[NoR] - [27] – [IK07] – Run, Coward

The door opens, revealing the face behind it. Oddly enough, it looks exactly like your face. It is dressed in something which looks outrageously appealing to you, yet completely foreign. The strange outfit is superficially similar to yours, but built differently. The two of you share blank expressions. You certainly weren’t expecting this.

You run. You don’t take any time to contemplate, dashing back into the catacombs. Faintly you hear the replica saying something to who you assume is the Gardener, but you aren’t able to make out the words. Your focus is on the path ahead of you. The moss is slipperier than you like, and you drift around the first couple corners. Tunnel after tunnel, grate after grate. Rats squeak as you dash past. The Skeleton is still pinned to the wall, a situation you remedy quickly by snagging the blade as you run by. You toss it aside carelessly, hoping to slow your pursuer with the corpse. Instead, you hear what sounds remarkably like your own voice calling to you over the clatter of the bones.

“Where are you going, Inquisitor?!”

You look about the causeway, turning left and leaping over the water.

“Anywhere but here!”

You propel yourself into the access tunnel across the way, leaping onto the ladder and climbing as you’ve never climbed before. Once the tunnel encloses you, you look up, verifying that the walls are smooth. You put your back against the wall, running up the ladder as though it were a vertical stairwell. The movement frays your robe, but you care not at all. The clang of your pursuer reaching the rungs echoes up to you, distracting you as you erupt into the service tunnel above. You clumsily roll to your feet, dashing into the darkness. The faint images you can make out are lit by the residual torchlight from the level below, now blocked by the copy chasing you. You turn to see its eyes crest over the lip of the well, harsh light framing it in spikes of illuminated dust.

You once again curse not being able to see through shadows. You force your frustration through your fingertips, the sparks of mana igniting your hand and illuminating your path. A pair of well worn tracks run the length of the tunnel, shining in your light. They are sturdy, but no longer used within the ancient industrial center. You pad down the hall, vaulting onto a loading platform. The dust clouds around you as you take off again. The hallway is rugged and functional, with framed pictures of ‘local’ events hidden behind the thin gray fuzz of ancient dust and grime. More light shines from further on, spurring you to ascend the large stairwell ahead of you and into the upper platforms.

The open area is devoid of life, several empty maintenance carts strewn about the tracks. The shoddy ramp built to the level above has no railing, not that you slow enough to notice or care. You kick chunks of soil and mortar into the air as you dig into it, hurtling up and out, emerging in the Undercity itself. Large columns break up the landscape, supporting the vast mega structures above. The street level is pitted with gutters and waterways, one of which is cutting straight through the base of the nearest column. You sprint blindly into it, waving the magical flames off of your hand to sputter out on the floor. Another ladder appears to ascend the entirety of the column, prompting your egress once more to follow the rungs. The tunnel stretches out above you, darkness swallowing any end that may have been visible.

With nothing else to do while you flee, you think. You think about how this is almost precisely the last thing you were expecting. Someone mistaking you for Razel is obvious, now. You two are identical.

Except he probably still has his memories.

You widen your eyes as you wonder if Razel isn’t the one who took your memories…if only so that he could become you. Secretly inserting himself within your life for nefarious purposes.

Ludicrous.

No more ludicrous than being chased by your mirror image. Your hands begin to throb as you continue to tear your way up the ladder. Your subconscious wishes it could fly, somehow sad that it was unable to levitate the rest of the way.

Why do I have so many unrealistic expectations?!

You slam your head angrily against the wall, stars momentarily bursting into your vision. A faint light shines further up, barely visible after your trek thus far. It grows in intensity, crawling closer and closer until you vault out of it, rolling into a wall and scrambling to your feet. You turn the corner and exit the doorway, stepping into the alleyway. Stars sparkle above, letting you know you’ve reached the surface. Eying the crowded street to your left, you turn to run further into the alley, instead facing your doppelgänger once again. His fingers are bridged, suggesting an impatience that terrifies you. He speaks to you as you might a petulant child.

“Took you long enough.”

You scream unintelligibly at him before taking off once more.

“I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!”

Ignore him. Don’t acknowledge. Keep running.

You ungraciously shove the few pedestrians that have stopped to look out of the way, barreling into the street. Women yelp and men fall over as you force your way past. The crowd lightens slightly as the thoroughfare begins to include more wagons and transports, forcing you to bob and weave between the vendors moving their wares. A large fountain, possibly the same from the nights prior, surprises you as it appears behind the parting crowd of patrons. You catch it violently in the shins, toppling into the water. Your splashing about is loud, but fast, and you roll out of the basin and back to your feet. The water drips from you as you tear off, leaving a spotty trail.

A familiar, rippling face looks at you in confusion as you approach. The two thrull servants chained to their master hop out of your way as you tear past. The Pontiff furrows his brow as you speed by.

“Your Grace.”

“Inquisitor…?”

A by standing Boros Patrol spots you, sighting your pursuer as well. With a loud drawing of their blades, they watch the two of you approach.

“HEY! STOP! YOU TWO!”

You hear the clattering of their armor as they come after you, rushing into a crowded historical district in the throes of a market night. A Wagon pulls out noisily in front of you, the rear wheel wobbling unnervingly and threatening to tear off at the axle. Without thinking, you dive underneath the cart, sliding along fabric already worn down and tearing a large hole in your robe. You shove yourself up and continue running, most folks stepping to either side to give you room to pass. A loud clattering and crashing suggests the fate of the wagon, but you can’t spare the time to look back.

You search frantically for some means of escape. A tall spire farther on hints at a district further up and in, just behind this row of buildings. A large open door calls to you, urging you into the dimly lit lobby. The old room is set up as a museum to local achievements, and includes a model of a proposed structure for the shopping district. You try not to crash into it as you slam into the far wall, running up the spiral staircase. Each floor you pass offers glimpses at very confused citizens, none of whom seem to care enough to do anything. Eighteen floors up and the stairs stop, spitting you onto a roof. Your assumption had been correct, as you see the terraced walkway behind the museum. You jump blindly off of the roof, landing in the fabric overhang below. The cloth buckles under your weight, tearing partially and trapping you within it. You flail about madly, shredding it and forcing your freedom. You drop the remaining few feet to the floor. Night lamps illuminate the empty park around you. A maintenance building looms over a nearby hill.

Your feet clap loudly against the stone as you streak over to an embankment, stepping into the grass. A series of pylons hold up a walkway out of your reach, which you note heads directly into the maintenance sector. You remember briefly a spell that could be of use. With a hope and prayer, you jump, loosing a pulse of explosive energies beneath you. The shock wave launches your body head over heels, careening you into a wall unmercifully. You fall to your face, nonetheless now finding yourself on the walkway. Another scramble and you find yourself tripping over something, probably your own feet, before falling down a few short steps and slamming roughly into the walls. You hear a rustling outside the hall. You maneuver yourself upright and backing into the corner. The steps come slowly and methodically, clicking against the stone. You hold your breath, keeping still and hoping the creature of your fears will pass you by. Instead, you see it stand ominously in the doorway, shadowed by the ambient backlighting. It speaks irritably.

“I seriously don’t have time for this.”

Your breath comes in ragged gulps as your eyes adjust, and you make out the details of his face more clearly. He is definitely you. Or are you him? His arms are crossed, as if you were the inconvenience. In the end, you suppose it doesn’t matter. You scream defiantly at him.

“GO DIE IN A FIRE!”

He seems amused by this.

“That’s been tried. Didn’t work. Why do all my doubles scream at me, I wonder?”

His doubles?

“What are you talking about?! Why do you want to kill me?!”

“And why do they always think I’m out to kill them?”

He is speaking words you understand, but their meaning is still lost on you. You force a reply, hoping it comes out right.

“Maybe if you’d stop running me down I wouldn’t think you mean to end me.”

“Oh, I do mean to end you, but I don’t mean to kill you. You seem to have a funny concept of death.”

His speech hurts your brain. Everything hurts your brain. Thinking is painful. Your pulse quickens as you shake, defiantly staring down your judgment. The past several days replay through your head once more, this time with a tone of resignation. You see your actions as an observer instead of an actor, no longer seeking answers but rather seeking the respite from your situation. You lash out magically, overwhelmed emotion fueling a wave of power to erupt from you. The energy presses your assailant back several feet, yet fails to inconvenience him elsewise.

“Tenacious. Too bad you can’t stop something with its own power.”

You hurl bolt after fireball after blade after arc, none of which do anything except merge harmlessly with the body they are thrown at. It swings its arm to the side, propelling you with its mind further down the hall and into another wall. Your crash echoes down the path. He continues down to you, lecturing as he comes.

“Your purpose has run its course, Inquisitor. You are a tool. My tool. I put you on your mission and you performed it admirably, I will assume. Regardless…it is time.”

You watch as he disappears, re-appearing immediately in front of you. His proximity is startling. The pain is secondary. His fingers are knuckle-deep in your chest, which you verify with a glance down. The glowing blue fissures creeping from his fingers seem to alarm his as much as they alarm you. He pulls his hand back, splattering a frozen slush on the floor. He steps back, an unearthly blue glow filling the hall. You feel the wound in your chest burn and curl into a ball, collapsing on the floor. Before you hit the ground, you pass out, the world around you turning to black.