Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God (27 page)

After our lust is spent and Perzey asleep, I sit up and settle into a lotus position to meditate. No matter how I try, I cannot find my center. My emotions are too jumbled up. I am not sure what I feel, nor I do I have a clue what I should feel. Too much has happened too fast.

Even though her mind is broken, I never expected Perzey's lust to focus on me. Her blood-lust, I can understand. If she were burning with hate for me, I would understand, but I cannot comprehend  her lust. I do not even understand why she arouses and draws out such sexually violent desires from me.

At the sound of a twig snapping, I turn my head toward the woods behind me. Fifteen  DokkAlfar, dressed in black chainmail and carrying glaives, are stealthily advancing toward us. They freeze, when my eyes settle on them.

Reaching to the side, I shake Perzey, by the first thing I grab, ironically or not, her tit.

“Perzey, wake up. Some ass-fuckers want to be killed.”

“Perzey wants to sleep.”

“Wake up!” I shake her harder.

Perzey abruptly sits up, her eyes glaring at the DokkAlfar. From the corner of my eye, I watch the cascade of emotions cross her face, before it settles into hate and blood-lust.

“Perzey wanted to sleep more. Perzey is going to kill the skinny bastards in chainmail.”

The fifteen facings us, all have a height of six feet to more than six and a half feet, but very slender bodies, with shoulders noticeably narrower than my own. Even covered by armor, their builds make it clear that they are Alfar., and the cold hate in their eyes promising violence and pain makes it almost certain they are DokkAlfar. With their helmets concealing their faces, only those hate filled eyes give me any hints as to their thoughts.

In my Half-Dvergar body, all Alfar were my enemies. I needed to learn to tell one breed from another, to know what types of Power I might face. Most of the victims of the Great Fuck Over never bothered to learn how to tell what kind of Alfar they faced. Simply because of the black armor most of those players would assume these are DokkAlfar, but not all DokkAlfar wear black, like not all LjosAlfar wear silver.

The matching design and construction quality of the DokkAlfar's armor and weapons indicates, to me at least, that they are part of a well organized group, possibly a military force. The metal used for their chainmail and glaives is not one I recognize, its oily black sheen is not the result of lacquer, but rather the surface of the metal itself.

Crafted in the chest area of each DokkAlfar's armor is a single eye. As they move, the seems to shift so that it is always looking straight at you. The Smiths who forged their armor were as much artists as they were craftsmen.

Perzey and I are at a severe disadvantage, naked and tired from fucking for hours. I suppose I am not all that tired, but Perzey's body is not the equal of my own in strength or endurance. My weapons are stored in my ring, and Perzey's are in in her harness, which is on the other side of my body from her. The DokkAlfar are close enough to launch attacks against us, before we could free our weapons from their scabbards.

The DokkAlfar's postures give the impression they are contemptuous. I stand up casually, ready to move if they act, but they just watch me. Perzey moves behind me, circling toward her weapons belt with its scabbarded swords.

I spit on the ground. “DokkAlfar.”

Several of the DokkAlfar visibly stiffen, their hands tightening on the hafts of their glaives, as one takes a half step forward. When the DokkAlfar in the center of the line looks at the aggressive one, he steps back again. The helms of three of the others turn toward the one in the middle, so he is probably the leader.

“So are you going to try and murder me, or are you just admiring the size of my dick?” I use the Slave Tongue, so there is little doubt they can understand my words.

The probable leader, the DokkAlfar in the middle, touches his helm and an interesting t-lock type of fastener pops out on each side of the helm. He pushes up the visor of the helm, revealing a face that may cross the boundary into beautiful, even though he is male. All Alfar are like that, the males have such androgynous faces, with the right makeup they could pass for beautiful females.

“You aren't very impressive, when compared with an orc. If you surrender, I will have you killed quickly. If you do not, I will have you taken alive, and both your woman and you will be tied to a log while orc slaves rape you to death. The choice is yours.”

I bare my teeth, in a gesture resembling a smile, and gesture toward the spider tunnel. “You try, and I'll stake you to the cliff like your friend over there.”

The DokkAlfar's face turns ugly. “Do not associate us with a fool that follows the traitor with no name. We serve Lord Yggr, Wellspring of Fear, Dominator of All.”

Yggr, as in the Labyrinth of Yggr, is one of the Jotun Lords. They are referred to as gods in the few books I have seen with anything about them. Boran never talked about them much, but they were definitely enemies of the Dvergar in the past. At some point in the past, I am not sure how long ago, the Dvergar nearly exterminated the entire Jotun race in a war, but I am not too clear on what the war was all about.

The DokkAlfar sneers at me. “Besides, it was Dvergar that killed him, not you.”

Damn. I was hoping to bluff my way through this, but they already know what happened. I did not notice anyone else observing the Thugs, but that does not mean anything. They could have used scrying magic, or perhaps psi. Alfar are supposed to be almost as strong in the use of psi as in the use of mana. With luck, none of these are psis. In my Half-Dvergar body, I was lucky to survive the first time I encountered a strong LjosAlfar psi.

I shrug. “That doesn't mean I won't kill you, if you don't get the fuck lost.”

“It is a shame the Priest-Lord ordered your death. You would make an interesting slave. Breaking your body to break your mind would be an entertaining diversion.”

Glancing at the DokkAlfar to his right, the leader uses the DokkAlfar language. “Kill them.”

I move, a single ki powered step taking me between the DokkAlfar leader and the DokkAlfar on his left. Without wasting the time to pull a weapon from a storage device, I hit the DokkAlfar Leader in the back with a palm strike. The force of the blow and the burst of ki send him flying into the river.

The DokkAlfar on the leaders left has already stepped behind me, and his glaive is sweeping toward me in an oblique overhand strike. I step back, inside of the DokkAlfar's optimal attack range. The DokkAlfar does not shorten his swing, so only the haft of the glaive slams into my arm as I deflect it. As I block the attack, the other DokkAlfar are already moving, some toward me and some toward Perzey.

None of the DokkAlfar show any sign of activated powers and no traces of ki, but they are still generally equal to me in speed, and the one whose glaive I deflected is roughly in the same range of strength. There are many ways that combat adepts use mana to enhance themselves, but most rely on activated powers and special attacks, because they are the easiest to develop. No matter the style or approach, there is always some incidental boosting of the adepts innate physical abilities. These DokkAlfar are different, they are almost certainly the rarest kind of adept, physical enhancement adepts, who rely on pure skill for their attacks.

The effects of physical enhancement are much like the effects of developing a body to be able to channel ki, but the process is completely different. When building a body's ability to channel ki, the continual forced flow of ki through the body causes it to be naturally evolved into a new and superior form. When using physical enhancement training, mana is forcible bonded into the very cells of the body. The body does not evolve, but it still become superior. The process is very similar to one of the methods of creating an Item of Power.

Jumping into the air as I spin, I pound a knee strike into the head of the DokkAlfar behind me. I hear his neck snap, under the combination of physical power and ki-based force. The DokkAlfar's body flies through the air like a limp rag doll, and the glaives of two others slice into my right arm and back. Even with Shadow Fist, I can only twist my body enough to limit the damage. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I dive toward the woods and roll back to my feet.

Perzey is bleeding from a dozen wounds already. Her best speed is not enough to let her match one DokkAlfar, let alone three.

The DokkAlfar leader is already on his feet, slogging toward the river bank. Even though the water resistance is slowing him down, he does not appear to be wounded in the least.

“PERZEY! FLEE! RUN AWAY!” My words are in English.

Perzey looks at me. I cannot even begin to sort out the mix of emotions that flashes through her eyes.

“NOW! RUN! THE RIVER!”

Perzey throws, her short swords at two of the DokkAlfar and spins toward the river. With two steps, she reaches the edge of the water and dives.

Backpedaling, I pull a weapon out of one of my rings, the heavy black sword. With the DokkAlfar already closing in, it would take too long to fumble with my scabbarded blades, but this one was already naked. The massive weight of the strange blade in  my hand somehow feels reassuring.

“Archers! Shoot the woman!” The DokkAlfar uses the DokkAlfar language again.

Before I can shout a warning, arrows begin to pierce the surface of the water. Perzey still has not surfaced. So, even if I had shouted, she might not have heard me.

The nearest DokkAlfar are already closing in. They are watching me carefully, but there is no hesitation in their steps.

I shoot the DokkAlfar leader the bird and step into the woods. Interestingly, the connotations of the gesture are the same in Taereun as on Earth.

“Run that human trash down and kill it.” The DokkAlfar leader's calm words reach my ears, as I run through the woods.

Even if the DokkAlfar have my levels of speed and strength, they do not possess the same level of skills. Shadow Fist is a martial art the exists in a realm of it own, and as a result, my ability to move through the thick undergrowth is unparalleled compared with the DokkAlfar. It only takes a few minutes for the sounds of pursuit to be lost.

*Perzey? Can you hear me, Perzey?*
There is no response, but the spell maintaining the party chat rooms only has a range of a few miles. Of course, that is assuming that Perzey is still alive and in possession of her party charm. I do not remember seeing the charm around her neck. If a caster had used one of variants of the party spell the charm would not be necessary, but for us, without both having our party charms, we will not be able to use the party chat rooms at all.

I pause and listen carefully. After a minute or so, I still cannot hear any sounds of pursuit.

Even using my ki to try and keep my wounds from bleeding, both the gash in my arm and the slice in my back are still bleeding. Blood loss is going to soon become a problem. Taking one of the trash weapons out of a storage ring, I jam it into the cleft formed by a low branch splitting off of a smaller tree. I also take a blanket and tear a strip off of it, before putting it back into its storage ring.

I lack Jinmu's affinity for fire, but that does not mean I cannot produce it. Using ki to manipulate mana, I produce a strong flame and keep forcing more ki and mana into it. As the flame bathes upper third of the sword's blade, it heats until it is glowing red.

Fuck me. I do not want to do this. I hate fire. I still have nightmares about being burned alive. My breathing is heavy and a bit erratic, as I break off a piece of a tree branch and bite down on it.

Wrapping the blanket strip around my hand, I press the hilt of the sword into the cleft. Growling like an animal, I lay the gash in the back of my upper arm against the red hot metal.

The stench of my own burning flesh fills my nostrils. I remember this stench and this pain. Not for a single moment have I ever truly forgotten.

One thousand one. One thousand two. One thousand three . . . One thousand ten. I take my arm off the slightly cooled metal.

Again, I heat the metal, until is glowing with heat. Taking up the hilt in my blanket wrapped hand, I breath deeply and rapidly. This is going to fucking hurt like a mother fucker. I absolutely do not want to fucking do this.

I do not need to see. I can feel exactly where the wound is. Raising the sword over my head, I angle it precisely and slap it against the bleeding slice in my back. The ten count seems to take forever, as my stomach churns with the desire to vomit.

The instant I hit ten, I tear the sword from my cauterized flesh. Flipping end over end, the sword buries itself in the bole of one of the larger trees. That sword can stay there. Even with the heat of the red hot blade, the trees are too wet to catch on fire.

Taking out my clothing, armor and weapons, I arm and equip myself again. The pressure and weight of my clothing and armor on the cauterized wounds is still extremely painful, but even if being naked does not bother me much, it is rather uncomfortable fighting with DokkAlfar for my life, with my dick swinging in the breeze.

Changing my direction of travel to the south-east, I head back toward the river. The DokkAlfar would not be able to swim the river fully armored, but they could easily store their gear and swim or use spells to cross. Just because I did not see any of them use magic, it does not mean there were no casters among them.

*Perzey?*
Periodically, I try to call her using the party chat, but there is still no response.

Right now, Perzey's mind is so broken that she would probably try to fight rather than run, if I am not there to order her to run. If I do not find her soon, she will probably be killed.

Why am I concerned with her survival? She is just a crazy bitch that I fucked. She cannot decide which she wants to do more, fuck me or kill me. I did not like her, from the moment I met her. I owe her nothing. I could just walk away. So, why am I going after her? Maybe, I just do not want to see that incredible body destroyed. Just remembering it gets my blood flowing to the head I do not need to be doing the thinking.

As I walk, I organize the endless quiver. Endless quiver is really a misnomer, it does not magically create arrows. It simply has a very large capacity. The lower quality quivers can still store better than a hundred-thousand arrows. Mine seems to be very high quality, more than a million at a quick guess, and six bow storage pouches. It is no wonder the frog seemed pissed. If this was the only endless quiver he had other than Sigurd's, I hit the jackpot.

I neither see nor hear any of the DokkAlfar, as I return to the trail. Staying motionless in the undergrowth, I listen for any hint of sound that would indicate where any of them might be. After a few minutes, I have still heard nothing.