Monarch of the Calamity Beast

Chapter 5 Prey Cloaked in Light

The air in the Wasteland of Echoes tasted like old pennies and battery acid. Kaelen sat on the edge of a massive, half-buried jawbone. He scraped his thumb over the brass identification tag in his hand. The metal was dull, stamped with the cracked sun emblem of his former life.

His thumb caught on the edge. Tiny, obsidian-colored scales had begun to emerge along his knuckles over the past two days. They rubbed against the brass with a faint, gritty sound. He still was not used to the feeling.

He dropped the tag into a shallow rock crevice. It was centered in a patch of flat, cracked dirt. Around it lay the butchered remains of three Venom-spine Basilisks. Thick black blood pooled in the dry earth, drawing flies that died as soon as they touched the corrosive fluid.

A cold pressure settled at the base of Kaelen's neck. The shadow cast by the bone beneath him stretched, thickening into a dark smear that vaguely resembled a half-closed eye.

"Baiting them," Malakor murmured. The voice did not come from the air. It vibrated in Kaelen's jawbone, carrying a dry, ashen flavor. "You leave breadcrumbs for men who think they hold the sun. I can smell the polish on their armor from here."

Kaelen rubbed his jaw to stop the vibrating. He did not answer. He was tired. Reaching the sixth threshold of evolution felt like carrying a boulder inside his chest. His heart beat too hard. The dense, foreign muscle fibers strained against his own skin. He needed to let the pressure out before the basilisk blood in his veins tore his organs apart.

Vibrations pulsed through the soles of his boots. Rhythmic. Heavy.

Kaelen exhaled slowly. He stepped off the bone and walked backward until his spine touched a petrified crystalline pillar. He let his body sink into its long shadow. He slowed his breathing.

Four men emerged from the violet dust. They walked in a tight diamond formation. Heavy gold-plated armor clattered in the quiet wasteland. Three carried long polearms fitted with yellow mana crystals. The crystals were fractured, spitting weak sparks that died in the dirt.

The man at the front wore a white surcoat over his plate. His face was obscured by a smooth golden mask with narrow eye slits. He stopped, raising a gloved hand.

"The tracker stopped moving," one of the paladins said. His voice was muffled inside a closed steel helm. He pointed at the glowing brass tag in the crevice.

The leader, Inquisitor Vane, made a low sound in his throat. He looked down at a smear of violet ash on his pristine white sleeve and brushed it away. "The air here is filthy. Find the pariah. Make sure he is dead. No human survives this far into a nest."

Vane stepped forward. His boot slipped slightly on a patch of half-coagulated basilisk blood. He caught his balance, looking down at the severed reptilian limbs. He went completely still.

"Hold," Vane said, his voice dropping. "These cuts. Beasts do not cleanly sever limbs from their own kind. These are blade marks."

Ten meters away, in the dark behind the pillar, Kaelen's pulse throbbed against his temples. The cold of the Void pooled in his palms. Pitch-black energy pushed through his fingernails, extending into sharp, silent claws.

He let the shadow pull him under.

The ground vanished. There was a second of absolute freezing dark, and then Kaelen stepped out of the shadow directly behind the rearmost paladin.

Before the man could turn, Kaelen grabbed the back of his neck. The black claws pierced the weak chainmail of the gorget, sinking deep into the flesh. Kaelen twisted violently. The spine snapped with a dull, wet crunch. He pulled his hand back, tearing a chunk of metal and bone loose.

The soldier dropped dead, his armor hitting the hard earth with a loud crash.

The remaining three men spun around. The paladins lowered their polearms. Vane stepped back, his head tilting up to look at Kaelen.

Kaelen stood over the body. He flicked a piece of chainmail from his claws.

"Form up," Vane said. His voice wavered. Just a fraction, but it was there. "Burn him."

The two paladins lunged. They thrust their spears forward, the yellow crystals igniting with a blinding, blistering heat. The air around the blades rippled.

Kaelen did not step back. He shifted his shoulder, letting the nearest spear point graze his arm. The holy heat flared against his skin. It smelled immediately like roasting pork. The flesh boiled down to the muscle, but the pain felt distant, muffled by the heavy, coiled pressure in his chest.

Kaelen grabbed the burning shaft of the spear with his bare right hand.

The paladin grunted, trying to yank the weapon back. His boots dragged in the dirt. Kaelen held firm, then sharply pulled the spear toward himself. The sudden loss of resistance sent the armored man stumbling forward.

Kaelen brought his knee up into the man's breastplate. The metal dented inward with a loud crack. The paladin let out a wet, breathless gasp and crumpled to the ground, clutching his ruined chest.

The second paladin swung his spear in a desperate, wide arc. The heated blade caught Kaelen in the side, tearing a jagged line across his ribs.

Thick, bubbling black liquid spilled from the cut. It wasn't human blood. The corrosive fluid splashed across the paladin's visor and seeped into the collar of his armor.

The reaction was immediate. White smoke poured from the steel. It smelled like melting iron and burning hair. The man dropped his spear and clawed at his helmet, screaming. The sound was high and ragged. He stumbled backward, falling to his knees, thrashing in the dirt as the basilisk-derived acid ate through the metal and into his face.

He stopped moving a few seconds later.

Kaelen looked down at his side. The deep cut was already knitting together. Dark purple fibers stretched across the gap, pulling the edges tight. The skin sealed, leaving a pale scar that faded within moments. He wiped a smear of black blood off his stomach with his forearm.

Inquisitor Vane was alone. His shoulders trembled. He backed away, his boots kicking up small clouds of violet dust.

"You aren't him," Vane stammered. He reached blindly for his belt. "You're a thing. A beast."

Vane pulled a jagged red crystal from a pouch. His hand shook so badly he nearly dropped it. He crushed it in his fist.

A blinding pulse of superheated light erupted. The dirt charred black as a glowing golden dome formed around Vane. The Inquisitor fell to his knees, pressing his hands together. He started whispering frantic prayers, his breathing harsh and uneven behind the gold mask.

Kaelen stared at the light. He felt the hunger in his stomach turn sharp.

"Look at him," Malakor whispered. "Show him what his light is worth."

Kaelen walked forward. He didn't use the shadows. He just stepped directly into the edge of the barrier.

The light pushed back. It felt like walking into a furnace. Blisters bubbled across Kaelen's face and arms. The outer layers of his skin turned black and flaked away. The smell of his own burning flesh was thick in his nose. But the Void answered. Dark, freezing energy pushed through his veins. The moment the light burned his tissue, the dark aether rebuilt it. It was an agonizing, mechanical cycle of destruction and repair.

Vane screamed, pushing both hands toward the edge of the dome, trying to force more mana into the barrier.

Kaelen kept walking. His boots dragged slightly. When he was a foot away, he raised his left hand. The fingers elongated into metallic black claws. He shoved his arm through the thickest part of the shield. The light shattered around his wrist like cheap glass.

He grabbed Vane by the face.

His fingers dug into the sides of the golden mask. The metal groaned and bent inward under the pressure.

"Quiet," Kaelen said. His voice sounded hoarse from the smoke.

Dark energy bled from Kaelen's palm. It poured over the mask, crawling down Vane's neck like thick oil. The holy light inside Vane flickered, trying to repel the darkness, but it was snuffed out almost instantly.

Vane kicked his legs. His boots scrambled against the dirt. Then his body just gave out. The darkness soaked into his armor, siphoning the life and light affinity straight from his bones. Vane collapsed into a pile of dented steel and gray ash.

A heavy warmth rushed up Kaelen's arm. The burning pain across his skin vanished. The pressure in his chest broke, settling into a deep, solid calm.

Level seven.

His bones felt thicker, heavier. The ache of the elemental rejection faded, swallowed by the void in his center. Kaelen stood there for a long time, just breathing the toxic air. He looked at his left hand. The black claws receded, leaving normal, calloused fingers. He flexed them. They still felt a little stiff.

He nudged the empty armor with his boot. A small brass tube rolled out of the ashes.

Kaelen picked it up. It felt warm. He pressed his thumb against the rune at the base.

A pale gold holographic map flickered to life. It showed the jagged terrain of the wasteland. Tiny lights swept across the grid. At the bottom, a massive cluster of lights pulsed under a single emblem: a blazing winged sword.

Central Command.

Kaelen stared at the winged sword. He had seen that emblem stamped on the gates of the upper city when he was a child. The Aegis Order wasn't just sending bounty hunters anymore. They were marching a legion outside the walls.

"They know," Malakor said. "They feel the anomaly. They are afraid."

Kaelen turned the projector off and shoved it into his pocket. He didn't look at the dead paladins again. He looked north. Through the violet smog, the jagged black peaks of the Obsidian Mountains cut into the sky.

A legion meant thousands of men. Level seven wouldn't be enough. He needed the Aether cores of the Calamity Beasts that lived higher up.

He wiped a streak of ash from his cheek, turned his back on the remnants of the light, and started walking toward the climb.