Transcending Perim: Part 1

By Chaotic Commander

It was the usual kind of day at the port court; the robots whisked past the humans in a blur, cleaning and delivering any wants to the teens that were staring transfixed at the ongoing matches. Players attentively watched the enormous screens and enthusiastically shouted encouragement to the combatants; yet one table's occupants were more excited than most, for this was a tough match for their friend and he had been particularly nervous upon the battle's introduction.

Tom had finally accumulated the required seven wins to be challenged by Codemaster Oron in his iconic green battle drome. As he and his friends had never seen or had a match with Oron, the Over-World player found himself in a strategically awkward position. Tom had asked around, investigating any player who had a match with the elusive Codemaster, but they all answered with the same foreboding message: 'you're going to go down. Fast.' It wasn't too much of a confidence boost, but he had to work with what he had been given. At the very least, Tom had heard that Oron used creatures that he had never even heard of, although he had expected as much from his former experiences with Crellen and Hotekk. Tom was almost positive that his opponent was going to use pre-historic creatures, and when the board revealed the selections, he cursed himself for being right.

The match had only taken five minutes. The court had been silent during its entirety; no one had been able to find his or her voice. For those watching, it was like a car crash, the imminence of a horrible occurrence but being unable to look away from it all. Five minutes was all it took for Tom to be destroyed. Five minutes for his friends to witness the onslaught. Five minutes for all of the players in Chaotic to be reminded that the Masters were proclaimed as such for a very real reason. Five minutes without mercy.

When Tom returned to the port court, he expected to be ridiculed; he was the player who had been able to defeat not one, but two Codemasters! But he had been devastated in this last match, taking out only two of Oron's creatures. Tom mentally braced himself and clenched his jaw as he crossed the threshold into the central chamber that housed the food court and the masses that enjoyed the show. 'Some entertainment I was,' Tom thought ruefully. He looked straight into the crowd of bustling players, which was unnaturally subdued and quiet.

"Tom!" A familiar voice shouted through the suffocating silence. The recognizable flash of ginger colored hair weaving in and about the other teens and kids approached swiftly; soon, the Over-World player's best friend stood before him and rested a hand on his arm. "You okay?" Kaz asked timidly, his brown eyes trained on the sullen form of Tom through his rose tinted glasses.

"I guess," Tom replied with a twitch of a smirk. "I mean, I know that Codemasters are the best of the best, but that was just-" he stopped short, searching for the right words. "It just seemed so one-sided fighting him, as if he knew everything I was doing before I managed to even try to do it." Tom shrugged under Kaz's loose grip, "The only way I hit was when I was just reacting, tapping into the abilities and memories of my creatures." He reflected on how it felt -the sense of having someone else guide his inexperienced movements so that they'd find their mark- briefly before sighing to release the tension in his shoulders. "So, what's with everyone? They look like they've seen a funeral."

"Well, we were planning yours," Kaz retorted sarcastically, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. Tom just responded to the taunt with an overly un-amused expression as a way of trying to get his friend to laugh.

"I suppose you would have planned to speak," Tom mused as the duo approached their usual table. He used his best impersonation of Kaz's voice as he said "'Dear friends, we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Thomas Majors. He was a great person and avid Chaotic player, but apparently, not good enough, otherwise he'd still be with us right now. Oh, and Under-Worlders rule.'" Tom stated as he sat down across from a very confused Sarah and Peyton, the latter of which was babbling away excitedly about some new Mipedian secrets that he'd learned of because he was 'so tight with his Mipedian bros that they were almost like family.' When Peyton relented in his speech, he faced his Tom with his broad smile.

"Yo, Major-T! I was beginnin' to think that you and Kazzer lost your way back!" He relaxed in his chair, the folds of his yellow shirt crumpling a little as he moved. "So, how'd it go against Oron?" The question slipped out of his mouth so casually, just like how he'd ask about every other match that his friends battled in even when he'd watched the match himself.

"Peyton!" Sarah hissed as she elbowed him in the arm. Kaz shot his larger friend a nervous glare. Tom, however, took the question with good humor and snickered. Of course Peyton would ask that, it was just a match after all, not some life changing experience. 'Besides,' Tom reasoned, 'Can't win them all, especially with the Codemasters.'

"It was tough, like, in another league tough. I couldn't seem to get this guy," Tom began to explain. "His creatures they were beyond strong, and he moved like he knew how I was going to strike."

"But he never used 'Song of Future Sight,'" Sarah interjected. "How could he have known what you were going to do without it?"

"Maybe his creatures had some kind of mind reading ability," Kaz theorized. "That way, he wouldn't have needed anything like Mugic to see what would happen next."

"I suppose it's possible." Sarah huffed. "But that would be totally unfair! How're you supposed to have a chance against a guy who can see what you're doing before you even try?"

"But that's just it," Tom explained, "Oron could predict my moves, but not the ones I just allowed to happen with my creatures. Like that Flash Kick that I used as Maxxor," he elaborated, "I never planned that, I just felt like I should have tried it." The gray clad Over-World player just stared at the table, as if it held some part of a cryptic answer. A sudden random thought struck him. "Hey Kaz, what time is it?"

"Time for you to start wearing a watch," Kaz muttered as he checked the time. "It's…oh crap, it's eleven forty-three! We should probably get home, I've got a history test first block tomorrow, and I haven't done any studying!"

"Aww man, that sucks." Tom agreed. "I guess we're takin' off then; see 'ya later guys!" He punctuated the statement with a smile and raced to the transporters with Kaz.

Tom's Earth-self was tired when he returned, a wave of exhaustion rushing over him. Quickly, the athletic teen removed his usual attire of grey shirts and blue jeans to slip into a pair of blue and white pajama pants with a soft, navy hoodie that sported a red star on the front. He pulled back his sheets, curled up under the covers and soon drifted into his dreamscape.

The soft texture of moss met his feet with each step, squishing between his toes and tickling his heels; he allowed a smile to grace his features at this feeling. A gentle zephyr blew through the branches, tossing his hair slightly and carried with it a peaceful tune. The song was distant, yearning, and almost like a lullaby- it brought forth the sensation of a caring touch, like a parent soothing their child. He faced into the wind and inhaled deep and slow, closing his eyes to enjoy the awareness of some intangible force cradling him.

He exhaled calmly and took in the scenery around him: the endless height of the trees that stretched far above him on every side and the small glimpses of the night skies between their foliage; he observed how the roots tangled and twisted on the ground, weaving a natural tapestry in the mossy carpet; the slight shifting of the shadows cast by the colossal flora. Then, he sensed the atmosphere of an existence far more ancient and powerful than his own. This did not frighten him; he knew that it meant him no harm. In fact, he had the impression that it was the reason he was invited here. But then, he heard footsteps that alerted him to another's approach.

He darted into a crevice between two tree roots, concealing himself as best he could. He had no idea who or what was coming, and it was better to err on the side of caution for now; after all, the music that echoed in his ears was playing quietly, as if encouraging silence and remaining safe from any possible threat.

His fears were dashed as a familiar figure paced into view. It was one that he knew quite well and maintained a friendship with: Maxxor. He almost came out of his alcove to greet the Over-World leader, but the music flared up again, begging him to keep out of sight. It willed him to slink away, to leave this place lest he be discovered.

Slowly he crept underneath the roots of the tree that currently shielded him from the green-skinned figure's notice. He concentrated on his breathing: deep, soothing breaths and easy releases to calm his anxious nerves. He had no idea that his foot was going to come down on a fallen branch.

"Crack!" The small sound seemed louder than thunder in the stillness of the forest. Maxxor wheeled around and lashed out with a Pebble Storm attack that would have met its target if He had not deftly rolled to his side and avoided it. Now the music was shrieking in his ears, persuading him to run as fast and as far as he could to evade the Over-World's king.

"I know you're there!" Maxxor challenged. "You should come out now, or else I'll come find you!"

The music instantly reacted to Maxxor's calls. It yielded to his demands and told him to expose himself briefly to the alerted king, if only to appease the green man's temper. Tentatively, He glanced out from his refuge behind a large tree, knowing full well that he was still shrouded enough to not uncover his identity. This thought struck him as weird, 'Why should I be hiding from Maxxor?' He questioned himself briefly. The music only twirled around in his ears, hinting at an answer that He did not understand.

Maxxor turned to see what little of the figure that he could, his eye scrutinizing the darkness for anything to recognizable. "Who are you?"

Before He could answer, the music swelled once more at a quickened tempo, swirling, clashing, and deafening his thoughts. He hid behind the trunk again, his hands clamped on his head, trying to think through the frantic notes and conflicting harmonies. He concentrated on hearing anything through the din, only to notice the steady footsteps that were drawing near.

He readied his position to sprint away.

He woke up instead.

The infuriating screech of Tom's alarm clock ripped through his hazy thoughts and brought him back to reality. He ran a hand through his sleep-tangled locks and grabbed supplies for his morning shower.

By the time that Tom had dried off, dressed in his usual ensemble, and inhaled his breakfast -like any other seventeen year old boy- he did not remember his dream, just that had had one and slept rather well.