Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) (18 page)

Well… you do what you can within your limits, Crystil. Sucks. But you can still help.

Crystil brandished her sword once more, ready for a second round. The same magicologist appeared once more. He drew his sword, but now, as if defending the emperor behind her, Crystil refused to advance. The two remained in a stalemate for what felt like minutes as the magicologist cast a few spells that Crystil deflected. The standoff was routine for Crystil, who could spend days in battle without needing rest.

Finally, the magicologist charged, and the only moment of panic was when he cast a fire spell. Crystil deflected it after it scarred her arms.
Barely a scratch.
The enemy got within striking distance, and Crystil’s superior sword skills won out as she knocked the sword out of the enemy’s hands and finished him with a chop. She sheathed her sword without celebration, for winning a practice round meant nothing.

“Good,” Erda said. “Do you want to fight more?”

I know I can’t win that. I know my limits.

“Yes,” Crystil said.

But I need to know how I would lose so I don’t get myself in those positions.

Crystil faced the same three-magicologist lineup as before, and once more, Crystil held her ground. The magicologists tried to overwhelm her by casting their spells in rapid succession, but the commander’s reflexes protected her from any damage, and she reflected more than one spell.

The foes wised up, however, and the two gray-striped ones with swords charged her. Crystil positioned herself so that she’d only fight one, but even as she struck down the first magicologist, she knew she’d lost. The red-striped enemy paralyzed her, and the gray-striped one finished her.

I can’t ever have my back to them. Even at a distance. There’s no safe gap.

“Do you feel like you benefited from this exercise, both of you?” Erda asked.

Cyrus and Crystil both immediately said yes. Crystil glanced at Cyrus, impressed with the focus he displayed in battle and the development of his sword skills.
He’s going to be the most valuable fighter in getting Celeste. He’d better be benefiting from this exercise.

“The Kastori you fought were like the guardians of Typhos—they are tough, but most Kastori on Monda are not this tough. However, I should mention that they did not use their full capabilities, and they are not even a tenth as powerful as Typhos. But in time, we’ll get there.”

She cast a quick spell, and the precora before them lit up.

“In the meantime, I think you guys have earned breakfast.”

35

Three days passed.

Celeste kept track of time by the food delivered to her. When she woke up, she always had meat and toast waiting for her, a pleasant surprise for a prisoner of Typhos. But after breakfast, she could only stew in the prison, bored, reflecting on what had happened.

On the first day, she rejected Typhos’ offer
.

The second day brought a moment of wavering for Celeste as she wondered would happen.
If it would keep him from hunting Cyrus and Crystil and Erda…
But for whatever reason, Typhos hated Erda more than anything in life and would kill her anyways.

By the time Celeste woke up on the third day, she had decided not to join Typhos.

She never saw him in those three days. When she ate dinner by herself on the third day—simple aviant meat with lukewarm water—she believed that he would leave her in there until she asked for him. Even with her meals, her grip on time and reality faded, and she questioned her experiences.

I guess I’ll just shrivel away until someone rescues me or I die.

She went to sleep that night thinking it would continue that way.

She woke up to the most horrifying reality she’d ever experienced, one that pushed her to her breaking point.

Cold air both surrounded and flowed into Celeste, bringing goosebumps to her skin and uncontrollable shaking through her body. Her eyes opened to nothingness—gone was the drab, gray room, and gone was the bed she had slept in. The chair in the corner of the room had vanished, and so had the walls. She looked down and could see herself as if under the Monda sun, but no apparent source of light glowed.

Instead, an empty blackness engulfed her. Nervous and disoriented, she stood and took a few steps. She trudged on flat ground—but one that she could not see from any angle or at any distance.

“Welcome
,
”
the voice of Typhos echoed in her head.

Celeste looked around but saw nothing. She waited for more words from her captor, but he kept silent, both to her ears and mind.

“Typhos,” she said, her voice firm. She got no response. She didn’t even get an echo of her voice.

She walked, then ran, and then sprinted. But with no landmarks around her, she had no idea how far she had moved.
Or if I even moved period. It’s just… endless. Or, it’s entirely contained, and I’m running in place.

A low, deep groan growled in her ear.

She whirled around with a yelp.
I know that noise. It’s… it’s…

It came again, this time louder and more distinct, and from above Celeste.

Calypsius. But he’s dead.

Does Typhos have more?

“Perhaps,”
Typhos said in her mind.

Stay calm, Celeste. It’s just a trick. A monster like that wouldn’t be here.

A yellow eye with a dark, oval pupil appeared out of nowhere, menacingly staring at the young girl.
Just a trick, just a trick.
Slowly, as if the creature could illuminate itself, more features appeared—the black, scaly skin; the three horns up top; and the menacing, sharp, bared teeth. Calypsius roared loudly, bringing the girl’s hands to her ears as she stared at the monster. It turned to her, coiled back as if springing for an attack, and lunged.

Celeste closed her eyes as the monster’s mouth opened wide… and nothing happened.

When she opened them, the creature had vanished.

“Impressive,” Typhos said, a word that somehow now echoed out loud in the void.

Don’t cower. Be strong. He’s pushing you. It’s all an illusion and nothing more.

“Run, Celeste, run,” an even more familiar voice said. “Celeste?”

It… there’s no way. It can’t be. Trap. Trap. Trap.

“Celeste?”

But… what if…

“Dad?”

“I’m in here too. Can you help?”

“I… I don’t know, where are you?”

For the first time, she could pinpoint the voice.

“This way,” her father said behind her.

She whirled around and sprinted, remaining on edge.
He can’t really be in here. He’s dead. Unless Typhos is lying. Which… it’s Typhos, it’s possible.

No one appeared for minutes, even as Celeste felt like she’d run half a mile.

“Dad?” she called out, out of breath.

“I’m still here,” he said, a bit further out.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, she could see a figure on his knees with his head bowed.
Dad. Is this real? I don’t even know.

The figure became brighter and more human-sized as she approached. From the top of his face, she knew it was definitely her father.

“Dad!”

“Celeste, thank goodness,” he said, though Celeste became guarded when he refused to look up at her. “We need to get out of here. Typhos has tortured me for years, and he’s going to do the same to you if we don’t get out.”

What is even going on? He’s…

“OK, Dad, just—”

Her father looked up at her, but the face was not of her father. It was a bloodied, mutilated face, with half the face burned off, one eye missing, a scar crossing at a diagonal from the top right, and bones from the skull visible in multiple places.

“Hahahahaha,” an evil laugh echoed as the voice of Typhos and her father mixed.

A sword out of nowhere came from above, piercing through her father’s chest. Celeste finally lost her sanity, falling to her knees as she screamed and cried. Only the sound of slow applause got her to look up. The body of her father had vanished, and she was suddenly back in her prison, in a corner, whimpering and shaking. Standing over her was Typhos, mockingly clapping.

“I thought you would break when Calypsius came charging at you,” he said as he offered a hand to Celeste.

She refused to take it as she rose. Typhos withdrew his hand without much anger.

“But I should have known that for someone as powerful and intelligent as you, I would need something more… personal, let’s say, than just a monster.”

He went and grabbed the chair, and placed it in the middle of the room. He held his hand out, gesturing for Celeste to take the seat. Feeling like she had no choice, Celeste sat down. Typhos had a guardian grab him a more comfortable chair, which he placed in front of Celeste.

“I can see how terrified you are, child. I don’t blame you. Even I felt shivers creating those illusions. But understand that what you saw is just a sliver of the power I have and that if you choose not to join me, the nightmares will intensify. You will wish you only saw Calypsius and your father’s scarred face.”

You know the answer. Don’t… don’t.

“So my father is alive?”

Celeste. Come on. Be stronger than that.

“I sense the doubt you have for asking that question,” Typhos said. “So I will dispel that notion for you. No. He is dead. You saw me kill him.”

I… sort of.

“I saw—”

“Do you really want to see the actual blade go through your father’s back and emerge through his chest, the blood of his heart coating my sword?”

Celeste felt nauseous and said nothing.

“Precisely. I did you a favor, Celeste. And it’s because now, on Monda, you are all alone. Your father is dead. Your brother and friend are dead. Erda will never come and rescue you while I live. I am the only Kastori you have left.”

His voice carried a disturbing amount of pity—
and an uncharacteristic level of sadness.

“Have you thought about it, Celeste? Have you come to terms with the fact that you’ll never see your loved ones again and that here I am, offering you everything you could have ever wished for and then some?”

“You can’t offer me my father.”

Typhos leaned back in the chair and placed his hand on his chin, responding with nothing. Celeste stared him down, her eyes still moist but done crying.
It’s fighting time.

“Stand up,” he said, and he joined her as she rose. He used his height to intimidate her.

“Understand this, Celeste. Family and friends come and go. Your father shipped you off this planet, pushed you away from ever seeing him again. I know what that feels like. Your brother failed to perform his duties of protecting you and guiding you as an older family member. I, too, know what that feels like. What I offer you goes far beyond a notion as fleeting and tragic as love. I offer you the chance to take whatever you want, to have all the power you want—power which will never abandon you—and to have whoever you want, so long as you acknowledge me as your master. Understand this. Your father and brother could and never will be as good as I am.”

Rage boiled inside Celeste, who felt a level of anger unlike anything she’d ever felt.

“You,” she said, and she shoved him back, catching him off guard as he tripped on the chair and fell to the ground. “I’ll never join you!”

Typhos rose slowly to his feet and looked at the girl with such rage that even through the mask, Celeste felt his hatred.
This is your path. Don’t you dare waver from it.

“Stupid girl!” he yelled as he placed his scarred hand on her head, and squeezed and pushed down with such force that Celeste bowed to him in agony. She could feel him crawling through his mind, searching for… something.

Doesn’t matter what.

She concentrated on pushing him out, ignoring the assumption that she could not use magic in her prison.
Maybe not to the outside world. Maybe not even to this room. But I still have my mind.

“What?!?” Typhos growled as Celeste slowly pushed him away. He was still gathering information from her past, but she was gaining momentum in shutting him out. “How?!? No one can resist me!”

Good. Get out. You’ve met your match, Typhos.

The pain of his hand and the intensity required to push his magic out produced a searing pain that her worst migraine did not match. But whatever Typhos was looking for, he was not going to get, even if it made her pass out.

“You worthless scum!” he cried as he shoved her down.

His hand went to his sword, hidden by his robes.
This is—

But before Celeste could finish the thought, he removed his hand from the hilt. She caught a glimpse of the sword—it had a black stone inside it, and also the face of Calypsius rising up on the blade. It looked like the kind of sword he had carved himself.