Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2)

by Stephen Allan

  But he had forgotten about the red-striped magicologist, who paralyzed him. Cyrus could not break free in time as the other magicologist swung his ice sword. Cyrus closed his eyes.

  He felt the brunt of something hitting him, but it did not cut or pierce him. When Cyrus opened his eyes, both enemies had disappeared.

  “I failed,” he said.

  “It takes time. It is rare that you would fight three foes without any assistance, but it is not impossible,” Erda said. “Do not call this a failure. Failure is if we fail at rescuing Celeste. This is practice.”

  Cyrus didn’t agree, as he had failed to progress to the next level. But it’s day one. Let it go. Beat this later and then keep going.

  “OK,” Cyrus said.

  She turned to Crystil. She’s going to fight too. Oh…

  “Crystil,” Erda said. “Are you ready for your simulation?”

  34

  “Yes,” Crystil responded with a straight face and a jumbled mind. I can do this. I can defeat magicologists without a gun.

  Are you kidding? You’ve barely learned to deflect spells. You got lucky with one spell.

  Trust yourself. Go.

  Erda put her mask back on as Crystil readied herself. The rush of seeing her enemy cleared her mind as she developed the singular focus of destroying the red-striped magicologist appearing before her.

  Crystil held her sword in the defensive position and slowly moved forward, waiting for the right chance to strike. The opponent also unsheathed a sword, and the two danced forward, one half-lunge at a time until they could strike.

  Crystil brought her sword back to jab, but the magicologist quickly put his hand out and froze Crystil. Unable to move and unable to resist the spell, she ended the battle by closing her eyes as the magicologist brought his blade to her chest.

  “This brings up an important point,” Erda said as Crystil opened her eyes. “Crystil, you know how to fight these battles with a gun—you kept your distance and became an opportunistic fighter, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s the same thing here. Without magic, I’m afraid you cannot go on the offensive with just a sword. You’ll need to let the enemy come to you and use your skills accordingly.”

  Well… you do what you can within your limits, Crystil. Sucks. But you can still help.

  Crystil brandished her sword once more, ready for a second round. The same magicologist appeared once more. He drew his sword, but now, as if defending the emperor behind her, Crystil refused to advance. The two remained in a stalemate for what felt like minutes as the magicologist cast a few spells that Crystil deflected. The standoff was routine for Crystil, who could spend days in battle without needing rest.

  Finally, the magicologist charged, and the only moment of panic was when he cast a fire spell. Crystil deflected it after it scarred her arms. Barely a scratch. The enemy got within striking distance, and Crystil’s superior sword skills won out as she knocked the sword out of the enemy’s hands and finished him with a chop. She sheathed her sword without celebration, for winning a practice round meant nothing.

  “Good,” Erda said. “Do you want to fight more?”

  I know I can’t win that. I know my limits.

  “Yes,” Crystil said.

  But I need to know how I would lose so I don’t get myself in those positions.

  Crystil faced the same three-magicologist lineup as before, and once more, Crystil held her ground. The magicologists tried to overwhelm her by casting their spells in rapid succession, but the commander’s reflexes protected her from any damage, and she reflected more than one spell.

  The foes wised up, however, and the two gray-striped ones with swords charged her. Crystil positioned herself so that she’d only fight one, but even as she struck down the first magicologist, she knew she’d lost. The red-striped enemy paralyzed her, and the gray-striped one finished her.

  I can’t ever have my back to them. Even at a distance. There’s no safe gap.

  “Do you feel like you benefited from this exercise, both of you?” Erda asked.

  Cyrus and Crystil both immediately said yes. Crystil glanced at Cyrus, impressed with the focus he displayed in battle and the development of his sword skills. He’s going to be the most valuable fighter in getting Celeste. He’d better be benefiting from this exercise.

  “The Kastori you fought were like the guardians of Typhos—they are tough, but most Kastori on Monda are not this tough. However, I should mention that they did not use their full capabilities, and they are not even a tenth as powerful as Typhos. But in time, we’ll get there.”

  She cast a quick spell, and the precora before them lit up.

  “In the meantime, I think you guys have earned breakfast.”

  35

  Three days passed.

  Celeste kept track of time by the food delivered to her. When she woke up, she always had meat and toast waiting for her, a pleasant surprise for a prisoner of Typhos. But after breakfast, she could only stew in the prison, bored, reflecting on what had happened.

  On the first day, she rejected Typhos’ offer.

  The second day brought a moment of wavering for Celeste as she wondered would happen. If it would keep him from hunting Cyrus and Crystil and Erda… But for whatever reason, Typhos hated Erda more than anything in life and would kill her anyways.

  By the time Celeste woke up on the third day, she had decided not to join Typhos.

  She never saw him in those three days. When she ate dinner by herself on the third day—simple aviant meat with lukewarm water—she believed that he would leave her in there until she asked for him. Even with her meals, her grip on time and reality faded, and she questioned her experiences.

  I guess I’ll just shrivel away until someone rescues me or I die.

  She went to sleep that night thinking it would continue that way.

  She woke up to the most horrifying reality she’d ever experienced, one that pushed her to her breaking point.

  Cold air both surrounded and flowed into Celeste, bringing goosebumps to her skin and uncontrollable shaking through her body. Her eyes opened to nothingness—gone was the drab, gray room, and gone was the bed she had slept in. The chair in the corner of the room had vanished, and so had the walls. She looked down and could see herself as if under the Monda sun, but no apparent source of light glowed.

  Instead, an empty blackness engulfed her. Nervous and disoriented, she stood and took a few steps. She trudged on flat ground—but one that she could not see from any angle or at any distance.

  “Welcome,” the voice of Typhos echoed in her head.

  Celeste looked around but saw nothing. She waited for more words from her captor, but he kept silent, both to her ears and mind.

  “Typhos,” she said, her voice firm. She got no response. She didn’t even get an echo of her voice.

  She walked, then ran, and then sprinted. But with no landmarks around her, she had no idea how far she had moved. Or if I even moved period. It’s just… endless. Or, it’s entirely contained, and I’m running in place.

  A low, deep groan growled in her ear.

  She whirled around with a yelp. I know that noise. It’s… it’s…

  It came again, this time louder and more distinct, and from above Celeste.

  Calypsius. But he’s dead.

  Does Typhos have more?

  “Perhaps,” Typhos said in her mind.

  Stay calm, Celeste. It’s just a trick. A monster like that wouldn’t be here.

  A yellow eye with a dark, oval pupil appeared out of nowhere, menacingly staring at the young girl. Just a trick, just a trick. Slowly, as if the creature could illuminate itself, more features appeared—the black, scaly skin; the three horns up top; and the menacing, sharp, bared teeth. Calypsius roared loudly, bringing the girl’s hands to her ears as she stared at the monster. It turned to her, coiled back as if springing for an attack, and lunged.

  Celeste closed her eyes as the monster’s mo
uth opened wide… and nothing happened.

  When she opened them, the creature had vanished.

  “Impressive,” Typhos said, a word that somehow now echoed out loud in the void.

  Don’t cower. Be strong. He’s pushing you. It’s all an illusion and nothing more.

  “Run, Celeste, run,” an even more familiar voice said. “Celeste?”

  It… there’s no way. It can’t be. Trap. Trap. Trap.

  “Celeste?”

  But… what if…

  “Dad?”

  “I’m in here too. Can you help?”

  “I… I don’t know, where are you?”

  For the first time, she could pinpoint the voice.

  “This way,” her father said behind her.

  She whirled around and sprinted, remaining on edge. He can’t really be in here. He’s dead. Unless Typhos is lying. Which… it’s Typhos, it’s possible.

  No one appeared for minutes, even as Celeste felt like she’d run half a mile.

  “Dad?” she called out, out of breath.

  “I’m still here,” he said, a bit further out.

  Finally, after what seemed like an hour, she could see a figure on his knees with his head bowed. Dad. Is this real? I don’t even know.

  The figure became brighter and more human-sized as she approached. From the top of his face, she knew it was definitely her father.

  “Dad!”

  “Celeste, thank goodness,” he said, though Celeste became guarded when he refused to look up at her. “We need to get out of here. Typhos has tortured me for years, and he’s going to do the same to you if we don’t get out.”

  What is even going on? He’s…

  “OK, Dad, just—”

  Her father looked up at her, but the face was not of her father. It was a bloodied, mutilated face, with half the face burned off, one eye missing, a scar crossing at a diagonal from the top right, and bones from the skull visible in multiple places.

  “Hahahahaha,” an evil laugh echoed as the voice of Typhos and her father mixed.

  A sword out of nowhere came from above, piercing through her father’s chest. Celeste finally lost her sanity, falling to her knees as she screamed and cried. Only the sound of slow applause got her to look up. The body of her father had vanished, and she was suddenly back in her prison, in a corner, whimpering and shaking. Standing over her was Typhos, mockingly clapping.

  “I thought you would break when Calypsius came charging at you,” he said as he offered a hand to Celeste.

  She refused to take it as she rose. Typhos withdrew his hand without much anger.

  “But I should have known that for someone as powerful and intelligent as you, I would need something more… personal, let’s say, than just a monster.”

  He went and grabbed the chair, and placed it in the middle of the room. He held his hand out, gesturing for Celeste to take the seat. Feeling like she had no choice, Celeste sat down. Typhos had a guardian grab him a more comfortable chair, which he placed in front of Celeste.

  “I can see how terrified you are, child. I don’t blame you. Even I felt shivers creating those illusions. But understand that what you saw is just a sliver of the power I have and that if you choose not to join me, the nightmares will intensify. You will wish you only saw Calypsius and your father’s scarred face.”

  You know the answer. Don’t… don’t.

  “So my father is alive?”

  Celeste. Come on. Be stronger than that.

  “I sense the doubt you have for asking that question,” Typhos said. “So I will dispel that notion for you. No. He is dead. You saw me kill him.”

  I… sort of.

  “I saw—”

  “Do you really want to see the actual blade go through your father’s back and emerge through his chest, the blood of his heart coating my sword?”

  Celeste felt nauseous and said nothing.

  “Precisely. I did you a favor, Celeste. And it’s because now, on Monda, you are all alone. Your father is dead. Your brother and friend are dead. Erda will never come and rescue you while I live. I am the only Kastori you have left.”

  His voice carried a disturbing amount of pity—and an uncharacteristic level of sadness.

  “Have you thought about it, Celeste? Have you come to terms with the fact that you’ll never see your loved ones again and that here I am, offering you everything you could have ever wished for and then some?”

  “You can’t offer me my father.”

  Typhos leaned back in the chair and placed his hand on his chin, responding with nothing. Celeste stared him down, her eyes still moist but done crying. It’s fighting time.

  “Stand up,” he said, and he joined her as she rose. He used his height to intimidate her.

  “Understand this, Celeste. Family and friends come and go. Your father shipped you off this planet, pushed you away from ever seeing him again. I know what that feels like. Your brother failed to perform his duties of protecting you and guiding you as an older family member. I, too, know what that feels like. What I offer you goes far beyond a notion as fleeting and tragic as love. I offer you the chance to take whatever you want, to have all the power you want—power which will never abandon you—and to have whoever you want, so long as you acknowledge me as your master. Understand this. Your father and brother could and never will be as good as I am.”

  Rage boiled inside Celeste, who felt a level of anger unlike anything she’d ever felt.

  “You,” she said, and she shoved him back, catching him off guard as he tripped on the chair and fell to the ground. “I’ll never join you!”

  Typhos rose slowly to his feet and looked at the girl with such rage that even through the mask, Celeste felt his hatred. This is your path. Don’t you dare waver from it.

  “Stupid girl!” he yelled as he placed his scarred hand on her head, and squeezed and pushed down with such force that Celeste bowed to him in agony. She could feel him crawling through his mind, searching for… something.

  Doesn’t matter what.

  She concentrated on pushing him out, ignoring the assumption that she could not use magic in her prison. Maybe not to the outside world. Maybe not even to this room. But I still have my mind.

  “What?!?” Typhos growled as Celeste slowly pushed him away. He was still gathering information from her past, but she was gaining momentum in shutting him out. “How?!? No one can resist me!”

  Good. Get out. You’ve met your match, Typhos.

  The pain of his hand and the intensity required to push his magic out produced a searing pain that her worst migraine did not match. But whatever Typhos was looking for, he was not going to get, even if it made her pass out.

  “You worthless scum!” he cried as he shoved her down.

  His hand went to his sword, hidden by his robes. This is—

  But before Celeste could finish the thought, he removed his hand from the hilt. She caught a glimpse of the sword—it had a black stone inside it, and also the face of Calypsius rising up on the blade. It looked like the kind of sword he had carved himself.

  She looked back up at Typhos. The sound of his heavy breathing was the only noise in the chamber at that moment. She couldn’t even hear her breathing.

  “You… you are quite the challenge,” he said slowly and deliberately. “No one has been able to push back on my power quite like you. No one has given me fits like you have. I will admit part of me wants to kill you right now. But that would be so impetuous of me, and so wasteful.”

  Celeste slowly brought herself to her feet.

  “I am in no state to continue learning about you. I lost my temper and control of myself, and that is no way to show you the benefits of joining me. For that, I apologize.”

  Is he actually genuine? He weirdly sounds it.

  “We will continue this at a future time. I will tell you more about my ambitions, and perhaps you will come to understand the deal I am offering you. Remember, Celeste, this is not permanent. I can, and
eventually will, withdraw my offer, and at that point, your life’s goal will be to die to end your misery. I am patient with you, even if I don’t always show it. But my patience does not last forever.”

  He placed a hand on her face that sent chills down her spine, and she quickly pushed it away.

  “Such power,” he said in awe. “We will do this again soon.”

  He walked out without another word, mercifully keeping Celeste in the reality of her prison.

  36

  Two weeks, and we’re already comfortably handling three enemies at once.

  Crystil looked up at the night sky, the blackness providing her the blank canvas to lay her thoughts out. I know how to fight groups now. I could take anyone but Typhos. And Cyrus might even be able to stand his ground.

  “You love losing yourself in these stars, don’t you?” Cyrus said as Crystil turned back with a warm smile. Cyrus didn’t have the same expression—he is stressing himself too much. Needs to relax.

  “It’s not every day that you wind up a hundred thousand feet closer to the stars,” Crystil said. “You OK?”

  Cyrus didn’t bother to give false bravado.

  “I feel like something has to have happened to Celeste by now, you know? We don’t know anything about her.”

  It’s true. We’re entirely dependent on Erda. If she’s wrong, or she loses that connection…

  “Just look at it like this, Cyrus. No news is good news.”

  “I get that,” Cyrus said.

  “Do you?” Crystil said.

  Cyrus sighed as he kicked the ground, perhaps hoping a pebble might appear he could throw. But with the perfectly smooth ground, he gently stubbed his foot into the ground. Crystil looked at his eyes, and even in the darkness, she could see the frustration. He’s gonna demand to go. And I can’t let him go by himself.

  But before he could respond, Erda returned with an ursus.

  “A treat for the progress you both have made,” she said warmly. “But before we begin, I want to test one of you.”

  She turned to Crystil, who cleared her mind in preparation for whatever challenge came her way.

  “Cyrus can combat magic with magic. As you cannot, Crystil, you need to train against powerful Kastori. And today, I want you to fight me.”