Beyond Redemption Read Free Page A

“I don’t think he likes you either,” he added, glancing back at Konig. “He thinks you stole his idea.”
    â€œI don’t care if he likes me. He need merely be useful.”
    Acceptance smirked as if he knew this for a lie.

    Aufschlag Hoher, Chief Scientist of the Geborene Damonen, entered Konig’s chambers, bowed low, and did his best to ignore the High Priest’s Doppels. They, in turn, did their best to glare daggers of hatred and contempt in his direction. On good days he wondered what this meant for Konig’s opinion of his Chief Scientist. On bad days he contemplated killing the deranged Theocrat.
    So, what is today going to be?
    Konig, however, was a Gefahrgeist of unquestionable power. Aufschlag couldn’t spend more than a few minutes in the High Priest’s presence before the man’s stunning genius, vision, and depth of understanding overcame him. The sheer scale of the man’s plans inspired awe. Konig Furimmer was not a man who thought small. Konig thought in terms of forever.
    Doubt only set in afterward. Aufschlag lay awake nights wondering what Konig really was: genius or deluded madman. It was so damned hard to be sure.
    Perception was reality; something Geisteskranken understood all too well. It was their source of power, what made them special and set them apart from the masses of the common man. But Aufschlag understood. His experiments taught him the truth:
    They were all just crazy.
    And that’s what Konig was: crazy. What kind of horrific childhood does it take to create someone like Konig? Interesting question. Perhaps he would experiment with it later.
    Aufschlag watched the man who had once been his closest friend. They’d met as Geborene acolytes. Though both joined the almost unheard-of religion for different reasons, their fates became entwined. Had they first really become friends on the day Aufschlag had brought his idea to Konig? It was my idea, wasn’t it?
    Aufschlag bowed again as Konig finally deigned to glance in his direction. Only then did he notice the hem of his own pale blue robes stained dark with blood. He straightened, briefly meeting Konig’s gray eyes. At least he was fairly sure it was Konig and not one of his Doppels. The eyes, so gray as to look like the very color had been leached from them, bore into him. He felt layers of his personality peeled away for scrutiny. Konig held his gaze and would not release him. Aufschlag couldn’t move. Pinned.
    It’s one of those days . All doubt washed away like blood draining from a torn femoral artery. Konig was a man to follow, a man who saw the gods for what they were. Those eyes saw the future.
    Aufschlag staggered when Konig finally glanced away. He took a moment to allow his pounding heart to slow. The glare of the Doppels felt like poisonous spiders crawling across his skin.
    One of the Doppels—Aufschlag was unable to keep track of which was which—leaned forward and whispered, “I know what you’re thinking, you snaggletoothed, greasy pigsticker.”
    â€œAbandonment,” commanded Konig, “leave him be. Aufschlag, my old friend, you have something to report, I assume?”
    Aufschlag stammered, suddenly self-conscious of his crooked teeth and the greasy tufts of hair sprouting from around his ears. “Y-yes. Another of the young gods committed suicide, High Priest.” He broke into a sweat. His left hand hovered between covering his crooked teeth from view and darting up to smooth his hair into place.
    Konig turned to stare at the Doppel standing with his face pressed into the room’s corner. “Ausfall?”
    Aufschlag blinked uncertainly at Konig’s back. What emotion is he hiding from me? “Yes.”
    â€œShe was too damned smart anyway, always asking questions. She wouldn’t simply accept what I told her. Distrustful little girl.” Konig turned and glanced at Aufschlag, an eyebrow lifted