Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God Read Online Free PDF

are coming down the hallway. The door opens again, and a man enters, with three women in tow. One of the women is the tired looking Nurse Kowalski. The other two are bimbos with too much makeup, a blonde and a brunette. They have their eyes completely fixated on the man. Their demeanor says they could not care less about anything else.
    The man is probably in his early thirties, with an aura and attitude that scream born elite. There is no sign of disgust on his face. He obviously sees no difference between me and the bed I am lying on. He is one of the types of people I hate. His name tag reads, “D. Turner M.D.”, the lack of a specialty is rather odd for a hospital name tag.
    Being forced to spend so much time in hospitals, I have picked a lot of interesting and pointless trivia regarding medical laws. By law, while working, a doctor has to have is last name and his medical specialty on his identification badge. Even if Dr. Turner was just a general practitioner, unlikely in a modern hospital, he would still have to have that on his name tag.
    “Good evening, Mark. I am Dr. Turner.” He has a New England accent and a nasal voice.
    “Water.” My voice is barely even a whisper, but I get the word out without coughing.
    Dr. Turner frowns slightly, before glancing at the nurse on right. “Get the patient some water.”
    The slight frown stays on the doctors face, as he turns back to me. His eyes seem to be weighing me, more likely judging me. He does not say anything, while the the nurse brings me a glass of water, and I drink.
    After I finish drinking, Dr. Turner looks at the vitals monitor, which still has all of its leads attached to my body. Inserting the earpieces of his stethoscope into his ears, he places the diaphragm against my chest. Taking a penlight out of his pocket, he shines it into my eyes. Putting the penlight back into his pocket, he stares at me again.
    All of his actions are too cold, too controlled, but they are not impersonal. I have the clear impression that this man hates me. I do not know what reason he would have to dislike me, let alone hate me, but I am certain that he does.
    “You are very quiet for someone who has just awoken form a coma. Most people would be full of questions, but you seem to be well aware of your situation.” His words are cold and precisely enunciated, but his New England accent is more obvious as a result.
    “I have so many questions, I don't know where to start. I guess the biggest one is, how long was I in a coma?”
    “One year and seven months.”
    Only a year and seven months? We were trapped in the Battleground of the Damned for nearly twelve years. Does time flow faster there than here? It must, but it is not the same as the time differential between the game and the real world. If it were the same, I would only have been in a coma for around nine months. No one was sure of the exact time differential between the game and reality, but it was calculated as being close to 14:1. Could the extra time have something to do with my broken memories of fighting my out of the Land of the Dead?
    “Though, why you are the only survivor, I cannot understand.”
    “The only survivor? The others are dead?” I blurt the questions out in surprise. It is not that I care about the others trapped in the game, but I did not wish most of them dead. If Mei is dead, how is Urehara-sensei taking it?
    The cold, murderous hostility draws my attention back to Dr. Turner. While trapped in the Battleground of the Damned, I had developed the ability to sense hostility and animosity. It seems that it is still with me, even in the real world. Real world? No, this may just be another world in reality.
    Dr. Turner's hatred is so strong, I can see it clearly in his slightly twisted visage. There should be no reason for him to be so filled with hostility and animosity toward me. So, why?
    “You have a problem with me?” My voice is flat and emotionless. I have long since learned to keep my