Ogre Tyrant

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 73 - Within and without - Part One

Staring at my Status information, I was having difficulty understanding how it could have changed so drastically and in such a short period. There was nothing new, but the values relating to my Affinities and Chi had increased dramatically.

[Tim - Lake Ogre-Mage {Monarch} ] [Chi: 37*/37* {Water, Earth, Fire, Thunder, Wood, Death, Space} ]

[Class: None.]

[Party: Tim’s Party] [Lash’s Mate]

[Bloodline: {Tyrant 3} +1 Willpower.] [Bloodline Progeny: Pete, Suzy.]

[Cultivation Inheritance: {Tyrant’s Body} ]

[Strength: 25* ]

[Agility: 10 ]

[Toughness: 29* ]

[Intelligence: 12 ]

[Willpower: 18* (19*) ]

[Presence: 8* ]

[ (Racial Ability: Eternal Tao {Rank 37}): Through meditation the Taoist becomes a receptacle for universal energy. Through shedding imperfections and gaining insight into the true nature of being, the Taoist gains mastery over existence. ]

[ (Racial Ability: Affinity of Water {Rank 8}): The soul of the Taoist is one with the waters of life and may draw upon its essence through meditation and a deeper understanding of the Tao. ]

[ (Racial Ability: Affinity of Earth {Rank 6}): The soul of the Taoist is one with the indomitable earth and may draw upon its essence through meditation and a deeper understanding of the Tao. ]

[ (Racial Ability: Affinity of Fire {Rank 1}): The soul of the Taoist is one with the flames of destruction and may draw upon its essence through meditation and a deeper understanding of the Tao. ]

[ (Racial Ability: Affinity of Thunder {Rank 13}): The soul of the Taoist is one with the tumultuous thunder and may draw upon its essence through meditation and a deeper understanding of the Tao. ]

[ (Racial Ability: Affinity of Wood {Rank 2}): The soul of the Taoist is one with the seeds of nature and may draw upon its essence through meditation and a deeper understanding of the Tao. ]

[ (Racial Ability: Affinity of Death {Rank 5}): The soul of the Taoist is one with the inevitability of death and may draw upon its essence through meditation and a deeper understanding of the Tao. ]

[ (Racial Ability: Affinity of Space {Rank 10}): The soul of the Taoist is one with the ether of dimensions and may draw upon its essence through meditation and a deeper understanding of the Tao. ]

[Group Synergies: {Hide/Expand}]

Scanning the information over and over again, I only became more confused.

According to the books, Affinities were only meant to increase in rank when exposed to high concentrations of raw energy containing that same Affinity. However, except for the lightning, which I was still not entirely convinced had been a Tribulation, I hadn’t been exposed to any Affinity-rich energy besides...my own magic.

The presence of the Fire Affinity clinched it. All of my Affinities were somehow derived from the Spells I could cast. It was difficult to accept the possibility that casting those Spells would somehow increase their related Affinities, but I had no other way of explaining what had happened.

And Lurr...I still didn’t know what to think.

I wouldn’t know the extent of the damage or any potential changes until he regained consciousness. Assuming there were any changes to be found at all.

“My Tyrant...” Gric had appeared without my noticing and I was concerned to discover his left arm was still hanging limp at his side.

“You’re injured,” I observed aloud, too tired to care that he would certainly have been aware of that particular fact.

Gric nodded and shrugged somewhat indifferently. “I will heal,” he declared with unshakable confidence.

“Wait...” Something didn’t quite fit. “You arrived injured...and so did Ophelia...”

I felt a sinking feeling in my gut as my subconscious pieced things together.

“You were projections...It shouldn’t have been able to hurt you...” It was the reason I had allowed them to rush ahead, to take risks...Because I thought their true selves would be safe...

“The Spirit’s attacks persisted through the termination of our Summoned projections,” Gric admitted obediently. “In time, our injuries will heal...” A trace of uncertainty in his voice ran contrary to his words and gave me cause for concern.

Extending my senses toward Gric’s arm, I very nearly recoiled in fear and disgust upon making contact with the entropic energies raging within. Gric seemed to have it contained, but I couldn’t believe he would be able to drive the energies out on his own.

It came as an even greater source of surprise and disgust that I could feel the energies being drawn toward me. Like tendrils of a sickly leviathan, the entropic energies bled out of Gric’s arm and trailed through the air toward my body.

Despite my revulsion, I maintained my concentration. It was my fault that Gric had been infected in the first place. So purging the infection from his body was also my responsibility.

Contrary to my expectations, as the tendrils of entropy touched my skin, I only felt a mild decrease in ambient temperature. The energies drawn into my body were swept toward my abdomen and disappeared.

After ten minutes of intense concentration, the final traces of entropic energies were removed from Gric’s arm.

“Thank you, my Tyrant,” Gric bowed low on one knee.

“Send for Ophelia,” I ordered, suppressing my discomfort. “I will be waiting by the lakeside.”

“As you command, my Tyrant,” Gric replied before abruptly disappearing through the use of my authority.

After scanning Lurr and confirming there were no signs of the entropic energies, I used my authority to return to the lakeside.

Investigating the site of Lurr’s resurrection, I quickly realised that I had been wrong in assuming the lightning was mundane in nature. Without even trying, I could feel the Thunder energy radiating from the scorched earth.

Assuming a meditation stance, I drew the energies into my body. As the energy made contact with my skin, small sparks skittered up and down my arms, releasing the faint but otherwise unmistakable acrid smell of ozone. However, unlike Gric’s arm, the earth refused to surrender the final vestiges of the energy contained within. Furthermore, the remaining Thunder energy seemed to be replenishing itself. Albeit at an incredibly slow rate.

Born aloft by wings of shimmering copper light, Ophelia made no attempts at masking her approach from her home above the centre of the lake. Stripped down to her civilian attire, Ophelia clutched at her side with one arm and wore a mask of grim acceptance. As she drew closer, the ashen hue of her skin became unmistakable.

Despite her pain, Ophelia dismissed her wings and prepared to kneel.

Catching Ophelia beneath the arms with one hand, I was able to support her entire body weight without conscious effort. “Show me,” I commanded, nodding toward her midsection.

Ophelia averted her eyes and silently lifted her tunic just high enough to reveal two long black welts that circled her hip and ran across her abdomen. The blackened skin was cracked and weeping discoloured pus.

Probing Ophelia’s body with my heightened senses, I began actively drawing the Death energy out of her wounds.

Gasping in relief or pain, it was difficult to tell which, Ophelia stiffened in my grasp. However, she made no attempts to shy away or escape.

Inch by inch, the black stain in Ophelia’s flesh receded, leaving ragged and raw inflammation in its wake. However, with the Death energy removed from her wounds, the infection began to recede and the inflamed flesh slowly began knitting itself back together.

After the last of the Death energy was drawn out of her body, I gently set Ophelia down on her own two feet.

Although somewhat unsteady and still quite pale, Ophelia’s eyes shone brightly with gratitude. “My thanks, Tyrant!” Her wings flashed into being once more and she leapt into the air, throwing her arms around my neck and drawing herself into a tight embrace.

“It’s nothing,” I deflected somewhat awkwardly and gingerly patted her back. “It’s the least I could do.”

Ophelia maintained the embrace for a few moments longer and then pulled away. “I will remember your kindness,” she promised and then slowly began making her way back to her home in the willow trees at the centre of the lake.

Watching Ophelia go, something stirred in the dark corners of my mind. I felt an unexplainable pang of irritation.

How dare she express such familiarity! And of course, she should remember his magnanimity!

Just as quickly as the thoughts had asserted themselves, they disappeared. Leaving me deeply concerned.

Reviewing my Status again, I discovered my Thunder and Death Affinities had both increased by several ranks since I had last checked. Achieving the seventeenth and ninth rank respectively. Even my Chi had increased by one point.

Slowly walking along the lakeshore in the moonlight, movement in my peripheral vision drew my attention toward the surface of the lake. However, besides my reflection and the ripples caused by my heavy steps, I saw no other signs of movement.

Shaking my head to try and clear my thoughts, I turned away and continued my walk.

Unwilling to return to my bed until my thoughts were fully accounted for, I spent the remainder of the night silently patrolling the lakeshore in the rain.

By the time the sun began peeking over the treeline, I was convinced I understood the cause for the increasingly intrusive thoughts and emotional instability.

Heart Demons.

While my active Cultivation efforts were pathetic to the point of being almost non-existent, using magic had somehow caused my Chi to grow by leaps and bounds. Poisoning my mind in the process.

If the Heart Demons were not purged, I would only grow increasingly unstable over time.

Even after purging the Heart Demons, I would need to repeat the process regularly to prevent them from influencing my thoughts and emotional state.

Having identified the problem, I now had to make preparations for the treatment.

Yi Gim had provided written instructions for the ritual. However, material components, such as the incense sticks, or the meditation shrine, were not something I had on hand.

At my request, Gric saw to the construction of the meditation shrine, while Sebet assisted Jin the Alchemist in sourcing medicinal herbs for the incense sticks from the territories acquired from Yi Gim.

For the sake of safety, the shrine was built in an isolated territory that could only be accessed with my authority.

The book had been incredibly clear on the dangers presented by purging what it referred to as mature Heart Demons. Not only a danger to Cultivators themself, the manifestations of the Heart Demons would lash out at any target that presented themselves.

Capable of taking just about any form someone could imagine, the Heart Demons would also possess just as much Cultivation and all of the Techniques of the Cultivator that created them.

I had no Techniques for the Heart Demons to make use of, but I had concerns that they would have just as much access to my Spells and other Abilities. Which, of course, the book couldn’t confirm or deny, given my situation was altogether unique.

While overseeing Gric’s construction of the shrine, I received a notification informing me of Lurr’s recruitment. I hadn’t doubted he would do so, but I felt a mild sense of relief after reading the confirmation. It was a vote of confidence I wasn’t sure I deserved, especially considering how Lurr had died.

Watching Gric carve the symbols into the jade floor, I was reminded of my poor stone carving skills. Even with a diagram to follow, and using the power of my mind, the results were pretty terrible. At least, they were when writing with characters I wasn’t familiar with.

I had no problems carving English words and sentences, and could even embellish things somewhat without compromising quality. However, using the English translations seemed weird in a way I couldn’t explain.

So far as I was aware, the language the words were written in didn’t matter. The fact that I possessed several diagrams for the same Inscription in two different languages was proof enough in that regard. However, there was a certain mysticism in using the ancient alphabet of a foreign culture. An invitation and expectation of nuance and meaning beyond the literal translation that added a certain value.

The words generally looked nicer as well, lending themselves more readily to Gric’s aesthetic tastes.

Of course, Gric could only carve the characters. He had no Chi with which to imbue them with power and bind them to a greater purpose.

Following the translated instructions as best I could manage, I spent the entire day draining my Chi into the dormant Arrays.

In every sense, the defensive Arrays would turn the shrine into a prison once they were activated. Intended to prevent corrupted Cultivators from running loose under the influence of their Heart Demons, the Arrays would not only prevent the Cultivator from escaping but would draw upon the Cultivator’s Chi to subsidise their activities.

In other circumstances, I would have asked for a volunteer to test the shrine and its Arrays before considering using it myself. However, my role in Lurr’s death still weighed heavily on my mind, and I couldn’t stand the thought of sending someone else to die for my own sake.

Of course, I had concerns that the Arrays might fail, but I had no other means of recourse. Waiting for one of my subjects to reach a sufficient level of strength and competency to create and power the Arrays on my behalf was unacceptable. I had no way of knowing how much the Heart Demons had influenced my mind already, and waiting would only see things grow worse.

I needed to make sure my mind was my own. Any degree of subversion or manipulation, no matter how minor, posed a threat to every man, woman and child under my protection.

Gric briefly disappeared and reappeared again moments later, holding a large box that smelled strongly of myrrh. A smell I only recognised thanks to visiting a high-budget Christmas nativity display hosted by a nearby church in my early teens.

Inspecting the contents of the box, I found more or less what I had expected. There was a large stack of thin wooden sticks coated in the dried granulated tree sap, approximating what I assumed were intended to serve as incense sticks. Provided they worked, I didn’t really care about their questionable appearance.

The fact that Jin had known what I wanted, and had succeeded to any meaningful degree at all was worth seeing him rewarded. Assuming I survived, I would do exactly that.

Without needing to be asked, Gric began setting the incense sticks into small holes set into the pillars ringing the central meditation circle of the shrine. Scorching the tips between his fingers to set them smouldering and gradually build a thin cloud of smoke within the shrine.

The ritual’s instructions had called for five sticks of incense for an adult. So Gric set out roughly forty-seven of them. He probably would have set out more, but there weren’t any left in the box. Given the stakes involved, I couldn’t blame Gric for erring on the side of caution.

Having fulfilled his duties, Gric left the shrine and assumed a vigil outside.

Settling into a meditative pose that matched the diagram, I took my time to try and clear my mind of unnecessary thoughts. However, the longer I breathed in the smoke, the more agitated I became.

A sudden surge of nausea left me clammy with sweat, dry retching and clutching at my gut.

No longer sitting, I was on my hands and knees, panting in pain as the nausea continued growing in intensity and urgency.

Without my consent, my stomach heaved and a torrent of thick foul black ichor spewed out over my teeth and lips and onto the floor. Unable to breathe, it was all I could manage to keep my arms straight and keep my face out of the slowly rising pool of foulness below me.

As the flow began to ebb, it left a deep raw pain in its wake. As if the foul ichor had ripped out the protective lining of my stomach and oesophagus.

Shakily pulling back and settling onto my haunches, I took several ragged gasps to try and stop my vision from spinning.

“Pathetic!” A familiar deep booming voice hissed contemptuously.

Raising my head I found myself staring at a large pair of muscular legs the size of tree trunks.

Without warning, a foot snapped out of the ichor covering the floor and smashed into my chin, sending me reeling backward and foundering in the foulness beneath me.

“Get up! Fight!” The voice demanded. “Stop cowering like a child!”

Searching for the source of the voice, the breath caught in my throat as my eyes settled on a face I knew only too well. I had seen it staring back at me thousands of times before. It was my own reflection.

Bristling with barely restrained rage, my reflection glared down at me with an expression of irreconcilable disgust and contempt. “It’s all your fault!” He growled angrily, “It's always been your fault!” My reflection clenched his right fist and lashed out at a nearby pillar, shattering the jade with effortless ease and sending splinters flying in all directions. “You’re a coward!” He snarled bitterly, stabbing an accusing finger down at my chest. “It’s your fault they died!”

Repressed memories were torn free of their restraints and flooded my mind. Broken bodies, discarded and left to rot in the sun. Impaled on pikes, limbs torn from their bodies, heads dashed apart...

The faces of children imprisoned underground. Their pale lifeless bodies stacked like firewood...

“YOUR FAULT!!!” The voice repeated. “YOU HAD THE STRENGTH TO SAVE THEM!!! AND YOU DIDN’T!!! YOU’RE A FUCKING COWARD!!!”

Staggering to my feet, I faced my reflection and opened my mouth to argue, but the words refused to shape. Deep down, I knew he was right.

Too often, I had disguised my cowardice as indecision or caution when presented with danger.

In this world, I was a living tank. The number of enemies that had proven capable of harming me, let alone presenting a credible threat, could be counted on both hands.

If I had chosen to act sooner, how many lives could I have saved?

Without warning, the right fist of my reflection crashed into my left cheek and sent me stumbling into the wall.

“COWARD!!!” My reflection roared, raising both fists with violent intentions and stalking after me. “FIGHT!!!” He demanded, throwing a left hook at my head.

Barely raising my arm in time to block the blow, I staggered and nearly lost my footing as the ichor shifted beneath my feet.

“FIGHT!!! FIGHT!!! FIGHT!!!” My reflection repeated, throwing three more punches in rapid succession.

Rattled and off balance, I threw a blind punch and made a breakaway from the wall.

I caught a vicious kick to the gut instead and was thrown face-down into the ichor. Before I could regain my bearings, I was caught about the neck and dragged back out again.

“DON’T YOU DARE TRY TO RUN!!!” My reflection snarled, punctuating its point by smashing my head into the wall. “YOU DON’T HAVE THAT CHOICE ANYMORE!!!” He drove my head into the wall again and I felt the jade fracture. “YOU FIGHT!!! OR!!! YOU!!! DIE!!!” He punctuated each word by crashing my head into the wall over and over again, breaking through the jade with the final blow and releasing my neck.

Groggily pulling my head from the wall, I tried to get to my feet but staggered and nearly collapsed before grabbing hold of a nearby pillar for support.

“SO WEAK!!!” My reflection howled in frustration, tearing at his scalp with his clawed fingers and drawing blood. He drew back his fist and prepared to throw another punch.

Pushing away from the pillar, I narrowly avoided my reflection’s strike.

The pillar was not so lucky.

With every instinct in my body screaming for me to fight or run, I threw another punch and struck my reflection in the lower back.

Acknowledging the blow with a grunt, my reflection rounded on me with a savage grin on his lips. Without saying another word, he slammed his fist into my face.

I felt the cartilage in my nose give way and collapse under the force of the blow but took the hit as best as I could manage. Rolling his fist to one side, I boxed his left ear with a right hook.

I felt an immense degree of satisfaction as my reflection stumbled and collapsed into the ichor. Unfortunately, he was up and on his feet less than a second later, teeth bared in savage glee.

“YES!!! YES!!! FIGHT!!!” My reflection roared, spraying ichor in all directions as he launched himself forward and caught me about the waist.

I failed at his back with my fists and elbows but had the air crushed from my lungs as he slammed me into another wall.

Momentarily stunned, I continued striking at his back, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.

Pivoting hard, he lifted my feet off the ground and smashed the back of my head into another pillar. “YOU BETTER GET READY TO DIE!!!” My reflection roared with joy, releasing me and allowing the remaining momentum to send me face-first into yet another pillar.

The vision in my right eye turned blood red and was growing darker with every passing moment. Ignoring the pain, I forced myself to my feet. Reaching for my magic, I suppressed the urge to panic when my efforts came up empty.

“Uh uh uh!” My reflection waved his finger reproachfully. “This is between us!” He cackled, stretching his neck and releasing an unhealthy crunching cracking sound. “And if you want to beat me, you better be ready to kill!” He snarled with a demented smile and lunged for another attack.

Broken, bruised and abused, I felt a fresh wave of anger flood new strength throughout my body. With a savage snarl on my lips, I ducked under my reflection’s lunging strike and hammered my left fist into his right kidney.

Still smiling, my reflection staggered, “YESSSS!!!” He howled.

Refusing to lose the initiative, and unable to stop myself even if I wanted to, Adrenaline drove me forward. I threw one punch after another in rapid succession, not even taking time to aim.

Driving my reflection to the ground, I screamed in fury and hammered his chest like a savage ape. With each blow, I felt the blood in my veins burn hotter and push away the pain.

All the while, my reflection threw punches of his own, smiling and laughing as they bounced ineffectually off my shoulders and brow.

I could feel his ribs beginning to give out, cracking and snapping, being driven into his lungs and heart, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

As the blood haze lifted and the adrenaline began to ebb, I slowly regained control and bore witness to what I had done.

The torso of my reflection had been reduced to a mangled bloody mess, but he was somehow still alive.

“Fin...Ish...It!...” My reflection demanded, choking on his blood with each syllable. Still smiling all the while.

Revolted by my own actions, I hesitated.

“Be...Free!...” My reflection insisted, discharging another mouthful of blood in the process.

Reaching out with my right hand, I wrapped my fingers around his throat and began to squeeze.

“That’s...It!...” My reflection gasped. “No...No...Merssss-” With a smile on his bloody lips, the last flickering embers in his eyes died out and he grew limp.

I withdrew my hand and stared at it as if it were a poisonous snake. I hadn’t tightened my grip enough to cut off the blood flow, but I had still gone further than I had thought myself capable of. I had shown I was capable of it.

The body of my reflection dissolved beneath me, collapsing into the ichor covering the floor.

Ever so slowly, the ichor seeped through the jade floor and disappeared, leaving me utterly alone within the walls of the shrine.

After staring at the floor for what felt like hours I gingerly raised my head and was surprised to find that the interior of the shrine was intact. The pillars and walls damaged during the battle with my reflection were pristine and unmarked.

Stiffly rising to my feet and intending to investigate further, I nearly collapsed upon realising all of my injuries were gone as well.

Over several minutes, I slowly came to realise that everything I had experienced was probably just a hallucination. However, despite the lingering feelings of revulsion, I also felt more at ease. Which was difficult to reconcile, given the root cause for both states of being.

Leaving the shrine, I spared a few moments to reflect upon what had happened.

The book containing the ritual had been infuriatingly vague regarding the form the Heart Demons would take. However, the absence of the irreconcilable irritation and anger that had been building within my mind was convincing proof all on its own.

“It is done, my Tyrant?” Gric asked reservedly, perhaps having witnessed events through reading my mind.

“It is,” I replied quietly. “At least, for now.”

I would need to undertake regular meditation from now on. Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing how severe any future experiences would be in comparison. I would just have to wait and see.

“I want to see them.” I decided, postponing my return home so I could be certain I was fully in control. “Where are they?”

“The refugees are waiting in the foothold,” Gric replied obediently, no doubt having read my mind and anticipated the question in advance. “The Spirit waits alongside them,” he added with marked disdain.

“And my warriors?” I asked, choosing to ignore Gric’s enmity.

“Training against the wild monsters beyond the walls, my Tyrant,” Gric rolled his shoulders and looked uncomfortable.

“What is it?” I pressed, knowing that something had to be on his mind.

“I wish to lead an expedition,” Gric replied quietly. “To extend an offer of vassalage and protection to Talia’s people.”

Gric’s request caught me off guard and it took a few moments for me to adjust my thinking. “Her people are not Enslaved?”

“Many are,” Gric conceded, “However, after interviewing those you have liberated, I am confident that the majority of her people are either dead or engaged in a generational siege.”

I chose to ignore Gric’s indifference toward the two radically different states of being. “So, you know where they are then?”

Gric paused and considered the question for several seconds. “I know where they were,” he replied confidently.

“Which Labyrinth and floor?” I pressed, suspecting Gric was being altogether too literal in his answer.

“I am uncertain,” Gric admitted honestly. “However, the survival of Talia’s people, combined with knowledge of their Enslavement suggests it cannot be greater than the fiftieth floor.”

I sighed and had to remind myself that Gric had a radically different perception of danger than a regular person would have. Stronger enemies were seen as opportunities for Daemons, not danger. “Who do you intend on taking as part of your expedition?” I decided to just go with it and try to assess his plan on overall merit.

“I shall suffice,” Gric replied with absolute confidence. “I will Summon assistance if needed, but will cover more ground and without attracting notice if I am alone.”

I had to admit, he had a point.

“What will you do if you find them and they don’t want to leave?” I asked curiously.

Gric stared up at me with grim determination. “I will convince them.” His expression softened nearly imperceptibly. “A future beneath your rule is the only logical choice. An opportunity to live and grow, free of predation.” Gric paused and his expression hardened again. “I will convince them,” he repeated with absolute confidence.

“You have my permission.” I decided to place my trust in Gric. Despite his overt authoritarianism, I knew Gric wouldn’t cross certain lines without cause to do so.

In many respects, this would serve as a test. Not only of Gric’s ability to broker alliances but to prove my trust was well placed.

Despite his evident desire to leave on his expedition, Gric decided to accompany me back to the Hurst Labyrinth.

A reminder of his considerable restraint. Or at least, his ability to prioritise.

Using a Dimensional Breach, we arrived just outside of the Foothold gate.

To their credit, my thunder warriors stationed at the gate had their weapons readied and prepared to strike the moment I passed through the Breach. Better they were prepared than not.

The entirety of the Foothold behind them had been claimed by the refugees. Men, women and children took shelter wherever they could find it.

It was impossible not to recognise the fear and uncertainty on their faces, even if they were covered in fur.

Human in almost every respect, the refugees had large feline eyes, ears and tails as well as long teeth and hooked claws.

Hundreds of eyes watched my every movement, no doubt expecting trouble.

The tribe’s warriors, such as they were, formed a screening wall on either side of the street, serving as a living barrier. Many carried spears, although a handful also carried several javelins on their backs.

Looking to the rooftops, I wasn’t at all surprised to find a scattering of archers. However, despite their bows being strung, not a single one of them had an arrow ready at hand.

It was a smart play. Ensuring a show of force without the risks of overt provocation.

Even without my armour, I was confident that their spears, arrows and javelins wouldn’t do any good. My thick skin had been tested against sharpened steel and found them wanting. I had little to fear from mundane stone and wood.

A large tent made from Beast hides had been erected in the clearing near the portal, and a large if somewhat crude, wooden totem resembling a large predatory cat lay within.

A small cadre of the cat-people sat around the totem, none of which looked over twelve years old. I could only assume they were the tribe’s Apprentice Shamans. However, as I drew closer, I realised none of the young teens were aware of the Spirit in their midst.

Such as it was, the distinction didn’t seem like it would matter much longer. Just as Ophelia and Gric had been wounded, the Spirit was utterly savaged.

Black claw marks stained its hide and spectral flesh, and with each passing moment, the Spirit’s radiance grew dimmer and dimmer.

Without looking, I could feel Gric’s sense of smug satisfaction.

A wizened old woman was escorted out of the crowd by a pair of older female warriors. She spoke with a croaking gasp as if struggling for every breath. She was passionate and it became obvious that she was asking for my help. Even without understanding a single word she was saying, I could guess at her intentions.

“The tribe elder is begging for your protection, my Tyrant,” Gric paraphrased, almost certainly reading her mind to get at the message directly.

“I had assumed as much, but thank you Gric,” I replied appreciatively. There was no cause to be rude, he was just being helpful.

The Spirit weakly rose to its feet and began tottering towards us.

The elderly cat-woman followed my gaze and stared at the open ground in confusion, unable to see the guardian of their tribe drawing closer.

I recalled Gric and Sebet’s outrage and remembered the anger I felt upon learning that the Spirit had abandoned the fight.

Looking at the Spirit now, I felt nothing but pity. I knew better now and without the anger clouding my mind, I could clearly see that the Spirit had barely escaped the encounter intact.

The Spirit came up short, and with visible effort, settled on its haunches and craned its neck to try and meet my gaze.

“You want me to protect our people,” I guessed, testing the Spirit’s character.

“I do...” The Spirit replied in a hoarse whisper, its words marked by pain.

“There are no Shamans left in your tribe?” I pressed, wanting to confirm my suspicions.

“None...remain...” The Spirit echoed, slumping its shoulders in defeat. “Apprentices...Too young...” IT slowly nodded its head toward the teens meditating before the totem.

I squatted down and looked the Spirit straight in the eyes. “You abandoned my team,” I accused but withheld any semblance of malice.

“I...did...” The Spirit replied truthfully. “I regret...this...”

“Hindsight’s a bitch,” I agreed grimly and then let out a sigh. “You said you carry your people's history with you,” I prompted.

The Spirit stiffly nodded its head. It had begun to tremble and was no doubt in considerable pain.

I reached out and rested my hand on the Spirit’s back. “I’m not a cruel person,” I explained patiently, resisting the urge to grimace as I began drawing the Death energy out of the Spirit’s wounds. “I can understand why you bailed when you did, and if our places were reversed, maybe I would have done the same.”

The Spirit stiffened beneath my touch, its incorporeal body gaining something approximating a physical form.

“You? You are...helping me?...” The Spirit stared at its wounds in surprise.

The cat people cried out in surprise and alarm, spreading panic like wildfire.

Whatever I was doing appeared to have made the Spirit visible to those without spirit sight.

The withered old woman raised her arms high, with no small degree of effort and made a keening, wordless cry.

As one, the tribe fell silent.

The old woman, with the assistance of her two helpers, fell to her knees and bowed before the Spirit.

“The children...They...see me?” The Spirit was as surprised as I was.

Not sure what to say, I decided to just say nothing.

***** Gric ~ Tim’s Interdimensional Plane ~ Sanctuary *****

With the Tyrant’s business concluded, Gric briefly returned to Sanctuary just long enough to see Talia settled into her evening routine before leaving in pursuit of her family.

Despite the Tyrant’s concerns with relying on borrowed memories to provide reference points for the Dimension Breach Spell, Gric knew from experience that the Spell would work or fail outright.

Concentrating on Talia’s memory of the stone basement beneath the Foothold, Gric began feeding his MP to fuel the Spell. Although capable of distancing himself from the emotions attached to Talia’s memories, Gric felt that to do so would be akin to a betrayal of her trust.

As such, Gric allowed Talia’s fear and despair to pass through his mind without interference. Using it to focus his resolve.

Expending nearly half of his maximum MP to establish the Spatial Breach, Gric felt a pang of hesitation. However, it passed almost as quickly as it had arrived.

If the Tyrant needed him, Gric was certain the Tyrant would just Summon him.

Passing through the Breach, Gric was somewhat surprised to find signs of somewhat recent conflict.

Dried blood stained the walls, and the doors to iron cages were torn off of their hinges.

Following the blood trails upstairs, Gric concluded that several persons had been dragged back up the stairs after the conflict. However, it was unclear whose side they had been on.

Scratching a sample of the dried blood off the stone wall with one of his claws, Gric pressed the dried blood against his tongue and compared it to the records stored in his brain.

After a few seconds of analysis and comparison, Gric was certain the blood was human. The revelation was accompanied by a certain degree of subconscious approval that Gric found somewhat confusing.

While he would prefer events unfolded in such a way that Variants were not harmed, the visceral sense of satisfaction attached to learning that humans had been injured was something else.

Studying his thought processes, Gric concluded that his coupling with Talia had generated a not insignificant bias against the humans of the outside world.

Setting his personal discoveries aside, Gric slowly ascended the stairs and spared a moment to appreciate the broken door hanging off a single mangled hinge. The room beyond the door had more dried blood. Except this time the majority was staining the walls rather than the floor.

Investigating the bloodstains, Gric found arrowheads and broken shafts stuck in the walls. Tearing apart a small section of a wall to withdraw an arrowhead, Gric was intrigued to find the arrowhead was carved from hardened bone.

Pocketing the arrowhead, Gric left the building and found himself staring at the blackened remains of the Foothold walls. Several of the buildings bore scorch marks and had lost their wooden roofs, but the foothold’s wall had been burned to the ground.

Casting his consciousness outward, Gric felt a dozen lesser minds in his general vicinity, but they belonged to wild Beasts and were of little interest.

Gric spared a few seconds to create a Ward and then began retracing the steps of Talia’s Enslavement. As her memories of the event were...scattered and not otherwise entirely reliable, Gric expected to backtrack several times during his pursuit.

Walking into the dark underbrush of the surrounding forest, Gric discovered trace amounts of human blood that seemed to more or less follow his intended course. However, after following the trail for the better part of three hours, the paths diverged.

Presented with a choice, Gric decided to follow the blood. If Talia’s people were alive, and still fighting, then it stood to reason that they would be the ones taking the humans prisoner.

A mere handful of minutes after following his new path, Gric became aware of a small group of humanoid beings of higher intelligence watching him from a distance. Cloaked and hidden as they were, Gric could not make out their Species but was otherwise certain they weren’t human.

They were far too sure of their movements and intimately familiar with the terrain. A lesser being wouldn’t have noticed them at all.

Unfortunately, his stalkers also possessed abnormally robust mental defences. So any attempt at rifling through their memories would alert them to his presence within their minds.

Instead, Gric decided to provoke a confrontation by walking slower and feigning fatigue.

Just as he had expected, his shadows began closing the distance between them.

Suppressing his instincts, Gric allowed the fast-moving projectile to race between his legs and strike the ground in front of his feet.

interpreting the arrow as a form of warning, Gric came to a stop and waited for his pursuers to reveal themselves.

Sure enough, three cloaked and hooded figures emerged from the shadows of the surrounding forest, weapons drawn and prepared to fight

Although Gric’s current appearance somewhat resembles several of the Elven SubSpecies, he knew that a true member of the Species wouldn’t be fooled. As such, he made no attempts at passing himself off as someone he was not.

Instead, Gric opted for a more direct approach. “I carry no weapons, and I hold no ill intent,” he stated calmly in the tongue of Talia’s people.

The cloaked figures froze, turning their hoods slightly to glance at one another.

“I seek the kin of Talia, daughter of Fulwin and Tamera,” Gric continued, seeing no point in wasting further time.

Two of the figures looked to the third, waiting for some form of decision.

“You will come with us,” the figure commanded darkly, his voice ringing with authority and a commanding tone that was used to being obeyed.

“I will go with you,” Gric agreed amiably, putting up no resistance as his wrists were bound with hide cords. Without even testing the bonds, he knew he could tear them apart without difficulty.

Escorted by the cloaked figures, Gric eventually entered the outskirts of a fortified town. The immense earthworks and bristling rows of palisades would have intimidated any human that laid their eyes upon them. However, Gric was not particularly impressed.

The treeborn architecture and intricate web of rope bridges were another matter entirely.

More sophisticated than many of the tribes and clans that had sworn loyalty to the Tyrant, the Elves of this village appeared to have adopted human technologies and crafting methods. There were small details here and there, artistic embellishments such as the human bone wind chimes and the like. However, the planks that formed the core building material of the town were far too uniform in size and shape.

Using his keen sense of hearing, it didn’t take Gric long to determine that one of the few buildings located on the ground, served as the town’s sawmill, and another as its prison.

Pressed into the prison, Gric could now see what had befallen the prisoners taken from the Foothold.

Five men and two women were locked away in private cells. Broken, beaten and starving, they stared vacantly at the walls of the prison. Flinching and cowering in fear as their jailors passed them by, the prisoners otherwise fell into a catatonic stupor in their absence.

Even without reading their minds, Gric could guess at the reason for their imprisonment. Many of Sanctuary’s residents had envisioned exacting vengeance on their former masters. Returning every crime upon their heads in kind.

It was not a dream harboured solely by the Variants either. Human Slaves harboured just as much resentment for their former Masters.

Gric’s connection with Talia’s memories left him with conflicted feelings on the subject. He understood the primal need to hurt those that had hurt you, to make them suffer. However, the reality of doing so ran contrary to what the Tyrant expected of him.

Gric was allowed to pass judgement upon the guilty, expected to do so even. It was one of his sworn mandates. But this wanton sadism was befitting of a depraved mind and irredeemably demented soul. It was why such fates were entrusted to Sebet.

After searching each prisoner’s mind just long enough to confirm their guilt, Gric sent their already failing bodies into cardiac arrest.

Guards posted outside of the prison were alarmed and angry, but, of course, had no way of knowing Gric was responsible. Even so, they glared at him with their dark almond-shaped eyes and appeared quite content with levelling blame at his feet regardless of a lack of evidence.

Gric shrugged, it didn’t matter. He had far more pressing concerns on his mind.

The actions of this tribe, or at least a number of its members, made them criminals according to the Tyrant’s laws. Recruiting them would require them to face judgement under those same laws, defying part of the reason for Gric seeking them out in the first place.

At best, the Tyrant would see the offenders sent to Tartarus or Acheron, depending on the severity of their crimes and the leniency in his heart. He was not without mercy and understood things in a way Gric still struggled to grasp. But being with Talia had bridged that gap in understanding considerably.

There was a third alternative for relocation, but Gric was not yet certain the tribe deserved it. Isolation. There were no guarantees that the entire tribe would pass initial judgement. However, provided their society had not devolved as a consequence of wantonly indulging their vengeance, the majority would live. Perhaps even the entire tribe. But Gric doubted it.

There were always predators hiding amongst the prey. Always.

Worming his way into the minds of his guards, Gric was proven right. The guard had literally betrayed his people, orchestrating events to deliver three former rivals into the arms of the human Slavers so he could make advances on a female who had no interest in him. When she spurned his affections, he saw her captured as well.

Confused that such sloppy methodology would go unnoticed, Gric probed deeper and discovered the cause. His mother sat on their tribe’s ruling council and had used her influence to redirect blame elsewhere.

Another youth had been banished in the guard’s place, a young male with a familiar face.

Although badly scarred and disfigured, the resemblance was such that Gric was almost certain the Elf named Keith was the same youth from the guard’s memories.

Gric had never had cause to investigate Keith’s background in any meaningful degree of depth before. But it was certainly something he intended to rectify upon his return to Sanctuary.

In the meantime, however...

Gric brought the full weight of his consciousness to bear on the guard’s mind.

Like an overripe fruit left to rot in the sun, the guard’s mind collapsed on contact, offering no resistance as Gric forcibly exerted control over his body. Lacking any semblance of finesse, the act would leave the guard a gibbering invalid once Gric released his hold.

Such was Gric’s intent.

“Hrather? Are you alright?” The other guard asked with mounting concern. “Did you catch something from those Beasts?”

Puppeteering Hrather’s body from within, Gric shook his head. “No...No, I didn’t sleep well is all.”

“You sure?” The other guard asked, not convinced by Gric’s deflection.

“Maybe I should go see the healer,” Gric suggested, using the other guard’s concern to his advantage.

The guard nodded encouragingly, “Just send Jasiel and Fenrith down to take your place, I can watch the outsider well enough on my own till they arrive.”

Gric patted the other guard’s shoulder in passing to show his thanks. “I will remember this favour.” His words had the expected effect, causing the other guard’s eyes to flash in greedily.

Leaving the prison behind, Gric ascended a large rope ladder and passed four warriors stationed at the top without challenge.

Using Hrather’s memories to guide him, Gric puppeted Hrather through the winding walkways of the town and to the ruling council’s chambers.

After passing unchallenged up to this point, Gric progress was abruptly ended as four guards stationed outside of the council chambers barred his way.

“You know the rules, Hrather!” The lead guard all but spat with naked disdain, “No entry while the elders are in seclusion!”

Feigning insult, Gric narrowed Hrather’s eyes and bared his teeth in anger. “I have important information for the elders!” He hissed heatedly, “News relating to the outsider!”

The head guard crossed his arms defiantly and shrugged. “Then you tell them AFTER they have ended their seclusion.”

Gric admired the older male’s commitment to duty, and his disdain for Hrather was undoubtedly another sign of his discerning character. Unfortunately, Gric had places to be. “The outsider claims to have news of others who were lost to the humans!”

The head guard made no attempts at hiding his doubts as he searched Hrather’s face for signs of deceit. “This is true?” He asked warily.

Gric had Hrather nod.

“I will inform the council of this development...” The head guard announced grimly. “Do, not, move.” He punctuated each word by jabbing Hrather’s chest just hard enough to make it hurt.

Without saying another word, the head guard passed through the reinforced doors, making sure to close them behind himself, and disappeared.

Of course, Gric could still sense his presence on the other side, and the elder council besides, but he could not hear what was said.

The head guard returned a few minutes later and escorted Hrather into the council chambers.

Such as they were, it amounted to a large room with comfortable chairs occupied by the tribe’s elders. Although it appears the title of elder was used more loosely within this tribe than the others Gric had previously encountered.

Hrather’s mother, who appeared middle-aged by human and most other Species standards, occupied a seat close to the primary position amongst the gathered elders. She seemed both elated and deeply concerned by her son’s presence and was no doubt looking for means to leverage events to her advantage.

Gric doubted she would manage such a feat.

The prime elder considered Hrather with barely veiled disdain. “We have discussed the outsider at length, including his claims regarding the taken-” He motioned expansively toward the other elders. “-and what troubles us is the timing of his arrival.”

Several elders nodded in firm agreement.

Hrather’s mother was not amongst them.

“Surely you can understand our concern that this outsider is just another taken turned traitor against our people,” it wasn’t a question, but a thinly veiled accusation. Making it clear that the prime elder suspected Hrather’s sins. “And now you press the outsider’s claims on his behalf-”

“Elder Faras, surely you are not accusing MY SON of aiding our enemies?” Hrather’s mother interjected venomously. “There are few who have slain more human filth than he.”

The prime elder, Faras, glared at Hrather’s mother with naked fury, his wrinkled hands tightening on the arms of his chair to the point his hands turned snow white.

“Or do you possess information you have kept secret from this council?” Hrather’s mother needled maliciously. “Perhaps you have some evidence of a crime?”

The prime elder said nothing.

“By all means, if you have such information, we should all hear it,” Hrather’s mother pressed, gloating over her rival. “Of course, this council has heard your baseless claims before, and without evidence, we all see those claims for what they are. Feeble attempts at desperately clinging to your position as-”

“I have evidence,” Gric interjected coldly, making no attempts at all to conceal his true voice.

As one, the elders' eyes settled on him in disbelief.

“Hrather, son of Hroth and Narcina, has negotiated with Slavers and delivered nine of his tribe into Slavery to satiate his ego.” Gric stared back at the council through Hrather’s eyes. “With the assistance of his mother-” Gric pointed to Hrather’s mother, redirecting all eyes in the room, “-Hrather covered his tracks and avoided judgement if not suspicion. For his crimes against a citizen of Sanctuary, I will carry out the sentence befitting the entirety of his crimes.”

Before the elders or the head guard could react, Gric sent Hrather into cardiac arrest and withdrew himself from the criminal’s mind.

Gathering his MP, Gric opened a Breach and entered the council chambers directly.

In the short time that had passed in his absence, Hrather’s mother had abandoned her seat and was screaming incoherently while desperately reaching for the fallen body of her son while the head guard held her hard against the floor.

With a single thought, Gric rendered her unconscious.

The head guard abandoned Horther’s mother but was visibly conflicted in doing so. No doubt uncertain how great a threat Gric truly represented to the assembled elders, and whether Hrather’s mother could be left unattended while he intercepted said threat.

Gric decided to take the first steps and introduce himself. “I am Gric of Sanctuary, and I have travelled a great distance to seek the kin of my Bonded lifemate, Talia, daughter of Fulwin and Tamera. And to present an offer of protection for your people.”

Gric couldn’t help but notice as everyone present briefly looked down at the corpse and unconscious woman on the floor, and resisted the urge to shrug indifferently. He knew that once they took the time to process what had happened, they would come to realise the enormity of the favour he had done for them.