Anthraximander

Well, I suppose it is time to wrap up the events on the tanker.

You will have to pardon me if you find significant differences in the way that I tell this tale as opposed to how our dear Rusty would do so. He seems to have taken to this online journaling/writing business, while I write merely to convey information.

The Bane—an old foe that I have known since our run-ins during the Bronze Age in Ancient Greece as Anthraximander—was caught entirely flat-footed by our maneuver. Anthraximander had anticipated that he would be able to create problems for Rusty because of all of the vestiges of the Drashe’en that remained within the poor lad, but he had not anticipated that Rusty would be willing to surrender his body to me.

Before I could deal with my old foe, however, I had to regain control over the Drashe’en insurgency and put ‘Ma Grendel’ (that is a fabulous name for the old gal, if I don’t say so myself) back into place. It was easier for me that it was for Rusty simply because I am just as ruthless and evil as that old bitch ever was. In short order I used my Will to shatter her into the multitudes of shards that Rusty refers to as ‘the Voices’ and shove those pieces back into their appropriate places.

Anthraximander had stood there watching, assuming that his spell was working as planned on Rusty. Ever since I was very young, I have realized that my own ‘Spirit form’ (to use another Rusty-ism) is completely invisible to even the most powerful Casters, it is something that has served me very well over the millennia. Knowing that the Bane would be unable to discern that I was now in control over Rusty’s body, I staggered to my feet and acted as if I was moving to sit upon the throne of the dead that he had wanted Rusty to sit in.

One thing that I have tried to pass on to Rusty, especially in dealing with An’girasii and their servants and allies, is that it is useless to spend much time talking to them. Rusty always seems to find himself engaging in conversations with these creatures, which is completely useless. The one time he had success against a doppelganger was when he used that damn sword of his to lop its head off without any discussion or warning. These creatures use conversation, discussions, and speeches to measure up and then deceive their foes as their weave their own hidden spells to take advantage of their prey. The most effective way in dealing with these enemies is ruthless, merciless, and sudden violence.

Take our friend Anthraximander for an example.

He is rather typical for a Bane. Banes are creatures of almost pure Spirit. They don’t have physical bodies of their own, so they have to possess someone—usually just a normal person of any race or sex—and then consuming the victims’ own Spirit to fuel the transformation of that body into a form that the Bane perceives as having the maximum intimidation factor for other humans. The process of possessing, then molding and shaping that body takes several years at the minimum, and can take decades. By taking on forms that most humans see only in their nightmares and then surrounding themselves with a cadre of undead Reavers, all while wielding equal amounts of magick and fear Banes usually avoid any physical confrontations.

If Rusty had taken my advice from the beginning, he would never have listened to Anthraximander in the first place. He should have continued acting like the killing machine he was designed to be, and left the talking for another time. Instead, he treats these creatures like he’s a liberal social worker on a mission to solve all of the world’s ills.

I didn’t make that mistake. Before Anthraximander could figure out that his tightly woven spells were now useless, I barreled into him, snapping his staff like a twig with one blow. As the creature staggered back and stumbled, I wrapped my left arm around its head and dragged him down in a head lock.

He knew he was in trouble now as I felt the panic rise within him. His scrawny, pasty bald head was now uncovered, revealing the twisted, warped face of a once young Asian man. “What are you doing, Brother?”

I smiled. “You old fool, Anthraximander. You’re not dealing with the kid any more. I hope you didn’t invest too much time in this body, you fool, because you are about to lose it.”

“Only one human knows that name…it cannot be…”

I smiled again as I yanked the head off of its scrawny neck.

The Banes screamed in pain and defiance as its physical body collapsed in a heap. Its Spirit slipped from the body and gathered into a dark mist that hung in the air in front of me.

“How is this possible?”

I dropped the early bloodless head onto the floor and turned my back on the now virtually harmless mist before replying. “I am not inclined to aid you in answering that question, Anthraximander. But, while you search out a new body, you might contemplate what new tactics you and your kind will need to deal with the likes of me again. You caught the kid unaware this time, but that won’t happen again, I can promise you that. Now move along. I have things to do here.”

The black mist that was all that was left of the Bane gathered into a tight ball as I glanced back at it and passed through the hull of the ship into the daylight beyond.

Now that the Bane was physically destroyed, the band of Reavers that depended on its power would collapse back into lifelessness.

As the throne behind me melted into a pile of rotting body parts, I turned and stood over that damnable sword. I could feel its hatred radiating up at me. I couldn’t leave a sword like this laying on this ship would soon be swarming with disgusted sailors and Coast Guardsmen, so I knelt down and held Rusty’s gloved hand over the white hot hilt.

“Look, Blade. I know you detest me as much as I detest you. But let me pick you up long enough to sheath you in that place where Rusty has devised for you and then you can wait for him to return. I will not attempt to use you in any fashion.”

It relented for the brief moment that allowed me to pick it up and sheath it, allowing it to slip back into the Shadowland.

I left the cabin and headed to the helm of the ship, passing the bodies of the Reavers that now lay motionless where they had last stood.

Once at the helm, I pushed aside the slumped body of the Reaver that had been steering the ship and pulled back on the handle that controlled the speed of the engines. Slowly the ship began to stop its forward motion.

Last, I slipped back down to the deck long enough to find the flagpole and hoist the Coast Guard flag that Rusty had been given by that Commander.

I didn’t stick around to see the reaction of the assault teams.