Path of Transcendence Omnibus II, page 97
As Brand continues up the ramp, his sick Wytch beams at him with a mix of approval and lust on her face. The two of them are a perfect match made in hell.
Usurper
*** Tallifer – Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 368
(Thorrin)
Going up the tower, Brand pauses at each floor. Clusters of players stare at us, and every one of them that has a Postmen guild badge dies to Brand's dancing short swords. If they even realize that they have been killed, the poor bastards probably do not know how they died.
*Master, a company of the Tallifer Merchant Guard is approaching.* Duncrik's message comes through the raid channel.
*Give them some warning shots, and if they don't get the message, wipe them out.* While replying, Brand kills the Postmen among the rubberneckers on the tenth floor, and the rest of them scatter.
Each floor, there are fewer people near the ramps. People must be passing messages up the tower, but you would think that if the people were getting word that Brand was killing Postmen that the idiots would not be sticking their necks out.
At the fourteenth floor, familiar faces greet me. They are people who used to be in my guild, Thorrin's Hammers, before I was swept up in the Great Fuck Over. Berek, Fist Law, and Violet, they were all long time members of the Hammers.
"Thorrin!" Violet is the first one to recognize me.
As the guild badges enter my sight, my heart feels like it freezes. Brand's short swords head straight for them. Time feels like it slows to a crawl, and this time, I can see the swords moving. Everything around me appears to have slowed down.
As I lunge forward and swat at Brand's short swords with my shield, it feels like the muscles in my legs, back and arms are ready to tear apart. "NO! Those are my friends! Don't kill them!"
"So, do something about it." Brand appears to casually step forward, but he still moves faster than me.
"AAARRRR!" With an inarticulate scream of rage, I chop at Brand's left shoulder. As it cuts through the air, the heavy overhand swing of my axe creates a whistling noise.
Brand steps to the side and casually batters aside my axe, with enough force to nearly tear it out of my hands. As he turns, his kick lands on my shield. The kick feels about like being hit by a truck and sends me flying down the corridor.
Before the rubberneckers have a chance to dodge, I plow through a couple dozen of them. After hitting a wall, I slide to the ground. In front of me, a trail of broken and dying people leads back to Brand, and the rest run off, leaving the injured behind.
"If that's the best you can do, I'm just gonna kill your friends, now." Chuckling nastily, Brand turns his back on me.
"NO!" I force myself to my feet and stagger toward Brand.
After Brand slaps both my axe and shield aside, he kicks me in the stomach. It is a light kick. He lifts me into the air, but I do not go flying. Gasping for air, I hit the ground on my knees.
"Hey! Asshole! Leave Thorrin alone!" Fist Law charges at Brand.
As Brand turns toward my friends again, he does something with his Power, and Fist Law collapses.
"Stop!" As I gasp out the single word, I lunge at Brands knees, and when he moves to the side at the last instant, I fall on my face.
"Are you done? Are you ready to give up and watch me kill them peacefully?"
"Stop. Please, stop hurting Thorrin!" Violet sounds like she is ready to cry.
I stagger to my feet and swing wildly a Brand. He avoids a few of my swings so easily, I might as well not be attacking, and punches me in the face.
I was hit by a car once in a factory test track accident. It left me a cripple. Brand's punch makes being hit by a car seem like being hit by a feather. My mind goes blank, and when I am aware of my surroundings again, I am lying on my back.
"If you're gonna kill us, kill us. Just stop hurting Thorrin, man. Please." Berek's voice trembles slightly, and his face is pale as a ghost.
Brand looks down at me. "Awake? Just stay there, and I'll kill them, now."
I force myself to my feet.
"Thorrin! Don't!" Violet has tears running down her cheeks.
"Enough, already! He'll kill you. It's okay. Just let him kill us." Berek looks terrified, but he stands straight, with his arm around Violets shoulders. In real life and the game, he was married to Violet, but now, what was the game has become the only life they have. They are both old timers, just not quite as old as I was.
I glare at my friends. "NO! I won't let him kill you!"
"Steel is stubbornness!" I am too muddleheaded to sub-vocalize the mantra, and it comes out in a hiss of breath.
As I cast buff after buff, Brand just watches me. Those cold, dead eyes staring at me from behind the eye slits in his helm would normally petrify me, but right now, my anger and desperation inure me to their effect.
Boom! Clang! Crackle! Boom!
I attack Brand with everything I have. The weapons buffs on my axe and shield detonate, unleashing enough force, lightning, and fire to wreck a tank, but Brand blocks it all. The aura of the Od around his swords seems to cut through everything. He does not take a single step and does not look like he puts any effort into it. I push myself so hard that I feel my muscles and cartilage tear and my ligaments strain to the point of snapping.
Driven by rage and anger, my attacks are harder and faster than ever before, but rage and anger can only sustain me for so long. After a few minutes and more than a thousand strikes, my arms fall to my sides. I cannot even put a smudge on his armor. I have never felt so helpless in my life.
"Done?"
My only response is a glare.
"My turn."
Brand is barely more than a blur and pain explodes from my balls. My legs buckle and fall to my knees.
"You can't beat me. What are you going to do, now?"
I force myself to my feet, but when I try to take a step, my legs buckle. That fucking asshole is flat out addicted to hitting people in the balls. I want to kick his balls up between his shoulder blades, but I cannot even get back to my feet.
As I glare at Brand, the pain is so bad that my voice is an agonized hiss. "My life for theirs. Kill me. Let them go."
The hate and anger that fueled my fruitless attack have faded back to the sullen embers that are always deep within me. I am not like Brand. I may have a Dvergar Body, but my Mind and Soul are still human. I have limits that I cannot exceed. Hate and anger can only sustain me for so long.
While I fought Brand, he seemed to be revealing part of himself. I felt a torrential wave of barely contained hate and rage in every block. It is a sea so deep that it may be endless. Brand's hate and rage will never fade, and hidden behind the hate and rage, there was pain, enough pain to break me. That pain scares me more than the hate and rage. He may still be mortal in form, but there will come a day when he tears apart the mortal bonds holding him back. One day, he will unleash all of that on the metaverse. What will happen when he does?
I cannot beat him, and if I pushed myself to the point that I could, what would it cost me?
"Agreed."
Hiss.
"NO!" Violet's shriek is so loud it hurts my ears.
I do not think I blinked, but I never saw Brand's swing. The edge of his sword blade is against my helm, and the Power field surrounding it eats away at the metal.
Brand sheathes his right sword and grabs me by the front of my mail. As he lifts me into the air, my Dvergar steel chain mail tears beneath his fingers. That kind of ridiculous strength goes so far beyond human, they are not in same world.
"You don't know how bad I wanted to see you find your balls and sew them back on. You and your friends all live. Remember what you felt like fighting me. Don't ever forget it. Don't ever become the faggot loser you've been lately, again."
As his short swords fly up from the ground and circle around his head, Brand drops me and turns his back on me. "Also, you have no idea how much I hate this fucking kind of 'power of friendship' bullshit."
Pancho smirks. "That's cause you've got no friends, ese."
For a moment, Brand stares at Pancho. "If I had friends, it wouldn't change."
Being careful to avoid Brand's bastard sword and its Power field, Brand's Wytch links her arm with his. They are a pair of monsters, but looking at them, I realize something. That Wytch has the same kind pain hidden with her that Brand does, and neither of them cares that the other is a complete monster. As long as they live, the two of them will stand together against the entire metaverse and never back down.
After fighting Brand, I cannot understand why I was so afraid to challenge him. He is a psychotic monster, but if he had really wanted me dead, he could have killed me at any time. I had just been fixated on suppressing myself and not losing control of my temper, for so long, that I had forgotten how to be a man. As much as I hate to admit it, Brand was right; I was missing my balls.
I feel better. Now, I understand that Brand is not Talon. They may be the same Mind and Soul, but they are not the same person. Talon died. Brand is a different person, and I cannot imagine him ever dying. It is time the past is laid to rest, where it belongs.
I hate Brand, but I also hated Earth. I still hate Earth. I do not know if I will ever forgive Brand for destroying it, but I am not going to try and kill him. I cannot beat him. If I was completely insane, there might come a day when I could fight him on equal footing, but I am not going to walk down that kind of self-destructive path. I am satisfied with being who I am.
As Brand continues on toward the next floor, Dacbold stares at me and smiles. "Welcome back. I missed the real Thorrin. It's been a bit lonely this past decade."
I sigh. "Thanks. Sorry for worrying you."
Dacbold shrugs. "Forget it. You still coming?"
My eyes turn upward. That sick, pedophile faggot, Sulius, is still up there. "Yeah, I'm coming."
When I reach the next floor, Brand looks at me. "Any friends?"
I shake my head, and Brand's short swords kill the only two people with Postman guild badges. I feel a twinge of guilt, but they are not my people. Since none of them are Hammers or old friends, it is not my responsibility to protect them.
On each of the next two floors, the same type of scene repeats itself, and then, we reach the eighteenth floor. A group of Brand's marauders waits for us, with that purple eyed DokkAlfar mind-fucker in charge. They have their own collection of newly colored, naked slaves, and every one of the women has above average looks.
The slaves may have once been Earth women, but this is the Battleground of the Damned. At least it was until Boran destroyed Yggdrasil, but even though I may not know what to call it, the rule of strength has not changed. People from Earth will have to deal with the way things are here, and for these poor women, that means being slaves. I feel bad for them, but I am not going to go on another crusade. I need to adapt, even more than they do.
"What's the situation?"
With his clenched fist over his heart, that purple eyed DokkAlfar mind-fucker salutes Brand. "On the floor below the top one, a company of Calistene mercenaries is guarding one of the doors. For now, we have left them alone. We were waiting for you to make a decision on how to deal with them."
"That should be where the head faggot in charge is. I'll take care of him myself."
"I want to kill Sulius myself." My voice sounds hostile in my own ears.
Brand looks at me, and a flicker of interest appears in his cold, soulless eyes. "Why?"
"Do you know what NAMBLA was?"
Brand shakes his head. "No."
Steeling myself, I take a deep breath. "NAMBLA was a fag group that advocated for the legalization of homosexual pedophilia. They got their start back in the late 1970s. They used to lure in preteen boys with video games and drugs and coerce them into homosexual activity or outright ass-raped them.
"I had a cousin named Danny. He was five years older than me, and he was a video game wizard. I had no older brothers, and I practically worshiped Danny. Our families weren't rich. We were lower middle-class, and playing video games cost money. Danny got sucked in by some NAMBLA faggots and repeatedly ass-raped for maybe as much as a couple years. In the end, he committed suicide. He was twelve years old, twelve fucking years old." Gritting my teeth, I stop speaking and reign in my temper, but I cannot stop the shaking of my clenched fist.
After a minute or so, I calm down. "That sick faggot, Sulius, is a NAMBLA supporter. When I first met him and Herodotus on Earth, NAMBLA had gone underground, and claiming to be a member would probably get you arrested, or at the very least, you would be investigated for sexual assault and statutory rape.
"That pair of faggots only claimed to be supporters of NAMBLA, but I think they were members. I don't know if they still used the same stunts to ass-rape preadolescent boys on Earth, but since Earth already had homosexual awakening laws that basically legalized homosexual pedophilia, they wouldn't need to hide it anymore. The both of them were doing that shit here, but they just abducted any little boys that caught their fancy. Not many people gave it a second thought, but I never forgot Danny. Sulius is too young to have raped him, but I'm still gonna beat that faggot to death."
"Okay. He's yours." Brand stares at me, and I have the unnerving feeling that he is smiling in approval under that helm.
"Valcrit keep this point secure."
"Yes, Master."
Brand glances at the group of us that have been following him. "Let's go."
After Brand leads the way to the twenty third floor, I take a look around. A single corridor leads away from the ramp to a moderately large central room, with a company of Calistene mercenaries waiting in ordered ranks.
Based on what I remember from decades ago, this level is divided into only five or six large suites that are a combination of residence and office. Graham, Alva, and a few other guild elders among the postmen used to live here. In those days, Sulius' position was too low for him to live on this floor.
With his Wytch hanging on his arm, Brand arrogantly struts down the corridor. If nothing else, he knows how to slam you in the face with the fact that he is a badass motherfucker just by being in the room. As he advances, an aura of Power spreads outward from him and weighs down my Soul with a feeling of oppression. I almost feel sorry for the mercenaries.
"Halt!" Based on his armor, the man issuing the command is the Captain of the mercenary company.
With the Calistenes, no matter how small the mercenary group, even if it is just one man, the commander is always, at least, a Captain. Larger groups will have a higher ranked commander, but it never goes above the rank of Colonel or Commandant. There is no such thing as Calistene General.
"Fuck off. Get out of my way and live. Stand between me and the faggot and die. Those are your choices. Decide!"
Yes, that is true Brand diplomacy, but to be fair, diplomacy does not work very well with the Calistenes. Their mercenary companies are fanatically loyal to their contracts. Every man in the company is there to provide for his family back in the Calist Moors, and if he falls in battle, a male relative or a battle brother will marry his wife and adopt his children. It is not uncommon for a Calistene man to have four or five wives, with three or four them being another man's widow.
In the Calist Moors, if you have no family, no reputable mercenary company will take you. The unreputable companies are driven out of the Calist Moors, and if they continue to use the Calistene name, the other companies will band together and exterminate them.
"We have taken coin." The Captain straightens his already erect spine. He is Calistene. There is nothing else he needs to say.
Brand's Wytch lets go of his arm and steps back.
The aura of black and silver Power around Brand's swords abruptly grows thicker, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Visible on either side of his helm's nasal guard, the Calistene Captain's eyes open wide, and his fear is audible in his voice. "Attack!"
The Calistene mercenaries charge, and Brand swings his swords. Two black and silver arcs of Power tear into the mercenaries, and a bloody red aura surrounds the Captain's body.
Boom!
Sliding forward, the Captain chops his sword into one of Brand's arcs of Od, and the blade explodes. Fragments of the blade pierce the Captain's armor, and the shock wave from the explosion knocks him up and back. He slams into the wall, near the ceiling, and beneath him, the arc of Power tears through the wall.
"Second Circle isn't close to being strong enough to face me." Brand's voice reverberates in my ears.
The Captain slams into the floor, and the surviving mercenaries stare at Brand in horror. Only about a third of the mercenaries were killed by Brand's arcs of Power, but having your company decimated three times over by one attack would unman anyone.
With blood dripping from his nose, mouth, and the shrapnel holes in his breastplate, the Captain rises unsteadily to his feet.
Brand takes a few steps into the room. "Do you want to designate a man to carry the Company Colors home?"
With surprise visible in his eyes, the Captain looks around. "Connor Ap'Shea."
"Sir!" The man that stands at attention cannot be more than seventeen or eighteen. He is more of a boy than a man. This is probably his first contract, but if he is in a company, that means he already has a wife and child.
"You only have a daughter. Return the Colors and tell your brother's sons how they died."
"Yes, Sir!" With his lips quivering like he is barely in control of his emotions, Connor Ap'Shea takes the banner from the company standard bearer and moves into the corridor behind Brand.
As Connor Ap'Shea turns around to face the Calistenes, they all take their spears in the shield hands and raise their arms until they point straight outward at about a thirty degree angle above the shoulder. It is the Calistene salute given only to respected warriors. They have a different salute for their employers.
