Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee-Chapter 42: The Benefector

My hand twitches toward my pocket.

It’s a pathetic, agonizingly slow movement. Every veteran instinct I have is screaming at me to shatter the escape vial. Honor is a luxury for the healthy; right now, survival is my only priority, even if it means leaving Veric and Rhayne behind in this mud.

[OXI: 87/1,200]

But my body refuses to obey. My legs are completely dead. My ribs feel like ground glass, and the nerve signals to my fingers are short-circuiting. I scrape my nails against the leather of my belt, but I can’t reach the pocket.

I fail.

Looming directly over me, the Reef Stalker lowers its massive, bifurcated jaw. It doesn’t strike immediately. It pauses, staring into my eyes with a milky, soulless gaze, savoring the absolute helplessness of its prey. It raises its head toward the burning canopy and lets out a guttural, triumphant roar.

I close my eyes. So this is it.

VMMMM-SHK.

A sound rings out—a high-frequency tear, like the fabric of the dimension itself unzipping. It’s so sharp it makes my teeth ache.

The Reef Stalker’s roar cuts off instantly.

I open my eyes. The beast is frozen perfectly still above me, like a paused holovid.

For two excruciatingly long seconds, nothing happens. Then, the monster’s geometry simply shifts.

A perfectly clean line appears down the exact center of its skull and torso. Without a single drop of blood, the Reef Stalker splits in two. The edges of the cut glow with a searing, plasma-like heat, instantly cauterizing the flesh. The two massive halves of the apex predator simply slide apart, collapsing heavily onto opposite sides of me.

[OXI: 32/1,200]

My vision is tunneling into darkness. I can barely process the smoking halves of the beast.

Ten seconds later, the blur of a figure steps into my fading line of sight. A mage. I can make out the gold trim of a Rank-A uniform, the Rescue Crest gleaming on his right breast, the Academy insignia on his left.

He holds a glowing Codex in one hand. He kneels, effortlessly lifting my heavy, bleeding head into his lap, and presses the lip of a glass vial to my mouth.

My senses are a chaotic mess of pain and vertigo.

"Easy there, kid. Don’t go dying on us now," another voice says, boots crunching on the gravel as a second figure approaches. "Congratulations on making it as a finalist."

I choke, struggling to swallow the liquid. It’s a first-aid potion laced with raw, filtered OXI. The moment it hits my throat, a rushing, mint-like coolness violently spreads through my veins. The instant relief is so overwhelming it’s almost intoxicating.

I lift a trembling, bloodstained finger, pointing blindly toward the flat rock.

"The girl..." I rasped.

The darkness finally pulls me under.

I open my eyes.

My senses flood back with aggressive clarity. The bitter, stale taste of a medically induced sleep coats my tongue. The air is freezing, smelling sharply of sterile antiseptics mixed with the distinct, ozone-heavy scent of extra-filtered OXI.

I turn my head slowly. The first thing I see in the corner of the sterile white room is Rhayne.

She is curled up in a horribly uncomfortable plastic chair, fast asleep. Thick white bandages wrap her wrists and ankles. A wave of profound, exhausted relief washes over me.

She made it.

But before my muscles can even begin to relax, a voice speaks from the side of my bed.

"Multiple organ failure. OXI core almost dry. Rank-F musculature completely shredded."

My breath hitches. The heart monitor next to my bed gives a sharp, treacherous spike.

I know that voice. I’d know that deep, bored, arrogant cadence anywhere in the multiverse.

Underneath the crisp white hospital sheets, my hands ball into fists. My nails dig into my palms so hard they almost draw blood. A surge of pure, unfiltered hatred boils in my veins, but I force my body to remain perfectly still. I swallow the venom rising in my throat.

Control. You have to control yourself.

Sitting in the chair next to my bed, casually spinning a silver pen between his fingers while reading my holographic medical chart, is the mage who rescued me.

Rae.

The promising, recently upgraded, and brilliant Rank-A academy mage. The man who, ten years from now, will walk into my apartment and slaughter my family. My executioner.

Rae casually tosses the holographic clipboard onto the foot of my bed.

"The doctors wanted to throw you in the trash," he continues, offering a mild, amused sigh. "They said it would be a catastrophic waste of Academy resources to heal a Shell with those kinds of injuries. I had to intervene."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I told them you owe me a Rank-A potion now. And I don’t like dead debtors."

Rae extends his hand toward me. He wears the exact same flawless, calculated, fictional charm that I trusted for a decade.

"Pleasure to meet you. I’m Rae. And I have a very keen interest in your story."

I take a slow, agonizingly deep breath.

Play the game, Dryden. You can’t ruin this now.

"Thank you for saving me." The lie scrapes out of my throat like broken glass.

I uncurl my fists, forcing my hand to relax, and reach out to grasp his. Shaking the hand of that future murderer takes every ounce of willpower I possess. His grip is firm, warm, and utterly deceiving.

Rae leans back, crossing his legs. "After the last remaining team surrendered in the battle against your squad, we moved in for the cleanup and rescue sweep. But I have to admit, I didn’t expect a Rank-F rat to be the maestro of such a violent orchestra out there. You finished in first place. Tied for points, actually."

I break eye contact, looking down at my bandaged chest, playing the part of the exhausted, humble survivor.

"I just did what I had to do to stay alive."

Rae chuckles. It’s a dry, knowing sound.

"Don’t play coy with me. I think you did a hell of a lot more than a Rank-F should physically or mentally be capable of. In the entire history of this Academy, even back when this test was just the Labyrinth, a Shell has never manipulated the board like that."

My stomach tightens.

I drew way too much attention.

I wanted a spot in the Academy, but I accidentally put myself under the magnifying glass of the exact sociopath I was trying to eventually dismantle.

Rae stops spinning his pen. He looks at me with an intense, predatory curiosity.

"So, here is my proposal," Rae says softly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. "I want to be your mentor. You know how this Academy works. With your intellect on the battlefield, you must have an idea of the politics here. You’re smart, but you’re fragile, and you have no backing. I offer you absolute protection. In exchange, you follow a few of my orders when I need you to."

He tilts his head, a perfectly practiced smile gracing his lips.

"What do you say, Dryden?"