by Sam Ryder
According to city gossip, the island was surrounded by an immense wall. Victims were dropped over the sides. They should die from such a fall, but the plague wouldn’t let them. The plague held no mercy, only pain and torture to the very end. Roan must’ve been dropped, too, stumbling feverishly across the terrain to where he ended up. If not for the power of his own tattooya, he’d probably already be too far gone.
Roan wheeled about in a circle—a dark shape surrounded him, rising up toward the red, green, and gold stars. The wall is real, Roan thought. Which might mean the other obstacle was real, too, but he chose not to think too hard about that. Not yet. The wall was first, then whatever came next.
Although he could sense the plague all around him, hanging thickly in the fetid air, Roan did not have the plague. Not anymore. He’d used his curse to take care of that little problem.
Unfortunately, healing himself had left him feeling drained and ashamed. All of these people were in need of what he could offer, and he selfishly chose to help himself. But there were too many to help. Even if he wanted to, he would collapse from exhaustion before he could heal them all. And then he would die.
He shook his head, trying to focus. His legs felt like lead, but he forced them forward, toward a part of the ground that seemed less littered with bodies.
Dark shapes stumbled across the open terrain, the living dead wandering without purpose.
What felt like hours later, Roan reached the wall, which appeared to stretch all the way to the heavens. All along the base of the wall were bodies in various stages of decay. They formed a pyramid, not unlike the enormous pyramids of Calypso, except constructed of flesh and bone rather than stone and mortar. At its apex, the ramp reached nearly halfway to the wall’s summit.
Despite its morbid nature, the human pyramid strategy was an interesting one. Plague victims continued to flock toward the wall, climbing the bodies, eventually succumbing to the disease at the top, becoming new building blocks for future victims to climb. For those afflicted with the plague, climbing the wall would be next to impossible, but perhaps for Roan, who still had his strength…
Roan started his ascent, using his hands to steady himself on the unbalanced terrain. His power flared up each time the plague attempted to infiltrate his body, holding the disease at bay. Other climbers noticed his progress, and tried to grab him, their mouths opening to reveal toothless maws. He knocked their disease-weakened arms away and fought onward.
When Roan reached the top of the human pyramid, he was exhausted, his knees trembling, his back sore. Even his bones felt weary, the constant use of his power sapping them of all strength.
Three plague victims were trying to grasp the stone, but their dark skin was slippery with sweat from the fever burning through their bodies. Hearing Roan’s approach, they turned, their lips contorted with pain. “Help me,” one said, his teeth chattering. “Please,” said another. “Please.” The third one only reached blindly for Roan; her eyes were milky and unseeing.
“I’m sorry,” Roan said, trying to dodge around them.
The largest one, a man who might’ve once been as tall as Roan before the plague hunched his back and bent his legs, moved far quicker than Roan thought possible. Like him, he might’ve been a new arrival, not yet fully broken. He grabbed Roan around the neck and slammed him against the wall, his breaths coming hot and quick. Spit flew from his mouth as he demanded, “Give me a boost, boy!”
Roan could feel the plague trying to squirm inside him, the force of his tattooya fighting back valiantly. His vision began to blur from the effort. He had the sudden desire to stop fighting, to give in to the disease, to embrace the darkness and relief it would eventually bring.
His legs wobbled. His heart stuttered. His breath clawed in and out of his throat with ragged gasps.
And then he remembered his mother. Not her, exactly, for he couldn’t remember anything about her. Only what his guardian had told him about her, how strong and good she was. How she’d sacrificed everything so he could live.
Could he really throw away her sacrifice so easily?
He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. “I will help you,” he choked out, feeling the sting of the lie in his throat, even as the man released his grip.
The second he was free, he used the wall for leverage and kicked out, knocking the man down the human hill. He smashed into the blind woman, sending her flying as well. The third victim tripped of his own accord, screaming in pain.
Roan’s stomach hurt from what he had done, but he forced himself to turn back toward the wall.
He had two choices, die or climb, and that was no choice for a man like Roan.
Mustering what strength he had left, he raised his arms and began to climb.
Thankfully, the wall was hastily constructed and eroded by steady ocean winds, and he had no difficulty finding hand and footholds. Still, with his last reserves nearly depleted, the biting wind threatened to tear him from the wall with each inch he gained. Every time he stared up, the apex seemed farther and farther away, an unreachable goal.
He refused to look down at all the poor souls he had abandoned.
He began to growl with each step up, his feet aching, his hands cracked and bleeding from gripping the rough stone. He was no longer capable of healing himself.
But then, like a rocky coastline disappearing into the sea, the wall ended. He sprawled on the broad windswept surface, unable to hold back a sudden burst of laughter. His chest rose and fell. His hands dripped blood. His muscles spasmed and cramped.
And, despite the gnawing hunger he suddenly felt in the pit of his stomach, Roan drifted off into a deep sleep.
Beneath him, just outside the island’s walls, the slumbering dragon’s chains rattled as it began to stir.
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A sneak peek at SEEKER, the third book in the Monsterworld Saga, available SOON!
ONE
FINALLY. WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?
“Those look bad. Have you shown them to the Three?” Beat asked, gesturing to my chest with a meaty finger. I was still getting used to my best friend’s sheer size. Ever since I’d known the mighty Warrior whose real name was, wait for it, Beatrice (but don’t call her that to her face), she’d been bodybuilder muscular, but I was still bigger. Now, however, the tables had turned.
She put the power in powerful, the might in mighty, the…well, you get the picture. Leveled up to Protector, she was a woman-beast.
“These little things?” I said, glancing at the white, thread-like veins that were showing through my skin. “Broken capillaries. That’s all.” In truth, I was getting pretty freaked out. Ever since I was bitten by one of the scary-sexy Syrene while on a quest to recover a vial of her blood the white veins had been spreading.
Not good.
Beat wasn’t buying it either. “They look unnatural.”
I didn’t think it was necessary to remind her that everything about getting bitten by a seductress mermaid vampire was unnatural. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You might turn into a siren,” Beat said. At least she was grinning now. Our relationship generally involved spurts of seriousness amongst long periods of absurdity. We preferred it that way.
“A sex change?” I said. “Hmm, interesting. My breasts have been looking bigger.” I used my hand to push my pecs together to create some makeshift cleavage. It felt weird. My body was so much leaner than it had been a few days ago, before the goddesses had leveled me up to Seeker. As Protector, I’d been the Incredible Hulk’s long-lost brother, except without the green tinge and uncontrollable temper. As Seeker, I was lean and chiseled, my senses supercharged so I could see in the dark and hear footsteps sneaking up on me from a great distance away.
“You’d be a damn ugly woman,” Beat said. I was glad we were still in the joking phase of the conversation.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I would. Which is why I think I’ll stick to being a man. At least for now.”
“Sure you don’t want to try on my loin bikini?” Beat asked. “Just for fun.”
“Tempting,” I said. Given my changed shape and size, I’d had to retie my own loincloth tighter to avoid a whole lot of embarrassment. Beat’s garb, however, had needed to be readjusted the opposite way, expanded with extra rope. “We could do a photoshoot for Barbarian magazine. Spring Break edition. Loin clothes optional.”
Though I could tell Beat was amused, her expression grew serious once more. “Ryder. You should show those veins to the Three.”
“I’m pretty sure they’ve already noticed them.” They must have. Kinda hard to miss considering the, ahem, close quarters we’d been in together.
“You know how they are, all mysterious and shit. Ask them directly. Or Eve. She might know.”
Beat was right. Our Finder, Eve knew almost everything there was to know about this place. This place being Tor, the alien planet I found myself on, a world plagued by monsters with an affinity for ripping out the hearts of goddesses. And murder. Yeah, they loved murder too. “I’ll think about it.”
“If you don’t, I will.”
“Bossy,” I said. “This whole Protector thing has really gone to your head.”
Beat smiled at me wryly. “You think I’m bad? Have you seen Lace lately?”
I groaned. I had. The ferocious cat-woman had been a major asset to me when I was Protector, even if she’d always believed it should’ve been her who got the job. Now that she’d been leveled up…
Right on cue, her sharp voice carried over to where we were sitting by the fire. “Get off your lazy asses and fight like your about to be devoured by a fucking vostra!”
We watched as Lace, who was now more wolverine than cat, with long, retractable claws (thank the goddesses she’d finally figured out how to retract them or we’d all have ended up skewered) and two sets of three-inch long fangs, grabbed one of the new recruits and hauled her to her feet. The woman scowled at Lace, who promptly hissed at her. The human woman backed up a step, and I didn’t blame her. Lace looked like a hungry predator. Hot as hell, too, but with enough scary to make you cross the street to avoid her.
“Again,” Lace said. “Until you get it right.”
As tough as Lace was on the newbs, she was just as effective. They were clearly getting stronger, more capable. Not all of them had faced the Black yet, but they would be ready soon.
The Black was the short stretch of night—approximately two hours—that felt like an eternity. For most, it was a time of complete darkness, where you couldn’t see your own hand in front of your face unless you were carrying a torch coated in the ever-burning blood of demons. For me, it was different now. My eyes could see in the darkest of darks, even if everything was cast in a muted gray. Still, it was better than being blind.
We watched as two of her Warriors fought. Jak, the dark Lri Ay dude with bulging biceps, and Asfandiar, the ancient human warrior Eve had brought back from Earth’s past. Jak favored a broad two-handed sword that allowed him to land mighty blow after mighty blow, while Asfandiar—whom Beat and I had nicknamed Ass-Fan—used a long, curved blade that he wielded with practiced precision.
The two men went at it like they hated each other. Which they did. Because of Lace, who they’d both had relations with. And in case you are a bit slow and missed the innuendo, I mean they both fucked her. A lot. And Lace being Lace liked to pit them against each other at every turn. Including now.
“Stupid males,” Beat said. “They should throw down their weapons, beat their chests and then get out the tape measures.”
I looked at her. “Tape measures?” I said, not understanding.
“To measure their dicks?” Beat said. “That’s what this is all about. Who’s bigger and manlier.”
I snorted, but turned my attention back to the fight, which was as entertaining as an MMA fight involving two Marvel superheroes. Ass-Fan was the quicker of the two, dodging and deflecting Jak’s powerful killing strokes. Slowly, however, he was being beaten into submission. Both men were sweating like pigs, their skin shimmering in the silver sun.
In a chance in tactic, Jak went for Ass-Fan’s legs, but the Warrior simply leapt over the stroke, landing in a forward roll that carried him away. He regained his feet, turned, and deflected an overhead chop expertly, guiding the massive blade into the dirt. Then he slashed his own wicked blade back up.
Jak roared.
His sword fell to the ground. His hand, now severed from his arm at the wrist, still gripping the hilt.
Ass-Fan stepped back, grinning broadly, like he’d just won a plush toy playing a silly carnival game where you try to throw a ping-pong ball into a fishbowl. Not the expression one would normally have when cutting off another man’s hand. Welcome to Tor, I thought wryly.
To emphasize my point, Lace said, “Well done,” commending her Warrior for the removal of said hand from her other Warrior’s body. “Asfandiar, help Jak get that wound tied off with an ooze wrap.”
Ah, Lace, I thought. There is a method to your madness.
“She’s a psycho genius,” Beat said.
“Emphasis on psycho,” I said.
But I had to admit, it was smart. She needed these two mighty Warriors to get along enough to fight together during the Black. They could compete during the day, but at night they needed to have each other’s backs. Being forced to care for one another when injured was a sure-fire way to earn each other’s respect.
Jak, hissing through his teeth as blood poured from his wrist, glared at Asfandiar. The ripped Warrior kept grinning. “Come with me,” he said.
When the two had slipped inside one of the huts, Lace snapped at the rest of her Warriors who’d stopped their own training to watch the drama unfold. “Fight or I’ll cut your hands off!”
“She thinks it’s a competition,” Beat said.
“What is?” I asked, watching as Lace’s Warriors ran through their paces again, fighting each other with reckless abandon, spurred on by their leader’s sharp rebukes and threats.
“Me and her. We’re both Protectors, but she thinks one of us needs to be the best Protector.”
I glanced over at where Beat’s crew of Warriors were lounging in the silver sunlight, chewing on skewers of charred leafrat. “Her squad certainly works harder than yours,” I said, already dodging before the last word crossed my lips. Beat’s punch whistled overhead and I chuckled. “Can’t catch me I’m the gingerbread ma—ow!” Her foot had been quicker than her fist, catching me in the ribcage.
“I eat gingerbread men for breakfast,” she said. “And my crew isn’t lazy. They’re conserving their energy. Balance is important. Equal periods of training and rest. The last thing I need is a bunch of exhausted fighters staggering into the Black.”
“Two paths through the same forest,” I said. “But do they both lead to the waterfall? Or will one take everyone over the edge of a cliff?”
Beat raised an eyebrow. Then we both laughed. I could be a real dumbass sometimes. Or maybe it was the boredom. As the only Seeker we had, I was no longer permitted to fight during the Black. It felt weird staying behind. You would think it would be a good thing to no longer have “Fight monsters in the dark” in my job description, but it kind of sucked.
Like now, when Beat stood up and clapped her hands. “Play time is over, kids,” she said. Her crew of Warriors groaned. But they also obeyed. Even before she’d been leveled up, Beat was the kind of woman you respected.
I watched her go, feeling envious and alone. For the first time, I thought I understood how Eve felt. As the only Finder—and there could only be one Finder—she was on an island by herself. And she’d done this for years, I’d only been Seeker for a few days.
Being a Seeker was different than being a Warrior or Protector. I didn’t have the nightly responsibilities of protecting the ward shields. According to Eve, the goddesses would let me know when to go out on a mission.
Thus far, all I’d done was sit on my ass
and wait. Twice I’d tried to go visit the Three to ask for something to do, and twice Eve had informed me they weren’t up for visitors. Normally I wasn’t the type to take no for an answer, but ever since we’d recovered the sky goddess’s heart from the Morgoss, I was reluctant to disturb them. Airiel was in a sort of coma, healing but slowly.
I found my own feet and climbed the hill. It was a steep grade that used to make my calves and thighs burn, but which now felt about the same as walking downhill. I was faster and more agile in this new body.
At the top, I grabbed one of the glowing vines and slid down. It’s a move I would’ve never attempted before, afraid of losing my grip and breaking my legs. Now it felt as easy as walking.
I landed with a soft thump.
I noticed a glowing just below my chin. Shit. Those damned white veins were glowing beneath my skin. Faintly, but still. It was weird as hell. What is happening to me? I didn’t feel any different—well aside from the changes from being leveled up. But those changes felt more natural now, the primordial ooze (meaning goddess spittle) transforming all of us into different versions of ourselves.
The glowing veins didn’t feel natural at all.
A splash drew my attention away from my own predicament.
“Coming in?” Eve said, her head emerging from the water, which ran from her dark hair down her face, past her alluring almond eyes and perfect lips before cascading from her chin.
I felt a stirring beneath my loincloth. (Hey, don’t judge, imagine the hottest woman you’ve ever seen and multiply that by a thousand and see how your anatomy reacts.)
It didn’t help that I spotted her sexy backless black dress discarded haphazardly on the ground between me and the crystalline pond. Eve’s daily swim was a ritual I’d only witnessed once before. The last time I’d been dangling from the vines and I’d almost fallen to my death. This time I grew weak at the knees.
“Monster got your tongue?” she said, splashing water in my general direction. Playful. Flirty. The way she always was. Well, not always. She had a mean streak, too, but I hadn’t seen that side of her in a while now. Our relationship had changed ever since I’d become a leader in camp, leveling up faster than most.
