Aralyn’s POV As we barged into the lord-knows-which level of Wengarthria after Nat’s headlong…well…and to be honest…daft and rushed plunge through the portal, the first thing I saw was the bastard lying on the floor. When I scanned the scenery around us, it became apparent that we were in a maze-like row of dungeons, with the central, arena-looking-like clearing where the vampire had attacked my father. Malleteagan and the vampire were surrounded by a mob of various demons who were there, watching, cackling, and hooting as if they were at some rock concert. The clamour and racket of the demons in the arena were reinforced by the stereo sound of laughter and uproar, echoing and breaking out from prisoners in cells. The mass of demons in the arena was hard to catch with an eye. Although we had magic, and although I am confident in my fighting skills as well as in those of Merlius and Nat, we would probably be squashed in a stampede of these demons before we could eve
Aralyn’s POV It looks like we came too late. What will that mean for me and the promise I gave to bloody Selene? It is ironic a bit, I guess, that the guy who sought my head for years and wanted me dead since I was born is dying, and the last thing he will see is my face, and I am very much alive while he is on his deathbed in some smelly dungeon of hell. It was the same hell where I spent five years in hiding from him to save my life. And I thought that this would make me happy, that feeling of justice would be the one that would consume me, but it did not. I don’t want him dead. I want him to live with what he has done. Or is this the reason why I don’t want him to die? Is it all about hate and the urge for revenge, or is there some other ulterior motive because of which I want him to live? Is the feeling that wrangles through my body indeed the hate towards Malleteagan, or is it…pity? Is it love? Am I that kind of idiot and masochist who is still able to love the person who kill
Aralyn’s POV "Oh, I see we have some VIP guests here! Let me do some intro. I am Meeran, your almost-relative. To what do I owe this pleasure? Let me try to guess - did you come to see me, Daddy, nanna Noosha or your lover boy, little girl? The bloke called Meeran said with a smirk yet with a dreadfully calm voice while grasping and scrutinising my face with a penetrating stare of his dreadful eyes, which peered from his face shaded by the cloak. Despite his composed tone, one could easily detect an underlying hint of cynicism and a twisted sense of amusement. His touch sent shivers down my spine, and it felt unyielding, as cold as steel; his grip on my chin was unwavering and firm; it felt like he clamped my chin with pliers. I saw him giving a quick nod to his soldiers to hold Merlius and move Nat away from Kandreah and Malleteagan, who were both sprawled on the ground, looking as dead as dodos. His soldiers held Nat and Merlius in a chokehold, who were both struggling to free the
Aralyn’s POV As I was just about to scream and beg for their lives, a handful of warriors in Wengarthrian battle gear jumped out of blue in the mid of havoc of the Macabantran arena. Their battle attire was different from those worn by Meeran and Macabantran warriors. The dread washed over me, embedding into every pore of my skin as pins and needles of raw fright pricked down my spine when I recognised Norgarth and a couple of Marcellus’ warriors who tortured me in Avesta back in the day. Although, given all the crap which happened recently, this now seems like it happened a century ago, the memory of what they did to me is more than vivid. And, likewise, I am more than certain that Norgarth still remembers how I beat the crap out of him, itching to settle down the score with me. However, he didn’t lay a finger on me. Instead, he and a dozen of his warriors attacked the Macabantrans, freed Merlius and Nat and knocked down two demons who were dragging Kandreah, killing them o
Erzelus’s POV In my long existence, I was a soul weathered by the time and games of gods, like a thread woven through their universe filled with their perverse games, intrigues and ulterior motives. As the old saying goes, I’m as old as a mutton trying to pass off as a lamb. Well, that saying is just plain bonkers, in my case, I guess. Because I am not quite a lamb nor a mutton either, I guess. I am more of a big bad wolf from your bedtime stories, but I guess that wasn’t the point. The point was that despite my body being wrapped up in a nice package of a strong, sprightly, young and masculine lad, I am not a young chap, nor am I strong. It is a facade which belies the ancient turmoil residing within me. Now, when I think things through, it’d be more accurate to say that I am more akin to the big bad wolf of folklore, a creature of myth and legend, but my story is not meant for bedtime tales. But that also wasn’t the point. The bottom line here is that I am as old as the hills.
Lev’s POV The sound of the metal scrapping against the concrete woke me up. Someone kicked the bowl with my meal inside my dungeon. That means it’s breakfast time. Counting the meals is the only way to make sense of time spent here. They brought me three meals daily, and I got my three rations before I fell asleep last night. So, this fourth meal marks a new day. One in so many days spent here. But I am not quite sure how long I have been here in total. I know that despite being trapped in the body of a child, I have been living here for a long time. Centuries, millennia, I am not sure. I stopped counting a long time ago. I slowly and stealthily crawled towards the place where I heard the scrapping sound of the bowl stopped, but only when I heard the guard closing the doors of my dungeon. The floor is cold and dusty, grazing my knees and palms as if I were crawling on sandpaper. I finally came to the place where I thought the bowl was. I tapped on the floor carefull
Nepenthern’s POV A long time ago- I paused for a second when I stepped into this realm. Chaister’s realm looked like I was staring down a rabbit hole full of contradictions. Maybe I should have thought this through one more time. The world of Chaister is as much of an oxymoron as he is. Well, he is an oxymoron with an emphasis on moron. He is a fickle fuse of chaos ticking somewhere in the corner and always waiting to explode, causing havoc wherever he goes and wreckage to whatever he touches. He is not a reliable ally, and I cannot stand the twit, but I do not have much choice after that foolish girl got knocked up by Endymion. Lartellan is furious, and I understand why. I am angry as well, but Yaava held me back from going full rampage mode and killing them all. She foresaw that stupid sprog of my daughter Selene with Emdymion - that miserable mortal warlock has a crucial role in shaping the future of the Soovaree realm and other dimensions alike. I still don’t get
Chaister’s POV “Oh, rejoice, my dear ones, rejoice together with your lord, for the day has come! What a sight to behold!” I said to my Veltalas. I felt his presence in my realm as soon as he stepped a foot on its ground. The day the pile rider Nepenthern finally came to plead a favour from my chaotic self. Me, the one who had always been looked down upon, is sought by the powerful god of all gods. The vain bastard is finally about to fall, and he needs mere me to upkeep his ass on the throne. “I shall be back in a jiffy to devour your succulent honeypot fannies, so don’t go anywhere, my shambolic urchins. I have some backbreaking drudgery to do.” I said to the harem of Veltalas, whose dance mixed with the shadows which swirled around them in a lewd and sin-provoking way, just the way they knew I liked. While twirling, brushing and crawling lasciviously around me, Veltalas were snaking their tout and lithe bodies to nudge me, plaguing my body with their ha