Relapse's Origin
Every pain-filled nerve sings out, disjointed and without harmony - each chord a fresh note of pain to the figure, pushing him deeper into reserves he never had, pushing him to get home through the darkly pressing vegetation that makes up the scrub lands he has found himself in. Tears unrestrained by squeezed shut lids rain from his face; sightless, his feet are caught by a tightly rooted vine, he falls with a lost cry louder than the others. He cries from the pain, he cries from the confusion, he cries because he doesn't know how to stop. He cries for the woman who he remembers but had never met.
She had met the ninja in the forest protected by the ninja's people, on a world called the Orb. He of the Tiger Style of ninjutsu, servant of Kwan the god of Redemption; yet to officially challenge for the rank of master he already held in reputation and skill. She was an explorer for her people, pilot of the crystalline craft that pierced the boundaries between realities. They had met in a clearing in the forest sacred to the clan, and over the course of weeks fell in love. Her name was Kay`ela. But when he was about to ask her to stay with him for ever, her delicate lips said three words that caused his world to end. "You're not real."
The crackling of hungry flames rouses the shadowed form from his reverie, followed by a shuddering thump as a eucalyptus released a fire tortured bough to the ground nearby. Quickly, too quickly according to the pain, he pushes onward to flee the blaze. A new agony, novel by its concentration, burns the back of his hands and forces a gasp. He wraps both arms around his body, cradling his injured hands and aching chest as he moves on. The enclosing trees and brush are lighter now, lit with streetlights of a road along the edge. Painfully artificial, but welcomingly predicted at the same time.
For the space of a second, a tree becomes his only means of remaining upright as he regains his breath, face pressed against rough bark. No sound of fire trucks yet, but then the explosion was only ... only a minute ago? The trunk scratches his face as he turns to look back to see trees wavering menacingly under the flickering light of outdistanced fire. Dimmer now, but still alive with malice. That he recognised easily.
The boy's lunch had been the victim of a more intelligent malice today - although that was giving his tormentor, Brian, more credit than he deserved. A regular warm-up for the daily lunch-hour bullying, the boy served as a quick, efficient lunch theft before the thug-and-cronies moved on to more challenging targets. The victim mustered the courage to retaliate, once, pronouncing his lunch-devouring tormentor a public masticator. But only once, the lesson had been swift and decisive. Picking himself up an ignored half hour later he headed to the school's computer labs in a dark mood of impotent rage - a rage that was building up to an explosive release.
Air rushes past, sucking smoke and heat towards the glowing yellows, reds and golds; and the fire shuts off. A switch wouldn't have been so effective. Staring with incomprehension at the sight for another moment, he turns back the way he had been moving - pushing himself from his wooden support and towards his destination. Any destination. Leaving the forest's edge, booted feet find bitumen a steadier path. If harder, as his legs give way and only a nimble tumble saves him from a solid face to face with the road top. The landing reawakens the pain in his hands, curling up in the gutter he lifts his shaking hands to his bleary vision. The flames have left brands on his hands.
Memories blur now, coming stronger and faster. The ninja and the woman... Kewashi and Kay`ela... he gave his life to save her from Scorpion clan ninja, she restored it to him with the power of crystal science and android technology. The ninja accepted the truth in Kay`ela's words and they travelled between the roleplaying systems together. The boy... Michael... came home to his TV addicted parents, his vitamin free O'Tooleys burgers and he knew there's more to life. Rage boiled upon rage, close to becoming the Garou he was meant to be.
Light flashes, a car illuminates the figure in stark white - he yells as white blasts in his memory - of the crystal ship attacked without warning. Crystals shattered, a woman's scream carried above twisting and shrieking bulkheads. Kay`ela, unreachable and trapped by whipping cables and fallen metal. Another explosion, she's gone. Michael, a falling star visible from his room, dashed out of his house to the nearby forest. Kewashi and the remnants of the craft shattered against the earth, Michael was blasted from his feet and...
And now they are in front of Michael's home. Clothes burnt, the itching hands now bear the ninja's symbol burnt into the back of the schoolboy's hands. He goes upstairs, a greeting from his loving parents tells him to shut the damn door and stop annoying them while they watch their shows. He doesn't hear them, going upstairs to his room. He knows its his room, he goes inside, even though he's never seen it before.
But he knows without question that that cupboard doesn't belong. Positively radiating ancient construction it woodenly occupies a space that shouldn't fit in this tiny room, caressing it with a soft blue glow from a carved glyph over its doors. An infinity symbol. The doors open by themselves, the exhausted gestalt near collapse at the room's threshold, unable even to consider flight. Inside the left door a mirror reflects Kewashi Nagat, Android Master of the Way of the Tiger and part of a stalwart team of heroes. Inside the right, Michael Stone is a Glasswalker Galliard, a tale spinner and warrior poet tasked to defend living reality against Corruption. Between them lies the interior of the Cupboard proper, darkness stretching back and beyond.
Relapse steps inside.
With thanks to Karina, Forsyth and Wirrit for advise and suggestions.
