Rain Harlow
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Chapter 72
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 15:00:11 +0000 UTCChapter 72: The Lesser of Terrors
As Jack ‘stared’ as best he could through the peripheral vision of Shreddy’s dreamscape, he suddenly felt a certain trepidation or reluctance. It took him a moment to realize the feeling was a translation from Shreddy himself, and Jack puzzled out what it was.
He’s afraid. He doesn’t want to look there. He’s avoiding it, even distracting himself to deny the way this scene must progress… and it wasn’t a dream for him, was it? It was a nightmare.
Jack focused even harder on that dark spot in his peripheral, making it ‘itch’ as much as possible to Shreddy, and not letting up or relenting. The intention was blatant: make him look.
It definitely started to have an effect. Shreddy avoided it, focusing on the food and the wine. He tried to listen to conversations around him…
With an effort of will, Jack made those words slide off, robbing Shreddy of the ability to focus and distract himself. Increasingly, a knot began in the man’s chest, and he desperately cut and cut into his steak and ate. Kept his head down. Chewed and chewed and washed the food down with wine, against a growing dread rising within him. The scene got darker, but this time, it had a source, a central focus drawing attention rather than diminishing it. Shreddy started to sweat inside his mask.
Jack kept glaring into that darkness, not letting up one sliver, allowing no quarter or mercy to slip into him — he only got more intense as he began to get his ‘hands around Shreddy’s throat,’ effectively.
He bent the entirety of his will to an unspoken command that grew into something all too tangible: look. Face it. Face… her.
How the certainty came to him, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was from Q-Loth, perhaps it was from Scaper, perhaps it was being in Shreddy’s head, or all of those things together. But it was a revelation: the founder — as counterintuitive as it might seem — was a woman.
Shit. That probably threw the whole task force off.
It seemed like this knowledge empowered Jack to pressure Shreddy even more. The mark began to tremble. Dropped his fork with a clatter. Something like eyes gleamed in that dark corner-
Sweating profusely, panting, Shreddy squeezed his eyes shut. He began to weep. “Please,” he muttered. “Not again!”
It was quite effective at countering Jack’s visual strategy. He kept up the pressure anyway, with force of will, with picturing and imagining those demanding eyes.
“No!” Shreddy cried. He kept his eyes shut, shaking his head, slamming his fist on the table. Everyone around him at the table went deathly quiet.
I need a final cherry. I’ve gotta do it.
Jack imagined a terrifying, commanding, faintly feminine voice, warped and whispery. He summoned it up and conjured it as best he could, slamming it directly into Shreddy’s brain, calm but utterly sure of obedience. “Look at me. Now.”
Fear and horror driving through his veins, Shreddy obediently opened his eyes, sobbing all the while, letting out a panicked cry even as he finally met those eyes, clearly fearing the consequences of not doing so even more. As he did, the darkness seemed to envelop the scene, casting it into a vision carved out of shadows. It felt like his soul was being swallowed up. But the dark contours were all too visible, now.
A large figure loomed at the head of the table, in a white suit, sitting in a chair vaguely like a throne, staring at Shreddy with one black-gloved hand propping her masked face from a chair arm. The mask belied her general feminine aura — it was an exaggerated masculine face reminiscent of a Babylonian Marduk, complete with the beard, but the features were faintly demonic, with its mouth in a rictus grin. Its eyes were like mirrored ovals, but from behind them, serpentine slits faintly glowed. On the mask’s head of dark curls was a faux golden crown, rising high and resplendent.
The masked figure spoke in a rich, charismatic voice, faintly feminine but quite strong. “Dear guest of ours and Twice Holy, you see only the ten among you, yes? This special occasion marks the rise of the final herald — the eleventh child of Tiamat. You. Congratulations.”
The rest of the gathered began to clap and give congratulations. Shreddy sobbed in hysterics, dread still capturing his heart, but they did not seem to notice.
The masked figure, who had not clapped, continued, “Surprised? As it turns out, I stand apart, not among. I am not Lahmu. Only a precious few know me for who I am. Having seen the mask and knowing the scriptures, can you name me, Twice Holy?” The question was almost playful.
But Shreddy only continued to sob rather than answer. Jack was certain of something: Shreddy would never think that name again. It was too terrible for him and was no longer in his head at all.
The scene went black briefly and shifted. Shimmering borders of blackness remained on the periphery, but the rest was now in overly vibrant color. Shreddy was kneeling, looking up at the masked figure again, but this time, the mask was all she had on, showcasing a sleek, muscular figure beaded with sweat. She was lightly holding an ornate chalice in her hands, made to look like some gargoyle with its tongue hanging out. No gloves; perfect fingernails lacquered white. They were in a room of what looked like primitive stone around them, and the light was cast from brazier flames.
Cultic shit.
Shreddy was unmasked and apparently nude as well. His body was on fire from within, pulsing with energy. All the stress he’d been under was simply gone, replaced by a vibrant burning in his head. Memory persisted, of incredible agony, and of the sense of losing something, but he didn’t care. The pain was no longer powerful comparatively. It hurt, and yet it was drowned out entirely by an ocean of ecstasy. Of nirvana.
One annoying sound somewhere inside, like a little contrary buzz. He ignored it, though.
Shreddy instead giggled senselessly and swayed, staring up at the weird mask. Even this was sheer happiness. He had a raging boner; that was okay, too. A dozen strange whispers came to him, but he couldn’t make them out. His vision was astoundingly bright and warped, ever moving and shifting.
Despite the chaotic state of his mind, the masked figure was clear as daylight. Her outline glowed. It was divine. Who was she again? So beautiful…
When she spoke, rich, painfully beautiful words etched in his mind like runes, unforgettable, even if their actual meaning had less impact. “It seems your tolerance for the nectar of the gods is troublingly low, dear guest. A pity. I had greater designs and hopes, but such is reality, hmm?” She reached a hand down and petted his hair. It felt so good that it made his eyes roll back. “There, there. The eleventh child, Lahmu, seems to be but a man, but the truth is that it is a many-headed dragon of destruction. What else, for a child of Tiamat? Doesn’t that sound good, my sweet boy?” She lifted his chin with a finger to look up at her. “To be a hydra?”
Shreddy giggled in pleasure and nodded emphatically. It did sound good, but mostly because her voice was so wonderful. He could listen all day.
Glowing reptile eyes peered deep into his. Shreddy felt a strange echo in his brain. Things got even brighter.
“Ohh,” the masked figure said, in a pleasant, surprised tone from her throat that made his body tingle. “I see something in you, after all. Not what I expected, but reality bestows little surprises here and there, doesn’t it? As one experiments. I think you’re quite a special boy, my Thrice Blessed… a worthy hydra indeed!”
She laughed then. Cackled. It was so glorious he laughed with her — and cried, because it was so good as to be painful.
As the laughter went on, that little buzzing went out. Before it did, Jack realized what it was: a scream. The last scream of Shreddy’s soul before it died in the dark, swallowed by something new and horrible; seen out by nothing more than drug-induced brain damage in a masquerade of laughter.
The scene began to melt away like a mirage, and Jack tried to get away from it, retreating and reaching toward Q-Loth and Scaper, mentally calling out to them, “I’ve got it! Let’s get out! Go, go, go!”
Relief flooded into his head from Scaper. “Finally!” Something grabbed him almost simultaneously, yanking him outward hard and fast. He slapped back into his mindscape body as he watched his viewpoint whip backward out from the terror of the amoeba — it seemed far more subdued now. Cowed and inactive, perhaps morose. The black, rotten substance, meanwhile, was like a big blob trying to stretch out toward him. It was fast, but not as fast as Scaper. Everything turned into miniature size within moments as they zoomed away into the void.
The merged voice of Q-Loth resonated. Energy use is exceedingly high. Disconnecting. Immediately, the tendrils withdrew from them.
Jack felt like he’d been through a blender and turned into puree. His body ached with pain and a veritable freight train of fatigue.
“Back to meatspace-” Scaper began.
“Wait!” Jack called, and he was in time for once with it. “We gotta get the intel to Memoria directly! Pronto! If I wake up, I’m liable to just pass out! I can feel it. This is the worst I’ve ever felt.”
“Oh… yeah… me too…”
Jack didn’t waste any time. He tried to branch up through that vehicle he figured he had access to in such a space — like with Calibration, through tapping into his Allotment. Perhaps Memoria would reject it, but it seemed the best bet to get her attention.
It was something like a chime. But that was all he needed — as soon as he ‘rattled the chains,’ he felt Memoria reach through directly into his mind, with what amounted to an eyebrow raised in question. A little morsel of her attention; one eye of many.
‘Got the Founder’s identity, Mother! Just dig it all out!’
It was like a hot little needle in his head when she did so, over and done with in an instant. Her voice resounded, “That’s some good stuff. Actioning the intelligence now. Good work, son.” With that, she vanished.
Jack soon gave the nod to Scaper, and they flashed back to their bodies. Jack immediately crumpled to the floor, and he probably would’ve bonked his head if Bermuda hadn’t grabbed his arm and slowed his fall.
Fatigue Status at Teetering. You are near to unconsciousness. Adrenaline and various enhancers expended to maintain consciousness for less than a minute. No enemies present. You should consider voluntarily giving up. Note that you will suffer from progressive delirium due to tremendous exhaustion and the necessary drug-like effects to retain consciousness.
Vast, rare resources expended; your regenerative system is taxed. An estimated twenty hours of rest is needed. Hospitalization is preferable, and emergency personnel are being notified. Recommending food with heavy NPs after awakening.
An extremely frightened Neex was suddenly in his head. “Jack! Are you okay?! What is happening?!”
Vision blurry, heart pumping hard, Jack fought to stay conscious. He replied heavily, “Is okay. Is over. Did good thing. All in day work.”
Why am I talk like caveman?
Neex suddenly seemed mortified. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry! It just- sorry! All is well! Okay! Rest, now! Bye! Sorry!”
Jack, struck delirious, laughed, both in the real and internally. “Is okay. No Death.” He sent a heart symbol.
“Yes! No Death!” A heart symbol flared in his head. He could tell she was still super worried.
Bermuda was lightly slapping his cheek, and apparently repeating herself. His head was kinda in her lap. “Steel! Can you report?! I’m getting nothing more than a thumbs-up from Central for my own operation! Things are buzzing! Did you go over my head?!”
“Is okay,” Jack replied rather stupidly. He had intended to say something else. His eyes were very heavy. He couldn’t move; too weak. His eyes began searching around as best they could through the blurs. “What about…” He caught sight of Scaper, who was unconscious on the floor across from him. He giggled once. “Oh. Yeah. Um… Memoria… had to…”
Bermuda shook him. “Hey! Fine, you told her. Now, report?! To me?!” Her eyes were pleading.
He was passing out. Before he did, he chuckled and said, “Heeey, I’ll tell you on our date, babe, how’s that…”
Forgetting even who he was talking to, remembering absolutely nothing after Neex’s ‘No Death’ and her cute little heart sign, Jack fell unconscious.
🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕
Your Level has improved to 3.1! Please enter the trance and Calibrate, as this changes your total Allotment. Note: Please allow time for decision-making between the three options available with a full Level change. You also have 1.0 to allocate to any statistic other than Create or Transmute.
Additional note: Individual Allotment gains are heavily suppressed until Level 4.0 and higher. You must train and work with other Allotted in team exercises to advance (your recent co-op with Scaper did count, however).
Control: Cord improved to 1.3!
Create: Grapple improved to 0.4!
Transmute: Fluidity improved to 0.2!
General Technique: Jackettery improved to 1.1!
Fatigue Status at Serious-Unstable. Continued R&R recommended, and eating heavily recommended.
Jack woke up groggy with a vague sense of significant time passing and a mishmash of dreams quickly fleeing his memory. He was weak and felt like he was starving. For some reason, he smelled something fruity. Soap? He was lying in a hospital bed in an infirmary room, shirtless, under somewhat tossed blankets, with an IV hooked up to him.
Probably a good thing. Fluids.
He glanced around and saw that Scaper was in the bed across from him, asleep and looking like it had been a fitful one, with her contorted into a haphazard shape and the blankets half kicked off her. She was shirtless as well, but had on a sports bra, and though there was an IV next to her, she wasn’t connected. Likely, it had been removed at some point.
Turning his head back to the ceiling, Jack simply blinked, his mind blank for a few moments. And then it rapidly became a mix of considerations.
The task force mission — how did it go!? Wow, I’m already Level 3, that’s a whole level gain! Multiple of three, gotta be a big choice coming up. Fluidity, that’s great, it’s basically an additive to Shape when Transmute is synthesized with it… Alright, anyway, I need to check in with someone-
Just as he was thinking it, Memoria popped into his head. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Jack. You two really pushed the envelope in there. And, by the way, I’d appear, but I’m still busy, and I don’t wanna wake Scaper. She’d be in her own room, but she freaks out about being alone, and her sense of it is uncanny. Better when it's someone she knows. Anyway, hot food is being prepped for you. It’ll be brought in a minute.”
“Uh, alright,” Jack replied, still a little out of it. “Sounds good. Thanks. So… how did things go?”
“We didn’t get the Founder. Likely, it was too late, but she wasn’t located or apprehended. Went underground — so to speak. Places out of my perception and reach, for now. Some of her ‘Ten’ were that already, sadly. But we captured four of them, so more intel is inevitable. One of those would’ve certainly gotten away if not for your efforts. Mushu, effectively the central operator for New Babylon. A crippling blow to take him. Overall, the operation was a success, having crippled the cult and apprehended nearly half of their critical members. More intel will be extracted. The road to rooting them out and annihilating them is now being paved.”
Jack tried to absorb it all. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she got away. She seems… formidable. Sorry, we didn’t get the name, by the way.”
“Oh. That. I already know thanks to her hints within that vision, in tandem with the mythology. Qingu is the name. Tiamat’s second consort, who was bestowed with the Tablet of Destiny, and was ultimately killed by Marduk. His blood was supposedly used in the creation of mankind.”
“Brutal. I take it that didn’t actually happen, oh wise Goddess Supreme, Memoria?” His tone was deliberately teasing.
She scoffed and then sighed. “It’s no surprise that one of the weakest points of humanity’s soul is square in the belief center. Perpetually gazing up into the heavens in wonder, crying, ‘What the hell is this shit?!’ Well, it isn’t for me to dictate. Deduce as you will.”
“Mmn. Qingu, eh? Like ‘Kingu?’ Hence the crown. But it isn’t as if that’s her real name.”
“She’s clearly had mods to change her entire appearance. Her real identity is going to be a royal pain to uncover. Having the name is still damning, considering how closely guarded a secret it was. She didn’t intend for Shreddy to actually remember all of that, Jack, and we know how deeply it was buried. Scaper isn’t our strongest psychic, but together with you, some of the best results were achieved in what was admittedly a crap shoot. It was something personal again as a catalyst, hmm? Shreddy’s hatred of Memorial authority personified in you, which you weaponized at the right time. Any longer drawing goose eggs and you’d all have needed to withdraw, obtaining little more than a bit of unique training.”
She laughed. “Unexpected ingenuity wins again! Thanks not to a veteran warrior or manipulator per se, but a veteran listener; an intuitor. So, instead of having to pry her identity from her leaders — all of whom are more difficult nuts to crack — we can weaponize it against them. Suffice to say we already are.”
“Well, happy to help. I didn’t like everything about this mission, but I want to be where I’m needed more than anything. If I get anything out of it? Do right by the people caught in the crossfire, please.”
“As you wish, Saint Steel. Fortunately, the little girl seems untouched by any Derangement. Ms. Windtaker sadly knows far too much and has absorbed some of Shreddy’s ridiculously potent Derangement contagion. She’s low on the priority list for psychic fixing, so it’ll be a long process. The little girl has other stable family, at least. We’ll fund the fostering, counseling, and so on.”
“I see. Hopefully that’ll be better for her.” It was a bummer hearing about Ms. Windtaker. Her frantic voice shot through his head again: ‘Please let me see heeer!’
He winced and tried to banish it. “So, Shreddy’s case is pretty abnormal, then?”
“Very. He needs to be studied, but I’m still deciding how to do it safely.” As she spoke, the door into the infirmary room opened, admitting a nurse with a big food tray, smiling politely at him. “Well, Jack, it’s time I compute elsewhere. Things are still frenetic. Task Force Homebody 9 carries on. Again, good work! Eat up, rest up, and try to decompress from this shit for a while. You exploded past Level 2 with the degree of action you hit, so now you need to pivot again. Don’t rush your Calibration, either! It’s a doozy, so make sure your nutrition and stamina are good before jumping in. I’d say Fatigue Status: Minor to be safe. Technically, Serious is usually fine, but this is your first big multiple.”
“Understood, Mother.”
“Oh — and Agent Sato is stopping by in a few, so if you have any other questions, feel free. When there’s not a nurse in there, the room is secure. Until next time, my son!”
As Memoria disconnected, Jack was quickly distracted by the smell of hot food, and his answering ache to get it in his belly. As he sat up in anticipation, staring with his mouth watering, the nurse’s eyes widened at him, showing the sort of hesitation one might have before feeding a shark.
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Comments
Thomas V.
I’m really quite happy that I got to read this all in one go, it was quite the experience. I’m looking forward to the debrief.
Danielle Warvel
Yeah, it’s become kinda obvious that you get between a hungry Non and his food at your own risk.
