Kambyon the Kruel #1 “The Bad Son”


He is…. Dark Thugos!


Former Destroyer of Tales. Former lord and master of the cosmic superweapon Battleworld. Current tyrant of the Fever Blister marked Apocalyspe, and as such head of the pantheon of its ruling class the Newer Gods. A graven image of oppression and predation. Wielder of the Ouroboros Force and seeker of the Font, the foundation of all free thought in the Parodyverse. His words can topple civilizations, corrupt ideologies, enslave mythologies.


“Open it,” he commanded the swaybacked Grovelly who supervised the dungeons of GolGotham. He and his subordinate turnkeys hustled to obey. Adamantine keys were fitted into their corresponding locks, and bolts in place for millennia were wrenched aside. The gravity cage powered by a captured fragment of a white dwarf star was turned off. The warden used his Transmutor Wand to molecularly unseal the bonds that held together the massive obsidian door. The air rushing into the cell briefly made a sibilant hiss. Then there was a new sound: the shifting and clanking of chains being dragged across the rough stonework. The Grovellies reacted to the noise as one would to the sound of a slowly accelerating, onrushing locomotive, diving for cover wherever they could find it.


Only Thugos was unmoved by the cacophony that approached. Even when the entire cell block shook when the still unseen prisoner cleared his throat in a violent cough designed to get his lungs working once again.


A voice, low and terrible, came from the darkness, “I can smell you, Destroyer. It has been epochs, but I can still recognize your spoor.”


“Come into the light, Kambyon, so you may bear witness to your master,” Thugos challenged in disaffected retort, his hands clasped behind his back.


“In a moment. Waiting in darkness for countless millennia has left my eyes… ah, there. Much better. Now,” Kambyon stalked into the chamber, “Why have you freed me, father?”


He is…. Kambyon!


Son of Thugos. Bastard progeny of the Sol Tyrant and an alien war goddess. Huge, relentless. A beast who walks on cloven feet. His abominable mien hides a cunning mind. Carrier of the Power Pugil, the greatest instrument of destruction ever molded in the Apocalyptian Fear Foundries. Eras ago, during the Seventh Infinite Calamity, Kambyon sought to betray his fellow Newer Gods to their greatest enemies. His plot for regicide was uncovered, and he was punished with imprisonment deep within the prison underworld of GolGotham. He had been freed once, by accident, and it took the entire Apocalyptian Honor Guard to subdue him. But now…


Dark Thugos gave his progeny the thinnest of smiles, “It has been three thousand centuries, Kambyon, I suspect if you had not learned your lesson by now, you never will.”


The Sol Tyrants’ eyes flashed, and beams of Entropic Energy lanced out and hit the dark matter chains that bound the giant. The shackles vanished in a burst of energy: the fate of all things so struck.


“I…. live?” Kambyon stared at his cragged hands in wonderment.


“Very observant. To destroy you would mean I pity you, Kambyon, which I do not. Just as imprisoning you would imply I fear you. Which is, of course, ridiculous.”


“What then is my fate, father? Am I to rejoin the coterie of lickspittles that kowtow to your every whim?” Kambyon gazed into the polished steel surface of one of the room’s torture tables to reacquaint himself with his appearance. His thick mane of hair was the same as it ever was, wild and dark as his slitted eyes (“at least I have not gone grey,” he mused jokingly). His nose was as broad and flat as the Steppes of the Kozzaks who had once worshipped him, before his fall. Yellowed teeth still lined his mouth, blunt with the exception of the pair of tusks that peeked out from his mottled lips. As for the rest of his anatomy there would be time for that later, as his father was currently revealing his plans.


“No. You are of no use to me in that capacity. Or any capacity, truthfully. That is why I am granting you your exile.”


Kambyon turned to his father, “You are casting me out?!” he said incredulously, “ To where?”


“To wherever your goatish heels take you. Though to be honest, you have few options available. So much has happened since your little palace coup failed so spectacularly. For example, any sympathy you may have found among the Newer Edenites is long gone.”


The hirsute giant waited for his father to explain, which he did, with no small amount of satisfaction, “Apocalyspe destroyed Newer Eden at the conclusion of the Second Final Great Disaster, and for the moment it appears to have stuck. Our light-bearing brethren are no more.”


Thugos let the revelation sink in before continuing, “Torkamahda, your old sponsor from the last time you tried something clever, is still dead. Not that you would be stupid enough to trust him again. Even the instruments of your title, the Power Pugil, that faulty Mother-In-Law Box you employed, are lost to antiquity. You have nothing. Well, not nothing,” the Sol Tyrant grinned, “You still have your name, though I suspect that will cause you no small amount of trouble out there in the Parodyverse.”


There was a moment, just a moment, when Kambyon felt the pangs of fear in his chest as he realized how his father was trying to punish him. But those feelings were quickly subsumed by the one other thing the outcast god had, and would have, throughout his quest: “Do not forget, father, I will have my HATE as well.”


“Heh,” Dark Thugos nodded slightly, “I will be interested to learn if those will be enough,” he turned and strode out of the hall, calling out over his shoulder, “You have until the end of this rotation to find passage off Apocalyspe. If you choose to dally, expect Kwatrain to arrive and hasten your journey, one way or the other.”


Kambyon understood what his father meant. Even better, he knew what the Sol Tyrant wanted. He was attempting to defy Fate, a bold but not uncommon gambit amongst those who were gods. Kambyon, however, was always a believer in Destiny, it was what had kept him focused in all those years of isolation. And with his freedom he now had the chance to finish what had begun long ago, and that he had all the time in the Parodyverse to accomplish.


Next: Kambyon has to find transport off planet before the armies of Dark Thugos come looking for him. But is there anyone in the infernal city of GolGotham willing to help him? Find out in Ship of Fools, out sometime. Maybe.


Footnotes:


The Apocalyspians are brutal survivalists from Dark Thugos’ (q.v) stronghold world. Ruled by the former Tyrant of the Sol Empire and Destroyer of Tales, Apocalyspe is a place of doom and gloom, where nothing nice happens and if anything does, those responsible are tossed into the Fever Blisters of Apocalyspe, mile deep lakes of plasma that power the planet’s machinery of destruction.The ruling caste of the planet live in the sprawling urban nightmare GolGotham, and include:


Dark Thugos, Tyrant of the Sol Empire, master of the Entropy Eyebeams, the craggy-countanced alternate-reality son of the Hooded Hood (currently retconned) and brother to the equally-sinister Kumari. After being forced from his original reality, Thugos conquered a sizeable portion of the prime Parodyverse, including the Skree Empire (q.v.) before being killed and recruited as the new Destroyer of Tales (currently retired). He is served by a cast of thousands of undead, necro-priests, and stormtroopers. He is a worshipper of Death (q.v.) (who doesn't fancy him).


Kambyon the treasonous son of Dark Thugos is an insanely powerful brute who has been locked away by the Apocalyspians because he is also insanely insane.


Splendiferous Stuart who looks and dresses like a televangelist. Using his awesome powers of persuasion, he has earned the role of ruling as Dark Thugos’s proxy.



Torkamahda Minister of Torment, was the chief vizier of Dark Thugos and now serves the same role with Splendiferous Stuart, albeit with a lot less toadying. For the moment hes deceased (See Dancers truly excellent Far Away series in the archives).


Kwatrain don’t let the Ren Fest Wear fool you, this Machiavellian assassin type is a dangerous adversary.


Steppenstoat aged uncle to Dark Thugos, the Harrier of a Thousand Worlds has seen better days. With his Galactic Glaive and Ermines of Destruction he seeks to regain past glories by serving Dark Thugos.


Granny Grimness, responsible for training children into the next generation of sadistic Ferret Soldiers and Vengeance Valkyries in her Innocence Factories.


Grovellies: The lowest caste of the Apocalyspians, these unfortunate souls are the glue that hold the planets institutions in place, and also the oil that greases the wheels of the Apocalyptian war engine. If a Grovelly is lucky he is rewarded in death by initiation into the Scaredaemons.