Cults of the Dragon Gods (Path of Transcendence Book 4)

by Brian McGoldrick

  Cults of the Dragon Gods

  Brian McGoldrick

  Cults of the Dragon Gods

  Brian McGoldrick

  Copyright © 2018 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: May 2018

  Bibliography

  Taereun Cycle

  Path of Transcendence

  1) Ultimatum of the Nameless God

  1a) The Survivors: Part 1

  2) Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God

  3) Quest of the Ancient God

  4) Cults of the Dragon Gods

  Contents

  Title Page

  Book Summary

  Agents of the Gods

  Separate Roads

  Family Questions

  Buried Secrets

  Missing Corpses and Walking Corpses

  Prisoners

  Fishing Expedition

  Too Many Questions

  Sisters of Penitence

  Night Raid

  Life

  The Strength of a Triune

  Weapons of the Celestial Court

  Dragon Blood

  Collecting the Spoils

  Closure

  Book Summary: Cults of the Dragon Gods

  Yggdrasil's main drive is in the hands of Boran, Second Father, but Brand still has business on Earth. He wants answers about his past, which only his nominal aunt, Karin McGuinness, can provide, and that is not his only objective. Driven by his unquenchable hatred for Earth and its culture, Brand is intent on starting a nuclear war that will exterminate life on Earth.

  The agents of Woden have sent their lackeys out to kill Brand, and they are not the only ones. Woden was not the only self-proclaimed God to be active on Earth, and the agents of the Dragon Gods have ordered their followers to deal with Brand, as well.

  Will Brand succeed in his plan to destroy the world where grew to adulthood, or will the agents of the Gods kill him first?

  Agents of the Gods

  *** New York – Earth ***

  Return: Day 343

  August 6, 2078

  Rising high into the sky above the streets of New York City, the skyscraper stood 257 stories tall, and the entirety of the top floor was a single penthouse suite. Standing in front of the floor to ceiling glass windows in the east wall, a teenage girl stared into the early morning sun. With brilliant green eyes that had a little bit of an epicanthic fold, her face was well into the realm or beautiful despite revealing a somber sense of gloom and depression. Her straight honey blonde hair resembled a helmet that brushed against her shoulders. As if she had a permanent tan, her skin was a natural deep bronze color. Even though she was built like a fitness model, she still had wide hips and extremely large breasts. In her bare feet, she would stand about 5'6” tall.

  “Mikumi.”

  As Mikumi looked over her shoulder, a frown tilted the corners of her lips downward. “I hate this world. Reverend Mother. I never wanted to see it again.”

  The Reverend Mother appeared to be in her late forties. Without any makeup on, her face has the wrinkles of someone who has lived a hard life of alcohol and drug usage. Her translucent negligee revealed sagging breasts. Her long straight black hair had the flat look of a dyed color covering the grey that could be seen peeking out at the roots.

  “We follow the will of the Celestial Dragon Emperor. We cannot choose to go where we will, rather we must go where the Sisterhood needs us to be. But this should not take very long. This is a combat mission and not a long term intelligence mission.”

  Mikumi frowned. “I am stronger most of the Claw Soldiers, but I have only been used as a spy. Why the change? What did you not tell us during the briefing on this mission? Who is that woman?”

  The Reverend Mother hissed and looked around the room. Not seeing or sensing signs of any others, she silently moved to Mikumi and spoke in a whisper. “Keep your voice down. She is one of the Holy Dragonians. As humans who have stolen from the Radiance, we are allowed to live only to serve the Court of the Celestial Dragons. It does not matter how talented you are. If you defy that woman, she will destroy you and us with you.”

  At the mention of the Holy Dragonians, Mikumi's face turned pale, and her eyes were filled with fear. “What is so special about this spell cube that it would merit the Celestial Dragon Emperor sending a Dragonian?”

  “I do not know, but we should only be here a month a most.”

  Mikumi's small frown returned.

  “At least, you will not have to spread your legs for filthy male customers while you are here.”

  Mikumi smiled, but there was a hint of anger hidden deep in her eyes. “Getting fucked day in and day out is the best part of posing as a whore. I love feeling men's thick cocks inside me. If it were not for that, I would never be able to stand life in the Sisterhood.”

  Seeing the Reverend Mother's disapproving frown, Mikumi's smile turned into a broad grin.

  “NO!” The shriek shook the penthouse.

  Both Mikumi and the Reverend Mother turned pale and looked toward the master suite, which had been taken by the Holy Dragonian.

  Boom!

  Shattered by the Dragonian's angered slap, the bedroom suite's doors were scattered across the huge living room as wood scraps and splinters.

  “Lavinia, gather your whores and equipment. We are leaving for California.”

  “Yes, Holiness!”

  *** Nevada – Earth ***

  Return: Day 343

  August 6, 2078

  Baking beneath the mid-morning sun, Area 51 had been been turned from a decaying ruin into the sight of a small battle. Smoke still rose from the smoldering remains of multiple barracks buildings to the north. The front of an office building near the center of the dilapidated complex had a hole where its front doors had once been. Scraps of glass and metal were scattered across the parking lot and the corpses of the guards that had once stood in front of those doors.

  A large man stared at the mutilated corpse of Jerome Jarlson. Nailed to the side of concrete barracks building with lengths rebar, the naked corpse had its arms spread like a crucifixion. Surrounded by a pool of blood, the corpse's mutilated genitals lay on the ground beneath it, and a gaping wound in the corpse's throat looked like a macabre second mouth.

  “Mr. McGuinness, you have the heart or an artist. Special Agent Jones would have been pleased to see this. I don't believe in god or an afterlife, but if I am wrong, I hope he can see what I'm looking at right now.” As he whispered the words, a faint smile touched the man's lips.

  Turning his gaze from the corpse to his own left hand, that man's smile disappeared and a grim expression left his mouth a straight, stoic line beneath his one human eye and his one crystal eye. While having the shape of the flesh and blood hand that was once there, the hand sticking out from the cuff of his black suit was made from grey metal. It moved, functioned, and experienced sensations like a human hand, but it was a construct of Power. From the cheekbone to the middle of his skull the left side of the man's face had been replaced with cold grey metal shaped like the bones of a human skull, and while hidden by his clothing, thirty-two percent of his body was now artificial.

  “Special Agent Jones, we have the preliminary report
ready.” Another agent in a black suit, stood respectfully behind Special Agent Jones with a data tablet in his hands. From his lack of expression, he seemed to see nothing untoward in the Special Agent's half-artificial appearance.

  “Forward it to my email. Has the bitch shown up yet?”

  “That statement is in violation of more than a dozen speech restriction and hate crime statutes, Special Agent Jones.”

  Turning toward the other agent, Special Agent Jones glared maliciously down at the man with his single human eye. “Boy, we are the fucking government. We do not obey the fucking laws. We enforce them on the craven sheep that don't have the balls to stand up for themselves and overthrow a government that has discarded the Constitution. They deserve everything we do to them, but if you want to try and impose that kind of bullshit on me, I'll kill you, and no one will do a damn thing about it.”

  It was a bit of a struggle for Special Agent Jones not to smile. Special Agent Jones would probably be proud of me. My vocabulary and my understanding of history are improving. I would never have used a word like craven a year ago.

  “The Deputy Director gives orders to Senators and Presidents.”

  Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

  Special Agent Jones did not turn to look in the direction of the approaching footsteps, but all his desire to smile dissipated, and his face filled with hate.

  “You still do not show the respect owed your betters, Clarence. Will it be necessary to enforce it with the leash?” For a female, the woman had a very deep voice.

  Trying to school his face into a bland expression and failing, Special Agent Jones turned his glare on the approaching woman.

  The woman's smile was both mocking and inviting at the same time. Standing about 6'10” tall, the woman was a few inches taller than Special Agent Jones, but her heavy breasts, slender waist, and wide hips left no doubt as to her sex. Her rawboned and heavy jawed face could only be called plain, but her sultry deep green eyes and wide mouth hinted at a lascivious nature. She was dressed in skin tight black jeans, a black t-shirt, and red leather jacket, but despite the heat, there was not even a faint sheen of perspiration on her smooth tanned face.

  “Your leash can force my to act, but it can't make me think what you want. Go ahead and use it. All it will do is reduce my combat performance. If you're sending me after Mark McGuinness, even at my peak, I may not be good enough to take him down. So, what are you going to do? Bitch.”

  As burning agony tore through his body, Special Agent Jones only revealed a slight grimace and clenched his right hand into a fist.

  “The leash can do much more than compel your actions, Special Agent. It is also quite effective at inflicting punishment. How long can you withstand that pain before begging for mercy?” The woman licked her lips, and in a seemingly unconscious action, her fingers drifted toward her crotch.

  “Go ahead. Play with yourself, Bitch. I'll enjoy the show.”

  The woman frowned, and anger glinted in her eyes.

  “Heh. Heh. Heh. I love seeing Federal pigs that don't know their place get their comeuppance.” From behind the woman, a man strode forward. Standing almost the exact same height as the woman, he had a build that was even more massive than the heavily built Special Agent Jones. His grey enameled plate armor was forged to match the outlines of flexed muscles, and a gray cloak was hanging from his shoulders.

  The woman glanced toward the armored man with a slightly mocking smile and a hint of lust in her eyes.

  “Sandor, my pet, you are supposed to be from this world's privileged, wealthy social class. Because of your family's money and power, you would have been above the law.”

  Glaring at Special Agent Jones, Sandor snarled. “If they catch you on a social camera, to many federal pigs don't know their place. This one has the attitude of pig that hasn't learned it should live in a sty with the rest of the sheep.”

  From Special Agent Jones' laugh, it would be hard to tell that he was experiencing pain that would make almost any man scream. “You're a retarded fuck. Pigs live in sties, but sheep live in pens.”

  Sandor snarled at Special Agent Jones. “You belong to me now Jones. A little piglet like you should know better than to piss off Godzilla. I might just step on you.”

  “Go fuck yourself, dickbag.”

  “If you two are done, it is time to take care of the Great God's business. I expect Brand to be captured before he escapes from this world.” The menace in the woman's voice was intended to be a clear warning.

  Suppressing a shiver, Sandor looked at the woman. “Of course, High Priestess. I live to serve the Greatest God. AAAAARRRRRRRRR!”

  “You are no longer the scion of one of the most powerful families on this pimple of a world, Sandor. You are the property of the Greatest God. Do not forget to address me as Mistress.”

  “Yes, Mistress!” Sandor's voice was a shriek or agony. Unlike Special Agent Jones, Sandor was unable to suppress his pain and keep his voice level.

  “My auguries tell me that Brand and his party should be returning to California. Sandor, take Special Agent Jones with you. A company of Einherjar is on route and will meet up with you at the Fresno base. Make sure that Brand does not reach the gate beneath the Burning Research Hospital. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress!” In contrast to what he believed, Sandor's face revealed his anger and frustration at having to obey and call the woman Mistress.

  Despite a number of them quivering in terror, the FBI agents taking pictures and collecting evidence pretended not to see or hear anything taking place around them.

  Special Agent Jones followed Sandor to a helicopter, one of two, where another man already sitting on one of the bench seats in the back. After doing a double take between Sandor and the other man, he could not keep a frown off his face.

  The man sitting in the back of the helicopter was a perfect carbon copy of Sandor, right down to the scars on his face.

  *** Santa Rosa Island – Earth ***

  Return: Day 343

  August 6, 2078

  Ten years prior, Santa Rosa Island was part of a national park, but now, it was nominally the property of La Raza, which was a pawn of La Raza de la Serpiente. In reality, it was the property of a single woman. While she was known by a variety of names in legal documents, they were all false. Her staff called her Mistress, and even without any collars on their necks, most of them were still nothing but her slaves. Their minds had been bent and twisted until they could not even think about defying her or taking any action that would not be to her benefit.

  Standing 6'8” in height, the Mistress herself was extremely tall for a woman. Her jet black hair, hanging to her knees, was long and straight. Combined with her black dress, the midnight color of her hair only highlighted the alabaster pallor of her skin. She was a woman who had no love for sunlight and never let it touch her skin directly. Her pale green eyes flashed with unadulterated arrogance, and her normally pale lips were painted scarlet.

  The room, where the Mistress was standing, was crafted entirely of stone with no windows. On the wall opposite the door, an extremely detailed mural of a winged feathered serpent decorated the wall. Its feathers were black except for the tips, and the tips formed a spectrum of thousands of colors.

  In the center of the room, there was a four foot high pedestal. An oval mirror, about two feet across its longest axis, rested in a stand atop the pedestal. As the Mistress stared into the mirror a cyclonic swirl of silvery-grey filled it, replacing her reflection in the mirror.

  “You have kept me waiting.” The voice that emanated from the mirror had a sibilant hissing quality to it.

  The Mistress dropped to her knees in front of the pedestal. “Your most unworthy servant apologizes, Master. I was inspecting the new warrior-slaves. If I had known Master would be calling for me, I would never have left the manor house.”

  “Cease! You are merely a pig. One would be a fool to expect competence from a pig.”

  “Yes, Mas
ter.” The Mistress prostrated herself on the floor and pressed her face against the bare stone.

  “The artifact has been taken from that world. The apostate pretenders have set their forces in motion. They hunt a pig. The Great Serpent has commanded that you take capture or eliminate that pig before the heathens acquire him.”

  “Yes, Master.” With her face still pressed to the floor, the Mistress' words were distorted.

  “The Celestial Court has taken action as well. A Holy Dragonian has been sent. Do not come into direct conflict with her minions, but if you can arrange for their deaths at the hands of the heathens, you are to do so. ”

  “Yes, Master.”

  The silvery-grey swirl disappeared from the mirror, and the Mistress no longer hid the anger and dissatisfaction that was in her heart. I may be weak now, but the day will come when I crush that arrogant Dragon beneath my heel. He may call himself the Seventh Feathered Sky Lord, but he is nothing but a feathered serpent, looked down up by all other species of Dragons. Within my veins flows the blood the High Men.

  Leaving the room, the Mistress traversed halls and corridors entirely devoid of the trappings of modern Earth civilization. The decorations could have been directly taken from a medieval castle or from many cultures that existed inside Yggdrasil. Upon reaching the main hall, the Mistress ascended the raised dais and took a seat upon the throne.

  Servants immediately ran from concealed alcoves on the sides of the room and prostrated themselves on polished stone floor fronting the dais.