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

“Fight me!” he yelled, panting and beginning to hear and feel things he wasn’t sure were real. “Fight me! Come on!”

He swung his knife through the air as the beast growled. He tried running at the face, but he seemed stuck, never drawing closer.

An unseen force yanked Mykos’ knife with such viciousness and strength that the handle scarred his skin as it left his grip. The knife clanged off in the distance, no longer visible in the dark void.

“Fight me!” he cried again, but his voice had devolved to panic and uncertainty.

Suddenly, he could not control his legs. They felt heavy and paralyzed. Six magicologists appeared before him, each with dark, black robes, with different colored stripes on them—two with red stripes, two with white stripes, and two with gray stripes. They all kneeled, and Mykos could hear ominous footsteps behind him.

He heard angry breathing, clearly behind a mask, as the footsteps drew closer. The god had finally appeared, and now Mykos would have to face his death bravely and without anything other than his fists.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and it produced a heavy chill. He felt a brutally scarred hand, the bone visible over several fingers, squeeze him. Mykos, his breathing shallow, gulped and was whirled around with such force he thought his neck might snap.

There he was. Tall—possibly six and a half feet. Broad shouldered. Wearing dark robes—somehow, even darker than the six magicologists now behind him—with dark red stains on it.
Blood. The blood of those he’s killed.
A long, thick sword in the sheath on his hip. A dark, flat, gray mask over his face.

Typhos.

2

“It’s about time you actually thought of my name,” Typhos said, dripping sarcasm in his voice. “I was beginning to wonder what my own name was, you seemed so intent on referring to me as a god. Although I certainly appreciate your proper use of my title.”

Mykos said nothing as he stared at the most hated being he knew with venom and contempt. Typhos looked down at the soldier, and though it was impossible to know what Typhos’ expression was, Mykos was sure it was sarcastic pity.

“I also appreciate you coming here so eagerly. I know it’s been so long since your kind saw the inside of this temple. Tell me, why are you here?”

Mykos refused to answer.
If I can’t move my body, then I’m not going to move my mouth.

Typhos moved his hand from Mykos’ shoulder to his chin and squeezed, producing a burning sensation.

“Don’t be shy. I can read your mind anyways. We might as well establish some rapport. Who knows? It might help your chances here.”

Mykos again said nothing, knowing he would die. But the burning became too intense, and Mykos groaned as he yelled out an answer.

“You know why I’m here!” he cried as the burning stopped, made worse by his paralyzed hands.

“Of course I do,” Typhos said with a chuckle. “But what’s the fun in just doing this quickly? I want you to be an equal participant in our conversation. I don’t want to dominate this.”

Mykos, still gasping from the burn, looked up to the mask. That emotionless, soulless, sociopathic mask which had brought devastation to their world. Typhos wanted nothing equal. He didn’t want to dominate. He wanted to devastate.

“I hate you,” Mykos said, his voice rising.

Typhos punched him in the face with his scarred hand, breaking his jaw. Typhos extended his hand out and lifted the soldier in the air. He hurled the man against an invisible wall, blurring Mykos’ vision and senses before Typhos drew him back. He flipped the man upside down and turned him to face the six bowed magicologists. Mykos heard the heavy, angry breathing of Typhos slow down as Typhos seemed to collect himself.

“Apologies. I tend to react strongly when people try and do the things that only I, as a god, can do.”

Typhos put his hand on Mykos’ arm and spun Mykos around. Mykos now faced the leader of the magicologists, and the headache produced from his position only magnified the pain of the moment.

“You still haven’t told me why you’ve come here, you know. Yes, some of that is my fault, but I promise to be a good little god if you’ll talk.”

The will of the soldier was still strong. It required excessive, slow breaths from Mykos, as he had never faced an omnipotent monster like this. But he knew he would not even say his own name.

“What a pity,” Typhos said, and he sent the man back into the invisible wall and back toward him. His entire body felt like a million pieces of broken, dusty bones. “You are already dead. The only question is how merciful I am to you.”

He’s right. I can’t win here. Even if I overcame the magic… tell him.

“I’m here to kill you,” Mykos said as he raised his chin as best as he could.

“Wow, thank you,” Typhos said as he suddenly dropped Mykos on his head, releasing his spell but leaving the man in a bruised and such broken state he could only rise to his knees—
which seems like the point.
“I thought you might have come here to bring me crops from the field, but you know, I’m so grateful I know the truth now.”

He squatted in front of Mykos, his arms on one knee, his mask just inches away from the soldier.

“Unfortunately, soldier, you seem to have failed in your mission,” he said with mocking sadness. “Your commander will be so upset by this. Tell me, so I can tell him. What did you hope to accomplish by killing me? I would think your race would know killing me would end in chaos and devastation.”

Mykos put one foot forward, trying to stand up, get at least a couple of moments of towering over the hated one, but his broken feet gave out each time, leaving him unable to rise above Typhos. The enemy let out a sigh and shook his head mockingly.

“Can you answer my question, please? It’s rather rude to keep your host waiting.”

Mykos put a hand to the floor and punched it in frustration. It sent tensing pain through his knuckles and wrist, but not nearly as much as what Typhos had done to him so far.

“To restore the glory of Emperor Orthran.”

“Ahhh, of course, the noble redemption of humanity to Monda,” Typhos said, who stood up and placed his hand on top of Mykos for support, bringing severe pain to the man’s neck and back as all the weight of the taller man shifted to him. “It would make for a great story, wouldn’t it? One for the history books. But you missed the part of the story where I killed your emperor. You remember, don’t you… Mykos?”

Typhos said his name slowly and, Mykos figured, with an evil smile.

“Tell me what happened that day. I know from your memories you were there.”

Mykos went back to his mute state, and Typhos lifted him up with magic, bringing him face to face.

“I will tell you,” Typhos said, and all of the sarcasm in his voice vanished in favor of unbridled anger. “I paraded your emperor through the streets of your city in nothing but rags, letting the Kastori jeer your fallen leader and your people take pity. I took him inside, killed him, and threw his corpse out onto the streets for all to see what happens to those who oppose me. Your redemption story doesn’t even have an opening page, Mykos, because I killed the author before it ever began.”

Mykos, gasping for air, let out a cry.

“There are others!”

“Who? Like his children? The cowards that fled this planet, leaving others like you to suffer? Is that who you want leading your people? Kids who are too scared to stay and support their home planet?”

No. They had to. They had to run.

Did they? Only one ship made it. What made them so special?

That they survived.

And left us to suffer and die.

“You should feel grateful that I am leading this planet. You hate me. You hate my race, refusing to call them Kastori. And yet, for all of the animosity you have to me, the only one to have killed anyone this night is you. You murdered two of my Kastori with your knife, giving them a rather painful death. I have simply chosen to interrogate you so far. Who is the sadistic one now, Mykos? Which of our races is the murderous one?”

“You!” Mykos yelled, partially to push the doubts entering his mind as far away as possible. “Shut up! Shut up!”

Typhos, to the surprise of Mykos, did, in fact, go silent. He crossed his arms, and tilted his head slightly with a shoulder shrug, waiting for Mykos to speak.

“Your race murdered many of us over the years. Why? Why?”

“I have my reasons, truth be told, the origin of which had nothing to do with you,” Typhos said. “But that does not matter.”

Mykos, with bones broken in both legs, a sore neck and breathing problems, didn’t have the energy for a follow-up question.

“You know, Mykos, the real tragedy for you, in this case, is that had you waited just a bit longer, you could have claimed this temple while I was gone. I was either going to go to a new planet and absorb its magic, or I would have returned home to avenge a death and, shall we say, annihilate my enemies. My pathetic, terrible, traitorous enemies.”

The breathing from Typhos became heavier, and then a prolonged, calming sigh came from behind the mask.

“Hypocrites, liars, fools, they are,” he said, his voice disturbingly calm. “The only question I have is whether I should kill them in overwhelming fashion for my own satisfaction, or prolong their death and feast on the pain they have, so they can know what I have gone through.”

As if suddenly remembering the presence of Mykos, Typhos shook his head, turned his attention to the soldier, and flipped him upside down.

“You have gotten me off topic, Mykos. I need to know a few things from you, and since you are unwilling to cooperate and be a courteous guest, I will find out myself.”

The bony hand wrapped around Mykos’ head, its fingers resting on the man’s nose and eyes with painful intensity.

“You could not have come here without the help of someone. Your race fears me and the magic I’ve covered this temple in too much. Who sent you?”

Who sent me? I just came myself. It was instinct. Don’t say anything.

“I know someone helped you, Mykos. No one storms this place without the goading of a Kastori.”

I… no, there is no one. Typhos.

A quick punch came from Typhos to Mykos’ ribs, breaking them and making it even harder to breathe.

“You are effective at distracting me with your thoughts. I would expect nothing less from one of the emperor’s greatest soldiers. But I have power unlike anything you can comprehend.”

The grip tightened and Mykos groaned in pain, the pressure on his nose threatening to break the cartilage inside.
We will come for you, we will kill you. Someone will.

“Save your thoughts,” Typhos said, but his voice sounded frustrated.

Curious, Mykos dug through his own thoughts. But strangely, he couldn’t think of anything from the past week. He could think of old faces, like his commander, his emperor and his family, but discussions, work, ideas from the past week…

“How?” Typhos said, his voice rising in volume. “How?!?”

This is it. I did what I could.

Mykos thought of the emperor as Typhos’ rage increased. Typhos’ grip became so tight that the man’s skull was starting to crack, but Mykos became determined not to die screaming. He bit his lip so hard it began to bleed, and just thought
“Die, Typhos
,” over and over again, in the hopes that it would distract him from his mind reading.

“Traitors!” Typhos yelled.

Mykos bit down even harder as limbs began tearing from his body. It went by quickly, and Mykos stared intently at Typhos as he lost consciousness and his life.

3

Blood splattered from the body of the pathetic human, covering Typhos’ robes in a fresh coat. He relished the smell for a second, and let the body drop to the ground. With his fury still rising, he incinerated the body in front of him and shoved the still-burning parts off to the side with a loud roar.

He looked at his guardians before him. Only they had the capability of erasing the mind of a human. No one else on Monda had such power.
Someone has betrayed me. Someone is going to die a very painful, slow death.

Someone actually dared to defy me!

“One of you thinks it’s funny to sympathize with humans,” Typhos said, his voice an angry growl as he looked from left to right. “One of you—or, maybe several of you—want to kill me. You seemed to fail to recognize that sending a human against a god would end exactly as that did. You should be executed for your incompetence as much as your betrayal!”

He walked in front of the first guardian with red stripes. None of the other guardians dared raise their face. Typhos squatted in front of the red-striped guardian, and tilted his head to the side, analyzing his current target.

“Tell me, Gaius,” he said. “You have the power to read minds. Do you have the power to erase minds?”

Gaius looked up slowly. Typhos leaned his head forward, and the two were inches apart, close enough to hit the other with their mask if they leaned their head upward.