Chapter 1:

Trials of the Triad

Raucous cheers ripped through the arena in exhilarated anticipation of imminent carnage. Wilas’ thumping heartbeat drowned out the dissonance. His sweaty grip tightened around his war hammer’s handle.

Across the sandy expanse stood a colossal bronze gate. Behind that gate a myriad of sadistic terrors lurked, yearning to rip Wilas Erkhan and his cohort, Klowan Hartwin, to ribbons. Victory meant earning an audience with the Triad, Orixe’s ruling deities, to receive their gift of dark magic. Defeat, on the other hand, meant certain death.

The sinewy, gray bearded Klowan twirled his battle axe and donned his iron shield. Wilas’ oldest friend had seen 30 years, but the stress of life under the Triad’s unscrupulous reign had thinned his hair and turned it gray. “Three hellish bouts to build a better world,” Klowan’s gruff voice reassured himself.

Wilas placed an iron helm over his jet-black locks and adjusted the leather tunic that covered his broad shoulders and barrelled chest. The flames of his tortured past blazed through his memory. Visions of charred bodies and scorched earth had been branded into the young warrior’s mind.

“Three bouts,” Wilas growled through gritted teeth. He’d long envisioned the sweet vengeance at the end of this blood-soaked path.

“It’s bound to be a long road,” Klowan reckoned, “so do me a favor and try to have a little fun. You’re too bloody grim all the time!”

Wilas smirked. “I’ll do my best.”

Just then, a deep bullhorn blustered through Orixe’s fabled Bludhurst Crucible. Chains rattled as the bronze gate crept open. Thunderous footsteps echoed from the dark corridor beyond. The first trial had begun.

“What do you reckon our first challenge will be?” Wilas pondered.

“Well, this is Magoroth, King of Beasts’, trial. My bet is something big and scary that probably wants to eat our faces,” Klowan hypothesized.

“Esteemed spectators,” the Bludhurst Crucible’s eccentric, bald, and rainbow robed arena master shouted from his raised pedestal, “I give to you . . . the behemoth!”

Quakes rippled through the sands. A hulking silhouette charged toward the light. A deep roar blared from the dark tunnel.

Stampeding into the arena, the behemoth was met with fanfare of awe and fear. Two, forward pointing, swirled horns jetted from the beast’s brow. Razor sharp spikes adorned the four-legged creature’s back from the nape of its neck to its clubbed tail.

The behemoth’s gaze darted in search of its adversaries. Fixating on the two combatants, the beast released a guttural growl, exposing rows of serrated teeth. The creature kicked its hind legs and snorted like a blustering bull.

“See,” Klowan observed, “big, scary, and definitely wants to eat us.”

“Any other predictions?” Wilas asked, rolling his chestnut eyes.

Klowan grinned. Mischief flared in his pale blue eyes. “I’m gonna bury my axe in that thing’s neck.”

“Let’s hope you’re a prophet,” Wilas remarked.

Tremors shook the arena as the behemoth’s hefty feet galloped toward its challengers. Undaunted, Wilas charged his rival with Klowan on his heels. The beast lowered its daggered horns with murderous intent.

As the lethal joust neared its inflection point, Wilas reared his war hammer back. Summoning his might, the warrior struck. A boisterous snap echoed through the arena followed, by an agonizing screech.

The devastating collision of hammer and bone splintered the behemoth’s left horn from its brow. Recoiling, the beast whirled right while swinging its clubbed tail. Wilas ducked to evade.

Klowan, however, wasn’t so nimble. Instincts spurred him to crouch behind his shield, but his refuge was flimsy against the behemoth’s mighty tail. A deafening ring pierced Wilas’ ears when the tail’s hardened flesh rammed iron, sending Klowan careening.

Whirling back around, the behemoth unleashed a its counterstrike. Erratic snapping jowls sought Wilas. Backpedalling, the warrior dodged the onslaught. Unable to restrain its bloodlust, the behemoth lurched forward with yawning jaws.

Winding his hammer back, Wilas unleashed a fierce uppercut. Steel collided with bone, sending shards of teeth spewing from the behemoth’s mouth. The savage blow forced the creature’s head skyward in recoil.

For an instant, the behemoth’s neck was exposed. Wilas’ hand sped to his short sword’s hilt, which hung from his belt. Brandishing the weapon, the warrior took aim at his foe’s weakness. However, a warm splatter of black blood splashed his face and interrupted his plot.

A shrill cry blared from the behemoth as Klowan’s battle axe hurdled through the air and plunged into the creature’s neck. A fountain of blood cascaded from the beast’s severed jugular. Wilas turned to find a smirking, triumphant Klowan.

The behemoth groaned and swayed before collapsing in a pool of its own blood. A roar of admiration gushed from the entertained spectators. Bludhurst Crucible’s eccentric arena master bellowed with exhilaration.

“Never in the history of this prestigious arena has a behemoth been disposed of with such rapid ferocity!” The bald arena master lauded. “Thanks to the brave Klowan, only two more death defying trials lay between our heroes and the esteemed Triad!”

Wilas cocked his head to the side and leered at Klowan. “So, I do the work and you get the glory?”

Klowan chortled, planting his foot on the creature’s neck, and wresting his axe free. “I was only fulfilling my prophecy, old friend.”

“People of Orixe, our valiant combatants felled Magoroth, King of Beast’s, mighty behemoth,” Bludhurst’s barker proclaimed. “Next, our beloved Alurel, the Enchantress’, trial awaits!”

The sky darkened and a malevolent mist descended into the arena. A chilled wind swept through Wilas’ bones. The warriors exchanged apprehensive glances. Triumphant smiles lowered into clenched frowns.

“Stay vigilant,” Wilas cautioned. “Alurel is the mistress of the mind.”

Klowan’s eyes narrowed with a solemn nod. As the mist descended, Wilas’ companion disappeared into the fog. They were each on their own now.

Wilas tread into the smog with slow, deliberate steps. He’d witnessed the devastation Alurel wrought with her psychological warfare. She drove men mad, deceiving them to murder their kin, betray their country, or indulge their darkest desires. There was no telling what horrors might lurk in the mist.

“Wilas,” a woman’s faint whisper slithered through the fog.

The warrior’s eyes scanned the shrouded arena. A blur rustled just beyond his view. Taking a deep breath to summon his courage, Wilas crept toward the sound.

“Come to me, Wilas,” a familiar voice summoned.

That’s when a humanoid shadow formed within the haze. Like a wraith, it floated toward the warrior. Wilas’ heart pounded, sweat drenched his palms, and the hair rose on the back of his neck.

“Stay back!” Wilas demanded.

Undaunted, the shadow advanced.

“You wouldn’t hurt me, Wilas,” the figure retorted.

“Who are you?”

A woman glided out from the murky veil. She was beautiful, wearing a white robe that made her black hair shimmer like onyx. Her green eyes filled Wilas with a long-forgotten sense of solace.

Wilas gasped. His grip loosened on his hammer, allowing it to thud to the sand below. “Mother?”

“Come to me, child,” Elys beckoned with a stoic, unblinking gaze.

Wilas’ heart leapt within his chest. His face turned flush with joy. Tears streamed down his face as he staggered toward his mother with outstretched arms.

He wrapped his arms around Elys, though she didn’t reciprocate his embrace. “What are you doing here?” She probed.

“I came to avenge you . . . to make the Triad pay for what they’ve done to this land,” Wilas proclaimed.

Elys’ emerald glare narrowed. “The Triad didn’t kill me . . . you did.”

“What?” Bewildered, Wilas flinched.

Elys’ hand snatched Wilas by the throat, lifting him off his feet with ease. Scowling, her hand clamped down on his windpipe. The warrior wheezed, clamoring to suck down air.

“Allow me to remind you what they did to me, what you allowed them to do!” She roared.

Blistering sores and black char glided across Elys’ tissues. Her lips receded in decomposition, exposing the rotting gum beneath. Her emerald eyes morphed into bloodshot monstrosities and her eyelids fizzled to ash.

“Do you remember?” The revolting husk howled. “Do you remember how I was mutilated while you cowered in the forest?”

Smoke singed Wilas’ nostrils and tortured screams pierced his ears. In an instant, he was transported back to that fateful day. He’d gone hunting in early in the morning. However, when the black smog rose above the tree line, the young boy raced home. There, he met devastation.

Flame consumed quaint huts. Bodies were strewn about the humble village. Some villagers wailed in anguish, embroiled in magmatic fetters. Others were feasted upon by flesh-eating scorpteras. Repulsive creations of Magoroth, scorpteras were armored, vulture-sized bats with venomous scorpion tails.

Meanwhile, Iraud, The Supreme Mage and third sibling of the Triad’s, warlocks rounded up the survivors for interrogation. Without remorse they tormented with villagers with the Triad’s dark magic. Spindles of lava sprouted from their black wands, constricting their victims like blazing serpents. The villagers squirmed as their skin sizzled.

Hiding behind a tree, Wilas peered into the desolate ruins of his razed village. With resistance subdued, two figures emerged from the smoke. The first was an alluring woman with scarlet hair and yellow eyes. Flames adorned her luscious figure like an extravagant gown.

Alongside Alurel stood Iraud. His pale skin bore elaborate runes etched in fire. He wore red, flowing robes ornamented with opulent, gold embroidery. An aura of arrogance followed the bald, black-eyed mage.

“Where is the scepter?” Iraud interrogated the village’s whimpering chieftain without a glimmer of emotion for the wreckage wrought on this peaceful hamlet.

“We don’t have it!” Arturo, the villages’ husky, white bearded leader strained to reply.

“Come now, barbarian,” Iraud goaded. “Where is the scepter Yeshu promised you?”

 “It isn’t here!” Arturo beseeched.

Shifting tactics, Alurel knelt next to the chieftain. “Perhaps a kiss will jog your memory,” she tantalized. Stooping low, the voluptuous enchantress planted her sultry lips on Arturo’s.

A malaise washed over Arturo. His gave turned forlorn and distant. Yet, despite Alurel’s entrancing kiss, he had no truth to offer.

Seeing their answer remained elusive, Iraud’s temper flared as the fiery runes that ornamented his body gleamed brighter. “Enough! I’ll flay every one of these traitorous heathens until they hand over the relic!”

An ominous smile curled among Alurel’s plump lips. “Your magic is much too quick. Allow our brother indulge in the entertainment as well.”

“He’ll decimate the entire village,” Iraud admonished tossing his arms up in outrage. “Then the scepter will be lost.”

Alurel scoffed. “This is the last tribe loyal to Yeshu in Orixe. When they are reduced to ashes, rumors of the scepter will scatter like dust in the wind.”

The Supreme Mage ruminated on the plot before relenting with a begrudging nod.

“Come, brother,” Alurel called to the sky, raising beckoning arms. “We’ve prepared a feast for you!”

A gargantuan shadow blotted out the sun. The thunderous flapping of mighty wings sent potent gusts bristling through the landscape. With a deafening roar, the black-scaled dragon announced his arrival. Magoroth sent tremors rippling through the earth when he landed beside his kin.

“Bring forth an offering to the King of Beasts,” Iraud instructed his warlocks.

Raising his wand, one of the black cloaked warlocks levitated a body constricted by lava. Immediately, Wilas recognized her jet-black hair. His heart lurched in anguish when he saw sheer dread gripping those emerald eyes.

Magoroth’s toothy mouth yawned. An orange glow emanated from within his serpentine throat. A river of torturous flame erupted from the onyx lizard. Wilas clenched his eyes shut. He refused to watch Elys’ skin melt off her bones. However, her piercing wails would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Look at me!” Elys commanded back in the present. “Look at what your cowardice earned!”

Wilas’ gaze was fixed on the grisly woman. Guilt, shame, and self-loathing polluted the warrior’s thoughts. You deserve the guilt! You deserve the shame! It would’ve been better if you’d burned with her that day! A vicious voice accused.

You were just a boy, a familiar, advocating voice rose in his defense. Let go of your pain. Release it, so I might fashion it into a weapon.

A choice lay before Wilas. He could succumb to his malevolent doubts and shackle himself to the oppressive fetters of guilt and shame or he could cast his burdens aside and embrace redemption.

The choice was clear. Wilas’ short sword sped from its scabbard and slashed upwards. Steel sliced through meat and bone, severing the choking arm. A pained shriek exploded from Elys. However, the attack only served to stoke her rage.

The wench swiped at Wilas with her left hand. The warrior ducked the blow. In her overzealousness, Elys overextended herself, leaving her midsection exposed. Wilas seized the advantage. He flipped the blade to his left hand and shoved it between his foe’s ribs. The gruesome wraith howled, though her aggression persisted.

Reversing direction, Elys unleashed a backhanded slashed. Wilas’ right hand snatched the counterstrike. He ripped the sword from his between his foe’s ribs and slashed off her remaining arm.

Elys dropped to her knees. She hung her head, grimacing with each labored pant. “You wouldn’t dare kill your own mother,” she sneered.

Wilas grabbed the charred woman by the scalp. He forced her tortured eyes to stare into his own. His jaw tightened as he pressed his blade’s point to her throat. “You’re not my mother.” Without remorse, he pressed the sword through her throat and out the back of her neck.

When the charred husk collapsed, its magical façade dissipated. Elys disappeared. In her stead lay a grotesque, emaciated creature with wisps of brittle white hair and gray skin. Wilas recognized the abomination.

“Banshees,” a gruff voice announced from Wilas’ side.

“The enchantress’ masterpieces,” Wilas spat.

“Bloody, psychotic harlot,” Klowan snarled. “She tortures you with your greatest fear before she kills you.”

“What’d you see?” Wilas probed.

Klowan’s apprehensive lips pursed. “Lion spiders. You?”

Wilas fixated on the Enchantress’ revolting creation. “Guilt.”

Boisterous cheers from Bludhurst Crucible’s fawning crowd erupted when the mist cleared. With the bodies of two banshees and a behemoth left in their wake, only Iraud’s trail awaited. They were one step closer to the Triad.

A nervous shudder traversed up Wilas’ spine. Klowan shifted in a futile attempt to quell his nerves. Both men heard the rumors of the Supreme Mage’s trial. Though they couldn’t know what their predecessors faced, Klowan and Wilas saw the bodies of those who failed the sadistic challenge.

Unsuccessful combatants returned to their families mutilated beyond recognition and drained of most of their blood. One or two victims would always return. However, there was never a scenario where both challengers survived.

Attending Bludhurst Crucible’s gladiatorial bouts were exclusive to those who’d received the Triad’s magical blessing. This gift could either be earned within the arena or bought with blood sacrifice. Since Wilas and Klowan had not yet completed the arena nor possessed the appalling fortitude to offer a human sacrifice to these twisted deities, they could only speculate as to what horrors loomed on their horizon.

“And now for the final trial,” the arena barker’s once jubilant tone turned solemn.

The two warriors exchanged stoic glances. “Whatever it takes,” Klowan pledged.

“Whatever it takes,” Wilas affirmed.

The bronze gate squealed open. The dark silhouette of a man stood statuesque and shrouded in shadow. A tense hush fell over the crowd.

Fiery symbols began glowing on the shadow’s forehead and hands. The runes illuminated red robes with gold ornamentation. A reverent murmur permeated the crowd. The Supreme Mage stepped forth.

Klowan crouched, readying his axe and shield for battle. Wilas quaking hand slid to a slender scabbard hanging on his belt, opposite his short sword. His fingers wrapped around the white, wooden handle, deliberating on the opportune moment to unveil it.

“Patience,” Klowan cautioned, anticipating Wilas’ plot. “Wait till we have all three.”

Iraud emerged to deafening veneration. The crowd of loyal followers groveled in awe of their magical idol. Raising his exultant arms, the Supreme Mage huffed in his subjects’ adoration.

“Loyal Orixenes,” the Supreme Mage addressed the crowd. “Two, commendable warriors stand before you! Together they bested my brother’s brutal behemoth and resisted my sister’s spiritual assault!”

The crowd lauded Wilas and Klowan.

Iraud raised a finger to quell the onlookers’ enthusiasm. “However, their noble quest faces a final test! As you know, only the most ruthless are worthy to stand amongst the Triad’s elect!”

Wilas gulped. Memories of his mutilated forbearers raced through his mind. He fought to control his quivering breath.

“Our gift of magic comes at a price,” Iraud proclaimed. “Only those with the strength to pay may ascend to enlightenment!”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Klowan grumbled.

“We are Orixe’s only source of power,” Iraud expounded. “As you know, our favor must be bought with blood! Two vessels stand before you with blood pulsing through their veins!” The deity glowered at the combatants. “For one to overflow, the other must be emptied.”

A stark realization struck Wilas. The mystery of the blood-drained corpses was illuminated. To receive the Triad’s magic, one had to betray and murder their partner.

Wilas turned to Klowan. He didn’t see the burly, bearded man. Instead, he saw the young boy who found an abandoned child in the forest. He’d shown Wilas kindness and brought him back to his village where they were raised together. He saw a friend. He saw a brother.

“And if we refuse?” Wilas asked.

A disturbing grin slithered across Iraud’s pale face as he unsheathed an obsidian wand from beneath his lavish robes. “We still have a show to put on. Our spectators demand entertainment. So, I will peel the meat from your bones until their bloodlust is sated.”

Dejected, Klowan sighed, embracing his fate. His shoulders slumped, seeing the duo’s only path forward. “It has to be me, brother. You know it to be true.”

“No!” Wilas refused. “I won’t kill you!”

“We don’t have a choice, you stubborn fool!” Klowan scolded, shaking an impassioned fist. “Whatever it takes! Remember! I’m prepared to pay the price to build a better world!”

Sweat beaded on Wilas’ brow. Nervous heat permeated his chest. He could hear the drumbeat of his fearful heart booming. The hair on his neck stood on edge, like a wild animal boxed into a corner. There was only one way out . . . forward.

Wilas’ fiery gaze met Iraud’s. Righteous rebellion swelled in his chest. “No. We came here to build a new world. If we’re willing to succumb to depravity to seize power, we’re not different from our corrupt overlords . . . we’re more of the same.”

Klowan grabbed Wilas by the arm. “We get one shot at this! We need all three siblings,” he implored. “We can only get to all the demons if we play their sadistic game!”

Epiphany struck. Wilas’ grip tightened on his war hammer and his hand brushed over the white, wooden handle nestled in his scabbard. “Not if we make Magoroth and Alurel come to us.”

Klowan’s perplexed brow furrowed. “And how do you suppose we do that?”

“They want blood, right?” Wilas pointed his hammer at the mage. “Once we spill his . . . they’ll come.”

The arrogant Supreme Mage scoffed. “So, you’ve chosen death? A pity. You would’ve made fine additions to our army.”

With reckless abandonment Wilas rushed the Supreme Mage. Iraud shot his wand forward. A beam of red energy screeched toward the warrior. When the spell came within range, Wilas swung his mighty hammer.

The gleaming war hammer collided with the spell. A shockwave sent a plume of sand emanating from the collision’s epicenter. The beam ricocheted off the weapon and rebounded toward the arena’s left wall.

Desperate bystanders shrieked as they fled the charging spell. A thunderous explosion shook the landscape, blasting a hole in the arena. Smouldering debris and spectators’ limbs soared through the air.

A shocked gasp pervaded the Bludhurst audience. Iraud stood dumbfounded and rigid, reeling from the fantastic spectacle. Curious peasants from the outlying town flocked to the wreckage. They clamored over each other, desperate to catch a glimpse into the fabled coliseum. When they saw a mere mortal standing in defiance of a deity, they were awestruck.

“Impossible!” Iraud barked.

In a fit of rage the Supreme Mage thrashed his wand, unleashing a magical firestorm. The rapid onslaught sent a flurry of energy beams scorching through the air toward Wilas. Despite the unrelenting barrage, the deft warrior parried or dodged, thwarting each curse.

Ricocheted spells struck different areas throughout the crucible. The Triad’s loyal subjects stampeded from the array of explosions that barraged the landscape. Chaos reigned as the spectators trampled over each other in frantic retreat.

“Enough child’s play!” The frustrated deity shouted, lifting his wand skyward.

The clouds overhead darkened and swirled at Iraud’s behest. An ominous chasm formed in the sky. Black and purple bolts of static electricity flickered from the void.

Iraud’s runes pulsed with white hot fury and the whites of his eyes turned black. He chanted in an arcane tongue. A threatening gust swept over the sands, sending Wilas and Klowan skidding on their heels. That’s when a thunderclap bombarded their ears.

A black bolt of lightning careened toward Iraud. It struck his wand. Crying out, the deity strained to control the raw magic coursing through his body.

The Supreme Mage’s red runes were set ablaze. His body trembled, teeming with dark magic. With a roar, Iraud thrust his wand toward Wilas.

A black bolt screeched from the wand. A jagged stream of energy sped toward Wilas. The time had come to show Orixe that a new path away from the Triad’s magic.

Wilas drew a white, gnarled wand from its scabbard. A gilded river of energy sprang from the majestic instrument. Darkness and light collided in a dazzling spectacle.

Tremors rippled beneath their feet. A plume of sparks erupted from the dueling energies’ epicenter. Light pushed back the darkness until consumed the Supreme Mage’s spell and struck its caster. Wilas’ spell launched Iraud through the air before he landed with a thud onto his back.

Sitting up, Iraud gawked at his adversary. “H-how?” He stammered.

Fury burned in Wilas’ brown irises as he glared at his foe. “I’m the flame you couldn’t stamp out, the ember that will grow into an inferno!” The warrior raised his wand once more. His hand trembled as he found himself standing in the place he dreamt of reaching for decades.

That’s when a sudden earthquake tore through the arena, interrupting Wilas’ killing strike. Magoroth exploded skyward from behind the bronze gate, leaving heaps of rubble in his wake. The winged, onyx serpent swirled above the arena before landing between Wilas and Iraud. The King of Beasts released a menacing roar as his sister climbed off his back.

“Looks like your plan worked,” Klowan observed. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t get us killed.”

“I see we haven’t quite eradicated Yeshu’s stain from Orixe.” Alurel leered at her rebellious adversaries.

“We must burn away this infection before it festers,” Magoroth growled. His deep tones rumbled off the arena walls.

“That is your expertise, brother,” Alurel goaded with a pretentious snort.

“It would be my pleasure,” Magoroth avowed as his scaly lips spread into a sadistic, fanged sneer.

Rearing his serpentine neck back, an orange glow blossomed within Magoroth’s throat. Smoke billowed from his nostrils and out the corners of his mouth.

“Get behind me!” Wilas shouted to Klowan.

With a shout, the dragon hurled a sweltering stream of dragonfire toward them. Klowan dove behind Wilas. The warriormage looped his wand to his side before swiping it upwards. A shield of water manifested before the intrepid duo.

Steam sizzled, but the watery safeguard refused to relent. Wilas dug his resilient heels into the sand. The dragon advanced in a futile effort to push back his foes.

With Magoroth’s breath held at bay, Wilas seized the opportunity for a counterattack. He launched his hammer toward the dragon from behind their watery fortification. The steel sung as it sped through the air. A booming clang erupted as the hammer pulverized Magoroth’s jaw.

The fiery blast ceased. The hammer’s blow forced the King of Beast’s head skyward. As the black scaled serpent recuperated, Wilas thrust his wand forward. An invisible grip latched onto the hammer, halting its momentum. Flicking his wand back toward himself, Wilas summoned the hammer back to his hand.

When Wilas’ weapon returned, an enraged Magoroth lashed out. Rows of serrated fangs barrelled toward the warrior. Thrusting his wand toward the lunging beast, an unseen force restrained the dragon’s onslaught. With his foe suspended before him, Wilas struck.

His hammer crashed into the side of the dragon’s face. Bone crunched beneath metal as the beast’s orbital bone caved. Releasing a shrill groan, Magoroth tumbled onto his side and writhed as black blood splurged from his wound.

“An impressive display,” Alurel scoffed, feigning applause.

“I’m not here to impress you,” Wilas rebuffed.

“No, you came to destroy us.” The smirking witch wagged her condescending finger at Wilas. “But you won’t.”

“Doesn’t look that way to me,” Klowan retorted. “Your brothers might disagree.”

“Two trinkets don’t make you a god-killer!” Alurel snapped. “You know the Evavine’s prophecy. ‘With shimmering rock and the sun-washed branch Yeshu shall forge his scepter, severing the Triad’s grip on Orixe and calling his people back to him.’ I see no scepter, just two fools.”

Magoroth staggered to his feet. Iraud rose to re-join his siblings. Though bruised and battered, the Triad remained far from defeat.

Klowan glared at his cohort. “You told me Yeshu appeared to you! You said he guaranteed our victory!”

Wilas’ guilt-ridden heart sunk as the color drained from his face. His faith waned. Noxious doubt infected his soul.

“I-I was certain,” Wilas stammered, staring at his weapons. “He told me I’d understand at the appointed time.”

“Why would He send us here without the scepter?” Klowan’s arms flailed in outrage.

“Yeshu has forsaken you!” Iraud sniggered in taunt. “He sent you here to die! Soon your mutilated bodies will stand as an everlasting testament of what happens to those who rebel against the Triad!”

Alurel’s yellow gaze shifted to the commoners peering through the hole in the arena’s wall. She saw how these rebels’ resistance inspired swelling glints of hope in the downtrodden serfs. “Hope is a dangerous thing,” she remarked. “Come, brothers, it’s time we quench this ember.”

Without warning, Magoroth’s tail whipped toward Wilas. The warrior held up his hammer to block. However, the dragon’s strong tail knocked it from Wilas’ grasp.

Wilas thrust his wand out to call back his hammer. Yet, that’s when a searing pain scorched his wrists, and the stench of singed flesh strung his nostrils. Two fiery whips lashed from Iraud’s wand to restrain the warrior. Yelping, Wilas’ hand jerked open, sending his wand to the sands below.

Holding her hand out, Alurel summoned the hammer. It flew into her clutches. She tossed it to the ground before Magoroth. “Destroy it.”

Wilas strained to wrest himself free from Iraud’s bonds to no avail. That’s when a stream of dragonfire sped from Magoroth’s mouth. The glimmering metal shone red, then orange, before it melted into a shapeless mass.

Cackling, Alurel stooped down and picked up Wilas’ wand. She glared at her foe. “Power like this belongs to the Triad alone.”

The white wood bowed. Splinters snapped from their source. Wilas lurched forward against his restraints, but the magmatic shackles only dug deeper into his wrists.

A defiant battle cry resounded from Wilas’ left. With his axe high, Klowan charged the Enchantress. She sent a cockeyed glance toward her assailant, though she made to effort to evade.

Before Klowan could reach his target, Magoroth’s powerful jaws launched forward. A gruesome dissonance of teeth grinding against metal and crunching bone tortured Wilas’ ears. The onyx dragon lifted Klowan and shook his head like a dog snatching a rat. Wilas watched in horror as Klowan’s limp limbs flailed before being thrown down at Alurel’s feet.

Klowan’s breastplate had caved against the dragon’s sinewy jaws. His hopeless, blue irises stared toward the gray sky. Blood pooled beneath his body. Faint, labored breaths strained from his mouth as he teetered on the brink between life and death.

A mournful cry blared from Wilas as he dropped to his knees. His closest friend, the man he loved as a brother, hurdled toward death’s jaws. The war hammer he’d held since the day his village burned had been reduced to a smoldering pile of melted rock.

In the end, it was Alurel who delivered the penultimate blow. She tossed Wilas’ wand before the dragon. The King of Beasts’ inferno scorched the wood. Wilas was undone. He’d failed, and it cost him everything.

Iraud’s shackles left Wilas’ wrists. The despondent rebel hung his ashamed head. Tear droplets fell from his face, intermingling with sand and Klowan’s blood. He heard the Supreme Mage shouting a final curse, though the noise was muffled by the warrior’s grief. A scarlet beam flashed. Then all turned black.

Chapter: 2

Yeshu’s Scepter

Sunlight trickled through the towering treetops. The sun’s rays stung Wilas’ weary pupils as they peered into the sky. Bewildered, the warrior sat up and surveyed his surroundings. His hands investigated his body, finding a beating heart and breath cycling through his lungs.

Somehow Wilas had been transported to a small meadow surrounded by a lush forest. Tall trees, and verdant bushes decorated the wood, yielding abundant fruits and flowers of all colors. At the clearing’s center stood a humble, white tree with a silver boulder resting at its trunk. Wilas recognized this place from his past.

A man with a wavy head of dark brown hair and a full beard stood atop the stone. He was pruning away the tree’s withering branches so its budding, golden fruit could flourish unimpeded. The gardener wore a simple tan tunic bound by a leather belt. Wilas recognized the man as well.

“Why are you here?” The gardener inquired without breaking concentration on the task at hand.

The question drew Wilas’ ire. “I should be asking you that question,” he chided. “You’re the one that sent me into a battle I was destined to lose!”

“Have you lost?” Yeshu replied with skepticism as he hopped down from the rock.

Wilas bounded to his feet. Teeming with anger, he pointed an accusatory finger at Yeshu. “They took everything! My hammer! My wand!” A hard lump bloomed in Wilas’ throat and his fist clenched in a futile effort to quell his frothing tears. “They ravaged Klowan right in front of me . . . I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

Yeshu hung his head and began to weep. Tears trickled from his kind, russet eyes. When droplets struck the ground, an copious array of multicolor flowers bloomed. “Klowan will rise again,” Yeshu promised.

Despite Yeshu’s genuine grief, Wilas remained indignant. “Why should I believe that? Tell me why I should believe any of your promises! You promised victory over the Triad and then sent me into battle without the one weapon that could defeat them! How dare you mourn Klowan! If it weren’t for you, he’d wouldn’t be lying alone in that arena waiting to die!”

Yeshu remained silent in the face of his accuser.

“You were supposed to protect us! Look at the world you built! You let the Triad in and left us with no way to protect ourselves . . . just like you sent me into that crucible without your precious scepter!” Wilas’ outrage boiled over.

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to break the bonds of evil on my people,” Yeshu vindicated. “I will redeem all things, even the worst things. I promise you, soon, you’ll understand.”

“I’ve had enough of your promises!” Wilas’ fists clenched. The veins in his neck bulged with fury. “I was loyal! I did everything you asked, and you still sent me to my death!”

Yeshu shook his head. “I gave you everything you needed.”

“Except for the scepter!” Wilas objected. “You neglected to provide the one key that could accomplish the task you entrusted to me!”

“Do you remember what happened the day I brought you here?” Yeshu asked rhetorically. “I found you standing in the ashes of your village amongst the dead. I wiped the tears from your eyes, took you by the hand, and led you to this very meadow.”

“I remember,” Wilas replied through his stern chin.

“From the shimmering boulder I fashioned your war hammer and from the white tree’s branch I cut your wand,” Yeshu expounded.

“And now they’re gone,” Wilas rebuffed.

“Because you misused them!” Yeshu countered, shaking an impassioned fist. “You idolized them as if they were divine! You replaced me with the very gifts I entrusted to you! They were tools so you could harness the power I gave you, not the source of that power!”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Wilas lamented, hanging his dejected head. “The wand is gone. The hammer is gone. The scepter is gone . . .  if it even existed at all.”

“Are you still so blind?” Yeshu reprimanded, massaging his forehead. “With shimmering rock and the sun-washed branch I shall forge my scepter, severing the Triad’s grip on Orixe and calling my people back to me.”

“I know the prophecy.” Wilas snarled.

“You don’t!” Yeshu corrected with authority teeming from his voice. “I cut your hammer from that shimmering boulder to forge your strength. I shaped your wand from the sun-washed branch so you might harness the power I delivered to you.”

Wilas drew a sharp inhale as epiphany struck like lightning. His heart skipped a beat and the breath hung stale in his lungs. “The Triad thought they were looking for an artifact that day . . . but they should’ve been looking for me.”

“You are my scepter,” Yeshu revealed. “You are the one I will wield to severe the Triad’s grip on Orixe and call my people back to me.”

“But I’m dead,” Wilas believed.

Yeshu smiled and stooped down. He plucked one of the vibrant flowers that grew from his tears. “You, like Klowan, linger on the threshold between life and death. The Triad’s magic can only destroy. It is only my power that can give life. Today, you will show Orixe a new path. I will bring abundant life to my people and restore all things. That journey begins today.”

A renewed faith stirred within Wilas. His emotions were spliced with guilt for having doubted Yeshu. “What happens now?”

“My spirit courses through your veins,” Yeshu expounded. “I will fight through you. You need only to let me.”

Breath inflated Wilas’ lungs. His eyes jerked open to meet an empty, gray sky. Raucous cheers hummed in the warrior’s ears. HIs hands gathered a fistful of the arena’s coarse sand.

Peering at his feet, Wilas observed the Triad devouring their followers’ reverence. The Supreme Mage and Mistress of the Mind waved to their grovelling followers and bowed. The King of Beasts took a victory lap above the coliseum.

Wilas sat up with a groan and staggered to his feet. Like smoke being swept away by a cyclone, the applause gave way to a shocked murmur. Sensing the shifting tone, Iraud and Alurel surveyed the scene for the source of their followers’ astonishment.

Alurel’s boastful smile fell. Her yellow eyes narrowed, and her furious nostrils flared. “Are you so stubborn that you won’t even do us the courtesy of dying?”

Iraud shoved his sister aside. Enraged steps paced toward Wilas with his wand raised. “You mock me with every breath you draw!”

Alurel snatched her brother’s arm before he could cast his spell. Her teeth gritted as she pulled him backwards. “Clearly you’re unfit for this battle,” she chastised.

Above their heads, Magoroth roared. The black-scaled dragon looped behind his siblings and set course for Wilas. With two mighty flaps, the dragon vaulted toward his prey with smoke billowing from his nostrils.

Drawing a deep breath, Wilas closed his eyes. I will fight through you. You need only let me, Yeshu’s voice echoed through the embattled warrior’s mind.

In obedience, Wilas turned his palms upward. A gentle breeze comforted him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on edge as Yeshu’s familiar presence swirled in his spirit. A euphoric wildfire of renewed faith blazed within his soul.

Smoke singed the warrior’s nostrils. A sweltering gust blew against his face. The temperature grew hotter and the dragon’s beating wings grew louder.

Now, Yeshu whispered to his scepter.

Wilas’ eyes popped open. They shimmered with golden brilliance as Yeshu’s power teemed through his being. Light cloaked the warrior like dazzling armour. A triumphant shout bellowed from the deepest reaches of Wilas’ being.

Dragonfire scorched the sand as it raced toward Wilas. Nothing stood between Magoroth’s infernal fury and his prey. That’s when a sudden clap of thunder boomed from the heavens.

A gilded pillar ripped through the gray sky. The beam sped earthbound with a thunderous hum. Onlookers shrieked in fear. Iraud and Alurel gaped with awe.

A high-pitched squeal emanated from the onyx dragon. A fountain of black blood spilled, saturating the sands below. Magoroth’s body fell limp behind the dazzling pillar with erratic fire spouting from his neck while his head soared forward.

Blood spurted from the severed head as it bounced across the arena before skidding to a halt at Wilas’ feet. The warrior lifted his gaze to meet Iraud and Alurel. The deities gawked, befuddled and rigid with the noxious concoction of shock and terror.

“You murdered countless innocents to find Yeshu’s Scepter,” Wilas taunted. “Now you’ve found me!” The scepter’s fists clenched. Golden sparks of jagged electricity encompassed his hands like radiant gauntlets.

Iraud stepped forward. He raised his trembling wand. Sweat beaded on his forehead, causing steam to rise from his head where the moisture contacted his blazing runes.

The Supreme Mage’s sister put her hand on her brother’s arm and lowered his wand. “This war has only just begun.”

  A black portal, much like the one from which Iraud called the black lightning, manifested behind the deities. The remnants of the Triad backed into the chasm. Once they entered, the abyss shrunk and disappeared into thin air.

Throughout the Bludhurst Crucible, Triad’s loyalists followed suit. An array of black portals popped in and out of view as terrified onlookers fled. Soon the stadium’s stands were empty. However, the coliseum was not.

Droves of peasants from Bludhurst’s surrounding village crept toward Wilas. He exhaled and relaxed his hands. The sparking electricity ebbed, and the luminous armour dissipated like a morning mist.

“Don’t be afraid,” Wilas beckoned them to approach.

One of the children stepped forward. Her round face was smeared with dirt, and her clothes were tattered. “How did you do that?”

Wilas’ lips pursed as he considered how to respond. “I let someone stronger fight through me.”

“What kind of warlock are you?” A skeptical elderly man with a crooked back wagged his cane at Wilas. “The Triad’s magic didn’t do nothing but destroy! Last thing we need is another tyrant!”

Wilas cocked his head toward Klowan’s motionless body. Without answering, he strode toward his oldest friend and knelt next to him. Filled with Yeshu’s grace, Wilas placed his hand on Klowan’s bloody and broken chest.

“The Triad only brought death, but Yeshu sent me to show you a new way . . . a way that leads to abundant life.”

A glow spread from Wilas’ palm. The crunching of mending bones vibrated through his fingertips. Klowan gasped and lurched forward. His baffled eyes darted about. Astonished hands traversed his body in futile search for what was once broken.

“What’d I miss?”

“One or two things,” Wilas affirmed, glancing at Magoroth’s severed head.

“How did—? I remember— How did you—,” Klowan stammered.

“All you need to know is that we won,” Wilas answered, patting Klowan on the back and beaming from ear to ear.

Klowan cocked an eyebrow. “What about Alurel and Iraud?”

“Fled,” Wilas answered.

Leaving Klowan’s side, Wilas picked up his melted war hammer and the ashen remnants of his wand. Light emanated from his palms. The hammer’s shimmering metal regained its original form. The wand returned to pristine condition.

“What do we do now?” Klowan wondered aloud.

Wilas looked out toward the crowd of gathering peasants. “We do what we came here to do . . . we build a better world.”

Chapter 3:

The Duke of Hyde

A cacophony of maddening whispers swirled about the dim tavern. Robear Malloy’s jaw clenched as each sordid word stoked his fury. Quaking fingers clung so tight to his flagon of ale that the froth bubbled over the rim. Though the patrons’ tones were hushed, their infernal racket was as shouting to Robear, drowning out the whine of the bard’s lute strings.

“I heard Wilas killed Magoroth in the Bludhurst Crucible. If the rumors true, then he’s fulfilled the prophecy and broken the Triad’s grip on Orixe. We’d long believed Yeshu’s Scepter to be a weapon, but perhaps it is a man.”

“They say Yeshu’s power flows through his veins, that he doesn’t even require a wand to summon power.”

“Killing Magoroth only makes Alurel and Iraud more dangerous. Wilas will need an army if he wants to finish the fight.”

“Vandergaard and Bludhurst have already declared for Wilas Erkhan’s growing rebellion. In a matter of months their forces have already moved on Tionesta to break the Triad’s curse in that land. It’s only a matter of time until he turns his gaze to Hyde so he might claim Solom’s Crown from the fabled temple.”

Incessant murmurs prodded Robear’s ears. Envious rage swelled in his chest. Ale flushed cheeks reddened through patches of wiry black stubble as his anger ran rampant.

Raising his horn high, Robear rapped it against the table. The cup splintered and sent a spray of bitter brew across the pub. A host of empty flagons toppled from the table like dominos. A somber hush robbed the feverish chatter and music from the atmosphere.

Beady, brown pupils glared at the patrons. Sweat soaked strings of black hair framed Robear’s round face and full cheeks.

“Have you forgotten who reigns in Hyde?” He snarled through gnashed teeth. “Does King Solom’s ancient blood not run through my veins? Is the crown in my ancestor’s temple not mine by birthright?”

A slender hand emerged from the shadows behind Robear and gripped the fuming young man’s arm. There was firm authority in the grasp. Hot breath blew against Robear’s ear as wisdom spoke through a familiar voice.

“That’s enough, nephew,” Jeraln Rusak advised to sooth Robear’s ire.

Robear whirled and glowered at his aunt’s husband. Uncle Jeraln’s lips were pursed with concern under his hooked nose and above his prominent chin. The silver haired head of Robear’s personal guard cautioned his nephew with an icy blue stare.

He’s nothing more than a glorified nanny!

Incredulous, bloodshot eyes glowered at kind, blue ones. Indignant, Robear tore his arm from Jeraln’s clutches. “I am the Duke of Hyde! These men have sworn oaths to follow me, dear uncle! Not you and certainly not this usurper from Vandergaard!”

“We know nothing of this Wilas Erkhan,” Jeraln appealed to reason. “Rumors are to be measured by a grain of salt. All we know is that someone is fighting back against the Triad. The enemy of our enemy is our friend. Every defeat the Triad suffers brings you one step closer to the crown.”

“And who will Orixe thank for their freedom?” Robear spat. “Wilas has already captivated the country’s heart in mere months! They whisper of his legendary deeds from Antiarc to the Topaz Gulf! Those hushed murmurs will soon grow into shouts if I sit idle and let this charlatan claim my glory! I won’t allow a Vandergonian peasant to strangle my reign in its infancy!”

“Orixe’s soil is drenched with blood spilt by paranoid kings,” Jeraln rebuked with a cautionary glare.

Robear’s scowl morphed into a conceited grin. “A paranoid king remains a king.”

Before Jeraln could voice his dissent, his prideful nephew turned his back to him. Steel sung as Robear brandished his broadsword from the scabbard that hung from his waist. Beady, brown eyes flared with maniacal exhilaration as they gazed upon his familial blade.

“I, Robear Malloy, Duke of Hyde, and rightful heir to King Solom’s Throne will no longer wait for lesser men to steal my crown! Tonight, we march on the temple to reclaim my birthright!” Robear decreed, thrusting his sword on high.

A melody of screeching swords merged with raucous cheers. Drunken battle cries reverberated through the dank tavern. Celebratory tunes blared from the bard’s lute.

Enthusiasm didn’t permeate the sober patrons. Somber looks of dread defined their sullen faces. Honor dictated they obey their duke, even if he led them to slaughter.

Robear’s bold proclamation failed to convince Jeraln, who reached for the duke. “I beg you, nephew, you must reconsider!” Jeraln implored. “Don’t be brash! Unholy abominations lurk in that cursed pyramid!”

With a clenched jaw and flustered face, Robear lashed out against his uncle. He yanked his arm from Jeraln’s grasp. That’s when the Duke of Hyde unleashed his wrath.

Knuckles bashed Jeraln’s cheek with a heavy thud. Throbbing pain permeated the back of Robear’s hand. His uncle’s eyes rolled back into his head as he tumbled. Croaking gasped from Jeraln’s throat as his back collided with the floor, knocking the breath from his lungs. The back of his head cracked against dusty floorboards.

A despondent Jeraln ogled at his insolent nephew. The uncle’s befuddled gaze was met with his nephew’s incensed scowl. Before he turned to leave, the Duke of Hyde delivered a final message to his beleaguered uncle.

“There will be no cowards in my kingdom.”

A blast of frigid air blew against Robear’s face as he burst forth from the tavern with his men at his heels. The rush of defying his uncle stoked the brazen fire the ale had begun. Lust for power intermingled with alcohol to brew an intoxicating concoction.

Moonbeams reflected off the heavy snowfall that littered Hyde’s cobblestone streets. The duke’s gaze shifted to the top of Golgath’s Hill. There stood Solom’s Temple, a sprawling sandstone megalith with three-tiered levels overlaid atop one another, forming an imposing pyramid.

The temple cast an ominous shadow over the city below. Similar darkness loomed over the whole of Robear’s life. As he trudged through the snow with his men nipping at his heels, grandiose fantasies of long-awaited triumph danced through his imagination.

When the sun crested the horizon over the country of Orixe, Robear envisioned descending from the legendary tower adorned with his ancestor’s crown. Goosebumps rippled across his skin as he imagined the chants of adoration his people would shower upon their new king. A menacing sneer slunk across his face, dreaming how the whispers of Wilas’ name would be drowned by ovations of his own.

Tonight, I will rip Wilas’ name from the tomes of history and replace it with my own.

Soon the battalion of thirty men reached the temple steps. Fog shrouded the precipitous staircase. However, the ominous haze dissipated when it reached the dazzling, gold-plated door at the temple’s first tier. The notorious Forbidden Door was the lone gateway between Robear and destiny.

Gazing upon the infamous entrance, a stanza from an ancient poem about the illustrious sanctuary rose to the forefront of Robear’s mind. Clear of mind, clear of heart, let Yeshu guide your walk for evil’s doors have no lock.

Arrogance snorted from Robear’s nostrils at the ridiculous stanza. The non-sense we tell children to scare them into blind obedience.

Visions of grandeur manifested before Robear’s imagination. His gaze lifted to the temple’s pinnacle, where King Solom’s throne room resided. Euphoria rushed up his spine at the whimsy of wrapping his fingers around his ancestor’s crown. Soon, women would desire to share his bedchamber and men would clamor to ride into battle by his side.

A tugging on his cloak jolted the Duke of Hyde from his reverie. Spinning with wrath blazing in his eyes, Robear glared at the interloper. “How dare you lay a hand on your king!”

Anton, a young lieutenant, pulled his hand back in recoil. His slender lips quivered. Nervous sweat beaded on his brow beneath his shorn, blonde hair. “A-a-apologies, m’lord,” he stuttered, “but perhaps we should wait until dawn. I could send a squire to retrieve reinforcements.”

Robear’s sword lurched from its scabbard. Steel whirred as air fluttered against the speeding blade. Before Anton could react, the whistling melody thumped to an abrupt halt.

Guttural warbling seeped from the lieutenant’s throat. A fountain of blood gushed from his neck with each frenetic heartbeat. Anton crumbled to the ground with a bloody pool melting the snow where he laid. Every agonized muscle seized as he writhed with Robear’s sword lodged in his neck.

The ruthless duke stomped on Anton’s chest and yanked his blade from the lieutenant’s splintered vertebrae. Tense silence fell over the battalion save for Robear’s maniacal heaving. “Are there any more suggestions?” Robear jeered with flailing arms.

Robear’s men shifted into formation behind their commander. “No, sir!” They asserted in unison.

With that, the march began over Anton’s corpse and up the fog-drenched staircase. At the pinnacle of their ascent, Robear stood before the Forbidden Door. He drank in its opulent splendor. The Duke of Hyde’s gaze sparkled with zeal. If such fine craftsmanship had been worked into the temple’s door, he could only imagine the bountiful riches within.

Robear beckoned two soldiers toward the door with a nod. At their lord’s behest they rushed to the shining gateway. Each man gripped the opposing, half-crescent handles and pulled.

A chilled gust and wisps of fog billowed from the temple’s bowels. Astounded soldiers withdrew from the threshold, scrambling to unfurl their swords. Robear stood steadfast in the face of the howling gale.

The Duke of Hyde gazed into the chasm splotched with puddles of moonlight. Golden veins glistened along towering, marble pillars. Twin rows of tall columns lined the vast expanse.

Opulence tantalized Robear into the temple. Ornate fountains stood at the base of each pillar. Red wine flowed from the bare breasts of female statues into pools. At the opposing wall, Solom’s Crown rested atop a scarlet pillow atop a stone podium.

Robear’s heart quickened at his first glimpse of the golden crown adorned with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Although, the Duke of Hyde’s fixation didn’t linger on the crown for long. What came next pumped alcohol-soaked blood through his veins at a torrid pace.

A harem of women emerged from the shadows. Each visage had luscious lips and voluptuous figures. Every curve of their body was accentuated by thin gowns of white embroidered with gold and silver thread. Longing irises of every color gaped at the would-be-king and his men.

The Duke of Hyde swaggered into the chamber, though it felt like he was floating. A host of his men followed, enchanted by the captivating beauties. Their swords dropped from their hands and clanged against to stone floor to be replaced with warm, silky skin.

Muffled, desperate shouts echoed from the entryway, but they fell on deaf ears. The women’s allure was as intoxicating as the wine that flowed from the fountains. Shrieks of horror intensified as Robear and his men indulged themselves by kissing supple lips and caressing delicate bodies of every tribe.

Blood dripped down Robear’s chin as jagged teeth dug into his lips. Droplets trickled to his feet as his men were devoured by their paramours. Their moans of ecstasy drowned out the shrill screeches of the cowards who refused to cross the Forbidden Door’s threshold.

Then a sultry, golden-haired beauty embraced Robear. Her green irises flared with exhilaration as she ripped his clothes. When he looked down, the Duke of Hyde watched her nails shred through his cloak and begin thrashing through skin and sinew.

Like his men, Robear moaned with passion. Another paramour embraced his back and placed Solom’s Crown atop his head. “How we’ve longed for you, my king,” her slithering whisper enticed. “You can’t even imagine the glory that awaits you.”

The Duke of Hyde roared in triumph as the crown he’d sought for so long was finally his. While his men crumbled, Robear was hoisted on high and carried by a host of courtesans deeper into the temple. Then the Forbidden Door slammed behind him.

His mangled body rode atop the shoulders of gorgeous women toward an arched corridor. Torchlight illuminated a hulking, humanoid shadow with flaming eyes standing at the hallway’s precipice. The paramours laid Robear at the shadow’s feet and bowed in reverence.

“Your whispers have grown loud to the stem of Solom’s Tree,” one of the women hissed through blood-stained jowls. “Now, he has come to usher in the era of your dominion.”

As blood seeped from innumerable wounds, Robear’s vision blurred. He looked up to watch a menacing sneer teeming with jagged fangs creep across the hulking shadow’s face. The shadow lurched forward, and Robear’s world was swallowed by darkness.