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The Descent of Darkness
The Descent of Darkness
The Descent of Darkness
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The Descent of Darkness

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BOOK-1 of the Demon Siege Trilogy

It has been three years since the Demon War took place and the Heroes of Mazwar have become living legends. They are the subjects of stories told throughout the Land of the Three Kings. The war is not over.

The demon, Arkaix, and his fallen brothers have found new hosts. The entire nation of Uguchi warriors have been possessed and crossed the desert to descend upon the city, Valayas. The entire human race is at stake and the heroes must find a way to stop them once again.

Even with the help of the angels, stopping the entire Uguchi nation may be too much to hope for. Surviving the battle may be just as hard.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherK. J. Ester
Release dateJan 31, 2013
ISBN9781301587384
The Descent of Darkness
Author

K. J. Ester

K.J.Ester resides in Rochester Hills Michigan with his wife, two cats and his dog. His other greatest passions are writing, the Detroit Lions, God and his Granddaughter, who in his words is the sunshine in his dark world. He claims he has never suffered from writers block and never will, for he has more trouble shutting his imagination down long enough to get a decent night's sleep than he has starting it up again.

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    Book preview

    The Descent of Darkness - K. J. Ester

    The Descent of Darkness

    The Demon Siege Trilogy

    Book Two

    Kenneth.J.Ester

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2012

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Re-edited on March 14, 2014

    Table of Contents

    Chapter 1

    Chapter 2

    Chapter 3

    Chapter 4

    Chapter 5

    Chapter 6

    Chapter 7

    Chapter 8

    Chapter 9

    Chapter 10

    Chapter 11

    Chapter 12

    Chapter 13

    Chapter 14

    Chapter 15

    Chapter 16

    Chapter 17

    Chapter 18

    Chapter 19

    Chapter 20

    Chapter 21

    Chapter 22

    Chapter 23

    Chapter 24

    Chapter 25

    Chapter 26

    Thanks to my best friend and personal editor, Steve, for he has been my escape from reality when times were at their worst. I cannot give enough thanks to my brothers and their support as I recently moved and struggled with finances through the worst year of my life. As always, I need to thank my Mother for not considering an abortion, else I would never have had the chance to write. Last but not least, I will always thank my wife, Christine, for it was my love for her that carried me through the last year.

    Chapter 1

    Arkaix watched across the ocean of fire at the millions of souls being tortured. Demons were having their usual fun, tearing at the fabric of those lost souls, filling them with excruciating pain and feeding them with fear. Their screams were like music to his ears, and he smiled as he considered what each of those souls were going through.

    Darkness, so pitch they could not see the demons rending their spiritual bodies. The endless forest of black fire in which they suffered was of flames that gave off no light; for light was not allowed in Hell. They could feel the claws and fangs of the demons as their souls were raked and bitten, but they could not see what was causing such excruciating pain. The small intervals of time when no demon was torturing a particular soul, it spent those few seconds in fear of when the next strike would happen. The only sounds they could hear were those of other tortured souls, weeping in fear or screaming in their torment; an unending suffering of pain. For the most part, their own wails of agony drowned out the sounds of all others. Laced within the anguish and the fear, was the scent of sulfur. The worst of their suffering was that each of them knew, full well, it would never end. Their souls would be in agony for the rest of eternity.

    Those ridiculous human beings are so stupid! Arkaix thought. They always believe they will not end up here. Most humans do not even believe there is a Hell. Arkaix’s smile deepened as he thought on it. What they believe does not matter. The truth is the truth, and whether they do not believe Hell is real, or not, they end up here for the demons to play with anyway.

    The smile slowly faded from Arkaix’s face. It was a fleeting pleasure for him to torture the countless souls. It was something he did to pass time. He did not enjoy it so much as he once did. He preferred to be out in the world of the living, turning the worthless humans against each other. Turning them away from that self-righteous God, that kicked him out of Paradise!

    Suddenly, the smell of hatred seeped through Arkaix’s nostrils and he turned just as Luchaus grabbed him by his throat and lifted him up. Luchaus was near as high as a demon could get, for he was only a step below Beelzebub himself.

    You look bored Arkaix. You dream of being among the living too much.

    Until the greater demon chose to release him there was nothing Arkaix could do but hang from Luchaus’ grip. I dream of doing more for his cause, than torturing souls. The weakest of the minions can do this much. I prefer to cause real havoc amongst the living. I dream of leading more of these souls to darkness.

    And you wish for another task that takes you away from here.

    I dream of a task that is of more importance to please the Dark Lord. These souls, they mean nothing to me. They are here already and they will always be here. The souls that walk the realm of the living, those are the important ones to me. Those are the ones we strive to gather, for every soul we take, is another wound to the Holy One!

    Luchaus dropped Arkaix and sneered. Then you will have your wish Arkaix. Your desire has been granted, though I do not believe you are up to the task.

    Arkaix stood back onto his own feet, looking up at the greater demon. Arkaix was a strong demon, but his strength was feeble compared to those like Luchaus. How he envied those above him.

    Name the task Luchaus, and I will perform it. Arkaix said. Whether it be as small as turning a child to do our bidding or as great as turning kings against each other for war, it will be done. I serve Beelzebub and no other.

    Luchaus sneered at the lesser demon. Your eagerness drips with disgust Arkaix. Personally, I think this task too large for you. You will lead the world of man into a new age of destruction…

    As Luchaus continued to describe what was needed, Arkaix grew even more eager to begin the task. It was one of which the likes of Shirakhul would have headed before his demise. If he succeeded with this, Beelzebub would grant him more strength and raise him as high as those like Luchaus.

    ***

    Gulandu, Shaman of the Uguchi tribe, stood before the large fire on the plateau with his scepter raised high. The entire Uguchi nation stood below him, watching, chanting, and pumping spears to the sky.

    Uluqai… ulugai… ulugai… It was only one word, but after time, the chants became hypnotic to listen to. ‘Ulugai’, was the Uguchi word for sacrifice.

    The flames licked at the wooden platform, climbing up the braces towards the young girl tied to the post in the center. She was beautiful by any man’s opinion, with long black hair and large deep and intelligent eyes. She was also only twelve. Her screams were terrifying for they were filled with horror of her impending death. Those shrieks only caused the multitudes of warriors to chant all the harder.

    I give my daughter as I promised! Gulandu shouted, thrusting the scepter even higher. Give me your powers, as you have promised them to me Great Spirit! Give to me what I have owed to me!

    His daughter’s screams reached a new level as the fire began to eat away at the flesh of her feet, slowly crawling up her legs. The virtual sea of warriors began to scream and howl at the sound of her ear piercing shrieks. The flames caught hold of her torn dress and quickly engulfed her. Her screams raised yet another pitch. Then suddenly she went silent and the bloodlust of the warriors hit its peak.

    Where are you spirit? Gulandu demanded. I have sacrificed my daughter as I have promised. Now fill me with your powers as you have promised me!

    From the center of the flames, a dark shadow rose up. It was not the type of shadow that appeared when something blocked a source of light, but a shadow with substance. The shadow was not the result of something. It was alive. The multitude of warriors who were watching fell silent.

    As I have promised Shaman, I will give. The voice echoed as if spoken by a thousand spirits at once. Stretch your scepter towards me!

    In truth, it was as much a spear as it was a scepter. With a jagged blade at one end, its shaft had intricate designs carved into it ending at the other end, where three gilded branches encased a crystal sphere.

    Gulandu did what he was told and then the demon reached out and touched its hand to the sphere. The shadow grew darker, then like a flowing river, it slid into the sphere. Gulandu’s chest heaved and he screamed in ecstasy as the demon filled him with its powers.

    For what seemed an eternity, Gulandu swam in the gentle current that flowed around him. He could feel the strength growing within him. The raw power he would wield. With so much power there was no warrior who could dethrone him. There was no man who could defeat him in combat. Then something changed. Something is wrong! He thought. The river’s current became a torrent, like in a great storm, pushing him where it wanted him rather than flowing around him. He screamed as the spirit pushed him deeper into a dark recess in his mind and then it was over. He no longer had control of himself. He was at the mercy of the Great Spirit.

    ***

    The Uguchi Shaman, who was once Gulandu, was down on one knee with his head hanging low. His shoulders heaved with every breath. The entire warrior tribe of the Uguchi had been silent since the shadow first appeared over the sacrificial fire. They waited to see what had happened to their leader. Once he gathered his senses, Gulandu stuck the blade of the scepter into the ground and pushed himself to his feet. He turned to the seemingly endless crowd at the foot of the plateau and smiled. His smile was practically dripping with an evil cast to it.

    We Uguchi are proud warriors! He shouted to those watching below him, in their native tongue. At that first statement, many cheered while others repeated what was said to those further behind. We do not belong raiding others for what meaningless scraps they might have with them. We do not belong fighting to keep this pitiful piece of land that is surrounded by nothing but desert and sea. We belong in the lush lands where there is food to waste, fresh water to spill, and gold for our liking.

    Below him, the endless mass of warriors began to chant his name in a soft and rhythmic pace. Gu-lan-du… Gu-lan-du… Gu-lan-du…

    We belong in the land of a hundred thousand horses where every warrior is given one to ride on his first raid. Pulling the scepter’s blade free from the soil, he raised it high to punctuate his words. We belong above the so called, civilized man, who hates us. We should be above the so called, educated man who fears us! Thrusting the spear end of the scepter towards the warriors below, he raised his voice a notch. We deserve this because we are the Uguchi! We are the Fierce People! We are stronger than they are!

    The chant of thousands rose to a fierce rhythm as he shouted his words. Every Warrior now chanted his name repeatedly, no longer paying much heed to what he was saying, but simply caught up in the moment. Gulandu waved the scepter to stop them before continuing.

    Do not chant the name of Gulandu! The Uguchi Leader shouted at the warriors below him. Do not chant the name of a mere man! It is Arkaix, who brings us victory. It is Arkaix, the God of Battle, who will lead us. Open yourselves and let him fill you with power. Do not shout the name of Gulandu. Ask the God of Battle to give you strength. Fill us with your strength Arkaix. Fill us with your powers Arkaix. Those are the chants you must shout now!

    The leader of the Uguchi, who was once Gulandu, but is now nothing more than a host to the demon Arkaix, repeated the chants until the entire warrior tribe joined in. He raised his arms to the flames as the tribe below him continued the chant.

    Rise up Lukaxch! He screamed. Rise up Zivanx! Rise up my brethren and fill my warriors with your strength! Rise out of the depths and take your new hosts, for I Arkaix will lead you to a new world!

    Shadows rose up from the high flames of the fire in front of him. The dark forms practically exploded out from the blaze and swept down into the warriors below. At first, it was only a few, but as the chanting continued, so did the numbers. It was not long before it looked as if one dark cloud had risen from the flames and flowed down to cover the entire tribe. Then suddenly it stopped and all was still. Every warrior was on his or her knees, breathing as if they had run fifty miles. A few of the warriors, the strongest willed of them, were on their backs, wrenching about as they fought with the demon that threatened to take them over. Those who were able to fight the demon off, and remain in control, were quickly set upon and killed by the others.

    Arkaix stood there above them in his new host; the leader of the darkest army to have ever walked in the world of man. That world, would now know a new terror and soon the gates of Hell would be open as his brothers would sweep across the land of the living and destroy it.

    Chapter 2

    The bodies of a man, his wife, and their three little girls, laid face down with dark stains in the soil from where blood had poured from their opened throats. The clothing had been sliced away from the females even though three of them were young children. The sight did not surprise Stray as it once might have. He had been tracking the killer for months and had seen the same and worse a dozen times over.

    Stray had followed Marz Wolfe and his men across all three borders of Jawiva and there was little doubt left. The Wolf as they called him, was the most feared and ruthless man to ever walk the Land of the Three Kings. The stories of the Wolf were often told around fires and some parents even used them as a way to scare their children into behaving; telling them that the Wolf would come and torture children who were bad.

    Stray knelt beside a tree at the top of a hill, looking down upon the grizzly scene. There were still two of Marz’s men, passing a jug back and forth and laughing. Reminiscing about all of the fun they had had with the three children, while forcing the parents to watch. As he studied the men, one of them stumbled over to the bodies of the parents, dropped his drawers, and pissed on them. The other man fell over in laughter at the sight. Stray had seen as much as he was willing to swallow.

    Leaving his horse where it was, tied to a weak branch of a small tree a short ways down the backside of the hill, Stray drew his shandari from the sheaths on his back and walked down the hill. There was enough foliage and small trees, so he did not completely stand out as he closed the distance. If the two men would have even tried looking around they would have seen him, but as drunk as they were, they never even looked.

    The two short and slightly curved swords felt comfortable in his grip. He had practically grown into manhood learning the use of the shandari and was now as good with the weapons as any man alive. In years of usage, his palms had worn the leather wrapped hilts until they were a perfect fit.

    As he drew close to the drunken men, Stray spoke through clenched teeth. He hated men who preyed upon the innocent. When the innocent were nothing more than young children, that hate boiled inside of him. Hope your fun was worth your lives you heartless bastards.

    The two men suddenly spun on the balls of their feet, drawing their swords smoothly. The lack of balance they had displayed a moment before was suddenly gone.

    The larger of the men gave him a wicked smile as he spoke. Been wondering when you would finally show up! The slur he’d been speaking with while he was joking with his friend was gone as well. You have been tracking us for some time now. Marz doesn’t like it much when we are trailed. Then again, neither do I, so I’m really gonna enjoy watching the fear in your eyes when your life drains from you mister.

    It was a trap and Stray had walked straight into it. He did not even bother to turn around when he heard men step out from their hiding spots behind him. He should have expected as much from the Wolf. The man was not only the most ruthless killer he had ever tracked, he was also the most intelligent. The combination of the two made for a very dangerous opponent.

    With a slight tilt of his head to each direction, Stray assessed the situation. There were two in front of him, and two behind him. Crossing his blades in front of him, Stray shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, one foot slightly in front of the other then smiled back at the fellow who had spoken. The man had nothing on Stray when it came to a mischievous grin.

    Let’s have this over with. Stray said. I have a wolf to skin!

    The men in front of him feigned a step toward him, but they did not make it believable and began to back up before Stray even made a move to fend them off. Stray spun on his toes and stepped to one side, parrying a sword thrust with his right hand shandari, then drove the left blade through the man’s neck. As the dying man was falling, Stray kicked him towards his partner, and then he turned to face the first two men. He dropped into a forward roll, feeling their swords pass over his head and dragged his own blades across their bellies as he rolled back up to one knee.

    He heard the crisp sound of one of his shandari scraping against steel, and realized the man had some armor underneath his clothing. Spinning on his knees, he slashed the other blade across that same man’s Achilles. The large man fell with a scream.

    There was only one healthy man left and he had just gotten back to his feet after tripping over the fellow Stray had kicked into him. With a heave, Stray threw one of his shandari at the advancing man. Its only effect was to make the fellow duck to the side to avoid the blade, but that was all it was supposed to do. It was the throwing knife that followed the shandari that was meant to do the damage. The man had turned his head as he ducked away from the awkwardly thrown sword. However, when he straightened up to continue running, the throwing knife took him hard in the chest. The man ran for another two paces before he collapsed; dead before he hit the ground. When he turned to face the last man alive, that wicked smile returned to his face.

    Stray never planned to kill certain men and wound others. When he struck, he did so with one purpose, to kill and kill alone. The only men he maimed were those he failed to kill with the first strike. That didn’t mean however, that he was not satisfied when luck played into his hand like it had this time around. Once in a great while, Stray was glad that someone did not die so easily.

    Bending over, Stray took his time as he used a dead man’s shirt to clean the blood from the blade of his shandari. Sheathing the slightly curved sword, he walked over and retrieved the Shandari he had thrown. He casually inspected the blade for any damage. He took better care of his weapons than he did his horse. As he did so, he glanced at the wounded man.

    The killer was not as confident as he was before the fight began. Lying on the ground, he was squirming about as he tried to hold the leg with the severed Achilles tendon.

    What was it you said? Stray asked in a casual voice. You were looking forward to seeing the fear in my eyes when the life drained from me. I think that was it; or something near enough to that.

    Stray finally turned to face the man square on, and walked up to him with a cold look in his eyes. Do you see any fear in my eyes?

    The man laid flat on his back, breathing heavy with fear as Stray placed the point of the blade to his belly. Beneath the shirt, he could feel the hardness of the armor the man was wearing, so he dragged the tip upwards until it fell off the edge and into the flesh at the top of his chest. The man winced as the tip dug in, drawing a small amount of blood. Then Stray moved the blade another short ways further until it was touching the man’s throat. "I don’t fear death. In fact, these days, one might even say I would embrace it. I sure as hell hope you fear

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