Chapter 695 - The Reality of Reconnection

The hulking bearkin loomed over Zeke, his massive muscles rippling with purpose.  Pudge had grown with his ascension, reaching a height of nearly ten feet of powerful warrior.  By normal standards, he was an intimidating figure.  However, that was undercut by two factors.

First, Zeke knew that he would only need to harness a fraction of his true strength to defeat the little brother he’d adopted when Pudge was cub struggling to survive.  And even though the bearkin was mighty enough to set himself apart among most newly ascended lesser gods, he was no primordial.  As such, the power disparity was too wide a gulf to even consider. 

In fact, Zeke was forced to hold himself in check so he didn’t kill Pudge with an errant maneuver.  With his power, the world sometimes felt like it was made of cardboard, its residents possessing such delicate constitutions that Zeke needed to constantly hold back his full power.

That hadn’t been an issue in hell, where he could cut loose without thought for the consequences.

The second issue was the fact that it was just a wrestling match and not the do-or-die battles to which Zeke had grown accustomed.  It wasn’t quite good-natured.  Not like it would’ve been back in the Mortal Realm when they made a habit of roughhousing in the shadow of the then-much-smaller Crimson Tower.  Instead, it was tinged in blatant frustration. 

To Zeke, it felt like he was wrestling a sickly child, and one to which he very much wanted to allow a victory.  Not that Pudge would appreciate it.  He was more than intelligent enough to know the score, so he was well aware that, if he won, it would only be because Zeke was sandbagging. 

That wouldn’t stop Pudge from going all-out, though.  The bearkin was far too proud to do anything else, and likely, he’d been dreaming of the moment for some time.  He wanted to prove himself.  Perhaps he’d known all along that he would never be Zeke’s equal – not in terms of raw power – but he surely believed that the strides he’d made with his own ascension to the Ethereal Realm would put him closer to even footing.

But instead, the gap had grown so wide that there was a galaxy of difference between them.  And Pudge was just as obviously struggling to accept that as a fact. 

So, he responded with measured aggression, slamming into Zeke with a shoulder tackle that shouldn’t have pushed the primordial back more than an inch.  He let it take him a few feet before he halted his adopted brother’s charge.  Then, he slipped around, wrapping his arms around Pudge’s waist, then heaving him over his shoulder. 

The bearkin ended up sprawling across the ground fifteen feet away.

If Zeke had wanted to, he could have thrown Pudge miles across the terrain. He’d yet to test the true limits of his strength, though, so perhaps that distance would have reached hundreds – or even thousands – of miles.  Whatever the case, he wasn’t there to destroy Pudge.  They were supposed to be reconnecting.

“Not the best job,” Eveline remarked as Pudge picked himself up, growling in frustrated fury.  The bearkin rushed forward, but without his previous urgency.  The cautious approach proved to be a valid one, and he caught Zeke by surprise when he dove for his legs.  That briefly unbalanced Zeke, and he soon found himself tipping backward.

He probably could have arrested his fall.

And failing that, he had a hundred options to recover too quickly for Pudge to properly respond.  He didn’t, though.  Instead, he hit the ground hard, shaking the entire room.  The Hunting Grounds had once been limited to a creating huge expanses that lacked any sort of fine detail.  Even from the beginning, the floor was meant to help train the tower’s occupants, and its evolution continued that trend, spreading out to include dozens of training facilities, each one containing hundreds of purpose-built rooms.

This one was dedicated to martial training, but there were others meant for crafting, meditation, and even mana manipulation. 

In this case, the room was a hundred feet across and resembled an old school dojo from Earth, complete with a padded floor, dozens of training dummies, and racks of practice weapons. 

Zeke twisted as he fell, rolling away as soon as he hit the floor.  It was just in time to avoid Pudge’s descending knee, which hit with enough force to shatter even a lesser god’s bones.  For Zeke, it might’ve caused a bruise. 

Probably not, though.

He barrel rolled away, springing to his feet and adopting a warrior’s stance.  He barely regained his balance in time to catch another shoulder charge from Pudge.  He skidded backward, all the while feeling the bearkin’s fists pummeling his ribs.  They didn’t even bend.  In fact, the comparatively delicate bones of Pudge’s hands were more likely to break than those contained within Zeke’s torso.

It would take the strength of a greater god to manage that kind of damage.

Still, Zeke took it with a few grunts before wrestling Pudge away.  They grappled for a bit until, at last, he bore the bearkin to the ground.  Pudge was a slippery opponent and obviously skilled.  However, as Zeke had previously noted, the gap between them was just too wide to overcome. 

Finally, Pudge broke away and let out a panting grunt of disgust.

“What?” Zeke asked, raking his hand through his sweat-slick hair. 

“You’re toying with me.”

“I’m not.  I just –”

“This is not what I expected,” Pudge growled.  He looked away, then muttered, “I don’t know what I thought it would be.  Not this.  You…you are too strong.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want an apology.  You cannot change who…what you are.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Zeke said.  “I’m talking about lying to you.  About leaving you behind.  I know I told you I would take you into hell.  And at the time, I think I meant it.  But the more I thought about what was coming, the more I realized…”

Zeke trailed off, unwilling to give voice to his fears.

“Realized what?”

“That I can’t lose you,” Zeke answered after a long moment.  “I can lose anyone…everyone else.  But you’re different.”

Left unsaid were the implications, but they both knew the truth.  If Pudge had accompanied Zeke into hell, he would never have survived.  As frustrating as it probably was for the bearkin to accept, Zeke’s judgement had been spot on.  It was a journey he’d needed to take alone.  For better or worse, that was just how the world worked.

Pudge turned away, showing Zeke his back.  Then, without warning, he dropped to a seated position, then propped his arms on his knees.  He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loos pants, so the results of his ascension were obvious.  Not only was his torso dense with thick muscle, but he also bore plenty of scars.  Evidence that the way hadn’t been easy for him, either.

Zeke sat next to him.

“What happened after I left?” he asked.  He’d heard some of the story when he’d finally returned to the tower a few months before, but he’d gotten no details. 

“We had just won the war, but the Radiant Host was not completely defeated.  Their satellite forces returned, and the war went on for a few more years,” Pudge answered.  “Without you there, many died.  Too many.  But in the end, we won.  Some escaped.  A few companies fled north and settled far away.”

“You didn’t eradicate them?”

Pudge shook his head.  “Everyone was tired of war.  Allowing them to retreat was as much to preserve our people as it was a mercy for them,” he explained.  “After that, we flourished.  The various people under our rule had a chance to lick their wounds, and they used the resources available to them to create new lives.  Everyone had a place in the tower, so long as they remained loyal.  Those who weren’t…they did not have a place.”

Zeke nodded.  That made perfect sense.  There was no reason to support the disloyal.  The good of everyone relied on unity, and a few bad apples could certainly spoil the bunch. 

“We became the preeminent force in the Eternal Realm.  With Westport and their mercantile reach, there was no one who could rival us,” Pudge explained.  Then, he turned his brown-eyed gaze at Zeke, adding, “As I said, we flourished.  Individually and collectively.  We grew, both in terms of population and individual power.  The kobolds especially.  They are fully sapient now, owing to Tucker’s efforts as well as to the Hall of Affinity.  A true race no different from so many others.”

“And they all worship me.”

Pudge nodded.  “Some of the younger generations see you as a mythological figure,” he said.  “They think the creation story is just a parable.  They do not believe the Mother ever existed.”

“Did anyone ever deal with the Bloodwraith?” Zeke asked, thinking of the giant wyrm who’d fought the mother while he and the kobolds fled from beneath Min Ferilik. That he’d never done it himself was a source of great consternation and regret. 

Pudge answered, “I did.  It was the last step before I ascended.  He had spread his influence across the tundra, and he threatened to invade our lands.  He even killed a few centaur herds before I stepped in.”

“Alone?”

“No one else could stand before him.  Talia was gone, and Tucker was never a fighter.”

“Wait, Talia?  Where had she gone?” Zeke asked.  She was there when he’d returned to the tower, so things had obviously changed.  Unsurprising, but still interesting.

“Ascended.  The moment she reached the appropriate level.”

“What?  Why?”

“Chasing you.  We all were.  I was just more deliberate about it.”

“So, she got here first?” Zeke asked.

Pudge nodded, but he didn’t give voice to any further elaboration. Clearly, Zeke would need a one-on-one with Talia if he wanted to get more information.  It was her story to tell, after all.  Regardless, he’d planned to go down that road sometime soon.  He wanted to reconnect with all of his closest friends, though he’d chosen to start with Pudge for obvious reasons. 

They might not have been blood, but they were brothers all the same.

He felt similarly about Talia, though her devotion to him was often so unnerving it left him uncomfortable.  Her heart was in the right place, though. 

“You’re complaining that your friend loves you too much.  You realize that, right?” Eveline pointed out.

In his own head, he responded, “Not helpful.”

Aloud, Zeke asked, “What about you and Sasha? I didn’t think she’d ever ascend, what with her family still back in the Eternal Realm.”

Indeed, even though she had chosen to follow Pudge from her home, she was still attached to Kabalith and all the friends and family she’d left behind. 

“She didn’t.  They live here in the tower.”

“Oh.  Didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” Pudge admitted.  “She convinced them, though.  Mostly so that when we ascended, she could still see them all.  It was still a difficult time.”

After that, Pudge explained that he and Sasha had gotten married only a few years after Zeke had disappeared into the pit.  Of course, there was the  underlying – and unsaid – issue that suggested that Pudge had not been in a good place after Zeke had left him behind.  It seemed that he had filled that void with lots of violence.

“We’re way too much alike,” Zeke said. 

“You raised me,” Pudge pointed out.  “From a little cub until now, everything I am came from you.”

“That’s not true,” Zeke argued.  “You’re your own man, Pudge.  You’ve spent more time without me than with me.”

“It’s not about time.  Impact is more important than years.”

Zeke sighed.  That much was true.  He’d spent far longer battling through hell than he had with his friends and family.  However, the latter was far more impactful on who he’d become. 

He glanced at Pudge, then asked, “You want to go again?”

Pudge shook his head. “It’s no fun when you’re obviously holding back.”

“I’ve always held back, buddy.  Or did you think you were really winning when you were just a cub?” he asked.

Pudge showed his teeth in what could have been a grimace or a growl.  “Fair enough.  But still no.  You need to go see Talia, though.  She’s been bouncing off the walls since you got back.”

“Yeah.  I know,” Zeke said. Reaching out to grip Pudge’s meaty shoulder, he said, “Good talk.”

“It was.”