Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 78 - Violence and vengeance - Part One
Tran Quang Dat casually scanned the procession of shackled peasants with mild interest. The Black Viper clan had offered the slaves as alternative payment in place of Spirit Stones, and Dat had decided to accept.
On other occasions, she may not have been as accommodating. However, Dat was nearing a breakthrough in her research and required fresh and unspoilt materials.
As Monarch, Dat was within her rights to seize any individuals or even entire clans, if she so chose. However, such actions were best left as a last resort. It was far better for a clan to beggar themselves into her debt than for her to give the clans cause to rebel.
Dat had learned from her father’s mistakes and was loath to demonstrate her true strength unless it was absolutely necessary. It was also a contributing reason why she did not levy taxes. She found it far more effective to demand tribute as needed, allowing the clans periods of unchecked prosperity in exchange.
Truth be told, statecraft was not Dat’s strength. That honour would have been attributed to her elder brother, had Dat not killed him while fighting for their father’s throne. Research had always been her true passion, and it was the foundation of her power.
Already five times the age her father had been when he drew his final breath, Dat had come to face several hard truths. Chief among which was her mediocre talent for Cultivation. Even by consuming Elixirs, she would only have another fifty or sixty years before mortality would begin eroding her strength.
While research into advanced Techniques was a given, the primary focus of Dat’s research efforts lay in the alternative pursuit of immortality. Specifically, developing a vessel possessing a favourable Bloodline and Affinities.
Dat had acquired the necessary foundations for the soul transfer Technique after plundering the vaults of another Monarch years earlier. Technically, using the Technique would render her functionally immortal, hopping from body to body to avoid the degradation of old age. However, the problem lay in securing hosts that would foster and improve Dat’s capabilities rather than just maintaining them.
Wherein lay the importance of her research.
Leaving the reception and interment of the slaves to her minions, Dat retreated to her inner sanctum within the palace.
A hazy mist bearing the scent of summer flowers permeated the air.
One of Dat’s early successes, the mist carried a respiratory poison that would kill an intruder within less than a minute of exposure. Assuming, of course, that their Cultivation was below the fifth rank. Even those above the fifth rank would need to consume rare and valuable medicines and then cycle their Chi to stave off death, leaving them vulnerable to the attacks of Dat’s servants.
Of course, none of her servants were Cultivators. The risk of their betrayal was far too great to accept.
Dat had found a more elegant solution that eliminated the risk of betrayal in its entirety.
It was something of a misconception that Tran Quang Dat, Demon of the Fog, and Supreme Matriarch of Poisons, relied entirely on poisons. In truth, Dat’s interpretation of poison extended far beyond the literal and rather limited definition. She was just as comfortable and proficient in producing and deploying drugs as well.
It was through her pharmaceutical expertise that Dat ensured the loyalty of her servants, and a host of well-placed spies besides. Without regularly ingesting the antidote, the lungs and heart of the subject would rapidly deteriorate. If necessary, Dat also had the means to trigger the deterioration by exposing the subject to an airborne catalyst.
Knowing better than to catch her eye, servants flitted about in the mist, seeing to their duties in near complete silence.
Descending an immaculate stone staircase, Dat lowered her veil in advance to ward off the unspeakable stench of decay that awaited her within the confines of her laboratory. Tying the veil in place with one hand, she manipulated a complex pattern within a sliding puzzle to unlock the door.
It was a simple mechanism and could be solved by a child, but the mechanism itself was not intended to stop an intruder.
Cycling her Chi just long enough to confirm that her immunity against the poison painted on the tiles of the puzzle still held, Dat continued through the passage beyond.
Nearing the end of the passage, Dat was met with another door and a second puzzle.
She passed through five such traps in all before reaching the outermost limits of her laboratory. Compelled by internal mechanisms, the doors had sealed themselves in her wake, denying potential spies entry.
Skirting the periphery of her laboratory, Dat made her way toward the receiving chamber where the gathered slaves would be held awaiting her arrival.
Passing through the outermost holding cells, Dat looked upon her failures with scorn and open disdain.
Unlike most Affinities, the human body was not naturally equipped to accept the more inherently dangerous Affinities. In particular, the Poison Affinity had proven nearly as lethal as the aptly named Death Affinity.
In the earliest years of Dat’s research, the test subjects had died within seconds. Screaming their throats bloody and foaming at the mouth as the Poison Affinity blackened their veins and shut down their internal organs.
Of course, Dat had made several noteworthy leaps in her research since then.
The progress had been made somewhat accidentally while pursuing her research into Bloodlines.
Grafting the internal organs of beasts into test subjects before feeding them the experimental Affinity pills reduced the fatality rate from one hundred per cent to close to one hundred per cent. Of course, the grafting procedures exacted a toll as well, but practice and meticulous record-keeping had reduced fatalities considerably in that regard.
All the same, the survivors of her experiments were loathsome to behold, a true affront to the senses.
Warped and twisted by the beast organs and experimental Affinity pills, the surviving test subjects were more beast than human. Bearing only the faintest trace of lingering humanity.
Of course, some were less grotesque than others. A handful could even pass for a human, in the right light.
Naturally, the test subjects shied away from her presence, seeking out the darkest shadows their cages could afford.
Such fear gave Dat a small thrill of amusement. Should she wish them dead, they would have long since died already. Their continued existence served a deeper and more fulfilling purpose. Most provided living examples of extended graft failure and its associated symptoms. Allowing Dat to develop medicines to delay or reverse the breakdown and rejection.
The others served as living incubators, storing the organs Dat intended to graft into future subjects. Through trial and error, she had discovered certain subjects were more resilient to the grafting process than others. Furthermore, a select few were also capable of adapting the grafted limbs and organs into their bodies.
Organs, limbs, hair and even skin harvested from these subjects were invaluable for Dat’s ongoing research into developing a vessel with a powerful Bloodline and the Poison Affinity. Although she sincerely doubted the wretches would appreciate the relative mercies she extended them when compared to the sorry state of the others.
Not that it mattered. Dat had long since lost count of how many subjects had expired within the dark expanse of her laboratory. There were records, but it would require a substantial amount of time to tally the total from the diaspora of sources. Dat simply lacked the motivation and cause to discover the answer.
Pulling a lever on the wall, Dat took great care when grasping the rod of the mechanism, to avoid the hundreds of small needles that would have otherwise injected lethal neuro-toxins into her bloodstream.
Sometimes, when it amused her, Dat would order one of her assistants to open the door. More often than not, it would result in the fool collapsing to the ground in a shivering heap. It was a means of weeding out the dull and clumsy, as well as reminding the remainder of the consequences of earning her ire.
As the large door ascended to the ceiling, Dat’s assistants and servants began corraling the shackled slaves over the threshold and toward the cages that would serve as their new home.
“One-thousand and forty-two slaves. Just as the Black Viper clan’s Patriarch promised, Supreme Matriarch,” one of her nervous assistants announced with his head bowed and gaze firmly locked on the floor.
“This is...sufficient,” Dat replied without addressing the assistant directly. “For now...”
The assistant retreated and joined the others, driving the slaves toward the waiting cages.
Banishing the servants, Dat sealed the massive door and then began slowly making her way toward another staircase. Descending into the depths, she passed through several dozen more trapped hallways and gateways.
Crossing the threshold into her innermost sanctum, Dat made a point of reviewing the integrity of the life-sustaining Array that encapsulated the chamber. Satisfied, she approached the stone table in the centre of the chamber and meticulously inspected the bindings of the prime test subject.
Bearing the same markings as the life-sustaining Array, the bindings drained Chi from their host to power the Array. Provided the Array was given a small boost from time to time, the prime test subject would be able to survive nearly indefinitely without the need for food or drink. Of course, it would do nothing to stop the feelings and primal desire for such mortal necessities, but that was hardly Dat’s concern.
The prime test subject represented the culmination of Dat’s work thus far. Possessing both the Poison and Water Affinities as well as a Vipers Veins Bloodline. Were it not for the accompanying side effects, she would have considered the prime test subject a success. However, Dat would never consider such a heinous abomination as a viable option.
Studying the prime test subject's body for signs of change, Dat had to fight hard to suppress her disgust.
Clothed only in thin undergarments, the young woman’s body was incredibly pale. The dark jade veins just beneath her skin might have been considered beautiful, were it not for the large reptilian right arm grafted to her right shoulder.
Almost a match for the young woman’s height, the knuckles on the clawed hand would drag along the ground. Provided the prime test subject was ever permitted to leave the table, of course.
The serpentine tail grafted to the young woman’s spine would not have been entirely without its charms, assuming it was presented with the right emphasis and given the correct care. The same could be said for the slitted pupil of the young woman’s right eye and the scattering of white-jade scales on her cheek and brow.
So Dat found it all the more unfortunate that the collective contributions to the prime test subject’s appearance were so fundamentally revolting. Made all the more so by the hundreds of scars littering her chest and abdomen.
Stirring from her drug-induced stupor, the prime test subject bucked and grunted in fear. Heaving for breath past the leather gag that prevented her from biting down on her long forked tongue.
The reaction only intensified Dat’s revulsion and she had to resist the urge to put the creature out of its misery. “Not yet Thirteen,” she chided with a predatory smile. “There is still much more I can learn from you.”
Tears streamed down the prime test subject’s left cheek and she tried to shake her head but managed little more than a shudder, held firmly in place by her restraints.
“This is why you will never amount to anything, much less become a Monarch!” Dat spat in disgust. “Perhaps your next sister will prove more deserving of her heritage!” The thought that Thirteen, and her twelve predecessors, had shared her blood, had been carried within her womb, disappointed Dat on a level she could not begin to articulate.
Reining in her anger, Dat retrieved her ledger and began taking notes on Thirteen’s progress. Once she was finished, she debated and considered the potential effects of additional grafts.
From what Dat had learned thus far, there was a limit to how many grafts a host could support before succumbing to systemic organ failure. Most of Thirteen’s siblings had only managed five grafts. Eleven, who had only died earlier that year, had survived with eighteen grafts. But hadn’t gained an Affinity or a Bloodline. Making her survival noteworthy, but ultimately useless for Dat’s purposes.
However, Eleven and Thirteen’s shared tolerance for the procedures did suggest that their sire was a valuable contributor to Dat’s future research. Which was somewhat aggravating, given he was the grandson of the Pale Crocodile clan Patriarch.
Seducing the fool while disguised as a servant girl had worked easily enough in the past. But he was now married and his wife was rarely away from his side for long.
Assassinating the wife wouldn’t be difficult, and neither would placing the blame on one of the other clans. The problem lay in what would happen to the Pale Crocodile Patriarch’s grandson. Clan wars were notoriously unpredictable.
Every clan had their secrets and dedicated kill teams for dispatching noteworthy members of enemy clans. Even the weakest clans had caches of ancient weaponry that held the potential to slay Cultivators of considerably higher Rank.
Dat decided she would need to give the matter greater thought.
Abandoning Thirteen to the darkness, Dat left to inspect the newly arrived materials in greater detail.
While retreating to the holding cells, Dat was drawn from her thoughts as a notification informed her of a Supremacy Challenge issued by another Monarch.
“Exalted Admiral?” Dat drawled derisively, trying and failing to place a face to the name. Given she had a considerably greater ranking score, Dat presumed the self-named Exalted Admiral was one of the many Monarchs she had pillaged in decades past. It made no sense for a Monarch to declare a Supremacy Challenge with the ranking and implied difference in their strength otherwise.
Never one to pass up the opportunity for more materials, Dat couldn’t help but consider how best to reap the benefits from the unexpected bounty.
As the challenged party, Tran Quang Dat was free to choose the scale of their conflict.
In years past, Dat had favoured smaller more intimate conflicts, limiting the involvement to no more than five participants on either side. However, after several close encounters that nearly cost Dat her life, she had adopted a more practical approach.
Leaving the battle to be fought solely by subordinates was out of the question. There was too much at stake and too much that could go wrong. Besides, Tran Quang Dat had no direct subordinates qualified to fill the necessary roles.
Of course, if Dat was going to supervise events in person, she had the means to produce formidable, if temporary, Cultivators to serve as her support.
A special cocktail of combat drugs and Elixirs could transform even the weakest of her otherwise mundane servants into a frothing berserker capable of killing Cultivators of up to the sixth rank in a fair fight. Assuming the Cultivators were foolish enough to fight them head-on and the engagement didn’t drag on overly long.
The combined effects of the drugs were, of course, lethal. So the key was deploying the berserkers where and when they could achieve the most damage.
Settling into her throne, Dat pulled on a silk cord to her right and a mournful chorus of bells tolled throughout her palace.
Within a minute, three hundred men and women in black robes and faces concealed behind thick grey veils prostrated themselves on the throne room floor.
“One through Thirty of the combat division, you have been afforded the honour to serve as my vanguard against the forces of another Monarch.” Tran Quang Dat allowed a few moments for that news to sink in. “So long as you serve with distinction, the standard rewards for your families will be honoured.”
There was the faintest stir amongst the ranks of the servants. As well there should be.
The servants were forbidden to marry and Dat had taken steps to render them incapable of bearing and siring children. However, Supremacy Challenges presented a unique opportunity for creating a familial legacy.
As a standing rule, Tran Quang Dat made a point of gathering the extended relatives of the expired servants and elevating them into a new minor clan. Even going so far as to sponsor their development for several years based on how well the servants had performed their duties. Placing a large portion of the newly acquired territories under their rule.
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Their relatives would never be told why the Supreme Matriarch had shown them favour. It would only complicate matters politically. But her servants would know, and it lent them a degree of motivation that exceeded that of the most loyal clan guardians.
There would also be a certain degree of competition. The family of whichever servant made the most noteworthy contributions would be the ones placed in the position of primacy within the new clan and given the greatest degree of support.
Most of the servants would die during the challenge as a matter of course, but it wasn’t uncommon for the last ones standing to throw themselves collectively at even the weakest opponents. Just to guarantee that their families would not be overlooked and miss out on the opportunity for ascension.
Infighting was surprisingly rare. At least, deliberate infighting was. Disobeying Dat’s commands would disqualify them from accruing merits, after all. However, sometimes the drugs proved too effective, and the hypno-indoctrinations were overwhelmed by pure emotion.
Not that it particularly mattered. Dat always ensured she was well out of harm's way, and the spectacle tended to throw the enemy off balance. Allowing her to exploit that distraction and typically come out ahead in the overall exchange.
The majority of the servants flooded out of the throne room in near silence, leaving those who had been chosen.
“You will arm yourselves with rank six equipment from the armoury and accept a consignment of combat drugs upon your return,” Dat ordered, dismissing her servants with a wave.
In their absence, Dat conjured a table and the aforementioned combat drugs from one of her Storage Rings. Each portion was stored in a wooden box bearing the label corresponding to the specific combination of drugs and Elixirs that would determine the minor specialisation of whoever consumed them.
There were limits to how far the human body could be pushed. So Dat had made certain concessions to ensure a more balanced fighting force.
Just because Dat planned on poisoning the enemy to death from afar, did not mean she was stupid enough to believe a Cultivator wouldn’t last long enough to be a threat. Especially if this Monarch was already familiar with her methods of engagement.
To that end, Dat would have ten hulks, specialised in soaking damage and drawing attention while pinning down their targets. Ten vipers, with enhanced speed and reflexes, intended to make the most of the opportunities afforded by the hulks. And ten skulkers, falling somewhere in the middle ground between the hulks and vipers, intended as an interceptor to counter any concerted counterattacks.
Dat’s servants returned a short while later, bearing identical armour but an otherwise respectable variety of weapons. Without being told, they each gravitated toward the package of drugs that best suited their capabilities. No doubt having discussed the possibilities while donning their armour.
Withdrawing and effortlessly donning her armour from her Storage Ring, Dat surveyed her servants with an imperious glare. “You will now consume your Elixirs,” she commanded.
The servants obediently withdrew the aforementioned Elixirs and silently did as they were instructed. While they were not Cultivators, Dat’s combat servants were all well instructed in the necessary breathing and circulation Techniques to make the most of the Elixirs and combat drugs.
Technically, after consuming the Elixirs, there was no true difference between them and novitiate Cultivators. However, Dat had made a point of ensuring her servants never entertained such notions themselves. That would encourage dangerous trains of thought Dat didn’t approve of.
“Administer antidotes one, five and six,” Dat ordered, conjuring a small number of pills into her mouth and swallowing them to guarantee immunity from her intended opening salvo of attacks.
While her servants obeyed her commands, Dat began gathering her Chi and withdrew a large cloudy glass bottle full of milky white liquid from her Storage Ring.
“I accept the challenge,” Dat stated calmly, grinning with anticipation behind her armoured veil.
The throne room disappeared and was replaced by the entirely unexpected sight of a fog-laden swamp.
Momentarily thrown off-balance by her enemy’s choice in battleground, especially given his ranking title, Dat had to begin her Technique from scratch to prevent a suboptimal dispersal.
Worried that the enemy would attempt a lightning raid, she mentally commanded nine of her servants to initiate their respective transformations.
As the poisonous fog billowed out of the bottle and spread across the acrid water and boggy swampland, Dat extended her senses and sought out the approaching forces of her rival Monarch.
And found nothing.
Confused, Dat extended her senses further. Minutes passed in near silence, broken only by the deep ragged breathing of the hulks and muted panting of the vipers.
After several minutes of searching, Dat found the rival Monarch and their forces. They were retreating, at great speed. No doubt having anticipated Dat’s preemptive attack. Not that it would do them any good. The poisonous fog would encompass the entire territory within the hour, sooner if Dat was left to her own devices.
No longer worried, Dat thanked the heavens for her good fortune. It appeared she would be allowed to claim this Monarch’s territories and resources without a real fight, and more importantly, without risk to her person.
As the minutes passed slowly by, Dat had time to better consider the enemy’s choice in terrain.
There was a chance that the other Monarch had hoped the native fog would somehow dilute or counter her poison. However, the more Dat considered this possibility, the more inclined she was to disregard it. Cultivators were arrogant to a fault, and Monarchs were even more so, but they weren’t that stupid.
Dat became convinced that there was something about the swamp that she had not considered, something important.
There were no beasts and the local resources were all thoroughly mundane.
Several death notifications abruptly broke Dat’s train of thought.
Confused, she glanced warily at the servants around her. Confirming that they were all accounted for only made things worse.
With the knowledge that the slain servants were located back within her realm, Dat had to fight hard to suppress her fury.
Who would dare?!
Her eyes locked onto the names of the killers. Or rather, killer.
Gric.
Fifteen of her servants had died in the span of a few seconds and more were joining them with each passing moment.
Resisting the temptation to prematurely attack the Grand Admiral’s forces so she could return to her realm, Dat reminded herself that her countermeasures would prevent the invader from doing irreversible damage.
Servants could be replaced.
Another string of death notifications streamed through her peripheral vision and Dat’s left eye twitched with barely suppressed rage.
Her servants could be replaced, but the thought of the invader doing as they willed within HER realm was positively galling.
Dat felt a deep chill take hold in her gut.
Her earring was linked directly to a talisman within her laboratory. Combined with the final frantic words of her now-deceased assistant, it was now clear that the invader was a genuine threat.
“We are going on the offensive!” Dat snarled, “Administer a full dose!”
Obeying her command without question, Dat’s servants downed the lethal dose of combat drugs and screamed as their bodies were reforged for their deadly purpose.
“Kill them all!” She commanded, pointing in the direction of the fleeing Monarch.
The hulks and vipers raced off into the fog, leaving the skulkers to serve as her protection. Unlike the others, the skulkers wouldn’t compromise her safety without explicit and individually assigned instructions to do so.
A ragged howl sounded from one of the hulks and Dat’s eyes grew wide in surprise.
A new death notification appeared before her eyes, announcing the hulk’s death.
Barely more than a hundred feet from her current position, Dat could hear a frantic battle taking place within the fog. However, her focus remained fixed on the death notification. Specifically the name of the hulk’s killer.
Gric.
“Impossible...” Dat muttered stiffly. It had to be some sort of trick, a gambit deliberately intended to throw her off balance.
Taking several calming breaths, Dat extended her senses so she could assess the enemy’s capabilities.
A fresh wave of unease settled in her bowels.
The enemy had completely hidden their inner energy and Chi, rendering them close to invisible. Were it not for the Chi-laden fog, Dat wouldn’t have been able to locate them at all.
Assassin. The Grand Admiral had brought a heavens damned assassin!
Another hulk died and was quickly followed by a pair of vipers.
The severed head of a hulk tumbled unceremoniously through the fog, landing at Dat’s feet. The several links of vertebrae trailing from the ragged stump of the hulk’s neck came as a surprise. Dat had expected an injury more in line with a blade, so it took her a few moments to mentally adjust her frame of reference and identify the weapon responsible.
The assassin was fighting barehanded.
Exclusively unarmed Cultivators were beyond rare. Most notably because of the time that was spent training the required external Techniques was time rivals spent surpassing them. Furthermore, unless the external Techniques were mastered, they couldn’t compare to the readily available protection and strength afforded by low-ranked armour and weapons.
However, that same weakness could also be a strength. A master of unarmed Techniques didn’t need armour and weapons to be an effective combatant. In many cases making them faster and far more unpredictable in the process.
Dat barely leapt to the side in time to avoid taking a spear to the back. Raising her sword defensively, she watched in stunned silence as two skulkers turned on one of their own, hacking and stabbing at the rogue in their midst even as the rogue thrust its spear at Dat’s face.
Deflecting the strike, Dat gathered her Chi and threw a large steel needle into the rogue skulker’s face, striking him in the eye.
The rogue skulker collapsed almost immediately and was summarily hewn apart.
No sooner had the skulkers dealt with the rogue, than two more turned on their fellows with just as little warning as the first.
Recognising the danger she was in, Dat attempted to locate the source of the enemy's influence on the minds of her servants and came up empty. There was no puppeteer controlling their actions. Which left a disturbingly finite number of possibilities.
Chief amongst which was someone who had altered the hypno-indoctrination of her servants without Dat noticing, and marked her as their enemy. Her fears were quickly proven correct as the skulkers ceased attacking one another and rounded on her in silent unison.
Quenching her fear with cold calculating anger, Dat conjured a glass orb from her Storage Ring and cast it against the ground.
The closest skulker only managed two steps before vomiting a torrent of blood and collapsing to the ground. The other skulkers followed shortly after.
Extending her senses, Dat took a small degree of reassurance that the remaining hulks and vipers were still alive and fighting against the assassin. Withdrawing a pair of vials bearing meticulously noted warning labels, Dat steeled herself for direct confrontation and began stalking toward her enemy.
Moving silently through the fog, Dat got her first look at her would-be assassin.
Head and shoulders taller than the augmented bodies of the hulks, the assassin's exquisitely chiselled muscles were covered with fine jade-green scales. Naked except for a blood-spattered breechcloth, the assassin bore several shallow wounds but paid them no mind, shrugging off an axe blow to the gut and delivering a vicious backhand that ripped a viper’s jaw clean off its head.
Hardened claws on the end of the assassin's fingers knocked aside swords and spears with almost comical ease and the assassin’s acid-green eyes flashed with predatory exaltation.
Stunned by the assassin’s strange appearance, it took her a few moments to notice the three black horns protruding from the assassin’s brow.
Dat nearly surrendered on the spot.
DEMON!
As if sensing Dat’s presence, the demon ripped the jugular from the last remaining hulk and stared directly at her. Taking several glancing blows from the surviving vipers in the process. Not that the demon appeared to mind in the slightest.
Paying no thought to what would become of her servants, Dat threw the glass vials for all she was worth.
Standing perfectly still, the demon made no attempts to dodge.
The glass vials struck the demon’s chest in rapid succession.
The vipers collapsed, spasming and seizing in the bog.
The demon’s chest began to smoulder, but he still appeared unphased.
Dat withdrew more vials from her Storage Ring and cast them at the demon, reinforcing her body with the Swaying Adder Body Reinforcement Technique to enhance her natural flexibility and dexterity. One after another, Dat continued the assault, pitching vials of her deadliest poisons and debilitating drugs at the demon, paying no heed to the expense she would face to replace them.
If the demon wasn’t dead, or at least severely crippled by the time her ring was empty, Dat was resolved to surrender. Half her realm be damned.
As the smoke and fog began to shift, Dat felt a profound sense of relief. Blistered, burned and melting like a wax candle, the demon’s internal organs were hanging from its open chest cavity and abdomen. However, as the demon's face was revealed anew, Dat felt a primal surge of terror.
Even in its compromised state, the demon was still smiling at her, utterly unphased by the trauma of its physical form.
Before Dat could think to run, the demon disappeared.
At her wit's end, Dat cast out her senses in a desperate bid to locate where it had gone.
After several tense minutes, Dat realised that the Demon was just gone. Warily inspecting the Demon’s last occupied position, she briefly entertained the idea that she had somehow managed to kill it. A few seconds of reviewing her notifications dispelled that thought in its entirety.
The demon hadn’t died, but Dat couldn’t see any signs of its remnants either.
Giving the matter a great deal of thought, Dat arrived at an unlikely answer that would explain what had happened. The Grand Admiral, or one of the Monarch’s minions, had conjured the demon through some forbidden ritual, and once it had taken a certain amount of damage, it had simply ceased to exist.
As immensely unsettling as it was, Dat had to believe it was true. The alternatives were far too disturbing otherwise.
Her relief was short-lived.
It didn’t take Dat long to realise she was now heavily outnumbered and critically low on supplies. There was still a good chance that she could eke out a pyrrhic victory. At worst, Dat was willing to declare an outright surrender, but she wanted to explore her options first before accepting such a massive loss.
Whatever damage had been done in her absence, there was no undoing it now. Furthermore, if a second demon was responsible, Dat had all the more reason to drag out her inevitable return.
If the demon was summoned by a ritual and running on borrowed power, Dat would much rather it disappeared without the need for a direct confrontation.
Committed to drawing out the challenge, Dat withdrew a portable defence formation, activated it and took shelter within. Consuming an Elixir to restore her Chi and take the edge off of her nerves, Dat renewed her efforts in expanding the reach of the poisonous fog.
Hours passed in tense silence and Dat grew increasingly pessimistic about her chances of seizing victory from the jaws of defeat. Her mood only grew worse as she detected the presence of the enemy Monarch growing closer.
Suppressing the urge to curse, Dat held out little hope that her enemy was sufficiently weakened by the poison for a traditional confrontation to end in her favour. The defensive Array would afford a certain measure of protection and advantage, but if her enemy was a skilled fighter, the Array wouldn’t make much of a difference.
Dat did find it odd that the Monarch had left their subordinates behind and could only assume that they were either entrenched within a defensive Array of their own or awaiting some form of signal to begin their attack.
Dat was forced to abandon the last of her hopes when the Grand Admiral strode confidently out of the fog, seemingly unaffected by the poison that surrounded them. Concealed beneath his azure brigandine and enclosed helmet, the Grand Admiral stalked toward Dat with his sword drawn and aura of murderous intent.
“Am I to understand you would not be willing to negotiate?” Dat asked resignedly, buying time while scanning her rival for potential signs of weakness.
“I will kill you! Foul witch!” The Grand Admiral hissed angrily and stopped just shy of crossing the boundary of the Array.
More or less the response Dat had expected, she decided to make an offer on the off chance her rival might be tempted to see reason. “Surely, whatever grievance exists between us could be settled by the exchange of ten territories.” Dat would be only too willing to palm off some of the more troublesome clans if it would guarantee her life and prevent further losses.
“Neither land nor treasure will deter me from my righteous vengeance!” The Grand Admiral took a probing swipe at the barrier created by the Array.
The wooden panels that formed the boundary of the Array rattled but otherwise held firm.
“You dare speak of righteousness?!” Dat sneered contemptuously. “You consort with demons, and you dare to stand in judgement of me?!” Far from indignant, she was hoping that her rival was sufficiently off balance to reveal how he had managed to contact and control the demon in the first place.
Much to Dat’s profound disappointment, her rival remained silent and retreated to the edge of her visibility. Removing what appeared to be a thick stone rod from his Storage Ring, the Grand Admiral tossed the rod through the air and toward Dat’s array.
Confused, Dat braced herself and prepared for the worst.
The rod exploded, collapsing Dat’s defensive Array and knocking her off her feet with the raw concussive force of the blast.
Half deaf and gasping for breath, Dat had barely managed to crawl to her knees before recognising the imminent threat to her life.
Rolling to the side, Dat narrowly avoided the tip of the Grand Admiral’s blade only to nearly have her legs seized by tendrils of brackish swamp water that were grasping for her ankles.
Conjuring a pair of poisoned needles from her Storage Ring and throwing them toward the visor of her enemy’s helmet in the same motion, Dat didn’t have time to confirm whether her attack found its mark before she had to backflip to avoid a trio of spears formed from the nearby body of water.
Drawing the whip from her hip, Dat used her established momentum and lashed the barbed tails around the Grand Admiral’s left hand and pulled with all her might.
As she had hoped, the Grand Admiral’s gauntlet was pulled free of his hand and the barbs of her whip left bloody streaks in his exposed flesh.
Ignoring the wound, the Grand Admiral caught Dat’s whip and nearly dislocated her shoulder as he used his leverage to yank the whip’s handle from her grasp.
Trying not to show weakness as she gasped in pain, Dat threw several more needles in rapid succession, aiming at the Grand Admiral’s exposed hand and hoping volume would compensate for her compromised accuracy as she retreated.
“MY VENGEANCE WILL NOT BE DENIED!!!” The Grand Admiral roared.
Dat looked over her injured shoulder just in time to witness an oncoming tsunami of poisoned swamp water crashing down above and behind her. Lacking a counter to the Technique, Dat had little choice but to brace herself and take the hit, hoping that the poisoned needles and whip would exact a worthwhile toll in exchange.
Carried by the momentum of the waves, Dat was slammed into several trees before she managed to claw her way to freedom.
Badly battered and suspecting she had several broken ribs, Dat was just about ready to call it quits.
Seeing the Grand Admiral preparing another tsunami and showing no signs of keeling over from the toxins she had injected into his body, Dat decided it was time to cut her losses.
Dat desperately backpedalled on her hands and feet to buy herself enough time. Gritting her teeth against the pain of her battered body. “I...I forfeit!” Dat hissed bitterly.
Just like that, half of her realm’s territories were lost and Dat was returned to her throne.
Were it not for the corpses littering the floor, the throne room would have been just as she had left it.
The demon had shown no mercy and had ripped her servants limb from bloody limb.
Stiffly rising from her throne, Dat sought out the hidden cache of pills stored within the false backing of her throne. Opening the secret compartment, Dat cast all pride to the wind. She stuffed the handful of pills into her mouth and swallowed them all in one ill-advised gulp.
Coughing dryly as the pills caught in her throat, Dat whimpered in pain as the spasms brought fresh waves of agony from her broken ribs.
Someone struck her hard on the back, forcibly ejecting the pills from her throat.
Surprised that any of her servants had survived, Dat was almost ready to offer their family a reward for the timely intervention. Then she remembered having thoroughly reviewed the list of death notifications.
Too afraid to look, Dat couldn’t help but whimper in terror.
“I knew you would run,” the demon stated with vindication and amusement in equal measure. “No one does what your kind does and stands their ground.”
Claws like hardened steel seized the back of Dat’s neck and she was dragged back around her throne before being cast to the floor.
“It is a weakness you all share, after all,” the demon continued, snorting with disgust. “There is no sacrifice too great, no bond too sacred, not when faced with the power you crave...Just so long as someone else pays that price on your behalf...”
“Whatever...you...want...” Dat gasped, fighting hard to speak through the pain. “I...will....give...Just...let...me...”
“No,” the demon replied flatly, circling her and then kneeling so she could see the look of utter contempt on his face. “That is not how this works.” He reached out and calmly took hold of her right shoulder, pauldron and all. With one smooth jerk which seemingly took no effort at all, the demon tore off her arm.
Dat screamed.
“You deserve worse,” the demon stated coldly. “Much worse.” he used her severed arm to slap her across the face. “I can only hope he will be as accommodating.”
Through the shock and pain, Dat became aware of the yawning black abyss opening behind the demon’s back. “I think it’s time we found out.”
***** Tim ~ Tim’s Interdimensional Plane ~ Sanctuary *****
Woken from my dreamless slumber my vision was dominated by a gold-bordered notification that was ten shades too bright for my sunlight-deprived brain to handle.
[ The former {Monarch} {Thirteen} has willingly relinquished their sovereignty and sworn fealty to {Tim}! ]
[ The former {Monarch} {Thirteen} has become {Tim’s} {Vassal}! ]
I read through the notifications several times before the contents finally began to stick.
Doing my best to ignore my throbbing migraine, I accidentally sent Pete, Suzy and Homoko tumbling to the floor. I hadn’t realised the three of them were lying on my chest and stomach until it was too late.
“Daddy!” Suzy bounced back almost immediately, not in the least bit put out by the sudden tumble.
“Hey Suzy,” I tussled her hair and then gave her chubby chin a tickle for good measure. “Sorry for waking you up.” I directed the last more toward Pete and Homoko who both looked as tired as I felt.
Pete shrugged good-naturedly and climbed back into bed.
“T’sokay,” Homoko yawned, tiredly slurring her words and giving me quite a shock as I realised just how much she had grown. “S’magic...” She mumbled dismissively and made a half-hearted wave of her hand before following Pete’s lead and collapsing face-first into the pillow.
“Play now?” Suzy suggested hopefully.
“Suzy I-” I made the mistake of looking her in the eye and couldn’t bring myself to say no. “I need to do something first, okay?”
“Kay!” Suzy agreed, surprising me with her unexpected maturity. It felt like just yesterday she would have behaved like a kicked puppy if I didn’t drop everything at a moment's notice. Not that I was complaining. “Toofy play too?!” It wasn’t so much a question as a frantic demand. She pointed toward our dining table where Toofy was loudly snoring while also gnawing at a large piece of jerky.
Of course, where there was Toofy...
My eyes were immediately drawn to the pale mass of white scales beneath the table.
Ever since my confrontation with Ril, I had found her presence to be profoundly unsettling. As weird as it was to acclimate to real monsters, there was a disturbing weight to her gaze that I just couldn’t ignore anymore.
“Maybe later,” I hedged, “Auntie Toofy is sleeping.”
Suzy considered Toofy for a few moments, eyed one of her favourite glowing-moss stuffed balls for a suspiciously long few moments, then groaned exasperatedly and slumped backwards onto the bed. “Kay...”
Before I could properly appreciate Suzy’s exaggerated angst, I felt Gric trying to make contact within my mind.
A profound sense of resignation echoed through our connection.
Surprised by Gric’s conviction, it only confirmed that I needed to meet this person for myself. This was unfortunate because I had already promised to spend time with Suzy and I really didn’t want to square up against another Monarch while feeling like thrice hammered shit.