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The Games that Gods Play	By : Ristul Category: DC Verse Comics > Wonder Woman Views: 16896 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Wonder Woman,nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 36
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- 38
Napoleon was right. An army marches on its stomach. But what many forget is also that the best armies are motivated by fear and run by money.
-Jake Kabrinski
“Where are they?” Gawain Sharpe stared in disbelief at the expanse of empty sea before him, carried in Donna Troy’s strong grip.
“Islands don’t just disappear like that!” His girlfriend said, obviously shaken by what they did not find.
“Has anything like this happened before?”
“Why, yes!” Donna replied. “Circe once transported Themyscira into the realm of the demons, where they spent ten years fighting off the forces of hell.”
“So in other words, somebody with a great deal of power could have done this.”
“Like Ares.” Donna’s voice was flat.
“For the record, I am not behind this.” The new voice startled Gawain, and Donna spun them both around to see Ares floating in midair with them, a dark cloak billowing out behind him. “I have better things to do than to waste my time sending my men to other dimensions.” He glared at Gawain. “Find out who’s behind it.”
“Hey. Who’re you to start giving me orders?” Gawain snapped back. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“I have better things to worry about.” Ares narrowed his eyes. “And you, Donna Troy, your loved ones are missing, and so you have much more at stake here. This is your problem, not mine.” The god of conflict faded away, leaving a disbelieving Gawain.
“Son of a…” He looked at Donna. “What an asshole!”
She nodded. “But he’s right. It’s up to us.”
“So who can we look for?”
“Zatanna.”
“If you wish to take my money, know this: I have none.” Phillip spoke. He did not turn his head, keeping his voice low and dangerous for those waiting around him. “Leave me alone, and I’ll spare your lives.” He didn’t know if they understood his English or not, but the tenor of his voice should leave little doubt of his intent.
For a moment there was nothing. Everything was still. Then Phillip sighed, almost inaudibly.
Several armed men burst onto the track, arrows streaking out for the stranger in their sights. Phillip was already in motion when the arrows were released, his swords flashing out in silent arcs, cutting the arrows away from him. He glided into the midst of the men, but held back from killing them, using the flat or hilt of his blades to knock them unconscious.
The ambushers lost heart at facing prey that was taking them apart with apparent ease. They panicked and started to run, but Phillip was in no mood to let them go. He stooped down, grabbing up some rocks and chucking them with vicious force at the fleeing bandits, knocking them down.
In less than a minute, it was all over, with only the lone swordsman standing over the fallen forms of his would-be attackers.
“Rise and shine.” Bedin jerked himself awake as the water splashed onto his face. He shook water out of his face and beard, and glared up at the clean shaven man in front of him.
He glanced left, and then right. His fellow bandits, all ten of them, were tied up in various contorted positions with ropes, while the man who they had ambushed, or tried to at any rate, sat in front of a fire in the cave they were using as a hideout, slowly roasting a leg of bird over the fire. The aroma of the food made his mouth water, and Bedin cursed himself for showing weakness in front of the enemy. He didn’t kill us. Why?
“You all seem hungry.” The man smiled. “Now,” he suddenly lifted a small bag, and Bedin’s eyes widened as bloody chunks of game meat tumbled out of the bag onto the floor. “The food will be yours, as long as you answer some questions of mine.”
The others were hastily scrabbling around, in order to get into a position where they could at least talk to the stranger. Bedin did the same, and he managed to be the first to get the words out first, “What do you want to know, stranger?”
The man shrugged. “Some things.” His pale eyes, arctic cold in a way that chilled Bedin’s bones more than the cold night air, fixed on the bandit. “I noticed all of you were wearing scraps of uniforms. Deserters?”
Bedin’s reply stuck in his throat. The memories of the battlefield came back to him, and he could not stop the tears from falling down his face. “Yeah, we’re deserters,” he managed to choke out.
“What happened to the army you were serving in?”
“Dead. All killed.”
“I’d like a longer explanation.”
Bedin spat. “We’re deserters. We ran away. So what? Better than staying on to get killed!”
“Ran away into these parts to be bandits?” There was the barest hint of scorn in the man’s voice.
“Nothing we could have done! They were too strong, too well armed! Call us cowards if you wish, but we’re no good to anybody if we’d stood our ground and died!” He remembered the champions of the goddess, ripping through their ranks like hot knives through butter. Flying in the air and then smashing into them from above. Battering aside their arrows and swords like so much chaff.
“There’s more to that, I think.” The man stood and squatted in front of Bedin. “It wasn’t your choice to be bandits. It was that this was the only way you could think of to fight back.”
Bedin stared up at the man, whose cold eyes bored into his very soul. He shrank from his steady gaze, which seemed to see far too much. He sighed, then looked back at the man. “We can’t fight them in a straight battle. So we slunk away to be bandits, waylaying whoever tries to do trade around here.”
“And apparently you’re not doing too good a job of it.”
“We’re soldiers. We’re supposed to be soldiers! We might have run away, but we haven’t given up!”
“Haven’t given up?” The man’s smile turned sardonic. “What’s this?” He held his arms out, gesturing at the scattered weapons on the ground, the small battered pots of water and other scavenged supplies around the cave. “This are the signs of defeated men!” He pointed at Bedin’s men. “You… You are all what defeated men look like!” He leaned down and grabbed Bedin by the jaw. “Not defeated, eh? What a pathetic joke.”
Bedin jerked his chin away from the man’s grasp. “You don’t understand! You didn’t see them burn our cities to the ground! You didn’t see our children killed by the dozens, our people burned alive in mass graves, our women in chains! What were we supposed to do? Stand and die?” Tears streaked down his cheeks, signs of his shame and cowardice.
Quicker than his eye could see, the man’s swords flashed out, and Bedin felt the ropes on him loosen. He pulled free, rubbed his wrists in disbelief.
The man muttered softly. “What were you supposed to do, indeed?” His eyes focused on Bedin. “If I tell you I can stop all that, save your people, will you follow me?”
Bedin did not know why, but as he looked into the man’s eyes, he suddenly knew without a doubt that the man before him was everything he promised, and more. But more important than that, he knew the man would not sugarcoat what they needed to do. The road would be long and bloody, terrible beyond anything he had ever imagined before. Was the price worth it? Bedin was hesitant for a moment, before his shame and the memories came back to him. No, there never was a choice.
He knelt before the man. “If you would deliver my people and the rest of our world from the clutches of the evil goddess and her empire, my sword is yours.”
The man lifted him to his feet, and pressed a knife into his hands. “Free the rest of your friends, then tell me everything.”
“I don’t like this at all.” Stanly Burnside complained as he watched the gathered ranks of the men of the island. “We get plopped somewhere else the very day we set foot here? What are the odds of that?”
Jake and Morgan exchanged looks. Ares could be behind it, but neither of them thought so. The god of war would have given them some kind of warning if he had planned it. Which meant somebody else was behind it. Who that was, they didn’t quite care to make a guess. Yet.
“Where’s Lance?” Stan finally noticed the missing Ranger captain and his affected Texan drawl. Lance Tiller was young for his rank, but extremely competent by Morgan’s standards.
Morgan answered, “Scouting. I’ve patrols out as far as twenty miles out, and Lance’s a cagey veteran. He’ll not miss anything.”
“He’d better not, for all our sakes.” Jake sat down, but his height made him tower above the nervous looking Lindstroms. He looked pointedly at one of the native men, who’d been selected by his peers to talk to what was automatically their command council.
Pelias swallowed hard. “Lord Ares told us there would be visitors, who’d bring us to greater glory than ever before. When you came, we felt vindicated in our worship of his Holiness, but now…”
Ramon resisted a snicker behind one hand while the other men rolled their eyes. Jake shook his head as he recalled the duel when Ramon had nearly killed the God of War and Conflict. The boy obviously felt no awe towards Ares; the god was just another. He would never understand the respect and fear others held towards Ares.
“This is a test.” Jake spoke up suddenly. “Did you believe you would have Ares take you into his confidence just like that?” The big man snapped a finger. “Of course not! You would have to prove yourselves first!”
The other men stared at him as though he had grown two heads. Jake ignored them, and quickly gave his orders. “And right now, I want you to get your men all organized in groups of 40 men each.” When Pelias did not move, Jake exploded, “Get to it!” The man scrambled off.
Ramon was the first to blink. “What was that about?”
Ana Lindstrom was the most distraught. “On my god, you’re going to teach them to fight!”
Jake sighed. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Only God knows where we are. We might have enemies, or allies on the way, and we can’t tell for sure. So the very first thing we need is defense, and sorry, Morgan, but your boys just aren’t enough. At the very least, they have to know how to defend themselves.”
“Never thought my boys were enough.” Morgan smiled. He started ticking of his fingers, “So now we have five thousand raw recruits, about thirty Army Rangers with enough ammo for a week of action, another fifty construction workers, plus ten of Stan’s media boys.” He nodded to Ana Lindstrom, who was arguing quietly with her husband Henry. “One married couple. And us.” He smirked at Jake, and flipped out a coin. “Too bad Phillip ain’t here. He would have loved cleaning up this mess. So, Jake, heads you lead this bunch, tails for me?
Queen Clea, goddess and the mighty ruler of Nepheria, the strongest and most powerful of the nations of the world, sat resplendent in her cloak and gown of shimmering silk, while her frenzied worshippers filled the massive coliseum.
She tapped her fingers on the side of her throne, thinking of the events that had led her to this place, to this day. She remembered that last day in Skartaris clearly, when she had been de-aged back to an infant. They had thought she was no longer a threat, that it would be years before she became a threat.
She knew better. She held her peace, pretending to be the addled, crying infant until she had the opportunity to activate one of the many techno-portals secreted in the recesses of Skartaris. She had crawled through, and in an incredible stroke of luck, appeared upon a dais where several priests of Nepheria had been praying.
Naturally, they had thought she was a goddess in the form of a baby, descending to them on a pillar of light. She herself used her small command of magic to reinforce their perceptions, and she used every trick and tactic she had available as she was growing up to maintain her position as a favored daughter, the very embodiment of their beliefs. It was easier than she had thought, since she had a very adult and cunning mind stuck in the body of a child.
When she was entering her adolescence, she came across an ancient artifact, the Gem of Gyfos. She studied it intently, trying to uncover its secrets. She finally did so, making the important discovery that controlling the gem magically allowed her to harness the worship of her followers, enabling her to be a real goddess, possessed of great power and capable of incredible feats.
She had used the Gem to become the supreme ruler of Nepheria, and used her power to raise powerful armies, scouring the lands for more artifacts to add to her power. She no longer cared for petty trinkets such as the Staff of Atlantis; she had far more powerful objects at her command.
Clea had also started to try to pierce the veils separating her from her homeworld Earth, when she made an important discovery: when she had escaped from Skartaris, she had escaped into the past, which made her present Earth’s present as well! Delighted with her findings, she had started to plot her revenge, researching ways to transport the Amazons to her realm.
And now, as she watched her handpicked champions lead out long lines of enchained Amazons out onto the hot sands of the coliseum, Clea felt a cold satisfaction at how she had finally achieved her success and the downfall of both Hippolyta and her accursed daughter. Of course, she knew well that neither Amazon had given up yet; it would make their eventual breaking that much sweeter.
Her men tossed Hippolyta to her feet, while Wonder Woman was held securely in amulets that bound her powers. The shackled Amazon Queen pushed herself to a standing position, her regal manner unbowed by her rough treatment. The frenzied crowds cheered loudly, expecting their goddess to give them a demonstration of her power and the folly of opposing her.
“Clea!” Hippolyta shook a fist at her. “You may be a goddess here, but we shall yet find a way to defeat you!”
Clea laughed scornfully. “Defeat me? With what? Your spit?” She waved a hand. “Make no mistake, Hippolyta. You are here as entertainment. For my enjoyment. And so is your daughter.” She glanced at Wonder Woman, who was brought forward. The Amazon Princess was clad in her costume, but missed her lasso, which was brought to Clea’s hands by a nearby attendant. “A truly powerful artifact.” Clea said, admiring the weave of the lasso of truth. She laid it onto a pillow held by a follower. “I shall take the time to study it, harness its power for my own purposes. I am now the equal of Athena and any of your bitch goddesses. Perhaps in time, I can even challenge Gaea herself!” Clea laughed. “And when that day comes, I shall return to Earth not just as Queen of Atlantis, but Queen of the World!”
“You dream, Clea!” Wonder Woman shouted, struggling against the chains and amulets that stripped her of her power. For a moment, Clea admired her foe’s persistence, even in the midst of defeat, facing insurmountable odds. “You cannot hope to win! Somebody shall stop you!”
“Perhaps.” Clea said, “But certainly not you.” She affected a yawn, and leaned down onto a cushion. “Now, do you see your fellow Amazons in chains before you?” Clea smiled evilly. “Forward, my champions. And oh, take off your pants.”
Three of her champions strode forward, and they removed their leggings in front of two of the Amazons, causing the gathered women to gasp in horror. Their engorged penises hung in the hot heavy air like fearsome spears, more than a foot long and almost two inches thick. The women in the crowd swooned with delight and envy, while the men stared on in awe.
The Amazons, however, knew what it meant, and despite their training, were terrified beyond belief. They knew what the three men wanted to do, and the sight of their cocks sent fear beyond anything they had ever known into their Amazon souls. The men were out to tame them, and the Amazons knew that with such terrible weapons, they could very well succeed.
“What do you want?” Hippolyta demanded.
Clea stood up. “I am not without my mercy, Hippolyta and Diana, but you would have to earn it. These two men are my champions, born and raised for war.” They strode forward, to stand before the bound Wonder Woman. The beauty snarled her defiance, but Clea savored the slightest tinge of fear in the Amazon’s pale eyes.
“You will fight all three of them, Wonder Woman. You shall have to defeat them. Succeed, and your people may go free. Fail, and they shall be free to pick any three of your sisters for… sport, in front of all these people.” Clea’s smile left no doubt as to what she meant by that.
The three men grinned at each other, then shrugged off the rest of their clothes, revealing muscular and chiseled frames. Clea whistled softly in appreciation. She had more than once selected one of her champions to pleasure her, and prowess in bed was just one of the many criteria she had for elevating select noble born men to the ranks of her champions. Other important traits were loyalty, skill, and intelligence that did not exceed a certain limit. She could not afford to have her subordinates plotting against her.
Clea waved a hand, and the chains dropped from Wonder Woman’s limbs. The Amazon Princess leapt to her feet, and headed straight for the first of the three men.
He smiled, and blocked the first of her blows. The Amazon actually smiled back grimly, before going into a series of furious patterns that would have put him down in seconds, powers or no powers.
Clea did not panic, and even started eating a bunch of grapes from a nearby platter. The other men went into the fray, their fists flying back into the superheroine, sending her reeling back for a moment. Her champions were well trained, and equipped with a wealth of experience fighting each other and other monsters encountered on their travels.
Clea also had a zoo of the most frightful beasts on the world, collected with much effort and slowly bred to act as fodder for training her warriors. Her champions might not be the equal of Princess Diana of Themyscira in one-on-one combat, yet she believed that three of her men would be more than sufficient to douse the Amazon’s fire.
Wonder Woman fought back with desperate strength, her honed body gleaming with the sweat of her exertions as she tried to hold back her enemies. However, they were too strong, too determined. She kicked one of them right across the coliseum, where he bounced off the magical shields protecting the audience from whatever was occurring in the arena. The man did not get up again.
She paid a terrible price for that attack. Hippolyta screamed out in agony for her daughter when one of the men caught Wonder Woman in a staggering blow across the back of her head, sending her to the ground in a sprawl. The other man dived from the skies, straight into her kidneys.
Wonder Woman’s scream of sheer agony was music to Clea’s ears.
Diana stumbled to her feet, but the outcome was no longer in doubt. The men laughed, and one of them gave her a hard shove, which sent her into the firm chest of the other remaining man. He caught up her arms, and locked them behind her back. Wonder Woman tried to free herself, kicking furiously with her remaining strength, but the man simply locked her long legs between his own.
The other man stepped in, and unleashed a vicious punch into the Amazon’s ridged abs. She gasped in pain as the air was driven out of her lungs, and there was no chance for her to take in a breath when the man punched her again in the belly. Her firm stomach, tough and muscular, trained from her childhood to almost impregnable toughness, broke under the unrelenting assault. Diana shrieked in pain.
The watching Amazons moaned and clutched one another in distress as they saw their princess destroyed at the hands Clea’s champions. The goddess laughed joyously at the sight of her most hated foe being pulverized.
“Too many… can’t fight… so many… at once.”
Wonder Woman dropped her head, her black silky hair momentarily obscuring her beautiful features. She was overcome with despair, fatigue, and pain, her Amazon willpower failing her for the first time in her life. There was nothing she could do to extricate herself and her people out of this terrible situation. She was tempted to just give in, admit defeat at the hands of her enemies. All those watching saw her loss of resolve, and everybody knew then that the battle was over. Wonder Woman was defeated in mind and spirit, even if her body would carry on struggling for a bit longer.
“No… can’t give up. Never… give up.”
Summoning up the vestiges of her strength and willpower, the Princess took a deep breath, and tried to free herself again. The other man did not punch her this time, but slapped her across the face. He followed it up with a backhanded slap, and the other man released the distraught Amazon to the ground. She curled up in a fetal position on the ground, trying to regain her strength and shield herself from the terrible punishment she was sure was going to be inflicted upon her. Hippolyta sobbed at the sigh of her brutalized daughter.
Clea floated down to the ground. “See your champion, Amazons! Defeated, helpless! No longer so high and mighty, eh, Diana?” She waved to the men. “Take your pick!”
“Urgh! NO!” Diana screamed out from her position on the ground as the champions who had defeated her walked over to the long lines of frightened Amazons. Her steely blue eyes were clouded with shame and humiliation, at failing her sisters.
The two champions were soon joined by the third man, who had regained his senses. One of them plucked out a blonde, short Amazon, who scratched furiously at her powerful captor until he smacked her in the stomach, sending her gasping to her knees. The second champion selected a brown tanned Amazon, while the third took hold of a brunette.
“Polyxena! Hermione! Macaria!” Diana sobbed in fear as the three men tore the gowns off their selected victims. “No! Clea, please don’t do this!”
Clea laughed in reply, and said, “Get on with it!”
There was no foreplay, no preparation, no affection at all. The men simply placed themselves in position, gave their victims several powerful blows to remove all fight from them, and then plunged their huge shafts into the screaming Amazons.
“No! STOP!”
“Get it out! It’s too big!”
“It hurts!”
Each amazon cried out their pain and fear, and the words struck deep into their watching sisters. Every one of them wanted nothing more than to break their chains and go to the rescue of their sisters, but they also knew that they were completely helpless. This was worse than what Heracles had inflicted upon them centuries ago; this was slow and deliberate torture and violation of the worst order.
Meanwhile, the crowd cheered loudly, and orgies broke out amongst them as men and women succumbed to the wave of intense sexual desire rolling around the coliseum. The stands were packed with thrusting men and moaning women, a sign of Nepheria’s depravity and debasement.
Queen Clea closed her eyes, savoring the power coming from her worshippers and the acts of depravity they were committing. This was part of the source for her power, and she reveled in the sensation, of the power and domination she held over the people in the coliseum and the captive Amazons.
The three Amazons screamed and howled in agony as they were brutally raped, and Clea watched with interest as they were brought to powerful climaxes by her champions. The three Amazons sagged in the grips of their violators, weakened and tamed by the power of the rapes.
“No, no, no…” Wonder Woman sobbed brokenly as she held her face in her hands.
The worse was yet to come. Clea waved a hand, and the three champions released the chains from their victims. The three Amazons dropped to the ground, and to the aghast disbelief of the watching Amazons, they knelt in subservience to the men who had raped them. The men waved their cocks in front of the women, and the Amazons opened their mouths, licking their lips in anticipation.
“No, impossible!” Hippolyta screamed. “Hermione, stop! What are you doing?”
Hermione and the other raped Amazons did not seem to heed their Queen, and took their conquerors’ cocks into their mouths, sucking the men in pleasure.
Clea laughed. “The power of my men is irresistible, dear Hippolyta. In time, you shall know the feeling yourself.” She turned to the sobbing Wonder Woman. “Do you feel it yourself, Diana? Can you feel the darkness in some part of your soul spreading slowly as your sisters give themselves over to my power?”
Wonder Woman stared at her incredulously, shuddering at the feelings of corruption invading her mind, body, and soul. “How?”
“Your soul is tied to your people, Wonder Woman. As they fall to me, so shall you. I shall enjoy every minute of this, as you succumb to my will and my power. In time, you shall become a sex-starved slut, willing to take any man.” Clea laughed.
Diana wailed, “No, somebody will stop you!”
“Who? On this world, I am unchallenged, and soon I shall rule it entirely! As for your allies, they shall never find you!” Clea continued laughing. “Admit it, Princess! You have lost! And this is only the beginning!”
Captain Lance Tiller paused as he watched the group of soldiers through his rifle scope. They were armed with swords and spears, and clad in some form of leather armor.
He scrabbled down the slope of the small rise where he had been watching, down to one of his fellow troopers. “Medieval looking folks. About a thousand of them. They don’t look friendly.”
“So what now?” Patrick Lasson asked. He sounded nervous. A thousand armed men was nothing to sniff at, even with modern firepower on their side.
“We get a receiving committee, and back it up with force. If they’re friendly, good. If they’re not…” Lance shrugged, “It’s going to be hell.” He took out his long range radio.
Phillip moved swiftly in the bushes at ambush depth, followed by two of his raiders. His small band had grown in size, as stragglers from other armies joined him. He had refocused their attentions on the occupying armies of Nepheria, striking supply depots and isolated patrols and fading away before they could be caught. Slowly but surely, his men were gaining confidence.
This journey was different. Reports had come to him of the local garrison commander pillaging several towns in the area, killing the men and children and taking the women for himself. His men had been adamant about marching on the garrison, but Phillip knew they lacked the strength to force an outright confrontation.
That didn’t mean there weren’t other options.
They came across a mounted horseman, riding slowly on the road to the garrison. Phillip waved his men down, and watched the horseman. They followed the man slowly for about a mile, before the horseman suddenly stopped.
The rider turned around in his saddle, and asked, “Who’s there?”
Phillip raised an eyebrow, and decided to reveal himself. He stepped out onto the road. “How did you know I was following you?”
The man laughed. “The wind told me!” He dismounted from the horse, and beckoned Phillip forward. “Are you bandits?”
Phillip blinked in surprise at the man’s blunt question, before shaking his head. “No, we’re not.” That at least was not a lie. Technically speaking, they weren’t bandits. He noted the sword hanging from the man’s belt, and his smooth calm manner. The man was either a fool or a veteran. Phillip suspected it was the latter.
He held out a hand, “I’m Phillip.”
The man smiled back, and shook his hand. “Baron Ofursti, envoy of Nepheria.” He did not seem to notice the dark looks of Phillip’s men, and continued. “I’ve heard rumors of the local garrison commander abusing his authority, and have come to investigate.” He waited for Phillip’s reply.
“I and my friends are just travelers. We’re mercenaries seeking possible employment with Nepheria.” Phillip lied smoothly.
“Ahhh…” Ofursti was no fool. He surely knew from their attire that the men with Phillip were deserters and survivors from other armies opposing Nepheria. “Well then, since we’re on the same road, let us travel together. We’ll be safer from bandits, and I can keep an eye on you.”
Phillip laughed softly at the last, and the double meaning it implied. He did not know why, but he found himself liking the blunt Baron and his forthright manner. He nodded, and fell in step with the horseman, walking under the graying skies.
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Interlude 11
There’s nothing more terrifying than the unknown.
-Ereskel
Tom Serra straightened his back, and groaned at the ache in his back from the weight of the box of tools he had just set down. It was hard work, backbreaking even, but strangely satisfying. He had grown stronger from the lifting of heavy weights, and his stamina had improved with the long hours of work. Nowadays, a hot bath was sufficient to wash the fatigue from his muscles at the end of the day.
Jake Kabrinski and Father Francis Gravesend had sent him here as a technician, fixing up the local garrison base in the area for use by the occupying clan forces and to guard against the raiding mercenaries. He had started out as a lowly tech, but his skills and insight had seen him soon promoted to the position of a team leader in the construction crews, supervising four other techs. He wasn’t in charge of much, but the experience of being a leader was novel to him, and he was determined not to squander the trust Francis and other men had placed in him.
“Lunchtime!” Somebody shouted, and Tom turned gratefully to the small mess where they had their meals. Men were scooping out bowls of rice from a tub, and handing it out to the other workers. Tom accepted a bowl, along with a small helping of boiled chunks of chicken, and sat down on the ground, taking a small bottle of water from a table. He started eating with a pair of chopsticks, heaping the food into his mouth. It was exceedingly simple fare, but it was all they had, and he was thankful.
Life was simple, and it was good, but there was something in the air, something that told him that a storm was on the way. And at the back of his mind, always the specter of his vengeance, screaming at him…
Tom stuffed his mouth with more rice. No point thinking about it yet. He had learnt that much, realized that much, from Francis’ teachings and long discussions with the cleric. He suspected Francis knew more than he was letting on, but for the moment, he was content with the old man’s companionship.
“Hey, look up there!” One of his workers, Poole, said.
Tom looked up, and his blood turned cold. The sky was filled with many miniature suns, burning amidst the white clouds. Hundreds of them, slowly growing as they approached the planet’s surface. Dropships, landing craft, hundreds, more than he had ever seen before.
“Get to your homes!” He barked. “It’s an invasion!”
He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. The construction camp exploded into chaos, as men suddenly scrambled around, grabbing whatever came to hand.
A sudden dull vibration through the ground heralded the appearance of several combat mechs, mercenary units by their markings and insignia. Several squads of infantry followed close behind, fading out of the woods in several clumps.
Tom was wholly unprepared for the volley of laser fire that chased the mercenaries as they exited the forest near the base. Clan mechs appeared, with smaller metal humanoid shapes bounding along their heels. The smaller figures were Elementals, power suited infantry manned by huge genetically engineered soldiers bred for toughness. Jake Kabrinski was an Elemental, and Tom shuddered at the thought of facing one of them. He was good, but probably not that good yet.
An unknown invasion force is right above us, and they’re still fighting each other? Tom started running towards the skirmish, waving his arms like a madman.
“Stop fighting!” He roared, even knowing that it was futile.
He dashed right into the middle of the battle, and a stray missile threw him off his feet, as it exploded five meters away. He climbed back to his feet, and moved in front of one of the clan mechs. He waved his hands, and started pointing upwards.
Incredibly, they did seem to stop firing. Tom didn’t know if it was because of his actions, or because they were receiving new information from elsewhere. At least they had stopped shooting at each other.
The cockpit of the mech in front of him suddenly popped open, and the pilot poked her head out of the side exit.
Tom saw one of the mercenary infantry troopers move forward. He was surprised. Commanders usually piloted mechs, protected by layers of alloy and steel, not slogging around on foot, liable to be killed at any moment.
The grizzled mercenary gave him a look of disgust, before shouting at the clan mechwarrior. “Frequency code is Alpha Tango Six Eight!” He turned to Tom, “What the hell are you doing here boy? Don’t see a war going on?”
Tom pointed upwards in reply.
The man spat to one side. “Yeah, yeah, we see ‘em. A lot worse than the last time it happened.” He glared at the female mechwarrior above him, who had went back into her cockpit, but had left her exit hatch open. “Looks like we’re back to fighting on the same side once again.”
Tom didn’t quite understand what the man was saying, but the mech before him started to move, and the various soldiers, who had been trying to kill one another for the past few weeks, suddenly fell into line. “What…”
He looked up again. Ten of the flaring drives were headed straight for them. He could start to make out the designs of the incoming ships. They didn’t just appear alien. They looked grotesque, evil.
A trooper pressed a rifle into his hands. “Nobody starts shooting until they do, but once they do, shoot back.”
Tom gripped the weapon tightly. He did not know why, but he knew with near certainty that whoever was coming in would be their enemies.
It had been two days since the battle at the base construction camp, and Tom was bone tired. His hands seem to be grafted to the rifle he had been given just before the invaders struck, and the stench of blood clogged his sense of smell.
Fires burned around him, the burning grass providing an eerie backdrop to the small camp of refugees he had found huddling amidst the wreckage of the camp.
The invaders had landed and started shooting without any provocation. Then out of the cargo holds of the landing ships had boiled out monsters out of their worst nightmares. Skeletal monsters moving with frightening speed, wolf-like creatures with acidic saliva that burned anything it came into contact with, huge reptilian aliens wielding heavy weaponry, and an assortment of other horrors. The good thing was, they could be killed. The bad thing was, they were harder to kill than anything he had ever encountered before. Nobody had any idea where they came from, and nobody cared; they were too busy trying to stay alive.
The worst ones were the human enemies. They looked almost like humans, except that they lacked… something that defined a human being. They were the toughest enemies of all, and seemingly the shock troops of the enemy forces.
Tom rubbed the black scab on a thigh, where one of those wolves had gotten a piece of him with one deadly claw. The wound had closed, and thankfully it had not hindered his mobility, but he had barely managed to pull himself out of that fight alive. Only half of the soldiers and hastily gathered militia fighting with him had survived that skirmish. It was a sobering thought.
The enemies didn’t just have organic nightmares with them. They had drone soldiers, as well as metallic beasts armed with high tech weaponry that were a match for mechs, especially in numbers. And there were many, many of them. Tom clenched his fists, recalling the waves of enemies crashing into their makeshift lines during that first battle, their fire pressure hardly making a dent in the enemy force sweeping all before it.
“Tom?” He looked up at the voice, and started in recognition at the disheveled man in front of him.
“Poole?” Tom clasped the man by the shoulders. “Damn, you’re alive!”
Poole did not reply immediately, and Tom knew something was wrong. “Poole, what happened?”
“My… kids…” Poole grabbed Tom’s hands, “Please, you gotta help me get them back!”
“Calm down. What was that again?” Tom asked in a reassuring tone.
Poole told him. The man had left the construction site to get his family, in case it really was an invasion. Then the demons had come, and he had fled his village with his wife and their five children. In the woods, pursued by the monsters, he had lost two of his young children. Poole hated himself for abandoning them, but he had three other children to lead to safety.
He was in hysterics by the time he had ended his tale, and Tom was tempted to just walk away from the inevitable.
Poole looked at him, “Please, Tom, help me. You gotta find my kids…”
Tom wanted to turn away, pretend he didn’t hear it. He was tired, and he had to admit to himself, not just a little scared of further fighting. He had thought he knew what combat was; he realized he didn’t know anything about fire movement and mobile tactics, only about one-on-one fights and duels. A rescue operation like this, though, was right up his alley. Except that he was exhausted, and he lacked the equipment.
His orders from a mercenary sergeant had been clear. Join a squad of militia and escort the refugees to safety. But now that Poole had asked him to help, he found that he couldn’t walk away. There was a fire burning in his soul that he did not understand, something that told him he had to help. Maybe it was what others called a conscience; Tom never believed he had one.
I’m going to regret this, Tom thought as he finally said, “All right, Poole. I’ll help you.”
Gawain Sharpe clutched at the wound in his shoulder, his eyes furtively seeking an opening in the enemy group around him. Dark shapes moved in the forest, reflecting light off their weapons of metal, off swords and guns alike. The pale moons above glowed softly, lending the night a sinister and deadly air.
The boy growled, lost in the bloodlust. He stepped into motion, slicing his blade into a skeletal minion, then spun around to avoid a volley of laser fire that would have took off his head. His left hand came up with a laser pistol, and it spat out violet darts, chopping down another two enemies.
They came after him, and his sword swung around him with controlled violence, ichor spraying around him as the monsters were cut down. A hellhound dashed in, and was kicked away by a booted foot.
Gawain broke free of the entrapment, his legs pumping furiously as he ran through the forest with more enemies on his tail. He quickly assessed his surroundings as he ran, trying to find a better position to defend, where he could channel his attackers into lines where he could take them down.
He had not been alone. Not at first.
Ereskel brought him and Rudel into this area to patrol for stragglers and refugees, to point and guide them towards safety. They fought their way through several patrols, all the way into the deep forest.
Then Ereskel turned to him, right when lights flickered around them, telling of horrors to come. “Baryn asked me to train you. I’m sorry, but I never was good at cultivating talent. What I can do is to put you through the same things I had experienced. All I can say to you is: Become me.”
He abandoned Gawain in the forest, as Rudel screamed at their master for his act of cruelty. But Gawain understood his intent, if not his words. This was what he had to face on his own. The only way for him to improve, to push himself to his limits, find out just what he was capable of.
This was his fate.
That had been two days ago. Gawain had not eaten much since entering the forest, and even drink had been hard to come by. He scavenged from the corpses, chewed on roots, lived off the sparse land. There was no game at all. It seemed that even the local fauna were escaping the demons.
He reached a small ridge lined with bushes. He scrambled up the slope, ignoring the fatigue permeating his legs, which felt weighed down with lead. He spun around, and fired off several more shots from the pistol. The chasing monsters ducked for cover, but some of them continued up the slope. Gawain raised his sword, ready to slash into their ranks.
A storm of machine gun fire chopped them down, and Gawain looked up to see a figure perched on a tree branch, raining slugs onto the demons. He vaguely recognized the face, but the grime and dirt obscured and hindered his memory.
Sudden movement along his peripheral vision told him of flankers. Gawain charged off, his sword biting into flesh, then up and around to parry a strike at his neck.
The figure on the tree dropped to the ground, and went in to help him with a sword in each hand. It was at that moment that Gawain realized who the other man was. It was Tom Serra, the killer he had fought several weeks ago.
The two boys fought back to back instinctively, against the foes pressing on them on all sides. Gawain had never felt so tired before in his life, yet the appearance of Serra gave him a second wind, the assurance that he wasn’t fighting alone.
Somehow, the demons seemed to shrink away from the both of them, and soon there was nobody left to fight. Gawain leaned over his sword, retching dryly from exhaustion. He liked nothing more than to collapse onto the ground and sleep for a week.
He looked up into Tom’s eyes. The other boy stared down at him, and Gawain felt his own focus sharpening as he found himself glaring back. He saw within the other’s eyes a fire that he suspected burned within his own.
Tom held out a hand. Gawain took it, and the other boy pulled him up.
Tom said, “I’m looking for two children. They were lost in the forest here, but I’ve got their trail. You can follow me, or get the hell out of my way.” Tom did not wait for any form of reply, and started moving.
Gawain did not know the words, but he understood enough from the other’s body language. He was looking for something, and he needed Gawain’s help, even if he did not say it outright.
He smiled, picked up a gun from the many bodies around him, and followed the killer.
They jogged along a valley, along the trail Tom had found. He had led them out of the forest, fighting past several more patrols. Along the way, they had collected an impressive amount of weaponry, which they had placed in scavenged backpacks.
Tom was worried. The trail he had found had started with the two children, but the tracks had grown numerous, along with the sign of demons, which meant they had been captured. They had passed by the burnt out husks of several villages, and the mass graves of the massacred people nearly made him vomit. The villagers had been rounded up and killed with sword and claw, then pushed into hastily dug shallow depressions. There were women and men alike, and many of the female corpses bore signs of rape and violation. The strangest part of it was that there were no children found in those graves.
Tom didn’t know why, but it filled him with an urgent desperation. He could also sense the same desperation in Gawain, even though his companion could not speak the words. They would sit in silence during their rest periods, staring at each other or at their weapons, their fists clenched in determination and grim resolve.
They had taken what food and drink they could find from the destroyed houses, and it had given them just enough energy to continue the chase.
He glanced up the track they had been following. The signs were getting fresher, which meant they were catching up. He checked the magazine of his rifle as he ran, and signaled to Gawain to get ready. The other boy nodded, and they picked up their pace, pushing hard despite their fatigue.
“Oozogh gar!” A shout from ahead sent adrenaline surging through Tom, and he drew his sword in his right hand as he broke into a sprint.
“Yarrgh!” He yelled as he burst onto the rear of a convoy, his gun cutting down two of the humanoid enemies. There was about twelve of those dark humans, as Tom had internally classified them, and they spun around with military precision, seemingly unaffected by the loss of two of their number. Between their formation were several wheeled cages, and within those cages were about twenty children, all in torn clothing and crying with fear.
Tom stopped firing, and dived into their midst with his sword, dropping his gun to draw a dagger from his belt. Gawain came up beside him, and the bounty hunter threw his sword with vicious strength at the driver of the cages, the sword punching into his helmet. The driver slumped in the seat of the jeep pulling the cages along.
The dark humans fought back with melee weapons, and Tom found himself desperately dodging spears thrust in his direction. The enemies here were much more skilled than the others he had faced so far, and he retreated before their attacks.
Gawain dashed in on one side, and three of their number wheeled around to repel his attack. Tom saw an opportunity, and feinted forward, while he tossed his dagger into the belly of one of those facing Gawain.
The man collapsed, drawing off the attention of the next soldier standing beside him. Gawain took advantage, stepping in with a backup sword, pulling it out of its scabbard with a swift iai draw cut, the weapon chopping the man into two, right across his torso. He followed through with the attack, and the remaining soldier raised his spear to parry.
Two more dark humans turned to face Gawain’s threat, and that gave Tom an opening that he exploited ruthlessly. He roared, drawing their attention towards him, before dashing off to one side while swinging his sword horizontally across the chest of one of them. He grabbed hold of the body, and pushed it towards the other dark humans.
They caught the body, and stumbled under the weight. Tom ran his sword through the body, into the guts of another of the soldiers. He grabbed a spear on the ground, and raised it in time to parry a blow.
Gawain was tiring fast, but he had killed another two of them, which left them facing three soldiers. Two of them stood off to one side, and Tom disregarded them. If they wanted to watch their comrades get killed, they were more than welcome to do so. Three opponents were easier than five.
Holding the spear on one hand, he drew another dagger with his left hand and jabbed it at one soldier, who fell screaming as it punched into his stomach. The other enemy spun his sword in a wicked roundhouse, which Tom ducked under. He stabbed up with the spear, and it sliced into the man’s throat.
Gawain finished off his opponent at the same time, and that was when they heard the sound of clapping from the two remaining dark humans.
One of them said, “Impressive. Very impressive, these two.”
Tom felt a chill. Up till now, none of them had shown any sign that they could speak English.
The man who had spoken smiled at him, and it was not a pretty sight. “But now, you die.” The dark human suddenly faded out of sight, and Tom raised the spear instinctively to block a thrust from a sword right at his heart. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backwards, and he was terrified by the strength and speed of the attack. The dark human was stronger and faster beyond his imagination. He wielded a sword in one hand, while his other hand was cased in an iron clawed glove.
The other man had moved as well, wielding a sickle and chain, the chain weaving around him in intricate patterns facing Gawain. Gawain ducked desperately as the man tossed the weight at one end of the chain with incredible speed at him, the weight smashing apart a rock, and then pulled back just as quickly.
Tom tried to remain calm, falling back onto the combat meditation techniques Asem had taught him on Caph. He started fighting on instinct, letting his instincts guide his blade. They exchanged blows in a series of dazzling patterns, Tom barely fending off the attacks of his opponent. But somehow, he managed to hold his own.
“Not bad for a child.” His opponent mocked him. “But you are no match for a Drakkar.”
“Oh yeah?” Tom managed to gasp out. That was all he could say, since he was panting badly from exhaustion from the past few days. At least I know what they call themselves. Drakkar.
Gawain was not much better off. The bounty hunter was bleeding badly from a broken nose where the weight had smashed across it, but he was still standing. Which was a miracle in itself, since both of them were so badly outclassed.
Tom glanced over at Gawain. There was something they had to do…
Gawain looked at him, and Tom shouted, “Switch!”
He did not know why he said that, but he was already dashing for the one with the sickle and chain, his spear catching the chain as it snaked towards him. Tom rolled onto the ground, his dagger flashing out and barely parried by the suddenly frantic Drakkar. He let go of the spear, and unclipped a grenade from a pocket. He flicked off the pin, and hooked it onto the Drakkar’s uniform.
“What?” His opponent slashed at him, but Tom was already rolling backwards. The grenade exploded. Soil rained down on him, plus chunks of what seemed to be Drakkar flesh.
He raised his head, and saw Gawain run his blade through the Drakkar wielding the iron claw. Gawain was bleeding badly on one side of his face, and down his nose, but his mouth was twisted in determination. The Drakkar slid off the blade onto the ground. Gawain collapsed to the ground into a sitting position, wiping off the blood off his face.
Tom sat back, letting the cheers of the children wash over him. He just hoped there weren’t too many of those Drakkar around, especially those with such inhuman strength and speed.
He got to his feet, and walked for the jeep, shoving the dead Drakkar off. “Next stop, safety!”
The price of loyalty is eternal damnation.
-Words scrawled on wall of Myrmidon barracks
“Come on, you maggots!” Morgan Carter screamed, spittle flying from his mouth onto one of the unlucky men crawling on the ground under the barb wire. “I’ve seen snails that crawl faster than you!”
Jake hid his smile behind one hand. Morgan was obviously enjoying himself, even though he was clearly overworked from trying to train five thousand men with less than twenty men. They focused on combat discipline and fitness, since they didn’t have guns to equip the men, and even swords and archaic weaponry were in short supply. What they did have were enough wooden fishing spears and bows to equip the small army.
The men were willing to obey their orders, though it took three days to beat the basics into them. Jake noted that the men were picking up the skills faster than any other group of recruits he had ever seen, even the genetically bred-for-war cadets of his people. They had better stamina, better reflexes, and much higher pain tolerance than ordinary humans, probably a result of Ares’ workings on them, much as the goddesses had blessed the Amazons with abilities beyond ordinary mortals.
Jake approved of the choice of enhancements. In modern combat doctrine, strength counted far less than the ability to shoot first, and the ability to endure hardship an invaluable advantage, especially when combined with mobility. Steadiness was already a part of these men, they just had to convert it into military discipline.
Captain Lance’s report had been distressing, and they had placed the Lindstroms in charge. In turn, Ana had co-opted the media men and some of the construction workers to help her put together a diplomatic party to intercept and find out the intentions of the approaching army. They were about to set off, with Lance in command of the military escorts, ten of his Rangers, armed to the teeth. Ramon tagged along, sent by Jake because Jake suspected they would see action, and the boy needed the experience.
A nagging feeling of guilt tugged at him, because he knew very well he was doing to Ramon what Francis and Ereskel had done to Phillip and Gawain, putting them into positions of extreme danger and having them push themselves to their limits to survive. The only way to obtain a tempered blade was to put it through the hottest flame, and it was a tried and tested method. Ramon had faced real combat, but not enough of it. Not to the extent that the others had.
Jake muttered a short prayer to the memories of his two dead friends. Both of them had died on their own terms, though he knew Phillip would always hate himself for having to kill Gravesend, no matter what everybody else said about it being a mercy to the tortured and maimed priest. It was a burden the boy had never managed to cast away. And Gawain would always blame himself for not arriving soon enough with reinforcements to save Ereskel when the old warrior had stood alone facing impossible odds holding a hopeless line.
All of them had a lifetime of regrets, and Jake had long learnt to shut the regret out before it ate him away completely. The two boys(he still regarded them as boys, even though they were already past thirty) could not do the same.
Jake shook his head. How had his thoughts drifted to such dark memories? He brought his attention back to the training field and obstacle course, and joined Morgan in cursing at the raw recruits. It was infinitely more fun than obsessing on the past.

Veronica Cale nudged Vanessa Kapatelis. “Keep quiet!” She hissed.
The erstwhile Silver Swan scrunched her face up in disgust, but did as she was told, moving more slowly across the dark streets to keep her sound of movement down.
They had been the few to escape the fall of Themyscira, since Clea’s spell only affected Amazons. Since Cale was only a visitor, and Vanessa an honorary Amazon, both of them had been spared the sleep spell which incapacitated all of the Amazons. The other visitors on the island also managed to get away, along with the few Amazons they had been able to drag along.
Cale had assumed leadership, since most of the others were young girls from the Wonder Scouts visiting the island, or female scholars studying Amazon culture. Vanessa hated to admit it, but Cale was a natural leader, and she had managed to keep them together since that sacking of Themyscira.
That didn’t mean she became the leader easily. Artemis, Io, Mala, and Akila, plus two other Amazons, had been evacuated when Cale led them out of the city, and Artemis was intent on claiming leadership. Still, Cale had insisted, and eventually Artemis had given in, because the other woman was a lot more cunning, which had proved very useful to their survival.
They were in Nexopar now, trying to find a way to rescue the other Amazons. It had been a difficult and peril fraught journey from the outskirts of Themyscira to the capital city of the Empire of Nepheria over the past ten days. Cale had used threats, bribes, sexual favors, and every trick in the book to secure passage to the city.
Vanessa remembered the vehement arguments Cale had with Artemis over the issue of using sex to get money for supplies. Cale had offered herself, but Artemis and the other Amazons were opposed to the idea on principle. They kept the issue from those too young to understand, while the scholars had been split.
In the end, Cale had gone ahead with it anyway, coupling with a minor noble for money, and that had gotten them enough food for their journey. That, more than anything else, cemented the others’ loyalty to her. She had proved willing to sacrifice herself, and even Artemis had grudgingly admitted that they had no other choice.
That didn’t make it right, however. Vanessa knew that Cale cried in her sleep, muttering in fear the noble’s name. She suspected the businesswoman had paid a high price those two nights, and she had glimpsed the bruises which she had tried to hide from the others.
The girl shivered. What kind of world was it that degraded women and allowed such terrible acts to be done?
The two of them were skulking along the dark streets of Nexopar, where they hoped to find tickets for entry into the coliseum. Vanessa had heard the rumors concerning the goddess Clea’s and her decrees concerning the Amazons, but she just could not believe them. Diana, defeated? Amazons yielding to their enslavers? Impossible.
They found a man in a tattered cloak roaming the street furtively, just like them. Veronica approached him warily, and asked, “What are you doing out here so late into the night?”
The man looked them over once, and replied, “You women looking for something?”
Vanessa was tempted to answer him, but Veronica said sweetly, “Tickets for the next battle in the coliseum. We wish to see the magnificence of the goddess Clea.”
The man smiled, revealing several broken gaps in his stained teeth. “You’ve come to the right person.” He held out several small metal tokens. “You’ll need these to get into the stadium, but they don’t come cheap…”
Vanessa swallowed once, and without opening her mouth, started humming subvocal sounds with the enhanced cybernetic enhancements to her throat and vocal cords. The sounds could be used to affect people subconsciously, induce headaches, and other subtle effects. It was something she had discovered on her own after reading several books on physics concerning the nature of sound.
The sounds she was making would implant certain hypnotic suggestions in the tout’s mind, influencing his decision for the ticket price. Of course, she had another option. She could set up low frequency vibrations that caused headaches, and could even render a man unconscious, though she had never tested it out.
The tout held out a hand, “Ten gold pieces for a single token. I’m not earning a profit on this.”
“We’ll have two.” Cale nodded, and dumped the money into the tout’s hand. At the same time, he handed her two shiny tokens etched with engravings of Clea’s portrait on one side, and of acts of violence and sex on the other. Vanessa wanted to puke at the images.
The tout disappeared into the shadows. Veronica glanced around, and whispered to Vanessa, “He’s gone. We had best do the same.”

Phillip enjoyed Baron Ofursti’s company. The man was bluntly honest, in a manner that reminded him of the hunter Ereskel. He gazed off into the distance, remembering Ereskel’s last battle, and fought down the feelings of regret. The image of the old swordsman, his dead body impaled on a dozen pikes, yet still standing solidly on his feet despite death, came unbidden into his mind.
“I can see you’re a veteran of many battles.” Ofursti of Quayle said, bringing Phillip out of his memories as he walked alongside the swordsman while leading his horse by the reins. He glanced at the two swords on Phillip’s back. “Those look valuable.”
“Taken off a dead noble.” Delacroix replied smoothly. “That broadsword you have doesn’t look cheap either.”
“Ahhh… But then I am a noble.”
They laughed.
“You use a double sword technique?” Ofursti asked.
Phillip shrugged noncommittally. “I never really decided on it. It just felt right to me when I started.”
His fellow traveler agreed. “So did I.” He looked pointedly at Phillip’s men. “So you’re going as a group? With so few men?”
Phillip replied with a half truth. “We’re just an advance party. The rest of our company lies to the east, waiting for our good news.”
“To be hired?” Ofursti shook his head. “What makes you think Blackheart Brezen will take in your group?”
“Because we’re that good.” Phillip deadpanned.
“You seem very sure of yourselves.” Ofursti offered. “What if I told you Brezen is most likely guilty of acts beyond the pale, and that I have been authorized to arrest him?”
Phillip was amused. “Then I suppose when we’re pulled by his pocket strings, I’ll have to kill you.”
Ofursti tilted his head to one side agreeably. “True. But what if he decides to kill you instead? After all, you look a lot like bandits.”
“That… could be a problem.” Phillip admitted.
“So, here’s one solution.” Ofursti held out a gold coin. “Take this, and you and your two men work for me as my bodyguards. We’ll see about your employment after meeting Brezen.”
“And you get three hired swords to help you in case of any trouble with Brezen.” Phillip shrugged. “It works for me.” In fact, he had been counting on it, and this would only make his mission easier. He swiped the coin from Ofursti’s hand.
“I intend to make you earn your pay.” Ofursti said. “I have known Brezen for a while now, you see, and he is one of the most rotten characters in the land. He only managed to get to his current post because of who he knew, not what he knew.”
Phillip digested Ofursti’s words before he spoke, “You’re saying he’s a lousy soldier.”
Ofursti nodded. “Yes. But no matter how lousy he is, he still has a regiment of soldiers at his command.”
Phillip grinned slightly. “So let’s watch our steps, shall we?”
They soon came upon a fort, built for the local garrison, overlooking a small town. It was a sturdy construction of hardened wood and stone, and men were stationed along the tops of the walls. A few flags fluttered about, but the surroundings were littered with waste and rotting food.
Phillip wrinkled his nose in disgust. While there were guards stationed around the fort, none of them seem to be paying attention to the road, instead concentrating on gambling with one another. It indicated extremely lax discipline, and the commander probably didn’t know how to maintain his command in fighting trim.
They were almost to the fort when a bleary eyed sentry at the gate spotted them. He slowly tapped a nearby comrade, who barked at a group of soldiers hunched over a table. They moved into position to challenge the approaching party, but Phillip noted that they could not even get their spears pointed in the same direction.
“Halt!” One of them, probably a sergeant from the markings on the sleeves of his uniform, called out. “State your business!”
Ofursti reached into his worn jacket and drew out a beaten bronze medallion, which he held up in one hand. “Baron Ofursti, Inspector of the Army! I need to talk with your commander!” Sunlight glinted off the medallion, providing a bright spark amidst the their dreary surroundings.
The sergeant paled, and Phillip narrowed his eyes. Ofursti apparently had some position of significance within the empire, and he seemed to be a decent man. Which was no real surprise to him, because he had encountered evil organizations with their share of honorable men before. It always tore at his guts when he had to kill them. And he was already getting the prickly feeling at the back of his mind that he would have to kill Ofursti. Eventually.
They quickly opened the gates for the small group of travelers. They walked in, and Phillip kept his eyes peeled for unusual happenings.
He need not have bothered. A woman was screaming in pain as two soldiers dragged her from one shack to another, barely noticing the frantic gestures of the gate soldiers as they ran their hands over the woman, pawing at her breasts and legs. The trails of dried semen between her thighs and the tattered state of her torn clothing were clear signs of what she had been through.
“Stop those men!” Ofursti bellowed. “Freeze!”
He drew his sword, as did Phillip and his men. The tension in the fort due to their arrival suddenly jumped up several notches.
The two men stopped, and looked at Ofursti with sneering smiles while drawing out their swords. Phillip could sense that the Baron wanted to damn the odds and charge in anyway. He spun around to cover Ofursti’s back, while cursing inwardly. He had expected Ofursti to ignore the scene and proceed to Brezen’s office, but his new friend was probably one of those honor types who could not resist butting in.
Ofursti took an ominous step forward. Some of the soldiers drew their weapons, glaring at the newcomers. Phillip was reminded of the old cliché, the Mexican standoff. Except that his side was outnumbered by almost a hundred to one. No problem…
“Stop!” A new voice shouted, and Phillip took a quick glance at the origin of the voice before whipping his head back to watch the soldiers. That one look was enough.
‘Blackheart’ Brezen was a obscenely fat man of average height, and a thick black beard obscured much of his face, puffed with fat which wobbled when he moved. He huffed his way over to the two soldiers. “Stand down! How dare you show such disrespect to an inspector of the armies!”
The two soldiers reluctantly sheathed their weapons, and Brezen struck. He drew his sword in a single swift motion that belied his bulk and cut down the men with two quick strokes. The rest of the men in the fort stood stupefied. Blood seeped from the dead men onto the ground, where it drained into the grey, barren soil. The woman sobbed brokenly before a soldier quickly brought forward a blanket to wrap around her naked body. She was led away by a squad of soldiers.
“Scum like you have no right to live.” Brezen spat upon the corpses. He turned towards Ofursti, and bowed, giving them a slimy smile. “Inspector, Baron Ofursti, welcome to our humble fort. May I inquire as to your purpose for visiting us?”
Phillip sheathed his swords, while watching Brezen warily. The man did not have the bearings of a military man, but he had an animal cunning that made him a dangerous opponent. The way he had treated his men was proof enough of that.
Ofursti glared at Brezen, “I have heard of atrocities being committed in this area, acts that sully the name of our glorious empire. Do you by any chance know of these?”
Brezen gave them an oily grin. “My lord, perhaps the locals, dissatisfied with the Goddess’ benevolent rule, have spread scurrilous rumors that have reached even our magnificent capital. Such vile reports cannot be believed!”
“Perhaps.” Ofursti replied flatly.
“May I suggest that we discuss this in the privacy of my dining room?” Brezen asked. “It’s time for dinner, in fact, and I’m sure you and your companions must be hungry and tired after your long journey.”
“Very well. Lead on.” Ofursti turned to Phillip, and made a slightest shake of his head.
Be on our guard. Phillip was pretty sure he knew what was about to happen, and his hand was ready to reach for his blades. He made a small gesture to his two companions, and their hands never strayed too far from the knives within their ragged coats either.
They followed Brezen into the bigger structure that served as his headquarters. Phillip was instantly on edge, his instincts screaming at him just as they passed through the doorway into the dining area.
More than twenty men emerged from the shadows around them, weapons drawn. They descended silently from the beams near the ceiling with gleaming steel.

Wonder Woman had never felt so helpless as she beat her hands in futility against the sandy ground of the fighting arena. She had her powers, her bracelets, and even her lasso of truth, but it all seemed so useless against the foes arrayed against her.
The screams of ten amazons echoed off the walls of the coliseum even as the watching audience cavorted in a frenzy of sexual motion, thrusting and moving breathlessly in and out of one another. Clea’s depraved champions roared in ecstasy as they violated the shrieking Amazons, and Wonder Woman felt more pieces of her willpower, and even her very soul, slowly submerged by the darkness Clea had inflicted.
Clea stood above it all, inviolate and invincible. Beside her throne were statues of solid gold, staring down at the tragic scene in the arena with dispassionate eyes, as though rendering stern judgment on the fate of the Amazons.
The Princess was sprawled across the ground, trying desperately to lever herself off the ground to stop the violation of her sisters. She knew in her heart that she was too late, but she had to try. She had no other choice. She knew that if she did not stop them, she would share the same fate as her sisters. Then she would have failed her gods, her people, and even the principles of justice and love she had vowed to uphold.
“UGGHHH!” A boot slammed into the side of her head, and Wonder Woman was flung to one side with the force of the blow. Blood trickled down the side of her shapely mouth, and from her aristocratic nose. Her full lips opened in an agonized, soundless scream as she lifted a hand weakly to the side of her head.
Clea said, “You have no chance, no hope left, Princess. Where once I laid at your mercy, now you and your people now bow at my feet.”
Diana looked up at Clea, defiance in her eyes despite all she had suffered. “I will never bow before you.” At the same time, the growing darkness in her soul made her shudder, as though aware that her words were mere bravado, empty boasts in the face of overwhelming power.
Clea smiled. “You will. You will.”
Two of her champions, armed with chains, walked over to the Amazon, and promptly bound her arms and legs in the enchanted metal binders, preventing her from using her powers to escape. As beaten and in pain as she was, Wonder Woman could not offer any significant resistance. She did try, however.
As she kicked out weakly, her eyes caught sight of two women standing aloof from the writhing masses. She froze for a moment, as she caught sight of Vanessa’s horrified face, while an equally stricken Veronica Cale looked on. Wonder Woman felt hope surge within her, and gave the slightest shake of her head when she noticed that Vanessa seemed about to launch herself off into the arena to save her.
Veronica grabbed Nessie by an arm, and whispered urgently into the girl’s ear. Vanessa relaxed, but Diana could see that she was still compelled to fight, even if it was in vain.
Diana caught Cale’s eyes, and they exchanged looks of understanding even as the guards dragged her battered body away from the arena. The businesswoman nodded to her, a silent promise to help. They continued watching as the defeated Amazon was dragged away to a nearby gate with a raised portcullis. The last thing she saw before the portcullis closed was that of Cale dragging Vanessa away, and she knew that they would be able to leave the arena safely.
And that was good enough for Wonder Woman.
Diana was placed in a dingy cell, the chains and manacles still on her limbs, making her feel weak and powerless. She tugged on her chains for the umpteenth time, but as expected, they did not give. She forced herself into a sitting position, ignoring the aches all over her bruised body, and closed her eyes. She focused herself into a meditative state that would allow her to recover more quickly, even without her powers.
A guard came by, and unceremoniously placed a tray of food, breaking her concentration. He leered at her, enjoying the sight of her torn costume and the smoothness of her tanned skin. She glared at him for several moments before he strutted away, the look of lust on his face unmistakable. He stopped after a few steps, and turned around to face the imprisoned Princess with a smirk. “Just a matter of time, bitch, before I and my friends get a taste of you.” He walked away, laughing.
Diana suppressed a shudder through her body. If they wanted to, they could violate her at any time, as weak and helpless as she was. The only reason they had not done so was because Clea wanted to prolong her suffering. More than that, Diana suspected that Clea intended to break her, not just in body, but in her mind and soul as well. And it was working.
The darkness whispered to her in her nightmares, persuading her to give up, give in, submit to the power wielded by the goddess Clea and her minions. Become nothing more than a sex-crazed whore, free from any responsibility, from constant fighting criminals. The life of a broken slave, all too easy.
Diana trembled, her mental defenses and willpower under siege from the dark parts of her soul that had become tainted by the turning of her sisters. She knew that as strong as she was, it was only a matter of time before she broke. They murmured soft promises of pleasure, of a life without any more pain and torture. And their intensity would only increase as more of her fellow Amazons were turned by Clea’s insidious magic, a corruption of the soul worse than anything she had ever encountered. Her confidence was beginning to bend; soon it would break, and the process would be, she was sure, painful beyond belief.
All she had to do to avoid all that pain was to give in. And that was the one thing she would never do, even if it would only bring her untold agony later.
The image of Phillip came to her tortured mind, and for some strange reason, it steadied her mind. He was like a rock of calm, a steady presence in her mind that stood before the darkness, a bulwark against which the corruption stopped, as if fearful of him.
And finally, there was the faint hope of rescue from Vanessa. She knew it was almost certain that Artemis and the few Amazons who Clea had not managed to capture were somewhere in the city, planning to break them out of their hideous bondage. She had to be patient and wait.
Diana finally fell asleep.

Infamy moved high to parry an overhead swipe, and Glory eviscerated the first soldier he engaged. All around them were sounds of battle as their attackers seized the opportunity to cut down Ofursti and his companions.
Phillip saw one of his men go down from a knife in his back, and he yelled, “Fight our way out!”
He sheathed Glory, and used his free hand to grasp the wrist of the next attacker. Before the soldier knew it, Phillip had rammed his shoulder into the man’s stomach, and started to push towards the door with an unwitting meat shield. “Cover my flanks!”
Ofursti fought with grim determination behind him, his broadsword rising and descending in arrays of blinding technique, but it was not enough. His remaining bandit dropped, gurgling out his last breaths as his throat was slit.
Phillip managed to leave the headquarters, tumbling out and rolling to a crouch with both blades in a guard position. Ofursti joined him, and the two men stood back to back facing a whole fort of hostile foes.
Brezen stood in the bloody doorway of his HQ, his smile still fixed on his fat face. “Give up, and I can give you a decent burial. Otherwise, I’ll feed your carcasses to the dogs.”
Phillip allowed his checked bloodlust to overcome him, a veil of red clouding his vision. He snarled, and the men around him shuffled nervously at the seemingly red timbre of his eyes. Most of the time, he held it in check, wanting a clear head for battle, but this was one fight where tactics counted for nothing. Sheer survival was the goal here.
Ofursti said calmly, “You’re the one who should give up, Brezen, before too many good men of yours are killed.”
Brezen laughed. “Good men? There are no good men here! All of us have sinned, in one way or the other! Not even you, nor your companion.”
“The Goddess Clea will not stand for this.”
“The goddess knows well what we do! She herself gave me these orders!” Brezen laughed. “It’s only you and the rest of the old-timers who still believe in honor.” He gestured to his soldiers, “Now, kill them!” Perception pierced through Phillip’s bloodlust for the barest of moments, and he could see a dark cloud around Brezen, signs of demonic influence.
The soldiers charged in, and the bloodlust slammed down on him again. No longer restrained, Phillip swung both blades at the empty air, or so it seemed.
The distance strikes sliced through three waves of soldiers before they realized what was happening. He spun around to help his ally, but stopped in sheer surprise.
Ofursti was also swinging his sword at the empty air, but the exploding bodies of his enemies was unmistakable, as was the barely visible arcs of energy as they leapt off his sword. Phillip realized Ofursti was a sword adept, and had mastered the awesome technique of striking across a distance. In fact, his practiced eyes could see that Ofursti was better than him by a slight margin.
He allowed himself a grin, and went back to the fight. The soldiers were beginning to panic now. They had expected an easy fight against two men, yet they were dying by the dozens, unable to even get within striking range for their own weapons.
“Fools!” Brezen bellowed. “Archers!”
Three ranks of archers appeared near the gate, and raised their bows.
Phillip flung Glory at them, and the blade spun through the air, before suddenly twisting in midair to boomerang across the first line of archers, cutting them down.
At the same time, his free left hand held a tube, and he raised it against the dark sky. He pressed down on a button, and a brilliant emerald flare shot up into the sky.
“Get under cover!” Phillip shouted to Ofursti.
To his credit, Ofursti didn’t ask why. He simply ducked under a water trough, while Phillip rolled into a ditch and grabbed a corpse as cover.
Massive balls of fire rained from the sky, flung by catapults in the distance.

“You’re not exactly mercenaries, are you?” Ofursti asked, his level gaze on the rest of Phillip’s raiders as they combed through the wreckage of the fort scavenging for materials.
“No.” Phillip sat down on a heap of bodies, one hand on the hilt of a sword, watching Ofursti carefully. The incendiaries had decimated the fort’s defenders, and his men had stormed into the fort and massacred the soldiers within. Brezen had died under Ofursti’s sword.
“I heard rumors of growing resistance in this region, but I thought they were only rumors.” Ofursti looked as though he was about to draw his sword. “You will now tell me I am wrong, won’t you?”
Phillip nodded. “We’re the resistance here, and I am their leader.” He eyed Ofursti’s sword warily. “Have we fought enough for today yet, or are we going to kill each other now?”
Ofursti flung his head back and laughed. “You jest, Phillip. I can kill you and all your men with just my little finger.”
“Oh really?” Phillip smiled. He turned to one of his men, “Two horses for us, and two spears.” He smirked at Ofursti. “Let’s see if you’re right.”
A few minutes later on the plains outside the walls of the fort, they faced each other on horseback, their spears leveled.
“Ready when you are!” Ofursti yelled, and spurred his horse, preparing to charge.
Phillip’s reply was to throw his spear into the ground.
“Delacroix!” Ofursti exclaimed in surprise. “Do you think so little of me that you would insult me by fighting with no weapon?”
“Leave, Baron. I’m not fighting you. You’re the better fighter, but my men would still beat you, by weight of numbers, if nothing else.” He could feel that the Baron was a kindred spirit, a soldier of distinguished courage. Men like that deserve to live, which was why he chose this option.
“That’s not enough reason.”
“You’re a man of skill and uncommon honor, and I would like to have you as a friend.”
Ofursti smiled. “You do know we’re supposed to be enemies.”
“Then when the time comes, do your duty. But the fight together back in that fort binds us. Will you forsake that so easily?”
“No.” Ofursti’s eyes lit up. “Let us swear our brotherhood!”
Moments later, before two crossed burning spears, Ofursti mounted his horse. “Visit me at my estates at Quayle, brother, and I shall arrange a grand reception for you.”
Phillip shook his head, looking up at Ofursti. “No, there’s still too much to do here.”
Ofursti looked worriedly at him. “The Goddess will send an army after you, sooner or later, led by her champions, beings of unimaginable power, even beyond you and me. To oppose her is a fool’s errand. Nobody has done so and survived.”
“I shall be the first.”
“I’m sorry…”
“For not being able to help me?” Phillip shrugged. “You have your own oaths to follow, and I’ll not ask you to break them. But you know as well as I do that what Brezen said was true.”
“Then I hope never to face you in battle.”
Phillip clasped Ofursti’s arm, then gave his horse a slap on the back. “And I, you. Now off you go!”
Ofursti rode off, just as one of his men came up to him. “You let him go?”
Phillip replied, “Killing a man like him only damns us and the world further.” He ignored the whispers in his mind, prophecies of doom for Ofursti, because of what they had seen and done today.

“Master, there’s been a… development.”
The dark clad Drakkar officer did not bother to turn to his crony, a lower ranking Drakkar. “Spill it.”
“Garush and Haddar are dead. The child sacrifices were rescued.”
The Drakkar turned to his toady. “The responsible parties?”
“Not confirmed yet, but the resisting forces seem to be celebrating the exploits of two young men for saving a convoy of captive children all on their own. Both of them are young, but if they did kill Garush and Hadder, they could be more than what they appear to be.”
“Is it?” Golgoth smiled. Garush and Hadder were only low ranking Death Knights, but they should have easily dispatched almost any opponent in combat. He remembered the legends, of rare men and women, philosopher-soldiers capable of opposing the dark adepts and their demonic masters. “I am bored, and the conquest is doing well. A pair of worthy opponents would be far more interesting than another blood sacrifice.”
“The resistance is still fighting hard.” The crony lowered his eyes. “They are being extremely stubborn.”
“Small problem.” Golgoth waved away the concern. “The Elite Guard has yet to deploy in full force in the field.” His eyes gleamed as a plan came to him. “I have an idea.” It would be a glorious day of blood and slaughter.
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The Games that Gods Play