Biracial Edgelord Can't Make Immortal : Power of Ten, Book Seven

Truth is a nasty awareness to have when people are trying subtle lies on you. The Soul Eater's earlier words of 'the Master' were a title. They had not been referring to this creature's mortal Summmoner.

My words were much clearer. I was not asking who 'the Master' was. I knew who Gulguz was. I was asking who it was, and who ITS master was.

I wanted to know who Gulguz was working with.

This swelling thing, bloated on stolen souls, powerful and mighty by the standards of the Pits and believing I was just another mortal who could not stand before it, couldn't keep its yap shut. "I am the mighty Teriflayer, the Maw of Oblivion, the Eternal Tormentor, Glutton of the Damned-"

"And daring to work on the Prime without the protection of an Immortal?" I interrupted it witheringly, ignoring their approach, which was slowing down more and more as my utter lack of concern incited fear to grow in their own hearts. "That fool of a fire-eater cannot be your protector. Who do you believe is going to save you when I destroy you, little Fiend?"

They paused a mere twenty yards away. Great roiling masses of flesh were condensing out of seething sinclouds, souls pressing against their hides from within, crocodilian faces with jaws that smiled impossibly appearing and vanishing, with massive clawed hands fading in and out that dripped energies that tore at the mind and soul.

None of which were any threat to me at all. They couldn't even touch me unless I attacked them first… and this place had no experience with true Holy magicks.

He chuckled with false confidence into my uncaring countenance. "Servant of another Immortal, are you?" the Fiend asked shrewdly.

Oh, if you only knew, I thought, unperturbed by the insinuation.

"Tremble in fear, then, mortal aspirant, because you have now run afoul of the wrath of Thanatos, Hierarch of Entropy, and the Eternal Doom of countless mortal heroes and civilizations!" he proclaimed loftily, watching me closely to test my response.

My thundering lack of reaction, even when the words aligned with Truth, didn't help matters.

"Oh, good," I replied acidly. "I was afraid I was dealing with Old Night or Tiamat or Orcus or someone actually dangerous."

The incredulous look on their faces were still there when my Thorns hit them. No more Casting, no more alarms, just release at basically point-blank range. I didn't even Chain them together, because they were juuuuust far enough apart that the Chains couldn't jump, and they had about a fifty percent chance of making the Save, even if I exerted power to boost it to nasty levels.

There was also nine points of Immortal Power attached to the spell, just so it would completely ignore their Anti-Magic Auras and any chance that mortal magic was minimized or ineffective against them… if Bane of Legends didn't take care of that little problem for me.

Well, it didn't matter. Paired Thorns with the Holy Metas powering them against Fiends were horrifyingly dangerous to them, what with all the Lethal Healing bonuses to damage adding to every Thorn, and the increasing crit chance and the like from using them in Weapon Mode.

Screaming Skulls with javelin-sized Thorns rode them right into their targets. Each of the four received ten Thorns each, and there was only hit or miss for every thought-guided missile, no Saves involved, so they didn't have a Damned chance.

Each impact blew through them, deleting their substance from existence as boosted Force energies filled with Disruption tore apart their matter on every level, and then Banefire had its field day as vivus started feasting on them.

They didn't scream, as all of their heads were targets, and all of them were missing them soon enough.

They fell out of the sky, but that was fine, as none of them lasted long enough to reach the ground. A torrent of freed souls, powered along by vivus ushering them to the next life, blew towards the stars above and vanished into astral space on the way, headed to whatever their true and proper destinations were supposed to be.

Soul Eaters weren't soul digesters, it seemed. Pity.

Gulguz and Thanatos. I would have to do more research about the latter, but like any sneaky death dealer, He preferred that such information on Him and His activities be hard to find. I'd seen some things on the cults He founded, which had a good habit of their sneaky subversive activities being uncovered and then destroyed, and a bad habit of bringing down entire nations and civilizations if they were not.

Back in my time/place, there were hints and allusions that He was involved in the destruction of the legendary nation of Sythia, a place destroyed so thoroughly that it was obvious to me that Immortal pains had been taken to wipe away its history, both physical and remembered. But that was all that was involved there, the least of rumors.

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I would have to find out more, and there were ways for me to do so.

I would have to take advantage of the fact that I could still travel in time… and I had actually dispatched Sims out there into the past of the main timeline who could do things for me back there, even if I couldn't step out and do them myself.

Whatever, these five of His servants had vanished utterly, He would doubtless be curious. Just how He would investigate would be interesting to consider, and if He dared to send an Avatar to find out that truth, that might be interesting, as well.

I had a feeling He was going to be a long-term enemy, because His name was known even four thousand years into the future I came from, so truly an Immortal enemy.

I might have to do something about that.

White and black vines fell out of the sky to the center of the town plaza in Recundrik, circled and cycled around and blossomed into a display of head-sized roses in ebon, milk-white, and blood-crimson. Vivus swirled and began to gather to the stand of them, ensuring that they weren't going to have any problems growing here… and none of the survivors below were going to have the nerve to do anything about them.

Which was good, as they'd be a great focus for Stillflight and Interdiction Wards. I'd have to contact Marius the Bronze and see about getting a set in place soon. Soul Eaters were nice fuel for such things.

Gulldeep and Fort Wainren still awaited my delicate attentions. Duum and I had already covered hundreds of miles today, and we weren't going to stop just because I had killed thousands of genocidal fanatics. If they received alerts and alarms about what was going on, they might institute a slaughter of all of their slaves and the surviving Elbers in the area.

I knew that when I committed to this course of action. The fate of the slaves down to the south and west would not be pretty when the Khirifi learned of what had been done here. Then again, their fate wasn't going to be pretty regardless, but at least the Khirifi wouldn't be able to exploit them if they gave the Elbers no other options.

Two more towns to clear, and probably a bunch of ships to sink, and then it would be time to rest… and take stock of a new reputation here in Darkmoor that would be very grim, indeed.

To the Khirifi, it was only going to get worse.

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The Ertobolle Clans. The Vikings of the North.

They were a tall people, and just like the Scandinavians of Terra, fair-skinned and haired, with an appetite for war, raiding, and the sea. They were promised a glorious afterlife in Vairholl if they died in battle, and so were unafraid to deal out violence in spades and endure the return of it.

There were about fifty of them, and they didn't look too happy at the moment. Three of their longships were completely ablaze, and a certain someone was standing on the docks before them, the city behind them, where all the Elbers were starting to gather with sharp implements and interesting expressions on their faces concerning the fates of these uncaring warriors who'd been happy to trade with their conquerors, and even feed the Khirifi more slaves for their bloody rituals.

"What do you want, elven witch?" growled the biggest and most scarred of the captains, obviously the one in charge. I could smell the Gray-Black bastard's fear, hear it in the voice that was trying not to break as he contemplated someone who could butcher a thousand Khirifi without apparent effort and bring down the lightning that had ravaged those longships from prow to keel without apparent effort.

Five Thorns from the great Black Roses about me slammed into his throat, shoulders, and hips, black Skulls shrieking in glee as they pounded into him. All five limbs blew off of him and his bloody corpse was blown back into his men, crimson gouting from it.

"I am the Lady Edge." There was a wet crunching and squelching as very red Roses burrowed out of the stumps and orifices of his corpse, growing with unnatural speed and vigor as the cursing Ertobolles backed away, making signs against evil…

Because the Roses were screaming softly in the captain's voice, his head and limbs already devoured by vivic fire.

"You might have realized that the people behind you are very interested in adding your heads to those of your business partners, brigands. You're quite the experienced crews, and you deserve every bit of what they are going to do to you, as I'm sure you all realize." My words were as cold and cutting as the winter they so respected, and they all grimaced at the Truth in them, their eyes flickering to the softly wailing Roses growing thickly over the carcass of their toughest man.

"The men of the true North do not fear death!" spoke up a grizzled one-eyed fellow.

"Oh? Because of that little promise of the feasting in Vairholl after death, elder?" I asked him mildly, undeterred by his defiance. "Does your little captain there sound like he's in Vairholl, graybeard?"

His zealous expression slipped just a little.

"Yes, that's right. Any deaths to me are not deaths in battle. I will feed you to the Land and you get to experience reincarnation as fertilizer to my pretty flowers, while your skulls become my bootrest."

A polished white skull rolled across the wood of the docks, stopped turning as my black boot came down upon it firmly.

There were black Roses growing in its eyes, shot through with gray.

I could see the fight going out of them. No rewards in the afterlife for them!

"You lie!" the old man spat, and it rang so hollow he almost staggered and fell down at how empty his own words sounded.

"So, if you want a warrior's death, you're going to get on the ship behind me, and you're going to hunt down your fellow Ertobolles. If you don't slaughter twice your number in your own fellow reavers at sea, you will never set foot on shore again, and the sea, cold and dark and deep, will swallow you all.

"Your next lives will be as barnacles."

I stepped back as they all staggered at the Curse I had just pronounced upon them, especially the old man who I had just stripped of his connection to Grimr by reducing his Wisdom to 9 and thus rendering him unable to Cast Clerical spells.

"The Land includes the sea. Feed it well," I told them without emotion.

Duum grinned widely, his very red tongue curling in appreciation as he leered at them, then swatted out with his dewclaw casually, impaling the skull and dexterously dropping it into his saddlebags.

The Northmen blanched as they filed past me onto the gangplank leading to the only remaining longship. There'd be no shortage of rowers on this run, but my Curse lay heavy on them, and the Land and the Sea were waiting for them to fail as heartlessly as they'd raided others.

This was a cruel era, and the rudimentary Aysener Pantheon wasn't making things any easier…