Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (55 page)

It just so happened that his means
of transportation and his prized captive were located on the other side of the skirmish,
though, so he trudged towards it.  He barely paid attention to the conflict as
he strode passed.  He stepped around a large person made of metal who was
attempting to crush one of the Bell boys’ heads…he thought that this one was
Wichita
,
maybe?  Or was that the one called “Killian”?  Well, it was
ONE
of the
Linemen, in any case, he was just never really sure which was which.  There
were just so
many
Bell brothers, and they all looked alike; horrid pale
little waifs.  They were
utterly
interchangeable. 

The generic Bell child made a
choking anguished gasp and reached for him as he walked by; the metal man’s
boot crushing down on his skull.  APPARENTLY this boy expected Tyrant to assist
him in some manner.  How
incredibly
presumptuous of him.  As if Tyrant
had nothing BETTER to do with his time than render aid to
HIM?
  If this
anonymous Bell was unable to fight the robot person on his own, then he should
never have gotten into a bout with it in the first place.  This was a learning
experience for the boy; know your place and don’t anger your betters.  Plus, it
would save Tyrant the tremendous
bother
of killing him later.  That
would
be a timesaver…

He pursed his lips as he considered
that…

Tyrant gave an elaborate sigh, as
he absently swung the battle staff out and decapitated the robot-man-thing
without slowing down his stride.  Sparks flew from the machine-man’s neck as
its severed head fell to the ground.  Tyrant casually kicked its body hard with
one black boot and the metal monstrosity was propelled through a second story
window a block away.  He kept walking away and stomped his boot down to crush
the robot person’s head like an aluminum can. 

Tyrant had never understood the
appeal of robotics or technology.  Metal was soft.  Weak.  Malleable.  Why
would anyone want to augment themselves with something so fragile?  Muscle and
bone and mind; that was TRUE strength.  True power.  He had seen it time and
time again over the eons and the thousands of dimensions he had conquered thus
far.  Everyone was always trying to stop him with machines and robots.  Pitiful. 
He was the monster under the inter-dimensional bed, and no mere
TOY
could ever hope to stop him.  It was like shooting a rubber band at a freight
train.  Technological weapons were
undignified
, and showed a distinct
lack of pride in one’s efforts. 

Tyrant was an advocate for doing
his OWN dirty work; he didn’t even believe in guns.  This was a matter of
honor.  If you could go against him on equal terms and best him, then you had
proven yourself the better warrior and were
worthy
of standing
victorious over him.  Thus far, he had never encountered anyone who could do
that though.  It was almost…disappointing.  That was the tragedy of being the
most capable and powerful person in the cosmos; there was no one who could
present you with any
real
challenge.  The monotony of unparalleled
triumph after unparalleled triumph was so
tedious
at times.

Damn his utter perfection.

Things would be so much easier if
he had some kind of flaw; some
TINY
aspect of his being which wasn’t the
complete ideal of masculinity and immortal unstoppable power.  Sadly, that was
not the case.  He was quite simply too sublime to ever fail.  He was the
epitome of imperial grace and unrivaled authority.  He was supreme, and as
close to a god as existence would likely come.  No one would ever beat him…COULD
ever beat him, as perfection could just not be improved upon.  Nothing was
better than the best, and he had proven time and time again that he was the
best there had ever been, or ever would be. 

The nonspecific Bell child reached
a hand out, seeking assistance in getting up, but Tyrant rolled his eyes and
ignored him.  Next thing you knew, the lad would be asking Tyrant for a baby
bottle, and to put him down for his nap.  The whole Bell clan was
terribly
immature and not in the least in touch with reality.  They had NO business
trying to earn their merit badge in evil by being here and participating in
this fight.  They were
children
dabbling in the affairs of
men
, especially
the female child, but
especially
the brothers.  And there were a
lot
of Bell brothers.  Tyrant was pretty sure there were at
least
half a dozen
of them.  Identical little blonde urchins, all having useless electricity
powers, and dressing like custodians.  Ridiculous.  Rayn insisted that there
were only the two brothers, but Tyrant was
positive
that there was at
LEAST double that number.  They seemed to be everywhere; multiplying like
roaches in the dark. 

He could ask Gurrier for an exact
headcount of their seemingly endless supply of Bells, since the man spent a
great deal of time with them, but that would require the gargantuan oaf tear
his gaze away from ogling the youngest of them long enough to answer him. 
Tyrant didn’t understand the man’s interest in the Stacy creature.  Gurrier’s
lascivious attention to such a young girl was obscene and inappropriate. 
Tyrant didn’t approve, and was intending to tell him so…right before he
butchered them both and took over this dimension.  Tyrant’s eventual cutting in
half of the child with his war blade was understandable if she got in the way
of his plans, but Hazard making advances to the girl while she was so young that
she should still be at home with her mother, was
outrageously
uncivilized and perverted. 

There were certain things that just
shouldn’t be done, and gawking at a miniscule young lady, who was at
least
200 years your junior and naturally juvenile to begin with, was over the line
no matter how sweet her nubile little body appeared.  The man was an uncouth
barbarian, and Tyrant would be doing the world a favor when he ended him.  He’d
be the first to go, come the
Day of Days
.  First Gurrier, then Harlot.

And that was still yet
ANOTHER
way in which Tyrant was superior to this rabble; he wasn’t a slave to whatever biological
urges came up.  He could rise above, and not become some kind of mindless
savage at the first sign of an attractive female.  The same could not be said
for the other
alleged
“men” of this criminal organization.  Ferral was
utterly
without focus now, Poacher was a joke, Cynic was a walking libido, Troubadour’s
entire existence revolved around the fairer sex, and Gurrier spent most of his
time trying to keep himself from throwing that Stacy child down on the ground and
assaulting her.  NOT that Tyrant spent a great deal of time thinking about his
coworkers having relations.  On the contrary, he hoped that none of them EVER
bred again; it would save future generations
countless
hours of pain if
they didn’t have to put up with the progeny of those idiots.

He rounded a corner and watched as
the Eden sisters strolled down the street a block away.  Enmity was yelling at
her sister about something or other, and Amity was blandly smiling at her in
her characteristically vapid fashion.  The scene wasn’t unusual.  In all the
dimensions he had encountered them, he had never ONCE seen one girl without the
other.   

A group of soldiers were currently dancing
around the girls in joyous celebration.  The men had evidentially come into
contact with Amy’s powers, and were overcome with feelings of love and joy for
their fellow man.  A dozen of them had joined hands and were skipping after the
sisters like children celebrating the coming of spring; all that was missing
were the little animated cartoon birdies singing cheerful songs with them. 
Several of the men had even shed their clothes; feeling utterly free. 

Tyrant shook his head in
disgust
. 
He
detested
happy people.  Thus, he also detested people who could MAKE
others happy, even if it was all a lie.  Tyrant had found that ALL happiness
was a lie which people told themselves though, so it mattered not whether the
lie arose from the girl’s powers, or the person’s own twisted mind.  People
convinced themselves they were happy, so that they could get through another
meaningless day in their meaningless little lives, and not take notice of how
utterly
pointless
their lives actually were. 

Tyrant, however, had discovered
that TRUE “happiness” arose from inside yourself.  Happiness was the
realization that there was no such THING as happiness.  Once you accepted that,
every day was a holiday.  Life was so much easier to deal with when you weren’t
cavorting around like an idiot chasing some delusional panacea to all of your own
imagined shortcomings.  It freed you to do things which mattered; like
conquest
. 
Seeing your enemies and supposed “friends” fall before you.  Stabbing them in
the stomach, and watching as their blood stained the hot sand…  Wresting
whatever you wanted from life, and from them, while everyone else had their
eyes on the horizon waiting for the promised happiness-bringing “
whatever-it-was
”
which would never come. 

The hard truth was that there was
no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; no grail at the end of the quest; no
magical “It” which would wash away the sins and loneliness, no matter how hard
you searched.  You could follow that star for as long as you wanted, but there
was simply no happiness to be found in life or the multiverse, except what
pleasure you could find in
crushing
your enemies.  That was FAR closer
than
most
people would ever actually come to “happiness,” no matter
WHAT
Rayn had to say on the matter.

He always
loathed
seeing Amity
the insufferable pilgrim girl though, as it meant he’d be trapped there listening
to her fawn all over his hostage for an hour.  And the book club meetings were
the WORST.  The LAST thing he needed was someone babbling at his captive about literature
and recipes when he was trying to break her spirit!  Captivity WASN’T fun; it
was
SUPPOSED
to be uncomfortable.  That was the point!  One of these
days, he’d just decapitate Amy right in the cafeteria and be done with it.  Yes. 
Tomorrow at breakfast, he’d simply kill her outright and get a jump on his
larger plans.  That would sure shut his imprisoned princess up.  Show her the
danger
of crossing him and silence her snide comments.

He smiled as the scene played out
in his head.

For her part, Enmity looked just as
repulsed by the nauseatingly happy entourage as he did.  With the exception of
her inexcusable and
ENTIRELY
inappropriate wardrobe, Tyrant understood
Emily.  In fact, historically, they agreed on most Consortium business when it
came time to put it to a vote.  He didn’t have to PRETEND to be friends with
her like he did with the others, and Tyrant was growing so tired of hiding his
true nature from them, and acting as if he was a sociable team player. 

Plus, Rayn couldn’t stand the woman
for some reason, so Tyrant went out of his way to put them together whenever
possible.  Rayn seemed to hate Emily more than anyone else in the Consortium. 
He didn’t know why.  Personally, Tyrant thought her among the most tolerable of
their “teammates;” still insignificant and doomed to die, but MARGINALLY easier
to endure until that time arose.  Listening to Emily trash the insipid books
that Rayn and Amy loved so dearly and spent hours chattering about each
Wednesday morning was one of his true
joys
in life, especially since her
criticisms of the narratives were completely valid, in his opinion.  The books
were
rubbish
from start to finish; over-written sentimental tripe, and
he
genuinely
looked forward to enslaving their authors and slaughtering
them slowly.

He suspected that consistently
being around Emily would be
marvelously
soul-crushing for Rayn.  A few
more conversations, and the little insect would be BEGGING to help him destroy
her Meadow kingdom.  Hell, begging him to destroy HER, just to end the torment
of being around Emily.  Thinking about his powerful and obstinate little hostage,
finally reaching her breaking point and falling to her knees in submission
before him; hearing the princess
beg
him for mercy in her elegant,
melodious voice…admitting that he was right, and
pleading
with her
master to take pity on her, because she was rightfully
HIS
property…made
him smile again.  And best of all?  Best of all, he’d never have to hear about
another Nicholas Sparks book ever again.  At long last, his Wednesdays could be
spent in blissful silence.

The sisters and their group were
met by a new squad of soldiers, this time obviously under the influence of
Enmity’s powers.  The men charged down the street at the dancing men as fast as
their feet would carry them, and began to tear the happy dancing guards to
pieces in a crazed frenzy.  The blissful smiles on the dancing men’s faces
never faded, even as they were ripped to shreds.

He would probably have to kill
Emily tomorrow, though, as Tyrant doubted that she would be very happy about
him decapitating her beloved twin while in line for waffles.  Particularly
since the girl’s felt each other’s pain, and he doubted having your head
chopped off would feel very good, even if it was by proxy.  Since his first
encounter with the twins untold dimensions ago, he had learned to kill them
both at once whenever possible.  The sisters seemed to act as control rods for
each other; balancing out the other’s powers so that they didn’t become
overloaded.  On their own they were dangerous, but they were apparently weaker
when they were together, which they
always
were, and thus were always
easily dealt with.  This dimension would be no different, no matter how much
stronger these girls seemed than the other ones.  Not that it mattered.  At
their weakest or their strongest, no one could stand against him long and
survive. 
No one.