Light streamed by me as I clung to the thing I considered self. My mind felt as if it were being ripped—like the threads of a shirt being torn, the individual fibers breaking one by one. I found myself stretched to the very limit of what I could bear. Then, something blocked the onslaught, holding me together—grasping the pieces of my soul; my essence—or whatever religion or god you believe in. Over time, my being knit itself back together. I was complete again.

  I took another step forward.

  A whiteness, pure in its simplicity, blinded my vision. The smell of old piss was so potent that I could taste it on my tongue. I was on my knees, and my ears burned as frantic murmurings surrounded me. Yet still, that blinding light persisted.

  I felt arms grasp my shirt and haul me off the floor. I flailed for a moment before those brawny arms held me steady. I could faintly hear the sound of someone speaking to me, but they sounded distant, and the speech sounded odd… like something out of an old Shakespeare play.

  Fuck, I hated drama class.

  “I… don’t… understand,” I managed to blurt out through gasping breaths. I wanted to lie down—why wouldn’t they just let me lie down?

  I silently cursed myself for eating that edible without checking first. Really, I was considering going to blows with Grant when this trip or fucked-up spirit quest was done with.

  “Do you yet live?” Dragon asked directly in my mind, as was the way of their chosen communication method.

  “Just barely,” I replied, accidentally speaking out loud.

  I heard a woman gasp and more speak in hushed, panicked voices… but I still couldn’t understand their words.

  Slowly, my vision returned to me, and the blinding white that plagued me before resolved into a world straight out of a Grimm fairy tale.

  Horses and donkeys pulled straw-laden carriages around a small village of thatch-roofed houses that looked little bigger than my living room. Children screeched in delight as they played tag, ducking and dodging between horses’ legs and the carriage wheels. One poor boy’s toe was run over and the screech he let out brought a sharp ring to my ears.

  It surprised me by how late it was—near dusk—when, suddenly, a large man’s hands grasped me, his fingers digging into my shoulder. The man shook me, and my head felt as if it would split open as I fell back down to my knees and hurled all over the dirt. He hauled me back up without hesitation, speaking quickly, but I could only catch every other word.

  “... Dragon,” I asked, in my mind this time. “Why can’t I understand them?”

  I felt the mythical creatures’ annoyance as they replied, “How should I know, human? Your race has far too many dialects and sounds that separate your kind from true communication. You should just convey meaning directly from one mind to another. Far more reliable.”

  I sighed. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Shaking my head, I asked, “Is there anything you can do to help?”

  “... I can try. It would be bothersome if we could not communicate with the local populace.”

  “And while you’re at it… can you lower your voice a bit? It’s a bit… much.”

  Then, like before, I felt the presence of Dragon enter my mind, like a small spike through the eyeball. I suddenly felt for every psychiatric patient of the past as the creature performed its mental lobotomy.

  Dragon roared with satisfaction as they said, “There! I’ve done what I can.”

  “Oy,’ you there. Is ye’ alright?” The large man standing in front of me asked, his face coming into full view. The man had deep reddish hair, and a beard to match his stature. One eye was milky white, and he had three old scars crossing that eyelid.

  His voice, suddenly understandable, surprised me. “Yeah…” I stammered, rubbing my head. The headache coming back in full-swing.

  Just what I fucking needed.

  The man clapped me on the back. “Right scare you gave us there, lad. Heard a woman yell about a boy collapsin’ in the street. With all the attacks, I feared the worst.”

  “Attacks?” I replied. “What attacks?” Fumbling around in my clothes, I realized they weren’t mine. Looking down, I saw I was wearing patchy brown pants and a similar shirt. Stains littered the clothes, and they smelled rancid—just strong enough to cover the ambient scent of the rest of Smallville. Looking back towards the man, I asked, “Where are we?”

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  Leveling a judgmental eye towards me, he replied, “You’re far too young and green to be drinkin’ the days away, I wager.” He gave me a rather rough shove. “This is Lockinge, young’in, and you’re lookin’ at the town’s mayor, Ganvil Darkvigor.”

  “Of course that’s your name,” I replied sarcastically. “And let me guess… Level five Barbarian? Fighter?”

  Ganvil peered down at me and flashed his deep-yellow teeth; he was missing quite a few of them. “Are ye’ mocking me? You some noble lookin’ to talk down on the hardworkin’ townsfolk of Lockinge? Well, if ye’ are, I suggest you haul yer’ rat-bastard ass back up the hill before I give you a proper story to tell yer’ friends.”

  It was at that time I noticed the man’s huge, bulging biceps. They were larger than my head.

  I took a massive step back and put my hands out, as if they could shield me against this mountain of a man.

  “Sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m… confused. Marijuana… Weed.” I mimicked smoking to him. “Do you have drugs here in make-believe land?”

  Understanding shone in the man’s eyes. “Ah, Faeweed. Must have been some strong stuff to make ye’ forget an all. So if you aren’t a noble, then who are ye? Where did ya’ come from?”

  “Ike,” I replied. “And I’m from L.A… Los Angeles.”

  “Ike from Los Angeles…” Ganvil repeated. “Strange name, and I’ve never heard of this ‘L.A.’ Yer’ welcome to stay, but I must warn ya,’ Lockinge has become the new front for the attacks.”

  I listened, but during his answer, I became distinctly aware that I needed to relieve myself. I hoped that when this trip was done, I wouldn’t find myself sitting in my own piss.

  “Do you have a bathroom around here?” I asked.

  “Bath… room?” Ganvil tried the words out as if I had spoken another language.

  I quickly searched my mind and grasped at a word. I snapped my fingers.

  “Privy!” I asked. “Where’s the privy?”

  “Ah, privy,” Ganvil replied, pointing over his shoulder. “There.”

  “Thanks…” I quickly crab-walked my way there, holding my bladder with all my willpower.

  “Strange fellow…” I heard Ganvil whisper, the words drifting off as I moved further away.

  I found what looked to be a tiny shed, and before I even opened the door, the smell of it threatened to knock me on my ass. Vomit burned up my throat, but I hadn’t anything left in my stomach to puke. Carefully, I pulled open the door, and the smell was like a blast to the face. I looked down to see a hole filled with all manner of piss and shit, and there were even some dead rats on top.

  I slammed the door shut.

  Walking around the small shed, I relieved myself on its backside, letting out an audible sigh as I did so.

  I hope I’m pissing on your bed, Grant.

  “So… Dragon,” I asked. “What am I supposed to be doing here? I don’t think we have much time left before whatever I took wears off.”

  “Hmm,” Dragon mused, and it sounded like the rumblings of an earthquake. “I cannot recall. I’m quite certain that my quest will reveal itself in time. Is patience not a virtue of humans?”

  “No—I dare say that it’s not.” I felt Dragon’s disappointment towards my words, and I amended, “At least, it’s not one of mine.”

  A ringing out of the corner of my ear caught my attention. I turned to see a tower with a rather large silver bell at the top. It shook back and forth, each ring sending an echoing scream across the land.

  The crowded streets suddenly became a battlefield of frantic, scared people—like those videos of piranhas when someone drops a pound of flesh in a river.

  In an instant, chaos claimed the place.

  Women and children were hurried into the houses, and the men passed along weapons to each other. A pair of arms grabbed me again—

  These people really didn’t respect personal space.

  “Ike!” Ganvil said, mere inches from my face, sending small bits of spittle flying at me. “Here. Take this!”

  As I looked down, I suddenly found myself in possession of a rather large knife with a hooked end.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “Are ye’ daft, man?” he replied. “It’s for the Were—”

  “Wolves!” I said excitedly. “Werewolves! Of course, this is a dark-fantasy setting after-all.”

  “Wolves?” Ganvil replied, scratching his beard. “Wererat's son… never heard of no werewolves before. Although the thought of it certainly sends a chill down me’ spine.”

  “Were…rats?” I echoed him, somewhat deflated, I admit. “What are they going to do? Gnaw at our ankles?” Then I found myself being shoved by Ganvil into a line of other men. They all looked hard-faced and stoic. Determined… as if they had already accepted the death they were sure was to come.

  Fuck…

  “Ganvil,” I said. “I don’t think I should be here—”

  “Too late for that, son,” he replied. “Stay close and I’ll do me’ best to protect ya.”

  From the woodlands we faced, I heard the cracking of tree branches, and the scuttling of light feet.

  “This is it!” Dragon blasted into my mind. “My quest. It has something to do with this!”

  “Keep it down!” I screamed back. “... Alright, this is getting out of hand. I want to wake up now.”

  “Impossible!” Dragon replied, quieter now. “You stepped through the portal. You’re committed to this now, as am I.”

  I saw the first head pop out from the distant treeline, masked in shadow. Then another. And another.

  And it was at that moment I knew…

  Shit had hit the fan.

  Dragon bellowed in my head, “BASK IN THE REVELRY!”