Among Gods and Monsters

by S D Simper

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Pronunciation Guide

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  S D SIMPER

  © 2019 Endless Night Publications

  Among Gods and Monsters

  Copyright © 2019 Endless Night Publications

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permissions, send a query to admin@sdsimper.com.

  Cover art by Jade Mere

  Cover design and interior by Jerah Moss

  ISBN (ebook) 978-1-7324611-5-4

  Visit the author at www.sdsimper.com

  Facebook: sdsimper

  Twitter: @sdsimper

  Instagram: sdsimper

  For Parker

  THE ROYAL COUNCIL OF STAELASH

  Marielle Vors – Mair-ee-el Vohrs

  Etolié – Eh-toh-lee-ey

  Thalmus – Thah-muhs

  Flowridia – Floh-rid-ee-uh

  Sora Fireborn – Sohr-ruh Fire-bohrn

  FOREIGN DIGNITARIES

  Xoran – Zoh-ran

  Lunestra – Loon-es-truh

  Ayla Darkleaf – Ai-luh Dahrk-leef

  Zorlaeus – Zor-ley-uhs

  Casvir – Kas-veer

  Murishani – Mer-eh-shah-nee

  Alauriel Solviraes – Ah-law-ree-ehl Sohl-veer-es

  OTHER PLAYERS

  Khastra – Kas-truh

  Odessa – Oh-des-uh

  Soliel – Suh-lil

  Demitri – Dih-mee-tree

  Tazel – Taa-zuhl

  Kah’Sheen – Kuh-sheen

  Mereen – Mer-een

  VARIOUS GODS, ANGELIC AND DEMONIC

  Sol Kareena – Sohl Kuh-ree-nuh

  Eionei – Eye-uhn-eye

  Alystra – Ah-lees-truh

  Staella – Stey-luh

  Neoma – Ney-oh-muh

  Ilune – Eye-loon

  Izthuni – Iz-thoo-nee

  Ku’Shya – Koo-shy-uh

  Onias – Uhn-eye-uhs

  A door of dark wood and gold plating stood between Flowridia and freedom.

  Her spirit lingers, or so claimed the demon from the woods. Ayla was gone, and Flowridia had been given all her beloved had left behind. For courage, she gripped the ear around her neck, now with all three earrings shattered and cracked. Swallowing tears, she pushed open the heavy door.

  Seated at a desk was Imperator Casvir. Enormous and armored, his sweeping horns only increased his stature but the sheet of his white hair, pulled into a tail, added a subtle aura of civility to his otherwise monstrous form. Whatever hints of skin she might have imagined beneath his armor spoke of uncontested strength.

  No reaction. Flowridia stepped inside and shut the door, too drained to be intimidated by the vast figure. She watched quietly as his hand wrote whatever notes a particularly demonic De’Sindai might need with his quill and ink.

  His hand stopped scribbling, and he finally spoke. “Hungry?”

  Flowridia shook her head before realizing he couldn’t see her. “No,” she whispered. She watched him nod and return his attention to the quill in his taloned fingers. Scratching on parchment again met her ears.

  The conversation would be over if she did not push for more. She took a step forward, and then another, her feet utterly silent upon the stone floor. Flowridia kept her stare strong as she stood across the polished wooden desk. Even seated, he was barely shorter than she. “You’re the one who gave Demitri to me,” she dared to say.

  “Yes.”

  His voice reminded Flowridia of some ancient underground thing—dark and ominous, a harbinger of cataclysm.

  Could a volcano speak?

  Flowridia studied his focused demeanor before casting her eyes down onto his document. Even upside down, she saw immaculate script, void of any flourishes or flare, but as perfect as writing could be.

  Flowridia’s fingers turned white as her hands gripped each other. To provide an acolyte with a familiar bespoke power nigh unparalleled. “Then, are you a god?”

  “Not yet.”

  Somehow, the response chilled her, the implications leaving a thousand questions unanswered. “Am I a prisoner?” Speaking was still difficult, but Flowridia willed her voice to steady.

  “No,” he said, and finally he set his quill down. When he looked at her with his blazing, red eyes, the stoicism of his countenance would have put any gambler to shame. “I have a proposition, Lady Flowridia, Grand Diplomat of Staelash. Will you hear me out?”

  Flowridia nodded.

  “I seek a magical artifact, one I felt resonate at the exact moment you cried out upon Ayla’s passing. I do not believe in coincidence, and I believe you are the key to helping me find it.”

  Nervous, Flowridia asked, “What is this artifact?”

  “I do not know.”

  She desired only one thing in all the world. “Bring Ayla back,” she said, hating how her words quivered, how she groveled before him. “You’ve done it before.”

  He held her stare, and she swore every facet of her being lay under scrutiny. “I have already written up a separate agreement for Lady Ayla’s return. She is not a part of this negotiation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Imperator Casvir, with his enormous clawed hands, delicately withdrew a single page of parchment. He slid it toward her; Flowridia dared to accept and read.

  For the return of Ayla Darkleaf—

  The paper shook. Flowridia realized it was her own hands.

  For the return of Ayla Darkleaf, Lady Flowridia, Daughter of Odessa and Grand Diplomat of Staelash, will pledge her loyalty to Nox’Kartha and her services to Imperator Casvir, First and Last of His Name, until his death or hers, and beyond should she choose a path of undeath—

  It continued on, detailing potential duties—diplomat, gardener, magister of magic, etc—along with addressing any loopholes one smarter than she could have foreseen.

  And then, too, a damning clause—that Ayla Darkleaf would be pledged to his service, until his death or hers.

  At the bottom waited a dotted line. The imperator’s signature had already been written—beside it lay an empty spot for her.

  “Why?” she asked, realizing her head grew light for lack of breath. Coldness seeped through her core, unnatural and sickening.

  “I know the potential you hold.”

  He would say nothing more, she knew. He offered the hope of her love’s return, but despite Flowridia’s heartbreak, despite the crippling loneliness threatening to consume her, Ayla had hated this man. Ayla had given her life for the chance to escape him. Flowridia set the contract down and said, “Let me think on this.”

  “Of course.”

  “But what of your artifact?”

  Casvir’s expression never changed. “Consider what Nox’Kartha can give you.” He returned his attention to the parchment.

  The words held an air of finality; Flowridia knew he would speak no more. She offered a respectful nod, unsure if it were
proper to bow, and trembled as she approached the door.

  But as she gripped the knob, a thought, insane yet redeeming, prickled in her mind. She had held her own artifact of depthless power not hours before. “Imperator Casvir,” she began, subdued in her newfound confidence, “I know you know my kingdom seeks orbs. Help me to find one, and I will join you on your quest for the artifact.”

  When Casvir looked up at her, she swore she saw a subtle flicker of intrigue in his countenance. “This is your bargain?”

  “I will help you however I can to find your . . . your item. And you will help me find an orb.”

  “I will write out a contract dictating the terms of our arrangement. Once it is signed, you will be returned to Staelash.”

  Flowridia frowned. “I will?”

  “An ambassador of Nox’Kartha was responsible for the death of your general. I have no wish for conflict between our kingdoms, thus I will be financing the funeral as a gesture of goodwill. Ayla acted on her own accord, but Nox’Kartha must take responsibility. You and I shall attend—and then, we leave.”

  Flowridia gave a slow, tentative nod. “What of Ayla’s body?”

  “Her body and belongings will be kept safe until your final return to Staelash.” His expression remained the same, yet his next words chilled her blood. “Or until you sign the agreement for Ayla’s life.”

  Flowridia forced a smile before leaving Casvir alone.

  For all her connections with death, Flowridia had never attended a funeral. She had always imagined rain, the sky weeping in response to whatever tragedy had stolen the loved one prematurely from life.

  Instead, the sun beamed down upon the scene, the sky content to shine hope and beauty upon them. Perhaps that was best. When Khastra had smiled, it radiated a joy unconstrained by her age. And Meira never smiled, but her devotion to her Goddess had led to as spectacular an end as any acolyte could wish for.

  Beside her, a Celestial wept, Etolié’s tear-streaked face providing the rain the sky denied them. Khastra, her body still fresh from death, lay clad in her armor, her hammer still in the Theocracy where she had fallen—a final jest, and one the half-demon would have approved of, that no one could lift her weapon after her passing.

  From her garden, Flowridia had provided a crown of lilies to grace the half-demon’s head, a softer accessory than she ever would have worn in life, as well as for Meira, who lay in a coffin beside her, serene in both life and death.

  Queen Marielle spoke, but Flowridia barely heard. Nearly half of Staelash had come to give their final farewells, soldiers and commoners alike, the general a well-known and beloved pillar of their kingdom.

  Of the three founders of Staelash, only Etolié remained. Marielle stood in the shoes of her deceased father, but inexperience still clouded her judgement and decisions. Whoever would be named to fill Khastra’s place would need guidance. Etolié stood at the head, shaking under her silent tears and the weight placed upon her shoulders.

  Imperator Casvir stood like a volcanic shadow, the threat of a far-off doom pervading his silent aura. His armor must have been sweltering in the sunlight, yet Flowridia saw no sweat upon his blue-tinged brow, nor at his stark-white hairline. But his eyes shone red, missing nothing as he surveyed the funeral onlookers, his curved horns the only crown he needed.

  Flowridia watched as Marielle concluded her remarks, her eyes leaking tears though her voice remained strong. She stepped aside and gestured for the bodies to be lowered into the ground.

  A new voice spoke. “Etolié—”

  From the corner of her eye, Flowridia saw Etolié turn away from the name, her soft tears replaced by a gasping sob. Someone approached, the woman who had called for her, but Etolié looked ready to crumble, her hands gripping her silver hair. The Celestial spared a glance for the open graves, then pushed her way through the crowd, urgency in her steps.

  Instead, Empress Alauriel Solviraes of their patron kingdom, Solvira, stepped in to fill Etolié’s vacancy. Her silver eyes were rimmed with red, her gentle smile bespeaking her sorrow. Forcibly still, she held her breath and swallowed back tears, then said, “Etolié told me of your bargain with Imperator Casvir. You’re doing a great service to your kingdom and my empire. I won’t forget this.” Her voice lowered, barely a whisper, unheard by anyone but she. “And my deepest condolences, for your own heartbreak. I cannot fathom the burden you bear.”

  Her words were gentle. Flowridia shattered.

  She didn’t fight when Alauriel—or Lara, as she was known among friends—pulled her into an embrace. With her hands gripping the velvet fabric covering the empress’ waist, the first of her sobs shook her body.

  She hadn’t cried an audible tear since returning from Nox’Kartha, but here in Lara’s embrace, oh, she crumbled; she fell. A hitched breath, and then came a flood. Fear washed over her like an ocean wave, thoughts of demonic tyrants filling her with dread, but Lara’s soft hands parted the seas, a rock amongst turbulent water. Flowridia let her eyes fall shut, her grip growing tight. Lara whispered, “Shh . . .” and steadied her cries. Tender strokes soothed along her thin back.

  Something sweet lay mingled in the scent of Lara’s hair; something clean; something that bespoke the magic coursing through the woman’s veins. Descended from the Moon Goddess herself, Lara’s bloodline held magic unparalleled. It touched upon Flowridia’s senses, settling into her memory as they clung to the other, and she felt no need to part. “There is no shame in mourning someone you loved,” Lara whispered, “even if the world wouldn’t understand.”

  “Thank you—”

  A sudden rumble shook the earth. An ear-splitting screech destroyed the sorrowful peace. Flowridia and Lara both brought their hands to cover their ears, even as the screech lowered both in volume and tone.

  A voice she did not know boomed through the air, but it bespoke a familiar cadence—the language of Sha’Demoni, the tongue of demons.

  The sky darkened. Shadows rose, but one formed a ghastly, enormous figure towering above even the manor in height. First a formless mass, but it slowly warped with every word from its tongue, not solid, no, but sharp. Flowridia saw a gigantic, multi-armed monstrosity and swore that four glowing, black pits stared out among the mourners.

  The crowd gasped and cowered. Flowridia watched as a mace materialized in Casvir’s hand, his face twitching as he visibly calculated this potential opponent. Lara grabbed her, placing her own small body between them, when the very ground shook.

  The shadow stood tall as if to speak, unfathomably large as it blotted out the sun itself, but then a glowing light from behind rose to face the behemoth.

  The crowd parted for Etolié—but not Etolié, for she shifted and grew, first her eyes glowing and then the very pores of her skin as she allowed the deity she claimed to possess her. Eionei, the God of Drinking and Freedom and grandfather to Etolié, cast his fractal wings wide and lifted his rapier aloft. “There is no place for demons here, Ku’Shya.”

  Flowridia knew the name, horror settling at the realization of this demon’s identity—the Goddess of War herself had come to bid her eldest child farewell. The booming voice seethed, this time speaking their kindred tongue. “I had to see for myself if my daughter’s death was true.”

  “If you’re here to make a heartfelt speech and perhaps join us afterward for a drink and some cards, we’re more than happy to accommodate. Otherwise, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “I am to be banned from my Khastra’s funeral?” Flowridia swore heat radiated from the monstrous figure. “Disgraceful. I shall hear no more words from hateful demi-gods.”

  Flowridia’s blood chilled, yet a part of her soul softened at the words. Ku’Shya was as terrifying a goddess to ever manifest on this plane, but even demons loved their children.

  Ku’Shya looked past Eionei, the black pits of her eyes settling onto the closed coffin. When the shadow came closer, Eionei stepped forward to meet her, stealing her attention. “Do not interfere with my
mourning, you pathetic little man.”

  “Me? Pathetic?” The Drinking God had the audacity to laugh. “And here I thought we were friends. Now, kindly step away from the crowd of squishy innocents.”

  “No more words from you. But in deference to my Khastra’s loyalties, I will speak to the Daughter of Stars.”

  Eionei froze a moment, then said, the voice having definitely changed, “Speaking.”

  This time, the shadow’s voice came subdued; Flowridia heard not a terrifying goddess, but a parent mourning her child. “Tell me, truly, Daughter of Stars—this is my daughter’s body? No tricks?”

  “No tricks, ma’am,” Etolié said, and though it was Eionei’s face, it was her own voice and tears. “I swear upon my mother’s name. I saw it all myself. She died a hero’s death—” Etolié’s voice caught. Flowridia had no doubt she would have burst into tears without Eionei’s restraint.

  The possessed Celestial approached the casket, trembling as she undid the latches and lifted the ornate lid. Ku’Shya merely stared.

  The taut silence grew tense with every passing second. Flowridia swore the shadow stole a breath to speak—

  And roared.

  The whole crowd cowered, hands flying to cover their ears. Flowridia joined them, head aching at the furious cry. It held agony and anguish yet anger unparalleled. This was a cry for vengeance.

  And then it faded. Dissipated into the void. There stood no shadow, nor any sign of her presence—save the lingering aura of dread. Etolié’s light faded. She fell on her bottom, content to hide her face in her hands.

  Ears ringing, Flowridia knelt beside her. Lara quickly followed. “Eionei whispered that he would take this up with Sol Kareena herself,” Etolié said, trembling from either tears or exhaustion. Either was viable. “Ku’Shya is not a deity to trifle with.”

  A shadow fell upon them. Flowridia cowered as she turned, expecting the return of the demon goddess, or perhaps Casvir, who haunted her every step—and was surprised to find Thalmus instead. “Flowra, are you all right?” the half-giant said, fear etched into his scarred face.