The fear of others is the most delicious emotion. It is intoxicating beyond imagination. That damned brat never felt fear.
The Mistress frowned. Why am I thinking of him now? He disappeared months ago, and from the FBI report acquired by my spies, he passed through a dimensional gate. He should be on Taereun, but after being crippled by the Dread Reaver and raised on this world, there is no possibility that he could survive there.
The Mistress' smile returned. At best, if he is still alive, he is someone's slave. Oh, how I would take pleasure in seeing that bastard in chains and wearing a collar. If it were not for his existence, I would never have had to set foot on this disgusting world.
“Bring me the Spymaster!”
“Yes, Mistress!” Using the Mistress' command as an excuse, the most senior of the prostrate servants hopped to his feet. Repeatedly bowing, while practically running backward, the servant fled from the audience hall.
Not daring to leave and terrified at the thought of having to remain in the Mistress' presence, the servants, still prostrated before the throne, shivered and fought to not lose control over the bladders or bowels.
More than five minutes later, when the Spymaster arrived, the Mistress glanced down at the servants still laying on the floor in terror. “Leave!”
Shivering in terror, the servants fled the audience hall. Watching them, the Spymaster's face remained impassive. Once he was certain the servants were gone, he gave the Mistress a very slight bow.
As always, the Mistress was convinced that Spymaster's bow was intended as an affront, but she did not dare to call him on it. Despite the Mistress' training in the use of Psi, the Spymaster's Mind and Soul were completely closed to her. She could sense his physical presence, but he might as well have been lifeless stone. She was not even able to identify the techniques that the Spymaster used to protect his thoughts and emotions. The Mistress kept her frown hidden.
“Spymaster, the Seventh Feathered Sky Lord has given us a mission. There is a human that is being hunted by the Jotun Lords and the Celestial Court. The Sky Lord wishes to obtain possession of that human before they do.”
The corners of the Spymaster's lips turned up in a faint smile that did not reach his eyes. “There is a band made up of humans and Dvergar that raided Area 51 last night. I included the information in the morning intelligence brief. It is completely impossible to monitor them or track their movements using the surveillance networks. We learned of the incident from our moles inside the FBI. Our scryers have determined that there was an incident at the rift exit in Fresno, California. That is likely their point of entry and return.”
The Mistress picked up a metal tablet from the table next to her throne. As usual, she did not bother to read her daily intelligence brief from the Spymaster.
"The images of the group were taken from the eyes of the corpses they left behind. Their skill in the use of Earth weaponry would be surprising if the two Dvergar were not known Possessed from the Jotun Pretender's experiment inside Yggdrasil. Scroll to the end, you will find images of them without their helms on."
Listening to the Spymaster, the Mistress' frown deepened. “Send our two best hunters after them with a company of elite soldiers to back them up.”
“Do you wish me to give them any Earthborn for fodder or distractions?”
“No. These pathetic Earthlings are useless. They would just get in the way of real men.”
"I will make the arrangements." With a faint smile on his lips that did not reach his eyes, they Spymaster left the Mistress' throne room.
The Mistress watched the Spymaster leave with eyes that were filled with cold malice, but there was also fear that she kept hidden in the depths of her heart. The Spymaster was a complete enigma to her. She did not know his strength, his origin, or even, his name.
Gritting her teeth, the Mistress picked up a metal plate from the table next to her throne. As always, the daily intelligence report was overly detailed. In here opinion, most of the information contained within was pointless, and she ignored everything that was not related to the human that the Jotun Lords were interested. When she scrolled to the end of the images recorded from the dead, there was a picture of the man who was the target without his helmet on. Half of his face was horribly scarred from burns.
"Marek!" The Mistress' face reflected the shock that was in her voice..
*** Tren'fon Citadel – Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 343
Bent over the balustrade fronting the Temple of Yggr, Aluras'bektsh'tar's white-knuckled hands clasped chains of her manacles. Blood from her back that was torn open by Stegnar'shen'fal's whip ran along her ribs and dripped to floor. Every time that Stegnar'shen'fal thrust into her, she grit her teeth and swore vengeance on him anew.
Tren'fon Citadel had been travelling through the Battleground of the Damned in an erratic pattern that resulted in it being under a full, half, or new moon every third day at the most. This was not the normal patrol path for the Citadel, and Aluras'bektsh'tar thought that it was being done at Stegnar'shen'fal's instigation.
Even with healing potions and magics, she grew weaker by the day, but she did not see any way to extricate herself from under the thumb of Stegnar'shen'fal. When she had tried to send Canth back to Gor'achen Citadel to destroy any evidence that could expose her as a Dragon Cultist, he was stopped in the airship dock by Temple Soldiers of the Right Hand Fane of the Temple of Yggr.
To either side of Aluras'bektsh'tar, other DokkAlfar, both females and males were being tortured and raped, but unlike her, they were in a state of religious ecstasy.
Feeling Stegnar'shen'fal's semen filling her vagina, Aluras'bektsh'tar was barely able to stop herself from vomiting. As Stegnar'shen'fal's hands released their grasp on her waist, she collapsed to her knees.
Kneeling behind her, Stegnar'shen'fal twisted her head around so that their lips could meet, and his tongue violently thrust into her mouth. At the same as his tongue forcibly entered her mouth, Stegnar'shen'fal's Psi invaded her Mind. The Psi shields she was so proud of were torn apart like wet paper.
Rejoice Aluras, my sweet, the time of the True Gods is at hand. Soon an Earthly Lord of the Celestial Court will take His rightful place as the ruler of Tren'fon Citadel. You will be rewarded for your family's tens of thousands of years of loyalty to the Scaled Gods.
Aluras'bektsh'tar's eyes, which she had tightly closed, sprang wide open, and she stared into Stegnar'shen'fal's eyes. Stegnar'shen'fal's mockery and contempt filled her mind, and she nearly passed out from the brutal impact of his emotions.
Like your parents before you, you were sloppy and foolish. If anyone had been looking for followers of the True Gods, you would have been exposed in an instant, but I had already arranged the destruction of of the Fer'sha Provenance that nearly exterminated your Provenance. The last survivor is nothing but a Wytch, and you could not leave her be. She knew nothing, but you had to target her, get involved with a group of pawns meant to fail. You brought the eyes of that cursed Smith upon you. Hidden in Gor'achen, you would have been useful to the True God's plans, but here, you are worth nothing more than a distraction to satisfy my lusts.
At first shocked by what she was hearing, Aluras'bektsh'tar state of mind quickly shifted to disbelief. It had to be another method for Stegnar'shen'fal to torture her.
This is no trick my sweet Aluras. Soon, unworthy though you be, you will be raised to a position of honor among the faithful of the True Gods, but until then, you will be my plaything. You have learned the truth, but can you believe it? In these last days before the True Gods come, I will make your life one of continuous hell of physical pain, and unable to accept or reject my words as truth, you will inflict your own mental torture upon yourself.
Separate Roads
*** Nevada – Earth ***
Return: Day 343
August 6, 2078
(Brand)
Dacbold, Elan'fer'sha, and myself are the only ones in the cab of t
he MTVR. The rest of my party are in the back or in the MTVR following ours.
Now that the Yggdrasil's main drive is gone, I can already feel the level of the Trinity in the world around us rising. Even if it is a bit slow, the others should be able to recover their Power more normally.
As I look out the passenger side window, I do not really see the desert scenery passing by. I cannot get my fight with J'Rome out of my mind. I lost. If that fucking piece of shit was not such a coward, I would be his prisoner or dead. I could not have lasted more than another thirty seconds or so, but he still had most of his Power reserves to draw on.
The Od is powerful, far more powerful than the Trinity, but I lack the strength to use it properly. My Body cannot handle the Od flowing through it. My Soul is a bit better, but I still damaged it. The only thing not damaged is my Mind, and that is only because I was not using it to control the Od. I feel like I have been worked over with iron clubs and burned alive. After living through both experiences, I know what the aftermath of each feels like.
In Area 51, there was no victory for me. I failed. Boran got what he wanted. Vili might have got something he wanted. Woden discarded something that would have just been a danger to him. I failed. The only reason I did not lose was J'Rome's cowardice.
Brand? Elan's words are in a whisper channel. No one but I can hear them.
Looking at Elan, I still have a deep frown on my face.
You have not spoken twenty words since leaving Area 51. What is bothering you? I feel concern from Elan leaking though the whisper channel.
I lost. I wasn't strong enough. That stupid fuck J'Rome had me beat. He was just too much of a gutless bitch and a moron to see it.
Elan frowns. There is an ancient DokkAlfar saying. The winner is the one that did not lose. Even if you think you lost, J'Rome was the one to surrender. It does not matter why he did so. You are still the winner. Any means, fair or foul, that lead to victory are good.
After I stare at Elan for several moments without saying anything, she sighs and looks out the front window. *The Smith God has told you this, and I, too, have seen it in you. You have an overwhelming need to completely dominate and crush your enemies. You are like a beast that has to mark its territory with the broken bodies of anything that challenges it. You do not need to go to such extremes to win. You just have to make them surrender. You can torture and break them after they are your prisoners.*
If you take your time, you will get much more pleasure out of destroying you enemies. Their screams and pleas as you break them little by little are more arousing and satisfying than just brutally killing them on the spur of the moment, especially those that betray you. Seemingly in an unconscious manner, Elan caresses her own pussy and smiles nastily. She is probably contemplating revenge on Aluras'bektsh'tar. She may seem docile while following me, but given the chance, she will certainly make that dyke pay.
When I put my hand on her thigh, Elan seems to realize what she is doing but does not stop playing with herself.
In the driver's seat, Dacbold has unreadable expression on his face. As he stares out the front window, he gives the impression that he wants to sigh but is restraining himself.
*** Nevada – Earth ***
Return: Day 343
August 6, 2078
(Thorrin)
They do not call this cesspool Sin City for nothing. Las Vegas was a pit of crime and corruption since before I was born. For decades now, the shiny facades of the hotels and casinos have put a pretty face on its rotten, ugly heart, but that heart is still the heart of a malicious diseased grifter and whore. It is barely an hour after sunrise and the streets are already filled with people looking for a place to gamble away what little they have in the vain hope of getting a big payout. Or maybe, these are the left overs form the previous night. Who knows? There certainly is no one that gives a shit.
Parked in front of a portable electronics store, our MTVRs are a garnering more attention that I am comfortable with, but Brand does not seem the least bit concerned. Even though we are still in full armor, with the Wytch's spells, no one is doing more than glancing at us, but people looking at Brand, Dacbold, and myself are turning away with disgusted looks on their faces. From what Brand's Wytch said at the motel yesterday, her illusions do not conceal Brand's scars and make Dacbold and myself look like a pair of short fat-asses.
Brand leaves the store with two bags and tosses one to me. Burners. Each one is attached to an unlimited credit account. They're also a backup in case something blocks the social organizers. Start with the lowest number. If you think one is compromised, send text saying it's burned and use the next highest number. With five each, if we are out of range for your social organizers, they should last us the thirteen days.
I glance at Pancho, and he nods. The Earth is small, so we shouldn't be out of range. If we aren't back when time is up, leave without us.
Brand scoffs. Whatever. It's your lives.
Dacbold stares at us. Are you sure?
With a half-smile on my face, I shrug. Whatever happens happens. We'll deal with it.
We're out of here. I have things I still need to do in Fresno, before leaving this shithole behind forever.
I'll drive. Dacbold gets into the driver's seat of Brand's MTVR, while the rest of his group climbs in the back.
As the MTVR pulls away, I drop my group with Pancho out of Brand's raid. I am a bit surprised at the feeling of relief the fills me.
We better get moving too. Pancho climbs behind the wheel, and I get in the passenger side.
Isaria is still naked in the back of MTVR. We need to get some clothes for her, soon. At least, she is out of Brand's clutches. There is no telling what he might have done to her. Leaving her brother behind bothers me, but I am not ready to fight Brand over someone I do not know from Adam.
What about that girl? You plan to keep her in that slave collar?
Pancho's question makes me wince. I'm not sure I can open that collar without injuring her. I never paid much attention to how DokkAlfar slave collars work, and those things Brand has aren't common ones. To open them, you need to use your Mana in a particular way, and it varies from collar to collar. I can sort of see how to do it from the pattern, but I've never been very good at understanding an item's functionality based on the pattern. Hell even that bastard Vili isn't very good at it. It's a knack some people have and some don't.
You could have asked Brand to do it. Pretending not to see my glare, Pancho studiously watches the road in front of us.
After a few minutes of silence, Pancho turns off the main drag.
Where are we going?
There's an automated thrift store down this way.
You seem to know this town.
Pancho grins. I used to like to gamble. I won more than I lost, but I made sure to never win so much that I would get banned from the casinos. It's why the fifth wife divorced me, or so she said. But I was already fooling around with number six. Back then, she was a showgirl here.
How did you ever afford the alimony payments?
With a smirk that would do the Cheshire Cat proud, Pancho straightens up in his seat. Number two was a very good divorce lawyer, and we were never on bad terms. She knew all the tricks to make sure that one or two year wives never got anything. The fifth biggest reason I never moved to Kalifornia was the divorce laws there.
So what's the first?
Pancho looks at me in wide-eyed innocence. Their special laws criminalizing self defense even more than the Federal laws already do.
I cannot stop myself from chuckling. I know Pancho is a second generation Mexican American, but I do not know his real name. He has always been a huge proponent of the idea that victims are only victims because they allow themselves to be. If a nominal victims does not even try to stand up for themself, he would be the first to scream and rail at them, but in the end, he would not be likely to turn his back on them. He talks a hard game, but he always tries to help the underdogs.
; A few blocks later, Pancho pulls into a parking lot and parks in front of a store that appears to be empty.
With the Federal Minimum Income, no one needs to work. The old minimum wage jobs have pretty much disappeared. Whether it is fast food, convenience stores, or department stores, almost everything is automated these days. Places like that electronics store on the main drag are an exception that you only find in places like Sin City or resort towns. In places like this, the average idiot expects to see a bit of the lifestyle of of the rich and famous, and because they are mostly stupid enough to believe that having a real person wait on them is a significant part of that upper class life, they will to pay moronic premiums.
If you do not mind one of the public universities, there is no need for a student to work their way through college anymore. The government will give you a free ride, but it will be in a second tier school with a very minimal staff and prerecorded courses or lectures streamed from a central location to dozens of schools. The people working in stores or restaurants here are either saving up for a higher tier of educations or lacking in the education necessary for most of the real jobs that exist but want more of an income that the Federal Minimum Income provides. They are people who want a better life than they can live on the dole. They spend years or decades working those jobs so that they have a better education or live a little more comfortably when they get older. Unfortunately, every year, the number of people like them seems to become smaller and smaller.
Cults of the Dragon Gods Page 2