The great chamber was vast. Larger by some significant measure than the chamber on floor seventy-one of the Great Obsidian Fortress of Mohrtgauth the Soul Eater. Thick columns of heavily ornamented marble, hundreds of them. Thicker, each of them, than the span of a tall man’s wide-stretched arms, they soared up into the darkness above. Their ranks marched into the dimly lit distance in all directions, disappearing into stygian blackness from which could be heard a thousand unnatural calls, chittering, growling, rumbling. The susurrus of... things, not of the mortal realm.
Affixed to the center row of these massive columns, electric lights in lavish sconces struggled vainly to impart some small glow into the oppressive shadow that wreathed the entire space as though it were a physical construct deliberately injected into the air. Pools of light, they shed, widely separated, like the blood spatter of a fleeing and wounded animal.
Far off in the distance, from an area bathed in a greater pool of brighter light, a pair of mumbling voice could be heard, seemingly arguing, but too muffled to be clearly understood.
The man who stood in the outer doorway between slowly opening double doors tall enough to allow a delivery truck passage and thick enough to stop cannon shot, did not immediately enter as the four sweating guards pushed, straining, to open the way. Only once they’d gotten them fully opened and regained their posts outside the chamber did he step forward and into the oppressive space.
Ernst Jungmann, his name was. A cabinet minister highly placed in the government. Chief Secretary of Scientific Discovery and Cognition was the title he bore. An important one, to be sure, as these things went. He was as near indispensable a figure as the Dread Lord numbered among his minions. Near, however, was the operative word. No one was completely safe when in the presence of the Dread Lord.
It took him some time to traverse the hall. Moreso because his pace was beyond measured. He might have been marching behind a casket in a funeral procession for the pace of his ponderous gate. He did not want to be here, and even less did he want to have to impart to the Dread Lord the news he carried.
The larger pool of light grew closer. Details within made themselves known. A great and ornate dais lay at its center, atop of which an elaborate throne rested behind a low and lavishly decorated table. A single figure could be seen slouched forward in the throne, both voices issuing from its single mouth. This was the Dread Lord of Tarr.
His appearance wasn’t particularly imposing, even in this setting. He was shorter than the average Tarrian. Slight of build, with a boyish, clean shaven face and black, mid length hair, a tuft of which fell down and between his eyes, forming a fork over his nose. He was wearing the dark blue uniform of a Nuverian High Marshall, devoid of rank, insignia, or medals.
He wore no weapons. What use would he have for such things? On his right hand, he wore a white glove with gold piping, its upper surface decorated with crossed lightning bolts in silver and red. His left was bare, gnarled and scarred, covered with coarse hair. Long, uncut nails resembling talons, jutted from its fingers.
He was playing a game of Castles and Kings on a board of precious metals built into the table before his throne. Against himself. Or, rather, his right hand was playing his left.
Jungmann shifted his gait slightly, trying to bring it into measure with the game. He must be excruciatingly careful to arrive within notice of the Dread Lord at the proper moment or his very life was in peril.
The dread lord was observing the board critically, his chin resting on the back of his gloved hand. Jungmann quickened his pace. All at once, the head raised, and the white gloved hand shot out, shifting the Paladin of Light and withdrawing in a single, slashing movement.
Oh, no! Jungmann’s face went ghastly pale and a wild shiver ran through his body, hard enough to make his bones creak.
“What is it?” the voice issuing from the Dread Lord’s mouth was graveled, and seemed too low to have come from a human throat. The chin was now resting on the gnarled left hand, one taloned finger tapping at the pale cheek. The left eye regarding the secretary was the glowing orange of flowing lava, its sclera the hue of fresh blood, set within skin blackened and scarred from brow to upper cheekbone. Pale smoke drifted up from beneath his eyelid. More from between his down-turned lips.
“We’ve recently recovered a flit from one of the watcher teams, Dread Lord,” Jungmann informed his master, ducking his head momentarily in a precise bow, struggling to keep his voice firm. “From the starting zone of U-14365, W-21019. Uhm, Mund, I believe the locals call it.”
“And?” the response was more growl than spoken word.
“We believe that we may have found him, Dread Lord.” he croaked, "but we're not completely sure."
The head came up, a Dark Mage held poised above the board between the fingers of the clawed left hand. Both eyes were open now, as the dread lord peered at the uncomfortable Secretary. The right was black as midnight, and sharp as a teufelsoldaten’s bayonet. “Elucidate.” the dread lord ordered coldly in the basso growl that told Jungmann the beast was in charge.
He swallowed broadly and tugged at his collar with a nervous finger. With the beast in control, not even he was safe. “The individual encountered seems to fit the description of the Grenell, Dread Lord,” he husked. “But some facets of the encounter have led us to believe that it may be another who merely resembles him. Thus, we are not one hundred percent confident in our identification.”
The dread lord remained as he had been, holding his glare.
“Er... yes,” Jungmann gave his collar another tug. “You see, Dread Lord, while the time constant on this Mund runs a small increment more quickly than it does here on Tarr it is no more than a few months per year at most.”
Another pause answered by more silence. Jungmann gulped. Dealing with the darker side of the dread lord was always a trial.
“Given the time frame, Dread Lord, and the injuries we feel confident the Grenell had sustained in our initial fai—” he froze, his face going even greyer. The dread lord’s eyes narrowed to slits, the left moreso than the right.
“Th-that is to say,” Jungmann stuttered, “given the life-threatening injuries he’d sustained in our first, ah, valiant strike....
“Ah,” another gulp. “ the highest ranking we had reasonably expected him to have achieved, regardless of grinding, would have been level five. Perhaps six if the prognosticationators miscompiled the time flow differentials.
“And what has that to do with anything?” the voice was a volcanic hiss, and the smoke trailing from the demon lord’s lips grew thicker.
Jungmann was panting heavily at this point, the fear overcoming his ability to suppress. “We had stationed teufeljaegers in that zone, Dread Lord,” he explained. “Only five, unfortunately, although one of them was a champion. Still, we thought the force to be more than adequate.”
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“I begin to see where this is going,” the demon lord grated. “Why only five? Have we so few that we are forced to deploy less than a minimum mob? Have the machines stopped making them for some reason unknown to me?”
Jungmann bowed deeply, partially to hide the tears of terror that were forming at the corners of his eyes at the prospect of what might occur at any moment. He hadn’t yet gotten to the bad part of the report.
“I beg the Dread Lord to understand,” he quavered, still gazing wide-eyed at the floor without daring to look up. “This was in a starting zone, and the portals in these zones, we have come to realize, will only permit five life forms to pass at a given time. And there is a hard limit on the levels such life forms may may possess. We did initially send a full mob through, Dread Lord,” he insisted. “Only five survived passage. We are working on expanding that number, Dread Lord,” he explained. “But have thus far met with no success. It is as though we are being actively hindered.”
“Given that more than six months have passed,” the demon lord’s voice remained harsh. “Why had you not bolstered their force? Surely ten or twenty jaegers would have guaranteed more success than five.”
“I beg the Dread Lord to understand,” Jungmann’s voice quavered. “There are literally tens of thousands of worlds in the many universes. At least a thousand of them lie along the potential paths the Grenell might have been propelled by the force of the initial spell’s misfi— ah,” he gulped spasmodically. “Th-the spell’s v-vast p-power.
"The machines are running at one hundred percent capacity, and we are building as many jaegers we can, but the required number is vast.
“And even should we have been able to create sufficient of them,” he pressed. “Our scientists have not yet been able to break the respawn coding that requires those sent through the portals be eliminated before the timers begin to count down.
“Eighty-two levels of teufeljaegers should have been more than enough for a single level five or six anything, Dread Lord, even a hero.” this last more a plea.
“And yet they obviously weren’t,” the dread lord was fully upright in his throne now, the Dark Mage still clutched in his left hand, its surface smoldering with the heat of contact. Despite his otherwise completely human appearance, he seemed to have grown to half again his normal size. “And how did he defeat this unstoppable force you arrayed against him, then? As a level five?”
Jungmann gulped again, tears flowing freely from his eyes, snot from his nose. He felt that his next pronouncement would result in his grisly demise, and he was loathe to voice it. “He... He beat them to death with a stick, D-Dread L-Lord.”
Jungmann felt the ground tremble as the dread lord leapt from the dias. He heard the initial phase of an enraged roar before a sudden silence descended upon the throne room.
After a long moment, he raised his head just enough to take in the form of his master. The Dread Lord had frozen in place, his body twice and more its normal size, a rictus of inarticulate rage etched upon his face, the clawed hand halted mid-slash as it had made to strike him down. Long minutes passed, counted by the panicked beating of his throbbing heart.
He watched as the rage washed slowly from the Dread Lord’s face. The clawed hand lowered, and the Dread Lord began to shrink until he’d once more resumed his normal size. He calmly straightened his uniform tunic and swept his hair smooth with his gloved hand. He turned and paced calmly back to his throne, resuming his seat. The claw now lay in his lap, with his white-gloved right hand resting atop it. He was once more fully Kanzaki Haruo, former hero, and one time savior of a world far removed from his current domain.
“A stick, you say?” he asked somewhat genially.
A violent shiver of relief surged through Jungmann’s body at this miraculous reprieve. “Technically, Dread Lord,” he straightened all but his head, which remained bowed, but not so much that he couldn’t see his now more benign master. "He only beat four of them to death, including the champion. One, he killed with a jaeger short sword.”
“I see,” the Dread Lord frowned. “And the stick?”
“About seven feet long and perhaps an inch and a half thick. The flit wasn’t close enough to gather fine detail. Like a thrusting spear from which someone had removed the head. The stick did appear to change at some point during the encounter, so it may have had special properties.”
Kanzaki nodded to himself. A bo or western quarterstaff, then. A highly unusual weapon for a hero to wield. “I believe that I would like to see the recording,” he said. “Bring it to me as soon as possible.
“Also, while we’re discussing possibilities,” he stopped Jungmann as the man was was turning to leave. “Is it possible that we might send soldaten through that portal while Grenell may still be in the general area?”
“Alas, Dread Lord,” Jungmann shook his head. “Given it’s a starting zone portal, we cannot send anything ranked higher than level twenty, save a single champion accompanying lesser creatures. That much we have gleaned from the code. And even then, nothing higher than level twenty-five will survive passage.”
“I see,” the white-gloved hand came up to stroke Kanzaki’s chin. “Jaegers, then, I suppose. “And find a portal somewhere on that rock that will allow soldaten through. In fact, let’s just see how many we can suborn. Surely not even the great and wondrous Jackson Thomas Grenell can hope to defeat an entire army at level six.”
Jungmann neither moved nor answered for a good long while. And when he did speak, it was with a tremor. “Is the Dread Lord certain we are ready for this?”
“Ah,” Kanzaki smiled an off kilter smile. “Invasion, yes?” then he shook his head. “No, Ernst, I don’t believe I am. Not yet, at any rate.
“Have your brain trust determined at what point the Grand Council of the Gods decides that an incursion has become an invasion?” he wondered.
“Ah... I’m sure the Dread Lord understands that such... studies... are a delicate matter,” Jungmann answered carefully.
“Given the vanishingly few times such events have occurred, there are no patterns to find. And given that the first hint one has that the gods have decided to take direct action is when they arrive in force, I’m sure the Dread Lord understands that we must tread... carefully.”
“Yes, yes,” Kanzaki nodded, waving his concerns off with the white gloved hand. “How do they feel about flits?”
“Dread Lord?” Jungmann was taken aback.
“Flits, Ernst,” his master reiterated. “Do they count against the totals allowed through the portals?”
“I, ah, do not believe so, Dread Lord,” Jungmann smiled, beginning to understand what his master was getting at. “It was allowed through with the five we sent, and the portal countdown began without its having been eliminated.”
“Good. Then send another force of jaegers through, with as many flits as they can carry. Program them for the widest feasible spread. And see that at least a couple of crossbowmen are sent through, if nothing else.
“Meanwhile, get me that recording.”
Jungmann bowed himself out, relief heavy on his face.
Kanzaki Haruo, former hero, and the current Dread Lord of Tarr, relaxed back into his throne, rested his elbows on its arms, and steepled his fingers together.
“I knew that stupid bus gag was a mistake,” he said amiably. “All flash and no action. Typical demon lord nonsense.
“Should have gone with my plan and just hired somebody to shoot him in the back of the head when he wasn’t paying attention. Less effort, better results.”
His face went hard and he scowled. “He is not here, is he?” he answered himself in the rumbling growl that had so terrified Jungmann. “Your information regarding his strength must have been faulty.”
His face relaxed back into a casual grin. “You were right there when I got it,” he chided. “If you had doubts, you could have voiced them then. It’s not like I can ignore your prattling.”
The scowl returned. “You should have dug harder. You were always one to take shortcuts. Always ready to race forward without sufficient preparations.”
“I defeated you before I hit level fifty,” he laughed lightly. “And with only two companions.”
“And yet I remain,” his scowling face replied. “While your lover and your closest friend are long cold beneath the ground. And soon I will become dominant, and you will be subsumed.”
Kanzaki went silent, his face stone, his eye fixed ahead as his gloved right hand curled into a tight fist. He held that pose for over a minute before his features relaxed, and the casual smile returned. “But you don’t remain,” he chortled as though he’d not a care in the world. “You’re an after image. A shadow.
“We’re already well on our way to conquering the whole of this world and subjugating the populous. Without their hero, they’ve nothing and no one to stand against us. You’ve lost your chance to weaken me. From here on out, you’re a battery whose sole purpose is to keep me hale and hearty, no more.”
The red eye went half-lidded, and an evil grin spread across half the face of the dread lord of Tarr. “We shall see,” as the smoke trickled from between the tight stretched lips. “We shall see.”