Before he finished, a massive lightning strike hit the ground a foot away. It blinded Mykos, who put his hand to his eyes as he let them adjust. Another lightning strike came, this one further away, but it illuminated the ground in front of him, and what Mykos saw terrified him.
Rows upon rows of black and red-robed magicologists stood, all with their hands out, combining forces to cast a spell on him. They all looked right at him, and Mykos raised his knife, ready to yell as he charged them.
But just as quickly, the lightning stopped, the magicologists disappeared, and Mykos was left with just the two dead bodies.
“C’mon,” he said, half to himself and half to whoever was playing these tricks on him.
He peered inside the temple, and he did not have to rely on natural storms to guide his way. The torches lining the carpet leading to a stairwell about thirty feet in provided guidance. He kept his back to the wall, and his hand on the knife, but unlike before, he didn’t hear any magicologists on patrol. He didn’t see any. Even his soldier’s gut told him that, at least on this floor, he was alone. More trouble than it’s worth to have someone here.
He crouched as he walked, taking care not to let more than his toes touch the ground, but he comfortably moved just outside the torches. He reached the stairwell, placing both feet on a single step before going further. His stomach twisted as he realized in some ways he’d made it further than he anticipated. Whoever awaited him in here—the god, his creations, more powerful magicologists—would give him a far greater challenge than regular magicologists.
I am a soldier. I have learned from the best, including the only one to consistently win battles against magicologists. I can do this.
On the second floor, he found much of the same, except for the barren rooms the Emperor used to use for council members. The god had guttered the entire place, leaving only the torches and whatever monstrosities he had waiting on the third floor. Mykos couldn’t wait to make the first touches of humanity’s return to this palace the god’s blood.
Someone rushed behind him.
Mykos ducked and held the knife in his hand, swiveling around and waiting to battle.
But there was no one. He waited silently, looked everywhere—even on the ceiling—but to no avail.
Someone climbed the stairs to the third floor.
Again, he turned, and again, no one was there. But something was—something he couldn’t see, something deliberately playing mind games, something intent on destroying his sanity before they took his life. And Mykos would have none of it. He took a breath, thought of his target, and ignored his rapidly beating heart as he ascended halfway up the stairs when he heard—this, he felt sure, was real—two magicologists talking.
“… Hasn’t been the same since Calypsius died.”
“What do you mean?” the other magicologist said in a hushed tone.
“I think we’re gonna go back,” the first one said, rather excited. “We’re gonna go back and take what’s ours.”
“Don’t presume so much. You know how he feels about that place.”
The second magicologist went mute as Mykos became aware of his own rapid, audible breathing, which he could not silence.
“I know our Lord, and I know he will want his vengeance.”
“Yes, but he will not want to stay long. He…”
The two magicologists walked out of range of Mykos. Go back? They’re going to leave Monda?
It almost seemed like a well-designed trap—make Mykos think the magicologists were leaving, and then they’d slaughter Mykos when he felt safe. No. I will not fall for that. I don’t care if they’re signing a peace treaty now with someone. He has hurt me too much, and my people too much. Ty… He must die.
He ascended the remainder of the stairs and came to an open door, the only door that created the crest of the Orthranian Empire when both doors were shut. Nothingness awaited him on the other side—quite literally. Mykos could not make out the floor of the room, nor the walls, nor a ceiling.
“He’s here.”
Mykos knew this was where his sanity might be broken, but he would get an audience.
Mykos looked out and saw the conversing magicologists turn a corner, leaving him alone and out of sight. He took a deep breath, told himself this is what he had come all this way for, and dashed inside with his knife and wits as his only weapons.
He ran… and ran… and ran some more, trying to find some part of the room that was not completely black. Strangely, though, he could see himself and his knife, but the rest of the area was dark.
“I should have hit a wall by now,” he mumbled.
This was all magic, all the work of the god. He had not stepped into the former throne room so much as he had into a dark, horrible void where reality meant nothing.
He turned around, and to his horror, he could not see the entrance anymore. He sprinted back, but even as he calculated how far he had run, he knew he would never see those doors again. This void marked his death—he just wanted to make sure he brought along company to the grave.
Behind him, he heard soft footsteps increasing in volume. The steps were deliberate but forceful, and Mykos gulped as he held his knife out to fight. Soon, the footsteps had gotten so close, whoever created them should’ve been face to face with the soldier. But he saw nothing.
Up above, he heard a disturbing growl, like a hungry balicae might make. He held his knife up. But nothing came.
He heard the crawling of an arachnia and swore he felt pricks on his back, as if several creatures were skittering on him. He flailed and shook, trying to get them off, but every time he touched his skin, there was nothing there.
Then, straight ahead, he saw two massive yellow eyes looking at him. The eyes rested on a black, demonic face with three giant horns. The eyes contained much vitriol in them, and Mykos looked at the beast and finally lost it.
“Fight me!” he yelled, panting and beginning to hear and feel things he wasn’t sure were real. “Fight me! Come on!”
He swung his knife through the air as the beast growled. He tried running at the face, but he seemed stuck, never drawing closer.
An unseen force yanked Mykos’ knife with such viciousness and strength that the handle scarred his skin as it left his grip. The knife clanged off in the distance, no longer visible in the dark void.
“Fight me!” he cried again, but his voice had devolved to panic and uncertainty.
Suddenly, he could not control his legs. They felt heavy and paralyzed. Six magicologists appeared before him, each with dark, black robes, with different colored stripes on them—two with red stripes, two with white stripes, and two with gray stripes. They all kneeled, and Mykos could hear ominous footsteps behind him.
He heard angry breathing, clearly behind a mask, as the footsteps drew closer. The god had finally appeared, and now Mykos would have to face his death bravely and without anything other than his fists.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and it produced a heavy chill. He felt a brutally scarred hand, the bone visible over several fingers, squeeze him. Mykos, his breathing shallow, gulped and was whirled around with such force he thought his neck might snap.
There he was. Tall—possibly six and a half feet. Broad shouldered. Wearing dark robes—somehow, even darker than the six magicologists now behind him—with dark red stains on it. Blood. The blood of those he’s killed. A long, thick sword in the sheath on his hip. A dark, flat, gray mask over his face.
Typhos.
***
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Thank You
Thank you for reading this story! It took me many months of hard edits, brutal reflection, and numerous drafts to get this story finished, and I truly appreciate that you read through all the way to the end.
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Bibliography
The Kastori Chronicles
Kastori Revelations (March 2016)
Kastori Devastations (May 2016)
Kastori Tribulations (July 2016)
Kastori Restorations (Coming Soon)
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 by Stephen Allan
Cover art copyright © 2016 by Mirela Barbu
Edited via EditorConnect.com by Moriah Blalock
All rights reserved. Published by Sypha Entertainment, Inc.
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Kastori Revelations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 1) Page 26
