The Angaran Chronicles: The Ritual, BAD Agar [you can read anyone txt] 📗

never interested him. In all honesty, it took too much time and effort to study. It bored him, but like all neophytes, he knew the basics, the theory.

 

But what he was attempting was far from basic. Alathis raised both hands. With all his will and furrowing his brow so hard it caused pain. He visualised the yellow radiation within him burst from his palms, weave into light then expand into a circular wall.

 

The fire exploded.

 

Chapter 8: Falling and Flying. Freed

 Alathis flew from his feet. He couldn't help scrunch his eyes closed and scream, expecting to smash against the giant armpit, to break every bone in his body.

 

But when he didn't, Alathis opened his eyes which widened with shock.

 

There was no longer a black ceiling, but a beautiful, bright blue sky.

 

He looked up and found he was flying toward a truck as it drove on a gravel road, a road which weaved through farmlands that spread out in every direction.

 

Alathis gasped again as he recognised the truck, it was his father's. The one which they drove from Kalkaland to start a new life in the province of Scendalgrad After his father lost his legal battles with the Rule Enforcers.

 

Alathis cried out as he closed on the truck, spun, then stabbed his sword through the metal roof.

 

He and the blade slid for a few metres before stopping. The shriek of the tearing metal speared into his ears.

 

The wind blew his hair from his face and instinct forced his hand to cover the scar.

 

He knelt to negate the wind and searched the sky and landscape for Silette.

 

What in Jaroai's name was going on? His mind thundered through explanations, some so illogical they could be barely considered thoughts.

 

It was a nightmare; it had to be a nightmare, but everything seemed so real.

 

A dot he knew was Silette fell from the clouds, weaving through the sky like a fly.

 

Alathis sighed through clenched teeth and fought for the will to pull out his sword and balance on his own two feet. There was no more running. Somehow he knew the truck wouldn't slow or stop, that it'd carry on forever until he or she was defeated.

 

He braced himself to keep his feet, blew out air twice and with a roar, tore out his sword. Now he had to find the strength to fight.

 

The dot weaved and weaved and grew and grew. Despite seeing this, he still wasn't prepared for her speed. In one split second she seemed miles away, the next, she'd materialised almost in his face.

 

Her sword bled into reality, and Alathis dropped himself onto his back, so it sliced through strands of hair instead of his neck.

 

He rolled head over heels into a crouch, just in time to deflect her stab hurtling for his face. Then was on his feet and leaping away from her upward diagonal swipe.

 

He slid to a stop, a millimetre from falling off the back of the truck.

 

Now grinning that maniacal grin, Silette lunged at him, cutting for his knees.

 

Alathis parried and darted to the side, circling to gain room to manoeuvre.

 

Silette threw a sidekick at Alathis' knee, forcing him to slip away further. She pivoted into a slice he smashed aside then he slid aside her downward, vertical backswing.

 

'You can't do this forever, fool,' she said. 'You do not deserve to live; you are not good enough to be a Hunter.'

 

She darted into a thrust Alathis back peddled, then he ducked another. It was hard to see through his hair while it constantly flicked across his face Yet his instinct drove him from harm's way.

 

'This isn't you, Silette,' he said. 'This isn't...'

 

He trailed off when the realisation hit him.

 

Alathis jumped back from another cut and felt his brow crinkle and pain to curl his face.

 

Silette saw this and seemed to hesitate.

 

In the next split second, he was on her, slicing for her neck.

 

Silette threw herself back with such desperation she almost flew off the end of the truck. Alathis charged, roaring into a vertical downward blow. Silette parried and barely leapt from Alathis upward diagonal cut.

 

Alathis struck a horizontal chop which she stopped with a block; then he drew back into a stab which she knocked off course. She threw a fist for his face, which forced him away, his shoes scraping against the steel.

 

'What the hell?' she said.

 

'You're not Silette,' he snarled.

 

She smiled. 'What makes you think that?'

 

'The real Silette would want me to survive, to live,' said Alathis and another realisation hit him. How fucking stupid could he be? 'She told me to go through the Ritual, to become a Hunter. They were her last words for, Jaroai's sake. You're not Silette. You are aren't anything like her. What the hell are you?'

 

'Who or what I am doesn't matter,' said the Silette-thing, pointing the tip of her sword at him. 'All that matters is what I am here to do, and by now, even you must know.'

 

Alathis nodded. It seemed like the world had fallen from his shoulders. He'd realised something else too, something somewhere inside his subconscious.

 

It made a smile spread across his face.

 

The Silette-things eyes narrowed in what may've been bemusement. Alathis lunged into a thrust that she just managed to block.

 

With a snarl, he followed on with a low horizontal cut for her knees, which she back-stepped.

 

Alathis pushed his offence. His strikes fuelled by a subtle anger welling within his guts, anger at this thing's audacity at imitating her. His attacks augmented by a new surety, confidence he'd never felt before. They merged into something new, something amazing. Despite this, his movements held no rashness, just skill and power and speed.

 

The Silette-thing wilted from him, scarcely managing to keep from being killed. It's eyes wide with a parody of the fear she'd shown in their fight five years ago.

 

She backed to the edge of the back of the truck. On three separate occasions, she tried to summon magic to her aid, but Alathis didn't allow her the time.

 

Eventually, he smashed her sword flying from her grasp, to send it spinning flying like the propellers of a skyflyer. Then the tip of his sword was aimed at her neck.

 

'Can you do it?' she said. 'Can you do it again? Kill me?'

 

'No,' said Alathis. 'I couldn't."

 

The Silette-thing's expression warped into a grin which seemed to spear from ear to ear, a grin which crunched Silette's face into something hideous, inhuman.

 

'I didn't think so,' she said as her hand welled with flames.

 

'If you, were you,' said Alathis.

 

Then his sword slashed. Silette's throat opened in an explosive blast of orange. She stumbled back, clutching to stop it.

 

'Goodbye, creature,' he said and kicked it off the truck. He hit harder than he intended and gasping, writhing Silette flew like a speck of dust caught in a gust of wind, before crashing against the road in a soundless spurt of orange, about half a kilometre away.

 

Alathis spun his sword and plunged it into the roof again then fell into a kneel. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. He thought he'd feel regret, pain. But he felt free.

 

He was free.

 

The roof gave way beneath him, then the road, then the ground, then everything and he fell. But there was no rush of frozen calamitous cold sprouting from his chest, no. He welcomed it.

 

Epilogue

Alathis sat up, screaming like he never screamed before. He screamed words, syllables but he didn't know what they were.

 

It only took a few seconds for his mind to click.

 

'It's a dream,' he gasped while wiping the sweat from his forehead. 'Just a dream.'

 

'It wasn't a dream, Alathis,' said a smooth, soft voice that caused Alathis' attention to snap to its source.

 

Six figures stood in a semi-circle a few metres away. They wore cloaks as grey as the cave walls surrounding him, their faces hidden behind hoods.

 

Alathis wasn't in his bed; he lay on a stone bed. He was stripped to the waist, soaked in sweat.

 

'What?' said Alathis. 'W-what's going on?'

 

'Search your memory, Alathis,' said one as he pulled back his hood, revealing himself to be Telric. 'And you will remember.'

 

'No one has screamed after awaking from the Ritual before,' said a female voice as the speaker showed herself to be Kolmath. 'A-a strange occurrence.'

 

'A strange occurrence, indeed,' said a third, but not taking off his hood. 'But it may have. We just mightn't know of it.'

 

Kolmath shrugged.

 

'T-the Ritual?' said Alathis. 'Th-that was the Ritual?'

 

'Just so,' said Kolmath. 'Be proud, young Alathis you have lived. You are one, of the one in five. Just as I knew you would.'

 

'As I did, too,' said Telric. 'Congratulations, you are no longer a neophyte but an apprentice, Alathis. My apprentice. You have much to learn, and much to overcome, there is more to being a Hunter than just martial arts and swordplay. But your potential is boundless.'

 

'I-I can't believe it,' said Alathis.

 

'Well, it is true,' said one of the hooded figures. 'What name have you decided to take?'

 

Despite his world whirling, Alathis didn't hesitate in his answer.

 

'I don't want to take a name.'

 

There was a long pause, but Alathis cut it as he remembered and he began to hyperventilate.

 

'There's something, something living in the red sea.'

 

'Calm down,' said Kolmath. 'What you saw was not real, everything is all right, now. You are safe.'

 

'It was real, I-I know it,' he cried then another word poured from his mouth, one which he never, ever intended to say out loud and he had no idea why. 'Chos'choloth.'

 

Telric winced, his robust features paling. 'Y-you remember that?'

 

'Remember what?' said Kolmath. 'That...word?'

 

'I do,' Alathis said. 'I remember everything that cultist said with a clarity which terrifies me. And what I saw in the red sea was real, I know it. Th-there's something living down there, I know it! I know it.'

 

'This too is irregular,' said one. 'None who survived the Ritual have spoken of it, ever.'

 

'W-what...did I scream?' said Alathis, finally managing to use his training to calm himself.

 

'What?' said Kolmath.

 

'What did I scream, w-when I woke up?'

 

Again, Kolmath and the others shared glances before Telric answered and the terror grew on his face while he said each syllable.

 

'You...said: It's...it's its hand.'