by Ben Hale
Descent Unto Dark
By Ben Hale
Text Copyright © 2013 Ben Hale
All Rights Reserved
To my family and friends,
who believed
And to my wife,
who is perfect
Table of Contents
Prologue: Magic Unbound
Chapter 1: Recon
Chapter 2: The Inside Man
Chapter 3: Rook
Chapter 4: Ultimatum
Chapter 5: Echoes from the Past
Chapter 6: Summoned
Chapter 7: Face to Face
Chapter 8: Withdrawal
Chapter 9: The Weight of Blame
Chapter 10: The Cancerian Curse
Chapter 11: From the Shadows
Chapter 12: Gathering the Guild
Chapter 13: Emissary
Chapter 14: The Hall of Severity
Chapter 15: Terminated
Chapter 16: Council of One
Chapter 17: Enraged
Chapter 18: Entities of the Dark
Chapter 19: Derek's Plan
Chapter 20: Fighting Fears
Chapter 21: Extraction
Chapter 22: Leaf
Chapter 23: Mother
Chapter 24: Siarra's Refuge
Chapter 25: Taken
Chapter 26: Punished
Chapter 27: A Library's Secrets
Chapter 28: Unlocked
Chapter 29: Kulldye Dreg
Chapter 30: Expansion
Chapter: 31 The Face Within
Chapter 32: The Order of White
Chapter 33: A Rising Army
Chapter 34: Unwelcome Guests
Chapter 35: The Master Contract
Chapter 36: The Darkest Prison
Chapter 37: Solitary
Chapter 38: The Horrending Dagger
Chapter 39: Farsight
Chapter 40: The Horrending Hex
Chapter 41: Thastin's Secret
Chapter 42: Defiance
Chapter 43: Confession
Chapter 44: Descent Unto Dark
Chapter 45: Broken
Chapter 46: A Daughter Grown
Chapter 47: A Friend Returned
Chapter 48: Mimicry
Chapter 49: Impact of the Fallen
The Chronicles of Lumineia
Author Bio
Prologue: Magic Unbound
The sound of the television barely reached the last cell on the block, yet it was an amenity other inmates had killed for. From a guard station around the corner, the newscaster's voice wafted through the triple steel doors that led to Robar's cell. He listened to the Russian woman as he exercised on the floor.
The reported events meant nothing to him, but it was like water to a man dying of thirst. Anything that broke up the monotony of life here was welcome. Regarded as one of the strongest prisons on Earth, the Black Dolphin held the dregs of mankind. Killers, terrorists, and even cannibals resided within, and not one soul had ever escaped. Over thirty-five hundred people had been killed by the seven hundred inmates.
Robar himself had contributed a significant number to that total, but most of his victims had been other inmates. Pedophiles, rapists, and other killers had all earned marks on his left forearm, where a few dozen jagged lines displayed his tally. Gracing his right shoulder, another tattoo identified him as a former US Navy SEAL.
He considered himself fortunate that the guards had moved him to the end cell. Snapping the neck of a Russian mob enforcer had been his intention. Saving a guard's life was a bonus that he hadn't planned on.
In other prisons Robar might have been concerned about making friends among the guards—or alienating the other inmates. He doubted it would cause much additional conflict here. Without an exercise yard or cafeteria, there were zero chances for inmates to mingle. Even with the restrictions, Robar watched his back. Per capita, the Black Dolphin had more murders than any other Russian prison.
His cellmate moved, and Robar's eyes flicked to him. Vladimir Ruskin looked away, and Robar inwardly sighed. The intent in his brief gaze confirmed what Robar had suspected for a week. Vladimir had been contracted to kill him, probably in an attempt for another inmate to gain the end cell.
His attention on his cellmate, Robar didn't stop using the walls and floor to work out. Throughout the day they weren't allowed to lay down on their bunks or even sit on them, so he used the tiny cell to keep in shape. He only paused when the news program changed tone.
After twelve years in the Black Dolphin he knew the sound of panic in a voice. Upon hearing it from the TV he rose to his feet and glided to the door. Even with the proximity he had to strain his ears to make out the words. The fear in the woman's voice was evident as she detailed the breaking news. Then it cut to a clip where several people were speaking in English.
"We're still receiving reports from Mt. Elbrus," another woman said, her accent identifying her as British, "but the initial blast has snapped trees like twigs. As you can see in the distance, the ash cloud has darkened the sky above the volcano. From what we understand the lava flow has been minimal, and all of the reported deaths have come from the cloud. The exact number of casualties is still undetermined, but right now it appears to be more than two thousand.
"We have been unable to determine if this eruption was indeed caused by these mages, or if this is some sort of elaborate hoax. We take you now to a replay of the video that was broadcast from the summit of the volcano immediately prior to its eruption . . ."
Robar's eyes widened as he heard mention of the mages—on public television. Even more disturbing is what he heard after. There was a short conversation, followed by an order to kill. Then they were interrupted by the arrival of another party. The subsequent battle was brutal and bloody.
Men shouted and a woman screamed to “destroy the entity.” In quick succession he heard magical spells striking steel. He flinched as a bone snapped. Then a muted clang echoed as metal impacted with flesh. Something shattered and fire exploded. By then the spells were too fast to identify.
It had been a lifetime since Robar had heard them, but he knew exactly what the video depicted. To hear it on live television was like diving into an icy lake. He never considered if it was fake. The sounds were too visceral, too real to be falsified. But had the entire magical world gone public? Who would have done such a thing? And who were those fighting on Mt. Elbrus?
Some of his questions were answered as he heard mention of the oracle, and memories from his youth flooded his mind. The prophecy of her being born was well known among the mages, especially for what it heralded. He hadn't heard of her being born, but that was to be expected in here.
He blinked as he heard mention of an entity called the Dark, and felt a chill at the description of its power. Questions bombarded his mind, but he forced them aside so he could listen to the rest of the shocking video. A moment later it ended with a rising roar that reverberated down the prison corridor, rattling the bars in Robar's hands with its intensity. The sound abruptly cut off and the British newswoman returned.
"We have confirmed that the video was broadcast throughout the world, and the feed interrupted all regular television and satellite channels late last night. Several governments, including Syria, Iran, and Egypt, have downplayed the video, describing it as an elaborate hoax. England and the United States have sought to quell fears even as they attempt to discredit the video. Our own experts have been unable to prove it as a fake. As impossible as it may seem, there is a chance that the existence of magic has been proven . . ."
&n
bsp; In halting words the woman struggled to explain to her audience what they had just witnessed. The only new piece of information Robar managed to glean was that the incident had occurred at an assumed dormant volcano 500 miles from the Black Dolphin prison.
There was a burst of static. Not uncommon for the region, it nevertheless elicited a cacophony of angry shouts from the guards. Their voices drowned out the newscaster, and Robar fell to pondering the sudden revelations. His resentment for the world he'd forsaken ran deep, but his instincts screamed of impending danger for not just the mages. Whatever the source of the video, it had revealed the entire world of magic to the non-mage nations of Earth.
The shuffle of footsteps was his only warning, and he spun to face his cellmate. Taking advantage of Robar's distraction, Ruskin had crept up behind him and lunged. Robar caught the man's wrist as it stabbed toward him, redirecting the toothbrush knife sideways. Vladimir's arm passed between the bars, and Robar threw his weight into the man's elbow. The snap of cartilage and bone was only matched by the man's howl.
Robar dodged the retaliating swing from Ruskin's other arm and stepped to the back of the cell. At six foot two, Robar wasn't a small man, but Vladimir had a couple of inches and thirty pounds on him. He'd probably only waited this long out of fear. Cursing in Russian, Vladimir pulled his arm free and transferred the makeshift knife into his free hand.
"I will gut you for that," he hissed in Russian
In the background, the newscaster's voice ended as they replayed the clip. Furious at missing the chance to hear it again, Robar stepped into Ruskin's lunge and punched him in the gut. Hardened by years in the US military and a decade in prison, he delivered a blow that knocked the wind from the bigger man's lungs. Fighting to breathe, Ruskin retreated.
Robar didn't let him.
Like smooth water he slipped under the outstretched knife and to Ruskin's back. The man desperately sought to spin, but Robar caught the back of his good arm and pulled, slamming the man's head into the bars. Blood fountained into view as his forehead struck.
Still holding Ruskin's arm, Robar twisted it down into a savage yank, throwing Vladimir to the floor. Stunned and without air, he fell on his broken elbow and released a gurgling scream. Robar stripped the knife from Ruskin's shaking fingers and plunged it into the man's neck, eliciting another bellow. Robar leaned in and hissed in Russian.
"A millimeter to the side and you would be dead." He twisted the toothbrush knife in emphasis, causing Vladimir to squirm. Then Robar's voice turned dangerously mild. "When you get out of the infirmary, kill the one who sent you or come after me again. I really don't care."
Leaving the sharpened toothbrush in the groaning man, he rose to his feet and listened to the news broadcast, trying to glean more insights into what had happened. In seconds the guards watching the twenty-four-hour monitors rushed to his cell and screamed at him to move to the back wall. He complied, but his attention remained on the broadcast. After pulling Vladimir from the room, they came for him. He continued to listen until they dragged him out of earshot.
Dropped in the tiny box known as the "hole," he considered what the mentioned Dark could do, and where it would go. What little he'd heard implied that the Dark had the ability to force men to obedience, and that its master intended to use it to take over the nations of earth.
He frowned as he realized he was thinking too far ahead. The countries of Earth first had to deal with reality. But how would they react to the news that magic existed? The answer came easily. Disbelief would be first.
Then fear.
Chapter 1: Recon
Captain Eric "the Wolf" Thompson climbed into the first Zodiac and took up position at the prow, his modified MP7 pointing out. As the others climbed in he scanned the dark horizon with his scope.
"Clear," he whispered as seven members of SEAL Team 3 climbed in behind him. Led by Lieutenant Chuck "the Duck" Hammond, the second half of the platoon climbed into another inflatable boat and took up similar positions. With barely a whisper, the tiny covert sub that had brought them slipped under the water.
Wolf's earbud crackled to life. "Good hunting, Seawolf," the captain of the sub said, "we will rendezvous with you at the extraction point at 0900."
"Understood, Barracuda," he replied, "going radio silent in one."
"Barracuda out," the captain replied.
It had been seven days since the video had exploded over the world like an earthquake, and no one seemed to know how to react. At first it had been dismissed as a hoax. Then the media reporting on the volcano's eruption had begun to support it. Not one soul had stumbled from the unusually opaque ash cloud, forcing the media to consider that the words about the Dark could be true.
On paper the SEAL's mission was a special reconnaissance of the ash cloud from the volcano, but it was also meant to ascertain the true nature of the purported Dark. But how dangerous could it be? To Wolf the real danger came from their position. The tactical insertion sub had been with a US fleet in the Aegean Sea, and had been ordered to covertly enter the Black Sea. The act was in direct violation of Russian borders, so encountering any of the Russian Black Sea fleet would technically be cause for war, which is why a SEAL team had been sent.
"Four klicks to the ash cloud," he whispered. "Keep it under fifteen knots. Let's not give away our position."
Sergeant Peterson maneuvered into place next to him as Ensign Baker started the motor. Peterson spoke without moving from his gun. "Captain, what could cause us to lose contact with the entire region? Think there's some sort of static interference from the volcano?"
Wolf didn't take his eyes from the horizon. "Everything's gone down," he said. "It's not just electronic communications. People aren't coming out either. Even relief organizations that have entered haven't come out."
Peterson’s eyebrows shot up. "No one? How's that possible? There's what . . . a million people inside the cloud?"
Wolf nodded. "Around that."
"So Naval command thinks that something else is causing the damage?"
Duck chimed in over the radio. "The incident occurred on top of the volcano. You think the so-called mages had something to do with it?"
"Command thinks they do," Wolf responded. "And that's why we're here. You all saw the sat feeds. The cloud is much denser and darker than it should be."
Peterson jerked his head. "I bet the whole thing was a stunt for some movie."
Wolf's gaze flicked to him and then returned to scanning the sea. "How do you explain the heightened darkness? Or the lack of people coming out?"
Peterson issued a derisive snort, but didn't have an answer. In the ensuing silence Wolf addressed the team. "You were all there for the briefing. We're to establish if this Dark is a real threat, and attempt to gather intelligence on its function. Whether or not you believe in the paranormal, you are under orders to exercise the utmost caution. Is that clear?"
A scattering of Hooyah's answered him, and he returned his attention forward. If anyone else had any opinions they kept it to themselves. They were effectively behind enemy lines, and causing tension between the US and Russia right now would be very bad. Thirty minutes later they reached the cloud.
At first Wolf thought it was just the predawn darkness, but as the minutes ticked away the sun did not rise when it should have. The early morning light did not brighten, and he checked his timepiece several times. Then he spoke to Duck.
"Dawn was at 7:46, right Lieutenant?"
Duck threw him a look from the boat twenty feet away. Even with the motion of the boat and the camo paint on his face, Wolf could see the concern in his eyes.
"Affirmative, Sir," Duck said.
Wolf considered what to do. Their mission was to scout the edge of the Dark, not be lost within it. He'd counted on the dawn to illuminate the ash cloud, but if the cloud had risen high enough to block it . . .
His gut tightened. "Slow to five knots," he said. "Morris, switch to thermals and tell me what you see. Harmon, lau
nch the UAV."
In the other boat one of the SEALs retreated to the center of the craft and withdrew a small model airplane. A former quarterback, Harmon threw it with practiced precision. Its onboard electric motor released a faint buzz as it climbed into the air.
"Intel coming up," Harmon said. "Visibility is low."
"Tell me when you lose contact with it."
"What makes you think we'll lose—wait, there's some sort of interference with the UAV. Inserting return order now. UAV is failing to respond." He cursed loudly. "UAV lost, sir."
"Anything on the thermal scan?" Wolf asked.
Morris shook his head, and raised the goggles onto his forehead. "Everything ahead is the same temperature. It's like I'm picking up the ambient heat."
Wolf did the math to estimate the distance and then made a decision. "Come about. Weapons ready and stand-by."
The Zodiacs swung in unison and pointed west. Wolf maneuvered himself through the boat as it turned, and placed himself directly next to Wilson on the engine. Once they were pointed away from the cloud, Wolf said, "Reverse at two knots."
One of the ensigns nearby gave him a strange look, but he ignored it. He knew he was being overly cautious, but the sun failing to rise had left him agitated. If the threat proved viable he wanted to be pointed away from it. Whatever he'd thought before, he could not refute that this was no normal ash cloud.
He counted the seconds until he estimated they'd closed half the distance. "Cut engines and coast in," he said. "Wilson and Coombs, keep your hands on the throttle. We may need to exit hot. Everyone else, weapons ready."
A smattering of clicks indicated safety's coming off. Then there was nothing but the sea splashing against the rubber hulls of the Zodiacs. Wolf listened to the steady breaths of the experienced operators around him. For the first time in years he felt a trickle of fear seep into his gut. For two minutes there was nothing but the slight rocking of the boat and the unnaturally still air.
