Heart of the Maiden: (Lords of the Deep Hells Book 3)

by Paul Yoder

  “It’s a realm rift!” Lanereth shouted, tears streaming down as she clutched her amulet.

  It was what they had been hoping for—the only hope they had within the hellish realm—and though neither had voiced the hope the distant light had given them, it was the reason for their persistent journey. The gods had heard their prayers. They had given them a way out.

  The lightning reached further, snapping out to the structure’s limits, raking a line of angry destruction along the tranced denizens unfortunate enough to be among the first there, ripping through their bodies in explosive fury, blasting dozens in one arc as the thunder clapped repeatedly through the air.

  “Back!” Malagar yelled, but neither Wyld nor Lanereth could hear him, both shoving close against the bone structure that protected them from the lightning shower as the rift widened, opening all the way now, touching the ground, encompassing the structure’s frame as the bolts began to die down as the window into the other realm became fully formed.

  “The rift is open!” Malagar yelled. Lanereth could barely hear, even as the man shouted in her ear, the din of hearing loss ringing in her ear from the bombardment they had just witnessed.

  Malagar grabbed her, tugging for her to make a bolt for the rift just a hundred feet away, but Lanereth held back, causing Malagar to turn, confused.

  “The rift is open,” Malagar repeated, assuming the statement itself was enough to explain why they immediately needed to leave the place.

  “Yes, the rift is open,” she said, looking now to the hundreds of thousands of demons and abominations that continued to flow out of the large city in the distant plains across the realm.

  “This rift was not opened for us, Malagar,” she said, remorse heavy in her throat.

  Malagar turned to behold the army of hell that lay before them, crestfallen by the crushing weight of the realization. Though they may have a path home, they would bring with them the full might of a realm of the Deep Hells. It was chance timing that they found a way out, and though they could take advantage of that opportunity, the portal was a death knell for wherever that rift led to.

  He looked to the reddening light in the sky, the Blood Eye flaring across the horizon, the looming figures watching the portal with fixed intent.

  Was the Lord of Ash himself among the titans that stared down upon them? Watching the scheme play out as the forces of hell marched onwards to initiate a war of the realms?

  “What could we possibly do against that?” he asked, pointing to the sea of demons, swaying unnaturally in disjointed rhythm, a chilling chant beginning amongst the front line.

  She stepped out from the alcove, looking from the sea of evil carpeting the lands before her to the rift that now shown the nights sky she once knew, the pale green light of Kale shining its moonlight down upon them from a distant dimension.

  She raised her amulet, closing her eyes, and channeled herself into the relic, using it as a focus, calling out to her god—her mother. It was the cry of a child in danger.

  Her call reached across the planes, transmitting from the twisted place she was in, into the heavens of Una and beyond. Her cry spanned out through the distant lofty realms of the heavenly host, the watchers high above, reaching the ears of Sareth—Eleemosynary—the beginning of her line and eternal mother of her kind.

  In the night sky through the rift shone a light, soft at first, expanding gently, peace and stillness radiating from the heavenly beam shining down from the heavens of Tarigannie’s desert skies.

  It was a rare junction between three polar realms—three different places and times existing at once only yards away from each other’s thresholds.

  The celestial shaft of light descended upon her, filling her with warmth and repairing her scared and beaten body, restoring her to her former glory, the wave of healing extending to Malagar as well.

  Her eyes lit up, Malagar watching as she entered a trance, communing with higher powers that did not choose to make their thoughts known to him.

  He turned back to the hordes of ash, tormented souls, moaning, breaking from their communal trance and chants, slowly marching forward now, seeing the rift ritual complete, open to them, ready to deliver them to a ripe world filled with sweetbreads of flesh, and pleasures their world had not seen in many eons.

  “Lanereth—we need to leave,” he said, hesitant to touch her while she was consumed in the light.

  The wretched line of hungry devils rushed forward towards them from down along the base of the steps to the rift.

  “Telenth-Lanor has long been planning this rift gate’s construction—” she said, coming out of her communion, looking to the massive structure’s height, knowing full well now the amount of souls the boned frame would cost for the formation of such an impressive rift portal. It was a rift not built for an army, but an invasion of realms.

  “Lanereth…,” he said, his voice being drowned out as the horde continued their approach up the steps. He could see now that she did not intend to retreat through the rift.

  “It has to be destroyed from within, or they’ll open another rift somewhere else in Una using the same gate,” she replied, dashing his hopes that she was going to simply take his warnings and rush through the rift gate with him right then and there.

  “It is my duty to close the gate, not yours—”

  He shook his head, cutting her off. “I stand with you. If there’s a way to close the gate, close it now before it’s too late. I won’t leave you in this hell alone.”

  He felt the comforting grasp of the saren’s delicate fingers intertwine with his, a tear of thankfulness easily welling up in her eyes.

  Looking to the horizon, she could now see dark shapes drifting through the ashen skies towards them, and the dark statues tall above the battle began to move jerkily, their shrouded faces creaking to look down upon the intruders into the realm.

  Black mouths opened wide, an endless void within, pitch black beams of energy, lined with white, shot out towards the two, dark rays carving into the dirt before them.

  The Guardians of Hell began to stand up from their massive thrones, rocks creaking and groaning under the titans’ weight.

  Squeezing Malagar’s hand in hers, she turned to see the undulating sea of torment rushing to the rift, hundreds of thousands of damned souls, desperate to escape their hellish prison, the titan guardians slowly marching forth, mouths beginning to gape open once more.

  She needed to act swiftly. She spoke into the light a short prayer, pulling out the cylinder marbled staff, expanding it to its full size.

  “Provide me with a portion of your light to break down this window between realms.”

  Holding her staff up, she drowned out the tumult all around her, blocking out the noise from both the battlefield in the Ruins of Solstice on the other side of the rift, and the charging horde of the ashen realm to her back.

  She reached out to the flame within her staff, connecting with it instantly, Sareth pouring a portion of her celestial light into it all at once.

  Power, pure and hot, pulsed forth from its crystal tip, sending out a beam that cut straight through the left side of the arch’s support.

  Ten more beams fired from the glowing rod, slicing through the structure in all segments, the portal to Una flickering out in the blink of an eye as the arch groaned, riddled with structural fractures that snapped and popped as bone crunched against bone, threatening to come crumbling down at any moment.

  Malagar grabbed Lanereth, pulling her from her trance just as a piece of ivory as large as a boulder smacked down next to them.

  More parts of the structure fell, and the two rushed back in with Wyld, seeing that there was no hope of them outrunning the massive structure’s collapse, getting as far under the cavity in the bone as they could.

  Wyld was barely recognizable now, her image blurred, faded, distorted.

  The world around them began to collapse, and their only means of escape fell with it.

  42


  The Dead of Night

  A green flame engulfed Sha’oul as Reza’s flaming sword drove again through the warlord’s hexweave armor, causing him to stumble back just before he could deliver a blow with his warhammer that would have smashed Kissa flat.

  He looked to the saren in disbelief that she was so easily ripping through his magical defenses.

  Her ring, the one blessed by Leaf, spread an angry fire across her blade, flaring bright as she brandished it, swinging it down on the tyrant, keeping him on his heels as he dodged and blocked the strikes with his warhammer.

  She rapped him across the shoulder, making it past his defenses, the green flame licking up the purple tendrils, flaying them away from him, peeling back where the flame had touched him.

  He bull-rushed her, slamming into her with a charge, jolting her in the face with the shaft of his hammer, bloodying the saren as he sent her reeling.

  He thrust his hammer’s head forward into Reza’s stomach, knocking the wind from her, laying her flat on the ground with no sign of a quick recovery.

  A baritone voice began up in prayer once again, instantly unbalancing him. He staggered as he looked in the direction the voice was coming from.

  Henarus clutched at the dagger that was still embedded in his stomach, holding a teal glowing hand towards Sha’oul as he prayed to Hassome, speaking words of confusion at their adversary.

  Sha’oul withdrew into his most inner wells of thought, attempting to block out the befuddling voice, finding the strands of hexweave that permeated the air about him.

  Blood welled up from his wounds and he began to gather the liquid into a heavy orb, the ball of blood sloshing about as his consciousness struggled to hold form.

  He yelled ferociously as he pressed his telekinetic hold on the liquid to send it floating across the platform at the holy man, stretching the orb into a thin rope of liquid that stretched from the lightning wall, slapping into Henarus.

  The instant the connection was made, the unending outlet of pure energy arced, sending a jolt so explosive that the prophet’s body could do little to hold together, instantly ripping him into an unrecognizable mess of blood, robes, and charred flesh that smattered the surrounding area on the platform.

  Sha’oul shook his head from the lingering daze, looking around him to get his bearings of his enemies.

  Kissa and Terra had helped Reza back to her feet, and the three had regrouped to face the large man, but all three held back, watching him, waiting.

  His eyes narrowed, not sure if they were stalling for time, or simply waiting for him to initiate the attack. He stepped forward, seeing the white glow beginning to form around a broach the youngest one held close to her chest. He knew the aura of the holy light, and knew he needed to squelch it before her prayer could be answered in full. He wanted no more interference from any other gods that night.

  Reza’s longsword lit with ghostly green flames once more, causing his march to hesitate slightly as he eyed the dangerous brand the saren held.

  The broken web-weave of hex that partially still covered his body lit up as a throwing knife skipped harmlessly off the back of his head.

  As he turned to see who dared strike him from behind, Fin leapt through the air, latching onto the large man’s back, stabbing through the opening in the weave along his shoulder in the exact spot he had stabbed the man days earlier.

  His retribution was swift, snatching the cape of the assailant, flinging him down in front of him, the knife hilt still in his shoulder, raising his hammer against Fin.

  A curved blade sword cut deep into his armpit, causing him to immediately drop the heavy weight, his arm jerking protectively tight to his body as Yozo slashed again and again at the arm that had been exposed by Reza’s flame, cutting deep gouges along his arm before Sha’oul roared, runes along his armor burning so hot that the iron withered and flaked off, like paper in a flame.

  A rolling wave of black sharp flame rippled out from around him, sending Yozo and Fin scrambling, knocking Jasper, who was already struggling to draw breath, clear off the platform by a superheated wave of sizzling air, the shockwave blasting Cavok and Nomad’s limp bodies off the edge as well.

  Kissa dove to the ledge, sliding off just before the blast could touch her as it continued on towards Reza and Terra who had their backs to the dangerous lightning wall.

  Both knew there was no time to escape to the sides.

  The blast overtook them, enveloping the two in a torrent of nightfire, raging over the whole platform, eating into the back of the rift, the lightning angrily sparking in retaliation, mixing with the hellish firestorm to create an overly fatal storm of infinite explosions that crackled all across the shelf.

  He dropped to his knees. The move, even with the stored hexweave within his armor’s sigils, had exhausted him, and his wounds were mounting. For the first time in decades, he was very aware of his mortality.

  He heaved, drawing breath even as black blood gushed from his shoulder and arm, looking around, making sure he had flicked the fleas from his sight.

  The waves of fire rolled over a bright white bubble enveloping Terra and Reza, the shining light holding firm until the last of the flames licked past them, dissipating into the lightning screen behind them.

  Terra’s eyes were white orbs of light, the amulet at her heart radiating of energy and power. Reza paused for a moment to look to her savior in wonder as the young lady floated just above the ground, the lightning behind her attempting to slam into her, but being deflected, carving angrily into the ground all around them.

  Sha’oul snarled, thrusting forth his good hand, one black ring burning a hot white before turning to coal, a burst of aether materializing in the shape of dark tendrils, lashing out at the two, reaching for them desperately, but being held at bay by the light Terra shed.

  She floated closer to him, Reza advancing with her, and while he attempted to break through the maiden’s holy aura, Reza rushed to the side, her brand lighting in vibrant green once more, flaring as she easily slashed through a dark tentacle that lashed out towards her, slicing into another as she closed the gap between her and her foe.

  Shouting a battle cry, she swung hard into the giant man’s broken arm, slicking it from his torso, redirecting her cut into a thrust, her sword point sinking past what hexweave aura he still had across his body and punched through his plate mail. She roared as she forced the meteorite blade further in, cracking the steel in twain before releasing the hilt and bounded back.

  Sha’oul stumbled back a step, green flames eating away the rest of his hexweave shell just as the rift and red lightning abruptly ceased, the hell gate closed off now.

  The battlefield quieted with the evaporation of the hell gate, the night still for just a moment, as if Una itself let out a sigh of reprieve amidst the chaos of the battle.

  He ripped the sword from his chest, dropping it in a clatter, a gush of black blood spilling out onto the floor.

  “Telenth—” he voiced, holding his good hand forward, as if reaching for a savior that was not there, his arm and body starting to shrivel, the years of taint that had sustained him, withdrawing now.

  “Telenth saves no man,” Terra said in a voice not her own.

  The light that surrounded her, consolidated, shooting forth in a blink, enveloping the fallen Avatar in cascading rays of pure energy.

  His frame held together for a moment longer, the edges of his silhouette flaking apart into dust, carried away by the eternal light of Elendium.

  The blinding light narrowed, trailing off into the darkness of the night.

  Sha’oul was gone, nothing left in the place he had stood save a scorch mark of ash along the platform where he once stood.

  Faint cries of anguish lingered in the air, Reza could hear, stuck between their reality and another. One where Sha’oul was headed. A place deep, dark. A place where few went, and none in her realm could ever find.

  His were the cries of the eternal sorrow. And for a moment
, even after all the evil he had brought upon their realm, she pitied the soul for the unspeakable horrors he was bound for in the Deep Unseen.

  43

  Recovery of the Victors

  Reza breathed deep, getting to her feet again, scooping up the discarded sword, slicking the black blood from the blade before sheathing it. She rushed to Terra who was lowering back to the stone beneath her, eyes returning to her usual bright blue hue.

  Reza caught her as she touched down, seeing the youth drained and on the brink of unconsciousness.

  “Elendium showed me this moment, months ago,” Terra weakly said as Reza laid her down on the stone.

  “I was never scared for you or I—what of the others? We need to help—” she grunted, trying to sit up, but the strength was completely gone from her.

  “Rest,” Reza whispered, placing her hands back on her chest, clutched around Bede’s glowing necklace for comfort.

  “Reza!” Kissa called, jumping back up on the platform, rushing to the two.

  Reza looked around the platform, seeing that all her friends had been brushed from the grounds during the final stages of their fight.

  “Kissa, where are the others?” she asked, scooping up Terra in her arms as she shakily started towards the edge of the platform to look for the rest of her beaten and battered allies.

  A reassuring hand rested on Reza for a moment, Kissa gently taking Terra from her shaking arms, following her to the ledge to help look for those Sha’oul had thrown off the platform.

  “Fin!” Reza shouted, seeing the burned man cradling Yozo who was unconscious.

  “I’m…alright,” he said, his clothes along his right side badly scorched, looking down to Yozo, adding in a subdued tone, “Don’t know about Yozo though. That blast…he’s touch and go.”

  Reza leapt down from the shelf, taking a moment to steady herself, getting her footing before kneeling beside the two.