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

by Brian McGoldrick

  Without any visible signs of what he might be thinking, Special Agent Jones stares at me for several moments. "I react faster. I think faster. My memories, since I woke up with this thing in me, are perfect to the point that I can play them back like videos. It also makes me aware of people using strange powers like you do. When they are in use, I see these twisted knot-like overlays on top of their effects."

  "It's giving you a form of pattern sight. It's letting you see the the spell patterns and the underlying patterns of Power-based abilities. Everything that exists has a pattern that cannot normally be seen. If you learn how to fully utilize that thing, you might be able to see any and all patterns."

  Special Agent Jones rubs the steel implant in his head with the tips of his fingers. He does not seem to even be aware of my presence. While our conversation ceases for several minutes, there is only the background noise from the wind, insects, birds, and distant vehicles.

  Abruptly snapping out of his reverie, Special Agent Jones' head snaps around in all directions. He gives the impression of being both startled and nervous.

  "Is that happening very often?"

  Special Agent Jones stares at me. "How long was I out of it?"

  "A few minutes."

  A barely perceptible dejected look fills Special Agent Jones' eyes. "Not as much as when they first put this thing in me. Sometimes, I see or hear something, and it triggers a I don't know … I guess, you could call it thought loop. This thing forces me to think about and evaluate whatever triggered the loop, until I reach a resolution. I don't think this thing is working properly. Maybe, it's still a prototype."

  "There is a place in the Battleground of the Damned where they make use of Power-based augmentations that are like cybernetics, but I never heard of anything like that plate on your skull. They did this to you at the Burning Medical Research Hospital?"

  Special Agent Jones nods. "I think so. When I woke up there, this was already in me."

  "Did you know that there is a dimensional rift that leads to the Battleground of the Damned underneath that hospital?"

  As he nods again, Special Agent Jones frowns. "I heard some of them mention it a few times. There were other people in the hospital, patients, that were supposed to have come through that rift. They are doing a lot of really fucked up experiments there. I don't understand even a tenth of what they are trying to do. One of the people they were experimenting on is in charge of the hunt for you. It really seems to hate your guts."

  For a moment, I am a little surprised. I really should not be. Since Sandor and the old faggot were in charge of that guard patrol that I destroyed, I imagine there could be more people I know here already. That bastard Woden offered what amounts to virtually eternal life to any loser that would follow him. There are probably thousands or tens of thousands of players trapped in their character's bodies who would take him up on that offer. I am sure there are plenty among them who know and hate me, especially, if they have been told that Brand and Talon are the same person.

  "Do you know what his name was in the Battleground of the Damned?"

  "No idea, but he goes by Sandor. He seems to have some connection to that group of wealthy pukes here in Fresno that they call the Five Families."

  I shake my head. "Sandor? It can't be. I killed him and two others in the Battleground of the Damned right before we returned to Earth. I destroyed them in Body, Mind, and Soul. What does he look like?"

  "Actually, it's two of them, twins. They're both named Sandor, and they're like carbon copies of one another, right down to the scars on their faces. They're big, almost seven feet tall. They're so heavily built that they almost make me look skinny. Dark Brown hair, brown eyes, and scars here, here, and here." Special Agent Jones points to his left jaw, under his right eye, and his forehead.

  That description sure as hell sounds like Sandor, but I killed that motherfucker. With the spells I used, there is no way he should have been able to resurrect. More to the point, there was only one Sandor. He never had a twin or even a sibling that I heard about, so why the fuck would there be two of him?

  "Master, could that really be him? He's dead. I saw you kill him." Standing by my side, Angelique looks up at me with her confusion visible in her eyes.

  I shake my head. "I don't know. With the way I killed him, it shouldn't be possible for it to be Sandor, and how the fuck could there be two of them?"

  As we look at each other, Angelique and I are both frowning in puzzlement.

  "After I woke up, they kept me in the hospital for six weeks doing tests. Even now, they have me come in every other week for testing. That hospital has a lot of strange things going on inside of it. They're doing a lot of experiments with implants like this thing they put in my skull, and they're doing some kind of genetic experiments. There are other things in their that are not human. They look like they might be half animal and half human. I don't know what they are, but from what I've overheard they come from that Taereun place that you went to."

  "Is there anything else I should know?"

  Special Agent Jones frowns. "Before you left, you gave me the impression that that Nameless God was the only one fucking with Earth. Did you know anything about that priestess of Hel that controls the hospital? Or about those flying snake worshipers in South America? Of the Dragon worshipers in East Asia?"

  I do not think I keep the surprise off my face. "Dragon worshipers? Flying snake worshipers? What are you talking about?"

  Special Agent Jones stares at me while clearly evaluating me. He gives the impression that he is trying to stare into my soul. While I keep my eyes locked with his, we face one another in silence.

  "You really do not know anything about them? You are not lying to me?"

  "No. I have no reason to lie to you."

  Special Agent Jones frowns. "America is a battleground between those powers. There used to be more of them, but now, only the three groups are left. That Nameless God of yours seems to be the same God those towel heads in the Mideast worship, Allah. I don't know how Hel, the snakes, or the Dragons fit in, but their followers are apparently in complete control of all the South American and East Asian governments. I've never been able to figure out why they are fighting it out here in America or what they are fighting over."

  I slowly shake my head. "I don't have any answers for you. Until I ran into that priestess of Hel, I didn't know that any other false gods had followers here on Earth."

  "I won't ask you anything else. If they download my memory before you act, they will learn everything that I know."

  "Then, you're going back to them?"

  Special Agent Jones frowns and looks down at the ground. "I don't have any choice. With this thing in my skull, they can force me to return anytime they want. They own me. There is nothing I can do about it. I can't even ask you to kill me; that's no different than trying to commit suicide."

  "Suicide is for cowards."

  Special Agent Jones laughs. It is a harsh, macabre, self-mocking sound. "It's for cowards or someone desperate with no other options."

  "Angelique, ward yourself, so you don't get hit by a stray bullet, and take out that drone!"

  "Yes, Master!"

  I draw my swords.

  A fraction of a second later, Special Agent Jones pulls his gun out. Just like the man, the gun is big, but it appears to fit comfortably in his hand. The front of the gun has a more or less trapezoidal shape, and the hole in the barrel is about a half an inch in diameter.

  Special Agent Jones smiles at me. "When you left Earth, I wanted to have a go at you."

  Wind begins to blow from behind me, and as he looks past my shoulder, Special Agent Jones' eyes narrow.

  "Your move Special Agent Jones."

  Without saying anything else, Special Agent Jones squeezes the trigger on his handgun. As the bullet exits the barrel, a flash of fire obscures the end of the gun.

  The world around me seems to slow down, and I can clearly see the rotation of the bullet as it f
lies toward me. As I start to charge forward, I duck under the path of the bullet.

  Special Agent Jones shudders, and his movement speed triples. Pushing off to his left, he manages to forcibly bring the barrel of his gun into line with me again. His finger squeezes the trigger a second time, and with another fiery flash, the second bullet streaks toward the center of my chest.

  What The Fuck? This bullet is moving faster than the first. There is a faintly visible spell pattern surrounding it. The world around me turns faintly grayish, and searing pain tears through my Body, Mind, and Soul. As I stagger slightly, my movement slows. Off-balance, I cannot avoid the bullet. It hits me in the middle of my chest, but there is no pain.

  There is no question; the bullet passed through me without touching me. I do not understand the exact conditions, but somehow, being in the Shadow of the Od can put me out of phase with the universe around me. It does not appear to work with all attacks, but with some, I can be in a dimensional state where I cannot be hit.

  Special Agent Jones' eyes open so wide that the whites are clearly visible entirely around his irises. Just as he pulls the trigger, he stumbles, and the bullet goes wide.

  Lunging in the direction of Special Agent Jones' movement, I slice my left-hand blade into his forearm, but he jerks his arm upward quickly enough that it is only half severed. His hand still goes limp, and the gun falls from it.

  With my next step, my right-hand blade pierces his abdomen just below the diaphragm.

  Clenching his teeth, Special Agent Jones lets out a hiss of pain, but he does not scream. Grabbing my sword with his right hand sword, he attempts to halt the movement of the blade. The man is as tough as he appears to be.

  With a twist of my wrist, I slightly change the angle of my thrust, and Special Agent Jones' fingers are severed from his hand. I drive my sword entirely through his body until the guard slams into his stomach.

  With blood already dripping from the corners of his mouth, Special Agent Jones smiles. Hooking his fingerless hand onto my shoulder, he uses me to support the weight of his body. My sword did not sever his spine, but it has at least cut into it. His legs do not appear to be working right.

  Clunk.

  The gun that Special Agent Jones dropped hits the ground.

  "Fuck, I never would've stood a chance."

  "I wasn't this good when I left Earth."

  Special Agent Jones coughs. "Before they put this thing in my head, I wasn't even a tenth of the fighter I am now."

  Sheathing my left-hand blade, I lower Special Agent Jones to the ground, but I do not pull my other sword out of him.

  "There is a laptop in my car. It has everything that I know about these god worshipers that are fucking with America. The password is Wendell. Mr. McGuinness, kill them all. Please."

  "If I said that I am going to nuke the Earth, would that work?"

  Special Agent Jones' laugh turns into a wracking cough. As the spasm ends, he smiles, revealing blood coated teeth. "Nuke the fucking planet!"

  As the light of life fades from Special Agent Jones' eyes, I feel a strange hollowness in me. It feels like I have lost something of value. I did not like the man, but I realize that I respected him. We were not friends, but we were not exactly enemies. Initially, our respective situations pitted us against each other, but I think Clarence Jones was a man similar to myself, someone addicted to violence and battle that never belonged on Earth. I think I regret only having that one chance in South Dakota to fight with him on my side.

  Pulling my sword from the corpse, I stand up. There is no need to remove any blood from the blade of the sword, ever. Even after skewering someone, it is as clean and shiny as when Boran gave it to me.

  I wait a few moments for Angelique to finish her spell. She is surrounded by a miniature cyclone that is circulating faster and faster. As she finishes casting, the cyclone streaks into the sky, and in a matter of seconds, the drone is engulfed.

  Boom!

  Both the drone and the cyclone disappear in a fiery explosion, and fragments of metal rain down on the city.

  There is a black four-door sedan parked next to my SUV. Just looking at the car, it screams, "I am a government shithead's vehicle!"

  The laptop is in the back seat, and I take it.

  "Time to get out of here. Let's go."

  "Yes, Master." Angelique's voice is subdued.

  Prisoners

  *** Central California – Earth ***

  Return: Day 344

  August 7, 2078

  (Brand)

  thump

  While opening the driver's door of my SUV, I pause.

  thump.

  Looking around, I do not see anyone, but I am certain I heard something nearby.

  "Master?" Angelique's voice has an inquisitive tone to it.

  Without replying to her, I attempt to spread my Psi awareness throughout the area around us.

  Thump.

  The sound is clearer. It seems to be coming from the direction of the cemetery's gate, but I cannot see or sense anything in that direction other than Special Agent Jones' corpse.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  My eyes are drawn to Special Agent Jones' corpse. Even if I tried, I could probably not stop my eyes from opening wide.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  Special Agent Jones' heart has started beating again, and it is growing stronger. The blood that was dripping from his wounds appears to have stopped, but the wounds are not scabbed over. Moving closer to the corpse, I see blood flowing through the wound as though it is still contained within his blood vessels. His heart stopped. He was definitely dead, but now, he is alive again. What the fuck is going on?

  "Angelique, do you know spells to ward against scrying and to block mind control?"

  For a moment, Angelique reveals an introspective look. "I know a few good spells to block various types a scrying, but I don't know anything about mind control. That is a really specialized type of magic. I've never met many Casters that do much with things like mind control, mental illusions, or things like thought scraping."

  "Get in the SUV." Picking up Special Agent Jones, I dump them in the back seat of the SUV and climb in the driver's seat myself.

  Picking a random destination on the north side of Fresno, I get the SUV moving.

  "Cast everything you have that block scrying on him."

  "Yes, Master." Angelique begins casting spells.

  I pull the slave collars out of my storage ring. I am actually building up quite a collection. With my pattern sight still operative, I examine the different collars, evaluating their properties. None of them are ideal for what I want to do, but I choose the one that will probably be the most effective in blocking any sort of remote control spells or Psi-based triggers. Placing it on Special Agent Jones' neck, I snap it closed and activate it.

  Using my social organizer, I drag Angelique and Dacbold into the same party as Elan and myself. *Dacbold, I need you to take one of the vans from the motor pool and bring Elan with you.*

  Through the party channel, Dacbold's surprise is easy to feel. *Where are we going?*

  *Head North out of Fresno. I'm moving that way now. I may or may not be being tracked. I have someone with an implant that reminds me of those things you would sometimes see in Artificers down around Troven's Depths. It's complex. I cannot tell if it has any tracking functions built into it, but it definitely has some very sophisticated mind control.*

  Dacbold is silent for a moment. *I'm not even close to an authority about Artificing, but I do have a few things that might block remote control systems.*

  *Elan, what about you? Do you have any spells that could help?*

  *Maybe, it would depend on the methods being used to control the person.* Elan's tone sounds pensive.

  *Okay. Let me know when you are outside of Fresno. I don't want to go near our base before Special Agent Jones is properly warded. Angelique is warding him for now, but she doesn't know anything about
mind control spells.*

  * * * * *

  After reaching an address in the industrial area north of Fresno, I keep sending the SUV to different random destinations while waiting for Elan and Dacbold.

  Special Agent Jones is obviously healing. His rate of recovery is ridiculous, and it does not seem to be connected to the plate in his skull. The man is not a Adept, but he does not seem to be a normal Earth human. How many more aberrants like him are there on Earth?

  Even though I am trying to save Special Agent Jones, I am confused about why I am doing it. For me, this is completely out of character. I do not have friends, and he is not one of my women. At the cemetery, I intended to kill him. I thought I had killed him. Why do I care if he lives or dies? I am a killer. I am not altruistic. I am not compassionate. I revel in the deaths of my enemies and take pleasure in torturing them. Other than Perzey and my supposed parents, I have never been affected by the death of another. So, why? Why does it matter if Special Agent Jones lives or dies?

  Since she finished casting her spells on Special Agent Jones, Angelique has quietly sat in the front passenger seat. She seems uneasy, and her eyes never leave me. When I look at her, she does not look away, but she gives the impression that she would rather be someplace else. Despite going to great lengths to be of use to me and to please me sexually, she is unsure of where and how she fits in around me. Her life has left her nearly devoid of anything resembling self-confidence. Her only similarity to me is her desire to inflict pain on her enemies.

  I look out the window. This area is dominated by a mixture of light and heavy industry. There are almost no people. Computers and robots carry out more than 90% of the manufacturing done in America. The only people employed in these businesses are some administrators and maintenance personnel. In the past, there were apparently tens of millions of people who were employed to carry out numerous tasks by the manufacturing companies. Now, they, their children, and in some cases, their grandchildren are all living off the government's Federal Minimum Income.