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

by Brian McGoldrick

  Navarro's guards chain Pancho, the girl, and myself to the walls of our cell and tear off what little clothing we have left.

  Holding hands with Consuela, Alberto Navarro enters the doorway of the cell.

  "Why?" Pancho looks like he has been pole axed. He simply stares, open mouthed, at Consuela.

  Considering their physical contact and their body language, I would guess Consuela and Navarro are more than simply friends or co-conspirators.

  Consuela frowns and shakes her head. "You were so gung ho about America. I tried many times to convince you to accept your Mexican heritage, but you were fixated on being an American and being a Marine.

  "We may speak Spanish, but our heritage has nothing to do with European heathens. The true history and culture of Mexico, Central America, and South America lies with the Aztecs, the Incas, the Mayans, and the Toltecs. Our history can be traced even farther back to the Olmecs and the Nazca. They followed the True Gods, the Feathered Serpents of the Thirteen Heavens. Kulkulkan and Quetzalcoatl are both numbered among the most ancient of the Feathered Sky Gods. We once knew what real Gods were, but we failed to defeat the plague that was the Europeans. They destroyed our empires. They thought they eradicated our culture, but they were wrong. We, the followers of the True Gods, are not gone. La Raza de la Serpiente still remembers who we should be. If you had not been blinded by the godless culture of America, you could have been one of us."

  Pancho stares at Consuela with a completely blank expression. It almost appears that he did not understand a word that she said. After a few moments, he shakes his head. "You're right. I was totally blind. I never realized you were stark raving, fucking loco. Gods? They're not God's. They're just pendejos and putos that have more Power than we do. There is nothing divine about them."

  Consuela's eyes change, and cold naked hate replaces the compassion compassion that was in them. "You are a fool. I should have known better than to try and save you. You are never worth my time."

  Turning her back on Pancho, Consuela stalks out of the cell the cell, displaying a frigid dignity.

  With Consuela's departure, Navarro looks at me. As he stares, his eyes are filled with disgust. "I have been to Taereun. It was an eye-opening experience. While I was there, I watched as a group of Dvergar were hunted down by warriors serving the Feathered Sky Lords. The were only five Dvergar, but before the last one fell, they had slain over five hundred. To think that someone as cowardly as you is wearing the body of a Dvergar is pathetic."

  When I do nothing but return his stare without replying, Alberto Navarro leaves our cell and locks the door behind himself.

  With a sheepish grin, Pancho looks in my direction. "Sorry. I guess I never really knew Consuela. My bad."

  I snort. "Okay, it's your bad. At least ,you could have tried to pump her for more information, rather than just tell her to her face that she's a goddamn psycho. Now, do you have any idea how we get out of here?"

  Pancho lifts his shackled wrists and looks at his naked body. "Not a clue. We're gonna have to watch for an opportunity and improvise."

  "Oorah!"

  Pancho gives me the finger.

  On the other side of me, the girl is curled up into a ball with her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  While I have the slave collar around my neck, I cannot imagine any way that we can escape. I had too much experience with slaves and slave collars in the early years after The Massacre. Once you have one around your neck, there is no escape, unless someone else sets you free. As I stare at the closed door of our cell, despair tries to claim my heart.

  *** Central California – Earth ***

  Return: Day 344

  August 7, 2078

  (Brand)

  Turning off the computer's monitor, I lean back in my chair. My hands clasped behind my head, I stare at the ceiling.

  There are still thirty-seven land-based nuclear launch sites, and sixty-three nuclear missile submarines in operation. This is a complete contradiction to what the world's governments have claimed and what is taught in school. In 2065 A.D., all the remaining nuclear weapons on Earth were supposed to have been destroyed. According to what is in the high school and university textbooks, there were only some thirty odd nuclear weapons left in total, but between the land and submarine launch facilities, there are still over five hundred nuclear missiles ready for launch.

  I am not surprised. Politicians and bureaucrats are good for nothing, lying, cowardly, corrupt sacks of shit, and with the False Names fucking with the Earth's governments, there is no reason to expect anything else. The twisted mess that is the Earth is not the result of just Woden's meddling, the dragons having their claws in the pot only makes it worse. I have never dealt directly with the dragons, but both during the game and the Great Fuck Over I encountered their cultists a few times. I am almost certain that in the eyes of the dragons humans are nothing but vermin and slaves. They would not hesitate to toy with a human inhabited world like the Earth.

  Crack!

  As the supports for the back of the chair I am sitting in snap, I flex the muscles in my legs to keep from falling on my back. Straightening into a standing position I look at the broken chair. It is not some flimsy, ergonomic, feel-good product. It is the type of sturdy executives chair that would have supported my fat ass before the Great Fuck Over.

  There is probably, no, there is certainly, a problem with the physical enhancement techniques that I am using. Most likely, it is an incomplete technique. There should be a missing part to it that would deal with the way my mass and size seem to be increasing out of control. Once I am finished here on Earth, I will have to find a way to complete this technique or a more suitable one to replace it.

  I look out the office window and see that it is dark. A quick check of the clock reveals that I have been on the computer for some eight hours straight. I was so caught up in my research that I did not even notice the passage of time.

  While contemplating the physical enhancement techniques that I know, I walk to the room where I put Special Agent Jones. Opening the door, I see that he is still unconscious, but in the past eight hours or so, the wounds that I gave him are visibly smaller, and his fingers are regrowing. If his healing continues at this pace, it will only be three or four days before his back to almost perfect condition.

  Once Special Agent Jones has healed, what will I do with him?

  Fishing Expedition

  *** Central California – Earth ***

  Return: Day 345

  August 8, 2078

  (Brand)

  With the exception of Tyrend, the rest of my party is gathered in the conference room. I have not seen Tyrend around since we got back from Area 51. He is probably sniffing around for fat, sloppy pussy, but as long as he does not bring trouble back here, it does not matter what he does.

  Dacbold made a supply run before Dawn, and the conference table is covered with boxes of doughnuts and containers of coffee and tea. I suppose if I had just off an almost three decade exile in the Labyrinth of Yggr, I would probably be jonesing for a junk food breakfast too.

  "Yesterday, I used Delphi to search through the social camera data from the area around my aunt's townhouse. I was able to identify two separate locations with their appeared to have been vehicles that were not recordable by the social cameras.

  "After the Great Fuck Over ended, when I was in the hospital here on Earth, J'Rome told me that the social cameras could not record him if he did not wish to be recorded. I went through social camera footage where I know he or the Priestess should have been recorded, and neither of them shows up in the recordings. Whoever shot me with an arrow yesterday has similar means to conceal themselves from technological surveillance."

  Dacbold puts down his coffee cup. "You said that you never saw who took the shot, right?"

  I nod.

  "That means that they probably have a method to render themselves invisible, as well."

  Again, I nod. "I'm operating under that assumption. C
onsidering that they were using a bow, I would expect that we're dealing with more of the god fuckers from Taereun. If what Special Agent Jones told me is accurate, they may not be related to J'Rome and the Priestess. I don't know why the dragon's bitch followers would be after me, but that doesn't mean they aren't."

  Dacbold scratches his bearded chin. "They haven't done anything to us here, so it is possible that they don't know we are using this for a base. Considering that they attacked you at your aunt's house, they almost certainly know who you are. But if they know who you are, why didn't they attack you at the cemetery?"

  I shrug. "The only thing I can think of is that they were aware of the surveillance Special Agent Jones had set up, and they did not want to directly tangle with Woden's followers."

  While staring into space, Dacbold absently nods his head. "Considering this get-together, I'm assuming you are planning to do something about them."

  I show my teeth in an expression that is not a smile. "The motherfuckers shot me. I'm going to kill them."

  "Do you have a plan?"

  "Use myself as bait to draw them out."

  Dacbold looks at me with a flat and expressionless stare. "Good plan."

  I smirk. "I agree."

  Seeing Dacbold helplessly shake his head, Elan reveals a smirk of her own. "Using yourself as bait to draw them out would mean going to places they would be likely to be watching, correct?"

  "Pretty much."

  Elan smiles. "I am in the mood for sightseeing, as you call it."

  Angelique quickly swallows a mouthful of doughnut. "Master, I want to come too!"

  "Having the both of you with me will be perfect. Dacbold, do you want to come along?"

  Dacbold shrugs. "It doesn't matter to me."

  "Then, you can follow in one of the vans. I expect that whoever is after me will try to attack from outside my line of sight. If you hang back, maybe, you will be able to identify them before they strike."

  "Okay, but you seem to have some kind of 360° awareness. Won't that work to spot them?."

  I deliberately let Dacbold see me frown. "When I was attacked at my aunt's house, I barely manage to pick up the arrow and was never aware of the archer's position."

  Dacbold appears perturbed. "I have a couple things that Cwichelm gave me a long time ago. They might help, but I'm not certain."

  * * * * *

  "Fresno University" is carved into the surface of the faux stone arch arcing over the road in block letters.

  Elan looks up at the arch. *Is this not the university where the Burning Medical Research Hospital is located?*

  We have switched back to using the raid channel in our social organizers. We do not need anyone listening in on her conversations, and without radios, Dacbold would not be able to hear us.

  *The hospital is more than two miles away from here, probably, closer to three.*

  *Why would your attackers expect you to come here?*

  I stare at the arch, and a wave of disgust flows through me. *Before the Great Fuck Over, I was a student here.*

  Elan laughs, and the sound rings out like a bell in the hot morning air. More people than were already looking at us turn their eyes in our direction. Elan, Angelique, and myself were already drawing more than a little attention. Two girls that not a single straight male in this crowd would pass up the chance to fuck hanging on the arms of the musclebound, scarred freak draws plenty of attention by itself, and Elan's melodious laughter only exacerbates the situation.

  I cannot remember a single time in my life before the Great Fuck Over when I was looked at with eyes filled with obvious jealousy, but now, all the straight males, probably a few of the faggots and dykes, too, are staring at me with naked envy. I have a faint urge to smirk, but there is really no point. Not a one of them is worth the time it would take to provoke them. They are nothing but pathetic, weak, spineless cowards that will all soon be dead. The few that I have locked eyes with were unable to hold my stare, and even with my erratic control over my Power, the near terror radiating from them was easy to feel.

  This is in the middle of the summer term, and there are only about one-fifth of the students around that there would be in the fall or spring terms. Even so, there is still a sizable number of people on campus.

  Wandering around the grounds of Fresno University with Elan and Angelique, I am struck by a sense of having wasted my entire life prior to the Great Fuck Over. While I was a student here, I was studying Information Management because I could not find anything that I really wanted to do. Maybe because I cannot clearly remember my life before the accident that was not an accident, I was always plagued by a feeling of restlessness. I always felt like I did not belong. With neither family nor friends, there was never any place other than or Urehara-sensei's dojo where I felt at peace, but even there, I still did not feel like I belonged. It was only when I was playing Taereun: Battleground of the Damned that I felt like I was accomplishing anything, but I never believed that was anything but a game.

  Now, I understand why I never fit in, and why I was restless. It has nothing to do with my refusal to accept the moronic insanity that flies in the face of nature and reality the people here, on Earth, pretend to be the truth. Having lived inside of Yggdrasil, I learned the truth. I am not an Earth human. I am just different from them. I did not understand that I was meant for a life of battle and war. I was born to fight and to kill. I can no longer live as a sheep in a pen where even defending yourself from being murdered is a crime.

  *Brand, have you noticed that most of these people hate themselves?* Elan has a slight smirk on her lips.

  *My Psi is too erratic, right now. Unless their emotions are extremely strong, I am having trouble reliably sensing anything from weak Minds like theirs. I can feel the jealousy when they look at us and the fear when I look at them from all of these limp dick, half-faggot pseudo-males, but there are not many other emotion strong enough for me to feel in most of them.* As I look around, I leave the scowl on my face in place.

  Elan sighs. *It may not be strong, but the self-hatred is so pervasive I am surprised that you cannot feel it.*

  For a moment, Elan looks at me with a slight frown. *Are you any better than you were yesterday?*

  *No. It is going to take time for me to completely heal.*

  *What is wrong with you?* A trace of emotion comes through the party channel with Dacbold's words, but it is not one I can readily identify.

  *I just pushed myself too hard fighting J'Rome. Using too much of the Od has left me with internal injuries that make my control over my Power a bit rough. It will just take some time to heal.*

  On my right, Angelique tightly squeezes my arm to her chest, and I can clearly feel her worry and uneasiness. As I look down at her, her face is tilted upward revealing slightly trembling lips and eyes with the sheen like they are about to shed tears.

  *What's with that look? I've been injured a lot worse than this before, and I am still here.* My words are delivered as an offhanded quip. I do not know how to deal with the girl looking like she is ready to break down crying because I have been hurt. I grew up being a target of ridicule, with people laughing the few times they saw me injured.

  Looking around for something to distract Angelique with, I see one of the cafeterias that has kept open during the summer term. With both my arms being tied up by the girls, I gesture in the direction of the cafeteria with my chin. *I'm hungry. Let's eat.*

  As I start walking in the direction of the cafeteria, Angelique does not say anything, but with the contact of her bare skin against mine, I feel the roiling turmoil of her emotions.

  *I think this is the first time I have ever seen you clumsily change the subject, because you were uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.* Instead of the raid or party channels, Elan uses a private whisper channel, and she has an amused smirk on her lips.

  I do not make any reply to Elan's comment, and her smirk turns into a mocking grin.

  Inside the cafeteria, l
ess than a quarter of the seats are filled. Since it is just after 11:30AM, if it were not the summer term, most of the tables would be taken by this time of day. Even so, or perhaps especially so, because it is so empty, my entry with two girls seems to draw the attention of almost everyone inside.

  As always, when she is the center of attention, Angelique appears to be hiding her flustered nervousness behind her disinterested gaze. Other than Elan, I might be the only one to recognize Angelique's discomfiture. As for Elan, with an attitude of mocking superiority, she pans her eyes across the students and faculty staring at us.

  The cafeteria is set up in the standard manner of such establishments. It is the same self-service consoles and automatic food preparation that you find in all fast food stores. There are only a pair of human workers on duty to deal with any problems or complaints. Apparently in the past, such places were staffed by large numbers of students and lower income drones, but with advancements in computers and robotics, they were replaced with technological alternatives. The main reason given in the history books for the institution of the Federal Minimum Income is the automation of most menial jobs allowed the old Democratic Party to free the ill-educated lower income brackets from lives of virtual slavery.

  Angelique should be completely familiar with this type of food service, and Elan should understand the set up from the crash course on earth culture extracted from the minds of us former Earthlings. Still, I head to the automated service line, and they walk along at my sides, with their arms wrapped around mine, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.