50-Chameleon

James could sense the speaker bending toward him, leaning in closer and closer to the ground. He had a split-second to make a decision. It wasn’t fight or flight, it was fight or give in.

“Alright, you got me,” he said, dispelling Natural Camouflage.

“Holy shit!” Officer Ross exclaimed. “There was a guy just blending into the ground!”

“The System works in fascinating ways,” the accented man said. He laid a hand on James’s shoulder. “Get up, then, nice and slow, if you please, mister chameleon.”

Was Natural Camouflage always that powerful? James wondered as he rose. The System still impressed him, even at moments when most of his mind was occupied with other things. Since he’d received Parallel Minds, multi-tasking was his normal.

As he wondered how his ability could function as well as it did, he took a good look at the people around him. The one called Kassim was closest. He looked vaguely Middle Eastern, a little older than James. There was Officer Ross, James recognized. His hairline had receded slightly since they last saw each other.

James’s eyes moved on to the third figure, the noticeably accented man. He looked a bit like Sharlto Copley, and James guessed that the accent he’d observed was probably Boer South African.

James’s Predator Instincts gave him a guess at his odds of victory if his party engaged this group of people. Roughly a 75% chance of victory, but only a 25% chance that they would all make it out alive.

It was probably his two companions who were in danger here. James felt an increasing sense, since his Evolution, that he could survive almost anything if he only worried about himself.

Mitzi and Alan were between Ross and the Copley lookalike, perhaps not ideal positioning to be able to run away if James started something. The South African seemed to realize what James was thinking, and he drew visibly closer to Mitzi and put his hand to a dagger at his belt.

Not one of the basic Orientation daggers like the one James was wearing. This one was either the South African’s pre-Orientation possession or something he got from looting a monster. Either way, the message in the body language was clear: I know how to fight, and I’m ready to use this dagger, so don’t test me.

James relaxed and raised his hands above his head, finally standing straight to his full height. He stood taller than any of the men except Officer Ross, who was level with him.

He must have gone through Race Evolution, too, James assessed. He and I were about the same height before. I thought I was ahead of just about everyone else in the forest. How strong is this camp?

“You’re a big sucker,” the South African observed.

“I eat my Wheaties,” James replied. “So what are we doing, guys?”

“You’re going to go see our Prophet,” Officer Ross said. He sounded uncertain. “Say, don’t I recognize you from somewhere?”

“Yes. Yes, you do. We used to see each other in court quite a bit, Officer.”

“Oh, yeah! You’re a prosecutor, right?” Forgetting about the circumstances for a moment, he seemed happy to see James.

Good. I can maybe use that.

“That’s right. Good to see you, too. Wish we could’ve, eh, met up sooner.”

Ross’s face fell at that, as if he suddenly remembered they were not seeing each other under the best of conditions.

“Can I put my hands down?” James added.

“I dunno, can you?” the South African cut in, chortling to himself. James used Identify on him, Officer Ross, and the Middle Easterner in turn. He needed to at least know what he was dealing with here in terms of power.

Jan Roest, Lv. 7

Jeffrey Ross, Lv. 10

Kassim Roukoz, Lv. 9

Interesting. Very unfortunate that they all seem decently leveled, but at least Ross is the strongest. Maybe there’s a chance at persuading him to turn on them?

But he didn’t like the odds of that, much less so if the groups had to fight right here, almost within spitting distance of the camp. And even if Jan and Kassim had been low level, a pre-Evolution Healer with an elderly body like Alan certainly wasn’t going to do much good against them.

“Quit screwing around,” Officer Ross said to Roest. “This guy was someone respectable back in the real world.”

“This is the real world now, Officer,” Kassim said. “I would think you’d have realized it by now, with how much blood you’ve gotten on your hands.”

Crap, James thought. He’s a participant in this stuff? Is that where he got the levels from?

“I just meant—” Ross seemed to deflate and didn’t finish his sentence.

The sense of protection James had once felt in the Officer’s presence evaporated instantly.

James slowly lowered his hands.

“We’re not here to fight,” he said. And you don’t want any of this, so just take me to your leader. If they started any violence right here, he was ready to use Predator’s Armaments and start cutting throats.

“Follow us, then,” Kassim said, easing the tension a bit.

The three guards formed a circle around the prisoners and began escorting them through the brush toward their camp.

“Alright, so the three of you are taking us to see your leader,” James said. “Anything you can tell us to help us hit it off with this Prophet?”

“He’s not that difficult to please,” Kassim said. “You either strike his fancy, or you don’t. If he or his god doesn’t like you, then you wind up sacrificed.”

“What a thoughtful process,” Alan remarked.

“How did a man of the law like yourself wind up with a bunch of human sacrificers?” James asked, looking directly at the only person among their captors who he actually knew. There was genuine upset in his voice. I can’t believe what you’ve signed onto.

“I wish I could say that it’s complicated or a long story,” Officer Ross replied, staring straight ahead, “but it isn’t. It was just about survival. The Prophet was offering a guaranteed path, and the wife and I took it.”

“When did this start?” James asked.

“How could you know he could guarantee you anything?” Alan questioned.

“Signs and wonders,” Officer Ross said quietly.

“What was that?” Alan asked.

“On the first day, in the first fifteen minutes of this godforsaken place, the Prophet selected a group of people near him. It seemed like he picked almost at random, but he knew something that he could say to each of us to get us to go with him. No one refused him.”

James resisted the urge to ask Ross what the Prophet had said to him specifically. The conversation seemed uncomfortable enough for him already, and the details would undoubtedly be personal.

The important part was obvious already: A god is putting its thumb on the scales for this prophet. I made the right call, deciding not to fight for now. Even though he and his god are torturers, it would be better not to make them enemies if I don’t have to.

“From there, he led us down a primrose path” Officer Ross continued. “He knew a place where we could watch the slaughter in the starting area without being at risk. Then he brought us here. It was—”

“It was like Moses leading his people through the desert,” Kassim finished for him. “He took us through perilous terrain without danger. We would see other people being torn limb from limb by strange, monstrous beasts, and we were left untouched.” A tone of near worship infused his voice. “We traveled through the forest impossibly fast! He even led us to easy kills. We leveled up over and over, and no one did better from it than our friend Jeff here.”

“He told us there would be terrible sacrifices,” Ross said, “but he would lead us through. And he did. Impeccably. He was honest, he told us we would have to hurt people, but as long as we listened to him, we were absolutely certain to make it out of here. And eventually he led us here, and we started making sacrifices.” His voice broke there. “I’m in here with my wife. What would you have me do?” This last was spoken in a pleading tone and directed at James, with whom Ross could only barely bring himself to make eye contact.

“I’m not judging you,” James lied. “We were just looking for a path to survival ourselves, and we figured safety in numbers. Sounds like you found yourself something better. I would hope that if he tells you to slit our throats, or do whatever he’s doing to that young woman, you would at least hesitate. But I don’t know what I would’ve done in your position.”

As a brief silence settled over the group, James received two alerts.

[Sufficient experience accrued. Public Speaking leveled up!]

[Sufficient experience accrued. False Impression leveled up!]

This stage of the conversation brought them within the perimeter of the camp. As they approached the space, James and his colleagues could see it more clearly. The woman tied to the post was within spitting distance. That big signal fire–which James could now identify as a sacrificial fire, from the charred bones within its glow–was so close to him now that it warmed his skin.

There was a semicircle of animal skin tents lining the perimeter of the camp in a horseshoe shape at the opposite end of the clearing  from their initial vantage point. Set up, James thought, so every resident of the camp could see the sacrifices being made to this monstrous god without leaving the comfort of their bedrolls.

“Time’s up,” Jan said, encroaching on James’s thoughts. “Hope you enjoyed catching up! Better get ready to die!”

As he spoke, white-clad people approached from all sides, men and women of all ages, twenty or more of them. James had never felt more self-conscious about being dressed all in black. He could see the woman from before, still bound to the stake, still bloodied and naked, but it seemed James, Alan, and Mitzi had at least interrupted her whipping with their arrival.

“Who are these people, Kassim?” asked a middle-aged woman with dark bronze skin and high cheekbones who stood at the forefront of the gathered mass of people. From a flower wreath she wore around her head, James assumed that she was the leader.

Wait, didn’t they use the masculine pronoun for their prophet? he questioned.

“Intruders,” Kassim said briefly. “We must bring them before the Prophet for judgment.”

Ah.

“The Prophet is resting,” the woman said. “We’ll need to throw them in the pit while he recovers his strength.” She gestured somewhere behind her, away from the fire, to James’s relief.

“The Prophet will want—”

“The Prophet has rested quite enough,” a bemused voice cut off the disagreement. A tall man in a white hooded robe approached, and the crowd parted for him. Clearly the leader. But James was less interested in this figurehead—who probably just represented the genuine will of some savage, monstrous god—than in what he’d just witnessed.

Fascinating internal politics, James thought. Inside of a week, there are already rival factions within this cult, debating about what their leader wants despite the fact that he’s still alive and available to be questioned. Absurd. Christianity, eat your heart out! The whole secret to dissolving this band of zealots, it seemed to James, must lie in exploiting these preexisting divisions. Hopefully he wouldn’t have enough time around these people to test this theory.

Identify.

Nikolai Rostov, Lv. 12

Just like in my camp, the leader is the strongest one, at least on paper, James thought. His instincts gave him no indication of physical threat from this man, however.

“I see that my wards remain effective,” Rostov said. “At the risk of sounding cliche, dear guests, I’ve been expecting you.” He said that, but James noted a certain degree of surprise in Rostov’s face as he looked over James’s group.

Whatever he was expecting, I don’t think we were quite it.

James took the opportunity to examine Rostov in turn. The man in the hood was roughly James’s height, pale and lean with dark hair, a face that seemed neither young nor old, and a pointed salt and pepper beard. James thought he had a vaguely Eastern European look.

James used his Predator Instincts to try and gauge what his odds were of taking this man down successfully, if he fought him one on one. The numbers that surfaced surprised him. His ability assessed only a 1% chance of victory, but gave James a 99% chance of surviving such a fight.

He must have a strange set of abilities. Something entirely defensive? A healer with support skills and extremely high health and regeneration? He must have had a lot of faith that his god wouldn’t put him in a situation where he’d need to deal damage. With a build like that, he would need the group as much as the group needs him.

By contrast with James, of course, who wanted to play nice with the other people here so he could secure future alliances, but could hack and slash his way through the remainder of the Orientation by himself if push came to shove.

James didn’t know how he would use this information against the other, but he filed it away for later nevertheless.

“Expecting them?” Jan asked. “As in, expecting these specific people?”

Interesting that a supposed prophet–presumably as in one who sees the future–is not someone they expect to know about specific people arriving in their camp. I would think that might be basic shit. His predictions must be quite vague usually.

“The Prophet is privy to many secrets,” Kassim observed.

Their prophet ignored their back and forth and addressed himself to James directly.

“I’m sure you’ll have many questions, James. Come and walk with me.” Then he looked to Kassim, Officer Ross, and Jan. “We won’t need an escort. You and our other two guests can wait here while I show our new friend around.”

James was less impressed by Rostov knowing his name—since James had just gotten the very same sort of information by simply looking at Rostov himself—and more impressed by the instant obedience from the followers. They’d let me walk off alone with their leader without question, even though he’s been the only thing keeping them alive in here. Forget what I was thinking about factions, the leader here is an absolute dictator!

“It would be my pleasure, Nikolai,” James replied. Rostov showed no particular reaction to James casually using his given name. He just waited for the other to approach him. Finally, with one reassuring last smile at Alan and Mitzi, James did.

Rostov led James away from the group, toward the line of tents.

Once they were a little distant, James probed: “I take it I wasn’t quite what you were expecting?”

“Oh, well, I was imagining you being a little older,” Rostov hedged. “My god informed me that the Chosen of another deity would be coming my way sometime soon. From prior discussions, I’ve had the impression that I am on the younger end to hold such a position, a young buck achieving this amazing outcome improbably soon. But, to look at you, I’m less impressive. Not quite an old goat, but far from a prodigy!” He ended on a note of humor, and he spoke most of the words with a smile.

James thought this prophet was quite charming; charisma was a necessity for a radical religious leader, especially a cultist leader, if such a person was to be successful, but James had never witnessed it firsthand. More interesting was the designation of James as a Chosen, a Title James had stolen from a corpse.

Somehow, Rostov’s god didn’t seem to be aware, or hadn’t bothered informing the Prophet, that James holding the Title of Chosen One of Apophis was a mere accident of fate. James needed to find a way of delicately exploring that.

“Sadly, I am what I am,” James said, trying to match Rostov’s ironic tone. “You don’t look that old to me, though, and I probably look younger than I am. Black don’t crack, as they say. This is very interesting to me, though. Your god was interested enough in me to send you word that I was coming?”

“Honestly, it was more of a warning.” Rostov’s smile seemed to grow more forced before James’s eyes. “Specifically, my god warned me that you might wish to kill my people and destroy my camp.”