Quest of the Ancient God

Brian McGoldrick

Quest of the Ancient God

Brian McGoldrick

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2017 by Brian McGoldrick

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

Edition: July 2017

Contents

Title Page

Book Summary

Acts of Boran

Ghosts From a Twisted World

Planning a Return to Earth

Dimension and Secrets

Taereun

Refuge

The Aether

Freeport

To Kill or Not To Kill

Parents and Children

Who Brings a Gun to a Sword Fight

The Gate to Earth

God Level Access

Area 51

J'Rome's Stand

The Games Gods Play

Book Summary: Quest of the Ancient God

The Labyrinth of Yggr was originally the dimensional battle fortress of the True Dragon Nidhoggr. The Jotun Lords have a limited understanding of how or why it works. With their repeated absorption of plane after plane into a dimensional matrix maintained by the the dimensional drives and the Furnace of Life and Death, Yggdrasil has become unstable. When the matrix breaks down, the unleashed Power will destroy the planes within Yggdrasil and countless planes outside of it.

Boran Second Father has given Brand a mission to recover the Yggdrasil's primary dimensional drive from Woden, who is The Nameless God. With the primary drive in his control, Boran will be able to deal with the unstable Yggdrasil. While Brand does not care what happens to others, he agrees to help because he has no way to escape the destruction that will be unleashed.

Yggdrasil's primary drive is on Earth. Brand saw it once before it was taken by Woden, and he no longer knows where it is located. On Earth, Jinmu was Ryouske Urehara, the owner of the Urehara Group. Prophet and Delphi were created and controlled by the Urehara group and nearly every nation on Earth has one of the systems installed to coordinate and control their information network to monitor their population. Everything on Earth that happens within range of any device connected to the data networks is recorded by Prophet and Delphi. Needing to gain control over the Prophet and Delphi systems, Brand sets out to confront Jinmu, a man who betrayed him and sold him into slavery.

Acts of Boran

*** Mountain View – The Lands of Despair ***

Return: Day 301 – 307

The cave was deep beneath the surface. Invisible to a normal, mortal eye, thick flows of Elemental Power filled it. While there were more that a hundred variants of Elemental Power, more than three-quarters of that Power was of the Od, and nine-tenths of what remained was of the Four Prime Elements, Air, Earth, Fire, and Water, plus two more. The two more were Spirit and Void. Though recognized by virtually none as Prime Elements, they were just as much Prime Elements and the other four.

Seemingly tiny against the vast size of the cavern, a work area larger than a football field filled one corner of that cavern. It had all the necessary tools and equipment for a Transcendent Maker to carry out the tasks of any and all of the myriad variants of the Maker callings.

In that work area, Boran, the Second Father of the Dvergar, stared at the weapons lying on his workbench. The ruined sword made entirely of Elemental metal was the focus of his attention. With just the tips of his fingers, he caressed the rough surface of the ruined blade.

Is it chance that this weapon should fall into the hands of one with his bloodline, or it the False Name calling herself Fate meddling yet again? Whether chance or interference, this blade was one made by me and used against those it should have protected. It is better that it's pattern is shattered beyond repair; the corruption could never have been purified from it. I will not reforge this weapon, but should I leave it in Brand's hands?

Brand is nearly the last of that ancient bloodline, at least of those who are still of pure lineage. The others of pure lineage have all been corrupted. Since the War of Slaughter, the wormhole that connected Taereun to that Earth should have been closed. How did he wind up there, in that obscure universe? Which clan was that child born of?

In the eyes of the ancient Dvergar, nearly everyone and everything that lived, no matter how near or far from the time of its birth, was nothing more than a child.

Lady Life, is your hand in this?

After staring at the collection of weapons for several hours, Boran began to smelt down the two bastard swords from Earth in a single crucible. Pulling bars of other metals out of a pocket dimension, he added them to the swords and watched as they slowly melted.

Several hours later, when the metals combined into a molten mixture, Boran began to stir and manipulate the metals with flows of a dark grey Elemental Power. Under his careful control, the disparate metals formed into a liquid compound that satisfied him.

Using more Elemental Power, this time brownish-yellow, Boran drew the liquid metal from the crucible and molded it into two rough, over-sized swords. Each one was more than twice the thicknesses and a fifth longer and wider than the swords that Brand had given to him.

Frowning slightly, Boran left the rough swords hanging above the crucible and moved to a workbench against the wall. In bins under that workbench, there were dozens of different metals, stones, and woods, in a myriad of different hardnesses and flexibilities. While stroking his beard in thought, one by one, Boran stared at the raw materials.

While the rough swords cooled from molten to solid and Boran stood lost in his thoughts, more than two days passed. Finally, Boran turned his gaze upon the now solid but still sullenly red-glowing swords, and his frown deepened.

Seemingly at random, Boran pulled materials from the bins, drawing them out with nothing more than a thought. In a matter of minutes, the raw metal, stone, and wood were fashioned in guards and furniture for a pair of swords. Despite the speed of Boran's work, each piece for one sword was an exact mirror of its opposite for the other sword.

Moving to a massive anvil, bigger than an ox, Boran gestured, and blue-white Fire sprang up in the forge, igniting a stone that was not coal and obviously not charcoal. Several hours passed as the stone burned before he appeared satisfied.

Summoning the two swords that had cooled to a dull red glow, Boran buried them in the burning stone. Under the direction of his will, Air flowed into the inlet, where a bellows would be on a mortal forge, and the Fire flared blindingly. Bathed by an intense heat exceeding the surface temperature of a yellow star, the two swords slowly heated up to a yellow-white color.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

After placing the two swords on the anvil. Boran took out a large, non-reflective, black hammer and began working the metal. With each blow of the hammer, space seemed to warp and twist, as though on the verge of tearing. Alternating between the two swords, until they had cooled to an orange-yellow color, Boran continued to work the metal.

After placing the cooled swords back in his forge and starting another flow of Air into it, Boran looked around, seeming to look beyond the cavern to someplace no mortal eye can see.

Maybe, I should not have used that metal. It might be a mistake to place a weapon made from that broken blade into the hand of one of that child's blood, but if he is brought to ruin by it, he is simply too weak.

Time and again, Boran repeated the process of heating and hammering. Each time, the two swords become smaller. With the force of his strength and his Power, Boran compresses the alloy of the swords, increasing their density, hardness, and durability.

After three days of hammering, when Boran placed the swords in his forge to heat, he moved to a quenching trough. With a gesture from Boran, a metal cask capable of holding around five hundred gallons of liquid appeared next to the trough.

For a time Boran did nothing with the cask, he simply stared at it. In his eyes, there seemed to be the shadows of a soul crushing pain. When the swords in the forge had reached a nearly pure white color, Boran finally took his eye off the cask and glanced at the forge.

“In life, you followed the One betrayed us all, the One who betrayed everything He was born to, the One betrayed everything He fought against. He turned traitor and sided with the enemies of His lifetime, and you followed him like a lickspittle. In death, you will be of service to one that Lady Life has smiled upon.”

Boran opened the tap on the cask, and a silver-red liquid flowed into the quenching trough. Only when it was filled three-quarters full, did Boran close the tap and make the cask disappear with another gesture.

Carried by Boran's thoughts, the two swords, nearly pure white from the intense heat, float from the forge, to hover over the quenching trough.

“I know you can understand my words. I feel the remnants of your poisoned Soul still there, trapped within your blood. It was my will and my Power that imprisoned you. I will Purify you with Od and set right your warped betrayals.”

Plop. HISS!

The two swords fell into the trough of silver-red blood, but none of it splattered anywhere. For a few moments, there was nothing but the roiling surface of the blood and rising steam, as the blades began to cool.

“RRRRAAAAAARRRRRR!”

At the sound of the roar of a True Dragon, an expression, which looked like a smile, but was something else entirely, turned up the corners of his lips. His eyes filled with hate and rage so deep and cold that it would have killed any mortal being that looked upon him.

“So, you are angered? I will give you pain to go with it!”

His fist tightly clenched, Boran raised his right hand over his head. Power flowed outward from his body and began to draw more Power from the world around him. There were two distinct natures to the Power. They were, at once, both different and the same. One was a black so dark it seemed to absorb all light, shot through with veins of malignant red and purple. The other was brilliant greenish-silver so bright it would outshine the sun, shot through with veins of rich forest green and brown. The Power coalesced into a ball that had the appearance of a taiji, a yin-yang symbol.

The roar of the True Dragon quieted to a growl and became filled with fear.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

A stream of twisted black and greenish-silver power poured into the quenching, and the growl turned into a howl of agony. As the Power poured into the quenching trough, the level of the blood in it fell, and the volume of the shriek waned.

With the disappearance of the last of the blood, silence fell in the cavern. As his not-smile turned into a frown, Boran took a step forward and looked into the quenching tank. As he stared for several moments, the frown only deepened.

“Lady, what inspiration did you fill me with? What exactly have I made? The child might wield these blades for a time, but they are not destined for his hand. You and the Lord chose not to have Avatars, but the Od refuses to forego its Chosen. That child walks a path of pain, whether past, present, or future. He will only be the catalyst to finalize the nature of these blades and consolidate their patterns through pain and suffering. Their true fate lies in the future, in the hands of another not yet born.”

Boran shook his head sorrowfully. “The axe is the only weapon that suits that child, but I cannot yet see how to forge one that will be right for him. I only hope that I can find the way before time runs out.

“Lady, your love is too heavy a burden for a mortal child.”

Laughing at himself, Boran looked around. “Talking to myself, again. I am too old. Soon, I will enter the long sleep again.”

Boran looked to the side. Seeing things beyond his current plane, his eyes revealing shadows of animosity and pain, he frowned. “In his pain, that child is drawn to other pain. I did not place the burden on the child, but my actions only heighten it. I will do this to give him a temporary solace.”

*** Gor'achen Citadel – The Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 307

The suite was in shambles. Once thick, rich carpeting had been torn up and haphazardly piled in the corners of the rooms. Most of the furniture was destroyed. Some of it had been broken into splinters, and some of it appeared chemically burned or melted. Even, the stone of the floor was discolored and etched as though a caustic substance had been dumped on it.

As she had been doing for most of the day for more than two weeks, Elan'fer'sha sat on the bare stone floor of her bedroom. As she rocked back and forth, her teeth were sunk in her lower lip to keep from screaming. Rising and receding, waves of agonizing, burning pain wracked her body. She felt as though her body was being both immolated and torn apart at the same time. Time and existence had turned into a roller coaster of enough pain to drive her insane and slightly less pain.

Prices. I have always known that everything has a price. For more than two hundred years, I constantly overused the Umbra. I knew my time was short, but why must the price come due now? I should have more time. I want more time.

Tears of pain. Tears of regret. Tears of sorrow. Elan'fer'sha's cheeks were streaked with fallen tears, and more tears, as yet, unshed, pooled in the corners of her wider than human eyes. The whipcord muscles of her slender body were tensed to the point of tearing, as she tried to hold back the tears, to hold back the pain.

Along with the pain, her emotions were out of control. Without cause or warning, they would abruptly change. In the past weeks, she had shifted from manic highs to suicidal lows, from hate to lust, from rage to ennui. At that moment, she was mired in deep depression.

An image flashed through, her mind for the umpteenth time. A scarred human bound to an altar was beneath her. His hard human dick, more than thrice the thickness of an Alfar male's, was filling her dripping pussy, as she rode him. Dozens more images of that human, uglier than other humans but so compelling to her, flashed through her mind. Most of the memories were of her fucking and being fucked by that human. The rest were of the human fighting. Every time he fought, he won. No matter how strong or ferocious the enemy, every time, the human won.

Brand! Why did I have to meet you? Why am I obsessed with you? You destroyed my focus. You destroyed me. You set me free from my obsession with vengeance. I do not understand how you became more important than my quest for my clan's murderer. I do not understand why. I just want more time. I want to feel your hands on my body. I want to feel your dick inside me.

But I am out of time. The Umbra always destroys those who use it. Some are destroyed faster, and some are destroyed slower. Even though I overused it, I should still have centuries, if not millennia, left. Why am I out of time?!

Staggering to her feet, Elan'fer'sha unsteadily stumbled into her wardrobe. Most of the clothing had been torn to shreds, and even before being torn to shreds, most of the clothing could barely be considered clothing. An open chest lay on the floor, broken vials spilling out from it. A mix of different liquids of differing colors and consistencies formed a puddle around it.

Dropping to her knees, Elan'fer'sha shredded the skin on her knees. While cursing incoherently, she flipped the chest upright and began digging in it. With her hands cut by the broken crystal vials, She pulled out a vial filled with a red, viscous liquid and drank it. As the fluid entered her stomach, the cuts on her hands and knees began to heal at a visible rate, but the burning pain wracking her body only intensified.

“Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!”

Her whispers rose in volume to all-out shrieks. Staring at the stone ceiling of her wardrobe, she helplessly shook her fists, until a new wave of pain doubled her over again. With her body wracked by spasms, she fell face down on the floor. Time turned into a blur, as she lay sobbing.

“Alfar, you are dying.” The deep bass voice that filled the room sounds like stones grinding one against another.

Twisting her neck to look at the source of the voice, Elan'fer'sha froze, as raw terror filled her mind. Standing in the middle of her bedroom, a massive Dvergar looked down at her. The naked hate and contempt in his eyes nearly caused Elan'fer'sha to lose control of her bladder.

Standing barely half a head shorter than a human, this Dvergar was a giant among his kind. The massive bulk given by his extreme muscular development made a bull orc look scrawny. If not for his imposing physical presence, the long grey beard and eyes in which a color could not be determined would have made most any being viewing him think that he was a ghost. Even his clothes, which were barely more than rags, could not detract from the inborn majesty of that Dvergar.

That Dvergar was one whose image was captured in a set of secret recording crystals from the time of the Jotun-Dragon War. Wytches are raised to be weapons of the DokkAlfar Empires. In the Atran'ler Empire, after taking her oaths, a Wytch would be shown the secret records of the darkest time the history of the DokkAlfar race.

In the final major battle of the war, this Dvergar took the field. Dozens of Jotun and Dragon Lords fell by his hand. Gods from both sides fell to him in a matter of a few thousandths. Nothing on the battlefield could match the merciless, destructive Power of this Dvergar. After that battle was over, the Dvergar spread throughout Taereun and its sub-planes. They slaughtered Alfar, Jotun, and Dragons indiscriminately.

Elan'fer'sha only viewed the ancient records once, when she was barely into adolescence, but from then till that moment, she had never forgotten the face of the Dvergar in those recordings.

“Do you want to live?”

Elan'fer'sha's mind was blank. Expecting the Dvergar in front of her to kill her, the words did not register as anything other than meaningless noise.

“Are you not going to kill me Dvergar? I am helpless. Come! Kill me! End this misery!” As unsteady as a newborn foal, while screaming at the Dvergar, Elan'fer'sha fumbled her way to her feet.

Swaying like a drunk, Elan'fer'sha pointed at the Dvergar in front of her. “What is the matter? Do you lack the balls to finish off a dying woman?”

The Dvergar looked at Elan'fer'sha with a strange expression on his face. “What Alfar female calls herself a woman.”

Elan'fer'sha stared blankly at the Dvergar, her mouth hanging part way open.

“You're my woman now. I came to take you back. I'm not letting some fucking dyke have you.”

“You fucking bastard! I'm not your woman! I'm a DokkAlfar female, not some lowly human slut!”

“You're my woman. Until the day you die, you're mine.”

“Who would want an ugly bastard like you?”

“Who else doesn't give a fuck that you're a Wytch? I know you're a twisted bitch, but I'm just as fucked up as you are. I want you with me.”

Elan'fer'sha did not believe Brand, but even after she unleashed one of the darkest, most horrifying spells in her arsenal, Brand did not look at her any different. When she looked into his eyes, the only thing she could find was the same lust for her body that was there before. She did not believe in love. At best, love was a form of insanity, but lust was something she was well acquainted with. After she had unleashed the tumor spell in Vardne'tar Castle, all the other males looked at her with fear. Even, Mahkah had the ghost of fear in his eyes. Only, Brand was different. If anything, Brand's lust for her was stronger than before.

Then and there, she had wanted nothing more than to feel Brand's hands and mouth exploring her body. She had wanted him to thrust into with maddened passion.

Caught up in her memories of only a couple weeks past, more tears fell from Elan'fer'sha's golden eyes, as she collapsed into a kneeling position. “Brand.”

“Do you want to see the human child, Brand, again?”

Elan'fer'sha's lips quivered, looking as if they were trying to frown and smile at the same time, while more tears fell from her eyes. “It's too late. Brand has left Gor'achen, and none know where he went or how he left.”

“Do you want to live? Do you want to see the human child, Brand, again?”

“YES! YES, DAMN YOU! I WANT TO LIVE! I WANT TO SEE TOMORROW AND THE MANY MORE TOMORROWS AFTER THAT! I WANT TO SEE BRAND! I WANT TO BE HIS WOMAN! HIS WOMAN! LIKE SOME LOWLY HUMAN SLUT! I WANT HIM TO FUCK ME TILL I MY BODY GOES NUMB! I WANT TO FIGHT AT HIS SIDE! I WANT TO CRUSH ANYONE WHO TRIES TO THWART US BENEATH OUR FEET!” As she screamed, Elan'fer'sha surged to her feet, charging the Dvergar. Consumed by pain and rage, she violently lashed out, punctuating each word with a punch.

The Dvergar's body was hard, harder than the hardest stone or metal Elan'fer'sha had ever encountered, and he did not give in the slightest under her blows. With her body already wracked by pain from the backlash of overusing the Umbra, she did not feel the skin on her hands split, her flesh tear, or her bones shatter. Seeing blood spattering from her ruined hands, she began to laugh insanely.

“Like you, the human child Brand is warped by his pain. He only knows how to hurt and be hurt. If he is not being hurt, subconsciously, he seeks out something new to hurt him and then, seeks to destroy it. He will be hurt carrying out my will, probably worse than ever before. For him, I will give you a respite. I will remove the deliberately mislaid Power channels from your body. I will block the Umbral Corrosion. You will have ten years to Coalesce your Power to the next circle. If you are lucky, you might have thirty. If you ever touch the Umbra again, all my Power will leave you, and if you have not become strong enough, you will be destroyed by your own Umbral Corrosion.”

The Dvergar raised his hand, and a beam of black Power shot through with malignant veins of purple and red, plunged into Elan'fer'sha's forehead. As the pain disappeared, the world around her turned black, and she lapsed into unconsciousness.

*** Bogwater (Swamp of the Lost) – The Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 307

Slan'laad stared at the bloody corpse of a twelve or thirteen-year-old human girl on its pleasure couch.

Slan'laad sighed. “When they are young, they are so nice, but they are just too fragile for words.”

Slan'laad stood only an inch or two under seven feet tall, with legs disproportionately long in relation to its arms and torso. It had a frog-like head, with knobby protrusions and small horns behind its eyes. A slimy sheen coated its black-spotted golden skin, and its erect, blood dripping penis was a solid sixteen inches long and six inches in diameter.

Chained to rings on the wall of Slan'laad's pleasure room, fifteen more female human slaves were staring at him with a mix of fear and horror. Their ears were still ringing from the agony filled shrieks of the dead girl. Hanging unconscious in her shackles, the youngest slave chained to the wall was about the same age as the dead girl on the couch. The oldest was in her mid-thirties. Except for the unconscious girl, all of the other slaves had scars from being whipped. Mostly on their breasts and thighs, they had other scars that looked like they had been gnawed on by wild animals.

Stroking its jaw with one finger, Slan'laad opened its mouth in what was probably meant to pass for a smile. Ridges of serrated white bone in black gum wet gums gleamed, as he ran his long tongue over them.

Walking over to the oldest of the slaves, Slan'laad brutally squeezed and twisted her full, heavy breasts. “Human females are so nice and tight, but breasts like these are a work of art. Allowing you to give birth was the right choice. Plump breasts like these were meant for the tasting.”

Shivering from terror, the slave lost control of herself, and a stream of urine formed a puddle around her feet.

“Slan'laad.” The deep voice sounded like words formed by grinding one stone against another.

Slan'laad spun around, spraying a stream of urine across everything in an arc.

Plop! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

His limbs trembling, Slan'laad fell to his hands and knees, and he began beating his head on the ground.

“This little Daemon is not worthy to be in the presence of the Great Dvergar Father! Forgive this little Daemon its pathetic existence! This little Daemon exists only to serve the Mighty Dvergar Second Father!”

For several minutes, Slan'laad continued to pound his head and face on the ground. Blood mixed with the urine on the ground, but he did not dare to stop.

“Cease.”

Fearfully, Slan'laad looked up. The Dvergar standing in front him was clad in clothing so ragged that Slan'laad would be shamed by having his scullery maids use them for cleaning rags, but that did not diminish the Dvergar's presence in the slightest. Slan'laad did not need to look to know that the female slaves were all unconscious. They would be lucky to not suffer permanent damage from the oppressive Power emanating from the Dvergar.

“What has been happening on the plateau?” Boran's did not conceal the animosity he felt toward the Daemon kneeling before him.

Trembling, Slan'laad pounded his head on the ground a few more times. “Mighty Dvergar Second Father, this little Daemon is having trouble scrying on the the plateau. The DokkAlfar built a massive Gate to the new world in the Upper Sea. This little Daemon cannot see through the Gate, nor can he observe the new world. The little Daemon has no excuse for his incompetence! This little Daemon pleads for mercy!”

“Have you used CHAOS in your scrying?”

The boundaries of reality seemed to twist and warp as Boran spoke the word CHAOS, but Slan'laad felt no discomfort. Rather, as Boran spoke the word, the Daemon felt the pain in the self-inflicted wounds on his head lessen. “Yes, Mighty Lord. The little bit of Chaos that this one can still draw upon was used, but it was to no effect. This little one cannot see through the gate, but the DokkAlfar have brought some things through the gate, large metal ships. These ships have been inscribed with sigils that prevent this little one from scrying on the internals, and this little one is completely unfamiliar with ships like these.”

Boran frowned, and Slan'laad shivered in fear.

“Show me!”

After banging his head on the floor for several moments, Slan'laad removed a crystal based projector from his dimensional storage ring.

The images projected in midair showed Earth warships built for the United States Navy in the twentieth century and early twenty-first century.

“Continue your efforts to scry into the new pocket plane. If you succeed before my agents arrive, I will be pleased.”

“Yes, Mighty Dver . . .” Before Slan'laad could finish his toadying, Boran has already disappeared.

Slan'laad's faced turned ugly, and hate filled his eyes. As he stared at the unconscious human female slaves shackled to the wall, Slan’laad was nearly overwhelmed by rage.

“No, Slan'laad. You are a cultured being. Rage is counterproductive. These human sluts saw something that should not, but that is no reason to ruin an afternoon's relaxation.”

Removing a grill from his ring, Slan'laad lit a fire and adjusted the height of the grate over the flames. A dish was set out on a table, with a fork and knife next to it on a napkin.

“First, fuck them to death, and then, enjoy a good meal.” Despite the hate still lurking in his eyes, Slan'laad opened his mouth in a smile and ran his long tongue over his lips.

Ghosts From a Twisted World

*** Village of Emer – The Lands of Despair ***

Return: Day 302

(Brand)

Boran said to go take a rest in Mountain View and come back in a week, but after a single day and night, I am already bored with Mountain View. The city has an obvious aura of age to it, but it also feels like the Senior Care Ward in an Earth hospital. Even the few children running around give the impression that they are just waiting to die. Once Boran said that Mountain View was a city where heroes and champions that should have died came after surviving. The way he said the words gave me the impression that he was one of those heroes or champions.

Being a hero is a complete crock of shit, but there are always idiots trying to be heroes. I cannot understand why they want to, but then I do not understand why people do a lot of things they do.

Emer is only a few days walk from Mountain View for normal people, but I am not even close to normal any longer. I cover the distance in a single morning.

After ascending a ridge to the south of Emer, I can look out over the valley where the former village stands under the noontime sun. When we first arrived in the Transition Chamber, Emer was nothing but a small farming village. From what I learned in Mountain View, it has been about twenty-eight years since we first set foot in the Lands of Despair as the Damned. That is a lot of time for things to change. In the intervening years, Emer has turned into a rather large town, but looking at it, I feel like I am looking at someplace on Earth.

The wall at the southern end of the valley, where Thorrin and his allies made their stand against Thug Horde in the First Battle of Emer, has been rebuilt. Now, it looks the outer wall of an Earth prison more than anything. From its coloration and appearance, the wall seems to be made from a muddy brownish concrete, and its length has been extended so that it runs up and along tops of the east and west ridges that shield Emer's valley. The wall is around forty feet high, and guard towers, with plate glass windows, are built along its length. Standing another twenty feet over the wall, each guard tower appears to be equidistant from its neighboring towers.

On the roof of each guard tower, a Mana-cannon of some kind appears to be mounted. Since I do not recognize the design, I cannot tell what type of energy they are likely to shoot, and I have seen at least three dozen different designs of Mana-cannons over the years. The odd thing about these cannons is that they appear to be made entirely of metal and have hollow metal barrels. Every other Mana-cannon that I have ever seen has numerous crystal parts and uses a crystal barrel. The look more like an Earth cannon than a Mana-cannon. Considering the weapons the guards are carrying, they may just be Earth style cannons. Those guards manning the guard towers and the cannons are dressed in what looks like modern Earth police riot gear, including balaclavas and what appear to be composite helmets. Each one has and assault rifle of some kind cradled in his or her arms, and a handgun holster hanging from their belt.

What the hell have the people in Emer been doing?

I think I understand the odd looks on the face of the bartender at the inn in Mountain View when I asked about how long ago the Damned had settled in Emer. Just seeing this is causing a wave of disgust to rise from the pit of my stomach.

From the main gate, running straight north, a wide main road divides the town. Stores and shops line road. Whether the stores or the buildings behind, they are all made from the same muddy brown concrete as the perimeter walls. Some of those stores are huge, easily five to ten times the size of what you would normally see in the towns and cities of the Lands of Despair or the Battleground of the Damned. I get the feeling that they are like the huge department stores of Earth, and that feeling makes me feel sick. I hate Earth. I hate just about every single thing having to do with Earth.

The main street is filled with people in all kinds of clothing, but I do not see any armor or weapons besides the Earth style ones. The most popular clothing styles appear to be those based off Earth clothing. All along the main street, the shoppers are going in and out of the stores. Most of them have their hands filled with paper shopping bags, and almost all of them are young. Of the thousands of shoppers that I can see, barely a dozen look to be older than thirty or so.

Behind the stores and shops, there are grids of streets filled with tenement style apartment buildings. Made from what looks like poured concrete, these apartments look like the low-rent housing found in the low-income neighborhoods of Earth cities. Other than wear and tear, each building is an almost perfect duplicate of the surrounding buildings.

The little side valley, where the original Emer village once stood, has been walled off from the rest of the town. Inside the wall, it has been turned into a grid of stone paved streets with houses that would not look out of place in an Earth suburb. Except for the color, each house is a duplicate of the next, and there are only five colors. All the houses have barrel tile roofs, painted wood siding, and large glass paned windows. Behind each once a wooden fence surround a yard of the exact same size as the neighbors. The only house that is different is a small mansion backing up against the slope of the western ridge.

“That is a truly disgusting place.”

Startled by the sudden deep bass voice next to me, my head snaps around, and my hands reach for the hilts of the paired short swords hanging hilt down from my harness.

“Spooked ya, did I?”

Th speaker is a Dvergar that I cannot detect with my spatial awareness, nor can I feel a trace or presence or Power coming off him. Other than visually, it is like he does not exist.

The Dvergar is about 4'10” tall, and his hair and beard are red, a red so deep it is almost the color of blood. His massive battle axe is longer than he is tall. This is not the first time I have seen him. The first time was in the Swamp of the Lost. He was one of the three Dvergar that wiped out a couple hundred Thuggies.

“What's the matter? Your little mind fucker trick can't detect me?”

“No, my spatial awareness can't feel you at all.”

The Dvergar smiles. “Spatial awareness. So, that's what ya call it. Remember this. You don't have to be a Transcendent to do it.”

“Did you want something from me?”

Sitting down on an upthrust piece of bare stone, the Dvergar looks me up and down. “The Second Father is more interested in you than anything I've seen him interested in for a long time. Even those Possessed Dvergar on Taereun don't fascinate him like you. Me, I don't understand it. Other than being able to use the Od as a non-Coalescent human, there doesn't seem to be much special about you.”

Amazingly, my heart starts to race. I thought I already had better control over my body.

“Possessed Dvergar on Taereun? Is Thorrin doing well?”

The Dvergar faintly shrugs. “He's doing better than Farnulf, but he's not like Dacbold. That one has taken to having a Dvergar body like a goblin to torture. Thorrin's still having trouble fully fusing his mind and soul with his body. His human morality is too big a weakness. If he can give it up, his mind and soul will finally become one with his body, and his Power will surge to heights he cannot imagine.”

The feeling of relief that floods through is a bit surprising. I had not realized that I was so worried about Thorrin. I owe him a lot. He was one of the very few people that ever tried to be a friend. Even when I did everything I could to keep him at a distance, he never gave up.

“What about the other four?”

“Dead. Two died before I ever met them. The other two were Death Walkers. They disappeared years ago.” From his tone, the Dvergar could be talking about watching grass grow, but the intensity of his eyes on me is physically palpable.

“What is a Death Walker?”

The Dvergar frowns. “Dvergar aren't mortal. Even, Fallen Dvergar are not like you mortals. Our bodies were made to live indefinitely, but you never can tell what will happen to a mind. Sometimes a Dvergar reaches the point where he can't stand live any longer. Dvergar don't commit suicide, but being a Death Walker is the same thing. Death Walkers exist only to find the battle that can kill them, but seeking death only makes a Dvergar stronger. It's ironic, when we don't want to live anymore is when we become the most powerful we will ever be.”

“That sounds like some dark Dvergar secret. Why are you telling me?”

The Dvergar laughs, but there is only bitterness in the sound. “You're a queer human. The more I look at you, the more you remind me of a Half-Dvergar in a human body.”

As a chill runs down my spine, the Dvergar smiles. “Now, that's interesting. You used to be that Possessed Half-Dvergar.”

My eyes narrow, and I stare at the Dvergar. No matter how I try, I cannot get any impression of him with my newly awakened Psi. He might as well not exist in any way other than visually.

The Dvergar shakes his head. “With some Transcendents that might work, but I walk the Path of Spirit. An Amalgamate Power like Psi has no chance of reading anything from me, and you can't use Trinity. Transcendence is just the beginning. Once you Transcend, it opens up the Paths or Elemental Transcendence. That's a journey that never ends. At least, I've never encountered or heard of an end to it.”

So, if I become a Triune, by using Trinity, my Psi-like abilities will work on you?”

The Dvergar laughs. “Not a chance. You're not strong enough even if you were a Triune, but if you were at the sixth or seventh circle as a Coalescent, you should be able to use Trinity against a basic Transcendent.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

The Dvergar laughs. “I'm bored. You're a distraction, and I'm curious to see what you do. You have the will to kill without question or qualm, and you've done it more than once. You have the Power to destroy anyone in the town below. Even as you are, their weapons are no threat to you, but you're hesitant to enter it. What is holding you back?”

What is holding me back? It is not like I am afraid of them. There should not be anyone or anything there that matters to me anymore. I just came here because I am bored. So, why not go take a look?

Taking my short swords and endless quiver off my harness, I store them in one of my rings.

“Why? You're not afraid of them taking your weapons.”

I shrug. “Less hassle. I don't need weapons. I'm a living weapon.”

“Interesting.” The Dvergar stand up and rests the haft of his axe against his shoulder. He is wearing chainmail, but the way it fits him makes it look more like a body suit. The rings that the armor is made from appear to stretch and contract with his movements. Even though it appears fragile, I doubt that my strongest blow would sunder that armor.

“Are you coming with me?”

“Of course. I'm here for some entertainment. You barely qualify.”

This Dvergar is beginning to make me feel more than a little irritated. His smirk seems to indicate he can tell what I am thinking.

“You have a name?”

“Vili, 305th generation descendant of the Star Father Grimnir, Son of Auoun, Son of Alfodr, Son of Boran.”

“I'll call you Vili for short.”

Vili laughs. The way he is acting, I cannot get anything close to a clear read on his real personality. Even without any evidence, I am certain that he is putting on a front but have no clue as to why.

Putting Vili's demeanor and nature out of my mind, I start walking down the steep northern face of the ridge. I do not need to scan the wall with my awareness to know that multiple guards are watching every one of our moves and actions. Even at a distance of several miles, it seems that I can feel their hatred and hostility.

Now, I understand why I was reluctant to enter the town. I was not actively using any Psi abilities, so it was not apparent to me before. This town is nothing like the Emer we left behind when we set out on our quest to find Haven. The Emer of that time was filled with the crafters who played Taereun: Battleground of the Damned for their love of the magic based, medieval style culture of the game. They might have built the town up with the physical conveniences of Earth, but it would have been an open, friendly place, welcoming all outsiders that came for trade.

The walls and guns are just the outward signs of the aura and temperament of the Emer of today. Despite the presence of the shoppers that are most certainly outsiders, it is a closed off town that sees the outside world as an enemy. Those shoppers and not the guards are the part of the picture that is out of place.

Outside the south wall, there are a hundred or so people waiting to pass the gate guards' inspections and enter the town. While I was observing, all of these arrivals came from the west, and there are still a few small groups visible in that direction. Also, the people who left by this gate all headed west. I have not seen a single person from come from the direction of Mountain View.

“Some twenty years ago, these fools used their firearms to attempt an assault on Mountain View. Nine out of ten never made it back. Since then, Mountain View has cut off contact with this place.” Vili clearly says “firearms” in English. After hearing Boran using English, Vili using it does not surprise me.

It should probably be unfortunate that I cannot say I am surprised, but the ignorant arrogance and stupidity of Earthlings cannot surprise me anymore. I am only disgusted that these losers are actually trying to duplicate Earth technology and thinking it will make them strong. Mountain View is the resting place of giants, dragons, and gods, but whoever is in control of Emer is too blind stupid to see it.

As I near the people waiting to enter Emer, I use my empathy to project an aura of raw aggression. As I advance, before they even understand what they are doing, the crowd separates in front of me, opening a path to the gate. When they see me and realize that I am manipulating them, hostility mixes with fear in their eyes, but as they stare at me with a great axe carrying Dvergar at my side, not a one even dares to make a sound resembling a complaint.

“You have a natural talent for bullying the weak.”

“I don't like being crowded. If they don't have balls to say anything about it, it just means they're useless faggots.”

Vili laughs.

The gate through the wall is recessed by about ten feet, with a swarm of murder holes in the concrete above it. Looking like the gate of an Earth prison, the gate to the city appears to be made of black painted metal. There are some patches of rust showing through the paint.

As the last of the people between us and the gate step aside, the guards at the gate level their assault weapons at me. For all that I can feel from them with my empathy, they might as well be emotionless. There has to something on them that is blocking Psi abilities. With their helmets, balaclava, and tinted goggles, I cannot see their eyes, but their body postures are more tense and hostile the prospective entrants.

“If you bitches don't point those guns someplace else, I'm going to shove them up your assholes before I pull the trigger.” My words are in English, so there should be ambiguity at what guns are.

“What's he saying?”

“I don't know.”

The guards are talking in the Trade Tongue. It is a polyglot language that. While we were hunting for Haven, we found it was used throughout most of the Lands of Despair. There was a lot of language drift and regional vocabulary, but for the most part, no matter where we went, we were able to find people that spoke it.

“On your knees! Now!” That is the first guard that spoke.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. Forming the words in my mind, I change the continuous flow of my Mana in the patterns for Making. Focusing on the spell pattern for pattern sight, I apply it to my left eye.

Well, damn me. They are not Possessed. That means that they are not members of the Damned. If they are not Damned, why do they have guns?

Glancing at Vili, I see an amused smirk on his face.

“Fuck you.” With a nasty smile, I hold up my middle finger to the guards. There is no ambiguity about the gesture. Whether Earth, the Battleground of the Damned, or the Lands of Despair, in every race and culture that I have encountered, shooting someone a bird has the exact same meaning.

As the finger of the guard that told me to kneel tightens on his trigger, I move. Slipping through the Shadow of the Od, I am already next to the guard before he can finish pulling the trigger. As I punch him in the side of his head, the guard's helmet shatters, and his skull fractures. He flies into the guard next to him, and both of them hit the ground with multiple broken bones.

As the guard’s mind starts to flicker out, I feel fear and regret. I did not expect to kill him with a single punch like that. There was no Power in my blow; I am only using the strength and speed of my physical body. At least, I learned that something in their helmets is blocking my empathy.

As I stare at my left fist that I am holding at chest height, Vili raises one hand and casually points at something behind me.

Pulling my figurative head out of my figurative ass, I feel the guard behind bringing his assault weapon to bear. The two guards in front of me are doing the same. The freakish thing is that they all seem to be moving at about one-quarter speed. It seems that when I move at full speed, my perception also accelerates to this kind of a ridiculous level. This is the first time I have pushed myself to this speed around more or less normal people.

“GGGGeeeetttt hhhhiiiimmmm!”

As their fingers tighten on their triggers, I launch myself into the air. Flipping over, so my feet hit the concrete roof of the gate tunnel, I push off and out of the tunnel.

Brrrraaaaaapppppp! Brrrraaaaaapppppp! Brrrraaaaaapppppp!

At that close of a range, the guard's bullets cut through each other's body armor like a hot knife through butter. Blood spatters all over the gate tunnel. As their bodies fall to the ground, I land lightly on the hard packed dirt road leading up to the gate.

The sounds of booted feet running and shouting are clearly audible over the other background noise from inside the wall.

“As slow and weak as you may be, you have a real talent for finding those weaker than yourself to pick on.”

I shoot Vili the bird, but he only looks amused. Thinking about it, I am enjoying myself. I just wish they were strong enough to make it more interesting.

The humans that were crowding the gate in an attempt to get in are fleeing like their lives depend on it. Who knows, maybe they do.

I take the DokkAlfar short swords out of my storage ring again. Cutting my palm, I anoint the blades of both swords with my blood.

My heart is steel. My soul is the forge. My thoughts are life to my blade. As I form the mnemonic in my head and focus on the spell pattern, the short swords come to life and begin to circle over my head.

“Not bad for a human. Being able to form the spell in its entirety without speaking the chant is impressive for a mere human like yourself.”

I had a Half-Dvergar body for years. I have an idea of how insanely superior Dvergar naturally are to humans, but Vili's words still irritate me. Considering how he has been acting, he may be trying to deliberately get under my skin. I have the feeling that he is playing some kind of game with me, but I do not have a clue what his purpose in doing so could be.

Inside the walls, the noise of hard-soled boots running on a stone surface has reached the gate. I cock my head to the side. Neither my vision or spatial awareness can see through the metal gates. If I attain a higher level of Psi awareness, simple things like solid objects will be no impediment to me, but for now, I am still limited.

“All right, you slackers, line up by squads. Make a double firing line and get ready!” The words are in the Trade Tongue, and the one shouting the orders sounds like he is middle-aged or older.

“Here, let me open that gate for you.”

Screech! Boom!

As Vili flicks a finger, the metal gate crumples like a tin can and embeds itself in the roof of the tunnel. The guards on the other side are even more shocked and surprised than I am. For several long moments, we just stare at one another and do nothing.

Other than myself, the one that gets his composure back the most quickly is probably the human was shouting the orders. He is a slighter shorter than average man, with salt and pepper close cut beard that is more salt than pepper. His build would make your average steroid junkie body builder green with envy. He is a Possessed, but I do not recognize him in the slightest. I cannot remember seeing him even once.

The boundary between his Taereun body and his Earth mind and soul looks strange. The Earth mind and soul are fusing with the fragmentary remains of the mind and soul in the Taereun body, but it looks like an ugly scar. I am mostly certain that it has to be inhibiting his ability to use the Power of his body properly. Another oddity about him is that his Earth mind is generating Mana and not an insignificant amount of it.

Salt and Pepper looks at the bullet-riddled bodies, the one with a shattered skull, and the single groaning survivor. For all the reaction he shows, he might as well be looking at some broken mannequins.

Looking past the fallen guards, Salt and Pepper’s eyes settle on Vili. After a few seconds, his eyes widen in shock and surprise before his face turns grim. From Vili, his eyes focus on the swords circling over my head for a moment before settling on my me. I am only wearing a pteruges, harness, and boots. As his looks at my scars, his does not keep the disgust off his face. As much as the disjoint in his pattern, his reaction to my appearance is a giveaway that he is one of the Possessed.

“So, who the fuck are you?” Again, I use English.

Salt and Pepper's eyes widen a second time, and blatant surprise transforms his face. The hard-ass military-like act seems to be just that, an act. None of the veterans that I have run into among the Taereun players would let himself be caught looking so gobsmacked in a situation like this.

“You're a player?”

I snort. “Not quite, dick-breath. I'm what you call a transported to another world glad to be a former resident of the shithole called Earth.”

Salt and Pepper stares at me like I am some kind of freak that crawled out of the cesspool before my words seem to register. His disgust shifts to anger.

“Retard, why don't get someone with more than a seventy IQ out here to talk to me.”

Salt and Pepper glares at me. “Get on your knees, with your hands behind your head! Both of you! Do it! Or I'll have them shoot.”

I shake my head. “You're even dumber than you look.”

I am sick to death of fucking Earth and everything to do with it. Players. Earthlings. They can go to hell or wherever dead souls really go.

Before Salt and Pepper or the guards can even register that I am moving, I am already out of their line of sight. In the Shadow of the Od, I practically fly up the wall and hop of the parapet on top.

“Fire!” Salt and Pepper's command is in the Trade Tongue.

Brrrraaaaaapppppp! Brrrraaaaaapppppp! Brrrraaaaaapppppp!

The guards are presumably firing at Vili, but I doubt that the bullets can scratch a Transcendent Dvergar.

The guard on top, next to the cannon, does not have time to realize that he is not alone before I break his neck. Dragging the dying guard to the inner edge of the wall, I throw him off the edge, and before his body slams into Salt and Pepper, he is already dead.

Crunch! Thump!

With the sound of breaking bones, the guard's corpse knocks Salt and Pepper to the ground.

As I land in the middle of the guards, my short swords start cutting down the ones farthest from me. Each one of my punches kills yet another guard, and in less than five seconds, they are all dead on the ground.

Taking a quick look around, I do not see any more guards that seem immediately hostile. I am near one side of a stone paved square about two-thirds the size of a soccer field. A few pairs of guards are scattered around, but they show no interest in fucking with me. More accurately, they are scared shitless and looking for some way to get out of here.

A crowd of onlookers is gathering at the point where the main road leaves this square. The shoppers, mostly natives of the Lands of Despair, with a couple handfuls of the Damned mixed in, stare at me in a mix of shock, surprise, fear, horror, disgust, and contemplation. Since they do not have helmets like the guards, I have no problems reading their emotions.

I glance over my shoulder at Vili outside the gate. He still has an amused smirk plastered on his face. His absolute smugness gives the urge to slap him silly, but I do not even try. I am not suicidal.

As my anger and irritation rise, I do not bother trying to control them. I will just take out my aggression on anyone that gets in my way.

I see someone whose face I vaguely recognize. Right at the beginning of The Great Fuck Over, when I rescued Selestra from Menton, he was in one of the Thug Horde cages. He has turned into a fat fuck, but I am pretty sure he is the same person.

I point at the fat ass. “You, there. The stupid looking fuck in brown. Come here!”

As eyes go wide, the player points at himself. He is not dead, so there is no question that he can feel the hostile intent I am focusing on him.

“Do you see anyone in brown standing next to you?”

Swallowing nervously, the player fearfully walks over. His emotions are unstable, and it might have something to do with his pattern. It is a mess. Unlike Salt and Pepper, there is no sign of his Earth and Taereun patterns joining. There is a noticeable gap between the two that is much larger than the fractional gap that exists among the Possessed in the Battleground whose patterns I have seen. I have no idea what it means.

“Okay, Fatso, who is in charge around here? It can't be the stupid on the ground gasping for breath.”

Blinking like an owl, Fatso looks down at Salt and Pepper. “You mean Mx. Iron?”

“Mix Iron? What the fuck kind of an idiotic name is that?”

Fatso points at the wall behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. There is a huge sign that I did not pay any attention to. What? The? Fuck?

Emer Rules

Failure to obey any rule will result in enslavement or execution.

Obey all commands given by an Emer official.

Only gender neutral pronouns and honorifics are to be used. (Mx, Ze, Zir/Zem, Zir/Zes, Zirs/Zes)

. . .

No spitting on the sidewalks and roads.

The last rule is number 115, and the entire list is written in English. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Vili smirking. I feel like my head is going to explode.

I squat next to Mx. Iron and rip his helmet off. “So, you're Mr. Iron. Oops, that's what, the sixth, no seventh, rule that I've broken, already. Do you really think you can kill or enslave me?”

Iron glares at me, but his mind is overflowing with fear. Even though he may suck at the hard-ass military act, I have to admit that he is good at hiding visible signs of his fear.

“Fatso, you never answered my question. Who the fuck is in charge here?”

“That would be me.” The voice is one that I recognize. I will probably never forget it.

Looking up, I see a slender, black-haired man, standing about 6'2” tall. His long, narrow, tanned, weathered face would probably be considered attractive to women who are not into the androgynous faggot look. His clothes, looking like something out of the eighteenth century, include a maroon frock coat and frilly, white cravat. Despite his weird clothes and skinny ass build, he is a lot stronger than he looks. He is Darius. He was the leader of Thug Horde until Menton deposed him.

The rage that is never too far beneath the surface of my mind surges. When Menton crucified me not too far from here, he was with him. He was one of the fucking pieces of shit that held me down while they nailed me to a log.

“Darius!” My voice is more of a growl than human speech.

“Mark McGuinness?” The words, barely more than a gasping whisper, shock me out of my tunnel vision.

Being fixated on Darius, I had not paid attention to the woman hanging on his arm. She is tall and slender, with a face that would probably border on beautiful. Her black hair hangs to her waist. The body hugging silk dress that she is wearing buttons up the front, but the slit up its right side reaches her waist. A deep blue parasol, matching the color of the dress, is resting against her left shoulder and keeping the sun off her ivory pale skin.

“Tiara. Oh, happy days are here again. You have no idea how overjoyed I am to see you.” I do not think my smile could pass for anything other than a starving predator's joy at seeing its next meal.

“It can't be. You're dead. Jet kill...” She cuts off her words, glancing at Darius out of the corner of her eye.

Darius may be a vicious, sadistic prick, second only to Menton on the universal list of dick breath bastards, but he is anything but stupid. He obviously sees Tiara's look and can easily tell that something is wrong.

“Mark McGuinness, eh? That is an Earth name. Tiara, my sweet, who is this person, and what do “Jet” and “kill” have to do with him?”

Is she keeping the fact that the Lord of Jet killed me when I was Talon? Why? What would be the point in that? If Menton knew that Jet had killed me, he would have probably rewarded . . . No, I get it. Menton was already over the edge. If he learned that Jet killed me, he might have tortured Jet in my place. However you look at it, it seems that the Bohemian Cats may be walking a tightrope as Thug Horde lackeys.

There is a belt around Tiara's waist is made from woven platinum wires. Though, with a width of close to three inches, it might be more accurate to call it a girdle. The buckle and three plates to either side of it have an eight pointed star inset with gems apparently decorating them, but they are not simple decorations. Under my pattern sight, there is a faintly visible twisting of space around each of the decorative plates, and spell patterns that are used in dimensional storage devices. The work is clearly the Frog's personal work, but during The Great Fuck Over, I never saw her wearing that belt.

“What's the matter wannabe princess? Are you keeping secrets from your latest semi-hard dick, like a whore in a whore house?”

Tiara glares at me. I cannot get any kind of an empathic read on either of them, but from the venomous look on her face, she has to wish her glare could kill me. My smirk only aggravates her more.

Darius is different. My backhanded insult did not seem to phase him, but he is intently staring at me, as though he is trying to figure something out.

After a moment, his face an expressionless mask, Darius looks straight at Tiara. “Tiara, my sweet, I asked you who this person is?”

Darius has always come across as a cold fish, but when he shows the least expression is when he is the closest to flipping from calm to brutally violent. When she turns her head to meet Darius' eyes, Tiara's ivory complexion actually grows paler.

“He is Talon. That is his real body, from Earth.”

Darius' mask cracks and blatant shock covers his face. “You're Talon? A disgusting monster like you was actually that ugly freak, Talon?”

“And here your mother used to say how good looking I was while sucking my dick and complaining about her son the useless faggot.”

Darius' wide open eyes narrow, and he schools his face into the unreadable mask again. “Yes, I suppose you really are Talon. I saw your butchered corpse. Our old bodies died around the same time as your death. How are you still alive?”

“Jet's great at backstabbing but sucks at making sure people will stay dead. If you want to check on your old body, I'll be happy to send you back.”

After giving me a disdainful sneer, Darius looks at Tiara for a moment. “Tiara, my sweet, we are going to have a long talk later. It might be a bit painful for you, but I intend to have some answers about that day.”

I would never have thought such a pale bitch could get any whiter, but Tiara looks like all the blood has been drained from her body. Fear is visible in her eyes, and her lips are quivering.

Looking back at me, Darius mumbles something under his breath, and a faint glow fills his eyes. After a moment, his mask of indifference thoroughly cracks, and raw disbelief turns his face into a comedic mask instead.

“You're a Maker. How they hell is an Earth-born human a Maker?”

I ignore Darius and stare Tiara. “Tiara, where are the rest of your Bohemian Cats, shit bag friends.”

Tiara's eyes flicker toward the west for a moment before glaring at me again. “I have no idea. They will not want to see a lowborn animal like you, either.”

I look at Darius. “Are all the Cats here or just some of them?”

Darius glances at Tiara. “Alador is the only other one here.”

Even without being able to read their emotions, I can see the read the sense of betrayal on Tiara's face. She was never very good at concealing her emotions. During The Great Fuck Over, I always could tell how disgusted she was by me and how much she hated me.

“There is something I just don't understand. When Taereun was a game, you were even bigger on fag hunts than Menton. Your persecution contests were legendary. What the fuck are you doing here?” I point at the huge with the list of rules.

In what seems to be a subconscious reaction, Darius straightens his already ramrod straight spine and puffs out his chest. “Power and control. Have you ever analyzed Earth's first world societies from a psychological and sociological perspective?”

“Earth makes me want to puke. I never had the urge to analyze it.”

Darius smirks. “From Tiara's mannerisms, I have to assume that you already looked like that on Earth. You have to be one of the one in a million freaks that nanotechnology fails to work on. Otherwise, there is no way you would be such a hideously scarred monster. To a freak like you, I would imagine that Earth was a living hell. I can understand you having no interest in investigating or understanding just how profound their methods of population control really are.

“To begin with, you have to understand that the sole purpose for any government's existence is to maintain, enhance, and expand its own power. I fully support that methodology. At least, when I control the government, I fully support it.

“In the eyes of those who have power within any government, the people are nothing but fodder to ensure the smooth operation of the government. They are expendable. Their well-being only matters to the degree necessary to prevent armed rebellion. Anything short of true armed rebellion on a national scale can be suppressed through numerous methods. Laws are meant to suppress and oppress the people, to keep them divided one against the other, instead of united against the domination of their government.

“You have to know the real history of Earth, the part that has been excised and obfuscated under the censorship laws, to truly see the genius of the people behind the Union Party. There were once two political parties that were supposed to be in opposition to one another. One party pretended to champion the cause of certain factions of the population, while the other party pretended to champion the causes of the other side of the population. I was just a myth. The truth was that they worked hand in hand to keep the citizens divided one against the other. All the while, they just kept making more and more laws. Eventually, there were enough laws that no matter who you were, you were certain to be guilty of multiple crimes.

“Once they had enough laws, enough power, and enough control, the two parties joined together and became the Union Party or the Uni-Party if you prefer.”

Darius stares at me. His face is beaming with pride, but I do not quite get the point of it.

“So, what does that have to do with your list of rules?”

Darius' expression falls, and he looks at me with disgust. “I thought you were smarter. Were all the times you out-thought and outmaneuvered us just flukes? The rules are about power and control. They are based on the equality and social justice laws on Earth. Those laws that are the instruments used to completely oppress the people into a society of sheep. Most people like being sheep, because they can lie to themselves and believe that Big Daddy Shepherd, the government, will protect them. With these rules, we can use them as a justification to kill or enslave anyone at any time. The people, the former players, and other citizens, know that anyone who dares to violate the rules and threaten them will suffer. Look around, anyone who is a visitor is on guard against everyone around them. They are always worried about what they might do that will allow us to suppress them. They are only here for the goods that aren't available anywhere else. Doesn't it remind you of how people act on Earth?

“Our power is expanding by the day. We are creating an Earth-like culture and using it to insinuate ourselves into all the villages and towns in this region. As our power …”

“Enough already! Just shut the fuck up! You're a fucking psycho! You're probably right about Earth, but you're a complete fucking nut-job if you want to bring Earth's sick shit here!”

Except for tic at the corners of his right eye and mouth, Darius' face returns to its emotionless mask. “It seems you are nothing but another brainless cretin. Guards, kill him!”

Was that asshole trying to recruit me?

A stone throne rises out of the ground behind me, and when I glance over my shoulder, Vili is sitting down. He has a smirk on his face, but I am not even going to try to guess why.

Most of the guards have let the muzzles of their guns slump toward the ground. Darius' nervous tic has turned into a full out twitch, and Tiara is backing away, not taking her eyes off of Vili.

“Lord Dvergar, are you a friend of this person.” Darius points at me.

Vili's smirk never leaves his face. “I'm just here to enjoy the show.”

I am not sure why Vili raising a throne from the ground would scare Darius so much. Just because he can use Elemental Power, it does not mean he is some monstrous powerhouse. There were a dozen or more players among the Damned that could use actual Elemental Power. In the time between my murder and now, Darius must have encountered something that has left him terrified of a real Dvergar. Could this be because of Thug Horde's run in with the Dvergar in the Battleground of the Damned?

Darius bows to Vili. “Don't anger the Dvergar Lord when you kill the musclebound ape.”

I do not wait for the guards to attack. Shifting into the Shadow of the Od, I run to the far left end of the line of guards. Whether or not they are right handed, they are all holding their assault rifles in a right handed grip. There are limits to how far the joint of a human can move. To track me past a certain point, the guards will have to shift their position.

Brrrraaaaaapppppp! Brrrraaaaaapppppp! Brrrraaaaaapppppp!

Even though I close the distance to the farthest guards in a little over a second, that second seems to last forever. I do not know how many bullets fly through the air behind me, but none of them hit me.

“Wwwwhhhhaaatt tthhee ffuucckk?” Darius' movements speed up in the middle of his disbelieving shout.

The guards start falling at a rate of two or three a second. With the amount of damage I am doing to their bodies, even if they are still breathing, they cannot survive without some miraculous healing magic or medicines. No one here is likely to have anything on that level. Even the ones still breathing are as good as dead.

Moving through the Shadow of the Od, I do not need to use anything beyond the physical strength and speed of my body to destroy the guards. I really do not even need to use the Shadow of the Od, but it is good practice for when I really do need it. Still, I send my dancing swords into the middle of them, and another four of five guards are turned into dismembered corpses each second.

Darius pushes aside his frock coat, revealing a 6”x2” platinum box attached to his belt. It has three rows of gems inset into it, and each row is made from gems of a single color. From the appearance of its pattern, it is some kind of extremely complex dimensional storage device. Like Tiara's belt, it appears to have been made by the Frog, but I never saw it on Darius before.

Darius taps one of the gems and a crystal vial with a silvery colored potion appears in his hand. He does not hesitate for even an instant and drinks the potion. As he starts moving tangentially to me, his actions visibly speed up. Five more potion vials appear in his hand, and he sticks four of them between the fingers of his left hand.

“You've been back to the Battleground of the Damned.”

For a second, Darius pauses. His face is caught somewhere between amazement and confusion, and then, he glances at the box on his belt.

“Did you actually recognize the Frog's work?”

During his lapse, another dozen of his guards die under my fists and dancing swords, but I doubt he gives a fuck about their lives. I do not give a fuck about their lives, either, but I am only killing them because they are too stupid to get out of my way. It has only been six seconds since I started moving, and two-thirds of them are already dead. The surviving guards are trying to maneuver into positions where they can get me in a crossfire.

I rip into the guards moving in one direction, with every punch or kick destroying their bones and internal organs, and send my short swords after the guards moving in the other direction. As for Darius, I do not let him get out of my sight.

Fwoosh-thump. Crack!

Feeling an arrow with my spatial awareness, I barely avoid it. After punching completely through one of the guards, the arrow buries itself six inches into a paving stone. The miniature sonic boom reaches me a fraction of a second after the arrow passes by.

Glancing toward where the arrow came from, I do not see or sense any sign of the archer, but Alador was one of the Bohemian Cats' archers. He is certain to be afraid of me, and as I remember he was competent at ambushes and long range sniping. The Bohemian Cats never had any real experts in any field. At best, they were always a third rate guild. Coming from backgrounds of extreme wealth and privilege verging on above the law status, it must have been galling for that arrogant group of pricks to be nothing more than third rate fucktards.

The corpse of last of the guards flies through the air to land at Darius' feet. As I lock my eyes on him, he freezes in place. His arm is cocked, ready to throw one of the vials, but he just gives me a sheepish smile, as my blood dripping swords steak over to hover inches from his neck.

“I guess you really are Talon. Without an elite Thug Horde combat team at my back, I was never a match for your violent, animalistic brutality.”

“You're too fucking weak. These bitch guards of yours can barely slow me down. Even when you had elite teams sniffing your asshole, I killed you a half-dozen times.”

“I sort of recognize your fighting style, but it's changed from when you were a Half-Dvergar. You're better than ever.” Darius looks around at the more than fifty dead guards. “So, what do you plan to do now?”

“Torture you until I'm satisfied with your answers to some questions, Then, I'll kill both you and your slut.”

Darius calmly puts the vials back into his rather unique storage device. “I talked to some of the Horde who got trapped in The Nameless God's second wave, and they said all of us died. Well, our real bodies died. Since you are in your real body, does that mean it was all a lie, and I'll get mine back after you kill me?”

I put on a smirk for Darius. “If I'm in a good mood after torturing you, I might tell you before I let you die.”

“Mx. er…ah…Talon? If Mx. Talon isn't right, I apologize. Could you please spare Mx. Darius. Without him, our town will be at the mercy of that evil monster Granthor.” I do not remember the speaker's name. He was one of the non-Maker crafters among the Damned. Looking like he is in his early thirties, he has a fairly muscular build, but he does not have the aura of fighter. He should just be one of the sheep.

“Who is Granthor, and why should I give a fuck if you're at his mercy?”

The sheep looks at me in blatant confusion. “You're from Earth like us, aren't you?”

“So?”

The sheep blinks a few dozen times. He does not have whatever Darius and Tiara do that blocks Psi. I can feel the fear coming off him in waves. “I … uh … um, it would be inhumane to leave us defenseless. We're from Earth. We aren't unwashed, ignorant, intolerant barbarians like the people here.”

“If you don't get to the point or shut up, I'm going to kill you. That is not a figure of speech.”

Under my glare, the sheep actually quivers with fear. Maybe I should kill him and put him out of his misery. I must be hell to go through life hating yourself and fearing everything around you.

“Talon...”

I cut Darius off. “Talon was murdered by the Bohemian Cats. He's gone. I'm Brand now.”

“Brand? A badly scared gladiator named Brand fought in the arena of Gor'achen Citadel. Were you in Gor'achen Citadel?”

As I stare at Darius, my eyes narrow. “What kind of connections do you have to the Battleground of the Damned?”

Darius puts on an innocent face. He does a terrible job of trying to look innocent. When he is not doing the blank mask routine, that face of his screams, “I'm a smarmy, backstabbing, snake bastard.”

“At least one of the three times, you should have seen what was left of Menton after I was done with him.” I keep my voice flat and emotionless.

Darius does not seem to have the same level of control over his body that I do; even though he keeps his faux-innocent expression, his face pales. When I only stare at him and do not do or say anything for a few moments, a faint sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead.

“We, well, more accurately I, have business dealing with some of the DokkAlfar from the Tren'fon Citadel. They are part of the Church of the Jotun Lords and provide aid in defending us against Granthor.”

I smile, but it does not appear to reassure Darius. “What kind of business dealings?”

“Communications equipment based on the whisper charms and party bracelets. They are using it for their Temple armies.”

The sheep perks up. “After we created our first television network, the DokkAlfar became interested in our technology. Those barbarians have probably never seen anything remotely close to a magic implementation of Earth-based engineering principles.

“Now, we have a television station that broadcasts 24/7 and several idol groups. We're using the Japanese idol group model, and it's working...”

“You're some kind of manager on Earth, aren't you?”

The sheep looks startled and proud at the same time. “How did you know?”

“You're a moronic toady, a dickless bitch, and have no clue about anything.”

Darius schools face back into the bland mask. He is getting too complacent, and that makes me wonder what he has up his sleeve.

After sweeping the area with my spatial awareness and finding nothing, I begin weeding through the growing crowd of onlookers with my both my spatial awareness and empathy. Just where is the danger?

As I turn my head to stare at three people in the growing audience, Darius taps a stick pin in his cravat. I am not worried about him doing anything. If he moves wrong, my short swords will skewer him.

I do not know if I should call her a girl or a woman. Twenty-eight years ago for her, she looked like she was about eighteen or nineteen years old. Now, she looks about twenty or twenty-one. Her face is not quite beautiful, but it is more than pretty enough to make anyone with a working dick look twice or maybe three times. The dark brown hair that used to just about reach the bottoms of her tits is in a thick braid hanging down to her waist. She already had nice tits, but now they are fuller and rounder. Unfortunately, they have just the slightest bit of sag under their own weight, but I could forgive that considering their size.

As her brown eyes meet mine, I see a sheen that I did not expect. She is too far away for me to hear her whisper, but somehow, I still hear what she says. “It's really you. You're still alive. So much pain. Oh, Merciful Lady, I finally understand.”

“Mommy, the monster is looking at me. Mommy, I'm scared.”

Nessa has a daughter? The little girl holding her hand looks too much like her to be anything else, especially, when she is calling Nessa mommy. I am not good at judging the ages of children, but I would guess she is about six or seven.

The girl standing on the opposite side of Nessa is maybe fourteen or fifteen. She looks so much like Nessa they could be sisters. Two daughters? Nessa has two daughters?

Nessa picks up the little girl. “Don't worry sweetie. He's a good monster. He chases away the bad monsters.”

“He's scary!” The little girl starts crying on Nessa's shoulder.

“Uh, mom, why is he looking at us like that?” The older girl even sounds like Nessa.

“Don't worry, Deborah. He's an old acquaintance. Your father knows him too.”

Deborah, on Earth, that is Nessa's mother's name.

Darius' whisper touches my mind. *I see you remember her. If you kill me, Emer will lose the protection of the DokkAlfar. That girl will be in danger.*

As I fix my eyes on Darius again, he pales a little more. I would never have imagined he could get any whiter. *Don't do anything we'll both regret. I'm not threatening you. It's just a fact. If I'm not here, there probably isn't anyone that can protect Emer from Granthor's army. I'm not going to do anything to your little girlfriend. I don't have any connection to Menton, anymore.*

*I want Tiara and Alador.*

Darius smiles. *You can have them. I'll even gift wrap them for you.*

I pull two DokkAlfar slave collars out of one of my storage rings and toss them to Darius. *Naked and collared. Put all of their possessions in a bag of holding for me.*

I can feel nervousness emanating from Darius now. Does whatever he was using to block Psi block the whisper charms?

I empathically project my hostility at Darius. *How are you in contact with DokkAlfar in Tren'fon Citadel?*

As Darius gestures to the northeast, his nervousness bordering on fear is not visible in his actions. *About a thousand miles from here, there is a teleportation array that connects to the Tren'fon Array. You've heard of that, right?*

I nod my head.

*Every couple years, Tren'fon Citadel comes through and runs a patrol through part of the Lands of Despair, but they always have airship patrols out here. Most of the DokkAlfar stone airships you see in this part of the Lands are from Tren'fon. So, you didn't come through the Tren'fon Array?*

I ignore Darius' question. *Get Tiara and Alador ready to go.*

As I walk over to Nessa, except for her daughters, everyone around her backs away. Whether player or native, every one of them reeks of fear. If they were not so pathetic, I might be amused.

Nessa is holding the little girl against her chest, with one arm, and the other arm is around older girl's shoulders. As she looks up at me, there is no fear or disgust in her eyes or her aura, but there seems to be contempt? I cannot be sure. There are too many emotions in her, and I still do not how to identify much beyond variations of hate, fear, lust, and disgust.

I look toward Vili. “Can you make one of those domes like Grimnir did?”

Vili flicks his hand, and a dome of Elemental Fire comes into existence over the four of us.

“With Vili's spell, no one will hear what we say, not even a False God. Your mother started playing Taereun after The Great Fuck Over started.”

Nessa gets a queer look on her face. “You met my mother?”

“She was my nurse when I woke up the hospital. We were both in the same hospital, until Woden, that's The Nameless' name, killed everyone's bodies. Your mother took the job in that hospital and ward because you were there.”

Nessa's lip quiver faintly, and unshed tears pool in her eyes. Deborah, her older daughter, hugs her tightly.

“Was mom doing well? What about my father?”

“Your mother was getting by. Your father committed suicide.”

As the tears begin to fall, Nessa hugs her daughters tightly.

“Mommy, don't cry! Mommy! Mommy!”

The little girl glares at me. Her eyes are filled with tears, and her mind is filled with fear. “Go away, monster! Don't make mommy cry! You bad monster! Go away!”

“Ssshhh, Kelley. It's alright. Mommy's okay. The monster didn't make mommy cry.” The way she says the words make it clear that in her eyes I am a monster. Even though she does not seem to be disgusted by my scars, she is clearly looking down on me.

With her daughter's arms wrapped around her neck, Nessa frowns at me. “You're even uglier now than you were as Talon. You said your name is Brand? That's an odd name.”

“It's not my birth name. I chose it because it suits a monster like me.”

Nessa winces at my words. I think she might be feeling is guilt, but she still has a clear sense of her own superiority.

“Woden did another harvest like The Great Fuck Over. This time he just killed all their Earth bodies outright.”

Nessa's face reflects the fear in her mind. She must have a premonition about what I am going to say.

“Your mother was caught up in it. The last I saw of her she was doing well. She's with someone strong enough to protect her. She should be on Taereun, but if she learns that you're here, I'm sure she'll come.”

Nessa closes her eyes tightly for a few moments. A raft of emotions floods through her mind, but I cannot identify most of them.

When Nessa opens her eyes and looks at me, those eyes have a distance and reticence in them. “If you see my mother, you'll tell here where I am?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

Nessa looks up at the center of the Fire dome. “Thank you. Can you get rid of this … thing? I need to get my girls home.”

“I doubt we'll ever meet again. I have no intention of ever coming back to this wannabe Earth shithole. I hope you have a good life.”

Nessa smiles. It is a fake smile. “Thank you. I hope you can find happiness. Goodbye, Talon.”

Her emotions and her tone of voice make it clear that she never wishes to see me again. To her, I am obviously some lesser being. I cannot decide if I want to frown or not. For a moment, I just stare at her.

“Goodbye.” My voice is flat, emotionless.

“Vili!”

The dome of Fire disappears. Behind Nessa, I see the punk that was always sniffing after her cunt, the one she mostly ignored. I think his name was Elijah, but I could be wrong. He never mattered to me.

The punk is glaring at me, but as my eyes bore into his, his mind is nearly overwhelmed by fear. As part of that fear turns into hate and what I think is jealousy, he runs up to Nessa. After brushing the older girl aside, he draws Nessa, still holding the younger girl, into a hug and glares at me.

Deborah stares at the rest of her family for a few moments before she looks at me. The blank look in her eyes is one I have in the eyes of bullied children that are too intimidated by the bullies to fight back. It is one expression that I have never had in my eyes.

I return to where Darius is standing, but we do not talk.

The punk hustles Nessa and the little girl out of the square, but Deborah stays behind and stares blankly in my direction. I do not know if she is actually seeing me, or if this just happens to be the direction her eyes are facing. The empty sense of loneliness in her mind drowns out any other emotions.

It takes more than twenty minutes for a group of guards to drag a naked and bound Alador into the square.

Tiara has been staying in the background near the edge of the square. As she sees Alador, that pale as snow complexion of hers goes bloodlessly, pasty white. Her head snaps around toward Darius, but he does not meet her eyes.

At Darius' gesture, a dozen guards near Tiara level weapons at her. As she shrieks, the guards do not hesitate for a second. Jumping on her, they quickly get the woven platinum wire belt off her waist and tear her clothes off. While tearing off her clothes and tying her up, the guards take the opportunity to feel her up and get some good gropes in. I do not really see the point. What can they feel through those leather gloves?

“NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO! Get your filthy hands off me! Let go of me! Damn you! Fucking, filthy animals! Let me go!”

Ignoring Tiara's constant screaming, the guards drag her and Alador over to Darius. Darius personally puts the slave collars on their necks.

Crack!

My slap finally shuts Tiara's screaming mouth, leaving a red hand print on her cheek. As her mouth fills with blood, pain and fear flood her mind. She stares at me for a moment before tears start to fall from her eyes. When I reach out my hand, she starts to cower away, but I grab her by the hair. After I rip out her earrings, blood flows from her torn earlobes, and she does her best to muffle her sobs.

Releasing Tiara, I stare at the patterns in her earrings, and my eyes narrow. Each one has a completely different pattern, but they are still intertwined into a combined set. One pattern sort of resembles the pattern in a whisper charm, but I have no clue what the other one is. It is obviously the spell that was blocking my Psi, but I cannot begin to understand how it works. I have never seen anything remotely like it before. It will take time to unravel its secrets.

“Consider the pattern my gift, an apology of sorts. I'm not associated with Menton or Thug Horde anymore, and I would really prefer not to be your enemy.” Even with his Psi blocker off, I do not feel any hostility or animosity from Darius.

*You understand there is only one reason I'm not killing you, right?* I use a whisper charm to convey my words.

Darius' half-smile appears to be self-mocking. *As long as they live in Emer, I won't allow any harm to come to Nessa or her daughters.*

I attach ropes to Tiara and Alador's collars but do not cut the ropes binding their arms.

“I'm leaving. As long as nothing forces me to return, I don't plan to ever come back to Emer.”

“Brand.”

I look over my shoulder at Darius.

“Good luck. I really mean it.” There is no hint of him lying in his emotions, but that does not count for jack or shit.

As I approach, Vili rises to his feet, and the throne sinks into the ground.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Vili smirks. “I'll buy you some mead when we get back to Mountain View. I hate drinking alone.”

“Before I go back to Mountain View, I have some business with these two.

*** Wilderness South of Emer – The Lands of Despair ***

Return: Day 303

(Brand)

When the sun rises over the eastern horizon, I have already been awake for hours. Vili does not seem to sleep, and he has been observing me since I woke up.

I have been thinking about Emer, Darius, and my two prisoners. For them, it has been something like seventeen years since the day I was murdered. A lot seems to have changed, but exactly how much? I need answers, and at the moment Tiara and Alador are my only sources.

If the are recalcitrant, I do not have the time to thoroughly break them with torture, and I do not want to bring them back to the Battleground of the Damned. I do not know if Woden is interested in acquiring these two as lackeys, but I would rather not provide him with more ready made followers that have a grudge against me.

The guards in Emer tied their arms in a particularly cruel manner. In addition to their wrists, their elbows have been pulled behind their backs. Falling asleep like that must have have been difficult, but both of them were still sleeping before I was. Even sleeping, Tiara is whine and complains.

As Alador wakes up, he looks at Tiara with a disdainful expression. Seeming to become aware of me sitting motionless outside his line of sight, he stiffens and removes any expression from his face. Looking around, he spots me and struggles to a seated position, facing my direction. Not saying a word, he just stares at me.

“Where are the rest of your band of merry backstabbing bitches?”

Alador shrugs. His mind is filled with hostility and stubbornness. “No idea.”

“Have you heard the stories about what I did to Menton the three times I caught him? Or have you seen remains of any of my interrogations in the Southern Empire?”

Even though Alador manages to not show anything in his expression, his skin pales, and fear, with a bit of disgust mixed in, subsumes his other emotions. He was well-primed to be terrified by the mention of my own acts of torture during The Great Fuck Over. Vili had spent the afternoon and evening yesterday telling stories of many rather gruesome tortures that Dvergar had inflicted on some of their enemies in the past.

I glance at Vili, wondering if he planned for this scene. Even though I am certain he is aware of everything that goes on around him, he does not give any reaction or indication that he noticed my looking at him.

Turning my attention back to Alador, I smile. “When was the last time you saw the other Bohemian Cats?”

Alador stubbornly clamps his jaws shut.

“You were one of the ones trapped in the Vasty Mines with me. Remember that orc chieftain, the one that had lured the force your guild was part of into a trap? To make him talk I had to skin him alive. When I was done, I left him hanging over that chasm bridge. He was still alive, when we escaped.”

“I haven't seen any of them in at least fourteen years. I don't know where they are. I haven't even heard about them since returning to the Labyrinth.” Now, Alador is terrified. It is unlikely he is lying. He is not the type to stoically protect his so-called friends. Gabriel was the only Bohemian Cat who would be likely to do that.

“Where were they when you last saw them?”

“After Jet … after Jet killed you, we left the Labyrinth and split off from the mass of the Damned with Roving Massacre. A couple days later we ran into an orc horde. We got separated into smaller groups. I don't know what happened to anyone besides the two of us, Jet, Goldie, and Selestra.” He pauses, as something besides fear slips into his mind. I am not sure what the emotions are, but a crafty look briefly flickers in his eyes.

Tiara wakes up, but she pretends to still be asleep.

“It took me over six hours to skin that orc, but my techniques have improved. I could probably do you in five. I have some drugs that should keep you alive for four or five days after I'm done.”

His dick shrivels up, looking like it is trying to crawl up inside his body cavity. “We joined up with Thug Horde. It was Deathmeister's idea. Some of his guild were with us. Jet had some kind of hero worship for Menton. I never understood it.

“A couple years later, when Menton was moving Thug Horde to Freeport, Darius made a break for it, and we, Tiara and I, went with him. There were maybe three hundred and fifty of us that had had enough of Menton and his sick shit.”

“So, Jonny and Jenny were with Thug Horde. What about Mei?”

Alador visible swallows. “Jet and Goldie sold her to Menton. She was the price to join Thug Horde.”

“What happened to her after that?”

Raw terror floods Alador's mind. “I don't know for sure. She was put in Menton's harem.”

As I start laughing, relief almost causes Alador to fall over.

*** Transition Chamber (South of Mountain View) – The Lands of Despair ***

Return: Day 305

(Brand)

After nearly three decades, the Thug Horde camp below the Transition Chamber has mostly disappeared under the scraggly, unnatural looking brush or rotted away. The only things that are still obvious are the dilapidated slave pens that were built out of tree trunks that were four to six inches in diameter.

High up the mountainside, the doors to the Transition Chamber are set in a tunnel bored into the solid rock. Though, the last time I saw them they were still open, they have been closed at some point. Who did it, and when was it done?

“Please … let me go … I'll do anything … I never did anything … please … please … please...” Tiara has been whining and begging for three days straight now. Her voice is barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Other than winces that he cannot seem to suppress, Alador has been silent since being captured. He seems to know that I have no mercy in me.

Except for the collars on their necks, the ropes binding them, and the bloodstained pieces of canvas I tied around to their feet, Tiara and Alador are still completely naked. Both of them are covered with scrapes, cuts, bruises, and dirt from falling and being dragged until they managed to get back to their feet.

After leaving them tied as they were by the Emer guards for three days straight, their swollen shoulders are a mix of angry red, black, and blue skin. Their hands have already turned black, and by now, the flesh in them must be necrotizing. It is not like it matters; they will be dead before another day dawns.

For the past three days, Vili seems to have been enjoying himself. He has been unceasingly describing the wrongs done to various Dvergar, and the vengeances taken by them. More than just a few times, he has left Alador pale and spurred Tiara from whining into incoherent begging and crying, with his graphic descriptions of various tortures and mutilations.

I knew that in battle the Dvergar could be vicious, bloody killers, but I never knew their history. The majority of Vili's stories were about conflicts with other races, but around a fifth were Dvergar fighting amongst themselves. The Dvergar were made by the Dragons to fight. It seems like without an external enemy, the Dvergar will turn on each other, and those conflicts are the most personal and violent ones.

After I tie Tiara and Alador's lead ropes to a log from one of the slave pens, the pair of them slumps to the ground.

With my bare hands, I start splitting some of the logs from the slave pens and tearing others into splinters.

As Tiara and Alador watch me, their fear steadily grows. Humming to himself, Vili wanders off somewhere.

“Mark, let me go. I'll do anything you want. You can even fuck me. Mark, please! Let me go! Please! I'll let you fuck me if you let me go!”

I dig out two five foot long, three foot wide depressions and build a nice pile of kindling and logs in each one. With spiraling Ki force, I dig holes at each end of the newly made fire pits.

Tiara begging with tears and snot making track though the dried blood and dirt is not exactly something that gives me a hard-on. She struggles into a sitting position, and facing me, she spreads her legs.

“Mark, come here and take me. You can have me! Just let me go! You've never had a woman before! Don't you want to get laid once?”

Crack! Thump.

Alador twists around and manages to kick Tiara in the face. For a more or less normal human, tied up the way he is, that is a moderately impressive feat.

“Shut up, bitch! At least die with a little dignity! Don't go out while begging a cowardly virgin freak like him to spare you!”

As I turn around and stare at Alador, I smile. “So, did you figure out how you're going to die? You think you can provoke me into killing you quickly, but I'm not stupid enough to do that.”

Despite raw terror that must be nearly unmanning him, Alador actually manages to faintly smile. “It was worth a try.”

I give him a golf clap for his effort.

Lying on her side, with her broken, bleeding nose twisted to one side, Tiara stares at me. She does not seem to have figured it out yet.

Vili shows up with the carcass of something resembling a deer. At the start of The Great Fuck Over, we used to just call them deer for convenience. With the leftover logs and kindling from my fire pits, he makes his own fire pit and put the deer on to roast.

Putting logs in the holes, I tamp them down. With other logs, I build spits across the fire pits.

“No! No! No! No! No! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Crack! Thump.

Alador kicks Tiara again to shut her up. She must have figured it out.

Vili grabs Alador by the throat and holds him against one of the spits, while I securely tie him to it. Despite his attempts to struggle, I have no trouble against his pathetic strength.

“Fuck you to hell, Mark McGuinness. I hope you die like this. No, I hope your death is more painful.”

I laugh. “Look at me! I've already been burned alive, but I survived. Do you think you can survive? If you can get out of this pit alive, I won't kill you. I'll let you live. You can be another monster that people like you look at with disgust and derision.”

Alador's dick shrivels up as he stares at me. Some other emotion is mixed in with his terror. I wonder if he, if any of them, ever really thought about how I got these scars.

“No! No! No! No! No!” Since Vili brought Alador over, Tiara has not stopped shrieking the one word over and over. She has already pissed and shit all over herself.

Vili grabs Tiara by the neck, choking off her screams, and holds her against the other spit. Her struggles are even more meaningless than Alador's.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. The Mana flow inside me shifts into the patterns of Smithing.

As I hold my hands in front of my face, tongues of fire spring up over my fingers. I do not fear fire. I do not fear anything, but then, I do not think I am capable feeling fear like a normal human. Even so, I still hate fire. Nothing has ever hurt me as much as fire. Even though the pain of Elan's Umbral spells was greater, that did not hurt me as much as fire.

My breathing is a bit heavy as I light the fire pits beneath Tiara and Alador.

“Fuck you! Damn you to hell, you bastard! Mother fucker! Go die! Burn in hell. Fucking bastard!”

“No! No! No! No! NO! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOO! No! No!”

Their angry screams continue until their voices turn hoarse. Then, they scream some more.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

“AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! FUCK YOU! BASTARD!”

When the pain hits their screams change, the anger and hate in their voices lose to the agony. Tiara does not even last an entire fifteen minutes. Even before she is badly burned, her heart gives out from raw terror.

Alador is tougher. As his flesh burns and his body fat drips into the fire below him, he stubbornly hangs on. Even after he cannot scream any longer, he clings to life, but before it is even fully dark, he joins Tiara in death.

I watch the whole thing and leave their corpses to be consumed by the fires.

Their pain and deaths are meaningless. I really do not feel anything. In the past, I have done a dozen times worse to DokkAlfar, orcs, and humans. I do not feel joy or elation. I do not feel guilt or regret. There is only a hollow emptiness inside of me. This does not come close to satisfying my hunger to do worse to Selestra, The Lady of Gold, and The Lord of Jet.

“The meat is cooked.”

As I turn around, Vili tosses me a leg from the deer. “Eat.”

I sit down with my back against a small boulder. “I feel empty. It wasn't anywhere near as satisfying as I wanted it to be. I would have liked to dump them in the general slave pen in Gor'achen, but they probably would have been able to escape with Woden's reincarnation system.”

Vili scratches his jaw through his beard and looks off toward the west. “Vengeance isn't about satisfaction. If you think that way, you're only gonna warp yourself. In the end, you'll never get any real satisfaction, and you'll become a twisted shadow of yourself. You'll be forever frustrated and never able to move forward.

“Vengeance is about making your enemies die. Making them suffer is just a bonus, but you can't make it the goal. When you set out for vengeance, you set out to kill. Kill cruelly. Kill mercilessly. Kill however you want, but make sure, you kill. You may get some satisfaction, but you can never undo what made you seek vengeance. So, as long as you kill your enemies, you have to call it good and move on.”

Your enemy is cruel to do this to a child, but the pain is not as great as you believe. You have no concept of real pain. Do not let this shape and dominate you. When you meet your enemy, destroy him and move past him. Life implied that my scars were the deliberate work of someone. I thought she said those word in regards to that person, but maybe, she meant it in a broader sense.

My stomach growls. I seem to get hungry torturing people I hate. Not wasting more time thinking about vengeance or the dead, I tear into the hot greasy meat.

*** Mountain Pass in Colorado – Earth ***

December 26, 2065

It was the day after Christmas, and the mountain pass in Western Colorado was in the middle of a blizzard. The thick blowing snow turned the dark night into a white maelstrom. The man behind the wheel of the electric, luxury sedan could not see more than a dozen yards in front of the car.

With this man in the driver's seat, one of the roomiest cars on the market seemed to be tiny and cramped. While solidly muscled, he was more like a lean wolf or a sleek tiger than a massive bear. It was just that the man stood fully seven feet tall in his bare feet, and had shoulders nearly a yard in breadth.

The woman in the passenger seat was only five or six inches shorter than the man. Her body's voluptuous curves were the result of exceptional condition and tone of her sleek, strong muscles giving exquisite shape to her flesh. Her truly huge breasts did not seem out of proportion with height and physique. The only detracting factor to her appearance was her face, but at most, that was merely a matter of taste. Her facial features were too heavy for true beauty. Instead, with her midnight hair and deep green eyes, they gave more the appearance of a sultry, wanton temptress.

The woman looked at the child sleeping in the back seat, her mouth twitching slightly as though she could not decide whether to smile or frown. While tall for his age, the boy was a fat ass. There were kinder ways to describe him, but there were not many that would be more accurate. Only a few days away from the date listed as his eleventh birthday, he already resembled a pear on legs. There was so much fat on him that it completely hid a musculature that would have made many body builders green with envy, but the child was unaware of how extraordinary his muscular development was.

As the boy’s eyes opened, a faint silvery sheen was visible in them.

“What was that? A Psi user here, on Earth?”

The woman spun in her seat, her eyes already glowing with silvery light. Turning her eyes and mind toward the top of the cliff rising above the road, she focused her attention on a man in a black clothing and a cloak that inhibited incoming Psi.

“No! He's a Triune. Fourth, no Fifth Circle of Coalescence.”

“Damn them! How did they find us here?”

Carl! “'Ware the front!”

Carl turned his attention back toward the road, but it was too late. There was nowhere to escape. A huge semi-truck hauling logs swerved into the luxury sedan, driving both vehicles through the guardrail and down the slope nearly steep enough to be a sheer cliff.

“Eliza, shield the Young Lord!”

Looking into the back, Eliza saw the boy staring at her with absolute trust. She had never once seen the slightest hint of fear in that child. His lack of fear was unnatural, but it might be the result of his bloodline.

From both, Carl and Eliza, powerful flows of Trinity reached out. Carl wrapped the car in a bubble of force, and Eliza wrapped the boy in one.

*That is not happening! You are too weak!* The malice filled mental transmission drilled into both of their minds, and the boy's mind, as well.

While Carl and Eliza bled from their eyes, noses, and mouths, they remained conscious. The boy was instantly knocked unconscious.

Immediately following the message, bolts of Trinity slammed into their force bubbles. Feeling like their Minds and Souls were being torn apart, Carl and Eliza tenaciously held on. Until the car slammed into the trees below, they refused to release the force bubbles around the car and the boy.

The impact jarred the boy awake. He was caught up in his seat belt and hanging upside down. Looking around, he saw his Carl's lifeless body was crushed into the driver's seat by a splintered tree trunk. His hands were still gripping the steering wheel. In the passenger's seat, like the boy, Eliza hung upside down from her seat belt. The jaggedly broken end of a tree limb was piercing her stomach, and blood, leaking from her mouth, flowed down her face toward her hair.

“… sorry, Lord … not protect … son …” With a rattling cough, a huge gout of blood flooded out of Eliza's mouth, and she was still.

“Mommy? Daddy?” The boy's mumbled words were filled with pain, and he fell unconscious again.

Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Scritch!

The sounds woke the boy up. He could smell smoke and see the burning log hauler through the shattered back window of the car.

Wavering in the flickering firelight, a dark shadow moved across the white snow. When the shadow stopped, the boy could see a pair of shiny, black, leather boots. Black cloth pants covered the boots down to the ankle, and a black cloak fluttered in the wind.

“So, you still live. With those two guardians gone, that might not be a bad thing. Your blood is pure, and a broken wastrel might prove more valuable than a rotting corpse. I would apologize, but I feel no remorse for the pain you are about to suffer.” The cold, empty voice spoke English with a strange accent.

“AAAAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAA!”

As flames spread across the roof of the overturned car and began to burn the boy, he screamed. Over and over, until he passed out from the pain, the boy kept screaming.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

The pain once again rousing him from unconsciousness, the boy started screaming again. Until blood flowed from his throat, he screamed, and then, he screamed more.

*** Transition Chamber (South of Mountain View) – The Lands of Despair ***

Return: Day 306

(Brand)

Starting into full wakefulness, I look around, panting like an exhausted animal. The world around me is bathed in ruddy light. My back is resting against the same rock I used for a backrest last night. Vili is sitting not far away, carefully observing me.

Taking control over my breathing, I run the memory back and forth through my mind. I know that it is my memory, but until now, I had completely forgotten it. Were Carl and Eliza McGuinness really my parents? The words they spoke were just too … odd. My other memories of them are all too hazy. Since waking up in a hospital after that accident, my memory of them has always been somewhat indistinct.

“Did you do that?”

Vili faintly shrugs. “Most of your memories from that day back are deliberately obfuscated. The most I could do was release that scrap. If you are not careful, it is too easy to damage a Mind. There are mysteries in your Mind and your Body. The Second Father might be angry with me, but what is done is done. If you are going back to that Earth, you should at least be aware that reality is not as you remember.”

A smirk turns up the corners of Vili's lips. “It's time for a few drinks. If you know where to look, Mountain View has some proper beer. Six or eight kegs should be about right for the two of us!”

Planning a Return to Earth

*** Tren'fon Citadel – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 305

Stegnar'shen'fal stared across a huge desk at the Lord-Priest of the Central Fane of Yggr in Tren'fon City. Calanth'ontreth'tar's face was a prideful mask that gave no hints as to what his real thoughts might be. While both DokkAlfar Lord-Priests, Stegnar'shen'fal was relegated to a lower status in the hierarchy of the Central Fane of Yggr.

Calanth'ontreth'tar had the backing of a powerful secular clan that he was able to draw upon for resources and manpower unrelated the Temple of Yggr. That alone gave him a completely different starting point and base of power to draw upon.

After extensive investigations by his agents. Calanth'ontreth'tar remained uncertain as to how Stegnar'shen'fal had risen to his current position. Stegnar'shen'fal was one of the last scions of a nearly exterminated clan. His rise to his current position in the Hierarchy was apparently a testimony to his personal drive and ability. He was known to recruit talented orphans. Being orphans or children born into low clans that were personally taken in by him, most of the Priest-Wizards in Gor'achen had a fanatical loyalty to him. Those that appeared to have had a falling out or an acrimonious relationship with Stegnar'shen'fal had transferred to other Temples.

Exactly how many of those transferred Priest-Wizards were actually on bad terms with him? As Calanth'ontreth'tar stared at Stegnar'shen'fal, he began to feel an unpleasant premonition growing.

“The Tren'fon Citadel has no Lord-Priest. The Temples of the Church of the Jotun Lords in the Citadel have been under the jurisdiction of the ranking priests in Tren'fon City since time immemorial!” Calanth'ontreth'tar glared at Stegnar'shen'fal.

With supercilious smirk, Stegnar'shen'fal pointed at the crystal projector sitting on the desk. “Do you doubt the words of the Council of Hierarchs? This a decision that has been made in response to the Greatest God acknowledging the acquisition of Gor'achen Citadel by the so-called Smith God. If you want to complain, complain to the Council.”

“I do not what games you played, or how you manipulated the council, but I will not stand by and watch. We shall how long your coup stands after I appeal to the Hierarchs. Once, I am done, I will see you on the main alter communing with the Greatest God!” Calanth'ontreth'tar's voice was so cold, it was surprising that frost did not form in the air.

“Emer.”

How much does he know? Even though Stegnar'shen'fal dropped the name in an off-handed manner, Calanth'ontreth'tar was surprised. He had been secretly trading with the Possessed humans ruling over the burgeoning town for a number of years.

In the See of Tren'fon, the three branches of the Temple of Yggr had very seldom been at each other's throats in the way they often were in other Sees. Such would only occur if the leadership of the Central Fane was weak or careless. Calanth'ontreth'tar had long been aware of the discord building between the three branches in Gor'achen and other Sees. Using the communications devices made by the humans, the control and coordination of the Central Fane Guard under his control had improved dramatically. Seeing the effectiveness of the communications devices, both Lord-Priests of the Left Hand and Right Hand Orders had been brought further under his sway.

The technology he acquired was not exactly a secret in the Church of the Jotun Lords, but his source was. Due to the limited number of units available, Calanth'ontreth'tar had been using their supply as a method of securing influence outside the See of Tren'fon.

Could Stegnar'shen'fal have secretly used the discontent of Hierarchs that I have lack influence with to undermine me? Calanth'ontreth'tar stared coldly at Stegnar'shen'fal, while he considered which Hierarchs might have been manipulated by the upstart in front of him.

In the eyes of Calanth'ontreth'tar, the Church of the Jotun Lords, once again, needed to have an Emperor-Priest that would rule over all the Temples of the various Gods. Such a thing had not happened since the time of the Jotun-Dragon War when all needed to unite against the threat of the heretical Dragons. The best candidate for that position was, of course, himself.

Now, this upstart was interfering with his plans.

“I believe that is what the Possessed animals call their town. It is near that heretical abomination called Mountain View. What does it have to do with anything?”

Stegnar'shen'fal smiled. “Then, you won't get in my way, when I conquer the town and enslave the Possessed?”

Despite his iron self-control, Calanth'ontreth'tar could not keep the fury from showing in his eyes. “Do what you will. It has nothing to do with me.”

Stegnar'shen'fal's smile broadened. “Farewell, for now, Priest-Lord Calanth'ontreth'tar. I assure you, we will meet again.”

As the door closed behind Stegnar'shen'fal, Calanth'ontreth'tar slapped a crystal mounted in the corner of his desk, and wards sprang up around his office.

“Damn that meddling bastard son of a dog of no Provenance!” Calanth'ontreth'tar's hands began to shake, and his lips pulled back in a death's-head rictus.

After regaining control of his temper, Calanth'ontreth'tar tapped a crystal in a metal box with several dozen crystals.

A short time later, the same crystal lit up, and a sepulchral voice sounded from the box. The voice belonged to the Priest-Lord of the Tren'fon See's Left Hand Order. “Priest-Lord, is there something you need done?”

“With the loss of Gor'achen, Stegnar'shen'fal has managed to be reassigned to the position of Priest-Lord of Tren'fon Citadel. The Citadel will become a separate See from the Tren'fon See. In order, to show his effectiveness, he plans to conquer the Possessed in the Lands of Despair, starting with Emer. I need you to draw up plans to deal with him.”

There was a long pause. “If we are caught, there will be extensive repercussions.”

Calanth'ontreth'tar inwardly sighed. “Emer is a source of valuable resources for me. If it is lost, both our positions will be weakened.”

As a period of silence stretched out, Calanth'ontreth'tar stared out the window of his office. From his complacent expression, few observers would even consider that he might be under any pressure.

“A former Priest-Wizard from Gor'achen, who is supposedly hostile to Stegnar'shen'fal, has been appointed to the Priest-Lord of the Left Hand Order in Tren'fon Citadel. I will deal with all matters relating to Tren'fon Citadel. Make sure the Priest-Lord of the Right Hand Order knows to not interfere with me.” As the voice finished speaking, the light faded from the crystal.

Calanth'ontreth'tar smiled a very faint smile.

*** Mountain View – The Lands of Despair ***

Return: Day 308

(Brand)

*Tell Vili, if he does not disable his Spirit damping sigil, I will disable it! Return to my workshop!*

Even though he has never contacted me in this manner, there is not question in my mind who the message is from.

“Boran said to disable your Spirit damping sigil or he will.”

With a slightly mad gleam in his eyes, Vili laughs. After two days straight of heavy drinking, he does not show the slightest hint of having consumed any alcohol.

“You need to learn to hold your liquor. You're only allowed one piss per keg. If you can't do that, you can't hold your not a proper Dvergar.”

The fucked up thing is that I am not showing any more signs of drinking for two days than Vili. I just need to piss a dozen time per keg. After being ragged on for pissing too much for almost two straight days, I am ready for any excuse to stop drinking.

“I'm not proper fucking Dvergar; I'm a fucking human.”

As we walk out of the inn, Vili turns his head slightly to look up at me. “You're soul has a trace of Dvergar in your pattern. Any Dvergar at all means that you have to do the Dvergar race proud.”

Wincing, Vili abruptly snaps his head around to look in the direction of Boran's sanctuary. As he rubs his head, he mutters something I do not understand under his breath.

After being around Vili for the past five days, I have the impression that he is the class comedian and A Number One troublemaker among the Dvergar. Once we started drinking, everything he bragged about was either a fight, a scheme, or a scam, and the way he described each episode had me committing alcohol abuse, if I did not take care about when I drank. At least, he seems to that way, when he can cut loose. He is probably a different person in the middle of a battle or commanding Dvergar in a War.

Walking through the streets of Mountain View, Vili draws as much attention as when we arrived two days ago. Nearly everyone that sees him bows to Vili. Just like before, the emotion strongest in their minds is what I believe is respect or possibly awe. I have not clearly identified the characteristics of those two emotions, yet.

What struck me most about the ordinary people of Mountain View, when I left Boran's sanctuary a week ago was the distinct lack of hate, anger, and fear among them. Instead, even from the children, I get a feeling that I can only call weariness. The people of Mountain View remind me of a group of old people that used to play chess in the park near my university on Earth. No matter if they are old or young, they all feel like they are waiting for death.

There are exceptions to the norm scattered around, but the majority of those are obviously not residents of Mountain View. While Mountain View is a center of trade for this zone in the Lands of Despair, most of the traders and other visitors stay in the mercantile districts near the gates. If they wander around the city, they stand out. Their discomfort is palpable.

I do not feel any particular discomfort being in Mountain View, but I do have the distinct impression that is not yet my time to be here.

As we pass through the school and temple district surrounding Boran's sanctuary, doors and window shutters crack open. Even though nothing can be seen in the darkness inside the buildings, there is the heavy pressure of their eyes following us. Vili does not appear to take any notice of them, but I am ready to lash out at anything that comes close. The weight of those hidden stares is like having mountains pressing down on my shoulders.

“The lost and forgotten False Gods are restless this morning. Old, dead things, whose time and place are dead and gone, shouldn't bother the living. You never know when one of the living that is irritated will rise up to be a slayer of annoying, old, dead things.” Vili's clear words echo from the surrounding buildings.

The pressure of the hidden eyes recedes. The doors and window shutters close. Vili looks around with an expression of blatant contempt but does not say anything else.

I wait until we enter the sanctuary before voicing my question. “What were they?”

Vili frowns. “Beings that rose to the point of taking on Names. They became False Gods, but eventually, they were defeated and fell. As Transcendent beings, they won't die natural deaths, and now, they just sit here, hiding, wasting away. They're cowards, the lot of them.”

After the limited explanation, Vili does not say anything else. He seems to be brooding about something, as we enter the caves beneath the Death part of the sanctuary.

After passing the room with the statues of Life and Death, we descend deep beneath the surface. At a guess, our destination is only at a depth of a mile or a mile and a half, but the twisting and turning path we walk is more than ten miles long. Dozens upon dozens of other tunnels branch off from the main one that Vili leads me down. Without his guidance, I am not sure I would remember the way. When I left, Boran sent a small ball of luminescence to lead me out. Now, even though I have had an exceptionally good memory since returning to me real body, I, still, find myself confused as to which exit to take from a few of the larger caverns along the way.

As we enter the cavern where Boran's forge is located, I am startled by a ball of pure Od floating over a workbench. It is not terribly large, only around five to six feet in diameter and looks like a miniature version of the Furnace of Life and Death that powers the Labyrinth of Yggr. Like the Furnace, this ball of Od is in the shape of a taiji, a yin-yang symbol. Despite its small size, the intensity of the Power in it shakes me to the core.

Boran glance at me over his shoulder, a mortal action that he has no need of making. “I had expected you to take a few more minutes to arrive. One should be neither early nor late. Always seizing the perfect moment is a key to success in battle.”

“I welcome the Second Father's wisdom.” Vili has the faintest of smirks on his face.

I do not think Boran's comment is in relation to the timing of our presence in his workshop, but I get the impression that it is some long standing issue with Vili.

“Come here, Brand. Since someone is meddling where he should not, you have an opportunity that would not otherwise be available.”

As I move toward Boran, the magnitude of the Od beating against me reaches the point where it becomes painful. By the time I reach Boran's side, I feel like my body is on the verge being torn apart.

“This much Od will not damage you. It will only be mildly painful.”

Mildly painful? I do not think that Boran and I have the same definition of painful. In my life, I have only been subject to a few things more painful. Being burned alive barely qualifies as one of them. After ten or fifteen minutes, the intensity of the pain considerably decreases.

Boran snorts, and the ball of Od disappears. With the Od gone, two swords are visible. Floating unsupported in the air, they are both bastard swords, but instead of being a matched set, they are mirrored pair.

“Take them.”

I do not hesitate and reach out my hands to grasp the the hilts of the blades. The latent power in these swords is immediately apparent, both Od and Trinity, pure Trinity, not the divided parts.

One has a black blade with silver edges, and the other has a silver blade with black edges. The guards are made from a dark blue-green metal. Looking at the guards from the point or hilt, they would appear to have an S-shape, with the blade impaling the middle of the S. The silver blade has the S in the normal orientation and the black has it in reverse. The furniture on the hilts appears to have been carved from ivory for the silver blade and obsidian for the black one. The pommels of both blades are discs about an inch in diameter. In the center of both discs is another taiji symbol, but no matter how I move the blades, the taiji always retains the same orientation in relation to my point of view.

“These blades are not complete. The final form of their patterns will be set by you, but you will have no ability to deliberately direct that form. There will come a day when these blades pass to another. I will have an axe ready for you at that time.”

A pair of scabbards appears in Boran's hands. After slipping the blades into their scabbards, I secure them to my harness.

Boran stares at Vili. “Since you are sticking your nose in this matter, you may accompany Brand. Thrall almost has the airship ready. Guide Brand through the Lands of Despair and take him to South Watch. You will take up the post of watcher with Vey at South Watch.”

Vili's blatantly smirk turns into a frown. “As the Second Father commands.”

Boran sighs. “You cannot go to Earth. If you were to do so, you would die. Yggdrasil's primary drive is awake and active.”

Boran looks at me. “The Yggdrasil's primary drive has a consciousness of sorts. It cannot be called a true sentience, but it is still highly intelligent. Nidhoggr programmed it to see Dvergar, Alfar, and the little worms as enemies. Were those of us made by Nidhoggr's hands as Transcendent beings to approach, the drive would destroy us. You are merely human, and humans were beneath Nidhoggr's notice. The drive's consciousness will not see you as a threat or an enemy. This will allow you to get close enough to contain it.”

“You said this drive is what Woden used to drag Earth into the Battleground of the Damned. If it can do that and destroy you, how the fuck am I supposed to contain it?”

Boran raises his hand, and two items appear on his open palm. After he hand them to me, I examine them. One looks like a compass. It has a disc, but there are no N, S, E, or W markings on it. Instead, there is an engraved formation, with an arrow as part of the formation. The second item is a box, inlaid with patterns that remind of the cube in North Dakota.

“You use the compass by injecting Od into it. When you are close enough, certainly no further than ten miles away, and possibly no further than five or so, the detector will point in the general direction of the drive. The closer you are, the more exact the direction will be. There is almost no chance that Woden is aware of the methodology behind that formation, so the likelihood of him having any wards in place that can block it is negligible.

“As for the box, it is a containment device, crafted with the Power of Life and Death. Just touching it to the drive will be enough to contain it. I have spent thousands of years preparing that containment device. I do not think it can fail.”

I laugh morbidly. “‘Do not think’ is not so encouraging of an endorsement.”

Boran stares at me. “Nothing is absolute, nothing.”

Without even a gesture or a command, Boran brings up an image of Taereun. Zooming in on the southern end of the continent that would be South America on Earth. The exact point is a few hundred miles to the west of the Labyrinth of Yggr. There is a tall mountain, probably fifteen to twenty thousand feet tall, with fortifications built at various places on its slopes. In the valley below the mountain, there is a small seaport town, and sheep ranches away from the coast.

The mountain fortifications look like Dvergar work, but the town is clearly human built and occupied by humans. As Boran zooms in even closer on the town, I see a few faces I recognize. They are former players of Taereun, members of the Damned.

“The continent is most commonly called Sudnel. The mountain would be called South Watch in the tongue you are using. The town is named Refuge. There are old friends of yours waiting for you in that town. At my request, some of them will aid you. Once you gather them and any others you feel will be of aid to you, go to Bogwater.”

I am ambivalent about getting any help from Refuge. To be charitable, most of the players rubbed me the wrong way. To be blunt, I dislike most of them, and as for most of the rest, I hate their fucking guts. Boran probably has his reasons for wanting me to bring them, but I do not exactly like it.

“Why go to Bogwater?”

“Slan'laad will direct you to a dimensional gate to Earth.”

I am so shocked that I cannot keep the surprise off my face. “You know the frog?”

Boran smiles faintly. “The frog a somewhat apt description, but toad might be more accurate. It would certainly anger Slan'laad more than calling him a frog. I have been aware that pathetic Daemon for thousands of years. He is a creature of Chaos but is too weak to be any real danger. I let him live, and he uses the bit of Chaos he can still control to do things that I cannot do with my own Power at times. I do not trust him.”

Since the frog is apparently some kind of Chaos Daemon, I probably should not be surprised that Boran knows about him. I never liked the frog. The first time I met him, when I still thought the Battleground of the Damned was just part of a game, he pissed me off. Every time I have had to deal with him since then, he has pissed me off. Maybe, I will get lucky, and the frog will give me another excuse to hurt him, though I do not really need an excuse. If I feel like it, I will give a little more pain to remember me by.

As Boran reaches toward the workbench in front of us, what looks like a crystal projection array appears in his hand. He places it on the workbench and turns it on.

A hologram style image appears in the air over the projector. The image shows a city on an island. The island itself is a mountain rising from the sea. I cannot make an accurate estimate of the island's size from the hologram, but I would say it is at least ten times the size of Tallifer Island. Assuming that diameter, its peak must be at least thirty thousand feet tall. Numerous plateaus rising up the mountain are under cultivation or have herds of sheep and cattle grazing on them.

The city is built with gleaming white stone that shines brilliantly under a noon sun. The entire length of the island's shore is walled, and there is a second wall surrounding the city itself. The imposing buildings and soaring towers give it an air of majesty.

“That is Vallhol, a city once belonging to followers of the Jotun Lords. Now it is occupied by DokkAlfar loyal to Woden.”

The focal point of the image shifts out to see, and I cannot suppress my shock and surprise.

“Fuck me sideways! How the fuck did those ships get there?”

There is a fleet of ships at anchor. I recognize three of the ships from my high school history class lectures on The Evils of White America. They are the Iowa, the New Jersey, and the Gerald R. Ford, two battleships and an aircraft carrier from twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.

As the focal point shifts again, a massive arch becomes visible. It looks the same as the teleport gates in the waters surrounding Tallifer Island. I cannot tell what the scale is, but it appears to be at least big enough to allow the passage of those ships.

Boran frowns. “The weapons of your world become less and less effective the higher an enemy has Coalesced their Power. Against anyone beyond the Fifth Circle of Coalescence, those ships will be useless, but most of the inhabitants of the various regions the Jotun Lords have created inside of Yggdrasil are below the Fifth Circle.”

I look at Boran. “I don't get it. If the ships are useless again the other Jotun, why would he bring them here?”

Boran is silent for a few moments. “What do you know about the power of Faith?”

Faith? It is an old term that is usually associated with religions and gods. It generally refers to the belief of the god's worshipers. Belief, I remember what Roderick said, when took me on as an apprentice.

Smiths are Makers. Your pattern being stronger means what you Make is stronger. Refining more Power is the fastest way to strengthen your pattern, but it has some pretty severe limits. Once you reach those limits, stories and legends are the best way to make your pattern grow.

Have you ever wondered why Named and Legendary items have so much Power? Everything in the universe is made of patterns. Just as patterns can be damaged and destroyed, they can grow. The knowledge and belief of others have in you, even if they just think of you as a story, will strengthen your pattern. It is not much for a single person, but when it becomes millions or hundreds of millions, the universe itself will help your pattern to grow. Every deed, for good or ill, that becomes known will strengthen your place in the Great Pattern. The more who know of you, the stronger your pattern becomes.

I don't adventure, anymore. I did in my youth, but now I'm settled in my Smithy. I've reached the limits of refining Power, and the weapons and armor I create do not spread my fame fast enough.

You are different. You're already steeped in blood, and I'm sure your infamy will become beyond legend. If I train you and you make it known that I am your teacher, I will become a part of your story. That may spread my fame faster than anything. I'll grow stronger, simply from being your teacher.

Because Roderick thought the belief of others in me would strengthen him, he was interested in becoming known as my teacher. Would that same thing apply to a False God? I suppose that the belief of the False God's worshipers would strengthen the False God in the same way that Roderick expected to gain strength.

No, it would probably be more effective. People with religious beliefs are nothing short of complete fucking nut-jobs. I do not really follow Roderick's belief in the Great Pattern, but with the insanity of religious believers, they might just be redirecting huge amounts of Power to the False Gods they follow.

“Woden is going after the believers of other False Gods, not the False Gods themselves. He wants to subvert their followers and steal the Power that the believers channel toward the False Gods.”

With a faint smile, Boran nods. “Now you should understand that danger that fleet and other weapons taken from your Earth pose.”

“Can Woden really succeed?”

Boran shrugs. “Only time will tell. The Names that he has taken on as his aspects are Conquest and Subterfuge. If any of the False Gods is equipped to succeed in such an endeavor, it would be Woden.

“He has already started numerous wars, and with that fleet, he will certainly start more. It is possible those wars could impede you in your quest. Be wary.”

I laugh. It is a nasty sound with no humor in it. Other than stealing the Yggdrasil’s drive, messing up some of Woden's war plans might be the only way I can fuck that bastard over for a long time to come. If I can throw a wrench or three in his works along the way, I will not hesitate to do it.

“Is there anything else?”

Boran frowns, and the sword with the broken pattern, made from Elemental metal, appears in his hand. He hands it to me hilt first, and I take it.

“This weapon has ties to your past; the past that someone should not have unlocked.” Boran turns his stare on Vili, and Vili’s face pales, as he presents a sheepish grin.

“Why?” My tone is challenging.

“If you pursue your past now, you will die. You are too weak. If you were a Triune at the Third Circle of Coalescence, you might survive, but it would only be by pure luck. Before you have reached the Fifth Circle, you should not pursue that memory or this blade.”

Boran probably means well, but his admonishment does not sit well with me.

“So, can you send me back to Gor'achen?”

As if I have thrown him a life preserver in a storm, Vili brightens. “I'll take you. Let's go.”

He moves away from the forge area, into the empty part of the cavern, and stops after about fifty yards. As he begins drawing a spell pattern, the Power that he uses to draw it is odd. There is a mix of silvery-grey Power and a Power that seems to absorb all light. I suppose it could be called black, but it is really the absence of any emitted or reflected light or color. It is a Power that I have never encountered before.

Despite the extreme complexity of the pattern, Vili expounds on what he is doing. “In some ways, I'm one of the densest, most un-Dvergarish of Dvergar, but in other ways, I’m an absolute genius. Dvergar like Grimnir and the Second Father are absolute monsters that have enormous talent in all six of the Prime Elements: Air, Earth, Fire, Water, Spirit, and Void. Me, I'm extremely talented in Fire, very talented in Earth, and dismal in Earth and Air. But there is another side to my Talent. I'm a freakish god when it comes to Spirit and Void, especially Void.

“You can use any of the Prime Elements to rip open a dimensional gate, but none of the others compare to Spirit and Void. If…”

“If you were so talented, you would have already finished that gate. You need to practice more and not rest on the supposed laurels of your supposed talent.”

*No Dvergar is ever good enough to meet his standards. Ole Grampa Grimnir tells me he was like that billions of years before Nidhoggr launched his expedition into the Primals.*

“Vili!”

Vili smirks and snaps his fingers. A ragged tear opens in midair, and my ritual chamber is on the other side of the tear.

“Time to go! Second Father, I'll take good care of everything! Farewell! See you later!”

Vili practically drags me through the rift, and with another snap of his fingers, it closes behind us. As the rift disappears, I see Boran staring at me with an unreadable expression.

*** Gor'achen – The Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 308

(Brand)

With Vili following, I leave the ritual chamber. The wards I activated at the entry to my personal area are still active. With Thrall having left and taken over the City Lord's Castle, what was once his area behind the Blood Rose Stable is now mine.

Vili inspect the forge and then harrumphs. “This is pretty close to a top quality forge for a mortal to have.”

“I inherited it from Thrall.”

While frowning, Vili shakes his head. “That stubborn bastard never took the steps to become an true Elemental Maker. He's still stuck in a limbo between mortal and Elemental.”

I do not understand what Vili means. Since he seems to be more talking to himself than to me, I do not question him and let it pass.

After I disable the wards, Vili follows me down the passage to the section of the Blood Rose Stable that is still in use. From the smirk on his face, I have the feeling he is going to go off looking for trouble, but that is not my problem. Thrall can deal with anything that arises from Vili's rowdiness.

One of Elan'fer'sha's slave girls is sitting on the steps leading up to the living quarters for the stable owner. As soon as she sees me, she stops nervously twisting her hair and quickly rises to her feet. I do not remember her name. She is nothing but another slave of the DokkAlfar, so her name does not matter.

As the slave girls starts to open her mouth, confusion and fear fill her mind. Instead of saying anything, she just stands there with her mouth halfway open.

The slave girls dithering has annoyed me. The tone of my voice is cold. “What do you want?”

Her face turning ghostly pale, the slave girl drops to her knees in front of me. With her head pressed tightly against stone the floor, her gasping voice is a bit muffled. “Master, this slave girl begs forgiveness. Mistress has commanded this slave to bring Master to her.”

With the level my hearing has reached, I have no problem hearing the girls words. As she hurriedly spits our her appeal, I, also, hear her teeth chattering. The girl is caught between a rock and hard place. Her Mistress, Elan, ordered her to give a command to one who is no longer a slave, me.

I look at Vili. “This could take a while. Elan is a DokkAlfar Wytch. She overused the Umbra and was having problems dealing with the backlash.”

Vili's amused smirk returns. “I'm going to out and see if I can find something better than orc piss to drink. I'm not expecting much. DokkAlfar don't know good booze from bad.”

Hopefully, no one in the stable will be stupid enough to fuck with Vili. As for anyone outside the stable, I am just sorry I will miss the show, when Vili fucks them up.

The kneeling slave girl is still trembling. She does not know if she will live or die. She knows that I am a gladiator. I am someone who kills to live. Most gladiators love the killing; they love the feeling of power it brings to their existence. I understand that feeling. Killing a strong enemy is a visceral pleasure that does not pale compared to much beside fucking, but killing a pathetic slave like her is only boring.

I watch the girl for a moment or two, letting her wallow in her fear. Pathetic does not begin to describe her. “Get up.”

The girl rises to her feet but keeps her eyes on the ground.

“Where is Elan?”

Confusion seems to flicker though the girls mind for a few second. “The Mistress is in he chambers.”

The slave girl is blocking the stairs. As I casually shove her out of my way, her mind is flooded with terror. After stumbling a dozen feet to the side, she prostrates herself face down on the floor. If I had put any effort into the shove, the slave would have been injured, possibly severely. I did not realize how weak normal humans have become in relation to my current level of strength.

Ignoring the slave girl, I ascend the stairs. The guards at the gate to the stable owner living quarters hurriedly open the gate, and I enter.

It only takes a minute to reach Elan'fer'sha's suite. Before I have the chance to grasp the door handle, Elan has already pulled the door open. At the sight of her, my heart seems to skip a beat, and my dick gets hard.

Elan is naked, naked in a way I have never seen her before. For all the times I have seen without clothing, I have never seen her without the tattooed black patterns that are the visible marks from her Power Channels. The tattoos are gone, and all of her piercings are gone. I have never seen her looking so naked and exposed as she does now.

Her silver hair is loose, hanging down her back to the floor. As my eyes travel up and down her body, for the first time, I see her snowy white skin in all its unblemished glory. From between her legs, a few wisps of downy silver hair peek out. With the exception of her eyes the color of golden honey, the only contrast to the expanse of silver and white are her pale pink nipples and lips.

As we stand on either side of the threshold staring at one another, it feels like an eternity passes, but it cannot be more than a few minutes. Despite Elan's natural Psi defenses, I still feel her emotions somewhat. Lust and nervousness vie, with each seeming to seek dominance over the other. There are other fainter emotions that I cannot identify, but they are only background clutter to the lust and nervousness.

Whether my Psi is stronger or there is something else allowing me to more clearly read Elan's emotions, I cannot say, but it does not matter. The only thing that matters is that she is here.

Reaching out, I grasp Elan by her upper arms and draw her to me. As our lips meet, her mouth opens, and our tongues hungrily thrust and twine together. She struggles to get her arms around me, but until I release them, she cannot budge them from where I have them pinned. As I release Elan's upper arms and grab her ass, Elan moans and wraps her arms around my neck, clinging tightly to me.

The sweet clean taste of Elan's mouth is like nothing I have ever encountered before. There was always more than a hint of corruption in her before. That corruption only made her more arousing, but the way she is now has my dick harder than it has never. It feels like my dick is trying to punch a hole through my loincloth and pteruges.

As I open my eyes, Elan opens hers. I feel her lips smile, as our tongues continue to struggle with and caress one another. She is different. It is more than jut the Power Channels being gone. Something else has changed.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. As the flow of my Mana changes, I imprint the spell for pattern sight onto my left eye.

In shock, I grab Elan by her slender chest and pull her away from me. Holding her in the air, at arms length, I inspect her again.

Elan's body is filled with Od. There are dozens of incredibly intricate patterns spread throughout her patterns. These patterns are mostly crafted from Dark Od, with some threads of Light Od mixed in. No, they are not multiple patterns, or maybe they are. All of the possibly discrete spell patterns are interlinked and form an insanely complex sigil. Trying to understand the sigil is physically painful.

I am not sure how long I stare at Elan, with my mouth hanging open. She does not do or say anything for time. While softly caressing my arm, she looks at me with a smile.

When Elan finally speaks, her voice is sultry and provocative. “You look like you're hiding a lance in your pteruges. Why don't you put me down and impale me with it.”

“How? Thrall?” For one of the few times in my life, I find myself unable to form my questions into coherent sentences.

Elan's smile disappears, and she traps her lower lip under her uppers. For several long moments, she seems to struggle with something internally. “I do not believe the has the Power to do this. A Dvergar came to me. He is a monster that destroys Gods. He told me that he came for you. For you, he blocked my Umbral Corruption. He has given me ten years to Transcend to the next level, and extend my life further. As long as I never use the Umbra again, his protection will contain the corruption.”

Elan stops speaking for a few moments and stares at the floor. A tremor runs through her body. “How do you know that monster? Why would he be interested in a human?”

I sigh and put Elan down. “That's a long story, and I'm more interested in impaling you than talking about my past right now.”

Before I even get out of my weapons harness, Elan strips off my pteruges and loincloth and starts sucking my dick. We do not make it much past the door and fuck right there for the first four or five times we cum.

Slaves pass by as they carry out their duties, but neither of us cares. Who would pay any attention if their dog watched them fucking?

*** Gor'achen – The Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 310

(Brand)

After I leave Elan'fer'sha's chambers, I check the clock in her office. It is just after the fifth hour of the DokkAlfar day. Both the DokkAlfar divide the day into ten hours. Each hour is divided into ten segments called hundredths. Each hundredth is divided into ten segments called thousandths, and so on. I supposed they can keep dividing the day into smaller and smaller base ten units, but practically the ten thousandth is the smallest unit commonly used.

After fucking for more than thirty-six hours, I let Elan'fer'sha fall into an exhausted sleep and passed out for a few hours. If it was not for being a Ki user and having a high level of control over my body, feet like fucking for thirty-six hours would be an impossibility. It is good to be a Ki user.

After waking up and taking a quick bath, I am ready to start dealing with the preparation to go to Earth.

I am not looking forward to going back to Earth. If it was not for the Yggdrasil's primary drive being there, I would never return. The planet is a shithole, and I want nothing more to do with it.

Kanchek is waiting for me at the gate leading to the gladiator housing and training areas. His eyes are guarded as he appraises me. He seems to take particular not of the hilts of my scabbarded bastard swords but does not make any comment about them.

Kanchek strikes his chest with his closed right fist in salute. “Master.”

It feels odd being called “Master” by a DokkAlfar, but after the raid on Castle Vardne'tar, I seem to have become cemented in the status of a Master in their eyes. My close connections with Thrall almost certainly have something to do with it.

I nod. “Kanchek, you were waiting for me?”

“Yes, Master. The Smith God has sent a messenger. He wants you to meet him at the military airship docks on the Fifth Level at the seventh tenth. The messenger had a typical staff officer attitude. I told him I would pass on the message and kicked him out.”

I keep my smile to myself. Most of the guards Elan'fer'sha collected in the Blood Rose Stable are former military. Like most of them, coming from the lowest social strata of DokkAlfar society, Kanchek tried to rise through the Legions, but as they do with all DokkAlfar of no Provenance, the clans made sure to keep him down. He has a general dislike for the military, and a decided hatred for officers and DokkAlfar belonging to a clan.

“Do you have any experience with airships?”

Kanchek seems a little bit surprised. “No. Valcrit served as a marine on airships, but no other guards have any experience.”

“We'll leave for the docks at six-five. You're coming. Tell Valcrit he's coming, too.” Six-five is six tenths and five hundredths, the equivalent of half past the sixth hour.

Kanchek salutes, again. “Yes, Master.”

Heading into the gladiator sections, I look for the Throd'nahk. The gladiators are already training. Even after being freed, most of the gladiators that joined with me when Elan was taken by Aluras'bektsh'tar stayed on as gladiators or trainers. They did not become Throd'nahk; a stable has only one Throd'nahk.

The mess hall is empty. The gladiators are already out in the arena for training. After I load a platter with food and grab a mug of tea, I head toward the arena.

“Look well, trash. These are REAL MEN! These are WARRIORS! THESE ARE GLADIATORS!” The Throd'nahk's voice echos down the tunnel.

“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”

“You trash all think you are the equal of real men? Ha! Compared to you trash, orc whores are of more worth. You are not fit to lick the sweat from the balls of Gladiators!”

The Throd'nahk must have a new batch of slaves. He certainly loves to use the same lines over and over again.

I chuckle at the memory of my first day in the Blood Rose Stable. That was a great day. I had a great time crippling Cletus and crushing the twisted faggot's balls.

As I leave the tunnel and lean against the arena wall, the Throd'nahk glances at me but turns his attention right back to his new victims. He has a big batch to work with. There are over thirty pieces of new meat. The veteran gladiators are lined up facing the new meat, but the new meat are too stupid to realize that they are looking at some of the finest killers in Gor'achen Citadel.

I juggle my platter an mug, while stuffing my face.

“Each of you will be given the chance to challenge one of these Gladiators! It does not matter which one you choose; you will all lose.”

The Throd'nahk points to the biggest slave of the bunch. “You first.”

Standing well over seven feet tall, the slave is a mountain of muscle, but he has a crafty look in his eyes. Trying to not be obvious, the muscle head checks me out before looking at the other gladiators. With the exception of Tyrend and a few others, my build is decidedly on the small side for a gladiator of Blood Rose Stable. Most of them are mountains of muscle that rival that new meat moron.

“I can pick anyone I want right?” The muscle head is not slick enough to keep the crafty look out of his eyes.

The Throd'nahk narrows his eyes. He is at the very least irritated. “Did I not say that? Are you an idiot or just stupid?”

The muscle head does not show any sign of fear. He does not seem stupid enough to be unable to recognize the Throd'nahk's irritation. He has to be a complete imbecile, who thinks he is some kind of genius or monster.

The muscle head points at me. “That ugly fuck over there stuffing his face.”

The muscle head should be able to see that I am not wearing a collar, but then half of the veteran gladiators are not wearing collars. Even though, I am a runt compared to most of the gladiators, I am at the point where I am more or less more heavily built than most of them. Considering what I think is complaisance and satisfaction radiating from him, the muscle head probably figures I am an easy mark for a genius or monster like him.

When the Throd'nahk looks at me, I shrug, and he smiles.

Tyrend, who has become a trainer under the Throd'nahk, laughs. “First execution, an imbecile aspiring orc's bitch versus the Champion of Gor'achen.”

The muscle head stares at me. His face reflects the shock and surprise flowing out of his mind like a raging river.

“Choose you weapons!”

At the Throd'nahk's command, the muscle head goes and picks a two-handed maul as long as he is tall from the racks of practice weapons.

I walk over to Tyrend and hand him my mug. “Hold my tea.”

“What about your food?”

I snort. “If I can't beat that faggot while eating breakfast, I'll go commit suicide.”

The muscle head glares at me, and I smile back at him.

I hold up my fork. “Worst case, I'll pretend I'm Cletus and fork him to death!”

Tyrend spews the tea he was drinking from my mug, and I slip through the Shadow of the Od to avoid the spray.

More than a few of the veteran gladiators are laughing.

“You can have that mug. I don't want it back.”

Feeling a wave of hate, I look at the muscle head and smile. “Make your move. It won't matter. You're just going to fall to the ground, hugging your ruptured testicles.”

“FUCK YOU!”

The muscle head charges, holding the maul for an overhead swing. When he attacks, I step inside his swing and kick him in the balls.

“Erp!” The muscle head grabs his balls and crumples to his knees.

“Moron's got nards.”

I look around the arena. Everyone is staring at me in slack-jawed silence. I can feel the shock, surprise, and disbelief inundating me. Disbelief, that is one more emotion that I have figured out how to identify.

The veterans have never seen me move that fast. The new meat may have never seen anyone move that fast. While fighting the SvartAlfar, I figured out a few things. It took a bit of experimentation to get it to get the hang of it, but once I got the kinks worked out, my speed increased a bit. Without increasing the amount of raw Power my body can handle, there is probably no way to move faster than I can, now.

“Soooooo, who here knows anything about airships?”

Sado raises his hand. “I used to be an air sailor before my ship was taken by one of the Masters' pirate ships.”

Sado does not have a collar on his neck any longer. He was one of the gladiators that went into Castle Vardne'tar with me. I suppose, after wearing a DokkAlfar slave collar for enough years, he was conditioned into calling them Masters. It must hard for someone like him to break the habit.

Sado is about 6'6” tall, and his build is moderate among the monsters of the Gor'achen gladiatorial arena. He was one of the gladiators that the Throd'nahk took on as an assistant trainer.

“Anyone else?”

No one responds.

“Be at the main gate at six-five. Tyrend you come too.”

I can feel Od in Elan'fer'sha's study. She must have been watching through the illusion-masked window. I wonder if others can sense that web of Od in her, or if the only reason I can is because I am Chosen by the Od.

I head for Elan's study. She should want to come with me.

* * * * *

From the entry to the tunnel leading to the airship docks, I stare at the general slave pen for the male slaves. All that I can really see is the wall around it, but I not need to see through the wall to remember what it is like inside. I will never forget the disgusting twisted habit of the slaves trapped within.

The night I was set up by Aluras'bektsh'tar to be killed while performing an assassination, I ran into the slave pen looking for someplace to lay low. I interrogated and executed one of the officers from her personal legion in there. The body has probably never been found.

Near me, Tyrend has his fists tightly clenched. “You've never been in there have you?”

I look Tyrend in the eye. “No, never. What's it like?”

Tyrend shudders. “I've tried to forget it, but no matter what I do, it still haunts my nightmares. They're sick in there, completely fucking insane. Everything inside those walls is male. No matter where you look, there isn't a single pussy in sight. If you're a small guy like me, you have to constantly for some twist looking to jump in your ass. Humans got the message real quick after I ripped the dicks and balls off a few of them. The orcs, they were something else. If a bull orc can't get to a pussy when he gets a hard-on, he'll go for the nearest asshole or mouth he can get his hands on. If an asshole or mouth isn't available, he'll crush your eyeball and skull-fuck you .”

Tyrend stares at me. “You can probably kill an orc just by looking at him. I had to take out two bulls with my bare hands one day. I had run to the gates, but all the guards did was laugh at me. I don't know how I killed them. I just don't remember, but word got to the Throd'nahk. Next day, I was pulled out of the general pen and dragged up to the Blood Rose Stable. The Throd'nahk said I had potential, and if I wanted to live, I had better do what he told me. I did, and here I am.”

Even now, after something like a decade, I can still feel the horror and revulsion coming from Tyrend as he stares at the walls of the general slave pen. If I had been thrown in there as a naked prisoner, I might well feel the same as he does.

I head into the tunnel, with my entourage following me. After an outcast for so long, it seems strange to have followers. I am not sure how far I can or would trust any of them, but I know none of them are afraid to fight.

I glance at Elan hanging onto my arm. No longer wearing her black leather, she is wearing a short skirt and a top that barely covers her nipples. Both are made from a think silk-like material, so that that it is nearly transparent. She might as well be naked.

Elan is not even close to being all there. She might be crazier than Perzey was. At the least, she is crazy enough that I can probably more or less trust her, but if it came to her life or mine, could I trust her then?

Elan looks up into my eyes. It feels strange not having look almost eye to eye with me, but I have apparently grown a few inches in recent weeks. My body is already something like twenty-three. I should not be growing anymore, but I did. I wonder if it has something to do with Thrall ripping the scars out of my patterns. If my patterns are healing in a more or less unscarred fashion, does that mean I will as tall as my mother and father?

They may not really be my parents, but until I learn that to be truth, I will still think of them as my parents. Even if I learn they are not, I may still think of them that way.

Elan's eyes are still on me, and her voice has a clear questioning tone. “You are troubled by something?”

“Sort of, but it's not important. Boran is sending me to Earth to retrieve something for him, and I'm just trying to figure some things out. Earth has a lot of ugly baggage for me.”

A pensive look settles on Elan's face. “Earth. This is where the Souls of the Possessed are from. This is your home.”

I laugh morbidly. “It's just where I was born. It's not my home. I never belonged there.”

I cannot forget that dream of a memory. The one that burned called my parents my guardians, and my father called me the Young Lord. My mother was apologizing to someone for not protecting me. They knew what a Triune was and could apparently use Power. Were they really my parents? Who am I? Who is the woman I believed to be my aunt? Boran said to not seek answers to my past, if I want to live, but can I pass up this opportunity?

As we reach the end of the tunnel, the military airship dock opens out in front of us. Even with the majority of Gor'achen's airships being out at all times, there are still still airships nosed into the twenty-two of the thirty standard berths. There are also airships in five specials stocks that appear to be fitting docks. These airships all have cranes and scaffolds around them.

While naked and collared slaves are doing menial tasks, the actual artisans working directly on the airships are all free, and many appear to be Makers.

Thrall and Vili are standing near the fitting docks, and, as we exit the tunnel, they turn to to face my group. Thrall is already familiar with everyone, and there is no reaction from him. On the other hand, Vili makes no attempt to conceal the fact that he is sizing everyone up. He seems to pay particular attention to the DokkAlfar, and as he does, cold animosity seems fill the world around us.

Valcrit and Elan are the be most affected by Vili's Power. Instantly, both of them turn pale and begin to sweat. Elan tightens her grip on my are, and her fingernails dig into the flesh of my biceps. As dark red blood flows down my arm, I draw Elan into a tight embrace.

Drawing out my Power, I twist it into a braid. With Ki, Mana, and Psi wrapped together in a single rope, I weave a shield around Elan and myself. I do not know what Vili's problem is, but I will not stand by jerking off while he tries to assault my woman. Attacking him would be pointless. I could never touch him, but I am still going to try. If he only uses this level of Power, I can close with him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” There is no respect in my voice. I do not bother to try and hide the burning rage inside of me. Even if I wanted to hide something, I am fairly certain that Vili could ferret it out.

“Not only are you fucking this DokkAlfar whore, but you're daring to come between me and her, when I'm going to give her a little pain?” Vili's tone is cold and hostile.

“She's my woman. You don't get to hurt her. I'll fuck her or hurt as I see fit, but I'll be damned, if I let you touch what's mine.

“Then, suffer with her!”

Thrall is acting like he does not even see what is happening right in front of. What is going on? There is probably nothing he can do to stop Vili, but he could at least make a gesture and pretend to try.

As I move forward step by step, Vili slowly increases the pressure, pushing me ever closer to my breaking point. Holding Elan tightly with my left arm, I draw the black bladed sword. Dark Od flares outward, momentarily breaking the hold of Vili's Power, and for just a second, I see blatant surprise etched on his face.

Elan twists out of my grasp, tripping me at the same time. As she shoves me to the side, I tuck into position for roll. Using the Shadow of the Od, I roll in midair and land on my feet. I try to grab Elan, but she is already out of my reach.

“Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr!”

As Elan chargers toward Vili, her piercing screech fills the airship dock. Without drawing a single pattern, she launches attack after attack at Vili. For someone who seemed to entirely rely on the Umbra, her casting skills with Mana-based spells is astonishing.

As I race after Elan, Vili casually flicks his wrist and a fireball the size of a semi-truck flies toward me. I freeze. It is fire. I fucking HATE fire!

“FUCK YOU!”

Fwump!

Channeling Ki force through left fist, I punch out letting it is spread like an opening umbrella. The giant fireball breaks apart with surprising ease, leaving me unscathed.

Vili already has Elan by the neck. He is holding off the ground as easily as an adult would hold a newborn chicken.

A wave of black rage seems to rise from deep within my soul, and I charge toward Vili. Dark Od coalesces around by sword, and I feel like something is trying to rip me apart.

Vili hurls Elan at me. The move appears casual, but she has to be traveling close to three hundred miles an hour.. As I catch her in my left arm, I spin in a circle to bleed off her ridiculous momentum.

Feeling a change in the air pressure behind me, I slash at waist height with my sword. Vili grabs my wrist before I can even register his movement.

“Careful with that. That thing could actually hurt me. The old fart must be getting senile like a human, giving a weapon like this to a lunatic like you. I don't know who is crazier, you or your slut.”

I do not know whether or not I understand Vili at all, but the farther he is away from a perceived source of authority, them more disrespectful he gets. Vili may be the prototypical rebel at heart.

“Why do you not stop here? You should have learned what you wished to know.” Thrall's tone is flat. He is not trying to persuade or reason with Vili. He is simply stating a fact.

Vili does not turn his head toward Thrall, but that does not mean that he does not look at Thrall. Vili should have his own version of spatial awareness or something else that serves more of less the same purpose.

“Identifying my position by the movement of the air was good. Don't forget something like that. It could save your life.”

Vili stares at Elan'fer'sha. “I don't like Alfar. I don't trust Alfar. I never thought I would to see a crazy DokkAlfar Wytch put herself in danger to save the human dick that is plowing her field. The pair of you have best stay true to each other if you want to come out of this alive. You're both too crazy to inflict on anything saner.”

Vili turns around and walks toward the fitting docks. Why did he do what he did? Now, it is obvious he was testing us, but what was he looking for?

I look at Elan. Her confusion is plain to read on her face, but there is a strong scent of fear coming from her, too. As she looks into my eyes, a tremulous smile curves her lips. She grabs my arm again and slips her hand into mine.

I think I keep from showing any sign of the shock I feel inside. Elan has never acted like this before. I want to . . . I am not sure what I want to do. I am too confused by Elan's actions.

“You should put your sword away. It is attracting attention you probably do not want. Air sailors are bunch of gossiping old hens.” Thrall's words are soft enough that they would not be heard thirty feet away, even if he did not have wards up around us.

Looking at my sword, I see the Dark Od wrapping around the blade from bottom to top with no beginning or end like an ouroboros. I try to draw the Power back into myself, but the blade seems to absorb it. For several moments, I try to probe it with every sense and form of detection I have, but I cannot sense any trace of the Dark Od that disappeared.

I slip the sword back into its sheathe. “What did you have to show me?”

Thrall points at a stone airship with tall masts and extensive rigging. The entire hull is made from shining black obsidian, and hundreds, possibly thousands, of sigils have been inlaid into it, with a silvery metal. Overall, more than anything, it reminds of a model of a clipper ship that I saw once. Despite having twelve gunports in the central area of the hull, the ship looks she has been built for speed. DokkAlfar script near the bow spells out Night Raven, which should be her name.

I am not much more than a novice when it comes to airships, but when I was playing Taereun as a game, I learned a little about the construction of the wooden ones used by some empires in the Battleground. It takes Makers of multiple disciplines to construct one, but for the wooden ones the chief shipwrights are an offshoot of a discipline called Woodworker, though sometimes it is called Carpenter. Unlike Smith, which only has a few specializations in the Battleground, Woodworker has at least eight or nine specializations, but all of them obviously center around wood.

With stone hulls, DokkAlfar ships must be made by some variant on Sculptor. Sculptor is an odd Maker discipline that primarily uses stone, but has crossovers with a number of a number of other disciplines. From the little I know about it, it is more akin to an artist than a artisan in its nature. I have never encountered a large number of Makers that follow artist type disciplines, but every one of them had and abnormal personality. With their twisted personalities, I have to wonder what their Secrets of Making are like.

No matter the Maker discipline, at the core, all Makers have their Secrets. The medium that a Maker's Secrets apply to is based on the discipline, but the nature of the Secret comes from the Maker's personal nature. There is a saying that demeanor can change, but nature is eternal. I do not really believe that. Too many times, I think I have seen peoples natures change, but maybe it was just that their demeanor was so ingrained that it appeared to be their nature.

“Her name is Night Raven. I was having her built to be used in carrying out some tasks, but Boran has purchased her for you.” Thrall gives me the impression he is very pleased with himself. I have no idea what Boran paid him for Night Raven, but Thrall must be thinking made out very will with the deal.

“Purchased her for me? This ship is mine?”

Thrall looks at me. “Night Raven is yours. After you carry out Boran's task, you can do what you will with her.”

Night Raven is close to 250' in length, not including the bowsprit. I have no idea how large a crew she would need, but it should be at least thirty, not including gunners, airmancers, and marines. She has twelve gun ports to a side, so at least twenty-four gunners, but does she have berths for marines?

“I know somewhere between jack and shit about running an airship.” I do not bother to keep the frown off my face. When I got the message Thrall wanted to meet me here, I expected to be meeting with DokkAlfar in the Gor'achen Air Legions. I brought Sado and Valcrit along so that I could have them verify everything for me afterward.

I look at Valcrit and Sado, but both of them have on a “I know nothing” faces and do not meet my eyes. While I do not really trust them, I do not think they are out to stab me in the back at the first opportunity. I cannot say the same for anyone else I might hire to crew this monster.

“I have arranged a captain for you. He is someone I trust.” Thrall knows I do not trust people, so he probably pointed out that he trusts the captain to try and set me at ease.

As I follow Thrall up the ramp to the ship's deck, I am anything but at ease. I am getting irritable. I have this feeling like I am in middle of a crowd, and it makes me want to shove everyone away.

Elan squeezes my hand. I do not need to look at her to see that she is on the verge of laughing, but I still do. In her amusement over my discomfort, she seems to have forgotten her own discomfort and fear.

A tall thin Half-Alfar is standing in the of the Night Raven's deck. Half-Alfar are not exactly common, but they are not freaks like Half-Dvergar. Alfar and humans are capable of mating. It is just that Alfar are not what you would call overly fertile, and the situation gets much worse trying o mate with a human. Half-Alfar are generally accidents and by-blows of a DokkAlfar Master making use of a slave or the result of a rape of an Alfar female by a human.

The Half-Alfar does not have the heavy innate Psi shields that DokkAlfar do. His is practically oozing a mix of irritation and satisfaction. While he is dressed in chainmail made from that oily black metal that DokkAlfar like, he has a long scimitar-like sword and similarly curved long-knife on his belt.

“Duncrik?” Valcrit's tone is one of borderline astonishment.

The Half-Alfar turns toward us, and his takes on a gobsmacked expression. “Valcrit?”

Valcrit and Duncrik rapidly close the distance between them. Clasping each other's right hand, the start slapping one another on the shoulder, while firing off rapid questions and answers.

I look at Kanchek, but he just shrugs.

“That your captain?”

Thrall nods. “He has more talent than half the captains in the Gor'achen Air Legion put together, but he is only a Half-Alfar. He was relegated to being first office a rundown supply barge that no honorable DokkAlfar wanted to captain. It was a job to babysit the airship, while letting incompetent scions of lesser clans have the honorable rank of ship's captain.”

Duncrik and Valcrit join the rest of us, and Duncrik bows to Thrall.

“Are you satisfied with her?”

Duncrik straightens his back and looks Thrall in the eye. “I won't be sure till she launches, but Night Raven should be the finest ship to ever set sail from Gor'achen.”

Thrall nods and gestures toward me. “This is Brand. He is now the owner of the Night Raven. You will be serving him not me.”

With a quick glance at Elan'fer'sha on my arm, Duncrik shift his stare to me. I can feel him weighing and measuring me in his mind. He does not bother to try and hide his air of superiority. I do not like being sized up by people that think they are better than I am, but at least he is looking me straight in the eye.

After a moment, Duncrik's eyes widen, and he turns to Valcrit. Even though I cannot listen in on what he is saying, I can still feel the Psi communication between Valcrit and Duncrik. Valcrit seems to be doing all the work. Duncrik's level of Psi energy is several times that of a normal human, but he does not show any signs of being an active Psi user.

Duncrik turns back to me. “My name is Duncrik. I'm used to wiping the asses of incompetent captains. Valcrit seems to think highly of you. So, if you don't get in my way and let me do my job, Night Raven will the smoothest running airship anywhere.”

Valcrit's expression is half wince and half incredulity. He quickly takes several steps backward, opening up a distance between Duncrik and himself. Kanchek and Sado quickly move away, as well. Elan's smile is pure schadenfreude, as she releases my hand and steps back.

As he looks around, Duncrik seems slightly confused.

My smile is nothing more than a sign of a predator's aggression. “You seem to think you have the biggest dick around here, or something like that anyway. You look at me and seem some stupid ass landlubber that's not worth the time of day, right?”

Duncrik glares at me, with a mix of anger an outrage bubbling inside of him. “If you know so much about captaining an airship, then why don't you do it yourself?”

I snort. “I know somewhere between jack and shit about running an airship.”

Duncrik gets a self-righteous look on his face, and puffs up his chest. There is a mix of emotions in him, but I think I have a handle on self-righteousness now. I do not think the incompetents on Earth that call themselves psychologists consider self-righteousness an emotion, but it has a definitive emotional state associated with it. As an empath, I am finding there are a lot of things shrinks think they know is just bullshit. I wonder what I would learn, if I was a telepath.

As Duncrik opens his mouth, I cut him off. “Stick a buttplug in that shithole of yours. I'm not interested in listening to you fart. You work for me. I tell you what I want done, and you do it. If you don't think you can do it, you tell me why. If you just don't want to do it, I don't give a fuck. If you can't deal with it, you can get the fuck out of here. At least, you can leave after you apologize for being an assfuck and making me believe it.”

Duncrik looks at the others with me before his gaze settles on Valcrit.

Valcrit shakes his head. “I cannot help you. You have offended the Master.”

“Master?” Duncrik stares at Valcrit in wide-eyed incredulity for a moment. As he looks at me again, he tries to conceal the calculating look in his eyes.

“What about it, dick-breath? You staying or going?”

Duncrik's anger is too strong; he cannot keep it out of his eyes.

“You're some Alfar's by-blow, and you're looking down on me because I'm human. I don't give a fuck if you think you're better than I am. All I care about is are you going to work for me, or are you going to get on your knees and apologize before getting the fuck off my ship.”

Duncrik turns to Thrall. “Smith?”

Thrall shrugs. “I offered you a chance. You started the fight with Brand. Did you think, because he was only a human, he would meekly accept your attitude?”

“Decide!” I let Power drive my voice, carrying my rage with it. The sound mixed an empathic projection hits Duncrik like a physical blow.

Duncrik's eyes probably cannot get get any wider. As he stares at me, the changes in his expression match the changes in his emotional state, but I do not know what thoughts are prompting those emotional changes.

“I will captain the Night Raven for you.” Duncrik's assent is grudging.

I show Duncrik a predatory smile. “As long as you do what I tell you, we'll be fine. What about the crew?”

Duncrik's arrogant expression returns. Arrogance might be his most natural expression. “I have most of the crew selected, but I am lacking airmancers and marines.”

“How many marine berths are there?”

Duncrik's eyes narrow slightly. “Fifty including officers.”

I nod and a nasty smile creeps onto my face. “Don't worry about filling them. Don't worry about airmancers either. We can pick them up at our first destination, and I have someone that can play airmancer till then. It will be good for his soul.”

“Don't be taking my name in vain, when you think I'm not around.” Vili's tone sounds hostile.

I do not turn around. “I already knew you were there. I felt the disturbances in the air.”

Vili laughs. “We'll steal a keg of Thrall's mead to split later.”

Thrall pretends not to hear Vili. He gives the impression that he is used to Vili's antics but has no way to deal with them.

“How long till this ship is ready?”

Duncrik squints his eyes and looks around. “I'll need ten days to have her ready.”

When I glance over my shoulder at Vili, he nods, and I turn back to Duncrik. “Midday, ten days from now, we set sail.”

“Brand, come with me.”

I follow Vili down the companionway that leads under the stern deck. There is a corridor running the width of the ship, and in the middle there is an armored door. The door opens at Vili's touch, revealing a small room with a pedestal in the middle.

“There are traces leading from about two-thirds of the sigils on the ship's hull to this room. I will install a dimensional ripper in here before we leave Gor'achen. As long as you understand the necessary theories and math, this will allow you to travel between planes and realms.”

“I don't know jack shit about dimensional theories.”

Vili smirks. “We'll teach you.”

I do my best to keep my irritation bottled inside of me. I do not want to give Vili any more satisfaction than I can avoid.

“What about the other third of the sigils? I've never sigil inscribed on an airship like this before.”

“That is for an optical stealth system. There are based on light illusion spells. The control system is nothing more than a simple on-off switch and a few preset states. Even, that Alfar popinjay above can handle it”

*** Refuge – Taereun ***

Return: Day 310

(Thorrin Hammerfist)

In miniature form, Boran Second Father's holographic image floats over the message crystal. “The destination is your home world of Earth. The human called Brand has the means to detect the drive unit, but he will need to be close to do it, a distance of less than ten miles at the most.

“I suggest you gather Possessed that you can trust and that you consider useful. Brand's airship will have room for twenty to thirty people.”

As Boran's image flickers out of existence, I stare at the message crystal on my workbench. A few times, over the years he has asked me to carry out tasks for him. There is always a degree of danger, but the main difficulty is knowledge. Because of my Earth knowledge, I'm better suited to dealing with the oddities that he has sent me after. Taereun seems to have a ridiculous variety of artifacts buried on it, if you know where to look.

Opening a pouch on my belt, I take out my social organizer. When I touch the activation crystal, a holographic display appears over it. Since founding Refuge, we have done a lot of work on the old whisper charms, party charms, and guild bracelets. The social organizer combines all three of the old items into one. It also includes texting and magic mail features that are better than what The Postmen had when we were in the Battleground of the Damned.

The social organizers are too complex to fit into charms, earrings, rings, and such. The three most popular forms are an extravagant belt buckle, a bracer-like wrist item , and a good old fashioned cellphone style. I'm a bit old fashioned; I prefer the cellphone style.

We have a lot of Power based equivalents to the technology of Earth. I am not sure if it is a good thing or a bad one. Somewhat surprisingly, Farnulf has been like a man with a mission in driving the reproduction of Earth technology using Power based solutions. Though, probably not so surprisingly, the first thing he designed was a print on demand system that stored the text of books on Power crystals. Using a Power crystal as a battery is about the most simplistic use there is for one. Because of their nature, it's possible to store enormous amount of data in them, including complete spell patterns. At a rough estimate, the entire contents of the Library of Congress could be stored on a single Power crystal the size of a pigeon's egg.

After building his print on demand system, Farnulf copied as much as he could remember from the bible into it and started proselytizing to the human tribes in the area. He even tried to convert a few of the Dvergar in South Watch, but all that got him was being physically thrown out of South Watch. Now, if he tries to get within a hundred yards of the entry, the Dvergar on watch will beat him unconscious. Unfortunately, I think that Farnulf has taken that as some kind of biblical trial, and it has only driven him deeper into his missionary fanaticism.

There are only about fifteen people in Refuge right now that I trust with the information that Boran sent me. I send out a magic mail to those people, inviting them to dinner tomorrow.

It takes less than five minutes for them to respond in the affirmative. I have become downright antisocial in recent years, and they are probably all curious what could prompt me to invite multiple people for dinner.

Stepping out of my forge, I look up at South Mountain. The name is a direct translation from Battle Cant to the Slave Tongue. It's not very creative, but that is Dvergar naming sense for you. Of course, calling our town Refuge does not say much for the naming sense of the Damned, either.

After living here for some sixteen years, we still use the Slave Tongue from the Battleground of the Damned as our primary language. I can't decide if that is ironic or not, but when the second major language is the Sudnel Common Trade Language, I guess that isn't too bad. Most places they just refer to the Sudnel Common Trade Language as Common for short.

There is thick snow on the upper part of South Mountain year round. We're pretty far south where we're at. If this was Earth instead of Taereun, we would be south of the Strait of Megellan. It's pretty inhospitable, but we've settled in here. At least those of that survived have settled in. Over the past decade, this has become a pretty important trading port. We're one of the few places that you can actually acquire real Dvergar made goods.

Bundled up in a heavy dress, jacket and shawl, a veiled woman enters the courtyard between my house and forge. Fourteen years after being pulled out of an orc hellhole, her one good eye is still shadowed by fear. The empty socket, where her other used to be, is covered by a white patch. She was on of the players captured by the Black Orc's followers during The Massacre.

Even now, if any of the the players in Refuge talk about The Massacre, their voices are subdued, and many of them look around furtively.

“Silvy.”

She jumps like a startled rabbit and practically runs over to me. Without meeting my eyes, she bows a few times. “Lord Thorrin, what do you need Silvy for ?”

I can't keep from cringing internally at he behavior and tone of voice. Even though, I brought her to Refuge, she's been broken by the abuse the orcs inflicted on her and has never shown signs of recovering. If I didn't keep her on as a housekeeper and cook, I'm not sure what would happen to her. She is so servile that she will follow almost any order from anyone. I have given up on trying to stop her from bowing a scraping to me, but it still grates on me. A human being should never be reduced to her level.

“Tomorrow, prepare a big meal for. I'm going to be having guest.”

Silvy bows and fidgets. “How many guest should Silvy make dinner for? What should Silvy make for dinner?”

“Fifteen. Make something simple. Don't overdo it.”

“Yes, Lord Thorrin.” After some more bows and fidgeting, Silvy runs for the house.

My eyes are drawn back to the Labyrinth of Yggr. Boran wanting people to go to Earth for a drive unit that controls the dimensional matrices inside that thing leaves me feeling cold inside. I can't imagine this turning out well.

Dimensions and Secrets

*** Gor'achen Citadel – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 312

(Brand)

Elan has quite a collection scrolls and books with historical records in her study. Most of them are focused on the past five hundred years, but that is the time period I am interested in. The records I am reading through are for DokkAlfar strongholds, cities and outposts on the surface of Taereun. A number of them have references to Freeport. Vili did not have much to say about Freeport, only calling it a snake-pit. There seem to be numerous factions in Freeport, and some of those factions had dealings with various DokkAlfar clans. Te records contain some information about the clans interaction with Freeport, but that does not tell me much about the physical or political layout of the city.

The chairs in Elan's study are comfortable, and her desk makes a good footrest. Sitting behind her desk, Elan is pretending to read the Throd'nahk's reports on the current status of the Blood Rose Stable. In actuality, she is intently staring at from the corner of those mesmerizing honey-gold eyes. With the reports she is pretending to read in one, while her other hand is hidden by her desk, she is breathing a bit heavily and her face is flushed.

An oval opening in space appears in the middle of the study. Before I overreact, I feel Thrall's aura coming from the opening. As Thrall enters the study, the opening closes behind him.

Without a word, Thrall move to a couch, one of the few chairs large enough for him in the office, and sits down. Ignoring the glare Elan turns on him, he shifts his gaze back and forth between the two of us. I cannot tell if he is looking for something or evaluating us, but the weight of his stare is unsettling.

“What do you want?” My words are harder and colder than I intended them to be.

Thrall frowns. “The both of you are too young, both in years and Power, but there are things I must tell you. Even if you cannot understand them, you will need to be aware of certain laws and principles.”

“Why?”

“So that you will have a chance at survival. This is not my choice, but rather, an order from Vili. The Night Raven is specially built to use a device that will allow you to travel through dimensions and enter other planes, but using it requires a certain amount of understanding regarding the nature of the metaverse. You will need to grasp how the structure of the dimensions inside the Labyrinth differs from the natural metaverse.”

Elan and I exchange glances, and she shakes her head slightly. “You might want to start from the beginning and do it in plain DokkAlfar or Slave Tongue.”

Thrall frowns. “How would you explain Gor'achen Citadel to a gnat?”

I shrug. “I have no fucking clue. I don't even speak gnat.”

“I may speak DokkAlfar and the Slave Tongue, but the rest of your answer still applies.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Thrall sighs. “The problem is comprehension. I can tell you that metaverse has twenty-seven dimensions, but would have any real conception of what that means? At the very least you must have a general conception of how the nine dimensions of the Amalgamate appear, but you are only able to experience three of those dimensions. You have not yet learned how to use your Power to experience and perceive the other six dimensions. The three you know create the Material Realm that you interact with daily, but there are six more dimensions. Each set of three dimensions defines another independent Realm, those of Mind and Soul, but at the same time all three Realms are are part of a single plane. The metaverse is made up of a well-nigh infinite number of planes.”

“Above the nine dimensions of the Amalgamate exist the nine dimensions of the Elemental planes. Above the Elemental dimensions are the nine Primal dimensions, but they are forbidden to us by Life and Death.”

“So this is the point where I should start thinking of myself as a gnat.”

Thrall's smile has no humor in it. “If you wish to Transcend, there will be a day when you will have to expand your Mind and Soul and integrate them with your Body so that you can perceive all nine dimensions. For now, in only nine days, you will need to gain enough of an understanding of the cosmology and mathematics of the nine dimensions to be able to operate Vili's dimensional ripper.”

“If I can use the mirror, why would I have a problem with this dimensional ripper?”

Thrall's snort sounds contemptuous. “My mirror operates on the principles of the teleport gates. It temporarily connects two points together. When you use it, it stays behind. The dimensional ripper will move with the Night Raven. It is a type of dimensional drive, only on a much smaller scale than the one you are to retrieve. Also, it lacks that near sentient control system in the drive you are going after. You or Elan will have to provide the control system. If you can do that, after you retrieve the Yggdrasil's drive, you will be able to directly leave Earth, without having to use a teleport gate.”

I sigh. “So, where do we start?”

Thrall gestures, and a pile of scrolls, books, and crystals appears on Elan'fer'sha's desk.

“Fuck me, I have a headache, already.

Thrall's smile makes me want to hit him.

*** Tren'fon Citadel – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 313

Aluras'bektsh'tar entered the office of Stegnar'shen'fal with an icy expression on her face. At her back, Canth was a reassuring presence, but it did not dispel her worries. She did not believe that she had tipped hand by participating in the uprising in Gor'achen Citadel. It was not abnormal for the leader of a High Clan to attempt to usurp the power of one above himself herself, but to escape after failing, that was far lass common.

If that slut, Elan, had not given herself to that filthy human animal, there would have been no chance of failure. That damn human animal, Brand, was the source of my failure. If he had never shown up in Elan's stable, I would have easily seduced her and used her to ensure the success of my coup. Watching my guards rape her one after the next, until the blood ran down her legs, was small recompense for being refused by that whore of lesser Provenance.

Forcibly quelling her anger, Aluras'bektsh'tar looked around the office. Sitting behind the desk a tall DokkAlfar in the robes of a Priest-Lord stared at her with a cold smirk. Stegnar'shen'fal was someone that she hated more than the animal Brand.

“My dear, Aluras, I was surprised to learn that you had fled to Tren'fon after your failed coup against Talchok'aveyka'tar. He and Aubek'steg'fal may dislike one another, but it is not like there are open hostilities between the two Great Citadels.” Stegnar'shen'fal spoke in a voice sibilant voice that put one in mind of a predatory snake.

“We are DokkAlfar. It is common to take back what has been stolen from us.” Aluras'bektsh'tar's voice contained a cold malice that was not veiled in the slightest. Whether in position or Provenance, Stegnar'shen'fal was of a higher status than Aluras'bektsh'tar, but she was not about to show weakness in front of a male.

“For a Dragon Cultists, your arrogance and bravado are astounding.” Stegnar'shen'fal delivered the lethal accusation in a offhanded manner with an innocent smile on his lips.

Feeling like someone had driven an icicle through her heart, Aluras'bektsh'tar did her best to stare at Stegnar'shen'fal with a disdainful expression. “Do you really think I can be shaken by such a ridiculous and patently false accusation. I have sent my legion to kill thousands of Dragon Cultists in the past. There is not, nor has there ever been, any evidence that could connect me with a Dragon Cult.”

Stegnar'shen'fal tapped a crystal projector sitting on his desk, and a holographic image appeared in the air above it. Taken from one corner of a room, it showed a chapel with an alter that had an ouroboros symbol hanging on the wall behind it.

“I am sure you recognize your own chapel. The only access to that small pocket dimension is from your personal quarters in Castle Vardne'tar, after all. I think this is all the evidence necessary to sentence you to death by mutilation and impalement or perhaps, Death By Slave. Now, would that not be a prestigious way for the a clan leader of Clan Vardne'tar to die, Death By Slave.”

“How did you. . .” Aluras'bektsh'tar's voice trailed off.

Stegnar'shen'fal smiled beneficently. “Does it really matter? These images and where they were taken have been placed into my hand. Truly, I do not want to be forced to turn them over to the City Lord, or Greatest God forbid, the Imperial Intelligence Service.”

“What do you want?” As Aluras'bektsh'tar hissed the words through clenched teeth, her eyes were burning with barely suppressed rage.

Stegnar'shen'fal continued to smile. “It is not what I want; it is what the Greatest God wants. He has mercy for all his children who willingly submit to him. In four days time it will be the night of the waxing gibbous moon. You are to present yourself in the Great Temple during my mass, and submit yourself to the Greatest God. You will beg to be given both the rites of pain and humiliation. In the future, on each gibbous and quarter moon, both waxing and waning, you will continue to present yourself in the Great Temple and request the rites. I will personally see that you are giving the rites in the most exacting manner. Through your continuing submission to the Greatest God, your secrets will remain secrets.”

Aluras'bektsh'tar glared at the Priest-Lord. “Whore's bastard!”

The smile on Stegnar'shen'fal's face never wavered. “I know exactly who my parents are, but can you say the same? Were you aware that your deceased mother and your most loyal Canth were involved in a sexual relationship for several years leading up to her pregnancy. Your mother was not of the Bektsh'tar Provenance, was she?”

“Your lies are meaningless!”

“What lies, my dearest Aluras?”

*** Gor'achen Citadel – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 314

(Brand)

I put down the Power crystal that I have just absorbed the information from. It is much easier to acquire information with the Power crystals that have data stored in them, but just acquiring information does not mean that you understand it. I have a lot of facts and figures floating around inside my head, but I am missing the pieces to put them all together. My comprehension is lacking.

Elan'fer'sha does not seem to have the same problem. She has been through almost two times as much of the the material as I have.

Elan turns her head and looks at me quizzically. “You are upset. You are able to assimilate nomological truths so quickly. Is this not enough to satisfy you?”

I have trouble my irritation out of my snort. “I'm barely digging through this crap at half your speed.”

Elan appears shocked. It is not an expression she often shows. “You have not even set foot on the First Path of Transcendence and you expect your comprehension to equal mine?”

“Do you really thinks humans are that inferior to Alfar?”

Elan frowns. “Are you so conceited that you think with a Mind that has not begun to Transcend you can match a DokkAlfar on the Second Path of Transcendence?”

“So, you're in the Second Circle of Coalescence? Does that make it easier to comprehend this?” I had already figured out Elan was Coalescent, but I do not really care what level she is at. Elan is Elan. As long as she belongs to me, minor things like the nature of her Power or her strength do not matter.

Elan's frown turns angry. “Why do you insist on talking like a rock ape?”

“You need to mind your tongue, or I might decide to wash it with some good alkali soap!” Vili's voice booms out before I feel the change in air pressure.

As Elan's face pales, I look toward Thrall and Vili. The pair of them appeared near the door without ever coming through it.

“You seem to have figured out ways to identify Coalescents on your own, but you never learned how to identify their circle.” Thrall's tone is pensive.

“I can tell if I have pattern sight active when they use Power.”

Vili snorts. “That's a crude animalistic way. It's something you would expect an Alfar to do.”

Elan pretends to be engrossed in the scroll she is holding. Despite her efforts to keep her emotions hidden inside, I can feel the trepidation radiating from her.

I stare at Vili. “Does picking on a girl that you could kill by breathing on her make you feel like you have a real dick?”

“I could kill you by breathing on you, too.”

I shrug. “But you won't. You're bored, and for some reason, you seem to get a kick out of watching me kill the idiots that get in my way.”

Vili laughs and looks at Thrall.

Thrall shrugs but does not say anything. If he is using Power to communicate with Vili, I have no clue how to detect it.

After a few moments, Vili looks at me again. “Is you're little human brain having trouble figuring out basic dimensional laws?”

“I get that the three dimensions correspond to space. The define the boundaries of a plane, they're basically analogous to length, width, and height, even if there's more to it that just that. But where does time fit in? It's not part of the Mind or Soul dimensions. They're just another length, width, and height analog.”

Vili stares at me in incredulity. “Where did you get the idiotic idea that time is a dimension? Oh, wait. I remember seeing something about that in your little playmate Darius' mind. Forget everything you ever learned on that backward chunk of rock. It's all wrong. Even for the one or two things they have a tiny bit of a clue on, they have twisted them so badly the truth is lost.”

“You read Darius' mind?” I am not sure if I should be shocked, surprised, or blasé. The Dvergar are supposed to be Psi dead, but Boran and Vili both seem to use some Elemental Power to do much the same things as one would do with Psi.

Vili snorts. “If you want to call what he has a mind. You Amalgamate creatures are barely sentient.”

“Then why are so interested in me?”

Vili's expression is somewhere between a sneer and a lofty innocence. “I'm bored. It passes the time.”

The more I see of Vili, the more I want beat the fuck out of him.

Vili smirks at me. “If you apply yourself, you might be able to make me use both hands in about a hundred millennia or so. But first you have to forget all the wrong-headed bullshit you learned on Earth. It's only going to get in your way and slow you down.”

“If time isn't a dimension, what the fuck is it?” My temper is rising. I can feel the black rage building inside of me. I feel like it is getting stronger by the day.

“Time, eh? You could call time as you experience it an Amalgamate reflection of Law, of Primal Order. Time, as linear progression of events, is something that really only exists in boundaries of Order, but any interaction with Order forces it Laws on to the what is interacting with it. That includes Chaos and the creations of Life and Death. To put it in terms that you can comprehend Order is an eternal stasis and Chaos is unending change.

“You really don't want to dig too deep into the nature and reality of the Primals, though. To understand them, you have to become too much like them. There is a line, and if you cross it, Od and Death himself will turn on you. You will be destroyed so thoroughly, it will be as though you never existed.”

I stare at Vili with my mouth hanging open, in mock disbelief at his clear and coherent explanation. He frowns for a few seconds before shooting me the bird.

“You need to learn better manners and treat your elders with respect.”

“My elders have act in manner worthy of my respect to get it.”

Vili sighs. “Forget about anything other than three dimensional physical space, or its Mind and Soul equivalents. If you do that, you should have an easier time. You're already a freak. A human halfway keeping up with an Alfar in the Second Circle of Coalescence is more unbelievable than you can ever imagine.”

Vili hooks a thumb in Thrall's direction. “Your master here was the same as you. It has be a side effect of being Chosen by the Od.”

“I am not Chosen.” There is a hint of bitterness in Thrall's tone.

Vili looks at Thrall. “I can't even touch the Od, and you complain that you're not Chosen? Do you freaks understand just how amazing the Od is? There is no other Power that is directly derived from Life and Death. The Od is part of the very underpinning of this metaverse's existence.”

Vili turns toward me again. “Time can be considered a Primal Law. Gravity and magnetism are the same. There are thousands of Primal Laws that derive from all four Primals, and Life and Death. As long as you do not leave this metaverse, Primal Laws will always apply. How they apply can vary greatly. To understand how Primal Laws apply in a plane you need to understand the nature of the dimensions and how they define the plane.”

Thinking about what Vili said, I absorb the knowledge from one the crystals I have already used. The descriptions of physical space in this one did not feel right the first time, but I do not really perceive see anything differently. I will try to understand more from the crystals and books that I have yet to absorb or read. If I do not get anywhere, I will start over from the beginning.

“Brand.”

“What?” I look at Vili with a bit of surprise. I had forgotten he was in the room.

With a heavy aura of gravitas, Vili meets my eyes. “I learned a lot about your world from the knowledge in Darius' mind. Darius was a political adviser who had a great deal of indirect power. The people he served were mostly members of your American Congress, and the secret information that he was privy to was very broad in its nature. He was like a frog in the bottom of a well. He could see the world around him, but he lacked the perspective to see the big picture.

“Your society has been manipulated and twisted from the outside. The culture and society have been deliberately warped by dozens, if not hundreds, of experiments. There are elements from the most insidiously oppressive dictatorships and nominal utopias that secretly crush any semblance individual thought that have ever existed in the metaverse. Without personally setting foot on your Earth, I cannot be absolutely certain of the ultimate purpose, but it looks like the only goal is the destruction of the natural order set down by Life and the Souls of the inhabitants.”

I feel a bit confused. “What do you mean by manipulated? Who would or could do that?”

Vili frowns. “At the very least it was a Transcendent being. Considering what he has already done with you and those calling themselves the Damned, Woden would be the like suspect. He is a False Name who has taken Conquest and Subterfuge as his aspects. Your Earth's American society looks like an experiment in cultural neutering. First, the experiment replaces any form natural social bonding and ties with a complete dependence on the state. Then, it completely destroys any semblance of individual thought and will to defy the state. The end result should be a world of mindless drones that only slavishly follow the dictates of the state. Even though they have Souls, their Souls are empty shells.

“Will and the drive to succeed or improve is born of the Soul not the Mind, but the Mind is where most thought and problem solving occurs. A society where the Soul has been crushed could give rise to a perpetual slave race with the mental faculties for advanced planning and skilled labor, but no will to resist or to escape a slavery they might not be aware of.

“For a False Name, such a society could be used to create billions of believers that will never question the truth of the False Name's proclaimed divinity. It is strange that Woden has not taken the Muslims as his direct followers. He might have attached the name of their god Allah to himself, but such tricks provide less Power to the one using the tricks than having followers worship them under their own Name.

“After you recover the drive unit, you should try to launch the nuclear arsenals of your world. Cleanse your world in nuclear fire. Put an end to Woden's plans for it, and give your people a possible chance to start over.”

I do not try to hide my confusion. “Nuclear weapons are part of Earth's past. They were all supposedly destroyed after the Anti-Nuclear Accords of 2055.”

Vili's smile seems more like an expression of cold irony than a smile. “Your friend Darius is right about a few things. No government exists for any purpose other than to maintain and expand its own power, and nuclear weapons are a form of power no government on your Earth would ever willingly give up. From Darius' memories, the smaller nations were forced to give up their arsenals, but the major nations of Europe, Asia, and North America only hid theirs. The Middle East War of 2056 was for the purpose of removing nuclear weapons from the hands of those nations.”

I do not even try to keep the malicious smile off my face. “Would destroying the Earth do much to fuck with Woden? Could I even do it?”

Vili shrugs. “It depends on whether or not his experiments are complete. If he is using the Muslims as followers though subterfuge, it will be a minor loss of Power for him, but that is about the most you can expect. Stealing the Yggdrasil's drive will be a far greater blow.

“There is a centralized command and control system for each nations nuclear arsenal, and it is computer controlled with external access so the nations leader can activate the weapons from anywhere. Whether or not you can take advantage of that is up to you.”

Destroying the Earth in a rain of nuclear fire would be satisfying. I do not give a fuck about giving the scum on Earth a fresh start. I would rather they all died and took their psychotic, caustic culture with them. Could I make it happen? If the nuclear weapons are centrally controlled and have external access, could Delphi or some other system from Jinmu's zaibatsu allow me access?

How can I get control of what I need? If I could get Jinmu to give me access to the Delphi system, I might be able to get what I need. It seems I will need to bring Jinmu along, Jinmu is very unlikely to go along with the destruction of the Earth. I will need to find a way to get control of the launch system for the nuclear missiles without Jinmu realizing what I am doing.

Once I have a way to launch the missiles, it will no longer matter what Jinmu thinks. If he tries to stop me, I can kill him. From what I have learned about Coalescence and Transcension, Jinmu's Power should be stuck at whatever level he was advanced to by Yggr. With my increase in strength, he will no longer have any chance against me.

After contemplating how to turn the Earth into a beautiful nuclear wasteland devoid of the cowardly sheep that call themselves people, I look at Vili, but he and Thrall are gone.

“Damn, I had more questions for Vili.”

“If, after contemplating this knowledge, you have questions, it means you are coming closer to understanding. When you no longer have questions, you have sunk into complacence and will be unable to learn more.”

Turning to her, I frown slightly. “I've forgotten what was bothering me about this dimensional theory crap. I was thinking about destroying the Earth.”

A faint hint of an amused smile turns up the corners of Elan's lips.

*** Tren'fon Citadel – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 317

Aluras'bektsh'tar looked around the nave of the Great Temple of Yggr in Tren'fon Citadel. There were nearly a thousand DokkAlfar, mostly from the High Clans, packed into the pews. Their eyes, filled with burning fanaticism, were staring at the main altar in the front of the temple, where Stegnar'shen'fal was pontificating on the glories of submission to Yggr.

Unlike the rest of the DokkAlfar present, she was not a worshiper of the Greatest God, Yggr. She was present under threat of having her identity as a Dragon Cultist exposed. If she were revealed, her fate would be either suicide before capture or the most humiliating and agonizing of executions. When Stegnar'shen'fal revealed his knowledge of her status, she never considered trying to flee. It would only take the images of her chapel and its betraying images being shown to the Left Hand Temple of Yggr, and she would be hunted down like a rabid kobold plundering a stock farm.

“Submission to the Greatest God is at the core of our Souls, the core of culture, the core of our very existence as the mighty DokkAlfar race. Without the embodying the tenets of the Greatest God, our DokkAlfar race will fall, and we will all lose our dominance of the lesser races of the multiverse. Through submission to the Greatest God, we, the DokkAlfar, will be empowered to dominate all that exists beneath our feet. All of the animal races will become slaves, wearing our collars and living under our whips! All Submission to the Greatest God!” Stegnar'shen'fal looked around the nave, before his eyes settled on Aluras'bektsh'tar.

“All Submission to the Greatest God!”

“All Submission to the Greatest God!”

“All Submission to the Greatest God!”

Stegnar'shen'fal let the chant continue for a full Thousandth before raising his hands. “Let the Disciplining of the Slaves begin!”

From the alcove to Stegnar'shen'fal's right, twenty Priests and Priestesses of the Central Fane of Yggr entered the nave. Stripping off their clothing, they prostrated themselves, facing the gallows.

“I submit to the Greatest God's Dominance.”

“I submit to the Greatest God's Dominance.”

“I submit to the Greatest God's Dominance.”

Fronting the altar where Stegnar'shen'fal was pontificating, twelve slaves were chained to the stone rail. The slaves were all human and evenly divided between men and women. Huddling on the floor, their fear filled eyes stared at the naked Priests and Priestesses.

Rising to the feet again, the Priests and Priestesses moved behind the stone railing that fronted the altar and took up whips and heated irons from braziers. Seeing the implements of torture, the chained began to beg and plea.

“No!”

“Mercy, Masters! Please, give mercy!”

“Goddess preserve me!”

Hearing the pleas of the sacrificial slaves, smiles of malicious pleasure covered the faces of the DokkAlfar. Just the voices of the begging slaves was enough to cause penises of the Priests to become erect and the vaginas of the Priestesses to grow moist. Several of them licked their lips as the bore down on the chained slaves.

Despite their pleas, the doomed slaves were whipped, burned, and beaten. Both the female and the male slaves were brutally raped and sodomized. The louder they screamed, the more aroused and violent the DokkAlfar became.

In theirs pews, irregardless of their social standing, the DokkAlfar worshipers stripped off their clothes and masturbated.

Afraid to be seen acting different from those around her, Aluras'bektsh'tar stripped and masturbated like all the rest. To her surprise, she found herself more aroused and excited than she had ever expected she would become. Watching the abuse of the slaves and the self-fulfillment of those around her, while being watched in turn, was an intoxicating experience she had never engaged in before.

Caught up in her schemes for power and vengeance, Aluras'bektsh'tar had never been a part of the social circuit of torture parties and orgies in Gor'achen Citadel. She had always taken her sexual pleasures from raping and abusing her female slaves.

As the Priests and Priestesses finished with the slaves, they were dragged one by one to the gallows. The gallows a simple design, seeming at odd with the lavish architecture of the nave. It consisted of two wooden posts, with a simple crossbar at the top.

After having a rope tied around their necks, the slaves were hauled into the air kicking and struggling. If the slaves slaves did not have broken arms or clavicles, their hands scrabbled helplessly at the ropes cutting into their necks. When the slave's struggles started to died, a naked Stegnar'shen'fal would take up the lance and stab it into the slave's lower abdomen. As he removed the lance, he brutally tear open the slave's abdomen, letting the blood and entrails pool below the slave's feet.

When the last of the slaves had been executed, her body was left hanging instead of being dumped behind the gallows with the rest.

Stegnar'shen'fal stood at the gap in the altar railing and watched the DokkAlfar worshipers pleasuring themselves for a few moments.

“Who among you wishes to submit to the Greatest God?” Stegnar'shen'fal's shout echoed inside the nave of the Great Temple.

Dozens of DokkAlfar sprang to the their feet with both fists raised over their heads. Not daring to risk Stegnar'shen'fal's displeasure, Aluras'bektsh'tar was among them.

After letting his eyes rove across the faithful, Stegnar'shen'fal settle his gaze on Aluras'bektsh'tar. “I see a new Sister in Submission among us. Name yourself, Sister!”

Surprising herself by becoming more aroused by her fear, Aluras'bektsh'tar licked her lips before responding. “I am Aluras'bektsh'tar of Clan Vardne'tar. I wish to submit myself for the Rites of Pain and Humiliation.”

Stegnar'shen'fal did not manage to keep the gloating expression off his face. “Come forward, Sister. I will stand proxy for the Greatest God and administer the Rites.”

Follow Stegnar'shen'fal, pairs of Priests and Priestesses stepped forward choosing their own victims.

After chaining Aluras'bektsh'tar to the altar, Stegnar'shen'fal brutally slapped her to the ground. “Submit to the Greatest God!”

Seeing the other DokkAlfar who had been chained and beaten to the ground laying on bellies and head toward the gallows, Aluras'bektsh'tar licked the blood from the corner of her lips and did the same. As the burning pain of a whip tearing open the skin on her back hit her, she could not keep from shrieking. Again and again, that whip tore into her back and her shrieks echoed inside the nave. Trying to hold back her humiliating cries of pain, she sunk he teeth into the inside of her lips, and blood flowed from her mouth.

When the whip no longer fell, Aluras'bektsh'tar had long been too lost in the pain to count the number of strokes. When she was picked up and thrown belly down on the altar, her body was slack and her mind numb.

“NNNOOOOO!”

Aluras'bektsh'tar's shriek echoed form the stone walls and ceiling as Stegnar'shen'fal began sodomizing her.

“Bastard! You dare!”

Crack! Thump!

A heavy slap from Stegnar'shen'fal to Aluras'bektsh'tar's shredded back slammed her against the altar.

Tears fell from her eyes, and her mouth filled with blood as her teeth bit through her lips. Bastard! I will make him suffer. He will beg for death before I am done with him!

*Oh, my sweet Aluras. You need to struggle more so that I can enjoy this. After I am done with your ass, I am going to rape your cunt until you bleed.*

Aluras'bektsh'tar was a strong Psi, but Stegnar'shen'fal's Power punched through her defenses like they were tissue paper. Every though, every memory, and every secret was laid bare before him. It was a violation more personal and humiliating than being physically raped. Unable to stop herself, Aluras'bektsh'tar sobbed like a broken child.

Without pulling out of Aluras'bektsh'tar, Stegnar'shen'fal lifted her body off the altar and turned to face the worshipers.

Ganging up in groups of two or three or more, worshipers of both sexes were brutally abusing and raping victims. Whether male or female, all of the abusers had looks of ecstasy on their faces.

*Look well, Aluras. This is the true face of Tyranny and Domination. Burn this image into your Mind and Soul. Every gibbous and quarter moon, you will get to see it again. Every gibbous and quarter moon, I will take you for myself on this altar and show you to the faithful of the Greatest God while my cock is stuffed inside of you. This is your fate for being a follower of the cast out Dragons.*

*** Gor'achen – The Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 319

(Brand)

Standing in the middle of the Central Plaza of Gor'achen, the Temple of Yggr fills they sky in front of me. Built in a baroque architectural style, tall towers rise from each corner of the temple, and a huge set of double doors give access to the temple's nave. Carvings in the walls show scenes of people and things other than people being tortured and killed. Platforms along the ends of the roof and on the sides of the towers have statues that could be either gargoyles or demons.

With two on each side of the double doors, four members of the Central Fane Guard stand watch at the front of the temple. As I walk up the steps, the guards closest to doors use their glaives to block my path. Looking at me, their eyes and minds are filled with hatred and contempt.

“I'm looking for the Priest-Wizard Kra'cha'len.”

The guards act as though I have not spoken. Except for a nasal guard, these guards have open face helms, and faint smirks are visible on their lips.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. Activating the Mana flow needed for Making, I apply the pattern sight spell to my left eye.

There is no sign of active wards or spells around the door.

I smile at the guards. “You can either pass a message to Kra'cha'len, or I can cripple you and look for him myself.”

“Kill the human animal!” The speaker is the guard on the far right.

The two guards in the middle step forward, and both stab at me with their glaive. From their lack of reaction, as I close with them, I doubt they register my movement. As I slip past the left guard, I tear the glaive from his hands and stab the right guard in the back.

“Aaaarrrrggghh!”

His spine severed, the guard I stabbed falls to the ground.

As hes spins around, the guard, whose glaive I stole, scrambles to draw his short sword, but I do not give him the chance. I stab him in the groin with his own glaive.

“Aiiieeee!” The guards shriek makes me feel a sympathetic pain in my own ball.

When I turn back toward the temple, the two guards still at the doors are just starting to move, but they stop dead in their tracks. Looking at the guard with his own glaive in his groin, they both wince.

I smile at the guards a second time. “You can either pass a message to Kra'cha'len, or I can cripple you and look for him myself.”

The guard that ordered the others to kill me gets a crafty look in his eyes. “What is the message?”

“Get your faggot ass out here!”

Behind the guards, the temple doors open and a Priest-Wizard steps out. After looking at the two guards on the ground bleeding, he fixes his stare on me.

I let a smirk raise the corners of my lips but do not say anything.

“Take this useless trash with you and report to your company's Priest-Captain! Tell him that you have failed in your duties and request punishment!”

The already pale faces of the DokkAlfar guards turn bloodlessly white, and they glare at me with hate-filled eyes.

“Yes, Master!”

“Yes, Master!”

The Priest-Wizard's eyes begin to glow, and he stares at me for a minutes or so. When a mixed tendril of Mana and Psi touches him, the Priest-Wizard's attention shifts to the temple behind him. As he gets a sour expression on his face, the glow fades from his eyes.

I keep my smirk in place. “So, are you going to pass a message to Kra'cha'len?”

“Follow me, animal!” The Priest-Wizard has a put upon tone to his voice.

Following the Priest-Wizard, I enter the nave of the Temple of Yggr. Inside the nave is empty, and there are frescoes on the walls. Two of them are The Exile of Woden, and The Defeat of Boran.

The Exile of Woden shows two almost identical figures in front of the gates of a city. Other than clothing, the only significant difference is that one has a patch over his left eye, and the other has a patch over his left eye. The one who appears to be being driven away should be Woden, and he has the patch on the left eye. I appears that the conflict between Woden and the Jotun Lords is ensconced within the Temple of Yggr's beliefs. Is it the same with the other Jotun Lords? I have never had the impression that the Jotun Lords were even close to homogeneous .

The Defeat of Boran shows a Jotun that is presumably Yggr, the patch on the right eye, and a Dvergar that resembles Boran locked in battle. The Dvergar has just had his right arm cut off by Yggr. I almost laugh seeing this. I cannot believe that Yggr has ever managed to harm Boran, let alone cut his arm off. Even though I have never met Yggr, I have encountered Woden more than enough times. Without bringing out his real body, I cannot imaging him lasting more than a second or two against Boran, and even he does bring his real body, I still do not believe he could do much. Yggr should be no different.

The Priest-Wizard leads me to the altar at the front of the temple. Illuminated by softly flickering candlelight, I see gallows and spear behind the altar. There are large rusty brown stain on the floor below the gallows, and an odor of coppery blood fills the air. The head and shaft of the spear are caked with reddish-brown, dried blood. I cannot help but wonder how many victims have been sacrificed to Yggr in this temple.

Dropping to one knee, the Priest-Wizard bangs his forehead on the stone floor fronting the altar three times.

“I submit to the Greatest God's Dominance.”

“I submit to the Greatest God's Dominance.”

“I submit to the Greatest God's Dominance.”

Yep, religion breeds insanity. These Priest-Assholes are all completely fucking nuts. Banging you head on the ground to kiss the ass of some assfucker that calls himself a god is just plain stupid.

Rising to his feet the Priest-Asshole glares at me.

“Yggr can lick the sweat off my balls.”

Near apoplectic rage that turns the Priest-Asshole's face into an ugly mask.

I laugh. “Bring it on! I'll cut your pinkie size dick off and stuff it down your throat.”

The Priest-Asshole comes to his senses and does not attack me. It leaves me a bit annoyed. I thought I had goaded him into being stupid. If they attack me first, Thrall will not have anything legitimate that he can bitch about.

Thrall is anything but happy that I am here. He is not happy that I am going after Kra'cha'len, but he does not know the answers to the questions that I have for Kra'cha'len. I think he is worried about getting into a conflict with Yggr, but with Boran behind him, I do not understand what he is worried about.

The Priest-Asshole turns toward the left wall of the nave. Power outlines a door that is invisible to my normal vision. Approaching the door, he seems to trace something on the surface of the door, but his body blocks my view of exactly what he is doing. As the door opens, the Priest-Asshole steps through and I follow him.

There is a corridor on the other side and the light crystals in the ceiling give off a dim white light. Tables along the walls have small statues that I suppose are artworks. No matter where I look, there are spells laid on on top of the next. Most of them look odd, almost like they are in a dormant state. A few are easily identifiable as alarms, but the rest I am not sure about.

At the end of the corridor, we go up a set of switchback stairs to the next floor, and follow the a small corridor to a central corridor.

At one end of this corridor there is the head of a flight of stairs. It probably leads up form the doors at the back of temple. There are office behind the nave, but it would have probably been harder to instigate a fight if I came in that way.

At the opposite end of the corridor, not too far from where we are, there is a set of double doors and the Priest-Asshole leads me to them. Despite being so short, this section of corridor has twelve guards stationed along its length in pairs. The hostility and contempt from these guards washes over me, as the small space between the intersection and the door.

When the Priest-Asshole opens the doors, the room behind them is a waiting room. There is some kind of receptionist or secretary seated behind a desk next to the next set of doors, and three DokkAlfar sitting in comfortable looking chairs.

All of the DokkAlfar in the waiting room stare at me with open hostility that rivals that of the guards behind me. At least they do, until I return their stares, and not a one has the balls to meet my eyes. I do not know what others see when look into my eyes, but whatever these DokkAlfar see, it turns their hostility into trepidation.

“The Priest-Lord said to send the trash in as soon as it arrives.” The secretary fills his voice with scorn and animosity.

Embracing the black rage, I focus it on the secretary. He is not much of a Caster, and his Psi defenses are a joke. Driven by Power that encompasses all three aspects of the Trinity in a tight braid, my rage blows apart the secretary's defenses. His naturally pale face loses what little color it has, and he shrinks back in his chair. As I advance on the doors, he frantically looks around for an escape.

I laugh. This is how the world should be. I a monster that is always hated and feared. I am surrounded by enemies, and the black rage is stirring deep within me. This is not Earth. I do not need to smother myself and pretend to fit in. Now, I have Power and no reason to hold back.

The Priest-Asshole and the others in the waiting room unconsciously shrink back from me. I have suddenly become something they do not understand. None of them are used to dealing with humans that refuse to cower at their feet. Safely tucked away in one of the Seven Great Citadel's the only non-DokkAlfar they encounter are slaves.

Bang!

Blown open by my Power, the inner doors slam into the walls of the office that lies behind them. The guards from outside the waiting room charge in with their glaives at the ready. Seated behind a massive desk, Kra'cha'len glares at me with a mix of hate and frustration on his face.

“All of you, leave! Close the doors behind you. The human Brand is a guest.” Kra'cha'len practically chokes on his own words. It is obvious he wants to give a different command but has been given his own order that he is not about to disobey.

The Priest-Asshole, the guards, the secretary, and the supplicants leave the waiting, and the doors close behind them with a soft click.

Boran had said that Yggr was on board with the mission to retrieve the main drive, and it seems like the good little Yggr drones have been given their marching. Woden with the main drive is apparently more of a threat to Yggr than Boran having it. Yggr has no clue how to steal it back, and I am the basket where they are putting all their eggs.

“Can you come in and close the doors? With them open, I cannot activate the full set of privacy wards.” Kra'cha'len's voice is brittle, and hatred he cannot seem to suppress leaks through.

Hate comes in different flavors. The DokkAlfar in the waiting room and the guards hated me, but it was a general, unfocused hate. For them, there was nothing personal in it. Kra'cha'len is different. His hate is not a general hate for humans or people who do not lick his balls. He has some reason to personally despise me.

Entering the office, I smile and close the doors behind me. “So, what do you think of my collar? Oh, sorry. I forgot I took it off.”

Kra'cha'len's Psi shields are at least as strong as Elan'fer'sha's, maybe stronger, but he still cannot keep the intense hatred from passing through them. His face is bland, but his aura and his eyes reveal his true feelings.

“What do you want?” His voice is no longer brittle. I has turned into a venomous hiss.

I laugh, deliberately letting him hear the mocking tone of it. “It seems your fortunes have improved since we last met. Priest-Lord is quite the step up from Priest-Toady isn't it?”

After glaring at me for several moments, Kra'cha'len reins in his anger and hate, and his emotions disappear behind his Psi shields. “If you have business with me, state it. If you have no other purpose than practicing your jester routing, you may leave.”

“Jinmu.”

Kra'cha'len cannot quite conceal his surprise and narrows his eyes. “What do you want with the human?”

“Your ass-fucking god is on board with my mission to Earth. Without Jinmu, I don't know if I can pull it off. Where is he?”

After he gets his hatred and indignation under control, I can practically see the wheels turning inside Kra'cha'len's skull. He is trying to figure something out. In all likelihood, he already knew I am headed for Earth, but probably, he has no clue why. Yggr does not sound like they type to tell his lackeys that there is a device on Earth that can threaten even his existence.

“The city of Freeport on Taereun.”

Freeport? I cannot remember ever hearing the name. It is not like I have ever heard all that much about Taereun proper. If nothing else, at least, Vili should know where it is.

“If there is nothing else, leave!”

I smirk. “There is something I've been curious about since that first time I had Elan'fer'sha riding my dick. Why did you want to fuck me and store my Power in those crystal?”

With each word from “riding” on, Kra'cha'len face gets redder. As his Psi shields crumble, his hate and rage flood out, but there is a lot of something else mixed in with them. He is jealous, insanely jealous.

“Out! Now! Get your bastard animal presence out of my office!”

Yeah, he is definitely another piece of shit lusting after my woman. Even though I cannot blame him for wanting an incredible piece of pussy like her, I will not let him have her anymore than I did that psychotic dyke. If all Wytches are like Elan, it would not take more than a handful of them to destroy the unity of any nation's ruling class. Just thinking about her, my dick is getting hard again.

I laugh mockingly. “Don't be jealous, just because I have that fine Alfar pussy sucking and fucking my dick every night.”

Kra'cha'len surges to his feet. “Leave! Get the fuck out of my office!”

I could bait Kra'cha'len some more, but I think I will save it for another time. I might need to use him for something before this mission is over. Now that I have a prod that will drive him into a fit of rage, I can play with him some before I kill him. This bastard is the impetus behind Jinmu betraying me, and he will die as surely as Jinmu.

Taereun

*** Gor'achen Citadel – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 320

(Brand)

The time is the fourth hour when I arrive at the military air docks. I only have Elan, Tyrend, Kanchek,Valcrit, Sado, and a half dozen more gladiators in tow. There are not that many among the Blood Rose Stable that I think would be useful on Earth. Before Vili made the suggestion that I destroy the Earth, I had only planned to bring Kanchek and Tyrend in addition to Sado, but now I am bringing the gladiators that are the best marksmen with bows and crossbows. Their skills might cross over to firearms, and that might prove useful. I only have Sado with me to help keep an eye on the airship captain. Since Sado was among the gladiators that followed me into Castle Vardne'tar, he is several times more reliable than an unknown DokkAlfar.

The Night Raven has been moved from the fitting dock to a normal dock. At the normal docks, the airships are docked nose in, with their bows tightly moored into U-shaped bumpers. Extensions run out from the main wharf between the airships, allowing crew and cargo to be loaded and unloaded.

Staying back, where some piles of crates partially shield me form the view of those on the ship, I watch the bustle of activity on the main deck of the Night Raven. Surprisingly, the crew seems to be about half human and only a third Alfar. The remaining members look like Half-Alfar and half-orcs.

Standing at the rail of of the poop deck, Duncrik is shouting orders. Seemingly ignoring his orders, the crew are going about the business of getting the ship ready. Periodically, one of the crew looks in Duncrik's direction, with an expression that seems to say “What the fuck?”

“Valcrit, can you get a read on what hell is going on up there?” I point in the direction of the Night Raven.

“I will do my best, Master.” Valcrit nods. His violet eyes glow, and he spreads his Psi toward the Night Raven, in a sweeping net.

I may not be a telepath, but I am an empath. While waiting for several minutes, I continue to watch the activity on board the Night Raven's decks and let the emotions being projected by the crew flow into my mind. The crew is on edge. Judging by their emotional turmoil and the way they are acting, something is not right with either the Night Raven or Duncrik.

As the glow fades from Valcrit's eyes, he looks at me. “Duncrik has been acting oddly since Thrall and that Dvergar boarded the airship earlier this day.”

That seems almost reasonable; Duncrik served in the Air Legion. None of the DokkAlfar in the Blood Rose Stable like Vili, but Kanchek and Valcrit seem to have a very personal dislike for him. They both served in the Atran'ler Imperial Legions, and they might have some kind of history with fighting the Dvergar. There are not many Dvergar in the Battleground of the Damned, but there are still some bloody conflicts between DokkAlfar and the Dvergar that do exist in the Battleground. From what I can tell from the little I know about the Battleground's history, the Jotuns never involve themselves in those conflicts, and that is probably out of fear that Boran will take action if they do. As a result, the DokkAlfar tend get slaughtered every time they make a move against the Dvergar.

“Let's go.” I head straight for the Night Raven.

As I lead my party on board without asking for permission, a number of the crew give me hostile looks, but when Duncrik does not say anything, they turn questioning glances in his direction. For his part, Duncrik only stares rather coldly in my direction. Being tied up with studying the stack of reference material on dimensional theory, I have not had the time to come check on the progress of readying the Night Raven. Now, seeing Duncrik's attitude, I can tell that he probably holds that lack of involvement against me. Fuck him.

“Duncrik, is everything ready for us to sail at noon?”

Duncrik's attitude pisses me off. I use DokkAlfar to question him. Everyone, whether or not they are DokkAlfar, on the deck should understand DokkAlfar. It is a rather fucked up language in many ways, especially its forms when asking a question. There are several ways that a question can be phrased in DokkAlfar, all them relating to the difference in social status between the questioner and questioned. The form I used is appropriate for a member of a High Clan talking to a commoner. Since I am a human, it is an extremely insulting way to talk to Duncrik.

Duncrik seems to be good at concealing his temper, when he wants to. After being insulted by me, his expression turns even colder, but he does not show any other sign of the rage that is eating away at him. “Whenever the rock ape below decks is finished, we will be ready to launch.”

“Valcrit, get everyone settled in appropriate berths. I'll be taking the captain's cabin with Elan.”

“Yes, Master.” Valcrit pounds his fist to his chest in a sharp legionnaire salute.

Duncrik's cold expression cracks, and he state at Valcrit in blatant disbelief.

As I head down the stairs under the poop deck, I hear the crew mumbling and whispering to on another. I may not be a telepath, but my unaugmented hearing is probably the best on the Night Raven, with the exception of Thrall and Vili. The words Brand and arena pop up in the crews whispers and rapidly spread.

Yeah, it looks like I am famous. That and two copper crowns will get me a cheap beer. Since it will be DokkAlfar beer, it will be real piss water.

Entering the hall from the companionway, I move to the door to the metal vault. Inside the door, Vili and Thrall are working on attaching a more or less rectangular black metal box to the pedestal in the middle of the vault. With the both of them working in the vault, it would be hard to squeeze a mouse in the room.

“Almost done. The chameleon shield is already connected in the wheel house.” Vili does not bother to look up from what he is doing.

I do not know if I should consider the way Vili is connecting the device to be odd or not. Gold wires with plugs that more or less resemble those from modern Earth electronics are being slid over gold posts in the column, and then restraining clips are screwed in to hold them in place.

After checking all of his work, Vili bolts the box to the top of the column and stands up. “Done. Come here!”

I take a step into the cramped room, and Vili taps a red crystal stud on the upper left corner of the dimensional ripper. A holographic display springs to life over the ripper.

The dimensional ripper's top is very simplistic in its design. Besides the red stud, there are eighteen crystal dials in a 2x9 arrangement, another stud next to the dials, a holographic projector, and a port of some kind.

Vili snickers. “Damned DokkAlfar have gone pocket plane crazy. It might be time for the Second Father to give us permission to exterminate the Jotun Lords once and for all.

“The display is showing all the dimensional boundaries within five miles, as you would measure distance on your Earth, more or less. There are so many pocket planes inside these so-called Great Citadels that it looks like chaos, but it is still quite accurate. To use the ripper you need to identify the dimensional boundary you want to tear open, set the energy frequencies for a sheering wave, and activate it. Simple. When we are in someplace less twisted, I will show you how to read it. There is less dimensional clutter to litter the display there.

“Other than fixed teleportation, dimensional ripping is one of the few ways to move between planes inside of Yggdrasil. With this, there is no way for Woden to trap you on your Earth. In an emergency, you can easily escape.”

When Vili talks about an emergency, I have the feeling he is speaking about a very specific emergency. If I do manage to set off Earth's nuclear arsenals, I will probably need to escape in a hurry.

Thrall stares at me for a few moments. I have no idea what he might be looking for, but he nods in seeming acceptance or satisfaction.

“I will take my leave. Do not let anyone kill you. You still have to complete my Shadow Fist.”

A trace of a smile slightly turns up the corners of my mouth. “I don't plan on dying, and if I do, I'm taking enough of them with me to pave the road to the afterlife with their mutilated corpses.”

Vili smirks. “It's too bad your human. You have the heart of a Dvergar.”

Thrall shakes his head and disappears.

“He takes himself too serious. He needs to stop worrying about that crazy slut he's pining after and enjoy his life. Being Transcendent means as long two people are alive, there is always the chance to meet another day.”

I have no idea what Vili is talking about. He may just be talking to himself.

With a broad smirk, Vili look up toward the ceiling of the passageway. “Not as many Alfar around as I'd hoped for. Think I'll put the fear of Star Clans in the soul of the rod up his ass Alfar what thinks he should be the rightful owner of my ship here.”

After Vili disappears up the companionway, Elan moves over next to me with a questioning look on her face.

I snort. “Just be glad he's found someone else to vent his Alfar hatred on.”

Elan shudders and looks through the open doorway at the dimensional ripper. Her seem to hold a mix of awe and fear. As she steps back, she firmly close the door and engages the lock.

As we emerge from the companionway, the majority of the crew are pretending to work, while watching Vili and Duncrik on the poop deck.

“What's the matter spindle neck? You're mad because my Night Raven was given to a human? You needle dick Alfar think you're better than humans. You're so wrong.”

Vili laughs and slaps Duncrik on the back, staggering him. “Your ancestors deliberately ignored the truth of your origins, and at the end or the War of Slaughter, we Star Clans sent you back to living in caves and using stone tools. Anything you might have remember was lost.

“You ever wonder why when you stick your needle dicks in human women you can get them knocked up? The truth is that crazy, ungrateful traitor Nidhoggr made you Alfar from human genetic material, just like the orcs, goblins, kobolds, gnolls, and all the other beast races.” Vili laughs nastily.

“You're lying!” Duncrik's face is red, whether it is from his rage or his terror is anyone's guess.

“I don't need to lie to spindle neck, needle dick Alfar that can't even start to Coalesce his Power after nearly six hundred years. No point in it. I've killed billions of your worthless kind. Why would I bother to lie to you?”

Whether or not Vili is telling the truth, I believe what he is saying. He is a strange, but I cannot imaging him lying just to fuck with a random Alfar. For someone like Vili, I think the truth is a far more powerful tool to fuck with someone.

“According to good ole Grampa Grimnir, you needle dicks are nothing but one of Nidhoggr's failed experiments. For hundreds of millions of years, Alfar were nothing more the lickspittle bureaucrats in the True Dragons' empire. You were nothing more than toads used for menial record keeping, until the Dragons found out what petty lengths vicious, vain, pathetic cowards like you would go to. That was when they started using you as local satraps. The more you abused and degraded those under your charge, the more power the Dragons gave unto you. In the end, you became their factors, oppressing all under their rule in their name. Propped up by the might of the True Dragons, you Alfar thought you were untouchable, but we Dvergar destroyed the Dragons under the command of Death.

“I was there. I was one of the first Dvergar in this Second Metaverse. I saw your rise to power. I killed you by the billions after we slew the Dragons.”

Whether Duncrik or the crew, all eyes are on Vili, and all those eyes are filled with varying degrees or terror. At my side, Elan is fearfully clutching my arm.

Vili turns to look at me, and his face is the perfect picture of malicious glee. “This haughty spindle neck is ready to be a good little failed experiment and follow orders.”

Chuckling evilly to himself, Vili struts off the poop deck and disappears down the companionway. With the heavy pressure of Vili's presence lifted, the crew immediately start whispering to one another. One speculation or theory follows the next, each one wilder than the one preceding it.

With Vili gone, Duncrik is staring at me as though he cannot decide whether he should be shocked, awed, outraged, or enraged. Despite having the urge to laugh, I keep a straight face, and stare right back at him.

“What are your orders, Master?” With noticeable tics on both sides of his face, Duncrik's face settles into an an angry and aggrieved frown. He obviously hates to call me Master, but hardship is good for tempering his Soul.

“Finish any last preparations and set sail.”

“Aye, Master.”

The men and DokkAlfar that I brought from the Blood Rose Stable return to the main deck, while last minute supplies are being loaded and everything lose on the deck is tied down or stowed away. Kanchek leads them to the poop deck, where Elan and I are standing. Kanchek, Valcrit, and Tyrend silently take up positions near Elan and myself. The three are armored and heavily armed.

Other than Sado, the rest of the gladiators stay in a cluster near the port rail. Sado moves a position near the wheelhouse in the middle of the poop deck and strikes up a conversation with the bored looking sailor standing next to the wheel.

The crew working on the deck notice the Blood Rose members' actions, and comments fly about them in the sailors' constant whispered conversations. Like all the beings I have encountered since awakening my empathy, the air sailors' emotions are constantly shifting, but theirs seem to be shifting at a much faster rate than I have seen in others.

*There are no bigger gossips in the multiverse than air sailors. Put two of in the same plane, and they will find a way to start a grapevine.* Valcrit's comment is made with a telepathic projection. Based on Tyrend's sudden smirk, he is using a general projection that includes the four of us near him.

*Is there anything going through their minds that should worry me?*

Valcrit faintly shakes his head. He seems to know that I have the ability to see what people are doing, even when I am not looking at them. *For air sailors, they are still well within the realm of normal suspicion, paranoia, and superstition. When they learn the Mistress is a Wytch, that might change. If Duncrik ever becomes a fool, he will probably try to use that against you.*

*What about Duncrik?*

Valcrit frowns. *He has been terrified by that Dvergar. We may not know who or what he really is, but all of us who are DokkAlfar can tell he is a monster among Dvergar. While the Dvergar is around, he will crush any thoughts he might otherwise have of usurping you in any way.*

*You know him. Do you trust him?*

For several very long moments, Valcrit seems to thinking. *He is not the Duncrik I once knew. Something has changed him. I do not know if he can be trusted or not.*

At three hundredths left before noon, the crew of the Night Raven loosely assemble on the main deck facing the poop deck. Besides the Duncrik, there are thee more officers. The highest ranking one looks from Duncrik to my group, and then, he glances at the companionway to the stern cabins.

The officer, a DokkAlfar, firmly looks in my direction and holds his closed fist over his heart. “First Officer, reporting. The Night Raven is ready to sail, Master.”

The DokkAlfar culture and mentality is built on a rigid structure of hierarchy and dominance with those at a certain social status being called Master. While I do not have any explicit social status, I have DokkAlfar who are calling me Master, and the first officer is following in their footsteps. DokkAlfar are always very aware of who holds the real power in any situation. If there are no binding ties of loyalty, a DokkAlfar will seek out his or her own best advantage. Most likely he is doing it just to cover his ass, in case I really do hold some position that merits the name, but that does not mean that it is unnatural for him.

I do not let my amusement show on my face. “Captain, take us out of here.”

Duncrik cannot keep the rage off his face or out of his voice. “First, send a messenger to the Port Master's Office. Tell them Night Raven is ready to sail.”

“Aye, Captain.”

In less than a hundredth, the messenger returns as a passenger on a harbor tug. Jumping across the gap between the tug and the Night Raven, he almost seems to glide through the air. There are number of arts common to air sailors. They are not exactly combat arts, but they do have a large number of common abilities that enhance their combat abilities. The gliding leap is one that I have seem performed by human air sailors in the human polities of the Battleground of the Damned.

After the rope is tied to a cleat at the stern of the Night Raven, the tug pulls her stern first out her berth. These small stone airships are only about two or three times the length of the stone longboats used as launches on DokkAlfar airships. They have no sails, but the do have multiple propellers. Fueled by Power crystal, the engines of these small tugs suck down enormous quantities of Power every day.

With the Night Raven clear of the dock, the crew moves the rope to a cleat at the bow, and the tug begins towing the ship bow first.

The actual wharves of the military docks are some hundred and fifty yards inside of a cave. At the mouth of the cave, massive metal doors can be closed to seal access to the docks. This is a different dock than the one I snuck into after being set up by Aluras'bektsh'tar. Lining the walls, floor, and roof of the cavern, there dozens of Mana-cannon emplacement. Anyone trying to assault Gor'achen through the military docks would be in for a rough time.

As the Night Raven exits the cavern mouth, Vili emerges from the companionway. Only a part of his profile is visible, but his face is filled with unconcealed anger and hate.

Following what should be his line of sight, I see another of the Seven Great Citadels floating in the air, at a higher altitude than Gor'achen.

“Tren'fon Citadel.” Valcrit is staring at the flying citadel with an ambiguous expression.

Everyone here has a history with the Battleground of the Damned, and none of them have a pleasant past. Vili's past with the DokkAlfar is one of blood and violence. The gladiators and guards, at the very least, all ran out of luck before Thrall or Elan picked them up. If they had led happy lives, these people would never have become associated with the Blood Rose Stable.

Once the Night Raven is about a half-mile away from Gor'achen, the tug halts, and the crew unties the tow rope.

Between and below the Gor'achen and Tren'fon Citadels, there is a giant mountain with eight castles spread around its peak. With that peak having a diameter of eight to nine miles, the mountain towers above the surrounding peaks. In the center of the mountaintop, there is an almost perfectly circular valley some seven to eight miles in diameter, and in the center of the valley there is a formation or sigil that is at least five miles in diameter. The silver runes inlaid into the surface of the black metal remind of the ones etched into many of the teleport gates that exist throughout the Battleground of the Damned. Around the outside of the formation, eight spires lean outward.

Coming up to the poop deck, Vili turns his hostile glare on Duncrik. “Take this hunk of rock down into the Tren'fon array. We're headed for the Lands of Despair.”

Under Duncrik's commands, the crew open up about a third of the sails attached the to Night Raven's four masts. The ship smoothly and swiftly heads toward the formation in the valley.

“Those spires expand the area that can be affected by the array, allowing it to send objects even larger than the Seven Great Citadels. There is one one in each zone of Yggdrasil, eight in all. They are artifacts left behind by Nidhoggr. Their original purpose was to move object the size of our battleships between the dimensional compartments of Yggdrasil.” Vili's voice is soft, but it still caries clearly to my ears. There is an air of sorrow and pain around him that is partially suppressing the hate and anger.

Glancing at the other, I see no reactions. I do not think they heard Vili's words.

Shaking himself like an animal, Vili stalks to the bow of the Night Raven and hops on the bowsprit.

“Hear me, you spindle dick, needle neck, sons of bastards, murderers, and traitors! I am Vili, 305th Generation Descendant of Grimnir, Son of Auoun, Son of Alfodr, Son of Boran Second Father. I am here to use this teleportation array of Yggdrasil. Use it to send me to what you call the Lands of Despair, or face my wrath!” Vili's words are spoken in a normal tone, but they seem to drill through the heads of everyone on the Night Raven. I can only assume that the DokkAlfar in the fortresses below have been assaulted in the same or a worse manner.

There is not response from the DokkAlfar in the fortresses that I can detect, but Vili seems satisfied. He jumps down from he bowsprit and returns to the poop deck.

As the Night Raven reaches the center of the teleportation array and begins to drift, I begin to feel massive beyond belief volumes of Power building up in the spires and the array beneath us. I am not the only to feel it, and most of the sailors look around fearfully. There are some who seem to know what is happening, and they nonchalantly sit down or grab onto rails or the masts. Valcrit is one of those who grabs a rail, and I take my queue from him.

Elan simply tightens her grip on my arm. Through her nearly nonexistent top, I can her hard nipple pressing tightly against my arm. Thoughts of bending her over the rail and fucking her doggy style flit through my mind.

As if she can tell what I am thinking, the tip of Elan's tongue moistens her pale lips. “Take me to our cabin after we pass though the array.”

Blue white bolts of Power that look like lightning bounce between the spires and pierce the sky. The brilliant light given off by the lightning makes the midday sun seem dim by comparison. As the lightning forms a complete dome over the array, darkness fills the air outside the dome, turning day into lightning filled night.

BOOM!

The huge thunderclap nearly staggers me. If it were not for my death-grip on the poop deck rail, I would probably fall flat on my ass.

Both the darkness and the lightning disappear, revealing a completely different landscape. We are atop another mountain, but there is no valley. This mountain has been cut off like table, and the teleportation array is crafted into the surface of it. In form, it is the array itself is the twin of the one we just left. No fortresses are visible around this array, but there may be more below. In all directions, more mountains are visible, but none of them have had their peaks cut off like this one.

“I am Vili, 305th Generation Descendant of Grimnir, Son of Auoun, Son of Alfodr, Son of Boran Second Father. Use this teleportation array to send me to outer surface array on Yggdrasil's upper face.” Again, Vili's voice seems to drill though my head.

More blue white lightning bolts bounce between the spires and pierce the sky. The dome of lightning and darkness forms again.

BOOM!

A new vista appears. This time there are no mountains, but rather, huge black spires that look like the ones from when Boran showed me the outside of Yggdrasil rise up all around us. On a flat space below, a third teleportation array is etched. Unlike the last two, instead of being level, it appears to be slanted.

“Is this one of the nine arrays? Are we still inside Yggdrasil?”

I am not sure if the sound Vili makes a bark of laughter or something else. “No. On the outside of Yggdrasil there were six teleportation arrays corresponding to the six outer zone inside the battle fortress. Four were destroyed in the War of Slaughter. This is one of the two that remain. We are on Taereun.”

Taereun. Haven is on Taereun, somewhere to the north of here. I feel a mix of emotions that I cannot easily sort out. For twelve years, I fought, tortured, murdered, and destroyed my through the Lands of Despair. It was all with a single goal: to reach Haven. I liked being a Half-Dvergar. I did not care about returning to my real body, but I swore to return Mei to her body.

I am not sure what I expected after finding Haven and completing the task set upon us by that bastard Woden. There was no act so brutal or so heinous that I would not have done it done it, if it brought us closer to Haven. I never thought past finding Woden's body and seeing everyone else returned to their real bodies. Maybe, I expected to die in the process.

My debt to Urehara Ryouske was the only reason I wanted to send his daughter Mei back to her real body. I owed him. I tried to save Mei, but she betrayed me. I came back to the Battleground of the Damned with Urehara Ryouske. Urehara Ryouske has taken the name Jinmu. It is apparently the same name as the legendary first Emperor of Japan. Like his daughter, Jinmu betrayed me. The family is nothing but traitors, but I need Jinmu.

Still, Jinmu's family created Prophet, and he was one of the engineering geniuses that created Delphi, Prophet's successor. Without the Prophet and Delphi systems installed around the world, I cannot think of a way to find the Yggdrasil's main drive. If it is back in North Dakota, all well and good, but if it has been moved, I have no to know where to look.

I look up toward the sky.

Fast moving wispy clouds intermittently conceal and reveal the stars and moons above us in the vault of a night. There is no pollution clouding the the atmosphere. Three moons and millions of stars are shine brilliantly against the darkness of space.

“Move us off the teleportation array, and anchor us by one of Yggdrasil's spines. We'll pass the night here.” Vili's blunt orders are clearly meant for Duncrik.

As the Night Raven moves toward the spines, as Vili calls them, the crew gets the anchors ready to drop. Once activated, the anchors of an airship use a sigils embedded in them to increase their weight a hundred times or more. I have heard that the highest quality anchors can increase their weight by more than ten thousand times. Considering that the base weight of an anchor varies from around five hundred to two thousand pounds, the weight increasing sigils should allow them to safely hold most airships in place under most circumstances.

With the Night Raven moored, the crew gathers together in small groups gossiping. Their main topics of conversation are Duncrik, Vili, Elan'fer'sha, and myself. They are probably unaware that most of their whispers are clearly audible to those of us on the poop deck. If you do not already have senses at the levels that we do, it can be hard to imagine just how acute they really are.

Elan'fer'sha presses her body tighter against me and slips her hand under my pteruges. “We should go down to our cabin.”

Just having Elan hanging makes hard to keep from getting hard. “Ha. It hasn't even been half a day, and you're already hungering for my dick.”

“Bestiality is the best kind of fucking, and you are a well hung animal.” Elan has a blatant smirk on her lips.

Grabbing Elan between the legs, I throw her over my shoulder and start walking off the poop deck.

“You bastard animal! Put me down, or I'll make you pay!”

My laughter is lewd and mocking, as I hold Elan in place with one arm. No matter how much she squirms, I do not give her any better leverage to get away.

Behind me, Kanchek and Valcrit have expressions of shock, but Tyrend just smirks and gives me a thumbs up. Since I am not facing him, does that mean he understands that my spatial awareness can see all around me?

*** Outside Yggdrasil – Taereun ***

Return: Day 321

(Brand)

The coming dawn has already painted the sky to the east in shades of pink and red, but I have not slept. I was far too busy fucking Elan to waste time sleeping. Even if I have only had three pieces of ass in my life, I cannot imagine finding better pussy than her. No matter, how long or how hard I fuck her, she is always hungry for more. Before meeting her, I was never much of a fan of the skinny, flat-chested types, but she fucks like a wild animal and her small tits do not sag.

When I left Elan, she was in a deep sleep, but I am too wired to sleep. I do not know why I would be so elated to be on Taereun, but I am. Maybe, I will finally be able to fine closure to my life as Talon and lay the past to rest.

Frost on the deck indicate how cold it should be, but dressed in nothing but boots and pteruges, I do not feel cold in the slightest. I am already starting to leave the limitation of a mortal human behind. What will happen when I begin to Coalesce my Power?

“Before you Coalesce, you need to become a Triune. That little kid Thrall has high hopes that you can become his successor and carry on that combat art he is so proud of.” Vili's voice comes from behind me, but I never even felt any movement in the air. When I look behind me, I see his smirking face.

I am not sure if I should laugh of puke. Thrall is tens of thousands of years old. No matter how old Vili may actually be, calling Thrall a “little kid” is nothing short of being ridiculous.

“You can be one annoying pain in the ass.”

Vili laughs. As long as he can get a rise out of you, he will not get offended if you insult him. At least, I think he will not. The smirk on Vili's face seems to be his way of telling the world that he know exactly what everyone is thinking.

“As soon as the sun is up, we can set sail. I don't these spindle necked Alfar to not wreck the ship in the dark.”

“Can't they see just as well in the dark as Dvergar?”

Vili laughs again. “Not even close. Whether it's a Half-Dvergar or an Alfar, neither one has eyesight even close to a real Dvergar. Nidhoggr designed us from True Dragon DNA. We're head and shoulders above any other race in most all respects.”

Even though the spines of Yggdrasil hide the eastern horizon, Vili looks toward it. He gives the eerie impression that he can actually see right through the spine. “The sun is up. It's time to set sail.”

I look toward the wheelhouse. The ships first officer is inside.

“First, rouse the captain and crew. We're leaving.” I may not have Vili's bag of Power tricks, but I can still use Ki to project my voice through some more or less solid objects.

“Aye, Master.” The first officer is another DokkAlfar. When calling me Master, he does not even bat any eyelash.

Seeing Vili's smirk out of the corner of my eye, I pretend that I do not see it. Vili can be really obnoxious, annoying fuck. I am not sure I would want to spend too much time around him. More likely than not, I would end up trying to beat the shit out of him. That would not be likely to end well.

The crew is on deck in less than five minute, but it takes Duncrik around ten minutes to meander out of the companionway. His natural mental shields are not even close to strong enough to block the resentment that is broadcasting from him. He needs a lesson in the hierarchy, and I am sure he will give me an excuse to school him soon enough. If it takes more than five minutes, the shock will probably kill me.

“Captain, take us to the north.”

Duncrik frowns and looks over the crew. “Haul up the…”

Crack! Thump!

Lying on his side, Duncrik glares at me. The bloody red hand print on his face matches the outline of my hand. After starting to rub his face, Duncrik pulls his hand back and stares at it with his eyes so wide open the whites are visible all around the irises. It takes a moment of staring at the blood on his hand before he shifts his eyes back to me.

“First, take us to the the north.”

The first mate keeps his face expressionless. “Aye, Master! Haul up the anchors, you bastard sons of land-grubs! Set a quarter sail, and angle the bow one tenth upward!”

Alfar, whether LjosAlfar or DokkAlfar, and Dvergar do not use degrees, radians, or gradians when doing angular measurements. In the same way they divide a day into tenths, hundredths, thousandths, etc., they divide a circle in the same manner. A tenth upward amounts to a thirty-six degree angle in an upward direction.

As the crew scrambles to carry out the first mate's orders, Duncrik pushes himself to his feet. He does not have any broken bones or cuts on his face. I controlled my use of Ki to force the blood though his skin without doing any damage that would impede him doing his job.

Once we rise above the altitude of the spines, a vista of wintry land is visible to the north. The rough landscape is covered with small mountain stone ridgelines. The only visible green comes from the needles on coniferous trees. Everything else is covered under blankets of white snow. Driven by the strong east wind, wisps of smoke stain the sky below us, but the source is still blocked from view by the bulk of Yggdrasil.

“Three quarters of the Yggdrasil is below the waterline. The only reason it has not sunk to the middle of Taereun's core is the field permanently maintain by Furnace of Life and Death. If some idiot Jotun was to ever break field that while tinkering with the drives, Taereun would be destroyed in a matter of seconds.” Vili's tone is flat. For all the emotion he is revealing, he could be talking about taking a morning dump.

Even though I do not suffer from fear, I still feel a chill down my spine. If Woden fucked up, I would be lucky to have enough time to realize I was dying. For the first time since Boran set the task of retrieving the main drive on me, I actually feel an urgency to get it out of Woden's hands.

Elan, who came up on the poop deck just before Vili spoke, is looking fearfully in my direction, and as I turn to her, I smile.

“The Second Father, Grampa Grimnir, Vey, and myself have been searching for that drive for tens of thousands of years, even since the Jotun Lords brought Yggdrasil into this plane. We never would have looked for it on your Earth. Before Woden dragged that world into the Battleground of the Damned, it was not even in the same multiverse as Taereun. It was probably one of the best possible places to hide the main drive, but with Earth here, he can no longer hide. Woden plans to do something a lot bigger than just dragging your Earth into the Battleground. It is more than likely he will make a mistake.”

The gladiators and guards from the Blood Rose Stable are on the main deck staring up at Vili. His voice was loud enough to carry to everyone on the Night Raven. Whether it is my people, Duncrik, or the crew, everyone has at least a thoughtful expression on his or her face.

As the Night Raven sails farther north, a camp, with a semi-permanent appearance, comes into view. The smoke is from the fires and chimneys of that dirty collection of tents, shack, cabin, and a few lager buildings. Nestled in a valley about five miles inland, they should be mostly sheltered from the worst of the winter winds. There is a well-worn path heading south from the camp, toward Yggdrasil.

Could that camp possibly be a staging base for exploring the Labyrinth of Yggr? If anyone is stupid enough to venture inside, they can go to hell in whatever manner they find. Their deaths are no concern of mine.

As the Night Raven continues north, I see a channel of water between Yggdrasil and the land to its north, with a stone causeway crossing it. In the surface of Yggdrasil, there is a set of doors that look like the door to the Transition Chamber. Looking to either side, I do not see any other causeways or gates. Does the gate lead to the Lands of Despair? Is this the way the Damned left the Labyrinth of Yggr? I will to ask the Thorrin. Knowing the way into the Lands of Despair might prove useful in the future.

What is this feeling? The Od? It is not the formations or sigil that Boran put into Elan. Where is it coming from?

A mile or so away from the path between the camp and the causeway, there is a stone structure. It looks almost like one of the old tombs in the cemetery where the people who seemed to be my parents are buried.

I look at Vili, but unusually, he is acting like he is not paying attention. There is something suspicious about that structure, and I have a feeling I know what it is.

“Take the ship down and anchor near that clearing.” I point to the open area with the stone structure that looks like a tomb.

“Aye, Master.” Duncrik nearly chokes on the those two word, and then, starts issuing orders to the crew.

Now that the Night Raven is underway, the crew are no longer ignoring Duncrik's orders and going about things they way they feel like doing them. There is a sense of tension in them as they carry out their task. Clearly, the crew does not consider this to be friendly territory.

“First, get the long boat ready for launch.”

“Aye, Master.” The first officer grabs four crewmen, one of them is a DokkAlfar female, not that it matters, and takes them to break out the long boat.

When I feel the faint tremor from the ship's anchors hitting the ground, I move to the longboat.

“Brand?” Elan'fer'sha's voice is hesitant.

As I look at her, I feel like an ogre kicked me in the stomach. Even though Elan's shields obfuscate her emotions, I would swear I see concern in her eyes.

I hold out my hand. “Come on.”

A faint smile turns up the corners of lips, and she walks towards me a little more quickly than her normal. As she grasps my hand, I have to consciously redirect the flow of blood away my dick, and Elan's smile turns lascivious.\

For some reason, the heavy mood that started to hang over me lightens.

While the first mate mans the tiller, the four crewmen that broke out the longboat row it during our descent. The oars are tiller on these longboat have special formations built into them that allow them to use the air as though it were water. There are a number of galleys among the DokkAlfar Air Legion in the Battleground of the Damned. The oars on those ships are manned by slaves that are often worked to death when their life force sucked out by the oars after then Power has run out.

Getting out of the longboat, I stare at the tomb. That is exactly what it is, a tomb. My tomb.

Here Lies

Talon

A Man Who Was Slain By

Those He Fought For.

Those He Defended

Stabbed Him In The Back.

Drawing up a tiny thread of the Od, I insert it into the tomb. There is a body inside that except the wounds on it seems to be completely intact. There is no sign of any form of decay. I feel a strange chill go though me. Maybe this is what people mean when they that it feels like someone walked over their grave.

After releasing the Od, I am not sure how long I stare at that tomb. I am not really thinking about anything in particular. There is simply a blank emptiness inside of my mind.

“Brand?” Elan squeezes my hand.

Twisting Elan's arm up behind her back, I pull her close and savagely kiss her. My tongue thrusts into her mouth, and hers twines and struggles with mine. After a moment, she moans softly into my mouth and hungrily sucks on my tongue.

After a few minutes, when I pull my head back, Elan stares at me with her face flushed red. With her body pressed tightly against my own, I feel her hard nipples through her tissue thin top.

“What was that for? Why did you stop?”

I turn eyes toward my tomb. “For a minute there, I needed to remind myself that I'm still alive.”

Elan looks at the tomb. “That looks like the small houses that some of the human tribes place the bodies of their dead in.”

“It's called a tomb in my language.” I read the inscription to Elan.

Still looking at the tomb, Elan's face hardens. “Talon? You said he saved your life.”

I sigh. “After Talon jumped from Gor'achen, he barely survived the fall.”

Elan's body stiffens against mine.

“Quite some time later, several decades I guess, his Mind and Soul were destroyed by Woden. His body was used as a shell to house a Mind and Soul from my world, and he became one of the Possessed. I was the one, my Mind and Soul, that possessed Talon. I was still possessing him when his body died.”

Elan looks at me, but I keep staring at my tomb. For several minutes, she does not say anything or struggle against me. With the arm bar I have her in, it is not like could easily get away.

“Was Talon's death painful?”

“Ha. I was stabbed in the back with two swords. I didn't die immediately.”

“Not yours in that body. Was the real Talon's death painful?”

I sigh and shake my head. “I don't know. I have no memories of how Woden removed his Mind and Soul.”

Elan sniffs in an irritated manner. “I will believe he died in agony. It cannot be pleasant to have your Mind and Soul removed from your body.”

I sigh again. “It probably hurt like fucking hell. Woden leaves a bit of the original Mind and Soul behind and twists it into an interface between the Body and the Mind and Soul of the possessor.

“Good. Talon deserved to suffer for what he did to me. At least, I can destroy his grave.”

“No! Leave it! This is my grave as much as Talon's. I died hundreds of times, but each time, I returned through Woden's resurrection system. When I died here, it was different. The Land of the Dead I went to was no tied to Woden's construct. This was a real death. Even more than it is Talon's, that is my corpse in there. Leave it alone.”

Elan slips her arm around my neck and kisses me. Her kiss is as fierce as the one I just gave her. All the blood in my body tries to rush to the little head.

“You are alive. Your body is not in that tomb, as you call it. This is your body. The body that fucks me every night is alive. You are alive!”

Yet again, I cannot stop myself from sighing. “Let's go back to the Night Raven.”

After returning to the airship, we sail toward the west, but in only ten minutes or so we find something else to catch my interest. I remember seeing this strange valley when Boran was showing my this coastline and the town of the Damned, but I did not notice the monument in the middle of it.

The valley is abnormal to begin with. It looks like a pool or molten stone that congealed. This is not a volcanic area, so there should not be any volcanic craters. Rising up from the center of the valley is a grey stone obelisk that resembles the Washington Monument on Earth.

“Drop anchor! I'm going down again.”

“Aye, Captain.” Duncrik's resentment and hostility are audible in his voice. It does not matter whether or not he dislikes me, as long as he does his job.

I have a weird feeling as I step out of the longboat. This place reminds of the cemetery where my parents are buried. Cemeteries have always given me a weird itch in the back of my neck. I always feel like I am being watched, even though there is no one around.

Since it seems to be the middle of winter, the plants are dead now, but someone went to the trouble of digging out the stone and hauling in dirt to make flower beds. From the orderly rows of the dead plants, whoever made this monument is still regularly tending it.

Built from pretty big blocks of granite, the four sided obelisk stands about 250' tall. At the base of the monument, there is a stone slab set at an angle to the plane of the spire, with an inscription on it

In Memory Of Those Who Died

So That Others Might Live

Cut deeply into the face of the obelisk, there is a list of names. Starting from the top, it reads:

Agun

Danleib

Cwichelm

Kamehameha

Below those first three lines, the names are listed ten or more to a line. Mixed in on that list of names, there are thirty or forty that I recognize as mercenaries that were with us at that battle where I was murdered. With over two hundred lines, there are over two thousand of names on the monument.

In almost twelve years, we never came close to losing that many in a single battle. Even the crappiest of the Damned had a body that was several cuts above the average in the Battleground of the Damned or the Lands of Despair. It took a hell of a lot of damage for of them actually die. They might be put out of action for the rest of the battle, but if it was not an insta-kill, one of the Damned would usually pull through.

I only have a vague recollection of someone that might be Agun. It was one fucked up battle or another where the idiotic players managed to get themselves massacred, and he was a survivor of it. I only remember him because of the intensity of his hate toward some other player. He had the kind of hate that could drive a person to take insane chances for revenge. I know what that kind of hate feel like. That guy was a Caster or one type or another, and his name might have been Agun.

Danleib and Cwichelm were two of the Seven Dvergar. Vili already told me they were dead, and I guess the battle they died in was fought here.

Kamehameha's name is a surprise. He was a little punk ass-wipe. Every time I ran into the little shit, he would always try to start trouble with me. I never knew or cared why he hated me, but I would never have expected a little bitch like him to sacrifice himself to save anyone. It must have been an accident.

I know some of the people on the list, and I hated most of them. I would probably have recognized most of the faces that go with the names I do not recognize, but I do not care that they are dead. Of all the Damned, Nessa and Thorrin were the only ones I cared about. I wanted them to live. If it was not for her father, I would have just as soon left Mei to her fate when she was sold to Menton by her friends. As for the rest of Woden's victims, if I did not want to to hurt or kill them, I could not have cared less about them.

While I stare at the monument, trying to figure out if I feel anything at all, Elan stands behind me, but she does not say anything. She just watches me stare at the monument.

By the time I turn around to leave, the short winter day is getting close to noon.

Refuge

*** Refuge – Taereun ***

Return: Day 322

(Thorrin Hammerfist)

I put my social organizer back in its special belt pouch.

*Is it time?* Dacbold's normal brevity of speech is strangely reassuring. The latest version of the part and raid channels is so good that I would swear he was in the room talking to me and not speaking to me via a mental conduit.

*The guards in the eastern watch tower just called. There is a black stone airship headed this way, and it's a big one.*

*Brand is supposed to be human.*

*Boran said he would come by airship. I assumed it would be a human made airship, but I could have been wrong.*

Dacbold does not replay, and I leave my forge. At my house, I just open the back door and do not go in.

“Silvy!”

“Coming, Lord Thorrin!”

It take the girl, woman at least in terms of age, less than five seconds to tear into the kitchen. Her veil hides her mouth, but her single eye seems to be smiling. She bows like always. Her servility drives me up the wall, but I cannot break her of it.

“The people I mentioned are arriving today. Make a big batch of something that is easy to accommodate a lot of people with.”

“Yes, Lord Thorrin.” Silvy bows repeatedly. Her constant bowing reminds me of the bobbling, socially inept mage trio Agun more or less left to Dacbold.

I make my way to the airship mooring town near the docks. The constant greetings and attempts to chew the fat by too many people irritates me more than normal. I think I have finally come to understand, at least in part, why Ahlred hated being around people so much. It has been fourteen years since he disappeared. I wonder if he is still alive.

When I arrive, Dacbold is already at the mooring tower, and so are more than fifty others. Most of them have less than no business being here. Dacbold is standing well apart form the masses, and no one has the guts to approach him. I stand next Dacbold, borrowing his antisocial aura to keep the annoying self-important busy-bodies of Refuge at bay.

The wait is not long before the huge black airship sails into view. The hull design is more or less like that of the old clipper ships from the 1800s on Earth, and she is a four master with enough sails to make circus tent. From the sheen, those sails are probably made from some kind of silk. Her black stone hull is inlaid with spell pattern after spell pattern, all done in gold. Despite having gunports, she is more of a work of art than a warship.

From the way she streaks by as she starts to loop through the valley, she must doing at least thirty miles an hour, and she only has less than half her sails deployed. Air provides far less resistance than water. With the right winds, I wonder what her top speed would be?

As she circles into the lee of South Mountain, her speed begins to drop, and her crew climb into the rigging, rapidly furling her sails. When she reaches the fields to the of town, she drops her anchors.

The anchors hit the ground hard, sending geysers of dirt flying in all directions. If the fields were not lying fallow due to it being winter, they would have ruined the crops in those fields.

*Typical DokkAlfar arrogance.* I spit on the ground.

*That ship is way too big for our mooring tower.*

Dacbold is right, but I hate giving a DokkAlfar the benefit of the doubt. Even after escaping from the Labyrinth, we have had too many run-ins with them.

A few minutes after dropping anchor, two launches set out from the airship. Judging by their physical proportions, there looks to be a mix of humans and DokkAlfar on the launches, and on the first launch there is also a Dvergar.

Seeing that Dvergar with a huge two-handed axe resting on his shoulder, I get a bad feeling. That is one Dvergar I would really rather not have to deal with.

The launches ignore the mooring tower and set down directly on the ground. The first one out is the Dvergar. Ah, damn. It is him. It really is Vili. Even if I pretend he not here, he will not go away.

*Thinking bad thought me again, brat? You need to learn to respect your elders.*

If he was not such an immature bastard, I would not be thinking bad thoughts about him. Maybe, if he grows up, he will be deserving of some respect.

*I'm still listening punk. You need to realize where you fit in the hierarchy around here, and it's not over me. You need to learn to be a better Dvergar. Take some lessons from Brand. He knows how to bully the weak with the best of them.*

The human getting out of the launch gives Vili the middle finger. Even though Vili has his back to the human, he will still see it.

*No, on second thought, don't take lessons from Brand. He's got less respect for his elders than you do.*

Dacbold is showing a hint of a smile. He must been included in Vili's telepathic projections, and apparently this Brand was included, as well.

Taking a good look at Brand, I cannot help but feel a chill go down my spine. Almost the entirety of the left half or his body is covered in burn scars. With him just wearing a pair of boot and leather loincloth like thing, it is easy to see how badly scarred he is. Ignoring the rest of the crowd, he looks straight at me, and that stare makes me want to draw my axe. Brand is a killer. I have seen a lot of killers over the thirty years, and almost none of them have ever given me this feeling. Brand has spilled oceans of blood. He is just like...

“In real life, I look like a horror movie freak. Half my face looks like melted wax and the other half . . . well, it's just normal ugly. I was in an accident when I was eleven years old. I was badly burned over half my body and the bones were mostly shattered in the other side of my head. It was months before I could leave the hospital.”

As I walk toward the launch, my steps are a bit unsteady. I casually shove aside the people in my way. Their strength is like infant's compared compared with mine. They bitch and complain, but I cannot make heads or tails of what they are saying.

“Talon?” My voice sound like I am trying to speak with my dying gasps.

Brand smiles. God damn, that is one ugly smile, but it is also the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. “I guess it's been a while for you. Hasn't it, Thorrin?”

“HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa! Talon! You're alive!”

I grab Talon in a bear hug. Lifting him off his feet, I spin around in a circle.

Almost everyone is looking at me like I am crazy, but I do not give a god damn. The kid is still alive. I do not know, but he is still alive!

Most of the crowd is made up of the Damned, and they are all staring at me spinning in a circle with Brand. By the time he was murdered, the name Talon was know by everyone in the expeditionary force. There are probably a not insignificant number of the Damned who would argue that since he is alive in his real body he was not murdered. They are all fools or idiots. He was stabbed in the back by the people he was protecting, and his body died. That is being murdered.

As I put Brand down, the silence only lasts for a few seconds, until the initial shock wears off. As the questions start, the crowd pushes in around us. Almost everyone starts shouting questions and trying to reach Brand. Some of them are angry. Some of them are hopeful. Some are confused. Some are elated. But all of them are trying to get answers to their questions.

“BACK THE FUCK OFF!” The Power in his voice raises the volume of Brand's shout to a painful level. At the same time, I feel like I am being physically battered by raw hate and anger.

I move back a few steps along with the rest of the crowd before my own rage kicks. I clamp down on the abrupt surge of rage the nearly overwhelming urge to fight. Ever since the time of The Massacre, I have been trying to sublimate these wild Dvergar emotions and only sometimes succeeding. Even if I am a Dvergar now, I hate giving up on my human rationality and the primal rage and anger in my body hold sway.

Vili's nasty grin draws my attention to him and cools my raging emotions better than tub of icy cold water would have. Vili is talk for a Dvergar, and even with his massive bulk, he is actually a bit lean for a Dvergar. That lack of mass belies just how terrifying his strength is. If he went all out, Superman or the Hulk would probably lose out against him. Of all the Dvergar I have met, Vili is the only that scares me.

I look at Brand again and the people with him. Brand is slightly hunched forward, with his hands held like claws ready to slash us, and his back muscles flaring outward like the hood of a king cobra. There is a nearly naked Alfar, probably DokkAlfar, woman standing next to him, with silvery strands of Power snaking around her finger. Stepping up on either side of are two armed and armored DokkAlfar warriors, both with drawn weapons. Sitting on the edge of the launch behind them there is a Hispanic looking man, who is watching everything with a grin the Cheshire cat would envy.

Even if Brand is Talon, he is not Talon. He is a human, and a big one at that. He is probably about 6'2” or 6'3” tall and has muscles on his muscles. He does not have the symmetrical attractiveness of a body builder. Rather his muscles have a knotty overdeveloped appearance that lacks that bulbous smoothness of a steroid fueled physique. His thighs are as big as normal man's waist, at least 32” in diameter. Without an ounce of visible fat, his waist must be close to 50”, and his abs are so developed that they are bulging outward like he has a basket ball under them. With his ridiculously developed back, it makes it hard to estimate how big his chest and arms really are, but his chest has to be over 60”. His arms have triceps that are more heavily developed than the biceps and are around 25” at the very least. He is a freakish lump of muscle. As a normal human, how he ever managed to develop that kind of a body is beyond my imagination. A normal human? With a body like that there is no way he could be a normal human, but since he comes from Earth, just what the hell is he?

With the scars covering his body and his ruin of a face, Brand would probably make children cry. He really is like the monster in a slasher flick. It must have been hell going though life on Earth with that kind of an appearance. Because of their centuries of supposed white male privilege, the social justice culture in Amerika made it okay to target evil, heterosexual, white males. After the accident leaf him with a face like that, he was probably a victim of bullying ever after. The oh so tolerant mainstream population would love a target like him. If he even dared to fight back, he would be jailed. The only time he could get back at them would have been when he was someplace that he could be certain there were no social cameras, and those are few and far between in modern Amerika.

I understand why he was such a deliberate asshole as Talon. His lashing out at the people crowding him is just as understandable. It was probably a reaction form being bullied when he was young. Though, I cannot imagine anyone even trying to bully him, now.

Looking at the the DokkAlfar woman at his side, I almost gulp. While she is short for a DokkAlfar, only about 6' tall, she is a heart-stopping beauty, who practically drips raw sexuality. Her face puts the most beautiful human women to shame, and the combination of gold eyes and silver hair just add to her ethereal attractiveness. With her long almond eyes half-lidded and malicious, she gives the impression of being a femme fatale. Despite her beauty, I never liked overly skinny women, and she is so skinny, you can see ever bone and muscle clearly defined under her skin. She looks like a twig next to Brand.

The two pieces of black gauze that DokkAlfar woman seems to think are clothes do not hide anything. Her almost flat as board breasts and vagina are hanging out for the world to see. Dressing like that is abnormal for a DokkAlfar woman. They are anything but prudish, but they do not parade around naked. With their arrogance, it would drive them up the wall to have lesser being ogling them, and anyone with a working dick would be ogling her.

The two DokkAlfar warriors look like they could probably go tear apart anyone in Refuge other than Dacbold, Farnulf, and myself. They are both cold blooded killers. Except for one of them having a build that is comparable to human instead of being a skinny-ass bitch like normal Alfar and the other having purple eyes, there is nothing that really makes them stand out from your run of the mill Alfar men. They both have faces so handsome and androgynous that they could pass for women if you put them in drag. Their weapons and armor are made the weird black metal the DokkAlfar love. I would never turn my back on either of them in a dark alley.

The human leaning on the launch looks like a cocky little bastard. His swarthy skin and model like appearance would probably have the women hanging all over him if you dumped him on Earth. Other than those good looks, he just seems so ordinary compared to the rest of that crew it seems odd for him to be with them. All that aside, he gives off an extremely dangerous aura. He is no less of cold-blooded killer than Brand or the DokkAlfar.

The humans and DokkAlfar still in the launch give the impression that they are not part of Brand's crew. They were just as put off by that blast of anger as the people of Refuge.

For about thirty seconds, the tableau holds. The people of refuge are clustered together in shock and fear. Brand's crew is ready to attack. I am standing in the middle between the two groups.

Vili starts laughing maliciously and breaks up the tension. I really hate him. He cannot do anything in a nice manner, and he always manages to manipulate everything into a mold that seems to suit his purposes.

“You had better learn some manners! We don't allow ruffians to run wild in Refuge!” The angry female voice sounds from safely within a circle to the City Watch.

With the size of Refuge, calling the guards the City Watch is more than just a little presumptuous, but the City Council and the Mayor have always had big plans and attitudes.

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” Brand's deep voice is confrontational. He seems to be looking for a fight, but I do not understand why.

“Sergeant, arrest him!”

“Camille!”

My angry shout stops the guards in their tracks. No one in the Refuge City Watch is willing to cross me. I may live in Refuge, but I am not a Citizen. In the past, the City Watch has gotten too big for their britches and tried to enforce some rather moronic laws against me. They came out on the losing end, and ever since, the Mayor and the City Council have done their best to pretend I do not exist. If it was not for the fact that they are still worried that the Dvergar would drive them out without us Dvergar Damned around, they would kick me out of Refuge.

Camille has been the City Mayor since the office was established. She was the ring leader among the anti-military faction of the expeditionary force. In the aftermath of The Massacre, they managed to sway the majority of the non-military people among the survivors and establish a democratic system of governance in Refuge. In the early years, most of the ex-military people spent their time doing search and recovery operations for the Damned that were taken as slaves by the orcs. The new government was in place before we realized it.

Being used to the nominal democracies of Earth, most of the ex-military people among the survivors went along with it, at least the sixty-odd of us that survived The Massacre. There were a lot more of us before hand, but being ex-military, too many fought to protect others and died doing it.

Camille bristles like a cat that has its being rubbed the wrong way. “Stay out of this, Thorrin. He's not a Citizen, and he's not a resident alien. He has no rights in Refuge.”

“Animal slut, if you presume to get in my man's way, I will tear out your Soul and torture it for eternity.” The offhanded way that DokkAlfar delivers her threat is more chilling that a million screaming Camilles could ever be. Her voice is beautiful, but the flat emotionless tone is no different from someone talking about swatting a gnat.

“Well, I never...”

“You must have bitch.” The cold malice in Brand's voice chills me. I have faced a lot of monsters and people that made monsters look human and humane by comparison, but the unmitigated threat of violence in Brand's simple statement makes them all seem like kindergartners. How is he projecting so much raw hostility?

*That DokkAlfar bitch is in the Second Circle of Coalescence, but I think that Brand is just as strong as her without being Coalescent. He seems to be constantly emitting some kind of Psi energy. If they go on a rampage, I might have trouble stopping them. If I even bother to, that is.* For Dacbold that is almost like making a speech.

“Brand. Please, back off.”

Brand looks at me for a moment, and the hostility ebbs slightly.

I turn to glare at Camille. “Camille, get the fuck out of here and take your toadies with you! These people are my guests, and their reasons for being here have nothing to do with you.”

Camille is in one of her moods. Her face turns bright red. “Where do you come off talking me like that, you neanderthal, cisgender, murderous, militaristic, misogynistic, male thug? Just because we tolerate your presence in our city, it doesn't mean have any rights, and you sure as hell don't have any special privileges. That ape behind you is going to Earth. We're from Earth the same as you are. How is that not any of our business?”

How the hell does Camille know about what is going on? Someone that I thought I could trust had to let slip what we are up to. The question is, who told her and why?

Feeling a wave of hate plow through me from behind, I look over my shoulder at Brand, and he is grinning. That is not an amused or friendly expression. He looks more like a wild beast eyeing its prey.

“Fuck off, bitch. I'm not here to dick around with your nasty ass. If you've got a problem with me, we can start killing off your shit-lickers, right now.”

Camille's face looks demonic and her skin turns almost purple. “Kill them all, except that bastard Brand! Kill them, now!”

A streak moves through the crowd tossing aside both the hangers on and the City Watch with equal ease. I doubt any of them can clearly follow the streaks movements. As Dacbold grabs Camille by the back of the neck and tosses her onto a pile of her City Watch, she shrieks like a damned soul.

There is a flash of light in Brand's left eye and he narrows them. After staring at Dacbold for a moment, he grins that predatory grin. “You're Coalescent.”

Dacbold returns Brand's stare without blinking. “So?”

Brand snorts like a bull. “You're stronger than a human in the second circle, but then, you're a Dvergar.”

Just looking at Brand, he seems ready to fight. He knows Dacbold is Coalescent, and he does not seem in the least bit afraid. If anything, he seems eager for the chance to fight.

After frowning at Vili, the DokkAlfar woman slides across the half-step separating her from Brand. She slips her hand into his, and hugs his arm, pressing that almost flat chest tight against his upper arm.

“I thought you liked rock apes.” The DokkAlfar's voice is a soft purr, and it looks like is trying to breath the question into Brand's ear.

Brand frowns, and his eye flicker toward Vili. “When they aren't interfering assholes.”

Even with his nasty smile, Vili looks like he is on the verge of laughing. He turns toward Dacbold. “You should try him out. He killed an ogre lord in one on one combat. Even though, he fucked around when he should have killed it.”

Brand turns a hostile glare on Vili. “You've been talking to Thrall too much.”

“I watched the fight. You should have killed that thing in less than thirty seconds.”

“Whatever.”

Brand straightens up. “You're Dacbold.”

“Yeah. It seems like you might really be Talon.”

“Talon's dead. I'm Brand, now.”

“Stupid name, but it suits your ugly face.”

“I like him. He tells the truth.” The Hispanic looking guy, who is still leaning against the launch, has an inflammatory smirk on his face.

Brand looks at me. “Is there someplace we can talk without the annoying cunt getting in our way?”

“Follow me.” I start walking toward my house.

“Third, take the longboats back to the Night Raven. We'll call for them, when we need them again.”

“Aye, Master.” One of the DokkAlfar speaks those words.

My head snaps around, and I stare at the DokkAlfar with incredulity. He has a completely straight face, and his fist is over his heart in the style of salute that is common to both Dvergar and Alfar. I never expected to hear a DokkAlfar calling a human Master in this lifetime. Looking at Brand, he has the demeanor of someone who expects this kind of treatment from the DokkAlfar.

“Kanchek, Valcrit, Tyrend, you three are with me.”

“Yes, Master.” The two armored DokkAlfar salute Brand.

“Coming. I wouldn't miss this for anything.” That the the Hispanic looking human.

Brand stares at another DokkAlfar, a gaudily dressed one that was in the second launch. “You come too!”

That DokkAlfar has an angry, bitter on his face when he salutes, and he also seems to be afraid. “Aye, Master.”

Talon was never a leader. He did everything he could to stay by himself. Brand may be Talon, but he has changed. He is a different person. I am not sure how to read him. I think he is an even bigger killer now, but he is not quite the loner that he was.

Is the change in Brand because of the DokkAlfar woman hanging on his arm? She looks she is barely more than a girl, but with an Alfar that is deceptive. Based on appearances, she would be twenty-three or twenty-four at the most, but Dacbold says that she is a Coalescent, in the second circle no less. There is no way anyone that young could be Coalescent. It normally takes decades, at the very least, to achieve Coalescence, and most beings die before reaching the first circle.

Dacbold, already, being Coalescent means that he is an unbelievable freak. His Dvergar body has incredible potential, and his Mind and Soul have insane potential, as well. Still, him reaching Coalescence in just twelve years was a miracle. Farnulf and I still have not managed to completely fuse with our bodies. I am further along than Farnulf, but there are still problems. It was a lot easier for many of the humans.

“You've changed. In the past, you could never stay quiet this long. You were always chattering with people about nothing.”

Brand's comments jar me out of my reverie. We are already more than two-thirds of the way to my place. I look at Dacbold, but his blank “I know nothing!” expression makes me want to hit him.

I look back at Brand. “After you were murdered, a lot happened. Most of it was ugly, more than half of the expeditionary force was killed. Only a few thousand of the escaped being enslaved, and most of those were Thug Horde. We're still not sure how many are survived and may still be held in slavery someplace. There are a few people who still travel all over Sudnel looking for survivors, but most of us gave up on the search years ago.”

Brand frowns. “Everyone changes. Nothing, ever, stays the same.”

“Your lack manners never changes.”

Brand looks at me, with confusion in his eyes.

“You haven't introduced your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” As Brand looks at the DokkAlfar woman, his attitude is odd. It almost seems like he is confused. He does not seem to know what his relationship with her is.

The DokkAlfar woman looks at me with narrowed eyes. “When you say girlfriend, what do you mean?”

As her meaning hits me, I scratch my chin. We have been using the Slave Tongue from the Battleground of the Damned. I was what Brand first used. The thing about the Slave Tongue is that it actually does not have the word girlfriend in it. For decades, we have just been stringing the words girl and friend together to make one word like in English. The word we use for friend is not really the same as the English word, in the first place. In the Slave Tongue, there is no direct translation for friend. The word we use would be closer to comrade or compatriot in English. The DokkAlfar language may not have a direct translation for girlfriend, either. The concept probably does not exist in their culture.

Not expecting much, I look at Dacbold, but he is studiously inspecting the sky, with a smirk that he does not bother to hide. That bastard.

When I look at Brand, he has an even bigger smirk than Dacbold. The DokkAlfar is his girlfriend, but he clearly has no intention of helping me out. He is another bastard.

“Uh, well, it's a term from English, our native language. It doesn't really translate well into the Slave Tongue. I guess the simplest way to explain it is that when a man and a woman love each other and are in a relationship, the woman is called his girlfriend.”

The DokkAlfar woman frowns and looks at Brand. “Love is an emotion that belongs to the weak. I do not love Brand. I fuck him because he has a big dick. Bestiality is the best kind of fucking. DokkAlfar males' dicks are too small to give me pleasure.”

Brand, Kanchek, and Valcrit do not even blink, but Tyrend bursts out laughing. The gaudily dressed DokkAlfar cannot seem to decide if he wants to be offended or afraid.

The DokkAlfar woman looks at Tyrend, frowning. “You dick is barely bigger than a DokkAlfar male's dick, and you go limp after suffering only the smallest pain. You were not very satisfying when I fucked you.”

Tyrend grins at the DokkAlfar woman. “I'm not a monster like Brand. He slurps down pain like it was his mother's milk and goes looking for more.”

As he DokkAlfar woman looks at Brand, her eyes get a misty, faraway look in them, and she caresses his scarred cheek. “Brand' Power makes it impossible to keep him restrained while torturing him. He is better at giving pain than receiving it. He has even hurt me bad enough to make me scream. Just his touch makes me wet.”

The way Brand and the DokkAlfar are staring at each makes it look like they want to go at it right in the street.

What? The? Fuck? Are they both sick in the head? Brand has a lot more scars than just the ones from those burns. They are mostly new. They do not have the faded white appearance that older scars take on. I thought they were wounds in battle, but could they be from this crazy DokkAlfar that is hanging onto his arm?

I can barely imagine what kind of hell it would be growing up, as a white male on Earth, with Brand's face, but was the bullying bad enough to warp him badly enough that he would let some crazy bitch torture him just to get laid?

That crazy bitch likes being hurt too, but what did Brand do to hurt her bad enough to make her scream? I do not think they are talking about a little leather and lace BDSM.

“So, Brand, what is your girlfriend's name?”

The crazy DokkAlfar bitch looks at me like I am a cockroach or something just as disgusting. “I am not Brand's girlfriend. There are no foolish sentiments like love or like between males and females; there is only lust and usefulness. Brand is my man. I am Elan'fer'sha.”

The bitch is crazy. She reminds of the tsundere characters in old anime. She looks at Brand like she is head over heels in love, but she talks like they are nothing more than casual fuck buddies or maybe, just a John and whore.

“It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Thorrin Hammerfist. He's Dacbold.” I smile and nod to this crazy bitch Elan'fer'sha and point at Dacbold.

The way she looks at Dacbold is even more hostile than the way she looks at me. She is probably aware of him being Coalescent and sees him a potential threat. There sure as hell is no love lost between the Dvergar and Alfar. This is just the kind of bullshit we do not need. This mission from Boran is getting off to such a god damn wonderful start.

There is no more conversation while we cover the rest of the distance to my house. It is probably for the best. I am not sure how to deal with this new version of Talon, or maybe. As Brand, he is different than he was as Talon. He is colder and harder than in the past, and there is a darkness inside of him that frightens me a bit.

“This is my home. I have enough rooms for all of you for the night. The rest of the people, who might be useful on Earth, will be here around dinner time.”

My house is outside of the town proper, and Elan'fer'sha looks in the direction of Refuge. “I am interested in looking around. I have never been in one of these squalid human towns that was not being conquered.”

Brand nods. “I need to talk to Thorrin. Kanchek, take Valcrit and guard Elan!”

The two armored DokkAlfar salute Brand. “Yes, Master!”

As Elan'fer'sha leaves, those two armored DokkAlfar follow about a pace behind her.

Brand looks at the gaudily dressed DokkAlfar. His attitude towards this DokkAlfar is disdainful. “Duncrik, have you crewed airships out here on Taereun?”

Duncrik frowns. “Aye, Master.”

“How log would it take to sail form here to Freeport?”

Duncrik's eyes widen in surprise. “Freeport?”

“Yes, Freeport.”

Duncrik purses his lips and looks at the Night Raven. “As long as we don't run into storm or hostile airships, Twelve or thirteen days if the winds favor us. If they don't, it might take twenty or twenty-one.”

Brand nods, in an introspective manner. “Don't get lost. You'll be in on tonight's meeting.”

“Aye, Master.” If Duncrik is trying to hide his anger and his dislike for Brand, he is doing a bad job of it. After looking like he was choking on his reply to Brand's last command, he struts out away from my house, looking neither right nor left.

I wait until the DokkAlfar is out of hearing range. “He's going to be trouble. Why do you have him for your captain?”

Brand frowns for a moment before sighing. “Thrall gave him to, but I haven't figured out why.”

I shake my head. “Who is Thrall?”

“The Smith God of Gor'achen Citadel.”

I cannot keep an amused expression off my face. “He's real? I always thought that just some bullshit legend.”

Brand almost seems to smile. “He's real, but he's not a False Name. He's just a powerful Transcendent, whose father seems to be one of the Jotun Lord. He has some kind of history with them that isn't exactly cordial.”

“Huh. Let's get a beer. I have some good stuff in the house. We've built some pretty good Power-based refrigeration systems, so it's not at room temperature like most of the people in this word seem to like it.”

As I open the front door, Silvy is rocking back and forth on her heals in the front hall. “Welcome back, Lord Thorrin!”

When Dacbold and Brand come in behind me, Silvy starts to quiver and looks like she is ready to bolt out of the room. The eye that the orcs left her is glued to Brand's face, and he is staring back, with slightly squinted eyes.

“You've really changed. I never would have though you'd keep slaves.”

I feel a surge of anger and glare at Brand. “Silvy is not a slave. What the hell has happened to you? Why would you talk about her like that?”

As Brand shifts his stare onto me, I have steel myself not to take a step back. I have stared some pretty nasty predators over the year, but none of them hold a candle to the intense malice in Brand's eyes. He is not Talon anymore. Despite his body, Talon was still human inside. Brand's is a monster in human flesh.

“Spend a few months in Gor'achen with a slave collar on your neck, and you'll learn how to tell slaves from people who are just stuck in slave collars. When someone is broken to their collar, they are a slave. Even though she isn't wearing it, she is broken to her collar.” Brand gestures in Silvy's direction with his chin.

“Lord Thorrin, please, don't fight with him over Silvy. If something happens to Lord Thorrin, where will Silvy go?”

I turn around and hug Silvy. She grabs my shirt and shivers, while tying not to sniffle. I have seen her like this since I pulled her out of that orc hellhole. She was barely alive after being raped and tortured for by them for over two years. None of our healers could do much about the scars, and she always keeps herself wrapped up like a towel head from the Mideast. Her mental state has been fragile ever since, but she is not a slave.

“Silvy, go pour a pitcher of beer. Bring that and three mugs to my study.”

“Yes, Lord Thorrin!” The way Silvy runs toward the kitchen, she seems to be elated. As long I give her small things to do outside of her daily work, she always acts like this. It is pathetic, but it is about the only way I have ever found to cheer her up.

Looking over my shoulder at Brand, I see the disgust in his eyes. Even when he was Talon, he never had any tolerance for weakness. He drove himself harder than anyone I have ever known. He was like a block of iron without the slightest give in him for anything, but he did not have any tolerance for the failing of others. Now, I think he might be even worse.

“She'll be a slave forever.”

Tyrend's voice, coming from right next to me, makes me jump. I never saw or heard him get that close to me.

Tyrend smirks. Actually, he has not stopped smirking since throwing his verbal jab at Brand back at at their launches. “Brand's right. She's broken. I've seen too many like her in Gor'achen. Once the get like that, they never recover. Though if you can manage to find one with a bit of meat on her bones, she will make a good fuck. Women like that, they'll do anything to please you.”

Brand has a disgusted look on his face as he stares at Tyrend. “You and your fat ass sows. How do you even get your dick hard for a sack of blubber?”

If I was a couple inches shorter, I think my jaw would hit the floor. I thought Brand was disgusted by Tyrend's sick comment about using a woman who has been as badly abused as Silvy for sex. He just does not like Tyrend's taste in women. I mean, yeah, getting up for a fat chick takes a pretty fucked up mentality, but come on, using a poor like Silvy are your personal fuck toy is inhuman.

Tyrend's smirk never wavers. “Fat women need fucking too, and they'll take much better care of you than some skinny-ass bitch.”

“Whatever.” Brand walks through the door on his right into my sitting room.

As Brand's bulk moves out of my line of sight, I see Vili standing in the still open door of my house, with an amused grin plastered on his annoying face. He would be enjoying this, the fucking asshole.

Dacbold is standing not too far from Vili, with a smirk on his face. *This reminds of some of the better times during The Great Fuck Over.*

*What are you talking about? Tyrend's nothing but a sexual predator. Brand may have been Talon, once, but now he's an insane monster. How is this anything like the better times?*

*You can't feel it can you? The pain. Brand doesn't know much beyond pain, anymore. If he's not feeling pain, he's going to hurt someone around him and watch them suffer. He doesn't even realize he's doing it.*

I stare incredulously at Vili. *How the hell did you get in my party chatroom?*

Vili laughs that nasty laugh I hate so much. *Do you really think that pathetic joke you call security protocols are going to keep Me out of your little toy?*

I cannot stop myself from sighing. No matter what, I can never win against Vili. He is always ten steps ahead.

*Ask Brand what his Secrets of Steel are.*

This time my jaw definitely hits the floor. *He's a Maker? An Earth-born human is a Maker?*

*Ask him!* There is no questioning Vili's commanding demeanor.

“Hey, Brand.”

Brand turns to look at me. “Yeah?”

“What are your Secrets of Steel?”

As his eyes narrow, Brand looks at me with a frown. After a moment, his stare shift to the smirking Vili.

“Pain. Cruelty.” There is a Power in those words that causes them to hit me like a physical blow. The way Brand says them, they carry more meaning than just their simple definitions.

As Brand's face goes blank from shock and his jaw hangs open, Vili laughs nastily.

What? The? Hell? What just happened? What did Brand do just now? Whatever he might have done, those Secrets are too dark. How can anyone sane have Secrets like those.

I look at Dacbold, and he grimly returns my stare. *What have we gotten ourselves into?*

*I don't know.* I have no answer to my questions. How the hell can I answer Dacbold's?

*He is touching on the truth of those Names.*

*** Refuge – Taereun ***

Return: Day 322

(Brand)

Thorrin's dining room is big, but with more almost forty people here, it is getting a little crowded. With my small group staking out a quarter of the room the rest of them have even less space to cram into.

Tables are set up along the side of the dining room with a buffet. There are several huge pots of stew and soups, a couple of roasts, baskets of bread and bowl filled with butter, pitchers of beer, bottles of wine, and a half dozen pies. Considering how little many of the people in the room are eating, most of the food will probably go to waste.

I recognize most of the faces Thorrin summoned to this meeting, but I never learned all of their names. Dacbold and Farnulf are two of the others from the Seven Dvergar. That Seven Dvergar name was from a joke that someone made about an old Disney movie early on in in The Great Fuck Over, and for some reason, it just stuck. Thorrin used to crack what I guess were supposed to be jokes about the name and The Lord of the Rings, but I never got them. The book had been banned for some reason before I was born. Apparently there were hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of fantasy and science fiction book that were put on the ban lists, then the government banned the ban lists. I never got a tenth of the cracks and comments from the old fucks that were among the Damned.

There is a clear division in this room my group and the rest of them, with Thorrin and Dacbold in the middle. That bitch Farnulf is on the other side, but he always hated me. He would fight like a madman when it was his neck on the chopping block, but he was always cold towards me because of my supposed brutality. Odd thing was that him and Dacbold were buddies back then, but I never got that feeling around Dacbold. Of course, in twelve years, if I heard Dacbold say a thousand words to me, that would be a lot, but Dacbold never really talked to anybody other than Farnulf. Now, it looks like Dacbold and Farnulf might not be so friendly anymore.

Most of the people in this room do not like me. There a few exceptions, but not many. It was mostly the ex-military people that I could sort of deal with among the Damned, and I only see a few of their faces here. Even with them, while most of them understood the necessity of my actions, they still did not like me, but they never tried to make out to be some kind of psychotic criminal. At least, if they thought I was, they kept it to themselves.

Tomas and Kat were part of Thorrin's Hammers. We never really got along. Kat especially did not like me back during The Great Fuck Over, but Tomas just seemed to disapprove of my “brutal, barbarous” methods for getting shit done. Fuck them both. The only reason they were still alive by the time we reached was because of my brutality. The Damned would have been wiped out a half-dozen times at least, if not for me torturing information out of people or murdering a few dozen government officials in one ass-fuck kingdom or another. When they should have been thanking for saving their sorry asses, they were condemning me for being a monster. Fuck them.

As the feeding and bullshitting goes on, groups of them leave the dining room, probably looking for someplace they can get away from the tension.

“Yo, ese. Been a long time. It thought you were dead. How is hanging?”

Pancho is one of the few among the Damned that is tolerable to deal with. I already knew him when Taereun was still a game. As long as you just ignore the way he goes on about some Mexican hero, named Pancho Villa, he is not a bad sort. I looked in some history books, and there was not jack or shit about any Mexican Revolution or Pancho Villa. If Thorrin did not vouch for the existence of both, I would have though Pancho was just spewing bullshit.

I almost smile. “Pancho. So, you were lucky enough to survive.”

Pancho laughs. “Maybe, I survived because I was unlucky.”

There is a darkness in Pancho's eyes that was not there the last time I saw him, but I do not ask any questions. The middle of a room full of people is not the place to dig at old wounds.

“Then, You're coming to Earth?”

“Yeah. I need to make sure of a few things. I have family that I have to check on.” Pancho is still smiling, but his smile is filled with worry.

I stare at Pancho. “This isn't about seeing family and friends. We're going there to hunt down something that could destroy Earth, the Labyrinth, and Taereun. It's dangerous enough to worry a Dvergar so powerful that none of the Jotun Lords are even close to his match.”

Pancho gets an introspective look in his eyes. “You sound like you know this Dvergar. Is ha another of these supposed gods like The Nameless God?”

I frown. “The Nameless God is no god, and he has a name, Woden. They aren't gods. Gods are myths. They're False Names. Somehow, they have taken on aspects of a Name that gives them the Power associated with the Name. Compared to us they may as well be god, but that doesn't make them omnipotent or omniscient, and there are limits on the Power they can use.”

“Will this false name Woden interfere with us?”

My smile is colder than the depths of space. “If he does try, I have the means to make him pay for it.”

Thorrin makes his way to the end of the room where I am and turns to face everyone else. “It's time. If everyone could take seat. There are plenty of chairs along the walls. If there aren't enough, I have more in the room across the hall.”

While people get settled, Thorrin seems to be watching three people in the far corner of the room. All three of them are wearing dark robes and have the hoods up. I noticed them earlier but did not pay them much attention. With the nervousness bordering on outright fear flowing off them in thick waves, they just stared at everyone else while their heads kept nodding up and down. I can not be bothered with people them. Anyone that scared by just a room full of people is not worth my time.

“Alright. Thank you all for coming. You all already know that this has to with The Nameless God and retrieving something from Earth. I know some of you were not happy when I did not provide any details, but I did not have all the details. Boran Second Father, the ancestor of that Dvergar currently living, was the one who gave me the task of finding those among the Damned that would be beneficial to this mission, but he did not give me all the details. The man Boran placed in charge of this mission is now here.”

Thorrin pauses and looks at me. “Even if you never met Talon, all of you at least knew of him. This is Brand. He was once Talon. I'll leave it to him to explain the mission and answer the questions that I could not.”

As I stand up, I feel the eyes of everyone boring into me. They probably mean to pressure me with the weight of their stares. Their stares are light. They have never stood in the center of the Gor'achen arena. They do not know what it feels like to have a million pairs of eyes hungrily latched onto you while hungering for your blood.

I do not show any expression on my face, but my eyes are cold. The majority of these people do not like me, but that does not matter. As long are usable and willing to be used, I will use them. On Earth, there were priests of Woden in that facility in North Dakota. I do not know what other threats might exist, but I have to assume I will need cannon fodder when I go after the drive unit.

“The creatures most of you think of as Dragons are not True Dragons. There are creatures that were created by the True Dragons as mounts and pets. The last of those True Dragons were exterminate in a war hundreds of thousands of years ago by the Dvergar.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Where did you learn this?”

“That's bullshit. I never heard anything about it.”

“Who. . .”

“Silence!” I let my braided Power flow though my voice.

The people gathered in the room stare at me in hostile shock and surprise, but at least, they shut up.

I look at Vili who is doing his part to personally eat all the food I though would go to waste. “Vili, can you tell them about you Dvergar, Nidhoggr, and Yggdrasil.”

After looking at me for a moment, Vili drinks a pitcher of beer in a single long chug. Putting down the empty pitcher and frowning, he looks at the rest of the room. “Brands speaks the truth. It was almost a million years ago in Taereun time that we fought the last battle. The Dragons were about as close to what passes for God in your little mud-hole of a world's monotheistic religions as you will hear tell of. It is quite possible that the influence of a Dragon on the prehuman races of your world is where your one true God mentality was born.”

With Vili talking, even though I can see the incredulity and in some cases, outright disbelief, no one voices their inane questions out of obstinacy.

“The Labyrinth of Yggr, as you call it, is Yggdrasil, the dimensional battle fortress of Nidhoggr. Nidhoggr died along with all the Dragons, and we Dvergar thought Yggdrasil was lost to the void between dimensions, what you sometimes call Limbo and other times call the Aether. Unfortunately, Yggdrasil was somehow found by Woden and Yggr.

“Yggdrasil has nine dimensional drives. Each and everyone controls enough Power to rip apart any Amalgamate plane or realm. The way that Woden and the Jotun Lords are using those drives to created and manage the pocket planes inside of Yggdrasil has made Yggdrasil unstable. When the dimensional stresses destroy Yggdrasil, that will destroy this multiverse, including Taereun and your Earth.”

Vili pauses for a few moments, but no one voices and questions or objections. Those assholes, who would immediately contest the same words coming from me, accept what Vili says without hesitation.

“Woden has hidden the main dimensional drives on your Earth. If you do not recover it, either Woden or the Jotun Lords will destroy Yggdrasil. Even if they do nothing else, Yggdrasil will still be destroyed in less than a hundred years. Since your Earth's solar system was dragged into Yggdrasil, the instability has been building and shows no sign of stopping.

“Boran Second Father has tasked Brand with recovering Yggdrasil's drive, and Thorrin has been tasked with helping him.”

“Why send scum like him? Why don't you Dvergar do it yourselves?” The speaker is of the assholes that hates me, but if I ever knew his name, I cannot remember it.

“Nidhoggr created the Dvergar. He knew how powerful we are, and he programmed the main drive to see us as threats. If we approach too closely, we will be destroyed by it.”

After Vili does not say anything else for about thirty seconds, the asshole starts looking even more irate. “Why Brand? Why send scum like him?”

Vili shows a slight smirk. “You already know the answer. Brand is the strongest among you self-named Damned. Do you think the Second Father would rely on someone as weak as you? Brand may be pathetically weak, but compared to the rest of you, he is a bastion of strength. ”

I control my urge to laugh. Vili is a complete asshole, but he knows how to hit them where it hurts. The asshole looks deflated and afraid. He does not seem to have the courage to rebut Vili. I wonder what Vili did to make the asshole so afraid of him.

“Any other inane questions?”

When no one else opens their mouth, Vili goes back to his one Dvergar assault on the food and beer.

I look at the people gathered in the room. Many of them will not make eye contact with me, but those same people are still projecting their dislike or hatred. If they do not have the balls to step up, fuck them.

“Finding Yggdrasil's main drive will probably not be easy. The drive could be anywhere on Earth. A year ago it was in North Dakota, but I do not know if it is still there. Once we find it, we will have to secure it. There were priests of Woden guarding it the last time I saw it, and they were using iron wolves. The room that the drive was in had multiple layers of formations and sigils as defenses. No matter how we go about it, it will probably be an ugly fight.

“Earth will not home. It will be hostile territory. Just like during The Great Fuck Over, you could die at any time. If you are looking at this as a chance to take of personal business on Earth, I don't need or want you. My only priority is Yggdrasil's main drive. Once it has been secured, I don't care what any of you do. If you want to stay behind on Earth, go for it, but if you fuck up my mission over your personal shit, I'll kill you myself.”

As I finish, Vili looks at with a cold smile. On the other side of the room, Boran and Dacbold are not showing any expression, but Farnulf is staring at me with a hostile gleam in his eyes, but then, Farnulf has never liked me.

As for the rest of the Damned, their expressions and emotions span quite a range. Some are even more hostile, but those are the people that already hated me. The rest are somewhere between speculative and scared.

I do not say anything more and watch them as they think or discuss thing in whispers. A number of them look at Thorrin and the other two Possessed Dvergar, but no one approaches them. There seems to be an air of wariness, and in some of the human Damned there is clear distrust as they look at the three Dvergar.

Something must have happened after I was murdered. There was never this kind of distance between the Seven Dvergar and the rest of the Damned in the past. Or could it have always been there, but I never noticed? As long it does not get in the way of retrieving the main drive, I do not care one way or the other.

After a few minutes, one of the human Damned, I think he calls himself Dunlop, looks at me and opens his mouth. “If you were Talon, I saw your corpse. How are you alive? Where did you get that body? How did you get it?”

Even though I expected the questions, I frown. “This is my real body, my Earth body. The only reason I'm alive is because Boran Second Father intervened. I don't know what he did or how he did it.”

There is very little change in the attitudes among them, except that a number of the people looking at me have disgust and what I think is pity mixed in with their other emotions. Why does this being my Earth body make them look at me differently than when they assumed it was just another body I was possessing?

“If that is your real body why do you look so young? It's been almost thirty years and you can't be any more than your early thirties at the oldest.” Even though I can vaguely recall her face, I do not know who this person is. I can feel her hatred and disgust as she glares at me, but that doe not really mean anything. A lot of people just hate me because of the way I look.

“It's been less three years on Earth at the longest. The time differential from the game was the difference between the time-streams of Earth and Taereun. Earth might be in more or less the same time-stream as Taereun now that it's inside of Yggdrasil.”

Again several minutes pass while these people digest the idea of only a few years having passed on Earth.

“So, what are you looking for from us?” Dunlop is the first one to ask a question.

“I may know someone who can track down potential locations for the main drive, but I won't know until I talk to him. Preferable, I want people who have access to information or intelligence networks. It doesn't matter if they're government or informal resources. As long as, you can help track down where the drive might be, you'll be useful.”

Frowning, Dunlop looks down at the floor before looking me in the eye. “I think I can help. I was a software developer on Earth. I specialized in security filtering software for internet traffic. There are some programs that we might be able to use to data mine internet traffic for keywords that could lead us to your drive.”

I nod. “That's good. Anyone else?”

Others start voicing their opinions on what they can do to help. They all want to go to Earth, even the ones that hate me.

After the ones willing to go to Earth with me have finished speaking, Thorrin looks at the three huddle in the corner. “Brand needs some airmancers. Three people who have the skills to do the job of an airmancer would be nice.”

As the three bobbling Casters stare at Thorrin in wide-eyed horror, I feel the fear inside of them burning like a raging bonfire. The two shorter ones, one male and one female, scramble to hide behind the taller one.

“We don't want to go to Earth. We hate Earth.” The taller one's jaw is quivering as he faces off against Thorrin.

“I'm not going to Earth, and you can't make me!” Coming from behind the tall man, the woman's voice has a whiny tone to it.

The second man, biological males might be a a more accurate term for these ball-less bitches, hides behind the taller one and shakes.

What the fuck is up with the three of them? I look inquiringly at Thorrin, but he ignores me and focuses on the cowardly trio.

Surprisingly, Dacbold gets up from the chair he is straddling and walks over to them. Even though he is slightly on the tallish side for a Dvergar, Dacbold has to look up to glare into the tall one's eyes. “Julious, what would Agun say if he saw you now?”

All three of the bobbling cowards flinch and cower backward, but none of them replies. What is Agun's connection to these three?

“Well? What does that monument at The Massacre site say?”

The tall one looks away, refusing to meet Dacbold's eyes.

“Tell me!” Dacbold's voice is a not so quiet roar in this confined space.

“In memory of those who died so that others might live.” All three of the bobbling cowards are sniffling as Julious recites the inscription from the base of the monument.

“Would Agun have hesitated to go with Talon?”

As Julious shakes his head, the light reflects off tears on his cheeks. “No. To help Talon, Agun would have died.”

“Agun died to save your lives, to save all our lives. He's Talon.” Dacbold points at me.

Julious turns around and whispers to with the other two bobbling cowards for a minute. The three of them make my skin crawl. They are just like the cowards that would never dare to fight back when they were bullied and go cry in the bathroom.

After they finish whatever the hell they are doing, the three bobbling cowards shuffle over. None of them raise their heads to meet my eyes. “After Ashir's Pass, Agun told us Talon was the only reason he was alive. He said he would give his life for Talon, but he's gone now. Are you really Talon?”

“Talon's dead. I'm Brand.”

Julious looks at Dacbold, but Dacbold is back to his stone face routine. Turning back to me, he actually looks me in the eye for the first time.

“I . . . I think you're Talon.”

As my short sword appears Julious' throat, his eyes open so wide that I am surprised his eyeballs do not fall out. To him, at best, my draw was nothing but a blur.

Thorrin and Farnulf start to move forward, but Dacbold grabs their shoulders. I cannot tell what they are saying, but I can feel the Psi channel connecting them light up with Power. It must be a party charm.

“Then, you won't have any regrets if I kill you now?”

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing!”

“Put that away, motherfucker!”

About half of the people in the room open their trap, but they freeze when I unleash my hate and rage on them. Driven by my braided Power, it punches through the tissue paper that passes for their Psi defenses.

“All of you, shut the fuck up!” My voice is more like that the growl of an animal, than something that should come out of a human throat.

“I want to live.”

“Are you willing to fight for you life?”

Julious swallows. “I've never fought before. We would just cast spells from behind the lines where it was safe. We always had plans and ran if they didn't work.”

When I smile, Julious starts visibly shaking.

“If you come with me, you might die. When I say fight, if you run, I'll hurt so bad you will die, but it won't be fast. Are you ready to stop being a coward? Are you ready to fight?”

With tears and snot running down his face, Julious sniffles. “I've always been afraid, afraid of being hurt, afraid of being laughed at. I don't want to be a coward, anymore. I want to make Agun proud of me.”

He has the stupid bullshit sentiments of the weak, but if he lives, maybe, he can get strong. As long as he can stand firm and function as an airmancer in battle, that is all I need out of him.

Even though they did not have swords at their throats, the other two cowards knees are shaking so bad they can barely. Drawing my other short sword, I put the blades to the throats of the other two. Their already pasty faces turn even paler. It is amazing that they have not pissed themselves, yet.

“What about you two?”

The shorter males mouth opens and closes for a few moments. “I want to fight. I don't want to die. I'm afraid of dying.”

As tears and snot flow down her face, the female's voice is a breathy whisper. “I want to live. I want to fight back. I want to hurt the bastards. I want them to know how it feels. I want them to suffer!”

I do not know what happened to her, but she has been hurt before. If she learns to embrace her pain, she might be the best of the three.

I smile. “If you've got the stomach for it, I'll show you how to hurt them so bad they beg you end their misery.”

A malicious gleam becomes barely visible in the girls eyes, and an ember of hate begins to glow in her soul.

Elan stands up and steps up next to me. Her hand pushes back the hood of the girl's robe and caresses her cheek. “What's your name, child?”

The girls stares at Elan for a few moments. I cannot identify her emotions, but I think she is awestruck, among other things.

“Angelique, Mistress.”

“You know the proper form of address, at least. Brand's methods are crude, and only the strongest can use them effectively. I will be the one to teach you how to inflict pain.”

Elan smiles, and the girl's face lights up. When Elan draws the girl over to her chair and sits down, the girl kneels next to her.

The entire time I have been fucking with the three cowards, Dacbold, Thorrin and Farnulf have been furiously burning up their party channel. Thorrin looks grim, and Farnulf has an ugly self-righteous expression. Dacbold is different, though. He has an speculative look.

*They aren't bad people. If you can teach them how to stand up for themselves, that is.*

Dacbold's whisper catches me by surprise, and I stare at him. He meets my stare, but I cannot guess what he might be thinking. I cannot feel any emotions at all coming off him. I have yet to feel anything from any Dvergar with my empathy. With Boran and Vili, I had thought it was because they were Transcendent, but that would not explain these three. They are Possessed, but I can read human Possessed normally. They do not have shielding sigils like Darius and Tiara. The only explanation that makes any sense is that it has something to with their being Dvergar.

In the end, I do not make any reply to Dacbold. I have never had much contact with him. He is by far the most standoffish of the Seven Dvergar, and I do not really know what to make of him.

Vili finishes off another pitcher of beer and cackles. *Ah, boy, you have a natural talent for bullying the weak. You'll go far if you don't die young.*

I ignore Vili. I do not have the inclination to deal with whatever head games he wants to play.

*Ignoring me isn't gonna work. You'll still hear everything I say, and you'll brood on it later.*

The meeting does not last much longer. None of the Damned are in a good mood, and their hatred of me is fixed even more firmly in their hearts. I do not care what they think of me, as long as I can use them.

When Thorrin closes the door behind the last of the Damned, the only people left are Thorrin, Dacbold, Angelique, my party, and myself.

Thorrin glares at me. He looks like he is fuming, but without being able to read his emotions I cannot be certain.

“You really fucked that one up. Most of them aren't going to be willing to help after that little show you just put on.”

I snort out a single laugh. “I don't give a fuck about them. They're just my backup plan. Except for the three cowards, I should not need any of them.”

As he stares at me, with his mouth hanging slightly open, Thorrin looks flabbergasted. “What do you think are, a god damn god or something?”

I laugh. “Gods are myths. You should know that.”

“You must think you're one if you think you can complete the mission by yourself!”

I stare at Thorrin, showing no emotion on my face. “Most of them already hated me. Now, they can justify their hatred for me and pat themselves on the back while crowing about how superior they are. The ones that still come should be useful, but most of them would have just gotten in my way. They're all too hung up on their bullshit Earth morality. We may be going to Earth, but we are facing enemies that think realistically.”

As Thorrin opens his mouth to argue, Dacbold puts his hand on Thorrin's shoulder. “Let it go, for now. We can talk about it tomorrow, with cooler heads.”

Thorrin turns to stare at Dacbold for a moment before seeming to deflate. His voice suddenly sounds old and tired. “Yeah. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Thorrin steps are heavy as he leaves the dining room and heads upstairs.

After Thorrin is gone, Dacbold and I stare at each other for a few minutes. There is not sign of what he might be thinking on his face, and I cannot feel even a hint of his emotions.

“You're different. Thorrin wasn't ready for that. You're like them, your DokkAlfar friends. I don't know if that is a good thing or not, but you should have no trouble surviving in this world.”

Without saying anything else, Dacbold turns and leaves. His footsteps are silent, and only the soft clicking of the front door closing lets me know he is gone.

The Aether

*** Refuge – Taereun ***

Return: Day 323

(Thorrin Hammerfist)

When I leave my bedroom, I see the bobble-head girl in the hall, lying on the floor in front of Brand and his Wytch's room. Seeing me, she scrambles to her feet.

“What are you doing there?”

The bobble-head girl looks embarrassed. “The Mistress told me to sleep here.”

I am filled with disgust, but whether it is for Brand or myself, I cannot tell. “You're a person not her dog.”

Meeting my eyes, the bobble-head girl has a fierce look in her eyes. “She is going to teach me to hurt people. If we're going back to Earth, I'm going to hurt them. Anyone I don't like, I'm going to hurt. This time, I'm not going to be hurt by them!”

I struggle to keep a lid on my temper. “Do you realize that DokkAlfar slut is a Wytch? Do you understand what they do to people? Have ever seen the victims of their sick, twisted spells.?”

“If she teaches me how to hurt people, I'll do what she says.” The bobble-head girl defiantly stares at me.

I can no longer keep the anger out of my voice. “You want to learn to hurt people. Do you want to be like them? Do you to be like a DokkAlfar?”

“I want to be like Talon. I want to hurt the people that hurt me.”

“That doesn't mean you have to do what a DokkAlfar Wytch tells you to. I can't understand you.”

The bobble-head girl's eyes fill with contempt. “You're old. You didn't grow up in this world. I mean Earth. Do you know what happens if you if you resist when you're bullied?”

“You shouldn't have to resist. With the social cameras, the bullies should be caught an punished.”

The girl laughs at me. “As long as you don't bully or resist someone more special than you are, you can get away with anything. If you're white female and like boys, no one is going to be punished for bullying you, except a white boy that likes girls. If you resist, you get sent to reform school, and they hurt you there. They hurt you again and again and again. If you don't give the right answers, they hurt you. If they say they don't believe you, they hurt you. They hurt you until you scream, and then, they laugh at you.”

I do not know what happened to this girl, but it must have left her with some deep-seated delusions. The American government of today is fucked up, but I cannot imagine they would torture children. There is no way things have gone that far.

Danleib's words to Kamehameha from years ago float though my mind.

The Reculturization Seminars started at least thirty years ago, and the VA hospitals used to force veterans who still believed in the Constitution and not the rule of the government into the camps. I made sure to keep my beliefs well hidden in those days.

The proglodyte fucks in the government and proud brown shirts in the supposedly progressive left that supported them destroyed America. We shed our blood to protect their rights, and they fucked us and destroyed our country. Now, there is nothing in the history books about what America was or what it once stood for. The media only tells you what the Party wants you to hear. Stupid punks like you think that the worlds great because you see it on the video streams.

And look at us! We're sitting in the middle of a rain storm, with hundreds of thousands of orcs looking for the chance to ass-rape, maim, torture, and kill us, not necessarily in that order mind you. So, why the fuck am I still hung up on and bitching about the fucking shit hole of a fucked over world I'll probably never see again?

Of the people that have died since the beginning of The Great Fuck Over, I miss Danleib and Cwichelm the most. I am not good at debating with people, but Danleib could have taken apart this girls arguments with almost no effort.

The bedroom door opens, and that DokkAlfar Wytch is standing there as naked as the day she was born, not that what she was wearing yesterday can really be called clothes. Her wet hair is hanging all the way down to the floor, instead of being tied up in a pony tail. She must have just come out of the bathroom.

My house is built with all the modern conveniences including indoor plumbing and light crystals for lighting. All the tools to duplicate the comforts of Earth already existed within the Power-based technology of the Battleground of the Damned. We just had to apply a little ingenuity to hammer it into the right format.

The Wytch stares at me with a smirk. “You may have the Body of a rock ape, but your Mind and Soul are still nothing more than those of a weak-willed human. This child has known pain and wants to make her enemies suffer, but you say she is wrong to seek the help of a Wytch. There are few that know more about giving pain to others than Wytches.”

The Wytch hates me. Her stare gives me a cold lump in my lower belly. I cannot understand what Brand sees in her. Hell, I cannot understand Brand, period. Talon was always vicious, but this Brand seems maliciously hostile. If I did not have this feeling in my gut that Brand and Talon are the same person, I would think he was pretending to be Talon so that he could hoodwink me.

“I've never seen a Wytch that didn't have those stomach churning tattoos.”

They Wytch flinches, and a soul-deep fear is visible in her eyes. “It is none of your affair how I was freed from my Umbral Channels.”

Eh? Umbral Channels, I think that is what they call those tattoos, and it seems that her loss of hers has left her with some serious trauma or scars. If I ever need leverage against this psychotic bitch, I wonder if there is a way to use the mental damage against here?

The Wytch turns the bobble-head girl's face toward herself, with a finger on the girls chin. “Come, child. We need to talk.”

After the bobble-head girl follows the Wytch into the bedroom, the door is slammed in my face. I cannot decide if I should be angry or offended. After staring at the wooden door for a few moments, I give up and continue on my way.

Silvy is noisily preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

“Silvy, I'm leaving. I'll be back later.”

Silvy scurries out into the hall. “What about your breakfast, Lord Thorrin.”

“I'm not hungry. I'll eat later.”

For some reason, the lost and dejected expression on Silvy's face sours my stomach. I cannot help but remember Brand and that Tyrend calling her a slave. I try to keep my face blank until I am out of the house.

Damn you, Brand! Talon was no angel, but why do you have to be such a bastard? I want to scream the word, but I force myself to keep them bottled inside of my head. I do not know much of what has happened to him since Talon was murdered. He is not the type to tell other people about what is going on inside his head, and yesterday, we were talking about Woden and the mission, instead of playing catch-up.

Despite our short legs, we Dvergar can move at about 12 MPH, more or less, when we use a fast walking technique. The technique is not something that only a Dvergar can use, but it takes a lot of physical strength and endurance to maintain it over long periods of time. Dvergar that have yet to achieve Coalescence will use it to travel over 100 miles in a single days march, and Coalescent Dvergar will travel even farther, depending on their circle of Coalescence.

Even with the fast march technique, it takes almost half an hour to reach Dacbold's lair. It really is more of a lair than a home. He excavated a series of rooms into the side of South Mountain, and put up a nearly foot thick steel gate for a door.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Pounding on the gate with around half my strength leaves the bottom of my fist feeling slightly numb. This gate would slow down an attacker in the Third or Fourth Circle of Coalescence, let alone myself. There is not a single member of the Damned that would get past his front door without expending significant effort.

The gate opens by itself. The control and sophistication that Dacbold has shown in his use of Power has skyrocketed since he achieved the First Circle of Coalescence. It leaves me feeling a bit jealous, but I just cannot manage to completely fuse my Mind and Soul with my Body, which is a prerequisite for Coalescing my Power.

*I'm in my Forge.*

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

As I walk toward the Forge, the sound of a hammer striking hot metal echoes down the tunnel. Dacbold's Forge is straight back from the main gate, with his living quarters accessed by a side door off the main tunnel. It gives him the ability to deal with customers without having to let them traipse through his home.

Dacbold is working on a sword that has a blade nearly six feet long and an eighteen inch tang.

“Is that the sword for that nut-job adventurer from the Troll Coast?”

Dacbold make a half-snort and half-laugh sound. “I have no idea how the idiot plans to use this thing in a real fight, but I better get it done before we leave.”

I do not try to hold in my sigh. “You're going with Brand?”

Dacbold looks at me with a deadpan expression. “You're not?”

I shake my head. “I don't know what to do. H was always violent and dangerous when he was Talon, but now, I just don't get him. He's changed so much that I don't know how to deal with him.”

Dacbold picks up the glowing metal with a pair of tongs. His superhuman strength allows to easily wave the massive blade around as he carefully inspects it. With a slight frown, he drops into his quenching trough and turns back to me.

“With those burn scars, his life on Earth must have been hell. He's was probably repressing his anger for years. It explains why he was so violent as Talon. Now, I think he may have found a place where he fits in. Ignoring the fop captain, every one of those people with him is a cold, hard, violent, vicious killer, just like Brand. That goes for the naked Alfar slut too. Id lay odds that she's the most of them all, except for Brand.”

While appearing lost in thought, Dacbold scratches his cheek for few moments. “Just because Brand is a nasty mother-fucker, it doesn't mean he can't get the mission done. I might mean that he has a better chance of succeeding. He's not going to hold back because the target is someone from Earth. We probably would, as long as it's not a towel-head. That goes triple for anyone one else from the Damned.”

“Maybe, but I don't know how the hell he's going to succeed after driving off everyone who can negotiate Earth information overload hell. He said he needs to get close to find the drive unit, but how is going to find the places to look without the people he's alienated? What kind of plan could he have?”

Dacbold smirks. “Ask him. You're because you're avoiding Brand. You tend to do that when you don't want to get into a fight with a friend. You avoid them.”

“Let's make some calls and figure out who is going to join this mission.”

*** Refuge – Taereun ***

Return: Day 323

(Brand)

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clank! Thud!

Tyrend stares up at me from the ground where I kicked him to entangle Kanchek's feet. As I spin and block Valcrit's glaive, I crouch low and then, drive into Valcrit. Wrapped around the hilt of my short sword, my fist in his stomach lifts him nearly six feet into the air.

As Valcrit falls toward the ground, I ignore him and turn back to meed Kanchek's attack. My swords and his Lucerne hammer smash against one another five times before Valcrit hits the ground again.

Kanchek is faster, stronger and more skilled than either, Tyrend or Valcrit, and I am fighting him without using the Shadow of the Od. It is a much of a handicap as I can create for myself on the spur of the moment. Still, it takes me less than five seconds to press Kanchek hard enough to close into range to kick and drop him to the ground.

“I thought you always kicked people in the balls.” Thorrin's voice drifts over from the gate to his walled yard.

“Only when I'm out to kill them.” I turn to look at Thorrin.

“We need to talk, just the two of us.”

“Alright. Where?”

Thorrin points at the stone building that is as big as his house in the back of the yard. “In my Forge.”

I follow Thorrin into the Smithy, and he closes the doors behind us. Looking around, a faint smile touches my lips. Besides the forge itself, there are three crucible and a blast furnace for smelting ores. There is also a work area with vices, drills, lathes, and other tools for crafting things like the furniture for weapons, linings for armor, and other sundries to go along with the forged items Thorrin might produce. To the left of the door, a stairway has been carved into the bedrock, and at the bottom there is a landing and a vault door.

“This is a good Smithy.”

Thorrin freezes for a moment, staring at my back. “Yeah, that's right. You're a Maker aren't you. How did you ever learn the skills of a Maker as an Earth-born human?”

“After I returned to the Battleground, Roderick of Tallifer taught me the basics. Thrall taught me a whole lot more after I became a gladiator. Thrall is the one they call the Smith or the Smith God in Gor'achen. I don't where he originally learned the craft, but he's been taught by both Vili and Boran.”

Thorrin's face betrays his surprise, but I still cannot read his emotions. With his fixed stare, it feels like he is trying to bore a hole into my back and see what is inside.

I turn and stare Thorrin in the eye. “You have a problem with me. What is it?”

Thorrin's jaw muscles tense and relax a few times as clenches his teeth. “You've changed. You're different from the Talon that I knew. What happened to you?”

“Do you mean besides being stabbed in the back and murdered?” I am not sure if my grin qualifies as mocking or hostile.

“Yeah, besides being murdered by someone you were protecting.”

I shrug. “Nothing much. I was betrayed by Selestra's father. I spent time as a gladiator in Gor'achen, but that came with benefits. I was fucking Elan every night, and I can't imagine finding a better lay than her.”

From the way Thorrin is staring at me, I think he is looking for something, some answer, but I do not even know what the question is.

“What are you going to do if none of the Damned join you?”

I let out single harsh bark of laughter. “I'll go on with my original plan and play it by ear. If all of you hate me for not being a typical Earth faggot, I won't beg for your help. I don't need you if you're all that weak. I'm better off without you.

“These are priests of Woden I'm going up against. They may be on Earth, but they aren't little bitch faggots from Earth. Woden's aspects are subterfuge and conquest. His priests aren't pussies that a bunch of Earth-born weaklings will have a hope in hell against.”

Thorrin stares at me for a while after I say my piece. I cannot read anything off of him, but his face is cold and hard.

“You have me, Dacbold, Farnulf, Tomas, Kat, Pancho, and the three bobble-heads. None of the rest want anything to do with you.” By the three bobble-heads, he must mean the three cowards. I wonder if he has started calling me Freddy or Jason when I am not around.

Jinmu made sure to teach me that you cannot trust anyone. I cannot forget that lesson. If I do, someone, who is not what I think they are, will fuck me up the ass.

I smirk. “That's fine by me. You'll have at least thirty days to get ready. I need to go to Freeport and settle things with Jinmu, Selestra's father.”

“That's not even close. The way I'll show you, you'll be in Freeport inside of three days.”

My head snaps around to Vili, leaning against the largest crucible. His smirk is even more obnoxious than normal. I never sensed any movements in the air, so I have no clue when or how he got there.

“I know, already. Don't forget this. You can go fuck yourself.”

Vili laughter is nasty. “You have long way to go. You're still a hundred-million years too young to have a chance against me.”

“What's your shortcut?”

Vili keeps smirking. “You still need to learn how to use the dimensional ripper, and the journey to Freeport is a perfect way to teach you.”

I look at Thorrin. “If you're gonna come, we'll leave at dawn tomorrow.”

Thorrin stares back at me for a bit without saying anything, before moving down the stairs to the vault door.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. I imprint the pattern sight spell on my left eye and watch what Thorrin does.

As he deactivates the spells and opens the locks on the vault, it becomes obvious that the vault is keyed to him in a manner that probably requires he be alive and present to open it. Without Thorrin there, I think the only way past those spells and locks might be to blast a hole through them. It might be easier to dig through the side of the vault, but that is going to depend on what he has in the way of spell patterns on the inside.

When Thorrin enters the vault, I can only see him with my normal vision. Neither my pattern sight nor my spatial awareness can see through that open doorway. I really want to see the spell patterns he has inscribed inside that vault.

As Thorrin comes out again, he is carrying a milk crate sized wooded box. Putting it down on the stairs, he closes the vault and reactivates all the spells and locks. After checking that the vault is sealed again, he picks up the crate again and takes it to a bench near the top of the stairs.

The top of this bench is covered with a thick felt, and the bench has more spells laid on it. I am not sure what the spells, but they do not appear to have any affect on Thorrin as he lays out the objects from from the crate on the bench.

There are thirty in total. Ten are bracers. Ten are thick belt buckles. Ten look more or less like Earth smartphones. All of them have an extremely complex web of spell patterns woven into them. Outside of Stone Feather Death, I have yet to see such a complex array spells on a single item. The work involved in inscribing the sigils must have been exhaustively time consuming. Some of the patterns remind of the ones used in party and whisper charms, but I cannot begin to guess what some of the others are.

“These are the most advanced social organizers that have been developed by Dacbold and myself. They can use our network of repeater towers here on Taereun and they should be able to tap into the mail system of The Postmen in the Battleground. Don't give one to anyone that you don't trust.”

I frown. “What if I don't trust anyone?”

Thorrin has a strange look on his face, and Vili's chuckle sounds exceptionally nasty, even for him.

“Just don't give them to anyone you think will give the secrets about their capabilities. These use loopholes and backdoor access methods to get into the networks. Everything that was made by The Postmen and what the Damned built here is modeled on Earth telecommunications. Because of the differences between Earth's electronics technology and the Power-based technology we use here, there are a ton of holes in the systems in the Battleground and here on Taereun. Dacbold and I just took advantage of that.

“The network access is just a secondary function. These are mainly a combination of whisper charms, party charms, and guild bracelets with most of the social features of mainstream Earth MMOs like friends and ignore lists.

“Everyone here in Refuge uses them, and we've been selling them to some of the towns and cities we trade with along the coast.”

I feel that black rage that seems to come from somewhere deep in my soul building. I can barely keep to vicious growl instead of an ear-shattering roar. “First Emer and now here, why the fuck do you people have to bring Earth's sick shit to Taereun? Do you have television and boy and girl bands here, too?”

For a few moments, Thorrin does nothing but stare at me, aghast.

“The technology is not the problem with Earth. It is the culture.” Vili's voice is calm, without his usual nasty edge.

Vili being Vili, he does not flinch when I turn my glare on him. “Your hatred of Earth is pathological, but not everything on Earth is bad. Woden has twisted your world with his experiments, but there uncountable other worlds that use similar technology and have similar entertainment industries.

“Those other worlds are not inherently bad. Lack the twisted mentality that has been created on your Earth, they do not weaken and destroy the Souls of their people. There is nothing wrong with these devices or this technology.”

Thorrin is looking at me as though he cannot decide if he should pity me or be afraid of me.

I hate it when anyone dares to pity me. For half my life people I have had people looking at me with a mix of pity, disgust, and hate. The only time I escaped from the pity was when I was in Talon's body. The disgust and hate do not bother me. I am comfortable with them, but the pity makes me want to hurt people. I have survived. No matter what the world threw at me, I survived and kept my sanity. How dare anyone pity me?

I do not know how much of what is going through my mind can be seen in my eyes, but after a minute or so, Thorrin looks away. He cannot meet my glare and longer, and something inside him leaves a dark shadow in his own eyes.

“I'm not going to argue about the merits and failure of technology. These are for you. If you don't want to use them, don't use them, but they're the best versions of the social organizers that Dacbold and I have designed to date.” Turning away from me, Thorrin walks out of his own Smithy, leaving Vili and myself behind.

“Thorrin won't help you destroy Earth. He'll probably try and stop you if he finds out.”

I stare at Vili. “Why do you want Earth destroyed so bad?”

Vili just looks at me without any expression for so long that I do not think he is going to answer. “I am Dvergar. There is not much that scares me, but the insidious, warped beliefs and values of your Earth scare me. Except for you and Menton, every one of the Damned refuses to give up on the twisted notions and beliefs your world has instilled in them. Even Dacbold still clings to some of your worlds beliefs as some kind of universal truth, instead of seeing them as the constructs of a flawed culture that they are.

“The only truth of existence is that Power determines truth. If you had enough Power, you could create your own metaverse and make the laws of existence whatever you want them to be. This metaverse exists primarily under the laws of Creation and Destruction. On your Earth, the cultures that has been created through Woden's manipulations believe in idiocies that amount to a worship of species suicide. Everything that lives, even the biological weapons created by the True Dragons, exists because Life allows it to. She made this metaverse so that life wants to continue living and to procreate.

“Woden's aspects are Subterfuge and Conquest. He has trained the people of your world to enshrine death and practices that amount species suicide as laudable traits to be worshiped. Through the lie of empowering the weak, the cowardly, and the unnatural, some of your people have become a source of Power for him, and the rest are lab rats being destroyed in his experiments. Your world must end.

“Your will not die in vain. Ending it will at least temporarily halt the spread of its sickness. On the day that I find Woden's Aspect Plane, where his True Body, Mind, and Soul lie, I will destroy him and put a stop to any more of his sick experiments.”

I cannot argue with what Vili has said. On a subconscious level, I think I have known for my entire life that Earth was warped an unnatural.

A grim, yet still joyous, smile twists my lips. “Then what about the Damned, and the new batch of Possessed trapped in the Battleground?”

Vili frowns. “For now, the Damned here in Refuge exist under the Second Father's protection, but once he has learned what he needs to from them that protection will end. Those that cannot give up the twisted ideologies of your Earth will be destroyed. Should any of them embrace the real truths of this metaverse and cast aside Woden's poison, they will be allowed to live and die by their own hands and choices.”

My smile becomes one of malicious joy. I have a hard time not laughing.

*** Refuge – Taereun ***

Return: Day 324

(Brand)

Looking around the deck of the Night Raven, everything seems to be in ready. Duncrik and the crew are all looking in my direction, waiting for me to give the command to leave.

“Captain, take us out of here. Head due north.”

As Duncrik stares at me for a moment, he has a bit of confusion in his aura. “Aye, Master.”

Duncrik turns to the first officer. “First, haul anchors, and set a quarter sail. Steersman our course is due north.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Elan is standing at my side. The three cowards are near the wheelhouse with Valcrit and Sado. The two of them are explaining what duties are expected of an airmancer on an airship. The rest of my party are scattered around the ship. Before we ever boarded the Night Raven the gladiators had been warned that the crew was not to be trusted and to keep an eye on them.

The massive armored bulk of the gladiators lounging about would intimidate almost anyone, and the air sailors are no exception. As they go about their duties, they always have at least half an eye trained on the gladiators.

As for those six gladiators, they are all sporting shiny new, matching belt buckles. They are not Thorrin's special social organizers, but they are still the latest model being sold in Refuge.

I was surprised to learn that the mass production model support seven languages, including the Slave Tongue of the Battleground of the Damned. Thorrin's special models support more languages, but those were made by Thorrin himself.

Yesterday, after finishing with Thorrin, I took the gladiators shopping. It was hard not to laugh at six massive men, the smallest still a few inches taller than me, playing with the functions of the social organizers like preteen boys with new toys. After getting over her fear of six huge, armored, scarred men in her store, the salesgirl spent more than a hour laughing while showing the gladiators how to work their new toys.

Below us, between South Mountain and the mountain to the west, the valley is filled fenced fields lying fallow and open range with herds of sheep. Looking back toward the open sea, the sails of dozens of fishing boats are visible.

Even with three-quarters of her sails set, it takes the Night Raven more than two hours to sail past the northernmost spur of South Mountain. The land stretching out below is a mix of moors and sparse woodlands. Not the most hospitable of places in this cold clime. Another snow-capped mountain rises to the northwest of our current position.

With South Mountain solidly behind us, Vili looks toward me. “Come with me and bring your Wytch!”

After Elan and I follow Vili to the vault with the dimensional ripper, he touches that stud that activates the holographic display. This time there are only lines representing four planar boundaries, with one being rather nebulous, two of them continually shifting, and one distinct like the ones in Gor'achen. The nebulous boundaries appear to be continuously shifting while fading in and out of existence.

Vili points at the solid planar boundary. “This is a pocket plane. It exists in permanent contact with Taereun. There is a gate to it on that mountain to the northwest. Someday, if you get the chance, you should go take a look inside. It is an interesting construct.”

I look at Vili. “A construct? Do you mean the thing is artificial?”

Vili grins. “Exactly. We are not sure who made it. It was here when we first found Taereun, some two hundred odd million years ago. From then to now, it show no signs of destabilizing, and it is not artificially maintained like the pocket planes inside of Yggdrasil. The way that dimensional laws were used to construct it are warped beyond belief, but you cannot argue with the result.

“Its does not matter, right now. Set the ripper to open a hole into it. From the reading the ripper can display, you should be able to figure it out. To figure it out, do what you need to with the setting, just do not activate the ripper. Brand, you do it first.”

Finding the solution to the ripper's requires factoring a series of three equations, one for each dimensional axis. The completely fucked up thing is that the difficulty is on par with quartic equations, but I can do them in my head. Before the Great Fuck Over, I would have needed to write this out on paper to do it.

After making the final setting, I look at Vili. “Done.”

Vili nods, and looks at Elan. “Your turn Wytch.”

Elan reaches out to the device and changes two of the settings slightly. “This way is better.”

Vili frowns. “Both setting would work. The Wytches will take less Power, but it will take a third longer to tear open the dimensional boundary, about eight ten-thousandths. That can be the difference between life and death if you are in the middle of a battle, but if you are trying to be sneaky, there will be a much smaller disturbance from the tear.”

Vili makes his own changes to the settings, and a red warning flashes on the display in DokkAlfar script. “You can also do it like this. It is fast and dirty, but it takes almost ten times as much Power. The Wytch's solution takes about a fifth of the Power of Brand's.

“The ripper is a tool with a lot of variance in its functionality. It all depends on how you want to use it. You can store planar locations and dimensional solutions in the ripper. It has enough memory to store a near infinite amount.”

Vili touches the wave form for his solution, bringing up a contextual menu. With a few more touches, he save his solution as the DokkAlfar script equivalent of A.

“Both of you change that solution to your own and save them as option under the same entry heading.”

After Elan and I have entered the dimensional solutions for the ripper, Vili points to the two shifting planar boundaries. “This is the boundary with the Soul plane, and this is the boundary of the Mind plane. Both of those planes are analogous this, the Body plane. The three are separate planes, but they still coexist as one plane. It is possible for the dimensional ripper to open a hole to either, but you should not do it only if you have no other options. Once you move your physical body to one of the other two with the ripper bad things can happen, and you might destroy yourself.

“There are hundreds of thousands of techniques, probably more, that can partially or fully shift the form of Body, Mind, or Soul to one of the other two planes, but they all have dangers and drawbacks. The better way is to learn to perceive and act in all three at once.”

“Do you do that?”

“Sometimes. Because of how the Dragons made us, it's not easy for Dvergar to act in the plane of Mind. Alfar have the same problem with the plane of Soul.”

I put my hand up in a stop motion. Come and stop motions seems to be consistent with every race and culture I have encountered in Yggdrasil. “There is something I just don't fucking get. Why every school, culture, race, or whatever I have encountered in Yggdrasil uses the term Body for the physical plane?”

Vili gets a weird look on his face. “It's probably because they are copying us, and we are copying the Dragons. I do not know why the Dragons used those terms, though.”

After a moment, Vili points a the nebulous line. “This is the Aether. It exists between all the myriad planes in the metaverse. Many beings call it a plane, but it is not. The Aether is the remnants of destroyed planes, and the primordial source for new planes. It may be other things, as well, but you would probably have to ask Life or Death if you wanted to know what they might be.

“You can use it to travel long distances in a short time, but there are potential dangers. The Aether is not devoid of life, and the life that exist there is generally inimical to anything of the Amalgamate or Elemental Realms.

“We are going to use the Aether to travel to Freeport. To open a tear to the Aether, you use null for all the destination dimensions. Going from the Aether to a plane, you use null for all the source dimensions. Set the coordinates!”

Using null for all the destination dimensions results in a solution that looks wrong, but I enter it anyway.

“You do it, Alfar!”

After Elan enters her solution, Vili nods. “The Wytch likes to be subtle, and you like brute force. It shows in how you set up the equations. I like brute force.”

Vili selects my solution. “You can activate the ripper.”

I reach over and tap the activation stud.

“Let's go watch spindle-necked, needle-dick shit himself.” As he exits the vault, Vili has a nasty grin on his face.

The crew is already shouting before we exit the companionway. In the sky in front of the Night Raven, silver-grey Power and a Power so dark that it does not reflect any light outlines what looks a hole into an expanse of dark grey mist. The ripper appears to use Spirit and Void, the same as Vili's spell that opened a hole between Mountain View and Gor'achen.

“Steersman, bear tow tenths to starboard!” Duncrik's shout betrays his naked terror.

“Belay that, you needle-dick bitch! Take this ship into the tear! We're entering the Aether!”

His wide-open eyes radiating terror, Duncrik stares at Vili like the latter is a complete raving lunatic.

*If that dickless faggot tries to rebel, kill him!* My voice fills the raid channel for my people from the Blood Rose Stable.

After glancing in my direction, the six gladiators draw their weapons.

As I walk up the stairs to the poop deck, I stare at Duncrik. “Why did Thrall put you one my ship? What the fuck reason do you have for being here if you aren't going to obey commands?”

Duncrik stares at me without saying anything for a few moments, then he seems to diminish. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. “Steersman, set course for the. . .”

Duncrik looks at Vili.

“Dimensional tear.”

“Set course for the dimensional tear.”

As the Night Raven's bow turns back toward the tear, Duncrik glances at the gladiators before staring at me. He gives the impression that he is appraising me, but he does not quite meet my eyes.

When the bow of the ship begins to enter the tear, a silver-grey bubble starts to form around it.

I look Vili. “What is that?”

Vili shrugs. “Just a dimensional field. As long as the dimensional ripper remains active, after changing planes, it will produce a dimensional field that maintains a compatible environment with the plane where it was activated. Turning it off in the Aether means that you will be exposed to the raw matter and energy of the Aether. Do not do it!”

Once the stern of the Night Raven passes though the tear, it closes, and our view of Taereun disappears.

With the exception of the Dvergar, Elan, and Valcrit, I feel fear from everyone around me. Some are only mildly afraid, but others like the three cowards are so terrified that they are shivering where they stand.

Above us, the sails hang limply from the rigging. There is no more wind to drive them, and an eerie silence has settled over the Night Raven.

Looking through the faintly visible shimmer of the bubble surrounding us, the world is nearly lightless, like the darkness between twilight and true night. Below us, mostly hidden by the dark grey mists, I see a shadowed expanse of what must be land, in varying shades of black, that stretches to the horizon. Toward port, that dark shadowed land rises in a shape vaguely reminiscent of the mountain that was to the northwest on Taereun.

I turn my attention to Vili. “Vili?”

Vili's face is expressionless. “What you see below is Taereun's mass shadow. To say the least, the laws of the Aether are strange. There are places in the deep Aether that are far from any plane, but it can be difficult to find them. If you do move away from your plane of origin on entering the Aether, it can be almost impossible to find it again. It even be impossible to find any plane. If move away from Taereun's mass shadow, this vapor will disappear, and you will be able to see the mass shadows of the stars from Taereun's universe. We are not going to sail that far from Taereun's mass shadow.”

Vili starts pointing out differences in the shades of black, and explaining how to differentiate land from water, woodland from grassland, and barren land from anything else.

By the time Vili pauses, I am certain that the Night Raven has drifted to a standstill.

I stare at Vili. “Okay, we can tell what is what, but how do we get anywhere? There's not wind in the sails?”

Vili hooks a thumb in the direction of the three cowards. “Aren't those three supposed to be airmancers? If the cast wind spells, that originate from behind the stern of the ship, that will propel the ship. The stronger the wind, the faster we'll move, just like on Taereun.”

I look at the three. “Do it!”

“Yes, Master!” Angelique seems eager to please.

As the three weave their spell, the air inside of our bubble begins to grow restless. Sensing Elan smile with my spatial awareness, I glance at her.

Elan's smile turns lascivious, as she looks into my eyes. *That girl is strong, much stronger than she believes herself to be. The other two are not weak, but the girls far exceeds them. You should take her and make her yours. She is still a virgin.*

Elan has one of the smartphone styled social organizers that I received from Thorrin. She has been playing with hers almost as much as the gladiators.

When we though Taereun was a game and during the Great Fuck Over the old whisper charms and such already had an interface that was projected directly on the user's eyes so that only the user could see it. It is the same basic interface that the gladiators social organizers have. These new ones made by Thorrin use a Psi based interface that connects directly with the user's Mind. The projection distance is only a few inches, but with these devices being worn or carried in close proximity to the user's body, there is not problem with it's functionality that I can see.

I take a good look at Angelique. Her face nothing. It is not anything special, but there is no reason to bag her or throw her out of bed. With the loose fitting robes those three cowards wear, I cannot much about her body, except that she has pretty big tits. Hopefully, they do not sag; I hate sagging tits.

*I really don't know jack shit about seducing women. Other than you, I've only fucked another crazy woman and that whore after the games.*

Elan looks like she cannot decide whether to smile or frown. *Her mind is warped from being abused, but that is good. It will be easier to get her your cock inside her and bind her to you.*

The three cowards finish their spell, and a gale force wind fills the sails. As the Night Raven lunges forward, everyone's eyes snap toward the three cowards. It is not common for an airmancer to bring up such strong winds, so quickly, from completely dead air.

The Night Raven rapidly accelerates, and the black mass shadow starts to skim by beneath us. After several minutes, our speed is already four or five times faster than we could travel on Taereun and continuing to increase.

When I look at Vili, he is practically smirking. “The faster your base speed, the faster you will accelerate in the Aether. There are countless civilizations in countless universes that have discovered the Aether and use it for high speed interstellar travel.”

“How fast can we go?”

Vili looks at the three coward and then, studies the wind for a few moments. “The way you measure speed on Earth, we will reach around five hundred miles an hour, give or take a couple dozen.”

In slightly less than an hour, I see a demarcation line between land an a huge expanse of water. From the lack of any visible land out to the horizon, it must be the ocean.

Vili points toward the shore. “Follow the coast until we reach Freeport's location.”

There is movement near the shore. Several slightly lighter shadows appear to rise up from the black shadow of the water. As the Night Raven passes, they rise from the water and begin to follow at a little distance from our starboard side. It is hard to make them out clearly in the darkness, but they appear more or less humanoid in shape.

Vili does not even glance in their direction. “Ignore them. They will not come close with me here, but if you were to enter the Aether without me, you would almost certainly be attacked.”

“How strong are they?”

Vili frowns and glances at them. “Working together with your Wytch, you could deal with two or three of them. Dacbold and Thorrin could do the same, but the six of them would kill half the people aboard the Night Raven before you finished them all off.

“Those are relatively weak Daemons that are probably using the Aether to hide in while searching for prey on Taereun. If anything truly strong were to come close, there are various hidden being that would take action. Taereun has a fairly large of strong Coalescent beings that see their parts or Taereun as their private playgrounds. Some remain hidden while others are rulers, but none of them take kindly to extra-planar incursions.”

In the same way he ignored my gladiators and the crew, Vili seemed to ignore Farnulf in his estimations. It appears that Vili has a truly low opinion of Farnulf. I am having a hard time judging the strength of those three Possessed Dvergar. Even though Dacbold has obviously entered the First Circle of Coalescence, I cannot estimate the level of his Power.

Some of the sailors have noticed our stalkers and are gossiping nervously amongst themselves. It looks like the legendary superstition and paranoia of the air sailors is about to kick into full gear.

*** The Aether ***

Return: Day 324

(Thorrin)

We have been in the Aether for about twelve hours, and everyone is on edge. There are things following us out in the Aether. Since not long after we reach the coastline's shadow, they have been paralleling the course of the Night Raven. I cannot tell what they actually are. Dacbold says that they look sort of like the Frog in Bogwater, in the Battleground of the Damned, but maybe, no one besides Vili really knows what they are.

Brand is near the bow, with that DokkAlfar Wytch at his side like always. He is talking to those six men that he said are gladiators. Brand is big. In Earth terms he's absolutely massive, but those gladiator are bigger still. Ever one of them is a bit more heavily muscled and taller than Brand. He looks like the runt of the pack when he is standing next to them. What the hell do they feed those gladiators, growth hormones?

I look at Tyrend, lounging against the starboard rail. At first glance, he seems to be the picture of bored indifference, but when you observe him closely, he is watching everything that goes on around from his half-lidded eyes. Compared to Brand and the other gladiators, he is flat out scrawny, but that is just compared to them. Tyrend is about 5'10” and probably weighs close to 230 lbs. That is not even close to scrawny, unless you are comparing him to those lumps of muscle near the bow. Of the people with Brand, he is given a level of deference by the rest that makes me think he is the most dangerous of the humans.

After noticing me watching him, Tyrend saunters over from the rail. He has shit-eating grin to end all shit-eating grins on his face. “You're from Brand's world, right?”

“Yes, our world is called Earth.” I nod, and say “Earth” in English.

“So, about that Camille bitch, are there a lot of women in your world with bodies like hers?”

Tyrend's question comes so far out of left field, that I just stare at him for at least fifteen or twenty seconds. “Huh?”

I do not know how it is possible, but Tyrend's grin gets even more smug. “Her attitude sucks a kobold's, sweaty, unwashed balls, but oh, that body. Doesn't your dick get hard just looking at her?”

“Do you really like fat slobs like her?”

Tyrend frowns. “Now, you're sounding like Brand. He's got the worst taste in women. He like them skinny and muscular. A woman got to have some meat her bones for when you fuck her. You need cushion for the pushing. Brand told me that's an old saying from your world.”

I sigh within my heart. What kind of crazies does Brand collect? There is that Wytch, and now this guy with a fetish for fat chicks. Are the the rest of them just as crazy?

“Not anymore. Thirty years ago most of America, our home country on Earth, had become fat asses. Now, we have special medicines that can fix most anything.”

My eyes stray to Brand and his horribly scarred body. “Unless your some kind of freak that the medicines don't work on. Then, you're really fucked.”

Tyrend looks at Brand, too. “Brand is one of those freaks?”

“Yeah. He should never have been left with those scars, but the medicines don't work on him. He told me he was a fat slob growing up. No matter what he did, he couldn't get rid of the weight. There aren't many people like him on Earth.”

“So, I won't find many good women on your Earth.” Tyrend looks dejected. He reminds of a kid that just found out the candy store has closed down permanently.

Vili suddenly appears at the bow of the ship. He had gone below decks hours ago. He is staring intently into the northwest, and an aura of oppressive rage flows outward from him.

“Take the ship down close to the surface!”

Duncrik, the captain is below decks, but the first mate quickly issues orders. The bow of the Night Raven tilts downward at close to a forty-five degree angle.

After a few more seconds of staring toward the horizon, Vili disappears from the bow and appears next to the wheelhouse. Reaching inside, he slaps a stud on a black metal box.

A globe that appears to be a complex rapidly expands until the oblong energy field surrounding the ship is completely enclosed within it. A few seconds later the globe fades away, leaving behind a distortion that resembles a heat shimmer.

As Brand flashes onto the poop deck and over to the wheelhouse, I feel like someone dumps cold water down my back. The outline of his body appears a bit indistinct and the air around him is shadowy. It is almost like he is surrounded by black fog. With the speed he moves at, I do not think I could hit him if I tried. Even though Dacbold is already Coalescent, Brand is possibly faster than him.

“Is that the chameleon field?”

Vili glances at Brand and turns back to staring into the northwest. “Yes.”

Duncrik comes up onto the poop deck but does not say anything.

Brand stares in the same direction as Vili, but he seems confused. “What's going on?”

“Watch and see.” Vili exudes simmering anger, as he continues to stare into the northwest.

When the airship nears ground level, our stalkers halt. Several of them gesture toward the northwest, and they appear to be argue as they fall father behind. When they are almost lost to sight in the grey mists, they turn and race in a southerly direction.

“Kill that wind spell!”

At Vili's order, the three bobble-heads quickly dispel the winds that have been driving us northward. Huddling together, they start mumbling to one another. Except for a few other muttered conversations, everyone on board the Night Raven is staring toward the northwest horizon and waiting. Time drags on for about ten minutes before I see tiny glowing dots moving through the dark grey mist.

As the dots grow closer, the reveal themselves to be airships made from milky white crystal, LjosAlfar airships. A screen of over a hundred of them sails in front of another massive airship. It is so massive that, even though, it is at an indeterminate distance behind the nearer airships, it seems to dwarf them. These airships are moving slower than we were, maybe only 100mph to 150mph. It is a bit difficult to accurately gauge speeds in this place.

I glance at Vili, and his face is twisted with an ugly rage. If he looked at me that way, I would just buy my tombstone then and there.

After the fleet passes by and heads toward the southeast, out over the open ocean, Vili stands there, staring at the at the shifting grey mists. While I cannot see those airships any longer, I have the feeling that Vili can still see them.

“Why did you have us hide from those LjosAlfar faggots?”

Vili turns his angry gaze on Brand. “That barge wasn't something that belonged to Alfar. There were thirteen little worm Transcendents on it. It would have taken a lot of effort for me to kill them all. You would probably have died from just the shock waves.”

“Would they have attacked if they spotted us?”

Vili laughs. “There isn't much that a little worms hates more than Dvergar.”

Vili waves his hand and hurricane force winds abruptly fill the Night Raven's sails. The bow angles downward in a sharp dive until the helmsman gets control of the ship again.

“Set every sail we have on this bucket! Helm take us up to our previous altitude.!”

As the crew scramble to obey Vili's commands, Duncrik and the first officer stare at him with aggrieved expressions, but Vili, as always, could not care less what anyone else thinks. He turns to stare at where the LjosAlfar and Dragon ships have disappeared.

Over the years since the Massacre, I have seen Vili act a number of different ways. Normally, he is an obnoxious asshole. The way he was when he talked to Brand was almost like he was a teacher with his student. Now, this Vili is something I have never seen. A Vili with a serious and almost worried expression leaves me feeling more than a little afraid.

Looking over the airship's gunwale, I see the mass shadows from the ground streaking by. I am not sure how fast we are moving, but it is, at least, several times faster than we were moving before, which should have been around 450mph or maybe a little more.

Even though the crystal airships are gone, the poop deck has descended in to silence. No one seems to be in the mood for talking. Everyone is just silently staring out into the dark mists in various directions. I do not what anyone else is thinking, but most likely, it is related to those crystal ships.

Time seems to pass quickly, but it still takes close to two hours for a greyish light to appear on the horizon. As we rapidly move closer, I see that the light is the result of living creatures. Vili showed us how to identify the location of living things when we first entered the Aether. Plant life just appears as a lighter black to dark charcoal grey, but animal life is greyish. Vili said the stronger the life-form the brighter the grey, with Transcendent beings gleaming like silver.

There is no visible action by Vili, but the wind dies. As the Night Raven sharply decelerates, he looks at Brand. A thick, folded square of cloth appears in his hand, and he holds it out.

“This is the battle flag of the Star Clans. As long as you're flying it, those needle-dicks holding the teleportation arrays won't dare to get in your way. It may be almost a million years since the War of Slaughter ended, but those cults haven't forgotten who we are.

“You know how to use the ripper. Use it and get back to Taereun's plane. When you go back to Yggdrasil, don't use the Aether. If the little worm are active, the chameleon field won't stop them from finding you without my Power to shield you.”

Brand glances to the southeast before looking back at Vili. His voice has an inquiring tone. “You're going after the little worms?”

Vili frowns. “If that many are acting together, I want to know what they're doing. Just one Transcendent is enough to crush every nation on your Earth and exterminate all life. That group is almost as powerful as I am. If they're looking to fuck with any Dvergar, I'm going to kill them all.”

Without another word, Vili disappears.

Startled, many people look around to see where he is, but Brand just stares toward the southeast. “He's gone. Angelique!”

“Yes, Master!”

Hearing an earth-born human calling someone “Master” rubs me the wrong way. I cannot understand why she would do that with Brand and his Wytch. What the hell is wrong with her?

“Give an easy wind. Make it just enough to get the Night Raven moving.”

“Yes, Master!”

As Brand turns toward the stairs to the main deck, The Wytch touches his shoulder. “I will activate the dimensional ripper.”

“Okay.”

Brand watches the Wytches swaying hips as she walks away. The way that DokkAlfar slut moves is sinuous, like a snake. Though, you can probably trust a lot more than her.

After the Wytch is gone, Brand turns his attention to the grey light to the north. He gives that impression that nothing is wrong, and he is in complete control. Who knows, that might actually be the truth as he sees it.

We only have a few minute wait before a a tear opens in the space in front of the Night Raven. On the other side, a nighttime vista awaits us.

Brand looks at Duncrik. “Take us though the tear, Captain.”

“Aye, Master. Steersman, steady as she goes. Aim for the center of that tear.” Duncrik no longer has that angry aura about him. For whatever reason, it looks like he has accepted Brand as his superior.

Freeport

*** Freeport - Taereun ***

Return: Day 324

(Thorrin)

After we exited the Aether, Brand left the chameleon field running, and we continued north along the coast toward Freeport. For the past hour, we have been sitting some ten or so miles south of the city-state.

I have been to Freeport three times, and I never wanted to return. It is the cesspool of the southern coast of the Ocean of Dawn. For thousands of years, the outcasts, murderers, rapists, and general scum that were driven out of the more civilized cities to the north have congregated in this open sewer on the eastern shore of the Gulf of Freedom. The Gulf of Freedom is formed by the Freedom Peninsula which is connected to the mainland of Sudnel by an isthmus.

Despite all the grand sounding names, Freeport and the Freedom Peninsula are the home of some of the most brutal slave traders in the entirety of the Sudnel continent. The only reason that I ever set foot in Freeport was to search for survivors of the Massacre that had been enslaved by the orcs. A number of the Freeport slave traders have extensive contacts with the orc tribes and hordes that roam the southern part of Sudnel. After discovering this, we have been sending an expedition to Freeport every year, but the last few years they have been coming back empty handed.

Brand turns to me. “You said you've been to Freeport. Did you ever see a Temple of Yggr?”

As I stare at Brand in a bit of surprise, I cannot stop my eyes from narrowing slightly. “There is a street called the Street of Gods. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of temples, churches, chapels and whatever else for just as many gods. Why do you want to know about a Temple of Yggr?”

“Jinmu has become a shit-fucking Priest of Yggr.”

My stare reveals my blatant incredulity. “Why do you think a Priest of Yggr would help you?”

Brand's smile is just as nasty as one that Vili would make. “Because his shit-fucking god is terrified by Woden having Yggdrasil's main drive. Yggr has already told the back-stabbing bastards in his clergy to help me. At least until we get the drive, Yggr has nominally allied himself with Boran.”

The idea of Boran allying with Yggr disgusts me. It is no better than making a deal with the devil, and I though the Dvergar were better than that. Well, other than Vili, I though the rest of the Dvergar were better than that. Despite their violence and brutality in battle, the Dvergar race have a sense of nobility to them that humans so often lack.

I sigh. “There is probably a Temple of Yggr on the Street of Gods. That place is filled with the worshipers of hundreds of gods I never heard of inside Yggdrasil.”

“There's a temple to that false god on the Street of Gods. It's near the north end. There are thousands of the heather bastards in Freeport that worship him.” Farnulf speaking up is a surprise. He barely talks to Dacbold and myself anymore. Since the Dvergar basically kicked him out of South Watch for obsessively trying to convert them to his brand of Christianity, Dacbold had a mountain on his shoulder when dealing with Dacbold or myself.

Brand just stares at Farnulf for a few moments. From the way he acted around Farnulf when he was Talon, I do not think Brand much likes Farnulf. To say Talon was disgusted by any and all religion would be putting it mildly, and Farnulf would sometimes go of on tangents of biblical prejudice when we dealt with priests or priestesses during the Great Fuck Over.

“Show me where it is after we enter the city! The only reason I'm here is to get what I need from Jinmu.” After speaking, Brand turns his back on Farnulf, ignoring him.

Farnulf bristles angrily, but there is fear in his eyes at the same time. In the end, he does nothing and stalks off the poop deck.

* * * * *

As the sun starts to peak over the horizon, Brand reaches into the wheelhouse and kills the chameleon field. The faint distortion like a heat shimmer disappears, and the world around us becomes crystal clear again.

“Captain, take us to Freeport.”

“Aye, Master.”

“First, set three-quarters sails.”

“Aye, Captain!”

“Steersman, set a course of ninety-five hundredths.

“Aye, Captain!”

There are airship mooring towers on the west side of Freeport, and Duncrik seems to be well aware the fact. The DokkAlfar have never been trapped inside Yggdrasil. Their gods they worship are more or less in control of the thing, and the DokkAlfar mostly come and go as they please.

Brand takes out a suit of plate armor that is forged from a black metal. I cannot recognize what the alloy is, but the workmanship is very high quality. It looks better than my own work.

Without the least bit of hesitation, Brand strips naked where he is and stores what he was wearing in a dimensional storage ring. He does not show any sign of modesty or embarrassment to be standing bare-ass naked in front of everyone.

He struggles a bit to squeeze into a gambeson and leather pants. Even the leather socks sewn to accommodate his toes individually seem a little tight. To fit into the armor, he has to loosen the straps. After twisting, flexing, and adjusting the armor for a few minutes, Brand frowns.

“I think I put on some weight since forging this armor.”

That Wytch of Brand's smiles lasciviously. “Like this, your body is match for that thick human cock of your.”

God damn! Does that slut ever stop thinking about sex? It seems like she only sees people in terms of those you hate, those you use, and those you fuck.

Brand takes the weapon harness from his Wytch, who has been holding it while he changed clothes, and straps it on over his armor. Just walking around in a loincloth, Brand is impressive a hell. You almost never see that kind of muscular development on a human.

I look at the six gladiators on the main deck. Okay, in most places, you almost never see that kind of muscular development on a human. Gladiators in the DokkAlfar's arena might all be freakish exceptions.

Looking at Brand, wearing that plate armor, he is downright intimidating. He could easily be the end boss in some old japimation from around the turn of the millennium.

*Have you looked at the pattern of that armor?*

I glance at Dacbold. *No.*

*Do it.*

“Steel is stubbornness.” I whisper the words under my breath. I do not need to vocalize mnemonics, but the habit was already so ingrained before I developed the understanding to not need to that I have never broken it.

With the casting pattern sight on my eyes, the world around me turns into a kaleidoscope of energy flows. I hate using pattern sight. Seeing the world this way always gives me a headache.

The only one who burns brighter with Power than Brand are Dacbold and that Wytch. If he is not Coalescent, how does he have so much Power? No matter how I look at him, Brand is a total freak of nature.

I focus on his armor, it does not show much Power, but the complexity of the patterns is absolutely ridiculous. I do not recognize the purpose of the sub-patterns but the style is definitely Dvergar in origin. That Patterning of that suit of armor is a work of art. It is not exactly an Item of Power, but with that pattern, it should stronger than most lesser Items of Power. It probably would not take much to push it over the boundary into becoming an Item of Power. If that happened, it would be worth a kings ransom. Where did Brand ever get that armor from? It does not look like Vili's work, and I do not think Boran would ever make something so simple.

“Who made that armor?” Dacbold being curious enough to ask the question himself is unusual.

“I did. Why?”

I lose control over my pattern sight, and the world returns to mundane solidity again. Dacbold and I look at each other, and we are mirrors of each other, with our jaws hanging slight open.

“What the fuck is wrong with the two of you?” Brand's burgeoning anger hits me almost like a physical blow.

I am pretty much Psi dead. Everything that a Psi does always feels muted, but Brand's emotional projection seems to hit me full force. What would it be like for a human to get hit by his projected hate or rage?

When my reaction to that impact snaps my attention back to Brand, that Wytch is clinging to his arm with a “this is mine” attitude about her. I think I understand why that Wytch is so willing to follow him around. Brand is not Renaissance Man, but he is an all-round powerhouse with nearly inhuman talent in the making.

“You Patterned it yourself?”

Brand focuses his hostility on Dacbold. “Yeah. Why?”

Dacbold actually shows a faint smile. “That pattern is incredible. Where did you learn how to do it, and what is the purpose of those two sub-pattern in it?”

Brand looks more than a little taken aback and stares at Dacbold for a few moments. “Thrall showed me the sub-patterns. He just gave them to me as part of training me in modifying and repairing patterns. They're nothing but children's scribbles compared to what he does.”

It feels like Brand kicked me in the balls. This Thrall of his is a Transcendent Smith, one who is seen as a god by the DokkAlfar, and he is actually comparing his own work with Thrall's think there should be parity? I should be laughing at him for being egotistically arrogant, but it just makes me realize how pathetic my own ambitions, or maybe, lack of ambitions, are. I think I see why Vili is always so acerbically sarcastic with me.

Brand was once Talon, but Talon is not Brand.

“Thank you.”

“Huh?” With blatant confusion on his face, Brand stares at me.

“Don't worry about it. Just, thank you.”

The smirking Wytch drags Brand over to the gunwale, or maybe, Brand lets her drag him. He is as attached to the skinny piece of ass, as she is to him.

As the Night Raven approaches Freeport, silence settles on the poop deck.

* * * * *

With all our sails furled, the Night Raven drifts closer and closer to the walls of Freeport. The port office sends out a port official riding on something that looks more or less like a science fiction hover disk. They seem to be built with the similar principles to airships for their counter gravity, meaning some weird use of Elemental Air, and are propelled by fans that run off the rider's Power. The small ones are only single person, but they have bigger ones that can carry five or six people. The City Watch uses them for guard patrols, as well.

As the port official rises into view next to the poop deck, he looks like a sacrifice waiting for the axe to fall, but when he sees all of us on the poop deck, his self-pitying expression turns into one of complete shock. You never see DokkAlfar, Dvergar, and humans together on a DokkAlfar airship, unless the latter two are prisoners. Shock turn into confusion as the official looks around, trying to figure out who is in charge. His eyes eventually settle on the popinjay captain.

“Welcome to Freeport, Your Worship. Are you seeking to dock at our humble city?” The official's obsequiousness is not terribly surprising. Freeport may be a might sea power, but they have no real air navy. Other than Haven and the Alfar kingdoms and Empires, no one has any real air power, and no one, not even the Freeport Council of Lords, is foolish enough to offend those who do have real air navies.

Duncrik looks Brand. “Master?”

“Your the captain. You deal with this toady.”

“Yes, Master.”

The port official's eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he stare incredulously at Brand. His expression is so comical that it make me want to laugh at him, but you cannot really blame him for being gobsmacked. A DokkAlfar calling a human “Master” is unprecedented to say the least.

Duncrik turns a menacing glare on the port official. “We require a berth away from other airships, and we need it until we choose to leave.”

“Yes, Your Worship. The southernmost tower is unoccupied. We can assign that one for your use.”

Duncrik stares at the tower for a moment. The northernmost and southernmost mooring tower are set a bit further apart from the other and are more heavily built. They look like they are designed to accommodate the heaviest of cargo ships, but the weight of a human-built, wood-hulled airship pales in comparison to the Night Raven.

“That will be barely acceptable.”

The port official seems to be relieved. “Please approach at your leisure. I'll go ahead and have a mooring crew stand by.”

As the port official streak away at the fastest speed his hover disk can manage, its fans make a loud buzzing noise.

“First, set one-eighth sail. Steersman, aim for the southernmost mooring tower.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Aye, Captain.”

In spite of the enormous mass of her obsidian hull, the Night Raven is anything but slow or lumbering. She approaches the mooring tower nimbly, and the dock crew throws mooring lines to the ship's crew. As soon as the ship's secures the lines to mooring cleats at the bow, the dock crew uses heavy winches to pull the bow of the Night Raven tightly into the mooring bumpers. Another set of mooring lines are passed to the ship's crew, but these are attached to bollards secured to the ground below. The ship's crew ties them tightly to mooring cleat at the stern of the Night Raven, to keep the aft end of the ship from being blown around by the heavy winds. With the ship securely docked, gangplanks are hooked over the gunwale on both side of the ship, giving easy access to the mooring tower's wharves.

Brand looks at Duncrik. “When I leave the ship, will the ass-fuckers in charge give me any shit over papers or any other bullshit?”

As he glances in the direction of the port authority, Duncrik practically sneers. “The Night Raven is a DokkAlfar airship. Even though you are the owner of this ship, they would never dare to interfere with anyone on board. Human kingdoms and empires do not risk going to war with DokkAlfar. This little city would never dare to risk offending one of our empires.”

Brand turns his stare on me. “Can you show me where the Street of Gods is?”

I nod my head. “Do you want to go, now?”

Brand is obviously holding back a lot of anger and hostility. “The sooner I get this over with, the better.”

“Let's go.” I leave the ship by way of the starboard gangplank.

Bringing only his Wytch and the purple-eyed DokkAlfar, Valcrit, with him and leaving the rest of his entourage on the Night Raven, Brand follows me. The dock workers gawk at the three of us as we descend the twenty flights of stairs leading down from the wharves to the ground. While I would like to think that seeing a human, an Alfar, and a Dvergar together in a single trio is the cause, the more likely reason is the Wytch being as good as naked and having that unnatural sexual allure about her.

As we reach the crowded main streets of Freeport, Brand starts projecting an aura of hostility and deliberately stays behind me. When he was Talon, he never liked crowds, but everyone always gave a Half-Dvergar a wide berth in the same way though give an angry bear a wide berth. Now, he has to rely on those aura tricks to create space for himself in a crowd, or in this case, he is half relying on no one daring to offend a Dvergar and letting me clear the way. I cannot decide, if it should me laugh or get me pissed.

* * * * *

Freeport is not a small city. The population is supposed to be over two million people, and without modern Earth high-rise buildings, it take a lot acreage to house them all. Walking through the city, it takes us more than an hour to reach the entry to the Street of Gods.

Before stepping fully onto the Street of Gods, Brand stops and looks around. After a silver-grey flash of light illuminates his left eye for a moment, he looks around again.

“Something wrong?”

Brand stares ate me. “You can't feel it?”

My eyes widen slightly. “You can feel how space is warped here?”

“Why wouldn't I be able to?”

I am not sure if Brand's question was rhetorical or not, but I do not respond. I am too surprised to learn that he can actually sense it. I cannot do it, and I only learned about space being warped on the Street of Gods because I was told. I could probably see it with pattern sight, but I never bothered to look.

After a moment, Brand steps onto the Street of Gods and looks around again. Seeming to be satisfaction, he grunts and starts walking forward. He has not stopped projecting that aura of hostility for a second, and everyone is still leaving a wide open space around him.

Without shutting down his aura, Brand boldly walks over toward a City Watch patrol. With fear visible on their faces, the watchmen lower their spears to point straight at him. Before Brand has the chance to start a fight, I quickly move between him and the watchmen. Seeing me, the watchmen's eyes open wide, and they abruptly point their spears at the sky.

“Lord Dvergar!” The patrol leader's voice is more an exclamation of fearful astonishment than anything. I never managed to get used to their reactions the last few times I was here, and I am still not.

According Vili's story, which may or many not be accurate, some thousand years ago, Freeport dared to imprison a group of five Dvergar. It cost them the lives of a quarter of their City Watch, but they finally managed to beat down the Dvergar and imprison them. In retribution for the lives of their dead watchmen and to show their power, the Council of Lords ordered the Dvergar to be tortured and mutilated.

The Dvergar were all youths under twenty years age. Even though Dvergar reach physical maturity quickly, among the Fallen Dvergar of Taereun, they are not considered to be full adults until the age of thirty. Often, Dvergar who have reached the age of fifteen will go travelling about for a decade or more, and these Dvergar were a group from Staloks Hjem, the largest Dvergar city on Sudnel. When the clan leaders of Staloks Hjem learned what happened, they leveled Freeport, and slaughtered more than nine-tenths of the population, with many being killed by torture. Ever since then, Freeport does not dare to lay a finger on a Dvergar, and generations later, many of the resident still have an abiding terror of Dvergar.

“Where is the Temple of Yggr?” I keep my tone of voice neutral. Freeport may be a city of scum that live in terror of the Dvergar, but there is no point in antagonizing the City Watch.

The patrol leader points to the north. “Near the middle of the street. Look for the square with the three Dragon statues. It's on the east side of the square.”

I look at Brand. “Let's go.

“The Street of Gods runs due north to south, and we are at the south entry to it. Because of the warped nature of space on the Street of Gods, it can only be entered from the north and south end, and its length is supposedly not fixed. I've never lived in Freeport and only know the stories, but the residents accept the nature of the Street of Gods as an immutable fact. Haven has its own Street of Gods that supposedly exists under the same laws, and according to what I have been told, every human city over a certain size and population does as well. I've seen the one in Haven, but I never entered it.

“In both Freeport and Haven, there is an urban legend that says you can travel to any Street of Gods in any city from any Street of Gods in any other city. The only catch is no seems to know how you do it, or at least, no one, who does know how to do it, is talking. I do not know what to believe.”

Brand chuckles. “This place sounds interesting.”

My laugh is morbid. “Interesting . . . I suppose that's one way to describe it. Sick and twisted might be a better way.”

Brand does not say anything else. As he follows me, Brand has a strange smirk on his face. More than a few times, he stops and stares at what is happening in front of some of the churches and temples. The Wytch at his side looks, as well, but her face could be carved from stone for all the reaction she is showing. I do my best not to look at what fascinates the two of them are looking at.

I had to come to the Street of Gods on my second visit to Freeport. After what I saw, I would prefer to have never returned. Inside Yggdrasil, the Jotun Lords are generally unseen overlords, and their Priests and just your run of the mill bloodthirsty maniacs. On the Street of Gods, you can see some really fucked up shit from the churches and holy men. It is enough to send chills down my spine. I do my best to not look at anything that is outside the normal bounds of reality as I want to understand it.

When the city of Freeport is said to have over two million residents, that number does not include the denizens of the Street of Gods. No one claims to know how many beings live on the Street of Gods. Some are human or humanoid. Others neither are nor appear human or humanoid. The most disturbing ones are the one that appear human or humanoid while being something else entirely. There are numerous creature with frightening amounts of Power here, but most of them know how to hide their Power, so you never know what dangers you might be encountering.

The city of Freeport is a bit over ten miles from north to south, and the entries to the street of gods are both several miles from the city walls. By the time we see the square with the three Dragon statues, it feel like we have walked far more than ten miles. I am not sure how much time has passed. On the Street of Gods, it is either day or nigh, and everything between dawn and dusk is nebulous.

The square is easily a hundred yards on a side, and the east side of the square has three temples on it. Brand fixates on one of them. The Baroque styled building has a porticoed entry with two pairs of two columns on either side of the closed double doors. Like many of the building on the Street of Gods, this temple give off an oppressive air of Power. There are no signs naming what god a temple or church worships, so you have to know what temple you are looking for. I do not see anything to distinguish the temple as being one worshiping Yggr. There are no guards and no features to distinguish it as belonging to the self-proclaimed god of tyranny and domination.

Brand stalks toward the closed doors of the temple. He is not projecting rage, but even with a Psi-dead, Dvergar body, I can still feel it. Even, his Wytch has stopped and is staring at his back, with Valcrit standing watchfully by her side.

As Brand reaches the temple, the thick wood doors shatter under his kick. Fragments and splinters of wood fly into the temple like shrapnel.

“JINMU! GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!” Brand's yell is so loud that it echoes in the square, and every being present turns to look at him.

Moving up next to the Wytch, I see her smiling. That smile chills me to the bone. I have seldom seen such a malicious expression of schadenfreude on anyone's face.

I do not hold back a snort of disgust. “Brand has one screwed up way of asking for someone's help.”

The Wytch sneers in my direction. “How would you deal with the man that betrayed you, condemning you to be my slave?”

“This Jinmu is someone from Earth. He's not going to react well to Brand coming after him like a raging ogre. After what Brand did in Refuge, we need this Jinmu!”

“The pitiful sentiments of a weak-willed human. You may have a rock ape body, but your pathetic human Mind and Soul waste the strength of it. If the human will not help, Valcrit will rip what we need from his mind.” The naked contempt on the Wytch's face would make a saint want to bitch slap her.

I am no saint. It is hard not to haul off an hit her. After taking deep breath, I get control over my temper again. Even after the Great Fuck Over and everything else I have been through, I am not someone that hits women. I have been forced to kill more than a few in battles, but every time, it always left a bad taste in my mouth. A man protects a woman; he does not try to hurt one. It is an old fashioned point of view, but I am old.

Seeing me calm down, the Wytch frowns but does not say anything. Turning away from me, she focuses on Brand again. She is not human. She does not act or react like a human woman, she, sure as hell, does not act like an Earth woman.

Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap!

The sound of footsteps emanates from inside the temple, followed by the appearance of a man dressed in red armor. He stops in the shadows about ten feet back from the doors. Holding a samurai style helm under his left arm, he has a scabbarded katana hanging from his belt.

If not having a Dvergar body, I would not be able to see him clearly, but with my Dvergar eyes, I can see him clearly, despite the shadows. I recognize him from dozens of news articles and interviews over the years. He really looks like the decease actor Ken Watanabe, but his name is Ryouske Urehara. Jinmu is actually Ryouske Urehara?

Damn, back when he was Talon, Brand sometimes called Selestra Mei. Ryouske Urehara has a daughter named Mei. Brand may have said that little bitch Selestra's family was wealthy, but that does not even begin to describe it. The Urehara family is the single richest family on Earth.

“Hello, Brand. I never expected you to escape from Gor'achen so soon. You have put on quite a bit of mass. It seems like the gladiatorial arena agreed with you.”

Brand clenches his right fist so tightly that the metal of his gauntlet screeches, and his voice is like an animal's growl enunciating human words. “You sold me out.”

Jinmu smiles, but the smile looks more self-mocking than anything. “Looking at the Brand in front of me, I think that betraying you has been good for you. You are finally free of the overarching obligation toward me that shackled you. Now, you should be free to do as you choose.”

Brand steps into the temple. He and Jinmu to reach out and tough one another. “You betray me, leaving me to a gladiatorial slave pen, and you actually have the ball to say it's a good thing. You're making me want to take my time and see how loud you scream before I let you die.”

No matter how many times I look at Brand, I cannot get used to just how ridiculously overdeveloped he is. You do not notice it so much around those gladiators. Other than Tyrend, all of them are bigger than Brand, and Alfar are just skinny little punks no matter how you look at them. With Jinmu it is just too obvious. Jinmu is about 5'10” tall and solidly built for someone from Earth. However, standing in front of Brand, he looks like anorexic.

Jinmu's smile never wavers. “You can take your revenge on me, but Mei is not here. No matter what you do to me, she will be beyond your reach.”

With his fists only halfway raised, Jinmu flies through the air, leaving a fan of blood in his wake. I did not even see Brand attack, but Jinmu, at least, saw enough of it to start to get his hands up. What kind of inhuman speed is that?

Before his body hits the ground, Jinmu flips over in midair, and his feet hit the ground smoothly absorbing the impact. When he was sent flying, he never lost his grip on that helmet, and now, he casually puts it on. Even though his mouth and chin are covered in blood, it does not put a dent in this man's demeanor of strength and nobility. He is a man who has lived his life with power and authority that rival that of an ancient daimyo.

As Jinmu draws his sword, Brand is already moving forward. Like he did on the Night Raven, Brand has again turned shadowy and appears not quite corporeal. This is something that he never did his days as Talon, so I am not sure what he is doing.

Jinmu's sword appears to cut through Brand's shoulder as he moves inside its range, but there is no blood spray or sound or metal slicing into metal. Jinmu's eyes open wide enough that I can see the whites all around the irises, and Brand's fist hammers into his stomach. This time Jinmu cannot twist and break his fall, before he crashes into the pews behind him. More fragments and splinters of wood scatter around the temple.

Jinmu staggers slightly as he rises to his feet, and fresh trickles of blood run from the corners of his mouth. As he smiles, his teeth are stained with more blood.

“You're better than ever. The Greatest God Transcended me, but you have already surpasses my new level.” Jinmu stops talking as his words turn into a fit for coughing.

“Greatest of Gods, bring Judgment. . .”

Brand moves again, even faster than the last time, and his short right hook to the side of the head flips Jinmu off his feet.

“Not this time, motherfucker. Your dickbag god probably wouldn't judge me right now, but no point in taking chances.”

Jinmu struggles back to his feet again, and sheathes his katana. “You win. I can't beat you. Any one of your punches could have killed, but you were hesitant. I feel the lack of surety in your fists. Why?”

That was hesitating? If that was hesitating, then just what in all the hells anyone has ever dreamed up would Brand being fully committed be like?

Brand's frown is thunderous as he glares at Jinmu. For several minute, the two of them do nothing but stare at one another. I know they have a lot of history together, but I cannot begin to guess what might be going through either of their minds.

“The Labyrinth of Yggr is unstable. In time it is going to blow and take the entire universe and us along with it. Woden, The Nameless God, is making it worse, and the means to fix it is on Earth. I need control over Prophet and Delphi to find where it might be. You still have backdoor access to all of those systems, right?”

Jinmu's eyes widen slightly before narrowing. He stares at Brand for a few moments. “If you want me to help you, there will be two prices.”

“What?”

“Mei is not in Freeport any longer, but she is still a slave. First, help me free her. Second, we go free. I won't ask for your promise to never hunt us, but we go free now. If we meet in the future, we can settle this.”

“Do you really think, you'll be able to defeat me in the future?”

Jinmu smile and shakes his head. “I doubt that I will, but I can find someplace to hide Mei that you will never think to look for her.”

“Let's go.” Brand turns and walks out of the temple.

“Mark, whether you believe it or not, I really am happy to see you.”

Brand stops, his back rigid. “The last vestiges of Mark McGuinness died in the slave pits of Gor'achen. I'm Brand.”

Jinmu's eyes seem to lose something, but I am not sure what. He looks down. “I understand. I am sorry.”

Jinmu looks toward the back of the temple. “Delilah! We're leaving!”

A tall, willowy woman walks toward Jinmu. Her skin is pale like snow, and her hair darker than midnight. She does not have the inhuman beauty of Brand's Wytch, but in human terms, she could be considered a perfect 10. The only thing detracting from her beauty is that she has the wan appearance of someone that has been sick for a long time.

Brand's eyes narrow. After a moment, he looks over his shoulder at the woman and frowns. The look she returns to Brand is timid and fearful. Not saying anything, he seems to appraise her before looking away again.

Jinmu approaches me with a business professionals smile. “Good day, I am Jinmu.”

I take the proffered hand. “Thorrin Hammerfist.”

“You were among the Damned, were you not?”

“That's right.”

I look the woman, the smile she shows me is oddly hopeful. “I'm Delilah. My daughter played Taereun. Her character was Nessa.”

I cannot keep the shock off my face. “You had a teenage daughter?”

Delilah's mouth opens slightly before she frowns. “My real body was a lot older. This was my character. I started playing after the MMO Incident. I’m not sure why. Jessia was comatose. They all were. The government wouldn’t tell us anything. I guess, I was looking for reasons, or answers, or I don’t know what.”

Delilah pauses and stares at with a mix of hope and fear in her eyes. “Can you take me to Nessa? Please?”

This time I am the one frowning. Delilah’s statement about Nessa made me assume that because Brand and Jinmu are in their Earth bodies, she is as well. I should never forget that when you assume, it makes an ASS out of yoU and ME. She is a woman desperately trying to find her daughter, and she needs our help.

“Nessa moved back to Emer. We sent an expedition back to Emer a dozen years or so ago, and she chose to stay in Emer, instead of returning with the rest to Refuge.”

“Emer? Refuge?”

I take a deep breath. “Refuge is here on Taereun. Emer is inside Yggdrasil, that's the real name for the Labyrinth or Yggr. It takes over a year to make the trip from Refuge to Emer.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Delilah looks crestfallen, to say the least.

* * * * *

There is no conversation on our return to the Night Raven. Jinmu maintains a distance from Brand's trio, and Delilah stays close by him. With the pair of them added to our parade, we draw even more attention now than we did before. Brand is like a thundercloud of rage and impending violence. A cyclonic aura of barely contained Power surrounds him like a storm. It feels like he could explode at any moment.

This time, the crowds keep their distance, making way for us to pass of their own will, or maybe, our of their own fear. Even if they cannot sense Brand’s rage, the people on the streets can certainly sense the Power radiating from him.

As we board the ship, Jinmu looks around, but I cannot guess what he is thinking. Whether he is satisfied, surprised, or something else entirely, he gives no sign and looks at Brand.

Brand glances at the people on deck. “Thorrin, Dacbold, Kanchek, Tyrend, come with us.”

As Brand enters the companionway, all of us who went with him plus the ones he called follow him. He leads all of us into the captain's cabin, which is crowded with everyone packed inside.

“Elan, ward the room against sound.”

The Wytch casts her wards without comment, and when she is done, she smiles at Brand.

As Brand looks at Jinmu, I do not need to use pattern sight, to be aware of the Power roiling under his skin. The aura of raw energy surrounding him is stronger it was on the streets of Freeport, strong enough to make all the hair on my body try to stand on end.

“Where is your little cunt of a daughter?”

Even though the words sound cold and precise, I can still sense the hate carried within them. For me to feel that hate while in a Dvergar body, the intensity of the emotion has to be off the charts.

Jinmu stares at Brand, with a flat look that makes it seem like he cannot feel the hate. “Across the Gulf of Freedom, there is a fortress town called South Hold. It is the home base of the Bloodskull Pirates. Ahmood Ahkbarl, one of the Bloodskull Pirate's lords, bought Mei from the brothel where she was imprisoned. She should still be in one of the keeps within the town.”

I have heard of the Bloodskull Pirates. Many of the slave traders based out of the Freedom Peninsula are also pirates or vice versa. The Bloodskull Pirates is one of the most powerful bands of pirates and slave traders in the region. Rumors have it that their trade network stretches the length of both coasts of Sudnel. Whether or not rumors are true, I have no clue, but the Bloodskull Chief is one of the Lords on Freeport's Council of Lords.

“You have the backing of the Temple of Yggr. Why didn't you just buy her back?” Dacbold's face is impassive. Unless you truly catch him by surprise, he never lets much of what is going through his mind that he does not deliberately want to be seen reach his expression.

“Ahmood Ahkbarl does not want to sell. He collects exotic slaves, and Mei is in a half LjosAlfar and half SvartAlfar body. There is not much more exotic than that. In Freeport, the Temple of Yggr is respected, but it not revered or feared. There are literally thousands of gods represented on the Street of Gods and the Greatest God is just one of them.”

Jinmu does not blink or flinch at all when he refers to Yggr the Greatest God. Whether or not, he actually buys into the divinity bullshit of Yggr is hard to tell. I think, if this man wanted to tell you that pure water was poison, he would do it with a straight face that said he totally believed in what he was saying. Jinmu is a very complex and dangerous man.

“How do you expect us to get your little cunt out?” Despite the derogatory choice of words, Brand's voice is empty of emotion. A machine would show more interest and engagement than him.

“Take her back, by force if necessary.” Jinmu's matter of fact tone matches the simplicity of his words.

“You could not extricate your daughter with the Temple of Yggr at your beck and call, but you expect us to do so?” Dacbold's face and voice are still impassive. Does he know something that the rest of us do not? He has spent more time outside of Refuge than I have. After more than three years out exploring, he only came back a little over a year ago. He said he was up the coast from Freeport, but he never said much about the amount of he may have spent in the Freeport area.

Jinmu frowns. “I am a Priest of the Central Fane, but I have no official position in the hierarchy here. To forcibly rescue Mei, I would need the Left Hand Order. There is only a single company of the Left Hand Order in Freeport, and the Left Hand Order does not always get along with the Central Fane. It makes things complicated.”

Dacbold looks at Brand. “Do you understand the politics of the Temple of Yggr?”

Brand nods. “Somewhat. What he's saying, at least, fits with what I've seen among the DokkAlfar.”

Dacbold nods. “The human temples are similar. I exterminated a few of them, and they were so busy fighting amongst themselves, they were never able to coordinate against me.”

I try to keep my face neutral. Dacbold never said anything to me about fighting with the Temple of Yggr. I do not know if he is telling the truth, or attempting to manipulate the situation with a lie.

As Brand stares at Jinmu, he meets Brand's eyes without flinching. “My demands stand. If you help me save Mei, I will give you complete control over Prophet and Delphi.”

“You aren't worried I'll use them against your family?”

Jinmu's face turns cold. “Nobuhiko has made his choice. When I abdicated from the Urehara Group, I knew he would sell out the to the American and Japanese governments. No one on the board or in the family was opposed to him doing so. For years, they had already been trying to convince me to do so. They have sold their children's future for temporary benefits. If you were to annihilate them, I would not object.”

Brand's face is colder than Jinmu's. “Mei sold me out to her twisted little friends Jonny and Jenny.”

“Mei is my daughter. It is my fault she is like she like she is. You cannot touch her while I live.”

“When the day comes, I'll leave you alive long enough to see me butcher her.”

Besides a slight narrowing of his eyes, Jinmu's face does not change much. Even so, he gives the impression of, at least, being angry. His right hand also twitches as though he was going to reach for the katana at his waist, but then it relaxes.

Brand smiles. “Elan.”

Hundreds, more likely thousands, of threads of silver-grey Power fill the cabin. I try to move, but it is like I am frozen in a block of ice. I cannot even turn my head or speak. Whatever the Wytch cast, it was not a ward to block the transmission of sound, or maybe, there was more to the spell than just a ward.

*Dacbold, can you move?*

*No, this spell is too strong. I can break it given time, but it will take several minutes and be obvious.*

From the corner of my eye, I see the Wytch look toward Dacbold and myself. Her smile is malicious and mocking. That Wytch really hates Dvergar. I cannot understand why she would ally herself with Brand when he is so heavily involved with Dvergar.

Unhindered by the threads of Power, Brand steps forward, and two collars appear in his hand. He probably pulled them from a storage ring. He was wearing a half-dozen of them before he put on his armor, and I never noticed him take them off.

The collars are made from black metal, with bloody red runes inset into the metal. I have seen collars like those before. They are DokkAlfar slave collars that seal the Power of whoever they are put on. Brand puts one each on Jinmu and Delilah's necks. As the collars snap closed the bloody runes flare brightly before settling into a faint lurid glow. After collaring both of them, Brand puts shackles on Jinmu's wrists and ankles.

At a gesture from Brand, the Wytch dispels the web of silver-grey Power.

Jinmu glances down at his bound wrists, and a frown settles on his face. As he looks back up at Brand, his eyes seem to fill with anger, but it does not show on his face beyond the frown.

“What are you going to do now?”

Brand's smile is still in place, but it is more of a smirk than a smile. “I'm going to go take your little cunt of a daughter from some pirates, but first, Valcrit is going to have some fun with you. Do you know what violet eyes mean among the Alfar?”

Jinmu does not respond.

“They're born Mind-fuckers. Valcrit has no Provenance, but that doesn't change the fact that he's strong enough to rip apart another Alfar's Mind shields. Once he's done with you, I'll know everything there is to know about Prophet and Delphi.”

“You have really learned how to be a bastard.”

“You were the best teacher.”

Brand looks at Kanchek. “Even with that collar and those shackles, he's dangerous. Do not underestimate him. Take him to the brig and keep an eye on him while Valcrit digs everything out of his skull.”

Kanchek salutes. “Yes, Master.”

For the first time, I see Jinmu's mask crack. The unmitigated surprise displayed on his face is almost comical, but there is nothing funny about this situation.

Once the two DokkAlfar take Jinmu out of the cabin, Brand looks at Delilah. “If you don't do anything stupid, I'll leave you with Nessa on my way through the Lands of Despair. If you try to get in my way, I'll give you to my gladiators for a fuck toy.”

Delilah's face pales slightly. “That can't be any worse than the Rites of Submission and Pain, but I won't oppose you. Just, please, take me to my daughter.”

Brand looks at Tyrend. The man has been standing in the corner without saying a word, but while Jinmu was in the room, his hand never left the hilt of his scimitar.

“Take Delilah to Angelique. Tell Angelique that I said keeping Delilah in line is her responsibility.”

Tyrend shows his near-persistent cocky grin again. “Come on, Delilah. I won't hurt you if you don't do anything stupid.”

After Tyrend and Delilah leave, only Dacbold and myself are left in the cabin with Brand and his Wytch.

Brand stars at us. “Do you have a problem with what I'm doing?”

Dacbold faintly smiles. “Ha. It's your business how you want to deal with the man that betrayed you. I've been betrayed before.”

Brand focuses on me. “Thorrin?”

I take a deep breath. “As long as you just kill them cleanly, I won't get in your way. I don't think you're flat out wrong, but I don't think that you're exactly right either. Vengeance is an ugly cycle, and if someone doesn't step up and break it, it will never end.”

Brand snorts. “I understand what Vili means. If you don't give up on your Earth moralistic bullshit, you'll never be able to fully integrate with your Dvergar body. This is Taereun. If you aren't careful, that bullshit Earth mentality will get you killed.”

“I can't change who I am. I've always believed that you have to protect those that lack the strength to protect themselves. It doesn't mean that you let twisted, cowardly fucks destroy your country and society to empower the mentally deranged, but you don't let those with power abuse those without it. It's inhumane to do so.”

Brand frowns. “Then, I guess I'm just inhumane, and you might want to add inhuman to that too. I remember more than a few shit-eating fucks on Earth calling me an inhuman monster because of how I look.”

After a moment, I turn and leave the cabin without saying anything. I do not know what to say. I have my beliefs, and Brand has his. Brand has gone so far over the edge, we are not even on the same planet any longer. I am not a good debater and do not even know where to begin to bring Brand back onto the path of reason. After this mission is over, we may never see one another again, and that may be for the best.

*** Freeport - Taereun ***

Return: Day 324

(Brand)

After the door closes behind Thorrin, Dacbold looks at me. “Is there a sound ward up?”

I look at Elan, and she nods.

Dacbold frowns. “Thorrin is still too human. Give him some time, and he may come around. After you were murdered, he was upset. It sounds kind of funny saying you were murdered, with you standing here alive, but his head was half up his ass during the Massacre because of it. It was hard to tell if he was dead or alive himself. If your death didn't have him so fucked up, more people could have lived. I think he still blames himself for the deaths back then, but it's not his fault that the Damned are a bunch of suicidal, rabid lemmings that can’t take responsibility for themselves.

“After we had exited Yggdrasil, people were acting like the Great Fuck Over was already over. Only the seven of us understood the truth, and by the time we were ready to say anything to anyone the Massacre was about to begin.” Dacbold pauses, looking like he is thinking about something.

“What does then have to do with now?”

Dacbold sighs. “Not much, I guess. It’s just a part of the reason why Thorrin is like he is. I understand that Jinmu is your enemy, but Thorrin can't see past him being your friend and mentor. It's going to take him time to adjust to you being enemies. He wouldn't be so upset if he didn't like you.”

Without saying anything more, Dacbold leaves the room. I think that is the most he has ever said to me. It is probably the most I have ever heard him say in one go.

When I still thought Taereun was a game, Thorrin was one of the few that did not avoid me, and he helped me more than anyone. I did not have to be careful around him because he was one of the few people that defend himself against Menton. When I spoke to him, it felt like he was talking to me as a human being. The way other people talked to me, it was like they were talking to an orc, goblin, or something worse. I do not want him to become my enemy, but I am not going to stop torturing and killing the shitbags that betrayed me. Even if I do not get much satisfaction from it, they will still die in agony.

Elan does not say anything, but I can feel her watching me. No matter what I do, she always pays attention, but whether, she is observing or judging, I can never tell. No matter what, when her eyes are on me, there always seems to be a faint smile on her lips.

I look at Elan, and her slight smile becomes a brilliant one. No matter how many times I see her, I do not think I will ever get used to her beauty. Her appearance is inhuman and ethereal. It is so far beyond human, even beyond most Alfar, that I sometimes have trouble believing she is real.

I am beginning to have a sense of foreboding every time I look at Elan. For how long will I be able to enjoy looking at her? Will she manage to Coalesce her Power to the next circle before her time runs out? Will either of us survive long enough for it to matter?

As I reach out to touch her cheek, I see the black metal gauntlet enclosing my hand and stop, but she takes my armored hand in both of hers and rests her cheek against my palm. For a time, we stand here. Neither of us speaks. We each just look into the other's eyes.

Elan is the one who finally breaks the silence. “Do what you will. While I live, I will stand beside you.”

For some reason, her words make me frown, and I nod. “I will never forget my promise.”

As I draw back my hand, Elan seems faintly reluctant to let go. She is acting like she cares about me. Maybe, she does. I do not have any clear of idea of what her real feelings are, and as insane as it would be, she might actually feel an emotional attachment to me.

As I turn to the door, my thoughts turn back to Jinmu and his daughter. Walking out of the cabin, a mix of cold hate and burning rage rises within me again. The Power within me begins to flow more strongly in response to my hostile emotions. After all, my strength comes from the darker, more violent side of my nature.

Behind me, ferocity transforms Elan's smile. She is DokkAlfar. Her lust for violence and bloodshed may be greater than my own.

Taking the companionway to the lowest deck, I pass by the door to the marine barracks and see Pancho lying limply on one of the bunks. His face has a greenish cast to it. I almost chuckle. I never knew the garrulous bastard was subject to airsickness. I wonder if Pancho's problems are psychosomatic. It is not a common thing to encounter in the Battleground of the Damned. The people gathered by the Jotun Lords are generally stronger and more resilient than those of Earth. With the constant violence and wars, outside of the most stable cities and nations, the weak die young.

The lowest deck is storage rooms and the brig. The storage rooms have had their spatial dimensions warped to fit many times the supplies they would normally be able to hold. It is not a true pocket plane, but if the Night Raven takes battle damage, it is supposed to be more stable.

At the bow end of the deck there are four cells. None of them is very large, nor have their spatial dimensions been warped. Kanchek is standing outside the open door of one of the cells, with a pile of armor and weapons on the floor behind him. He glances at me and nods before turning his attention back to the cell.

Reaching the cell, I look in and see a naked Jinmu shackled to the stone hull, with Valcrit squatting next to him. Jinmu has more bruises than he should from the beating I gave him, and judging by his black and blue dick, he must have been kicked or punched in the balls. Whether Jinmu got frisky or the two DokkAlfar just want to rough him up to make a point, I could not care less.

Without saying anything to avoid disturbing Valcrit, I stare into the cell. Next to me, Elan wraps her arms around my left arm and rests her head on my shoulder.

Valcrit has his hands on both sides of Jinmu's head, and his thumbs are holding a Power crystal against Jinmu's forehead. A faint violet light seems to be emanating from the heart of the crystal. As for Jinmu, his face is slack, and drool is running from both corners of his mouth.

I would be lying to myself if I said that I have no regrets. I regret that Jinmu betrayed me like he did. Despite what that little cunt Mei did, if Jinmu had asked for my help, I would have helped him rescue her. He was the one who destroyed the trust between us. His current predicament is his own fault, but that does not mean that I do not wish things could have been done differently.

Over three hours pass before Valcrit flinches and draws his hands away from Jinmu's head. As he rises to his feet, he grunts and sways a bit unsteadily. Turning around, he holds the crystal out to me.

“Master, everything in Jinmu's memories that was associated with Prophet or Delphi is stored in here. With your current mastery of Psi, you should be able to absorb the knowledge with little difficulty.”

“Thank you.” I take the crystal and store it in one or my rings. I will go though it when I have the leisure. For now, I need to plan a raid with very limited resources. It will not be much different from the Great Fuck Over.

To Kill or Not To Kill

*** Gulf of Freedom - Taereun ***

Return: Day 325

(Brand)

I ordered the Night Raven taken out over the Gulf of Freedom. We have been hovering over South Hold with the chameleon field running for an entire day while Elan and Valcrit searched the town with spells and Psi.

I watched Elan work, but I could only puzzle out the purpose and function of a handful out of the array of spells Elan cast over the course of the day. Her knowledge and skill in the use of the Trinity and spells is far greater than what I had ever imagined.

South Hold is not small. Crammed inside those wall there are more than fifty thousand beings, mostly humans but with other races mixed in. More than half of them are pirates, and the remainder are mostly taverners and whores. There are fifteen distinct compounds with slums between them.

Mei is no longer the property of Ahmood Ahkbarl and is now the property of a pirate called Blood Beard. Neither, Elan nor Valcrit could find any other name for him, and he has been around for several hundred years. Since he is human, he has to be Coalescent. Despite his brutal name and the vicious reputation of his crews, he has apparently taken to living a more sedate life surrounded by luxuries. Torturing exotic slave sluts is one of his chief indulgence, but Mei's life belongs to me. I do not have anything against Blood Beard, but if he gets in my way, I will kill him.

Along with around a hundred other slave girls, Mei is being held in the underground slave pens within Blood Beard's compound. The amount of detail that Elan and Valcrit were able to dig out about the compound's layout is impressive.

Behind me a map is being projected in the air. It is the compound where Mei is being held, and important things like sentries, the most direct routes to the slave pens, and extraction points are clearly marked. The plan is simple:

Drop from the Night Raven into the compound.

Kill any sentries that might be a problem.

Sneak into the underground slave pens.

Grab Mei.

Reach and extraction point.

Get picked up by one of the Night Raven's longboats.

I will be doing most of the work. There is no one else on the Night Raven with the skills to function as an assassin. I really, truly detest playing the assassin, but if I do not want to get into a protracted battle with a hundred times our numbers, stealthily sneaking in and killing anyone that can raise the alarm are the only options. Once I have secured Mei, a small assault team will come down in a longboat to retrieve us.

“Does anyone not understand what their job is?”

Except for my prisoners, everyone on the Night Raven, including Pancho, is on deck. No one voices any questions or comments.

“If you are not on watch, rest and be ready for tonight.”

* * * * *

Below us, South Hold is patchwork of torchlight and darkness. The raucous cacophony of the pirates' drunken revelry has mostly died down, and the compounds have shut their gates for the night. The two largest moons are below the horizon, but the three smaller ones are still shining in the night sky.

Since my plate armor is not suitable for this kind of work, I am wearing the leather assassin's armor that I never wanted to wear again. The dull black leather will show up the least against the night sky. Besides the armor, my weapon harness, sheaths, short sword hilts, and the endless quiver are all non-reflective black. My bastard swords are stored away. If I get into a fight where I need them, it means that I completely fucked up.

The way in which Elan is checking all the straps and fasteners on my armor and gear makes it look she is worried about me. She should know better than almost anyone on this airship how hard it will be for the pirates below to kill me. Other than Blood Beard and a few pirates that have partially entered the First Circle of Coalescence, there is nothing in that compound that is any real threat to me.

“I'll call for the longboat when I have the target.”

I jump over the gunwale and fall feet first. It takes only a couple seconds to fall though the distortion of the chameleon field, but the ground is still a mile or so below. I shift into the Shadow of the Od, but I do not slow my descent.

Outside the walls of Blood Beards compound, on all sides, canals have been dug and wharves for docking ships have been built. Seven ships are currently docked around the manor, but only two of them are warships. The rest are probably traders that deal with the pirates and dispose of their booty.

The twenty foot high perimeter wall, with parapets shielding the wall-walk for the guards, is not much of a defensive fortification, but its real purpose is most likely to keep out the thieves and trash living in the slums of South Hold. Inside the walls, a large fortified manor house is built on a hill more than twice the height of the curtain wall. In the surrounding gardens, the cold of winter has left most of the vegetation brown and leafless, but there are still rows of coniferous trees and bushes with needles in varying shades of green.

Using the Shadow of the Od for traction, I adjust my direction of travel so that I am falling toward the center of the manor house's roof. Even if I cannot control my movements at will, the way that I can ignore the gravity of the physical world allows me a great deal agility in the open air.

I am not sure if the Shadow of the Od is a plane, a dimension, or something else entirely. When I move into it, I can tell that I am not entirely in the realm of Body, but I cannot be certain about the realms of the Mind and Soul. From what I learned studying Vili and Thorrin's materials on the dimensions and planes, gravity should be a law that is tied to Elemental Earth. The Od is supposed to be Elemental in nature, but could that be how it can ignore laws the way it does?

At about a hundred yards above the manor house, I shift into a spiral descent path and slow my movement speed. By the time I reach the roof, my feet hit the roof tiles so softly that I would not even break through a sheet of rice paper.

Looking around, there are no signs of any guards standing sentry on the manor roof, and there are no wards. According to Elan's observances from last night, the guards should only be patrolling the grounds and the interior of the manor. They seem to be ignoring the fact that the manor can be entered from above. Is it due to the limited use of airships and aerial mounts in this region of Sudnel?

“Hoo. Hoo.” A large owl perched on one of the roof peaks stares at me but does not take flight.

I cannot detect and threads that would indicate the bird is someone’s bound pet or familiar. Maybe, large birds are the reason for no wards on the roof.

Considering his age, Blood Beard should be well aware of the dangers of leaving his roof unwarded and unguarded. So, why does he do it?

I move to the east side of the roof. Two patrols circle the manor in opposing directions. I wait and watch to see what their timing and positions are. I do not want to be surprised by them and get in a fight this early.

After I watch the second patrol pass and have a window of a few minutes, I slip over the edge of the roof. Finding an unoccupied room, I make sure there a no wards on the window and jimmy it open. After slipping inside, I close the window and wait.

Even though it is past the middle of the night, there is still a lot of activity in the manor house. In the distance, I hear the sounds of a whip striking flesh and a woman sobbing. From the rooms on both sides, the sounds of bare flesh slapping on bare flesh mix with the grunts and moans of people fucking. The sounds of booted feet walking on stone echoes from multiple directions.

I am on the second floor, where Blood Beards officer and functionaries are quartered. The entire top floor belongs to Blood Beard, and the slave pens for his sluts are underground. From where I am, the servants' stairs in the northeast corner of the manor should be the quickest route to the slave pens.

Moving to the door, I wait until there are no emotional presences in the hall beyond and open the door part way. The room is on the east side of the manor house, and opposite the open door, an empty hall, with doors to interior rooms, runs along the east-west axis of the manor. Looking to the left and right, I see no one in the hall running north to south.

Making no sound, I move north along the corridor. My Power keeps all my senses at the highest levels of sensitivity. When I reach the nondescript door leading to the servants' stairs, the only footsteps I hear on this floor are still moving away from me.

No noises or emotions are perceptible in the stairway, so I open the door. The narrow staircase is dark, dingy, and empty. Quickly moving through the doorway, I close the door quietly behind me and start descending the staircase. There is a similar staircase near each corner of the manor house. They run from the first floor underground to the second floor. There are only three sets of stairs that access the top floor of the manor, and the one from the slave pens is the only one I will be close to.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I feel a presence near the door. I can only describe the emotion as depression, but calling it hopelessness might be more accurate. This is a person who has give up on everything and exists in a state of permanent soul-crushing despondency. From the way the person feels in my empathy, I am mostly certain that he is a male.

Standing to the side of the door, I wait for it to open. A moment or two later, after the door opens, a man steps through. He is old and thin, with white hair and a steel collar around his neck. Sensing something is not the right, the man turns toward me.

Crunch-crack!

As his mouth starts to open, I grab his head and snap his spindly neck. Shifting my grip to the collar of the corpse's tunic, I do not let it hit the floor. There are no sounds or emotional traces of anyone else near the door.

A strange energy drifts near me, but nothing is visible. I sense it through my empathy, or more accurately my Psi. I have a general that I experience through my Psi. In the same way my material form has five sense, I think I have multiple sense in the other two Realms. Body, Mind, and Soul are supposed to be analogous to on another, so it would only make sense that in each Realm there are corresponding senses. While I cannot differentiate between the senses of Mind and Soul at he moment, I will have to learn to.

The energy that I am aware of is not of the Realm of Body, but rather, it exists in the Realm of Soul. Though, it also seems to be in the Realm of Mind at the same time. What is it?

Reaching out with my braided Power, I control it as I would my Psi, but I try use it more like a physical appendage. I touch the energy, and even though I do not intend to do it, my Power sucks it into me. Vague, shadowy emotions and meaningless, fragmentary images pass through my Soul and Mind.

Is this a remnant energy drawn from the old slave’s Mind and Soul? It faintly feels like the energy is nourishing me, but I do not notice any discernible results.

Since that energy seems to come from the Mind and Soul, does that mean there is a similar energy in the Body? I probe the body with my Power, and there seem to be several pools of energy still remaining with it. Oddly, inside the physical brain, I find Mind energy that exists within the Realm of the Body, and in the heart, I find Soul energy in the same state. Within the blood and the bone marrow, there is a similar kind of energy that is clearly the analogous energy of the Realm of the Body.

I try to Once again when my braided Power touches these pools of Power, it draws them into me. I feel like I am consuming the energy, but again I do not notice any effects from it.

All three of these energies seem similar to the Trinity, but they are not pure Trinity. They have a similar feel to the Power that Casters and Adepts with an Elemental affinity have. Those people use a form of Trinity that is tainted by Elemental Power, or maybe it is a part of the Trinity that is closer to its Elemental source.

These pools of energy remaining in the slaves corpse are like that kind of Power. All three have aspects of other Power mixed in, but I am not sure about its nature. When I have the time, I am going to have to investigate and see if everything that lives has this type of energy.

Carrying the corpse, I pass through the door. There is nothing but an empty tunnel, running east to west. with doors at random intervals. The walls and floor are built from stone blocks, with columns and arches to support the weight of packed earth above. More doors line the corridor and behind the doors, there are nothing but storage rooms for old furniture and various sundries used in the decoration of the manor house. There is another tunnel like this on the the south side of the manor.

The east side of the manor is the back side, and the tunnel there has storage rooms for food and other daily necessities. It also connects to the tunnel that accesses the slave pens. Other than this tunnel, the only access is from near the center of the third floor of the manor, where Blood Beard's pleasure rooms are. Though his slave sluts probably find those rooms less than pleasurable considering the array of torture implements filling them. The underground tunnel is locked and barred, but it is still an easier access route to the slave pens than going through Blood Beard's quarters.

After trying three doors in the north tunnel, I find one that is not locked. Opening it, I see stacks of dust covered furniture, and the dust on the floor is only marred by the footprints of rats.

Both the north and south tunnels connect to the east tunnel. I move silently to the corner and look around it into the west tunnel. Near the midpoint, there are a pair of guards standing on either side of a door. While I cannot see the door from my point of view, it should be a steel door with a small barred window in it.

The guards are bored and unfocused. They are not paying attention to their surroundings. Boredom is an emotion I have learned to recognize. It seems to be one of the most common emotions that Alfar and humans experience. For the guards, there is very little risk that their superiors will catch them by surprise, so their tedium has resulted in a complete lack of concentration on their purpose or surroundings.

Hiding around the corner again, I remove Stone Feather Death from its storage pocket in my endless quiver and string it. Nocking an arrow to the string, I step halfway around the corner.

Fwoosh! Thunk-thunk! Clatter!

Without any Power channeled into Stone Feather Death, my arrow stays just barely subsonic. The one arrow, after flying barely an inch in front of the stone columns, punches through the helms and heads of both guards. They die before they ever realize they are under attack. The stupid, lazy fucks are deserving of their ignominious end.

After unstringing Stone Feather Death and putting it away, I move to the two guards' corpses. Like the old slave, they have the pools of energy in their corpses and I absorb them into myself with my Power. There is still no noticeable effect, but when the opportunity is there, I will continue to take the energy of those I kill.

My arrow is embedded in the wall at the opposite end of the tunnel, and I retrieve it before dumping the guards corpses in the same storage room as the old slave.

The guards do not have the key to the door they are guarding, but that is not a problem.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. The flows of Power within me shift into the paths of Making, and I cast pattern sight on my left eye.

The lock on the door is simple, and the metal both it and the door are made is basic variant on stainless steel. Most of the Symbols of Breaking would be complete overkill on this crappy door. I choose a simple one that turns the lock into rust. Just because steel is stainless, it does not mean that it will not rust.

Creak.

The hinges are not as well oiled as they should be. It is convenient that the former guards are nothing but corpses.

Beyond the steel door, there is another corridor constructed in the same manner as the one I am in, with another steel door at the far end. That door lacks the small barred window of the one I just opened, and it opens into the tunnel, instead of into room beyond. Anyone on the inside of either door does not have access to the hinges. Both doors are meant to keep the slave girls from escaping, rather than to keep people out.

Like the outer door's lock, the lock on the inner door turns into rust. There is no resistance to the Symbol of Breaking. Neither of these doors or locks were ever patterned or tempered with Power. I do not think the artisan that made them was Maker.

From the other side of the door, I sense a sea of pain and despair, but I cannot identify any presences that have the feel of a guard. There should be a guard. So, why can I not detect him?

Creak.

Again, the poorly maintained hinges make noise when I open the door. While the ones actually doing the maintenance are probably just slaves, the pirates giving the orders and checking that the work was done properly. You can theoretically take the pirate out of the pirate's lair, but you can never take the sloppy ass bitch out of the pirate.

The slave pens are literally pens. With two pens stacked one on top of the other, each one is only about 3'x5' and 3' high. In this room, there are more than a hundred of them lining the walls, and the open area in the middle is probably for exercising the slaves.

With the exception of a handful of empty cages, each pen has a slave girl in it. There are collars on the girls necks, and I feel Power coming from the collars on the nearest girls. Those collars look to be made from steel with different runes from the ones in DokkAlfar collars, but they must serve the same purpose.

Other than three Alfar, all the girls are human, and by any standard, every one of them can be considered beautiful. With only a few exceptions, the faces and bodies of the girls have been badly scarred. It looks like someone has used them as living tapestries, but instead of drawing on them with ink, fire or acid was used in place of a pen or brush. Their scars form drawings that elegantly follow lines of their faces and bodies. I cannot decide if the scars enhance or detract from their beauty.

Despite the leather armor that conceals my face, most of the girls, lying listlessly in their cages, show no interest. The few that show signs of paying attention to me are the ones that have yet to be scarred. They must be new girls, and their fear is nearly overwhelming everything else.

Memories of the nasty bitches on Earth go through my mind. They were always putting on their disgusted faces and flaunting their pretensions of superiority. I wonder if keeping them in kennels like this would improve their attitudes. It is not like they could become any bitchier. As for the pseudo-males on Earth, it would be better to just put them out of their misery. Most of them do not have the spine or balls left to ever become real men.

Mei's grey skin is easy to spot among the normal white and brown shades of skin that the rest of the girls have.

*Brand, there are three crystal airships approaching from the northwest. We have changed altitude three times, and they changed their altitude to match ours.* Elan's worry is projected through the party channel.

*How long till they reach us?*

*A little more than a hundredth, if they are at the limit of their speed.*

Damn. Crystal airships mean LjosAlfar. Three airships could be a real problem, and if they can see through the chameleon field, we have no way to easily lose them.

*I'm in the slave pens. I just need to secure Mei, and I'll head for the roof again.*

*I know. Hurry. It feel like there are Transcendents on the airships.*

I hate the way they do not differentiate between Coalescence and Transcendence. It makes things confusing if you do not know exactly who they are talking about and what context they are using. Fucking, Alfar bullshit.

*Do you mean Coalescent beings like you or real Transcendents?*

Elan's disdain and disgust is more obvious than her nervousness. *The rock ape term you insist on using is offensive. First or maybe second path, it is a bit hard to tell.*

I quickly move to Mei's pen and destroy the lock. Like the doors, the slave pens are made from a type of stainless steel. It must make it easier to clean up. Inside Mei's pen, just like all the others, she only has food and water bowls and a blanket. Blood Beard treats his slave sluts just like animals.

When I open the door of her cage, the naked fear in Mei's eyes brings a smile to my lips and almost gives me a boner. Because of my relationship with her father, I always suppressed my hatred for her, but now, I have no reason to. Seeing her look at me in terror is so liberating. I feel like a weight that has been oppressing me for years has abruptly lifted.

Stuffing a wadded up scrap of leather in Mei's mouth, I gag her with a leather strap and drag her out of the pen by her hair. She whimpers as I tie her hands behind her back, but she does not struggle.

On the opposite side of the room from where I entered, there is another door. Behind that door a stairway leads straight to Blood Beard's floor. Right now, I feel a muddle of emotions coming down the stairs.

To kill or not to kill, that is the question. Of course, the answer is to kill. Killing is always the simplest solution to any problem, and it usually the most effective one. Right now, I do not have the time to deal with a general alarm.

As I move to the other door, I draw my short swords. From the tangled mass of emotions, there seem to be five people, but three of them should be slave girls. Only the two guards are immediate threats.

While I wait next to the door, the sounds of footsteps approach it, and then, the key rattles in the lock. When the door opens, a wave of surprise and confusion hits me.

One guard says something that I do not understand and moves into the room, with his attention focused on Mei. Behind him, the other guard fills the doorway. Both of them are big. They are around my height, but while they have fat guts, I have more mass.

My left-hand blade slices under the chin and into the brain of the guard still in the door. Hearing the noise, the other guard spins around while drawing his word at the same time. The guard looks like he is moving in slow motion, and my right-hand blade ends his life in the same manner.

As they stare into the room, the eyes of the three slave girls are blank. All of them have fresh burns on their bodies, and all of them are listless.

One of the slave girls makes a grab for the sword on a fallen guards belt, and my kick breaks her neck. Looking from me the corpses, the second slave girl does the same and dies with a sense of relief. The third smiles and raises her chin while making a throat slitting motion. My sword opens her throat, and as the blood flows from the corners of her mouth and the gaping wound in her neck, her eyes and Soul are at peace.

The slave girls in their pens are finally showing interest in me, and many of their eyes are filled with morbidly hopeful looks.

Mei's face is twisted into an ugly caricature by her fears as I approach her, but she does not try to run. Flicking the blood off my left-hand blade, I sheathe it and grab Mei by the hair. Her fear turns into outright terror, and I have to force myself not to laugh.

Seeing me about the leave, the girls are filled with fear and hopelessness. I do not care about their fates in the least, but I take out a half dozen of the Thug Hordes swords and stuff them through bars of some of the girls kennels. The grateful looks on their faces disgust me. Since I do not have time to kill all of them, I can only hope that none of them start screaming before I reach the roof.

Dragging Mei by the hair, I go back though the two steel doors. With my grip on her hair keeping her bent over double, Mei can do nothing but stumble along at my side.

Behind us there are already more than twenty girls bleeding out in the cages. As soon as one cuts open her throat or plunges a sword into her own heart, the girl in the cage next to her grabs the sword and drags it into her own kennel to kill herself.

I look back into the room. There is nothing but disgust for those girls inside of me, but I still want sear the visual image into my memories. They are giving up and dying without taking anyone with them. If I am ever in a hopeless situation like theirs and choose to die, I hope I do not turn into a coward that does not even try to take my tormentor with me.

The underground tunnel is still empty, and I quickly return to the servants' stairway. After listening for a moment and hearing nothing, as well as sensing no emotions in the stairway, I ascend the stairs to the second floor.

I can still hear the sounds of a whip biting into flesh, but there are no longer the sounds of a girl whimpering. She might be unconscious, or she might have been whipped to death for doing something that pissed off one of the pirates. Anyone, who is weak enough to become a slave, lives only at the pleasure of their master. The strong rise, and the weak server the strong. This is a hard world, but it is much more natural than Earth's twisted society.

If I had not drawn the interest of Thrall, I would have killed Elan and died while trying to escape from Gor'achen.

*I'm on the second floor. Send the longboat down.*

*I already ordered them to leave. They will reach the roof in less than three thousandths.* Elan has been keeping an eye on my progress the entire time.

After I am certain that no one is in the hall, I drag Mei back to the room I used to enter the Manor. I try to enter the room, but the door is locked. From the other side, I feel a burst of irritation, and an angry voice says something that I cannot understand.

The lock disintegrates under a Symbol of Breaking, and I fling the door open. A pirate on the bed starts to jump to his feet, but I drive a Psi lance formed from pure hate into his Soul. Bleeding from his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, the pirate slumps back onto the bed.

The girl underneath the unconscious pirate stares at me in wide-eyed terror. From the collar on her neck, she is just another slave. I use another Psi lance to leave her as silent and dying as the pirate.

I close the door behind me and drag Mei to the window. Looking out, I do not see either of the patrols. Without waiting to verify their positions, I open the window and picking Mei up, I sling her over my shoulder like a sack of grain.

Stepping though the window, I slip back into the Shadow of the Od and run up the side of the manor house. Flipping over the lip of the roof, I dump Mei on her ass and look up at the sky.

Even though the night sky is partly cloudy, the longboat stands out against the moon and stars. If anyone looks up in its direction, there is no way that they will not see the longboat. Taking out Stone Feather Death, I string it and wait.

When the longboat is less than two hundred yards up, a voice begins shouting from the north side of the manor. Moving toward that side, I see one of the patrols. The two guards are staring at the sky, and one is pointing and shouting.

Crack. Thump. Crack. Thump.

The guard's shouts sound like a recording being played at one-quarter speed, and my two arrows fly out with barely a second between the shots. The miniature sonic booms are followed by the sounds of the two bodies hitting the ground.

Behind me, Mei's terror remains at the fever pitch that it has been at since I killed the guards and slave girls in the slave kennels below.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

More arrows streak out toward the curtain wall, and more guards fall dead. They probably have no way to interfere with my extraction, but there is no point in leaving them alive and learning that I am wrong. Arrows fly outward from the longboat, as well. Holding steel bows, two of my gladiators are standing up in the bow, and their shots kill more of the guards on the walls.

As the longboat flies past a few feet above the roof, I throw Mei into the bottom of the boat and jump in after her. The longboat rises rapidly back into the sky as the sailors pull energetically at the oars.

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

Arrow and bolts bounce of the underside of the longboat, but none of them penetrate the stone that it has been carved out of. Above us, the chameleon field around the Night Raven dissipates, and the fire from the ground comes to a halt. The muzzles of a couple dozen Mana-cannons are sticking out from gunports on each side of the ship, and they are all pointing downward. One volley from those twenty-four guns would leave the manor house a ruin in need of demolition.

Looking to the northwest, I see the approaching crystal airships.

“First, how do those airships compare with the Night Raven.”

Standing at the tiller, the first officer glances at the three LjosAlfar airships. “Master, any one of those ships could sink us. They're all battle barges. Under pure sail, they're not our match in speed, but when combined with their sweeps, they'll make a third again our speed.”

Fuck. I hate complications. Vili said to stay out of the Aether, but I have never been good at doing what I am told. It is better to take the risk of using the Aether, than to be shot down.

*Elan, get the dimensional ripper ready. We're going back into the Aether to ditch those battle barges.*

Elan does not say anything, but I clearly feel her ferocity and satisfaction through the party channel. She hates Dvergar and is probably pleased that I am ignoring Vili's orders. She does not seem to understand me yet. Unless Vili plans to use Power to force me into doing what he tells me to, I will only follow his commands if it suits me.

Feeling a strong presence, I look over the gunwale of the longboat. Standing in front of the manor house, a man stares up at me. He looks like he is in his early fifties, but he is probably a lot older. Even though he is not actively using any Power, there is an aura surrounding him in my pattern sight. It looks like he is in the middle of an amorphous energy field. Most likely this is Blood Beard. He must get his name from that dark red beard of his and his murderous ways. Though, I would say the color of his beard looks more coppery than bloody.

Interestingly, Blood Beard must have rather strong Psi shields. He is not releasing the slightest bit of emotional residue. From the perspective of my Psi, he might as well be a statue.

When the chameleon field is reactivated, our disappearance causes most of those below to look around. Blood Beard is one of the few to continue staring into the apparently empty space where we are.

*Elan, is the ripper ready?*

Elan's amusement leaks into the party channel. *Of course.*

As soon as we are near the Night Raven, I jump across to the ship's deck.

“Full sail! Get this ship under way! Set course away from those crystal ships and prepare to enter the Aether!” My bellow is audible to anyone on the ship. There are probably people on the ground that hear it as well.

The air sailors do not wait for anyone else to relay orders to them and scramble up the ratlines to unfurl the sails. The Night Raven jumps out like a runner taking off from the starting block.

As soon as he verifies that the longboat is aboard, Duncrik checks the wind and orders the steersman to alter ships course slightly. Even though the change is minor, the ship's speed picks up by a few miles per hour.

While the longboat is secured, I take a minute to look at the ships behind us. Even though their hulls are made from crystal, the crystal is milky white, so they are completely opaque. Each battle barge has six masts, but instead of having multiple spars with sails, there is only a single square sail on each mast. There are two Mana-cannons, or something very similar, mounted at the bow of each barge, but they are not being fired, so we should still be outside their range.

Sticking out from the side of each ship, there are three banks of sweeps. The blades of those sweeps are several times larger than the ones I have seen used on waterborne galleys. It must have something to do with how they use the air to propel the ship. With each stroke of the sweeps, the thin edge of each blade is turned into the wind as it is moved forward, and then, the flat is used to bite into the air. A faint silver-blue glow surrounds the blade with each stroke used to propel the battle barges forward.

Even with my Power enhancing my vision, the crew only appears to be slightly larger than toy action figures. Their armor looks to be made from the same crystal as their ships, and that is different from the LjosAlfar I encountered in the Lands of Despair. There, they always used metals and leathers to craft armor and weapons, and their airships were constructed from wood.

“Steersman, change course one-tenth to starboard!”

In response to my command, the bow of the Night Raven swing close to due south course, and I watch the pursuing barges for a reaction. It takes less than thirty seconds for them to alter their courses enough to keep their own bows pointed straight at us. They see us and are obviously after us. The only question is, why?

“We are entering the Aether. Captain, when the tear opens, take this ship through it!”

“Aye, Master.” Duncrik's expression is decidedly unpleasant.

*Elan, activate the ripper!*

*It is done.*

Looking toward the front of the ship, I see an irregular black and silver line appear at an indeterminate distance in front of us. As we move forward the line seems to remain at the same distance. After close to minute with just the line and no tear, I am not sure whether or not something is wrong, but then, the universe seems to split open along the line, revealing the darkly clouded Aether.

As before, when we pass through the rift, a faintly shimmering silver-grey bubble forms around the Night Raven. Once the stern of the ship has cleared the tear, it returns to being a silver and black irregular line that fades away after a minute or so.

This difference in the behavior of the ripper must be the result of the differences in how Elan and I calculate our solutions. Vili had said that Elan's method would be slower and smoother, while mine is rough and fast.

“Angelique, give me the strongest wind you can. I don't care if it's hurricane force.”

Underneath her hood, Angelique grins. “Yes, Master!”

As Angelique begins casting spells by herself, she is radiating strong emotions that I cannot quite comprehend. One might be joy or ecstasy, and another seems to be pride. There is also an undercurrent of an almost sexual pleasure from the girl.

“Master, what should I do with this one?” Kanchek is dragging Mei by her slave collar.

“Chain her in the cell across from Jinmu. Leave their cell doors open. She's a Possessed. The Mind and Soul controlling that body are the daughter of Jinmu. Let the parent and child stare at each other and see the fate of faithless pieces of shit that betray me.” My words are for the benefit of everyone but Mei. If anyone is stupid enough to be thinking disloyal thoughts, they had best think twice or three times, at the least, before they fuck with me.

Being bound and gagged, Mei cannot say anything, but, as Kanchek drags her away, she stares intensely at my back. She is easy to read. She is filled with fear and confusion. With my armor on, she probably cannot figure out who I am.

Working by herself, Angelique casts a winds spell in half the time it took her with the other two cowards working with her. The air begins to stir as soon as she starts casting, and by the time she finishes, a strong wind howls inside of the dimensional bubble.

Elan saunters onto the poop deck and takes hold of my arm. *Did you praise the girl?*

I do not look in Elan's direction, and my eyes stay fixed on Angelique. *No. I just told her to give me the strongest wind she could.*

*What were your exact words?*

When I repeat them, Elan smiles smugly. *You do not understand how to manipulate people. Almost as though were something other than human, you do not understand the weakness of humans or Alfar. Both races, maybe all sentient beings, want to be recognized and acknowledged. You addressed the girl by name. Have you noticed anyone else do the same? All the people in the pathetic rock ape's meeting mostly ignored her and her two hangers on. At best they addressed the three as “you” or “hey you.” How do you think the girl felt when you called her by name?*

I look at Elan. *Do you feel that way when I call Elan?*

Without saying anything, Elan undoes the fasteners on my helm's straps and lifts it off my head. Her eyes have an odd glint as she rises on the balls of her feet and kisses me. Her tongue thrusts hungrily into my mouth, but she never closes her eyes and keeps staring into my own. My dick is like a spear trying to punch a hole through the articulated plates over my groin.

Being filled by the rising winds, the sails start popping and snapping, and the Night Raven lurches forward again. For several minutes the force of the wind continues to rise until it has to be be close to a Category 2 hurricane.

The two male cowards watch with their mouths hanging open. I am not certain about their emotions, but I think dismay or discouragement might be what is mixed in with their fear. Another strong emotion in the mix is jealousy. I am fairly certain what I feel from them is jealously. It is an emotion that humans and Alfar seem to feel in large and small amounts over seemingly insignificant actions or objects they want being possessed by another. After a few moments, when they close theirs mouth, their faces become portraits of disgruntlement.

Feeling an even stronger source of jealousy, I focus my spatial awareness on Farnulf. He is near the bow of the Night Raven and is glaring at my back. There is a strong dose of hatred mixed with his jealousy. What the fuck?

Even Angelique is jealous, but her jealousy seems directed at Elan.

What do any of them have to be jealous about? Why would the two cowards be jealous of the girl? Why the fuck is Farnulf jealous of me? What is the point in being jealous that someone else has it? Why do all these fucking idiots constantly get jealous over what others have?

Jealousy is something that I do not really understand. I have never really been jealous of other people. Life, the universe, and fucking everything are completely unfair. I do not have time to waste being envious of what others have. As long as my strength is sufficient, if I want something badly enough, I will get it for myself.

*Go and praise the little girl. It will draw her closer to you.*

I look at Elan again.

*Trust me. I am a Wytch. We are taught how to twist the natural into the unnatural. To do that we have to learn what is natural and how it works. Emotions and the bonds between beings are among the things we are taught to use and twist.*

A human saying those words would probably be gloating or boastful in a fucked up self-deprecating manner, but there is neither pride nor shame nor regret in Elan's words or her tone. Elan is Elan. She accepted who and what she was a long time ago. Her inner strength dwarfs that of almost everyone I ever encountered on Earth.

It only takes a few steps to reach Angelique, and with each one, she looks closer to bolting. When she speaks, her voice is trembling. “Did I do well, Master?”

“You did a good job. You do a better job by yourself than with those two cowards.” I gesture in the direction of the other two cowards with my head.

Angelique's eyes are practically glowing as she shows me a tremulous smile. The levels of Power within her are low, and she seems to be almost swaying on her feet.

“How long will the winds last?”

Angelique ducks her head, and shame fills her. “Only three to four hours, and I can't recast this spell so soon. It takes too much Mana. I'll need a day or more to recover.”

I take off my right gauntlet and reach for Angelique's face. She flinches but stops herself from pulling away. Her cheek is warm and damp with sweat. As my braided Power flows into her Body, and her Mana reserves start to replenish slightly, her eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open.

Behind me, Elan smirks. *Now is a good time to fuck the girl and make her yours.*

*She's from Earth. You look past my scars, but to people from Earth I'm a monster.*

*Your scars do not matter to this girl. When she saw you naked, she could not take her eyes off your cock.*

Elan moves around behind Angelique and puts her hands on the girls shoulders. “Brand can replenish your Power faster, but it requires much more intimate contact. If you want him to take care of you, you will have to come to our cabin.”

Angelique moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue, and then, she freezes as embarrassment floods though her. Her eyes try to look in all directions at once, and her face turns red.

“Can … can… can we talk about this in your cabin?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Shame and something else, maybe hope, override her simple embarrassment.

Of the Possessed, only Dacbold seems to pay no attention as I leave the poop deck with Elan drawing Angelique along at her side. The others have expressions ranging from incredulous to offended. I do not know what to make out of Thorrin being among the offended.

Elan does not seem to have any issue with me fucking Angelique, but since DokkAlfar are not part of a monogamous culture, it would be unusual if she did. Even if she is too proud to admit it outright in public, she has acknowledged me as the one with dominant position in our relationship. It is common for DokkAlfar with positions of power to maintain a harem, and none of the harem members would dare to object to their master fucking others. Even the female DokkAlfar with positions of power will often maintain a harem of males, though in that case the harem is usually made up of slaves and many of them are not DokkAlfar.

Thinking about Elan's actions now, I cannot help but wonder about her odd behavior around Mikumi. *You don't have any problems with this girl, but you seemed jealous of the whore Mikumi. Why?*

As we enter the companionway, Elan frowns. *I was never jealous. There was something wrong with that whore, but I was never sure what. Also, there was always something off about that whorehouse, and I kept using them because it gave me more chances to watch them. The way they disappeared after the whore's brother was mixed up in the rebellion only proves me right. I should have taken them and tortured them until they revealed their secrets.*

In the captain's cabin, I take off my armor and drop it on the table. With the dull thunking sound made by each piece hitting the thick wood, Angelique's eyes seem to get a little wider. She tentatively reaches out to one of my gauntlets, and when I do not say anything, she lifts it off the table.

“You wear all this? How much does it weigh?” Her voice is a breathy whisper of surprise.

I shrug. “I don't know. Probably close to two hundred pounds. I don't know what that leather is made from, but it's not the hide some dumb cow.”

Even more tentatively than she than she reached for my gauntlet, Angelique touches my now bare chest. Her hand is soft, and she rubs it across from the normal skin to the waxy looking scar tissue on the left side of my body.

“Did this hurt?”

“Ha!”

Angelique practically jumps backward at my single bark of laughter, but she stops when she feels Elan's hands on her shoulders.

“Have you ever burned yourself?”

Angelique nods her head head so rapidly, she almost looks like a woodpecker.

“Imaging being trapped in an upside down car, while the fire slowly cooks half your body.”

I smile, seeing Angelique's shiver and the fear in her eyes.

“Do you really want a monster like me touching you?”

After looking down for a moment, Angelique looks me straight in the eye. “You have the Mistress. Why would you want to touch me?”

“Take off you clothes.”

Angelique shivers slightly and pulls her robe off over head. Dropping it on the floor, she stands naked in front of me. While I just look at her for a minute or so, her hands keep nervously alternating between trying to hide her cunt and tits and leaving them exposed.

She would be pretty hot if she took better care of herself, but right now, she is just okay. Her dull black hair is raggedly cut a little past shoulder length, but her face is rather pretty. She has a good bone structure, and her shining grey eyes are entrancing. Probably staying hidden away from the sun and not eating right has left her with pasty white skin, but that can be fixed easily enough. Her lack of muscle tone is her biggest problem. It lets her medium sized tits sag a bit. Tits that size should not be sagging, but she does have nice nipples. Just from standing naked in front of me, they are already hard, and the dark aureoles are just the right size for her tits. Her ass is sagging like her tits. With the lack of muscle tone, it makes it look like her butt cheeks are drooping. She is not carrying any excess fat, but she has broad hip bones. Her thighs need some nicely shaped muscle to balance those slightly widish hips. In general, if she just works out and puts some muscle on that body, she would be one fine piece of ass.

All in all, there is no reason not to fuck Angelique, and there is certainly no reason to throw her out of bed. As she is, she still looks good enough to get my dick hard. Perzey, Elan, and Mikumi are the only girls I have fucked. I wonder what it will be like fucking her.

With my right hand holding Angelique by the shoulder, I cup her tit in my scarred left hand and lean close to her. I press my scarred cheek against her smooth one, so that I can whisper in her ear. “Can't you see my dick is getting hard now that you're naked. I'm a man. If I can fuck a pretty girl, I'm going to fuck her. You're a pretty girl. If you just work out a little and put some muscle on this body, you will be hot piece of pussy.”

Picking Angelique up, I lay her down on the bunk that is barely wide enough for two people to fit. As my lips touch hers, her eyes close, and her lips part slightly. She is awkward kisser, but she quickly becomes enthusiastic.

After a few minutes, Angelique grabs my hard dick. “Um … I'm a virgin. This body is. I was. Uh … you know what I mean, right?”

This girl is so completely fucked up. Like me, she is another piece of damaged goods from good old shithole Earth.

“Do you want to feel my dick inside of you? Do you want me to make a woman out of you?”

With her cheeks flushed, Angelique nods.

It turns out that it is a real pain in the ass breaking in a virgin, and I hope I never have to do it again. When I first thrust my dick inside her, she gasps in pain.

“It hurts. Your so much bigger than my finger. It hurts almost as much as when they raped me with mop handles in reform school.”

Watching from the side, Elan laughs. “It will get better. Pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin. Brand does not hurt you because hates you.”

“Do you want to stop?”

Angelique shakes her head. “No. You're not hard like wood. Uh … that's not what I mean … I mean it's mean to tell a guy he's limp … you're hard … I just mean you don't feel like wood … your dick is flesh .. it's warm …”

I put my hand over Angelique's mouth. “Enough. Stop babbling. Just nod or shake your head. Do you want me to keep going?”

Angelique nods and moves her hips underneath me, but the pain make her wince. When I smirk, she tries to bite my hand, but my finger pressing the nerves at the back of her jawbone stops her.

I am gentle with Angelique, but as I fuck her, she still cries while clinging to me. Her emotions are such a ridiculous mess that I doubt she can figure out what she is feeling.

Elan sits on a chair watching me fuck Angelique, and while she watches us, she plays with herself. I guess she is the type that gets off watching other people fuck.

We fuck for a long time with me unable to bring Angelique to orgasm. Whether it is because she is a virgin and emotionally fucked up, or if I just suck at fucking, I do not know. Is someone who has been raped with a mop handle really a virgin? Does it even matter? The real problem is that Earth left her broken.

When Angelique finally orgasms, she hugs me tightly while shivering. Letting go of my control over my body, I cum and release some of my Power with it. I do not release too much or release it too quickly. She has an abnormally large reserve of Mana, but she is not the freak that I am.

“Oh, my god!” Angelique's arms tighten around my neck, and she starts panting.

Several minutes later, she is hanging onto me like she never wants to let go. Even when I sit up she does not let go and winds up in my lap with both her arm and legs wrapped around me. She is not sobbing, but I still feel her tears running down my chest.

I look at Elan.

*The girl has been badly abused. It might or might not have been outright torture. She does not talk much about her life before becoming a Possessed, but I heard tell the rock ape that she was put in something called reform school and hurt because she did not think the correct way. In the past, I have had women tortured, and then, showed them compassion to bind them to me. It is a good technique if you want to break someone and make the being dependent on you. If you keep fucking her and give her the belief she is special, the girl should become fanatically loyal to you.*

I frown. *There is no reason not to fuck her. If she stays this enthusiastic, she'll be a good fuck.*

“Your dick is still hard. Fuck me again.”

*** The Aether***

Return: Day 326

(Thorrin)

The bobble-head girl is following Brand back to his cabin for the third time. Every time she casts that wind spell, she wipes out her Mana, but it just takes a couple hours with Brand and that Wytch of his to get her back to full Mana. It cannot be good for the girl, but how can I put a stop to it? When I tried to warn her, she just blew me off. It is almost Brand has become a savior in her eyes.

“Damn, who in God's name does that Brand think he is?” Farnulf's words are in English.

“Homeboy's got some pretty good luck with those crappy moves. Maybe, having that Wytch pimping for him is the trick.” Pancho is obviously needling Farnulf. Ever since Farnulf started printing his version of the Bible, the two of them been going at it like cats and dogs.

*You understand patterns better than I do. Is that foolish girl being damaged by what Brand is doing to her?*

Dacbold looks at me with a blank expression. *Her Power has grown both times when she came back, but she's not a virgin anymore. Do you think Brand is hurting her?*

I do not bother trying to hide my frown. *What about Brand?*

*He might have more Power inside of him than I do. He's a complete freak of nature.* Dacbold walks off the poop deck and moves to the bow of the ship. That is his polite way of telling me that he is done with the topic.

“It's not my fault she likes the bad boys, pendejo. If you're so upset about Brand slipping her the dick, why don't you go hit her up and see if she likes short hypocrites?”

“Stupid wetback, where do you come off talking to me like that? If I wasn't a Christian …”

Sick of the argument that has been going on almost non-stop for the last six hours, I leave the poop deck.

Refuge was never anything close to harmonious, but it feels like Brand has stirred up old troubles between us that should have been long since buried. How can the presence of just one man create so much hostility? For years, I regretted not being able to save him, but now, I regret seeing him still alive.

The bottom deck feels strange. The DokkAlfar and their damnable penchant for twisting everything are both unnatural. I can feel that the rooms on either side of the narrow corridor have had their spatial boundaries warped. Why can they never leave well enough alone?

At the bow end of the corridor, two of the cell doors are open. I can hear the occupants breathing, but that is all. Moving to the cells, I look inside. Selestra is in one, and Jinmu is in the other.

Like Jinmu, Selestra has been chained naked to the hull. Her body is covered with scars. It looks like some demented artist drew fern plants all over her flesh with red hot needles. What kind of sick monster could torture a woman that way?

As she glares at me, Selestra's face is full of bitter anger. “I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you and those other Dvergar on a DokkAlfar ship. Is this how you treat real people from Earth, your friends, now?”

“We were never friends. You and your real friends betrayed and murdered a man who was my friend. It wasn't the first time you fucked Talon over. He was fool to put so much effort into helping you.”

Selestra sneers. “The disgusting bastard deserved it. That Half-Dvergar body was almost as ugly as his human one. I'm happy he's dead! I wish I had killed him myself!”

I look at Jinmu. “You haven't told her?”

Jinmu's smile is self-mocking. “I am rather ashamed of what I have done. Even if it was necessary, it was a despicable thing to do.”

“What are you two talking about?” The anger and contempt in Selestra's voice seems to be directed at both of us. From the things that Talon said, I had always thought that she was a daddy's little darling.

I stare straight into Selestra's eyes. “This airship is under Talon's control. He calls himself Brand, now.”

Selestra shakes her head. “You're lying. I didn't see any Half-Dvergar.”

I do not keep the bitterness out of my smile. “Ha. He's in his human body. He has some pretty nasty burn scars. He was the leather armored warrior that pulled out of that pirate city.”

Selestra's face turns about as pale as dark grey skin can get, and she shake her head rapidly. “No. No. No. No. No. You're lying. There's not way Mark is alive. That bastard god said we would die forever if we died in these bodies. Did I just have to die to escape? I didn't know … I didn't have to live through all of that. I could have escaped any time. You're lying! You have to be! It can't be that simple!”

“Mei!” Jinmu's shout is loud enough to make my ears ring. That is a rather impressive feat for a man with his Power restrained by a slave collar.

Selestra's eyes locks onto Jinmu. “He's lying. Right, Daddy? He's lying!”

“Mark was the only survivor. The bodies of everyone else, including you, are already dead. This is your only body now.”

I look at Jinmu. He is Oriental and appears to be in his forties, but he should be around sixty if I remember what I have read. His physique is very well developed. He is not ridiculously overdeveloped like Brand, but he could easily be a competitor in a body building competition.

“So, you are her father?” I point at Selestra with my thumb.

Jinmu smiles. “I'm at the father of the mind that controls that body. The mind and soul are the important parts.”

“Brand says that you betrayed him.”

Jinmu looks down. “I did. It was the only way I could think of to break the chains of obligation that he insisted on wearing. I believed he would eventually escape from slavery, but I never expected it to be so soon.”

“You people are all fucked in the head.”

Jinmu smiles. “That sounds like the way Brand would phrase it.”

I turn and leave the lower deck. I cannot deal with these people right now. I do not know what to do. I do not know how to deal with Brand. After we complete this mission, I am going to get as far away from all of them as I can. Damn, I am feeling so tired again.

Parents and Children

*** Outside Yggdrasil – Taereun ***

Return: Day 326

(Brand)

*Valcrit.*

*Yes, Master.*

*Meet me in the brig, but keep quiet about what you are doing.*

*Yes, Master.*

I leave Angelique asleep on the bunk when I leave the cabin. She has already cast her wind spell three times, and for the second and third rounds of fucking, she was ever more enthusiastic than the first. I like fucking that girl. She just needs to get herself in proper condition so that she can last longer.

As I head down the to the brig, Elan follows behind me but does not say anything. Reaching the lower deck corridor, I stop between the cells with Jinmu and Mei inside and stare at Mei.

Her eyes are venomous, but she is radiating a mix of fear and hate. The scars on her body really are a work of art. Blood Beard, or whoever tortured her, has some real talent. Mei was never as beautiful as Elan, but she was always far above the common level of attractiveness for an Alfar. Now, those scars have enhanced and drawn out that beauty ever more.

“It really is you. How did you survive, bastard?”

I smile at Mei and speak in a flat, emotionless voice. “Since coming to the Battleground of the Damned in this body and winding up in a slave collar, I've felt worse pain than being burned alive. Do you want to experience that same pain, cunt?”

Mei shivers and cowers back against the curved hull she is chained to.

“Poor, Mei. She never expected to see the evil me alive after brave Little Jonny stabbed me in the back. Did Little Jonny stick his pinkie sized Alfar mini-dick in your dripping cunt before selling you to Menton?”

“Asshole! What are you going to do to me?” Mei's question is more whimpered than spoken.

I glance at Elan. “Are the wards up?”

Elan smiles “Of course.”

“I'm going to kill you, but how I kill you is up to your daddy. You see, if he helps me, you will die more or less painlessly. If he doesn't, you will spend weeks screaming in agony. Those little burns will seem like pleasurable caresses compared to the pain I'll inflict on you.”

“LEAVE HER ALONE, MARK!” Jinmu's scream is filled with the rage and fear that is overflowing from him.

Turning to Jinmu, I smile. “If you hadn't sold me to the DokkAlfar, I would have probably let your traitorous little cunt live in the end, but you just had to fuck me over like that. Now, that I have your little whore daughter on my ship in chains, do you want to help me, or do you want to watch her spend weeks screaming in agony before she finally dies?”

“What do you want?”

“How do I use Prophet and Delphi to detonate the Earth’s nuclear stockpiles?”

Jinmu stares at with a horrified expression on his face. “You are insane.”

“No, I'm quite sane. I'm just going to put an end to Earth's fucked up existence. The population of Earth is feeding Woden Power. Killing them is one of the few ways that I can fuck that bastard over, right now.”

I smile. “It's your choice. Help me destroy Earth or watch me turn your daughter into a pile of ruined meat before I let her die. I'll give you some time to think about it.”

“Elan, Valcrit, make it so that they can't pass on anything I say to anyone else in any form.”

Elan smiles. “With pleasure.”

“Yes, Master.”

With Jinmu under my control, there is no need to collect the Damned that are still left in Refuge. I never wanted them. They were nothing but a backup plan if I failed to get my hands on Jinmu.

* * * * *

As the Night Raven passes through the dimensional tear, I feel the rest of the people on the ship relax. With the exception of Elan, Dacbold, and oddly, Angelique, everyone on board seemed to be wound up, on edge, or both for the entire trip.

To the west, the sun is a brilliant ball of orange fire on the horizon. With Angelique's hurricane force winds, we should have only been travelling five to ten percent faster, but we cut our travel time by around thirty percent over our estimates. Compared to our physical plane, velocity and acceleration in the Aether are really abnormal.

Yggdrasil is only ten or twelve miles to the south, and there are no signs of any other airships out to the horizon.

I take out the flag Vili gave me. “Captain, raise this flag.”

Duncrik's face twists in distaste as he takes the flag from me, but he has a pair of air sailors attach it to one of the lines and haul it into the air.

With no interruptions, it only takes a little more than half an hour to reach the teleport array on the exterior of Yggdrasil.

*Where do wish to be transported?* The Psi transmission reverberating against my mind catches me by surprise.

“The Lands of Despair.” I speak the words because I do not know how or where to project a Psi-based message.

Just like the other two times using a teleportation array, blue lightning creates a dome over the Night Raven, and everything outside the dome turns to darkness. When the lightning disappears and the darkness fades, we are in the Lands of Despair.

“Captain, do you know where Mountain View is?”

Duncrik nods. “Aye, Master.”

“Set course for Mountain View.”

“Aye, Master.”

I head down to my cabin, but Elan stays on deck with Angelique. She is lecturing the girl on spell theories that the girl has never encountered before. Elan seems to enjoy teaching a student.

I have something more important to do, absorbing the knowledge about Prophet and Delphi that Valcrit extracted from Jinmu.

*** Village of Emer – The Lands of Despair ***

Return: Day 328

(Thorrin)

After the Night Raven drops anchor a couple miles southeast of Emer, Brand takes the slave collar off Delilah's neck.

There are no airship towers inside the valley. Brand's hostile glares in the general direction of the town make me think he would not use one if there was.

Brand points at Delilah. “Pancho, can you take her to Emer and make sure she gets in touch with Nessa?”

“No problem, ese.”

“Darius is in charge down there. If you run into problems, tell them this ship is mine. Darius has an understanding with me.”

While Pancho climbs into the launch, Delilah remains standing in front of Brand. She seems nervous and uncertain.

Pancho bumps fists with me. “Hey, ese. You gonna take a look around Emer after all these years?”

I do not keep the frown off my face. “I don't like the way the place looks.”

“Me either.”

“What do you want?” Brand's voice is monotone, and his attention is focused on Delilah. There is no guessing what might be going through his mind.

“What about Jinmu?”

Brand goes from imposing to menacing without changing to his posture or position. “Jinmu's bitch ass belongs to me. You were there. Do you think I'll fucking let him go?”

Delilah frowns and looks down for a few moments. When she looks up, she tries to smile but fails. “Thank you.”

“I owe Nessa, and she has never acted against me. This is just my way of partially squaring the debt between us. If Darius ever causes you problems, tell him I expect him to abide by our agreement.”

Turning his back on Delilah, Brand returns to the poop deck.

With a sad frown, Delilah lowers her head and enters that launch. Pancho makes room for her on the seat next to him. Without being very obvious about it, Pancho does his best to look down her neckline. I suppose he always has been fighting the title of the biggest horndog among the Damned.

Delilah does not appear to notice Pancho's action, or if she does, she is a good enough actress to not give it away. The woman has kept herself hidden away for the short time she has been on the Night Raven. When I tried to talk to her a few times, she claimed she was not feeling well and asked me to leave.

On the opposite end of the launch from me, Farnulf is a sullen, brooding presence. He silently stares at Emer, as the launch approaches.

“Hey, Thorrin. Look at that shit.”

I follow Pancho's pointing finger and see the guards in modern Earth-style riot gear. More than the riot gear, the AK-47 knockoffs held at port arms send a chill down my spine. The concrete wall and apartment buildings are bad enough, but what the hell are they doing manufacturing Earth firearms?

“I'm starting to understand Brand's hostility. He hates Earth more than anyone I've ever known.”

Pancho's laughs at me, but it sounds a bit morbid.

I look at the DokkAlfar manning the tiller. “Put us down in that paved square inside the gates.”

The DokkAlfar stares at me for a moment without responding, but he does maneuver the launch into a circular flight pattern descending toward the center of the square.

Some guards in the the Earth-style gear clear a space in the middle of the square, and the launch bangs down against the stone pavers. The guards do not exactly point their guns at us, but they do not exactly point them away either. There is an obvious air of nervousness about them.

“Pancho? What are you doing on a DokkAlfar airship?” The guard that speaks was the one giving the orders. When he takes off his riot helmet, he looks familiar.

Pancho squints for a moment. “Iron? Been a long time, gringo.”

“What's with the gringo shit? You're whiter than me in that body.”

Pancho smiles, but he does not appear to like Iron. “My soul is Mexican-American, gringo. Ain't nothing you can do that will ever change that. My father earned his citizenship, and I follow in his footsteps and fought for my country. What did you ever do besides bitch about not getting your share?”

Iron points his gun at Pancho. “You always were nothing but a stupid wetback fuck.”

I point at Iron. “Do you know this asshole?”

Pancho spits on the ground. “We used to run into each other at cons. He took over File 999 after that nasty fuck that started it died. Before the Uni-Party, I wasn't Hispanic enough, meaning a gang-banger illegal alien, for his party's politics. Why the fuck do dickheads like them always need to make make my fantasy books about their sick fucking Social Justice?”

“You may be too stupid to have noticed, but I'm the one with the guns.”

Pancho's smile makes ice look warm. “You think, because you have a gun, I can't kill a little bitch bitch like you?”

“Um, excuse me. That airship belongs to Brand.” Delilah's voice is soft and tremulous.

Iron's face turns pale. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Delilah looks a bit pale herself, but she seems to gain confidence from Iron's reaction. “Brand said that he had an understanding with Darius. He's on the airship, right now.”

Iron's head spins around so fast, it looks like he is trying to break his own neck. With his eyes wide and fearful, he puts his riot helmet back on.

“Steel is stubbornness.” I whisper the words under my breath, but Delilah still looks in my direction.

After casting a pattern sight spell, I look at Iron. He is communicating with someone using some kind of an complex whisper charm. It seems to be built into his helmet, along with some other things I cannot identify.

Finishing his conversation, Iron turns back to us, “Darius wants to see you. Follow me.”

Pancho spits on the ground at Iron's feet again. “I never liked Darius. So, you can go tell him to come here if he wants to talk.”

Why is Pancho being such an idiot? Is he channeling Brand? We do not need to get into a fight. With all the guns they are packing, we might not win if we do.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Pancho...”

Pancho shakes off my hand. “Find your balls, Thorrin. You haven't been the same since you came back from Black Mountain. Darius is a Thuggie pito, and Iron's is his puta. If you want to bow and scrape in front of them, that's your problem.”

Iron's points toward the defensive wall. “I can make you a slave any time I want, you stupid grease ball.”

I kill the pattern sight and look at the wall. A huge signboard on it has a list of rules. The first one says the slavery and death are the punishments for breaking the rules, and the last one say no spitting on the sidewalks and roads.

Pancho is not normally someone that goes around spitting. He must have already read the sign and been trying to provoke Iron. At first, I did not recognize Iron, and I still only vaguely remember him. Even when Taereun was a game, I think that he used to fight with Pancho, more like get slapped around by Pancho.

“Are you an Emer official?”

Iron puffs out his chest. “Of course!”

Pancho spits on the Iron's boots. “Go fuck yourself, pendejo.”

“Kill...” Iron's freezes mid-sentence.

“Darius is on his way.”

Our arguments have been in English, and the DokkAlfar on the launch have expressions revealing varying degrees of confusion.

We only have a five minute wait before Darius shows up in the square. He pale blue suit is cut like something a 1970s pimp would wear, and he actually has platform boots on.

Pancho bursts out laughing as soon as he sees Darius. I cannot hold back a snort, and even, Farnulf is looking at Darius like he cannot decide if the suit is for real. Delilah just looks a bit confused.

Darius smiles like there is nothing strange going on. “Thorrin, it's been a long time.”

I smile back. “I wish it had been longer. Never again would have been perfect.”

Darius shakes his head and scoffs. “I know you hate me. We have never agreed on much of anything, but look at the difference in our statuses. I am the head asshole in charge here, but you are just an outcast asshole in your little ass backward town of Refuge. Who is the one that was right in the end?”

“It's not about right and wrong. It's about what you want to get out of life. I've always known your methods work, Mr. Political Analyst. I just don't want anything to with your shitty underhanded tactics or a piece of shit like you.”

I do not meet Pancho's eyes. Just seeing him look at me like I am a hypocrite, from the corner of my eye, is enough. I know I should keep my mouth shut and just take care of business, but I hate Darius. I have hated as long as I have known him.

Darius points at the sign on the wall. “That's Mx. Darius. I know you are at least semi-literate.”

“Cut the crap, Darius! We're just here to bring a woman to her daughter.”

Darius' eyes turn to Delilah, and his smile has all the charm that a political snake can put on. “You have a daughter here in Emer?”

Delilah looks extremely nervous. “Yes. Her name is Nessa.”

Seeing Darius show surprise is an unusual event, but Delilah's statement catches him flatfooted. I have a hard time not laughing at his slightly comical expression.

“Nessa? I do not remember seeing you before, and I have never heard anything about Nessa having her mother trapped in this world. You're part of the new wave of the Damned, then?”

New wave of the Damned? So, Darius already knows about the new group of players trapped by The Nameless. It looks like his information pipeline to the Battleground of the Damned is real. I do not like this situation.

I suppose I should call The Nameless by his real name, Woden, but old habits are hard to break. To me, Woden will always be The Nameless Fuck.

“Yes, it's been less than a year since it happened.” Delilah does not seem surprised by Darius' question. She probably have no clue how odd it is that Darius would be aware of the second wave of The Nameless' victims.

“I am Darius. What might your name be?”

“Delilah.”

“Mx. Delilah. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Darius steps forward and offers his hand to Delilah.

Delilah takes his hand with a smile. “Likewise, Mx. Darius.”

Darius bows to Delilah. “It would be my pleasure to escort you to Nessa.”

“Thank you, Mx. Darius.” Delilah seems completely charmed by Darius' manner.

Darius looks at me. “Are you coming Thorrin? It's been a long time since you and Nessa parted on such ugly terms. After all these years, maybe, Nessa will have forgiven you for your murderous ways.”

“You're awful sanctimonious for a man who gave the order to execute over five thousand unarmed prisoners.”

Darius' face loses all expression. “If I did not give the order, Menton would have had me tortured to death, and still, ordered them executed. Thug Horde would have followed his orders without question, and I would have died in agony for nothing beyond making a point. I prefer to live, and that incident is why I left Thug Horde.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Delilah's eyes keep moving back and forth between us. She has a confused and fearful look on her face. She is alone and has no way of knowing who to trust. To her, we must sound like a collection of psychotic monsters. Who knows? Maybe, we are.

“We can do this later. Bring us to Nessa!”

Darius' smile is as empty and meaningless as a politician's. “Of course. Mx. Delilah, this way, please.”

Delilah's smile is nervous as she takes Darius' proffered arm.

Following Darius, we reach a street with temples an churches on it. There are only a couple dozen, but none of these buildings were visible form the air.

“A Street of Gods?”

Darius' frown is very real. “It just appeared one day. We have as little control over it as the cities on Taereun have over theirs.”

Farnulf stops dead at the entrance to the Street. “I'm not going into that heathen hellhole. I'll meet you at the square later.”

Darius looks at Farnulf with disdain. “It is your choice, but do not break the rules. I very much doubt that Talon would lift a finger over you. The two of you never did get along very well.”

Farnulf has very little control over his emotions these days. His righteous anger is easy to see in his face, but he manages to keep his mouth closed as he turns and walks away.

Darius leads us to a small temple constructed from pure white stone. It does not look like marble or limestone. So, I do not know what kind of stone it is. Even if I have the memories of Dvergar, he was never much for mining.

“Nessa! It's Darius! I have a visitor to Emer that is looking for you!”

We wait for several minutes, but Darius shows no sign of impatience or irritation. What exactly is going on?

When Nessa comes out, she is wearing a simple dress that shows very little skin. Like everyone in Refuge she has barely aged, but after not seeing her for over a decade, it is more obvious that she has aged, even if it is very slightly. As she looks us over, her eyes convey a clear disdain and air of superiority.

“Thorrin, I thought I made it clear I never wanted to see you or anyone else that would side with monsters like the Dvergar, ever again.” Nessa's voice is cold and filled with the same disdain that is visible in her eyes.

“Jessica? Is that you Jessie?” Delilah's voice sounds like it is about to break

Nessa frowns as she looks at Delilah. “Who are you?”

“I'm your mother.”

“What is your name? You real name. And what is your job?”

“Deborah Kowalski. I'm a nurse.”

Nessa's frown remains in place. “You may come with me.”

Anger seems to mix with the disdain in Nessa's eyes as she looks at the rest of us. “You are violent, murderous males that have never submitted to the rule of the Merciful Lady. You are not welcome in Her temple. Wait here or leave. The choice is yours.”

As she follows Nessa into the temple, Delilah looks very fragile and afraid.

Nessa has become even colder than when I last saw her. I wonder if there is anything left that can put a crack in her shell of icy righteousness, now.

“Who is the Merciful Lady?”

Darius shrugs. He seems tired. “One of those gods that never reveals its name and only has a collection of titles it goes by. Most of the temples on our Street of Gods are for gods like that. They seem to be the most popular with the Damned and their children. They like faceless, nameless, impersonal gods for some reason.”

“Are River, Gina, and Frye still here?”

“Yeah. You can find their shops on Main Street.”

*** Mountain View – The Lands of Despair ***

Return: Day 328

(Brand)

The longboat sets down outside the wildly overgrown piece of land that is Life's preserve. I get out with Elan at my side. Dacbold watches Kanchek and Valcrit drag Jinmu and Mei out by their collars before debarking himself.

Bring Dacbold, your prisoners, and your three DokkAlfar to the statues. Those were Boran's words to me after Thorrin left to bring Delilah to Nessa.

As all of them stare at that vibrant piece of land encircling the spire of dead stone in the middle, their faces and emotions shift through numerous changes. Dacbold seems to be the least affected by the sight, but he has at least been to Mountain View in the past. Whether or not he has met Boran, I do not know.

“Follow me.”

I lead my group though the thick growth and into the tunnel at the base of the spire. As each of them crosses the demarcation line between Life and Death, they involuntarily shiver and a touch of fear is discernible on their faces.

Jinmu is the only one that should not be able to see in the darkness, but with Kanchek dragging him, he stays with the group. After making several circles as it descends, the tunnel opens into the cave where the statues of Life and Death stand.

Fires are burning in braziers on either side of the statues of Life and Death. Even in the flickering light of the flames, both statues are clearly illuminated. As with every time I see her statue, my eyes are drawn to the statue of Life. She is still too muscular for my tastes, but I sure as hell would not throw her out of bed.

After staring at the statues for several moments with squinting eyes, Elan starts to frown. She moves so close to me that her body is pressed tightly against mine, and even with her mental shields, I feel uneasiness and nervousness coming from her.

Around us, the others in my group are much acting much the same. Dacbold is the only exception, but he still stares at those two statues with a frown.

Boran, who has been standing the shadows since we entered the cavern, steps forward. I feel waves of fear spreading outward from everyone but Dacbold. Elan clings to my arm shivering, and all the others except Dacbold fall to their knees.

“Second Father.” Dacbold bows to Boran.

Boran nods to Dacbold. “You are progressing well. If you do not lose your way, I expect you to achieve Transcendence.”

Boran looks at the tunnel we entered the cave from. “Come out, little girl.”

I focus my attention on the tunnel. There is another source of fear in there, but I did not notice it with all the others showing so much fear. No, that is not quite true. I felt her fear, but I could not separate it from the general sea of fear around me.

Tap …. tap .. tap … tap.

The sound of uneven footsteps precedes the appearance of a girl in a dark robe. Now that I am aware of her, I do not need to see her face to know who she is.

Boran frowns. “I will not harm you, little girl. The flying spell you used to follow Brand, where did it come from?”

Angelique stops just past the end of the tunnel. “It … it … I … I made it.”

Boran almost smiles. “It was an ingenious use of your Air affinity, but very wasteful of your Mana. You should rethink how you create the air jets.

“Come! Join Brand!”

Angelique runs up to me with quick, mincing, little steps. After I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand, she almost dives under my arm and tries to hug me, but her arms are not long enough to reach all the way around my chest. As soon as she clings to me, most of her fear evaporates.

Boran looks at me. “You appear confused, Brand.”

“I don't understand why everyone is so afraid of you.”

Boran half-smiles. “You are very abnormal. My presence and my Power are enough to engender terror in the hearts of mortal beings.”

“I know I don't feel fear. I never have. But I also don't feel oppressed by your Power. I never have.”

Boran stares at the statues. “You are of a special bloodline. Like Dvergar, those of your bloodline never know real fear. In most things that live, fear triggers a fight or flight reaction. It brings out sometimes amazing levels of strength for the creature that is afraid. Your bloodline does not have that reaction. Instead, your strength is fueled by hate or rage or both. Do you get a feeling that I am dangerous?”

My smile is grim. “I know you are one of the most fucking dangerous things that could possibly exist. I think I may have always know that subconsciously, but I have always had the feeling that you had no intention of harming me.”

“True, but I want you to harm your world. Vili is seldom right, but he is right about your Earth. It has to die. Dacbold, would you have a problem with destroying your Earth?”

Dacbold looks gobsmacked, but a thoughtful expression settles on his face. He scratches his cheek and stares at the statues of Life and Death.

Several long minutes pass with nothing but the sound of breathing and the fidgeting of the other people in cave. I am curious about what he will decide, and with Boran here, no one else seems to dare to interrupt Dacbold's thoughts.

After a time, Dacbold looks at Boran again. “I would not be happy about destroying Earth, but the world is sick. It has been for a long time, and I don't know how to fix it. It wouldn't be like we were exterminating the human race. There are humans on plenty of other worlds. It might be better to destroy Earth, but the Damned are already spreading its disease throughout Yggdrasil and Taereun. What about them?”

Boran shrugs. “There are forces at work that will at the very least destroy the culture the Damned are trying to recreate. Some of the Damned will probably survive, but only the weak will find their ideas attractive. The unnatural tyranny of the weak found on Earth only exists because the strongest of Earth's people are still weak.”

Dacbold nods. “I'll help destroy the Earth. I have found the path to real strength. I'm tired of being bound by the shackles of the weak.”

For all the reaction that Elan, Kanchek, and Valcrit are showing, we might as well be talking about putting down a few slaves. They could not care less if I exterminate the entire population of Earth.

I tilt Angelique's face with a finger and look into her eyes. “I am going to destroy the nations and civilizations of Earth. Maybe, I will wipe out the whole shit-eating human race. You aren't freaking out.”

Angelique's eyes are practically glowing with enthusiasm. “I want to see Earth burn! I want to see them suffer! Everyone! They deserve it!”

I smile at Angelique, and she returns it with a grin.

Boran looks at Jinmu and releases threads of Power into him. “I am breaking your connection to Yggr and destroying your artificial Coalescence. When you are on Earth, it will be impossible for Brand to conceal you if you are still tied to Yggr.”

Jinmu collapses to the floor and starts twitching spastically. Blood tinged foam spills from his mouth before he falls unconscious.

Boran looks at me again. “Time is running out. Woden has done something very stupid and destabilized Yggdrasil. At most, it will be a year before the matrices holding the planes breaks down. It will erupt in an explosion that will teat apart many planes.”

The surprise and confusion on my face mirrors the expressions of everyone else. “What the fuck did the lunatic do?”

“He dragged constructs from a dead race into the Battleground of the Damned. Those constructs internally warp time and space, and the methods they use increase the strain of maintaining the massed pocket planes inside Yggdrasil by several orders of magnitude. If you do not secure the primary drive soon, I will not be able to defuse the dimensional stresses before Yggdrasil rips itself apart

“If all of you do not help Brand, you will all be destroyed along with him. If you wish to survive, you need to get the primary drive into my hands within the next three months. Brand already has the means to secure it.”

Who Brings a Gun to a Sword Fight?

*** Tren'fon – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 330

(Brand)

The darkness and lighting fade to reveal the mountain valley of Tren'fon. To the north Tren'fon Citadel is floating in the sky, but Gor'achen Citadel is no longer here.

“Set course to the southeast, Captain.”

“Aye, Master.”

*Elan, do you think you can find a solution to open a tear into the Furnace of Life and Death?*

Standing at my side, Elan looks up with a smile. *Of course. Do you want to immediately enter the Furnace's plane?*

*Yes.*

As she leaves the poop deck, Elan's walk is sinuous and provocative. I cannot imagine I will ever tire of fucking her, but something it off with her behavior. She has changed from the vicious, driven bitch that took me as a gladiator. She is still vicious and bloodthirsty, but she almost seems happy. I have never met a happy DokkAlfar. I do not understand what changed her, and I cannot keep from wondering if it will become a problem.

She manged to get under my skin before I ever realized what happened. When that dyke cunt, Aluras'bektsh'tar, took Elan, she made things a pain in my ass. I do not like trying to figure out how other people are going jump. The only reason I stepped up in Gor'achen was to take back Elan. I never wanted to be the leader of anything, and now, I am running around with at least four different factions in a single group.

Looking at the rest of my crew, they seem okay, except for Dacbold. He has been mostly lost in thought since Boran's summons. He does not appear to be getting cold feet, but I am not quite sure what to make of him. I hope he works it out for himself.

In front of the Night Raven, space tears itself apart, and a smoldering red sky awaits us on the other side. Duncrik has learned his lesson, and he orders the airship into the tear.

*Disperse the dimensional bubble.*

The silver-grey bubble appears to fray, and streamers of energy are left behind in the Night Raven's wake. With the bubble gone, no distortion obscures the Dark clouds and silvery sea of Trinity bathed in sourceless sanguine light.

Two-tenths off the starboard bow, the taiji-like Furnace of Life and Death floats in the sky. With or without pattern sight, it looks exactly the same. It looks and feels like two completely opposed Powers, and at the same time, it looks and feels like two sides of the same Power. I cannot even make a wild guess about how the Furnace was created. I only know that the Od is tied to that Power, or maybe, I should say the Od is a derivative of that Power.

Except for Dacbold, the rest of the Damned are somewhere between nervous and uneasy. The two cowards are the only ones reacting differently. Fear, bordering on terror, is flowing off them in waves in time with the beating of their hearts.

I am different. I no longer feel the sense of awe I felt seeing it originally. The subconscious urge to worship the Furnace is gone. Being here and basking in the Power of this plane, I only feel a sense of peace. I cannot remember ever really feeling at peace. It is so unnatural a feeling for me to be at ease that I almost want to do something to put an end to it.

*Brand, come to the dimensional ripper. There is something you should see.* Elan's voice carries a strong sense of uneasiness within it.

“Captain, sail straight ahead for now.”

“Aye, Master.”

I do not waste time and quickly reach the the ripper's vault.

Elan has the graphic display expanded to the point that it is filling more than half the room. I did realize that it could be resized like that, but what surprises me is what the display is showing. The dimensional boundaries of this plane are extremely unstable.

*I think I understand what Boran meant about Yggdrasil becoming unstable.*

Elan frowns. *Do you trust the rock ape?*

Do I trust Boran? Thinking about that question brings to mind an image of a teenage girl who is apparently older than the metaverse. I do not even trust myself, anymore, but I trust that girl. I trust Life, and I think she trusts Boran. Is that enough?

*Yes.*

Elan's frown deepens. *You took a long time to answer.*

*Too much has happened. I'm almost incapable of trusting anyone or anything, but I still trust Boran.*

Elan looks back at the display. *Do you understand what this place is?*

*Do you?*

Elan looks at me with a hint of anger in her eyes. *You did not answer my question.*

My smile is bleak. *Yggdrasil's Power source. The power of Life and Death. If it ruptures, we will die. Universes will die. No one, except possible Life and Death themselves, could contain the Power that would be unleashed.*

I look into Elan's eyes. *I'm not ready to die yet. Not that way, at least. I'm not ready to let you die, either. I haven't grown tired of you, yet.*

The hint of anger in Elan's eyes erupts into full bloom. *I will never let you tire of me. When you die, you will still hunger for me. On your deathbed, you will beg me to fuck you just one more time.*

*I though bestiality, not necrophilia, was your personal perversion.* I do not bother to conceal my smirk.

*Bastard human animal.* Elan reaches under my pteruges and pulls at my loincloth. Her breath quickens when I press her back against the metal wall.

Elan is always nearly unclothed so I do not need to strip her out much clothing, but my dick is already hard before we are naked. The rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh fills the vault as we fuck standing up.

Thorrin's heavy footsteps resound in the corridor outside, and he stops in the doorway of the vault.

“If you're done acting like animals in heat, how about telling us where and how we get out of here?” Even though Thorrin is naturally shielded against Psi, his emotions are so strong that anger and frustration are radiating from him.

With her legs still wrapped around my hips and her back pressed against the wall, Elan turns an evil glare on Thorrin while we continue fucking. “Do you like watching, rock ape? Or is that you can only watch? Maybe, your cock does not work.”

“You're one nasty slut.”

“Oh, yes! Harder! Fuck me harder!” Elan claws my back with her finger nails as she orgasms, and runnels of blood mix with the sweat on my back.

I do not turn around to look at Thorrin, nor do I stop fucking Elan. “Why do you keep judging me, Thorrin? What is so different about now as opposed to before? You always knew I was a killer. You knew I tortured Alfar, orcs, other beast races, and humans. You never climbed on a high horse. So, why now? Is it because I'm not in a Half-Dvergar body? Is it because this is my Earth body, the one I was born in? What difference does that make?

“Those with the Power do as they will. Other than the laws given by Life and Death, strength is the one and only thing that matters. All laws of society, all ethics, and all morals are the transient constructs of those that create them. Only the laws set down by Life and Death are immutable. Your morality is not my morality.”

I finally look at Thorrin. “Unless, you have the Power and the will to enforce your morality on me. If you want to try, we can do it later. I'm busy fucking enjoying myself, right now.”

Thorrin stares at me without saying anything for a few moments before turning around and walking away.

“That was cruel. Did you see the pain in that filthy rock ape's eyes? You are becoming better.”

Without replying, I angrily slam Elan against the with bruising force every time I thrust into her.

With her smooth cheek against my scarred one, Elan's voice is breathy whisper in my ear. “Hurt me more. Hurt me until I cum. Make me swoon from pain and pleasure.”

While she kisses me, Elan sinks her teeth into my lips. The pain is almost nothing to me, but my dick still gets harder.

*** Tallifer Empire – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 332

(Thorrin)

The Night Raven passes through the tear between dimensions, and a deep blue ocean stretches to the horizons. Broken by scattered islands, the waters carry dozens of trading ships. Below us, I recognize one of the Tallifer's teleportation gates. Rising from the open ocean, those gates link Tallifer to a dozen zones that have more gates linking to hundreds more zones. The trade routes Tallifer maintains via these gates are the source of the Empire's wealth and power.

“Take us down to the ocean and through the teleport gate, Captain.”

“Aye, Master. Steersman, angle out bow downward two-tenths. Land us on the water.”

“Aye, Captain.”

After his little tryst with the Wytch, Brand looked a wild animal had shredded his back, but now, he looks as though he was never injured. That Wytch must have some of those overpowered DokkAlfar healing potions with her.

“Which gate is this?”

Brand looks at me. “The Seventh Gate. We're going to see a fucking frog.”

When I first played Taereun, the starting town for players was in the Tallifer Empire along the Seventh Tallifer Trade Corridor. In the early days, Bogwater, the Swamp of the Lost, the spider cave, and the goblin valley were some of the popular places for players to go.

Everyone wanted the Frog's dimensional storage devices. He could make them into almost any shape or form that anyone wanted, but the prices were steep. There were rumors about women trading sexual favors for the Frog's equipment, but I never talked to any woman that claimed to have personally done it. There were women who quit the game, never to be seen online again after they supposedly sold theirs bodies for what they wanted.

Descending toward the ocean, the Night Raven makes a large circle. Just before we hit the surface of the water, the steersman pulls the bow upward. As the keel of the ship cuts into the water, huge rooster tails of water spray out to either side. With it's mass, this airship should not be buoyant, but it still floats.

“Steersman, take us through the gate arch from this side.”

“Aye, Captain.”

I have been through teleportation gates more times than I can count, and they always look the same. As we approach swirling silvery energy turns into a solid pool, and then, the energy disappears, revealing another ocean vista. After we sail through the gate, the silvery pool of energy fills the arch again, before it turns to a whirlpool and disappears.

*** Swamp of the Lost – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 337

(Thorrin)

The last teleport gate closes behind us, and we are on the river that leads to Bogwater. I can barely remember the last time I was here. Between game time, Earth time, and my loss of some of my Earth memories, everything is a bit fuzzy when it comes to what happened before the start of the Great Fuck Over. I can no longer remember the correct order for some events. I had stopped taking newbies to Bogwater, and it had to be around three or four years before we were taken so some thirty to forty years of game time. I suppose it has been more than fifty years since the last time I was on this river.

“Take us up, Captain.” Brand stares downriver with a grim look on his face.

“Aye, Master.”

“Are you sure you want to show off that we're in an airship, ese?”

Brand glances at Pancho. “Anyone that fucking matters will recognize what the Night Raven is even if we stay on the water. Better to be in the air, where it's harder to attack us.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

The Tallifer Empire soldiers at the trading post keep their Mana-cannons trained on us but do not fire. A stone airship cannot be a common sight all the way out here in the Swamp of the Lost, and only the DokkAlfar have stone airships. No one wants to antagonize the DokkAlfar.

Everything is mostly jungle here. The real swamp does not start until you cross to the south side of the big river that runs from the escarpment. What was it called, again? Bull's River? No, that is not it. Bull-rush, that was the name, Bull-rush River. We are on the north side of that river, but there are still more that enough marshes to fall into. The Bull-rush is not the only river that runs from the escarpment, just the biggest, and this is very wet land.

Below us, the river boats of the river-traders are tied up in the mooring basin for that dead city alongside the ocean going ships of other traders. Even with the teleport gate on the river, this is only one stop along the way for those traders. They go all upriver to where there are some small kingdoms. I do not know of anyone that has ever explored the entirety of this zone, but from the information we gathered back when Taereun was a game, it should be a complete world.

There are more zones that are complete worlds than there are fragmentary worlds in the Labyrinth of Yggr. The fragmentary worlds are mostly attached to the full worlds in such a way that you need to look for the signs that give away when you cross between them. We found more of the fragmentary worlds out here in the hinterlands. Only a few days walk from here, in the base of the escarpment there are entries several of those pockets. The goblin valley on the other side of those caves filled with spiders was one of the most popular hunting zones when the game first started, but there are at least four or five more. There are probably others I never hear about, too. In games, there have always been secretive individuals and groups that would try to monopolize undisclosed zones.

* * * * *

With the Night Raven's speed, we see Bogwater on the horizon in only a few hours. As we get closer, it becomes obvious that the town is in the middle or rebuilding. It looks like fires swept through most of town, which is more than a little strange considering how wet everything always is in this area.

“Captain, do not put down anchor, just keep circling the town. If anyone tries to approach the ship, give them one warning, then kill them.” Brand stares at the town with an air of hostility and raw anger about him.

“Aye, Master.”

Duncrik turns to his first officer. “First, prepare a boat and make sure the sailors are all armed.”

“Aye, Captain.” The first officer leaves the poop deck, with a vicious smile on his face.

“I'm going with you.”

Brand stares at me for moment before he nods. “Okay.”

Brand's Wytch and those two DokkAlfar soldiers get in the launch with us. No matter where he goes, Brand takes them, but how far can they be trusted? They are DokkAlfar, and DokkAlfar do not have much more love for humans than they do for the beast races. In all honesty, the DokkAlfar hate pretty much everyone and everything. I guess they have a lot in common with the Talon I used to know. The more I see of Brand, the less I understand why I liked Talon. But I have to admit, he is entirely too well suited to survival in the worlds ruled by those with Power.

The Frog's compound appears to have been untouched by the fires while everything around it was burnt to the ground. How did he manage that.?

Thunk!

When the launch hits ground none too softly in the paved courtyard, Brand barely flexes his knees to keep his balance. He steps out of the launch with the demeanor of a conqueror and stares disdainfully at the Frog's guards.

Faced by Brand with a DokkAlfar on his arm and two more at his back and a DokkAlfar airship flying overhead, the guards look like they are about ready to break and run.

“Tell that little faggot of a frog that Brand is here.” Brand's voice is not loud, but the Power contained within it tingles against my skin.

One guard near a door whispers something to the guard on the opposite side of the door from him, but they are too far away for me to catch the words. When Brand looks at the two while smiling like a predatory animal, the guard that was spoken to runs through the door.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

In only a few minutes, heavy footstep precede the arrival of twelve things. The closest description I can think of would be Frankenstein ogres. Each one is nine feet tall, if it is an inch, and their bodies are a stitched together patchwork of putrid looking grey flesh. They must be some variant of flesh golem.

Behind the golems, the Frog walks out. He, and the Frog is definitely a he, is wearing a funny looking loincloth with a bulge the size of a volleyball in it. His is about seven feet tall, and his height is mostly in the disproportionately long legs. His arms are short and scrawny compared to the long legs with their thick thighs. His head definitely looks like a frogs head and has knobby protrusions and small horns behind the eyes. His black spotted golden skin has a slimy sheen to it.

When the Frog looks up at the airship, he seems to shiver slightly before glaring at Brand. “Thief, why have you returned?”

As he rakes his eyes over the golems, Brand's grin is as nasty as one from Vili. “You brought me some new toys to break. They even look tougher than the last set. I never knew you were such a thoughtful little froggy.”

I feel the pressure of Brand circulating Power outside of his body, and the Frog's eyes bug out even farther than they normally do.

“You! It has not been single year! How? What are you?”

“Someone you don't want to piss off. The Second Father sent me.”

I really did not think the Frog's eyes could bug out any farther, but apparently, they can. I wonder if Brand will make them pop right out of the Frog's skull before he is done.

The Frog tries to look in all directions at once before looking at Brand again. His voice is more of a hissing whisper than anything when he speaks. “Come with me!”

We follow the Frog through one of his workshops into a showroom for upscale clients. The Frog has always been entrepreneur with an assembly line of slave labor to craft the gear he sells, and some of his clients are wealthy kingdoms and empires that buy low-quality gear in bulk. Their representatives along with the more powerful and wealthy adventurers expect the VIP treatment.

The Frog leaves two of his golems outside the door to keep everyone away before slamming it closed.

“How can you be so stupid human? I know to be human is to be an imbecile, but do you have any comprehension of how may spies are in Bogwater at this time? Do you know how much trouble you could bring down on us with your unguarded words?”

Brand smirks. “Do you think that no one can see my airship and no one saw me come down from it in the longboat?”

The Frog looks ready to explode form rage. “Do you think visitors coming to me in airships are unheard of? Do you think that there are no DokkAlfar that buy from me? Dvergar do not! No one come to me from the Mighty Dvergar Second Father! I can have no connections with him!”

“Fuck yourself, frog. I don't give a shit about your problems. How do I get back to Earth?”

The Frog just stares at Brand with his mouth hanging open.

Brand's nasty grin make his face uglier. “What? You look surprised? Where is the gate to Earth, dick-breath?”

“Fine. Very well.” The Frog takes out a device made of crystal and metal and sets on the meeting table in the middle of the room.

After the frog touches stud on the device, a very large holographic globe appears above the device. There is an island that is probably around two to three hundred miles long and about half that in width. The entire island seems to be a single mountain peak. On the shore there is a city that could easily house ten million people or more.

“This is Valholl. It is the home city of Woden's followers. It exists in the fresh water ocean that is atop the escarpment, and to the northwest of Valholl is a teleportation gate.”

The image changes to a fleet of ships, Earth ships.

“Oh, my god! That's a carrier strike group and a battleship!” I cannot keep the shock out of my raised voice.

Behind the carrier group, an arch rises from the water. It is the common design for the teleport gates located in the water. Except, this one is big enough for an Iowa-class battleship or a Gerald R. Ford-class aircraft carrier to comfortably pass through it. It may not be anywhere near the size of a teleportation array, but I have never seen a teleport gate that big.

“The function of that gate is no different from any other teleportation gate but getting through it without alerting Woden's followers in Valholl is impossible.”

“Is that the only gate?”

“There is one other that I have found. There may be others that I have yet to find. If they are dormant, it can be very hard to find a gate.” The Frog does not manage to keep the resentment off his face. At least, I think it is resentment; he does look like a frog, after all.

“Get it in gear, froggy. Show me the other gate.”

The Frog taps a couple of buttons, and the image changes. It appears to be a dark alcove, with hide curtains. An idol on a pedestal resembles a crude Hawaiian totem with a goblin-like face. I am sure I have seen it before, but I cannot remember where.

“Four Bones Goblin Lair.” Brand's voice has an odd tone to it, but his words trigger my memory.

Four Bones Goblin Lair is the goblin valley I was thinking of earlier. We used to hunt there for uncut gems from the goblin corpses. No matter how many goblins we killed, more would always spawn around four of the idols in the caves. I suppose, they were being teleported in from other planes.

“What's waiting on the other sides of those gates?” The way Brand is staring at the Frog, I think he intends to hurt him badly if he does not answer.

“I do not know.” The Frog shakes its head a little. With the structure of its body that is probably as much as the Frog can move its head side to side, but the humanness of the gesture is surprising.

“Little froggy, if you don't tell me what you know, I am going to cut your dick off an inch at at time and cauterize the wounds so you don't bleed out.” Brand holds up his index two and thumb with about an in of space between them.

The Frog shakes, but it is difficult to tell if it is fear or rage. “I am a valuable supplier of information for the Mighty Dvergar Second Father. If you harm me, he will be angry with you.”

Brand laughs in the Frog's face. “Boran is the one who taught me to use the Od. He forged my swords. He saved my life when I was murdered. He saved my woman, a DokkAlfar Wytch, from Umbral Backlash. Even if I turn you into a pile of ground meat, he won't do anything about it.

“Now, tell me, little froggy, what is on the other side of those gates?”

“I do not know. I swear I cannot see into that pocket plane. I can tell it is small. Only a piece of a plane. Maybe only a single world and its sun. I cannot see any more than that!” The Frog's fear is real. Facing Brand, that arrogant, always in control, supercilious bastard looks ready to piss his loincloth.

Brand scoffs and sneers at the Frog. “I believe you. You're a gutless piece of shit without a bunch of golems and guards protecting your bitch ass. I won't torture you today, but there's always tomorrow.

“We're getting the fuck out of here before this faggot shits all over the floor.”

After the door is closed behind us, the sounds of screaming and breaking furniture are audible over the sounds of the laboring slaves.

I hurriedly conceal my smirk before anyone sees it. I have always hated the Frog.

* * * * *

Brand decided to convene this meeting in the Night Raven's marine barracks. There are too many people here for everyone to fit in the captain's cabin. Besides Brand and his three DokkAlfar minions, there are the six gladiators, we three Dvergar, Tyrend, Pancho, the bobble-head girl, Duncrik, and Brand's two prisoners.

Brand looks at the people gathered, appearing to appraise each of them. Except for the sounds of breathing, silence fills the room as everyone waits for Brand to speak.

“We have found the location of two gates to Earth. One is a completely unknown quantity, and there is no way to use it in secret. The other may or may not allow us to sneak onto Earth without being observed. If you are not one of the Damned, Earth is like nothing you've ever seen before. It's an incomparable shithole that looks like a utopia if you don't know what you're seeing.

“Elan has taught Angelique a spell that will allow her to imprint information into each of you. It will be a mix of English, the primary language of the region we are entering, and a mishmash of Earth's culture and customs. Earth is so fucked up that most of it will probably make no sense to you, but no matter how moronic the culture appears, it is not a joke. That is what Earth is like.”

With his thumb, Brand points at the bobble-head girl standing next to him. She is not wearing her all-concealing robe anymore. Tonight, she has on a skirt that barely reaches her mid-thigh and crop top shirt that barely covers the bottoms of her breasts. She has been working out for a few days and the changes are already visible in her body. For people who can use Power, it always amazes me how fast they can develop their bodies.

“The most dangerous thing about Earth is the constant surveillance. No matter what you do or where you go, everything you do is monitored and recorded. Normally, there is no escaping it, but I have a way to stop us from being tracked.” Brand pauses and stares a Jinmu.

“We won't be able to immediately use this method. Elan has spells that should temporarily serve the same purpose, but it all depends on whether or not we walk into a trap or ambush on the other side of the gate. If that happens, we're fucked no matter how you look at it.

“Any questions?”

One of the gladiators raises his hand and waits for Brand's nod before speaking. “When do we get the language spell.”

“As soon as this meeting is over. Any other questions?”

“When do we go through the gate?”

“The day after tomorrow. That will give you time to incorporate the English language into your memories, even if the Earth custom's won't make any sense.”

After a few moments, no one else asks any questions.

“Angelique, use the spell on them.” Brand points at the gladiators with one hand while giving the bobble-head girl's ass a squeeze with the other.

That would be sexual harassment on Earth, but the bobble-head girl smiles and straightens her back, thrusting out her medium sized breasts. Her personality has changed so much in less than a week that I can barely recognize her anymore.

Tyrend steps forward. “Do me first. I want to know about the world that can produce a monster like Brand.”

The bobble-head girl glares at Tyrend. “Master is not a monster!”

Tyrend smirks. “You've never seen him fight in the arena. You have a pretty face, but you need some meat on your bones. A woman needs a good belly and a huge pair of breasts on her. You're too skinny.”

“Enough of your shit taste in pussy. You want to turn Angelique into a fat blob. I like her the way she is.”

The bobble-head girl starts rising up and down on the balls of her feet. She looks like she is ready to jump for joy.

“Hit him with the spell. You can hit him for real if you want.”

“Yes, Master.” The bobble-head girl's smile is so joyful that it is disgusting. There is something sick about the relationship between the two of them. I hate the way she calls him Master. I will never understand why she does it.

No matter what I feel about the relationship between the two of them, that girl is an artist at weaving a spell. Spell patterns serve a purpose. Spell patterns channel Power. The bobble-head girl's spell patterns are works of art.

As she finishes the spell, the bobble-head girl smiles and slaps Tyrend hard enough to spin his head around. “I'm not going to be some fat cow!”

Tyrend grins at Brand. “You really like the violent ones, don't you?”

When the Wytch glares at Tyrend, he puts on a panicked expression and waves his hands in front of himself. “I wasn't talking about you, Mistress! Really!”

“Brand is a bad influence on you. I should have disciplined you more when you were my property.” The Wytch almost sounds like she is trying to make a joke.

Those two DokkAlfar soldiers exchange “what the fuck?” looks with each other. Even, Brand looks nonplussed.

*Haven't you ever notice how he changes the people around him? If you look at it from the point of view of modern Earth's Judaeo-Christian morals, he changes people for the worse, but the people changed by being around him are always stronger.* Dacbold stares at me without blinking.

*Are you talking about people like Kamehameha? He died. The orcs killed him, remember?*

*I am talking about people like you. You changed after spending time around Talon. You were becoming stronger, but after the Massacre, the Black Orc's dungeon of blood, and Black Dragon Mountain, you lost your way. You have no human body to go back to, but you cannot accept your Dvergar body. I don't know what happened to you, but you need to move forward or you will get yourself dead, probably sooner than later.*

“You're way the hell out of line!” My hand is shaking as I point at Dacbold. I have done my best to forget what happened with the Black Orc, and now he is digging at wounds that have never healed. I want to hit him. I want to kick him in the balls.

Everyone is the room is staring at me. “What?”

Brand tilts his head slightly and squints his eyes. “Thorrin, you've been acting weird. I thought you had just become a fucking asshole like the rest of them, but that's not it, is it?”

I feel a burst of rage welling up inside of me. “It's none of your business!”

“If it fucks with my mission, it damn well fucking is my business.”

My breathing is fast and heavy, and I do not want to face the why of it.

“What happened to you, Thorrin?” Brand's intensity is threatening. He may not know how to be anything else. He had a wild, predatory intensity as Talon. Talon was almost like an animal that had never been socialized, but in Brand, that wild intensity has become focused.

“You were already dead. You have no idea what it was like. Thousands of the Damned died, and thousands more were enslaved by the orcs. More died hunting down the slaves. I lost too many friends because of the bullshit Power makes right mentality in this world, universe, multiverse, or whatever the hell you want to call it. You weren't there. You just don't know.” I push my way out of the marine barracks, but I already know there is no place to be alone on this ship.

*** Swamp of the Lost – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 337

(Brand)

After Thorrin storms out of the meeting, Dacbold looks at me impassively.

I turn my attention on Jinmu. “You're coming to Earth with us to turn control of Prophet and Delphi over to me. If you don't Mei will be the one that suffers.”

Jinmu's cold stare is filled with unconcealed rage. “Do not hurt my daughter.”

People with hot tempers are like wild animals. Like an animal, they are dangerous, but they can be easily manipulated. The ones you have to watch out for are the ones who turn cold when their anger takes control. They never lose their presence of mind.

I smile. “It's up to you whether or not she gets hurt. Are you ready to turn your family's monstrosities over to me?”

“Yes.” The single word is as cold as Jinmu's stare.

I glance at Kanchek. “Put these fucking backstabbers back in their cells!”

Kanchek salutes. “Yes, Master.”

After Kanchek and Valcrit take Jinmu and Mei out of the room, I look at Dacbold. “Come with me.”

Dacbold stares at me for a moment before nodding.

I take Dacbold to the dimensional ripper's vault and close the door behind us.

“Do you want to get down with me like you DokkAlfar Wytch?” Dacbold tone of voice is completely flat, and no expression shows on his face.

“I'm not a faggot.”

“That was a joke.” Dacbold's voice and expression do not change, and there is trace of emotion leaking from him. Getting a read him is like trying to find life in a stone statue

“I didn't know you could tell jokes.”

“What do you want?”

“What happened to Thorrin?”

Dacbold frowns. “One too many people died, and it broke him. It wasn't his fault, but je's been blaming himself for for nearly fifteen years.”

I shake my head in confusion. “Who? Why?”

After closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Dacbold stares at me. “Connor, They were friends for nearly eighty years before the Great Fuck Over. A year or two after the massacre, he was captured by the Black Orc that was responsible. By the time we found Connor, it was a couple months later. What you did to Menton after the Battle of Emer was nothing compared to what the orcs did to Connor, but he was still alive. Thorrin was the one that put Connor out of his misery.

“That day broke something inside Thorrin. He spent most of the next four years hunting down the Black Orc. When he caught it, the Black Orc got off easy. Thorrin just killed it, but ever since, he's been stuck. He's not adapting to his Dvergar body, and he's hung up on protecting the weak. His Earth baggage is keeping him from moving forward. The way you have discarded everything about Earth, it has be a kick in the balls for Thorrin,.”

I feel a headache coming on and rub my eyes. “Fuck me. What do you think will happen if Thorrin goes back to Earth? Will he get in our way?”

Dacbold shrugs and shakes his head. “I don't know.”

*** Swamp of the Lost – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 339

(Thorrin)

Brand is acting strange. He is just staring at flat rock that people use as a campsite near the spider caves. It is next to a pool of water at the head of the Bull-rush River.

“Before the Great Fuck Over, I used to think this was the Bulrush River. I wonder how the river got its name.”

As I turn toward Dacbold, I am a bit startled, but he is not paying attention to me. His watching Brand stare at the rock. He has never been a person to make random comments like that. Whatever his point is, it must be related to Brand.

I shrug. “Who knows? The two words may sound the same in English, but they're completely different in the Slave Tongue.”

“That's right. This is a different world from Earth. They have different morals and values. On Earth, people are more malleable. They are like cattle or sheep, and they can easily be herded by propaganda. Here, anyone without at least a touch of Power they can use is less than nothing. This is a world where only the strong survive. The strong have opinions, attitudes, and desires that they use their Power to fulfill, and that makes this a hard, nasty, vicious world. Vili and Vey say that most worlds and universes they have are like this.”

Dacbold's words make me angry, and I cannot restrain myself from glaring at him. My temper has been volatile since the time we reached Taereun. It seems that in recent years it has been getting worse, but I do not know why.

Ignoring my hostile expression, Dacbold continues pontificating at me. “Resenting Brand for accepting and adapting to how this world works is pointless.”

“He's becoming a sociopath. It's wrong!”

“No, Thorrin. You're wrong. He hasn't changed as much as you think. You keep looking at the world through the lens of what you want it to be, not the lens of reality. We failed to save Connor, because we were too weak, and you still are. You need to stop trying to force your moral viewpoint on this world, when you lack the strength to enforce it. You're going to get yourself dead if you don't accept that you need Power.”

“We're going back to Earth. My morals are just fine for Earth!” I turn my back on Dacbold and walk away.

There are a lot of bones scattered around the clearing in front of the spider caves. It looks like at least a hundred people died here. Circles of burned ground, mostly around the edges of the clearing, have nothing at all growing within them. A pile of rotting and rusting gear and equipment in the middle of the clearing looks like it might have been here for a couple years at the most. Did it belong to the people killed here?

I have a feeling that I can guess what happened and who the victims were, but I cannot bring myself to care at the moment. I probably did not know any of them. If they were here at the spider caves, they were probably newbies to the game. They must have been part of Woden's second wave of Damned.

I stare into the spider caves, trying not to think about anything. The entry to the cave is dark. Even with my Dvergar eyes, it is hard too see from relative brightness of day, even in the shadow of the escarpment, into the dark of the caves.

* * * * *

The sound of footsteps draws me back to reality. Brand and the others are approaching.

“Master!” One of Brand's gladiators is pointing at the ground in the entry to the cave.

“What is it?”

The gladiator moves to the cave entry and squats down while staring at the ground. There are a lot of old footprints but I do not know what he thinks is so fascinating about them. Millions of sets of feet have probably traversed this cave over the last century.

“In the last eight to ten days, several tens of different people have been through this cave. It could be over a hundred, but with the back and forth trails, it is hard to be certain of their numbers.”

Brand frowns before it turns into a vicious smile. “It looks like sneaking onto Earth is out. Everyone be ready for a fight.”

Without waiting for anyone's response, Brand leads the way into the tunnel. Dressed in that black plate armor, he looks like an evil champion from an old fantasy novel. That crew of DokkAlfar and gladiators only reinforce the image. That little bobble-head girl is also trailing behind him, like a toy that he is dragging along to play with. Dacbold, Farnulf, and I bring up the rear of this little parade, but it does not feel like we are a part of it. Talon was always the loner, but Brand has found a party, more like a crew, where he fits in.

It take hours to pass through the spider caves, but we never see a single living spider. There a few corpses that are, maybe, a week or so old and stink to high hell, but if any living spiders are around, they stay in hiding.

*Brand is interesting. He's using some kind of Psi field to keep the spiders away.* Dacbold sounds moderately impressed.

*You're sure?*

The flat look Dacbold gives me almost makes me laugh, but I turn it into a snort. When he is stating facts he is sure of, he really hates being questioned on it.

We are only a few hundred yards from the exit into the goblin valley, when Brand stops. Ahead of us, I see where the stone changes from the grey granite of the spider caves to the red sandstone of the goblin valley.

*What's going on?* I use the raid channel that everyone is in. Before we left the Night Raven, Brand had everyone join parties and pulled everyone into a raid. The social organizers are much more efficient at managing groups and multiple communications channels than the old party charms, whisper charms, and guild bracelets ever were.

*We tripped over a ward, probably an alarm. There are people outside the tunnel. Valcrit, see what you can get off them.*

Dvergar are Psi-dead, but Power is Power, and if we actively try to feel it, we can detect when Psi being used. That Valcrit is very strong, and as close was we are, it is obvious that he is using his Psi.

*There are all shielded, but I do not think the shields are natural.*

Brand frowns. *How many?*

*If there is nothing concealing anyone from my Psi, I count fifty-three shields.*

*Can you break the shields?*

Valcrit shakes his head. *No, Master. I am not strong enough.*

Brand's frown changes into a predatory sneer. *Then, I guess, we just have to fuck their world. Activate or cast whatever defenses you have. I'm going out first.*

Stalking down the tunnel, Brand exudes an aura of violence. He does not have any weapons in hand, and he does not need any to look like Death waiting to fall on an unlucky victim.

The Wytch and the bobble-head girl walk behind him, with spell patterns forming in the air around them. Even without activating my pattern sight, I can feel how strong they are. That bobble-head girl is casually controlling two times or more the Mana that I can handle at my best. As for Brand's Wytch, she is weaving three spells at once, with each one as strong or stronger than the bobble-head girl's spell.

The two DokkAlfar soldiers, Tyrend, and Brand's other gladiators have weapons in hand, and are spread to either side of Brand's women, while Brand's prisoners are docilely trailing behind her. Even, Dacbold is striding along behind the two prisoners with his axe in hand.

When I glance at Farnulf, he shrugs. “I never liked Talon and hate him the way he is now, but we have to back him up. Life really sucks sometimes.”

“Yeah, it never seems to go how you want it to, does it?”

We both chuckle grimly as we half jog to catch up with the rest of them. There was a time when I got along with Farnulf, but he has been the odd man out for years. Now, I feel like another odd man out.

Exiting the tunnel, I see an arc of men and Alfar, probably DokkAlfar, with guns facing us. I recognize the group of three men standing behind the firing line. Herodotus, one of the Bohemian Cats, and Graham. Seeing Graham and Herodotus together is not a surprise, but seeing them here, waiting for us, is one.

“A faggot bitch, a dickless backstabbing bitch, and a plain old bitch, who watched the cunt he was lusting after get used by a DokkAlfar lesbo, what a fucking collection of shit.” Brand's voice is only at a conversational volume, but with his Power, it echoes from the walls of the canyon.

The Bohemian Cat laughs. “I never thought you would deliver yourself to me like this. This time I'm going to torture you, but you won't be coming back. You're not connected to Woden's respawn system.”

Brand looks around, sneering. “You think that getting fifty-odd more faggots to help you will give you a chance against me?”

The DokkAlfar are dressed in chainmail made from that black metal they love, but the humans are dressed in Earth-style fatigues and keffiyeh, those Middle Eastern head-scarves. All of them have assault rifles. I do not recognize the model, but it looks like they were based off the FN SCAR-H.

“We have guns, asshole!”

“Steel is stubbornness.” I mumble the mnemonic under my breath and cast the pattern sight spell on my eyes.

Brand laughs. “I see you're with that stupid faggot Herodotus, but really, what kind of moronic, twink bitch brings a gun to a sword fight?”

“Kill them! All of them! Open fire!” As he screams in English, the Bohemian Cat's face twists into an ugly expression.

Brrrraaaaaapppppp! Brrrraaaaaapppppp! Brrrraaaaaapppppp!

Brand's Wytch and the bobble-head girl release their spells. One is a shield of shimmering silvery Power and the other is a wall of wind. Bullets ricochet away from the spells with some flying back into our attackers.

“I want the three behind the line alive.”

As soon as he gives his command, Brand charges forward. I did not see him draw them, but his short swords are already in his hands. As he charges forward in a straight line, he turns into shadowy semi-translucent figure. Hundreds of rounds hit the ground around him or pass through his general area, but none of them touch him.

With the attackers focused on Brand, his two DokkAlfar and Tyrend break to the right, and Dacbold goes to the left. I race after Dacbold, and Farnulf trails behind me.

The humans seem faster than normal humans, but they are not real Adepts. By the time they bring their guns to bear on us, the only one not among them is Farnulf. The faster gunmen die from arrows fired by the six gladiators that stayed behind with their steel bows.

A few bullets hit Dacbold's shield and mine, but they have no chance of penetrating the nearly inch thick slabs of metal. Dacbold is already chopping apart the ragheads, and I add a torrent of my own blows to the carnage.

As some of their number start to fall, the others scream at us in something that sounds like the Iraqi babble I heard back during Desert Storm and cannot remember the name of. Too many of my memories from that time are getting clouded.

*Is that Iraqi?*

*Farsi.* Farnulf's single word reply carries a tone of disgust, and he lands into the ragheads on the farthest edge of their flank.

“Aiiieeee!” “Aaaaarrrrr!” “Aaarrrgh!”

Brand is like a ghost, moving and killing the DokkAlfar while remaining untouched. Every stab form his short swords looks slow, but each one unerringly hits his target in the groin.

In less than a minute, the only survivors are Herodotus, Graham, and the Bohemian Cat. All of them are staring at Brand in wide-eyed terror, and none of them dares to attack.

“You know, Graham, it's too bad Mungo died. I think he'd taken a fancy to your asshole.” Brand's smirk is as threatening as the the blood-dripping swords in his hands.

Graham shows a look of disgust before schooling his face into a neutral expression. Whoever this Mungo was, I do not think Graham liked him much.

Tyrend laughs. “Poor Mungo, he would be so hurt to see you with that expression, but you, Sandor, Mungo would be so happy to see you. How many times did he ass-fuck you in the arena before you became a real gladiator? Forty? Fifty? More? I really can't remember.”

Sandor. Yes, that was that Cat's name. I never like his obnoxious attitude during the Great Fuck Over.

“Go fuck yourself! You … Ooofff!” Sandor's outburst is cut off by Brand's fist in his balls. He falls to his knees, gasping for air.

Brand grabs Sandor's SCAR and throws it away. “You two drop the guns, or I'll cut your hands off before I kick you in the nuts.”

Herodotus drops his gun so fast one would think that it was burning his hands, but Graham looks around, weighing his chances. When Brand grins at him, Graham shivers and drops his gun, too.

For as long as I have know him, Herodotus has been a coward. He has never realized that we were acquainted on Earth a long time ago. Once he started playing MMOs, he maintained a blog about the games he played. H would brag about his position as a history professor, trying to show off and be seen as some kind of expert. After he started playing Taereun, he constantly posted about his character “Mighty Herodotus” and all of his so-called achievements. Only, the noobiest of noobs ever took him seriously, and he was too arrogant to ever realize everyone else saw him as a pathetic joke.

No matter what he may try to promote himself as, I have always know what he really is, as sick pedophile. When I met him, he was a proud and vocal proponent of man-boy love. The sick fuck used what everyone thought was just a game to act out his fantasies of grooming prepubescent boys for serving older men. He probably did the same thing on Earth, but he was a university professor with the proper progressive political ideologies so there were plenty of people that would have willingly covered up any acts of child sexual abuse he committed.

*What are you going to do with Herodotus?*

Brand looks at me. *Why do you care about what happens to him?*

*He's a homosexual pedophile. We should kill him.*

*What about Graham and Sandor? I'm gonna kill all three of them.*

*Do whatever you want with Sandor, but Graham is my friend. Don't kill him!*

Brand laughs, but his tone of voice is nasty. “You get all bent out of shape because I want to kill your friend Graham, but you want me to kill Herodotus because he's a faggot pedophile? I don't have a problem killing the sick fuck, but why the fuck is okay to kill him but not others? Tell me, Thorrin!”

Herodotus stares at me with an arrogant expression. Does that sick fuck think he has an ace in the hole that will get Brand to free him?

I stare coldly at Brand. “I had a cousin who was raped by a homosexual who was a family friend. We practically grew up as brothers, but I never knew. He committed suicide before he turned twenty.”

“Herodotus was that pedophile?”

My words come out through clenched teeth. “No.”

“What the fuck? You have a family member raped by a homo pedophile, and Herodotus is homo pedophile so it's okay to kill you to him. Your friend Graham swore himself to Woden. All of Woden's followers are out to kill me. So, why is it okay for you to kill Herodotus and not okay for me to kill Graham.”

I do not have an answer for Brand, and I do not know what to do, except glare at him.

Brand sneers at me. “If you were strong enough, you could just say, 'I have the Power, and I want it that way so fuck off.' But you don't have the Power. This isn't Earth, Thorrin. There's no Tyranny of the Weak here. You're hung up on bullshit Earth morality, and it's kept you weak. I owe you so I'm not going to hurt you, but other people don't owe you. What happens when you challenge someone with Power and an attitude? Get your head out of your ass! Wake the fuck up! If you don't, you're going to get fucking killed!”

I look at Dacbold, and he looks back with a face like an expressionless mask. The nonsense Brand is spouting sounds just like that crap Dacbold has been spewing for years. I turn back to Brand. “Sacrificing everything that makes you human for Power is wrong. As twisted as Earth has become, the old morals and ethics we once had are good. Protecting the weak is not wrong. Justice for all is not wrong. Equality for everyone is not wrong.”

“Bullshit! That just keeps everyone weak. It stifles those who could be strong. But if you really believe that, get strong enough to enforce those rules on everyone around you and do it! Build a society, a nation, an empire that is based on those rules. Make everyone live by them. If you're right, your country will flourish. If you're wrong, it will be lost to the dust of history.”

I shake my head. “You have become the biggest asshole I have ever met.”

Brand smiles. “Good. I've been working hard at it. Now, if you have the Power to do it, stop me from torturing and killing these fucks. If you don't, get the fuck out of my way.”

I do not need to look around to know that Farnulf is the only one that might stand with me against Brand, but he is too weak to make a difference. He would be lucky to last against me, and I can barely see Brand move sometimes. Forget about stopping him.

Walking past them, I head for the path up to the goblin lair.

Thump!

“Aaarrrgh!”

“So, tell me, Sandor! Who brings a gun to a sword fight?”

The Gate to Earth

*** Four Bones Goblin Lair – Battleground of the Damned ***

Return: Day 337

(Brand)

The red sand and sandstone of the valley are stained with a new, darker red. Pools, streaks, and splatters of blood cover the ground near the spider tunnel. Corpses Body parts litter the ground, turning the valley into an open air charnel house. I have created much bigger ones in the past, but this one is more satisfying than most. Most of these corpses are from Earth.

Sandor, Herodotus, and Graham are all bloody and bruised, with their hands manacled behind their backs. I have not questioned them. I have not tortured them. I have only slapped them around a little, but it is hard to hold my strength to a level where I do not seriously injure them. Herodotus is in worse shape than the other two, but I hate pedophile fags more than I hate the normal ones.

Since fighting the SvartAlfar, I am changing more rapidly than ever. My training routine has been limited because I have been away from Gor'achen for so much of the time, but my strength and speed continue to grow. Once again, I have no idea what my limits are, but I do not have the luxury of experimenting, right now.

I look at the earrings that these three and all of their troops were wearing. Their patterns are exactly the same as the ones used in the helmets of Darius' guards in Emer. I have no desire to ever return to Emer, but I think I need to have a little talk with Darius. He will not like it, even if he survives.

“Graham, it seems like you three have been back to Earth. What is waiting for me in South Dakota?”

There is not much reaction from them. They are connected to Woden's resurrection system after all. They do not think they have anything to fear. They think they can just die and be respawn again.

“Do you know violet eyes mean among the Alfar?”

When Valcrit takes off his helmet and stares at the three, Graham is the only one that becomes afraid, but he has been a slave in Gor'achen after all. Even if Sandor was a slave in Gor'achen, he seems to still be far too arrogant and stupid to have ever paid proper attention and learned.

“I'm not surprised you understand, Graham. You're not a faggot pedophile like the other two.”

“I'm not a faggot!” Sandor's snarl reveals the hate that fills his Soul.

“You don't deny being a pedophile, but then you were always looking to bag Mike's sister when she was twelve and you were eighteen.”

“Fuck you, McGuinness! AAAARRRR!”

My kick in his balls leave Sandor curled up in a ball on the ground.

“Yeah, I figured out which one the merry little shits you were on Earth.”

I stare coldly at Graham. “Now that the noisy, faggot, pedophile bitch is quiet, we can talk. You understand what violet eyes mean. I could just have Valcrit rip what I want out of your minds, but it's more fun to torture you three.”

“Elan, show them that little party trick of yours.”

“Of course.” Elan releases the spells she had cast earlier, and a spell pattern streaks into each of them.

“Did you know Elan is a Wytch? Two of you bitches should already know that, but do you know what it means?”

None of them can completely hide their nervousness, but Graham is the most afraid. He was an engineer on Earth, and he studied the uses of Power on Taereun when he thought it was all just a game. He probably has some idea of what Wytches can do.

“That spell she put on the three of you binds your Souls to your Bodies. You can't respawn until it's gone. Even suicide won't let you escape form me.” I smile at my three soon to be victims.

“Valcrit, take them apart if you need to, but just make sure they can feel the pain when I kill them.”

“Yes, Master.” Even in the sourceless, mid-afternoon light, Valcrit's eyes glow with a strong violet light of their own.

More than an hour passes, while Valcrit sucks them dry of information. When he finishes, he salutes and hands me a Power crystal. I do not bother waiting to absorb the knowledge this time. After my experience in Talon's body and experimenting with the Power crystal that had Jinmu's memories, I worked out a fast method of integrating the knowledge into my memories. It only takes a five or ten minutes to complete the process.

None of these three ass-fuckers knows how to open the gate in the goblin caves. It is always opened from the other side on a fixed schedule. There are still four days until the next scheduled opening of the gate.

While staring at Graham, I shake my head, sadly. “It's such a shame, Graham. Your Postmen wanted you and Alva gone. Herodotus and Sulius had a deal with Aluras'bektsh'tar. You and Alva were the payment for being aided in expanding into the Atran'ler Empire. Just ask the faggot.”

As Graham looks at Herodotus, his expression is that of a man who has just been kicked in the balls. I am very familiar with that expression, having see it on thousands upon thousands of men's faces.

“Herodotus, why?”

Herodotus does not meet Graham's eyes. “Alva was an arrogant cunt, and you were always sniffing after her reeking, disgusting, female reproductive organs. You never saw how she had alienated the entire guild council, or if you saw, you refused to acknowledge it. It all started before the Greatest God's second harvest. After I got back to the Battleground of the Damned, I never told anyone that I was one of the Damned. They thought everything was still a game, but when it became real for them too, they moved even faster to get rid of Alva and you. Only Heller and Colby were not willing to move against you, but they never warned you either, did they?”

Graham laughs bitterly. “If you hand not planned my betrayal, I would never have been put in this position. I never wanted to be involved in this insanity.”

Herodotus' laugh is mocking. “If you had not been a filthy breeder, you would never have been tied to the filthy bitch. You are getting exactly what you deserve.

“AAAAAARRRRR!”

I drag Herodotus up by the hair and kick him in the balls again. “I'm curious faggot, do you know why my father taught me about the dead zones in the social camera coverage?”

Since he is slow answering, I slap Herodotus in the face a few times. “You're not answering my question, bitch.”

“I don't know. I don't know!” With snot and tears running down his face, Herodotus is practically sobbing.

“I would be amazed if you did. When I was eight years old, I had a wonderful LGBT teacher who took me into the school's utility room. You see there were no social cameras there, since there are almost never any social cameras in utility rooms, and there were no LCD or LED monitors that could be used as cameras with the right software. As an extra special bonus, the magnetic field generated by all that wiring blocked WiFi imaging.

“When that wonderful LGBT teacher started trying to stuff his hand down my pants, I didn't like it. I punched him in the balls. I think it was the first time I ever hit anyone in the balls. The way the faggot crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut is probably what gave me my love for hitting men in the balls.

“That wonderful teacher tried to get me expelled and sent to reform school, but because there were no social cameras, there was no evidence. Because of my father, good ole Jinmu probably brought some pressure to bear, and everything went away.

“After that, my father taught me how to avoid social cameras. I may have only been eight, but I was smart enough to understand that no evidence meant they can't persecute you. So, that's how I learned there was a way I could deal with the wimps that thought they could bully the fat white kid. Cool story, ain't it?”

My slap knocks out a few of Herodotus' teeth. “You didn't answer my question.”

“Yes, cool story. It's a cool story.”

I smile. “I love hurting you so much, I almost forgot the point of it.

“Graham, nothing is ever what it seems. The parents though that faggot was a great teacher. Even after the incident, no one ever learned truth. The truth is never what it seems to be. Woden isn't trying to help you. This faggot is why you were enslaved, and he's one of Woden's boys. Why serve Woden?”

Graham smiles forlornly. “I made my choices already. Some choices can't be unmade.”

I want to turn Graham against Woden, but I am not good at dealing with people. I do not understand how they think and how to manipulate them. If he wants to remain loyal to Woden, killing him removes him from the ranks of the dedicated followers, but even when I suck at the game, losing pisses me off.

“There won't be a respawn. Rest in peace.”

Graham's smile never wavers, and my sword takes his head off.

Reaching out with my Power, I draw the essence out Graham's corpse. His Mind and Soul fragment and dissipate, and his Body turns to dust. The Power I draw from him is a fraction of what already have, and I do not feel any changes from it.

Sandor and Herodotus stare at me with blatant horror and disgust easy to see on their faces.

“I told you there won't be any respawns for you bitches.”

“No! Don't! Please!” Herodotus looks ready shit all over himself. My kick shatters his jaw so he can only scream inarticulately.

Sandor glares at me in angry silence, but I do not let him remain silent. I do not want to waste a lot of time, but a red hot knife can inflict a lot of pain in a short time. Their screams of agony could wake the proverbial dead.

As I finish consuming the essence and Power from their corpses, except for Elan, Angelique, Jinmu, and Dacbold, the rest are all filled to some degree with fear.

I do not look at Angelique. I do not want to see the trust in her eyes. I do not want to face the respect and adoration that are crossing the line into worship. I do not know how to deal with those emotions being directed at me. She is different from the fans in the arena. She does not see me as a gladiator. She thinks she sees me as a person like herself. I need to figure out how to deal with her, before I acknowledge what is inside of her.

*Move out.* I lead the way up the trail to the goblin caves.

When we reach the main entry to the cave network, Dacbold and Farnulf are sitting on a couple of rocks outside of it. Seeing us coming, they stop talking and stare in our direction. Farnulf's face is a picture of judgmental disgust, but I do not give a fuck about him. Thorrin has a thoughtful expression, but it only partially conceals the underlying anger in him. Even without being able to read his emotions, I can see that anger in his face.

*The gate is controlled from the other side, and the next scheduled opening is in four days. I do not plan to wait. I know enough about gates that I should be able to trigger it from this side. When we go through the gate, we will be in South Dakota. The gate is in the bottom of a hundred-fifty foot deep pit. There are always guards with guns around the lip of the pit. Those guns are bigger than the ones Woden's lackeys had here. If we get outside the pit, there are spell formations that may or may not be used against us. The three I killed below were not aware of how the formations are controlled. The last time I came through here they were controlled from inside the pit, but I don't know if it is still the same.*

*When you say bigger guns, do you know what kind of guns they are?* Pancho is worried.

*In Sandor's memories, he though of it as an M60.*

Pancho laughs. *That's nothing. It fires 7.62 just like those SCARs. It's got a belt feed, but that just means it can shot for longer.*

*You've been in this pit before? How many ways are there out of the pit?* Dacbold has a pensive look on his face.

*If nothing has changed two open stairways. The gate is in an alcove off one side of the pit, and the stairs are in the corners of that same side of the pit. When I left Earth, that pit had Yggdrasil's drive in it, but Woden took it. Woden's follower are using this gate to move small groups of people on and off Earth, but the three I killed are just lackeys that didn't who or why.*

I hear goblins scurrying in the darkness, but they are not attacking. Even though they are serving Woden, they are more cowardly than Herodotus was. A group this large would make them wary, and with three Dvergar in the mix, they are probably pissing themselves.

All the way to the chief's throne room, the goblins keep running instead of fighting, and the throne room is empty. I do not need to search to verify that the goblins abandoned this room rather than fight us. Goblins have no Psi shields, and there are no emotional sources other than my raid here.

Tyrend and the gladiators start poking around curiously, but no one else has any interest in the crappy loot scattered around the room. Anything of value would have been taken from the goblins by Woden's DokkAlfar, anyway.

I tear down the hides concealing the alcove with the idol, and just like in the image the frog showed me, it is still sitting there.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.

With the pattern sight spell on my left eye, the patterns on the idol. Curiously, the idol itself is not a gate. It is a key. There is a dimensional rift of some sort that runs through this alcove. It connects dozens or, more likely, hundreds of worlds, but with the way the rift twists round and round on itself, I cannot be sure of the number. To make any sense out of the patterns and the rift, I need time to study them.

When Life dumped the information on how to use Thrall's mirror into my Mind, she gave me a lot more than just knowledge about the patterns used to created and operate mirror. Combining it with everything I learned about dimensions and dimensional frequencies from Vili and Thrall's stack of grimoires and treatises, I could probably be considered an authority on Trinity-based teleportation gates and dimensional gates. If I put my mind to it, I could design some teleportation or gate spells that I could use, but it would take a while to prefect them. There is a big difference between theory and implementation. Spirit and void based planar travel are a bit beyond me, but this idol's spell patterns are completely based on Trinity.

*Have you figured out how to use it, yet?* Thorrin's disgruntled voice in the raid channel breaks my focus.

I do not know how much time has passed. A couple of the gladiators are asleep, and except for Dacbold, who is watching the tunnel, the rest of the raid is scattered around in small groups talking or playing cards or dice.

*The idol is a key of sorts. There are fifteen different worlds that it can open doors to. Each world has multiple doors, and I am not sure which one is Earth. I can't find a world with the same dimensional resonance as mine.*

Of the people paying attention to our conversation, Elan is the only one that does not have a confused expression. She is staring at the idol with narrowed eyes.

*If you can't identify the gate to Earth, what are we supposed to do?* Farnulf's aggressive tone shows his irritation.

*I can open each gate and throw you through it. If you live, come back and let me know if it's Earth.*

*I'd like to see you try.* Farnulf is not as integrated with his Dvergar body as Thorrin, and his fear is leaking out. I have never liked or trusted that bitch. He was the only one of the Seven Dvergar that has always been hostile toward me. Well, Ahlred was too, but he hated everyone and was always an asshole. I can respect that.

*Shut up, and let the big boys and girls, who know how to adapt, figure this out.*

*Farnulf, we have bigger things to worry about than your bruised ego. I don't understand what the problem is, Brand. Can you explain?* Dacbold glances over his shoulder from his post at the tunnel mouth.

*Every Body, Mind, and Soul has a frequency or resonance that corresponds to the plane where it was born. No matter how long you live or where you go, that resonance will never change. The gates here are connected to fifteen worlds. The Realm of the Body is connected to the Realms of the Mind and Soul, but I can't feel them through the gate. The means the only way to find Earth is to match the resonance of the gate to the resonance of my Body. None of the worlds I can find have the same resonance as my Body does. It's like none of them are Earth.*

*Brand, you should try and match a destination world to that Jinmu.* Elan points at Jinmu while she speaks.

*Why?*

*Just try it. I have an idea, but there is no point explaining it if this fails.*

I shrug. “Jinmu, get over here.”

Jinmu walks over without any protest. He has been entirely too docile and compliant. He must be planning something, but Valcrit did not find anything. If that traitorous bastard makes a move, I am going to kick him in the balls hard enough to make piss blood for a couple weeks.

Jinmu's resonance is different from mine? Focusing on the gate patterns in the idol, I find four that have a resonance the matches Jinmu's.

*If you know my planar resonance did not match Jinmu's why didn't you say something earlier?* My words to Elan are in a private whisper channel.

*I did not know. I do not have the skills or the spells to match planar resonances without a tool like the dimensional ripper. It was a hypothesis. The appearance of the patterns that make up your Mind and Soul are very different from the Possessed.* I see Elan's smile without looking at her.

Earth is Jinmu's birth world, but it is not mine. Where was I born? Who were my parents? The dream of a memory that Vili showed me seems a bit more accurate. I will have to make time on Earth to question my aunt, if she really is my aunt.

Jinmu is watching me with a distinct lack of expression on his face. I have the feeling he knows more than he has ever told me. He accepted my explanation of the Great Fuck Over entirely too easily. I should have been suspicious, but there was no reason to think anything was off. I was desperate to get back to the Labyrinth again. I only wanted to escape form the shithole that is Earth. Before I kill him, I will have Valcrit tear his mind apart. Whatever secrets he is hiding will be mine.

*There are four gates leading to Earth. I have no clue which one leads where, but no matter which one we use, I think there will be assholes waiting to say 'fuck you' to us.*

Pancho grins. *Then, we can tell them 'go fuck yourselves' and fight our way out. If I want the chance to see my family and take care of business I should have taken care of before the Great Fuck Over, we're gonna have to get that drive. Whatever it takes, we are taking that drive back from that Nameless fucker, ese.*

Thorrin shrugs. *Just pick a gate. Any one will do. We have no idea where the drive is so it doesn't really matter where we wind up.*

Hearing our conversation, Farnulf grimaces, and his anger grows thicker.

I look at the gate activation patterns again. The base structure of each one is the same, but there are differences because of the destination. Since it does not matter which one I choose, I pick the one that looks the most aesthetically pleasing.

*Okay. I've decided. I don't know where the fuck we'll end up. We go through ready to fight, and we kill anyone that gets in our way.*

“What do mean kill anyone that gets in our way? That's Earth! Those are God's people on the other side! We can't just kill them!” In his fit of rage, Farnulf is almost frothing at the mouth.

I smirk at Farnulf. “Why not?”

“You really are a psychotic monster! You should be locked in prison and have the key thrown away.”

“Are you the one that's gonna put me there? You don't have what it takes!” I shake my and laugh at Farnulf.

“If you wantonly kill Earth's people, I'll kill you …”

“Brand!” Thorrin yells futilely.

My kick bounces Farnulf off the cavern wall twenty feet behind him. “How do you think you'll kill me. I'm not playing games, and I'm not fucking around. If anyone gets in my way, I'm assuming they are Woden's follower. They die. That includes you.”

Farnulf wobbles to his feet. “Bastard! I'll find a way to stop you!”

“Not in this lifetime.”

I stare at Thorrin. “If you want your friend to live, find a way to leash the stupid fuck. One hint of him backstabbing me, and he dies.”

As Farnulf starts to charge me, Thorrin grabs him and puts him in a chokehold. A thread of Power passes between them as they start talking in a whisper channel.

*Get ready. I'm opening the gate now.*

An oval of silvery energy appears in front of the idol. As I look at around the goblin throne cave, except for Mei, everyone else meets my eyes.

Looking back at the gate, I feel a faint tingle pass through my body. It is not fear; I still do not think if I am capable of experiencing fear. It is not nervousness either; nervousness is an emotion too close to fear. Maybe, what I feel is anticipation.

I cannot keep a cross between a grin and a grimace off my own face, but with my back to others, no one can see it. Stepping forward, I enter the gate.

*** Central California – Earth ***

Return: Day 337

(Brand)

The gate opens inside an arch near the back wall. Walls, floor, and ceiling, this room is made from poured concrete. While it is empty, it is warded. Formations or sigils are inlaid into the walls and floors of this room. Since they have no active Power within them, they are more likely to be formations. At the front, the closed door looks more like a vault door than anything. This is not South Dakota.

Where the fuck am I? I examine the spell formations lining the room. I was never able to take the time to examine the patterns in South Dakota, but these appear to serve the same purpose. Wherever they are controlled from, it is not inside this room.

The rest of the raid comes through the gate behind me and fans out across the room. We are not a well-oiled machine, but everyone had military or raiding experience inside Yggdrasil. Except for Angelique, who is following Elan's lead, I have fought in battles with everyone in this raid, and they form up with me at the pointy end of chevron shaped formation. They do not all trust me, but they know I am the strongest killer among them.

*Is this good or bad?*

I am not sure how to respond to Pancho's question, but it is probably rhetorical. Instead, I turn my attention to the door. There are sigils embedded in this door. Without using Power, no one will succeed in opening it. Well, they might open it with a hundred tons of explosives, but even if the door is so strong, they could just just blow a hole in the walls? I take another look at the walls and see something odd about it. When I reach into the wall with my Power, I find sigils similar to the ones in the door buried inside of it. This room will never be penetrated by anyone on Earth without using weapons that are not supposed to exist any longer.

*We need to get out of this room. I'll break the locks in the door, but it might take a few minutes.*

The door is metal. For me, it is nowhere close to an impenetrable barrier. Taking off my gloves, I sink my awareness into the door and sense the patterns within. There are multiple metals layered inside the door, and more sigils have been fused into each layer. The core layer is Elemental. It is the only one that has not been reinforced with sigils, but it is not a metal I have encountered before. I can feel the enormous strength that it embodies. This door is even stronger than I thought. The lock and bolts are made of the same Elemental metal as the core, and there are six bolts extending from each side of the door into the walls. Extending my awareness into the concrete is not easy because of the sigils embedded within it, but I can still feel a layer of the Elemental metal hidden within the concrete. A hundred tons of explosives might not penetrate the core layer. I think this room was intended to withstand a nuclear explosion. It will take a lot more than just a few minutes to get out of here.

I know dozens of Symbols of Breaking. Thrall taught me Symbols that were meant to be used on Elemental metals, but none of them are a direct nemesis to this metal. What is it? Where does it come from?

After using seventy-nine different Symbols, I force a series of stress fractures into the Elemental metal of the bolts, but I cannot find a way to dissolve or corrode it. That metal is tougher than anything I have dealt with before. I burned up more than half of my Power just to get this far, but at least, I know which Symbols will have a minor effect.

Drawing deeply on my Power, I weave the pattern for a Symbol that combines the cores elements of three other Symbols. I do not know if this will work, but I cannot think of a better idea. I pour a good third of my total Power into this Symbol before releasing it into the bolts on one side of the door. As the Symbol penetrates the bolts, I feel cracks slowly form. They do no reach all the way through the bolts, but they are deep enough to compromise their integrity.

With less than a third of my Power remaining, I glare at the door with a deep, hostile frown on my face. I am not sure why a simple door leaves me feeling so deeply offended, but I really want to torture Woden's devotees for a few hours to work off some stress.

Slumping to the floor, with my back against the wall near the door, I stare at Thorrin and Dacbold. *Both of you are Smiths. How much do you know about the Symbols of Breaking?*

Thorrin shakes his head. *Not a lot. For years, I've had trouble understanding the theory or meaning of them.*

Half-closing his eyes, Dacbold shakes his head slightly. *I have basic mastery over the Symbols. Vili taught me, but I don't think I can do what you just did. I could cast the full Symbols you pulled those fragments from in rapid succession, but that is the best I can do.*

*Do it. I need to rest.*

Angelique comes over and sits on my lap. *If you need Power, Master, you can take mine.*

I cannot completely keep the smile off my face as I stroke Angelique's cheek with my finger. *As strong as you might be, if I drained you dry, it would barely be an eighth of my full Power. Besides, you only have a decent Mana pool. Taking your Power would do nothing for my Ki or Psi.*

Elan is standing near the gate arch and watching us, with a strange expression on her face. When I look at her, she smiles at me, a strangely forlorn expression.

*Come here, Elan. What's bothering you?* I use a whisper channel so no one else hears.

Elan sits next to me and rests her head on my shoulder. Despite her possessive clinginess, this is not normal behavior for her. I can tell she is upset by something, even without being able to read her emotions.

*I'm a Wytch. We have premonitions, and after coming through the gate, I have a very bad feeling about this world. Something dangerous will happen here.*

*For me, or for you?*

Elan shakes her head. *I do not know, but there will be deaths.*

*You can't be worried about me dying.*

Shifting her position to face me, Elan stares into my eyes. *If you die, there is no point in being saved from my Umbral Corruptions by that ancient rock ape daemon.*

Without saying anything else, I put my arm around Elan's shoulders and pull her close. Angelique begrudgingly makes room on lap for Elan. Not snorting at the irony is hard. When I left Earth, there was no woman that would let me touch her. Now, I have one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life, and the harder that she gets used the more wildly she fucks. I also have a girl that gave me her virginity and wants her smallest successes to be acknowledged by getting her brains fucked out by me. Everything has changed.

Closing my eyes, I watch Dacbold work though my awareness. He is skilled, and his Body has a huge Mana pool. The real Dacbold would have been a clan prodigy if his clan had not been destroyed.

While watching Dacbold work, I draw in all the Trinity in the area around me, but it barely starts to restore the amount of Power I have used up. Compared with Taereun and the planes inside of Yggdrasil, the Trinity here on Earth is thin and weak. We will all have to be careful how much Power we use.

*It's done.* Dacbold steps back from the door.

As I rise to my feet, my Power is still at least two-thirds depleted, but when I use my awareness, I do not actually expend my Power. After I am done perceiving, I can draw the Power back within myself again. Placing my hands on the door, I feel out the bolts. They have neither sheered nor crumbled, but I think that I can hit the door with enough force to shatter them.

*That should be good enough. Give me some room to work.*

While Dacbold and the others move away from the door, I back up to the gate arch. Moving into the Shadow of the Od, I slip past the bonds of inertia and momentum and charge forward at a faster speed than I normally could. As I drop out of the Od's Shadow, I accumulate all the momentum and inertia I would have built up, and I spin into a back kick.

Boom!

The two-foot thick door lands on the floor of the hall outside the room, and the shattered fragments of the bolts hit the floor in the doorway. A hundred foot long hall leads directly away from the open doorway and intersects another hall in a T intersection at the end.

My left leg, which I used to kick the door, is unsteady. After hitting that door, my foot feels like I hit it with a sledge hammer, and every joint in my leg hurts.

*We could have used spells to open that door.* Thorrin sounds peevish.

*Dacbold, try replenishing you Power from the ambient Trinity.*

Dacbold looks at me with narrowed eyes, but I feel the Trinity swirl around him. After a moment, a surprised look flashes across his face before he conceals it.

*There is almost no Trinity here.*

No one immediately comments on the situation, but everyone has pensive looks on their faces. As the rest contemplate the situation, a minute or so of silence fills the room and the raid channel.

After surreptitiously glancing at the troubled expressions on everyone's faces, Tyrend scratches the back of his head and grins. *If the people here are no stronger than the pussies with the rags on their heads that had the … guns … we won't even need to use much Power. So, there is no big deal if the Trinity is weak here, right?*

One of the gladiators laughs and slaps another on the shoulder. *Tyrend didn't even use his real speed against them. That runt was just showing off again.*

Tyrend tilts back his head and looks down his nose at the gladiator. *Just because you are too big and fat to move fast don't get jealous of my speed.*

The gladiator flexes, his arms stretching his chainmail sleeves to their limits. *That's muscle. Don't be jealous because your arm muscles are almost as scrawny as your love muscle.*

*If you two are done posturing like fools, we have guards coming.*

Valcrit's icy words cut the banter short, but it has served its purpose. The gladiators are back to their normal cavalier attitudes, everyone is focused again.

There is no one in the immediate vicinity At least, I cannot see anyone or sense any emotional presences closer than maybe a hundred and fifty yards, but there are multiple warded areas on the other side of that T intersection. There are only five people I can sense on this level, and they are getting closer. Everyone else is above us, and most are a long way above us.

*Valcrit, what can you read from the Minds in the guards?*

While Valcrit reaches into the Minds of the incoming guards, I pick up a shard from the shattered bolts. The metal is dull black, and a sharp point on it easily cuts into the steel in the door frame. I collect the remaining shards, but I want more of it. If I have the chance, I am going to rip a half-dozen cubic feet of this metal out of the door and walls of this room.

*Master, we are below something called the Fresno University Burning Medical Research Hospital.*

My morbid laughter echoes from the bare, concrete walls of the room. Behind me, Jinmu has a sardonic half-smile on his lips.

This is the hospital that I woke up in after being returned to my body. It is named after the Lady of Gold's human family. They are very big in the pharmaceutical and health care fields, and this hospital was built in part with a large grant from the family.

The five guards are coming from the right side of the T intersection.

*If you can't move quietly, stay here!*

I quietly move to the end of the hall. Tyrend and Pancho follow me, but the rest remain behind.

Clank! Clank! Clank!

Hearing the sounds of metal hitting concrete, I smile. The armor wearing guards come around the corner with weapons drawn, but they go down too fast for them to realize that they are in danger and attempt to flee. Two of them are still alive.

*Valcrit, probe the survivors.*

Looking at their patterns, they are Mana users, Adepts. They practice some type of Mana-based physical enhancement that is very similar to the one used by the DokkAlfar in the Atran'ler Empire, but the affects on the patterns of these guards is a bit different from Kanchek and Valcrit. With the low levels of Trinity on Earth, the permanent changes made by physical enhancement should be the most effective way to use Power. I do not think they are native to Earth, but I do not particularly give a fuck if they are or are not. Besides, casting the spells to check the Body resonance of their corpses would take too long and consume too much Power.

*Master, I am done. There is only a single squad on duty down here at a time. They have fifty guards total for this base, but the do not live here. They have homes or apartments outside of this complex and live hidden among the normal inhabitants. There are other groups of soldiers like these but they work in other locations.*

*Do the know anything about the South Dakota base or the cube that was there?*

After a few moments, Valcrit shakes his head. *I do not think they are of the same faction. They serve someone they call the Priestess and pretend to serve another called Dr. David Turner, at her command. The Priestess is at odds with someone called J'Rome, but it is a not-friendly rivalry under the same master, someone they call the Reaver Lord.*

My lips show a wry half-smile that might be a frown. I am not sure if I should be pleased or annoyed. That little fuck Turner rubbed me the wrong way the moment I met him, but I do not want to do anything to help J'Rome. Oh well, whatever happens will happen. I am going to give J'Rome the ultimate fuck over along with the rest of the Earth.

*Is the Priestess or Turner here now?*

Valcrit nods. *It is the middle of the night, but Turner is. He is with a slave he keeps one of the warded rooms.*

My expression turns into a full frown. *What kind of slave?*

*An adolescent human female. These guards have brought her food. She is kept in the Earth clothing called a lingerie. They have never seen her used but assume that she is a concubine.*

*I want to talk to Doc Turner. You should already know the way. Take the lead.*

Valcrit takes a set of keys and keycards from each body, and keeping one, he gives me the rest. I pass the extras out Elan, Kanchek, and Dacbold.

Heading back the direction the guards came from, Valcrit leads the way. Before following, I cut the throats of the two that are still alive.

*How big is this complex?*

Valcrit does not answer for a moment. *Twelve rooms on five halls. One connecting hall runs along each end of the five halls. There is an elevator on the opposite end of the complex form this one.*

The halls are unevenly spaced. Some of the rooms are much bigger than others. Valcrit leads us to a door that should be to one of the smallest rooms.

*He is in here.*

All five rooms on this hall are warded, and the doors are thick with only a keyhole and handle on the outer face. They are probably all cells. Besides Turner and his slave, I have no idea what will be on the other side of the door.

Valcrit flips through the keys before settling on one. He carefully inserts the key into the lock. *This is the right key.*

*Now!*

Valcrit quickly turns the key, and I pull the cell door wide open.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Inside the room, Turner is naked on top of girl that looks to be all of about eleven or twelve years old, humping away. Torn pieces lingerie are scattered across the floor.

The girl is lying limply beneath Turner, with her eyes squeezed tightly closed. Despite the scrunched up expression on her face, her resemblance to Turner is uncanny. They could father and daughter or brother and sister.

The girl is consumed by despair, humiliation, and a mix of hate and an emotion opposed to it. I do not know what love is and when people use the words like and love there are a broad spectrum of emotions that they experience.

Filled with lust, anger, and contempt, Turner is so engrossed in fucking the girl that he does not even notice the cell door is open.

“I've never understood why dickless little faggots like fucking children.”

“HOW DARE …” While screeching, Turner spins his head to glare at me, but his mouth just hangs open when he sees me.

As I cross the room and grab him by the arm, Turner does not even have time to react. His face twists in pain as I squeeze his arm and rip him off the girl. Holding up with one hand, I shake him a few times to get his attention.

“Aaaarrrrr!” Turner shrieks like I ripped his arm off. From the way his dick goes limp, I guess he is not into being on the receiving end of pain.

Paralyzed by fear, the girl just stares at me.

“Looks you aren't dickless, even if you are a closet fag. Using a club like that on child, are you trying to fuck her death?”

Turner gasps and whimpers but does not get any coherent words out.

“You know, I never liked you. I'm getting a charge out of hurting you, and you not answering just makes me want to hurt you more.”

Thorrin shoves his way through the open door behind me.

“Thorrin!” The girls scream is accompanied by a surge of hope.

*You know her?*

Thorrin stares at the girl for a moment. *Never saw before in my life.*

“I don't recognize you. Who are you?” Thorrin's voice holds a bit of confusion.

“Isaria.”

Thorrin does not keep the suspicion off his face. “Isaria died during the Massacre. I saw the corpse, and you're too young to have played Taereun.”

“I did. I died, but my soul didn't go to the Land of the Dead. I was in a frozen wasteland. I don't know how long I was there. Time was meaningless. Then, I found myself in this body.” The girl does not sound like any twelve year old I ever heard. Her tone and the way she speaks give me the impression she is an adult.

I shake Turner a few more times. “I was the only survivor from the Damned. You said so yourself.”

Impotent hate mixes with the fear in Turner, making a disgusting sea of swirling emotions. “Are... are you Mark McGuinness?”

I take off my helmet with free hand and smile at Turner. “I go by Brand, now. It suits me. Don't you agree?”

Behind Turner, disgust overwhelms all the other emotions in the girl. When I look at her, she shivers and for the first time since we walked into the room cover her tits and cunt.

“Don't worry, bitch. Children don't get my dick hard like Dr. Pedo-Fucker here.”

“Aaaarrrrrr!” When my shaking dislocates his shoulder, Turner screams.

I slap Turner, and my gauntlet tears open the skin on his face. “Shut up, bitch! If you don't keep it down, I'll crush your balls and give something to really scream about.”

“Stop! You're hurting him!” Another emotion partially replaces the girl's fear, but I do not understand what it is. I have felt similar emotions in people around me but did not take the time to figure out what they represent.

“Why do you care? Wasn't he raping you?” I surround myself with an aura of hate and bloodlust.

The girl stares up at me trembling. “He's my brother. Please, don't hurt him.”

Seeing my smile, naked terror consumes both Turner and his sister.

I take out a pair slave collars and put them around both siblings necks.

“What the hell are you doing?” Thorrin's angry voice echoes inside the cell.

When I turn my angry glare on Thorrin, he flinches, then stiffens his spine. He takes a step forwards. “I put up with you collaring Jinmu and Selestra. One murdered you, and one sold you into slavery. I swallowed my outrage because they would probably try to kill you if you freed them. But these are Earth people. They're not part of the insanity that passes for society on Taereun or inside the Labyrinth. You can't collar them like animals.”

“So, you think the shit that lives on Earth is better than the people from Taereun or in the Labyrinth?” My smile is condescending.

Thorrin cannot quite keep the confusion off his face, but the expression does not last for long before his face hardens. “Yes. People from America are better. We're better than any other nation on Earth, and there is no comparison between Americans and the psychotic monsters from other dimensions. We live by the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence. Then and all men are created equal under the law. We don't keep slaves in America!”

I laugh in Thorrin's face. “You should try telling that to Angelique.”

Thorrin winces but continues to glare at me. “The little bobble-head girl? What about her? Something must have happened to her to make her delusional.”

I sneer at Thorrin. “Why? Because she was systematically tortured and sexually abused in a state run reform school under the supervision of the administrators and teachers?”

“This is America! The government would never allow that to happen!”

“You know better than that, Thorrin. The US government hasn't done more than pay lips to the Constitution or twist its meaning as justification to persecute anyone that doesn't follow the Progressive agenda for seventy years. I really wasn't much better in the twentieth cenutry.” Dacbold's comments are delivered in his normal flat, emotionless tone.

Thorrin glares at Dacbold. “That's the government not the people.”

“The government exists because people like us, who had the training and skills to put an end to it, shut it and took it up the ass. America has the government it deserves, the government WE deserve.

“You should have talked to Jinmu more. Brand fought his way off Earth with his own strength. If you want to force him to live in your moral box, you had better be strong enough to beat him down yourself. I won't help you. I won't help him suppress you, either, but then, he doesn't need my help.”

Thorrin turns away from me with his head down. His posture makes him look like a man who has been beaten down his entire life. Seeing him like that pisses me off. The Thorrin I knew would have fought me if he really believed what he was saying.

“Thorrin! Please!” The girl's plea is a terrified shriek.

Thorrin pauses but does not turn around. “There's nothing I can do.”

The black rage rises from deep within my soul. I want to hit Thorrin until he fights back. I want to do something, anything, to bring out the Thorrin I once knew.

“AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!”

I settle for shaking Turner by his dislocated arm and listening to him shriek while I frown at the cell door that Thorrin left through.

His sister cowers on the floor while trying to stifle her terrified sobbing.

*Brand.* Dacbold shakes his head.

*Master! More guards are coming, and one of them has shields I cannot scratch.*

I reach out with my Psi and find a group descending rapidly. They must be in the elevator. One of them has Psi shields that I cannot get through either. It feels like the shields are made from the twisted Power of a Coalescent.

With those shields, that person is a Psi, but that Psi does not bother to return my or Valcrit's scans. When you are a Third Circle Coalescent, why would you care about two non-Coalescents?

*Everybody get ready for a fight. Valcrit, lead the way to the elevator.*

God Level Access

*** Central California – Earth ***

Return: Day 337

(Brand)

As soon as Valcrit brings us to the elevator, I split the raid on both sides of the door. Kanchek is the closest to the door on the right, and Dacbold is the closest on the left. I stand against the wall on the opposite side of the corridor from the doors. There is only one way out of this place, right through the middle of the fucking Third Circle Coalescent.

The halls down here are just barely over twenty feet wide. There is not much room to fight. My helm is held casually in my hand, and my swords are all sheathed.

The doors open revealing another squad of guards and woman. The woman is tall, even without her boots, she would be almost the same height as me. Thigh high boots, elbow high gloves, and a one-piece bathing suit styled piece of cuir bouilli armor do not cover all that much of her body. Her legs are long and have just enough muscle to give them shape. Her facial features are too heavy an pronounced for real beauty, but she is attractive in a cold manner. Her best feature is her tits. Those great big tits appear extremely firm. In spite of her light grey skin and long corpse white hair, she is a nice piece of ass, or maybe, that odd skin color enhances her looks.

“Nice tits.”

The woman pointedly looks me up and down.

“Ugly face.”

“Priestess! Aaaarrrrr!” Turner falls to the ground like a little bitch when I turn on the Mind lash built into his collar. As far he can tell, the skin of his body is being torn apart by a whip.

“If you keep screaming like a little faggot, I'll turn up the pain. That's the lowest level.”

Turner manages to turns his screams into pathetic moans and whimpers. After a moment, blood flowing form the corners of his mouth joins the tears running down his face. His sister kneels beside him and rubs his back, while glaring at me.

The Priestess steps out of the elevator and looks at Turner with a sneer.

“With my dick inside you, you'll be too busy moaning and screaming with pleasure to notice my face.”

The Priestess glares at me. “Every male hat has ever dared to touch me has been flayed alive.”

Elan smirks. “Brand, you should break in that virgin bitch. That poor, frigid bitch will never know fulfillment without a strong man's cock inside her.”

The Priestess tilts her head back slightly so she can look even farther down down her nose at Elan. “Alfar slut, for only being on the Second Path of Transcendence, you have a big mouth.”

Elan's smirk never leaves her face. “If you think only being on a higher Path makes you stronger, you are an idiot as well as a virgin. My man has not started to Transcend, and he will still crush you before he fucks you like a whore.”

In silence, the Priestess glares at me again, and even with her shield, she radiates rage like a burning furnace. It is hard to believe that she would be so easily angered and manipulated by Elan just playing on her virginity.

When I glance at her, Elan smiles. *She should be a Priestess of Hel. Hel forbids them from knowing the touch of a man. The best they can hope for is being pleasured by another woman's tongue and fingers. They are all angry virgins that want nothing more than to feel a man's cock between their legs.*

I grin at the Priestess. “Don't worry, bitch. I'll make a real woman out of you after I'm done slapping you around.”

The priestess feigns laughter. “If you could defeat me, I would be your slave, and you could use me in whatever manner suited you. But you cannot. When I win, I will flay you alive, pull out your tendons, cut off you pathetic manhood, and feed it to you.”

The Priestess steps back onto the elevator. “There is not enough room here for a battle. Follow me up when you are ready to die screaming like the worm in your collar.”

*Are you going to fight her alone?*

I give Dacbold a flat stare, and he shakes his head.

*Master, there are twenty-five more guards gathering at that top of this elevator. Five of them, the squad leaders, might be Transcendents.* Valcrit is proving to be a convenient detection system.

*I'll take the Priestess. The rest of you deal with the guards.*

Valcrit slides the keycard into a reader and the elevator door open. The elevator is built for freight not passengers, but it is still not big enough to fit the entire raid at once. The panel has buttons for twenty floors, five sub-levels, and a slot for keycards. There is no social camera in it.

*How deep underground are we?*

Valcrit frowns. *Seven hundred feet.*

*Dacbold, I'll go up with the first group. The gladiators and prisoners are with you.*

Dacbold nods.

*Everyone else lets go.*

We take the elevator to the ground floor, where it opens on a loading dock. This is a research hospital, and they must bring equipment and supplies in this way. There are no social cameras here, either. To not have social cameras covering the main freight entry for something like a hospital is more than abnormal. There are not even any monitors or other devices that software can modify to work as cameras.

*Dacbold, it's clear. Come up!*

The Priestess and her guards are arrayed in a skirmish line in the middle of the mostly empty parking lot for delivery trucks. Four of these guards are Coalescent, but even though one has Psi shields, none of them are Psis. All of them are overconfident. They are dressed in police riot armor and carrying those lightweight plastic riot shields. Their weapons are swords and boxy guns that look like someone cut the stock and two-thirds of the barrel off assault rifles. They are more idiots bringing guns to a sword fight.

*Those are Uzis. They're a spray and pray type weapon. When they unload, there will a six foot circle filled with bullets. That might be the most effective tactic against someone like you.* Thorrin's voice reveals his irritation and anger.

The Priestess has a staff in her hands. It has rune carved, jo-stick sized center section with a long thin blade on each end. I suppose it could be called a double ended lance or spear, but I have never encountered a weapon exactly like it before. It will be interesting to see how she fights with it.

Elan and Angelique stay back while the rest of the raid members that came up in the elevator spread out to either side of me. Even though we are outnumbered, the priestess has ceded us a slight advantage by taking up in a position below the loading platform, but I will still take the fight to her.

“You should fight naked. It might distract me at the crucial moment and give you a chance to kill me.”

The Priestess sneers. “A vicious animal like you? You would never be distracted from your kill.”

I grin at the Priestess. “You don't know me very well. I'm always distracted by nice tits and good pussy. Don't worry, after I crush you in battle, I'll bust your cherry and fuck you all night long.”

Behind me, Angelique appears more than a little upset, but Elan face is a portrait of sadistic amusement. What does she have against priestesses? Or is it just Priestesses of Hel?

The Priestess glares past me at Elan. “Kill them all!”

Elan and Angelique release the spells that they have been holding since before leaving the elevator, and walls of force and air spring up along the edge of the loading platform. The spray of bullets ricochet around the loading dock. Many of them are stopped by the guards body armor and shields, and some rebound from the layer of ice armor that takes form around the Priestess.

*Brand, be careful. That bastard spawn of bloodlines that should never breed is blessed and empowered by the Goddess Hel.*

The ice around the Priestess is not not formed by the Trinity. That is pure Elemental Power so it must be something from her goddess Hel. The Priestess herself is a Psi, but she has yet to reveal what kind. I would prefer to know the nature of her Power before I commit to a battle with here.

*I'm Chosen by the Od. No virgin bitch in the service of a False Name is my match. If I don't fuck her, how will she learn that a hard dick is better than some dykes fingers?*

Elan cannot keep her malicious grin hidden and laughs. *Insufferable bastard.*

As I draw my mirrored bastard swords that have not left their sheathes since I left Boran's Forge, Elan gives me an odd look.

“Hey, life support for tits and a pussy, are you ready to be my slave?”

The Priestess does not respond and, I jump over the Power-made walls at the edge of the loading platform.

“Ffiifftthh Ssqquuaadd! Ggeett hhiimm!” The fifth squad commander screams at his men. He is one of the Coalescents, but he still looks like he is moving at half speed.

Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp!

The guards try to lead me with their Uzis, but I am moving too fast. The only ones coming close to me with their fire are the Coalescent squad commanders.

Tyrend leaps over the wards in my wake. His scimitar-like swords are already sheathed in fire, he is moving as fast as the Coalescent squad commanders. A few of the guards target him, but the handful of bullets that come close are deflected by his blades.

Thorrin and Farnulf move around the ward walls and charge with their tabletop sized shields linked together. Thorrin is faster than the guards, but Farnulf is slowing him down. Though, it does not matter. None of those bullets has a chance of punching through their shields.

I hit the guards on the far right end of their skirmish line, the fifth squad. I attack the two closest guards with overhand oblique slashes. They try to block them with their riot shields, but my bastard swords slice though them as if they were paper. As my blades cut both guards in twain, arcs of blood spray across the loading dock. I drive the points of my swords through two more before the fifth squad commander tries to engage me.

The fifth squad commander slashes at my leg, but I block it, nicking his sword. As though the slash at my leg was only a feint, he tries shoulder charge me with his riot shield. I stop him with a right punch to his shield, leaving a spiderweb of cracks across its face. I suppose the fifth squad commander is strong and fast for a normal Coalescent, but even, Farnulf or one of my six gladiators would put up a fight against him.

As the guard commander tries to bring his sword back to a guard position, I knock it aside with my an upward slash from left-hand blade, leaving a deeper nick in it. With a twist of my wrist, my right-hand blade cuts the top of his riot shield off and leaves a deep gash in his biceps. My left-hand sword spears into his throat and half-severs his head.

The skirmish line is broken. On the opposite the end, Thorrin and Farnulf have engaged two squads and the other two squads have moved to stand between me and the Priestess. The guards not engaged in melee are rapidly changing magazines on their Uzis.

Letting the guard commander's corpse fall to the ground, I stare at the Priestess. The Priestess looks from me to Tyrend, who is standing about ten feet away on my left.

“No!” The Priestess' scream echos inside the loading dock.

Four of the guards grab their throats while gasping for air. A moment later two more, who are fighting with Thorrin and Farnulf, do the same. On the loading platform, Elan watches them with a slight smirk, and Angelique has a grin that matches her aura of self-satisfaction.

“You are abnormal. This common human trash is useless against you.” The Priestess' face shows her apparent disgust, but without being able to read past her shields, I cannot be certain of what she is feeling.

A piercing lance of Psi braided with minor amounts of Psi and Ki nearly breaks through my Psi shields. I never saw the attack coming. If a Psi Adept is subtle, they can attack before you ever know it. There is no need to build up Power or weave a spell pattern, they are not subject to the physical limitations of a Body.

Psi is controlled by the Soul. Many Psi techniques can be launched as fast as you can conceive of them. The only requirement is that you have the emotions to drive them ready. Without emotions to focus Psi and give it an edge, it is nothing a dull blade, but when driven by strong emotions, Psi becomes a weapon that can take on shape and used in nearly infinite techniques.

The Priestess is nothing like Thrall, but that attack still fucking hurt. Even without penetrating my shields, the backlash felt I was kicked in head.

From the deepest, darkest parts of my Soul, a wave of rage rises and fills my Soul, Mind, and Body. My adrenaline flows, and my focus becomes razor sharp. A javelin-like bolt of my braided Power slams into the Priestess' Psi shields. For a fraction of a second, a beam of black lights appears to connect us.

“Aaaarrrr! That hurt, you bastard!” The Priestess grabs her temples and stumbles backward a few steps.

Breathing harshly, the Priestess glares at me through the gaps between her fingers. “You are actually a Trinary? Where did a freak like you come from?”

“You don't know who I am?” I do not quite keep all the confusion from my voice.

The Priestess' slightly confused expression is a mirror to my own. “Why would I know who you are?”

Pausing the Priestess looks around the loading dock. “Just why are all of you here?”

“To fuck over you, your goddess, and all the rest of Woden's lackeys.”

With rage and hat overflowing from behind her shields, the Priestess raises her hand over her head. “Lady Hel, your servant begs for the frozen world!”

Crackle! Crackle! Crackle!

Frost and ice spread out across the floor. It takes just a few seconds to reach the wall and streak up toward the ceiling. The Water and Cold are Elemental in nature, and there is something else mixed in with it, an unnatural Power of False Death.

“Your False Name Hel is a twisted freak.” The rising black rage turns my voice into an animalistic growl.

Dark Od follows the rage flowing out from the depths of my Soul. Following my bloodstream and nerves, it passes through my hands and into the swords in my hands. Black light radiates outward and starts to consume all the Power it touches, but it is not enough. I need more Power. I need to channel more Od!

Drinking deep from my bottomless well of hate and rage, I consciously draw out more of the Dark Od. My swords vibrate and hum like an unbalanced electric motor. I feel a wrongness in their patterns, but I do not understand it. Forcing my awareness into the Dark Od, I trace the patterns in the swords. They are incomplete, and Dark Od alone makes them unstable. The swords are Nameless and without purpose. Their patterns are split in two and mirrored, just like one blade mirrors the other, and only half of each pattern is being filled with the Od. This is not the right way to use them.

I close my eyes and sink my awareness into my Soul. Following the flow of Dark Od rising from the core of my being, I find a sea of hate and rage. It exist at the center of my being where all three of my patterns join. I am not sure if it is part of me or separate from me.

Whether as a Half-Dvergar or as I am now, I almost never used the Light Od. When I drew upon it the amount, I could channel was very small. I need much more than I ever channeled before, but I used it mechanically in the past. I never understood its source. How do I draw out a flow of Light Od to match the thick streams of Dark Od I can wield?

Brand loves Perzey. Perzey knows.

Perzey is gone. I do not have time for hallucinations. I need to find a source within myself for the Light Od.

Perzey is not a hallucination! Perzey is with Brand forever. Brand can lie to Brand. Brand cannot lie to Perzey! Brand loves Perzey! A shimmering outline of silvery-green forms with the sea of hate and rage. After a moment, it takes on the appearance of Perzey, but it is a Perzey with no scars. That athletic body, with its beautifully defined musculature, is just as I sexy as I remember. The face that is pretty but not attractive enough for true beauty matches the one I still see in my dreams.

But Perzey is gone. I absorbed what was left of her Soul. The Soul was Helen, and it would not look like the Body of Perzey that it once possessed.

Perzey hates Helen. Perzey only remembers pain and loneliness as Helen. Perzey cannot remember Helen's face in the mirror. Perzey was reborn as Perzey. Perzey is only Perzey!

Perzey floats to me and wraps her arms around my neck. The touch of her soft skin and hard nipples make me realize I am naked as well, but unlike Perzey, this body is as covered with the scars of my physical body. The touch and taste of her lips and tongue are the same as I remember from life. The tears on her cheeks are still salty.

Perzey is always here. Brand never comes to see Perzey. Perzey wants Brand to suck her tits, lick her pussy, fuck her pussy. Why did Brand stay away?

There is no gravity here. Sexual acrobatics that I could never pull off in the physical world are easy to perform in this place. Free floating while eating pussy is a new experience, and Perzey moans with pleasure as she sucks my dick.

Fucking without gravity, I move by will and instinct. As I thrust my dick into Perzey, our Souls partially merge together. I feel her physical sensations as though they are being experience by me while my own overlay them. Perzey is still a screamer, but is the sound real or imaginary? It it her voice or my voice or both?

As I cum inside of Perzey, the sensations of our merged orgasms are overwhelming. We are both left shuddering and clinging to one anther.

We are deep inside of the sea of hate and rage, but in front of us there is a ball of greenish-silver Power.

Life. Light Od. Women carry Life. Women also have Death within, a small core of Death. Men bring Death. Men also have Life within, a small core of Life. Brand walks the Path of Death. Brand has Life within him. Brand's seed carries Life. Brand is a Maker. Makers are Creators. Creation is inside of Brand. Brand has more than Destruction.

Creation is not just Power. Brand's love is here, inside Creation, inside Light Od. Brand's love for Perzey. Brand's love for the Wytch. The scared little girl. The whore. Even the traitor. Brand did not always hate the traitor. Love. Hate. Two sides of the same thing. Brand's hate will always be stronger. Brand walks with Death. Brand still loves. Brand told Perzey Brand loves Perzey. Brand did not lie to Perzey. Perzey knows.

Perzey kisses me again. Brand has the Power Brand needs. Brand will go fuck Priestess. Priestess will love Brand too. Woman that does not love Brand is stupid, does not deserve to live.

The Priestess! Fuck me! How long have I been here?

Life and Death do not obey Time. Od does not obey Time. Brand made Perzey part of Od. No time passed. Remember to save the Wytch. The Wytch loves Brand. The Wytch will give everything for Brand, even her Soul. Brand must save the Wytch's Soul. Perzey sees the Wytch. Only the Wytch. Life says Brand can only do this to Perzey and the Wytch.

I do not understand what Perzey means. What does she mean by saving her and Elan?

Perzey died. Brand gave Perzey to the Od. Perzey lives inside of Brand until the end. The Wytch will be destroyed. The Umbra will consumer her. Brand must Purify the Wytch when she dies. The Wytch will be saved. No one else. Life says all other woman Brand loves must continue in the cycle.

Perzey smiles. Brand must go fuck Priestess now. Come see Perzey again soon. Perzey misses fucking Brand.

Tears are running down Perzey's cheeks when I kiss her.

Perzey will wait forever. When Brand fights last battle, Perzey can be with Brand forever. No more pain for Brand after last battle. Life promised.

Perzey shimmers and is drawn into the ball of greenish-silver Power.

I turn my attention to the ball of Light Od. As I draw it into my Soul, it feels like liquid fire inside of me. This is different from when I managed to use Light Od to free Elan from her Blood Oaths. The fierce intensity of the Power is like a raging sun inside of me.

All Power and all matter are energy in their most pure state. Life is Creation. At its greatest intensity, Life is like the nuclear fire of a sun, and the Light Od is just a weaker sun. Within my soul, I twist the Light Od with the Dark Od, and a small strand separates from each, burying itself within the heart of the other.

I open my eyes and spread my awareness through the world around me. The elevator has still not reached the loading dock and only half the ceiling has been covered by the ice. Elan has surround herself and the others still on the loading platform with a glowing, golden ward. Tyrend is keeping the ice and cold at bay with his affinity for Fire, and Thorrin is protecting Farnulf and himself with the memory of the heat from a Forge. Not much time has passed.

I let the conjoined Light and Dark Od flow into my swords. The instability between the mirrored pattern halves disappears, and the strength of the aura of Power radiating form them increases four fold. The cold and around me disappear under the touch of the Light Od, and the False Death is shredded and consumed by Dark Od. The affect rapidly spreads throughout the loading dock, driving off the Power of the False Goddess.

Tyrend engages the remaining guards on my side. He is faster than all of them, and only the Coalescent is a threat to him.

The Priestess stares at my swords for a moment before she meets my eyes. When they are nor overflowing her shields, I cannot read her emotions, but she is unable to hide the fear in her eyes.

I smile. “Don't worry, I'll lick that pussy until it's hot and wet before I fuck you.”

“Bastard!”

Ding.

At the back of the loading platform, the elevator doors open, and the Priestess stares angrily in that direction.

“Mightiest of Goddesses, give succor to your most humble servant!”

A pillar of ice forms around the Priestess, and her presence fades away. After a moment, the ice shatters and the Priestess is gone.

I look at my swords. With the two sides of the Od conjoined, the destructive nature of the Power is somewhat mitigated. I can channel a lot more Od this way without ripping myself apart in the process.

I release the Od.

Perzey will wait forever.

I do not know what I have done to Perzey's Soul, but I know that was her. Somehow, she has become connected to the Od.

My Power reserves, the Trinity within me, is full. How? Why? Is it because of the Od?

I drew Od into me from … someplace else. Another plane? An Elemental plane? Outside the planes and dimensions of reality as I understand them? I am not sure where it comes from, but it is outside of me but still a part of me.

The Od exists between Life and Death, and it is at the core of the Trinity. Does that mean that in this Power deficient plane I can use the Od to restore my reserves of Trinity? If true, that will be a very useful cheat.

I do not have time to waste thinking about this. We need to move. Looking around the loading bay, there are a few vehicles, but the only one big enough to take all of us is a triple-axle truck with an enclosed body.

I point at the truck. *Can anyone drive that?*

Pancho grins. *If it's got wheels and manual controls, I can drive it.*

*Are you gonna trust a jarhead behind the wheel?*

Pancho looks at Dacbold. *Can you drive a truck?*

Dacbold opens the back doors on the truck and jumps in.

Pancho goes from grinning to smirking. *Looks like I'm driving.*

*Put on a coat or shirt to hide your armor.*

*Do I look I'm stupid, ese?*

Dacbold only snorts in reply.

*He's just mad because he was only in the Army, instead of being a real man. I'm guessing you want the GPS tracker disabled.*

*Yes. Just go drive.* I point at the cab of the truck.

*See that, ese? Even Brand thinks you're just jealous.*

Everyone ignores Pancho.

*So who wants to ride up front?*

Tyrend grins and heads for the cab. Leaving Tyrend and Pancho alone together is probably not the smartest idea, but it will be quieter in the back this way.

With everyone inside and the back doors closed, Pancho starts the engine. Like a lot of the bigger trucks, this one runs on a biodiesel engine. With the information dump that Angelique gave them, my people from Gor'achen are not surprised, but they look around curiously.

“Jinmu, where do we go to get access to the Prophet and Delphi systems?”

Jinmu looks at me with an emotionless expression. “There is a warehouse off H Street, near 180. It is owned by a shell corporation with no connections to the Urehara Group. Inside there is a secured room with a special terminal for accessing the systems through a backdoor. It is one of dozens of similar systems set up around the world. But you already know all that, do you not?”

Other than to look away, Jinmu does not react to my smirk.

*Pancho get us to 180 and H Street. Go north from 180.*

*No problem.*

After eight or ten minutes of silence, Jinmu looks back at me. “The teacher in your story. Ten or eleven months after I used my influence to prevent you from being charged with assault and battery on an LGBT person, that teacher of yours died in an accident. For an unknown reason, he entered a demolition site at night. A wall fell on him. He was pinned, and a cement block apparently broke loose and shattered his jaw. The coroners report stated that he was alive for six to eight hours after being trapped. It would have been a very painful death.

“Your father was a genius at arranging accidents for people. Whether fatal or not, there was never any way to prove that they were not accidents.”

With a broad smile on my lips, I chuckle in satisfaction. While I would enjoy killing that teacher personally, I do not have the time to find and deal with him.

I do not know if that man was my father or not, but he did everything in his Power to protect me, right up to sacrificing his life.

“Fresno, California. No matter how far you think you have left your past behind you, it is always with you.” Jinmu's words are delivered in a deadpan tone.

I do not understand exactly why, but the words hit home harder than I would have ever expected. I want to define myself by my own actions, but I am tied to my past. Jinmu knows me too well. I am fucking pissed that he has put me in the position of having to kill him. I do not want to kill him, but I cannot allow someone who betrayed me to live.

“I guess there's no place like fucking home, is there? At least, I'll have a chance to visit my parents graves. I hope Aunt Karin is still alive. I want to have nice chat with her.”

Jinmu has a conflicted look on his face, and I can feel the confusion inside of him. For a few minutes, he watches me sidelong from the corner of his eye.

“Brand, there are some things that I found regarding you and your family. You were related to your mother and father, but the relationship was not parents and child. It was more like distant cousins. The genetic relationship between your parents was closer than their relation to you.”

For a few moments, Jinmu watches me. He seems to be looking for a reaction. “You do not seem surprised.”

I shrug. “I already suspected.”

Jinmu frowns. “Outside of certain government circles, the data was altered and suppressed, but you and your parents have nucleotides that are found in no one else on Earth. It was the real reason that the government allowed you to be locked up in a medical testing lab.”

“So, how did you get me released?”

It is Jinmu's turn to shrug. “I called in some very heavy political favors. I owed your father. I could not abandon you.”

I laugh. “At least, you could not abandon me until you sold me into slavery.”

“That was probably a mistake. I should have trusted in your ability, rather than react to that DokkAlfar's provocation.”

“Your foolishness was a gift to me. If you had never betrayed him, Brand would never have become my man.” Elan speaks in English, like Jinmu and I have been.

Jinmu sardonically smiles. “Very true.”

After getting off 180 and onto H Street, following my directions, Pancho enters a multi-bay warehouse complex, and parks in front of a bay with a sign Jericho Computer Parts over the door.

I take Jinmu with me to the door. The keypad has a biometric thumb scanner in a hidden compartment. After keying in the code, I open the scanner, and with a cynical smile, Jinmu puts his thumb on the scanner. With a click, the lock on the steel door releases, and I walking in with Jinmu following behind.

There a no lights on in the bay, but I easily see the button for the automatic opener for the bay door made from half-inch thick steel panels. The fifty horse motor hums as it raises the bay door. After Pancho drives the truck inside, I close the door again.

In the back of the bay there is a vault that looks like a shipping container. Multiple redundant landlines were run underground into the vault, connecting the systems inside to the internet. The keypad on this one has a retinal scanner, and once it scan's Jinmu's retina, the vault door opens.

Once we are inside the vault, I bring the systems out of sleep mode and let Jinmu sit down.

“Add me to the system with God Level Access.”

It is rather humorous that Jinmu called unlimited control over Prophet and Delphi God Level Access and apt in a way. I remember something about the god believers thinking that their god will eventually rain fire down upon the earth or some kind of bullshit like that. Too bad for them, it will not be their god that does it, but rather, it will be me.

Jinmu sticks his finger in a biometric scanner that draws his blood, and stares into a retinal scanner. After the system beeps, he starts typing and brings up a series of menus.

Jinmu points at the biometric scanner. “Give they system your biometric information.”

After I let the system draw blood and read my retinal patterns, Jinmu makes a few more changes to the user account “Brand” and pushes back the chair.

“Set your password, and you account will be finished.”

I use “Bull-rush River” for my password. It has meaning and no meaning, and I will not forget it anytime soon.

Besides being disgusted, I was bored on Earth. Every day was another ordeal of dealing with mind-numbing monotony. I had no purpose in living beyond my continued existence being an annoyance to the people that hated me. I went to college because there was money for it in a trust fund. That is the same reason I continued on to a Master's programs. I studied software and computer engineering because they were easy for me.

By becoming a Maker, I learned why programming and engineering were so easy for me. With very little effort, I can see through the nature of any pattern and understand the meanings contained within it. Since my Mind understands patterns, I have a much easier time creating new ones. I always saw programs and circuits as patterns, even though, I had no idea what patterns were.

Finding information on The Nameless Entertainment, Inc. employees is surprising easy. I almost laugh when I see the CEO and Chairman of the Board's name and picture. Jerome Jarlson is someone that I recognize. He came to threaten me in the hospital when I woke up after the Great Fuck Over. That Senator Gutierrez called him J'Rome, and I have the feeling that is probably his real name.

I set up several dozen different search algorithms to analyze the movement patterns of the employees of The Nameless Entertainment, Inc., Senator Gutierrez, and Dr. David Turner. Even with over two hundred Prophet and Delphi systems under my control, it will take several hours for these programs to run.

Checking the process list, I find something interesting, a DNA comparison is being run in the background. It seems that the the biometric scanner in this vault has some very sophisticated analysis functionality built in. I wait a few minutes for it complete and bring the results up on the monitor.

“You wanted to see this.”

Jinmu looks over my shoulder for a moment. “The data for the sample on the left was taken from you during the medical experiments performed on you. It is the real data, not the fake data that was inserted into the government systems. The right was taken tonight. Your DNA has changed since you left Earth.

“Look here. As I said, there are thirteen nucleotides. Human DNA only has five. I am not an expert on genetics, but I know enough to know that this means that you are not human or at least not an Earth human. You probably cannot even reproduce with normal humans.”

*Valcrit, bring Turner in here.*

*Yes, Master.*

“The Master wants you Pedo-Fucker. Get up!”

Jinmu looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm going to kill him when I'm done with him.”

Jinmu nods. “That would be the smartest move. I know a little about what that man is working on. You should have your telepath strip his mind clean. Let him rip the doctor's mind apart as the execution method so that you learn all his hidden secrets.”

Turner stares at us from the vault door. Horrified disbelief twists his face into an ugly expression of naked terror. When I smile at him, he grabs at his groin.

“If you piss your pants, I'll make you lick the floor clean so I don't have to smell it.”

“W … what … what do you want from me?”

I point at the monitor with the DNA comparison.

Turner steps forward and stares at the monitor for a few minutes while his breathing grow rapid to the point of hyperventilation. “What is this? Where did it come from? Is it one of the non-humans with you? No … wait … I recognize this chromosomal pattern. This is test subject 12536. It was part of the data set being analyzed when Project New Human was shut down.”

Turner stares at me. “Of course. How could I have been so stupid, so obsessed that I never thought of it. I should have remembered.”

Turner shifts his eyes to glare a Jinmu. “Ryouske Urehara. I should have put two and two together as soon as I knew there was a connection between the two of you.”

Turner looks at the monitor again and displays a malicious smile. “This must be your real DNA. You are a monster. You are not human, and I can prove it. There are no laws that will offer you protection once I get you in a lab.”

“Whoever said you would get that chance?” I smile at Turner.

“Valcrit. Take his Mind apart and store all of his memories and knowledge in a Power crystal. I want anything and everything that might be hidden in any way inside that fucked up piece of shit extracted and stored.”

“I will kill him in the process.”

“I know.”

A bolt of Psi from Valcrit renders the terrified Turner unconscious. “Yes, Master. This could take several days.”

“I know. Get started.”

Valcrit drags Turner out of the vault.

“Project New Human was targeted at eliminating all diseases, including cancer, from humans. I was never able to find the details of the experiments done on you, and he was only an adjutant researcher on that project. His later work is more interesting, the biological redevelopment and enslavement of human beings as a designer life-form. There are eighteen or twenty labs in America working on it, and the experimentation done on you was probably related.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Jinmu looks me straight in they eye. “I do not expect mercy for myself, but please, spare Mei.”

I shake my head. “I won't promise you anything. She helped her friends murder me.”

Jinmu sighs and nods, but there is a core of resolute determination inside of him. He is not going to give up on any chance of saving his traitorous, cunt daughter until he is cold and dead. He might not even give up then.

I start looking though and familiarizing myself with the capabilities that God Level Access gives me over the Prophet and Delphi systems. Having absorbed the knowledge stripped from Jinmu's memory is very different from actually using the knowledge.

Delphi is different from Prophet. Prophet only allows software and data access. Anything and everything that is connected to or transmitted on a network that Prophet is connected to can be monitored or used. A Prophet system has the ability to crack almost any security protocol, but it can be stymied by a security system that require physical interaction to bypass. New programs can be inserted into and run on existing systems. That is how it collects images from the hundreds of millions of devices on the internet that can be used as cameras.

Delphi, on the other had, is almost unstoppable. It can access systems that are not on the internet and should not have any external connections. There was nothing about this capability in the knowledge that Valcrit pulled from Jinmu's mind.

I look at Jinmu. “You managed to hide things from Valcrit. You're a more dangerous mother-fucker than I gave you credit for. Was Delphi created with Earth technology?”

Jinmu shrugs. “I acquired the technology, but I never learned how they developed it. The development team was going public with the new nanite production methods as well as the chips. My interest in their company was only forty percent, and they refused to sell out. If I had not arranged for their plane to crash, I would have lost control of what was to become the secret behind Delphi. I overpaid for the shares of the dead to compensate their families, but I never expected there to be no development journals. Since no one has come out with anything similar in the following twenty years, I just do not know.”

Jinmu sighs. “After seeing Taereun and the Labyrinth of Yggr, I wonder if the development team might have found something extra-dimensional and learned from it. There have long been mathematical theories positing the existence of a multiverse, but I never expected something on the magnitude of the metaverse and the gods.”

The gods. How many creatures are there out there that call themselves gods? How many are in contact with the Earth? I thought it was only Woden, but there is a Priestess of Hel. Are there others? If there are, how long have they had followers on Earth?

“Have you considered the fact that the gods are not ignorant of our technology? Artificing is in its way a form of technology. We were carriers for the nanites. They have surely been spread to the Labyrinth and Taereun. What purpose might they serve on Taereun?”

The nanites are self-replicating. They create an atomic level information network within any of the solid elements in the periodic table. Every last piece of technology on Earth is subject to Delphi's control. The governments do not know that. Jinmu's children do not know it. In theory, only Jinmu knows this secret.

My smile is grim. “The inspiration for your nanites could have come from Woden. If he is responsible, he knows the secret. Power has its limits. The so-called gods are neither omniscient nor omnipotent. If Delphi is in Woden's hands, he could effectively become omniscient anywhere the nanites can spread.”

Jinmu grins. “That puts new meaning into God Level Access.”

Our grim, macabre laughter fills the vault.

“The plant to the north of Clovis is really the closest? There isn't something else you managed to hide is there?

Jinmu shakes his head. “The main processors used in the Delphi systems are manufactured there. The plant is almost fully automated, especially the security. There should only be five human managers and a small maintenance staff on site. The R&D complex was mothballed ten years ago when I set up a Delphi access system there.”

*Master, the petulant Dvergar has run off. We pretended not notice as you commanded.* Kanchek's whisper interrupts my conversation with Jinmu.

Kanchek had taken watch with Farnulf and two gladiators. Farnulf was put in a position out of sight from everyone else. From the start, it was obvious that he did not care about the mission and was using it as an excuse to get to Earth. Letting him run solves one problem without creating another with Thorrin.

*Good. Load the prisoners in the truck.*

I switch to the raid channel. *Everyone mount up, we're leaving. Farnulf has run off on his own, and this place isn't secure any longer.*

*Why didn't you stop him?* Thorrin's tone is only halfway angry.

*He never wanted any part of a mission with me in charge. This was a ticket to Earth for him. What's the point in trying to hold onto him?*

Thorrin shakes his head. *None. He's been worried about his granddaughters for years. I don't think much else matters to him.*

I set the timer on thermal charges and lock the vault. If this warehouse does get compromised, the government will not get anything more than a lump of slag.

*** Central California – Earth ***

Return: Day 338

(Brand)

Dawn is breaking when the automatic door closes behind the truck. This loading dock is several times the size of the one at the university hospital, and there are close to twenty vehicles stored inside. Some are obviously military vehicles from that first half of the century, and the rest not so obviously armored civilian vehicles from the past ten or so years.

I look at Jinmu, but his face remains impassive. I do not know whether he hid this from Valcrit or if Valcrit ignored it because it did not appear to be directly connected to Delphi. Jinmu in used to keeping secrets. He has been keeping them from multiple governments with his life and the lives of his family on the line if the governments realized the extent of his power.

*No one leave this building. There are dorms and a kitchen in here. I'm taking a walk with Jinmu.*

I change to a whisper channel. *Elan, ward this entire building. Burn as much Power as you need to. I can restore your Mana after you're done.*

*I saw your Power suddenly replenish during the fight in that hospital. How?*

*The Od.*

Elan frowns and walks away. To her the Od was always something evil, a Power opposed the Umbra. I am not sure what she the thinks of it now, but her entire concept of what is good and bad for her has been turned upside down. She will need time to adjust.

I have the knowledge that Valcrit took from Jinmu's mind, but it is not natural to me. I have to think about it and focus on it, and when I do, it feels like watching a video or reading a book. Everything from Jinmu's stolen memories is second hand information. I know the way to the part of the manufacturing line that I want to see, but it is easier to let Jinmu lead the way.

As we move through the empty halls and across the automated manufacturing floors, we do not show up on any sensors or in any electronic records. Our existence is edited out by Delphi before any data is transmitted or stored. The security automatons do not register our presence, but they still move around us. If I could feel fear, the depth to which Delphi has penetrated and controls the entire infrastructure of Earth would probably have me shitting my pants.

Jinmu stops and points to a large piece of equipment. This is where, not so ironically, the part of the processors manufacturing called patterning is performed.

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.

Imprinting the pattern sight spell on my left eye, I examine the machine. There seems to be a constantly moving and changing pattern within it, but patterns do not constantly change. Even if it is something like an energy field or a gas cloud, if it has a pattern, the pattern has a basically fixed structure. Patterns can change, evolve, or devolve over time, but they do not constantly change in a seemingly random manner.

Whatever this pattern is, it is doing something to the chips being produced. I think it is affecting the chips at the atomic level, but I cannot focus on something as small as an atom. Jinmu did say that it uses subatomic nanites to invade, monitor, and control the technology of earth.

“The nanites you say that thing produces, are they affecting us?”

Jinmu shakes his head. “The nanites only seem to work on equipment with a relatively stable DC electric field. We tested them extensively, and they had no affect on living creatures.”

Jinmu takes a deep breath. “In a way, I regret killing the development team so soon. There is far too much I never learned about the nanite system.”

“It's a spell sigil, I think. There is something that looks like a pattern that is in a constant state of change. I've never seen anything like it before, but there is a constant flow of Trinity within that machine, pure Trinity, not Mana, Ki, or Psi.”

I look at Jinmu. “You unleashed something that could be the biggest fucking monster ever created. God Level Access is almost the perfect fucking name for what that thing has with Earth's electrical technology.

“If Woden or one of the other shit-fucking gods managed to adapt that to work on living beings, I can't even begin to imagine what they could do with it.”

I think Vili has been feeding me a line of bullshit. They do not care about Earth's culture. This is what they want destroyed. This is why the Earth has to die.

Area 51

*** Central California – Earth ***

Return: Day 339

(Brand)

“No … no … don't hurt me … never said your were …” Mumbling and crying in her sleep, Angelique clings to me.

*Fear is a good thing. If you do not let it control you, it helps you keep you edge, but she is still controlled by her fears.* Elan stares at us from her chair. Since I showed her how to use a computer, she has been digging through everything she can find on Earth's history.

*There are stories about reform schools, rumors really. The stories say that anyone sent to reform school is tortured until they can't do anything more than parrot what they're told. When I was in high school and college, I saw quite a few of them. They were afraid of their own shadows.*

I do not try to hide my frown. I have no reason not to let her know what I think and feel. *The reasons they give for sending kids there don't really make sense. For every kid sent to reform school, there are a dozen who supposedly commit worse violations of the morals and hate laws. There were a couple of them in my schools that were sentenced to reform school. I witnessed one of the incidents that supposedly had this idiot Raphael convicted. For a genius, he was the dumbest fuck I've ever met. He never knew when to shut up. I think it has more to with him being too smart and always questioning the logic behind historical events. He kept running his mouth about history making no sense.*

Elan frowns and looks at the monitor in front of her. *He was right. Your worlds history does not make sense. It is mostly a fabrication, but there is enough truth and fact mixed in with the false to make it almost impossible to separate the two.*

*I already know a lot of the facts have been edited out of the history books, but how can you be certain that it's a fabrication?*

Staring off into space, Elan's frown softens into a pensive expression. *I have spent centuries digging through doctored records in search of the truth about the my clan's destruction. There are always patterns to how the truth is twisted. The trick is finding them and putting enough of the fragments of truth together to understand what is hidden. Everything I have read on your Earth's history always matches up on all the facts it tries to present. The point of view may be nominally different, but the facts presented are always exactly the same.*

Elan stares into my eyes. *Even when a records are fabricated, they never match up that perfectly. The documents of your world all appear to have been edited by a single person with a single theme.*

*It was probably done with a computer program.*

Elan looks disgusted. *Your world places too much reliance on machines. It is part of why people are so weak, and you stand out as so markedly different.*

I shrug. *It's probably part of it, but there's more to it. You've never been in one of our schools. From the first time you walk through the doors, you're trained to rely on the government for everything. Any choice, any question, any dilemma, you go to the government for the answer. The government supposedly represents the consensus of society and the human race as a whole.*

Elan laughs. *Consensus is for the weak and cowards. The strong make their own answers.*

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Elan stares at the computer screen. *Why is it doing that?*

“Mmm … wha's the alarm for? Is it time to fuck again?” Angelique looks at me and blinks sleepily.

Elan frowns. *I cannot turn it off.*

I get up and look at Elan's screen. Before I can do anything, a popup window opens in the center of the screen.

Analysis Complete.

Enter Password To Display.

I type in “Bull-rush River”. The results of the search algorithms I set up to run on the Delphi systems are displayed. Has the system been tracking me? Exactly what are its real capabilities? What is Delphi?

*You are disturbed. What is it?* Elan gently caresses my cheek. She has a look of … concern? or is it something else?… on her face.

The Wytch loves Brand. The Wytch will give everything for Brand, even her Soul. Those words have been sitting in the back of mind. Perzey should be dead and gone, but she is still with me. Is what she said about Elan true.

*Why are you staring at me that way?* Elan has a quizzical expression in her eyes.

Instead of answering, I kiss Elan. Her arms slip around my neck as she passionately returns my kiss.

After a few minutes, I pull back, and she smiles at me. Her smile has been changing since I broke the Blood Oaths that were binding her. What is happening with her? Once we are done here on Earth, I need to figure out where we stand with each other. I need to know if Perzey is right or wrong.

I turn my attention back to the monitor. *If you ever talk about Delphi, do it in a whisper or party channel. Never speak of Delphi verbally. It is doing things that I didn't think it was capable of. I do not know what that system is, and I do not trust it. Jinmu made a real fucking monster, and I do not know whether or not it has slipped its leash.*

Elan looks at the monitor with a blank expression that reveals nothing of her thoughts.

I start looking through the results files. There are thousands of hours of video in addition to textual reports and analyses that far exceed what even the most advanced expert system I have ever heard of should be capable of generating. What the fuck is Delphi?

There are seven possible locations, but one stands out. It should be the least likely, but for some reason, it resonates with me. Area 51 is an extremely strange name, and I cannot remember ever hearing it before.

The maps and associated videos in the research files show an extensive complex. The guards are wearing US military uniforms, and the security drones have US military logos painted on them. With its size, it seems like this should be a well-known base, but I have never heard of it. Checking the available maps on the internet reveals nothing. Even satellite maps do not show anything but empty desert and mountains in that area. Checking the dates of the surveillance footage, the most recent recordings are almost twenty years old. A concerted effort has been made to conceal the existence of this Area 51 from public knowledge. Why? And how did they conceal it from Delphi?

* * * * *

“Area 51 was leveled over thirty years ago. It was all over the news. There was even footage of them digging up the foundations and underground bunkers.” Thorrin looks at Dacbold as though he is seeking confirmation.

Dacbold shrugs noncommittally. “I remember seeing it, but when has the government every told the truth about anything if they could push a lie instead?”

“All of it was faked for the media. For year they have been making sure that nothing, not even satellite imagery counters the fiction. Prophet was up and running two years before the supposed destruction of Area 51.” Jinmu's words are delivered in a soft voice.

Everyone except Mei, Turner, an Sophia are gathered around the conference table. That includes Jinmu.

Thorrin, Dacbold, and Pancho look at Jinmu. No one else seems to care, but then, they are not from Earth so Area 51 is as meaningless to them as it is to me. I cannot remember ever hearing the name of the place before today.

Jinmu stares blankly back at them. “I do not know much about what happens inside Area 51 or the old air force test ranges. Even Delphi's monitoring capabilities are limited in that area. There are not many systems that can be tapped into.”

“What do you mean by Delphi's monitoring capabilities being limited?”

Jinmu points at the video list on the monitor. “Look at all of those dates and sources. Everything is from a portable device, and there is nothing from the last two decades. There is not a single video record from any piece of standard equipment shown in those videos, but you can see equipment in the footage that should have been utilized by Delphi. It appears as though either the nanites cannot affect the equipment, or the programs are not capable of transmitting from within Area 51. There is not even a single satellite image of Area 51 that shows any buildings, but there are hundreds of records of the personnel from The Nameless Entertainment, Inc. entering and leaving that dead area. Even if the programs' transmissions are somehow being blocked, the nanite should have still been able to transmit from the portable devices, and the satellites should be able to photograph the buildings. There are dozens of off the grid facilities that are penetrated by Delphi in that manner, but Area 51 has not been. Why?”

I frown and scratch my scarred cheek. “The patterning equipment for the chips is a sigil of some sort, and while they chips are in it, they are visibly part of the spell pattern. I cannot see the pattern once they leave the patterning equipment, but I think that is just because the nature of the pattern changes. The Delphi nanites are all part of a massive spell pattern where each element is too small to be seen, and because the complete pattern is too diffuse, it can only be seen in certain locations like the patterning machine. It should be visible in the Delphi servers as well.

“Even if the pattern is constantly changing or morphing, or if it is invisible, the nanites are still part of the spell pattern. There should be wards that can prevent them from infecting anything within their boundaries. Whoever is in control of Area 51 knows about Delphi and the spell pattern.”

Thorrin stares at me with a look like his stomach is upset. “You mean The Nameless God, Woden.”

I shrug. “His followers are inside there, but he won't be directly in control. That fucker likes to hide and work through minions.”

The way Thorrin looks at me turns into a sharp stare. “He was sure chatty with you during the Great Fuck Over for some one that likes to hide.”

I frown as a sudden surge of anger rises from deep within my soul. “The cowardly piece of shit has a fixation with me. I just don't get why.”

Jinmu stares at me in a way that says he knows I am lying, but he does not say anything.

I do not know whether or not my genetic differences are the reason, but it is still the most likely cause. Until I know what my genetic structure means, talking about it will just be a distraction.

“How would you approach Area 51? I don't know much about moderns military technology.”

Thorrin glances at me before turning his attention to Pancho. “You're the one who was Recon. How would you do it?”

“Let me see that.” Pancho points at the keyboard I am sitting in front of.

After I get up, Pancho sits down and pulls up maps of southern Nevada. Scratching his head, he starts searching the web. Switching back and forth between looking at maps and reading various pages, he mumbles and curses to himself for a while.

Pancho looks around. “Any of you used to scouting in badlands and deserts?”

Everyone shakes their heads.

Pancho sighs. “Fuck. There is no good way to infiltrate this place. Coming in from Route 375 to the west is probably our best bet, but it still sucks. It's the shortest distance through restricted territory, and there are no installations on that side of the testing grounds. Area 51 is in the middle of an old Air Force testing grounds. I don't think they do much there these days, but the airport is still active. Still, there are going to be drone patrols.”

“My spells will conceal us from drones and any other visual observation. Your pathetic technology will never penetrate what is wrought with my Power.” Elan's confidence borders on towering arrogance, but even without the Umbra, her spells are still some of the most powerful and complex I have seen cast. Of all the Casters I have seen in action, her ability to manipulate Power is better than anyone but the few Transcendents that I have seen use Power.

Pancho looks skeptical. “No offense, but I've never liked relying on caster shit for recon work. If there's one fuck up by the Caster, we'll be standing there with our dicks in the wind.”

Elan stares down her nose at Pancho. “I do not fuck up. Ever.”

“That's what they all say.”

“I am still alive.”

Pancho's frown deepens. “We can get to Bald Mountain in vehicles and hide them there. After that, we'll have to hump it the rest of the way. Going around the north side of Groom Lake should be the safest path. The only question is transportation. It won't be safe to use that truck we stole. As soon as it hits the traffic grid, it'll be flagged as a stolen vehicle.”

Jinmu laughs. “It would never register on the grid, but we would be better off using the military transports in the loading bay. They will hold up better if we run into problems.”

The details are easy enough to work out. Once we reach Area 51 we will be winging it. There is no video footage showing the main drive, and we do not know what changes have been in the last twenty years. We will have to interrogate the occupants of the base until we someone that knows. Supplies are not a problem. With dimensional storage devices, we are all walking, talking supply depots. Pretty much anything and everything we want is already on hand.

As we finish, Pancho goes with Jinmu to look at the vehicles stored in the loading dock, and the rest start to scatter.

*Dacbold, got a minute?* I use a whisper channel.

Dacbold turns around.

*Stick to a whisper channel. Even though we supposedly have control over Delphi, I don't really trust it.*

Dacbold shows a half-smile. *What do you want to talk about?*

*What did Vili not tell me?*

Dacbold's face goes blank. *You're going to have to be a bit more specific. There is enough to fill an encyclopedia with things he hasn't told you, and probably enough to fill a few million libraries with what he hasn't told us both.*

I keep my face neutral. *I've always hates fishing. It bores the fucking shit out of me. What do you know about Delphi? Do you know anything about Area 51?*

Dacbold sits down at the conference table again. *Woden is drawing Power from non-believers. Vili never said it outright, but I think Delphi is somehow connected to it. He found the nanites inside the Labyrinth decades before the Great Fuck Over but didn't know where they came from. He doesn't know where the technology behind Delphi came from, but he's seen similar uses of Power an spell patterns in technology dozens of time. It was after Earth was brought into Yggdrasil that he found the source, but Earth was originally in a multiverse where the was too weak to be much use, and Power understood in much of any way at all. The Three Divine Tribes don't use Power technology like it either. We're in the dark on where it comes from, but it's likely that Woden has control over it, now.*

*We're probably walking into a trap.*

Dacbold shrugs. *Probably. At least, we will be if Woden's minions have control over Delphi.*

I snort. *I don't think Woden trusts his left hand to know what his right is doing, let alone trust his followers to know anything they don't absolutely have to. Even if the main drive is there, that faction that has it might know nothing about Delphi.*

Dacbold shrugs again and sighs. *We could play what if forever and still not get anywhere. What does your gut tell you?*

I do not need to think about the question. *The main drive is in Area 51.*

*So, we just have have fight our way in and out if necessary.* Dacbold's smile is grimly bloodthirsty.

*** Nevada – Earth ***

Return: Day 341

(Thorrin)

The clock next to the bed in my motel room reads 11:00pm. Looking out the window, the motel parking lot still has a lot of activity.

I am pretty sure that DokkAlfar mind-fucker of Brand's played with the motel staff. Even with the Wytch's illusions, we seem to put normal people on edge, but the girl a the desk did not even comment when we took eight rooms at a clip. She went through the motions of checking us in like she was in a trance.

“What's got you so on edge?” Dacbold is sprawled out on his bed with his arms behind his head. With just a pair of pants on, the dozens of scars are covering his upper body and arms are visible. He did not have most of them before Black Mountain. He spent a lot of time travelling after I pretty much holed up in Refuge, but he never talks much about it.

“I don't know.” I shake my head.

*We leave in fifteen minutes.* Brand's words in the raid channel sound cold to me.

“Time to take care of business.” Dacbold's smile appears more like an expression of hostility than one of happiness.

After putting on our armor and weapons, we wait. Without that Wytch and mind-fucker playing their games, Two Dvergar in chainmail would never be able to set foot in public. I have a handful of scrolls that have illusion spells scribed on them, but I do not want to waste them now. There is not telling how long we might be on Earth, and I might need them later, but I still hate relying on a couple of DokkAlfar.

*Spells are up. Move out.*

All of our rooms are on the ground floor, and everyone quickly converges on our two trucks. They are Oshkosh MTVRs, but not many people have the background to recognize one. Your average idiot will just think they are some kind of odd looking heavy duty box truck. I get in the passenger door, and Dacbold drives our truck. I am just happy to not be in the lead truck with Pancho and Tyrend.

Since leaving Emer, Pancho and Tyrend have been doing nothing but comparing war stories about all the pussy they have bagged. The two of them are pair of womanizers, but their tastes are completely different. Pancho likes them good looking, and he nailed plenty of them. He was married five or six times and each new one was younger than the old one he divorced. I do not know how many kids and grandkids he has. He already has at least eight or nine rugrats living in Refuge and Emer. Tyrend likes them fat and claims that he does not have any children. I really doubt that to be true.

Leaving the motel parking lot, we drive north in silence. If anyone is talking, they are doing it in whisper channels or group channels that I am not part of.

After driving for around thirty-five or forty minutes, Pancho stops where a dirt road leads off toward the west. Route 375 veers more to the north-west not far ahead.

*We're at the turn.*

*Elan, mask the trucks.* Brand's voice is relaxed. I cannot remember ever seeing him get wound up before a raid. If anything, he seems cold or bored until the action starts.

A minute or so later, the Wytch's voice fills the raid channel. *The illusion spells are up.*

Pancho's truck lurches into motion ahead of us, and he turns onto the dirt road. A cloud of dust rises up making it almost impossible to see him in front of us. Looking out the side window, I see an even bigger cloud of dust behind our truck. We are lucky there is a mountain between us and Area 51 so they cannot see this huge trail we are leaving.

*Drone! Stop the trucks!* Brand's command is a sharp bark in the raid channel.

Both trucks slip and slide across the loose dirt and sand on the hard packed road.

Thump!

I open the door and look up on the roof of the enclosed back. Brand is standing there with that strange petrified wood bow in his hand and an arrow nocked. It is just a bow, but it gives me the clear feeling that it wants to kill me. I had the same feeling when he came back from South Hold and he had the bow in hand. How can and Item of Power project emotions? Did he somehow get his hands on a Legendary Weapon, and one that is at least partially aware and hates me for some reason?

Following the direction of Brand's stare, I see a faint flickering blue light to the southeast.

“Steel is stubbornness.” Whispering the mantra under my breath, I use a buff spell on my eyes that sharpens my vision.

With the distance, the drone is still a bit blurry, but I can see clearly enough to identify it. It is a Predator. I am not sure what revision mark it is, but I have not kept track of drone advancements for years. Flying in a zigzag pattern, the drone passes over the road without any changes in its flight pattern or speed.

Brand watches until it disappears several miles behind Bald Mountain to the northwest. Without a word, he drops off the back of the MTVR's roof and the rear door slams closed. Getting back in my seat I close the cab's door again.

*Move out.*

At Brand's command, Pancho and Dacbold start driving toward the mountain again.

*Are the illusions hiding all that dust we kicked up?* I use a whisper channel to talk to Dacbold.

Dacbold glances at me out of the corner of his eye for a second, but immediately, looks back at the road. *Probably not. There was big move to expert systems over drone operators around 2060. A friends grandson was mustered out of the Army around that time. Even if it could see the dust, if there was no visible cause for it, would a computer be programmed to assume there was something invisible causing it?*

Even though there is nothing funny about our situation, I chuckle. *I see your point.*

It only takes a few more minutes to reach a valley passing between Campfire Hill on the south and Bald Mountain on the north. Pancho and Dacbold slow the trucks down to about twenty-five miles an hour.

*When you can see Groom Lake, stop the trucks.*

We still have not reached the end of the valley when I see something to the northwest. *Movement on the mountain. Northwest.*

*Stop the trucks.*

Thump!

Brand is out the back door and on the roof again before we come to a complete stop. I already have the side door open and a repeating crossbow in hand.

On the top of the stone bluff, four more figures join the first. All five are four-legged, with the general appearance of wolves, but they are made from blackened, non-reflective iron. They are iron wolves, a type of construct used by Artificers in the Battleground of the Damned. Danleib had a few, but he preferred his birds.

*Those are Artificer constructs.*

*Seeing those things, I'm sure we're in the right place. In South Dakota, where I first saw the main drive, there were huge packs of those being used as guardians. These ones stronger and more heavily armored that what you find in the battleground, but they don't seem quite as fast. Most Earth guns won't hit hard enough to take them out. Since no one uses Power, they are almost unstoppable here. If we have to fight them, don't try to conserve your strength or you'll have a hard time stopping them* Brand's voice almost sounds annoyed.

*I've been getting the feeling that this personal for Brand.* I use a whisper channel to keep my conversation with Dacbold private.

Dacbold snorts. *These are Woden's cultists who have the drive. After everything that's happened with the Great Fuck Over can you say this is nothing personal for you?*

I shrug. *If I could do something to Woden directly, it would be personal, but this is just going to fuck with his followers a little. He's going to benefit from having the Second Father save the multiverse from being torn apart as much as anyone.*

*I doubt Brand has ever told us everything that has gone on between him and them. He came back to Earth after the Great Fuck Over, but he never really said much about what went on here.*

I cannot stop from frowning. Dacbold seems to be cutting Brand more and more slack. I do not know what is going on, but I think the both of them are keeping things from me. I feel like I am an outsider, and I do not like it.

*Those automatons might be able to see though my illusions at close range.* The Wytch's words are delivered in a pensive tone. Standing on the road next to the truck, she is actually dressed for the first time that I have ever seen. Her armor is that same oily looking black chainmail that the two DokkAlfar soldiers standing next to her are wearing.

*Then, we'll see if we can attract their attention. Thorrin, Kanchek, come with me. No guns and no flashy spells. Keep it to melee and bows.* Brand jumps off the truck and starts walking forward.

Hopping down from the cab, I walk on his opposite side from the DokkAlfar.

*You are outside of my illusions.* The Wytch sounds bored.

Brand stops, and we halt next to him. We are in plain view of the iron wolves, but it takes thirty or forty seconds for them to notice us.

*Not too perceptive, are they?* I am not sure if my question is rhetorical or not, but I needed to say something to try and calm my anxiousness. I have been on edge since we came through the gate, or maybe, it started when we found the doctor fucking a twelve year old body with his sisters soul trapped inside it. The longer this drags on, the more on edge I feel. I never used to be like this. What the hell is wrong with me?

After a moment, the iron wolves disappear behind the ridge, but the clattering of the metal feet on stone echoes, seeming to come from all around.

*There are only the five of them. It's just the echoes bouncing around the valleys and ravines. Let them come to us.* Brand sounds more bored than his Wytch did. He used to be like this when he was Talon. If he was not in the middle of a fight, half the time, he was trying start one, and the rest of the time, he seemed like he was more dead than alive. It was the worst right before he knew a big fight would be starting.

The iron wolves charge around a spur of rock and come running full tilt at us. Their iron claws throw up sprays of sand and stones with every stride.

When the iron wolves are about fifty yards away, the DokkAlfar steps out to right with that Lucerne hammer of his held to his left. I move out to the left with my shield on my arm and a heavy pick in my hand.

The two iron wolves on the outside shift to attack the DokkAlfar and me, but the other three head straight at Brand. He charges forward faster than I can react and buries his right fist in the open mouth of the middle iron wolf. The force of the blow shatters the iron wolf's head and sends the body flying back. Before the the iron wolf on the left can react, he spins into a back kick that sends it flying.

My shield smashes into the head of the iron wolf charging me and stops it in its tracks. The jaws are twisted by the impact so that they cannot open or close properly. My pick pierces the iron wolf's left shoulder, and as I rip it out, the shoulder joint blows apart. One more quick blow, and the iron wolf falls on its side on the ground. It only takes a few stomps to do enough damage to completely disable the construct.

Looking around, I watch Brand tear the back legs off the last iron wolf he was fighting. The other two are already mangled wreckage. He only used his armored hands and took out three iron wolves in only a second or two longer than I took out one. How much was he holding back this time? Was that him going all out, or does he still have more in reserve?

The DokkAlfar is already leaning on the haft of his pole arm watching Brand, but with his helmet on, I can only see his eyes. That one does not give anything away in his eyes. They are the cold, dead eyes of a man who has killed far too many people.

Picking up one of the torsos, Brand grabs edges of the hole where front leg was attached. With a casual wrenching motion, he tears it open and looks inside. He grunts and throws it to me.

*Look at the sigils in there. Have you seen similar work before.*

Catching the wrecked metal construct, I look at the sigils inscribed all over the inside surface. I am not an Artificer, but I have seen a lot of constructs over the years. There are dozens of schools of Artificing and each has its own style, but there are still certain commonalities between most of them. I have never seen sigils quite like these.

*I would need to really analyze them, but just looking at them, I get the feeling that someone is trying to mimic Earth computer algorithms with spell sigils. It's not like anything I've ever encountered.*

Brand grunts and heads for the truck. Reaching that Wytch, he picks her up in princess carry and jumps onto the roof of the truck with a simple spring. Pound for pound, he must be getting close to twice my strength, but I am not sure that he realizes it.

*Elan, strengthen this illusion if you can. Dacbold take the lead, we're driving all the way to Area 51. I don't think there are any human lookouts, and those constructs seem to be following automated programming.*

Putting her arm around Brand's waist, the Wytch rests her head against his shoulder and smiles viciously. The aura of Power around her is so strong that my hair starts to stand on end from it. She has more Mana than any Caster I have ever faced, and her skill at manipulating spell patterns is inhuman. That crazy bitch scares me. If Brand ever lets her off her leash, there is no telling what she would do.

With everyone back onboard, we continue along the road with our truck in the lead, now. I see a few more groups of iron wolves, always five to a group, but none of them head directly for us.

*Follow the road around the north shore of Groom Lake and approach Area 51 from that side.* Brand's voice has that bored, hollow tone to it again.

Dacbold does not respond, but he stays on the road, anyway.

*I see more of those drone things to the south and south east.* Tyrend has the attitude of a kid with a new toy. He was fascinated by the computers and other equipment in Jinmu's Fresno facility, and he seems to have a similar attraction to the drones.

After a moment, Brand's bored voice broadcasts in the raid channel. *Ignore them. They don't look like they're doing anything but flying perimeter patrols.*

Dacbold keeps our speed down so that we do not put up more of a dust plume than necessary, and it drags out the trip. More groups of iron wolves cross our path, but none of them attack, or even, seem to notice our presence. As we turn south, a pack of iron wolves pops out from a dip in the land barely a hundred yards from us.

*Do not let those iron wolves get any closer than they are now. If you do, their sensory spells will penetrate my illusions.* The sounds like she does not care if the iron wolves see us, and maybe, she does not. With her level of her Power and skills, she could probably handle a pack of them faster than Brand.

Dacbold and Pancho stop the trucks and wait for the iron wolves to move away. Once the road is clear, we continue heading around the salt flat toward the base complex.

Under the glow of the moon, the salt flat looks like a shining silver mirror, but the land around here has the empty feel of a land of the dead. Rendered in stark contrast between moonlight and deep black shadows, the rundown base has the appearance of a place abandoned and left to rot away. Many of the decaying buildings are beginning to collapse. The pavement of the roads and parking lots is broken and split, with weeds and scrub brush growing from the cracks. The rusting remains of vehicles, shipping crates, and trailers litter the dilapidated parking lots.

*Are you sure this place was abandoned in 2060?* Brand's boredom seems to be cracked and revealing a bit of surprise.

*Yep. I may have been old, but I wasn't senile.* Dacbold sounds a bit peevish.

*This place looks more like it's been abandoned more than fifty years, not less than twenty. What the fuck is going on here?* More of the boredom disappears and outright irritation fills Brands voice.

Hearing Dacbold's grim chuckling, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He has an anticipatory grin on his face. Even without any visible targets or immediate battle, he is already getting keyed up for a fight, but we do not need any immediate threat to know that a big battle is right in front of us. I am the same as Dacbold. Since the time of the Massacre, we have had a strong bloodlust that we have been unable to control. Even with no obvious cause for it, the simmer rage and lust for violence is seeping into my blood.

I do not like my inability to control myself. It is a part of why I seldom left Refuge after Black Dragon Mountain. If this trip to Earth was not a mission from Boran, I probably would have told Brand to go away and not gotten involved.

*Park our trucks among those trailers in the west lot. Do your best to conceal them from casual view.* The complete lack of interest in Brand's voice is disturbing. There were only a few times as Talon that he was like this, and the blood storm that followed was nearly enough to make me sick.

Dacbold and Pancho ease the MTVRs into tight spaces between some of the abandoned trailers and shut down their engines. Except for the soughing of the wind, silence fills the night.

*There are several tens of wards in this place.* The Wytch seems to be almost personally offended from the petulance in her tone.

*We're going on foot from here.*

Brand jumps down with that Wytch in his arms and sets her on her feet. A staff made from silver metal and inlaid with gold appears in her hands. It could probably serve as a melee weapon in a pinch, but it is obviously a Caster's focus.

The little bobble-head girl joins the Wytch right behind Brand, and those two DokkAlfar soldiers take up stances next to the two, with their weapons in hand. The six gladiators with the SCARs spread out three to either side of the DokkAlfar soldiers.

Tyrend brings out the prisoners, with all four of them chained together, and falls in behind the women. Other than Jinmu, the prisoners all have their hands shackled behind their backs and gags in their mouths.

*I Never thought I'd miss the arena, but I really miss the thrill of the fighting and killing.* Tyrend's cocky grin seems out of place here.

*No crowds to cheer for you here.*

*I never did it for the adulation.*

*I guessed that.*

Brand seems to like that smart-ass. He never fit in with the Damned. I do not think he ever found any place where he fit in his life. I should be happy for him, but I cannot like the way that he seems to belong with this bunch. Every one of them is a coldblooded killer.

Dacbold puts his hand my shoulder to get my attention. After gesturing toward Brand's group with his chin, he follows them. Pancho walks behind us, pulling drag. Like the gladiators, he has a SCAR in his hands.

The nearest buildings appear to be nothing but warehouses. As we pass by, Brand opens their doors to look inside but does not enter any of them.

Here and there, windblown tumbleweeds are lying against the buildings. The more I see of Area 51, the more I get the impression that this is a ghost town.

As his hand touches the doorknob of one door, Brand freezes, doing nothing for a few moments. He seems to be listening for something.

*What's the problem?* My voice is filled with the irritation I feel, I am on edge and pissed off about it.

Brand turns a cold, dark stare on me. *Umbral Power. There are traces of it here and they're getting stronger.*

My bowels turn to water under Brand's glare. I can feel the impending violence in him. For the first time, I think I understand what his enemies must have felt before being killed.

Everyone here, except for Doctor Turner, understands what facing Umbral Power means and just how dangerous it is. As if a switch was thrown, their anticipatory eagerness is replaced with tense wariness. Everyone looks in different directions, scrutinizing everything.

Brand opens the warehouses door and stares inside.

Scritch.

*Undead.*

*What the fuck are undead doing on Earth?* Pancho's outburst pretty much sums up how all of us Damned feel.

Crack! Crack! Thump. Crack! Thump. Crack! Thump. Thump.

I did not even see Brand take his stone bow out, but he has already launched four arrows into the warehouse.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The doors or three other warehouses near this one open, and decaying figures slowly come out. Their movements are slow, but it is not the shambling of a zombie. These undead move with the slow deliberate steps of a predator stalking its prey. Their leathery skin is a piebald mix of black and greyish-white.

The sight of these undead sends a shiver down my spine. If they are anything like the ones I faced in the Deadlands on Taereun, they are a real threat to us.

*Draugr.* The Wytch smiles coldly.

Still looking into the warehouse, Brand frowns. *What are draugr?*

The Wytch looks around. *They normally guard tombs and burial mounds. This place feels like neither so I do not know why they would be here.*

*They are not like zombies. Arrows in the skull knock them, but they just get up again.*

*If you want to kill them, destroy their heads or burn them.*

Brand draws those odd bastard swords. Other than in the hospital, I have never seen him take them out of their sheathes. The way he treats them gives the impression that they are something special.

*Dacbold your group has the rear.*

Dacbold's group is him, Pancho, and me.

With his swords held out to the side, Brand stalks forward. There is no glow of Power surrounding the swords this time, but that does nothing to dull their aura of cold lethality. He is moving faster than the draugr, but his steps are no less deliberate.

Still maintaining our loose formation, the rest of follow. Slinging their guns, the gladiators draw out a mix of swords and axes.

Ahead of us more the thirty draugr are already nearing with at least another hundred straggling along in their wake.

Seeming to turn into a shadow, Brand suddenly moves. In a flash, he is in the middle of the draugr, with those massive bastard swords whirling around him like rapiers. In only a few seconds, the dismembered pieces of half a dozen draugr lie scattered around the broken pavement.

The gladiators follow behind Brand, but they have more trouble cutting down the undead. Their weapons have trouble cleaving through the wood-like flesh of a draugr, and the unnatural strength and weight of the undead slows their advance.

The Wytch raises her staff, and a ball of green fire forms above its tip. Thin tendrils of flame spread out from it and incinerate every body part removed by Brand and the gladiators. That Wytch is smart. It takes a lot less Power to destroy the dismembered body parts than it would to just injure a whole draugr.

Several of the draugr double or triple in size. As his swords become surrounded with greenish-silver and black Power, Brand charges toward them.

“Aaaarrrrr!” “Aaarrrgh!”

With the touch of that Power, the heretofore silent draugr scream in agony. There is no need to see Brand's face to know he must be grinning evilly.

*Time for work.*

At Dacbold's soft words in the party channel, I look behind us. Thirty-odd draugr came out of the warehouse we left behind. Four of them near the middle of the pack have arrows sticking out of the heads from right between their eyes, and six of them are only a dozen yards behind us.

“Steel is stubbornness.” I whisper the phrase and cast a buff on my axe. Its edges begin to glow red-orange with the heat of a Forge.

Axes in hand, Dacbold and I charge into the closest draugr. It feels like we are slamming into stumps not corpses, but the draugr are still knocked flying into the ones behind them. Striking out with our axes, we chop off their heads and limbs, leaving them to helplessly flail around on the ground.

From behind, more tendrils of the green fire strike into the body parts that are not already burning and turn them to ash. A quick glance over my shoulder shows that the Wytch is doing it without even looking in our direction. She must have that same kind or freakish awareness of everything around her that Brand seems to have. Is it some DokkAlfar trick that she taught him?

*Goddamn undead. It feels like I'm chopping down trees!* Pancho already has an exasperated tone to his voice. Because he considers it to be stylish, he uses paired falchions, and he lacks the massive bulk of Brands gladiators. He cannot cleave through the draugr's limbs with single blows, and the neck and leg of the one corpse at his feet look like at someone slowly chopped through them with a dull axe.

Green fire destroys the head and rest of the corpse falls limp before the fire consumes it as well.

*Try this, Pancho.* The bobble-head girl points at Pancho, and dark grey winds form along the edges of his sword blades.

Jumping back from the draugr, Pancho holds up one of his swords and looks at the blade.

*It's a wind-blade attached to your sword instead of thrown. It will last about ten minutes.*

Pancho shrugs and attack the nearest draugr. His blade slices off an arm, and he grins like a kid at Christmas.

Pancho laughs. *I love you, chica. If I knew you were hiding that hot body in those ugly robes, I would have snatched you up years ago.*

The bobble-head girl looks down with flushed cheeks, but she has a smile on her lips. *You're too late. Brand is my Master. I'm never leaving him.*

*Brand, you're an ugly bastard, and I'm gonna steal your chica from you.*

*You looking to die?* The tone of boredom still has not left Brand's voice.

I glance over my shoulder at the dozens of green fires surrounding Brand, and a chill goes down my spine. This is just Brand in a funk. He is not even being serious, and he is out-killing the rest of us combined. Well, maybe, it's more like out-dismembering the rest of us.

*Sorry, Pancho. You can't take me from my Master. He's a hundred times the man you are.*

Pancho laughs. *Don't you mean he's a hundred times the ugly?*

*A man should not have pretty face. A sharp mind, a strong body and a big cock are what make a real man. Do not waste your words on a garrulous faggot, Angelique.* The Wytch's tone is cold, but it is not emotionless. There is an icy anger in her, and I doubt it is meant for Brand or the bobble-head girl.

*Yes, Mistress.*

Pancho looks over his shoulder at the Wytch with an 'oh, fuck me' expression giving his face a comical look. That little bobble-head girl sticks her tongue out at Pancho and turns away.

Fuck me. If Brand saw the world around him as being this ridiculous, I get why he would always say that. I think I am too old. Age snuck up and hit me over the head at some point when I was not looking.

By the time we finish off the last draugr that came up from behind, the ones in front are already dead or re-dead. Brand is standing and watching, with his arm folded over his chest. His chest is so thick, with his normal human length arms, the pose almost looks a bit humorous for him.

*If you had nothing better to do, you could have helped.* My words sound peevish in my own ears.

*You had it under control.* I cannot see his face under his helm, but I have the feeling that he has that annoying half-smile on his face.

The Wytch torches the last few body parts and lets the ball of green fire disappear.

*Take off that ugly helm and restore my Power.*

*Mine too!* The bobble-head girl smiles and looks ready to jump up and down.

Brand takes off his helm and both of his women get long sloppy kisses. After Brand finishes with her, the bobble-head girl looks at Pancho with a smirk. *A hundred times.*

Tyrend holds up the end of the chain leashing the prisoners. *You get to fight, and I have to babysit. I'm not having much fun tonight.*

Brand looks from Tyrend to Jinmu. His eyes are hard and cold, but that Jinmu does not even flinch under that merciless stare. A sheathed katana and social organizer appear in Brand's hand, and he tosses them to Jinmu.

*Keep them in line, especially that traitorous cunt daughter of yours. If she causes any problems, she's dead.*

Tyrend grins and removes the chain from Jinmu's collar before dropping the end of it into Jinmu's hand. Turning around with a cocky smirk, he joins Brand at the front of the formation.

*So do you plan to leave me with everything hanging out?*

Brand glances over his shoulder at Jinmu. *You're a slave, property not a person, and you haven't the right to cover your dick.*

*New meat.* Tyrend smirks at Jinmu, and the rest of the gladiators laugh.

Once we pass the last warehouse, another group of buildings becomes visible. They look like barracks and have the same rundown appearance as the warehouses, There are no signs of occupants in the nearest ones.

*Except for the dead, this place seems abandoned. Could the drive actually be somewhere else in the test range?*

Brand snorts in derision and holds out an odd looking compass. When I walk up and look at it, the needle is pointing south by southeast.

*What is that?*

*The direction of the drive. We're within only a few miles of it.*

*So, it really is here.*

Brand does not say anything and walks toward the barracks. Reaching a window, he looks through it and sways aside when a black hand at the end of a greyish-white arm shatters it with a punch. Brand's return punch unleashes a blast of force and fire.

“Aaarrrgh!” “Aaaarrrrr!” “Aaaaarrrrrrrrr!”

The howls of draugr rise above the roar of the fire.

*Fuck this shit. I'm not fighting draugr all night. Torch the buildings.*

With a grin, Tyrend draws his swords, and they burst into flame. He starts breaking windows and setting anything that will burn on fire.

*Concrete block won't burn.* I keep my tone neutral.

*What's inside is burning just fine. Don't go inside these building, but set everything that will burn on fire.*

Spreading out among the barracks building, the gladiators start throwing incendiary grenades through the windows.

*Where did they get those?*

Dacbold looks at me with an unreadable expression. *The ragheads that attacked us outside the Four Bones Goblin Lair had them.*

I do not know why the way Dacbold looks at me feels like he is twisting a dull knife in my guts. I do not want to think about it. Not knowing if I am angry at Dacbold or myself, I turn my back on him and walk away.

Past the barracks building, there is a recreation area with a baseball diamond and soccer field that have gone back to being nothing but dust and sand, with a smattering of dead weeds. Beyond that, there is another set of barracks buildings. A few of the windows in the building lining the far side of the rec area open, and people with indifferent expressions look out.

*We have some living people to the south.*

Brand walks a few yards past the burning barracks and stops. For a few moments, he does nothing but stare at the barracks buildings on the south side of the rec area.

*Gladiators, take some of them alive!*

The gladiators charge across the field while Brand watches. They have to be running at more than 30 mph without breaking a sweat. That is faster than all but a handful of the Damned.

The people watching from the ground floor windows do not attempt to flee or show any signs of alarm. Other than stepping back to avoid the breaking glass, they do nothing besides watch as the gladiators break the glass and rip the window frames out of the walls. There is no sign of fear, excitement, or anything else in their unchanging expressions. When the gladiators grab a half-dozen of the men and women, they do not resist. What is wrong with them?

Brand looks at the six men and women in front of him. They are all lean to the point of gauntness and vary in age from their twenties to their sixties. They are either naked or dressed only in their underwear, but they show no hint of embarrassment. The blotchy red marks on their faces are a sign that they have just risen from their beds. The seem more like human shaped robots than people.

Focusing on one of the two women, who appears to be in her thirties, Brand points at her. “You, what is your name?”

“Caroline Silverman.” The tone of her voice is as emotionless as her appearance.

“Why are you here?”

“Your men dragged me.”

Brand takes off his helmet and smiles at Caroline. She does not show any signs of surprise, fear, shock, pity, or disgust. Those were the common reactions and expressions from the Damned, but from her reactions, she could just as well be looking at a blank wall as Brand.

*What's wrong with her?* My question is in the raid channel.

Brand does not look at me. *She has no emotions. None of them do.*

*No emotions? They're drugged?*

*No, look at them. Their souls are atrophied to the point of practically being dead. Without a soul, it is impossible for you to have emotions.*

*Emotions are the result of biochemical changes in the human body.*

Brand looks at Dacbold. *Do you understand what I'm saying?*

*I'm not ignoring the truth.*

Brand looks at me in disdain and derision. *You're a Smith, a Maker. You should already understand the truth of the Body, Mind, and Soul. Are you trying to be an idiot, or have you just become a coward?*

Raw anger flares up inside of me, and I throw a punch straight at Brand's face. I do not even see his hand move, but he catches my punch before it is halfway to him. My fist feels like it is locked in a vice, but Brand does not so much as flinch or show any hint of effort. I try to shake off his grip, but with my full strength, I can barely move my fist an inch or two.

*Look at yourself! You're weak. I could never to this with Dacbold. Stop being a bitch and accept reality. Earth is shithole filled with ignorant fools that have bound themselves with chains of lies and cowardice. What happened to you?*

Dacbold grabs me by the shoulders. *You're coming with me.*

As Brand releases my fist, Dacbold spins me around and pushes me in the direction of the gap between the burning buildings. The flames are roaring from the doors and windows, but the heat pales in intensity, compared to heat from a Forge.

When Dacbold spins me around, the rest of the raid is concealed by the burning buildings. I try to shake him off, but like Brand, his strength dwarfs mine. I settle for glaring at him and feel petulant and childish.

Dacbold uses a whisper channel. *Thorrin, what is happening with you?*

*Nothing. What's with you? Brand has turned into some kind of monster. He's right. I'm too damn weak to stop him, but you aren't. He's murdering, imprisoning, and enslaving people like it's nothing, like they're nothing. Why are you letting him get away with it? Why are you following him like a little lap dog?*

Dacbold sighs. *You're right. He's a monster but not in the way that you you mean it. If I go head to head with him, I'll lose. He's a damned freak. Have you ever really looked at him? Have you used pattern sight to see what he's become? I've never seen someone who hasn't even started to Coalesce with the kind of Power he has, and he's developed all three aspects of the Trinity. When he uses his Power, it has the same Power twisting that the Power of a Coalescent does. What am I supposed to against him?*

I glare angrily at Thorrin, but inside, I am trying to ignore what he just said. Brand is from Earth. There is no way he should have that kind of Power.

*It doesn't make what he's doing right.*

Dacbold laughs in my face. The sound is bitter, and maybe, self mocking, but it is also derisive and demeaning. *According to what standard? The Bible? Political Correctness? Sharia Law? Taoism? The Church of the Jotun Lords? The Lemurian Chronicle? The Boranian Chronicle? What standard is right, and what standard is wrong? Why don't you get it? The only truth is Power. Don't oppose the Laws set down by Life and Death, and you can break, ignore, or piss on any other laws you want, but only if you have the Power to do it.*

*That's wrong!*

*NO! That's reality! Stop acting like some petulant little ivory tower faggot and start acting like a man. I know that everything that went down with the Black Orc, Connor's death, and the Black Mountain broke you. You know it, too. Get the fuck over it. Put your big Dvergar pants on and man up. If you don't stop wallowing in your self-pity, you're going to get dead. I've buried too many friends. I don't want to bury you, too.*

J'Rome's Stand

*** Nevada – Earth ***

Return: Day 342

(Brand)

I watch Dacbold and Thorrin disappear around the corner of flaming building. Even if he becomes my enemy, I want to see the Thorrin I knew during the the Great Fuck Over, but I cannot figure out how to get through to him.

Behind me, Caroline Silverman looks at my back with a nearly complete lack off emotion. She is not entirely emotionless, but her emotions are so faint and turgid that I can barely feel them. Her skin is sallow, and her body has the too thin appearance of someone suffering from severe malnutrition. She is only wearing a bra and panties that are several sizes too large. Even with a bra sort of holding them up, it is obvious that her sloppy tits would be nothing but flaccid sacks hanging below her diaphragm. At her best she would have been on the lower end of plain, but now, she is about as attractive as a week old corpse.

Turning back to Caroline, I consider her pattern. Her Soul has atrophied to the point of being nearly dead as have the other five. I do not know what could have done this to her, but the effects are visible on her Mind and Body. The only people I have had the leisure to observe since coming back to this shithole world were the customers at the hotel we spent the day in. They had weak souls, but they were not atrophied like Caroline's. She is more like some form of undead than a living being, but I do not have the time to investigate the cause. She and these others will cease to matter soon enough.

“Do you know what the main drive is?”

“No.”

“Is there a large cube covered with non-symmetrical designs here?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

Caroline points to a direction slightly southwest of south. “There is an office building on the other side of our dormitories, and in the center there are elevators that go to a sub-level. There is a security door that leads to the underground bunker where the cube is kept.”

The detector Boran gave me is pointing in the same direction.

“Is the cube supposed to be a secret?”

“Yes.” Neither Caroline's expression nor her emotions shift in the slightest.

“Why are you telling me about it?”

As she stares at me for a moment, Caroline's expression shifts slightly. There is a small flicker in her emotional state, but it never reaches the level of causing any real physiological response. “You look like a violent person. My analyses is that you would use force if I do not answer you. It would be irrational to suffer physical injury when I would eventually tell you what you want to know.”

Standing slightly behind me, Elan stares at Caroline with a deep frown. Next to her, Angelique shivers and looks away. An aura of naked fear hangs around her like a putrid cloud.

*Why are you afraid, Angelique?* I use our party channel. Angelique, Elan, and myself are the only ones in our party.

*She is like the older girls in reform school. If a girl was seventeen or eighteen, when she was brought in, she was put in the Special Program. After a few weeks, they would all be like her.*

Oh, really? That has be something done under Woden's direction. What the fuck is he trying to do? What is the point in turning people into emotionless living corpses? Is this a failed experiment?

“Caroline, were you and these others subjected to any special procedures?”

“All the technical staff have been conditioned. The results have given us the ability to completely focus on whatever task we undertake.”

“Lead me to the bunker with the cube.”

Without responding, Caroline turns around and starts walking.

*Dacbold, it's time to go.* I broadcast my words in the raid channel.

*Master, what do we with the rest of these?* The gladiator lifts one of the new prisoners up by the biceps and holds it out.

*If they don't attack, ignore them. We don't have the time to waste finding and killing them all.*

The gladiator drops the prisoner. *Yes, Master.*

As we start following Caroline, Dacbold marches out from between the burning buildings with Thorrin in tow. Dacbold has his normal deadpan expression in place, but Thorrin cannot keep the sullen anger from showing on his face.

*Did you get through to him?* I use a whisper channel to talk to Dacbold.

*Not really. He's been like this for more than ten years. I think you might have the best chance, but you'll have to push him into fighting with you.*

*I've tried prodding him multiple times already, but he keeps backing down and running away.*

Caroline leads us onto the path between the building on the far side of the dead fields. More of the Soul dead technical staff are scattered between the buildings. They are headed in the direction we are coming from but stop when they see us. They do nothing but stare at us without any other noticeable reaction.

Dacbold stares at my back without saying anything for long enough that I think the conversation is over.

*You're going to have do something extreme that he can't ignore.*

*I could start killing random people.*

Just killing people on the street might be worth a try. Maybe, that will outrage Thorrin enough to get him step up and take action.

Dacbold glances at Thorrin. *That might work.*

There are two armed guards outside the office building Caroline is leading us toward. Unlike her, they are not Soul dead, and when they see us, murderous hostility immediately flares up within them. Both guards start to raise their guns.

Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp!

Despite their relatively fast actions, the guards might as well be moving in slow motion as far as my gladiators are concerned A few of them raise their SCARs and gleefully pull the triggers. As the guards fall, the gladiators' party channel lights up with activity. I cannot listen in on their conversation, but they are both thrilled and amused. The guns are new toys for them, and a human life means less to them than taking a shit in the morning.

Caroline stops in her tracks when my gladiators open fire, but other than an extremely faint kaleidoscope of indistinguishable emotions, she shows no reaction. As I pass her, I grab her by the arm and drag her toward the door. After a half-dozen stumbling steps, she catches her balance and starts walking normally.

Swish!

When we approach, the building doors automatically slide open. Only one in five of the overhead lights are on, leaving the building only dimly lit. The lobby floors are clean, but the tiles are old and worn. More vibrant rectangles of color in the faded paint of the walls shows where pictures were once hung.

“Which way?”

Caroline points to a set of double doors with a security scanner on the wall next to them. “I do not have my badge. I cannot open the doors without it.”

The doors are nothing more than ordinary fire door, and my kick tears them off their hinges, sending them flying into the wide hall beyond. There are six elevators and another set of fire doors beyond the elevators.

“We have to take the elevator to the second sub-level, but I need my badge for that.”

I gesture toward the elevators. *Rip off those elevator doors.*

The gladiators sling their guns and look the doors up and down. When he cannot get a grip on the doors, one gladiator jams the point of his sword between them and pries them open slightly. With a malicious grin, he grabs the door and pulls. Seeing what he did, the other gladiators follow suit and start trying to tear the doors out.

Screech!

As the first gladiator tears an elevator door out of the frame, Dacbold grunts, and his eyes widen a fraction. He appears surprised by the raw physical strength that a these gladiators possess.

I check each shafts after a gladiator rips out both doors and moves out of the way. In the fifth one, the elevator is on a higher floor.

*Can either of you levitate people?* I use my party channel, not the raid channel.

*I can use the wind to lower everyone. I can fly with the wind if I want to.* Angelique perks up, thrusting her chest out. There is still a deeply buried fear inside of her. She wants attention. She wants to stand out, to be noticed and recognized by me.

My smile is hidden inside my helm. *I'll go down first. You get everyone else down to the sub-level after I open the doors.*

*Yes, Master.* Angelique's saucy grin is partially a mask to cover the insecurities in her heart, but there is a slight emphasis on the Master that was never in her words before.

I jump into the elevator shaft and slip into the Shadow of the Od. Bouncing from from wall to wall, I drop past the first set of doors to the second. The second sub-level is more that a hundred feet beneath the surface, and unlike the doors above, these are armored heavily enough to withstand small arms fire.

Boom! Clatter! Thump!

Pushing off the back wall of the shaft, I flip and kick the doors with the full force of my Power unleashed in blast of raw force. The doors fly out of their frame, as twisted metal wreckage, and bounce of the walls and floor a few times before hitting yet another door. I land lightly on the floor in the lobby for the elevators. A short corridor leads to the next door.

*The way is clear.*

The door in front of me looks like an armored vault door, and there is another badge reader and a biometric scanner mounted in the right wall. Doors, doors, and more fucking doors, I am fucking sick and tired of fucking doors. The boredom that has been with me since we left the motel is slowly giving way to my rising anger.

Sinking my Power into the door, I find the locations of the bolts and hinges. Like the door under the hospital, this door is more than just normal Earth metals, but the design is less complex. If I destroy the bolts, we should be able to push the door open.

I draw the Nameless bastard swords and draw on both the Dark and Light Od. Using Od like this is still a strain, but I feel it repairing my body as fast as it being broken down. There is still pain, but it is nothing compared to pains that I have suffered from in the past. I feel the Od strengthening me as I channel it through my Body, Mind and Soul. No pain, no gain is both a stupid statement and a truism.

As I wrap the blades of my swords in the Od, my smile is cold and intense. The Power does not slice or melt the metal, but rather, converts it into raw energy that is absorbed by the Dark Od. Where my sword cuts, the material of the door simply ceases to exist.

Before I finish cutting the last of the bolts, everyone in the raid, along with the prisoners, is gathered behind me in the corridor.

*Dacbold give a hand shoving that thing open. There's a hydraulic piston that normally opens and closes it.* I gesture at the door with one of my swords, before sheathing them.

Without a word, Dacbold steps up next to me. We both anchor ourselves to the floor of the corridor with our Power, and throw our weight against the door. With the Od still flowing through me, I should probably be stronger than Dacbold, but even with the both of us it takes a bit of effort to apply enough pressure on the piston to rupture something within it.

When the door heavily swings open, the floor of the corridor beyond is covered with hydraulic fluid.

*Yuck!* Angelique frowns and casts a spell. The hydraulic fluid gathers itself into a ball in midair and floats into the shaft where it falls like rain.

The corridor beyond the vault door runs toward the East at a downward slope for over a hundred yards. At the end of the tunnel an odd greyish light is visible. Starting about twenty yards from the door, the walls, floor, and ceiling of the corridor are lined with spell formations that are basically the same as those in the gate room under the hospital, but unlike in the hospital, there is already Power flowing through these. With the formations active, there is a force field shielding them from attacks.

Drawing the bastard swords again, I let the Od flow into them. Using the Od to carry my awareness, I probe the force field covering the spell formations. I never realized it, when I was in South Dakota, but it is actually multiple overlaying force fields, rather than a single big force field.

*Someone is waiting for us. Those formations are active. Each formation is covered by a force field that overlaps with the surrounding force fields. When a spell is actually being released through one, there will be a brief opening where the force field over the formation is inactive. The inlays are nothing but gold, and we only need to damage each formation enough to break the flow of Power through it.*

Dacbold straps his shield to his arm again and takes out his axe. *Other than you, I'm the fastest. I'll go with you.*

*Elan, Angelique, shield us as best you can.*

*I'll do it. Those formations are rather weak individually. Only a limited amount of Power can channeled through each one, but with enough controllers you could be facing dozens of attacks at a time.*

Elan looks down the corridor with a frown and begins weaving an extremely intricate spell pattern. It takes her almost half a minute to complete the pattern, and that speed is astounding considering its complexity. With a gesture, she splits the pattern into two identical copies and pours a huge amount of Power into them before casting the spells on Dacbold and myself.

*Those shields should hold under eighty to ninety hits from those attack formations. I would advise dodging.*

Dacbold hefts his shield. *I'm only worried about attacks from behind.*

*When a force field opens, if you can drop an area spell into it, you should be able to take out five or six formations at a hit.*

*I have a few explosive attack buffs.*

I walk down the corridor and spread the Od around me like a spider web, with my awareness in it. When I detect an opening in the force fields, I will be able to instantly attack it.

Dacbold follows about ten feet behind me. His weapons and armor are buffed, but they are buffs that I do not recognize. There is no sign any expanded awareness around him, but he is Coalescent so he should be able carry his weight.

Whoever is controlling the formations waits until we are thirty to forty feet in before attacking. They probably think it will keep us from escaping. A force field drops on the ceiling, and before the spell is cast, I shred seven formations with the Od.

Boom!

Dacbold slams his shield into the wall and destroys another cluster of spell formation with an explosion of force and fire.

There is a sixteen or seventeen second pause before the next attacks, and then, a dozen spell formations are exposed at once. I destroy two clusters of formations and avoid the rest of the attacks aimed at me.

Behind me, Dacbold dances around with odd footwork that lets him slip between the attacks directed at him and throws force wave from his axe into a gap in the force fields. It only takes out three formations but leaves a deep cut in the stone of the wall.

The fusillade continues. We keep destroying clusters of spell patterns, but we cannot avoid all the attacks aimed at us. Fireballs, lightning bolts, acid balls, and sonic attacks rain down on us. Slowly, Elan's shields are worn away, but I see several patterns in the how the formations are activating. It looks like each type of spell is being controlled by a different person, and each one has their own discernible timing and attack pattern. The one using the acid balls is the easiest to predict, and I destroy blocks of the formations every time he casts a spell.

After watching us for about thirty yards, Angelique abruptly stands up straight and weaves several spells. Linking them together, she creates a whirlwind around herself. Trembling slightly, she rushes to the beginning of the spell formations and waist. Once the attacks start, she deftly avoids the fireballs and lets the shields absorb the other spells.

Seeing her success, Angelique smiles and starts moving randomly while sending X-shaped blades of condensed air to destroy the spell formations that cast the fireballs. The number of attacks hitting her wind shield decreases, and she eliminates all the fireball formations survived the passage of Dacbold and myself.

Following behind Angelique, Tyrend dances between the remaining spells destroying more of the formations. With so many already destroyed, he has very little trouble avoiding the remaining attacks, and the gladiators follow behind have less of a problem. They destroy the remaining formations.

Elan looks at Thorrin, with a mocking sneer, and saunters down the tunnel behind the gladiators. She is displaying her dislike for Thorrin in continually more obvious ways. There is no need to read her emotions to see it..

After watching Jinmu and the prisoners pass them by, Pancho claps Thorrin on the shoulder. *Let's go.*

With the way the raid is taking out the formations, we run into no trouble with the rest or the tunnel. Even though there is no trouble, I am still breathing heavily by the time we reach the end. With a balance between Light Od and Dark Od, controlling so much of it does not tear me apart, but it still takes a huge effort to channel it the way I just did.

I cut back the amount of Od I am controlling to a minimal level. I need to conserve my strength, but I do not know if I will be able to summon it quickly should I release it.

While waiting for the rest of the raid to reach us, Dacbold stares at me instead of looking at where we are, but he does not say anything. Even if I cannot read his emotions, he does nor or cannot hide the frown on his face.

We are in a cavern. There is no source for the light, but the entirety of the cavern is still lit by a greyish light that casts no shadows. Distance is hard to judge, but the cavern has to be at least a thousand yards across. Dozens of huge steel columns brace the ceiling, but there are two large open areas where there are none of them.

In one of the open areas, the main drive is floating fifteen or twenty feet above the ground. Beneath it, there is a piece of equipment that I cannot identify. Made from black metal, it has a hexagonal shape. Six arms extend out from its sides, and each has a disk of the same metal that look like a satellite dish. Thick cable run from that thing to the other open area.

In the other open, there is a metal platform that the cables appear to be connected to. Built on top of the platform a Stonehenge-like construction surrounds a throne. I have never seen the purplish metal that the whole things is made from, but it is clearly Elemental in origin. Sigils or formations have been carved into the surface of the Stonehenge and the throne, but I have clue what their purpose might be. The platform is tilted at an angle and looks like it was excavated from the surrounding stone. Where did that thing come from?

We are on a stone platform more than two hundred feet above the floor of the cavern where the tunnel opened out. A ramp slopes away along the wall to the left, running down to the floor of the cavern.

Below, more than a hundred humans are waiting for us. Thirty of them are Casters or Priests that are standing on a set of formations that should be the controls for the ones in the tunnel we just destroyed. J'Rome is standing in front of those thirty men and women. In front of him, there are another eighty-odd men wearing chainmail and swords with some kind of big guns in their hands.

All of the humans below have the same type of artificial Psi shields that I first saw in Emer. It seems that Darius has been a very busy boy. I should have just killed him the last time that I saw him.

*What are those guns?* I use the raid channel so that everyone knows there are gunners waiting.

Dacbold glances at the men below. *M240s. They fire the same 7.62mm rounds as the SCARs, but have a higher muzzle velocity so they hit a little harder. They're belt fed, and with the size of those ammo boxes, they have at least 300 rounds. If your girls try to ward us, that much fire power is going to chew through their Power pretty fast.*

*Throw the frag grenades over the edge.*

With grins visible behind some of their helms, my gladiators pull out grenades and start throwing them at the formations below.

“GRENADE!” I do not recognize the voice, but whoever bellowed put a lot of Power into his yell.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The clatter of metal boots on stone is followed by the detonations of the first grenades. Since I do not stop them, the gladiators keep peeking over the edge of the platform and throwing more of the grenades. With some two hundred or so grenades between them, they can keep this up for a few minutes.

Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp!

One machine gun starts fire up at the platform. A few more follow until ten or twelve gunners are firing off bursts every time a gladiator looks out for a throw.

“Three.” A gladiator calls out how many his last grenade killed.

“Two.”

“Four.”

“Fuck. Only one.”

“FUCK!” A gladiator gets hit in the shoulder. He spins and falls under the unexpected impact and blood sprays from his shoulder. His grenade skitters along the platform, and anther gladiator quickly kicks it over the edge.

The wounded gladiator pokes at the torn mail on his shoulder and the wound underneath. *It's just a flesh wound. I'm good to fight. I'll kill me a few of those ass-fuckers.*

Elan puts up a shield to keep the gunfire away from the tunnel entry and takes out a glowing Power crystal. Sitting down she starts to drain the Power from the crystal to restore herself.

*They have enough guns to keep us pinned here for along time. How do you want to deal with them?* Dacbold repeatedly peeks over the edge to keep track of the positions of the gunners.

*I'll jump down and distract some of them. Elan protect the gladiators so that they can shoot them effectively. Angelique wreak as much havoc as you can. The rest of you get down down and engage them as soon as you can.*

My helmet hides my rictus. For the first time since waking up in the motel, I am not so bored. The promise of violence and bloodshed fires my blood, and a shiver of anticipation runs through my body. The more I kill, the more I like to kill. But it is not so much the killing that I am hungry for. I want the challenge of taking the lives of enemies that can prove a threat to me.

*I'm going!* With a brief running start, I launch myself into the air and slip into the Shadow of the Od. Gravity's hold on me weakens, and air resistance completely disappears.

Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp!

Less than a quarter of the gunners fire at me. Some are tracking me but not not firing while others just seem a bit surprised and not reacting fast enough. The remainder are still focused on the platform where the rest of the raid is still out of their line of sight.

J'Rome is still standing in front of the other robed men and women, but I cannot see or sense any other formations in the cavern for them to control. Though as I sail through the air, I get a good enough look at them to tell that they are Casters. They might be Mediums as well, but I have yet to figure out how to identify one from their pattern. Not all Priests are Mediums, and many seem to be nothing more than Casters pretending to be Mediums.

There are force shields surrounding them in groups of five, and another one that surrounds all of them, except for J'Rome. He is arrogantly standing outside the force shields of the other casters, but he has his own personal shield that looks as strong as, maybe stronger than, the ones around the groups of Casters.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Three more grenades land among the gunners, scattering them a bit more and slowing down their fire.

Less than twenty feet from J'Rome, I hit the ground with enough speed that it should break most of the bone in my body, but in the Shadow of the Od, I barely feel the force of the impact. With my current position, if the gunners fire at me and miss, they will be shooting at J'Rome or the Casters, and they all seem hesitant to pull their triggers.

“Hey, bitch. Today, I'm not letting you get away.”

J'Rome sneers and rust-colored spear appears in his hand. “The only reason you did not die last time was because the Great God commanded that you be allow to return to the Battleground. Today, you are not so lucky. The Great God has commanded your death.”

A dozen spells activate around J'Rome. The patterns are too complex to be the work of an Aberrant Caster, so they must have been precast. I cannot be sure but they all appear to be variants on buff spells.

J'Rome is a Third Circle Coalescent, even if he is a weak one. Does he plan to face me hand to hand?

As I charge forward, the six man groups of Casters, under their shields, start to cast spells through the formations they are standing on. These spells are the same as the ones released from the formations in the tunnels. It appears that the formations in the tunnels were the source of the attacks, but rather, they were remote projectors for them.

I dodge between the incoming spells and attack J'Rome. My initial strikes would penetrate the defenses of most warriors I have faced, but J'Rome efficiently blocks. Fighting defensively, he only returns about a quarter of my attacks, but the piece of shit knows how to use a spear. He has enough skill to make most soldiers and warriors look like rank amateurs. As I press forward, J'Rome backs away and to the side.

Crack! Boom! Boom! Crack!

Aw we dance around, J'Rome's weapon buffs keep exploding at the touch of the Od, but they are dissipating the Od around my blades at the same time. I a forced to draw deeper on the Od to keep the layer of Power around my blades.

J'Rome is a slippery defensive fighter, which is unusual for a spear fighter. The spear is a long weapon that allows one to suppress and dominate an enemy, but J'Rome instead uses its reach to keep away from me. He keeps backing away and around in figure-eight patterns that overlap on themselves.

Around and above, I can see and hear the gunfire from J'Rome's gunners and my gladiators as they exchange fire.

*Now!* Angelique's voice sounds sharply in the raid channel.

A whirlwind springs into life in the in front of the platform and drops to the floor of the cavern.

“What the Hel?”

“Watch out!”

“Get out of the way!”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Between the whirlwind and more grenades, J'Rome's gunners scatter even more, and Dacbold, Thorrin, Pancho, and Tyrend charge down the ramp.

A third of the gunners are dead or disabled from the grenades and my gladiators' gunfire, but they are spread out enough that, even with the added threat of the whirlwind, throwing the grenades has mostly become a waste of resources. The gladiators are mostly to trying to suppress them with gunfire from their SCARs. The remaining gunners are focusing on the four coming down the ramp, but the bullets are being deflected by the shields of two Dvergar and force shields around each of them.

I let the fight at the ramp fade into the back of my awareness and focus on J'Rome. Because of being Coalescent, he is fast, but he has nowhere near the speed of a Coalescent Adept practicing physical enhancement. I am still faster than him. Were if not for the covering fire from the Casters, I could cut off his movements and pin him down.

I keep pushing J'Rome harder. As soon as he changes direction away from the Casters in one of his figure-eight switches, I launch myself at the outer force shield.

“Aaaaarrrrrrrrr!”

I drag a massive flow of Od through my body. Even with a balance between the Light and Dark Od, it still tears me apart faster than it repairs the damage. Despite that, my scream is more rage than pain.

BOOM!

The force shield explodes in a burst of Power. Even in the Shadow of the Od, I am still sent flying backward. Twisting in midair, I hit the ground and slide across the stone. As I straighten up, a fireball detonates in front of me, and I am sent flying again. Before I get control over my movement, a lightning bolt passes through me. It leaves me jittery, with my nerves tingling, and if I had been grounded, it would have seriously injured me.

“FUCK YOU!”

Pain and rage tear through my mind, and suddenly, I am crouching in front of one of the shields around the a group of six casters. I look around to confirm what my awareness is telling me, and everyone else is where they should be except for me. What the fuck just happened? I think I did something, but I do not remember what I was.

J'Rome turns around with his mouth hanging open slightly. His eyes are filled with shock, surprise, and maybe, just a bit of fear.

BOOM! BOOM!

My bastard swords tear into the six man group's shield. The explosion is not as fierce as the last one, and I use my braided Power to hammer a burst of Ki force into the explosion, dissipating it.

The exposed Casters stare at me with expressions of naked terror on their faces. Their fear makes me grin like a predator, but they cannot see my face through the visor of my helm.

“AAAAAAAAAA!” “AAAARRRRGGGHH!” “AAAARRRR!”

Lashing out in sweeping strikes to either side, I launch arcing waves of Od that melt through the abdomens of the Casters. As they scream in agony, their bodies fall to the ground in two halves, with their remaining entrails spilling across the stone, and pools of blood cover the formations inlaid in the ground.

“Bastard Worm!”

As J'Rome charges toward me, I launch myself into the air and ignore the pull of gravity. As I arc over the next group's shield, I flip over and let gravity pull me to the ground.

BOOM! BOOM!

As my swords shred the shield and my Ki deflects the explosion, an acid blast comes down on me from above, but I cannot avoid it while dealing with the explosion. With the pattern fragments that I forged into my armor to strengthen it, it is too hard and resistant for the acid to damage it, but it cannot keep the acid from reaching my skin.

“AAAARRRR!” The acid eating into my skin brings back the memories of being burned alive in that car wreck, and carried on waves of Power, my howl of pain and rage floods the cavern. I close my eyes tightly to keep the acid from getting to my eyeballs.

Two more waves of Od tear apart the exposed Casters.

“Filthy worm, you're mine, now!” As he screams at me, J'Rome runs around the shield I left standing.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

With blasts of Ki force exploding outward from my skin, I launch myself into the air, again, and arc over the next group's shield. A greenish mist forms along the path of my movement from the the atomization of the caustic liquid on my skin.

“Damned coward! Stop running away!”

The little fucker that cast the acid blast is inside the shield between J'Rome and myself. He spins around with a snarl, but his angry expression turns into one of fear, when he sees my visored helm looking straight at him.

“Time to die, bitch faggot.” My cold voice is at a conversational volume.

“NOOOOOO!”

The Caster cowers and screams in fear as my swords rip apart his shield and my Ki blast diverts the explosion. My arcs of Od leave only that one Caster alive while destroying the rest of them.

The Caster raises his head to stare at me again. Unfortunately, with my helm on, he cannot see my smile. My kick to the balls sends him flying ten feet into the air, and a touch of my Od wrapped sword turns his dick and balls into energy and consumes it.

“AAAAAAAAAA! NO! NOOOOOOO!”

I laugh manically as the Caster's agonized shrieks echo from the cavern's roof and walls. He falls to the ground with the crunch of breaking bones while clutching his groin. His shredded robes fall to his sides, revealing the blackened, mangled flesh of his groin. The intense energy unleashed by the destruction of his dick and balls cauterized the wounds so he will not bleed out. Covering his wound with both hands, the Caster rolls around screaming. He can live with the pain for a while.

J'Rome and the surviving Casters stare at me in blatant horror. Even without being able to read their emotions, I can feel the fear that I have planted in their Souls.

“Hey, J'Rome, you have the balls face me man to man without your little faggot Casters lobbing spells my way?”

“Kill him! Kill him, now!”

Hearing J'Rome's vicious, fear-filled shriek, the Casters look at one another.

“If any of you cast a spell before J'Rome dies, I'll destroy your balls or cunt. Stay out of it, and I might let you live.”

While the battle continues near the ramp, the Casters keep looking around. Their fear and indecision are easy to read on their faces. They are probably looking for someplace to bolt to, but they are trapped in this cavern with me. There is no place to run.

“AAAAAAAAAA!”

As I destroy his feet, the dickless Caster screams and stares at me in naked terror, and the reek of shit hangs in the air around him.

“Decide or die as disfigured cripples.” My quiet words should be barely audible to the Casters over the ongoing gunfire and the howl of Angelique's tornado.

“I submit! Please, don't hurt me!” One of the female Casters kneels on the ground.

“I submit!” “I submit!” “I submit!”

One by one, the rest of them follow suit.

J'Rome's face is purple with rage. “You will all die! I'll torture you for decades before I let you die!”

I step toward J'Rome. “Shut up and fight like a man! This is your last chance, since you'll be a eunuch before you die.”

“Aaaarrrr!” Howling in rage, J'Rome charges toward me.

Deflecting his stab, I try to close with him, but he spins the shaft of the spear into a strike at my head, forcing me to block. We stab, slash, and hack at one another, but neither of us can gain an immediate advantage.

J'Rome is no longer trying to retreat in figure-eights, and we are fighting in a tight circle. With his buffs added to his strength from his Coalescence, J'Rome is more or less my equal in physical power, and he really is a master with a spear. If he had focused on physical enhancement, he would have been a monstrous warrior.

Crackle!

I dodge a lightning bolt on instinct, and J'Rome snarls. There was no sign of him casting anything so I do not know what tipped me off to the spell.

As I aim from the his head and neck with a double slash, J'Rome jumps backward and avoids my kick. Dropping into a wide stance, I try to take his calves off at the knees, but he blocks and stabs, forcing me back and away.

We start circling again, looking for openings. Our skill levels are too evenly matched. How did a fighter like this ever become a Caster and a Priest? Or is it how did a Caster and a Priest ever become a fighter like this? The first one to force the other into making a mistake is going to be the survivor.

At the ramp, Dacbold has led the other three in a melee assault on the gunmen. Under the protection of Elan's shields, Angelique and the six gladiators are laying down enough gunfire and spell damage to keep the gunners form surrounding the small group. Working together, they have killed several groups and are working on another.

The strain of using so much Od is taking its toll. I am forcibly keeping my breathing even, but if feels like a vice is clamped around my chest. My awareness is getting hazy, and fields of blankness keep cropping up as I my focus slips. If I cannot force J'Rome into making a mistake soon, I will be the one that loses.

With J'Rome between me and a group of his gunners. I throw an arc of Od at him, but he dodges it. The Od is like a fifteen long blade of annihilation as it rips through the gunners.

“AAAAAAAAA!” “AAAAARRRRRRRRR!”

Hearing the screams of his follower, J'Rome jumps and scrambles to put distance between us so that he can look to see what happened.

I throw two more arcs of Od into two more groups of gunners.

“Damn Bastard! Stop that!”

I laugh. “Go suck Woden's dick. Oh, wait. I forgot that you already do that.”

J'Rome raises his spear into the air, and a dome of fire and lightning forms over him. I could not see him casting the spell this time either, and its complexity is still far beyond anything I have ever seen from an aberrant caster.

The is something odd about that dome, and I am hesitant to attack it with the Od. I am not sure what the side-effects might be, or if I can deal with another explosion of Power in my current state.

“Great God, hear Your most humble servant. The heathen blasphemer Mark McGuinness seeks to threaten Your plans. Your servant begs you, Oh Mighty God! Bring down Judgment on this blasphemer Mark McGuinness!”

Boran gave me these swords in case I ran into a manifestation of Woden or something equally dangerous. I draw as much of the Od into myself as I can hold and spread my awareness as far as I can. Unfortunately, it saps even more of remaining strength, and I cannot cover the entire cavern. I would not have enough sensitivity to the details if I tried. If the bastard gets Woden to act, I should be able to counter it. Maybe.

After nearly a minute, when nothing happens to me, J'Rome looks around in confusion. It seems that Woden is not responding to his J'Rome's prayers, pleas, or whatever the fuck they are.

To relieve the pressure on myself, I throw a couple more arcs of Od into his gunners and cut back on the amount of Od I am drawing. It helps, but my awareness of the cavern around me is getting patchier. I feel like I could pass out at any moment.

J'Rome glares at me and kneels down.. “Great God! Your most humble servant J'Rome begs Your help in stopping this heathen blasphemer from interfering in Your plans. I . . . I am not a match for this heathen freak. Great God. Mighty God. Destroy this blasphemer Mark McGuinness.”

“You are whining like a homosexual bitch, J'Rome. You should know I hate homosexuals. They do not reproduce. With no reproduction, there are no new worshipers. You are weak, and this world has corrupted you.” The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere. It is one I have heard too many times in the past and did not want to hear again.

“Woden! Where the fuck are you?”

Woden laughs. “Oh, I have no intentions of manifesting a projection where you can get at it with those swords. To give an animal like you weapons like those, that ancient Dvergar monkey must have gone senile.”

“Then, I'm going to kill this ass-fucker.”

Woden sights dramatically. “J'Rome you are a severe disappoint. I cast you out.

“Brand, you have not stepped onto the First Path of Transcension, and he cannot defeat you. Kill him if you chose. I have no other followers in range to stop you. There are no teleportation gates in this base.”

This is all too fucking easy. Why do I feel like I am being played, yet again, by that fucker? He does nothing by lie and play games. So, what is the real game this time? I will see how he jumps when I kill J'Rome.

“You heard your god, J'Rome. This time he's throwing you to the wolves.”

“DAMN!” As he screams, J'Rome drops the dome of fire and lightning and charges at me like a man possessed.

J'Rome's spear is like a snake coming at me from all angles at once. He is attacking all out with no signs of defense in his stance or his strikes.

I retreat for ten steps until J'Rome is overextended. Dropping deeper into the Shadow of the Od, I ignore my momentum and step inside of his spear's head. It only takes a flick of my right hand blade to destroy his wrist as I pass by J'Rome. Spinning around behind him, I take out his knee and kick him in his tailbone hard enough to shatter his pelvis.

“AAAARRRR!”

J'Rome hits the ground face first and rolls end over end. He loses his grip on his spear, and it rolls away with a clattering of metal on stone. My kick to his ribs sends him flying with his body limp like a rag doll

“If you want to live, throw down your weapons and submit! Those who do not submit will die.” Carried by my Power, my voice booms like thunder in the cavern.

The remaining guards look around in confusion and see the defeated J'Rome and his Casters. Their indecision is easy to see. They just need a little push.

“Dacbold, try to take any that resist alive. Their fate will be death by torture.”

“Fight!” While shouting his order, the gunner spins toward me and raises his M240.

Brrraaappp! Brrraaappp!

Two bursts of gunfire from above send the gunner sprawling face first on the ground, but there is no spray of blood. The bullets could not penetrate his armor, but they probably broke his bones.

“Surrender and you will live. Fight and you will die, screaming in agony.” Despite the booming volume, my tone of voice conveys my boredom. Unless Woden makes a move, the real fight is over, and I already feel apathy worming its way back into my Soul.

Several of the guards shiver and drop their guns. Seeing the first ones surrender, more follow suit. The battle is over.

“Gladiators, strip and bind the prisoners!”

“Yes, Master!” Six voices enthusiastically ring our from the platform, and the gladiators start down the ramp at a jog.

I release most of the Od but keep channeling a small thread in case I need to draw on it again. Without the level of body control that I possess, I would never be able to keep my breathing even, but the oxygen starvation that it causes makes it hard to remain conscious and focused.

Taking out the containment box Boran gave me, I walk toward the main drive. I can feel Woden's presence, but he does nothing to interfere with me. Reaching the drive, I jump into the air and slap the box against its side.

A mix of greenish-silver and black radiance surrounds the drive and it slowly fades into translucence. When the radiance disappears, the drive disappears with it.

“You have won. Tell your Dvergar ape master that fixing the Labyrinth is his problem, now.”

The Games Gods Play

*** Nevada – Earth ***

Return: Day 342

(Brand)

I cannot get rid of the feeling that Woden has won, and I am the real loser. With the containment box for the main drive in hand, I look around the cavern. If there is anyone else here, they are hidden in a way that renders them invisible to my Psi.

“You could still serve me, Brand. I am magnanimous enough to take you as my vassal.”

The black rage that has not fully retreated stirs within my Soul. “How my times do I have to tell you to fuck off? I thought I was a pathetic excuse for human being, an angry, driven, vicious pathetic excuse for a human being. What the fuck do you want with me?”

Woden's echoing laughter inundates the cavern. “You already know you are not a human being. At least, you are not a human being of this pathetic world. Serve me, Brand. You could become my greatest champion. At the head of my armies, you would have worlds without number to conquer and an unending supply of enemies to slay.”

“Fuck off.”

“The day will come when you submit to me.”

“Keep dreaming.”

Snap!

A ragged tear opens in midair, with Thrall standing on the other side.

“Woden, Brand is my disciple. You can fuck off.”

“Thrall, you should not be butting in where you are not wanted.”

Thrall steps through the tear, and with ropes of Od, he reaches for the the purple metal platform, with the Stonehenge and throne construct on it. Digging into the stone floor with the Od, Thrall wraps the artifact in a net of Power and lifts it into the air.

“That belongs to me!” Woden's words reverberate with rage.

Thrall reveals a nasty smile. “Then, manifest and take it from me.”

Woden neither manifests nor replies.

Manipulating the web of Od into an array of patterns, Thrall shrinks the platform artifact until it is small enough to fit in his hand. After he twists it around, observing it from every angle, Thrall frowns, and the artifact disappears.

The sound of nasty laughter emanates from the tear in space, and Vili steps into view on the other side. “If you were going to give up the drive, you should have hidden that someplace else.”

Like his voice, Woden's sigh comes from everywhere and nowhere. “Without the drive, that control throne is not much use.”

Vili snorts. “You are a self-proclaimed god. How could the technology of a mere Dragon be beneath you? At least, you figured out that your Power transfer thing there would never have worked, or were you still vainly hoping that you transfer Power from the drive to the throne with it?”

“Did you ever tell Brand that all this is nothing but a game between us?”

Since setting foot on Earth again, I have had the feeling that I was being played. I do not trust anything that comes out of Woden's mouth, but for some reason, I have the feeling that he just spoke some version of the truth.

Taking my helm off, I wipe away the last traces of acid from around my eyes and open them before staring straight at Vili. “Why does it seem that the liar just spoke truth?”

Vili smirks and strokes his beard. “It was more of a competition. You against Woden's minions, and as long you won, the Second Father would not have to obliterate this pocket plane to get to the main drive. Since the War of Slaughter ended, he has tried to avoid wiping out planes, even pocket planes. Woden thought he had our dicks in a vice with that little throne here, but there are ways around everything.”

“See how little they think of you, Brand? You are nothing more than a chess piece to those ancient destroyers. To me, you have value. Follow me.”

Feeling irritated, I shake my head and continue staring at Vili. “You don't give a fuck about Earth, why would you care about destroying the plane to get at the drive?”

Vili shrugs. “It's messy, and there is always a chance it could set off a chain reaction and destroy Yggdrasil. That would take Taereun with. Taereun is one of only a handful of worlds in this metaverse that mean something to us Dvergar. If we can preserve it we will.

“So, in a way, the self-proclaimed god is right. Like them, the Second Father plays games so that he does not have to destroy everything in his path. He could. We could. We Dvergar were made to be the ultimate living weapons. I have shed enough blood to fill this little plane, but the Second Father has shed a hundred times, a thousand times, a million times more blood than I have. He's tired of killing and destroying. He used you to avoid having to destroy yet another plane. Is that so bad?”

It is my turn to shrug. “So, what now?”

Vili grins that evil grin of his. “You have thirteen days to take care of whatever business you need to here. At that time the Second Father will take Yggdrasil apart, create a new stable structure for all dimensions contained within it, and destroy the dimensional drives once and for all. If you are still on this world, you will be trapped here. That is the Second Father's warning to you.”

“Can you take my people and prisoners back to Gor'achen now?”

Shrugging again, Vili frowns. “If that is what you want.”

I turn to the raid. “Valcrit, you stay here with me and Turner. Kanchek take the rest of the prisoners back to Gor'achen. Keep that Soul dead woman someplace safe until I get back. Sort out the rest of Woden's lackeys as you see fit. Put Jinmu in the stable and have him trained. He's going to fight in the arena. His cunt daughter can serve in the kitchen for now. Put Turner's sister there, too.”

“Yes, Master.” Both Valcrit and Kanchek salute me

Jinmu silently meets my stare.

I smile at Jinmu. “Learn what they teach you. When this is over, we'll meet in the arena.”

Pancho raises both hands in a stop motion. “I'm staying. I have business here. If I get trapped, that's my own fault.”

Thorrin looks at Pancho and hold out his hand. “I'm going with Pancho. If anyone who doesn't belong on Earth makes trouble an axe and a pair of swords is better than a pair of swords.”

Pancho grins and shakes Thorrin's hand. “Thanks, ese. I appreciate it. Really.”

“Semper fi.”

“Semper fi, my brother.” This may be the only time I have ever heard Pancho not say my brother instead of ese.

Pancho radiates an odd emotion. I do not think I have felt it yet. Is it gratitude? Is it something else I have not learned to identify? I do not have the time or energy to try and figure it out now.

“Give Isaria and the other Earth woman to me.” Thorrin stares at me, but he is obviously not ready to challenge me, yet.

I snort. “You can have the sister if you really want her, but that soul dead cunt is mine. I'm going to figure out what was done to her. If you want her, fight me for her.”

“Fine.” Thorrin lowers his eyes and walks over to Turner's sister.

As he looks me in the eye, Dacbold shows a grim smile. “I'm staying with you. I'll help you settle what's left.”

Elan arches one eyebrow. “I go where you go.”

Fear fills Angelique. “Master, don't send me away. I want to stay with you and Mistress.”

“I'm staying too. I still haven't figured out how this world produced someone like you.” Tyrend's persistently cocky grin never wavers. The emotions flowing through him are complex and changing. I cannot sort them out or make any sense of the whole morass.

Looking at my three followers, I am not sure what to think. Their actions and emotions keep confusing me. With people that do not just hate, disdain, or despise me, the more I see of them, the less I understand about them. I cannot make any guesses about why they would look to me for leadership. I have never inspired much in others.

After a few moments, I just nod in tacit acceptance.

I throw the containment box to Vili. “See you around. We're the fuck out of here.”

Vili's laughter follows me up the tunnel to the elevator shaft.