Against the Beast (Terraunum Origins, #1)

by R. J. Batla

  Another lava blast and it closed in again, raining blows down as fast as it could, Royn barely blocking, giving ground. Then he tripped. A root made the Ranger fall flat on his back, leaving him vulnerable! He tried to teleport, but he couldn’t move. No flash of blue, no void, nothing! I’m trapped!

  The Skeptor said, “Not this time, slippery snake. No more blue flashes.” It pressed one blade toward his neck; Royn pulled a knife from his belt, catching the Skeptor’s sword in the cross of his own sword and knife. But it wouldn’t hold. The Skeptor was too strong, and they both knew it. It...smiled... “You see, Ranger, you humans are too frail, too puny, too weak to even think of standing against us. This wound will not kill you, only bleed you enough to make you weak. Then you will know what true pain really is!”

  The sword got another inch closer to his neck, Royn straining with all his might to keep it back, and the creature barely exerting effort to slowly move the razor-sharp tip of the bone toward his neck. “You won’t stop us this time, Ranger. First, the West Side will know our fury. Then that pitiful defense you call the Breaks. Then the whole East Side will be at our mercy. Everyone you’ve ever known, everyone you’ve ever cared about, everyone you’ve ever seen will bow before us, do our bidding, or die like the vermin they are.”

  The bone sword moved another inch. Then another. Royn couldn’t hold it any longer; his arms were giving out, his sword slick with some kind of secretion from the Skeptor. If he could only penetrate that armor. The creature was inches away from the tip of his...sword...

  “You’re wrong, beast. You’ll never see another day. You’ll die like your companion. And you’ll be thwarted by a weak...human...” The blade slid another inch, cutting into his neck slightly.

  “Never!”

  “Mimic!” Royn screamed, letting go of his knife and rotating as fast as he could. Blood burst from his neck where the bone blade found its mark, flowing too fast. Royn clamped his left hand over it, pressed as hard as he could to try and stop the bleeding as he took some ragged breaths.

  But so did the Skeptor. In complete shook, the creature looked at the Ranger—Royn’s extended right arm and sword had turned into the same bone of the Skeptor’s. The one thing that could penetrate their defenses. The one thing that could kill them. He smiled despite himself, the smell of iron mixing with sweat filling his nose. Using his new Mimic Power, his plan worked – turning his own sword and flesh into that of his enemy, then stabbing him with it.

  “Impossible,” the Skeptor said, coughed several times, bringing up a black substance that had to be blood. Dropping to its knees, it breathed its last then collapsed to the ground next to Royn with a loud hiss.

  The thing was dead. It couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. He’d killed two Skeptors, something no one had done before. But it didn’t matter to Royn—there was too much blood pouring from his neck. He wouldn’t make it, wouldn’t live to tell the tale. But that was OK. What was important was that he’d stopped the attack. Stopped the loss of innocent life.

  That’s what drove him to join the Rangers in the first place. Protect those who couldn’t do it themselves.

  He smiled to himself as the world faded to black amid the shouts of men and the screams of monsters.

  Chapter 10

  Royn woke up in the same damn healing house he was in before.

  But this time the chair was occupied.

  “I’m sure you have a headache,” the man said. Where did Royn know that voice? His vision swam before him, clearing ever slowly as the man spoke. “A rather rambunctious lady told me to tell you that you weren’t supposed to take all three that close together. That you’re lucky it didn’t kill you. I assume you know what she’s talking about. Oh, and she said thanks too.”

  Blinking one more time, Royn’s vision finally cleared and found himself looking into the face of Ames Talco. General Ames Talco, the leader of the combined Army, Senturian Corps, and Rangers, arguably one of the most powerful Senturians alive.

  “Sir!” Royn said, sitting up and trying to salute but only managing to smack himself in the head with the cast on his right arm and falling back down on the bed. Apparently turning your arm into that of a Skeptor severely hurts your bone structure.

  General Talco laughed. “At ease, private. Though you won’t be private for very long. A field promotion is coming, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Tha-thank you, sir!” Royn said. Incredible. The head honcho of the armed forces is here. Talking to me. Thousands of miles from the East side. It must have taken an insane amount of resources to get him here. “Um...if you don’t mind me asking, how am I alive?”

  “Those healers you befriended arrived just in time to see you kill the second Skeptor. Their warriors fought off the monsters that came out of the woodwork when it died, defeated them, and managed to bring you back here. A young sergeant had managed to warn us, so we’d sent reinforcements and they arrived a couple days later. Luckily there was an Elf with them, and she managed to get you set on the path to healing. Took a fair amount of doing, if I do say so myself. After being under the care of the Elves, you’ve since awoken, and here we are.”

  “But why? Why did the villagers come to help me? I thought they hated all Easterners?”

  “You must have done something right. You’ve inspired them. Gave them courage. Made them open up their hospitality to you. Impressive, to say the least.”

  Royn tried to move quickly again, but a bolt of pain sent him crashing back down. “Sir, the Skeptors, they were making these stones, using them to power up the orcs...”

  “We know, private, we know. We’ve already been to their cave—the villagers told us where they’d found you.”

  “How many did you recover?”

  “About ninety.”

  Royn’s eyebrows shot up. “When I was in the cave there were at least five hundred.”

  Ames rubbed his chin. “Then it seems someone managed to collect them before we arrived. I have a feeling we will be seeing these stones again.”

  “Sir, what will happen to the people in the stones?

  “What do you mean, private?”

  “Well, sir, when touched one I got a flash of memories from someone’s life. Almost like their soul was trapped inside. It was their life energy for sure, but was it their soul? Are they stuck there for eternity?”

  Ames shook his head. “No. It isn’t their souls, just an imprint of what their lives were, attached to the energy associated with this world. Nothing can steal your soul—it isn’t something you have, it’s what you are. Your soul either goes to heaven or hell, depending on where you place your faith.”

  “Well that makes me feel better,” Royn sighed. Then a thought struck him. “But, sir, why are you here? Surely you’ve got better things to do than check on an injured Ranger private on the other side of the world?”

  He grinned. “When I heard that one of our Rangers had killed two Skeptors, I had to see him for myself. And shake his hand.” Ames reached out, and Royn shook it awkwardly with his left hand, as his right was in the cast. “Good job, Ranger.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ve been looking for Senturians like you.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m in need of a select group of individuals with special talents to carry out missions of the top secret variety. And I think you’d be a great addition to the group. What do you say?”

  Royn was astounded. “T-thank you, sir! You bet I’m in.”

  The general smiled. “Then I have one more question for you: how do you feel about scrutiny and the adoration of strangers?”

  Royn cocked his head. “What do you mean, sir?”

  Ames let out a loud laugh. “My friend, you’re the only one to ever kill a Skeptor. Ever. Not one, but you got two! You’re going to be famous.”

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  Other Books by R.J. Batla

  FIRE EYES AWAKENED: The Senturians of Terraunum Book 1

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  Smalltown hero gets his new powers and they almost kill him for it. Then they ask him to save them all. Figures. Can Jayton survive the journey?

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  TEMPUS: THE TERRAUNUM Origins Series Book 2

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  A vanishing ship and an invisible adversary lurking below the surface sends new captain Celeste Dumas and the crew of the Ajax into uncharted waters fraught with danger as they uncover a much more sinister plot.

  Pirates, action, and amazing powers combine in the second novel in the Terraunum Origins Series, chronicling characters from Fire Eyes Awakened.

  Preview of Fire Eyes Awakened

  Chapter 1

  “Cobra Seven to Base, over,” the big operative whispered into his mic, mouth barely moving. It’d taken three weeks to get this close. Three weeks of gathering intelligence, crawling through thorns, and hiking up mountains to get into this position. His platoon mates had paid dearly to get him here, where he could confirm the rumors. Sweat soaked through his shirt and ran down his forehead, dripping down into his eyes, but he couldn’t dare move – too many eyes, too many watchers...

  “Go ahead, Cobra Seven.”

  “I’m in position. Conformation pending, over.”

  “Affirmative, Cobra Seven, awaiting report.”

  A door burst open from the side of the rocky outcropping he’d been watching, spilling firelight into the darkness for only a second before the stone doors slammed shut again, dropping the world back to the night. “Standby,” Cobra Seven said, straining his eyes till they hurt. Was this him? Was this the... the....

  A hooded figure turned, and Cobra Seven caught that unmistakable profile – hawk nose with a chunk missing on the bridge. Malstrak. The one who killed thousands. The one who scarred the wall. Speaking to someone unseen, Malstrak said, “The lords have conferred, they agree with the terms of the plan. It’s time to implement the next step.”

  Cobra Seven reached down and keyed his mic. “Confirmed. Repeat: confirmed. I have visual on...” The figure snapped his head in his direction – damnit! No way he’d been heard; no way he’d been seen! What Power had he used? “Cover blown, cover blown!” he yelled, turning and running, legs burning with effort. Dodging trees, he ran with all his might. Suddenly fire struck him in the back like a fist, sending him sprawling, the jagged rocks slicing his hands and face as he slid to a stop against a boulder.

  Rocks shuffled behind him, and he pulled his bloodied head up from the rubble. A figure stalked toward him – a black mass of swirling, whispering death in one hand and a ball of blue fire blazing in the other.

  “Repeat: confirmed, confirmed, con–”

  The night erupted in a fire so hot the boulder melted into a pool. No scream was heard, only the sound of the hot, bubbling stone and the roar of the fire. The cloaked figure lowered his hand, killing the flame. The Ranger’s body was no more, melding with the stone or blown away in the slight breeze. Too bad the Ranger got his report out, but no matter. The Easterners would find out soon enough anyway. And even when they did, their fate was already sealed.

  He strolled back to the mountain, the door sliding open at his approach.

  An aging ogre bent low, he said, “Master, one of your spies has contacted you.”

  Malstrak nodded, stepping past the foul-smelling creature to pick up the telestone just inside the doorway. “Yes?”

  “Sir, the Northern Awakening came back negative,” the voice on the other line said.

  “Understood. It must be the Southern then. Get there and report back,” Malstrak said.

  “Sir!” and the line went dead.

  Smoothing his black robes, Malstrak walked back into the cool night, the door slamming behind him. Stopping to take a breath, he gathered his thoughts. His intelligence said a Senturian of great power was to be Awakened. And he fully intended for that Senturian to aid him is his plans. Whether they wanted to or not.

  Turning, cloak whispering on the rocks, he strolled away, and in his wake, large shadows detached themselves from the dark to follow him into the night. There was an invasion to plan.

  Chapter 2

  “Excuse me! Pardon me! Coming through!” I said, weaving my way through the crowded Portland Train Station. Come on, move! My train leaves in ten minutes! I’d taken too long closing out my jobs this morning, too long pulling money from the bank, and too long getting here. “Excuse me!” Hustling as fast as I could, my green duffle bag flapped behind me, carrying the few clothes I owned.

  “Watch out, young man!” an older lady said as I scrambled by, scattering her groceries all over the concrete and sending her sprawling.

  “Sorry, ma’am!” I said, turning to go. I got three steps. “Ahhh!” I turned around, helping her gather her stuff. “I’m really sorry, ma’am, but I’ve really got to run.” I handed her the last ear of corn, and took off again as fast as I could.

  “Thank you, sir!” she called after me.

  The large clock in the station chimed once – five till eight. Crap! Taking my spot in line, I tapped my foot. The ticket taker punched each ticket with turtle-like quickness, the clock ticking by as I waited. And waited. The guy in front of me read his paper with the headline, “Terraunum: How Earth Changed Its Name Two Thousand Years Ago.” Must have been a history piece. Much like I would be if I didn’t get moving.

  The line to my left was moving much faster; the Earth Senturians who operated the train were checking in to do their jobs, dressed in light brown coveralls. One of them must have been new, as his coworker said, “Don’t be nervous! Just use your powers to magnetize the right rails at the right time to keep the train moving and you’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He waved his hand. “No worries. Just make sure you stop the train before we run into anything.”

  Two ahead of me. One minute left. One person left. Thirty seconds – my turn.

  I handed the guy my ticket and ID. “Let’s see. Jayton Baird, six foot, green eyes, brown hair. Here you go, sir,” he said, punching my ticket, “but you’d better hurry! The train doesn’t wait for anyone.”

  “Thanks!” I said, bolting past him toward the only train on the tracks.

  The announcer said, “Last call for the eight o’clock to Bayou Vista. Last call for the eight o’clock to Bayou Vista!”

  Crap!

  They started closing the doors!

  “Wait, wait, wait!” I screamed, but they didn’t hear me, and the doors didn’t stop. Oh no! Pumping my strained legs faster, with a burst of speed, I hit the end of the boardwalk and jumped across the now gangway-less gap, crashing on the floor of the car as the doors slammed shut behind me.

  A skinny train officer gave me an odd look as the car lurched forward, the engine beginning its work. “I suppose you have a ticket?”

  “Yes, sir,” I managed to huff out, handing it to him.

  He verified that it was legitimate, and as the train lurched into motion, asked me to, in his words, “Please use the showers before you sit down. The other passengers would not appreciate the smell of hog manure quite as much as I do.”

  Well yeah, if you’re f
eeding several hundred pigs, you’re gonna smell. Just one of my several jobs to pay for this whole thing. It was the middle of March, but we’d had an unusually hot spring so far in Portland. I took a deep breath. I’m on my way. I did it. I’m going to get my powers Awakened. I’m going to be a Senturian. The Southern Awakening in Bayou Vista, then on to Harlingon for my training. Assuming it all goes right.

  After my Manure Smell Removal Operation, I checked my ticket and found my aisle seat in the coach section, among the rows and rows of others. Coach was in the middle of the train, with the nicer compartmentalized cars in the back. Settling in, I watched the Tasche Mountains out the left window slowly ease by as we followed the Paluxy River to Bayou Vista, the site of the Southern Awakening. This was the second of the two Awakenings, where normal people had the powers inside them unlocked.

  Closing my eyes only a second, I heard, “Jayton, you made it! We couldn’t find you, and we were afraid you’d missed it.”

  It was Gilmer Borger. He reached down and shook my hand. The Mayor’s son, he was a born politician. His long blond hair was slicked back in his usual style, with his pressed suit and tie putting my nicest red polo shirt and khakis to shame. He was slightly shorter than my six feet, so as I stood, I could see over his head to the other two guys with him. With a grand gesture, he said, “I believe you have met my colleagues, Gordon Moody and Joshua Omaha?”

  Gordon was a big dude, almost seven feet, and he made my two-hundred-pounds look even smaller as I shook his hand. “Cutting it close, eh, Jayton? How goes it?”

  “I’m on the train, so I’m great now. How are you, Joshua?”

  “Good, good. Jayton, what are you doing over here?” Joshua said.

  “Well, uh, this was the best ticket I could get and still pay for the Awakening.”