Demonheart: Book 1: Raging Elementals

by J. J. Egosi

  Demonheart

  Book 1: Raging Elementals

  J.J. Egosi

  Copyright © 2020 by J.J. Egosi

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Dark Medieval Times

  Chapter 2

  The Lady in White

  Chapter 3

  A Sudden Raging of Spirits

  Chapter 4

  Calm Before the Storm

  Chapter 5

  Denizens of the Deep

  Chapter 6

  Welcome Home

  Chapter 7

  Element of Surprise

  Chapter 8

  Worlds Apart

  Chapter 9

  Angel of Death

  Chapter 10

  Drinking from the Chalice of Ether

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Dark Medieval Times

  A

  s the sound of giant footsteps grew closer, he sprinted across the open field, fleeing desperately in his hunt for shelter. The quaking stomps caused the grassy earth to quake. They became louder with every heart-pounding second he failed to find a secure place to hide.

  He knew this threat well. It had stalked him relentlessly through the land. Orcs. A pack of them were hunting him down.

  They were towering in physique, a monstrous thirty feet in height. They had deep purple skin and long, wet hair that was as black as night. Their darkened eyes pierced through the mist as they stormed the fields.

  When the roars of the primeval beasts sounded, he knew he was running out of time. His heart thundered as his eyes ran frantically in search of safety. Suddenly, he noticed a damp and poorly lit cave mounted in the distance. The man, garbed in his chainmail and armor, stormed as far inside as the ceaseless shadows would allow. Such fetid regions could prove just as perilous as what awaited outside if someone ventured too deep, for legends told of a beast clad in crimson scales dwelling inside.

  He sat down to catch his breath and examined his surroundings. It was a dank cave of blackened stone. Water dripped down from the stalagmites, forming puddles all around. Through the gloom, he saw what appeared to be a gold piece lying just a few inches from him. It was engraved with a face he could not recognize; it had been aged and corroded with the essence of time. Yet, it still shone. It weighed heavy in his hand, like the fear that dwelled in his heart.

  He noticed more pieces scattered across a narrow tunnel; it was as if they were marking out a path. Hopefully, they would lead him to safety. He followed the trail of gold. With only the soft glimmering light that they gave off to illuminate the way, his eyes were tethered to his feet to make out any obstacles.

  A cold sweat beaded down his forehead when he realized the ground was littered with bones and broken armor. He hesitated. He had no choice but to march through if it meant escaping the dangers stalking him from outside the cave. After what felt like an eternity, he saw a faint scarlet glimmer flickering ahead of him. He ran towards it.

  When he broke into the light, he was standing in a large chamber filled with treasure as far as he could see. The man was awestruck. All thoughts of bones and broken armor vanished. He stormed into the room, gathering treasure into his arms and filling his knapsack to the point of bursting.

  Suddenly, he froze. The room rang with the roar of a beast he’d only heard stories of. A shadow dimmed the glow of gold.

  The man twitched nervously as the beast approached. The twitch turned into a tremble as the creature came into view. A legend now stood before him. It was the dragon of the Dark Realm.

  The dragon snarled and salivated. It waited for the man to break from his frozen state.

  The breath of the blackened beast wafted across his face. It was so hot and so foul it could bring any man to his knees.

  But not this man.

  He pulled out the small dagger he kept sheathed at his side and pointed it at the beast. He didn’t have the slightest chance; still, he had to try. It was better to die fighting.

  The dragon looked at the man for a few moments and snatched him up by the hood he wore under his armor. He screamed and flailed, squeezing his eyes shut. The beat of the dragon’s wings struck like a deafening drum. His stomach lurched as the beast took flight, tearing him from the ground. A terrible jolt told him they’d flown straight into the ceiling of the cave, shattering it on impact. With a flick of its jaw, the dragon tossed the man aside.

  Terrified and now disoriented, the man slowly rose. He blinked against the daylight. He realized he was outside the cave, standing in the open field once more. His relief was short-lived.

  A hulking circle of orcs surrounded him. The rabid beasts stood holding their clubs, preparing to strike. He stared at the blood dripping down their stubby tusks and bolted. He was only just able to slip through the forest of tree trunk sized legs and their clubs.

  He ran as fast as he could, in the futile hope of outrunning them. A gust of wind took over the sky. At the sound of its roar, the dragon reappeared, spewing fire and burning the plains around him.

  The man looked around desperately. He was trapped. He had a dragon on one side and orcs on the other. All he had to defend himself was his small tarnished dagger. Just as the ferocious onslaught was about to commence, the man heard a voice. It yelled at him.

  It was telling him to wake up.

  The man started from his wooden stool. His tongue was thick with the aftermath of drinking, and the air was stale with beer and sweat. When he sat up, his forearms were sticky from where they’d been leaning up against the counter.

  The man looked up at the bartender groaning across from him. He felt just as displeased.

  “Looks like you dozed off again, kid,” said the burly man standing behind the bar.

  “I have a name, you know. Michael. I come to your shitty tavern all the time!” The young man wiped the leftover beer from his face. As he rubbed his eyes, he realized the dream he had experienced was just that - a dream.

  “Two weeks without paying your tab and you’re giving me attitude? How about you tell me what my name is, then those six beers of yours are on the house. Sound fair?” The bartender grinned as he gazed at the half dozen empty tankards in front of him.

  Michael looked at him in disgust. “Money? You know I don’t have any of that.”

  “Then why don’t you take on one of the jobs posted on the job board?” The bartender gestured to a large bulletin board with parchment postings tacked across it; each bore various job descriptions and bounties.

  Michael scoffed at the notion. “A job…that sounds like so much work.”

  “That’s why it’s called a job, dumbass!”

  “Whatever.” Michael rolled his eyes. “You know I just come in here to escape from my scumbag family and drink until I pass out. Is that too much to ask? If you don’t like it, I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

  Michael stormed out of the bar, furious and drunk, looking for another place to spend the rest of his day drinking.

  “Business… I’ve never seen an ounce of gold from that kid. Was Robert too difficult to remember?” the bartender said under his breath as he began cleaning away Michael’s dirty beer mugs. “I just hope I never have to see him again.”

  Michael marched down the cobblestone streets of the town’s bazaar. There were bustling townspeople in every direction, walking in and out of the wooden shops and h
omes. Everything and everyone was vibrant and full of elation, other than him.

  “Another fight with the bartender. The perfect start to any morning, I suppose. Or afternoon.” Michael sighed. He looked around at the many nearby taverns. Many closed shop as soon as they saw him. Realizing he had nowhere else to go, he decided to make his way home.

  Like I could ever get a job? His frustration was evident as he kicked stones across the ground. You have to know how to use magic to have one of those. He looked at the job rosters hanging in the shop windows. Each demanded that a person who might take the job must have several years of knowledge in the magic arts or many years of prior experience handling quests. In exchange, great bounties would be awarded.

  The cool ones, at least. The ones where you get to fight dragons and orcs. The rosters had the faces of many ferocious beasts etched across the parchment. Many people lined up to grab them, leaving a sparse few without a line. Only those with minimal pay and no experience were easy to get, the mediocre ones where you’d be required to clean houses and push papers for a fat bastard aristocrat.

  Carelessly kicking stone after stone, he failed to realize that one had struck a nearby store clerk in the face. The man wore a scowl that Michael couldn’t care less about, even if he’d tried.

  Besides, my family would never let me take a job. You need to be home by sundown, they said. Clean the house so your precious little sister can better focus on her studies, they said.

  He remembered the last time he’d been late. He’d had to sponge every wooden floor until he could see his reflection. His parents had laughed in the dining room. His sister sat in her office down the hall, studying the family’s business finances, paying him no heed.

  Michael shook his head and looked to his left. He noticed a sword shop that had just opened. The sight of sliver crested handles made all his irritation disappear. The shop filled his mind with hope and ambition.

  I’ll get out of this shithole of a town one day. I’ll leave my family behind and become the stuff of legend - a swordsman. Then my family will come to treat me as their equal.

  Michael looked at the clerk in the store. Her scowl was just like any other this town could offer, full of disdain.

  “Don’t go stinking up the entrance of my store, brat. I know you don’t have any money.”

  “Yeah, go home. Just the sight of you makes me sick,” another female clerk added.

  “Just because your family has to put up with the likes of you, doesn't mean we should,” a male clerk shouted from across the street.

  “They’re right. Get lost!” yelled another male clerk. The same Michael had hit with a stone.

  Michael studied all their faces. He gritted his teeth and turned his attention to the ground, shaking his head in frustration.

  I swear this town makes my stomach churn. I can’t catch a break with anyone. They treat me like shit. All because I look a little different.

  Each of the townspeople that he passed bore heads of dark hair and had dark eyes. Michael then looked at his reflection in the glass of a shop window and was met with the sight of snow-white hair and ocean blue eyes. The difference in his appearance compared to that of everyone else was like night against the day.

  I guess that’s what happens when you’re a so-called light-lover living in the Dark Realm.

  He choked up. His chest tightened. He was so fed up with everything and everyone.

  “Fuck this!” He slammed his fist into the store’s window, shattering his reflection on impact. Michael ignored the shouts of the angry clerk he left behind. He left the bazaar and ran down a dirt road where only spare carriages passed.

  He was barely able to hold back his tears on his journey home. He ran until he stood in front of high metal gates guarding the grandest estate in all the Dark Realm. Michael jumped over the gate and slowly made the walk of shame back to the front entrance.

  As he approached the door to his home, it flew open, revealing three unfriendly faces. His father was wearing almost as much gold as his mother was. His sister, Isabella, was wearing more gold than both of their parents put together and an obscene amount of makeup. His parents, Alric and Betsy Asmodai, had the same black hair as all of the villagers. Isabella’s was bright orange, and her eyes were crimson. Still, she was adored and revered as the future heir to the estate, instead of him.

  As usual, Michael stuck out like a sore thumb. He absentmindedly fingered the tattered sleeve of his dingy trench coat. He didn’t have an ounce of gold on him: not a ring, not a chain, not even the coin in his pocket he found in his dream.

  “Where the hell were you? There are chores to be done that won’t do themselves.” Alric’s bloodshot eyes bulged. His mother nodded in agreement.

  “Why can’t you just ask your servants to do them?” Michael looked with frustration at one of the many idle bodies that darted through the halls. They were paid to do exactly what he was being instructed to do.

  Alric stepped forward. “Because I asked you to do them!”

  “But-”

  “Get to work, brat,” Betsy added with urgency. “I can't afford to have the heir to our estate break a nail doing such menial labor. Pick up a broom and sweep!”

  Michael was flustered, and his face turned red. He couldn’t take it anymore. He opened his mouth without so much as thinking. “I don't fucking care if Isabella is inheriting this damn estate! She lives under this roof. She should pitch in with the chores too.”

  Even though he knew his words would only worsen his predicament, he stood his ground. After guzzling so much beer, Michael had more trouble than usual taking orders or showing regard for others, even towards his family.

  He was part of no ordinary family. No, he was a member of the elite family of Asmodai, the wealthiest family in all the Dark Realm. They’d made their fortune in crafting and selling jewelry off the backs and broken dreams of the impoverished.

  Alric punched him across the right side of his face, knocking him to the ground. Naturally, it was only to be expected in this household that he’d be kicked while he's already down, by his sister, no less.

  “If you ever speak to us that way again, you'll be sleeping outside for a month!” he declared. Betsy proceeded to hurl the broom towards Michael's head. It all seemed to bring tremendous joy to Isabella.

  “And just for the record, you won't be getting any food today for slacking on your chores. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before speaking out against the Asmodai Estate!” Isabella said, laughing in delight.

  Isabella had always felt the need to add to any already negative situations involving Michael, just to make it worse for him. It angered him to no end. He was constantly berated like a stray animal by the same unwelcome faces. He wanted desperately to give her a piece of his mind, or at least a piece of his fist, but he knew acting out any further would only make things worse. After all, his face was swollen, his stomach was aching, and to make matters even more dire, he had a hundred and thirty-six rooms to sweep before sunrise.

  Can this get any damn worse?

  The three of them walked into the master dining room for breakfast and left him to his duties.

  Once alone, Michael limped into the first of many rooms to begin the first of his many chores - because floors don't clean themselves.

  Michael’s sweeping motions became repetitive and lulled him into a meditative state where he lost awareness of his movements. He wondered how he’d ended up here. What was his life amounting to? Was he going to be the servant boy forever, with no hope of so much as wielding a blade of his own?

  By the time he’d emerged from his trance, many hours had passed. The day had begun to turn into night. He looked around at how little progress he had made. Irritated, he slammed his broom against the wall. Without realizing, he had kicked the dust pile he had so carefully constructed, dispersing it back across the entire room.

  “Fucking hell!” He screamed at the sight of a day’s work lost. He forgot his family was just dow
n the hall.

  Michael could hear footsteps now. It sounded like heels by the sharp clicking sound they made with each step. Isabella entered the room.

  She was a girl of small stature, only nineteen years of age. She had a voluptuous figure she proudly flaunted in her short black dresses. She had her orange hair tied in small ponytails, one resting on either side, with the remainder of it flowing down a few inches below her shoulders. Isabella bore an intimidating scowl, one made from many years of working diligently to inherit a billion-gold jewelry estate. It was a look that told the world she was in charge, no matter which room she entered.

  “Is this how you treat our father's study room?!” she angrily exclaimed. “Making it even messier than before? I think it's time I teach you a lesson!” She quickly walked towards him. Once she was within an inch of him, she looked into his eyes with disgust and stomped on his foot as hard as she could with her heel, grinding it through his shoe.

  “Ow! What the hell was that for!?” he screamed.

  “I said I was going to teach you a lesson, didn't I?” Isabella grinned heinously from ear to ear. Michael hopped on only one leg, starting to lose balance. “You look like you could use a rest. After all, being a miserable fuck-up must be rather exhausting!” Isabella kicked Michael square in his leg, sending him to the floor. He let out a silent scream.

  “What did I ever do to you?” he pleaded. “All I ever try to do is be the best servant and adoptive brother I can be.”

  He remembered the hopeful face he’d worn as a child, standing on the estate’s doorsteps for the first time. That naivety was short-lived when he saw the glares upon the faces of his new family and experienced their malice firsthand.

  “You adopted me fifteen years ago,” he refuted with tearing eyes. “I thought we’d be equal. I thought we’d be family.” He tried his best to hold back his tears. Isabella’s face began to turn a dark shade of red.