The flames and their light were gone now. Yet, Peter’s grayscale vision was still in place. 

The air was not as acrid anymore and, considering his heightened senses, Peter wondered exactly how long it had taken him to respawn. He breathed a lot easier now.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head, testing just how much detail his heightened senses would provide him. He could still make out the faint 'drip, drip, drip' far off in the distance. It came from the direction that the fire had been burning. The same direction from which he could now feel a breeze so gentle it created only a nigh imperceptible flow of fresh air.

He could also make out the odd creaking of the rickety old wood furniture all around him, past the wide circle of destruction. But that was not all that creaked! He recognised this other creaking coming from the general direction of where he had his first meeting with the denizens of his new reality. He planned to return there just to see if anything was left behind upon his death.

His mind's eye conjured an image of the bonehead pricks in a never ending, albeit slow, patrol of the ancient library’s bookshelf aisles. This was a skill he’d made extensive use of in his previous life. It had never been exactly accurate, but the details that mattered were never far off. He could always act according to what he saw in his mind and course-correct along the way. 

He heard… light clanking and grinding of metal… Armor? Likely heavy. A bit to the right of where he met the first apparition? 

[Was that an old woman?] He wondered as the image branded into his mind came to the fore. Ugly little thing, nothing from the waist down, and looking like skin pulled taut against the bone even though it wasn’t corporeal. It was more like molded mist. It had empty eye sockets and a mouthful of rotten teeth, [Well, not a mouthful, quite a lot of the teeth were missing]. It was the thin and patchy white hair flowing atop its head as if underwater, and the empty sacks of skin on its chest that told him it was the ghost of an old woman.

“Ugh,” Peter choked out, visibly shuddering from the mental image. 

He shook his head and took a deep breath to clear his mind, then closed his eyes again. He put the armored skeleton – likely the one he shouldered past in the chaos of his escape – somewhere near the second stone pillar.

[Wait! Did I take his mace?] Peter’s brows furrowed. Bits and pieces of his memories were conjuring up another scenario in his mind – parallel to the one he was currently working on and simultaneously adding details to it – putting together his previous run through this place.

But he couldn’t hear the apparitions! “Cross that bridge when I get to it, I guess.” Peter sighed.

He concentrated on his olfactory sense next. Quite the new experience. It would appear that taste was involved, he found as he grimaced.

He could still smell the bitter-tasting acridness of the long dead fire. But underneath it… a smell – and taste – he would never forget, yet only ever be able to describe one way, Death. He could never think of any other descriptor. It wasn’t sweet or bitter, it wasn’t rotten – though that was generally present, too – it was just that, death. He’d come across it that many times that he was now jaded towards it. 

But this wasn’t dead death. It still moved and, somehow, that came across too. And that angered him. The fact that this death didn’t stay dead made his blood boil and for a second his sight went dark.

“Rah!” He growled, shaking his head and feeling a wave of a new kind of pain running through his body as if… leaving him? 

Shocked rushed through him when he looked back, he was now twenty feet away from at where he’d previously stood in front of the ‘entrance’ to the library. He’d moved in the direction of the not dead death. Undeath?

Faltering, he let himself step back and lean against the wall as a light dizziness passed through him. He looked down at his hands and found nothing different. He inspected the rest of his body and found nothing different. 

“The hell was that?” he whispered.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” He screamed at the ceiling. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?”

Kkeeeeeee!

Cre-e-ak!

Peter froze and the blood rushed out of his face. 

Cre-e-ak!

Kkeeeeeee!

Cre-e-ak!

He ran.

Cre-e-ak! Cre-e-ak! Cre-e-ak!

Kkeeeeeee!

About fifty feet from the hole to the library, back against the wall, he waited. There was no place to hide and the respawn cavern wasn’t as dark as the library; there was still that stupid blue stuff glowing in the ceiling. All he could do was hope they wouldn’t look right.

They looked right!

Just as panic was about to set in, Peter caught himself. [They’re just insurgents, man. Insurgents. That’s all they are.] He repeated this in his mind and felt himself calm down. His focus sharpened and locked onto his enemies as they crossed the threshold and started moving towards him. Then widened to encompass his surroundings. His mind’s eye conjured a map of the respawn cavern, as well as the library he needed to get to and through on the other side of the wall. There were some blank spots where the library was concerned, but it would do.

[Two appas and four skellies, none of them wearing heavy armor. Good or bad, them’s the stakes.] He analyzed the scene before him and formulated a plan as he moved further into the cavern, still sticking to the wall. 

He wasn’t matching the pace of his pursuers, but moved fast enough to keep some distance from them while trying to figure a way out of this mess.

[I got no weapon. Can’t fight. But they’re dumb. Not blocking the exit. No strategy. All coming at me at the same time. Gotta kite.] He moved his focus to the map his mind had constructed for him. [Hug the wall until I reach the other end then circle back.] He decided. 

[Appas are faster. At least double the speed of the skellies. Not ideal.] He noted, once again analyzing his foes. [Time to go.] 

Peter turned and increased his pace, but only enough to match the apparitions. Under his breath he absent-mindedly sang:
“C-130 rolling down the strip,
“Airborne daddy gonna take a little trip.
“Mission unspoken, destination unknown,
“We don’t even know if we’re ever coming home.”

Noticing they were getting a bit far from the skeletons, turned a sharp left.

“Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door,
“Jump right out and count to four.”

He made another sharp left and started sprinting toward the skeletons. He considered sprinting all the way to the library, but decided against it. He wanted more distance just in case. He had no clue what awaited him on the other side.

“If my main don't open wide,
“I've got a reserve by my side.”

Peter had to sidestep as a skeleton swung its rusty blade at him. He saw an opportunity to sweep a leg, but chose not to. Right now, he needed the skeleton to keep up. 

He turned around only to launch into a roll. He felt his heart race ahead of him as he rolled back to his feet and kept running. [Phew, that was close. Silent, but deadly.] An apparition had managed to sneak up on him and tried to claw his throat out as he turned. 

“If that one should fail me too,
“Look out, ground, I'm a-coming through.
“If I die on the old drop zone,
“Box me up and ship me home.”

“Box me up and ship me home.” He finished his second round of the chant as he reached the end of the cavern. He only had to come back around to pick up the skeletons one more time before the first half of his plan was concluded.

“Let’s go!” He shouted. His feet pushed off the ground with such force that even he was wide eyed. “Woah!” He exclaimed feeling a rush matching that time he tried his mate’s Harley-Davidson Softail down Parks Highway. He flew through the cavern, leaping over the respawn platform on the way, but just before reaching the entrance to the library in record time… 

“Fuck!” The damn armored skeleton was only now starting to cross the breach into the library. But then an evil grin stretched over Peter’s face as his eyes focused on something else. 

[Is that my mace? Aww, you shouldn’t have.] All this while Peter hadn’t stopped running and he barreled into the armored skeleton, grabbing onto the flanged mace and grunting through the pain as his shoulder met armor. He felt his foe take flight when the momentum he'd generated was transferred over. Though he staggered, the old soldier didn’t stop moving. The armored skeleton slammed into the ground just before Peter reached him and brought the mace down on its skull, already dropping onto one knee ready for the pain that would follow.

He grit his and fought to stay conscious as his own skull felt like it was about to burst. [Come on, it’s not as bad as last time, get up!] Peter struggled back to his feet, the five libraries dancing in front of him refusing to fuse back into one. 

Peter allowed himself the time to gather his bearings. He’d bought enough for that. Not a lot, but enough. 

When he finally got himself in order, he couldn’t help but grin despite the agony. His foes were nowhere near close enough to get to him now! 

“So long suckers.” Peter mocked, waving them off, before shooting toward the exit of the library, where the fresh air awaited him.

He did make his intended quick stop where he’d previously died. But after running around for a bit, all he found were patches of dried blood. “Definitely mine.” Peter concluded after taking a couple of whiffs.

Peter sighed in disappointment as he looked around. “What were you expecting? A perfect set of bleached bones?”

Finding nothing else of immediate interest, he shot off again.

 

***

 

“Well, fuck.” He’d arrived at the library’s exit.