Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2)

by Stephen Allan

  She’ll come through. It’s Crystil.

  “I will do what I can to help, but I have become weary and weakened the past few days. This battle primarily rests on the shoulders of you two. I have complete faith in you both, for I have taught you everything you need to know.”

  We’re not losing. We will win.

  “There is no turning back once we go. Take whatever time you need to say goodbye to your father.”

  Cyrus turned, and his father’s moist eyes made him weak. Cyrus collapsed into his arms, turning from a man into a little boy desperate for his father’s embrace at that moment.

  “I’m coming back,” Cyrus said, doing everything he could not to cry. “We’re coming back. We’ll make you emperor again.”

  “All I care is that you come back alive,” his father said. “I don’t want an empire. I just want to be with both of you.”

  Cyrus pulled back and shared a hard pat on the arm with his father before letting Celeste embrace him. He stole a glance at Erda, whose eyes lit up. But she still carried guilt on her face, and only gave a simple nod to his father when Celeste walked by his side.

  “I will teleport us when we are ready.”

  “Ready,” both said, even as Cyrus’ gut knotted in nervous anticipation of what lay ahead.

  “Then let’s go,” Erda said.

  Celeste reached over and grabbed her brother’s hand, and Cyrus squeezed it tight as the feeling of teleportation rose in his feet. He looked one last time at his father, and said, “I’ll be back.” He closed his eyes, preserving the memory of his father’s smile as the last thing he saw on Anatolus.

  “Love you, Cyrus,” Celeste said.

  “Love you too, sis,” he said, fighting back the emotions produced by those words.

  He took one last gulp of Anatolus’ air as the spell reached his neck, and he only thought one word.

  Survive.

  He opened his eyes and shifted from nervous to angry. Rain so heavy and thick that it was impossible to see the far side of the wall flooded them. Deafening thunder clapped above them.

  Standing on the top of the steps was Typhos, his sword in his right hand. At the base of the steps stood three guardians in black robes with stripes of differing colors. Lining the wall around the temple were too many magicologists to count, so many that Cyrus didn’t bother planning on attacking them. It’s theater, and the audience only participates if the lead commands them to.

  And in front of the guardians, a hundred humans kneeled, facing Typhos. The rage from Typhos was palpable, his shaking obvious.

  “Cowards!” he screamed, so loudly that Cyrus shook in shock at the way his voice carried through the storm. “I am glad that you have chosen not to run anymore. Unfortunately, you kept me waiting too long.”

  He raised his sword, and the clouds above darkened to pitch black and concentrated on the area just above the humans. Typhos violently swung his sword down, and a massive bolt, unlike anything Cyrus had ever seen, came down.

  “No!”

  The lightning appeared to hit the ground, and a bright flash blinded Cyrus. But curiously, the luminous glow did not vanish. He peered through his fingers and saw a barrier protecting the humans. To his right, Celeste let out a loud scream.

  “Erda!”

  Erda teleported the humans in groups of twenty. Celeste cried out as the strain of the barrier fought against the sheer power of Typhos, and Cyrus did his best to help—it didn’t do much, but he could feel the burden of Celeste lighten.

  The last of the humans vanished, and Cyrus and Celeste dropped the spell, causing the bolt to strike the ground and leave a dark burn mark.

  “You can do that?” Cyrus asked in disbelief.

  “Instinct,” she said, as surprised as anyone.

  “Impressive,” Typhos yelled. “And noble. But foolish. You expended so much energy to save people who will die eventually anyways.”

  “Stay strong, Celeste. We need you here in this battle.”

  “But I will ask you all one last time. You have demonstrated the power that I wish to have by my side. Lay down your swords, and I will let all of you live. Even you, Erda. I will let you govern your worlds as you wish, and I will even give Monda back to you. The Orthranian Empire will rule once more, so long as you acknowledge me as your god.”

  Do not give in, Celeste. Don’t you dare.

  For Cyrus, the offer required no thought. Only one outcome is acceptable to me. His death. He glanced at Celeste, who maintained the same expression. He looked at Erda, who was prepared for battle despite her guilt. Cyrus took that as support and stepped forward.

  “The only thing I acknowledge you as is our enemy, Typhos,” Cyrus yelled. “We will never serve under anyone, and you will die for your actions.”

  “Pathetic scum!” he shouted. “You have no idea what you are walking into. Gaius is dead. You have no one left to help you on the inside. You were smart to leave the soldier behind. I would have killed her in front of both of you first before killing each of you.”

  He took two steps down the stairs and sheathed his sword.

  “Guardians!” he yelled, carrying out the word as long as he could.

  The three guardians beneath him unsheathed swords, weapons not quite as long as the ones the Orthrans carried but capable of inflicting death all the same.

  “Bring these pathetic excuses for Kastori to their knees. Leave them teetering on the edge of death so that I may come and take their power.”

  He raised his arms, and Cyrus tightened his grip on his sword, holding it at the ready. Beside him, Erda prepared spells, and Celeste grunted.

  “Die!”

  73

  The gray-striped magicologist charged at Cyrus, while the red one charged for Celeste, and the white-striped one stayed back. Cyrus quickly embedded his sword with a fire spell as the fwoomph of the flame danced on the steel blade, ignoring the rain. Ahead of him, the magicologist switched his sword to a water spell. Cyrus had no time to change his weapon, and so when the magicologist swung down, Cyrus held up his blade in the hopes of deflecting it.

  To his surprise, he didn’t just deflect the enemy; he propelled him backward. He glanced at the blade and saw electric sparks. Erda. Nice to have some backup.

  He charged the enemy as the two engaged in combat. The magicologist had skill, but not nearly enough to keep up with Cyrus. Cyrus overpowered the magicologist and, with a swift kick, sent the enemy stumbling backward. He swung his blade and cut the magicologist across the arm, by no means a fatal blow but one that would weaken him.

  The magicologist dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder. Cyrus looked at Celeste, holding her own, and at Erda, who had her mask on and seemed in perpetual concentration. He turned to Typhos and held his blade up.

  “What’s about to happen to your man is what will happen to you,” he said.

  He raised his blade and swung it, but just before it hit the neck of the magicologist, a violent force lifted Cyrus off his feet and tossed him against the wall, producing sharp pain in his left shoulder and back. He saw Typhos with his hand raised, his fingers curling into a fist. Beneath him, the white-striped magicologist also worked a spell, and the magicologist he had just cut slowly rose, his wound disappearing.

  “Celeste,” he called out. “Attack the white-striped one. He’s healing the rest.”

  Celeste looked at Cyrus and gave an affirmative nod. She let the red-striped magicologist swing at her wildly, giving her a chance to run past him. Cyrus sprinted ahead as well, ignoring the sharp pain pulsing in his body. He charged the gray-striped magicologist who had risen, and their blades collided in midair. With Cyrus moving so quickly, the magicologist did not have the strength to hold his ground, and the two stumbled to the floor by the stairs, not far from Typhos.

  “Kill him!” Typhos screamed. “You’re a guardian for a reason!”

  Cyrus rolled away just as the enemy’s blade swung in his direction. He could feel the air of the blade passin
g by, a dangerous reminder this was not a training simulation at the peak of Mount Ardor. He saw Celeste paralyzed, her blade held up over her right shoulder, but unable to bring it any further. Behind her, the red-striped enemy advanced. The white-striped magicologist faced Celeste, ignoring Cyrus.

  Go.

  Cyrus sprinted ahead, completely ignorant of any other factors. At the last second, his sword gained the element of ice from Erda. He brought it to chest level and rammed it into the back of the white-striped magicologist. He twisted the blade and removed it as the magicologist crumpled to the ground. A surge of the dead magicologist’s energy hit Cyrus, but he fought past the powerful rush through him. He charged the red-striped magicologist, who could no longer focus on Celeste and had to break his spell.

  “Come meet the same fate as your friend,” he cried out as he raised his sword.

  The enemy threw his hand out to paralyze Cyrus, but Cyrus experienced a strange sensation—he was slowed, but not stopped. The blade cut through the magicologist’s hand, and Cyrus had full strength. He wasted no time killing the enemy, and he felt another rush. He turned to see Celeste pinned, with the sword held high up over the grey-striped enemy’s head.

  No no no no no no no.

  Cyrus sprinted ahead, tackling the enemy and causing both of them to drop their swords. They rolled together with Cyrus winding on top. Cyrus delivered a devastating punch to the opponent’s jaw, dazing him as his head collided with the ground. Celeste finished the job by driving her sword into the neck of the enemy. Cyrus lurched back, but Celeste offered a hand and picked him up.

  “Yes, I am capable of killing,” she said with a wink.

  “That was supposed to be my kill.”

  “You took mine anyways, it’s only fair.”

  Cyrus smirked but was distracted by the guttural scream of Typhos. He grabbed his sword, and Celeste joined him at his side, both holding their blades in battle-ready positions.

  “You both are too much of a nuisance to try to convert,” Typhos growled.

  “So then come down here and fight us,” Cyrus yelled raising his arms in challenge. “You stood back thinking that your guardians could do the job. You’re afraid to kill any of us, so you sent your pawns, and look how that turned out. Fight us yourself.”

  Erda walked up behind them, but Cyrus didn’t dare take his eyes off the enemy. We have him off-kilter. This is our chance to kill him. End this once and for all.

  “Celeste, remember what we promised,” he communicated to her, reminding her of the oath to kill Typhos. The lack of response upset him, but he didn’t have time to focus on it as Typhos took two steps down and stopped.

  “I will fight you when you prove you can defeat everything else I send at you,” he growled. “The guardians were useful for Monda and your pitiful human friends, but ultimately mere figureheads. But can you defeat the perfect soldiers?”

  74

  An ominous, far too confident laugh came from Typhos. He looked behind him and up on the walls, but saw nothing abnormal. He looked behind Typhos, but peering into the void was a fruitless endeavor.

  “I always anticipated that such a day like this might come when mere Kastori wouldn’t do the trick,” Typhos said as Cyrus got a sick feeling. “You need to combine the best of everything. Nature’s monsters with the powers of the Kastori. It amuses me that I get to use them here. I’ve always wanted to see them in action.”

  Three figures emerged from the void, but with the storm having turned into a dark fog, Cyrus could not see anything other than their sheer size—larger, even, than Typhos. Typhos laughed again, letting it carry out.

  “Caliphae!” he yelled.

  The three figures jumped high in the air, and Cyrus saw for the first time multiple swords coming from each enemy. He backed up as they seemed to be targeting them. At the last second, he jumped back with Celeste as two blades swung in the area he had just been. The ground shook as the three figures landed. Cyrus gulped when he recognized the figures.

  The figures stood at least eight feet tall, all with black body armor and four arms, each holding a long sword. But that was not the part that disturbed Cyrus the most.

  It was the fact that it had the face and body of Calypsius.

  The same disturbing yellow eyes, eyes which had given him nightmares for months. The same scaly skin, with scales Cyrus could still feel in his hand.

  It didn’t quite have the same magical powers that Calypsius had, but it had more than the guardians did. Each enemy—a Caliphae—was colored in accordance, Cyrus suspected, with the type of magic it cast. The black one stood closest to him and was flanked on the left by a red monster and on the right by the white one. He looked to Celeste, whose eyes remained steeled on the enemy. She killed them once—no, we killed them once. Let’s do it again.

  “Say hello to my greatest weapon,” Typhos said.

  “I thought we already destroyed your greatest weapon,” Cyrus yelled.

  “Cyrus,” Celeste mumbled, but it was too late.

  “Kill them all!” Typhos yelled angrily, the lightning above accentuating his anger.

  The magicologists had not completely acted in tandem, but these monsters moved as one collective mind—they rushed to corner Erda, and Cyrus and Celeste could only push them off course temporarily. They know she’s the target. Typhos wants Celeste. I’m not as strong.

  “Erda! Get out of here!”

  Erda quickly teleported, but the monsters converged on her new spot. She teleported again, but this time, the Caliphae paused. The black and white monsters looked to the red one and split apart moments later. They’re communicating. He controls them.

  “Celeste,” Cyrus said. “Celeste?”

  He looked and didn’t see her, then looked ahead and saw her charging, throwing her hands out and holding the red monster in place. Cyrus sensed that Celeste could not attack the beast and hold it in place at the same time. And I won’t have time to get there either.

  The thought seemed risky to Cyrus, but he went by instinct, and in less than half a second, made up his mind.

  He took two steps forward, leaned back, and as he shifted his weight forward, he chucked the sword at the beast’s throat. Hold hold hold hold hold hold hold. All it took was a split second of Celeste dropping her spell for Cyrus to lose his sword for the battle.

  But his aim was true, and the sword pierced the neck of the creature just as Celeste lost control.

  It howled in agony, not yet dead. Cyrus sprinted, fearful that the creature might dislodge the sword and use the white monster’s power to heal. He jumped on the back of the creature, wrestling with it as he twisted the handle of his sword. The creature continued to cry, bucking with such force that Cyrus thought he might break all his limbs. He continued twisting the blade until the monster slowed down.

  Finish him.

  The creature fell to the ground, and Cyrus rolled forward. He grabbed the blade from the neck of the creature and raised it to chop the head off, but another blade killed the beast.

  “You’re not stealing another kill of mine,” Celeste said with a smirk.

  “Don’t be jealous that—”

  But the loud roar and the thud of the black monster landing inches away shut Cyrus up and put him back on the defensive. Much to his horror, all four blades had a different element—fire, ice, electricity and water.

  “Erda!” he screamed. “Now would be a really splendid time to help us out!”

  Erda, who had retreated to the left side of the wall, silently cast a spell on Cyrus’ sword, but it came in too slowly as Cyrus defended against the fire and electric blades attacking him. A shattering noise came when the swords collided, knocking the beast backward.

  Slowly, Cyrus opened his eyes and saw a green, pulsating energy covering his sword. He sensed an incredible power emanating from the blade. He saw Erda resting at the entrance of the wall, on one knee, the spell having taken her strength. In front of him, two of the swords of the black monster lay o
n the ground, broken in half.

  “Go!” Cyrus yelled, and he rushed the beast as Celeste cast multiple fire spells at the monster. The Caliphae deflected most of the spells, but Cyrus’ enhanced sword overwhelmed the monster, and with a strong slice through the creature’s gut, the beast fell.

  “That is my kill,” he said, and he wasted no time setting his eyes on the last remaining monster, the white-scaled Caliphae. Cyrus almost felt sympathy for the enemy, which clearly was designed to augment the other two, not attack. It stood little chance against the forces of Cyrus’ enhanced sword and Celeste’s magic. It took them less than ten seconds to subdue the enemy, each one piercing the chest of the beast.

  “Guess it’s only fair we split this last one, huh,” Cyrus said with a smirk.

  “I really wanted this, but I suppose I’ll share,” Celeste said.

  Both ran to Erda as Typhos screamed in frustration, pounding his sword on the ground in a fury.

  “No one should be able to defeat the Caliphae!” he yelled. “Perfect soldiers!”

  “Only in comparison to your men,” Cyrus yelled.

  “Shut up! Kastori! Crush—”

  Several Kastori fell from the wall. One landed near Cyrus, and he saw the bullet wound in the back of the head.

  “Looks like you forgot we didn’t leave the soldier behind, and the soldier didn’t leave us behind,” Cyrus yelled as he approached Typhos. “That’s where you lose. You have no one left to help you. No one wants to fight for you, Typhos. Everyone fears you, and no one respects you. You rule by hatred and destruction, instead of kindness and fairness. Do you see any Kastori ignoring the bullets above us? They are all running for their lives, unwilling to give you theirs, because they know you won’t give yours.”

  “Shut up!” Typhos yelled as he walked down the stairs and stared down Cyrus, mere feet away. Beside him, Celeste appeared. The bullets still whizzed above them, and Typhos raised one hand. A strange barrier surrounded them, and barely encompassed Erda.