[Smite Happens] 2 - I Want Some Violence

“Wha-what?’ I stammered, my lips trembling. Words got caught in my throat. My limbs wouldn’t move. My entire body suddenly got so cold that shivers went up my flanks. This was some realistic stuff going on.

And utter bullshit!

A knife was right there. I had people to fight outside—bandits, or whoever they were. Yet, I couldn’t move. My most interesting dream in years was getting wasted because I couldn’t control my damn body. Worse, the more I’d be forced to consciously move, the higher the chance that I’d wake up. No choice but to go with the flow.

A few more arrows tore through the wagon’s canvas. One of them passed right by my cheek. The stinging pain that followed snapped me out of paralysis. I started screaming like a choked banshee. In all of my existence, I had never screamed this loud before—this confirmed I was really dreaming.

But what about the pain? My cheek was burning where the stupid arrow grazed it. I knew that people could feel pain in dreams. This was my first time experiencing this, though.

“Emery, get down!” Lorwin pulled me and my mother to the floor.

The wagon driver whipped the horses to run faster. The wagon almost flew as the wheels hit some rocks.

Thundering hooves closed in on us. Shadows of horse riders crept on the wagon’s right side. I doubted these were the guys supposed to guard us.

If only I could take Lorwin’s knife and slash the bandits through the canvas. I didn’t want to waste this opportunity to do something that I couldn’t in the real world. Well, I could attack people with a knife in the real world, but I’d get hunted by the police. No thanks for the hassle. I had to settle for slicing pork chops for dinner or something. If not a customer service employee, I would’ve gone to work at a butchery to entertain myself.

“Dear, what are we going to do?” asked my mother, hugging me tightly.

“Believe in the deity who chose our daughter,” Lorwin replied. “Close your eyes and pray. I’ll protect you from these bandits, I promise.”

“This is all because of me!” whined my stupid dream self. “They’re not bandits. They’re… they’re after me. If I go with them—”

“No! No one’s taking you!” Lorwin exclaimed.

Very dramatic scene and all, but I really want to do some violence. And I might get the chance because the wagon was slowing down. The bandits have headed off our path, and the driver lost control of the horses.

Driver? Wagoner? Coachman? I didn’t know the term for the guy in front of the wagon. Oh, he was gone. Probably jumped away.  

Before the wagon came to a stop, Lorwin slashed the canvas on the side opposite the bandits. He widened the opening for our escape. The wagon tilted sideways, crashing against a tree. Lorwin dove out first to check for enemies. He then gestured for me to follow.

But as I climbed out, a dismounted bandit rounded the end of the wagon and charged at Lorwin, sword raised high.

My fake father roared in defiance, brandishing a knife. The bandit slashed down, shattering the knife and cleaving Lorwin in half from head to, uh, groin. Blood splattered on me. The warmth, the metallic smell… this was too realistic for a dream. And the innards spilling out of the parted body were super detailed.

Is this really a dream?

“Father!” I shrieked, disturbing my mind that was puzzling over what was going on.

Another scream behind me. It seemed like my mother got dragged by bandits out of the wagon. Since I was already halfway through the side of the wagon, the bandit who killed Lorwin pulled me out. My kicking and punching didn’t do anything to the bandit’s armor—a mixture of bound leather and strips of metal.

My dream self and I were one with the thought of resisting. But flailing like a child with tantrums was the wrong way to go about it. Poke this guy’s eyes through the gap of his visor, and then go for the Lorwin’s knife on the ground. Or… I’d just run away to figure stuff out first because this was too bizarre a dream.

But my plans remained as plans because my body remained not mine. This was just a first-person POV movie—I hated those. Made my head hurt, along with that shaky cam crap. Actually, I didn’t like watching movies because I was spending time on a story that wasn’t my life.

The bandit dropped me next to my dead fake mother. They had stabbed her chest. Blood blossomed from the wound, drenching her dress. Too bad I never knew her name. Did anyone even mention it?

As expected, my dream self went hysterical. I no longer considered us the same person. There was no way I’d act like this even for manipulation purposes. This was too embarrassing.

Dream Emery cried and hugged her mother’s lifeless body as if it would help her situation. If this happened to me in real life, I’d fight with everything I got, hoping to bring down at least one of these bandits. They were going to kill me anyway.

So… why weren’t they doing that?

I couldn’t see them because Dream Emery had her head bowed while cradling her mother’s head on her lap. She was also blanking out. Really difficult to explain. This was all too weird.

Should I try waking up? A reliable way was tensing my eyes, like rolling them back or closing my eyelids as hard as I could. Holding my breath sometimes worked, though I had a false awakening a couple of instances.

I was about to attempt waking myself when the bandits started conversing amongst themselves. Despite being weirded out by what was happening, I listened to them. I was too invested in the story.  

“Why haven’t you killed the girl?” asked someone with an authoritative voice. Was this their leader?

“I… she’s a Chosen Bestowed. The gods will—”

“This has to be done to preserve the peace of the land,” the first voice interjected. “A Chosen Bestowed at this precarious time will tip the balance of power, no matter which shrine will eventually claim her. Will you let some grandmother’s tale stop you from preventing discord?”

Oh, so they really weren’t bandits? Which meant that someone must’ve ratted out my secret. The priest guy said only a few people knew about me being a Chosen Whatever. This dream had a cool twist. Once I woke up, I should write all of this down. I might have a career as a novelist someday.

“Perhaps we can simply capture her, sire?” asked someone else.

“It’ll be bigger trouble if her body is not amongst the corpses,” said the leader. “And we’ve lost two men. Will you let their sacrifice be in vain?”

“No, sire,” was the reply.

Someone clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Two sternial wielders. If it were just the useless priest with barriers and healing, we’d have no casualties. Damn that Gideon for giving us incorrect information.”

“You shouldn’t have mentioned a name,” said yet another voice.

“No matter. The girl will die.” The leader knelt beside me. My dream self gazed up at him. Everything below his eyes was hidden by a red scarf wrapped around his head. I could see only his green eyes and bushy eyebrows. He pulled down his scarf to reveal his tough-guy looking face with a squarish cleft chin and a pudgy nose. Not a good combination.

I have no clue who you are, I thought. There was some trivia roaming the internet that all the faces in our dreams were from people we had met in real life. But that was false—our brains could cook up a new face from our memories. I was pretty good at remembering faces and names and was certain I hadn’t met this guy before.

“Sire, your face!” exclaimed one of the not-bandit guys.

“Since we are killing innocents, I feel obligated to introduce myself and not hide behind falsehoods before delivering the final blow. Let the gods pass judgment on me hereafter.”

“Who… who are you?” squeaked Dream Emery.  

“Wilhelm Fenril of Golden Glade,” he said in a gentle voice. “It is unlikely that you know that name. I must apologize for what we will do.” He shook his head. “Apologies have no meaning in this dishonorable act. And yet, honor compels me to do this. For the peace of the land.”

“For the peace of the land,” echoed everybody else.

“Wha-what do you mean? I do-don’t understand.” Dream Emery turned up the waterworks. To my surprise, she started punching Sir Wilhelm Fancy Pants. It was that limped-wrist sort of punch that just bounced off his chest plate. “I didn’t want this gift! We were peaceful in our village!”

Wilhelm had a pained look, as if constipated. He didn’t want to finish off Dream Emery. I hoped I’d recall all the details of this interesting dream. People dreamed for around a couple of hours each night but remembered so little of it, even none, because the memory stuff of the brain was turned off during dreaming time.

A guy on horseback came up to us. “Sire! Riders approaching from the north, yonder! They fly the banner of the Silver Order!”  

“Someone had tipped them off,” said Wilhelm with a frown. He stood up and raised his sword. “But they’re too late. Close your eyes, girl.”

Dream Emery did. Everything was dark.

Hey, don’t close your eyes! I wanted to see.

“Two-Horned Hierophant,” Wilhelm said. “I ask forgiveness for spilling the blood of the innocent.”

The last I heard was a whooshing sound.

Guess that was it? Dream Emery was dead.

And…

What was supposed to happen next?

I opened my eyes. Everywhere I turned was white.

I blinked a couple of times and tilted my head to confirm that I was in control of my body in this dream. This had got to be a dream, right? I was surrounded by white. This wasn’t in the store, or my room, or anywhere else that I knew of.

Everything was just eerily white.  

I couldn’t tell if I was in a small room, the wall an inch from my face, or if this place went on and on. I patted myself. No injuries or anything wrong other than being here, in this wrong place. This didn’t look like a hospital either, or an… asylum.  

“Where am I?” I broke into a jog, thankfully not slamming into any walls. “Can anyone hear me? Is this a prank?” I pinched myself. But it was a stupid way of checking if I was in a dream. I’d just be dreaming of getting myself pinched.

If not a dream…

Was I kidnapped by aliens or something? That earlier stuff with gods and gifts and Sir Fancy Pants felt too real. I could be in a simulation. What if my life was a simulation all along? Couldn’t the aliens have made chicken breast not so bland? I tend to overcook them when I—

“Welcome to the Middle of Here and There!” boomed a jolly voice.

I abruptly braked. The floor quaked, and I ended up falling on my butt.

Something disturbed the plains of white. A pillar rose out of the ground about ten feet from me. This looked like bad news. I pushed up to stand and fled as fast as I could.

Looking back, I saw that it wasn’t just one pillar. There were five.

And they weren’t pillars—they were giant fingers.

I knew that because an entire hand showed up. The arm was following. Soon, the rest of the giant would appear. I was on a platform with a giant beneath it! If I had continued jogging the other way, I would’ve fallen off the edge, onto the waiting bastard below.

This was a simulation! Aliens are real!

“Don’t run, Emery.”

The powerful voice coursed through my body as if I stood next to massive speakers at a concert. Though loud, the voice warmed my heart. It was a coaxing feeling that there was no danger. Somehow, I felt that the speaker could be trusted. The hell was this alien trickery? But if I really was in a simulation, there was no use running.

I turned around to face the unknown.

The giant stood up from his hiding spot. He was a hill of muscles, metal, and fire. He grinned broadly, his smile peeking through a full beard that was a carpet of flames. He had a stocky build, a wide chest with short and beefy arms. His skin was a patchwork of various materials. Shiny stuff like bronze and gold, and regular steel. His skin might be metals woven together, looking like a world map with each country a different color.

Propping his elbows on the platform, the giant bent down and draped his beard forward.

I instinctively recoiled from the heat.

But it didn’t burn. It was comforting, like a hot chocolate during Christmas. Or any other time. I liked chocolate, but not the milky ones. This giant gave off an aura of life. I just felt energized standing near his burning beard. This must be what ‘zesty’ felt like.    

“The name’s Wonderwerk, little one,” the giant said. “To answer the question in your mind—yes, you are dead.”

“What? I wasn’t thinking about anything like that! I’m really fucking dead?”

(Author's Notes: We learn a bit more about this new world, and finally meet the god who transmigrated Emery's soul. I’ll make this god have more personality than being a usual isekai god that grants powers.)