Racon Gunner in “The Quest for the Heart of Time”
Written by Racon Gunner
Published on March 21, 2023

The pain was almost unbearable. Racon’s body shook and convulsed. He felt like he had to squeeze his entire body through a tube of oil and steel wool. When he hit the cobblestone on a cold, rainy London street sometime late on November 7th, 1888, those that walked by in Whitechapel didn’t even pay him any mind, taking him for another drunk degenerate who was at rock bottom. The cold stones soothed some of his pain, and the rain washed away the blood. It would be almost ten more minutes before his gear would arrive in its protective case, The Orb.

He sat up and moved closer to the soot-stained brick wall. Two prostitutes walked by; he was too weak to cover himself. He just lay in the rain, exposed.

“Oh, he’s a real specimen.” The old one said. She was missing most of her teeth, and her skin was so wrinkled it was difficult to tell if she was a woman.

The other whore tugged on her wet shawl, “Let it go; he’s naked as a jaybird; he don’t have a pot to piss in.” And she kept walking.

But the hag was curious. She reached out and said, “I just want to touch it, never saw one so enormous.” CLANG! The old whore jumped.

The Orb hit the cobblestone street and bounced next to him. The two whores took off as fast as they could into the dark night. Racon touched The Orb, which shot a dart into his chest; more blood gushed from the wound. The dart was connected to a small hose full of red liquid. The color slowly returned to his face, and the wounds covering his entire body began to heal. After a moment, he ripped the dart from his chest; the wound-seeping blood began to heal, and the dart with its hose retracted into The Orb. He touched it again, and it opened to reveal his clothing and equipment.

Feeling himself again, Racon quickly dressed into an English gentleman’s top hat and a long dark wool coat. He strode with confidence to the East. The Orb, in a flash, was gone again. The fog and rain obscured any of the remaining evidence of his arrival.

The gas-lit streets of Victorian London cast flickering shadows as Racon Gunner, a tall, handsome brute of a man, stepped into the night. Chiseled features and piercing blue eyes spoke of a man who had seen the depths of time and emerged unscathed. Quick-witted and powerful, his muscular frame was honed by countless adventures across the ages. With the Heart of Time, his singular focus, the whispers of its power echoed through his mind, consuming him. His heavy boots echoed against the damp walls. The scent of soot and horse manure filled the air, the grit of the city clinging to him like a second skin.

As he turned a corner, a figure emerged, the fiery cascade of her hair barely tamed by the wind. She moved with feline grace, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that set his blood aflame. Racon knew this was his contact. She was a young and fit whore, with good bones and teeth. He easily spotted the rapier she was concealing in her cloak. She did not know he was from another time, only that she was to help.

Arabella almost lost her breath when Racon emerged from the fog. He was well over six feet, with broad shoulders that tapered into a strong V shape to his waist. His arms were like two cannons, his hands clenched in fists, like the cannon’s balls. She caught herself and unconsciously stepped back as he stopped a foot from her, completely blocking the light from the street lamp.

“You are Arabella the whore?” Racon said flat and emotionless.

Arabella hesitated before nodding, her eyes never leaving his.

Arabella stood with feigned defiance, her fiery red hair cascading in waves down her back, a vivid contrast against her pale skin. Her form was nothing short of perfection, Racon noted, the gentle curves of her body accentuated by the tight corset and billowing skirt that clung to her frame. She would be perfect for this mission.

Meeting his gaze, Arabella’s emerald eyes flashed with unyielding determination, a hint of challenge lurking in their depths. “You tread on dangerous ground, stranger,” she warned, her voice carrying the seductive lilt of a siren’s call. A tantalizing smile played on her full lips as she continued, “I too seek the Heart of Time, but I am not without allies.”

That was the code Racon was waiting to hear.

“Come with me.” Racon ordered and continued down the street without looking back. Arabella was surprised. She expected to get the usual reaction all men gave her. But Racon kept walking. He was focused on his purpose. She followed obediently.

Racon stopped at the door to a crumbling building. He glanced a moment at Arabella. His look alone told her to hurry up. She stood next to him, lightly brushing her body to his. He was like a tree trunk. Then in a flash, in one swift move, Racon kicked the door, and it flew inward, completely shattering all over the room.

He rushed into the room as the small, misshapen man holding a filleting blade let out a screech and lept through the window on the other side of the room. Racon ran towards the window, but the little man was gone. The Heart of Time giving him incredible speed.

Arabella entered the room behind Racon, and the smell overpowered her. It was a mix of sweat, whiskey, and blood. She looked into the opposite side of the room into a dark corner. What was that shape? She stepped closer.

The sight was ghastly. The shape on the bed was that of a woman. Her face had been sliced so many times her teeth and tongue were clearly seen. The body was also sliced from her crotch to her breasts. The internal organs were removed and missing. When Arabella realized what she was looking at, her mind shut down, and everything darkened. She collapsed unconscious on the floor.

Arabella opened her eyes. Racon was carrying her in his arms, cradling her body gently yet with a firm grip on her leg. They were headed out of the Whitechapel district. She could tell because the streets became wider and more people were on the streets.

“Put me down.” She said weakly.

Racon ignored her.

After a few more blocks, they came to another building, and the door opened seemingly on its own. But hovering in the darkness was Racon’s Orb. A blue light flashed over them both, and it moved out of the way.

Racon carried her to the back of the room and put her on a bed with clean wool blankets. He walked over to the Orb that hovered nearby, its lights flashing and blinking. She watched him intensely. Racon dropped his long coat and top hat. He was enormous. He removed his wet clothing, and the Orb began shining a weird light on it. She sat up in the bed, and then she remembered the filleted body she had seen. A small gasp came from her mouth, and she shook uncontrollably.

“He’s the Ripper,” Racon said as he stepped towards her.

“The Ripper has stolen the Heart of Time and is using it for his own gain. I have been following him,” he continued as he sat on the bed and motioned her to move over. She felt incredibly small next to him.

“You are in shock,” he said matter-of-factly.

He lay down and pulled the wool blanket over them both. Arabella tried to move closer to the edge of the bed, but he wrapped his arms around her, and all the chill left her body. He squeezed her tighter. Her heart was racing.

“He needs the blood. That’s how we survive traveling through time. I bring my own in the Orb; he kills for it. Many of the unsolved murders through time have been him. That’s how I know he would be here in Whitechapel.” He said and then wrapped his legs around her. She was trapped.

“Once you warm up and calm down, you will return to normal,” he said quietly into her ear.

Who was this man? Through time? What did he mean? “They” needed blood? Arabella’s mind was racing with a thousand thoughts. She couldn’t move but was comfortable. Only her right arm was free. Racon had closed his eyes, and his breathing became rhythmic. She ran her hand over his muscled form beneath the wool blanket. Now she was too warm, and new thoughts raced through her mind. All thoughts of what had happened left her. She could not control it. The feeling was too intense. Her entire body shuddered. She couldn’t help it; her body went tense. She stopped fighting it. A loud moan uncontrollably came from her mouth. Then her mind was clouded, drowning all thoughts and her body numb. She slept.

Racon woke her. She sat up and noticed she was nude. He handed her her clothing. It smelled of spring and was soft and dry. He turned and went to the door.

“Hurry. I know his next move. Now you will play your role like a good whore,” he said and looked back while she quickly dressed.

The two entered Whitechapel at about two in the morning. The pubs were still full of the wretches of London and their whores. A constable approached, and Racon grabbed Arabella, pushed her against the alley wall, and kissed her hard. The constable coughed a bit nervously and moved on into the darkness. The two continued on.

“His next feeding will be tonight. Then he’s going to jump to God knows where. This is when we need to attack,” Racon said as he pointed to the alley ahead. “We will split up. He only has two options now. You will stay here, ignoring those you see, and act drunk if they talk to you but do not move from this spot. If he runs at you, immediately run him through with your rapier. Do not hesitate. He will kill you!” Racon disappeared into the fog-shrouded alley.

Arabella was initially nervous, but her mind wandered to earlier when the two lay in bed next to one another. But she had to stop those thoughts quickly. A drunk and a whore walked by negotiating, so she clumsily moved out of their way, pretending to be drunk. They passed by without notice. She concentrated, gripped the handle of her sword tightly, and watched down the alley.

On the far end of the alley, Racon chuckled as the drunk, and the whore passed him. The drunk managed to get the price down to a drink of rum. Undoubtedly the whore would need it to spend the night with that fellow. After they passed, another whore stepped into the streetlight. She was adjusting her clothing, getting ready to work for the third or fourth time this evening. Racon knew she was the target. He knew she was about to die.

He crouched in the dark as the Ripper approached her. The Ripper was a spree killer. He would circle like a shark and then, in a flashed frenzy, attack, slice, and devour the entrails of his victims. It’s how he lived. Time travel drained all of the blood from your body to the point of almost killing you. And if you did not receive a transfusion within a few hours, you would die horribly. Racon carried his blood in his Orb. But the Ripper was a rogue. He attacked anyone who came near and devoured them. It kept him alive, but it also drove him mad. Now the Ripper travels time simply to commit the most disturbing murders he can imagine, eating his victims in the process.

Racon readied himself. The Ripper was bantering with her. But the whore was tired and wanted nothing of it; she turned to walk away, and then in a flash, the blade leapt from his coat, and he sliced her ear clean off. The woman turned and gasped as the blood spewed between her fingers and head as she tried to stop the bleeding with her hand.

The Ripper tackled her to the ground and tore her clothing from skirt to chest. He sliced her face again, deep. Then he penetrated her like a raging madman, cutting her open simultaneously. Racon had no choice but to wait through the gruesome scene. This moment was imprinted in time. It has happened and always will happen. It cannot be undone. Thus was the curse of the time traveler.

The Ripper continued his work. His incredible speed was given to him by the Heart of Time, allowing him to finish his sick meal in a few minutes. When the last morsel of the whore’s kidney entered his mouth, he ran off into the fog, and Racon let him go.

Arabella stood silently, still tightly grasping the hilt of her rapier. She was waiting for Racon to call her to help or something. But she heard nothing. At one moment, she started walking in the direction Racon walked to see him but stopped because she had no idea exactly where he went. Then she heard the sound of hurried footsteps moving towards her.

A sense of relief washed over her body, and she relaxed her grip. Her hand was cramped from the pain of squeezing the handle too long. She rubbed her palm and then noticed a stench. She had smelt it the other night in the room. Panic froze her as the footsteps got louder, and the misshapen little man fast-walked into the dim gaslight. Arabella could not move. Fear had overtaken her.

The Ripper stopped and put his nose in the air, like a dog smelling for his next meal. Then he wiped the carrion that covered his coat onto the ground. Snorted a little and then sniffed again. This time he looked like a rat, his nose twitching fast as he breathed foul night air.

His head turned, and his eyes narrowed. He was looking straight into Arabella’s eyes. She tried to cry out, but she had no voice. The ripper looked around. He then pounced on her. He was surprisingly strong for how small he was. And before she knew it, she was on her back, and he had pinned her arms above her head with one hand. He flashed his blood-stained teeth and hissed, “Pleased to meecha.”

Arabella thought he might let her go, but in an instant, he sliced her across the chest. Her blood splattered on the cobblestone street. The Ripper’s eyes glazed over at the sight of her blood. He licked the knife, and his entire body tensed up; he said, “Here comes the lovin!” he raised his arm high in the air, the blood-soaked blade twirling in his fingers, and started to bring it down.

Racon hit the Ripper like a mule kick. The Ripper hit the wall next to Arabella so hard his skull cracked like an egg cracked on the edge of a bowl. Racon rolled, recovered to his feet, and moved in for the finishing attack but realized it wasn’t needed. The monster was dead. He whistled, and his Orb floated down from the fog-shrouded sky. Light flashed and pulsed momentarily, and the Ripper’s corpse was gone.

His work done, he turned to Arabella. She was still stunned, and not sure what had just happened. Racon picked her up again. Put her over his shoulder and, hearing the constable’s whistle, ran back to their hideout.

He sat her down on the bed. She trembled and managed to say, “I froze.”

Racon smiled slightly and nodded. He peeled away her mutilated clothes. Her almost alabaster skin glowed in contrast to the blood that covered her body. The wound was deep. Then she felt the pain. She wanted to touch it. Racon grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. Then the Orb appeared, shooting a tube directly into his bicep. It buzzed, and it dripped with his blood when it retracted the tube. Then he took the tube into his mouth. Filled it with blood and, still holding her wrists tightly, kissed her. He was forcing his blood down her throat.

She woke hours later, clean, her wound completely healed, and Racon was gone. The room was lit by a bit of sunlight that managed to fight through the London haze. A new set of clothes hung nearby and pinned to the dress was a note. Arabella got up and immediately pulled it from her dress.

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“Arabella,
Your service in helping me was not what it seemed. This monster we encountered was obviously not natural. His powers and bloodlust are caused by the Heart of Time. It twisted his mind. But it also made him so powerful and quick that the only way to catch him was in the moment of his ecstasy. And that is why I needed you. I needed you to trap him at that moment, distracting him so I could strike. I thank you for your service.
Your wounds are healed, and I, too, possess some of the Heart’s power; it also runs through my blood. Its effects you will feel for a very long time, longer than your mortal life. I must go on, but our paths may cross again, for time is eternity.

R. “

She dropped the note and said to herself, “I was the bait? That bastard!”

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