Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

him. It was an idyllic scene, and making it healed something within her she hadn’t known was broken. Looking at the dying savage’s face, she saw tears trickling down his creased cheeks and knew that for once she had done the right thing. Goodbye, Gamarron.

In the real world, Bakal advanced on Guyrin, who was cowering in fear, frozen in place. AND YOU, CHAOS-DRINKER, BEAR THE ESSENCE OF THE FLESH CRAFTER. I WILL NEED THAT TOO, ONCE I OPEN THE PRISONS OF MY KIN. I WILL CONSUME YOU AND TAKE IT. Guyrin gibbered in terror and held out his hand to wield the Chaos, to defend himself. Somehow Nira knew it was doomed before he even began. His hand flickered in and out of existence, and he doubled over in pain. YOU WERE NOT MEANT FOR THIS. GIVE ME YOUR DISCORD, CHAOS-DRINKER. I WILL TAKE YOUR PAIN. The monster picked him up by his flickering arm and held him close, biting down on his neck.

Somehow, Gamarron was on his feet. The despair and resignation in his eyes was gone, replaced with resolve. “My child,” he rasped at her. “Run.” And then, one-armed, weak, and dying, he charged at the monster.

Bakal didn’t even notice. His face was buried in Guyrin’s neck, and the poor, crazed chaos wielder screamed and writhed in his grasp. The midnight being had him wrapped in an embrace that looked almost tender. Wings that flickered in and out of existence cradled them both. Guy pushed weakly at the creature’s chest, his strength ebbing. The Devourer held the Chaos Shard out and away from his victim, making sure the two did not touch. Gamarron launched himself at the Devourer from behind, sandwiching the foul being between two humans, and snaked his one remaining hand around to where Bakal held the Shard. He gripped that black hand hard, his face a rictus of pain.

Bakal’s head jerked up in surprise, and Guyrin’s heartblood leapt from his savaged neck, staining the monster’s face red. WHAT? he cried.

Gamarron wrenched the hand holding the Chaos Shard sharply back, plunging the pointed glass tip all the way through the flesh of Guyrin’s upraised hand and into the chest of the Devourer. The glowing Shard pierced that void-black skin and dug deep. Guy gasped, his dimming eyes fastening on the bit of brightness that nailed him to his killer. Bakal howled, a sound that was the cry of a hawk, the roar of a charging rhino, and the fury of the sea in storm all at once. The mighty being was transfixed and weakened, unable to pull away from Gamarron. Waves of color rippled out from the black wound and coursed through Guyrin’s slack flesh as well. The waves were bright and fast, and the hum of discord built quickly.

“Nira, I said run!” Gamarron cried, clinging to the flailing Devourer with his one arm. This time she obeyed. Scrambling to her feet, cradling her broken arm, she rushed out of the Chamber. She saw no sign of Kest or Renna in the outer cavern, but all around her demons put their hands to their ear holes and cried in pain as the waves of discord crashed and clashed against each other. Tychus’s words came back to her: a very loud boom that none of us will hear for long. She stumbled over the corpses of demons and beasts and looked to the entrance of the Great Scar. The sun hadn’t yet gone down. It seemed impossible that such a short time had passed since she’d followed Gamarron in.

The warping waves of sound grew unbearably loud, and underneath them she could still hear Bakal’s screaming. Demons were fleeing, lashing out at each other, and howling in fear, but she couldn’t hear them. The ground shook, gravel shook loose from the ceiling, and Nira raced ahead with a vigor that she thought she had lost.

Then a roar that must have been the shout of the gods sounded behind her. A fist as big as the world struck her in the center of her back and lifted her feet from the floor. She was flying, spinning, and her head twisted to find the mouth of the cavern. It was there, but she wasn’t going to make it. Her eyes tracked toward the spot of rock where she knew she was going to hit. It was only a few meters shy of the cave’s mouth.

The ground rose to meet her like an old friend, and she knew no more.

After a space that could have been an eternity, another life, another world, or perhaps just a fraction of an hour, Nira swam back toward wakefulness. There was a dim spot in the radiance that pressed through her eyelids, and it irritated her. She liked being in the sun, and something was blocking it. Her pains returned one by one to be catalogued. Her head felt like a shattered, hollow, glued-back-together eggshell, and she wondered if she would ever not have a headache again. It was giving her arm a firm fight for first place on her list of pains.

She opened her eyes, and the dim spot that was blocking her sun turned out to be a head. It was attached to a body, and it was moving around. She felt cool fingers against her face, and as her pupils tightened, she could see past the halo of light to make out who it was before her. She gaped in surprise, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Kest?” she wondered weakly. “You’re dead. Am I dead? I thought you weren’t supposed to hurt if you were dead.”

“You’re not dead,” he said softly, wiping her face with a wet rag. It came away bloody. He was wearing his eyepatch, and a thin line of blood was trickling from underneath it like scarlet tear tracks. “I’m sort of glad about that.”

“But how? He took your…! I saw it! There was so much blood, I thought you were dead!”