Ruthless: Path of Conquest

James found himself suddenly in an unfamiliar ecosystem.

The first thing that struck his eyes was that it was a vast, open space, and brightly lit, as if there was no cloud cover—and little distance—between himself and the sun.

Then he blinked, and he realized the reason why there was no cloud cover.

All around him was an open blue sky—he had noticed that at first glance. And he stood atop a cloud.

Somehow, what should have been only a loose gathering of water vapor supported James’s weight.

Like a cartoon, he thought. I’m above the clouds. On top of one. Impossible. Literally impossible, unless the laws of physics have been overhauled far more than I’d realized.

Just as when he used Compulsion, he was in a different environment with no explanation—and no apparent need for logical consistency to the environment.

James blinked and looked around. He saw that there was so much cloud cover beneath him that if it was all as walkable as where he now stood, he could move as far as he liked. The sun looked as close as it had before he blinked, although he knew that the real distance to the sun must not be very different from what it had been back at ground level, assuming that he was still in Earth’s atmosphere. The clouds were only a handful of miles or so from Earth’s surface at most—perhaps a little further up with the changes to Earth post-System—while the sun was tens of millions of miles away.

Still, James felt a meaningfully greater proximity to the sun. He shaded his eyes with his hand as he continued to look around the landscape, searching for landmarks.

Almost all was flat and white.

It felt like no place he had ever been—no place that could be. Yet here he was, apparently alone—or at least he had not seen anyone thus far.

James ran a quick, systematic review of his own body and confirmed that at least that felt like its normal self. He even still wore the clothing he’d had on in the community center, including the Royal Exoarmor, plus the Soul Eater Orb on his wrist in the form of a bracelet.

There you are!

He had spotted Cyrus, sitting with legs criss-crossed, smiling serenely, on a cloud some forty feet away from James. The Prophet had been positioned almost directly behind where James was initially facing.

Now that he knew Cyrus was actually there with him, James' best guess as to the nature of this place was that it was a sort of battle-of-Wills setting. Perhaps this was like the locations that Compulsion had generated when James struggled with Sister Strange—or the other people he had used the Skill on. Except this was generated by Cyrus’s Skill.

How dare you? The nerve of trying to break my Will in front of so many witnesses… I’m going to kick your ass.

That would naturally be the way out of here. And even if it wasn’t—well, then James would have a good time finding that out.

He took a step forward and was pleased to find that the next cloud over supported his weight.

Then his instincts blared out a warning. There was suddenly a large presence just behind him and slightly to the side.

James whirled—but there was nothing there.

I know I sensed something, he thought. There’s another presence here. Something that moves faster than me. He turned back to look at Cyrus scornfully. So you’re not fighting me alone, eh? Coward.

There was a whisper directly in James’s ear. “Submit to the will of the Holy One.”

The voice reminded him somehow of a crackling flame, like a fireplace from an old movie. In the back of his mind, James noticed that he did not feel the air from someone breathing in his ear, even though the whisper seemed extremely close.

But there was a certain heat from the proximity of whatever had spoken to him.

James spun again, but the figure had moved once more—again, faster than James’s body could follow. It had not moved completely away, though. Now it stood on the edge of his peripheral vision, as if waiting for him to turn again before it would move once more.

Toying with him.

He remained still for a moment and took in what he could see with just his peripheral vision.

The sight that greeted his eyes was strange. It looked like the being was made of bright orange and white light.

James sent an order to Roscuro, and he was gratified to feel the bracelet on his wrist shift as the Soul Eater began transforming into a long, thin sword. Hopefully that weapon would allow him to more easily strike at this enemy that James could barely keep up with.

He started conjuring Soul Magic, concentrating the Mana in the arm that was not holding the Soul Eater. All was fair in these battles of Will, after all.

Attacking this summoned life form would not kill Cyrus. Probably. Even if it did, who cared? Everyone who mattered would understand that it was self-defense.

“Why do you struggle?” The voice was somehow in his ear again, and he realized belatedly that the figure of light had disappeared from his peripheral vision even while he was looking right at it. “Submit to the Holy One who loves and watches over you.”

“Why does he need my submission?” James demanded. “And why don’t you hold still and fight like a man?”

He whirled to face the figure, and he finally saw the being he was apparently meant to fight.

Its body was more or less what it had appeared to be in his peripheral vision, only more impossible. A pillar of white light twice James’s height that was wreathed in constantly moving and shifting fire. James saw fiery limbs that appeared and disappeared with a flicker. Faces in the flames that alternated between one and several images, shifted between human, animal, and unrecognizable features—and also flickered in and out of existence.

This is so much creepier than I was expecting, was his first reaction.

Compared with Rostov, who had become a Flame Elemental in his dying moments, this thing was far less human-looking. Almost completely alien, with no apparent biological foundation or shape.

Then the setting and the image before his eyes came together, and he thought he understood what he was seeing.

It has to be an angel or something. He remembered that some angels looked like humans, but many did not. James also remembered that the God of the Bible had taken the form of a pillar of fire at some point. He didn’t think this being was a god—it didn’t have that degree of presence, although there was a certain intimidating weight to the pillar that its physical form did not fully account for.

And Cyrus had claimed to have a connection to the God of the Christians, Jews, and Muslims.

James felt a dense pit form in his stomach. An involuntary awe swept over him. Years of Christian upbringing flooded his mind with verses and images.

“He will command his angels concerning you to guard you carefully.”

“Behold, I send an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared.”

“My God sent his angel and shut the lions' mouths, and they have not harmed me, because I was found blameless before him…”

James did his best to suppress the sense of awe that threatened to paralyze him.

Can I kill it? Is this even the sort of being that can be killed?

A part of him wanted to know what kind of experience he would get for killing an actual angel, but in his heart, it was hard to take that idea seriously.

“Give glory to He who formed the world, and He will show you his loving mercy.”

The voice was almost hypnotic, he realized belatedly. He could feel it lulling him. Perhaps it had begun already.

He realized that his sword arm was at his side—Wasn’t I holding that up, to attack this thing?

James raised his sword—and a tongue of flame suddenly leaped out from the angel and licked his cheek. James felt its touch, and he thought he could smell the harsh odor of his own flesh burning. But somehow it was painless, like he had been injected with heavy painkillers beforehand. It only felt like a light touch. Almost a caress.

Was it meant as a warning?

Don’t strike at me, or I’ll incinerate you? Something like that?

“Submit, and you will receive His favor,” the angel said. “Take your rightful place—”

“That is quite enough of that,” said a familiar voice. The heavy sunlight that had remained constant and oppressive dimmed noticeably as a giant figure suddenly rose above both James and the angel, peeking up through the clouds and rising until the whole area around James and the angel lay in shadow. James didn’t need to look to know who it was, but he did.

The titanic, eight-limbed figure of Anansi towered above him, complete with the mask he had worn at his first meeting with James.

“You!” The calm voice of the angel erupted in anger.

James felt a little of the hypnotic effect of the angel’s voice fading as the ethereal being lost its cool.

But he did not seem to be the entity’s concern anymore.

Although its face remained a flickering blur of flames of different shapes, James distinctly felt the angel’s attention shift toward the new arrival.

Oh, I’ve never been so happy to see a spider before… Where the hell did you come from?!

“Good to see you, too, Micah,” boomed Anansi with a low chuckle.

The mesmeric effect eroded slightly more at the sound of Anansi laughing.

The flames that surrounded the angel’s body in a flickering orange light burst forth suddenly in a torrent that reminded James of a flamethrower, lashing the great figure of the Spider God.

“Die, foul one!” the angel shrieked, its voice painful to hear.

A little more of the hypnotic effect faded with the complete collapse of the angel’s serenity. James’s cheek began to throb with the burn the angel had left earlier—apparently not so painless after all.

James realized he still had Soul Magic wrapped around his left arm, and he thought this moment, while the angel was distracted, was the perfect chance to strike and help Anansi. Perhaps the only opportunity that he would get. He pointed and aimed, but then he heard a voice in his ear.

“Soul Magic is useless here.”

“Anansi?” James croaked, trying to keep his voice relatively quiet.

“The very same, James.” The voice sounded jovial, almost relaxed.

James felt a small, eight-legged figure standing on his shoulder now, leaning against his neck. It was like having a much larger and more powerful version of Hester with him.

But James did not feel assured of victory, even with his patron beside him.

Even as they spoke, the giant Anansi that stood in front of them was burning.

It was a fake, James thought. That probably means Anansi isn’t certain that we could win a direct fight. But he fooled it. For long enough… long enough for what? What’s the plan? Can we win? Do we have to run? How?

“They do not have souls,” Anansi continued. “Those things are mere tools of their master. Go for the human. He will be the weak link.”

Ah.

“Right,” James breathed. He turned toward Cyrus, and Anansi hopped down off of James’s shoulder.

The last thing James saw, out of the corner of his eye, was what appeared to be Anansi throwing a silk net at the figure of the angel.

There was a sizzling sound, which James guessed was the angel beginning to burn through the silken cords.

Then James was off and running toward the seated figure of Cyrus, who quickly rose from his position on the cloud and moved to flee.

Now you have to fight your own battle, James thought. I might not be able to fight a divine being yet, but I’ll beat the crap out of you!

James reached Cyrus quickly. The other man was limited by the physical stats he had in the real world.

“I was just trying to show you the wonder—”

James hit Cyrus with a backhanded slap so hard that he knocked him off his feet. Blood trickled from the corner of the Prophet’s mouth.

“Did I ask to see it?” James growled, kneeling to attack Cyrus where he lay.

Cyrus half-heartedly tried to rise, but James slapped him open-handed this time, and he dropped back down. Then James grabbed him by his shirt front with his left hand, and with his right, he punched Cyrus in the nose.

He heard a satisfying crunch as the nose broke and saw a light gusher of blood spurt from the crumpled cartilage.

“Satisfied?” spluttered Cyrus through a small river of red.

“Shut the fuck up!”

James punched Cyrus on the side of the head, then the stomach, then the arm—the elbow snapped backward under James’s brutal fist.

The Prophet lay there and took it without meaningfully attempting to fight back. The only signs that he was still alive were the cries of pain with each impact, and a low moan whenever James broke a bone.

“Okay, fine, get it all out,” Cyrus wheezed. His tone was unsettlingly serene, despite the undertone of pain and difficulty breathing. His voice sounded as if James had ruptured one of his lungs. “This isn’t my real body anyway. I get it. You’re not going to be the Holy King we want. I’ll leave. I’ll keep looking.”

“Not good enough,” James growled.

Now that he was in the heat of beating the tar out of Cyrus, every reason he felt for savaging him felt powerful. But one reason, above all else, made him wish Cyrus dead.

He tried to turn me into a puppet, James thought. I’ll never be anyone’s tool, goddamnit!

He gathered aura around himself, no particular Skill in mind, just a goal.

You will never do this again, he thought. Not to anyone. You’ll never come back for revenge. I’ll destroy you here and now.

He locked eyes with Cyrus.

Then James heard words of power being spoken, and he only dimly realized that he was the speaker.

“You will never make contact with a spiritual being again, whether it be god, angel, demon, or other ethereal creature. From now on, your world is restricted to your body. You will see no sights, hear no sounds, speak no words, for as long as you live.”

The world seemed to hum all around them.

Then Cyrus screamed, and the air around them cracked and shattered like glass.

James blinked and found himself back in the community center, his vision swimming. He was exhausted.

[Required conditions met. Hidden Skill unlocked: Curse of the Fisher King!]