ROD - Chapter 125

Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Five – Velocity – Part Three

Expectations are infinitely evolving so that they extend past what we thought would make us happy. Not because they should, but because we allow them to. Such is the human condition. Were we not beholden to expectations, we’d be a much happier sort of creature.

-UWO Senator Crane-

Sage still hasn’t given up trying to convince me not to make waves. After hearing my questions, he understood my mindset. Understood at least a part of my planned trajectory, should I be given reason to show my cards.

The headache pulses in my skull as I trace the lines of the debuff with my thoughts. This was potentially made by an administrator with the same level of access as Mythren. Of the big purple variety. The question is why would an admin of that caliber be helping the Marauders directly? Sage seems to think that it’s because of a formal review that’s being conducted.

If I was to remove this debuff from Fisban, would they call me a cheater? Brand me as such? Is all of this to catch me in a mistake so they have reason to purge me and Earth early? No, I don’t think I am interesting enough to warrant such a mounted response.

I think this is about Mythren developing an army in secret to overthrow the status quo. I think they must know, or suspect. Sage made that clear enough when he said Mythren must also be under formal review.

Interesting…

The question is, how do I get what I want without spurring the ire of a Mythren level threat?

Or should I want that… the memories of the Jimminites are so strange. Order formed from the chaos of the shadows very existence. There were societies devoted to everything one could think of. They would live and the pride of their work was their existence. Every fringe was investigated. Including taking down someone like Mythren… even harvesting them.

Not every subject bore fruit though. The headache increases as I rub my temples. My attention draws more to Fisban’s condition. Before she had this debuff, something else was wrong with her as well. It made her paralyzed from the legs down. Many different healing classes tried to fix her. Even Verantha tried with her blessings from her goddess.

My focus is deep as I move through her spinal column with healing skill. We already checked her many times. 

It’s small, no larger than a whispered incantation, but it’s there, pulsating slowly, deliberately near the base of her spine. Someone cursed her, the depth of it tells me that it is a god’s doing. Which god though?

That must be why Seraphine said she could fix it. Because she saw it was a curse. This entire time she’s known that Fisban was cursed. Why then couldn’t Verantha’s goddess fix it?

My eyebrow twitches, it doesn’t really matter and I have more pressing concerns. My hand runs along her spine until it hovers over the sigil of the curse.

There it is… I feel the essence of the one that created it. They spent a lot of energy to ensure that it remained hidden. To what end though… who did this and why?

My head turns as I splay out the curse, I recognize the fluctuations, the stamp of the hand that made it. It is almost familiar to me. It’s not Sera or Ulana. Who else could it have been?

Normally such a thing could never be fixed by mortal hands, but these hands are not the typical ones. They have been dipped in eternity and steepled thoughts that brushed the edge of madness and enlightenment.

These are my hands… yet it is too early to show what they are capable of. Patience is a virtue after all.

In the distance I feel my proximity wards being activated. Someone over level fifty has just walked into the building. They must have a movement skill to have not tripped my other wards. If I had to guess, it’s the world’s strongest fake hero.

Ajax the Marauder.

Good… I’ve been itching to strike the next chord of the symphony I’m composing. Curious to see how I stack up against the opposition. He’s not a god like Azeroc was, nor an ancient being like Adaraic was.

But he will be the strongest living mortal I will have ever faced. Underestimating him would be foolish. My hands unfurl and sway in rhythm for a moment as I activate a series of runes that add physical enhancements to my body. It wouldn’t do well if I fought him without them. I’m still technically level seven and he’s over seventy.

I open the door slowly, the buffs I’ve applied to myself… I’m not entirely sure how impressive they are. Looking down at the handle of the door, I can see the bent imprint of my hand left on the metal. Substantial then…

“Godslayer, did you figure it out?” Clayton asks.

“Yes, and no. We can’t help her yet. It would cause complications. Besides we have company that just entered the building.”

Clayton’s eyes shift into mine, there is worry on his brow as he asks, “Company as in…”

I nod.

He blinks then swallows, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When his eyes open, the fear is gone, replaced with resolve.

“Right, well let’s go fuck him up.”

I smile, appreciating Clayton’s temperament as I return with, “My sentiments exactly.”

He cracks his neck and pulls out his twin ruby colored daggers.

Our stride is swift as we move toward the stairwell, I’m wary to take the elevator, considering the flickering lights in the hall. My self given buffs seem to be reacting with electronics rather significantly.

“How many are we expecting?” Clayton asks as we pass the third floor.

“Only one ping from someone over level fifty.”

“Did you place wards for lower levels?”

“Some, none were activated though, strangely. Also he has a movement skill. I’m not sure if it can move groups or not.”

“You thinking he has some kind of group teleport spell?”

“Perhaps. Either that or he flew to the front door and opened it and is by himself. Which would be ludicrous even for him.”

“Any other things I should be aware of?”

“Not yet.”

Clayton sighs but nods, making it past the first floor marker. He slows as he reaches the doors that lead into the lobby, “Strange that we haven’t met any resistance yet.”

“You’re not wrong.”

I can’t get an accurate sense of people around the hospital, the buffs I’m using make it hard for me to detect auras and such. An admitted flaw in the design. One that I haven’t had time to correct yet. Half of them shouldn’t even be used in their current state. Without triage it’s rather vexing to see everything as it is.

That’s fine though. My trump cards are well in hand if I need them.

The lobby is not cleared for dramatic purpose as I thought it might be. It’s quite full, and bustling like it was earlier. Shame, could have added to the mystique of the moment. The first in a series of crescendos.

There is a large man standing near the entrance, like he entered, but wasn’t sure where to go. He’s holding a hand in front of him, swiping it in the air, like he’s trying to use his System interface. Unfortunately, I don’t think he’ll have much luck with that. I disabled the System interface in this area as soon as he showed up.

Because I don’t want them to see what happens next. I don’t want them to be prepared for me, nor do I want them to use my self defense as justification for Earth’s untimely demise. No… I just want this to be a good old fashioned ass kicking. No special handouts from the System allowed.

“Ajax,” I say calmly as I stand in front of the large man.

He looks up slowly then squints at me, turning to look at Clayton next. He doesn’t recognize either of us. Which tells me a few things about him. One he is not overly cautious, and two he is not a natural mage. I’d wager he doesn’t know much about them either. Otherwise he may have predicted this. To be fair though, they may not have known about Clayton’s connections, as I certainly didn’t.

“Not doing autographs today,” he says with a deep and gravelly voice. His hair is dark and curled. There’s a scar just above his left eyebrow, an almost fashionable one. He’s wearing normal street clothes, like he wanted to blend in.

I tilt my head ever so slightly to the side, “Shouldn’t you be surprised that someone recognized you without your costume?”

He blinks, squinting more warily for a moment before it fades, an authoritative tone snaps at me, “What archbishop do you work for? I told the Order to stay back, the anomaly is mine.”

Another free bit of information, the acolytes of his cult know his face, but they number enough that he doesn’t know all of them. Clayton had told me that Karen didn’t know exact numbers for the cult, but that she indicated it was large.

“Is he?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, “Is that because he has your sister?”

The man growls as he leans forward so to not draw attention, “You’re done here. Leave before I break your fucking neck and pull your spine from your body.”

“Charming,” I smile, leaning closer to him, “In the spirit of keeping honesty, since you’ve made yourself clear, I wonder if you’re a betting man.”

“What?” he snarls, his temper is not quite refined. To be expected though, Adaraic the once powerful Lich told me it was common for higher level Hunters to be short with normal people. They believe themselves above others. In his opinion, they were right, so long as they knelt to him.

“I don’t want to take the time to dismantle your organization, I can’t be bothered really, because the pond that we are all in, the one that you were the biggest fish in, it’s expanding.”

He blinks, squinting more, “Who the fuck are you?”

“No one of note, just a hero for fun as they say.”

“I don’t recognize you.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do. Before I give you the grand reveal though, I wonder if you’d care to make a bet?”

“A bet?” he says, trying to activate some kind of skill, I’ve disabled that though, for now. Interesting that he only now is getting wary enough to activate skills.

“If I beat you to a pulp, you name the true names of the gods in your pantheon.”

He steps back, rubs his eyes like that will help, then glances at the door… is this asshole really considering running? Because I stopped his skills from activating?

Rather disappointing. I feel underestimated and somewhat insulted that this is the peak of what the Marauders brought to bare against the threat that is me.

“What the fuck are you on about? Who the hell are you?”

“Did you really come here by yourself?” I ask, feeling the ebb of disappointment. I spent more than twenty minutes preparing countermeasures in case they sent a horde of people to fight us. And here he is… by himself.

The gall. The fucking gall. I wince as my headache pounds a neat throbbing lullaby. It doesn’t matter.

“Ajax, I am Jimmy Novak, and…”

He doesn’t wait for me to finish my sentence, he turns and runs like hell, crashing right through the doors and knocking them off their hinges.

“Did he just…” Clayton begins, dumbfounded.

“Yes… he did,” I sigh.