Chaos Rising: The Realms Book Six: (An Epic LitRPG Series)

by C. M. Carney

  “The dialects of all four Princes are present,” Jurredix said. “They are graphic and surprisingly alliterative.”

  “The Princes have become poets, have they? A sure sign of the end of days.” Tal’s jest did not move the archon. “Let me guess, they don’t want us to open those doors.”

  “They are quite insistent on that point.”

  “Let’s teach these wretches what we think of their wants.” Tal moved his arms back and forth like a martial artist, his fingers twinning in intricate patterns that seemed almost painful. A ball of blue-white semi-solid light built before him. He fed more and more mana into it until it was as bright as the sun. Drops fell from the ball, sizzling as they hit the floor.

  The walls, the ceiling, and the floor shivered and flowed like an amoeba sensing imminent danger. With a single word in the language of Order, Tal thrust the ball of energy forward. It moved to the center of the chamber in an instant and exploded, casting molten bursts of light in all directions.

  Unearthly howls of pain and rage rose as the glowing liquid splattered across every surface. Crimson dark spectres lurched up, out and down, screaming through wide maws of shadow and blood. A moment later the screams went silent, leaving an odd after echo as the chaotic revenants died.

  The metal doors on the far side of the chamber flared a deep orange, like the stoked fires of a forge. The liquid order mana danced across the hot surface, bubbled and boiled to nothingness. Tal strode across the room, ignoring the crunch beneath his feet. Jurredix walked by his side, and soon they stood before the doors. The super-heated metal was already cooling and seemed none the worse for Tal’s attack.

  A bas-relief of a shadowy woman nailed to a massive boulder by a massive sword covered the door's surface. The blade, forged from jet black metal flecked with bright orange stars, pinned her through the shoulder. Below the sword, where humanoids kept their hearts, a fist-sized ruby flared and dimmed with steady beats. Jurredix turned his gaze to Tal.

  “We have found her,” the Grandmaster said, an odd mixture of relief and dread flowing from him. The door had no lock, no handles, and no obvious way to enter. It seemed the Princes would not make it easy on them.

  “Why tell us who is inside?” Jurredix asked, his head cocked in curiosity.

  “It’s a threat. Who would open the door knowing who lay beyond?”

  “Only the foolish.”

  “Or the desperate.”

  “Since we are both, perhaps it will double our chances.”

  “Did you just make a joke?”

  “Indeed. Was it satisfactory?”

  “No, It was horrible,” Tal answered with a chuckle. That chuckle grew to a belly laugh.

  Jurredix cast an odd glance at the Grandmaster. “Then why are you laughing? Have you gone mad?”

  “Source, I hope not,” Tal said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Otherwise we are doomed.”

  He reached a tentative hand out and pressed it against the heart stone. In response to his touch, the heart stone beat faster. The supple smoothness of the carving’s skin was shocking and lifelike. He pulled back, the twinge of embarrassment filling him reminiscent of his clumsy bosom fondling during his first sexual experience.

  Tal blinked his eyes and shook his head. He must have stumbled because Jurredix put an arm on his shoulder to steady him.

  “Beware, my friend, she is the mistress of temptations,” Jurredix said. “She will know your weaknesses and your desires.”

  Tal blinked fiercely, then nodded. “Sometimes I envy you my friend. No emotions weigh you down.” Tal extended his hand again, this time ready for the surge of sensations. He pushed his mind past the temptations and began to cast. White light flared into the doorway, finding the spaces between the atoms of the door’s surface.

  Many a philosopher had argued that chaos was more powerful than the magic of order. It was mutable, adaptive, ever-changing. But it was these very traits that became a burden whenever Chaos Magic needed permanence. Chaos was change, which made the job of being, and staying, a door beyond its purview.

  To put it simply, the door wanted to be more than a door.

  Tal took advantage of this, convincing the door to become something else. A whiff of fresh lilac was his reward, as thousands of petals drifted to the ground. The violet flowers had been Merria’s favorite.

  Jurredix cast several more Far Light spells, illuminating the chamber beyond the scattering of petals. Tal stepped through the open space and Jurredix followed. The chamber beyond was larger than the one outside. The ceiling disappeared into the darkness, and Tal wondered what monstrosities lay in wait. The floor was stone, polished to such a sheen that Tal could see his reflection, albeit a distorted one.

  Tal’s eyes searched the room, surprised to find it empty. Was this some kind of trick? Had Baelmaera escaped?

  Tal focused his gaze on the bas-relief carvings, which told a story of betrayal, blood, and damnation.

  The first panel showed the brilliant white light of the Source, sealing the five Princes behind an unbreakable barrier, banishing them from the Realms. The second revealed a state of endless war between the Princes, whose hatred for each other was only overshadowed by the scenes of the next stele.

  As bloody as the wars between princes were, they were mere squabbles compared to the devastation revealed in the next group of scenes. An eternal battle raged between the Princes and their chaotic hordes and the Lords of Order and their disciples. Each time the Princes got close to victory, the Lords of Order sent them crashing back to their realm.

  The next carving showed Baelmaera calling the other Princes to her with a promise of escape and vengeance. An alliance was born that day, tentative and terrifying. As the truth of the story filled him, Tal realized just how close the Realms had come to annihilation.

  “The Princes united,” Tal whispered. “How were we not overrun?”

  “Betrayal,” Jurredix answered, pointing at the next part of the tale.

  This one showed Baelmaera, clad in beauty and shadow, corrupting the human sorceress Rowyn Vex and perverting her creation of the Realm Gate. The stele showed the Mistress of Plots and Shadows standing alone before the gate, ready to leave the Realm of Chaos and her brethren behind. But the Princes discovered her treachery, and together they defeated Baelmaera and bound her to a rock with the sword of black and red. They left her behind, unable to die, unable to escape, imprisoned forever. Like the carving on the outer door, this Baelmaera also bore a beating heart jewel.

  “She planned to leave them behind,” Tal said.

  “That explains their ire.”

  “And their terrible vengeance,” Tal’s fingers tracing the lines of the massive black sword. “But where is she?” His eyes were drawn to the heart jewel, his curiosity peaked. A light flared at the center of his brow and he reached out with the power of his Third Eye, a Grandmaster level Tier Ability.

  “This is no mere jewel. It is a pocket Realm. Baelmaera is here.”

  “Then perhaps we should leave it be,” the archon said, his placid voice tinged with something akin to fear.

  “We must learn what she knows. She is our only chance to get home, to warn the Circle. They do not know what is coming.”

  Archons did not sigh, but Jurredix’s exasperation was palpable. “We balance on the blade of fate my friend. A fall to either side means doom, not only for us but for the Realms. We get the information we need and then we leave.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You must gird your heart in a layer of cold,” Jurredix said, eyeing Tal intently. “Bury your emotions. She will use your family against you, use your guilt, use your love. Nothing matters but the mission. Abandon all sentiment.”

  “Agreed,” Tal said again, jaw clenched tight. Tal pressed his hand against the beating heart jewel. Red-orange light flared about them and pulled them forward as reality twisted. A moment later they stood on an island of rock floating in a morass of swirling fog. Jagged bolts of lightning lanced
through the clouds, illuminating a shifting tangle that defied description or classification. A furious pain built inside Tal’s skull, forcing him to look away from the primal chaos.

  Ahead of them, a thin set of stairs twined upwards like a malformed helix. Tal craned his neck to see several other landings like the one they stood upon. His knees wobbled at the prospect of climbing so high. One misstep would mean an endless fall to nothingness.

  “I think we’ve found your blade of fate,” Tal said. “And I thought you were being metaphorical.”

  “I was,” the archon said and took a steady step onto the staircase. Tal sighed and followed.

  Some unknowable time later they reached the underside of a large floating island. The staircase led through a hole and deposited them inside a ruined temple. At the far end of the complex sat a dais surrounded by twisting columns swirling with a halo of chaotic runes.

  A twisted boulder pushed upwards from the dais like the jutting skull of a half-buried giant. Pinned to the boulder by a sword of black metal, was a woman. Deep orange flecks danced across the blade’s surface, reminding Tal of fireflies in the night at his family’s home. An image of his son jumping to catch the glowing insects filled Tal’s mind. He could smell the dew-covered grass and hear Berrek’s laughter. Anger built inside him and fiery talons of rage and regret gripped his heart.

  The woman moaned and the shawl of shadows she wore fell open revealing the curve of her waist, the length of a forearm and the side of her face. She groaned again and turned her gaze on Tal, a joyous smile of recognition causing her eyes to spark.

  “Tal, you came for me.”

  “Merria?” Tal asked and stumbled. He knew this aberration, this coalescence of raw malice was not his wife, but his heart did not. Waves of pain, terror, and need flowed from the imposter, digging into Tal’s soul, scraping raw the unhealed scars of his failures.

  “Be strong Tal,” Jurredix whispered beside him, placing a firm, yet caring hand on Tal’s shoulder.

  Through closed eyes and a clenched jaw, the Grandmaster built a multi-layered mental fortress around his emotions. The technique mimicked the structure of crystal, each stratum bolstering the one beneath it, all with the goal of shielding the mind.

  Thus protected, Tal turned his dispassionate gaze to the woman spiked to the massive chunk of stone. A loving expression flowed across her face on seeing him. Desperate pleas passed her lips full of claims of innocence, of mistaken identity. Tal listened to none of it as he stepped onto the dais.

  He raised his hand and cast the spell Revelation. A wave of silver-white energy pulsed over the stone and the woman but instead of stripping away the illusion, the mana swirled into a vortex and surged into the black blade.

  The specks along the blade’s surface blazed, and the woman wearing Merria’s face screamed. Deep orange light exploded from her open mouth and bled from the corners of her eyes. Her skin flared and a wave of chaotic energy exploded from her passing over Tal and Jurredix.

  In an instant, Tal felt like every molecule in his body was on fire. His health reduced by 10% and he collapsed to one knee. His thoughts slowed, like a man rudely woken after a long night of revelry. He tried to focus, but his mind felt like it was swimming through honey.

  “Tal, please help me,” the woman said, her desperate tone sounding so much like his wife’s.

  For a moment, Tal wondered if he’d been wrong if this woman was his wife, but then he dove into his mental defenses and found solace. He stumbled to his feet and pointed at the woman. “I know you Baelmaera, Lady of Plots and Shadows and I name you liar, murderer, defiler.”

  A mad cackle burst past her lips and she stared right at Tal. The veneer of innocence fell from her face, replaced by malevolence and power. She still wore Merria’s features, but she looked nothing like his wife.

  “A girl had to try, Odymm Tal.”

  Tal should not be surprised that she knew him, for his weight in the Aether was great, and Baelmaera, of all the Princes, was most skilled at reading the Aether’s weave. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

  “Then you know why we are here. Why not dispense with the pleasantries and tell us?”

  “There is no way home for you, that does not lead to the doom of your world, Grandmaster. Even now, the others are close to coalescence. They have suborned my minions and my allies to their cause. Another Realm Gate is already under construction. When they have fully coalesced, they will use the gate to escape this prison.”

  “And leave you behind,” Tal said. “Would not a temporary alliance between us serve your needs?”

  “Will this alliance include freeing me?”

  “No,” Tal said firmly. “But I hold no illusions that this prison will hold you forever. Help us stop the other Princes and when you escape, you can seek your vengeance.”

  “That is a fine offer, but I have little faith in your ability to stop my siblings. You could not protect your own family. Merria, little Berrek. Do they still live or were they burned in the fires of your failure? How loud do they scream in your dreams?”

  Tal stepped towards her, rage surging inside him. Jurredix moved between them, a strong, yet gentle hand on his chest. Tal looked to the archon and forced his anger down. “I am fine my friend.” The archon hesitated for a moment and then nodded, lowering his hand.

  “Do you think I am such a weakling as to let you manipulate me, shadow witch?” Tal spat.

  “No, Grandmaster. But I was not trying to manipulate you, only deceive you.”

  Before Tal’s eyes widened in dread curiosity, Baelmaera raised an arm. Like a javelin launched by an atlatl, the arm exploded forward, stretching to an unnatural length. Her palm widened and expanded as it slammed into Jurredix’s back. Her fingers lengthened and wrapped around the archon, their tips growing into sharp points.

  Before Tal could react, the talons tore into Jurredix’s chest plate with all the gusto of a starving man cracking the shell of a crab. Arcs of blue-white electricity surged through the archon’s body in response to the attack. This was his nervous system attempting to defend himself, but Baelmaera’s attack had paralyzed the archon.

  Tal lashed out with a dual casting of Order Bolt, but the dark blade drew the bolts like a magnet tugging on iron filings. The sword drank the magic like gauze to fresh blood and then flared. Another wave of raw chaotic power exploded from the blade. Baelmaera laughed through her screams and held tight to Jurredix. The impact tossed Tal backward, his health dipped, and his muscles ached, but the worst was the prompt that filled his vision.

  Debuff Added: Mana Feedback.

  You have suffered from Mana Feedback and cannot cast any spells for the duration of the debuff.

  Cooldown: 1 minute.

  Tal shook his head and stumbled to his feet. It had been decades since he’d last suffered from Mana Feedback, but he had not forgotten the pain. He forced his clenched muscles to loosen and summoned his mace from his sub-dimensional armory.

  The mace was a solid chunk of crystal imbued with vast amounts of Order Magic and could crush a drake’s skull with a single blow. Tal tapped the medallion at his neck and shimmering plates of solid order energy flowed about him.

  He tapped the armor’s physical enhancements and leapt the twenty feet separating him from Baelmaera and Jurredix in an instant. He brought the mace down with all of his enhanced might and triggered the pent-up energy.

  The blow had the power to level a small building, but just before it crushed Baelmaera’s skull, a shimmering field of crimson energy expanded around her. The impact sounded like a massive gong and tore the mace from Tal’s grasp. The armor around his wrist shattered, snapping the twin bones of his forearm and dislocating his elbow.

  Tal screamed in agony, his right arm hanging limply at his side. Baelmaera’s laughter increased, and she lifted Jurredix from his feet, pushing him closer to Tal as if taunting him. “My fellow Princes imprisoned me here so I could not die, could not escape. Do you not think they
wouldn’t have counters to your pathetic attempts to kill me?”

  Tal gritted his teeth at the agony and struggled to find his focus. A mechanical tearing sound rose, and Tal blinked away the stinging tears in his eyes. Jurredix stared down on him, the liquid crystal of his face morphing into a rictus of pain as his chest plates were wrenched open.

  The spark of order that served as the center of Jurredix’s consciousness spun faster and without order. Had Tal not known better, he would have said his friend was afraid, but archons did not feel fear. Tal certainly did though, and he refused to allow what little he had left to be taken from him.

  “I will not allow this,” Tal said, his voice powerful. Using the enhanced speed granted by his armor, Tal zipped past Jurredix, ducked under Baelmaera’s other lashing arm and grabbed the hilt of the black blade impaling the Lady of Plots and Shadows.

  He wrenched the sword from the stone and Baelmaera moved as fast as lightning.

  But Tal was a Grandmaster of Order, an Arch-Deacon of the Circle and his mind was a peerless analytical machine. In the three-seconds it had taken him to reach Baelmaera and tear the blade free, he’d examined a dozen iterations of his imminent attack.

  Only one led to victory.

  Baelmaera pulled Jurredix to her, hiding behind his body. He could only see the edge of her sneer past his face, but it was enough. He thrust the black blade forward. The tip sliced into Jurredix’s right cheek before bursting through the back of his skull less than an inch from the column of energy that acted as the archon’s spine.

  The blade sunk into Baelmaera’s eye and through the back of her skull. Before the surprise even registered on her face, Tal pulled the blade free and removed the shadow lady’s head.

  Jurredix and Baelmaera both collapsed to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.

  A moment later a spectral glow flowed up from the two halves of Baelmaera’s decapitated corpse and they floated off the ground. A mad chortle of glee filled the chamber. Tal stepped back and slammed the black blade point down into the ground and thrust his hand forward.