*** NEW YORK – EARTH ***
RETURN: DAY 343
AUGUST 6, 2078
Rising high into the sky above the streets of New York City, the skyscraper stood 257 stories tall, and the entirety of the top floor was a single penthouse suite. Standing in front of the floor to ceiling glass windows in the east wall, a teenage girl stared into the early morning sun. With brilliant green eyes that had a little bit of an epicanthic fold, her face was well into the realm of beautiful despite revealing a somber sense of gloom and depression. Her straight honey blonde hair resembled a helmet that brushed against her shoulders. As if she had a permanent tan, her skin was a natural deep bronze color. Even though she was built like a fitness model, she still had wide hips and extremely large breasts. In her bare feet, she would stand about 5'6” tall.
“Mikumi.”
As Mikumi looked over her shoulder, a frown tilted the corners of her lips downward. “I hate this world. Reverend Mother. I never wanted to see it again.”
The Reverend Mother appeared to be in her late forties. Without any makeup on, her face has the wrinkles of someone who has lived a hard life of alcohol and drug usage. Her translucent negligee revealed sagging breasts. Her long straight black hair had the flat look of a dyed color covering the grey that could be seen peeking out at the roots.
“We follow the will of the Celestial Dragon Emperor. We cannot choose to go where we will, rather we must go where the Sisterhood needs us to be. But this should not take very long. This is a combat mission and not a long term intelligence mission.”
Mikumi frowned. “I am stronger than most of the Claw Soldiers, but I have only been used as a spy. Why the change? What did you not tell us during the briefing on this mission? Who is that woman?”
The Reverend Mother hissed and looked around the room. Not seeing or sensing signs of any others, she silently moved to Mikumi and spoke in a whisper. “Keep your voice down. She is one of the Holy Dragonians. As humans who have stolen from the Radiance, we are allowed to live only to serve the Court of the Celestial Dragons. It does not matter how talented you are. If you defy that woman, she will destroy you and us with you.”
At the mention of the Holy Dragonians, Mikumi's face turned pale, and her eyes were filled with fear. “What is so special about this spell cube that it would merit the Celestial Dragon Emperor sending a Dragonian?”
“I do not know, but we should only be here a month at most.”
Mikumi's small frown returned.
“At least, you will not have to spread your legs for filthy male customers while you are here.”
Mikumi smiled, but there was a hint of anger hidden deep in her eyes. “Getting fucked day in and day out is the best part of posing as a whore. I love feeling men's thick cocks inside me. If it were not for that, I would never be able to stand life in the Sisterhood.”
Seeing the Reverend Mother's disapproving frown, Mikumi's smile turned into a broad grin.
“NO!” The shriek shook the penthouse.
Both Mikumi and the Reverend Mother turned pale and looked toward the master suite, which had been taken by the Holy Dragonian.
Boom!
Shattered by the Dragonian's angered slap, the bedroom suite's doors were scattered across the huge living room as wood scraps and splinters.
“Lavinia, gather your whores and equipment. We are leaving for California.”
“Yes, Holiness!”
*** NEVADA – EARTH ***
RETURN: DAY 343
AUGUST 6, 2078
Baking beneath the mid-morning sun, Area 51 had been turned from a decaying ruin into the sight of a small battle. Smoke still rose from the smoldering remains of multiple barracks buildings to the north. The front of an office building near the center of the dilapidated complex had a hole where its front doors had once been. Scraps of glass and metal were scattered across the parking lot and the corpses of the guards that had once stood in front of those doors.
A large man stared at the mutilated corpse of Jerome Jarlson. Nailed to the side of concrete barracks building with lengths of rebar, the naked corpse had its arms spread like a crucifixion. Surrounded by a pool of blood, the corpse's mutilated genitals lay on the ground beneath it, and a gaping wound in the corpse's throat looked like a macabre second mouth.
“Mr. McGuinness, you have the heart or an artist. Special Agent Jones would have been pleased to see this. I don't believe in god or an afterlife, but if I am wrong, I hope he can see what I'm looking at right now.” As he whispered the words, a faint smile touched the man's lips.
Turning his gaze from the corpse to his own left hand, that man's smile disappeared and a grim expression left his mouth a straight, stoic line beneath his one human eye and his one crystal eye. While having the shape of the flesh and blood hand that was once there, the hand sticking out from the cuff of his black suit was made from grey metal. It moved, functioned, and experienced sensations like a human hand, but it was a construct of Power. From the cheekbone to the middle of his skull the left side of the man's face had been replaced with cold grey metal shaped like the bones of a human skull, and while hidden by his clothing, thirty-two percent of his body was now artificial.
“Special Agent Jones, we have the preliminary report ready.” Another agent in a black suit, stood respectfully behind Special Agent Jones with a data tablet in his hands. From his lack of expression, he seemed to see nothing untoward in the Special Agent's half-artificial appearance.
“Forward it to my email. Has the bitch shown up yet?”
“That statement is in violation of more than a dozen speech restriction and hate crime statutes, Special Agent Jones.”
Turning toward the other agent, Special Agent Jones glared maliciously down at the man with his single human eye. “Boy, we are the fucking government. We do not obey the fucking laws. We enforce them on the craven sheep that don't have the balls to stand up for themselves and overthrow a government that has discarded the Constitution. They deserve everything we do to them, but if you want to try and impose that kind of bullshit on me, I'll kill you, and no one will do a damn thing about it.”
It was a bit of a struggle for Special Agent Jones not to smile. Special Agent Jones would probably be proud of me. My vocabulary and my understanding of history are improving. I would never have used a word like craven a year ago.
“The Deputy Director gives orders to Senators and Presidents.”
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
Special Agent Jones did not turn to look in the direction of the approaching footsteps, but all his desire to smile dissipated, and his face filled with hate.
“You still do not show the respect owed your betters, Clarence. Will it be necessary to enforce it with the leash?” For a female, the woman had a very deep voice.
Trying to school his face into a bland expression and failing, Special Agent Jones turned his glare on the approaching woman.
The woman's smile was both mocking and inviting at the same time. Standing about 6'10” tall, the woman was a few inches taller than Special Agent Jones, but her heavy breasts, slender waist, and wide hips left no doubt as to her sex. Her rawboned and heavy jawed face could only be called plain, but her sultry deep green eyes and wide mouth hinted at a lascivious nature. She was dressed in skin tight black jeans, a black t-shirt, and red leather jacket, but despite the heat, there was not even a faint sheen of perspiration on her smooth tanned face.
“Your leash can force me to act, but it can't make me think what you want. Go ahead and use it. All it will do is reduce my combat performance. If you're sending me after Mark McGuinness, even at my peak, I may not be good enough to take him down. So, what are you going to do? Bitch.”
As burning agony tore through his body, Special Agent Jones only revealed a slight grimace and clenched his right hand into a fist.
“The leash can do much more than compel your actions, Special Agent. It is also quite effective at inflicting punishment. How long can you withstand that pain before begging for mercy?” The woman licked her lips, and in a seemingly unconscious action, her fingers drifted toward her crotch.
“Go ahead. Play with yourself, Bitch. I'll enjoy the show.”
The woman frowned, and anger glinted in her eyes.
“Heh. Heh. Heh. I love seeing Federal pigs that don't know their place get their comeuppance.” From behind the woman, a man strode forward. Standing almost the exact same height as the woman, he had a build that was even more massive than the heavily built Special Agent Jones. His grey enameled plate armor was forged to match the outlines of his flexed muscles, and a gray cloak was hanging from his shoulders.
The woman glanced toward the armored man with a slightly mocking smile and a hint of lust in her eyes.
“Sandor, my pet, you are supposed to be from this world's privileged, wealthy social class. Because of your family's money and power, you would have been above the law.”
Glaring at Special Agent Jones, Sandor snarled. “If they catch you on a social camera, too many federal pigs don't know their place. This one has the attitude of a pig that hasn't learned it should live in a sty with the rest of the sheep.”
From Special Agent Jones' laugh, it would be hard to tell that he was experiencing pain that would make almost any man scream. “You're a retarded fuck. Pigs live in sties, but sheep live in pens.”
Sandor snarled at Special Agent Jones. “You belong to me now Jones. A little piglet like you should know better than to piss off Godzilla. I might just step on you.”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Go fuck yourself, dickbag.”
“If you two are done, it is time to take care of the Great God's business. I expect Brand to be captured before he escapes from this world.” The menace in the woman's voice was intended to be a clear warning.
Suppressing a shiver, Sandor looked at the woman. “Of course, High Priestess. I live to serve the Greatest God. AAAAARRRRRRRRR!”
“You are no longer the scion of one of the most powerful families on this pimple of a world, Sandor. You are the property of the Greatest God. Do not forget to address me as Mistress.”
“Yes, Mistress!” Sandor's voice was a shriek or agony. Unlike Special Agent Jones, Sandor was unable to suppress his pain and keep his voice level.
“My auguries tell me that Brand and his party should be returning to California. Sandor, take Special Agent Jones with you. A company of Einherjar is on route and will meet up with you at the Fresno base. Make sure that Brand does not reach the gate beneath the Burning Research Hospital. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress!” In contrast to what he believed, Sandor's face revealed his anger and frustration at having to obey and call the woman Mistress.
Despite a number of them quivering in terror, the FBI agents taking pictures and collecting evidence pretended not to see or hear anything taking place around them.
Special Agent Jones followed Sandor to a helicopter, one of two, where another man was already sitting on one of the bench seats in the back. After doing a double take between Sandor and the other man, he could not keep a frown off his face.
The man sitting in the back of the helicopter was a perfect carbon copy of Sandor, right down to the scars on his face.
*** SANTA ROSA ISLAND – EARTH ***
RETURN: DAY 343
AUGUST 6, 2078
Ten years prior, Santa Rosa Island was part of a national park, but now, it was nominally the property of La Raza, which was a pawn of La Raza de la Serpiente. In reality, it was the property of a single woman. While she was known by a variety of names in legal documents, they were all false. Her staff called her Mistress, and even without any collars on their necks, most of them were still nothing but her slaves. Their minds had been bent and twisted until they could not even think about defying her or taking any action that would not be to her benefit.
Standing 6'8” in height, the Mistress herself was extremely tall for a woman. Her jet black hair, hanging to her knees, was long and straight. Combined with her black dress, the midnight color of her hair only highlighted the alabaster pallor of her skin. She was a woman who had no love for sunlight and never let it touch her skin directly. Her pale green eyes flashed with unadulterated arrogance, and her normally pale lips were painted scarlet.
The room, where the Mistress was standing, was crafted entirely of stone with no windows. On the wall opposite the door, an extremely detailed mural of a winged feathered serpent decorated the wall. Its feathers were black except for the tips, and the tips formed a spectrum of thousands of colors.
In the center of the room, there was a four foot high pedestal. An oval mirror, about two feet across its longest axis, rested in a stand atop the pedestal. As the Mistress stared into the mirror a cyclonic swirl of silvery-grey filled it, replacing her reflection in the mirror.
“You have kept me waiting.” The voice that emanated from the mirror had a sibilant hissing quality to it.
The Mistress dropped to her knees in front of the pedestal. “Your most unworthy servant apologizes, Master. I was inspecting the new warrior-slaves. If I had known Master would be calling for me, I would never have left the manor house.”
“Cease! You are merely a pig. One would be a fool to expect competence from a pig.”
“Yes, Master.” The Mistress prostrated herself on the floor and pressed her face against the bare stone.
“The artifact has been taken from that world. The apostate pretenders have set their forces in motion. They hunt a pig. The Great Serpent has commanded that you take capture or eliminate that pig before the heathens acquire him.”
“Yes, Master.” With her face still pressed to the floor, the Mistress' words were distorted.
“The Celestial Court has taken action as well. A Holy Dragonian has been sent. Do not come into direct conflict with her minions, but if you can arrange for their deaths at the hands of the heathens, you are to do so. ”
“Yes, Master.”
The silvery-grey swirl disappeared from the mirror, and the Mistress no longer hid the anger and dissatisfaction that was in her heart. I may be weak now, but the day will come when I crush that arrogant Dragon beneath my heel. He may call himself the Seventh Feathered Sky Lord, but he is nothing but a feathered serpent, looked down upon by all other species of Dragons. Within my veins flows the blood the High Men.
Leaving the room, the Mistress traversed halls and corridors entirely devoid of the trappings of modern Earth civilization. The decorations could have been directly taken from a medieval castle or from many cultures that existed inside Yggdrasil. Upon reaching the main hall, the Mistress ascended the raised dais and took a seat upon the throne.
Servants immediately ran from concealed alcoves on the sides of the room and prostrated themselves on polished stone floor fronting the dais.
If the Mistress chose to, she could order them to torture, rape, maim or kill one another. Holding power over others always gave her a thrill that bordered on sexual arousal. Looking down at the servants and feeling their fear, she smiled and was barely able to refrain from licking her lips.
The fear of others is the most delicious emotion. It is intoxicating beyond imagination. That damned brat never felt fear.
The Mistress frowned. Why am I thinking of him now? He disappeared months ago, and from the FBI report acquired by my spies, he passed through a dimensional gate. He should be on Taereun, but after being crippled by the Dread Reaver and raised on this world, there is no possibility that he could survive there.
The Mistress' smile returned. At best, if he is still alive, he is someone's slave. Oh, how I would take pleasure in seeing that bastard in chains and wearing a collar. If it were not for his existence, I would never have had to set foot on this disgusting world.
“Bring me the Spymaster!”
“Yes, Mistress!” Using the Mistress' command as an excuse, the most senior of the prostrate servants hopped to his feet. Repeatedly bowing, while practically running backward, the servant fled from the audience hall.
Not daring to leave and terrified at the thought of having to remain in the Mistress' presence, the servants, still prostrated before the throne, shivered and fought to not lose control over the bladders or bowels.
More than five minutes later, when the Spymaster arrived, the Mistress glanced down at the servants still laying on the floor in terror. “Leave!”
Shivering in terror, the servants fled the audience hall. Watching them, the Spymaster's face remained impassive. Once he was certain the servants were gone, he gave the Mistress a very slight bow.
As always, the Mistress was convinced that Spymaster's bow was intended as an affront, but she did not dare to call him on it. Despite the Mistress' training in the use of Psi, the Spymaster's Mind and Soul were completely closed to her. She could sense his physical presence, but he might as well have been lifeless stone. She was not even able to identify the techniques that the Spymaster used to protect his thoughts and emotions. The Mistress kept her frown hidden.
“Spymaster, the Seventh Feathered Sky Lord has given us a mission. There is a human that is being hunted by the Jotun Lords and the Celestial Court. The Sky Lord wishes to obtain possession of that human before they do.”
The corners of the Spymaster's lips turned up in a faint smile that did not reach his eyes. “There is a band made up of humans and Dvergar that raided Area 51 last night. I included the information in the morning intelligence brief. It is completely impossible to monitor them or track their movements using the surveillance networks. We learned of the incident from our moles inside the FBI. Our scryers have determined that there was an incident at the rift exit in Fresno, California. That is likely their point of entry and return.”
The Mistress picked up a metal tablet from the table next to her throne. As usual, she did not bother to read her daily intelligence brief from the Spymaster.
"The images of the group were taken from the eyes of the corpses they left behind. Their skill in the use of Earth weaponry would be surprising if the two Dvergar were not known Possessed from the Jotun Pretender's experiment inside Yggdrasil. Scroll to the end, you will find images of them without their helms on."
Listening to the Spymaster, the Mistress' frown deepened. “Send our two best hunters after them with a company of elite soldiers to back them up.”
“Do you wish me to give them any Earth-born for fodder or distractions?”
“No. These pathetic Earthlings are useless. They would just get in the way of real men.”
"I will make the arrangements." With a faint smile on his lips that did not reach his eyes, they Spymaster left the Mistress' throne room.
The Mistress watched the Spymaster leave with eyes that were filled with cold malice, but there was also fear that she kept hidden in the depths of her heart. The Spymaster was a complete enigma to her. She did not know his strength, his origin, or even, his name.
Gritting her teeth, the Mistress picked up a metal plate from the table next to her throne. As always, the daily intelligence report was overly detailed. In her opinion, most of the information contained within was pointless, and she ignored everything that was not related to the human that the Jotun Lords were interested. When she scrolled to the end of the images recorded from the dead, there was a picture of the man who was the target without his helmet on. Half of his face was horribly scarred from burns.
"Marek!" The Mistress' face reflected the shock that was in her voice.
*** TREN'FON CITADEL – BATTLEGROUND OF THE DAMNED ***
RETURN: DAY 343
Bent over the balustrade fronting the Temple of Yggr, Aluras'bektsh'tar's white-knuckled hands clasped the chains of her manacles. Blood from her back that was torn open by Stegnar'shen'fal's whip ran along her ribs and dripped to floor. Every time that Stegnar'shen'fal thrust into her, she grit her teeth and swore vengeance on him anew.
Tren'fon Citadel had been travelling through the Battleground of the Damned in an erratic pattern that resulted in it being under a full, half, or new moon every third day at the most. This was not the normal patrol path for the Citadel, and Aluras'bektsh'tar thought that it was being done at Stegnar'shen'fal's instigation.
Even with healing potions and magic, she grew weaker by the day, but she did not see any way to extricate herself from under the thumb of Stegnar'shen'fal. When she had tried to send Canth back to Gor'achen Citadel to destroy any evidence that could expose her as a Dragon Cultist, he was stopped in the airship dock by Temple Soldiers of the Right Hand Fane of the Temple of Yggr.
To either side of Aluras'bektsh'tar, other DokkAlfar, both females and males were being tortured and raped, but unlike her, they were in a state of religious ecstasy.
Feeling Stegnar'shen'fal's semen filling her vagina, Aluras'bektsh'tar was barely able to stop herself from vomiting. As Stegnar'shen'fal's hands released their grasp on her waist, she collapsed to her knees.
Kneeling behind her, Stegnar'shen'fal twisted her head around so that their lips could meet, and his tongue violently thrust into her mouth. At the same time as his tongue forcibly entered her mouth, Stegnar'shen'fal's Psi invaded her Mind. The Psi shields she was so proud of were torn apart like wet paper.
*Rejoice Aluras, my sweet, the time of the True Gods is at hand. Soon an Earthly Lord of the Celestial Court will take His rightful place as the ruler of Tren'fon Citadel. You will be rewarded for your family's tens of thousands of years of loyalty to the Scaled Gods.*
Aluras'bektsh'tar's eyes, which she had tightly closed, sprang wide open, and she stared into Stegnar'shen'fal's eyes. Stegnar'shen'fal's mockery and contempt filled her mind, and she nearly passed out from the brutal impact of his emotions.
*Like your parents before you, you were sloppy and foolish. If anyone had been looking for followers of the True Gods, you would have been exposed in an instant, but I had already arranged the destruction of the Fer'sha Provenance that nearly exterminated your Provenance. The last survivor is nothing but a Wytch, and you could not leave her be. She knew nothing, but you had to target her, get involved with a group of pawns meant to fail. You brought the eyes of that cursed Smith upon you. Hidden in Gor'achen, you would have been useful to the True God's plans, but here, you are worth nothing more than a distraction to satisfy my lusts.*
At first shocked by what she was hearing, Aluras'bektsh'tar state of mind quickly shifted to disbelief. It had to be another method for Stegnar'shen'fal to torture her.
*This is no trick my sweet Aluras. Soon, unworthy though you be, you will be raised to a position of honor among the faithful of the True Gods, but until then, you will be my plaything. You have learned the truth, but can you believe it? In these last days before the True Gods come, I will make your life one of continuous hell of physical pain, and unable to accept or reject my words as truth, you will inflict your own mental torture upon yourself.*