Ghosts of Korath

by Jake Stone

  The woman’s face breaks into the glow of the stick, and I see a beautiful brunette with clever eyes staring back at me. Stunned, I lower my weapon and whisper, “Rachel?”

  “Who else, dumbass?”

  I stagger for words, unable to believe what I’m seeing. The last time I saw her she was saving my ass from the demon.

  “This isn’t happening,” I say.

  “It isn’t?” she asks.

  “You’re just a ghost,” I say, more for myself than anyone else, “a bitter specter trying to play with my mind.” And although I know this, I can’t help but succumb to the ghost’s spell. It seeps into my mind, erasing all doubt, and making me vulnerable to belief.

  “But that would mean that I’m dead,” she says, her face taking on an eerie glow in the green light, like some specter from a horror movie. But the amusement in her eyes … it’s so real…

  “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Her long black hair is raised into a bun, displaying her beautiful face, and she’s dressed in a white nightgown, the exact same one that she was wearing when she jumped through the portal with the demon. Her breasts press against the thin linen of her grown, and I see the tips of her nipples poking through.

  Rachel…

  She looks up at me in admiration, as if impressed by my added inches, then studies my wide frame with lustful eyes. “My, my,” she says, her hands sliding over my chest and over my shoulders.

  Her touch is intoxicating, and I feel myself letting go. I toss the rifle to the side and reach for her thin waist, enjoying the curves of her body, as my hands slide down her wide hips and taut ass. There’s so many questions I want to ask her, so many things that I want to know. But I’m bewildered by her presence, drunk on the lust that has overtaken me. I don’t care about anyone, or anything, just her and this moment.

  I press my lips against hers, and she curls her body into mine, beckoning me to reach down and grab her ass, which I do. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, I’m able to tell that she’s not wearing any underwear.

  Cupping her ass, I lift her into the air, spreading her legs and pressing my hard cock against her pussy. We grind in pleasure, our mouths pressed tight against each other, as she tightens her arms around me. What am I doing? What is this feeling?

  After a while, it becomes too much, and I can’t control myself. I rip the back of her nightgown with my hands, yanking it off her body in haste and she pulls free of it with the same determination. We’re animals at this moment, hot-blooded mammals possessed by our need to fuck.

  “I want you so badly,” I say.

  “Then take me, you pussy,” she demands in a hiss. “Just like you always wanted to.”

  I feel her hands working the zipper on my back, her nails long and sharp. It doesn’t hurt, though. In fact, if anything, it arouses a darker lust in me that I didn’t know existed. The halves of my body suit peel down to my waist, and she scratches at my chest.

  Her groans are animalistic, feral. She wants to be fucked and fucked hard. I fist the back of her hair and yank it back, her eyes peering at me over the lower lids.

  “Give it to me,” she hisses, “now!”

  Her demand gives me pause. This isn’t Rachel. This isn’t the girl I grew up with, the one who sacrificed herself for my friends and me. This is something else.

  “No!” I say, shoving her away. But she’s strong, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

  “You cannot refuse me!” she declares. “I won’t let you.”

  But I shove her back with all of my might, and she flies against the parapets behind her, the impact shattering her veneer of deceit. Her once flawless skin starts to corrode, falling off her body piece by piece, and I see the glimpse of a corroded skeleton shrouded in inky shadow. The image is horrific, and I stumble back, reaching for my rifle and aiming it at the monster.

  “Xander?”

  I whirl around, aiming my rifle at the voice, then stop as I see Zorel staring back at me.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rushing to don my armor, I ignore the women standing around me, who wait for me to tell them what I’ve just seen.

  My bodysuit was never stripped from my skin, and the deep gashes where Rachel’s nails had dug into my back are gone now, with no sign that they’d ever occurred in the first place.

  The images of Rachel sting my mind in flashes of static, obstructing my thinking, hindering my ability to make sense of it all. I shake my head. But still, they come.

  I see her face, I feel her flesh, I taste her lips, the seductiveness of it all so sweet that I’m at a loss for words. But then the aftertaste settles in, and I’m left with the pungent tang of lies.

  “Are you going to tell us what you saw down there?” Atia demands.

  “It’s not what I saw,” I say, hurrying to snap my breastplate into place and slapping my sword to the magnetic holster on my back. The urge to be prepared is overwhelming, and I try to take comfort in the protection of my armor. But I know I can’t. This new enemy strikes at our minds, it strikes at our hearts, leaving us almost completely defenseless against it. “It’s who I saw.”

  “The ghosts?” Chun Hei asks, her fingers slow and trembling. The fear that permeates from her purple eyes gives me pause. It’s a reflection of my own, and by the faces of the surrounding women, theirs as well.

  “No,” I say, reflecting over the last few moments. There’s something so horrifying about the monsters that rule our mind, attacking us within the sanctity of what we guard most, infecting our joys with sorrow, and making us frightened of what we love. I can’t let this happen. I won’t. “Something worse.”

  Zorel helps Tora to her feet. The fungus that she’d discovered for her seems to have done the trick. But her steps are slow, hesitant. She uses Zorel as a crutch as she walks toward me, her eyes narrowing through the exhaustion that still plagues her.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about her?” I demand, gazing into her eyes.

  The women are confused. They exchange glances, their brows furrowed as they try to determine who it is that I’m talking about.

  “We do not speak of her,” Tora replies, her gaze lowering in shame.

  “Of whom?” Atia demands.

  “The witch,” I twist out in anger.

  “You saw her?” Zorel asks.

  “I did more than see her,” I say, my face flushing in embarrassment. “But that’s not important right now. What is important is knowing what we’re up against. Now tell us, Tora, who is she?”

  We turn to the young woman as we wait for her answer. She’s not as innocent as I once thought, and I find myself scrutinizing her every movement, trying to determine if she’s lying to us or not.

  “She was … ” Tora breaks off, her gaze turning to the darkest corner of the cavern where it lingers. “…one of us.”

  I glance at Atia, who narrows her eyes at the young woman.

  “She was strange,” Tora says. “The daughter of an elder who ruled over our people with a just and kind hand. But this wasn’t good enough for her, a young woman, whose heart, it is said, was led by a thirst for power. She laughed at the elders, even her father, whom it is said was the only man she’d ever loved. She thought they were stupid for sharing their food with a Republic government who could care less about them.”

  “Sounds like a real sweetheart,” I say.

  “It’s said that after one of the village dinners, the young woman went off by herself into the forest, where she was met by a four-legged animal whose feet were like hooves, and whose antlers were like a twisted crown. It offered her a taste of its blood, promising her strength and power and knowledge far greater than any elder knew. But there was a price.”

  “What price?” Atia asks.

  “Sacrifices,” Tora answers. “Soon, the people of the village began to disappear, their bodies found later amidst the ice and snow, their skin ripped from their bodies, their genitals
and breasts and fingers sliced into bits of meat that were fed to the fish in the frozen lakes.

  “It didn’t take long before her father realized who had been doing these awful things and he confronted her, pleading with her to stop her evil ways and turn back to the corfew. But she refused. She believed that worship of the corfew was worthless, no different from a slave who kisses the feet of their master, hoping for scraps of food. Her father didn’t like that. And so, on the first night of the full moon, being the honest man that he was, he presented her to the village for judgment.”

  “Let me guess,” I say, “they voted to hang her?”

  “Worse,” Tora replies, her dark eyes hardening as they meet mine. “They sentenced her to the labyrinth of the mountain where she would live out the rest of her days in darkness. No food. No water. No light. Only her cries and pleas to accompany her in those final days.”

  “So she died?” Zorel asks, like a teenager sitting around a campfire waiting for the end of a horror story.

  “No,” Tora says, shaking her head. “It was not death who delivered her from these tunnels, but a far greater power. One whose evil and cunning far outreach anything else.”

  “Zendal,” Atia says, his name like acid on her tongue.

  “He came for her in the darkness,” Tora says, “relieving her of her pain, and promising her powers that she’d never even dreamed of. In fact, it’s said that she became more powerful than any demon in hell.”

  “And what did she have to give in return?” I ask.

  “A sacrifice,” Tora replies.

  “Only one?” Petronelous asks.

  “The greatest,” Tora says. “The loss of a loved one. For ultimate power, she would have to give that which meant most to her.”

  “Her father,” I say.

  “He was the only person she loved,” Tora says. “And once he was gone, her connection to the world was severed.”

  I stare at the woman, my skin bristling with fear, as I realize that we’re in a far worse position that I’d thought. First of all, we’re stuck in a labyrinth hidden inside a mountain with demons at every turn. Second of all, there’s an ancient evil that none of us are prepared for. How can we traverse this danger and come out alive?

  “It was soon after this that Zendal and his armies of demons poured through the Dark Horizon, bringing with him the death and destruction of hell itself,” Tora continues.

  “So the witch was no coincidence,” Atia says bitterly. “Zendal knew he needed this planet and took the first opportunity he had to secure it by making a deal with this young woman. And all this time, we had no idea.”

  “No one did,” Tora replies. “Her legacy was kept a secret by my people, for they feared the Republic’s retaliation for creating such a powerful source of evil. I fear that telling you this now will only put my people in further danger.”

  I glance at Atia, hoping that she’ll alleviate the young woman’s fears with words of assurance. But she gives none. She’s stoic, hard. Whatever decision she brings to bear will be weighed against the Republic’s needs.

  “This witch,” Atia says. “How do we kill her?”

  “During the War of Darkness. The witch was only defeated when Zendal was cast out by Laurel Fireborn. In that instant, her power was diminished and as she was forced to hide within these walls for the rest of her life. Now, only her spirit remains. But do not worry. It is weak and immaterial.”

  “Oh, I worry,” I say, wincing from where the witch had dug her nails into my back. “She might not be able to materialize, but she can trick us into believing she can, which makes her just as dangerous.”

  So this is the secret of Korath, I realize, the dark and powerful foe that kept the Republic from landing, that disrupted their communication channels, that blanketed the planet’s entire surface with thick clouds that not even advanced technology could pierce?

  Interesting.

  But what does it have to do with Bantha and the young women from the village? How are the two linked?

  I think back to the start of our journey, remembering my time in the tiny cavern by the entrance, where Zorel and I discovered the drawings of those strange figures. Could that have something to do with this?

  “This witch,” I say, turning to Tora, “has anyone ever tried to bring her back? Tried to make her whole again?”

  Tora looks dumbstruck. “Of course not. To do so would be an abomination, an act against our people and this planet. Besides, such a feat would be too difficult, it would require too many resources, too great a—”

  “Sacrifice?” I finish for her.

  She looks at me.

  “Say, like sixteen young women from your village?” I ask.

  “The drawings,” Zorel says excitedly. “The ones in the cave!”

  “What drawings?” Atia demands. Anger flashes across her face, as she realizes that we’ve withheld information from her.

  “It was nothing,” I say. “Just some drawings on the wall of one of the caverns.”

  “If it was nothing,” Petronelous asks. “Then why is it so important now?”

  “Relax, Petro,” Zorel says.

  “Don’t tell me to relax,” the master swordsman replies, pointing a finger at the elemental again.

  “You point that finger at me one more time …” Zorel warns, her hand sparking with electricity.

  “Stop it!” I say, drawing their attention.

  What’s happening to us? Why are they all of a sudden fighting? “We’re being distracted. We need to focus. Now, let’s think about this. According to the drawings that Zorel and I saw, there was a depiction of a large woman, whom I’m guessing was the witch, with a bunch of bodies lying on the floor.”

  “The women from the village,” Chun Hei signs quickly.

  “Exactly,” I say. “They’re not trying to summon another demon or build a weapon, they’re trying to bring back the witch of the mountain, to regain the planet and help secure the planet for Zendal.”

  “History repeating itself,” Atia says.

  Tora lowers her gaze, a look of sadness darkening her face. She whispers the name of her sister so quietly that I can barely hear it. Wiping a tear from her eye, she regains her composure. “Yes,” she says. “That is possible.”

  And this was to be the Republic’s greatest moment, I think to myself, an overwhelming victory that would raise the morale of the galaxy. Instead, it will become one of its saddest defeats.

  “We have to save the women,” I say.

  “No,” Atia says. “We have to figure out a way to kill the witch.”

  “There’s not enough time for that,” I say. “Besides, without the women, there can be no sacrifice.”

  “And leave the witch to fester for the next five hundred years?” Atia says. “No. We must end this evil now—once and for all.”

  “She’s too strong,” I say. “You have to believe me on this one.”

  “What are you talking about?” Petronelous asks. “You heard the young woman. She’s nothing but a spirit.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “and we nearly killed each other because of her. It doesn’t matter that she can’t materialize. She can use our deepest fears against us. And that’s all she needs.”

  “What about the data scrolls?” Zorel asks. “The expedition. They might be our only way to find Rachel.”

  “Rachel can wait,” Atia says.

  “I’m sorry?” I ask, stung by the comment.

  “This is more important,” Atia says. “And you know that.”

  “More important than our oath?” Chun Hei signs.

  “Do not speak to me of oaths,” Atia signs back. “Nothing surpasses our loyalty to the Republic.”

  “Not even friendship?” Chun Hei replies.

  Atia examines me for a moment. “No,” she finally says.

  “Fine,” I say reluctantly. “Our oath to the Republic holds firmer. Without its army, we’ll lose the planet, and if that happens, the war will closely follow. We mo
ve on, but only to free the women.”

  The graveness of my words brings the cavern to a silence, and I can see the immense realization that the women are struggling with. The fate of the galaxy rests in our hands. And we have to fix it at whatever the cost.

  “Rearm, regroup and get ready to head out,” Atia orders. She marches away in her armor, and the women rush to do as she bids, collecting weapons and zipping up supply bags. Only Tora remains behind.

  She crosses her arms against her chest, as if cold, and begins to rub her shoulders. The color of her skin has been renewed, and her movements are sharper and stronger. The fungus has worked apparently. Still, there’s an uncertainty to her appearance, a look of doubt that rules her thoughts like an evil master.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “You don’t trust me anymore, do you?”

  “You lied to us,” I say.

  “I’m sorry,” she replies. “It comes naturally to me now.”

  “Out of habit?” I ask.

  “Out of survival,” she replies. “You’d be surprised what you’ll do to make it through a demon’s pit.”

  I rest a hand on her shoulder. “I understand. But you have to tell us the truth from here on out. It’s the only way we’ll get through this.”

  She nods. “In that case, I must remind you of one more thing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “To free the women, you’ll need to defeat Bantha.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bantha.

  The name sends a chill down my spine, and I feel as if my mind is being overrun by black insects and slithering snakes whose fangs are dipped in poisonous venom.

  He was one of the first demons we learned about at the monastery, a monstrous figure whose appetite for carnal pleasure is only exceeded by his deadly power.

  Interestingly, none of us know what he looks like. Pictures of him simply don’t exist. Every person who has come across the high lord has disappeared in some way or another, more likely from torturous death or some other disgusting act involving hot pincers and bare genitals.

  The fact that we’re about to face him now causes me to pause and doubt myself. Can we really defeat such a monster of that magnitude?