Verse, Book 1: Lost Souls

By Nick Daniels

Rein Holiday is just your typical 17-year-old boy, spending his days playing video games, causing trouble, and exploring Infinity Falls, the utopic megacity set in the wastelands of a post-apocalyptic earth that he calls home. That is, until one day, a series of odd events and strange visions that seem far too real to be mere figments of his imagination sends him on a wild journey that will cause him to question not only his own sanity but the very nature of his reality.
Imogen Frost is anything but your typical 17-year-old girl, spending her days traveling the Verse, a wondrous place full of fantastical worlds, alternate realities, and mythical civilizations. That is, until one day, she is sent to a far-off corner of the Verse on a mission to hunt down a person of interest: Rein Holiday. But what first appears to be a simple, straightforward affair quickly devolves into a hellish nightmare as she and Rein both find themselves embroiled in a vast web of dark conspiracies, epic conflicts, and ancient secrets that threaten not just Rein’s world, but the very foundation of the Verse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Daniels
• Release date: May 3, 2021

Book preview

The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience.

— Frank Herbert, Dune

Chapter 1: Through the Looking Glass

Imogen wrinkled her nose as she stared into the gloomy depths of the world beyond the Gate. Here, at the edge of the Verse, most of the worlds were either high concept think pieces, too abstract or incoherent to make sense, or the forgotten rejects, places simply too broken or too unimaginative to find a place in the inner realms. Usually, you couldn’t even tell which was which until you stepped inside. Everything she had read about this world, though, suggested it was the latter: twenty-second century, human pop, post-apocalypse…about as inventive as piss in a potion, and so thoroughly cliche that its creators hadn’t even stuck around long enough to name it before moving on to better things.

By comparison, the other worlds she had passed through on their way here seemed seminal marvels of creation. Some standouts included a quaint little mountainous world inhabited by warring bands of small, blue-skinned fairies riding giant owls, Rome at the height of Caesar's reign, a spaceport off the shoulder of Orion, and her personal favorite: an alternate reality of the Cold War where the space race between the US and Russia had gotten a little too heated and one side had blown up the moon.

Now, though, as Imogen stood before it, she couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that there was something…off about this world — something she couldn’t quite place. The dark, shifting haze ahead stood out in stark contrast to the bright, ever-shifting golden symbols that ringed the rectangular entranceway of the Gate and the shining opalescent corridors of the Library halls…as though there was some ephemeral dread awaiting her on the other side of the gloom like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air, and the moment she stepped over the threshold she’d get a few happy puffs of anoxic joy and drop dead and dandy.

I think you’re just being paranoid, Clash whispered.

He sent the signal directly to the audio center of her brain so that, while he currently sat in the pocket of her hoodie, his voice came to her as though he was speaking directly into her ears.

It was a feat only made possible by the magical bond that entwined their souls: a shared metaphysical connection like a two-way psychic radio. It gave Clash a front-row seat to the twenty-four-hour feed of all her fucked up inner thoughts in fullon high definition and surround sound. But it also gave her a second pair of eyes and ears, the occasional piece of whispered advice — even if that often came seeped in his own unique brand of sardonic hyperbole — and a whole host of advanced tech that had been incorporated into the intricate metal orb that was his physical body. Clash was her own twisted little guardian angel; he’d saved her life more times than she could count. And in return, their little magical covenant afforded Clash an anchor to the corporeal realm and a far longer lifespan than most solitary spirits could ever dream. It was, in short, a match made in heaven…or the deepest levels of hell depending on how you looked at it. But what was friendship without a little codependency, anyway, right? Misery and company and all that bullshit….

You mind? she muttered crossly to him. I’m trying to have a moment here….

Most of the time Clash stayed out of the way, minding his own business nestled off in the back of her consciousness. These days, though, all the chaos and stress was enough to pull him out into the cold forefront of her mind with all the quiet and finesse of a freighter class starship: her own worries feeding off his and his feeding off hers in a feedback loop of ever-increasing despair. That was the downside of linking your soul to a spirit. Ninety-nine percent of the time it was all cream, but every once in a blue moon it played out like a full-on Greek tragedy.

I’m afraid we’re fresh out of those, he whispered back, unabashed. We can always go back, though. You know, come back around again when you’re feeling a little less…you.

Imogen gave a wry chuckle. Yeah, sure thing….

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself anyway: that she didn’t need to be here. Over and over again, she’d say it, like some mad monk’s mantra — as though if she said it enough times or with just the right stresses on just the right syllables, it might actually come true. But the reality was: there was no going back. She and Clash both knew it, deep down. She’d done everything she could to stay away, and yet, no matter how hard she had tried, she’d been drawn inevitably, inexorably, here. It was like she was stuck playing with some creepy jack-in-the-box, forced to keep spinning the little crank, counting down the seconds until the top finally burst open and whatever horrible tentacled monstrosity inside came pouring out —

So we goin’ in or not, darlin?’

Imogen gave a little start and looked around to see Walker sidle up next to her. The aging Moderator stood there for a moment, half slouched in his large Duster coat. His electric blue eyes glistened beneath his brown leather cowboy hat as he stared out into the gloom ahead. If he found anything sinister in the world beyond, though, he didn’t show it. Then again, when your job was protecting worlds from the worst things in the Verse, there wasn’t a lot that would shake you….

After a moment of searching the gloom, Walker’s bright eyes turned back to her. Because we can go back, you know…. He motioned casually back behind them.

I know! Imogen snapped. I — I just…Ugh….

She sighed, chewing on her bottom lip.

Gods, this was stupid! After everything she’d done, after all, she’d fought for just to get to this place, here she was acting like some scared little child missing her night light. The reality was it didn’t matter. She had already turned the jack-in-the-box too far. The top was opening; Cthulhu was coming out of the box whether she liked it or not, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. So — fuck it!

Fine. Let’s…let’s just do this….

That’s the spirit! Walker clapped her on the back.

And with the hint of a smile on his grizzled face, he sauntered through the Gate.

Fucking Walker…. Imogen muttered.

Of all the people Erenselm could have sent with her, it had to be him. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought Erenselm had done it on purpose, just to piss her off…

So, are we going? Clash whispered after a moment. Or are we just going to sit around complaining all day?

Yeah, yeah! I’m going! Just, chill…

And with a long breath to steel herself, Imogen stepped after Walker into the gloom.

She had half expected to find a pile of asphyxiated bodies awaiting her on the other side: purple, bloated bodies and glassy-eyed faces gaping out at her. Instead, though, she was greeted only with a dark emptiness. Still, Imogen held her breath until Clash’s scan of the room came back, just in case.

Except for some slightly elevated levels of carbon dioxide and a heavy amount of dust, the air was clean. It was expected, but a little disappointing nonetheless. Oxygen deprivation wasn’t a half-bad way to go, all things considered. You got to ride the Cerebral Hypoxia high all the way into blissful Oblivion. It would have greatly simplified matters for her, too….

Okay, little miss emo, Clash whispered. How about we just focus on the mission ahead?

I thought I asked you to stay out of my head?

A little too late on that front….

A little too late for a lot of things… she muttered, turning back as the Gate began to close behind her.

She watched the rectangle cut into the wall fold in on itself, the bright, glittery light of the Library corridors growing fainter and fainter until she was left in total darkness, staring at an empty wall — only a glowing rectangular after-image etched into the back of her eyes and the squirming ball of anxiety wriggling in the pit of her stomach.

Clash adjusted her eyesight to dark vision as she set off into the darkness, and the silvery-green outlines of a few empty tables and errant chairs appeared around her. Ahead, she spied Walker’s silhouette. He was standing by a large set of double doors with a sign hanging over them that read: City Exit. Caution: No Reentry.

So, we go this way? He wheezed in the dusty air, as she came up beside him, pointing to the door.

No… she said. We need to go into the city, I think.

You…think? Walker cast her an incredulous look. We even come out in the right place?

Yeah, it’s just…I don’t know exactly where this place is….

For all the fuss you made about getting here, I’d have thought you’d done a little research beforehand.

I did, yeah! she snapped. I searched the Archives top to bottom, but there’s nothing on this stupid fucking place! Just a bunch of trash data streams and service reports! Everything else is fucking Dust…. Her voice trailed off with a sigh, and she slumped against the wall, playing dejectedly with the draw-string of her hoodie. This is supposed to be a visitor's entrance…I was hoping we might at least learn something here….

Frustratingly, she hadn’t even been able to scrounge up enough info to figure out what she needed to wear to blend into this place. Clothing styles were never easy to predict when it came to the apocalypse. Styles could deviate wildly based on even slight deviations in the initial conditions: ranging from dull, muted jumpsuits, to outlandish robes with glittering light.

This left her only with a single photograph and a few hazy memories taken from someone who had visited the world before her to go on. Unfortunately, the memories weren’t really much use. Even in cream condition, they were prone to interpretation, and the ones she had were anything but cream. They had been so degraded by age, in fact, that she could only make out a few blobs and streaks of colors with the occasional piece of detail: a face here, or a door there.

From what little she’d gleaned from the photograph and the few clear images she managed to discern from the memories, Imogen had figured the styles weren’t too crazy; at least, there were no satin capes or flashing neon bodysuits. So, in the end, she’d just decided on the typical 21st-century apparel — a simple white hoodie with a bunny stenciled across its front, jeans, and some high-top sneakers — figuring that if she ended up being wrong, at least the low-key style wouldn’t make her stand out too much.

She’d also cut her hair, but that was less to do with blending in and more to do with her own sanity. She’d gone short: shoulder-length, with bangs, because all the stress of the last few weeks meant that her brow was now basically permanently furled and she was pretty sure it was causing some premature aging lines. She was almost certain that she would have to see a Glamourist to sort it all out once this was all over, anyway. But for now, it was easier to just hide it. She’d also dyed her hair a bright platinum blonde — which probably wasn’t the best for her disguise — but after she’d found out Walker was coming with her, Imogen had pretty much given up on camouflage, anyway. She might as well have come in wearing full bondage gear complete with whip and stilettos for all the blending in she would be doing thanks to Walker and his stupid cowboy outfit.

Imogen shot Walker another annoyed glance as he looked around the room, face creased in thought.

A visitor's entrance, huh? he muttered, scratching the graying stubble of his chin. Good idea, actually….

Once again he set off into the gloom without a word.

Hey — Wait! Imogen pushed herself up from the wall. Where are you going?

To ask someone for help! He called back.

What?! No! You can’t!

But Walker continued on as if he hadn’t heard her.

Um, you might stop him! Clash whispered, as his silvery-green silhouette had faded into the darkness.

You think!?

Imogen rushed off into the gloom, catching up with him again as they came to a small office tucked away in one corner of the room. Like everything else around, it was dark and empty, its shelves filled only with dust and cobwebs. A door in the back, leaning slightly ajar, led off into what looked to be a small storage room.

Hmm, not much of a welcome party… Walker muttered.

He found a dull copper call bell on the desk and before Imogen could stop him, he rang it.

Hey, stop that! Imogen slammed a hand over the bell, stifling the hollow clanking sound. We’re not looking for a welcome party! No one is supposed to know we’re here!

It couldn’t hurt to get some directions though, could it? Walker leaned over the desk to peer through the door and into the back room. Hello?!

You really need to stop him, Clash whispered more urgently.

Walker! Imogen grabbed at his coat and tried to pull him back, but Walker persisted.

They struggled for a few more seconds — until an electric hum suddenly filled the air, followed by a whir of machinery.

What’d I do? Walker muttered, sliding back off the desk to reveal a small button inlaid into the desk where his elbow had been a moment before.

Told you, Clash whispered snottily.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…! Imogen hissed as a projector shuttered to life on the ceiling above, and a bright beam of light cut through the gloom.

Clash immediately dropped Imogen’s dark vision, and Imogen looked around, blinking, to see a grainy, slightly out-of-focus video playing on the far wall. It featured a group of soldiers running across a white sand beach. Explosions tore into the earth all around them, sending spouts of water and sand high into the air. Off in the distance, a city burned, dark smoke spewing up into the sky.

Then a disembodied female voice began to issue throughout the room.

Welcome, It said. The voice had a calm, ethereal quality to it that did nothing to soothe the fresh wave of anxiety that flooded through Imogen. Thank you for joining us for our welcoming ceremony. We hope you enjoy this brief introductory video….

Well, would ya look at that! Walker nudged her, leaning back against the desk to watch the video in apparent delight. You were right. We’re getting some info after all.

Yippy… Imogen muttered darkly as the scene switched to a squad of F-16s streaming over a blanket of clouds.

In one corner it showed the date: December 2012. The squadron banked, and the clouds slid away to reveal the scarred, broken landscape of a city in ruin. In the distance, a mushroom cloud blossomed up toward the stratosphere.

They called it the Final War, the disembodied voice continued, the images on screen changing along with its words. "Mankind’s last, violent hurdle in pursuit of peace. Little did its architects know how true the name would soon become…In those days before it, the world was fractured, humanity stuck in an infinite cycle of war and conflict. Exhausted by this eternal struggle, the world’s top leaders came together to propose a new world order of harmony and hegemony, a coalition that would help lead humanity out of its eternal conflicts and into an era of everlasting peace — but not all were willing to give up their power to this new dominion. Many had grown rich and powerful from humanity’s many bloody conflicts. And so they fought back….

For nearly twenty years the war raged — two decades of carnage and devastation that razed cities and decimated nations. And in the end, peace came not from victory, but from calamity. For in the end there was no one left to fight….

The scene switched to a shaky recording of a group of disheveled men and women in tattered clothes, staring vacantly as they sifted through the rubble of a decimated city.

"Those few who managed to survive the bloodshed were left to wander a planet ravaged beyond repair, without food or refuge…without hope…Humanity, it seemed, had come to an end….

But then, in our darkest hour, a group of intrepid heroes arose to lead us to salvation. The scene changed once again to a shot of a few young kids, grim-faced yet bright-eyed, waving nervously to the camera. Deep in the wastelands to the north, past the dust storms and barbaric clans of warring marauders, our heroes came upon the key to our survival at last: the Arclight technology. With its life-giving energy, harvested from deep within the earth’s core, we were finally able to begin rebuilding at last, and from the ashes, our great city was born, a place to serve as humanity’s last refuge. A place to call home. Welcome, travelers, to Infinity Falls!

The scene switched to a shot panning across a desolate landscape, before finally coming to rest upon a grand city built in the image of the 1940s and 1950s atomic visions of the future: a glistening skyline of massive shining skyscrapers protruding up from the broken earth. However, unlike the large, sprawling cityscape that the aesthetic usually complimented, Infinity Falls had instead been crammed into a gigantic crater and further encased within an enormous steel wall protruding from the crater’s edge. The lack of horizontal dispersion meant that the city had been built up instead of out, everything stacked atop of each other in a towering colossus of interwoven buildings connected by a latticework of bridges, overpasses, and catwalks and so intertwined that the metallic amalgamation appeared almost one giant superstructure. The resulting creation was a vision ripped straight from the minds of the Golden Age of Science Fiction: a compact, retro-futuristic metropolis resting inside a bowl, set in a vast, barren wasteland.

If that ain’t the darndest thing you ever did see… Walker muttered as the video zoomed in to show some close-up shots of the city, zipping past hotels, and amphitheaters, and diners at the top of giant space needles….

Yeah, real cute, Imogen muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Well, if this is all there is to this world then it shouldn’t be too hard