The Chaos Gate: The Ever Hero Saga, #1

By Jeff Pantanella

Human lives are useful currency to the gods of Law and Chaos, each deity imposing their own brand of tyranny—be it through unyielding order or chaotic upheaval—leaving mortals to bear the brunt of their divine indifference...until now. 

 

Evil forces seek to steal the souls of the world. They didn't bargain on a mystic monk and a feisty witch to get in their way. This is their story.

When the demons came, ransacking his monastery, killing his friends and mentors, Kasai's mind screamed, "Flee! Run while you can!" But he didn't. Honor demanded he fight back, no matter the cost or how much he wanted it to be someone else's problem.

 

Escaping her doomed village, orphaned and alone, Desdemonia begins a new life in the deep forest. A chance encounter with a young monk sets events in motion which will force her to choose sides; fight for what is right and just or unleash the chaos magic burning in her veins against a world who has turned its back on her.

 

Enter the archdevil, Sekka of Gathos, hellbent on conquest and lacking but one final piece to guarantee her victory; the soul of the next Ever Hero. Hope will not be enough to stop her or the hordes of demons at her command.

 

Follow in the footsteps of two unlikely companions, fighting against overwhelming odds in a last-ditch effort to stop Sekka from opening a dreaded Chaos Gate, and with it the doom of the Three Kingdoms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Pantanella
• Release date: Feb 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9781735602516

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Sekka dropped to her knees, broken and defeated. She had chosen a mortal form, fitting for conquest in this realm; sleek, sexual, and dangerous. Though in retrospect, perhaps she had been a tad overconfident. Victory had been within her grasp, but now her armies were gone, obliterated unfairly. It had happened in a blink of an eye.

She watched in disbelief as the ashes of her dead warriors floated in the air. She clenched her fists in frustration. The mortal soul energy she had spent to create her previously unstoppable Frost Legion had depleted her reserves on Gathos, and now she was vulnerable to attack. The denizens of the Abyss could smell weakness and would race to claim what was hers.

She raised her pale face, and through clumps of now matted, white hair, she vaguely saw the last remaining warrior-angels vanishing through a portal that illuminated the sky like a second sun. The bulk of the Heavenly Host had already departed, having finished their work here.

Fly back to your precious Elysian, you thrice-damned little birds, she said. I will have my revenge!

She tried to moisten her dry, blue lips, but they were cracked and sore. Nonetheless, a wicked smile crossed her bruised face. The fools had let her live, and there was still a chance she could gain a permanent foothold in the Mortal Realm.

The angels had thought they had defeated her, but she had already scattered her agents throughout this realm. Her succubus, Sess’thra would find her another suitable host and then she could build again. The thought of harvesting so many souls gave her renewed strength. Sekka tried to rise. As long as I draw breath…

Then he stepped forward, and sunlight gleamed off his partially bald head. He was smiling, with a kind expression that was peaceful and worry-free, as if he possessed the secret to eternal contentment. One of the Great Three save her, how she hated him.

He held one arm comfortably behind his back. In the other was the three-sectioned staff he was so fond of wielding, Ninziz-zida, he called it. The weapon had ancient power which rivaled her own and she still felt the burn of its kisses on her flesh.

His dull, cobalt-blue robes were in tatters. Burgundy stains of blood had soaked into its threads. She cracked a weak smirk, knowing at least some of her blows had struck true.

Aetenos, Sekka said bitterly. Are you here to gloat?

Sekka, he said with a strained politeness. I am here to do what must be done.

He looked at her with sadness in his eyes. The physical pain she felt was nothing compared to that look of pity. She cursed his soul a thousand times for interfering in her plans.

Your trespass into the Mortal Realm has ended. The laws of the Immortal Mother must not be broken, he said. The Great Balance must remain.

You cannot beat me alone.

In this, you are correct, nor is it my destiny to do so, in this lifetime or the next. Yet, we remain connected through them all.

This is not the end.

There is no end, only a formless continuation of the spirit.

She hated his riddles.

Get on with it, monk.

As you wish, devil.

Ninziz-zida blazed to life in Aetenos’s hands, and Sekka’s end came swiftly.

************************************************************

Puffy, white clouds rolled lazily across the sky over the vast fields of the Outer Plains of Baroqia. Seasonal winds blew from the northern mountains, creating an undulating sea of golden grass. The morning sun chased away the night’s chill and brought warmth to the plains, as grass weasels raised their small, furry heads from sandy burrows, and curiously watched the slow procession of muscular horses carrying armored men.

Three, broad-winged griffon vultures circled overhead in full loops that stayed with the column. Gerun Shiverrig furrowed his brow. The ominous symbolism of the scavengers was not lost on him. His frown deepened to a perplexed scowl as he prodded his horse forward with a sharp kick and joined the older horseman astride a mount as white as new snow.

Father, I still don’t understand. Why were you not made king? Our family has always ruled these lands, Gerun said. He had seen his fourteenth summer but had the build and strength of an adult man. His polished armor sported a snarling mastiff on the chest plate. Gerun often ran his fingers over the dog’s rippled lips and sharp canine teeth. The emblem filled him with family pride and a sense of his destiny.

Behind them wobbled an ostentatious carriage with ornate carvings on its sides. Two, slow-moving horses pulled it along the dirt road that led to Qaqal, the capital city of the Kingdom of Baroqia. The dazzling symbol of House Conrad, a pouncing white griffon against a blue background, fluttered on four massive flags, one at each corner of the coach. Gerun thought the depiction of the mythical creatures looked frail.

Within the coach was Prince Mortimer Conrad, a boy of similar age to Gerun, but whose father’s wealth had granted a much softer upbringing. The Conrads were merchants, not warriors like House Shiverrig. Gerun had never met Mortimer, though as the heir of House Shiverrig, he had learned the histories of all the Great Houses, and the names and tendencies of each family member. After all, one day he would rule over them. It had been this way since his forefathers founded the kingdom. But things had changed. Mortimer, not Gerun, was now Prince of Baroqia.

Gerun’s father, Gareth Shiverrig, the Duke of Gethem, rode stoically along the long dirt road. He was a likable man and carried the respect of his men. Gerun thought he should be a more assertive leader, though, like his grandfather.

Gerun had seen too many misdemeanors go unpunished by his father, and now he endured yet another insult to his honor. The newly crowned king had ordered Duke Shiverrig to collect Prince Mortimer at the training camp known as the Last Garrison and bring him to his father’s embrace at the palace in Qaqal.

Ordered? Lesser men do not order the strong to do anything. It was a concept Gerun found hard to comprehend. The lands between the Last Garrison and Qaqal were safe. This was a task better suited for freshly knighted squires looking to establish favor with the king. He wondered why his father had grown so soft.

I suppose you’d like an explanation? Gareth finally responded with a glance at his son, who nodded sharply. Very well. While the Shiverrig strength of arms held the northern barbarian tribes at bay, no amount of promised plunder could sway them to leave the safety of their frozen caves and snow-covered hovels. They knew that to travel south of the Hoarfrost Mountains was a death sentence at the hands of the Knights of Gethem.

I have read the stories, father, Gerun said impatiently.

Listen to me, boy. There is a valuable lesson here for you to learn.

Yes, sir.

"Your grandfather, and his father before him, brought peace to the realm. The people of Baroqia prospered during their long reign. Baroqia’s cities thrived under the protection of House Shiverrig, none more so than Qaqal. Noble houses were created by the wealth of commerce rather than through deeds of courage or victory in battle. And wealth breeds greed, prosperity became something owed, rather than earned. Debt mounted.

"Then came Maugris Hennerstrum and his thrice-damned spell. ‘I will save you all,’ he said. The fool had no business meddling in the ways of nature and the troublesome Elemenati magic that flows with it. The nobles pressured your grandsire to trust the mage. Pay attention, boy, no amount of magical interference will ever equal the steel at your side.

"After the spell failed, despair spread across the lands of the Three Kingdoms. Sunne to the south and Trosk to the north fell to considerable hardship, but Baroqia suffered the worst of all. Our fields lay barren for years, and what crops did grow were spoiled before reaching the market. Many people died from starvation and disease, your grandfather amongst those who succumbed to the pox. The barbarian raids resumed, and the Knights of Gethem were called to defend our people.

We took the battle to the northerners and pushed them back as the strength of our hearts was equal to the strength of our steel. Gerun, you must remember, the honor and the privilege of protecting Baroqia have always fallen to House Shiverrig.

I will, father.

Good lad. You will make a fine commander one day. Gareth said, though his proud smiled faded as he remembered the hard days. "But the lands continued to suffer, and the wealthy nobles grew fearful of being forced to live a lesser life. They became desperate. House Conrad saw an opportunity and exploited it. They provided monetary relief to the nobles in the form of extended loans.

"The nobles eagerly agreed to the debt and took the entire hook with the bait. The exclusive brothels and bathhouses stayed full while the lands withered and died. Eventually, the obligations came due.

At the passing of your grandfather, House Conrad grabbed power. They convinced the lesser nobles that the strength of Shiverrig sword and shield was no longer needed to protect them. If the barbarians returned, mercenaries would be hired.

I see no honor in the men of House Conrad. Gerun felt a growing resentment toward the precious cargo riding in the carriage behind him.

Duke Shiverrig gave a solemn nodded. Nor do I. Times of great need often lead to forgotten bonds and abandoned loyalties. Relief from suffocating debt was enough to sway many of the nobles to see the logic in House Conrad’s plan, and more importantly, grant them political favors.

House Conrad stole your throne, Gerun said matter-of-factly. The words were bitter in his mouth. Will you not fight for what is yours by right?

The nobles of Baroqia were cursed by their greed and manipulated by a clever sleight-of-hand from the banks under House Conrad’s control. I will not cast the lands into a civil war. Not now, not when the people have suffered these long years. Gerun, a strong ruler must know when to wait and when to strike to ensure victory.

Gerun’s father gave him a hard look to make sure his words were understood. House Conrad fears a response from me, though I will give them none, not yet. I will wait. In the meantime, you must keep the spirit of House Shiverrig burning in your heart. Never forget the history that flows through your veins. Things will change. When they do, you must be ready to act.

Gerun’s heart beat faster. His father spoke true. He was made for battle and conquest. He yearned for it. I will, father. I will be ready.

Gerun looked over his shoulder. The edges of the carriage were lined with tassels, which jumped back and forth as the cabin jostled over the uneven road. Their playful movements seemed to mock him.

If he fears you, why serve up his son like a meaty bone to a hungry dog? I can think of many other families who would be better suited to deliver the king’s son to the palace, given the circumstances.

It is a test. If the king’s son is harmed, he will have cause to strike at our family. House Shiverrig suffered along with the other Great Houses during the troubled times, possibly more since it was our troops who died protecting the lands. We cannot withstand a direct assault. House Conrad, with all the nobles shackled to them by debt, would destroy us. We must wait. We must rebuild.

Gerun gazed at the Knights of Gethem plodding on either side of the carriage. They were elite soldiers honed by years of battle against the barbarian tribes in the north, unlike the highborn sons of wealthy families, who were awarded medals of valor after honorary training exercises at the Last Garrison.

These were his father’s men, tested and true. One day these men, and their sons after them, would be his men. But rather than conquering new lands like his forefathers, the Knights of Gethem were regulated to serve as chaperones. Gerun fumed at the demotion and vowed silently to see the Shiverrig crest raised again over the palace walls in Qaqal.

Times have changed, Duke Shiverrig said, interrupting Gerun’s daydream. It is best to wait and be prepared than caught off guard.

And Mortimer will inherit the crown when the new king dies. Gerun’s words were spoken like a curse.

His father’s reply was a startled cough. Gerun twisted in his saddle to see his father’s eyes bulged in shock. The exit shaft of a coarse black arrow jutted from his father’s chest plate. A greenish glow sizzled along the arrow’s shaft. Its head was coated in bright red.

The duke slumped forward in his saddle. Gerun heard yells of alarm as Bandits leaped from holes concealed by the long grass. They swarmed like haywire hornets around the column. More black arrows tipped with green fire flew, sizzling with fell magic. The Knights of Gethem rallied around the carriage. Gerun instinctively drew his sword as a bandit leaped at him from the side of the road. Gerun sliced down hard and cleaved the man’s head.

The momentary chaos of surprise shifted as the Knights of Gethem rallied. Their fury and skill were unmatched, and the bandits were slaughtered without mercy. Gerun spun his horse around, searching for additional threats, but there were none. The few remaining bandits left alive fled and disappeared in a maze of tunnels.

The duke is hit! someone yelled.

Two knights drove their horses to gallop and retrieved the wayward mount that had wandered away from the crush of battle. Gerun could not hear their words but their bowed heads and honorary salutes told him enough. His father was dead.

Gerun’s chin dropped for just a moment, then he brushed away the tears in anger and clenched his jaw tight. These men were his now, and he would not let them see weakness. He turned his horse to face the carriage. Remarkably, not a single arrow pierced its wooden sides. Gerun’s eyes narrowed as hatred for House Conrad filled his heart.

************************************************************

Kasai Ch’ou ran as fast as his skinny, six-year-old legs could carry him through the deep woods. He bounded over rocks and narrow streams. He was small for his age, but he didn’t mind. He was fast! Fast as the fox chased by hounds. His long hair would have flowed like a black pennant behind his head if it wasn’t caked with mud and tangled in knots.

The other kids in his village had long hair like his and the same narrow eyes that curved up at the corners. Kasai’s eyes were unique, though. Typically, they were forest-green, but when the light was exactly right, they turned bright sage.

Kasai thought that everyone looked like the people in his village, until one day, a messenger from a big city arrived. The messenger spoke with his Pa about essential matters having something to do with new rules from King Conrad. Kasai thought the man looked funny. His eyes were big and round, and Kasai wondered if someone had stolen his eyelids.

His Pa told him most of the people living in the East were originally from distant lands on the other side of the sea. Kasai wasn’t sure what the ‘sea’ was but assumed it meant far away.

The people of our village are native to this land. Our ancestors were here before the conquerors from the East, but today we are all part of the Kingdom of Baroqia, Pa had said. His Pa knew everything.

Kasai kicked up dry leaves as he ran. He loved watching them spin away from his feet like pinwheels, and though he would inevitably run straight into a low hanging branch, Kasai didn’t care. That was part of the fun. He pretended the branch was a forest predator, and a battle would ensue with Kasai always emerging as the victor. The forest was filled with such wonder for his young mind.

He jumped up on an old stump of a giant Cycamorius tree that had fallen long ago. Kasai surveyed his surroundings like a veteran ranger, sent to protect his village from enemies. The musky reek of a nearby swamp caught his attention.

The small bog was the remnant of a stream that had been dammed years back to divert water for crop irrigation. Clumps of stunted trees took root and formed tiny islands covered in bright yellow moss. Kasai jumped from one small landmass to the next, and he grabbed a willowy marsh tree, then swayed with it back and forth as it took his weight.

Old bullfrogs leaped back into the dark water with a splash, and red-backed turtles quickly submerged their heads under soggy, swamp leaves. Kasai was now the mad giant, roaming the swamplands in search of food. He smiled as all the smaller creatures fled before his thunderous footsteps.

Then he was a knight errant on a quest for King Conrad. Golden beams of light shot down through the dense canopy of leaves overhead. Every light beam was a deadly bolt of dark magic cast by an evil wizard, but he dodged them with ease.

He imagined himself as a sleek mire cat. One moment he was chasing game; the next, he was defending his territory against a fierce rival. He zigzagged around trees and sprinted through the verdant ferns that grew past his head. Unfortunately, he was not so fleet of foot as the mire cat and tripped over the clusters of roots underfoot.

Kasai stumbled into a field of long grass. He rolled over to his back and stared into the open sky. His brow was wet with sweat, and bits of brown leaves and green ferns stuck to his face. He drank in large gulps of air to soothe his burning lungs and tasted salty sweat collecting at the edge of his mouth. A twig snared in his coarse cotton shirt pulled at the threads when he brushed it away. His Ma wasn’t going to be happy when she saw the tear at home.

Kasai heard a rustling noise over his shoulder. A young monarake walked out of the tree cover and into the same patch of high grass. The hoofed animal approached warily, smelling the air and twitching its long, thin tail. The beginning of a lone antler protruded from its forehead and branched out left and right with two small nubs. Kasai figured it had seen maybe its fourth summer, no more.

The monarake hesitantly lowered its head to feed. The sweet roots of the long grass were a favorite delicacy of many of the animals of the forest.

Kasai quietly crept toward the monarake. He wanted to see how close he could get before it darted back into the forest. Kasai crawled a few paces on his belly then stopped when he spotted an even smaller monarake scamper into the clearing on four wobbly legs. It nuzzled up to the larger one, as a child would embrace its mother for reassurance. Perhaps these two had wandered off from their herd for a late afternoon snack.

The fawn monarake looked in Kasai’s direction. It sniffed the air and paused with confusion. This small creature had yet to experience enough of the dangers of the world to know it should be wary of everything. The fawn’s tail swayed twice before it too indulged in the savory roots.

Kasai edged closer. He stopped every few movements and allowed the monarakes to become accustomed to his scent. When Kasai remained calm and quiet, most animals would pay him no mind. He loved the feeling of being invisible.

Even at such a young age, Kasai held no fear of the wilderness. But for all its beauty, it still contained many dangers. Occasionally, when winter’s cold grew harsh, and food became scarce, a desperate mountain predator would creep into a valley village. The starved animal would feast on stray sheep or raid a pigpen. Eventually, the village huntsman would trap the animal, and that would be the end of it.

His Pa told him stories of the stealthy grimalkers that roamed the high, snow-covered peaks of the Sarribe Mountains. The sleek mountain cats hunted the migrating herds of reindeer, which crossed the mountain passes. Closer to home were black and brown bears that wandered through the deep forest and could rival the height of two grown men when reared on their hind legs. Thankfully, the bears kept mostly to themselves.

But worst of all was the hunting packs of vargru.

The villagers called them Chaos Beasts. It was said the vargru were cruel monstrosities created by the wizard, Maugris, after he was banished from Baroqia by the king. Traveling merchants named them Maugris’s Revenge for this reason. No two vargru were ever alike in size or appearance. Their bodies resembled gross abominations of forest animals, horribly woven together by his misguided magic and dark sorceries.

Huntsmen from the smaller villages were sent out to destroy the vargru. Pa said none returned. It wasn’t until experienced rangers were hired from the larger towns of Oathsworth and Grennay that the vargru problem lessened. The rangers culled the dangerous predators down to small numbers, and the frontier villages were made safe. The villagers celebrated the rangers for their deeds of valor and considered them heroes. Kasai wondered if he could be a hero one day.

Kasai had never seen any of these animals in the forests he explored, but his Pa had shown him pictures in books. Pa loved his books. He made sure Kasai never held one or turned its pages without washing his hands first. Kasai glanced at his hands and noted they were filthy, as usual.

The two monarakes’ heads lifted into the air as one. Their nostrils flared, and their tails twitched excitedly. Something else had spooked them. Kasai scanned the area as best he could. The air became very still, and the sounds of the forest went quiet as if it held its breath. Kasai felt his heart thump heavily in his chest.

A smooth shadow shot from the low branches along the tree line. The young doe bleated out in alarm, but it moved too late. An adolescent grimalker landed squarely on the doe’s back. The cat dug its claws in deep to keep from being tossed off as the doe bucked frantically and inadvertently barreled into the baby monarake. The impact knocked the fawn to the side.

The grimalker’s black, summertime coat glistened in the daylight. Its muscles rippled with each movement, and it would not let go, driven by hunger and instinct. The cat ripped deeply into the monarake’s hind legs with sharp claws, severing muscles and tendons with each quick strike.

The monarake shrieked in pain and collapsed to the ground, its eyes filled with horror and confusion. The grimalker dropped to its haunches and clamped its strong jaws over the doe’s throat, cutting off the flow of life-giving air.

The doe gave a final sigh. It was over. The grimalker slowly released its hold and turned to face the smaller monarake. The fawn was paralyzed with shock, unsure of what was happening or what to do next. Kasai needed to act, or the fawn would suffer the same fate as its mother. The grimalker was an adolescent, but it was still an experienced hunter. Kasai was just a kid. He froze. Some hero I am, he thought.

Then Kasai heard a strange voice whisper in his ear. Protect the defenseless.

What? Who is there? Kasai whispered back without thinking. His eyes remained locked on the grimalker as it stalked the fawn.

Go! the voice commanded.

Kasai ran forward on impulse, shouting and waving his hands wildly. He placed himself protectively between the fawn and the grimalker, causing the sleek cat to crouched low in the grass with its hackles spiked along its back.

Back! shouted Kasai. Get back!

But the grimalker didn’t back down.

What am I doing? This is madness. I’m going to die. The cat licked at the smeared blood along its box-like snout.

Kasai frantically searched for a weapon. Small rocks littered the ground. Here and there were dead branches that had broken off a nearby tree during a storm. He grabbed the two closest ones at his feet and hoped it would be enough.

Kasai pointed the left one forward at the grimalker, the other held back in a ready position. He had seen the stance illustrated in one of Pa’s books. His untrained body stiffened, and both branches shook in the air. His stomach was in his throat.

The grimalker crept closer, staying low to the ground. Kasai knew it could smell his fear. The cat paused mid-stride, its muscles bunched, ready to spring. Its tail swayed in fluid motion behind it. Its eyes were wide and intense.

Kasai knew he could not win a battle of strength or speed against a grimalker. Without thinking, he jumped forward with unknown courage. The wiry cat sprang backward. It was unaccustomed to aggression by such a small adversary.

Kasai kept the left branch in the grimalker’s face and brought his right hand across in a sweeping motion. The stick swung through open air. He missed his target completely. The grimalker struck back and raked its paw over Kasai’s forearm. His entire arm throbbed in pain, but he held his grip on the stick.

He realized too late the grimalker had used the blow as a diversion to get inside his defenses. In a flash, the cat was on top of him. The rotten stink of the animal’s breath overwhelmed his senses. It was pain. It was death.

The grimalker snapped its jaws at Kasai’s throat, but he instinctually thrust a stick into the grimalker’s face. The cat bit hard into the wood, furiously shaking its head side-to-side. Drool flew everywhere, all over Kasai’s face, in his mouth and covering his eyes.

Time was running out, and Kasai thought this was the end. He thought of how his mother would cry when she found out he was dead. What if they never found him?

You will find a way, said the mysterious voice. Somehow, the soothing tone of the voice sliced through his fear. Kasai found a moment of clarity. He reversed his hold on the branch in his right hand. With a determined effort, he jabbed the jagged end of the branch into the grimalker. Get off me! Kasai shouted. He jabbed again.

The grimalker screeched in pain and lurched off him. Kasai wiped the slobber from his face and got to his feet. His legs shook as if he was chilled to the bone.

The grimalker had retreated to the slain monarake. Kasai stared at the cat, not knowing what to do next. Dark blood oozed from small holes in the grimalker’s side. The cat tried in vain to lick its wounds, and eventually, cowered low to the ground.

Kasai shook one of the sticks at the grimalker as if giving it a classroom lesson. Not so easy when it bites back, is it?

A deep growl came from the grimalker, but it lacked its earlier ferociousness. Kasai struck the two sticks together in rapid succession. The sound clearly bothered the grimalker. The cat lowered its head and emitted a second, deep growl. It looked longingly at the dead monarake before it darted back into the shadows of the forest.

Kasai remained still for a few moments. He felt his heart pounding thunderously in his chest. The sounds of the forest slowly returned. He lowered in his hands, and the sticks fell to the ground, but his body wouldn’t stop trembling. That was an idiotic thing to do, he thought. But then he smiled. I’ve done worse.

He looked about for the fawn, but it was nowhere to be found.

Some thanks, Kasai said to steady his nerves. He hoped it was on its way back to the safety of its herd.

Kasai looked around the clearing and wondered if he should bury the dead animal. Then the scent of Ma’s cooking filled his nostrils. Somehow, he could smell it from here and knew it was lamb stew.

Kasai’s mouth watered. He could taste the salty chunks of meat, carrots, and potatoes that had softened over time. He didn’t care for the onions his mother added, but right now, he would eat them too. His stomach rumbled in his belly. He was famished.

He suddenly caught the scent of something burning in the distance. Is it possible to burn stew, he wondered? He sprinted the entire way home to find out.

1

SEKKA

The archdevil approached the prison door from a long corridor festooned with the bones of her enemies. It was a menagerie of sorts, dedicated to the souls used to feed her powerful and still growing empire, but one that had been brought dangerously close to the brink of disaster by a single man. She thought back at the long centuries it had taken to rebuild her strength, all because of him .

She reflected momentarily on her prisoner, the one being who had thwarted her plans of conquest in the Mortal Realm. She wasn’t even sure how he had managed to gain access to her home world of Gathos after her fall. It was said nothing could travel between the Three Realms since the Immortal Mother had created the Amaranthine Barrier. And she should know, she had tried and failed many times to return to the land of mortals after she had been banished.

It’s an intriguing riddle to be solved for another time, she said and tapped the ornate box she held in her hand. But this time it will be different, now that I have the proper means to lay the foundation for my return.

She inserted her key into the well-worn lock of the dented and filthy cell door and pushed it through the lock’s tumblers until it settled into place with a heavy thunk. The sound echoed back through the depths of the lonely passage. The door swung open and flooded the prison cell with cold light. The prisoner released a painful gasp, but his head remained heavy on his chest.

She saw him as she had left him, a trophy hanging from the wall. His wrists were shackled and spread wide by chains hammered into the stone wall behind him. He turned his head to shield his one remaining eye from the blinding light.

He was not a handsome man, and worse to look at now that his face was swollen and bruised. He was bald except for a topknot that grew from the back of his head. The coils of the braided hair were frayed, tangled, and twisted.

She glided forward into the cramped cell. She wore a luxurious, ice-blue gown that opened at her navel and widened across her front like a plunging, wavy dagger. It was elegantly embroidered along its curvy edges. Her shapely neck rose from a fountain of white sable clasped at her throat. The bottom ruffles of the gown swished upon the thin layer of fresh blood which coated the floor. She left a trail of crimson snakes in her wake.

An intricate, alabaster headdress rested on her head. It blended gracefully with her long, white mane of hair. The fiendish crown was made of hundreds of human bones and revealed the truth of her nature. Tiny skulls of infants dangled down her back and mingled with the long strands of her stark hair. Her headpiece clattered and knocked as the smaller pieces spun with her movements and clashed together.

She wore it as if the Three Kingdoms of Hanna already bowed down to her as their beloved monarch, eager to pay homage to her with their very souls. And that was precisely what she intended. She moved as if part of a breeze toward a small table in the corner. It was cluttered with instruments of torture.

This mess just won’t do, she said, shaking her head. She brushed the iron pinchers and sharp-edged tools aside, casting them unceremoniously to the stone floor in a cacophonous clatter.

She gently placed the box she carried on the table’s surface. Her black nails tapped out a simple rhythm over its top. She wore gaudy rings covered in precious stones on her fingers. The facets caught the light and created a dazzling kaleidoscope of color against the walls, though the onyx stone on her left index finger refused to join the celebration of light. The stone greedily devoured the light rather than reflect it with its sisters.

The angles of her face sat high on her long, serpentine neck. She looked him over with dark, iris-less eyes. He was helpless.

His abused body shivered underneath the tatters of his once cobalt-blue robes. The cloth was now soiled and faded. The masonry of the wall he hung from was lined with deep cracks. She thought the macabre stencil of aged stone meshed very well with the sharp lines of his ruined flesh.

She swept toward him wearing a devilish grin of satisfaction. She stopped intimately close to his body and breathed in a deep draught of his stench. It was an intoxicating fragrance to her senses.

She had been thrown a morsel of luck, and she intended to exploit it to the fullness of its measure. She had longed for this moment for over a thousand years. He would serve as the leverage she needed to defeat her rivals. And, he had practically shown up on her doorstep. Oh, this was rich.

Her thick, indigo lips parted ever so slightly as her excitement grew. She imagined the suffering he would endure when he discovered the full magnitude of her intentions. It was a just punishment for interfering with her plans of conquest so many years ago.

And today was the day of reckoning. He was now her prisoner. Her gaze swept over his stretched and suspended body, which somehow still managed to resist the harsh lashes and probing cuts from her chief tormentor, the demon witch, Chedipe.

She lowered her head and raised playfully seductive eyes toward her unlikely benefactor. Her mocking interest was as a cruel reminder of her duplicitous nature. She gripped his chin with slender fingers and forced him to look back at her.

Aetenos, my dear. Why such a dour face? Are you not happy to see me again? she chuckled mockingly. Perhaps my flavor of hospitality is not to your liking?

She moved even closer to his body and dropped her hand to glide along his quivering flesh. I’m surprised you haven’t called your winged playmates to rescue you. Snap, snap, and here they come, ready to save the day. She sneered at him. But not this time and not here, for Gathos is the place where angels come to die.

Aetenos twisted his neck away from her and whispered out her name in a sorrowful sigh. Sekka.

A wicked smile played across her oversized mouth. She dragged her fingers across his tormented flesh, angling pointed nails into the dark burgundy welts already covering his body. New lines of bright red beaded on his skin.

She glanced down at the three small beasts at her feet. The creatures feasted on the dripping life fluid from her prisoner. She kicked one to the side, and it became animated with excitement as if her action was an acknowledgment of tenderness. The others howled back at her in earnest.

I am hoping they sing a song of joyful despair to the innocents you have failed. Alas, who can understand such beasts? Nonetheless, I am forever grateful to you for coming to my home as you did. I assure you, if I could go to you on my own accord, I would have returned to your doorstep ages ago. But such fanciful ideas are no longer the way of things, and sadly, one must accept the rules of the game as they change.

She took a step backward, admiring Chedipe’s work. I imagine your journey here was arduous and fraught with peril? Yes? Now tell me, truthfully, you missed me, didn’t you? We have such history together, do we not? Did true love finally bring you running to my door, or was it simply the desire to lay with one not so innocent of the flesh?

I would never, Aetenos said.

Oh, do stop with all this self-righteous dignity. The heavenly shine from your soul has dimmed. I can see that clearly enough.

Aetenos showed no spark of life. His body hung deflated like a condemned and forsaken man.

Come now. You look disheartened. Tsk, tsk, what did you expect, a parade?

Her brows furrowed, and she glared intensely at the monk. You cheated when you called the angels for help and cost me centuries of accumulated mortal soul energy! I should have rivaled the power of the Great Three by now, but no, you had to interfere. You left me weak on Gathos. Do you have any idea how much favor I needed to call due just to survive?

Sekka brought her hands down to the edges of her open gown and traced the exposed parts of her breasts with her two small fingers. Her black nails traveled down to her midsection, leaving razor-thin lines of blue malice in her translucent skin. But survive I did.

She giggled. How bitter I must sound. But one must play their part, and I do so love mine. Isn’t that what you preach, ‘All things in their natural way’ or some such nonsense?

Sekka played absentmindedly with the blood that bubbled up from the cuts. It was one of her favorite pastimes. She drew a blue line across his cracked lips, then licked her fingers clean, one-by-one. She savored every drop. Her wounds closed immediately, leaving no trace of the incision.

Then, she grabbed his flaccid cock roughly. Her eyes widened with anticipation, and she inadvertently wet her lips with her tongue. He released a low moan as his meat filled with blood.

You cannot fool me. You thought to break me again, but I did not see Ninziz-zida in your hands when you arrived. Has the Fire Serpent abandoned you as well, or did you think to use this righteous scepter instead of the fiery sticks? Sekka tightened her grip on his member and shook it repeatedly. Did you hope to turn me to the Light? Was that your plan?

Sekka laughed at his discomfort.

Or better yet, did you wish to possess me like one of your mind slaves? I hear you are known for choosing an unsuspecting mortal to carry out your whim, all in the name of…

She observed his reaction. "Not so easy, silly monk. I wouldn’t dare speak Her name here. Names are so important, are they not? Sekka warily glanced upward and waited. Nothing. She gave Aetenos a knowing wink. There, you see. Nothing to fear."

She brought one hand to her mouth. Her long fingers danced over her lips. I wonder, could it be that you are here because you no longer hold favor with the little birds in their pristine halls and cloudless skies? Sekka squeezed his thick member again tightly. I hate little birds.

Then she released him. She swished away as if twirled by an invisible dance partner.

"But the reasons why you are here and how you skirted the Amaranthine Barrier carry little importance to me now. What matters to me is that you are here, and I can use you.

My dear Aetenos, you have been such a thorn in my side, much like that irritating Red Devil, Zizphander. But now, like him, you are pitiful and weak. My trap is closing over you both. Be assured, you will not beat me a second time.

Aetenos raised his head. I am bound by way of the Immortal Mother. Her sight of all things flows quick…as the monsoon. You…have been…exposed, like all things…under the sun. His breath wheezed out of his mouth. "You cannot