“Yes, Brennan. It’s me.” The other two knights were strangers to her, as was the woman. Though, Crystal could tell straight away that she wasn’t an Arcane Knight.
A high-ranking Surangi murderer. So, they aren’t as righteous as they claim to be. Resolute and unforgiving, Crystal’s title meant nothing to Tairrie. “Brennan, take her into custody.”
Hesitant to act, Brennan stood motionless. Randall and Weasley exchanged troubled glances.
“I’m sorry, friend.” Crystal didn’t like the look in the woman’s eyes. Arrogant confidence. “You won’t be taking me into custody. Firstly, you don’t have authority over me -”
“I’m afraid I do. Master Greyson -”
“Master Greyson is below me in rank. Whatever orders he gave you, I’m nullifying them. It’s my prerogative, as a General.”
“The second you killed those guards and broke the law, you lost all privileges of rank. You are nothing now. Only a criminal. You’re the one who has no authority.” The moral high ground was in Tairrie’s corner. “Take her into custody, gentlemen.”
Randall stepped forwards. “Sorry, General. But Tairrie’s right. You’ve broken the law. We have to take you into custody.”
“Stand down.” Crystal planted her feet. Straightened her back.
“Come on, take it easy, Crystal.” Brennan said with a faint, casual smile. Considering Crystal’s reputation, the last thing he wanted was for the situation to get out of hand. “It’s not a big deal. You just have to come to the outpost with us and explain to Greyson what happened. I’m sure everything will be fine. We don’t have to restrain you, either. You can ride with us.”
‘Everything will be fine.’ Tairrie snorted. Leniency for a criminal due to her rank. Typical imperial bullshit.
“Restrain me?” A laughable notion. “The four of you couldn’t restrain me if you tried.”
Tairrie accepted the challenge. Oft, the hubristic needed to be taught humility. “It’s clear the General has no intentions of surrendering. Put her in chains.”
Randall seized her arm. Crystal pushed him away. Weasley’s attempts to subdue her were met with resistance. The knights combined their efforts. There was grappling. Shoving. Punches were thrown. The violence quickly escalated. Wounding blows. Bloody faces. With her superior skills, Crystal dominated the three knights.
Launching herself into the fight, Tairrie’s clash with Crystal was brutal. Their exchanges were savage. The pairs combat prowess and artistry, next level. As their bout intensified, connected blows sounded like planets colliding.
Nursing painful wounds, the two women fought on regardless. Desiring victory, fierce determination emanated from the pair.
Heart pounding. Muscles spent. Randall allowed himself a brief pause to catch his breath and recuperate. He wiped his forehead and glanced at his hand, red. It was not sweat upon his face, it was blood. Crystal was beyond his ability to defeat. Weasley and Brennan were at their limit. Tairrie fought well, but Randall could tell Crystal was holding back. ‘The bitch is toying with us.’ Unsheathing his sword, Randall signalled for his comrades to combine their efforts with renewed force.
Absorbed in her battle with Tairrie, Crystal’s unconscious warrior’s instinct drew her dagger to parry Randall’s incoming strike. Outraged by the sudden, deadly attack, she knocked him to the ground. Swords upped the ante. The brawl was officially over. Tairrie, furious with the knights for resorting to blades without her consent, rushed to fetch her moon glaive. Weasley and Brennan advanced. Utilising evasive manoeuvres, Crystal avoided their blades, manipulating the pairs direction so as to recover Belos’ka. With hammer in hand, Crystal ceased to evade. In a display of contempt for her weaker kinsman, Crystal palmed off their attacks and took their lives with utter disregard. Desperately, Randall scrambled. Without mercy, Crystal crushed his skull as he attempted to crawl away.
A callous act. It was difficult for Tairrie to fathom Crystal’s disdain. Those men were Arcane Knights, her brothers in arms and she slaughtered them like vermin. A woman with such disregard for life deserved no clemency. It was time for payback. Igniting her moon glaive with cosmic energy, Tairrie began her assault.
No longer was Crystal the dominate force. Constantly, she bore the brunt of Tairrie’s powerful magical attacks. Devastating and incessant, Tairrie’s mastery of her spell craft granted her supremacy over her opponent. Having no defence against the mage, Crystal’s wounds mounted and as they did, much to Tairrie’s horror, Crystal’s strength surged. Her injuries awoke the dormant rage within. The berserker unleashed.
The ground trembled as Crystal’s missed strikes spawned deep craters. Belos’ka tearing up the landscape. Tairrie’s magic had destroyed golems, tore apart gargoyles and vanquished demons yet against Crystal, it only fuelled her anger and power. Desperation set in. It was time to cast aside conventional magic and unbridle the final tier.
A sphere of a million, tiny glowing stars engulfed Tairrie. A barrier to which Belos’ka could not penetrate, no matter how fiercely Crystal pounded upon it.
“It’s time for you to die, wretch.” Tairrie raised her hands to the sky, conjuring the ultimate force of destruction, Starfall.
The heavens exploded. The sky alive with dazzling fire as a blazing star broke into the atmosphere. It plummeted towards them with incredible speed. For hundreds of miles around, people looked to the sky in fear and amazement. Crystal cowered. The impact was deafening. Shockwaves shook the land. Safe within her sphere, Tairrie waited for the dust to settle.
Walking across the scorched ground, Tairrie found no trace of Crystal’s corpse. “She must have been completely obliterated.”
There came the sound of footfalls in the dirt. The blunt force of Crystal’s strike sent Tairrie reeling. Her vision turned white. Body warped in agony, she lay in crippling torture. Crystal raised Belos’ka. ‘No. This isn’t right. She should be dead. Starfall should have torn her apart.’ Tairrie, not ready for death’s embrace, conjured the star sphere. Broken and bleeding, Tairrie watched on fearfully as the warhammer smashed down upon her shield, mere inches from her face, wondering how long she had the energy to maintain the spell.
“She bleeds! She cries!” The phantom rejoiced at the sight of Tairrie’s defeat. “We are here! We are here to see her glorious death!”
The warring pair, surrounded by utter devastation, a sight to behold. Zoe gasped. Kasbin’s vision was true. Tairrie’s end, imminent. A familiar scent upon the air. Sweet, full of fire. Zoe tried to place it, but couldn’t. Never mind that, Tairrie needed saving!
“Raphelon. Angel of the Third Chain. Guardian of the Blessed Realm, lend me your blade… please, brother.”
A window of holy light appeared beside Zoe. Casting aside her spectral form, she embraced her true body, angelic, virtuous. Reaching into the light, she retrieved Arcellos, Sword of Divinity.
The phantom raged. Fury born from the betrayal. Reaching to tear Zoe apart, the foul spectre was cut down by the divine blade releasing a stream of radiant colours as the evil was banished from this world.
Blood flowed across Crystal’s armour. Hammering furiously, she sought to penetrate Tairrie’s defences. With her mind focused on the utter destruction of her enemy, Crystal failed to notice Zoe’s approach. Stepping behind her, Zoe pierced Arcellos through Crystal’s chest.
“Sorry for this,” she said. A rush of divine energy exploded from the sword, tearing apart Crystal’s chest and sending her sprawling several meters to land in a contorted, bloody heap.
Tairrie’s shield dissipated. Her ordeal over. A tear of gratitude ran down her cheek. Zoe embraced her. Tairrie, weak and frail, had not the strength to stand.
Refusing to accept defeat, Crystal clawed at the ground as she reached for Belos’ka. Blood gushed from her chest. Berserk rage dominating the pain. Probing fingers grasped the hammer’s shaft. Growling, Crystal leant against Belos’ka as she forced herself to rise. With trembling legs, Crystal stood.
Horrifi
ed to see her adversary arisen, Tairrie grabbed tightly onto Zoe’s arm. “Finish Crystal, Zoe!” Urgency upon her. “You must!” With the last of her energy spent, Tairrie fell unconscious.
“Crystal?” Zoe stared at the bleeding warrior, amazed the woman had gotten back to her feet after taking such a devastating attack. Arcellos was covered in Crystal’s blood. Zoe’s senses soared. The fire was intoxicating. Phoenix essence. Zoe remembered her ravenous craving for Akella’s blood. The sweetness of it flowing across her tongue.
Taking a step forward, Crystal was determined to obtain victory. A Terrifos would not suffer defeat at the hands of mortals. ‘Filthy humans.’ Gripping Belos’ka, Crystal’s first step was solid, firm. The second, shaky. She collapsed. Rage alone unable to sustain a body afflicted with such grievous injuries.
“You,” Zoe stood over her. “You’re Crystal Terrifos.”
Chapter 18
Lonely winds blew dust through the vacant halls of Karafess Temple. Leaves and debris littered the mud pools. Spiders weaved webs under archways, waiting patiently for the arrival of their unsuspecting victims.
In the Hall of Penance, the blood stain of a murdered woman became saturated with an unholy aura. Eerie mist loomed across the floor. Slowly rising, the mist filled the entirety of the building. Light from the full moon pierced windows, cutting through shadows. A shrill voice cried out. The blood darkened. A void formed and from it, swirling mist took the shape of a naked woman.
Her movements were awkward, jolted, as though she was attempting to stand for the first time. Matearla looked at her hands. They were different than she remembered. Fingers long and clawed. She touched her face. Skin smooth. Features sharp. Small horns above her brow. Her hair was darker, longer and flowed around her waist.
“What’s happened to me?” Stumbling forwards, Matearla braced herself against a wall.
The world was changed. Her vision askew, Matearla saw worlds beyond worlds, alternate dimensions and planes of existence. Otherworldly figures traversed the hall, oblivious of Matearla’s presence. Furniture and objects were shrouded in auras. Insects glowed with life. Her senses, inundated by everything happening within her surroundings. Unable to process the flood of information, Matearla collapsed against a wall. Clinging to the stonework, she breathed deeply to calm herself. The wall became translucent. Matearla’s hand passed through it. She leaned away, then curiously probed the stone. It was solid again.
‘Curious.’ Focusing on the wall, Matearla found she was able to alter her perception and as she did, she began to realise the wall was changing because she was travelling between different realms. With concentration, Matearla stabilised her surroundings, effectively tuning into each plane of existence allowed her solidified reality. The overwhelming enormity of information now made sense.
“How did I gain such a power?” Standing, Matearla brushed herself off and admired her new physique. “Not bad at all.”
“You adapt quickly.”
A familiar voice from above. ‘Could it be him?’ “Athelion?”
“I have granted your resurrection, Matearla. You are now dead, eternally.”
“Dead?” Matearla stirred. “Eternally?”
“Yes.”
‘No. He wouldn’t do this to me.’ Granted resurrection as an undead, Matearla felt betrayed. “You, you have turned me into a wraith?”
“A vessel for me to command as I please.”
In life, Matearla herself had summoned wraiths to do her bidding. A lowly species of phantom, wraiths are weak. Easily subjugated. Easily destroyed. Her ability to pass through walls now made sense. The strength possessed within this new body was nothing compared to her former power as a supreme witch. After deciding to relocate to Lake Coloth and committing herself to the path of study and ascension, the cruel hand of fate seized her, ending her journey before it had even begun and dragging her down to this inexorable, inferior state of existence.
Quelled of passion, Matearla offered no resistance or dispute. Athelion, after all, held ownership of her soul. Seeking greater powers during her youthful years of naivety, she offered it gladly to the sinister deity, heedless to the damning consequences of her decision.
Regret, a useless emotion. The past cannot be undone. If nothing else, Matearla was glad to have cheated death. “Then command me, Master. I am yours.” She bowed.
“By means of his actions, Vodeska the Jidarr of Mossrine has invited destruction upon himself. You, Matearla, are to be my reaper. Slay Eliesaar, guardian of Chesfell Crossing. Enter the ruins. Vodeska, enlighten him to the true meaning of suffering.”
Slaughter a Jidarr occultist? In her current state, Matearla thought the task impossible. “But Master, as a wraith, I do not possess the power to defeat a Jidarr.”
“Once he is dead, you must search the ravine for a woman, Yasha. Lead her to safety.”
Swirling mist formed a portal in front of Matearla.
“Go now, Matearla. I will not accept failure.”
‘Why does he believe me capable of this task? Or, perhaps this is the true cruelty of my fate. To be weak and suffer humility at the hands of those I once killed in jest or boredom. I am nothing, now. A wraith. A slave.’
“As you command, Master.” Defeated. Her head bowed. Matearla stepped into the portal.
Broken, tortured, the barren landscape uninviting and desolate. Beyond the crumbling stone and decaying trees Matearla beheld Mossrine standing upon its mangled throne. The Chesfell Ravine divided the land before her. Athelion’s portal placed Matearla at the onset of her trial.
Blackened and burnt, melted rocks littered a wide area laid waste by devastating fire. Scorched bones of men and beasts lay sprawled around the remains of a charred wagon. Unnatural residual energy lingered. Crouching, Matearla examined curious fragments amongst the debris.
Eliesaar’s primal roar shook the ground. Swooping from above, the hideous dragon perched itself upon a stone column on the bridge. Gore dripped from the zombie drake’s rotting flesh. Matearla felt her chest vibrate in rhythm with the beast’s growling breaths as it sat with its head held high, wings tucked close to its mammoth body.
‘The bridge guardian is a dragon?’ Dread consumed her. ‘Athelion does want me to suffer, after all.’
Grabbing nearby columns with its clawed wings, Eliesaar Lurched forward, bathing Matearla in a torrent of fire. Avoiding death, Matearla entered the ethereal plane. Flames surrounded her. Bellowing a harsh, triumphant roar, Eliesaar returned to his perch.
Reaching within, Matearla found no trace of the innate essence of her natural magic. The intense, strengthening flow of Athelion’s blessing was also absent. Unable to harness her magical abilities, she stewed in bitter resentment.
Athelion’s laughter echoed from the depths of oblivion.
‘You bastard!’ Matearla clenched her fist. ‘You made me weak! You made me nothing!’ Frustrated, she turned her gaze upwards, anger swelling. Stars sparkled in the night sky. The vast cosmos stretched for eternity. Moons glowed. Far off planets lingered at the edge of perception. As Matearla stared into the vastness of space, something stirred within her. It started slow. A flame consuming a match. The sensation grew fierce. Euphoria spread throughout the entirety of her being. Bliss. Agony. An awakening of self.
Appearing from nowhere, threads of clothing wrapped themselves around her naked skin. Dark. Gothic. A lustful outfit of wicked intent. Sparks of lightening danced upon Matearla as celestial currents surged through her. With the energy of the cosmos at her disposal, Matearla realised she was no mere wraith, by Athelion’s hand, her connection to natural magic had been destroyed, allowing Matearla’s spirit to be reforged into a Celstoren.
Governed by celestial events, her powers would wax and wane in alignment with planetary movements. During certain cosmological phases, Celstoren’s possessed omnipotent powers equal to that of gods while during other phases, they cannot harness magic and during these times must remain in the ethereal plane less they be
destroyed by their enemies.
Sensing an overwhelming, infinite current of energy flowing through her, Matearla’s confidence surged. Strutting forwards, she stepped onto the Chesfell Crossing. Infuriated by the trespass, Eliesaar bathed the intruder in hellish fire once more. Fierce and devastating, the scorching flames engulfed Matearla. Her skin blistered, melted and as fast as it was damaged knitted itself back together. Impervious to the flames, her clothing remained unscathed. Hair unsinged. Laughing, Matearla revelled in her invincibility.
Blinding light flashed across the landscape. Eliesaar’s mournful cry of dread echoed throughout the ravine as he fell, wounded and bleeding from the bridge.
“Not so fast,” Matearla reached out with her magics, caught the falling Eliesaar and violently dumped the paralysed dragon at her feet. The impact made the ground tremble. Loose rocks tumbled into the depths of the ravine.
Such anger escaped the dragon’s eyes as Matearla ran her hand across the scaled bridge of his nose. Blood seeped from his mouth. Moments from death, Eliesaar possessed not the strength to move.
Clawing from their shallow graves, a force of skeletal warriors emerged to defend their fallen champion. Rusted weapons. Broken helms. Death lingered in their presence.
Standing at eye level, Matearla stared into the fading yellow of Eliesaar’s pupil. “Windows to the soul, so they say.” Matearla’s hand radiated with an unholy aura as she plunged her arm, fist first, through Eliesaar’s eye and into his skull.
Intrusive. A violation of honour, Matearla seized the dragon’s soul. Eliesaar’s body convulsed as his spine collapsed at the will of Matearla’s desire. From the destroyed eye socket Matearla drew forth into the world an ungodly, horrific weapon. Felblaze, Whip of Defilement. Forged of dragon bone and infused with Eliesaar’s soul, blue flames spawned from the whip as Matearla cracked it.
Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2) Page 19
