Growing Chaos

By Bradley Counter

The Nightlands, the dark, cold world of demons and monsters, is ruled by seven demon princes. A nameless human, slave to one of these demon princes, lives a life of misery and torment. Haunted by the few happy memories of his past and plagued by a daily existence of pain and fear, he struggles to maintain his sanity and dreams of revenge upon his tormentors. When another of the demon princes provides him with a strange power, he sheds his life as a slave, takes up a new name, and becomes a weapon. Elsewhere in The Nightlands, the young lightwielder, Temin, begins his own quest alongside the powerful and frightening Ducahn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bradley Counter
• Release date: Mar 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310314780

Bradley Counter

I am a loving husband and the father of three wonderful children. Reading and writing have always been interests of mine. Since before I can remember, I've been crafting worlds and creating interesting(and sometimes quite colorful) characters as well as delving into the minds of other authors through the amazing books they write. I sincerely hope that you all have as much fun reading about the worlds I've created as I did creating them.

Book preview

A piercing scream ripped through the air for a few terrifying moments before it was suddenly cut short. The silence that settled over the house as the echoes of it faded was far more frightening than the scream itself had been.

Mother! his brother cried, shattering the silence. First father and now her, too. Why is this happening?

The boy ignored his brother and stared intently at the door that stood between them and the demons that had slaughtered their parents in the next room.

We have to get out of here!

He quickly glanced to the small window near his brother’s bed; the room’s only other exit. Faint cries of help filtered through the closed shutters and drew closer. His attention fixed on the voice of a man shouting in terror as he ran past the window. The voice still sounded close as it suddenly changed into a high-pitched squeal of agony.

The boy exchanged a look of terror with his brother for a moment before something struck the outer wall of the house just beneath the window. The boy and his brother jumped at the sound and almost gasped when they noticed that the jolt had caused the shutters to unlatch.

They both held their breath as the old wooden shutter slowly swung open. From outside the window new, more terrifying sounds drifted into the room: the whimpering, blood-choked sobs of whoever had been flung against the side of their house and the sickeningly wet sounds of whatever was voraciously eating him.

There’s no way out now. What do we do?

His brother, though older, had never been as strong or brave as him. Having reached his limit, the older boy dove under his bed in a desperate effort to hide.

Scowling at his brother’s cowardice, he rushed over to his own bed, but he didn’t dive beneath it as the older boy had done. Instead, he seized the only weapon in the room: his wooden practice sword. Snatching it from atop the pile of clothes at the foot of his bed, he turned to face the door just as it was struck violently by something powerful.

As the door rattled in its hinges, he gripped the sword tightly in both hands. Hours of practice with the wooden blade gave him courage, but as the latch groaned and the door began to splinter, he could feel his courage waver.

They know someone’s in here; they must’ve heard him yelling.

His eyes quickly darted over to his brother who stared back at him in disbelief as he tried to press himself further beneath his bed.

They can’t know that there’s more than one of us in here, so if they see me they might not even look for him.

A chunk of the door flew across the room and slammed into the opposite wall as a burgundy hand forced its way through. The boy clutched his sword tightly as he watched the hand fumble around the door shredding it to splinters as it sought a way in.

In moments, the door was reduced to kindling and a large, burgundy creature stepped into the room. Broad, muscular, and hairless, the creature slowly moved toward him using both its feet and the knuckles of its hands to walk. Its pale, yellow eyes bored into him as it opened its terribly huge gash of a mouth to reveal dozens of razor-sharp teeth.

The boy almost took a step back in fear, but the thought of his brother hiding beneath the bed gave him a sudden rush of courage. Planting his feet firmly, he stood his ground. He tried to imagine the demon as nothing more than a human thief that had broken into their house, and, as he clung to that image, he felt his courage continue to soar.

As the demon took another menacing step toward him, he rushed into action. Acting purely on instinct, he ran straight at the slightly surprised demon and hacked it viciously across the face as hard as he could.

He felt a brief moment of triumph as the wooden sword connected solidly, but it was short-lived. Though he’d struck hard enough to render an ordinary man unconscious, the demon appeared unharmed by his attack.

With a sharp jerk, the demon ripped the sword from his hands and threw it at the wall. As he watched the sword smash to pieces against the wall, the boy’s eyes opened wide in horror.

Unarmed and defenseless, he took a step backward, his bravery having fled entirely. The demon only leered at him as if enjoying his terror. Suddenly, the boy found himself spinning through the air as a burgundy arm collided with his head and sent him flying into the wall. As his vision rapidly faded to black, a pair of pale, yellow eyes stared down into his own as if foretelling his grisly fate.

CHAPTER 1

Pale, yellow eyes stared at him as if brought forth from his memory. They narrowed in hatred as he took a step toward the demon, but he felt no fear. He was no longer the boy that they had captured and enslaved decades earlier, that boy was dead. His former life a distant memory, he was just a nameless slave whose existence was one of constant misery. Over twenty years of pain, torture, and death at the hands of his twisted, demon master had taught him many things but nothing so much as the power of hatred.

Hate.

Hate was the one thing that they could never take from him; the one thing that kept him sane in the face of abject terror and unimaginable pain. His hatred of demons was all he had to hold on to. It pulled him through the day. It alone sustained him… and he enjoyed it.

Yet another reeking demon for me to put down! he shouted aloud, not at the demon that stood facing him, but at the others that watched from above.

A gift, laughed a menacing voice from above; a voice he knew all too well.

He glanced up to his left at the small group of demons that stood glaring down at him. They were nothing like the ugly creature before him, they were true demons. Each stood at least half a foot taller than him with long, slender horns that rose gracefully from their heads an additional foot. They all had handsome faces that seemed at odds with their cruel nature, but unlike humans; they had a wildly varying range of skin colors.

The tallest among them, their master and his, laughed openly down at him. Several inches taller than any of his minions, the demon was by far the most imposing of the group. A tall crown of jagged bone sat atop the demon’s hairless head like a set of teeth jutting skyward.

I will kill you someday, Aurastur!

He barely kept himself from speaking the words aloud, but even he didn’t dare to threaten Aurastur. The punishment for bravado was extremely severe as he well knew.

Today, however, I’ll settle for this!

His gaze snapped back to the burgundy demon hurtling toward him. Its wide maw hung open as it ran at him; beads of saliva streaming off its jagged teeth. A wave of disgust rose up in him, but he pushed it aside.

I can hardly believe that I used to fear creatures like this.

Just as the demon reached him and its clawed fingers shot forward to seize him, he dipped down and drove into the demon’s chest with his shoulder. Using its own momentum against it, he stood up and sent the demon careening over him.

It flailed wildly in the air for a moment before it landed flat on its back with a dull thud. Before it had time to move, he brought his foot down across the demon’s exposed throat with all his weight. A spurt of dark blood shot up out of its mouth as its windpipe crushed inward like paper, but he couldn’t afford to take chances. A second and then third stomp, each more vicious than the one before, assured him of the demon’s demise.

It’s a very different game when you’re not facing down a nine-year-old boy with a toy sword! he shouted as the demon grew still. Immediately, its body began to dissolve away, rolling in on itself and turning to liquid like a block of ice shoved into the bowels of a blazing oven.

Like I said, teased Aurastur’s menacing voice from above, a gift, nothing more. And I do hope that you enjoyed it, because that was pathetically boring to watch. As a remedy for my boredom, I’ve thought of something else for you to play with. This one, however, you may not enjoy… but I will.

The sudden squeal of metal on metal drew his gaze to the opposite side of the arena. The rusty, blood-soaked grating was slowly being drawn back to admit his next foe. Though he’d spent decades in The Nightlands, his human eyes weren’t able to see more than a dozen feet in front of him and even that was mostly just shadowy silhouettes, but he could see the creatures bright, green eyes as it moved into the arena. The eyes were wide and faintly luminescent, like all of the creatures and demons native to the lightless world of The Nightlands.

The enemy approached him oddly, moving from side to side without ever taking its eyes off of him. Only as it moved closer, and he saw its massive silhouette, did he realize the danger he was in.

A damn razorbeast, I hate you Aurastur, you damn coward. Oh, if you only knew how much I hate you, you’d die of fright.

A lone torch hung from the edge of the balcony beneath Aurastur and his servants. It cast a pale, flickering light that glinted off of the razorbeast’s skin as it closed in on him. The multitude of glinting lights allowed him to roughly make out its shape and size.

As it moved into the small area of light where he could actually see it, he noted the razor-sharp scales that adorned the entire length of its body and flinched. Possessing the body of a great snake like nothing he’d ever even heard of in The World of Light, the razorbeast was a massive predator. Rising up to nearly twice his height, it opened a mouth big enough to swallow him whole and exposed a pair of pale fangs as long as his forearm from elbow to fingertip.

It hissed at him with deafening force, like the wail of a banshee. He flinched again, but stood his ground refusing to give Aurastur the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. Reflexively, he found himself opening and closing his hands, wishing he had a weapon.

He barely saw the silhouette of the creature’s tail move, but as it flew into the small circle of light from his right, he rolled to the side, and the massive form ripped through the air where he’d been standing. He grunted in pain as some of the flesh from his right arm was torn away by the razorbeast’s scales as its tail passed over him, but he quickly rose to his feet.

That was too close: that thing’s tail would’ve cut me in half had I been any slower.

Blood streamed down his arm from the ragged wound, but he ignored it and concentrated on his enemy. The creature’s tail swung back around, this time coming in low. He leapt sideways, over the top of the tail, and nearly cleared it, but as it moved under him it pulled up and shredded the side of his left leg.

As he hit the ground, and felt the extent of his wound, he knew that he was in trouble. The razorbeast, sensing his peril, moved in for the kill. He rose unsteadily to his feet just in time to see the creature’s body surge forward and coil around his lower half. Pain tore through him as his legs were practically stripped to the bone, but the creature coiled tighter, refusing to let him fall.

He screamed; despite the years of torture and pain and all that he’d endured, he screamed. The pain was nearly enough to render him unconscious, but he refused to be beaten. Despite his screams, he forced his mind into action through sheer willpower.

Everything has a weakness, this creature is no exception. There’s got to be a way to kill this thing.

Like lightning, the razorbeast went for the deathblow, darting down with its mouth wide, its fangs poised to strike. Partly by reflex and partly by luck, he caught the creature’s fangs before they could be driven into him. The creature tried to pull back, but he held it tight despite the immediate wave of agony that shot up from his lower body. As the creature jerked from side to side trying to free itself, he held on for dear life, knowing that if he lost hold of the creature’s fangs, it would mean his death.

If his death was permanent, he might have chosen it over his dismal existence, but he knew that Aurastur would never allow such a thing. He knew that if he failed to kill the razorbeast, Aurastur would revive him and punish him with cruel malevolence far worse than anything that the razorbeast was capable of.

As the razorbeast’s head swayed to the side, he caught a glimpse of its bright, green eye, and he immediately knew how to kill the creature. Driven by an unbreakable will and the strength of desperation, he forced the creature’s fangs apart with everything he had. His arms were about to give out when he felt the creatures left fang break loose.

The razorbeast reeled in pain as its fang was ripped from its mouth, but he refused to let go of its other fang. When the massive creature could not escape by pulling away, it drove back down with renewed fury which was precisely what he wanted. He tightened his hold on the creature’s remaining fang, and, using his right hand, stabbed upward with its broken one. The fang drove up through the top of the razorbeast’s mouth, skewering deep into the creature’s soft, inner flesh.

Blood rained on him as the creature coiled up and shuddered from the unexpected attack. He violently jerked the fang back out, and as the razorbeast began to shy away, he seized its snout in a death-grip that surprised even him; his fingers buried in its nostril slits. Using the creature’s own snout as leverage, he drove the bloody fang into its green eye, burying it deep in the side of the creature’s head.

The razorbeast screeched out in pain, but he drove the fang even deeper, and it became oddly silent. With a final shutter, the razorbeast collapsed to the ground, and its body around his lower half relaxed and uncoiled slightly. Unable to stand, he immediately fell over onto its body slicing his chest and arms, but the pain was nothing compared to the wreck of his lower half. Looking behind him, he could see that one of his legs had been all but severed off and the other was barely any better.

As the strength of desperation faded and his blood rushed out of him, he could feel the pull of death drawing him in. Clinging to consciousness as best he could, he looked up at Aurastur and smiled.

Playtime’s over, he said in a shaky voice.

Aurastur glared at him venomously for a moment as if about to explode, but then he burst out laughing. Not a laugh of mirth or humor, but the blood-curdling laugh of the demented.

Don’t think that you’ll get to rest for long, Aurastur said through his laughter. There’s far more fun to be had.

A familiar tingling sensation raced through his body, and he immediately cursed. He could feel sickening warmth spread through his body as the flesh and bone of his wounds were swiftly regrown and knit back together. He knew without looking that his body was being healed at both amazing speed and with supernatural precision.

Once, I may have considered something like this a miracle: being pulled back from the brink of death and suddenly healed. Not here. No, this is a damn curse. Will that beast ever have enough; will he ever tire of this mindless carnage?

A soft thud drew his attention from his thoughts; He looked up to see that Aurastur had jumped down and landed only a few feet in front of him. The demon stepped close enough to him that he could clearly see the details of his tormentor’s huge body. Standing nearly seven and a half feet tall with another foot of thin gazelle horns rising from his forehead, Aurastur was more than a foot taller than him. Coppery, hairless flesh smoothly rolled over tightly coiled muscle. The demon was broad and imposing, yet had a feline grace about him.

Your little rest is over, slave, Aurastur chided

He dared to look up at Aurastur’s face and was instantly drawn to the demon’s luminous green eyes which held a look of sadistic amusement. A pang of defeat rose up in him as he heard the razorbeast begin to rouse, healed by Aurastur’s twisted demonic power just as he had been, but he forced it aside with his hatred. He stared into Aurastur’s eyes without fear.

If only I had the power to you kill you, I’d make you taste fear and pain. I’d teach you the meaning of suffering as I carved you apart and showed you the pieces.

It looks like your friend is ready for another round, Aurastur continued with a hideous grin. Let’s see how long your luck holds.

Menacing laughter rained down from above where Aurastur’s servants stood watching. Ignoring the laughter, Aurastur continued to glare at him with insidious glee.

He was about to say something when a sudden movement beneath him drew his attention. He remembered too late what he was propped up on. With a sudden vicious jerk, the razorbeast’s tail slid out from beneath him taking much of his chest with it. He hit the ground hard, chest blazing with pain as his blood flowed freely from its ragged remains, and struggled to rise.

You should be careful where you choose to lie down, Aurastur laughed. It could prove fatal. But don’t worry; I won’t let you die anytime soon.

CHAPTER 2

Life flowed freely through Temin, and he could scarcely believe it. Only a few minutes had passed since he had been returned to life by the power of the unknown, unseen stranger.

This shouldn’t be possible: I was dead.

He knew next to nothing about the mysterious savior that had pulled him back from the icy grip of death, except that the stranger had asked for his help. Communicating with Temin through an eerie, disembodied whisper, the being revealed that it was being held captive by an immensely powerful demon.

Just thinking about this mess hurts my head. First, that faceless person brings me back to life. Then, he immediately asks me to journey across The Nightlands, somehow defeat an incredibly powerful demon, and save him. It’s crazy, but even so… I have to do this. I’d be dead now if not for him, I can’t just turn my back and leave.

The cold, icy darkness nipped at his flesh, and he quickly reinforced the warming enhancement that he’d been using on his body. He couldn’t afford to let the enhancement falter, or he knew that he would swiftly freeze to death.

When I decided to do this, it seemed like the right thing to do. Now that I stop to think about it, though, it seems utterly reckless and foolish. How in the name of Anedae am I supposed to do all of that? I’m only 11 years old, I’m still just a kid. I don’t know anything about The Nightlands or fighting demons. I don’t even think a lightwielder has ever gone past this mountain, so how do I cross all of The Nightlands?

Is something wrong, Temin? asked a jovial voice from beside him.

He turned and looked at the man that stood beside him. Ducahn Lumin, the self-proclaimed wanderer with mysterious powers, was the one that had freed Temin from his stone sarcophagus upon his resurrection. Temin eyed the smiling man hesitantly, unable to stop the constant shiver of fear that his presence evoked.

Even in the half-light of The Nightlands, Temin could make out Ducahn’s features. Clad in immaculate, white silk pants with a matching tunic, the only color on the man was a wide, burgundy sash around his waist. A long braid of dark brown hair trailed over his shoulder. The smiling man’s face was young, vibrant, and flawless, giving the impression that Ducahn was in the prime of his life, but his mannerisms made him seem, at times, much, much older.

No, well maybe, Temin admitted. I was just thinking that I’m not sure how to go about this.

Rescuing your friend, you mean? Perhaps we can ask for directions down in that village.

Temin stepped past Ducahn and peered down the mountainside. He expected to see nothing in the oppressive darkness of the sunless world, but near the foot of the mountain, there was light.

There really is a town.

Far below, nearly a dozen black structures stood in a rough circle around a large, glowing mound. Hundreds upon hundreds of glowing stones had been placed in and around the massive glowing structure, and hundreds more had been used in various places throughout the small village. Soft, white light washed out over the entire village in stark contrast to the surrounding darkness.

Just beyond the crude buildings of the village was a wide shimmering surface. Temin stared at it for a moment before he realized that he was seeing the telltale glow of the village reflected on the surface of water.

A river?

Long and winding, the river sprung from the base of the mountain and curled around the village before disappearing off into the darkness. Temin’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he stared at the barely visible river, unsure of how so much water could come seemingly from nowhere.

Amazing. There must be an ocean beneath the mountain for that much water to burst out of the ground in a constant stream.

Movement drew his attention back to the village. As he watched, figures scurried about between the buildings; rushing to complete unseen tasks. He could tell immediately from the shape of the figures and the way that they moved that they were all human despite the great distance that separated them.

There are people down there, Ducahn said, sounding amused. Perhaps someone can point us in the right direction.

Temin opened his mouth to agree when he saw something that chilled him almost as much as Ducahn’s presence. Near the center of the village, one of the figures stood surrounded by nearly a dozen others. Temin couldn’t see what was going on, but he could never mistake the violet lightning streaming from the man’s hand like a ribbon caught in the wind.

No, Temin said softly in disbelief. His hand, as if with a mind of its own, rose up and softly touched the center of his chest through the ragged hole in the front of his robe.

What do you mean ‘no’? Ducahn asked, bewildered.

"We can’t go down