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The Rifleman - Ch.45
🕑 Added 2024-07-11 08:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter Fouty-Five
Ruins
Wesley looked at the ruins and couldn’t help but feel they were somewhat out of place. He had been expecting something like a crumbling and half-rotten castle or perhaps a half-reclaimed village.
He could even have gone as far as a half-submerged pyramid. It had been bugging him for the last ten minutes as they crept slowly closer to the structure.
“Who builds a mansion in a swamp?” Wesley lost his battle with self-control.
“Shhh!” Malia gave him a dirty look.
“I’m just saying,” Wesley insisted as quietly as he could. “A giant mansion in the middle of a mmmpfh!”
“Do you even know the meaning of stealth?” Malia hissed in his ear.
“Mmmpfh mu moo. I menth upf ah free,” Wesley tried his best to reply.
“What?” Malia took her hand off his mouth.
“Yes, I do,” Wesley whispered. “It means I go up a tree and scout.”
“See any tall trees, smartass?” Malia waved at the surrounding swamp full of short, rotten trees.
“Mushroom then,” Wesley nodded to a very tall mushroom with a bright white cap that looked slightly translucent. The strange, thin stalk looked barely able to support its own weight, but Wesley had ways around that.
“Hope it eats you,” Malia mumbled as he shifted into Wisp form and shot across to the mushroom, casting Improved Flare to make himself nearly weightless as he pulled himself up, hand over hand.
The stalk wavered but held as Wesley settled himself on top of the bulb, almost invisible against the light sky, as he got his first clear look at the ruins.
“Malia’s not going to like this,” he muttered to himself.
The mansion itself—despite the incongruity of its placement in a swamp—was not that remarkable from the front. Typical overdone columns and a sweeping veranda around the bottom in what Wesley would have called the French style if he had any idea what that was. Instead, he called it a ‘mid-century swooning spot.’
The white stone fronting was cracked in places, showing plain stone beneath, and the windows were almost all cracked or shattered, with sickly-looking vines growing up from the swamp around it. The only healthy-looking thing in the entire place was a massive toadstool in the back garden; the cap looked like a witch’s hat but was spotted with white marks that leaked a nasty-looking green goop down the cap where it dripped from the frayed ridge on the bottom, filling a small pool around the toadstool’s base.
Abominations, zombies, and even someone that Wesley was pretty sure was a ghoul like Pris wandered the garden.
None of that was the problem.
The problem was the clearly mechanical addition to the back of the mansion, with several mechanized creatures crawling around.
He watched as a zombie was led into the structure by the ghoul, a man whose gaunt frame was draped in a fine cloth robe that combined with his emaciated face to give grim reaper vibes, and after about twenty minutes, came back out.
One arm had been covered in metal, gears moving as it did, and both hands were replaced with a horrifying set of jagged metal short swords.
“Do this lot normally work together?” Wesley muttered to himself, but he suspected not. If they did, why try to hide it out here?
He spent another ten minutes watching, and Wesley was treated to the sight of an actual clockwork man. It came striding out of the structure, clad in bronze and steel armor with little windows to see the gears moving beneath.
Along with the ghoul, they selected an abomination and began to cut into the undead, the clockwork man adding several plates of ornate steel to the ribcage before the ghoul began to stitch it back together with what looked like steel wire.
“Houston, we have a problem,” Wesley muttered.
He returned to Malia, giving her a brief recap of what he had seen, and then they backed out far enough for Malia to spend a full minute swearing and cursing, which was a pretty good sign he had been right to assume this lot didn’t often work together.
“We should get Joy and go,” Malia said eventually. “We can report all of this and then run for the zone border. I’ll go into the forest if we have to; I just don’t want to get involved in any of that,” She gestured toward the mansion. “Do you know what happens when word of this gets out?”
“I’m imagining it is nothing good,” Wesley said simply.
“You're not imagining hard enough,” Malia replied tartly. “Try a massive, multisided war between the players to try and kill off this alliance.”
“Don’t they make alliances all the time?” Wesley asked.
“Sure,” Malia shrugged as she paced, “They help each other, but that is it. They don’t combine forces. Ever.”
“So we run,” Wesley nodded. “Leave a report, and go. Can we do it anonymously?”
“Joy could,” Malia said guiltily. “Make the report, I mean. No one has to know that we were involved at all.”
Wesley just looked at her.
“Fine!” She kicked a set of mushroom sprouts in irritation. “We’ll just die of pure fucking nobility!”
“We can’t just leave her to take the brunt of it,” Wesley insisted. “She’s too… innocent.”
“Fuck, I know.” Malia grimaced. “Come on, if we are gonna get painted with this, let’s at least do a good job.”
“See, there’s the Malia I know and occasionally get hit by,” Wesley winked, and she laughed.
They spent the next two hours circling the mansion very carefully, worried about being jumped at any moment. In all, there seemed to be over fifty undead and about twenty mechanicals. The ghoul led the undead, with the clockwork man leading the mechs.
The next discovery came when they were on the far side of the mansion, and Malia smelt the stench of rot from their left.
Pushing carefully through the thick grasses and strange, damp bushes brought them to a series of pits.
“Bloody hell,” Wesley crouched on the edge and looked down into the nearest. The bottom of the pit was filled with broken mechanicals, and from what he could tell, they had all had some kind of undead flesh bonded to them. He saw spider mechanical bodies with the upper half of a zombie nailed to the top, and other, much stranger combinations.
It was like a steampunk, heavy metal version of Doctor Moreau’s island, with an added swamp. These were, very clearly, the rejected experiments.
“I think they are trying to create a new type of troops,” Malia whispered as she checked the other pits. “Something mechanical and undead at the same time.”
“That won’t work,” Wesley shook his head. “Undead energy and Heat energy cancel each other out.”
“You are sure of that?” Malia asked. “How sure, exactly.”
“All I know is what I have seen with my own attempts to combine spells and abilities,” Wesley told her. “You add anything with light or heat energy to most undead; it goes badly for the undead.” He thought for a second. “Not as bad as if you add healing energy, but pretty bad.”
“Good,” Malia said. “That’s one less thing to worry about, anyway.”
They completed their sweep, finding only one other noteworthy place: a strange, temporary-looking portal gate set up a couple of miles from the mansion.
It was inactive. Wesley checked by shifting into wisp form and ensuring he couldn’t find any energy in it.
“Do they use it for backup or just as a quick way out?” Wesley asked Malia.
“How would I know,” Malia grimaced. “Not sure I like the idea of them being able to just bring in lots of new enemies whenever they want.”
“Shall we make some small changes?” Wesley asked. “Borrow a couple of components, that kind of thing?”
“If they made it, they can repair it,” Malia shook her head. “What could we do that wouldn’t just bring them down on us?”
Neither of them was happy just to walk away from the portal, and they also didn’t fancy their chances against a mass of enemies in this marshy swamp. After some back-and-forth, they decided the best option was to strike from afar.
Luckily, Wes was equipped to do just that.
Finding a good angle was the biggest challenge, and this time, he couldn’t find a handy mushroom to climb. What followed was almost an hour of carefully picking their way into the depths of the swamp, far from the roads and paths, before he finally found a good spot to shoot from.
“Okay, I’m good,” Wesley checked again.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Malia hissed. “Do it so we can get out of here.”
“I’m waiting for you to get as far away as you can,” Wesley said. “Just in case.”
“Don’t be silly,” Malia tossed her head. “I’m going to be right here, just in case.”
“For all we know, they have some way to track us or some ability to teleport to me or something.” Wesley finished lamely. “If that happens, we die, and so does Joy. Not to mention, no one gets that report out.”
“I’m not leaving you alone out here,” Malia insisted.
“I’m not alone,” Wesley smiled, activating his simulacrums. “I got my squad.”
“You die out here? I’m gonna kill you.” Malia said sadly. “So, try not to be an idiot, okay?”
“Non-idiotic stuff only, I promise,” Wesley said with a smile. “You be careful, too; this place isn’t exactly friendly.” He nodded to his clone. “Want to take a sim with you?”
“No, I’m fine,” Malia said firmly. “See you in a few hours?”
“Count on it,” Wesley nodded. “And save me a few cookies, will you?”
///////////////
Wesley crouched. At this distance, his sightline was only a couple of inches wide, but it was enough. His chosen target was the side of the portal arch itself. These were normally barely thicker than a few millimeters, but this temporary version seemed to be almost twice that. Still, without Hawk Eye, he would not even be able to see it at this distance.
The choice to get that Whisper Mod for his rifle was about to pay dividends, with at least a chance that the portal's owners would receive no warning at all.
With a little luck, Wesley and the others could be outside the zone before they even discovered that it was broken.
After a couple of heartbeats to slow his breathing, Wesley focused, lining everything up with a small allowance for the gentle breeze blowing through the marsh. Once he was done, Wesley breathed out slowly, activating the mod with a thought, and pulled the trigger.
He saw the arch twist and fall, a faint thunk the only sound made.
Wesley didn’t hang around to see if there was any reaction from the ruins. Waiting to see would just put him in more danger than simply assuming something was coming for him.
Flickering into Wisp form, he kicked away from the tree and shot off through the Marsh, heading directly for the nearest zone border. While he moved, Wes kept his ears tuned for any signs or sounds of pursuit behind him as he blurred over the landscape, kicking from one place to another until he saw the shimmer of the border ahead of him, Wes kicked high into the air, running up the side of a large stalk and then off into the sky again.
Turning, he scanned the area below him, finding nothing to indicate any sign of pursuit.
Letting himself drop towards the ground, Wes kicked off a rock as he landed, feeling a shock run through him before he was accelerating away again.
He zig-zagged for a while, doubling back twice before finding the road again,
The moving in a zig-zag and doubling back was something he had seen often enough to know it was a thing, but not something he actually knew how to do. That fact gave Wesley more than one anxious thought as he blurred over the roadway until finally seeing the tower with its many colored drapes fluttering in the breeze.
Dropping wisp form as he got closer, Wesley learned an important lesson. Momentum is a thing, and dropping wisp form while moving at speed was a great idea if you hit the ground running… not such a great idea when you immediately fail to run at speed and end up going ass over tit down the muddy road like a total idiot.
His usual thought that he was glad no one saw was immediately discarded in favor of soul-crushing embarrassment when he saw the Sara sim bent over, laughing.
“Okay, we tell no one about that!” Wesley said with as much dignity as he could muster as he got up and brushed himself off. “I’m still adjusting to the whole wisp thing.”
The Sara simulacrum nodded seriously before cracking up into gales of silent laughter again.
Wes compared his two sims, finding that his own copy was staring blankly ahead while the Sara clone continued to try and pull herself together and stop laughing.
According to his skill description, both Sims should be identical in behavior if not actual appearance.
He made a mental note to try and find someone to tell him a little more about simulacrums, adding it to a list he knew he was never going to actually complete.
Still, it was important to plan ahead, right?
“Welcome back!” Joy looked like she had been waiting by the door since they had left. “Can I get you anything to make you happy?”
“Thanks, Joy,” Wesley smiled. “Where’s Malia?”
“Uh,” Joy frowned. “You are the first one to return today. Is that wrong?”
Wesley felt a cold chill slide into his heart as he looked around at the empty, quiet common room. His first instinct was to rush out the door and start looking for Malia immediately, but he fought against it.
“I need you to send a report right now,” Wesley said anxiously. “We have to get the word out as quickly as possible; then I’m going to search for Malia.”
“Write it here!” Joy pointed to a table with scraps of paper on it. “I’ll get it sent while you go find the nice knight.”
Wesley was out the door again less than two minutes later, blurring over the ground toward the last place he had seen Malia.
//////////////////
“Stupid fucking swamp,” Wesley growled to himself as he tried desperately to find any trace of his partner. He had started by finding where he had shot from and gone back and forth from there, finding nothing.
Next, he tried to spiral out from the spot, with both his sims searching on either side of him, just in case he missed something.
The only logical choice was that she had been caught by the forces in the Ruins, so Wesley headed that way next, knowing it was stupid to go toward a kicked hornet nest but doing it anyway.
Malia was his partner, and to be honest, he didn’t want another wispy reminder of someone he had lost. About halfway between the shooting spot and the mansion, Wesley came across what looked like the leftovers from a fight. Deep gouges in the floor of the swamp, crushed ferns, and more.
He crouched, not even sure what he was looking for, ran his hands over the ground, and wished he had any idea how to read these marks. Only when he closed his eyes for a moment did he finally notice it.
It was Malia, or the ‘scent’ of her.
Faint.
Fading.
And it led away from the mansion.
Wesley moved slowly at first, following a trail of crushed ferns and broken mushrooms, but more than that, the ‘scent.’
It led on a winding track through the marsh, seeming to double back over its own tracks a few times.
But it was getting stronger.
Just as the light failed, Wesley saw something ahead of him. He rushed forward and discovered that there was indeed something in this marshland that could still terrify him.
Malia was pressed up against a dead tree, eyes wide and staring as a large Wisp hovered in front of her face, tendrils of energy wrapping around her arms and neck.
“NO!” Wesley yelled, his wispy voice seeming loud in the silence around the wisp.
Mine, go feed on another,
The sound that wasn’t a sound shocked Wesley. It was something he had never even considered and had no idea how he could understand… but it was talking using energy fields and fluctuations.
“No, mine,” Wesley growled back. “My friend. My partner.”
Not important, is food. Is mine, but will share.
“Not food; back off,” Wesley warned.
The tendrils disconnected, and Malia dropped to the ground, shaking her head before she looked up, terror in her eyes.
Wisp, but not. You can not claim what I am feeding on. Go away.
Wesley moved, shooting in between Malia and the wisp as it tried to go back to her again.
Wisp, but not. Young. Does not know, can not understand. Go, or I feed on you too, young not-a-wisp-but-is.
Wesley felt pressure trying to push him away and pushed back. His sims came and placed a hand on each of his shoulders, and he finally managed to stop himself from sliding. “Not her, go away,” Wesley growled.
Gave warning, now you are food.
Tendrils of energy shot out, pushing at his own body, and Wesley cried out in pain as a familiar draining feeling came over him. In wisp form, it burned.
He tried everything he could think of, casting every spell he had, only to feel the energy sucked away as soon as it formed.
Good meal!
All his energy was being drained into the other wisp, and Wesley screamed in pain.
MINE!
Wesley gasped as the draw reversed and energy flowed back into his form.
MINE!
The voice in his mind was his, but not quite just his. He tried to fight the feeling, and the energy drain reversed again.
With no other choice, Wesley allowed the feeling to fill his mind.
“Mine!” Wesley’s voice made the air vibrate. More tendrils launched, this time from him and his simulacrums.
“Ours.” Three echoey voices in unison.
No! Stop! Mercy!
Wesley felt the urge then. Wisps were not quite as others thought, were they? They might not die, but they could be banished. Drained. Fed on until they simply could not show themselves.
The urge to drain that last drop rose in him… and he stamped it down again.
Hard.
He was Wesley J. Lancaster, and he was not going to let this world change him.
“It’s not about them,” Wesley muttered, and the tendrils withdrew from the drained wisp, now less than the size of an orange.
Thanks. Gratitude. Leaving.
It turned and drifted away, letting the wind carry it.
“Wes?” Malia gasped as she tried to rise.
“I’m here,” Wesley dropped wisp form and helped her up.
“What the hell was that?” She gasped, almost pulling away from him.
“That was a wisp; it was trying to feed on you,” Wes replied gently.
“I know what that was,” Malia shivered. “I meant, what did you do?”
“No idea,” Wesley replied weakly. “I’ll figure it out when we get back to the tower.”
“You fed on that wisp,” Malia shivered again. “It was…”
Wesley caught her as she passed out.
