Legacy First Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3 of the Legacy Series

by Ryan Attard

  "Erik," Abi yelled. "Watch your six."

  I reached behind my trench coat, grabbed the hilt of my magic short sword, Djinn, and pulled it free. I spun and channeled magic, sending an azure crescent of energy at the approaching enemy.

  "Not my fucking car," I roared as my beam of power hit the few soldiers who had crept up behind me. They flew backwards and didn't get up.

  At the same time, the Tsuchigumo had already flung one of the Hummers into the forest and skewered another. The soldiers in the last two Hummers ran out and engaged the beast, shooting nets and enchanted chains at it, and when that didn't work, they resorted to guns and swords. Seven guys versus a spider the size of a Kaiju. Sometimes, all the training in the world doesn't matter. Sometimes, the guy the size of an aircraft carrier wins by default.

  "No," I yelled. "Get back."

  But I was too far away to do anything.

  The ground rumbled, marking his entrance.

  Gil's wizards were pulled backwards as the asphalt they stood on rolled, throwing them off.

  One giant chunk at a time, the debris, concrete, and rock from the nearby surroundings all gathered at one point behind the Tsuchigumo. Pile after pile, the giant construct grew until it towered over the oversized spider. For a few tense seconds, both sides of the fight watched as the giant spider trembled in fear before the gargantuan monolith.

  The mass of rock and granite grew tall and took the form of a giant hand. With dexterity that seemed unnatural, it twisted and extended a middle finger the size of a skyscraper. Then it clenched into a giant fist and slammed on top of the spider. A tsunami of rock, dirt, and debris enveloped the area. The resounding noise exploded like a shockwave, and I felt my ears ringing.

  And there, amidst the fallen chunks of rock and rain of spider entrails, stood Amaymon. He was in his human form, drenched in spider gore, with his arms spread open like an orchestra conductor and his eyes closed. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling out. He looked at me with his demonic golden eyes—a clear reminder that the fuzzy cat had been replaced by a horror not even Lovecraft could have dreamt up.

  "Thought you needed a hand. Get it? A hand?" he hollered before bursting into a fit of maniacal laughter.

  Chapter 3

  "Abi, clear a path for the truck," I ordered, and turned to Gil's wizards. "You, help her."

  I ran towards the truck and found another terrified pair of wizards in the front seat. "Set up a protection shield and step on it when you see the chance. I'll catch up as soon as I-"

  A fireball shot into me and sent me tumbling aside. I put out the flames on my coat while a tiny yellow and orange dot in front of me grew bigger and bigger, with an accompanying whoosh.

  A guy around my age, with piss-blond hair and a smug expression, landed next to the truck, his hands and feet on fire. In a swift motion he swung his arm at the truck and a stream of fire instantly consumed the front of the vehicle. Gil's two operatives were reduced to ashes before their minds could process what was happening. With a flare of orange and black the engine exploded, sending flames and shrapnel everywhere.

  He gazed at me and waved his hands again. Years of monster-hunting took over and I sprung to one side. Fire scorched the ground and followed me. I rolled backwards. Bad move.

  The blond guy thrust out his other palm and a wall of fire rose before me, blocking my path. He stopped in front of the bolted truck doors and lifted his index finger. That hull was made out of reinforced steel, capable of resisting a bazooka, though I guess whoever made it wasn't expecting the Human Torch. Flame Guy's finger caught on fire, like a blowtorch, and he simply traced a line. Immediately, the doors swung open.

  Before he could enter the truck and walk away with a 'mission complete,' I took off in a sprint and ran through the fire. The first time I had died, it was by phoenix fire. Being burned alive wasn't something new to me. Besides, even though flames aren't solid, no one ever thinks of actually walking through fire, despite the proverbial saying.

  I made it through and flung my burning coat aside. Still holding Djinn, I channeled my magic through it and the blade elongated to a glowing azure spear. Vapor clouded my eyes and I missed him by a few inches—this guy was really lucky.

  Frustrated, I swiped the sword to one side, then another. He ducked under my swing, and I managed to close the distance between us. I released the magic on my short sword, returning Djinn to its normal size. With my free hand, I swung a punch, a feint to make him go backwards.

  See, here's the thing with being able to throw fire: it's the perfect long-range attack, and that meant very few people would stop to think what would happen if someone got really close and personal, bypassing the effectiveness of a long-range weapon. Besides, in such a case the enemy could catch on fire, and no sane person would risk getting that close because they would injure themselves more than the person they were trying to hurt in the first place.

  But who said I was sane?

  Following my momentum, I twisted and kicked him across the chest. I couldn't have asked for a better shot. It threw him off his feet and away from the truck.

  Advantage: I kicked his ass.

  Disadvantage: he was now at a safe distance to blast me again.

  This guy was a full-on Pyromancer. There were three classes of magic users: the first were the adept, who were the lowest category of spell-slingers. These guys had trace amounts of magic and were usually one-trick wonders. Then you had wizards: guys like me, who were equally capable in any type of magic. Finally, the Specialists. These guys were wizards who chose to forsake all types of magic to focus only on one. This guy had obviously chosen fire, a.k.a. Pyromancy.

  Since both he and I could use fire spells, it became a matter of energy transmission. A wizard like me could do all types of magic, but the highest level I could go was, for the sake of explanation, level ten. And that applied across the border.

  But a Pyromancer would be able to take fire magic to level hundred, in exchange for having level zero in all other classes of magic. It was a trade, quantity for quality, meaning I couldn't fight fire with fire.

  Let me put this in another term: I was screwed.

  The Pyromancer threw a wild blast of fire, aimed more to keep me at a distance than to do any actual damage. I retaliated by sending a blast from Djinn. He rolled to the left, and then to the right in a zigzag, until he ended up exactly where I wanted him.

  With my free hand, I reached into the holster on my left hip and wrapped my fingers around the gun handle sticking out. The gun was meant to be drawn with my right hand, but one flip with my wrist and I was holding the modified flintlock with my left hand. It was a weird gun: a re-purposed antique, outfitted with modern internal mechanisms and a shotgun magazine. Of course, Amaymon had juiced it up by molding Behemoth ectoplasm into it.

  I fired at the Pyromancer. His eyes widened and he threw himself sideways, using fire as a jet propeller. Keeping his spell, he flew in a circle, two feet off the ground. I poured power into the gun and fired three more times in rapid succession. The bullets glowed like flares and followed the Pyromancer around like heat-seeking missiles. He twisted, flying backwards, and let out a stream of flames from both hands.

  Two reasons why one shouldn't fly backwards. Number one: he was in an awkward position. And number two…

  I shot a vertical streak of energy from Djinn. It smashed against the Pyromancer, who proceeded to crash-land and tumble over the hard asphalt in one of the most painful-looking falls I had ever seen. And this coming from the guy who once threw himself off a five-story hospital building and onto a speeding limo.

  I'm not a football fan, but I couldn't help it. "Touchdown!"

  Flames surged from the grounded Pyromancer, and with a lot of groaning and wheezing he managed to get to his knees. Scrapes and cuts covered every inch of his body, and blood was oozing from his head all the way down his neck and shoulders.

  "Aziz," he screamed. "Get some fucking reinforcements out here. Now!"

&
nbsp; I looked over my shoulder. Amaymon and Abi were busy keeping the soldiers at bay, winning easily. Amaymon had even cleared a path for the truck to go by and the dead spider was still buried beneath a few tons of rock. The guy who summoned the spider—Aziz, I presumed—was sweating profusely, his face contorted with concentration.

  That's when I saw the first clump of anima particles. They're not harmful, just pockets of air charged with magical energy, but they usually meant that something was being summoned. I swore very loudly as I realized just what Aziz was.

  After all, Specialists, despite being extremely rare, did exist. Not counting fire boy, I had only ever met a couple. But two in the same place? Hell, no. That kind of coincidence did not exist in my universe.

  My worst suspicions were confirmed when Aziz spread his arms and traced intricate patterns in the air. Anima particles overflowed, as if someone had released a valve and flooded the entire place with the damned things. Aziz's hood was down, showing his Persian features and determined eyes. He was a Summoner, a Specialist devoted to bringing the supernatural into this realm and controlling them. Usually Summoners stuck to one monster, so that they can could summon it and then spend the rest of their energy reigning it in. If that big-ass spider hadn't had a leash, it would have eaten him on the spot. But there was no rule against summoning a shitload of monsters and letting them on the rampage.

  That's why Aziz didn't summon just one Wurm—he summoned the entire fucking nest.

  "Incoming," I yelled.

  Wurms look like giant centipedes: a head with no eyes, just a giant gaping hole with a bunch of teeth in it, and hundreds of pincer-like legs along their massive, spiny bodies.

  One wasn't a problem; one hundred was a very different story.

  Amaymon grabbed the closest one and literally ripped it apart. "We got this," he hollered back, then pointed at Aziz. "Abi, take him out."

  I was about to say something when a blast of scorching-hot air exploded behind me. I turned and was forced to shield my eyes. Fire spread all over the place, burning with an intensity that scalded my skin just by being close to it. The flames were so hot that I could barely breathe. In the middle of the inferno stood the Pyromancer, covered in yellow fire like a miniature sun.

  "Agni," he said over the roar of the flames. "Been a while since I’ve had to use this technique. Now, just. Fucking. Burn!"

  The flames rose like a tsunami.

  "Amaymon! Cover!" I managed to scream as the fire consumed the world around me.

  There was a million ways he could have nudged me back to consciousness, but Amaymon chose the kick-to-the-head method. Not a very nice way for me to wake up amidst the giant scorch mark that the road had become. I tried standing up, but fell right back on my ass. I looked down. Only one leg was left attached to my body; the other had been reduced to a blackened stump, with blood spurting out from the veins that hadn't been cauterized.

  In fact, upon further inspection of the damage I had incurred, I realized half my body had been burnt off.

  My left leg—the one that was still there—and my torso were rapidly healing, but the right side hadn't quite caught up to speed. So I was forced to lie down, a twisted grotesque figure that couldn't even stand up, while my magic took effect. I focused my healing on the missing leg and watched chunks of blackened bone just fall off, instantly replaced by newly regrown ones. I looked away, not wanting to see the raw nerves and muscles knit themselves back. All around me, Gil’s wizards were trying to quell the flames that the Pyromancer had left behind, while others were giving medical assistance. After a few minutes, a wave of coolness washed over me, and I looked again to see that I had fully healed from the Pyromancer's magic.

  Abi and two of the remaining wizards emerged from a crumbling protective dome of concrete and rock, no doubt Amaymon's handiwork. The highway bore a series of giant holes.

  "Some of the Wurms got away," Amaymon explained.

  I groaned. At least when the Summoner had control of them, he could have just sent them back to whichever dimension he had pulled them out of. But now that they were on the loose, we had to capture them individually. And the forest was their natural environment.

  I looked towards the truck, or rather, what was left of it. The steel hull was melted, leaving only one side intact. Inside was absolutely nothing.

  "Ah, fuck," I said. "Gil is gonna have my head on a platter for this."

  Amaymon chuckled. "I got something for you," he said.

  He led me towards the side, and Abi handed me a patch of burnt leather. I realized I was holding what was left of my coat. I could have cried. In one fell swoop, I had lost my car, my coat, and my expensive holsters.

  "Sorry," she said. I noticed her scanning me from top to bottom, and she actually blushed. But she didn't turn away.

  I looked down and saw that I was almost naked. Most of my clothes looked like a BDSM outfit, all straps and strips. Nothing was actually covering anything.

  Abi was still looking, but I was in too much pain and too frustrated with myself to care.

  I discarded the remnants of my beloved coat and scooped up my weapons, all the while swearing under my breath. I was not the type to start a hit list, given how easily people got on my nerves, but I was considering starting one just to put that Pyromancer's name at the very top. The next time I saw that little shit, I was going to freeze his ass off and ship him over to Santa's zip code.

  "What did you wanna show me?" I asked Amaymon.

  He pointed downwards at Aziz's head sticking out of the concrete.

  "Is he dead?" I asked.

  Amaymon held up a clawed hand and the earth trembled. "Do you want him to be?"

  "No," I replied. "Let's take him to Gil for questioning. Maybe she won't totally kill me."

  "Hell hath no fury like one of us scorned," Abi said.

  Amaymon offered her a grin that showed his shark-like teeth. "What about a brother scorched? Get it?" he said pointing at me.

  Abi stifled a giggle and shook her head.

  "Funny," I retorted sarcastically.

  "There's only so many jokes I can do when you're naked," he replied with a grin. "The shock and horror of it all is too much for my delicate sensibilities."

  I rolled my eyes and walked towards my car, hoping to whatever god was up there that it would start so I could get the hell out of this place. I had clothes to put on and a royally pissed-off sister to face.

  This was going to be a very long day.

  Chapter 4

  "You had one job." Gil was pacing around, her platinum-blonde hair whipping around as she shook her head with indignation.

  After a few detours, mainly getting a new set of clothes from the city on our way here, we made it back to the heart of Trinity forest where the Ashendale mansion, a.k.a. my childhood home, stood in all of its foreboding glory.

  It was a weird little trip from the highway back here: I had Abi and the surviving wizards sit in the one remaining Hummer as I madly drove my car to the nearest Target for a change of clothes, with Amaymon in cat form in the passenger seat. After a quick shopping trip with a demonic cat, a succubus, and two wizards who weren’t too sure what they were supposed to do next, I decided to stop for a well-deserved burger, because dying twice in a row tends to work up an appetite.

  And then, we went to see Gil.

  "I thought you were competent," she said, pointing an accusatory finger at me.

  "Hey, hey," I protested. "I expected a few monsters to jump us, but this was too much for anyone to handle. Two Specialists, not to mention the small army they had with them. Come on, Gil, this was clearly an organized gig."

  She came up to just underneath my chin, five feet something of vibrating anger. "Are you trying to imply something?"

  "Maybe you knew about this. Or maybe the mole you failed to silence a year ago is active again," I retorted.

  "No, please, stop, you're tearing this family apart!" We both looked at Amaymon who sat rocking on a chair. "Meh,
you guys crack me up."

  "And what were you doing this entire time?" Gil asked.

  Amaymon shrugged casually. "Hey, at least I got you a present. All Erik did was burn his ass off and then parade around naked."

  "Thanks for your input, Amaymon," I said.

  "Anytime."

  I turned to Gil. "So where is the Summoner?"

  My sister motioned for us to follow her as she led us through the mansion. It was a weird feeling, being back there after more than a decade. It was just as I had left it: dark and creepy. But it was clear which parts Gil inhabited the most. These were better decorated, with more light and slightly more upbeat colors. Not to mention renovated to the point of looking brand-new as opposed to the pile of rubble I had left the last time I had been here.

  She led us to a barren room with only a desk in it. On the desk was a myriad of recording equipment: surveillance monitors, voice-capturing devices, you name it. There was also what looked like a heart-monitoring device, similar to the ones they hook patients up to at the hospital.

  The wall which the desk faced was a giant mirror, giving a perfect view of the next room. I recognized it as a one-way mirror, just like they use in interrogation rooms. In the opposite room, Aziz was suspended from a crossbar with his head hanging limp and beside him, Mephisto was busy displaying a series of torture implements.

  They didn't come any creepier than Mephisto. He was to Gil what Amaymon was to me: a familiar, a demon with a contract to a human magic practitioner. He also happened to be Amaymon's brother. The two of them made Gil and I look like a sitcom by comparison. He was Amaymon's complete opposite, strategy and manipulation over brute force. Amaymon was the type to tear something apart and dance in a rain of blood, but Mephisto would rather watch his victims disembowel themselves before revealing himself to be the mastermind. Even their elements were complete opposites. Amaymon was an earth elemental as opposed to Mephisto being an air elemental. They were a literal cat and dog duo and, no, the irony wasn't lost on me.