Bellator: An Anthology of Warriors of Space & Magic Read online

  “I shut my news feed off because I still don’t want to know. I’ll hear it eventually, I guess.”

  “Geez, Russell. What’s the matter with me?” Buchannan rubbed a hand over her mouth before patting his wrists. “I’m so sorry about Mat.”

  “Yeah.” Russell felt butterflies in his stomach as he forced a grip on his composure.

  “Are you going to be okay? Everyone knows you two were good friends.”

  Russell chuckled as he put his recorder away. “Don’t tell me you never saw the resemblance, Captain. He was my brother.”

  Buchannan placed a hand on his shoulder. “And I’m sure he was looking out for his brother too. I’ll leave you the room for another ten. Get something on that stomach before the night’s over, whether you have an appetite or not. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once alone, Russell eased out of his seat, scratching the cast wrapped around his leg. He covered his mouth, fighting to keep his emotions from crying out of him. Tears ran down his face, though he wiped them away without a second thought. Mat was gone. He was alive. Fate had chosen the wrong person, but he couldn’t do anything about it, now that the dust had settled.

  He had to go on, living the life he knew his friend considered a privilege to protect. He’d do better from now on. He’d be more qualified leader, a more loving husband, a more caring father. He’d be a better man.

  The lieutenant grabbed the crutches from the wall, needing to grab his dinner soon. There was no point in wallowing in this room. Too much time would be wasted if he did. Being alive was for the living. It was now a duty – more than ever – to do so. No, it was even more than that. It was an honor.

  * * *

  About the Author: Jordan spent much of his children writing "graphic novels,"roughly composed of ten to twenty panels of illustrations with dialog. Conflicts in his adventures became more complex, as did his character development, in due time. He made his first attempts at writing full-length novels without the aid of pictures by the time he was i high school, though he never did finish anything beyond the first chapter.

  Then came college, what he considered a personal Age of Renaissance. Jordan learned the basic foundations to creative writing during his first year. When he was 19, he started to write a story about a young alien girl who was drafted into a galactic war. However, unlike my previous attempts at writing a novel, Jordan found himself returning to the keyboard, longing to get to the next scene, and the next, and before he knew it, two years had passed, and a finished first draft to a manuscript was before him. Fast forward three years later, that manuscript became “Prossia,” his first published novel. The rest, as they say, is history...

  Connect with the Author:

  http://www.raphyelmjordan.com/

  https://www.facebook.com/RaphyelMJordanPage?ref_type=bookmark

  http://rmj7.deviantart.com/

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4194723.Raphyel_M_Jordan

  Diana

  With the cool, dewy grass on her knees and the bark of the tree on her hands, Diana watched him. In her mind, he was already dead. Breathing through her nose, her throat constricted from the foul odor. It was like he’d been anointed with an unholy brew.

  Diana was gifted with being able to smell magic on others. This man was a follower of the unknown sorcerer. A dark conjuror who had begun to summon entities from beneath their world. The sorcerer knew how to target followers, usually the young and restless. Anyone greedy for position or luxuries.

  She could see the one before her being whipped into a frenzy. Then the evil spirits would have been invited to possess him, to take hold of his dreams and his heart. If his heart had not been dark enough, the entity would have known. In which case, she would not be looking at him right now.

  He had been stalking the camp of sleeping protectors. Whoever this sorcerer was, they knew that it instilled fear to have word spread of brave warriors being slaughtered in their sleep. The ones on guard would not have seen him coming. If only they could sense or scent the unrighteous magic as she could.

  Her heart beat steadily and her muscles pulsed. His breath in the night air was clear. She could see the oil in his hair as he turned. With the tree behind her, she readied her beloved knife. When his odor was closest, her arm snaked out.

  Covering his mouth, Diana silenced his gurgles with her knife. His blood gushed over her hands and the familiar smells of death hit her nostrils. But it was better than the stench he possessed before.

  Now she watched him twitch and bleed out into the earth. Over the cliff, she could see the small camp he intended to invade. It was a relief to have protected them, but even though an enemy’s throat emptied into the soil before her, Diana was restless. She stabbed her knife into the ground to clean it, before putting it back into its sheath.

  Then she placed her hands on the enemy scout’s shoulders and back. His body began to disintegrate. His skin dehydrated, fingers and limbs shriveled, and his body and possessions became dust. His life essence that had seeped out into the soil dried as well.

  This process was more gruesome than the act of cutting his throat. She did that without emotion. As Diana destroyed body, her knees dug into the soil and she loomed over her victim. A storm raged within her. It was her desire to destroy him utterly. That and the entity that lived within him.

  Diana stared at the dry particles in the grass. They blew up, swirled, and disappeared into thin air. It was as though the earth itself rejected the remains.

  “What shreds of humanity had been left in your soul, you killed yourself when you allowed the wicked ones inside,” she whispered.

  It was true. Any qualms he had about murdering the innocent disintegrated with every jolt of power the devil gave him. But now it, as well as its host, were silenced.

  Diana hunted in the shadows. Her enemies were dead to her once she laid eyes upon them. With a bead of sweat on her forehead, the softer emotions came rolling in. It was a reminder of why she did this.

  One purpose of the protector camp sleeping below was searching for evidence of the sorcerer’s recruitment, especially amongst young men and women. They warned families of the spreading infection.

  Diana knew what the demons sounded like. The terrifying hissing turned into a pleasurable tingling in the spine. Fantasies of riches, power and influence tailored themselves to entice. Once they invited the spirits inside, they would seek out the sorcerer and become part of his force. She’d watched them slip out of their villages, lost to their families forever. Some emerged as soul-poisoned murderers.

  Diana wished there had been such a force when she and her siblings were younger. It saddened her to think of Marcus. She hoped her older brother, Frederick, would be able to keep him from giving in. She prayed that Marcus did not finally give in and make his way to where the dealer in dark arts stayed. This conjuror had not been as active when she was at home.

  She still recalled the odor Marcus began to develop. Only she noticed it, and it was not a usual smell. His heart was turning, and the crueler he became the more she noticed the smell. She’d watched the protectors coming into villages, meeting the inhabitants and giving demonstrations of swordsmanship and archery. It gave everyday people courage to see warriors with brave hearts. It was a comfort to know they had protectors nearby.

  But to have them slain in their sleep by one demon-possessed recruit frightened the villagers. It could encourage some to call the spirits for protection. Diana saw it as her duty to dispose of the rogue evildoers, to make them disappear. And she had done, several times.

  Diana looked upon the protectors below, heard the clanking of the weapons, and touched her own knife hilt. She wore a simple, loose dress of beige cloth, tied at the waist with a wide leather belt with a sheath for her weapon. It was a part of her. If only there was a way to warn them properly. The woods behind her were her home. They pulled her to come back in. In order to help safeguard this world, it was better if it knew little of her existen
ce.

  Something else kept her attention at the warriors’ base, though. In an instant, Diana knew what it was. Standing, tall and dark in front of the tent’s entrance, was her brother Frederick. He looked directly at her, held his hand out, and dropped a tiny amount of what could only have been the dust remains of the possessed one she’d slain. The particles he released swirled and disappeared. He nodded at her, then went back inside.

  Diana’s heart leapt at the sight of her beloved brother. The dust on the wind blew past her as she began her trek through the forest, and she heard the words warrior witch in her mind.

  Marcus (A Year Ago)

  Marcus gathered the blood of the animal he’d chosen as sacrifice. It was a sweet little rabbit, the type his sister Mina would have kept as a pet. He invited the spirits into the little vessel, then slit its throat. He used the wooden table in the family barn. Marcus could no longer use their family livestock. His father would have noticed, and no longer harbored him if he did it again.

  He’d been successful with a goat. A simple entity from the netherworld had invaded it, but he’d been caught. He recalled his other sister, Diana, screaming at him and smashing his head against the table over and over. He’d never forget that day. He hated his older sister. He hated Frederick.

  It did not matter anymore. With the Netherworld King as his guide, he would glory in watching their knees buckle and eyes widen at the hissing. No one could resist him. The need would come upon them. They would do anything to see more of what the demons promised. He would see and know anyone’s heart, all of it. Perhaps she could resist common wicked entities, but not their king.

  Spreading the blood on his cheeks, he whispered the forbidden prayers to the Netherworld Lord.

  I am at your mercy if you would do me the honor of using me as a vessel to rule. The mightiest of mortals will bow to us. I invite you to consume my heart, rid me of weakness. I will prove to you my loyalty.

  He hoped it would work this time. Marcus gasped when the hissing invaded his ears. It was a shrill sound, more so than usual. A deep pleasure rolled and tingled up his spine. His voice came out deeper and gruffer than it was naturally. His chest heaved. He was already stronger. Yes! It’s him! It’s the Netherworld Lord himself!

  In his mind, he saw his entire village exiting their huts. He’d fantasized about them all coming, offering their service to him. They would sweep through the neighboring villages and force others to do the same. They would seek him out. The pull was too great, never again would they have to suffer doubt or fear. He would see their very souls. He would know who would serve him best. They would ensure he had a life free of toil, knowing that he was above them all. All because of their desire for the visions to be real. Please, sire, let us feel it again.

  Breathing like a dragon, with demons lacing his voice, he roared. First he would find his remaining siblings. He spotted Mina gathering plates for their family’s evening meal. When she spotted him back, she looked down and shouted for their mother. Marcus smiled. His sister never liked being alone with him. He reveled in how much he frightened her. This was only the beginning.

  His parents were at the market, so she had no choice but to speak with him. He stalked out of the barn, knowing his eyes were black. He sneered. She froze. “Dearest Mina… Why do you fear your own brother?”

  “You have been drinking father’s whiskey!” she accused with a shaky breath. Her eyes were filling up.

  “Dearest sister…” Then he spoke to the mighty spirit within him. Go to her…

  Mina’s knees buckled, her eyes widened and glazed over. Her body slumped a little in response to the spinal tingling.

  “Do not deny them! They only seek to make you strong, and fulfill your greatest desires,” he said to her. Mina was shaking. She was showing a great deal of resistance for such a small, young woman.

  “What is my sister’s greatest ambition? A handsome warrior husband perhaps? To have all of them gazing at you with admiration?”

  Then her heart revealed itself. She wished to perfect all their mother’s skills, her knowledge of healing herbs. She wished deeply to have a simple life with a handsome husband and a hut full of children. She dreamed of her grandchildren. He could hear her small voice in her mind.

  I’ll never be without a babe in my arms. The twinkle in my dear husband’s eye will never disappear, so rich with love we will be.

  In her heart there was no desire for jewels or other finery, not even the bubbling wine that the rich women drank out of sparkling goblets. No, she only wanted to be surrounded by love. Such a weak girl could never have a place in his world.

  Marcus smirked. Silly slut, he thought, approaching her. He drew his knife and looked at her tender throat. The tears now slipped down her cheeks. So strong in her innocence was Mina, that temptation did not enter into her mind with the hissing demons. Only the fear that her dream would never come true. She was his for the slaying. The innocent blood would please his master. This was far better than the frightened little rabbit he’d taken.

  Frederick

  Frederick saw Mina kneeling, tears dropping down her cheeks, in front of Marcus. His knife was at her throat and blood began to spill onto the earth in front of her. It was only from the side of her neck. But Marcus stopped, touched her neck and smelled the blood. A maniacal smile on his face. Then he raised his knife high, in the position of sacrifice.

  “Nooooo!” Frederick drew his sword and charged. He dragged his blade across the back of his brother’s knees. Marcus turned, an unnatural tint to his eyes. Mina dropped, but Frederick could see that Marcus had not finished the job. Still, she choked and struggled for breath.

  Roaring, Frederick ran his sword through Marcus’s shoulder. He swung, aiming to slice at his neck, but Marcus only laughed.

  “You cannot kill me, brother! I will only rise again! The king of all that dwells beneath us seeks to rise, and I will help him do it!” The guttural tone in his voice left no doubt that Marcus had invited demons to live in him.

  “Mina!” The shrill sound of his mother’s voice hit his ears. She and his father, Benjamin, ran for Mina, lifting her up. His heart broke as his mother held her dear daughter’s head to her chest. Mina’s eyes were closed, her arm flopped down to the side.

  Frederick turned to Marcus. “I should have helped Diana to kill you those years ago. We should have gutted you.”

  Marcus bared his teeth in an unnatural smile. “No, I will gut her on that exact table. Right after I look into her heart and watch her buckle under the temptation. Our little Mina is too simple, but Diana will prove much better sport.” With that, he disappeared, but his voice remained.

  “I leave you now, to go and murder our other sister, the supposed warrior witch.” His laughter sounded in the distance.

  Frederick’s heart sank and his stomach twisted at the sight of his parents holding Mina in their arms.

  “Is she dead?” he asked, numb.

  Their father bound the wound on her neck. Frederick’s spirits lifted when he heard her breathing. Marcus had not cut her all the way. His mother began babbling then. “He…he showed her mercy… Marcus… Perhaps the spirits have not consumed him completely.”

  Benjamin put his arms around his wife and spoke. “Silence, my love. I do not consider him my son. She may yet live, though she will never be the same. Breath will be difficult. But more so…’ His father paused for a moment, looking at the ground.

  Then their mother spoke, realizing what he meant. “She might go mad. As he has taken her dream. She can’t recognize her heart’s desire, but she will desire it all the more intensely in the absence of its clarity. In a way, she would be better off dead, than to live like this.”

  Their mother choked on her words, struggling with tears. “But we will care for her. She will be fine. You will see…” Her body hunched over her daughter before being racked with sobs.

  Diana (Years Earlier)

  Diana loved sparring with her brother Frederick. He a
lways indulged her. Pretty little Mina sat on the side and cheered for her older sister. “Go on, Diana!” It wasn’t unheard of for women in their village to become warriors. It became obvious to everyone soon enough that this would be her destiny. She and Frederick turned, struck and flipped in the dry earth clearing behind their family home.

  This sparring had started as a way for them to exercise as adolescents. It improved his speed and her strength. With Diana’s great height and graceful limbs, she was a joy to watch. Twirling her sword, she swooped and dived around her far brawnier sibling. When his blade met hers, she flew back from the force of his blow. She’d be bruised for some time from the harsh landing.

  Her lips spread in a smile. She wiped a spot of blood from her face and said, “Frederick, I am your own flesh and blood, how could you do such a thing?”

  He laughed and said, “Don’t act as though you wouldn’t do the same to me.”

  Diana shrugged and, with one fluid movement, mock attacked with her dagger. Her speed was unnatural.

  Frederick never said anything, only smiled at his sister. He knew she’d been gifted, and their parents knew it as well. She could not be only shield maiden, but a warrior witch. Frederick had to learn to keep his eyes on her at all times. A glance at the ground meant defeat.

  “I know your silent killer tactics, sister. Do not think I will let you out of my sight.”

  Diana laughed then and said, “Yes, you see me now.” With a twirl, she was behind him. She caught Frederick’s scowl. Not at her superior swiftness, but at the fact that she did it outside, where others could see.

  From her swiftness alone, it was apparent that magic was on her side. But they never spoke the name. In their culture, it was classed as a cross between good and evil. Not everyone in their village would be tolerant. Diana smiled when she was upon Frederick with her knife, victorious. Frederick shrugged her off roughly, then pulled her up. Her smile melted with the sense of something looming. One day, she would kill with her knife for real, but she prayed it would never involve Frederick. Why such troublesome thoughts?