Torment of the Ancient Gods Read online

  ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON

  BOOKS IN THE RYANVERSE:

  THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES:

  EMBERS, BOOK 1

  FLAMES, BOOK 2

  FIRESTORM, BOOK 3

  FIRES OF HELL, BOOK 4

  DRAGON FIRE, BOOK 5

  ASHES, BOOK 6

  THE FOREVER SERIES:

  THE FOREVER LIFE, BOOK 1

  THE FOREVER ENEMY, BOOK 2

  THE FOREVER FIGHT, BOOK 3

  THE FOREVER QUEST, BOOK 4

  THE FOREVER ALLIANCE, BOOK 5

  THE FOREVER PEACE, BOOK 6

  RISE OF ANCIENT GODS SERIES

  RETURN OF THE ANCIENT GODS,Book 1

  RAGE OF THE ANCIENT GODS, Book 2

  TORMENT OF THE ANCIENT GODS, , Book 3

  WRATH OF THE ANCIENT GODS, Book 4 (Due in early 2019)

  STAND-ALONE NOVELS:

  THE CORPORATE VIRUS (2016)

  TIME DIVING (2013)

  THE INNERgLOW EFFECT (2010)

  WRITE NOW! The Prisoner of NaNoWriMo (2009)

  ANON TIME (2009)

  Torment of the Ancient Gods

  BOOK 3, RISE OF THE ANCIENT GODS SERIES

  by Craig Robertson

  When you're dead you're dead, unless you're Ryan.

  Imagine-It Publishing

  El Dorado Hills, CA

  Copyright 2019 Craig Robertson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-7328724-4-8 (Print)

  978-1-7328724-3-1 (E-Book)

  Cover design by Jessica Bell

  https://www.jessicabelldesign.com/

  Editing and Formatting services by Polgarus Studio

  http://www.polgarusstudio.com

  DEDICATION

  To my unsurpassed grandson, Jonathan Ryan Davis, from whom the hero of this series takes his name.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Glossary

  And Now A Word from Your Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Vorc sat alone in his office, staring off into nothingness. He felt … nothing. He desired … nothing. How could he? He had no soul. No, that malicious Gáwar had taken it as the price needed for his help in finding the terrorist Jon Ryan. It was the most profound manifestation of unfair ever to transpire. Vorc acted only to help the Cleinoid gods he led. It was his duty and it was his honor. How then in a just universe could he be punished for acting in an administratively prudent manner? It was unfair. He kept repeating that word because it best fit the state of reality he was vexed with.

  Vorc felt bad for himself to be certain. He did, however, actively suppress any consideration of how the other souls he'd bargained away must have felt. The fact that thousands of ancient gods lost their souls without their knowledge or consent didn't bother him because he ignored their feelings completely. Soulless people, he concluded, were like that. They cared nothing for themselves and they cared nothing for others.

  At least he assumed at that juncture Gáwar had taken possession of Vorc's essence. There had been no specific ceremony or angst-filled moment when the god of demons formally or forcefully absconded with his fee. And that damn Gáwar was nowhere to be found to ask if the deed was done. But why wouldn't he have, reasoned Vorc? Why delay? Well, for one he could wait to extract it because he knew full well his victims would be ruminating in just the funk they were if he delayed the act. Gáwar was certainly evil enough to stoop to add psychological torture to the mix of torment.

  Then a thought occurred to Vorc. If he still owned his soul, maybe he could figure out a way to keep it permanently. It wasn't such a silly notion. Vorc was a god. The other souls he'd promised were gods also. What if a thousand gods stood shoulder to shoulder and resisted Gáwar? What if they killed Gáwar? Yes, that could be doable. Vorc could call a secret meeting of the damned and they could plot to stay free. Yes, it was as good as done. How could the combined will of that many powerful beings be thwarted? They could not be.

  There was a very soft knock on his door. Vorc seized up in rage. Well, pissiness. Rage escaped the soulless. It had to be his new office aide, Sylvia. He’d decided to use a temp since he was going through assistants so quickly of late. Why bother to get emotionally attached and have a person learn your way of doing things just to have you kill them? Time inefficient. But in the last few days Sylvia had proven herself to be quite the challenge. Whenever she spoke in her nasal tone with that stupid pencil behind her right ear, he pictured Gáwar slicing her in half as he'd partitioned Felladonna.

  “Sir, a message just appeared on my desk. I thought I should bring it in immediately,” she announced in her fingernails-on-chalkboard voice. She extended an envelope.

  “Sylvia, do you recall my mentioning I did not under any circumstances wish to be disturbed?”

  “Yes, sir, but …”

  “Do you in fact remember me citing that if the building was on fire or my children's lives were in immediate danger, I did not want to be disturbed?”

  “Did you say children or child? I can't recollect clearly the numerical threshold.” She fell mute a few seconds, then added, “Sir.”

  “Leave now. If you get close enough to me to deliver that letter I shall rip your arm off at the shoulder.”

  “But … it's important.”

  “How would you know that, my imbecilic assistant?”

  “Because it told me so.”

  “What told you so?”

  “I did,” replied the letter. “I am. You need to take me now.”

  A talking letter. A demanding talking letter. Vorc's failed life just scraped a new bottom. He held out a hand.

  “You're not going to do that thing to my arm, are you?” Sylvia asked before advancing.

  “No. I shall hold the letter accountable for defying my orders.”

  “Hey, don't shred me. It was Gáwar's that said I was time critical.” That letter was snarky.

  “Give it here,” demanded Vorc.

  Sylvia sort of tossed it into his hand the last few inches. She was taking no chances. Temps learned that early in their careers.

  Vorc stared at the envelope a moment. “Well, am I supposed to open you or do you do that?” he asked pointedly.

  “Do I have hands?” asked the envelope.

  “I d
o not see any.”

  “Do you have hands?”

  Vorc's response was to close his eyes.

  “Okay, I'll give you three guesses who rips me open, but the second two don't count.”

  Vorc neatly cut the top off the envelope, gently removed the letter, and handed the empty envelope to Sylvia. “Burn this. Do it personally and see that the ashes are flushed down the toilet.”

  “Hey, don't shoot the messenger,” protested the covering.

  “I'm not,” replied Vorc coolly. “I'm burning the messenger.” He looked to the paper.

  Sylvia held the doomed envelope with two fingers and at arm's length as she departed.

  Before he could get to the content, the letter itself spoke. “I think that was harsh, what you just did to Guy.”

  “Guy?”

  “The envelope, Guy.”

  Vorc cleared his throat. “And your name would be?”

  “Not sure I want to say. You seem harsh.”

  “I know. You said that already.”

  There was mutual silence a few seconds.

  “Do you mind if I read you?” asked Vorc with treacle insincerity.

  “No, no. That's my sole function in this sorrow that passes itself off as existence.”

  It was unfortunate for the letter it chose to use the adjective sole, that being so similar to the noun soul, which Vorc so sorely missed. The misspeak would figure prominently in the paper's final disposition.

  Vorc, you stupid pansy-assed fool. Do you think this is my first soul-reaping, my first rodeo? You cannot sneak behind my back and save in any way your soul or those you so foolishly wasted. Get real.

  Gáwar

  Vorc absently set the paper on his deck. Even though he'd been a god forever, he still despised the impossible. It was such a loose cannon. He despised those too. There was no way Gáwar could know his thoughts in real time and respond by post. Zero way. But there it was, lying on his desk.

  A soft knock, again, just as infuriating as the first. Or at least as pissy as the first.

  “What?” said an empty Vorc.

  Sylvia slipped in silently, crossed the room, and handed her boss another envelope. She exited as anonymously.

  Vorc's eyes fluttered, then he looked to the new message.

  “I know what you did to my brother,” menaced the letter container. “Don't think we'll forgive or forget. Envelopes are everywhere. Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

  Vorc ripped open the envelope and then tore it into absurdly small pieces. Then he pulled out his recently repaired Fire of Justice. He burned not only the small pile of paper flakes, he burned through the entire top of his desk. Then he settled down and read the letter.

  You pathetic moron, of course I can. I am Gáwar. Over forever you will come to know the meaning of suffering under my merciless whim. PS: let me know if you have any other questions or input. Have a nice day.

  Gáwar

  Well now it was official. Vorc almost smiled. His life could not get any worse. No way, no how. There was an odd reassurance in the knowledge.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The whole team was aboard Stingray. We'd arranged for Daleria to meet us there after we nuked Dominion Splitter. She'd told us that if we could get out of this universe she wanted to come too. Even if there was no way to return, she didn't care. She hated the ancient gods that much. I couldn't agree with her more. As a group they were the worst form of life I'd ever encountered in my very long period of observation.

  “Okay, people, we need to decide what to do and we need to do so quickly,” I said as the commander. “Doc, is there any doubt whatsoever that DS is dead, defunct, and deceased?”

  “I have no way to be certain,” he replied seriously. “That said, I am extremely confident the transfolding vortex no longer exists. While I cannot know its physiology, it clearly went from robust to functionless and invisible after we imparted all the neutral matter into it.”

  “But you're saying it might have slipped away. That maybe, just maybe, it could heal over time. Is that correct?” pressed Sapale.

  “Yes. DS could have moved to shelter as opposed to dying. If so, it could regenerate given enough time.”

  “I do not want to hear that, Toño,” I said with frustration.

  “I'm being honest. I am the scientist among us. As I said, I’m confident we killed the abomination. But I would not be doing my job if I did not present the facts as I see them.”

  “I know. I'm obviously not blaming you,” I whined. “I just want to leave. If DS might revive, that would not be a wise impulse to follow.”

  “You mean that if there was some chance DS could return, you would stay here to deal with it again?” asked an incredulous Daleria.

  “Maybe,” I replied flatly. “I would do just about anything to keep these douche gods locked up here forever.”

  “We all would,” said Sapale softly but with unequivocal ferocity.

  “Me too. No, wait,” said Casper, who of course appeared out of nowhere, “maybe I can't stay behind because I've always been here. Man, my quasi-existence is really annoying.”

  “I really don't have anything to say in response to that … whatever you said.”

  “Jon, please don't be so harsh with … with our spirit helper,” responded Toño.

  “Spirit helper?” I repeated back. “What, we’re new age mystics now?”

  “I'm with Toño,” said Sapale. “Casper, as you have so disrespectfully named him, has been nothing but loyal and indispensable. Be nice. Otherwise we may keep him and leave you behind.” She followed that up with a Kaljaxian threat growl.

  “Hey, I'm not that thin-skinned,” responded Casper. “I mean, sure, I don't have skin, but Jon doesn't bother me that much. But thanks for having my back, guys.”

  Ghost was beginning to sound like me. What a copycat. Maybe that's why he rubbed me the wrong way? Whatever the reason was, it clearly had to be his fault.

  “Back on task,” I said with emphasis. “We have some tough decisions to make. Do we stay or do we go?”

  “Let me turn that around,” said a thoughtful Toño. “If we stay here, what good can we do? Yes, we would be here if DS resurrects. But in the meantime, is there some significant damage we could inflict on our enemy? Enough to make it worth remaining even if the vortex is completely defunct.”

  “Hmm,” I replied. “Interesting question.”

  “We'd only be able to act as guerrillas, doing hit and run damage,” said Sapale. “And the more damage we did, the Cleinoids would be increasingly motivated to capture us. I'm not sure how long we could be effective.”

  “Maybe not long enough to still be around if the damn vortex actually did return,” I pointed out reluctantly.

  “So we're back at square one?” bemoaned Casper.

  I was totally impressed. My initial reaction was to snark something along the lines of his not being present enough to be back at square anything. But I didn't. Weird. I might be, you know, growing up.

  “Daleria, you're the newbie here, but do you have any thoughts?” I asked. She was being pretty quiet.

  “I'm still a little intimidated by this whole thing, I guess. That said, no, not really. As to if DS is gone for good, I couldn't say. DS isn't a topic of general interest so very few know much about it. As to leaving or staying, for what it's worth I'm a get-out-of-town vote. Nothing good has ever happened in this plane of existence.”

  “You did, sweetheart,” soothed Sapale.

  It was so cute. Daleria blushed to beat the band.

  “Who would know about DS's condition?” asked Toño.

  She shrugged. “No idea. Maybe Vorc. Maybe those witches Deca and Fest.”

  “What about the unspeakable one?” Sapale asked more tactfully than me. She clearly did not want to say Gáwar and watch Daleria hit the deck again.

  “Oh,” she replied squeamishly, “he would. But any sane person would rather live in uncertainty than ask … well, ask.”

  “Wha
t is it that's so bad about this unspeakable one?” asked Toño. “I've formed the impression that the Cleinoids are roughly a band of equals.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Not equals. Off-setters. Some are stronger and more vicious, some weaker and more docile. But there is no combined strength than cannot be matched by a determined resistance. The … the one you ask of is immensely powerful. But if enough lesser gods stand against … together they can overpower … their opponent.”

  “Checks and balances,” said Sapale.

  “Yes. The beauty of the system is that if enough gods are required to work together, clearly no individual would be ascendant, so there's no long-term hope for anyone's personal power grab attempt.”

  “Were you present the last time whatever was summoned?” I asked.

  She looked like she was considering a second swoon for a hot second there. “Yes. But when I learned … of it, I went to ground. I know places very isolated and remote. I went to one immediately and buried my face in the dirt.” Daleria slumped when done speaking.

  “Did you ever actually see him?” asked Sapale as she rested a hand atop Daleria's.

  “Not directly.”

  “What other … oh, through simaging,” responded Toño.

  “Yes,” she said like a baby bird with a broken wing. Tears streaked down her face. “We were simaged images of … of the one whether we liked it or not.” She whimpered briefly. “I saw him and what he did for a very long time.”

  “But he never saw you?” confirmed Toño.

  She shook her head faintly.

  “Was he so bad?” asked my wife softly.

  “No. Much worse. What h … what was done to … victims was unconscionable, gratuitous, and it was horrible.”

  “And in the end the remaining gods banded together and forced him back to wherever?” asked Toño.