Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) (18 page)

The other gladiators are not wasting any time. Some are already fucking the whores on the tables and others are chugging wine like its water.

While Mikumi saunters over to the service table, I sit at my usual table against the wall. Except for Tyrend and Graham, none of the other gladiators ever come near this table while I am sitting here.

Graham enters the mess hall with one of the whores. She is almost thin enough to pass for a Half-Alfar. Even though, her hair is a ginger color similar to Alva, her face is and body proportions are completely human. She is not bad looking, but she is still nowhere near the best looking woman among these whores.

“Is that more your type?”

The flat emotionless tone to Mikumi's words almost makes me chuckle. Why do females always seem to get jealous when any male pays attention to another female?

“Her tits are too small.”

“If you serve the Mistress ever night, small tits can't matter that much to you.” Her petulance is showing through in her voice. Whether or not it is intentional, I have no way to tell.

“Elan'fer'sha is special. I've never met a female as erotically bewitching as her.”

“Hmph. She's a Wytch. What do you expect? Wytches aren't the only ones who can use Power to enhance their fucking you know.”

I hide my eyes with hand, while pretending to rub them.

“Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.”

With the spell in place on my left eye, I take a good look at Mikumi. She actually is an adept. She is a mana user, but I cannot tell what might be the nature or affinity of her Power.

“What kind of an adept are you?”

Mikumi smiles. “You can tell I'm an adept. How interesting.”

She caresses my right cheek softly. “I suppose you could say I'm a practitioner of physical enhancement.”

“So, that's why those huge tits don't sag.”

“Tits that don't have some sag aren't proper tits.” Tyrend sounds amused.

“You have strange tastes. I've never been able to get it up for fat chicks.”

Tyrend's whore glares at me again. My smirk only seems to irritate her more. If she wants to think of herself as sexy, she should take better care of herself, so she does not look like a sausage with tits.

The gladiators and whores more aside, as the Throd'nahk makes his way to my table. With a flick of his wrist, he throws a bundle on the table in front of me.

“So, your finally going let me stop having my dick hanging out all the time?”

The Throd'nahk ignores the sarcasm in my tone. “Except for Mungo and his . . . men, no one particularly wants to see your dick.”

“I think he has nice dick.”

Mikumi's blasé comment causes the Throd'nahk's face to settle into a scowl, before he turns and walks away.

Mikumi starts to stroke my cock, and her breath tickles my ear. “You should wait till tomorrow to put that on. It will just get in the way of the fun tonight.”

Mikumi is softly snoring in my arms, when I wake up. We are both in need of a bath. The residue of saliva and other more or less dried bodily fluids has left us both as sticky messes.

This girl knows how to to fuck. I guess her being a whore is to my benefit. Since coming back to the Battleground in my real body, I have been getting nothing but top quality pussy to fuck: first Perzey, then Elan'fer'sha, now Mikumi. Though, Mikumi is nothing but a one night stand, because of Elan'fer'sha's habit of throwing a fuck party for her gladiators, after a victory.

Hell, Elan'fer'sha is only fucking me because she wants my Power, so she can pay off the Priest-Wizard. If not for my Power, I doubt she would ever be fucking me. Everything comes down to Power. If you have Power, you can acquire wealth, political power, sex, or anything else that takes your fancy. Whatever her reasons, I will enjoy her while I can.

Mikumi's breathing changes. She starts watching me through slit eyelids, while pretending to still be asleep.

It is morning and later than I normally get up, but the stable is quiet. There have been three other arena battles, since I first arrived here, and each time, the morning after was quiet like this. The other gladiators will have a three day rest, before they are put back on their training schedule.

I slap Mikumi on the ass. It is firm and smooth, shaped by her musculature an not a lump of flabby fat.

“Stop pretending to be asleep.”

“That's not a nice way to wake a lady.”

“You're a whore, and I'm a slave. What do you expect?”

Mikumi sniffs. “I've never met a slave with an attitude like yours. You're more arrogant than most Clan Masters.”

“Time to get up. I need a bath. I don't get rest days like the other gladiators.”

* * * * *

The bundle the Throd'nahk left for me contained a linen loincloth and a pteruges. As I walk into Thrall's area, I cannot keep a slight swagger out of my steps. For the first time since I started training with him, I am walking around without my dick hanging out. Not being bothered by being bareassed is not the same as being comfortable training in combat arts without anything to keep your dick and balls in place.

Thrall is not in the training hall, but that is not unusual. Ofttimes, he is not around when I first arrive. With the exception of the training hall and the forge, the rest of his complex is restricted territory for me. I am curious what secrets it might hold, but not curious enough to try exploring. I have enough of my own secrets that I will not fault another for having theirs. At least, I will not another for having secrets, if I do not see them as an enemy.

Since Thrall is not here, and it is after the gladiatorial match, it is time to see if there is any change in my ability to use my psi. Putting on the leather helmet, I channel my ki and mana into it, and the world disappears around me.

I stop breathing for a moment in shock. Even though the spatial awareness has become one of my senses, and I am constantly sensing the world around myself through it, its impact is somewhat muted, in the same way my five normal senses are always somewhat muted by one another. Now that it is my only functioning sense, the clarity of my awareness of my environs is near mind-numbing. The amount of data I am being flooded with is almost like I am using all of my five physical senses at the same time to perceive everything around me. I am aware not only of the smooth surface of the stone beneath my feet but also its hardness, and coolness. I am aware of the grain in the wood posts and crossbeams in the jungle gym.

I can feel the texture, thickness, and tension in the rice paper woven throughout the jungle gym, but more importantly, I can feel the pull of gravity on it, nearly causing it to tear under its own weight. More softly than a falling feather, I step onto the rice paper. I do not try counterbalance my weight with my ki. My mass does not change, but I slip outside of the pull of the world's gravity. In the Shadow of the Od, the pull of the gravity passes around or maybe through my body, leaving only the the minuscule attraction of the rice paper itself against the soles of my feet. The pressure I am putting on the rice paper is infinitesimally small, as I being to walk forward. No sound marks my passage, and the paper does not tear.

By staying within the Shadow of the Od, I do not necessarily follow all the laws of the world around me. Reaching the first vertical run of rice paper, I step onto it, and with my second step, my orientation to the ground changes from perpendicular to parallel. Gravity still exists, but I do not feel its pull, or rather, I only feel a minute pull of the rice paper's own gravity toward its surface.

I am laughing, even though the sound does not reach my ears. My problem was so simple, I could not perceive. Now that I can perceive, I can feel the paper and forces of gravity attracting me to it, and I can pass across it. My steps are so soft I can walk without damaging it.

Across a level surface. Up a vertical surface. Inverted on a horizontal surface. As long as I can stay within the Shadow of the Od, I can move outside instead of within the gravitational field.

Thrall appears in the training hall, next to the jungle gym.

Jumping off the rice paper, I perform a triple somersault in the air and land without a sound. My mass has no force behind it as I touch upon the ground.

Taking off the leather helmet, I meet Thrall's gaze. My awareness did not deceive me, Thrall's lips are parted in a fierce grin.

“You are several steps closer to mastering my Shadow Fist. For nearly fifty millennia, I have sought a disciple who could fully master Shadow Fist. All of the previous third generation disciples were lacking in one or more ways. They called themselves masters, but not one of them ever improved upon Shadow Fist, as a proper successor should. They are all dead now, and their disciples of the fourth, fifth and sixth generations were worse than the third generation.”

I cannot keep from returning Thrall's grin. I know he has his own agenda, but I have no clues as to what it really is. As much as I want to distrust him, his desire for me to master his art seems genuine. I am an imbecile for lowering my guard towards him, but I want to truly master Shadow Fist. From what I have learned so far, the secrets buried with this art are worth almost any risk to acquire.

“Keep practicing the movement techniques with your spatial awareness, but do not use the helmet. You must learn to fully integrate all of your senses and be able to react to the conditions and forces around you naturally. When you are further along the path, I will teach how to fight for real. Your spar with the Throd'nahk and your arena battle were embarrassing.”

Rip.

The rice paper tears beneath force of my step again. With the input from my other senses mixed in, I am having problems fully understanding and using the information from my spatial awareness. I can walk on the rice paper, but I too often I misjudge, and gravity pulls me, or I step with too much force. I want to scream and curse. More than that, I want to hurt someone and work off my frustration.

I turn to Thrall, as he appears in the training hall. His demeanor gives me the impression that he is ambivalent.

“Come with me.”

“What's happening?”

Thrall glances at me as we leave the training hall. This is the first time he has had even a hint of uncertainty about him.

“Forces are in motion that may start events moving again, but those forces are not the ones I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone or something that was not in my expectations is acting. You will need to be careful. You are going to be given a task by Elan'fer'sha's patron. I would recommend you do it. It will lead to another task that will probably be to your benefit in time, but there will be danger. You will need to keep an eye out for who or what may be behind her taking action.”

For the first time, I feel like I am being played by Thrall. I am certain he is doing this to manipulate me, but I do not understand why he is being so obvious. The guards at the gate to the gladiator's cells are in hearing range already, so I do not want to ask him anything else for now. Even though I have an agreement with Elan'fer'sha, I do not trust her or her guards.

Thrall leads me to the hall where the room with Elan'fer'sha's ritual altar is located, but he opens the doors in the opposite wall. This is the first time I have seen the inside of any room other than the ritual room. My only dealings with Elan'fer'sha have been fucking her on that altar, so that she can channel my Power into those crystals.

I have no problems with fucking Elan'fer'sha. She is probably crazier than Perzey, even if she is more functional. She is a twisted bitch that gets off on pain. More than when she is hurting someone, she goes wild when she is the one being hurt. I guess she is a natural masochist, or maybe, she became a masochist because she is a Wytch.

I suppose I am just as twisted Elan'fer'sha. The more I fuck her, the more I get off on hurting her, while I fuck her. I never would have thought that causing someone else pain would be so sexually exhilarating. When I tortured people during the Great Fuck Over, it was nothing more than a mechanical act. I was repulsed by it at first, but I reached the point, where hurting other people did not even cause me to blink. Hurting Elan'fer'sha while fucking her is different from torture. It is personal and intimate. Even though we barely know anything about one another, through sex and pain, we have connection more intimate and intense than any connection I have ever had with another living being.

Beside Elan'fer'sha, there are two other DokkAlfar and one Half-Alfar in the room, and I recognize all of them from the arena. The Half-Alfar is Alva. The female DokkAlfar is Aluras'bektsh'tar, the one who was finger fucking Alva. The male DokkAlfar is Canth, the one that was dressed in black. Standing next to Aluras'bektsh'tar's chair, he is still dressed in the exact same style of black clothing.

As I enter the room, my eyes lock with Elan'fer'sha's. We do not need to speak to communicate. I can feel that she wants me to comply with her patron's demands. I can feel her intense longing to be fucked and hurt. In the slight change in her expression, she shows her satisfaction from knowing I want to fuck and hurt her, right here and right now. We really are so fucking twisted.