Demigod Conception

By Harlen Bayha

Word count: 78600

Kyla Farmer, a burned-out firefighter, becomes a powerful demon on a distant planet, far from everything she knows on Earth.

Enslaved, tortured, and haunted by her constant failure to save lives, Kyla fumbles through her new world searching for freedom, a place to belong, and vengeance against the woman who bound her there. She allies herself with an assassin with no clients, a colonel with no army, and a bard on an impossible quest for revenge.

Armed with new allies and the power to shape her body as she sees fit, Kyla must decide how far she will go to become a demigod.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlen Bayha
• Release date: Apr 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301888252

Harlen Bayha

I was born. I nearly died of the flu a couple of times. Freaked my parents out some. Went to school, learned to read, hid under the covers with a flashlight and a book. Got an Apple IIe as my first computer, and started writing stories on it way back then. Sixty-four kilobytes of memory and real floppy floppy discs, baby. I got knocked off my bike or skateboard a few times trying to get home after junior high. That hurt. Then I got a car and nearly killed myself a few more times. I can vouch for the safety of the Volvo brand. Wouldn't be here without it. I started writing my first novel in high school. Finally finished it in 2012, about 20 years later. Don't judge. Now, I'm a Motivational Technologist, and people may laugh at the title, but they still use it every chance they get. I like that. And I'm healthy, happy, and have a great family. What I want now is to entertain people with stories. Let's do it. Under the covers, with a flashlight, baby. Read me. Read me all over.

Book preview

Demigod

Conception

By Harlen Bayha

Copyright © 2012 by Harlen Bayha

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Map of Planet Hustis

Chapter 1 – Blizzard in Summer

Chapter 2 – Arrival

Chapter 3 – Making Decisions

Chapter 4 – Dubrogund

Chapter 5 – Killing Time

Chapter 6 – Yuzo

Chapter 7 – A Chance

Chapter 8 – Cradle to Grave

Chapter 9 – Storming the Fortress

Chapter 10 – Recovery

Chapter 11 – Alone Again

Chapter 12 – Strange People

Chapter 13 – Pitfalls and Seasons

Chapter 14 – Hunted

Chapter 15 – Drenched

Chapter 16 – Discovery

Chapter 17 – Getting an Edge

Chapter 18 – Heads and Toes

Chapter 19 – The Folly of Faith

Chapter 20 – Butcher

Chapter 21 – Art and Soul

Chapter 22 – Footprints

Chapter 23 – Wind

Chapter 24 – Forces Unite

Chapter 25 – Identity Crisis

Chapter 26 – Good and Evil

Chapter 27 – Ontology

Chapter 28 – Jugular

Planet Hustis

Map of the border area between Lond and Illabo.

Demigod

Conception

by

Harlen Bayha

Chapter 1

Blizzard in Summer

A blood-red Camaro pulled up to the emergency zone in front of the mirrored windows enshrouding the Silver Dollar Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, the United States, Earth. The car’s reflection wavered across the hotel’s glass as it drew to a stop. Its sole occupant stepped out and locked his keys inside. He sidled around the car, running his hand along the orange flame detailing burning along the fenders. Looking about, he noticed the discreet glances, the feet stopping and turning away, and the dash made by a nearby security guard into the casino.

The sun glinted off his bald white scalp and the Camaro’s chrome as he reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a shell, and loaded it into the breech of his shotgun. A blue-haired old lady almost bumped into him. He said, Excuse me, ma’am, pulled out another shell, and fed it into the magazine. And another. And the last. He smiled at his reflection in the glass doors and took a moment to wink at a surveillance globe. He breathed deeply of the desert air and bus fumes, exhaled, relaxed his shoulders, and his smile turned down.

He rubbed a tender spot on the back of his neck. Driving made him tense. As did failure. His last attempt had been a failure. Finding the right person was more difficult than he imagined, and his time ran short; an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling.

Wiley leveled his twelve-gauge and fired three shots through the casino’s tinted entryway. Glimmering glass shimmered to life and struck out at the vacationers inside. Wiley kicked the doors in with his snakeskin boots and stepped through. His sweat cooled on his skin as he entered the air-conditioned sanctuary after the oppressive summer heat outside. A screaming woman sat on the ground with blood streaming down her face. A fat man gaped down at her and then turned and charged Wiley. The shotgun flung away a burned-out shell and a new shell chambered.

Bang! said Wiley as he pulled the trigger. The fat man’s body jerked back, his head shattering, and his legs shooting out from under him. A warm blizzard of bits spattered the blinking eyes of several lucky gamblers behind him. Blood spurted from his neck and soaked the carpet. People scattered.

Wiley laughed in exasperation as they fled. He enjoyed the twinkling lights, the dinging and ringing of the casino, the whirl of people as they ran screaming toward survival. But he needed someone with more on their mind than mere survival. Conducting a job interview on the fly had its risks, but he had a good feeling about this place. Wiley waded, hopefully, into the slot machine maze.

This is it folks! he announced. You came here looking for a rush and here it is!

Wham! Wiley thought as he downed a security guard with a chest shot. Wiley pumped in another shell. A pair of ten-year-olds scampered out of Wiley’s way, tripping violently on the steps leading to the Lucky Lady Dollar Slots. Wiley smiled and suddenly had an ecstatic urge to dance, but refrained. Stay focused, he thought. I only need one. One is all I need.

The staff panicked. Security started closing in, armed with nightsticks and pistols, unsure but enraged. All men, and that wouldn’t do. Wiley dashed away.

He loped down the aisles, distancing himself from his car. He hoped the Semtex under the gas tank of the Camaro would push someone over the edge today. Time worked against him, so he needed the extra motivation. He needed a fighter, so the job interview would involve practical experience.

People scattered out of his line of sight, dodging behind the slots. Drop your gun! screamed a tall guard aiming a Beretta 9mm. A shot cracked out, grazing Wiley’s shoulder as he dropped to his knee and fired from the hip. The kick nearly broke his thumb, but the entertainment was worth the pain. It ripped into the guard’s groin and leg; his fingers convulsed and he shot another bullet over Wiley’s head into a Keno screen, which sparked and smoked. Wiley pumped in a new shell. Guns don’t kill people, he thought, but they made it pretty easy. And fun.

The guards cooed into their radios from behind pillars and walls. Some well-meaning ones tried to funnel people out the emergency exit closest to Wiley’s car. Helpful idiots. Alarms rang out, increasing the general din.

Wiley laughed a bit, but he started to worry as he watched the vacationers’ efforts to run and hide under tables. No one had stepped up. Again. He decided to turn up the aggression. He spotted a young woman who looked promising. Most others felt a bizarre inclination to stay near their slot machines, as if he wanted their money.

Wiley liked this girl. He bolted after her. She saw and retreated. She ran fast, but under control. She didn’t flee so much as evade. Wiley fired a shot low near her leg to get her attention. Instantly, she ducked out of his sight between two rows of nickel slots. Wiley grinned happily, feeling his luck turn.

He rounded the corner smoothly, and realized too late his mistake. She had hidden just out of sight. As he barreled around the corner, she grabbed the shotgun’s stock and barrel and jammed the side of her hip low into his groin. His momentum carried him onto her and she thrust her legs against the ground, tossing him over her hip and onto the floor. Wiley lost control of the shotgun. Tennis shoe tread flashed before his eyes. Heel met nose, and Wiley’s vision flashed red.

Two more blows blacked Wiley out as his head bounced between the ground and her foot. Painless nothing washed over him, but he strained hard to stay conscious. As he struggled out of darkness back into the pain, lights danced in his vision and blood sprayed from his mouth when he coughed, Yes! At last! Wiley reached up to the handle of the gun.

Instead of the gun, his fist tightened around the woman’s lean wrist. He yanked her down and spat in her face. The whites surrounding her green eyes glistened with indignation.

Show me you’re not a weakling. Prove you’re not a failure, he taunted.

He pulled down on her wrist, and she released her hold on the shotgun with one hand. Combining the force of his own pull and her descending weight, she brought her palm down on Wiley’s nose, breaking it with a snappy crunch. Her palm fell again, with a nauseating squish. Wiley’s happy smile stayed in place. Perfect, you’re perfect, he mumbled through broken teeth. My name’s Wiley. What’s your name?

Kyla, she said. Then she spat in his eye.

......

Kyla’s hand dripped blood and mucus from the Shotgun Man. She hit him over and over, twisted her hand out of his grip, and started to back away. The lights seemed to dim around her.

Her adrenaline shouted in her ears, heart thumping like a drum. She wanted to finish it. Kyla stepped away and leveled the shotgun at its former owner. Her grip tightened as Wiley rose slightly, now to his elbows, now rolling over, now looking into her eyes. He tucked his legs under him as if preparing for a last charge. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

The screaming started to fade. Confused people peeked over improvised barricades, one man offering Kyla a word of support. You got him now!

Kyla heard sobbing.

She wondered where the security guards had gone. Sirens keened in the distance. Kyla leaned her shoulder into the shotgun, breathing deeply. She considered killing him, letting him live, wounding him gravely, but could not decide. She kept the shotgun trained on his heart. Her rage at what he had done nearly overwhelmed her, while another part of her mind searched her peripheral vision for other attackers, more danger.

Wiley looked at his shotgun, now turned against him, grinning a bloody grin. Where will it end? Certainly not here. He smiled knowingly as he gestured at their surroundings. The sounds of the casino faded into a murmur.

Suddenly, with a flash of light followed quickly by a distant bass roar, an explosion erupted behind Kyla. Time expanded. A firestorm billowed in through the windows. She felt the heat and knew not to turn. Wiley bunched and leapt.

Somehow, Kyla had time to think.

Blasting wind whipped her hair around her eyes.

She remembered the chief’s words: It wasn’t your fault, Kyla. You got him out, but he was too hurt, too badly burned. We lost him.

She was the rookiest woman in the Las Vegas Fire Department and the first one in years to take mental health leave. Flakes of glass blew past her ears, cutting gently into her back. The Shotgun Man still flew toward her.

Screams mingled with sirens. Heat filled the casino. Steel scraped across asphalt. Putrid smells of gasoline burning.

Coughing.

Flesh burning.

She could smell it.

She pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked and flashed.

Wiley’s gut burst like a balloon.

He reached her and hugged her to him.

The lights of the casino flashed brightly.

And then – nothing.

Chapter 2

Arrival

Nothingness has a life of its own, apart from darkness, apart from silence, apart from nakedness. Nothing is neither the absence of light, nor the absence of sound, nor the absence of clothing, nor the ground to stand on. Nothing is not the grand expanse of outer space, with its dim stars promising futures and mysterious beauty. Not fails to define it. Negation cannot describe it.

Nothing is. Power. Potential. Perspective. It speaks to the soul, dominates it, removes choice, paralyzes thought by overawing with its completeness. Nothing surrounds you, willing you to become a part of it, but ignores you when you do.

Nothing had Kyla.

Kyla yelled, hearing nothing. Her inner ear spun crazily, and her stomach twisted and jumped. She tried to breathe, but her diaphragm collapsed hollowly. Her lungs struggled to pull some air, any air, but never filled.

Her mind groped for input, so she strained to control her recalcitrant body, managing only to twitch her hands and feet.

Memory helped to anchor her, but her memories spoiled like rotting meat. She thought over her last few minutes thousands of times, shaking helplessly. She walked away from her visiting mother and father at the slots, said she would be right back to her boyfriend Ken, then went to get a drink. Why didn’t she run when she heard shots, shattering glass, and screams? Why did she wait to run, baiting the man, leading him into ambush? Five years of karate and a year of firefighter’s physical training had turned out to be useful in the end. Perhaps she had saved a few lives. She had never been in a real fight; not with a person, only with fire. Somehow, she had not felt threatened by the Shotgun Man. Somehow, she remained calm throughout. It may have saved her life.

Or more likely, not.

After the memories, her isolation always returned. Bleak, grim loneliness punctuated by the question of whether she had survived, whether she lay on the floor, in a gurney, or on a stainless steel dissection table, unknowing, frozen, mute.

The heat from the explosion still burned in her mind, as did that madman whose eyes lit up when he saw it. Her world had ended as if her plug had been kicked from a wall socket.

She prayed that maybe someone would hear her if she spoke, even if she could not hear her own voice. I’m alive. Her tongue barely moved; her lips did not.

......

Kyla’s hours and minutes didn’t really exist. Time felt wrong, twisted, without reference. Eventually her anger subsided and she lost her will to move. She shivered, alone, and gradually lost hope.

And then nothing became something.

......

The sudden sensory input induced nausea. Hamburger, beer, and bile forced their way to freedom as light, sound, and ground reeled around her. Kyla laughed as she doubled forward and vomited, relishing the sensations. She found herself standing on turf, so, to balance herself, she took a knee and put her hand down on dewy grass. In her left hand, she still held the shotgun in whitened knuckles. Her green eyes strained against the glare of day as she squinted past her curly brown hair. She finished retching into the grass until her queasiness subsided, then breathed in a hefty helping of strange-tasting air. Only then did she notice a pair of worn and muddy boots before her.

I’m alive, she breathed through a hysterical smile, tears dripping down her cheeks. Where am I? She snapped up her attention, hefted the shotgun, and gripped it in front of her like a barrier. She spat out the taste of vomit.

Quiet, somebody said. Kyla found herself surrounded by four grotesque people, and her grin faded.

She retreated toward a line of trees about ten meters back.

Tall, brightly plumed conifers splaying green and red needles stretched up the hills and faded into gray clouds. Yet they looked normal compared to the people in front of her.

Kyla blinked at her audience, disbelieving. They could not be human. They lacked hair, had no eyebrows or five-o’clock shadow; simply pale, supple skin. Their faces had a smooth circularity and their two eyes stood a little too high on their skulls, straddling noses much flatter than any human’s. And they stood proudly beneath her at a mere meter and change.

At least they had two arms and legs apiece. What are you? Where am I?

They didn’t answer. Kyla didn’t expect them to understand what she said, but couldn’t stop herself. She tried again, this time nearly laughing at the absurdity of her situation, Hello. Where am I? What am I doing here?

One said softly, You’re about to be tested, confirming they could understand her.

Kyla wiped away the tears clouding her vision and said, What? Her observers all backed away from her as if she carried the plague.

A heavy blow struck her head from behind, knocking her sidelong and tearing tendons in a vicious whiplash. She stumbled, dragging her toes against the ground, and then tumbled toward the sod. Controlling the fall, she rolled over her shoulder and onto her back, the shotgun aimed generally upward and ready to fire.

But at what? The area was empty except for the four observers still edging away in her peripheral vision. They hadn’t done this. Then a waver of light disturbed the air above her. An icy grip locked onto her left forearm, hauled her into the air, and held her aloft.

Kyla felt chill breath coat her face. Although the mouth felt a hand-span away, she could only see the gleam of light on droplets of water shaking in the air. Like cool condensation on a clean glass of ice water, she could see tiny inverse images of the trees behind the creature through each miniature lens.

The water quivered and the creature clasped Kyla’s throat with another hand. Panicked, she gasped, her lungs tearing at themselves as they struggled to obey her spasming diaphragm.

She levered up the shotgun in her free hand, but its stock caught on her jacket as she tried to maneuver the business end toward her attacker. She firmed her one-handed grip on the weapon and squeezed. It barked and leaped toward her face. It would have broken her nose but deflected off of the invisible arm holding her neck.

The grips relaxed, dropping her, and Kyla collapsed to a crouch on the ground. Seven leaden orbs of buckshot hung motionless in the air above her. All at once, the condensation and buckshot rained gently onto the grass.

Struggling to breathe, specks spinning in her vision, Kyla grabbed the underside of the barrel with her freed left hand and pumped the action. A green cartridge spun away, but the breech remained open, the chamber empty. Kyla edged back, sweeping her eyes left and right, looking for anything, the slightest movement. Her mind spun, not knowing what was going on, where she was, what had happened. Firmly in the front of her mind she held onto the fact, the hope, that for some impossible reason she was alive. Alive again.

She twitched in expectation as she heard a mild, deep voice. It’s gone now. Banished. You can relax.

It was one of the four miniature aliens. Her patience thin, and her nerves tight, she barely kept from screaming as she said, What the hell is going on?

The overcast light made Kyla’s observers look deathly pale. Kyla surveyed the area. The dark trees behind her arced around to encompass a large clearing. Hundreds of uniformed aliens like the four with her milled around like a skinhead Boy Scout troop, raising camouflaged tan and green tents, carrying provisions and weapons, and tending hippopotamus-like pack animals. In the center, a column of smoke rose to the sky, bringing the rich smell of cooking meat.

A dozen sword-bearing soldiers jogged toward Kyla and her companions, their camouflage cloaks fluttering behind them. They would arrive soon.

Colonel Rektor is on his way with a detachment, whispered one of the aliens.

"Do they have some answers for me?" Kyla asked. They ignored her. She looked beyond the spot where her invisible attacker disappeared, to the forest behind her. It looked like a great place to ditch these weirdos, and she considered the option, but where would she go? She edged away as she surveyed the aliens.

Three of the four surrounding Kyla wore dark blue cloaks over brown and beige one-piece uniforms. One did not. She (probably a she, due to the debatable presence of breasts) dressed like a jester with a three-pronged, purple, red, and blue cap on her head. It almost matched her black, purple, and red outfit and the checkered sash around her waist. To Kyla, her dismal taste in clothing was more disturbing than the too-fluid way her skinny limbs moved.

The clown finally spoke. I am Iron, a White of the Illabo Molder Guild, and these are my Blues, molders of great regard in their own right. Welcome to the Forest of Lond, she said with a sweeping turn, arms outflung. She swiveled about to face Kyla again, And welcome to my employ.

I don’t work for you. Kyla looked around again. Impossible, she thought. This is Earth, Kyla realized the inadequacy of her statement as she said it, and you don’t exist.

Wrong on both counts. I need not convince you; you’ll see for yourself. I will call you Servant, and you will obey my commands, Iron stated.

Kyla blinked in disbelief and laughed. I don’t think so. How did I get here? I was in a casino. There was a man and an explosion. Where is he? Did you bring me here? she asked. In a smaller voice, she said, Am I insane? She adjusted her sweaty grip on the shotgun and watched Iron use lateral movements that shouldn’t come from a human elbow as she put her hands on her hips. To her dismay, Iron looked mostly human. Somehow, the minor differences, like her densely packed teeth, the absence of eyebrows, the upturned nose, and the disturbing lack of prominent ears made her more alien than a Hollywood creation.

Come, Iron said, and Kyla’s feet moved of their own volition, her pace matching the molders she accompanied.

What? Stop! How are you doing that? Kyla tried to command her legs, to stop, to fall, to run, but she simply continued.

I’m dreaming. I couldn’t understand you unless I was. I’m hallucinating. That’s why I can’t stop.

Iron turned to the other molders around her and lectured them, It is part of the Servant’s nature to understand all languages, all forms of communication, even subtle nuances and physical cues. Like other demons, it can’t really understand our language; it reads the meanings from our minds as we speak or think. Iron walked up close to Kyla, smiling under the bobbing tips of her cap. You don’t know what you are, do you?

She winked a blue-tinted eye at Kyla. You are not really here in the flesh, you know. Just as the frost demon you fought could vanish in a moment, so can you. Your soul projects your appearance, your sound, your solidity, your scent. This toy. She patted Kyla’s shotgun barrel. We usually call your kind demon, but you are special. You are so close to being alive that you’re almost real. You won’t stay that way long. Stop here. Kyla did. Iron placed her hand on Kyla’s arm and bared her teeth in a possessive smile.

The soldiers arrived and assembled behind Iron.

Kyla looked at her surroundings and the bizarre people below her and started to worry. Let me go. Let me go! Her feet wouldn’t move, so she swung the shotgun around with enough force to hopefully do some damage, but Iron backed away, taunting Kyla with her smile.

Stand still, Servant, she commanded, and Kyla obeyed, her arms settling at her sides, the shotgun muzzle dragging against the turf.

Kyla screamed, and quite a few heads turned at the sound, but no one moved to help. Was she dead, or alive? Did it even matter? Was this some horrible dream or delusion? She felt alive, but it mattered less and less every moment. She lost her composure and cried tears of frustration.

The clown-woman bowed intricately, flourishing her cap and snapping her head, and concluded by laying both hands on Kyla’s hips. Kyla gritted her teeth against the sensation. "You will cut for me, you will burn for me, you will slay for me. And it looks like you will hate me for it. For a

Reviews for Demigod Conception

[lritte · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Demigod Conception starts off with a lot of action and brings to light a new world full of unanswered questions. Kyla finds herself thrown into a world and having to figure out who is telling her the truth, and who to trust.Kyla is not one to be told how her life should be, she is looking to free herself on her own terms.

[kmt01_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received this book from Library Thing to read and review. This book is a cross between sci-fi and fantasy. The book's concept was creative and imaginative. However, the author seems to skip around a lot, which often confused me. The plot was also rather basic, though I would have figured more from the author. Kayla is a burned out firefighter who stops a rampaging shooter and is killed in the process. However, in death, she finds herself on another planet, trying to find herself and her freedom to go after the person who got her there. The story moves along quickly, though there are times when the skipping around had me wondering what had happened and how I got to where I was. I think the author shows definite promise as a writer, but needs to organize the book better to help the reader follow it. The world Kayla enters is well done visually. The author could use some work on the dialogue, which is, at time, stilted. I think this story lends well to being a film, with a little more work. As a new author, Mr. Bayha definitely shows a lot of promise. I look forward to more of his books.

[joyelett · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The book started off with great action but then there are crazy fastforward sections and at times was confusing. I felt like maybe there were parts the author took out or had thought about saying something else but couldn't bridge the gap. It was very creative for a first novel and took quite a bit of imagination.

[tavaresden · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A good book that straddles the line between sci-fi and fantasy. It is told in third person in the point of view of multiple characters. The main character is Kyla who is a scarred firefighter brought into a new world she is trying to understand.I like Kyla as she is a strong independent woman who does not like being bound to servitude. I also like Lin although his motives puzzled me at first. Another thing that puzzled me was the time skip. What happened in between could have been explained better as I couldn't really understand the motives at that point.Overall, it's a good read for any lover of sci-fi. Won in a giveaway in return for an honest review

[australwind · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"Demigod Conception" exploded into action from the start. Its complexity of plot, its multitude of characters all of whom were well rounded, its invented 'new world' all combined to make for an engaging, exciting and challenging reading experience.I found myself completely engaged with this new world and the struggles Kyla Farmer encountered trying to make sense of what had happened to her and how she could survive this transportation, if in fact, she was actually alive at all.Thoroughly absorbed and definitely interested in finding out what happens next!