Janus and The Prince: A LitRPG Saga (The Nightmares of Alamir Book 2)
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Janus and
the Prince
A LITRPG Saga
Book Two of the Nightmares of Alamir
Noam Oswin
COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER
This publication is protected under the United States copyright act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give or sell this book to anyone else. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage or retrieval system without express written, dated and signed permission from the author.
Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
All characters in this work are a product of the mind and is a figment of the author’s imagination and therefore fictional, and make no reference to real people or situations and events, any resemblance to actual events, whether past or present, persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 Noam Oswin
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Vulture
Chapter 2: From Oblivion
Chapter 3: Exploits
Chapter 4: Connection
Chapter 5: The Hunt
Chapter 6: Fort Zyvar
Chapter 7: Erzili
Chapter 8: Gatekeeper
Chapter 9: The Second Coming
Chapter 10: Survival
Interlude - I: Caution
Chapter 11: Ascension
Chapter 12: A King And His Kingdom
Chapter 13: Better Than One
Chapter 14: Sovereignty
Chapter 15: Antiquity
Chapter 16: Devotion
Chapter 17: Revelations
Chapter 18: Better Half
Chapter 19: Recruitment
Chapter 20: Destiny
Interlude II: Desires
Chapter 21: Secrets
Chapter 22: Amendment
Chapter 23: Camaraderie
Chapter 24: Player Versus Player
Chapter 25: Juma Al Amir
Prologue
Wukari disliked the act of killing the women he slept with. He was unsettled by how the surprise would illuminate their eyes and how they would claw at him like rabid felines at his hands tightening against their throats. Their purpling faces displeased the gentleman within him. Their tirelessly gasping desire for air brought him no satisfaction. Such beautiful women did not deserve to have their features marred by brutality.
The Alhamisian woman beneath him was breathtaking. Brilliant raven hair and soft ocean-blue eyes being blemished by her gasps and repeated strikes at his chest. He cared little for the fact that she was likely a spy working for the country, her beauty was all that mattered. Wukari had little doubt that her absence would be noticed by her superiors. Yet, there would be no evidence to trace her disappearance to him. He never left evidence.
He felt it a waste to kill beautiful women, alas, he was the Prince of Takum and the laws were clear. The seed of the Royal Line of Takum was never to be unmonitored. Never to leave Takumian control. No bastard children must ever be born of the Takumian Royal Line, lest the line fall.
All the women he bedded would carry his child because the Royal Line was strong. At ten, in his more careless days, one of his mother’s handmaids of fourteen caught his eye, and he took her as his. She was his first, and three months later, when the signs were impossible to hide, he confessed to his deed of being the one responsible.
His mother was still cross with him over the incident. The girl had not only been one of her favorite handmaids but her favorite seamstress. Once the executioner’s axe came down and her head rolled into a bucket, the Queen of Takum came in dire need of a new person to design her evening gowns.
Wukari smiled, lost in the memory. He stopped smiling when the tiny pats against his chest vanished. The raven-haired woman beneath him was motionless. Her face was an uneven shade of purple, no breath escaped her nostrils. Slowly, he released his grip from her neck, where imprints of his large palms were against her skin like tribal engravings against rock.
Gently, tenderly, he placed his lips against hers. “Forgive me, my precious.” He brushed aside her hair with his palm. With two fingers, he closed her eyes.
The world was less beautiful, and it was his fault.
“Brother, I need to speak with –”
The door swung open without warning. His sister stood, frozen at the door. Wukari muttered a silent expletive for forgetting to lock it. The Alhamisians used flimsy rectangular devices called ‘cards’ to lock their doors, and he was yet to master its usage. What was so difficult about making keys and keyholes? Had they no locksmiths in this country?
“Sann ’wo brother!” It was rare for him to hear his sister swear. Even rarer to hear her do so in their language. “This? Again?”
Wukari’s gaze remained on the departed woman.
“Muku! Muku! Muku!” she hissed. The Alhamisians had no direct translation for the insult in their language. The closest would either be fool, idiot, stupid or goat. As far as Takumians were concerned, it meant all four.
“You worry too much.” He patted the side of the bed. “Sit, let me ease you.”
“For once brother can you think without using that stupid thing in between your legs!” Kwana said. “We are in this country as honored guests!”
Wukari barked a loud, hollow laugh. He rubbed away at his chin, lips morphing into a smile. “Ever so courteous, my dear little sister. Yet, you are wrong. The Alhamisians do not care about us as guests. They did not break bread nor proffer wine. They did not invoke Visitor’s Right. We are not obliged to be courteous to them.”
Kwana closed the door behind her, slowly, she took a breath. “Their culture is not our own Wukari.”
“That is true. It is far inferior. Takum does not belittle others as savages. Takum welcomes strangers with food and wine and merriment. Takum does not treat those of royal blood with open disdain or make threats without consequences. Takum’s pride is reserved for its enemies, not its tourists.”
“This,” his sister took another breath. He counted it as longer than the first. “This is not the time for this argument. Not while you straddle a woman’s corpse.”
“Molash sister.” The power granted to their ancestors and inherited by their line was useful in moments like these. Lightly, he touched the forehead of his conquest with his index and middle fingers and slowly trailed it down.
“All things flee death but to it, all things return, for death is the household of man and life is his Visitor. Embrace the Visitor, accept the visitor, but remember the Visitor is a visitor – and soon,” He stopped his fingers over her heart.
“The visitation will end.”
Piece by piece, inch, by inch, her body faded into light. Sparkles of dust, sprinkles of brilliant glitter, all of it rushing forth into Wukari, absorbing itself into his nostrils. Once the process was done, there was nothing left of the woman, and Wukari’s muscles pulsed. His face smoothed, his hair regained luster and a brilliant sheen, his eyes sparkled brighter, and his physique thinned.
Wukari gestured to the empty bed. “Now, sit.”
“No, brother,” said Kwana. “While you have been busy, I have been gathering
information. As there are no Kings of any sort in Alhamis, the prophecy cannot be speaking of this country. The Holy Empire of Maris to the West, possesses an Emperor, the Gaban Kingdom to the East possesses a dynasty, and the Saba’in Raiders far north have a Chief. I believe we will find him in one of these three places.”
“So you say, sister.”
Kwana crossed her arms. “Bana’s prophecies have never been wrong.”
Wukari’s lips curled. “Nor have I ever believed otherwise. Yet, she has never been so vague.”
“It is due to powers beyond her. Seeing this prophecy was as attempting to find one grain of wheat in the Zing Fields.”
“So she says.”
Kwana’s lips thinned. “You have no qualms believing in her prophecies when it comes to ensuring that you have no bastard children who will one day rise to destroy the Kingdom, but now that the prophecy hints at your dethronement, you refuse to believe it?”
“Little sister, how can I? From birth, I was told my destiny was to become King of Takum. The stars aligned, Seven Sages came from the Beyonds and whispered to father’s ears that I would be the King of Kings, He Who Shall Rule Supreme. Now, an old, senile woman with one eye narrates that the Sages were wrong – destiny has been shifted, and a new King has arisen from oblivion to displace me. To displace, all.”
Wukari laughed. “Perhaps it is time to end Bana’s visitation before she spouts more nonsense. The old woman has outstayed her welcome.”
Something struck him. Wukari realized that his face was turned to the side. Only slowly did the stinging occur, and only then did he notice his sister’s outstretched palm.
“Do not speak ill of our Seer, Wukari. I will not stand for it.”
A low growl rumbled from his throat. The sound was animalistic, primal. Kwana did not flinch. She stared straight at him, never flinching. He restrained his growl. He lulled the beast within him to sleep. He commanded it to heel. He chained it to the grounds of his thought and stomped on its jaws dribbling with venom. Within his mind, he recited his mantra. He remembered his purpose.
I am the Prince of Takum. I am a just and fair ruler. I shall be the King all Kings will hold in respect. I am the Lion that stands at the hill on the Savannah. I will guard my Pride and oversee my Kingdom. I will slay my enemies and protect my lioness. I will curb my hunger and fight to conquer. I am the Prince. I am the Lion. I am the heart of Takum.
He controlled his breathing. Curbed the beast lingering to be released at the slight. Sedated it, stroking its chin until it lulled itself to sleep. The sting from his sister’s slap meant nothing to him. Yet, he was to be King. A King that would let an insult go without punishment was not proper.
“Look at you – so courageous, sister. I miss the days when all I had to do to make you scared was touch you.”
His hand moved to her. She flinched. He could not hear her breathing. Her chest stopped moving. Wukari allowed his lips the smile of a King. “The little girl who would whimper when I guided my fingers up her thighs has grown into such a fine, beautiful woman.”
Kwana didn’t respond. Wukari could feel the heat lingering behind her gaze. The sensation of burning that dawdled and confronted him, every single inch of him almost completely engulfed in fire, burning and begging for a quenching droplet of water. Still defiant. Still ablaze. Even aware that all he needed to do was touch her to reduce her to specks of stardust and end her visitation, she would mask her fear with a cowl of loathing.
Wukari brought his hand down, smiling. “Such a beautiful woman you are, little sister.”
Her chest moved again. Her breath resumed. Her gaze did not quench. Words would not leave her lips. Backward was the only direction her steps could echo. Until they echoed no more.
The door slammed shut. Wukari could still feel the heat in the room. He could still feel the loitering warmth and sensation of burning, all of which had accumulated on a single spot, throbbing with renewed warmth.
Sleep would not be coming for him this night. Wukari reached for his robes and began to dress, his tongue running slowly across his upper lips. A King’s wrath and his passion were two sides of the same coin. Kwana had sent the coin into the air. It was a tragedy, that she did such. A tragedy, that she awoke the beast within him a second time.
Now another young woman would die this night, and the world would again be less beautiful.
Chapter 1: The Vulture
The creature was loud. Its footsteps were thunder to my hearing. Its low, arrogant growls were the revving of an engine. Its breathing and heartbeat were a steady drum following a rhythm. Perhaps, in its mind, it believed itself to be some sort of master of subterfuge. A stealth hunter. An ambush predator. Hiding within the green shrubbery of the forest, its matching green fur would no doubt mask it from detection.
Three heavy strides and it lunged out into the open. Two mumbled words, and it collapsed dead unto the ground. “[Diamond Bullet].”
A supersonic crack of displaced air. A hole, tearing itself through the creature’s skull. Dropping unto the earth like a trader delivering a bag of rice.
[Chameleon Panther x1 Killed]
[1400 Experience Points Gained]
[The title {Genocidal} has come into effect for the species {Chameleon Panther}]
[25 Genocide Points Earned]
Stretching out, and I pretended to yawn. Skeletons could not sleep nor did they feel fatigued or tired. To some extent, it was a blessing, however, the lack of ability to sleep meant one could not dream. Ironic, I noted. Nightmares could not dream.
With neither eyelids to close nor eyeballs to see, sleep was an impossibility even if I tried. The hollow sockets lacking eyeballs deprived me of the ability to stop seeing and left me with only one other option.
Meditation. Entering a trance. A tranquil state. Spine resting against a tree for support, tail placed to the side, skull against the bark, and gaze skyward. There were no lungs to breathe, so there was no way to know if at that moment, my breathing was relaxed. I believed it was. Positioned in this manner to trance made it easier. Being one and at ease with the planet made the tiniest of sounds thunderous.
[Sixth Sense – Danger Detected]
“[Diamond Bullet].”
[Chameleon Panther x1 Killed]
[1400 Experience Points Gained]
[50 Genocide Points Earned]
The wildlife of Alamir was annoyingly persistent. The second green panther attempting to lunge from the top of the tree crashed into the earth, bones cracking upon impact. I was pleased it didn’t fall into my campfire and snuff it.
Looking up, the night sky was littered with a million stars. Splashes of white and blue across an ocean of inky darkness. Shattered pearls on pitch-black cardboard. From the perspective of a worm, the sky had been incomprehensible. A fraction of it was only ever visible during that time, and now, from the perspective of a bipedal skeleton, the perspective of man, the sky was vaster, as only a slightly larger fraction was available. Nine celestial bodies hung in the sky, curved in the manner of a crescent. Moons. Alamir has nine moons.
The crackling of wood came from the campfire. Wisps of flame hovered above burnt logs, dancing in the air, serpents to a charmer’s flute. A skewered rabbit lay in between the flames. Flesh sizzling, fat juices dripping down the stick and into the flames, the aroma of meat being exposed to fire wafted through the dense forest. Roasting meat over an open flame was the catalyst inviting predators to attack me as the scent was divine.
My skeletal hand extended into the flames. The sensation was cold. After dying by Zlosta’s fire hundreds upon hundreds of times, [Lesser Fire Resistance] became [Fire Immunity]. The campfire was chilly. No matter how long my hand remained in the flames, it never went beyond feeling like a gentle winter breeze.
Snagging the cooked rabbit from the heat, sharp teeth sunk into it. The sensation of soft, tender meat came without a tongue to translate taste. There was no mouth to generate sensory feedback. There was no throat to swallo
w. No stomach to digest.
The rabbit ground between my teeth nonetheless. Pretending I could taste it, imagination filled in the blanks: the tenderness, the juiciness and fat, the rich umami and balance of flavors. A nice glass of wine came along with it, red, to complement the taste of the meat, or perhaps white, if only to recall father’s puffed face at my apathy for a wine connoisseur’s arbitrary rules.
The remnants of my imagination were not pretty. Thoroughly chewed meat dropped back to the soil. The imagination continued and morphed into memory. Father sneering his nose for the wasting of food, brother doing his best to hide his glee at my scolding. Father’s sermon reminding me he was not born with a platinum spoon in his mouth and an exotic Arabian butler to hold it. The sermon continuing with how he clawed his way to wealth and power by making use of the talents of people who were too untalented to effectively use it themselves. There’d be the scathing comparison that’d conclude the sermon, he was unlike me, fortunate enough to be born into a family that lacked nothing.
Except perhaps affection. Though that was up for debate. Father believed affection could be bought, all that needed to buy it was not money, but the things money could provide.
Searching the trees around me, with [Thermal Sense] it didn’t take long to find something close to what I needed. An odd dark-red feathered vulture maintaining its distance a fair pace away. Its large beady eyes were homed in my direction, but it did not approach.
With [Earth Control] a clay bowl molded itself into being. Dried and hardened, my hands scraped the chewed rabbit into it. Next, a clay tray with small wheels. A light push and the tray rolled toward the direction of the vulture. Manipulating the wheels with, it accelerated like a toy car into the creature’s domain, navigating past sticks and branches.
The tray came to a stop at the tree the bird sat upon. The creature’s head spun around, freakishly, in the manner that reminisced of an owl and reminded me of the oddness of this world’s hybrid fauna. Tilting, it stared at the offering like a befuddled god questioning its mortal’s tribute.