Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God (30 page)

The warehouses are at least fifty feet tall, but they are less than eight feet apart. With just enough ki in my feet to give myself some traction against the vertical walls, I take three running steps and leap against the wall on my left. Pushing off the left wall, I leap toward the right one and continue repeating the pattern. My first leap was only five or six feet in height, but the height increases for each of the next three. From the fourth on, my pushes carry me upward around twelve feet each, and I sail into the air over the right hand warehouse with the last one.

Three DokkAlfar soldiers crane their necks upward, as I pass over their heads. Only barely visible though their visor's eye slits, their eyes appear to widen slightly.

My swords clear their sheathes with a faint ring, as I spin in midair, my cloak fanning out behind me.

Crunch!

The barrel tiles on the warehouse's sloping roof crack under the impact of my landing and immediate push-off. As the DokkAlfar scramble to spin around, their reactions slowed by my sudden appearance, I have already reached the first of them. His glaive rises to stop the downward swing of my right hand sword, but that is not the one he should be afraid or. My left hand blade slices into the back of his knee, bursting the links of his chainmail and nearly severing the joint. Shouldering him over the edge of the roof, I slide behind the turning DokkAlfar again.

“AAAARRRRGGGHH!”

Splat!

“Aw. He fall down go boom.” It is difficult getting the tonal inflection I want. DokkAlfar is a very precise language. It has an amazing ability to curse, but it is very lacking in the baby talk one can use with English.

The remaining two DokkAlfar spin to face me, one's eyes are wide and one's are narrowed. They did not expect to speak DokkAlfar.

My lips peal back from teeth, in a death's-head grin. The DokkAlfar with narrowed eyes takes a half-step backwards, to give himself room to swing his glaive. I do not stop him from gaining space, but my swords immediately start to lash out in alternating high and low strikes. His glaive expertly deflects them, while launching a few ripostes, that I sway to avoid.

He lacks the strength and speed of the one whose neck I broke a few days ago, and in less than two seconds, is completely on the defensive. As I push the attack, he retreats and the other one engages me from the left.

I leap into the air, as the one on my left slashes obliquely at the backs of my knees. The one in front uses an overhead block with his glaive horizontal, as both my blades slash at his shoulders from above. As the heat shimmer distortion of pure kinetic force surrounds edges of my blades, I use the haft his glaive as a fulcrum, and his glare turns to fear.

“AAAAARRRRRR!”

The finely focused force rends his mail, as my feet flip high over my head. Twisting as I drop to the roof behind the DokkAlfar, I use my momentum to sheer the tips of my blades through his back. Blood sprays outward in two arcs, almost like wings, and the DokkAlfar staggers forward, barely stopping before falling off the roof.

Neither DokkAlfar moves to attack, as I crouch with my swords held out to the sides.

“The pig whose neck I broke was better than both of you put together.” My voice is a menacing growl.

The two DokkAlfar look at each other.

“Here! We have the human here!”

“Quickly! Come help us!”

Both of their voices ring out simultaneously, fear raising them a couple of octaves.

The DokkAlfar whose back muscles I destroyed cannot raise his arms properly, so I attack the other one. Catching his overhand slash with a cross block, I push forward with strength and an explosive burst of ki. The DokkAlfar hurtles at an angle across the gap between the warehouses, his back slamming into the eaves of the opposite warehouse.

The half-crippled DokkAlfar watches the falling body, as he attempts to back away from me, along the edge of the roof. He has to know that he is already dead, but at least he is not begging for his life. DokkAlfar have their arrogance, after all.

The clanging of armored feet on the run is audible from the north and the west. After  glancing in the direction of the sound, the DokkAlfar glares at me.

“They will not be here in time to save you.”

The DokkAlfar straightens his posture, but the hands, grasping his glaive, are hanging at the level of his waist. “Lick the diarrhea form my asshole, animal.”

My kick sends him over the edge of the roof. He does not scream, and his glare never leaves me, until death steals the light from his eyes.

Dropping into the alley, I control my descent by bouncing from wall to wall. Hitting the ground, I sprint to the west end and turn south, toward the oncoming inferno. Sweat pours from me, and I cannot stop shivering, as I stare into the mouth of hell.

“There he is! Get him!”

Hearing the shouts, I dive into another alley.

Boom! Boom! BoomBoomBoom!

Glancing over my shoulder, I see shattered cobblestones and splintered arrows. The DokkAlfar may not have as much force behind their shots as I do, but they have more than enough to destroy a human body.

As I continue in a zigzag pattern to the Southwest, arrows explode into the road and buildings, every time I am on a north-south street. Reaching a square with a fountain in the middle, I stop. The buildings on the south side are already fully engulfed in flames, and the ones on the east and west are smoldering or burning. While not as big as the mansions in the farthest south part of the town, the houses on this square have to be at least four or five thousand square feet. This is where I will make a stand.

The fountain in the middle has a statue in atop it. A jowly man in a merchant's robe, seemingly hiding an overly muscular body, is surrounded by naked women. The style of the women is similar to Earth Renaissance voluptuousness, far to fat for my tastes. The water for the fountain spouts forth from the women's mouths.

The idiotic statue must have been made by some some self-aggrandizing artist, pandering to some self-important merchant. Oddly enough, the ridiculousness of the statue calms my fears of the fires.

Sheathing my swords, I ready Stone Feather Death, as I run to the north-west corner of the square. Peeking around the corner, I see an archer waiting, with his bow drawn. After fifteen seconds or so, he looks to his left, and a few seconds later, nods. Releasing the tension on his bow, he steps back out of sight, before leaping into the air.

Stepping out, I draw and release. Barely a third of a second later, my arrow pierces his lower abdomen and blows out his back, leaving blood and a few loops of intestine trailing in its wake. He will die from that wound, but it will not be a quick death.

“AAAARRRRRR!” His agonized scream fills the air, clearly audible over the roaring of the fires behind me.

There are either one or two archers left, depending on whether or not the one from the square is with these DokkAlfar. Until I find their locations, I cannot expose myself carelessly. Darting a glance around the corner, I do not see any DokkAlfar on the rooflines. Moving to the north-east corner, I find the same. Are they trying to circle through the already burning buildings or did they retreat?

A single kick shatters the door of the house I am hiding behind. The floors are covered with a pale blonde wood, and the walls paneled with wood in a slightly darker shade. As I quickly ascend to the third floor, all the furniture I see is made from thick wood with carved designs. The owner of this house is not poor.

The third floor is a single large open room, with the beds for four servants, separated by hanging curtains. Even though it is quarters for servants, the room has windows in the east and west walls, and two dormers each in the north and south of the roof, with more windows. The quality of the glass is poor, but still, I am well able to see through it.

To the west, I see a group of DokkAlfar cautiously circling toward the square. They are obviously more worried about falling through a roof into a flaming inferno, than being seen by me.

My arrow is only imperceptibly slowed by the shattering glass, but it is deflected enough, to hit the archer in the shoulder instead of the head.

“AAAIIIIIEEEE!”

His shriek draws the attention of the soldiers, who spot me quickly. They start to sprint across the rooftops, heedless of the danger.

Turning my back to them, I run to the other window. Spinning to dodge the incoming arrow, I am still caught in my left bicep. My chainmail is torn by the bodkin point, but it only leaves a shallow gash in my flesh. My return shot punches through the left side of the archer's chest, when he tries to dodge.

Storing Stone Feather Death in the one of my quiver's bow pouches, I jump through the broken window. Already running as soon as I land, I charge the DokkAlfar soldiers. There are seven on this side and eight on the other. Filling my body with ki, my agility, speed, strength, and reaction rates seem to double. To my eyes, the DokkAlfar look like they are moving in slow motion.

Do not use more than a third of your ki for more than one hundred heartbeats.
How they hell can you tell something so ridiculous, Garion? This real life not some story. You can guess or estimate, and that is the best that you can do. No matter what, you will never be perfectly accurate.

I charge straight into the middle of the DokkAlfar pack. They have enough separation between themselves, to not hit each other with the swings of their glaives. I block the center DokkAlfar's oblique strike, with a double sword block, and my kick hammers into his lower abdomen.

The concussive force from my ki should have ruptured his bladder and probably his intestines, but with the air driven from his lungs, he cannot even scream, despite the spray of blood erupting from his gaping mouth. Two DokkAlfar behind him split to the sides to avoid being hit by his flying body. Even if his heart is still beating, it will not continue for long.

As I spin to my right, my cloak fans out behind me, momentarily blocking the view of the DokkAlfar on my left. My swords lash out, but this DokkAlfar is faster than the last and manages to block three blows. Pressing forward, I lever the haft of his glaive upward. Driving the spiked pommel of left sword through the eye slot of his helmet, I pierce his brain, and he falls limply to the roof. Stepping forward with a ground devouring stride, I turn to face the remaining five DokkAlfar.

The other group of eight have started to jump to the roof of the house I abandoned, but without archers they do not matter. I charge into the five in front me. Swords striking right and center, I avoid the one on the left. Glaives, like all weapons, have their advantages and disadvantages. Only two of the DokkAlfar can engage me effectively at once. A third would be able to join in, if I were to let one get behind me and stay there, but so far, I have kept ahead of any attacks from the rear.

A third DokkAlfar falls, when my toe shatters his kneecap, and I move away, neutralizing him. My cross block stops a DokkAlfar cold, when he tries to use the haft of his glaive to shove me. I grin, as my return shove unbalances him. My kick destroys his ribs and the organs behind them. With the force penetrating instead of impacting his body, the DokkAlfar crumples to the ground, his chest a liquid mass inside his chainmail. Spinning back to the crippled DokkAlfar, I drive my sword through his heart.

The eyes of the surviving DokkAlfar are filled with fear, as I close with them again. A single step takes me next to the one on the far  left. My thrust to his head draws his glaive high, and my real attack goes through the mail over his groin. To mangle dick and balls, I twist the blade, when pulling it out.

“AAA! AAAA! AA! AAAAAAAAAAAA!” He falls to his knees, clutching what was once his manhood, as his shrieks fill the air.

“You are an embarrassment to the Left Hand Order of Yggr. Be silent!” When I do not finish the emasculated DokkAlfar off, the DokkAlfar behind him removes his head.

“What is the Left Hand Order of Yggr?”

The DokkAlfar glares at me. “I should not be surprised you speak the DokkAlfar language. Who sent you here, human? Who is your master? How did you enter the Battleground of Slaves?”

The eight DokkAlfar from the east are arrayed in a half-circle behind me now.

I laugh, mockingly. “No one sent me. The reason I am here is because your catamite Priest-Captain tried to kill me, and after you are all dead, I will not be here anymore.”

“Stupid human. It is time for you to die. You are surrounded.” The DokkAlfar start laughing, when the mouthy one spreads his hands, gesturing at their formation.

“I know. I wanted you to surround me, because now, you will not have time to escape.”

Do not use more than a third of your ki for more than one hundred heartbeats.
How about all of my ki? I fill my body with all the ki I can grasp, and burning pain floods though every part of me.

As I spin, my sword flicks outward, destroying the knees of the talkative DokkAlfar. The ones on the north of the half-circle are my first targets, and two fall one after the next, as my swords pierce their hearts. With a single step, I am behind the remainder of the east DokkAlfar. My right sword shatters chainmail and severs a DokkAlfar's spine in passing, and my left sword plunges through the armpit of another, destroying his lungs and heart.