Quest of the Ancient God Read online

  Quest of the Ancient God

  Brian McGoldrick

  Quest of the Ancient God

  Brian McGoldrick

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2017 by Brian McGoldrick

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  Edition: July 2017

  Contents

  Title Page

  Book Summary

  Acts of Boran

  Ghosts From a Twisted World

  Planning a Return to Earth

  Dimension and Secrets

  Taereun

  Refuge

  The Aether

  Freeport

  To Kill or Not To Kill

  Parents and Children

  Who Brings a Gun to a Sword Fight

  The Gate to Earth

  God Level Access

  Area 51

  J'Rome's Stand

  The Games Gods Play

  Book Summary: Quest of the Ancient God

  The Labyrinth of Yggr was originally the dimensional battle fortress of the True Dragon Nidhoggr. The Jotun Lords have a limited understanding of how or why it works. With their repeated absorption of plane after plane into a dimensional matrix maintained by the the dimensional drives and the Furnace of Life and Death, Yggdrasil has become unstable. When the matrix breaks down, the unleashed Power will destroy the planes within Yggdrasil and countless planes outside of it.

  Boran Second Father has given Brand a mission to recover the Yggdrasil's primary dimensional drive from Woden, who is The Nameless God. With the primary drive in his control, Boran will be able to deal with the unstable Yggdrasil. While Brand does not care what happens to others, he agrees to help because he has no way to escape the destruction that will be unleashed.

  Yggdrasil's primary drive is on Earth. Brand saw it once before it was taken by Woden, and he no longer knows where it is located. On Earth, Jinmu was Ryouske Urehara, the owner of the Urehara Group. Prophet and Delphi were created and controlled by the Urehara group and nearly every nation on Earth has one of the systems installed to coordinate and control their information network to monitor their population. Everything on Earth that happens within range of any device connected to the data networks is recorded by Prophet and Delphi. Needing to gain control over the Prophet and Delphi systems, Brand sets out to confront Jinmu, a man who betrayed him and sold him into slavery.

  Acts of Boran

  *** Mountain View – The Lands of Despair ***

  Return: Day 301 – 307

  The cave was deep beneath the surface. Invisible to a normal, mortal eye, thick flows of Elemental Power filled it. While there were more that a hundred variants of Elemental Power, more than three-quarters of that Power was of the Od, and nine-tenths of what remained was of the Four Prime Elements, Air, Earth, Fire, and Water, plus two more. The two more were Spirit and Void. Though recognized by virtually none as Prime Elements, they were just as much Prime Elements and the other four.

  Seemingly tiny against the vast size of the cavern, a work area larger than a football field filled one corner of that cavern. It had all the necessary tools and equipment for a Transcendent Maker to carry out the tasks of any and all of the myriad variants of the Maker callings.

  In that work area, Boran, the Second Father of the Dvergar, stared at the weapons lying on his workbench. The ruined sword made entirely of Elemental metal was the focus of his attention. With just the tips of his fingers, he caressed the rough surface of the ruined blade.

  Is it chance that this weapon should fall into the hands of one with his bloodline, or it the False Name calling herself Fate meddling yet again? Whether chance or interference, this blade was one made by me and used against those it should have protected. It is better that it's pattern is shattered beyond repair; the corruption could never have been purified from it. I will not reforge this weapon, but should I leave it in Brand's hands?

  Brand is nearly the last of that ancient bloodline, at least of those who are still of pure lineage. The others of pure lineage have all been corrupted. Since the War of Slaughter, the wormhole that connected Taereun to that Earth should have been closed. How did he wind up there, in that obscure universe? Which clan was that child born of?

  In the eyes of the ancient Dvergar, nearly everyone and everything that lived, no matter how near or far from the time of its birth, was nothing more than a child.

  Lady Life, is your hand in this?

  After staring at the collection of weapons for several hours, Boran began to smelt down the two bastard swords from Earth in a single crucible. Pulling bars of other metals out of a pocket dimension, he added them to the swords and watched as they slowly melted.

  Several hours later, when the metals combined into a molten mixture, Boran began to stir and manipulate the metals with flows of a dark grey Elemental Power. Under his careful control, the disparate metals formed into a liquid compound that satisfied him.

  Using more Elemental Power, this time brownish-yellow, Boran drew the liquid metal from the crucible and molded it into two rough, over-sized swords. Each one was more than twice the thicknesses and a fifth longer and wider than the swords that Brand had given to him.

  Frowning slightly, Boran left the rough swords hanging above the crucible and moved to a workbench against the wall. In bins under that workbench, there were dozens of different metals, stones, and woods, in a myriad of different hardnesses and flexibilities. While stroking his beard in thought, one by one, Boran stared at the raw materials.

  While the rough swords cooled from molten to solid and Boran stood lost in his thoughts, more than two days passed. Finally, Boran turned his gaze upon the now solid but still sullenly red-glowing swords, and his frown deepened.

  Seemingly at random, Boran pulled materials from the bins, drawing them out with nothing more than a thought. In a matter of minutes, the raw metal, stone, and wood were fashioned in guards and furniture for a pair of swords. Despite the speed of Boran's work, each piece for one sword was an exact mirror of its opposite for the other sword.

  Moving to a massive anvil, bigger than an ox, Boran gestured, and blue-white Fire sprang up in the forge, igniting a stone that was not coal and obviously not charcoal. Several hours passed as the stone burned before he appeared satisfied.

  Summoning the two swords that had cooled to a dull red glow, Boran buried them in the burning stone. Under the direction of his will, Air flowed into the inlet, where a bellows would be on a mortal forge, and the Fire flared blindingly. Bathed by an intense heat exceeding the surface temperature of a yellow star, the two swords slowly heated up to a yellow-white color.

  CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

  After placing the two swords on the anvil. Boran took out a large, non-reflective, black hammer and began working the metal. With each blow of the hammer, space seemed to warp and twist, as though on the verge of tearing. Alternating between the two swords, until they had cooled to an orange-yellow color, Boran continued to work the metal.

  After placing the cooled swords back in his forge and starting another flow of Air into it, Boran looked around, seeming to look beyond the cavern to someplace no mortal eye can see.

  Maybe, I should not have used that metal. It might be a mistake to place a weapon made from that broken blade into the hand of one of that child's blood, but if he is brought to ruin by it, he
is simply too weak.

  Time and again, Boran repeated the process of heating and hammering. Each time, the two swords become smaller. With the force of his strength and his Power, Boran compresses the alloy of the swords, increasing their density, hardness, and durability.

  After three days of hammering, when Boran placed the swords in his forge to heat, he moved to a quenching trough. With a gesture from Boran, a metal cask capable of holding around five hundred gallons of liquid appeared next to the trough.

  For a time Boran did nothing with the cask, he simply stared at it. In his eyes, there seemed to be the shadows of a soul crushing pain. When the swords in the forge had reached a nearly pure white color, Boran finally took his eye off the cask and glanced at the forge.

  “In life, you followed the One betrayed us all, the One who betrayed everything He was born to, the One betrayed everything He fought against. He turned traitor and sided with the enemies of His lifetime, and you followed him like a lickspittle. In death, you will be of service to one that Lady Life has smiled upon.”

  Boran opened the tap on the cask, and a silver-red liquid flowed into the quenching trough. Only when it was filled three-quarters full, did Boran close the tap and make the cask disappear with another gesture.

  Carried by Boran's thoughts, the two swords, nearly pure white from the intense heat, float from the forge, to hover over the quenching trough.

  “I know you can understand my words. I feel the remnants of your poisoned Soul still there, trapped within your blood. It was my will and my Power that imprisoned you. I will Purify you with Od and set right your warped betrayals.”

  Plop. HISS!

  The two swords fell into the trough of silver-red blood, but none of it splattered anywhere. For a few moments, there was nothing but the roiling surface of the blood and rising steam, as the blades began to cool.

  “RRRRAAAAAARRRRRR!”

  At the sound of the roar of a True Dragon, an expression, which looked like a smile, but was something else entirely, turned up the corners of his lips. His eyes filled with hate and rage so deep and cold that it would have killed any mortal being that looked upon him.

  “So, you are angered? I will give you pain to go with it!”

  His fist tightly clenched, Boran raised his right hand over his head. Power flowed outward from his body and began to draw more Power from the world around him. There were two distinct natures to the Power. They were, at once, both different and the same. One was a black so dark it seemed to absorb all light, shot through with veins of malignant red and purple. The other was brilliant greenish-silver so bright it would outshine the sun, shot through with veins of rich forest green and brown. The Power coalesced into a ball that had the appearance of a taiji, a yin-yang symbol.

  The roar of the True Dragon quieted to a growl and became filled with fear.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

  A stream of twisted black and greenish-silver power poured into the quenching, and the growl turned into a howl of agony. As the Power poured into the quenching trough, the level of the blood in it fell, and the volume of the shriek waned.

  With the disappearance of the last of the blood, silence fell in the cavern. As his not-smile turned into a frown, Boran took a step forward and looked into the quenching tank. As he stared for several moments, the frown only deepened.

  “Lady, what inspiration did you fill me with? What exactly have I made? The child might wield these blades for a time, but they are not destined for his hand. You and the Lord chose not to have Avatars, but the Od refuses to forego its Chosen. That child walks a path of pain, whether past, present, or future. He will only be the catalyst to finalize the nature of these blades and consolidate their patterns through pain and suffering. Their true fate lies in the future, in the hands of another not yet born.”

  Boran shook his head sorrowfully. “The axe is the only weapon that suits that child, but I cannot yet see how to forge one that will be right for him. I only hope that I can find the way before time runs out.

  “Lady, your love is too heavy a burden for a mortal child.”

  Laughing at himself, Boran looked around. “Talking to myself, again. I am too old. Soon, I will enter the long sleep again.”

  Boran looked to the side. Seeing things beyond his current plane, his eyes revealing shadows of animosity and pain, he frowned. “In his pain, that child is drawn to other pain. I did not place the burden on the child, but my actions only heighten it. I will do this to give him a temporary solace.”

  *** Gor'achen Citadel – The Battleground of the Damned ***

  Return: Day 307

  The suite was in shambles. Once thick, rich carpeting had been torn up and haphazardly piled in the corners of the rooms. Most of the furniture was destroyed. Some of it had been broken into splinters, and some of it appeared chemically burned or melted. Even, the stone of the floor was discolored and etched as though a caustic substance had been dumped on it.

  As she had been doing for most of the day for more than two weeks, Elan'fer'sha sat on the bare stone floor of her bedroom. As she rocked back and forth, her teeth were sunk in her lower lip to keep from screaming. Rising and receding, waves of agonizing, burning pain wracked her body. She felt as though her body was being both immolated and torn apart at the same time. Time and existence had turned into a roller coaster of enough pain to drive her insane and slightly less pain.

  Prices. I have always known that everything has a price. For more than two hundred years, I constantly overused the Umbra. I knew my time was short, but why must the price come due now? I should have more time. I want more time.

  Tears of pain. Tears of regret. Tears of sorrow. Elan'fer'sha's cheeks were streaked with fallen tears, and more tears, as yet, unshed, pooled in the corners of her wider than human eyes. The whipcord muscles of her slender body were tensed to the point of tearing, as she tried to hold back the tears, to hold back the pain.

  Along with the pain, her emotions were out of control. Without cause or warning, they would abruptly change. In the past weeks, she had shifted from manic highs to suicidal lows, from hate to lust, from rage to ennui. At that moment, she was mired in deep depression.

  An image flashed through, her mind for the umpteenth time. A scarred human bound to an altar was beneath her. His hard human dick, more than thrice the thickness of an Alfar male's, was filling her dripping pussy, as she rode him. Dozens more images of that human, uglier than other humans but so compelling to her, flashed through her mind. Most of the memories were of her fucking and being fucked by that human. The rest were of the human fighting. Every time he fought, he won. No matter how strong or ferocious the enemy, every time, the human won.

  Brand! Why did I have to meet you? Why am I obsessed with you? You destroyed my focus. You destroyed me. You set me free from my obsession with vengeance. I do not understand how you became more important than my quest for my clan's murderer. I do not understand why. I just want more time. I want to feel your hands on my body. I want to feel your dick inside me.

  But I am out of time. The Umbra always destroys those who use it. Some are destroyed faster, and some are destroyed slower. Even though I overused it, I should still have centuries, if not millennia, left. Why am I out of time?!

  Staggering to her feet, Elan'fer'sha unsteadily stumbled into her wardrobe. Most of the clothing had been torn to shreds, and even before being torn to shreds, most of the clothing could barely be considered clothing. An open chest lay on the floor, broken vials spilling out from it. A mix of different liquids of differing colors and consistencies formed a puddle around it.

  Dropping to her knees, Elan'fer'sha shredded the skin on her knees. While cursing incoherently, she flipped the chest upright and began digging in it. With her hands cut by the broken crystal vials, She pulled out a vial filled with a red, viscous liquid and drank it. As the fluid entered her stomach, the cuts on her hands and knees began to heal at a visible rate, but the burning pain wracki
ng her body only intensified.

  “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!”

  Her whispers rose in volume to all-out shrieks. Staring at the stone ceiling of her wardrobe, she helplessly shook her fists, until a new wave of pain doubled her over again. With her body wracked by spasms, she fell face down on the floor. Time turned into a blur, as she lay sobbing.

  “Alfar, you are dying.” The deep bass voice that filled the room sounds like stones grinding one against another.

  Twisting her neck to look at the source of the voice, Elan'fer'sha froze, as raw terror filled her mind. Standing in the middle of her bedroom, a massive Dvergar looked down at her. The naked hate and contempt in his eyes nearly caused Elan'fer'sha to lose control of her bladder.

  Standing barely half a head shorter than a human, this Dvergar was a giant among his kind. The massive bulk given by his extreme muscular development made a bull orc look scrawny. If not for his imposing physical presence, the long grey beard and eyes in which a color could not be determined would have made most any being viewing him think that he was a ghost. Even his clothes, which were barely more than rags, could not detract from the inborn majesty of that Dvergar.

  That Dvergar was one whose image was captured in a set of secret recording crystals from the time of the Jotun-Dragon War. Wytches are raised to be weapons of the DokkAlfar Empires. In the Atran'ler Empire, after taking her oaths, a Wytch would be shown the secret records of the darkest time the history of the DokkAlfar race.

  In the final major battle of the war, this Dvergar took the field. Dozens of Jotun and Dragon Lords fell by his hand. Gods from both sides fell to him in a matter of a few thousandths. Nothing on the battlefield could match the merciless, destructive Power of this Dvergar. After that battle was over, the Dvergar spread throughout Taereun and its sub-planes. They slaughtered Alfar, Jotun, and Dragons indiscriminately.