Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4)

by Stephen Allan

  “You are crippled and stand no chance,” Typhos said.

  But Cyrus refused to back down. Carefully, gingerly, he rose on his good leg and spat at Typhos.

  “I don’t need to beat you,” Cyrus said, the pain ravaging his senses. “I just need to hold you off long enough.”

  Celeste.

  She’s coming back.

  “Pathetic,” Typhos said. “You would accept defeat rather than charge for victory because your sister is returning. What a coward. I will kill you before your body collapses to the ground.”

  Typhos advanced slowly and menacingly on Cyrus. When he got in range, Cyrus swung his blade from his right shoulder down. Too wounded to deliver an accurate blow, however, Cyrus swung with barely any force. Typhos easily caught the blade and swung it in the opposite direction, removing the sword from Cyrus’ hand.

  “Farewell, Cyrus,” Typhos said.

  “Wait!” Cyrus cried out, with enough of a shout that it froze Typhos’ sword at its zenith.

  Typhos, with confusion on his face, held the sword high but did not chop down. Cyrus had no intention of saying anything else. He just wanted a chance for support to arrive. If that support arrived, the battle would swing in his favor.

  “You tell me to wait yet you give me no reason to wait,” Typhos growled. “You are defenseless, and you have no weapon. Time to die.”

  She’s back.

  “I don’t need a weapon.”

  He and Typhos turned to see Celeste furiously raise her arm at Typhos. She pushed him away with such a powerful red magic spell that he crashed through the planet, his body creating a tunnel as it collided with the ground. He went back several feet, disappearing from view.

  “I have Celeste,” Cyrus spat.

  Then, with the loss of blood starting to overwhelm him, he fell to the ground, alive but desperately needing help.

  35

  The force with which Celeste drove Typhos into the planet shocked her more than the absorption of the energy itself. Her magic forced his body through dirt, rock, roots, clay, and caverns. Though Typhos still lived, he lay so far into the planet that she could not see him, and did not think she would see him until on Anatolus.

  When she lowered her arm, she looked to her brother, shaking on the ground in shock, one of his legs sliced open. She jumped from the platform to him, ignoring the weariness and fatigue from taking Tapuya’s power, and leaped over plants and dirt to him. She collapsed to one knee, examining the damage.

  Cyrus had lost a great deal of blood, but fortunately, Typhos had avoided hitting Cyrus at a critical artery. The damage thus looked worse than it was and did not require emergency or sacrificial levels of magic. Celeste placed her hands on his leg and closed her eyes, her mind now viewing her brother through the prism of magical energy. She commanded the leg’s wound to heal, sewing the injury back up. Her brother shot up in shock, but Celeste ignored the shrill cries of pain that came. Heard it before on Vostoka. Keep going.

  The healing process took nearly half a minute—far longer than his skeletal healing on the wintry planet, for his current wounds were not as cleanly defined as then—but at the end of those thirty seconds, Cyrus had a usable leg once more. He groaned as he put his hands on his forehead, breathing slowly.

  “Try not to wait until I’m a second away from getting a sword to the chest,” Cyrus said, followed by a vicious hacking.

  Celeste felt too exhausted to say much of anything. She’d absorbed the power of two planets in just a few days and had fought the creations of Typhos and the man himself. Resting on her knees, her entire body feeling like it would give out in a matter of seconds, she put her hand on Cyrus’ shoulder.

  “I think it’s time to get out of here,” she said. “We got what we came for. We’ll deal with our brother later.”

  “If he’s our brother, he’s—”

  But a loud roar interrupted the short-lived conversation. Celeste knew the source of the roar and took her time turning her head to Typhos. With the adrenaline of saving her brother removed, she saw the figure of Typhos haggardly walking over, blood dripping from his body—his own—and his walk a limp.

  “Haven’t you had enough, Typhos?” Celeste asked, slowly rising to her feet.

  Her brother growled and grunted but said nothing. Celeste did not wish to waste the opportunity and continued speaking.

  “You almost killed your own brother. You come here planning on destroying another planet. Even if you ignore that, even if you choose to say that that doesn’t matter, I have the power of two planets now. You know that I am stronger than you. Typhos, please, just stop.”

  Typhos gave a huff, but then it slowly morphed into a disturbing laugh that gained volume and speed as it progressed.

  “You may have taken most of the power of this planet,” he said as he raised his arms, pointing at the dying vegetation around him. “And in doing so, given it a torturous existence in which all life suffers and all vegetation decays. But you have not taken all of it. I will show it mercy. I will give it the death it deserves.”

  “Typhos, what are you doing?!?” Celeste cried out, but she could feel the ground beneath her begin to shake. Pebbles bounced on the ground like oil on a hot stove. Monstrously large aviants above flew, but with seemingly no sense of unified direction. The air grew cold. “You destroy all on this planet just for a fraction of my power?”

  “A fraction of your power from this world is all I need!” Typhos roared, his hands raising higher and forming fists. “I will take the magic I absorb from this world and build an army of monsters that will crush Monda! I will create a legion of beasts so frightening that you will lay down your arms the day I show them to you! You will have no choice but to surrender or watch humanity butchered by the swaths of creatures I bring.”

  “Typhos!”

  But a green energy field began to surround Typhos.

  “Behold! The greatest black magic in the universe! Ultimus! Tapuya shall die!”

  “Brother!”

  But Typhos did not react, and the green field became too dense for Celeste to even see Typhos anymore. The shaking became more violent as Celeste stumbled backward into Cyrus, who was still lying on the ground despite being healed.

  “We gotta get outta here, Celeste! It’s too late.”

  Celeste knew it was too late.

  “I—”

  A crack formed underneath her, and she rolled with Cyrus away from the crack as the planet split where she had just stood. But then more cracks formed, and Cyrus hugged Celeste tight.

  “Get us out of here!” he yelled.

  Tapuya split where they stood, and the two tumbled down the open world toward an indeterminable death.

  “Celeste!” Cyrus yelled. “I’m not letting go. We die together, or we teleport out of here together.”

  Focus. Focus. Nothing else matters.

  Celeste closed her eyes, entrusting herself to her brother’s arms as the two flipped through the air. Tapuya groaned around them, the sound of rocks cracking and more fissures forming. Heat began to overwhelm the young girl, but when she buried her head into Cyrus, she closed her eyes and ignored all of the outside sensations.

  The rush came in the feet first. A loud crack destroyed Celeste’s hearing, but to her surprise, she had become so focused and so powerful that just two seconds after she first felt the teleporting sensation, she and Cyrus were back on Monda, in front of the warehouse, still holding on to each other.

  “Cyrus! Celeste!”

  The shouts from Crystil got Cyrus off her, but Celeste remained on the ground, using her powers to see the world through Typhos’ eyes.

  He had encased himself in an energy field that made him immune to the destruction around him. Trees crashed into open crevices. Lava exploded up into the air, reigning hot embers upon the once-beautiful forest. Wildlife screamed everywhere, their deaths inevitable in the face of sheer destruction.

  “Stop! Typhos! You don’t know what you’re doing!”r />
  But he had become so enraptured with the annihilation of Tapuya that he did not respond. Celeste could only watch in horror as Typhos and his energy barrier lifted up above the planet, observing from the comfort of space. Tapuya collapsed on itself, the entire planet becoming covered in hot lava before imploding in a blinding light. Typhos teleported back to the near-peak of Mount Ardor, and he slowly walked up the stairs.

  “I will be waiting for you, Celeste,” he finally said. “And when you come, our final battle will begin. You will kill me and end my suffering, or I will destroy you and your world, and I will end my suffering. If you do not come, I will come for you when I am ready. Enjoy your last days of freedom… sister.”

  Celeste had nothing left to see and closed off the vision herself. She sat up, her eyes not moist or wet. She had cried all of the tears she would cry until her fight with Typhos had reached its end.

  Cyrus offered her his hand, which she accepted. She dusted herself free of the dirt and debris from Tapuya and looked at her worn-out but determined brother and Crystil, concern on her face.

  “We all do what we can to build more ships for a week,” she said.

  Then she took a deep breath.

  “Then we have our final fight.”

  36

  Cyrus felt no further pain in the leg, but he still found himself consciously trying not to favor it as he looked in Celeste’s determined eyes. He tried to match her resolute attitude and displayed it well across his face, but doubt had begun to creep into his mind.

  He’d finally gotten a chance to fight Typhos, and it had not only nearly cost him his life, he had essentially thrown it away. For better or for worse—mostly for worse—Typhos could beat Cyrus in combat easily. He’d done it at the palace twice, he’d done it on Nubia, and he’d nearly succeeded on Tapuya. I don’t need to beat him, though. I just need to team up with Celeste and have him outnumbered. Celeste can get the killing blow.

  Still, he could not ignore the reality of it. As much as he tried to brush off the thoughts, they wouldn’t go away.

  Celeste gave a short nod and went past him toward Crystil, discussing something that his ears did not tune into. He began to feel more embarrassed than anything else that he had to rely on Celeste’s good timing to live. Orthrans don’t die young. They die naturally. But he had never thought to include the clause “as long as their siblings are there to save them in the nick of time.”

  Where would he be without his sister? He knew his broken bones would still be broken. His thigh, fully healed save for a visible scar—a scar only visible to those who got close or intimate enough to see it, thus, at this point, limited to one person—would still be gushing blood. And more likely than not, the sword of Typhos would’ve pierced his chest, and he would be dead.

  The thoughts dashed from his mind when Crystil approached, concern in her eyes. Cyrus gave a warm smile and raised his eyebrows, his stomach fluttering once more, even with everything they had done together.

  “So Celeste has taken your place as the take no nonsense commander, huh? Do you feel all right being usurped?”

  Crystil laughed and ignored the comment, choosing to embrace Cyrus tenderly. Cyrus accepted the hug, gently rubbing his arms up and down her back. It became apparent from the duration of the hug and their location that Crystil had either given up the notion of privacy or had forgotten about it entirely.

  “Hey, you’re hugging me like you haven’t seen me in twelve years, and I don’t even think it’s been twelve hours.”

  “That may be true,” Crystil said, a knowing smile on her face. “But seeing your facial expression tells me you just survived something you probably shouldn’t have. I saw that same expression after Vostoka.”

  What, is she Kastori now, reading my mind like that?

  Cyrus rolled his eyes in a jestful manner as Crystil motioned for him to follow her into the warehouse. Most notably, as the two progressed, Crystil put about a foot of distance between the two of them. She was back into her role as commander of the entire operation.

  Inside, Cyrus saw yet another ship completed. They had four fighters now, a growing if underwhelming number. Cyrus tried to imagine how four such fighters would stand up to another monster like Calypsius. It would depend on the firepower, not their maneuverability. The monster had problems catching Omega One, albeit in large part because of the weaponry and magic of Erda. These ships were faster, more agile, and smaller. But if they didn’t have the firepower to destroy such a beast…

  “Cyrus.”

  Cyrus shook his head out of the memories he had dived into and turned to Crystil with a guilty smile on his face.

  “Sorry, thinking ahead.”

  “You? Never,” Crystil said with a wink. “I asked what happened on Tapuya.”

  “Wait, Celeste didn’t tell you?”

  “No. She just told me that she had the power of the planet but that Typhos had destroyed the entire planet, taking some of the power for himself. She said we need to hurry up production, but honestly, there’s not a whole lot we can do. You two can help, but I don’t know how much help you want to give.”

  More here than I can with Typhos. I don’t think I can give any help to Celeste.

  “I see,” Cyrus said with a sigh.

  He didn’t want to admit his near-death experience to Crystil. Even though she’d experienced her own brushes with death and seen Celeste’s, he couldn’t imagine being the one who needed saving would look good to his romantic interest.

  But that was also because he still had trouble admitting it to himself. Cyrus had long seen himself as the hero of the mission, the journey which started for him when he rescued the two girls just outside the woods of Anatolus that night Calypsius had left a scale of itself. He figured the only natural way to continue being the hero was to annihilate the great villain, his brother, and restore peace to all.

  As he thought about it, though, saving the women in the group looked more like an anomaly than a trend. It was Crystil who had gotten them off Monda in the first place. It was Celeste who had ultimately delivered the killing blow to Calypsius. It was Erda who had rescued his sister from the clutches of death.

  And now, it was Celeste, again, who had rescued him—twice—on foreign worlds from the greatest evil.

  Cyrus could handle other people sharing the glory of victory as long as he got a decent slice of it. But what if he wasn’t fit to take such a slice?

  “You’re not saying anything, Cyrus,” Crystil said, who looked to a corner and pulled him aside. “Tell me. It’s OK.”

  “I almost died,” Cyrus blurted out, frustrated. “I wouldn’t be here if not for Celeste. Again. My entire life has depended on her presence right now. Without her, I’m either a crater on Vostoka or a victim of Typhos’ sword on Tapuya. I fought Typhos, and the best I did was draw blood with an uppercut to his chin. But did I do anything beyond that? No. I keep wanting to believe that I’m a hero, Crystil. I want to believe I can be the savior for humanity. Instead, I’m just a supplementary part of the battle, an addition that drags Celeste down.”

  Crystil, arms folded and leaning against the wall, took a second to process what Cyrus had said. He looked down at the ground, more frustrated than sad, and let out a loud sigh. I’m not totally useless in battle, right? I did fight that one monster. I did clip the wings of the aviant before. I think I have to have some use.

  “First of all, don’t call yourself the savior of humanity,” Crystil said with surprising coldness. “Typhos once called himself the savior of the Kastori, and look where that got him.”

  Cyrus didn’t even think to have a witty response. He just wanted Crystil to have as much space as she could for speaking.

  “Second of all, you also don’t want to call yourself a hero.”

  That surprised Cyrus, for he considered Crystil one of the greatest heroes on the planet, if not the universe. The one who evacuated us. Who trained us. Who pushed us. Who brought Calypsius to his knees. Who helped r
escue Celeste. Even if he had no desire for her, he still believed he would’ve admired her as the greatest of all humans.

  “Heroes often die an early death because they’re sent out to battle first,” she said, a hint of emotion in her voice. “Heroes are more of a myth than an actual person. They don’t take into account all of the flaws a person has. You say you want to be a hero. Who would you consider a hero?”

  “You.”

  Crystil tried to maintain a stoic composure, but Cyrus saw a smile slip in for just a half a second. He knew he would’ve only seen it if he was paying attention, but it counted all the same.

  “You seem awfully forgiving of the time I punched you in the gut.”

  “Well, that’s because you made my gut flutter last night.”

  Crystil began to blush as Cyrus laughed and applauded his own joke. The moment of levity caused Crystil to put her hands on his arms, trying to get him to shut up to avoid bringing attention to them.

  “Thank you, Cyrus. But just remember what I said. A hero isn’t something someone obtains after they accomplish some great task. A hero is a title ascribed to someone by others who need a good story to tell. The title ignores a lot of factors and is more about presentation than it is the actual person.”

  Cyrus nodded in appreciation as Crystil motioned that she had to get back to work. Though Crystil would not display any physical affection, when he looked into her eyes, and she locked on his, he saw the same eyes as from the night before—compassionate, deeply loving and emotional eyes that stirred many feelings inside him.

  You don’t want to be the hero. You don’t want to be the savior. If anyone would know… it’s her. The one who is basically my hero and my savior.

  Cyrus sighed. He saw his sister walking into the stairs, leading to the private bedrooms, and decided that his place, for now, was not in resting. She had to rest. She had to fight Typhos.