Dark Powers (Chapter 8) (Patreon)

Güdbrand didn’t accept ‘Grendel’ out of pity or mercy. Instead, the child fascinated him, its bodily corruption from chaos. He long wished to study such things, but cooperative subjects eluded him.

Grendel’s condition was terrible. Too many jagged teeth made its mouth a bloody mess, strange growths covered its scaly skin and its skeleton grew lopsided.

Truly, the Daemon Gods’ affections were difficult for mortals to bear.

With enthusiasm, Güdbrand’s hand-crafted scalpels cut it open, letting his sorceries loose on Grendel’s flesh and bone. He was no sadist, and had no taste for torture, so the ‘patient’ was properly anesthetized.

Given the unfamiliarity of Grendel’s monstrous body, and lacking sensory feedback like working on his own, Güdbrand abilities didn’t manifest fully. It was crude work—pulling extra teeth, grinding down bone, cutting muscle and reattaching ligaments.

However, as years passed, his unnatural efforts were rewarded. With sorcery and surgery, a proper diet, rest and exercise, Grendel was like a tenacious sprout, planted in fertile soil.

Its vigorous Norsii blood and the Evil power dwelling in its body proved a potent mix. By its twentieth winter, the word ‘monster’ was no longer sufficient. Seven feet tall, covered in steely scales, knife-taloned and spike-toothed—‘demon’ described it well.

Güdbrand was astonished. Beastmen certainly didn’t look like that. He was left wondering if it was some rare mutation, or the Ruinous Powers’ design. However, he felt no fear or trepidation—as a figurative potter, he couldn’t have asked for finer clay!

On the battlefield, Grendel was a creature of mass slaughter. Its natural bestowments - pushed to the extreme by Güdbrand’s experiments - deflected spears and arrows, punctured hide and mail.

Adding insult to injury, it proved to be a talented warlock, absorbing Güdbrand’s teachings like a sponge. Aside from himself, the man never encountered such genius. It made him wonder who mothered the creature.

It went without saying, but he was extremely satisfied with his ‘apprentice’.

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Grendel stood over a pile of bodies, its enormous, wicked-sharp talons seizing a victim’s throat.

“…s-spare-…”

The barbarian barely managed to squeak before he was flung violently, smashing into a tree-trunk. The impact was enormous, shattering bark and splintering wood. The man’s back bent laterally across it, crushing his spine to gravel.

He flopped to the ground, seizing like a fish on dry land. Blood and foamy spittle dribbled continuously from his mouth.

There was a moment of dreadful tranquility, an icy breeze carrying the scent of iron.

“What was it this time?”

A voice spoke suddenly, familiar to the monster. Its crimson eyes shifted in that direction.

Some distance away, Güdbrand leaned against a tree, his posture and expression casual. He seemed entirely unbothered by the gruesome slaughter, and the last man’s agonized, fitful dying.

Grendel’s reply was a low growl, a sound no human throat could make.

Güdbrand sighed, pushing off the tree and walking closer. He stood comfortably next to the creature, his limbs tucked away in a fur cloak. Their coastal journey carried them far north, where winter was perpetual.

“’Control’ was something your father never knew, nor sought to learn. Your grandfather, Björn, was more sensible. He was just as capable of rage, but it was like a weapon in his hand.”

Grendel monstrous jaws opened and closed, exposing rows of shark-like teeth and a split, black tongue. Its voice was horrible, low and raspy, like something out of a nightmare.

“Both were weaklings.”

Güdbrand smiled, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“When the anger grips you, you lose all sense. In that state, is your strength even yours? Submerged under your instincts, you are neither man nor monster, but a mere beast…”

He chuckled, meeting Grendel’s evil gaze. Much of its early fear and resentment was gone, replaced by something resembling hate.

“…and beasts are easier to kill.”

The thing’s talons curled and uncurled, muscles and tendon shifting under fine, layered scales. Blood scented steam exited its maw, its anger clear to see. However, it didn’t lash out or fly into a rage.

Güdbrand gave an inward nod of approval. If Grendel was beyond reason, he wouldn’t waste his words. Fortunately, his apprentice could distinguish insult from genuine advice, unpleasant as it may be.

Its violent emotions didn’t bother him, knowing it wasn’t personal. Born into Corruption and raised in a bitter, savage world, hate was part of its nature. It wasn’t reserved for Güdbrand, but directed at everyone and everything.

After ten years in Grendel’s company, he knew the ‘little’ monster well. Comparatively, it had something of a soft spot for him, as much as such a thing was possible.

Güdbrand patted its massive shoulder.

“Besides, there’s no reason to be so upset. I can’t be considered an expert, but I have some understanding of women…”

Grendel’s body went taut and hard, like a bundle of steel chords.

“…males value beauty above all else, but not females. Power, competence, reliability—to them, these are most important.”

The monster’s body started shivering, from humiliation or rage, or perhaps both.

“I’m not talking about beasts or monsters, but girls, normal Norsii, Friking or Ungol daughters…”

Evidently, the issue was far too sensitive for Grendel to tolerate. With a mighty, blood-curdling roar, it swung its obsidian claws, the air whistling and shuddering in their wake.

Güdbrand wasn’t distressed or upset. Grendel was mighty, but it had never taken one of their regular bouts. Perhaps if he taught it everything he knew, but he didn’t, nor could he be blamed for being cautious.

He was already generous with his knowledge and skill.

When the environment was utterly devastated, like an earthquake and hurricane in one, Grendel finally stopped, chest heaving and jaw smoking. Güdbrand stood behind him, back-to-back. There wasn’t a scratch on him.

“Of course, appearance does play a role, but the Dark Ones’ gifts were tempered by me and mastered by you. You are no common, stupid and stinking beastkin.”

Grendel’s maw opened, spewing wicked, crimson flame in his direction. It seared open air and broken earth, but missed its target completely.

“That being said, personal hygiene is something to consider. There is no rotting stench on you, but women probably won’t like the thick smell of blood-…”

A wave of burning shadow fell on Güdbrand’s new spot, annihilating a few dry shrubs and hardy lichens. The man tried speaking again, but Grendel’s assault renewed, making it difficult.

It would take some time for its emotions to vent.

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A week later, under a roiling sky, they took a grotto for shelter. Outside, thunder peeled and icy sheets of rain fell. Though both could weather the elements, it was more enjoyable to sit dry and warm next to a fire.

Not only did Güdbrand’s advice go unheeded, it entirely discouraged Grendel’s ‘romantic’ pursuits. In retrospect, it wasn’t surprising.  What ‘boy’ wanted girl-advice from his father, or in this case, male guardian?

Such meddling was the exact reason why, during his past life, he only dated in college. Not wanting to make things worse, Güdbrand dropped the issue.

After a period’s tranquil silence, the man spoke.

“Deamons, fate or Gods—something wishes to confound us.”

Lurking in the shadows, Grendel raised its head, its eyes flashing nefariously.

Güdbrand rubbed his hands, holding them to the fire.

“We head west, but go further north. I’m sure you noticed it—the Winds grow more powerful by day.”

Grendel was silent before replying, its voice rumbling and rasping.

“This is better.”

Güdbrand pursed his lips. On the surface, going where magic was thickest seemed a good idea. However, he was the type to play it safe.

Like Chaos itself, the wastes were full of opportunity, but also great danger—various legendary figures could attest to that.

Güdbrand thought with his head lowered. He really wanted to leave this voyage for later, when he felt more ready, or preferably never. Unfortunately, the matter was out of his hands.

Over the years, he railed against it, the Ruinous Powers personally taking an interest in the mortal world. Yet, as his knowledge grew, immersing himself deeper in sorcery, Güdbrand faced undeniable fact—he was being watched.

As he stared into the Warp, it stared back at him. For better or worse, he doubted the Daemon Gods considered him interesting. He was more like a random mite, a mote of dust briefly catching their eye.

Regardless, their attention was messing with the materium. Space and time was bending—subtly, ever subtly so, but it enough to throw Güdbrand off course. Hopefully, it was a side effect, not a nefarious plot, but he always prepared for the worst.

Eventually he grunted, laying down with hands behind his head.

“…you might not be wrong.”

Grendel’s eyes narrowed, but it didn’t say anything. It knew Güdbrand’s mysterious knowledge firsthand, but its source along with his motivations were kept private.

Known only to himself, there was a reason for Güdbrand to head north, related to his second Blessing. His desire for the ideal body and pursuit of magical and martial perfection was like a seed. In the fulness of time, it bloomed, bearing fruit, earning Lanshor’s favour.

Unlike the Blood God, theirs was subtle, a languid power almost imperceptible.  It flowed slowly, sweetly like syrup, raising no alarm. The first sign was a pleasant numbness, almost like painkillers with a glass of wine.

By the time Güdbrand realized, it was too late. He was saturated like a honeycomb. Fortunately, the power was far less destructive or inclined to mutation. The Perfect Prince was known for their appreciation of beauty.

However, the power couldn’t be expunged, nor its inflow stoppered. For the time being, it was to Güdbrand benefit, but that would change.

When not employed with malice, Chaos’ unpleasant… side effects were just so. Similar to radiation, it was harmless in small amounts. Sunlight – electromagnetic radiation – was even beneficial.

However, too large a dose would ruin a mortal, mutate or destroy completely. Unfortunately, knowing wasn’t enough. Like bending light with mirrors or optical cables, some medium or method was necessary to channel the Deamon Gods’ raw energies.

Warpstone came to mind, but was maddeningly scarce. Purely by chance, Güdbrand stumbled across some. Experimentation revealed the ‘material’s’ nature—Aethyr, but solid, liquid and crystal at once.

Interesting as this was, the idea was a complete failure. Though the substance didn’t suit his purposes, he continually fiddled with it, hoping to glean some understanding.

A disastrous experiment was the catalyst for inspiration. Attempting to purify and absorb it, Güdbrand destabilized the matrix. It exploded like a magical bomb, blowing his makeshift laboratory to pieces. He was unharmed, but a drop landed on his chest, sucked into his Mark like water on a sponge.

In that moment, he understood—the Eight-Pointed-Star! What better way to channel the Gods’ powers than their Mark? Like a mad scientist, he drowned in experimentation and research, plumbing the Infernal glyph’s secrets.

Though he learned and mastered much, every resolved mystery was replaced by two more. In time, Güdbrand’s understanding plateaued. He knew too little of daemonology. Taking the next step required Black Speech, the language of demons, and their twisted runes.

Was there a better place for learning the Wastes, so close to reality’s tear?

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