169. The End (IV) (Patreon)

[Galactic Inferno] lay waiting, a coiled whip of qi churning in his gut, growing weightier by the second. He stepped up to greet Jez as any proper host should: open arms, and a pleasant smile. All the better to hide a nasty surprise…

They paused before each other, both treading on air, high above the raging battle.   Below, the Oasis Lord wrestled against a cadre of Earth-Realm Shamans. Bin Heilong roared himself hoarse trying to hold back a herd of sand wolves. More of those battering-ram Wyrms broke through the Azcan forces, thundering against the Oasis Walls, goring craters into the steel. Guild Leader Thon screamed at his men to unleash more, faster, you dickless fucks! But it was no use. Slowly, surely, the beast tide was starting to overrun them.

Dorian was, as ever, the Oasis’s last hope.

This instant would decide it. The most pivotal in all the Oasis’ existence—in this run, even. The instant he’d run through Hell, figuratively and literally, to get to. And Saints was he eager for it! That familiar seething heat of battle fervor was thrumming through him again. Despite the gritty melee he’d just been through he felt ready to wrestle a dragon. Within him [Galactic Inferno] built to a glorious climax. It bucked against him, desperate to be unchained. He licked his lips. Not yet. Soon. Very, very soon…

Jez stood before him, studying him with pale gold eyes. Unnerving eyes—like a ray of sunshine trapped in a bead of glass, endlessly ricochetting, unable to break free.

Then he opened his lips. A sound came out.

Dorian stilled. The [Inferno] ground to a halt, unwound, washed back into his veins in a flood. He almost couldn’t believe what he’d heard. A trick of the wind—a slip of the tongue? Surely the man hadn’t just said—

“Hello, Dorian,” said Jez with a smile.

Not Io.

Dorian.

His grin froze on his face. A cold tide washed over him, sent his hairs sticking up on their ends.

“…What.” He said softly.

“Please,” said Jez, spreading his hands, grinning wanly. “Away with the Techniques, the weaponry. Let us talk, you and I. We are, after all, old friends. Re-acquainted at last.”

His lips quirked at that.

Dorian’s brain felt very hollow. Thoughts rattled around his skull. He felt like he’d been slapped in the face, then backhanded again for good measure. He blinked, frowning.

“…”

What?!

Jez kept talking.

“Do you remember Semanan?” he said. “It was a land of vast, teeming forests, a land where men and beasts walked the soil as equals. Ruled by a king and queen most wise and kind.”

“…”

“It's now a land of ashes and dust and bones. Void of life, for-evermore.”

For the first time in this run, Dorian felt like he’d met someone who knew more than he did. It was a distinctly unpleasant feeling.

“No need to answer.” Jez laughed softly. There was a note of melancholy in it. “The question is rhetorical.”

Slowly, far slowly than they had any right to, the dots began to connect. He was still deeply confused. But he could now sense, vaguely, what the hells was going on.

So he’s a fan! How… strange. And unexpected.

“Well,” said Dorian, clearing his throat. His smile was slowly returning, even if he didn’t quite feel it. “How embarrassing. You’ve caught me!”

He gave a curt bow. “I am indeed the Godking Dorian, if not in the flesh, at least in the soul. I can’t say it’s a pleasure, given the circumstances…” He glanced pointedly down to the battlefield, then back up at Jez.

“Let me guess. This… Semanan. It is a property of yours. One I destroyed in a past life? I can assure you I didn’t mean to—“

He frowned. “Well, no, that would be a lie. I probably did mean to destroy it! But this sort of thing happens a lot with me. It wasn’t personal.”

He smiled. “Is this why you’ve come for me? Is this what this is all about? I’m sure we can work out some sort of reimbursement.”

“Semanan was my homeward.”

“…Ah.”

“I was a mere youth.” Jez’s expression had not changed the whole time. He looked tender. Almost fragile. “You slaughtered my parents. My kingdom, full of thousands of rich, lovely lives. My sister was torn from my arms and drained to a corpse. I watched her die.”

His voice was somehow full of emotion, and yet not emotional. He eyed Dorian with soulful eyes, verging on teary. But no tears fell.

“…Well,” said Dorian at last. “It’s a little late to say sorry, isn’t it?” He shrugged. Yes—this mess was slowly gaining definition in his mind. He made himself keep talking.

“And I suspect if you’re here, you’ve stalked me for a while. You’ll know who I am. If I apologize we both know I won’t mean it. I’ve heard you’ve lain waste to half the Multiverse. Bravo! So what will it be, then, oh mighty Jez? Come to spank me too?”

His grin turned sardonic. That would be a dumb way for this run to end. Slain by some Godking bent on a vendetta. In seconds, would he wake up back in one of his bodies in his Zenith Estate—to Gerard’s raised brow?

What a waste!

In hindsight this run had been off from the start. Too many bouts of ill fate and good fate, strung together. Something was wrong on a fundamental level, on the level of the atoms, of the strings of Fate.

Jez simply sighed.

“I came here to talk,” he said. “Perhaps to bargain. To make an offer. But I see now there is a soul contract involved…”

He squinted; his eyes glowed. “You are bound by the strings of Fate. A basic defense contract: so long as the Oasis exists you must defend it.”

He sighed. “And so we are fated to duel.”

“…I suppose so.” Dorian shrugged. “It appears that after all those words, we’ve circled back to where we’ve begun.”

He was settling into himself again, slipping back into a sense of certainty. The world was flipping right-side-up again; it had stopped wobbling. Dorian’s smirk reasserted itself.

So all that came as a bit of a shock, to be sure! He winced. …Perhaps more than a bit.

But did it change anything fundamentally? The game before him—the rules, his goals, his plans, his enemy—remained the same. He knew what had to be done. Only now he knew his enemy knew him better than he’d thought. And bore a grudge, apparently. He’d need to retool his tactics some. Put a spin on his strategy.

A little extra caution, then.

Below there was a thunderous BANG. A massive portion of the Oasis Walls had caved in. Beasts streamed in with ravenous eagerness.

“If we must fight,” said Jez, still smiling, “Let us at least take some joy in it? To duel you is my honor and privilege.” The warmth in his voice was sickening.

Why is he so… smiley? It’s almost like I didn’t kill his family. Something was deeply off about the man.

Dorian snorted. “Please don’t take what I’m about to do to you personally.”

“Not to worry. I shall not.” He smiled, putting a finger to his air. “You truly believe you can win! What utterly delightful optimism. You are more like your brother than you think."

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. Wait—

Jez’s hand drew a line in the air. Drawing a weapon.

Dorian didn’t let him finish. A Yama’s Chain swarmed the air in an instant; it lashed out at Jez like a striking snake.

But Jez drew his weapon so fast it was like it had been in his hand all along. A line of light, blinding to lay eyes upon—the light seemed hateful to his Chains. Where it lit, his Laws of Darkness flinched and sizzled.

Then Jez flicked his wrist. He wielded his blade all wrong. A swordsman ought to put his torso into hit, turned his hips, set his feet, setting his whole body into a kinetic chain that ended at the blade. A seamless flow of momentum. But only Jez’s arm moved. It looked less like a powerful slash, and more like a painter drawing a line with the world’s sharpest brush. A casual flick.

His Yama’s Chain severed halfway through. Smoked away, along with a fraction of Dorian’s hard-earned qi.

Dorian stared. …That’s disgusting. Severing a Chain like that?! Not even the Dweller’s claws could do such a thing! How sharp was that slash?

And then came something even more disgusting.

The dismembered chain flared gold at the edges. In a blink it was outlined in it. The gold drew in, encroaching on the Laws of Darkness, smothering them. The golden tide engulfed the rest of the Chains.

In a heartbeat his Chain had been stolen from him. Then it flew up and turned towards him. Jez shook his head. He didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed. Nor nervous. Nor even like he was taking this seriously at all. He looked to Dorian like he was entertaining a child throwing a tantrum. He looked happy to do it, which was the most annoying part.

Dorian, for his part, glared at the skies. He imagined he could see Fate’s twinkling eyes staring back at him. He spat a florid stream of curses. Really?!

So Jez had the ability to steal the qi from his Techniques! Which meant Dorian couldn’t afford to throw anything carelessly. Not even probing strikes like that Chain.

“I've heard much of you, Dorian, Lord of Time,” called Jez. He sounded amused. “It doesn't matter what form you take! They say in your first life you wrapped time, so that every strike came when your enemy least expected it. They say you're a god made of tricks! Like fighting a storm, they say!”

He raised his arms wide. His teeth were like blocks of white gold in his mouth. “I know what you're capable of. I know who you are. Please…show me.”