Thamias could no longer hold it in. He brandished his sword again, daring to raise his arm that was almost failing him. His hand trembled. The blade shuddered like thin grass in the wind.
Karlus noticed it. The blackness in his eyes morphed into colorless gold. He was no longer mad. He was disappointed.
“Xandor never once hesitated like you’re doing now,” he mocked. “Nothing scared him.”
“I’m not Xandor,” Thamias forced himself to say. He hated that comparison, and he hated that he had responded to it. “But look at where his courage has gotten him. He’s dead. Forgotten. Omitted like he never existed.”
Thamias realized that Karlus, too, had unsheathed his sword. The blades met at their tips like they had just engaged in a staring contest.
“Is he truly forgotten?” Karlus challenged. “Why does he still have so much effect on you?”
Enough! Thamias slashed the air with draconic force, clashing swords with Karlus Von Sharr, who merely adjusted his footing to take the blow. Another swipe followed, but that did not make Karlus quake once.
“You’re strong,” he said. “But I’ve grown stronger too.”
Karlus flicked his wrist, changing his sword’s position so it would force his opponent to arc his blade. He then used this brief moment Thamias was wide open to catch him by the neck and force him to step back. Thamias’s arms wriggled like he was clueless as to what to do next. Karlus dragged him until his body clashed against the nearest wall. Thamias had almost lost his breath.
Karlus was strong, much stronger than was possible. Thamias held on to his father’s wrist in a foolish attempt to loosen his grip. He tried. He had the force of a dragon, yet he did not succeed. Panic rose in his blood when he realized he was entirely at his father’s mercy. It took Karlus a grin to finally let his son go.
Thamias collapsed to the floor, coughing blood. He was unable to utter something intelligible until his father’s blade met the side of his neck.
“What...what have you become?” Thamias asked between shallow pants.
The blade caressed his skin and sent shivers down his spine. It slipped underneath his chin, pressing upward so he would be forced to raise his head.
“Having bloodbound children gets you places in the demon world,” Karlus answered like his words did not mean much. As though the implications of what they meant were puny and stale. “Especially when one dies. Cassal felt lonely once Xandor was gone. And so, he came to be with me. Two abandoned souls make for one wicked pair.”
Thamias’s jaw fell. Cassal was Xandor’s Trinity demon. Sahalek was Ahna’s, and Vegum was his. Though their demons had not had an influence on them in a long time. Demons never reached out of the Dwellunder because they needed an anchor to their realm to survive. In this place miles below the earth, the Orator was their sole beacon.
Thamias dared look into his father’s hollow black eyes. “So, what? You struck a deal with Cassal?”
“I became Cassal,” Karlus revealed. “I get his power, and he gets to live again.”
The blade suddenly twisted and dug through Thamias’s skin just slightly. Blood trickled down his throat and dripped onto the floor. Thamias felt no pain, but he was paralyzed for a second until his blood began to boil. Fear morphed into anger, which slowly amplified into the rage he knew so well. Thamias’s blood turned to gold. He thrust his hand forward, expelling a godly force that launched Karlus out of his field of vision. Or so he had hoped. Karlus was moved just a few feet back, and the sneer on his face remained.
“Show me what you have become,” he commanded.
Thamias would gladly execute his bidding this time. He would transform into the holy beast of gold and burn this demon-elf to the ground. He focused his rage, harnessing it from every end of his body to his very core. The light pierced through his skin, changing into the monster he was. But time halted. The rays dimmed, and his bones did not grow. Nothing changed but the accelerated cadence of his heart. He straightened his body, looked at his hands for clues. There were no claws, no scales, no fire. Karlus simply watched him and smirked.
“I was wrong, Thamias,” Karlus mocked. “You are as weak as I remember.”
Karlus dashed forward, swiping his blade faster than his march. Thamias could not dodge. The edge cut through his leathers and made a dent deep enough to reach his skin.
Thamias grunted and held his hand close to himself to feel the warmth of his own blood. The pain was insignificant, but the fear he felt was more than a nightmare. Why would he not change?
Karlus reached him, disarmed him because he was too distracted by this sickening sense of fright. Thamias, scared, tried to dodge the next slice, but Karlus was too fast. The blade lodged itself between the bones of his ribs, and Karlus pushed deeper. Thamias yelped, he needed to latch on to something so he would be sure this was real and not some kind of twisted hallucination. The sword penetrated him and surged through to the other side. All this time, Karlus smiled.
Thamias locked his hand around his father’s arm and eyes with him. “How...”
“Fear,” Karlus answered. “You are still the boy who feared the strike of my hand. I thought I raised you better.” He let Thamias go and fall in a loud thump.
Karlus’s silversteel blade rose above Thamias. He was about to strike again, but it looked like he wanted to see the apprehension in Thamias’s eyes first.
Thamias wanted to parry, only to realize that he had let go of his sword long ago. His blood oozed beneath him, draining his lifeforce with it.
“I have missed that look in your eyes,” Karlus said. His eyes were now white with psychotic desire. He struck Thamias again, planting his sword in his leg so he would not kill him.
He just wanted to hear him scream.
There he was, the Karlus he remembered. The man for whom pain was a tool. Torture was a skill to be praised. How many times had Thamias tortured souls in the name of his father? How many times had he been tortured by the hands of this man?
And this man dared speak of resilience and strength? Look at me! Thamias thought. What kind of sick joy should one gain from such ugly results? Thamias was everything but resilient or strong. He was desensitized, that was the correct word. Pain was natural. Blood was part of it. Fighting was like breathing, and survival was the meaning of life.
Thamias healed his wounds with a silent blessing that meant nothing to him. He could twist the power of the gods to stop bleeding, but why had the gods gifted him with this in the first place? He was nothing but a failure. He was weak.
And Karlus knew exactly how to use his perception of reality against him.
A light sparked from Thamias’s hand as he closed his wounds. Karlus only seemed to relish the view.
“Now, that's interesting,” he commented in a dark tone. “Is it magic?”
“Divination,” Thamias stuttered. Why was he still answering to him? And why was it so sickening that he felt good that he had actually sparked his father’s interest again?
But Karlus only mocked him. He laughed at him for the puny being that he was. “Divination!” He laughed just a little more that it began to feel forced. “That is a good joke.”
Thamias tried to stand, but Karlus’s boot landed on his chest and pressed down. Karlus leaned forward, his colorless eyes examining—enjoying Thamias’s struggle.
“How much should I pierce until divination can no longer save you?” Karlus snickered.
Don’t answer.
“Until I’m dead,” Thamias did anyway.
A flicker invaded Karlus’s eyes. He wanted to strike, to go for the kill. It was more than obvious now. Thamias had only one option: brace for impact. And make peace with it. He accepted it. He welcomed it like he had no other choice. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath—
No!
No more!
He was not going to let his father win him over. A voice echoed in his mind, one that told him to stand up and fight. Enough! Enough pain, self-loathing, and all th
at anger that comes with the repercussions of decades of abuse.
It took but an instant for Thamias to rise back to his feet and face his father. Now, it was his hand around the old man’s neck. Thamias’s amber eyes flared gold. Rage was no longer in control, it was retribution. Karlus had let go of his blade, pained by the destructive grip around his throat.
“What kind of sick game are you playing?” Thamias roared.
Karlus laughed his response. Thamias released him just a little so he could speak. “It’s just entertaining how easy it is to manipulate you, Thamias. How easy it still is to hurt you. How much power I still have over you.”
“You have no power over me!”
“Is that so? Why so much rage, Thamias?”
Thamias jerked him away. Karlus staggered but regained his footing.
“You were ready to kill me!” his son roared again. “Your own son! You were ready to kill your own son!”
Karlus laughed. His laugh was so loud it matched Thamias’s screams. But then, laughter muted into chuckles, which finished in a deadly sneer. Karlus took a deep breath, staring at Thamias like he had become a total stranger. Like he had become an enemy, someone to kill.
“You are not my son,” Karlus refuted. “My son is dead. You’re just one of his mistakes.”
Thamias’s shoulders dropped. He gawked at his father with incredulous eyes. “What the Hell does that mean?”
Karlus crossed his arms and raised his chin. “Oh? Your mother never told you? She ran away with you but never told you why? I guess you’ll never find out, then.”
“What are you saying?”
Karlus’s grin became unbearable. “Exactly what I just said.”
“Enough with the damned cryptic secrets, Father, what in Hell did you mean?”
But Karlus only laughed. It was so loud, so revolting, Thamias felt like he was going to puke. Whatever words these were, they crashed and ricocheted in his mind.
You are not my son.
Was his father playing games again?
You’re just one of his mistakes.
What was that supposed to mean? Yet another game? Another twist of words to toy with his mind? To make him feel even more miserable? Why did it work so well? Why did it even make sense? He should not believe it, should not even pay attention to it, and yet, the rage poisoned his thoughts. Thamias stretched an arm out, reaching out to his father but transforming at the same time. Now, it was working. Now, he had total control. His arm was first to change into sharp claws that pierced through Karlus’s chest. Thamias did not remember the look on his father’s face after he had completely changed, but when he changed back, the entire room was painted red, and pieces of flesh and bones dangled from the walls and ceiling above him. The stench was unimaginable.
17
Reckoning
Ahna walked out of the hollow cave, the talisman encrusted in her palm. She could sense its magic radiate, and it felt powerful, different from anything she had experienced before. However, it did not feel dangerous. It was peaceful and whole, like a confirmation that she was doing the right thing.
Back on the white sand underneath a black sky, Ahna rejoined Sahalek. He had been waiting for her, patiently, giving her the time she had needed. This type of demon was not evil. They did not gain anything from naturally being evil. Belief in their existence was what gave them power, whether it came from the good or evil side. Most did not know this and saw demons as evil per definition, but that was not the case. Ahna knew it, and when she gazed upon Sahalek, she only saw a lonely soul and perhaps a reflection of herself.
She could not see if he was looking at her from beneath his mask, but he faced the exit of the cave. Only when he spoke did she know.
“You have the Rover with you,” he said. “Is there anything else you need?”
Ahna raised her head to look at Sahalek’s mask. “I need to head back to the tangible world. I must move quickly.” Her eyes followed her hand and her fingers unlocked. The Caged Wings, the soul sigil, were slowly opening. Ahna was on the clock, and if she did not move fast, Cedric’s soul would evaporate and vanish forever.
“You are a being of immense power, Meriel,” Sahalek said in a lower voice, luring her back. “You have no idea what you are.”
There was nothing else Ahna wished to know more than this. Sahalek was maybe the third or fourth being to have told her so. Her patience had run out. It was time to demand an answer. A short one, that is.
“How so, Sahalek?” she inquired. “Will you be the one to finally tell me what that means? Is it because of the Arc of Light?”
“That old magic?” Ahna gave him a nod, and the demon continued. “That old magic could only thrive because of it. You, Thamias, Xandor...you carry in you the legacy of an entire race.”
“The Ancients?” It was not hard to figure that out. “What do you know of the Ancients?”
“Not much anymore, but I lived shortly after them. I recognize their essence in you. More so today than ever before.”
“And what does that mean?”
Sahalek seemed to take a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “You are part celestial, Meriel, and you have your mother to thank for that.”
The more he spoke, the less it made sense. Part...celestial? Sahalek must have noticed her confusion.
“Skaiel Arkamai was one of those who returned. Celestials who came back to Terra.”
Shit, Ahna had no time for this. Whatever this meant...wait, her mother, a celestial? Was this even true? Ahna had never noticed anything about her mother except that she had been a powerful mage. But most of all, how could Skaiel have hidden that from her? And what, there were celestials on Terra? Ancients that had returned from Elysium? How many more? Was that the reason why her mother was in Elysium?
“I don’t have time for this,” Ahna mumbled as she turned around. She really did not. She wanted to get out of this place. She had to get back to Bravoure as fast as possible. Maybe she would have time to answer these questions after the situation was resolved. Ahna swallowed and veered back to Sahalek. “Get me out of here.”
“As I said,” he began. “You have power. All the power you need to leave this place of your own will.”
“How?” Ahna frowned.
“Use your bond with your brother,” he said like it was evident. “Your shared blood binds you beyond the Fabric of Realms, and you can use that bond to travel the planes.”
Ahna wanted to laugh. What kind of weird blend was that? Dragonborn, celestial, ancient magic, and now, being bloodbound to the Hollow Earth allows one to move through planes? It all sounded unreal. But sure, she would take that information! She could ponder on this later. Right now, her top priority was Cedric—returning his soul to the void dragon left on Terra and fixing this mess.
“Show me,” Ahna commanded.
Sahalek held out a hand. It was not formed like a hand anymore but more like a flower of claws. Ahna felt compelled to take it. It was old and brittle.
“Close your eyes,” his voice echoed. Ahna complied. “Feel this place. Remember the ground beneath your feet and the weight of the sky above your head.”
Ahna focused, adjusting her feet in the sand. She took a deep breath, smelling nothing but the windless air, hearing nothing but the silence of this abandoned plane. She drenched her memory with this sense of loneliness, but everything stopped once she felt a pair of eyes set on her. She was being watched, she knew it for sure. And it felt powerful, abnormal at best. Sahalek released her hand, and Ahna dared to turn around to lock eyes with what was looking at her.
What she saw next cannot possibly be described. It stood right behind her, a few feet away from her, calm and poised, but its contours were erratic. It had arms and legs and suddenly claws and fangs, tentacles and horns. It kept changing like someone was guessing between different images of what this creature was supposed to be. And most of all, it was blacker than the sky. It waited for Ahna to completely turn around to face it.
“What is this?” she asked, checking with Sahalek first, even though she knew what this was. She just wanted to hear it.
The grin gave it away, and the voice confirmed it—a dark and guttural melody. “I had to make sure,” it said.
A Shade, or maybe something more powerful. This creature, whatever it was, had definitely come from the Shadow Realm. There was no doubt possible.
Ahna could not explain, but she felt compelled to walk to it. She was not scared. Quite the opposite, actually. Evil emanated from this creature, yet she was at peace. She came just in its reach when another voice sang in her mind.
It’s alright. He won’t hurt you.
He?
Her voice again...the Phoenix of Balance. She had been silent for so long, Ahna had almost forgotten. It was as though the voice knew the creature, the shadow, more than Ahna could possibly know.
The creature stared at her.
“What are you?” Ahna asked, her lips trembling.
She felt closer to this creature than possible, like something beyond time and space linked her to it. Much like her bond with Cedric. Actually, there was nothing different about it than what she felt for Cedric. Except that this was like she was watching that feeling from behind a glass window. Like she felt it, but it belonged to someone else. Like it was not hers to feel.
The creature did not respond. It was Sahalek who said the next words.
“It’s not every day we get a visit from your kind here,” the demon said.
The Shade, or whatever it was, did not respond.
“What do you want?” Ahna eventually asked. She needed to leave; why was this holding her back?
Who is this? Ahna thought to herself. She hoped the voice would answer.
He is a story.
Ahna wanted to know more, but she needed to leave. What in Hell could link a shadow to a being of gods and Ancients? She could have claimed she could not care less, so much in a hurry she was.
The creature finally spoke. “Make sure you save him. He is as much Child of Balance as he is spawn of shadows now.”
Tempest of Bravoure Page 23
