Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) (39 page)

“Do you know who Elan'fer'sha is?”

The guard clamps his jaw closed and does not respond.

Pushing up my visor, I smile nastily at the guard and dig around in a wound on his shoulder with the spiked pommel of my sword.

“AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!”

“Do you know who Elan'fer'sha is?”

“Get castrated!”

Evaluating the pattern of the guard's armor, I focus one of the symbols of breaking on my swords pommel spike and tear it open over his groin. A pecker just as skinny as the rest of him is exposed and looks as though it is trying crawl up in his body cavity to hide.

“I've been castrated. If you don't answer me, I'll let you experience the pain of castration for yourself.”

Confused expressions flash across the faces of the gladiators behind me, before they school their faces back into menacing expressions.

“Master, let me have him.” A DokkAlfar with pale lavender eyes is standing next to me. I have very seldom seen eyes that color on an Alfar.

When I glance at Kanchek, he nods affirmatively. “Valcrit knows what he is doing.”

When I hold out the guard, and he looks at Valcrit's lavender eyes, his face turns ghostly pale. Feeling the unleashed psi energies, I understand why. This Valcrit is a ridiculously strong psi. He is probably not on Aluras'bektsh'tar's level of Power, but his is well above the norm that should be attainable by a non-Coalescent.

Just what the fuck is the Blood Rose Stable? I have been so focused on my own business that I seldom paid much attention to the rest of the stable. Most of the guards that stood watch in the barracks and training arena were nothing special, but this groups is different. With the exception of the Ogre and that group of shield specialist from my first battle, the Blood Rose Stable's gladiators are above the level of other stable's gladiators, as well. There are entirely too many beings that are considerably above the average levels of Power, talent, and skill that you find in the general population. I doubt this is Elan'fer'sha's work, so it has to have been done under Thrall's manipulations.

As the minutes pass, it feels like they are dragging on for hours each. The sounds of Vardne'tar patrols searching for us echo from all directions, sometime louder and sometimes softer. The Vardne'tar guard I am holding up by his harness whimpers and twitches, but he seems unable to even put out anything resembling a real struggle.

After about three to four minutes, Valcrit blinks a few times. He slits the guards throat, with a dagger pulled from his belt, and looks at me. “I have found the location of the dungeon entrance, and the least used paths to reach it. This one has not seen her, but he has heard that the Mistress is in the dungeon.”

“You lead.”

Valcrit nods and moves out at a fast jog. I remember seeing him guarding the entry to the Blood Rose arena complex, when I was leaving with the parade for my gladiatorial battles. The distance covered by his smooth easy strides reveals his extreme level of physical enhancement, but because of the nature of physical enhancement, it is difficult to gauge the strength of his actual mana.

Mostly following back passages obviously meant for servants, we reach a point where the one we are in opens on a wide corridor with a heavy double door at the end. Four guards, two on either side, are stationed in front of the door, and their alert eyes are constantly roving between the mouths of the other corridors that open on the one with the doors. If it were not for the fact that my spatial awareness allows my body receive impressions through every square millimeter of its surface, I would be exposed by sticking my head out to look.

It could be considered strange the way so many Power based abilities include or ignore clothing, armor, and gear, but when you consider that there is an aura or periphery to patterns that generally extends beyond the physical body it might not be so odd. The aura has Power, or maybe you could say it is Power that is radiated by the pattern, almost like light from a star. Once you are aware of the aura, you can consciously keep it within the bounds of the body, but that requires the constant expenditure of some level of concentration.

I take my endless quiver out from my belt and attach it to my harness, before taking out Stone Feather Death and stringing it. Because of it being a Legendary Weapon, its pattern would probably keep it from being damaged, if it remained strung, but even with a stone bow, it is a bad and sloppy habit to leave it strung forever.

“There are four guards at the door, and we are a bit over a hundred feet from the door. All four of them have heavy repeating crossbows. Stay on the right side of the corridor as you charge, so I have a clear line of fire.”

Nocking an arrow, I step out into the draw and shoot.

Crack-boom!

The arrow punches through one of the guards chests and pins him to the door.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

As I drop to one knee, crossbow bolts fly over my head, punching holes into the stone walls behind me. As stone fragment rattle off my back, the guards and gladiators charge out in the wake of the impacts. Valcrit is in the lead, and one of the Vardne'tar guard's limbs go slack, and he drops his crossbow to the ground.

Crackle-BOOM!

A massive bolt of blue-white lightning streaks over my head, and a third guard is hurled backward, with a smoking hole in his what is left of his chest.

I set another arrow to my bowstring, but there is no clear line of fire. The faster DokkAlfar guards are already on the last Vardne'tar guard, and he slumps to the ground minus an arm, with his chest caved in like a soup bowl.

Finding the double doors locked, Kanchek searches the corpses for the key, but comes up empty handed. He looks at me shrugging, with his hands full of storage devices.

After putting Stone Feather Death away, I place my hands on the door and close my eyes. There are wards on the door, but I can still feel its pattern and the patterns of the the latch and lock. The metal is another Elemental alloy, but the Elemental metal used in it is not one that I have encountered before. Kanchek orders men to the nearest corridor entries to keep watch, while I feel out the pattern of the lock and bolt, searching for weaknesses.

My first attempt with a symbol of breaking is a failure, and Power backlashes on me. Silently snarling, I braid my power and drive home a different symbol.

Pop! Clatter.

The door opens under my shove, and fragments of the shattered bolt fall to the stone. Beyond the door, six more hostile guards are waiting with readied crossbows.

“Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!”

One of the gladiators falls, with a crossbow bolt buried in his chest. I deflect another into the ceiling, with the back of my wrist, and the last two are knocked aside by other gladiators.

A second or two later the corpses of the guards fall to the ground, missing multiple limbs and a couple heads. Swathes of fresh blood paint the walls and floor of the landing crimson. The sounds of running metal shod feet is getting steadily more audible, but from below, there is only silence.

“Throd'nahk stay here with the gladiators and guard this door. If we lose control of these stairs, we'll be fucked getting back to the gate.”

For a few seconds, I can see the internal battle raging in the Throd'nahk's eyes and feel the rapid shift in his emotions. Then, he calms down and a hard coldness suppresses his emotions.

“Don't you dare come back without the Mistress!” His blatant jealousy is so clear that most of the gladiators and guards have to be aware of it.

I cannot keep a shit-eating grin off my face, but the visor of my helm keeps it hidden. I turn and descend the stairs, taking them a dozen at a step. Behind me, the DokkAlfar guards are in hot pursuit.

At the bottom of the stairs another set of double doors bars our way, but these doors have barred windows for viewing the apron in front of it and stairs we are on. From a hundred stairs up, we can see a good twenty DokkAlfar guards, two squads at least, through those small windows. A caster is waiting at each window, and two ball balls of flame streak toward us. We split up, scrambling up and down the stairs to avoid the explosions, when the fireballs strike the stone.

A wave of powerful psi flows past me and one of the casters freezes, but another more powerful wave of psi clashes with the Valcrit's. The caster starts to move again, anger and fear burning in his eyes.

I hurl both my bastard swords at the door and the casters duck down.

Thunk! Thunk!

The windows and the casters were never my targets, and my swords stand quivering in the faces of the doors. I pull my short-swords. Flipping up my visor, I slash my cheeks and let my blood anoint the blades. With my face, it is not like a couple more scars will matter.

My heart is steel. My soul is the forge. My thoughts are life to my blade.
As my braided Power flows into the short-swords, they begin to dance in the air. Their movements are faster and more agile than ever before, but it is more difficult to control my Power, when I use it braided like this. The short-swords fly to the windows and begin stabbing repeatedly at anything the sticks its face too close. Without being under fire from the casters, I am at the door in a couple seconds.

The lock on this door has the same structure as the one on the door above. The symbol of breaking I use on it turns the bolt into shards.

The DokkAlfar reach the door, and without pausing, two of them slam the doors wide open. In a wedge shaped formation they charge into the room beyond. Kanchek is at the point of their wedge, with Valcrit on his right. Despite the differences in weapons used by the Blood Rose guards, they are a well coordinated fighting unit.

While taking out Stone Feather Death, I send my short-swords after one of the casters, and their keen edges nearly sever his head, before he can put up a fight.

Crack-Boom!

My arrow ends the life of the other caster, and I begin scanning the Vardne'tar DokkAlfar, looking for their psi. As my psi probe brushes across the shields of one of the Vardne'tar guards, a burning knife of psi lances into my mind. My shields only hold up for a few seconds, before shattering under the DokkAlfar's attack.

The DokkAlfar psi has driven my awareness back inside of my own mind. With pain drowning my consciousness, I cannot feel my body. I do not know if my hate fueled growl is audible or only inside my head. Even though my shields are broken, the Vardne'tar DokkAlfar does not seem to be making much headway. He keeps trying to thrust deeper into my mind, but I refuse to give ground and keep repelling him. I am a stubborn, vicious, hate-filled mother fucker, and I hate losing or giving in more than anything. The only question is what do I do, now?

Empathic assaults are extremely destructive, if the wielders emotions are strong enough. Hate and rage are good weapons.
I remember Thrall's words, but I never took the time to learn how to use my emotions as weapons, there were always other things I needed to do. Even if my will is strong enough to hold off the DokkAlfar for now, how long can I last? Will the Blood Rose DokkAlfar be able to win with eighteen to seven odds?

Dark Od flows into me, and I have no way to stop it, my strength of mind is completely occupied with holding back the DokkAlfar's psi. More than just a little strangely, the Od is not burning and tearing me up with the strain of its too strong and too real existence. Why?

*You are pathetically weak beyond measure, but as she said, you are one of mine. Frail as it may be, your greatest strength comes from unbridled hate and rage; calm and control are the tools of the weak. Learn from your pain. If you survive to Transcend, you will have to make a choice, and no matter how you choose, there will be prices. That which does not kill you will make you stronger; a stupid and false saying for most, but for you, it is truth.*
The voice is deep and has the feel of danger. It seems to come for the Od, but there is no sense of any presence other than the Od itself.

The Dark Od recedes, but it leaves something behind, a piece of knowledge. I understand how to use my emotions as weapon and armor. What was that voice? Who was that voice?
Od exists between Life and Death, made of both and neither.
I remember those words of Boran from more than a decade past. The girl looked like Boran's statue and said that she was Life. Could that voice have been Death? I remember their statues, as clear as day. That man's, Death's, huge build would rival most Dvergar for mass. I could easily believe that voice was his.

This knowledge he left, I should have already understood it; I have been using my psi in a half-assed manner since I first created the aura in Bogwater. Instinctively, I had been using my stubbornness and hatred to create a half-assed shield against the DokkAlfar's psi, but there are more efficient ways to do so. I change how I am defending myself and fuse my hate into a Power backed wall. Pushing outward, I force the DokkAlfar out of my mind, and my awareness reconnects with the world around me.

Two of the Blood Rose DokkAlfar are injured too badly to continue fighting, but the remaining five are only facing eight. Nine more of the Vardne'tar have joined their casters, as corpses on the ground.

Crack-Boom! Crack-Boom! Crack-Boom! Crack-Boom! Crack-Boom!

The DokkAlfar psi's head explodes, when my arrow punched through his helm. Four more Vardne'tar DokkAlfar quickly follow him into the realm of the dead, as the Blood Rose guards finish off the other Vardne'tar guards.