Fighting consumed my focus. Nothing else mattered. I went to school, drifted through the days, came home, worked on my swords, and do it all again the next day. In truth, I don’t know how many days passed, but nothing could pull me from my daze. I was just a kid obsessed with something that brought me peace. The otherworldly didn’t matter. The odd sensations that flashed around me were of little concern. Even the bunker that I’d decided to make my base of operations was of little concern to me at this point, though that didn’t stop me from visiting as often as I could. That was where I was headed when I got hit with the first blast of energy to pull me out of my stupor.
I grabbed my head, trying to block out the blinding light. It was of little use. My first instinct was to form a shield but even that was of little use at this point. I’d been careless. I hadn’t been paying attention. The ringing in my ears kept me from being able to focus. All of my senses were heightened, consumed with whatever was happening to me. I couldn’t see anything, just the bright white. The cool wind of the approaching evening drifted over my skin, unfelt. Even the rough concrete upon which I’d collapsed offered nothing compared to the assault I was under.
“Fight it, kid! Fight it!”
I didn’t recognize the voice, but I could feel the compassion in it. Whoever was speaking didn’t want me to fail.
I gritted my teeth, trying to force the noise from my head. My body convulsed from the effort.
“Fight it! They can’t reach you if you fight!”
There was an odd comfort in the words. I knew it was impossible, but I felt a strength unlock within me. It couldn’t have been from the voice. Sharing power required a link, though it was much stronger with physical contact. There were two problems. One, I didn’t have any friends. No friends meant no one to link with. The second, this was too strong to travel across a link. I could be nothing other than physical contact, and I was the only one here.
Pushing myself off the ground, I squinted through the white seeing the bunker door just head. I crawled on my hands and knees, straining to keep what little focus I’d gained. I reached the concrete steps and rolled down, landing in the collected leaves and trash at the bottom. Fortunately, it was little more than paper as I’d gotten rid of the glass and old beer cans a couple weeks ago.
Reaching to the necklace beneath my shirt, I retrieved the amulet and pressed it into the door. It clicked into place and the door swung open. Wasting no time, I crawled inside feeling the attack leave me immediately. I lay there for several minutes, catching my breath. Whatever this place was, it’d protected me when it seemed nothing else could.
“If you can talk to me, tell me, who are you?” I spoke, not expecting an answer. The wards of the bunker, while unlike any I’d seen before, seemed to block all types of psychic energy from passing through the walls.
Getting to my feet, I pulled the amulet from the door and closed it. The sun would be setting soon and I didn’t want any more surprises. I followed the corridor to the balcony and turned to the right. There was a set of old metal stairs that went down. I still hadn’t made it to the bottom. For all I knew some secret government project was in full swing down there, though I suspected if that were the case I would have been discovered by now. As it were, I’d explored twenty-six levels. Most appeared to be bedrooms, but there were abandoned offices, at least four kitchens that I’d found so far, large square rooms that as best I could tell were warehouses, though they were eerily empty, and most confusing of all was the massive pit at the center that seemed to go on forever.
I left the stairs on the third floor. So far this one was my favorite. It had a massive library filled with various books on the occult. I suspected I would never have time to read all of them, even if I could understand half of what they said. Latin was something I’d always wanted to learn but had never made the effort to study.
Pulling out my favorite chair, a burgundy red leather with extra fluffy stuffing, I took a seat and tossed my bag on the table. My twin swords poked out the top like some half finished mixture of tape and PVC pipe that didn’t even resemble a sword yet. Sadly, this was my third attempt. The first two weren’t near squishy enough when I hit my sisters with them. Mom wasn’t overly happy about that. But this time I was going to get it right. I’d convinced my mom that I’d made a friend and asked if I could sleep over at his house. She was so excited that I was bonding that she completely forgot to ask the important questions like what’s his phone number and where does he live. Fortunately, I’d come up with excuses in the event she had asked, but I didn’t want to lie to her any more than I had to.
Pulling out the supplies, I went to work making the best foam swords in the history of foam swords.