by Clayton Wood
Destroyer of Legends
Books by Clayton Taylor Wood:
The Runic Series:
Runic Awakening
Runic Revelation
Runic Vengeance
Runic Revolt
The Fate of Legends Series
Hunter of Legends
Seeker of Legends
Destroyer of Legends
Destroyer of Legends
Book III of the Fate of Legends series
Clayton Taylor Wood
Copyright ©2019 by Clayton Taylor Wood.
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Published by Clayton T. Wood.
ISBN: 978-1-948497-95-4
Cover designed by James T. Egan, Bookfly Design, LLC
Printed in the United States of America.
Special thanks to my brothers and my wife for their invaluable advice.
And to my son, for whom this book was written.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
About the Author
Destroyer of Legends
Prologue
The Crypt of Zagamar was a labyrinth carved into the base of a great mountain, built over six millennia ago. And within its gloomy depths was the Tomb of Zagamar, a domed chamber that held the remains of the great Legend himself. A chamber shrouded in utter darkness and silence since it had been sealed long ago.
Until now.
High Seeker Zeno’s lantern cast its pale light on the black stone platform in the center of the chamber, bobbing madly as he sprinted across it. He spotted the rippling water of a shallow pool a few meters ahead.
There was a loud thump behind him, the sound echoing through the ancient chamber.
Zeno leapt into the pool, gasping as the frigid water enveloped his legs and belly. He bounded through the water frantically, ignoring the cold.
An agonizing moan came from the center of the chamber behind him, sending chills down his spine.
Zeno swore, moving faster. The other end of the pool was only a few meters ahead, a small tunnel through the stone wall beyond leading into the next room. The floor of the pool angled upward gradually, and he burst out of the pool, ducking through the tunnel into the room beyond. A large, dark room with countless skeletons scattered over the floor. Some of which he’d fed to the…
There was a splash from behind.
Oh god oh god…
Zeno sprinted across the room, bones crunching under his boots as he ran for the spiraling staircase he knew was ahead. He reached it, leaping up the steps four at a time. The crunch, crunch of footsteps came from behind, picking up speed.
Coming for him.
He reached the top of the stairs, seeing a narrow stone ledge leading forward into the darkness. A huge pit of long, sharp spikes was to his right, a stone wall to his left. Zeno ran forward across the ledge, his heart hammering in his chest, his skin slick with sweat. His guts cramped, hunger gripping them. A hunger beyond anything he’d ever experienced.
A ravenous compulsion he knew was only a fraction of what the thing hunting him must be experiencing.
The sound of feet running up the stairs behind echoed through the crypt, getting closer now.
Come on…
The ledge turned right abruptly, and he skidded to a stop, slamming into the wall ahead, then turning right and continuing down a narrow hallway. His lungs burned, his breath coming in rapid gasps.
Calm down, he commanded himself. Remember your training!
He focused, remembering the first axiom.
Emotion is temporary, action is forever.
But his heart continued to pound, fear overwhelming him. Fear of what he’d done. What he’d unleashed upon the world. Centuries of planning, and everything the Guild of Seekers had fought for had been a mistake.
A deception of apocalyptic proportions.
He sprinted down the corridor, turning left, then right as the hallway did. There were stairs ahead; he leapt them in a single bound, running down yet another hallway.
The footsteps behind him drew ever closer.
Zeno pushed himself to the limit, pumping his legs as hard and fast as he could, nearly slamming into the wall again as the corridor took a sharp left turn. He continued forward as the hall opened up into blackness, with a narrow stone ledge ahead, a black pit to the left, and a stone wall to his right.
He looked down at his hands as he ran, seeing the black flesh that had replaced his own. Small hard nubs grew from the tips of his fingers, what would eventually grow to become claws. His sacrifice for tending to the Ascension. For transforming the still-living head of the Ironclad, by injecting the liquified remains of the great Zagamar into its veins.
Zeno focused, pushing the awful vision of that head’s transformation. The first moment its eyes moved.
Focusing on him.
He sprinted across the narrow ledge, turning right down a wide hallway. He was near the exit now, only a dozen meters from the outside world.
The footsteps grew ever closer, their tempo even faster now.
It’s getting stronger.
Zeno glanced back, but saw only darkness.
Focus!
He saw skeletons ahead on the floor ahead, piled up against a set of huge double-doors. Zeno waded into them until he was waist deep in the long-dead corpses, struggling to reach the doors. One of them was slightly ajar; he reached the gap between them, squeezing through. Beyond was a dark tunnel…and beyond that, the night sky.
Yes!
Zeno broke into an all-out run, bursting from the entrance to the crypt into the cool night air. A stone path littered with the long-dead bodies of animals and men greeted him, leading away from the base of the mountain.
He followed the path, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The sound of footsteps crunching on bone came from behind Zeno, and he ran even faster, pushing his body to its limit. His lungs were on fire now, his heart beating far too quickly. Sweat trickled into his eyes, stinging them. He wiped it away, focusing on the dark, twist
ed trees beyond the path…and the more conventional forest beyond.
The sensation of bugs falling onto his scalp came to him, and he swiped at them furiously. But more took their place, landing on his neck and shoulders, then crawling under his clothes.
It’s not real, he told himself. They’re not…
He heard the footsteps behind him closing in rapidly, and fumbled for the sword at his left hip, drawing it free from its scabbard.
Something slammed into his back, knocking his sword out of his hand and sending him flying onto his belly on the rocky path!
He slid for a few meters, rocks scraping at his belly and chest. He gasped, scrambling to his feet and rushing forward. But something grabbed his shoulder from behind, yanking him backward. Sharp black claws sank into his flesh there, sending agonizing pain shooting down his arm.
Zeno cried out, seeing another black hand reach around from behind, raking its claws down his chest and belly.
His uniform and flesh tore, his intestines spilling out of a gaping hole in his abdomen.
He stared at his innards, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He felt numb, as if he was outside of his own body. As if this was happening to someone else.
The hand on his shoulder spun him around, then gripped him by the throat, claws piercing the flesh around his windpipe and wrapping around it.
Zeno’s gaze drew upward, his eyes widening. He heard a chanting sound in the distance, thousands of long-dead voices echoing in his mind.
Za-ga-mar!
He opened his mouth to scream, but never got the chance. There was a loud crunch as his windpipe was torn from his neck. Blood filled his mouth rapidly, a horrible hissing sound coming from his throat with each desperate, gurgling breath.
He was thrown backward onto the rocky path, a shadow looming over him, blocking the light of the stars and the three moons of Varta.
And even as he drowned in his own blood, Zeno could only watch in horror as the Dark One plunged a pitch-black hand into his guts, and began to feed its insatiable hunger.
A hunger that would devour the world.
Chapter 1
At first, there was only darkness.
There was no sound, no feeling. Only a vague sense of self. When it had begun, it didn’t know. Time did not exist. There was only infinite nothingness, a void with no end. A sleep without dreams.
And then came the visions.
Bursts of color at first, then fully formed images. A white house on a hill. An old, wrinkled hand holding a much smaller hand. His hand, he realized. And he knew then that he was a he. That he was human. That the wrinkled hand holding his had been his grandfather’s.
He felt a profound sense of comfort, holding that hand. The air was sweet with flowers, and the pleasant hum of bees buzzing around them.
I am Dominus.
The image faded, replaced by others. Hints of a castle, then a bed of flowers. Soft lips on his, and twinkling blue eyes. His wife. Young, beautiful. Before…
An image of fire. Screams piercing the air. And a small boy holding a broken lantern, cheeks wet with tears.
Just a mistake, Conlan. It’s not your fault.
Dominus smelled the smoke, the scent of flesh burning. Tasted the ash on his tongue, dry and bitter. Bitter like his memories.
Too young to remember. He’ll never know.
But Dominus had remembered.
The images faded, but the smell of smoke remained, as did the ashen taste in his mouth. He realized that he had a mouth. That he could feel it. A tongue. Teeth. And the ash…the horrible ash.
His mouth started to burn.
The pain spread to his tongue, to his lips. Spread across his face. A horrible burning, along with a pins-and-needles sensation, as when a limb fell asleep, then woke up. He took a breath in, and then coughed immediately as dust sucked into his lungs.
Air!
He was hungry for it suddenly, desperate for air. He hacked, then pulled air into his lungs. More dust came, and he coughed again, his head swimming. He could feel his chest now, the burning spreading across it. Then down his belly, and then his limbs.
He had arms now, and legs. And they felt as if they were on fire.
Dominus screamed, or at least he tried to. Only a wheeze came out, followed by a rattling in his throat. He took a deep breath in, and this time he did not cough.
He tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened. There was only blackness.
Where am I?
Dominus knew he was lying on his back, felt something hard and irregular underneath him through the burning pain all over his body. He tried to move, but could not. If he could’ve killed himself then to end the torture, he would have. But he could only lay there, accepting the pain.
Time passed.
It was impossible for Dominus to know whether he was going in and out of consciousness. Impossible to know how much time had passed since he’d become aware of himself. He only knew pain and darkness. Darkness and pain. There was no relief, no reprieve from this torture.
And then there was light.
At first he saw only brightness, in his left eye first, then his right. A blinding light that made his eyeballs ache. Then he saw blue, blurry at first, then sharpening slowly. A wisp of white against the blue. A sudden pain spread across his eyes, as if acid had been poured into them. Pain so awful that he tried to scream again. He heard an inhuman screech; at first he did not realize it was he who’d made the sound. He tried to close his eyes, but nothing happened.
At length, the pain in his eyes abated. He tried to close his eyes again, and this time he found that he could.
Dominus heard an awful rasping sound, and realized it was his own breathing. He tried to lift his head up, but couldn’t. Tried to lift his arms, but they did not obey him. The burning pain all over his body was starting to fade, however. Still there, but lessened. Tolerable now.
It was clear now that he was lying on his back, staring up at the sky. His arms were at his sides, his legs out straight. And he was lying on something wet and prickly.
Grass.
He attempted to move one arm again, and this time it obeyed him. But only a little, barely lifting off the ground. It was terribly heavy, as if made of lead. He couldn’t see it, still couldn’t move his head.
And then the hunger came.
A horrible cramp seized his belly, a sense of hunger so powerful that it overwhelmed the pain. He was suddenly ravenous, saliva pouring into his dry mouth. He swallowed, tasting more of that horrible ash, his chest burning as his saliva coursed down his esophagus.
Dominus lay there, his breath coming in short gasps, the pain in his abdomen coming and going.
After what seemed like hours, he tried to move again, tried to roll over onto his side. After a few tries, he managed to do so, rolling onto his right side. Something flopped onto the grass in front of his face; a long, charred hunk of meat. No, it was an arm. The skin was charred, with deep cracks exposing red and gray flesh underneath. A hint of pearly-white bone shone through the deepest of these, as it did on the tips of the limb’s fingers.
Dominus stared at it, wondering who had dropped it there. Wondered if whoever it was was standing on his other side, ready to attack him.
He tried to push himself away from the limb, and saw it move.
A chill ran through him.
He wiggled his fingers, and saw the limb before him move again, fingers flexing just as he’d commanded his to.
They’re mine, he realized. The charred arm was his.
A surge of panic threatened to overtake him, and he quelled it instinctively, his heart hammering in his chest.
Breathe.
He focused on his breathing, concentrated on the air coming in through his nose, then out through his mouth. In and out, in and out. His heart slowed, and he felt the panic subsiding.
The arm is mine.
It was a fact now, nothing to be frightened of. It was his, and he had to accept it. Reality could not be
bargained with. There was no god to pray to. Nothing that could save him from this.
He tried to lift his head to look at his body, and found that he could. He saw his chest and belly, and his legs. All covered in soot. All charred, like his arm.
Dominus spotted water a meter beyond his feet. A small pond nearby. The sight brought on an intense thirst; he fantasized about cool water in his mouth, about it moistening his dry throat. Imagined swallowing it. He tried to move his legs, but they were still dead; he rolled onto his belly, gripping the ground with his blackened fingers. Bit-by-bit he rotated himself, his eyes glued to the water. He rotated until he was facing it, crawling forward. After what seemed like an eternity, he made it to the edge of the water.
He dipped his head into it, sucking at the cool fluid.
Or at least he tried to; the water fell right out of his mouth. He could not move his lips, he realized. He lapped at it with his tongue, treasuring every drop.
At length, his thirst sated, he pulled his head up from the water….and saw a rippling reflection there. He couldn’t make sense of it at first, not with the water having been agitated by his drinking. He waited for the surface to go still; after a while, an image came into focus. He stared at it, his breath catching in his throat.
And then he screamed.
Chapter 2
Birds chittered overhead, gliding lazily over the treetops of the Deep forest, the small flock forming a black ‘V’ against the bright blue sky. The sun’s rays lit upon the forest floor, casting its warmth on Hunter’s shoulders as he hiked through the woods. He savored the heat, knowing that it would end soon enough. The past few nights had been chilly, the weather gradually cooler with each passing day. Fall was approaching, and autumn and winter here on Varta were mild compared to those on Earth, the temperature rarely dropping below freezing. The leaves hadn’t yet fallen from the trees, but there was a definite crispness to the air after the sun set.
