Transcending Limitations

by Brian Wilkerson

  “Ariel has spent every waking moment—”

  “I do this for your own good.”

  “She has—”

  “Do you truly love her?”

  “That is the hardly—”

  “Tell me that you truly love her and I will allow it.”

  Lunas breathed loudly through his mouth. Order does not abide lies. This moment reminded him of the summit, where Annala Enaz forced him to admit several incriminating things about himself, his country, and the Obelisk Mutation Control plan. How was a prince supposed to manipulate the international stage if he was not allowed to lie?

  “No, I don’t love her. She’s just a tool that I could cast away if I wanted, but I don’t. I’ve put a lot of work into her.”

  “I do not care how much work you’ve put into her. You could have made her from scratch like some deity, and I would still veto your marriage.”

  “IT CAN BE DONE!” Omnias held his staff out in a straight line and pivoted on his heels in a full circle. At its conclusion, he thrust the Flower of Chaos into the air. “What’s more, Annala Enaz’s invocation will be the means by which it is possible. How about that? Your son unwittingly helped you in this endeavor. I can begin the preparation of the bridal choices immediately if you so desire.”

  “Make it so.”

  Omnias bowed. A magic circle appeared underneath him and he teleported.

  “How did he do that?” Lunas demanded. “Tasio himself could not teleport in or out of this castle. Tasio! Tasio! Tasio! Your mom is an erratic bitch who should be spanked by Order!”

  On the other side of the planet, Tasio abruptly stopped playing blind man’s bluff with a school of fish. He turned to the direction of Latrot and screamed in holy rage. A plan to arrange the prince’s hilariously gruesome death was two-thirds planned before his mother told him to dismiss it. She had something still worse planned.

  Back in Latrot, Lunas suffered the milder punishment of his father smacking him on the head with his royal staff of authority. Then his father brought it lower and spanked him.

  “The first is for your ignorance and the second is for tempting fate. He can still hear you. Do not give him any more motivation to see you suffer than he already has.”

  Lunas’ pride stung worse than either blow and, for that reason, he didn’t touch either one. “What’s the point of being an absolute ruler if you have to tiptoe around people’s feelings?”

  Epideus struck him in the stomach hard enough to knock him on his butt, which still stung from the second blow.

  “You are not an absolute ruler. You are beneath me and you are beneath Order. You are still vulnerable and thus you should not attract enemies. Understand?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “...Father?”

  “You believe yourself to be invincible, untouchable. It is the folly of youth.”

  “Order protects me and I stay out of danger by using pawns. Why shouldn’t I feel safe?”

  Epideus pointed behind his son. “He’s why.”

  Lunas looked over his shoulder and saw Gruffle chambering his scythe. Fear froze the boy, but he ducked at just the right moment to avoid decapitation. Gruffle swung again and he jumped from his crouch and stumbled. He fell face first into the ground as the reaper slammed his blade down. The prince bellowed in anguish as it sliced his body and reached his soul.

  Ethereal black threads emerged from the wound and wrapped themselves around Lunas’s chest. His skin paled and a line of his purple hair turned black. The mark of a scythe appeared on his forehead with a stylish “G” behind it.

  “That is the Mark of Thanatos,” said Epideus. “Reapers place it on those who do not deserve the mercy of death. No matter what happens to their body, those with this mark can never leave it. They will feel all of its pain, regardless of lethality, and continue to age until their body becomes dust in the wind and still they will not be able to die. Furthermore, through it, Gruffle will be able to find you wherever you are and will be capable of siphoning your mana and kon from any location, even here in my palace.”

  Lunas whimpered and asked, “W-Why...would you allow this?”

  “My son, it was not I who allowed this, it was you.”

  Gruffle removed his scythe from Lunas’s back, only to flip it and strike the wound with its butt. Lunas screamed a second time and squirmed under it as Gruffle twisted it back and forth.

  “In other words, you’re my bitch and you have no one to blame but yourself.” He withdrew the shaft and rested it on his shoulder. “I died because you used me to spring Nulso. Fess up; did you think he’d kill me to escape?”

  “It crossed my mind, yes.”

  Gruffle kicked him.

  “It turns out necrocrafters get somethin’ called a Final Wish to clean house before they leave. I used mine to avenge my own death. Nulso was killed by Eric before I got to him and Eric is protected by a gang of chaotic busybodies.”

  Gruffle kicked him again.

  “That leaves you. Really, you should thank your dad. If not for him, you’d be dead now. In exchange for my mercy, he gave me a...what’s it called? Ah yeah, a ‘Royal Right of Annual Decimation’ that you can’t revoke ever.”

  “Let this be both a reminder and a lesson to you,” Epideus said. “You are not invincible nor are you irreplaceable. Finding a new groom for Ariel would be easier than finding a new bride for you. Be grateful that Order tolerates parental affection as a force of stability in certain cases.”

  Gruffle grabbed the hood of Lunas’ habit and hoisted him by it. The prince dangled two feet off the ground. He would have protested, but the Mark of Thanatos had exhausted him. He hung in the reaper’s grasp like meat in a butcher shop.

  “I’m gonna drop him in Siduban now. That okay with you, Eppy?”

  Now Lunas found the strength to struggle. Fear forced him to and adrenaline empowered him to. Then Gruffle activated the Mark and fatigue claimed him once again.

  “F-Father...I...need to...prepare...”

  “You have the power of Order, my son. You have all you need.”

  “Next stop, the single most dangerous place in the world!”

  The Door of Death opened beneath the reaper and his captive. The former slowly descended into it. The latter kicked and screamed all the way.

  Chapter 11 Ritual Gone Wrong

  “Let me get this straight...” Siron said. “You want Her Majesty to give you enough Sacred Fire, the most revered item in her realm and the proof of her divine right to rule, to apotheosis two people, both of whom are The Trickster’s Choice and neither of which is employed by her in an official Ataidar capacity, into minor gods so you can jump further up the celestial hierarchy and ultimately become the avatar for a goddess of far greater standing than Her Majesty’s ancestor and thereby have the potential to transform this entire country into radioactive ooze with a snap of your omnipotent fingers.”

  “Yes,” Eric said.

  Siron flexed his fingers in a manner that was code for “I am pissed off but too prim and proper to express it.” What he said was this sentiment fed through a politeness translator. “Mercenary Watley, you have my deepest appreciation for aiding Her Majesty in the past and I know you are an important person to her, so it is with all due respect and civility that I say the following.” He grabbed the doorframe. “Get out.”

  He slammed the door in Eric’s face.

  “That could have gone better,” Kallen said from her position of leaning against the far wall.

  After resolving the inter-class romance in Dnnac Ledo, the chaos knights traveled to Roalt Castle to collect the first ingredient they needed for the Chaos Avatar Ritual. Walking from the Arch of Kresnik to the royal bedchamber was a simple matter. Everyone knew that Eric was the queen’s confidant, so they left him alone. The only one that didn’t was Siron.

  Inside the royal bedroom, the noble leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his forehead. Trickster’s Chosen wi
th god complexes were the last thing he needed right now. The sound of someone heaving drew his attention to the royal bed.

  It was a magnificent creation; four posters created from special Mithran trees that gave off a soothing aroma and had been carved by hand into a fire motif. Semi-opaque curtains of Aranid spider silk concealed the sleeper while granting them enough visibility to see beyond. Red and white sheets of the finest quality and decorated in the royal style kept them warm and comfortable. It set a fine contrast with its current inhabitant and her prized possession, a plain plastic bucket.

  “Your Majesty is a lightweight.”

  Kasile groaned. “My head hurts when you call me that.”

  Siron allowed himself a tiny smile. “Which one?”

  She rolled over. “…Both…”

  “Next time, I recommend you do not try to outdrink Vis-Count Gregory Plonio. The man has orc blood in him and you know what they say about orcs.”

  “….eggh…royal….dignity…ahhh…demanded it…”

  “Do you feel dignified right now?” Siron asked.

  “No.”

  “Here, let me wipe away that slime before you get any more of it on the sheets.”

  Reluctantly, Kasile drew back the covers. Her face was pale, her hair stringy, her eyes puffy, and bits of vomit and mucus clung to her lips and nose. His eyes crinkled at the sight, which made her frown. Still amused, he withdrew a plain handkerchief and cleaned her face.

  “All the queen’s brushes and all the queen’s maids, couldn’t put her beauty—”

  “Shut up!”

  Kasile ducked under her sheets.

  Back outside the room, Eric prepared himself for phasing. He calmed himself, centered his spirit, and visualized the wall before him as a transparent screen. Then he walked through it. All of its runes and wards were useless. He avoided them as a predator avoids dry twigs and loose stones.

  “Sorry to barge in, but—”

  He dodged a thrown dagger, grabbed a naked sword with the right hand of the grendel, and then caught a brass knuckle punch with the left hand. Finally, a spirit blast broke over him like a wave over a rock.

  “You did that on instinct. You’re a terrific guard dog.”

  “Mercenary Watley, you try my patience,” Siron replied. He struggled against Eric with all his knightly strength but couldn’t budge him. One corner of Eric’s mouth quirked at his futile efforts. “I do not want to have to explain to Her Majesty that I killed you for trespassing.”

  Eric cocked his head. “That’s it? No apology? That’s rude, don’t you think, Kas?”

  A pitiful moan reached their ears.

  “Her Majesty is not accepting visitors at this time: not from the Three Councils, not from the press, not from lobbyists, and not from you.”

  Siron blinked. He could have sworn that Eric’s face was melting. It became something feminine and regal. Suddenly, the face of his queen was staring at him with characteristic imperialness.

  “Duke Siron of Esrah, how dare you speak for the crown in our presence! Shame on you and shame on your house!”

  This stunned him long enough for Eric to knee him in the groin. This wasn’t as effective as Eric hoped, so he gently just tossed him across the room. Then he strode to Kasile’s bed, reforming his face and voice on the way. He grabbed the sheets and before Siron could stop him, he tore them off.

  “Wow, Kas, you look like shit.” She looked bitterly up at him. “You know, Captain Hasina has a serum that can clear that right up and she’d love to try it on a semi-divine subject.”

  Siron walked with furious dignity from where he had been thrown back to the bed. Then, with professionally restrained anger, he made the following demand.

  “Mercenary Watley, if you have business with the queen, then you must request an audience like everyone else. Your presence here besmears her image enough as it is.”

  “My business can’t wait. Two elder gods want to kill me. Abyss, the only reason one of them hasn’t struck by now is because he’s dealing with Creatures-From-The-Veins.”

  “I heard about that,” Siron said. “The press is calling it the worst disaster since the Siduban Chaos Explosion, and if that were not bad enough, the daughter of the Witch of Dnnac Ledo is behind it.”

  Eric made an affable shrug. “So you see my hurry.”

  Siron’s countenance was resolute. “Five seconds and I call the guards.”

  Eric’s was just as serious. “Three seconds and Tasio pulls your pants down.”

  “What?”

  Right on cue, The Trickster appeared behind him and pulled his pants down. His belt and zipper provided as much resistance to Tasio as the room’s wards against teleportation. His face flushed and he hastily pulled them back up.

  “Like I thought…” Eric mused. “You are wearing a cup. That confirms that you aren’t getting any. Too much of a gentleman, am I right?”

  Mustering his dignity, Siron turned away from the mortal trickster in front of him to address the divine one behind him.

  “Trickster King, allow me to congratulate you on the success of your latest choice. He is a splendid candidate indeed.”

  “Thank you,” both of them said.

  “Eric,” Kasile moaned, “what do you want?”

  “I’d like to cash in on my royal boon. You know, the one you gave me for helping you defeat Esrah the Elder and that you kept in reserve since I couldn’t think of anything at the time? I want two vials of Sacred Fire.”

  Kasile blinked. Rubbing her eyes, she said, “Siron, did he say what I think he said?”

  “Yes, Lady Kasile, you heard correctly.”

  Looking up at him, she asked, “Why would you make such an outrageous request?”

  Eric said the following in the calmest and most casual tone imaginable. “Because, otherwise, I’m going to be murdered by reapers and enforcers.”

  Kasile considered this. Then she said, “Tasio, go stick your head in a beehive.”

  From his lounging position above the royal bedframe, Tasio shrugged.

  “I had nothing to do with this…sort of. It’s all his decision, kinda. All I really did was make the option available.”

  “Sure you did, you fox-faced bastard.”

  She sat up, slowly, and braced her forehead against the dizziness. With her hair hanging around her face in an unruly mess, she looked even worse than she did lying down. Closing her eyes, she twisted her right hand in a circle and then her left. Twin flames of black and white fire appeared in them.

  “One for you and one for Kallen. No doubt she’s standing outside the door…”

  “Just like that?” Eric asked. “No ceremony? No press?”

  “I can’t be seen with you right now.” Her eyes were half closed. The light of her own flames gave her a headache. “They’ll call me a Chaosist rubber stamper. Take them and go.”

  Eric scooped them into special jars. As he did so, Kasile’s expression softened. She grabbed his hands and said, “Come by again later when I’m not hungover. I’d like to catch up.”

  “Sure. By then, I should be immortal again and we can talk at leisure.”

  “Good. I’ll…” She threw up on Eric. “…Sorry.”

  Tasio laughed, Siron hid a smile, and Eric shrugged. Kasile dropped back to her pillow and Eric stowed two of her gifts. As he prepared to phase out of the room, Siron insisted that he use the door like a normal person.

  “Okay, I have the fire,” he told Kallen. “Now how do we use it?”

  Kallen pinched her nose and pointed. He gave her an annoyed look. Surely she smells stuff worse than this all the time. Regardless, he obliged her. He rubbed his hand over his shirt, and where his hand traveled, the vomit turned into mana. After collecting it all, he absorbed it into himself by swallowing it.

  “Better?”

  Kallen nodded and brought a scroll out of her satchel. It was elaborate with a red border and gold engraving and marked at the top with the royal seal. It was also scuffed up a
nd faded.

  “You took that from the Royal Archive.”

  Kallen nodded.

  “You’ve been planning this since last year’s attempted coup.”

  Kallen nodded a third time.

  “You knew it would come to this.”

  Kallen nodded a fourth time. “I told you you’d become as strong as I am just keeping up, didn’t I? This explains exactly what we need to do, except, you know, for the ‘mystery cult’ stuff that only the Fire Sage knows. So let’s go!”

  “Not yet,” Eric said. “I want to check in at the Dragon’s Lair.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Mercenary duties. I’m out of time off. If I don’t check in, I’ll be delinquent.”

  “Seriously? Don’t worry about that mortal stuff. As the Elven Tome says, ‘The monsters have their dens and the sapients have their buildings, but the Avatar of Chaos has nowhere to rest his many heads.’”

  Eric grabbed her hand and fondled the back of her palm with his thumb. The resulting sensations sent Kallen into a stupor. As much as she wanted, she couldn’t bring herself to scowl at him. All she could do was say, “That’s….not fair.”

  Eric smiled. “It won’t take long.”

  As the pair crossed the curtain wall’s drawbridge, the Door of Death opened behind them. Gruffle floated out. He drew his scythe back.

  A shooting star crashed into the drawbridge. The impact shook reality, startled all three sapients, and scared everyone else nearby. It also mutated that section of the bridge into twelve kinds of cheese and a living plastic. The star’s light retracted and became an elf in a habit designed by a princess and a wolf with golden-brown fur. Quickly taking her bearings, she noted that Eric was in front of her and Gruffle was behind her.

  “Oh, good...” she said with a hand over her heart. “I made it in time.”

  “An—! I mean, Priestess…” Eric started.

  “YOUR HOOD IS DOWN!” Kallen shouted.

  “Ahh!” Annala hurriedly flipped the hood over her head and said, “Y-yes, I am Priestess. We’ve never met before... have we? An older version of me might have helped you at some point but—”