Part 10 - The Greatest Sin

Chapter 161 - Strange New World

A large, wooden sailing ship was approaching the shore. Its black and yellow sails were being hauled in. Suddenly, with next to no warning, a jet of energy tore down from the sky and struck the middle of the ship. It crashed through two decks before stopping, at which point it disappeared to reveal a man in his early twenties. For a second, he didn't move, just stared up at the hole to the sky and groaned. Suddenly, feeling the ship swaying, he sat upright and looked around. All along the walls, people were chained up.

"Wha…is this some sort of prison ship? I need a better alarm clock; wow that hurt."

He tried to stand up, but lost his balance and fell again, hitting his knee.

"Owwww, that hurt just as much."

He looked up again, conscious of what his eyes were showing him now. People had crowded round the hole on the decks above, some holding swords or clubs. One of them yelled something angrily in a language the man didn't recognise.

"Sorry, I don't speak that. Err…tu parles Français? Non? Russian? Igbo? Latin? Nordic? Umm…I'm running out here."

The swords were brandished a little more threateningly. The man stood up, managing to stay upright this time. He looked at the people along the walls. They looked terrified, and he noticed a lot of them had darker skin like his. Where the hell was he? Or maybe when was a better question. He took a deep breath and leapt up a deck. The swords, clubs and angry shouts became more aggressive.

"Non! Je suis dèsolè…about…ton…vessel. Shit, I should have listened when Duolingo told me I hadn't done my High Valyrian lessons."

The man leapt onto the main deck, narrowly avoiding a club that tried to hit him. He kicked the person's legs from under them and sprinted towards the bow of the ship. Looking ahead, he could see some sort of city at the heart of which was an enormous arena. Behind the city rose a mountain. However, this side of the city was a port guarded by a massive jade statue of a dragon. Fire burned in its mouth, whipped up by the wind to look like it was breathing.

"That wasn't anywhere I've heard of. Not even stream eight." The man muttered.

He turned round to see the ship's crew encircling him.

"I…don't like this at all."

The man was dragged off the ship, as it docked, and thrown in a damp prison cell with some loose straw as a floor. The bars were rusting iron; he could walk out of here extremely easily, but decided it wouldn't help his situation.

"Well done, Max. You just woke up after…time. How long's it been?"

He closed his eyes, trying to find any trace of anything he knew. All he found was the last little patch in Bastria with its lonely rock. That and the other High Elder Gods, most likely watching him with the same smirks they'd worn after the destruction of all of reality. He opened his eyes and looked at the floor, seeing some of the straw arranged to say: 'LOL'.

"Very funny, Squidward."

It was one of Max's nicknames for the High Elder God who resembled some form of tentacle monster. Their real name wasn't Latin like 'Dei Volente' or 'Dea Judicium', but ancient Daedric. Many saw the language as cursed, but 'Hermaeus Mora' had an interesting ring to it to the youngest High Elder God. Mora was the strongest of them all and would know how long it had been. Max turned into a puff of smoke and travelled to the void of light that was the home of his fellow High Elder Gods.

Hermaeus Mora was the only one visible as a silhouette at the moment; the others were absent.

"How long's it been?" Dei Volente asked.

"It has been…a long time." Mora replied in a voice that could only be described as someone trying to talk while constantly yawning.

"I figured. But how long."

"In Earth years, it has been three googolplex."

"Three…googolplex? That's a long time."

"Indeed, Dei Volente."

"I won't need a nap any time soon. Thanks. Let the adventure begin."

Back in his cell on…whatever this planet was, things seemed a little crazy. People were running backwards and forwards, and the cell door was hanging open. Max opened it a little more and stepped out. The angry shouts returned and he was kicked back inside with the door slammed shut. The guard snapped something in the strange language, then spat at him.

"Hey! The door was open!"

Max wiped the spit off.

"Jackass."

After a couple of hours, the guards returned and barked something.

"Again, I don't know what you're saying. Je ne parle pas ça. [I don't speak that.]"

The meaning was almost clear as the guards opened the gate and hauled him to his feet before pushing him down the corridor and out a door, then onto a horse drawn cart. His hands were bound by rope and a soldier sat up with him. Their uniform was similar to that of a Roman soldier.

"Err…hi?" Max said as he sat up.

The soldier shoved him back down and snapped in the language.

"Jeez…OK. Am I being executed cos that won't work."

The soldier said the same thing. Max guessed it meant shut up, so didn't reply.

The cart rumbled along cobbled streets towards the arena which Max guessed must be at least four times the size of the colosseum in Rome. It pulled up at a small gate in the side and the soldier hauled him out, shoving him through it and into a cell before leaving again. The God looked at the other cells and saw some of the people who had been chained up in the boat. A guard stopped in front of him, blocking his view. They spoke in the strange language; Max pointed to himself, shook his head, tapped the side of it, then pointed at the guard as if to say:

"I don't understand you."

They got the message and thought for a second, then spoke in a language that made Max very confused. Dovahzul was a unique language, having maintained much the same vocabulary for all its existence and never having really been influenced by other languages.

"Hi tinvaak Dovahzul? [You speak Dovahzul?]"

"Geh. [Yes.]"

"Cool." Max replied, still speaking in Dovahzul and glad he'd found someone he could talk to.

"You have a name?"

"Yes. Maximilian, or just Max."

"Family?"

Max looked at his forearms which were wrapped in leather bracers and adorned with the ninety-nine soul stones of the survivors. He looked back up at the guard and shrugged.

"It's complicated."

"Nid [no], then. You will go in the arena in the third act of opening day. I am sure the other slaves will be pleased to bolster their ranks."

"Slaves? But I'm not a slave. Why are there slaves? Did the world go backwards?"

"Funny…slave. Save your breath; you will need it for your performance."

The guard walked away, chuckling to himself. Max grimaced, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground. Suddenly, there was a tap on the bars from the cell next to him. He turned to see a muscular man.

"You is scared?" They asked in broken Dovahzul.

"Zu'u dreh ni mindok. [I do not know.] I'm not a slave. Why do they think I am?"

"You were prisoner, yes?"

"Yes."

"You break rule, they kill you. You slave now."

"What will happen?"

"We go in arena. We die. They happy."

"For what?"

"Dei Volente."

Max frowned at hearing his quite literally God-given name.

"Dei Volente?"

"You not know Dei Volente? You funny."

Max reverted to English to mutter a Star Wars quote to himself:

"'Of course I know him. He's me.'"

"I do not know what you say." Said the other slave.

"It doesn't matter. When's the arena?"

"Soon. You rest."

Max closed his eyes and took a look at the world he'd been thrown into. As far as first impressions went, he hated it. It certainly wasn't a holiday destination.

The bars being rattled and some yelling woke Max up. He didn't know why he needed sleep, having slept for three googolplex years, but maybe it had been a different type of sleep? Either way, he was awake now and being dragged out his cell into some sort of armoury. He was handed a blunt sword which he ran his finger along the edge of: not even a scratch. The most lethal part of it was the rust.

"This sword is blunt." He said in Dovahzul.

He received some funny looks from the other slaves and the guards started laughing. He began to wonder what had happened to Furore Mortale, and indeed his spider suit, but pushed the thoughts aside as the gate into the the arena opened. The other slaves looked terrified as they made their way into what was clearly a killing ground. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the slaves fanned out. Max twirled his practically useless weapon in his hand, trying to get a feel for it in case there was a single sharp bit of it left. Somewhere, someone was announcing something. Max edged a little closer to the slave who'd been in the cell next to his.

"What's happening?" He asked in Dovahzul.

"We fight each other to the death."

"Oh shit…"

He backed away, eyeing the others. There must have been twenty of them in total. Some looked exhausted and battered as if they'd been in fights recently; they would likely be the first to go down. A horn sounded throughout the arena and the tone of the crowd changed to one of anticipation as they waited for the action. To begin with, nobody seemed to go for the God, but he was perfectly happy letting everyone kill each other and he'd just deal with the stragglers. His chance came quickly: a muscular man, with blood on his hands and sword, charged him down. Max began charging too, but instead of pulling his sword back to strike, he leapt over their head and sliced it down. He felt it make contact, but how much damage was done was a good question. He hit the ground a little clumsily, but rolled out of it and was back on his feet in an instant. The man was baring his teeth. He put his hand to the back of his head; wet blood came away when he removed it. He snarled something in a different language from what everyone else was speaking, but still not one Max recognised. The God considered using his powers, but that might get him in a lot of trouble so he pushed the idea away as a last resort. At this point, only he, the man and a woman were left standing. The man set his sights on her and Max quickly formed a plan. As the man charged, the woman backed away a little out of fear; Max took the opportunity to slip in behind him and as he barrelled through her, he drove his sword through his back. An image flashed through Max's mind of him stabbing Null in the back, and he decided one wasn't going to settle this. He pulled his weapon free and stabbed it in again and again until all that could be left of his opponent's insides were mush. However, it seemed they still had fight as he found a blood-soaked hand grab his face and begin to crush it. He didn't make an attempt to get it off, but punched for his opponent's face. Just as his skull was about to explode, he drew his hand back and threw it forward. It landed square in his opponent's forehead and the hand was wrenched away. As he hit the ground, he hear the sound of cracking stone and looked to see the man fall out a fresh dent in the wall. Max picked himself up and looked around for anymore enemies, but he was the last one standing. The crowd roared and Max thrust his hand into the air to try and lap it in. Truthfully, he'd found no pleasure in killing these people. Besides, it was likely he'd be thrown back in here again and again until someone finally killed him. Whatever; it beat lying on a rock in a void for another googolplex years.

Crossovers in this Chapter

- Skyrim

Note

Welcome to part 10! This is twenty chapters of...well...it's not particularly spidery. There's some fight scenes and plenty of references to just about every film, game and book you've ever heard of, but this one is a little more Max oriented. Don't worry, Miles and Gwen are in it, but...oh just go and read it to find out!