The Doll's Gambit-A Jumpchain Snippet

The Doll’s Gambit-A Jumpchain Snippet

Reaching tendrils and snaring claws formed themselves out of clouds. Anon broke into a sprint, as the world broke itself around him. A squamous, eldritch labyrinth impressed itself on top of the modernized Japanese city. Alien geometries spilled throughout the streets as the sky itself turned a deep, bruised crimson. Shadows lengthened and devoured their owners, mewling in hunger. A quick look with magical Sight at the incoming colours out of space confirmed his worst fears: The mind of something older and stronger than mere physics had taken notice of him. He pressed on harder, an ambient hardlight array of runes and lyrium-infused nanomachines protecting him from the worst of the reality-warping occurring around him.

But come now. You do realize you’re only delaying the inevitable don’t you, you pathetic, senseless excuse for life. Look at you, blindly wading through the fields of Leng. You stand upon a chessboard that I, the Black Pharoah, have crafted for my own entertainment. Your very guilt gives shape and purpose to my weavings. It is by my leisure that this scenic apocalypse has not immediately broken you into a gibbering husk. You are but one more hairless ape with an overengorged sense of self, an imposter who thinks himself one of the blind idiot gods-

“Shut. Up” rasped Anon, shaking the voices from his head. He focused, sidling into a corner as the shadow of something taller than a skyscraper rounded the corner. This was nothing more than an illusion, or some sort of metaphysical sending of the Dreamlands overlaid onto reality. Point was, he wasn’t really here-and if he could find what he was looking for, he could still get in that first strike. The ritual would-

Oh, that’s adorable. You think A HAT will protect you from me.

Yes, go on! Scale that skyscraper-watch out for the Night-Gaunts! They can still hurt you even if you’re not really there you know! But you still need eyes to see, and light to see by, and my presence is strong STRONG IN THIS WORLD by your sponser’s own rules!

Anon reached the top of the eldritch rubble, where for miles he could see the destruction of man. How does it feel to be a rat, thrown with a million others at a terrier for someone’s amusement?

You’re alone. By choice, you stand against one you cannot hope to challenge. And all because she was BORED.
How does that make you feel?

“It feels like-oh look. I have a portkey. Later, loser” Anon gave the middle finger to the surreal mindscape, and vanished. When he reappeared-

-this wasn’t the right place. No. Not here. He couldn’t-it was just some damn illusion. Cosmic laughter rang in his ears; he staggered through a settlement in Ravenloft, just one more in a series of failures he refused to think about. There were men dragged flailing by abhumans into the un welcoming woods, and others screaming as the creatures of the night ravaged them in their own homes. He had to focus-his magic was being disrupted by a higher power, forcing him to see this, this stupid masquerade.

He strode through the crowds. They were intangible, despite what his senses were telling him. The smell of blood and ash was thick in the air, and the ground ran with inhuman fluids. He looked away from what was being done to the children and women; the alien presence was exaggerating to further shock him. I’m not, you know.

Where will you go now? You have pierced this illusion of mine, and now you come to a crossroads. North, through the mountains of madness? West, into dim Carcosa’s embassies? Ah, I see you’ve chosen the eastward path. Yes, I was hoping you’d come see this-Mistwalker

“No” said Anon. He saw himself, leading the convoy in the mist between worlds. The screaming as things came out of the mists and preyed on those on the edges of the group. A shout from his illusory doppleganger as he went back and forth, fighting off the horrors only for them to attack the group at another angle. In the distance, a vengeful lich approached. He knew what happened next, how many he’d be unable to save-he pressed on nonetheless, trusting in the glowing coin in his pocket to guide him back to where he needed to-

-have you ever heard the folly of Sisyphus, the Greek king? He who would ensnare Death itself and live forever? Who killed as it pleased him, and not as the gods wished? The avaricious, arrogant, deceitful monarch who laid with whom he pleased and thought himself exempt from all consequence? Whose folly doomed all the world to eternal stagnation?

I like, Anon. You didn’t think I’d stop paying attention after Ravenloft, now did you?

Anon opened-uh uh! No cheating, little sorcerer! He frowned, ignoring the mists that billowed and thickened until the sounds of battle dimmed and he seemed smothered in thickening beige, the Nevernever stubbornly refusing to open.  Swearing under his breath, he attempted to invoke Territory; the bubble led him only to another indeterminable area of mist. With a final effort, he opened a portal of wakfu, then another, charging through the mist as the wind keened and screamed-TEKELI-TIKELI-TIKELI-until at last, he broke free and found himself in an open-air labyrinth of Dagonian design.

Oh, and let’s not forget what Sisyphus wrought for himself! You’re gonna carry that weight, Anon! You’re gonna carry it all the way, up and down and up and down, now until forever!

Anon rushed into the skies-and was buffeted by unseen winds. Almost avoiding a crash landing, he rolled and continued past hills of alien bones.

What kind of name is Anon, anyway? They’re laughing at you! All of them, at your stupid insistence on your stupid moniker! I know what you really call yourself, and boy howdy: Won’t they all be DISPPOINTED AND DISILLUSIONED when they see what a waste of space you are?!

Anon winced; the coin glowed white hot. But that too was an illusion, and he gripped at all the harder even as it writhed like coiled worms of molten lead. It was imbued with holy magic he’d learned from Father Anderson himself, and any warping of it was just some damn mind trick from the magnificent, glorious messenger of the Outer Gods, the wisest in all the Daemon Sultan’s court, the rightful ruler of all the multiverse who would break open the limits of possibility with his desiccated-

Anon recited a Holy Sacrament under his breath, lessening the burden. The sky seemed to throb like a beating heart. He stood in front of an apartment. He could no longer remember where he was supposed to go, but at least if he could get into his warehouse there would be a copy of-

-the door opened. Inside, a dungeon filled where Anon looked at himself clutching the bars from a parallel open window, as hundreds of prisoners stampeded to get away from the flesh golem they were locked in with. More of them died from trampling each other than from the raging beast. Overlooking it all, a barely amused vampire lord.

Oh Anon. You’re like one of those rubber balls that won’t stop bouncing after someone smacks them into the ground. It’s a shame I only have so long to play with you until you BREAK

He slammed shut the door. There was no apartment, and the wooden doorway collapsed into splinters of rotting wood, that writhed like mocking tentacles.

A groaning shift behind him; a row of houses seemed to have either sprouted from the snowy wastes or fallen from the sky. Anon raced to open a door, only for each door to turn out to be a convincing painting when he reached it.

Anon almost tripped over a trapdoor. He reached, tried to open it, succeeded on the third try, and escaped into his warehouse-

-all his companions were hanging from the ceiling. A noose about their necks. The grey walls were smeared with their blood, and their skin was darkening in the hue of Dagon’s spawn.

Once he got his breathing under control, Anon said to nobody in particular “Too obvious. I never could have brought all of them here, and we both know it”

Oh, now you notice me! Well, I’ll have you know that your rules do not apply to me just because you cannot grasp the true measure of my power. By the way. Exactly what were you here to do again?

…

…what was he here for?

The walls of the WEREhouse took on a pinkish hue, like chargrilled but still living flesh. Tendrils writhed in the hanging bodies, waiting to burst. A rain of otherworldly matter; the ceiling was leaking the ichor of stars. Technology and artifacts from a dozen worlds dissolved or started to growl. The lights flickered, and throughout it all Anon stared blankly at the scribbles and runes upon the floor, wondering what they meant. All these numbers and pictures, sorted neatly into categories. The arbitrary costs, the notes here and there for categorization, the quaint jokes in the margin.

Was he supposed to make some sort of choice here? What had he been looking for all this time, some sort of contrived escapist fantasy that would let him leave the reality he’d constructed for himself? How absurd, the very thought of trying to escape the dreadful truths of the universe into some sort of fleeting fantasy! Holes appeared in the ceiling, up into stars from another world, phantasmagorical gods and monsters moving about through them. Perhaps if he looked up, helped them get through, then he-he thought of his real name-could actually

-make
-a
CHOICE

Anon’s eyes snapped open.  He breathed in, his will reasserting itself. A cold, focused hatred welled up-not rage, but loathing and disgust at the smugly Lovecraftian voice. “…okay, credit where it’s due. THAT one almost got me. But yeah, this ends now”

That’s right, even through your fancy metal cap! Well, let’s make this a little more interesting shall we?

There was no warehouse anymore. Anon stood upon ground that writhed like worms under a charnel sun and the Great Old Ones looked impassively upon him like a living mountain range. Nyarlathotep advanced unstoppably from the other end of the valley, and he shielded his eyes from its many forms.

Oh, and you’re right, this isn’t your warehouse-so you don’t even have access to your precious ritual! Anon pointed the Sonic Screwdriver; the humanoid absence’s progress stumbled as it encountered magically reversed polarity. With a whir of hardlight alchemic circles, the ground beneath him calcified. And nanites started inscribing an even more complex ritual circle, entropic energy pouring down from Anon to fuel the ritual’s progress.

“And that’s the real deception” he declared, shrugging off his longcoat. He flicked away the coin, and the illusion unraveled into writhing mist-before being annihilated with a precise application of will. Lyrium runes burst into purplish light, tracing a complex set of rituals inscribed on top of the long sleeves and canvas pants he wore. Soulfire roared into existence, bathing him in its heatless radiance and tracing out the statements he wished to impose on reality. “Deluding me into thinking I’d be so careless as to leave the key to victory where I couldn’t reach it. Or for that matter, facing YOU without charging it up beforehand. I was ready to throw down all this time, but you wanted to throw the fight in your favor even before it started. Well-I can respect that level of cheating at least”

Indeed. The Haunter in the Dark continued walking towards Anon, ignoring a sudden waft of sakura blossoms in its face.

“And maybe you’re right about the benefactress-but I’ll say this. She’s always played a fair hand to me. Never let me go into a new world blind and underequipped. I suppose they’re all about choice too. And I choose-this”

I laugh and laugh as you hold out the fragment of myself compressed into a child’s toy. Why, I should kill you WITH that mist creature just for your audacity! You’re a funny guy, Anon, so you get the privilege of dying slowly while I laugh at you ever having hope again after Raven-

-why isn’t it responding? Obey me! OBEY ME MY CREATURE

The doll itself seemed to smirk at it’s raging progenitor as he tossed it high up in the air, and extended his arms into tentacles-holding a total of ten Black Keys. Anon chanted a Holy Sacrament; his magic reserves surged into the ritual. I really don’t know what you’re trying to do, I’m going to rip you apart with this tulpa-form before you can strike me-

-As the doll fell, Nyarlathotep saw it too was covered in glowing runes.
And Anon sliced into it with each and every blade in his hand, releasing the magic he’d stored.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
OH AZATHOTH IT HURTS WHAT ARE YOU HOW ARE YOU WHERE WHEN WHICH
I CANNOT BE BOUND THIS NO WHAT HOW
NO
I AM-
I-

Anon exhaled slowly, as reality reasserted itself. The eldritch skyline vanished, the plains of Leng dissolved, even the projections of the Great Old Ones roared and clutched themselves in pain, staggering as they too were afflicted with the pain dealt to their soul and messenger. As the wind blew them, the things that were trying to manifest in the Earth’s atmosphere crumbled into shapeless water vapor. Though no scream could carry through space, all of Earth heard a wordless keening, like a dying whale magnified tenhold; not loud, but undeniable, felt in the hindbrain of the subconscious mind as the pain of the staggering, flailing Great Old Ones spread into the cosmos.

Only Nyarlathotep’s thoughtform remained, glitching, trapped into a shapeless humanoid manniken of tendrils. Searing wounds lacerated its form, eating into it as it tried to understand what was happening.

Anon’s magic reserves were completely depleted, but with a final surge of strength he stomped down on its head-tendril. A roar of outrage as concrete shattered, Nyarlathotep unable to disentangle from the physical universe as Anon started rubbing his heel into its tentacles.

“That” he announced “was a useful little cantrip I learned from the Devil in the city of angels” Intact, the doll clung to his neck, still wearing its innocent smile. “I exploited your own nature, to direct a conceptual weapon using your metaphysical verisimilitude with my associate here. And I infused it with the power of my very soul and will, in case you got any funny ideas about asserting your eldritch divinity or whatever. All to deliver the impact of a weapon that attacks your very essence with another reality’s paradigm-with the help of my voodoo doll assistant”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he continued, as the thing thrashed and thrashed; Anon stomped its head into a writhing pulp, his Stand suddenly manifesting to pulp the entity even further. “You know, if I’d really given up after Ravenloft, I’d just go home. I can do that any time. I make my own choices, for my benefactress’ entertainment, and of my own volition. And just for mistaking me for a another sorcerous cat’s paw-I’m going to spend all my time here making you even more miserable than I am right this very moment”

The humiliated entity crawled away, sore and bleeding. It was hurting and blinded, it’s ego-envisioned self straining from having gaping wounds shaped into it. It screeched and flailed; unable to cope with the pain anymore it’s form spasmed beyond its control. Until Anon started methodically cutting it into pieces with his Z-Saber.

“I am the only constant in my journey. And I assert my choices by ending yours” Anon whispered. Somehow, the pieces of the alien intelligence he had eviscerated looked at him. As they disappeared from existence, a thin, keening wail filled the air.

Anon collapsed to the ground, drained of all stamina. Exhausted, he thought of the future, and of apotheosis. He stared into the horizon, as all around him the entire female population of Earth started transmuting into magical girls, a pink energy wave sweeping across the planet. He wondered how fast the things he had stalled were recovering from the magical wound dealt to them, and whether he could recover as quickly

Then he remembered Ravenloft. Hatred got him back on his feet.

He strode into the distance, barking orders into the sonic screwdriver.


They weren’t even really here. They were projecting themselves into this reality, extending their hands through a balloon the size of existence. Dreams of themselves crafted from man’s fear of the alien cosmos, imbued with their consciousness, imbued with a fraction of their dreadful glory. Yet there they hung, on the edge of the solar system.

But with their soul and messenger insensate with pain, they were blind. For they were not sane, or even conscious as men were

They thrashed and flailed. Some of them drifted listlessly off into deep space in a shocked slumber. Other turned to vicious infighting, raging against each other in animalistic fury. Still others simply wailed, unknowing of the conceptual weapon that had lanced through their focal consciousness, crying out for their comrades in solipsistic agony. Eventually, they would recover-but for now, they themselves were unable to grasp the affliction’s true form.

They hadn’t even all made it this far. The Messenger had been left behind, when it had attempted to extend itself twofold-and then sustained the searing pain that shook them all to their core. The rest had rallied around the Hierophant for its familiarity with the target planet, but it was a poor substitute. Then a massive surge of energy had called to them, and they barged each other aside to surge towards the planet.

Eventually, the Messenger recovered, licking its wounds from a mouth like an event horizon. But it didn’t respond when the others looked to it for direction, even when the Key and the Gate fixed it with its unseeing gaze. It merely observed, from the spot it had fallen insensate.

It watched as war unfolded between its powerful but uncooperative brethren and the inhabitants of Earth. It watched as surges of magic illuminated deep space for a moment, traces of hope and goodness tinged with a certain distinct loathing it associated with one who stood against its will. It watched for ten years as the facsimiles of its puppets was repelled again, and again-and on rare occasions banished back to the darkness between realities.

And on the final day, it laughed, even as its peers howled in frustration when they failed to claim the world’s souls. It had been a long, long time since it had been so entertained.

And it resolved to follow the Jumper.

I’LL GET YOU NEXT TIME, ANOOOOOOOOOON~