Chương 5: What is Pain?

WARHOL watched his son dispatch the bandits. His skills were exceptional. Basic in form, perhaps, but well-executed. Not that his own fighting style preferred the dull pounding of metals, of course. Although floating in the air as an all-powerful deity had been fine for the first so many years, it grew boring after so long. He cast a variety of lesser spells to increase his comfort, incantations meant to eliminate humidity, ward off insects, and to shield him from the heat.

Even so, standing by, watching his son have all the fun, was a tedious affair. He cast [Locate], then [Expand Range], followed by [Mental Palace]. That combination of spells showed him every bandit outpost, den, and stronghold on the island, along with their network of underground structures plastered onto a three-dimensional construction or 'palace' of the island.

It looked like Lance had some good luck in where he had dropped the boy off, as the bandit dens he was busy wiping out appeared to be the least threatening structures on the island. It was tempting to go and have some fun with the bandit's leader, a mean-looking piece of trash; but he resisted the urge as doing so would have defeated the purpose of dragging Lance here in the first place. That said, there was still a way for him to have some fun...

Focusing on the skull-covered fortress at the island's center, he unleashed a [Teleport], bringing him to the island's cliched seat of power. His spell brought him just outside of the throne room, where a dirt-covered, naked berserker coated with dried blood held court.... if having intercourse with maidens between giving commands to his posse could be called 'holding court.' Next, he cast [Disguise]. Now, he appeared as just another wiener-tugging bandit. Perfect! Warhol let the invisibility drop.

Only temporarily, though. He flung open the wide double doors of the great hall and in his best panicked voice shouted that the island had been invaded!

"My dick-pumping liege! Our home has been attacked by a stunningly handsome Paladin! He has killed many of my worthless friends already! Please, send our best drunken boys after him! He is near the coast!" The bandit leader's activity stopped mid-thrust. Their eyes narrowed: "Invaded?" he confirmed.

"Yes! My honor, please!" At this point, Warhol wasn't thinking about what he was saying. He was having too much fun messing with these sticks.

"Ha!" the leader shouted.

"A single paladin is of no concern, pathetic one! But it has been a while since we've had a paladin's helmet for our collection..." the leader looked over toward the wall, where Warhol now saw entirely consisted of skulls, other assorted bones, and paladin helmets.

"Gah! Why not! It's the holiday season, ain't it!? Let's go skin this bugger till his blue balls turn red!"

"Oh, thank you, my king, oh thank you! I hope you will do me the honor of servicing your lady for my heroic action!" Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Neigh, but I will feed you to my jackals!" The king motion for his guards.

"Do away with this mentally begotten welp! Send him to the dungeon for his stupid insolence!" Just as the guards stepped toward him, Warhol re-asserted the invisibility, giving the guards reason to gasp as he vanished from sight. He floated into the air so he could observe the ruckus his farce had caused. It was apparent the bandit king wasn't just fat and evil, but also stupid and predictable. As the king demanded answers from his equally befuddled 'royal guard,' Warhol teleported back to his son.

Lance had just finished purifying another den of the bandits when he opened a mental communication channel between them: "Son, just so you know, I've informed the bandit leader of the island that you are slaughtering his underlings. His stooges should be with you shortly." He didn't like being tough on his boy, but tough times called for tough love. Simple as that. After all, what was pain except love by another name? Another name... the words echoed in his mind. Warhol had many names: Savior, Messiah, Champion.

Until two years ago, his names expanded at a steady rate, a new name or title to reflect his good deeds. That all changed when the Mind Slop parasite got ahold of him. After his actions while under its influence, his acquisition of names changed. Now, no matter what good deeds he did, people only called him 'devastator' and 'menace.' Tough love... his son had been tough with him back then. Had injected him with an ingenious solution filled with potent magified memories.

The solution forced 'the good times' to play on repeat in his mind. It drove the parasite crazy. As the parasite was distracted, the solution which the memories swam in, did its work, and gradually melted the parasite that had lodged itself in his brain. He had felt the parasite's pain as it died.

'Agony' was the easiest way to describe what the parasite experienced as its body fell to pieces. Even now, coming on two years from its death, he still could pinpoint the exact area in his brain where the parasite had been slain. Its grave was a black site inside of him. A place he did not want to recognize but had no choice but to, for if he couldn't acknowledge what the parasite had forced him to do, then there would be no moving forward. Moving forward...

he had tried to return to his normal routine after his 'incident.' He had failed. No one wanted anything to do with him, even after the Planetary Defense Council vouched for both his health and the veracity of the events. He pushed through it for a time; he told himself that everything would be okay and he would rebuild his reputation. In his heart, though, he knew his career was over. It would take something beyond measure to restore the world's faith in him. Something like a cosmic horror, for instance...

Below, Lance continued his crusade. They continued to fight well. It was hard to believe that a few years ago, that boy wanted to be a scientist. How different things would be if they had become a scientist. Not that his son would've been a bad anything no matter what they wanted to do. And, besides, their interest in the world of parasites had saved his life. Without the endless and expensive tomes, Lance wouldn't have been able to cure him of the parasite. So, it all worked out. Well, almost worked out.

Except for the fact his ludicrously underpowered son wanted to fight by his side when one of the strongest creatures in existence was staring them down. That wasn't ideal. For hours, Warhol remained floating in the air watching his son feeling morose for himself and his fate. He hadn't felt happy lately. Every day seemed the same, the same unbearable tasks, the same people asking for the same help.

All of it struck through with the same realization that they all were doomed if he couldn't find a way to do the impossible and kill the unkillable from beyond the stars. Warhol closed his eyes. He let the pain come. These days, it was all he had left.