THE CHRONICLES: TYRANT

By Tyee 'Lar Oxenbury and Sandipan Santra

Finding ultimate power within him, Lordus continues his journey in strange new lands where he is accompanied by new allies. There is a disturbing presence within him however, that drives his hateful demeanour to new lengths of violence and aggression. With the growing dread of The Creator still at large, Lordus will need all the help he can get to fend off the growing shadow that takes over the wasteland. Only time will tell if this eerie threat that dwells deep within will deliver Lordus to salvation or completely ruin him to damnation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Dec 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369494585

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Copyright © 2024 by Tyee ‘Lar Oxenbury.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/13/2023

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1     Corruption

Chapter 2     The Crossroads

Chapter 3     Unlikely Allies

Chapter 4     A Sobering Confrontation

Chapter 5     A Strangling Hold of the Past

Chapter 6     Reloaded With Hate

Chapter 7     The Road Most Travelled

Chapter 8     A Haunting Reflection

Chapter 9     One More Reunion Before Our End

Chapter 10   A Titan On Wheels

Chapter 11   Time’s Up, Death Approaches

Chapter 12   The End of a Long Journey

Epilogue: Hope

A special thank you to Christine Judd and Paul Judd

What would you do if you had ultimate power within your grasp? To be able to do anything you wish and not have the punishing burden of human repercussion to stand in your way. Many imagine that they would do good for others to satisfy their selfless conscience and fill their moral desires. I speak for those that have none of this however, for I know that this behaviour only exists to those who can only dream, and cannot claim that which they so crave.

I have met those who have such power and wealth. They are so quickly corrupted, and their hypocrisy is so devilishly outlined that they completely change their very personality from what others once knew. To some extent, I agree with The Creator and their ambition to wipe all that is humanity. For those that have this ultimate power are quick to trade in their wealth and success when they are faced with their mortality unlike others who have no choice but to embrace it.

I have experienced both lives, both have shown their true ugliness to me. I will use this power I bestow to level the playing field for all so that every man, woman, and child will get to experience a fair and nonjudgmental beginning and end.

-The Tyrant’s ambition.

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CHAPTER 1

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CORRUPTION

I suppose ripping off his jaw wasn’t the best idea. Interrogating these mongrels these past few weeks has been draining on my patience and my persistent endeavours to get the information that I need. Now all I’ve got to work with is a gurgling mess of a man who used to be a reasonable and coherent being. Sure, he wasn’t the nicest guy, and he enjoyed flailing the flesh off of his clients’ victims for credits, so they can tell him what they wanted to know, but he was my one good chance to find my next clue. What goes around comes around I guess.

Before I turned this weasel of a man into a incomprehensible and bewildering shambles, he did happen to mention one place that peaks my interest; Society: a scabby kind of town run by bandits and other demented folk of the wasteland that sane people wouldn’t want to cross paths with. Littered with lies, death and deceit, there is still a hierarchy of order and the enforcement of rules that those who reside there must follow. Luckily for me, that is my next stop. After the horror stories that you hear about this place, it sounds like my kind of town.

The only question now is; what am I to do with this gentleman who now lacks a mandible? I can’t just hold him by his throat, with his feet dangling all day. His tongue loosely flaps about, while his watery eyes dart from side to side. I don’t even know if he’s all there anymore. I drop the sadist and watch his knees buckle and give way. With his body collapsing and facing downwards to the cold concrete floor, the sound of uncontrollable slurps and desperate wheezes for air is the only indication of life that still emanates from this worm. I’ve prolonged his painful existence for long enough. I’ve gotten what I wanted in terms of information. It is best to put this convulsing man out of his misery.

As if I am the angel of death himself, I kneel down and meet eyes once more with my unfortunate victim. My long draping jacket made from the rich but resilient crimson pelts of the Blood-boar touches the dark-gray ground that is used as a canvas to smudge the hundreds of droplets of blood. His pupils lock onto my own as I slowly reach out with my powerful palm coursing with red electricity from my overcharged bioenergy. I hold my gaze with his to make sure that I am the very last entity that he sees. My cold metal makes contact with his flesh by gently pressing my hand on his bloody forehead. Wrapping my fingers around his cranium, my corrupted electricity pulses along my arms for a short time until I finally release a concentrated discharge of a potent current that quickly and effectively shuts down his agonised mind and kills him for good. His deathly sounds of torture and pain are no more. I then halt my virtual recording system and save the footage on my database, knowing for sure that I will need to go back and relive the information that has been shared with me by my unfortunate victim. The time skips that I have been experiencing are occurring more frequently lately. I have to make sure that the valuable intel that I extract is stored and backed up, just in case my mind decides to become a blur once again.

I best pack up and leave soon. No doubt that someone who uses this man’s services will come across his mangled cadaver. Cleaning up after myself and hiding the body isn’t necessary however. Someone who cuts away at the flesh in exchange for critical information would probably have many enemies. Most would think that this is an inside job and would conclude that this guy got what was coming to him. In a small town like this one however, the people of Harvest would know one another and will definitely exchange words of gossip about a stranger visiting for a short while who left not long after, only to uncover the corpse of their local doctor with bits and pieces of his person separated from himself. No doubt that karma will catch up with me - and soon enough I will accumulate more of a hefty bounty for not just this man who lays dead before me, but the several dozen others that I have disposed of these past few months. Soon enough the law will connect the dots and eventually this trail of blood that I leave behind will round up a mob of bounty hunters and mercenaries that will hunt me down like an animal. They should thank me however; I’ve been cleaning up the wasteland by removing the most foul individuals. I can only imagine the hundreds of lives that I have saved as a result.

The warm stench of rotting meat fills the room. Even for an experienced killer like myself, the scent soon makes me hunch over from the heavy nausea that builds up in my empty stomach and sends my mind into a daze. I reach over to the operating table made of rough leather that has soaked up the blood of many past victims who ended up on the wrong side of a scalpel. I hold myself steady and close my eyes while counting to five. I contort and strain my face trying to combat the ill waves of sickness. I turn my deep labouring breathing into a rhythmic pace and hold my breath for a few seconds more, feeling like I’m about to fall from a swaying tightrope. Is it the blood doing this, or is it the grime from the dirty brown tiles that have watched countless tortures before it? Imagining the unsanitary instruments being used on many men and women makes me lose the mental battle against myself. I hold tightly onto the rusty railing of the bench and bring up whatever my insides will allow me to release. The burn of thick acids climbs up my throat and out of my mouth whilst I clench my neck and uncontrollably sway side to side. I watch my yellow bile splatter onto the concrete floor as my vision blurs from the demanding force that weighs me down. Just like that, my power returns and I regain my bearings, as if I had just expelled a demon from inside of me. I deeply inhale, collect the remaining fluids in my mouth with my tongue and spit out the leftover chunks of bile.

Straightening up my posture, I look over to the stained glass mirror and examine my untidy self. My reddening face returns to a deathly pale. I run my hand along my messy and disarranged hair trying to revert it to its slicked-back form. The pulsing red traces that course across my face and connect to my bionic eyes come to a steady and calm state. I drag my dark crimson leather sleeve across my mouth to wipe away the glossy marks of stomach acid that remain behind. Dusting myself off by patting my person from head to toe, I tightly grasp the edges of my jacket and pull downwards to stretch out the creases that had formed during the brutal interrogation earlier. Cracking my neck by tightly rotating my head, I show myself out and use my arm to comb aside the hanging plastic flaps that act as a doorway. Slowly, the smell of grime, death and scum leave my proximity as I make my way through the echoing hallway that branches off into several other rooms with their own demented purposes. I stride towards the exit - a large heavy vault-like door - and grasp the cold metal handle that gives way to my downwards pull. The creaking hatch opens and sunlight floods inwards, killing the dull red lighting that is used to illuminate the interior paths.

Breathing in what some would call fresh air, the town of Harvest lays dormant with no activity. Not being a very neighbourly town in the first place, people tend to keep to themselves with drawn curtains tightly pulled and chipped wooden doors that are bolted shut from the inside. The residents all share the same withered and diseased complexion; hard to tell if it’s from the irradiated water they drink or the lack of vitamin D that is held back by the thick, dark cloud that always seem to be present over the town. Either way, they stare at you with a warning like a starving dog waiting for you to turn your back on them. They’ll most likely snap at you with a feral bite if you get too close. Besides guessing how many eyes that watch you from the homes of this disturbed town, one has to think how many of those onlookers have the cross-hairs of a rifle trained onto your head. If it wasn’t for the disorganised law of Society keeping this town in check, then it would be fair game to open fire towards any stranger that crosses through this town.

Closing the heavy metal door behind me, I aim my open hand and curl my fingers to fix onto the locking mechanism built into the door. Utilising the magnetic manipulator system that’s installed in my left hand, I lock the only entrance going into the slaughterhouse from the inside to give anyone who tries to snoop around a hard time getting in. This should buy me more than enough time to leave Harvest unsuspected before anyone finds the gory mess that I have left behind. It’s best to gather my belongings first and organise what rations remain on my rust-bucket of a utility vehicle. The road to Society will take a day or two, depending on how many stops we’ll have to make on the way, not to mention encountering a possible roadblock that has been orchestrated by bandits. It’s no lie that these marauders and wondering psychos have been getting craftier; it’s hard to tell these days who’s been inflicted by The Creators touch and if their indoctrination has been completed. With the promise of an eternal life after they have served, these low-life’s are more than happy to slave away for their new mechanical master. There’s no mistake that The Creator has ceased building his faceless minions, most likely from a lack of resources. He now seems to have turned to using the flesh of man to do his bidding instead.

I make my way around the corner of the building and meet up with my giant of a companion who sits on a jagged boulder and waits for my return, just as I have ordered. Seeing a large mutated creature hunch over on a comically small platform is amusing on my end, but this black and red-skinned eight foot devil looks more irritated than anything.

‘You took your time,’ Grumbles Dexter as stands himself up and casts a dense shadow over me.

‘Yeah, well... politely asking for information wasn’t working,’ I respond with an exhausted tone and lean against the weathered brick building.

‘Did you kill him, take any bits off of him?’

‘I think you know the answer to that.’ I slowly slide my body down against the wall and sit on the dirt path. ‘I’m just taking out the trash.’

Dexter pauses and stares at me with doubt. ‘I think you enjoy it.’

‘Think what you must, I got the information we needed.’

‘You should let me try to do the interrogating next time.’ Dexter swings his gigantic arms side to side and flexes his gigantic muscles that are held back by his scaly flesh.

‘We tried that before, remember? You ended up lopping the poor man’s arms off before we even got started with the questioning,’ I scoff at Dexter’s request. ‘He was a good lead too, nearly jeopardised the whole mission.’

Dexter rubs his yellow eyes with his index finger and thumb. ‘So... the interrogation went well then? Where are we headed?’

‘Society. We are to find a junkie who escaped indoctrination. Word has it that he knows the whereabouts of The Creator’s hideout.’

‘Society?’ Dexter balls up his gigantic fists and snarls, showing off his many rows of serrated teeth. ‘You’re telling me that I’m going to have to keep sitting on that pathetic metal platform that you call a trailer with tiny excuses for wheels all the way to a town full of racist outlaws and killers?’

‘Oh come on, Dex.’ I pick myself up and dust off the ash-like dirt from my pants. ‘You know that this is the only way I can drive you around without killing our only ride.’

Grunting through his flat, turtle snapped nostrils, Dexter picks up his duffel bag and straps it across his bulking chest that’s plated in metal studded armour; enough to handle a point blank buckshot to the torso. At this point, Dexter might as well consider himself an indestructible force of nature.

‘You’d best find us a replacement soon...’ The mutant finalises as he walks away with a viciously grumpy attitude. ‘Let’s go then. Pick us up some diesel, I’ll wait by the vehicle.

I allow Dexter to lead on, back towards the outskirts of Harvest where the beginnings of a harmless dust storm start to slowly blanket the distant roads. My intuitive senses pick up many eyes that watch us from closed doors, like a predator that hungrily preys on its lunch. It’s hard to tell if the citizens here know any better about why an augmented human and his short-sighted companion have any business here in this isolated town. Splitting up, I veer to the right and head towards a shack that desperately tries to remain upright after decades of corrosion and aging metal. An old fuel pump stands on its lonesome outside in front of the building with a flickering bulb strung up on the overhanging structure to provide shade. I take my time approaching the building and watch as Dexter hops aboard the trailer on the other side of the fence. Making himself comfortable, he reaches into his satchel and pulls out a pair of foggy reading glasses that he gently clips onto his flat nose after adjusting his focusing gaze. Aligning his eyes with the lenses, he then pulls out a thick book that is heavy to the touch with at least a few thousand pages bound with a thin leather cover. The book is titled: The Convulsing Anatomy Of Life. He is already halfway through the novel, I am surprised that the mutant tolerates such advanced reading. After readjusting his posture, Dexter loses himself within the words.

It is strange to see an aggressive beast like a Thrah’hai sit down and read human literature. These mutated beings like Dexter aren’t very common in the wasteland. They are mostly outcasts and are turned away when trying to enter any major settlements. The only town willing to allow such an unpredictable and violent race of bellowing henchmen would be the Blades colony. Then again a place residing so close to Screamers Farm, they need all the help that they can get to conquer such a harsh but rich land full of valuable metals and other materials to sell to wandering caravans.

And then there’s Dex, I look at him and see a Thrah’hai, but one that doesn’t act like his kind. Sure, I’ve seen moments where he’s lost his cool; where his fuse is lit and nothing but a gruesome rampage can calm him down. However, seeing the remorse fill up in his eyes is a very strange side effect of taking the lives of nameless bandits and murderers that wouldn’t think twice about hurting an innocent soul. One would think that he feels bad for committing these heinous acts of violence onto those that deserve nothing more.

Just like the rest of his race, Dexter gets away with a lot when it comes to intimidating others to get what he wants. His natural skin is thick and rough like stone. His fists wield immense power when it comes to hand to hand combat. Anyone or anything would be a fool to face a Thrah’hai without a proper weapon strong enough to crack through their flesh. The second Dexter clips those tiny glasses onto his face, he is stared at as others mock him and his kind. That however, doesn’t normally end well for them. Even I had to look twice when I first came across Dexter drinking by his lonesome in a bar, trying to read a book that was burned by the ages. With such an uncommon sight like this, no one would blame you for looking at a Thrah’hai wearing round eyeglasses once belonging to a human.

Flaring his large nostrils, Dexter flips onto the next page and inhales deeply, patiently waiting for my return. Approaching the run-down building, I cautiously use a single finger to push open the squeaky door, making the bell jingle from above, and I allow a second to pass before entering. Expecting the unwelcoming force of a shotgun blast from a skittish shopkeeper, I am only greeted with the whistling sound of the hot wind slipping through the gaps of the building. The air inside smells of rot and decay, very much like the doctor I left behind a few buildings down the dirt path. Huge flies the size of pennies buzz around an old fire pit. The crimson sunlight shines through a hole in the roof that acts as a chimney, where a familiar race of a human sized lizard acts as a spit roast below. Charred to the bone with chunks of black meat removed from its cadaver, I take a closer look at the skewer running through the mouth and out the rear of this unnamed individual. I’ve tasted many outlandish meats before in my life, but Jah-Goh was never an idea as a cuisine to me. The people of Harvest must be desperate for fresh food if they have to go so low and kill a traveling lizard-man. Poor guy must have never seen it coming; one moment you are looking for goods to trade, the next you’re someone’s dinner.

The smell of crisp charcoal coming from this unfortunate traveller wasn’t the source of this unwelcoming scent that