by Clayton Wood
“We're not the bad guys!” Kyle protested. “You killed Ariana's parents. You kidnapped us. You ordered me to set Darius on fire!”
“Ah yes, Ariana,” the Dead Man replied calmly. “A gifted student...something we have too few of,” he added. “We didn't have any difficulty getting such students before the New Empire was formed...and it wasn't until Kalibar's first term as Emperor that the Secula Magna's monopoly on children with the gift became complete.” He shook his head sadly. “The only way to get access to a pool of students was to take them before the Secula Magna could...none would go willingly to us with the incentives the Empire gave parents for allowing their children to be enrolled. We had no choice.”
“You're wrong,” Kyle retorted. “You can say whatever you want, but you're still evil!”
“You're young,” the Dead Man countered. “You don't understand that there's no such thing as 'good' and 'evil,' Kyle.” He turned to Darius then. “Don't you agree?”
“It's you versus him,” the bodyguard replied, gesturing toward Kyle. “I'm on his side.”
“Fair enough,” the Dead Man replied. “I see I'm not going to convince either of you.” He placed his hand back on one of the green crystals in the center of the platform. “Again, you force my hand.”
The green crystals glowed brighter, and the crystal in the Dead Man's forehead flashed briefly. The Dead Man removed his hand from the depression in the green crystals, and they went dark.
“Xanos is...” the Dead Man stated, “...curious about the deaths of His Chosen. No Weaver alive should be powerful enough to destroy any one of them, much less several. So you can imagine how eager Xanos is to discover the identity of the person responsible.”
Kyle said nothing, swallowing in a dry throat.
“I have been tasked with solving this mystery,” the Dead Man continued. “There is a pattern to their deaths. Only three people were present for the first killing, four for the second...mine, in fact. We believe that one of you three...Kalibar, Darius, or you, Kyle...is responsible.” He turned to Kyle, staring with those unblinking eyes.
“You, Kyle, are very special indeed,” he stated. “And you are gifted, if inexperienced, in magic. While it is unlikely, it is still possible that you are the one.”
“I'm not,” Kyle protested. The Dead Man ignored him, turning his glittering eyes on Darius.
“You,” the Dead Man continued, “...I have consistently underestimated. No magic ability, yet you managed to kill many of my soldiers...and mastermind Kalibar's escape from the Arena. And despite being mortally wounded by one of the Chosen at the Tower, here you are, alive and well.”
“You skipped my favorite part,” Darius replied with a smirk. The Dead Man's mouth twitched, and he reached one hand to the angry scar on his neck.
“Indeed.”
“We had some help,” Darius countered.
“Ah yes, you must mean Kyle's ring,” the Dead Man replied. “A magical relic of enormous power, they say. A lost artifact from the Ancients.” He turned to Kyle. “When you wear it, it protects you from any serious harm...am I right?”
Kyle nodded silently, feeling the blood drain from his face.
“I can't help but notice that you're not wearing it now,” the Dead Man murmured. Then he sighed. “Not that it matters,” he continued. “Xanos has examined your ring. It does nothing you claim it does.” He turned his gaze back to Darius. “Kyle has been lying to you all along.”
Darius turned to Kyle, staring at him silently. and Kyle lowered his gaze, shame coming over him. He had been lying to his friends all along...and they'd believed in him, in his ring's ability to protect them. They'd counted on it.
“You knew it, didn't you,” the Dead Man murmured. Kyle said nothing, his eyes locked on the floor. The Dead Man turned to Darius. “Kyle's ring didn't heal you,” he stated. “It didn't defeat me, or the other Chosen.”
Darius continued to stare at Kyle, his jawline rippling.
“Which means that something else did,” the Dead Man continued. “Someone else.” He stepped forward, lifting Kyle's chin with one icy hand. Kyle stared up into those cold, dead eyes, his stomach twisting into knots. “Who?”
Kyle said nothing.
“Perhaps it was Kalibar,” the Dead Man murmured.
“It wasn't,” Kyle blurted out, pulling away from the Dead Man's touch. “It wasn't him, I promise!”
“And why should I believe you?” the Dead Man inquired. “You're a liar, Kyle.”
Kyle glanced at Darius, realizing the bodyguard was still staring at him. He swallowed in a dry throat.
“Yes, Kalibar could be the one we're looking for,” the Dead Man continued. “Especially considering how he – a blind man – managed to kill the highly skilled assassin we sent to his room.”
“He's not,” Kyle insisted.
“We'll see,” the Dead Man countered.
“Wait, what does that mean?” Kyle asked, a chill running down his spine.
“Kalibar will be tested,” the Dead Man answered. “As will you both,” he added, gesturing at Kyle and Darius.
“Tested?” Kyle pressed. The Dead Man smiled, turning to Darius.
“You decapitated me, Darius...based on Kyle's admission to the Council.”
“Wait, how do you...?” Kyle began.
“Xanos knows all,” the Dead Man interjected.
“Not all, apparently,” Darius retorted. The Dead Man gazed at the bodyguard impassively.
“Given that you beheaded me, and that, by all accounts, you beheaded the third Chosen...” he paused, placing one hand back on the shallow depression formed by the green crystals beside him. “I cannot rule out the possibility that you are the one Xanos is searching for.”
“I saw my opportunity and took it,” Darius replied.
“Indeed,” the Dead Man agreed. “That appears to be your talent.” The crystal on his forehead flashed bright green for a moment, then faded, the green crystals in the center of the platform responding with their own burst of green light. “I'm going to give you one more opportunity to use it,” the Dead Man stated.
The underground chamber shuddered then, a loud, deep vibration resonating through the air, so powerful that Kyle felt it in his bones. There was a piercing shriek, and then one of the massive metallic structures near Kyle began to move. Kyle stepped backward, watching as metallic limbs slowly unfolded, a dome-like structure the size of his house back on Earth swinging upward between two massive pillars. The thing rose higher into the air as it unfolded, until the huge dome had swung all the way upright. Kyle made out two gargantuan feet, each four times his height, attached to massive jet-black legs that rose to meet at a torso over a hundred feet up. They supported a squat body and a huge, domed head that nearly touched the ceiling far above.
Kyle stared up at the thing, his eyes widening. Sheer terror gripped him.
A single, green, diamond-shaped eye gazed outward from the center of the domed head. A beam of light shot from the eye, forming a massive spotlight on one of the walls beyond. The beam narrowed, then swept down the wall, traveling across the floor until it locked onto Kyle and Darius.
Kyle felt his legs turn to mush, and he fell onto his butt on the metal platform below, his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to scream, but nothing would come out.
The Dead Man stared at Kyle impassively, removing his hand from the crystals beside him.
“Behold,” he proclaimed, gesturing grandly upward, “...the destroyer of the Ancients.” He gazed upward at that massive domed head, at the diamond-shaped eye far above, his own green crystal glittering in its spotlight.
“Behold the Behemoth!”
Chapter 12
The traitor walked slowly down the long hallway, his feet padding silently on the rug overlaying the gray granite floor below. He glided past door after door, making his way toward the end of the hallway.
Second-to-last door on the left, he knew. He'd long ago memorized the maze-like passag
es of the Great Tower, having worked there for decades now. It had been highly successful, this charade. Mingling seamlessly with the elite of Stridon, coming in and out of the Great Tower with ease, an enemy in the perfect disguise...one that made him effectively invisible to everyone around him. And given his occupation, there were few places that were closed to him. He went everywhere without being questioned, allowed into every room without arousing suspicion. He found it fascinating, how people took him for granted. He imagined what it must be like, for those who lived their lives like this, toiling for those who thought themselves superior, doing so much for so little recognition.
It was pathetic.
The traitor reached the second-to-last door on the left, pausing before it. He closed his eyes, sending a pulse to the churning cauldron of magic in the center of his forehead. A few seconds later, he felt his will, his very being forced into a corner of his mind. His limbs went rigid as he lost control of them, as he became a spectator in his own body. He remembered the first time he'd felt that sensation, so alien at the time. Now he witnessed impassively as his arms moved without his volition, as the great God took control. He felt Xanos's mind there inside of him, a fragment of the great one's consciousness. He could not sense the God's actual thoughts, but what he did feel was alien, and ancient.
It was a privilege, to have such a mind within him...and to have been freed of the eternal prison of the Void.
He watched as the door's magical locks and wards were dismantled, a process that would have taken the traitor days, but took Xanos seconds. And this from a divided consciousness; he shuddered to think of what Xanos could do if He were to apply His full will.
The traitor felt Xanos leave him, felt his own mind regain control, his limbs once again his own. He pressed one palm against the door, silently pushing it open.
The room beyond was blanketed in shadow, but he could see easily...another gift from Xanos. He could feel the wards all around the room, and knew at once that they had been neutralized by his Master.
The traitor stepped into the room, allowing the door to close slowly behind him. He made it all the way to the other end of the room without making a single sound, stopping before a closed door. This too had been locked only moments before, he knew. Xanos had unlocked all doors, and neutralized all wards, in a matter of seconds.
He felt a chill run through him, feeling like a lowly insect next to his God. And grateful that he had been granted such an important role in preserving His kingdom.
The door opened under his touch.
He passed silently through the doorway, guiding the door to a silent closing with one hand. Beyond, there was a bed pressed up against the back wall of the room, centered between two tall windows. No light passed through the windows. They were made of magical glass that, with a thought, could turn opaque, blocking all light from coming through.
The quiet sound of a man's breathing came to his ears.
The man on the bed was asleep, judging by the cadence of his breathing. Xanos had ordered that he be taken in his sleep, much to the traitor's disappointment.
The traitor walked up to the side of the bed, hearing the man's breathing much more clearly now. A soft, gentle sound, unlike the vulgar snoring of the fat or infirm. The man had managed to stay in remarkable health for his age, the traitor knew. A paragon of virtue, everyone in the Tower believed. A man who lived by his principles. But the traitor knew better. This was just another old man playing at ruling the world, no different than the countless others that had come before. Xanos had shown the traitor that.
The traitor paused, standing by the foot of the bed, closing his eyes. The half-dozen wards around the bed were already neutralized, of course. Pathetic, that these men fancied themselves experts of magic, when all they had was a child's grasp of the power. They'd accomplished so little in the last two centuries, barely scratching the surface of their potential. They were primitives, these people.
The traitor stood there over the bed, listening to the man before him sleeping peacefully for a moment longer. He took a moment to reflect on where he was and what he was doing. He'd waited a long, long time to serve God, hiding in plain sight among the enemy.
He wanted to savor this moment.
He reached into a hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket then, his fingers closing around the cool, textured handle of the knife he'd placed there. He drew the blade out, holding it before him, silently moving to the side of the bed. He was standing directly over the sleeping man now. He could feel the magic emanating from the man's bones, outlining his skeleton. The man was powerful for his generation, the greatest and most skilled among his peers.
And that, the traitor thought, was a shame.
He leaned his knees against the side of the bed, raising the knife above his head. Stood there for a long moment, marveling at how easy it was to take away the most glorious gift of all. Too easy, he thought. Far too easy. He would have preferred a challenge.
The traitor brought the knife down, hard, plunging it straight into the sleeping man's heart.
The man cried out once, his limbs jerking violently, and then lay still. Blood welled up around the blade, buried to the hilt in the man's chest. A long sigh escaped his lips, the release of his final breath.
The traitor let his fingers uncurl from the handle of the knife, straightening his back, then stepping away from the bed. He felt a giddiness come over him, and smiled down at the dead man laying before him.
“For Xanos,” he murmured.
Chapter 13
Ariana woke up with a jolt, hearing the high-pitched wail of the Tower alarm echoing through her bedroom. She glanced quickly about her room, then shoved her blanket from her body, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She grabbed the black pants and shirt that had been neatly folded on the nightstand beside her bed, slipping out of her pajamas and putting the clothes on. Then she ran out of her room and into the living room of Kalibar's retirement suite, sprinting to the magical front door. Without thinking, she wove the light pattern, a softly glowing globe appearing above her head. She searched for her black boots on the shoe rack on the wall near the door, finding them and tugging them on. Then she unlocked the door, opening it and stepping silently into the hallway.
It was empty.
The alarm continued, much louder in the hallway than it had been in her room, making Ariana cover her ears with her hands. Something was wrong...she was supposed to be guarded by two Battle-Weavers. They'd been posted outside of her door ever since the attack on the bank yesterday. Ever since Kyle...
She closed her eyes for a moment, willing that horrible thought away.
She opened her eyes again, peering down the empty hallway. The siren was only used when the highest government officials – the Councilmen and the Grand Runic and Weaver – were threatened. So whatever was going on had to be happening either one floor above or below her. The Councilmen had living chambers on the 40th floor, and Kalibar and Erasmus on the 42nd.
She paused, then ran down the hallway, toward the riser at the end. She glanced at the painted statues carved into the walls on either side as she passed, spotting Kalibar's likeness there. She felt a chill go down her spine.
She ran faster, sprinting to the end of the hallway, and stopping in the center of the riser. She sent a single magical pulse to one of the forty-two crystals on the floor of the riser, the one that would send her upward, to the 42nd floor.
Nothing happened.
Ariana frowned, trying again. Still, the riser did not move.
That's weird...
She paused, thinking it through. Someone must have deactivated the riser's ability to travel to the topmost floor...to protect Kalibar and Erasmus.
Or to prevent anyone from reaching the scene of the crime, she thought with another chill.
She heard a shout behind her, and spun around, spotting two black-clad men running down the hall toward her. She took a step back instinctively, then realized that they were Battle-Weav
ers. They ran up to her side, both panting with the exertion, their foreheads slick with sweat.
“Ma'am,” one of them blurted out. “Get back in your room now!” He grabbed Ariana's shoulder, turning her about and pushing her toward Kalibar's suite.
“What's going on?” she half-asked, half-demanded, resisting the man's attempts to get her back into her room.
“Someone's been assassinated,” the Weaver replied. “If you don't get back in your room willingly...”
“Okay, okay,” Ariana replied, allowing herself to be led back into Kalibar's suite. The two men followed her in, letting the magical door close behind them. They ushered her to one of the many large, white couches in the living room, motioning for her to sit down. She did so, knowing it was no use resisting two experienced Battle-Weavers.
“Someone's been killed?” she asked. The two Battle-Weavers sat down, one on a couch opposite her, the other beside her.
“Assassinated, yes,” one replied.
“Who?” she pressed, fear growing within her. She shoved it aside, knowing that panicking wouldn't do her any good. A year with the Dead Man had taught her that.
“I can't say,” the Weaver answered. When Ariana glowered at him, the man shifted in his seat uncomfortably. While Ariana was still only a teenager, she was the daughter of a living legend. Adopted or not, everyone knew how Kalibar felt about her...and no one wanted to get on Kalibar's bad side, particularly his Battle-Weavers. All of them practically worshiped the Grand Weaver, knowing that he'd been the greatest of their kind since Ancient times. “I don't know,” the Weaver admitted. “When we responded to the alarm, we were ordered to come right to your room.”
“Is it Kalibar?” she asked bluntly, immediately regretting the question. If he had been killed, she didn't want to know.