Questing Sucks (Book 1) (69 page)

“Oh?”
said the man with the hawk mask. Ghell didn’t know from where he spoke—the voice resounded from everywhere. “
Then why are you here? Only my deceased subjects…only my failures can arrive here.”

“Deceased? Did I…?”

“Yes,”
his master answered, “
you were slain by the Elven woman…Cah’lia.”
He spoke the name as if it were familiar to him.

Ghell was rocked by the most horrifying realization that his mind could conceive of—the single greatest feeling of hopelessness that he had ever known descended upon him. “But…no, no, no. If I am dead, then…then I should be in the Hall of the Dead, awaiting judgment by
Salarax
.”

“
Saaaaalarax
?”
his master hissed.
“No, the Death God serves none who serve me. You, my foolish little commander, are bound to me for eternity. And it is here that you shall spend it, as another face in the ground for the elite to walk on. Each day, you shall be trampled by the feet of those who have proven themselves worthy. Though, it is often the case after a few thousand years that the concept of a ‘day’ will be lost to you. A few million and you shall come to know suffering to the point where reality ceases to exist. Oftentimes you will wonder how a single entity can even know such pain, for it will be the sum of insanity. And yet, through it all, you shall never become mad. You will feel all that is done to you—you will endure a never-ending torment. And with each passing moment, just when you have come to believe that the suffering could not possibly worsen, you will be proven wrong, time and time again, for all of eternity.”

The only thing Ghell could feel was dread. At the man’s ominous words, the heat of the surface floor no longer touched him, and Ghell suspected that no pain, physical or otherwise, could compare to the utter despair he felt at the understanding of his new future.

Ghell cried into his hands. He hadn’t cried so terribly since he was a boy. “Anything,” he sobbed. “Anything in this world. If only you’d spare me such a fate, I would do it. No favor would be too large—no order to tall. But please, even if I am to be nothing more than an object of torture for the span of a natural lifetime, please, I beg of you—anything but this.”

In an instant, two faces filled his vision. They were the faces of children, and Ghell filled with such giddiness at the images that he actually shook.

“That you are showing these to me,” Ghell said, “must mean you are giving me a second chance, yes? Please, please tell me this is the case.”

There was a moment of silence. It only lasted for a few seconds, but with the most concentrated dose of terror that Ghell had felt still ravaging through his mind, the brief quiet seemed to last an eternity.

“Their names,
” his master purred,
“are Nero and Rina, and they hold the key to a future I do not wish to see come to pass. Kill them. Kill them, and
Salarax
shall judge you. Fail and you will spend eternity here with me.”

Ghell rushed with elation. He stood back to his feet and threw his arms to the sky. “My Lord! You may as well consider them to already be dead! I will never fail you again!”

“Good,
” the voice whispered.
“Good.”

Ghell’s eyes snapped open—both of them, to his relief. He was on his back on the warm but thankfully not boiling mud that the woman, Cah’lia, had left him in. He realized that the stickiness covering him was a pool of his own blood, but oddly, it did not disgust him. Ghell didn’t think anything would ever disgust him again after spending a few minutes in whatever forsaken land he’d been sent to.

His body appeared rejuvenated, and he flexed his muscles for good measure. There was something on his arm, something that hadn’t been there prior. It was a tattoo. Ghell wasn’t a betting man, but he would’ve gambled away everything he owned that after what he’d just been through, nothing would ever frighten him again. But seeing the black swirling skulls that ran from his wrist to the tip of his right shoulder, Ghell again knew the touch of cold, unbearable terror.

“I’ve been marked,” he murmured. “It’s the mark of
Salarax
, but…”

Ghell felt his blood go cold. “The Hawk is a God?”

 

 

“No!” Patrick roared, crying out in torment and agony. “Sehn! Tell it to put me down!”

Sehn pointed a threatening finger at Patrick and shook his head. “I shall not! Not until you give in to my demands, fool.”

The battle was still going on behind him, but Sehn didn’t care. From the looks of things, it was wrapping up. With each second, the thunder of battle grew exponentially quieter as more and more of the black-armored soldiers were pacified and put to sleep. Those that weren’t staked their swords into the ground in a gesture of surrender while armed Kingdom soldiers went around disarming them.

Sehn focused his attention back to Patrick. The Champion’s arms were raised high in the air, and lying on top of his palms, as if only moments from being thrown to the ground, Patrick wiggled and tried to break free. Saerith stood in the middle, begging Sehn to order his minion-servant to release his friend.

“Sehn,” Saerith began calmly, “don’t you think this might be abusing your power just a little bit?”

Sehn exploded with rage. “How dare you accuse me of abusing my power? Champion! Use your magic to melt Saerith’s pants.”

The Champion nodded and mouthed a few words, and within moments, Saerith shouted as his trousers turned to dust, leaving him bare in his undergarments. Sehn laughed at him. “Behold, mortals! Your God-king has arisen more powerful than ever!” Sehn spread his arms wide. “Let the seeds of terror bubble in your hearts! Let the world tremble for I am the greatest!”

“Sehn!” Patrick cried again, “do not make yourself my enemy!”

Who did this fool think he was? No one “made” themselves Sehn’s enemy, because they already were. Everyone was Sehn’s enemy, including Sehn himself, even if it seemed impossible. How, one might wonder? It didn’t matter. It just worked out for whatever reason. It did!

“If you will agree to my demands, then I shall have my minion-servant-slave-God-but-still-not-as-Godly-as-Sehn release you.”

Even while held high above the Champion’s head, Sehn could still see Patrick’s outraged expression. “Are you mad? Do you honestly think I am going to…to surrender my entire Kingdom and provide you with eleven castles? I don’t even own eleven castles!”

Sehn growled under his breath. “Fine! Fuck it. Six castles, then.”

“I’m not giving you anything! Let me down!”

“Or what,
Fool’trick
?”

“Or…or I’ll tell Cah’lia!”

Something that resembled fear, but couldn’t have been—since Sehn was incapable of feeling such an emotion—welled in Sehn’s heart, and he clenched his teeth. “Fine!” he said at last. “Minion-fool, release the prince of the Seven Pillars, but do it in a way that makes him dirty and shamed.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the Item whispered. He didn’t so much as set Patrick down as he did place him. Before he released the prince, he rolled Patrick back and forth along the dirt like he was rolling bread, further dirtying his already filthy tunic and covering his messy hair with even more filth.

When the Champion released him, Patrick eyed the man fearfully while he stood back to his feet, but he remained quiet. Saerith, however, did not. He covered the front of his undergarments with his arms, trembling in anger. “Sehn, I should let you know that you have just made me very upset. My feelings on this are—”

“Fuck your feelings! Minion, use your power to—”

“Wait!” Saerith pleaded. “Just…just keep that thing away from me.”

The Champion inched his head towards Saerith. “Shall I kill him, master?”

Sehn waved at his creature. “No, no, that will not be required, minion. Now, walk beside me and provide me with shade while I ride back to my city.” The Champion nodded and bent down, ripping off Saerith’s shirt, which he then held stretched over Sehn’s head to take the sun away from his eyes.

Sehn spun around and mounted his ferocious new steed. He smiled as he rode back towards Hahl. Behind him, he could just make out Patrick shouting, “It’s not your damned city!”

Of course it was! Life was good when you were a God.