![]() “Great master?” asked one of the Devoted, looking up. “Activate the deadminds in the temple of Lantimor,” he said, waving a gauntleted hand. ![]() The God King passed them, his footsteps crunching on the bamboo rug. His Devoted entered in a cluster, then fell to their knees. Duels were about finesse, skill, and class, not who could construct the most powerful device to aid them. When you could not be killed permanently, you found other ways to prove yourself superior. Armor that worked like a machine had been abandoned millennia ago. In clashes between the Deathless, one’s own body was the true test. The armor itself had no life, of course-not even a deadmind-and the boosts it gave were minimal. Cool air immediately circulated over his skin, and the armor took account of his vitals, delivering strength, bursts of healing, and other aid through careful injections. The comfortable familiarity of his armor enveloped him, locking onto his arms, hands, neck, torso. No-no more in common than an acorn had with a temple constructed from that oak. He had no more in common with that person of old than an acorn had with a mighty oak. It reminded him of something he had been long, long ago. He turned it over in his head, like a man tasting a new vintage of wine. that boy had used the Infinity Blade, killer of gods. Did these mortals understand the honor he did them in granting them such a privilege? Probably not-after all, this mortal had ended that duel by ramming the God King’s own blade into his chest.įor just a moment, lying stunned at the foot of his throne, the God King had known true fear. A duel, one on one, after the classical ideal. Another in a long line of “heroes” come to kill him, responding to the seeded legends. It began to fold around him, locking into place. He stepped into the armor, which lay open and splayed like a corpse on a dissection table. The mirror’s information indicated that his new body was functioning normally, that reincarnation had been a success, and that all was well in this particular quarter of his kingdom. They could be confusing to people in this era. He checked the wall-mounted deadmind mirror-that mirror would have been called a ‘monitor’ in earlier eras, but it had been so long that he’d stopped using such terms. His old set had probably been taken by thieves by now, robbed from his corpse. He’d been meaning to begin using it-this offered a good chance. One of the newer sets, the height of current design and technology. ![]() ![]() He rose, bare feet upon the smooth bamboo floor, and crossed the room to where a suit of armor stood waiting. The faces of the Deathless were not to be seen by common mortals. He sat up, reaching out to pick up the helm that lay on the nearby table. Thousands of years of life had taught Raidriar many things, but the most important was to be in control. The swishing of robes in the hallway outside his Devoted, hurrying to obey the call of reincarnation. A few muted beeps from the deadminds that monitored his vital signs. Soft rain outside, hitting leaves and the quiet rooftop, leaving the air cool and damp. It was a feeling he had never wanted to feel again.Īround him floated the serene sounds of his Seventh Temple of Reincarnation. It was a terrifying, yet exhilarating feeling. The gasp of the dead returning to life, his heart pounding, his eyes opening wide. It was the uncontrolled gasp of one who had been without breath for too long. The God King came awake with a deep gasp. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |