Crestahn Kingdom: The Crystal of Life, #1

By Dartanyan Johnson

For fans of Star Wars and lovers of magic. Sci-Fi Technology. Dark Fantasy Action.

A kingdom cast in shadows, a family's dark history, and the crystal shard that brings them together.

The intergalactic war has been ongoing for decades. But the Sovereign, ruler of the galaxy, has his eyes on an enormous energy that will certainly win the skirmish against the Triumvirate—a rebel force trying to end his reign. Aware of the threat, the king of Crestahn, who's secretly opposing the ruler alongside the other nations on his planet, hires a portal maker to beat the Sovereign to the source.

Gretig is lucky to be alive. Some with his bloodline are killed at birth, while the fortunate ones live in confinement. But Gretig wasn't born on his parents' home planet. They had long escaped the oppressive regime. As space nomads, they venture the galaxy and create portals for lucrative contracts, but when his mother agrees to do a job for Crestahn's king, his family's dark past comes back to haunt them.

Princess Sha'ella is one of the Sovereign's loyal followers. Her father wants her to switch sides—to fight with the resistance—but she refuses to betray a man she's grown to admire. That decision doesn't sit well with the other nations' leaders. Now she must battle the most ruthless warriors in an arena for the fate of her kingdom, and risk losing more than just her life.

TW:
Death of a Loved One
Graphic Violence

Tropes:
Evil Empire
Found Family
Lady of War
Warrior Prince
Rage Within the Machine
Grey-and-Gray Morality
Forced Proximity

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.CATZ Publishing
• Release date: Dec 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781952948008

Dartanyan Johnson

Tears will be shed.Hearts will be broken.The weak will not survive this journey.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Princess Sha’ella

Princess Sha’ella peered over her shoulder and almost scoffed at the sight. Her teammates, Zhen and Savill, were knocked out cold. Ocktash, the big brute in her squad, had put forth a valiant effort, but the knife wound to the gut had left him writhing on the arena floor. From the amount of blood pooling under him, she wasn’t sure he would survive. Last was Prince Moriq (Mo-reek), her captain and older brother. He was staggering to his feet, the gash on his thigh clearly making the act an unbearable one.

She averted her attention to the opposition across from her. Three of them were laid out on the floor, motionless, while their captain, Layavelle—the wielder of the knife that was causing so much trouble—and his lackey, Taffanti (Tuh-fawn-tee), the white-skinned, green-eyed cretin, were watching her with amused expressions.

The packed crowd’s cheers were so loud in the arena that Sha’ella could barely hear her own thoughts.

She was considering closing the twenty-foot gap that separated her from her opponents when a bloody hand landed on her shoulder, staining her white jumpsuit.

What do you want, Moriq? she asked, irritated by his presence. The plan they had devised coming into this match had failed fantastically. Though it was mostly her fault, and he had every right to reprimand her, she didn’t want to hear any more of his lectures.

We cannot win this battle, he said, drawing a frown from his younger sister, who had another outcome in mind. We still have the singles competition left. Perhaps we should let this one pass and save our strength for the bout I know you want to win the most.

You mean, you want to forfeit? The word forfeit formed on her lips as if she were trying to speak it in a foreign tongue for the first time.

He turned her, forcing her to look at him. I don’t want you senselessly throwing your life away. Maybe we can salvage this in the singles final, but this match is done.

Brushing his hand from her shoulder, she sneered at him. If you are afraid, Brother, then sit this one out. Make yourself useful and help Ocktash. She smirked, then turned to the enemies that were waiting patiently. Just let me work.

Layavelle handed the knife to Taffanti and stepped several paces away from his teammate, his eyes never leaving Sha’ella’s gaze. It was a challenge. He wanted a one-on-one battle. That would likely work in her favor, but there had to be a reason he’d given up the knife, she knew. She would undoubtedly take him up on the offer, but she’d do so cautiously. Peeling away from her brother, she stalked toward Layavelle.

When they were well away from the other two combatants, Layavelle charged at her. Sha’ella sidestepped the quick axe kick and went for a leg sweep. Layavelle hopped out of range of the sweep and prepared for a counter as she rose, but she reacted faster than he had, and the roundhouse kick to his face sent him tumbling sideways. He recovered in time to dodge her jump kick to the body and the following kick to the side of the knee.

Is that all you got, girl? Layavelle asked mirthfully, but Sha’ella saw beyond the false bravado. Something about his movements seemed off. Perhaps the blow to the side of his head that Ocktash had delivered earlier in the match was throwing off his equilibrium; maybe that was why he’d given the knife to Taffanti. He probably feared Sha’ella would eventually find a way to disarm him, and the last thing any opponent wanted was to face her when she had a weapon in her possession.

Let’s see if you can maintain that stupid grin with my hands wrapped around that scrawny neck of yours, she taunted.

If you wrap your legs around my neck instead, I’d gladly welcome the challenge, he retorted, his tongue playing at his top lip.

She darted forward, slipped the jab aimed at her nose and landed an ascending, diagonal hook that thudded against Layavelle’s ribcage. With no direct counter from her opponent, she followed up with a jab to the chest and an uppercut to the chin. She ended her flurry with a spinning kick to the sternum that left him sprawling on the ground. As soon as his back hit the ground, she scissored his neck and lower jaw between her muscular thighs. It wasn’t the prettiest execution, but it would get the job done. She squeezed with a viselike pressure. Layavelle beat uselessly at her leg in response, his frantic blows quickly beginning to weaken. It would only be a matter of time before he fell unconscious. When that happened, she’d reposition her hold and snap his neck like a twig.

A flash of movement nabbed Sha’ella’s attention. She angled her head and saw Taffanti running at her. Taffanti leapt in the air, blade pointed downward. Sha’ella released the hold and rolled out of the way of the penetrating blow. The tip of Taffanti’s blade dug into the ground as Sha’ella got to her feet. Taffanti tugged the blade free, then rushed Sha’ella, slashing frenetically with her good arm as if trying to ward off a wild beast and buying Layavelle precious time as he gathered his senses.

Panting heavily, Layavelle stood and stumbled toward Sha’ella with a menacing grin.

Sha’ella ignored the expression. She was biding her time, waiting for the opportunity to strike. If she could disarm Taffanti and retrieve the knife for herself, she could begin to have some real fun.

Slowly, and while keeping an eye on both her opponents, Sha’ella tore off the sleeve of her jumpsuit. She rolled it tight, then whipped it toward Taffanti’s face. The green-eyed woman flinched, then swiped at Sha’ella. Sha’ella watched the swing, her mind calculating the speed and angle.

I’ll make sure your death is quick, Sha’ella taunted, then she noticed that Kiken Galagon, one of Taffanti’s teammates, was shaking the grogginess from his head and getting to his feet.

Cursing under her breath, she glanced at Moriq, who was kneeling on the ground clutching his wound, then at the still bodies of Ocktash, Zhen, and Savill.

Useless, she said to herself, and clutched the sleeve she’d torn off tighter. A three-on-one. Not the greatest odds, but she’d come out victorious somehow.

The trio had Sha’ella surrounded and methodically closed the distance. She crouched low, her head whipping from each member of the opposing party—prey attempting to fend off hungry predators.

Bouncing on his heels, Layavelle rushed her.

I yield!

The four combatants froze, clearly shocked to have heard the words. When the horn sounded, indicating the end of the match, the trio backed away. Layavelle gave Sha’ella a condescending grin.

No! Sha’ella howled as she whirled toward Moriq. Her plea went unheard over the massive cheers of the crowd—not that the appeal mattered. The resignation of a captain was final. The referees and medical team descended to the field on their large, oval-shaped hovering platforms and tended to the wounded.

Sha’ella approached her brother, arms wide and hands splayed. The sleeve she’d ripped off lay forgotten on the arena floor.

What was that? she snapped; her volume elevated even over the crowd noise.

They were going to kill you. We still have another match.

"See, that’s your problem. They would have killed you in that situation. She stabbed him in the chest with a finger. Stop comparing me to you. I would have found a way to win because that’s what I do."

Moriq stepped into the finger.

I’m the team captain, he growled, so you do what I tell you to do!

Her right hand itched for a weapon. She retreated a few steps and looked him up and down.

Not anymore. As you said earlier, next is the singles final. Her angered expression melted away, replaced with a stark resolve. You better hope we don’t meet in the finals, Brother.

Sha’ella spun and walked toward an exit a Kaveir soldier was holding open, and after a brief glance over her shoulder at the celebrating team, the sound of her heart drumming in her ears, she disappeared beyond the doorway.

Chapter 2

The Singles Final

Sha’ella had never been so irate in her life. She strode through the arena toward the parking bay in the back where the transport vehicles were stationed.

When she stepped through the exit that led to the loading platform, a Kaveir soldier motioned for her to enter the ninth transport bus in the line of twelve. The bus was spacious on the inside, and blue, opaque energy field dividers separated the single person seats that wrapped around the vehicle. Kaveir soldiers stood watchful in the aisle, all wearing expressions that dared anyone to act up in their presence.

She stormed onto the bus, drawing the eyes of eliminated combatants as she passed their line of sight. Some glared in her direction, while others found elsewhere to plant their gazes.

Flopping into an open seat in the back corner, she fought to control her breathing. A pair of hate-filled tears slid down her cheeks.

This was Moriq’s second time competing at the gymkhana for a spot with the Consortium of Assassins. After failing to impress the Sovereign during his first attempt, but showing some promise, he was given another chance. Since his arrival two years ago, he had been trying to assert dominance over the team she was supposed to lead. Everything she had suggested, from training methods to battle plan strategies, was shot down. It felt as if he were trying to keep her in his little box.

Finally, she wiped away the frustration and nestled into the comfortable cushions of the seat. She strapped herself in, then closed her eyes. The three-day-long tournament, which entailed five laborious events, was wearing her down, and now that her adrenaline was ebbing, she was ready for a lengthy nap. Before the bus roared to life, though she knew the rest would be brief, Sha’ella found sleep.

• • •

Her eyes fluttered open as the bus coasted to a stop. The Kaveir soldiers guided the combatants off the bus and through the back entrance of the stadium used for the final event of the tournament.

Unlike in the team finals, where each squad had assembled in a locker room, for this event, the Kaveir soldiers marched each combatant, one by one, into assigned rooms. Both Sha’ella and the soldier stepped into the tiny space, and she allowed herself a quick glance around to see a couch, and a table that held a water bottle and an energy bar.

The soldier motioned for her to sit on the couch, and she obliged. Moments later, the door opened, and a second soldier entered, clutching a tablet. She smiled at the sight of the device, knowing the purpose of its presence.

The soldier held the device face up and placed it on the table, activating the holographic display. There were rows of weapons categorized by type, but Sha’ella already knew what she wanted.

Sword, she said, and the soldier scrolled to the proper section.

Double-edged, she said, eying the selections, then pointed to the sword of her liking. It had a black leather wrap with a gold pommel and guard. The silver blade was so bright on the display, it appeared white.

After submitting her selection, the soldier wished her luck, then parted the room along with the other soldier. Once she heard the audible click of the door locking, Sha’ella opened the package to the energy bar and chewed. Almost instantaneously, the replenishing properties of the bar revitalized her physical and mental functions. Her fatigue faded, and her usual ability to focus heightened. Her body still felt slightly sore, but the mental exhaustion was no longer an issue.

After she consumed the energy bar, she took a small swig of water, then began her stretching routine. When she was done stretching, she sat on the couch, trying to wait patiently for the soldier to return with her weapon, but eventually grew restless. Back and forth she paced, until she heard approaching footsteps pause on the other side of the door. When the door finally opened, she grinned at the sight of her weapon and held it reverently when the soldier handed it to her. When the soldier left her alone again, she gave her new sword a few practice swings. It was light for its size, and the blade was so sharp it left a thin line of blood on her thumb when she tested it with a delicate press.

Even with her captain foiling the prior event, Sha’ella was in second place for the highest score in any of the past gymkhanas. If she could squeeze out a win in the finals, she’d be the top scorer of all time, solidifying her spot in history, hopefully for many years to come. Smiling with malicious intent, she continued to examine her blade.

I hope you like the taste of blood.

Ladies and gentlemen! the announcer bellowed, his voice muffled by the room’s walls. Welcome to the highly anticipated singles final! The crowd’s cheer was so loud, the floor shook. Many will die, but only one will be crowned champion!

Sha’ella swiped at the air with her sword, familiarizing herself with her new weapon.

And our first combatant, the announcer declared, Taijon!

As the combatants were being introduced for the final event, she danced around the room, attacking pretend opponents. She had already worked up a glistening sheen of perspiration when a knock sounded on her door. Shortly after the rap, a Kaveir soldier stood in the open doorway.

It is time.

She trailed the soldier through a wide, winding corridor. Kaveir soldiers lined the walls, each one posted with their traditional double-sided spear held in front of them, resting in the vertical position. The sound of the crowd vibrated through her body, causing her heart to thump furiously in her chest.

At the end of the long corridor was a single soldier standing in front of the open gateway that led to the stadium battleground. At her arrival, the soldier stepped aside. Sha’ella heard the announcer introduce her to thunderous applause as she stalked forward into the maze.

The singles final was unlike any other. The battlefield was a multitude of hexagonal prismatic cells, each one big enough for a single close-quarters duel. Blue, opaque energy field walls, similar to the one on the transport bus, separated each combatant.

Unlike the transport bus dividers, however, the energy field walls on the battlefield transmitted the fights to the fans on holographic screens that displayed up to four matches simultaneously at their viewing stations. Not only could the audience select which fights they wanted to watch, but also select whichever wall gave them the best view. And of course, they could place high-stakes bets at their stations as well.

A combatant secured a victory by either killing their opponent, accepting a plea of concession, or exercising mercy toward their incapacitated foe. A medic would then descend to the field and carry the defeated individual to safety on their large hovering platform. The energy field walls would fall away, widening the combat space, until only two combatants remained.

Sha’ella walked through the blue maze, ready for the starting horn. When she came upon a dead end, she turned to find the opening she had stepped through now blocked off with a blue wall, trapping her in the hexagonal chamber. She stretched again, taking deep calming breaths as the names of other competitors continued to ring throughout the open-roof stadium.

After a pregnant pause, Sha’ella crouched, ready for the horn to sound. She tried to quell her roiling emotions, but the longer the silence dragged on, the more anxious she became. She looked up at one of the flying orbs that would magnify the sounds of battle to the audience, and the hovering referee and medic team that were awaiting the signal.

When the horn erupted through the speakers, Sha’ella’s eyes flitted to each of the walls, ready to spill blood. The wall to her left shimmered, then fell away. She glared murder at her opponent. Her opponent’s expression was the complete opposite.

Sha’ella charged, closing the distance in an instant, her sword arcing in the air with a two-handed strike. The woman blocked it with her halberd and tried to take a step back to give herself a little working room. Sha’ella lunged, not permitting the space, released a hand from her sword, and grabbed at the woman’s staff. Her opponent pivoted to her left, avoiding the attempted grab, but had allowed Sha’ella to get too close. A quick shuffle forward and Sha’ella plunged her sword into the woman’s gut. She pulled the blade out and let the confused woman work out what just happened.

One, Sha’ella said to herself as the woman dropped to her knees, face contorted. By the time she toppled to one side, the medic was upon her. He hoisted her onto his hoverpad and lifted her to safety.

Sha’ella watched each wall eagerly, waiting for her next opponent to reveal themselves. The wall to her right flickered, and she sneered.

Without hesitation, the man charged.

She ducked the wild attempt at her head and performed a backswing with her sword that almost hit its mark.

Jelesh, tall and heavy-set, was slow on his feet, but had eye-opening hand speed. Whipping his mace around, he almost knocked the sword from her grasp. She stumbled back from the force of contact. Then Jelesh, to her surprise, shot forward like he was launched from a cannon.

Lunging forward as well, she slid on her knees, barely ducking the blow as she leaned back while also slicing the husky man at the left kneecap. The sharp blade penetrated deep, almost ignoring the fact that there was bone in its path.

Jelesh tried to pivot and howled in agony as he landed on his ruined leg. A loud, wet crack sounded from the torn bone and ligaments. When he landed on his back, his leg lay at an unnatural ninety-degree angle.

Sha’ella slowly approached her wailing opponent and pointed the tip of her sword at his throat.

I yield, he rasped, then sputtered pained expletives.

She backed away as both the referee and the medic worked in unison to carry the large man onto the platform. When they ascended, her gaze fell back to the blue walls.

Two.

When a wall flickered, she ran toward it and leapt into the air.

Her opponent’s eyes widened when Sha’ella’s blade descended into her chest.

Three, she said, and another wall flickered.

Her next few opponents put up more of a challenge, but they all either yielded or fell to her blade.

We now enter the semifinals! the announcer screamed into the black orb that hovered in front of him when her last victim was carried away.

Sha’ella rose shocked eyebrows. Already?

The wall fell, revealing the beautiful young woman known as Petal. Petal was quiet and reserved, but contemplative; always looking a step ahead. People often underestimated her skill set, but Sha’ella would not make that mistake.

The initial maze of the battlefield was now split into two halves. There were weapons littering the floor, from throwing knives to war hammers, poleaxes, and gloves that had long sharp spikes for knuckles. Dark splotches of liquid soaked the ground. Sha’ella stalked forward, letting her sword cut a line in the dirt and mud-like substances. Her stalk transformed into a run, but if Petal was discouraged, she showed no sign.

Petal clanged her dual tactical axes twice, twirled them once as she rotated both wrists, then blocked the slash aimed at her gut with both weapons. The force from the blow pushed her back, her feet sliding across the dirt.

Sha’ella stepped away, pivoted, and performed a backslash that whipped around at startling speed. Reading the attack, Petal stepped back and committed to a diagonal slash to Sha’ella’s exposed right arm. Sha’ella, however, squatted low as she continued her spin.

Knowing Petal’s momentum was too great to alter her move into a countermeasure, Sha’ella executed a leg sweep. Petal seemed to float in slow motion as her legs were taken from under her. Sha’ella’s shiny sword descended like a lightning strike the moment Petal’s back hit the ground. Petal crossed her tactical axes in hasty desperation and caught the flurry of blows.

The fallen woman grunted at the contact and tried to roll to her feet, but Sha’ella’s windmilling blur prevented her from succeeding. Suddenly, Sha’ella tossed her sword aside, and grabbed Petal’s wrists while she straddled her. She easily overpowered Petal, forcing her arms over her head. Petal howled as she tried to summon the strength to break free until Sha’ella’s forehead barreled into her face. Petal’s body went limp.

Sha’ella lifted her head and examined the destruction she had done to the woman’s face. A broken nose and split lip. Not too bad. She plucked both axes from Petal’s weak grip and flung them away. Standing, she found her sword and traced a line across the woman’s neck. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it drew blood.

I practice mercy, she called to the referee.

Accepting the pronouncement, the medic came to Petal’s aid and helped her get to her feet.

With only one wall standing between her and the final opponent, Sha’ella finally gave herself a moment to pay attention to the crowd. They were chanting her name. She wiped the stained blade clean on her crimson-spattered jumpsuit, adding to the artwork.

And just like that, the announcer boomed, we have ourselves the final match!

When the energy field flickered, then blinked out, she stepped forward leisurely, a smirk on her lips as she peered daggers into her opponent.

Chapter 3

Make or Break

They both halted once they came within fifteen feet of one another.

I was hoping you were the one I got to kill in the finals, Layavelle said, twirling his sword. This must be my lucky day.

Layavelle had light ochre skin, an athletic build, and emerald eyes you could easily lose yourself in. Had Sha’ella not been so keen on stabbing him in the face, she might have found him attractive.

You sound so sure of yourself, she said, taking a step forward. Being you must be nice. Perhaps if you allow me the chance to remove that face of yours and stick it over my own, I can parade around like a gallant asshole, hiding the underlying self-doubt that I, Layavelle, will always only be second best.

Layavelle chuckled, but she could tell he was getting annoyed. Such a mouth on you, girl. You’re even more pretentious than your brother. Big mouth Moriq—a man of many words. I eliminated him; you know.

Sha’ella felt her eyes twitch.

You’re wondering if I killed him, aren’t you? His lips twisted into a smile.

Sha’ella knew he was trying to goad her. Still, it worked. She was upset at her brother for forfeiting the team finals match, and despite threatening his life before marching to the bus, the thought of Layavelle killing him unsettled her. She clutched the hilt of her sword tightly.

Layavelle tilted his head to one side. What’s wrong, Sha’ella? You seem upset.

Switching to a two-handed grasp, she pounced. Her first attack was slapped aside, as was as her second and third. Layavelle shot forward with a downward swipe aimed at her shoulder, but instead of blocking, the nimble woman stepped inside the attack and thrust her blade toward his chest. Layavelle pivoted, narrowly missing being skewered.

With his body angled in a way that didn’t permit an immediate counterattack, she took advantage and kicked the side of his anterior thigh with the heel of her battle boot.

They hopped away from each other. Layavelle snarled as he shook out his leg, then took a few limping steps. Hoping she had damaged his femoral nerve, Sha’ella fought the smile that tried to form on her lips. Given his reaction, either she had succeeded in the attempt, or he wanted her to think she had.

She shot forward again, and he swung at an upward, diagonal angle, forcing her to stop short. When his sword reached its highest peak, he stepped forward and slashed downward as fast as a shooting star. Catching the powerful blow with her raised sword, her wrist almost gave way. She stepped into him as their locked weapons battled for supremacy.

Layavelle, being the taller and heavier of the two, had the height and weight advantage. He pressed down as he leaned forward. Her sword trembled.

She kicked him in the thigh again, but this time he firmed his muscle, limiting the damage. Still, she thought she noticed a hint of discomfort in his expression.

He broke away and hopped back twice, trying to assess the situation, but Sha’ella charged, not permitting the respite. Her sword whirled through the air in a relentless attack that Layavelle parried and batted away.

They locked weapons once more, and Layavelle stepped forward, imposing his size on her. Her right leg was behind her and trying to get herself into position for another kick to his thigh was too risky with him pressing his weight down. He took one more step forward, forcing Sha’ella to retreat a step to prevent being caught off-balance.

You see it, don’t you? he growled as he stepped forward again, forcing her to take another step back. Her arms shook, unable to pull away, or else she’d be sliced.

The difference between me and you? he continued.

He seemed to be putting all his reserve strength into the lock, and she worried she might have to take a knee. Slowly, her arms began to drop, the tip of his sword almost leveled at her forehead. Her eyes stayed on his, anticipating he’d try to thrust his blade across the top of her head.

I am stronger, faster, smarter, and overall, the better fighter. He bellowed the last word as he pushed her off-balance, her weapon forced to her side. With her right arm outstretched, she expected to catch the descending wrist as best she could so she could then ram her blade into his side with her left. Layavelle didn’t try to reposition his sword for an attack when she committed to the move, but instead, kicked her in the chest.

She flew back ten feet, rolling and bouncing on the ground. Plucking a throwing knife from the ground while in mid-spin, Sha’ella skid to a stop on her knuckles and feet, then flicked the knife at the advancing Layavelle.

Sha’ella saw surprise in his eyes as he registered what she had thrown. She lunged as he swiped the throwing knife away, and with his sword arm still extended from the one-handed backswing, she dug the blade into his shoulder, shearing through the ligaments at the head of his humerus.

Layavelle swiveled away to avoid further damage, but the destruction had already been done. Before he had a chance