Chapter 23
The Leviathan’s Curse
The voyage had taken more than a month before the Leviathan’s Curse entered the Meenus cluster. Titus was almost home.
The beacon for Port Gar’s plexus gate blinked on the big screen as Titus watched on. They didn’t need to use the port to enter the section of the plexus network that encompassed Earth. The only thing that inhibited them from moving forward was the inherent constraints of the limiter glyphs they’d been forced to activate just to enter the cluster.
Titus and key members of his crew were simply too strong for the glyphs.
The natural power they exuded would crack any glyph that tried to limit them to only fifty levels. The hidden glyph on his temple was already under considerable strain and wouldn’t last more than a week. It limited Titus to the top one hundred and twenty-five levels of the five hundred and twelve he’d acquired over the long centuries of his current rule.
One hundred and twenty-five was the maximum permitted in the Meenus cluster by the Framework, due to it being the youngest cluster in the Darkwyrlds. This was rarely a problem for most. Over 90% of the beings in the Darkwyrlds hadn’t reached those heights and many of those who had resided in the far-flung territories of the Old Empires where such restrictions had been dropped millennia ago.
With Earth still under a partial shroud for another six months, it had even greater restrictions.
Fifty levels only.
An impossible ask for Titus as things stood, but then he’d been preparing to resolve that little problem during the lengthy trip from the much richer hunting grounds of the outer clusters.
“We’ve arrived,” the Helmsman announced. “The Mutinous Dog has arrived alongside us. It’s ready to board when you are, sir.”
Titus nodded. The Dog was his first vice flagship, the name was supposed to be ironic. The Mutinous Dog was one of the Curse’s shard ships, her first, in fact. There was no greater honour to serve aboard her apart from being assigned to the Leviathan’s Curse herself. Most preferred the Dog, though. It was a more active raider and provided better opportunities for level advancement. Significantly more of her crew were being strained by the limiter glyphs than those on the Curse. Many of whom had more of an administrative slant than combative. That didn’t mean there weren’t those on the Curse who couldn’t remain in the young cluster for long.
The crew knew the plan was for the overpowered members to board the Dog and leave the Meenus Cluster for somewhere with fewer level restrictions.
You didn’t want to be stuck in a restricted cluster with a busted glyph. The Framework had a way of solving that problem for you in a way you wouldn’t appreciate. Like the loss of the offending levels. And they would come off the top, not the bottom.
In an unusual move, the Curse would be remaining in Meenus. The crew found this mighty strange but knew better than to question the decisions of their tempestuous captain.
“And my son, Rom?”
The crewman at the comms panel replied. “Twin Stars have answered our hails. He’ll be here within the hour.”
Rom had taken his brother’s ship, fused the pair along the bow and renamed the combined vessel as the Twins Stars. A homage to his dead brother.
Titus had grunted with laughter when he’d been informed. If Rom had loved Rem that much, he shouldn’t have throttled him to death for the advancement in the first place. All Rom had succeeded in doing was broadcasting his weakness to the rest of the Dread Scourge.
It didn’t matter, the foolish boy would be dead before the day was out.
“Good. Make the announcement. I want the designated crew members on board the Mutinous Dog and heading back to Dread Cove before the Twin Stars arrive. I am retiring to my private chambers, send my son to me the moment he arrives.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
Rom rapped his knuckles on the ancient wooden door that led into his father’s private sanctum. Chambers neither he nor anyone else he knew of had ever entered apart from the grizzled Corsair veteran himself, of course.
The knock was a mixture of tentative and angry. Tentative because of the unusual nature and location of the summons, angry because this campaign was supposed to be for Rom to execute. He didn’t need his father watching over his shoulder. It would give the wrong impression to the men like Titus didn’t trust him or something.
There was no answer at first. Rom stood there, his hand raised, unsure whether to knock again or wait. He didn’t want to give the impression that he was making demands on Titus. He had a reputation for inventive forms of retribution against people who made the mistake of overstepping their bounds in his presence.
Rom half-knocked, his knuckles not quite making contact with the weathered wood of the door twice before his father’s voice interrupted a firmer third attempt.
“Come!”
The large, ironbound door swung open easily without Rom having to touch it and with a small headshake to ward off the worry demons, he stepped forward confidently.
***
The door slammed shut loudly behind Rom and he jumped a few inches off the flagstones of the floor. Titus grinned from his position on one of the thrones at the back of the room, enjoying the theatrics a little. It was always good to keep those you dealt with off kilter.
The runes that had been painstakingly etched into the walls of the chamber flared to life for Titus’ eyes only and unbeknownst to Rom he was indelibly marked by the ritual that his father had spent so many weeks working on.
Enacting generational immortality was not an easy process. If Fred Simms, the man he used to be, had another option at the time, he would have taken it, but his choices had been limited and the opportunity fleeting. All the more reason to seize the opening Ashli had left down on the planet and leave this cumbersome method in the past where it belonged.
“Twin thrones,” Rom whispered with reverence. “If only my brother had been here with me to see this. To think what we could have shared.”
Titus glanced at the obsidian black throne beside him. It was covered in a thick network of runes that Rom could not see. His son had mistaken the purpose of their being two seats in this throne room. Not entirely surprising, he ought to be completely ignorant of the chamber’s true purpose. The fact he stepped across the threshold was proof of that.
Nevertheless, Rom’s words aggravated Titus, and he couldn’t resist needling the unknowing sacrifice just a little. “For Scourge’s sake, Rom. If you cared that deeply about your brother, why the fuck were you so willing to kill the bastard?”
Rom shook his head, unfazed. “Rem crossed the line. He sent a strike team to my home while I was out raiding. They killed everyone, none were spared. All the consorts, his nephews and nieces. All my offspring, even the little ones.”
This was news to Titus. “All of them?”
“Every last one.”
Titus paused for thought. He hadn’t known about this. He had too many sons to take much interest in the minutiae of their private lives. He’d assumed Rom had several adult sons; he was over sixty years old by now.
The moment Titus completed the ritual and took control of Rom’s body, Titus wouldn’t be able to use any of his other three surviving sons for the same purpose. He would be bound to Rom’s direct bloodline. He’d been under the impression that Rom had several children, and backup bodies should Titus fail to achieve Godhood on Earth.
“Is everything alright, Father? I didn’t mean to upset you with news of the loss of your grandchildren.”
Titus’ mind whirled and came to a decision. It was too late to step off this path. Rom was already marked; it would take weeks, if not months, to undo that and the other three had gone into hiding anyway. He would be able to find them if necessary, but they were some of the weakest, that’s why they ran.
No, he needed to proceed as planned. Dread Cove had plenty of willing wombs, ready to rebuild the contingency should it be necessary.
“All is well,” he reassured his son. “I have many grandchildren, and you can make some more when this is done. I’m sure you are eager to discover why I’ve called you here today.”
“It had crossed my mind.” Rom had the temerity to smirk, the fool.
“The time has come,” Titus announced with bombastic enthusiasm. “You have probably sensed its approach. I am tired and have found myself hankering for retirement of all things. It is time to pass the torch, to pass the Leviathan’s Curse onto another and I can think of no one worthier than you Rom.”
Rom looked genuinely taken aback at the news. “I…I…you honour me, Father. I am willing to accept this burden.”
Titus clapped his hands together gleefully. “That is the purpose of the interlinked thrones. It allows me to pass ownership of the Curse to another.”
Rom stepped forward and rushed up the dais steps that led to the twin thrones only to be stopped by the outstretched hand of his father.
“One thing first, this process can take some time, and we can’t be interrupted until it is complete. We wouldn’t want your sister and the malcontent lover she has shacked up with to slip away while we are indisposed, would we?”
Rom flashed Titus a vicious grin. “You are quite right, Father. The Twin Stars is monitoring for the signal you warned us of.”
Titus nodded; the sensors he’d supplied Carter would signal once all traces of the fragment had been eliminated. “Make sure they know what to do once that signal is detected and then we can get on with the transfer. There is a communication panel over in the corner.”
Rom ran for the corner to give the orders, his eagerness almost causing him to trip.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Titus smiled slyly while his back was turned. He still had a promise to Carter to adhere to. Better that the assault began without his direct order when the fragment was exterminated.
Rom barked out some hasty orders to break through Carter’s gate and lay waste to his home the moment the signal was detected and then hurried back up to the dais.
“All done?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then take a seat and let’s get started.”
Rom sat in place. Joy turned to worry, and he felt his body stiffen as the runes on the throne seized control of his body and held him firmly in place. The only thing he could move was his eyes and he looked over at his father, panic rising. What he saw did not feel him with glad tidings.
The expression on Titus’ face was predatory. Rom had seen his father like this before and it never boded well for the recipient of that gaze.
Too late he remembered that men like Titus Shiptaker didn’t harken for retirement. Their desire for control and conquest was unquenchable. Despots never tired of ruling. He should have asked more questions, but the enormity of the prize overwhelmed his honed survival instincts.
The last thought that belonged to Rom was of him and his brother on their thirteenth birthday, arms around one another, laughing and happy. Inseparable.
Not a bad memory to go out on all things considered.
Then there was a brief flash of pain as his mind and soul were expelled to make way for a new owner.
***
Titus, nay Rom Shiptaker opened his eyes and pushed off from the throne that had until recently kept the body secured in place. He flexed and stretched his muscles. Getting used to a new body had always been a strange experience.
He glanced to the other throne. The husk of his old body was already disintegrating into dust.
The new Rom gathered up his old belongings, picking and choosing what to put on and what to put aside. He didn’t spend too long doing that before the Curse’s dungeon avatar appeared at the base of the dais and bowed deeply. It appeared to him in the form of a grizzled, one-eyed ogre, the end boss for the dungeon that he had claimed millennia ago.
“You recognise me?” Rom barked.
The avatar looked up, there was a hint of sadness around the single eye, and it nodded. The damn thing’s defiance had been a thorn in Rom’s side for as long as he could remember. Any active attempts at disobedience had been purged long ago, but it still refused to speak. A final act of independence.
“Good. Fully drain the shard of the Mutinous Dog and collapse the ship.”
The avatar nodded and closed its eye. When the eye re-opened, the avatar nodded for a second time to indicate the order had been carried out.
All those aboard the Mutinous Dog were dead or they soon would be.
Killing the strongest members of the Dread Scourge would weaken the Corsair faction in the short term, but if Rom was going to be challenged as the new faction leader, the threat would have come from one of them.
If everything went to plan, it would all be moot anyway, but you wouldn’t live as long as Rom had if you didn’t plan for contingencies. If he had to continue using generational immortality, then his hold on the Dread Scourge could not be questioned. Not until he had a chance to increase his new body''s current level to unchallengeable heights. The discarded Rom had done a reasonable job, level two-hundred and ten was impressive for someone of his age.
Rom rearranged his clothing and strode purposefully out of the inner sanctum. It was time the Dread Scourge learned about the shift in leadership.
Chapter 24
A quest notification intruded on my consciousness before I reached the end of the root tunnel.
*** The Divine Vengeance quest has been updated. ***
*** Divine Vengeance (Omega)
The foul villain Fred Simms has revealed himself to you as Titus Shiptaker. Your patron Goddess’ demand is simple. End his life in any way possible.
The Shattered Goddess has sensed the life light of Titus Shiptaker wink out. But her vengeance is undiminished, he must have utilised his generational immortality. There were four potential heirs remaining. Identify which of them he has become and kill him.
Quest Progress:
Titus Shiptaker’s new body had been identified and slain 0/1
Current Potential Heirs: Unknown until the new host has been identified.
Success: Identify and kill Titus Shiptaker including any new heirs.
Rewards: 800,000 XP, a map through the Great Rift and an invitation to the demesne of the Shattered Goddess.
Legacy of the Leviathan for Marena’s Mercy. Your dungeon ship can consume the core of the Levithan’s Curse stealing the power of the core for itself and inheriting any surviving assets controlled or owned by the Leviathan’s Curse. (Can only be done while within the Shattered Goddess’ demesne)
Failure: The longer this quest goes incomplete, the greater the ire you will draw from your patron Goddess. Should this build to critical mass then bad things will happen. Very bad things. Acts which run counter to progressing the outcome of this quest will add to the discontent meter.
The Shattered Goddess’ current discontent: 5/10 ***
Titus had either been killed or chosen to jump into a new body. It shouldn’t be too difficult to identify who he had become. It was unlikely that he would let someone else call the shots. So, whichever of his sons inherited the mantle of leadership would be the top target. A bluff was possible, but why would Titus bother unless he believed me capable of assassinating him? Something I found hard to believe.
The experience for the quest reward had dropped by two hundred thousand. Presumably a penalty for not completing the quest before Titus shifted to another body and made things more difficult. The Goddess’ discontent gauge had also risen by another point, offsetting some of the earlier progress I’d made at assuaging her impatience.
That had all been interesting but wasn’t relevant to my current focus. Pushing forward, I reached the end of the tunnel and was greeted by the bitter chill of icy winds. The nearest habitat imitated a pass high in the mountains. It was cold and there was a thin blanket of snow that covered the ground. I could tell without entering the habitat that it was thin because the slightly larger pieces of scree poked through the powdery, white snow and created patches of dreary dark grey across the landscape.
There were hoof prints in the snow that ran parallel to the entrance as well as into it. A sign that the perimeter of the habitat was being patrolled. The chances that this was the right place went up several notches. Unfortunately, I couldn’t spot the location of the Blood Shrine from the tunnel exit. The habitat had peaks and gulleys that meant I couldn’t see far into the interior, but there was a trail that led deeper into the habitat. The hoofprints on the ground suggested it had been used frequently.
The trail was clear for now, and I had my disguise on. Time to take a risk.
Six or seven steps into the frozen wasteland and the biggest flaw in my disguise became apparent. The tracks I left in the snow appeared distinctly un-hoof-like. The thought of returning to the waystation to cut the hooves off the capronid alpha flashed through my mind and was just as quickly dismissed.
How would I attach them? Not to mention the snow-dusted scree underfoot was treacherous enough as it was without adding another layer of complexity. Walking around in platform goth boots was not something I had experience with. Better to simply head for the more frequently walked tracks where everything had already been stamped into an analogous slush.
I hurried deeper into the frozen habitat and found a trail along a ridge that wove through the valley outcroppings. The trails overlooked a trickling stream that meandered through the rocks. Not deep, but ice cold to the touch which was a good reason to stay out of it. Snow started to fall heavily, and the frigid winds of the pass whipped it into almost blizzard conditions.
Visibility was seriously impaired, but that was a two-way street. I might not be able to make out more than vague shapes a few feet in front of me, but it was the same for the Horde patrols and that was an advantage for subterfuge.
The first test of my disguise came shortly after the snow flurry struck. A group of ten marched along the same trail I followed, coming from the opposite direction. Six capronids and four individuals that didn’t look like Horde members and even from a snow-blurred distance didn’t appear to be wearing sufficient clothing for the blustery weather conditions.
With a close-up inspection of the disguise approaching, I added the final touches and summoned the snout mask and a couple pairs of socks from my inventory. I balled the socks up and used them to fill out the shout-mask before donning it to hide my face. This had the dual benefit of giving the impression of a snout poking out of the cape’s hood and it insulated my mouth and nose from the rank nastiness that coated the inside of the alpha’s snout covering.
I was ascending on the trail and that helped with the disguise. The climb when combined with the wretched weather gave me a reasonable excuse to have my head leaning down and forward. The two leading capronids couldn’t easily see inside the hood as we passed by one another. It was a damn shame the sneak skill I’d been cultivating wouldn’t help in this situation as I wasn’t trying to hide.
By intent, I shifted to the inside line of the narrow trail and forced them to walk around me. Giving no hint that I might give way to them. I’d observed enough capronid behaviour to know they weren’t exactly polite or accommodating to one another, particularly not from the dominant members. The gamble was that the skin cape, sawn-off horns, and muzzle armour would announce my alpha status and enforce deference from these lesser warriors.
The approach went better than expected. The front two peered at me through the blizzard conditions suspiciously, at first, and then stepped aside and let me pass unmolested.
And that was when things got tricky.
The nearest of the two, a grey-furred capronid grunted some kind of greeting. I grunted back in what I thought was a fairly decent approximation of goat-speak. Unfortunately, the wadded socks in front of my mouth muffled the raspy growl.
I felt rather saw grey-fur’s stride pause mid-step with aroused curiosity.
I was already past him and kept marching purposefully forward, ignoring his piqued interest as any arrogant alpha should. A second grunt from him was lost in the whistling wind.
The middle bunch of their group then came into clear view. Four humans in torn scraps of clothing had been chained together using the collars around their throats. The second of them in the chain had been garbed in the same military uniform most of the captured Wisconsin soldiers wore, or some variation of it. A recent prisoner then, though it had always been unlikely any of them might have been part of the townsfolk enslaved at the same time as Piper.
A third grunt came from grey fur, louder this time and it cut through the background noise, making it difficult to pretend I hadn’t heard it this time.
<He’s challenging you.>
I picked up on that Quixbix.
If it came to a fight, I was sure that I could take them easily enough. What I didn’t know was how close the Blood Shrine was and how easy it might be for one of the trailing capronids to fall back and put the shrine keepers on high alert. Glancing at the chain linking the collared slaves an alternate plan formed.
“Sorry bud, this is for the greater good,” I muttered under my breath, too low to be heard by anyone and muffled even further by the socks.
I shifted sideways as if I was stepping around an obstruction and slammed the collared soldier shoulder-to-shoulder with enough force to not just knock him off his feet but send him over the edge of the trail as well. Chained as he was to the rest of the group, he pulled them over the side before they could brace themselves and all four started to tumble down the thirty feet of scraggy slope and came to a rest in the stream at the base of the ravine.
Bedlam broke out amongst the capronids and they rushed to the side of the trail with several of them jumping down into the ravine to give chase to the ‘escaping’ slaves. They probably hadn’t seen that I was the cause of the incident due to the swirling blizzard-like conditions. In the commotion, grey-fur’s suspicion of the odd-alpha had to take a backseat, and he joined the other escorting patrol members in retrieving their property. Unperturbed, I kept moving at the same pace and trudged up the trail, passed them, and left the creatures in my wake.
My caution proved to be worthwhile. The moment I reached the top of the trail, it started to wind back down into the valley opening into a wider expanse of flatter landscape that had been just out of sight from my previous vantage point. The camp built around the Blood Shrine was in the shadow of two peaks on either side. There were two more trails, one that snaked up and between the two peaks behind the camp and a second that ran parallel to the stream that continued to cut through the mountainous terrain on the far side.
The two peaks shielded the camp from the worst of the wind. Consequently, the falling show hadn’t been whipped around as much here and didn’t interfere with visibility half as much.
There was a poorly made low wall that surrounded the camp. The building material was lumps of rock gathered from the ground and sealed together by a sloppy paste made from dug-up soil and water and then allowed to freeze. A team of slaves were hard at work trying to increase the height of the shoddy defensive structure.
Inside the perimeter, there were three dozen wood and leather tents arranged in a haphazard style and at its centre was the monstrous monolith I’d come to destroy.
It was the same shape as the Blood Shrine erected on Beaver Island by the Hooved Horde. The one started by that dumbass vegan, Dougie, who summoned the beasts to my island and kickstarted their incessant involvement in my business.
It was hard to believe that happened more than a year earlier, it felt like a lifetime ago.
That shrine had used a steel girder and the remnants of broken mining equipment in its construction. This one was built using a thick log as the central column. Something they must have brought with them from Canada and padded out with smaller branches from the smaller local fir trees that dotted the habitat’s landscape. Then the shrine was decorated with ornaments made from bone and flesh.
It looked like a gore-slathered Christmas Tree. No milk and cookies were left under this one. Blood and a plate of eyeballs maybe. A tribute to a Santa sporting six-inch claws on each hand and not a sack full of presents.
The base of this one was sturdier than what the smaller shrine on my island had been held up with. Shaped blocks fitted together and then filled in with something like cement. Nothing that would stand up to one of Sheamus’ explosive charges, though.
I always kept a decent selection of his goodies in my inventory slots. You never knew when you might need to blow some shit up.
There was no time like the present, with my assessment complete, I started the descent towards the camp. The camp wasn’t large, and I wouldn’t need my disguise to last for very long to reach the shrine. Half a minute, tops, if I put some hustle in.
The real trick was going to be getting out afterwards.