Apocalypse Tamer - Chapter 117: Interlude: Enemy Action

“We lost them.”

Brina squeezed her sword’s pommel as the elemental continued its report. She had expected this answer when she failed to catch up to the Bohens’ vehicle, but it still frustrated her. “Which direction?”

“They bypassed the city and moved west,” the elemental replied. “They’re following the coast.”

Brina’s jaw tightened in anger as she considered her options. The twilight sun had almost vanished behind the horizon, but the pillar of fire linking Earth to Belphegor’s domain cast the city in its burning light. A thousand fiends, undead, and other monsters crossed it each hour. Though Brina ordered most to stay around the portal to serve as the core of her army, the Apocalypse Force were an unruly lot. Desertions were common and monster warbands already split from the main group to ravage the countryside.

Should they wait until they had gathered a large army and then march on the Avatar’s prison? Or should they try to catch up to the Bohens?

It would be easier to think without Belphegor’s distracting whistling. The Horseman of Death was laying on the ground, back against the ashes of his own troops, gazing at the clouds. Brina would never understand how someone so lazy could reach the highest echelons of the Apocalypse Force.

“You may disperse,” Brina told the elemental, who excused himself with a bow and left the two Horsemen alone. “Belphegor, any remarks?”

“You’re the one with the highest level,” Belphegor replied. “You’re calling the shots.”

Good. Brina wasn’t one for democratic deliberations. “Then let us move southwest.”

“What, right now?” Belphegor didn’t hide his displeasure. “Isn’t it a bit premature? The portal will close in three days.”

“The party we fought earlier is moving straight towards the Avatar’s last known location,” Brina replied. “If we don’t depart now, they will catch up to him before us.”

“So what if they do?” Belphegor scoffed. “According to Mammon, the Avatar is well-protected by these steel… steely guys?”

“Metal Olympus,” Brina corrected him.

“And here I thought Apocalypse Force sounded somewhat pretentious.” Belphegor put his hands behind the back of his head and crossed his legs. “Anyway, the faction doesn’t seem allied with these Bohens, or they would have sent reinforcements to take us down. I say we let them kill each other and take out the victors.”

“This sounds like a good plan on paper,” Brina conceded. “Except that the battle’s winners will gain more levels and become more dangerous than before. We will be trading enemy quantity for quality.”

“Here comes the genius part.” Belphegor pointed at the portal with his chin. “This thing increases exp yield for three days and we’re sitting on a whole city’s worth of corpses.”

“Get straight to the point.”

“I’ll use necromancy to raise the city’s dead,” Belphegor said. “And we’ll destroy them for exp. Same for the rest of our soldiers. A lot of them are dead-weight at this point.”

Brina glanced at the rift in space. The monsters that poured out of it were undead and elementals raised from the corpses of Belphegor’s victims. It didn’t bother her to slaughter these creatures, even if they fought under the same banner, but she saw a few logistical problems with this plan.

“None of your soldiers possess a high enough level to give us exp,” Brina replied. This was starting to become a recurring problem for the two Horsemen across the multiverse. Few worlds possessed creatures above level sixty, let alone enough to provide the Apocalypse Force’s leaders with a challenge.

“Unless we make them fight each other first,” Belphegor pointed out. “With the portal providing additional exp, I’m sure we can create training dummies capable of strengthening us. I only need a few corpses to fuel my ability.”

“We still need troops to attack Metal Olympus’ base,” Brina pointed out.

“But we don’t need that many.” Belphegor chuckled. “If you could pick either ten level sixty elite soldiers or a thousand level twenty grunts, which group would you choose?”

“The former,” Brina conceded. The System made exponential growth in power matter more than numeral superiority.

“There, you have it. We do it the Apocalypse Force way: we purge the weak from our ranks, keep the strongest as our elite guard, and fulfill a Quest or two along the way.”

Brina mulled over the proposal. The valkyrie was opposed to necromancy in all of its forms. This foul magic violated the natural order of the world and brought her own to ruin. It was a necromancer who brought down Asgard.

Worse, these undead were under Belphegor’s control. They could hardly fight back against their creator. Even the most foul of creatures deserved the courtesy of honorable combat. Denying it to them felt wrong to Brina.

Lord Odin would have scolded her for even entertaining the notion.

And yet… and yet Belphegor’s idea wasn’t without merits. At their current tier of power, either Horseman was worth thousands of troops. Armies were slow, undisciplined, and prone to routing. A single elite unit could move fast and hit hard. Despoiling the dead with necromancy for the purpose of leveling was a sinful act, a godless act, but perhaps it was the last way Brina had of leveling up.

Walter Tye himself possessed enough power to challenge the gods. If Brina could not overcome one of his human thralls at her current tier of power… what hope did she have of defeating his dark master?

I have sacrificed my pride for power, Brina thought grimly. Why should my dignity be any different?

“I have gone too far to turn back now,” Brina told herself. “Very well, Belphegor. We will grind until the Incursion ends… until I have the power to kill the one I hate most.”

Belphegor tilted his head to the side. “And then?”

Brina frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Exactly,” Belphegor said. “Suppose you kill the necromancer you have a hate-boner for. And then what? What will you do?”

Brina shrugged. She had never asked herself the question and did not care for the answer. “I will decide what to do with my life after the deed is done.”

“I’m just saying that associating your happiness with success is bound to leave you miserable.” The Horseman shrugged. “If you fail you’ll be disappointed, if you win you’ll have nothing left.”

Brina snorted derisively. “And what would an undead like you know of happiness?”

“Clearly more than you,” Belphegor replied with a laugh. He waved a hand at the burning city surrounding them. “See? This is what happiness looks like.”

“I kill for a greater purpose, you do it out of glee,” Brina replied with disdain. “Cats can take joy in hunting mice, but I would not call it happiness.”

“Brina, Brina, Brina… don’t be so naïve.” Belphegor wagged a finger at her. “You mistake happiness for an outcome when it is a process. It is not found in the result, but in the actions taken to reach it. I am happy because I enjoy my work. Every single part.”

“Good for you.” Brina cut the discussion short. “I do not need to be happy, so long as I am successful.”

As a valkyrie, it had been her duty to gather the souls of the dead to lead them to Valhalla. As a Horseman, her role was to avenge them. She would stop at nothing to fulfill her oath.

Such was her duty.

Congratulations, your level has been raised to 85. You have gained new Perks and strengthened your existing ones.

Ashok Acharya, also known as Zeus, was a hard man to please. Yet the notification brought him enough joy to crack a smile.

As the Boss of the Parthenon dungeon and master of Metal Olympus, his godly avatar was directly linked to the neurotowers. Each new Incursion brought its lot of harvest souls which then fueled him with divine power.

However, Ashok knew this was the last time he could afford to level-up this way. The final Incursion would stress the System so much it would require all power to sustain reality itself. No extra experience would be afforded to dungeon bosses then.

In fact, dungeons would soon become a thing of the past. Ashok hoped to live long enough to see it.

The Parthenon had originally been built in honor of Athena, but Ashok had reshaped its dungeon form in the Trimurti’s honor. The core room at its bottom was a sanctuary whose beauty was only matched by its grandiosity. The marble ceiling rose to a looming height of over thirty meters, supported by one-hundred and eight neurotower pillars. Each of them rested on a small island of stone surrounded by a pond no deeper than a man’s ankle where lotus flowers and lily pads floated to the tune of gentle flute music. However, the true landmark of the temple was three giant statues at the end of it. Three gods of gold sat on silver lotus thrones in a meditation poses, each dressed in jewels.

Wise Brahma, the Creator. Gentle Vishnu, the Preserver. And fierce Shiva, the Destroyer.

Ashok offered a prayer to them, especially Vishnu. The Preserver held spheres of red energy in two of his four hands. Each contained a shadowy humanoid figure floating within in a deep trance. A man on the right, a woman on the left. Male and female, yin and yang, twins and counterparts. God and goddess.

Kalki and Padmavati.

What pious man alive today could boast about meeting their gods in the flesh? A pity Ashok could not talk to them. Almost all of the neurotower’s energies were spent on keeping these two deities pacified and separated.

The scriptures said that at the end of time, during the Kali Yuga, Vishnu-as-Kalki would marry his wife and opposite Lakshmi-as-Padmavati. Their union of flesh and spirit would usher in the end of an era of strife and sin, and the rebirth of a new world. Unknown to worshippers of the Hindu faith, this ‘marriage’ was more than symbolic.

The moment Ashok had brought Kalki to Padmavati, the two had begun to fuse.

Monsters evolved into stronger forms through metamorphosis. Sometimes, though, different creatures merged together into a singular entity stronger than the sum of its parts. This process, called Polymorphosis, had fascinated Ashok since its discovery. Monsters did not only fuse in flesh, no. Their souls merged too. Their identities dissolved into a common spirit of immaculate purity. Absolutely fascinating.

It took the Parthenon’s power to prevent Kalki and his female counterpart from completing this fusion. The dungeon had been specifically designed as a prison for these two and performed as advertised. Failure would have spelled the end of the world and of the competition.

Success opened the door to many opportunities, though Ashok slightly regretted raising his arm against Lord Vishnu’s avatar. His death would have been an undesirable but acceptable outcome–for it would have let Lord Shiva purge this broken world and let another be born from the ashes–but it would have been easier if he had come quietly. Kalki did not yet realize his true purpose.

Ashok sensed one of his human lieutenants teleport behind him. The man, Ramin Neel, had worked with him since the days of Pakistan. Once he piloted tanks. Now, thanks to his golden power armor shaped in the style of the ancient Maratha Empire, he had become one on legs.

“Mr. Acharya.” The man saluted his superior. “I bring news from Thessaloniki.”

“Welcome, Neel,” Ashok replied courteously. “Tell me, which Horseman crossed over?”

“Two of them, according to our scouts,” said his lieutenant. “War and Death, level eighty-three and seventy-eight respectively. Conquest remains unaccounted for.”

If only he knew the truth. “I see,” Ashok replied calmly. “Have they advanced towards us yet?”

“No. They were intercepted by a party matching the description of the Bohens.” Somehow, Ashok wasn’t too surprised to hear of it. “The battle seems to have been inconclusive.”

A pity. One group wiping out the other would have removed a major source of concern. “Where are they now?”

“The Horsemen remain in Thessaloniki so far, but the Bohens were moving west before we lost track of them.” His lieutenant crossed his arms. “I would bet my hand that they’re aiming to take us on next. Since they couldn’t beat the Horsemen, they’ll probably try to catch the Avatar before them.”

This news did not bother Ashok much. With his new surge in levels, his God-Field’s range would now cover most of Attica and the Central Greece regions. He would detect the Bohens’ stolen divine essences the moment they entered it. He would make sure to intercept them long before they reached Athens.

Still, a warrior should treat every battle as if it were his last. Overconfidence had nearly cost him his life when he encountered Miss Yaga. It wouldn’t hurt to increase security around his base. The Bohens did manage to defeat the likes of Blackcinders and Apollyon. He would not underestimate them.

“I want you to locate both groups and keep me informed of their movements at all times,” Ashok ordered. “Stick to observation for now and await further order.”

“Very well.” Neel did not teleport away immediately. “If I may, Mr. Acharya…”

“Yes?”

“What’s going to happen on the final Incursion?” his lieutenant asked. “The men have read the message and it disturbs them.”

Of course it did. Besides the monsters created by the dungeons under his command, most of Ashok’s human soldiers were the remnants of his pre-apocalypse mercenary company. These people fought for power and material comfort. They owned no allegiance to any cause or nation, so news of incoming danger filled them with doubt rather than determination. He afforded them every luxury this broken world had to offer, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.

“I will not lie,” Ashok said, before lying anyway. “The final Incursion will be our greatest ordeal yet. The Maleking and the Unity’s Grandmaster will no doubt cross over and challenge us for supremacy. Not everyone will survive it. Those who do, however, will be rewarded with paradise once I ascend to Overgod.”

It was only a half-truth. Ashok had no intention of becoming an Overgod—he aimed for something far greater—but he would indeed bring about paradise. It just wouldn’t be the kind his hedonistic followers expected of him.

“That’s clear to me.” Ramin Neel had never been a doubter. It made him reliable, if somewhat close-minded. “But the men would benefit from a speech or two from your part. It would help boost morale before the Horsemen knock on our door.”

“Of course,” Ashok replied politely. “I will address their concerns over dinner after my evening meditation.”

His lieutenant saluted him and then teleported away, leaving Ashok alone.

At least, for a minute.

“I see you are a popular man, Ashok.” Anton Maxwell stepped out from behind a neurotower pillar and walked to his colleague’s side. Ashok hadn’t sensed him teleporting in, which he found deeply unsettling. “It astonishes me that you have yet to find a wife or boyfriend with so many sycophants.”

“Love and lust are a source of sentimentality, and sentimentality is weakness. If the Buddha could deny them, so will I.” Ashok greeted his former employer with a respectful nod. “It is good to see you again, Mr. Maxwell.”

“Your courtesy does you credit, Ashok,” Maxwell replied with an amused chuckle. “You can’t fathom how rare it is nowadays.”

From the beginning of his career as an Indian footsoldier to mercenary trading blood for money, Ashok Acharya had always taken pride in his politeness. Rudeness wasn’t professional. It led to others holding grudges and led humans down the path of pointless sentimentality. In his mind, showing disrespect was far worse than taking a life. Death led to reincarnation and a new chance at reaching blissful Nirvana. Insults led to shame, and shame led to duḥkha; the poison of the soul.

Detachment was the path to happiness. Only by achieving total separation from humanity—by freeing oneself from guilt, desire, and compassion—could a soul achieve Nirvana.

Other sects had called Ashok a heretic, a godless madman who perverted the gods’ teachings by shedding innocent blood. They were wrong. Ashok considered himself a godly man, a spiritual man. By freeing souls from their painful, sinful existence as human beings, he granted them a chance to be reborn in a purer state closer to Nirvana. While each death, each murder, slowly helped Ashok shed the chains of sentimentality binding him to mortality.

Ashok’s ceaseless quest for heaven had led him to Maxwell’s doorstep… or rather, it led Maxwell to him. The man—though Ashok knew his former employer couldn’t truly be called this—intended to summon the Trimurti to Earth to select a new god. Though Ashok cared nothing for unlimited power, the possibility of meeting his creators was simply too tempting. It was his opportunity to gauge his own spiritual progress and confirm if he was on the right path.

He had bet on the right horse. The more the apocalypse unfolded, the greater insight Ashok gained into the nature of the universe. The discovery of Polymorphosis, of the divine union of spirits, had opened his mind to a grand plan. One that would save not only Ashok’s own soul, but all those trapped on Earth.

The only part he could have done without was his current avatar. He did not truly mind using Zeus’ essence—all gods were emanations of the Trimurti in Ashok’s mind—but he would have preferred to become one with a deity closer to his aspirations, such as Lord Indra.

He hadn’t yet given up on this goal of divine union.

“Still, aren’t you a little bit afraid?” Maxwell mused. “This seemingly inconsequential party, forgive the expression, removed the others from the board.”

“We helped,” Ashok replied. Maxwell threw the others to the wolves because it amused him. Ashok sabotaged them because they wouldn’t have understood his vision. They remained prisoners of their passions and sentimentalities. “Is that why you visited me today, Mr. Maxwell? To comfort me in my moment of truth?”

“Of course, my friend,” Anton replied, lying through his teeth. “You never know where trouble comes from. Who would have thought a merry band of nobodies and cannon fodder would rise through the ranks, turn Benjamin astray, and then turn into an elite force barging at our door? Surprises like this are what make immortality worth living.”

Maxwell was blinded by his demiurgic arrogance, but Ashok was humble enough to see the gods’ will at work behind these coincidences. Like Vishnu gathered companions in his Krishna incarnation, the hand of fate had guided Kalki towards allies.

Ashok did not believe these Bohens met the Avatar by accident; instead, Kalki had subconsciously sensed their potential and sought them out because of it. All the people he had met on his journey across Europe—from General Leblanc to Benjamin Leroy and Basil Bohen—proved instrumental in protecting mankind from its many enemies.

Lord Vishnu had chosen his champions well.

“Of course, the fact is that I must ensure the competition continues all the way to the final Incursion,” Maxwell admitted. “I cannot open the correct portal until then.”

“A portal to a world without a System in it?” Ashok guessed.

Maxwell’s smile stretched to reveal rows of sharp teeth. “Does that bother you?”

“I do not care as long as I become Overgod,” Ashok lied.

“Good,” Maxwell answered with a lie of his own. “That’s why you are my favorite. You don’t let petty grudges get in the way of your ambitions.”

Which was why Ashok had spent a great deal of resources hiding his true goals and figuring out Maxwell’s own. He had gained a pretty good insight into his employer’s true nature, or at least he believed so. Besides the pragmatic purpose of ensuring the universe’s stability, capturing the Avatar also served as bait. Ashok needed Maxwell close at hand.

Dismaker Labs’ mastermind couldn’t afford that Kalki might free himself and end the competition early, so he would fight to keep him chained.

Am I powerful enough now? Ashok wondered. He would have only one shot at taking Maxwell by surprise. Failure meant death, which Ashok didn’t fear, but it also spelled the end of his ambitions. No, I mustn’t prove too hasty. Walking slowly, even the donkey will reach Lhasa.

The right moment would come when the gods willed it. Ashok was patient. There wasn’t a single tree that hadn’t been battered by the wind. In the end, Nirvana would come for all.

Even Maxwell.