by Nick Harrow
“You’ll have time to decide.” I leaned back from the angel and rested my hands on her armored hips. “Seriously, though, where do you go from here?”
“My sisters wish for us to take up our former mantle. We were inquisitors, of a sort.” Tyrsilene frowned. “But I don’t think I can do that, at least not for a time. It seems too destructive, too divisive. That is the kind of thing that led to the godfall.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Restore equilibrium. The many worlds are falling further and further from their ideals. Every day, warring forces seek to fill the void left by the gods who fell. If the wrong individuals were to ascend...”
She shuddered and looked away from me. There was a strange glow in her eye, a reflection of some past event that had left her soul scarred and stained. I felt a fragment of it, and Rathokhetra stirred from his ancient dreams at its touch.
“I led my god astray.” The confession dragged itself out of Tyrsilene like a barbed hook lodged deep in her belly. The pain brought tears to her eyes, and she brushed them away with the back of one delicate hand. “I want to rectify that mistake.”
“How?”
“Will you accept me as your advisor, Clay?” Tyrsilene gazed deep into my eyes, and blue sparks flitted like a swarm of shooting stars across her eyes. “Will you let me guide your feet on the path to godhood?”
Chapter 28 – Inkolanas
PINCHY WAS PISSED AS hell that I’d left her out of the battle at the gate, but she wasn’t good at holding a grudge. When I made my way down to the Solamantic Web, she scrambled over to rub her tail against my cheek and brush my hand with her claw.
“No bad guys?” I asked the scorpion.
I’d come down to the web every day since I’d stabbed Selician in the eyeball with a hunk of godmarrow. Rathokhetra had warned me that playing around with that shit would attract a lot of the wrong kind of attention, and I fully expected the orc to show up any day and demand to know what the hell I’d been up to.
Only, he hadn’t.
The Solamantic Web was opened to the fortress we’d stolen from Kozerek, but there was no one on the other side. Kez had finished her study of the evil drow’s journals with help from Nephket and Delsinia and thought she had a good idea of where to start her hunt for the people who’d fucked over her family. She’d been in murderously good spirits ever since, and I knew the day was coming when she would expect us to find and kill those assholes.
“I really wish I knew what to do next.” It had been days since Tyrsilene had asked to teach me her ancient lore, and I still hadn’t answered her one way or the other.
Did I want to be a god?
“All men want to be gods.” Pinchy and the other scorpions screeched and clacked their pincers together in alarm. A strange figure had appeared on the other side of the web and stepped through before I could close it down. “It is the nature of mortals to ascend, to crave the power of creation.”
“Who the fuck are you?” My khopesh appeared in my hand, ready to layeth down the biblical smacketh upon the villainous.
“We decided it was time for you to deal directly with us, rather than our messenger.” The shape was tall and thin, and it changed with every word that it spoke. Its long legs folded into a lotus position as it hovered above the floor, and each of its arms split, then split again to form an array of limbs that spread around the creature like the petals of a flower. Its flesh darkened to a glossy azure, and the featureless head gained the vaguest suggestions of eyes and a mouth. Feathers, or maybe quills, sprouted from the crown of its head and ran down its back as the creature floated nearer to me. “We are the Inkolanas.”
Well. Shit.
“Look if it’s about the godmarrow—”
“It is, and it is not.” The skinny blue motherfucker stopped a few feet away from me and leaned its long neck forward so that its head loomed a foot above mine. Awkward. “Our messenger asked you to deliver the godmarrow to us, but since you saw fit to claim it for yourself, our plans for you have changed.”
“I didn’t have a lot of choice.” There was no way I’d sell Kez out, but this guy couldn’t threaten me for what I’d done to survive. “Selician was going to wipe out my settlement, and me with it. Desperate times and desperate measures, you know?”
“Selician erred.” The creature made a tittering noise that I hoped was supposed to be laughter. “Like you, he did not follow our instructions well. His ambitions overreached his abilities. And so now he is gravely wounded.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Selician was one of yours?”
“Of course.” The Inkolanas seemed to peer at me in confusion. “You did not understand this before?”
What. The. Fuck.
“No, I goddamned well did not understand that you set one of your pets on me.” Frustration boiled to the surface. Rathokhetra fueled the fires of my rage with some spite of his own. That fucker was always spoiling for a fight. “If I had, I would have discussed things with him. Maybe not had a war that almost killed me.”
“And where would be the pleasure in that?” The Inkolanas seemed genuinely confused by my desire to not be forced to fight for my life. “You are stronger now, yes? You have learned and grown in power. All according to the Grand Design.”
I did not like the direction this conversation was headed. There were too many bizarre implications in this little talk, and I didn’t have the patience for any of it. If all this had been a setup to see who would win between me and Selician, I’d pull this fucker’s head right off its shoulders.
“You set me up.” My anger was white hot and ready to burst loose from my control.
“We put the pieces in play.” The Inkolanas’ many arms shrugged. “We gave them their orders. They disobeyed. This is the price one pays for stepping outside the Grand Design. And, now, your role is different. You were a pawn before. Now you are a knight. Or perhaps a rook.”
“And what does a rook do?”
“A rook does nothing without a hand to guide it.” The Inkolanas tittered again. “But then again, what guides the hand? Is it the mind? The soul? Forces of destiny?
“All of this, and none, Clay Knight. You were chosen to—”
“Why?” The one question I’d been troubled by the most bubbled out of the dark shadows of my mind and spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Just why in the fuck did you pick me for this job?”
“You were chosen to provide us with territory and resources,” the Inkolanas continued. “You failed at that, but you have made yourself far more valuable in this new role. You are now on the path to becoming an ally, not merely a servant. Perhaps, in time, you will become a true power and will help repair the damage that has been done to the many worlds.”
“Why? Tell me why you picked me, you freaky piece of shit!”
“Choose wisely, for you stand on the brink of momentous decisions. Will you become a god? A devil? Will you succumb and become no more than a vessel for that which you struggle to control inside you? We do not know. You have given us the gift of uncertainty in the face of the Grand Design, Clay. We thank you for this opportunity to learn and grow.”
“Answer the goddamned question. Why me?”
The Inkolanas retreated, and I chased them right up to the edge of the Solamantic Web. Their many arms touched the edges of the web, and Kozerek’s fortress vanished. A white room replaced the stone, and something burbled quietly just out of sight. The smell of antiseptic drifted into my nostrils.
“We did not choose you, Clay Knight.” The Inkolanas drifted back through the web. I caught a glimpse of something just out of the left corner of my vision.
A tank.
Filled with brains.
“You were chosen by our former pupil. Another who failed. He requested you personally.” The creature’s strange not-mouth quirked into a reasonable facsimile of a smile. “You may thank the once and future Lord Rathokhetra for your current role in the Grand Design.”
The Inkol
anas receded further, and a trio of orcs surrounded them. The brains floated in their tank. Earth was right there. Inches away from me. All I had to do was take one step and I could go home.
I hesitated.
The web went black.
“Now you know.” Rathokhetra’s voice slithered through my thoughts. “You should be honored, Clay Knight.”
“Fuck you.” I snorted and left the web behind. I needed to see my guardians. I needed something normal after that mindfuck. “None of that means shit. You may have picked me, but I’m not your slave. I’m the driver. You’re just a shitty passenger.”
“So you think.” An edge of amusement underlined Rathokhetra’s voice. “But your transformation has already begun.”
“Seriously, shut the fuck up.” I didn’t need to hear this.
“Soon,” Ratokhetra crooned. “We will be one. And then, Mr. Clay Knight, I will rule Soketra again.”
The dungeon lord’s laughter hounded my steps as I returned to my guardians. My thoughts chased themselves like a pack of weasels on angel dust. All the fighting, all the death, all the pain had been just a prelude to what was to come. The battles I’d fought on Soketra would be nothing compared to the war on the horizon.
And it would start right here, inside my mind.
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Looking for more Harem Gamelit? Well, then check out the first book in Aaron Crash’s bestselling series, American Dragons: Denver Fury (Book 1). Or keep reading to take a sneak peek!
Gather an escort. Acquire a dragon hoard. Build an empire ...
STEVEN WHIPP, A NORMAL, poor college student, is kissed and shot on the night of his twentieth birthday. He realizes three things: he’s bulletproof, he’s a dragon, and everything he’s ever wanted is within his reach. But the attempts on his life are just the beginning of his troubles.
Steven is a Dragonsoul—a magical race of beings who have thrived, hidden from the eyes of humans, in control of the world. And not just any Dragonsoul, but the last in a long line of Arch-Sorcerers, thought long dead. Now he is being hunted, and he must unlock his powers through battle and sex or ancient forces and old feuds will destroy him and all he loves.
From the author of the LitRPG epic War God's Mantle comes a brand new Pulp Harem Adventure!
Disclaimer: Denver Fury (American Dragons Book 1) is a shoot-em-up, action adventure, urban fantasy novel which is not intended for readers under the age of 18. This novel contains swearing, violence, and a harem of beautiful shapeshifting women that the hero regularly sleeps with—and he does so gladly.
ONE
IT WAS GOING TO BE one of those nights at the Coffee Clutch. You’d think midnight in a Denver coffee shop would be pretty chill, and it was most of the time. But then things can get weird on the night before a guy’s twentieth birthday.
Steven Whipp grabbed the mop out of the cleaning closet just as Bud came in and kicked the water bucket. “Oops,” Bud sneered. “I just gave you more to mop up. Gotta earn that minimum wage, Cool Whipp.”
Steven tried to ignore the guy. What was the point of getting in a fight and losing his job over some bully messing with him? The cleaning company job was the one job that Steven actually liked. His other two jobs—shelving books at the Denver Metro University’s library and working in the cafeteria—were stupidly boring. Besides, there was no Tessa Ross there to make them bearable.
Bud swaggered back to the employee lockers to grab his jacket and backpack. He’d leave early and let Tessa close down the latte machines and other equipment. It was unfair to Tessa, but Steven could relax once the jerk-off left.
Steven maneuvered the rolling bucket and mop out of the cleaning closet and into the main area of the coffee shop. Chairs crowned the tables, and while the bright overhead lights had been turned off, the neon signs cast a multicolored light like a buzzing rainbow. Tessa cleaned behind the bar, wiping off the machines with a rag and listening to music on her phone through one earbud. The other dangled free.
Even late on a Wednesday night, traffic still moved down Broadway in a parade of lights.
Before Steven started mopping, he inhaled and smelled the sweetly bitter coffee and Tessa’s perfume. He so wanted to tell her how he felt about her, but she was light-years out of his league.
She was a hipster chick—tattoos, piercings, and one side of her dark hair shaved. She dressed in black and wasn’t afraid of showing a vast valley of pale cleavage. She was a thicker girl, but Steven didn’t mind a bit. He liked women with hips. While Tessa was ultra-cool and listened to music he’d never heard of, Steven was just an everyday average normal guy—medium height, medium weight, medium everything. He did like his hair, though, which was thick and inky. That was all he had going for him. He was too busy dealing with three jobs and working his way to a bachelor’s degree to be cool. He’d never be able to afford even a single tattoo. He wasn’t exactly shy, but he wasn’t all that outgoing either.
He splashed the mop down and started in the far corner by the door. If he timed it right, he’d get to the coffee bar right when Tessa finished. On good nights, she’d stay, and they’d talk. On bad nights, she’d leave to hook up with someone, guy or girl. Tessa was pansexual and proud of it. On those nights, Steven wanted to burn the entire city down out of mad jealousy.
Bud walked out of the back room wearing what he called his extroverted bomber jacket and sunglasses, even though it was past midnight. He tossed Tessa a look and then did what he normally did. He pointed to a spot and said, “Hey, Cool Whipp, you missed a spot.”
He laughed at his own joke. Instead of leaving, he paused. “What kind of a name is Whipp anyway?”
Steven felt Tessa watching them. He wanted to shove Bud, or come up with a snappy comeback, but his head was blank. Truthfully, he didn’t much like his last name either.
“It’s a name,” Steven said. “Just leave, Bud.”
The guy smirked. “That’s the thing. You can’t tell me what to do. You’re just the cleaning guy. Tessa and I are baristas. We’re important. You’re not. We’re the lords, and you’re the servant, Cool Whipp.”
Steven could picture himself slapping Bud across the face with the mop, but then Bud would contact the owners of the Coffee Clutch and there went that job. He’d have to spend a fortune on coffee just to spend time with Tessa.
He slapped the mop onto the floor. “Sure, Bud. I get it.”
Bully Bud laughed, unlocked the door, and went out into the night.
Tessa returned to cleaning. Steven made his way across the floor, hating himself for being such a punk. The fact was, he didn’t feel like a servant. He didn’t think he’d be smelling like disinfectant when he was in his fifties, unlike his mom, who worked as a cleaner at the Denver airport. He knew that at some point, things would change. But when?
He had the floor shining when he reached Tessa, who sat on the counter, so he could get to the coffee stains and cast-off grounds on the tile floor.
He glanced up and saw she was watching him.
<
br /> “He’s wrong,” Steven said suddenly. Well, that was certainly off script. He always let Tessa talk first. He didn’t want to be the douche who talked her ears off.
“I know he is,” Tessa said. “But come on, at some point, you are going to have to stand up to him. He messes with you because he can get away with it.”
Steven leaned on his mop and dared to look into her face. She had a nose piercing and hazel eyes that changed color. Sometimes they were greener, and sometimes they were bluer, and sometimes they were even a brownish color. She obviously dyed her hair black, and he liked the combination. Always had. Dark hair with blue or green eyes was striking. There was a foreign exchange student at Metro University from India named Aria who had similar features. Steven thought Aria might be a model because she was kill-me-slow gorgeous. She sometimes studied in the coffee shop. She loved the caramel lattes there.
Yeah, the caramel lattes were good. Behind Tessa, the specials of the day, latte this, frap that, were written in her distinctive handwriting, full of loops and character. She’d also added little flourishes—cartoons of happy cups of coffee promising sweetness and caffeine.
“Guys like Bud don’t matter in the long run,” Steven said. “So what if he bullies me? I have a ton of stuff I want to do in this life, and I’m not going to let dicks like that get to me.”
Tessa grinned at him. It was warm and welcoming. “What kind of stuff are you going to do?”
Steven felt a blush warm his face. “I have no idea. But ... can I be honest with you?”
Tessa glanced at one of the many watches on her left wrist along with a bunch of brass bangles and plastic bracelets. “It’s after midnight, early on a Thursday morning. If you can’t be honest with me now, then when?”
Steven felt the fear in his belly like cold water. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He was going to push forward and tell her something he’d never told anyone before in his entire life. And yet, every second of every moment he had felt it. “Tessa, this is going to sound stupid, but I feel like I’m going to do something great. It’s just a feeling ... I mean, I have no evidence to support it. I grew up in Thornton, I got Bs in school, and I knew I wasn’t going to go to any big university. Hell, I’m lucky to be going to Metro. But at some point, something is going to happen, and it’s going to make my entire life make sense.”
