What had he done? What had he given up to come this far? What was he about to let happen?
The crimson light upon his eyes flickered once…twice…and a final, third time.
“Kay…”
An explosion of white light eradicated the chaos shine from his eyes as the power of air, the power of light, the power of The Rosintai greeted him like an old friend, long-forgotten. The snarling beast who had savaged his own flesh and blood receded into the animus warrior’s mind, and in one heart-wrenching, fantastical and yet sorrowful moment, he was Valentean Burai once more.
Panic seized the Kackrittan animus as he watched the debris falling, nearly reaching Kayden’s prone and defenseless body. He ran with all he was worth, calling upon the long-forgotten power of the wind to aid in his flight. There was no time to grab Kayden and escape unscathed. This was going to be close, but he had to take the risk. Valentean whirled his arms about erratically, surrounding himself with powerful wind. He leapt onto Kayden’s unmoving form, covering the lifeless body with his own like a shield. Valentean screamed, releasing the power of light through his body, bathing himself in the warmth of its glow just as the mountain of rubble slammed into the brothers, burying them in a smothering avalanche of devastation.
As Vahn fell to the ground, he watched in horror as the remains of the battle arena crashed down upon his sons. He screamed in terror over the bashing sound of crashing rocks. Instantly, Vahn was on his feet, running toward the huge pile of rubble, climbing up and pulling at whatever rocks were small enough for him to move. They had to still be alive beneath all of that. They were gods upon Terra. If anyone could survive such an onslaught, it would be his boys.
Kayden had saved him. He had sacrificed himself to ensure Vahn’s survival. This totally unexpected and unprecedented move had both horrified and delighted Vahn’s addled heart. He knew there was some shred of goodness left in Kayden, some last semblance of familial love. He had found it but possibly at the cost of his own life. Then, just before the rubble had fallen, Vahn saw Valentean leap into the fray. What was he doing? Was he trying to save Kayden? Dueling feelings of happiness and dread at this event continued to pull at the old man’s heartstrings.
Vahn clawed at the stone, tossing bits and chunks to and fro in his desperate attempt to retrieve his boys. He pulled at a big slab, larger than his torso, and as he moved it, a powerful gust of wind burst outward from beneath the rubble, tossing Vahn back, where he rolled off the mountain of black stone and onto the ground. The powerful wind he had unleashed caused an eruption of stone that blasted up and away from the devastation’s epicenter. Vahn covered his face with his arms as the rocks and pebbles unearthed by this tremendous upheaval fell around him.
As specks of stone cascaded down through the dusty air, the old man lowered his arms and looked up. Vahn saw a large hole had been torn in the mountain of rubble, and from the smoky stillness within rose an arm clad in a torn, red sleeve.
Vahn gasped in relief and jumped to his feet, clamoring over the remaining bits of stone in an attempt to reach Valentean and help his son to safety. An anxious palpitation rattled his aging heart, and as he reached the edge of the newly formed opening, Valentean’s head and chest rose into view. He was filthy, ragged, and bleeding from the nose and eyebrow, but he was safe.
“Valentean,” Vahn cried out. “Your brother…” Valentean’s eyes locked onto Vahn’s, and there was something different yet familiar about them. The harsh smolder of chaos was gone, replaced by the gentle, worrying kindness that had defined his younger son throughout his eventful life.
Valentean groaned in exertion and lifted his right arm down to the black-gloved hand that hoisted Kayden up, still unmoving. Valentean and Kayden tumbled together out of the opening onto the side of the rubble stack. Vahn was at their side immediately, crouching and grasping Kayden’s face in both hands.
“He’s all right, Father,” Valentean said, patting his wounded brother on the arm. “Don’t worry. He’s all right. We both are.” Vahn noted the steady rise and fall of Kayden’s broad chest and let a barking laugh of relief escape through an open-mouthed smile that split his face horizontally. He grasped Valentean in a tight embrace and felt the wet streak of the boy’s tears upon the skin of his chest. He reached down with one arm and grasped Kayden, pulling the larger man into a close hug as well.
For a moment, Vahn simply sat there hugging his adult sons to him, rocking back and forth with relief and glee. There was still a larger battle to be fought. There was still a longer war to be won. But just for now, just for this moment, he simply enjoyed the quiet.
They were a family again.
XXVIX: Without Hope
As she nimbly dodged out of the way of a falling wall of destructive light, Aleksandra marveled at its creator. The Grassani king might have been the most powerful mortal mage she had ever encountered. And if he was not the most powerful, he was certainly in the top three at the very least. Yes, his strength was impressive. Deserving of the rich, magical lineage from which he was descended. But to Aleksandra, he was nothing.
She watched as his brow furrowed above furious eyes, desperation sinking into his gaze. She gave him a gentle smirk of amusement. For while she appreciated, even admired his power, she wanted him to know she did not fear it. Not even the tiniest shred of fear lived within the powerhouse sorceress. The concept was simply foreign.
With an anguished cry, the newly crowned king let loose a thick beam of white electric rage that was aimed perfectly for the empress’s heart. Rather than simply dodge out of the way as she had earlier, this time, she decided to show this intrusive monarch exactly who he was dealing with. Pointing two fingers at the oncoming attack in the microsecond before it would carve a smoking hole through her torso, Aleksandra fired off a crimson bolt of her own, which met that of her foreign rival, entering into an intentional stalemate.
She could, of course, with as much effort as one would put into yawning, break through the intrusive hex and murder the sole ruler of Grassan with naught more than a flick of her dainty wrist. However, Aleksandra decided she needed to let Nahzarro believe for just a fraction of a second that he had a chance to defeat her. To truly defeat hope, one had to sow the seeds from which it blossoms. And Aleksandra wanted her foes to be truly and totally without hope.
She could hear the intense effort erupting from the king’s throat in the form of several low growls and clicks. As he let out a furious groan, Aleksandra allowed the corner of her mouth to pull up ever so slightly with the kind of smile one might offer a toddler who was trying to play a musical instrument. Patient, amused, and completely above it all. Nahzarro noticed this casual demeanor, and she could see the light of hope beginning to wilt and wither, ready to be ground beneath the heel of her boot.
Just as she was about to end this farcical encounter, she sensed an incoming familiar burst of energy. She quickly extended her other hand, two fingers pointed, and fired off a second jolt of red light to intercept a crackling beam of azure lightning fired off by Seraphina.
“Welcome back, sister,” Aleksandra stated politely, watching her struggling sibling. “Playing with new friends can be amusing, but it is this family time that I truly crave.”
Seraphina did not respond. She simply straightened her back, glared in icy concentration, and increased the energy of her already impressive spell.
To Aleksandra’s shock, her sister began to push back upon the outer limits of her defenses. In another life, the empress might have actually been proud of her younger sister for such a feat. She was, after all, Aleksandra’s student and had been for years. But any time she began to feel even the slightest tug of that once familiar sisterly bond they had once shared, the sight of Sophie’s lifeless eyes staring blankly up at her blinded Aleksandra with the fiery blaze of unabashed hatred.
Her farce with the king would have to come to a close. Seraphina clearly required more attention than she had been receiving. Turning her right palm upward, Aleksandra f
licked her wrist toward the ceiling, directing Nahzarro’s attack up and away. It tore through the illusion of blue sky that covered the cold black ceiling of the throne room’s true topping, and several shards of broken stone crashed down around their battlefield.
Another flick of Aleksandra’s wrist called forth an invisible hammering force that drilled into the king, easily tossing him back as though he were a doll the empress had discarded, no longer seeking to play with it. The Grassani’s impeccably dressed body flew through the air, limp and helpless as it smashed into the surface of the lake, disappearing beneath the water.
Without even caring enough to check if the king had surfaced, Aleksandra returned the crimson fury of her stare to Seraphina, calling more dormant energy into her left hand, strengthening the already impressive spell, and shredding through Seraphina’s attack. The red burst of chaos broke the false Ice Queen’s magic, and a shuddering, coursing jolt of electric might threw her to the ground, making her body jump in response.
“Almost impressive, Harbinger,” Aleksandra said, spitting the moniker as though it were a vile curse. “But not quite.”
“I’ll show you,” Seraphina whispered into the grass, gesturing forth and summoning a burst of blue water with the intent of slamming it into her sister with the strength of a tidal wave. But as the fluid crashed into the ground, Aleksandra had already phased from sight. Appearing behind Seraphina, so close that, had she wanted, she could have tapped the young woman on the shoulder.
Instead, she opted to shove her sister hard between the shoulder blades with an open palm. The force of her incredible strength pitched Seraphina forward onto the grass, where she skidded for several meters before coming to a stop.
The power of The Eye was still filling her. Even when not sitting within the Skeletal Throne, the energy trapped within it was now connected to her. It was a marvelous creation funneling all of the world’s hatred and strife into a weapon usable only by the avatar of such sacred truths of existence. With the flow of trapped power harnessed by The Eye and the throne, she could continue fighting like this forever.
The battle at hand, however, was not likely to last much longer than five more minutes, and that was only if she had not lost interest before then.
“Harrin, Nin, Halaar!” a voice resounded from behind her. Turning, Aleksandra saw the Grassani dripping wet on the bank of the lake, hands outstretched with fingers enacting some intricate dance. The white medallion that hung around his neck flared to life with alabaster light, not unlike that which normally shone from the eyes of the Shogai. Hundreds of bolts of white energy formed in the air around the room and converged on her.
She braced herself for impact, prepared to smack these ridiculous attempts to upend her away. But as the light touched her body, it didn’t hurt. There was no pain, no impact. The light simply melted into her, and suddenly, Aleksandra felt very stiff in the limbs.
She panicked for an instant, calling upon the chaos trapped within the throne to help her escape whatever this intense, new hex might have been. But as the inferno of chaotic magic grew within her heart, the constrictive magic tightened its grip upon her.
She tried to turn and flee as more converged, but it was too late. Aleksandra stood rooted in place, surrounded by a glowing alabaster hue, completely unable to move save for the rapid back and forth glances of her crimson eyes.
“Having trouble there?” the blond king said, stepping into view as his fingers continued moving through an intricate series of twirls. “The Collective had quite a bit of information compiled on your ancestor. I found it all while researching The Eye.”
The mage’s satisfied grin enraged the mighty sorceress all the more, and Aleksandra called upon a surge of chaos to fuel her rising anger. But the spell only constricted further around her.
“One of the more experimental bits I found was this spell. They called it the Chaos Snare. Essentially, this medallion of my father’s acts as a conduit of light energy, and that seals the chaos within your body. And the more you fight it, the tighter it grips.”
Aleksandra’s eyes widened in shock. She tried to move her lips to scream and curse and let the mage king know how, once she was free, she would pulverize his bones into paste. But she could not speak, could not twitch, could not even blink in response to the light.
“Princess, if you would be so kind?” Nahzarro said, looking over his shoulder. To Aleksandra’s mounting horror, Seraphina was on her feet beside her foreign ally, two fingers raised threateningly as the points of her nails sparked with azure light.
“With pleasure,” her sister hissed, blue eyes narrowing as a bolt of blue lightning exploded from her outstretched arm, smashing into Aleksandra’s chest, right over her heart.
At first, the empress felt nothing. It was a steady pressure but nothing horrifying. It was weak, much as her sister had always been. But as the spell wore on, the seconds and minutes weakened her defenses. The bolt of blue began to carve its way through her flesh, pushing inward centimeter by centimeter until the dull ache of long-forgotten pain began to spread through her ribcage.
Aleksandra’s eyes met those of her sister, and she found within Seraphina’s glare the cold bite of murder. She was prepared right here and now to end Aleksandra, and for the first time in her life of power and privilege, the prophet of Ignis feared for her very existence.
The spell continued its destructive course, forming a gash above her heart. Aleksandra attempted to thrash and flail, trying to hammer her way through this horrifying prison, but it was no use. It reminded her of those horrid weeks she had spent sealed within a prison of ice in the Northern Magic. But that had been mostly irritating and debilitating. This was dangerous.
As the bolt of Seraphina’s magical might dug another layer deeper through her flesh, Aleksandra set her will upon the Skeletal Throne. Nahzarro’s spell was adept at holding her in place, at sealing the power of chaos. But her power, while great, was limited. The Eye and the throne’s power were limitless. She called upon the energy trapped within the seat of her empire and drew it into herself. The effect was immediate and staggering. The avalanche of chaos struck her and buried her within its red-hot embrace like lava flowing from the mouth of a volcano.
She felt the cracks that had formed around her eyes deepen and elongate, spreading like broken glass along her temples and down her cheeks. Where her flesh split, red energy pulsated like a heartbeat. She fueled the incoming power with her own pain and panic. The curse that held her in place bore down upon her with increased strength in response to this sudden flood of chaos, but it was not enough. The light faltered around her, and the empress screamed in unfathomable rage, throwing her arms up, shattering Nahzarro’s spell, and knocking Seraphina’s invasive attack aside.
She expelled the excess chaos energy in the form of a wave that slammed through the room, throwing both her sister and the Grassani king back in a heap. Seraphina was up first, and Aleksandra met her with a blast of red lightning from the fingers of her left hand. The Ice Queen collapsed, screaming as the heat of her sister’s hate poured into her body.
Nahzarro was moving on the border of Aleksandra’s vision, and she turned, extending her right arm to engulf the foreign monarch with a burst of lethal lightning as well. The prophet of chaos stood tall and mighty between her foes as she rained down thundering jolts of fury upon those who had dared to play a role in her moment of weakness.
Words were forming in Aleksandra’s mind, but none found their way to her lips. The only sound that escaped through her clenched teeth was a deep, hissing growl. She had underestimated these foes once again—just as she had done in Kahntran. She believed that without Valentean, this lot was naught more than a mere warm-up exercise. She had been wrong, and she needed to stop them now. What if Valentean were to show up and join forces with them, fueled as he was by the gift of the blaze? It might be too much for Aleksandra to handle. That thought had never even occurred to her in the past, but now it was an all too potent real
ity.
She amped up the pressure on her dueling offensive spells, determined to murder both Seraphina and Nahzarro within the next minute. They were close to expiring now. Then she could return to the throne and gather her energy while she waited for Valentean to—
A flash of movement before her eyes drew Aleksandra’s attention. She had been so focused on Nahzarro and Seraphina following their nearly catastrophic assault that she had completely forgotten the third presence within the room. Maura slashed out with a glowing, green blade, catching Aleksandra completely off guard. No sooner had she dropped her hands and attempted to leap back than did the common girl’s dagger slice into her cheek.
The energized blade had actually cut her. As she landed back a meter away, Aleksandra was shocked to feel the gentle trickle of blood cascading down her face. Her look of aghast disbelief was exceeded only by the equally dumbfounded stare on Maura.
“You…” Aleksandra said slowly, a ball of flame erupting to life within her palm. Maura audibly gasped, having clearly not thought her plan of attack through any further than stopping Aleksandra from killing her friends. Aleksandra brought a hand up and dabbed her index finger into the bloody wake of Maura’s assault. She pulled her hand away and stared at the horrifying, red, gooey liquid in shock. She had not seen the sight of her own blood since she was a small child. Not since before the day Aurax had imbued her with the Goddess’s gifts. And now, in her own palace, it was not even the spirits of order or light who bloodied her. It was not a mage king or the empowered warrior of Casid. It was one simple girl, wielding a simple blade, throwing a simple attack that had caught her completely off guard.
Maura took a deep breath and steadied herself, moving back and away from the sorceress while holding her blades in front of her defensively. Her knees were shaking in terror, and Aleksandra felt a sense of extreme satisfaction at what was about to transpire. She casually waved one hand, summoning an invisible wave of impact that tore the weapons from Maura’s hands. Then, as the girl stared dumbfounded after her misplaced instruments, Aleksandra held one palm out, and within seconds, Maura was being pulled across the room as though she were magnetized until her throat came to rest within Aleksandra’s waiting palm.
Rosinanti: Rise of the Dragon Lord (Rosinanti Series Book 3) Page 44