Chapter 53 - Happy is Easy

I must admit I was at an impasse. While I knew over a dozen different moves I could use to extricate myself from Sol’s enthusiastic embrace, none of them would leave her unscathed. Granted, a few would only cause severe discomfort and pain to her joints as I encouraged them to bend in ways they were not meant to. No permanent damage, just a little pain in the way of persuation. However, here and now, after all both Sol and I had been through, I was understandably reluctant to use force on the poor girl.

As for Shia’s outlandish claims that I was actually enjoying having this nubile girl in the bloom of her womanhood pressing her naked body against my back, they were obviously nonsense. I was taken aback, nothing more. Sol was, in all fairness, a rather spectacularly beautiful girl. What kind of a man wouldn't get just a little surprised, maybe even a bit excited when a hot chick insistently pressed her bare breasts against his back through a very thin intervening layer of clothing?

"Dad!"

"What?" I cried out helplessly.

In the end, it as Sharinne who stepped in to save the day.

“Soledad, such scandalous behavior is unbecoming of the next Guardian of the Crimson Flame,” the dragoness hissed sharply in between tightly pursed lips.

Sol reluctantly let go of me at that, though I wasn’t sure if I had simply imagined her fingers lingering just a moment too long as they stroked my chest. Shaking my head at how ridiculous the notion of what amounted to a twelve year old kid trapped in a young woman’s body having such scandalous thoughts towards an old man like myself, I decided that my imagination had simply grown too fertile with inactivity. Or perhaps my libido was on overdrive, no matter what my conscious brain thought of the matter.

Sharinne continued to lecture Sol in low tones, covering her body by draping a cloak across her shoulders as she led the rather unrepentant girl to one side.

“Ahem.”

At Shia’s throat clearing noise, I suddenly realized I was still staring at the back Sol’s calves as she was led away by Sharinne. What was worse, I looked up just as Sol glanced over her shoulder. She caught my guilty eyes and had the cheek to send a wink my way before she returned her attention to Sharinne. The Keeper pretended not to notice as she kept speaking to Sol in a solemn manner.

“How can you even clear your throat? Makes no sense, you don’t even have a throat,” I grumbled, complaining loudly.

“How come an old man can’t stop oogling at a girl at least half his age? See, life just sucks that way sometimes, and we just have to live with it, don’t we? You get to put up with my coughs and I have to resign myself to having a pervert for a father.”

I thought about that for a long moment, but I swear I couldn't for the life of me come up with a decent rebutal to that.

“You know, I think I liked you better when you were little,” I muttered darkly.

“Wouldn’t you know, I think I liked you better when I was little too,” Shia shot back without missing a beat. “Would that have anything to do with your unhealthy obsession with small children?”

There was just enough levity in that last sentence that I knew she was just teasing me, but damn this new Shia had a sharp tongue about her. Now where could she have possibly picked that up? Gone was the sweet little girl who would say Mommy this and Mommy that, listening to everything I told her. Rebelling against authority figures, too smart for her own good and with a mouth that wouldn’t rest until she got the last say in everything, it was just like a god damn work of art.

Like looking into a mirror.

“Shia, I’m going to ask you something very important,” I finally had the time to ask what had been gnawing at my insides ever since Shia had evolved.

“Fire away.”

“When you were evolving, there was a pattern. Within all the shiny sparks and lights and whatnot, I saw..” My voice falterned momentarily as I remembered the face I had seen there. “I saw someone familiar, from my past. Do you know anything about that?”

“Residual patterns within the transmutation of energy matter as the soul essence accumulated within my reservoirs was ignited to power my coming of age process was obtained from the countless souls vanquished by you in battle, Dad. It is not wholly unexpected to find remnants of their former identities or memories within the stream of their soul essence.”

“This wasn’t one of the people I fought,” I hissed, grimacing.

“These souls were also necessarily channeled and absorbed through your own soul before they could turn into a purer form of soul essence that could be metabolized by me,” Shia patiently explained. “Perhaps that’s what you saw, just a reflection of your own past memories.”

“Huh,” I grunted, still unconvinced.

“You did go through a lot of shit in there, Dad,” Shia observed.

“Language!”

“Really? You say it all the time, Dad.”

“That’s me, this is you. I won’t have you foul-tempered AND foul-mouthed at the same time. You get to pick one or the other, not both.”

“But you are-”

“No,” I held up my hand to indicate this was not up for argument, and if the sullen silence that followed was the price I had to pay, so be it. I was busy thinking about what this meant, anyhow.

I had clearly seen Sophia’s face within that split second moment when the soul essence had merged into a single identifiable pattern. Maybe anyone else would have missed it, but I was used to staking my life on spotting small details like that. I knew what I had seen, and that was that. Was that just a memory dredged up from the depths of my soul, like Shia seemed to be insinuating?

“Shia, do you have any juice left?”

“Uh, not really? Dad, you’ve been throwing soul essence around like it grows on trees,” Shia commented dryly.

“I need a way to replenish our soul power in the fastest way possible,” I muttered, glancing towards the now inert gate. The words of Avernus, God of yada yada, Prince of Fucktown or whatever you call it, were still ringing loud and clear in my ears. Judging by the quiet intensity that layered Sharinne’s every word and gesture, I knew we had a shitstorm coming our way.

Now, I’m the last guy in the world who will shun a fight. Hell, I live for this kind of crap. Give me a good pair of gloves and I’ll happily duke it out against the whole world, one sucker punch at a time.

However, I always play to win and in my current straits, I was barely able to handle a handful of low rent thugs from a backwater pissant shanty of a town. Sure, apparently I had managed to single-handedly vanquish the evil overlords of the Labyrinth of Souls. As much as I had literally busted my ass fighting that one, the cold fact of the matter was it didn’t count for crap because I couldn’t remember anything from that encounter.

I could recall with crystal clarity the determined fire burning in Alan’s eyes as he asked me to leave him to die and complete our mission. Each shot I had fired, each grenade I had detonated, I remembered every single one of them. I could likely come fairly close to telling you exactly how many bullets I had fired during those endless hours spent in the frenzied firefight trapped in the jungle. Hell, I could still smell the distinctive bubblegum Kat liked to chew after completing each of her assassinations, which was one of her subtle ways of telling me she was around and I’d better not show my back to her deadly knives.

All these memories were still fresh in my mind, but the last image frozen in my head was that of Sophia lying broken and bleeding on the floor. After that, I had no recollection of anything until I awoke in a ruined wasteland covered in the ashes of my enemies.

If I could somehow replicate such a feat, well that would be just dandy. However, I doubted circumstance would be quite so accomodating. Hell, I’d almost gotten my ass chewed off by this overgrown mutant lizard of a dragon and the best I was able to do was Aetna which, may she rest in peace, had in the end done me very little good against the unbelievable resiliency of a dragon.

Now, this Avernus guy had indifferently reached out across god knows how many miles and dimensions or what not, and plucked out Sharinne’s eye as though it were child’s play. Damn the bastard, I had to really work my ass off to do the same thing, almost getting my sorry behind melted by a stream of superheated dragon breath in the process.

That meant I needed something big, and at long last I was at least decently prepared for the trials that awaited me ahead. Having shamelessly looted the Hall of Relics of the Crimson Flame Clan, I had a grand total of eight, yes EIGHT dimensional storage devices, ranging from delicate, filigreed rings all the way to a bulging backpack. Contained within were artifacts of immense power and fabled lore, swords from legend and armor worn by heroes of great renown. The time had come to use them, to unleash their power.

My lips curled up in one of the very rare moments of true bliss that grace my life from time to time, as I took a deep breath and lovingly ran my fingers over one of the rings I had acquired recently. Yes, this would be the beginning of a new legend. I would slay this uppity godling and use his still-twitching corpse as a step on my way to the top. My vengeance demanded nothing less.

There was one particular weapon that instantly sprang to mind as I prepared to give free reign to my beloved homicidal impulses. I didn’t even need to close my eyes to visualize the relic I was seeking within the pocket dimension linked through the storage item. Yes, there it was, perched upon a small pile of priceless artifacts, each with their own storied pasts. Even among these, this one had the aura of an emperor. It was a hand-and-half sword with runes of power carved all the way down its double edged blade. The pommel was a sapphire carved in the shape of a dragon that shimmered with an eerie light, as though some unextinguishable flame burned in its depths.

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Grinning to myself, I extended my right hand before me and sent forth a tendril of will. Immediately, a line appeared in the air before me. From within, the magnificent sword I had summoned slowly emerged, hilt first. It hovered in the air before me as though waiting for me to reclaim it from the pages of history and wield it to write a new saga.

Immensely satisfied, I grasped the hilt of the sword firmly in my hand as though it were manifest destiny, as though this sword and this moment had always belonged to me. As its new and rightful master, I tightened my grasp on the sword to lift it high overhead, and nearly bit my tongue off as the sword shocked the shit out of my hand with a burst of power that clamped my teeth shut with a loud clack and left tendrils of smoke drifting over my head. Pain and shock paralyzed my whole body while my right hand burned like someone had dipped it in boiling oil. To make matters worse, the sword finished tumbling through the spacial rift and fell towards my head with uncanny precision, edge first.

Watching the terrifying edge of that great blade descending upon my head, I gave a great mental shout of sheer panic, demanding that my damn useless legs move, and move NOW. At least some of that desperation must have percolated through, since at the very last moment I managed a pathetic lurch to one side as the damn butchering sword whooshed past my face, so close I didn’t think I’d need a shave for a while. My wild lunge left me sprawled on the floor, cold sweat trickling down my back as a handful of hair drifted down to settle on the floor. That damn murdering blade, it lay stuck a good foot into the ground now, still quivering from the impact.

“What the hell kind of treacherous, murdering piece of crap sword is that?” I blurted out in shock and outrage.

“Uh, Dad, I think we have a problem,” Shia murmured in an ominous tone.

“No shit, you think? Damn rusty piece of horseshit almost sliced my head off, and you think we’ve got a problem? The hell’s the matter with this thing?”

I got up to my feet, still a bit shaky from the adrenaline pumping in my veins. I glared at the offending sword as though it were a viper, coiled to strike at any time.

“This some kind of trap?”

“Um, no. I think we may just have overlooked a tiny teeny detail, dad.”

A heavy rock landed in the pit of my stomach with a heavy thump as suspicion bloomed within my head.

Not this crap again.

A few rounds of red-faced, blisteringly scathing curses and shouts, and a whole pile of priceless artifacts strewn carelessly about later, I did in fact discover that it was this same crap again.

Here I had a whole pile of magical artifacts of might and legend, and wouldn’t you know it? All of it did jack shit for me. God damn it, the level requirements to wear the smallest, stupidest looking item had left me foaming at the mouth in fits of rage. That was not all either. Each came with different stat checks, such as a minimal threshold of strength and agility to wield a certain sword, or a metric crapton of stamina to put on even the silliest armors.

Holy shit, I was level three and the tiniest dagger required me to be level sixty? You gotta be shitting me, right? What the hell was I supposed to do with this damn useless pile of shiny trinkets I couldn’t even use? Thanks a lot for nothing, Shia.

“That’s not fair dad, it’s not my fault.”

Ooops, I didn’t even realize I’d been speaking out loud.

“Tell that to my hand. It still stings like hell.”

“That’s because your power does not meet the minimum requirements of the artifact’s spirit.”

“Spirit? You’re saying all these are sentient artifacts like you?”

“Of course not, comparing these crude items to me is like comparing a diamond to a chunk of rock. It’s not that the artifacts are alive, but they do possess a distinctive identity.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Most magical artifacts are imbued with great power and intent. Whether it is runes, spells or arcane forging techniques, this shapes the way they function. That is, how the artifact gathers magical power and channels it towards a specific purpose, like the flames on that poor sword you used to fight Sharinne. You follow so far?”

I grunted my assent.

“Lesser artifacts will fade with use and time as the magic within is slowly drained out, but a well crafted masterpiece operates in the opposite way. Such artifacts grow in might as the spells contained within continue to accumulate power through the years. All the more so when they are wielded by strong individuals who often commune with their artifacts and form bonds that last a lifetime. Most legendary artifacts must go through a long process during which they continue to be tempered by the power of their users, slowly gaining a unique imprint, or identity. In time, this becomes a singular entity contained within the sword. That’s the artifact’s spirit. It is not fully sentient, but it possesses enough power and autonomy that they greatly increase the power of the artifact. To wield such an artifact, however, first you must meet its requirements and receive its acknowledgement as its master.

“And that’s the little sucker that just stung the shit out of my hand?” I growled.

“Yep, pretty much.”

Damn piece of crap. As soon as I got out I would take the time to hike my butt all the way up the nearest volcano and toss the damn thing, and good riddance! Here I was, surrounded by artifacts of power so great they’d spawned their own artifact spirits, yet I couldn’t use a single one.

Well, that’s not true. The one thing I had been able to salvage from the whole pile had been a pair of Arielen Shrine Stewardship Ritual Robes. Robes, god damn it. I hate robes. In fact, I refused to wear the only protective armor I could equip from this whole useless pile because it made me look stupid, and how the hell was I supposed to move in the bulky piece of trash anyhow? No matter that they glittered with runes of power woven into the very fabric of the robes, which felt like some sort of metal composite. Shia had later explained these were magical robes woven from mythril threads, used to protect virgin maidens as they trekked through the Darkwoods in a pilgrimage to their holy shrine. It explained why it had no level or stat requirements, but ritual robes meant for virgin maidens, really?

Wear a damn dress at my age? Hell. No. Not a chance.

“I think they’d look cute on you, mister,” Sol giggled from behind my back. “Very impressive, right Reaver?”

An overenthusiastic series of barks followed, and I wondered if it was too late to at least take the damn mutt back. Refunds should still be a thing, even in a game right?

“I'll shave all that useless fur and use it for padding Sol's bra unless you actually make yourself useful, you damn mutt. We'll see how impressive you look then, you bag of fleas,” I said testily.

“Geez, don’t be such a grouch, mister. What's a bra anyhow?”

“Soledad, you must attend me,” came Sharinne’s calm, level voice.

I turned around just as Sol was poking her tongue out towards my back, but I decided to take the high road and focus on more important matters. Such as burning these damn robes as soon as I got the chance. Was there anything like an incinerator around here, I wondered.

“Dad, what will we do?” came Shia’s quiet voice, clearly nervous. “Avernus is the Champion of the Infinite Arena and the Warrior Prime of the Infernum Hosts.”

Throwing my hands up, I snorted in disgust. “Alright, I’m sick of all the stupid title dropping. Can someone tell me exactly who this guy is?”

“He’s one of the most mysterious members of the New Gods and the Shadow Pantheon. Only bits and pieces of information exist even within the extensive archives of the Crimson Flame Clan. What information does exist, however, is terrifying. In the final tome of “Records of the Fall of the Last Great Empire’, it tells of an unknown god who felt slighted by the ruler of the Great Kartstein Empire and demanded the lives of all his offspring as a blood offering to atone for the offense. The Emperor refused and formed a great coalition to defend against this god’s wrath at his grand capital. The four greatest kingdoms of the continent gathered into a grand army more numerous than grains of sand. Legendary heroes and great generals all heeded the call to defend the cradle of civilization as they knew it.”

I twisted my mouth as a sour taste began to develop in my mouth.

“And what happened?”

“Day after day, year after year, the Empire fought and fought well. At great cost the grand army managed to hold back the minions of the unknown god. The towering ramparts of the Imperial Capital stood tall, defended by the greatest champions of the age. Spells of immense power wrought a great slaughter in the ranks of the servants of this god, halting their advance. Paid in blood and heroism, a long stalemate was reached. At the end of the eleventh year, it is said the unknown god deigned to return his regard to the foolish humans who had defied his will. Incensed that his edicts had not been carried out yet, he slew the generals of his own armies and left without a word as every citizen of the Empire rejoiced in their hard-won victory.”

Certain that this couldn’t be the end of the story, I squeezed my fists while I prepared myself for what would follow.

“The next day, a solitary figure walked to the gates of the Imperial Capital. These were his words: ‘Know that I am Avernus, Lord of the Infernum Hosts. Your valor earns you this right. I am Avernus, and your doom is nigh. Your insolence exacts this price.’ Without further word, this warrior unleashed power of a magnitude that beggared the defenders’ wildest fears. No sword nor spell could prevail against this indomitable foe, and all resistance proved futile as the most courageous champions of an age were slaughtered like pigs in a pen. Within the span of a single day, Avernus tore down the walls of the Capital and razed the grounds until only a desolate waste remained. Blood flowed in rivers and only eleven souls were left alive, one for each year of their puny resistance. This was the unknown god’s command, that these wretched remnants should serve as a lesson to the whole world, for gods do not suffer mortal insolence well, or at all.”

“Any chance these are merely stories?” Fat chance, but I had to try.

“That was only one of the more complete accounts, precisely because one of the survivors left a detailed record of the siege and ensuing massacre of the Karlstein Empire. In all the records I have available, I’ve been able to find 8 other incidents of similar or even greater scale, which can be attributed to Avernus with a 93.6% certainty. Another 23 mentions of increasingly dubious veracity exist, but setting issues of legitimacy aside, 166 incidents can be traced back to Avernus within the past millennia alone.”

Damn, so I’d just happened to attract the unwanted attention of a scary bastard who worked as supernatural muscle for the gods, butchering mortals left and right for at least the past thousand years?

And here I was stuck with some glorified dress meant for virgins out on a stroll through the woods and a fat lot of nothing else but guts and sheer power of will.

Aw hell, I’ll take those odds. Better than what I’ve gotten most of my life.

After all, he may be Avernum, Lord of the Infernum, Tyrant of the Chaos Gates, Warrior of the Hellhost and Champion of the Infinite Arena.

Pfft, big deal.

I am Seth the Godslayer, the Devourer of Souls and Wielder of the Primordial Soulfire, bitch. I’ll slam my hand down your throat and pull out your sissy ass soul to roast it to a cinder in within the unforgiving heat of my Soulfire. Then I would really get to work on you.

What I needed right now was time. Give me some time to catch my breath, and I would show that bastard just who’s the toughest kid on the block. Any block.

And you know what, I’m not very proud of it, but I had to admit that deep, deep down and after dealing with all this melodramatic crap, I was finally beginning to feel that familiar tingling of sheer joy and happiness.

Because really, I’m a simple man with simple tastes.

Many people have lofty goals, high ambitions. Their happiness hinges on so many variables, conditions and contingencies.

Me, just put a gun in my hand and clear the hell out. That’s all I ask, all I need.

I’ll take care of the rest.

Matching words to actions, I lifted my head towards the quiet depths of the Soul Gate.

“Shia.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s get daddy a nice, big fucking gun.”