by Nick Freo
King of Sin
Nick Freo
Copyright © 2019 by Nick Freo
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All people, places, things, and events in this book are fictional.
Contents
Free prequel novella
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Free prequel novella
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Chapter 1
I opened my eyes. Darkness greeted me, wrapping me in her familiar embrace and filling me with her power.
How long had I slumbered?
The world should have been ready for my awakening, trembling at the first flutter of my eyelashes. Instead, I awoke to this. I shifted on the stone floor, dry dust beneath my fingers, its taste in my nose and mouth. There was nothing else but the echoes of dim memories.
Another old friend arrived. Pain. The joints of my prone body tingled with her touch, but I stamped out the sensation like the last embers of a grounded torch.
How I wished I could quell the shame gnawing at my soul as easily.
Memories, buried under a mountain of darkness and time, roused themselves as I sat up on the hard floor. Flickers of violence danced in my mind, their stories shrouded and unclear, as I struggled to remember.
My last memory was of... Him. The Enemy. The battle had been long and brutal, a fight between gods, worthy of legend. I lived and breathed for such battle.
But I had lost. The Enemy had been too strong. He had defeated me and cast me out, banishing me from my newly formed kingdom. I had difficulty remembering further.
The details of the Enemy’s victory remained mired in thick confusion. Was this His doing? To protect Himself from my vengeance?
I growled. Why had the Enemy not simply killed me? Did He leave me alive to dishonor me? To gloat as I walked in the shadow of my shame?
Hot anger stabbed the backs of my eyes, and I lurched to my feet, fists clenched.
Something clinked. My dragon scale armor. Its weight grounded me, calming me enough to consider my surroundings further. My eyes pierced the darkness, making out the dreary, dusty gray of the hard floor. I reached for my hip, instinctively searching for my Lustblade, but she was nowhere to be found. I frowned and raised an opened hand.
“Wrath,” I croaked, my throat as dry as the floor.
My faithful Wrathspear did not respond to her summons. I touched my head, my chest, my waist, my back. My Viceguard was gone. What had happened to them? Were they dead? Taken prisoner? Or were they biding their time, waiting for my return?
I moved stealthily to my left, booted feet barely lifting off the ground, body held upright and still to keep my armor from rattling. My hands were empty, open and ready to grasp or clutch or claw. It seemed the Enemy had disarmed me despite leaving me alive. If He thought me less dangerous without a weapon, then He had erred greatly.
The room was large; my first few steps did not bring me to a wall. I would not be rendered helpless by a little darkness, even alone and weakened. I had other sources of might. Other powers to call upon and wield at my whims.
I pressed my palms together and rubbed them in a short circle, then flared my right hand, summoning a small gout of flame that burned atop my skin. I frowned. It should have been strong enough to beat back the darkness, to illuminate the entire space. Instead, it flickered meagerly, as if on the verge of dying. It was hardly an apt display of my power, but it would have to be enough.
I spared a glance for my surroundings, then set to examining myself. Some of the pain had not receded as it should have beneath my furious determination. While my right hand cupped the flame, my left probed my side along the ribs, finding a foreign object impaled there. With a grunt and a twist, I yanked it free.
It smelled of old blood and looked mundane at first glance, but I could feel a trace of power emanating from it. I rubbed the brown ichor coating it away with my thumb.
It was a celestial tracker. My lips peeled back into a leery smile. So, my Enemy was keeping watch on me. He would know that I was alive and have a crude indication of my bearings. But not for long. I threw the arrowhead forcefully onto the floor, crushing it beneath the heel of my boot.
I knew the action was in vain, for my spirit vision had shown me the truth. The tracker had sent a message before I destroyed it. The Enemy would be coming. I did not know when or how, only that we would meet again.
Why cast me out to seek me out again? Was I some hunter’s plaything? An angry curse formed on my lips.
I stopped. A faint sound reached my ears from beyond the confines of the dark room. I raced silently to the nearest wall and pressed my back against it, extinguishing my flame to hide beneath a cloak of blackness. The darkness lent me its comfort and strength as I waited for the intruder. I crouched like a coiled spring, my muscles preparing for an explosion of violence.
With an ominous creak, a tall door opened, allowing dim light to spill into the room around the silhouetted outline of a monstrous beast.
Chapter 2
I leaned out slightly from the wall to gain a better vantage point. The creature was tall and broad-shouldered. It had the maneless head of a female lion with great golden eyes and shining fangs. As I searched for more details, it must have heard me breathe, for its ears ruffled and its head turned. The cat-like creature pounced without hesitation, its massive jaws opened, fangs and claws flared and yearning to draw my blood.
The bipedal lion was a terrifying sight to behold, and the crescendo of its roar was deafening. The beast descended upon me, natural lethal weapons aimed at the arteries and veins in my neck. It would have been enough to make the blood of any mortal man freeze in his veins.
I scoffed. I had faced many monsters in my lifetime, and this was not one. There were cracks in the illusion that my dark eyes could unravel.
Like a shadow under the waters, I flowed out of the not-a-lion’s path of attack. It swiped and gnashed at thin air while I caught it from behind. I held the creature high so its feet could not reach the ground. It thrashed and screeched like a wounded devil, but my massive strength held it fast. Minutes passed, and its furious energy waned. Beneath my firm grip, the roars became growls, and the growls almost mewls.
“Pride?” I asked expectantly. There was no answer, but I felt the beast’s muscles tighten beneath my arms. I put her down and pressed my palms together again, producing the same weak flame to aid the dim light coming from the open door. The lioness looked away. I reached out a hand to grasp her chin, and as I touched her, she changed.
At first, she seemed to shrink and shed. The golden fur covering her body vanished to be replaced by smooth, pale skin. The beast had been a head taller than me. Now, she was looking up at me slightly, and her massive abdomen had thinned to an athletic frame.
Long blonde hair grew out to caress her slender shoulders and fram
e her oval face. Her snout sharpened into a small pointed nose, and her ears thinned and elongated, reflecting the distinguishing trait of the elven race.
The female elf was tall for one of her kind but still slightly shorter than me. Even so, she managed to look down her nose at me. She wore tarnished and battered battle armor, which bore the elegant script of her people. The fangs from her feline mouth had become a pair of matching daggers, one clutched in each hand. She stared at me defiantly, every inch of her the warrior woman, from her sleek armored legs to the small scars at the corner of her left eye. Her blonde hair was loose, messy from the scuffle and transformation.
My dark eyes met her icy blue ones stare for stare over the flickering flame in my palm until her resolve finally shattered.
“My lord,” she sobbed, thick tears bursting from those beautiful eyes to roll down her cheeks. She collapsed onto her knees and pressed the daggers against the floor, leaving them there as she covered her face with both hands. “Forgive me, my lord. Please, forgive me. I had to be certain it was you and not some trick of the Enemy. I attacked with all my strength, knowing your true self had no reason to fear me. As soon as you bested me, I knew it had to be you. But I should have known from the start. Forgive me.” Her golden locks spilled over the dusty floor as she wept, peering at me between the cracks in her fingers.
Pride. The first and wisest of my Viceguard. So they were not gone. At least, not all of them. My heart leaped at the sight of her lovely face, but I remained calm, indifferent to her anguish and apologies. I waited until her tears waned, then gestured impatiently.
“Get up, Pride. You know I would forgive you anything except outright betrayal. Have I not done as much in the past? Now pick up your weapons and stand like a warrior.”
She slammed her daggers into their sheaths as she stepped elegantly to her feet, red lips pouting up at me. “I could not have known how you might react, after so much time. I could not have known how you might have changed. Need I ask for your forgiveness again?”
“By hell’s gates, no. Groveling does not suit you, Pride.” I let a long moment pass before I asked the question burning in the back of my mind. “What of the others?”
“All gone,” she hung her head. “I could not protect them. I scarcely survived myself. After you were thrown into the portal, the battle quickly turned against us.”
“But how is it that you are here, while all the others are gone?” I mused, my lip curling slightly. “Do not tell me you turned coward and ran... Pride.”
“Of course not.” The elf’s cheeks flushed in indignation as she shook her head vehemently, blonde locks swaying. “When you vanished into the portal, I pursued you. I killed six of the Enemy’s soldiers with my daggers to cross the room, then dove into an unknown abyss to lend assistance. Are those the actions of a coward?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts as she often did when angered.
“Of course not,” I replied, mimicking her haughty tone. She remembered her place abruptly and cast her eyes downward, looking at the floor beneath us. I passed the flickering flame from my right hand to my left and reached out to touch the soft skin of her cheek. She was beautiful, as were all of my Viceguard. It had been too long... My primal passions pulled at me, but I managed them firmly and retracted my hand. The small smile that had ghosted across the elf’s features at my touch vanished.
“You would have been proud of us,” Pride said softly, “as I was proud of you. Despite our defeat, we fought well. There is no dishonor in a noble death.”
“Are you saying we are dead?” I asked, looking around and raising my voice. “That this place is hell? I thought it would be hotter, and filled with better company. No, I do not believe that, Pride. If I had died, I am certain I would know it.”
She arched a slender eyebrow. “So your memories are hazy as well? I wondered about my own after I first awakened.”
I frowned. “I fear it is the Enemy’s doing. When did you wake?”
“Not too long ago. I set out to explore and see what I could learn of our surroundings.”
“And? What did you learn?” I stroked the coarse stubble on my chin, letting the firelight wash across my face.
“I believe we may be in some form of subterranean lair,” she said carefully. “There are... lights I cannot explain. The next room is filled with an unusual, soft buzzing. I cannot comprehend it. This world’s form of magic is strange. Shall I lead?” She turned toward the open door.
“Pride,” I said simply, but with a certain inflection to my tone. She knew it well and responded accordingly. With an arcane shimmer the elf warrior vanished, and in her stead I felt the familiar, comforting weight of a battle helm upon my head. Thus were all of my Viceguard gifted with dual forms, each with its own powers. Pride, my most loyal and steadfast protector, guarded my mind. But that is not all she could do.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, gathering my power to call for my Pridehold. My effort met a sluggish resistance as if I were reciting complex incantations after a day of battle. How long had it been since I had used my abilities? It mattered little. My unstoppable will drove me through the barrier like a dagger piercing cloth, and an instant later the world around me changed.
Chapter 3
The world around me solidified, and I was no longer in the dusty, dim room where I had awakened. I had moved to another space, another universe entirely. I had entered my Pridehold.
The chamber took the shape of a large temple, with vaulted ceilings rising at sharp angles toward a lofty roof. Sourceless light emanated through the stained glass windows, which showed detailed depictions of my many triumphs: glorious battles, silent assassinations, bloody conquests, and intimate affairs. Some of the artwork might have turned a surgeon’s stomach, while other pieces could have made a courtesan blush. Still others were classical in style; there were portraits of demurely clothed women and arabesque statues creating an arch over the alley between the hard wooden pews.
A sense of comfort and belonging washed over me as the smell of incense filled my nostrils. The Pridehold was my safe haven and my everlasting home, my last bastion in a time when all else was lost. Only I could access my Pridehold, and only I could escort a visitor to this otherworldly realm. Over the years it had served many purposes. I had drawn enemies there to best them in duels. I had enticed lovers there to have my way with them in true solitude. I had trained and planned and celebrated within the Pridehold. From it, I would be reborn.
The glow coming through the windows was the perpetual semi-light of dusk, more than enough for my eyes. I turned and paced swiftly down the aisle between the rows of wooden benches. I could not afford to waste time. Like me, Pride may not have recovered her full strength yet, and lingering here beyond her limit would cause harm.
My haven was in pristine condition, exactly as I had left it. There was no trace of dust on the hardwood floor or the pews as I passed by.
The absolute silence of the space swaddled my footsteps as I climbed the raised dais at the front of the temple. I passed the pulpit at the front, running my hand along the coarse black wood of the high desk there. At the back of the dais was a curtained-off area, a space for my eyes alone. Well, mine and Pride’s, for we moved as one within the Pridehold. The heavy helmet still rested comfortably on my pate, completing my suit of armor. I pulled back the thick shade and slipped behind it.
An altar stood against the wall, long, low, and sturdy. It was constructed of stone and wood with metal bolts and fasteners, all sculpted to look smooth and elegant despite the weight and girth of the object. Arcane symbols, symbols of power, decorated its surface. A line of lavender candles stood sentinel around the outskirts of the tabletop, and surrounding the sphere at the center burned five colored sinflames. The innocent green of Envy flickered like an emerald beacon. The heady red of Lust danced seductively. The crackling black of Wrath slithered sinuous tongues of flame. The slow blue of Sloth appeared nearly frozen, and the sickly yellow of Gluttony leaped
as though ready to consume anything that tread too closely.
Their presence could mean only one thing. They were dead, defeated by the Enemy in battle. At least they were not held prisoner, to be turned against me. I had trained them well, though as it turned out, not well enough.
I removed my helm and looked at Pride in her secondary form, seeing the violet sinflame burning deep within her. I glanced around to confirm that the shining golden flame of Greed was missing. That was most peculiar. Pride had reported that the others had all fallen. But then, Pride had passed through the same portal as me. Her memories would be obscured by the same fog that hid mine.
I replaced my treasured helmet and swept out of the curtained-off area, the incense-scented air swirling in gusts around my armored form. I scanned the Pridehold once again. It held many secrets, many resources that were always at my disposal.
I stepped off the dais and moved to a corner of the room where a wall hanging showed a picture of a knight in full armor. Beneath the velvet hanging stood a weapon rack bristling with blades of all lengths and shapes.
My lower lip curled into a disdainful sneer. Such instruments were purely decorative for me, the trophies of fallen foes. I wielded such weapons as my own hands and feet, the unstoppable Lustblade and the fiery Wrathspear. I had always looked down on the lowly creatures that carried steel in order to protect themselves.
Pride’s voice spoke inside my mind. Perhaps it would be wise to wield some of the mortal instruments, for a while at least. Until you regain your full strength and your Viceguard.
