The Kakos Realm Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

  Pacing the length of the dark floor his face twisted in consternation. The men, all citizens of Gleend, joined him. “King Havara, what do we do? We must protect these people,” one blurted out.

  “But what about the others out there,” another disagreed. Blood from a gash on his cheek slicked his grizzled beard. “We could better protect them by ending this madness with our own swords!”

  Havara glanced back and forth between the two. A third warrior, the youngest of the three, hesitated to speak. “Speak man,” Havara commanded him, “it might be your last chance before we all die. What seems best to you?”

  “We stay or we fight, either choice puts us in peril. You, you are the last king of Gleend if we fail. Our people, our race, needs you. Your countrymen need you to survive this battle. You must flee! It’s not an act of cowardice, but the mandate of your office.”

  The King looked at the young man. He certainly had logic on his side, but it was the option he liked the least. “I need a moment.” Havara paced the floor of the building. The air felt deathly still on the inside, yet the walls reverberated with the cacophony of a battle all around. Every eye stayed fixed upon him, but his own were squeezed tight; he prayed desperately for an answer.

  With a crack, the front door burst open, breaking apart as falchion wielding goblins poured inside. Women shrieked in terror; the first two men charged forward, bellowing their battle cries. The younger adviser turned to Havara. “Flee!” he screamed, pushing the king to his feet.

  Havara ducked out the rear. Pride soured his heart, but duty demanded his survival.

  Sprinting as stealthily as possible he skirted the fray. Havara found an old gelding trapped with its reigns tangled in a snarl of thorny bracken. Half-starved, it had probably been tied to this post since before the first attack on Sprazik—before Kevin arrived to help set things in order. He untied the weary beast and swung a leg over the animal’s back.

  ***

  Absinthium watched the angel trail a streak of flame and vapor as he rocketed away. He pointed to targets and sent his minions to kill the weakest and most helpless first.

  The arch mage’s favorite weapon was demoralization. He stood on his toes and searched for his target.

  Grinning, he spotted the preacher towards the center of the collapsing village. He caught the eye of the monk. They locked eyes and he recognized the monk as one of the two who had thwarted him at the quarry by Grinden.

  He snarled with rage so ferocious that the monk flinched. Minstra’s resolve crumbled as he did a double take between the prayer-shielded leader and the brutal spell caster.

  Minstra took a step back, began shrinking away from the gaze of the archmage.

  Absinthium’s dread eyes pierced the defector and pleasure welled up within his heart. The monk didn’t stand a chance—his heart had already faltered and they both knew it. If the monk stayed, he would die by Absinthium’s hand.

  ***

  Jorge swung his sword and ripped through the segmented carapace of the giant skolax that harried his dwindling number of friends. Blue-grey effluence splattered across the burnt soil; the insectoid creature shrieked as it thrashed its last.

  The beast’s driver leapt at Jorge from its position. The goblin didn’t make it to the ground alive as Dri’Bu gutted the tunnel-dweller midair.

  Kevin’s elven friend moved fluidly, working in tandem with the angel as if they were one. Dri’Bu demonstrated the skill wielded by the elven elders. His age did not slow his combat prowess in the least. With a dagger in one hand and a saber in the other, he became a flurry of blades.

  “We’ve got to fall back!” Dri’Bu shouted to Jorge as he effortlessly dismembered a wave of snarling enemies. “Our losses are too great!”

  The angel knew it also. This was not a battle that the enemy needed to fight. The Luciferians skewered them with attrition, whittling away at the Christian forces, trying to damage and demoralize them.

  A shrieking goblin charger sprinted towards the elf and angel. Dri’bu threw his dagger at the ekthro and sliced the creature’s leather harness. The confused goblin charged forwards even as his explosive barrel fell to the ground and rolled towards the goblin firing squad who kept their flaming arrows nocked.

  With one fluid motion, Dri'bu cleaved the sprinting goblin's head from the body, pulled his dagger free, and thrust its blade into a broken barrel of pitch near his feet. He raked the flammable edge across Jorge's sword, igniting the dagger, and chucked the firebrand at the tumbling barrel before his enemy's headless body hit the ground.

  The barrel detonated and leveled a cadre of goblin archers with a short-lived blossom of deadly fire. A moment later, the bodies sank into the sands as a new portal opened and more enemies leaped forth.

  In the darkness beyond the new wave of goblins, the blue swords of their people flashed and flared as they battled the enemy. Too often cerulean blades winked out of existence, overwhelmed by the scale of the sneak attack.

  Jorge watched the former Luciferian monk, Minstra, flee for his life. Fear motivated him to escape the battle. The Christian’s eternal confidence, however, doomed the rest of them to stay. So caught up in the battle, they did not think of the implications of such heavy losses.

  “Retreat!” the angel bellowed the order. This was neither the proper place nor time for this battle. There could be no positive outcome for them. Screams echoed from the edges of the city as the Nindan army finally encroached upon them, violating the sovereign borders to cut down those who fled.

  The horizon flashed with white-hot brilliance, trailed by a sonic boom. A geyser of pure energy shot into the air, trailing a spiraling plume of smoke behind the flailing comet. Jorge’s angelic eyes identified Kyrius’s body flung like a shooting star as it arced across the sky.

  “Kevin!” Jorge gasped in alarm.

  The angel and the elf sprinted headlong through the fray, dodging and counterattacking as necessary. A chasm fell open before them, belching alchemical smoke and falchion wielding goblins. The sooty ekthro swamped them, pressing in around their sides to stall them.

  Out of the pit crawled another immense skolax driven by a familiar looking goblin. Seated on the creature was a cloaked, hooded man: an acolyte. His face looked the same as their hostage, wearing the typical acolyte appointments with an additional bag slung over his shoulder.

  Jorge’s anger welled up within him. A broad stroke of his massive, flaming sword cleared the forward path, dismembering any foes in front of him. Before the angel could charge ahead and engage the Luciferian fiend, more acolytes leaped from the cavity below and engaged him on all sides. Their black cloaks flapped as they brandished serrated kamas; the stench of death rolled off of them and the little flesh that was visible below their hoods looked pallid and necrotic.

  The undead acolytes engaged the angelic warrior and the elf as one. The others followed after the necromancer who animated the bodies. They attempted killing blows against the skilled elf but concentrated mostly on grappling the angel, keeping him from taking flight.

  “The prisoner!” shouted Dri’Bu as the skolax writhed its way through the street and away from them.

  “Forget the Wyvern Rider. We need to evacuate—find Kevin and get out of here!”

  ***

  “It’s him! I’d recognize him anywhere,” urged the taller elf scout, noting the royal gauntlets that the approaching rider wore.

  A man on an old horse galloped straight for the pass they were guarding. The beast looked ready to die on its own feet.

  “You’re right,” the shorter elf said. He glanced at the treetops where Bre’s body had been flung when the silo exploded. “More glory for us!”

  The pointy-eared scouts leapt into the road, firing their bows. The animal trilled and shrieked as it pitched forward, launching its royal rider almost to their feet as they hurried to nock their next arrows.

  Havara crumpled to the ground, rolling violently. One leg snapped
, breaking with an ugly, wet noise. The monarch growled like a bear and pushed through the blinding pain. He rolled to his good leg and smashed an armored gauntlet into the jaw of the shorter elf, sending his arrow into the distance while the shooter toppled into the grass.

  Dropping his bow, the taller elf swung his fists at the wounded prey. The first punch connected and knocked Havara back a step.

  Havara anticipated the second blow and dropped his head. The elf’s fist impacted against the top of Havara’s skull at the hardest part. Elven knucklebones shattered. The King launched forward, trying to tackle his opponent.

  The tall elf kicked his legs back and wrapped his arms around the human’s waist. Havara roared despite the agony that burned in his busted leg; he gritted his teeth and charged forward, feeling every movement as bone grinded against bone like two pieces of pumice.

  Havara and the elf rolled through a ditch and crashed into a tree, the elf took the full force of the impact. Havara collapsed to one side while the tree held the elf secure; a broken branch punctured through the elven scout, hanging him in place like some kind of morbid scarecrow.

  Just in time to see the shorter elf, chin bloodied and nose broken, Havara raised his hands and barely blocked a kick to the face. He staggered to his feet and locked arms with his opponent. They struggled momentarily before both of them stumbled over the edge of the deep, rocky ravine which hemmed the road at the far side.

  ***

  The skolax crawled at a brisk pace. Though the angel and elf pressed their assailants back, the mounted enemies maintained a space cushion at all times. The distance remained just enough so that Wynn could maintain control of the undead fighters that stalled the angel, keeping him from gaining enough momentum to tear huge swaths through their forces.

  Wynn glanced at the nearby sight, diverting only a fragment of his attention so that he maintained control of the animated acolytes. The sight made him smirk and intensified his bloodlust.

  Tied to a stake and undisturbed sat his former superior and rival. Prock, the Wyvern Rider, former leader of the acolytes, was tied to a pole in the dirt like some common criminal. Wynn and Prock’s eyes met, a glimmer of hope flickered in the captive’s eyes.

  Wynn sneered at his fallen comrade. It might’ve looked like a rescue mission, but Wynn had no intention of losing his new place as the acolyte’s leader. He had no ties of loyalty, only his mission and selfish ambitions. Not even the ties of blood held sway over him—as Absinthium had demanded.

  Prock struggled against his bonds as the skolax continued unabated. He bit the gag that kept him from casting spells or speaking. Prock shook against the ropes and realized his brother had no intention to free him.

  Wynn rode further away and his former brother screamed through his muzzle, “WYYYYYNN!” His betrayal was final and complete. Prock shuddered and seethed with hatred. It rolled off of him in frigid waves.

  Tied to his post, he momentarily locked eyes with the besieged angel. Prock struggled against his fetters to no avail and screamed in frustration, “RAARRGH!”

  Absinthium strolled confidently through the destruction. Flames raged all around him. The only krist-chins in the immediate vicinity were those who felt drawn to the center of the town, undoubtedly on a fool’s errand to rescue their doomed leader.

  Those stupid enough to stand their ground would face the same fate as their mentor. Kevin, however, would not be granted as swift of a death as his underlings were receiving. The mage grinned as he half-dreamed of torturing his adversary.

  A young warrior entertaining delusions of grandeur charged the Luciferian. Holding his blazing, cerulean blade in high guard, he burst through the line and ran to strike down the mage. Absinthium effortlessly sidestepped the Christian. He swung his staff around with such force and power, that it bashed through the boy’s skull, tossing him off his feet like a rag doll. Absinthium chuckled mirthfully.

  Of the few werewolves that remained in this encampment, most had already been dispatched by goblin zealots and their explosive barrels. The last of them leapt over a pile of debris. He roared in defiance, fur slicked red by the blood of his enemies. The lycan leveled its animal gaze at Absinthium and charged.

  The archmage grabbed a nearby casket and shook off the fleshy detritus which had once been a kamikaze goblin that never reached its target. With supernaturally enhanced strength, he flung the barrel of explosives at his pursuit and followed it up with a simple fireball.

  The werewolf took the full brunt of the cask’s detonation just under his chest. The powerful lycan stopped and stood tall. His eyes suddenly turned vacant with shock and he looked down at his body. What little remained of him was mostly flame darkened bones that his lupine body had previously been attached to. Meat had been blasted away and nothing remained below his smoldering chest. He grunted and took one more step before collapsing in a charred, dead heap.

  Two of his new acolyte’s flanked Absinthium. The rest of his crew dispersed through the village, preying upon any remaining krist-chin people and the residents of Sprazik who had entertained them. The mage strode confidently and unchallenged. His goal was finally within his grasp.

  ***

  Jorge struggled against the constant oppressors as he chased after the skolax and its riders. Dri’Bu was similarly entangled behind him by two of the necrotic wights. Another five vied against the angel, never tiring and never letting the angel find an escape vector or get up to speed.

  The skolax skittered through a nearby street. A familiar block yawned open before them where the ground split, pocked by chasms and holes that had opened all around.

  Jorge struggled against his foes. Only a short distance away, Kevin knelt in prayer. The preacher seemed to glow faintly as if a heavenly aura shielded him from outside harm.

  The angel screamed a warning to him. A kama-wielding wight strode forward, intent on seizing the preacher. As Kevin concentrated in fervent prayer, the glow that encompassed him pulsed with an expansion; the undead acolyte stepped into the light and collapsed under its protective power. The necromancy which animated the corpse dissipated.

  A second corptic acolyte tried in vain to tackle Kevin. He suffered the same fate and buckled under the heaviness of Shekinah light that wreathed the preacher who clutched the leather-bound bible to his chest.

  Through the air, a loud, wicked voice echoed. Jorge saw Absinthium striding through an open route. Not even glancing at Kevin, the mage locked his gaze on the angel who had battled him at the Grinden quarry. Absinthium’s booming voice beckoned his scattered acolytes, calling them to converge.

  The dragon-scale mantle glowed as if it flickered with internal flames. Absinthium made his intent clear as he tightened his gauntlets and snarled at the angel. As he closed the gap, the air crackled with magic. The ground vibrated with supernatural energy, pebbles strewn about the cracked cobblestone rattled and hovered several inches above the ground.

  Jorge knocked back the wighted acolytes with a devastating roundhouse cleave; his opponents broke and shattered into dust as they fell. Like a sandstorm, they blew on the fell wind, sucked back inside the leather satchel that Wynn carried.

  Dri’Bu cried with surprise. His assailants, too, were sucked up like a sandstorm. A wave of goblins rushed him from the shadows and the elf disappeared under the mass of goblin oppression.

  Only Jorge and Kevin remained in the center of town. Absinthium barred the angel’s path, standing between the angel and his ward. He could not rescue his friend without first facing the wizard. As they stared each other down, more cloaked acolytes arrived. They surrounded and contained Kevin while Absinthium snarled in defiance.

  The mage lunged, expertly whirling his staff. Absinthium and Jorge clashed in an epic duel. Magically energized and empowered far beyond human capabilities, meh-red’s mantle gave Absinthium the edge he needed to contend with the angel.

  As their battle raged amidst the chaos, the last acolyte arrived. Surround
ing Kevin, they began to chant. Worry built up within Jorge’s gut; the distraction was enough to loosen his defenses. Absinthium feinted and parried in one smooth maneuver. Finding an open target, the wizard screamed his trigger word and blasted the angel with a magic ball of energy. The force-beam shot from his fingers and slammed the angel across the battlefield.

  Jorge’s body smashed into a stone wall, shattering it. He cried out in pain and surprise as the wall crashed down around him.

  The angel’s howl distracted the preacher momentarily. Kevin’s eyes blinked wide open in a moment of worry.

  “No!” screamed Jorge from the smoking pile of rubble. He vainly stretched a defeated hand towards his friend.

  Time seemed to move in slow motion as the ground beneath the Acolytes fell away. They dropped straight down into the caverns below, taking the preacher with them, enveloped by darkness.

  Absinthium disappeared with them. The air still shimmered and crackled with raw energy as the hidden mage brewed a powerful spell.

  Jorge shook off the masonry and clambered to the edge of the hole; Kevin was down there! Deep resonant words boomed through the air like thunder and the hole shot magma forth, like a geyser.

  All around, the ground quaked and any remaining goblins leaped down the holes from which they’d launched the attack. The booming incantation crescendoed with a roar that rattled the ground as some arcane earthquake shook the soil.

  Jorge sprinted and took flight on his injured wings. His spirit comprehended the words of the spell. He knew that doom approached. He raced above the streets as fast as he could manage. The angel swooped down and scooped the battered elf up and into his arms.

  He flew above the heads and weapons of the enemies that surrounded the borders. The goblins had fled but the Nindans who closed off any retreat had blockaded the perimeter. They vainly launched arrows at the angel as he climbed for altitude. They didn’t seem to heed the ground’s tenuous rumbling and refused to break the net that prevented any escape—they would not risk angering the archmage.