“I am named Sebastian Rojas. I killed my first man when I was eight. An accident, but I liked how it felt. By the time I was ten I had a reputation as a boy you could go to for revenging slights and it was soon after that a man approached me. He offered me kinship, perfection, and murder as my trade. He was clear that I would work in secret, that I would earn no money but want for nothing in turn. If I had turned this offer down I would have been killed myself. But I did not turn him down.
“It was then that I took my first step into the Eternal Order. For five years I trained under their masters in all matter of death. Guns, poisons, even martial arts, but knives were always my favorite. At fifteen I passed from trainee to prospect and after a long grueling test of words and will it was decided that I would become an assassin of the Eternal Order, not one of our protectors, for the Serpent is eternal and must have both fang and tail.”
Fuck me . . . that’s who he reminds me of: Sharp. He is Sharp. He’s just the opposite side of the coin and newly minted at that. Vega’s python, ain’t that what the Tsar said in Los Angeles? He was talking about Sharp . . . and this fucker . . . and Zhou. They really are snakes. A secret order of snake assassins paying Vega to build a stupid ass casino in the middle of Vegas so . . . why? For all Were Nations? Is the Eternal Order coming out of the closet? What the hell have they been doing in the closet?
The clang of metal drew my drugged-up gaze back to the guy in front of me who planned on killing me in a few minutes. Zhou’s Boy. Rojas now. Red and dead soon enough. “Now, now,” Rojas said, “don’t let your mind get ahead of my words, King Henry Price.”
I’m not dying here.
Ain’t happening.
I’m gonna stuff one of those knives down your fanged throat, Snakefucker.
“For the next five years as a prospect I was taught to read and write and speak and above all to conceal myself in many societies. I learned the old histories and the old truths of the Order, some of which I have the sacred duty to reveal to you soon. I was crafted not just into an unthinking tool, but into a man who worshipped the Serpent God freely.
“Again I was tested and again I passed with words, proving my place among my kin, and earned my first mission. I was tasked with returning to my homeland and securing thirteen snakes of my chosen type. With them, I returned to the Serpent God’s tower and there I entered the Totem Vault. I was given further instruction on how to craft my own totem and sanctify it with the thirteen snakes I had so carefully chosen. Failure here would result in death. No second chances, no replacements allowed.
“I succeeded and was given new power and new strength. For the Eternal Order is not a Were Nation of many bound together, but a singular minded organization of separate individuals, the total masters of our Totems. We are it. It is us. It will not outlast us. For while the Serpent God is eternal, we are merely his Will on earth.”
It’s pretty hard to weird out a guy that has seen the Nine-Head Dragon preformed, blood gods die, dragons shake at their prison cage, even had Joan of Arc spring a trap on him, but ol’ Rojas was doing a good job of it.
I felt Fate’s tits at the back of my neck.
You asked and I provided yet again, she whispered.
Or maybe it’s the monk mojo juice talking.
“The Eternal Order began over three-thousand years ago in a lawless part of China,” Rojas finally moved off of himself and to his story, “in a village like many villages, but this one known for its great warriors. They would train for many hours a day, letting their fields lie unattended, so steep was their pride. In winter they would find their stores insufficient and would take up arms to steal from their neighbors. It continued thus in a cycle for many years until the warriors realized there was no need to work their fields at all and no need to wait until their hunger in winter drove them to raid.
“They became warlords, brigands, godless men who honored nothing but themselves. For they were powerful, more powerful than any other. Stronger, bigger, faster. Some of them could call the animals to their aid, others the storms, even the earth. They were not the first of these sorcerers nor the most powerful, but together they could take what they wanted and their influence spread village by village. Tribal lords sent parties of their own warriors against them and each was turned back. The people of this area were at a loss to how to stop them.
“They sent messengers to the west over the mountains into the deserts, north into the frozen fields, south to even more lawless lands, and east across the great seas themselves. ‘How might we fight this godless power?’ they asked. Many more years passed. The messenger from the west returned empty-handed, the messenger from the north returned not at all, the messenger from the south sent word that he had found a new land to call his own, and the messenger from the east, five years after he was thought dead, finally returned, but not alone . . .
“He spoke of water and waves, small islands with strange animals, and a land beyond, a land where men could transform into beasts. With him was such a man. Pale skinned, red-eyed, an albino. This man was not like other men. He learned in an instant what took others years. He could speak to the people without aid of the messenger within a single night. It was he who would come to be called the Serpent God.
“He surveyed the situation and he told these villagers the hard truth that while in their lands it was the sorcerer-warriors who dominate, in his own it was the beast-warriors. He had not heard their pleas and come this far to trade one tyrant for another. But, he believed, there was a way and he would take that way upon himself and show it to the others. ‘We must balance all great powers against each other,’ he said, ‘ourselves most of all. Only in this way may we fight tyrants, especially those who wield nature itself, for they must be controlled or all nations and peoples will be under their yoke as you are.’
“So you see, King Henry Price,” Rojas finished, “when you step out of line, the Eternal Order steps on you. This is language you understand, yes? Yet the Serpent God is not unmerciful, though his many mysteries and wonders have yet to be revealed to you, he offers you this story as a lesson, a hope that you will stop your rise, that you will never step beyond the first rung of the Serpent’s Ladder.”
He waited like he expected a reaction from me.
Some way to cheat, I thought, some way to distract him or . . .
I looked to my artifacts.
“You gonna kill me now?”
“Yes, King Henry Price.”
“If you can.”
“Not all pass this ceremony’s initiation, it is true.”
“I almost feel bad for you, Snakefucker,” I told him. “That you got me. Shit luck on your part.”
“More glory for the Serpent God in your death.”
“Man, that’s some serious bullshit religion you believe there.”
Rojas’ eyes gleamed with the intensity of a fanatic. His big ass knives—machetes or cleavers or whatever you wanted to call them—rose up before him. “Choose the knife you will break then, godless mancer. Your taunts mean nothing to me. I have stood in the presence of the Serpent God himself; I have no doubts in my faith and calling.”
I glanced back at my artifacts.
“You will not reach them alive,” Rojas warned me.
“Don’t have to,” I told him. “Cuz if Mini is hiding in my god damned belt like I think he is then he’ll bring them to me and then he’ll distract you while I figure out which one to kill you with. Right, Mini?”
I waited.
Nothing happened.
“The Ladder’s climb ends here,” Rojas whispered.
He stabbed at my chest.
[CLICK]
I broke both of his knives with a slender pulse of geo-anima into each tip.
Should’ve just tried to blow his ass up Paine-style, but that hadn’t gone too well with Isabel and while ol’ Snakefucker might not be a Facechanger I wasn’t exactly sure what he was. A Were Nation into himself it sounded like. Somewhere in China there was a shrine room fi
lled with Totems, dedicated to some Serpent God that could be anything: powerful Vega-like Poly-Shifter, vampire screwing with people, even a fairy of some sort.
Let’s just say I’m not buying the legend Rojas told me.
But the rest?
What the Eternal Order was about?
Killing mancers?
Evidence of that is right in front of my face.
Trying to stab me.
When people try to stab me I break their fuckin’ stabby things.
Then I kick ‘em in the balls.
“You’re fired, Mini!” I yelled as I bound around a slumping Rojas, trying to reach for an SDR or HSK or anything that would help. My whole body itched as what was left of my pool settled around me. “If you’re gonna sneak into my GOB the least you can do is use it!”
Rojas managed to reach backwards and grab at one of my feet.
It tripped me up, but I rolled with it to my knees.
Should’ve grabbed one of those knives to untie my hands.
Rojas did grab one of those knives, one of the larger ones.
“Two targets at once,” he muttered. “I’ve heard of this, but never seen it.”
I think I should be insulted that they sent the new guy to kill me, except that’s the only reason I’m not dead right now. That and their stupid ceremonial Ladder bullshit.
Scrambling for the artifacts on the other bed I only realized once I was at my goal that . . . MY FUCKING HANDS WERE CLASPED TOGETHER.
So the tide turns and your thumbs are useless, young mancer!
So . . . this was pretty stupid.
Rojas grinned at me. “You could try to use your tongue,” he pointed out.
“How is this fair?” I growled.
His cleaver swung back and forth in front of him. “More than fair for someone who has so flippantly used their powers to earn this treatment. What is the earth if not humble? But never you. A few years from your school and already your pride is in need of repair. You’re the fastest to ever climb the Serpent’s Ladder, King Henry Price. Even your Ceinwyn Dale waited until she was closer to thirty than twenty.”
They tried to kill Ceinwyn . . . probably others. The Learning Council must know the Eternal Order is out there. Ceinwyn knows and . . . I hope this ain’t the only reason we’re fighting. Weres being the reason for anything is stupid as shit. Even weird religious snake Weres.
“She’s still alive last I checked, means you lot ain’t perfect.”
He nodded as he came in closer. Much more cautious this time. No quick anticipation for the kill. Instead he stalked his prey. “She has climbed more of the Ladder than most. But even she learned patience and humility due to our efforts.”
I sized up my artifacts.
Specifically my metal-linked belt.
Damn it, Mini. I thought you were in there. Why else would it be shaking when T-Bone picked it up the other day?
Come to think of it . . . it’s shaking now.
Wait . . . can the dumbass fairy not figure out how to—
Rojas skipped forward, followed by a slashing motion at my face. I weaved backwards out of the way, but not far enough. My stance felt all wrong with my hands tied like this. I was centered, not low and spread out. Let Rojas get a jab off with his offhand that nailed me right in the jaw.
I spit out blood immediately. Bit my damn tongue!
“First blood to me,” Rojas hissed. “Not so difficult without your anima. No doubt you’re gathering it again for any hope at survival, I think you will find that no matter how long you talk with me this won’t last but a few seconds more, so I hope you—”
I shattered his cleaver with more geo-anima. Had one more of those in me and maybe an extra iron fist. I spit out some more blood. This would be over now if I had my usual pool . . . just bullshit all around this ceremony.
“How?” Rojas asked, face puzzled.
“Yeah, I hate to tell you this, bud, but your Eternal Order ain’t been teaching you everything. Don’t worry, my people do the same shit all the time. No reason to be sour about it.”
Rojas dropped his knife-less hilt and threw a few more punches into me. Precise punches of someone who has been trained for this stuff. Incapacitating punches. I knew enough to watch out for them, to give up my shoulders instead of my elbows, my chin instead of my throat, but I still took a pounding in the next few seconds.
Had to take a pounding since I couldn’t fight back.
New plan.
Get the shit kicked out of me all the way to the wall.
Plan accomplished!
Wall had metal framing in it. I slid around the next blow aimed at my head, finally bringing my arms up to catch his arm inside of mine, then I pivoted around the other way, slinging him into the wall and me back over the bed, my ass up in the air for a second.
What’s new with that one?
Three minutes of precious anima went into the wall, just enough to make that piece of frame pierce out into Rojas’ shoulder, gashing him hard enough to cut through clothes and into skin, maybe even muscle.
He cried out in Spanish, the first sign of where he was born and not the faceless, cultureless creature that the Eternal Order had crafted him into.
Seconds, you got seconds, make it count!
I reached forward on the bed, grabbing my Hydro-Slicer Knuckles with my forearms pressed together. I dropped them, twisted, came up with them again. Shit, that ain’t straight, but—
“How are you doing this?” Rojas screamed. “I’m unprepared for this. Is that my test, is that why You chose me personally?”
Had a nice cut on his shoulder, blood trickling down it.
His eyes found mine.
I’d seen that face before. That’s the face of a Were about to Shift.
Some primal part of me recoiled at the idea.
Fighting an overly large coyote was one thing.
Fighting a giant man-sized snake was another.
Screw it, I thought just before throwing a bit more anima into the HSK. If I was off on the distance then a blade of hydro-anima compressed water was about to slash through every finger I had. If I was off on the angle I’d be losing a hand.
I screamed as the blade of water flashed out for a pair of seconds.
Well . . . that hurt.
But I was untied.
Still had my fingers.
Still had my hands.
Was missing a chunk of skin on either palm, blood spraying all over the place. But . . . my thumbs still moved just fine as I grabbed my GOB, clicked the release, and threw the thing at Rojas’ feet.
It just hurt.
A lot.
Hope Pocket and Jesus haven’t actually blown all that money I won. Daddy gonna need some Slush on his ouchies.
.
.
.
Seriously, what the fuck do they put in that monk mojo juice?
Rojas screamed from behind me.
I glanced back, saw that my GOB was activating.
It was largely the same as it had been before, five feet of linked metal triangles forming into what appeared to be a golem with razor blades for hands and razor blades for feet and pretty much razor blades for everything. Appeared. It wasn’t designed that way . . . it was just a fake. A fake that after a few months of testing I’d managed to get running at targets in addition to acting threatening.
Only . . . it wasn’t so fake this time.
When the artifact activated and unfolded it turned to me and said, “Trapped inside!”
It sounded like someone had overused an autotuner and then taken that recording and tossed the copy of it down a garbage disposal, but my GOB spoke.
“You can’t do this to me while I’m this high, Mini.”
“Wanted to be help! But trapped!”
I’d complain about his grammar, but that’s kind of unfair coming from me. And he’s kind of like a ball of anima . . . so talking at all is kind of impressive.
“The venom is driving you mad,” Roj
as mumbled.
“Wait, does that mean—”
Rojas kicked out at GOB-Mini and knocked the whole mass of metal back against the wall. Not stopping his movement, he lunged into me and caught me with another overhand cross into my face. Luckily, I’m already pretty ugly and my nose barely noticed. Also lucky that I cut up his shoulder, which made the punch weaker.
But most importantly . . .
I had my hands untied.
I set my feet, took another punch into my face, then threw an iron fist into Rojas’ own chin. He crumbled, feet going out on him. Sprawled all the way back into the corner of the room with GOB-Mini.
What is with me and getting into fights in hotel rooms?
Annie B, Isabel, this fucker.
Why can’t I fight in a bar like a normal guy?
GOB-Mini managed to grab at Rojas and pull him back into the mass of moving metal and geo-anima, both human and fairy. It jaggedly pierced through his clothing, drew blood wherever skin was open to the air. “Protect the King of Dirt!” Mini cried.
I’m out of anima, I thought, pooling, but . . . what could I do? Have the GOB hold onto Rojas for five minutes while I pooled up enough to finish him off? HSKs were spent. SDR wouldn’t kill him and there was no way I wasn’t killing this fucker. I didn’t trust him enough to leave him alive . . . and I didn’t trust my drugged up self enough to make a value judgment on if he was a threat or not.
Blood loss wasn’t helping.
Room felt like it was tilting.
Any reflective surface looked like it was a rainbow.
I staggered backwards as Rojas screamed again.
Someone should hear that, report it to casino security, but I got this feeling casino security is in on this one.
What is it with people named Vega and making me kill?
I turned to the knives still remaining on the second bed. One had fallen off to the floor. It was the biggest yet. Kind you chop steaks with in one whack. Suppose that will do the job.
I stumbled over to it.
Behind me, Mini screamed out this time, a serrated cacophony of metal and shock.
I looked back again.
Rojas was gone.
But there was a two-hundred-pound green pit viper in his place, ripping pieces of the GOB off limb by limb.
The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5) Page 43