Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God (37 page)

The DokkAlfar appeared without warning in Jinmu's office. There were no sounds to expose his movements, and the office door never opened.

The stare Jinmu turned on the Kra'cha'len promised death. “So, was that your Power or your god's that allowed you reach this point unnoticed?”

Kra'cha'len smiled coldly and began to weave a spell pattern. He did not say a word before the spell sealed the office against sound.

“You wanted proof of your daughter's condition. An agent of the the DokkAlfar is about to enter the brothel, where your daughter is spreading her legs. Would you like to watch?”

Jinmu was barely able to suppress his rage, as he stared coldly at the DokkAlfar Priest-Wizard, but he was desperate to know about his daughter's fate.

“Show me.”

A large black crystal materialized in Kra'cha'len's hand, and he briefly closed his eyes.

“You are in luck. The agent is about to enter your daughter's room.”

Black light flared from the crystal, and a globe about two feet in diameter appeared floating over it. After a few seconds, an image appeared in the globe.

A fat woman in a low-cut red dress was walking with her back to the images point of view.. There were doors every twelve or so feet along the hall she was walking down. She stopped next to one and opened it. The center point of the image seemed to be about four and half feet off the floor.

“This is that Alfar slut. It's an extra ten thousand gold if you kill her and a hundred gold for every cut, burn, or broken bone. We have a list of every injury on her body, so don't try to play games. Enjoy yourself.”

The image moved into the room revealing a naked girl, with silver hair, laying on her side in a bed, at the back of the room. A collar with dimly glowing runes was locked around her neck, and a chain secured it to the wall behind the bed. The girls skin was a dusky grey color, and her small breasts were tipped with sooty black nipples. As she rolled onto her back and spread her legs, she revealed a hairless vagina with a labia as sooty black as her nipples. Her body was covered with welts, abrasions, and burns.

Smiling toward the top of the image with vacant eyes, the girl spread the lips of her vagina with her fingers, revealing the pink flesh inside. “Selestra will make Master feel good. Stick your dick in Selestra, Master.”

The image closed in to the side of the bed.

“There is no way to know if that is my daughter or not.”

The girl on the bed looked around, her face a shocked mask.

“She is your daughter. She can hear you if you talk to her.”

“Girl, what is you name.” Jinmu's tone was flat.

The girl started cackling madly.

“If you don't answer, I'll take a belt to your tits.” The voice was angry and hostile.

The girl started talking in English. “I've lost it. I'm going crazy. I though I heard Otousan's voice. Maybe, I'll be too crazy to know what's happening soon.”

The girl started crying, and violently wiped the tears away. “I can't cry. That's what they want. They get hornier and hurt me more, when I cry. Fuck, why am I talking to myself.”

Jinmu changed to English. “What is your name on Earth? Tell me!”

“Mei. Mei Urehara. Otousan, I'm insane. I think I hear your voice. I hope this ends soon. I just want it all to end so I can see Okaasan.”

“Mei, it's Papa. You hold on. I'm coming to get you. Papa is going to come take you out of there.”

Selestra started laughing, and her burgeoning insanity could be clearly heard in the sound.

Jinmu turned to Kra'cha'len, his eyes so cold that the DokkAlfar felt a trace of fear.

“Take me to that place!”

Kra'cha'len smiled. “If you want to be taken to your daughter, you have to pay the prices.”

“What prices?”

“Serve the Great God. You will swear yourself to Yggr and be Spirit Bonded, to become his Medium.”

Jinmu's steely glare never wavered. “I accept. What else?”

Kra'cha'len's smile broadened. “You will give us Brand. Give him to us collared and helpless.”

Jinmu's face paled, he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He stared at Kra'cha'len, without saying anything.

Kra'cha'len's smile turned malicious. “Well, will you give us Brand? It is all or nothing. If you do not meet both conditions, you can hope that Brand will get you to Free Port. He might eventually find a way out of the Battleground. There is no way you will make it on your own.”

Jinmu's teeth were clenched, as he hissed his reply. “I will give you Brand.”

“Excellent. Kneel and I will take your oath to the Great God.”

Roderick stares at me, with a broad grin. “I've never met anyone that took to Smithing the way you have, but that armor is truly frightening. Knowing your secrets, I can see them all to easily in the shape of the plates and that mask, but why did you cast it in the face of a Dvergar?”

“In remembrance of the dead.” Roderick does not need to know more than that.

I move in front of the window in Roderick's office and stare at my reflection. The face I do not want to forget, the face I wore for eleven years, stares back at me. Even if it is formed from steel alloy, the facial features hammered into the mask of my armor is an exact replica of my Half-Dvergar face. The beard abruptly ends below my chin, but it would be ridiculous if I had made the full length of my old beard. This new armor is made of plates molded to fit the lineaments my body, to point where the outlines of my musculature are cast in clear relief. The only chain left in the armor is there to cover the gaps at my joints.

The most important feature of this armor is that it has been Patterned and is tied to me with a soul thread. The Power contained in the armor causes it to fit like a second skin, once donned. Even though it weighs more that the chain that was melted down to form the base of the alloy, this new armor is far less restrictive to my movements than the old chain.

“That armor is worthy of being a masterwork. You are the equal of a Master Smith. Now, you need only practice your craft. There is virtually nothing left that I could teach you. Though how you managed to absorb so much knowledge in barely more than a month is beyond me. Maybe, you were born to be a Maker.”

I only shrug. I have no answers to Roderick's questions. I do not understand how I was able master his Smithing techniques so quickly. I find it hard to believe that Roderick has taught me everything needed to become a Master Smith, but the sullenly jealous expressions of the journeymen in the Smithy attest to the truth of it.

Drawn by something odd about my eyes, I move closer to the office window. My eyes used to be a yellowish-green, but now they are a deep green, with silver and black mixed in.

“Your eyes have been changing as you mastered the art of Smiting. Didn't you notice?”

“If you looked like me, would you spend much time looking at your own reflection?”

Roderick chuckles softly. “Probably not.”

“Perzey likes Brand's eyes. Brand is special.” The words are whispered by Perzey, while she does not quite meet my eyes.

I find myself staring at Perzey blankly, not sure how to react to her words. She has changed so much from when I first saw her naked in that cell, that I do not know quite to make of her. She was typical of the modern American trash that I had dealt with all my life, but she broke so easily. I never considered that normal people might have been oppressed to the breaking point under the twisted social system that exists in America.

Is that why Taereun had such fanatical followers? It was anything but a mainstream game. It had no leader boards, no internet RMT (Real Money Transaction) marketplace, not even any stats that players could brag about, but the people who played it still put so much time and effort into the game. For me, it was a life where I could live by my own strength and hurt people without avoiding the social cameras, but what was it for other people?

Perzey's hair is almost down to her waist now. The almost constant air currents that surround her play with that wild, uncombed brown curtain. She does not resist, when I take her chin between thumb and forefinger, and turn her face toward me. The hunger in her eyes is still as strong as when I first woke it in the Swamp of the Lost, but she seems more wild than insane.

“You've changed.”

Perzey smiles. “Brand changed Perzey.”

I do not say anything. I think I might be afraid of what she will say, if I ask the question in my thoughts. I no longer hate Perzey, but I might never have hated Perzey, only Helen.

Looking around the forge, I am filled with a sense of incongruity. This is not my place. While I was learning Smithing, I did not pay attention to the ambiance, but now, I perceive the dislike and hostility of Roderick's apprentices and journeymen. The two Master Smiths who work for Roderick are looking me with ironic miens.

I cannot keep the acerbity out of my voice. “I don't belong here, any more than Perzey does.”

Roderick's mouth turns into a doleful frown. “No, not really. This is just a stay in your journey, and I cannot foresee the end of that road.”

“Destruction or eternity.”

A shiver passes through Roderick, and his voice has a hint of dread. “Godhead.”

“Gods are myths.”

“Maybe, other gods see gods as myths, but for us mortals, gods a real. I fear, you will either shake the heavens or be crushed them.”

“It's time I left.”

I offer my hand to Roderick, and he clasps my wrist, the shake of one warrior to another.

Roderick's face becomes a picture of surprise, when Perzey kisses his bearded cheek.

“Bye-bye.” Perzey waves, as she runs out of the Smithy.

“Remember to tell people who trained you as a Smith.”

When I reach the bottom of the tower, the sun is near its zenith. Many streets in Tallifer are only touched by the sun's rays, when it is this high. Staying in the Smithy with me from dawn till sunset, it has been more than a month since Perzey has been out in the sun. She is standing in the street, with her face towards the sun and her arms spread wide. Wearing only a short diaphanous dress, he light bronze toned skin gleams, under the midday light. As with many of the women of Tallifer, her breasts and bikini-like loincloth are clearly visible under the barely concealing fabric.

Many of the people on the street blatantly stare at Perzey  as they pass by, clearly admiring her. A group of five men and two women, all armed and armored, walk up to Perzey. The biggest of the men has a clearly lecherous smile plastered on his face. The rest of the group move to encircle her.

“Hey, gorgeous, are you by yourself?” The language is the Slave Tongue, but the phrasing makes it sound like they are Possessed.

Perzey looks at the people surrounding her, with a faint mocking smile on her lips.

“Weak.” Springing into the air, Perzey glides over the heads of the group surrounding her and touches down next to me. Linking her arm with mine, she smiles up at me.

“Can Perzey kill them? Pretty please?”

“No, they aren't worth it.” I turn, following the road to the east.

“Brand never lets Perzey have fun.”

“Hey, asshole!” The big one starts to pursue us.

Another man grabs the big one's arm.

“Don't! We don't need trouble with the guards. Tallifer hasn't turned hostile toward players yet.”

So, it has already started. The residents of the Battlefield must have figured out that the Possessed are no longer resurrecting, and some of the polities have started targeting them. In the near future, things will start to get ugly. The question is whether the Possessed will fight back or roll over and take it, like the Earth-born cowards they are.

Perzey hums softly to herself as we walk through Tallifer, surrounded by a small bubble of clear space. I do not recognize the tune, but it sounds like something from Earth, not from within the Battlefield.

It takes a bit over half an hour to reach my destination. Standing on a plaza directly behind the harbor warehouses is a small tower, only twenty-three stories tall. The tower is owned by a player guild, who operate their business from the ground floor and the top seven floors. The rest of the tower is rented out to other players or player guilds. When I was Talon, I would use their facilities at times, mostly for information gathering.

Over the main entry to the tower, there is huge kite shield shaped plaque, embossed with the guilds logo. In the center two pigeons in flight are separated by an upright sword. Over the sword a single word is etched in all Roman capital letters: POSTMEN. On the bottom of the shield, the guild motto is also etched in Roman script: We Always Deliver.

The Postmen can be considered the single most successful guild in all of Taereun: Battleground of the Damned. They single-handedly changed the face of communications in the Battleground. Their leader goes by the name of Alva, and she is supposed to have been a telecommunications engineer on Earth.

The Postmen researched and developed magical transmitters and repeaters that can transmit objects up to about three feet square through the teleport gates. Through contracts, treaties, and in some cases brute force invasions, they have extended their network throughout most of the known and populated sections of the Battleground of the Damned. To safeguard their monopoly, they installed self-destruct spell formations into every single piece of their magic technology. At the time of the Great Fuck Over, they had become indispensable to most of the polities in the Battleground, and the ones relying on their services protected them from the polities hostile to them. As for the other players, not even Thug Horde dared to openly antagonize The Postmen.

In front of the tower, two guards stand on either side of the entry. They are probably local citizens of Tallifer. One of The Postmen's tactics is to hire locals to feed money back into the local economies. That makes them more popular with the commoners and sometimes the rulers.

The ground floor of the tower is mostly open to the customers, with the back being cordoned off by a long counter. The actual “mail” is kept in the underground levels of the tower and sent up by chutes as needed. The customer area is a meeting place, where people can exchange information and read the posts on the various bulletin boards.

Near one corner of the room is my goal. A giant holographic display is projected from a complex metal and crystal artifact, showing a map of all the known zones in the Battleground of the Damned. This is maintained in concert with the Explorers Guild.

The Explorers Guild is actually not a player guild. They are a rather loose organization made up of hundreds of thousands of adventurers, who operate in any arrangement from solo to small armies. Their purpose is to seek out every corner of every zone in the Battleground of the Damned. The leadership is mostly made up of citizens from various polities in the Battleground, but a few of the Possessed have risen to high offices, with one on the Overseers Council.

My only interest in checking the map is to see if anyone has reported the discovery of the zone that contains the Chamber of Transition. Not wanting to draw attention to the specific zone it is connected to, I peruse the entirety of the northern part of the Western Reaches. There are at least a dozen zones I do not recognize, and three times as many that do not look quite right. The Western Reaches are the least populated by “civilized races” of the Five Reaches, but it seems like someone has been extensively active, since the Great Fuck Over.

A tall lean man man, with a goatee and a lion's mane of white hair, approaches me. His clothes are all made from extremely high quality silk, with large ventilation slits in the style of upper class Tallifer merchants. His jewelry alone is probably worth enough to buy a small kingdom.

“Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.” A thin strand of the mana inside me touches my eyes, twisting my perceptions to show me the world as patterns.

Like within Perzey, I can see the dissonance of his mind and soul from his body. He is one of the players, that have been trapped in the Battleground.

“Brand, I presume?” His voice is slightly nasal sounding, and he has an odd pronunciation that sounds like he might have been an Asian native on Earth.

“Who are you?”

“Sulius, the Tallifer Region Manager. Could you please remove the mask, so that I might confirm your identity?”

When I release my helm's mask and push it up, Sulius winces at the sight of my face. He is already annoying me.

“I have a missive for you from a party, whose name I cannot speak in the open like this. Would you please come upstairs to my office?”

“Lead the way.”

Sulius glances at Perzey disdainfully. “This is an extremely sensitive matter. It would be best if your doxy remained here.”

Perzey looks at me with her usual sweet killing smile, but does not say a word, when I put my armored finger over her lips.

“Maybe later.”

Since I have learned my secrets of steel, my ki aura has become distinctly dark and cruel. As I release it, Sulius shivers, his skin becoming even more pale than it already was.

“You are beginning to piss me off. If you have something for me, give it to me.”

“P-please, follow me.”

Perzey hugs my armor clad arm tightly and grins mockingly at Sulius. Her face is slightly flushed, and her hard nipples are easily seen through the near transparent fabric of her dress.

“Weak faggot.”

Sulius is silent as he leads us up the ramp to the second floor and into an elevator. While not common, elevators inside buildings are not unknown in the Battleground of the Damned. Most interior elevators make use of air or gravitational based magic bound in sigils or formations to raise and lower the platform or car. This elevator only reaches the eighteenth floor of the tower.

From the eighteenth to the twenty-third floor, Sulius leads us past dozens of guards. I get the impression he is trying to make a point regarding his power. While it would impress or cow most people, he clearly does not understand who I am.