Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2)

by Stephen Allan

  “But the people—”

  “There’s no use in rescuing the people as long as Typhos lives,” Cyrus interrupted. “This is the deal. Whatever discussion you had with Gaius beforehand, whatever thoughts you had about Celeste or Typhos, that doesn’t matter. This is the plan. Do we understand?”

  Everyone nodded. He turned to Crystil, who said with a hint of a grin, “You’re learning from me.”

  Cyrus snorted in appreciation, and turned his attention to the four soldiers, Erda, and his father.

  “Let’s go get Celeste.”

  55

  Cyrus led the humans toward the entrance of the palace, using the darkness as protection. His hand never ventured far from his sword, and he remained suspicious every step of the way that a great ambush lay in wait for them.

  When they got inside the wall, Cyrus had the soldiers and Crystil scan the perimeter with their Nakar 17s. Everyone gave the all clear signal, and they dashed to the base of the steps. Time for a different type of weapon.

  “Erda, can you sense inside and see what kind of danger awaits?” Cyrus asked.

  “It’s going to be Gaius, and that should be it,” Emperor Orthran said.

  “I don’t think I trust ‘should be’ anymore,” Cyrus said, trading a knowing glance with Crystil.

  Erda crouched down, her mask on her face, producing a few ragged breaths from the soldiers. No one drew their gun, but Cyrus made a special note to watch for Morian in case he returned. Erda remained still for several tense moments, leading Crystil to request everyone to train their guns on the wall entrance.

  “It will take me some time,” she said, her voice muffled. “The temple is thick with magic like Mount Ardor. It is not as heavy, so it will be possible, but—”

  “That’s fine, Mo—Erda,” Cyrus said.

  The men, recalling their training, provided a perfect fortress of sniper rifles. Crystil joined them, though her vision switched between the gun and the temple in case she needed her sword. Cyrus kept one hand on the handle of his blade. Gaius set this up. Hope he’s cool with going back to Anatolus after this.

  “How did things go early on in Anatolus, Cyrus?” his father asked.

  Cyrus turned to his father, who had a curious and touching smile on his face. Cyrus dropped his stoic expression and smiled with a snort.

  “A little rough early. I learned what it meant to upset Crystil,” he said as she winked and switched to viewing the temple entrance. “And to be frank, I missed you and Monda. I didn’t really admit it, and it drove me literally insane. I just figured I’d lost everyone and didn’t want to face it, so I left the ship angry at Crystil and Celeste.”

  “We honestly didn’t think we’d ever see him again,” Crystil added.

  “But Celeste… she almost died. Obviously she’s here, so she’s fine—relatively, of course—but poison once got to her. Rescued her by fortuitous coincidence.”

  “And me,” Crystil said, tapping her foot and producing the sound of titanium.

  “Yeah. Once that happened… things got better. But I always thought you were gone and hated that fact.”

  His father looked away, and Cyrus knew the emotion had gotten to his father. Never seen Pops cry. It’s… it’s hard.

  Cyrus himself felt emotional as his eyes moistened. He looked straight ahead, hoping that a potential battle might dry his irises. His mind, though, raced back to the grief he felt from losing his father and, for a period, his sister and commander. The thoughts never got easier.

  “It was so painful seeing you two go,” he said. “I knew of Anatolus from your mother, but it was all a risk. I didn’t know what challenges you’d face. I didn’t know of a Calypsius monster. I could’ve told Crystil of the Kastori, but Crystil, I knew the hatred you had for them and didn’t even know if there were any alive there. The uncertainty killed me, that I didn’t know if I was sending my children to paradise or a devastating nightmare worse than Typhos.”

  “Nothing’s worse than this, Pops,” Cyrus said with a warm smile.

  “No,” his father said. “Nothing’s worse than not knowing how your children are.”

  That hit Cyrus like a rock on the top of the head. Celeste. She’s…

  He embraced his father tightly, and after a few sniffles, tears ebbed out of his eyes. He had to let emotion out. Celeste. Pops. Crystil. This is why I fight for you. To protect you, and truly know you’re safe.

  He pulled back, quickly bringing himself together.

  “In some ways, telling you your mother died when she gave birth to Celeste helped you two live in certainty as children, albeit false certainty,” his father said. “I regret not telling you sooner. Perhaps you knowing now has made you angrier at me than before—”

  “Pops, we all have secrets,” Cyrus said. “I’ve had to learn that the hard way, both in finding them out and in keeping them. This girl, right here,” he said, motioning at Crystil. “Has every right to hate me. We kept it a secret that we were Kastori for six months.”

  “All in the past,” Crystil said.

  “Well, let’s keep the peace then,” Emperor Orthran said.

  The storm continued to fade, the rain becoming a misty drizzle. The lightning struck with diminished frequency and looked like a stuttering light. Thunder came many seconds later, not milliseconds later. The effects of Typhos are fading. Hopefully whatever’s inside has too.

  “Tell me about Gaius,” Cyrus said.

  “He’s a just guardian,” his father said. “He has his own selfish desires to rule the throne, but I have my own selfish desire to return to the throne, so I cannot disparage him. He would rule if we defeated Typhos, mainly because he has the power and because I promised it to him. I know it sounds unfortunate, and not everyone here agrees, but he would rule fairly and give us our lives back.”

  Cyrus nodded and smiled as he cracked a joke.

  “Between us on Anatolus and Gaius here, almost makes you wonder if we should just assume Monda is for Kastori and Anatolus is for humans.”

  He laughed at his own joke, but stopped, surprised, when he saw his father seriously pondering the statement.

  “Kastori have long come here anyways, so—”

  “I have finished,” Erda said. “There’s only one guardian at the top, standing at a door. I assume it’s Celeste’s room, but it is so full of dark magic not even I can see inside.”

  He’s not going to guard a trap door if Pops is right.

  Cyrus offered his hand to his father, who accepted it with a tight grip. Cyrus lifted him and walked to the demarcation line between the interior and exterior of the palace, and looked at his crew.

  Crystil, with both her gun and her sword, ready to handle any type of enemy.

  Erda, with her powerful magic, able to counter anyone’s magic.

  His father, with his rifle and gritty determination to rescue Celeste.

  And himself, willing to die to save his sister’s life.

  “Let’s go,” he said, clutching his sword. “And stay alert.”

  56

  Even with Erda’s assurance that she had sensed everything except the room Gaius guarded, Cyrus still could not shake the ominous feeling when he entered the palace. It was worse than what he’d experienced on Mount Ardor.

  The hair on his body pricked up and goosebumps spread across his skin. He shivered repeatedly. He wanted to feel nostalgia, seeing home once more, but instead felt fear he could not pinpoint. He tried to sense where the coldness came from, but to his horror, the magic in the room quashed his power. Only the strong can cast magic in here.

  He closed his eyes, told himself, “Focus,” and opened his eyes. He saw familiar steps leading to the second and, a bit in the distance, the third floor. He flashed back to the games he and Celeste would play as children, chasing each other up and down the stairs, the guards having to gently remove them whenever dignitaries came through. In those days, the stairs had majestic decorations along the rails, and a bright red carpet from the
entrance of the palace ran up through the throne room.

  Now, nothing remained on the dark, black rails, and the carpet lay in tatters, soaked with different colors Cyrus didn’t want to know about.

  He looked left and saw the guest rooms, places where he had invited his friends to play. He thought about the games of tag he, Celeste and their friends would play, hiding in the guest rooms and under the beds. He remembered sneaking girls over on dates in his mid-to-late teen years, one time getting caught by a guard who promised to keep quiet.

  But now those rooms contained nothing more than a cracked foundation, torn up furniture and a sense of loneliness, for they surely had not been occupied for months, if not years.

  “Cyrus,” Erda said. Cyrus realized Crystil and Emperor Orthran had gone ahead. “Now is not the time to reminisce. The magic here feeds on your fears, and though it cannot manifest them, it will paralyze you.”

  Cyrus jogged to the group at the base of the stairs. He carefully withdrew his blade, keeping the sound of steel scraping on its sheath to a minimum.

  Cyrus.

  Cyrus.

  He heard two distinct voices, both female—one his sister, one Crystil. He turned to his commander, who was not even looking at him.

  Cyrus!

  A scream echoed in his head, his sister’s, and he bowed his head in frustration.

  “Remember, the magic feeds on your fears,” Erda said. “I cannot help you, Cyrus. You have to focus.”

  The cries continued, ones that would come as if Celeste were tortured in horrible, unspeakable fashion by Typhos. He could picture her face crying in agony, begging for him to—

  Stop!

  “Erda,” he said, speaking to quiet his mind. “Where is the one guardian you spoke of?”

  “Third floor to the left of the throne room.”

  Cyrus guided the team up the last flight of stairs. The doors to the throne room were open. Unlike the other places, which Cyrus could peer into, absolute blackness consumed this room. He could not see a floor, nor a wall, nor any defining features. He pointed to it and turned to Erda, curious.

  “A void spell,” she whispered. “All sensations of space and time disappear when you go inside. The only way out is to be either as powerful as the one who cast it, or to have the one who cast it undo it. Don’t you dare go in there.”

  He put his hand on Erda and followed her because he felt drawn to the void—he had finally found the source of the screams in his head, for they intensified as he got closer to the throne room. Celeste, we’re coming.

  To his surprise, the voices responded.

  Please! Hurry! I’m starving and dying in here, Cyrus.

  I know where you are. We’re coming, sis.

  No, I’m in the room you’re looking at. Please, Cyrus! Please! Don’t leave me to die! Please!

  She sobbed, and Cyrus’ legs wobbled. His grip weakened on Erda, but she turned him to the left, and he walked away from the void.

  Calypsius growled behind him.

  Cyrus brandished his sword, but only saw Crystil behind him.

  “Watch where you point that,” she said.

  “Are you hearing this?”

  “I hear some things. I don’t think they’re what you’re hearing.”

  How does she stay so calm?

  I’ve got a lot to learn.

  They reached the last corner of the top floor hallway, with Gaius on the other side.

  “Ready?” Cyrus asked, as much for himself as for the others.

  Everyone nodded.

  “Go.”

  Awaiting them was Gaius, clad in black robes with red stripes. He removed his mask to reveal a normal Kastori face. He looked young—no older than Crystil—with dark brown eyes, a thick neck, and short brown hair. He swung open the door to the prison.

  “Hurry,” he said, not bothering to hide his concern. “Typhos will soon sense this door has opened and will return at any second. We cannot waste any time with anything but getting her outside this temple.”

  57

  Typhos emerged from the portal and immediately felt so hot that he removed his robes, leaving just one layer of light armor and his mask on. He looked to the sky and smiled as the inferno spread so far it burned the clouds in the atmosphere. It created a downpour of embers, and he took great pride in the power he demonstrated.

  A pity, then, that this planet has nothing to burn.

  He looked down, up, to each side and behind him, and saw the same thing everywhere—desert sand, a few small, rolling hills of sand and blue skies. Up above, two suns, both the same size, baked the planet. Typhos had never felt such heat before, and cut his fire spell short.

  It only marginally helped. He still felt the intense heat of the two massive stars and sought shelter. He sensed the other Kastori and guardians and felt their presence about a hundred yards ahead… but with nothing else around them. What are they doing?? Wasting my time sightseeing.

  He charged ahead and saw one of the Kastori appear, waving his arms.

  “My Lord, the—”

  He collapsed to the ground, his body riddled with bullets. Typhos threw himself down.

  Guardians. What is going on?!?

  No one responded at first, and he worried that this planet had technology that might rival magic—a seemingly impossible notion, but one that crossed his confused mind.

  They have automatic weapons of some kind, my Lord, Carticus responded. There’s a massive base ahead. I think there are humans inside, but it’s well protected. I can’t get a read.

  What do you mean, you can’t get a read, Typhos messaged, now more concerned than angry.

  They have some sort of blocking spell. I can see past it, but the response coming back is fuzzy.

  Typhos cursed loudly as he punched the sand in frustration. More bullets whizzed past him, some into the sand. A hill of sand is not going to protect you. Go!

  He cast a powerful barrier spell, one which would deflect all bullets, and ran to the top of the hill. In the distance, he could see a small, rectangular building, the source of the bullets. Moving as fast as he could, he focused on casting the most powerful ice spell he knew, one which would freeze the entire building and its weapons. The entire planet chilled. Dark clouds formed above the building, and with a swift movement of his arms, Typhos produced his most powerful ice spell.

  He opened his eyes, the heat returned, and Typhos saw that he’d successfully frozen the machine.

  Temporarily.

  With the heat outside, the ice began to melt. He sprinted ahead, ordering the Kastori he passed by to join him in destroying the building. Typhos cast powerful lightning spells to destroy the technology powering those guns. Fires and sparks broke out from the damage, and soon, the other Kastori and guardians joined in, destroying the exterior of the building.

  Typhos reached the base of the building, shocked at its size. It looked like six palaces combined, and would require several minutes of walking just to get through. Down at the far right side, a large door remained ajar.

  “Go,” Typhos said. “I need time to concentrate. I need to find the source of this planet’s power now that we’ve eliminated this threat.”

  “You heard him, let’s go,” Carticus shouted, and the Kastori ran.

  He knelt to one knee and concentrated. He sensed the planet’s energy… here?

  He stood and looked down. Sand covered his boots. The building remained. He concentrated once more and came to the same conclusion. I’m standing over the source of the planet’s power…

  Wait.

  This is the source. No, can’t be. It’s man-made.

  No.

  It’s feeding off the planet.

  One part of him felt scared. The humans on Monda knew nothing about fighting Kastori magic. Humans here had nothing better to do than research. They know. They’re using it.

  The other part of him boiled with deadly anger.

  He charged ahead and brandished his sword. He would annihilate e
very living being in the building, no matter the cost. He wanted them to look at a pure magic user as his sword impaled their chests and cut their throats.

  When he reached the entrance, he saw more horrifying things. His Kastori lay dead on the ground, including one of his white-striped guardians. At the next entrance, two figures in thick black armor were dead on the ground. Their hands remained gripped on their guns, and Typhos stole one. It looked similar to the guns on Monda, but when Typhos fired it, he cringed.

  They imbue their weapons with magic from the planet.

  He threw the gun to the ground in frustration and destroyed the weapon with a lightning spell. He turned back and heard the deathly sounds of battle, specifically screams of the dying and gunshots. He renewed his barrier spell and walked into the hallway. A human fired multiple rounds of fire-embedded bullets, but Typhos charged him. Typhos rammed his sword through the man and twisted it.

  “This planet is ours,” he sneered. “Your weapons are stronger than we thought, but still not good enough.”

  The man went limp, and Typhos pulled his sword out. He sensed no other enemies in the immediate area and turned one more corner to face his victorious men.

  “Annihilate anyone else here,” he said as he cast a barrier spell on everyone around him. “You are all protected with a barrier shield. This will not last forever, but with your powers, it won’t need to. Go!”

  His men—now three guardians and a little over twenty Kastori—charged. The humans stand no chance now.

  The only way they have a shot is with someone like the girl. And she…

  She…

  The thought of Celeste pained Typhos, overwhelming the anger he’d felt from Nubia’s humans. He had thought getting away from her would heal the trauma, but much as getting away from Erda had not worked, it did not with Celeste.

  He trudged through the giant building, always a few hundred feet behind his men, letting them do the dirty work. He never could shake the thought of Celeste. How could it be… what are the chances that she would be that?

  After another hour of fighting, Carticus came to Typhos and went to one knee.

  “My Lord, we have eliminated all life in this building,” he said. “We eliminated some automatic weapons as well. We lost about half our forces, but I and two other guardians still live.”