Converting lay odds to back odds – Betting Calculator

I run a private campground. One of the things I have to think about is fire management. Obviously, there’s a lot of wood around here. And obviously, if the campground goes up in flames, I lose my livelihood. I do some land management to protect against that by clearing out dry underbrush periodically and put in rules about fire pits and my staff make routine inspections to make sure they’re followed. Many of you have suggested using fire as a weapon against the inhuman things and each time I point out that this is a forest and while we don’t have a lot of dry wood, the odds of the entire thing going up are not zero.
And then I went and threw a molotov cocktail into a room entirely made of wood.
In my defense, it wasn’t technically in the campground. Only very technically.
If you’re new here, you should really start at the beginning and if you’re totally lost, this might help.
Beau’s assistance had cleared the thorns from my body. I spent a miserable few days coughing up plant matter. At least it’s winter so we don’t have much work to do and I could sit in my house and play video games as a distraction. I’m super obsessed with Octopath Traveler right now.
There were still the thorns planted throughout the campground to deal with, however. I wasn’t terribly worried. We had the stone, the one that contained the thorn’s death, and all I had to do was summon Beau and figure out what the next step was.
Of course, when I summoned him, he didn’t show. I had even made hot chocolate with a bit of Bailey’s. So I drank it all myself and then fueled by booze and a sugar high, I went tromping through the snow to find him.
The thought of him being in danger or otherwise unable to respond was only a vague worry. He’s been elusive ever since I refused to go to the harvesters. It’s hard to tell if he’s angry at me or just being moody. It certainly isn’t because I’m good enough with a knife that I don’t need his help anymore. I intended to ask him what the problem was, once I found him. I decided to walk along the road through the deep woods, as that was both the safest place and where he tended to be found.
It took a few days of hiking around the campsite, but I eventually found Beau. He was up ahead on the road, waiting for me. As I approached, he turned and began walking again, so that I could catch up and we walked along side-by-side.
“I haven’t seen you much,” I said tentatively.
“I’m avoiding you.”
“That’s obvious.”
I waited, but no explanation was forthcoming.
“Did I… upset you?”
He seemed genuinely confused as to why, so I explained how I saw the situation. How I’d ignored his suggestion and gone to the hall of the gummy bears instead. He gave a soft laugh at that and reminded me - once again - that he was not human.
“Why would I take offense?” he asked. “You made a choice that was yours to make.”
“Then why are you avoiding me?”
We walked along in silence for a bit more and the only sound was the packed snow crunching beneath our feet. I was careful to keep some distance between us, keenly aware that my mere presence was contrary to his nature. Like magnets, I thought, pushing each other away.
“You’re marked for death,” he finally sighed. “It hovers over your head like a halo. Here is my mark, wrought of blood.”
He stepped close and gestured, his hand passing through the space a few inches from my hair.
“There are more, now. All of these bargains and debts you’ve accumulated, twisting together into a cord that will someday settle tight around your neck and take away your life.”
“And you’re bound to me,” I whispered.
He took a single step backwards, dropping his hand by his side, his expression grim.
“I feel the fomorian’s mark upon me as well. I do not care to accumulate more.”
I asked him to describe them to me. He hesitated, and then very reluctantly, told me a few. One of shadow, trailing in the wind as if the slightest breeze would eradicate it. I suppose that’s what happens when the person who made that mark is trapped inside the thing in the dark. Good riddance to him. Another of iron, shattered now, and crumbling. The lady with extra eyes. One of thorns, marking the intent of the fomorian.
And of course, a crown of teeth. A very old crown, passed down along the family line. The claim of the beast.
There were more, he said, but he refused to elaborate. He seemed uneasy, as if merely describing them was more familiarity than he cared to have. I didn’t press. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to know exactly how many creatures have it out for me. I’d probably never sleep again out of paranoia.
He soon turned off the road and into the woods. I followed a bit more slowly, struggling through the deep snow. The temperature has been in the teens lately, with the windchill bringing it down to single digits. I envied Beau and his total indifference to the cold.
He led me to a patch of thorns. It was one I knew of already and had tried to uproot. The snow around it was mixed with loose soil from earlier attempts. Let me tell you - it is really tough to dig up bushes in the middle of the winter with the ground as frozen as it is.
Beau extended his cup and held it up over the thorns. He tilted it, slowly, until a thin stream of liquid poured forth. It steamed in the cold air and melted the snow where it struck the ground at the base of the thorns.
“Is that it?” I asked softly. “This will kill them?”
“Yes. My cup carries the stone’s essence and the roots of the thorns will drink deeply of their own death.”
“I’m surprised you’re helping me so directly.”
“It’s not just for you,” he replied, his eyes narrowed as he watched the contents of his skull steam in the snow. “This is my home and as you recall, I am unable to leave it. I have no desire to be ruled by a tyrant.”
A thought occurred to me.
“Do the other inhabitants feel the same?”
“Of course. Do you recall how the musician saved you from the horse?”
Ah. I’d not thought too much of it at the time. I was helping them out with the children, after all, so it stood to reason that they’d want to repay the favor by saving my life. We stood in silence for a bit longer, watching the thorns shrivel into withered, dry branches where the liquid from Beau’s cup had touched them. I could only imagine the roots were now doing the same. Tentatively, I reached out and tapped one of the afflicted branches. It broke off as if it were made of spun sugar and smashed into dust when it landed in the snow. As if it’d been dead for centuries.
“Could I get help from the other inhabitants of the campground?” I asked. “I know the fairy doesn’t want help, but we still have to deal with the formorian’s indirect effects on the land.”
“Don’t,” Beau replied sharply. “You would only endanger them. They won’t take such a risk.”
“You’re helping me,” I said pointedly.
He grunted and turned his back to me, walking back towards the road.
“I was already marked by my association with you,” he said.
When I was trapped in the dream that the master of the vanishing house had wove for me, I told it that I could not love it, for everything I love dies. It feels like another lifetime ago. I withdrew my hand from the bush and stuffed it in my pocket as I hastily followed Beau.
He went from bush to bush, repeating the process with each. After a few more I realized that my presence was entirely unnecessary and probably even annoying to him, so I awkwardly thanked him and excused myself.
I went back to the house and played more video games. I only felt a little guilty about it.
The next day I stumbled into the kitchen and brewed coffee. Then, mug in hand, I went to the kitchen table and pulled back the curtains to get some early morning sunlight.
Beau was standing directly outside.
I screamed in surprise and dropped my mug. It was my “Live, Laugh, Love” mug that I took from the camp lost and found so it wasn’t a huge loss. We wind up with quite a few mugs in lost and found and hardly any of them get claimed. After a year they become camp property. I can’t remember the last time I bought myself a mug.
I invited Beau in while I cleaned up the mess. He hovered uncomfortably in the archway between the kitchen and the living room, not saying anything. Only when I was done mopping up coffee did I turn and ask him what he wanted.
He presented his cup in mute explanation. Only a small drop of liquid remained inside.
“Where’s the pebble?” I asked, going to get my sharpest kitchen knife.
“I still have it, in case the fomorian plants more thorns.”
Blood from that which was already there. Blood freely given. I held out my palm and let my blood drop into the cup.
“Where do you plan on getting the blood forcibly taken?” I asked softly.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. The only staff on site during the winter were my most trusted people, like Ed and Bryan. I didn’t want any of them to be targets.
“I want to leave the campground.”
I sucked in an involuntary breath. He wanted to take blood from someone outside my land. One of the townspeople, perhaps. They’d thrown an uproar over him poisoning a few people on Halloween. I hated to think how they’d react to him stabbing someone.
“Do you have someone in mind?” I asked.
“I do.”“Will you kill them?”
“Will my answer change your decision?”
No. It would not. I needed Beau. And Perchta’s warning… well, it was not so black and white as I’d assumed. There was some flexibility here.
I wish I were surprised by how easily I slipped back into old habits. The same old rationalizations. Better someone else’s life than my own. Better a stranger’s life than someone I know. It feels inevitable that I would resort to this. It takes more than a threat to turn someone into a good person.
I won’t apologize. I won’t make excuses. You know what kind of person I am. I did the calculations, weighed my options, and this is what I chose.
I got my car keys and told Beau to come with me.
We went to someone that lived on the outskirts of town. It took a while to get there, as Beau couldn’t tell me what roads to turn on. He could only give directions in a vague sense, such as east or west. At least he was patient. He barely moved, sitting in the passenger seat, not wearing a seatbelt, with his cup cradled against his chest. Finally, he told me we’d arrived and I pulled into the driveway of a small house surrounded by a stretch of overgrown field that was subsequently swallowed up by forest. A black pickup truck was parked in the gravel driveway.
Beau got out. I stayed where I was for a moment, nervously holding onto the steering wheel, and then I reluctantly followed him. Better if I saw this through. I had to know what I’d done.
He knocked on the door. A man in his late forties, perhaps, answered. His hair was thinning. He squinted at Beau suspiciously.
And Beau… gestured with one hand. Just a simple half-twist of his wrist.
The man coughed. Blood spurted out of his mouth. It streamed from his nose. And my insides twisted with horror as his eyes began to leak blood, as it spilled out through his tear ducts. It beaded up on his forehead, forced out through every one of his pores. It streamed out of him through every available channel, soaking his clothing, dripping from his ears, and he twitched and shook and choked as his skin grew white and his heart raced and then finally collapsed on itself.
He landed face-first onto the pavement of his porch. The blood floated above him as a red mist and Beau made another subtle gesture, directing it to gracefully stream like a river through the air and into his cup. There was far more blood than the vessel could contain - an entire human body’s worth - but the cup never overflowed. It filled and filled, brilliant crimson like a ruby, until there was none left to take.
The bloodless corpse lay on the ground with not a mark on it to indicate what had happened.
I realized that my hands were trembling. I struggled to move, to find my voice. Beau turned around and faced me and there was a soft, satisfied smile on his face.
“Have you always been able to do that?” I demanded, my voice coming out higher than I’d prefer, betraying my panic.
“Yes.”
The expression on the man’s face was burned into my mind. His desperate agony, tears of blood streaming down his cheeks, his body rigid as his own blood clawed its way free of his veins. I tried to banish it with something else. Anything else.
“So the time I found a body like that and spent three weeks hanging garlic up everywhere thinking we had a vampire on the campground… that was you?”
“Yes.”
I took a breath, trying to calm my nerves.
“Do you have any idea how much I spent on garlic?!”
“Do I care?”
I whirled away from him and stalked back to the car, digging my hands into my hair. Okay, the garlic didn’t matter. I just… that was what came to my mind first. Trying to bury what I’d just seen in something more mundane, I suppose. Trying to distract myself from the fact that Beau could kill people in a far more horrifying way than simply slitting their throat or fatally poisoning them.
At least it was relatively fast. I took a deep breath and opened my car door. He’d threatened me with worse when I first met him.
It was a tense drive back to the campground. When we were back on familiar roads I thought to ask Beau why he’d chosen this person, specifically.
“He double-parks.”
“And?”
He glanced at me in mild surprise.
“What else do you need?”
“Are you kidding me? I just let you murder someone because they double-park?”
“Murder?” His tone was sharp. “You let me refill my cup. I drained it to save your land. You ensured my survival.”
Whatever it takes. The family tradition. My grandfather killed his share to protect our land. My parent’s hands certainly weren’t clean. And nor are mine.
I wish I could say that was the end of it. That I let Beau out once we were back at my house and he wandered off and nothing else happened. But what we’d done was not going to go unnoticed.
I stayed up late that night. I was awake because I was playing video games and making yet another attempt at killing that damn direwolf in Octopath Traveler, like seriously, why is that thing so hard to kill? I must be doing something wrong. So after watching my party get their faces ripped off for like the fifth time I finally turned the TV off and went to bed. It was midnight. The little girl was crying softly by the window.
I’d barely climbed into bed when she stopped. I froze. That was never a good sign.
“Oh no,” the little girl whispered. “No no no no.”
I acted on instinct. I threw myself out of bed and took cover behind it. The little girl screamed in fright and then my window shattered. The house shook with the impact. For a moment everything was still, save for the tinkling of some glass remnants striking the ground and the wild sobbing of the little girl.
Then…
“Campground manager!” the fomorian bellowed.
My blood ran cold. I felt frozen in place, cowering there next to the bed. The fomorian’s voice came at a distance. It wasn’t over the house’s property line, at least.
“I will find the one that killed my thorns at your behest!” it continued. “I will drag him here and I will tear him apart, little by little, and eat him alive. You will be helpless to watch and know what fate awaits you.”
Then I heard the cry of a horse and the sound of hoofbeats, receding into the distance. A warning. This was only a warning.
The fomorian intended to kill Beau.
Tentatively, I stood and turned on the bedside light. There was a body wedged through the broken window. It couldn’t fit through the frame, but it’d shattered the glass and now its head and part of its upper body was stuck. The hood of its garment mercifully covered its face, for I recognized it by its bulk.
One of the musicians. The fomorian had killed one of the dancer’s musicians. And, my heart sinking, I knew that it had to be the one that had rescued me from the dapple-gray stallion’s hooves.
I kill everything I love. Everything that gets close to me.
I’m a campground manager. I am also my mother’s daughter and the product of generations that believed life was expendable and we were but prey to these inhuman things. Herd animals, and sometimes one of our own had to be sacrificed to save the rest.
I’m certain that the new sheriff will find out about the body. She might not assume it was me, but I’ll be involved regardless. My family always is, when an odd death occurs. She’ll send the old sheriff because he’s better at dealing with me. And then what? Do I lie to him? I could. I think he’d believe me. I’ve gotten quite good at lying over the years doing this job.
It’s odd, how the thought of lying to him bothers me more than murdering that man did. I suppose that’s a consequence of sentimentality.
Sometimes I think I feel too little and sometimes I wish I didn’t feel so much. I’m starting to think… that maybe I’m a little more messed up inside than I thought.
Do I love Beau? I… would be sad if he were gone. Even after seeing what he did to that man. The need to refill his cup was real, but the criteria with which he chose his victim was… petty. That, I think, is cruelty. Beau is cruel. I can not defend him. Yet humans are stupid, emotional things and we form attachments without even realizing it until one day we realize how painful their absence will be. We bond with animals, with plants, and with people that don’t even exist - a character in a video game or a book.
I suppose I love Beau in the same way I love the barn cat with the kinked tail or the plant that my uncle gave me or Therion in Octopath Traveler.
I don’t want him to die. [x]
Read the full list of rules.
Visit the campground's website.

This is long (TL:DR at the bottom). I hope it provides some entertainment and leads you to think about the story in a different way. Yes, you can blame this on the long wait.
 
The chapter is titled "Lanre Turned" and it's Skarpi's story of Lanre and Selitos. It's a story about a namer who lost an eye and gained a better sight. It's also a story about a man skilled with a sword who relies on the strength of his arm.

Lanre had fought since he could lift a sword, and by the time his voice began to crack he was the equal of a dozen older men.

It's about the Creation War but we are missing a key piece of information. Not only are there namers, there are shapers. Shapers who not only see a thing and understand it, they seek mastery over it and change it. And there are other things in the world. PR has made the comment that there are a whole cvilization of these people. In the middle of all this is Lanre, who appears to be just a man with no skill at naming. In some ways Lanre is a man walking beside gods.
 
We know from the story that something happens to Lyra.

Then rumors began to spread: Lyra was ill. Lyra had been kidnapped. Lyra had died. Lanre had fled the empire. Lanre had gone mad. Some even said Lanre had killed himself and gone searching for his wife in the land of the dead.

And Lanre tries to do something about it.

Selitos, his eyes unveiled, looked at his friend. He saw how Lanre, nearly mad with grief, had sought the power to bring Lyra back to life again. Out of love for Lyra, Lanre had sought knowledge where knowledge is better left alone, and gained it at a terrible price.

The strength of his arm is not enough. Lanre is going to need power, and it's power he gains through knowledge. Presumably it is to bring Lyra back from the dead. We know he gets it and does something rash or thoughtless with it. Ben reinforces this idea when Kvothe gets a double lesson on the dangers of being thoughtless.

Ben taught me others. A dozen dozen sympathetic bindings. A hundred little tricks for channeling power. ... Ben continued giving me a smattering of lessons in other areas: history, arithmetic, and chemistry. But I grabbed at whatever he could teach me about sympathy... I don't mean to imply that the road was always smooth. The same curiosity that made me such an eager student also led me into trouble with fair regularity.

 
What "trouble" is Kvothe referring to? If your first thought was binding the air to his lungs, you would be wrong. The very next sentence:

One evening as I was building up my parent's cookfire, my mother caught me chanting a rhyme

His mother overhears the Lackless rhyme.

“It's nothing to cry over, sweet one. Just remember to always think about what you're doing.”

 
Kvothe is being thoughtless. Ben is going to tell him the same thing the day he binds the air to his lungs.

In hindsight, what I had done was glaringly stupid. When I bound my breath to the air outside, it made it impossible for me to breathe.

Now it's time for Ben to lecture Kvothe and Lanre is the object lesson.

“I'm doing this all wrong. Never mind your father's song. We'll talk about it after he finishes it. Knowing Lanre's story might give you some perspective.” ... “What if you give him a sword?”
Realization started to dawn on me, and I closed my eyes. “More, much more. I understand, Ben. Really I do. Power is okay, and stupidity is usually harmless. Power and stupidity together are dangerous.”
“I never said stupid,” Ben corrected me. “You're clever. We both know that. But you can be thoughtless. A clever, thoughtless person is one of the most terrifying things there is. Worse, I've been teaching you some dangerous things.”

 
If you walk away from Ben's conversation with the knowledge that Lanre did something thoughtless you would be right. But that's just half the picture. Lanre was clever. In Denna's version of the song, he cleverly tricks Selitos.

Selitos was a tyrant, an insane monster who tore out his own eye in fury at Lanre’s clever trickery.

  Tricking Selitos was clever, but it wasn't thoughtless. What he does to Selitos was calculated and successful. Lanre needs to DO something clever AND do it in a thoughtless way.
 

Lanre was dead. Lyra wept brokenly and touched his face with trembling hands. All around men turned their heads, because the bloody field was less horrible to look upon than Lyra's grief.
But Lanre heard her calling. Lanre turned at the sound of her voice and came to her. From beyond the doors of death Lanre returned.

By sheer force of will Lanre turned and came to her. Here's a question that's worth pondering: Did Lyra bring Lanre back from the dead or did Lanre return of his own will? It's actually his act, more than hers. Lyra had given up, but Lanre turned. That same will he sets to bringing Lyra back when she dies. But just his will won't be enough.
 

Lanre needs power.

Selitos, his eyes unveiled, looked at his friend. He saw how Lanre, nearly mad with grief, had sought the power to bring Lyra back to life again. Out of love for Lyra, Lanre had sought knowledge where knowledge is better left alone, and gained it at a terrible price.

Despite having no ability with names, Lanre gains power through knowledge. Lanre has learned something or been taught something or has acquired something. It's power unrecognizable and foreign to all the namers walking around. Namers and shapers who have always relied on their naming abilities and nothing else. What power can someone acquire that at its simplest only requires a strong will and knowledge? A power that even a young boy can learn from a traveling arcanist?
 
Lanre becomes a sympathist.
 
There's a great example we are given of someone being bound with sympathy.
Kvothe grabs a hair from Devi to use for his binding.

As I came into the room I tripped on the threshold, stumbling clumsily into her and resting one hand briefly on her shoulder as I steadied myself.

Lanre puts his hand on Selitos' shoulder.

Lanre turned and placed his hand on Selitos' shoulder. “Silanxi, I bind you...”

 
Devi gets control and binds Kvothe.

But Devi had heat to spare right now, and her binding was like being shut in an iron vise. I couldn’t move my arms or legs, or jaw, or tongue. I could barely breathe, only taking tiny, shallow breaths that didn’t require any movement of my chest.

Notice how similar the outcome is to Selitos (while reminding us that Lanre has no gift for names).

Lanre had no gift for names - his power lay in the strength of his arm. For him to attempt to bind Selitos by his name would be as fruitless as a boy attacking a soldier with a willow stick. Nevertheless, Lanre's power lay on him like a great weight, like a vise of iron, and Selitos found himself unable to move or speak. He stood, still as stone and could do nothing but marvel: how had Lanre come by such power?

Think about this from the viewpoint of Selitos. Selitos is a namer who thinks in terms of naming. He has no understanding of sympathy, that's why he can't recognize or understand Lanre's power. At the beginning I mentioned this was a story about namers that left out something crucial: shaping. If you are telling a story about namers, everything is viewed from that perspective. The story itself doesn't acknowledge anything but naming.
Knowing that shaping and sympathy exist, is it possible that what actually happened is Lanre spoke sympathetic bindings while the story portrays it in the only perspective Selitos would understand? This is why Selitos thinks his sight fails him - because he has no knowledge of sympathy. Sympathy is power to anyone with a will and knows the correct bindings.

“Silanxi, I bind you. By the name of stone, be still as stone. Aeruh, I command the air. Lay leaden on your tongue. Selitos, I name you. May all your powers fail you but your sight.”

Let's talk about the oliphant in the room. Lanre says he names Selitos. Yet this is a story about naming only.

“All stories are true,” Skarpi said. “But this one really happened, if that's what you mean.” He took another slow drink, then smiled again, his bright eyes dancing. “More or less. You have to be a bit of a liar to tell a story the right way.

This story really happened. But how it happens could be debatable. Consider this...replace 'name' in the passage to reference sympathetic bindings.

“Silanxi, I bind you. By the binding of stone, be still as stone. Aeruh, I command the air. Lay leaden on your tongue. Selitos, I bind you. May all your powers fail you but your sight.”

 

What Lanre planned with his new power

Some even said Lanre had killed himself and gone searching for his wife in the land of the dead.

Lanre is a man who has commanded other men and stood side-by-side with namers. He married one of the greatest namers of the time. Lanre has come back from the dead through sheer force of will. Now he is setting his will to bring Lyra back. And I'm willing to bet Lanre has a will like the sea in storm. Instead of will, let's call it what it really is: alar.
He has the alar and knowledge of the sympathetic bindings. He needs to kill himself, which isn't much of an impediment. It's the return that's the difficult part. And there's another issue. When he dies, all his bindings will be broken...

How odd to watch a mortal kindle Then to dwindle day by day. Knowing their bright souls are tinder And the wind will have its way. Would I could my own fire lend. What does your flickering portend?

When Lanre's light goes out, his bindings will fail. There's a third thing Lanre needs for sympathy at this level and it solves all his problems: a power source. It needs to be extremely powerful and it can't be exhausted like Devi's poor-boy.

Lanre needs an ever-burning lamp.
 

Lanre's power source

When Kvothe is in Haert he takes water from the hot springs as a potential energy source.

A small stoppered bottle of water from the baths. I closed my fist tightly around the last. Most people don’t understand how much heat water holds inside it. That is why it takes so long to boil. Despite the fact that the scalding-hot pool I had pulled this from was more than half a mile away, what I held in my hand was of better use to a sympathist than a glowing coal.

 
An ever-burning lamp would provide an endless supply of energy for a sympathist to tap into. But the closest we get to them are Kilvin's experiments.
 

“No sympathy. I do not want an ever-glowing lamp. I want an ever-burning one.” (Kilvin-NotW Ch.36)

There's a clear difference between ever-glowing and ever-burning. Kilvin seems to believe that to be ever-burning it cannot be made with sympathy. So why no sympathy? Because bindings will eventually be broken? I'm not sure how sympathy can still give you an ever-glowing lamp, but for now let's assume a process other than sympathy is required for an ever-burning lamp.

After a moment of maneuvering through the maze of timber and iron, we came to the hanging row of glass spheres with fires burning inside them.
“These,” Kilvin gestured, “are my lamps.”
It was only then that I realized what they were. Some were filled with liquid and wicking, much like ordinary lamps, but most of them were utterly unfamiliar. One contained nothing but a boiling grey smoke that flickered sporadically. Another sphere contained a wick hanging in empty air from a silver wire, burning with a motionless white flame despite its apparent lack of fuel.
Two hanging side by side were twins save that one had a blue flame and the other was a hot-forge-orange. Some were small as plums, others large as melons. One held what looked like a piece of black coal and a piece of white chalk, and where the two pieces were pressed together, an angry red flame burned outward in all directions.
...
“Hmmm. You should. White lithium salt. I thought of it three span before you came to us. It is good so far, twenty-four days and I expect many more.” He looked at me. “Your guessing this thing surprised me, as it took me ten years to think of it. Your second guess, sodium oil, was not as good. I tried it years ago. Eleven days.”

 
What I take away from this: An ever-burning lamp is self-contained, can be small as a plum, and potentially made with salt. It can be an easily portable source of energy a sympathist can draw from that never burns out.
 

Clever and Thoughtless

I said before I thought Lanre needs to DO something that is clever AND thoughtless. We think of Ben's example of Lanre as being thoughtless with power. But what if it is directly related to sympathy and what Kvothe did? Kvothe binds himself to something he shouldn't have. What if Lanre did the same? This is where I think Lanre is both clever and thoughtless.
Lanre binds an ever-burning lamp to himself.
 
It fits the imagery of a power burning in Lanre, much like an ever-burning lamp.

But just as Lyra's love had drawn him back from past the final door before, so this time Lanre's power forced him to return from sweet oblivion. His new-won power burned him back into his body, forcing him to live. ...
“I can kill you,” Selitos said, then looked away from Lanre's expression suddenly hopeful. “For an hour, or a day. But you would return, pulled like iron to a loden-stone. Your name burns with the power in you. I can no more extinguish it than I could throw a stone and strike down the moon.”

It gives him a limitless power source for his sympathy and ensures his light will never go out (so to speak). It allows him to return from the dead, because the sympathetic binding holds that Lanre is like an ever-burning lamp and cannot be extinguished. But something goes wrong. Maybe the binding is made permanent because of the lamp's nature. Perhaps he didn't consider some facet of it, like Kvothe binding the air to his lungs. Perhaps the binding was held so tight, he couldn't get it undore. Maybe someone stole his ever-burning lamp and hid it away, forcing Lanre to live eternal. Perhaps the binding can't be undone because it would make him mortal and violate the original intent of bringing him back from the dead.
 

Considerations, puzzle pieces, outright ramblings

THE CTHAEH
Where would Lanre even learn sympathy? The Cthaeh, of course.

Bast shook his head, his face pale and drawn. “Not wrong, Reshi, catastrophic. Jax spoke to the Cthaeh before he stole the moon, and that sparked the entire creation war. Lanre spoke to the Cthaeh before he orchestrated the betrayal of Myr Tariniel.
The Cthaeh knows everything you’re ever going to do. Everything you’re going to say

A perfectly malicious creature that can see all futures already knows every sympathetic binding that will ever be taught or spoken at the University. How entertaining would it be to the Cthaeh to teach Lanre sympathy, overthrow the namers and shapers, and watch the chaos? Kind of reminds me of Prometheus stealing fire from the gods and giving it to mankind.
 
BROKEN SWORDS
Whether or not copper actually has a name is a debate for another time. Personally I suspect it does. I believe that's why stories sometimes differ on sword composition. It's relative to the time and event. Lanre carries a silver sword because namers of silver are extremely rare or he is planning to encounter someone he knows can't name silver. Same with Marten's story of Taborlin and the copper sword.
Whether you believe copper has a name or not, I think you can agree that the following is a true statement: A copper sword is a great way to kill a namer ... if he can't name copper. But isn't that true of any material provided the individual can't name it?
Sympathy makes the copper debate irrelevant. A copper sword is useless against a sympathist with the right materials and bindings. (Yes, I realize I am making an assumption that copper has a binding). Consider Kvothe and the fake Ruh, merely picture copper instead of iron:

But I was ready. I slid a second long, brittle piece of sword-iron into my hand and muttered a binding. Then, just as he came close enough to strike I snapped the iron sharply between my fingers. His sword shattered with the sound of a broken bell, and the pieces tumbled and disappeared in the dark grass.

Perhaps this is why Haliax is associated with broken sword imagery? No sword can stand against him. I'm not sure how the Adem swords fit in with this. Perhaps they were shaped, perhaps they are a sympathy equivalent to 'nameless', they are 'bindless'. Although it does appear there is foreshadowing that Kvothe is going to break one.
 
LACKLESS RHYME
The first lecture Kvothe gets on being thoughtless was for reciting this rhyme.

One a sharp word, not for swearing (a spoken binding) Right beside her husband's candle (ever-burning) There's a door without a handle In a box, no lid or locks Lackless keeps her husband's rocks (a plum-sized ever-burning lamp)

 
ALEPH
In true Skarpi fashion I'll start this by talking about Selitos.

Just by looking at a thing Selitos could see its hidden name and understand it. In those days there were many who could do such things, but Selitos was the most powerful namer of anyone alive in that age.

Remember at the beginning, I said this was a story about namers. All Selitos can do is see and understand. But others are skilled at names. How they use that skill we don't know for sure.

Selitos knew that in all the world there were only three people who could match his skill in names: Aleph, Iax, and Lyra.

That leads us to the incomplete second story. We miss the beginning and we don't know why Selitos and others come before Aleph. I've often tried to put Lanre on one side or the other, but what if he torched both sides? Could Aleph represent the shapers and this is actually a parley between the namers and the shapers? Lanre's new power represents a danger to the old order. Now any mortal with an alar and knowledge of the bindings has magic at their disposal.
 
INNER TURNINGS

“Who knows the inner turnings of your name, Cinder?”

This is the most problematic thing I can see for this theory. This seems to imply Haliax is able to name Cinder and use his name against him. Whether or not he is actually naming him (like Kvothe did Felurian) I'm not sure. I've always thought Selitos cursed them by their true calling names. Ferule, Stercus, Usnea, etc.

Your own name will be turned against you

That could be what Haliax is actually manipulating Cinder with. Speaking their names causes them actual physical pain. I've wondered if Ferule/Ferula could be an Adem name. Different meanings based on the pronunciation and Haliax knows their meanings. There is an English phrase this reminds me of: 'turn the screws', which essentially means to exert pressure on someone. Lanre turned, after all. He's still turning present day.
Of course that doesn't work if Cinder could do the same. Maybe he doesn't actually know Haliax's true calling name. Or he changed his name. Or perhaps the person who is Haliax today isn't the same person from the story...
There's a question that's been nagging at me and it is rooted in Shehyn's story. If Cinder is an alias for Ferul(a/e) ... and Haliax is an alias for Alaxel ... how does the name 'Lanre' fit in? Was he Lanre before, changed his name to Alaxel, but gets called Haliax? Pardon me, Lord Haliax.
 
UNDER SHADOW FALLING

This is my doom upon you. May your face be always held in shadow, black as the toppled towers of my beloved Myr Tariniel.

If Lanre is basically an ever-burning lamp, how fitting is it that Selitos curses him with darkness?
 
HAL-
If an ever-burning lamp can be made with salt, is that another clue in Haliax's name?
Hal- in Latin can mean "breath". But it can also mean salt.
You can see this in the naming of common rock salt which is Halite.

Lackless keeps her husband's rocks

Okay maybe not that one. But...

I sow salt because the choice is between weeds and nothing

and

“No,” said Lanre. He stood to his full height, his face regal behind the lines of grief. “There is nothing sweet. I will sow salt, lest the bitter weeds grow.”

 
-IAX
I've largely ignored Iax because I wanted to focus on how Lanre might gain power through knowledge. I think the name Haliax is too glaring to ignore. This whole thing came about from a question I kept asking myself. If Lanre has no skill with names, but acquires power from knowledge, where is his power coming from? And how might he do it if it is not granted power from someone else?

Her smile faded. “but one shaper was greater than the rest. for him the making of a star was not enough. he stretched his will across the world and pulled her from her home.”

Perhaps Lanre bound himself to Iax's star (aleu?) and that's the equivalent of an ever-burning lamp... Or perhaps he is bound to the ever-moving moon that Iax pulled between worlds...
 
TL:DR Having no power with names, Lanre becomes a Sympathist seeking to bring Lyra back from the dead. In order to search for her in the land of the dead, he binds an ever-burning lamp to himself in a clever but thoughtless use of sympathy that he can't undo.
 

Hello everyone, Hope you're all having a wonderful day! I'd like thank you all for supporting this series, it really motivates me to write. With that said, hope you enjoy this chapter.
Start from Chapter 1 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Chapter 10 - Is this the best day of my life?
When you have an inseparable God virus in your body like I do, dreaming can go one of two ways. Either the virus reacts to the dream as it would react to conscious behavior, or it will be aware that its host is dreaming and attempt to interfere. I thought about it and found more than enough reasons to believe in the latter theory. But that raised another question — in what way will it interfere?
A) Because dreams are a side effect to a natural brain activity during REM sleep, the virus will remove that side effect, preventing me from dreaming.
B) The virus will try to communicate with me, or vice versa.
C) The virus will give me lucid control over the dream, and since the virus is going to be involved, the experience will be somehow more exceptional than regular lucid dreaming.
Analyzing these theories any further would be a waste of time, so I decided to put it in practice. But in the unlikely event that the virus is going to burn down the kingdom while I'm asleep, I knew I had to take measures to avoid that.
So, I stopped by the inn after reverting the color of my hair and eyes. Yes, I mean ‘stopped by’ because I wasn’t going to do something dangerous like ‘sleeping’ in my own room, that would be crazy. You see, I had another destination in mind. It’s just that some preparations were in order before I headed there.
The blanket we had on our bed was the first thing I took, securing a fairly comfortable surface to sleep on. I folded it and tucked it away in an empty leather bag. I also needed a rope, which I couldn’t find in the room. ‘I guess I’ll just buy one on the way,’ I said to myself and resumed packing. Next set of items were a blank notebook, a quill and a bottle of ink. Because, in case my dreams end up being completely ordinary, I wanted to take notes of what I could recollect after waking up; since dreams are normally easy to forget.
For the last item I needed, I began preparing some UU enchantments. If you remember, UU enchantments are based on magnetically coded instructions electronically translated and converted into magic skills. Therefore, it doesn’t require the ‘enchanter’ to have an associated enchantment skill. Basically, I was manually encoding binary instructions into magnetic disks.
Knock! Knock!
“I have brought you tea, lord Zenith,” the innkeeper’s muffled voice came through the closed door. She apparently saw me enter the inn and prioritized on preparing me tea.
“Come in,” I replied loud enough for her to hear. I remained occupied with coding, as she opened the door and walked up to the coffee table behind me. “Leave it here,” I said, referring to the study table by which I was working. Obediently, she brought it to my side and poured the tea from the kettle into the cup.
“Lord Zenith, as you requested, the rumors about non-believers and ill-intended people being smitten by the one true God is being spread around. It was just as you predicted. We all received the news about the giant apple tree in the Kullu district, and now this whole city is talking about it in relation with the rumors.”
“Very good,” I didn’t take my eyes away from the task I was doing.
She set the tea cup and coaster off the tray and comfortably within my reach on the table. “I shall take your leave then,” she said and proceeded out.
Before she got to the door, I called out to her. “Oh and could you bring me two sets of ropes? Maybe also something sharp to cut it with.”
…
I boarded a shared carriage to get to my destination. I wanted to board a private one, but they were all pre-booked. The shared carriage was not too bad though, especially because I paid the coachman for an extra seat. You see, with shared carriages, you have to wait until a certain amount of time or a certain number of passengers to occupy the seats before departure. When I boarded, the coachman needed one more person to board, so I offered, “I’ll pay for two people if we start now.” Unsurprisingly, money speaks louder than patience.
On the ride, I continued working on encoding the enchantment instructions. Okay, I’ll admit that I couldn’t finish it at the inn like I thought I would, but in my defense, coding in raw binary language is a pain. So there I was, mashing buttons on a peculiar apparatus with every other passenger staring at me and it.
The magnetic disk was inside a disk reader the size of a toaster, and it was connected to an input device with 3 main components; two for reading data and one for writing. On the left, there was a numeric keypad. This was to set the pointer on a specific memory location on the disk. Right above the keypad was an analogue screen with all the data readable in binary form. The device can read up to 8000 bits of data, the pointer starting from 0 to 7999, which is too much to fit on a still screen. So to its side, there was a rotator to scroll through the screen. Last but not least, on the right, there were two buttons representing ‘0’ and ‘1’ used to write data.
Just to be clear, this apparatus was engineered fairly recently. When we initially made the UU enchantments, data was encoded manually by hand. After the demo, I designed this apparatus and Devon engineered it, making it easy thereon.
Ignoring the curious stares of my co-passengers, I finished overwriting the old code with the new one. I ejected the disk from the disk reader, and pulled out the enchantment device out of my leather bag. Then I connected the disk to the input mechanism of it, and hoped for the best. Seventh time’s the charm. I snapped my fingers in the air and the sound was heard by everyone in the carriage. Following that, I released a little mana to be processed by the enchantment. And snapped my fingers again near the enchantment’s output.
Voila! There was no sound this time. I didn’t hear it, and neither did the other confused passengers. My soundproofing enchantment was finally working. I put the device into my bag, and pulled out another disk to code the instructions for the second enchantment I needed. Fortunately, this one was simple. Because, what I needed was electrical insulation and I’ve already developed the binary code for that in the ‘lightning resistance’ enchantment that is among our line of products. It’s the equivalent of copy-pasting from stack overflow, except I’m the one who wrote the code in the first place.
Anyway, I was done with all the preparations by the time I reached my destination, or rather close to it. I was dropped off about 3 kilometers away upon being stopped by government officials who prohibited entry past that point into the perimeter. Moreover, people who lived in that area were being evacuated on priority due to dangerous levels of electrical currents.
Amidst this orderly confusion, I paid the coachman what I promised, and set my eyes back on the scene, specifically on the monster that was impossible to miss — the tree that penetrated the clouds and was generating several gigawatts of power every second. Imagine spotting a skyscraper from 3 kilometers away and it still manages to look breathtakingly massive, that pretty much sums up what I was seeing.
Even as people were primarily focused on evacuation, there were still plenty who just stood and marveled at the tree. I overheard one of them, a lady, saying, “Did you hear? They are saying that this was an act of our one true God, smiting upon evildoers that were doing something bad in that place.”
“Really? What were they doing?” asked the curious person to whom the lady gossiped.
“I don’t know. But whatever it is, the city guards must be aware of it and are not telling us.”
Surprisingly, the rumors have managed to spread so far in less than 10 hours; I suppose I underestimated my own followers. It looks like they are going to soon find out about the red mages who held captives for slave trading. And when they do… Needless to say, matters are moving in my favor.
Anyway, on to dreaming. I moved away from the crowd, and found a secluded spot where I settled down. I made sure no city guards or civilians were in sight, and began focusing on developing a much needed skill at the moment — flight. There are plenty of ways to fly using magic. Despite that, not many were ideal for me in the current situation. For example, I can use some sort of gaseous ignition to initiate thrust, but that’s going to end up burning all the items I was carrying. As for flight methods that are not a fire hazard, I would need better mana control to perform.
Not to worry though. I spent the whole carriage ride here, thinking of a solution. And the solution is simply brute force, by which I don’t mean jumping up, exerting force on the ground. That would be disastrous. I would be using pure mana as particles to carry me through the air. For anyone else, including the immortals, this would be a terrible method of transportation because it continuously consumes ridiculous amounts of mana. It's a good thing my mana pool is a bottomless pit.
> Skillset: … 3D Space Navigation (Complexity - C)
Based on its complexity, you could probably tell that this is a stupidly simple skill. I basically just need to input the 3-dimensional points in space (latitude, longitude, and altitude) and my mana will carry me to that point. Also, this was a really slow mode of transportation, so I activated my camouflage skill before performing it.
I felt my feet lifting up along with my body, and the ground beneath me getting further away. This is the part where you would expect me to use a metaphor linking the ability to fly with freedom. Unfortunately, it was not a comfortable flight. You see, with the mana literally carrying me up, the force exerted on my body from below, including on the crotch region, felt nothing like freedom. I was waiting for the ride to be over.
15 uncomfortable minutes later, I reached the branches of the tree. I was defended against the electrical currents by the virus, as was my leather bag which I held closely to my chest. I landed, stepping on a huge branch. The width of that branch was as big as a sidewalk, and did I mention that the trunk of the tree is 15 meters wide? Looking down from where I stood, I saw thunderclouds, and past that, the humans were practically just a bunch of ants.
I didn't waste much time admiring the view. I unpacked the enchantment tools and set them down between my legs. I pulled out the blanket and the rope and started crafting a hammock. The difficult thing was to ensure none of my items got knocked off by the altitude winds or lightning. Apart from that, things went not so badly. Although a bit crooked because I couldn’t find a perfectly straight branch, the hammock was set up with both the prepared enchantment attributed to it.
Holding on to my bag which still had the book, quill, and ink bottle inside, I laid on the hammock and released my mana for the enchantments to work. Slowly, the noises of thunder faded away and electrical current was getting nowhere near me. I spent a solid 5 minutes consistently releasing my mana to make it an involuntary process as I fell asleep.
For the purpose of lucid dreaming, I maintained a strong conscious awareness that I was going to be dreaming. You can try this out yourself. As long as your conscious is aware that you're in a dream, you'll have lucid control over it. Admittedly, it's easier said than done since it's not easy to maintain conscious awareness when you're in REM sleep. The trick is to slowly adapt to it and you'll eventually be able to do it consistently.
The reason I'm telling you this is to make it clear that prior experiences with dreams significantly helps with lucid dreaming. With that being said, I had never experienced a dream before, at least as far as I was aware. I didn't have a clue about what a dream looks or feels like, I just knew the theory behind it. So unless the virus interferes, I should not be able to lucid dream.
Now, what do you think happened? Did the virus interfere? Did it help me lucid dream? Yes, and yes. But, what I experienced was far beyond anything I predicted. To say it was extraordinary would be a laughable understatement.
First thing I remember was me standing on the same tree branch, staring on to the planet’s horizon. This was my first experience with dreaming, and my conscious was not aware of it. It’s like suddenly being spawned in a place with no clues or context — you have no idea how you got there, but you don’t have the ability to question it either. Another thing about regular dreams is that it’s annoyingly difficult to recollect, and if I try to explain it, it’s going to sound weird. So, bear with me while I do.
An apple dangled before me all of a sudden. It was not a golden apple. Or maybe it was. But I remember the color red, so I’ll go with the bright red apple for the sake of this explanation. I poked it repeatedly for some reason, and it broke. And from it, a creature emerged. It was either a crow or a rat, let’s go with the crow. It immediately fled, and I ran after it. It led me to a more dark and bleak environment where I saw the first group of red mages I consciously murdered in the eastern forest. They had apple trees grown through their bodies and poking out of their faces, just like I remembered. I approached closer, and they silently crumbled down into fragments of charcoal.
That’s the extent to which I remember that dream. The thing to note here is that this dream was completely natural, like any human beings would experience. Right after that dream ended, I remember blackness surrounding me. When I say ‘remember’, I don’t mean vaguely. I vividly remember myself standing in the middle of absolute blackness where I was the only visible entity. And then this information popped up in my head.
> Level: INFINITE
> Mana Capacity: INFINITE
> Mana Control: POSITIVE
> Skillset: … Seal (Complexity - S , ???) …
> Character Trait: Logical, Malevolent, Opportunistic, Calculating
> State of Mind: Lucid Dreaming
Either I accidentally activated my analysis skill in my sleep, or as per my theory (2-C) the virus interfered to give me lucid control over the dream. If it was a case of the former, then that doesn’t explain my level, mana capacity and control. So yeah, this was the virus’ interference.
With my consciousness restored, I decided to start testing out the limits of this lucid dream. I recollected the events of the battle with Heath. And sure enough, the blackness that surrounded me transformed into the wasteland under the night sky. The scene was exactly how I remembered it to be, to the point where the details were astonishing.
“So, it was you,” I heard Heath speak the words I remembered. He was wearing his white and gold cloak that he introduced himself with. “You’re the one responsible for killing our people in the eastern forest. I’m glad you showed up as I hoped, it’s nice to meet you…” Meanwhile, the dream version of me stood behind a regular apple tree with overgrown branches, without responding. The scene was going exactly how it actually happened, and I was watching it all from a third person POV.
That’s when I noticed something odd. I walked towards the scene, getting closer and closer to the characters. The sicko was standing on the sidelines, incapable of doing anything as the battle raged on between Edith and Heath. It was around the time when Edith shoved a punch to Heath’s face and broke his nose, the sicko just ran off. Away from the warehouse and away from the battle. Nobody noticed him fleeing, which is what I found odd.
Back at the estate, when I tried to recollect whether the sicko had survived the battle or not, I couldn’t find him in my memory. But now I was seeing every step he took as he was fleeing. ‘Pause,’ I spoke through thought, and the scene froze with Edith’s fireball hanging midway between her and her target with the handlebar mustache.
I immediately realized what was going on, but it was technically only a theory. So, I decided to test it and confirm. I walked all the way up to Heath and resumed the scene. Obviously, none of the characters could see or react to me; I was practically non-existent as far as the scene was concerned.
Heath raised his hand to use his magic to counter Edith’s fireball. ‘Slow down,’ I demanded of the dream, and everything was now in slow motion. Following that, I commanded, ‘Make the mana visible to my eyes,’ and white glowing particles clouded several areas of the battlefield, especially exuding out of the Edith and Heath. I further observed to see the flow of mana as Heath performed his cause and effect skill, whose functionality I was yet to understand.
Not only did I figure out how the skill worked, I also pretty much confirmed my theory — I wasn’t in control of this dream. I mean, I was able to control the dream, but not directly. My commands were being executed by the virus instead. That’s why I was able to see things like the sicko fleeing, which I never paid attention to during the battle. Moreover, the whole scene was extremely detailed like I mentioned earlier, which could be explained by the virus recreating this scene based on my command rather than my less detailed visualization.
As for Heath’s skill, it turned out to be very close to what I assumed. He basically uses mana to scan and determine the cause and effect of any physical action, and replicate it on a target. Additionally he can control which of the causes and effects to replicate in what combination, and to what degree to amplify it based on mana input. For example, take the moment he threw an unexpected gust of wind at me and Edith. His mana determined the cause of my breathing, which is inflation and deflation of the lungs. He replicated that effect and targeted it at us after amplifying it like a million times by consuming a ton of his mana.
I took my sweet time analyzing the flow of mana to figure this all out, which made me rather annoyed to find out there was an instant way to acquire details about a skill. I just had to ask the virus for the skill’s pseudocode. Well, there’s no use pondering over it now. So, I shrugged it off and carried on dreaming.
You see, I wanted to first know the extent to which I could make use of this virus-assisted lucid dreaming. That way, I can plan for ways to farm benefits off of it, perhaps even learn to control my strength. And that’s how I quickly realized the sheer extraordinariness of this dream. The so-called extent of this lucid dreaming was non-existent — there was simply no limit to the things I could do in there.
And how did I realize this? It started with me walking away from the battlefield where Heath and the dream version of me were fighting in slow motion. I walked further into Kullu district and soon found a neighborhood. Out of curiosity, I entered and checked the houses. Sure enough, there were people inside. Some were asleep, some were reading, and some were having sex. Don’t label me as a creep just yet, I was checking the people out to see if I would recognize someone. And I did.
I recognized 3 of the people I found in this neighborhood from an hour ago when I was watching people evacuate with the assistance of the city guards. In other words, the people I was seeing in this lucid dream actually exist in the real world despite the fact that I haven’t seen most of them. Furthermore, what I saw them doing is also accurate to what they were actually doing at that time. And yes, that means a couple was really having sex while I was battling Heath less than 2 kilometers away.
Are you seeing what’s extraordinary about this lucid dream yet? If not, let me tell you one more thing I did in that neighborhood. I roamed around and found the bell that was for alerting its residents of an immediate crisis. I physically rang it, and the people within their homes came pouring out, confused by what was happening. Their expression of confusion and the panicked chattering all stopped when the thunder and lightning came. They saw the glowing tree with their jaws dropped as it grew and grew to the size I was familiar with.
This lucid dream wasn’t merely a recreation of my past experience. Rather, it was the entire universe reconstructed at this specific point in time. So, I could go to the Andromeda galaxy and see whatever happened there during the time I was fighting Heath. If that wasn’t incredible enough, I was also able to interfere with the simulation, triggering the butterfly effect. All of this was being done by the virus.
Naturally, I wasted no time to make use of this situation the best I could. And there were quite a few things I managed to pull off. If I were to start explaining each and every one of them, this chapter could go on for a while. So, I’ll just give you a brief rundown.
1) I observed Edith and learned how to fight. Although, it wasn’t simply observation that allowed me to master 27 styles of martial arts; that would have taken way too long. I actually made use of the virus, and commanded it to embed Edith's martial arts knowledge into me. It sounds like bullshit, but it worked. The instincts, muscle memory, techniques, and all else were cleanly transferred over to me.
However, it wasn’t without problems. You see, all the muscle memory and instincts made me hypersensitive to potential threats. And you know what happens when I subconsciously react to threats. So, I reversed some of the effects, I gave up the instincts, muscle memory, and other aspects that made me touchy.
2) I tracked down the 3 remaining Immortals, and studied their skills. ‘Locate humans with S level complexity skill: Immortality. Search radius: the entire planet,’ was the command I thought of, and it revealed me the coordinates of all 6 of them. Ignoring Edith, Devon, and Heath, I teleported to the other 3. Two females and one male.
Unlike the dynamic between Edith and Devon where Edith is the strongest one, it was different among the castaways. Heath and the other male immortal were significantly stronger than the females, which further strengthened my suspicion that perhaps the Omnipotent faced an issue with coding the male robot as the fighter and the female as the supporter.
3) In addition to locating the other 3 immortals, I used them to sharpen my battle skills. I simply made myself visible to them, and repeatedly provoked fights. I won’t lie, I was having a lot of fun kicking their asses while getting super creative with my seed modification skill. Especially with my new athletic capabilities that came along with the martial arts techniques, I fought those 3 with style.
You may be concerned about my dream battle affecting the real world. But rest assured, there is no real danger as long as I’m lucid dreaming with the assistance of the virus. You see, the virus was occupied with listening to my commands and controlling this dream, which confirms that the virus is aware of my lucid dreaming state. So, there’s no reason for it to react to my dream activities in the real world. However, if I’m physically threatened by something in the real world, that’s a different story.
Anyway, that’s about all the things I managed to do during this dream session. Sure, there were plenty of other things I hadn’t tried out. But for one, they weren’t too important or I failed to realize it, two, I didn’t want to spend too much time in the dream, and three, I can lucid dream any time I want so it’s all good anyway. By the way, if you’re wondering why I didn’t just use this opportunity to look into the future and solve all of my problems immediately, the reason is I couldn’t. I mean technically, I could but it’s not as convenient as you think.
You see, the future is solely based on the present point in time. And the number of futures that can be derived from the present are infinitely many, all of which are equally probable. In other words, there’s no way to look into a specific future out of the infinitely many and make my life easier. Furthermore, looking into the future itself will create a recurring loop since there will now be more futures that are derived from the present where I’ll be aware of a particular future. It’s best not to think too much about this stuff. The concept of time travel is riddled with paradoxes, because it’s simply not possible to achieve in a practical way.
‘End simulation,’ I commanded as I was finally ready to wake up. My surroundings returned back to absolute blackness, and I concentrated to allow my consciousness to leave the state of lucid dreaming. I slowly opened my eyelids, and the blackness was replaced with branches and leaves, and the rope that was tied to my hammock.
I remained laying down for a few seconds to allow my brain to get booted up. There was still no sound I could hear other than my own breath, meaning the enchantments were still in effect. I pulled my body and got down from the hammock, on to the giant branch below. “Hm, that’s weird,” I mumbled, seeing the sun setting before me.
With the sun’s orange hue reflecting off my face and irises, I thought to myself, ‘Looks like only a few hours had passed while I was asleep.’ I was so sure that I was asleep for at least 12 hours though. But if only a few hours had passed while I was lucid dreaming… I brought up my palms to my face and triggered the analysis skill.
> Level: 387
> Mana Capacity: 54000
> Mana Control: A+
> Skillset: … Seal (Complexity - S , Activated) …
> Character Trait: Logical, Malevolent, Opportunistic, Calculating
> State of Mind: Thrilled
Is this the best day of my life? With just a few hours I managed to raise my mana control from F to A+? Based on this, I would say the peaceful life I’m aiming for is just around the corner. Wouldn’t you?
I stopped my involuntary release of mana, wearing off the enchantment, and the sounds of thunder returned. After packing up everything I had brought along, I was all set to fly back down and back home. This called for a huge celebration. Moreover, I didn’t have to use the same 3D space navigation skill to get down. With my current mana control, I could develop a proper flight skill. And that’s what I did.
> Skillset: … Flight (Complexity - B+) …
This skill was also quite simple. Just imagine Ironman with a see-through suit. Admittedly, it still burns half the mana required by the 3D space navigation skill, which is a lot. But the important thing is that this skill is more comfortable to use and easy to maneuver.
Still feeling immense amounts of joy, I descended the tree, passing the thunderclouds. And then I saw something that made my smile disappear — a huge wall surrounding the area of the tree that didn’t exist when I went to sleep. There was another thicker wall surrounding the trunk of the tree, which was connected to the outer wall through a roofed pathway. Surely, this couldn't have been built in a few hours.
Maybe, Just maybe… I’ve been asleep for a little longer than that.
​
Chapter notes: Zenith's interference in the lucid dream does not affect the real world. The lucid dream is simply a simulation.

This is mostly a vent because I am just feeling so unacknowledged by my husband about this.
I've always had a terrible relationship with MIL. The problems stem back a decade from when my husband and I lived with his family for a bit. MIL's odd behavior became quickly apparent. For one, she hoards. She also needs attention or validation more than normal. When living there, any time I entered a room briefly and she was there, if I didn't say anything to her, she'd vent to my husband about it and he'd tell me. Or, often, if I were spending time with my husband, she'd beckon for his help with a mundane computer problem. He'd always tell her, you already know how to do this....
She has what I believe is some form of untreated mental illness. On holidays, particularly her birthday or Christmas, she'll lock herself in her room and refuse to come out. The family never knows how to respond and will often try to reason with her to come out. I was never sure if it was some strange power play, or manipulative move to keep her family in check. But after today I think it's possible it may be less calculated and malicious and something more strange going on mentally.
This year, I became pregnant with my husband's and my first baby, her first grandchild. When we first announced, we tried to include everyone in the family. I helped both her and my mom plan virtual showers for our extended families, which we held in September. My mom lives in another state and MIL lives about an hour away. So MIL was more immediately available to help decorate for the virtual shower background. She was going to come by my house and give me some party favors and decorations.
It was around this time in September that things started to get weird. Given this was and is all during pandemic times, I was cautious about distancing and practicing hygiene measures. So I was wary of her coming, but okay with it as long as we took precautions.
A few days before she was to come over, my husband saw a photo of her on her social media account at a political rally. She and her husband were posing with two politicians, not wearing masks. My husband is the one who actually got upset over this, surprisingly. They'd broken our trust — they went to a large gathering, didn't take precautions, no masks, didn't tell us, and were going to come to our house soon following. This is maybe the only time during this I really received my husband's support.
We told them they could no longer come over.
When you set boundaries with MIL, she tends to become prideful and withdrawn. Instead of humbling herself and apologizing, she'll always become defensive, passive-aggressive, and sometimes silent. She didn't own up to her actions. Eventually she did say a semi-sorry, but she wasn't, because she doesn't believe in the pandemic.
This is what prompted me to craft an email while pregnant with clear guidelines around the upcoming baby's birth and arrival for health and safety precautions. It stated 1. No photos or information of the baby on social media. (I'd closed my accounts and do not want my baby's image on there.) 2. No indoctrination of political or religious beliefs on the child (Both her and my parents are fanatical in both ways.) 3. Tests and vaccines before seeing the baby — flu, tdap, covid test. 4. A week of recovery time before seeing the baby. (This was more for me, knowing the event of labor would be stressful on my body.)
MIL sent a reply acknowledging my note. About a week later, she sent me a text saying, "I'm struggling with not being able to see the baby for a week."
Though an even statement, it was a red flag to me. It sounded like a statement of restraint, with maybe more desperation attached. It was also a self-centered statement. This woman had three kids. She knows what child-bearing is like and should understand my own physical and emotional state. Instead, she was making this about her, and her struggle. I thought a week was fairly generous given the pandemic.
My husband excused it as being lonely. She is a retired teacher around 74, and with the pandemic, like many people, had been isolated at home. She'd taken to scouring Facebook for election articles and information and would relentlessly post about it. But her posting seemed excessive and obsessive. To me, it seemed this baby could be a new obsession or distraction in her life, especially if she'd been "struggling" with just a week. This is when my protective motherly instincts kicked in. I was unsure if I wanted this woman around my baby.
I tried to keep things easy in the reply. I said, "You'll be fine - I've been waiting nine months!" She said nothing to that.
As labor approached, several other odd things happened. She got into a spat with another son, my brother-in-law. He has opposing political views and would often joyously post his own support for candidates on social media. She couldn't stand this, and sent him a text calling his posts self-centered and hateful, and that she would no longer pay for his dental work (they'd had an earlier agreement), and stopped speaking to him. BIL showed me the note, and it was wacky. He was taken aback, because he's genuinely a nice guy. Hardly hateful.
She also started trying to bribe her sons to watch political videos once she was speaking to both again. No one bit and the drama kind of simmered after that.
Then, labor rolls around and the baby is here. My husband takes delivery room photos to send to his immediate family. I wanted to vet them because I know as soon as MIL received photos, she'd want to share them out. But I didn't get a chance. And the one photo I did approve, I was too out of it to think straight. MIL did agree no social media. But she immediately started emailing every single photo to her whole extended family. My husband told me this is normal, and I agree in most cases it is. But some of the photos she shared were a little too personal for me. I'm gritting my teeth about it. But trying to be nice. It still makes me uncomfortable.
A week later, before she was to visit the baby for the first time, I found out she shared every detail she could about the baby on her Facebook — full name, date and time of birth, and more, with a note that "the mother won't let me share photos." I know lots of people do this, but I'd asked for boundaries. So this set me off, given my boundaries. I sent her a strong text reprimanding her for compromising my child's privacy when I'd specifically asked for no information to be posted online.
She did not respond to me. My husband said I was unreasonable, and to apologize. (He does not agree with limiting information on social but is supporting the decision not post to social because I asked.)
Even though I was mad, I didn't want to perpetuate conflict. So against my judgment, I did apologize. I decided to be gracious. I ultimately knew she's a grandma, and did want to try to make a relationship work. So out of an attempt to be a bigger person and offer an olive branch, I said, I'm sorry I was mean, and I hope you understand that I am a new mom and protective if my child, and I hope we can work this out.
She didn't say anything again. Instead, she started texting my husband and only communicating through him. (She's leaned in him for emotional support for a long time.) I again reached out to let her know that we were adults and we should work this out between us, and not through her son. She didn't say anything again. It was just ultimately strange. Was it manipulative? Something else? She was acting like a victim. And I was feeling like the mean big bad wolf. When I'd just been through a really intense pregnancy and labor. Here I was apologizing to this woman who wasn't reciprocating.
My husband finally talked to her on the phone. He told me she was lonely and bawling in her room all day. This was when I grew even more wary of her mental state. She said she was no longer coming to see the baby, only her husband, my FIL. That was just weird, given her previous desperation. But I told my husband maybe it was better this way, given her state. My husband didn't seem to think anything was wrong mentally and tried to convince me she was just sad.
About a week later MIL finally visited. I was not looking forward to it, but my husband told me to be nice. So I really did my best. They came and brought us a bunch of food, which was generous. And after they'd washed their hands, against every bone in my body, I said to her, "Would you like to hold the baby?"
She held the baby. For a long. damn. time. I didn't like how she was touching my baby's hair. Or rocking the baby. It wasn't gentle enough for how I care for her. And finally, it was too much. I asked for my sweet baby back in a nice way. MIL said, "No, I can hold her longer." I said, "It's ok, I need to feed her." Reluctantly, MIL handed the baby back.
I felt relief but also annoyance my husband had prompted me to be so giving. I was uncomfortable and wanted to protect my baby. And that was just way too much for me as a new parent. I was reluctant to let her go from my arms after that, but needed to pass her to my husband a little later. I knew as soon as I did that MIL would take more chances. And she did.
As soon as baby was in husbands arms, she reached out to stroke baby's face and hair. And then she pulled out her phone and started snapping photos without saying anything to me. I could barely contain myself but tried to be polite. I said, 'Can you please ask before you touch my baby and take photos. And please don't share the photos online. I'm feeling very protective as a new mother and trying to navigate nrw waters so please communicate with me.'
MIL looked down and said, 'Okay.' I could feel myself hyperventilating out of anxiety at that point and left the room. The in-laws left shortly after. My husband came to me and said, I know you're probably going through a lot, but that's my mom.' I didn't know what to say.
A few days a way from Christmas, MIL sends us a note. 'When can I come back to help with the baby.' Even though I'd been uncomfortable, and all of the things... it had been a hard few days with a newborn. Help sounded so nice. And as has always been with MIL, I thought, maybe it will be different this time... Hopeful, but still nervous.
We said how about we spend Christmas Eve together? She agreed.
The morning of Christmas Eve, MIL calls my husband. She won't be coming. She's tells my husband to let me know it's because of traffic. But she's on speaker and it's clear she's going to do her 'lock herself in her room' holiday ritual, and she could come because of that.
Yet another sign of why I don't want this woman around my child.
And then finally, yesterday, she visits with her family for my husband's birthday. Everyone does a social distance visit outside. I stay inside with the baby at the screen door. Baby is laying in our stroller bassinet. MIL has brought lots of gifts and food for the baby and us, and that's really nice. I am nice and grateful in return. She looks at the baby and not at me and says, "Your grandmother is here." But then she looks at me and says, "I'm available for childcare any time you want. Just let me know."
Ugh. I just say, "Okat, great, thanks."
My husband suggests we go on a social distance walk and I agree. I get the baby ready and warm. The bassinet hood is down. My husband helps me bring the stroller outside. As soon as we're outside, I start to bring the bassinet hood up, and MIL comes right up behind me. She immediately starts reaching in the bassinet to touch the baby's head and face. Out of nowhere.
I freak out a little and want to say, what are you doing! Instead I reach for more reasonable statement and it comes out alarmed. "You haven't washed your hands yet!" She hadn't.
I snap the bassinet hood up and it blocks MIL's hand. She pulls her hand back like a hurt child, says nothing, and steps way back far away from me like she's been scolded.
Thankfully, my sister in law was also at the visit and backs me up. "Yeah, what are you doing mom, at least wash your hands!" SIL is very conscious of covid and flu season.
I don't acknowledge this incident further because clearly this woman can't handle further conversation about it. It felt like she was in no state to be reasoned with, and was reacting like an abuse victim. Why did she just go in for the baby like that? And not ask me? So strange and weird. Then the baby started crying. I said baby is probably too fussy for a walk, and went inside. SIL understood, said goodbyes and left. MIL left without a word.
I tried to tell my husband about the strangeness of it all. He didn't really seem to understand or listen. I reached out to SIL instead and she said, 'Yeah, my mom's been like this my whole life. She gets super offended easily and it takes her a long time to get over things. It's frustrating.'
This was a long and exhausting story. But this is where I'm at right now. I definitely don't want her watching my kid but my husband might influence it otherwise. Husband and I both work and will need it eventually. I'll likely dip into my savings though and start looking for paid help. That woman seems unstable and I don't think I trust her with my precious child.

These incidents occurred in the Rocky Mountains just south of Silver Plume, Colorado beginning on the evening of August 14, 2018 and more strange reoccurrences would take place the following couple of nights.
That day a couple of neighbors had gone hiking along the ridgeline of Leavenworth Mountain, just south of town, and I was set to meet them up there later that afternoon. My plan was to rendezvous with them in the early evening and hang out until after the sun went down. That night was the peak of the perseid meteor shower and it was forecast to be especially spectacular since the moon would be a barely thin crescent and would not obscure the clear dark skies. So I set out in the following hours with a small pack and limited supplies since I was staying relatively close to home. I did have a small camelback with liter or 2 of water, a rock hammer and hatchet, and my new green laser that I was hoping would add another bit of goodtimes to the night’s light show.
I started the hike a bit later than I’d planned. The main trails to the top consisted of a series of long and winding switchbacks so I decided to cut some time by bushwacking straight up the mountain to meet my friends. My plan backfired as I found myself slowed down by steeper than anticipated inclines, slippery rock tailings, and sheer cliffs. Unfortunately the cell service is spotty at best and I was unable to contact my friends until finally reaching the summit around sunset. After a few attempts I finally got connected to my pals via text and to my surprise learned that they had already hiked back down into town as it was starting to get dark. I told em no problemo, since I had planned to stay up top o the mountain until late anyway to count meteors and maybe they could join later. They informed me they were pretty beat from the day’s trek but would let me know after they’d rested a bit and had some dinner if they thought they’d make it back out. The new arrangement was perfectly fine by me.
Being the consummate night owl and having lived in this area for 5+ years, most of my excursions into the mountains tended to be nocturnal and I’d spent many a night, some planned, some not, getting along just fine in these precarious mountains and usually had very little anxieties in doing so. In this manner I made my way down the ridgeline of Leavenworth to a locally known camping area, Pavilion Point, which from its high vantage point overlooked both Silver Plume and the neighboring town of Georgetown. In between the two small towns, approximately 2-3 miles apart, was an old railroad attraction called The Georgetown Loop. I should also mention now that at this time there was a strict fire ban in effect and that this summer was probably the driest I’d experienced since moving to Colorado back in 2013. There were also several wildfires reeking havoc in the state requiring all available emergency resources. Failing to adhere to the fire ban was taken very seriously with fines ranging in the thousands of dollars. That being said I had not planned on having a campfire for the obvious reasons. After settling into a comfortable spot near Pavilion Point, I kicked back and started counting the fireballs. By 9 or 10PM, my friend let me know they wouldn’t be making it back up the mountain and to enjoy the show and that maybe he would join me the following night. Over the next hour or two I had counted close to 100 meteors, ranging from quick zips to bright fireballs that would leave these awesome streaks that temporarily frooze in the sky like thin glow sticks that slowly faded into the darkness behind.
I was having a blast and as the novelty was finally starting to wear off, I began hearing some faint noises and rustling about in the darkness of the surrounding woods. I wasn’t worried much yet and was used to hearing all kinds of strange sounds in the woods and knew it was probably nothing more than some deer or a porcupine at worst. But after a few minutes, and as the rustling seemed to be moving closer, paranoia got ahold of me and I decided to take some action. Typically during similar late night adventures, I would just build a small campfire to scare away any critters and add some comforting proximity light to the area. But as previously stated, fires, no matter how well contained were strictly prohibited. Besides the fact that I could possibly be cited and fined, I was more worried about actually causing a wildfire which I would never be able to forgive myself if somehow responsible for destroying the surrounding woods which I had now considered home. That’s when I remembered that in my backpack I had that powerful green laser. I wrestled around the pack in the dark for a few moments and I kicked myself for not remembering I had brought it thinking now maybe it could scare off animals. Glad to have found it in hand I started aiming into the dark woods and bushes where I had heard noises. I felt more at ease for a moment until the laser hit the eyes of some forest creature in some nearby bushes. The eyes reflecting the laser like what you’d see driving a late night dark highway, the deer in the headlights effect. Whatever it was, likely a fox I hoped, screeched and disappeared into the darkness. I also had with me a small dim headlamp which had remained off the entirety of the night to help keep my natural night vision. I quickly shined it around but it was pretty much useless in illuminating anything further than a dozen or so feet.
A bit startled at this point, but not wanting to head down the mountain just yet, I decided to go against reason and proceeded to build a tiny firepit using the stones around me until I had a foot and a half circular pit constructed with a large flat rock to cover the top that I figured would definitely contain all burning embers and hopefully any light that might be looking to escape. I also stationed my cambelback next to it to douse the flames if need be. Still probably the smallest campfire I’d ever made. The smoldering twig pile literally the size of my hand still immediately put me at ease. That feeling was unfortunately short lived and after a few minutes I was feeling guilty about breaking the rules and possibly putting the area in danger with my small fire. But instead of putting it out, I decided it’d be best to have a quick scout around the area to see if I could spot any signs of a possible patrolling forest ranger or nearby campers even though in my previous 5 years hanging around here had never seen a single soul in this area at night. Deciding it couldn’t hurt, I made my way over to a scenic overlook which loomed 1000ft or more directly over the Georgetown Loop Railroad area with Silver Plume dimly illuminated to the west and Georgetown to the east. I scanned the surrounding woods looking for any signs of life and saw nothing unusual. As my fears of breaking the law or of sparking a natural disaster subsided, I eased back and continued dinking around with the laser, wielding it like a light saber and tracing the lines of meteors that were still zipping overhead.
As midnight approached, I guess I’d had my fill of shooting stars for one night and decided to take one last look around for fire snitches. As I went over and peered down towards the railroad near the base of the mountain, I noticed what looked like a singular light pop on which quickly turned into two lights which to my stunned dismay appeared to be heading up in my direction. I was immediately taken aback by the sight of any lights in that area being that the railroad was closed and didn’t allow camping on the premises. The two lights appeared impossibly to be moving straight up the mountain directly towards me. The proceeding incline between myself and the railroad was luckily made up of dense forest with steep jagged cliffs and without a doubt had no roads or trails that would lead straight up the mountain. My initial thought when the lights appeared was that it must be forest rangers on ATVs or dirtbikes or something and they somehow miraculously detected my small fire, perhaps with trail cameras, thermal optics, or night vision. I was baffled that there were two separate lights as I had knowledge that we had only one forest service employee that oversaw this entire geological quadrangle and it was highly unlikely, rather inconceivable, that they would be on any kind of watch or patrol that night much less two of them. Regardless I stared down in amazement for a moment quickly calculating that even with fast dirtbikes on some unknown secret trail, I probably had the jump on them by at least 5-10 minutes. I turned, urgently gathering my things and dumped the rest of my water on any remaining embers just in case the fire was what they were after and proceeded to scurry in the opposite direction on the main trail that lead me back towards Silver Plume. I figured even at a brisk walk I’d be so far out ahead of any pursuers that I needn’t worry too much and made my way without any flashlight or headlamp, as to not draw any further unwanted attention. Was there really anybody headed up the mountain to look for me anyways? It seemed completely improbable and I was probably overreacting to the movement of some odd lights, so I was telling myself.
After a couple minutes I made it maybe 200 yards down the trail and quickly glanced back to Pavilion Point. To my complete and utter horror I could see what looked like a couple bright flashlights darting around from left to right frantically searching around the same area I had built my firepit. I couldn’t believe my eyes and a deep sense of dread flooded over me. Although thoroughly confused now, I supposed that my fire must have been spotted and I was likely in a lot of trouble. In this moment I still believed that the lights had to be some type of forest ranger or law enforcement cracking down hard the imposed fire ban. Realizing now that if caught I would probably receive a misdemeanor citation and be fined upwards of $2000, I began to run.
As I got into full sprint, I reached over my shoulders and grabbed both rock hammer and hatchet off my pack that had started clanking together loudly. The headlamp around my neck I would click on then off for only a second at a time every dozen paces or so. Like I mentioned at the start it was very very dark and there were many twists and turns along this trail. With that in mind I realized that taking the switchbacks would not be an ideal way of getting down this mountain and so started darting down some smaller off chute deer trails that though tighter and more treacherous would ultimately get me down faster. As I turned and jetted down one of these more concealed byways, I could see one of these lights, which had a hint of purplish florescent hue and looked kind of like a motorcycle headlight, was headed right down the main trail in my direction. I could also see that the second light had picked a different trajectory towards me from Pavilion Point, making a b-line that, to my bewilderment, shot it up over the treeline straight in my direction. At this moment my mind felt like it had exploded.
There was now no possible explanation for the situation I now found myself. Things were not adding up in any logical way, not even close. First, the improbability that my fire could have been traced or seen, nearly zero. Second, two rangers or law enforcement in the area willing to give pursuit, also nearly zero. Third, the fact that those lights could traverse that dense and steep mountain face within mere minutes, for sure impossible. And now, one of the lights had taken flight, literally defying gravity in front of my eyes as it effortlessly glided over the thick wooded pines that covered the entire area. Mind blown! All of a sudden, this was no longer about getting a ticket, or be fined, or receiving a stern scolding about forest safety and whatnot. No, this was… this was… I didn’t have time to think about it.
My legs never stopped moving as I squinted my eyes trying to see my way down this god forsaken mountain. I clicked the headlamp on/off, never slowing down, on/off, another dozen paces, on/off. And that’s when I felt it, within a split second, all of sudden I’m completely weightless. Silence. What’s happening? Did I die? Had I been shot or something? I didn’t hear any gunshots. And then, CRACK!SMASH!BAM!, as my legs hit hard wood and broke thru thick tree branches. I relaxed my hands and the hatchet and rock hammer were gone. Sharp pain and I immediately thought my legs were broken. I was spinning, no tumbling. One last CRASH! as I landed on my back against what felt like solid rock. Another lightning BOLT of pain. This time my tailbone as my back end flattened against the rock pile. I felt broken, my legs felt broken. I didn’t know what had just happened. Blinding pain now all over my body and as I lay my head back for a second to get my bearings, I see overhead behind me up about 20-30 feet, on what must have been the trail I was just on, zoomed that purplish white light as it continued down the small deer trail towards town. A half second later out in front of me and slightly downhill zoomed the second light, now below the treeline on the adjacent main trail running parallel the one that had disappeared beneath my feet. I lay for a second wondering if I was dead, then wondering how many bones I had broken, and feeling around my body for a moment with bloodied wet hands, slowly realized that I had just ran straight off a cliff face, hit a huge pine on the way down that flipped me into a cartwheel twice before smashing ass first onto a slightly exposed rockpile. Damnit… and I was almost there having made it about three-forths the way down the mountain.
I tried to move but pain made me almost cry out in agony. I slid myself slightly to the right off of some of the bigger boulders I had landed on onto a softer spot of ground. Before I could even think for a second, I saw both lights headed back down the main trail that was located about 30 feet in front of me. I gasped then held my breath as the lights approached, hearing what sounded like faint garbled walkie talkie radio chatter. I quickly reached into my pocket and switched my phone off, so it wouldn’t make a sound or ping my location. And as the lights got closer and passed in front of me I could finally see what the hell it was that had had me in pursuit for the last 10 minutes. Side note, the typical hike down from Pavilion Point into Silver Plume took at least 30-40 minutes and I had almost made it down with probably a quarter mile or so before I would’ve stepped back into the lights of civilization. But no, now I’m stuck on an angled rocky slope, bleeding all over, not sure the extend of my injuries.
As I stare out in front of me, at the returning chasers, I can see humanoid figures riding on what looks like futuristic motorcycles, kind of. But where are the wheels? Why is their movement so smooth and steady? Also, why aren’t these machines making any noise? Motorcycles and dirtbikes are loud, annoyingly loud, but these seem to make no sound. Am I deaf? Did I lose my hearing in the crash? No wait, did I lose my fucking mind in the SMASH up? What the FUCK is going on? WTF WTF!!! At this moment I’m not sure if I’m even still alive. Are these post-modern demons hovering around to take me on to the next place? I can’t make any sense of it. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. No, not demons. I got it… ALIENS! That’s got to be it. Maybe? Anyways, the “hoverbikes”, which I’ll now refer to them as, passed me by, seemingly unawares of my banged-up presence. It seemed as though their riders had at least abandoned their vehement searching for me. They moved slow and gracefully now, gliding so seamless and smooth versus the frantic and accelerated pace of our prior melee.
I squinted in the darkness to try and make out these riders, blurry vision. They appeared to be wearing what looked like all white or grayish attire, head to toe. I hear more faint radio garble but can’t make out the sounds. Is it English? Foreign? Is it even a language? I don’t know. I exhale my held breath, which I’d been holding for god knows how long. Breathe just breathe, try and calm down for second. A few moments pass…I think. I don’t know how long as I just lay there trying to breathe. In and out, in and out. What the fuck just happened? What the fuck are those things? Who are those people? Before I have any longer to ponder the matter, I see in the trees more hovering dim lights coming back my way. OH JESUS. A few seconds later I see those two hoverbikes, now without any headlights on, hovering thru the forest on the trail below me. A little further away I see two more, then 3 more, further in the distance. Most of the hoverbikes passed quietly and just kept going westward, disappearing thru the woods. I’m not sure how many I counted, maybe 10, maybe 12. I felt like my mind was completely broken. This can’t be happening. Then just off the trail in front of me two of the bikes stop and the riders jump off. WTF.
I can see the dim shape of their outlines against the dark forest. It appears to me now that they’re wearing what looks like chemical hazmat suits. Like something out of the movie Outbreak or Arrival. Big full round-faced Tyvek suits or something. They don’t have any flashlights or anything and it doesn’t appear like they’re still looking for me at all. They stand next to their hoverbikes as the crafts start moving very slowly, their occupants walking alongside. Across the side of the bikes I can see very dim lights slowly flashing across from one end to the other, going from reddish to orangish, to yellowish. Very dim, soft lights. Like - - - - ->. Lights moving from left to right. The bikes hover for a moment and stop. The riders now grab what appears to be staffs of some sort, some kind of tool from the opposite side of their bikes. They both take a few steps from the hoverbikes, bend over and start stabbing at the ground. No wait, they’re digging. It looks like they’re digging. WTF is going on here? I keep watching, squinting my eyes, trying not to breathe. Too afraid to make a sound, staying completely still even though my body, especially my ass bone is screaming in pain, but I won’t move, not even a muscle. After digging for a few seconds, the beings return to the bikes. What looks to be small round compartments running alongside the bikes, think saddlebags but flush and internal, open up and the contents of their shovels are whisked inside these compartments. I’m fucking stunned at this point. Totally overwhelmed and engulfed in fear, agony, dread, you name it. I don’t know what I’m even looking at. Are these people? Like human people? Are they aliens? Are they scientists? I can’t tell with those weird suits they’ve got on.
I watch them work, repeating the cycle. Take samples, insert samples into craft, move along a few feet, take samples, etc. These hoverbikes can even zero point turn, spinning around 180 degrees from time to time. I hear no noise during all this, no talking, nothing, not even forest sounds. At this point, I’m beginning to think I’ve had some sort of psychotic episode with involuntary hallucinations, fear and paranoia. Maybe this is a dream? It doesn’t feel like a dream. It doesn’t feel like hallucinations either, at least not from any drug I’ve tried. Those types of hallucinations have definable characteristics, silver linings, waves, melting, and can be shook off with ease most times. What’s happening right now is none of those things. Maybe this is something new? My mind starts reeling. Am I crazy? Am I not crazy? Is this real? What is real? What the fuck is happening!?! I can’t make any sense of it, any of it. I sit and watch these things, these beings, these people, or whatever, with their bikes, or hovercrafts, or ships or who the fuck knows for quite some time. This is torture.
Who are they? Where did they come from? Why were they chasing me? Did I stumble upon something I shouldn’t have? How did they figure out where I was? The laser, maybe if its aliens they saw the laser. I don’t know. Maybe if its people they saw the laser. Now the fire seems to have had nothing to do with all this, or did it? Madness, this is madness, I’ve gone mad. This can’t be. Everything was just fine before all this. I didn’t take any weird drugs today, I don’t think at least, at least not of my free will. How did it go from innocent meteor shower to all this? Are these military personnel? I’ve heard of other weird conspiracies involving the government doing shady things in these mountains. Is this that? Am I sitting on a top-secret research facility? Why are they digging? Why are they taking stuff? Are they testing for something? And, why the fuck are they wearing those suits? Is this place contaminated… radioactive? Should I be wearing a suit? Should I be drinking the local water? What the FUCK is going on here? This can’t be real. It’s not real. Yeah, this isn’t really happening? No, this isn’t really happening. I know, this isn’t really happening. Just stand up and walk home. It’s all a figment of yer imagination, a mind mess up, a glitch. You’ve hit your head, or depleted your oxygen, or fuck, who knows, but it’s all in your head… yeah. This isn’t really happening. Just stand the fuck up and walk home. Just stand up, up, up now, just move. But I can’t.
This is happening. I know it’s happening. I can feel that it’s happening. It’s really happening. No, no, no, just stand up. They aren’t real. They aren’t even there. You’re crazy. They can’t even see you. They won’t see you. They’re not real. All these thoughts plus a million others racing through my brain. It all seems so clear though. Clarity, yes. As I ponder my predicament I stare up to the sky. WHY!?! Why is this happening to me? And as I look, I see a drone pass over. An honest to goodness recognizable drone, like made by humans. I think I can even hear it. It has lights that blink, red, green, red, green. It passes overhead and out of view. Maybe I’m not crazy. I recognized a drone. If I was crazy things would be getting crazier right? More outlandish and out of control, but that’s a drone. It’s real. It’s grounding, not literally, but it feels grounding, it feels real. I’ll even see a few more as the minutes turn to hours. I wonder what they’re doing. Why these people or things are combing the forest, taking samples? For what? What’s going on? As the hours pass as I witness their workings. I still feel crazy, I keep trying to convince myself that this is all a hallucination and that I can just go home whenever I want. Just stand up, walk through these people, these hoverbikes, and drones. Just walk by, wave, and say goodnight. It’s simple, this isn’t real. So, if it’s not real then I can just go home. But if this isn’t real, then where to home would I be walking? Is home real? FUCK! So, I sit still, focus on my breathing. Slowly in, slowly out, slowly in, slowly out.
As crazy as I feel, there’s a part of me that knows this is actually happening. And that I can’t just stand up, cause then they’ll catch me. Why did they chase me in the first place? This doesn’t seem to be about fire. What would they have done if they had caught me? Scare me, beat me, kill me? I mean, I was literally seconds away from being nabbed. They had closed in on me. The speed they were traveling. The trajectory. The other bike strategically poised to cut me off. All literally seconds away. Then I ran off that cliff edge. Total freak-out accident. Couldn’t have planned it if I wanted to. Total and utter confusion for one quiet second until I hit that tree and with that the pain of reality setting back in hard. Would they have run me down with those hoverbikes? Would they have shot me? Do they even have weapons? I don’t see any weapons, but it is dark and blurry and I don’t know what even looking at now.
Confusion stacked on confusion stacked on this excruciating owWWW pain now. WTF. All these thoughts plus a million more. So, I just lay there and watch. Watched them work, or what appears to be work. I wondered if the hoverbikes were sensing things in the ground and that’s why the workers choose to dig where they did. I wondered if it has sensors, sensors at all. If so, why isn’t it sensoring me, my presence. And these drones flying overhead? I mean I know that cops have had helicopters and drones equipped with FLIR and other sensitive devices that can detect like bank robbers hiding in thick bushes. They’ve had that shit for decades. So why are these obviously superior vehicles not sensing me laying here? Why have I not been caught? If it was so important to chase me from the top of the mountain, why did they eventually give up so easily? Why can’t they see me now?
At one point during all this one of the suits got within 15-20 feet of me, before moving on. Didn’t they see me? I thought for a few minutes that one of these “people” were actually staring right at me. Hard to tell with a devoid masked chemical suit but still. It looked like it was looking right at me for what felt like forever, then they just moved on, digging, grabbing leaves off trees, etc. What the fuck is going on? All these thoughts plus a million more. I focus on my breathing, in/out, in/out. At one point I remember coming up with some mantra, saying it over and over and over and over. In that moment I thought that I would never be able to have another thought outside of that mantra. Funny that now, I can’t even recall what exactly I was saying to myself, over and over and over. I just needed to get through it.
If this is real, I told myself, then time, as I understand time, must be real. And time meant that at some point the sun must rise. If this is real then the sun must rise. I suppose then that I can afford to waste a little more “time” and a little more “sanity” to see if this is actually truly reality, because if this is actually real then the sun must eventually rise. So, I waited, watched, chanted, breathed. Until finally, much to my surprise, I could see the sky shade changing, just a little lighter than the darkness, just a crack of dark blue, then finally blue, then finally the stars started to disappear. Was this all really real? And with the hint of dawn, I heard sound coming from the “whoever whatevers”, a quick chattering sound garble. And then I saw them hovering by, one by one, just as they had come. Going east towards Georgetown. Hovering along the trails, below the treeline. I tried to count as they went by, hoping to note when the last one was finally gone, quickly realizing I didn’t really know how many had come. And so I sat, still perfectly still. And the dawn rose. And still I sat. I had made it this long, I could make it a few minutes longer. To be snagged at this point, caught, would be unforgivable, no matter how painful. And so, the dawn came and went, and the sun rose, and when the sun rose so did I.
When I finally stood up on rubbery limbs I could barely keep my balance. I looked down to see both legs of my pants were completely stained in blood below my knees. I didn’t care. I felt around to my tailbone which now had a golfball sized knot that ached with such ferocity. I didn’t care. As I looked around, I could finally see what had transpired just hours previous. I found my tossed rock hammer and hatchet close by. Laughing on the thought that if I’d held on to them… shit. Finally, I climbed back up to the short cut deer trail that I had run off of, saw the tree that I clipped, missing huge broken branches at knee level. I looked around the area where I had landed at large sharp protruding boulders and other broken branches with points that would have impaled me if I hadn’t landed on the rocks exactly where I did. Holy shit, I should be dead.
I gathered my things and started limping home with mind still confused and reeling, but alive no doubt. I never felt better to be climbing the stairs to my apartment. B-lined straight for my bed, about to pass out from exhaustion when I realized I had an appointment in 2.5 hours to get my haircut. Well at least I can power nap an hour before trying to explain to my hair lady why I can’t even sit in her chair. Oh well.
And that’s just the beginning of a story that would unfold over the next couple of days here in the Colorado Rockies surrounding Silver Plume.

Hi all,
I thought I would share my profits for Matched Betting Extra Place Horse Racing for Jan 21. January 2021 has turned into my best month of Matched Betting since I started way back in Summer 2018. This months profits are roughly £4,707. A life changing figure for many and a great figure seeing this is achievable on top of a full time job. Matched Betting is the only decent side hustle I have actually found, compared to doing hundreds of boring online surveys...yuck! (Unless you are a good business person / have 5 lodgers / lots of family money etc.) To see some of my other Matched Betting profits you visit my site: https://cashontheside.co.uk/
I will be investing some of my profits this month in ETF/Shares and putting into house improvements like a new drive way. In addition with Cheltenham horse festival coming up in March, I will be increasing my bank to cover liabilities.
The bulk of my profits came from Extra Place racing, large underlayed winners and BOG (best offer garuntee). Variance was certainly on my side this month and I must have had at least 10 large winners which won upwards of £1600 pounds per bet. As I underlay my bets I made more profit than If I had fully layed of the bets. About 5% of these profits came from low risk casino. After you have completed all welcome offers...in Matched Betting. Ep's become a gold mine...and I truly recommend them to anyone.
Some more of my bets this month illustrating underlayed bets and ep:
https://cashonthesidecouk.files.wordpress.com/2021/02/winnings4.jpg
https://cashonthesidecouk.files.wordpress.com/2021/02/winnings.jpg
https://cashonthesidecouk.files.wordpress.com/2021/02/another-winner.jpg
​
Images of one of my bets illustrative of Best offer guarantee: https://cashonthesidecouk.files.wordpress.com/2021/01/136707133_10159536662702922_8507610622687908137_o-1.jpg?w=544
For those who are starting out on their Match Betting journey in 2021 these sort of figures are achievable to you once you have experience….unfortunately this will not come overnight! I do put a lot of time into it..between 2-5 hours a day, 7 days a week sometimes. For the average person you could earn at least £500 a month.
To learn more about Match Betting please visit my article Boost Your Income with Matched Betting. Alternatively you can start an Odds Monkey free trial where they will teach you step by step and give you the calculators you need: odds monkey trial https://www.oddsmonkey.com/affiliates/affiliate.php?id=64754(affiliate) or www.oddsmonkey.com. (non affiliate)
To those with a little more experience who want to learn about Matched Betting Extra Places you can visit my guide here Extra Place Match Betting tips here or I have copied and pasted it all below.
For those with Matched Betting Experience - my guide and tips to Extra Places:
What is Extra Place Matched Betting?
Extra Places can be a very lucrative technique to learn. Extra Places are available for us to do pretty much every day, increasing the appeal. Extra Place Offers are available to all customers. This means that even if you get gubbed with a bookmaker, in most cases, you can still make money with them by Matched Betting on their Extra Place Offers.
Extra Places are considered an advanced reload offer, as they not risk-free. However once you have gained some experience on more basic horse racing offers, you can start to take advantage of the lucrative profits available. It may sound complicated but as soon as it ‘clicks’, it becomes simple. Essentially we are taking advantage of the bookies and exchanges paying out if the horse you have backed comes a certain ‘place’ in a race e.g. 4th.
Extra Places combined with additional offers such as BOG (Best Offer Guarantee) can mean additional profits. For example, you back a horse at odds of 15 and then the starting odds move up to 23. If that horse wins you win an extra x8 on your bet. You can see some real life scenarios I found of Extra Place combined with BOG below. Depending on the size of the underlay, profits below would range up to £3,000+

What is a ‘place’ in horse racing?

Quite simply a ‘place’ is the position the horse finishes a race in. For example if a horse wins a race it comes 1st, if a horse comes 2nd its 2nd. In some races with a large number of horses some bookies will pay out if a horse finishes the race in 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th position. Horse Racing festivals such as Cheltenham or Ascot are particularly well known for this.

What is an ‘Extra Place’ in horse racing?

Now we’ve understood what a place is in horse racing you may have probably already guessed what an ‘extra place’ is going to be! An ‘extra place’ is where the bookies add one (or more) additional places to their standard place classification on a particular race. For example they may offer to ‘pay 7 places on a race’ instead of the standard 3 places. The ‘extra place’ in this instance cover 4th, 5th, 6th and 7th.
What are my Extra Place top tips?

1. Some of my biggest profits have come from big underlayed winners and BOG. I typically underlay most of my bets by about 20% sometimes more. If you are starting out I would underlay on the place only by about 10% to play it safe until you learn more.
2. Don’t bet on more places than a bookmaker is offering. E.g. If the bookmaker is offering 4 places don’t bet on more than that.
3. Whilst your learning, take horses on implied odds of at least 12 or more on a match of 80%+.
4. Look to keep qualifying losses down. E.g. for £100 profit, £5 ql.
5. Please note, the best odds are typically found between 10 minutes up and to race time. You have to be quick on your ‘toes’…learn to walk before you run etc. Start out on easy horse racing officers before doing extra places.
6. You will need a bank of at least £1000+ for your exchanges, ideally more. The more you have the more of the field you can cover. You can do EP with several hundred in your exchange but you won’t be able to make bigger profits.
7. Be consistent, don’t take risks, don’t chase your losses and learn from matched betting extra place forums.
8. Keep the Odds Monkey up throughout the day...and check for good matches.
9. Use Bookies Boosts to increase your odds and matches.
10. Do not give in to your fear of missing out on offers…Tomorrow is another day.
11. Have at least a dual monitoscreen setup. It is important to be able to see exchange, books and calcs.

How do I find Extra Places offers?
I use the the Odds Monkey Extra Place Matcher to find the best opportunities for profit. The Matcher is explained in the below video.
https://youtu.be/oOKAdiSJidg
I am also a regular visitor of the active Odds Monkey community forums. You can sign up for an Odds Monkey free trial today here today https://www.oddsmonkey.com/affiliates/affiliate.php?id=64754 www.oddsmonkey.com (non affiliate). Odds Monkey provide you with the all guides, calculators etc. I have been a member for over 2.4 years now.
Feel free to get in touch or ask below if any questions.

In our last episode
Micro coil electro guns are faster and more portable than a long coil rifle, but are much harder to aim. It was this fact more than fast reflexes that was his salvation. Although the air was sizzling with flying bolts and his hair stood on end as the ion tracer beams tried to find him he was still able to dive to ground and do a fast crawl towards the first large bit of protection he could find without being hit. Unfortunately the only shield he spotted was that same wagon he had only recently escaped. Meanwhile the dry goods store behind him suffered an onslaught of blue and yellow bolts of light splintering the exterior wall.
He squeezed himself into a tight ball near the rear axle and checked the charge on his rifle. The low battery light was on. Unless he could find a power supply soon he had maybe one or two full power shots left. Technically speaking the stock had a solar panel and the gun would recharge on its own, but he suspected no one was going to allow him an eight or nine day intermission to do that.
He was too exposed where he was but he couldn't really run anywhere while all those electro bolts were hammering the wagon behind him. At any moment it would occur to the angry mob that they could spread out to encircle the wagon and come at him from the sides while he was still pinned down. Worse, even if they didn't think of it, the wagon could only take so much abuse. So far only a handful of bolts had managed to punch all the way through the wagon. That wouldn't last. He was still considering his options when the situation went from bad to completely catastrophic.
"Well, well, well," a voice called out over the gun fire. Suddenly all the guns stopped firing in unison. That was almost worse than having them all shooting at him. Having them taper off or a few stragglers who were late to notice the new arrival would mean that the people were acting as individuals. A simultaneous shutdown like that, more orderly even than most military units could manage, meant only one thing. As if to confirm his suspicions, the voice continued.
"If it isn't the Oligarch's favorite dog," the voice called out, "Marshal Aldo Crease."
The marshal winced. It had been years since anyone had spoken that name. He still found the sound of it left a sour taste in his mouth.
"Evening Kincaid," Mashal Crease called back, "Any chance you'll consider coming along peacefully?"
Kincaid laughed.
"Oh please," Kincaid said, "Do at least do me the great favor of standing up. I want to show you off to my flock."
Crease ground his teeth and considered his options. He could, he supposed, pop up with the rifle and try firing at Kincaid. But, he needed a better idea where the man was to do that. He did not have enough power left in the gun for a wide spread lethal blast. He might be able to pull off a knockout. Barely. But even then that was iffy because with Kincaid hopped up on his own juice like he was he might not go down.
"If you are considering shooting me," Kincaid said with a voice that projected both confidence and mockery at the same time, "You may want to look to your right."
Crease glanced that direction and grimaced. The giantess had appeared again and was now stomping in his direction. He spun the rifle in her direction and, to his immense relief, she stopped in her tracks. Unfortunately, that also meant Kincaid could tell where Crease was aiming.
"Gun moves off her," Kincaid explained, "And Viana there tears you apart. Shoot her and we open fire as she heals. So you can shoot me or shoot her. But not both at once and Viana and I will get right back up no matter which one you choose . So do as I told you and stand up!"
Crease sighed and slowly climbed to his feet while training his rifle on Viana the whole time. He tried to remember why that name sounded familiar. Wasn't that the woman Yacob had said was a deserter who had battle tech? No wonder she hit so hard. If her gear was military grade it may even be a higher spec than his own. He made certain to keep his eyes on her as he shot a glance in Kincaid's direction.
The crowd stood motionless and facing him. Over half the people seemed to be armed with some sort of weapon. Mostly micro coil pistols but he thought he saw a few short barrelled scatterguns and at least one heavy coil military grade rifle that would make short work of the building behind him much less the contents of his skull. The crowd was composed of both men and women of various ages. Old men with long beards and frock coats and young women wearing a sheer garment that left almost nothing to the imagination. There were even a few teenagers in the mix. Those that were not armed with firearms carried knives or homemade cudgels. All of them also carried the same identical blank expression on their faces. Only the man standing in the back wearing white robes showed any signs of animation. He was also completely unarmed. Not that he needed a direct weapon.
"Kincaid," Crease acknowledged the man.
Kincaid's grin broadened and took on an eerie maddened look. The man's hair was wild and unkempt and the bags under his eyes were a testament to the exhaustion he must feel. Even though health and vigor seemed to ooze from the man's pores, there was also a slightly frayed look about him. As if his health were just a mast for something shredding him apart from within.
"The feedback loop is too far gone," he heard the Oligarch's voice say in his ear, "If he stops now the blowback will shred him to pieces."
Crease didn't answer. He hadn't needed the analysis. He too knew the signs of an arcane who had pushed their talent - no matter how potent - beyond the abilities of sustaining. The man in front of him was a runaway reactor spewing health into the area. It would almost be comical if the effects weren't so tragic. His own acarnic talents, though greatly suppressed, were telling him something that he was certain no one else - save perhaps Kincaid himself - even suspected. Over half the crowd of people in front of him were already dead. Their bodies just hadn't got the notice yet.
The reasons didn't matter. A heart that had been sent racing only to burst. A pancreas overproducing insulin. Blood cells produced in such numbers that the blood inside was a thick syrup that barely flowed. Too much vitality was killing these people and it was only Kincaid's out of control talent that was keeping them upright and walking as is.
"You've got to stop this, Kincaid," Crease said, "You don't know what you're doing. You have to stop it. It's destroying you and everyone around you."
He knew his warning would be unheeded. He expected to be ignored. Truth be told, he wasn't sure there was a safe for Kincaid to stop without killing himself and half the town. The crops were already beyond saving. The delicate balance between life and death had been shoved too far to one side and he already knew first hand how unrecoverable such acts could be.
Kincaid tilted his head to one side and frowned.
"Why can't I feel you?" he asked. Belatedly, Crease became aware of a faint tingling sensation along his skin. Kincaid must be trying to influence him.
"I'm immune to arcana," Crease said simply.
"So it is true," Kincaid asked, smile returning, "The great and mighty Aldo Crease. Once a general in the Patagonia Resistance and now little more than a dog for the Oligarch itself. I knew about your resurrection, of course. But I thought the rumors of your unbalanced arcana were just that. Rumors."
Crease winced. He liked having the details of his unfortunate past being revealed even less than having his name spoken aloud. Apparently Kincaid hadn't just fled the Citadel empty handed. He must have taken some intelligence files with him. Which meant the man wasn't just AWOL. He was rebelling. Oh no. No no no.
"Kincaid," Crease asked slowly, "What is it you think you are doing?"
"Picking up where you left off, of course," Kincaid said, "Doing what you only attempted to do all those centuries before failing."
"Look," Crease said as he spread his arms wide in order to look less threatening, "You're not thinking right. Your bioware's last system flash accidentally included some very nasty software. Software your brainbox doesn't have the hardware to support."
Kincaid's smile grew impossibly wide. The corners of his mouth almost tearing the skin apart on his emaciated face.
"Accident?" Kincaid asked, "You think this was a mere accident? I had to graft the code by hand. Do you know how long it took for me to figure out how to do that? How many hours it took of digging through the Oligarch's data archives while simultaneously tripping any alarms? It took me months to even confirm that the Avatar program even existed!"
"An accident," Crease insisted, "It had to be because if you had read anything on the Avatar program details you would have known what you were doing was insane."
"Oh I read it," Kincaid insisted, "Eighteen modest talent arcana received a bioware upgrade. They jumped at least one arcana class each. A Class II pyromancer jumped to abilities above Class I. Just shy of Apex level!"
"Yes," Crease agreed, "Only to suffer a complete mental breakdown. This was despite extensive psychological testing and conditioning prior to upgrading their bioware. Blocking the physiological need for sleep, enhanced multitasking, and neural stimulation are all great but the human mind can't operate at those levels forever. That's why their upgrades included the ability to remote shutdown."
"But can you imagine the possibilities if these upgrades were applied to an Apex?" Kincaid said, "Or, better still. Don't imagine. Observe! See what I have done here!"
"This is wrong," Crease said, "You don't realize what you are doing to these people."
"But I do," he said, "There is no death here. No disease. No frailty or feebleness. Only perfection."
"Look at them," Crease said. He still held the rifle in his left arm so he waved with his right. Kincaid eyes twitched once but did not follow the gesture. It was as if he were afraid that Crease would try something if he looked away. Fair enough as Crease had been thinking of doing exactly that.
"Look at them," Crease repeated, "Everyone here. It's like they can't see or hear anything. They only move when you want them to."
"Yes," Kincaid agreed, "Perfect. You of all people should see that."
Crease lowered his arms. Kincaid didn't stop him.
"This is an army," Crease said in a hushed tone. It wasn't a question, but Kincaid nodded anyway.
"Yes," he said with a theatrical bow, "Or, rather, it will be. I'm still building it now and my soldier lack discipline as well as, ahem, sharp shooting skills. But, yes, very soon it will be an army.."
"Damn it, Kincaid."
"You should appreciate the symmetry of it," Kincaid added.
"Damn it and damn you!" Crease repeated with more venom this time, "You know how that went down! I had 5,000 undead soldiers with me! What do you expect to do with a bunch of farmers and deserters?"
"Win," he said simply, "I keep telling you. I know about you and what you did during the Luddite War. The last great battle before humans were overrun and made the . . . the pets!"
Here Kincaid practically spat the word.
"The pets!" he repeated, "The slaves of some computer. Governments caved. Countries rolled over. But not you! Oh no! Not the great and mighty Crease! The first Apex! You who could fling waves of death through the very air! You commanded a legion of the undead! You pushed back against this cybernetic monstrosity only to fall at the very doorstep of its stronghold."
"I was shot to pieces," Crease said simply, "It's kind of hard to march with no legs."
"You were already dead!" Kincaid shouted, "An unkillable zombie! You had filled your corpse with so much necromantic arcana it could not be destroyed! Your very limbs kept crawling towards your objective even after they were separated! The only way they ever stopped you was by freezing all the bits of you!"
"They didn't freeze me!" Crease shouted back, "The Oligarch's fortress is in the heart of Antarctica! What do you think happens to corpses when it's below freezing!"
Kincaid shook his head sadly.
"You still don't get it, Crease," he said in a mocking tone, "You still don't understand where you made your great mistake, do you?"
"I just told you," Crease said, "Charging across a frozen continent during the winter."
"No," Kincaid said, "Your mistake was in joining them. When you assembled your undead army you had no way of dealing with the blowback. So you thought your only hope was to use it. To channel all that recoil back into yourself and let it consume you. To become just another soldier in a sucide gambit. But, don't you see? What if you never ever stopped. Just kept feeding the power back in on itself over and over again. Sending wave after wave of the undead."
"That's not possible," Crease said with a shake of his head, "It's too much power. The human mind can't take that."
"I've been doing just that for months now!" Kincaid shouted, "Look at what I've done!"
"It's shredding you," Crease said, "Your own power is keeping you going for the moment but you can't hold it up forever. Look at your face! Your hands! You're breaking down!"
"I'm more alive than ever!"
"No!" Crease insisted, "You've got vitamancy running through you. It's not the same."
"You should know," Kincaid snapped, "How many vitamancers died to bring you back?"
Crease shook his head.
"This isn't the way," he said, "Please. I'm trying to help you."
"You? Help me? A traitor like you?" Kincaid snarled, "Just because you were too weak to bring down the machine don't presume to know me or my limits!"
Crease could see the decision forming in Kincaid's wild eyes. The strain of exertion, the lack of sleep, the madness of controlling those many minds one neuron at a time. It was too much for him and he was already past the point of no return. He was going to give the kill order and there was nothing Crease could do to stop him. So, he didn't even bother to try. Crease mentally flipped the panic switch in his brainbox.
Time slowed down. He could see Kincaid's lips moving, presumably to give the kill order, but no sound reached him other than the roar of blood in his own ears. Adrenaline and endorphins were flooding his bloodstream as well as artificial hormones manufactured by the synthgland at the base of his skull. His heart thundered in his chest while his nerve endings seemed to dance with barely suppressed energy. Ahead of him the muzzle of every gun and the tip of every improvised weapon sprouted cones of probability as his stochastic subunit filled his mind with data. His allowed his conscious mind to flit out of the driver's seat so that the preprogrammed battle reflexes could take over.
The battle processor evaluated the abundance of weaponry, the layout of the combatants, and his own weaponry and decided the best course of action was to allow his own knees to buckle. He fell to the ground before Kincaid could get the last syllable out of his mouth and the air above Crease glowed with lightning. The wagon shuddered from multiple impacts. But the battle programming was not done. His hands twisted the barrel of the rifle even as he was falling so that when he landed on the ground on his side the rifle was pointed under the wagon and towards the crowd opposite him. His fingers found the trigger almost immediately and he fired a wide focused beam at the legs of the people opposite him. He barely registered the howling of pain as people dropped. He rolled onto his back in one smooth movement and turned to face the towering figure of Viana running directly at him.
The gun was now depleted. It was useful only as a club. If the person racing towards him was a normal human his enhanced speed, strength, and durability might give him an edge even while laying on the ground. But Viana was enhanced as well. Probably more so than he was. She also had about double his muscle mass on top of that. He needed a distraction if he had any hope of taking her out. His battle mode was evaluating possibilities and coming up dry. He didn't see a way of escaping that gave him a better than a nine percent chance of success. Fortunately, having the battle processor do the movements for him gave him a chance to think and perhaps alter the odds on the fly. Which is what he was doing in this case. Unfortunately, the only thing that occurred to him was a party trick he learned in his pre-Luddite War days. It was a cheap shot, but it was also the best idea he could come up with at the moment.
Saying there was no death in the valley was, of course, an exaggeration. Death on macroscale could be interrupted but even a powerful vitamancer like Kincaid couldn't halt it entirely. Nor should he. Cells dying and replacing themselves are part of the natural life cycle of living organisms and interrupting this process would also halt the body's ability to grow and repair itself. Which is why even in a place oversaturated with vitamantic energy there was still some degree of dying and regeneration taking place. For an ordinary necromancer such trivialities were simple nitpicking. They only had the ability to affect the dead on a macro scale. Crease was no ordinary necromancer.
Though his power was greatly reduced on account of the vitamancy used in his own resurrection, his skillset still remained. With great effort he could still feel the dead and dying cells within a body and, to some extent, influence them. In the field he could use this ability to aid living soldiers by slowing the process of necrosis in infected wounds and other low level healing abilities. But one other trick he learned was that if he focused on the person's hair he could influence the cells there. After all, what is hair but a chain of dead cells clinging to a still living root? So, with great effort on his part, he tapped into that ability now and reached outwards with his gift to Viana's head. Mentally straining, he tapped millions of dead cells to alter themselves ever so slightly.
The giantess was almost on top of him when he made the last connection and the cells in her hair let go in unison. The black hair that had been piled up upon her head fell off as if cleaved by an invisible sword. The rage that twisted the woman's face gave way to confusion as her own hair fell before her eyes and momentarily blinded her. Then, without thinking, she made the worst possible decision she could in such circumstances. Forgetting entirely about Crease, she reached up with both hands and gripped the top of her own head to see if the falling hair really were her own. The stochastic processor in Crease's own head took note of the change in posture and calculated the most appropriate response. So he was only slightly more prepared than Viana when the arc of the rifle's swing intersected with the side of her knee.
Viana dropped to the ground howling in pain. Enhanced durability and vitamancy were great, but even they occasionally had to take a back seat to pure physics. He had hit the side of her knee with every bit of speed and strength his own enhancements could afford him. The bones in the leg were unbreakable but even with battle tech a knee is still mostly supported by soft tissue. The tissue could be reinforced with synthetic fibers, but a certain degree of stretching had to be allowed in order to keep the knee functioning as a knee. A powerful blow to the side of a battle hardened knee could still knock the joint out of alignment and then gravity would do the rest. As Viana fell her own weight would tear many of the organic connections that were still present even though the synthetics would largely hold. Knees have a lot of nerves running through them and even minor injuries can be incredibly distracting to even the toughest soldiers. This was not a minor injury and it would take Viana's brainbox several seconds to adjust to the input flooding the gateway. Which is why Crease's own brainbox decided the best way to deal with this was to reorient the rifle into an overhead swing that terminated on the side of Viana's skull before she even hit the ground.
The blow should have killed her. Anywhere else, it may have. Even with a reinforced skull the brain cannot be rattled around like that without consequences. But here all it seemed to buy him was a few moments of unconsciousness as her brain healed itself. He crawled over to her unconscious form and briefly searched her pockets for any hint of a weapon he could use.
"Crease!" Kincaid called out, somehow cutting through the fog in his head, "Did you forget the horse?"
The horse? What was he talking about?
As in answer the horse started neighing and pawing at the ground frantically. Its nostrils flared as it snorted and tossed its head from side to side. Belatedly, he realized exactly what Kincaid was doing. The same thing Crease's own bioware had done to him. The same thing as was likely occurring within the bodies of the crowd of angry gunmen. The creature's rage was being stoked. It had barely flinched from the gunfire but now it was lashing out against, well, nothing. All Kincaid had to do was wait for it to notice Crease and then send the creature's rage skyrocketing. Suddenly the scant cover offered by the cart seemed to go from "flimsy" to "nonexistent" in the blink of an eye. Crease was unsure what his next move should be. Fortunately, his battle reflexes had an idea. Not a good one but an idea.
Crease's legs slammed into the ground beneath him. He found himself hurtling upwards and over the top of the cart while flattening himself. It seemed to be a sloppy jump as he was even now falling back onto the tarp covering the back of the cart. He couldn't help but notice that he was now presenting a rather hard to miss target and, sure enough, his left side exploded in agony as some of the lightning bolts struck home. But his battle reflexes were still moving.
His body cleared the edge of the cart and was threatening to crash into the dividing wall separating the front from the back of the car. Just before his head could hit the wall, his still functioning right hand punched at the wood. The blow was done with little regards to his comfort, it seems, as a shock of fresh agony traveled up his fist and along the wrist towards his elbow. His falling body landed atop the tarp causing it to tangle up with him as he landed in a belly flop inside the tail of the cart. The wall closest to the gunmen was still exploding to pieces and it took him a few precious - not to mention painful - seconds to extricate himself. What had that all been about? He glanced up at the damage done to the wall ahead of him and found his view of the outside world blocked by a rather familiar looking rust stained bit of cloth. Scrambling forward, he used his blooded hands to tear the hole he had created wider until he could reach the bundle of his own coat that had been stored under the seat on the opposite side of the wall.
"Hold your fire!" Kincaid shouted and, as before, all the townspeople's guns were silenced at once. Nothing seemed to happen for a long moment and no movement could be seen coming from the cart.
"What's the matter, Crease?" Kincaid shouted into the echoing silence, "Did that healing arcana that's filling you finally run out?"
In answer, Crease's upper body appeared over the sidewall as he sat up and faced Kincaid and the angry mob. Crease was now sporting his duster once more and in his hands he held two pistols.
"Fu-!" is as far as Kincaid got before lightning erupted from Crease's pistols.
The twin shots struck the heads of two people in the crowd. Instead of dropping, those people twisted to the side and fired their own guns at someone else. By that time the people Crease had originally shot were starting to recover but now two more gunmen were shooting. As Crease leaped from the cart, guns firing continuously, Kincaid started screaming.
Unlike Crease, Kincaid had never been a soldier. He had no experience with the chaos and confusion of battle. So it was that he was completely unprepared for his own side to start firing upon itself in apparent retaliation to the necromancer's influence.
People who had previously been responding well to his own influence were now turning upon one another and firing. Not just at the commandeered corpses Crease was piloting but upon anyone they even suspected was shooting at them. As Crease ran at an angle, firing the entire time, he jumped from body to body and caused the town folks to fire at their neighbors. Soon old passions and grudges were influencing decision making as much as anything else. Lightning bolts flared and Kincaid struggled to get a calming influence to settle over the crowd as they reacted to both the very real danger around them and the imaginary one he had been feeding them just moments ago.
Crease twisted and dodged as he ran. His coat flared as it caught stray lightning bolts. The metallic weaving offered some protection, but not much. Crease felt his limbs grow heavy and then numb as the corona of multiple blasts washed over him. He kept moving.
One battery was spent. He ejected it and slammed to pistol's butt against the quickloader belt he had strapped to his waist. Firing with a fresh battery with his right hand he repeated the process with his off hand to continue the onslaught upon the crowd. Trying to find an opening to target Kincaid. All the while his mind was busy flickering among recently dead and attempting to cause as much damage as possible before being ejected himself. Every as he ran the strain of keeping so many bodies coordinated was taking its toll. He briefly let go and allowed the blowback to wash over him.
His vision blurred as a grenade exploded inside his head. He felt dizzy and his arms and legs were now moving only because the brainbox told them to. He was on autopilot and riding the wave of feedback as his own body tried to cope with competing signals from his brain.
"Stop shooting!" Kincaid shouted again, "You can't die! Don't fall for this trick!"
It was good advice but the mob was now far beyond listening. Many were now shooting at each other even without Crease's influence. The shots missed as Kincaid dodged in an inhumanly fast way. But it was only a matter of time before one of the bolts, intended or otherwise, struck him. Kincaid apparently came to the same realization as he abruptly roared in anger and everyone, save for himself, and Crease dropped to the ground just as Crease's head was starting to clear.
The people dropped as if they were puppets who had their strings cut. For just a moment, Crease's necromantic powers fluttered as he received the sensation of dozens of limbs and bodies dying only to be nearly instantly reborn. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened. Kincaid had just sent out a mental shockwave that had temporarily stopped the nervous systems of everyone near him. Just stopped dead in their tracks. Hearts stopped beating. Muscle fibers stopped twitching. It was like getting paralyzed while also suffering a heart attack. People dropped because he gave them no choice. Even the enraged horse fell silent as its own legs gave way. Only Crease's own unbalanced arcana had managed to protect him from suffering a similar fate.
Crease aimed his guns at the suddenly exposed Kincaid. Kincaid's face changed into a sneer of contempt. Crease's fingers squeezed the trigger and, to his amazement, the bolts missed the target by mere centimeters. Impossibly, Kincaid had ducked to one side!
Crease tried again but, again, Kincaid simply stepped to one side in a blur of motion so fast that even with Crease's own slowed sense of time he could just barely register the movement. With dawning horror, Crease realized that the shockwave that had dropped the town's people to the ground hadn't just been intended as a way to wrestle control of their guns away from Crease. No, now that he wasn't splitting his attention a hundred different ways Kincaid was free to focus entirely upon himself.
The healer's grin had changed from insane madman's to a feral grimace that was equal parts pain and determination. Sweat boiled off the man's scalp as his face flushed a fiery red. Crease tried to aim again but the vitamancer zigged to one side before zagging back. He was running fast. Faster than Crease thought a human being should be able to maintain without tearing itself apart. Faster than Crease and his battle reflexes could match. Every time his brain thought it had acquired a target lock the healer was somewhere else. Crease's battle reflexes opted on random firing while trying to anticipate the healer's movements. However, the software upgrade Kincaid had received didn't just enhance his ability to stall the onset of blowback. Its own stochastic modeling was on par or superior to Crease's own. The healer bounced around, never quite being where Crease predicted, until suddenly Crease felt tight fingers wrapped around his throat. His vision shrank to a small window as Kincaid's face swam into view.
"Why don't you just die?" Kincaid shrieked.
Crease couldn't answer that question even if he desired to. He gagged for a moment before finding himself flying backwards and slamming into the much abused cart. He landed on his knees and tried to get air back in his lungs. His battle reflexes seemed to be offline as his brainbox attempted to sort out the jumbled data in his head. Something struck him across the jaw and he went sprawling in the dirt. He wanted to rise. Tried to rise. But a foot struck him in the back and sent his face first back into the dirt.
"Die you immortal abomination!" Kincaid's hysterical voice cried out, "Die!"
Crease heard a ripping and tearing sound. The cart, he thought. Kincaid was tearing apart the cart with his bare hands. A board slammed into Crease's back causing him to bite his own tongue as his head bounced off the dirt. Blood filled his mouth and he could only hear Kincaid's screaming.
"The gun is still in your hand," someone said in his ear. Who was that?
"The pistol," the voice repeated, "Your battle reflexes wouldn't let go of it. It's still being held in your left hand."
Pistol? What was that word? It was hard to concentrate as something kept smashing into the back of his skull and spine. He wanted to tell it to stop, but words were difficult.
"Open your eyes," the voice commanded. Reluctantly, Crease obeyed. One eye he immediately screwed shut again as it was being driven relentlessly into the dirt. But the other he could see out of. Barely. The world was crooked and blurred. But ahead of him he thought he saw a shape climbing to its feet. A bit shape. Struggling to stand but close to him.
"Now!" the voice commanded, "Behind the jaw!"
He wasn't sure he understood the meaning behind the words, but he did as the voice suggested. As the giant lifted near him, he rotated his arm at the elbow until the gun was almost vertical. Shoving upwards, he pressed the muzzle to just behind the thing's chin and pulled the trigger. As he did this he realized there was a doorway ahead of him and that he felt no pain on the other side of it. Happily, he shoved himself through the doorway and found himself looking down upon his own body as a superhumanly fast Kincaid shattered a board to splinters as he pummeled the reclined form.
Crease's thoughts were clearing. He was not having an out of body experience. Not exactly. He was in a body. Just, not his own. He glanced down upon himself and realized the body was female. A very, very large female. Viana!
Memories came flooding back. The Oligarch had been speaking to him. Asking him to do what? Place the gun under the chin and fire. Why? The answer clicked into place almost immediately. The skull reinforcements in battle tech were applied to the top, the front, the back, and the sides but not to the bottom of the skull. To do so would require injecting the laminate in through the roof of the mouth. As the skull laminate also contained microfilaments to disperse an electrical charge, a soldier could actually potentially survive a shot from a small coil weapon. Which is why battle tech enhanced soldiers in the field who wanted to commit suicide often chose to place the wapon under their chin,
The electric bolt would have punched through Viana's skull and pureed her brain as the bolt slammed into the filaments and was reflected back. Unlike his earlier sledgehammer move to the head that had caused a concussion, this time the brain itself had been blown to bits. He could feel the vitamancer's ambient arcana trying to force the brain to reform, but for the moment the woman was quite dead. Which meant Crease was in control for now.
Even though his real body was getting beaten severely, for the moment, he felt no pain. He knew that using this much necromancy, particularly after his recent usage, was going to cause a blowback sooner rather than later. But, for the moment, he was tempted to relish the feeling of being pain free. The temptation passed. If he didn't move and move soon this brief respite would be all for nothing. He needed a plan. Except it was still difficult to think. His arcana had projected his consciousness, but his real brain was still getting pummelled. He couldn't even ask the Oligarch for advice without going back into the maelstrom of beatdowns. What he needed was someplace he could stash the vitamancer until he had a chance to recover. He looked around looking for inspiration. He was surprised when he found it. Without waiting a moment to reconsider if this was a wise decision, he propelled the giantess forward at a full sprint and snatched the vitamancer in one beefy hand as he/she ran.
Kincaid was caught off guard and, as such, he didn't realize what was happening until Viana's fist had closed around his throat. By that time it was too late for him to dodge to one side. But that didn't exactly mean he was helpless.
Crease noticed the feedback from Viana's corpse was unusually potent. The air rushing past, the feel of the dirt under her feet, and even the burning in her own lungs all seemed to be amplified. He guessed that Kincaid was increasing Viana's nerve sensitivity and stepped slightly back and away from the driver's seat just before KIncaid launched a punch into the giantess's forearm.
Stepping out of the body slightly was a mixed blessing. He avoided the overwhelming pain sensation that Kincaid was attempting to flood him with but was now highly aware of the very real pain coming from his own body. The double sided attack of blinding pain from both bodies nearly broke his concentration. But he held on. Barely.
Kincaid punched and slammed his fists at the arm with inhuman speed. The bone's laminate prevented it from cracking. So he changed tactics and increased the photosensitivity of the giant's eyes. The light was suddenly too bright and Viana could not see. Crease continued running and flitted more of his own awareness back to his own body. Slowly and painfully, he managed to move his real neck once more. He was now steering the body remotely. Less secure, but possible.
Sensing something was wrong, Kincaid tried other tactics. He caused her heart to stop beating. He forced her lungs to stop breathing and cut off blood to her muscles. All of which would have stopped her in her tracks if her body had been alive in the first place. Realizing his mistake, Kincaid switched directions again and focused on healing her damaged brain. Crease felt his control being shoved away. The giantess's gait became more erratic. He was hurting. It hurt to move. He switched to battle mode and told his battle implants to target the back of the running giantess. He allowed it to take full motor control.
The world went red with pain as his body moved without him consciously willing it. The servos flipped him around on damaged muscles and lifted his arm on a torn and agonizing shoulder. The finger squeezed on the pistol's trigger and suddenly he was back in the driver's seat of Viana's body. Bolts of lightning tore through her chest from behind as Kincaid released a gurgled scream. Crease directed Viana's other hand to join the one currently wrapped around Kincaid's throat. Together they squeezed with every bit of her enhanced strength. Kincaid's face turned purple for a brief moment before he, again, focused the healing arcana back into himself. As the pained expression returned to his previous snarl, Crease saw a look of concern cross over the vitamancer's face.
Although the events had felt like they took place over several minutes subjectively, both Crease and Kincaid had been operating in accelerated time. While for Crease this increased time awareness had been giving him a greater time to plan, Kincaid, on the other hand, had been acting out of instinct and raw emotion. When Viana had dragged Kincaid away from Crease's helpless body he had continued to react on pure emotion. He had lashed out and tried to fight Viana as carried him further and further from his intended target. It was not until the last moment that it even occurred to him to wonder where she was taking him to.
The giantess struck the side of the well before doubling over and falling in. The last view Crease had from her undead eyes was of Kincaid, still grasped in her strong hands, falling backwards into the well with Viana coming right after him. Crease let go as the darkness swallowed both of them and waited for the long delayed blowback to hit him. He screamed when the pain enveloped him but few heard him. Everyone else who could scream was screaming along with him.
And now for our exciting conclusion: