Without thinking, he picked it up and shut the door. The book felt warm in his hands. Messages From the Abyss was carved haphazardly across the middle of the weathered leather cover above some disturbing geometric symbols.
There was something about holding that book that felt very wrong. Like it was both there and not there. His first instinct told him to chuck it in the trash and burn it with every match he could find.
Maybe it was morbid curiosity that caused him to open the book; maybe it was something else.
The first page showed the title again. The original author was some guy named Douglas Collier. There was no foreword, no editor.
He opened the book to a random page.
“It started when a fellow researcher returned from the mine shaft leading to that ancient city, and the Dark Pyramid beyond it, with the statuette he’d liberated from the shrine he’d discovered. He did not understand the power of that small statuette. He thought it was a prize, a trophy that he could one day pass down to his children to prove where he had been. The statue became his obsession, and I studied him closely. He would come up from his duties down in the ancient city and spend his every waking moment in front of it in his cell, staring off into an abyss that would come to seem more real than the material world that surrounds me.
“The abyss proved to be too much for him. On the night of Tuesday, October 10th, 1939, at 3:00 am, Doctor Adam Brown slit his wrists and drew a crude image of a spider around his body before finally slashing his throat open.
“My CO was a religious man. He believed the statue was of an evil and daemonic nature. He ordered me to destroy it, but instead, I hid it away where no soul would find it. As the months passed, the statue spoke such sweet blasphemies to me in my dreams. And I learned of a god that was not a god—but a thing born among the stars. A being whose true name would drive any weak mortal mind to complete and total insanity when they came to know its maddening reality, and the utter hopelessness of life. The statuette is a gateway to forbidden knowledge.
“A fruit that I could not resist partaking of.”
Luke dropped the book to the floor when he saw the next page. An illustration of a terrible being, a being with a head filled with thousands of teeth like spears, a crimson eye, and a grotesque body that looked like some kind of larva, ending in a sharp tail like some kind of daemonic scorpion.
On the page the drawing almost seemed to come alive. Luke felt tiny legs swarming over his body. He shuddered, trying to shake them off. He found himself looking at the dark corners of the room, at the open closet, as though he were no longer the only one there.
He shut the book with his foot and tossed it in the closet, slamming the door shut.
The feeling did not fade, and sleep did not come easy.
The nightmares threatened to consume him:
He stands on the edge of a widening canyon, a divide between two decaying landmasses that hang above a swirling black vortex. The landmass he stands on is consumed by molten rock and ashen skies. The Spider stands at the edge of the abyss, an army of evil light rising up beneath its towering legs.
There is a man standing before the army of beings made from swirling tendrils of light. Luke instantly recognizes him as the man with no hands. He turns and regards him with a twisted grin, and Luke knows it’s too late.
“Your world will burn, so that mine may yet live, Masku.”
The Spider regards Luke.
And all at once, there is nothing else.
The universe is nothing.
He is nothing.
Such terror and dread come to fill his mind that he takes out a pistol and holds the barrel against his temple. The metal is cool against his balding scalp.
He pulls the trigger without thinking.
Luke woke screaming and cradling his head.
He lay there for what seemed like hours, while the light of the moon crept from the floor to the bed. He was sweating so profusely that he had to peel himself from the bedding to sit up.
There was a smell. The smell of lightning.
“You are woken.” A familiar feminine voice filled the room.
Luke waited to hear the voice again before he responded. He couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just going mad.
“You can trust your senses this night,” the voice said. It seemed to be coming from the corner of the room. When his eyes adjusted, he thought he could see the silhouette of a woman standing in the corner of the darkened room.
“Who are you?” The words were a whisper. Terror gripped at his spine and shackled his dignity, his bravery. “Did you kill my wife?”
“Your wife killed herself.” He could almost imagine lips parting into a grin. “I merely whispered a name in her ear.”
Terror’s hold on his spine shattered, and Luke was across the room, where he thought he’d seen her silhouette, his fists balled up, ready to rip and to tear and to exact unholy revenge upon the monster that had taken his Adrienne from him—
He froze in his sprint. Lightning flashed and crackled around the naked woman’s strange, dark ruby body. Her fuchsia hair and eerie, piercing, violet and green eyes were illuminated briefly in the dark.
Why couldn’t he move?
“You intend to kill me?” She chuckled, and the sound sent shivers down his spine. “Such audacity. I will use you. You will hunt down the one you saw in your dream. You will do this, and I will reward you.”
“I want nothing from you, murderer!”
“Oh?” Another hideous chuckle. She wasn’t human. But somehow, even the man without hands had seemed less alien than this—thing. “You will understand that I have come back to life from the abyss by now, won’t you? With a whisper of a forbidden truth, I stole from you what you most love, and with a whisper I can give it back to you.”
“You can give her back?” he said, hearing his own voice trembling from his fear and grief.
“You will serve me. You will help me kill the man without hands. The man known as Kyrties of the First City.”
Luke’s body collapsed to the floor. The door slammed. He flipped the light switch as soon as he found the will to stand.
The room was empty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SAGE
The break didn’t last long. Geidra set an hourglass, and, before Sage knew it, he was stepping into the ring once more.
Tolu followed him into the ring and stood opposite of him, a slash from her last fight running through the sigil for spirit between them.
Alright, he thought. Let’s see what you’re made of.
“I hope you are ready for this,” Tolu said, her expression completely neutral. “It must wear heavy on you to know that just one wrong move could see your severed limbs falling to the ring.”
Sage grunted, shifted his stance and summoned his Sulen, pooling his power into his limbs.
All I have to do is not get hit, he thought.
Padros slammed the bell and Tolu wasted no time in bombarding his position with barrier slashes, each one howling through the air. Sage was quick, rolling out of the way of the first wave, then leaping into the air, jumping between the next two.
When he got close, she slammed him with a lightning bolt. The force of it sent him skidding to a stop several feet back. She took advantage of this window by sending out three more slashes.
There was no time to dodge them.
Sage growled and slammed his fist down into the ground, creating a wall of pure Sulen.
The slashes shattered on his Sulen.
Tolu grinned. “Impressive. But costly. I wonder how long you can keep this up. You know you cannot use a barrier to stop my attacks.”
No, Sage thought. That’s not it. She’s making these things so sharp that they penetrate the resistance of most barriers.
But Geidra and Padros were both able to stop them with ease. So, what’s the answer? Is it power, or focus?
Or...
Sage grinned.
“What’s so funny?” Tolu asked
.
Thinking of Suleniar’s sharp edge, Sage shifted his weight to his right and extended his right hand, forming a barrier construct in the shape of his amplifier blade. He didn’t know for sure if it would withstand her attacks, but he couldn’t help but think of the feeling he’d had standing on the top of the mountain, feeling Suleniar’s power pour into his limbs. He could almost feel it now, even though it was safely tucked beneath the floorboards of his room, miles away.
“A barrier blade?” Tolu chuckled. “You honestly think that’s going to make a difference?”
“We’ll find out!” Sage shouted, kicking himself forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
Tolu brought her hands down on him, sending out a flash of blue transparent light.
Sage heard Tolu’s gasp as he powered through, using his barrier blade to deflect the two slashes at the last possible moment and delivering a raw punch to her face.
She rolled into a crouch near the edge of the ring. “Bastard! You will not best me!”
His eyes narrowed at her. What was she up to?
Tolu rose and started rotating her hands in great circles. “If you don’t jump out of the ring, you will die from this.”
Barrier constructs spun out from her hands, wrapping around themselves in concentric circles and spinning out to fill the space before him.
It was like a bladed disk composed of individual constructs, expanding slowly into a vortex of death. The stonework in front of Tolu was being sliced to rubble and shards. A howling cacophony filled the air. There was no escape, every space on the ring he looked to was completely covered by those rings as it moved toward him.
Part of him worried she was right, that there really was no escape.
But if he has been able to deflect her attacks before...
Sage gritted his teeth, creating another barrier sword with his left hand. He pumped as much of his Sulen and focus into them as he could manage without depleting his stamina, extending them to nearly ten feet each, as the vortex grew larger and closer to his position.
“That won’t work, Son of Kyrties! You are going to die here, and our people will rejoice that the last remnant of your father’s crimes is finally gone!”
“I told you people to stop calling me that!”
Sage felt his aura ignite with his rage, exploding into the air as he launched himself forward, screaming with all of his fury as the vortex of barrier blades closed in on him. He stabbed his barrier swords into the ring, then, just as the storm whirled close enough—cutting a lock of his navy-blue hair—he thrust his blades up.
There was a sound like two great boulders slamming into one another, followed by a shock wave that obliterated the center of the ring, and the sigil of their people.
The blade storm exploded in every direction, forcing Padros and Geidra to extend their barriers once more as the spiraling barrier constructs cut into the stonework and dozens of stalactites came crashing to the ring.
The first three slashes collided with Sage’s barrier swords, getting deflected into the ceiling. Sage screamed, parrying and blocking wave after wave of blades at speeds that made his muscles ignite with a terrible burning sensation.
One was heading directly for him. He slashed it down the middle, severing the construct in half—
He screamed as the two halves bit into his shoulders.
More barrier constructs howled through the air.
He couldn’t rest yet.
Sage deflected each and every one of them, racking up cuts and slashes all over his body that made each movement an agonizing effort to complete.
Tolu shouted and sent one last, massive slash through the air.
Sage gritted his teeth, stepped forward, and blocked it. He struggled to catch his breath; he’d been pushed back to the ring’s edge, but he was still standing.
Dust filled the air. Tolu stumbled forward, holding her left arm, which was drenched in blood.
There was a pain, like pins and needles, coming from all over his body.
He’d deflected the worst of it, but the result had hit both of them. His tunic was soaked with his own blood; but he was standing, and his Sulen coated his body like a glowing red mist.
“How the hell did you survive that?” Tolu said. “You should be cut to ribbons.”
“Guess I’m tougher than you thought,” Sage said.
Tolu scoffed, raising her good palm up, readying herself. “The fight is not over yet. You will still fall.”
Then she shouted, rushing forward, slashing down with her good arm several times.
Sage watched the barrier slashes howl toward him. He leapt, kicking off the floor and dodging all three slashes, moving so quickly that his wounds screamed. Each time she sent a slash out at him, he moved a little closer to her, taking a page from Vyce’s book.
Tolu slashed again; Sage saw an opening on her left and rushed in to hit her. But with a lightning-fast motion, she pulled her palm back and slashed at his chest. Dropping to his knees and sliding past her, he cried out as one of her blades sliced into his shoulder.
With his free hand he blasted at the ground, forcing his body to fly into the air as she spun around and slashed at him again, allowing her attack to pass beneath him before he landed.
Droplets of his blood fell to the rubble-strewn ring. The gash in his shoulder was deep. Sage was going to need a healer after this. They both were.
Tolu came at him again, relentlessly slashing.
Each time he kicked off from the ground, every time he moved his torso, and every time he leapt through the air over one of her barrier slashes, he felt the fatigue building in his limbs.
He had to finish this now.
He started gathering his power in his palms. Tolu was mostly aiming for his head, probably hoping she could decapitate him.
That’s my opening, he thought.
She slashed at his head one more time, and he took his chance, rolling under the howling barrier slash and planting his palms on her stomach as she stabbed down at his wounded shoulder with a sword construct.
His war cry filled the chamber as electricity exploded from his hands.
Tolu screamed. Her body hit the wall and fell into the pit. The chamber was silent.
His shoulder was dripping with blood too. He’d barely managed to avoid having it run through. The cut was deep, felt like it might have sliced into muscle.
He struggled to his feet and stumbled to the edge of the ring, breathing heavily.
There were no surprises. She would not appear behind him and effortlessly kick him out of the ring.
Tolu glared up at him from the pit.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Afraid that I might beat my betters?”
“Winner!” Padros shouted. “Sage of Yce Ralakar is victorious!”
As he stepped off the ring, Reysha was the only one clapping for him.
Though Byshun and Cyra both gave him hungry grins. Like predators sizing up a meal.
“Just when I think you’re finished, you pull out something amazing,” Reysha said, hugging him.
“Ouch!” Sage said. “Not so tight! It stings!”
Padros turned to Sage. “You may want to forfeit the next match. You’re bleeding pretty heavily, and healing before a match is prohibited.”
“Thanks,” Sage said. “But I can’t quit now.”
“You performed admirably, no one will think any less of you for finishing on a high note.”
Sage shook his head. “Sorry, Padros, but they will”
Padros’s eyes opened wide. “If you die, no one’s going to mourn. Think about this. Don’t just throw your life away needlessly.”
“Why do you care?” Sage asked.
Padros shrugged. “It’s my job to be impartial. And my judgement is that you’ve proved yourself capable. You’ve nothing more to prove.”
“I think I have plenty more to prove,” Sage said, his weary eyes falling on Kiel.
“At least allow us
to dress your wounds,” Padros said.
“Is that allowed?” Reysha asked.
Padros nodded. “I’ll send for someone to bandage you immediately.”
“Can it be done here?” Sage asked. “I want to see Reysha’s match.”
Padros nodded. “Of course.”
“Can we get on with things?” Byshun asked. “I’m eager to test this girl’s resolve.”
“We will resume as soon as Sage of Yce Ralakar is bandaged,” Padros said.
Byshun chuckled. “Very well. We wouldn’t want him to die from blood loss before our match.”
Padros nodded and quickly left the ring. Sage wondered briefly how Vyce had become such a shit with this man as a father. What was his mother like?
Reysha waited for Padros to be gone before she turned to Byshun. “Who says you’re going to make it to face him?”
“I’m sorry, Daughter of Yce’ro,” Cyra said. “But you will not defeat Byshun, no matter how much you struggle.”
“I think Sage just proved that we’re not to be underestimated,” Reysha said.
“He will fall too,” Cyra said. “The last match is a battle royale, due to the number of participants.”
“A battle royale?” Sage asked.
“Oh yes,” Byshun said. “Since there were ten fighters in the first bracket, one automatically advances to the final match, a match between three fighters.”
“Then Sage and I will take you out,” Reysha said, grinning.
Byshun giggled. “No. You won’t.”
Padros broke the tension between them by bringing someone with skin like limestone and hair the color of the sun onto the waiting platform. “Yris will dress your wounds.”
Yris approached. She didn’t look like a healer. She was wearing traditional Valier robes. Healers doubtless wouldn’t be allowed in here, not with the Council so close.
“Please kneel and remove your tunic,” Yris said.
Sage nodded and complied. When he removed his tunic, the damage looked worse than he’d thought. Great slashes ran across his chest and arms, two or three ran across on his legs as well.
The Man Without Hands Page 24