Torment of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  “Yes, but per our experience to date and the depressing information provided us by Jon Ryan's crew, this enemy if much worse than all we've faced before combined,” responded Genter-ban-tol.

  “Let the record show boldly that the Aamittar kinsmen fear nothing, including these supposed Cleinoid gods.” Bellicose to a fault, the Aamittar representative announced his presence. Picture dwarfs with war hammers and axes, but substitute wings for shoulder blades and venomous fangs for teeth.

  “We are all familiar with the Aamittar proclivity for combat,” replied Genter-ban-tol. “Let me pray personally your words strike their hearts as they do our ears. Surely we cannot lose in that case.”

  “Is that an insult?” howled the Aamittar Gignjiter. That species searched tirelessly for insults. Insults justified killing, and nothing surpassed killing.

  “Hardly, my friend,” replied Genter-ban-tol. “It was a heartfelt prayer. These ancient gods are badly in need of defeat. If your race can do it, I bow to you.”

  “Very well. You may live for now,” responded a dejected Gignjiter.

  “My we proceed?” asked Toño.

  “By all means. The floor is yours.”

  “You will all read our report. I want only to add that however impressed and terrified you are by its content, please know this. The Cleinoids are more powerful and more cruel than you think. If they can be defeated, I for one do not know how. Clearly many, many other universes of highly capable sentients shared my loss as to a successful endgame.” He sat quietly.

  “So are you saying we should surrender before we have even engaged them?” protested the Culibrii contingent. The telepathic Culibrii had the annoying habit of always speaking as one, like a talking chorus. Maybe they needed to communicate thusly, but only they seemed to appreciate their method.

  “I'm saying nothing of the kind. Who would lay down and die?” responded Toño. “No noble species would. What I'm saying is overestimate the Cleinoids as much as you can. That way you may possibly prepare for a fraction of what they will throw at you.”

  “Surrender?” screamed Gignjiter. “Is that the human thing to do?” He trembled with rage for a few seconds. “Well, count the Aamittar out of that level of cowardice. We fight. If we die, we die. But when we win, the victory will be ours alone.”

  “You are getting way ahead of yourself, small babbling fool.” All eyes turned to notice Daleria for the first time.

  Reflexively Gignjiter hopped onto the table and took flight, making a beeline for Daleria. He emitted a war cry as he fluttered awkwardly, for that was what constituted flight for the Aamittar, a cumbersome churning in the air.

  Sapale snatched Gignjiter mid-flight with her probe fibers. The dwarf twisted and howled, but was fully incapacitated.

  “I will kill you for this insult,” he howled. “I will kill you, your kinsmen, and your kinsmen's kinsmen.”

  Sapale inverted Gignjiter. With each word she then spoke, she not too softly thudded his head on the tabletop. “That-does-not-give-me-much-motivation-to-release-you-then-does it, small-babbling-fool.” She exchanged smiles with Daleria after repeating her insult.

  “Sapale, please. Set the Aamittar representative down,” wheezed Genter-ban-tol. “And if such a thing is possible in this life, please apologize to him. How can we hope to defeat an unstoppable enemy if we quarrel amongst ourselves?”

  Sapale dropped Gignjiter unceremoniously to the table, headfirst, naturally. “Attack my family, suffer the consequences, small blustering fool. That's as close to an apology and a warning as you'll get.”

  Gignjiter righted himself and glared at Sapale, then Daleria, then back to Sapale. “I thought I was a small babbling fool. Now it's blustering?” he said angrily.

  “I know, I couldn't decide either,” replied Sapale.

  Daleria giggled briefly.

  Dusting himself off, Gignjiter walked toward his seat. “I can live with blustering. Babbling I cannot. Is that clear, Kaljaxian scum?”

  “Loud and clear, Aamittar scum,” she responded with a smile he didn't see.

  “Are you three done?” asked Toño with attitude. “If we are to save our hides, we cannot waste time posturing and acting like children.”

  Gignjiter drew a deep breath, obviously about to take umbrage at something Toño had just said.

  Toño raised a hand at him. “Don't even think about it. If I said something you do not like, file a formal complaint after the session. Also, get over yourself.”

  Gignjiter sat back, wriggling but silent.

  Toño directed his next remarks to the prime minister. “What reliable reports do we have concerning the damage done by the Cleinoids that were able to invade our universe?”

  Genter-ban-tol snorted, the snail equivalent of a sigh. “Little indeed. The universe is infinite. Our scientists have determined the ancient god column of Rage entered our universe extremely far from here. Using Deavoriath ships, we have sent scouting parties to the general vicinity. Few have made contact. Of those that did, over half did not return and are feared lost.”

  “What do they report?” asked Toño.

  “A few sites of the gods' assaults have been examined. The destruction and the level of amorality have been staggering. I will not go into detail here. You will receive full data sets upon request.”

  “I heard some Cleinoids have made it to our region,” said Sapale.

  “Yes. No more than five or six. Their damage has been as terrifying and complete as it was elsewhere.” He bobbed his slimy neck. “Aside from two curious cases.”

  “What cases?” shot back Sapale. “Why curious?”

  “We are not certain what to make of our findings. On one planet in our galaxy we found a revolting ancient god incapacitated and defenseless.”

  “You what?” exclaimed Toño.

  “Yes, most inexplicable.”

  “How was he incapacitated?”

  “Bound with some mysterious force-ribbon.”

  “Let me see a picture,” said Daleria.

  One flashed across the main monitor.

  “That's Walpracta,” she said softly. “The god of consumption. She is vicious, ruthless, and without mercy.”

  “She looks like a mutant lobster ready for the cooking pot and melted butter to me,” snickered Sapale.

  “Seriously, she is unbelievably powerful, cunning, and relentless. That she could be … be bound and left for dead is inconceivable.”

  “Hey, everybody's someone else's bitch,” responded Sapale with a quiet guffaw.

  “Not a god like Walpracta. Few Cleinoids could defeat her, let alone a local.”

  “What did you say she was bound with?” asked Toño.

  “I didn't,” replied the prime minister. “Some band of energy is all we can tell.”

  “Is its energy level decaying?”

  “Not within our ability to measure. No.”

  “Curious,” mumbled Toño.

  “As I said earlier,” responded Genter-ban-tol.

  “And no one has claimed credit for binding Walpracta?” asked Daleria.

  “No. We have no idea how she came to be where she was, left in the condition she was.”

  “Have you loosened the bonds to ask her?” queried Toño.

  “No. If we could I don't think it would be wise. But we can't. Some small efforts were made without results.”

  “You are lucky you failed,” Daleria stated flatly. “If she was free she'd have eaten the lot of you.”

  “You mentioned a second curious case,” said Toño.

  “Yes. On an otherwise abandoned planet we found a dead body of an unknown creature. Analysis of the remains suggests it is not of our universe. Several molecular components have never been found here.”

  “Picture,” demanded Daleria. After it was presented she spoke angrily. “That is what's left of Tramaster, god of nightmares.” She paused a second. “He always traveled with Selsify. Was he found?”

  “No,” replied Genter-ban-tol
, waving his head side to side. “Just the one body.”

  “What did this Tramaster die of?” asked Toño.

  “Repeated trauma,” he responded. “Vicious and near-surgical blunt force.”

  “Impressive,” mumbled Daleria. “Was it the same person who killed them both?”

  “No way to know, but unlikely. There were footprints suggesting a biped at the first site. None were found at the second.”

  “What was found?” asked Sapale.

  “Not one single clue. It was as if the beast killed itself in absolute seclusion,” responded Genter-ban-tol.

  “Not hardly,” scoffed Daleria. “He'd never do that. He was too mean and too ambitious. No, someone killed him.”

  “This is the first good news I've heard in ages,” said Toño under his breath.

  “How so?” asked Genter-ban-tol.

  “At least two people in our universe seem to be able to deal with these monsters very easily. Perhaps there's hope.”

  “Perhaps,” agreed Sapale quietly. “But who are they?”

  “The two most important beings in Prime,” responded Toño. “We must find them.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Right this way, sir,” Veleffie said, extending a whiff of cloud inward to Vorc's office. “Please be seated.”

  “Ah, Wul, good of you to come on such short notice,” said an ebullient Vorc. He extended a hand across his desk. They shook. “Sit, sit. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you. I'm fine.” Wul was understandably reserved. He had never been “invited” to Vorc's office. He barely knew him and certainly was not a fan, supporter, or in any way positive about the center seat.

  “Suit yourself. Say, how are things? Is business business going well?”

  “I can't complain. Things have eased since the egress, er, began.”

  “Yes, everyone's focused on that and not enterprise, aren't they?”

  “It would seem so,” Wul responded obliquely.

  “Yes, perfectly understandable.” Vorc rocked his chair backward. “And you, which rank are you assigned to?”

  “Wrath, if it matters now.”

  “What do you mean, friend Wul?”

  “With Dominion Splitter defunct it hardly matters, does it?”

  “I wouldn't say defunct. No, healing. That's the better term for it.”

  “If you say so. It looked dead to me and everyone I know.”

  “We must never abandon hope. Never. We are gods after all.”

  “If that makes you feel better, good luck with that.”

  “Healing. It's a matter of mending, that's all.”

  “Is that what you summoned me to discuss? The resurrection of the dead?”

  “No, no, Wul. I was merely making small talk, you know, between friends.”

  Wul looked conspicuously to the left and then to the right. “Is there someone present I cannot see?”

  Vorc's face was troubled, then popped back to displaying a forced smile. “Good one, old friend. You're on your game today.”

  Wul thought about shrugging but decided it wasn't worth the effort with this nitwit.

  “What I called … er, asked you to stop by was about … well, it concerned Ryanmax.”

  “Ryanmax? You say his name in the past tense.”

  “Indeed I do. Yes, it seems your friend met his violent and well-deserved destiny.”

  “Hmm. My friend? Well-deserved destiny? I'm not certain we're talking about the same individual. I knew a Ryanmax socially. He did not deserve anything unfortunate.”

  “Perhaps I was misinformed. I thought you two were close friends.”

  Wul shook his head. “No. We drank a few times together. We were not friend material, he and I. I haven't seen him in quite some time.”

  “Again my sources seem to have betrayed me.”

  “I'm quite certain I do not care. What do you want?”

  “Well, you are familiar with the attacks on DS, are you not?”

  “I really don't want to answer such a lame question.”

  “Ah. Well, it seems your Ryanmax was responsible for both attacks, the unsuccessful one and the successful one.”

  Wul felt the noose tighten around his neck. “He was not my Ryanmax. Say that again and you and I will have a problem.”

  Vorc's face fell. “Sorry. I meant noth …”

  “You meant what you said. Please get to your point or I'm gone.”

  “I enlisted the aid of Gáwar. He …”

  “You what? You're significantly stupider by many powers of magnitude than I could have dreamt. You summoned the god of demons?”

  “Well, yes. I had to know who destroyed DS. I had to have them punished.”

  “I thought you said DS was resting. Now it's dead? And how could it matter who did the deed? It was done and it is undoable. Punishment is a nice concept, but nothing is worth suffering Gáwar. You knew that, right?”

  Vorc stiffened. “As center seat that was my call. It is done. What I want to know from you is how complicit you were with that arch-terrorist Ryanmax. I would prefer strongly not involving Gáwar in the acquisition of that information.”

  “Oh you would, would you? How very sane of you. Let's see. Whatever he does, his price is a soul, or more often than not souls plural. I'm guessing he already has yours, so I can't imagine how you'd pay his price to force information out of me.”

  Something in Vorc's eyes spoke to Wul.

  “Oh my. You didn't know his price, did you, you simpering mongrel? That's rich.”

  “Tell me of your plot to aid the rebel.”

  “Or what?” Wul leaned forward and thought a second. “Let me see. Gáwar identified the perpetrator. That would be at least your soul. He also killed the man. That would cost your family's souls if he's a consistent business type. So if you sic him on me, what souls could you …” Wul pointed knowingly at Vorc. “Do they even know?”

  Vorc looked away. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “They do not. Oh my. When … when were you going to tell the poor devils? After they were dead, maybe?” Wul was laughing hysterically. “Who even are they, the souls you sold without their knowledge or consent?”

  “This conversation is not going as I planned it. You will please become serious and answer my justifiable questions.”

  “Or what? You'll sell my soul? Maybe you already have. Oh, Vorc the Dork, you really own your nickname, don't you?” Wul convulsed with laugher.

  “Stop it … stop …”

  Vorc pulled out Fire of Justice and aimed it at Wul.

  Wul's eyes bugged open momentarily. Then he pointed to the weapon and erupted into a powerful fit of giggles.

  Vorc's finger tightened on the button. Then he threw the device to the floor. “Get out. We are not done yet. You will rue the day you mocked me.”

  “V … Vorc th … the Dork,” hissed Wul through fits of cackles.

  “Veleffie,” screamed Vorc, “come throw this garbage out. Bring golems if you need to, but be quick about it.”

  As a massive golem dragged Wul away, he could not stop repeating Vorc the Dork.

  Vorc was having yet another bad day. Vorc very much wanted to kill a lot of people—any people.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sapale knocked on the old wooden door. The sound reminded her of a simpler life, some long-forgotten and impenetrably far removed time she longed for with strong passion. She wanted to keep rapping all day, but Mirraya-Slapgren opened it in defiance of her desires.

  “Oh my goodness, Sapale,” exclaimed Mirraya. “What a wonderful surprise.”

  Sapale looked to the doorstep. “Not so much. I come with horrible tidings in the heart of evil times.”

  Mirraya's face fell like it was hit with a blowtorch. “Please come in,” she said, stepping aside. She craned her neck, searching for Jon following in Sapale's wake. She shut the door without comment.

  Once Sapale was seated she asked, “May I get you anything? Tea
?”

  “Jon's dead,” Sapale replied with no emotion. None was left in her.

  Mirraya fell into the chair built to hold her dragon-shaped body. A sick, “Oh no,” was all she could manage.

  “Yes.”

  “I … we … we didn't …”

  “It occurred in another universe. The land of the ancient gods.”

  Mirraya sat mute a while. “I suppose that's why we didn't sense it. Still … Jon's death. That's hard to imagine missing.” She sat up slightly. “Are you certain?”

  “Have you ever heard of a piece of shit god named Gáwar?”

  She angled her head in thought. “Yes, or something similar. He's reputed to be the god of evildoers or something.”

  “The god of demons. I was there. Gáwar smashed Jon into the ground and ate the debris that remained.”

  “How gruesome. How wrong.”

  “Tell me about it. I wanted to stay and slay the beast, but Toño … well you know Toño. Common sense personified.”

  “I'm glad for that. Gáwar would have killed you two, and where would that leave us?”

  “The three of us.”

  “There's a new addition to Team Ry …”

  “Daleria. She's a demigod of something. Never actually asked her. Anyway, she hates the ancients and joined our ill-fated efforts.”

  After a moment Mirraya replied. “Ill-fated? Hardly. You survived. You came home. No doubt you have given our side much useful intelligence about these monsters. I call that successful.”

  “But Jon died. I call that a total failure.”

  Mirraya waited a while to respond. “I don't believe Uncle Jon would have felt that way at all. I think you know it too. He fought the good fight and he paid the ultimate price. But I know he thought of your safety the entire time. He's smiling beyond the veil as we speak.”

  “Huh.” Sapale grunted sarcastically. “Not hardly. Davdiad may be all-loving and all-knowing, but he's not stupid. He'd keep my brood-mate in the waiting room for all eternity.”