in the city as he had expected. Something flickered in the distance. Bright lights. Police? Maybe. The window was getting blurry. Something caught the corner of his eye, something on the window itself.
The glass was slowly being etched. The blood was eating through the glass. Give it a few minutes, and there will be blood on the carpet. Looks like the hotel’s wards weren’t up to snuff. What he gets for going cheap.
Find another building? Trust his sealed body to keep out whatever evil that was? Not his first choice. Find an interior room and fort up? Better choice. He packed up everything he could, had a big drink of water, brushed his teeth, made use of the toilet, and left as the interior of the glass was just starting to smoke. Judging by the returning screams, other people were seeing it too.
Out into the hallway and down to the front desk. The staff were looking pretty alarmed too- people were yelling at them, demanding they do something. A lot to put on an overnight clerk, Truth thought.
The lights were flickering. That couldn’t be good. Everyone went quiet and stared at the shuddering talismans. The last time the lights suddenly went out, the magic vanished for a while. The pain of feeling your apertures collapse, even if only temporarily, was agonizing. If they stayed empty for too long, it would become permanent. A lifetime of pain.
He sighed. This was none of his business, but… maybe as a baby-step towards giving a damn about other people? He pulled on the persona of a Talisman Maintenance Engineer. Hopefully his bad grammar would sell his persona’s low education.
“Everyone, everyone, we are far from the doors and windows here. Just sit down and cultivate. Load up on as much energy as you can, so if the magic does stop, we can be okay for longer.” Incisive lent some weight to his words. He could see people slowly nodding.
“I don’t think the bathrooms have any windows, right?” Someone in the crowd asked. “We could hide out there and cultivate. Sit in the tub, even, in case something leaks in through the door.”
Truth nodded encouragingly. That was some good thinking right there. The conversation quickly started moving in a more productive direction, and Truth let himself fade out of their awareness. That was as far as he was willing to break cover. He liked being unnoticable. Even if it was clearly doing bad things to his emotional state.
Truth opted for a ground floor housekeeping closet. He decided that, acidic blood not withstanding, he could indulge in a little luxury. Therefore, he got one of the housekeeping carts, put a neatly folded quilt on top of it, and hopped aboard. A comfortable seat, just right for meditation and watching the rising tide. He took his own advice and cultivated. Twenty minutes later, he felt a vacuum against his skin. The cosmic rays in the city were fading out. Vanishing.
He was sealed up tight. Not a speck of energy leaked out. What he had, was his. He was fine. Just sitting and waiting. Listening to a hotel full of people screaming in fear and pain, for four hours. Trying desperately to convince himself he didn’t care, and it wasn’t touching him.
He left as soon as the blood rain stopped. For some reason, he didn’t want to look anyone in the eye.
The iron horse was no worse for wear. The demon was completely obliterated, of course, but the talismans had been such utter trash to begin with, the fluctuating magic didn’t manage to make them worse. One surprisingly technical bit of summoning later (his time fixing Army wagons came in very useful there) he was on the road again.
He pushed the two wheeler as hard as it would go. No more stops, no more looking around. Head down, straight for the Capital. Trying to outrun the echoing memories of screams. Trying not to think what those endless identical towers would have been like last night, or what the hospitals would be like now.
Tried not to think about the turbulence that vacuum had caused. Was the rain of blood pushed out ahead of a weather system of collapsing magic? He had no idea.
Straight into the center of the capital. He would look around later. Several layers of ring roads, he noticed. The city was beyond huge, but it was very orderly. Endless rows of identical apartment towers. He kept his eyes on the road. It took a lot of hunting, and a bit of discreet asking, but he did eventually find his way to the Siphios Embassy.
He approached the front desk. “Hi! I was told to ask for the Second Assistant Deputy to the Special Dispatch Officer for Trade and Agriculture?” Truth said in a friendly voice. The receptionist looked considerably more alert at the end of his sentence than at the start of it.
“Oh? I believe he will be free shortly. Would you follow me please?” She asked.
“Of course.”
She led him deeper into the embassy, finding a profoundly anonymous looking office with a profoundly thick, heavily warded door, and waved him to a seat. The seats were identical. This was a room for anonymous meetings, not posturing.
“Who should I say is here?” She asked. Truth grinned, remembering Merkovah’s instructions. “Tommy Wells. I’m here about your talisman problem.”
She nodded, recognizing a code phrase when she heard it. She turned to leave. “By the way,” Truth hurriedly added “Do you have a cafeteria here?”
She looked puzzled. “For staff, yes. Why?”
He smiled. “I’m dying for some good coffee. After I give my report, I think I’m going to be running out of here like my hair’s on fire. Any chance of a cup?”
Comments
Brett Peterson
Ooof - didn't see the ten plagues of Egypt coming, but very nice touch!
Leaf
“I’m going to be running out of here like my hairs on fire” is a phrase that would have my hackles up if I were her
