DemiGodChapter 16 Betrayal
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Demigod Of WarChapter 55 free porn video
Day 225:
“That ... you ... you ... how? Goddamit!” John cursed, unable to explain.
“Your Task was your own.” The Patriarch admonished. “Not for any other to know. As you have finished the most difficult part, you are eligible for all three rewards. Are you prepared to select them now?”
John held up his other hand. “Just a moment.”
He turned around and closed his eyes.
Don’t kill him. Don’t even attack him. You have no idea what would happen if you did. Let it go. Something even the Patriarch didn’t expect happened to you. You’ll have to try and figure it out later.
He took deep, calming breaths until his heart rate settled and he no longer felt the need to kill the Vampyr.
“Okay,” he turned back, “let’s do this.”
“Many find the Task unsettling in the extreme.” The Patriarch informed him soothingly. “Most who qualify for all of the rewards have even stronger reactions than yours.”
Great. John mused. So it’s no big deal to me? That’s a good thing?
“Good to know.” He replied roughly. “What’re my choices?”
“Should you choose to accept an increase in a Perception trait, you may elect one of the following: Sight, Hearing, Smell, Taste, Touch, or Aura. As you’ve already taken a hearing increase, another is not recommended. And should you choose to accept an increase in a Physical trait, you may elect one of the following: Strength, Endurance, Speed, Agility, Dexterity, Fortitude, or Reserves. As you’ve also chosen Speed and Agility increases already, you’ll find taking one of those will again have a diminishing benefit.”
John blinked. “You’re being helpful.”
The Patriarch bowed. “My Master is impressed by your performance in the Task. Though she will not reveal what occurred, I feel her immense satisfaction. It prompts me to be ... more assistive.”
“Is fortitude my body’s ability to take damage?” John asked.
“It is your physiological toughness, yes. Is that what you wish?” The Patriarch confirmed.
John thought for another minute, then nodded. He was facing ever more dangerous enemies, and more urgently needed the ability to operate while wounded. He’d been doing just that for the past several months. What he wouldn’t give to run into a healer like Vasin! Or even one half as skilled.
“Yes.” He stated. “Fortitude.”
“Very well.” The Patriarch bowed his head.
Thick black air flowed from the dragon’s body to engulf John. It felt like he was being squeezed again, constricted into a wire-thin space before dissipating.
“Your tissues are now noticeably denser.” The Patriarch cautioned. “It may take you a few days for your speed and balance to return to normal.”
“Good to know, thanks.” John nodded.
“For your second reward,” the Patriarch continued, “you must choose an item from the following list: one-handed weapon, two-handed weapon, pole weapon, missile weapon, shield, helmet, cuirass, gauntlets, greaves, boots, tool, or other useful object. You will receive an item from that category that will fit your body, compliment your existing demonstrated abilities, and be proficiently usable immediately upon receipt.”
“I need a shield.” John told him.
“A wise choice.” The Patriarch complimented him.
The vamp paused, then pointed at the dragon’s skull. “My Master wishes you to place the gauntlet from the hand you’ll use the shield with into the mouth.”
John gave the Vampyr a strange look, but took off his left Valkyrie-given gauntlet and placed it inside the dragon’s cavernous head. The strange black cloud swirled for a minute before clearing.
John peered inside, then gave the Patriarch a confused look. “Nothing happened.”
“Pick it up.” The vamp insisted. “And examine it.”
When he did, John realized it was no longer the same gauntlet as before. It was slimmer, more flexible and had a shimmering black circle covering the back of it, from the knuckles to where the wrist began.
“Put it on, and think ‘shield’.” The Patriarch instructed.
John was amazed at how light it was as he pulled it over his fingers.
Shield.
In a blink, the circle expanded into an opaque disc, over two feet in diameter. His hand could feel the added dimensions, but experienced no increase in weight.
No shield.
The disc shrank back into his gauntlet just as quickly. He popped it out and back several times, experimentally before giving the Patriarch his attention.
“It’s called Still Life. Like the shield your female companion carries, it comes from a dragon’s scales. This one is from my Master and absorbs physical force easily, but is not as strong against some other types of energy, including powers wielded by those who’ve passed other Challenges. So, be wary.”
John smiled. “Now this is fantastic! Thank you!”
The vamp smiled a ghastly grin. “My Master also wishes you to know that if, in the future you obtain other gauntlets and wish to transfer the shield to them, your Technomancer companion is able to do so.”
John nodded thoughtfully. “Good to know, thanks again.”
The Patriarch returned his nod. “Now for the final reward. Which do you choose, the use of my Master’s power over death, or protection from its eventual embrace?”
John blinked. “Uh, what does that mean, ‘eventual embrace’?”
“Time marches inexorably onward, aging you, weakening you until your body fails.” The ugly smile returned. “My Master may postpone that eventual reckoning for a greatly lengthened natural lifespan.”
John’s eyebrows shot up. “How much longer?”
The vamp paused. “My Master indicates that in your case, due to your exemplary performance in the Task, what is normally squared will now be cubed. Your one-hundred-year expected lifetime will now be a million-year eon. Is this your wish?”
John picked his jaw up off the ground. “A million years? Hell yeah! Let’s do it!”
Another bowed head from the Patriarch, and the streaming black cloud engulfed him once more. This time it turned the air around him completely dark, and seemed to linger for a very long time before dissipating. Otherwise, he felt no different.
“Uh, that’s it?” He asked, hesitating.
“It is.” The Patriarch confirmed. “Your body now ages at a vastly reduced rate. May your life be filled with all manner of novel and exciting experiences.”
John looked around. “I take it that means we’re done?”
The vamp shrugged. “A moment more, if you’re willing.”
“Willing to do what?” John inquired.
“My Master believes you hold an incorrectly negative view of her, based on what others have described. Would you hear her story, from my lips?”
“All right. I’m all ears.” John leaned against the pole weapon he held.
“When my Master’s mother, the great Ky’ur imposed the Challenge Geas upon her children, each of them reacted to the duty with a different attitude. Many did all they could to thwart their mother’s purpose, forcing the matriarch dragon to deal with each directly.”
“She perceived that Amayru’s exploration of the Geas, it’s limits and requirements, was an attempt to break the compulsion. Her anger was terrible at the limits my Master went to in her search for understanding.”
“Using her control, Ky’ur wrapped my Master with ever more onerous commands and restrictions. But Amayru was not deterred, for she sought a fulfillment of what her mother wished, not an abandonment.”
“She struggled and tested the bonds with greater and greater vigor until she finally managed to trigger the extreme sanction. As her body died, she redirected the escaping life energy through the Geas. Doing so created a controlled ... weakness in the veil between the living and the dead. That is where my Master resides. Her connection to her body remains, extending through that opening, allowing her to impose the unique Task you just experienced. But also to return, if you possess the will and drive to do so.”
“You’re saying,” John interrupted incredulously, “that this was all planned?”
“I am.” The Patriarch affirmed. “My Master sought a way to make her mother’s plan more fruitful. You were examined by both, during the Task, were you not?”
John just gave him an ‘are you stupid’ look.
“Oh, of course.” The vamp chuckled. “But understand, you were stripped to your bare, true essence. I know not why that is important, but my Master believes it to be even more vital in your case.”
John snorted. “So, are you saying that when Typhon sent me halfway across the world, she was doing it to interfere with whatever their mother wants?”
The Patriarch shrugged. “My Master offers no explanation for her sister’s behavior. But asks if what happened to you was truly detrimental.”
John stood up straight. “What are you saying? That I’ve done two more Challenges, so I should just be grateful? My friends probably have no idea where I am, and even if they did, linking back up with me is going to take a long time.”
The Patriarch shook his head. “I do not know. I’m only relaying what my Master wishes me to. She supports what the Challenges, what this world was created for. And she offers the advice, that most of her sisters are equally as knowledgeable.”
“And you’re saying that purpose isn’t to help me out; that’s your point?” John growled.
The vamp spread its hands. “I have no knowledge regarding this world’s purpose. If you do, I would gladly welcome it and consider a boon owed in return.”
John shook his head sadly. “I ... am ... sorry.”
“I understand.” The vamp sounded like he really did. “I believe that our time is concluded then. When you wish to exit the Ziggurat, merely walk into the shadows and you’ll find yourself at the exit doorway. So long as you refrain from any further attacks on my minions, you’ll find that the undead denizens of this area are disinterested in you.”
“Thank you.” John bowed politely, gritting his teeth.
He marched off into the gloom.
It was only a few steps beyond the lit area when he found himself back at the doorway. Outside, the gorta guards were all acting normally. They didn’t so much as glance John’s way when he passed between the sentries bracketing the opening.
He looked around, but found no trace of his two Dwarf companions. After more than an hour of waiting, he tried to reenter so he could ask how long it would take for his friends to finish.
The gorta guards blocked his entry.
“Can you at least answer a question for me?” He demanded, exasperated.
Black vapor poured from one’s mouth. It formed a face that might’ve resembled the Patriarch, if John crossed and unfocused his eyes.
“Yes?” It whispered.
“Can you tell me where my companions, the two dwarves went? Or if they’re still in with you?” He asked reasonably.
“The Dwimar, Dulgan Fireshaper will exit within a short while.” The face replied. “As for the young Dvergyr, he will not return.”
“What? No!” John protested.
“Two out of three returning is exemplary.” The face informed him. “Be grateful your return journey will not be a lonely one.”
Then it blew away in the breeze.
John took a seat, leaning against the Ziggurat wall to wait with a sigh. Tears streamed down his face in memory of the barely adult Dwarf who’d not be returning with him.
Dulgan reappeared just under an hour later. The Dwimar marched over to John with a Cheshire grin plastered to his face. He stopped dead, the smile vanishing at John’s tears.
His voice broke. “Jashul?”
“Not coming back.” John confirmed sadly.
“Well, tha’ puts a damp’r en things.” Dulgan agreed, taking a seat beside him.
“Yeah.” John agreed. “This is why I think you should get yourself away from me as quickly as—p”
“Bah.” Dulgan interrupted him. “Shut it! I’ll no’ hear ‘nother word ‘bout it. Ye did all ye coul’ ta talk the boy outta comin’. He made ‘is choice, an’ now mus’ ‘cept the result.”
“And what about you?” John pressed.
Dulgan grinned again, tapping his chest with his false hand. John leaned over to examine it.
“Ya like?” Dulgan held it out like a woman showing off an engagement ring.
“Is it... ?”
“My reward.” The Dwimar confirmed. “Tha’ Vampyr said ‘is Master was mos’ ‘mpressed with my work’ship.”
“What does it do?” John asked excitedly. “If they upgrade you, it’s usually something really great.”
“‘Ndeed it does.” Dulgan admitted. He pointed at the pole ax leaning beside John. “Tha’ one o’ theirs?”
“Yeah, why?” John acknowledged.
“Give it ‘ere.” Dulgan motioned. “An’ wait.”
The Dwarf pulled his boot off, exposing his false, dragon-rewarded foot. He crossed his short legs, with the metal foot resting on top. Then he dragged the weapon over, laying it across his lap with the pointed tip resting in the curve of his instep.
Agonizingly slowly, carefully the master craftsman used his new, improved forefinger to carve runes into the metal head. It took him a couple hours, while John Looked on in amazement as the Dwimar covered nearly every available inch of the metal, and continued halfway down the wood shaft.
When he’d finished ‘writing’, Dulgan closed his eyes and sandwiched the weapon between his foot and hand. After a moment, the wood carvings darkened, ascending the pole like a thermometer rising. Then each metal rune glowed in John’s Sight sequentially until all were lit.
The crafter sighed. “‘Tis done. I’ve ne’er had ‘n easier time o’ it. This hand is e’en more po’erful than I thought.”
With a tired sigh, he handed the weapon back to John. “Woul’ be more po’erful if’n I’d done it righ’ after the forging, but ‘tis still a good weapon. I name it ‘Warlord’s Long Arm’. No’ my mos’ creative, bu’ it’ll do.”
“What does it do now?” John asked, clutching the haft with excitement.
The Dwimar traced the runes adorning the wood and their unbroken line up the metal tube. Those melded the two dissimilar materials into one, letting the steel flex almost like it was spring-tempered and giving the wood far greater tensile strength. Armor piercing runes decorated the spike tip, giving the wielder an easier time puncturing textile or woven fiber armor.
The Dwarf explained that predominantly metal armor was almost unheard of, due to its ease for conducting heat and electricity, the two most common offensive powers among Challengers. No one wanted to be cooked, or fried alive while trapped in their own protection.
The ax blade and spike opposite it had a vibratory ability, useful for disarming opponents, and for increasing the severity of wounds inflicted. Before they camped for the night, there in the shade of the Ziggurat, John soul-bound his new weapon.
For the first time since getting exiled from Typhon’s island, John felt like he might have a fighting chance to rejoin his friends.
Day 235:
Ten days later the road-weary pair strode out of the swamplands and across the sandy fields to a tiny Djinn town called Southern Oasis. The place was remote enough not to require a wall, though the exterior perimeter buildings all had thick walls, and doors that only opened into the town interior. The whole place was a pale tan color, blocky and drab. Window openings were covered with dusty woven curtains, tacked down against the wind. The entire cluster consisted of three concentric rings around a walled-in water source in the center.
John also got his first glimpse of a Djinn itself. Pale, blue-skinned, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted humanoids, most only came up to John’s shoulder in height. White or black-colored top-knots and narrow, oil-groomed beards were the norm. The town guards who patrolled wore silver-fringed, purple turbans as a sign of their position. The one thing John found odd about their appearance was the tiny, almost vestigial ears each possessed. That probably explained their penchant for speaking as loudly as possible. The entire place rang with an overlapping cacophony of overbearing greetings and bellowed conversations.
Though the local Djinn ruler controlled all the trade towns in an arc between the desert tribes and the Dwarven clandoms, he let both sides come and go freely from the villages. What few guards there were patrolled unhurriedly, preferring to let minor squabbles work themselves out before stepping in. According to Dulgan, so long as merchants paid the weekly tax, and no one stole any of the water, everyone was left to their own devices. As a result of this policy, neither Dwarven delegations nor tribesmen wandered around in groups smaller than a well-armed four. False smiles, overt politeness, and hands resting on sheathed daggers were the norm.
“Jus’ don’ get inta a squabble wi’ a Djinn.” Dulgan warned. “The guards don’ loo’ kindly ‘n those who do.”
The mismatched pair drew immediate attention from all camps. The few Dwarves who recognized the famous Ironhand quickly spread word of their arrival, and Dulgan’s presence became a source of intense speculation. The fact that an obvious Fey Nord warrior traveled with the famous Dwimar only fueled the gossip further.
Noting their direction of travel as they approached, many Nomad and Be’d’yin guides offered to show them the way to other locations around the Endless Sands.
Though none mentioned a pyramid.
“W’ jus’ wan’ a place ta ea’ an’ drin’ an’ bathe, if’n ya please.” Dulgan repeated, his accent getting worse as his irritated wave dismissed yet another offer.
Many of the entreaties were in languages that John didn’t know, so it was easy to scowl and affect menacing unconcern. Probably the only reason he wasn’t being cursed to his face was because nobody was sure which languages Dulgan knew.
They found an inn on the innermost ring, which had a covered seating area overlooking the oasis itself. A large delegation from one of the more prosperous Dvergyr clans was staying there. Their leader, Thanoon Silverbraid knew Dulgan on sight, and after catching a sight of the famous Dwarf’s grubby appearance, he wouldn’t hear of the crafter and his ‘bodyguard’ staying anywhere else.
“No way you’re goin’ elsewhere!” Thanoon proclaimed. “We do much trade wi’ yer clan. Best enchanted goods south of the Sands.”
He patted a jewel-pommeled dagger tucked into his belt, for emphasis.
The boisterous group toasted the dusty pair, then let them go bathe before returning to share a meal. By the time both John and Dulgan were clean and had plates piled high in front of them, the Dvergyr traders were well on their way to being drunk as ... well, dwarves.
The two companions relished their first non-trail-ration meal in weeks. A joyous mood infected the group, and their easy laughter put the duo at ease. Dulgan was liberally peppered with questions regarding all manner of his craft, travels or news from the Vampyri area. He mentioned the vamp ‘embassy’ briefly, but the other Dwarves all jeered at the thought of even entertaining ‘those nasty blood-sucking slavers’.
At least Jashul won’t be party to that. John mused silently.
He was brave, but foolish. Duin agreed, while the others stayed silent on the topic.
The Dwimar was a good sport for a while, but kept eyeing the silent John as the soldier packed away his second plate of food while Dulgan’s first was only partly touched. With what John now recognized as a sly grin, his friend tossed John into the fire.
“John ‘ere u’sta’be a prisoner o’ the Mage King. ‘E was there when the King tossed the lightning bolt halfway across the plains.”
Seventeen pairs of eyes, including Thanoon silently swiveled in unison to regard the chomping warrior. John pretended not to notice.
“‘S’it true?” One demanded, finally.
John finished his bite. “I wouldn’t say ‘halfway across the plains,’ but it was a fair distance. Wide as this table is long, too. I’ll admit, it gave me quite a fright.”
Heads nodded soberly in agreement. Though none harbored any affection for the Mage King, they all feared his growing power and expanding territory. After a little begging, John agreed to tell the story. He selected finishing the Ruby Dragon’s Challenge as his start point.
Oceana
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