by Clayton Wood
And then the Dead Man struck.
Kyle felt a vibration in his skull, then felt a powerful force yank him backward, his heels sliding across the ground. He struggled against that invisible grip, digging his heels into the dirt, but it was no use. Backward he went, passing between the Behemoth's legs again, then flying over the foot-shaped depression in the ground. A bolt of terror passed through him.
No!” he screamed out.
Without warning, the force pulling on him vanished, and he dropped to the ground with a loud thump, sliding to a halt on his back. He grunted, then rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up off of the ground with his palms.
Then he looked down and noticed the blood soaking his shirt, spreading rapidly across his chest.
He took a deep breath in, and screamed again, his legs feeling like lead. He stumbled to the ground, crawling on his hands and knees, clutching his bleeding chest with one hand. His head swam sickeningly, a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him.
A cold hand gripped his shoulder.
Kyle tried to pull away from that horrible grasp, but it was impossibly strong. The hand pulled back, spinning Kyle around; he screamed a third time, shielding his face with one forearm, knowing that he was about to die.
His distorted reflection stared back at him.
Kyle's eyes widened, and he scrambled backward, feeling the hand on his shoulder slip away.
A man was kneeling in front of him on one knee, a tall man in jet-black armor, countless tiny runes carved into the metallic surface. Blue light arced through the runes in slow, random patterns, casting the man's face in a pulsing glow. The man wore a silver, mirrored visor across his eyes, sunlight reflecting off of the curved surface. His short brown hair rippled in the gentle breeze that blew across the open pit mine.
Kyle sat there on the ground, resting back on his palms, his eyes wide, his jaw slack with awe.
Rise.
The voice – there but not there, heard but without sound, echoed through his mind. Kyle rose slowly to his feet, his eyes locked on that mirrored visor. Then he glanced down at his chest, remembering the blood dripping from his shirt. He blinked, realizing that the blood wasn't his; he'd fallen onto the puddle of blood on the rocks, the one created by the Behemoth.
Darius's blood.
Kyle lifted his gaze upward, spotting something in the distance...the Dead Man, standing some thirty feet away, his black cloak ever-rippling. He was staring at the black-armored man, his pale lips drawn in a frown.
“And who,” the Dead Man inquired, “...are you?”
The black-armored man turned slowly, facing the Dead Man, blue light rippling down the runes on his black gauntlets in rhythmic pulses. He remained silent.
“I asked you a question,” the Dead Man warned.
Suddenly, Kyle felt something slam into his mind, an immense power coursing over his body. A shockwave of blue energy flared outward from the armored man, blinding in its intensity. He gasped, feeling energy coursing through him. The magic flowed through his bones, filling them instantly, recharging all that had been lost to the Void earlier.
Kyle squinted against that ocean of blue, watching it shoot outward in all directions, striking the Dead Man and his Death Weavers. The Dead Man's eyes widened, his jaw dropping. The Death Weavers fell to their knees.
And then the wellspring of power vanished.
The black-armored man strode slowly toward the Dead Man, his black boots cracking the very stone beneath them with each step, the green crystal on the Dead Man's forehead reflecting off of that silver visor. The armored man stopped a few feet from the Dead Man, who stood there levitating an inch above the ground, his black cloak rippling sinuously around him. Blue spherical gravity shields appeared around the Dead Man in a dozen shimmering layers. The Death Weavers scrambled to their feet, activating their own gravity shields.
The black-armored man stood before them, unafraid.
“I,” he stated, the word echoing through Kyle's mind, but this time also heard, the sound sending a chill down Kyle's spine. The Death Weavers stepped backward almost as one, no doubt sensing the voice as Kyle did. Only the Dead Man remained unmoved by it.
“...am,” the voice continued, rolling across the pit mine. Kyle felt goosebumps rise on his arms, the hair on the back of his neck rising on end. The black-armored man raised his right gauntleted fist into the air, blue light coursing through its runes.
“Ampir.”
He slammed his fist onto the ground, his black gauntlet crushing through the rock with ease, the very earth rising up in a shockwave around him. The stone rippled outward in front of him in an expanding wave of crumbling rock ten feet high, crashing through the Death Weavers' shields and throwing them backward onto the ground like rag dolls. Only the Dead Man remained untouched, rising up through the air over the moving wall of stone.
Then the shattered earth rose into the air in a storm of pebbles and stones, the Death Weavers flying up into the air with them, soaring into the sky until they came to a stop some fifty feet in the air. Their shields vanished as one, obliterated instantly by an unseen power, each Death Weaver flying apart from the other until they formed a loose circle in the sky. The air in the center of that circle ripped, a dark hole appearing there. It expanded rapidly, strange white pinpoints of light glimmering against that blackness.
Then, the Death Weavers – every last one of them – shot inward with blinding speed, vanishing into the void above.
Kyle stared upward, watching as the dark hole in the sky shrank, then vanished. A powerful gale slammed into him, making him stagger to one side. He righted himself, bracing himself for more, but the wind dissipated as rapidly as it had arrived.
And there was silence.
The Dead Man remained levitating ten feet in the air, staring down at the black-armored man, the one who called himself Ampir. He descended slowly, the green crystal in his forehead glittering in the sunlight, until he was mere inches from the ground. His eyes were cold, his expression unreadable. His shields glowed powerfully around him, warping the light at their edges like a magnifying glass.
“You're the one we've been searching for,” he deduced. Ampir said nothing. He stood there in front of the Dead Man, arms at his sides, no shields surrounding him. The Dead Man glanced upward. “What did you do to them?” he asked. “Where did you send my children?” Ampir's lips curled into a slight smirk.
“Orbit,” he replied. This time, he spoke only with his voice. No sound echoed within Kyle's skull, as it normally did when Ampir communicated with him. The Dead Man's eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Ampir said nothing, but took a step toward the Dead Man, his gauntlets glowing brightly now. The Dead Man glided backward, the crystal embedded in his forehead flashing bright green, casting a harsh glow over his pale, gaunt features. Kyle stepped back involuntarily, a spike of fear twisting in his belly.
Then the shard's light went out.
Ampir took another step forward, bringing his hands to the sides of his head, his gauntleted fingers resting on the sides of his visor. The visor was held in place by a black metal band encircling the back of Ampir's head; when his fingers touched the band, it flashed bright blue, then vanished.
“Don't bother,” Ampir said, stopping some twenty feet from the Dead Man. The Dead Man reached up to touch the gem in his forehead with one hand, his eyes widening.
“How are you doing this?” he asked, his voice filled with awe. “Who are you?”
Ampir didn't answer, instead grasping his visor with both hands, then slowly pulling it away from his face. Kyle stepped forward to get a better look, then stopped in his tracks. Ampir removed his visor, turning his head to face Kyle.
Kyle froze.
A pair of blue eyes stared into his, so startlingly blue that they seemed almost to be glowing. They were framed by well-tanned skin, a face both handsome and ageless.
And unmistakably familiar.
“Darius!” Kyl
e gasped, his legs giving out underneath him. He slumped to the ground, landing on his butt on the hard rock below. He didn't even feel the pain of the impact, his whole body numb with shock. It was Darius, back from the dead...but why was he wearing Ampir's armor?
“You!” the Dead Man exclaimed, staring in shock at Darius. “I thought I killed you!”
“Ditto,” Darius shot back. “Nice talk, by the way. Very touching.” He put one arm under Kyle's armpit, pulling Kyle up from the ground. “Almost made me think twice about killing you,” Darius added. He smirked then. “Almost.”
The Dead Man stared at Darius, then glanced back at the crimson stain on the ground, left by the Behemoth's massive foot. Darius followed his gaze.
“One of your Dead Weavers,” Darius explained. The Dead Man turned back to face Darius, his jawline rippling.
“I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish by releasing so much magic from your armor,” he stated, his tone ice-cold. “But I assure you it pales in comparison to the power of Xanos's creations.” Kyle heard the Behemoth stir behind them, and spun around, watching as its green eye moved to focus on them. The eye began to glow brightly, nearly blinding in its intensity. Kyle cried out, ducking down low and covering his face with one arm, feeling the air around him heat up, his skin beginning to burn.
Then the air around the Behemoth's head rippled.
A perfect line split the Behemoth's head, running diagonally from one end to the other, bisecting its diamond-shaped eye. Then the upper dome pulled away, vanishing into thin air. Half of its head remained, green crystal glinting in the cross-section that was revealed.
The Behemoth's head tipped backward, bringing its body with it, sending it into a slow fall. It struck the ground with a deafening boom, sending a plume of dust into the air. Its upper body smashed into the trees at the edge of the forest, snapping the thick trunks like so many twigs under its incredible weight.
Darius, his eyes having never moved from the Dead Man's, shook his head.
“If you want to kill someone without scaring the crap out of them, try not telling them first,” he offered. Kyle heard a low whistling sound coming from above, almost imperceptible at first, then getting louder and louder. Darius smirked. “Like this.”
A shockwave struck Kyle, a cloud of dust slamming into him, thrusting him backward. If it hadn't been for Darius's arm about his shoulders, he would have been knocked clear off of his feet. The dust cloud shot upward in front of Kyle and Darius, rising dozens of feet into the sky. Small pebbles fell toward them from above, clattering on the ground around them. Kyle shielded his eyes with one forearm, protecting them from the flying dust. Then he realized that none of it was reaching him, a gravity shield having appeared around him. He lowered his arm, watching as the dust cleared slowly, until he realized that he was looking at something huge and black embedded into the ground. He stepped backward, feeling Darius's arm slip from his shoulders as he did so. A breeze blew the remainder of the dust cloud away, and Kyle realized what he was looking at...the top half of the Behemoth's head, having fallen through the sky, slamming into the rocky terrain.
Right where the Dead Man had been standing.
Kyle turned to the fallen body of the Behemoth, having decimated a huge swath of trees in the distance. Then he turned back to stare at Darius.
The bodyguard stood there silently, calmly regarding Kyle. The air around the bodyguard's face wavered, the mirrored visor reappearing suddenly, hiding his eyes once again. He walked up to the fallen half of the Behemoth's head, grabbing the rim of the house-sized half-dome with one gauntleted hand and pulling it upward with frightening ease, peering at the crystalline innards.
“Interesting,” Darius stated, staring for a long moment, then letting go of the rim. The half-dome crashed downward, the ground it lay on sinking slightly under its countless tons of weight. Kyle stared at Darius, then back at the Behemoth's head, his jaw slack. Darius ignored Kyle, turning to glance at the Behemoth's fallen body a few dozen feet away. Kyle followed the bodyguard's gaze, then turned back to Darius, finally finding his voice.
“How?” he asked, flabbergasted. Darius turned to regard Kyle.
“How what?”
“How are you still alive?” Kyle pressed. “And why are you wearing that armor? And how did...” he turned to the Behemoth's fallen body, gesturing limply. “How did you do that?”
“Magic,” Darius answered.
“I know that,” he replied impatiently. “I mean, how did you do it?”
“I dropped a head on him,” Darius replied, pointing to the Behemoth's severed skull. Kyle rolled his eyes.
“How did you do that?” he pressed.
“Magic,” Darius repeated.
“But how?” Kyle pleaded, now exasperated with the bodyguard. Then he paused, realizing that he'd somehow gone from missing the bodyguard terribly to almost wishing the man had been mashed into goo by the Behemoth...all in a few minutes. Kyle had to give the man credit; Darius certainly had a gift for making others wish he didn't exist.
“I'm Ampir,” Darius replied.
Kyle started to respond, then felt the breath stop in his throat. His mind blanked, and he stared at Darius in confusion.
“What?”
“I'm Ampir,” Darius repeated.
Kyle stared at Darius for a long moment. The bodyguard tolerated this for a short time, then turned away, walking toward the body of the fallen Behemoth. Kyle hesitated, then ran to catch up with Darius, following him as he circled around one of the monstrosity's massive feet.
“You're what?” Kyle pressed. Darius didn't slow down, striding past the fifty-foot-tall foot, forcing Kyle to jog to keep up. “No, seriously,” Kyle added. Darius stopped, turning to face Kyle. Kyle stared at his own face reflected in that visor.
You've shown me who you are.
The voice reverberated in Kyle's skull, instantly familiar, identical to what he'd heard only a few weeks prior, after jumping from the Tower to save Ariana.
Now I've shown you who I am.
Kyle stared at Ampir's visor, his mouth agape. He found himself speechless again, unable to process what he was hearing. How could Darius be Ampir? The bodyguard didn't make any magic! And he was just a bodyguard, after all...a good one, but nothing more.
Wait, he was a bodyguard...
Kyle felt a chill pass through him.
What if Darius was never Kalibar's bodyguard, but Kyle's?
Kyle stared at Darius, his mind working furiously. Darius had been with Kyle every step of his adventure, after all. And every time Kyle had been threatened, Darius had been the one to protect him. From the soldiers and the Death Weaver at Crescent Lake, from the Dire Lurker in the caves, even from the Dead Man...Darius had ultimately been the one to kill them all.
Even Xanos.
Kyle stared at Darius mutely, taking a step backward.
When that man attacked Kyle during the carriage ride to Stridon...Darius had been there to protect Kyle, not Kalibar. It had been Darius, after all, that had killed the leader of the Death Weavers during that attack, beheading him and displaying that gruesome trophy to the survivors, causing one of them to betray Orik. Kyle could picture that disembodied head – the first dead body he'd ever seen – with its vacant eyes, that disturbing hole in the center of its forehead...
A single hole in the forehead, just large enough to fit a green crystal in...
Kyle took another step backward, feeling his legs wobble underneath him. He fell backward, landing on his bottom on the hard rock below.
How could he have missed that? How could Kalibar have missed that?
The answer, of course, was that Darius had been behind Kalibar when he'd displayed the head...Kalibar had never seen it. But Kyle had.
He licked his lips, clearing his throat noisily.
“Why?” was all he could muster.
Darius said nothing, stepping forward instead and offering one gauntleted hand. Kyle paused, then reached out slowly, grabbing
onto the cool metal. Darius hauled Kyle to his feet in one smooth motion, then turned away, facing the Behemoth. He resumed his quick stride past the Behemoth's long leg, to the torso, and then past the arm and shoulder. Kyle followed along, walking until they'd turned the bend around that massive shoulder, walking toward the ruined head. When they reached the top of the head, they saw a gaping hole, big enough to fit a small house in, filled with green crystal. Kyle peered inside, absentmindedly creating a small light hovering in the air above, to better illuminate the innards. Darius stepped right up to the machinery, running a hand over the crystal.
“Interesting,” the bodyguard murmured. Then he stepped away from the head suddenly, striding back toward the half-dome that had buried the Dead Man. Kyle followed right behind the man, his mind racing. Darius had worked for Kalibar's mentor, and only switched to working for Kalibar after his former employer had died. But Darius – Ampir – must have planned to work with Kalibar all along, so that he could protect Kyle once Kyle was brought to this world. Did that mean Darius had arranged for his previous employer to die? Or had that been a coincidence?
Kyle picked up his pace, jogging behind Darius again as they made the long trip back to the Behemoth's severed head – and the Dead Man's final resting place.
Of course, Ampir had been the one to bring Kyle here in the first place, protecting him from the rip-vines, the killerpillar, and the Ulfar. Kyle felt an ache in his back where the Ulfar had attacked him, the wound still not completely healed. Kalibar had been confused by the fact that the sap of a balm-tree had been placed in Kyle's wound...that must have been Darius's doing as well.
They slowed down as they reached the Behemoth's severed cranium, Darius's visor vanishing into thin air, revealing his blue eyes, which inspected the large half-dome for a long moment. Then the bodyguard's eyes unfocused for a moment.
The head vanished.