A Realm of Struggle

The screaming scratch at the window startled Reedem awake. A sound otherworldly. Half past 3 the high pitch sound contorted into a deep cleaving. Reedem’s eyes widened at the sight of his window turning into a portal where a nimble four-legged creature bounded through. The black feline’s eyes hypnotized him to push himself off the bed and stare. Shadowless, the cat jumped on his bed, tail swirling. Reedem blinked and glanced at his alarm clock, which now read 3:31. At least it wasn’t staying still, he thought, otherwise it’d be a dream.

“What are you…?” His words coalesced into a one-word dry mumble. His breath became shallower each moment. The cat, he thought, was just hungry. He could relate, he could respect the bravery that came from bounding into someone’s room. For his marionette life, he couldn’t envision himself doing that.

The only rebellion he could muster was having his own hand try to slap himself awake to make sense of how a cat got in his third-floor room. Studying here when he wasn’t studying in the library, and listening to endless lectures, then furiously studying notes on weekends must’ve drained all his senses. “You, uh, wan food or somethin?”

           The shadowless beast flicked its tail as if communicating. He fumbled out of bed to see if other cats might be coming in. He tried not stepping on the cat that chose that exact moment to hiss and then get in his way to make him heave his body over. Out the window. Home consisting of a small bed and desk, flew away.

           Still waiting for the ground to flatten out his existence, Reedem felt the opposite, his body stretched into a warping. His body of six feet and 160 pounds, brown hair, and a rather large nose was now encased in something a little cold but solid. Hair prickled up, not just from the change in temperature and humidity. He didn’t even stagger because his feet were in metal shoes as form fitted as the rest of him was. Only his sight was slightly diminished at the top and bottom by chrome.

           “Where?” He would’ve thrown up, but somehow his stomach and actually all his muscles felt great, like he was in an Olympian shape. Feet shuffled around in metal shoes and leggings, and when he stopped, he still heard feet shuffling. “How the?”

           “If only half thoughts are what you’ll bring, this’ll be a mercy.” A dark figure spoke. Green eyes barely visible under a gilded azure hood. It stretched to the man’s shoulders, covering a lighter blue robe. In his right hand was a long stick, knobby at the end. His fingers on the staff flicked out when he said, “Either way, this,” he gestured at three others behind Reedem, “will be quick.”

           With a finality of tone, the person unemotionally continued, “You’ll either die of exhaustion, or perhaps you will transcend.” He started forward, cape following just behind his feet. “Reedem Charles Archibald, listen well.”

           Not that he had a choice. It was like his every breath followed every word from the wizened man who strolled past him. He trailed along. An unexplainable cloudy light showed ground with dew, which was too smooth though easy to land on. Dark fog was just beyond a hundred feet. An eerie quiet made the old man’s words all the more resonating—the place was designed for whatever this was.

           The closest person on their right was facing them, demon red glowed through eye slits, all the more bright due to the black armor. Head to foot, like his own, except wind swept in an aerodynamic statement of having faced numberless foes and much abuse. A feeling of guilt and shame radiated from it. If this was someone—or something—that he had to fight, it would be quick.

           “Where am I?” The musty smell of the place reminded him of something. You’re,” though it sounded stupid, the words came out anyway, “that cat, the black one?”

Immediately, the older man’s staff flew into the hard ground, stopping Reedem’s. “A form of necessity. Not to lure, but to bring about a reckoning in a different realm. Now quiet and listen, you have little time.”

This realm, as you see, is a crucible to ameliorate, if the strength of the chosen has been made correct. Or simply, you will die because you are weak, and then you will die in your realm, which is the way it must be. Continue to follow me and I’ll explain.

           “You see at a point in our lives, there’s a past each of us has. It’s called a mid- or quarter-life crisis, a crux whereby you either grow or stagnate. My work is to bring your past,” he leaned his staff at the knight of dented dark armor, “will catch up to you. This can happen really any time of your life after adolescence. It can haunt you, even if it’s such a mild thing as being told ‘no’ about eating a treat for dinner.”

           Looking closer, Reedem could see dings and parts of the armor was bent. Its head swiveled up to gauge him. A sense of apathetic knowing made him take a couple steps back.

            “Don’t dally with the past, boy.” Reedem sped up to get closer to the old man. The voice and his footsteps sounded tubular in this weird place. “The next is your present, your now. This shield bearer before you is as much you as the past,” a gesture at the black knight, “as it is you.”

           On this knight was a rose emblem on the small shield was duller gray than the rest of the armor. Just as tall, plain almost, its head tilted down with a glow emanating from its visor. With obvious discontent and without stoicism, it shifted its stance every few seconds—ready, yet not ready.

           The old man walked with almost a wheezing breath, like he’d done this thousands of times. “This creature cannot swing through your feelings, wrecking your thoughts and intentions. Though countless battles each have had. There are all that your past and hope for the future is. Though you try to hide all with plainness a glimmer of beauty comes out. Ah, much like so many others.

           “Finally, that which you undoubtedly fear more than anything.” The third knight with unrecognizable emblems on opalescent steel. Its hand, like the others on the sword scabbard, was gripped with anxious, jittery fingers. “Not yet.” The shadowless man pointed a finger with his other hand at the knightly armored thing. “The future is always ready. Now, Reedem, do you have questions?”

           “But what am I doing here?” All patience lost.

           “To fight. Each will only have as much skill, strength, and endurance as you. None can exceed what you yourself bring. All your might and none more. As a good proverb from one bad man goes, “It is better to live one day as a lion, than a hundred years as a lamb.” So you will ever after unto death have an almost unquenchable fire to lead a worthy life. Who will control these knights.” He pointed with his stick at each. “Your Past. Present. And Future. OR will they best you?” He lifted up his staff and thundered, “To the quick and the dead!”

           Reedem had more to say and ask, like, what kind of person talks that way?

Swiftly, the Present knight was first. Arm raised, sword wielded to strike downward. A sword he didn’t know was at a scabbard was instinctively pulled free. Gripped now with two hands, the blade was brought to protect Redeem’s head. Luckily a glancing strike sent the attack to the side, otherwise he’d have fallen on his back instead of staggering to the side. The clang was so grating on his ears that he closed his eyes and wanted to cower.

           Reedem felt himself slide his right foot out, using it to spin himself to the left, and gave his own staggering blow to Present’s side. It laughed. The same cadence but much lower pitch than his own. Not as quick as he assumed it would be. It brought its stance back and sword ready, awaiting his move.

           “I won’t disappoint.” Not sure why he said it, but all his fantasy reading and gaming made it seem apt. And he lunged.

           Coming from a high stance, he exchanged blows, sometimes catching, sometimes missing its strikes. He was getting a taste of metallic tang as he was being knocked around. Fortunately, he got off one swung hard on the shoulder, bringing it down. Just a fraction after it slammed its sword into Reedem’s side, which would’ve hurt a lot more had he not brought it to its knees. “Easier than—”

           An eerie yell, in a reverse echo gave away Past. From behind, the dark knight swept toward the same side Present had just hit. Reedem rolled, dropping his hand to the ground. The armor seeming to enhance his agility, he felt far more nimble than he ever had. He righted himself and could see that Past was even slower than Present.

           Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Future standing, judging. No time to waste. He stepped behind himself, to then tornado a kick into the back of Past, which fell onto Present, which stumbled forward into the other. He kept the motion smooth, like water in a glass. He could turn the glass however as long as he kept the balance, he’d be in control.

           He thought about all the potential options and came to the conclusion that he had one. He die, of that he knew deep down inside. And the way he would die would be his. Fighting or giving up. He swallowed, his choice clear, and was reinvigorated.

           Slow in grabbing his sword would mean too much time. He had to strategize and not just bounce from one to another. He’d take charge while the situation was open. He jumped with feet to either side of Past’s arm and grabbed at the sword pommel. Fingers of rock strength enfolded around its treasure and no matter the exertion and tenacity, there was no releasing its treasure. Slowly one finger bent up, and with it came a laugh from far ahead—Future.

           To his horror, the fingers on the blade twitched as if to show that Reedem never had a chance of taking Past’s weapon. In anger, he grunted out a punch, further leaving Present sprawled on the ground and knocking Past back down. He rolled and landed with his weapon in his hand. The motion was so reflexive that that he wondered for a brief moment if his reactions were always so controllable. Was he somehow growing, maturing into something more? Every minute here felt like a normal minute yet so taxing and so expanding of his character.

           Bright armor and bright sword was on him in an instant and he knew even before looking up that the sound, the presence, the feel was there. He could only defend himself against Future. From kneeling to a rising and then standing position, swinging his hands like he had when he mopped and swept floors, hosing his parents’ garden, digging ditches, it was all muscle memory and he was seeing it with his body reacting. The leather around his hands in the gauntlets creaked from the renewed strength and grip despite sweaty palms. He’d learned through countless hours of labor how to defend a slash from the side, swing his body back, let his opponent’s blade ring into his to then arc his blade down and into its helmet.

           The knight thumped a knee and its weight onto the ground.

           Soon though the others would encroach together and it’d be three against one. How can one outthink oneself? Or three of the same you?

           He still couldn’t figure out a way to do more than daze them. He was quick, strong, and nimble, but endurance was never a strong suit. He had to lead them into what he wanted.

           With Present to the left, and Past to the right, Future was now stalking forth. He ran to Past, there would be his best defense.

           Nevertheless, he attacked just in front of slow Past and at Future. Maybe he had overestimated his ability because when he swung like a baseball player it didn’t hit anything. Future had leaned back. Not able to stop the motion, Reedem felt the attack from its comrade—a stab, surely bringing him down, and even if he’d somehow get away from both, Present would be there soon to finish the job.

           He sped up. Bringing his feet one after the other in a circle, arms now extending, he gripped tighter hoping for the best. He could feel this world darkening. Adrenaline was still possible here, raising his abilities beyond what was normal, for whatever normal abilities one had here anyway. Though no face appeared, the sense of startlement was on Future’s bodily reaction. It went on the defensive, and its head pulled back, though this time not fast enough. The tip of the blade past at the edge of its visor, cutting in and slamming into the side of the helmet. He rented the flesh, if it had any, and the helmet instantly bounded of its shoulder trailed by a puff of smoke that rapidly dissipated. At the same time, the other knight Present was hit by the helmet in its own.

           Once again staggering it. Unfortunately, Reedem was sedating himself into a coma, and fast. What he could’ve done just minutes ago was take the initiative, but it was Present who was already gathering itself for another battle, but not before Past had shown its black self with a rush forward.

           Though he felt Past speeding upon him, he kept his body positioned toward Present with the hope of the final avalanching surge to be a low strike. His days of golfing, not real but screen golfing, with friends always taught him to look up at the end. With the only tactic left, he pulled his right leg back, pushing his sword high and out to the left. And with a breath that was now breathing out, with more progression each adrenaline moment, he yelled at his sword came down into the narrow face slit. Like the samurai sword slicing videos he’d seen on online, somehow he brought it evenly down where it met resistance, before a slight shake then full contact with the helmet. It slid and clattered on the ground.

           The weight of the body slammed into him, pushing him into a backward roll. He was hyperventilating from getting the breath knocked out, the heavy thing having slid past him. Barely holding onto his blade, he backpedaled on all fours. Only supreme focus through the ragged gasps that pulsated his vision could get him to see Past coming to get him. His foot hit the hollowed armor of Present. Past rushing forward might’ve been fast when he’d first gotten here, when he couldn’t understand how quick he himself could be. Now though, breathless and still fighting for air, he bent down. He was so tired. Every part of his body rocked by a blow was singing a song of pain. The rhythmic chorus of agonies and shallow intake of air helped to bring him low. Down into an almost crouch.

           He was adding his own battle to this hallowed ground, which vibrated with the whispers of past warriors. He was showing he could be one.

           Could he be ready for the onslaught of Present? Always for an initial attack, Present heaved its weapon high to strike down. With one, then two hands on his pommel, Reedem pushed with his last strength. Effort from pushing off from the once-body of behind him, flinging his all at Present was closing the deal.

           It was worth doing, being all he could, to the last of his everything. In determined motion slowed in a time of reflection before dying, Reedem would be the rock that wouldn’t shatter under the strains of this life. Plowing into the façade of Present, Reedem felt the hilt disappear.

           MEOWWWW. Shadowless, the cat, pounced on the bed. The long meow turning into a purr. Reedem looked down to see hands grasping nothing, but felt his body rock back and forth in shuddering breaths. Cold sweat was a sheen on his face; fingers twitching and raw. The black cat swished its tail, then jumped out the window that somehow reappeared behind it before it descended without indication of ever having been. Though he was having difficulty catching his breath, from no where he caught a waft of cinnamon, an enduring scent that always invigorated him with happy childhood memories, that thankfully overpowered a lingering sulfur smell that he now realized had been defining that other place.

           He looked at his alarm clock. 3:59.

He was done, redone on whatever that side was, and now ready. He then put his head down in a state of tiredness to sleep like the dead because he knew he’d be facing a lifetime of challenges the way he had always wanted, the way he could, the way he would.

Closing his eyes breathing deeply into sleep, he startled fully awake to the sound of a creaking glass. A dull gray cat was growling, perched on his bed with unrelenting eyes awaiting his present acceptance.