Carnage: Nate Temple Series Book 14

by Shayne Silvers

  As we’d waited for the unconscious Carl to recover, Zeus had lectured me on how the manacles worked. Titan Thorns, he’d called them. The thorn feature was the reason Carl had failed to rip his hand free of the cuffs without almost killing himself. The stronger we pulled, the deeper the thorns would dig into our flesh. The thorns were even angled so that any attempt at such a motion stabbed into the wrist in the opposite direction.

  Basically, it was like slowly pressing your palm onto the tip of six blades and pushing towards them so that you were willingly impaling yourself.

  We had also learned that it was impossible to purposely harm ourselves in any manner imaginable—which was comical since the gods spent as much time as possible harming us in every manner imaginable. Carl had vocally warned them that he would eat through his own wrists to get out of the Titan Thorns.

  Turned out, he couldn’t.

  Every time he’d tried, his teeth had clamped shut just shy of his flesh. From my perspective, it had been eerie to watch—to see him holding his wrist inside his gaping jaws, only to watch him bite down and find his wrist magically out of harm’s way.

  So, after a few days of creative suicide and self-mutilation attempts, we’d actually found ourselves looking forward to the torture sessions with Apollo and Ares.

  At first, the very real concern of permanent danger had held me back. What kind of wizard would I be if I broke out of here as a crippled wreck?

  The handi-capable Horsemen of Hope didn’t have the same ring to it. But I’d passed the point of despair rather quickly. I looked forward to taunting my jailers, of course, but there was something more to it.

  Knowing that they wouldn’t—at least for now—let me permanently injure myself, had allowed me to embrace the pain, much like an endurance runner added on another mile to their jog every day. Pushing to see how far they could go. It was all I had to look forward to. How much pain could I handle?

  How long could I smile?

  How close to insanity could I get without breaking?

  How defiant could I be?

  I soon learned that I was alarmingly talented at my newest venture—much to the frustration of Ares and Apollo.

  Without a word, Zeus spun on his heel and exited our cell, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Just like that, he was gone.

  I turned to Carl, smiling. “I’ve got a new one. Brain fixer instead of therapist.”

  Carl smiled faintly, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. That was not a good sign, but I kept the thought to myself.

  2

  It had been a few hours since Zeus and Ares had stormed out of our cell. No one else had returned. Even Apollo had skipped his afternoon torture session with us. So, Carl and I had gotten to work.

  I swept my eyes across the crimson runes on my chains. Most of the symbols were strange perversions of the Greek alphabet, but I saw some that resembled Enochian script, hieroglyphics, Kanji, and several other historical alphabets. Judging by the odd modifications to the familiar Greek symbols, I was assuming the others were similarly unique. As I focused upon a new rune, I quickly felt an arctic chill whisper across my forearms. I absently brushed the frost away from my skin, refusing to blink as I studied the rune more intently.

  “Ice,” I murmured aloud.

  “Which one?” Carl asked in a dry whisper.

  “The one that looks like a nipple.”

  Our prison cell was quiet for a few moments. Then I felt Carl lean forward to look over my shoulder. “What kind of nipple?”

  I slowly turned to look at him, arching an eyebrow. “Is that really relevant?”

  Carl indicated another rune that resembled a chalice with no base. “That resembles an udder, which is a cow’s nipple. There is a vast spectrum of nipples, and all should be considered. My nipples, for example—”

  I averted my gaze and lifted my palm to ward him off. “No more nipples. I’m talking about the one that looks like a circle with a peak in the middle.”

  “Ah,” Carl said in a knowing tone. “Like your nipples. I know those well.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t comment further on his familiarity with my nipples and he didn’t continue his efforts to show off his own. Instead, he remained firmly in my personal space and narrowed his eyes to slits, committing the symbol and its associated power to memory. We’d both decided to mentally catalog the symbols, hoping to find a way to overpower them or to at least understand them, in case we were released for bad behavior. Because I had a sneaking suspicion that Zeus had a big ask coming our way since his efforts both at breaking us and getting into my satchel had epically failed. I wasn’t sure if escaping this godforsaken place would be worth the price he was going to demand.

  I eyed my threadbare clothes. They were hardly fit for shop rags in the garage. My wrists were scabbed and bleeding, and dozens of other cuts and sores dotted my skin. Some of my sunburns closely resembled dark, purplish bruises—or maybe I had bruises beneath my sunburns.

  In summation, it hurt to exist. And it hurt worse when no one was torturing me, because my defiance in the face of active cruelty was an armor of sorts. Sitting alone brought on a sense of hopelessness—having someone to fight allowed me to momentarily forget about the reality of my impotence.

  Carl didn’t look much better. Since he was basically immune to sunlight, Apollo and Ares had set to him with blades and, with his exceedingly tough scales, they had to put some real elbow grease into it. Still, he looked tough as nails, ignoring the obviously debilitating wounds since there was nothing to be done for them.

  “Say it, Carl,” I said, shaking off the thoughts of an eternity spent here. Elders lived a long time, and now that I was a godkiller, my time on Earth might have received an extended lease.

  He looked up at me. “Again?”

  I nodded firmly. “It helps.”

  He shrugged, the words meaning absolutely nothing to him since he didn’t understand pop culture. “Lara Croft has nothing on you, Master Temple.”

  “Damn right,” I growled, turning back to the symbols. If the Tomb Raider could solve mysterious prehistoric and supernatural puzzles, how could a wizard of my caliber fail?

  I turned back to the Nate’s nipple symbol and narrowed my eyes as I let my mind wander. Despite not understanding how staring at the symbol had made actual frost cover my skin, I had grown accustomed to the strange reactions by now. I hastily skipped the next symbol—that one had been fire, and it had burned a patch of hair from my forearm before I had managed to swat it out.

  Each rune gave off a different pulse of energy. One of them had even felt like a vacuum—not a physical sensation, but as if it had been attempting to gobble up my life force. Carl had dubbed that one the Devourer, and it had even resembled a cut gemstone in the shape of a heart.

  As I focused my undivided attention on each new symbol, it would momentarily grow brighter until its associated magical sensation lashed out at me—oftentimes in a hostile manner, like a dog snapping its teeth. This collection of symbols somehow amalgamated into what was blocking me from using my magic. A spell of some kind. Even though it hurt me to study, it was as close as I could currently get to feeling magic.

  I couldn’t even sense my wizard’s magic anymore.

  None of my various other powers were accessible, as if I’d only imagined ever having them.

  The harder I focused on the newest symbol, the dizzier I became. I let out a measured breath, my eyes watering as I forced myself to continue staring at the hourglass on its side. It almost looked like a Norse rune. Despite the dizziness, I could feel…something emanating from it. Something I almost understood. It almost sounded like a song—

  I blinked. No. It was a song. I spun and shot Carl a dark glare. He was humming Do-Re-Mi from The Sound of Music—his favorite movie ever. To be fair, it might have also been the only movie he’d watched through to the end. He had his eyes closed and he was bobbing his head up and down absently as he hummed. “Carl. Stop.”


  He opened his eyes and cocked his head. “It helps me relax.”

  I sighed, lifting a hand to brush my hair out of my eyes. The heavy chains clinked against my Titan Thorns at the motion. I dismissed the symbols decorating the manacles, having already inspected them thoroughly. They had been the first symbols we studied. Strangely enough, they were absolutely identical to the ones on Carl’s manacles. I’d assumed they would be different since he was an Elder and I was a wizard. Were they one size traps all?

  “Alucard,” Carl murmured, not needing to elaborate. The only power seemingly uninhibited by the Titan Thorns was that Carl still had a mental connection with Alucard—able to talk to him through a mind-meld of sorts.

  I shook my head firmly. “He would bring everyone up here—if he could even find us, that is—and they would all get themselves killed. This is Mount Olympus and none of my friends are gods. An invasion would only serve to unite the other Olympian gods against a common enemy.”

  “You are friends with some gods. You are also friends with a fellow godkiller.”

  I shuddered at the thought of Fenrir coming to Mount Olympus. As far as I knew, he still had his collar, which would limit his abilities. I hadn’t saved him only to get him killed or captured again. And I wasn’t sure if friends was an accurate definition of our relationship. “Not yet. We need to find our own way out of this.”

  Carl nodded obediently. He’d suggested it a few times already. “As you wish, Master Temple.”

  He crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. I watched the holes of his nostrils contract as he took a slow, deep breath, and then they expanded as he let out an even slower exhale.

  Carl was an Elder—a human-sized lizard man who scared gods, monsters, and pretty much every supernatural faction I had ever encountered. Carl’s white scales were dusty and looked dry—as if he was a snake approaching the season to shed his skin.

  Which was something Carl did, on occasion. I was definitely not looking forward to sharing his cell for that experience. The almost erotic sounds he made while peeling off his old skin had been forever burned into my memories from his time living at Chateau Falco, but at least I’d had an escape option there.

  I still wondered why, exactly, Carl had chosen to latch onto me when Zeus had taken the form of an eagle and abducted me after we’d rescued Fenrir from captivity. It had seemed more than a reflexive action. Almost as if he had instantly known what was happening the moment the eagle first appeared.

  I sat down in front of Carl, mirroring his pose. He cracked open an eye. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Meditating. Envisioning our escape. Visualizing the fountains of ichor we will soon spill across the steps of Mount Olympus. Relishing in the symphony of screams we will orchestrate. Savoring the tantalizing scents of burning flesh and hot, godly blood as we raze this place to the ground.” He flicked his long tongue out as if he could already taste it.

  “Oh. I thought you were just napping or something.”

  He smirked. “I am wakefully dreaming,” he said. “I do not seek hope, Master Temple,” he said slowly. “I seek guidance for how violent we should be when we do break out.”

  Okay. I was arrogantly confident on the best of days, but Carl was obviously delusional. “We are slightly outnumbered. We’re talking about a whole pantheon full of gods against a shackled wizard and Elder.”

  He blinked with his transparent, inner eyelid, utterly unimpressed. “The gods are merely playthings to the Elders. The Olympians are more frightened than we are. Can you not taste it on their breath? They hold the leashes to meteors. Do not be so impressed by gods.” He spat a bloody glob on the floor. “Oh, look!” he exclaimed, pointing at the bloody glob. “One of my baby teeth! I just became a man!”

  I stared at him, suppressing an eerie shudder at his dismissive god comments and pretending I hadn’t heard—or seen—anything regarding the long, bloody tooth by my foot. “I hope you have an idea about how to get us out of this mess, then.”

  He nodded pensively. “We will do what we must, Master Temple.”

  I sighed, not knowing if I liked that vague, fortune cookie answer. “Until I understand what’s going on here, I am hesitant to borrow trouble by asking for help from others. Maybe that is what Zeus really wants. To frighten me enough that I lure the new Horsemen—or any of my other allies—here for a rescue mission that is a trap.”

  Carl had his eyes closed again. “You should meditate on it, like the many-armed godlings once taught you.”

  I stared at him. Many-armed godlings? I opened my mouth to pepper him with questions, but the answer hit me almost immediately. Shiva. He had taught me astral projection—the ability to let my soul wander the world while my body remained stationary.

  That thought tickled my memory for another reason. This wasn’t the first time I’d been trapped in an impenetrable prison. I had once been locked up in Hell with Mordred…

  Ruin—the baby Beast of Chateau Falco and my own Beast, Kai—had found me. He’d been searching for his father, not knowing he was dead, and had found me instead, having followed the Temple Crest branded into my palm.

  I stared down at my palm now, feeling the surge of hope flicker and die as I considered the fact that Zeus might be able to take Ruin for himself. His current form was a storm cloud, after all. I shuddered at the mental image of giving Zeus a Beast of his own.

  And if I did see Ruin on the astral fields, he might decide to do something heroic despite my warnings. Bumping into him could be just as bad as contacting Alucard, kicking off a doomed rescue mission. Maybe…I could spy on them, though. Get a feel for what was happening in the world in my absence. That couldn’t hurt.

  I closed my eyes and began to meditate, clearing my mind of my injuries and aches, squashing my fears and pretending I didn’t feel fresh blood leaking from the wound over my ribs. Oddly enough, I hadn’t noticed it until I was consciously trying to wall off all physical pain. I must have managed to shut off my pain receptors without trying up until now.

  Or I was just numb to it.

  As my thoughts faded away, my soul slipped out of my body and I immediately found myself surrounded by thick darkness. I’d succeeded, despite my Titan Thorns. My body might be a prisoner, but my mind was free and at peace—

  I heard a crack of thunder that sounded like a glacier calving beneath me, and spotted a spiderweb of crimson lightning in the distance, the only source of light in my dark universe.

  It looked like the astral fields were expecting a storm. I stepped forward—even though there was no ground to speak of—wondering if I was the harbinger of the storm or a victim. Then I chuckled. “I’m the Catalyst.”

  The black skies screamed around me, and the lightning storm bloomed with life.

  3

  More tendrils of red lightning rapidly crackled across the darkness, bathing me in crimson light. I glanced down at my clothes and scowled. I changed my appearance—since I was astral projecting, and nothing about me was currently real anyway—so that I wore a tailored blazer over a tight-fitting dress shirt that sat dark against a pair of acid washed jeans. Next, I imagined a pair of brown leather loafers. Because loafers were comfy.

  I somehow fed power into the red lightning around me and the infinite blackness shattered like a broken, stained-glass window.

  As the darkness fell, the scenery changed as drastically as if it had been concealed by a theater curtain or an opera house.

  The screams and wails of the dead were almost as high-pitched and vibrant as an opera singer, but nowhere near as skilled.

  I was in Hell, surrounded by a writhing mass of boiling lava. Apparently, I’d booked a cruise on the world’s shittiest boat.

  I slowly turned to find my old friend, Charon—the Boatman—seated before me. He wore his usual dark, threadbare, hooded robe, and his lips were sewn up with thick, filthy, knotted twine. He clutched a can of beer in either hand, and was holding one of them out to me. His oar—a strangely ancient
blade-like shape—was wedged into a holder on the side of the boat, and a dented, scuffed cooler sat near his feet. I knew it would be brimming with cheap beer or his mysterious home brew—made with water from the infamous River Styx.

  “You can see me?” I asked, reaching for the beer. Typically, the whole point of astral projecting was to see but not interact.

  He gave me a flat stare. “Dude. It’s my only job—to catch wandering spirits.” He didn’t necessarily speak, but his words filled my mind nonetheless.

  I grunted. “Right.” I took the can, popped the tab, and took a long drink. It felt…amazing. After receiving nothing but tepid sips of water over the last week, it was the most refreshing drink I’d ever had.

  “Thanks,” he said, smiling at my obvious reaction to his beer. His smile tugged at the twine over his lips, but he had never seemed to care much about the gruesome effect.

  “I didn’t mean to come here, to be honest,” I admitted. I had been thinking about my prison in Hell, though. I must have gotten my wires crossed. And how had I been able to use my power to affect that crimson lightning? I glanced down to see that I still wore my Titan Thorns, and that the similarly crimson runes were glowing. Had I somehow tapped into their power?

  I fidgeted uncomfortably under Charon’s scrutiny. It had been so long since I’d casually sat with anyone other than Carl, that I felt like a savage animal invited to a dinner party. The only other living people I’d encountered had been torturing me to death. Punishing the monster, Nate Temple, for unspecified reasons. To be fair, I couldn’t necessarily blame them.

  I’d done some pretty monstrous things in recent years. I hadn’t been such a nice—

  “You’re pretty much the nicest person in the world,” Charon mused, sweeping his gaze over the roiling lava as if making sure we didn’t have any witnesses. “You know that, right?”