I take off my helm, and the DokkAlfar gapes at me in astonishment, for a few moments.
“You're that animal Brand! Why are you an assassin for the Nameless God's cult?” The DokkAlfar pauses, as an idea dawns on her.
The DokkAlfar's face turns nasty, filling with spite and malice. “The Smith, the Wytch, and you, you have all betrayed the War Minister! You're all in league with the Nameless God, a part of his filthy cult!”
My laugh is nasty and mocking. “Cunt, where the fuck do you come off thinking I owe anything to your dyke cunt of a mistress? Elan'fer'sha is the only one with ties to her, and Elan has never turned on your backstabbing cunt of a mistress. That bitch is the one that ordered the assassination, and now she's trying to set Elan up.”
“Liar!”
Fucking DokkAlfar cunt.
I put my helmet and mask back on and grab the DokkAlfar by her hair.
“Aaargh! You fucking bitch! Let me go, animal!”
When I shake her like a rag doll, the DokkAlfar shuts up, and I drag her to the window. From the window, a few buildings away, I see a group of a dozen humans and orcs huddled around a fire. All of them are scared, and between them all, they are missing enough body parts to make half a man or more. They have a half butchered human corpse on the ground, with the legs roasting on the fire.
Cannibalism. The slave pens are worse than I imagined. The strong do not just ass-fuck the weak, they literally eat them. Do the DokkAlfar just not care how many slaves die, or do they collect enough that letting them kill and eat each other in the slave pen makes no difference?
“How about it? You think you'll enjoy spending the rest of you life with them?”
The DokkAlfar's eyes are opened so wide that the whites are visible all around the irises. Her voice is a desperate whisper, as though she is terrified of being notice. “No! Please, no! I'll do anything. Use me however you want, but don't give me to them!”
“Compared to the DokkAlfar pussy I fuck every night, you're third rate. Besides you're just a peon. You don't know anything about what's really going on.”
“The War Minister is going to usurp the Citadel Lord's position!” The DokkAlfar's face is a mask of terror and desperation.
“Tell me more.”
“The Nameless God's cult controls the Stoics, and they have almost been pushed to point where they will have to rebel, if they want to survive. We have been conducting special operations to drive the cultists into a corner. The Church has been manipulated into sending assassins against the Stoics and the Nameless God cultists. The cultists are planning to rebel and attack the Citadel Lord. The Warlord's Fist Legion has been training to take over the Citadel Lord's Palace. When they cultists attack, we will let them weaken the Palace Legion and move in behind them to take over.”
This is even more fucking twisted than I expected, but among the DokkAlfar, if those in lower position usurp the power of those in positions above them and solidify their power, they usually get away with it.
“How do you know all this?”
“My company was supposed to be the guard company for Sinla'aveyka'tar. She was part of the War Minister's camp.”
Sinla'aveyka'tar was Aluras'bektsh'tar's ally? Why the fuck did Aluras'bektsh'tar send me after her then? Was this some advance house cleaning? Will the rest of Clan Aveyka'tar back Aluras'bektsh'tar without Sinla'aveyka'tar?
I have never been good at dealing with politics, and I am out of my depth. Politics means people and personalities, and I do not understand people. I do not want to understand people, they disgust me.
“When does all of this shit go down?”
The DokkAlfar's face becomes more fearful. “Soon, but I don't know when. It all depends on when the cultists can be pushed into acting.”
There are still pieces missing. Aluras'bektsh'tar was clearly trying to set up Elan'fer'sha, but nothing this DokkAlfar bitch is talking about gives me a clue why. I need to get back to the Blood Rose Stable as soon as possible. Why? Does it really matter if Elan'fer'sha is used or maybe killed by Aluras'bektsh'tar? Besides fucking her, is there any reason to keep her alive?
Fuck me. I am not sure what is wrong with me. First Perzey and now Elan, I was better off when I was not getting laid. I could think straight back then. Now, I feel like I am thinking with my dick.
My laughter sounds insane in my own ears, the DokkAlfar bitch is staring at me in horror. It only make me laugh harder. She looks too ridiculous being held up by hair, while naked and bound, and having that pathetic expression on her face.
Below, the humans and orcs on the street are looking around. Even up here, I feel the fear coming off them in waves.
I grab the DokkAlfar's throat with my free hand. Panic and terror mix with the horror on her face, as she loses the ability to breath and her bones begin to creak under the strength of my grip.
“If I had more time, I would see how enthusiastic a fuck you could be, but unfortunately for you, I'm more interested in Elan'fer'sha living than trying you out.”
Purpose
*** Gor'achen Citadel - Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 288
The streets of the Third Layer are filled with simmering tension. With the exception of bars, taverns, and eateries, all the normal businesses are closed and shuttered. The yellowish light crystal in the cavern roofs have been extinguished, and the silvery ones used at night are casting their dim light over the layer. It should be fairly late, but I have yet to see any public clocks, so I can only guess at the time.
Still dressed in leather armor and a leather cloak, I stay in the shadows of the back alleys, as I make my way to the cavern with the tunnel entry. No one sees me, but a few notice my passage. As I move past them unseen, they shiver and look around.
As I am crossing over one of the larger streets, a head of honey blonde hair catches my eye. Below, coming toward me, a smiling face is framed by the shoulder length hair. Mikumi. Despite the tension in the air, I feel a clear sense of joy and contentment radiating from her. She is more or less dressed, but the material is transparent. Her hard nipples are clearly visible through the almost nonexistent material of her shift.
The man at Mikumi's side that she is snuggled up against is bigger and more heavily built than I am. Unlike Mikumi, the man is clearly aggressive toward anyone looking in their direction, and his arm is wrapped around like she is his prize possession. I have seen hid kind by the thousands. He has a bit of skill at fighting, but he will never be more than a thug. Maybe, he deals drugs or runs a protection racket, but he will never climb to the top of any significant criminal organization.
Looking at the pair of them, I do not think that man is a customer. The way the man is holding onto Mikumi leaves me feeling irritated and annoyed, but I do not understand why. She is nothing but a whore that fucked me because she was paid to.
As they pass under me, Mikumi shivers slightly and looks around.
“What's the matter, baby?” The man's voice carries arrogance, but the emotion he cannot hide is different. It feels like insecurity, though that may not be right.
Mikumi glances around again. “Nothing. I just felt a chill.”
Mikumi's eyes are reflected in a couple windows, while they move away from me. She is surreptitiously looking around, using the images reflected in those same windows as her eyes.
The side cavern where the second tunnel exit is located was once a private compound, probably for a mercantile operation. It is another small pocket dimension, like the Blood Rose Stable. There are living quarters that should have been for the owner's family, servant or worker barracks, and warehouses.
As soon as I am inside, a chill runs down my spine. I charge forward, into the shadow of a warehouse. Behind me, a clump of arrows punch holes in the hard rock. A quick glance confirms my perception from my spatial awareness, at least seven archers fired at me. I can tell the general areas where the arrows came from, but I cannot locate the actual archers.
My kick, b
acked up with my ki, punches a hole in the wall of the warehouse, and I quickly duck inside. From the shadows inside the empty warehouse, I try to find the archers on the rooflines of the buildings in the main cavern. The instincts I developed over my eleven years in the Great Fuck Over tell me the archers are still there, but I cannot spot them. Either, they are being hidden by wards that I cannot detect, or they have the abilities that allow them to hide from my perceptions. I do not think these archers are part of Aluras'bektsh'tar's legion. It is more likely these are professional assassins.
Since I escaped into the Fifth Layer, I have not felt any psi probes. Either these assassins picked me up visually, or they knew where I was headed. I doubt that they could have found Thrall's teleport gate, but they might be aware of this passage and its sewer exit on the First Layer. The door to the sewer tunnel can be operated by anyone with enough mana and the ability to channel it, which means a not insignificant percentage of the DokkAlfar population of Gor'achen and who knows how many of the non-DokkAlfar. After all, the DokkAlfar are outnumbered by non-DokkAlfar in Gor'achen by something around twenty to one.
I have to assume that the assassins were waiting for me, and there will be more of them between myself and the passage. Swords in hand, I move deeper into the empty warehouse. Even though there is no light, the world around is clearly visible in gray scale to my ki enhanced vision There is a double door in the back wall that leads deeper into the complex. Passing through it, I find a corridor I have not been in running parallel to the back to the warehouse, with other double doors opening onto it. Since where I would have entered to reach the tunnel is to my right, I turn right.
The corridor ends at a single door, and I pause to listen. I did not expect to hear anything, but I am still irritated that I cannot get any clue as to whether the assassins are present or not. Cautiously, I open the door, but here is still no sign of the assassins. However, I recognize the corridor on the other side. If I had entered where I originally intended to, I would already be using this corridor. It leads to the deepest storage rooms.
Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.
Pulling off my gauntlet, I slice my palm and anoint both blades with my blood, before kissing the hilts.
My heart is steel. My soul is the forge. My thoughts are life to my blade.
I sheathe my short-swords and feel them almost floating in their scabbards. I do not like short-swords to begin with, and these are too light. Their lack of weight and mass robs my strikes of a chunk of their power. Taking out my regular weapon harness I don it, and adjust the fit, so that the paired bastard sword hang comfortably on my back. With the massive increases to my strength, they are still not close to the kind of mass I want in a weapon, but they are better than the short-swords.
I draw my bastard swords, with the soft ringing of metal on metal.
My heart is steel. Steel is the blood and bone of the Smith. While the flame of my soul burns, the steel of my sword will never break and never dull. A silver aura surrounds both swords.
Steel is shaped. Steel is tempered. Steel is honed. The blade severs life, leaving death. A brilliant white light momentarily flares on the edges of the blades, before the honed edges become line of white.
Reaching the end of the corridor, I enter the last room. I feel a murderous tension in the air. The assassins are here, waiting for me.
“You faggots might as well come out. I smell your stench in the air.”
A shadow starts to move, and nine more immediately spring out from nine other locations. They are all taller than I am, with the beanpole builds of Alfar. Their armor and short-swords are a match for the ones that I have, so they are probably Left Hand of Yggr assassins. Three of them are on the ground, and the rest are on top of the empty shelving.
If they are sending ten assassins after me, I must have done something that really pissed off the Left Hand Order of Yggr. The information that Aluras'bektsh'tar gave me had no indications of ties between Sinla'aveyka'tar and the Left Hand Order. Was that the real trap? Then what is the truth about the coup that DokkAlfar cunt was telling me about? Am I a distraction?
An assassin to my right is isolated, I jump onto an empty keg rack and launch myself toward the top of the shelves he is on. Even with their greater height and limb length, the length of my swords gives me the greater reach. The assassin tries to parry my thrust with my left blade using only one sword and has to quickly twist and add the strength of his other hand to the attempt. My right hand blade strikes the shelving beneath his feet, and driven by the explosion of ki, splinters and shards of wood are sent flying across the room.
My feet land solidly on top of the shelving unit. Even though it is made of wood, it easily supports my weight.
As the assassin loses his balance, I crouch down. Pulling my left sword back, I slash at an upward angle into the backs of his legs. Despite the resilience of the assassin's black leather armor, it is cleanly sliced through by the white aura of Power on the edge my blade. The flesh and bone inside the armor part like cobwebs under the magically enhanced sharpness of my sword, and his legs start to fall to one side of the shelving, while his body falls to the other. Streams of spurting blood form a curtain in the air as his body spins.
Not even pausing, I spring toward the outside the assassins' attempted encirclement. Without slowing, they turn and follow. This room is not that big, maybe two hundred feet deep and three hundred wide. There is not much room to run, but I have no intention of running. Turning to my left, I flicker through the Shadow of the Od and close on the farthest leftward assassin.
A heavy overhand slash forces the assassin to use both of his short-swords to stop it, and leaves him open to a low attack. My left blade stabs though his abdomen, and I slice upward as I pull it out, opening him up from waist to sternum. Sections of his already severed intestines begin to fall out of the gaping wound, and the stench of open bowels fills the air.
Clang! Clang!
I deflect another assassin's thrusts and move away from him. Dropping to the ground, I engage an assassin who is alone in the aisle below. He sways and weaves while retreating, attempting to buy time for other assassins to surround me.
Dropping into the Shadow of the Od for a fraction of a second, I move next to the assassin and hammer a round kick into his shin. His armor, which is strong against slicing and piercing attacks, barely reduces the impact of my kick, and the unleashed wave of ki destroys the bone and flesh inside of it. As the assassin lists to his right, when the boot of his armor becomes nothing but a sack for his ruined flesh and blood, I keep moving past him.
Bouncing off one of the shelving units, I barely touch the top of another, as I take in the positions on the remaining assassins. Keeping my distance from the main body of assassins, I move across the room and close on two that are a bit separated from the rest.
The two assassins separate a bit more thinking to attack me from two sides, but I step through the Shadow of the Od and come up on the outside of the farthest one out. His reactions are good, even better than the average DokkAlfar, and he spins toward me, blocking both my blades. His strength is as surprising as his reactions, at least two or three times better than most DokkAlfar. Has he started to Coalesce his Power?
As I exchange blows with the first assassin, the second one uses the few seconds to move around and attack from my side. He is coming at me with a high line attack, aiming for my neck. I drop into a crouch, avoiding the attack, and spear my shoulder into his solar plexus.
“Aieeeee!”
As the assassin staggers backward, my short-swords drop out of their sheathes and stab through his groin, into his lower abdomen. When he start to crumple, the swords rip out of his stomach in a shower of blood. I leap over the falling body, and the short-swords stab toward the first assassin, who parries and jumps clear, in a different direction.
The other five assassins have closed in around me in an arc. Without the Shadow of the Od, there would be no reliable way to get past them. The shor
t-swords return to hover over my shoulders For a moment, neither the assassins nor I move, as we appraise one another.
Since the assassin that is probably Coalescent is to my left, I charge to the right. My target stiffens in fear for a fraction of a second, giving me the chance to pin him down. I launch staggered overhand strikes with both blades, forcing him to give way toward the wall to avoid them. As he tries to parry my bastard swords, the dancing short-swords arc up and over. Coming down on both sides of the assassin's neck, they pierce through the gaps in his collar bone, tearing up his arteries, heart and lungs.
I step past the falling body and spin toward the next assassin in line, as fountains of blood spray into the air. My short-swords fly into the air rotating around their guards, as though they are spinning around axle shafts. As our blades clash, the short-swords shoot out to either side of my opponent, attacking the assassins coming up on either side of him.
The hammer falls, shaping the steel. The steel remembers the force. The steel releases the force. A dark grey aura mixes with the silver aura surrounding my bastard swords, and the assassin's short-swords are battered aside. My kick with a burst of ki to his diaphragm ruptures internal organs, and blood leaks from his helmet as he flies backward.
Circling around the two assassins my short-swords are tying up, the last two assassins come at me from either side. The Coalescent assassin is on my left, and I close with him, while keeping ahead of the other one.
The Coalescent assassin suddenly blurs into motion, and my block is a fraction of a second too late. His left hand sword pierces through my armor and pecs, before stopping at my ribs. As both my swords bind his, the assassin pushes me off balance, with a surprising burst of strength.
Spinning like rotary saws, my short-swords dart away from their current targets and cut into the back of the Coalescent assassin and the side of the other one closing on me. The Coalescent assassin collapses, with his spine severed, and the other one attempts to hurl himself away from the short-sword.
Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) Page 30
