Chereads / Jack Thompson and the Arcane Revolution / Chapter 2 - Chapter 1: Through the Abyss

Chapter 2 - Chapter 1: Through the Abyss

Jack Thompson had always believed in the simplicity of his life. Back on his Texas farm, every day was a blend of predictability and purpose—the rhythmic hum of machinery, the sun rising and setting over acres of crops, and the satisfaction of a day's hard work. But as he clutched the wrench in his hand, standing in a world so far removed from anything he'd ever known, all those certainties seemed like distant memories.

The air here was thick, almost suffocating, with a humidity that clung to his skin. The trees, twisted and towering, loomed over him, their bark dark and gnarled like something out of a nightmare. They cast deep, shifting shadows across the forest floor, which was littered with strange plants that seemed to pulse with an unnatural light. The scent of damp earth mixed with the acrid tang of something metallic, something Jack couldn't quite place.

The growl came again, low and rumbling, sending a shiver down Jack's spine. He tightened his grip on the wrench, his knuckles white. The beast was close, too close. He could feel it watching him, could hear the crack of branches under its weight as it circled in the darkness beyond his sight.

"What the hell is this place?" Jack muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

He took a step back, his boots sinking slightly into the soft ground. His eyes darted around, trying to pierce the gloom, but the forest seemed to close in on him, each shadow deeper and more impenetrable than the last. The growling intensified, vibrating through the air, and Jack knew he had to move—fast.

In a flash, the creature lunged from the underbrush. It was massive, with a sleek, muscular body covered in scales that shimmered in the dim light. Its eyes glowed with a fierce intelligence, and its maw, filled with jagged teeth, snapped at Jack with a sound like breaking bones.

Jack threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the creature's deadly bite. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his bones, but he rolled quickly to his feet, the wrench held up like a club. The beast snarled, spinning around with surprising agility for something so large. It charged again, and Jack swung the wrench with all the force he could muster.

The metal connected with the side of the creature's head, a dull thud resonating through the forest. The beast howled in pain, staggering back, but it wasn't finished. Blood oozed from the wound, dark and viscous, but its eyes burned with renewed fury.

"Damn it," Jack spat, sweat dripping down his forehead. He couldn't keep this up—he was outmatched in every way. But giving up wasn't an option. He glanced around, desperate for something, anything that could give him an edge.

His eyes landed on a thick, fallen branch a few feet away. It wasn't much, but it was pointed, and it was better than nothing. He made a dash for it, the beast hot on his heels. Just as he reached the branch, the creature's claws raked across his back, tearing through his shirt and into his skin.

Jack gritted his teeth against the pain, grabbing the branch and spinning around just in time to thrust it upward. The branch plunged into the beast's chest, piercing through scales and flesh. The creature roared, its voice echoing through the forest as it thrashed wildly, trying to dislodge the makeshift spear.

Jack pushed harder, using all his weight to drive the branch deeper. The beast's struggles weakened, its roars fading into gurgles as blood filled its throat. Finally, with one last shudder, it collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

For a moment, Jack just stood there, panting, his hands trembling from the exertion. The beast lay still, its eyes dimming as the light left them. He'd survived—barely. But the victory felt hollow, the realization of just how close he'd come to death settling in his bones.

"What in the hell kind of place is this?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

He didn't have time to dwell on the question. The forest around him was eerily silent now, the kind of silence that made every nerve in his body stand on edge. He knew he needed to move, to find shelter, to figure out where the hell he was and how he'd ended up here.

His back throbbed where the creature's claws had torn through his flesh, but he ignored the pain as best he could. He wiped the blood off the wrench and tucked it back into his belt, then retrieved the stick he'd used to kill the beast. It wasn't much, but it would have to do for now.

Jack started walking, his steps slow and deliberate. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig made him flinch, expecting another attack at any moment. But as he pressed on, the forest began to change. The trees grew thinner, the underbrush less dense, and the air became a bit cooler, less stifling.

After what felt like hours, Jack stumbled upon a small clearing. The ground here was firmer, and in the distance, he could see a faint glow—firelight. Human firelight.

Hope surged in his chest, tempered by caution. He didn't know who—or what—was out there, but it was the first sign of civilization he'd seen since waking up in this nightmare. He had to take the chance.

He approached the clearing slowly, keeping to the shadows as he moved closer to the light. As he neared, he saw that the glow came from a cluster of huts, primitive in design but clearly inhabited. He could hear voices, low and murmuring, mixed with the crackle of the fire.

Jack stepped into the clearing, revealing himself to the people gathered around the fire. The conversations stopped abruptly, and all eyes turned to him. There were about a dozen of them, men and women, dressed in roughspun clothes that looked like they'd seen better days. They were a rough-looking group, their faces lined with exhaustion and wariness.

One of them—a woman with a hard, weathered face—stood up, her hand resting on the hilt of a knife at her side. Her eyes narrowed as she sized Jack up, clearly suspicious.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice steady but carrying a hard edge.

Jack hesitated, then decided on the truth. "Name's Jack Thompson. I'm not from around here."

The woman's eyes narrowed further. "Clearly. How did you survive out there?"

"Barely," Jack replied, his voice grim. "Had a run-in with something big and nasty. It didn't make it."

Her eyes flicked to the wounds on his back, and her expression softened slightly, though the suspicion didn't leave her gaze. "You're lucky, then. Most who wander in from the wilds don't last long."

"Yeah," Jack said, though he didn't feel particularly lucky. "Look, I don't know how I got here or what this place is, but I could use some help."

The woman exchanged a glance with a few of the others, who murmured amongst themselves. Finally, she looked back at Jack, her gaze steady. "Help isn't something we have much to give these days. But if you're willing to work, you might earn a place here."

Jack nodded, relief washing over him. "I'm not looking for a handout. Just a chance."

She studied him for another moment, then extended her hand. "Elara. I lead this village. For now, you'll stay with me. But don't think we'll hesitate to send you back into the wilds if you cause trouble."

Jack shook her hand, feeling the calluses on her palm, a sign of hard work and harder decisions. "You won't regret it."

Elara's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of something—approval, maybe—in her eyes. "We'll see about that."

She turned and motioned for him to follow. As Jack walked behind her, he couldn't help but notice the way the villagers watched him, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and fear. He was an outsider, a stranger in a place that seemed to have little trust to spare.

Elara led him to one of the huts, a small structure made of wood and thatch. Inside, it was sparse—just a bed of straw, a few blankets, and a small table with a single candle. It was far from luxurious, but it was a damn sight better than the cold ground and the threat of beasts lurking in the dark.

"You can stay here," Elara said, lighting the candle. The small flame flickered, casting long shadows across the walls. "We'll talk more in the morning. For now, you should rest."

Jack nodded, suddenly feeling the exhaustion settle into his bones. "Thank you."

Elara didn't respond, just gave a curt nod before leaving the hut, closing the door behind her. Jack stood there for a moment, letting the silence envelop him. The adrenaline that had kept him going was wearing off, leaving him with nothing but the dull ache of his wounds and the overwhelming fatigue that threatened to pull him under.

He moved to the bed and sat down heavily, the straw rustling beneath him. His mind was racing, trying to piece together everything that had happened, everything he'd seen. The storm, the lightning, waking up in this strange world—it all felt surreal, like a bad dream he couldn't wake up from.

But the pain in his back, the weight of the wrench in his hand, the smell of the beast's blood still lingering on his clothes—those were all too real.

Jack lay back, staring up at the thatched roof, his thoughts a tangled mess. What was this place? How had he gotten here? And, most importantly, how was he going to survive?

Sleep came slowly, his mind refusing to shut down despite the exhaustion. When it finally did, it was restless, filled with strange dreams of shadowy figures and glowing eyes, of thunderous roars and the metallic taste of blood.

The next morning, Jack woke to the sound of voices outside the hut. For a moment, he was disoriented, the memories of the previous day flooding back in a rush. He sat up, wincing as his back protested, and looked around the small room.

The candle had burned down to a stub, the wax pooled on the table. The light streaming in through the cracks in the walls was pale, the sun still low in the sky. Jack stood and stretched, trying to work out the stiffness in his muscles. He needed to get moving, to figure out what his next step was.

As he stepped outside, the cool morning air hit his face, a sharp contrast to the humidity of the previous night. The village was already awake, the villagers moving about with a sense of purpose. They were a hardened group, their faces lined with the kind of weariness that came from living on the edge of survival.

Elara was standing by the fire, speaking with a few of the villagers. When she saw Jack, she nodded in acknowledgment and motioned for him to join them.

"Morning," Jack said, his voice rough from sleep.

Elara gave him a once-over, her gaze lingering on the wounds on his back. "You should have those looked at."

Jack shrugged. "I've had worse. What's the plan for today?"

Elara raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Eager to get to work, are you?"

"Figure I owe you for giving me a place to stay," Jack replied, his tone light, but there was an underlying seriousness to his words.

Elara nodded, her expression turning more serious. "We'll need all the help we can get. The wilds aren't the only danger we face. There's something you need to know about this place."

Jack listened intently as Elara explained the situation. The village was on the outskirts of a larger territory controlled by a warlord named Lord Aric. The villagers were forced to pay tribute in the form of source crystals—mysterious stones that pulsed with a strange energy. The crystals were rare, and the demands were high, leaving the villagers struggling to meet their quotas.

"Anyone who doesn't pay," Elara said, her voice low, "doesn't live to see the next day. Aric's enforcers make sure of that."

Jack frowned. "Sounds like a real piece of work. And these crystals—what do they do?"

Elara shook her head. "No one here knows for sure. But Aric values them above all else. That's why we're barely scraping by. Most of what we find goes straight to him."

Jack's mind raced. This place was dangerous, and not just because of the creatures in the wild. The village was on the brink, teetering on the edge of survival. And now, by some twist of fate, he was caught up in it.

"I don't suppose Aric's the kind of guy you can reason with," Jack said, though he already knew the answer.

Elara's smile was grim. "No. He's not."

Jack took a deep breath, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. He wasn't a hero, wasn't some kind of savior. But these people needed help, and they were in desperate need of something he could offer—knowledge.

"Alright," Jack said, his voice steady. "Let's get to work."