Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) (22 page)

“Celeste, you’re not… Typhos…”

“Is a great man, indeed,” Celeste said with disturbing warmth to his name. “Unfortunately for you, he asked that I handle traitors, and I have.”

She turned her body, giving Cyrus a view of three bodies—his father, Erda, and Crystil. A pool of blood beneath the three bodies spread. Cyrus gagged when he saw the stab wounds on his commander’s chest.

“All that remains is you, Cyrus. I would save you if I could, but unfortunately, our Lord Typhos has no use for Kastori as weak as yourself.”

No, no, no!

“Celeste, come on! What are you doing? You know Typhos just wants to destroy! He destroyed all of our friends on both Monda and Anatolus and our father!”

“Yes, and at the time, I didn’t understand. But now I do. Typhos brought order to both worlds, and I will help him spread it even further. And it starts with you, Cyrus. I’m sorry, but you must die.”

“No, Celeste, what are you—”

But she ignored him as she unsheathed a long sword with a black emerald. The point dripped with fresh blood, which slid down the blade as she held it aloft.

“For Typhos!” she screamed as she charged at him.

It’s not real,
Cyrus tried to rationally explain to himself, but the emotion of the moment dispelled that thought. The sight of his sister approaching, the sound of her running, and the nerves in his stomach made it too real. H dodged at the last second, rolling to the side as she swung her blade violently.

“You’re not even going to draw your weapon? I was hoping that our fight would be a little more dramatic than that!”

“Celeste, I’m not going to hurt you,” Cyrus said as he put his hands up.

“That’s a pity because I have no reservations,” she said as she lunged again.

Compelled by self-preservation, Cyrus unsheathed his sword and blocked her. He kicked her back, feeling horrible as she let out a pitiful cry in pain. She looked up and started giggling.

“I thought my big brother wasn’t going to hurt me,” she said as her giggling turned to laughter. “You lied to me, Cyrus. Think about that. And realize that’s what everyone you ever loved did to you.”

No!

Celeste charged again and swung her blade, meeting Cyrus at the crescendo of her swing. The two blades locked as the siblings pressed against each other, trying to overpower the other. To Cyrus’ surprise, she had far more strength—
it’s her magic.

“What are you doing?!?” he cried as the steel blades grinded. “This isn’t you! Typhos has brainwashed you!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, brother,” she said. “It was you all who brainwashed me. Typhos simply removed the spell.”

Cyrus felt an intense heat as Celeste enhanced her sword with fire. Cyrus pulled back and retreated, narrowly dodging a jab from his sister. He cast a water spell on his blade, but Celeste mockingly laughed and changed her weapon’s power to an electric endowment.

“You’re not going to beat me with magic,” she said.

The two locked again, but Celeste overpowered him to the ground. Only a desperate scramble prevented her sword from piercing his neck.

“Huh, I’m impressed,” Celeste said, Cyrus unsure if she was mocking him. “Tell you the truth, Crystil and Erda were disappointingly easy kills. If you combined them, they would be tough, but to kill each was pathetic.”

“Stop!” Cyrus yelled, and adrenaline kicked in that made him see the woman across not as Celeste, his sister, but as an enemy of Typhos that happened to look like Celeste.

He got to his feet and charged her, sheer instinct and brute force taking over. He swung and pushed her back and, after three swings, got her off balance. From there, he sliced violently and cut her right hand off. He kicked her to the ground as she screamed, and when he had her down and saw her pained face, the adrenaline wore off.

What have I done?

Celeste? Why?

He held the sword to her chest as a precautionary move, standing over her left side with his blade pointed at her heart, but he had no intention of even pricking her, let alone killing her.

“Oh, Cyrus, no, please,” she said, grabbing her bloody wrist in agony. “I’m so sorry. I know you… did what you had to, but Typhos was too strong, please. Please don’t kill me.”

Please.

Her voice echoed in Cyrus’ head, and the memories of all of the times she had talked him out of something stupid by saying that one word came back.

He stole a glance at the sky, darkening with the evening, and back at his sister.
If I kill her, I’m just Typhos.

“Celeste…” he said, his voice trailing off with emotion.

His mind warped back to the idea that this was a simulation, and he had to kill her to end it, but the tears in her eyes and the soft voice she had…

He screamed as he tossed his sword to the side, crying out in frustration and sadness. He dropped to one knee, looking at Celeste with pained eyes.

“You’re always my sister, no matter what. I can’t kill you.”

“Cyrus, thank you,” she cooed, warmth in her eyes. She held up her arms, as if inviting Cyrus for a hug, and Cyrus took it.

She grabbed his neck and squeezed tightly as she rolled him over her, his scalp grounded into the path to the palace. Cyrus groaned as he tried to escape but was held in place by her magic.

“You always were so easily manipulated by emotions,” she said.

“Celeste! No! I’m Cyrus, your brother!”

“Yes, and you’re also a traitor. Farewell, brother.”

He felt a sharp pain in his spine as something thick punched through his body. His vision went blurry and black.

White light blinded him. When he could finally see, the stars of the sky illuminated his location—outside the cave, his sword back in his sheath. A wall blocked the cave he had just been in, making it useless. Cyrus slowly sat up and felt his back and chest. He did not feel any gashes.

But what he had seen disturbed him, and he repeated the phrase, “Celeste is good. Celeste is good. Celeste is good.”

He slowly ascended the steps and came across Crystil and Erda conversing. He looked at the two of them, without any fatal wounds.

He racked his brain as he tried to parse reality from illusion.

44

Crystil reached her cave with an ominous feeling, but one that did not slow her down or strike fear into her. She heard two competing voices—one of Cyrus, and one of Dyson—in her head.

“I’ll never be without you, sweetie.”

“I have a rather attractive teacher motivating me to reach the top.”

“It’s time to give up fighting. Make a family.”

“I’m sure not going to do it listening to some commander with severe anger and trauma issues threatening me while wishing she had her husband back.”

The voices elicited several emotions, ranging from nostalgia to anger, but the soldier compartmentalized the voices and emotions.

Before entering the cave, she unsheathed her sword and approached cautiously. Once inside, she turned back to see the entrance slam shut. She took a quick breath, remaining in control of her feelings and sense of place. In front of her, she saw what looked like a small pond, and a figure several hundred feet ahead of her. She steadily stepped into the pond, and paused when she sunk her foot in.

It’s not a pond.

It’s a swamp.

She could feel her heart rate elevate at the thought, so she lied to herself and said it was actually a thick pond. She kept her eyes on the figure straight ahead, but as the room illuminated and the eyes of nakar glowed in the “thick pond,” she slowly lost her grip on her stoicism. A small wave of panic enveloped her as nakar dipped beneath the surface.

Illusion. Illusion. Illusion. Stay focused.

Her rate of movement picked up as more nakar appeared. She felt brushing against her legs, sending chills through her body, but even then, she did not panic and sprint.
Not about to become dinner to these guys in an illusion.

Her faith in the illusion, though, was eroding. It just seemed too real.
If I die here… do I actually die? All the other senses say it is real. Why wouldn’t death also be real?

The bumps became more frequent. Crystil swore she felt nibbling on her legs, the sharp teeth gently poking and prodding her muscular legs.

But being so close to the end gave Crystil a precise mission to focus on, one that eliminated the dangers of mental instability.

A nakar lunged as she climbed to the surface, breaching the surface with its mouth wide open. It missed her by less than a foot as its teeth clamped down.

“Nice try,” Crystil said. “Nice try, nice try, nice try,” she repeated, trying to stave off the inevitable flashback.

She turned with her sword and saw the figure in more detail. He was tall with short hair, cut in military style, and veins popping out of his thick, black neck.
Oh no. It’s—

He turned with his own sword.

“Crystil,” Dyson said. “It’s been so long. Couple years, hasn’t it?”

Illusion. Illusion. Illusion. Don’t engage.

Dyson shrugged and pushed his head forward, disbelief written all over his face.

“Your husband and lover for so many years, and you’re just going to pretend you don’t know me?”

Again, Crystil said nothing.

“Oh. You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?”

That finally broke Crystil.

“Not yet, Dyson. I loved you, but I know you’re dead. You’re not real.”

“I’m not? How do I know that I proposed to you at the gardens? Or that I trained you to fight with a sword much like that? Or that your greatest fear was being alone forever like your mother was after giving birth to your brother?”

Shut up.

Crystil tried to stand her ground, but ended up trembling. Dyson—she could no longer feel certain about the illusion aspect—struck every emotional dimension the way no one else could.

“You have found someone else,” he said. “That’s all it took, huh? Two and a half years? Who’s the guy?”

He seemed to magically search her mind. The moment calmed her.
It’s the cave and planet reading me, not Dyson. He’s just a projection of it; the real one is gone.

“Cyrus? The son of the emperor? That kid’s younger than you and acts like a four-year old!”

“There’s nothing there,” she said, but she knew it was a lie.
If I know it’s a lie, and the cave can read me…

“No matter,” Dyson said. “If I can’t have you,” he said as he pulled out his sword. “Then no one can.”

You knew this would come. You prepared for it.

So fight.

Dyson came out swinging hard, his powerful strength nearly knocking Crystil off balance. But Crystil had learned well from Dyson and had practiced much more on her own. The Dyson she knew could fight well, but only knew the basics—he did not know how to combine his attacks or counter hers. Crystil enticed Dyson into a few off balance swings, and once she had gotten used to his strength, deflected his attacks with ease and countered with quick swipes.

The whole battle barely lasted forty seconds, with Crystil driving her blade through Dyson’s chest.
An illusion. Nothing more. An illusion. The real husband is dead.

Dyson fell to his knees, coughing up blood as he slowly looked up to Crystil.

“Ever the soldier,” he said with a pitiful laugh. “I’m impressed. Do you miss me?”

That hurt worse than anything yet said or done, and worse than any lie that Cyrus or Celeste had spoken.

“More than I care to admit.”

“But… you like the boy.”

Crystil pursed her lips with a taut grimace.

“Yes.”

Dyson rolled to his back, down to his last breaths as his eyes fluttered and his breathing weakened.

“I know… how you handled my death. Are you… sure you can love… someone who may die before you?”

I don’t know.

Suddenly the arena flashed a bright light, so intense Crystil had to close her eyes and put her arms up. When she could see again, she was outside the cave.
Could I accept that? Could I live through that again?

You need to stop it now if you can’t.

She sheathed her sword, free of blood or even a single scratch, and ascended the stairs to the peak. She found Erda in a meditative state. Crystil walked as quietly as she could under the starry night to her usual sleeping corner.

“Tell me what you experienced,” Erda said.

45

Erda rose to meet Crystil and walked to the commander.

“You don’t seem fazed by what you saw,” Erda said.

“It’s the soldier’s expression,” she said, feeling more grim than stoic, her sharp eyes focused on Erda to escape the thoughts in her mind. “You know what I encountered?”

“Yes,” Erda murmured. “I do not know what awaits anyone. But I know what everyone goes through. I see no point in asking if what you experienced and felt was true because the cave reveals all.”