Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2)

by Stephen Allan

  “A small price to pay for the rewards this place offers,” Typhos said, though his mind went elsewhere.

  “My Lord, I wish to show you what appears to be their main research room. It shows what they were doing with the magic here.”

  That snapped Typhos back to attention, who growled.

  “Rise,” he said as Carticus got to his feet in record time. “Show me.”

  Inside the research lab, several men bled out on the ground. Sparks flew from damaged equipment, and all sorts of objects littered the ground. In the middle of the room, a giant table full of odd-looking boxes sat.

  “The information is on the boxes, my Lord,” Carticus said.

  Typhos approached the first box he saw and examined it closely. It showed what looked like a blueprint of the building—but instead of just a giant rectangle, it looked like a disc with a funnel at the bottom, leading to a single room. The concentration of magic of the planet.

  He went over to another screen, one filled with numbers and odd signs he did not recognize. He moved to the next one, and read a report.

  “Embedding Weaponry With Natural Elements: An Analysis.”

  He read carefully, realizing with horror that no longer did the Kastori have a monopoly on magic. The people on Monda were weak and distracted, and never discovered the power of magic.

  But here…

  “Destroy this place,” Typhos said. “I don’t want anyone coming back and finding out about what this place has to offer.”

  “My Lord, there’s so much—”

  “I do not misspeak,” he said ominously. “Make sure that you do not harm anything in the lowest level. But destroy everything else. And I mean everything.”

  58

  Typhos stood in the sweltering heat as his Kastori wrecked the building. He wanted to enjoy the carnage as sparks shot off and fires erupted. He wanted to feel joy at seeing yet another enemy vanquished.

  But instead, his mind kept flashing back to the first people he had killed.

  Ramadus.

  Garron.

  The images of the former chief of the Kastori and the father of Pagus roared in his mind. It never ends, does it. You will all forever be in my mind for as long as I kill and destroy.

  He took no pride in feeling hurt, but he couldn’t think of any other way. Forgiveness seemed off the table, not when such a move would appear cowardly. He would not run away—that would not solve the problem. He could not coexist with the enemy, most especially with Erda and Celeste still alive.

  Only his death or their deaths would bring him the silence of the mind that he had sought for over two decades. Killing humans here and this building isn’t doing anything.

  Even as he accepted this fact, he did not stop the devastation of the human settlement. It blocked an incredibly important part of his mission—access to the planet’s main core of energy, and the place where he could prove his power by destroying an entire planet.

  “My Lord,” Carticus said as he knelt before Typhos. “The destruction will finish within minutes.”

  Typhos looked down at Carticus and back at the destruction.

  “You have done well, Carticus. I—”

  The girl is free.

  Typhos suddenly sensed the prison door opening. No. No! Gaius!

  You traitor!

  “No!” he screamed. He stared down at a trembling Carticus. Is he a traitor too?!?

  You know how to find out.

  Kill Gaius, take his power and test everyone here. Everyone.

  “Have an outpost ready for me. I have to return to Monda and deal with a traitor. Kill anyone that does not move fast enough.”

  He didn’t wait for Carticus to respond as he walked away in a fury. I should go back and destroy that entire planet. Blow up their temple with everyone inside. Kill Erda, kill Celeste and kill that traitor.

  You’re not as strong as you think you are, Typhos. You thought you could read the mind of everyone.

  No!

  He must die.

  He will die!

  Typhos teleported from the carnage as he looked at his men with contempt and hatred. Traitors will die, he broadcasted just as he departed for the palace.

  In the void. Good.

  He walked comfortably in the void, knowing that Gaius and the others would not sense his arrival. He crept to the door and listened carefully. He caught the trail end of Gaius speaking.

  “… getting her outside the temple.”

  Typhos went to the edge of the void, so close that leaning forward would make him visible. But with the darkness around him, not even the brandishing of his sword could be heard.

  He held the blade tightly and waited for Gaius to come so he could end the traitor’s pathetic life.

  59

  Even after her conversation that involved a real plan, Celeste took Gaius as a liar and remained on the bed. Silence fell over the guardian. I knew it. He was just toying with me.

  They’re all toying with me. They want me to think, to have hope so that they can crush it.

  I know Typhos. He’s going to kill me in the end. I don’t have any more hope. I just need…

  She stopped herself when she realized what she was about to think. I’ve never thought it. Not even with Calypsius. But if I’m going to die, and if my death comes at the hands of Typhos and gives him my power…

  Her thoughts spiraled deeper. She found it hard to believe her mind. She did not feel depressed. She did not feel sad, though she did miss everyone. She looked at it as Crystil would—coldly rational, with no emotion whatsoever. In one sense, Typhos, you already won. You killed the warmth I had. You’ve made me realize the future and how there’s nothing to it.

  She looked around the room. Unfortunately, she saw nothing in the way of weapons or tools. She didn’t even know if that would prevent Typhos from absorbing her power, but in her mind, the possibility of it beat the certainty of him killing her.

  Maybe I can use my magic. Focus inward, and instead of healing myself, tear myself apart.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated. To her shock—and sadness—she did have a small amount of power. She was able to cast small electric spells on herself. The pain caused by the spell broke her concentration and did no more damage than a slight numbing, but she sadly realized she had found a way. If this is what it takes…

  She heard footsteps and the sound of Gaius speaking to someone. She quickly sat up on the bed, her feet on the ground and her hands planted on the edge of the hard mattress.

  Then the door swung open.

  Celeste could literally not believe her eyes. There stood her brother, her commander, the closest thing she had to a mother and, of all people, her father.

  It’s a trick. This is how Typhos breaks you. He makes you think you’re safe, and then he pulls the rug out. This is fake. Stay strong.

  “Celeste, we have to go,” Cyrus said, and Celeste hesitated on the bed. If it’s fake, then when it gets revealed, it’s going to hurt so much. He’s going to figure out what I just did and speed up the process so he won’t lose my power.

  “Celeste, it’s me,” her father said, and he walked in and squeezed her tight. His big arms entangled her tightly and seemed to squeeze all of the sadness out of her. If this is an illusion… it’s beyond authentic. It’s more authentic from my Dad than anything I’ve ever felt. If it is, I know it’s done and I can end. If it’s not…

  “Dad?” Celeste quivered. “Dad, I’m scared. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I—”

  “Let’s go,” Gaius said.

  Behind him, Cyrus and Crystil held their swords out, while Erda watched Gaius. Celeste’s heart accelerated at the sight of the swords, and knowing how Typhos played evil tricks, she prepared for Cyrus and Crystil to kill Erda and her Dad. But they instead waited silently.

  “I’m alive, Celeste, I really am, but we need to go,” her father said.

  When she didn’t move, he grabbed her hand tenderly but firmly and dragged her out
the room. Cyrus came to the rear and stood by Celeste.

  “You need some serious recovery time. Typhos has messed with you, and I can see it. We’re taking you back to Anatolus.”

  “What?” a booming voice said from the front, just before the stairwell. Celeste saw Gaius looking back at them, furious. “Caius—or should I say Petrus—we had a deal. We rescue the girl, and the girl helps me usurp the throne from Typhos. We do that by getting her outside the temple.”

  “Do you see her?” Crystil said with the stern voice that Celeste recognized easily. “She can barely walk. You think she’s in any shape to fight Typhos?”

  “I see that she’s weakened, yes, but she’s still more powerful than anyone else here,” Gaius responded, frustration palpable in his voice. “You don’t understand. If we go back to Anatolus, that gives Typhos time to recover and prepare, and then we’re dead! We have to use the element of surprise.”

  “Say what you want, Gaius, but I was never a part of this deal,” Cyrus said, his sword pointed toward the guardian. “I came here to rescue my sister. We have the same goals, but I am not putting Celeste at risk. She comes with me to Anatolus.”

  “You are—”

  Gaius lurched forward as a sword pierced his chest.

  60

  Typhos.

  As soon as the blade pierced his chest, Gaius knew he had lost. Should’ve known better. Should’ve…

  The group fled down the stairs, while Typhos removed the sword and dropped Gaius to his knees. Typhos circled him. He kicked Gaius in the face, breaking his jawbone and knocking him to the ground.

  “You lied to me,” Typhos said, his voice like that of an angry parent. “But you failed to realize that even if you can hide your intentions, you cannot hide your actions.”

  Gaius looked up to see Typhos’ blade hovering over him, and he sent one last message out.

  “He can be beaten,” he said, aiming his communication toward Celeste.

  He closed his eyes as the sword crushed his skull, splitting his head in two.

  61

  Crystil wasted no time watching Gaius die. She grabbed both Cyrus and the emperor—and by extension, Celeste—and sprinted them down the stairs as Typhos handled his traitor. Hope his anger distracts him. Keeps him at bay. She turned around once she’d reached the second floor to see Typhos walking in front of Gaius. Cyrus ran in stride with her, while Erda, Emperor Orthran and Celeste ran about five feet behind.

  “Don’t stop until we’re outside! Erda!”

  “I’ll get us out as soon as we get outside this palace!” she yelled back.

  Crystil jumped the last set of stairs, landing with such momentum that she rolled forward. She looked back as Typhos raised his sword over his head and sliced it down, thankfully out of sight of the rest of the group.

  “Let’s go!” she yelled as the group reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Despite heavier rain and louder thunderstorms, Crystil felt a massive dark presence lifted from her. The air smelled fresher, the rain cleansed and the sky, even with its terrible weather, seemed like a blessing. She saw the soldiers waiting for them, rifles in hand, and smiled as she felt peace.

  Typhos appeared suddenly behind them, at the bottom of the stairs, with his sword in his hand.

  “Watch—”

  But she couldn’t even finish before Typhos swung across their bodies effortlessly, killing them all in one clean, long swipe. Blood squirted on his body, no longer covered in robes but a simple black bodysuit, as Typhos wiped his blade on his arms. Crystil discarded her rifle for her sword.

  “Nice try,” he said, pointing the blade toward them. “But you must know what kind of power you are facing. I can kill you now, quickly, if you fall to your knees, or I can cripple you and make your dying days eternal, never to see death.”

  “Save it, Typhos,” Cyrus said.

  You’d better get us out of here, Erda. We can’t win this fight.

  “Ever the talkative one, aren’t you, boy,” Typhos said. “You die first!”

  Typhos lunged up the stairs at Cyrus, and Crystil and he raised their swords to attack. We have the advantage of position. We hold, we don’t need to win. We just can’t let him advance.

  But Crystil had never fought an opponent as physically strong as Typhos, let alone as magically powerful. His massive, yet proportional, frame gave him an immediate asset that nearly negated the positional advantage the two of them had, and it became apparent to Crystil that not only was the man naturally powerful, he had also trained for quite some time. Even when she figured out the move Cyrus would make and she timed hers accordingly, she could get nothing more than a near-hit in. He would dodge or lean back fluidly.

  “Erda!” she screamed at one point.

  “I’m working on it!”

  What is there to work on?!? Get us out!

  Typhos advanced.

  “Cyrus, you get out of here!” Crystil screamed. “You aren’t strong enough or good enough with the sword.”

  “No!” he said. “You’re not staying here.”

  “Cyrus,” Crystil said. “This war depends on you and Celeste growing. I cannot help you any further.”

  She lunged at Typhos, who dodged the attack, and he brought his sword down on her blade. The force nearly broke Crystil’s wrist, but she kept her grip and kicked him down the steps with her artificial foot. Typhos groaned and he cast a push spell, throwing her several feet against the wall. Her vision blurred, but she rose and took a breath.

  “I’ve taken worse,” she sneered at Typhos.

  She looked back to see Celeste and Emperor Orthran vanishing, presumably to Anatolus.

  “No!” Typhos screamed.

  He cocked his sword back and threw it like a javelin, hurling toward the still vanishing humans.

  “Erda!” Crystil screamed, no longer in control of how her voice sounded, the scream one of sheer panic.

  Miraculously, the sword barely missed both of them. If Celeste had leaned any further in toward her father, the blade would have gone through her skull. The two vanished moments later, and Typhos cursed loudly. He held out his hand, and the sword came back to him.

  “Someone is going to die today, and it’s not going to be me!”

  His sword shifted to an element that looked like electric fire, and he pointed it toward Cyrus. He twitched, and the sword shot a spell that caught Cyrus on the shoulder, slicing and burning the suit which he wore. He cringed, and Typhos fired another spell, but Crystil quickly put her sword up, deflecting the attack.

  “Stupid girl! A human, getting in the way of the most powerful being in the universe.”

  Just fight until Erda gets you out.

  Typhos cast a series of spells, many out of rhythm, but Crystil deflected them all. She reflected the last one at Typhos, who, not expecting the reflection, caught the brunt of the ice spell in his right leg, causing him to collapse. He dropped his hand on the ground, wounded. Crystil used the chance to look back and saw Cyrus had vanished. Crystil saw opportunity to strike but froze.

  He paralyzes you, you’re dead. You can’t kill him here. Only someone who can use magic.

  It took an unreal amount of self-control not to charge Typhos, given his wounded state. Physical wounds don’t stop magic from being used, though.

  Sure enough, moments later, Typhos slowly stood on his legs, grunting as he put weight on the wounded shin. He had healed himself and could now fight at full force.

  “You’re stronger than your race would suggest,” Typhos said. “I’ve seen what a human with magic can do. I saw it on Nubia. Why don’t you join me, and show me how a true soldier fights?”

  Crystil felt herself being teleported, and shook her head as she sheathed her sword.

  “Not a chance.”

  Typhos growled and cast lightning at her, but Crystil came to the platform just below the peak of Mount Ardor before the lightning struck. She took a deep breath, and seconds later, Erda appeared beside her. The two t
raded a look, but not words. We got Celeste. That’s all that matters.

  The two trudged to the top to see Celeste lying on the ground, her eyes closed, her stomach slowly rising.

  “She’s all right?” Crystil asked Cyrus, who nodded with an exhausted smile on his face.

  “I don’t think she believes yet that she’s safe. I don’t blame her—I can’t imagine what she’s seen. But she’s alive and she’s unharmed, so it’s just a matter of time.”

  Everyone was brought to their knees by a sharp pain in their minds—even Crystil. They all crouched, their head in their hands, trying to get rid of the pointed, acute agony. Even Celeste had woken and was doing the same.

  Then Crystil heard the voice.

  “Congratulations on your successful mission,” Typhos said, accompanied by sarcastic applause. “Unfortunately, in doing so, you left behind an entire planet full of innocent people. People who looked up to you to protect and rescue them, and whom you have failed. I know where you are, and I am not stupid enough to come and fight you where you are. But I trust that you have a connection to the people of Monda. Every day that you do not bring either Celeste or Erda to me, I kill a hundred people. After a week, I kill a thousand a day. Should you all choose to let humanity go extinct, I will collect more power and hunt you all down one by one anyways.”

  A sinister laugh followed.

  “The choice for you all is simple. Surrender one, and save many. Or keep one, and lose many. I will kill the first hundred tomorrow when the sun sets.”

  The pain disappeared, but the burden of the new mission kept Crystil on her knees.

  62

  The pain receded from Cyrus, but at a glacial pace that kept the memory far too present. When it finally cleared—and he’d had time to process what had just happened—he rose and looked over at the group.

  Everyone I care about, they’re all here.

  He went over to Crystil and offered his hand. She accepted it and shot up.

  “I’m surprised you heard what he said,” Cyrus said.

  “It’s Typhos, he can probably communicate with nakar and command them to walk on land,” she said.