Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) (33 page)

“I sense Nubia’s presence still. I sense death on the planet, but the planet’s energy itself is still intact.”

“Death…” Celeste said, her voice trailing off. “He killed the humans there.”

“Humans?” Cyrus said, shooting a glance at his father.

“Yes, and there is a time to discuss that,” Erda said. “Now is not that time, nor is today. All you need to know is the planet is safe for now, but if Typhos returns to that world without someone to stop him, he will obtain unlimited power.”

No he wouldn’t
, Celeste thought.
There are limits to all power. If we get the power of the other two planets, his black magic powers could be contained.

“Maybe you can help us, Erda,” Cyrus said. “Celeste thinks Typhos could be saved. Can he? And is it worth trying?”

An incredibly sad expression came across Erda’s face, one which made Celeste emotional just looking at it.
Only years of crying, mourning and regret could allow her to make a face like that.

“I hope so,” she said, her voice weak. “I hope so.”

She quickly turned away, and the siblings exchanged a confused look but said nothing. Cyrus motioned for Celeste to join him, and the two walked to the base of the cliff.

“Do you still feel the way you did before, seeing Erda’s reaction?” Cyrus said.

Celeste nodded without any doubt.

“She wouldn’t hope that if she didn’t think he could be saved.”

“Celeste… Crystil’s not here, so I’ll say it. Hope is not a course of action. If you give him a fraction of a second to recover by trying to win him over, he’s going to kill us both. So promise me if you get the chance, you’ll kill him.”

Celeste couldn’t remember ever lying to her brother. She always swore she would have no secrets and have no deceit with him.

Until now.

“I promise.”

72

Easy to say it now. Hope you don’t have to prove it in battle.

Cyrus, satisfied with his sister’s answer, went back to the peak of the mountain and walked to Erda. She still appeared shook and needed comforting.

“We will take care of this,” he said. “I promise. The threat will end for you.”

She turned to him, the dour expression on her face still present.

“It should never have been a threat,” she said.

Cyrus started to speak, but Erda gently put a hand on his shoulder, saying nothing more. Cyrus, too, went silent and after a few seconds, nodded to her and went to the edge. He took a seat and looked over the ocean, with nothing but dark blue for as far as the eye could see.
Kinda wish we’d kept the ship intact to see what else lies out there. Or we should see what lies beneath.

Celeste sat next to him and hugged him tightly. The two siblings said nothing, enjoying their possibly last peaceful hours together.

At sunset, Cyrus slid his sword into his sheath and clipped it to his belt tightly. He looked at Celeste, who showed no fear and no hesitation as she equipped her sword. She took it out and swung it a couple of times for practice, and looked as ready and sharp as she ever had. He glanced at Erda, who had not said a word since that morning, but now slowly approached. Their father stood between them, willing to stay on Anatolus.

“I have sensed what lies ahead of us,” Erda said, and Cyrus thought her even weaker. “Typhos has assembled hundreds of Kastori around him. He stands at the entrance to the temple. He knows we are coming, and has prepared for this battle to be as much entertainment to his Kastori as it is a war. The three of us are in a fight to the death—either the death of us, or the death of them. I do not know where Crystil is because of the spell I cast, and I would not count on her to help in battle.”

She’ll come through. It’s Crystil.

“I will do what I can to help, but I have become weary and weakened the past few days. This battle primarily rests on the shoulders of you two. I have complete faith in you both, for I have taught you everything you need to know.”

We’re not losing. We will win.

“There is no turning back once we go. Take whatever time you need to say goodbye to your father.”

Cyrus turned, and his father’s moist eyes made him weak. Cyrus collapsed into his arms, turning from a man into a little boy desperate for his father’s embrace at that moment.

“I’m coming back,” Cyrus said, doing everything he could not to cry. “We’re coming back. We’ll make you emperor again.”

“All I care is that you come back alive,” his father said. “I don’t want an empire. I just want to be with both of you.”

Cyrus pulled back and shared a hard pat on the arm with his father before letting Celeste embrace him. He stole a glance at Erda, whose eyes lit up. But she still carried guilt on her face, and only gave a simple nod to his father when Celeste walked by his side.

“I will teleport us when we are ready.”

“Ready,” both said, even as Cyrus’ gut knotted in nervous anticipation of what lay ahead.

“Then let’s go,” Erda said.

Celeste reached over and grabbed her brother’s hand, and Cyrus squeezed it tight as the feeling of teleportation rose in his feet. He looked one last time at his father, and said, “I’ll be back.” He closed his eyes, preserving the memory of his father’s smile as the last thing he saw on Anatolus.

“Love you, Cyrus,” Celeste said.

“Love you too, sis,” he said, fighting back the emotions produced by those words.

He took one last gulp of Anatolus’ air as the spell reached his neck, and he only thought one word.

Survive.

He opened his eyes and shifted from nervous to angry. Rain so heavy and thick that it was impossible to see the far side of the wall flooded them. Deafening thunder clapped above them.

Standing on the top of the steps was Typhos, his sword in his right hand. At the base of the steps stood three guardians in black robes with stripes of differing colors. Lining the wall around the temple were too many magicologists to count, so many that Cyrus didn’t bother planning on attacking them.
It’s theater, and the audience only participates if the lead commands them to.

And in front of the guardians, a hundred humans kneeled, facing Typhos. The rage from Typhos was palpable, his shaking obvious.

“Cowards!” he screamed, so loudly that Cyrus shook in shock at the way his voice carried through the storm. “I am glad that you have chosen not to run anymore. Unfortunately, you kept me waiting too long.”

He raised his sword, and the clouds above darkened to pitch black and concentrated on the area just above the humans. Typhos violently swung his sword down, and a massive bolt, unlike anything Cyrus had ever seen, came down.

“No!”

The lightning appeared to hit the ground, and a bright flash blinded Cyrus. But curiously, the luminous glow did not vanish. He peered through his fingers and saw a barrier protecting the humans. To his right, Celeste let out a loud scream.

“Erda!”

Erda teleported the humans in groups of twenty. Celeste cried out as the strain of the barrier fought against the sheer power of Typhos, and Cyrus did his best to help—it didn’t do much, but he could feel the burden of Celeste lighten.

The last of the humans vanished, and Cyrus and Celeste dropped the spell, causing the bolt to strike the ground and leave a dark burn mark.

“You can do that?” Cyrus asked in disbelief.

“Instinct,” she said, as surprised as anyone.

“Impressive,” Typhos yelled. “And noble. But foolish. You expended so much energy to save people who will die eventually anyways.”

“Stay strong, Celeste. We need you here in this battle.”

“But I will ask you all one last time. You have demonstrated the power that I wish to have by my side. Lay down your swords, and I will let all of you live. Even you, Erda. I will let you govern your worlds as you wish, and I will even give Monda back to you. The Orthranian Empire will rule once more, so long as you acknowledge me as your god.”

Do not give in, Celeste. Don’t you dare.

For Cyrus, the offer required no thought.
Only one outcome is acceptable to me. His death.
He glanced at Celeste, who maintained the same expression. He looked at Erda, who was prepared for battle despite her guilt. Cyrus took that as support and stepped forward.

“The only thing I acknowledge you as is our enemy, Typhos,” Cyrus yelled. “We will never serve under anyone, and you will die for your actions.”

“Pathetic scum!” he shouted. “You have no idea what you are walking into. Gaius is dead. You have no one left to help you on the inside. You were smart to leave the soldier behind. I would have killed her in front of both of you first before killing each of you.”

He took two steps down the stairs and sheathed his sword.

“Guardians!” he yelled, carrying out the word as long as he could.

The three guardians beneath him unsheathed swords, weapons not quite as long as the ones the Orthrans carried but capable of inflicting death all the same.

“Bring these pathetic excuses for Kastori to their knees. Leave them teetering on the edge of death so that I may come and take their power.”

He raised his arms, and Cyrus tightened his grip on his sword, holding it at the ready. Beside him, Erda prepared spells, and Celeste grunted.

“Die!”

73

The gray-striped magicologist charged at Cyrus, while the red one charged for Celeste, and the white-striped one stayed back. Cyrus quickly embedded his sword with a fire spell as the
fwoomph
of the flame danced on the steel blade, ignoring the rain. Ahead of him, the magicologist switched his sword to a water spell. Cyrus had no time to change his weapon, and so when the magicologist swung down, Cyrus held up his blade in the hopes of deflecting it.

To his surprise, he didn’t just deflect the enemy; he propelled him backward. He glanced at the blade and saw electric sparks.
Erda. Nice to have some backup.

He charged the enemy as the two engaged in combat. The magicologist had skill, but not nearly enough to keep up with Cyrus. Cyrus overpowered the magicologist and, with a swift kick, sent the enemy stumbling backward. He swung his blade and cut the magicologist across the arm, by no means a fatal blow but one that would weaken him.

The magicologist dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder. Cyrus looked at Celeste, holding her own, and at Erda, who had her mask on and seemed in perpetual concentration. He turned to Typhos and held his blade up.

“What’s about to happen to your man is what will happen to you,” he said.

He raised his blade and swung it, but just before it hit the neck of the magicologist, a violent force lifted Cyrus off his feet and tossed him against the wall, producing sharp pain in his left shoulder and back. He saw Typhos with his hand raised, his fingers curling into a fist. Beneath him, the white-striped magicologist also worked a spell, and the magicologist he had just cut slowly rose, his wound disappearing.

“Celeste,
” he called out.
“Attack the white-striped one. He’s healing the rest.”

Celeste looked at Cyrus and gave an affirmative nod. She let the red-striped magicologist swing at her wildly, giving her a chance to run past him. Cyrus sprinted ahead as well, ignoring the sharp pain pulsing in his body. He charged the gray-striped magicologist who had risen, and their blades collided in midair. With Cyrus moving so quickly, the magicologist did not have the strength to hold his ground, and the two stumbled to the floor by the stairs, not far from Typhos.

“Kill him!” Typhos screamed. “You’re a guardian for a reason!”

Cyrus rolled away just as the enemy’s blade swung in his direction. He could feel the air of the blade passing by, a dangerous reminder this was not a training simulation at the peak of Mount Ardor. He saw Celeste paralyzed, her blade held up over her right shoulder, but unable to bring it any further. Behind her, the red-striped enemy advanced. The white-striped magicologist faced Celeste, ignoring Cyrus.

Go.

Cyrus sprinted ahead, completely ignorant of any other factors. At the last second, his sword gained the element of ice from Erda. He brought it to chest level and rammed it into the back of the white-striped magicologist. He twisted the blade and removed it as the magicologist crumpled to the ground. A surge of the dead magicologist’s energy hit Cyrus, but he fought past the powerful rush through him. He charged the red-striped magicologist, who could no longer focus on Celeste and had to break his spell.

“Come meet the same fate as your friend,” he cried out as he raised his sword.

The enemy threw his hand out to paralyze Cyrus, but Cyrus experienced a strange sensation—he was slowed, but not stopped. The blade cut through the magicologist’s hand, and Cyrus had full strength. He wasted no time killing the enemy, and he felt another rush. He turned to see Celeste pinned, with the sword held high up over the grey-striped enemy’s head.

No no no no no no no.

Cyrus sprinted ahead, tackling the enemy and causing both of them to drop their swords. They rolled together with Cyrus winding on top. Cyrus delivered a devastating punch to the opponent’s jaw, dazing him as his head collided with the ground. Celeste finished the job by driving her sword into the neck of the enemy. Cyrus lurched back, but Celeste offered a hand and picked him up.