His mind spun as he pushed himself off the ground. Taking short, ragged breaths, he tried to steady himself. Finally, when his mind and his heart settled down a bit, he opened his eyes.
Opened them to a blackness deeper than any he had ever seen.
He could hear the world around him, smell its mixture of scents, feel the moisture from the fountain on his skin, but it was all black—black as the void of a starless space. He had never seen a darkness so complete and pure.
“No,” he said. “No, no, no.”
He brought his hands up to his eyes and caged his fingers around them. Staggering like a drunk, he spun around, doubled over, and puked. Around him, onlookers groaned in disgust.
Go to hell, he wanted to tell them. Go back to your stupid fountain like the mindless sheep that you are.
Milo had never felt so angry in his life. Never had he hated another person as much as he hated Kovax now.
Kovax Leonaryx, the man who had killed his father, who was certainly responsible for his mother’s death, and who had taken Milo’s eyesight away from him. That man had to die, and Milo pledged that he would be the one to do it. It would happen soon. Someday very soon.
He still couldn’t believe it.
Blind. Completely blind.
Storm clouds formed over the park. Milo could feel them gathering as if they were an extension of his body, fingers weaving together across the sky. They were a part of him, a spell that required no trigger other than his feelings of rage.
Thunder boomed.
The crowd went silent.
A child screamed as lightning flashed and crackled.
Milo could see it, but not with his now-dead eyes. The flash lit up his brain… or it was the other way around—his brain lighting up the heavens.
Yes, it’s me—it’s coming from inside me…
The power had always been there. He had just needed to wake it up.
Thunder raged. A little girl cried, “Mommy!”
Parents shouted for their children to come closer, to get out of the rain. Cold, stinging sheets of it had begun to fall.
“No more,” Milo said. He tipped his head back, letting the drops cool his skin. “No more lies.”
He lifted his right hand toward the sky. Luminether coursed through his veins, his blood on fire. The energy funneled into his arm—not enough for the spell he wanted to cast, but it was a solid beginning. The rest could come from elsewhere.
He drew energy from the fountain. The mist swirled around him, cool against his hot skin, and the power grew until it became too much to contain, too dangerous not to release.
A bolt shot from his hand and pierced the clouds overhead.
His command spread across the sky.
More thunder, this time so loud the entire crowd screamed in terror. It was as if the sky were being split apart by boulders heaved by the gods themselves. People scattered.
He pumped more bolts into the sky, storing them in the clouds, charging a weapon he had only just realized was being built. A weapon of pure and utter destruction.
“He’ll kill us all,” a man shouted.
“Run,” a woman cried. “Kids, let’s go. We have to leave!”
Milo’s senses flew from his body. He became the roiling clouds overhead, his body as vast as an ocean. Static tingled against his many miles of skin. The movement of the air and moisture, the infinite sum of its particles, the millions of raindrops being released by the storm—he used all of it to detect and home in on his target. The elements became his eyes, his hands, his weapon.
This time, the bolt came not from his human form, but from the sky. It tore through the clouds and stabbed the earth below. The fountain was immediately torn apart, layer by layer, all the way down to its foundation. Chunks of stone flew everywhere, crashing into buildings. Those hit by the pieces were immediately healed by the energy that rained down a moment later.
Zander appeared at Milo’s side. He whinnied in terrified alarm and stamped his hooves against the grass. People lunged and sprinted all around them.
“Let’s get out of here,” Milo said. He had to scream over the frenzy. “Come on!”
He swung himself into the harness. A tingling sensation in his mind intensified.
“Duck,” Milo shouted.
Zander dropped to his belly, and Milo hugged the levathon’s neck, lowering himself as a chunk of stone flew over their heads. He had known it was coming. He had sensed it somehow, without trying.
Seconds later, the levathon unleashed the full spread of his wings and lifted them toward the raging sky. Milo realized, as the rain soaked him from head to toe, that he was still wearing his eye patch.
He tore it off and flung it into the wind.
CHAPTER 38
T he spell broke, and the vine released Gunner.
He fell to the pavement, raking in lungfuls of air. Kellan now had his back to him, watching the Sargonaut woman like everyone else in the parking lot. When the dust settled, Gunner could see her clearly. She was down on one knee and looked unharmed despite the crater her knee had crushed into the pavement. She must have thrown the brick that saved Gunner while she’d been falling from the sky or jumping from a nearby building. Somehow, she had managed to do so while holding a broadsword that was probably as heavy as Gunner himself. She wielded it now as she stood.
“What in the gods…” Kellan began, backing away from her.
The Sargonauts who had been beating Sevarin now stood in openmouthed wonder. Garig was the most comical of the bunch. His mouth yawned open, and he had raked the fingers of both hands into his mop of orange hair, looking ready to pull all of it out.
She was beautiful, more so than in the drawings. Gunner was awestruck as he studied her. She had straight, chin-length hair that was cornfield blonde, just like in the comic books. Dressed in a plain, functional tunic that exposed her knees and muscular calves, she wore sandals with straps that wove several inches above her ankles, and a crimson cloak that fell in a twist over one side of her body. The broadsword was level with the ground. Gripping its long hilt with one hand, even though it was a two-handed weapon, she kept it perfectly steady.
In true warrior fashion, she raised her head, turned it methodically to take in the scene, and locked eyes with Gunner.
“Sevarin Bapoto,” she said in a commanding voice. “Gun-woo Kim. Are you all right?”
Gunner smiled and raised one arm. “I’m okay.”
He expected Kellan to turn around and scowl at him, but the Archon’s son only stood there, watching Pris. She stood, keeping the blade level.
“This fight ends here. Sevarin and Gun-Woo are to be harmed no further.”
“I know who you are,” Kellan said, “and I don’t care. This is none of your business, and the High Republic of Theus is not your home anymore. Plus, we outnumber you five to one, and none of my four Sargonaut friends is afraid to hit a girl.”
Now Gunner’s jaw was the one to drop open. Was Kellan insane? Did he realize who this woman was? Hadn’t he read any of the comic books?
Pris gave him a dismissive look, as if she had expected this, but also had hoped he wouldn’t waste her time.
“You are all under arrest—”
“Shut your mouth,” Kellan snapped at her. “You have no authority here. My father runs this country. He’s the Archon.”
Pris tilted her head back, squinting one eye. Gunner got the impression she was glad to have gained this information, and that she was again not surprised.
Kellan wasted no time arguing further. “What are you waiting for?” he said to his friends. “Take her down!”
Garig and the other Sargonauts glanced hesitantly at each other.
“Now,” Kellan screamed at them, “or I’ll have you all expelled.”
They immediately dove into sprints toward Pris. Though she faced an attack from four Sargonaut males, all with academy training, she looked unfazed. Gunner watched her lift the broadsword. Was it Tiberian? No other steel c
ould cut Sargonaut flesh—and, if it were Tiberian, would she chop these guys into little pieces? Would she really kill them?
He was relieved of his worry when Pris flipped the sword. She caught it halfway along its blade and swung the hilt at one of the charging cadets, as if the weapon were a bat and the cadet’s head was a baseball. He went sailing across the parking lot, his slack mouth drawing a line of drool in the air.
Garig and his friends grabbed the woman’s limbs to restrain her. Garig landed a punch to her stomach—the sound of the impact was a loud thump—and then pulled his hand back, looking confused as he shook it open. He looked even more confused when Pris brushed him aside as if he were no more than a stray branch in her path.
She focused on the other three, grabbing two around the neck, lifting them, and smacking their heads together. Gunner winced at the thump of bone slamming against bone. The third she took down with a well-placed kick that took out his knees, followed by another aimed at his mouth that made his jaw swing. He also flew across the parking lot.
Garig’s look of confusion was gone. Now, enraged, he launched himself toward Pris, boots pounding the pavement, his fingers rigid and ready to land a blow like the ones that had paralyzed Sevarin on the train. It was like watching a bull in berserk mode charge toward a bullfighter.
Only he missed.
Like a trained dancer, Pris spun away, leaving Garig to stumble awkwardly into the spot where she had just been. She then executed a roundhouse kick that sent her heel slamming into the back of his head, dropping him immediately. His two friends gathered their wits and lunged toward Pris, who fell into a graceful, spinning ballet around her attackers, hands and feet striking them in a weird way on certain spots along their bodies.
She moved almost too fast to follow, but Gunner understood immediately that she was using Tir’sun, the same set of techniques Garig had used to paralyze Sevarin—except she was clearly a master of the ancient fighting style.
One of the cadets fell to his knees and toppled over, rigid as a plank of wood. The other tried to stagger away, his right arm flopping helplessly. Gunner could see the pain on his face as he clutched it. Pris came up from behind, grabbed him, and, as easily as someone raising an umbrella, lifted, spun around, and drove him headfirst into the pavement, making a small crater. The cadet crumpled to the ground, apparently unconscious.
Gunner found himself hopping around and shadowboxing as he watched. At the opposite end of the lot, Sevarin had lifted himself into a sitting position against the wall. He was covered in grime and looked as if he’d been trampled by a herd of elephants, but his eyes eagerly followed the fight.
“Gods curse it,” Kellan said, and Gunner looked over to see the Archon’s son on his feet, slightly bent over with an arm clutching his midsection like he was about to puke. He was ignoring Gunner and watching the fight instead. From the look on his face, Kellan knew his Sargonaut friends had no chance against the woman.
Duh, Gunner wanted to tell him. She’s a demigod Champion, you idiot. What were you thinking?
Garig had engaged Pris again. They faced each other, sidestepping in a circle, the woman’s face set in a look of impassivity, as if this fight had begun to bore her. Garig, on the other hand, was breathing hard and sweating.
Gunner took the opportunity to tell Kellan what was on his mind.
“You kidnapped Barrel. You hurt him, didn’t you?”
“Shut up,” Kellan said, watching the fight.
Garig lunged toward Pris. He had adapted well to her fighting style and ducked a moment before the woman’s long leg cut a swath across the air where his head had been. He landed a well-placed strike against her inner thigh. Masterful. Pris hopped backward, teeth bared, and pivoted on her stiff leg to swing the other one in a roundhouse kick.
This move took Garig in the chest and shot him into the nearest wall. Dust puffed outward as the cadet’s stocky frame crushed the bricks. He landed on his hands and the tips of his toes, and his head snapped back so he could give Pris a hateful look. In the blink of an eye, he sprung himself through the air, chimp-like, hands reaching for the woman.
He was fast, but she was so much faster. Pris grabbed his wrists before he could dig his fingers into her eyes. She kicked upward, catching him in the groin.
Gunner, Sevarin, and Kellan all winced. Garig howled and fell to the ground, writhing.
“She’s just a woman,” Kellan yelled at him. “Break her in half!”
Garig rose to his knees. He was clutching the sore spot between his legs.
“No—not…” he stammered. “She’s something else.”
“A Champion,” Gunner said. “She’s Pris Walksprite.”
Garig’s eyes widened as the sudden revelation struck him. He pushed himself off the pavement and stepped back. “That’s why you look…” he said, his voice trailing off.
That’s why you look so familiar, he had been trying to say. Gunner could easily read the cadet’s emotions on his face, his regret and the sudden flush of fear.
“Don’t kill me. Please. Don’t kill me!”
“Coward,” Kellan spat at him, holding a glowing luminether crystal. “I should let her kill you. At least there’d be honor in your death, if not in your pathetic life.”
He moved his arms in a swishing motion, and a light flashed. Pale, smoky coils of energy rose from the ground, encapsulating Kellan.
“He’s getting away,” Gunner shouted at Pris. “He’s the one who kidnapped my friend.”
The coils and smoke engulfed Kellan. He dropped into a crouch and immediately sprang upward, appearing as though he’d been caught in a flashing wind chamber that was sucking him into the sky.
The light died, and Kellan was gone.
“We’ll get him later,” Pris said, giving Gunner a reassuring nod that made him feel much better.
She turned toward Garig and his two buddies. They didn’t look pleased at the sudden attention.
Garig lifted his hands. “I give up. Don’t hurt me.”
Pris rested her hands on her hips. Gunner couldn’t see her face, but he could picture her annoyed look.
“Gun-woo,” she said, back still turned to Gunner. “Tell me about this one. What crimes has he committed against you and your friends?”
Gunner didn’t know where to begin. “He and the other one, Kellan, son of the Archon, are the ones kidnapping people around the city. They kidnapped my friend, Baraltimus.”
Garig made fists and glared at Gunner. “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything.”
“Quiet,” she snapped at him, and Garig clamped his mouth shut. “I’ll spare you and your friends tonight, but if the boy’s claims are true, I’ll be coming for you, cadet. My blade will be the last thing you ever see. Now go, before I change my mind.”
Garig nodded eagerly and broke into a sprint toward his friends, who lay moaning and grunting in pain. Instead of helping them up, he jumped over them and made straight for the exit. His friends got the message and soon followed.
When the pounding footsteps died away, Pris turned to Gunner. “Sevarin might need your help. Go to him.”
Gunner obeyed. He found Sevarin leaning against the wall, smiling despite the many bruises all over his body visible beneath the coat of dirt and dust. It came as a surprise to Gunner that a Sargonaut could bruise, and it was even more surprising how quickly they faded. As Gunner watched, the blood and tissue healed itself. Moments later, Sevarin looked as good as new.
“Serves them right,” Sevarin said. “They had it coming.”
“Do you know who that is?” Gunner said, glancing at Pris.
“Looks familiar.”
“That’s Pris Walksprite. She’s one of the Champions. Didn’t you read any of the comic books Owen and I let you borrow?”
Sevarin ignored the question. Suddenly, he looked concerned. “She might know where Emmanuel is,” he said. “Gimme a hand.”
For the first time ever, Gunner experienced the odd pleasur
e of helping Sevarin in a physical way. He pulled his friend’s limp arm across his shoulders and helped him limp across the lot toward Pris.
She had turned away from them and now stood gazing up at the hazy night sky, the stars of which were partly obscured by clouds reflecting the city’s light. Gunner wanted suddenly to be back at the academy with this woman, explaining to everyone there what had just happened and why they needed to arrest Kellan and his friends immediately.
“Um—Ms. Walksprite?” Gunner said.
“Call me Pris.”
Still, she kept her back turned to them.
“Well, um, Pris, I was just going to say, we should find my friends. We haven’t heard from Emmanuel. We’re hoping you might know what happened to him. He—he mentioned your name before he left.”
Finally, she turned to face them. Her expression was as stern as before, except now her eyes gleamed with moisture. She blinked, and a pair of tears slid down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice wavered. “Emmanuel’s dead. Please, take me to Milo and Emma Banks. I need to speak with them immediately.”
Gunner was about to respond in shock when, in the distance, a mass of clouds suddenly crackled with thunder. The sound was more filled with rage than any kind of storm he had ever witnessed. Bright threads of electricity danced unnaturally along the cloud’s underbelly.
“It’s a spell,” Gunner said.
Sevarin pulled his arm off Gunner’s shoulders and stood on his own, one shoulder lower than the other. Pris sheathed her sword across her back and turned to watch. Gunner could only gape at the clouds in silence, a tiny voice in his head asking, Can it be him? Is it possible?
Someone was shooting bolts of lightning up at the dark mass. Eventually, a thicker, more powerful bolt exploded out of the sky and stabbed the section of city below.
There was an explosion in the distance. A massive burst of bluish energy puffed outward in a glittering cloud. People screamed as if a giant monster had suddenly appeared in the street—except Gunner knew it wasn’t a monster at all. He had a feeling he knew exactly what it was.
Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Page 99