The Ascended
Rise of the Young
Book 2
Written by Hugo C. Bygott
Edited by Hugh Roger
The Ascended – Rise of the Young
Book 2
Copyright © 2016 Hugo C. Bygott
All rights reserved. This book is protected under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988. No part of this work may be used or reproduced, transmitted, stored or used in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning, digitizing, tapping, Web distribution, information networks or information storage and retrieval systems, or in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher.
The characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
This book and other works by Hugo C. Bygott can be found at: hcbygott.com
To Belle, my partner, my friend, my love. This one is for you.
The Ascended Series
Children of War
Rise of the Young
First Seeker (Coming 2017)
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 – Arrival
Chapter 2 – The International University of Users
Chapter 3 – Bellum’s Wrath
Chapter 4 – New Faces
Chapter 5 – Barrier Training
Chapter 6 – Combat Trials
Chapter 7 – Catacombs of Paris
Chapter 8 – Mind Games
Chapter 9 – Professor Zero
Chapter 10 – The Blades
Chapter 11 – Opening Ceremony
Chapter 12 – The Cube
Chapter 13 – Bookworm
Chapter 14 – Dark Champion
Chapter 15 – Professors’ Committee
Chapter 16 – Return to Bellum
Chapter 17 – Snowfall
Chapter 18 – Growing Darkness
Chapter 19 – Battle Bound
Chapter 20 – Champion of the Cube
Chapter 21 –The Silent Storm
Chapter 22 – Rush’s Discovery
Chapter 23 – Kry’s Fate
Chapter 24 – The Scarred Man
Chapter 25 – Moonlight Dance
Chapter 26 – Zero’s Rule
Chapter 27 – Luka
Chapter 28 – Lead
Chapter 29 –Preparations
Chapter 30 – Rematch
Chapter 31 – Bellum Returns
Chapter 32 – Reunion
Chapter 33 – Fire and Rain
Chapter 34 – One Faction
Chapter 35 – Last Stand
Chapter 36 – Separate Paths
About the Author
Prologue
From the depths of the cold came a blast of snow pouring down on the isolated cabin in the mountains. The trees, once green, were a bright white wrapped in the onslaught of the snow storm. Mile upon mile, in every direction, there was nothing but white, an endless stream of winter. Wind and snow danced together, encircling the cabin. A faint golden light was all that appeared from the old gray windows; it was the only beacon of light in the midst of the storm.
Inside, a man sat close to the fireplace. His long white hair fell to his shoulders over the fur blanket wrapped around him. He stared into the flames, and his eyes glowed with pride as he recalled the memories of the User Civil War. The fire flickered. In the flames, he could see the great battles that were won and lost, and the people who fought and died in trying to stop the Shadow Government.
Outside, the storm grew stronger, and the wind blew hard against the door and windows. By his side was a small table with a warm cup of tea. He picked up the cup, spun it around and smiled to himself. The tea swirled, moving like an ocean, bringing forth more vivid images of his former life. He was content.
Suddenly, the fire blew out bringing darkness to the cabin. Before he could react, the glass windows shattered into a million pieces. A stray shard almost hit his eye, but he moved just in time, and instead it cut the side of his face.
Snow rushed into the cabin, and a deathly chill matched the atmosphere of the darkness.
A black whip entered through the window and wrapped itself around his neck. The cup fell and smashed across the floor. He instinctively put his hands around his neck to loosen the grip of the whip. He jerked left and right trying to break free, but the coil only grew tighter. His hair became matted with snow as he was pulled toward the window. As he struggled to break free, the hinges of the door were blown apart by an unseen force. Fear now gripped him as tight as the coil around his neck.
He looked toward the open space where the door had been and saw the outline of a figure moving closer to him. With his last remaining strength, he directed his User energy toward the coil and with great exertion broke free.
“As expected,” said the figure. It was a woman’s voice, but it held cruelty and strength.
He shook the snow out of his hair and threw the remnants of the whip away. He rushed forward and threw himself at her, forcing them both out into the raging storm. Disoriented from the impact, he rose to his feet amidst the falling snow and looked around for her, but there was nothing except the mournful wind.
“I sense desperation in your actions,” she said, her voice only a whisper in the darkness.
He turned around toward the sound of her voice and saw the outline of her figure standing beneath a lonely tree. Eyes filled with malice looked back at him through the darkness, and then he saw a bright red object flying toward him. Before he could raise his barrier, it slammed into his chest and knocked him to the ground. He tried to regain his balance and placed his hand across his face to protect his eyes from the powerful force of the snow.
“Death follows you,” she said.
He could sense her power and knew who was after him. As he tried to push against the snowstorm, another force struck him across the face. Blood flowed from his mouth and stained the purity of the snow. Dazed, he looked up and saw the face of Death before his eyes.
“These shall decide your fate,” she said with an element of excitement. Two red dice rested in her palm.
He felt the strength of the wind and snow as he watched her roll the dice in her hands.
“Delightful. Two threes. That equals six,” she said.
A surge of pain suddenly engulfed him, the shock paralyzing him as he screamed and writhed in the snow. Another scream followed, the pain in his voice perfectly defined.
“Six—six ways for your bones to be broken,” she said.
With all his strength he tried to crawl away, his blood leaving a trail behind him. He screamed again as the sound of his wrist bone snapped.
“No escape, old man,” she said.
Snow and wind wrapped the two of them together. He screamed twice more as his leg and arm broke from unnatural forces.
“That’s five. Only one left,” she said.
There was nothing left, no escape, no hope. He lay on the bed of snow knowing full well this was his last moment. His eyes stared into the night, the snow filling his vision. Then there was darkness; there was no final scream, just the sound of his skull cracking under the force of her power.
“Six,” she said.
The snow quickly covered his body, his existence fading from history. The unknown assailant, unfazed by the violent storm, moved back inside the cabin and sat down on the chair by the fi
replace. She pulled out a phone and sent a message.
“Target eliminated.”
The response was immediate as the phone vibrated.
“Thank you for your contribution. Your next task follows this message.”
The phone vibrated once more.
“The Blades will come together in council. You are required to attend. If you ignore, you shall be punished. I look forward to meeting with you again, Dice. We must play. Regards, Viktor.”
Dice played with the dice in her hands as she read the message.
“So it begins,” she said.
****
Sounds of laughter filled the streets of Paris. Green trees lined the boulevard, and restaurants, shops, and cafes were brimming with the vibrant life of the city. Children played in a nearby park, and their faces glowed with excitement as they ran around in their paradise. The smell of warm food and pastry floated through the air, and the sun shined brightly giving energy to the city.
A small cafe stood next to the park. White parasols protected the customers from the heat of the sun. A dark-haired lady with a blue blouse with matching skirt watched the people of the city walk by as she enjoyed her morning coffee. Servers moved from table to table attending to the many requests of the customers. The woman held a red leather book and opened it to the bookmarked page. As she read, she soon became distracted as police sirens ended what seemed a peaceful morning.
“Excuse me?”
She turned to see a handsome waiter in a dark blue waistcoat smiling at her.
“The chef of this establishment would like to offer you his special breakfast. Would you be gracious enough to accept his offer?” said the waiter.
How strange she thought. “That’s very thoughtful. What is the occasion, and why me?”
The waiter smiled. “The chef noticed that you visit every morning and would like to thank you for being a valued customer.”
She placed her book down on the table. “I feel honored, but I’m waiting for my partner.”
“The chef has already considered this and he told me he would prepare two breakfasts, one for each of you.”
It was unusual, but this was one of her favorite places to read. “If that’s the case, then I humbly accept the chef’s hospitality.”
The waiter bowed and went inside the cafe. She looked at her watch. It was rare for her partner ever to be late. She was worried, but she knew he could handle himself. She picked up her book and attempted to read.
A few minutes later, the waiter returned and placed the breakfast in front of her.
“Compliments of the chef. A selection of cheeses and an assortment of fine bread with a glass of freshly squeezed blood orange juice,” he said before walking back inside.
Her partner had yet to arrive, but she decided she would start eating. The richness of the cheeses reached many levels of delicacy. She picked up the glass of juice and took her first sip. The juice tasted strange, slightly bitter, but she continued drinking. It was probably good manners to thank the chef in person. She made her way inside the cafe and noticed that it was empty, no customers, and no servers. The waiter who served her was also nowhere in sight.
“Hello?” she said.
No one answered her. She walked toward the kitchen. As she opened the door, she brought her hand to her nose as a foul odor reached her. A large bald man wearing a chef’s outfit had his back to her. The sound of his butcher’s knife thudded onto the board.
She took a step back. “I want to say thank you,” she said, struggling to speak as the foul smell disrupted her senses.
The chef turned to her with the knife in hand. It seemed as if he was trying to smile, but the only thing she saw was his blackened teeth. She tried to avert her eyes at the hideous nature of the man.
“It was my pleasure to make that for you,” he said. His voice was rough and dry, almost like chalk on a blackboard. “I’m also glad you enjoyed the juice. I made that one especially for you.”
She looked at her watch. “Thank you. Well, I must get back as I’m waiting for my partner,” she said, uneasily.
Suddenly, he stuck the knife in the slab of meat. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He won’t be coming.”
Her heart began to race. “What do you mean?”
“Yes, he is gone,” he said.
“Gone? What are you talking about?” Her voice was unsteady.
He pointed to her stomach. “You drank him.”
Her eyes widened as she became nauseous, and she immediately vomited.
The chef’s bulky body moved toward her. “His blood was indeed delicious, wasn’t it?”
What was happening? She looked at his hands as he approached and noticed for the first time that his nails were like glass needles.
She ducked just in time as he clawed at her with his nails. Her mind was in disarray, but she managed to push him aside as she made an escape from the kitchen. She was almost out of the cafe when a strange feeling overcame her. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She tried to step forward but instead took a step backward.
“Throwing up my meal is an offense to a chef like me,” he said.
She tried to move forward, but again the reverse action occurred pulling her backward. The chef now stepped in front of her and licked his lips. She tried to strike at him, but her body was unresponsive. Confusion and fear filled her heart. He glided his glass nail down her cheek.
“Pretty,” he said.
She opened her eyes in shock as her last breath was taken and then collapsed to the floor.
He wiped his nails on his chef’s apron and then took out his phone to send a message.
“Targets eliminated.”
The response was fast.
“Thank you for your contribution. Your next task follows this message.”
His phone vibrated.
“The Blades will come together in council. You are required to attend. If you ignore, you shall be punished. I look forward to meeting with you again, Abbas. Please prepare a special meal. Regards, Viktor.”
Abbas disposed of the body and then stepped outside for some fresh air. Laughter and joy remained in the energetic streets of Paris.
“Ten years since we’ve been together. This will be a real feast,” said Abbas.
****
An ancient monastery stood alone on the edge of a white cliff with towers protruding into the clouds like needles. The sound of ringing bells echoed across the sky as a dark fog began to seep into the mountain terrain. From the entrance of the monastery, a long stone bridge connected to another mountaintop. The mountains had guarded the monastery for hundreds of years, and even though he had lived here before, he was always amazed by the unnatural order of the landscape. It was strange to come back here again. How long had it been? He could hardly remember it was so long ago.
He walked along the bridge toward the monastery with purpose, but the bells which rang across the valley spoke to him of a time once forgotten. Dressed only from the bottom down, he wore red silk trousers with two silver guns attached to his side. His feet and hands were both wrapped in nothing but white linen. His body bore hundreds of small cuts and scars, and strapped to his back were two white katanas crossing over each other like brothers.
The dark fog had now reached him, and his vision blurred underneath his golden sunglasses. A deep chill accompanied the fog, touching his shaven head, and he knew he had almost arrived.
Every step toward the monastery was a difficult one, but he knew what he had to do. He stopped at the high archway and placed his palms on the iron gates. With his touch, the gates vanished. He proceeded through and entered into an open courtyard filled with greenery and marble. A small pond with a statue of a robed figure lay at the center. Up above, dozens of archways overshadowed him, and the sound of the bells was breaking through each cloister.
The bells stopped. There was no one in sight except for him, or so they would have him believe; it was eerily silent.
“So, you ha
ve returned.”
He recognized the voice. It gave him both joy and sadness.
An elderly man dressed in a black robe revealed himself from the archway above.
He looked up. “Malion.”
“How long has it been, my friend?” asked Malion.
He bowed to the old man, revealing the hundreds of scars he also bore on his back. “It has been too long,” he said with a hint of sorrow.
“Why the sadness in your voice? This should be the great day of our reunion—student and teacher once again together,” said Malion.
He looked at his former teacher, who had been like a father to him, and wished that his arrival had meant better tidings. “You mistake my intent.”
Malion stepped back into the shadows of the archway. “What do you mean, my child?
He sensed Malion in the darkness and withdrew his two silver guns from his sides. “This is not a reunion but a death sentence.” He aimed toward the archways above.
“Why?” asked Malion with a tone of sadness.
Malion was family, perhaps the only family he ever had. “Duty. I merely serve.” He fired into the archway, following the sound of his teacher’s footsteps.
“Is duty stronger than the bond between teacher and student? Stronger than friendship?” Malion quickly moved within the archways evading the gunfire.
“Duty is all I have in this forsaken world.” He continued to fire into the cloisters trying to track his teacher’s voice.
“If that is your answer, then I fear for your soul,” said Malion.
From out of the shadows of the archways, dozens of brown-robed monks appeared. Without warning, the monks fired balls of energy down upon the courtyard.
He would carry out his duty no matter what. He was unfazed as he became ethereal, moving from location to location avoiding the energy blasts.
“You have grown much since we last met,” said Malion.
His teacher had guided him many years ago, but who he was now was an entirely different person.
Rise of the Young: Warriors are not made; they are forged (The Ascended Book 2) Page 1
