Apocalypse Tamer - Chapter 72: Man vs Specter

He woke up in his old bed.

A man never forgot his bed. The smell of the bedsheets, the holes left in the mattress, the crumbs of chips forgotten after a wild night of gaming… each were telltale signs of the way a human being marked his territory. So although Basil Bohen hadn’t slept in it, he immediately recognized this bed for what it was.

Home.

“Basil, it is time.” Plato kneaded his best friend’s back. Basil felt the press of powerful paws through his scale and feather armor. “Time to wake up and get the hell out of here!”

“I’m sleepy.” Basil groaned, his face half-buried in the pillow. Tiredness clouded his mind, and the bed was so comfortable… “Come back never.”

“I wish you hadn’t forced me to resort to such measures, but suit yourself.” Plato cleared his throat and started to meow ferociously. “Meeeh….”

Basil sank deeper into the bed and plugged his ears with his fingers. His valiant resistance, however, was doomed to fail as Plato’s voice increased crescendo.

“Meeeh!”

It was the cutest, meowest cry of all; the result of generations upon generations of felines breeding the ultimate weapon to bring mankind to its knees. The screech to rule them all, and in the darkness of the internet, bind them.

“MEEEEH!”

“Enough!” Basil snarled as he bolted out of the bed. Plato bolted off his back with a Cheshire smirk. “You’re even worse than the last rooster!”

“That’ll teach you to mock me,” Plato replied, utterly unrepentant. “And I don’t have time to coddle you. We need to leave now!”

Basil groaned as he sat along the bed’s mattress. He massaged his temples and tried to put his thoughts in order. Chaotic memories flared to life in his mind. A descent into catacombs, then an ascent into a sea of darkness.

“Pluto.” Basil bolted to his feet in alarm. He glanced around him, quickly found his halberd near the bed, and grabbed it. His laser pistol was nowhere to be seen, however. He must have lost it in the battle. “Pluto!”

“I’m right here,” Plato said with a chuckle. “Sorry, that was a low-hanging fruit.”

“You know it’s a Disney dog’s name, right?” Basil observed his surroundings. The area he had woken up in was a carbon copy of his old bedroom, which Apollyon’s forces destroyed months ago. A Nintendo Switch even rested on the bedside table, ready to be used. It took Basil all his willpower not to turn it on. “Where… where are we?”

“Beats me,” Plato replied, his grin morphing into a scowl. “But, uh, brace yourself for the worst. You won’t like what you find outside.”

Basil opened his mouth to question him, only for a System notification to interrupt him.

Your party earned 255,000 EXP (38250 for you). You earned a level.

The others were still fighting somewhere.

“Okay, no time to waste,” Basil decided. “I don’t know why Leroy thought it wise to teleport us into a copy of my house than finish me off, but he will sorely regret–”

“Basil!” a familiar voice called from outside. “Woken up already?”

It had been years since Basil last heard this voice, old yet full of strength and wisdom. The voice of a man to whom he owed so very much and whom he had come to admire. To hear it again froze the blood in Basil’s veins in shock and denial. His fingers trembled, first in astonishment… and then in deep anger.

Basil stared at Plato, silently begging his best friend to tell him he was wrong. That this couldn’t be him.

“Yes.” Plato nodded sadly. “He’s outside.”

[Berserk] ailment resisted!

It took Basil all of his willpower not to enter a murderous rage, but he managed to keep it all together; enough to make an ordered plan of action.

“System, bring out the flamethrower,” Basil ordered. “I’m torching my house.”

The Field blocked your Inventory access!

“Monster Lair II.” Basil attempted to claim the area for himself. “Jardin Secret.”

You cannot claim another monster’s Lair as your own unless you have killed them first.

So this confirmed it. The house, this whole place, was a trap set by Pluto.

“Ah, come on!” Basil snarled in rage as he vainly tried to access his Guild Inventory and then the Logs feature. “You’re killing me System, you know that? You’re killing me!”

Dismaker Labs wishes you a happy apocalypse!

Curse them all. At least his Party submenu showed he was still part of the Bohens team and the Homeowners Revenge Association Guild. This place hadn’t cut off all of Basil’s bonds with the outside world, it only prevented him from accessing them.

“Basil, young man, come out!” The Old Man’s voice called him out again. “The vegetables won’t water themselves on their own!”

Basil grit his teeth so hard that his jaw started to hurt. He grabbed his halberd and stormed out of his bedroom with Plato hot on his tail. They rushed through a copy of their salon and their kitchen, before walking into a lush garden near a river.

The Old Man sprayed the vegetables with a watering can, helped by an eight-year-old girl.

Basil ignored the latter, so mesmerized he was by the sight of the former. A perfect picture of the Old Man René stood before him, with his wrinkled skin slightly tanned and his kind eyes spry like a young man’s. He hunched a little, but didn’t use a cane to stand up; this was René from before the cancer, before the disease confined him to despairing in a bed. His white shirt and blue overalls neatly contrasted with his rounded René Magritte hat—the Old Man wore them as a joke few could understand.

“René,” Basil whispered in shock and disbelief. His halberd nearly slipped through his finger.

The Old Man smiled at his protégé. “Took you long enough, Basil.”

The sight of his white teeth, of his kindly expression, filled Basil with burning fury. A storm of anger clouded his mind as he fathomed the sheer magnitude of Pluto’s insult, of cruel a ploy the false god had played.

[Berserk] ailment resisted! It was a close call!

Basil swung his halberd at the illusion in the blink of an eye.

The little girl screamed in fear and the false René gasped in shock, but Basil paid them no mind. He struck the copy in the neck, hoping for a quick beheading.

His halberd bounced off the illusion’s skin.

The Field reduced damage to 0!

Basil stared at his weapon in confusion, then immediately added his new excess level to Deathknight of the Sepulchre. He hoped it would strengthen his Soulbound weapon, and it did.

Deathknight of the Sepulchre Level 5 Stat Gains: +1 STR, +1 AGI, +1 VIT, +1 SKI, +1 MAG, +1 INT, +1 CHA. You earned 40 HP and 15 SP.

Elemental Orb (Active): Variable element, 60 SP. You can throw a deadly orb of elemental energy from your hand; you can choose the elemental affinity of the orb, but it must be an element in which you have a Strong affinity (Base damage 130 of the selected element). This power is the equivalent of a Tier VI Spell.

Your Soulbound Weapon [Croque-Mordeuse] increased in quality (current rank: A)! It gained the [SP Eater] effect: any attack inflicted with this weapon will reduce the target’s SP by an amount equal to the damage inflicted to HP.

“Elemental Orb: Fire!” Basil raised his hand at the fake René and a sphere of hellfire burst out of his fingers. The flames licked the old man’s skin and clothes without inflicting damage. They did no more harm than a summer breeze.

This time, the fake René regained enough presence of mind to counterattack.

“Idiot!” The false René threw water from his can at Basil and drenched his face. It didn’t hurt, but the drops felt cold on his skin. “Are you on drugs?”

“I’ve asked myself the same question many times,” Plato mused. He sighed as Basil raised his halberd again. “Dog, it’s useless. I already tried. My claws can’t cut through anything, not even the grass.”

After his halberd bounced off the old man’s chest again, Basil was forced to concede defeat. Whatever this place was, it prevented violence from happening. Perhaps he should use status ailments? Would poison work?

“What is this about?” the false René asked, the little girl hiding behind him. Basil finally paid attention to her. She looked around eight, with Arabian features and dark brown skin. She wore tiny overalls matching the fake René’s. Basil briefly mistook her for the girl that haunted the Pyramid, before realizing the features didn’t match. “Did you have a nightmare or something?”

“You’re not real,” Basil spat in fury. It was one thing for Pluto to capture him, but to make a mockery of a dead friend? That slight wouldn’t stand! “You’re a fake.”

“Dog, I wish he was,” Plato said. “I can’t see through him, and he smells like René too. Whatever he is, he’s no illusion.”

René glanced down at the Rakshasa Kitten in puzzlement. “Talking tigers,” he muttered to himself. “Somehow, that’s the least strange thing I’ve seen yet.”

“All felines can speak, Mr. René,” the young girl said. She moved to pet Plato behind the ears while giving Basil a wary gaze. “They’re so smart and kind.”

“I like her,” Plato said with appreciation. “She gets me.”

The little girl giggled in amusement. “I have a cat,” she said. “A kitten as cute as you are.”

“Now you are pulling my leg,” Plato replied before puffing his chest. “I’m in a league of my own.”

“Then you’re a mimic,” Basil told the false René. “Or an android.”

“Now, you’ve played too many games, young man.” The false René shook his head. “But it’s all right. I’m still not convinced that this place is real either. Could be a dream for all I know.”

“Maybe you’re the robot,” the little girl accused Basil. “That’s what a Terminator would say!”

Basil clenched his fists in quiet sorrow. “I watched the real René die.”

The memory would remain forever etched in his mind. The old man’s last weeks had been a slow descent into bedridden weakness and tiredness. A few days before his demise, René couldn’t walk alone even with a cane. Basil had to take care of him day and night.

“Ah.” The false René scowled, and the little girl with him whitened like snow. “A dying dream then.”

“So you don’t deny it,” Basil said sharply. “You acknowledge that the real René perished.”

“I think I did croak, yes,” the fake old man said sorrowfully. “My memory is fuzzy, but I remember closing my eyes near the river with you. When I awoke, I was back at the house and the world had changed drastically. But I don’t think I’m a dream, no. My life felt all too real to me, young man.”

Basil trembled in anger. How could Pluto know this information? Had he read his mind? “What were your last words to me?” he asked the illusion, this… mockery. “What did you tell me then?”

The Old Man looked at the sky with a face full of sorrow. “I asked to see the sunset one last time, near the old shrine, but I collapsed before we could make it to the place in time. You laid me under a tree and watched the sun vanish beyond the river with me and Plato. That silly cat didn’t make a sound then.”

Plato looked away, silent as a tomb.

“And then…” René locked eyes with Basil, his gaze heavy with nostalgia. “I said that you were the son I wish I had. And I still think so.”

His last words wounded Basil deeper than Apollyon’s darts and all of Metal Olympus’ attacks combined. He flinched as if slapped in the face. He lowered his halberd and found he no longer had the strength to raise it again. The old man’s words had snuffed out the flames of his anger.

“Pluto read my mind,” Basil rasped. René should have reincarnated according to Walter’s theory on souls. It… it didn’t make sense for him to be here. It didn’t make sense! “That’s the only explanation. That bastard read my mind and created you to torment me.”

“Mr. Pluto is not like that,” the little girl argued. “He is kind and generous.”

“Believe what you want, Basil.” The fake René sighed. “Metaphysics aren’t worth fighting over.”

Such kindness… why did it feel so sad then? Basil could hardly bear to look at the false René, so he glanced away. He immediately noticed that the world beyond his house’s garden was nothing like the Barthes. A vast, lush landscape expanded the river before receding into icy mountains. Dozens of children played tags near winding paths and a distant bridge. The sunlight was pleasant, the sky a pale shade of green.

As he watched the kids play around, Basil suddenly realized that they were the children Pluto abducted into his pyramid. The bastard kept them imprisoned inside this realm, perhaps hoping one of them would turn out to be his daughter reincarnated.

“What is this place?” Basil asked softly. The landscape felt somewhat familiar, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

“I’m not sure.” The false René shrugged. “It’s a strange land that doesn’t make sense. No violence registers here, and I see numbers floating before my eyes sometimes. I feel neither hunger nor thirst, or even fatigue. I’m as spry as a teenager.”

“It’s a good place,” his child companion summed it up. “A safe place.”

“I arrived here after Aya and the other children,” the fake René explained. “I fished you and the tiger cub by the river an hour ago. You just dropped from the sky looking like Conan the Barbarian.”

“An hour?” Basil choked. They had lost an hour? His team could have been wiped out in half the time since!

“You’ve always been a sound sleeper,” the fake René said with a chuckle. “I wasn’t so certain heaven existed, but maybe that’s what happened? We all died and ended up here. Would explain all the weird stuff going on.”

His child companion looked down, her gaze hollow and sad. Whether she was truly a girl or a mimic, Basil didn’t have the heart to push her further.

“Plato and I are alive,” Basil said with confidence.

“How can you tell?” the old man asked while raising an eyebrow in skepticism.

“The System registers us as alive in the Party menu,” Basil replied. René stared blankly at him, clearly struggling to comprehend his words. “Plato has six lives left too.”

“That’s too few for my liking,” Plato complained.

René glanced down at the Rakshasa Kitten in confusion. He seemed to be putting two and two together. “Plato?” he asked. “Is that you, my dear?”

“Who else, you old buzzard?” Plato wagged his tail. “I know my stripes dazzle the eyes, but surely you should have recognized me earlier.”

“I’m…” René scratched the back of his head. “I’ve stopped trying to make sense out of this situation, but this is a bit too much.”

“This is all Pluto’s fault.” Basil glanced at the little girl. “Where is he? You’ve clearly met him.”

“Mr. Pluto brought the other kids here,” the little girl said, avoiding Basil’s gaze. After the first impression he had made, he couldn’t blame her for remaining on her guards. “He gave us toys and played with us.”

“Played?” Basil frowned. “Past tense?”

“He… Mr. Pluto hasn’t come in a while. Not since Mr. René arrived.” The old man patted the girl on the head, who smiled in response. “He’s funny.”

“I do my best to help,” the fake René replied with a chuckle. “Though I admit I wasn’t expecting to run a nursery in my afterlife.”

“Mr. Pluto wasn’t feeling well,” the girl said, her smile fading away. “I could tell. He always brought us girls gifts, which made the boys jealous, but then he stopped all of a sudden. He started to ask us the same question over and over again. It… was scary.”

“What question?” Basil asked, though he had a good idea of the answer.

“He asked me if I knew a girl called Celia. When I said no… he started crying and fled to the beach. We haven’t seen him since.” Aya bit her lip, her eyes full of sympathy. “Mr. Pluto looked so sad back then… I hope he is all right.”

Personally, Basil hoped Pluto had fallen on a holy sword and spared him the trouble of killing him himself; but to each their own. “Where’s the beach?” Basil questioned her further. “I need to have a word with that man.”

“The beach?” The little girl scowled at Basil. “You aren’t going to hurt him, are you?”

“No,” Basil lied through his teeth. The child didn’t buy it.

“Don’t worry,” Plato told the girl. “I’ll stop this big monkey man from acting mean.”

“You will?” the girl asked naïvely.

“I’m a tiger,” Plato replied, as if it settled the debate. “I never lie. I swear it on my stripes. You wouldn’t call a cat a liar, would you?”

“Mmm… okay.” Like any child, the girl couldn’t resist Plato’s kitten stare. “The beach is beyond the ice mountains and the snowy peaks. Mr. Pluto doesn’t let anyone in, but maybe he’ll make an exception if you ask nicely…”

Or more likely, Basil would jury-rig a bomb from whatever supplies he encountered on the way and blow the path open. “Thank you.” Basil nodded at the girl in gratitude. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Aya.” The little girl smiled cheerfully. “A, Y, A, Aya! Like the band!”

“I swear it to you, Aya.” Basil put his hand on the child’s head. She almost recoiled at first, but his gentle touch soothed her worries. “I’ll get you out of here, one way or another.”

“Oh… all right…” The child nodded slowly. “I would rather that Misha comes here to play, but… I hope I’ll meet her again soon.”

The fake René, who had watched the scene in silence, crossed his arms. “Basil, what is going on?”

“I don’t have the time to explain,” Basil replied harshly. “Plato, let’s go.”

But the Old Man’s mimicry wouldn’t drop the matter. “You’ll have time to tell me on the road. I’ll drive you to your destination.”

“I’ll walk,” Basil replied. This… creature? Mimic? Whatever it was, its presence made Basil uncomfortable. It resembled the old man a bit too much. The quicker they left him behind, the better.

“You’re in a hurry, no?” The false René smiled. “It’ll be faster with the Kangoo Renault, and I’ve got the keys.”

Damn, this illusory world even had a copy of the Kangoo? What a way to twist the knife further…

“Oh, can I come too?” Aya asked in excitement. “I love car trips!”

“I wouldn’t recommend doing it in winter,” Plato said with a shudder. “I hate winter so much…”

“We don’t need a ride, thanks,” Basil replied, a little colder than before. He made a step towards the river, only to stop upon realizing his best friend wasn’t following him. “Plato, come on.”

“It would be faster with the Renault, Basil.” Plato glanced at the false René, and then back at his best friend. “And however you deny it… I think you need this.”

“To what, revive the past?” Basil snorted. “It’s gone.”

“Not revive the past,” Plato replied calmly. “To make peace with it.”

Basil frowned and then locked eyes with the false René. The mimicry held his gaze, his hunched back now stiff and resolute. The imitation was as stubborn as the original.

“Fine.” Basil threw in the towel. “To the Kangoo then.”