*I don't know. I had a feeling like there were predators behind us, and when I turned, they were standing there.*
Canth's cold eyes, as black as his midnight hair, raked over The Postmen. “You dare to remain standing? Kneel before the Clan Mistress of Clan Vardne'tar!”
Herodotus immediately fell to his knees and dragged the teenager with him. The other three Postmen looked from one to another.
Graham nodded. *We'd best do as he says. These DokkAlfar are vicious savages. You never know how they will react, if they think you are being disrespectful to them.*
Following Graham's example, the two females knelt on one knee, with the other leg bent.
*This is ridiculous. Bowing to a pair of medieval savages like this is embarrassing. Even if we are trapped in this world, we are from Earth, a civilized world.* The corners of Alva's mouth turned slightly downward, as her eyes squinted with her irritation.
*Alva, be careful! I warned you to watch your temper in here! You don't understand what kind of people we're dealing with. You spent almost all your time in the Empire of Ar. They're more or less urbane and have become so dependent on our information network that they treated you like a princess. These are DokkAlfar, the real power in the Battleground. No matter how strong it is in the Central Reaches, the Empire of Ar would never dare to offend them.*
*I KNOW, GRAHAM! This bitch's arrogant manner just annoys me. We have doctorates in engineering. We built real technology in this world, technology that applies sound scientific principles to their magic based mumbo jumbo. Even the Emperor of Ar doesn't dare try to make us kneel to him.*
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
The Postmen were driven to the floor by blows that they never saw. Looking toward the black clothed DokkAlfar in their midst, they tried to focus their bleary consciousness on him.
“Do not kill them, Canth. I still have a use for them.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar took a seat in a large arm chair, and Canth moved to stand at her right side.
“It is very rude to go on with your private conversations in my presence. Do you think that your little spell web is hidden from one such as I? Every time you speak, your little spell lights up like a lighting bolt in a midnight sky.”
Alva's self-righteous anger was plain to see on her face. Her clenched fists were shaking as she pushed herself onto her knees again. As she started to rise to her feet, she froze. Even though his face bore no expression, having Canth's eyes locked upon her, she was too terrified to move.
*Alva! Don't push our luck! I couldn't even see that bastard in black move.*
“Alva, my sweet, if you attempt to rise from your knees without permission, Canth will leave you crippled.” Aluras'bektsh'tar's voice was soft and friendly.
“What do you want?” Alva's voice was a low his.
SMACK!
Again, the black-clad Canth viciously struck Alva to the ground, without any of The Postmen seeing him move.
“Mistress! What do you want Mistress!?” Alva's voice was shaking, and unshed tears were pooling in the corners of her eyes.
Aluras'bektsh'tar smiled serenely. “Explain your plea to me.”
“My plea?” Alva voice mirrored the confusion in her eyes.
*Alva, she doesn't see us as potential business partners. In her eyes, we're nothing but beggars. Enumerate the deal for her.*
*Damn you, Graham. Damn her! We're engineers and business people, not some uneducated Battleground beggars!* Despite her profanities, Alva's voice sounded, as though she was ready to cry.
*Get over your pride and do what she tells you to. We're in way over our heads this time. There's no way we can fight our way past that bodyguard of hers, let alone escape from a citadel teaming with tens of thousands of DokkAlfar.*
Alva stared at Aluras'bektsh'tar for several long moments, before resignation settled into her eyes. “As you probably know, we Postmen have created a network for sending letters and small packages anywhere in the Battleground of the Damned that we have terminals. As yet, we do not have any terminals in DokkAlfar territory. We would like to remedy that, but your government does not allow outsiders to own property within your territory. We are willing to offer you an interest in our operations inside DokkAlfar territory, in exchange for being our backer, so that we can acquire property and set up the necessary facilities.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar's serene smile did not change in the slightest. “You are too late. I have already received a more interesting offer. Herodotus, come kneel next to Canth.”
Herodotus rose to his feet, dragging the shivering teenager with him by his grip on the teenager's biceps. He looked towards the rest of The Postmen, a supercilious smile plastered on his face, until the teenager's body fell to the floor in bloody pieces.
Feeling the extra weight dragging in his hand, Herodotus held the severed arm up in front of his face. Staring at the blood dripping down from the cleanly cut biceps onto his hand, his face paled and he swallowed heavily.
“M-M-Mistress?” Herodotus' fear was obvious in his stuttering voice.
If anything, Aluras'bektsh'tar's smile became more serene. “I never gave you permission to bring your catamite with you. That was very bad manners Herodotus.”
Herodotus fell to his knees in the spreading pool of blood and other bodily fluids. The severed arm was still clutched in his shaking hand, as he slammed his forehead on the floor. “I apologize, Mistress. I did not mean to offend.”
Aluras'bektsh'tar laughed softly, the merry sound tinkling like bells. “This time, your catamite has paid for your offense.”
She turned her gaze upon Alva. “I can barely understand how most human animals think, but you spirits riding the Possessed are well nigh incomprehensible. You were thoroughly disgusted by this human's taking the catamite as his sex toy, while he was only eight years old, but you still tolerated it because of the social pressures of your world to accept the differences of others and embrace diversity. Because Herodotus was homosexual, you put him like others of his kind in positions of high authority in The Postmen, undermining your own authority, while rationalizing to yourself that you were doing the right thing, the politically correct thing.
“Since being trapped here by the traitor with no name, you have mercilessly wielded the power of your guild to enforce your will upon the Battleground of Slaves. With this human Graham as your second, the pair of you have the strength to defeat any group of five or more within The Postmen. Still, yet, you would always quail away from exercising your authority to enforce your beliefs and solidify your position within The Postmen.
“I cannot understand you.”
Alva glared at Aluras'bektsh'tar. “There's nothing wrong with educating the ass-backwards cultures in this place. You're nothing but uncivilized savages! Earth's first world nations have fair and equitable societies that respect the rights and values of everyone. The Postmen are real people from Earth. Even if we're trapped in these bodies, we can't give up on real culture, ethics, and morals.”
“Ha ha ha ha.” Aluras'bektsh'tar rose and moved to where Alva knelt. Squatting in front of the Half-Alfar, Aluras'bektsh'tar stroked Alva's cheek gently.
“I can see everything within your mind. You are an open book. You understand well the hypocrisy of your own words, but you still desperately spew them forth like they are the universal truth. I will tell you what the truth is: Power. The more Power you have; the more Power you can use to enforce your will upon the multiverse around you. Your pathetic little societies would fall in a few ten-thousandths, if they were ever faced with real Power.
“You will become my personal slave, little Alva. I will show you the truth of Power, the truth of the multiverse. I will crush your beliefs in your artificial morals and make you embrace the truth and glory of Power.”
BONG! BONG!
The Postmen grabbed their heads moaning, as a sound like a giant bell seemed to resonate inside of their skulls. Looking around, their fa
ces were filled with pain and confusion.
*What just happened?* The second woman's voice was rather high-pitched, and her tone was closer to whining that talking.
*I don't know. We never included anything like that in the design for the party charms.* Alva's confused expression was turning into absolute bewilderment.
*You are very entertaining little animals.*
The soft voice was too melodious to have come from a human. It belonged to the DokkAlfar Aluras'bektsh'tar, but it was in their party chat-room. The Postmen's stares were drawn to the DokkAlfar's face, seeing the cold smile that did not touch her eyes.
*How the hell did she do that?* Alva's voice was filled with a mix of confusion and anger.
*I already told you, little Alva. Power lets you enforce your will on the multiverse around you. I did this, because I have Power, and I do not have self-destructive moral beliefs that keep me from using it. Now and forever, you are all my slaves.*
*** Gor'achen Citadel (Over Tallifer) - Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 157
Aluras'bektsh'tar looked up from the reports on her desk. A robed and hooded DokkAlfar stood silently in middle of her office. She was not sure when the DokkAlfar had arrived, nor how long it had been there for.
“Third Spymaster, announce yourself, when you enter my presence.” Aluras'bektsh'tar's voice did not show any sign of her hidden irritation.
“Yes, Clan Mistress.” The Third Spymaster's voice was completely flat and emotionless. Its lack of intonation made each word sound as if it was being stated separate from the rest.
“What do you have to report?”
Aluras'bektsh'tar picked up the sheaf of papers the Third Spymaster place on the edge of desk and began to read. As she placed each page face down on her desk, the expression on her face changed, until it became a mask of venomous hatred.
“Is this accurate?”
The Third Spymaster's hooded head nodded. “The historical events are absolutely verifiable. The connections are based on my own records and understanding of the political motivations of the enumerated parties at that time.”
“Acquire a complete profile of Sinla'aveyka'tar and blueprint of the Aveyka'tar Tower. Also determine if she was acting independently or if the Citadel Lord was involved.”
“Yes, Clan Mistress.”
Dropping the last of the pages on her desk, Aluras'bektsh'tar rose from her desk and stood staring out the window of her study. At the top of the page as single name was written in a script so perfect that it could have been generated by a machine, Kalberak'fer'sha.
*** Gor'achen Citadel - Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 172
Kra'cha'len stepped through the teleportation gate and entered a stone walled room. Behind him another teleportation gate hummed softly. Each time he came to one of the Stoics' meetings, the entry and return gates led to different locations, and several dozen were set up for each of the meetings. He knew that the complex he was in was located in a pocket dimension, but there was no easy way to locate that pocket.
Two guards flanked the door leading from this small room with the teleportation gate. Like Kra'cha'len, they were both hooded and masked. The Stoics did not reveal their identities to those outside of their own small cells. In the nearly two years that he had been a nominal member of the Stoics, he had only seen the faces of seven other members, and one of those was the Low Clan wizard that recruited him.
Walking through the door, Kra'cha'len followed a roundabout path through the twisting maze of passageways in the pocket dimension. This part of the complex where the regular member of the Stoics arrived was separated from the part of the complex where the leaders arrived. No matter where he looked, he was unable to find anything useful for identifying and controlling the Stoics.
Entering the main meeting hall, Kra'cha'len looked around at the thousands of Stoics and felt a sullen anger in his heart. Why does the Priest-Lord insist on having me perform this task? I am not skilled at infiltration and have made no headway at all. This type of operation should be carried out by the Left Hand of Yggr.
The room is huge and trapezoidal in shape. Irregularly scattered along the walls, there are more than a dozen other entries, besides the one Kra'cha'len used. On the short side of the trapezoid, about sixty feet above the floor level, a group or cloaked and masked figures looks down on the gathering from a porticoed promenade made of stone.
“No matter our race, we are all brothers and sisters in the service of the Great Conqueror. Only together can we extend his rule to all living things!” The speaker is clearly an Alfar. Despite being hidden beneath his cloak, his obviously slender body could not possibly be human, let alone an orc.
“The decadence and depravity of the Atran'ler Empire is a disgrace to the Great Conqueror's name and purpose. Only by giving up on the endless pursuits of lust and pleasure, can our empire become strong again. If we allow the clans to continue wallowing in orgies of bloodlust, homosexuality, and bestiality, the empire will continue to decline!”
As Kra'cha'len watches the Stoics roar and cheer, he has to restrain himself from shaking his head in consternation. The clans do as they will, because they have the Power. How can these fools not understand that Power gives one the right to do as one chooses? The very tenets of Yggr are based around those with the Power crushing those without Power beneath their fee and using the weak in any manner they see fit. Whatever the real beliefs of these Stoics, they are not true followers of Yggr or any of the Jotun Lords.
The common members around Kra'cha'len were of no interest to him, and he kept his stare on the Stoic leaders on the portico. With their bodies hidden by robes and cloaks and their patterns hidden by wards, he was unable to ascertain their identities. He was looking for any clue that could be used to find their identities, but as with every previous meeting he could find none.
*** Gor'achen Citadel - Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 193
I slip to the side, avoiding Thrall's fist. He is not using Shadow Fist, nor is he using Power, but he is still far superior to me by any measure. Just using his base physical abilities, Thrall could destroy me without any trouble.
My return kick is a shadow that passes through space as though it not there. Even though I am not using ki, and I dare not attempt to use Od, I am moving in the shadow of the Od. Every move, whether attack or defense, embodies vicious cruelty, seeking to cause the maximum amount of pain and destruction.
Under Thrall's tutelage, I have already developed a much better understanding of martial skills, Power, and the nature of the metaverse.
Thought, it comes from the mind. Mind is part of all existence, just like body and soul. Even inanimate matter might have thoughts, but because they are too alien to us, we cannot recognize them. Thought is part of existence, but it also clouds our perceptions of the truth behind what we see as reality. Feelings come from the soul. As thoughts impede our ability to perceive the truth, feelings impede out ability to experience the truth. Breathing, it is tantamount to the expression of our physical life, but it is so much a part of the body, that it can block our ability to understand.
Our existence has three parts to it. Each part is a piece of the whole, and each part can interfere with the other parts. Only when the three aspects of the Trinity are in aligned, only when a being is true to itself can it reach its full potential.
The monk Tae Sun, who taught Talon Shadow Fist, did not understand or maybe he refused to accept the truth of Power. To attain Power you do not have to be peaceful, centered, in harmony with the world, or any other zen-like bullshit. You have to understand yourself and be true to yourself. Each being is different and each being will walk a different path to Power, even when studying the exact same art.
Earth martial arts were almost all based around a zen type of philosophy. You work to find a calm center, where you remain unaffected by your thoughts, emotions, physical condition, and the conditions impos
ed by the world around you.
Because of Tae Sun's misunderstanding about Power and the nature of Shadow Fist, Talon hamstrung himself, and never reached his full potential. Because I learned Shadow Fist from Talon's memories of misunderstood training, I was the same. I tried to master Shadow Fist the same way I would have trained in some kind of Earth martial art.
I should have already realized it from Smithing. Each Smith has his own Secrets of Steel, and probably every Maker has his own Secrets. A Smith's Secrets reflect the nature of the Smith. The same truth applies to martial arts. I am not peaceful or anything close to it. I am a cruel, vicious fucker, driven by hate, anger, disdain, and intolerance. With my unnatural tolerance for pain, I push myself to the point where most men would give up rather than continue.
I never needed to achieve a centered state. Zen style meditation can serve to replace sleep for me, or be used when I need to focus on something without distraction, but it was always a method that hid the truth. I needed to accept my true nature and use my meditation to hone it.
All existence comes from Life and Death, and the Od is the Power the exists between Life and Death. The metaverse exists in a constant cycle of Life and Death. Life creates and Death destroys. Death gives the energy of what has been destroyed to Life and it is used to create again.
The metaverse exists in the confluence of Life and Death, with the Elemental Powers surrounding the Amalgamate universes. The Amalgamate universes are where Earth and Taereun exist. They are the universes of the Trinity. The Trinity, both the universes and the Powers, are themselves an amalgamation of all the Elemental Powers into a single whole, but Od is still at its core. The real meaning behind the name Shadow Fist is that you learn to move in the Shadow of the Od. You do not need to use the Od to exist in its shadow, but you have to at least be acknowledged by the Od.
Though I can see Thrall's image in the line of my kick's focus, I know he has already moved. My kick hits nothing but empty air. The blades of my hands blocks the punches I can barely see, as I shift my weight while my kicking foot returns to the ground. I can perceive the attacks that are faster than my natural perception, because I am not entirely restricted by the realms of the mind and the soul. Every move is faster than my physical capabilities, because I am not entirely restricted by the realm of the body.
Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) Page 9