When his brain finally started working, he made a desperate grab for his guard’s blackjack, but I slapped it out of his fingers so it thudded softly on the carpet. “Wait,” he managed to grunt even with my fingers around his throat. “You can’t do this! You need me to escape! Don’t you remember?”
“No. I don’t,” I told him.
“You do! You’re stuck here without me! S-s-sorry if he smacked you around,” Watson tried to get polite as he begged. “I just . . . it doesn’t really matter what I do, right? The golems listen to him. You saw that, saw how he feeds them. I tried to tell the Golem Crafters, but not a one of them believed me! The golems . . . they started following me around and could’ve turned on me too. On anyone. So I shut up! I just want my money and then I’m out of here. I can’t work here anymore, not with them always around staring at you with those eyeless heads . . .”
“They’ll be parts soon enough,” I promised. “But first . . . you get to take a little trip with me. Then we just see what happens on the other side.”
“So you’re . . . you’re not killing me?” he gasped hopefully.
“Not here,” I told him. “Don’t want to leave a body for Massey to find, do I?”
Hope died as he whimpered and mewed sounds that didn’t form words.
“Don’t worry,” I promised some more, “won’t hurt and it’s pretty much our Valhalla. So if you do die, you’ll already be in heaven.”
“What . . . what does that mean?”
I yanked out the World-Breaker from its secret pocket in my coat. Around me the Pit’s latest wave of geo-anima crested and carried through. Got used to that wave in the last week. Was really starting to get a feel for it. The way it curved and twisted, way it blasted the anima pool away from you with its weight. Part of me that likes taking a punch might even miss it a little bit.
Watson’s eyes widened as he saw the length of jade in my off hand. “Hey . . . they had a picture of that in court. But didn’t you destroy it? The vampire said you destroyed it! Said you had sex with one of them too, which is disgusting, but you definitely destroyed that!”
My only answer was to activate the Jinshin Ken and realm-jump the both of us into the Geo Realm. My feet hit hard as I popped into existence. Hello, valley of death. Sun felt good at least. Even if it wasn’t the right one. I’d gotten used to arriving on two feet, but with no wall to leverage him against, Watson wasn’t so lucky. Instead, he crumbled to the ground with a yelp. Down on the lichen-covered dirt, his head whipped all about as his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open.
Guess I need to kill him before he realizes what he can do with all the geo-anima here. Only an Intra, no match for me, but shouldn’t chance it. Not with Susan’s life on the line if I fucked up and got killed by some scrub. Get killed by Watson without ever tricking Paine out of his prize, without ever settling the mess Massey made for me, without ever holding Val again . . . even my body lost to the world, stuck in this place forever.
Be a bullshit ending to my life.
When I finally die I want it to be big.
Want it to be bold and brash. Want people to talk about that shit for hundreds if not thousands of years. Just like them gold letters I put on . . . on . . . I glanced around the valley’s mountain tops. “Where the fuck did the letters go?” I said aloud. “They were fucking fifty feet tall!”
Poug made himself be known with an answer, “The Great One removed his message now that the story of your coming has spread.” Unlike the usual carefree stance Poug took, be it sitting on a rock or leaning against a mushroom tree, this time he seemed uneasy and ready to fight, he even had that fully metal lance of his at the ready in his black-skinned hands.
Watson made some sort of strangled noise at the sight of the Black Elf, but took no further action. Guess Her Royal Majesty’s Conservatory of the Elements is less stringent on their emergency pooling lessons. Fines Samson sure would’ve failed him for not starting it the moment he entered into a dangerous situation. Or maybe the poor fucker has just been in the Pit so long he’s gotten used to not having anima.
“We have more pressing matters beyond your status as the Great One’s prophet however,” Poug informed me, still on edge with his weapon ready.
“More barbarian hordes?” I said doubtfully.
Poug’s face was as serious as his posture, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Worse, much worse. I do not know how, but the Parasites have come.”
“He . . . he . . .” Watson finally forced his lips to form at least a single word, but still didn’t pool anima.
Poug glanced down at Watson for the first time, dark eyebrow raised, but mostly still invisible on his black skin. “Another new ally for me to meet, King of Dirt? Not as beautiful as the last few, I admit. Though far less fearsome than the Queen of Fates as well . . .”
“That scared of Ceinwyn, are ya?” I teased him, feeling a bit more relaxed now that I was out of my cell and away from the Pit. For good, I hope. Of course, there was always the chance that even if I survived fighting Paine that Massey or the Lady or someone else might throw me back in that cell permanently. Prudes, think saying naughty words pisses them off, try fighting a homicidal maniac without having the proper permit.
“She was . . . quite a woman. Too much woman for any one man I believe,” Poug decided with more wisdom than I’ll ever have. “A Dale here, before me. It still fills me with wonder and . . . and with some trepidation too.”
“Yeah, she’s always been something my Auntie Badass,” I agreed with him before motioning to Watson. “This poor fucker ain’t my ally. Things on my side of existence got a little complicated yesterday. This piece of shit led me into a room with the Broken One inside of it. He sold me out.”
The Sawaephim’s face went extra dark; being it’s already the color of midnight it’s amazing he found any room to work with, but saying Paine’s fairy title managed it. “That sounds more than complicated. I am frankly surprised that you survived a second meeting with him, King of Dirt. Even my master fears what this Broken One could do to the Realms, especially fears that he might kill you and take your title as king, though likely not dirt . . .”
“Diamonds,” I grunted. “The King of Diamonds.”
“How did you survive?” Poug asked.
“Made a deal with him.”
“An ominous announcement,” Poug showed some more wisdom.
Me, I didn’t like the sound of where this conversation was going, probably to another Meteyos inspired rant about how I should stay away from Obadiah Paine at all costs, even if it meant my sister dying. So I tried to distract Poug back towards his own bit of shocking news. “What do you mean the Parasites are here? Ain’t that impossible? They don’t even have the Mancy, how the fuck they gonna realm-jump?”
“Impossible has a way of being ordinary when you are involved, King of Dirt. I suppose I will have to show them to you for you to believe me,” Poug decided.
“Strangest looking black guy I’ve ever seen,” Watson finally mumbled out a whole sentence.
Not exactly the last words you want on your tombstone . . . but I guess it’s okay since Watson wouldn’t be getting a tombstone, would he? Plus, he didn’t use the n-word. So, his last phrase was only mildly racist. Could’ve been a lot worse. Like maybe a KFC joke or something. Which I would never, ever do. Mostly cuz T-Bone stopped reacting after I bought him his fourth bucket of original chicken.
Turned out Watson wasn’t Dead Man Number Four after all.
I wasn’t the one who killed him. Poug got to it even quicker than I could pool anima. Probably a lesson to learn with that. Even with near instantaneous anima in the Geo Realm, it’s still only nearly instantaneous. God-King I might be, but I ain’t really immortal.
Someone was quick enough, someone surprised me, I could still get killed here. Lot like how Watson got killed.
Always wondered what was up with Poug’s lance, especially the pulley and crank system around the lance head. Thought it may
be had something to do with needing an extra jolt to break through hides or armor, there being lots of really tough armored creatures in the Geo Realm like them armadillo-wolves.
Nope.
Poug leveled his lance at Watson, pressed a button along it’s shaft, and the lance head shot out from the rest of it like a knife from hell. Bang! No gunpowder, just ol’ mechanical coiled tension. Thunk. The blade went right into Watson’s chest. Into his heart, perfect kill shot. Maybe even on a vampire. Blood spurted out of the wound, immediately covering the ground as Watson’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.
A yank of the lance shaft dislodged the blade from Watson’s chest. Whole thing was still connected to the inner workings of some contraption by a thin metal wire and another button press by Poug retracted the line inward, pulley’s finally showing what they did as they buzzed. Up went the lance head back towards the shaft, lodging exactly where it had originally started.
Well . . .
That happened.
Watson be dead.
Watson be very dead.
Better than getting exploded into lil’ Watson pieces?
Not sure.
Hell of a way to go either way.
Instead, I used a feeble bit of geo-anima to sink what was left of the man down into the earth. Me, I’m hoping for a viking funeral one day, complete with mead drinking and drunk fighting and maybe even some crying wenches . . . cuz who doesn’t want one of those, right? But I suppose for a geomancer it’s fitting to go back to the earth like that. Better than ending up a shell or a Construct, or tied down by rocks and thrown in the nearest lake like some hydromancer. Pyromancers like to be cremated, of course . . . few of them even self combust when they get old and sick, pick the date themselves. Not that many pyromancers live that long, being a discipline that dies young more than any other, even aeromancers. No idea what kind of burial aeromancers have, maybe they ball them up and shoot them out of a cannon or something.
“I do not believe I misread your intentions towards the man . . . or did I?” Poug asked, only now worried about social cues.
“No . . . was just . . . sudden. Working up to do it myself and all that. Had to be done though. He took the money, he worked for the Broken One . . . can’t let that stand. Can’t let him get in the way of what I have to do next too.”
Poug shook his head at me. “I will be in your debt for decades as it is, King of Dirt. Killing the Brightsword to save my life is not a feat even a templar of the Great One can easily return. Better that I begin to even the scales now, a little diamond to join the pile that must one day be built.”
That’s one way to look at cold-blooded revenge murder, I guess. Didn’t feel any less guilty, Poug being the one to do it or not. Although . . . didn’t really feel guilty at all now that I thought about it. Guess I just keep going about my night?
What else was there to do, right?
Cry about Sean Watson?
Fuck that guy.
You cry over him all you want.
Me, I had a Vault safe to pillage, a jump through the In-Between to make, needed to craft a fake World-Breaker that was real enough to save my sister’s life, and now . . . yet another complication. Again. Just what I needed. Vampires. Here. Not fucking good. Very not fucking good. “Said something about Parasites?”
Poug pointed down towards the valley floor, where the three farmsteads had once stood. Where children had once played by waterwheels. Where a once proud clan of warriors had met their end . . .
. . . an end named King Henry Price.
[CLICK]
It fucking stunk.
We didn’t even enter all the way down into the farmland itself, just hung near the edge of the foothills. Still fucking stunk. Worse than wet dog. Worse than skunk. Worse than JoJo’s overused, yeasty coot coot. Worst stench I’ve ever smelled in my life. Never thought I’d miss crows before, but holy fuckballs do those loud, black, pieces-of-shit have their purpose in life. It had been almost two days since I’d blowinated the burninators. The Geo Realm version of insects and scavengers had done some work on the bodies, but not nearly what their feathery friends could have accomplished on Earth.
At least the bears won’t go hungry for awhile.
Got to have your priorities straight and think about the animals first and foremost or else you’re a bad person.
The bears won’t starve.
Yippie!
Those poor misunderstood killing machines can fill their ‘ittle tummies with their old masters’ rotting corpses!
. . . What?
Found us a nice boulder surrounded by a tight pack of mushrooms to do our recon work on Poug’s ‘parasites.’ Parasites is dragon talk for vampires and last I checked vampires ain’t supposed to be in the Geo Realm. Or any other place that don’t have their favorite food source. But what do I know? Maybe we’re just like the vampire version of bacon and Black Elves are goat or duck, something else they occasionally get a craving for.
Sawaephim, it’s the other black meat!
Sawaephim, only one of them alive and it was Poug.
Bunch of black skin down in that valley, but none of it moved. All it did was decompose. And smell . . . fuck me. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised humans ain’t the only species full of shit, cuz damn does this reek.
Followed Poug’s finger towards a pair of colorful specks in the distance, using my trusty binoculars for what I hoped was the last time. Easy to see, since outside of those specks there wasn’t much color down there. What wasn’t dead had been burned. What wasn’t burned had been trampled. What wasn’t trampled got the fuck out.
Vampires, Poug said.
Could be.
One wore gold, the other purple. Not dresses. Still got across the idea that they were feminine, but the clothes were vaguely martial in design. Long blond hair worked into intricate braiding down their backs. Both shells had the same face thick with Slavic features, marking them as twins. Beautiful, which was a point in Poug’s favor since I’ve yet to meet a vampire that wasn’t at least a little bit attractive. Especially the older they got . . . and if these two were here—however they got here—then they were fucking old.
Divines?
Adding to the feeling of violence about them were the modern tactical harnesses clasped over their clothes. No bulletproof vest since a vampire wouldn’t need one, but plenty of pockets and straps to hold extra ammo or knives or whatever you could want. Each woman had a pistol at their side looked like you used it to hunt elephants. In contrast, already in their hands were the most modern assault rifles I’d ever seen. So sleek they screamed out the future, streams of precisely accurate bullets a dozen at a time. The twins went from body to body, checking over what was left. They especially lingered at spots where my geo-mines had decimated the surrounding area, and seemed to be circling the field where the Brightsword’s final stand took place.
Where the majority of the bodies are clumped together, armor on the inside.
“What happened to the women and children?” I asked Poug, still watching our visitors with the binoculars.
“Sent south with the tale of what transpired and some gems to buy themselves whatever supplies they need to last the next month,” Poug answered. The templar leaned against a nearby mushroom, cleaning Watson’s blood off of his lance. “I will seek them out and guide them on their way to Sawapann after we finish here. There they will be feted and honored by the temples as apostles of your actions.”
Think I liked having apostles less than I liked being called a prophet. “Suppose we’re lucky Meteyos took his words down,” I said instead, focusing on our present problem. Who knows if vampires can read Sawaephim, right?
“As I already told you, they had their desired effect and were removed,” was Poug’s only comment.
Just like that, found something I liked even less than having my own apostles. Desired effect couldn’t have been staking his claim on me if Meteyos didn’t remove the sign after I first read them. Instead the dra
gon waited until after the clansmen arrived. After I had to save Poug. “Meaning he wanted the attack, so I would get a taste for just how strong this Realm makes me.”
“The Great One works in mysterious ways.”
“Never bought that weak sauce on my planet, Poug, ain’t buying it here either.” The vampires had found their way to the barbarian king’s inner circle and seemed to be in an argument about how the armor had imploded the lot of them and what that might mean. Means I win and they lost, that’s what. “Sure they’re vampires and not just albinos or something? Or maybe one of your White Elves found their way here?”
“The Great One is sure they are Parasites.” Poug confirmed. “Not Albaephim. If they were Albaephim, I would slay them, but Parasites I am ordered to avoid at all costs. You as well, King of Dirt. If they are here then they must have some way of listening for disturbances in the Realms. You have made many of those in the last week. Perhaps it is time for this all to be at an end before they track you back to your world.”
“Meteyos wouldn’t like that.”
“Neither would you,” Poug reminded me. “But, yes, losing you would . . . be a blow. Not just to the Great One’s plans, but to me personality.”
“Getting soft on me, Poug?”
“You did save my life.”
“You saved Val’s sister by leading us when we first met, so consider that next time you start weighing any scales,” I told him. “Also . . . guess you earned a spot on Team Don’t Lick the Vamp Clit this week. We’ll consider you on the minor league team, being as you can’t help out on Earth.”
“I would not wish to start any rioting,” Poug agreed, finishing with his lance and carefully folding the bloody rag so it could be washed at a later time. “Or to be dissected like an embalmer’s university experiment.”
Vampires in the Geo Realm. Fuck me with a rusty fork but I didn’t like that shit. Outside of going down there and asking them what the fuck was up—even for me, a bad idea—I couldn’t be one-hundred percent positive, but they sure looked like vampires. All in the way they move. More something-extra than even the Weres manage. Like the world is easy mode and gravity doesn’t hold them down the same it does us common mortals.
The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6) Page 56
