Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts

by Lakshman, V.

  He was not wrong. The man in black did not hesitate, nor try to accommodate the shift in targets. It was a true testament to his training, but an error nonetheless. Arek had counted on it to pull the attacker into a one-on-one confrontation with him, keeping both Tej and Niall safe.

  At the very last possible moment, Arek jumped and tucked, somersaulting over the head of his surprised assailant. As he did, he punched downward, striking his opponent’s head. His fist exploded in pain. By the Lady, he thought, the man feels like stone! He landed in a heap, his injured foot unable to manage the impact and weight.

  * * * * *

  Prime watched, more than a little impressed when the kid shifted the engagement to his own terms. So, he’s had some training. He spun in place and moved toward his prone opponent when he felt a searing pain in his head. His stone skin began to dissolve from the strike, leaving it unprotected. He knew nulls were said to negate magic, but he had never heard of one with such virulent powers. He cursed these abominations, then turned his attention back to Arek.

  * * * * *

  It was a mistake.

  Yetteje had seen the man spin and realized he had dismissed her. She first thought Arek had been showing off, but now realized the purpose behind his vault. He had taken the assassin’s attention off of her.

  Arek had said not to attack singly unless they had an opening, and this was a big opening. She ran forward and braced her hand behind the pommel of her blade, the other on the hilt, and stabbed the man in his open back.

  The blade sparked and began to skitter, but she clenched her teeth and focused. There was a sudden flash of light and it sank halfway in. Her hands and wrists exploded in pain and shock and she lost her grip, stumbling painfully against the man’s granite skin. Like Arek, she had not expected it to be so hard. She pushed off, remembering that sudden flash and suddenly felt drained, as if her body had given something of itself to the strike.

  The man spun with an open backhand that blurred as it traveled, striking Yetteje in the jaw and flinging her backward. She had managed to begin a duck and roll so the force of the blow did not kill her. Instead, she hit the ground hard, barely able to focus her eyes. Her jaw made a strange clicking sound when she tried to move it, bringing tears of pain to her eyes.

  * * * * *

  As Prime turned on the fallen girl, he felt three sharp impacts on his head and neck. The null was attacking again, and at each point of impact he saw his stone armor fall away, shedding at the boy’s touch like bark from a rotted log. What power did this boy command, to overcome even Bara'cor's might?

  He pivoted in place and blocked two of the punches, satisfied by the look of pain that flashed across the boy’s eyes, then struck the boy once in the midsection, then twice to the head and chest. The kid flew backward and landed near the prince’s feet, rolling and coming to his knees smoothly.

  Prime knew the boy would have been killed had his hands still been gloved in granite, but the shieldrock had fallen away at the null’s touch. Bara’cor then came back to his aid and his armor began to reform. Under his mask, his face broke into a smile. The Galadine whelp had still not moved. Time for him to die.

  * * * * *

  Niall stood transfixed by the scene, still unable to attack. They moved so fast—and now the assassin advanced on him. He backed up, holding out a hand, and shouted, "Wait, stop! Why?" He meant to sound authoritative, but the words came out in a high, gibbering rush combined with a healthy note of fear. The sound of his own voice disgusted him.

  The assassin didn’t answer, instead raising two thin blades. He drew his arms back and in a lightning motion, slung the daggers at the Galadine heir.

  * * * * *

  A very different thing happened to Arek with each strike he landed. His body felt a kick of energy, a surge of power that brought him unsteadily to his knees, feeling light-headed but still stronger than before.

  Arek could see the blades flying at Niall with deadly accuracy, but didn’t know what to do. Because of his combat sense, the scene played out in agonizing slow motion. Still, he thought, he might be able to intercept one of the blades. He snapped himself from his knees to a wobbling stand, putting himself in the path of the lead blade, his hands moving to block the assassin’s knife.

  The scene froze, with Arek’s hand not an inch from one dagger. The other dagger was only a foot behind the first, both hanging in the air with death glinting on their points.

  "You’ll die, dimwit."

  The voice was angry and familiar. It came from behind Arek, near the pyramid steps. He turned and saw Piter standing some feet away, looking at the scene with the same sneer on his face and obvious disapproval.

  "This is Sovereign’s hand." The shade took in the assassin and stilettos hanging motionless in the air with a gesture and continued, "Poisoned. A touch incapacitates. A cut and you’re dead."

  Arek looked at Piter, anger and fear filling his mind with so many questions, but he blurted, "Just tell me what to do!" It was the only thing he needed to know at the moment.

  He heard Piter sigh, then move closer. "You’re going to protect these two? Really?"

  "Piter, please!"

  The shade shrugged. "Perhaps your strength comes from the same way you opened the door. The same way you gave me what I ‘deserved.’ Look to what you yearn. Look for sustenance."

  Confusion set in. Could the shade be telling the truth? He had opened the door, had he not? Piter had died against his magic, hadn’t he? Arek wanted to believe, but realized that in both cases, he had no idea what he’d done. He needed to focus and closed his eyes. He took in a breath, his mind centering and calming. He took in another, then opened his eyes, looking about.

  At first, he saw nothing. He waited, but still nothing happened. He was about to give up when something moved in the corner of his eye. He turned but it disappeared. He forced himself to relax, taking deeper, calming breaths that brought with them a strange sense of purpose. He was meant to do this, he told himself. He was meant to understand.

  Slowly, shapes and objects came into view, ghostly shadows superimposed on what he could see in the real world. Vague forms moved about on the very edge of his vision. They were hardly there, almost a shadow or a ripple, but they gave the impression of an infinite sea of tiny motes or particles hanging in the air.

  He narrowed his concentration, then a glint of something caught his eye. He looked up and while his eyes saw nothing, his mind felt the presence of something gargantuan, a winged warrior armed and armored. The creature’s power was palpable, emanating in waves that threatened to drive Arek to his knees. It stood armed with a spear of orange and red fire, and horns curled down from its visored helm. The figure stretched forth a hand, as if imploring Arek to accept.

  His mind jumped back, flooding with memories he had not known existed. He remembered facing Piter now and the creature that had superimposed itself around his name-brother. He remembered the wings and the armor, and its name, Kaliban. This creature was the same, but also different! What was it?

  Then he heard a deep voice intone, "I offer myself. Our powers will be limitless through Ascension. Wilt thou accept?"

  Arek’s eyes narrowed. Ascension? He could feel the hunger grow again within him, the same hunger he had felt when he had faced Piter and the doorkeeper he now remembered was named Dvarin. Was this what it meant to be Ascended?

  It did not matter, for Arek began to realize something more. His body hungered for this creature, a hunger he felt down in the very pores of his skin, a black hunger emanating from deep within himself. A small smile played on his lips. He remembered what taking Piter’s creature felt like, the power, the ecstasy. He knew now he did not need to Ascend with this armored knight, whatever it was. He would get salvation another way.

  He inclined his head in a slight nod of assent and said, "Of course." He slowly extended his hand, inviting the being to join with him. So easy to touch, he thought, so close. Just reach for it.

  The crea
ture took his hand in its grasp and completed the bond necessary for Ascension, offering its own true name whispered on the wind: Adramelek.

  Arek smiled, for he now understood that for him, Ascension was a lie. It was not one’s true name that was heard, but that of the creature who offered power by bonding with its host, like some sort of sick parasite. Adramelek, indeed, for you it is too late. Arek would not play host to this thing, he had other plans.

  The creature looked at first with satisfaction upon the boy, the ritual bond forming and growing, promising power beyond his dreams. With this, he would gain life. The power multiplied and a giddying wave of energy shuddered throughout his armored body.

  Then something changed. Adramelek looked down at the boy, still grasping his ethereal hand with a strange look on his face.

  Black lines of power appeared as cracks within the creature’s armor and skin. Even as Adramelek watched, Arek’s eyes became liquid black pools, shining and dead, absorbing what little light there was left around them. The boy’s gaze bore into the winged creature’s soul and drew it in.

  "What are you?" Adramelek screamed in horror. "No! Wait! You are not pure!"

  Arek watched the giant winged creature fight him, twisting, bucking, pulling to be free, and smiled more. His grip tightened, though there was nothing it could do now to escape. The dark hunger within Arek welled up, almost too much to control as he opened himself to it fully.

  In that instant, the entire form of Adramelek arched backward and another scream tore through him. The black cracks of power widened and he began to fall apart, like a shattered statue. Then, his form imploded in a blinding ethereal flash of black flame, exploding into a sparkle of power and life. Arek absorbed all of it, drawing in every single particle, consuming every last bit.

  Power, black and potent, coursed through him now, re-knitting his bones, rejuvenating his body. Any harm he had experienced no longer remained, healed by the deluge of life that had once been Adramelek. His last scream echoed through Arek’s body, but nothing else of the Aeris lord remained.

  The shade of Piter laughed, then said, "Well done, Master! You have exceeded depravity and corruption on every level. Rai’stahn would be proud of your mastery of the Way."

  Arek turned his black eyes on Piter and something in his gaze silenced the shade. "I begin to understand my place in this world. This was my Test." He took a breath, feeling the power course within him. His sight magnified, became clearer. The world moved slower and he could discern each moment between heartbeats if he so wished. He felt explicably precise, as if his entire being had been reshaped and honed to a keen edge.

  He knew he had transcended his master and the other adepts of the Isle. His body was potent with power, but he had accomplished this in a manner never intended. He watched as Piter bowed, a smirk still on his lips, then slowly fade from view. The scene became still and for a moment, nothing happened. Then time snapped back into place.

  In the blink of an eye, Arek’s form exploded with power, but not light. A dark flame erupted, an ebony wash that licked up his form and surrounded him in a mantle of black fire. It covered him from head to toe, misting off him like hot air on a frozen day. His flameskin had been unleashed and with it, everything in his body had been reborn, reshaped to perfection.

  His hand, now protected, shattered the first dagger on impact in a pulse of black fire. The second struck his protective barrier near his shoulder. His flameskin darkened further and the dagger vaporized in a flash, leaving behind only a metallic tang he could taste in the air. Arek took a deep breath and his flameskin expanded until it sucked in the light from the very air around him. It shone potent and black and he felt far stronger than ever before.

  In response, Bara’cor itself seemed to lose luster and fade, as if he leeched the very essence of strength from its granite walls. The assassin’s armor faded, also drained away by whatever Arek was doing.

  The glowing particles or creatures were an endless source of energy, as was everything else around him. He could drain them dry the same way he could draw a breath, without thinking. He could be injured and steal life back into his limbs. A part of him now wondered if he could even be killed. This was why magic didn’t work around him, this was why he could disrupt things with a touch. He didn't disrupt magic, he absorbed it, he fed on it, and now he had unlocked his ability to use it.

  Niall looked at him in awe and asked, "What is that?"

  Arek ignored the prince’s uncomprehending stare, keeping his ebony gaze focused on his still living opponent, the assassin. Niall showed his lack of training and discipline by being distracted in the middle of combat. Arek’s master would never have tolerated it, and for some reason now, it disgusted him. Then his eyes flashed black with power and a small smile bent the corner of his mouth up. Was Silbane still his master? He laughed at the thought.

  The assassin clearly saw that things had gone from bad to worse. The girl had wounded him, and the boy’s black aura hurt him every time they made contact. Worse, Bara’cor no longer seemed capable of coming to his aid. A moment went by as he seemed to weigh his options, then the assassin sped forward, his intent clear. Kill Arek as quickly as possible.

  They made contact brutally, trained warriors intent on dealing death as quickly as possible. No flowery kicks, no leaps, just short, savage strikes with elbow and knee, followed by grapple holds designed to choke or break bone.

  The assassin repeatedly smashed at Arek with a forearm, trying to drive him to his knees. At each impact, thunder sounded and black fire flashed as Arek’s shield protected him from the strikes of the other. The assassin grunted as if in pain.

  At first Arek had been cautious, fighting more defensively as he was not used to a flameskin protecting him and favoring his unhurt foot through recent habit. His advantage quickly became clear as his barrier absorbed the impact of the assassin’s strikes, and judging from the assassin’s face, inflicted more pain every time they connected. In fact, as the fight wore on, Arek grew stronger and the assassin grew weaker.

  Then Arek took the fight to the man, grabbing his neck and driving his forehead into the bridge of his opponent’s nose. Blood spattered in a flash of black flame and the assassin fell back, driven by a series of knees and punches, each strike cracking like lightning. The assassin reeled, staggering backward in an attempt to block and retreat.

  Arek moved in with a double palm strike that exploded in a flash of black flames. Ribs cracked and broke as the assassin’s unprotected body absorbed the full power of the thunderous blow. A shockwave coursed through him from the point of impact, detonating within his massive frame, shattering his internal organs and causing irreparable harm.

  From behind the assassin appeared a battered Yetteje. "This is for hitting me," she said with acid in her voice. She used the man’s lack of shieldrock to her advantage and kicked the pommel of her partially buried blade, slamming it the rest of the way in. He vomited a gout of blood as the point of the short blade exploded out of his stomach. Then she yanked the sword out with both hands, staggering backward to fall on her back.

  * * * * *

  Prime collapsed to his knees, blood running freely from his mouth. His hand touched the stone, but the null's proximity still blocked his stonesense. He could not feel his team, or anything else in the fortress. He shook his head, uncomprehending, then turned his attention to the other boy. The Galadine prince still stood transfixed where he had started, having never swung his blade even once.

  A smile creased Prime’s masked face, revealing itself in his voice. "By now, your father is dead." He began to laugh, but that ended in a gurgle as the last of his life’s blood welled up. Then the blue light went out from his eyes and he slumped down, kneeling with his chin to chest, dead.

  Journal Entry 20

  We all have it, this voice of doubt. It is that part of me that looks upon these Marks and believes they will fail.

  It doubts my power in this place and that is deadly. I do not know ho
w I can prevail and my powers are slowly fading because of it. You may think it simple to believe something, or perhaps that I am weak-willed.

  Do you? I smile at the thought.

  Test it yourself. Believe you can conjure a flame at the snap of your fingers. Put all your faith into it and do something as simple as that, something a child of the Way can do without effort. Something I can do without thought.

  Your own doubts, those deep within you and those of the people around you will stop you. The Aeris themselves are Shaped by your doubt to stop your connection to the Way.

  No effort on your part will succeed to create a flame, any more than mine to believe I can prevail in this accursed place.

  LAST STAND

  Fear is contagious, as is courage.

  —Altan proverb

  The king and Ash had called the watch into the room after the two men had departed, each wrapped in his personal feelings over the departure of Jebida. For the king, his right hand was gone, a man with whom he had journeyed with for most of his life. For Ash, it had never occurred to him that he would be the one to stay, and he found himself unsure of what to do next.

  It was the king, ever pragmatic, who shook Ash out of his doubt and said, "Assemble the men. We have to protect this portal for Jeb, and find my son." The fact the king seemed so sure the firstmark would return helped Ash keep focused.

  Ash turned from the king and addressed the watch through Sergeant Stemmer, who had reported back to duty. They respected her as an experienced soldier and leader, a woman who could defend the ground she stood upon. The men stationed themselves in an arc around the portal entrance, but their movements were slow and disorganized by the site of such magic. Their wonder and awe at an eldritch black door was washed away by their gruff sergeant, who barked out, "I swear by the Lady if you can’t hold a single door, I’ll push you through myself and you’ll do it from the other side!"