[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  Setsassanar tilted his head back, then nodded slowly. “And so I shall, if you prove strong enough,” he said. “Now we take your training to the next level.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Steel Demon

  Wodan and Setsassanar ran up a spiral staircase that seemed to cover the entire length of the Tower. The only thing comparable to rest was when they flew full-tilt through side passages that carried them to a twin stairwell that spiraled along the Tower’s opposite side.

  “What is anger,” said Setsassanar, “and how does one overcome it?”

  Lungs blasting, legs pounding, Wodan fought for control of his voice as he shouted in response. “Anger is the fuel that drives action!” he said. “Swallow anger only if you’re too weak to use it!”

  Loping easily alongside him, Setsassanar shouted, “What is fear, and how does one suppress it?”

  “Fear is to be felt, never suppressed!” said Wodan. “Survival requires fear! Let fear run through you, but never let it paralyze you!”

  “And what about happiness? How does one chase after happiness?”

  “Happiness is not a goal! Happiness is a by-product of activity!” As he ran, Wodan did his best to hide his exhaustion in between breaths. “Seeking happiness means chasing after shadows! Stay active, keep moving, and happiness will chase after you!”

  “Very good! But are you only parroting things that I have said?”

  The black staircase spiraled on and on overhead. “Of course not!” said Wodan. “The lessons come easily because I was born for this!”

  “Then why do you move so slowly? Why do you seem about to collapse at any moment?”

  Wodan forced out harsh laughter, blinking sweat from his eyes. “I’m not tired!” He drew in a breath, then said, “It’s just that… I’ve never had much endurance for…”

  “What is this fantasy, this stupidity?” said the Master. “If I told you we were running toward a bed, would you pick up your feet and move? We can access Haven’s television dramas if you like, and catch up on some relaxing times. Come now, this is a snail’s pace. Haven’t I told you that you are no longer what you were before? Haven’t you already died to the old flesh? You are a superbeing, Wodan. Force your body to be strong, to keep moving! The harder you push, the more you will grow in strength!”

  Wodan no longer cared that Setsassanar never seemed satisfied with his efforts. He now understood that just being here and having access to the ancient recluse’s knowledge and resources was the greatest honor imaginable. In the Tower, Wodan endured lessons more painful than he ever thought he could, and yet he woke up every morning excited about what the day would bring. Life had taught him the frustration of constant impediments, difficulties, setbacks. But here, he was rewarded for every effort, and grew stronger every time he pushed beyond what he thought were his limits. He no longer felt like an outsider, much less a reluctant leader. Though he knew almost nothing about the strange – even sadistic - creature that watched his every move, Wodan felt true kinship. Here, at last, was someone who did not look at him sideways and scratch his head in confusion.

  I can go faster, he thought, forcing all distraction out of his mind. I can go faster!

  “Good,” said Setsassanar. “On and on. On and on. You leave the old ways behind. Now, Apprentice, what is anger, fear, and happiness to those that are weak?”

  “Anger is the lure of the weak! It draws the weak into making mistakes. If you aren’t strong enough to use your anger, then you should keep your head down, go unnoticed, and survive! Fear is the paralysis of the weak, the need to build up a wall of isolation rather than band together and find safety in numbers! Happiness is the great illusion, the mirage that leads to escapism and debauchery! It’s the noose painted like a necklace!”

  “Very good. Remember that! But, here – slow down, where are you going in such a hurry? We’ve come to the combat room.”

  ***

  Wodan crushed opponent after opponent in the combat room. No longer were the sessions long, drawn-out battles for survival; now, a steady stream of Robot Number Fours launched themselves at him, and he smashed their heads, crushed their torsos, and ripped their limbs free. Dozens stood on the sidelines, either standing at attention or sitting on their haunches like statues of cavemen. It seemed to Wodan that the Master must be turning their difficulty level down, though Setsassanar assured him that that was not the case. The servant, Yohei, scurried back and forth, placing fragments of bodies next to one another. They somehow repaired themselves over the space of a few minutes, as if by magic.

  One day the Master simply said, “Now, swords,” and in the middle of a fight one Robot Number Four pulled a blade from the wall and threw it at Wodan. He watched the thing fly end-over-end as if through syrup, then easily plucked the thing from the air just as another armed robot charged at him. None of the robotic combatants showed him any mercy, even when armed; if Wodan ever made a clumsy move, cold steel licked at his flesh and sent his blood to the ground in long, curving arcs smudged by footprints.

  He learned the intricacies of all manner of hand-to-hand weapons. With spears he learned to keep groups of enemies at bay, slapping at legs and knocking weapons aside so that he could gain an opening, stab into the guts, and then draw the weapon out before it could become entangled among ribs or spinal column. With axes he became adept at throwing himself among groups of enemies like a whirlwind, and how to shout before his weapon’s impact so that the eardrums were blasted and nerves were rattled and rhythms were demolished. With swords he learned to dance, every parry became a counterattack, and how every attack was an extension of will and would not connect without a supreme act of belief in his own will.

  “Stances are worthless,” said Setsassanar, standing by as Wodan fought. “Memorized movements are worthless. Regimentation is worthless. Remain fluid! Only movement matters! Stand still only when you’re dead. Until then move, flow, dance. Let your rhythm determine the dance. But don’t fall into a rut! Change the dance, don’t let the opponent predict your movements and lead you about! Make the first move! Call the shots so that you can determine the ending!”

  ***

  Wodan and Setsassanar sat in a square, concrete room with a low ceiling lit by only a few dim, flickering bulbs. It was designed to look like an ancient bunker, and even rumbled occasionally as if bombs were dropping in the distance. A clattering, jerry-rigged projector shone on a tattered screen, and with a thin reed Setsassanar outlined the details of Wodan’s education on ancient lore. Images flashed on the screen, diagrams, schematics, text, photographs, each flashing rapidly amid the sounds of bombs dropping and the light bulbs swaying gently. Though the setting was absurd, the message was not lost on Wodan. Their species was at war and they were running out of time.

  The voice of the Master guided him through it all.

  “Here, a basic tenet of physics. And another. Here, the basics of geometry. You see how architecture follows naturally? Look, biology follows from architecture – the form of a cell. You see how complicated, how simple it is? Don’t stop to admire the beauty. Memorize this - quickly.”

  “Here, the schematic of a solar panel. Here, the schematic of a howitzer cannon. Here, the schematic of a simple calculating machine. What’s this next one… ah, a magnetic resonance imaging system. Memorize them all.”

  “What, you think you can’t memorize all of this? You think your body has improved a thousandfold but your brain has turned to mashed potatoes? Wake up! You could understand all of this if you stopped telling yourself that you couldn’t!”

  They played chess down in the bunker. Setsassanar beat Wodan easily and often, but before Wodan could become frustrated, Setsassanar said, “I do this only to force your mind open, Apprentice. To force your thoughts down new pathways. It’s so easy to be lured in by routine, but it’s new experiences that make us grow. Those folds of meat in that thick skull of yours, Wodan – so many fields where neural networks can spread! Those are the paths, Wodan. Tho
se are the paths that can take you from where you are to where you can become.”

  Another synthetic “bomb” shook the bunker and Setsassanar cast his eyes about in mock fear. “But we must hurry,” he muttered. “There is so little time left, Apprentice. So little time left for this world...”

  ***

  As Master and Apprentice raced up the winding stairwell, they often took detours that led to vertical shafts where ropes were suspended. They leaped onto the ropes and hauled themselves up. Wodan’s arms were hard and muscular, his hands calloused, and he pulled himself up quickly. But he was always one step behind Setsassanar, who climbed as easily as a spider. Wodan could see the light above shining around his black uniform, ropes like serpents twisting under his quick, sure movement.

  Wodan was emboldened by his newfound strength, but still frustrated. “Master!” he shouted. “During all your teachings, you’ve said nothing about yourself. I know nothing about your past, what you’ve been through. Why won’t you tell me more about the Ancients?” When Setsassanar said nothing, Wodan continued. “What about this? If you give me complete access to the Scry program, I could watch the world, get a grasp of the larger political situation, and then see how humanity stands when compared to the demonic armies. Why haven’t you shown me that kind of thing yet?”

  Far ahead, Wodan heard the Master say, “Learn to climb before you can fly.”

  “But you’ve said that time is short!”

  Wodan came to a brightly-lit landing and hauled himself onto a ledge, breathing hard, hair lank with sweat. Setsassanar waited patiently, his breathing calm and even.

  “That’s why you need to concentrate on each step of this process,” he said. “Stare at the clouds in this race and you’ll lose your footing. If you prove competent in the simple matter of mastering your new body, do you think your teacher won’t be proud to show you the deeper mysteries?”

  Again, he’s right. Wodan shook his head.

  “Then come. The combat room awaits. We’ve been moving so slowly that it’s likely filled with cobwebs and dust by now.”

  ***

  Sweat flew from his hardened body like rain as the gears of his opponents shattered under his blows. He spun faster and faster as each opponent ran at him, improvising maneuvers and counters that they had never seen. Metal plates clattered along the ground behind him as he focused his will, leaped – and then passed through his opponents.

  “That’s good!” said Setsassanar. “Relax. We’re going to practice the submission holds I’ve shown you.” Wodan gathered his breath as Yohei ran about and gathered the ruined combatants.

  Three short Robot Number Fours gathered around Wodan. “These are programmed only with the strength of very powerful humans,” said Setsassanar. “They will take turns advancing. You are to submit them without killing them.”

  One stumbled forward, then extended a hand awkwardly. It seemed to Wodan as if he was asking for help rather than attacking. Wodan stepped forward, grappled the thing’s wrist as he flowed around it, twisted, then laid the robot out on the ground, its delicate wrist caught in his grasp. Another robot lurched forward in a parody of stealth. Wodan casually broke the first robot’s wrist, then spun the second around and pinned its arm behind its back.

  “Why go so easy on me, Master?” said Wodan, preparing for the advance of the third robot.

  “There may come a time when humans stand against you. I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you.”

  Wodan sighed, then spun the third attacker before placing it gently on the ground. “Not really, no.”

  “The only sort of creature you need to practice non-lethal fighting techniques against is a standard human. I’ve programmed this series of Robot Number Fours to fight at the skill level of the most powerful humans in the world.”

  Wodan was shocked. With his knee held against an opponent lying on the ground, another attacked. He grabbed its ankle, twisted, and threw it off easily. “The most… powerful?” he said.

  “Oh, yes. Do you still hold awe in your heart for Khan Vito? What about the Ugly called Hand, who was trained to be a master of combat? Or Yarek Clash when he was younger and in his prime?” Setsassanar smiled; his aura of ice beamed with something like pride. “Apprentice, you surpassed them long ago.”

  Wodan paused, and another robot took the opportunity to swing a fist at him. Without effort Wodan slid around the slow, ill-aimed blow, placed his hand at the attacker’s center of gravity, and pushed with just enough force to send the robot sliding backward on its ass.

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Wodan. “But… but this is too easy! Is this some kind of-”

  “Do you think I have time, Apprentice, to trick you into feeling good about yourself? Do you think I’m playing a game with you? Are you a delicate child scraping pencils on paper and then begging for praise?”

  “I see.” When another robot attacked, Wodan dropped all pretense that he was even in a fight by side-stepping around the thing and nudging it onto the ground. When it moved to rise, he stepped on it and held it down. “But explain this. Why have I been fighting robots in humanoid shape? And at ever-increasing difficulty levels? I’m training to fight demons, aren’t I? Why not send robots shaped like demons after me?”

  “I will.”

  “But why not now? Why have I been-”

  “The goal is to fight demons, but you never know who might stand against you. Tell me, Apprentice: Does San Ktari wage war against the flesh demons?”

  Wodan cast his eyes downward.

  “And who serves San Ktari?” said Setsassanar. He let the statement hang in the air.

  “You’ve been training me to fight the Engels.”

  “If necessary, yes. You may have to kill them all. You hadn’t considered that?”

  Wodan felt a slight shift in air pressure. Without looking, he reached and grabbed a metallic hand, then bent and threw his attacker far across the chamber. As another approached, Wodan pointed, shouted, “Stop!” and it froze in place.

  “No, I hadn’t considered that,” said Wodan. “That’s… that’s perverse. I could never-”

  “I’ve watched them, Wodan. They’re tools.” Setsassanar stepped into the arena, hands held behind him. “Tools of weak men who crave power and have no qualms, no reservations, no limits whatsoever when it comes to following the will of the state. You have no idea how many people, how many towns, how many cultures they’ve wiped out. You think they would hesitate to use your so-called kinsmen against you?”

  Wodan felt suddenly cold despite his exercise. “I wish that weren’t so.”

  “Are you distracted?”

  Wodan looked and saw that Setsassanar was smiling. Before he could respond to the unexpected question, Setsassanar backpedaled away from the arena, then nodded off to the side.

  “Look!” said Setsassanar. “A demon comes!”

  Wodan looked, but saw only one of the Robot Number Fours. At once its joints loosened, its white body extended into many black segments, its arms stretched out far longer than its body, then its head hunched down against its widening torso. Several other robots ran to the thing, leaped on top of it, and in a twisting blur they formed into a single, monstrous contraption. The metallic demon was a bundle of segmented limbs, quivering blades, and strange, vibrating heads. It was a steel demon, a pure black and white idol of the very thing that ruled the world.

  Wodan was terrified by the novelty of the thing – but then the terror was drowned in something else. He gripped his fists instinctively, feeling out the new emotion with which he was becoming more and more comfortable with each passing day.

  I can do this, thought Wodan. I can do anything!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Memory Fabrication

  Setsassanar and Wodan entered the crystalline blue chamber that housed the orb terminal.

  “Master,” said Wodan, “I want to use the Scry to see Haven.”

  “No,” said Setsassanar.

  “Wha
t are we going to do, then? Look at some other part of the world? I’ll need to see the big picture eventually.”

  “Not yet. We’ll get into that part of your training later.”

  They circled the Scry orb. “A recording, then?” said Wodan. “You’ve still told me nothing of your past.”

  “Patience. We’re not going to use the Scry program.” Setsassanar sat before the orb and motioned for Wodan to join him. “Slave Circuit, run the Mirror program.”

  “Yes, Master,” said the feminine voice. The orb shifted from translucence to writhing black and gray. Wires and tubes grew from the short dais beneath the orb. Wodan saw that two of the tubes ended in sharp needles.

  “What is this?” said Wodan.

  “The Mirror program is a fully immersive holographic experience based on recordings stored in Slave Circuit’s memory banks. I’ve tailored several scenarios based on your own past experiences. Put out your arms.”

  Wodan thought for a moment, then laughed. “You mean it’s a video game based on my life?”

  Setsassanar picked up one of the tubes that ended in a needle. “A game?” he said. He studied the thing in the light, then grabbed Wodan’s forearm. “Perhaps not quite as fun as that.”

  Setsassanar stabbed one of the needles into the underside of Wodan’s forearm. At once he felt lightheaded. Before he could react he felt another needle slide into his other arm, connecting him to the base of the coal-black orb.

  As in a dream Wodan saw the Master’s face swimming before him. “... to leave, any time... focus, then... -logram will fall apart...”

  “What?” said Wodan, accidentally biting his own tongue, which rolled about his teeth lazily. “What did... what did you say?”

  “... and put this und... put this under your tongue.”

  Wodan saw a thin wire before his face. He opened his mouth, tasted metal under his tongue, then clasped his teeth shut.