by T Ariyanna
Void dropped to the ground and crumpled. The woman was pulled from him by Cy. Kaitlyn ran to the bed and fluttered around the body on top of it.
The pain stopped, and Void looked down at himself. He was covered in wounds, some he could remember getting from Grite, and others he couldn’t explain. Half of his skin was mottled and black.
A tremor went through him as his demon body started healing, and he fell onto his side. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think, as his skin smoothed over. Every lash and cut sealed shut, and the burns faded into nothing. The only mark left on his body was the lightning mark from his last dream carved into his palm.
His mind was another matter. It felt more damaged than his body had been. Memories came and went until he had no idea what was real or fake, what was his or… someone else’s. He felt like he was melting from the inside out. Void had never felt more numb and empty than he did with his head stuffed to the brink with incoherent nonsense.
Cy was in front of Void, shaking him violently. Cy was speaking, but he couldn’t be heard over the buzzing in Void’s head.
“Void!” Cy screamed in his ear. His mind went silent. He stared at Cy, his jaw hanging open.
Void? No, a voice crashed into his mind, and he jerked away from Cy. With the first voice came a wave of others that he couldn’t place.
Yes.
No.
Empty. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Hurts. It hurts. Stop it.
More, more. I need more.
Let me go, let me go!
Void. Void, void, void, void, void, void.
“Arion.” That one word from Kaitlyn’s mouth cut through everything in his mind. It chased the chorus away, leaving only one voice behind: his own.
Arion? His heart raced as he thought the name. He looked to Cy for clarification, but he was gone.
Cy stood beside Kaitlyn, examining the body on the bed. The woman was leaning against the wall across from him, looking utterly defeated.
“Look at Arion! Just look at him!” Kaitlyn squealed. Her smile was gorgeous.
Look at me. Look at me! he copied. He tried to say the words, but his voice only sounded in his head.
Kaitlyn was shaking the body, speaking in broken sentences. Her smile fell when the body showed no signs of responding.
Cyllorian, look at me. He begged again, but it was no use. Cy looked empty, and Kaitlyn was lying across the body, shoulders shaking. His stomach twisted in pain as he watched them. He wanted to help them, to take the pain away no matter what. If he could, he would take all the pain for himself so they would no longer have to suffer.
“Arion,” Kaitlyn sobbed.
“I’m here.” The words escaped his lips in an immediate response to his name. All eyes turned to him. He tilted his head back, and he felt dizzy from the pain he had just gone through. Nothing made sense in his head, and for now, he was content just leaving it for later.
Cyllorian was the first one to move. He dropped to the ground, his hand only an inch from the boy’s face. Green magic sparked between them, and Cy touched just below the boy’s eye.
“Took you long enough, stupid demon.” The boy’s voice sounded odd to his own ears. The joke was lifeless and he had no clue why he made it. He didn’t feel like himself, whoever that was supposed to be.
“Arion,” Cy breathed. He snatched the boy into a tight hug that prevented him from breathing, but he didn’t mind. He sat frozen, still numb and unsure of what to think or feel. It wasn’t until the demon started shaking against him, and the boy’s shoulder grew wet from tears made of pure magic, did he move.
Arion wrapped his arms around Cyllorian, gripping onto the plates of his shoulders. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the pain that ached in every muscle, not the chaos that was his mind, not even the woman watching them with resentment. The only thing that mattered to Arion was that his brother had saved him.
Arion let himself cry. He let himself feel the pain and loneliness he had been hiding. He let himself be weak.
Theresa’s worn voice brought down a sense of dread and exhaustion. She spoke her thoughts aloud, disconnected and foreboding. “There’s no time left. War will be upon us. Arion’s magic was taken.”
“So, you mean to tell me that you didn't capture him, and he got away alive?” Crestyss hissed, pacing in front of his throne. Grite was bowed before him, his nose touching the ground. The demon shook nervously.
“Yes, Master. But I weakened him. I hurt him. And I got a bit of his blood!”
“We've been spilling his blood for nearly a month. What good would it do me now?” Crestyss snapped. The demon flinched, but didn't move away.
“When I bit him, there was magic. I felt it, tasted it. Those two that stole him were waking him up. We have his magic now. We don't need the body!”
“You stupid demon!” Crestyss burst. He kicked Grite in the side, and the demon rolled down the steps to the throne.
“Master, how have I failed you? Why do I anger you so? We have a success! We can use his magic to raise our army. We will wipe out this miserable world, along with that wretch, Theresa!”
Crestyss descended the stairs, and stood menacingly over Grite. The demon trembled until Crestyss kicked him again. The demon flew into a wall, and crumpled to the ground.
“You'll not speak of her like that. You know better, Grite. Now crawl your way back into your place! You are nothing more than a servant, and you are certainly not an adviser. You know very well why I wanted the boy brought back alive. I was a fool to believe I could trust you with such a task.”
Crestyss paced back to his throne, and fell into it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting against the coming headache.
“Not only did you screw up our last chance to retrieve him, you could have gravely wounded him. He could be dead now, for all we know. His magic may have awakened within him, but he does not know how to use it. We have no idea what effect extracting magic might do to a Void child. Who knows what damage you might have caused with your reckless actions.”
Crestyss opened an eye and glared at Grite. The demon had pulled himself into a crouch, his wounded leg bent under him at an odd angle.
“You also nearly lost me my most valuable slave. That pathetic excuse for a demon of Theresa's could have killed you, were it so inclined. It's interesting that it didn't, though it might have felt sympathy for one of its own kind. As it is, you're useless to me now. That wound won’t heal.”
Crestyss gestured to the blackened hole in Grites leg. The muscles inside the hole had hardened almost to the point of bone, but it couldn't support any weight. Grite was forced to crawl, or walk with a crutch because of it.
“No, Master. I will be fine. My body has never received damage to this extent before, not even by your hands. I simply haven't had the energy my body needs to heal from it. I will be at your side, ready to serve in no time. While you wait, you can begin preparations for your army,” Grite insisted, covering the hole with his hands.
Crestyss stood, and reached for a holster behind his back that he kept hidden within his cloak. “Tell me, Grite, did the sniveling demon shoot you with something like this?” Crestyss exposed a small gun he kept with him at all times. It had a small trigger, and a long thin barrel etched with a pattern of an explosion around the rim. Grite nodded vigorously, shrinking away from the weapon.
“Did you know, Grite, that humans were the first to invent the gun? They had stolen the technology needed for it from the Mages, and created this tiny device with the sole purpose of the complete annihilation of a person's life. It's all it was meant for, and the humans came at us with these, fully intent on destroying us. But Mages defended themselves from these weapons of mass destruction, and the humans deemed us the dangerous ones. This is what sparked the riot. Mages refused to die simply because the humans wished it.
“Mages took the guns from the humans, and created something even more deadly…a gun that fires magic, taken straight from the u
ser. Not only can it kill another Mage, but other magical creatures in this land and beyond. It was always my assumption that it could even kill a demon, but I never had the opportunity to test it. Given how that wound looks on your leg, my bet is that I was right. But I won't know until I pull the trigger, will I?”
Crestyss pointed the gun at Grite's head, and the demon froze. It began to cry silently, terror in its eyes. Crestyss smiled sickly, relishing in the creature's torment.
“Please, Master, I'm not useless, I swear! Don't kill me, I can still serve you! I swore to serve you until my final breath, no matter the conditions. Don't you remember, Master, my oath?” Grite backed away from Crestyss as he drew closer to the demon.
“Oh, I remember perfectly, Grite. And I'm sure if I thought hard enough, I could think of something for you to do. But at the moment, I don't care. You upheld your oath, straight till the end, but I'm done with you. I'd take a deep breath, if I were you. This one's your last after all.”
Grite's expression went blank as Crestyss pulled the trigger. A thin bullet of his dark green magic shot from the barrel, piercing through Grite's head between the eyes. The light in the demon faded, and he fell forward onto the ground. Light purple wisps of magic mixed with his white blood pooled on the ground. Crestyss snapped his fingers twice, and two guards rushed to the body and dragged it away.
Crestyss waved the smoke from the barrel of the gun and holstered it, a disgusted sneer on his face. He marched back to his thrown and sat heavily in it. The headache had formed over his left temple, and he pressed his fingers to the origin of it. From his cloak pocket, he produced a small vile of white blood laced with green shots of magic.
“I will have my war, Theresa. No matter how hard you try to keep it from me. And those boys of yours will be the first that you will lose.”
END OF BOOK II
The battle for Lontorra begins in The Void’s Lament: Of Magic, Book 3.
Sign up for T. Ariyanna’s VIP List at www.tariyanna.com and get a free book, Reaper!
There's something waiting in the dead of night...
Oliver is a reaper. A collector of souls, his job is to magically harvest the spirits of the dead, and store them until they can be effectively carried into the afterlife.
But the position isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's gory. Filthy. And more than a little dangerous. Oliver is ready to put in his two weeks, until his bitter partner claims Oliver's true love, Coron, as a target, swearing to make the end dark and agonizing. Oliver races to stop her, ready to face off against his old companion in an all-out war.
Will Oliver be able to save Coron? Or are both of them destined for a twisted, gritty fate?
Get Reaper now at www.tariyanna.com!
About the Author
T. Ariyanna is an up and coming author who was enchanted into the world of writing during middle school. Addicted to reading, she found herself creating new worlds before she could even realize what was happening. She wrote her first full length novel over the course of high school. Her magical debut novel, The Mage’s Son, was created a few years later.
Ariyanna's specializations range from realistic fantasy to dystopian steampunk. Her hobbies include video games, stargazing, crafts, and cosplaying. She balances editing with her writing career, and lives in Michigan.
www.tariyanna.com