But it was enough.
The handful of mages hungry for Val’s head abruptly cried out in surprise as the wand glowing so brightly in the backmost mage's hand abruptly exploded, spraying the howling mages with caustic acid, the deadly spray bouncing back from the Synergized Wards so carefully held between Val and the approaching mages.
Valorious Disjunction cast! 90 Mana spent! Wand of Necrotic Slime successfully ruptured! Violent arcane pulse unleashed! 100 points of damage and critical wounds warded by enemy Synergized Wards!
And even as his enemies were consumed by pain and confusion, a still grievously wounded and blind Val did the only thing he could. Attack with everything he had.
“Lacero Attero! Lacero Attero! Lacero Attero!” Val whispered through cracked lips, feeling his Mana plummet even as his enemies’ wands burst into caustic slime or lightning or flame that bounced back from their own wards, blocking Val from the worst of the backlash. Val wheezed blood through his desperate grimace, knowing he dare not pause even a moment to heal his wounds, assuming even his magics could heal them. His only shot was to take advantage of every second of his enemies’ confusion and horror, letting their agony and disorientation build, knowing it was a race between crippling them and having even one think to lash out at him while he was so close to death.
Even as his broken flesh burned from collateral damage.
You have taken 40 damage and a medium wound! Save versus collapse made!
Knowing he was too weak, but forcing himself to endure, to do what he had to, to survive.
Boosted Synergized Ward in effect! 50 mana spent!
Forcing himself to focus his Psi-sense on the screaming mages now closing on him, their warded robes having kept the entire band alive, even if just barely, while covered with caustic acid. And Val so very badly wanted them dead.
Needed them dead.
He glared at the cursed kris one had pulled back to slam into his body, rupturing the wicked-looking dagger while bracing himself with his Synergized Ward. Because as any good swordsman knew, just as important as speed and technique was timing. And there was no better time to detonate that kris than when it was momentarily behind his enemy's head.
Lacero Attero has successfully ruptured Infernal Artifact!
His foe had time only to hiss in horror as a catastrophic explosion of unthinkable heat and flame instantly fried him and his companions to ash from the other side of their wards, before crashing against Val’s own ward, searing his already tortured flesh.
300 Burst damage and Fatal Wound mitigated for 65 mana! You have suffered 65 damage and medium wound! Save versus sudden death made! Good thing your Vitality is insane!
Val’s heart stuttered. That final explosion left him just a hair's-breadth from death. Before a sudden flood of healing energies roared through him as half a dozen enemy mages that had been severely injured, but very much alive thanks to their warded robes, finally perished in despair and infernal flame.
Val thought he heard mocking laughter and the wailing of his enemies’ rapidly departing souls as their bodies crumpled to ash. But whatever price they had paid to unthinkable powers, their endless potential was now his own.
Death’s Kiss in effect! You have recovered 330 health! All Critical Wounds mitigated to Medium Wounds.
Val grimaced, quite sure that at least a few of those Critical Wounds should have been fatal. He was near stunned by the sudden flood of power rushing through him, even as he screamed in pain mixed with bliss so intense it was almost agony, like popping free a thousand madly itching scabs to feel sudden soothing relief, never mind the sting of endless imperfectly healed wounds stinging deliciously before a cool breeze.
A sweet torment unlike anything he had ever imagined overwhelmed him. His ruined eyes bubbled back into being upon his charred, near-fleshless face, nose and teeth regrowing as hair flooded atop his scorched scalp. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind with the furious intensity of his healing, terrified his enemies would choose that moment to strike, when he was all but helpless before the flood of agony and blissful relief roaring into him.
Song of Battle in full effect! You are regenerating 10 Health per second in addition to the lingering effect of your boosted red potions!
A minute later he was sobbing with relief, ravaged and mangled flesh repaired once more. He was profoundly humbled by how close he had come to death, how a single moment of overconfidence, a teasing enticement he was now strangely susceptible to, had almost spelled his complete and utter destruction.
And really, how stupid could he be? He’d played enough computer games to know that gems dropped from elementals always exploded. Always!
Val managed a bleak smile as he collapsed in an exhausted heap hidden in shadow, his restored eyes gazing intently at the pristine tower before him, knowing it would soon be his once more.
All but tasting the secrets within.
14
“Are you ready?”
Inquisitor Dimitry suppressed a shudder as he caught Kentric’s cold gaze. “Yes, Overlord Kentric. I will make sure everything goes according to plan.”
A soft chuckle. “That is what I like about you, Dimitry. You stay focused on the task at hand. You are ruthless, effective, and you show your enemies no mercy. Most of all, you are loyal. And that is why you still live now, after being made a fool of by the Terran ape who dared to take what is mine!”
Dimitry paled and shuddered, flinching before his master’s glare, before a soft chuckle emboldened him to look up once more. Paling at what he saw.
“You accepted my Psionic Oathbinding without hesitation. And I know how you hunger to prove yourself worthy. You are not a clever man, Dimitry, and this is good. Pieces on the board who try to be clever all too often need to be removed.”
Dimitry jerked a nervous nod. “Yes, my lord.”
Kentric smirked. “But you are effective, Dimitry, and savvy at ferreting out truths some would keep hidden. You are cunning like the sniffer catching his foe’s scent, and bringing him to heel. This is what I like about you, Dimitry. You are effective, loyal, and wise enough to leave clever gambits to your betters.”
Dimitry immediately flowed into a bow as Kentric seated himself upon his golden throne within his command center, peering at the monitors as Dimitry genuflected before him, all traces of the soldier he had brutally butchered long since scrubbed away.
“It is as you say. I am your man in all things now," Dimitry whispered.
“I know. That is why you are not writhing in a pain vat as we speak.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Have the men and pleasure maidens been rotated?”
Dimitry nodded. “They have, my lord. As per your request, we have delegated all of the professionals to your soldiers’ dens. Your personal quarters are now staffed only by village girls recently enslaved. They have been suitably broken in, however, and know only to flinch for your pleasure. I took the liberty of… questioning several soldiers who seemed unduly disturbed by political realities. They were given special assignments their fellows are envious of. They are now in solitary, and await your final judgement.”
Kentric frowned. “Are any of them officers or soldiers of any merit?”
“No, my lord. The Terran recruits have been sequestered within the most luxurious of officer quarters, with the ripest of pleasure maidens and the richest of indulgences as you commanded. Your Terrans will sense nothing but eager desire from girls hoping for powerful offspring. The three soldiers who dared protest our most recent acquisitions are typical Jordian youth.”
“Good. Have them disposed of. I will accept no ambivalence within the rank and file.”
Dimitry flashed a hungry smile. “Very good, sir.”
Kentric took a thoughtful sip of wine quickly poured by a beautiful girl wearing nothing but a silver collar around her neck, eyes staring vacantly into space with the telltale gaze of one who had been deliberately brainburned. “Lord Heimskur will soon arrive, ready to
be feted as my second for his impressive feats on the battlefield.” He flashed a cold smile. “I expect everything to go just as smoothly for him as it did for dear Bjalfi.”
Dimitry’s grin grew. “Of course, sir. The preparations are complete.”
Kentric nodded. “Is Inquisitor Svangur in place?”
Dimitry swallowed, lowering his gaze. “He is, my lord. He is… eager to prove himself after his, ahem, outburst.”
Kentric’s eyes narrowed. “Make it clear he will be responsible for bringing fresh nubiles, should he break any more. I will not have my men’s morale drop, simply because the pleasure maidens fear his appetites.” He flashed a cruel smile. “Only my personal prizes are allowed to savor fear.”
“Yes, my lord. He understands completely, my lord, and is eager to redeem himself.”
“Good.” Kentric closed his eyes and smiled. “Our guest has arrived. Come, Dimitry. Attend me.”
“Overlord Kentric. Let me tell you what an honor it is to be chosen to serve as your second. I will give you no cause to regret your choice. This I swear!”
Kentric gazed down at the powerfully built Highlord, who was snapping him a smart salute as his pilots disembarked from their battle-mechs, quickly greeted by dozens of beautiful women gazing at them with unfeigned admiration, plying them with conversation, laughter, and glasses of sangria. Their interest was not feigned, as the inquisitors and other Highlords present could easily sense. For no girl could hope for more than to capture the heart of a battle-mech pilot, and even should hoped-for chemistry fail to manifest, they could certainly give those men and women a night to remember, intent gazes making it clear they intended just that, and few pilots had any objections as they were all quite happily led to pleasure rooms adjoining the palace emanating the enticing sound of cinematic films being played, in addition to scents of exotic spices, wine, and laughter.
Heimskur frowned only once as his distracted men were enticed into the pleasure rooms, quickly flashing a grimace before Kentric’s raised eyebrow.
“Forgive me, Highlord. The men have heard rumors about your, ahem, exquisite treatment of the specialists under your care.”
“The rumors are true,” Kentric assured. “Your pilots will enjoy no more luxurious a life than when they are billeted at my palace. And you, dear Heimskur, will know no greater reward than serving as my second, once I ascend to the throne.”
“Of course, Overlord.” Heimskur bowed, followed only by his personal guard of half a dozen hard-eyed men gazing all around them intently, ignoring the blandishments of several scantily clad women gazing their way.
Kentric smiled benignly, paying Heimskur’s personal guard no mind as they proceeded to the palace.
It was at that moment that Heimskur gazed to his left, as if hearing odd whispers in his ear, frowning as he caught sight of the massive battle-mech hangars only half filled at the moment. His frown grew. He politely cleared his throat. “Overlord Kentric?”
Kentric gestured with his hand. “This way, Heimskur.”
“Of course, my lord. I take it we are still being pressed in the east?”
Kentric glared in the direction of the gate, carefully blocked by their deliberate path to the central palace, catching sight of the battle-mech hangars, understanding the situation instantly.
“We are. And it is Bjalfi who I have given the honor of a field marshal command over my battle-mech armada.” He flashed a knowing smile. “Of course, we both know that sometimes those with a modicum of initiative begin to think themselves… clever. But with the right steps taken, we assure that cleverness does not get out of hand.”
Heimskur’s frown immediately morphed into a smile. “Of course! Your pilots, your battle-mechs… ultimately loyal to you. And his own battle-mechs, now under your command —”
“—Your command now, Heimskur, in addition to my own. For you will be my second and in charge of imperial defense, as well as serving where you are most needed.”
Heimskur’s smile grew as they entered the palace, making their way along luxuriously appointed hallways, the brilliantly polished floor of jade colored marble inlayed with gold. “Of course, Overlord! And brilliantly done. You fete Bjalfi with honor while forcing him to prove himself on the front lines with men who will never betray you.”
Overlord Kentric chuckled as they stopped before the door leading to Kentric’s personal pleasure rooms, bas-reliefs of nubile young women performing the most erotic acts with powerfully endowed men adorning the marble walls to either side. “That is right, Heimskur. Now come. Before the ceremony, there are arrangements you and I must make. Alone.”
Heimskur bowed his head. “Of course.” He glared at his guard who saluted at once.
“Fear not, my lord. I shall assure the men drink only water while they wait for you,” a suddenly servile Dimitry oozed to Heimskur, bowing from his waist.
Heimskur smirked. “It looks like you have your inquisitors under control.”
Kentric grinned. “Indeed I do. Come, Heimskur. It is time to embrace honors that will leave your dear nemesis green with envy for years to come.”
Heimskur chuckled as he entered a room filled with exotic perfumes, soft music, plush beds and luxurious divans, all populated by wide-eyed trembling girls awaiting his pleasure. His smile made it clear he could read the Overlord’s command to please their guest in all things, no matter how savage or brutal, radiating from young minds filled with sharp terror and dread so intense the man did nothing but grin in satisfaction, assuming it was for the things he would soon be doing to them, his Overlord by his side.
Only then seeing the head in a vat of yellow-tinted liquid by an archaic-looking fireplace, gazing at him with brilliant silver eyes wide with agony unending, mouth locked in an eternal scream.
“Bjalfi,” he whispered, his voice drowned out by the screams of his dying guard on the other side of the door.
Desperately he turned around, grip upon his Psiblade.
“Overlord, why—” are you doing this? he thought desperately, blinking in wide-eyed horror as the world spun and he crashed to the ground, only realizing in those horrified surreal moments that he was looking up at his decapitated body only now falling to his side, Kentric smiling so coldly down at him with his crackling Psiblade held high.
“For your battle-mechs, of course. And your pilots, even now swearing oaths with blasters pointed at their heads while my maidens cherish their cocks.” Cruel laughter mixed with the terrified cries of girls bound to collars and chains. “Greed and avarice. Ever useful at leading prey to their demise.”
A despairing wail echoed endlessly through Heimskur’s mind, knowing his agony had only just begun.
“It is done.”
Cold eyes belonging to none other than Highlord Craven, head of the High Council, glared into Kentric’s own from the other side of the massive hyperion monitor, taking up an entire wall of Kentric’s central command. His enigmatic gaze lingered over Kentric’s glaring countenance for endless moments before he finally gave the tiniest of nods.
“Good. How many?”
“Ninety-five battle-mechs in all. Every pilot I bound to the strongest of Psionic Oaths. Only one died from the strain, and none will ever dare to betray my cause. It was nothing to snap up Bjalfi and Heimskur’s troops and Oathbind their officers, once they saw which way the wind was blowing, with 95 Vulcan autocannons pointed at their skulls. Twenty thousand more troops and twenty more battle-mechs, and I will be back at full strength.”
“And the portal?”
Kentric grimaced. “Every contingent I send through has failed in their mission. Any technological equipment sent through suffers instant surge damage, as if exposed to multiple spells at close range. There is absolutely no trace of battle-mechs or survivors within two hundred yards of the gate. And no party who went farther out has come back. Rumors are spreading, so I have been forced to offer volunteers considerable bonuses and unlimited time with their favorite consorts. I have received nume
rous reports of shambling horrors seen in the distance, and no man now dares going beyond sight of the gate. I have already had to deal with numerous deserters, despite shipping in an additional three dozen pleasure maidens from the northern port and doubling the daily permissible spirit allowance. The net effect to morale if I press the men any further may prove… troublesome.”
“You killed the deserters, of course.”
Kentric nodded. “Even now they blink their endless lives away in pain vats. Some might call it excessive for vermin, but it keeps desertions down.”
Craven frowned. “Your uncle has trouble accepting just how powerful ancient Jordian ritual magics can be. I will make sure he knows of your accomplishment, even as I convey to him what we have discovered in regards to our greatest foe’s skills so far.”
Kentric clenched his jaw. “I will seize this world for our cause, as I swore.”
“I know. I will emphasize the importance of focusing all our resources on assisting you in your endeavor.”
Kentric nodded. “I will not forget your services, Father. Particularly if it includes mecha. As many damned battle-mechs as Caligula can spare.”
Craven bowed his head. “I will do everything in my power to make it so.”
Kentric squeezed his fist, crumpling the gold goblet he held in his hand, crimson wine spilling unheeded across his knuckles, though his voice was carefully modulated. “What have you discovered about this Valor Hunter?”
Craven frowned thoughtfully. “He was a former Terran soldier, but nothing like our rank and file troopers who are taught to take orders and hold territory. He belonged to a highly unorthodox unit trained exclusively in Maneuver Warfare, specializing in pinpoint strikes and assassinations. All their operations were clandestine, and few government officials were even aware of their existence or their… significance. Their commander and everyone associated with the unit, active or retired, went missing the day Caesar seized power, and have not been seen or heard from since. The very fact that they have managed to elude Caesar’s grasp for so long further emphasizes the magnitude of the threat this Terran boy poses to our interests. And obtaining even that much information from agents conversant with Terran computer systems did not come cheap.”
Oblivion's Crown Page 18
