Kings of Ghumai- The Complete series Box Set

by D N Meinster

  Versil’s remaining arm slammed into the top of Neanthal’s snout, and the Beast fell to the WEXO’s feet.

  Versil tried to land a kick, but the metal foot slipped right through the Beast.

  Neanthal’s tail swung forward and ensnared the raised leg. After sufficiently wrapping it, he pulled it back and the WEXO went down.

  The fall was gradual, but Versil felt it as the WEXO landed on its back.

  Neanthal towered over him, and his sights were on the man in control of it.

  Versil fumbled with the projected controls as he came up with a new attack. The laser housing detached from the WEXO’s remaining wrist and flew at the Beast. As they got closer, he activated their firing mechanism.

  A half dozen blue rays twirled through the air, slicing into the Beast and even the WEXO suit.

  Neanthal was distracted long enough for Versil to trigger a recovery maneuver, and he got the WEXO back on its two feet.

  Neanthal swatted the laser houses from the sky, a distraction which prevented him from noticing the uppercut Versil launched until it was too late.

  The Beast seemed to soar upward, even as his hind legs remained planted on the ground.

  “WEXO is operating at fifty-seven percent,” Versil alerted the Directorate.

  “You should consider retreating,” Lodmac replied. “Your anti-gravity boosters are still operational.”

  “You’ve lured him out of the city,” Rikki said. “You’ve done enough.”

  “We can use the remaining peacekeepers to drive him further back,” Lodmac said.

  “Agreed,” Versil replied. He started the anti-gravity engines and began to hover off the ground.

  Neanthal was not inclined to let him retreat. He dove back to the ground and sliced through the WEXO’s remaining arm.

  Versil watched it crash into the grass below. That was it. He was out of weaponry.

  He put his boosters on max and attempted to speed away, but the WEXO was not moving. Neanthal had his front claws dug into the metallic legs.

  Another thing they hadn’t built into the WEXO: an emergency release for the pilot.

  Neanthal yanked the suit back toward him, aligning Versil with his eyes.

  Two immortals were face-to-face, but only temporarily.

  The Beast’s form reverted back into a more loosely assembled black cloud, and it quickly overtook the WEXO.

  Versil could feel the air thicken before it became impossible to breathe. He was going to suffocate within the dark mist.

  There was only one course of action left.

  Though he could not see them behind the black, he had their location memorized, so he was able to fumble with the WEXO controls. If he overloaded the main power and the anti-gravity, it would create a concussive force that would break up the cloud. Unfortunately, it would also tear Versil apart.

  Would he die? After so many years of life, he wasn’t sure he was capable of dying. He might just become a collection of loose body parts that could be reconstructed, not unlike the WEXO itself.

  He’d never attempted any suicidal actions before, and he’d been careful enough to avoid homicidal ones. He knew he’d been successful in achieving longevity, enough to be considered immortal. But he was not invulnerable. His aging bones had alerted him to that.

  Death or not. Bastion or not. He was ready to find out. It was merely another experiment.

  Versil couldn’t tell the others what he was doing. He couldn’t say farewell to them or thank the Grand Mage for convincing him to leave his hiding hole.

  Neanthal might survive this. But he would not conquer Ghumai this day.

  With a final flick, he set his plan into motion.

  Thirty seconds later, the anti-gravity engines imploded and the main power exploded. The WEXO suit broke apart, as did the black cloud that consumed it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Final March

  Gray smoke swirled in tandem with the black. Neanthal’s mighty form had been torn apart by the advancements of his former slaves.

  But did they think they had defeated him? They were all observing his tousled appearance without any attempt at a follow-up.

  This was only a setback.

  The remnants of the black cloud receded from the sky. They swam through the air, rejoining each fragment but refusing to take shape. Instead, once enough had gathered together, the cloud retreated entirely, bouncing away from the scene of battle.

  Like a black fog, it descended upon villages but stayed no more than a minute before moving on. It crossed plains and rivers. It let all life be, without any harm or interaction. And it only stalled when it came upon a high red wall.

  Soldiers dressed in white pads occupied the top of the wall, each bearing a wheel-like crossbow with an arrow already loaded on top. Behind them were guard towers, each encasing a man-sized crossbow with matching ammunition.

  All of their golden eyes were looking outward, but even as they spotted him, they did not know what to do. None fired a single arrow. Perhaps they were yet unaware of what exactly had arrived.

  The black cloud hovered in place, its wispy innards swirling but not reacting.

  Finally, the soldiers were done waiting. Two arrows flew into the dark mass. And they passed right through it and stuck into the grass below.

  The cloud started violently churning until a man seemed to burst out of it. As the shadowy figure took shape, the rest of the black vapor disappeared.

  Neanthal’s knees were planted in the dirt. He was leaning over as his humanoid visage returned. His body-length leather coat was completed first, followed by the extensive ponytail wrapped around his bicep. His skin became its proper shade as his mustache and goatee grew back into its triangular shape. Lastly, the silver heart reappeared on his chest.

  He looked up at them all with his burning eyes. Did they have any idea what they now faced? He may have been weakened, but they were all still outmatched.

  The first arrow flew into his chest. It landed right in the center of the silver heart.

  Neanthal grinned, amused by its placement. As he got back to his feet, he reached upward and a black sword appeared in his hand.

  With merely a thought, he moved from the base of the wall and ended up standing on top of it, right behind the archer. The Faun didn’t see his blade coming as it slit his throat.

  The dying man’s cough alerted the others to his new position. They fired their crossbows, but Neanthal used the first archer as a shield.

  After the arrows had impaled their comrade, he lifted the body up from the legs and swung it out at the others. Some fell from the wall as the corpse hit them. Others jumped off trying to avoid it.

  A massive arrow imbedded itself in Neanthal’s shoulder. But he effortlessly pulled it out and lit it up before returning it to its source.

  The guard tower went up in flames, but this did not dissuade the others from continuing their attack.

  Two more oversized arrows came for him, but Neanthal sliced through them both with his sword. And then he flung the blade at the archers.

  Though he was not attached to his sword, it moved like he was wielding it in his own hand. It stabbed and dismembered solider-after-soldier in one tower before zooming on to the next one.

  It beheaded. It slit guts. And then it returned to Neanthal.

  There were no more arrows coming for him. Radite’s first line of defense had failed.

  The sword disappeared as he set his sights on the greater city. It twinkled in the daylight as its precious architecture reflected the sun. There was no place in Ghumai like it. Buildings made of gold, silver, and crystal. Not only was he fond of Radite, but it was worthy of his fondness. He may have lived in Castle Tornis longer, but this was what he considered to be his home.

  But there was more than fancy construction within. Lines of soldiers occupied the city. Camps and tents were set up in the alleyways. An army had been summoned; one likely meant to challenge him.

  Five thousand, h
e estimated. And they were likely waiting for more. Some already wore their pad-like armor, be it red or gold or white. Few wore their cage-like helmets. And none suspected that the greatest danger had already arrived.

  The commotion at the gate had not gone unnoticed, however. Many eyes had turned to the burning guard tower, but few reacted.

  Neanthal closed his eyes and beheld flashes of the individuals that had been packed into Radite. Among the soldiers, there were many of weak minds and wills. Faunli had clearly grown soft in its isolation. Centuries ago, he needed to convince them to join his cause. All it would take now was a bit of magic.

  It was easiest to displace the drive of the feeble. Those that lacked willpower had no chance when one stronger sought to impose their own on them. Their empty minds would succumb to his. Each body would be a vessel seeking only to achieve its master’s goals. They would not know what they were doing, nor would they have any way to fight against it.

  There were others in this assembly that could resist him. He might gain temporary control over their bodies, but he would never have a permanent residence in their minds. These were the Fauns that had to be killed.

  None were protected by Her. Unlike those three Kytherans, he did not sense Magenine’s presence in Radite. Did She consider these soldiers disposable? Not part of Her plan? Well, they’d become part of his.

  She was reliant on that trio, which was why he tried to remove them from the planet. The young mage’s power was only growing. The blacksmith’s apprentice had been in direct contact with the Goddess. And the Prince’s strong will and proximity to Her prevented any potential manipulations.

  Magenine had provided him with formidable adversaries. The mage had even survived a duel with him already. There were not many in all of history that could brag about that.

  Was it a test from Her? If he defeated them and made it back to the Bastion, would She finally see him as an equal? One that was worthy of Her love?

  She must have been able to see by now that he was not acting on behalf of another. It did not matter from whence he came. He knew what had created him and the purpose for which he had been planted in Her Bastion, but he did not do it for Him. He was an independent being. If She could recognize that and love him, then this war could finally end.

  They called him demigod because that is what She saw him as. A lesser. Maybe making it back to the Bastion would be enough. But if it took conquering it for Her to see, then he would.

  This time, he would not come armed simply with enchanted rifles. The Bellish had been productive in the hundreds of years of his imprisonment. They’d made advancements far beyond that which was typical of young societies. Their newfound weaponry and their automaton army would become his, and he would bring them to the Bastion.

  And if that wasn’t enough for him to prove himself, then he would fight and She would fall.

  There was only one hitch. Three, actually.

  The two boys would not be much of a challenge in combat. They had mortal weapons which could do no lasting harm to him. So long as Magenine did not have a change of heart and alter the rules, and She always followed the rules like the rest of them, they would merely be an annoyance.

  But Rikki. Descendent of the mage that defeated him. She had the powers of a goddess and her lineage. His confrontation with her had been more of an assessment. And she had proven to be worthy of his fear.

  Neanthal remembered what Amelia and Hatswick had nearly accomplished three hundred years ago. If she could replicate their success, he wouldn’t make it to the Bastion.

  Is that what Magenine truly wanted?

  To spend one’s existence loving someone, only to never have that love be returned, was truly the single greatest torture ever to be conceived. Perhaps he had never been born to conquer. Perhaps it was to suffer.

  Avoiding Rikki was the only guaranteed way to make it to the Bastion unspoiled. But Magenine would ensure a direct clash between them. Should he be victorious, he would march his armies across the lands and conquer the continent once more.

  There would be no exiles this time. No place for them to hide and regroup. And he would not wait a decade to build up his forces. Once Belliore’s weaponry was his, they would march to the Bastion. It was time for them to speak again, and as She wouldn’t communicate with him here, he’d have to go over there.

  Neanthal could foresee such a future. It was possible so long as he took the right steps. And it started on this day, at this moment.

  They were moving in his direction. A squadron of men sent to inspect the calamity at the gate. Two of them were weak. Their minds were his. Neanthal took control of their bodies, and they withdrew their swords and stuck their brethren where their pads did not cover.

  As the soldiers bled out, more took notice of the traitors amongst them. Neanthal had to protect those he’d already converted.

  Multitudes fell to his will. They looked just like the soldiers around them, but their attention was not on the Beast atop the wall.

  Some were used in trickery. He had archers load their arrows and point them towards the wall, only for them to change their targets and dispatch their barbs into their fellow men.

  The screaming did not dissuade Neanthal. The overwhelming panic was intended. The Fauns were reluctant to take out those that had turned. They must not have understood. Some had probably been their friends.

  It was unfolding better than intended. Blood speckled the glittering buildings as legions of men were torn apart by their fellow soldiers. Eventually, they began fighting back against the apparent traitors, but it was too late for them. Neanthal had command of a majority of survivors.

  Some hurried to put on their discarded helmets and armor. Most didn’t make it before an arrow cut through or a sword disarmed them. But they tried.

  Clangs echoed as some of Neanthal’s puppets got caught in duels. Sword rammed sword, but it was usually a nonparticipant that eliminated the strong-willed Faun. Whether they were stabbed in the back or shot in the side, those that were in Neanthal’s way were killed.

  A couple tried to retreat on the backs of velizards. Neanthal took care of them personally. A guard tower fell onto one of them. The other was taken out using the oversized crossbow.

  A line of soldiers tried to surrender. They dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. All of them were swiftly beheaded.

  Those that saw the merciless act immediately ordered the others to flee. The surviving Fauns began a chaotic evacuation of the city. Neanthal couldn’t allow them to leave.

  His chest reverted to a cloudlike composition, and from it, a demibeast burst forth. It jumped from the wall and down to the streets below. Twenty more followed it.

  The demibeasts chased after the soldiers, gnawing at their legs, pouncing on their backs, and tearing apart their armor.

  The Fauns cried out and begged for mercy, but Neanthal would provide none. When he and his foul puppets were finished, there were more bodies than there were men in the streets of Radite. Thousands were dead, but thousands were also under his control.

  Neanthal floated down from the top of the wall. Once his feet touched the ground, he began walking toward the imperial palace.

  As he passed the empty shells that now bore his will, he recalled the black armor his Thalians had worn during the Dark Reign. And so, their Faun armor was warped and reformed to match the historical design. Black metal. Spikes on their hips and shoulders. And helmets to hide their identities from their fellow man.

  Their armor did not transform until he reached them, and it did not finish until he had passed them. Though he did not look back to check, he knew what it had become.

  He stepped through pools of blood along the way but left no red footprints behind. He heard the gurgled moans of the dying but did not provide them with a finishing blow. If they were in his way, he would attempt to step over them. But not once did he end their lives any sooner.

  Neanthal climbed the staircase, intentionally taking every st
ep. It took time, but he wanted to cherish this moment. They’d driven him from Castle Tornis on this day, yet that had only provided the opportunity to reclaim his old home.

  One setback. One victory.

  The doors to the palace swung open on his approach and he readied to dispatch the latest Emperor. But as he entered, he beheld an empty throne.

  The entire palace was empty. They’d abandoned it instead of facing him. It was the most intelligent option and the only one that guaranteed their lives, so long as he didn’t go after them. And he would not.

  The décor had changed since his last visit, though the white marble remained. The hall was lined with crystal statues and golden chandeliers. The ceiling was painted with royal men and the staffs of lost mages were imbedded in the walls. It was more elegant than Castle Tornis had ever been.

  Neanthal floated back up to the throne and promptly landed atop its cushioned seat. He took a moment to rest and appreciate his vantage point.

  Outside, he had the beginnings of a new army. But it was not enough. Ghumai would unite against him. He would face man and automaton alike. He needed more.

  Neanthal’s chest once again became a black cloud with a wispy silver heart. And an arm reached out from within.

  His bipedal beasts and demibeasts would fill all of Radite. And then the final march would commence.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Magenine’s Children

  Aros awoke to find his room bathed in light. He laid still in his bed, taking a minute to enjoy the view that had once been familiar to him. It seemed like seasons since he’d last slept in his own home. And after all that time in foreign locales, it was disconcerting to be back. It felt like he was still dreaming; like he’d eventually wake up again, only to find he was still in Faunli or Terrastream.

  He ran his hand over his white sheets, remembering the girl that had slept there not too long ago. Had it been so many decks already?

  “Leidess,” Aros whispered, imagining that she might somehow respond.

  Instead, there was a massive boom that shook the very foundation of his house.