Olivia landed atop the side of the giant’s neck just as it began to fall over. She squatted low and braced herself for impact. As the general hit the frozen surface of the Diamond Sea, Olivia lurched forward, tumbling down the giant’s neck toward its head. She grabbed a massive lock of its brown hair, flailing in the winds for a moment before dropping to the ground.
She stood up and glanced at the maul that had landed upside down in the snow, impressed with the usefulness of such a simple weapon.
* * *
Elsewhere on the battlefield, countless soldiers had fallen victim to one man’s sword. Toshik Brench slayed grunts on his path to bigger game, seeing these men and women as nothing more than the animals he had learned to hunt at a young age—like the spunka that had killed his mother and sister ... or the woman who had murdered the love of his life ...
An animal.
With one hand in his cloak pocket and the other grasping his sword at his hip, he marched through the battle, occasionally ripping his sword through the stomach of any foolish soul that tried to step in his way. He didn’t drag anything out. He made sure they died quicker than a flash of lightning.
After the past several months of training, the battlefield appeared to move in slow motion. Even the blizzard looked like nothing more than a light flurry.
He glanced right, not only catching a glint of silver in his peripherals, but hearing a disturbance in the storm’s wind patterns, too. He casually withdrew his hand from his pocket and snagged a dagger from the air. With a flick of his wrist, the blade darted back through the storm, striking the heart of the Devish soldier in burgundy who had telekinetically thrown it at Toshik.
He raised his sword on his other side, deflecting another Devish soldier’s blade. He then slashed across his body ahead of him, cleanly cutting a Powish woman in two. And through it all, he had continued to walk in stride.
Wherever Toshik went, the blizzard turned a shade of red as blood blended with the white snow, his massacre of the Devish and Powish soldiers painting itself within the storm.
Faced with a misshapen man in a gray robe, Toshik finally came to a stop. Until now, every person Toshik had seen had either been an ally in powder blue or an enemy in Devish burgundy or Powish black. This man stuck out like a sore thumb, and not just because of the color of his outfit, but the shape of his body. It was difficult to make out because of his massive robe, but his back was hunched significantly, making his shoulders a backdrop to his narrow head. Yet, despite the elongated, hollow structure of his skull and jaw, his body seemed wide and squat—like a shorter version of former Passion King Damian.
“You’re leaving quite a mark on this battle,” the strange man whispered eerily, somehow making himself heard over the storm.
Millions of tiny bumps rose on Toshik’s arms at the sound of his voice. There was more to this man than simply his peculiar appearance. Undoubtedly, this man hailed from the land of death and despair, known as the Void.
“I am Cyn Warden Pinako,” the man said. “I can tell you’re looking for a kill that is a little more rewarding than the hundreds you’ve racked up already.”
Toshik stepped off and charged the warden. He had no interest in speaking during a fight; it was a waste of time. If this man was who he claimed to be, then his actions in battle would prove it.
Toshik’s sword penetrated the warden’s cloak, but something felt off. Not only had Pinako not bothered dodging, but Toshik felt no resistance when his sword went through. He couldn’t have missed. He slowly gazed up at Pinako. There were so many things wrong with this man. Where were his arms? Every part of his body save his head was concealed within his robe.
Toshik felt something grab his sword. And the moment it happened, dread washed over him. It felt like every ounce of spirit was being sucked from his body. The confidence he had carried himself with just moments earlier vanished. Life seemed meaningless. He wanted to turn his sword around and impale his own stomach, hopefully meeting the blissful comfort of death.
A sinister grin appeared on Pinako’s face. “My goodness, young man,” he whispered. “There is nothing within you but crippling despair and rage.” As Toshik gaped at memories that flashed before his eyes, consuming the reality surrounding him, Pinako cackled. “Typically, such demons held within my victims make draining their spirit that much easier, yet you possess resolve the likes of which I have never seen. You are on a mission, and you will not die until you choke the life out of the one person you hate more than anything in this world. I feel bad for whoever that person is. I expect their deepest gratitude once they’ve learned that I’ve taken care of you for them.”
Toshik dropped to a knee. For some reason, images of his mother, sister, and girlfriend’s deaths looped through his mind. His soul fractured a little more with each loop. It wouldn’t be long before it shattered completely.
“You should probably let go,” Pinako suggested.
Toshik tried to release his grasp of the handle, but he couldn’t.
“That’s right, you can’t,” Pinako said. “Because you don’t want to! You’re harboring that pain because it’s the only thing that lights a fire in your chest. It’s the only thing that wakes you in the morning! It’s the only thing that keeps you alive! Pain! Despair! Hatred! You are a walking nightmare of the vilest sorts!”
Pinako stepped closer, refusing to let go of Toshik’s blade. “And do you know what scares me the most about your soul—that incongruent combination of despair and resolve? I respect it! That’s the combination needed to thrive in the Void’s depths! Most are destroyed by despair’s agony, but you ... you aren’t human. There is such drive in you that I’d doubt even the Linsani could expel it out of your caged chest!”
Toshik coughed, tears rolling down his cheeks. He punched the ground in frustration. Everything this man said was correct. Toshik was a shell of himself. He cared for nothing but the sight of Yama’s body skewered on his sword, and he wouldn’t stop until it happened. He looked up, a fierceness in his eyes that caused Pinako to hesitate in his approach.
“I understand your ability,” Toshik said through a grunt. “What you’re seeing is only the slightest shades of my misery. You wouldn’t be able to stomach what I’ve experienced through life.”
Eyebrows raised, Pinako straightened up as best as his hunched back allowed him to. “Is that so? Are you aware that you speak to someone who was raised in Batilearsh? Do you understand how rare it is to stumble upon a being such as myself?”
“I’ve stumbled upon rarer,” Toshik said, thinking of Gale Thrasher’s arrival to Phesaw. “Let’s see if you can withstand my demons, Warden of the Void.” Toshik removed his right hand from his sword’s handle, then reached for the base of the blade. He squeezed it, allowing it to cut through his palm. As blood poured atop the hilt and dripped into the snow, Pinako’s eyes jarred opened in shock.
Toshik smirked. “That’s what I thought.” The Jestivan took advantage of the stunned warden, fighting through the despair that the Cyn Energy had ignited within him, and stepped forward to open Pinako’s robe.
Now he understood. The man’s body wasn’t as big as advertised, quite the opposite in fact. He appeared malnourished, starved and, quite frankly, he resembled a corpse. Each individual rib protruded from his chest, and his pelvis stuck out of his sides. The part of him that had created the illusion of a bigger man was his humped back. He resembled an open umbrella.
Stepping forward, Toshik thrust the sole of his boot into the man’s sternum. Pinako fell backward atop the snow.
“Where are the Cynnish soldiers?” Toshik asked, standing over Pinako and stomping his foot into his stomach. “All I see are Devish and Powish. Surely, Storshae would have asked for help from more of his alliance members.”
Pinako gaped at the young man. “Kill me, please,” he said.
“Tell me where your kind is.”
“We brought no men or women,” Pinako said, the snow beginning to bury him. “King Zish
a-Li does not leave his kingdom’s capital, nor does his army. They remain behind the Linsaniun Mounds at all times, for that is where they’re at their most powerful.”
Toshik dug his heel into the man’s diaphragm. “So only you came? Sounds rather pathetic.”
Pinako coughed. “Of course not,” he finally said. “Zisha-Li sent one soldier ... one that only listens to the Void’s royal head. They have no other loyalties.”
“Point me in his direction.”
The most terrifying scream Toshik had ever heard in his life blanketed the battlefield, silencing everything in an instant. Even the blizzard stopped without warning, and the snow and hail dropped from the air.
Slowly, Pinako pointed a shaky finger toward the sky. “Tongku Feilong, the Linsani of Fear.”
37
Fear’s Wrathful Wings
Bryson had realized his role. However, it would have better served a talent like Simon. Bryson acted as an archer, striking opponents—specifically giants or large groups—with massive waves of electricity. He’d sweep an arm and a voltaic guillotine would descend upon the battlefield. Not hitting allies had grown more and more difficult as the battle lengthened and the two sides converged. At a certain point, he focused only on the giants, for they were big enough targets for him to hit without worrying about errant surges. Besides, they had become the only warriors even visible through the storm.
“Shelly wants you to use more lightning bolts.”
Bryson whirled, giving Vistas the most incredulous of looks. “Do you think that is something I can just do willy-nilly?”
“I’m just the messenger,” Vistas said. “Now she’s laughing at you.”
Bryson rolled his eyes and faced the window.
“She just groaned; said you looked too much like her sister.”
Bryson offered an inappropriate hand gesture over his shoulder.
“I’m not saying that,” Vistas said, likely to whatever Shelly’s response was.
Leaning over the viewing window, Bryson squinted against the storm. “I can’t see anything anymore. I’ve put up with this game long enough. I’m going down there.”
He marched toward the wall and looked for a handle. There was none. He tried pushing against the wall where it had opened before ... with no success. Enraged, he stared at it for a moment before marching across the room and trying his luck with the opposite wall that Vistas had entered earlier.
“What is with this place?” Bryson groaned.
“I think only Stillians can use the doorway,” Vistas said. “Probably has something to do with the weaving of their Still Energy.”
“They’ve trapped me in here?!”
“I’m not saying that either,” Vistas said, once again, to Shelly through the transmission.
Bryson scowled at the wall, as if it had wronged him in some way. He then punched it, cracking its surface in a few directions, but likely doing more damage to himself. He grimaced and grabbed his wrist while shaking his hand. Who did he think he was? Olivia or Vuilni?
He walked toward the window again, peering into the blizzard’s depths. He supposed he could simply unleash random attacks into the unknown, but what good would that have done?
Vistas stepped toward the window. “Shelly wants to know where Thusia is.”
“I don’t need her,” Bryson snapped. “The situation must be dire.”
“Is this not dire?” Vistas asked, gazing at the Jestivan. Something told Bryson that that question had come from Vistas himself. “How many soldiers must die before it becomes dire, Bryson?”
Bryson returned the servant’s gaze for a moment before shaking his head and staring out the window. Perhaps Vistas was right. Bryson’s pride was costing the lives of many. But, in all honesty, how much help would Thusia provide in a battle of this scale?
A screech pierced through the blizzard, and Bryson clamped both hands over his ears, falling to the ground, his agonizing screams silent even in his own head. Blood leaked from his ears and down his palm. Vistas, too, had collapsed with the same reaction. What could have made such a ghastly sound?
Bryson looked up from where he sat. The screech had stopped, but his ears continued to hiss with a constant whisper. He could no longer hear the storm. Vistas finally lifted his forehead from the frozen floor, and Bryson couldn’t believe his eyes. Fear radiated from every pore of Vistas’s body. The normally placid-faced man looked concerned, his eyes wide and mouth open. But Bryson could understand why, for even he felt it.
“This can’t be,” Vistas said, his voice rattling uncontrollably. As Bryson stared at his blood-streaked hands, Vistas muttered, “That was the screech of a Linsani.”
Brows furrowed, Bryson shot to his knees, turning to gaze out the window. Any sign of a blizzard had disappeared. The Diamond Sea was still, bright under the light of the stars and moons. Even the Stillian soldiers had stopped as they stared into the sky. Meanwhile, the Devish and Powish retreated the other way, not wanting to become victims of whatever came next.
Bryson’s gaze slowly veered toward a mammoth beast that soared above the battlefield. He first noticed its skeletal structure. It had no body—not a physical one at least. Its ivory bones were as lucid as the stars, its skeleton enwrapped in a haze of shadows that took the shape of a wyvern. Two shadowy horns extruded from the back of its head, and its eyes glowed red. It was bigger than the beast that had flown Himitsu to Phesaw over a year ago, and infinitely more ominous.
Bryson wiped his cheek, alarmed by the wet streak. “Am I crying?”
Vistas hadn’t even bothered to move. He remained on the floor. “Your body is naturally responding to the Linsani’s presence. You don’t even realize it, but your soul is scared beyond belief ... to the point of tears.”
The Linsani’s wings swept downward, raining shadows toward the sea. The shadows hit the ice and billowed outward like steam from a boiling pot when it hit the ceiling. The darkness spread across the ice at a speed that most soldiers couldn’t outrun. Instead, they were consumed, disappearing in the shadows.
Bryson watched, curious as to what the shadows would do. As they slowly dispersed, different people had reacted in their own ways. Some crawled across the ice; others balled up, convulsing uncontrollably. But most of them turned their swords on themselves, impaling their stomachs and twisting the handle.
“They’re committing suicide!” Bryson shrieked.
“Yes,” Vistas whispered. “Those whose souls are weak are the most vulnerable to Cyn Energy ... but with a Linsani, even the strongest of souls can fall victim.”
The Linsani screeched again, and Bryson pounded his fist against the window’s ledge with a scream of his own. He closed his eyes as a migraine pulsed through his head. The memory of Debo plummeting from the cliff of Necrosis Valley flashed before him, concluding with Debo’s body slamming into the hard crust of the land.
Bryson forced his eyes open, tears spilling out of them. He tried to refocus on the battlefield. Following the wyvern’s screech, it had nosedived. Bryson watched in awe as it dove head-on toward the ice-capped sea. Just as it was about to crash, its skull jerked upward, and the rest of the skeleton followed. The body of shadows, however, didn’t take the same path, instead disappearing under the ice while the skeleton swept just above the surface, ramming into hundreds of Still soldiers in powder blue cloaks.
Moments later, the Linsani’s shadowy body reemerged from beneath the sea, cutting off the skeleton’s path and reconnecting with its other half. Every soldier that had touched the shadow collapsed instantly.
The Linsani took to the sky, releasing a screech that must have reached every corner of the kingdom. This time Bryson felt an empty sensation within him, somewhere in his stomach. It mimicked the feeling of unease on mornings when he knew everything that day would go wrong—butterflies of anxiety.
He grew lightheaded and wavered against the window’s wide ledge. He toppled over Vistas and smacked the floor with the side of his head. Every terrible
memory from his past flashed before his eyes: being strapped to a cold, steel table while a blade cut through his chest; the strange light that shielded the closet door in his home, scorching the skin off his finger; the restaurant collapse, and all the civilians who were crushed within the rubble; the massacre of innocents at the Generals’ Battle; Debo’s death; Olivia pounding her fists into his face; his mother’s tragic story; and Jilly’s lifeless body lying underneath Toshik’s hunched frame.
Bryson cried hysterically, his face pressed into the floor. He couldn’t stop the imagery no matter how hard he tried, and the Linsani continued to unleash its wrathful cry across the kingdom.
He managed a peek at Vistas. The Dev servant lay still, only a sniffle escaping him. His eyes were no longer burgundy. Was he seeing his worst memories, too?
Trying to ignore his mind, Bryson pushed himself onto his knees and managed to put one foot on the ground. He leaned over with his hand on a knee, clutching at his temple and holding his golden bangs from his face. I can do this.
As he tried to stand, darkness swallowed the room. He heard the screech, but it sounded like it was directly behind him. Shadows rushed into the room, billowing against the walls and ceiling and filling it whole. Every sensation expelled itself from Bryson’s body, leaving him empty.
Bryson lay on the glass ceiling of Princess Shelly’s bedroom, smiling down at her as she slept. She lay on her back, but there was no lump in the covers where her belly was. From this vantage point, it felt like he was watching over her, protecting her. He was in a tranquil state, wondering what she was dreaming about.
The floor opened, the platform from the floor below rising. Bryson narrowed his eyes. Who would disturb the princess during her slumber?
The Chronicle Page 40
