Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God (26 page)

Perzey stumbles, as she tries to stand, and glares at my legs. Testing her legs and finding the right one does not hold up, she smiles, a dazzling smile that does not match the blood-lust in her eyes.

“Perzey loses, this time. Be nice to Perzey. She wants you to help her get stronger.” She walks towards me, with a slight limp. Staring at the scarred half of my face, she lightly runs the tip of her tongue over her lips.

When she is only five feet from me, Perzey lunges, pushing off with her left leg. Her smile turns into a snarl, as the ball of my foot hammers into her tit. Her swords shift from stabbing toward my chest to slashing my thigh. Deflecting her swords with my own, which I was already raising into position next to my leg, I drive the cruciform guards into her elbow joints. Her swords go flying, and she stumbles into me.

“Perzey wants your strength, so Perzey can kill you. Give Perzey strength. Fuck Perzey.” Her arms slip around my neck, as her slightly parted lips move closer to my own.

SLAP!

I catch the hilt of my sword before gravity drags it downward. Perzey stumbles away, with the knife she palmed from my harness hanging loosely in her hand. With a shrug, she tosses my knife back to me, and licks her lips, turning them crimson with her own blood. The knife clinks softly, as it hits the ground.

As the blood-lust in her eyes dissolves into lust, fear, and madness, I step close to her. Having a woman look at me with lust filled eyes is something I never thought to experience. I never imagined it would so arousing.

Taking off my weapons harness, I store it in on of my rings.

“Fuck Perzey? Okay, I'll fuck Perzey?”

She has no chance to avoid me, before I grab her byrnie and drag her off her feet. Her eyes slightly widen in surprise, but there is no sign of pity or disgust. I crush Perzey's lips beneath my own, forcing my tongue into her mouth. The coppery taste of her blood coats my probing tongue. I am not sure if it is fitting or ironic that my first kiss tastes like blood.

I kiss her again, more forcefully than the first time. After a couple seconds, she responds hungrily to my kiss. Her arms slip around my neck, this time without trying to stab me in the back.

Both our breathing is heavy, as our lips part. Perzey's eyes are filled with hunger and lust, and I am certain my own are the same. There is neither love nor tenderness in either of us. We only have a burning desire to possess something the other has.

“Fuck Perzey. Hurt Perzey. Give Perzey your strength.” Her word are a fierce hiss, as she starts fumbling the straps on her byrnie.

Setting her feet back on the ground, I undo the straps on her armor, hurrying to strip her and possess that body. With her armor and clothing on the ground around us, Perzey tears at my armor and clothing, as I precipitously hurl aside those impediments to my lust.

As my hands explore the satin soft skin of the body I have been lusting after, Perzey tremulously runs her hand over the scar tissue on my chest.

“Strong. Perzey wants to be strong too.” A soul deep emptiness hovers behind the lust and hunger in her eyes.

I throw Perzey to the ground, and she does not resist. Her arms and legs wrap around me, when I enter her. We do not make love or have sex. We simply fuck like wild animals, doped up with aphrodisiacs. Her moans mix with my grunts, and her screams of pleasure sing counterpoint to my roars.

As the sun rises, I am sitting on the flat boulder, meditating. I am only dimly aware of Perzey, half-sprawled in front of me, while using her finger tip to idly trace the dividing line between the scar tissue and the healthy skin on my chest. I do not know if Perzey slept or not, but after we finished fucking for hours, I spent the rest of the night meditating. Even if I am a little tired, I am fully functional.

Neither of us is wearing any clothing. What is the point? Even in the shadows from the escarpment, the temperature is still hot. After being poked, prodded and tortured by doctors and nurses, I lost any feeling of embarrassment over nudity. With her descent into the borderlands of madness, it is doubtful Perzey has anything resembling Earth morals or mores remaining.

Opening my eyes, I look around but do not see anything amiss.

“Move. I have things to do.” I slap Perzey on the ass.

“Perzey wants to fuck more.”

“I have things to do. You go take a nap, or practice, or play with yourself. I don't care what you do, as long as you don't bother me. I'll fuck you more tonight.”

Glaring at me, Perzey wanders off and picks up her swords. Still naked, she starts practicing sword forms. Compared to her vicious nature when fighting, these forms are a thing of beauty, more like a dance style than a fighting style. Of course, a naked girl doing them only makes them more attractive. Her body is perfect, silky soft skin covering toned muscle, that is neither bulky nor overdeveloped.

Taking out the stone bow again, I sit down crosslegged, with it resting on my thighs. Again, I have to sift through the images of billions upon billions of arrows killing millions upon millions of targets. I am dimly aware of the passage of time as the sun clears the escarpment and bathes me in its hot light.

* * * * *

He was running along a mountain ledge, as I rested in his left hand. Below were hundreds of thousands of orcs. They were massed in the mouth of a pass into the mountains, with a single line of Dvergar blocking their way. Clustered in a group further up the pass from the Dvergar warriors, a group of Dvergar children calmly watched the unfolding battle.

Moving to where he had a clear line of sight on the Dvergar, my master nocked an arrow and drew me. His breathing was shallow, as he watched the scene of battle unfold below.

The orcs pushed forward relentlessly, despite being cut down like wheat before a scythe. An orc champion pushed to the front of the packed mass of screaming, snarling savages. Towering over the Dvergar, nearly twice their height, the orc was practically the size of an ogre. The spiked head of its massive mace was easily three times the size of a Dvergar's head. The massive orc launched a continuous series of brutal swings, but the Dvergar in front of it calmly blocked all the blows.

Lining the Dvergar up in his sights, my master released half a breath and held his breathing.

CrackCrackCrackBOOM!

The air was torn by the passage of my arrow, leaving rolling thunder in its wake. Even fired by me, the arrow failed to penetrate the thick metal of the Dvergar's chest plate, but it still twisted the Dvergar's shoulder to the side. The orc champion's mace flew past the Dvergar's shield, smashing into the top of its helmet. Driven to its knees by the force of the blow, the Dvergar only managed to half-block the following strike. The orc forced its way into the breech in the Dvergar line, followed by more of its kindred.

The Dvergar regained his feet, gutting the orc champion with an upward swing of his axe. He fruitlessly pushed back against the orc tide, but the Dvergar line was already broken. More orcs charging into the breach separated the Dvergar into two groups. The lone Dvergar who was pushed back, seeing orcs swarm past on either side, yelled something in their coarse language.

The Dvergar children turned and began jogging up the pass, in an orderly formation. Even though they were children, those Dvergar were still armed and armored. In each of the two groups of Dvergar being pushed back against the walls of the pass, a Dvergar stepped back from the line and began to weave an Elemental Earth spell. The yellowish-brown lines of the spell patterns formed in the air.

My master nocked another arrow and quickly launched it at one of the casters. A Dvergar raised its axe, and the arrow shattered against the flat of the blade. My master laughed nastily at the hate filled glare the Dvergar turned on him.

The Dvergar casters finished their spells and tremors began to shake the walls of the pass. Running lithely to escape the tremors, my master cursed, curses so foul that only the orc language could express them. He glanced over his shoulder to see the walls of the pass collapsing.

Most of the orcs were trapped outside the pass, by a barrier of fallen rock they would need days to clear. Several ten-thousands of the orcs were crushed beneath the tons of stone. A few hundred who made it past the Dvergar were chasing the seven children.

Stopping for a few moments, the seven Dvergar children began weaving spells. Even though the threads of the spell patterns were not as bright, they are still clearly the yellowish-brown of Elemental Earth. Dozens of boulders began to fall from the sides of the pass. Any place where the rock walls were weak, they fragmented into a rain of stone.

Tens of orcs were killed, but the rest were only more infuriated.

My master rapidly nocked and fired arrows at the seven children. The weight and strength of their armor was only a fraction of what an adult would wear, and the arrows punched through the leg plates with ease. With severed thigh muscles and shattered knees, the Dvergar children attempted to continue hobbling up the pass, but after a few dozen yards they stopped.

When the Dvergar children turned to weave spells, my master fired more arrows. Their casting interrupted, when they were forced to focus on the arrows and dodge them, the children drew their weapons and formed a triangle, their backs to the center.

The orcs attacked, trying to wound and disable. Grimly fighting the children were brought down one by one, but they killed more tens of orcs before falling.

With gleeful malice, the orcs stripped the Dvergar children and tied them to iron stakes, driven into the stone of the pass. Using the clothing and items taken from the children's packs, the orc built fires and heated the blades of their knives to a red-orange glow.

Not one of the children screamed as the orcs peeled the skin from their bodies, emasculated them, removed fingers and toes, and put out eyes.

When the last child died, the orcs milled around sullenly. Tempers flared, and they began fighting amongst themselves.

My master laughed and drank wine, while watching the Dvergar children's torture and the orcs' internecine squabbles. He was Corialos Eagle Eye, a Hero of the LjosAlfar. I am Corialos' Bow, Stone Feather Death.

* * * * *

The sun is long set, when the vision ends. My dick and balls want to crawl up inside my body cavity. I know the pain of castration only too well. To be mutilated as they were without making a sound, the strength of will of those Dvergar children sends chills down my spine.

My eyes drift to Perzey, lying naked beside the river. She still does not understand what real strength is. Even though she has seen the power of Dvergar Transcendents unleashed, she has never seen their fortitude and resolve under duress.

Raising Stone Feather Death, I stare at it, a LjosAlfar bow. The Dvergar have no interest in archery, and almost never craft bows. Some have a love of crossbows, but they are few and far between. The Alfar, both LjosAlfar and DokkAlfar, are the masters of the bow.

The LjosAlfar, the players of Taereun always painted them in the light of goodness and righteousness, but that is far from the truth. There are only small groups of LjosAlfar in the Battleground of the Damned, but in the Lands of Despair there are several small kingdoms ruled by the LjosAlfar. The LjosAlfar are self-righteous zealots, ready to kill any and all who do not bow down and serve the Dragon Gods. As a Half-Dvergar, I came to understand the hate that LjosAlfar hold towards anything and everything Dvergar.

Now, I can feel a thread point in the bow, and I tie a soul thread to it. Even though I have heard tales of Legendary items having egos, this is my first time encountering one. Even if the bow is not truly conscious, it has a form of self-awareness. The chilling sensation of the bow's awareness sweeping through me inflames my own hate. My hate clashes with with bow's awareness, when it tries to reject the soul thread.

The bow is steeped in the blood of hundreds of millions of lives, its blood-lust is strong enough to kill on its own. It drives me back into my own mind. The world around me fades, leaving me trapped in my own subconscious. Screaming deep inside my own mind, I am losing the fight. Even if I wanted to, I could not break the soul thread anymore. The pain of the bow's assault, tearing at my mind, my sense of self, is maddening.

Pain. I know pain. I have two lifetimes of pain inside of me. Pain cannot beat me. I remember my own pain. With my own pain, I strike back at the bow. The pain of being crucified. The pain of being whipped to point there is no skin on the back and the raw flesh being salted. The pain of being castrated. The pain of being burned alive. The of being chained to a steel frame and being slowly burned with hot irons. The pain being stabbed through the lungs. The pain of dying!

“FUCK YOU!” My words echo off the escarpment.

I can hear my own voice again. The bows awareness has retreated. It only knows how to give pain, not how to suffer through pain.

Pulling a sheaf of arrows from one of my rings, I drop it on the stone next to me. Rapidly nocking and firing arrows in succession, I target the trees across the river. They are nearly a quarter mile away, well within the range of a non-magical stone bow.

BOOM! BOOMBOOM! BOOM! BOOMBOOMBOOM!

Pieces of the trees explode from the force of the arrows impacts, wood splinters flying everywhere. My arrows are slow. I can draw out only a fraction of the bow's true strength. In the memory vision, Corialos' arrows were breaking the sound barrier and staggering Dvergar more than a mile distant. Multiple sonic booms were clearly audible during the arrows' flights.

I feel the bow shivering in my grip. For now, it is too traumatized by my pain to challenge me again, but this is not the end. I know that as I dig into the pattern-memories of this weapon, there be more challenges. Once it is fully threaded and tied to me, I will have to break it to my will.

Lowering the bow, I look at Perzey crouched to the side. Naked, she is holding her short swords in her hands and staring at me. The mix of fear, lust and blood-lust in her eyes is arousing. I want to throw her on her back and fuck her senseless.

Licking her lips as she stands, Perzey's face is transformed by a feral smile.

“If you really think pain will will make you stronger, attack me!” The viciousness in my voice should be a clear warning to her.

Perzey dashes toward me, her swords stabbing and slashing at me from a different angle with every strike. The difference between yesterday and today is as stark as the difference between a storm darkened night and a cloudless noontime day. Her swords are weaving in and out in a subtly brilliant attack pattern. Ki flooding my body, I side step, my steps moving me faster than they should.

I cannot simply play with her this time. She is already forcing me to use Shadow Fist. Without having swords in my hands, I need to rely on the physics bending power of Shadow Fist. Letting her attack, I do nothing but avoid her thrusts and slashes.

Perzey's fighting style is purely weapon focused. Not using any part of her body to attack, all of her strikes come from the swords. Even more obvious than yesterday, today it is crystal clear that this style was perfected in the dueling halls or on the fields of honor.

To be honest, there are flaws in Perzey's fighting style. Too many of her moves are exploitable by a pure fighter, who does not follow the rule of a dueling code. Her tits are too big, they get in the way with some of her moves. She would be better off, if she had small tits.

Moving inside her stabbing blades, I stare into Perzey's eyes. Shock overlays the lust and blood-lust, as my shove to her chest sends her flying.

Surging to her feet, she attacks again. The deadly dance of swords has a pattern to it. Even though the pattern morphs over time, it is still there. I wait for the inevitable opening, before stepping inside her attacks and slapping her in the ribs. As I duck under her blades, Perzey flies through the air again, a bruise already forming on her ribs.

Time and again, Perzey rises to her feet, and time and again, I slap her down. After an hour or so, she is covered with bruises, and her nose and her lips are bleeding. We are both aroused. I can smell Perzey's arousal in the listless night air. Her nipples are hard, and so is my dick. With my unsettled emotions, I cannot tell if we are sparring or engaging in foreplay.

Stepping into her attack, I violently twist Perzey's arms behind her back. With a soft clatter, her swords hit the ground and her lips part. Our kiss is a fierce contest of dominance, that goes on until Perzey slumps against me, grinding her hips against my groin.

Forcing her to the ground, I enter her. Our fucking is wilder than last night, as she constantly struggles against my primacy.