Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) (35 page)

“You!” he screamed.

Blood poured down from his arm as he put his bony hand over it, growling in pain.

“Don’t you realize what we could do together?!?” Typhos yelled as he shot a lightning spell at Celeste, putting her back on the defensive. “All of us are unrivaled in our power. Nothing would ever stop us if we worked together!”

“We don’t want to be unstoppable,” Cyrus said. “That’s how my father ruled. With limitations so he could not turn into you.”

A disturbing but nostalgically sad laugh came from Typhos.

“All limitations do is make people weak and unable to take the best course of action,” he said as he removed his hand to reveal that the cut had healed, though a scar remained. “Your father is a strong man, but the way he ruled was pitiful and led to the downfall of your empire!”

He shot a spell to Cyrus, freezing him in place. Celeste went to remove the spell, but it took more time than she had anticipated. Erda joined her in the cause, and the two unbound Cyrus just as Typhos swung his blade at Cyrus’ neck. Cyrus brought his sword up, but the force of Typhos pushed his blade toward his own face, cutting him and producing a nasty wound that cut diagonally across his face.

“Do you enjoy this kind of pain, Cyrus? Because this is only the beginning for you.”

He lifted him, away from the sword, and threw him against the wall. Cyrus crumpled, unconscious.

“No!” Celeste said.

“Quiet, girl, he lives, and you know it.”

He’s… yes.

A bullet suddenly whizzed by Typhos, who angrily cast a lightning spell in the general vicinity of the round. A loud, familiar cry came, but Celeste ignored it. Typhos raised his hand, and the barrier returned. He turned to Erda and charged her.

Celeste jumped in and blocked his attack and, with a quick addition of her red magic, forcefully pushed him to the ground.

“Oh, I knew you had it in you,” Typhos said, awe evident in his voice. “As you unlock your skills, Celeste, you will come to realize nothing is impossible for you. But you will only reach—”

He stopped himself mid-sentence.

“No, I am tired of offering my services to you.”

He got to his feet and dropped his sword. With one hand, he held Celeste in place, and with the other, he grabbed Erda and lifted her in the air. He threw his hand to the side, and Erda launched head-first toward the brick wall. At the last second, Erda broke the spell and righted herself, but she could not stop her momentum. She collapsed still conscious, but in such pain that she could only crawl. Typhos walked over to her with his sword back in his hand. He had gone silent, perhaps the most disturbing sign to Celeste. She broke free of the spell and ran, but could not catch him.

Instead, she pulled Erda toward her, narrowly dodging the fatal blow from Typhos. She placed Erda at the entrance and briefly saw Cyrus rising. His face bled, but he picked up his sword to fight. She turned back to see Typhos’ blade having shifted from silver steel to completely black, like the void he had used to destroy Celeste’s perceptions. He brought the sword over his head and swung down hard. Celeste brought her sword up to deflect it, but the force of the blow—and the power of the magic—knocked the sword out of her hand.

She shuddered as the blade of Typhos pierced her chest, her heart, and her spine.

77

“NO!”

The emotional, uncontrolled cry came from Crystil as she saw the blade emerge from the back of Celeste. All she needed was just a few more feet, or for someone to move to the side.

Crystil didn’t care if she died anymore. She didn’t care if Monda went down in flames with her. She just needed Typhos to die, and she’d unload all remaining bullets in him if she could.

She heard the loud groan and exhale from Celeste as if Celeste had died. She froze as Typhos withdrew the blade, and she aimed straight at his heart. The instant Celeste dropped to her knees, Crystil pulled the trigger, and a cascade of bullets zoomed through the air and collided with Typhos, knocking him to the ground.

“Argh!” he screamed, his voice twisted with pain.

“You die!” Crystil screamed, out of control.

Typhos got to one knee, blood gushing out of his chest. He placed a hand over his heart and looked up at Crystil.

“You think—”

But she unloaded another few rounds, these going through his hand and into his chest once more. Blood poured out of his chest, death surely upon him.

To her dismay, as she moved past Celeste and stood in front of her, acting as a human shield, Typhos once again rose.

“Human,” he sneered, though his voice had weakened significantly. “Bullets are easy to displace with my powers. You—”

Enough.

She raised her rifle but this time aimed for his head. Her finger had gone on the trigger when she paused. Something—no, someone—had jumped between the two of them. Crystil lowered her gun and saw Cyrus with his sword swiping furiously. It collided with the mask of Typhos, shattering its right side. The force of the blow knocked Typhos to the ground.

“Cyrus!” Crystil said, but Cyrus didn’t even turn around.

He instead raised his sword and brought it down for the finishing kill, but a sphere appeared around Typhos, and Cyrus stumbled back. He slammed his sword repeatedly on the force field, trying to break through, but it remained unscathed. Typhos put his hand up and pushed Cyrus back, then slowly rose and turned.

Much of his mask remained intact. But the parts that did not revealed a burned face, complete with scars on the cheek, and a deep blue eye that gazed at them with intense hatred. Blood seeped from his mouth, and he spat out chunks of blood.

“You got lucky,” he said. “The glory of bringing down one of you distracted me. But—”

He hacked up more blood, falling back to his knees.

“You will not be so lucky next time.”

Crystil raised her gun, but Cyrus put his hand on it.

“Don’t get us killed,” he said, and Crystil looked at Typhos with eyes that promised vengeance for their loss.

Typhos raised his hand and vanished, bringing with him other magicologists. A few remained on the ground and the wall, and they all raised their arms in surrender. Crystil ignored them and threw her gun down in utter frustration and sadness.

“Celeste,” she said, her voice trembling.

She and Cyrus turned to see her lying on the ground, her stomach still rising with short breaths, but with blood spilling onto the broken pathway. Crystil ran over to Celeste and tore off bits of her own suit from her legs, wrapping them around Celeste’s chest. She had a terrible feeling she wasn’t doing anything of value, and in fact, may have prolonged the pain. But Crystil wanted someone to see Celeste before she went.

She looked up and saw Cyrus holding her head tightly, soothing her and telling her he loved her. Crystil refused to listen, lest the emotions of the moment get to her. Right when she finished, she looked up at Erda, who stood over her grief-stricken.

“Get us back to the mountain, Erda,” Crystil said. “Her father needs to see her before she goes.”

Erda cast the teleportation spell. Crystil tied the tourniquet around Celeste as tight as she could, and when she finished, she broke down in tears, bawling at the sight of her friend dying in her brother’s arms.

78

The precise moment that Cyrus felt the air change, from the thickness of Monda’s ground level to the thin feeling on Mount Ardor, he opened his eyes, scooped his sister up and climbed the stairs rapidly.
Tell me this isn’t real. It’s an illusion. Come on. Come on!

But the dying gasps of Celeste, her shallow breathing and the groans—on top of the blood still seeping through her clothing onto his hands—spelled out a reality that he could not ignore.

“Pops!” he screamed.

His father met him at the peak.

“Oh, no,” his father mumbled, stricken with sadness and unable to speak louder than a whisper.

Cyrus placed Celeste in the middle of the platform, on top of the magic symbol, delicately laying her to the ground. He looked up to his father and motioned for him to have a moment. He kissed his sister on the forehead as he sobbed and walked to the side of the mountain.
If I hadn’t gotten knocked out…

If I had fought better and trained my magic better…

If I was more aware of what Typhos wanted to do…

My fault. This is my fault.

I’m sorry, Celeste. I failed.

Cyrus heard his father gently soothing Celeste, but he refused to listen to what he said. He didn’t want to know—
it’s their moment.
He didn’t want to face this moment until he could do so alone. He let out a long sigh, trying to push back the tears, but they continued to rush from the back of his eyes.

There has to be something. Erda has to know something. Or Crystil, she’s seen severe wounds. Maybe there’s still technology on Monda.

He placed his head in his hands and let out a loud groan, his legs wobbly. He sat down on the edge of the mountain, but couldn’t find any comfort, so he stood back up. He heard the sound of gentle footsteps approaching, and a soft, familiar hand go on his shoulder.

“Cyrus.”

He turned to see Crystil, and her own eyes watered. Wet streams went down her face, and seeing the emotion of her commander made Cyrus lose control. For several seconds, he had no thoughts. He just fell into the emotions of grief and hysteria, crying all the tears he could muster. When that finished, sniffles came, and still no one spoke. No one needed to. He glanced up and saw Erda at the top of the stairwell, her head bowed, one hand on her forehead. He looked to his father, who reached down and kissed Celeste on the forehead.

“It’s my fault,” Cyrus said.

“Shhh,” Crystil said soothingly. “It’s no one’s fault, OK?”

Cyrus wanted to argue the point and knew he would—eventually. Right now, he couldn’t muster anything.

“Make her last moments special, OK? Tell her you love her.”

Cyrus gulped and walked toward them as their father rose.

“She wants to spend some time with you, Cyrus,” his father said with a cracking voice.

Cyrus quickly walked past his father, wanting this moment to only be with Celeste. He heard Crystil embracing his father and walking away with him, but never turned back to look. He crouched down in front of Celeste, who weakly looked up at.

“Hey,” he said weakly.

All of the memories with her came to him. Playing hide-and-seek in the old home they had before the palace. Chasing aviants in the fields. Hiking the mountains. Escaping Monda, and bonding more than they had ever.

And that’s the end of it. There won’t be any future moments like this.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t… be,” she said, placing her hand on his.

“We’re gonna save you, OK? We’ll get you out of this, we’ll get you better.”

Celeste tried to laugh, but it just came out as a weak cough. Cyrus squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

“You’re as bad… a liar… as a hunter,” she said, forcing a smile, to which Cyrus laughed exaggeratedly, using whatever he could to hide the pain of the moment. “It’s OK. We fought… for the right side.”

Cyrus bowed his head.
What can I say? There’s nothing to say. Just comfort her, hope it’s not painful.

“You… you mean everything to me… I love you.”

“I love you too, sis.”

“Don’t ever… regret anything, OK?”

She coughed up blood. Cyrus gently wiped it away, trying to preserve the beauty of her face.

“I… I have one last… request.”

“Anything.”

“You won’t like it,” she said quickly, taking many breaths after that.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s for you,” Cyrus said.

Celeste gave a short, heavy nod. Cyrus stole a quick glance at everyone else. Erda remained by the stairs, looking up at the sky. Crystil held the emperor in a tight embrace, saying something he could not make out.

“Typhos… made this,” Celeste said. “If I die… at his hand… you know what… happens.”

He gets her power. No one stops him.

“But…if someone else… takes my power… they have a chance.”

Cyrus’ eyes went wide, and he felt his whole body crumble under the weight of what she had said. He saw her sword. He could not imagine using it for what she had asked. He could not bring himself to do it. Just thinking about her words made him nauseous.

“Celeste, I… I can’t, that’s… you know I failed in the simulation. This is real. There’s no way.”

“You have to… Cyrus. If Typhos…does this, we all die. But if you do this… I… I die alone, and you can save us.”

“Has to be another way, has to.”

“If there was, we… we would’ve thought it.”

Cyrus shook his head.
It’s too much. No. Rather die and watch the world burn than have the blood of Celeste on my hands. Would never use her powers. I’d go into hiding, or kill myself.