The Bleed: Book 2: RAPTURE by David Moody (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📕

“Do you have any specific places in mind?” Derrick asked. “Because I’m still trying to figure out what a spatial adjudicator does, and especially one that’s half demon.”

Another smile bared the fangs. “To say anything more than that I explore would do myself a disservice. Certainly, being fathered by a demon creates job opportunities, but I am more gifted at traversing certain environments than others.”

“You know your dad?” Arridon asked, afraid of the answer.

Timtar took in a deep breath, and out spilled a considerable amount of unimpressed word-bile. “His name is Kalandar. The Breaker of Dimensions, Destroyer of Worlds, Third Conqueror of Aradinia, Soul-Eater of Ghouls, the Right-Hand Demon to the Possessor, first of his kind to go forth into the wilds and return.” He took a noisy, long inhale. “He is the Bringer of Chaos into Order, the Slaughterer of Bazzaros, second kin to Denderia, (she of the famed raid on the heavens).” He cleared his throat and continued: “Fabled Defender of the Red Witch, whose exploits are so legendary they span multiple tomes. He who has borne witness to the descent and will be present for the ascent. His might so feared, his skill so dreaded, and his knowledge so vast that entire prison realms were erected to keep him trapped. He is the chain breaker, a gargantuan among gods, the one so feared he was removed from Hades. All that stand before him quake in awe. He whose name alone strikes foreboding into the hearts of his enemies. There are none alive now or ever, who could stand before him; those who would oppose him are impotent in their challenge, yadda yadda and so on and so forth.”

Arridon and Derrick watched and waited for him to catch his breath and say more.

“That’s basically his whole schtick,” he said. “And all of it, as idiotic as it sounds, is basically true.”

“You’re like, demon royalty,” Arridon said.

“You’re god-royalty,” Tim said with a shrug. “You can see what that’s done for you.”

“Fuck-all,” he said. Tim smirked and nodded.

“Okay, my dear lords of the sisterless lost and uneasy, what’s next?”

“Well, you brought up my dad. He hates the gods, and if we make our case to him that helping you somehow screws them over, then I think we can count on his assistance.”

“What can he do for us?” Arridon asked.

“What can’t he do? Weren’t you listening? He can shift dimensions at will, for starters. He’s ancient, powerful, and can bring an army of demons to bear on a whim. Little stuff, really,” Tim explained.

“What’re the odds he’ll lance us with a giant demon spear and eat us like a stick of teriyaki when the urge strikes him?” Derrick mused.

“You can talk all the shit you want about devils, demons, and things that are allegedly evil, but my father, Kalandar, is a being of his word. Once he says he’ll do something, he’ll follow through on those words, regardless of the opposition or whatever whim might strike him.”

“That’s good to hear,” a reassured Arridon said.

“Besides, it’s been at least fifty years since he tried to kill me,” Tim added. “To be fair, I probably deserved it.”

“And you certainly deserved it,” a stern voice said from the shadows beyond the portico that led to their secluded spot on the balcony. A massive being, human seeming, yet so much more, wearing a plain white robe and a golden diadem atop his brow stepped into view. At least an arm’s length taller than either Arridon or Derrick, the metahuman god cracked a smile that was equal parts charming, and threatening. Arridon and Derrick stood from their chairs, and faced the man approaching, riveted.

“I hoped you’d take less of an interest in this, Oldros,” Timtar said, stiffening against the glass balcony wall.

“I have such a fondness for the dimensions that cultivated intelligent life on the planet Earth, or whatever it’s called,” he said with a deep, sonorous voice.

“And by fondness, you mean it’s the collective planes of existence you’ve decided to feed like fresh meat to the Bleed,” the half-demon spat at him. “Traitorous, that. Sacrifices aren’t helpful with the Bleed.”

“I disagree,” he said. “And fortunately for me, and all the lives my work has saved, my opinion changes the flow of time and space.”

“Your opinion wouldn’t make my bowels move,” Arridon shot at him. “If any harm comes to my sister because of something you’ve done, I will find a way to hurt you.”

“I’ll help,” Derrick added.

“You two are just so damned cute,” the being named Oldros said to them with that same smile. “Your pluck, and verve is just…charming! It’s the stuff of legend, really. I might remind you, though, that legends can be cautionary tales, not just litanies of maddening heroics and sharp, pointy swords. Many heroes confront the gods, or go counter to their will, and wind up tied to a rock, their guts feeding the vultures. Don’t be so naïve.”

“I’ll kick a fucking vulture,” Arridon said. “Let us rescue our sisters. What do you have to lose by letting us?”

“I’d be going against my word.”

“Wait… What did you promise it?” Timtar said, stepping forward. “What? Did you make a pact with the Bleed? Did you give it your word?”

Oldros waved his hands about, and shook his head to dismiss the accusation. “Pshh. What does it matter? I am a god, and what I choose to do is beyond mortal reproach. Souls by the trillions are lost in every flickering moment, and it matters not if I decide on the loss of a few billion of them, or if they fade away all on their own.”

“If you pay a tithe of life and space to the Bleed, to buy even a moment of reprieve…you’re a worse monster than it ever has been, or ever will be,” the half-demon hissed. “The Bleed, at least, has cause for its hatred. It’s almost justified, after the Rift. But for you to then try and buy its aggression off? The other