by Clayton Wood
Runic Vengeance
Books by Clayton Taylor Wood:
Runic Awakening
Runic Revelation
Runic Vengeance
Runic Vengeance
Book III of the Runic Series
Clayton Taylor Wood
Copyright ©2017 by Clayton Taylor Wood.
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Published by Clayton T. Wood.
ISBN: 978-0-9980818-2-3
Cover designed by James T. Egan, Bookfly Design, LLC
Printed in the United States of America.
Special thanks to my brothers and my father, and my wife for their invaluable advice.
And to my son, for whom this book was written.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Runic Vengeance
Prologue
The old man hobbled down the long underground tunnel, the butt of his wooden cane clanging on the metal platform below with each step he took. The platform extended down a long tubular tunnel made entirely of large white crystals. Each crystal was over seven feet long, with a broad hexagonal base that tapered to a razor-sharp tip pointing toward the center of the tunnel. The metal platform levitated a few feet above the crystals below, suspended by an unseen force.
The old man smiled to himself, countless wrinkles on his face deepening as he did so. He gazed forward with cataract-glazed eyes, continuing down the shaft at a glacial pace.
A shaft he'd been walking through for miles.
He hardly minded the walk, no matter the hours he'd spent taking it. The automatic nature of this body's shambling gate, the repetitive clang, clang of his cane on the metal below, freed the better part of his mind for more important matters.
He vaguely recalled being mortal, engaging his body with some mindless task to allow his mind to wander. A mind freed from its overbearing consciousness proved fertile soil for ideas to grow forth from, after all. And how many wondrous ideas had come to him during such walks, during his mortal life and far beyond! He would hardly be here today, walking in the midst of his own creation, had he not so exercised his brain.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally made it to the end of the metal platform. The tunnel continued forward ahead, but was much narrower, the crystals forming a channel barely large enough to fit a human head through. There was no way forward...or so it seemed.
The old man glanced upward at one of the crystals above his head, focusing on what lay beyond its glittering facets. There, embedded in the broad root of the crystal, he could barely make out a shadowy form. A long-dead corpse forever encapsulated in its crystalline grave.
An unwilling Chosen.
He turned his eyes forward again, at the narrow channel beyond. There were Chosen in every one of the countless crystals – his Void crystals – lining the shaft he'd been walking through. A brain entombed in every crystal, each connected to one another in one massive network.
With a thought, the Void crystals around him flashed, then stopped their faint glowing. The old man rose up from the metal platform, levitating a foot above the grated steel, his cane dropping onto it with a clang. He closed his eyes, raising his arms out to his sides.
Then his head tore off, rising above his neck.
It flew forward down the narrower tunnel, rapidly picking up speed. The tunnel curved downward, traveling deeper into the earth. Faster his head went, Void crystals zipping past it in a dizzying blur.
Then the narrow shaft opened up into a massive cavern, a Void chamber so large that it defied explanation. The walls, the ceiling, and the floors were all made of glowing white Void crystals. Massive crystals hung like stalactites from the ceiling, some well over a hundred feet long, their facets shimmering dully in the faint light cast by their smaller brothers.
The old man's head slowed its descent, rotating as it dropped through the air, until his eyes faced the center of the chamber. A single, translucent rod-shaped crystal hung from the ceiling there, so long that it reached the floor. It was nearly fifty feet in diameter, this crystal. On the floor, encircling the base of the crystal, grew a corona of green crystals some twenty feet tall.
The source of his Chosens' shards.
His head descended further downward, until it reached a headless body levitating directly below it. His head fused with the body's neck, leaving a thin, jagged white line between the two. Within seconds, he was once again whole.
The old man stared down at his new body's hands. They appeared much younger than those of his other body, the skin smooth and supple. He remembered being young once, long ago. Such a gift, youth. A gift only appreciated once it was lost.
He sighed, gazing at the huge cylindrical crystal extending from the floor to the ceiling. He peered through its translucent surface; despite its girth, he could see a faint shadow in the center of it, something suspended deep inside.
The old man levitated forward toward the crystal, until his nose was nearly touching its slick surface. From here, he could see what was trapped within it. An emaciated body, its arms and legs mere bones covered in a thin veneer of flesh, its ribs jutting out from its sunken chest. Rope-like sinews ran up its neck, its mouth open in an eternal agonizing scream.
The old man stared at the pathetic figure trapped in its crystalline tomb, even as it stared back at him. Every Void crystal had a body encased within, an undead mind in various states of awareness.
But this one was different.
The old man ran his fingers down the smooth surface of the crystal, marveling not for the first time at how remarkably well preserved the body inside appeared. He stared at its head, noting the faint blurriness around it, a halo of imperfect crystal encircling it. There was perfection in that imperfection, he knew; for that faint blurriness was due to millions upon millions of microscopic metal wires, countless fibers extending from deep within the corpse's brain. These spread outward through the entirety of the crystalline tomb, connecting to every single brain in every single Void crystal in the massive chamber. And by extension, every Void crystal in the miles upon miles of tunnels that had led him here.
Millions of minds, all subjugated to this one being, an enormous nervous system of the greatest consciousness
that had ever lived, the most powerful intellect ever constructed.
The old man sighed, turning away from the crystal and its entombed occupant. He closed his eyes then, recalling the name Kalibar had given him a week ago, of a man in black armor, a man he'd recognized earlier without realizing from where. Or more importantly, when.
Ampir.
The implications were paradigm-changing, of course. There was no doubt that the man protecting the second Empire was the same man who had abandoned the first.
He should have suspected the bodyguard earlier.
The old man chuckled, turning back to face the massive crystal in the center of the chamber, at its shriveled captive deep within.
“You haven't changed a bit, Ampir,” he murmured.
Ampir had not aged at all, through some miracle of preservation. The body suspended before the old man had not been so lucky. It had nearly run out of time before achieving immortality, had decayed long past a normal mortal's ability to survive. But in a testament to its will, and its genius, it had survived.
And now there was no body it could not possess, no mind it could not subvert to its own use. Not with the power carried by the enormous Void crystal that surrounded it, a construction long ago steeped in legend. It was a machine, one that the devout called God, or Xanos.
But the true god was not the machine. It was the man in the machine.
The old man closed his eyes. With a thought, he pulled his mind from his body, his vision blackening, his arms and legs going numb, as if they no longer existed. For a brief moment, he was pure thought, a consciousness floating in endless space. Then he felt himself being pulled into the body within the crystal. His true body.
Agony shot through his arms and legs, a crawling, burning sensation gnawing at his limbs. Bright light assaulted his eyes, and though he tried instinctively to turn away from it, to close his eyes, he was utterly paralyzed...he could not move. He waited patiently, knowing that the light would fade as his eyes adjusted. And fade it did, his vision clearing and sharpening. He was within the giant crystal now, staring outward into the chamber. He could see his former body levitating before him. It was his avatar, the body that offered him the slightest reprieve from the torture of his own pathetic existence. The body that had borrowed his name...a name lost to time, of a man that should have died two thousand years ago, but lay trapped for eternity in this crystalline tomb instead.
Sabin.
Chapter 1
Kyle cried out, pain ripping through his chest, his vision going black. He felt his legs go out from underneath him, felt himself fall to the ground. He tried to get up, but his limbs would not obey him. He lay there, his chest feeling as if it were caught in a vice.
And then it stopped.
The pain subsided rapidly, his vision slowly returning. Pins-and-needles shot down his arms and legs, almost painful in their intensity, as life returned to them. He blinked, feeling something soft but prickly pressing on the side of his face, and realized that he was laying on his side, on a beige carpet. He groaned, then rolled onto his belly, pushing himself up off of the carpet and onto his hands and knees. He waited a moment – his limbs still felt like jelly – then got up onto his feet, taking stock of his surroundings.
All around him, there was darkness.
He spotted a dimly glowing blue light a few feet away, and squinted at it. It was oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before. Then it came to him...it was a nightlight. His nightlight, in his room at his Dad's house. He felt his heart skip a beat.
Am I really...
He spun about, seeing a familiar bed tucked in the corner of his room, a nightstand next to it, with the glowing red numbers of an alarm clock sitting atop.
This was his room. He was home!
Kyle grabbed the alarm clock, feeling the familiar heft of it, then set it back down. He walked up to his window and peered out from under the blinds. It was only morning, he guessed, the sun rising over the trees in the distance. He turned away from the window, gazing across his room – his room! – hardly able to believe his eyes. He walked to his bedroom door, opening it. The hallway beyond was deserted. He hesitated, then walked to the staircase, going downstairs to the foyer. He turned into the kitchen, stopping to stare. Everything was exactly as it had been a month ago – or rather, several hours ago in Earth time – before he'd been taken from his home to a strange planet. One where magic was real.
A world called Doma.
Kyle stepped from the kitchen to the living room, spotting someone curled up on the couch, completely covered with a white blanket. The blanket rose and fell gently, a soft snoring sound coming from within. He crept up to the sofa, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it away. What he saw made his heart leap with joy.
“Dad!” he cried, leaping onto his sleeping father and giving him a big bear hug. His father jerked awake, rubbing his eyes, then peering through the darkness at Kyle.
“Hey buddy,” he grumbled, grabbing his phone from his pocket and staring at it for a moment. “It's seven o'clock in the morning!” he exclaimed, sitting up. “Oh man, I must have passed out in front of the TV,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he frowned at Kyle. “Did you just wake up?” he asked. Kyle nodded, grinning stupidly at his dad. He couldn't believe he was staring at his father, his honest-to-goodness father, after a month of thinking he'd never see his parents again. It was almost too good to be true.
Suddenly he felt a pang of fear, and reached over to pinch himself on the back of one forearm. To his relief, there was immediate pain.
“Kyle?” his dad asked, waving a hand in front of Kyle's face. “Hello, anyone there?”
“Oh, sorry,” Kyle mumbled, realizing that his father had been waiting for him to answer. Something.
“I guess we both needed our sleep, huh,” Dad said with a yawn.
“Yeah,” Kyle replied, realizing he was grinning again. So much had happened to him while he’d been away...he had the sudden, mad urge to tell his father everything. About all of his adventures, down to the last detail. But he’d been forbidden from doing so.
“Well,” Dad stated, rubbing his eyes again and standing up from the couch. “...sorry I fell asleep so hard. I was hoping to spend more time with you.”
“You're working today?” Kyle asked. Dad nodded, stifling another yawn.
“Morning shift,” he confirmed. “I've got to bring you back to your mother's house in a half-hour.”
“Oh,” Kyle mumbled, his heart sinking. He hadn't seen his father in a month, and soon he'd be gone again. To his dad, it had only been a few hours, but to him it’d seemed like a lifetime. Kyle was happy that he was going to be able to see his mom, but not at the expense of being with his dad. He suddenly wished – as he had many times before – that his parents were still together. That they hadn't gotten divorced when he was three.
“Hey, Dad...” Kyle blurted out suddenly. He felt a pang of fear, realizing that he'd nearly finished the sentence. The question he’d wanted to ask the day he’d been transported from Earth to Doma so long ago.
Why did you and Mom break up?
“Yeah?”
“Uh,” Kyle stammered, rubbing his hands together. “What do you remember about, you know, your dad?”
“Not much,” Dad admitted. “In fact, I don’t know if I really remember anything at all,” he added ruefully. “I do have some memories, but I'm not sure if they're real.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I sometimes have dreams about a...guy who I think is my dad,” he answered, rubbing his chin. Then he sighed. “But I think I watched too many movies as a kid,” he added.
“Why's that?”
“Well, I, uh, always picture my dad wearing a suit of armor,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Too many cartoons, I guess. Maybe I just wished he was a hero who'd come back to save me from foster care.”
“Yeah,” Kyle muttered. Then he glanced sidelong at his dad. “
What color was his armor?” Dad frowned.
“That's an interesting question.”
“Well, what color?” Kyle pressed.
“Black,” Dad answered. “With blue lights on it,” he added. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Kyle mumbled. He glanced down at his own hands, at the faint blue light lining them. It was magic, he knew. The ability to see magic had been Ampir’s unique gift...and he’d passed it on to Kyle. Most Weavers could only feel magic, as a sort of vibration in their heads. “Hey, do you ever see strange blue lights?” he asked. His heart began pounding in his chest, and he glanced at his father, who was staring at him with a strange expression on his face.
“Ah, you've been talking to your mother,” Dad deduced. “I used to see them all the time,” he admitted. “After the accident, I mean. Always at the edges of things, especially myself, or the things I touched. My neurologist said it was a result of the bleeding in my brain...that sometimes people end up seeing strange lights or patterns at the edges of objects after a stroke.”
“Do you still see them?” Kyle pressed.
“Sometimes,” Dad admitted. “I stopped seeing them during high school,” he added. “In fact, I thought I'd grown out of it until you got older.”
“What do you mean?”
“I started seeing the lights again when you were, oh, I don't know, six?” Dad answered. “Just around you and the house, actually,” he continued. “I still see them, even now.” He pointed at Kyle. “I see blue all around you, and around your backpack.”
“Huh,” Kyle mumbled. He stared at his own hands, feeling a chill run through him. There was no doubt about it now...his father had the ability to see magic. An ability that he'd inherited from Kyle's grandfather, perhaps the most powerful man alive.